[Emily Littleton] It was still raining, and the moisture turned grit to grime, dust to mud, and strands of Emily's dark hair to clinging tendrils. Her jeans were smudged with the packing dirt from cardboard boxes. She wore a long-sleeved lavender tee under a darker purple tee shirt and her jacket was stashed elsewhere (probably a car someplace). Some place she didn't have to worry about it. A thin silver chain just peeked out above her shirts' neckline, but the locket she wore was tucked under and hidden from view.
Emily moved the lighter boxes, taking them out from the loading space and into the kitchens. She couldn't carry much, but the girl had heart. She also kept tally of what had been received on a worn clipboard. The young woman had a clear voice, and gave simple direct instructions, so she'd been tasked with coordinating these efforts and sending on to other sites what they didn't need.
It was a busy place, thrumming with strange voices and punctuated with the steady fall of rain. When Emily finally caught a break, she could be found sitting on a pallet under a metal overhang, listening to the falling rain and sipping off a half-full water bottle. The clipboard was held loosely, resting against her knee, and for a moment there was nothing going hither or thither.
[Enid Geraint] Enid, who is quietly efficient and not - at the moment, at least - prone to stopping for too much in the way of conversation, was assigned to serving food. There are a lot of people, as is to be expected in difficult economic times, and it was a relief of sorts for the girl who seemed to be getting an awful lot of looks askance. Her jeans are old and naturally worn rather than artfully tonight, and her shirt a long sleeved green one that proclaimed her the captain of a private school track and cross country team in yellow.
Eventually, though, she too needed a break, and stepped outside - out from under the awning briefly, to let some of the rain fall down on her (wetting straight red hair and slender shoulders) before eying the pallet Emily was sitting on.
"Okay if I join you?"
It's a pleasant enough voice, but lacks the strength and clarity that training (or a few more years) would bring. Her eyes, when met, are a warm and rich brown, melting chocolate, and her healthy-pale skin is considerably freckled.
[Emily Littleton] "Be my guest," she said warmly. Emily's about four years older than Emid, works just as hard, seems just as efficient. And Enid reminds Emily a lot of herself, four years younger. As much as a stranger could, after all. A stranger with a life that let her cultivate titles like captiain of a private school track and cross country team.
"Tomorrow's going to be crazy," she said, as much to herself as to the other girl. Emily rolled her shoulders a bit and set the clipboard beside her. There was more than enough room for Enid still. She tipped her head from side to side, making the damp mess of curls that had once been an ordered ponytail sway lazily behind her. This close, Enid could tell that Emily's eyes were actually a profoundly dark shade of blue. From far away they were just "dark."
[Enid Geraint] "Tomorrow, my dad and I are both working," the younger girl says as she sits, her legs automatically pulling up to Indian style (or criss-cross applesauce, as the kids are calling it these days) in front of her. There's a smile, friendly and of the endearingly crooked variety - one that finds perfect in its imperfections. She's had braces, this girl, and they've come off relatively recently - it's made clear in the way she holds her mouth, the way her lips move as she talks.
"Then there's dinner at home. A bunch of his friends come over and they pretend they know what they're talking about when they yell at the game, but really it's just on in the background while they talk about other stuff." She's not complaining in the slightest - in fact, it's spoken with the fond exasperation that goes along with the kind of father-daughter relationship that most people think only exists in fiction. "What're you doing that makes it crazy?"
[Emily Littleton] Emily's old enough to be of the Indian-style generation. The trailing end of it, though, and not yet so old as to remember card catalogues at the library and the smell that accompanied them. Neither of them would remember life before cell phones or email, or all the way back to when pay phones cost a quarter.
"I meant around here. Thanksgiving's pretty crazy at the kitchens. Doesn't seem to matter what city you're in," she added the last with an aire of confidence. She'd seen more than one soup kitchen in more than one neighborhood, possibly on more the one continent ... her voice had that unplaceable lilt to it of someone who was foreign, but not necessarily from any one place.
"It's great that you get so much time with your dad," she said. "Is he around today, too?"
[Enid Geraint] "No, he had a last minute meeting with a student," she says with a roll of her eyes and a tone that says she wishes it hadn't happened that way. "He would have been, otherwise. He'd be the geeky one going on about mythology and Arthur and all that." Again, it's fond exasperation, and it pegs her dad as a teacher somewhere.
"And yeah, it does get crazy; we've worked this one every year since I was old enough. Mom used to help too, but then there were promotions and stuff. She travels a lot." This gets a wrinkled nose and a shrug; Enid's not nearly as close with her mother as her father, tone and expression say, though she's probably still young enough that she wants her mommy more than the average adult would. "She also hates it, being down here. So it's better in the end, I guess."
Enid's accent is all Great Lakes, and more specifically, all Chicago - uptown Chicago, but Chicago none the less. If she's traveled, she's never stayed in one place long enough for its timbre to color her voice.
"What about you? Got any goofy family traditions?" Absently, her hand goes to a little lump under her shirt; her fingers rub at it like a younger child's might at the silky on a favorite blanket, and a gold chain leads down to it.
[Emily Littleton] "My dad travels a lot for work, too," Emily said, casually enough. She shrugged a bit, too. "My mom's with him. I think they're in..." she stopped, and had to think about it for quite awhile, "Taipei?" At least that's where she thought they were, this year.
"We don't really celebrate together, and Thanksgiving's the type of holiday that doesn't happen much overseas. I guess this is my tradition. Coming here and helping out. At least I feel like I get a bit of the holiday spirit in, and it's better than referree-ing squabbles between my flatmates over who gets to watch which game when."
[Enid Geraint] "Ah, yeah. I guess it would be." Then, she seizes on, "They're in Taipei? I'm supposed to spend part of next semester there." It's not quite trailing off, but there's something else that was almost but not quite added there. "But most of it on the mainland. Getting more fluent and all that," she says with a wave of her hand that isn't quite as dismissive as it might seem; she understands the value of such an experience, certainly.
"And we don't celebrate, exactly. I like to cook, so I make whatever I feel like. Dad and the guys eat it, and we all yell at the TV until I get bored and leave them to that and the inevitable poker game," she says with a smirk. "I swear, it's like living with a bunch of college kids. Which I suppose they come by honestly, since that's who they spend a lot of their time with."
[Emily Littleton] "It's nice over there," she said, and there was a wistfulness to her tone for a moment that sounded an awful lot like homesickness. Emily drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around them, stretching out her back.
"I like to cook, too, but have no place to do it. When we had houses, or real flats at the least, I cooked for my parents. Sometimes we had only a microwave, fridge and the bathroom sink and then it was a lot of take-out and reheating. Living with roommates makes it hard to cook up anything more complicated than a quesadilla." Emily chuckled a little.
"Your dad teaches, I'm guessing? Where about?"
[Enid Geraint] "University of Chicago," she says with a grin. "That's where I'm going when I get back from China; their pre-law is best in the state." In theory, anyway, but she doesn't feel any need to go into detail about that. She's in a good mood today, and has been leaning towards thinking maybe it'll all work out for a while now.
She'd noticed the bit of wistfulness, and now asks, "Are you from there, then? We had an exchange student, when I was little. But so far, I've only been for a couple summer vacations."
[Emily Littleton] "I lived there for awhile," she said, not really dodging the question but not entirely sure how to answer it either. "We moved around a lot. I've lived in Chicago longer than anywhere else at this point, but that's mostly because of Uni."
Emily stretched, and looked back over her shoulder, through the open door and into the warehouse that served as the soup kitchen's dining room. Things were pretty calm inside, as all the heavy lifting was over and nightfall was pushing everyone indoors to settle down.
"And Taipei's in Taiwan," she chided Enid lightly. "The Chinese won't mind if you mix it up, but the Taiwanese will get rather prickly about it."
