it's a sliding scale. [elijah]

Elijah
Elijah is not calling Ian.

Elijah is not calling Ian for very specific reasons. he is not calling Ian because he knows damned good and well that he could have run and things would have been fine (they might not have been fine, he didn't know that, there was a guy having a psychotic break that Elijah was trying very desperately to keep up with in case he wandered off somewhere and got in some deep shit). He wasn't calling Ian because this was falling into the realm of things that he wasn't quite ready to talk to his friend about, because he doesn't want to lose his shit in front of Ian.

Elijah is not calling Kalen.

He could have called Kalen, but some part of him that is quiet and bitter or simply understanding knows that Kalen can't fix this. Kalen can't fix this and the likelihood of Kalen Holliday showing up when Elijah needed him was… well, that wasn't fair. When Elijah genuinely needed Kalen, he was there. In most instances, he just seemed to realize that, perhaps, he didn't need Kalen at that juncture. Now was not the time to work through his incredibly complicated relationship with his former mentor and he sure as fuck wasn't going to try and alert the Order just yet because- because-

Because he didn't want to lose his shit in front of people that he was trying to impress. Doesn't want to explain why he felt it necessary to use incredibly vulgar magic in front of a stranger who could have been a sleeper to render some fiend's creation to a pile of charred bits and mostly ashes into- fuck. He can't even think in a complete sentence. Can't call Sera because Sera will come and Sera will help and she's done enough, she'd bleed herself dry and he's seen her do that too recently to ask her to do it again. (He'd never ask her to, the more he thinks about it the more he realizes his feelings towards the Cultist are complicated in how uncomplicated they are. We digress.)

He calls Kiara, though. He calls Kiara because she has a level head. Because Kiara will tell him if something is bullshit, even if he bats his eyelashes and asks nicely. Kiara, in his mind, seems like the type who can handle a crisis.

So.

ring ring.

KiaraThere are other people Elijah could have called. Better people, perhaps. Those he was closer to, had been through darker times with, understood and connected with on a deeper level. But then, that was, in part, the hardest part about calling them after things get messy and there's aftermath to cope with. Sometimes the last people in the world we ever want to see us at our worst are the ones that matter the most to us.

There's a psychology to that, buried somewhere.

A very human response to mayhem and disorder. To disaster and near loss. So - he doesn't call Ian. Or Kalen. Or even Serafine. He calls a phone that begins to trill and vibrate across a low coffeetable in Denver's heart. The screen lights up with Elijah's name and a picture the Verbena has taken of him at some point in their interactions; a half blurred capture of the fair haired man's face; some smiling; frozen in perpetual motion capture - somehow perfectly imperfect and suited to the tumultuous Initiate seeking her tonight.

"Wait, wait, wait. Shit." There's footsteps, barefoot and hurried, Kiara appearing from her bedroom in a wash of steam and a dark green towel; moisture still clinging to her shoulders and neck. She scoops the phone up in one hand; water dripping down to puddle on polished floorboards as she answers in a rush, breathless with the anticipation to pick up the call.

"Hello? I'm here. Who is - " She pulls the phone back, checks the number and settles it into the cradle of her cheek and neck, freeing her hands to rub water off her arms.

"Elijah hey."

ElijahThere are a hand full of people who have pictures of Elijah that don't have the slightest bit of motion blur. He can't sit still. Can't help himself, can't stand the idea of being static, of being stuck and right now he's there. He's waiting and he's watching and someone, somewhere, must be proud of him because this is the most mature, most collected, most direct he's ever been. Elijah exhales, places his hand to his throat for a second and feels the slight sting of a scratch across where his pulse beat- as though the cut had just been an accident and the connection had been for some desperate clawing towards a human connection.

It used to be human. He didn't know that, but in the aftermath he suspected. In the moment where the phone rang and he waited his mind wandered and then-

Elijah, hey.

He laughs and it's a release valve, laughs because it's the only thing he can do and, for a second, he takes a tiny bit of pleasure in the chaos, thinks it adorable because he needs something to focus on that isn't terrible. "Hey," he says, sounds tense and sounds wound tight, "uh… how far are you from Wash park?"

KiaraHey, he says and there's a beat where Kiara pauses because the way Elijah laughs, like it's borne of both relief and anxiety transfers across the line. The brunette transfers the phone to one hand, tucking the edge of the towel beneath another layer and settling on the arm of her sofa. "About thirteen minutes, give or take."

A beat, Kiara can feel beads of water where they drip from her damp hair and trace along her spine; feels a chill that races in their wake and isn't entirely sure it's all to do with sitting half damp from a shower on her sofa.

"Why? What's wrong?"

There should be more panic in the pagan's voice; it shouldn't sound quite as steady as it does, especially for the way her pulse has picked up in response to Elijah's tone.

Elijah[manip+sub, diff 6+2 (because paradox isn't nice and lying to people on the phone is hard)

Dice: 7 d10 TN8 (2, 2, 2, 5, 5, 6, 8) ( success x 1 )

ElijahShe's steady. Her voice is steady and all he can think is that he needs to match that, that he doesn't need to lose his shit just yet because there is already a guy having a psychotic break (Kiara might be able to hear him in the background, someone else talking, pacing, saying something that even Elijah can't quite make out and he's standing there with the dude)

"Okay, so… uh- here goes?" he inhales slowly, reaches for his pocket to take out his watch and at least mark some kind of time with it even though it's only right twice a day. He needs to get it fixed, but he thinks it silly- doesn't need to wind the damn thing to know it can keep perfect time.

"So, it turns out my dealer is a dude who can break reality too, and we're just sitting here in the park and this-fucking- thing comes out of the bushes and it's dead now, but… like… the dude I was with is having a major breakdown here… he's… like… I think he has genuinely had a break from reality and he's hurt and if someone can make sure he's okay I can deal with the body, it's just…" he inhales, sharp. He sounds like he's okay, he sounds like he's holding it together. Like things are going to be okay.

"Things are going to be okay. He's okay, it's just a little messy."

Kiara[Use your skills, Kiara, can you tell he's trying to hold it together? Perception + Alertness, maybe +1 because they are on the phone and she's wearing a towel]

Dice: 6 d10 TN7 (3, 4, 5, 6, 9, 10) ( success x 2 )

KiaraShe doesn't interrupt him.

While he speaks, there's nothing but silence on Kiara's end of the phone and what he can't deduce as he tries so desperately to hold the slivers of his cool together is what the Verbena is thinking as he weaves the pieces of his evening so far together. He cannot see the contours of the brunette's face, half concealed by dark strands of hair where they've slid across her cheek. He cannot see the tension she betrays as she steadies herself on the arm of her sofa.

The way her eyes close for a moment and she listens, mouth a compressed line, brows drawn together.

Things are going to be okay, he finishes with and Kiara sits up a little straighter; draws in a quiet breath and combs her hair over a shoulder. Slides off her sofa and is half way to her bedroom, tossing the towel over the edge of her bed and reaching for her clothing; Elijah can hear the rustle of it as she pulls things on. "Okay, Elijah, I want you to listen, okay?"

There's a subtle thread of concern in the Verbena's voice, but she sounds focused. There's authority, if subdued, in Kiara's voice as she pulls a pair of sneakers on; winding the damp ends of her hair over a shoulder; without product; its going to dry into a thick tangle of waves and cast into greater affect the sense that others got, sometimes, of the young pagan being something slightly other; untamed and wild. "I'm going to come now. I'll drive over. We'll take care of that guy - whoever he is. Whatever attacked you - we can get rid of it. Bury it or destroy it, somehow."

There's the jingle of keys as Kiara starts grabbing items and pushing them into her purse. "Just breathe, okay." Gentler, that. A pause as she stops, settles the phone against her ear more firmly. "I'm on my way now."

ElijahHe doesn't know what to do.

He's not a doctor, all he knows about people having mental breakdowns is that Haldol is a hell of a drug and he can personally attest that being in certain types of institutions fucking sucks and he doesn't want to go back, doesn't want to get this poor guy sent there either because he just saw something fucked up. It tried to eat him. It literally opened its mouth and wrapped it around his shoulder and the wind shifted and he can smell what's left of the body and his stomach turns again.

"There's barely anything left. I-I think that if we just had some, like, heavy duty trash bags or something- I will pay to have your car cleaned, I fucking swear," like he's living at home and puked in his friend's car after drinking too much and not that they were going to be moving a body. It sounds like an apology.

She tells him to breathe, and he does, but not without being told to breathe. He's been holding his breath, not taking anything slow and deep and centering but she said that she was going to come, that they were going to take care of this, and his dealer friend- whose name Elijah can't even recall (had he ever known it?)

"I should call you for things that aren't shitty sometimes."

KiaraThere's a huff of something breathed against the receiver at that; a gust of breath as Kiara pulls a hoodie on over an old college shirt with frayed holes in one shoulder. There are damp patches where her hair rests and she's pulling her apartment door closed and jogging to the elevator as she responds and maybe on some level there's a deliberation to it.

He wasn't a doctor but Kiara was, in a certain manner of speaking. She healed people, put her hands and her energy into their bodies and mended what was frayed; weakened and destroyed. "Things are always shitty, kid. It's just a sliding scale of how badly." There's a muted ding as the doors slide open and the Verbena punches the button to the basement level. Static fluttering across the line as it begins to descend.

"My car will survive, I promise. Are you hurt? How badly is he other than ... " She doesn't say what's she thinking, Kiara, but Elijah can guess what she means: other than his mind. Other than the fact he's separated from reality. Neither one of them can be naive to the dangers that poses; an Awakened without a sense of what was real and imagined.

Elijah"It bit him, and he's bleeding but… It's nothing that I don't think stitches would fix? It's not bad enough that he's gonna bleed out. We both did some pretty vulgar shit so he might be reeling from that?" can't fix the kinds of things reality does, though. It's pretty insistent. Makes sure that it's point is known but in Samir's case perhaps reality was just a tad heavy handed.

Elijah has no fucking clue how lucky he is, or how if things had been a little different he'd be the one losing touch with reality right now. "He won't let me get near him."

Kiara"Okay. I can fix that." She says it with such calm assurance, the brunette, as she unlocks her car door with an electronic chirp and the muted thump of the door closing in her wake; she shifts the phone around under her chin as she deposits her bags on the seat across from her and turns the engine. Elijah can hear the distant rev of the Verbena's engine as it starts.

The sounds of Kiara in motion; there's a reassurance to it. She's on her way. He won't be dealing with - whatever had just happened, whatever was happening, to Samir, on his own for much longer. "Just - hang tight for a few more, okay? I've got to hang up now and drive but I'm on my way."

