cornered. [samir, serafine, grace]

Samir
retroactive disbelief vs. dynamic resonance rolls 1/3

Dice: 2 d10 TN7 (2, 10) ( success x 1 )

SamirDice: 6 d10 TN7 (3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7) ( success x 1 )

Samir2/3

Dice: 2 d10 TN7 (5, 10) ( success x 1 )

SamirDice: 6 d10 TN7 (3, 6, 8, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 4 )

Samir3/3

Dice: 2 d10 TN7 (3, 9) ( success x 1 )

SamirDice: 6 d10 TN7 (1, 3, 3, 5, 8, 10) ( success x 2 )

SamirIt's a beautiful evening. Clouds cut back on the mountain-high heat and the breeze feels nice after a period of oppressive sunlight. The sidewalks teem with pedestrian foot traffic and every block emits music and conversation. People shout across the street at each other and open restaurant doors give way to the sounds of clattering cutlery and discussions melted together into a din.

That said: Samir is having a bad day.

The worst thing that could happen to a Virtual Adept is to lose his sense of direction. Their magic works through connections and code and when it all starts to fritz out everything looks the same. He hasn't changed his clothes in two days and the less said about what he did yesterday when he escaped from wherever he was Thursday night the better. On a good day the man is aware and leery of germs and their presence in the environment and on other people. His own thoughts keep him away from other people. The amount of ritual he has to go through just to leave the apartment eats up entire hours of his day.

Grace has never seen the young man with his hair down. The tie responsible for keeping it restrained is still in place but he's had a rough few days and chunks have fallen free of its bindings and fall stringy down to his shoulders. A healing laceration mars his face.

'Laceration' is too kind a word. It looks like someone tried to eat a chunk out of his face and managed to break the skin without causing any further damage. Scabs left behind.

He may or may not have gone missing. Someone may or may not have said something. He doesn't even know where he is right now. He ought to know he's going the opposite direction of his fucking apartment because the light rail tracks are nearby and he doesn't live near the light rail.

So whatever Grace is doing on this lovely late summer afternoon she happens to look up and see a somewhat disheveled young reality hacker go slinking past.

Grace[Awareness!]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 4, 8) ( success x 1 )

GraceGrace is having tacos. She's got a sack in one hand and a taco in the other, taking in the sights of Federal Boulevard on her way to her car when it happens. There's a hint of sharpness to the air, and it's something familiar, something that jogs her memory. She looks around her, and her eyes almost pass right over Samir. If it weren't for the general state of him, with the scabs of healing wounds and signs of distress, she might have had to look a lot harder.

People like Samir disappear. It happens. Whatever it is about him that selectively deletes him from memory works hard. It can get you in trouble. Still, she's heard it around. The event that left him like this, his disappearance? Not exactly something that she's missed.

"Samir?"

They're about to run into each other -- literally.

SamirHer voice is different than the voices of the loas that had gathered in judgment around him and started hounding him two nights past. It's real. It tugs at him in a way the voices he's ignoring do not.

In the seconds that their eyes meet as they pass each other on the sidewalk Grace can see a glazed sort of madness in his eyes. This isn't a mindscape he's in or a Marauder he's become but she can feel the influence of his resonance and more than that she can feel the paradox crackling around him electricity-wild and for a second it looks as if he's going to turn and run.

Sleepers everywhere. If he were not in control of himself this would be a potentially deadly situation. Still could be. Grace doesn't know what sort of state he's in.

Startled and jolted and Sam stuffs his hands deeper into the pockets of his banged-up biker jacket. Ducks his head and keeps walking. For all he knows she's not real. He's having trouble differentiating between what's real and what isn't. He can push away the things that are very obviously not real but it's the things that could be real and aren't that still give him trouble.

They do not run into each other literally or otherwise. He sidesteps her and passes her by.

GraceOkay. The taco she was eating gets wrapped up and stuffed in her bag quick-like.

"Samir! Hey," she says, to his back, turning around to walk with him. "It's me. It's Grace. Where are you headed?"

She tries to keep her voice calm, does not even get close to touching him. When she pops up at his side a few seconds later, it's on the other side of the sidewalk.

Samir"I--"

He about jumps out of his skin when she appears in his peripheral vision on his left side instead of his right where she'd been a moment ago. She can hear whatever he was about to say next catch in his throat.

There's as likely a chance that he's talking to himself as he is talking to another human being. He doesn't understand why it's called Quiet. Ought to just call it Batshit and get it over with. Even if she is a hallucination it's not worth leaping into traffic to stabilize his personal bubble.

A frown creases his brow. They're still walking.

"Are you actually here?"

He's too worn out to try and word that question so he doesn't sound as if he's lost his damned mind.

GraceAre you actually here? Grace remembers those words from another direction. Lying in a bed drenched with sweat and bloodstains when a quiet Verbena in a lab coat and face mask brought her water. Are you actually here?

She knows what that's like. Knows the look on people's faces when they figure out that the person they're talking to is out of their minds. She just keeps walking without letting that get to her enough to show the shock.

