angry. [Jamie ST]

Michael
Previously:

Despite their agreeing on the point that they ought to attempt to contact the nameless spirit who presented herself as the past life responsible for the murders the Euthanatos did not contact the Verbena right away. Over a week passed before her phone rang.

When they parted ways she had not given him her contact information and he had not asked for it. It was not necessary. Their kind have ways of finding each other and Kiara is not a difficult woman to find.

So he called her. Told her he had awakened from a blackout to find himself in New Jersey. That to the best of his knowledge he had not harmed anyone in this blackout and that made him think Alice had traveled to the coast for a specific purpose. That he was on his way back west and had as many questions as answers and wanted to know if she meant what she said when she said she wanted to try to contact Alice again. As if Kiara is the sort of witch to back away from a challenge.

Time has passed. No more bodies have appeared in Denver. He's here now.

Kiara can feel the Adept's resonance on the other side of the door before the knock raps through it.

KiaraKiara Woolfe was a woman with a strong conscience. That much, Michael had likely deduced the first occasion he'd had to spend time (in one form or another) in her presence. She did not enjoy conceding defeat on things. Her perseverance likely would have made her an excellent doctor - as it stood, it did, at the very least, make her a valuable ally in the current situation.

Very little could be said to be more important than those Awakened who could (and would) put themselves in potential risk for a greater good. Apparently, Kiara Woolfe was also that sort of woman. Perhaps it didn't even matter, what she was. Only that she could and did invite the Euthanatos to her door again.

This time, he arrives alone.

The door swings open on his second or third rap and the Verbena wordlessly invites him inside, sliding the lock into place behind him and leading him, barefoot, into her living room. The blinds stood open, the city buildings winking back at them through her windows. There was a small bowl of food placed on the windowsill with candles framing each side.

This witch apparently paid homage to some seasonal traditions, if not all of them. She's rolling her sleeves up as she settles on the arm of a sofa, her dark hair drawn back this time, curling over a shoulder in a long braid.

"So, Alice has been on the move."

MichaelThat wordless invitation is met with wordless acceptance. Though he smiles in greeting there is a sobriety to the gesture. Last time he was here both women ended the session frustrated while he had seemed hopeful.

The Euthanatos is a strange bird.

Alice has been on the move.

"Quite."

As he had before Michael takes a seat across from Kiara so that they may maintain eye contact during the conversation. He knits his fingers together and rests his forearms atop his knees and looks to be at ease despite the weight of the conversation before them.

This time he does not have anyone with him whose job is to put him down if he becomes violent. Something has changed.

"The episode followed the same pattern as before, with my receiving a vision from The Artist after falling asleep--" Thanks a lot, Grace. "--but the spirit, if she was in a state of agitation during the reversion, did not harm anyone. When I came to, I had traveled eighteen hundred miles with no recollection of having made the trip." A thoughtful stitch between his brows. "Which is unfortunate. I hear it's a lovely drive." Focus, Mike: "Something about your conversation triggered in her an intense desire to locate physical evidence elucidating the fate of a woman named Florence James."

KiaraThe Verbena issues a brief noise as he speaks, mentioning something triggering Alice to want to venture to New Jersey in search of answers.

The fact that she didn't harm anyone seems to lessen some degree of tension from Kiara's shoulders, she manages a brief smile. Her dark eyes thoughtful for a moment after he finishes. "She's looking for answers," she says slowly, her brows drawing together. "That might be good news for us. At least, enough for us to make progress with her. If she's found out what happened to Florence ... " The brunette doesn't finish her thought aloud, though her dark eyes read a sort of commiseration for this past incarnation that had been absent last time.

She feels empathy for Alice's plight. No doubt some of that is tied to the man whose body she's using to venture out into the world, too. Kiara rubs her palms back and forth over her knees. "I took the liberty of finding a few things. There's a little vintage store over on Broadway." She pushes to her feet and moves over to her coffee table, scooping up a box and carrying it over. It smelled faintly musty.

"A mirror, a few dresses. Old records. I couldn't be certain of the period but I figured," the Verbena's mouth hooks up a little. "Maybe a few reminders of her time will help with the process. Make her less inclined to - " Kiara hesitates, thinking back to Michael collapsing onto her floor.

" - well, I figured it couldn't hurt."

MichaelAt hearing Kiara voice the supposition that this could be good news a weight appears to lift from Michael. She can see it dissipate from the muscles around his eyes. It remains part of the atmosphere as he watches a change come over the Verbena.

He carried with him no awareness of what had happened while Alice was in the room. Whatever luck or lack thereof the women had had with her is unknown to him. All he had were flashes of someone else's memories. A life he had not lived himself. The agitation and the knowledge that the Artist was drawn to Alice's weakness. Still: insight. It was something he could use.

Much like the objects Kiara picked up from the vintage store. His eyebrows lift as she brings it back to the sofas and when they settle again his half-a-smile mirrors hers. A hesitation in her speech takes away the moment's respite.

"Absolutely," he says. "I'm not a gambler--" The hell he's not. "--but if I were, I would place a substantial bet on a more favorable outcome this time." A tick of his eyes back towards the records inside the box and he cuts her another smile. "Besides, you can't go wrong with Bessie Smith."

His optimism is either an unflagging indication of his strength of character and trust in a woman he barely knows or it's a warning sign that things are going to go horribly wrong. It's hard to tell with their kind.

KiaraThey both believed in the cycle of things, in their own ways. Kiara's beliefs tied heavily to a kinship with the natural world, with the awareness that all things had their time and place and each served their own rhyme and reason as a part of it. Change could and should be transformative, after all. The Verbena saw the need in the decay of leaves as they fell in the Fall as readily as she did the first buds pushing through the hard packed ground in the warming rays of Spring.

(She was, after all, the personification of it in many ways: the rebirth, the renewal of the cycle. The steady pulse that beat on, even in the stalemate of the coldest season).

If he were a gambler, he says and Kiara's mouth brooks a smile as she turns the record over in her hands. "There's always a chance," says the creature who understood the ways the fates could be tugged at, manipulated and strengthened in their favor. Deduced and turned over, the how and why of things. The when and to what degree. She sets the box down after a beat, turns her eyes on him and searches his expression for a long, sobering moment.

"Are you ready for this?"

Sincere, the question. It was, after all, not her mind and body (and soul) being tested.

MichaelSomething like hubris to be had in the belief that one is responsible for keeping the cycle moving in the proper direction but Kiara has seen what could happen when others sought to disrupt if not stop nature and Her pattern of death and rebirth. The Chakravanti are as necessary in the fight against stasis and sterilization as the Verbenae are.

Without ever discussing their beliefs or the dissonance between their paradigms or their practices Michael and Kiara have an understanding about each other. About what they're doing and where the course may take them even if they are careful. He is putting his own safety if not his sanity in her hands and she is leaving herself open to Qlippothic influence if not intrusion if her hands slip.

In searching his expression Kiara sees him doing the same. The question begets a smile as sober and sincere as her question but Michael doesn't fear the Artist. Fear has its purposes but not here.

"Wouldn't be here if I wasn't," he says. With that he unlaces his fingers and braces himself on the sofa before standing. He does not let himself into the other room even though he has been here before. This is a sacred space and Kiara needs to have control over her own environment. "Lead the way."

