we'll find a way. [grace, michael, jamie ST]

Kiara
It's funny how long you can go without ever knowing certain details of another person's life.

Sure, the Mercurial Elite knew enough about the Verbena to know she could call in a favor with her and that Kiara would, by all likelihood, agree to it but there are so many things they don't know about one another. About the nuances of their respective lives. Kiara was a healer, that much, was known. Talked about energy and ki as if they were somehow absolute. Somehow integral to people. One and the same.

This, the address Kiara gives her, is another layer peeled back for Grace.

The Bank and Boston Lofts were situated on a corner block, a large looming building with a gated underground parking area for residents and a foyer that was lined in marble; it had been re-modeled at some point to replicate the building's older interior; there were photographs lining the lobby as one progressed toward the elevators that cataloged this, black and white captures; worker's faces smiling out, frozen for all time.

There was a row of mailboxes, too and a staircase that wound up and up.

The elevators too were restored, though as their doors slid open, it was evident that the remodeling hadn't been so faithful as to ignore the advances of technology here. A panel listed floors, the highest appointed seemed to be seven, Kiara lived on the fourth, apartment 422, according to her instructions and when Grace steps out (a quiet chime heralding her arrival) it's into a handsome corridor full of dark doors with brass numbering.

There's an exterior pipe that either necessity or design has left exposed and it follows Grace's progress down to Kiara's door. There's a small end-table set beneath a window, the stairs winding onward; a window overlooking the intersection below.

Someone in an apartment nearby has their television on, there's the muted sounds of music and explosions; a voice speaking loudly into a phone. Signs of (everyday, mundane) life and yet - there they were.

-

Kiara's door doesn't have a bell or a knocker, but it certainly feels like the brunette. Her resonance grows stronger as Grace approaches it. The faintest trace of incense, too.

The Verbena had instructed her to come right over, I'll get things ready, she'd said. Whatever that entailed.

GraceIt was a little bit after her last post to Ginger that Grace called Kiara and asked her to check her messages. She'd sounded tense on the other line, and the post to Ginger would explain why that might be the case.

Waiting any longer just wouldn't be reasonable. The Artist had started picking people off.

She'd asked, of course, but Grace never really thought that Kiara wouldn't say yes.

She made the arrangement. She called Mike and let him know. And then, she headed to the address given. Grace doesn't much care about the decor of the place, with its brass and pipes. A slum would suffice for her, if it were the place she needed to be. Let others worry about artistry. The one thing she's concerned with is that Kiara's place is an apartment, and one can hear through the walls. If there are to be screams tonight...

She goes for the door handle first, because it's not like Kiara isn't expecting anybody, and thus doesn't see the point in knocking. The door swings open, and Grace yells out a: "Hey, it's Grace."

KiaraThe door opens on a small, cluttered hallway. Cluttered if only because housed directly inside both sides of the door are pot-plants: ferns of some kind by appearance. Long, spidering vines drape down toward the floorboards and a coat rack directly beside this covered with articles of Kiara's outerwear. She passes by a small oval mirror on her way in, a side table with a bowl that houses the Verbena's keys, among other things.

The hall opens up into a slightly more spacious area; a joint living/kitchen, with rooms that branch off left and right. There's a coffee table and a comfortable, overstuffed looking sofa. A laptop charging on the former. The Verbena's walls are white, decorated only with three large abstract pictures; figures (or what appear to be, anyway) dancing and spiraling together in a whirl of reds, whites and blacks. The windows along the far wall are large and its clear that on the right day, it's an airy, pleasant space.

Just like the hallway, there's signs of this being a lived in apartment by clutter alone. Empty glasses on the counter, pieces of the Verbena's clothing strewn here and there. More plants, too. A larger one set by the window seems to have Kiara's essence all over it; the fronds large and vibrant; it almost seems too verdant to be natural and in the opposing corner - an altar. There's really no other word for it; there's a low table with a mortar and pestle on it, bundles of herbs and crystals, an ornate silver knife laid above a bowl and sticks of incense, twin spirals of some faint, aromatic blend winding into the air.

-

"Grace, hey."

Kiara appears from the room on the right, the door stands open and behind her, it gives out a warm, gold glow. The curtains are drawn in it and there's a chair situated in the center most point of it; it gives the impression of the sort one might find in a dentist - or a therapist's, complete with headrest.

The brunette isn't smiling as she appears, wiping her hands on a small handtowel, but given what she's undoubtedly just read about Farrah - that can't be any surprise. Still - she does manage a small attempt at one as she moves out to close the door in Grace's wake, turning to slide her hands into the pockets of her jeans.

Kiara's eyes read her concern as much as anything. "How are you holding up?"

Grace"Hmm," she says, in response to the question, as though she doesn't really know yet. "It's not really me I'm most concerned about, when it comes to holding up."

Mike, if he doesn't hold up, may turn into a murderous maniac. Then, all bets are off.

Grace has brought a bag of 'equipment' with her. Her laptop bag, though it bulges with things that are probably not peripherals. She's also wearing her armored jacket, and seems to be... Shall we say, shiftier than normal? Her own essence is strong today. She's been Working on herself.

She is worried about Mike. Worried about what he's going to do, worried about his mental state after being forced to deal with so much. It shows. She's not really hiding anything very well.

KiaraGrace isn't hiding her tension and that - is a thing the Verbena across from her sees enough of not to push her on. In her chosen profession Kiara sees people walk through her door in need of all sorts of assistance. The healing she offered was not, always, easily defined. Trying to assess why a healthy client could not fall pregnant and discovering her sacral chakra was blocked by significant emotional trauma suffered in a prior incarnation was - challenging, to say the least.

There's always been good reason why Kiara didn't particularly discuss her work, outside of basic, vague detail. It was intensive and to a fair few people, utter nonsense. But then, she'd treated a fair few dubious clients, too. Dragged to see her by persistent, desperate spouses and siblings, overly invested friends and other dabblers in the arts.

Healing wasn't an exact science - not always. Not with some scars.

"You can set stuff up out here if you need to." She offers, instead of anything else. Gestures toward the coffee table, reclaims two empty mugs from it and sweeps away a lone sweater; carrying things into the kitchen and rinsing them, appearing briefly only to point out connection points. "There's coffee and tea and wine, too, if you want." The edge of her mouth lifts.

She's joking (mostly).

"I'm going to finish setting things up in the treatment room for Mike." She reaches out as if to touch Grace's shoulder, then hesitates and moves away. Into the room to the right she'd appeared from. It too was painted the same white, though its walls were bare of decoration. There was a small table set up across from the chair in the center and its to this Kiara returns; her back to the door briefly as she dips her fingers into a bowl of water and removes a small piece of quartz from inside it and sets it down carefully on a towel.

The room here smelled powerfully like sandalwood and myrrh.

MichaelMust be they agreed to arrive separate. Or he had to take a stroll around the block before he came inside. Or his phone hasn't stopped blowing up since last night. Whatever the case may be Michael MacCarrick arrives several minutes after Grace Evans arrives.

He knocks on the door. He does not wait for anyone to open it for him. This was a prearranged meeting and it is not locked and he is perfectly capable of opening a door on his own. No reason to make Grace do it for him.

"Hello?" he says as he breaches the threshold. He was not joking when he said he would avoid sleeping until they had this sorted. Though his body is showing the effects of the deprivation his mind does not appear to feel it. His tone brightens and he gives a polite smile when he sees Grace: "Hi." Closes the door behind him. "I'm going to lock the door, if we're all here."

GraceGrace nods and heads for the coffee table, sliding her laptop bag upon it. Then, she takes a seat on the couch and pulls out her (screaming fast, ultra quiet) machine and boots it up.

Incense. Crystals. Grace can't fathom how that shit works. The ways of Mages are fucking weird sometimes... Kiara's ways probably make the least sense of all.

It's on that note that Mike arrives with a hello and a smile, and Grace turns to look at him, and if Kiara is paying any attention, she's still not hiding her emotions very well. It's good to see him so well. His presence drags a smile out of her, like she couldn't stop if she wanted to.

"Mike, hey. This is Kiara."

That's pretty much as formal an introduction as you're going to get out of Grace.

KiaraThe apartment's owner doesn't appear instantaneously. Whatever it is Kiara Woolfe is doing to prepare for Michael's session, it would seem there is a degree of ritual involved for the pagan, before she proceeds. When she does appear - it's barefoot, in a pair of old, well loved jeans and a simple white camisole shirt with a scoop neck. Kiara's hair was long, dark and thick and it fell in waves to her mid section.

