Sometimes I Don't Get It

[Ashley McGowen] Ashley has been out of her apartment a lot lately. Ever since the chantry was raised, since the Society announced their claim to it, she's been going there more and more. Particularly since the disappearance of Gregor. There's no one else during the day there, now, and maintaining it falls mostly on herself and Wharil.

That, she has not been pleased about. Tight-lipped, though; perhaps she doesn't want to admit to herself how deeply she's bothered by her cabal mate going missing. Maybe she's just being Ashley about it, which is far more likely.

She has Zane out with her on a leash. Now, she'd intended to come to the park and sit down and read for a while, get outside, avoid the other magi for a bit. Chicago weather has other plans, as she couldn't pull out one of her books without it steadily absorbing the sky's drizzle the longer she sits down. Being out with the dog has to suffice on its own.

She has her coat on, unbuttoned, and a forest green T-shirt advertising a Boston pub beneath it, and is carrying on a quiet one-sided conversation with the dog in normal tones. No high-pitched baby talk.

[Morgan Lake] It's late afternoon, nearing dinner time, and Morgan's out for her second run of the day; there's been work on various writings, which always get presented to Ashley first as rough drafts then as finals, unless they're about the Spirit work she's been doing to Basil, in which case they go to him. There's been work around the house where she stays with Solomon (though she still doesn't call it home, and is remarkably quiet about it, but spends far more time away than in, so perhaps that says something), which revolves largely around the kitchen and baking - which Ashley and chantry both have seen the fruits of on more than one occasion. There's been working out, and gathering the things she needs to start her first semester of college in the fall, because she's bound and determined to do so.

There's been carefully keeping herself busy so as to avoid the things she doesn't want to talk or think about, which is - however bad it may be for her - good for her studies.

Now, she's damp both from sweat and misty rain, but she sees the familiar form of her mentor and mentor's dog ahead, and slows her steps accordingly so that they can walk abreast - on Ashley's bad side, actually (better she be there than some stranger with ill intent), a little protective of the older Hermetic. "Hey," she says, just loud enough to make up for being on said bad side.

[Ashley McGowen] Zane lets her know that there's someone approaching on her bad side before Morgan ever speaks. The dog looks in her direction and chuffs, wagging his tail when he sees the friendly face - he knows Morgan nearly as well as Ashley, at this point - and the Hermetic is already turning her head to look in Morgan's direction. She isn't necessarily expecting Morgan, but Kage or Wharil, maybe, who Zane also responds happily to.

"Hi, Morgan," she says, once she's been greeted and once she can see the girl.

"How're you doing?" There's a short pause, a beat, during which Ashley shifts Zane's leash to her other hand. He's trying to get over to Morgan to say hello, and he nearly trips her walking in front of her legs. She manages it all with as much poise as a five foot tall partially blind woman can.

[Morgan Lake] "I'm okay," she says, and seems honest enough as she offers Zane a hand for sniffing and petting and such; the smile's a hint apologetic (wrong side, all that, and still it feels right to the younger but much taller girl). "How about you? Been busy."

Ashley has. Or she has. Or both, which is quite possible as well.

Morgan doesn't stay still for long - this has been true as long as Ashley's known her. She's athletic, and young, and while her focus is admirable for her age? There's a level of energy that goes along with her lifestyle, and it doesn't get repressed easily.

[Ashley McGowen] "Me too," Ashley says. "I marked up that essay you sent me, too, by the way, on Doissitep. If you come by the apartment with me later, I can give it back to you."

She also doesn't stay still for very long. Over the time that she's been Awakened, Ashley has learned to restrain herself, her urges and drives, and lend herself structure. That isn't the same as remaining in one place, learning to be quiet: even reading she's usually moving and shifting around, always with a purpose.

After a moment, she looks over at Morgan again. It's a short glance; she has to turn her head the whole way in order to look at the girl full on, so within a second or two she's looking ahead again at the path. "I know I've been hard to get a hold of lately," she adds, after a moment. "I should be more accessible. Have you been doing all right? Do you have questions about any of the papers I've given back?"

[Morgan Lake] "I think I've mostly got a handle on it - the politics and laws and things, anyway. I don't necessarily understand why a certain thing came about, but once it's put together, the picture makes sense anyway. And Doissetep . . ." There's a hint of a smirk here, a quiet little thing. "I think I wish I'd seen it, been there even just for a minute."

She's an athlete, and a girl well immersed in law and debate already - in a place that fosters competition (for which she has some affinity anyway, given her various activities and the way she was raised), she could have learned quite a bit.

"And you're allowed to be busy. If it were really important, I'd try harder to reach you - you know. It just hasn't been, is all." And being solitary seems to please Morgan well enough, lately - there's no one that she's truly sought out, other than Mal, that once, to ask about the job that's added to her busy schedule. "And I haven't been particularly easy to get a hold of, either."