KiaraThe bedroom that she leads him into hasn't changed overly much since the last time he was in here. It still had a quieter, intimate quality to it, the blinds drawn to keep the lighting softer than the rest of the apartment and the reclining chair still set up much as he remembered it.

It also still smelled powerfully like incense, though there were one or two new additions along with the box of items Kiara carries in with her. Small folding tables had been set up alongside the chair and it was on these the brunette carefully sets the various items from Alice's time. The dresses were long, with little to draw them in at the waist as had been the fashion then, one tailored for evening wear with glittering sequins and the other a day dress in soft paisley blue and white.

There's a coil of fake pearls she sets on top of one, a ladies cigarette case and fan beside the other.

And, of course, the Verbena's selection of quartz stones and the same athame she'd charged with energy the first time. It doesn't hum with it presently, but its presence could either have been seen as a comfort - or not. She invites him to sit down as she had the first time and, much as she had then, takes up a small bundle of herbs and begins to smudge a circle around the chair.

There was a certain amount of ritual to this, as much as a want to offer some sort of spiritual protection should things not turn out in their favor.

[Magic Circle, Prime 2, Spirit 2, Diff 5, -1 using instruments for Spirit but she doesn't need to anymore (yay), -1 for taking her time]

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

MichaelAs before does Michael sink into the reiki table as if it were a hot bath and not a piece of furniture. A deep breath in spite of the incense and he works on relaxing himself without allowing his resonance to confound the space. His power surpasses hers and so would his resonance if he stoked up the embers of whatever magick he had cast earlier in the day that allowed her to feel him through the door.

The spirit they pulled across last time had been angry and scared. The echo of a woman on the brink of a psychotic break. Whatever had happened to Florence had broken her. This was not a sane woman whose spirit was now entwined with Michael's.

Kiara was right. Scar tissue marred an otherwise clear mind. It would take no small application of force to clear it for good and there was no guarantee that would not invite the Nephandus in for a more permanent place in his mind. The best Kiara can hope is to quell the past life that rises up in anger every time the Artist reaches into his dreams. Possibly block the Artist's passage for the time being.

Hope can be a dangerous thing but the alternative is to do nothing and that is no alternative at all.

As the protective circle takes shape around them Mike opens his eyes. Releases the breath he had just taken. For now he is still obviously himself.

KiaraAs she had before, the Verbena moves around the chair with careful consideration once the circle has been cast, the twin workings of Spirit and Prime energy twining together to raise an invisible, but powerful, cage for any manifestations that tried to make things difficult for them.

She turns and collects a pair of quartz stones and carefully lays them out, repeating the process until the Euthanatos is surrounded by them and then returns to stand by Michael's side; her hands coming to rest over his chest, eyes closed.

This too, was part of the ritual.

[Medicine + Intel, let's see how we do, just to supplement things. Our Diff is going to be 5, I believe, as that's the diff of the rote to follow (since her Mind tools are still unfamiliar/new, so +2).]

Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (1, 2, 3, 6, 6, 8, 10) ( success x 5 ) [Doubling Tens]

MichaelUnlike last time the Euthanatos did not come dressed in casual clothing. He was wearing a suit and tie as is his wont. Dark colors to mask blood if the session ends with his nose or scalp busted. Last time he hit the floor and he considered himself lucky considering what had happened the day he accompanied Grace to investigate the Artist's bank and phone situations.

Through his clothing Kiara can feel the vibrancy of his health. His heart beats inside his ribcage. He is present and centered and as she continues the ritual he lets his eyes close again.

Just because he left his gun in the car doesn't mean he's unarmed. The body lain out on her table is a trained and powerful one. That the man born into it is gentle won't mean anything in a few minutes when it's given over to the spirit of an angry witch.

Kiara[Body and Soul: Life 1, Prime 1, Spirit 1, Mind 1. Tuning in to Michael’s Pattern and Aura. Minus Ability roll suxx, so Diff 3.]

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

KiaraUnlike their first encounter, this time Kiara's focus is total. She finds her own center in the moments before her magick begins to infuse the air around Michael, her palms lowering until they were bare inches from his chest where it rises and falls in steady succession. She doesn't open her eyes while she does any of this - though her brows constrict briefly as she begins to lace the ritual with supernatural energies.

There's a pendant around the pagan's throat, it had been there last time, too, though now the Verbena's fingers slide to it; curl around the stone and draw on the physicality of it as her hand shifts just a little and moves over Michael's head to settle against his forehead.

Her palm feels like a sudden surge of flooding warmth where it touches him, little sparks of energy radiating out from it as the witch opens her eyes and drops them to his form; delving carefully into the tethers that spun around him, suspended his pattern into part of the greater tapestry. "Okay," she murmurs, her eyes moving over his form to return to his face.

"We're ready to try and contact Alice." There's a twinge of some latent hope, buried in Kiara's expressive eyes as they hold to his. "Hopefully we'll find the answers this time."

MichaelOkay.

He opens his eyes as if resurfacing from a pleasant dream and looks up at Kiara thoughtful but not frowning. At peace in spite of what she felt when she read his aura. He is tired and growing more tired as time passes. Using magick to sustain his reflexes and his stamina. A bit unstuck from time but then again part of the last week belonged to a woman who died nearly a century ago.

Though she speaks as if she is uncertain Michael smiles and reaches up to squeeze her hand. His core is warm. His fingers have grown chill.

"At the moment I cut her off last time, she was about to relive the event I believe is responsible for her psychotic break. I do not intend to cut her off this time." A beat. This is her last opportunity to turn back. "Do whatever you need to do to maintain your own safety, but I have faith you'll find what you're looking for. Trust yourself."

If something goes wrong a deranged past life will be the least of their worries. He'll become a conduit for an unaging widderslainte Nephandus and she will be alone.

Still: he recognizes that hope in her. She sees its counterpart in his own eyes. She can hear it in his tone.

[mind 2: might as well cast hope's birth on her for old time's sake. blah blah temporary WP blah blah amplification of that hopeful feeling diff modifiers go here.]

Dice: 4 d10 TN3 (4, 6, 7, 10) ( success x 5 ) [WP]

Kiara[Prime 2, Spirit 2: Same as we did last time. Let's tweak this, nudge that. Hey Alice, you home? Diff 5, -1 taking her time, -1 for using Spirit foci when she doesn't need to, etc.]

Dice: 3 d10 TN3 (6, 7, 9) ( success x 4 ) [WP]

KiaraIf things don't go horrendously wrong it's possible that the woman beside him might just be able to soothe the exhaustion he's been battling hard to keep at bay. If timing and chance favored their plight today in ways it hadn't the first time. There's no Grace this time, poised, ready to use a Charm to bring Michael down.

There was only Kiara and the man she was about to untether in favor of an unstable past incarnation.

Trust yourself. 

She squeezes his hand in return, a far more resolute light in them now than there had been even moments ago. "I'll be seeing you soon." She pronounces (instructs) softly, before she straightens and her hands lift into the space above his body. There was energy that ran through the human body, in everything in actual fact, it was intrinsic. Universal. Kiara had uncurled her palm on a table the first night she'd met several of the Awakened in the city and said it, then.