The brunette had eyes as dark as her hair. They spoke, sometimes, of what the Verbena were, of their ancestry. The Dreamweaver that appears delivers on a sense of spirituality (beyond the altar and the touches of nature in her apartment). There's a crystal pendent around her neck, she studies Michael from the doorway for a moment, drying her hands.

The Verbena was a healer and mystic both, in her own way. She observes the way Grace greets him and when those dark eyes return to him, Michael does then, get the benefit of a smile. "Hello, Michael. I've set things up through here, but - "

She moves back into her living area, perches on the edge of her sofa. "Before I do. Do you have any questions?" Kiara looks between them. "Is there anything else you want me to know, before we begin?"

MichaelThis is Kiara's first introduction to the Euthanatos Adept. To look at him he ought to carry with him the death taint that tends to follow as a cloud the more powerful members of his tradition. He does not. His resonance feels strongest as a sense of unraveling. A storminess and a steadiness woven throughout.

He stands six feet tall in sensible black shoes and is dressed as if he's on his way to a business-casual event where he might have to bury a body later. Charcoal-gray slacks and a black pullover sweater overtop a white button-down shirt. No tie. He has dark brown hair which he combed this morning and fair skin that gives away the sleep-deprived bruising under his eyes.

When the Verbena reveals herself Michael smiles as if he hasn't been at the center of a sea of bad news the last several weeks. Crosses the room to extend his hand to shake and looks her in the eye as they introduce each other. His eyes are the sort of hazel that would quality as blue if it weren't for the brown hemming them in. The sort of thing you only notice for half a second and then never think of again.

They part again and he puts his hands into his pockets. Kiara looks between them and Michael's eyebrows wing up subtle with the passing of her gaze. Follows it to lock eyes with Grace. Silent communion.

"It's my understanding that you're going to attempt to communicate with a previous life whose identity and personality are unknown to me," he says when he looks back at Kiara. That steadiness as much a part of who he is as his resonance is but there's a warmth that is not conveyed by the magick he works. "You're aware that I suspect this individual to be violent, and I don't retain cognizance of any actions I undertake when he or she has control of my consciousness."

As if Kiara is the one who ought to have questions and not Michael.

Grace"That's why I'm here," she says to Mike. "I'll try to keep you from... You know."

Murdering anybody.

Well, that and she just would like to be here for his sake. Kiara might be a healer, but Grace is still carrying around that first-aid-kit, just in case.

"What would you suggest I do, in case you lose control?" And don't say flee, Mike. She knows you want her to.

KiaraIt takes a few moments for Kiara to answer, when she does she seems to be considering him on a level that transcends further than the material version of him she can see with her naked eye.

Taking in the dark circles beneath his eyes, the overall pallor. There's a beat and then: "Past lives leave marks. On the soul, on our ... " she gestures, the Verbena, over her form. "The energy that we possess. Usually, when someone comes to see me and presents with particular issues. Headaches, chronic pain in one area. Vivid dreams." She pauses there, there's this brief touch of a smile.

Acknowledging, ruefully so.

"I focus on that area during a session. The chakras, the - " Kiara sets a hand over her throat, her temple, her fingers shift downward, touching points. "The points of spiritual power. Sometimes, the energy in our bodies gets stuck, for lack of a better word. There's a blockage, or a lingering manifestation from another life. An injury, a traumatic event.

Sometimes it bleeds over. In your case," she adds softly, her dark eyes searching his face. "That energy isn't just stuck, it's embedded. When I heal, I find the places where its trapped. Where there's - contamination." She offers slowly, reaching up to toy with the crystal around her neck. "It's possible that looking for it, trying to sever that block, could rouse whatever vestiges exist."

She casts a look at Grace, manages a tight smile. "If I can try and do it without that happening, all the better."

MichaelThis may not have occurred to either of them yet but the two victims the Denver Police Department have recovered thus far have been young men in their early twenties. At least one of them was identified as such. Last they may have heard from their one point of contact in the department the second one is still a John Doe.

They have yet to sort out whether the missing art student is going to turn up somewhere with her belly cut horizontal and her intestines wound around her neck. The chimera in the park was The Artist's work. An important distinction that Mike has not pressed because he is not on trial. Yet.

Grace asks what she wants him to do and he looks straight ahead for a moment hands clasped in front of him thinking with a slight furrow between his brows. If the opportunity to sit down across from Kiara has presented itself he has taken it. He has perfect posture and an air of ease about it. Hard to gauge how old he is but his skin has not yet begun to wrinkle and his hair has not yet begun to lose its pigment. He is calm in spite of the task ahead of them and the weight of what he has done settling on him.

He is calm. Earnest. Troubled in a way that Kiara can see when she looks him in the eye. He is looking her in the eye the entire time she speaks. No signs of distress or emotional disturbance.

That tight smile meets its fellow. Michael goes so far as to huff out a voiceless laugh and hold his thumbs aloft as if to illustrate agreement before letting them rest one atop the other again.

"Yes--" He glances to Grace. "--I think we're all in agreement on that point."

As for what can be done if that happens anyway he glances back to Kiara like to invite her input if she has a better idea but then looks back to the Mercurial Elite:

"If you're concerned you won't be able to subdue me, I can whip up a Charm that will allow you to render me unconscious for a few minutes. I can't promise it will be more than a few."

Either she agrees to this or she doesn't. Part of him suspects she won't but Grace has proven herself pragmatic thus far.

Back to Kiara:

"Whatever you need to do to maximize your safety during the session, I support."

Grace"It would be nice," she says, to his offer of a knock-out charm. "I'm not going to turn down any advantage, really." And it's a lot better of a solution than  Plan W or however far down the line that awful plan was. She's got a gun loaded with plastic bullets in her bag of equipment. They're only less lethal, after all. Having a charm would be much better.

Yeah, Mike. Grace is pretty damn pragmatic.

KiaraKiara pushes herself to her feet after a beat of looking across at Micheal, frowning. She crosses her living room and stops in front of the small altar there, bending down in front of it and collecting something, when she turns, she's unsheathing what cannot be mistaken for anything other than a knife.

No, not a knife per say. An athame. It's a simple silver blade with a rather ornate black handle and a curved edge. The Verbena holds it carefully, with a sort of ingrained respect. "If whatever it is that connects you is based in the spiritual realm," she ticks her eyes back to them both. "I may be able to sever that connection directly. If the need arises."

Mike's suggestion of a charm to knock him out is met with a brief, sincere smile. "I can also erect a circle around us." She indicates herself and Michael. "It may not do much in the worst case scenario than slow him down for a minute but if I raise anything that wants to get out." Kiara's jaw firms a little, her chin lifts. "It might ruin its day, at least long enough for me to banish it.

Assuming it manifests itself." There's a beat and then: "That, and I have a great right hook."

MichaelMichael almost looks pleased by Grace's acceptance of his offer. Almost because of the circumstances surrounding their knowing of each other. It does not bring him joy to know she is in this position but if she did not want to be here she would not be. They're both fulfilling their self-assigned duties.

As for Kiara:

No surprise when she reveals the athame. He would be more surprised if the Verbena did not have one. He draws a deeper breath for its presence if only because of the reverence she holds for it. Mindful and present rather than dwelling on his own thoughts or the future over which he has minimal control.

That, and I have a great right hook.

Another of those dry laughs. If he were not versed as he is in the Life Sphere he might have laugh lines around his eyes. He would if he were to live another twenty years. He won't. If he thought anyone was going to live to be fifty it was Farrah.

"Well, just in case." He stands then. "You wouldn't happen to have a ballpoint pen we could borrow, would you?"

He wasn't kidding about whipping up a Charm. It won't be fancy but it will be effective.

Almost as an afterthought as he's removing his billfold to find the other half of what he needs to craft a Charm:

"Grace, I've informed Ihsan of my whereabouts this afternoon. If I do become incapacitated, would you be so kind as to call her and let her know?"

He doesn't feel the need to tell Grace that Ihsan is busy today because of the state in which River is. Michael hasn't felt the need to tell Grace a lot of things.

GraceKiara talks about erecting circles, and Grace's thoughts return to that night at the Chantry, where Kiara drew a circle about her, within which to view the spirit world. What a circle can wall in can wall out, it seems -- some point of logic in all the incense and crystals.

He asks if Kiara has a ballpoint pen we could borrow, like he and Grace are the 'we'. It's a small tell, that. But still. It makes her smile, a secret one behind her laptop screen.

"Yeah. I'll make sure she knows everything."

Grace, for her part, keeps to that promise most of the time, whether it is given or not. Grace has felt the need to tell the rest of the planet a lot of things.

Kiara[We're just going to start imbuing this athame with a bit of Prime. I think this is ... base diff 5 (I'm so bad at diffs, guys), -1 for her focus, -1 for taking her time to do it. Possibly an extended thing. Using Quint.]