[Ashley McGowen] Morgan says she wishes she'd been at Doissetep, and Ashley just looks at her for a moment. Quiet. She says nothing in response. "What's the certain thing that came about that you don't get?" she asks the girl, reaching down to stroke the head of the dog trotting at her side.

Morgan reassures her about being busy, and she just nods. "I still haven't heard back from your priest yet, by the way." But, she supposes, he's probably busy too; she imagines that the life of a priest (Chorister, besides) would lend itself to few spare hours. She was raised Catholic, in her early years - she knows.

Ashley keeps an eye on the sidewalk ahead, content to let Morgan walk along in her blind spot.

[Morgan Lake] "Well . . . there are so many creation stories. Just like with life here, I guess - but Pure Ones, or Fallen, or . . . and then all the times it moved. That had to have taken an awful lot of working together, and while I get that cabals happen - obviously - it seems rare that enough people get together to effect that kind of change, and when they do they don't see eye to eye enough to make something that big happen. Though I guess they'd have had to in the midst of catastrophe and all."

She does this often, when she's brought around to talking - talks through whatever it is that's giving her a problem on her own, at least to a level of understanding that will improve with study.

Then, though, there's a shrug about Mal. "I'll remind him to get a hold of you."

[Morgan Lake] PAWSITUTDE

Gainful Employment

[Morgan Lake] Early, around ten in the morning, the Mile is fairly quiet - the clubs are long since closed and most the restaurants are only starting to think about being open. The coffee shops have already done their bustling morning business and what people are about are of the reasonably affluent 'housewife' variety and enjoying some shopping or any of the up scale salons. There are, of course, a few other people about; students looking for a place to study, athletes who make this part of town a part of their loop . . .

. . . it's amongst the latter that one Morgan Lake is taking her leisure. Or, no, that's not quite accurate. She is one of the latter, clearly, in her short, fitted shorts and her tight, supportive tank top with her hair raked back into a pony-tail. She is red of face and sweaty of form, and clearly a serious runner, not just someone out for a quick jog. Now, though, she's almost still - one leg is up on a bike rack and she's stretching just there, between Borders and Starbucks.

[Malcolm Galloway] Malcolm is a bit late to the coffee rush, but at least that means he doesn't have to wait in line behind all the nice professional people... Just their wives or partners. He looks even worse than he did in the church, mostly because the light of day does not favor his insomniac's complexion. No real surprise that he's holding a grande travel cup, then. He sips on it as he steps outside, and in the same moment his phone trills an alert for a new text message.

He sighs as he flips it open. He might not be the tech savvy sort, but he at least has the coordination to walk, sip coffee, and struggle to type out a reply on the phone. Being that it's not the fancy kind with the full keyboard, he's left passing the intended letter time and time again, leaving him more frustration with each passing step. It's only after looking up to make sure there's no open holes in his path that he notices Morgan.

"Oh, hello there."

[Morgan Lake] "Hi." It takes a moment, but not long - last night was completely different time and mood. Now, she's riding on sunlight and endorphins, and her smile shows this. In this light, Malcolm can see freckles, and that her eyes are an interesting green-ish hazel. It also becomes oddly more difficult to gauge her age; in the church, she'd seemed young and vulnerable. Here, she could be any other student athlete. "Mr. Galloway, wasn't it?"

Oh, yes. Proper and polite, she, though she speaks with the same bland flatness (the same American non-accent that broadcasters across the country are taught) as any other native Chicagoan.

".....I was going to say I hope you're well this morning, but you look awful," she says honestly. "Are you alright?"

[Malcolm Galloway] "It's nothing, really," he says, trying and failing to sound chipper. The botched attempt only makes him sound more wretched. He has a large sip of coffee before adding, "I've been having trouble sleeping is all. Nightmares."

He glances down at his phone and frowns, then looks up in utter defeat. "I hate to impose, and this is probably a stupid question, but are you any good with text messaging? I have a client who acts like just calling is too much effort. And she's sending me these damn things constantly asking for updates." He sighs. "Spade never had to deal with this shit. Er, pardon."

The whole question about the phone is avoiding the real issue at hand, and he knows it just as well as she. It's too early and he's too tired to be smooth about it.

[Morgan Lake] "Yeah, I know how to text. And type, and manage a fair amount of excel, access and word, too. And file, and make good coffee," she adds with a teasing smile, "if you're looking for a spunky receptionist. What do you need sent, or do you just want a quick tutorial for how to do it on your own? Really, it's handy if you just want to get something across quick. I mean, a phone call takes five minutes at a bare minimum from starting dialing to hanging up, whereas a text takes one, tops."

She shrugs, puts down the foot that had been on the rack and puts up the other so that she can reach for its toes, stretching hamstring and calf. And there's amusement that plays across her face, though her eyes remain serious; there's a loss there, something haunted. In this, perhaps, like calls to like.

"And I'm a big girl, raised here and now. You certainly don't need to apologize for saying 'shit'."