(Every vital part of us is energy, however you wanna define that.)

It's not as much of a battle, this time. The scar tissue in Michael's pattern was no less intensive but Kiara's comprehension of it; her capacity to reach into his makeup and alter it to push at the inbuilt stoppages between his consciousness and Alice's had the benefit of prior attempts. Her Will to achieve a connection feels stronger - directed and precise.

There are no noises of triumph this time when she feels it. The point of obstruction shifting; the way Michael's breathing, his aura flickers and dances. There's simply a stillness that takes the place of her steady motions, her eyes focused on Michael's face, waiting.

Ready.


Michael
Practice will make even the most arduous of tasks easier but the more trying the task the greater the number of hours required for mastery. Kiara has not had much experience in handling this particular problem before. She may never again. But she does not experience the frustration that she did the first time she tried to contact Alice.

Like last time the transition between his consciousness and the other's is slow. His breathing starts to come faster and a frown tugs itself between his brows. Where before he had lain relaxed on the exam table tension began to course through his muscles and find their way into his joints.

His nostrils flare as the damaged spirit answers the call and finds itself in an unfamiliar body. Again. Michael's eyes snap open and Kiara recognizes the dark fire in them. Alice heard the call and against her will answered it.

Lord knows where she thinks she is right now. Michael breathes hard through his nose and sits up on the table though he does not disembark right away. His eyes narrow. Flick off to the side like to see if Kiara is accompanied by her partner again before coming back to Kiara.

As last time Alice is not the first to speak.

KiaraWhat must she think of this stranger, then?

Alone, this time. Standing above her with her hands carefully removed from physical contact but - present. Present enough anyway to make it clear the brunette had been using some sort of power on her - drawing her out into Michael's consciousness. She's barefoot the way she was last time, a lean female in her 20's by casual determination.

Pretty, with delicate features and dark, expressive eyes. For all that she was clearly some sort of witch, the one responsible for bringing Alice back here did not exactly resemble a threat the way others might have. "Hello, Alice." Kiara greets, dropping her hands to her sides, stepping back only as far as to allow breathing space, in a manner of speaking.

Her eyes track the spirit's around the room. "She's not here. It's just you and I this time. I thought we could talk." There's a pause, one of the Verbena's hands reaching out to gently tidy the edge of a dress back onto a table where she'd dislodged it, adding with careful nonchalance, a tilt of her head back toward the figure seated on the chair.

"If you want to." A pause, Kiara's mouth twitches a touch as if in recognition of what that must sound like, dragged here and then asked if she wants to do anything. "If you're willing to."

MichaelAt least Kiara is willing to concede that Alice isn't going to do anything Alice wouldn't damned well do on her own. That's a start.

Between the closeness called for by the ritual itself and the circle hemming them in they don't have a lot of space to move around. They hadn't had a lot of space to move around last time either. It had frightened her. If the state of arousal Michael's body is in now is any indication she's frightened now too but at least she doesn't leap off the table just yet.

Some boldness come over her that wasn't there last time. Boldness or contempt. Michael doesn't exactly sneer at her but Kiara can sense a mockery in his tone when Alice answers her.

"Well, if wanting has anything to do with it, it's gonna be an awful short talk, sister." Michael crosses his arms over his chest. It's a defensive posture and between that and the slouch come into his shoulders Kiara can cross two things she would never see the Euthanatos do in his right mind off the list in one fell swoop. "Whaddaya want?"

KiaraThere's a beat, at that. The circle Kiara had erected around them is not large, but it gives clearance enough for each to pretend they can have personal space. The Verbena's smile fades a little. "First, to apologize. For last time. Things have been desperate and we - " There's a flick of her fingers, clearly in reference to Grace (and, perhaps, Michael too). " - didn't handle things as well as we could."

It seems sincere enough, that. Kiara's eyebrows drawing together. "For whatever that's worth. I also wanted to introduce myself properly. I'm Kiara. I'm not with the Technocracy, or the police." There's a tiny edge of a smile again. "I am a witch, though. Though I prefer the term pagan, if I'm allowed to choose."  Then, with a tiny degree of tension creeping into the set of her shoulders, her voice: "Michael, the man whose body you're currently in, said he woke up in New Jersey. He seems to believe that you took him there. We were hoping you could tell us why.

And what you found."

MichaelThis is where they lost her last time. Referring to her as if she were already dead. Plenty of spirits don't recall the moment of their passing and haven't internalized the fact that they have passed at all. This spirit manipulates Michael's body as if it is her own and has not yet registered as being bulkier than her own. Whatever her own was.

Up until the point that Kiara mentions Michael she seems to be warming Alice to her. An apology and proper introductions seem to even the keel out a bit but then she makes reference to a man named Michael. Michael frowns and a cast of confusion darkens his eyes even more than they already were. He looks down and his unadorned hands run down his legs as if smoothing the fabric.

Whatever Alice sees isn't what Kiara sees.

Michael looks up sharp and puts his hands on the edges of the exam table. Does not rise yet but looks as if the moment is imminent.

"I went back east all on my own," she says. "I don't know nothing about this Michael person." A beat. "Now, wait just a minute, here. Are you telling me you brought me back to Colorado? How? How did you drag me out here the last time? I've never been to Colorado in my life."

Kiara"Okay, I believe that." Kiara says, with a placating little just give me a minute gesture with her hands, lifting them as if in submission to Alice's insistence. "I believe that you went back east on your own." Driving another man's body. There's a moment where it seems clear the Verbena is contemplating her next words carefully, it's there in the way she composes them, plucking each with slow deliberation.

"Were you looking for Florence? I remember you were asking about her last time."

Her eyes ticking back to meet Michael's when she lands on the last. "Did you find her?"

And then: "We did bring you here against your will, I know that. And I'm sorry, but it was for a good reason." A neat little flex of her mouth, tinged with concern. "I'd like to hear about Florence. Will you tell me about her?" Kiara reaches out and takes up one of the items she'd laid out, it's a small handheld mirror with an ornate silver frame.

The candles set off a dozen tiny prisms of light, dancing over the ceiling when they hit the glass.

MichaelKiara asks if she was looking for Florence. If she found her.

Her answer is silence possessing a purpose and born of spite. As if it ought to be fairly obvious given that they were pestering her about why she was here and what her damage was last time that yeah she went back to goddamn New York to try and find Florence. Michael's arms cross themselves back over his midsection and that youthful slouch comes back into his spine.

Though his body seems to sulk Michael's jaws are tight and his eyes retain that sharklike emptiness. Whoever this woman was must have been a hit at parties. Maybe she was. They aren't talking about her life. They're talking about the worst night of her life. There's a difference.

But it was for a good reason.

A flick of his eyebrows and Michael uncrosses his arms. Swings his legs off the exam table and faces Kiara. Their height difference means she has to look up a bit to meet his gaze.

"Sure," Alice says. A venom in Michael's voice that the man does not seem capable of oozing on his own. "I'll tell about her. I'll tell you she was my teacher, and we came out to Phoenix to find this Fallen you girls are so fond of, and he killed her. Right in front of me. Looked like he'd dropped a grenade into a pot of stewed tomatoes by the time I got there." Michael climbs down off the table. Cants his head and frowns a frown that conveys mocking sympathy. "Does that help you, or do you want me to paint you a fuckin' picture?"