Dice: 3 d10 TN3 (1, 6, 8) ( success x 2 )

Michael[That base diff was fucking beautiful, Jacqui.]

Michael[Also you only need two successes so booyah.]

KiaraThere is logic to it, somewhere. How had the Verbena chosen to describe it then, to Grace and Kalen? Like a virtual machine, a translator opening their senses up to a foreign system - or, as that occasion would have it - a new sensory awareness. She'd peeled back the Gauntlet then, for them. Allowed them to see the beyond as translated through her eyes.

The stakes are a little different, now. That blade in Kiara's hands is evidence enough of that.

Mike asks if she has any pens and he gets a brief smile. "Pens, chalk, feathers, dried leaves. Take your pick." A pen will probably suffice and is likely what is offered, picked up from the coffee table and handed over before Kiara returns to that altar; drops down to her knees and settles there.

Stills.

Works. The room's atmosphere builds with it; the charge of primal energy; the pagan's hands closed over each side of the blade; her rejuvenating, pulsing resonance thrumming and twisting around her. There's no zap or blinding light and perhaps there ought to be for what she's doing; feeding raw energy into the silver; turning it into more than just a ceremonial weapon.

It's a spiritual one, now. She rests there on her knees for a long moment before her eyes open and she examines the blade. It hums, now. Resonating gently with Prime.

Kiara rises to her feet, holding it in one and and moves to stand by the treatment room, waiting.

Kiara[Ahem, holding it in one hand, tyvm]

Michael[life/mind/prime 2: SIT YOUR ASS DOWN charm. following the house rules but i got glutened on tuesday and i'm in a brain fog so i apologize if i fuck this up. -1 quint to diff on top of the -1 quint necessary to make the damned thing.]

Dice: 4 d10 TN5 (4, 6, 7, 10) ( success x 4 ) [WP]

Kiara[Hells yeah 4 suxx.]

Michael[Translation: Math? She should be able to pump 3 successes worth of nonsense out of a successful activation roll which since he made it himself to be used on himself should knock his ass out for an entire scene.]

MichaelThis is not the most eloquent crafting job anyone has ever attempted but the Euthanatos have been around for millennia and their disciples are able to adapt with the changing times and sure this would have been better served with a bone needle or an autoinjector but Michael does not believe himself to have that kind of time and so he makes do with what he has.

Which is a sewing needle tucked inside his billfold and a ballpoint pen borrowed from the Verbena about to tap his subconsciousness. His spirit.

The end result is crude but it will get the job done. He sits quiet for so long as Kiara is at her altar. He breathes deep and even and works the sewing needle into the ink well of the pen. It will hold long enough to puncture his sweater and shirt and skin. Bury itself in the muscle and knock him unconscious.

When he hands it to Grace he looks her in the eye and says, "This is fragile. Aim for my back if you can. My stomach or legs if you can't. It won't hurt me if you don't land where an intramuscular injection would normally go."

No other signs of affection. He grips her hand in both of his as he passes off the makeshift tranquilizer dart but he does not otherwise anoint her. He turns to Kiara and draws a deep breath that she can see him let go.

He is not afraid. They are all aware of the risks. He trusts Kiara because he trusts Grace.

"Ready when you are," he says.

GraceTheirs are not subtle resonances. Kiara's suffuses this place, and when she Works on her weapon, it spikes. Feels like a beating heart in here, like the carpet could be growing.

Michael hands her the fragile syringe, and nods at his instructions. "I'll remember that. If it comes to it."

She is, let's say, a little afraid. Not that she won't do what's necessary, but that she'd have to live through it. And Mike, too. She also looks as if she's calculating, with the subtle darts to her eyes. Sizing him up, with the needle in hand. In the moment, she'll do what needs done. Afterward... well.

"Ready here, too," she says.

Kiara[I'm trying to remember how this rote goes. We're going to Magic Circle things around Michael and Kiara, Verbena style. It's going to be a small circle because she has Arete 2 and it goes by ... yards, I think. So Arete 2 = 2 yards. Around the chair, etc. So! Prime 2, Spirit 2 to basically erect a little holding area that would make it very hard to inflict attacks if you're nasty and particularly if you're a spirit.

Base diff of ... I think 5 for this one. She needs 2 suxx for the width and at least one for duration so probably a base of 3 suxx. So, -1 Focus, - 1 for taking it slow since this is ritual. Probs extending.]

Jacqui's Edit: This was supposed to be Arete 3, not 2. Though the effect still worked, just with a smaller circle width than it strictly needed to be. Derp.

Dice: 3 d10 TN3 (5, 6, 6) ( success x 4 ) [WP]

KiaraKiara looks, for whatever degree it's comforting, calm. She waits by the door and when both Grace and Michael are ready, she nods and leads him into what was, once, her sister and room mate's bedroom. She closes the door after them and they're suddenly in a darker space. The blinds have been closed in here and the combination of incense and tension makes it feel, no doubt, a little stifling.

The chair in the middle of the room is where Kiara directs Michael with the tiniest touch to the small of his back; she doesn't go as far as to suggest he take his shoes or jacket off, but if he wants to, there's space to set them and a coat rack in one corner by a chair, presumably there for occasions when family decide to sit in on one of her sessions.

"Okay, Michael, why don't you get comfortable." There's a gentler way the Verbena speaks, in this space. Her voice soothing, almost a murmur. She moves across to a small table where items are laid out and carefully sets that knife down beside a collection of small, smooth quartz pieces. There's a bowl of water she moves out of the way and collects, instead, a small bundle of herbs.

Her teeth find her lower lip and she pierces the skin; tastes the copper on her tongue. She could have used a blade, but - company. One never quite knew how they'd react to the more base methods of drawing out the energy required. And a cut lip was a far more palatable excuse.

"Lay back and try and focus on your breathing. I'm going to put up a barrier." Her eyes find Grace and she offers this brief, reassuring smile her way as she lights the edge of the sage; a thick curl of smoke winding up from it. "Whatever happens, if it tries to get beyond this point, it's going to have to fight for it." She measures a close circle around the chair; her body brushing Michael's.

It takes time, minutes, during which Kiara walks in tight circles; murmuring under her breath. Painting shapes into the air; it feels as if it tremors, just once, when she's done. Like a translucent curtain moving against an unseen breeze. Kiara's movements become measured, then. She stays close to the chair, pulls her table in.

Leans in over him. "We're ready to begin."


Kiara
[Intelligence + Medicine.]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 5, 5, 5, 6) ( success x 1 )

Kiara[I see how it is, dice.]

Kiara[Intelligence + Medicine. Maybe, we can try that again.]

Dice: 6 d10 TN7 (1, 5, 5, 5, 9, 10) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

MichaelAs he enters the room he does so with the same reverence with which he had watched her handle the athame. Their tradition's paradigms are disparate to a degree but as is true with everything in life a bit of sitting down and conversing might eliminate a few of those differences.

That touch to his back is effective at steering him. He does not approach the chair as someone who is in his mind digging in his heels. This is not the most comfortable situation into which one could wander as a stranger approaching another but Michael is an individual who believes in the returning of souls. He does not know that they have not met each other before. He treats every person he meets as someone he may have met before. A delicate balance between encouraging reincarnation and encouraging souls to find their place in the Shadowlands.

Her gentleness and his reverence ease this along. He sits in the chair and he takes a deep breath not to calm himself but to center himself. He does not have to try and focus. Focus is a skill that must be honed same as any other and he is not an amateur. This much she can tell from watching him settle on the chair. Not into. His trust is not so absolute.

Several minutes has him in a state of alert relaxation. His eyes find her as she stands above him and he gives her a smile that would seem drowsy if she didn't know any better. He's just tired.

"We are," he says.

GraceGrace had gotten set up at the coffee table, but now that she's got Mike's knockout charm, and Kiara's got her circle, Grace has to stay within stabbing range. She picks up her laptop and her bag, and gracelessly wobbles into the room after them. Reverence? What's that?

The laptop bag she drops to the floor, and she props her computer up on her lap when she flumps down into the chair where family sits.

Then, it's time for her own bit of Work.

Her Program is loaded, and she fixes its attention on the air molecules of the room. She records their motion for a few seconds of the tense silence, and then attempts to form a circle of her own -- one that will not let waves propagate beyond its borders. The last thing they need is for the police to be called due to a noise complaint, right?

Then again, it might just bring Alex. Hah.

