Lawful Good, Meet Chaotic Good

[Israel Cohen] Friday evening and plans for the night. Plans that involved Solomon and socializing with another and not for reasons of any dire threat, emotional upheaval or imminent-disaster-looming information exchanges [well... maybe a little of the last. that one tends to crop up everywhere].

Will wonders never cease?

She's spent the afternoon cooking after meeting with Caleb and a contractor he trusts implicitly to discuss work in the basement of the house: Specifically the addition of a small heated pool/sauna room for her practice of Bikram yoga and other various 'heated' forms. From a architectural and design discussion to.... well, the cooking of decidedly less than healthful food.

Here is a little known truth: Solomon Ward grew up in the South. The Deep South, at that. And while the man typically balances his diet and abstains from overindulgence in pretty much anything [mostly], he has a continued fondness for the food he was raised on from a young child and into his formative years. Israel doesn't often cook Southern style -- much of it isn's exactly conducive to a wholesome diet or lifestyle what with its love of things deep fried, pan fried, oven fried, lard friend, oil fried, butter fried...
...and pork.
Lots and lots of pork.

Tonight though she's chosen to coax the man into enjoyment of what which he indulges in rarely and hopes that Molly will enjoy the fare as well. So it is that the small home smells of fresh skillet cornbread [she may or may not reveal to Solomon that she snuck in a call to his Aunt Miriam before attempting that one], country-fried steak [her own attempt for healthfulness here was to use pure almond oil, which will lend the meat a very slightly nutty touch], fried okra, chickpeas and string beans [both, thankfully, not fried -- alas, no pork fat either], mashed potatoes and a savory pan gravy with traces of Marsala wine.

When she goes to open the door for Molly, presumably, she is wearing an apron over her comfortable slacks and turtleneck jumper. She's almost barefoot save that there are socks on her feet.
She is not pregnant, so there's that saving grace at least.

[Molly Quincannon] It's warmed up rather a lot the last week or so - or at least, it hasn't reached the horrific sub-zero temperatures it was averaging the previous week or so. This, perhaps surprisingly, is cause for Molly to grumble a bit. There is a particular part of her contribution to the evening meal to which she's been invited (the contribution that she's been practicing ever since she received the invitation) that she would like to keep cold. On the other hand, the other part of it would probably be best served warm, but at least there's an oven for that. There's little way of keeping something from melting and possibly oozing out all over one's bag.

...Unless one cheats. It's not a particularly vulgar thing. They do really good thermal containers and coolers these days.

Molly doesn't mention the apron, but she does look to see if Israel has toe socks. Molly, in fact, has toe socks under her boots, and while she still smells of fabric softener, wood-salt-spice-tobacco perfume and grapefruit shampoo, there's also a scent of solder and ozone underlying the usual. Perhaps she's been working on other projects. Either way, all of that might be drowned out by the scent of still-somewhat-warm peach and cinnamon and vanilla. "Hi, Israel! Oh, wow, that smells awesome. What's the ... sort of vegetable-ish smell? Don't think I recognise it, but it smells ... green, kinda. Hopefully what I brought goes, which reminds me, there really should be a freezer for some of this. I was experimenting and noodling around online and I found an ice cream recipe and home-made ice cream is easier than I thought it was going to be, y'know? Is ... ice cream actually going to be okay for you, with this particular meal? 'Cos there's also peach cobbler. I thought cobbler a la mode ... or not, depending. And I've got something for Atticus also. And Atlas says hi. Anyway! How're you?"

It's around then that Molly finally stops to breathe. She's in a good and cheerful mood for it all, though.

[Israel Cohen] She is, in fact, wearing toe-socks. Toe-socks striped in various shades of soft pink and white that suits the charcoal gray of the slacks and the hushed rose [a feminine colour, certainly, though not girly or garish. Solomon himself wouldn't probably be the first to let her know if the shade was, oh, reminiscent of Pepto Bismol or strippers fare] of her jumper that nicely brings out the green in her eyes. 'Broken' eyes that they are they are still fetching. And at the moment they twinkle with bemusement at Molly's greeting... and more.

