chicago. [ian, in progress]

Ian

It's two days before Christmas in Chicago and the ambient temperature outdoors is still hovering at about 50 degrees. There's no snow on the ground, but the sky is overcast and a fine mist of rain has been drizzling the city intermittently since dawn. When Ian arrives at the airport, he parks his rental car (a 2010 VW Jetta - not quite a match for the Audi he left at home) in the hourly lot and jogs across to the United terminal, passing a row of cars idling at the curb. A few drops of rain land in his hair and on his jacket, beading up on the leather. When he gets through the second set of doors he pauses to look around. O'Hare is always packed this time of year (most airports are.) There's scarcely room to breathe amid the sea of travelers. Ian has to slip past the clogged over-spill from the baggage check on his way to the gate exit where Kiara will be arriving. On his way there, he glances at the arrival information on one of the overhead screens - checks to make sure the flight hasn't been delayed. He gave himself about twenty minutes to spare, which means he has time to kill before she gets there.

The rest of his company has already left Chicago. By now they'll be setting up the stage at the Overture Center in Madison. So Ian's here alone, and when he arrives at the waiting area he settles in at the back of the crowd, leaning against the windows with his phone out. For the next twenty minutes, he mostly ignores the people around him in favor of catching up on a few news articles. He also responds to a text that Emma sends him.

E: Don't be late, lover boy.

I: I'm never late.

E: Shannon thinks you're going to miss the show.

I: Why the fuck does she think that?

E: She's seen Kiara.

I: I'm not going to miss the show. Tell her to stop worrying.

I: I'll text you when I'm on my way.

Kiara

And here comes Spring, nourishing the depths of Winter.

Or so it really feels, with Kiara. The moment she appears through the gate wheeling a small carry on suitcase behind her Ian can sense it. Sense her, too. All that rejuvenating energy coiled away inside a slender brunette with long, wavy hair unleashed around her shoulders and a pair of over-sized sunglasses perched on the crown of her head. She's dressed to travel, Kiara, in soft cotton cargo pants and sneakers, a dark navy hoodie half zipped over a plain white v neck and save for the fact her lips are painted a glossy pink, very little in the way of make up; if anything, with the traces of a light tan she bears, it boosts the picture of vitality she offers.

As if she'd been drinking in the sunshine and was presently manifesting herself as some extension of the warmer summer days currently so distant from them.

-

She'd almost missed her flight.

Somehow between Denver to Hawaii and back to Denver again the Verbena's sleeping schedule (and her ability to stop) had become severely compromised. She'd found herself drifting, like a sliver of seaweed caught in the tide, traveling along without conscious thought to put a halt to the momentum and allow herself the time to recover; to recharge and contemplate everything that had happened recently.

Some of that was Her doing, of course.

Miles to go and she was restless and driven and the wind kicked up around Kiara the longer she idled.

-

She finds him the crowd. He's toward the back, his body back-lit by light, rays of it trickling through the dismal overcast skies outside and there's a subtle little expression of pleasure that plays into focus across her generous mouth, finds depth and surety in her dark eyes as she navigates her way through the throng toward him.

Of course she'd have found him but - there's a degree of urgency to this reunion.

Almosts and could-have-been's, you understand. Life was never a certainty for them and he'd been absent nearly a month, the type of woman that the Verbena was; her calling; meant it would never be a surety - that they'd reunite like this every time. That there would be a way for it to happen so seamlessly.

"Hey."

She greets as she clears the crowd, her eyes bright. "Waiting for anyone in particular?"

Ian[awareness, woo]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (3, 3, 5, 7, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )

IanHe does sense her. Feels the familiar stirrings of her energy before he catches her face approaching through the crowd. Kiara is dressed for traveling. There are sunglasses in her hair (which she likely won't have need of) and her skin's been kissed with this warm glow of life that feels a far cry away from the clouded winter sky hanging over Chicago. Ian isn't exactly pale (his skin tends toward a soft tan even in the colder months) but he doesn't bear the marks of the sun the way that she does. By the time she spots him, he's slipped his phone into the back pocket of his jeans and is leaning against the windows watching her approach.

He doesn't push through the crowd to get to her - not immediately. Instead he waits until there isn't a throng of people between them, then he lifts off the wall and...

Hey. Waiting for anyone in particular?

...closes the distance between them. It happens quickly, that part, and when he catches her he threads his hands into her hair and kisses her hungrily - inhaling (stealing) some of her breath when their lips make contact. It feels like it's been so fucking long since he touched her. Smelled her. Tasted her skin beneath his tongue. It's been a little over three weeks, but they've both traveled hundreds of miles in the interim.

He makes this little noise in the back of his throat. Soft enough that only she can hear. There's a hoard of people around them, any number of whom might be glancing in their direction, but for the moment he really could not care less.

"Yes," he replies eventually, teeth grazing her lower lip.

He doesn't really want to step away. When he does, it feels like tearing away from a magnetic field.

"Let's get the hell out of here. Did your flight go okay?" He starts to reach down to take her luggage, though if she seems content to hold onto it he'll let the offer rest.

KiaraShe's always had a strange relationship with flying.

