I think you should stay. [ian]

Kiara
She hasn't been a guest of the Chantry long, Ms Woolfe, but she's already begun to add her own particular flavor to the sprawling ranch. A houseplant here, collections of outerwear hung in the doorway there. A heavy suitcase lugged up the stairs and thrown at the foot of one of the many abandoned bedrooms. When she'd mentioned to Kalen and Grace she might visit, she'd been deliberately vague on the when and how long of such a venture.

Callisto enticed her. The presence of the Node equally so. It was Verbena country, the fenced in pastures; the stable; the frost-bitten earth and the rolling hill the house sat at the base of. There was, also, a degree of satisfaction in the solitude. In the empty rooms and the light layer of dust to be wiped from surfaces. As the New Year ticked over, Kiara wasn't found at her apartment, or wandering the depths of Washington Park. Rather, she was to be found often, as the evenings bled into existence in a riot of pinks and golds across the setting skyline, at the Morrison ranch.

Sitting on the patio wrapped in a borrowed fleece; a glass of wine at her fingertips and the entirety of the wilderness before her.

If anyone had the desire for her company all told; she was hardly the sort of creature who could easily blend into the scenery the way she felt in close quarters. It sets the scene for her whereabouts tonight. The lights burning in the ranch windows; her car parked in the drive; an open bottle of wine in the kitchen along with the makings of a meal since abandoned and beyond; on the patio; a lone figure wrapped against the elements with her legs drawn up beneath her; the stem of a wineglass housed within easy reach.

Someone keeping the Chantry fires burning; perhaps literally.

Ian
Perhaps Kiara knew - or perhaps she did not - that it was a Verbena who owned the property she was presently residing in. The history of the Chantry property was a long and sordid tale. Most knew only fragments of details. Less so, as the old guard left the city and new mages moved in. Ian himself had never met the house's owner. Had never heard anyone speak of Annie Pierce or Leah Walker or the Seekers of Truth. But the house, and the node, were a sanctuary. One did not need to know their history to appreciate their value.

Kiara was already there when Ian arrived. He hadn't been expecting her, but neither was he surprised to find her there. Unlike her, he'd laid no claim to the space inside the house. And he didn't make his way inside after parking his car in the driveway. Instead he made a loop around to the back of the house, walking with slow, relaxed strides as he gazed up at the moon, its light waning just shy of full in the clear winter sky.

The air was crisp, but not as cold as it should have been. Not cold enough to hold a layer of snow in the dry, brittle grass. It felt more like November than January. As Ian approached the patio, he regarded Kiara with a tilt of his head, sliding his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket.

"You look very cozy."

Kiara
How long Kiara had been sitting there was unknown. It was a cool enough night for January to ensure most Denver residents wouldn't be lingering overly long in the evening air. Apparently for others - Kiara and Ian at the very least - the temperature was no such deterrent. She did look cozy; wrapped up in layers of dark, earthy material; her hair falling loose and wild around her shoulders.

As was ever the case with the brunette; she was decorated in silver; hoops in her ears; concealed but present around her neck; wrists; her mouth a bold marker; painted in that rich, cherry red that seemed to be her favored shade. Her eyes were fixed on some distant point; chin tilted; resting on a drawn up knee with an arm wrapped around it to tender the fleece close to her body. If she'd felt Ian approaching she doesn't stir for it but to let her eyes tick down after he speaks; to let a smile bloom across her mouth; flexing the tiny muscles into a crooked appreciation for the sight of him.

"When in Rome ..."

She regards him for a long minute, then. The smile hooked and lingering there in the corner of her mouth, though it fades a fraction as something settles in; awareness, perhaps, of how long it's been since they'd shared the same space. The situation; her own; where they are. What she's turning over as she looks long and hard at him with those dark eyes of hers.

They tick away and she uncurls herself a little. Reaches for the half drunk wine glass at her disposal.