"I'm well, haverti," and she pauses to feel for Molly's arm, then use it as a marker for which to find Molly's cheek and then press one of her own to it lightly. Warmly. Then, "Two greens: Okra and green beans. Have you ever had okra? It's not for everyone but it's quite tasty when well seasoned and breaded and lightly fried." Atticus is, by this point, all but wriggling out of his fur waiting for a word of permission to come get his greetings in. The pup is growing rapidly as is the way of giant breeds and it won't be long now before picking him up for a snuggle is decidedly out of the question. Israel waits until she's closing the door after Molly before clicking her tongue and speaking a brief word in Hebrew. At which point the pup trots over but doesn't leap up... Israel was very wisely advised to forbid leaping up on anyone fromt he get go when it comes to a Great Dane.
"Oh, home made ice cream and peach cobbler sound heavenly -- it may even be a dessert Solomon doesn't force himself to refuse," this with a flex of the shallow dimple on her left cheek. "And yes, I can have it so long as there's some time to mark the ending of the meat meal and any dairy after. C'mon, you can put the ice cream in the freezer.. do you need a hand?"

[Solomon Ward] Solomon isn't late, per se. He has been here all along. Just not present. The man is usually up a wide multitude and variety of things. Some of them mundane and perfectly legitimate. Others occult and arcane; occasionally these things are conspiratorial in nature. There is a Chantry to check on, a small (for some, staggering) list of entrepreneurial endeavors to keep track of, eyes-and-ears with which to get a hold of, and at the end of the day one still has to shower and dress appropriately for dinner with guests.

Yes, he dressed for dinner, specifically because some one was coming over.

Not that he is a vain man by any means. It's difficult to be vain when your voice sounds like a light rock grinder in the distance, one's face is partially burned-and-healed by God knows what causes that sort of layering damage pattern, and parts of one's left ear are missing. He is a man of manners and habit and propriety, and such being the case it calls for a certain dress code; regardless of wether others notice or follow it, which he does not expect them to nor judge.

Shirt crisp and white and clean and starched. A vest that was, surprisingly, red; though so deeply red it only showed as other than black in the right lighting. Black slacks, shoes, belt hidden by he dinner coat..which was also black. At least his tie, a black and deep red checker pattern, broke the monotony some what.

He is, apparently, experimenting with colors. Sort of.

Like Molly he carries around his own plume of scents. The smell of plain white dial soap and fresh water. Old Spice and Aqua Velva (yes...apparently people still wear this... Old people, but all the same.) Fresh linen and iron-starch. No vanilla laden pipe smoke. Not yet, as it's too soon after wards.

"Some one mentioned cobbler?", piqued in curiosity that is a touch more expressive than most people usually see, but as per Israel's meal plan it is a deeply Southern, and deeply Georgian, dish. Something the near ascetic remembers well and fondly from growing up outside just hours from Atlanta in a Plantation style house.

His smile is some what ruined by the burns that pull at the edge of his lips and one eye on the left side of the face, though it is genuinely. Never mind the man can't shake off the look as though violence will always be an imminent thing if he saw it necessary. It's writ into skin and soul and can't be avoided.

The smile is genuine, and the words that follow are only some what serious. Mostly sarcastic humor, a touch of 'Lord please don't be true' thrown in for good measure.

"Chicken Fried Steak" only Northerners call it 'country fried' " Okra, and peach cobbler. Is there bad news you two are trying to soften me for?"

[Molly Quincannon] Molly (who has also sort of dressed for dinner - corduroys and a green velvet blazer over a white shirt. And a bow tie with 1-Up mushrooms on it, because she is still Molly) beams, and there's delight in her voice when she says, "I have, but it's been aaaaaaaaages. I spent a couple of years trawling across the Southern states and I went for the okra a lot. I use it in gumbo, sometimes." Her bag is set down for a second and, while Atticus might be too big to pick up and snuggle soon, Molly intends to take advantage of the fact that he's still small enough for such now. "Hey, Atticus. I brought you something that might be more fun to chew than Solomon's slippers!" After the snuggle, she puts him down and rummages in the bag. Out comes ... well, it's green. And vaguely teddy-bear-shaped. Its little face has big cute red eyes and nubs for tentacles. "It's a My First Cthulu," she says, now sounding a little sheepish in that 'you're going to laugh at me but I think it's cute and fitting' kind of way. "I figure that if he's going to chew on anything, it ought to be a Great Old One. Not dead, just nommed."

Then she looks up at Solomon and grins - pleased and a little mischievous. In addition to the change in wardrobe, she's also had a serious change of hairstyle. As in, it is the off-brown he may recall from their last meet-up, but it is now fairly long, and tied up in a braid that reaches to her shoulder blades. "Hee. Gastronomic serendipity, maybe," she tells him. "Israel's noms of awesome, peach cobbler, and ... honey-and-whiskey ice cream. I thought it'd go well, but didn't realise just how well. How's things, Solomon?"

