[Jarod Nightingale] This was the sort of place one expected to see someone like Jarod. Not a soup kitchen in Cabrini Green, but surrounded by towering pillars of steel and glass as he ducked in between the milling crowds in Chicago's premier shopping district and slipped into Argo Tea for a well-desired break from the hectic bustle of the day. At the moment, he was on the phone with one of his agencies (the one in Tokyo), speaking in a tone that sounded slightly on the edge of annoyed (though what he was saying was anyone's guess - unless you knew Japanese) as he stepped up to the counter to order himself a drink.
Jarod put the phone down for a moment and glanced up at the menu, then dropped his eyes to the face of the sweet-looking college girl behind the counter and asked politely for a cup of Dragonwell. The girl was a little slower than normal to respond, typing in the wrong code on the register and flushing with embarrassment as she attempted to fix the error. For his part, Jarod just waited patiently and finally paid for the tea when she was ready, then stepped off to the side and put his cell phone back against his ear to continue the conversation he'd been having while he waited for his order to come up.
[Enid Geraint] It's the Mile, post dinner but still evening hasn't quite edged into night. It's cooled significantly from the afternoon, and though it's not nearly cold enough, the air still holds the chill and bite of impending snow - winter is coming, and it will grip Chicago soon, whether or not it adorns her streets with the white that so quickly turns to muck and slush.
Enid is a Chicago native - though she's traveled, she's lived in and around this city, very close to the lake, for her whole life. This chill is nothing to her, and when she emerges from her car, she's wearing jeans too long and too big in the waist (clearly, they'd once belonged to someone else) over track shoes and under a sweatshirt - not hers, this time, but a bigger, boy-sized sweatshirt that reads Lakeview Prep, as hers had, but under that it says Boys' Track and Cross Country, Captain, Doc. She's not paying much attention, just enough to not get knocked into by some rushing shopper (because it's far too early for the clubs) between the parking meter at her car and the door of the tea shop.
She asks, with unlikely impeccable pronunciation, for some Huo Shan Huang Ya, and when the girl, still flustered, has to ask her three times to make sure she has the code right, it doesn't improve matters any.
Enid's been crying, you see, and is somewhat shorter tempered than usual because of it; where normally she'd give the girl a decent tip, tonight she doesn't. When her order's finally put into the computer and she moves away, it's with head down and again, not paying much attention.
She doesn't expect to bump into anyone, which is why it surprises the hell out of her when she all but trips over Jarod.
"Sorry," she mumbles before she's looked up, and then, once she does, her face goes instantly pale and then red - it's clear she's fighting with herself not to blurt out something ridiculous. "You're . . . um. Sorry. 'scuse me."
He's on the phone, and so she simply steps aside, out of the way, and waits for her tea.
[Emily Littleton] The full moon shined down on the Magnificent Mile, her argent face all but consumed by the glimmer of holiday decorations, the garishly well-lit signage, street lights, head lamps, all the man made clutter of city life. EVen this late, people swarmed the sidewalks in unruly packs that kept to no logical flow or pattern.
Emily felt like she was swimming upstream, buffetted from one side of the cement walk to another as she tried to avoid shoppers with their clumsy packages or couples walking hand in hand. She needed to get out of the lab and clear her head (a recurrent theme these days [get out!]). She needed a good meal, and a quiet night in, but with a gaggle of roommates that was not likely. So she'd settled for the next best thing.
The door to Argo Tea swung open, and perhaps there was a little bell that dinged (Hello! [Goodbye!]) or something other than the cold air rushing in to announce her. She's wearing jeans, and a white tee, under a knit cranberry-colored cardigan. It wasn't warm enough for a winter night, but she didn't seem to care.
Emily is looking down at her phone, typing something away with one hand and reaching up to brush her hair out of her face with the other. She doesn't notice them first, and doesn't order immediately. Instead she steps inside, and off to the side, to finish her message.
[Jarod Nightingale] Holidays were generally little more than a nuisance to Jarod. He'd spent his birthday a couple of weeks ago clubbing (alone) and bringing back a cuter than average blond (male) to pass the evening with afterward. Thanksgiving had been spent working on a book translation he'd picked up recently. After, of course, he'd dropped Emily off near wherever it was she lived (she hadn't given him an address.) More than likely, Christmas would prove to be a similar combination of distractions. Sex and/or work.