[Enid Geraint] There's a wrinkled nose grin and a briefly stuck out tongue; Enid has all the hallmarks of a popular girl, but not one of the nasty ones most often portrayed in movies and on TV. She's pretty without being too much so, goofy without being ridiculous, and apparently smart without being eggheaded; it's a good combination, and works well even in this setting, where it's just two girls who barely know each other and haven't yet exchanged names. "I know it is, it's just cumbersome to always do all the separating. I'm going to spend a week or two in the various islands, but most of the time in Beijing and Changzhou. I get to tour quite a bit, but I have an internship that'll suck up some of the time."
Girl has to have connections to get that - but then, she'd said her mom travels a lot for work.
"Suggestions of must see places will be greatly appreciated, if you have any."
[Emily Littleton] Emily might have been a popular girl, if she'd stayed in one place long enough to make those sort of social connections. She's effortlessly nice looking, without being pretty enough to inspire competition. She carries herself well, and seems rather collected. She's easy to talk to, and there's a subtle sense of calm around her that's pervasive. The two of them could make friends easily enough wherever life took them, they were that type of girl. And Emily, for her part, seemed to be genuinely nice once you got past the foreign accent and likelihood that she'd up-and-move-away before anyone noticed.
"Hunan has some wonderful landscapes, and Sichuan has amazing food--if you like spicy foods. If you don't like the heat, stay out of Sichuan," Emily said with a little laugh. "I don't know much about sight-seeing, besides that there's a southern Island with amazing beaches that's worth a few days. We were there right before dad's trip ended. It reminds me of Hawaii a little..."
Emily didn't give any outward indication that she thought Enid was overly-privileged or connected. Perhaps in Emily's world, internships in China were normal fare. Or maybe travel didn't seem as spectacularly shiny after you'd lived on the road for a few months (years).
"Will you be there all summer? It's awfully muggy in the summers. Takes awhile to get used to, even after Midwestern summers."
[Enid Geraint] "January through the end of June," she says with a shake of her head. "I'm graduating in December and spending Christmas with my dad - Mom may be in town then too - and New Year's with some family friends at Steamboat. Then off to China and points east."
She's obviously making mental note of Emily's suggestions, and the bit about spicy foods gets a grin. "I love spicy. Especially with that bean sauce with the bit of sweet, you know? But we've had hot pepper eating contests, and not with the weak stuff that tends to grow around here." It seems fitting, that kind of story - it's not difficult to imagine this girl getting up to all sorts of shenanigans in the right company.
"Are you going back? To Taipei, I mean. You sound like you miss it."
[Emily Littleton] Emily shook her head. "Not for awhile. I've got to finish Uni, and then we'll see. There's a lot of places I miss, and Taipei's a bit furhter away than most of the others."
She looked out across the parking lot. What began as inconvenient puddles mid-morning had become a sea of inches-deep water with hardly any dry islands. The rain just wouldn't let up, but rain was better than snow.
"You sound really excited. I think you'll do great out there." Emily had no idea what it was Enid was going to intern in, or why the younger girl was headed overseas or graduating in December. From what she'd gathered from her college classmates, most people graduated in June in the States.
Emily reached up with one hand and fingered the chain around her neck. All this talk of far away places had left her feeling out of place and a little lonely. Her fingers closed around a small, oval bit of silver, and she exhaled. Her shoulders released a little bit of tension that neither girl had noticed building up, and for a moment the sounds of chairs, clinking forks, layered voices, all streaming out from inside seemed further away. Distant and less immanent.
[Enid Geraint] Enid hardly notices the rain, though the puddles turned small lake get a wrinkled nose. "It's going to be a pain getting out of here," is her understatement, and then Emily's locket catches her eye. "That's pretty. Does it have pictures of your parents in it, or something?"
She doesn't mean to pry or anything; she's just curious, is all. Her own hand still rests over the little bump in her shirt, just below the hollow of her throat; occasionally, when she turns this way or that, the light from inside glints on a thin gold chain.
[Emily Littleton] "It was my grandmother's," Emily says, letting the locket rest on the backdrop of her dark purple tee so Enid could see it better. "It might have opened years ago, but never since I got it. When I was little, I used to pretend that something really important was hidden inside, and that's why it wouldn't open. It was protecting something."
She laughed a little, and it was a pretty sound. The locket was old, silver, and faintly inscribed with some sort of scroll work. The dark patina was heavy along the claspside. Emily's fingertips grazed it again, and she said fondly, "It's a little bit of home--wherever that is-- to take with me. That's what my mom said when she gave it to me. Sort of silly and sentimental, but I like it."
[Enid Geraint] "It's nice to have stuff from family - well, stuff that has meaning, not just . . . you know. And maybe it is protecting something - you," she says with a quirk of her lips. "This was my great-grandma's," comes added as she tugs the chain until a gold ring, also well aged, and with some rather nice scroll work around it, pops out of her shirt. "She had Alzheimer's. Wouldn't let my grandma have it, but Grandma didn't mind. Wouldn't let my mom have it, and she was pissed. Then she gave it to me."
While there's nothing particularly special about Enid unless one is looking closely, the ring nearly glows; its warmth can be felt, and there's the impression - not quite scent, but almost - of green and growing things.
[Emily Littleton] "It's beautiful..." Emily says, knowing full well that it's not the right word for something that emmanates a nearly palpable energy. While she knew beautiful was the wrong word, Emily had no clue where to start finding the right descriptors.
The older girl's features were soft, perhaps from the shared sentimentality of the moment, or perhaps becuase of confluence of warm and comforting overtones. In a rainy backlot surrounded by vagrants with no place to call home, the two girls had stumbled on one of those moments that left one certain that everything was going to work out of the best and there was some rightness to the world as they knew it. (Ain't nothing wrong but the rain...).
The moment lingers... and starts to fade. "Think we should go inside?"
[Enid Geraint] "Probably," the younger girl says with a smirk, amused. "The food line'll start backing up soon if it hasn't already - dinner time and all that. "I'm Enid, by the way," she says, offering a hand which, when taken, is one part warm and green-growy and two the sort of cold that feels like it'll eat away everything. Despite the latter being the primary feeling, the former seems more natural with her; it's an interesting juxtaposition, certainly. "It's nice meeting you."
[Emily Littleton] "Emily," she replied, shaking Enid's glowy-green-icy-hot hand. Despite the calmness Emily seemed to spread around her, there was nothing special to her handshake. "It's nice to meet you, too."
She pushes herself up from the palette, making a cursory effort to brush off as much dried dirt as possible, knowing it's a losing battle in a place like this. Then she reclaims her clipboard and offers a hand to help Enid up. "That's a neat name," she said, a little belatedly, as if she'd needed time to catch just how unusual it was.
[Enid Geraint] "Dad's a mythology professor," she says with a shrug, "and his thesis was in Arthurian legend. My last name is Geraint - Enid was Geraint's wife." She's wry but grinning, amused. "I told you, he's a geek. Adorable, though." For a dad, says her tone and the look in her eyes.
Of course the hand up was taken, and Enid doesn't bother with trying to wipe off her pants; she's working with food, though, so her hands will be a different story when she gets in.
"You staying in the back still? It'd be cool to have someone to talk to up front," she says as they're going back through the door.
[Emily Littleton] Most of the girls she met didn't talk about their dads that way. Unless they were trying to set them up. Emily very much doubted that Enid had any intention of setting her dad up with a girl she met at soup kitchen, much less one that was the right age to be one of his students. She took it as a quirk and left it there. Or maybe it was a Chicagoan thing that Emily just hadn't picked up on yet.
"Most of the backroom stuff is done for now. I can give you guys a hand up front if you like," she offered. She glanced down at her arms and thought better of it for a moment. "I've got a sweater in the car and I can change into. Something a bit less dusty." No one wanted packing dirt in their dinner, regardless of how hungry or poor they may be.
