The Ex-Girlfriends' Club

[Emily Littleton] [An: Dex+Ath! Go go go]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 6, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Emily Littleton] [Emily: Dex + Ath! No you don't!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 5, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Emily Littleton] Emily's flat is warm. It is comfortable. Despite the broad expanses of wood floor, there was not chill to bite into toes so long as visitors wore their socks. She kept it comfortable because she had a kitten to mind, and that was an excuse to keep the hearth burning when she was home. An was less likely to traipse through the soot and leave black paw prints everywhere if the fireplace was ablaze.

They were learning to cohabitate. Just now, An was busily stalking the trailing end of Emily's scarf, where it hung out of Owen's rocking chair. The little fringe swayed just slightly on the air currents in the flat, making it seem a worthy quarry. And whenever she batted and her claws caught, it pulled the rocking chair into a back and forth sway. The kitten leaped back, surprised at her prey's agility--The throw pillow had never fought back so dancingly!--and rounded the couch to stalk-peer-observe from a safe distance.

From Emily's vantagepoint, the rocking chair started oscillating all on its own. There was a quiet scurry of paws on hard floor, and then the chair wound down to almost a standstill before it all began again. She shook her head, chuckled, and was patiently amused.

When Molly arrived, the knock startled An into a new stance of watchfulness. She climbed up on the couch and peeked over its back cushions, then scaled higher until she was standing on the back itself. Tall as tall could be. When the door opens, she charges! The kitten is fast, just a little too fast for Emily. She slips past the Singer's best grab for her and twines between Molly's legs purring resonantly and happily. Big blue eyes look up, up, up at the Cultist.

Emily shakes her head.

"C'mon in."

[Molly Quincannon] Molly's got ferrets. One of these ferrets is a total spaz. Thus, An's sudden arrival and purr-twining gets giggles, and Molly gives Em a smile - tired, a little rueful, but neither of those things are directed at Emily, per se; for Emily, there's warmth threaded through the whole thing - as she scoops up the kitten and to allow her to take up a position on her back and shoulder as she removes her boots. "Thanks. I see someone hasn't forgotten me. Hi, Em and An. Or maybe An and Em? Both of you, anyway."

Then she straightens, transferring An from shoulder to arm as her boots are off and her hands are free. "How're you doing?" It's a question of many layers, that one - the surface is Molly's usual curiosity, but ... well, Ashley said she'd tell Emily about Molly's recent info-bomb. Ashley isn't the sort to waste time when threats to the Chantry might be involved. And there was the text message. Still, sometimes it's nice to have a quiet lead-in to these things. So says someone who hacks databases (though not the Technocracy, oddly enough) for shits and giggles.

[Emily Littleton] The kitten has no concept of holding still just now. Molly picks her up, and she wiggles and wanders and scales the Cultist like a climbing structure, happily purring all the while. She's thrilled, you see, to have people back. Chuck was supposed to make sure the kitten didn't expire while Em was gone, but he wasn't really a pet person. An had been like this since Emily got back, save for when she was curled up in the rocking chair asleep, guarding it, lest Emily follow through on her unspoken threat to give the chair away.

"I was home for a week, for a Christening. It was a nice break. I had a really good time," she says, and there's warmth underlying that response that's only slightly broken by the topic they both know is going to break soon enough.

"Do you want some tea? I've got a licorice ginger black already made up, but I can put together something else if you like."

There are customs to keep, if only obliquely, and Emily sees to them before they dive into the meat of her message.

"Or chicken stew? I made some yesterday. It's Ashley-approved." She smirks.

[Molly Quincannon] The clambering of the kitten just gets more giggles (see the previous about ferrets; there are days when Neal and Hardison use her as a climbing frame, getting all her tickly spots and sometimes ending up tucked into a shirt sleeve), but eventually, after giving the kitten a few pettings and ear-and-neck scritches, she puts An down and wanders in after Emily. Her eyebrows go up with interest about liquorice ginger black tea - "Something I have never tried, and so it must be tried. Thanks. And of course anything you make is Ashley-approved; I strive to be as awesome as you are in the kitchen. Everything I make is edible and usually even tasty - like I said about black forest cake--" She pats her messenger bag for emphasis "--but you even make it look good. I'm in constant awe. All that to say, yes, that sounds awesome. Besides chicken and veggies and stuff, I hope you'll tell me what's in it. I like to expand my repertoire."