There's a click as she hangs up and suddenly, Elijah is plunged back into the moment. His tether through Kiara temporarily lost.

no promises. [ian]

Ian
The Buell Theatre is listed as one of the largest stages in the Denver area. The space is clean and modern, with comfortable seats and warm lighting. Kiara's ticket places her near the front and center of the main seating area, leaving her a good view of the performance. By the time the House lights begin to dim, many (though not all) of the seats in the theater are occupied. The audience rustles as they get comfortable, murmuring to each other in hushed whispers while they wait for the show to start. Some of them flip through the program - which contains short bios for each of the dancers and a brief piece about the themes of the show (as well as, of course, local advertisements.) Evolution marks the first time the company has been able to hire a back-up corps to support the principals. It's a bigger show than they're done before - in both size and scope. But so far the reviews have all been favorable.

Finally the house lights go off, and the audience goes silent as the curtain opens.

The dance is a modern piece, in both choreography and design. The lighting and the costumes are sleek and clean. Sharp lines and a cool tones. The choreography begins with characters who seem together but separate - dancing in synchronized styles without ever touching the others. The piece transitions into a more intimate space, leaving the six principle dancers to pair up. They come together for a time, then break apart. Change partners. There's a fickleness to the way they interact. For a time it looks as though it might become something else - something open and expansive - but instead the dancers break away to dance alone. Ian is the one left on stage at the end. His next piece begins as a solo. The stage closes in, trapping him in a clean white box. The choreography is tricky and elegant, but grows progressively more frustrated as he tries (and fails) to escape the limited space. He leaps onto the wall and slides down, turning the falls into part of the dance. Finally he escapes.

The show moves on. More dancers join the stage as they gradually begin to explore each other in more meaningful ways. The choreography moves from exploration to experiment to a kind of shared connection. It feels, over all, less romantic in nature than simply intimate. Like a representation of the human condition. People finding each other - opening up to each other - becoming pieces of a greater whole.

In the end, they are bathed in starlight and dancing in the heavens. (Ascended, perhaps, to some higher communal state.)

When the show finishes, the dancers take their final bow and the audience gives a standing ovation. Afterwards, they begin to slowly filter out. Before Kiara can leave, Ian sticks his head out of one of the doors leading backstage and gestures for her to follow him.

KiaraIt's not the first time she's seen Ian dance - but in many respects, it's the first time she's seen Ian.

There was an inherent vulnerability to art, of course. A requirement to strip away the barriers between yourself and the world and allow expression to take hold and be all that remained. To speak and interpret, at least as far as dance was concerned, through the language of the body. The Verbena is seated close enough to see detail that those seated further back may not; every nuance and twist and expression is laid out for her visual consumption and Kiara, practitioner of the human body and healer that she was, engaged and watched and devoured every last morsel of it.

Her eyes unerringly found Ian throughout the performance, drawn back to watch the way he interacted and intercepted the other dancers; the precision, even in their own space, was breathtaking. She smiles throughout much of it, though it dims, briefly, at the point in his solo where he flings himself at the wall; the Verbena's eyes dropping away as if conflicted at watching any further. They return, of course, a moment later, but there's a brightness to them that only passes once his escape is realized.

The brunette on her feet to applaud as the dancers take their bows.

-

She's standing beside her seat in the aftermath; audience members slowly departing in a murmur of discussion and appreciation for what they'd just seen, when Ian re-appears briefly to beckon her backstage. She's noticeable, the Verbena, if only for the fact she's wearing the boldest combination of colors (red pumps with a black evening dress Ian may well remember from another function months ago) and a shawl that combined both with streaks of white threaded throughout wrapped over her shoulders with a beaded black purse held in one hand with the program.

The cut of the dress leaves her arms and legs bare to the knee and shoulder respectively and her hair's been tamed for the evening, at least, partially. Bundled high with strands framing the sharp contours of Kiara's face; it accentuates the pagan's cheekbones, the long elegance of her neck. Pulls focus to the glittering length of silver around it adorned with a rather impressive ruby.

"Oh, will you sign my program?" It's a tease, her greeting. Her mouth curled in a smile, eyes glittering under the lights. "I'm a fan."

Then, leaning in, closer. Intimate.

Her hands on his sides. "Congratulations. I couldn't take my eyes off you up there."

Ian"Sorry, I don't have a pen on me." Ian's response is light and equally teasing as he holds the door open, allowing just enough room for Kiara to slip past before closing it behind her. He's still in his costume and stage makeup: shirtless with white leggings that sported an angular patch of thin mesh material across one section of his thighs. The makeup is fairly minimal apart from the dark liner and stardust glitter around his eyes. Up close, it looks more dramatic than it had on stage. Mostly, he looks tired and sweaty. His hair is damp from it in places, and his skin has a noticeable sheen. He smells like someone who just danced for two hours under hot lights.

The area backstage is laid out in a long hallway. Dancers come and go between the dressing rooms and the green room. Some of them are milling in the hallway, speaking to each other in excited tones about the show. Everyone seems to be in a celebratory mood. The performance went well - probably the best of the whole run. Ian and Kiara have a brief moment to take each other in. Kiara leans close; puts her hands on Ian's sides. When she congratulates him, the smile she gets is slow to materialize. An almost self-conscious flicker of gratitude that spreads into something brighter - gleaming (happy.)

"Thanks."

Then someone runs by and jumps onto Ian's back. A blond man in his early twenties with a radiantly impish smile. "Ian! We're done! You were awesome! Everyone was awesome! I am going to get so drunk tonight!"

Ian huffs a breath in surprise but mostly manages not to let the sudden onslaught unbalance him. "Go jump on your boyfriend, Benji." He says it like a chastisement, but there's a lingering smile that betrays his good spirits.

"Oh, I intend to." Benji hops down and gives Kiara a little wave, then dashes off to the green room. Ian exhales.

"Sorry. We get a little crazy after shows. Do you maybe want to take a walk? I can get changed, if you don't mind waiting a few minutes."

KiaraHe smells like someone very much alive in their skin at the moment and the Verbena's response to it is to slide her hands along his ribcage and lean in to press her lips to the edge of his jaw. It's a fleeting, private thing. A gesture that leaves little but the vaguest imprint of Kiara's lipstick before someone is on Ian's back and she's pulling away to allow room for the festivities.

There's a camaraderie between the men that she cannot fail to notice and, returning the blond man's wave, the brunette's expression reads it. Her lingering amusement, her interest in this side of the man she's gotten to know in glimpses and stolen beats of insight. "No, don't apologize. I think it's great." There's a flash of teeth as Kiara's eyes flit toward the green room where Benji had no doubt gone to leap on top of his unknown boyfriend and then shift back.

Her mouth quirks, dark eyes dropping momentarily to admire his costume, the expanse of bare skin visible, the sheen of sweat and glitter and the way the leggings wrapped to the contours of his thighs. She takes a step closer and lets out a tiny, thoughtful noise. "I might mind you changing a little, I think I like this look on you." A beat, her eyes return to his face, her chin lifts, that edge of slow, easy flirtation resurfacing; the ever-present gleam of challenge contained there.

"Yes," she lifts a hand to touch his chest, "I'd love to. As long as I'm not stealing you away from the party too long. You should celebrate with them." Her eyes return to the door, just for a moment.

"It's good to have people to do that with." There's the tiniest suggestion buried in Kiara's voice that speaks of a kind of unconcealed envy, a flicker of some emotion latching to it that shadows her expression for a moment before it's gone, smoothed over and sealed beneath a returning smile; her hand sliding away with a linger as her eyes follow it.

Tick back to his face. "I'll wait out here."

IanHe laughs when she teases him (flirts with him,) and this time there is little trace of self-consciousness. He is more at ease with these kinds of compliments. For a moment he rolls his lip between his teeth and smiles as though he's half-considering humoring her. But the costume (what little of it there is) needs to come off at some point. Better to do it now than later (before the makeup starts to run.) She puts a hand on his chest. It makes the skin below her palm grow warmer. There is a faint stain of lipstick on his jaw where she kissed him, but as yet he hasn't noticed. Later when he glances at it in the mirror, he'll run his thumb across it thoughtfully and smile.

She doesn't want to steal him away from the party, and there's a flicker of longing in the way she says it that makes Ian cant his head and look at her as though he's trying to read something in her voice; in her eyes.

"They'll be out all night. I can catch up."

Before he goes, he leans in close and presses his lips to hers - seemingly unconscious of the other people in their vicinity. He lets the kiss go for a long beat, lets himself remember the taste and feel of her. When he pulls back, his lips are a little red. "I remember that dress," he offers quietly. Then he pulls away and disappears into one of the dressing rooms.

Kiara has about seven minutes to wait before he returns. During that time a woman (Indian descent, dark skin and hair) appears from out of the other dressing room and shoots Kiara a curious look. She's already showered and changed into jeans and silk top. There's a moment where she looks like she might say something to her, until a man who looks like he could be her brother runs over and throws his arms around her. When she sees him, her face brightens, and the two of them make their way down the hall together.

When Ian reappears, he's wearing casual clothes (dark jeans, boots, white t-shirt.) His skin is clean, and his hair is still damp from the shower. He has a messenger bag slung over one shoulder.

"Hey, sorry. I tried to go fast. That fucking glitter never wants to come off." He starts to head in the direction of the green room, walking backwards as he watches Kiara. "I just need to check in quick, then we can go." When he reaches the doors, he pushes them open and glances over the room. A number of the dancers are already there, either showered or still in costume, laughing and talking excitedly. A number of family members seem to be present. Parents, siblings, spouses - even a couple of children. Ian pauses a moment as he regards them, and something a little quiet and reserved comes over his face.

Finally he glances toward the woman Kiara had seen in the hallway. "I'm going to take off, Emma. Text me about the bar. I'll meet you there."

Emma nods at him, glances at Kiara again and smiles as though he just answered a question. Across the room, a man with red hair shouts "Don't you dare ditch us on closing night, Ian!"

"Don't worry, Kane. You'll have plenty of time to dance with me later."

Before anyone else can accost them, Ian shuts the door and leads Kiara away.

KiaraShe stains his mouth and he offers remembrance of her dress before he goes and her smile is tipped low, chin dipped and her face still angled to receive his kiss as she offers back in a low murmur, "Oh, I know," an echo of what she'd said to them then, that night. Their first together. Kiara's eyes read it, the deliberation behind choosing them, it. He pulls away, then and she doesn't cling to him as he does.

Not that he would have expected it. Not from her.

When he's gone, Kiara doesn't linger by the door he'd vanished into, but wanders along the length of the backstage hall, there are voices coming from behind closed doors; raised and excited, the sound of celebration; of performers thrumming with post-show exhilaration; the most concentrated source of the chatter from the green room but the brunette doesn't venture any closer to it than to mill down toward its end and then return back; thumbing through texts on her phone, frowning down at something she reads on the tiny glowing screen.