"I'll meet you up front when I've cleaned up?" she asked.
[Enid Geraint] "Sounds good." And with that, Enid's heading in to wash up and get back to work. She's met by a few friendly looks but mostly by quiet not-quite-distrust; some of the people know her, but not all of them, and some are more familiar with last month's happenings than others.
It's a pretty efficient assembly line style of service out front - someone in charge of rolls, someone of veggies, a couple people of the meat (a nondescript meatloaf tonight, though tomorrow will be turkey) and so on down the line. Enid is, for the moment, alone at the meat, though there's space for another person - it's busy and requires quick work to handle it alone, but she doesn't mind, and it doesn't get backed up too much because of it.
[Emily Littleton] When Emily comes back, she's traded the layered tee-shirt look for a pretty wool sweater. Her hair has been neatly rebound, swirled into a bun at the nape of her neck where it won't get loose during food service. While her jeans are still smudged, she's washed her hands and mostly cleaned up.
Inside the building, it's harder to tell her eyes are blue not brown. Her cheeks are lightly pinked after all the time they spent outside. That calm undertone has been subdued, nearly hidden by the throng of voices and the clutter of people around them. She blends in to the surroundings more than Enid, with her icy-green-warm overtone.
"Looks like I'm helping you," she said, sliding in beside Enid and setting to work helping with the meatloaf. "Not that you need it," she jibbed lightly.
[Enid Geraint] "Of course I do, are you kidding me? Look at that," she says, pointing at the line that's growing, despite her best efforts; she hadn't been letting get too backed up, but one person is one person, and when it gets dark - full dark - and cold and everyone comes in at once, the task gets more daunting by the minute. "Besides, like I said, it'll be nice to have someone to talk to."
True enough, the conversation does go around her, sometimes sticking until it can dislodge itself - she's a rock in the middle of a river, and a stumbling point, which is odd given the easy flow of conversation outside, and the general impression she gives.
"So what're you studying?"
[Emily Littleton] She'd been giving Enid a hard time, and it seemed like it had worked. Emily grinned broadly, the sort of smile that was infectious, and got to work helping whittle down the line. The temperature dropped steadily indoors, and the people they were serving progressively seemed worse off in their lot in life, but Emily treated them all the same and wished each of them a Happy Thanksgiving.
"Engineering," she answered Enid in a lull. "My dad was real big on the pick a major with a career path thing, but I think I'll stick around for a Master's if I can." She threw it out there the way some people would say they were a Soc' or Pyschology major. Like it was no big thing and everyone could be an Engineer if they wanted. It was just a lot of math and physics after all.
"You're going to pre-law, right? Poli Sci?" she hazarded a guess.
[Enid Geraint] "Yeah, with an eventual eye for foreign policy, I think." Which explains, at least partly, the internship in China. And serving falls into a neat rhythm, where one person goes to Emily and the next to Enid and so forth down the line. Engineering doesn't get an odd look from the younger girl - she talks about law, and rather complicated fields thereof, in a similar manner. "I think mom wanted me to go into business, but I worked a summer at her company. Couldn't stand the place - all . . . I dunno. Cold and structured. And I know law is too, but there's give, you know? New precedents are set every day."
[Emily Littleton] "Law can be very human," she observes, inbetween the steady flow of people. "You know, it's a strange coincidence, and not all the field you want, but I met one of the A.D.A.'s last night at a coffee shop of all places. I don't know if I'll see him again or anything, but I've got his card..."
Emily mentioned it off-hand. If that friendship went anywhere, maybe she could offere Enid some insights to her chosen field via an expert. The elder girl's smile curled oddly when she mentioned the lawyer, as if there was some fond recollection playing out in her mind. Or a teensy crush.
Maybe.
[Enid Geraint] "Ooooh," Enid teases. "You liiiiiiiike him." That's with a light elbow nudge and the easy camaraderie that only people who've spent years on teams manage so quickly and easily. "But seriously, that'd be really awesome. If China falls through or whatever, it'd be cool to have someone in the field here. It's a hard club to break into, you know - just as much as any other, I guess."
Then, "That's funny, I know someone else who knows an A.D.A too. She was going to talk to him about a case for me - I wonder if she did. I should call her."
[Emily Littleton] "I don't know if I like him," Emily said, blushing a bit, "But he's certainly easy on the eyes, and a terrible flirt." She shrugged it off, trying to stop the pink in her cheeks that would flush her whole face if Enid teased further.
"But now I have a reason to call him. He and I should be friends, at least, so that if my good soup kitchen friend Enid needs a foot in the door when she gets back from her internship in China... well, we'll have connections." She spoke playfully and grandly. It was the stuff of younger girls building castles in the clouds, except that they were old enough to know they had to root their daydreams in something. "Sound like a plan?"
[Enid Geraint] "You look like you like him." It's the last of the teasing, at least in that vein, and there's more meatloaf served up before, she adds, "Yeah, call him. You can never know too many people, right? Especially in your potential field, even if it's a different branch."
There's quiet again, and thoughtful, and, "But you might not want to tell him my name right away." It's a strange, curious thing, that; given what they're talking about, one would think it'd behoove her to have an A.D.A know her name. Still, she hesitates.
[Emily Littleton] "No mind," she says. Enid's got to have her reasons, and Emily doesn't need to pry. It's an easy acquiesence, paired with a friendly smile.
The elder girl rolled her shoulders again, and tipped her head from side to side. She blinked a few times, as if she was getting tired, and then went right back to work. Chatting with Enid as they went. "I had a crazy night last night," she said, letting the conversation wander into the realm of chit-chat and girl talk. "Usually people leave me alone when I studying -- I guess guys aren't in to girls who study calculus like a religion," she quipped lightly. "But not last night. By the end of the evening, there were three guys sitting with me, and I swear at least two were chatting me up. What are the odds? That never happens. You know?" She glanced over at Enid.
"My roommates wouldn't believe me," she added, hoping Enid would get a good laugh out of it. Or maybe confirm her secret worry that it had been a mean-spirited prank of some sort. Emily wasn't the sort of girl that stopped traffic or drew crowds. Not usually.
[Emily Littleton] The time had passed more quickly than Emily noticed. Soon the tension in her neck and shoulders told her it was time to take a breather.
"C'mon, break time," she told the younger girl, motioning with her head to the outdoors and the palette again. "Someone else will spell us."
The two wandered back out to the loading dock, where it was colder and damper than before. The rain continued to fall on the metal overhang, accented with the muffled sounds of the soup kitchen indoors. Their breath made small clouds against the night, illuminated by a bare bulb in a cage near the doorway.
Emily arched her back and heard it pop in about three places.
[Wharil Choc] These girls share more in common than they might ever know. They're both new to this world, or at least new to seeing it from this special new vantage point. And perhaps they both notice things.
For instance, loading dock in the back isn't as empty as one would expect. Its wet and its cold, and its a far sight less comfortable than it is inside. But still, for at least one person its preferable to being inside. He's sitting against the exterior wall, but well under the overhang, kept warm by the layers of filthy, ragged clothes that obscured most of his form. A gnarled hand attached a painfully bony arm reaches out to stab at a morsel of meatloaf, and the same trembling hand carries the food carefully up to a hollow, toothless mouth.
He chews. Or she does. Its heard to tell really. And while it seems like a struggle, the pitiful creature does eat, all the while being encouraged by a nearby voice.
"That's it. That's it, Jackie. You're doing great."
For a reason neither of them were probably ready to understand, he's hardly noticeable until he speaks. Until he moves. Until he lifts his head and turns to the two girls that have just joined them outside. Before he was a shadow on the periphery. Now he's just a guy in a long, dark wool coat. A guy with beautiful but bright eyes, and a smile that grows slowly, but glimmers brightly.
"Hi guys. What are you two doing here?"