As he waited, a girl all but ran headlong into him, and he glanced down briefly to catch Enid's gaze. There was recognition there, but for the moment he didn't acknowledge it. He was distracted, so he offered an aloof nod of acknowledgment as he stepped to one side.
Jarod glanced around at the proliferation of Holiday decorations and let out his breath in a long sigh as he finally hung up the phone and slipped it back into his pocket. It was that time of year again. Not his favorite, by the look of things. He was dressed a bit more formally today than he had been in the soup kitchen. A black tailored suit (Armani) and tie with a deep burgundy buttoned shirt beneath. As he waited he slid his expensive coat from his shoulders and folded it neatly across one arm. When his tea was ready he stepped up to claim it, then started moving in the direction of a table.
Started, anyway. His eyes swung past the milling strangers and hovered briefly on Enid again. Finally he approached her and asked (in a tone of voice that sounded rather like some invisible person had just brow-beaten him into doing it)... "Hey... you alright?"
[Enid Geraint] OMIGODHE'STALKINGTOME goes Enid's brain as she looks up (she's not short, this girl, but she's considerably less than six feet tall; she hovers around five foot seven or -eight and looks shorter because of the extra length of her jeans); she's struck dumb for a moment, then gives a quite literal head shake, as if to clear it.
It doesn't quite work, but it breaks the gaze and allows her to talk . . . semi-coherently, at least.
"Um . . . I'm fine. Thanks. I think. Just . . ." She shrugs, wary and wry and innocent and jaded and wide open and eight million contradictions all at once, like any girl around her age. "I dunno. I'm dealing with some stuff is all," she says, and she hasn't bothered with makeup to hide the crying, this time - she's all puffy, but at least the jag was long enough ago that she isn't still splotchy.
"You're . . . that guy. From the soup kitchen."
[Emily Littleton] Jarod had dropped Emily back near the soup kitchen, which was hopefully nowhere near where she lived (but who knew [she hadn't given him an address...]). Emily had run in, said something about something coming up at home to Enid, and then gone home to change. She'd shown up again in time to help with the lunch and evening rushes. But that was days ago, and the intervening hours had been filled with enough thinking to wear down even Emily.
Emily glared balefully at her cell phone for a moment, then snapped it shut and tucked it into her back pocket. She stepped up to the counter, without bothering to look at the menu, and ordered somewhat brusquely from the girl behind the counter.
"Lady Grey, neat, extra hot." There was a burr to Emily's pronunciation, a note of frustration underlaying the nascent other-ness. Then, as if she'd only just regained her manners, she carefully enunciated just one more word. "Please."
Crossing her arms over her midsection, Emily oversaw the finer details of her beverage preparations with intent attention eyes. It made the counter staff a little uneasy. Uneasy enough to ask if she wanted lemon with a bergamot flavored tea.
She thanked them, barely, paid with precise change and only then began to look around the room. Emily noticed Jarod first (who wouldn't), and just as she was preparing to head back into the night she recognized Enid. Who had seen better days.
Emily set her own little fugue aside, schooled her expression appropriately, and wandered over to their table. Cradling her mug in both hands, she peered over it at Enid. May I? her eyes asked of the other girl, with the quirk of an eyebrow and a subtle tilt of her head. "Evening," her mouth said, encompassing them both in this greeting.
[Jarod Nightingale] She'd been crying. It was difficult not to notice, and that was probably why he'd approached Enid to begin with. Maybe there was something resembling a conscience somewhere in the back of his subconscious. Buried underneath all of that primordial sex-drive and self-absorbed perfectionism. The way he looked at Enid now wasn't exactly warm. More like... guarded but considerate. He nodded as she recognized him, walking with her to whatever empty table happened to be nearby.