"It's been a while." It's a pleasantry and she knows it, but it feels less curdled on her tongue than to ask how he is, or where he'd been. Maybe she doesn't want to know. Maybe she'll ask, after a pass. When she's taken a sip of wine and -- no. Kiara gathers the folds of the fleece around herself and rises.

"I'm going to get a refill. Join me?"

Serafíne
(I was going to do a fly-by but 'net problems, incipient cold and the need to sleep ridiculously early as usual interfere.  Enjoy your scene, guys.  And ask me to RP sometime.  :) )

Ian
Ian didn't ask Kiara why she was at the Chantry. She didn't ask him either. For a brief moment, he turned his head to look out in the direction of the node. Steam rose up from the surface of the water to dissipate into the dry air. It smelled faintly of salt and minerals, and the heart of the node beat with the same rejuvenating essence that seemed to run through Kiara's veins.

It'd been a while since they'd seen each other, but Kiara didn't ask how he'd been (or where.) There had never been that kind of expectation between them. When Ian turned back, his eyes flickered briefly over the gleam of silver jewelry at her ears and neck.

Would he like to join her?

"Sure." A smile pulled at the edges of his mouth, and he stepped forward to open the patio door. "I was out of town last month. Anything interesting happen while I was away?"

Kiara
She feels a little like some walking, talking, breathing extension of the Node mere feet from them. This close to it, the similarity is a touch more uncanny. Perhaps it's in part why the Verbena looks so at her leisure at the ranch. He regards the spring for a beat before he answers and Kiara's eyes traverse between him and the point of his focus -- she's smiling; some vague; faint stirring of amusement -- before he looks back.

And she - already moving into the house; her jewelry offering a dull metallic score to her progress. She does pause at the patio door; nudges it open with her shoulder and backs inside while smiling at him; the cut of her eyes over him cursory; fleetingly sharp and purposeful. She toes her boots off; half-unravels the fleece around her so it's draped like a shawl over her shoulders and vanishes into the kitchen before she answers.

Setting her glass down and discovering another; prying the cork out of the bottle on the counter with abrupt; unfettered certainty. "I guess it depends on your definition of interesting." This, with a fine dark brow winged upward; Kiara pours him a generous glass; holds it out with a little edged smile; her favorite, those. A challenge and invitation. Collects her own glass and leans a hip back against the counter; nursing the glass against her chest.

"I met Serafine. Spent some time with her. Got to know Grace a little better." There's a subtle suggestion of something a little playful in the manner Kiara rattles off her accomplishments; mundane or otherwise. Teases the edge of her lip with her tongue. "Came here, met the local Guardian. Jumped out of a plane."

She lifts the glass to her lips; takes a sip. "Had a party. You know, the usual." She twists a little to set the glass down behind her and sets her arms out across the counter; spanning the distance; adopting a repose of ownership of that small space within the kitchen. She never had seemed to suffer for the social graces, the brunette.

"You?"

Ian
Ian accepted the glass with a light nod of gratitude. He took a sip of its contents as Kiara listed off her monthly accomplishments. The wine flooded his senses with familiar notes of fruit and woody spice.

"Mm," Ian looked amused as he watched Kiara over the rim of his glass. "One of those things is not like the others." But then Kiara turned the question around, and Ian set his glass down a moment, turning the delicate stem between his thumb and index finger.

"Oh, let's see. I went on tour with my ballet company. Met up with some old friends in New York. Got yelled at by an old woman in Dallas. Ate a lot of sushi in San Francisco. Somehow ended up spending Christmas in Wisconsin.

"A lot of it was kind of a blur, honestly. I didn't have as much time to visit most places as I would have liked. Not that that's anything new." He paused for a moment, pressing his lips together.

"I wouldn't mind going skydiving. If you want company next time."

Kiara
"You're a dancer." It's not a question. She doesn't frame it as such, at least. It's the first time she's heard of what he does. Outside of - well, this. What they were. The world they lived as a part of. To her credit, Kiara doesn't seem startled by the revelation, rather, she looks intrigued, impressed, perhaps. Her dark eyes drop down his body; skim it; return.