[Forces 2: Soundproofing. -1 Diff because taking time]

Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (2, 2, 7) ( success x 1 )

Kiara[Body and Soul: Life 1, Prime 1, Spirit 1, adding in Mind 1 here too. Tuning in to Michael’s Pattern and Aura. Coincidental. Base Diff 4, +3 no Mind focus yet, -1 taking time, -2 Unique Life Focus, -1 from her Medicine roll]

Dice: 3 d10 TN3 (1, 7, 9) ( success x 2 )

MichaelMichael is a human male midway through his third decade boasting vibrant health and an active nature. She can perhaps sense the strength of his grasp of her tradition's Sphere in the total absence of physical ailments. He doesn't even suffer from weakening joints or asthma. He is not allergic to anything. He does not eat meat and the only chemical vice he indulges is caffeine. The occasional dram of alcohol.

He has a strong connection to his previous lives. She can see the tendrils of them stretching back some longer and some stronger than others. The one to which she hopes to communicate is shut off from him. Kiara can see the place where the shunt sits. As if someone or something is making a conscious effort to keep him from accessing information or memories about that particular branch of his own past.

This man exudes positive energy. A brightness and a warmth she can see in his eyes is met by kindness and wonder in his aura. Earnestness but not a lack of self-control. Nothing dark or clandestine about his personality though he keeps a tight reign on his words and his emotions. No negativity or unpleasantness even under the surface.

She can however sense the mental link to which Grace alluded in her Ginger update. Qlippothic magick and an oily rootlike tether show up not as an afterthought but as a small part of his makeup. That link only becomes active when he is not strong enough to fight it off.

KiaraShe speaks to Michael (and Grace) as she works (and Works), the Verbena. In this space she is not simply another Awakened, but a healer.

This is her sanctuary and the brunette treats it as such. The pieces of quartz on her table are small and polished and as she collects the first of them, she carefully moves around the chair Michael is seated in. It did, vaguely, bring to mind the sort of chair one expected in an examination room - the padded arm rests, the small oval hole in the headrest so a client could lay on their stomach and still keep their eyes open. It reclines back to a degree and allows some flexibility for Kiara to treat areas of the body.

It was a chair intended to relax in (although given the circumstances of his situation in it, none of them could blame Michael for resisting its material charm).

Kiara's touches to his body are brief and gentle, a brush of her fingers to adjust his hands and turn them palm upright; a sweep of them over his knee. "The energy in our bodies, that feeds through each Chakra, operates in a sort of mystic wheel of energy. It passes through each point in our body, beginning at the base of our spine, or what we call the root Chakra. When our energy gets stuck, or can't pass through a Chakra the way it needs to, it creates a blockage."

She sets a piece of quartz beneath Michael's feet, slowly coming around the chair and placing another above his head. "The energy levels become unstable, we lose the ability to harness that Chakra's power. The quartz feels the electricity in your body," she murmurs, gently placing another over his temple, throat, chest, downward. She puts one in each of his palms, they feel pleasantly cool. "The vibrations will help to rebalance and push at the place where things aren't flowing the way they should."

She moves around him once more, the brunette and comes back to stand above him; her hands gently coming to rest over the quartz. They feel warm and, after a beat as Kiara's Will begins to assert itself into the process; soothing. A wash of her energy sufficing into him, searching for and connecting with his pattern. The Verbena breathes out slowly, a controlled exercise.

Her hands remain steady, even as her chin lifts and she offers softly: "You have a powerful connection to your past, there are several lives here. One is ... " there's a quiet affirmative noise. "Protected. Walled off from you. I feel ... interference, there. And also," Kiara's fingers glide over the crown of his head. "The other. The connection to them." The Verbena's Working feels like a gentle heartbeat, a steady surging of bright, invigorating energy.

Her brow creases. "Your third eye Chakra is being blocked. I'm going to try to clear it, first."

MichaelThe other. The connection to them.

By now his eyes may have closed. He is letting the Verbena Work without studying her. He seems like the sort of person who would watch a phlebotomist during a blood draw for the sake of easing the transaction but this is not a mundane medical procedure.

"Zir," he says. Sounds as if he's entranced though the Verbena and the Virtual Adept can both recognize quietude in it rather than sedation. Acceptance. He uses the genderfluid pronoun when he's referring to the Nephandus. There's a reason for that. "The Artist."

She's going to try to block his third eye Chakra.

"Okay."

GraceGrace is only partly paying attention to Kiara's explanation of what's going on. It's not like she could really understand it anyway, through that lens. But when she gets to the part about the actual results? Well, that almost draws the Mercurial Elite's attention from what she's doing. A past life that is being blocked. A connection to The Artist.

The tension in her shoulders rides up, but she keeps on going. A falcon's wingbeats stab at reality.

[Extending!]

Dice: 3 d10 TN5 (2, 4, 10) ( success x 2 ) [WP]

Kiara[Prime 2, Spirit 2: We're going to go in and try and mend this blockage. Or, well, help in his ability to access those memories. This is her jam. We're going to add some WP for seasoning. Diff 5, -1 taking her time, -1 focus, etc.]

Dice: 3 d10 TN3 (1, 1, 2) ( success x 1 ) [WP]

Kiara[Extending! Look, just work with Kiara here, dice. This is for the good of mankind and people who don't want to die horribly.]

Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (2, 2, 3) ( success x 1 ) [WP]

Michael[BRB writing an email to Ariel explaining why a fleshcrafting Nephandus has managed to eat Denver overnight.]

Michael[perc + aware: you're totally doing something and not just proving that the jove dice roller is a twatwaffle.]

Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (4, 4, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 10) ( success x 7 ) [Doubling Tens]

KiaraOne might think that clearing a spiritual blockage would be a simple thing.

A few mutterings, a wave of the hand and were this any other client, were Kiara capable of simply severing the connection - it might well have been. But Michael's blockage runs far deeper, has been in place, far, far longer and it's clear the way the Verbena's mouth tightens; her breathing quickening as she holds her place at his head that it's pushing her limitations.

That whatever it was that had been shuttered away, locked from easy access was done so for a deliberate reason. She opens her eyes after a point, focusing not on Michael below her, but across the room, at some fixed point.

Her hands shift across the space above his head; shaping unseen fluctuations. Pure energy crackling as she attempts to pry at the barrier. "It's - " She shakes her head a little, breathing out. "There's a lot of resistance. If I can just ... " there's a furrow as the Verbena's brows constrict and her fingers flutter over his temples.

Dice: 3 d10 TN5 (1, 2, 3) ( botch x 1 )

Kiara[Er, ignore that roll. I didn't mean for that.]

MichaelAt that first muttering the Euthanatos takes a slow and purposeful breath. Meant to counteract his own subconscious reaction to hearing the practitioner reacting to whatever she has encountered in his own spirit. Though he would be capable of reading her thoughts throughout the session he has done her the kindness of keeping his own Working to a minimum. Other than the Charm now contained to Grace's possession he has brought with him no active rotes. The resistance she feels is intrinsic. Nothing he could do for it himself. Not unless he wanted to risk letting The Artist in.

When she opens her eyes his follow suit. Still relaxed but not passive. If danger presented itself he feels like someone who could rise up from meditation without disorientation. He is not a pacifist.

She is looking across the room. This doesn't matter. He is looking at her.

Without force or strength Michael takes hold of the hand fluttering over his temples. His hands are cooler than they were out in the waiting room.

"It's alright," he says. Reassuring without pressuring. "You can. I know you can. You're almost there."

[mind/prime 2: let's give little homie back some WP, eh? 3 successes = 1 WP restored, anything else will just negate the need for future WP expenditure.]

Dice: 4 d10 TN5 (4, 6, 8, 10) ( success x 4 ) [WP]

GraceGrace can feel those words echoing into her, like the words of his Oath -- laced with power. She looks up from her laptop and over the screen sees his gesture. He is awe-inspiring, isn't he? That little cryptic smile pulls at the corners of her mouth.

He's so.... so...

Okay, quit that. Snap out of it, Grace.

"Yeah. Go Kiara!" she says, but doesn't wrap those words with any Code. She's just playing cheerleader.

Kiara[Okay, let's see how we go. Prime 2/Spirit 2. We're factoring in an auto WP suxx.]

Dice: 3 d10 TN3 (3, 7, 9) ( success x 3 )

KiaraIt's partially the touch of the Euthanatos, partially the encouragement from Grace and partially - this momentary surge of resilience. There cannot be failure right now - too much was riding on Kiara managing, at the very least, a capacity to free Michael's memories. To deliver to him information that might just help their cause.

And, they could only hope, assist in preventing further blood being spilled.

So, Michael takes her hand, tells her that it's alright, she can. And there's a flicker of quiet gratitude in the Verbena's dark eyes when they dip down to find his. She squeezes his fingers briefly and then her focus alters, shifts inward. There's a slow, measuring breath drawn deep into Kiara's lungs and she - delves. Intangible fingers; the curling wisp of primal, spiritual energy seeps into Michael's pattern.

