[Thomas Taylor] ((As I said in the Tank, you guys start it off I'll drop in when everyone is cozy *eg*))
[Molly Quincannon] While Molly hasn't been able to arrange having Emily to dinner yet, she has managed to practice her baking ... and, on a recent shopping expedition, she found something that somehow called out that it should be brought to Emily. Thus the item was purchased, put on hold, picked up (along with the necessary accoutrements, of course) and Molly arranged for tea with Emily. She's packing a lot of gear today; a couple of good-sized shopping bags and a lidded wicker basket on top of her usual laptop bag. She's ordered a pot of tea - a peach black that she vaguely recalls as being one that is kept around the Chantry because Ashley and Emily favour it. So, with that, her bags and a Tupperware container of butterscotch shortbread, she sits and waits for Emily. She arrived a little early for this expedition by design. Sometimes it's good to be settled in before someone to whom you intend to give gifts arrives.
[Emily Littleton] The Singer girl has made a rare foray into the church-going congregation this morning. Usually she does not like to attempt to commune with the divine in a sea of Sleepers, or with anything resembling an audience, but Emily's willing to try about anything to stave off the uncomfortable alienation and loneliness that this coming anniversary brings up in uncertain and unexpected swells. There is comfort to be found in Fellowship, even if her grounds for Faith and reliance on it are different than everyone else's at that mass. There's something solid about the belief, something human about the struggle each and every member of that parish has with their relationship with God.
It feels less lonely. It's not quite home, but it's a step toward it. She pauses at the little alcove to light votives. She always stops there. One for a small boy, who lost his family in one foul night. One for a little girl who lies buried on the grounds. One for a Singer who may or may not return, who subsists as nothing more than okay and not dead yet and looping handwriting on a small stack of post cards in a Lake View flat.
She's had appointments to keep since, and has not had a chance to swing past her flat and check in on Nico, or stop through the Farmer's Market, or check the message board out at the Chantry, or drop by the lab and check on her experiments. This day, this Sunday, this day of rest is spent wholly consumed with the simple acts of communion, of attention to the human and community aspects that shape her non-Awakened life.
So when she finally sweeps into the shop, it's with the quiet click of low heels on the wood floors, and the sweep of a black-and-white patterned dress's hem around her knees. Her hair is down and lightly beaded with dampness from the drizzle of omni-present rain. Her jacket is dusted with dampness, little beads of crystalline water that sit on the soft leather, glint in the light. She unwinds a scarf from around her neck, glances about for Molly.
There's a warm smile today when Emily finds her. A little wave. She orders some tea for herself (to share around the table if wanted), a honeybush masala. Something rich with spices, redolent, warmin and Autumnal.
"Hey, Molly," she says, when she slips into a seat at the table. "Been a busy day, looks like." A nod to the pile of packages and things-carried. She has no idea that there are gifts here, beyond an afternoon out and a little time away from the hustle, bustle stress of the big House with its white picket fence.
[Molly Quincannon] Molly, dressed in her usual gear - blue T-shirt with a neon green caffeine molecule diagram emblazoned across the front, jeans, jacket and boots - has not been to church. She is not a church sort of person, or an organised religion in general. She figures it's one too many divides to put between her and the Lakashim, and anyway, she never had much of a raising in it. So while she gets the general deal about church ... meh. That's all she has to say about it - 'different strokes for different folks' and ... well, meh.
In any case, the smile from Emily gets a smile in kind, though hers is redolent with well-meaning mischief. "Hey, Emily. Not so much as all that, the busy, but ... as busy as I like it. Which I guess is pretty busy at that. How're you? I hope all's cool and funky. Oooh, what's the tea? Ashley's been trying to educate me but I'm still never sure if I get it. Oh, and I have a couple of things for you. First one ... well, to be shared with anyone who you visit, or who visits you." She doesn't speak of Nico directly, but it's clear she means him as well as Chuck and the others she officially knows. With that, she nudges over the Tupperware. "So the first thing is butterscotch shortbread. I think it came out pretty well. Third attempt and all. I keep trying with this whole cooking thing."