Kiara[Let's do a little Spirit 1/Mind 1, and see what Alice is seeing. So our base would be 4, -1 surpassed Spirit instruments, +2 Mind foci not being a regular one yet, let's drop a Quint too because why not.]

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

MichaelIf Kiara were speaking to Alice across the Gauntlet the spirit would still be in the Shadowlands and the world would look different to her. But Alice is connected to Michael through their Avatar. This relationship complicates things a bit. Means her vision is clouded by the world as it was when she was still alive.

The mind can do many things in the interests of self-preservation.

It stands to reason that anything that was around in the time that Alice was alive would look as it did then. If Kiara's apartment building has been standing since the turn of the century as many of the buildings in the area have been she sees it as it was the year of her death.

Clothing and furnishings don't translate. That may well explain her confusion. Kiara dresses as a modern witch dresses. This room is furnished as one would furnish a modern reiki massage room. It could be disorienting. She did in fact think she was in Technocratic custody when she first awakened. But Alice when she looks down at the body she's inhabiting she sees her own.

Alice stood roughly the same height as Kiara does. She was gorgeous. In that nebulous stage of life where a woman can be 19 or she can be 39 and it's difficult to tell where exactly she is. Fair skin and green eyes and blond hair that she wore in a short bob as was the style in the flapper era. Sensible shoes and dark tights and a long trench coat. It was cold the day she died.

Her eyes, like Michael's back in the skinlands, are dark and violent and cold.

Unless she kills the effect on her own Kiara will have this image for another minute.

Kiara[Occult + Intel, are we scheming?]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 9) ( success x 4 )

KiaraIt may or not may not deliver some furious kind of pleasure to Alice that Kiara's pulse is beating wildly at the base of her neck. Michael rises and there's an imposing fury behind the action that causes an almost instinctive response in the brunette to back up a step, she's staring at his chest for a moment as Alice's scornful retelling leaves his lips.

Do you want me to paint you a fuckin' picture?

The Verbena's chin lifts, she meets those cold, violent eyes and for the first time deliberately peels back the layers and attempts to peer into the world as interpreted by Michael's former incarnation. It's a tense moment that builds, drawing out, and when she does finally find a response, the Verbena's voice is shaking if only because she's aware of the tenuous grasp on the situation.

Her heel is pressing back on the edge of the circle.

"I'm sorry about what happened to Florence, Alice. I'm sorry that you had to see that. I lost my mentor too. I wasn't there when it happened but I was there soon enough to close her eyes for the last time. I blamed myself for that for a long time.

I used to dream about it. The millions of ways I could have been there. The things I would have done to try and protect her. I understand the rage. I understand having to live with all of that and there never being enough to make it go away."

She breathes out slowly, the Verbena. "What happened, after you found Florence?"

MichaelI'm sorry that you had to see that.

The laugh Michael laughs at that sentiment is high-pitched and sarcastic. More of a scoff than a proper laugh but coming out of his throat it casts the proper light on the situation. This spirit is insane. Alice died in the throes of a mindscape and she does not accept reality by any definition of the word.

If she walked outside right now she might see men in cargo shorts and flannel shirts as wearing three-piece suits. She might see SUVs as Tin Lizzies. She would see the buildings as they were nearly a century ago.

At least she sees Kiara as a person. A strangely-dressed person but a person all the same. But she doesn't believe anything she's saying and that laugh would chill anyone who knew Mike better. No one would blame Kiara for her heightened alertness. For her distrust.

The body Alice is inhabiting right now could kill Kiara with his bare hands.

And Alice does not feel sympathy for her. This exchange of pain doesn't melt her iciness at all. Michael scowls as she says she understands.

What happened.

"I didn't 'find' her," Alice says. The venom turned to poison now. Seething. Michael swipes a hand through his hair like Alice thinks it's in her face or wants to assure herself that it isn't in her face. It knocks Michael's loose. Tends strands of it falling into his brow and given how careful he combs it before he leaves in the morning by comparison he is disheveled now. "Why, I knew where she was the entire time, but she thought she could handle it without me. Maybe she was right. Maybe I should've stayed in the damn car. But I didn't, and he knew I was there, and he made me remember..."

Pain. Pain Alice has no desire to relive but had no choice in reliving that night. Michael flinches and shakes his head hard like to banish some image that has sunk its claws into the back of his eyes. Snarls as he does so. His eyes flash when Alice looks back at Kiara. He starts to wave his hands around as Alice speaks.

"I couldn't do anything, I was trapped there, and he tore her apart right in front of me. Came at me like he was going to... like he was going to..." A beat. It's not worth trying to explain it to her. No one ever understands. "Ah, what do you care, anyway? They're dead, they're both dead."

KiaraThe laughter is derisive and there would be more than a few (perhaps most) people who would have fled this room by now at the sounds coming out of Michael. This was a man who could easily overpower her physically (and magickly, in his right mind).

But Kiara Woolfe, shaken as she is by the potential danger of this situation, was also a trained healer. This was not the first time she'd encountered the wounds of past lives (though it did mark a first as far as the degree of past life scar tissue went). She's seen the marks that regressive pain could leave on the psyche - Alice's pain was so intense she'd locked herself into a reality and bolted shut the door.

If there was a way to impose a Groundhog Day of eternal suffering on yourself, this was surely one way.

"I care because you don't deserve to live believing that you did anything wrong. That even if you had stayed in the car things would have turned out differently. Nothing that happened to Florence was in your power to change. It wasn't your fault."

There's a beat, Kiara's eyes reflect a steadiness that she doesn't entirely feel in the tension of her frame, locked there on the edge of the circle.

MichaelStranger things have happened than a Verbena healer taking in some wayward Death Mage and attempting to patch up her broken wing before sending her out into the world again. This situation would be different if Alice were the one who had come into Kiara's apartment in search of a solution to this problem.

It was not Alice who recognized the problem and sought to fix it. It was Michael. Michael is a highly trained highly experienced Adept. He wields his power with restraint and responsibility. The way his resonance feels he could be a Master before he gets his first real gray hair.

Alice talks and carries herself like a young woman. An apprentice even. She had poor impulse control even before the incident that killed her mentor and left her open to Qlippothic attack. And now she's in a room with someone who is trying to help her.

Victims resist help because they don't think they deserve it. Kiara knows this. She also knows she cannot talk to Michael about this and hope to reach some sort of resolution. Michael has little if any recollection of the event in question. Alice though.

"Oh, dry up!" Alice says. "What's that supposed to mean? Of course it wasn't my fault, but it sure didn't help!"

KiaraThe Verbena doesn't come any closer to the agitated spirit inside Michael's body, she stays at the edge of the circle, this close to the border of it, the brunette can feel the crackle of electricity, the Prime infusing the wall erected around Alice. He'd instructed her before he ceded awareness to the female, to do whatever she needed to in order to ensure her safety.

This, apparently, currently comprising of skirting to the edges of the magick she's raised.

"After my Mentor died, my sister and I buried her. She had a place she used to go and sit. A property outside New York. It's nothing impressive, there isn't even a headstone there. Just this little tree we planted there. But even so, it means something I think. Knowing that it's there."