Then, about the christening, "Oh, cool! Glad you had a good time. How'd you find the airport security? The buzz about the TSA people getting handsy on the enhanced pat-downs and insulting and harrassment-ish about the X-ray machines is unbelievable! I haven't had the chance to ask anyone who's been through it - not first-hand, anyway."

Yes, she knows that there are things to discuss, but her curiosity is piqued in all manner of directions just now. The questions come fast mainly because of that Frantic nature about her; she wants answers to sate her curiosity about the little matters as fast as she can get them, before they are overridden by anything serious.

[Emily Littleton] "I'll jot you down some notes," she says, to the recipe. "But stew's pretty forgiving. Some veggies, some meat, some broth, and a whole lot of time. Pretty much anything'll come together right if you're patient enough."

She brings Molly some tea, first, and then sets some of the soup on the stove to reheat. Emily doesn't have a microwave, and doesn't seem to miss it much. At home there is the Aga, which is always on, and always warm. She'd spent her mornings cuddled around it, waiting until her coffee water and hands thawed out. Kitchen towels hung on the Aga's doors were always warm. If she ever settled down enough to have a house of her own, she'd have to see about getting one imported.

On airport security then: "Ah, I don't really worry about it much. I have a trusted traveler card--preferred traveler? I don't even remember what it's called anymore--for getting through customs, and customs has always been more strict than than the TSA." She says this like airport security was the least of her worries on a quick jaunt between the UK and the US. And, in truth, it was. There were many other countries that had heavy firearms at border checkpoints, who observed your every move with one hand on a machine gun and trained military personnel at every imaginable exit.

Emily thought this Fourth Amendment fuss was overmuch whinging. She also thought it was highly inappropriate for anyone to pat her down without permission. Being a diplomat's daughter gave her the social toolbox for navigating these indignities with grace. Being a young twenty-something gave her all the motivation in the world to make a stink. Thankfully being a mage tipped the balance toward discretion, again, and she was polite and unaffected by the security milieu.

"I don't think it's as big a deal as people make it out to be. Most of the people complaining don't travel often, and the people who travel often are already used to inconvenience, brusque officials, and long, long lines."

[Molly Quincannon] Molly considers what's said about patience and smiles a little - wry and self-teasing. Patience is not, after all, the first adjective most would use to describe her. Not that she's entirely without it, but other adjectives apply first and foremost, and they seem to counteract 'patience' as a virtue.

The bit about the TSA gets a bit of a snort. "Eh, could be. I've never actually been on a plane, so I guess I wouldn't be used to it at all. I'll have to give it a try sometime and see how it goes, and how much I ought to protest the whole mess. I always figured that just letting that kind of thing go while saying 'it's not a big deal' and 'if you've got nothing to hide, you've got nothing to fear' and brushing aside the indignities that claim to be offering safety while really just curtailing liberty is just off, y'know? It's a bit why my bunch say that actually, apathy won the Ascension War, rather than either side."

Which, of course, opens The Subject. And, based on the text message she got, there's really only one not-quite-a-question. "You and Ashley talked."

[Emily Littleton] "I rather think it's like going to the DMV and expecting not to wait in lines, the idea that air travel between nations is going to be any less regulated and invasive than the Visa processing paperwork is a fool's errand, to me." She shrugs. Emily can't speak to flying within US borders. She's considered a foreign national almost every time she flies. There's passports and visas and all manner of things to check. Since she was a young child, she'd been required to present her Papers whenever she traveled.

Freedom of movement isn't something she expects. Emily, for all her father's heritage is hers, doesn't often think like an American.

"But to each their own. Some will stand and fight, and some will be civilly disobediant and some of us will continue trying to pick the shortest line and praying no one has a stroller in security."

She shrugs. Once Molly's soup is warmed, she pours it into a bowl and brings it to the table. Emily slides into a chair, only slightly favoring one of her legs. It's hardly noticeable, now, that the bruises under her jeans have begun to fade.

"We talked," she confirms. There's a firmity to those words that still sounds a bit like anger, even a day later. "And you and I should. I don't want you to read this as me trying to get between you and Chuck, but there's something you should know about why Chuck and I ultimately split ways. It could affect you too."

