kindling. [grace, serafine, dan, river, samir]

River
It is twenty-nine degrees outside. There is a light snow. There's a gentle breeze and it's starting to look a lot like an actual winter and not the kind of winter that people from southern California are accustomed to.

If winter is going to happen, they're going to do this right.

River's actually an old pro at setting things on fire in the most mundane of senses. She was the one who was in charge of the camp fire as a kid and she spent good chunks of her formative years burning various and sundry things outside in what she later determined was just what one did when you got cold and were bored and you didn't have an actual stove to cook dinner on. It's just a thing.

There's a ring of stones and pinecone-and-"you're late on the rent" notice kindling and whatever the fuck else one needs to start a fire. Text messages were sent out (recreating the Salem witch trials with marshmallows, want to come hang out?) and bags were set aside.

River took a hit off her flask and put it back in her gigantic purse. Exhales. Watches her breath take to the air. Tosses a sacrificial marshmallow on the pire to appease the camp fire gods.

GraceGrace found out via Samir. Hanging out in the outside when it's below freezing isn't at the top of her list of great things to do, really. It's a good thing she likes Sam.

So she shows up, dressed in two pairs of jeans, her grey zip-up turtleneck on under her coat. Maybe overkill for 29 degrees, but you never know.

"Oh, nice. Fire's already started," she says, and rushes over, pulling her hands out of her pocket and warms herself at the fire.

"How's things?"

Sam LakhaniSam has been here for a few minutes by the time Grace arrives. That tendency of his to hemorrhage out of other folks' awareness is a pain in the ass sometimes. If he's going to be hanging out in the park when there's snow and it's colder than Hell then yes. Yes he did bring a bong inside of a backpack onto public transit.

The things he does for River.

He hasn't busted it out of his bag yet but it's sitting on a picnic table bench and unless he has a fully assembled clarinet in that thing there aren't a lot of objects that could drape the canvas like that.

"I told her we should wait until you got here to get it going," he says. Just because he's taken another step towards ascension doesn't mean he's going to stop busting Grace's balls.

SerafíneYeah, sure, alright, okay, thanks winter you fucking asshole, it is twenty-nine degrees outside and snowflakes are falling or not so much falling as drifting and drifting is okay too but: cold right?  November and we've still forgotten how-to-be-in-the-cold, the things it does to us, body and breath, skin and blood and bone.

She must've forgotten.  Little black dress that pretty much covers her ass and not-much-more.  Long (the suggestion of length, the illusion of height) legs bare except for ripped fishnets and black heels wrapped in sharp metal studs, leather jacket framed in studs, zips, a marching line of oversized silver safety pins down the center of the back holds the damn coat together and suggests the elegant symmetry of a bare spine.  So: not made for warmth any more than anything else she's wearing.

She doesn't seem to notice the cold though, or maybe each minute without shivering is another big fuck you to the cold front shivering flurries down over Denver at the moment.

--

Didn't get a text about a fire.  Has: about a bazillion texts she has received and not returned but for god's sake her phone is working again which means every time it buzzes she can slip it out of her pocket and glance down at the screen and feel: alive, connected, earthbound, and strangely free.

--

And she's walking on the arm of a tall guy with blond hair and a trimmed blond beard and she's wearing those heels and he still has several inches on her, but there they are, walking together like old, old friends, this animated discussion back-and-forth between them.  Coming from the city, circling the lake like it's a shortcut they know rather than a place-to-stroll.

Serafíne(Awareness)

Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (2, 4, 6, 6, 6, 8, 8) ( success x 5 ) [Doubling Tens]

Serafíne(Awareness -3)

Dice: 4 d10 TN5 (2, 5, 9, 9) ( success x 3 ) [Doubling Tens]

Ihsan GhaliIhsan was sitting nearer to River than anywhere else, with a blanket spread out on the grass beneath them both.  She was from Los Angeles-- Southern California.  She had been experiencing heat waves and drought for most of the time that she'd been in this country, and she'd spent the majority of her life in Cairo before that.

Ihsan didn't like the flurries because they made her chilled.  She'd traveled, she'd experienced cold before, of course.  She would just probably never get used to it.  So she was bundled up with wool socks under her calf-high black boots, in dark jeans and a black coat.  She wore a hat on her head and her hair was out in curls (flat, curling ironed curls) beneath it.  No scarf, at least.  No gloves either.  She was warming herself near the fire, waiting to be able to shed the hat and open the coat.

She was leaned forward, toward the flame, reading some document or another off the screen of her iPhone with an expression of content-but-mild-boredom on her face.

When Grace arrived, Ihsan looked up and smiled fleetingly for a greeting to her.  "Hey there, Grace.  How are you?  Any more murders for me to investigate yet?"

Because who the hell was eavesdropping on them out here, after all?

Kiara[Spidey senses roll.]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 3, 4, 8, 9) ( success x 2 )

GraceGrace squints at Ihsan. "No. I heard, finally, that your 'investigation' turned out well in the end, though. Good for you." There's a bit of exasperation in her tone, but she really means that last sentence. It turned out all right, at least.

"Oh, Sam, there you are," she says to him, gives a little wave. Truth be told, she didn't notice his presence until he spoke. Samir is like that, the fucking ghost... She moves over toward him, sitting on the opposite side of the obvious bong. At least there will come some good out of communing with nature or whatever the hell it is they're doing.

Grace can commune with some nature in the form of weed...

KiaraSo, here's the thing.

Kiara Woolfe, daughter of nature and walking manifestation of Spring (or so her presence feels like, so much pulsing, writhing life) actually rather enjoyed the coming of the cooler months. Less for the stagnancy of them, the way the world felt as if it slowed, preparing to enter a chrysalis before re-emerging on the other side of the dripping frost but for the progression of them. It meant change was (should always have been) coming. It meant that despite whatever happenings in the greater scheme - nature was not fooled, or halted.

She would (had to) find a way to survive.

Pattern and purpose to the cycle. An evening like this, after everything she's recently endured, felt cleansing. The air was crisp and flakes of snow are drifting in the air like a promise - landing only to melt in the Verbena's wild dark hair, the waves of which are loose and curling around her shoulders; over the (faux) fur lining of her coat. Hands folded into pockets, dark jeans and boots and that mouth, as ever, painted a brilliant, stark red.

She must have been sent an invitation - or perhaps River simply conjured her with the fire and mention of her ilk via text. Kiara Woolfe, a lean apparition leaning her weight against a tree with her eyes on the fire.

"If you're going to be faithful to the trials, that fire needs to be twice as large." Her voice curls out after a beat. "I could speak in tongues, though." A waspish tease. "To get things rolling."

River[I totally notice people and resonances. Per+aware]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 5, 7, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )

RiverRiver has planted herself near Ihsan and, on occasion, gets up to poke the fire and check to make sure said sacrificial marshmallow knows it is in a place of honor- you must burn so that others after you may be delicious. Thus far, she's been pretty happy to just be around people, hair shoved under a hat and her coat isn't pretty but god damn it, it looks like the kind of thing that you would wear if you're going to go out and wander aimlessly through the wilderness.

Laughs when Sam pokes at Grace. Tries to laugh a little less at the bits of exasperation in her tone when Ihsan mentions wanting another murder investigation to paw through.

Then? Kiara is there- someone River hasn't seen in awhile and she waves- fingers uncovered but the rest of her hands seem pretty well shielded from the weather in what can only be described as mittens having an identity crisis.

"I tried to come up with something witty to say to that, but I've drawn a blank," she offers, laughs anyway, "nothing makes marshmallows tastier than the gross misappropriation of justice?"

And, with that, she offers Kiara a coat hanger.

Sam LakhaniIt's too cold for him to even think about sitting down. He may or may not have thermals on underneath his street clothes. He has swapped out the leather jacket for a peacoat and has a ski cap tugged over his hair. His fingerless gloves have a mitten-type option in the form of flaps. It's difficult to strike a lighter when you can't feel your fingers but it's even harder with wool covering your thumb.

"You should," he says to Kiara regarding using glossolalia. "Speaking in tongues is metal."

Ihsan Ghali"Thank you," Ihsan answered Grace's congratulations in working with River and Mike to bring down the Nephandus that had been melding people into two and triggering a murdering spree from someone entirely different, in a surprise twist ending.  She smiled and seemed pretty genuinely pleased with herself, then skewered a marshmallow and put it outside the reach of the fire to toast slowly.

Where this bundle of Mages sat must have felt like a goddamn magnet to other magical forces out there.  That many rifts in the hard laws of "reality" would make some waves for sure.  It was astounding that they hadn't brought trouble down upon their heads already (knock on wood).

Ihsan pulled her hat from her head and smoothed her hair with her palms, then unzipped her coat some to show the top of a charcoal colored shirt.  The fire was warming her and the boots and wool socks were starting to feel pleasantly toasty.

Like the marshmallow.

River"I thought I was speaking in tongues once, but then it turns out I apparently knew Sanskrit at one point," she said with a shrug, as though this is a completely... no, she knows this is not a normal thing for people but she passes it off like oh, yeah, sometimes you just remember crap from a past life and have no idea why you know how to do something. Just roll with it, NBD. Sigh. Chakravanti problems.

Grace"I thought yelling while you're simultaneously trying to clear your throat was metal. The things I learn..."

Yes, this many Mages might be a goddamn magnet. If so, let them come. There must be a few more royally stupid things out there who'd like to shove shadows down her throat or something. They could have an actual burning. Fun for the whole family.

Well, okay. Maybe not fun.

She laughs at River, thinking that's a joke she just made. Who doesn't know jack shit about past lives? This Elite.

