[Jarod Nightingale] As enjoyable as certain types of distractions could be... inevitably one had to pull themselves back to reality and face the things they'd been trying to distract themselves from. For Jarod, this reality had been nagging at him with steadily louder and louder insistence ever since Emily had left his apartment two days ago.
He hadn't told her about Dylan. Why?
It made no logical sense. He'd wanted to warn her. To protect her. So why hadn't he? A question with a very complicated answer, and ultimately, rather than sitting around his apartment contemplating difficult things, he simply picked up his phone and dialed Emily's number.
[Emily Littleton] It has been three days since she parted ways with the silver bird that flew her half the world's width. It has been three nights since Rene accosted her in the club, since she buried herself in Jarod to escape the memories that flooded forward. Two days since she woke up beside him. Two nights since the madman on the Mile. Only hours since her resting heartbeat returned to normal after running with Enid in the park. Emily has not been home long, but she has been busy.
It is unusually quiet at her house when he calls. The roommates are out, on the Mile, at one club or another. Emily did not want to go with them. Emily barracaded herself in her room to avoid mandatory group activities. Emily was a stick in the mud. Emily was reading a physics textbook.
She looked down at her phone when it buzzed, then reached down to scoop her bluetooth up in one hand and deposit it into her ear. It blinked once as she tapped a small button, and beeped faintly when the call connected.
"G'evening. This is Emily," she said, plainly. She had not checked the caller ID. She sounded... tired.
[Jarod Nightingale] "Emily, I need to talk to you about something."
(Let it not be said that Jarod wasn't the kind of person who got straight to the point when he had something to say.)
He'd just returned home from a sushi bar after having dinner with his agent, and was in the process of hanging up his coat in the closet and taking off his shoes when Emily's voice greeted him at the other end of the line.
"I really should have just told you the last time you were here, but, well... you proved rather distracting." The teasing comment was an attempt to lighten the mood. Keep things as casual as possible, despite the ominous nature of the warning he was about to deliver. From the sound of her voice, Emily was probably tired and stressed out as it was. "Do you remember what we talked about that time in the woods? When I mentioned that some of us can be... dangerous?"
[Emily Littleton] Emily slid her pen behind her free ear and stretched upward with her arms. If she stretched hard enough, maybe she wouldn't be hearing Jarod's serious voice on the end of the line saying I need to talk to you about something. He was so predictably changeable that Emily had to push herself to not assume the worst -- and with a sickening feeling realized that she didn't even know which scenario could be dubbed "the worst" anymore.
So she listened. She tucked a paper into her book and folded it shut. Folded that into her lap. No distractions. Her voice was likewise serious when she replied, and the tiredness was pushed farther back, obscured. He might imagine that she took a similar tone to work with her, or to any classes she tutored or TAd.
"I remember," she said, evenly. There was a pause, then she asked just as evenly, "Is everyone okay?" Conversations like this did not happen sporadically, not with this gravity and this precipitousness. Someone or something had happened, and she wanted to know that the people involved were hale, whole, before the chat went much further.
Maybe it told him something about her. The even tone, the direct-but-pointed question. Maybe it was just reassuring to hear her take him seriously without talking back.
[Jarod Nightingale] "As far as I know." (Might he not have cared if, in fact, they weren't? He could be cold, at times. Push the well-being of others out of his mind completely, in favor of his own survival, and that of the few people he managed to get close enough to that they fell under protective instinct.)
"But there's a man running around the city. His name is Dylan. He used to be one of us, but his mind fractured. When that happens to us, we aren't... ourselves, anymore. The rules aren't the same. The term for them is marauders. I found him in the park a few days ago and I tried to stop him..." he did not say kill, because that was a word that wasn't taken lightly, and despite his own coldly efficient take on the matter, underneath all of that...
It had bothered him. It always bothered him.
"... but I couldn't." I failed. I'm not perfect. "So he's still out there somewhere, and he's extremely dangerous. I just wanted to warn you, because..." (it scares me thinking about what might happen to you when I'm not around) "I don't want you to get hurt."
[Emily Littleton] As far as he knew was good enough for Emily, for now. It was enough to let her listen to the rest of what he said without getting distracted in the could-have's and should-have's of it. Emily tipped her head back against the wall behind her and closed her eyes. He might hear her exhale, softly (a slow, wearied [worried] sigh).
"All right," she said, after a long moment. The words were slow, languid like molasses. Thoughtful. It was not the first time she'd heard that name, either. Enid had dropped it while they were running earlier in the park. Enid must have known... Emily pressed her eyes shut for a moment, replaying a snippet of conversation in her mind before responding.