It's less any magnificent crescendo and far more - a quiet release of held breath. A gentle, satisfied: "There. And ... there." A gentle nudging; stones dislodged beneath the onslaught of an overflowing river. Nature would have her way.

The Verbena will have hers, too.

MichaelOnce he felt her own focus recentering and her power finding itself Michael draws a deep breath and only releases her hands once Kiara herself has released his. His eyes close so as not to stare at her. He breathes even and untroubled.

If the blockage were a thing to which Michael were privy as a Sleeper client were privy to a physical blockage she might have felt or seen some change come over him. He was in near-perfect physical condition and his aura and emotional state would land him in the same stratosphere as his body. He is troubled because of the nightmares ze has inflicted upon him but that does not mean he is suffering. He can shut off his trouble. If he were suffering that would be a taller order. Kiara would have felt that.

But Kiara does feel when that resistance between his former incarnation and this one falls away. A feminine presence comes into her mind's eyes. Anger and fury and hate. Strength of will without the physical or magickal power to support it. Resilience. This was a resilient soul but the mind Kiara suspects so soon as she senses it was not.

This is the consciousness responsible for the deaths of at least two young men in Denver alone. Her presence is tied to Michael and The Artist. His growing strength and zir growing ennui.

All Kiara has to do is decide now whether to draw her forward or bid Michael commune with her. The way is clear. That does not make it inviting.

GraceWell, okay. Now that the words are out of her mouth, she realizes she's encouraging Kiara to do a dangerous thing, and shifts the laptop off of her lap, onto the floor.

The words Mike told her, about sticking him intramuscularly come back to her, and she stands up. Maybe it's not the most comfortable sight in the world to see, someone approaching with a makeshift needled device, ready to use it. But perhaps it'll be comforting to Michael in this moment, that she is watching, waiting, ready to do what may be necessary.

She also refrains from speaking, doesn't want to interrupt what might be going on, lest it harm the process.

KiaraThe Verbena is only just beginning to tap into the power of Mind. What it's capable of, what Kiara herself is capable of doing through it. With careful control of it. Her use of it is ... rudimentary, at best. But her control of the other spheres she channels: Spirit, Prime, are far more adept. She articulates their intent with greater ease. All this said, she can feel the change in the aura she's connecting with. The color and vibrancy of it; the projection she can sense.

Of anger. Lashing fury and hatred.

She straightens, opens her eyes and turns to look at Grace for a long, measured beat. "She's here. I can feel her." Kiara's hands remain posed where they are, forging the connection. "The blockage, what was keeping those memories locked out, is gone." Another beat, Kiara is studying the man below her, her expression reading calm consideration but, there is tension there. Beneath the steadiness of her hands. "I can try and coax her out directly, or see if Michael can forge a connection.

If I give her total control, it may mean Michael won't be able to stop her if she tries anything."

Kiara appears to be asking Grace, as much as Michael, what option she'd prefer. "If we try and use Michael as the conduit, he may be able to exert some degree of control."

MichaelFor a moment Kiara and Michael share eye contact. So long as he is conscious and in control of his emotions so will he have control of this past life. The thought of relinquishing control does not trouble him. He is a Disciple of Mind and that way lies hubris but some control is better than abandonment.

Not until the obviousness of Kiara's involvement of Grace in the decision-making process do Michael's eyes find the Virtual Adept's face. She finds nothing there other than acceptance. Whatever she wants he will endorse.

He put on a sweater instead of wearing a tie today. Her opinion matters to him.

GraceGrace blinks. She honestly didn't think she'd be the one to make this decision, but the way things are looking... Her eyes flit between Kiara and Mike's, her body a little stiff, mid-preparing-to-stab.

"Um. Well, isn't having more control over things good? I mean, what we're trying to prevent is total loss of control, right? But I know nothing about past lives or... You're like, asking a techless grandparent which version of Linux they want installed here. But I'd say let Michael have as much control as you can."

And yeah, she's noticed about the tie. As soon as she voiced a joking preference about his suits, he stopped wearing them. It's a little adorable, that. Not so adorable that she drops the dart in her hand, though.

KiaraIf the Verbena has reasons other than Grace being present and in as much, if not more danger should things go terribly wrong for asking for her input, she doesn't verbalize them. She does, merely, study Grace while she answers, her hands still resting on Michael's face. There's the smallest suggestion of a smile that flits there, into the edge of Kiara's mouth when Grace defends her lack of knowledge.

Kiara's eyes slip down to Michael and she nods, just once. Holding his gaze. "Alright, Michael - I've cleared the way for you to access those memories. That life. See if you can reach them. Connect with her, find out - " She doesn't want to know why. Why murder, why Michael, why any of the inclinations are what they are for a Fallen One.

But: "Why those men." She strokes his face in a manner that is not so much an intimacy as a comfort, an anchor. "See what comes through. If anything goes wrong, or -" Kiara manages another smile, it suits her, softens her features and reveals her what she is, a young woman in her twenties.

"I'll try to go easy on you."

Michael[mind 3: mind empowerment? methinks this isn't a level 1 effect so methinks i shall not roll it as such. base diff 6 he's just YOLO it.]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (3, 8, 10, 10) ( success x 3 )

MichaelGrace and Michael have one last protracted bout of eye contact before the ghost a smile crosses the light in his eyes and the corners of his mouth threaten to reveal it. She knows he's glad she's there even if she's ready to stab him in the spleen with a jerry-rigged ballpoint pen. He left his tie at the hotel room for her.

That last bout and then the Euthanatos releases a breath he happened to be holding and looks up at Kiara. They both have eyes a body could lose itself in. Her spirit promises renewal. His promises explanations if not outright undoing. He feels like strong wind. Like steadiness. He is in control of his emotions. He is in the prime of his life and he is strong and he is lithe and Grace has not seen him on the firing range but she has seen the way he dresses his coffee and opens the door for her. The way he undresses the both of them and brushes his teeth. He is a precise man despite being an adventurous soul.

The spirit with whom they are about to commune is neither precise nor adventurous. She is furious. She could kill both of them with a newspaper if she got it into her mind to.

I'll try to go easy on you.

His answering smile reveals nothing he hasn't already shown her.

"Don't," he says.

Then he closes his eyes and invites the other in.

Kiara[Nobody trusts a homicidal Mage in their brain. A little Mind shielding never hurt anyone. So this is Diff 4, +3 no established focus yet, -1 for taking her time with doing this, -1 for some Quint. Add WP so we don't botch.]

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

GraceGrace isn't going to go easy on him, that's for sure. Despite the obvious -- well, it's not attraction, is it? They're not thinking about the meeting of each other's bodies, but rather the meeting of compatible minds. He's adorable to her for how he is, not how he looks. But what exists between them has always been tempered with pragmatism. They needed to admit what they were feeling to get it out of the way, to not let it be a stumbling block on their mutual path.

And if their mutual path means she has to lay him out, so be it.

"He's strong enough to take it," Grace says, to Kiara. She'd know.

KiaraDon't, he says.

He's strong enough to take it, Grace offers.

Kiara's smile fades just enough to register the importance of what they're both saying and there's a moment where the Verbena's focus seems to slide - inward. Differently, to the way it had before. She closes her eyes and as steadily as Michael forges a mental connection between them; Kiara establishes boundaries in her own.

Doors lock against the intrusion in her mind; wild growth surges to cover and strangle entrance where its not desired. There's an abundance of verdant, vibrant life inside Kiara Woolfe's mind and a fair few memories and knowledges that are decidedly not for consumption. Not by Michael and definitely not by the malevolent spirit she's about to unleash inside her head.

The Verbena's pulse is racing, but she is a student of Life and this, if nothing else, is within her power to control. She breathes out. Steadies herself and opens her awareness up to the presence that lives inside Michael's mind.

Nobody needs to say it: this wasn't going to be pretty.

MichaelAnd here's the thing: so much as he has been present this entire time he has to concede that presentness in order to allow his past life to converse with Kiara.

Grace will not be able to hear any of what the past life says because she is not part of the mental link but she can see now that Michael is relaxed and in no distress. That the past life has not taken him over and he is not struggling for his own consciousness.

Until such a time as the past life has found her way through the channel provided by the Euthanatos to the Verbena nothing happens. Kiara waits over Michael and Michael keeps his eyes shut breathes slow and even and perhaps the first sign of another presence is the slowing of his breathing.

After fifteen seconds of even breathing Michael straightens his arms. Does not latch his fingers onto the sides of the table but a presence still starts to inhabit his body. His breathing loses its mindfulness. Becomes quicker and more aware of its capture. One minute in he opens his eyes.