"Guilty. Sorry I was such a prick. You caught me on a bad night." He wasn't much better on the good ones, truth be told. But that was neither here nor there. Someone else approached their little group, and when he glanced over, Jarod gazed at Emily for a long moment. As if he wasn't entirely sure how to feel about her presence. Ultimately, though, he smiled at her (in that knowing, subdued cheshire cat way of his - as if he was constantly privy to some juicy secret), then decided upon settling in with the two girls (for better or worse.) He set his tea down and pulled out a chair, draping his coat over the back before sitting.
"You know, I'm starting to think that we're fated to run into each other." This was directed at Emily.
[Enid Geraint] "....'s okay," she says, blushing as she nearly trips over her own feet in her haste to sit down without looking away from him - and in that moment, she kind of hates him in the way that any girl, ever, has hated the unobtainable, perfect boy --
Only Jarod's a hell of a lot closer to perfect (in appearance) than anyone Enid's ever seen off of a movie screen.
-- and still, she'd forgive him nearly anything if he asked her to. She'd do nearly anything he asked her to. It's strange and disturbing and yes . . . Enid's fairly certain she kind of hates him.
Emily's there, and it's a relief - though Enid can't tear her eyes away from Jarod, she does give the older girl a nod. Oh gods, help, says the flicker across her face, and it's a relief, a weight lifted, when Jarod's eyes move elsewhere.
[Emily Littleton] The persistent thrum of Home clung to her, more thinly tonight for all it was at odds with her mood.
"You know what they say about Fate..." she replied lightly, without letting her smile touch the darkness in her eyes. They were veiled tonight, less likely to let him or anyone else in without a little coercion (fight). There was an odd distance between them tonight, cooler than before. Though she was a few feet from him, Emily was distant.
She lifted her chin in greeting toward Enid, expecting the younger girl to recognize the age-old sports-buddy greeting. If not from her teammates, then perhaps from the lad she'd lifted the jersey off of. (Yeah, I noticed.)
"Had better days?" she asked the younger girl. One foot snaked around the foot of a chair, tugged it away from the table quietly. Emily sat, without taking her hands off the mug, without spilling a drop, without missing a beat. Her gaze raked Enid, but not unkindly. Only then did her smile soften by degrees. The corners of her eyes remained tight, unable or unwilling to show the same compassion ... just yet.
[Jarod Nightingale] [Per+Empathy on Emily: secondary ability = diff 5]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 4, 4, 9, 9 (Success x 2 at target 5)
[Emily Littleton] [Manip+Subterfuge, normal diff = 6]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Jarod Nightingale] [Oh well fine then. Mind 1 effect, reading basic emotions - Coincidental, diff 4 -1unique focus]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 9, 10 (Success x 1 at target 3)
[Jarod Nightingale] [*beats the dice into oblivion*]
[Jarod Nightingale] For a few silent moments, Jarod looked Emily dead in the eye. It was a little unsettling. As if he were trying to sort through her thoughts or hypnotize her or otherwise do something that normal people weren't supposed to be able to do. But ultimately he came away from it with nothing more than he'd started with. Emily was being guarded.
Finally he let out a breath. It might have been slightly frustrated, but if anyone wanted to notice, they'd have to be paying very close attention. "And what would that be?" He finally offered by way of response to Emily's statement.
Then he glanced at Enid again, his gaze on her a little gentler and less curious as he took a sip of his tea. Not steeped long enough, as usual. If he hadn't been on the phone at the time, he might have remembered to tell them to leave it in a bit longer. There was a slight twitch of an expression on his features. Barely noticeable, but displeased.
[Enid Geraint] Enid's tea is actually in something akin to a pint glass, and the green tea leaves hover in the bottom, still in flower shape; it's beautiful to look at, really, and that's what Enid does when she finally manages to tear her eyes away from Jarod. Her fingers trace over it and she is distracted
(watching Jarod through long eyelashes)
enough to nearly miss Emily's question. The answer, when it comes, is belated, and awkward. Where she'd been perfectly comfortable with Emily before, perhaps more so than she'd been in weeks, now is different.
".....yeah. Just . . . working through some stuff," she says, repeating what she'd told Jarod. Things were complicated, after all, and despite show-and-tell-with-Wonders, Enid wasn't sure how much was okay to share.