She pauses here, and waits on Molly's approval to go ahead.

[Molly Quincannon] [[Perc + Alertness - for my own edification, does Molly notice the leg-favouring?]]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Molly Quincannon] Molly leaves the travel bit alone, as 'each to their own' really sums it up as far as she's concerned. Emily's bliss is not her bliss, Emily's views are not hers, and as long as she's not completely advocating an increase in Orwellian security processes, that's just fine with her. Especially right now. She's had arguments about this sort of thing before, and on top of everything else, one more would probably drain her past her limits.

The slight favouring of one leg gets a bit of a frown, though - if there's one thing Molly recognises well, it's injured people. "You okay?" Not that she could do much about it - no Life magic, no particular skill with first aid, but she does have a few tips and tricks about muscle aches, garnered from trial, error and Google searches when she started martial arts classes. It's mostly just concern, though - she does care, after all.

The bit about that they should talk gets a raised eyebrow - she knows that from the text, but it's the 'what about' that has her curious. As Emily goes on, there's a slightly surprised blink, and then a very weary look. "First of all, don't worry too much about getting between me and Chuck. He's been doing an awesome job of putting himself between us, for various reasons that I'll talk about if you're interested, though they're not really connected to this whole mess. So if you think I need to know, go for it." She looks not nervous but wary and guarded in the way that suggests that she's already preparing her emotional barricades so when the blow hits, she won't just blow up all willy-nilly.

[Emily Littleton] For what it's worth, Emily isn't advocating anything Big Brother is up to, she's just overly cognizant of how criticism sounds when its issued forth in her accent with her general ennui for the woes of the beleaguered travelers. She lacks a requisite nationalism to get all hot and bothered over Constitutional matters. Genuine human rights infractions bother her, but this, in the scope of humanity's ills in other venues, really doesn't get under her skin.

It's a matter of scale. She was a young girl in China during a time when almost all of her peers were boys, because the culture had participated in gender-based genocide with a blind eye cast toward its future viability. She's lived, briefly, in homes without running water. She's help feed children who would likely never have a chance at an education. These things anger her; medical grade x-rays and overly friendly pat downs? The latter comes close to a very bad memory in her life, but she knows that anyone who attempts to actually fondle or rape her in a governmental setting would have the full force of her father's office on their head in hours.

But that? That's all shrouded subtext. That's just the sort of rant and argument they're avoiding just now. Emily doesn't know why her player spent two paragraphs on it, just to get around to:

"I did a little favor for a friend," she says, about the leg. "And our dear friend Paradox reminded me that no good deed goes unpunished." There's a dry mirth to this, good-natured. Emily doesn't mind the bruises, or the sound trouncing Reality had given her, if it means that Nico will heal a little faster.

She exhales though, and places her hands flat on the table. "So, about Chuck." It leads into the conversation, uneasily. Emily hates this part. She doesn't like sharing, to begin with, and there's going to be a lot of sharing for them all to put this particular indiscretion right. Damn him, she mentally shakes a fist in his general direction. And damn Owen for not being around, to do the face punching for Emily.

"Early this year, when Chuck was curious about my International Driver's License, and passport stamps, and mysterious," she waggles her fingers sarcastically, "Past, he convinced himself that it'd be a good idea to go digging for whatever he could find out about me. So, with the help of the Great Google, he amassed pretty much my whole life's documentable history on a thumb drive, and gave it to me like it was a present. Now I don't know if it's his usual modus operandi or if he was actually convince my father's a spy, and thus overly curious, but he might have done the same to you. And if he's been on the radar as long as you've said, and if he's managed to get his system compromised and traced, well then, my friend, we're pretty much fucked."

Emily doesn't usually cuss, but she's not really sure there's another word in the English language that succinctly sums up the situation. So 'fucked' it is.

[Molly Quincannon] Molly was going to offer muscle-and-bruise-easing advice. Really, she was. And she will. However, when Emily speaks about Chuck compiling a dossier on Emily's entire life in one neat little package - and 'took it upon himself' sounds a lot like 'didn't ask permission first' to her, thank you very much - tips on how to deal with aches and pains take a firm backseat. She stares at Emily, and there's no mistaking the look on her face; it's sheer disbelieving horror. "He ... he did what? I ... I mean, I ... when I asked why the travelling, you ... you just told me! I mean, what did he think he was doing? Just... Gah!"