[Israel Cohen] In hearing the pleased curiosity in Solomon's voice at the mention of cobbler [looks like she had that one right] and the smile in his words [graveled as his voice is from damage to the throat, she can still tell when he is smiling, still hear how it brightens and opens his tone, relatively] her own smile broadens... anything that sets the man into a good mood is obviously fine in her book. At his last statement she chuckles lowly, mixed faintly with a snort. "For once, Sol, this is not - in fact - a trap."

The man is notorious [infamous?] for having a nose for a trap. Then again, he's also often cynical, somewhat pessimistic and paranoid as hell: He sees a 'trap' almost everywhere and anywhere, really.

Then she's hearing Molly introduce Atticus to a chewable Cthulhu doll and her left ear inclines that way with arched eyebrows and a small burst of laughter, "Goodness, Molly, have you joined leagues with Solomon and Nate behind my back to make my poor pup an attack dog?" The words are light: She is chiefly amused by the toy.

Atticus is slobber-gnawing it with ready glee with little grunts and play-growls and a steadily wagging tail. There is no need to wonder at whether or not he likes the gift.

"Honey-and-whiskey ice cream?" Israel's own curiosity is piqued here. It is not a combination she'd ever heard of or would have thought of but she licks her lips absently, merging the flavour possibilities in my mind and seeming - from expression - to be looking forward to the actual taste test. A beat then and, in a stage-whisper to Molly, "Now I kind of wish this meal had coincided with something I needed to soften him up for."

She winks: And this is another truth -- Israel Cohen never was capable of winking. Whether by genetic fluke or never nailing it with practice she just never managed to master the art of closing one eye but not the other. So her 'wink' is really more like a slightly addlepated blink, complete with a bare wriggle of her nose.

"Dinner is all set and on the table, I just need to manage to get this apron untied... I tied it with wet hands, it's all knotted up." Which is where her hands go once she and Molly are joining Sol in the split-level living space and kitchen area and she's put down any items Molly needed help with, her face scrunching with concentration while she wrestles with said damp apron ties.

[Solomon Ward] Honey and Whiskey? What the hell... don't get the man wrong, these are two of his favorite flavors but... in an ice cream? Where do people come up with this? What ever happened to vanilla? Still, one doesn't show ungratefulness towards the efforts of others, and the man is reasonably willing to try anything once.. . even if it is a weird and seemingly new age french cooking monstrosity.

At the sight of the 'My First Chtulu' the man merely blinks for a moment before scrunching his nose and lips up in a momentary expression of distaste. He is... not angry, or even displeased really. Not even with Molly.

The man simply has an aversion to any thing that ... looks.. like that.

He's killed ... things... that looked like that. Just not all cute plushy doggy toy things. Things with... well, it's dinner time and best left unsubscribed and un-thought of.

"Good, for the most part" still eying the dog toy warily as he adjusts his coats and checks the buttons, one of the them casually unbuttoned habitually. Not out of slovenliness or comfort, but because it's easier to reach into ones coat that way. He almost doesn't consciously consider the handle of whats holstered under there.

"Some strange news, but nothing earth shattering... They... they really make toys of these things?"

[Molly Quincannon] "...So glad I didn't get you the slippers for Yule." That's Molly's response to Solomon's question as she wrangles ice cream into the freezer. And that's her only response to Solomon's question about the plush-toy. "Cthulu Slippers" get scratched comprehensively off the 'gifts for Solomon' list.

(Even if she does still sort of think it'd be worth it for the look on his face.)

"Anyway, no, I'm not in league with anyone." This to Israel, amused. "I just figured if it was something he might want dead, he'd chew it in favour of anything else, including Solomon's slippers. I mean, it'd be great if he could defend the household, but I'm not thinking to paint him with kaddis and use him as a mabari..." She stops for a second and translates Molly-ese to English. "War dog, I mean. Just giving him something fun to chew."

When things are a little more settled (and Israel is out of her apron), Molly finally gets around to indulging her curiosity about what might have been a throwaway remark. "Oh? What kind of strange news?" Then she frowns. "Wonder if it's anything like I got through email the other day."

[Israel Cohen] Anyone who has seen the man and the blind woman interact together is probably unsurprised by the quiet, uncanny manner with which they are aware of one another. Take cues from each other. And Molly had better reason than most to now have a more acute understanding of just why that is. Most would attribute it to long years spent together; the mannerisms of couples with a good deal of history. Molly knows - very well now - that their very Patterns are interwoven on some level.
...Solomon is unconsciously touching something under his jacket. Israel - blind Israel - stops worrying her apron ties and steps in closer to him, a hand alighting softly on his forearm. No words. No overt stopping gestures - her tough is feather light, distinctly warm. She doesn't seem alarm: She's doesn't think he'll actually draw the weapon she knows is there, no. The gesture is quietly comforting...