Not a fear - not for a woman who had leaped out of them in the past - but rather with the static quality of the experience. Caged inside and yet as a whole moving - she struggles to remain in her seat for the duration for longer trips - fidgets and shifts and props her chin on her hand, staring out the tiny square window offered her; drifting among the clouds outside as much as retaining her awareness of what was going on inside it.

"Mm, it was frustratingly uneventful," she replies rather breathlessly when they draw apart; her hands framing his face in the way she liked - kissing him with equal (if not more) aggression - before they slid down to shape the remembered strength of his shoulders, curling in there and sliding around his neck; lifting her body against him for just a lingering moment to lean her face against him and brush her nose into the side of his cheek.

There was something luxurious in the motion.

"Not even a little turbulence." Something wry to that as she does pull away, traces a thumb over his lower lip where her lip-gloss has left the tinges of sticky-sweet residue. She cedes the luggage to him without much in the way of seeming concern; a touch of bemusement perhaps at the gesture but she seems satisfied enough to loop her arm through his and cast a doubtful look over his shoulder toward the weather outside.

The rain miserably pledging itself to falling in slow, sluggish deliberation.

"Everyone says hello back in Denver, by the way," she murmurs as they began to pick a careful path through the crowds. "I saw most of them at the house for Annie's Yuletide party." A beat, Kiara's voice notching into something less appreciative: "One of the Hermetics you told me about was there. Henry's son."

IanThis is something they've yet to do - take a flight together (skydriving excluded.) Perhaps on the trip home Ian will find himself amused by Kiara's restlessness. His own strategy for dealing with the long journey is quite a bit more meditative.

Kiara mentions the lack of turbulence as though it were a disappointment. There's a glint of amusement in Ian's eyes as they pull away (reluctantly) from each other's orbit. Some of the gloss on her lips has transferred to his own, leaving traces of her in his mouth. He rolls his lower lip between his teeth after she touches it with her thumb, sliding his tongue over it.

She lets him take her bag (with some bemusement,) and soon he's walking them through the crowd, mindful of stray feet and elbows as he picks up a purposeful gate.

He doesn't like airports. Doesn't like being stuck in this kind of crowd, where everyone is stressed and no one seems to know where the hell they're going.

He glances back when she mentions the others - that they said hello. "Yeah, Leah invited me. I talked to Kalen on the phone the other day. I'll have to catch up with the rest when I get back." There's a pause while he mulls over his thoughts on the holiday - on group gatherings, but Kiara's mention of the Hermetics derails that train of thought. A crease forms between his brows and he makes this little noise that might well be swallowed up by the crowd.

"What was he like?"

They get to the exit and Ian picks up his stride as the automatic doors slide open.

KiaraThe moment the automatic doors slide open the world rushes in to greet them.

The smell of the rain on the air fills Kiara's lungs and it's with perceivable pleasure that the pagan sets foot outdoors; making some tiny noise of such and tipping her face up to greet the flecks of rain washing down across the airport entrance as they pass through into Chicago proper. It's not really any less busy once they pass through the whirring electronic doors but the frenetic pace is given more breathing room out here, at the very least.

The people and cars; those milling about for taxis and buses and the near-constant rumble of planes as they soared overhead or descended and circled slowly in to bank and careen across the tarmac.

There was a family standing just outside the doors; a frazzled father balancing a small wailing child on his hip while another pawed and tugged insistently at his side, his wife yelling into her phone about delays and rescheduling and what about their luggage all the while rocking a stroller back and forth to soothe a newborn infant grumbling inside it. The Verbena opens her eyes on the scene and there's a beat where Kiara studies them as they glide past - not so much with sympathy as keen awareness.

They were so alive in the moment, this family, so full of vibrancy, even in the height of their agitation and they would, most likely, never have the slightest idea of it. How close they played their mundane concerns to a far more dangerous set of them.

She thinks, briefly, of Haoa and his Grandson; of Ali'ikai.

Tightens her hold on Ian almost in reflex and catches on to the tail-end of his words: What was he like?

"Honestly? I couldn't tell you. I spent most of the evening actively avoiding him. He mostly stood by the window in the living room and ignored everyone from what I could tell." There's a beat, Kiara's eyes tick to Ian's face for a moment; registering it in profile. "I don't think Annie and the others were happy, exactly, with his presence."

There's a quiet sigh from the brunette.

"Sasha said if he knew what Kalen and I had been up to, he'd have had to arrest us." A curl of that same derisive humor Sasha had heard in the Verbena's voice at the time. Something entirely darker and volatile flickering through the female's eyes, twitching her mouth into a frown. "Anyone would think we weren't trying to make things right."

With who, she doesn't quite make clear.

IanThat Annie and her cabal-mates might not look at a visiting Hermetic authority with much favor does not register as especially surprising to Ian. Kiara probably knows them better than he does, but from what he's gathered of Annie she does not especially care for either the Order or for authority figures.

The air outside the terminal has a particularly urban scent to it. Glass and metal and rain-soaked pavement mingles with the exhaust fumes of idling cars and vague hints of jet fuel. The humidity makes the smells worse. Catches them and holds them in the air. Ian makes this face when they get outside, his nose wrinkling slightly to add to the look of brooding irritation.