"Hey, Kiara."

KiaraThe Verbena is still standing off a ways when River holds out that coat hanger, her lip curled up at the edge in a smile that verged on a few things but her eyes: they seemed wholly honed in on her. Watching River with a sudden, total, focus as if by staring long enough she'd be able to tease loose a beat on the other female's mental state.

This is the first time Kiara Woolfe has seen her since news came of Farrah's demise.

It's there, somewhere, in that look and the slow, stretching beat of silence - on the tip of her tongue, to say something of it. A heavy awareness lingers as the brunette eventually kicks off her leaning point and moves into the gathering proper. Ihsan receives a lingering tick of Kiara's eyes as she makes progress and comes close enough to receive the coat hanger.

"Thanks." She accepts it with, and studies River's face again, the firelight drawing gold patterns over the Verbena's neck. The warmth melting snowflakes in her hair. Then there's Samir - and there's Grace and the latter gets a quick, bright smile, but the former -

The regard lingers there.

"I'll keep it mind for a party trick later." She looks at Samir for another moment, then drops down to her haunches and her eyes return to Ihsan. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure yet."

Kiara[Ahem. "keep it in mind," tyvm typo.]

Sam LakhaniJust about any other person looking at him the way Kiara looks at him would normally have him wondering what the hell she was staring at. But Kiara is Verbena and he knows what she's staring at besides. His resonance is noticeable now. He is more of a presence than he was the last time they saw each other.

Granted the fact that she is Verbena means she could be staring at a pissed-off spirit hovering behind him or a blight on his aura or something and he wouldn't know until she said something but Sam has a pretty good idea what has her attention.

He throws up a set of rock horns with the hand not holding onto the backpack and drops into a crouch by the Chakravanti as Ihsan and Kiara get themselves acquainted. Time to light this sucker.

Ihsan Ghali"No," said the North African woman to Kiara.  She'd watched the woman as people answered to speaking in tongues-- how it was metal and could be confused for Sanskrit.  Ihsan was busy regarding the new dark-haired woman with the bright red lips.  Watching her like a lion-- relaxed and assured but watchful none the less.

"I am Ihsan."  She smiled and lifted her hand to show her palm in greeting.  Hey, that kind of a wave said.  Her accent was dense and interesting, different to an ear that's grown accustomed to the Western United States especially.  Still, she spoke clearly and had a strong grasp of the English language.  She wasn't that difficult to understand.

The marshmallow was brought back and tested with a squeeze of her fingers.  It was a little underdone, but apparently that was how she liked them, for she plucked it with her fingers and popped it whole into her mouth.  She then pulled her hat back on and zipped her coat back up and rose to her feet.

"I'm going back to make a run to the store for hot dogs and buns.  Anyone wanna come with me?"

And whoever did or did not want to come with, so it would be.  Ihsan was set on getting hot dogs and returning later with brats instead ("yes, hot dogs, right?").

[Sorry, but I need to roll out early.  Bedtime comes quick when your alarm is set for 4:30am]

GraceOh, nice, Sam. Abandon Grace over there. Whatever. She looks over at Sam and River and gives him a little smirk.

Well, she knows how it is.

She turns her hands back and forth to the side of the fire, trying to warm the cold side (which is, of course, the side not nearest the fire at that second).

"Hot dogs too? Awesome," she says to Ihsan, but doesn't move to get up. Not going with.

RiverShe has good days, and she has bad days. There isn't much of a baseline for Kiara to work off of but today? Today seems like a good day. She seems alert and engaged and content to be aware of people. She hasn't punched anyone at work (in fact, she still has a job. The other dancers at the Diamond Cabaret are convinced she must be sleeping with the hiring manager, but realistically River came up in a couple of very positive Yelp reviews. She's a classy lady; classy ladies change the atmosphere enough that you attract clientel who spend more.)

River concludes that Samir is close enough to lean on for a minute, and so she does- it's a momentary breach of space until she realizes oh fuck, Samir is lighting stuff and she stops attempting to assert her manifest destiny on his space.

There is, however, something that stuck on her senses. Brows knit for a second as she remembers that there's a presence that she can't actually place.  Though, in the way, she does happen to place its source and finds-

"I'm gonna yell at people," she warns. And then, does raise her voice enough that it carries-

"Dan! Tenemos malvaviscos! Come say hi!"

Sam LakhaniLiving in a trailer by himself in the middle of goddamn nowhere must be doing him some good. A few months ago River would not have leaned on Sam. A slew of variables make today a different day than one plucked random from several months back. He doesn't seem like an individual who would react strong to unprovoked physical contact.

Ihsan takes off to go buy hot dogs and Sam doesn't offer to go with her but he does hand her a twenty out of his billfold before she leaves. Then River is leaning on him and he goes still a moment with the novelty of it. But then she pulls away again and he goes back to packing the bowl.

I'm gonna yell at people.

"Uh oh," he says before he plants the bong in the dirt and covers his ears with his gloves.

KiaraI am Ihsan.

That ignites a flicker of recognition. Apparently, the name meant something to the brunette and she returns the greeting with little nod. An affirmative sort of gesture. Kiara's eyes follow the other woman when she rises to her feet and makes her declaration of a store run. The coat hanger is still being held between Kiara's fingertips, her nails are painted the same shade of red as her lips.

The firelight reflects in the varnish as she twists the wire hanger around in her grasp.

It's a habit, perhaps, watching other people. It's certainly one that the brunette seems to be making an attempt at, the way her dark eyes follow Ihsan and then return to Samir long enough to catch the gesture he makes, long enough to witness the way he positions himself by River.

The way she leans into his space.

The Verbena's gaze drops away, then. This brief constriction of her brows and she drives the edge of the hanger into the hardening earth below, wedging it there as she rises to her feet. Drawing the hood of her coat up so her features all but vanish beneath the furred lining. "I'm going to make a quick circuit for more kindling. There's bound to be some leaves around here.

I'll be right back."

Hard to tell what the pagan's expression is in the moment before she starts moving again, leaning over periodically to kick up leaves being buried by drifts of snow. Shaking loose the less saturated ones.

Sam Lakhani[challenge accepted]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 1, 4, 5, 8, 10) ( success x 3 ) [Doubling Tens]

Kiara[I have a mighty 3 dice now. What? I'm inscrutable.]

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

SerafíneOf course she's caught by the wild tangle of resonance surrounding the slow-growing (probably illegal but hey: world of darkness) campfire down by the lake and of course she stops, hooked (fish hook/open eye) right? and sometimes it makes her want to breathe: in and in and in and in like she could inhale the world, feel it bubbling in her lungs.  Tonight, instead, she feels skewered like those marshmallows on that coathanger and that hook is an odd little interregnum in their coming-from-someplace and going-to-someplace, an arrest, if you will, an institial moment that feels quite as between-things (places, deeds, names, definitions) as she does. 

It's a long-ass walk cutting through the park and the sun has set and the sky has that pillowed, shifting, dead-orange tinge from all the ugly lights reflecting off the close-cropped clouds, the fitful swirls of snow and in the midst of that walk is an exchange between them, all statement and query.  Her statement; his query evidence in the way he pauses and glances down at her, face on to her profile, sharp against the darkness.  Maybe it is that turn of his head that catches River's attention.  The beard and hint of tattoos on his ungloved hands.  Some lumpen shadow at his back that will resolve itself into a guitar case when he gets closer.

Which he will soon.

Because: River warns that she is gonna yell at people and then she yells at people and Dan lifts a hand by way of greeting (open palm, mildly ironic twist of his mouth) because what else can he do?  Drops his mouth to her ear and bumps his forehead against her temple as he does so: so familiar, so close, so careful with her right now.

--

Takes them longer than you might think when they leave the path.  Four inches of melting slush on muddy ground that has not yet been settled into a solid winter freeze and, you know, heels and bare legs do not mix very well but whatever.  She's solid on those long legs.  Knows how to walk on almost any surface in those heels, but here and there, he gives her a hand.

"Hey folks," Dan, when he gets there. Just a glance and a flash of his palm, as his attention returns to the girl-who-yelled, his mouth curves wider. "River."  And his attention hangs there for a lingering beat.  "I don't think you've met Sera, have you?"

KiaraWhat is Kiara Woolfe thinking ... doesn't have an easy answer. There's no doubt that something about the apparent closeness Samir and River are displaying (if you could call it that) is partly the reason why she's excused herself, given herself a task that takes her away from the display of intimacy.

Partial discomfort? Partial surprise - something is nettled there in the way she observes them after she stands up and draws her hood. It's tangled up with some degree of sympathy (for River, no doubt, with the way she was watching her when she showed up).

There's things on the Verbana's mind she's not inclined to share. At least, not with the present company.

Grace"Hey, Dan," Grace says, through the fire's heat. He's a wavy-lined Dan to her. "Hey, Sera."

She smiles with her eyes at the newcomers to the circle of fire, but then returns her attention to the flames.

"You going to play for us?" she asks the fire. Obviously it's more for Dan than anyone, but who knows. Maybe she really does mean to ask the fire.

Sam LakhaniLast time Sam saw Sera and Dan he was in Quiet. Which means the last time he actually remembers seeing them was at a house party. Which means he was stoned when he showed up and not in much better shape when he left around three o'clock in the morning.

Something in Kiara's gaze has him checking his own expression. He lowers his hands after River has yelled about marshmallows to the Cultist and her consor and lifts one to wave but it's an awkward sort of wave. A not-knowing-how-to-act-in-this-situation wave.