It doesn't really matter why Samir's like this. Just that he is, at this point, hallucinating. Pretty sure about that.

"Yes. Though I know it's fairly difficult to take me at my word when I could be a hallucination. I'm not, though. Listen, you've been gone for two days now. I can see why. You need some help, yeah?"

SamirJust because she says she's actually here doesn't mean she isn't saying what he would think she would say. The mind is a more powerful computer than the typical user and the typical user doesn't have the ability to write a few lines of code and change physical space.

Their people tend to generate Paradox more quickly than the other traditions do. It's hard to tell how far gone he is from looking at him. Maybe he wouldn't have even noticed an expression of shock if it came over her face.

But he flinches when she uses the word 'hallucination' and stops walking when she says she can see why. That he needs help.

"What?" he says. "No, I'm fine. What are you talking about?"

Grace"Hmm yes. Fine," she says, stops on the sidewalk with him. "I'm not going to argue. You are alive enough. That's good. People have been worried."

It could be a lot worse, she seems to be saying. At least he's only wandering down the road looking like a rabid dog got to him, asking his friends if they're really there...

"Where are you headed?" she asks again. He might even know.

Samir"Nowhere."

He's paranoid. Just because she isn't a hallucination doesn't mean she isn't something else. A construct or a hologram. An evil twin or something. Paranoia shoots his answer out at her and it's not an honest answer.

A glance over his shoulder reveals the direction he was headed is clear. Grace doesn't know where he lives or how he gets around.

"Just..." He clears his throat. Scratches the skin near the bite one two three times quick then shoves his hand back in his pocket. Doesn't scratch the bite itself. If he did that he'd tear off the scab. Act normal, damn it. "Just out for a walk."

Grace"Okay," she says. Damn, he's going to be hard to get to, she thinks. Just out for a walk? Fuck, man. She rolls her eyes, because even the insane will get that out of her when they're being ridiculous.

"Would you like a taco?" she says, digs into the bag to find a fresh one. He might not have eaten for those two days. It's still in its wrapping paper when she hands it over, across the sidewalk. She has to lean over to get anywhere close to him, but she does. Slowly.

Samir"No no no, I don't--!"

Overdone attempt at reassurance. Like he has a muscle spasm adjusting his Friendliness dial and cranks it all the way up to 11. That she hands something to him at all whether it's the innocuous taco it actually is or appears to be something fucked-up filtered through the lens of his perception would have been enough for Sam to try and decline as polite as possible if he were--

Well. Sam isn't exactly mentally healthy on an ordinary day either but if he's deranged on an ordinary day he's quiet about it. Quiet versus In Quiet.

His hands came out of his pockets as he sprang away from Grace. Not showing his palms yet but more to keep his balance. Like he might need to turn and start hauling ass in a second. That wound on his face looks like it hurts even if he doesn't realize it's there.

"Heh!" Act normal: fail. Reel it in. "I don't eat meat. Vegetarian." He stops talking before he can launch into a delusional rant about what the government does to the meat in this country. Starts walking backwards away from her. "Thank you. Though. I really... I'm fine."

GraceShe turns to face him as he's walking backwards. First things first? We're going to make sure he doesn't get lost again, 'cause it looks like he's about to book it away from his friends -- again. Honestly, Samir? The taco gets stashed away again.

"I'm going to call Kiara, all right? She can help with your," Grace starts, making a sweep across her face.

She pulls out her phone, and huffs a little sigh into it as she goes to operate her 'special' programs. Tracking people is almost her specialty, by now. Usually, she doesn't do it to friends, but in this case...

"I'm also going to make sure we can find you," she says, under her breath. "Last time somebody called Kiara, that didn't work out so well..."

[Corr 2, Life 1, Mind 1 = Tracking a Samir. He's not running away again if she can help it.]

Dice: 3 d10 TN5 (5, 7, 8) ( success x 4 ) [WP]

Grace[Extending, because...]

Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (3, 7, 10) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

SamirThat gesture she makes doesn't mean anything to him. Sam frowns heavy and considers her for several seconds. Call Kiara. How does she know Kiara. Maybe she is actually Grace.

In an ideal world he would accept the help she offers and sit quietly while they waited for the healer to arrive. It isn't as if Kiara is an unknown variable here. He trusted her enough to go off into the desert and let her show him the fucking Umbra. He's been alone in a warehouse with Grace several times.

His capacity to trust others and his own safety aren't the issues here about but he doesn't have an altruistic martyr streak going either. It isn't a matter of him valuing other people's lives more than his own. Worrying that the Technocracy or vampires or some other faceless malevolent force is going to swoop in and kill his friends. It's that he doesn't trust himself.

No way for him to convey that to Grace without sounding crazier than he already does so he just stands wide-eyed controlling his breath while she looks down at her phone to punch in a command.