He shouldn't be feeling that way right now. Shouldn't be thinking about how this airport makes him feel like a residue is clinging to his skin that he might never be able to get clean of.

A drop of rain falls on his forehead, trailing down past the corner of his eye. He stops moving for a second to wipe it away, then adjusts his grip on Kiara's bag.

He doesn't look at the family. (Really doesn't want to.) He does look at Kiara though, and this causes his expression to smooth out a little. Whatever else, he is happy to see her. Happy to have her arm linked up with his own. The warmth and realness of her presence feels like this drawing pull at his side. The force of it is distracting, but in a wholly welcome way.

He shoots her a wary look when she says that Richard might have cause to arrest them. "Why would...? You know, don't tell me here." He steps out into the crosswalk and starts to lead them across to the parking ramp. "If he tries to touch you, I'll..."

What? Break the man's arm? Ian seems to realize midway through his sentence how much he's starting to sound like an overprotective boyfriend, and he stops himself with a self-deprecating huff. "Jesus, when did I start talking like this?" They reach the sidewalk on the other side and Ian gestures in the direction of the car. "I parked over here."

"The Order doesn't have any right to come into Denver and dictate how we do things. They can go fuck themselves."

KiaraThere's a moment where Kiara looks at him after he begins to make that threat and it's honestly difficult to know what she makes of it - his protectiveness of her; of the way it rankles him to consider the idea she could do anything so startling it would invoke some requirement of another Tradition to take her into custody. She doesn't need (or would likely ever ask) for his protection and he knows that.

Still - there's something to the instinct about it, the sudden, furious determination that sparks in his voice and in that wary look he casts her that has the Verbena studying him for a long moment before she looks away; a faint furrow etched between her brows.

A beat of silence that gathers steam as they move toward the car and Kiara uncurls her arm from his to tend to her hair; to push the heaviness of it over her shoulder where the humidity was beginning to paste it to her skin. She waits to answer until they're making their final approach to the car Ian's rented; Kiara's arms sliding over her chest; her hip coming to reside against the side of the car. Tiny drops of rain are landing on her sunglasses where she's left them unattended in her hair; beading and dripping down the reflective surfaces.

"No, they really don't. But since when has that stopped them?" There's a sardonic wisp to that, too. A deliberate barb that gleams in the brunette's eyes as she studies him for a long moment then - "Hey," - draws closer and reaches to loosen his grip on her suitcase. Gathering him into the circle of her arms around his shoulders; her eyes following the path her fingers track over his shoulders.

"None of that matters right now. Richard, the Order, my running around after stray artifacts ... " She smiles into a kiss, pressed against the edge of his jaw. "I don't care about any of it right now," she murmurs. It's not the truth, of course. He's seen the way concern etched itself into the pagan's features when she's mentioned the quest for the crown; the potential danger it posed.

It's an easy lie to swallow though, in the here and now, as her arms twine around his neck and she plays with the fine hairs at the nape of his neck. "The only thing that matters is that I missed you." She turns her face and presses her mouth to the other side of his jaw and mirrors the attention she'd paid the former. "And we have a whole month to make up for."

The brunette's eyes shine. "I hope your stamina holds up."

IanHe does know that. That she's capable, independent - that she's never been someone he could (or should) try to stand in front of. In truth, that's part of why he fell in love with her.

It doesn't make any of it easier though - the feelings he gets when she tells him she had to fight a dragon, or that a Hermetic might try to arrest her. There's something about that fear that feels like old ghosts. Especially here, in this city (where the ghosts are so fucking loud.)

They get to the car and Kiara stops him, makes a sardonic comment about the Order as she draws in close, reminding him why she's there. That she's missed him. That they have weeks of lost time to make up for. She says none of the rest matters right now, and he catches her eye with a suspicious little tilt of his head even as a smile starts to form on his lips. He left his jacket unzipped and there's a soft white t-shirt underneath. Past that, his body is warm and firm and alive under her hands. He lets his own hip lean against the car, surrendering to the contact. For a moment his eyes fall shut.

The only indication she'll have that he's about to do something is in this sudden, quick breath. Then his hands are on her waist and he turns with this sudden gesture to shove her back against the side of the car, lifting as he does so her legs can get some purchase around his hips. Her sunglasses might fall, but he's not thinking about that. For a few stuttered, electrified seconds, he also isn't thinking about the people getting in and out of their cars nearby, or the security cameras hanging from the ceiling. He just rolls himself against her body and kisses her roughly on the side of her throat, teeth scratching the delicate skin over her pulse.

He doesn't make any wry comments in response to her little taunt. Instead he just breaths, "God I want to fuck you..." like maybe he's considering actually trying it...

He isn't lying. She can feel it readily enough, pressed together like they are.

But there are people. That's the thing. And when he pushes her weight against the car it shifts on its axle, giving this little creak of protest. When he hears it, a man glances over from where he's pulling luggage out of the trunk of his own car. There's a moment of amused surprise when he catches sight of the two of them, and he gives a little cough. Ian's eyes tick to his face just in time to see the guy toss him a thumbs up gesture. Then he leans his forehead against Kiara's neck and sighs like maybe he'd rather cut off his own hand than stop what he's doing.

"We should get out of here before I get us arrested."