[Malcolm Galloway] "It's more that I wish I hadn't said it. I know there's no reason not to curse now, but, well, it still doesn't feel right." He smiles a little, which makes him a little less like the walking dead. "And while I appreciate the offer, I'm afraid I can't afford even a surely receptionist who chews gum all the time. It's enough that I can pay my partner/chauffeur. Bastard's gouging me with the 'slash' position. Damn it, and again." He rubs his face and has another drink of coffee, then another.

"Oh, right, the message..." He hands over the phone, which just has a string of numbers in the recipient field. "Just 'working on it' is fine. And it's not that I don't know how to text, it's just that I have a knack for bypassing the letter I want."

[Morgan Lake] "I was taught that swear words were for the under educated and unimaginative, but there have been times where all the years I put into vocabulary study couldn't help me express what I wanted to as well as an emphatic 'fuck' could. Not that I swear often, but still." She shrugs, and clearly doesn't get the whole issue - whether or not she heard he was once a priest (she hadn't). All this as she takes his phone and thumbs out the message he wants to send, sends it and hands it back with the alacrity of a girl who can't remember a time that cell phones weren't a given.

Not particularly savvy, she, but clearly a product of the modern world.

"Doesn't seem like the best of partners. I don't know much about private investigation, but I'm going pre-law and I learn quickly. So if something changes keep me in mind, yeah?"

[Malcolm Galloway] He nods to Morgan as he slips the phone back in his pocket. "The real issue is, while I have a private investigator's license, I haven't had a driver's license for..." He stops, looks her off as if seeing her for the first time, and suddenly feels ancient. "A while. And the job's really not as glamorous as the books and movies make it out to me. Most of the work involves sitting outside of a trashy motel room for hours at a time waiting to get pictures." He sighs at that. "I guess I can't blame him."

He takes a few more sips of the coffee, not even trying to stagger the caffeine intake. He doesn't look that much better after practically inhaling half of it.

"But if you really want to help, I can think of something. I honestly can't pay much, though... You wouldn't happen to have any water stashed somewhere, would you?"

[Morgan Lake] She's been facing towards him all this time, and the set of 'pockets' she wears (unflattering, but useful) has been invisible behind her back; now, she reaches around to grab a bottle (Fuji, if anyone's keeping track) and hand it over.

"Bet you'd be a good reference later, though, if I needed one. In more ways than one, even." It's a bit cryptic, that last, but left to sit as it is when she continues with, "I've got a bit of money; while pay would be nice, I have a reasonable idea of how difficult it is to keep a business going. Not first hand, of course, but still. So in some ways, in some cases, experience is better."

She'd caught that look, the one that says while she may not be 'just a kid', she's certainly making him feel old, and she laughs before pulling her foot down and moving to nudge him briefly with her shoulder. She looks thin, but has a runners muscles - obviously strong legs, all over tone - and is appropriately solid against him. Not some waif, she, but the split second of contact is gone as quickly as it came.

"Maybe make it a work study thing. And I can drive, too, once I buy a new car. So maybe you won't have to pay your guy so much for the chauffeur part."

[Malcolm Galloway]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Malcolm Galloway] He takes the bottle, raises it in a combination of thanks and a toast... And pops the lid off his half empty cup off coffee to pour a dash of it in. He quickly slams the lid back on it, waits a moment, and raises the cup to his lips once more. He gives a very slight shudder, even utters a contented "ahh".

"Thanks," he says, handing the water back. "I needed that."

He takes another sip of the coffee and, curiously enough, the smell of liquor is suddenly on his breath. "But if you're in it for the... experience," a significant look at that. "I'll do what I can to help. I'm afraid I got into the business a bit late in life. In all honestly, I was a Priest before this, but... eh... Things changed."

[Morgan Lake] "Mr. Galloway," she says, and again there's that prim and proper, almost to the point of being stern, despite having just bumped his shoulder with hers, "if I were going to proposition you for anything other than job experience, I'd . . ."

She stops a moment, looks down at herself and the clothes she's wearing (so statically discerning, this girl, and entropically withering, with just a glimmer of dynamic growth that isn't of her but still resides with her) and bursts into laughter - it surprises her, the sound and the feel, and her eyes go wide. But it's a good thing, a healthy thing, and it stops when it should (for once, and it's a rarity these days) rather than edging up to the line between mirth or amusement and deceit.

"Well, anyway, yes. It would be for the experience, and I've been told I have an eye for things that other people miss. So who knows? It could be a good thing all around, and while I have seen a fair number of films and shows that glamorize the profession, I hardly expect it to be like what's in the media. And you're . . ." Sniff. Wrinkle nose. Eye water bottle, then cup of coffee, then Malcolm - so very serious and studious, those eyes, with haunted loss tucked behind that. ".....maybe more like the scripts than you think. Really? At ten in the morning?"