[Emily Littleton] "Oooh," she says, sounding appropriately interested in Molly's baking attempts. In fact, Emily is quite fond of the culinary arts, and rather good at encouraging them in other people. She also has a softness for toffee, butterscotch and salted caramel. Molly's guessed well at something she likes. "Sounds delightful. Cheers," and is rewarded with compliments for that.
The tea is still steeping but she lifts the lid and nudges it toward Molly to sniff at and inspect. "Honeybush masala. It's not tea, perse; not Camelia sinesis that is. Grows in this one, tiny region of South Africa. Similar to red tea, or rooibus." She glances over to see if that rings any bells, before continuing. "It's a little sweet on its own, so I like it like this, mixed with the traditional 'chai' spices."
Emily does not use fingerquotes, but she does link the words masala and chai obviously, in case they weren't immediatley recognizable. She leans forward a little, shrugs out of her coat and hangs it on the back of her chair.
"If you're enjoying baking, I'll send over the pumpkin bread recipe I've been making lately for the House. Seems to go over well enough as it's always gone by my turn in the rotation -- else someone's just binning it and not telling me." There's a wry twist to her smile; Emily's jesting at herself lightly.
"Mmm, and things are good, I guess. It's been a bit of a week, lots of things jumbled up together, sort of busy. But that happens mid-term. You'd cross your eyes, though, at some of the psuedocode I'm seeing from the Freshman in my sections. I'm almost, almost offended by the lack of effort -- save for I'm pretty sure you have to try to make that many mistakes." She rolls her eyes a bit, settles into her chair more fully.
[Molly Quincannon] Molly, with the memory and curiosity that does tend to send her all over the internet when she's searching out a new interest, nods when rooibus gets mentioned, and sniffs the tea when it's offered in her general direction. Then she nudges it to the side of the table, leaving a conveniently clear space, as she addresses Emily's comments. "Hey, sometimes pseudocode is the best kind, for some things. Chuck keeps telling me that some of my favourite code should by rights fry my rig. But then, consider the uses." A grin, a shrug, and yes, she's probably talking about her more esoteric uses of coding. "But in terms of the basics and standard code, yeah, I'd go Gibbs on their asses. As to the pumpkin bread ... gorgeous stuff; that was you making it? Man, now I'm glad I came by with shortbread. We can call it a thank-you. No one said that was you! I'd love to see the recipe, if it's not some closely-guarded family-line secret or something." Yes, more of that little grin. Partly teasing, and partly ... well, she did say 'a couple of things'.
That, she underlines when she reaches under the table for the basket, which she lifts carefully and sets gently on the spot she's cleared on the table. "Thing the second, then." She lifts the lid of the basket and out pops a little feline head - big, slightly tufty ears, big blue-grey eyes, a sort of calico look to it. Molly says nothing; just grins.
"Mew?" says the kitten.
[Emily Littleton] "Oh, I agree with you, and when I can get away with it I adore executable pseudocode. Saves so many headaches. Like that guy, the one that writes xkcd? Randy something. I heard a quote from him recently. That python is executable psuedocode, and perl is executable line noise..." A little smirk. They both wield enough languages on a digital plane to appreciate the jab at the pointerless language.
But then Molly's proferring a basket, and it's Mew-ing at Emily. With those big blue-grey eyes. Soulful little thing. It's cute. It'd make an adorable LoL-cat. (I'm in ur sanctum, eatin ur charmz.) It, clearly, cannot be for Emily.
"Oh!" She says, grinning at the little bundle of fur and chaos and (purposefully) mistaking Molly's intent. "Did you get Neal a friend then?"
She glances from the Kitten to the Cultist with an expectant sort of hopefulness. As if she really did hope that ferrets and cats got along with. That Molly's flat could endure the added chaos of four-paws-soft-tail.
Molly's flat.
[Molly Quincannon] The xkcd comments get giggles and no actual commentary. None's needed, really. All of the commentary is reserved for the comment about the cat. Molly's pretty quick on the uptake when she wants to be. "Well, actually, yes, since you ask! Another ferret by the name of Hardison. This little lady hasn't got a name. She's waiting for her new owner to give her one."
This? With a pointed, playful look at Emily. And a little nudge of the basket towards the new-fledged Singer that gets the kitten teetering adorably before popping her little head back up again, looking at Emily with the soulful eyes.