Sam isn't a ghost. He can't vanish at will. What he can do though is keep creeping backwards away from Grace and then duck into a fucking alleyway. Introduce a bit of lag between when she last physically saw him and when his coordinates show up on her computer.

When she looks back up he's gone from the sidewalk but she knows exactly where he is.

GraceAfter the blip of red shows up on her map displaying "Samir" she flips back to the normal operating routine of phones. There's a list of contacts that she scrolls through (Jeez, Grace, when did you start having all these friends?) and finds the K's.

Somewhere else in Denver, Kiara's phone starts going off. If she picks up, it's Grace on the other end with this to say:

"Hey, it's Grace. I'm having a problem? I'm on Federal right by the... uh... Truong An Asian Gifts store? It's Samir. He's all fucked up. Need backup. You available?"

Kiara[We're doing a little detective work from the other night here. Life 1, coincidental scanning blood. Who was with Elijah? Did Kiara figure that out. Base diff 4, + 4 Sam's Arcane equal to Jesus or something to pick up traces of his resonance, -1 focus, -1 taking her time = BASICALLY DIFF 6]

Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (3, 5, 10) ( success x 1 )

Kiara[Extending, don't mind me.]

Dice: 3 d10 TN7 (1, 2, 3) ( botch x 1 )

Kiara[Oh screw you paradox.]

Samir[That is amazing.]

Kiara[Reality says no.]

Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (3, 7) ( success x 1 )

Kiara[Kiara says ow.]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 7, 8) ( success x 2 )

KiaraThe last time Kiara had gotten a phonecall, it had involved her driving to Washington Park to assist Elijah with a certain situation involving a drug dealer, Vulgar magic and some sort of entity that had ended up as little more than fatty, smoldering clumps on the ground where it had (quite literally) been scorched from the earth. To say the Verbena's evening had taken a turn would be putting it lightly.

Tonight, she's leaving a tip at a Vietnamese restaurant and shrugging her bag over a shoulder when her pocket vibrates. Not Elijah's half blurred identifying picture but a placeholder (the brunette was yet to manage a capture of Grace for her number) and it's with a pause and a swipe of her thumb over the screen that Grace hears the click and familiarity of Kiara's voice on the other end of the line.

"As I live and breathe, Grace Evans. What's going on, girlfriend?"

There's a certain lightheartedness to the pagan's greeting as she smiles in farewell to a waitress and pulls open a glass door that fades in response to Grace's greeting. Kiara twisting, instead, to sight her location in relation, a frown pulling her red painted lips down. "Samir?"

The pieces hadn't made any sense at the time. Blood on Elijah. Another Awakened but she hadn't been able to pick up a trace. In fact, it had seemed - "I'm on my way." She's easy to spot, too. The Verbena with her long, wild hair and red mouth. The edges of a skirt licking at her heels as she jogs toward the Truong An Asian Gifts store; a heavy silver belt laced at an angle around her hips and jewellery; stones and beads and who knew what else adorning her wrists and neck.

You could feel Kiara Woolfe coming, the deluge of rejuvenating energy and swirling, pulsing life (here came the healer).

[Be nice, dice. Awareness, just in case.]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (5, 6, 6, 8, 9, 9) ( success x 5 )

GraceGrace is a presence leaning against the outside wall of the gift store when Kiara shows up. She's looking into her phone, and Samir is nowhere to be seen.

Still, she peels her eyes off of whatever is so interesting in order to look at the sensation of Kiara. "Hey. He turned and ran. But I could see it coming, so," she flips her phone around, showing Kiara the map of Denver, complete with the little red dot that is Samir upon it.

"He's hiding out in an alley behind the shop. I think he's hallucinating and extremely paranoid. Doesn't think we are who we say we are, I think? In other words, use caution."

SamirThat little red dot starts to boop its way around the back of the building and towards the parking lot.

After he'd ducked out of sight Sam had thought he would try a little self-medication. Light up a cigarette and wander the length of the alleyway or breezeway or whatever the hell this structure is called while window-gazing while he gave himself a pep talk. Acting like he's waiting for someone. Something other than hiding from someone who is trying to help him.

What he can state with certainty is that he is in fact hallucinating and he is in fact suffering from delusions and sensory overload.

What he cannot state with certainty is what actually qualifies as any of those things.

Hiding in an alleyway was not the smartest decision he's made today and especially not this particular alleyway. It takes about two cigarettes for him to state that to himself with certainty. Not smart hanging out in a place where it looks like the awful things he's been seeing or worrying about could actually happen.

Something rustles through a pile of garbage and that's about enough self-medication for right now.

So the little red dot moves. Luckily the little red dot hasn't eaten in two days and has no sense of direction right now. It starts to head towards South Federal rather than cutting north and running.

SamirOOC: STRIKE THAT FIRST SENTENCE I JUST LOOKED AT A MAP

KiaraWhatever Kiara had been doing before Grace called, there's no clear sign of it. No shopping bags hang from the woman's arms; there is just a lightweight jacket that cuts in at her waist and elbows, leaving her forearms and wrists free and allowing glimpses of the bracelets the brunette wears around each; a ring on her right hand; some smooth oval stone that catches and glints with her movements in the light.