"I... I think Enid was asking about this earlier. I may have not answered her seriously enough. Do you know if anyone has told her?" Emily asked, and it was a very calm, thoughtful thing. Whatever she was feeling about this revelation ([i]We can go mad and hurt people [I don't want you to get hurt][/i), it hadn't bubbled to the surface just yet.
"And what else can you tell me, in case he doesn't offer his name?" Emily asked. This was a bit tighter. As if she was withholding something from him, curiously, until after he'd answered her.
[Jarod Nightingale] Emily asked about Enid, and this actually resulted in what sounded like an irritable sigh on his half of the line, but it was muffled and quiet, as if he'd lifted the receiver away.
"Enid knows. She was there. I swear, that fucking girl has a death-wish. I told her to get the hell away and she wouldn't." But he didn't much feel like going into detail about his feelings towards a certain red-haired teenager (because this was neither here nor there, and frankly he didn't put much thought into her to begin with), so he moved on.
"She's fine though. Anyway... he's a few inches taller than I am, and bigger. About my age, too, I think... close to thirty. Short blond hair. You'll likely know him when you meet him, though. He won't act normal. He won't feel normal."
[Emily Littleton] There is a long pause. Long enough for him to wonder if Emily is upset with him for chiding Enid. Or long enough to think that the line had dropped at a terrible time. Long enough to worry, if he cared to, about whatever it was that held her tongue fast for the space of one... two... ten heartbeats.
Emily rolled an unhappily thoughtful sound against her teeth. She had no quip to fill the widening gulf between them, nothing to toss out to distract him from this too-long quiet. After too many seconds (minutes [hours]), Emily spoke.
"Would he feel like Summer?" she asked, and though her tone was light and somewhat seeking, she was not asking an idle question. Would he feel like Summer? Would the snow fail to fall wherever he stood? Would the street whisper to him as he began to take his leave? Of all the things she could ask Jarod, this was the least offensive. Safest.
[Jarod Nightingale] Emily was quiet.
But Jarod was patient, and not particularly inclined towards feeling overly stressed or paranoid. He was, in fact, prone to meaningful silences himself, so rather than ask her if something was wrong or if he'd upset her somehow, he simply waited in his own silence. Back in his apartment, he settled himself, not on one of the most obvious locations (the couch, the recliner, the chairs at the dining-room table), but rather on the bench in front of the grand piano. (It was strange that Emily had never asked him about this. Ordinary people didn't own grand pianos. Only people who were either obscenely rich, and prone to showing off, or very serious about playing.)
One hand traced along the smooth black surface, thoughtfully.
And then finally, that odd question, and something in Jarod's stomach tightened.
"...You met him?"
[Emily Littleton] There was a strange buzzing to her thoughts. Emily did not know what to make of it, save that it seemed to make this conversation all the more surreal. There she was, reading her textbook, trying to get ahead of the coming school term, and talking about maurading madmen. She pressed her fingertips into her temples until her headache abated. Momentarily.
"On the Mile," she said, flatly. "The night after I saw you." Beat. "He came up to me on the street, all covered in blood and talking wildly. And he asked after Kage," Emily said, without assuming that Jarod might know who that is. Emily did, from the way she spoke the other Orphan's name.
"It was..." (awful) "Surreal."
She exhaled, sighing just loud enough that it carried over the line.
"I got away from him as soon as I could. I even called the police, but they wouldn't do anything because he hadn't hurt anyone. And then I called Kage, and went home."
Nothing had happened, her story said. Nothing beyond her elevated heartrate (two nights in a row [two crazy people] too close). Nothing had happened, though. No one got hurt. Emily did not know what an ill portent the hissing (whispering) manhole might have been. Just that she had slipped away, when she could, and gone home.
[Jarod Nightingale] Now it was his turn to be silent. It was a lucky thing that Emily couldn't see him, just then. That she wasn't there to witness the sudden expression of raw anxiety that crossed his face (unhidden, this time, as there was no one there to hide it from), or the way that the fingers of his free hand curled in and tensed so tightly that they dug little half-moon crevices into the skin of his palm.
All she knew was that he was being very quiet.
Finally, he said, very softly (and almost a little too carefully), "I'm... glad you got away. Emily, I'm so sorry. I didn't think. I should have told you sooner. This is my fault."
(For not warning you. For not killing him to begin with.)
"Are you sure you're alright?"
[Emily Littleton] "I'm sure," she said firmly. But Emily wasn't sure, not really. She hadn't known what Dylan was, hadn't even known his name. She didn't know what he could have done. How could she be sure that she was alright?