[Emily Littleton] Emily hadn't noticed him at all, until he spoke. She hadn't really seen that the pile of rags and shapes was a person, either. For her part, she didn't recognize W-- that guy-- at first when he spoke either. Recognition dawned slowly, and incompletely enough that the mild confusion never left her features.
Emily rubbed her arm absently. "We're working inside," she said, casually, with a little shrug. She looked over her shoulder a bit when she said it, too, which shifted her weight a bit and hid that fact that she was so surprised to find anyone out here. Much less W... what's his name again? Emily's fingers fluttered up to her neckline, but didn't pull out her locket just yet.
[Enid Geraint] Enid had noticed the guy sitting out there eating; she'd been about to move towards him, to offer help to go inside where it has to be more pleasant than out here, even with the plethora of unwashed amongst the more recently destitute. There's no reason to sit outside in the cold damp, after all; there are tables enough inside.
And then there's . . . someone, who practically appears out of nowhere, and for all that Enid's younger and quite likely an inch or two shorter, she places herself between the newcomer and Emily. It's an automatic thing, one that would puzzle her if she realized she'd done it. She'd never been the sort to be all protective or defensive, but then? Things change. At any rate, there they are - two young girls on the wrong side of town.
"Soup kitchen night," she says, almost in unison with Emily's 'we're working inside', an eyebrow raised warily - this guy is pinging on her nerves (or is it that he's nervous?) and it's bugging her that she knows she knows him, but can't think of why. Or how. Or a name.
"What're you doing here?"
[Wharil Choc] "Both of you? Both of...you?" His smile turns slightly incredulous and he shifts his head to look at them from an angle.
"Hm. That's...uncanny, really. Maybe theres--"
The bundle of rags starts coughing, hacking and lurching so hard that he drops his fork into the plate with a clatter. Wharil reaches out with no hesitation, despite the smell, patting firmly at what might have been a back, or maybe a shoulder. The coughing subsides, and the struggle feeding ones self continues.
"I'm just...waiting on my friend here." He says, smiling wryly at who knows what.
[Emily Littleton] She's distracted by the incredulousness in his tone. Emily's gaze shifts to Enid, and almost as quickly as the younger girl defensively stepped in before her. The taller, older girl has an misplaced sense of calm about her that doesn't match to her expression. Dark eyes, of a nameless color in the halflight here, shift back to the young man and his friend.
"Can I get you something?" she asks, her voice softened with compassion and confusion. "Water, maybe?" Emily doesn't know what to do for Wharil's friend, who is clearly too close to the edge of their life. Her question trails off and she stands behind Enid, watching the pair with a worried expression.
[Enid Geraint] Enid's brow furrows, eyebrows drawing in together; it has the potential to be quite the Look, as she gets older, but for now she looks like what she is - a petulant teenager. Arms cross in front of her, and furrow deepens into a scowl. It feels patronizing.
She's seventeen.
Patronizing is for little kids.
"Sure, both of us. Why not? I mean, it's not like we're long lost sisters or anything. Are we?" It's a bit of levity, anyway, as she looks back at Emily (who isn't that far behind her, or completely blocked, just . . . protected), and there's that wrinkle of her nose even amongst the scowl. "Anyway, a lot of the colleges do community service hours with the soup kitchens. It's not that weird."
[Jarod Nightingale] Suddenly, it was like someone had shown a blinding spotlight on a part of the city that wasn't made to be lit up. Cabrini Green was gritty. Forgotten. A part of the city that the more upper class residents would just as soon forget about. In theory that group included people like Jarod. And yet... here he was.
And not by his own designs, either. He was here because someone - a man - had dragged him here. Almost literally. The two of them were standing outside of the soup kitchen, and Jarod, in his long coat, buttoned black silk shirt and designer jeans, was staring (no, a better word would be glaring) in stony silence at his present companion. The shorter of the two, an extremely pretty blond who looked like he might have been around 23 and dressed like he was in grad school, smiled with glib satisfaction and crossed his arms across his chest.
For all his good looks, however, he truly did not compare to the black-haired man staring down at him. Not on a normal night, and certainly not on this night. Tonight, Jarod was so beautiful as to be almost difficult to look at. Perfect in a way real people never were. But there he was... alive and breathing and very much real.
And exceedingly irritated, from the looks of him. Finally he gave an annoyed little growl and rolled his eyes, gesturing for the other man to go in before him. "Fine, but we aren't staying."
[Wharil Choc] "Uhm...Wait. Waait a minute. Are you?"
Where Enid had meant to make light of it, the strange man in the dark wool coat actually seemed to be taking it seriously.
"Me? No, I'm fine. Thanks though."
His hands shuffle through his pockets until he manages to find a packet of cigarettes. A fresh one. He taps it four times against his forearm before opening it.
"Jackie, you mind if I smoke?"
The huddle of rags stops eating. It turns slightly and speaks in a strained, raspy voice. "But...angels don't smoke" Jackie says. Wharil freezes. He stares at the bundle of rags. He puts the packet of cigarettes back.
"Oh...shit."
[Emily Littleton] Sometime in the early evening, Emily had covered up her layered tees with a charcoal lambswool sweater. Paired with jeans, it usually made a reasonably nice, reasonably preppy ensemble. This evening, however, the stripes of grime on her jeans from a long day in the warehouse negated and sense of college-brat-chic the ensemble might have had. Her deep brown curls were bound back at the nape of her neck in a bun, but tendrils had begun escaping and formed a loose halo around her head.
"Um... no," Emily replied. No they weren't sisters of any sort. They looked nothing alike at all, and came from opposite ends of the world as far as families went. "And what did you mean by...."
There was a commotion inside, and Emily broke off her query to check it out. She drifted back toward the open door to see the people inside had bunched up in tighter groups and were pointing out the front at something. No, someone. Adjectives like unearthly and gorgeous were bandied around, along with less friendly words.
"I... think something's going on out front," she said, with a worried undertone. The usual things that went down in Cabrini, at lesat according to the news, were more than she was equipped to handle.
[Enid Geraint] Around the corner, in the area to the side of the soup kitchen, three mages (and a bundle of rags playing the role of homeless man number two) talk as two of them are on break from dishing up filling but relatively tasteless meatloaf. Emily peeks in through the door and Enid's not far behind her; the raised eyebrow and cynicism are unbecoming, really, though it's quite likely practiced. Enid's never seemed the overly cynical sort, after all.
"It's either a photo op for someone, or a junkie. Should I call the cops, just in case?" She's got a mobile, fished from the back pocket of worn and ratty jeans topped by a green shirt with her school and position on the track team in yellow, though without the nickname this time. Straight red hair is in a neat ponytail and any tendril-y bits are held back by an elastic band. It's not particularly flattering, but it works.
"No one wants any trouble. And there's gonna be if they keep talking like that."
[Jarod Nightingale] It was very easy to make assumptions about this man. Snob might come to mind. Although he was dressed a little more casually than he had been the previous night (no more suit-and-tie), he was still obviously ill-placed in this setting, and he knew it just as well as everyone else did. As the two men entered, Jarod folded up the expensive black umbrella he'd been using to keep himself dry and looked around. When the blond who'd dragged him here strode off in the direction of the offices, he didn't seem the slightest bit inclined to follow. On the contrary, he hovered at the perimeter, looking on like some alien species observing animals in a zoo.
But here was the thing. It wasn't so much that he thought himself better than the people here (although he probably did)... it was that the sheer smell of the place seemed to make him genuinely uncomfortable. He was very careful not to touch anything, and couldn't manage the mask the little wrinkle of his nose that occurred of its own volition when he stepped inside. Dirt (and not the natural, earthy kind, but the squalid grime of the inner city), unwashed hair and clothes.... meatloaf.