The bong is packed and ready to go. He is not the first one to light it. It sits like an offering beside the fire and then Sam stands from his crouch and takes a few steps back from the circle to light a cigarette.

River"I have not," she carries things like she is used to carrying things because, well, this is just another social situation and River is a social creature. Sees a man with a guitar and his friend who is a spindly but striking creature.

She offers them a coat hanger, like this was a worthwhile offering.

"I told everybody that we were reenacting the Salem with trials with marshmallows, but I don't actually know how to hang a marshmallow so, uh, morbid joke completely lost."

KiaraShe does, in fact, return after a while with a handful of leaves cupped in her hands (trust the earth witch to deliver on such a promise) and carries them dutifully to the small fire; dropping them in a drift of crumbling pieces into the flames where they are greedily consumed and send up the vague, earthy aroma of foliage as it crackles and curls in on itself.

She's brushing her hands off when Dan and Sera make their approach and the Verbana's dark eyes, dramatized more-so by the liner she's applied to them turn to regard both, her hood pushed back far enough now that strands of dark hair are visible where they slither and curl at her neck, the thick waves of it half tamed by her coat.

"Good to see you, Dan. Sera." The latter's name offered with this quiet, delicate touch of meaning. The Verbena's supple mouth pulled into a little half-curl. She tosses the last handful of leaves toward the fire and and nudges at a stray, escaping one with a boot. Urging toward its demise.

A flicker of some darker, answering humor dawns in the Verbena's eyes as she watches the flames. "Burning them alive has always been a crowd favorite." There's this tiny shadow that falls over Kiara's face as she turns it into the treeline, as if searching for the source of a noise.

"Or so I've heard."

Serafíne"Hey Grace," Dan-to-Grace, through the flames.  This quirk, like a smile but checked a bit, framed by the beard.  "We could, if you wanted.  Couple songs, maybe.  We've got a gig though, so we can't stay too long.  Sort of a welcome-back thing for Sera, so it'd be pretty shitty if we didn't show.  Any requests?"

--

Dan didn't see Sam when Sam was in Quiet.  He was waiting in the van, engine off but still ticking in the heat of the day.  Watched her leave and come back and knew something was hanging over her when she climbed back in the passenger door.  Didn't know how bad it was until she collapsed.  Took him forever to scrub the blood out of the upholstery, but he managed it.

Dan gives Sam the self-same quirk-of-a-smile-thing that Grace received and there's nothing awkward about it.  Something: prompting, quiet, solicitous in the way he handles Sera in the moment though, cutting a lashed glance down at her profile.

"River this is Sera.  Sera, River.  So, now you've met."

Sera takes in this: bright, crisp inhale then.  "Hey."  And it is all very, strangely self-contained, though River has no real context for this, but maybe she's simply: stoned, already, somehow.  When Kiara returns with her promised leaves, something a little more animate: warm, less constrained gets woven into her name, "Kiara."

"What about you, River.  Any requests?"

That's Dan,  he seems to think music is necessary right now and he's letting go of Sera long enough to lift the guitar case over his head and shoulders.

Sam LakhaniAs he traipses further from the fire he puts his back to it and the people around it. He meets Grace's gaze quick and continues his traipsing. They're all sitting around a fire that is giving off a good amount of heat and no small amount of smoke but he wants to keep his carcinogens to himself. What a guy.

He ends up over by Grace again anyway. She's the furthest away from the fire and she's sitting down and he's taller than her when she's standing up.

"You see that thing on Jitbit," he asks, "about the guy who would write cron-jobs for anything that took him more than ninety seconds?"

Grace"Uhhh. No? Sorry. I'm terrible at music-y things," she says. "Something you like."

Her favorite 'song' at the moment is a guy screaming at people to install Gentoo over a throbbing beat, and there's no guitars in it. And if there were, you couldn't play it without a computer.

Samir saves her by talking nerdy at her. "Nope. Sounds fun though."

River"Ukelele anthem!" because something with four chords was totally worth Dan's prowess as a musician. She has managed to piece together though that the bearded man is to music what she is to dancing.

River has made her way over to the communal bong, started on with the necessary prep work because she has no problems being the first person to take a hit for the evening.

"I have full intention of getting ripped and asking people to dance, so- does that inform your decision?"

Sam Lakhani"You need to get a coffee maker with an SSHD. Then you could figure out how long it takes you to walk from the library to the kitchen and, like, have it start brewing and then wait before pouring it into a cup. The guy called it fuckingcoffee.sh or something equally poetic."

It's way colder over here than it is by the fire what the fuck Grace. He finds it difficult to bitch about the cold after the other night though so he digs his smartphone out of his jeans pocket and starts tapping buttons.

"Hang on, I'll send it to you."

KiaraShe moves a little closer to the Cultist, Kiara, her hands finding her coat pockets.

It's a dark navy form fitted thing that hugs in around her narrow waist with a zip and a hood that's lined with a mottled fur trim along the edges and sleeve-ends. The lining was synthetic but it cast the brunette with that twinge of something a little wilder none the less - something she seemed to be manifesting tonight. A certain aloofness in the way she held herself away from the others.

Standing rather than sitting as if her presence were as limited as the two en route to a gig.

She's watching the fire again, the pagan and there's something to that, the way the flames licking and curling into the air, the smoke and the tiny snaps and pops of burning debris, contain and hold her focus. They spoke enough of the Spirit Mages to allow for some assumptions to be made regarding the distraction of the Verbena. Perhaps she was meditating on the way the fire feels to her or senses some fluctuation in the Park itself.

It's the stillness, though. That makes it singular. Her eyes don't leave the fire to comment wryly: "As long as it's not Kumbaya."

SerafíneEmpathy + Perception - aloofness?  Empathy Spec: Seeing Past the Mask.

Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8) ( success x 6 ) [Doubling Tens]

Serafíne"Couldn't even begin to compete with Amanda Palmer."  Dan tosses back to River with another supple, subtle expression rising to the surface and sinking back beneath.  "Plus I misplaced my goddamned ukelele somewhere between Raleigh and Denver - "

" - you left it in fucking Macon," Sera interrupts and Dan isn't expecting that and he cuts a sort of searching glance back down at her face and she's giving him a mildly pointed smirk that subsides as quickly as it arose in the first place, dark eyes cutting away from him.  Lingering on Kiara as the Verbena circles the fire and starts watching the flames: that singular stillness.

"Apparently I left it in Macon, which isn't between Raleigh and Denver at all.  Point is: never replaced. Closest I have is a mandolin and that's back at the house.  How about a country song, since we've got a bonfire.  Ever heard of Jason Isbell?"

GraceGrace pulls out her own phone, and now -- true to stereotype -- the two Mercurial Elites of the party are staring into their phones in the great outdoors, communicating to each other with them while the rest get all sociable.

And it's about a shell script named fuckingcoffee.sh.

It is fucking hilarious though, and has Grace laughing at her phone. "Ohh, man. Kumar-asshole.sh. Lol," she says. And yes, she actually says the word lol as if it were one. In-jokes are a thing over here.

"He had a cron job for hangover excuses. I think I want to try that. Not that I need to call in at work, hah."

Sam LakhaniBy the time Grace receives the link Sam has moved onto other things. On his phone. They are living the dream over there.

"Yeah but still. You see the words 'vampire' or 'Washington Park' or 'police' on Ginger, you can just have that bad boy fire off and not have to deal with it."

He's joking. Hangovers aren't an excuse when you're BFF with a Verbena.

KiaraThere's clearly something on Kiara's mind. A certain ... it feels like the lingering aftermath of something. An emotional bruising she's nursing. Some unspoken trauma. There's almost an edge of something sharp and dismissive in the things she says tonight. The humor is there as always but it's flavored with a sort of punctuation.

She looks as if she's deliberating on whether or not to stay. And as if looking into the campfire is soothing to her, for whatever the reason. Unsettled, edgy. The impression that Sera is getting from Kiara Woolfe right now is that whatever is on her mind, distracting her, provoking a sharper tongue - it's not anything she wants to discuss.

At least, not here. Not with the gathered.

RiverShe's holding her breath while he's talking, nods. Pays attention because, no, one can't compete with Amanda Fucking Palmer. No, she has not heard of Jason Isbell and eventually she exhales. It's a long, slow breath like meditation because why the fuck shouldn't getting stoned be like meditation?

"We lived outside of Macon for two months during peach season," River clarifies, "you would think that I would have picked up something about country music in Georgia but it was all Willie Nelson."

Which is weirdly appropriate.

"So, you guys are in the same band?"

GraceGrace snorts. "Yeah, that's what I need. A 'Handle Emergency' cron job. Just fire it off, and it will do everything that takes more than ninety seconds."

Which, you know, includes taking care of whatever the latest thing to happen in Washington Park is.

"I have never heard of Jason Isbell," she says, into her phone. If anyone were thinking she wasn't paying any attention...

Serafíne"Willie Nelson is kind of a badass," Dan tosses back to River as she is getting high.  "He did this cover of Pancho and Left that is one of the most perfect things on the planet.  If that's what you took away from two months in Georgia outside of Macon, you could've done alot worse."

--

There's work to be done.  Like, you know: tuning.  The overtones of fingers-on-strings, that strange, patterned language, the internal tones as he listens to the acoustic he was carrying-through-the-park and it should've been an electric but: maybe magick?  There's a fire and no outlets and Sera doesn't even really quite understand that she knows Forces magick and she has been capable of it for two fucking years.

"Afterparty at my place," this to Kiara.  Supple, subtle thing, the invitation a coil of smoke from the strangely-reserved creature.  (Maybe: to River she will always be like this: first.)  " - when the bar closes.  Two, two-thirty? You should stop by."