"He didn't touch me," she said, and Jarod knew enough of her past to know that it was a literal thing with her. This Maurader, whatever he was, had not gotten close enough to lay one mad finger on Emily. Hadn't gotten close enough to grab at her, or snatch her away. Emily still thought of these threats as solely physical, which perhaps spoke to something more comforting: she did not know, still, how bad it could have been. "I promise you, he didn't get close enough to. And when I could, I crossed the street and left."
"He didn't follow me."
Her voice fell away. Quieted again. It was beginning to sink in... how different he sounded, seemed. That he had apologized to her for something that had been a bad run in, at worst, after an equally bad one the night before.
"Jarod...?" she asked, quietly. Emily's brow was furrowed and her eyes were dark. Her tone was worried, but oddly still. "That's two nights in a row I've run into odd, uncomfortable strangers." She had told him, at least briefly, about Rene. "Do... do you think there's something wrong.... with me?"
[Jarod Nightingale] She was alright. By some lucky turn of events, Dylan's madness hadn't pressed him to pursue her. In a way, Jarod almost felt sorry for the former orphan. Whatever trauma had caused Dylan to become what he was, he'd been rational once. And even now, he wasn't overtly murderous. In fact, all he'd really tried to do when Jarod had attacked him was... get away.
But he tried not to think about that, because thinking of Dylan as a person and not a dangerous force of chaos only made it more difficult to kill him. And there was absolutely no doubt that he needed to be killed. If only to protect every innocent person he might harm. (Emily, Emily, Emily...)
But there was relief when the voice on the other end of the line reassured him that she was alright. Dylan hadn't even gotten near her, because Emily was naturally suspicious. For once, Jarod was extremely grateful for that quality. It kept her alive. It kept her safe. But then she was asking if it was her own fault that these things were happening, and he clamped his teeth together, the muscles in his jaw flexing visibly.
"What? Of course not. Why on earth would you think that?"
[Emily Littleton] (( Keeping one's composure-- WP dice, diff 7 ))
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 4, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 7)
[Emily Littleton] A rush of annoyance surged up from the tight place beside her stomach, but Emily bit back most of the words that came to mind. What escaped in immediate response to his questioning was only a soft, faintly frustrated: Verdammt.
"Oh, I don't know," she said, in a worn, loosely sarcastic tone. (My roommate thinks I'm suicidal [there must be something wrong with me]). But it stopped there. Emily didn't take that destructive line of thought any further. She headed it off abruptly and sighed heavily. The exhalation barely shaped the Chinese word he'd heard her speak at the coffee house quite some time ago. Aiya...
"It was stupid. I shouldn't have said it," Emily offered at last. She wasn't completely sure that her question was unwarranted, but she was sure that it had not elicited any sort of response she would have wanted. "It's... this... It's all a little much at times. And it's not been the easiest week."
Jarod was stressed, Emily was overwhelmed. These sorts of conditions led to unwarranted fights between the calmest, sanest of people. Which they were not, not truly.
"I'm sorry," she said again. Letting her voice drop further towards a softer, less self-protective tone.
[Jarod Nightingale] "No, I'm sure it hasn't," he said, a little more gently, after Emily's assertion that the week had not been an easy one. "It's rough, at first. All of this. Overwhelming. It was for me too."
(Imagine that: Mr. Perfect admitting to being human.)
"I'm sorry if I sounded, I don't know, callous? But it was a stupid thing to say. It makes you sound like a victim. Like you're weak, and you aren't. You aren't any of that. You're just caught up in a lot of crazy shit and it's going to take awhile to adapt. Any sane person would be stressed out by that."
(Yes, even him.)
[Emily Littleton] "Thanks," she said. The line was quiet enough that he could just barely hear the dull thud of her head hitting the wall, again. Harder. At least twice. "At least I'll have Spring Term to distract me soon," she said with a wryly. It was the first hint of their biting banter, barely there. Emily was trying to find her way back to something familiar.
"So... What do I need to do, or not do? Since it's clear that just not going looking for him isn't going to be enough. Is this drop everything and run like hell for the nearest exit, or politely move to safer places and call you when I get a chance sort of Trouble?"
Emily had been in both in her somewhat shorter lifespan, so there's an almost cavalier note in how she asks a very serious question. She also can't quite deal with the mortality of it all, not right now, not in the midst of everything.
[Jarod Nightingale] There were a lot of people out there who would not have reacted well to the particular brand of honesty that Jarod so often offered up by way of advice. Enid, for instance. Emily's brief flash of annoyance had settled though, and ultimately she moved past it. This was... a bit surprising, but he didn't comment on it. They both let the moment move past them.
Jarod finally stood up and walked over to the sofa, where he sat down and made himself more comfortable. He stretched out his legs and leaned back, settling his head on the cushioned arm-rest. He listened to Emily's question before replying, in a flatly serious tone, "Drop everything and run like hell." Then, after a pause, "Although I wouldn't recommend fleeing in quite such an... obvious manner. Better not to draw attention to yourself."