[Morgan Lake] [What are you up to there, mister? (Per + Aware)]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 5, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Malcolm Galloway] The effect that radiates off the cup of coffee is faint, but it's there... And laid bare by Morgan's powers of perception. There's the same feeling of before, like some minor miracle has just been worked. It wasn't exactly water into wine, but some type of transubstantiation indeed just took place. Odd, then, that it didn't leave more of a mark.

"Hair of the dog," he says, having an unapologetic sip. "What can I say? Sleeping pills never did help." And just like before, he's changing the subject with breakneck speed. "I think maybe we understand each other a little better now, but make no mistake, just because I was defrocked doesn't mean I'm free from the vow of chastity. You're safe. But it's true I didn't get into other, esoteric fields until after I left the priesthood. It's only been a few years now."

[Morgan Lake] "My mom baked. My dad played cards. Everyone's got something that relaxes them enough to sleep." But other than that, she doesn't press the issue; it's not her business after all, not any more than the whiskey in his coffee that she's already let go. The bit about his vow of chastity gets a rather impressive scarlet blush, and her head ducking down while she completely declines to answer it.

"As for the other, it's only been a few months for me. A trying few months, certainly, and sometimes it seems like a lifetime, but that's it, really. I've learned a lot, though."

[Malcolm Galloway] "You're better off than I, then." He rests the cup of spiked coffee on the palm of his hand, content to pace himself now that he's gotten a little of the other substance in his system. He doesn't look any better off for it, though, just slightly flushed. It's nothing compared to Morgan's shade of red, and so he sends the conversation veering back into hopefully less embarrassing territory.

"It's not easy having your entire world view shattered in your thirties, especially not when you find yourself learning from people much younger than you... I'm getting better at that, though." Another sip of the coffee, unwittingly giving a tell to the little lie. "Are you really interested in the assistant/receptionist role? Understanding that the slash involved doesn't make the pay any better? That is, you're not just being polite?"

[Morgan Lake] "I guess I'm lucky that I'm learning from the same people I would be anyway, just off campus and outside of what I thought I'd be learning now. And I have a feeling it's not really easy to have your whole worldview shattered at any age," she says with a shrug, and don't think for a minute she's missed that tell, or that she'll forget it. (And she certainly hasn't stated her own age - he's welcome to make his own assumptions based on what she's offered.)

"The rest - yeah, I'll take it. With the understanding that if I have questions that don't violate client confidentiality you'll answer them?" There's a pause then, and she looks back up and gives a grin, almost impish; it's not difficult to see that she was one of the charmed ones, socially speaking. "And write me letters of recommendation if and when I need them, of course. That's the point of taking low paying grunt work jobs as a student, isn't it?"

[Malcolm Galloway] He grins at that. "Indeed it is. And there'll be glowing and eloquent recommendations galore, provided you don't run screaming as soon as you see the office." Yet another sip of coffee, this time just to have another drink. He doesn't look any less tired, but he does look a little more chipper by the moment. Hard to say which substance is contributing to that more, the caffeine or the liquor. "And I also feel I should warn you I'm in the chorus, but you might have guessed that with the whole disgraced and former priest revelation."

[Morgan Lake] "I'm an apprentice - my preconceived notions are few, as of yet, though my order-mates seem to have quite a few more of them than I do." It's all very casual and sidewalk appropriate - sure, someone in the know might get wht they're talking about, but it would take a minute at any rate. "Chorus doesn't bother me. Might my mentor - I suppose you'll have to meet her, she knows everyone - though not enough to say anything about the job. That, though . . ." she nods at the cup, shakes her head a little. "Just so you know, my mom taught me everything she knows about baking, and I've learned more since. Bread and cookies and cakes and pie activate the same pleasure centers, from what scientist friends have told me, without the fuzzy headedness. I'm not going to harp at you, it's not my place, but . . . well. It seems silly to not try to encourage somewhat healthier vices while I'm around."

[Malcolm Galloway] His brows go up. If he's touched by her concern, he's certainly not going to admit it. Instead he just clears his throat and looks out across the street. "This is the only one, I promise. Besides, I don't think cupcakes are going to stop the nightmares."

Just mentioning the nightmares again dredges up images that drive him to have another sip of his Irish coffee. "I appreciate the concern, but if you knew half of the--stuff swirling around in my mind, you'd be drinking too. My hidden talent doesn't exactly make things easier, either."

[Morgan Lake] "Booze doesn't either, quite frankly," she says matter of factly, "and it causes brain damage, where cupcakes will just make you fat if you aren't careful. I don't know what makes the nightmares go away, but I certainly don't hide in . . . what is that, whiskey? . . . to try that. Anyway, here, give me back your phone, unless you've already put my number in - no, wait, even if you have and I'll put in Ashley's, too. And when do you want me to start, and where?"

From there, it's all pragmatism and a perhaps-surprising efficiency for a college student of relatively indeterminate (beyond 'young') age. She has a no-nonsense sort of attitude that can be either overbearing or a breath of fresh air, depending on her mood and the people towards whom it's directed.