The corner of her mouth plays at appreciation. Humor. "I guess that would make sense." It might seem odd to some, to learn of the particulars of somebody you've shared your body with after the fact. Details. There's always been a real she shies away from knowing too many about anyone. Survival was a hell of a lot easier to accomplish when you didn't have detailed memories of the body count left behind.

He wouldn't mind going skydiving; she tilts her face; regards him for a minute and then reaches for her wine; rearranging the fall of the fleece over her arms. It brackets her in place, the material; pulls and contricts and reveals the sweater she's wearing beneath it. cotton; striped and v-necked and with sleeves half pushed up her arms. It looks well loved and a little too big for her body; sliding over the point of a shoulder when she moves around.

"Most people think it's crazy. I think I just appreciate the difference in perspective." A beat, she languishes in the moment, taking a sip from her glass and then: "Sure. Come, next time." And then: "I lived there, you know." A flick of Kiara's dark eyes over his face; roving. Away. "Manhattan. It seems a world away from this." An impatient wave of her fingers; a metallic clinking of the bracelets gathered around a thin wrist, encompassing the Chantry; the moment; all of it.

"There's a good scene there." A ghost of something edges in there; at the corner of the smile she offers the recollection. "Most of the time."

Kiara
[A real, really me. Ahem. A reason, tyvm.]

Ian
The scrutiny of Kiara's gaze didn't seem to phase Ian, much. One would imagine he was likely used to it. He noted the path her eyes took, and it elicited an echo of sharp amusement in his dark eyes. She had already seen him much more revealed than this. Traced the lines of his muscles with her hands. I guess that would make sense, she said, as though the detail of his profession was a missing piece from a jigsaw puzzle.

He let the moment pass.

"I think, in the grand scheme of our lives, skydiving is one of the saner things we could be doing."

There were other things he could have said. Specific events he might have brought up to prove this point. But Kiara was Awake. He didn't need to explain to her what it meant to see and do impossible things.

The next bit though? That got a rise of his eyebrows. Something like surprise and veiled interest. "Really? I lived in Brooklyn for a while. About a year and a half, I think. Before I moved here. Shame I never ran into you."

Kiara
Shame I never ran into you.

There's a particular noise she makes at that; sets her glass down; shifts and hops onto the counter; resettling herself on top of it with all the easiness that speaks of no regard to the idea its intended for the preparation of food; that there's appliances she's blocking; a coffee machine obliterated behind her body. "I don't know what you'd have made of the girl I was then." Kiara crosses her legs; her feet bare; toes painted a shade of red to match her mouth.

She's entertained by the idea of her former self; the ghost of the woman she'd been before she'd Awakened. Self-deprecating humor coats her words. "Ivy Leagued and a lot pretentious." She cants her head; draws her mouth into a thinner line; measured; contemplative. "I like to imagine I'm a little more interesting these days."

She lets the moment draw out; the Verbena; face half shadow beneath the fall of her hair; it's been set free and allowed to dry into untamed waves; settling around her shoulders. There is often, with Kiara, the sense of the unspoken; the forks in the roads of conversation she's deigned not to take. Whether for her own amusement or some assumption of self preservation.

"Still, it is a shame. You might have made my life then a little more exciting." Her mouth curls; she holds his gaze a moment then breaks away with a sharp little breath. "How long are you here for?"

At the Chantry; in Denver. It could cover a great many particulars, that. Maybe she means it to.

Ian
"I used to be a model. Trust me, I'm used to pretentious." He said it with dry arch of an eyebrow, reaching again for his wine glass as he stepped closer to counter where Kiara now occupied space. "I probably would have thought the same thing I thought when I met you here." He paused to roll his tongue over the edge of his teeth, grinning lightly. "I guess that's both predictable and superficial."