"She comes with a week's supply of food, food and and water dishes, litter box, litter and a bag of cat toys. Also full vaccination records and a year's worth of pet insurance." See, when Molly does things, she does them right to the hilt.
[Thomas Taylor] Thomas was a busy bee and had been for the last couple of days you could only imagine that meant trouble for someone and much like yesterday that was trouble for him again today but very much in a different manner. The windows outside the coffee shop cut a striking view across the street, what was a pleasant view (What a rare thing in these days) now would by nightfall turn into a Neon paradise with club goers and the elite walking the streets feeling safe in this high society area. The police patrolled here than almost anywhere else and not only that but here they actual took action and had a visible presence.
So one has to wonder how this sort of behaviour made it this far, in one of the windows a face gets bashed up against it with a hollow ‘bang’ heard by most in the Coffee shop, it is of a white man with blonde hair face flat against the glass so it is distorting his features. Then there a shift in the fight and a Hispanic man with long black hair is suddenly the victim of a glass face plant. The other man pushes back off and as the hoody falls you can see the face of Thomas, blood still trickling from his lip and a cocky grin to his lips his cheeks hollow and his eyes daring. The other man spins and there is some sort of exchange at which point Thomas looks left and his eyes widen and his mouth drops and he makes a break for it, running past the windows as if they were a movie screen giving everyone a perfect view of his ‘cowardly’ moment. The other man points and shouts as from the left hand window five men dressed very much like a gang come into view run past the left window to the right and carry on going until they leave the view of the right hand window.
The man who was left behind runs out into the road where a bright yellow hummer screeches to a halt, he jumps on in and sticks his head out of the window and seems to be shouting something as the hummer takes off again.
The crowds have stopped, there some panic but only minor as even on this Magnificent Mile muggings, burglars and drive bys are common enough that everyone just seems to carry on with what they were doing.
Just another day in Chicago
[Molly Quincannon] [[WP for one small fuzzy kitten]]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 6, 7, 7 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Ashley McGowen] Thomas isn't the only person looking slightly worse for wear. Ashley is walking up to the coffee shop in time to see the mugging, in time to see the blond man - Thomas - smack someone's head into the glass window. She tenses, unsure of what caused the altercation, unsure of who the Hollow One has assaulted; anyone watching might assume that she was preparing to run. (She's not. She's preparing to help him fight.) And then she watches him walk in as the yellow Hummer speeds off.
And this is the point where Ashley has to decide if she really wants company today. She just saw another mage walk into that coffee shop, and she's starting to predict convergences now. If she sees another mage out in public, there will be more. They're like deer on the road at night.
But as things would have it, she owes Thomas Taylor an apology. Or a cookie, at least.
When she reaches the door and looks in through the glass she notes that her prediction as far as other magi being present was true: Emily and Molly inside. Ashley sighs and shrugs her black wool coat a little higher on her shoulders as she reaches for the door handle and prepares herself for the small crowd; it's verging on just too many people, and there is no alcohol in a coffee shop to ease her apprehension away. But this is Ashley. She hates being afraid of anything. Social anxiety applies.
There's a bruise, dark and fresh and quite recent, along one side of the Hermetic's cheekbone, and her skin is too pale for coverup to be entirely effective. Sometimes Paradox isn't kind enough to hide under your clothes. But she doesn't seem to be in any great amount of pain, and anyway, she's noticed the kitten. Ashley's expression brightens as she makes her way over to their table.
[Emily Littleton] Emily doesn't want to take the basket. Accepting the basket is taking on the onus of being responsible for another small, vulnerable life form. She doesn't really need anything -- but, oh, those are adorable blue eyes -- that might literally eat her homework -- and when she yawns, her tongue looks all bumpy-scratchy -- or that needs supervision -- at least it's not a puppy.
"Molly.... you really shouldn't have," says Emily, but already there's a note of recanting in her voice. It could be because of the furry paw that's just peeked out, and the look of Intrepid Adventurer that can't help but capture a fellow wanderer's affections.