Of Churches

[Malcolm Galloway] Malcolm utters a terse and tired little laugh at the mention of falsehoods. "Oh, yes, and if these hallowed walls could talk..." He trails off, not really wanting to think about it. His mood almost lifted for a moment there, only to crash back into its hole. His expression darkens, which is at least an improvement over the impassively exhausted look he started with. Perhaps because of his mental state, he veers into an entirely new thought that's at least vaguely related. "It's funny, isn't it, how we're programmed to just say fine. No matter what's wrong. No one wants to really hear what's wrong. No one without any vows, I mean. And even now, to say what troubles me would only sound crazy."

He already fears he sounds crazy. And looks crazy. Okay, so his o-so-sober clothes are neatly pressed, and in spite of the bags under his eyes he's clean shaven to boot. The monumental effort of looking nice in spite of everything only helped to make him more weary. Hell, just thinking about the boxes waiting back at the new apartment makes him feel drained.

[Solomon Ward] The priest chuckles slightly, low and mild humored but little more. There's a small nod of agreement as he does so. "It's much like people. You buy some thing, and the cashier asks 'how are you today', but they don't really wish to know. If you tell them not well, your tire went flat and it caused a long day you can practically see the boredom in their eyes. Some of us... not so much. I ramble.. its as I said though, any ear here is to lend itself to you if you wish"

He wasn't being pushy, instead just lightly affirming what he had said earlier. The man does get a curious look from the priest for a moment how ever at the mention of sounding crazy. Solomon pushes, just slightly, if only because if the man was truly, deeply, worried that the confessionals offered anonymity. He'd mentioned this aloud, here, however so the priest asks.

"You'd have to try real hard for to think your crazy."

[Malcolm Galloway] Malcolm, who'd been addressing the hymnals until then, slowly cranes his head up to look at Solomon... To really look at him. Putting his face more in the light does not help in. Even the soft illumination makes his eyes look sunken and the lines on his face a little deeper. His eyes rover over him appraising for a few seconds, buying him time to order his thoughts... Not enough, as they're still a jumbled wreck.

"Even if I told you the spirit of my dead fiancee was quite literally haunting me?" The hushed tone is nothing new. He couldn't raise his voice above a reverent whisper if he wanted to. "That I'm lucky to get three hours of sleep for all the nightmares? It's a great burden, don't you think, to know there are things that exist on this earth that are completely out of the realms of the Lord's plan."

Did he mean to say that? Too late now. And so Malcolm keeps staring at Solomon.

[Solomon Ward] Solomon blinked a few times, taking his time. It was apparent that he was formulating a response. Quick witted as he may be, the spoken word as not necessarily the mans forte. Whether out of politeness or subterfuge, restraint or some thing else he took a long moment before he responded.

He took a seat, plopping into the pew behind Malcolm, and several feet to the side so that he wasn't immediately behind the man, placing his hands to rest on the pew in front of him. "To say that things are out side the Lord's plan can be quite... egotistical, my son. We would like all things to be neatly categorized, to fill in the cracks of our ignorance and make neat notes on the categorization of the world because the Book tells us 'this is how it is'. Yet its old, and even translated as accurately as possible... the words may remain the same, but the intent ? The Lord commands we worship no other gods before Him. It isn't until the New Testament and the apostolic teachings that begin to deny them. The Pharaoh's priests worked sorcery against Moses and Aaron. Even defeated it existed. Our teachings say so. "

"As to...your fiance.. I do not wish to sound crass, but the great deceiver is aptly named. You are truely and absolutely sure it is your fiance, not some spirit of tricks or shade?"

Probably not the answer Malcolm was expecting, but there it is on the table.

[Malcolm Galloway] "I have seen the others," Malcolm says. He sinks down into his seat a little, not out of any attempt of drawing less attention, but he's inclined to nod his head tiredly even as he speaks. "It is her, and it is not, and she grows more insane with each passing years. The nightmares, though, are not all because of her. Or about her, either."

He rubs a hand on his knee, then digs his fingers into give himself the little jolt he needs. The temptation to just collapse right there is looming like a shadow, but it's neither the time nor the place, and the oblivious faithful also present in the chapel would not appreciate him screaming even during a nap. He pushes himself back up again, slumping forward just a little. "And you perhaps misunderstand me. I don't deny any such things. Not anymore. But with each passing year I find more and more signs that suggest Creation is like a watch that was wound and left, and now it is losing time. That's not to say it's been abandoned... just... that it's left to us to deal with it."

He closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose, then laughs as something else occurs to him. "Now that sounds egotistical. Forgive me, everything feels... off right now. It's hard to think clearly. And manners escape me as well. I'm Malcolm, Malcolm Galloway."

[Solomon Ward] "A pleasure, Mr. Galloway. Solomon Ward... " he says, though he seems lost in thought for a moment. Again, quiet forethought is put into his words before he speaks them. "I don't fully comprehend. About her, that is".