...and then distracting. "Help me untie this, will you, Sol?" Softly as she turns so he can tackle the apron and hopefully forget about how the dog toy - what it represents - unnerves him slightly.

To Molly - or in her directly, at least - she smiles warmly and shakes her head. "Oh, Atticus has learned his lesson regarding slippers. He and Solomon have become fast friends... I dare say the sweet pup gets more daily compliments and endearments than I do." Oh, no, she has not forgotten Solomon coming in one night and greeting Atticus with 'Hullo, Beautiful' and other such sweetness and she herself with a kiss to the forehead and an afterthought.

Once the apron ties have been handled she moves to the table and, "Sol, will you bring the sweet tea? There's wine and such, too, if either of you would rather." This spoken lightly to get them to the table and dinner but not impede Molly's last question and statement... of which she is very curious, yes, but doesn't push, letting the conversation run a natural course.

[Solomon Ward] "Christmas" he corrects Molly unconsciously. Yes yes, for it can be said that Christmas, beyond the actual Mass that celebrates the 'supposed' birthday of the Christ, every thing else... tree, gifts, et cetera, spring from pagan origins. Never mind that. This is America, a country founded on a religious freedom for all... he didn't disagree there. But it was Christmas, God damn it. No one celebrates yule in this country unless... and he's going on a tangent.

Israel touches his arm and asks for his help. A glance down at the damp strings and the complications they have causes and one hand lowers to pinch a string end and give it a sharp jerk. A momentary resistance is there, tugging the apron softly, before it slides out and unties completely.

"And of course," to Israel, moving to get the glass pitcher of tea out of the refrigerator as he speaks.
"I know a Detective for one of the precincts pretty well. Goes to the Basilica that I..attend. He mentioned a few things. How an arms dealer was killed. The details of that can wait until after dinner. Nothing horrible, but still. Also there was a case of a kid, on two recordings, doing some sort of far-stride at a party. He vanished and reappeared in front of a dozen witnesses and on two cameras."

[Molly Quincannon] "Okay, since I'm talking about it in conjunction with you, Christmas it is." It's a concession, but also a subtle reminder that ... hey, dude, we don't all celebrate the birth of Christ. Molly has a sudden sneaking suspicion about the identity of the Sharpie-wielding wrapping-paper-bandit over the holidays, and it's an effort not to laugh. She expends it gladly, and only a twinkle in her eyes gives it away.

Israel's offer of wine gets a smile and a "No thanks; tea's lovely. I'm driving. Well. Boating. You know what I mean." While her car has been deTARDISed, she's still a little edgy about taking it out, and will likely leave it for a little while yet, to give people a chance to only let people remember the TARDIS bits and less the 1962 Beetle bits. She doesn't comment on endearments or lack thereof, except to say, "At least he doesn't actively tell you that you look horrible." There's wry there, and maybe a little bit of hurt, but ... well, Nathan was mostly joking around. (That's part of the problem, maybe.)

Solomon's overview of his bizarre news gets a frown. "This kid - red hair? I mean, really, really red hair? About ten years old?" She'll get to why she's asking, obviously, but questions come first. Plus it'll give her time to work out how she's going to explain her relationship with her source. She did promise she'd explain about a certain name she used once. And she will. It's just hard when you're trying to explain it to two people who embody various degrees of Lawful Good.

[Israel Cohen] At least he doesn't actively tell you that you look horrible. The words themselves might not have drawn more than a flash of a half-grin and a conceding nod... except for the tone of it. The touch of hurt. That causes Israel to pause mid-way to gesturing at the small table for Molly to take a seat [gesturing with generalities of course] and furrows her brow slightly, with concern common to a woman like Israel who thinks someone might have hurt a good friend.

Given the rest of the conversation going on, Israel chooses not to ask after it. Not here and now at least.

She doesn't seem surprised by what Solomon says so very likely she's heard of it already. But when Molly asks if the kid had red hair her head cants, interest further piqued but with a mannerism that would suggest there was probably no mention of a redhead in what Sol told her. Either way she lets him respond and applies herself instead to quietly reaching out to touch various stoneware bowls with covers, unobtrusively identifying what they hold and urging them to dig in. Before she looks to serve herself she takes a moment to briefly close her eyes, murmuring under her breath - a Blessing before the dinner that Molly - and certainly Solomon - has seen her do before any meal.