She stands up, then, because that frantic energy is now just a little much to be contained in a chair. She paces up and down a couple of times, five steps per pace, behind the chair she vacated. Her lips are tightly pressed together, and her hands are up at about the level of her shoulders, hooked into a grasping sort of pose as if itching to throttle or claw. She looks, frankly, like she's going to explode.

And then she does. The profanity that ensues is ... 'impressive' is a word. Emily may or may not be familiar with Warren Ellis, but there are a few phrases and concepts thrown in there that stem more or less from that particularly twisted mind, tailored to fit the situation. Something about 'platypus-fisting, goat-blowing hypocrite' pokes out of the effing and blinding. It's not particularly loud, the swearing; there's just a lot of it. It makes her barrage of "Fuckity-fuck-fuck-fuuuuck" when all her stuff got stolen out of the back of her U-Haul look very, very tame.

It stops as abruptly as it started, with a final, "sonuvabitch!", and she drops back into her chair again, taking deep, potentially calming breaths. Then, she says, "Okay. Better. Sort of. Did he give a reason for this blatant invasion of privacy and abuse of trust?"

[Emily Littleton] [WP.Emily!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Emily Littleton] [WP.An!]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Emily Littleton] Emily's cat does not much like this outburst. She had started following Molly through her paces, but breaks away after the profanity and emphatic noise begins. Instead she makes a beeline for her chair, sending it careening into a rocking motion once she alights.

"Some people have issues with boundaries and privacy," Emily says, when Molly asks her how, and why, and what. There's an edge to it. This indiscretion bothers her more than anything the government is doing. "And he thought he was helping."

"I think."

"Maybe."

Then comes the explosion. Emily listens, but doesn't join in. And it goes, for awhile; Molly is a bit more creative with her impolite vocabulary than Emily is, and not for want of practice. Just that she hasn't encountered so very many ways to swear in English.

"My thoughts, exactly," she adds, drolly, to the end of Molly's verbal excess. It's unamused, irritated, and dry. "He thought that pulling it all down to one place, and hiding what he could of out it out there, on the web, would limit my exposure to, well, frankly to people like us. Not that I'm at your level, or Chuck's, but I can hold my own and I know how to find illicit information if needs be. Needs rarely are that dire, though, so I doubt I would have landed on anyone's radar -- beyond possible recruitment due to my projects at University -- without help.

"Now," she says, with a distinctly displeased burr, "I don't know. I was angry, then, because he'd done it all, and because he'd found newspaper microfiche prints from Prague, and it upset me. Now, I'm livid."

Emily says livid in that pristinely perfect Northern accent of hers and it could cut right though glass. She appeared calm and collected though, beyond the clench to her jaw and the way her hands stay flat against the table top.

[Molly Quincannon] Molly sighs and prods at her stew. She's not really that hungry anymore, and goes for the tea instead, taking a sip and taking a moment to savour it - perhaps another aid to calm. Then she takes another deep breath and says, "I don't blame you. Though in all fairness to Chuck, his firewalls are pretty solid. I've seen them tested, and done a bit of testing at his request myself, and I don't think they've wormed their way into his system. I'd be more worried about the leverage they have on him via his family. I mean, I just wonder what he'd give if someone threatened to put a bullet to his sister, parents, nephew..."

So that's one question answered - she's worried about Chuck's family, sure, but she's more worried about how easily they could be used as leverage by someone who wanted more intel on the Chicago magi but didn't necessarily see a need or opportunity to use brute force to get it.

Then she shakes her head. "I don't like this, Emily. Well, obviously," she adds with a bit of a snort, waving a hand to where she had been pacing, and swearing, and generally exploding. "For someone who demands that his boundaries be respected at all times, he sure doesn't have any qualms about busting through other people's, does he? And with that Sword of Damocles he's got hanging over his head... Oh, he thought he was helping; fucking wonderful. When it's safe and convenient and some kind of challenge that he can deal with, he wants to help and tucks information in a nice, neat, easy-to-read bolus of data ... about his girlfriend, no less! I swear if he's racked up a dossier on me I am going to apply a Forces-enhanced steel-toe to portions of his anatomy that I don't think I ever want touching me again. And no," she adds with a small, wan smile, "it's not entirely to do with this. This is just the icing on that particular cake. He's ... said and done a lot that I find ... repugnant. This is just the last damn straw."