[Emily Littleton] It was a challenge. Meeting someone's eyes and holding them was terribly intimate. It was considered impolite in many cultures. Only a few held protracted eye-contact as a mark of sincerity. Emily had formed her expectations of personal space and etiquette in so many places that it was hard for her to know how to respond. (What?) Her brow furrowed a bit, and she looked at him oddly, then away. Emily didn't, however, react with anger. The corner of her mouth twisted upward, as if she was somewhere between amused and touched, and then she let it go.
Finally setting her tea down on the table, Emily unwrapped her fingers from around the steaming hot mug. The palms of her hands were pink from prolonged exposure to the warmed china. The earthy, low citrus note from her tea mingled with other scents at the table. At the back of his throat, beneath the disappointingly thin tea, Jarod could just taste an unnatural, acrid note. Something smelled... burnt. Not a good, smoky burnt either.
She looked back to Enid when the younger girl spoke. "Ah..." Emily said, and it was all she said for a long while. "I know how that goes." A small smile, warmer by degrees, warm enough to displace the storminess in her eyes. Emily reached over and laid a hand on the redhead's shoulder for a moment. It was a familiar gesture, one she expressed without hesitation or restraint. Her fingers squeezed lightly for a moment, then pulled away.
For Jarod, this may seem odd. Emily did not, after all, initiate most of their exchanges. Perhaps Enid was easier for her to handle. Less practically-perfect-in-every-way. Less primal and intimidating.
"Need an ear?" she asked, metering out these small sentences carefully as if she was testing the waters with each new one. Enid was touchy. Emily was touchy. Jarod... well, he'd best look out because these moods were contagious. "Or are you just going to let it ride?" No judgment. Either way was fine with Emily.
At long last, she looked over at Jarod. While Enid thought about her reply, perhaps, Emily took a cautious sip off her tea and regarded him carefully. The cold had broken in her eyes, and they were becoming less glacial with the passing seconds. Maybe even warm. (Hi.)
[Jarod Nightingale] Enid was working through some stuff, as she put it, which could have meant any number of things. Truth be told, it was probably lucky that Emily had joined them, because Jarod wasn't exactly known for being... comforting. He could try, certainly. But Enid's status as a proto-adult left her in a field of experience that Jarod didn't much care to hear about, let alone empathize with. He must have been a teenager once himself, but that was... a long time ago. (And another life.) His methods for cheering people up were usually... incompatible with this age group. (Well, not incompatible. Just immoral.)
In any case, he let Emily field the questions, and the concern, remaining fairly distant in his own right. Still, eventually he caught the look that the older of the two females directed at him, and he returned it briefly. (Hi to you too.) Along with a small addition of (you look nice) a slightly raised eyebrow and the quirk of one corner of his mouth. Insufferable flirt.
[Enid Geraint] "I'm not blind, you know," she says very calmly to Jarod; she is seventeen and she. is. not. amused. Her tea is sipped calmly, and it's not that she minds them having a moment, except that it kind of is. "Or dumb."
At least Emily's talking to her instead of dismissing her, but then, Emily is closer to her own age.
"It's . . . complicated," she finally answers Emily, and her brow furrows; slowly, she sips her tea, her eyes slightly crossed to watch the leaves. It's plenty strong now, as green teas go, and she finds this pleasing, even if she does wish it were a bit warmer. "I think," she says idly, looking at her hand on her glass, "it would be really cool if I could heat this without a microwave. Microwaves make things taste funny."
But that's a different strain of thought for a different time; heat is just another kind of energy, after all, and she seems to have a pretty decent grasp on that if not much else just now.
"It's been a month." That's quiet, and final, but not as potentially final as what comes next. "People died. It's . . . a weird story."
[Emily Littleton] Oh, Jarod. Emily knew this game. She knew it so well, and moreover she knew better than to play it again. (Not that it would stop her.) There were consequences to it. She couldn't help but smile a little, as she (coquettishly) looked away.
Emily ran the fingers of her right hand around the rim of her mug. It seemed she didn't want to drink her tea so much as let the scent of it permeate her senses. She wanted to wear it, clear and clean and covering whatever had ridden in along her skin, weighed down the corners of her mouth and eyes.