Frankly, he looked like he felt a bit ill. But for all that, and for all the expectation of trouble... he simply kept to himself and stayed quiet. Simply waiting for his companion to finish whatever it was he'd come there to take care of. And then... he spotted the group of slightly familiar faces hovering across the room, and his eyebrows went up in surprise.
[Wharil Choc] Wharil didn't seem too concerned with what was going on inside. "Follow your instincts, Enid." was the only real instruction he gave as he peered down at the homeless man eating on the loading dock.
[Emily Littleton] "I'm going to go take a look. I'll be right back."
Without waiting on anyone's approval or response, Emily stepped through the door and wove her way between tables, chairs and people toward the line that eclipsed most of the front door. With firm but polite Excuse Mes, she wended her way through the throng and stepped out until she could see what caused all the commotion.
Her breath caught in her throat, much like everyone else's had, and she stared at Jarod. Momentarily rapt, Emily just stared at him like a deer caught in headlights. Then she shook her head, but not the shocked expression, turned on her heel and headed right back to Enid and Wharil.
"I..." she stammered as she came out the door. "He..." Again, no complete sentence, just an oddly agape mouth and a few syllables. "Gorgeous," she said, decisively, but none too helpfully. "And here." And, oh God, she looked like hell.
[Ashley McGowen] If it weren't for the fact that the office is closed, Ashley would be one of those people that tries to work over the holidays. Not because the woman is necessarily a workaholic - though one certainly might think so, given her various duties - but because there's simply no one she really wants to see.
But the office -is- closed, classes are called off, even the Order of Hermes chapter in Boston is shut down, and that leaves her without much to do on a Wednesday night. And rather than staying shut up in her apartment she's wandered down toward the riverfront. It could be that she's there for something, it could be that she just so happened to walk this way. Either way, Ashley isn't telling.
She spots the others outside the building while she's ambling down the sidewalk, and squints for a few seconds as she gets closer.
"Wharil, Enid. Hi."
[Enid Geraint] Enid also looks like hell, but as she hasn't seen the gorgeousness that just walked out of a movie about gorgeous stacked on beautiful inside of awesome (in the truest sense) yet, she's in full possession of her wits. After the knee jerk, ".....how do you know my name?" and Look snapped back at Wharil, she's stepping inside to see what can be done. She's not going out as far as Emily had, though she can see someone headed towards the office door, and a whole lot of grimy (and less grimy) homeless and/or destitute folk flocking around some unfortunate soul.
Or, she assumes unfortunate. She can't see who's at the center of the knot, but can feel tension and discontent and awe and wonder and all sorts of things, both bad and good, ratcheting up exponentially by the moment.
This is what happens when normal people are presented with things that are to beautiful to exist; even people who appear as gorgeous as Jarod does tonight on screen seldom look much better than average if one runs into them on the street.
These people are not normal; these are people who are on there last dime and last drop of hope. A hand finds its way to the fabric of Jarod's shirt, and another grabs almost blindly at some bit of him - the former is a young girl, younger than Enid, even, and the latter a myopic old man with glasses that would put Professor Trelawney's to shame. It won't be long before the group around Jarod is a mob in the truest sense, and Enid's confusion is edging up towards the red of the 'WTF' meter.
"Dude, I can't even see who they're surrounding. What the heck?" She still has her phone, but doesn't know that calling the cops would be the best of ideas. Then there's Ashley, and though the younger girl doesn't quite relax, there's a sense of 'ooh, a grown-up' about her - a sort of relief. ".....I've never seen them act this way. There've been bad nights, sure, but not like this."
[Wharil Choc] The man in the dark wool coat, now named Wharil, nods. "Hey Ash. Oh, check it out. this is Emily."
One hand turns to point at the stunned young lady.
"And she 'just happened' to be working here with Enid tonight. Isn't that weird?"
[Ashley McGowen] "I've learned to just let these little instances of weirdness just sort of wash over me," Ashley says with a half smile at Wharil, though, upon settling her eyes on Emily, she can't figure out exactly why this would be particularly weird. Unless the woman is one of them, of course, which is entirely a possibility. "Nice to meet you, Emily. I'm Ashley."
Enid calls her attention to the crowd near the door, and Ashley frowns, a bemused expression flitting across her face. "I don't know. I'll have it under control if they come this way, though, don't worry."
[Emily Littleton] Outside, Emily could find her head and start to think clearly again. As the surprise of seeing Jarod again, and here, faded away, she began to realize why Enid was immediately so concerned. Jarod was beautiful in a way that inspired envy (and anxiety) in people who were well-enough off. But these people were not well-enough off. They were destitute, craven, deprived in a way that made Jarod's visage like a mirage. He was so removed from their existance that they wouldn't even dream of men like him, and clearly someone so lofty would have something to give. Something that could be taken to elevate their own position in life.
It made her a little queasy to think about.
Emily looked up when Wharil introduced her, offering Ashley a pleasant but somewhat distracted smile. "Pleased to meet you," she said, and her word were a jumble of several faint accents at once. Too many to place. Emily's hand reached up to her neckline, and her fingers closed around a small silver locket. After a moment, a breath or two, the girl starts to relax and there's a palpable sense of calmness around her. It is faint, but undeniable to Awakened senses.
[Jarod Nightingale] The staring he could handle. The murmuring, the shocked expressions... these were not unusual. They were expected. He ignored them.
What he could not handle... was the touching. And for more reasons than anyone here was ever likely to know about him. That oh-so-carefully crafted aura of aloof detachment would eventually slip. No... it didn't simply slide away, it shattered. Like a thousand little pieces of neurosis raining down. His eyes (dark blue, for all that the shade seemed so impossible when paired with his ethnic features) took on a frightening intensity - like a cornered predator who was about three seconds away from lashing out - and his nostrils flared, and those hands that dared to reach out and actually touch him... he ripped away as if they stung.
He could have done a lot of things just now. Likely, he almost did. But better judgment prevailed in the end, and instead he simply pushed his way back through the crowds and out the front door, leaning against the brick wall outside and taking in deep breaths. He didn't say anything. Didn't acknowledge the others. Simply closed his eyes and breathed and let the light rain fall down on him.
[Enid Geraint] The old man bursts into tears, once Jarod is away, and the young girl murmurs about angels and gods and devils and goodness knows what else and Enid frowns as the room slowly returns to something more akin to normal (now with twenty percent more murmuring about aliens and government entities poking at people's brains); food sloppers go back to food slopping and Enid, who saw what happened (or rather, saw the crowd break for the hasty, obviously upset exit, says, "I'll be right back," and cuts through the crowd to (against her better judgement, given Emily's reaction) check on him.
"Hey," comes the voice, quiet, non-intrusive and young, and with no attempt to touch. "You alright?"
[Ashley McGowen] The calm aura that surrounds Emily is rather offset by Ashley's; despite her small, trim, almost scholarly appearance, Ash has an uncomfortable presence. Something about her feels vaguely predatory - perhaps it's in the way she seems to size up the flocks of people inside the kitchen. Either way, it's a lurking, oppressive presence, one that tugs at the untouched corners of the mind.
She looks at Emily again, briefly, and then watches Enid, eyes following the girl as she approaches the man that seems to have caused the scene.
Once she's noticed Jarod, her eyebrows raise. "I know that guy," she says, with a hint of surprise that indicates that she hasn't really learned to take these odd occurrences as much in stride as she claimed.
[Wharil Choc] "What guy?" Wharil asks. He hasn't moved from the man in rags who weakly shovels food into his mouth and chews, fatigued but with relish. He was, like he'd said, here for him.
[Emily Littleton] Ashley's aura made it very unlikely that Emily was letting go of that pendant any time soon. She toyed with it a little, but didn't consciously recognize that she clung to it like a life raft in stressful situations.
"Yeah..." Emily's tone mimicked Ashley's surprise. "Jarod, is it?" She looked between Wharil and Ashley, hoping someone would confirm the name. "I met him last night, in a coffee shop."