The brunette's head cants, her fingers sliding to notch in the belt loops of her jeans. "Even if the first time I went back it was only to tell her that I didn't forgive her for leaving me behind. Sometimes the worst part is all the things you don't get a chance to say to their face.

What do you think you'd say to Florence, if you could."

MichaelPart of the reason Michael did not erect a mental link between the two of them before the session started is he wanted to give Kiara the chance to do what she needed to do to build a rapport with Alice. If he were aware of what Alice was remembering then he would sever the link.

Ignorance isn't bliss but it is giving Kiara an excellent opportunity to work on her conflict resolution skills.

Her story would disarm someone in their right mind. As it is Michael's eyes have taken on a blind sheen that are as clear an indication as anything else that he is not listening. Mike would be listening. Alice however is trapped in her own mind. Dead mentors and witchcraft are the two things they have in common.

But Alice is dead. She doesn't realize she's dead. She realizes now that Florence is dead but knowing and accepting are two different things. Cognitive dissonance has killed more people than statistics can even account for.

And emotional repression was in vogue in the 1920s. The world had just survived the Great War. No point talking about your feelings when Europe had just collapsed in on itself and you couldn't even get a decent drink in Manhattan without risking arrest.

"Ain't nothing I got to say to Florence that I didn't say while she was still alive," Alice says. "She got me off the streets. Alright? I didn't have a pot to piss in when I met her. So don't you stand there and talk to me like she owes me something."

It wasn't Florence's death that did this to Alice. She said that the Nephandus managed to trap her. Make her remember things she didn't want to remember. It broke something in her. Florence's death just cemented the broken pieces where they'd fallen.

KiaraThere are pieces that are falling into place for Kiara the more that she manages to provoke and gently pry loose strands of Alice's story.

The pieces that, isolated made little to no sense. But as a whole, larger picture there is focus coming through, as distorted and unstable as it feels. Alice had lived in a different time. In so many ways - a crueler one. The war had just ended, at some point soon Yankee Stadium would be built, cotton prices would plummet in New Orleans, the 19th amendment would grant women the right to vote.

Kiara can have no exact idea how many of these events, if any, Alice lived to see.

She'd been on the streets during the Depression era. Florence had taken her under her wing. She knows better, Kiara, than to offer stale sympathy for it. For what it must have been like, in that time, being a woman and without a penny to your name. The Nephandus knew, though. What those memories must have been comprised of - what the cost of survival could sometimes mean.

"I didn't really blame my mentor for leaving me behind but saying everything that I needed to. Just letting it go, it helped. She saw something in you. The same way mine did in me. She said I was a survivor. It's not taking away from any of the things they did for us. The ways they changed our lives to admit we're angry.

To realize we have a right to be royally pissed off. Just for five minutes. Sometimes being angry is all you end up with." A beat. "Sometimes being angry helps you survive. Sometimes survival gets really messy."

MichaelAlice snorts. Michael has a boozy sort of looseness in his posture now that some of the defensiveness has gone out of it. It's an upgrade from the agitation and the appetite for violence that it had housed before but there is nothing feminine about the Euthanatos. He is a man of sincere and intense conviction. Alice is intense. That is about all the two personalities have in common.

It's hard to empathize with someone who introduces themselves with a smile and a handshake even though he has been losing sleep and killed two people while blacked out. Those people are typically referred to as sociopaths or serial killers. But Mike is a decent person. A decent person who kills people sure but a Good Death is different than a murder. At least it's supposed to be. He doesn't seem like someone who houses any secrets. He smiles easily and he has a warm laugh and he has a clear sense of purpose even though his mind is a curious one and he allows himself momentary distractions. Earlier he had lamented the fact he was blacked out for the entirety of his journey back east. When he awakened from cracking his head on the floor the last time he was here in Kiara's apartment he had let loose a quip before he had even opened his eyes.

Of course he has secrets. But not the sort of secrets Alice had.

And Alice doesn't want to platitudes or sympathy. That wasn't how folks talked to each other back then. Michael rolls his eyes when Kiara says that part of attaining freedom is realizing the right to be royally pissed off.

Irony: Alice is always pissed off. All Alice has is her anger. It's consumed her. That's what the Nephandus wanted. It's helped her survive, alright. It's also killed at least two innocent young men since Michael MacCarrick arrived in Denver.

"Sugar," Alice says, "you got no idea what angry is."

KiaraKiara moves a little, now. It's not much and it's not far given the circumstances but, like Alice's posture has shifted slightly, the Verbena's does, too. It's more conversational than it had been. She's trying far less to lead Alice in a direction now than she is simply to engage her in a conversation.

At least, as far as one could with an incredibly ticked off past life.

"You're right, I don't know what angry is to you. I don't have the first idea what your life was before Florence. I don't judge it, either. I did things when I was angry and pissed off before I even knew what I was capable of. I played with people's emotions because I could. Because my father was dismissive and incapable of showing affection.

So I'd do things to draw out his attention. To make him angry." There's a sliver of humor, there. A slightly more sarcastic tinge than the female's previously worn. "It felt like I won some game every time he raised his voice. I was angry. But maybe that's not what angry is to you.

So, maybe it's not about what Florence owes you. Maybe - we owe something to them. To recognize we're allowed to be angry." Kiara's eyes tick back to that sneering face. "But also that we're better than it. Whatever we were. Whatever we've done.

Maybe what we owe ourselves is the right to be a little god damn happy."

MichaelBecause my father was dismissive and incapable of showing affection.

Again with the snort. Kiara just described every father to every child born in at the turn of the century. Girls didn't have the luxury of acting out and rebelling to try and garner favor. Society had a tighter grip on them back then. Those who did act out were low in number. The rest of them had to find nobler ways to engage in their rebellion.

Kiara does not know if Michael is a father. He is old enough to have children but then again so is she. Easier for men to spread their genes but more difficult for them to become fathers. Alice does not look or feel like a mother. Maybe part of her anger is the loss of motherhood.

Maybe it was the Nephandus who fucked with her mind moments before killing her acarya.

But maybe that's not what angry is to you.

Maybe what we owe ourselves is the right to be a little god damn happy.

Now his eyebrows wing up. In a homelier creature of shorter stature these shifts in emotion might be more subtle or less threatening. But Michael being honest as he is has a face to go with it.

Alice's image has long since faded from Kiara's cognizance. The glimpse she had was of a woman who might be described as an ice queen if she had lived today. An ice queen or one of the boys. Hard to tell. Alice died a long time ago. Alice was beautiful. She knew she was beautiful. That didn't do anything to quell the demons eviscerating her from the inside out.

So Michael has the face of a boy scout. Alice has the face of a man-eater and Kiara can see it in Michael's eyes even if she isn't actively pissed at her right now.

"Oh. Maybe?" she asks. Not even derisive anymore. The question drips with sarcasm but her tone filtered through Michael's voice careens towards dismissal if not outright disgust. "Look here, I'm going to ask you one last time: why did you bring me here, and what the hell do you want from me?"

Kiara"I want you to look at the clothing I'm wearing."