When a door opens and another female emerges to shoot the Verbena a look; it's a near miss of a thing. Kiara's attention wholly and totally drawn in by something she's reading; the cast of her offered is a semi-profile; a slender, black-clad stranger leaning against the wall with her legs crossed at the ankle.

She does not belong.

The presence is not quite that of a dancer but yet - she doesn't offer the bright-eyed enthusiasm of a fan, either. When the closing of the door does draw the woman's eye to the other - there's a beat where they observe one another and the flicker of recognition is stagnated in the Verbena, though it does flare to life after a pause - there's a mutual hesitation that stretches too long, she's swept up by another and they make their way down the hall, wrapped up in one another.

Kiara turns to watch them go. She seems thoughtful, looking after them. The door clicks again and Ian re-appears, shower-damp and clean; his bag slung over his shoulder. She cuts him a smile, slips her phone back into that beaded purse and winds the strap of it over a shoulder; the shawl half-slipping to bear a swath of bare skin to the world. The green room is swarming with people and the pagan leans into the doorframe when Ian opens it; props herself there with a shoulder pressing into it and lets her eyes travel over the gathered.

Families. Loved ones. Gatherings of adulation and appreciation, Kiara's focus hovers for a beat on what must have been the parents of one of the dancers before it ticks to Emma. There's a smile, then. There hadn't been before, in the hallway. Just - veiled interest, it surfaces now and Kiara's smile grows at the shouting and as she's led away, she offers: "He's cute. I wouldn't ditch him if I were you," before Ian closes the door on their presence.

-

Outside, in the hallway, she takes him in for a beat and then: "How long have you known them?"

IanThere's a little huff of laughter when Kiara comments on Kane's attractiveness. "He's straight. And he has a girlfriend."

How long have you known them?

"Some longer than others." Ian leads them to a set of doors marked with an exit sign. When he pushes them, they empty out into another corridor. This one is quieter - empty apart from a row of stage lights lined up against one wall. "I used to dance with Emma and Shannon in the Colorado Ballet, before Shannon left to start this company. That was... almost two years ago. Benji we hired during our first audition last summer. And Kane and Melissa started last winter. The other dancers were only contracted for this show, but after rehearsing for a couple of months together, you kind of build up a dynamic."

Still, he doesn't seem reluctant to leave the celebrations behind (at least for the moment.) If anything, the relative quiet of the empty corridor seems to relax him a little. Maybe it's the kids. The families.

"I'm glad you came," he offers after a moment. "It was nice to see you, after. I don't get to perform for people I know that often."

KiaraThere's a low noise when he mentions Kane is straight and has a girlfriend. Faux disappointment coloring the brunette's voice as they exit out into a quieter hallway, Kiara's heels offering a hollow reverberation as they do. "How unfortunate." The tiny smile playing at the corners of her mouth, the way her arm brushes his as they walk as suggestive as her tone that she's not serious in the slightest. When Ian starts to speak of the company, though. Of the connections between himself and the people Kiara had glimpsed inside the greenroom her interest sharpens and becomes a considering, wholly focused thing.

"That happens," she notes after a pause. Her long lashed eyes flicking to read his expression and search his face. "You spend any kind of time with people in close quarters, you get to know them on a totally different level." She winds the ends of the shawl around her arms, folds them over her chest, there's that hint again, for a moment. A sort of low key awareness to Kiara's expression, her voice. A dulled edge of pain. "Sadie and I were like that. We'd barely spent a day apart since we met before Denver and then - " A little hitch of Kiara's mouth, sloping into an edged smile.

"It's hard to replace that." Quieter, then. "I miss her."

I don't get to perform for people I know that often. She looks about to say something, the brunette, it's there in the look she casts him, on the heels of her confession. There in the way her arms unfold and the fingers of one hand slide down and curl around a wrist, not quite halting his momentum but - anchoring there, just lightly.

"It can be scary to be that honest in front of people you know." She leans into his space a little. "I'm glad you let me see it."


Ian
[Per+Empathy - you seem sad]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 5, 8, 9, 9, 9) ( success x 4 )

KiaraShe does seem a little sad tonight, there are traces of it he's picked up since she met him at the stage door but Kiara being the sort of creature she was - didn't speak on it.

Didn't exactly hide it, either but - she wasn't planning on sharing whatever exactly it was on her mind. At least - not tonight. He can get a sense of it, though.

The size and shape and form it seems to take from the way she sounds when she mentions her former room mate. There's a closeness there, a kind of familial fondness and subsequent ache that only losing people close to you can bring. She's not dead but - Kiara is grieving, in a way. There is also a sense that beyond that, somewhere, buried in the things Kiara isn't really saying out loud - she's perhaps a little lonely with her sister gone. Something about what he says, too, about never really performing for people he knows makes her look at him in a way that says she knows he doesn't. That she invited herself into his world, there's an awareness of that, of the fact it's hard - for them both - to let their walls down.

Even for the right reasons.

IanIt can be scary to be that honest in front of people you know.

There's something a little reserved in the way Ian acknowledges Kiara's statement. A hint of something like a smile touches his lips, but the depth in his eyes seems weighted. His attention holds on her, casting down a moment to take in the touch of her fingers on his wrist. She can feel his pulse moving there, tapping out a faint rhythm beneath his skin.

He doesn't agree or disagree.

When his eyes come up, his attention lingers on her. He's quiet for a long moment as they walk the corridor. Finally he says, "They're friends. I wouldn't call them family. But I suppose they've grown on me." A beat, and his voice dips into a softer register. "What was she like? Sadie." They reach the next door, but he pauses there, leaning back against the wall. His hand turns in her grip, tugging her closer.

"Unless you'd rather not talk about her."

KiaraThey reach the next door but don't exit through it, instead he leans back against the wall, pulls her closer. She smiles a little at the gesture, this brief upturn of her lips, Kiara, as she allows herself to be drawn in. Close enough that her knees brush his, that he can smell the wash of her perfume, the soap on her skin.

Her fingertips skating over the delicate skin where his pulse beat beneath it.

"I don't mind." There's a hesitation, there. A certain shadow that falls across the brunette's features that drops her eyes from Ian's face; draws her brows together. "It's just - " The Verbena's mouth compresses into a line and there's a spark of something like agitation when she looks back at him, the twist to her mouth when she smiles is as much a schism of recognized pain as humor. " - she drives me a little crazy. I can feel her, out there. We're - " Kiara's breath cuts out of her sharply; she cants her eyes toward the wall, lets them tick back to Ian after a pause and they're very dark in the hallway.

Mutable and framed by lashes she's painted with dramatic flare for the occasion.

She turns his hand over, traces a fingernail over the lines on it; life; head, heart. " - people talk about connections. About feeling like people are their family, are so close to them but I have that literally with her." Kiara frowns, lets go of his hand and severs the contact; wraps her arms firmer around her body and steps to settle against the wall beside him, there's a sliver of space there. Their shoulders brushing as she turns her face toward him.

Strands of loose hair fall over her cheek and she looks, momentarily, far younger than she by rights should have; vulnerability cutting through her cosmopolitan veneer. Softening her expression; the solemnity in her voice. "The night I met Aisling. The Verbena - all of this - Sadie was there, too. She was hit by a car and I was right there when it happened. I followed them to the hospital. They didn't think she'd make it through the night, but - " a tiny smile surfaces, a hint of something tender. " - she did. That's what she's like. This constant, stubborn force of nature. She and I joined the Verbena together, Aisling told me that was how it was supposed to be. And then -" Kiara shifts her weight a little; rubs her hands over her arms.

"They had ways of making sure you were ready, the coven Aisling was in. The way they tested us, the way we woke up - " Kiara can't quite disguise the distaste in her voice, written in the fine twist to her features. "It was harsh." Her eyes search Ian's face, then. "Even when Sadie isn't here, I still feel her. Here." She puts a hand over her chest, lets her head settle back against the wall.

"I think I always will. But she was - moody, sometimes. Could brood for hours. Or - light up a room, depending." A tick of her eyes over him, a teasing curl returns to her mouth. "She'd have liked you, though. Once she figured you out."

IanThere are people outside the doors - distant enough that their voices are a dull murmur through the barrier. Perhaps that's why Ian decided to stop - conscious as always of the delicate nature of intimacy. Kiara explores the lines on his palm, and he allows it the way he often allows her explorations. Like a docile tiger going still beneath someone's hand. If there are claws in him, she has never seen them (not really.)

He lets his hand drop to his side when she falls back next to him. Listens quietly while she talks about her sister - a woman who does not share her blood but is closer to the meaning of that word than most biological siblings will ever be. His attention follows Kiara as she moves, taking in the shifting tone; the details in her face. The way her emotions rise to the surface - but do not quite break open.

He laughs softly when she says that Sadie would have liked him. "I'll have to take your word on that. Like is not a word that gets applied to me that often." He leans his head to one side, turning to place a lingering kiss to the arc of her cheekbone. "I think people have to find their own way sometimes. Even if it means someone gets hurt. Or left behind." His eyelashes lower, and he leans his head against hers a moment before pulling away. "I'm sorry she left you alone."

His posture shifts as he steps away from the wall and one hand goes out to push open the door at his side. "We should get some fresh air."

The doors lead out into an open courtyard, partially covered by an arched glass roof. Various theater-goers walk past or stand milling together in conversation. The space is lit up with warm, ambient light spilling off from a little cafe across the way. Their particular exit is tucked back a little from the stream of pedestrian traffic, affording some momentary privacy.

KiaraAs is often the case between them - physical affection is given freely. He presses his mouth to her cheekbone and Kiara makes a quiet, nearly aggrieved noise and turns to press her cheek against the contact for a moment; their faces close together until he pulls away and her eyes follow him, her mouth offering a vague impression of gratitude - for the understanding (for pulling away).

"I'm sorry she did, too," she murmurs after a beat almost as an afterthought, her eyes lowering.

-

The courtyard they step out into is impressive after the hallway; space falling away on either side; the café's warm glow enticing post-show traffic with the enticing aroma of freshly ground coffee and comfortable little tables, arranged against the windows for a vantage of the pedestrian traffic as it trickled past. Kiara's eyes travel to it, the few lingering theater-attendees conversing in soft tones, the crimson-gold light cast off by the light fixtures inside the café.

It strikes her that they might, the people here, the theater faithful, those who had attended the show Ian's company had put on tonight, recognize him. Look at him with a sort of recognition that would seem entirely alien to her - his being seen not as Ian as she knew him - but Ian as the rest of the world did. The disconnect seems to jar her for a moment, she looks across the distance and curls the edges of her shawl around her arms for the second time tonight.