Kiara asked how long he was there for, choosing in her subtle way not to clarify the details. Ian took a drink and set his hand on the counter beside her knee.

"I don't have anywhere to be tomorrow, so..." he shrugged gently. "However long I feel like."

It might just as well served as a broader answer to a bigger question.

Kiara
"If we're swapping stories of former glory I feel it's only fair to tell you I was going to be a doctor." She offers it lightly; her head tilted back; body at its ease on the countertop when he sets his hand near her knee. Her eyes shift to it; her own hand sliding down to rest lightly beside it; teasing the edge of space between with the subtle play of her thumb against his wrist.

Tactile sensation; touch; they were both creatures of it in their ways.

It meant something to a Mage focused on the sphere of Life; of healing and destruction of the patterns in it. To give and take away, from. Kiara's eyes tick back to his face; his mouth. She can smell the Merlot on his breath; the vaguely sweet scent of grapes. The way her skin feels comfortably warm beneath the layers of clothing she's wearing. Some of it belongs to the alcohol, that sense of heat. The rest --

"Or at least, that was the intention." She lets herself study the shape of his hand; slides the edge of her thumb there; along the tendons of his wrist; the point of a knuckle; her eyes stay on his face, though. The curve of her mouth; bending into a warmer smile. Contented.

Contemplative. "But I liked the human body too much. The way it moved. The way it found ways to adapt and better itself." She lets her lids drop to half mast; eyes consider the gentle quest of her thumb against his skin. "I think you should stay."

Ian
Ian's eyes cast down to where Kiara's thumb traced over the lines of his hand. The contact rendered him still.

"I might. For a while."

Slowly, he lifted his hand and turned it over, trailing the tips of his fingers down the underside of Kiara's wrist and forearm. As he did so, he pushed arm of her sweater up and out of the way, so the woven material bunched in soft folds at the elbow.

"For what it's worth, you probably would have made a good doctor." His eyes returned to hers then. Dark on dark. Both of them could be so unfathomable, in their own ways. "But then, you probably practice a different sort of medicine."

He was hedging around an assumption. About her Tradition. Her beliefs. Her Craft. They'd never actually spoken about this, beyond those brief explanations of what she did for a living. He didn't say the word: Verbena. Neither did he ask her about it. Instead he brought his hand up and touched the silver pendant hanging from her neck. Took it between his fingers delicately and ran the pad of his thumb over the shape of it. The metal warmed beneath his touch. (Like a warning.)

(Careful.)

After a moment he let his hand drop. When he stepped back, he took a long drink from his wine glass. "Should I ask why you're out here alone?"

Kiara
They've never spoken of it. Not outright. What they were, what they'd become at a certain point. Gathering and peeling back a layer of the world. For her, it had been like surfacing, breaking through after the deepest plunge; pain; a lot of pain and then -- release. The first gasp of oxygen restored. Rejuvenation of the body. Kiara is very quiet and still underneath his perusal as he pushes back the sleeve of her sweater; as he picks up one of the pendants around her neck; the silver is warm with borrowed heat from laying pressed against her skin. She does dip her chin a little; follows the path of his fingers to it and then returns her study to his face.

"I do. I didn't always. It was the family line. Before I - " She hesitates; her speech faltering; expression turning a little more serious; a little more considering the way it had once before. He'd seen that look on her face in the park, after a game of hoops. She turns her eyes away, jaw a little firmer than before to reclaim her wine glass as he does his; lets the pendant drop. It feels a little heavier for the brief absence when it falls back against her chest. "- but I don't deal in the body the way they do. I don't believe in it the way they do. Mainstream medicine. It's all so - "

She lets the corner of her mouth move in some aborted expression; the ghost of a smile.

"Sterile. So after everything changed, I did too." Kiara leans her weight back on a hand; her body moves easily into the motion. For all that Ian was the dancer between them; there's never been a doubt that the Verbena is a creature in full possession of her body. She has the mastery and confidence of her person, Kiara, that could only belong to a woman who comprehends, if not everything about herself, enough to know how to be at peace in her own skin.