[Solomon Ward] "Good, we're agreed" almost annoyingly chipper about the Christmas topic. As to subtle reminders, alas, they go lost on Solomon Ward. While capable of reading into a bulk of them, his stance has been set. He does not care.

"No, he was black. Older. High school, maybe a college freshman." Canting his head slightly, a moment of perplexity while he muses out the idea of two very similar things happening to two different people. Solomon does not believe in coincidence, even if he is not a believer in coincidental magic and arcane effects. There is simply.. convergence, so to speak. Like draws to like, despite the odds of it happening in the 'real' world. Their world is, after all, very real.

All of this as he pour cups of tea and takes a seat at the table. Who ever told Molly she was horrible looking ... well, she wasn't. Granted she was a strange bird and not at all his type, if he could be said to have such, but the nuances of what had occurred flew over his head.

"There was also a death. Self inflicted," a momentary pause. being Catholic, one can imagine his view of such a thing, "I don't know who she was or what led to it, but apparently some thing was removed from her body and treated as a bio-hazard. It was shipped off by people that use three letter acronyms as bureau titles. A very strange week," quoting Penland,

[Molly Quincannon] "They took it from around her neck, the thing that went into a biohazard bag and handed over to ... yeah, right, TLAs my ass. That's where it started, maybe." After taking a sip of tea and a split-second's memory retrieval, she goes on in tones reserved for those quoting TV shows verbatim. "Days of the heart are hardest for those of the broken. That's what they'll say. Watch for the girl: She'll fall from the sky. They'll say she leaped: But it was the thing on her neck that killed her because she traveled between worlds without a map or a reason."

Then she shakes her head and adds, "I can show you the video if you want; I downloaded a copy in case it vanishes, but if people are being deliberately overt about this kind of thing, it won't be them taking it down, I guess. The boy I mentioned? He was recorded as saying that on the twelfth. I'm trying to track down the boy, and the source of the video. An older woman was there doing the filming, but voice recognition isn't as easy as faces, and even that's going to be a pain. Anything else you want me to look into while I'm at it?" Really, it's an invitation for both Israel and Solomon to tell her to exercise caution, or to ask her any other questions.

[Israel Cohen] The mention of the suicide does not surprise Israel: Again, it comes as no surprise that Solomon already recounted what he'd heard to her. Irregardless it momentarily heightens the sense of Sorrow in her and she pauses briefly in serving herself of the meal, eyes going half lidded. Suicide is a sad thing, to her. When Molly speaks up, the blind eyes are open again and she listens while her lips begin to press slightly. A pensive expression and maybe one with a touch of apprehension.

Convergence, indeed.
Never a quiet month in Chicago, no sir!

"...odd. It seems like these occurrences certainly have a, ah, 'supernatural' bent to them. One might even be able to peg Sphere's to them: Forces," the dead arms dealer, "Correspondence," the vanishing-act teenager. "...Time?" the red haired boy who speaks prophesy? She shivers slightly but goes on pensively while cutting up her piece of chicken fried steak, "And yet they seem to be flaunting what they can do heedlessly... like maybe they want to be noticed?"

Stopping to chew the moist, rich tasting morsel; swallow, lick her lips slightly, "How long has the video been 'out there' and who has seen it that you know of? Remember while you're tracking that someone else might be doing the same; someone you wouldn't want to encounter along the way... other than that if you find the boy and it is safe to speak to him and you want some help, let us know." Yes, she advises caution.. but she doesn't dictate it or try to tell Molly how she should go about things. If few others have, Israel at least as seen and acknowledges that Molly is making strides where it comes to being careful.

[Solomon Ward] "Where it started is where it is... after all, officially speaking, the Conventions don't exist. They are heavily embedded in real agencies. A fed can be a New World Order pawn for a decade and never realize he has benefactors to his career and clearances higher than personal merit."

Not that he was attempting to argue with her. The tone may have had some thing to do with language at the dinner table, however. "Any idea where it may be now? And how did you hear of this?"

Not that the man claims a monopoly on keeping eyes open in the city. He is curious about how they both heard of the same odd occurrence how ever. "But yes, I'd like to see the video some time"

Then to Israel as he to the time to cut up his food. Th man cuts it all, every piece, prior to even starting to eat. "Perhaps. I wouldn't even rule it out, but it's too early to tell. Many a creature in this world does unusual things with out it having a definitive title, like spheres to it. If, IF it is related to magic as we know it, each case is a very singular example of it though. No complexity to interweaving the various theories for more complex spells, as it were."