Reaches to thread her arm through his and guide him into step beside her. There's almost something possessive to that, an unconscious owning. Of him. Of their space separate from the others present.

"Did you know there was another Node here once," she says after they've walked for a few moments, her heels clicking against the pavement, voice lower, pitched so it doesn't carry. "In Roxborough State Park," she looks across at him, measures his profile for a beat, her mouth dipping into the slightest of frowns. "Annie took me out there the other day. It was - " there's a hesitation, Kiara breathes out. " - I had no idea how bad it got here, once. It made me wonder, with what Alexander said about them being in the Department, too - " He can feel the slight tension in Kiara's frame growing.

"How close they probably are."

That scares me, she doesn't add.

IanThe atmosphere is different outside than it had been backstage - crossing from one territory (that of the dancers and the designers and the stagehands) into another (that of the general public.) Kiara becomes aware of that change almost immediately. Ian is aware of it too - knows that if he walks out into the courtyard and stops, his presence there will attract attention. It's why he turns away from the cafe instead, why he lets Kiara take his arm and claim him (even if only for a moment) as they walk. People recognize him as they pass. Some of their eyes linger. One or two look as though they might approach, but ultimately none do.

Ahead of them, the architecture of the arts center opens up to the city, its dark skyline illuminated by man-made light. A large stone abstract sculpture sits in front of the archway. Ian's eyes are drawn to it for a moment before Kiara begins to speak. When she does, he regards her quietly.

"I didn't know." His voice is pitched low, intended for her ears only.

There are, in fact, a great many things that Ian does not know about the Technocracy in Denver. A great many things that none of them know. The thought of them unnerves Kiara. Unnerves him too, if he's being honest.

"There were a lot of them in New York. I don't know if you ever encountered any, living there. I hope not. I never did, but I heard stories. Here... I don't know. I guess I always assumed they were around somewhere, but no one ever talks about it." He looks at Kiara's arm, latched firmly around his own. Looks at her eyes then; at the way she looks at him.

"Are you worried?"

KiaraIt could be nothing, the way she curls her fingers around his arm when he mentions the presence of the Technocracy in New York. It could be, but - the way that frown on Kiara's face deepens, the measure of unease about her increasing, it seems unlikely that it is. That she's not - worried. Her expression shifting as they walk and she ducks her face; chin falling and dark strands of that wild hair of hers unravel over her face; refusing to remain bound for long.

"They were around." She confirms in a small voice and then, a little stronger: "I heard stories. Some of the Cultists I used to club with had run ins. One of them never came back. I never got closer than the day I found Aisling, but - " She slides her arm out, her fingers trailing over his arm; down the slope of an elbow, to cup his wrist, turning him to face her.

There's that contraction of the brunette's brows again, a sudden constriction when she breathes in, releases it sharply. "They know about me. About Sadie. They knew there were more of us there that's why we left. If they really are here, if they're half as resourceful as I've heard - " Kiara drops her eyes to his chest; her fingers drop away from his hand and she turns at the sound of voices in the distance, echoing laughter that somehow translates into something eerie and mocking.

When she looks back, her expression seems, outwardly, a touch calmer. Her control sliding back, her mouth offering the slightest of smiles, though its a weaker attempt than usual. "In their hands, I'm worried I'd get people killed. I don't have the control yet to protect my thoughts from them. My memories. The idea that I could be a liability to everyone?" Her eyebrows lift, smile faltering.

"I hate that."


Ian

He ought to have made the connection earlier. Somehow he’d thought… Nephandi, Night Folk, maybe even a group of rival Tradition mages. There are things one tends to hear about the Technocratic Union, and one of those things is: they don’t leave loose ends. So when Kiara mentions Aisling now, the weight of her words hit Ian sharply. He doesn’t speak right away - his response caught somewhere between warring impulses – but he looks at Kiara with a sobered expression that quickly begins to fray around the edges. There are subtle hues of anxiety in the shape of his eyes.

He doesn’t look away, even though he probably should (anyone could be watching them right now.) In the distance, someone laughs.

Finally, Ian just nods. The way he does it, it doesn’t feel dismissive. There’s a purpose and a gravity to it. He heard her (the things she said, and the things she didn’t say.) Then he takes her hand and gestures toward the street, taking off at a brisk pace. For a moment he almost forgets she’s wearing heels (and that her legs are shorter than his,) but a few steps onto the sidewalk he glances back and slows his stride to match hers.

There’s a park a few blocks away (one of those green landscaped areas that tend to crop up in the middle of urban centers.) This is where Ian starts to take them. As they walk, his grip on her hand tightens subconsciously.

“I can help with that, if you need it.” He looks over, and there’s something searching in his eyes. “I don’t want you to be vulnerable.”

Kiara

It's funny, the way they inevitably seem drawn back to nature.

Even here, in the midst of the city with its blaze of lights and skyscrapers and noise - Ian leads Kiara toward an area far more verdant than others and she doesn't pull him up to question it; doesn't falter for the fact his strides far outmatch her own; she lets him set the pace in the aftermath of that confession. It hangs there between them like an omen; an ominous promise of retribution, at some unknown point, at some unspoken hour. They'll come for Kiara Woolfe. There was only so far you could go, after all, before you found the edge; before the question ceased to be run or walk and became instead - jump or surrender.

Became a matter of what you were prepared to do. To become.

There were some things about Kiara that seemed resolute. For all her talk of never looking back, for never living in the past, it didn't even seem worth questioning whether or not she'd allow herself to be taken by the Union without a fight (if at all). When he tightens his grip around her hand, when he says he can help, she cuts a look at him from under her lashes; a sudden, sharp thing. The way her focus is all there suddenly when she'd seemed anywhere but focused on the moment, pulled along beside him bodily but her attention directed inward; insulated and inverted by what she'd said, by the very fact of it. That as real as tonight was, Ian's dancing on the stage, his friends, the easy banter - beneath it there was another reality. Their reality, one wholly possessed of death and mayhem and the eternal dance on the knife's edge.

She averts her eyes when he searches her face, looks instead beyond him. Toward the park, the breeze rippling through the thin material of her shawl; bracketing the sleek lines of her dress against her legs. Curls her fingers around his hand and guides him along now; into the depths of it; the soft give of grass compressing beneath Kiara's heels; the way the shadows slide over them; over her as she twists to look at him. Her expression unreadable as it travels down to where their hands are linked and the edge of her mouth gives, then. Red lips offering a hint of something touched by emotion.

She steps closer to him, puts her hands on his face, sculpts the contours of it and kisses him. It's not exactly sweet, the way Kiara kisses. Not now, not tonight. There's too much urgency to it, too many unspoken things she's articulating through it: grief, uncertainty, gratitude.

She breathes against his mouth rather than break away: "Dance with me?"

IanThey are fragile creatures, in their way. Prone to mistakes and human frailty. A year ago, Ian would have reacted differently. He can look back now and remember all of the times he snapped and bristled at Kalen, at Elijah, because of threats both real and imagined. Maybe it's only luck that lets Kiara see a gentler side of him. (People do change, after all. In these small, incremental ways.)

That's part of it. But it isn't the only part.

Skyline Park is heavily manicured. A stone fountain occupies one end of it, and benches lie in neatly spaced intervals along the perimeter. Kiara pulls Ian up onto the grass. There are people walking by on the sidewalks. A man with a small dog is throwing a tennis ball at the other end of the lawn while a couple of kids make out nearby. It's late enough that the park isn't busy, but no place in downtown Denver is ever quiet. They can hear the cars rush past. Smell hints of various foods from nearby restaurants.

It isn't any more private than the theater had been. But it's green and open and the air feels less... claustrophobic.

There's something about the way Ian responds to Kiara's kiss that feels... inhibited. He doesn't pull away, and his lips move softly beneath her own, but his body is rigid and his breath is quiet and so much of his sensuality is dampened. Then Kiara breaths against him and says: Dance with me? And something breaks.

He puts his arms around her - pulls her close in an embrace that stops just sort of being crushing. And when he kisses her temple he says, "Okay."

But what he really means is: Don't go.

When he pulls back, he takes her hand and sets his other on her waist. There isn't any music for them to dance to. Only the sounds of the city. But he finds a shaky rhythm in their shared heartbeats.

KiaraIntimacy is a feat of perception, as readily as trust. You can be surrounded by people and still convey so much of it by touch, by look, by a refusal to acknowledge anything else beyond the person you want to be close to. They aren't alone here, the park is active with pedestrian traffic; they're glanced at where they stand on the grassy square, eyes tick over them when Ian pulls her close.

To the strangers passing through though, they are just another couple, ostensibly one dressed in slightly nicer clothing than most in the park but not so out of the ordinary that they draw more than the occasional lingering look. Skyline Park was pressed into the cosmopolitan surface of the city; a compacted, artificial deposit of lush green manicured lawn and flowers; planted into grey concrete slabs that bordered the buildings on every side; trees that seemed as much an afterthought as planned design to add to the aesthetic of it.

They are, however, the only ones who can feel the heartbeat of the place. Can feel the pulse of the very fabric that knit it together, underneath it all.

They aren't alone, but - the way Kiara holds his face for that measure while she kisses him; the frantic way she presses her mouth against his - they could be. The Verbena certainly doesn't pay their surroundings any mind when she asks him to dance with her. Doesn't offer the kids making out or the dog chasing a ball or the gurgle of recycled water in the fountain a thought or a glance. She does smile, though. Her eyes do lift to meet his when they find an unheard rhythm there and Kiara drapes both her arms around his neck and loosely cages him there against her.

Leans close and rests her cheek against his; fingers stroking the tiny hairs at the nape of his neck, there's something subtly soothing about it, as if she were unconsciously seeking to soothe a startled animal.

"My family used to have these stupid functions in New York. All these people gathering to laud one another. They'd dress up and drink french champagne and talk about changing the world." She's speaking softly, Kiara, her voice close to his ear. He can hear the apathy in it, the distaste even now for a world she'd come from (run away from). "They never actually intended to, of course. It was all posturing. My mother would force me to go for appearances sake."

She draws back a little, so she can search his eyes. "One night, when I was fourteen, I climbed out the window and ran away." The corner of Kiara's mouth lifts. "I spent the night at my friend's house. When I came home, my father just looked at me. Right through me. Like I was something that was broken, he'd have to pay to get fixed." Her smile fades a little. "That terrified me. That look." She slides a hand down to his; threads their fingers together.

"I've known since I was fourteen what I'm not." I know what I'll never become, she doesn't say. Heartless. An automaton.