--

"Yeah, we're in the same band."  Dan, to River.  "Don't usually do country but he's a killer songwriter and we always have a few off-the-wall covers up our sleeves."  Glances sidelong at Sera.  "Elephant, then Super 8?"

"Fuck, Dan, that's like tearing someone's heart out, shredding it, then smoking a bowl of the remnants, getting so stoned you wander into traffic and figure out how to make the stars shut down."

He favors her with a quick, quiet smirk.  Likes that spark of animation in her eyes and voice.

"Used to be with this band called the Drive-By Truckers," Dan-the-hipster tells Grace.  "It's more alt-country than country.  He doesn't sing about how sexy girls are when they hang out in trucks or how fun it is to hang out in trucks and get drunk in corn fields so he's probably not gonna get on commercial country radio."

Serafíne(Hey I can has dice.  Dan - guitarishness?)

Dice: 8 d10 TN5 (1, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6) ( success x 3 ) [Doubling Tens]

Serafíne(This is for mah next post, and oh Dan.  :(  Sera: singing?)

Dice: 9 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 10) ( success x 5 ) [Doubling Tens]

Sam Lakhani"You do. You need this so hard."

Break from reality over. Sam shoves the phone back into his pocket and wanders back over to the fire. That's where he left the bong and his backpack anyway. When he comes to stand beside River it's almost as if by coincidence. It's easy to forget he exists when he isn't talking.

"Hit me," he says and holds his hand out for the bong.

KiaraIt's been lightly snowing tonight, as if the weather hadn't quite settled on what it desired but the drifts of it come down, every so often. Can't penetrate far where the fire is of course, melt before they're close to that emanating source of heat but they find placement in hair, on sleeves. Kiss the edge of cheeks and it's after one of these finds Kiara's that her fingers emerge from her pockets and she sweeps a hand up.

Suddenly alert to the surroundings, tipping her chin up to stare up at the dark skies, at the clusters of trees. Touching her face as if she'd forgotten, momentarily, where the source was of the sudden dampness on her face.

She brushes it aside and turns her face, just slightly, at Grace and Samir's conversation. Her attention captured by the mention of vampires, by Ginger and Washington Park and handling situations. The Verbena's eyes drop away and she bends down to find a leaf, lashed to the side of her boot, pasted there by the snow. Squats there and peels it off, carefully uncurling the edges.

"They're amazing. You should hear them play a gig sometime." This, almost absently to River at her question as the Verbena twists the leaf around, sets it open on her palm and curls her fingers around it. Finds the other woman's gaze through the flames. Holds there a beat.

Pulls up, opens her fingers and crumbles up the leaf, smears it over the flames. Glances at Serafine as she offers an after-party at Corona Street. "Yeah." Those red lips quirk, give over to one of her smiles, the pagan. Flash of teeth. Curl at the corner that makes it that side of crooked.

"I'd like that." She doesn't offer more, say they should talk. Just - studies Serafine's face for a moment as if committing it to memory and then returns her eyes to the campfire.

GraceGrace follows Sam, her face still stuck in her phone though. Light from the phone paints her face with blue, battling it out with the fire.

Well, maybe she won't be their chaperone or anything. Grace just wants a hit.

"I don't even know a thing about commercial country radio. Girls hanging out in trucks?" she shrugs. Whatever, to that.

River"I'm not a pretty crier," she tells Dan and his cultist-friend, "Sam and Grace can attest."

And it's true. though she isn't sure if Grace has seen her cry from underneath the mountain of blankets beyond the little giggling whimpter of a happy ending amidst the zombie apocalypse. River is pretty committed to her makeup staying on tonight, though, because it's cold and her face can feel it and somehow being freezing bakes on your foundation.

She's standing, has the bong in hand and hands it off to him like this is some sacred rite- like this was the passing of the Olympic torch instead of, you know, just hanging a guy a bong and calling it good.

"And hanging out of trucks and getting drunk in corn fields is fun if you can find a cornfield... does colorado have corn fields?"

Bonus points if it's not your corn field.

SerafíneSera isn't wrong about that pairing of songs and Dan needs space to move to play and she steps away from him, careful in her ridiculous goddamned heels but god she can move in them, even on the spongy, half-frozen ground.

The cold, the goddamned snow mean that Dan's bare fingers are stiff as they skim over the strings but he pulls the first evocative chords out of the instrument and there is something quite remarkably intimate about the way they balance each other; about the way they watch each other, rhythmic, familiar.  This point where she takes in a breath like she's about to join him, but no, and he just repeats those opening bars, eyes on her face, the dance of reflected light in her eyes.

Elephant starts off all-quiet, reflective, nostalgic, but you get pretty early that the song's as close to a requiem as you can get for someone still alive.  Unsentimental, ("If I'd fucked her before she got sick / I'd never heard the end of it") clear-eyed - goddamned sad.  Sera sings it alternately watching Dan's hangs and staring into the fire and when her voice is supposed to soar, goddamned, it soars -

We'd burn these joints in effigy,
cry about what we used to be,
and try to ignore the elephant somehow.

I buried her a thousand times,
giving up my place in line,
but I don't give a damn about that now.

--

River is committed to keeping her make-up intact tonight but by the end of that there are tears in Sera's eyes and on her cheeks, and both her mascara and her eyeliner are waterproof but there's the eyeshadow too, which isn't.  Maybe it just adds to her rock-star vibe and there's no time to dwell on the chord that strikes up in her or how deeply and feelingly she sings or whatever is happening in her or anyone else because: Super 8's a honky-tonk barn-burner and yes, River, you can dance to it.  You could probably take off all your clothes to it, and there's not enough time to catch your breath between them:

Having such a sweet night
Audience is just right
Drinking like a pirate do
Don’t want to sleep yet
Buddy it’s a good bet
I’ll raise more hell than you -

And the song keeps going.  There's paramedics, pedialyte, and maybe a defibrillator. Haven't we all had nights like that?

So, yeah.  That's the impromptu concert.  When it's wrapping up, Sera-and-Dan aren't hanging around for hits from the bong, they're packing up.  Have somewhere to be: and soon.










Serafíne(The songs:

Elephant:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dg1oYRo9yVk

Super 8: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Fr2Gv3HyqA )

River[I'm totally good. Manip+sub]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (4, 5, 7, 7, 10) ( success x 3 )

RiverShe's a good audience member, though halfway through the first song she determines that she's going to need a second hit. There's silence, because she knows it isn't polite to applaud but eventually she does because it was really fucking good and she can appreciate a good performance regardless of the responses that it provokes out of her.

"Go have fun!" is what she says out of haze, eyes back to the fire for a moment.

Kiara[Per + Empathy on River: is she?]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 4, 6) ( success x 1 )

KiaraMusic has that way about it, of course. Good music can lift you. Inspire you. Tear you to pieces with nothing more impressive than the slow build of a guitar, a note sculpted and held. The Verbena's been witness to Serafine and Dan performing before - she knows they're that good.

She'd said about as much to River, only moments before.

Music has that way and at some point during the first song the Verbena's dark eyes place River's face again and she watches it; watches the way the firelight plays over it. Watches her the way she had when she first turned up, leaning against that tree in the shadows as if she were an interloper rather than one of the invited.

Whatever Kiara Woolfe does or doesn't see it takes until the end of the song for her to look down, to tip her chin down and draw her hood back up and bury her hands deep into her pockets. She's not inscrutable, the healer. Not accustomed to trying to be, to concealing whatever thoughts or feelings skim across her face.

She's only beginning to understand the ways she can protect her own mind from infiltration.

So maybe there's that glimpse before she draws it up, after she drags her eyes from River's face, where that's clear. What the music does to her. How it presses down on that bruise she's wearing, however deep it runs, however she's attempting to disguise it. A twist across her mouth, a haunted quality to fine dark eyes.

She stands there, hood drawn while the second number happens. That stillness settling back in. She doesn't applaud at the end of it but she does draw her hands out of her pockets, does move to press a hand against the Cultist's shoulder as she makes some bid for departure might not even understand how to articulate.

"You sounded great." She affirms and there's this brief glance back at the gathered. "I've gotta go guys. I'll catch you later."

SerafínePer + Empathy, River.

Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (2, 3, 3, 3, 5, 6, 10) ( success x 4 ) [Doubling Tens]

River"See ya," she says. Smiles and gives a wave and she seems fine. She seems fine and of course she is fine, because River has never given any indication that she is not anything other than fine, even when she has to turn off large portions of her brain to keep up the ruse. She is committed, you see. She is committed to any number of things, but right now she is committed to the idea that she is not going to be emotionally wrought over the fact that there was a song that moved her in such a fashion that she's waxing close to nostalgic.

She wears it well, that denial. She wears it like it's a shield and she carries a sword and in some other life she was some brave gladiator. still is.

she'll process later.

"Graaaaace," she says, offers her a hand, "do you know how to tango?"

GraceGrace gives River a squinty-eyed look, and then makes a grab at the bong. Tango? The fuck, River. Going to break the poor woman. She takes a hit, holds it, lets out a smokey, creaky "No."

But still, she adjusts herself, hands the bong over to Sam, and stands rather stiffly as she holds her arms out -- one of them positioned like it might hold on to somebody, the other in the air above her head like it might be holding another's hand.

She's never really cared about looking ridiculous, Grace.

"Show me?"

RiverRiver looks at Grace and the look on her face can only be described as delight. She steps in, holds her up arms and preens like she's an instructor because, at her core, she can be an instructor of sorts. She's a good enough that she doesn't seem to have a problem.