Kiara knows right away that she is staring into the eyes of a different person. Michael's eyes were an ambiguous hazel color. Now they are dark. Cynical, even. Cruel. Blame it on the lighting or her own perception. His eyes have gone dark and all sense of relaxation with the light. His body breathes sharp. Not fast but hard enough to see it. He is staring right at Kiara.

Whoever she has allowed into her friend and former roommate's space is not going to speak first.

GraceMichael changes. Grace notices that much. His eyes were never cruel to her, or to anybody. This is a man who insists upon using proper pronouns when referring to the Nephandus trying to destroy his mind, possibly his soul.

If this is what a 'past life' is, someone who is unlike yourself in every way, someone who most people can't remember? Then why does 'reincarnation' even happen?

Perhaps it's more of a Ship of Theseus thing, and Michael has lost most of whatever went into making the life that now possesses him. But Grace can only guess. She's woefully out of her depth here. She looks to Kiara, as if questioning what's going on.

KiaraTo give the Verbena credit, she does not flinch when those eyes open and they're full of a knowledge that doesn't belong to the man previously there moments ago. She can feel this other, this Fallen One, creeping inside her consciousness. It is not, by any account or definition, a sensation that Kiara is enjoying. It's like feeling an oil slick seeping across your skin; a subtle twinge of foreign infection.

This consciousness is a thorn in her mind's eyes and she can feel the difference; even before it does more than speak. Not aloud and not in any easily defined manner but - images, darting, flickering still frames. Feelings and sensations. Kiara Woolfe has learned ways to communicate that can transcend simple spoken word through her dealings with the spiritual side. Spirits did not, after all, communicate the way human beings did.

Impressions and ideas. Darting sensations. It was its own language and so was this. Her voice, the way it translates and winds around is silvery and light, the tickle of wind; a pulsing sort of vibrancy. Hello.

Kiara's voice is measured, quiet and focused. Identify yourself. She doesn't deal in questions, per say. The mind's eye view of a silhouette. The impression of identity. It's an important facet. She wants to know who she's talking to.

Grace is looking at Kiara, but the Verbena doesn't break eye contact, though she feels Grace's eyes on her and answers quietly, aloud. "I'm asking her to identify herself. This isn't Michael right now." The steadiness manifests aloud from Kiara, too. There's only the briefest tremor of something there. A breathlessness. A controlled uncertainty.

 Michael
Though Grace is not inside the circle the Verbena drew that only matters insofar as Kiara's use of the mental link between herself and whoever is currently occupying the Euthanatos Adept's body goes. The body in question is tense and preparing to rise from the chair though the mind currently occupying it hasn't yet decided to try and test that circle drawn around them. Staring hard at Kiara and neither of the women feel a familiarity with the spirit currently sharing his body.

Identify yourself.

Grace cannot hear this. She sees a spell of silence before Michael speaks again. It does not sound like his voice. He has a warm and even tone that only changes when he is excited and Grace can attest to the fact that she has never heard his voice go sharp or threatening. He is in control of himself and if he ever feels strong negative emotions he keeps them from his voice.

The spirit though. Its - Her - words have to inhabit space within his range. For a woman it would register as an alto. Bitterness and cynicism stain a voice that does not typically seem capable of either.

I'm asking her to identify herself. This isn't Michael right now.

"Dry up," she says. Same tone as one would use to say Shut up or Fuck off if the vocabulary were available during the timeframe in which this personality was alive.

GraceHave they done something wrong here? Grace suspects that the spirit is in control, considering how different Mike has gone. His body isn't his anymore. Will he get it back?

Of course he will. Don't think like that, Grace.

"What has you so angry?" she asks, still holding her dissected pen aloft.

KiaraDry up, the way it's said doesn't account for cheeriness. Not that the Verbena had expected any such greeting from the female energy now inhabiting the Euthanatos, but there's a certain grim satisfaction that settles over Kiara's expression; finds harbor in her dark eyes, the edge of her mouth at it.

There you are, it offers. Made you talk, that tiny quirk plays at.

Her magick is all over this space, mingling with Grace's. It feels like being caged inside a pulsing, focused wilderness; a tangle of beating wings and shifting, verdant growth. The circle she'd cast keeps them bound together (right now) and the Verbena keeps quite still within it, keeps her focus on those dark eyes that are Michael's but absent his warmth, the generosity of his spirit.

Staring into them felt like falling into dark, oozing ichor.

This energy did not belong to him; it was twisted and distorted with old, old hatred. What has you so angry, Grace asks and Kiara's eyes finally break away to regard her briefly, before returning. She can feel the question repeated in Kiara's head, feel the formation of her next, before the brunette echoes it aloud: "Why are you here?"

The flicker of Denver streets playing across the Verbena's mind's eye. Newspaper headlines. Murder. Missing students. "Why this city."

MichaelWhat has you so angry?

Kiara and whoever is inhabiting Michael's body both look away at the ask and she does not receive an answer. Not verbal anyway. The spirit borrowing him is angry and the question isn't whether she is or isn't angry.

But she also doesn't know either of them. She doesn't know where she is. She doesn't know whether she wants to give this away. For all she knows these two women are with the Technocracy or whether they're witch hunters or whether they're Nephandi. They haven't identified themselves either.

Why are you here? Why this city.

"What gives you the right?" she asks. Her Mid-Atlantic accent might give away the fact that she was alive before their grandparents were. "You identify yourself."

Grace"I'm Grace," she says, and doesn't offer Kiara's name to join it. "I have the right because I have been asked to do this by..." And this is where the mind struggles to come up with a decent explanation. This person is one of Mike's past lives, if she is to understand what's going on (and she does not). So, that makes this... "Your future self."

Who is not here at present, and damn it all, this is confusing.

KiaraWhat gives you the right?

Grace offers her name and the Verbena - hesitates, to offer her own. Names held power, after all. She is quiet for a long moment after Grace offers the truth, or at the very least, a version of it. "I brought you here because we want your assistance. Your - " She frowns, briefly. Contemplating the best way to articulate her thoughts. Even without the addition of Kiara's name, the pagan wears signs of her beliefs around her neck in the form of a crystal.

A scrying tool, by any other name.

" - a friend needs to know information that you might have. We have no intention of harming you unless you give us no choice. We'd prefer not to." She allows her eyes to tick down to the way Michael's body is situated in the chair, the tension. The grip. "People are being murdered. We want to know why."

A beat, the Verbena's eyes are intent where they settle back on her face. "Young men."

Michael... I have been asked to do this by... your future self.

A frown the likes of which Grace has not experienced before for the sharpness and the disbelief in Michael's eyes. The sentiment of the spirit's dismissal ringing through in her gaze. Yeah okay. She doesn't believe in that shit. She's too young and she's seen too much to even start to buy into the idea of reincarnation and past lives.

Kiara refers to the future self as a friend. The spirit is breathing fast as if she is going to make a break for it in a moment. This does not abate when Kiara appends the lack of intention to harm her with the 'unless you give us no choice' caveat. She grits her teeth and slows her own breathing with this revelation.

"Yeah?" she says. Sarcastic. "That's news? 'Young men are being murdered in New York,' stop the presses. Look, if you're gonna charge me with something, I got a right to have my lawyer here. Otherwise you gotta let me go."

Grace"No, we don't 'gotta'. We're not police, and we're not charging you with anything. We're hunting a Nephandus. Do you know what that is?"

It's a possibility that this... person... was never Awake, isn't it? The way she (?) is acting, that might be the case. Grace pretty much doubts the Rule of Shade applies here, though.

But if The Old Mike knows what a Nephandus is and cares? Yeah. Right now, your Miranda rights aren't going to save you, lady.

Kiara"You'd remember these murders. Throat slit. Stomach cut open. Really nasty. I doubt the police would even have a suspect." The brunette's expression is calm, it doesn't read agitation for the sarcasm thrown back at her, if anything there's a twinge of interest. Keen focus on the fact the spirit of Michael's prior incarnation was in another city. "What's the last thing you remember?

Before you woke up here?"

The entity in Michael's body has a connection to the Verbena's thoughts. There's a deliberate push, on Kiara's side, images of New York as she knew it. Present day. The city she remembered. Towering skyscrapers, huge buildings with sleek, endless rows of windows rising up and up amidst throngs of traffic. Times Square. Flashes of color and traffic and people.

This isn't your time.

It's a fleeting thought, but it trickles through. If the female in Michael's body can feel anything through their forged connection, it's a sense of quiet regret. For the deaths that have occurred, for the body that she inhabits. There's no dishonesty in it, for whatever intentions the woman has, she appears to mean what she says.