IanIt's different, the way Ian dances now. It isn't like the way he moves on stage. This is subtle, contained, intimate. They're slow-dancing in the grass to music that isn't there, pressed close enough together that they hardly need to speak above a whisper. To the people watching them, it looks... romantic. The way they lean into each other; the way Kiara strokes the hair at the back of his neck (it's been trimmed recently, and feels buzzed-short and soft beneath the pads of her fingers.)

Kiara tells him a story about running away when she was fourteen, but what she really means to say is that she could never become what the Union wants to make her. It's another brief glimpse of her life. Who she is. Where she came from.

"I think I would have liked you when I was a kid." There's a bit of banked warmth in his voice. Maybe it's the story, or the way she's touching his neck. Maybe it's the dancing.

He can't bring himself to say: I won't let anything happen to you. Because the truth is, he can't promise that, and they both know it. No matter how strong he is; how imminently capable of lethality. So instead he says, "If anything ever happens... if you need anything. Tell me." His voice dips to a whisper, but the force of it somehow comes out stronger. More purposeful. "I would tear apart an army if I had to."

(To keep you safe.)

KiaraSafety isn't really something any of them can promise. Not with any sincerity, anyway. It's why Ian can't bring himself to say it and why Kiara can't articulate what she's really trying to say. Because it's impossible to be sure it won't happen. That the day won't come when they have to break their word. Run away. Let go of each other to spare lives for the greater good.

(If such a line even existed in this so called war they were caught in the endless loop of).

There's a want for it, though. The way she stops stroking his neck and lets her fingers splay there against his skin; skims her palm down and presses it against the slope of a shoulder; presses her fingers tighter into his hand and there's a quiet noise; a subtle agreement when he says he'd tear apart an army if he had to. That if anything ever happened - if she needed - "I know," - and then, because she needs to see his expression, because the way her mouth gives at this stirring, sweet-sad smile is a concession for the truth they both know but can't say, she pulls back and looks at him, lifts a hand to touch the edge of his jaw with her thumb.

"I will."

(Not would).

She kisses him again. Leans in with her thumb still there touching his face and presses her mouth to the corner of it. This fleeting, barely there brush of her lips that is somehow worse than anything she might have offered for the way it accepts what he's offering. Offers another taste of gratitude for it. She pulls back, Kiara, takes a step back and holds her hand out, head tilted.

"Come on, I think you promised your friend a dance. They'll think I've stolen you."

There's a defiance, to that. The way her eyes brighten with every word; the deliberate way she drags them back. To the park. The people. The distant thrum of the city traffic. Pulls them from the brink of all those almost-confessions and fierce whispered promises made to be broken.

The intimacy shattered but she keeps his hand, all the way back and doesn't relinquish it until the last moment.

(I'll keep you safe, too.)

offerings. [elijah, hdub ST]

Kiara
[Dex + Ath, just cuz we're exploring and stuff]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 3, 4, 5, 8) ( success x 1 )

KiaraThe early afternoon sunlight couldn't quite penetrate once they were inside the cave.

It smelled rich inside; pungent with the scent of wet air; earth; the lingering presence of wildlife that had or did use it as a refuge to the changing seasons. Kiara's torchlight cut across great, smooth, shaped rocks as they crunched over old, decaying weeds and overgrowth; it bracketed the easily missed entrance to the echoing, empty space.

"See," she breathes out, brushing aside damp strands of dark hair and leaning in to nudge her companion's shoulder with a brief, sharp little smile. "Told you there was one around here somewhere. According to what I read, these caves are ancient." Her torchlight cut a soft beam of light across dust speckled air; water dripped somewhere inside and a worn pathway had been etched between the boulders; the occasional attempt at graffiti faded against the red rocks. It had been a casual inclination, to go hiking, to search out the old, overgrown cave formations around Red Rocks.

Kiara's invitation extending only a 'feeling ambitious?' via text before she'd deigned to explain her reasoning for the drive; a pair of sunglasses perched on her head and that brilliant, engaging smile ever-present as her fingers drummed against the wheel; the city limits falling behind them as the wilderness reclaimed the roadside either side of her tiny red hatchback.

The Verbena's tennis shoes kicked up tiny whirls of dust as she started into the depths; calling back over a shoulder as she did, "I wonder how far down it goes?" Her voice echoing into the reaches as she held her torch a little higher and began a slow ascension over the moss-covered side of two large rocks; pressed close enough to make for careful supports to a knowledgeable climber.

"Beautiful."

The brunette's quiet declaration as she rested for a beat; tying a sweater around her waist.

silence.[E: don't all on your face- dex+athletics]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 9) ( success x 1 )

silence.Kiara was right, the caves were ancient. Are ancient.

There was that smell of air, that smell of something wet and clean and cool- caves weren't touched by the heat of the day or the frigid temperatures of winter. No, they were fairly predictable. Whatever lived there was accustomed to a certain lifestyle, something that was not dependent upon light. Something that was not dependent upon anything other than what crawled into one of the earth's great maws. Caves were special like that.

It was quiet outside. Some birds chirped, some crickets hummed and, occasionally, the wind deigned to rustle the leaves of a nearby tree.

Elijah liked hiking, all things said. He enjoyed being outside and in nature and actually breathing in the world around him. The response to the invitation had been quick enough, don't I always? Because he was young. Because he was starry-eyed. Because he was a number of things, and who was to say that a young man in his early twenties was anything other than ambitious? His footing wasn't steady, though the paths were worn. He had a sixth sense about him to find unsteady rocks or loose gravel. he was going to get dirty.

Attire was comfortable- tee shirt, shorts, backpack strapped firmly on and pocket watch tucked into the pocket on the side where his cell phone was intended to go. Where they were, he didn't need a phone. It was like not needing a road, but much more practical. int he modern age, who went anywhere without a cell phone? Kiara wondered how far down it went-

"Wanna find out?" the blond replied with a grin, eyes all bright and springtime green, amber in places where the rocks picked up the color.

The cave was not foreboding, not in a way that a cave was not normally for boding, a deep chasm into the belly of the earth, a place where the rocks could nestle around and be protective, be comforting. A place where the ground might drop out and one could plummet, fall, fall down deep until they hit some oubliette where one was not meant to return. Where one was to be food for some fungus or eyeless fish or some other wounded predator catching an easy break on a lost meal.

Kiara"I thought you'd never ask." She offered a hand out to Elijah, to support his weight and help the other Awakened clamber up beside her on the top-most point of the two enormous boulders.

The rocks tapered out slightly on the other side; the hue of them a darker, bolder red where the elements hadn't been able to re-shape or dull them; the sun couldn't fade the colors inside the depths of the earth and as Kiara set her torch between her teeth momentarily, to begin a careful step-skid down the opposing side of the rocks; the light wobbled across the rock-face; setting off a thousand tiny pinpricks of light; grains of sand that had been present there for who knew how long.

The Verbena seems capable enough out here, there's a brightness to her eyes mirrored in Elijah's; a certain glow to her skin, as if being in the vestiges of nature made Kiara Woolfe all the more so herself, her dark hair flowing loose and untethered over her shoulders where she'd neglected to tie it back. She folds it over a shoulder as she slides down and lands lightly at the base of the rocks; crouching momentarily to set a palm against the smooth surface of the rock.

There's a fine layer of damp; the residue of the earth. Her torchlight finding tiny bones at edge of a crevice; a natural fold in the descending face where beyond; the trickle of water suggests there's a spring winding through the formation. The bones partially eroded; some crushed as if between a predator's teeth. The brunette studies them for a beat; her breathing soft and steady.

"Looks like a hare. Or a fox."

She re-directs the focus of her light toward a yawning gap down further.

[Just a little Life 1, let's see what's out there, shall we? Coincidental, -1 Practiced]

Dice: 3 d10 TN3 (1, 9, 10) ( success x 2 )

Kiara[Maybe once more?]

Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (2, 3, 5) ( success x 1 )

silence.And it was, you see, a hare. What had once been a hare, some thing that was born to be lean and swift. Something with strong legs and a fast heart rate. Something that was born to run, with a sensitive back. Something that could kick and kill itself if it was in a panic. Rabbits could be crafty, resourceful, fast, but they are fragile creatures in their own rights.

Down further, there is life. Down further, into the mouth of the cave there are tiny winged heartbeats. There are larger predators, yes, but they are sleeping somewhere. No bears in this cave but… something. Something human, yes, but something larger. Something that did not seem like the average pattern one would feel in an area like this. A heartbeat and breath that comes out and there is no sound. Kiara only knows it because she feels a Presence.

KiaraThere's a pause there. A pause while Kiara's focus seems to pull itself inward and then - push outward. The sensation of her Working; of the flood of rejuvenating energy that washes over them, the pulse of it a steady timekeeper to the sensation. Her breathing growing quieter, less audible and then, she pushes herself upright.

"There's someone else here."

Not quite hushed, or uncertain but - curious. The Verbena's eyes seem to gleam with it as she starts toward the wider opening to the deeper recesses of the cave formation; past the tiny bones and the trickling water; Kiara steps over them easily and instead focuses her attention down further, into the shadowy depths where she can feel the size and shape of tiny wings; a dozen heartbeats and patterns and there - something else.

Something bigger.

The awareness of something other draws the pagan in.

"Is someone down there?" Human reflex, perhaps. To call out, to hear her voice echoing down into the cavernous darkness.

silence.Is someone down there? she asks.

There is a echo, or at least there should be. When Kiara calls out, all she hears is the sound of her voice hitting a wall. There should be an echo. There should be the sound of her voice bouncing off the walls of the cavern but instead there is nothing. Like she's talking to a wall. Like she's talking into curtains, because the sound just… stops. Disappears. Refracted in a way that it should only be bounced back in an unnatural environment.

---

Elijah takes a step forward, watches Kiara as she pushes herself upright. She says that there is someone here and his reaction is to stop, to slow, to calm himself and wait to see if something responds to Kiara's call but nothing does. No call back, no tweet, no chirp, nothing but the sounds of the area around them instead of what should be in front of them. His mouth presses into a fine line and he takes a second, steps away from his friend and picks up a rock. Something small and fit in the palm of his hands.

And, with a thoughtful expression, he pitches the rock into the cave. Waits to hear it bounce and ricochet around along the rocks.

Nothing.

"… oh, that's not normal."

KiaraShe'd told him when they first set foot inside the cave. That it was ancient, that nature had been at its liberty, at least here to do as it wished. She calls out and the echo is snapped off; her voice loud and close and - abruptly, stiflingly - close.

The Verbena lets out a breath and then, with a brief, contained little look at her companion when he throws a small rock as if to test the boundaries of the cave's recesses, the edge of a smile there at the corner of her mouth. The pagan's focus bleeds beyond, though. Kiara's fingers curling around her torch as if it were the conduit.