[Molly Quincannon] After swallowing a bit of her okra, Molly nods with a noise of assent - she's taken to making that sort of affirmative 'hmm' noise when she nods, at least around Israel, who she knows couldn't see such a nod. "Supernatural and then some. Sounds like the girl was taking Umbral jaunts, so add Spirit to that list. I don't know what the thing she was wearing on her neck was, but I know the area and I was thinking, after maybe giving a scan of the area to make sure no one else is tracking - bastards know what I can do, and seem to be taking steps to screw my rewind act over; it's a real pain, y'know - anyway, maybe I could get a look at what she was wearing. Might give us a clue. Now, I don't relish the idea of watching someone splat, but ... sounds like a thing we need to know about. 'Cos it doesn't sound like the simple suicide people are trying to paint it, to me. I'd rather it not happen to anyone else." Then she gives a little huff-sigh that generally goes with an 'I-know-I'm-terrible-I'm-sorry' smile. "Anyway, far as I know, the vid went up the day it was recorded. I can check the IP addresses of the people who've streamed it since it went up. Don't think that'd narrow it down - it was pretty public."

Solomon's questions converge with some of Israel's, so she addresses the whole thing in bulk. "I heard about it through a ... well, I guess you could say 'friend' of mine. I mean, we've never met, she's never seen me and she doesn't know who I am, exactly, but..." This is the difficult part - it's not that she thinks that Israel and Solomon are Luddites, but she does know how complex and bizarre internet friendships, particularly those in the hacker community, tend to get. "Okay, she knows me the way Ben did - as Maudlin. But without the facetime. It's ... a hacker thing. Nobody much knows Molly Quincannon, but the Mad Maudlin has ... a rep." Embarrassed pride there. "'Course, everyone thinks that the Mad Maudlin's a guy, but no one knows their Irish folk ballads and sexist pigism reigns in cyberspace. It works to my advantage, at least. Anyway, point is that if I need something - a bit of information that you wouldn't ordinarily get except through a media source, or something fudged or fiddled to do with a story that ... y'know, could be used to hurt us if we don't get to the media before the Mirrorshades do? I go to her. And we're ... friends. She sends me links. She knows the Maudlin likes the weird. I send her anything and everything. This time, I distracted her with a hiccupping porcupine. It's a thing."

[Israel Cohen] Now, I don't relish the idea of watching someone splat...
That makes Israel wince: But Israel is a soft sort, to say the least. There's no accompanying scowl for how Molly phrased it, no echo of displeasure of censure as Solomon often radiates. She has no 'beef' with how people phrase things, but it sometimes strikes a chord in her and the key is Lamentations.
A sorrowful woman in a sad world who wishes for [and hopes and holds faith of] better things to come. Reason and Truth and Better out of the dark and seedy and tainted.

"Maybe not suicide, no. Though if she... 'crossed over' with something from the Shadow attached her it might still have been. She would not be the first to be driven mad by Shadow, especially as it is these days."

There is a reason, after all, that so many Magi just stay the fuck out of the Umbra after 1999 and 2000 and all the fall out and discovers since.

She continues to eat if perhaps with somewhat less gusto [softhearted, delicate thing. often she pushes herself above those weaknesses but they still exist]and listens to Molly explain something of her contact and her 'alter ego' -- a hacker identity. Israel is... well, really not surprised to hear about this. She may have no real skill in that area herself but Molly is clearly tech-savvy and Israel knows many technomancers wield their arts over cyber space and 'virtual' settings. Molly mentions 'Mad Maudlin' and 'Irish folk ballads' and Israel chuckles... and sings. Her voice is nothing for a Grammy or the like, but her pitch is true and her tone closer to alto than the mezzo-soprano of her speaking tone, the airness of her voice giving the tune a not-unappealing ethereal quality.
"For to see Mad Tom of Bedlam,
Ten thousand miles I've traveled.
Mad Maudlin goes on dirty toes,
For to save her shoes from gravel..."

Then... "Hiccuping porcupines?" A blink and a slight boggle.

[Solomon Ward] The nature Molly's acquaintance isn't totally surprising for the man. He isn't totally up to speed on the information age and the way people use it to socialize... after all, he's a big of fan of things like the out doors, and weather, and actually talking to people... but that said he has agents and managers to shell companies, in foreign countries, he has only met on rare occasions and usually after hiring them.

If 'hacking' is any thing like espionage and power brokering, then it makes sense.