MichaelWe're hunting a Nephandus. Do you know what that is?

Michael's eyes narrow. Nothing of Michael is in the gesture. The nameless woman inhabiting his body sits up but does not stand up yet. If they aren't the police then they're either the Technocracy or they're a couple of people she doesn't give a shit about and doesn't have to cooperate with.

She does know what a Nephandus is. She doesn't know who they are if they aren't police.

Then Kiara tells her she would remember these murders. Gives her an impression of the city she remembered in a time she can't even fathom.

That is what makes her stand up. The way she moves gives the impression of a smaller body than the one she currently inhabits but Michael is a six-foot-tall man who has thirty pounds on the heavier of them.

"Where," she asks, "am I? What have you done with Florence?"

GraceGuh. This woman is Mike? Honestly? Someone is getting frustrated with the proceedings.

"We've done nothing to Florence, however considering the time period you sound like you're from, and the time it is right now? Florence is probably long dead. Or, perhaps you mean Florence, Italy? In which case, it's still around, but you're not there anymore. You're in Denver."

So, you know, you dry up. Or whatever.

KiaraThe barrier Kiara had erected was narrow, the edges barely clear of the chair the female rises from.

The Verbena doesn't shift very far when she rises - can't, really - but she does cede her enough space to get up. The bedroom the brunette uses for her work is frustratingly bare; the blinds drawn so its dim; the walls devoid of hangings or other identifying imagery. There's no clocks, no signs of the when she is other than the design of the room itself. The floors are polished hardwood with a throw rug beneath the chair.

There's a set of doors at the far side of the room, storage, by the looks, another single door that led back out into Kiara's apartment across from them.

It smelled strongly of magick in here. Old kinds of it, the curl of incense, the blade resting on the side table that seemed to hum faintly and gleam, as if harmonizing with the female standing guard by the chair, eyes on her as she rises. "It's 2015 and this is - " You're in Denver. Kiara's expression softens, briefly, as she looks at Grace. Michael but not Michael was on his feet, but not as they wanted.

There's a twinge of empathy in Kiara for it, before she goes on. "Colorado. We don't know who Florence is, but we weren't lying when we said we needed your help." A beat. "In whatever capacity you can offer it. We don't have much time." Gentler, that. Kiara's eyes shift to the edge of the circle, she can perceive the way it flutters, the energy a slow crackle of electricity that raises the hairs on Kiara's arms.

"There's a Nephandus in the city. It's killing people. We think - it's very old. You've been hunting it for a long time." Her eyes tick to Grace. Return. "In this life. Maybe even in yours."

MichaelGrace counters her questions and her answers only seem to agitate her further. They can both can see that she is looking around for the exit and weighing her options.

Something tells her that if she gets too far away from her present location she is going to regret that decision. Were not for the fact that Kiara recognizes her confusion and attempts to lessen it. Gives her a year and a place.

She is still staring hard at the Verbena. So they need her help. There's an old Nephandus in the city.

"And I am real sorry to hear that," she says. Furious eyes tick from Kiara over to Grace before deciding there's nothing to reason with there and looking back at the Verbena. "But I'm not sure what you want from me. We killed him. Florence and me. He's dead."

Michael did refer to The Artist as a widderslainte when speaking to Grace and Elijah. Explained that that means ze Awakened with an inverted Avatar.

GraceMichael said he'd been hunting this thing over several lifetimes.

"Dead for good? Or just until the next life or whatever? The Artist seems to have this massive issue with you still having things worth living for. Maybe that's because you killed him in the past?"

In the past life. And now they've moved on to new lives, remembering the old grudges left behind.

Who is Florence?

Kiara"There's a connection between you and the Fallen One." The Verbena says, eventually. She's staring back at Michael, this version of him. "In this life. I can sense it." A beat, the pagan's dark eyes flicker with some momentary disquiet. That projects through her thoughts, too. The moments when she'd connected with Michael's pattern, the dark tether that connected his pattern to that of the Nephandus.

Like a stain in his makeup.

"I can see it. It's a doorway between you that allows The Artist to enter Michael's thoughts. To control his actions." She doesn't tell this woman what those actions have so far comprised. There's something very human to the fact she doesn't, the Verbena. "Whatever has happened, whatever did happen. You killed him, but the connection is still there.

Show me what happened." There's a pause and the Verbena's expression hardens a little. Resolves itself. "How did you and Florence kill him. There has to be a reason why you're connected. Whatever helped you once, may help Michael now."

Michael"Of course I killed him. He was hurting people. He was supposed to come back... clean."

There's a connection between you and the Fallen one.

The only thing keeping this person's thoughts and emotions from flooding Kiara's consciousness is the barrier Michael put in place before he let her in.

Michael is a kind individual who cares about other people and attempts to empathize with them before he makes demands of them. If he does not survive this incident in Denver there's a chance he will be more helpful than whoever it is they're speaking to now. She is young but hardened. That darkness tying the two of them together is only tempered by whatever happened to her to make her this way.

And she hasn't thought about what happened. Only knows that she and Florence killed the Nephandus. A barrier of her own maybe.

"I don't know what you're talking about." That anger in her voice becoming more pronounced now. Anger and something like panic. "He... He was trying to hurt Florence, and--"

She has blocked this out. Kiara is going to have to let down her mind shield if she wants this person to be able to share anything with her without speaking.

GraceIt's very weird watching what looks like Mike moving and behaving like this. What's possessing him is not him. But it is him, in a way. Grace can see a bit of his drive coming through, at least. Of course. He was hurting people. He was supposed to come back clean.

It has her softening up a little. Maybe she can start to see this as no longer the 'thing that is taking over my lover' and, well...

"I'm shit at comforting people, whoever you are. But I'm sure Florence made it out okay. You, however... we need to help you."

Kiara
Unraveling.

That's what it felt like. Watching this version of Michael who was not Michael grow increasingly angry and panicked. Watching the absence of memory become a tangible block, she's seen spirits before who were unaware they'd passed on. Who, when prompted with the reality of what had happened to them, become agitated and terrified. It was something difficult to articulate, the experience of watching a deceased person relive their own last moments.

The way it felt to observe their emotions - the last time, Kiara had no capacity to feel them. Now, there is the potential for it. At a cost. Letting her guard down, allowing her mind to relax enough for this woman's thoughts and feelings to saturate her own. But the Verbena's capacity to control her protection of it, her thoughts, her memories - is shaky at best. If she lets down her guard, there's no telling if she'll be able to resurrect it in time to push Michael - or anyone else with access to his thoughts - out.

"I think you do." The Verbena persists, not unkindly, if directly. Her dark eyes steady. "Something happened. When he was trying to hurt Florence. What was it?" The resistance in Kiara's mind ebbs a little, her trust remaining with Michael, or whatever part of him was there, beneath the surface, to maintain some semblance of control.

If he couldn't, the brunette seemed ready and willing to forcibly sever the link.

 Michael
Once the Verbena takes down her mental shield she will not be able to reactivate it. She can put up a new one but that will take time and she will be vulnerable in the meantime. This is a moment where she has to place her trust in a man she has only just met whose own mental integrity has been exploited by the dark influence that stains both consciousnesses. Might even stain any of the ones that came between hers and his.

Something happened. Kiara can access her memories now.

The female consciousness currently taking over Michael's body is breathing faster with the reminder of the incident in question. Doesn't want to maintain eye contact with the Verbena. Looks several times over to Grace to ensure she knows where she is and how much of a threat she is.

Michael only remains as a strong effect that links his mind and Kiara's. As a Charm that he has entrusted with Grace in the event that this past life does as this past life has done several times after brushing up against the Artist in dreams.

"I don't remember," she says in a sharp waver. A hand goes to Michael's temple as if the consciousness is trying to rub the memory loose from his hairline. "I don't remember!" The hand falls away and sharp eyes shoot towards Grace. "What're you telling me? That he ain't dead? That--"

A realization starts to come across the consciousness's eyes. A hand comes out to support her on the edge of the chair. A hard grip on the material.

"That son of a BITCH."

Grace"We're fighting him. We're attempting to take him out. But we can't do that with you like this," Grace says, noting the sharp change in stance, that grip on the chair. "We're not here to hurt you. We're supposed to be on the same side."

But yeah, that's not happening.

"I had the same reaction when I found out the extent of what The Artist has done here. Wanted to... rake his eyes out. Unfortunately, I think he'd just make new eyes. We have to work together. You have to work with us."

KiaraThe brunette's expression betrays her unease.

Her brows drawn together, dark eyes focused on the hand that drops to grip the edge of the chair. Her shield has dissipated and the Verbena looks, momentarily, as uncomfortable as she feels about her mind being open to the whims of an unstable personality. Kiara's mouth firms into a line and her eyes tick to Grace, when she stresses that they're on the same side.