She's slowed to a purposeful walk by the time she sights Grace leaning against the wall of the gift store, the shifting, keen sense of her guiding the Verbena as surely as anything else. The sensation the Verbena has of the other woman is frequently something clever and agile, the cunning fox that slips into the grasses before it can be scented by predators; the circling eagle; its wings spread wide and casting low shadows across the dry earth before it dives. Clever and quick, that was Grace.

Kiara's eyes tick to the phone in Grace's hands with this brief, tugging smile.

Admiring. Impressed. She nods, breathes out slowly as Grace talks and falls into step with her; Kiara's skirt shifting around her legs as she does; it's a vibrant flourish of pinks and greens and a cut down the side that reveals the edges of the strapped heels on her feet. "I think I may know why. Elijah called me the other night from Washington Park," Kiara's voice is pitched low, her focus shifting from Grace to the careful dodging of pedestrian traffic around them as they weave toward the dot known as Samir.

"He said he was there with another - " She hesitates as a couple brush near them, "- one of us. Something attacked them, but by the time I got there whoever was with him had taken off. Elijah had their blood on him. I tried to use it to figure out who it was but - " The Verbena's expression knits into something akin to lingering confusion. "The blood was strange. I couldn't get anything that even seemed human, but Elijah said the guy with him, he was freaking out."

Her eyes tick to Grace. "Sounds a little familiar."

Grace"Yeah. I put that much together. I mean, the injuries match what I've been told," she says, shrugs. "Samir's a friend. He's one of my kind, you know? Think he's having the worst couple of days ever..."

She heaves herself off the wall, looks at her phone again. "He's moving. Probably found the courage to get out of that horrible alley... Want to go get him? See if he'll respond to some semblance of reason?"

She sighs, heavy, like that's rather unlikely. At the very least, he might stand still long enough to let Kiara heal his face. But then again, Grace isn't really going to let him walk the streets now that she knows where he is. He's a walking Technocrat magnet in his current state. Fuck that. She starts walking a brisk pace in the direction of the dot. South. Let's go that way.

SamirFun fact: Samir had been meeting up with Elijah the other night after nearly three weeks in a milder episode of Quiet. No one has seen him at all this month because he has been holed up in his apartment hallucinating and attempting to puzzle out a sort of meaning from the hallucinations.

All he's come up with is he needs to stop fucking up vulgar hacks.

So for three weeks Samir had subsisted on a diet of cigarettes and bottled water and whatever he could scrounge up from the bodega downstairs without drawing too much attention to himself. He looked a bit thinner to start out. Now he looks thinner and dirtier for not having bathed in two nights. The wound on his face is the source of the blood on Elijah's shirt.

Their paths converge because he doesn't know where he's going and they do. When he sees the both of them his eyes go wide. Dart between the two women's faces several times. But he doesn't turn and bolt. He puts his back against the wall of the building and breathes fast and waits to hear what they have to say.

KiaraThe look Kiara casts Grace is one of contained sympathy. She brushes the fingers of one hand briefly against Grace's elbow, the touch so fleeting and barely there before it was gone it could have been mistaken for an accident. Touch rarely was, that being said, with the Verbena.

"We'll fix it. If we have to, we can hold him until I can at least heal his face." There's something very matter of fact about the way she says this, Kiara, that offers the idea she has absolutely no qualms with attempting to physically restrain a fully grown man to prevent him injuring himself (or others) further. It's there in a steady way the brunette says it; the intent sweep of her eyes over the crowds, the tilt of her chin.

Their paths converge and Samir looks like a startled, wide eyed doe caught in a hunter's crosshairs. Back against the wall; staring at them and Kiara's supple mouth thins to a line; her dark eyes flicking over the Virtual Adept's body and returning to focus with keener intent on his face. On those wild eyes of his.

"Hey, Samir." Kiara takes a step, subtly preempting Samir's flight on one side; her fingers slide to her sides; one resting over her bag; a worn leather thing that looks as if its held together by determination more than any physical resilience. The pagan's voice is quiet, threaded with (deliberate) pleasure at the sight of him. He looks thin, drawn and smeared in blood and dirt and there's a certain way the Verbena draws in a breath, a certain angling of her body that reads readiness.

That speaks of unvoiced sympathy for his current situation.

"Grace and I were just looking for you. I heard you had a rough night. I can help you feel better, if you like."

Grace"Yeah, don't grab him, Kiara. I know you might want to -- I'm just saying, that will make it worse. Be careful about the touching shit all together. I'm afraid of what he might do if he gets hyped up by somebody trying to hold on to him. I used to be like that. Sucks."

She just keeps staring into her phone while she talks, not really looking at Kiara's reaction to that.

Eventually, they catch up. They catch him. He's up against the wall and scared shitless. Grace's eyes skitter off of his, with his fast breathing and cornered animal expression.