Then she paused, and looked over at Wharil a bit more intently. But the name she was trying to remember (his) would not leap to her mind, nor would the circumstances under which they'd met. "And... you were there...?" she asked him, nowhere near as certain about this fact as she'd been about Jarod.
[Wharil Choc] He turns to her, nodding and smiling amiably.
"Yeah. Huh. That guy. And he's attracted a crowd, has he?"
Wharil shrugs, leaning back against the wall and glancing to Ashley.
"The nail that sticks out. Man, I'm telling you. If we don't get some organization around here..."
He just shakes his head, letting that complete the statement.
[Ashley McGowen] At Wharil's question, Ash simply points toward the attractive model. "Yeah, Jarod," she says, with a sidelong look out of her right eye at Emily. "He and I investigated a house in Bronzeville a couple of months ago. Never turned up anything." She takes a seat near Wharil and the man in rags, though she edges a little away from the man as soon as she sits down. "Wonder what he's doing here. Doesn't really seem to be his type of place."
"We need organization, you're right, but it sounds like every other attempt has failed miserably."
[Jarod Nightingale] By all accounts, one should not be concerned for the man in the long black coat. Never feel sorry for someone whom fate has so clearly smiled upon. Especially not when there were so many people whose own luck had been disastrous. And here he was, clearly upset by the interaction, for all that he desired not to show it. Disgusted. Unsettled.
Suddenly, he wanted a shower more than anything in the world. But his self-control was coming back now, and he opened his eyes when the red-haired teenager addressed him, blinking back a bit of rain that had caught in his eyelashes.
"Yeah, I'm fine." This was stated a little coldly, his voice flat and emotionless. "My date obviously has a sense of humor." And from the looks of things... it wasn't one that he appreciated. And speak of the devil... the blond poked his head outside, then grinned when he saw Jarod standing there.
"I leave you alone for five minutes and you damn near cause a riot."
Jarod leveled an absolutely frozen look at the other man. "You know, I've got an idea... how about you take the train home?"
The blond's smile faltered, and he frowned. "Oh come on, don't be like that."
"I've got other things I need to take care of, anyway. I'll call you." And he said it in that dismissive way that could just as easily have meant he never planned on speaking to him again. The blond seemed a little taken aback, but he accepted the response with a sigh, turning to walk down the street towards the nearest El station. Somewhere down the way he muttered: asshole, and whether Jarod heard it or not, he didn't react.
Instead, the Verbena looked at Enid as if he either expected her to leave or do something interesting.
[Emily Littleton] Ashley got a slightly quizzical look from Emily when she mentioned the house, but that faded into a general cluelessness that the brunette didn't try to too hard to obscure.
"I'm going to go check on them," she said as Ashley and Wharil settled into talking shop. "Do you want anything, Ashley? There are some water bottles in the back. I can bring you one," she offerred politely. Her dark eyes (to deep to tell the color in this halflight) flicked between Wharil and Ashley for a moment, and something about her posture seemed to say she was excusing herself giving them privacy to discuss their business.
After an answer, or a long enough pause, Emily slipped through the doorway again and headed for the other exit. She slipped her hands into her jean pockets and slumped her shoulders a bit as she walked. Oddly, she felt less on edge around the throng of homeless people that the small grouping on the loading dock. She was trying not to ruminate too much on that as she stepped out the front door and looked around for Enid.
She got to the doorway just in time to see the lovers' quarrel. Taking in the frozen tone, the retreating blonde, and the way Jarod was looking at Enid, Emily suddenly felt just as edgy here as she had out back.
"Everything... okay?" she asked, her voice forced into a level tone.
[Enid Geraint] He looked at her
(Oh holy shit he looked at me he's gorgeous will he give me his autograph can I have his babies what the hell am I thinking I don't care oh god)
and she very nearly stopped breathing; her hand rose from her side, where it was hooked into the pocket of her jeans (worn and dirty, with food bits here and there - but with a long sleeved t-shirt proclaiming her captain of a ritzy private school's cross country team) and stopped, hovered between them for a moment with her staring at it, mortified; the battle with herself was visible, but eventually her hand just smoothed hair that was already in place neatly (if not very attractively) and settled back at her side.
"Um. Okay then. I . . ."
And then, thankfully, there was Emily - and Enid nearly as incoherent as she'd been upon returning from seeing Jarod there.
"I'll just . . . um. Get back to work? Or go talk to Ashley. Or. Um. Something."
Though she doesn't leave yet; one gets the impression of a star struck fan, and if Enid realized it, she'd close herself in a room and swear she was never coming out from the embarrassment.
[Wharil Choc] "Did Marla send you? To the house, I mean."
Wharil didn't say much to Emily's offer. He just smiles pleasantly and waits for Ashley to either accept or not.
[Ashley McGowen] "I'd like a bottle of water, please," she says. Then she watches Emily go, mildly confused. Maybe she was mistaken in her evaluation of the woman.
Looking back at Wharil, she shakes her head. "There was a trail that started in Chinatown and I followed it out to the house. Jarod did the same, I think. We checked out the house but we never really found anything conclusive."
[Emily Littleton] Enid's embarrassment was palpable, and not only because she was blushing so hard that her face gave off heat. Emily placed a hand on her shoulder and said gently, "I think Ashley wanted a bottle of water." It was an out, offered in the easiest tone of voice possible as soon as the younger girl stopped stammering.
[Jarod Nightingale] A nicer person would have been more gentle. Jarod could be nice, when he wanted to be. Evidently, now wasn't one of those times. Or at least... it hadn't been. He watched Enid's reaction, taking in her embarrassment and her dazed expression, but he neither commented on this nor felt the need to alleviate her discomfort. If she wanted to go, she'd go. If she wanted to stay, she'd stay. At the least, perhaps she ought to be grateful that he'd quickly placed her into the category of: too young, which, although it tended to mean he'd be dismissive, was at least more appropriate than a few other reactions he could have had.
"You do that then," he added, and at the least... his voice did sound less icy. More neutral. And he glanced in Emily's direction as she repeated the sentiment that Enid had already expressed. Was everything okay? Why yes, everything was just ducky. He cocked his head a little when he looked at her, and then... miraculously, he smiled. It lacked emotion, but it was better than glaring.
"I must have caused quite a fuss to get so much attention."
[Wharil Choc] "Hm." He says thoughtfully. "Well, I guess they can't all madcap adventures, eh?"
Just then, the man in rags sets his platter aside. He breathes. Its a noticeable thing as it seems to take some sort of effort. The struggle seems to get Wharil's attention. He kneels, one hand against the homeless man's back, another reaching out to hold his hand.
"Jackie?" Wharil says softly, glancing nervously at Ashley. "You with me Jackie? I think its time. Don't worry though. I'm here."
[Ashley McGowen] Ashley watches the exchange between Wharil and the homeless man, and is quiet for a long moment. Really, Wharil's nervous glance coupled with what she knows about his Tradition tells her everything she needs to know - or enough to jump to conclusions, depending on what's going on.
"Need to leave, Wharil?"
[Enid Geraint] Blink. Blink.
Enid's red turns nearly purple and she almost trips over her own feet as she turns to not-quite-flee the overwhelming mortification of the situation (she's in high school, and pretty, popular girl or not, she knows what it's like to have people laughing and talking and pointing and staring, and this feels about like that). There's pausing in the back room to gather not one water bottle but four, and she's still red to the tips of her ears when she looks back at Ashley (and Wharil, whose name she'd heard but forgotten about the time of her second step away), but can't quite meet eyes. "'m not going back out there," she mutters, clearly missing the subtlety and nuance to what she's encroaching upon as she offers out the three extra bottles of water.