The priest chews his lower lip slightly, before recognizing the habit and ceasing. It's unprofessional and vulgar, and if he can't kick the habit in the confines of his own home the least he can do is not do it here. "The Lord works in mysterious ways, and is truely unknowable" a chuckle, and he continues.

"It isn't a horrible thought. I had a discussion, some time back, where I pointed out the validity of my faith to some one else. I find it refreshing to serve a God that doesn't always appear to be meddling. We'd like so many more of our prayers answered too, but such is the difference between want and need."

"Though I have two questions, If I may be so forward. What do you mean by seen the others ? And ...Mr. Galloway... are you the same Mr. Galloway from the uh...ehmm... candle stick incident?"

[Malcolm Galloway] He clears his throat and looks around self-consciously at that. "The, uh... The very same. It's complicated, so complicated there was nothing I could say to keep my collar." He grimaces at all the memories that come bubbling up as his mind inevitably drifts back down that road. He digs his fingers into his pant legs again and makes a lurking attempt at changing the subject. "But as for the others..." He lowers his voice another notch, which might require straining to hear him. He wasn't the type to feel completely safe and at ease even in such a holy place. "I mean the ones that aren't lost souls caught between this world and the next. Most are harmless enough. Animists put far too much stock in their power."

He says the word animist like it has the same connotations to him as heathen, and to him it does.

[Solomon Ward] By this point the average priest would have been especially wary. Solomon is no different, but for reasons all his own. Not the candlestick mind you... he could understand, in way, though he had trouble imagining such a loss of control, if it was such. Deliberate ? Then the man warranted extra caution. Either way the priest continued to nod slightly as the man spoke, partly in silent agreement and partly to show that he was listening avidly.

"I'd be very interested in hearing the story, some day, if its ever worth the telling for you. As to other spirits out there... it seems there may be more than we typically, in our faith, wish to admit to. Mr. Galloway, again, forgive me for being bold but you speak very bluntly about such things as most consider imposable, potentially heretical, or beyond the ken of a God fearing Christian".

His own voice has lowered slightly, lest the great atrium of the basilica carry his words too far. He picked up a Bible that was in the rear of the pew that Malcolm sat in, thumbed it open and briefly shuffled through the well worn pages until he found the one he wanted. His thumb traces along one of the passages.

"Mr. Galloway.. do you see spirits consistently, or other wise find yourself to be an instrument of Divinity or God ? Please answer honestly, as I will know".

[Malcolm Galloway]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Malcolm Galloway] ((damn it, that was supposed to be PMed... oh well))

[Malcolm Galloway] Malcolm slowly unfolds himself from the weary slouch he had unconsciously settled into. The look that flickers over his face isn't exactly relief, even at the tingle of something making the hairs on the back of his aching neck stand up.

"Any who know about the candle stick would consider it all par for the course, being the dangerous lunatic that I am. So lucky for me that my parish only just recovered from a sex scandal, or things would have been so much worse." He runs his hands down his pants, smoothing creases that aren't there. "As to your question- no to the first part, yes to the second. Notably an imperfect, some would say poorly tuned instrument."

It's the truth, though he still glances around without trying to be too obvious about it.

[Solomon Ward] Another nod from the priest. He seems satisfied with the answer, though he was never overtly hostile. The man just has a sensation of absolute stern quality to him. A hand reaches into his pocket to remove a small time piece, which he checks almost as much as habit as actual curiosity. Its still some time until the parish is likely to begin filling again.

"Yes, well, your reputation, due to the incident, does proceed you slightly. Part of me says that in this case I should exercise caution and be mindful of how such a conversation might indicate me, simply by matter of association. Still, the Lord forgives and expects us to do the same and so it isn't my place to judge, so long as there has been penance. None of us are perfect, Mr. Galloway. That one can admit it to such and still serve Him despite ones personal trials is commendable. I'm..."

He isn't sure how to say this, as the man was once a priest, so it feel awkward on his tongue. "I'm sorry to hear of your fiance"

[Malcolm Galloway] Condolences make Malcolm wince, even after so many years. "Perhaps it was never meant to be," he says. His eyes look to the high ceilings of the church before flicking back down to cast a wary glance down at the pew ahead of him. When the heavy books shelved on the back don't fly out and smack him in the face he relaxes somewhat. "But then, the same could be said for my place in the priesthood... I'm really not a man of anger, believe me."

He glances around again, just to be sure that no one was watching and nothing in the vicinity could easily be hurled at him by some angry ghostly force. "It's a long story, and here's neither the time nor the place. I can't say I've spoken to any other-- er, that is, a member of the priesthood since I left."

[Morgan Lake] And lo, a large, heavy door opens and in comes a slightly taller, considerably more lithe and athletic than average young woman with vividly red hair that's been bound in a ponytail. She wears the casual clothes that most late-teen-early-twenty-somethings seem to favor; jeans just a hair too long and a t-shirt that fits to her form, but doesn't cling (which is to say, she isn't afraid to let the world know she's a girl, but she's not exactly putting the goods on display).