Kiara

There's a moment where Kiara looks at him after he begins to make that threat and it's honestly difficult to know what she makes of it - his protectiveness of her; of the way it rankles him to consider the idea she could do anything so startling it would invoke some requirement of another Tradition to take her into custody. She doesn't need (or would likely ever ask) for his protection and he knows that.

Still - there's something to the instinct about it, the sudden, furious determination that sparks in his voice and in that wary look he casts her that has the Verbena studying him for a long moment before she looks away; a faint furrow etched between her brows.

A beat of silence that gathers steam as they move toward the car and Kiara uncurls her arm from his to tend to her hair; to push the heaviness of it over her shoulder where the humidity was beginning to paste it to her skin. She waits to answer until they're making their final approach to the car Ian's rented; Kiara's arms sliding over her chest; her hip coming to reside against the side of the car. Tiny drops of rain are landing on her sunglasses where she's left them unattended in her hair; beading and dripping down the reflective surfaces.

"No, they really don't. But since when has that stopped them?" There's a sardonic wisp to that, too. A deliberate barb that gleams in the brunette's eyes as she studies him for a long moment then - "Hey," - draws closer and reaches to loosen his grip on her suitcase. Gathering him into the circle of her arms around his shoulders; her eyes following the path her fingers track over his shoulders.

"None of that matters right now. Richard, the Order, my running around after stray artifacts ... " She smiles into a kiss, pressed against the edge of his jaw. "I don't care about any of it right now," she murmurs. It's not the truth, of course. He's seen the way concern etched itself into the pagan's features when she's mentioned the quest for the crown; the potential danger it posed.

It's an easy lie to swallow though, in the here and now, as her arms twine around his neck and she plays with the fine hairs at the nape of his neck. "The only thing that matters is that I missed you." She turns her face and presses her mouth to the other side of his jaw and mirrors the attention she'd paid the former. "And we have a whole month to make up for."

The brunette's eyes shine. "I hope your stamina holds up."

Ian

He does know that. That she's capable, independent - that she's never been someone he could (or should) try to stand in front of. In truth, that's part of why he fell in love with her.

It doesn't make any of it easier though - the feelings he gets when she tells him she had to fight a dragon, or that a Hermetic might try to arrest her. There's something about that fear that feels like old ghosts. Especially here, in this city (where the ghosts are so fucking loud.)

They get to the car and Kiara stops him, makes a sardonic comment about the Order as she draws in close, reminding him why she's there. That she's missed him. That they have weeks of lost time to make up for. She says none of the rest matters right now, and he catches her eye with a suspicious little tilt of his head even as a smile starts to form on his lips. He left his jacket unzipped and there's a soft white t-shirt underneath. Past that, his body is warm and firm and alive under her hands. He lets his own hip lean against the car, surrendering to the contact. For a moment his eyes fall shut.

The only indication she'll have that he's about to do something is in this sudden, quick breath. Then his hands are on her waist and he turns with this sudden gesture to shove her back against the side of the car, lifting as he does so her legs can get some purchase around his hips. Her sunglasses might fall, but he's not thinking about that. For a few stuttered, electrified seconds, he also isn't thinking about the people getting in and out of their cars nearby, or the security cameras hanging from the ceiling. He just rolls himself against her body and kisses her roughly on the side of her throat, teeth scratching the delicate skin over her pulse.

He doesn't make any wry comments in response to her little taunt. Instead he just breaths, "God I want to fuck you..." like maybe he's considering actually trying it...

He isn't lying. She can feel it readily enough, pressed together like they are.

But there are people. That's the thing. And when he pushes her weight against the car it shifts on its axle, giving this little creak of protest. When he hears it, a man glances over from where he's pulling luggage out of the trunk of his own car. There's a moment of amused surprise when he catches sight of the two of them, and he gives a little cough. Ian's eyes tick to his face just in time to see the guy toss him a thumbs up gesture. Then he leans his forehead against Kiara's neck and sighs like maybe he'd rather cut off his own hand than stop what he's doing.

"We should get out of here before I get us arrested."

[reposts!]

KiaraThey were both capable, independent souls in their own ways.

Neither one of them required (or particularly enjoyed) the assistance of others to solve their problems. There was a certain reckless stubbornness to the Verbena's insistence on it at times, however. Her deep set need to handle situations in her own way, in her own time. A measure of necessity was mixed in there too, of course. Kiara Woolfe had long ago had her hand forced into adapting to the world she found herself mixed up in.

You didn't evade the attention of the people she'd so far managed to by chance alone.

No, there was a recklessness to this creature currently roughly delivered back against the side of a car, but it was not altogether a bad thing. To possess that liberation of spirit, to be capable of allowing the moment to seize hold and drag you under; along. Ian lifts her and she curls her legs around his waist with a breath of startled laughter, pressing her body against his like a rather determined barnacle.

Her sunglasses clatter to the ground.

He kisses her throat and her fingers sink in tight to his shoulders; curling up under the folds of his clothing and lightly exploring, stroking along the warmth of his skin before there's a polite cough from somewhere nearby and a sigh from her would be captor. The brunette's body vibrates with repressed laughter as she cranes her face back to glimpse their startled audience.