[Emily Littleton] "I didn't expect to see you here," she said warmly, but the undercurrent was plain enough. (Someone like you ...). She was stereotyping him, and Emily knew it, but he was more out of place here than she was. Emily tucked her thumbs into her back pockets, feigning nonchalance. It came off fairly natural, if Jarod could forget that she'd ducked out of the room when she first saw him that evening. This time, however, Emily had Enid to worry about and the undoubtedly underage high school likely needed Emily to be a bit more grown up than scurrying around corners and falling over herself.
Even still, it was difficult to look at Jarod without staring. To look at him as a person, not a deeply attractive and somewhat surreal man.
"If you don't want to cause a fuss, you may want to come around back. There are fewer people." Not enough to form a mob, or close him in. As she's talking to him, Enid evaporates and Emily's left talking to him, fielding the stares of passersby. She is not as used to unwanted attention as Jarod is, or the whispers. She looks dirty and unkempt next to him, dark smudges on her jeans and wayward curls peeking out all over her head. People would whisper, point, snicker. Even the people that wandered by here might stare.
She shifted her weight a bit. "Are you okay?" she asked again, wondering if the answer might change now that Enid was elsewhere.
[Wharil Choc] "No, I don't think he can actually...go...anywhere."
Wharil sits this time, not kneeling but matching the emaciated homeless man's position. He tucks himself in close, holding him in a close embrace.
The man heaves. His throat makes a choking sound and his trembling hands reach up to grab at Wharil's coat collar. That only results in both bodies leaning into one another.
"You guys mi--Okay. Okay Jackie. I got you. You guys might not want to be here for this."
[Ashley McGowen] Enid reappears, and all her comment gets from Ashley is a half smile that verges on a smirk. She reaches over and accepts one of the bottles of water. Then the homeless man begins to choke and Wharil embraces him, and Ashley's attention turns back to the Euthanatos.
"I haven't actually seen this done before," is all Ash says. It seems to suggest that she is staying, watching with an air of interest.
[Enid Geraint] "Haven't seen what done before?" That comes first, as she turns to look at Wharil and Jackie, intending to hand them water (which instead gets set on a nearby pallet); there's just a second of study, of hearing that coughing breath, of making a snap judgment which leads too, "He needs help. I'll call an ambulance." This is with more resolve than the bit about the cops was, earlier, but even relatively uneducated in the medical sense, she knows that guy's in trouble.
[Jarod Nightingale] She hadn't expected to see him here, and he actually laughed at that. It was a small laugh, with an edge that was still a little cold. "Can't say I expected to see me here either. The guy I was with... apparently he volunteers here a lot. Much more giving soul than I'll ever be, I'm sure." He sounded neither pleased nor apologetic about this. Simply stating a fact.
The rain was still coming, dampening his hair (though somehow the only affect this had was that he managed to look like he'd just been in a wet photo shoot), and he reached up to run a hand through it before reaching down to re-open the umbrella at his side and step away from the wall. That was when Emily asked him if he was alright, and he sighed softly, though the look on his face was slightly amused.
"Do I not look okay?"
[Wharil Choc] Wharil snaps over his shoulder "What do you want a postcard?"
But the man, Jackie, seems to demand his attention beyond whatever annoyance he might feel at that. Jackie coughs. Its loud and wet. Wet enough for Wharil to suddenly turn his face away, eyes and mouth squeezed shut as he wipes it off in the shoulder of his coat. This is about the point where most people quit. Where their disgust overrides their compassion and they say 'Fuck this shit, I'm going home.'
Instead, as Jackie pants like a tired dog, Wharil hugs him closer.
"Ambulance. Yeah, good idea. No rush though. Right Jackie? No rush."
His face comes closer to Jackie's face. He finds his ears, and he whispers.
[Emily Littleton] Until this point in the evening, Emily had managed to stay relatively dry. Now the failing rain was causing little beads of moisture to sit on the surface of her wool sweater. Soon that would soak through, turning to heavy dampness not unlike Wharil's jacket from the night before. While Jarod managed to look stunning, even when wet, Emily looked even more bedraggled as the dampness besieged her curls.
"You look..." She made the mistake of meeting his eyes mid-sentence, and had to bite her tongue. All of the adjectives that came to mind were either too candid or inappropriate. Her mouth twisted wrily, a faint echo of his amused expression.
"I guess you're okay then," she said, and the words were a little breathy and significantly less resolute. "I'm glad you're okay." Emily kicked herself for the repetition a soon as the words left her mouth. His words registered a bit more fully with her, and she belatedly caught that he'd been here with another guy. That made him a little easier to talk to. Slightly. Not hugely, but every little bit helped.
[Ashley McGowen] Wharil's response prompts a raised eyebrow, and Ashley quickly comes to the realization that this isn't really Tradition business, it's Wharil trying to be there for a dying homeless guy. That makes it a far less interesting occurrence.
Jackie coughs, and in that moment, he's just a dying man and something Ash normally buries deep down finally kicks in. She stands up. "Come on, Enid," she says, taking a hold of the girl's shoulder and guiding her out of the room.
"Wharil will take care of him."
[Jarod Nightingale] Not terribly far away, a much more serious scene was taking place. If anyone ought to have been able to notice this, it was a Verbena. A life mage. But Jarod wasn't trying to sense much of anything right now. Not in the mystical sense, at least. He was just standing out on the sidewalk, listening to the delicate patter of raindrops on his umbrella, and gazing quite fixedly at Emily.
He looked more than okay, so logic dictated that he must, in fact, be okay. A rather flawed logic, unfortunately. Beautiful packages could hold some very unpleasant surprises. But then, he was the one who'd directed her to draw this conclusion in the first place. Perhaps he'd known exactly how she would react. Perhaps he'd been counting on it.
"Hmm," he intoned gently, and the sound was almost like a purr. "Do you really not know what you are?"
[Emily Littleton] Emily's brow furrowed, and she instinctively rocked back on her heels a bit. His tone of voice, and the odd query was enough to catch her off guard. Her head canted a little to the left and she looked at him intently. It may have been the first time she really looked at him, rather than at the assortment of features and perfections that made up his outward mien.
"Come again?" she asked, in that mismatched accent. The words were slow, reaching toward something without really knowing what it was. "What I am?" This, from a vision of a man, was enough to lace her words with incredulousness. No answer that she could imagine would warrant his sussurations or attentions.
[Enid Geraint] "But . . ." there's hesitation, but Enid is young yet; she may have become something new, or whatever, but for the moment it's like a little girl playing dress up with her mother's high heels. Ultimately, she allows herself to be drawn away (leaving the two water bottles for Wharil and Jackie), to a place where she can glare up at Jarod, who'd (inadvertently or not) caused her such discomfort.
Once inside and away from Wh . . . at's-his-name and the homeless man, there's a moment taken to call for the ambulance - she does remember that much, at least, and even if she had called promptly, it's unlikely they'd have showed up sooner. This is Cabrini Green, after all.
".....this has turned into the weirdest night I've had in a while." Which is saying a lot, given her recent weird nights.
[Ashley McGowen] "That happens, when a lot of us get together at the same time," Ashley says. "I doubt the ambulance is going to get here in time, though. Wharil decided to be there for him for a reason."
They're out in the hallway, and she can see Jarod and Emily from where they are standing. Ash diverts her attention from them for a second to glance over at Enid again. "You're handling it well, though, all things considered."
[Jarod Nightingale] "Awakened," he elaborated simply. And if this confused her further, well then... he'd obviously have an answer. She must be, of course. After all, here she was surrounded by fellow mages, and the girl practically glowed with quintessence. If anyone bothered to try and sense Jarod's own prime energy right now, they'd be able to see the residual threads of resonance clinging to his body. It had not been long ago that he'd wrought these changes upon himself. Beautiful though he was by birth, there was always the temptation to smooth out even the tiniest of imperfections. Tonight, he didn't look different so much as... flawless. A subtle change, but present nonetheless.