Then Enid speaks, drawing Emily's attention back completely. The fingers still, perched along the rim of her mug, idle, unmoving. Her hand shifts, moves to draw the mug nearer to her. This all occurs without breaking her attention from Enid. Practiced. (Perfect.)
"I'm... so sorry," Emily said, her tone genuinely burdened with sympathy. She shifted her body subconsciously, opening her posture to Enid. Welcoming whatever the younger girl put out on the table. (Go on...?)
[Jarod Nightingale] "Never thought that you were," Jarod replied to Enid's moment of irritation with what seemed to be mild amusement. Likely this wasn't the reaction she wanted, but... there you have it. "And you can heat things without a microwave." There are these things called stoves and kettles. (There is also this thing called magic.) But he wasn't quite rude or snarky enough to say the rest of that out loud.
Besides, Enid had a story to tell, from the sound of it, and it was one the upset her. People had died. Emily responded with an appropriate amount of sympathy to this discovery. Jarod simply canted his head to the side thoughtfully and looked a little pensive. There was a slight crease where his eyebrows came together. Perhaps concerned, at least in passing.
"I imagine we've all got our fair share of weird stories. If you feel like talking... " and he filled in the rest with a light shrug, as if to say it was her decision one way or the other.
[Enid Geraint] The bases of the tables in this place are wrought iron. There are delicate wrought iron shelves and hanging baskets, and it's all leavened by honey-finished pine or maple or similar, with a pretty tile floor. The lights above are not the unfortunate flourescent tracks of so many similar places, but softly frosted globes with black rods (for lack of a better word) that attach them to the ceiling. It is, in short, a fairly standard teahouse - the Starbucks of teahouses, as it were.
These things aren't that interesting, they go unnoticed by people all the time, except as the days grow colder and the air grows drier despite the near-constant rain, sleet and snow - this is the sort of place that shocks every guest at least once, come February.
Except it's starting early this year, for whatever reason . . . how strange.
One of Enid's hands comes to a slight lump in her shirt, just there, at the hollow. She's quiet, not particularly focused or intent or any such thing, but suddenly, strangely, there's a slight smell of ozone, and a visible jolt of electricity moves from the shelves behind Jarod. It doesn't hurt, but it makes a zzzot sound, and it certainly startles.
"They were my friends," she says with a shrug, her hand lingering at that lump a little longer before falling back to her glass. "Close ones. I couldn't go to their viewings or funerals." Which is odd, but then, an awful lot of stuff is.
[Enid Geraint] ((Coincidental because the conditions are right. HAIL KAHSEENO))
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10 (Success x 1 at target 5)
[Jarod Nightingale] [Per+Awareness - OW, bitch!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 6, 8, 10, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] Her shoulderblades pull back noticeably at the smell of ozone, like a cat that's been challenged or startled. Her eyes narrow and she flinches, noticeably, when the arc of blue-white energy jumps from the shelving to Jarod. Some part of Emily's mind is horrifically offended. Discharges didn't just happen. They were prompted by some physical cue. Not idle chatter at a coffee table, no. Perhaps taking off a heavy wool coat, or running across a carpeted flat in socks. Certainly not tea-drinking conversations.
It bothered her, but then she forced down that agitation. Swallowed it back.
Emily finally took a swallow of her tea, perhaps to wash out the too-familiar scent that lingered in the air.
"Were you hurt, too?" she asked, her voice (mostly) bereft of the tightness in her frame.
She set down the mug again and rubbed at her shoulder, even though she had not been the one to get shocked.
[Jarod Nightingale] [WP - now now, she's just a kid...]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 4, 5, 6, 8 (Failure at target 6)
[Jarod Nightingale] [...I'm sorry, Enid]
[Jarod Nightingale] And he'd been trying to be nice, he really had. But then the air charged with electricity and sparked against his hand where it rested on the table, shocking him hard enough that it left a little red mark. The air snapped, and he smelled ozone, and the muscles in his arms and shoulders tensed instinctively.