That son of a BITCH.

"Physically, maybe he did. But that wasn't the end." There's a beat, Kiara's thoughts, briefly, turn to another time, another place. Hazy and illuminated. A grove with drifting snow. A woman being comforted. The echo of a confession from a face twisted by grief and despair. Everything that I touch turns to ash. Even in this life. When I Woke Up I killed twelve people.

"He's here, now." The Verbena's eyes shine. "Grace isn't lying. We are on the same side. We want to finish this. We want to stop more blood being spilled."

Her intent, the fervent desire in the pagan, spills across her mind; the bloom of growth; the resilience of the earth. "There must be something."

Michael"Then tell me!"

It's taken them a while to come around to the same page. She must not realize that a door is open between her mind and the Verbena's. Doesn't mean that any trust has bubbled up between them.

If there's some part of her that is willing to cooperate with these two it's a small part. A small part that is easily drowned out by anger and insanity. They have both seen the evidence left behind when she gets her hand on something sharp and makes a victim out of someone who was otherwise minding their own business.

The chair is still between this nameless spirit and the two living Awakened. In Michael's grip it looks as if all it would take is a loss of temper for it to go flying.

"You said it yourself, you brought me here! Tell me what you want from me! I don't know anything! Florence is the one who knew everything about him, and she's dead!"

Grace"We believe that you have been taking over your current... incarnation? In times when the Nephandus has been trying to attack. You come to the fore, and you're..." homicidal. Rampaging. "Confused. It's not the best tactical situation, when we're trying to kill that son of a bitch, I'm sure you can understand that."

She tries to keep her speech in a calm place, even when she's cursing, but Grace is worried. Seemingly, for the spirit in front of her, because she wears Mike's face.

"Maybe Florence isn't dead, hmm? You came back, in another life. So did the Artist. You can't be sure she's not still trying to help you," she says, holds out her free hand, palm up (not trying to grab your arm) to brush across the spirit's grip on the chair. Pat pat. There there.

Kiara"I need you to let go."

The Verbena says quietly, her eyes ticking to Grace for a long moment. Returning. "Of Michael. Whether you believe it or not, you're interfering with your own capacity to kill The Artist. It's not going to bring Florence back.

Whatever happened to her." The pagan shifts a little, her arm brushing the small side table where her tools are set up. "Whatever happened when you killed the Nephandus. It's not finished. You're manifesting in this life." There's a long pause and then: "I can try and help you remember. Find out what happened. Look into Michael's memories - " She searches the entity's face. " - help you put the pieces together.

But this lifetime. He needs you to let him finish this fight."

Kiara breathes out carefully.

"If you'll trust us. If you don't, trust him. Michael. He wants what you want. To stop The Artist."

MichaelAs a practitioner Kiara has to be familiar with the concept of some breakthroughs requiring several sessions in order to accomplish them. Some wounds are so old that they will not heal the first time she finds the root of the problem.

This is a very old wound. It was one that the Euthanatos was only aware of within the last couple years when he became aware of the Artist. When he started losing entire evenings and trying to piece them together with less success than he would have had if he were blacking out because of alcohol and not dream assaults from a widderslainte Nephandus.

Kiara can try and help her remember. But Kiara has left her mind open. She hasn't tried to access either this individual's memories or Michael's consciousness. For all she or Grace knows he's aware of what is going on and letting it happen in the hopes of gathering enough information to take down the Artist without anyone else dying.

Something happens to which Kiara and Grace are not privy. The consciousness stares at Grace as she supposes that Florence isn't dead and wrenches her - Michael's - hand back with that attempt at comfort. Stares at Kiara as she speaks soft and rational.

She doesn't know who Michael is. She doesn't know she's dead. This makes about as much sense to whoever it is as it would have made to Grace if Grace were in her situation.

"'Trust him,'" she says. A scoff accompanies a voice that sounds as if it's coming from the bottom of an open grave. A hard look at Grace. "They only want one thing, you know. And Florence--"

A memory Kiara hasn't yet found threatens to overcome her then. Strong negative emotions. The echoes of Qlippothic mind magick and it feels like a beacon for a moment but Michael is not in the shackles of a throwback. This is a therapeutic environment. He still had some control.

The mental link between Michael and Kiara snaps like a scythe just fell down on it and that dark light goes out of the Euthanatos's eyes. Takes the rest of the light with it. Mike loses consciousness and drops to the floor.

Grace"Shit!" Grace yells, takes to the floor with Mike. "I didn't use the thing."

She tries to take his head into her lap, to prop him up, to make sure he's still breathing.

"I need to call Ihsan."

Like Ihsan is going to know what to do. This didn't seem to have exactly worked out the way they were hoping.

"Fuck."

Kiara[Life 1, just a quick 'that looked like it hurt and my floors are hardwood' life scan.]

Dice: 3 d10 TN3 (1, 1, 3) ( success x 1 )

Michael[He's going to be a bit bruised later but at least the fall woke him. He's coming back around.]

KiaraMaybe if she had better grasp of Mind, the Verbena would have pushed into Michael's mind. Wouldn't have hesitated and tried to find reason in the unreasonable. Perhaps it's the practitioner in the brunette. Perhaps it was a thousand other things - the fact remains - the link is severed, Michael crumples to the floor and the barrier she'd erected shatters with him.

There's a moment where the Verbana does little else but stands there, a hand echoing Michael's stance, braced on the chair. Breathing against the momentary surge of negativity, of dark magick. She only seems to stir herself out of it when Grace yells, drops to cradle his head.

The pagan moves, then. Settles on her haunches and sweeps a hand over Michael's form. There's a gentle stirring of the Verbena's will, a bloom of rejuvenating energy and: "He's okay. A little bruised and battered but he's going to be alright." She adds, after a moment. "I'm sorry, Grace. I know you wanted a better answer.

I know you both did.

It's possible, if we tried again -" She pushes herself to her feet, staring down at the Euthanatos. "-there's so much scar tissue in his mind."

MichaelThe temptation to stay asleep after that ordeal is strong. But if he stayed asleep the Artist would be able to find zir way into his consciousness. That surge of energy Kiara felt was a portend. If Michael didn't cut her off from the memory of that past life then ze would have found a way in.

It's possible if they tried again they might find an answer or a way to permanently destroy that tether. This supposition precedes Mike drawing a deep breath and furrowing his brow.

Okay. He's on the floor. Grace has his head in her lap. Echoes of the Verbena's words ring in his ears as he debates whether he wants to open his eyes or not.

"It occurs to me," he says, "that I may have underestimated the Artist's dedication to the craft."

Alright. Enough lying on the floor. He takes another deep breath and opens his eyes and sits up. Does not stand yet. He brings a hand to his throat as if he would be straightening a tie were he wearing one. It's a muscle memory. Make sure his tie is on straight after he's almost cracked his skull on the floor.

Before he stands he looks Kiara in the eye. The difference between the mental states of that past life she just encountered and the current incarnation of that soul may be staggering to her now. Like looking up at the sky after a storm has passed and seeing cloudless blue in its wake.

"Kiara, I know we don't have any answers right now, but you've provided me with an incredible amount of insight, and I cannot thank you enough."

GraceOh, fuck it all, Kiara. this was never a sure deal, but it was their only hope. If it didn't work this time, what were they going to honestly do? Spend the next four days working on Mike's mental state, while people droped dead around him?

She doesn't say that. She doesn't say anything of what's swirling around in her head, because not all of it is nice. Part of it is a growing understanding that she should indeed start packing heavy weaponry, with real bullets, with Mike's name on them. Maybe he'll agree that it's the only thing to do. He probably wouldn't let her do it, but... She would.

And then, she'd die next, probably. Pretty cut and dried, eh?

She stands with Mike when he lifts his head out of her lap and says that perhaps all this wasn't for nothing.

"What insight?" she asks, and sounds tired.

KiaraMichael gets what could only be described as a tight smile in response. I cannot thank you enough.

"Don't thank me yet." There's a moment that passes between them, the Verbena and the Euthanatos and then she offers, quieter: "I haven't given up on solving this. I think we can stop it. Her, from hurting anyone else. If you're willing to try again."

She doesn't have to say it, but she does, anyway. Her gaze shifting back to Michael: "Whatever we can do until we find a way to solve this, we can. Even if we can't keep her surfacing, maybe we can find a way to bind her." A beat. "You, from hurting anyone else." She reaches down and collects one of the pieces of quartz that had fallen during the session.

Weighs it in her palm, looks at them both.

"We'll find a way. I promise."