She beams.

Moves her arms down a little.

"This is probably going to come up again with me. Just for reference."

Serafíne"Stop by later, yeah?"  Sera to Kiara, as Dan is packing up the guitar.  A longer glance at River, then, sharper.  This almost bruising awareness about her that gets honed in that moment until it gleams, and that's what she was made to be right there, bright, aching, in the moment.  A hitch of awareness that hooks, catches, dissipates.
Lovely as the edge of an ever-elusive rainbow.

--

Had she been aware of recent history, she might not have chosen that song.  She wasn't.  Isn't.  Couldn't've gotten on Ginger if she'd wanted to: her phone didn't fucking work.  Dan checks it anyway and he couldn't see her, and he kept it up but mostly he was looking for anything from anyone about her.  No dice.

All of that etches the air around them.  Frames out both the intimacy of their interactions and that strange reserve that Sera breaks out of only in these odd flashes of awareness.

--

"You should drop by too."

And she could be saying that to anyone or everyone, but she's not.  Mostly, she means River.  Unspoken in there: no more sad songs tonight.  "The Edgefield."

And off they go.

bittersweet. [dan, river, ian, emma]

Dan
Bittersweet is a slow pour coffeehouse / mixology bar tucked away on a corner of LoDo, with a changing 'gallery' of local art on the walls.  This month, the featured artist is Tish Evans, a local weaver / textile artist whose work spans the functional and the fantastical.   The largest piece is a wall-hanging the size of a small buffalo like a sunset woven in negative: shadows where light should be, and light where the shadows belong.

Leonard Cohen on the soundsystem (Nevermind) and a low buzz of noise from the small crowd.  They do a bang-up business mornings and weekends, but mid-evening - when local bar/restaurants are crowded enough to spill out onto the street on a warm October night - the coffee bar / bar bar (and that is what the sign outside says:

bittersweet

coffee bar / bar bar

) - is sparsely populated.  Among the denizens: a bearded blond guy with a button-down flannel, the sleeves rolled quite neatly up to his elbows revealing a variety of intricate tattoos, portfolio open on the table, frowning at his Macbook, drinking coffee from a ceramic mug.

RiverRiver was doing as River is want to do right now- which was exploring.

She knew the lay of the land, for the most part. Kept an ear to the ground so she would know which gang was where and whose turf she needed to stay out of. Where people dropped dead bodies in the event she needed to go and be an investigator. In the event she needed to stand on her own two feet. River's had her fill of dead things- she wants coffee. Contemplates being a barrista instead of a dancer and there she goes, pushes the door open with a jingle and she's got on a pair of shorts paired with cowbox boots. The shirt is a little long for her, button down and probably belonging to an ex-boyfriend.

She's got on a vest and carries a purse that is the size of a small duffelbag. It houses a world of wonders and her dakr hair is worn down. This place was a coffee bar and an actual bar. She contemplates mixing both before she sees the man with the blond beard. Hasn't she seen him before.

River makes a tentative approach, tries to act cool, like she's not trying to check Dan out. Maybe failing. Probably failing.

Aidan[nightmares]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 3, 7, 7, 9) ( success x 3 )

DanWhat's the point of checking someone out if they don't notice and return the look?  Maybe there's a certain aesthetic appreciation there.  Maybe some folks don't want to get caught.  Most do, though.  How else do you know if your regard might be returned?

--

He glances up.  Blue eyes framed with slight crinkles that deepen when his mouth moves, as it does not, in a brief skimming grin.  Notes the bag.

"That thing looks big enough to carry around three cases of beer or a side of beef."

Wry.

He looks tired, though.

He is tired.

KiaraOne of those days. That's what it is.

The weather doesn't offer a backdrop for it, not really. It's been cloudy all afternoon but the Denver wind hasn't taken up the mantle some locals have; pumpkins starting to dot porches with their garish, grinning smiles cut wide across their sides. It's not freezing, it just feels - a little heavy. Dull and gritty where the sun slides away and even when it returns - Denver today - feels like a city with secrets. It doesn't always.

Sometimes, on evenings like the one it's settling into, it feels - promising. Those secrets, the unknowns, they feel like an enticement to come along (come find us).

-

She almost collided with another car earlier. Intersection. Palms slammed down on horns. Guy cutting her off (and nearly cutting a slice out of her car). Then her engine stalled. One of those days. She had to circle the block twice to find a park so she could make a meeting.

-

She passes a crime scene on the way to find this mixology bar she's wanted to try forever. There's police tape flapping in the evening air and the sight of the lights (cutting blue and red, blue and red) against the windows is a strange visual tattoo against the night.

There's a crowd milling around, curious stares and quiet chatter as an ambulance rolls around a corner.

Kiara picks up her pace. She's around the corner before it pulls to a stop.

-

One of those days, now - evening. The Verbena finds Bittersweet on foot. One minute there's no sign of her and then; the door opens; a swirl of perfume and energy and red lipstick. Kiara Woolfe, adjusting her bag over her shoulder and frowning at the menu.

Kiara[Oh right! Awareness, just in case.]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 5, 6, 9, 9) ( success x 3 )

River"Sometimes, I like to carry a keg with me," she adjusts her purse, switches it over to the other shoulder, "true facts."

She sounds like she's not from here, or at the very least like she's not one who speaks English as a first language. Truth be told, River is from here, was born in the United States but she's spent enough time outside of the standard English-speaking populace that she doesn't have the same cadence and timbre of a native speaker.

"Can I buy you a coffee?" looks at the mug, realizes he has coffee, looks back and offers a smile anyway, as if smiling would cover up the fact that she completely missed he was drinking coffee before, "I'm River."

Dan"False lies," he rejoins, this quick skim of a smile cutting through his beard.  It reaches - but only just - his dark blue eyes.  Watching as she shifts that purse, his eyes cutting across her frame - hand to strap to hand again - with a light precision that strikes one as aware rather than observant.  "Now if you'd said a half-keg I might've believed you."

And so.  Mouth slides from that into a slight smirk as she offers to buy him a coffee and yes, he already has coffee.  Wasn't simply here to steal their wifi and he thinks about telling her that, but he doesn't.

Cuts a glance down at his mug like: yeah.  "I already have one.  You're welcome to buy yourself a coffee and pull up a chair, though."

--

Then he's sitting back in that chair, this long spare frame, button-down and fitted jeans and leather boots.  Sits back enough and tall enough to catch Kiara's eye.  Gives her a wave that could be taken as an invitation, if she's looking for one.

KiaraSo, Bittersweet. She takes two steps inside and nearly collides with a young man on his way out. It's Kiara's fault this time, she's staring down at her phone and tapping out some (vitally important no doubt) message with the fall of all that long, dark hair tumbling over a shoulder and then - jostled. She looks up, startled and is reaching to apologize when he's doing the same; adjusting glasses up a thin nose and waving her apology off, because - well - it's probably the eyes and the hair.

It usually was, with the pagan.

Still, she's breathing out and pushing back all that hair with a bracelet-laden wrist when she spots (feels that resolute splash of radiance) Dan and the hand flowers out. He gets a smile and she nods toward the bar - universal I'm going to order first gesture - before she's moving. Kiara often seems to be perpetually doing that. In motion. Moving. (Running).

She's in jeans and boots and a calf length cream trench-coat, the brunette; the bag over her shoulder is old and worn and looks battle-scarred; it's stitched at one edge; there's a feather attached to the zip.

-

Returns to greet Dan and - "River, right?" - A gesture with her coffee, Kiara's dark eyes find the other woman. "Did your pants pull through?" Smilingly, a curl at the edge of her mouth.

RiverShe does take the invitation, does take a moment to order coffee- vanilla chai latte- waits with the kind of careful patience that one has to have when ordering nice coffee. It comes out in an avocado mug  with  a nice, open top. As though she were going to read tea leaves in her oversized beverage receptacle.

She turns around, catches a look at Kiara and smiles. Raises a hand and with a little wiggle of her fingers lets the woman know that, yes, she sees her. With the curve of her lips (full, unpainted, she lets the woman know that she is pleased to see her. The first person whose name she remembered in this city. A woman, most importantly, who wasn't going to hold a pair of ripped yoga pants against her because River can be a walking ball of embarrassment waiting to happen.

She sits down, "Aaaand... Kiara?"

Waits for confirmation.

Did your pants pull through?

And this is the part where her cheeks turn bright pink. She clears her throat, takes a long drink of her coffee-infused chai drink and she sets it down. Hands on her glass, "oh, uh... no? The yoga pants sleep with the fishes."

DanThe tables are only so large, and his is more-or-less full.  The open portfolio (leather, quite as scarred as Kiara's bag) is closed with a neat sweep of his tattooed hand.  This glimpse of scrawled notes, a handful of suggestions of chord progressions, little more.  Then he folds up the Macbook and tucks both away in his own rather indispensible bag.  Battered black leather, a Ramones pin naturally skewered through one of the stresspoints to either hide or hold together the largest of the holes where the leather and its lining have worn-through.

Leaves his phone on the table, though, Dan.  He's waiting for a call.

Still gives them both a quick-wry-smirk, more for Kiara in that moment than for River - but that's familiarity, more than anything.  The function of it.  "There some particular reason you are throwing yoga-pants into the river?"  (Sleep with the fishes, see).  Gets a glimpse of River's frothy coffee-thing, "Is it the coffee you like in that, or the rest of it?"