"Hey. I called Kiara, just like I said. Hey, I can get you something vegetarian to eat, hey? I uh... ate all of the tacos..."

It's about all she can do at the moment. And necessary, because come on -- he looks like she did after throwing up her stomach lining for a month.

SamirOption A: Continue asserting that he's fine and nothing's going on he just partied too hard the other night hah hah go away Friends nothing to see here and then they double-team him and everything is awful and they end up on the news or in a Paradox Realm or Room 101 or or or.

Option B:

He listens as Kiara offers to help him. He listens as Grace offers to get him something besides the tacos she ate. He doesn't want food. They as in They with a capital T They are trying to kill him because he won't do what they tell him to do. He knows They aren't real. But then there's the germs he knows are there. Germs and he go round and round most nights anyway.

But he's tired and he's hungry and he doesn't want to upset them. He and Tobacco concluded that they're real and they probably aren't being remotely mind-controlled by the Technocracy. Or else he just doesn't care if they are.

"Okay," he says.

KiaraIt's at some point between Grace asserting that she shouldn't touch Samir and the way Samir looks at them as if he's resigning himself to some fate worse than death that the Verbena's fingers slide into her bag and curl around her phone. It's a subtle motion but in Samir's current state might as well be certification she's calling in more suits to come in and restrain him while they escort him away.

The brunette knows precisely two people who might be able to reach the man pressed against the alleyway wall in ways that won't snap whatever tenuous control he's clinging to and her fingers tap out a message to the first she locates in her saved numbers. Two women with devices in their hands, exchanging looks between them and the second; the taller; tucks hers away after a moment and reaches down to set her bag on the ground with a dull impact suggestive of heavy items within.

"Okay." She repeats and straightens, but doesn't approach. There's a cant of her head, her eyes search Samir's expression for signs he's about to lash out, make another run for it. "You know I'm not going to hurt you, right? You have a cut - " she gestures to her temple, the heavy jewellery on the Verbena's wrists clinking together. "I'm going to fix it. I'm going to come closer."

A beat. Kiara takes a step. "Tell me if you want me to back off."

SerafíneTaxi on the corner.  The yellow sort with the lights framing the word TAXI to tell you: on duty or off, occupied or un.  Half a dozen tree-shaped air fresheners hanging from the rearview mirror and a strange, subdural sort of music muttering from the speakers.

Lights flashes against traffic.  The smear of the lingering sun this bloodied, blooded stain over the windshield, or maybe that's simply the pulse of traffic light as it changes over from yellow to red.

--

A woman climbs out of the backseat.  Creamy white, maybe ivory, cocktail dress.  Brocaded or beaded and strapless, long hair pulled back into a loose almost-chignon that only emphasizes the darker, shaved fringe on her head.  Heels on the sidewalk (black, peep-toe, these) as she saunters towards the trio, studded black clutch tucked in her right hand.

SamirSam opens his mouth to answer the question as to whether he knows she's not going to hurt him. It isn't so much that she cuts him off as he decides he doesn't want to answer that. Sure the hallucinations aren't real and he can tell himself that all he wants but the ones he sees are everywhere and the ones he hears won't shut the fuck up. He can ignore them but that doesn't make them go away.

His eyes have a febrile sheen to them but he's gone pale from lack of sleep and food. It isn't illness that has him acting like this. They can practically feel how haywire his Work has gone or hear electricity crackling in the air around him. Practically but not quite.

He wants her to back off but not for the reason Grace has warned her about.

That cut is a bite. What bit him was once human. A young blond man with an appetite for dangerous things unwrote its Pattern and left it as singed nothing on the grass in Washington Park. He isn't sure he believes her. When he puts his fingers to his face he doesn't draw away blood but that's because the wound has already scabbed over.

Wordless resignation. Kiara can put a hand on him and he won't try to escape.

GraceGrace nods at his "Okay" and starts stalking off to find him something vegetarian in this place. The Vietnamese places usually have plates and soups full of meat. The taco places usually have meat wrapped up in tortillas. Maybe she might find a taco place with some sort of bean burrito, but then that would be full of lard, so no...

A bit of wandering through Google finds the place they just passed (Saigon Bowl) with a vegetarian menu. Score. Lemongrass sauteed tofu sounds good (and more portable than a soup) so, she trundles off to go get some.

Kiara seems like she has this "no touching" thing down. She's asking permission first, at least.

It's then that she notes Sera, that unmistakeable gut-wrenchingly enthralling sensation of her. Grace turns and waves. "Gonna go get him some food," she says, as if that explains everything. It might. The guy needs to eat as much as he needs his face put back together.

SerafíneMind 2: (less aura reading/surface thoughts.  more like a life scan: wtf is wrong with you?)  Difficulty -1 (focus)

Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (9, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )

Serafíne(And now Mind / Prime: 1 methinks.  are you under the influence of magicks?).  Dif -1: focus.

Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (6, 6, 10) ( success x 3 )

KiaraIt's hard to imagine what Kiara must have texted Serafine to get her to Federal on a Saturday at dusk. After, even. The sun sinking down and stars speckling the sky; clouds rolling over and there's the three of them with Samir pressed back against a wall as if he's preparing himself for some sort of onslaught. Blood dried to his face; gore and who knew what else staining him.

He's got a bite mark on his face and the creature responsible for it wasn't anything explainable to most people. There's nothing normal about any of this but then again - their lives, their world - Kiara's taken a step closer and Grace stalks off in the quest for food and then there's the curl and hook of the Cultist and Kiara cuts a look over a shoulder; her hair wild and loose tonight; she's in white and pink and green and there's a protracted pause before she says anything.

Lets the other female closer and then: "Something attacked him with Elijah in Washington Park two nights ago." An undertone, that. Kiara's voice a deliberate aside, her hands dropping to her sides. "Whatever it was, it got Samir. I can heal it, but - " Her attention settles back on him. It's not the physical that's the problem, the unspoken as she moves closer. Her focus on the injury to his face.

[Life 1, scanning those injuries to see how bad they actually are. So much magic. -1 for focus.]

Dice: 3 d10 TN3 (3, 5, 7) ( success x 3 )

Kiara[Int + Med to possibly lower a roll to heal with Life, I think we need at least 3 to drop it a diff.]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 8) ( success x 1 )

Kiara[Vulgar af, Life 3 + Prime 2: Heal Samir's face. Base diff 7, -1 focus, -1 going slow, -1 practiced rote]

Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (5, 5, 5) ( success x 4 ) [WP]

Kiara[Paradox, 3 + 1 for probable/possible Sleepers around cuz they always are]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (3, 5, 6, 10) ( success x 2 )

Kiara[Ow.]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 4, 9) ( success x 1 )

SerafíneThe creature's dark eyes track to Grace as Grace walks by, remarks that she is going to get him some food.  Sera's mouth is painted a red so dark it seems to be the color one imagines heart's blood must be.  There is a sort of sliding acknowledgment in that glance but also: a clear focus elsewhere.  This hum, beneath her breath, beneath her skin, the sliding grace of it, music of the spheres or at least music of her spheres: less rhythm than harmony, with the glissading uncertainties of the universe.

"Paradox."

That is Sera's response to Kiara.  Both the verbal greeting and the unspoken warning or perhaps request.

Samir is hallucinating like a schizophrenic off his meds and on a psychotic break.

--

None of them really belong here but at least in her usual get-up Sera can be both classified and dismissed as a streetwalker.  That's what all the abuelitas in a certain priest's congregation always thought she must be: showing up at all hours, half-dressed, fucked the fuck-up.

Now it is dusk, a late-dusk, a summer-dusk, the hum of traffic skimming by on Federal, feral kid and Sera's mouth closes, flattens - this neat, thoughtful sort of grimace.  Keeps some distance as Kiara starts to heal Samir.  Her right hand half-closes, thumb rubbing slow and rhythmic over the bronze ring she always wears.  This small physical tic she is not really aware of.

(While Kiara is casting: Mind 1: Mind Shield.)

Dice: 3 d10 TN3 (1, 7, 8) ( success x 2 )

GraceUpon her arrival at the Saigon Bowl just down the street, Grace orders some lemongrass sauteed tofu (with peppers and a spicy sauce, the menu says, so hope Samir likes heat. Probably does.)

It reminds her so much of all those times Kalen would just bring her food. Like -- hey, you look like you haven't eaten. Here's some noodles. Don't starve. He's rubbed off on her. Or, perhaps she just can't think of anything else to do for him. Everyone wants to help. It's a thing you do as a Mage in Denver -- or at least it's a thing that their little group does. Theirs is a small spot of sanity in the insane world.

It's going to be a little bit before the stir fry is done. In the intervening time, she checks her phone. Samir is staying put, and that's a good sign. She doesn't want to have to chase him down so she can deliver tofu.

SamirAll of them would qualify as schizophrenic if they were to ever speak to a Sleeper professional about what they believe themselves capable of accomplishing. Breaks from reality and delusions of grandeur. Strange thoughts and stranger behaviors.

Reality is punishing Samir for breaking the rules. His is not a divorce from reality brought on by a chemical imbalance and reality is not one thing to all people.

He is more dangerous than a schizophrenic because the things he believes and thinks he can make into reality. If he chooses to believe in whatever it is he's seeing and hearing then those things can cross the gauntlet into this world.

They're all wary of him. He knows they are. He's breathing heavy because he's overwhelmed by what the world is doing to him and then there's Kiara trying to help him even though he's--

Well. Sera isn't reading his mind. She has no idea what he's thinking. Neither is Kiara. Kiara is close enough to hear the cadence of his respirations. That he's scared.

Kiara's palm finds the wound on his face smooth but for the scabbing and the two days' worth of stubble come in on his jaw and as she works her pagan magic saltwater traces the line of her thumb.

He keeps his hands jammed in his pockets and his eyes locked shut the entire time.