[Emily Littleton] [Please, Dice Roller, I'll sacrifice and bunch of code to you if you stop harassing Emily!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 5, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Emily Littleton] "I'm probably not the person you want offering sympathy, just now, but I can listen. And understand. I'm sorry it's gotten to that point between you two," Emily says, and there's an undercurrent of warmth and compassion in her voice that telegraphs clearly, even through the red haze of ire and indignity at the table. She rests her hand, for a moment, on Molly's.

There's a shadow, then, of the Knight she will be that steps forward to guide them past that rough and sometimes awkward place. They both have a lot of emotion in this, but Emily's calm is something Molly can borrow on. And Molly can explode for the both of them. They complement without mirroring.

"Chuck folds when his people are threatened. I like him enough as a friend, and he's a decent cabal-mate," that much is said with open reservation just now; it hardly rings sincere. "The safest thing for us to imagine is that he will cave, if pressure is applied to his family. Or to you, or me. No matter how angry you may be with him, and rightfully so, we're both still leverage over him. Riley would be if he stayed. Family is reserved for the most overt threats, and usually escalation. Harassing one of us, especially if they think we're only Sleepers, would be where I'd start."

She says, so bluntly and easily. Like she'd given it some thought.

"Rough up the college girl with a dark history, get her emotional and off-edge? It's a good introit to less polite negotiations." Her nails click against the table top now. This is something she didn't want to discuss with Ashley, but she and Molly were in a similar boat. They needed each other to be aware of the dangers.

"Not that either of us are push overs or would stand quietly for that sort of business, just that you could stir up quite the hornet's nest with little to no effort along that route. We're all vulnerable, like Ashley said, and we need to get vigilant."

[Molly Quincannon] Molly meets Emily's eyes briefly, when there's the warmth and compassion and the touch of a hand. It's not sympathy she's after, at this point, and her eyes telegraph this. It's more that they need to know exactly the sort of person they're dealing with, particularly given the thing about the circumstances under which Chuck folds. "...Not me. If they threatened me, he would do nothing." She speaks as if she knows, and there's pain in it. She demonstrates how she knows when she goes on: "He ... was very much against the rescue mission at the art gallery. Said he would have waited until all the data was double- and triple-checked. Said it didn't matter how long it took to check to make sure that the plan was infallible and, if possible, involved no contact. No, it did not matter that there were people in there, locked into dead flesh and suffering. Nor did it matter what they were doing to me. What happened to them ... and to me ... did not matter. Or at least, not more than doing things the 'right' way did. So I wouldn't worry about what he'd do if they ever started harrassing me. I'm more worried about what they could get out of me if they ever did. So ... yeah. Caution and vigilance." Not for my sake, is the clear subtext, but for yours. All of yours.

[Emily Littleton] [WP: +1 personal issues, +1 more since I've already rolled a WP check on this matter in the LAST FIVE MINUTES, damnit, Chuck.]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 3, 6, 6, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 8)

[Emily Littleton] "Well, I wouldn't have waited," she says, around her teeth, and the words are a little less forgiving than they might have been. "I still wish the Guardians had given the rest of us more of a heads up, so we could help, but that's neither here nor there. You're back, and they sorted it and Chuck..."

Her mouth purses. Emily has yet to rise to any sort of epithet for him beyond a clenched jaw and the sharpness in her eyes, but it's there. Believe, Molly, the anger and ire is there. It's a good thing that Emily is not a Forces mage. She breathes in the smell of tea and soup, and breathes out fire-laced thoughts that could ignite, mid-air, if they had any sense of self-aware purpose.

"Chuck... has no place even thinking that around you, not after what you've been through." This isn't sympathy, mind. Her fingers still against the table, no more clicking. Her fingers curl into fists, then relax. "What insensitive fuckery was that?"

Emily was very much in the No Man Left Behind camp, when it came to warfare. There were triage decision that could circumvent that but, all things being equal, you saved the friendlies right after the innocents.

"I..."

Her mouth opened, and then closed.