She whispers something, lifts her chin and looks. Not simply into the darkness but - through it. Into it. Casting her awareness across the thin membrane that separated their side from the beyond.

[Spirit Sight, how's it looking on the other side? Coincidental, base diff 4, maybe extending? -1 practiced rote]

Dice: 3 d10 TN3 (4, 8, 9) ( success x 3 )

silence.She presses forward to the world between the worlds and there is nothing. There are spirits, yes. There are little creatures that personify light and the stone and the cave itself which is just as ancient as she had heard. It is strong and it is comfortable in what it is, and there are little bugs and the grass and leaves rustle but things just stop at the mouth of the cave.

At the mouth there is a salt line. Something that glows with brightness. There is a line of ash behind that. There are crystals and light and glowing blue goodness behind the line, there were signs on the walls, pictures and spirals and constellations that spoke, that whispered bring to us your offerings.

There was a path, marked in light down the mouth of the cave. Something curious housed within an ancient gathering space.

Kiara"Oh."

It's a quiet exclamation from the brunette after a moment, the faintest of caught breaths before she releases it, relinquishes her grip around the torch and turns to look across at Elijah, the edge of her mouth curving into a stronger smile. "There's a barrier at the mouth of the cave. Something to keep things out." A beat, Kiara's expression turns thoughtful.

"Or something in."

She starts toward it, the Verbena. Following the lighted path closer to the salted line; the glow of it pulling her nearer like a beacon. Stops with her toes just before it and turns, looking back at Elijah. "Can you see it?" She drops to a crouch, the Dreamweaver. Holds a hand out just so and lets it hover there, above the threshold, looking down at the coruscating blue-white glow.

"I think - we need to give something." Kiara's eyes still on the point below her, she sets the flashlight down and shrugs off her backpack. "Like an offering or a gesture of good faith. I don't have any of my things with me, but - " She searches around on the ground and recovers a small stone (was it the one Elijah had thrown, earlier?) and brings the sharpest edge of it against her palm.

"This might be enough."

silence.[E: I dunno, can I see it?. Spirit Sight! Diff 4 +3 (because foci are for wimps), -1 (because I do this all the time)]

Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (5, 10) ( success x 2 ) [WP]

silence.She asks if he can see it. and he approaches- perhaps more cavalier than he needs to be. He inhales slow and deep and it is will alone that makes this possible. Will alone that keeps his focus where it is and he inhales slow and deep and stops right where he needs to. Stops when the world loses definition, changes channels, becomes more or what it was meant to be instead of just a world outside of metaphor. A thing where the world has strict definition.

bring us your offering, it says.
"I wish I'd known what was in there," he replies. Elijah starts to take his backpack off and leaves it at the door.

Because this is a doorway, now. He digs through his bag to find his pocket knife. He'd seen Ian carrying one and he had since concluded that this was a worthwhile tool. His eyes scanned the area for another rock. It wasn't hard to find rocks, but finding something that he could carve Intent into. He plopped himself down, focused on whatever was in front of him. Sigils and signs and beauties that were most assuredly not in a human in origin.

"I might have something to ante up along with," he told Kiara, "it's like a shrine here... Bring us your offerings. Royal we or more than one being there?"


KiaraThe edge of the stone is sharp enough to puncture her skin with deliberate pressure applied and as Elijah's magic twines with hers; as she feels the tumultuous purpose and direction of it infuse the air, Kiara lets blood run down the edge of her hand, holds it out over that line of salt and lets the droplets drip down onto it. It's the oldest and most potent sort of summoning, for the earth witch.

That of her blood, the very essence of her lifeforce, freely given back to the earth, fed to appease whatever spirits might exist here, might keep their secrets housed beyond the easy reach of most mortals.

More than one being there?

"I'm not sure," Kiara breathes after a moment, her eyes on the slow progress of blood as it hits the earth. She looks beyond the doorway; at the glowing patterns etched to the walls. "Let's find out." She takes a sharp breath in, the brunette. Cradles her hand and pushes at the boundaries between their worlds; thrusting her perceptions; her presence over and through the Gauntlet. Like a drop of ink into water; a ricochet and sudden, alien presence.

We bring you offerings.

[Call Spirit, maybe? Base Diff 5, -1 Practiced]

Dice: 3 d10 TN4 (1, 8, 9) ( success x 2 )

Kiara[Maybe one more, I think.]

Dice: 3 d10 TN5 (5, 8, 9) ( success x 3 )

silenceThis was the first indication of sound, the world opens, cracks, and the barrier of silence is shredded and suddenly there are all the ambient noises of the area. The babbling of the water inside of the cave, the echo hat comes from the subtle drip of water and the rustle of leaves. The quiet, ethereal hum that resonates from the glowing etchings on the walls.

Birds, bugs, bees- anything, everything that was dampened suddenly came to life in a subtle roar before dying back down.

What came next was the sound of breathing. The rumble of footsteps of some creature too large to truly fathom. Something that ached in the roots of trees and came from the depths of the cave. It was like something as old as the earth awakened, crawled forth from the depths of the cave but stopped.There is a pause, a shudder in the air and the feeling of frigid breath yawning from the mouth.

All that is visible from the depths of the cave are eyes. Something the size of dinner plates, then saucers, then no larger than a cat. The darkness is nearly intangible, the shadows around them seem more solid. They have an audience; the shadows chitter (shadows are creatures with poor intentions, neutral at best, their aid comes with a pride. This creature is no shadow.) What walks out of the cave is tall and willow thin with long limbs and skin like marble flecked with mica. Its eyes are milkglass and form neither masculine nor feminine. Merely delicate lines wrapped in unforgiving stone. Its hair is long a gossamer strands of silver and pearl.

"The keeper of secrets welcomes you," the figure says, smooth as any diplomat, "and wishes to know your intention upon bringing its visage so close to the light."

Kiara WoolfeThe creature that walks out of the cave is not human. It has attributes that suggest it could have been, perhaps, once, something close to it but other than the vaguely humanoid limbs and the hair that falls around it in silvery strands - it is wholly and wonderfully alien. The Verbanae for her part lets out a slow breath as the world seems to rush back to greet them.

Audible cues that gave back to them the reality of where they were. In a cave, sitting with their blood freely offered to the earth. There's a cramp forming in one of Kiara's thighs where she'd settled back on it but she doesn't shift her weight, barely moves a fraction at all as the creature heeds to her call, a greeting called without direction or ambition across the Gauntlet, like blind, imprecise fingers scrabbling in the dark for something to hold to.

The keeper of secrets, it greets them with and Elijah can feel the slight shift then, in Kiara's weight; the brush of her arm against his. "We're merely travelers from the other side," she begins in a steady voice, her dark eyes set on the depths of the cave where their guest had drawn itself forward from. "We don't mean the Keeper of Secrets any harm. We come to pay our respects and ask - " There's a beat, Kiara seems to consider her words carefully, speaking slowly.

"How did you come to be here? In this place?"

silence"It is what others ask that brings them harm, we are but vessels to the ambitions of the impermanent ones," the being says. Its voice sounds like water in crystal glasses. Tap, resonate, echo and fade.

It stands perfectly still but the wind plays on its hair, something that dances like dandelion seeds in the air. Its eyes, seemingly sightless, are directed towards the two mortals on the other side of the barrier. It does not clim through the way, though it seems... as though it stays between two worlds. As though it can, and does, exist in both but its truest form stands before them at the mouth of the cave.

Never crosses the boundary.

"We have always been, born of a nuance that shadows lack," which is met with a hiss from the gathered darkness. The being before them straightens, the temperature of the air plummets, enough that for a second Kiara and Elijah both can see their breath on the air.

The shadows stop their complaint. The air warms.

"We are but one of many, for secrets are universal. I am but snow and promises, a speaker for that which remains Unnamed."

---

Elijah stands where he is, takes in what is going on around him and can't... can't seem to look away. Can't bring himself to look away, fascinated with the cold and the beauty of the creature before them and... this is beyond words, beyond simple concepts and moves into abstraction.

What would create a being like this?

Secrets, of course. Truth, of course.

"What is the most appropriate way for us to pay our respects to the Keeper of Secrets?"

--

"By never needing our services," the being says again, "by giving us your confidence with no strings. No pretense. No asking... the impermanent are often so desperate for aid they do not understand their questions."

Not derisive. Not cruel. Just... puzzled.

Kiara WoolfeKiara remains kneeling on the ground near the doorway between their worlds. Her cut has long since stopped dripping blood and she rubs at the point of the injury with a near-absent repetition; lingering in the stinging reminder as the Keeper of Secrets speaks in its strange, otherworldly voice. Her eyes do tick down to the littering of salt and dust, the line of it left scattered on the earth before they return to scour the being's face.

There's a moment where spiritual politics, the strength of the one that speaks to them is tested and Kiara's breath mists as she breathes out sharply; her skin prickling in response to the sudden drop in temperature in the cave before it warms again.

-

Elijah asks how to pay their respects and Kiara sits back a little as he does; slides her palms over her knees and rests there a moment. Her mouth parting as if she meant to speak and then - "Secrets." She says, casting a look over a shoulder to the Initiate, the edge of her mouth curving.

"I think - it sustains itself on knowledge. I mean, of course it does. Something so old, what lasts longer than the truth. Especially hidden truths." Kiara's voice softens. She looks back and carefully climbs to her feet, brushing the dirt from her jeans.

"I want to learn more about whose that are Unnamed. I want to give you my secrets."

silence"And you give them freely, for ours and only? That which resides in your mind and your heart, if stolen away shall be rent in compensation," the being says. A contract, yes- one that seemed non negotiable. When the secret is told it is no longer Kiara's or Elijah's, to tell is to another would be stealing from the spirits.

They felt the subtle flex of displeasure towards the shadows, creatures known for their secrecy, their ill-intent. Spirits are as they seem, and though the creature before them keeps secrets- lives on their truth- and seems intent on keeping its meals. It needs humans, needs their shame and needs their secrecy and needs their desire to seem as things they are not because without it what would the creature survive on?

What secrets did it keep at the dawn of time? When the world was Becoming? What echoes did it devour?

It regards them both, milky eyes seeming to bore into them. The air brings its own stillness. The earth holds its breath, waiting for the answer.

Kiara WoolfeThere's a hesitation, then.

A moment where Kiara's mouth compresses into a line and she's reaching behind her for Elijah's hand; finds his wrist and pulls him a little closer, half turning to meet his eyes, to search his expression for signs of what she's fairly sure are there in hers.

Excitement. Uncertainty. Wonder.