KiaraRiver's embarrassed and Kiara's smile grows a little at the edges. She's taken her coffee black - perhaps that says enough. Still, when she says the pants sleep with the fishes, there's a flash of sympathy there. She makes a soft noise of it as she finds a chair - maybe hooks in one from another table if room is too cramped - and settles in this flourish.

Bag hung over the back, legs neatly crossing at the knee. Those boots, which have rather a tendency toward complicated laces that criss-cross up the length and a zip that runs along the side - those are black too.

"Technically, it's all your fault, Dan." She begins with a pointed little lift of fine dark brows. "We were playing the game you started and River here went for a spectacular throw," River gets the benefit of Kiara's eyes, then. They tick over to her and she delivers this little wink with her mouth still edging that little flux of teasing humor before continuing, raising her coffee to her mouth to sip from it when she concludes.

"And gravity took offense to her prowess. And Alexander's, as it turned out."

A beat, she swallows. Contemplates Dan for a brief pull. "Hey, how's Sera?"

River"The rest of it. I like chai, but I like chai that lives dangerously. I don't like the coffee aftertaste- espresso lollipops, jelly beans, tiramisu-" she makes a face, nose scrunches up and she shakes her head, "-I like covert coffee."

But there was the question fo the yoga pants, realizing she didn't really carefully dodge that particular question well enough, River clears her throat. Tried to think of a witty reply but, at the end of the day, she's not the best with witty repartee; she's average. Honesty is the best policy and she meanders to her point.

Kiara covers this rest of the story and here she is trying to hide behind her coffee cup but it wasn't working. So! The Euthanatos, who was supposed to be bestowed with the kind of dignity befitting a wheel turner, cleared her throat and relaxed. Or tried to relax and ended up cross her legs to keep from figiting too bad. "When I got home they had unraveled to the point of being leg warmers so... they have failed me for the last time."

Dan"When gravity fucks you over - " he is not precisely laughing, but there is humor in his lengthy frame, skimming over his underlying - what is it.  Tension?  Something like it.  "Disbelieve."

Still though: the reference to the game, et cetera.  His gaze slides from Kiara to River and there is a different note: first seeking, then recognition.  One fits itself into the other, like a placing of puzzle pieces.  "That's where I've seen you before."

River is confessing to enjoying covert coffee then: so Dan does not suggest that next time she's here she try a plain, slow-poured something.  You're a coffee person on you aren't.  River doesn't seem to be.  Dan's so hipster it hurts, right?  But he's not an ass about it.

--

Then Hey, how's Sera?  flick of his gaze back to Kiara and something like hang-time there.  A second really, no more.  And it is not so much that tension asserts itself, as it is a lessening of his temporary ease.  "Tan, I suppose.  Last I heard from her, she was still in Thailand."



KiaraThe talk of coffee pulls at a thread of memory. Corona Street, not so long ago, but months, now. Kiara hadn't been in Denver so long and there was a party - Dan had quizzed her on her preferences and she remembers it now in that abstract, fuzzy-at-the-edges like an old photograph way:

(French press or drip?

Press.

Woman after my own heart)

There's some awareness of that time in Kiara's expression as she watches Dan and in the way her mouth adjusts itself into something a little less joyful. Just - aware. Not without concern, perhaps. Somewhere tied into it. "She does love the sun. Why am I not surprised?"

Then, simple: "If you hear from her, tell her I said I want a souvenir. Something cheap and ridiculous."

Maybe she's been letting River recover her dignity, but Kiara's eyes return to her, now. "How is your friend? I got the impression she wasn't totally sold on whether or not I planned to do something dastardly with you both the other night?"

DanHis mouth quirks, Dan, this glimmer of affection, yeah, or maybe respect framing the edges of the expression, which is otherwise banked and closed but not shuttered.  "Will do."  is the only assurance he offers Kiara.

He appreciates, though, her circumspection.

And sentiment.

--

Hangs around a little while longer, more background than foreground.  Excuses himself to take a call not long after.  Steps away and outside, where he digs through pockets and pulls out a kretek.  Not a habit he indulges in much, except when Sera's around, but now he smokes it while he chats.

Later he might return.  If River or Kiara or both are still there, he might suggest that they meet up later.  Friend of his is playing at The Black Sheep - the set'll start about 10 if they're interested.

--

RiverShe does give the indication to Dan that she will be going to see the show. Seems on board.
--

"Farrah?" as though River had other friends, "oh, we're doing pretty well. We have a couch? We're settling in pretty nice; I found out that the apartment manager is letting us paint things. Farrah is a doctoral candidate, so anything that isn't studying or also studying is strictly off the table."

A gesture outward.

"We have a rule that someone has to buy us dinner before dastardly deeds happen."


Ian[Awareness?]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 4, 5, 5, 7) ( success x 1 )

KiaraKiara doesn't commit, at least, not 100%, to the offer of going to see a band. She does offer enthusiasm for the idea of it, though. The way she shies away from instant confirmation gives this impression maybe she's got people to meet or just - things on. In that undefined way people sometimes do.

Their lives, this world, that gathering feeling; like tiny atoms starting to whirl together with intention; who knew. Who knows.

So, Dan departs and Kiara slides over into the chair he's left; it's still warm with the impression of him. Palms her coffee between her hands and cants this look outside; into the darkness. She's a healer, this woman, in tune with the other side perhaps in ways River is, too. The ripples and fluctuations around them - Kiara's focus lingers as long as it takes to note that one or two of the locals she'd seen gathered around that crime scene earlier have arrived for coffee.

There's something that sticks at her about it - the macabre fascination. The jangling reminder that sets her teeth aching. River's saying something, though. Doctoral candidate. Studying. Buy them dinner, first. That gets a curl of her lip. A gleam in her eyes. "I'll have to bear that in mind," she offers with a smile and then, her thumb thoughtfully stroking the edge of her cup. "I studied myself for a while. In another life."

She sits back. "How about you, student ... ?" She traces her eyes over River's form, as if to pick at the pieces of her whole.

RiverShe does watch Dan go. Peers over her shoulder and watches with a little smile on her face like she most assuredly appreciates the view and very, very cluelessly has no idea that she is not of the kind of person whose Dan's orientation traditionally lines up. But, still, it does not stop a girl from looking and she takes a drink of her chai latte. Tastes the little hints of vanilla at the top of it, closes her eyes and smiles like this is a sensory experience that she was more than willing to embrace.

She puts the glass down.

Is she a student. Puts a hand up and shakes her head, "not right now. My bachelors is in applied performance- dance and urban planning."

River shakes her head again, takes a second to just observe Kiara and take in that Kiara is a lovely woman with lovely fashion sense. Takes in the people around her and shrugs. It's a quiet bit of pleasure on her face. Quiet and small and pleased to be in the middle of it all. The little sunshine creature, inhaling the people and waiting for the movement. Hesitates, because some part of her feels as though there should be the wind on her senses and there is nothing there. There is movement, but not the kind she hoped for (not the movement she dreaded, buried shallow.)

River (ahem)

RiverShe does watch Dan go. Peers over her shoulder and watches with a little smile on her face like she most assuredly appreciates the view and very, very cluelessly has no idea that she is not of the kind of person whose Dan's orientation traditionally lines up. But, still, it does nto stop a girl from looking and she takes a drink of her chai latte. Tastes the little hints of vanilla at the top of it, closes her eyes and smiles like this is a sensory experience that she was more than willing to embrace.

She puts the glass down.

Is she a student. Puts a hand up and shakes her head, "not right now. My bachelors is in applied performance- dance and urban planning."

River shakes her head again, takes a second to just observe Kiara and take in that Kiara is a lovely woman with lovely fashion sense. Takes in the people around her and shrugs. It's a quiet bit of pleasure on her face. Quiet and small and pleased to be in the middle of it all. The little sunshine creature, inhaling the people and waiting for the movement. Hesitates, because some part of her feels as though there should be the wind on her senses and there is nothing there. There is movement, but not the kind she hoped for (not the movement she dreaded, buried shallow.)

Ian"I will never understand what it is you have against coffee." Emma sets her hip against the shop door and pushes it open, fixing Ian with a level gaze that suggests she has judged him and found something wanting. Her hair is loose tonight, long and softly layered, and she's wearing a pair of white shorts and calf-high brown leather boots with a dark burgundy sweater. Inside, the shop is warm and lit with this incandescent glow. It radiates out into the fall evening as Ian follows his companion inside.

"Coffee tries to hard. Tea has more nuance." Ian glances toward the bar, contemplating. He's wearing jeans and a white v-neck t-shirt and a fitted leather jacket with zippers on the sleeves and a high collar. For a moment his eyes stray toward to the textile art display, but when a familiar note of resonance catches his attention, he glances toward the table where Kiara and River are seated.

"Oh, is that what we're calling boring these days." Emma bumps him with her hip as she strides up to counter, and Ian gives the back of her head a little eye-roll before he abandons her. (See, they do this. She'll find him when she's ready.) He approaches the table with this little half-secretive flicker of a smile - just turned up at one side of his mouth. When he arrives he sets his hands on the table, looks between River and Kiara, smiles a little wider (a little more open, warm, flirtatious) and says "Mind if I join you?"

KiaraIt's a layered thing, of course. With the brunette but honestly - it's the same with each of them. The Verbena's appeal wrapped up in that energy she carries with her, in the way she paints her eyes and mouth these arresting, bold colors.

The manner her hair seems almost to possess a will of its own, some thick, wavy halo with a definite inclination toward sliding and curling around the female's shoulders and neck. It's a layered thing - Kiara feels (and if you look for it, appears) like the earth witch she is. With those bright, electric smiles and those long lashed gazes she settles on you at any given moment.