"I have no idea how to trust him, or what I should trust him with, if he truly felt that way about what happened to you. If he's kept this from us both, and Ashley, for this long. She doesn't want to make a Pariah out of him, but he's my cabal-mate. He's my thin red line against Madness, if it comes. Without Owen, Chuck's it, and I don't think that's much support, at all, after this."

[Molly Quincannon] Molly sighs. "I don't want to make a pariah out of him either. That's why that ... 'insensitive fuckery' ... is something that only a few people really know about. Or at least, a part of why." The rest, fairly clearly, is that she stayed with him after all of that. She kept looking for some way to trust. She hates that about herself, a little. "I mean, Israel says that when we make a pariah out of someone, we're doing the Mirrorshades' job for them. You know, with the witch-hunting and something that looks like McCarthy going after Communists in the fifties. Man, McCarthy was a dick. Anyway, point is that I don't want to make him hated, but I sure as hell don't trust his methods most of the time. So on a personal level, I don't know what to do about it. On a magely level ... I leave him out of things. He knows there are Technocrats in the area and he knows I'm poking around but he is distinctly Not Invited to that particular info-gathering party. And before you ask, yes, I'm being careful. I haven't done anything illegal, I haven't hacked anything so I can't be traced that way, and my esoteric next-step is going to be with Ashley masking my resonance, which'll do until I manage to crack doing it myself." She grins a little, mocking herself slightly - at least she's self-aware when it comes to her flaws.

The rest gets a frown. "Cabals are tricky things. I've been taking Henri's shifts at the Chantry for sentry rota as well as my own because every time I bring it up with her, she gives me the finger and says the entire bunch of them can go fuck themselves. Which ... y'know, I did explain to her what being in a cabal means, but she seems to have gone into it just so she can say she's in one or something, I don't know. Point is, though, that there's support outside a cabal, always. I mean, we're not cabalmates, and this whole vent/not-vent thing is support, sort of. And there are other cabals, if it really comes to that. I mean, if the Leaves fell apart tomorrow and you wanted in, Stormwatch'd have you with open arms. Just ... remember that whatever happens, there's always going to be someone to be your line against ... the Madness, okay?"

[Emily Littleton] It's a lot to pull together and process. It's been a big day for Emily, and last night was filled with not a few angry internal rants. Of all the Celestial gifts that might have been visited upon Emily, Temperance was one she had to work at, unceasingly. It wasn't her best quality, but nothing gave her a chance for improvement like challenges.

This was quite the challenge.

"I don't want to ostracize him, but being caballed says that I have a certain implicity or condone his methods, which I don't. There's supposed to be some unity, I would imagine, and with Riley gone that's fallen apart. I study with other mages, I work with other mages, I fight with other mages, and Chuck isn't there. We don't stand together in anything but the Chantry roster these days. It's been a long time coming, but this feels like one hell of a push to disband -- if I could only find Owen for a vote."

No, the last is not self-pity. It is frustration.

Emily waves her hand at the question of whether Molly's being careful or not. "First thing, you wouldn't be this upset with Chuck unless you were being careful. Secondly, I somewhat assume you've gotten a bit more cautious after this summer. Third, if you want help, let me know. I'm not V-dept, but I know my way around the net. I'm a good second string, putting pieces together and refining queries, that sort of thing, but I usually eschew poking around in restricted playgrounds."

The rest gets a frown, indeed. One of sympathy when Henri comes up. "I rather expected Henri to disparage the thought of sentry rota she had to keep herself, not through bots or widgets," Emily sympathizes. "I'm sorry to hear you're picking up her slack."

There was a lot of that that happened quietly in Emily's cabal and Molly's. Good times.