She's just reaching for the basket, giving in, ceding to this round of friendly advances when there's a loud bang on the window. Everyone in the coffee shop looks over; everyone's attention is captured, including the small kitten's.
She glances over. Pauses in whatever she's doing. And yaaaaaaawns.
Which makes Emily chuckle a little, because this cat may just be ready to survive the Awakened world after all. It earns a wry smile of approval, and the Singer slides the basket over to settle by her feet after all.
But the wryness fades, falls to patent disapproval as Emily asks Molly: "Was that... Thomas?"
Her eyes follow the cinematic progression from left to right across the broad panes of glass until the Hollower disappears. She doesn't, just yet, get up to see if he needs help. Emily's less help in a fist fight than she is in a gun battle. And she doesn't bring a firearm to either church or tea. There's worry creasing her brow; there's something darker in the set of her mouth.
[Ashley McGowen] ((Ignore the last sentence of my post! I thought Thomas walked inside. That's what I get for reading fast trying to catch up.))
Ashley pauses outside the shop, her fingertips still on the handle, and casts a look over toward the Hollow One. "Hey," she says, taking in the blood trickling down his nose. "You okay?" No great amount of concern in her tone. But she's asking.
[Molly Quincannon] Molly glances at the bang on the window along with everyone else, but manages to glance back in time to catch the kitten's reaction ... and, despite the worry that creases her brow a little over who she just saw flattened against the window, she can't help but laugh at the kitten's reaction. "Match made in heaven," she says, nudging the bags of sundries - the cat food, the bowls, the litter box and litter, the paperwork - over in Emily's direction. "I now pronounce you ... well, you know the rest."
Then, though, she looks back at the window, and there's something in the set of her jaw that suggests that she's got a few different ways of defending herself, not to mention coming to the defence of her colleagues, if needs be. "Yes. Yes, it was. And that's Ashley now," she adds, and now the worry creases her brow just a liiiiiittle bit deeper. "And she's wearing a shiny new bruise. "Looks like the problem's sorting. Think they're going to come in, or should we go out?" Then she shakes her head and tuts. "And he gives me lip about having a death wish. Hypocritical limey twerp." There's no rancour to it; she actually sounds more amused than anything, if a bit worried.
[Thomas Taylor] ((As I just explained to Ashley, Thomas is actually still fleeing :) There was confusion there serves me right for trying to do an intro with spice, as such you guys carry on and Thomas will be back in a couple of posts, Ashley knows what he is up to))
[Ashley McGowen] ((Okay. Ashley comes inside then. *grin* You guys go ahead and post and assume my post is here instead of before and she just stopped at their table and whatnot.))
[Emily Littleton] The Singer now has far more to carry than what she walked in with. It provokes a little quiet anxiety. There would, no doubt, be an excessive number of pet care google searches, and queries around to pet-owning friends, and fretting over whether or not her relationship with the imperturbable furball was perfect, was appropriate, was good enough or not. There's also the matter of how to get it all back to her flat via public transport; she doesn't know yet the sort of magic it takes to make that more manageable.
"When all my computer cables have tiny teeth marks, I'll know who to thank," she tells Molly, wryly, but with enough warmth that it reads true as appreciation as well.
"Hey, Ashley," she says, when the Adept approaches. Emily pushes out one of the spare chairs with her foot. It happens to be on the side of the table with the kitten-in-a-basket lurking and longing for some pet-lover attention. "Molly's brought short-bread, and kittens."
Meaningful lift of her eyebrows, then a glance down at the blue-eyed vixen. Who mews, as if on cue, and then ducks back into her basket and away from the rush of resonance. Who will later, of course, peek out with curiosity befitting her species.
Limey twerp, Molly says. "All the same, I hope he's alright." She's reached a tentative peace with the Hollower. Had reached. Might have recently upset. But Emily isn't currently worried after retaliation from her latest bit of bad behavior; in her mind, the matter's settled. Sorted. Over.
[Molly Quincannon] "Oh, me too," is Molly's comment in regards to Thomas' general well-being. "But I can hope he's okay and call him a hypocritical limey git and not be a hypocrite myself. Sometimes being fond of someone is intrinsically linked to wanting to smack them upside the head. Which explains a lot of my friends," she adds, thoughtful. Then she chuckles. "That's why I bought the bag of cat toys. I'm sure catnip trumps cables."