He didn't move, or swear, or otherwise do anything that might draw attention to himself. At least, not at first. But he saw the residual trails of resonance as the effect was cast (unintentionally or no), and was not for even a moment fooled into thinking that it just happened to have been a random occurrence. He gazed across the table at the red-head for a full five seconds, dark blue eyes beautiful in a manner that was chilling and absolutely devoid of warmth or humanity. Finally he stood up and leaned across the table to whisper something in an angry hiss.
"Don't start fights you have absolutely no hope of winning, darling." And the way he said darling, it sounded cruel and sarcastic. Like his voice had a razor's edge. "People die. It happens. Get used to it. You aren't normal. And that shit is going to follow you around for the rest of your life."
Then he grabbed his coat and pushed back his chair, standing up to leave. His half-finished mug of green tea was forgotten in his wake. Discarded. He needed to be outside, where the cold air would calm him down, and so... that was where he went.
[Enid Geraint] Enid looks innocent. Looks innocent. (those trails of resonance, the suck color and life and vibrance into themselves, and things seem withered, less for their passing - to the right eyes, and it's all appearance - she is a magelet lost, and it is trace resonance) In fact, she looks as surprised and discomfited by it as Emily does for a fraction of a second before her brain kicks in telling her the whys and hows, and she settles.
Almost.
Until she realizes she's being stared at (blamed again and is this my fault too he thinks it is oh gods) by those beautiful eyes and the face in which they're set has become terrifying in its splendor. He whispers, hisses at her and leaves, and she is paper white, with freckles standing out in sharp relief.
And now there are two, except, ".....my tea's cold, and I should probably get home. I gave you my number, yeah?" It's nervous chatter, and once it's established that Emily does, indeed, have her number, Enid's on her way out, shrinking back from Jarod if he's still near the door, and headed for her car and home, where things are comfortable and comforting and make sense.
[Emily Littleton] The mere attempt to examine my own confusion would consume volumes. --James Agee
Jarod storms out into the night. Enid goes more quietly. And so it is Emily, she who had entered with so much Sturm und Drang about her, who is left alone at the table. When the threads of resonance dissapate, she is only weary. Tired from the weight of confusion, the energy that must be fed into her nascent understanding of things unknowable, tired of things blowing up (more [or less] literally) in her face.
Emily pushes the chair back, and its feet drag against the floor enough to protest aloud. She gathers the two mugs and one pint-like-glass and busses them to the counter. It is Emily, of the exact change and curt thank yous, who digs some change out of her pocket and tosses it in the tip jar. (Sorry about that...)
And it is Emily who pulls her sweater tighter around her, pushes the door open, and walks out into the moonlit night.
Full moon. It brights out the crazy in everyone. She bows her head, keeps her gaze trained on the walkway in front of her, and heads back to campus. Given a choice between the mess here and the mess back in her lab, she'd take her chances with the undergrads and electronics.
[Jarod Nightingale] [Dex+Stealth]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 5, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Emily Littleton] (Per + Alert)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 3, 6, 7, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Jarod Nightingale] Enid left, and from where he stood a few feet away on the sidewalk, Jarod cast a brief glance in her direction, his expression unreadable. Inwardly, of course... the storm of emotion was a little less placid, but it usually was, with him. He could be frozen. He could be hollow. Beautiful and distant. But he wasn't that way all of the time.
After Enid had left, he turned around and growled something under his breath in Mandarin. Nothing worth overhearing or repeating.
The door to the coffee shop opened again, and it was Emily this time. He watched her carefully as she began to make her way down the sidewalk in the opposite direction, and by all rights it shouldn't have mattered. He shouldn't have given a shit, because he never gave a shit. People came and went in his life. They could do what they liked and think what they liked and as soon as he was done with them... they may as well just disappear. He didn't care. Because he was (frozen) happy to be alone, in the end.
And yet he started walking after her. Quietly, but not quietly enough not to be heard.
[Emily Littleton] A while ago, before they had all congregated in the coffee shop, when they were just coming down the walk to meet up as it were, Emily would not have noticed footfalls on the path behind her. Since then, the foot traffic had thinned and the subconscious drive to be indoors during the Full Moon had overtaken the consumerism of the yuletide spirit. Shops were closing up, signs flickered out all over the mile.