Nothing about the Verbena's ensemble could be remotely considered 1920's fashion. Not even in the most extreme sense. She was wearing old, torn at the knees jeans and a tee shirt that clung to her figure. "Look around at this room. There's a reason why you don't remember anything after the Nephandus came toward you.

There's a reason why you won't be able to set foot outside this room." The Verbena's voice lowers, she seems to steel herself to say the next, precisely and with an unwavering resolution about it. "I brought you here last time and I brought you here again for the same reason. The reason why you're so angry.

That's why I brought you here. That's how I did. I can communicate with the other side. I brought you here so you realize what happened to you.

So you realize that he killed you, too."

Kiara takes a step back. It pushes her outside of the limits of the circle she'd cast.

Michael
I want you to look at the clothing I'm wearing.

A flick of Michael's eyebrows. Yeah okay so what. He puts his hands on his hips and stares at her as she continues. Alice has already seen the clothing that she's wearing and she has seen the room they're in and the conclusion to which she has come is that the Verbenae are weird and this particular Verbena is in cahoots with the Technocracy. Or something. It's hard to tell what's going through her mind when her mind is housed within Michael's.

And Michael starts to breathe faster when Kiara lays out several truths that Alice has no reason to doubt. Takes his hands off his hips and lets them hang at his sides. Between the loose posture and the mussed hair it makes him look like a bored young adult. Kiara has seen Alice. She was a young adult.

She was also scared and alone.

So you realize that he killed you, too.

Now Kiara is outside the circle. Some part of Alice must realize the circle is there. It crackles at her. Warns her back the way an electric fence or a ring of fire would. She doesn't come after the woman who brought her here.

"That's not what happened." This is the part where Mike cut himself off from her last time. Panic and pain starts to trickle in. "That's not what happened, THAT'S NOT WHAT HAPPENED."

Alice would have been shrieking if she had her own voice. With Michael's she roars. She uses his body to turn away from Kiara and buries her face in his hands.

KiaraKiara Woolfe's mentor had been slain at the hands of the Technocracy. By men in crisply pressed suits who had declared their deviancy at an end and attempted to bring them in (they could make use of that power, it just needed structure, a little re-conditioning). An entire coven of women who had rounded on them and declared (many with their lives) that they would never go willingly.

If Alice knew how Kiara's mentor had passed, she may have understood that there would be no time or manner in which the Dreamweaver in front of her would ever ally herself with them. That, much like her mentor (and countless other Awakened before her) she'd die before she let them get their hands on her, body or mind. But - Alice didn't know any of that. What Alice knew - what she was fighting terribly hard just now to deny and repress - was that this Verbena had just unleashed information on her that sounded like it could be true.

If the belief in Kiara's voice was anything to judge by.

There's a silence after Alice starts shrieking and Kiara allows her the moment, lets it drop, like an anchor around the young woman. The pain, the panic, the horror. When she turns away from her and buries her face in her hands, Kiara cannot help but see beyond Michael's form, to see the impression of the other pressed beneath, like a flower between the pages of a book.

"It is." Her voice full of a quiet regret for the simple truth of it. "It is what happened, Alice. You were there. You watched Florence die. He made you watch. He tortured you." Kiara moves around the circle so that she can address the profile of Alice. "And then he killed you, too."

She sets each out, like stones. Small, painful cobbles of Alice's dying moments.

MichaelIt is not the willowy form of a 1920s New Yorker that has its back to Kiara but that is what she knows is there. She barely knows Michael but she knows him well enough that imagining him overcome at all let alone like this is a difficult task.

No consolation to know that Alice's avatar went on to have a second chance. That it has known other mages and other lives since then. That it was not destroyed by what happened to Alice. But Kiara is getting one small detail wrong.

Alice starts to cry. It would have been a thin and wretched sound in her own body. His does the sound no favors. Back to her the entire time. Like as not it's easier to have this revelation if she cannot see the one who brought it to her.

"He's not the one who killed me," she says. The confession muffled by her hands. "He's the one who..."

Who broke her. Who made her into what she has been when she has taken over Michael's consciousness. Breaking a person and killing them are not the same thing. And Alice is not so broken that she will disclose her deepest thoughts to a complete stranger.

"... Isaac and Clarence." Michael leans heavy against the table. One hand supporting his weight and the other covering his eyes. "They're the ones who put me down. Like a... like a rabid dog." Alice moans beneath the weight of the realization. "I'm dead."

KiaraAlice starts to cry and the Verbena doesn't move to comfort her (perhaps she's loathe to step back across the border of that circle now she's ceded the space of it to her) but there's compassion in Kiara's dark eyes where they remain on her. While she allows the realization to unfold around the spirit, like petals falling from a rose to scatter and curl up.

There's a catharsis to it. To the way Alice tells her what happened. Clarifies part of it. The who and the how. Says two names the Verbena has not heard her mention before. They were the ones who put her down.

Like a rabid dog.

Kiara's mouth compresses, her eyebrows draw together.

I'm dead.

It was what the brunette had wanted, for Alice to recognize it but it doesn't feel, in the moment, particularly like a victory. Or a breakthrough to be written down and noted for future sessions - maybe, if Alice had not been caged inside Michael's mind, if circumstances had been different - if she'd had a better chance.

(If Kiara had lived in another century).

She carefully drops down to the floor of her bedroom and settles there, crossing her legs beneath her body and looking upward at the figure inside the circle. "Maybe not physically. But I don't think you really ever left that place after Florence died.

What happened after, what they had to stop. It was something he created. I think you died with your mentor."

MichaelAlice is weeping now. Mourning herself or mourning Florence or mourning the things she'd done in the midst of her madness that she had either not internalized or had not taken ownership of while she was still alive.

Serial killers do not often show remorse for what it is they've done. Mass murderers are more likely to come back to themselves after they've been dragged into custody. It's hard to tell how many people Alice has killed over how many lifetimes. The number may be well into the hundreds. Michael managed to kill two people within a week of arriving in Denver.

I think you died with your mentor.

Though Michael still has a tight grip on the bed it isn't enough to keep Alice standing. She looses a prolonged cry a cocktail of pain and anger and grief and slowly sinks Michael onto his knees on the bedroom floor.

This is what Michael was hoping to avoid. Catharsis is one path to resolution sure but it is also a beacon for the Artist. He has no control over what is happening right now. Men like Michael tend to feel as if they have control even in situations that are beyond theirs. He is a seasoned member of the Chakravanti and a powerful wizard besides. The only entity who could make him uneasy is the Artist.

He trusts her the way a patient trusts a surgeon in the moments after the anesthesiologist has taken his consciousness. Unfortunately in this instance Kiara is the anesthesiologist and the Artist is the surgeon. And the surgeon is fucking insane.

"Oh god... oh, god, I'm so sorry..."

KiaraMichael has no control over what is happening right now.

Kiara, watchful as she is from the other side of the circle, cannot exert the same degree of control that he could. She's done what she can to ensure that if Alice got violent, her spirit would be contained inside the energy she's raised. They'd both known that there was also the possibility that her meddling would pique the interest of the other visitor to the Awakened now dropping to his knees on the floor.

Kiara carefully unfolds her legs and rises into a position that mirrors his, though one of her hands remain on her knee. The pendant around her neck feels momentarily hot when her fingers find it, curling around the sharp edges of the crystal.

