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.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

"Grace, hey."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She's joking (mostly).

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

The room here smelled powerfully like sandalwood and myrrh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mike, hey. This is Kiara."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Murdering anybody.

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

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

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

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

Acknowledging, ruefully so.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Back to Kiara:

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

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

Yeah, Mike. Grace is pretty damn pragmatic.

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

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

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

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

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

As for Kiara:

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

That, and I have a great right hook.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stills.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kiara[Hells yeah 4 suxx.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ready when you are," he says.

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

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

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

"Ready here, too," she says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Kiara
[Intelligence + Medicine.]

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

Kiara[I see how it is, dice.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We are," he says.

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

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

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

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

Then again, it might just bring Alex. Hah.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MichaelThe other. The connection to them.

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

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

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

"Okay."

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

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

[Extending!]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Verbena will have hers, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of anger. Lashing fury and hatred.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'll try to go easy on you.

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

"Don't," he says.

Then he closes his eyes and invites the other in.

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

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

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

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

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

KiaraDon't, he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Identify yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MichaelWhat has you so angry?

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

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

Why are you here? Why this city.

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

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

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

KiaraWhat gives you the right?

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

A scrying tool, by any other name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Before you woke up here?"

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

This isn't your time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who is Florence?

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

Like a stain in his makeup.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kiara
Unraveling.

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

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

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

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

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

Something happened. Kiara can access her memories now.

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

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

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

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

"That son of a BITCH."

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

But yeah, that's not happening.

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

KiaraThe brunette's expression betrays her unease.

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

That son of a BITCH.

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

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

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

Michael"Then tell me!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kiara"I need you to let go."

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

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

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

Kiara breathes out carefully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I need to call Ihsan."

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

"Fuck."

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

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

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

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

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

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

I know you both did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Weighs it in her palm, looks at them both.

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