We should get out of here before I get us arrested

"I don't know, we might have made his entire year if we'd kept going," she murmurs against his lobe, nipping it gently with sharp little teeth and letting her legs slide regretfully from around his hips; she shifts past him, stooping as she does to collect her glasses. "But the other dancers in your troupe might not be as understanding if you miss the show because you were arrested for having sex in an airport parking lot."

The Verbena's mouth curled as she leaned both arms on the roof of the car and set her sunglasses back in place.

Ian"I'm not that much of an exhibitionist," Ian murmurs his response with closed eyes as he exhales against her shoulder. Her teeth are on his ear and her body is right there and the act of pulling away seems so impossibly difficult. The truth is, he isn't an exhibitionist at all - though he's been accused of it many times (and justifiably so.)

There are ways in which he can be (like her) a little reckless. He's always been prone to following his instincts. And if he'd ever been self-conscious about his body, the last shreds of that disappeared back when he was modeling.

Kiara slides away and Ian leans forward with folded arms on the roof of the car, watching her with this borderline dejected expression that, given the circumstances, may come off as somewhat comical. When Kiara makes that comment about the other dancers, he lifts an eyebrow knowingly. "Shannon already thinks I'm going to miss the show. Emma was texting me about it before you got here. Apparently everyone I know assumes that I think with my dick."

Says the guy currently leaning against a car trying to will his erection to go away.

He presses his thumbs to the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes for a moment, exhaling. Then he steps away from the car and moves to unlock the trunk so Kiara can stash her luggage. The black Jetta is clean and in good condition. All things considered, it's not the worst vehicle for a three hour drive, though it doesn't have the soft leather seats or the handling capacity of his Audi.

"If you need us to stop for food, let me know. But I was planning to grab dinner once we get into Madison."

Once they're both settled into the car, Ian shuts the driver's side door and reaches behind his seat for something he left on the floor. He comes up with a small purple box tied with silk ribbon. The top of the box has an embossed silver label that says: Vosges. It looks like the kind of box that might contain high-end chocolate, which, in fact, is exactly what it is. He hands it across to Kiara with a subtle smile. "I grabbed this over on Mag Mile this morning. If you don't like it, I can give it to the other dancers. They'll eat anything."

KiaraThere's a particular way the brunette's thin brow arches as she slides into the car that speaks volumes on her thoughts when it comes to the assumptions of Ian's fellow dancers. The edge of a smile playing at the corners of her lips suggests she clearly finds some aspect of it - the idea they'd be incapable of resisting each other long enough to make his show perhaps - rather entertaining.

(They hadn't been entirely wrong, after all).

The small purple box is greeted with faux suspicion; the Verbena's fine little fingers unlacing the ribbon with deft handiwork and peeling the lid back to peer inside it at the delicately arranged confections. "Are you kidding? These are absolutely all mine. Thank you." She leans over and kisses the edge of his mouth without lingering into the contact; as much as she might have otherwise considered doing.

She settles back against the seat. "We can have dinner once we get there, you can show me around the city." It feels like it has intention, the soft spoken way Kiara offers that, turning to take in the expanses of the parking area as Ian pulls out and the car swings around. The Verbena's fingers neatly framed around the small box in her lap. Less any instruction and more - an invitation. A willingness to see the place that she knew had history and threaded, deep root in his memory.

Her thumb strokes the slightly raised indentation in the box's cover, feeling the edges of the embossed lettering.

There's a beat and then, with only the smallest of hesitations: "I got you something, too. Nothing big or - " She turns to glance at him, her mouth shifting a touch toward some subtle humor. " - worthy of being hung on your wall but - it reminded me of you."

IanKiara thanks him for the chocolates, kissing the edge of his mouth in this way that's a little mindful of not lingering. Ian tilts his head into it a little; slides forward in the seat like he means to chase her back to her side of the car, but in the end he doesn't follow through on that impulse. Instead he rolls his lower lip into his mouth and smiles.

They pull out of the parking stall and he swings the car around toward the exit, leaning over to grab the parking ticket from the space beneath the dash. There's a small line to get out, so they're forced to idle for a minute. When Kiara mentions she got him a gift as well, he tosses her a curious look. "Oh?"

Truth is, the chocolates were more of a: hey, I missed you than a proper gift. Perhaps there's a part of him that would like to be able to afford expensive paintings, but for now he'll have to settle for smaller gestures. He doesn't tell Kiara that he's saving her real present for Christmas.

They finally get to the front of the line and Ian pays for the half-hour of time he spent on the lot, then he rolls up the window and turns onto the main road.

Traffic in the city isn't so bad at 3:15pm on a weekday as it might be during rush hour or on the weekend, but it's still perilously close to Christmas and there's enough cars on the roads to keep them frustratingly congested. Ian seems to know his way around the roads, and there are points where he takes them down a couple of less-frequented side streets in order to bypass the main throng of traffic. They aren't going to get to see much of Chicago today, but if Kiara looks out her window she'll be able to take in the sight of Lake Michigan and some of the downtown high-rises.

They don't drive past the neighborhood where Ian used to live. He did go there briefly this morning: walked into the Asian market across the street and looked around like he half-expected someone he knew to jump out from behind the displays. That didn't actually happen though. The only person he recognized was the girl working behind the counter. (She'd been all of thirteen the last time he saw her. Now she's in college.)