Because as much as the Verbena wants to give this young woman closure, to let her spirit finally rest - there's a darker energy that is more than willing to assert control the moment she does. Michael had said the Artist assumed control when he was sleeping, until Alice's consciousness pushed back against the intrusion. Without her, there was only the other.

"I know Alice. I know you are. And so does Florence. I think she's waiting for you. I think you can rest now. I think you can let go. It's alright."

[Just, you know, precautionary Mind 1 shielding going up in case Picasso himself rocks up. +2 Mind foci, blah. -1 Quint, -1 she is somewhat taking her time here.]

Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (3, 5, 7) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

Kiara[Let's do a Per + Awareness up in here.]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 4, 6, 7, 9) ( success x 3 )

MichaelSobbing is an ugly sound because of the abandonment of control inherent in its realization. Kiara cannot see the Euthanatos's face but she can hear what Alice's anguish is doing to his body. He chokes on tears and coughs and gasps for air. Michael is a man in the prime of his life and he's a disciple of the sphere besides. He does not smoke cigarettes and he has the physique of someone who is either a runner or a cyclist. A strong core and wiry limbs. All this time the knowledge that he could kill her if Alice gave herself over to bloodlust has sat over Kiara's shoulder like a demon in a Renaissance painting.

Sobbing is also a way to clear out the soul. In a living body this would have some good. It may have some longer-lasting good than Kiara is capable of reading here. She can hear Alice breaking down and in a normal session she may have been able to do something with this.

This is not a normal session. Kiara can sense that dark and oily resonance in the air. Some folks have resonances that speak of the disintegrative or destructive magick they work for the sake of their paradigms but this is different. This could get under her skin if she let it. Could wrap itself around her heart and convince her to find her way to the caul. To let herself dissolve. Become un.

The Artist is watching them.

Michael is breathing in hiccups like Alice is starting to pull herself together. It slows to panting through his nose.

"Okay," Alice says.

Then Michael lets go of the exam bed. Cries out like something just hit him and uses that hand to brace himself on the floor. Something didn't just hit him. It hit Alice. It's still her controlling his voice. He has no control over his body right now. If he died in this room the last thing he would remember was having his hand around Kiara's wrist and speaking words of comfort and confidence to her. He would die knowing he was loved and blameless and that the woman here with him was trying to help him. That she made her own choices and whatever happened to her was not his fault. He would not compound the next life's problems with his own.

Michael isn't dead yet though. And it isn't just Alice and Kiara in the room anymore.

KiaraKiara's heard stories of the Fallen Ones. She has, up until this point of her life, been fortunate enough never to have come closer to one than through second hand accounts. Unlike Michael, the Verbena has no memories of her prior incarnations before this one. She knows she's connected to another person in a way that transcends some understanding. Could reach out across great distances and feel her sister's presence as if she were in the room with her.

Can sense Sadie's lifeforce and, as she begins to forge skills in Mind control, feel faint stirrings of her emotional state.

She has a simple belief that there's a reason for this. That it has a purpose, like all things that find a way to grow and sustain themselves and evolve in nature. Even in the wildest moments, the Verbena understood that nature did not act in disdain for life - it was the balance. It restored what it had to in order to foster that life. There was a purpose to nature - cycles, you understand. Seasons and circles.

There was no purpose to the dark resonance that she can feel seeping across her senses.

The brunette's empathy was profound - but as was her survival instinct. Kiara had said as much to Alice, while trying to connect with her. Her mentor had seen that in Kiara. So it is like snapping into place a puzzle piece, that mental shield. The vines bursting to wind and cover and become an impenetrable, barbed blockade against the Artist.

"Alice, you're stronger than he is. He can't hurt you anymore. Listen to me. Listen to my voice."

Then, lower. Furious. "Let her go. She's not yours anymore." Can it even hear her? The Verbena clearly believes so.

Michael[doo de doo]

Dice: 4 d10 TN8 (3, 6, 8, 8) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

MichaelAlice is not stronger than the Artist.

She doesn't know this. She might even believe Kiara. They have a rapport now and Kiara's is the only voice in the room with her. But Kiara cannot reach inside other people's heads and flick their thoughts and emotions and actions as if she's flicking a switch.

Though he has to breathe because he is a living creature Michael is still as a statue for several of Kiara's own heartbeats. On his knees on the bedroom floor one hand over his brow the other pressed onto the floor he looks as if he is supplicant. Begging.

Then that hand comes down off his brow. He straightens his spine.

The Artist has thoughts. But the Artist does not feel the need to communicate through a vessel. If ze had anything to say to Kiara in particular ze would find a way to express it without words. Kiara is an entity who has thus far stayed off the Artist's radar.

Michael gets to his feet. Michael still is not in control of his own body. When he turns around to face Kiara again he has tears drying on his face but his eyes are not red. They're still that shark-black color that they have been the entire time Alice has been in control but Alice is not in control right now.

And Kiara can feel the strands of her protective circle as they start to crumple around the exam table. The Euthanatos cants his head. Hard to tell if it's out of curiosity or to say See how easy that was?

If the Verbena finds it hard to look at the Euthanatos after this no one would blame her. He's staring at her with the blind focus of a ghost. In this moment it's easy to see his eyes appear black as they are because his pupils are blown.

Kiara[Spirit Slaying: We're going to start with a base Diff of 6. So this is Prime 2, Spirit 2. Vulgar. Spending Quint to get the party started. -1 for no need for Spirit focus. Spending WP. She may have to try and extend this.]

Dice: 3 d10 TN5 (3, 9, 10) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

KiaraShe has thus far managed to stay off the Artist's radar. It is likely safe to say that she's just made a ping on it. There's an expression of building anger, anger and fear and resolution on Kiara's lovely features when Michael gets to his feet. There's no sign of the Enthanatos there, however. This was the dead stare of a creature who would as easily snap her neck as breathe.

Perhaps even easier.

The protective circle that the Verbena had woven around the chair is tested, then. And Kiara can feel it, the way her magick is pushed at, the threads of it strained at until they begin to unravel; plucking apart as if a mystical set of pliers were being put at them. It's barely a thing worth sustaining when the Artist as Alice is done testing its limits.

That tilt of the head, like a shark scenting blood in the water.

Kiara's heart is pounding against her chest. She reaches a hand up and snaps the silver chain around her neck the pendant there had been suspended from. Curls her fingers tightly enough around it that she can feel the edge pierce her skin, drawing blood.

Feels her lip drawing back into a snarl, her dark eyes full of anger, the volatility of a provoked witch. The crackling build of energy before the storm. "You go back to Hell." A beat. She draws the crystal up. "I'm so sorry, Alice." And draws it sharply through the air.

It's a gesture that draws on all the tethers of the Verbena's exhausted willpower.

Michael[oh right this dumb circle is still there]

Dice: 4 d10 TN8 (4, 4, 4, 5) ( fail )

MichaelThe Artist is able to bypass Michael's wards by locking onto Alice's psychic turmoil. Of course ze is able to knock down the other Adept's wards without too much trouble. Most of the time he can put up a fight. He can't do anything right now. He is afloat in a sea of oblivion.