Then, for Ashley, a smile of greeting. "Hey, Ashley. How're you doing?" Her eyes linger on Ashley's cheek for a moment, though she makes no direct comment. It's not like she's not hiding a few marks of her own under the sleeves of the jacket she hasn't taken off yet. "And yes, I brought shortbread and kittens. It's revenge for her helping to talk me into filling my home with ferret. Besides, kitty's got nerves of steel, from the look. Speaking of, do you know what's going on with Thomas out there? I think it's going to take industrial cleaner to scrub off that mark his face left on the glass."
[Ashley McGowen] Ashley doesn't have to be invited twice. She lowers herself a little gingerly into the chair near the basket, lowering a hand toward it for the kitten to come and investigate when she's ready rather than reaching in and startling the small animal. The Hermetic peers up over the edge of the table at Singer and Cultist as though reminded that hey, there are people here. "Hi," she says.
Then, "Tom can handle himself." Perhaps an explanation for why she didn't tear off after the Hollow One to go and assist; she knows he's the rough and tumble sort and she doesn't have much interest in a street fight.
One would note, though, that in spite of that vote of confidence her eyes rove back toward the window. Toward the mark the man's face left on the glass, and to check and see whether Thomas is returning. She'll give him five minutes. Perhaps she also noticed the way Molly's gaze lingered on her cheek because she adds, belatedly, "I'm all right. Beginning a war of attrition to see if I can convince a guy who doesn't know he's Awake to come talk to me. That Vito guy you mentioned. I tracked him down."
[Molly Quincannon] Molly blinks, looking nonplussed and the beginnings of horrified. "He doesn't know? Great Google, what--?" Then she shakes her head. "I am so sorry; I didn't talk to him much and Nat and Lara never mentioned he didn't know. Maybe they don't know he doesn't, or are happy to leave him -- no. No way are they that ... well, no, okay, no way is Nat ready to just let someone wander around Sleepwalking that way. Gyeh. Hope you're okay, or are going to be. Um, there's honeybush and that peach black stuff. Just..." She's not quite enough hypocrite to tell Ashley to maybe bring backup, but she does say, "...Watch your back, okay? I get the feeling he's less than nice."
Then she nods. "I know he can. Doesn't stop me caring, or wondering, or worrying. Though on a totally unrelated note, what kind of person drives a bright yellow Hummer? They're gaudy enough cars as is." Says the woman who drives a TARDIS-Beetle.
[Emily Littleton] "I had nothing to do with the ferret," she says, hands lifted innocently, paragon of poise and innocence, before Emily grins and makes with pouring out tea for herself, and then incidentally leaving the pot of sweet-chai smelling tea nearest to Ashley at the table. There's no subtlety to that invitation, at all.
"The HabiTrail as modern art installment, now, that I may have encouraged. Gently."
A little cream goes into the tea.
"Do you want me to go with you, or anything?" About this Vito guy. Emily's not an Adept, but she's got a bit of a way with words. She's good at bending ears and bending truths.
[Ashley McGowen] "Oh, I've already talked to him," Ashley says. "You're right. He's not a nice guy. But I'm not afraid of him." This, stated without any particular bravado; it's just fact. Ashley is an Adept, and she wouldn't have gotten there without some amount of comfort with and confidence in her own abilities. Some might debate that she has too much, but her blood has cooled a little over the past year. She's more cautious than she was.
"Sooner or later he'll come and talk to me. I scared him."
She reaches down and strokes the kitten's ears when she finally pokes her head back out, the gesture careful in case she startles. She hasn't yet gone up to get any tea, but she glances once at the pot when Emily nudges it in her direction. She'll reach for it in a minute; evidently small furry animals are suitable for distracting the Hermetic.
[Thomas Taylor] By the time he comes back into view (This time from the right going left) he is walking and smoking a big grin plastered on his face as he stops outside the coffee shop the cigarette being consumed at an alarming rate. He had spotted Ashley on his jog past (More like felt her, he was very sensitive to that hunger she carried) so when he finally led his quarry where he intend to and let the law intervene he thought he would pop in and say hello.