[Molly Quincannon] The bit about Owen gets a slightly worried frown from Molly. Frustration is never a good emotion, and besides, magi going missing never ends well, particularly given the whole Jhor-suspicion thing that got mentioned awhile back. But all the same, all Molly can really say is, "Well, there are two choices about Owen. Either you track him by whatever means necessary just so you know he's not waist-deep in crap and sinking, or ... well, make the decision and if he has a problem with it, tell him he has no right to complain because he wasn't there. Or both, I guess. I suppose I'd want to know where he was just on general principles, things going as they are. Though I guess we know where the road paved with good intentions takes us, with everything that's going on right now. Thing is ... you're the Emissary. At some point, if there's no one else you can trust to give a vote ... I guess you have to man up and make the choice. Not that it's easy; believe me, I know. Nat's spending most of her time bouncing the bedsprings with Lara these days, and Henri's ... well, Henri. It's actually only Atlas these days who's pulling their weight, and they all know about the Technocrat shit. Hell, I'm getting more support out of the apprentice sharing my living space than I am from my actual cabal. We just do with what we've got, I guess." The sympathy gets a smile too. "Thanks, but frankly, if all I have to deal with is a couple of no-shows and a change in setting for the never-ending day job, the study and the teaching - Isabel and Ellie both, some days; man, I hope I'm doing right by them - I think I haven't got a lot to complain about, comparatively."

To the offer of help, Molly smiles. "Oh, I'm not going through the 'Net for this one. But if you're in any way skilled with Time and Entropy, and if Ashley can mask us both - or you can mask yourself - I wouldn't mind a little more push there. Basically, I've been going carefully through what Israel told me about her encounter at the asylum, and I keep hitting dead ends. Bar hacking the DoD, which ... well, I could and I will as a last resort, but I honestly think I'm barking up the wrong tree. So if I want to know what they're up to - and believe me, I do, if for no other reason than to nip this in the bud before they take another shot at Israel, because I will not let her be hunted like this; she's done too much for me to not do everything I can to help - I'm just going to have to scry out the most likely scenario of what they want to do. Hence, Time and Entropy. They didn't used to call my Trad the Seers of Chronos for nothing, y'know." She grins a bit, then shrugs. "If I think it can be risked - and I'll be asking for Ashley's opinion on that one - might even try to find where they've set up their base-op."

[Emily Littleton] "Just rudimentary Entropy, and no Time," she tells Molly, with an apologetic tinge. The anger has bled out of her by now, or at least abated to a reasonable thrum.

It piques a little when Israel's brought up again. "Though you will let me know if there's anything I can do to help," Emily assures Molly. It isn't a question. "I owe Israel too much, myself, to see any harm visited upon her. If you find something we can act upon, count me in."

And that is how it goes, this transition from Apprentice to Knight that is well on its way. Few would mark Emily as militant, but she's had quite that martial year. She gets up from the table to fix herself some tea. It's lukewarm now and needs to be reheated, but she doesn't bother.

"I'll handle the Leaves, somehow. But I wonder if it's worth it. I've Owen's key; I suppose I can leave a message on his fridge if nothing else works." There's a small smile, but it's just for show here. Emily hasn't set foot in his flat since she last saw him. They're... having their differences just now.

[Molly Quincannon] Molly nods and tells her, "I'll get the info, and you'll know everything I do as soon as I can get a report to you and the other cabal spokesbods. Then we can look at our resource pool and decide, together, what we can do with that info." Her mouth twists and purse into a rueful, slightly bitter smile as she adds, "I don't know what our resource pool is going to look like by that time, mind you, but knowing is something." She sighs and shakes her head. "I can teach you Time, if you want. It doesn't seem to be something a lot of the magi around here have, but it's got serious usefulness if you want to find out what happened, or what might. Plus looking a step ahead to see what the guy trying to attack you is going to do so you can not be where the blow's supposed to land is awesome. Mind helps with that, too."

To the bit about the Leaves, and Owen, she tilts her head and looks at Emily for a quiet moment. Emily and Owen; Molly and Chuck. 'Having their differences', even if those differences are ... well, different. "Like I said, only you can make that call. But Ashley said something the other day, about how basically life's too short to go around letting situations that aren't getting any better sit around and be a drain. Either you can fix it or, because of its inherent instability or just a lack of the other parties involved being willing or able to work with you, it can't. Not telling you your business or anything; just a thought. And yeah, I know it's harder than it looks, so I'm not trying to be a hypocrite. Just ... be careful not to let the whole thing drive you bugnuts, I guess is all I'm saying." Whether she's talking about Owen in specific or the Leaves in general ... the world may never know.

Then she eyes her stew and says, "It smells great, but y'know what? I think we both need chocolate. It's not really conventional to have dessert first, but convention be damned; I'm breaking out the black forest cake. Want any?" She's already rummaging in her laptop bag. She certainly intends to have some, at least. "It'll go well with the tea, I think, anyway."