"If we give it a secret, it can't be told again." She says in an undertone, her dark eyes seem wider, bright with the exhilaration of their interactions with these creatures of another world. "I think - " She looks down to where she holds Elijah's wrist, feels the steady thrum of his pulse beneath her thumb. " - if we tell anyone, they'll consider it a theft."

She turns her eyes back to the Keeper of Secrets.

"I can't imagine it would hesitate to take what it considered owed." Kiara wets her lips. "What do you think?" There's a subtle constriction as the Verbenae tightens her hold around his wrist for a moment, as if the female were urging him to somehow restrain her, to keep her from making a contract she might live to regret - or not live, as the case seemed to potentially be.

But then, when had risk ever deterred Kiara Woolfe, competitive, confident creature that she was.

silenceHe's just standing there, astounded and pleased and he almost forgets that he isn't standing there alone. That's the thing about telling secrets, there are moments that it feels like it's just you and the person you're telling, Kiara's hand on his wrist made him blink, turn with a light in his eyes that says allt he things that people suspected about him. Dusted with wonder, fascination, but perhaps a tad reckless.

They came for an adventure, didn't they?

But, the month had taught him some trepidation. He looks at her, just as captivating as the spirit before them with its marble skin and gossamer hair. With its sightless eyes that seemed to know precisely where they were at all times. His pulse is pounding but his breathing is steady. Sound- he's actually in his element. At the edge of a place that fascinated him beyond measure. Kalen warned him about contracts, but there was knowledge to be had.

At the price of secrecy, of course. "Secrets are Truth, right? But they're also trust- when you give a secret to someone you are giving them a knife and trusting that they won't stab you with it." A second, he drops his voice and speaks quickly and maybe he's a little excited and a little nervous but-

"If we do this and it's making good on its bargain- which would make sense, I don't see why something that thrives on Truth would be deceptive in nature, right? It's why the shadows are so damn pissy- we would have the opportunity to give definition to things that have none. This could be huge in terms of knowledge," he stops, "but... do you have anything you're willing to part with for good? A secret doesn't have to be damning, it could be... I don't know, a piece of yourself that is just for you... like, how you felt when you ate Thai for the first time or... your favorite orchestral piece, so listening to it is an affirmation of what happened here."

A second, "that's the thing with secrets, when you have to choose one that you're giving without strings you suddenly realize how much of yourself you actually want to share."

A beat.

"We could see if we could get a group rate? I... uh... don't know how you are with negotiating, but I don't think this is really up for negotiation so, uh, hmn."

Kiara WoolfeSecrets are truth.

And the truth was - Kiara Woolfe had many she could offer that would appease a spirit such as the Keeper of Secrets. Moments of triumph, moments of utter despair. Moments she'd teetered on the brink of something profound, something terrifying. The exhilaration of the moment after she Awoke. The agony of the before. Flames and searing heat and smoke congesting her lungs.

First times. First loves. First heartbreaks.

So many beginnings and ends swirling inside her; inside Elijah, too. The perfect food source for a being such as this was humanity. These creatures with such a capacity for flaw; for sentiment; for misjudgement and misery. And compassion, too. How could any species that prided itself on intellect not also comprehend the imperfection of conscience. The probability for heroism and fatal weakness at the last moment.

Oh, humankind were vulnerable to say the least, but - resilient. Survivors, in their own way.

Kiara's heart is beating fast against her chest as Elijah speaks, her expression softens a little when he says a secret doesn't have to be damning, that it could be good, it could be cathartic, if chosen wisely enough. "I think I should do the giving. I think I have - " There's a tiny flex at the edge of the brunette's mouth, a supple little motion of her shoulders that might have passed for a shrug. "Something worth giving that I don't need. That nobody else ever needs to know."

Something I'm ashamed of, she doesn't add.

She squeezes his hand and then lets go, turns and takes a step closer to the shadows; to the glimmering, gleaming emissary. "Would you hear my secret?"

silenceShe takes her steps forward and Elijah takes his back. There is distance, distance that he is willing to give, distance he knows he needs to give because overhearing this secret could be disastrous, it could be damning- it could gost either of them dearly and then where would they be?

The spirit looks at Kiara, expression calm and it regards her. Slow and measured at first and it takes its steps forward, extends its hands to her as though this were some baptismal moment. As though it would lead her past the edges of the cave, and it comes forward, to the very edge of its barrier and reaches forward, would take her hands if she gave them.

In a moment, there is a smile, and in that moment there are a thousand truths alight in its heart and is being. The wind relaxes, breathes its calming and relieved breath. The Emissary smiles, and it is at its very edges almost human.

"I would hear all that is freely given."

It waits, though, to see if she takes its hands.

Kiara WoolfeShe doesn't hesitate so much as she waits. For the spirit to step forward, to offer its hands (such as they are) out to her to touch. To penetrate the invisible barrier that held it to its world and she's aware, somewhere, in the back of her mind, the brunette, that this could be a mistake. That she's about to cross a line she cannot undo. A promise made with a spirit was, after all, a pact unlike those made with a human.

Spirits did not understand the concept of mistake, or undoing that which was done with knowledge.

It extends its hands out and Elijah can see the way the Verbenae's back straightens; see the momentary tightness between her shoulder-blades; the way tension knits there and then smooths as Kiara lifts her hands and reaches toward the Emissary; lets their fingers touch and closes her eyes; clears her mind but for the memory; spun out and suspended like a gleaming, transcendent thread ready to be plucked; drawn out and consumed by the waiting entity.

"This is my memory. Freely given," she murmurs and there's the flicker of imagery; the replay of events in Kiara's mind. Another city. Another time. Towering skyscrapers. The Empire State. A younger version of the woman before it with shorter cropped hair; dressed in a uniform; her long legs tangling with those of an older man beneath a dinner table while across from them, another spoke over a meal.

Doctor Woolfe, the echoing memory offered.

The same dark features as Kiara, that same presence. Unraveled further and another scene; a bedroom; rumpled bedcovers and the younger Kiara with the sheets drawn around her chest; biting at a thumbnail and staring down at a sleeping man beside her. More scenes. Flicked through like a picture book, a playback of moments.

Her father's face, swimming among them. Contorted and angry. Words that linger, prominent to the secret she offers: disgraced me, my wife can't find out, cost me the job and there, in the midst of it all, she says quietly:

"I sabotaged my father's career. Because he was never there. Because I could."

silenceThere's a strange disconnect in that contact.

She knows that the feeling of its hands should be stone, should be something made of ice but she feels something... still cold, still cold like death in her hands, but with slender fingers and delicate wrists. Something that seems close, but not quite what she sees. Something that feels more like palid, lonely flesh.

It listens, because it knows, takes her in and does as it said. There is no judgment, there is no pleasure or pain or sorrow or anything. Just... alien curiosity, as though these experiences, the feeling of resentment and carnal desires and cruelties because in a youthful mind they were deserved (oh, that anger, it's the anger that it almost understands, memory born of all secrets told. So many secrets, so much time had passed that it feels conceptual anger but takes a moment. to truly feel it.)

There is a breath drawn in, sharp and surprised and those eyes bleed mercury tears. Unheeded, unashamed. It steps forward, and those hands- so human- part briefly from Kiara's to take her wrist. To delicately, carefully lead her to the wall where symbols and sigils glowed. It placed her hand to the wall, the one that was bleeding, wiped its tears and laid its hand over hers. The Emissary was unearthly cold, but did not leach warmth from her, merely a fact. Merely a statement.

Its thumb traced the side of hers, again saying nothing but that gesture, so small, was intent and clear. Something about that was comforting, or at least attempting to be. Stilted and unsure like some faun trying to stand and take its steps.

"... would you like to see what spirits dream into creation?"

That smile, again, almost warm. Something that was not entirely alien.

Kiara WoolfeThere's rapt fascination on the Verbenae's face as she's led toward that wall with its glowing writing etched into the stone. Her eyes, those dark, beautiful eyes, shift between the Emissary's face and the symbols carved into it; from the touch of its unearthly fingers against her skin to the stone beneath her fingertips. There's a near shiver that runs through Kiara Woolfe; a sort of anticipatory shudder.

(Later she'll realize how nearly she forgot Elijah was there with her, that he was waiting to know what had happened)

Did she want to see what spirits dreamed into creation? She roves that alien face with her eyes carefully, wholly absorbingly for a beat before she whispers, her breath catching in her throat. "Yes. Oh, yes. I want to see." There's a rush; the bolt of pure adrenaline that sends a flush to the brunette's cheeks; that has her lips parting with anticipation.

(Daughter of the earth witches, adopted child of the Wyck, they'd wandered the pathways etched into the Umbra for centuries before the Avatar Storm displaced so many, no wonder she desires the knowledge so freely, it must be tattooed into her blood)

"Show me."

silenceWhat joys did one have when they were eternal? All these creatures, impermanent ones, came and went. Left and ebbed and flowed into its reality before being dismissed and thought of as just another mark on the wall-

Except.

Except.

There were so few marks on the wall of the cave, so few in comparison to centuries of time that people have come and sought the aid of the Keeper of Secrets. So few things given freely, especially with those who exist within the limitations of time. There are steps to be made, away from the wall, away from the gaping darkened mouth of the cave, with its water rushing, with the barest hints of glowing Secrets along the walls, scattered on the ground. Some travel back almost into oblivion.

It does not take Kiara there.

So it is forward, again, towards the light and towards those gathered. It knows there is an audience,knows what offers are made. "Come, children," it says, fond, "I've such sights to show you."

Kiara WoolfeShe's smiling, when it turns to move forward, back toward the light; toward Elijah; who the brunette cants a smile at; this bright; supple thing that matches the gleam in her eyes. She extends a hand toward him and draws him back toward her side, slides a hand down his arm; links their fingers together and keeps him close as if in some unspoken apology for leaving him behind when she made her offering.

It has sights to show them and there's a way the Verbenae's attention fixes and tracks the Emissary that speaks of her fascination; of her bone keep desire to know - what was out there; beyond the reaches of the Umbra; beyond the scope and shape of things they knew of; could touch; see; consider with their limited senses.

She doesn't speak, Kiara, but she moves with the spirit's progress; follows; where it would lead them.

silenceElijah bridges the gap as soon as he seems to recognize that he is allowed to do so, slides in beside Kiara and their hands interlink. There's something decidedly innocent about the gesture, the closeness, the ever-so-slight sway that comes back-and-forth while they are led on to see what truths the Emissary may bring them.

It has sights to show them, and it parts from the two mages- children, as it had called them. In truth, even the most ancient of magi would be regarded as such. Save for those with the oldest of souls, those who come and renew their pledges and promises with each passing incarnation. The Keeper of Secrets would know them, welcome them past the gates and into the depths of shadow. Hold them as welcome guest, beloved treasures. Perhaps this is a beginning for these two, or perhaps it is merely an extension of what once was long, long before.