KiaraThere is something innately wild in the manner the Verbena heals people. Professionally, as a mundane calling, she rarely does it quite as intimately (or brazenly) as this. Which is: Samir allows Kiara to come closer and - with a beat where she garners the awareness from Serafine (Paradox) - invade his personal space. She steps close enough to him that he can see the color of her eyeshadow; the thick application of mascara on her lashes; the faint smattering of freckles on her nose.

He can smell the brunette's perfume and when her eyes rove his face; feel the intensity behind it. Her hands come up; there's no contact at first; just a vague sense of warmth that radiates from the pagan. She looks as if she's pushing at the edges of an invisible bruise; her teeth sink into her lip and she tastes blood; the tang of it on her tongue strengthens the focus.

Pulls at the fabrics of reality; unspools it; slices into it with the precision and disregard a weed might for the way and direction it grows; pushing itself into the world. Kiara Woolfe pries apart what should be and creates what shall be and Samir's eyes are shut against it when she puts a hand on his face; cups it; and slides another down into his clothing.

Over his chest; skin to skin. Pushes down and there's this subtle; tingling radiation. A surge as if his heart had suddenly galloped and there. His skin begins to knit itself together; as if time had sped up in tandem and the layers of wounded tissue repair; half hidden by matted hair and dried blood and a few days of beard growth Samir's body regenerates and he can feel it. Feel the burn of Kiara's will pushing itself against him and then -

She lets go; there's a sudden severing and the sense of warmth fades and she steps back, Kiara, the slightest of smiles twitching her mouth.

(There's always a cost, though).

Her nose starts to bleed and she takes a jerkier step back, lifts her fingers to her face; turns her eyes on Serafine and notes, in a considerably weaker voice: "It's done." (Nature cannot be altered without recompense.)

Serafíne(Mind 3: Calm.  Difficulty: 8.  -1 Focus.  - 1 Time.)

Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (1, 6, 7) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

Serafíne(Extending: +1)

Dice: 3 d10 TN7 (2, 7, 9) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

Serafíne(One more time.)

Dice: 3 d10 TN7 (5, 8, 10) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

SerafíneSamir has plenty of time to refuse what comes next.  To get up, to get away.  To object: physically or forcefully or merely with his words.  There's magick in the air as Kiara, touches him, spills blood for him in more ways than simply one.  Unknits something-that-was and creates what-will-be.

Somehow, on some level, this is all so absurd.  The strangest of gatherings around a frightened, hallucinating drug dealer.  It's not really a part of town where passers-by look too closely at strangers, because they don't want strangers to look back, but anyone looking would probably make a half-dozen connections and end up with an assumption that is somehow closer to the truth than they know: college kid and shrooms, graduate student and a bad batch of MDMA, friends gathering to talk him down from that ledge, or at least out of the filthy alley behind Saigon Pho House or whatever, and into someone's car.

Humming: Sera is simply humming, a very quiet, very particular song beneath her breath.  The chord progressions basic enough that they sound very much like a lullabye.  This point where they hook through: skin and spine and consciousness and she closes her eyes, fixed and concentrating.  Sinking into this not-precisely-meditative state where she wraps her intentions around her will and frames them in her mouth with a stranger's words.

Opens her eyes not long after, strangely settled.

The humming opens up into this low, rough song, the words more spoken than sung.

Black sky and black sea, lighten up
When we can't breathe
All dreams escape fire, over worlds
Fly but won't tire
Slow down on us wind, hold us still
When everything spins

Near the end she offers Samir her hand.  Who knows if he'll take it.

"I have to go.  You should let Grace or Kiara take you home.  You shouldn't be alone right now."






GraceThe food arrives, and Grace picks out a coconut juice drink to go with it. Tips the people, because she always does. They may not know it, but they're helping so much.

So -- plastic sack of food hanging off of one arm, with the coconut drink in hand, she uses the other to check on her phone, to see that Samir's still there. They haven't scared him off yet. And so, she takes it easy, doesn't run after him. Probably wouldn't be a good idea to run after him anyway. Probably would be a good idea to take it slow and just arrive where he decides to hide and be very insistent about the food.

We'll get there. Eventually.

So it takes a little bit, again, for her to stroll up all nonchalant and smiling.

"Thanks, Sera," she says, because there's the hum of her Working in the air, and something happened. Did it not? Wasn't there someone singing? "I brought lemongrass tofu. They assured me it was actually vegetarian. And this is some kind of coconut drink," she says, giving him a look-over. The bites are gone from his face. That's cool.

No excuses this time, Samir.

SamirThe last time they saw each other Samir promised Serafíne that if she said or did anything to make him uncomfortable beyond the level of uncomfortable he was striving for on his quest to Leave The House More Often he would tell her.

He broke that promise. He made up an excuse about leaving a window open and got the hell out of there. That excuse was bullshit. Then he spent the next three weeks shut up in an apartment whose windows he never fucking opens let alone would have left that way barely talking to anyone.