River feels like the tickle of sunshine playing over your skin and together like they are - workers of the cycle both, in their ways - they feel like interlocking pieces; cogs in the wheel. Fostering and encouraging life.

She knows what River is, now. There are questions on the tip of her tongue, curiosity. A thousand unspokens, but she settles for: "Is that why you came to Denver? For a job?" There's always more to it, of course. Other reasons, less - mundane ones. There's a hint of that too, in the brunette's voice before her eyes travel over River's shoulder to the door.

Just this tiny catch at the edge of Kiara's mouth before they tick back. "I know another person who you might be interested to meet, actually."

That primal energy grows bolder, stalks the edges of that bright, rejuvenating bubble their table has formed. Sets a pair of hands on the table and the Verbena doesn't look at Ian for a little, sliding moment but she addresses his presence with a flash of teeth. "He's a dancer, too. Ian." There's a play of something familiar; warm and intimate in dark eyes.

The curve of her mouth. "Meet River."

Mind if I join you?

A chair squeaks; Kiara's foot nudges it out with casual, wordless aplomb as she picks her coffee back up and takes a measured sip.

RiverShe offers a sad, but apologetic smile. Something that meets her eyes every-so-quietly as mournful. Strange, really, to think the Chakravanti as mournful creatures, those so well acquainted with death, but there she is. A little smile, a little apology in that smile. Her hands stay on her glass. "There were some changes in San Diego and it was best that Farrah and I had a change of scenery."

Nuanced, you see, is the word for that. She exhales harshly, then looks at Kiara, "I didn't mean to bring the mood down."

But that energy changes and Kiara flashes her teeth, content to leave the rest of the problems aside, brush them under the rug or wrap them up in a tarp and bury them in some desert. She seems to know this man, and River smiles. Stands up because you stand when new people arrive at the table. Offers a hand.

"It's nice to meet you," and offers her hand to whomever else may be with him, because she is polite. She sounds a little like some telanovella actress.

IanRiver offers him her hand and he takes it with a relaxed gesture. Casual but... there's a curious spark in his dark eyes when he looks at her. "And you."

He does this thing with the chair: picks it up and flips it around so he can sit leaning with his arms folded. The fabric of his jeans hug the muscles in his legs in a way that seems to reaffirm Kiara's statement. He does, in fact, have the physique of a dancer. A ballet dancer, more specifically. For that matter, so does Emma. Kiara is surrounded by dancers. Some people might find that intimidating. Kiara, though, is not some people.

Ian rests forward against the back of the chair and gives Kiara a lingering, quiet look. Something about it feels a little intimate. "What style do you do?" This is for River, but it takes Ian a half-second to turn his head and realign his attention. When he does, he lifts his eyes in an interested expression. It's been awhile since he met another dancer who was Awake.

Emma, of course, is not. She doesn't resonate the way the others at the table do. But she has her own kind of presence. When she gets her drink, she eyes Ian across the room and gives this little huff of dry amusement. Almost as if to say: typical. She takes her time joining them though, spends a moment glancing at something on her phone before she walks over and pulls up another chair from a neighboring table. She doesn't quite sit with them so much as near them, leaning back with one leg crossed over the other and a mug of coffee in her hands.

"I remember you," she offers to Kiara, a little smile of wry recognition touching her elegant features. "You had that lovely ruby necklace."

"Emma, this is River and Kiara. Everyone, Emma." Ian gestures between the three as he makes introductions.

KiaraThere were some changes in San Diego and it was best that Farrah and I had a change of scenery.

Something about that catches the brunette's attention. Arrests it, you might even say. She's swallowing a mouthful of coffee and Ian is rearranging his chair in this deft, complicated little maneuver that she doesn't react to so intently that she must be accustomed, in some regard, to it being a commonplace method of Ian settling down.

There's a certain betrayed familiarity between these two, the shared glances, the way the Verbena for her part, doesn't move over to give herself space from this newcomer who feels like some elegant predator in the wild, all that supple, fluid strength. "I understand how that goes. New York." Kiara's eyes are compassionate; there's a warmth there, an offering accompanied with a give of her red mouth.

"That's - for me," a wrist motions at herself; the collection of bracelets she wears slide together in a delicate harmony. "It was - I had to leave. With my - a friend." River stands when Ian and Emma arrive and Kiara - doesn't, but then there's something deliberate to that, too. She's at her ease with these newcomers; tilts her face and meets Ian's lingering look with something contained and sweet, at the edges.

Her hand brushes his arm; she leaves it there, just shy of it.

Emma remembers her (or her necklace, more directly) and Kiara's expression shifts to one of pleased surprise. "Oh, yeah. Yeah. That's - it was a gift, actually. I don't get many chances to wear it but the evening seemed like it called for its debut."

A beat, she considers Emma. "It was an amazing show. I'd never seen anything quite like it."



RiverShe does not give too much thought between the looks and familiarity that Ian and Kiara share. Does not think about their proximity or anything of the sort because she does not know them. In truth, River doesn't know much about anyone in this story, in this town, in this giant play of theirs. She is merely someone in the background, someone with a few lines who comes in and delivers them only to exit on stage left. No one thinks much of the man who walks into the carnage of Hamlet, who says the sight is dismal. The Ambassador.

No, they think of Fortenbras. No, they think of Hamlet. They think of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern and how they had died because of that funny little play where someone made them into real, breathing men. No one thought of the Ambassador. River was that ambassador, though, so devoted to her part. Studied her lines and said them with pride, took in the players on the stage and was pleased to be graced with their presence because the curtains may go up and down as they please but she was there. She was on the stage with them. She was welcome.

She does not think of intimacy, her appeal is that she is unavailable and soon enough she is out of a situation where she can leverage this. Kiara says that they have something in common, the main player to the Ambassador. She has this sort of problem, that she had to leave- fled her lands away from her play and found herself, less Hamlet and perhaps more Falstaff. Alas, her life is no comedy. Though they have funny parts.

But, perhaps she is Falstaff; Kiara seems to be good-natured. Seems to be of good-humor, perhaps a pure sensualist. She does not know her well enough to perform a character study but she smiles like she understands, smiles at Kiara like she cares about her stilted words and the things that cause them. Does not speak to them, though. Not in mixed company, not in front of others because those stories are not those River herself wishes to share.

The Ambassador has his own story, you see. Not one Shakespeare penned but one by the actor, one that spoke only to the performer, unique every time.

Ian asks what she performs, what kind of dance she does and she straightens up, brightens.

"Modern jazz," she replies with a happy smile. Her muscle structure is different, but expectedly so she's not terribly endowed in the cleavage department. Enough to make a shirt interesting, but not enough to cause back problems. Which, of course, caused a few problems in her current line of work, but we certainly digress. "Mostly modern jazz. I will choreograph hiphop routines if someone asks nicely."

Nicely, she says. Nicely, because if someone does not ask nicely River will not choreograph them anything and that is that and you can go take your dancing business elsewhere. Harumph.

IanIt's impossible not to be aware of how close Kiara's hand is. The way she brushes his arm. Emma notices it too, see. Because she knows Ian, and she's an observant creature (it takes an observant person to be able to really know him.) There's a moment where her eyes linger on the two of them before shifting to take in Kiara. When she looks at Ian again, there is this subtle glimmer in her eyes, but she lets it go. Kiara compliments them on the show and Emma smiles against the lip of her coffee mug. She takes a careful sip before replying.

"Thank you. I hope you come to the next one."

River, as it happens, is a jazz dancer. Ian offers her what feels like a sympathetic smile when she says it. "That takes dedication." Jazz is hard to get jobs with, these days (not that ballet is easy - or any form of dance for that matter.) Ian doesn't explicitly mention that, but it is perhaps implied. "Emma and I are in a contemporary ballet group."

Emma offers a sound of agreement at that. "We're having auditions next Spring if you feel like switching genres." A beat and she asks, "Do you have any shows coming up? I try to see as much of the competition as I can." Her smile there curls up into a teasing, wryly flirtatious thing.

KiaraHer life is no comedy but there must be traces woven in there somewhere.

A respite, however brief, from the enduring tragedy that seems wound around the Verbena (around all of them, in truth) like serpents that devoured themselves only to begin anew. There's certainly moments - moments where they can simply be - no more or less than anyone else around them, milling at the edges of the cafe, admiring the artwork on the walls and discussing colors and contextual themes and the way black and white, light and shadow have been inverted just so - but there is, like a drop of ink in water.

A stain that spreads and colors it.

They are not constrained (or fortunate enough) to be the players of parts they can shuck off; not for good.

Still (of course), discussion can (and does) turn to jazz and the pagan contents herself like a lounging cat at a chaise with settling and listening to it, her fingers curled into her cup and her face attuned to the cadence of the conversation; the rise and fall of voices.

("I suppose that depends if I'm invited," she does offer to Emma at one point, with a tiny gleam of humor, her eyes drifting to Ian's face and then back. "But I'd love to.")

There's a dish broken at some point and the shatter of the china seems to unweave Kiara's focus; it slips back; snaps back and she straightens her spine a little against her chair; the constrains of a frown pinching at the edge of her lips. Her fingers curling ever so slightly firmer around the cup in her hand. It's just dregs now.

She picks it up as she scoots her chair back.

"While you compare notes, I'm going to get another drink." There's a subtle curl of wry humor to the way she adds: "Since I'm the only one who can't claim ungodly measures of flexibility."