"Or maybe I'm mistaken." He wasn't. Or he wouldn't have even broached the topic.
[Emily Littleton] Awakened. Twice in so many nights, she'd heard this beautiful man speak the word. Emily looked away from studying his features, away and down to where she could see the raindrops landing on the wet pavement. Where the lamplight of the entry way began to smudge and fade away into the darkness. She considered the word longer than most might, especially those to whom it was unfamiliar.
Though her pattern was bright with quintessence, that metaphysical energy did not cling to her the way it did to Jarod. There was no whisper of recently worked Wills, nor any taste of personal resonance to her. The only clear imprint came from that small locket, now nestled beneath her sweater away from view. Even tucked away, it had a faint tinge of resonance. Especially on nights like this. It was directly at odds with Emily's countenance and comportment. That tiny beat of resonance was calm, collected and reassuring. (Home.)
"Maybe you are," she said softly, after having given it (too) much thought. "I'm not sure what you mean, but I'm just a Student." The way she said the word was vaguely European. In that accent, it meant University student. Scholar. But something in her eyes wanted to be more than just that. She looked away and squared her shoulders quickly, hoping he hadn't picked that much up.
[Enid Geraint] "There's not much else I can do but, right now, is there?" Which means, more or less, that she's a tough it out and break down in private (or with Mommy or Daddy) if she must kind of girl. It's not a bad way to be, in some ways, but it makes it difficult for anyone outside of a fairly small circle to offer help or comfort, if they were so inclined. There's a shrug, then, and she sips her water - chugs about half the bottle, in fact, before fidgeting with her own necklace (hidden under her shirt) as nervously and unconsciously as Emily does. She'd joked about being long lost sisters, earlier, but there are enough similarities to be remarkable, for anyone who goes about reading too much into that sort of thing.
"I have to get through the evening regardless. Then I can go home and have some tea and go to bed." 'And not come out of my room for three days', implies her tone.
[Ashley McGowen] It's a very Tytalion way to deal with ones' problems. Very Hermetic. Will through because the struggle leaves you no options.
"Mm," Ashley says, in a manner that doesn't really betray how familiar she is with that manner of dealing with it. She unscrews the cap on the bottle of water and takes a long draw from it. "Take a compliment, Enid. And then go home and do that."
[Jarod Nightingale] She wasn't sure what he meant, but the question had given her pause. This was... interesting. And interesting things intrigued him. People like Jarod did not need to wait for people to notice him. He could spend time with almost anyone he wanted. As a result, his tastes were rather eclectic. Sure, attractive people were a pleasant enough distraction, but the repetitiveness of it all could become boring. Which might have explained why he'd so easily dismissed an extremely good looking man (who he'd been certain to sleep with later) and had now mysteriously fixed his sights on Emily. (Who was, actually... quite a bit prettier than she gave herself credit for. But that was beside the point.)
She might very well be the awakened equivalent of a virgin. And this was... just a little tempting. So he considered his options briefly, then smiled a slow, feline smile. "Well, perhaps we can discuss it further. I'd rather like to get out of the rain. Feel up to coming to my apartment for a cup of tea?"
(Now there was likely a proposition she hadn't been expecting.)
[Emily Littleton] Emily knew what being manipulated felt like... that slow, slinking smile, his doubtlessly resonant voice. She knew what being led toward a conclusion or an outcome felt like, and for a brief moment she didn't entirely care that Jarod was deftly winding her around his little finger with promises of enlightened conversation, someplace warm and likely spotless and tea. Good tea, given the way his nose had wrinkled at the little "loose leaf tea bag" (oxymoron) at the coffee shop the night before.
"I'd love to." Her brain heard her mouth talking, speaking words that had not been given clearance by the clear-thinking, initiatives and planning portion of her conscious mind. Emily's subconscious (and deeper pieces of her psyche) found this to be a smashing idea, and had leapt forward with a reply before the more cautious, do-as-you're-told, young-lady-alone-in-a-city-not-her-own sides of her mind could block off this avenue.
A moment later, her smile caught up with the ready reply. Sure. She'd have tea with him. Yes. Smashing idea. Emily nodded a little to herself, and seemed to finally be of a single-mind about it.
[Enid Geraint] There's a glance at the watch (a fancy digital affair that likely times her workouts and so forth) on her left wrist, and Enid winces when she sees what time it is.
".....I was supposed to be home an hour ago," she says, almost apologetically. And then, impulsively, "I was going to cook tomorrow, but I don't feel like it - I think I'll just make dad and the guys call for Chinese. You can come over if you want to hang out, or whatever. It's just going to be music and working on homework stuff." Some of which may or may not be that paradigm 'assignment' from the last time they'd talked.
"So not that interesting. But if you don't have any other plans, there might be popcorn and a movie at some point."
[Ashley McGowen] Ash appears surprised for a few seconds, raising her eyebrows. There might even be a smile that ghosts across her features briefly. "It's nice of you to offer, but I'm calling in a favor to get a portal to Boston. I should be back in town on Sunday, though, and after that I can have a look at what you've been working on."
It has the air of a promise about it. She might not say so, but Ash does appear to actually be touched by the offer.
[Enid Geraint] "A . . . portal? Really?" This brightens her eyes, and Ashley's heard her make enough Harry Potter references to guess that her thoughts immediately bounced to 'portkey' (but might not know well enough to guess that it also went to TARDIS and other, similarly geeky references), but then there's a shake of her head - supposed to have been home an hour ago, must go. "I'll call you then. Or you can me, whatever. Have fun in Boston."
There's a pause as Enid claims a piece of cardboard from an open box and a pen from a nearby clipboard to write down her number - which Ashley has, presumably, given prior calls - and heading for the front, where Emily's still talking to Jarod. The latter gets icily ignored (or so she thinks, though Enid wants very much to look at the too-pretty-to-be-real older man and it shows) when she says to Emily quietly, "I'm supposed to have been home a while ago. But it sucks not having friends in a place," she says with a smile that's maybe nicer for the fact that it's a bit off center, or the fact that it once covered braces. "You can call me, if you want. We can hang out."
It had taken longer for Ashley to get the same information, but then she and Enid hadn't had such castle-on-cloud building talk that tends to bond girls (or maybe just people) quickly.
Then, with that done, Enid's heading for her car (an old but well cared for compact of some variety) and off home.
[Jarod Nightingale] If he wanted to, Jarod could be manipulative in much more subtle ways. But in this case, that wasn't necessary. A smile and the offer of tea (and yes, it was very good tea) and company was plenty of bait to line the hook with, in this case... and he felt no shame whatsoever in tempting her. Or even acknowledging that he was doing the tempting. This is how the game is played, his smile seemed to say.
He could just as easily have been a different sort of predator altogether. One never really knew. But then, he might also be exactly what he looked like he was - an extraordinarily attractive man with a very nice apartment who had more than enough experience to entertain someone for an evening... in any number of possible ways. (Emily would find out which fate she'd stepped into shortly.)
"Excellent."
Gone was the frozen anger. The prickliness. The aloof detachment. Now he was the man she'd met in the coffee shop. Charming and pleasant. Alluring. Inviting.
He started to turn, and beckoned with his hand for Emily to follow. "Emily, right? Car's this way." And as soon as she'd fallen in at his side, he'd hold the umbrella so that it shielded the both of them and begin walking down the sidewalk.
[Ashley McGowen] "I'll call you," Ashley says, giving Enid a brief nod as the girl goes to give the piece of cardboard to Emily.
There's a final glance back at Emily, who she hasn't really met properly, and Jarod, who she hasn't really seen in some time, but the two appear to be mired deep in conversation. Ash has no desire to get caught up in that. (At least, that's what she's going to tell herself.)
So, all too eager to get out of the kitchen and away from the crowd, Ashley heads out, preparing for the walk home. At least it isn't too cold.