Neuroplasticity ensures that the human brain can adjust to just about anything. The mind and the will it houses are more powerful tools than any focus any of these fledglings could conjure up. Whatever drove Sam into choosing solitude has kept him there long enough that he's fallen into Quiet twice in one month.

Whether he wants her to or not Kiara runs her hand over his cheek and face. He's wearing the same clothing he had on the night he met Elijah. Wine-red Doc Martens and black jeans and a biker jacket. Some band t-shirt on underneath. Some gray tissue-thin cotton t-shirt with a band logo so faded one would have to lay it out flat to make sense of it.

His heart hammers against the Verbena's palm. He grits his teeth and closes his eyes tighter.

Yes. Yes this looks fucking absurd.

Kiara takes away the scab and the wound beneath and he when he has his right mind back later he will thank her. His right mind remembers the attack. She takes away the wound and she makes room for Sera and then Sera shuts down the part of his brain that is always on. Nothing she can do for the Quiet if she even realizes he is in Quiet. Maybe she just thinks he is a schizophrenic or a bad trip. He doesn't know what she saw in his pattern and he doesn't ask. He doesn't know where he is right now.

Another saltwater line leaves the other eye when he opens them. Lets go a breath like he'd been holding it all this time. That release junkies seek when they push the plunger. A moment of disorientation. Sera doesn't know what effect she's had. He's still in Quiet. But it's quieter now.

He shouldn't be alone right now.

His hands are still shaking. He doesn't take hers. In his right mind he would take her hand and his mind is better but his mind wasn't the problem to begin with.  He looks her in the eye. Still bombarded by things he can recognize and ignore but not escape. And then here comes Grace to offer gratitude his throat won't give up.

Sam sags against the building rather. His knees do not give out. He remains standing.

"Fuck," he says. Ragged. Like someone who'd about lost their voice screaming the night before. "I'm so tired..."

Alright. Coconut drink. He won't argue with her. Whatever Sera did helped.

SerafíneSam doesn't take her hand, so Sera drops it back to her side.  Has a little clutch slung across her body on a chain reaches for that little clutch, snaps it open, pulls out 1) lipstick; 2) an iPhone.  Gives Grace a quiet little look as she reapplies her lipstick and calls another cab.  Offers to share it with Kiara if Kiara needs a ride but otherwise: soon, gone.

Serafíne(Thanks guys!  Gotta sleep!)

Kiara(Thanks for coming to help!!)

KiaraKiara will need a ride. That is to say - the universe has reached across and taken back from the Verbenae what she pressed into it. Her nose keeps bleeding and the brunette has to reach into her bag and find a crumpled tissue to press against it to stem the flow. It soaks the thin paper and she looks across at Serafine as she says she has to go; extends the offer to the pagan.

"Yeah." It's a subdued answer, a tick of Kiara's eyes to Grace as she arrives with the food. One look at Kiara dabbing at blood around her nose and Grace might just think Samir had clocked her in the nose for daring to touch him. But - the tendrils of Working linger in the air around them and Kiara sniffs as she reaches for her bag and hoists it over a shoulder.

"I think - I'll head off with Sera." A beat, Kiara's eyes flick over Samir; the way he's sagged into the wall. Back to Grace. "Are you okay to get him home? I can stay, but - " She offers a slighter smile; a half-hearted curl at one edge.

"He might feel safer at your place."

GraceGrace hands over the coconut drink, and then the sack of food, listens to Kiara talk about how she has to get a ride. Her nose is bleeding.

"Yeah. Probably. Thanks, Kiara. I'll make sure he's safe."

Then, back to Samir, who is no longer pretending to be 'fine'. Nobody's fine when they say they are. It's protesting too much, right?

"My car's just down the street. I can take you somewhere with good locks on the doors, and protection. Nobody will bother you," she says, and there's a lift to her brows like -- is that okay?

SamirIt doesn't register that Kiara is bleeding because of her magick. He hadn't realized that he was bleeding either. Hadn't noticed the blood when it got on his hands and smeared everywhere else and he doesn't notice it staining the Verbena's upper lip. Make of that what you will.

He takes the coconut drink and he takes the sack of food as if he isn't sure if they're real. Different than not wanting to touch something because it might contaminate him. Small difference the others might not even notice. Hesitation like to make sure he's centering his grip right and he ought to thank her but gratitude is hard to conjure up like this.

That Sera leaves and takes Kiara with her doesn't register either. This is how he leaves all the time. Fades out of memory as if he wasn't there at all. Standing upright is difficult and orientating himself is impossible and nobody likes to need other people. Maybe they can talk about this after he's had rest.

Samir looks as if he needs to sleep for about a week. 'Fine.' Like hell he is.

"Okay," he says. Pushes himself away from the wall prepared to follow her. Another exposed-nerve confession: "Grace, I can't--" His voice cracks a bit but he doesn't start crying. "I can't take much more of this."

Her car's just down the street. The little red dot can make it down the street.