RiverIan knows, and likely Emma knows, dance jobs are hard to come by. Especially for women (or anyone, really)- there's tons of people who have been doing this since they could walk and only a finite number of spots. Even being as trim as she is, there was a chance someone could tell River she was too heavy or didn't have the right physique or that she wasn't tall enough (River Vasquez was never going to be a Rockette).

They're in a contemporary ballet group and her face lights up as though she is delighted, because she is delighted. Takes her hands away from her cup to lace them together in front of her. River's voice is animated, and she wears her delight rather openly at that. Sunshine, persistent rays of springtime that poke through. It shines in her countenance.

"I could be coaxed into conquering my fear of pointe," she tells Emma. props her tongue briefly against one of her canines while she thinks about whether or not she has and shows. River shakes her head, "right now, the competition mostly does yoga in the park and applies feverishly for jobs. I got to town... last week? This week?"

She wobbles her hands back and forth, makes a little nyehhhhh noise, as though this would make the time frame make sense.  Kiara does make her laugh, though, "then come do yoga with me! I promise, even if you have a desk job I can do it at lunch."

IanThat crash makes Ian glance up in the direction of the noise. The response is almost animalistic - the way his attention snaps instantly to alertness. But it's just a broken dish, and the moment passes quickly enough. Kiara's reaction isn't much different, and Ian's hand goes out to tough hers briefly, settling on her wrist before she gets to her feet. She makes a comment about flexibility and he glances up at her.

"You're plenty flexible." To his credit, he lets the innuendo fall subtly - by insinuation more than tone. His eyes follow her as she moves, feeling the pulse of her resonance drift away, and perhaps he watches longer than he strictly needs to. But only a little.

Then his focus is back on River. "Ah, you really are new. You know if you like I could probably introduce you to some people. I know a lot of the choreographers in Denver. Don't know who's auditioning right now but... connections never hurt."

KiaraYou're plenty flexible.

Her fingers slide across the edge of his jacket in response; all those zips and the give of the fabric; she tugs gently at one of them; the metal teeth giving a few tiny inches. "You're plenty biased." If she's aware that Ian's friend is likely watching this interplay, that River might be too, in the unconcerned manner strangers did one another - she doesn't give any impression of it.

Her fingers brush over the bare skin at the back of his neck, but River is laughing and that and the way it seems to magnify that wonderful, warming sense of her, all that bright, infectious delight. Kiara's eyebrows draw together and she gives a rather impish, nose wrinkled, dimple in cheek face at the prospect of herself doing Yoga.

"There's an image. I do run, though. In Washington Park a few times a week. My schedule is," she laughs, has to, really, because: "Flexible like that. I work out of my apartment." She drifts off, then. When she returns its with a fresh cup and saucer; steam dancing from the surface.

She doesn't state what exactly it is she does, but there's an ease as she re-settles herself; crosses her legs and insinuates herself back into the conversation, twisting the handle on her cup around in a clockwise motion until she's satisfied with its angle and then collects it up; sipping and leaving a red imprint at the rim.

"You know I have a regular who comes in for realignment. She's a dancer at a local community theatre." A little smile, her dark eyes tick up to River's. "I could ask her if she knows of anything going."

RiverHer cheeks are pink for a different reason. People are offering to introduce her to people, people are opening up and being nice and she- new girl with her obvious new girl aura- does not seem to know what to do aside from take in the woman of the earth and the man who was at once feral and elegant. Kiara is intriguing, Ian seems nice, Emma is... Emma is worthy of watching and offering coffee to and pouring over her finer details.

"Thank you," she says it like she means it. SOmething she learned from her mentor- say things that you mean.

Something makes a little chirpy noise on her phone. It is most assuredly a chirp and the young woman with the gigantic purse dives into her myster Mary Poppins purse and retrieves a cell phone. It's making little chirps and tweets and River, with her mouth curved up to the side, doesn't quite seem know how to make it stop so she pushes the home button two or three times before it finally shuts up.

She sighs, looks relieved. Dives back into the purse and retrieves a piece of paper and a pen. Scribbles her phone number- her handwriting is like the kind of cursive Victorian women wrote love letters in. Meant to be beautiful, and so it was made so by will and intention.

"I would love that," she looks at her phone again, "but I have to get to a job interview? Maybe we can meet up again? I'm leaving you all my number, just... text with your name? So I know who you are?"

Because, clearly, River was not very good with technology.

She is getting her things together, getting ready to leave before she gives a small wave, takes her chai latte with her because she's drinking it quickly, hoping it's gone tepid. Interview should be quick and then she can make the show with Dan, right? Black Sheep.

IanYou're plenty biased.

He does let slip a smile, at that, though he manages to keep any further thoughts on the matter to himself. Emma, meanwhile, takes in the way Kiara's fingers slide over the back of Ian's neck. Takes in the way they look at each other. In some respects, it isn't anything she hasn't seen before. But if it were only those things she noticed, her attention would not linger the way it does.

Still, she's interested in River. River who is new and pretty and something of a puzzle. (Emma likes puzzles, see. It's why she's friends with Ian.) So her attention comes back to the other dancer and hovers there while she sips her coffee. She's about to make an offer of her own (because why should Ian have all of the fun?) when River gets a call. There's some scrambling, and when River writes her number down, Emma is first to pick up the paper, offering River a lovely, lingering smile. "We'll do that."

Ian glances at Emma and smirks, but doesn't say anything. "Have a good night," he offers to River. When she's gone, he takes the number from Emma and enters it into his phone.

Kiara"That I think I can manage." Kiara offers with that same, engaging hook of a smile she's had on offer most of the night. "Maybe we can have dinner. You can bring Farrah." River's gathering her things, then and getting ready to leave and Emma is flirting by way of a farewell and there's this particular way Kiara smiles down into her coffee cup; swirling the dark contents that reads she's finding that privately entertaining.

She likely understands, too. In another time, in another place - well, River feels like sun-drenched comfort.

The Verbena folds the slip of paper into her pocket when the others are done with it and turns her focus to watch the other woman depart; there's a sense that in the aftermath, in the way her expression lingers somewhat in the directions the evening has unspooled around them, she'd offer something a little more personal, a private observation to the man beside her, but - "She seems sweet, doesn't she?" - it's idle, instead.

A casual observation with some degree of awareness articulated beneath it. For the fact there were newcomers, despite everything. She lets out a quiet breath, a quick exhale and her face (and body) twists toward Ian and, by extension, Emma.

"Dan invited everyone out to see a band later," her fingers find the edge of her cup and trace along the edge. "Apparently Sera is overseas," in lieu of explaining why it was just Dan and not Sera-and-Dan, as so often seemed to be the case. "It could be fun."

A beat, Kiara's eyes travel over Ian's face, tick to Emma. She allows a touch of that humor to surface again. "River might be there."

River"I'll ask her," she tells Kiara, gives a little wave and, with that, she dashes off with herself.

IanShe seems sweet, doesn't she?

Ian gives the matter a moment of consideration. There's a light tip of his head. A thoughtful expression. He can't say what he wants to say around Emma, so instead he says, "I'll reserve judgment, but she seems nice enough."

"Ian likes complicated women," Emma offers, and there's a lick of veiled amusement in her tone. Perhaps a little insinuating. Ian glances at her and raises an eyebrow, to which she just smiles. "And we actually have to be at a friend's birthday party shortly. Unless he's planning on ditching me, which... I would not put past him."

"When was the last time I did that?"

"Six months ago, when you made me catch a cab home from that gallery because a cute boy wanted a ride."

"Okay, I remember that, and for the record you told me it was fine."

Emma gives this mock offended exhale, but it doesn't linger long. Ian takes the moment to look back at Kiara. "To be honest, I'm not sure he'll want me there." Dan is not Sera, of course, and Ian knows that. It's possible he has his own opinions (or none at all) about Ian's character, but he's also one of Sera's best friends. And birthday parties aren't the sort of obligation one can skip out on without it looking at least a little bit dickish. "And I really shouldn't miss this. Shannon would probably be kind of annoyed."

He stands up slowly, giving Emma time to finish her coffee. When he leans into Kiara's space he whispers, "I'll see you soon though." There's a shadow of regret in his voice. For a moment he looks as though he'll leave it there, but then he closes the gap to kiss her. If Kiara allows it, he'll linger there, cupping her face with his hands.

Emma politely looks down into her coffee cup and doesn't say anything.

KiaraIan likes complicated women.

There's a certain way Kiara reacts to that, it's subtle, at best. Just this edge to her smile, the way it curves into something a little less openly amused; a little self aware, perhaps. Her chin lowers and she's smiling again into her coffee cup.

"Does he now."

Quiet, contained. Her eyebrows betraying her as they rise and she can't resist shooting him a look to weigh the exchange; to observe the camaraderie that evidently exists between the two dancers. To be honest, he starts and Kiara's eyes remain on his face as he offers the reasoning why he shouldn't go, why it would be an unwelcome intrusion.

There's a spill of disappointment in Kiara's eyes; tipped in around her mouth as it pulls into a little grimace of understanding; memory of his confession. "Yeah. You should go. I get it." And for all the ways she seems a little regretful for his impending absence in her evening - her tone is sincere. She understands (she always does). When he rises, her eyes follow that progress too and she tilts her face up and smiles into the catch of their mouths coming together.

He cups her face and she reaches up and briefly slides her fingers over the base of his neck, plays with the fine hairs at the nape and rubs at his lower lip as they part; her lipstick ever so slightly smeared. It adds to the trace of wildness about Kiara Woolfe as she whispers: "Yeah, you will. Get going."

Then, to Emma, as she pushes her cup away, spent. "Keep him in line for me. Don't let him ditch you."