He's felt a bit off since then. Like pieces of his life are colliding. Maybe that's why he didn't voice any disappointment when he found out Kiara'd be arriving too late to show her around. They'll be back in a few days though. Perhaps by then he'll feel differently.

It takes too long (and way too many tolls) to get on the highway, but finally they do get there. After that, the drive goes much more smoothly. As they leave Chicago and head Northwest, the landscape goes from urban to rural. Northern Illinois is not especially picturesque. Not the way that Colorado is. Mostly this area is just flat farmland and old industrial sites and tall, trailing power lines. At some point Ian pulls off his jacket and tosses it in the back.

"There's something I should probably tell you..." his voice trails off a bit as he glances over at Kiara. "I didn't think to earlier. Naomi... the girl I dated in high school? She lives in Madison. It's possible we might run into her."

Kiara

Oh?

"Mmhm, it's in my bag. You'll get it later." There had been a touch of the coy to the way the Verbena offered that, her fingers reaching over to slide through his hair and play, briefly, with the tiny hairs at the nape of his neck in a fleeting caress before they drew back to settle against her knee. In truth the gift had been less of anything relating to the seasonal holiday and far more something that had caught the brunette's eye in her recent travels. Kiara spoke of Christmas not by the Christian idea of it after all, but by its older, far more ancient roots - it was Yule to the dark eyed woman beside him, much as the other holiday celebrations had their pagan namesakes to her.

She'd never given him a gift, not quite like this and the expectation and awareness of it - the strangely somber quality it brings to the pagan for a moment - feels weighted and fragile-spun.

It's not until they're well clear of Chicago and the landscape has begun to change before the Verbena's sleepy gaze (her lids rising and falling in gradual progression toward finally remaining closed), her head resting idly back against the edge of the window that the mood seems to shift; that the brunette's expression clears (even as she lets herself be lulled by the motion of the car) and she stirs when he pulls his jacket off and throws it over the seats; sitting upright and stretching her muscles out.

There's something I should probably tell you - her eyes are suddenly focused on him, her weariness feels abandoned in the sudden tension that arcs into her mouth; touches her brow.

Naomi, the girl he dated in high school lives in Madison. They might run into her.

Ian

Kiara prepares herself for something ominous. Next to the dangers she's faced recently, the prospect of an ex-girlfriend might seem almost laughably mundane. She seems to take it in without much care, offering that neat little shrug. Ian watches her with a focused expression. After a moment he pulls his eyes away to glance at the road.

"I didn't for a long time. Last year I ran into her and we talked a little."

He's quiet for a long moment.

"I think we both needed to be away from each other, after everything that happened. I ended things with her really badly." Some shadow of guilt passes over his eyes. Old and aching and private. The next glance he affords Kiara is softer, more vulnerable. He reaches out to grasp her wrist, pulling her left hand gently into his chest. She can feel his heart beating there under the thin cotton of his t-shirt. "I'm glad you're here," he says softly, dragging his thumb over her knuckles in a slow caress.

Kiara

It's never easy to listen to talk of old wounds.

To feel the reawakening of stale emotions and long neglected scars that litter a memory - that can be traced and mapped as potently as if they could be drawn with fingertips along a sliver of exposed skin. She's prepared so many times, in her head, for this moment. For a thousand just like it where the conversation steers itself with an unyielding sort of destiny about it toward the same conclusion.

She's imagined what her expression would read as when it did.

How cool-eyed and level headed she'd be as it played out.

She's known some of it already, the glimpses and mentions of his past, the phantom girlfriend of the time. There's something different to the reality, though, to sitting strapped to a passenger seat and speeding headlong toward the point where the lines (where the past) intersects the now. To be fair to herself, Kiara had also known for all her idle considerations of the moment that she wasn't built to contain her feelings as anything but what they were. To feel the spark of something violent and protective and fierce unfurl itself in her chest and rake its talons over her heart at the idea of his past self and the girl whose heart he might have broken.

(She knows he did, break Naomi's, somehow, the Verbena doesn't seem to doubt that as a truth)

I ended things with her really badly. "I know a little of how that goes." An echo of distant grief, too. Quiet and whole, a simple truth from her own long buried past.

He reaches out for her and captures her hand, she turns it inward and splays her fingers there against his chest and holds his eyes; a familiar, edged little smile stealing across her mouth; sweetening her dark eyes for a lingering beat. "I am too." She drops her focus to where his thumb rubs over knuckles and breathes out carefully, glancing at the road ahead where it stretched outward; on and on.

(miles to go, Ms Woolfe)

"We traveled out to this little island, Moloka'i and rented a boat, took it right out to this spot where Henry's map had pinpointed the first of the missing stones to be located. We dove down and it was - " She's quiet for a moment, the Verbena, then stirs and turns her face, smiling. "Beautiful, down there. We ran into what we thought were - are - sharks, but they were different. Stronger. Smarter." She's reminded, for a moment, of the creatures Ian had told her his blood made him one of; the affinity for the tiger in him; part of him. "They called them Rokea. The stone was in the keeping of a sea witch known as Ali'iaki deep under the water, she had - magick, of a kind. She said her bargain for the stone would be us finding her son and bringing him to her."