"I found paganism. Or I should say, it found me." Her dark eyes tip back to his face. There's something a little challenging in the way she studies him, now. As if she's waiting for the scorn. The rebuff. Maybe there's something to that, the ingrained expectation of it. "I need to be close to nature. It's important to me to be. I don't care about being alone but too long in the city. Too long in one place?"

She sets her glass down; shakes her hair from her eyes with the sweep of impatient fingers. "I don't do well like that. So," She shrugs; her sweater dips lower; the neck widening over the slope of a shoulder. "I'm here. Whatever that's worth."

The way she smiles as she says the last offers the impression she wants it to sound more dismissive than it feels. Than it is, to her. She slides a foot over; gently nudges into his side with it. "And you, why are you here?"

Ian
Kiara's explanation of her presence was longer and more personal than Ian's would be. She spoke of paganism. Of nature. And she looked at Ian as though she expected not to be taken seriously. One couldn't blame her for that, really, after the barely-withheld cynicism he'd projected back when they first met. But they were strangers to each other then - perhaps more prone to making careless judgments.

Kiara touched him with her foot. They seemed to share this habit - of bridging gaps with physical contact. (Or maybe they just liked touching each other. Sexual attraction did that.)

"I was going to use the Node. But it can wait." He put his hand on her ankle, holding onto her leg gently. "I guess we all find ourselves that way, at some point. Evolution of the mind."

He glanced at his hand. Not the one holding Kiara's ankle, but the one holding the wine glass. There'd been a scar there once, on the wrist. But it was long gone now.

"I don't actually believe in gods. At least, not as that. Spirits. Memories. We make what we believe. And sometimes those things stay behind. Become alive, in their own way."

Kiara
They were both physical people and touch could, more often than not, convey a great many things that speech and words, could not. Sex had always been a simple medium for Kiara, it didn't require platitudes or preludes to the act - it could simply be. Could just ... happen. None of which was to say she didn't enjoy the build up, from time to time. Didn't find contentment in the company of others. It was simply that a creature such as she was, that believed in the potency of physicality the way she did - sometimes, it was easier to be with others.

Talking and forging connections outside it, on the other hand -

He touches her bare ankle and the brunette's smile widens a touch; curves and curls into some expression of contained anticipation. He speaks of a disbelief in the Gods; of memories and Spirits and her smile lessens, somewhat. She sits up a little straighter, the Verbena and -

"I believe in nature, predominantly. The energy in the world, what we are. The way it returns to the earth in the end. Gods, Goddesses, I like to think it's all a part of it. That the earth remembers." Her foot shifts in his grasp; he can feel the fine motion to it; the heat of her skin; the sinuous flux of muscle and tissue beneath; the flow of blood; the imprint of her body's contact to him. "Memories, spirits ... " She shifts; her bracelets rattling in hollow symphony as she lets herself down from the bench; lets her ankle skim through his fingers.

Stands very close to him; tilts her face up; all dark eyes and quiet certainty. "I think if you believed enough, you could manifest a lot of things in the world."

Ian
The earth remembers.

There was something they could agree on. For all that Ian was hardly the picture of the stereotypical Verbena, there were moments when his views aligned with theirs. More than moments, really. More like parallel threads - one of which had been stripped down its barest components. Instinct. Evolution. These things were as old as time itself - but they applied just as equally to the modern world.

It was the most they'd ever spoken to each other about these things. Kiara dropped down from the counter and looked up at him. Standing as they were now, with Kiara barefoot and Ian in boots, their height difference was magnified. But Kiara was a powerful presence, regardless of where or how she stood.

At that last comment, Ian smiled.