There are only a few people in the church, and Morgan is glad of this when she stands, uncertain, by the basin of holy water at the door before gingerly dipping a finger in it and crossing herself before stepping further in. She's quiet so as not to disturb the few that are here, and looks around as if to study the place (but oh, dear, this isn't a book on a shelf) and, when she sees the rack of candles heads that way to drop a couple dollars into the slot and lights a couple; she's seen enough movies with scenes in churches that she knows what they're for, though she certainly doesn't know what to do other than that, aside from mentally attaching a name to each little flame.

Uncle Steve. Mama. Daddy. Aunt Pete. Uncle Zeke. Uncle Dan. The professors.

There's a long moment taken there, looking blindly at the candles in their wrought iron and wood holder, and from there? From there, she steps further into a room that takes even her atheistic breath away. She was never taught the art of prayer, perhaps, but each of her parents did what they could to instill an appreciation of beauty in her, and this certainly deserves a good portion of that appreciation. It's overwhelming, the feeling inherent, even without reaching out with those other senses. The magic here isn't all (or mostly, or . . . whatever) Awakened. Morgan is not one of the faithful by any stretch, but decades of prayer from those who are leaves a mark.

She doesn't kneel when she finds her likely pew, but rests a hip on the edge of it and looks at the crucifix above the altar and lets it all resonate through and around her. Maybe she's looking for something - goodness knows, a lot of people are when they come here, particularly at this time of night.

[Morgan Lake]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
to Solomon Ward

[Solomon Ward] "I understand", well no, not really. He can't even empathize to be perfectly honest. What he can understand is a reluctance to speak of it to a clergyman. That much made sense at least. He was about to say some thing else when the new comer entered and passed by. Another soul inside the Basilica was neither uncommon nor overly noticeable, but given as the priest and the man sat towards the back of the pews, and thus near the entrance, he did fall a little quieter.

The priest watches her for a moment. The large atrium is relatively empty at this point. Random parishioners are spread here and there, though most keep prayers and conversation low enough that the available acoustics don't carry the words far. His eyes cast about for a moment, taking new stock of the basilicas patrons. A new count, locations, the sort of things the intellectual, or the paranoid, might note out of habit.

"What brings you to Chicago ?", which seemed quite a ways from the New Orleans Candle Incident. Of ocurse, that may have been the point.

[Malcolm Galloway]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 5, 6 (Failure at target 6)

[Solomon Ward] There's a quiet magic in this place. The feel of faith in a world that has been slowly losing it for some time. She's right, initially, that it isn't the magic of the Awakened, but its a magic all the same. Centuries of love and devotion tend to leave that sort of thing cloying, hovering over furniture and clinging to the flesh like an angel.

There's also been some thing, much more recently. More active, directed and dictated and controlled. Not the sense of aura or resonance imprinted over time, but that hair tickiling feeling that something has been Willed very recently.
to Morgan Lake

[Solomon Ward] [Awareness]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 5, 7 (Failure at target 6)
to Morgan Lake

[Morgan Lake] [and, because dice rolls give me reasoning for XP expenditures, a general awareness check - resonances and . . . well, applicable information as suxx dictate please, gentlemen! (Per + Aware)]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 4, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Malcolm Galloway] ((curse you little check boxes))

Like a shark that will die if it stays still, Malcolm keeps some degree of movement going if only to keep himself from fading out again. This time he puts his arm on the back of the pew, tracing his fingers along the old wood. He just as wary as Solomon, if not more so, and so the sound of footsteps draws his attention.

"I'm originally from here, actually," he says. It's hard to tell, as he doesn't have much of any accent to speak of. "After New Orleans, and then so many years traveling, I figured I couldn't keep running."

He eyes Morgan as he says "We had a house here... In what used to be a nice neighborhood. Was going to be, anyway. We never had the chance to move in. I figured it might be the first step, or maybe the last, to putting everything to rest."

His voice is low enough, and the meaning ambiguous enough, that he's confident the girl couldn't sense anything amiss. Oh, if he only knew...

((Burning, Illuminating. He seethes with classically holy energy. He also makes a mean martini.))

[Solomon Ward] It roils off the priest. A sense of unyielding righteousness with an archaic feel, a sort of anachronism rarely found in modern times. Old and dusty and nearly forgotten, but a faith and self assurance nearly unheard of in this day and age.

And some thing else... some thing else clings to him just barely, like dried soap or fading aftershave. The feel of another. The faintest echo of some thing piercing and sorrowful.
to Morgan Lake

[Morgan Lake] It's sharp and sudden, the glance the two men get from the girl - young, though it'd difficult to determine exactly how young she is. The study is brief but piercing, and after that, she doesn't turn their back to them again. There's a set to her shoulders, a tension in her bearing that indicates she's sensed . . . well, something.

Something that the average parishioner certainly doesn't, if that gaze is any indication.