When he walks on in the blood has been wiped away, his hoody (Molly would recognise it from yesterdays outing) was held in his hand, he had a black T-shirt on and some black cargo pants, he even had very cheap running shoes on like he knew he would be getting chased. There’s a massive smile on his face as he spots Ash and a raised eyebrow to go with it as he spots Info and North. He wanders on over and takes a seat. Reality was having a field day with Thomas recently and he knew he was pushing his luck even with his gift of Arcane. He would have to keep it on the down low after this at least for a few days let his thing do it’s thing. Still for here and now it still kept the other witness’ off his back, sure he looked similar to the guy who was by the window but it could not be him right the other was Shorter...fatter...thinner....taller... reality was mixing the facts and grumbling as it did so.
He wanders up to the table as some residue smoke escapes his lungs and gives his breath an almost mystic quality like a will-o- the-wisp was escaping, his skin is wet with sweat and his cheeks a flushed red from the fight and the chase. I hope the ladies at the table like there men musky because Thomas deodorant is barely keeping that manly sweat smell at bay. “Afternoon ladies, calvin day for a jog.” He does not wait to be offered a seat he pulls one from another table. (Not before offering a charming smile and asking quite politely of the old woman that he could borrow it, she of course didn’t mind and even called him a sweet boy) He falls into with a slump and tilts his head as he was joining a conversation already in progress as he lets them continue attempting to catch up
[Jarod Nightingale] [Awareness]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] Calling Thomas a sweet boy was a bit like assuming that Emily was a nice girl. Over-hearing it makes the Singer smirk, looses a little huff of amusement from her lungs, leaves her eyes a brighter with that dark amusement. They are quite a pair, North and South, and likely no one at the table knows just how much trouble they could get one another into.
But they have chaperones just now, so it should stay a bit tamer today. Just a lovely afternoon tea. Playing at social niceties, these mages are, like being normal people on a blustery Sunday afternoon. There's the Architect, the Thrill Seeker, the Bad Boy and the Pusher of Buttons. It's a nice group, really, if you're willing to look past the swirl of egos and drives and needs.
"Hey, South."
She glances over as he settles in, brings the uncouth scent of cigarette smoke to the table. Then it's back to the conversation.
"Doesn't know he's awake like Quentin?" she asks Ashley. Emily feels there's something different at play here, but she's not sure how to differentiate all the levels of Sleepwalking and world-bending, just yet. "Or like when we first met?"
[Molly Quincannon] Molly rolls her eyes at Emily and says, "Oh, come on. You sold me on the Habitrail set-up before I even decided on the ferret. And thus, I had to have a ferret to justify the Habitrail. And you haven't even come by to see the results of the installation art. For shame."
Ashley's comment just gets a bit of a sheepish smile. It hadn't been so much the other way around when she met Vito, but close - he'd pushed her into a pretty atrocious flashback, but at least those have subsided. "Then I'll just offer my congratulations," she says, "and wish you luck."
Then Thomas, and he gets a once-over and a raised eyebrow. "For more than a jog, looks like. Yellow Hummer-guy? Seriously? I--"
Whatever questions she has get, perhaps mercifully, cut off by the strains of 'Take This Job and Shove It' piping up from her pocket, and thus her iPhone. She pulls her phone, looks at it and gives a heavy sigh. "I have a feeling," she tells the assembled, "that I'm going to have to tear out of here in a minute, cursing heavily. I don't know what they do in the server room over the weekends, but one day I am going to find out. Um..." She switches on the phone, sticks it to her ear, and pipes a "Molly here" as she digs in her other pocket for her wallet. She takes a twenty and slides it under Emily's teacup and murmurs, "For the cab. That's a lot of stuff to haul back. No, I was not talking to you," she adds into the phone. "I was -- never mind. Why are you eating my weekend today?" Pause, and then she gets up and gathers her laptop bag. "It's doing what? No, you-- Just-- Just don't ... touch anything. Who hired you? No, seriously, I want to know? What were they smoking?" With that, an apologetic look and a wave to all assembled, she's out the door and off to verbally bitch-slap somebody somewhere before giving a bit of TLC to some server, somewhere.
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