"If you aren't a Verbena, I'll be very surprised." They stood close enough that Ian could feel the subtle pulse of Kiara's heartbeat in the air between them. It would have been easy to lean down and brush his lips over her own. Easy and instinctive. Instead he stepped back, turning toward the dining room. He walked away slowly, making a lazy path toward the living room on the lower level. The space there had once seemed lonely and cavernous (not here - not really - but the other version of the house that existed in a dream.) Now it was... softer, somehow. More alive.

Perhaps it was just a matter of perspective.

"Is anyone staying here, these days?"

Kiara
If she wasn't a Verbena, he'd be very surprised. There's a gleam, there. The way she looks up at him with her face tilted just so; her hair loose and dark and wild around her shoulders; red mouthed; teeth briefly visible. That sort of libertine grace inherent in so much of the way Kiara puts herself out into the world at large.

"Mm, guilty as charged."

It would have been easy to breach the space between, there's a moment when she's looking up at him and then at his mouth that it seems likely, even predictable that he may; that she may; but for as much as the moment stretches out; melts into another; it doesn't come to pass. She doesn't lean up; he doesn't lean in. They part ways, he heads toward the dining room. She draws her lower lip between her teeth; sets it free with a brief; contemplative breath and then follows.

Leisurely; barefoot despite the chill outside. There's an air of the bohemian to Kiara when she leans into the doorway between. Hip cocked; head resting against the frame; idly toying with the hem of her sweater.

"Kalen says no, not really. I came out here with Grace the other day, it was empty. I think other than his attempts at seasonal cheer it's a little abandoned." There's a touch of amusement to that; the idea of the Hermetic playing Santa; she turns a little; arms sliding over her chest, offering the room and Ian, the vantage of her profile.

"Maybe that's why I decided to hang out, in part." She glances briefly at the dining table; the undisturbed chairs, each aligned in perfect symmetry. "It seems like a waste."

Ian
"It is a waste."

Not that this revelation seemed to do much to motivate Ian to come out here himself. Oh, he made appearances now and then. To use the node or the library or to go running along the trail that led off through the trees. But he laid no more claim to the place than anyone else had. Less, even.

"I tried to get Grace to hack the security system once. She didn't go for it." He grinned lightly. Kiara paused in the archway, and for a moment Ian's motion stilled. He shot an enigmatic look over his shoulder at her revealed profile, then paused to finish off the remainder of his wine. When he was done, he set the glass on the edge of the dining room table.

"Bedroom, sofa, library, or hot spring?"

Kiara
He tried to get Grace to hack the security system. Kiara's eyebrows shoot up. She didn't go for it. Her mouth curves as she issues the briefest huff of laughter. "You don't say. Maybe I should work on softening her up. I think she rather likes me." Oh, there's the barest hint of that competitive spirit to the way she says that last part; chin tilted up in contemplation; the slow, easy curve of her smile.

The clink of the glass being set down draws her eyes back, she twists on the spot, Kiara, tucks a bare foot behind the other and slides her fingers along the surface of the doorjamb like a rancher might a spooked mare. Ian rattles off locations around the property and there's the subtle play of anticipation re-emerging around the brunette's lips. The silence draws out; yoking the potential before she straightens.

Pushes free of the doorway and navigates toward him; veering off when she's within easy reach; washing past with the vague stirrings of her scent; all that contained competitiveness and controlled desire. "Let's start with the hot spring and see how your stamina holds up, cowboy."

Ian
Ian gave a quiet huff of laughter, but he seemed happy to take the implied challenge. Without speaking, he slid the leather jacket from his shoulders and dropped it over the back of a chair. Underneath it he had on a black henley, which he pulled over his head in a smooth stretch of lithe muscle while he made his way to the patio door.

The shirt dropped unceremoniously to the ground. (It was less expensive than the jacket.)

He turned as he opened the door, looking back at Kiara with a sharp, lingering smile. The outside air hit his bare skin with a brisk and sudden chill as he pulled open the glass.

She could follow as she chose - quickly, or on her own time. Either way, he made it out of his clothes and into the water within minutes, and winter's chill was soon forgotten.