[Emily Littleton] [Sneak!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 2, 4, 7, 7, 8 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Emily Littleton] [Pounce!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 4, 6 (Failure at target 6)

[Molly Quincannon] [[Perc + Alert]]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 4, 8, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Emily Littleton] [Per+Alert: The hell are you up to, cat?]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Emily Littleton] "I'm always interested in learning new things," she tells Molly, and there's nothing facetious to it. Emily woke up with the rudimentary knowledge of three spheres. Since then she's learned three more, and advanced two to Initiate standing. All in the space of a year, almost to date. She is an avid student of magic and other arts. She's busy, very very busy, on an intellectual level. Time might be a dangerous and interesting pursuit for the Singer.

"That is, if you want to add in another student. I'd be happy to teach in return, if there's anything I know that you'd like to learn. I'm not sure how much our headspaces will match up, but we've got some hobbies in common and I can help translate across them, if needs be, when we're talking magic. If nothing else, it could be mind-broadening."

She was cross-training her way through several Traditions. Life from the Verbena. Mind from the child of an Akashic. Time from a Cultist would fit right in.

"Yes, please," she says, about the cake. Soup can be reheated, or forsaken. Chocolate, on the other hand, sounded perfectly divine.

And let us not forget An, little spirit of the hunt, small ruinous doom of all things tapestry or textile. She has been quiet for far too long now. Emily has lost track of the small bundle of tabby, who is slink stealthing her way along the wood floor on her belly to see what this rummaging about in laptop bags might be. Ah! An opportunity!

An pounces, out of nowhere, on an unsuspecting (?) Molly. But, being a kitten, and occasionally devoid of some key spatial reasoning, goes sailing wide of the laptop bag and into the muffled darkness of under the table. Without so much as a mewl or hiss, she rights herself and takes off at a tear for the chair once more.

Foiled.

Harumph.

I think I'll eat this pillow instead. Nom. Nom. Nom.

Emily rolls her eyes at the cat.

[Molly Quincannon] "Oh, I'm working with Isabel on Time right now, and Ellie sits in on lessons sometimes," Molly assures Emily. "One more shouldn't be a hassle, and it's good practice. I'm refining skills like whoa, with all the teaching. And speaking of, anything you've got that I haven't would be awesome; I like new perspectives. Let's see ... I've got an Initiate level grasp of Time, Entropy, Forces and Correspondence, and nearly that in Mind. That and Prime I've only got rudimentary, though, for practical purposes. I think it's going to be Life or Matter next; haven't decided yet. So--"

As it happens, An was probably going for the blue stripey bath towel that is, for whatever reasons Molly has for such a thing, hanging a little ways out of her laptop bag. Maybe Molly noticed just a little, as An came in for the pounce; enough to let her track the progress of the kitten's miss and skid and dash for the chair. She'd looked a bit sad, noticing the towel, but kittens being cute make all things better, so she just gives a quiet chuckle and smile at the cat's antics and sets the Tupperware container of cake on the table as if there hadn't been a feline ballistic missile. Though she does say, as she opens the Tupperware to reveal a battered-looking cake and a nice smell of chocolate and cream, "She meant to miss, of course. Hey, it's like being logged onto I Can Haz Cheezburger twenty-four-seven, am I right?"

[Emily Littleton] "I've got rudimentary grasps of Forces, Correspondence, Mind and Entropy, and Initiate level understandings of Prime and Life. The Verbena that taught me Life is in town, again, and it would amuse him to no end if I were teaching. Much less a Cultist." Molly had met Jarod, so she'd likely get a little kick out of the connection.

"I think she meant to hit you, actually, and she just requires a few more months of calibration to become a proper furry death machine," Emily says, with more than mild amusement touching her voice. She brings them forks and small plates to share out the cake.

"Yeah. She's my very own LOL-Cat." There's affection to that, for all she isn't a pet person. Their talk turns to lighter things, and lessons to learn (in a far more optimistic manner), and cake and tea no doubt. It's a tasty cake, and Emily tells her so. An relents on her antics for awhile, and falls into a twitchy sleep, legs all akimbo and tail switching back and forth to imagined stimuli.