She shifts a little, the brunette. Her fingers returning to slide the chain around her neck.

"We tracked him down, this man, Haoa and his grandson Jake, and convinced them to come with us." There's a beat, some gleam that catches in Kiara's eyes, a particular inflection in her voice. "She left, you know. Chose her duty over him. Over her family. There was a lot of deep mistrust and resentment between them. I still don't know if we fixed anything, not long term but - they came. She agreed to part with the stone and we brought it back." Another pause.

"I still don't believe it should be used, assuming we can even find all the stones, that crown. If I had the power to - I'd destroy it." A tick of her eyes toward him, a tiny curl of humor. "How badly do you think they'd want to arrest me, then?"

"Tell me what happened in Hawai'i?"

Ian[quietly moves that last line back up to Ian's post where it belongs. (no idea how it even got there.)]

IanMemories can take on a certain power, the way they haunt and linger. Perhaps, had Ian and Naomi been given a chance to let their relationship run its course without the introduction of tragedy, those memories would not possess the same kind of weight. Young love isn't meant to last, because people need to grow - to collect experiences - before they can know who they are. But natural evolution wasn't ever in the cards for them.

Perhaps it would have been a fraught subject regardless. But Ian changes the subject, and Kiara responds with the story of her time in Hawai'i. This time she gives him more than just the pretty snapshots (horseback riding and waterfalls and tantalizing stories of time spent alone on the beach.) As she speaks, Ian releases his hold on her hand. His eyes drift occasionally to the road, keeping just enough attention on the highway so they aren't liable to crash if something unexpected occurs, but most of his focus remains on her.

There's a suggestion of concerned surprise when Kiara mentions the sharks: subtle inflections in the set of his eyes when he looks at her. But whatever the specifics of that encounter, it doesn't seem to have been anything she and Kalen couldn't handle. Truth is, the whole thing sounds like something out of a fairy tale. Dragons and sea witches and enchanted crowns. That things like this could still exist are part of what makes their lives both dangerous and inspiring.

He should be upset at the prospect of the Order taking some kind of drastic measure against Kiara for what she's been up to. And he is - of course he is (worried about her,) but right at that moment? Alone together and miles away from any known threat? What he sees is her stubborn defiance. And that... just makes him smile. Like he's remembering all over again why he missed her.

"Well if you're going to piss them off, may as well go all the way."

His hand drifts to settle on her knee, one finger tracing a slow circle just inside her leg.

"For what it's worth, I'm glad the sharks didn't eat you."

KiaraThis too, in a small way, is progress for them.

It feels a far cry from the first mission the brunette had been tasked with in the Umbra and the intentional way she'd sought to keep the details from him. Then only extracted with confrontation on a sandy shore-front when Kiara had no way to escape or distract him from hearing the particular details that the Verbena had sworn she'd keep concealed.

Details she'd shared with Samir over shots with some small measure of self disgust. It had to be self inflicted damage, really, the way the woman deliberately hid the worst parts of her life from a man she claimed openly to care about.

But then - neither of them had ever claimed to be anything but damaged, in their own ways. It was part of what had naturally drawn them together, the simple acceptance that they were flawed and there was no cure for the bruises their lives had left lingering on their psyches. Impressions seared into flesh and bone; pressed into their interactions with each other; with others.

(Perhaps that too, was a key to survival in their world. Embrace the scar tissue, it would buffer the soul against the worst tumults yet to come).

Now when he asks, she tells him. There are aspects she leaves out, naturally. Sidebars and moments and conversations she and Kalen had shared that don't find an easy place in the flow of the story she recounts to him but the bones of it feel honest enough - laid out and presented for consumption and when she cants that gleaming look of defiance and sharp humor his way - his hand finds her knee and she offers him a momentarily brighter smile.

Her eyes returning for a beat to the road.

"Well, you know me," she murmurs, "I've never been one for doing things half way." Her hand finds his on her knee and she idly runs the tips of her fingers over his knuckles. "As weird as it might sound, I'm glad it gave Kalen and I time to talk a little. I wasn't sure, when he found out about us, how awkward it might be."

She throws him a look for a moment, it's searching and keen. "Potential war mongering from the Order aside, he seemed in a good place." She breathes out, once. A bare little gust of laughter. "You know, for Kalen."

IanThere's a smile at that (because yes, Ian does know Kalen.) It feels a bit weighted, threaded through with whispers of memory. But these memories, as complicated as they may be, are not the same kind of heavy that talk of his more distant past dredges up.

"I think Kalen does relationships the same way I do sex. Or... used to." It's an odd revelation to come to like this, mid-conversation. The realities of how much his habits have changed. "So I don't really know what he thinks. If it matters to him. I suspect that even if it did, he might not say anything. But he did seem alright when I talked to him the other day."

Kiara's fingers trace over the details of his hand. Ian glances over and slides his palm a little further up her thigh. There isn't anything hurried or especially determined about it (not the way he was back at the airport.) But she's there next to him and now that he's touching her he doesn't especially want to stop. The lazy circling of his fingers changes briefly to a figure-eight.