"Isn't hacking illegal?" ... it's an honest question. It seems like the thing people pick up before Awakening, but given Molly's attitudes towards things, he can see her as a less than law abiding citizen... still, the question comes out verbally and sadly with little context with which to relate it to.

As if every thing Solomon does is legal, and granted hacking has its place in a world where the Conventions have a greater foot hold... he just doubts every hacker out there is the intellectual freedom fighter they pose as.

[Molly Quincannon] Israel's singing gets a smile and a noise that's less childish glee than something that speaks of a deeper joy. Israel knows the song, and perhaps knows the various other snippets, here and there within the lyrics, that made her choose that as her handle in the first place. She had, after all, picked it on Awakening.

A spirit hot as lightning
Did on my journey guide me...

Solomon gets a raised eyebrow sort of look and she considers answers. "Well, yes. So is illegally dumping waste chemicals into a river that serves as fishing, boating and swimming site for a small midwestern town. So's ducking trading standards, falsifying inspection certificates, bribing officials, and acts that I won't speak of at the dinner table involving underage boys and the occasional sheep - and from senators that stand on family values tickets, too. So's shooting people. And at least half of what we do breaks the laws of physics. Point is, never been caught, and the name's never been traced back to me, and I use my powers for good. It's called 'black-hatting', but eh. Better that than letting nameless faceless--" She stifles herself a little, but there's a fricative noise - whatever word she was going to use there started with F "--scuzzbuckets kill, abuse and/or denigrate people just to line their own pockets."

That's a bit of a gift, that rant, if Israel or Solomon have followed the news in the last nine years or so. Particularly the bit about 'the occasional sheep'. It's certainly a clue to where she's been and what she's done in that time. It's trust. She doesn't tell this sort of thing to just anyone, and that's obvious from her voice and her face.

[Israel Cohen] Solomon asks his query about hacking and if Israel was better able to give people looks then one might best classify the expression that flickers over her face as she turns it towards his direction as... withering. And did they indeed communicate telepathically without need of actually Willing or Weaving or Working their arts the line of it might be along the route of: Don't look now, Mr. Pot, but you're black.

Instead she settles for a little sound in her voice that is close to but not quite a snort and turns her attention back to Molly. And yes there's a flicker here or there of surprised recognition as she pieces some of the words to some events she's heard of... and a quirk of her lips when Molly stops herself from swearing as she always finds that amusing, if in a very sweet way. And then, "I certainly have no qualms with it, illegal or not, so long as you ascribe yourself to certain ethical boundaries. In which case it is really no different than using Neshamah or any other number of our Arts, is it? A different medium. I would not use my abilities with Mind to just pull out secrets from someone without permission unless it was clear that 'asking' wasn't really a choice. It is a distinction we all have to make in some form or another... beyond that.. we all get up to illegal actions, Solomon. I have known very few Magi to be law abiding citizens. How can we be when the laws themselves - and those who make and enforce them - are often so deeply infiltrated and manipulated by our worst enemies?" she shrugs there and sips her tea... and frowns slightly afterward. "Remind me again why I made this? It's nothing but weak tea, tons of sugar and ice. Would it kill Southerns to toss in some lemon juice at least?"
Yes, there is a teasing tone there. Yes, she is trying to keep the conversation from becoming more argument than discussion. Discussions are fine. Disagreements are fine.
...but so to is her desire for a nice evening with friends.

[Solomon Ward] "Perhaps, though shooting and physics are arguable. Defense of ones self or another, for example. Or the fact physics is nothing more than the measure of man's understanding of Creation. What is and isn't possible changes daily as men with ten pound brains solve, revise, prove, and disprove the math of it. I don't disagree with the rest though."

Just perhaps the means, but it wasn't some thing to argue now. A potential philosophical debate, perhaps; the use illegal means for solving other illegal things.

He was, obviously, a very big man on law and order. That said he was also big on playing loopholes ad kinks as opposed to out right violations of such. The letter of the law, as some might quote.

Israel gave him a look. He tsked back.
Jew Law. Learn it, Love it.

[Molly Quincannon] "Just because we can justify it doesn't mean it's not illegal," is Molly's good-natured reply. "Self-defence, with the wrong jury, will still sometimes get a person manslaughter charges. But you're probably the first person I've ever met who might actually agree with me that the so-called 'laws' of physics are ... kind of like the Pirate's Code - more like ... guidelines." It's a fairly good Barbossa impression, as it goes, even if neither person at table might even recognise what she's quoting. "I had a conversation with Nathan earlier this week and I ended up having to explain that, once you get into the really nitty-gritty quantum stuff that few people without letters after their name even think about, let alone get? Really all science seems to do lately is prove how nothing's actually impossible. Sort of an 'all the myths are true' thing. And neither of you know Abney Park. Bum."