The Emissary says nothing on this matter; the spirit is not one of deception, would not indicate that it held its gifts as anything to be disregarded.

It takes its steps away, lets out a soft hush and raises its hands high, then outward, then pulled in to its chest where fingers reach hard against where its sternum should be. Fingers drive down, past hard exterior cracked wide open and retrieved it something glowing golden. Something that has a heartbeat, that feels like winter incarnate (I am but snow and promises) and then, it turns towards the darkness in the cave.

Its steps are tentative, its literal heart laid bare and given to some darkness that tries, and nearly succeeds, in consuming all that light, all that gossammer being as it disappeared into the very pit of where it resides. The sky darkens, the sun yawns and the stars come alive. Each glowing blue light seems to hum. The Emissary returns, still holding its very essence as though it were a newborn child or a wounded bird. Something so achingly fragile. Its face still streaked with those mercurial tears.

It returns to the two mages, lifts its heart to the sky and it hovers, stays and bursts outward in light, in an image, in an illusion (or perhaps, a portal? So far, so far away) of a world that is dark.

"There was a time when your kind walked between the worlds... Petitioned Eshtarra or streaked across solar winds to the pockets you created on your own. You built empires on the sand, and your towers fell," not cruel, but there are the hints of disappointment, of sadness that it does not fully understand, "and spent so much of yourselves in those shards that you did not appreciate the spaces between..."

The whole time there was nothing to be seen there, only the barest hints and flickers of stars but Something swam across the view. Something with thousands of legs and dozens of wings. Something whose only sensical visage was a deep, yawning mouth and a single hopeful light. And that light was Hope, not a light at all but a feeling. A symbol, Hope dangled before a beast beyond comprehension that only the hopeless would reach for. A trap, indeed, but for what?

The image is discarded as they pass by a star burning cold, so very cold. The Emissary stops here, its expression fond as it reaches out, almost as if to caress the giant lurking there. Its ice, it's all ice but burned and buried beneath that frozen star there is something like potential. But not potential. Not potential but something more than just something aching to become kinetic because it is at once all it could be and less of what it was. "It has been said that which resides in the deep is beyond human comprehension... and your kind are afraid-" something reaches out, not the Emissary's hand but something quick and terrible. Something that slices through like a heated blade and a blanket, wraps around the star. Its planets go hurdling out of control. Without much warning, there is a sound that resonates not in their ears but across their skin, a vibration that rumbles like an earthquake but stops.

Where the star had been shines bright and brilliant, that sound continues and whatever enveloped the star falls apart, turns to dust and tiny asteroids.

"The impermanent are funny things, believing that the world exists but for them, that things beyond their understanding would harm them... as though they mattered so much," punctuated with that almost warm smile. The Emissary lingers on that star, and its milky eyes stay for a moment. Something contracts in its chest- oh, is this longing? There are colors to be seen that exist on a different spectrum, things that exist on too many planes for the two to truly understand and comprehend, but there it was- things that were improbable, impossible, shown and laid bare by a creature that could span light years with a swipe of its hand.

The lights began to fade and the sun came back to its full glory. Quickly, almost afraid, the Emissary reached forward to take its heart, hold its dying embers close and usher it gently back into its own chest. Wounds seal without fanfare. It shudders, closing its eyes.

"That's enough for today, children."

Kiara Woolfe[WP: Keep your cool, Kiara, don't get all weird and emotional about being shown the cosmos and all.]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 6, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 4 )

silence[WP: because seriously. this is breathtaking]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 4, 7, 9) ( success x 2 )

Kiara WoolfeHow do you begin to explain to someone who wasn't there for this how it felt to witness a spirit crack open its chest and reveal its heart to you?

How it felt to see things that were beyond comprehension or easy definition? There are moments where Kiara's grip around Elijah's hand feels stifling; she holds tight to the Initiate as if he were her only lifeline between staying in that cave to bear witness to what she'd sacrificed for and running as fast as she could.

There was a sort of terror to it, as well. A instinctual, bone deep fear of too much and not meant for us about the sights the Emissary shares with them. There are truths in the spiritual realms that not even Kiara's wisest Seers understood; places that she'd heard spoken of only in hushed whispers and old, long remembered retellings at Coven gatherings. Stories of the glory of the Verbena Realms, those mystical threads long ago lost to near all of them on Earth.

Cut off during the fury of the Avatar Storms.

Nights spent listening to Aisling talk of Winter Castle and the Autumn Circle; the legends of the Aeduna and the origins of the Pathways themselves. Kiara's heard the stories but it doesn't quite touch the reality of this - of seeing and feeling the knowledge of the spirits themselves.

-

Her eyes are bright and she's relinquished Elijah's hand by the time the Emissary reaches to reclaim its heart and press the dying embers of it back inside itself; to watch it shudder as if physically drained from the act of sharing so much with them. The Verbenae's throat works; she breathes out with a slow, careful motion and it's as the stillness fades - the sounds and scents and awareness of life return - the insects, the trickle of water, the sunlight dappling the grass outside, the dampness of the air and the way the earth smells - that Kiara seems to stir herself from the moment.

Finds her voice and offers, subdued:

"Thank you for sharing your dreams with us, Keeper of Secrets." A beat, she drops her eyes and then lets them find Elijah's face; there's wetness on Kiara's cheeks; damp tear-tracks left there at some point; she doesn't seem to even notice them as she looks back to the spirit and lifts her chin.

"Can we return and learn more, when we're ready to?"

silenceThere is a moment where Elijah's hand stays interlocked with Kiara's, a moment where the young man in perpetual motion goes still, sees something in truth that is more like himself but not, but more of what he could never fathom to be living in the spaces between the stars and he is awed. Except, of course, this is not the word. Except, of course, this does not come close.

Funny, a creature so held together by words and he has a moment where he does nto have any, can not find the definition and finds that there is truth in whatever the Keeper of Secrets had shown them. There is silence, a quiet and thoughtful moment where he feels like he can't breathe. Feels like his heart won't start, feels a part of himself quieted and reminded that the world is vast, that there is wonder to be had amidst the horror-

That the horror is part of the wonder.

That moment where it hits him that this is beyond his capacity to truly understand, that by the virtue of being mortal and as he is, he can not understand all of this. HIs breathing is slow, shallow, his fingers don't leave Kiara's and there they are, clinging to the vestiges of the earth below them while the cosmos unfolds by for a second.

Eventually, he does let go.

---

The Emissary regards her, head cocks tot he side and its delicate fingers steeple in front of it while it thinks. Muses, really, because what sort of creature does not muse? There is a moment where it must think, feel the aching in its chest, the weariness in its form that it knows the shadows see. Things are not so simple here.

"Come as you will," it finally says, "we have an accord."

It nods, but turns its back and retreats into the cave again. The cave was ancient, as Kiara had suspected, and the steps go again from featherlight to something that aches in the soil, something that leaves the barest hints of front on the ground as it retreats, gossamer threads and marble.

Then shadow.

Then glowing embers.

Then a comfortable nothing. Silence returns to the cave, and the world outside of them continues in its chatter, as though nothing had occurred.

Kiara WoolfeShe watches it leave, the pagan. Watches the way it seems to gather the very edges of the universe about itself as it spins closed in its wake the very seams that kept their worlds apart. Passes out of sight and reach back into the shadows. And its a little like surfacing, then.

The cave seems to unfold around them, like a curtain gently tugged down over furniture hidden for years from gathering dust. It settles: noise, motion. The world resuming again and it's after she's watched the spirit pass from sight and after she's turned her eyes on Elijah for a long, still moment that a sudden, bright smile surfaces on her face and Kiara flings herself at him -

"Oh my God. Did that just happen? Oh my God."

- laughing, her arms around his neck and her cheek pressed against his; hot and damp, where she'd shed tears at some unspoken point. There's a thrumming, wild energy to Kiara that seems almost jarring after what they'd borne witness to. Dried blood on her palm and she turns her face to kiss Elijah's brow and then his mouth; pulling back to smile at him.

"I told you this cave was worth it." A breathed exultation of pleasure.

silenceThere was a moment, sure, where he was probably supposed to have words. Probably. No one had ever accused Hermetics or being people who didn't have a shit ton of things to say at any given occasion- in truth, Elijah had yet to meet a single one that did not have a command of language that made him stare up in almost fangirl expectations- but there he was. The dust had settled, his heart was beating loud and fast and he could swear that was the only thing he could hear until-

Oh my God-
"Holy shit-"
Did that just happen?
"Holy shit that-"
Oh my God.
"-just... fucking happened!"

There is a moment where he can't come up with anything to say but she flings herself at him and it's taking him a moment to really process that the world really is vast and overwhelming like he had suspected and he can't even begin to tell Jenn about this (a shame, too, because he wondered how she would paint this. He wondered, perhaps, maybe would save some of his adventures with his mentor for Jenn. Maybe. Or maybe he would just have moments like these where the only thing he can think is curse words.)

His arms slip around her waist, grin bright, and it's a moment where he lifts, picks up and twirls in a circle with her because sometimes the only fucking response you can have is to pick someone up and twirl. He puts her down, she kisses his brows then his lips and he pulls back and he's laughing- a sound that proves joy must surely be a sacred passion.

"Oh my God," he looks up, eyes are glassy and shimmery watery for reasons that need not be explained, "ohhhh my god that was- did-" he lets out some breathless sound, "I've been looking at the stars for so long and I never knew."

Kiara Woolfe
There's a giddiness that radiates from Kiara; a way she clutches at his hands and draws them toward herself and then away, as if they were children who had just discovered the pure unadulterated joy of Christmas. Elijah is laughing and the brunette is too; some half formed; half articulated noise of exhilaration and pleasure that spills from her as they struggle to articulate what just happened.

She pushes fingers through the heavy fall of her hair and it dawns on Kiara that her flashlight is still lying by the mouth of the cave; her bag, half upturned in her quest to discover something, anything, with which to make the connection. She reclaims both, checking the feeble, dying beam of light before clicking it off and scooping her belongings up; twisting back to face Elijah with that bright, flushed excitement still high in her cheeks.

"We can come back."

She declares with a rush, her fingers momentarily curled around her palm; thumb stroking over the point where she'd sliced herself; looks down at it and then over at the boy with her, her mouth curling up at the edge. "It had more to show us, I'm sure of it." There's an edge of something solemn and hopeful in the Verbenae's voice, then. A low burn of soul deep yearning - to discover, to understand more of the world beyond theirs.

To immerse herself in the spiritual realm.

A shiver runs down her spine and Kiara starts toward Elijah; nudging into him as she passes. "I think this calls for a celebratory drink."