Attempting to understand the motivation of an unaging widderslainte Nephandus is a path down which way lies madness. This is a task to which Michael has all but devoted himself the last two years since ze began reaching out to him in his dreams. This is a hobby to zir. Tormenting not only him but the people around him is the greatest work of art ze has had in a long time.

That slithering sense of being watched only grows stronger as Kiara calls on her own primal energy to try and cut away the spirit that has become an unwitting umbilicus between a mage who seeks Ascension and one who seeks its opposite. Descension. The annihilation of everything anyone knows.

Kiara left her athame on the table.

Since that oily essence worked its way into the room Michael has not appeared to breathe. His teeth are locked to each other and he has not taken his blind eyes off of Kiara. No physical evidence of her attack nearly halving Alice's physical strength. All she has is faith and the hope that Alice being unaware of her own status was not a strong spirit. That if she had summoned her she would have been little more than a sprite.

Michael is staring straight at Kiara when he reaches out and picks up the athame. He takes a step towards the weakened boundaries of the magic circle. Blade pointed down at the floor.

Kiara[Extending]

Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (5, 6, 7) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

KiaraFaith can, of course, be a very powerful motivator. Kiara doesn't put a lot of stock into the typical notions of Gods versus Devils. She believes that there is a place entities such as the Artist go, a place that welcomes such a tormenting, corrupt spirit. She does not believe this is the same place that Alice deserves to go.

Murders she may have committed - but her Avatar, Michael's Avatar - had found a way to forge on, to find a new soul to Awaken. A better path to follow.

The Verbena does believe that what she is attempting to do will sever the chain that holds Michael's past life captive to the whims of a madman. It's there in the way she holds her ground as that oily essence takes hold of her ceremonial knife and turns towards her as if to threaten her with it.

A witch did not fear her own tools.

Kiara draws her chin up and raises her hand, there's blood smeared across her palm, the sting of it is strangely calming in the face of imminent death. She propels it through the air again. Slicing through the spiritual tethers between Alice and Michael's body.

She's breathing hard. Her entire frame beginning to tremble at the effort to hold it together.

Michael[dex+melee]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 6, 6, 7, 10) ( success x 4 )

Michael[that's gonna hurt]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 1, 3, 5, 7, 9) ( success x 2 )

MichaelCutting down Alice's essence and sending her back to the Shadowlands is a mercy few could afford her.

It may hurt her. She may be scared and upset. But the darkness cast by the appearance of the Artist would cast over anything Kiara could do to her. In their last moment together she had believed what Kiara had said to her. Now that they are known to each other the Verbena can perhaps convince her to come forth without using Michael as a conduit. Call it a side project. Pro bono work.

In the meantime: the Artist did not need Alice anymore. Alice brought zir to Michael. Michael has been zir greatest source of amusement the last several decades.

Same as he was staring right at her when he picked up the ritual knife Michael is staring right at her as he turns the knife towards himself and slides it into his right upper quadrant easy as one would slide a stake into wet sand.

His eyes remain black holes for several seconds. Obvious that the Artist wants to see Kiara's reaction through his point of view. But then ze does as ze is wont to do and grows bored with the display. Lets go of him.

Which means since the impact did not stun him that Michael is still standing when he regains control of his consciousness. He blinks and then he realizes he's in a not insignificant amount of pain. Blinks again because of the headrush come from regaining awareness and not knowing where he is or what is going on. He puts a hand out to steady himself on the exam table. Draws a breath to banish the headrush and then realizes breathing in worsens the pain. Glances down.

"Oh," he says. No alarm in his voice. Just: Well that explains that.

KiaraKiara's arm is still poised above her head, ready to strike again when the Artist turns the blade on Michael and drives it into his body again. If ze had wanted to see the Verbena grimace it is a great letdown that she does nothing of the sort, merely bares her teeth at him in a motion as feral and savage as many other Traditions were wont to think her kind were.

Blood did not frighten the pagan. Though the prospect of ze doing long term damage to the host, did.

When the Artist lets him go (when Kiara feels that spreading slick of diseased resonance receding) she lets her hand drop to her side, the pendant sliding through her fingers to dangle; coated in her blood. It's suspended from the Verbena's wrist, the chain wound around it like it had been her lifeline for several moments (it had been).

She lets out a slow, shaky breath and drops her chin down. Lifts a hand to her face and covers it, makes a noise that is equal parts relief and delayed emotion. "Michael." She says, in a muffled tone and then when she realizes he's standing there with a knife protruding from his body.

"You're okay. Let me help."

Moving toward the man as if he hadn't just been on the verge of killing her.

[Medicine + Intel, hey man. I can probably help you with that.]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 3, 7, 8, 8, 10) ( success x 4 )

Michael"I'm okay."

Well. Strictly speaking he has a ritual knife protruding from his abdomen and he has no idea how it got there. For all he knows Kiara stabbed him because he tried to stab her first. Though the wound looks worse than it is and the fabric of his shirt is thirsty for the blood leaking out of his abdomen he is capable of standing. He's agreeing with her. Yes he is okay.

When he holds up a palm to stop her it's more to provide a source of comfort than it is to maintain his own physical space. Until he hears what happened he isn't going to make assumptions. If she does not move away from him Mike puts that hand on her shoulder in a show of comrade-like support.

His breathing is even but it's a purposeful sort of even. This could hurt if he let it.

"If you would do me the kindness of removing your knife from my liver, I'll patch myself up." A flick of a smile. An attempt at a joke. This is unpleasant but he's maintaining a sense of humor about it. "And--"

He frowns. His hair is in his eyes. No notion of what happened but now that he is aware of it he chooses to ignore it.

"Actually, would you mind terribly if I sat while you did that?"

KiaraThe Disciple allows him to put his hand on her shoulder, despite the clear evidence of exhaustion chalked beneath Kiara's eyes, etched into the tight smile she offers him - it is a smile. Michael made an attempt at a joke, if nothing else were to have convinced Kiara he is the one in control now, that would have done it.

Her shoulder is solid, she helps him sit his weight back down on the edge of her examination chair and moves around so that she can see clearly the point where her knife is sticking out of his body. Her dark eyes ticking up to his face.

"Okay, on three?" She curls her fingers around the blade, the female's fingers are stained with blood, though she does not appear to be bleeding copiously from any wounds he can see. "One. Two - "

She pulls the blade out in one, quick, smooth motion.

There are details to be resolved, things Kiara needs to inform Michael of - but first things first - the Artist's handiwork had to be undone.

Michael[poker face? for the record lol he has manipulation 1.]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 6, 8) ( success x 2 )

Kiara[*squint*]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (3, 6, 8, 8, 10) ( success x 4 )

[Jacqui's Note: Lo, Kiara pulled the knife out. Michael healed himself and she divulged all the details of what happened. Alice's story, the Artist manifesting, sending Alice to the Shadowlands. The Artist stabbing Michael to be a jerk. Kiara also asked about telling Grace any details and knows Michael is trying to protect her/cares about her, etc (thus the dice rolls above). 

And then Michael went to collapse and will call Kiara in a day to tell her he slept and as far as he knows didn't murder anyone.

Kiara walks away with 1 WP and 2 Paradox from Vulgar Magicking it up.]