At some point the landscape outside the car starts to change. They pass a sign that indicates they've left Illinois and entered Wisconsin and the most immediate difference will be the absence of those massive power-lines, followed soon by a shift toward more picturesque vistas: trees and rolling hills dotted with these postcard-charming farmhouses.

You'd think the difference wouldn't be that noticeable across state lines, but it is.

"When we get into Madison, there's this gastro-pub I thought we could grab dinner at. It's right by the capitol. Then we can check into the hotel. I think after that I'll have to go get ready for the show, but at some point... maybe tomorrow? We could maybe visit one of the chantries, if you feel like mingling with the locals. The Cultists will probably have some big winter party going."

KiaraIn truth it's been a long time since she's set foot into another Chantry.

Denver had been her first true venture since events in New York and even then it had been gradual, an invitation at first and then subsequently more returns before Annie Pierce and her Cabal had resurfaced and the visits had become far more frequent and slid (with surprising easiness) into a pattern.

"Mm, I think he enjoyed the prospect of an adventure." It's not entirely an answer on the subject of Kalen (or the way Ian used to view sex versus relationships) but the conversation steers toward Madison, as the landscape dotting the road outside transforms; nature beginning to swarm and reclaim back morsels of green-flecked hills and looming trees as they start to appear. It draws the brunette's focus for a time (always does, when it came to nature and her capacity to retake what was, by right, hers) even as he suggests somewhere they could get dinner.

That they could could visit one of the Chantries. Mingle with the locals.

That, more than anything, draws a response from the brunette. Pulls her eyes from the roadside and back to his face; the edge of her mouth curving up. "Trust the Cultists to have the lowdown on the best parties." There's a twinge in there somewhere that speaks of affection, perhaps mostly for Serafine and Dan, the inflection of fond recognition. Then: "That sounds nice." She moves her hand, then. Slides it around the back of his neck, his only warning the gleam in Kiara's dark eyes before she cranes across the distance between their seats and presses a chaste, if warm and suggestive, kiss to the underside of his jaw.

She's back and safely ensconced in her own in the blink of an eye - but resting back into the nook of the door and seat; her body half turned toward him, watching with a small expression of satisfaction. There was, occasionally, something entirely feline and capricious to her, Kiara, when she offered gestures of physical affection. A sudden surfacing before they receded.

"You're going to be great tonight." A half hooded tick of dark eyes over his profile. "We can celebrate afterwards."

IanTrust the Cultists to have the lowdown on the best parties.

Ian lofts a brow at that, tossing Kiara a wry expression. He doesn't mention that he suspects Naomi will be there. That it's possible another man he spent a weekend with last year might also be there. Mostly because he doesn't really want to think about them right now.

And after Kiara kisses him like that, he isn't thinking about them. The quickness of the movement surprises him a little and he laughs as he lifts his chin to allow her better access. Then she's back on her side of the car, leaving a lingering shadow of warmth where her lips and her breath touched his skin. He looks at her with his mouth slightly parted, contemplative and suddenly a little more sharply focused than he was a moment ago.

"Which performance are you referring to?" he asks in a deliberately coy tone.

(She means the dance. But he can't avoid taking the bait.)

---

It takes another hour or so before they arrive at their destination. Signs for Madison start to appear about half an hour out, and eventually Ian takes a turn that brings them off the highway and onto a pretty residential street. The areas around the outskirts of the city are not wholly impressive in their own right. Mostly it's the same sorts of things one might expect from any mid-sized city in this part of the country. There are houses and commercial properties. The street they're on contains not one but two new-looking strip malls, the buildings constructed of sandy-colored brick and boasting the kinds of stores one would expect to find in an upper-middle-class neighborhood that's trying to cater to both families with children and young professionals. In between them lies a park and an elementary school.

(There are, in fact, a lot of parks in Madison. Much like Denver, whoever constructed the layout of the city seems to have given a high priority to green spaces.)

Past this neighborhood, they take a turn onto a main road that leads them toward the heart of the city. Residences turn to more commercial properties, then to towering academic buildings as they find themselves driving past the University. UW-Madison's campus sprawls across a good portion of the downtown area, with eclectic buildings that range from endearingly dated to modern in their architecture (depending on how well funded the department is.) The roads are busy and a little chaotic. This part of town was built more for pedestrians than for cars. Despite it being winter break, there are still a lot of students walking around. The sidewalks are dominated by 20-somethings in hip winter gear: waiting for buses, walking to and from buildings, spilling into warmly lit coffee shops and dimly lit bars.

They drive past the more bohemian area spilling off of State Street as they enter the Capital Square - where the architecture gets a bit more upscale and urban. And there - oh.

The capital building is beautiful. One of the tallest in the country, and lit up with gleaming lights that make the gold on the dome's statue shine. There's something else, too. Even in the car as the drive by, Kiara can feel a whisper of it ghosting up the back of her neck. Drawing her attention towards the city's heart like a beacon.

It resonates. Like hope and justice and idealism.

Ian glances over at her as they drive past, watching to see if she notices. "There's a node in there," he offers quietly.

They don't actually stop on the square (because there isn't any parking there,) but Ian finds a parking ramp not too far away and leaves the car there. Getting out, he takes a moment to stretch the kinks out of his arms and back and neck, rolling his head loosely from side to side. He seems pretty glad to be done with the drive.