Then she shrugs. "Anyway, fact is that if I didn't have the skills I do, I wouldn't be half the help I am, have been ... can be. It's not exactly legal to shut down someone's mundane security system and spoof-call cops to get them out of an area when we need privacy, either, but ... sometimes it's necessary. So there you go." Solomon can disagree with it all he likes, but Molly believes in what she does - in what she has done - and it's not even so much the ends justifying the means to her as using what tools are at hand and not letting the laws that are meant to protect the innocent serve to shelter the guilty. (Lawful Good, meet Chaotic Good. Shake hands, make nice.)

Then she addresses Israel's comment, her desire to change the subject. "Some people I hung out with for awhile put in sprigs of fresh mint. Kind of like you would in a julep or something. That might help. I like it, though. More refreshing on a hot summer day, though, I guess."

[Israel Cohen] "The laws of science are much akin to the laws of Religion, ultimately: Both are comprised of mankind's interpretation of the Cosmos, the Divine. As such it is limited... but just the same the act of searching for truths and divinity are in and of themselves rife with possibilities." Such is Israel's addition... that and to quirk an eyebrow and ask, "Abney Park? I know of grounds in England of that name..." somehow, though, she doesn't think that is what Molly means.

Then Molly goes on, referencing some of the things she's done here in the city to be of aid and Israel's smile is broader now - not a grin but some teeth are shown - as she reaches out a foot to find and nudge at Solomon's ankle just slightly. Take that.

"Mmm, I've had it with mint, yes, but still..." And then, in what might seem like a question to come out of the blue, "What do the two of you think about Enchanting a room in the Chantry so that it can serve as a safe - or, well, safer - place to practice the practical application of our Spheres? I'm sorry, that may seem to come out of nowhere but the Guardians actually do a fair amount of regular sparring to keep our skills sharp and it occurs to me that others could use the same in any number of ways. Helped along by discussion of our 'outsiders' perspective of things like the Laws of Physics... since Forces is perhaps one of the trickiest to safely practice."

[Solomon Ward] Israel received a momentary nudge back. Not quite a kick, nothing stinging.
Didn't prove any thing did it?
After all, it could have been done other ways... which was not to say he was ungrateful. hardly. It was an intellectual conversation, but raw forces could have achieved what the hacking did. Hence his rebuttal kick to her foot.

Also, he's wearing shoes.
That'll teach her.

"You made it because it fits the meal? And some do add lemon. They're just strange" chuckling to Israel before she put forward a more serious question regarding the idea of a practice room.
"I'd be less adverse to it if the Chantry was more cohesive. As it is it is a bunch of half-assed cabals claiming membership with rampant failures in communication and the eternal blame game being passed around. Security potentials, of which there are few, aside... my only concern is that some one attempt to use it as a matter of settling grievance or claiming grievance."

[Molly Quincannon] Molly's response to Israel's suggestion is a 'squee' of generalised delight. "You want to build a Danger Room! Um ... X-Men reference; never mind. I have wanted to do that kind of thing forever!" To Solomon's objections, she gives a thoughtful sort of frown and says, "Well, it's something to think on. Maybe if people started learning to work together in there, they'd be more likely to work together out in the field. And if people use it to settle grievances ... maybe that'd be better than letting things fester. I dunno. Anyway, it's an idea to ponder, and I bet Atlas would love to take part too. Hey, even pooling our metaphysical resources to actually put the thing together would give us some common ground to work on, maybe. Teamwork helps clear the air sometimes, I think."

From there, though, perhaps conversation turns a little less likely to lead to the more heated sorts of debate. There is a gleeful Molly when she finds out that Israel has, indeed, heard of the Danger Room, and then she explains as best she can the concept of Steampunk, and Abney Park as part of its musical movement. She asks what Solomon and Israel have been up to lately, because she's obviously curious, and thus goes dinner. There is peach cobbler (which, given nearly a week of practice, turned out quite well) and honey-and-whiskey ice cream (whatever Solomon thinks of the 'French faffery', it at least tastes nice), and it's predominantly a nice social occasion.

She leaves the leftovers of the cobbler and ice cream for Israel and Solomon when she takes her leave, along with a burned copy of the video that her contact at the Tribune sent her way - three cheers for the laptop she never leaves home without. Then, after many pettings for Atticus, she heads out with many thanks for the invitation and a promise to reciprocate aboard the Lafette sometime.