Emily's gait slowed a bit, but did not stop. If he was following her, playing a game of cat-and-mouse, then he'd have to decide whether he actually wanted to catch her or not. She kept moving, partly because the night had gotten colder and she was not dressed as warmly as she ought to be, and partly because she hadn't decided whether or not she wished to be caught this evening.
One hand reached up, tugged free the small elastic that had bound her hair back at the nape of her neck. There, beneath the shroud of dark curls, long fingers worked at the knots that besieged the base of her skull.
Maybe she hadn't heard him. Perhaps Emily just wanted to take her time, walking back to campus, thinking things through.
[Jarod Nightingale] Was he really going to attempt to follow her all the way back to her dorm or apartment or wherever it was she lived? When Jarod actually took a moment to work that thought through to its logical conclusion, he realized how absolutely juvenile and beneath him that was. Even if the impulse had come from years of experience spying on those whom he needed to protect himself (or others) from. Emily wasn't a nephandi, or a technocrat. She was...
Well, she deserved more respect than that, at any rate. So after awhile he called out after her. "Emily!" It was loud enough to be heard, but lacking in force. Almost gentle... or at least, an attempt at such.
[Emily Littleton] Three syllables. Three oh so familiar sounds speed across the night and into her ear. Quietly enough that it gives her pause, slows her footfalls further yet, brings her to a stop. Quietly enough that they are more imploring than demanding and that demarcation is what tips the scales, sends her turning slightly to the left.
Jarod can see her face in profile, lit by the flickering overhead light. Emily tipped her head back, looking up past the municipal lights and on into the heavens above. Her voice is too soft and he is just too far to hear whatever passes across her lips, but he can see them move. He can see the flutter of her eyelashes as her eyes close, then open again slowly.
She turns to face him, cants her head a little to the left (yes?) and tucks her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. This rounds her shoulders a little, leaving her looking smaller somehow. Here her eyes are merely dark, unnuanced by color or intimation, and they are focused plainly on him.
[Jarod Nightingale] She stopped. Turned around. Waited.
She was tired.
Jarod took this much in with a long, silent gaze, then closed the distance between them. For a moment there was silence, and many things were not said. Then he took a breath. Calm. Calm.
"I'm sorry. For... all that. Are you free on Friday? I was going to take a trip out to the woods, if you wanted to come."
And odd picture, perhaps, imagining someone like him trekking about in the woods. Or perhaps... not.
[Emily Littleton] He apologizes, and her eyebrow rises incredulously. But only for a moment. She is too tired to play their witty game of call and response and Jarod, for his part, was pushing less. That was a small wonder. Perhaps his outburst had exhausted him as well.
"Alright," she said. It was a lukewarm acceptance, but Emily only warmed to tepid at the moment. She reached up to worry her fingers at her temple, briefly, then put her hands away. Self-conscious. Too tired for these games as well.
"Alright," she said again, dropping her hand to her side, nodding a little. They made an odd tableau, a vision practically painful to behold and the wayward orphan beside him. Now and again, Emily couldn't remember why he was talking to her, following her away from anywhere, apologizing to her.
"You know..." she started, her features contracting in sympathy, regret, and mild frustration as she spoke. "Enid's got a lot going on right now. I'm not saying whatever happened in there..." makes sense? "is any of my business. Just... something to keep in mind, yeah?"
She shrugged a bit. Enid was a kid. Emily, well, Emily probably could have taken the brunt of the outburst a little better. After all, no one had died around Emily in quite some time.
She rocked back on her feet a bit. "I gotta get back to campus," she said, explaining her trajectory away neatly. "I've a mess of my own to clean up at the lab." (I'm procrastinating. [You're kind of scary.]) "I'll... see you Friday?"
[Jarod Nightingale] "I'll call you, and we can work out the details."
Whatever he was thinking or feeling beyond that... he kept it to himself. Instead, he smiled, and it looked... a little tired. Perhaps they'd all had a long day. Then he nodded, as if to excuse himself, and turned around to head back to his own car, leaving Emily to return home in peace.