She was upset. Stressed out. (Despite the appearance of wry humor in her voice.) He wasn't making it better. So Jarod finally added, with just a touch of humor in his own voice, "Anyway, what about me? Aren't I distracting?"
[Emily Littleton] Jarod couldn't be expected to make it better every time Emily had a bad day, or ran into something that made her head ache. He had already pushed back the tide once since she'd returned to Chicago and Emily hadn't intended to make a habit of running to him (hiding in him) whenever she got a little in-over-her-head.
"Mmmmm," she rolled the appreciative sound across her vocal chords freely, as there was no one home to hear her and no consequence to it -- he was elsewhere tonight. "Quite... but you are not here, alas! And so you are slightly less distracting as only a voice nestled in my ear."
She teased him, lightly. They had not made a habit of this, talking on the phone. They were better at running into each other by consequence than reaching out to touch somebody.
[Jarod Nightingale] "See, now I feel like this is some sort of challenge. I'm sure I could think of ways to be more distracting over the phone." This reference brought to mind a certain conversation a couple of weeks ago with someone that Emily didn't know and was likely never to meet. And that.. made the corner of Jarod's mouth quirk slightly in amusement.
"In fact, I'm thinking of some right... now."
He let that one sink in for a moment, before continuing. "But, you know, we're being all serious and talking about life-or-death situations here, so I suppose that's not really appropriate."
[Emily Littleton] Emily just chuckled, as if she were humoring him in some way. It was an unlabored and unburdened sound, and that was a nice change for their conversations. "Ohhh... I suppose it's only inappropriate if you intend to go back and forth between the subjects," she mused.
She stretched while they talked, sitting there on her futon with a blanket draped over her legs and trying to work out the knots in her back. She was sore from running with Enid, but it was a good sore. It felt... honest.
"I'm not very good at being distracting," she confided, though Jarod often seemed to find her unusually distracting. "So I suppose you'll have to pick up the slack for both of us."
[Jarod Nightingale] "Well, I can do that, but then I'd have to charge you $9.95 a minute."
This back and forth sort of playful banter came easily between them. And maybe it was precisely because of all the recent anxiety and chaos that it seemed such a welcome respite. To just... be. To flirt. Tease. To relax in each other's company and sink into the distraction they mutually provided. Jarod reached up and plucked open the top two buttons on his shirt so that it wouldn't constrict against his neck, and his fingers trailed down to drum lightly on his chest.
"Of course, you could just come over here and solve the problem entirely."
[Emily Littleton] "Is that an actual invitation?" she asked, keeping her tone light, "Or are you teasing me again?"
Emily did not inform him that she was sitting in her shared bedroom in the most comfortable pyjamas she owned, curled up in blankets and taking solace in her quantum physics assignments for the next term. There were some things Jarod just didn't need to know. Especially when his voice took on that particular tone.
It would be easy enough, to fall back into him and let the stress of this (and other) recent realizations fall away. This time, however, she would have to overcome the inertia of being in her own room, in her own bed, in warm and comfortable things... and the nagging concern that maybe, just maybe, sleeping with Jarod was not the panacea for the things that made her head spin or ache.
[Jarod Nightingale] "Why don't you try me and find out? Unless, of course, you'd prefer that I send over a harem of attractive boys to be at your beck and call. I could do that, you know. I know people." (Point in fact, he probably could do that, if he wanted to.)
"But, naturally... I'd prefer my first suggestion. For tremendously selfish reasons."
And because, you know... I'm worried about you.
"So, yes, it's an actual invitation. We could even do things that normal people do, like eat cookies and watch a movie. Or... not. As you prefer."
[Emily Littleton] "Really?" she asked, and the word trended upwards, just short of incredulous. "What normal people do?" Again, ever upward, eyebrows raised. "Wouldn't that be a fascinating experiment?"
Emily set her book aside while she was talking with him, while the low resonance of her voice and the amusement therein flittered its way across the airwaves to curl into his ear. Background sounds filter in as she started to gather her things, change, get ready to go. Emily had to leave her room as neat as possible, everything folded up and ready. It was habit, practiced.
"I think I'll take you up on that," she said, with an audible smile in her voice. They had talked about life-threatening things, but what a Maurader might do was mostly abstract to Emily... less visceral and understood in the marrow of her bones than the fears Rene had stirred up earlier. It might take him a bit more time to impress on her just how gravely dangerous Dylan was, and how viscerally real magic gone awry could be. But for now it only meant that she would be less edgy, distracted, as she drove across town, and that he could worry a little less (more) about her for it.