Solomon gets studied a little longer (or maybe it's that her eyes keep moving back to him, surreptitious), as if she's trying to puzzle something out; there's something familiar there, something she's sensed before, and it makes her curious. She knows who felt like that - it was Isreal, of course - as that sort of meeting can't help but leave an impression, but she hadn't been particularly aware that her resonance might be left on another. Interesting. It's something to ask about later, at some point, amongst all the other lessons.

Eventually, she steps back a pew - she doesn't move when they might catch her, of course, that would be obvious. And she's not trying to eavesdrop, not really, so much as find a likely spot [and way, or reason] to speak herself. Unheard of and exploratory trips into churches aside, this stands to be a lot more interesting than listening to quiet, polite coughs and the turning pages of prayer books.

[Solomon Ward] (Shit, you two mind skipping me a post ? My apologies)
to Malcolm Galloway, Morgan Lake

[Malcolm Galloway] ((no problem))
to Morgan Lake, Solomon Ward

[Malcolm Galloway] Erroneously convinced the girl is just another of the faithful, Malcolm moves his arm from the back of the pew, picks up a hymnal and absentmindedly flips through the pages. Even a small pause from Solomon prompts him to keep talking, even ramble, quietly to fill the gaps. Now that he's reminded himself he's being haunted he can't stand a moment of relative silence even on consecrated soil.

"Running perhaps isn't the best word for it. I was... searching for knowledge." He sighs and puts the hymnal back. "But knowing and doing are two entirely different things now, aren't they? I feel only partly prepared for whatever lies ahead. If it came down a confrontation I couldn't say how I'd fare. The incident in New Orleans..." And he lowers a voice enough so that one would have to strain to hear. "That was a confrontation with an agent of unholy forces."

He nods somberly, then continues in that same damnably low whisper.

"Father John had been... compromised. Corrupted. I didn't mean for things to end up as they did, but then things would be much different had I not."

[Morgan Lake] There are interesting things Morgan's heard about but had little experience with (thankfully, perhaps); the fallen and corrupted of either mystical stripe are amongst them. This is intriguing for the apprentice, certainly, and has her not quite so careful with her next steps closer, all burning inquisitiveness and a need to learn that nearly lights up the room. Or might, anyway, if it weren't already illuminated in a completely different manner. 'Unholy forces' could be another language [one out of her father's lectures], but . . . well.

Maybe it'll be story time.

[Solomon Ward] "How do you tell, for sure? Not that I disbelieve you, but I'm curious as to your methods or reasonings". Call it skeptical for a priest, but many a man has claimed that 'God told me to do it'. For a few, it was true. For most others it was... convenient. The Son of Sam's dog told him to do it too, and dog is god spelled backw---- what an odd train of thought.

"Some consider me to be a bit skeptical... more so than your usual Catholic investigation requires for claimed events of miracles and such. Corruption is much the same. We discount and prove wrong and show hoaxes where people claim things to be holy. Everything must be verified, confirmed. That's what happened, wasn't it ? There was no proof ?"

Solomon is a rather attentive individual. Where Malcolm may be exhausted and in constant battle with the sleep monster, the priest is well rested, well disciplined, and alert. He keeps his voice low out of both respect for the Basilica and the fact their topic is ...esoteric, but it isn't out of any attempt to disguise or hide his words.

On the flip side, it isn't common for young ladies to just stand next to pews and do nothing either. Catholicism is full of sitting, standing, kneeling, bending, praying, standing again, sit once more, kneel again please, lets pray some more, mix and repeat. Even Catholics realize it has a sort of Simon Says quality to it.

He speaks up, "Good evening, young miss. Is there some thing I, or another clergyman, can do for you?"

[Malcolm Galloway] He looks somewhat annoyed at that last question, but there's none of the seething, homicidal rage the Church reports claimed he demonstrated. "As a matter of fact, I--" and he stops as Solomon address the girl. He turns to look at her, head moving so slowly it's creepy until one considers it's just the result of a stiff. The dark circles under his eyes still make him look somewhat sinister in the soft light.

His brows go up as he looks at Morgan, silently inquiring just how much of that she overheard.

[Morgan Lake] "I . . . no, not really. Maybe?" There's an uncertain hint of smile, a bit apologetic as she steps closer to the two men; quiet conversations are meant to be kept quiet, after all, and places like this instill a reverent sort of hush in almost everyone, even those who aren't quite sure what else to do once they've gotten here. "Not a regular church thing though, I don't think. Not yet, anyway," she adds with a shrug, eyes moving over the both of them in the awkward-tinged pause that comes before the next bit of explanation.

"I'm . . . um. I've run past this place before, and it's beautiful, and the organ music is great. And I was about, so I thought I'd step in and see what it's all about. In the . . . well, I know what church is about. I've just only ever been in one for a wedding or a funeral."

Which gives no indication of how much she's heard, or what she thinks of it - that would be telling.

[Solomon Ward] The priest smiles slightly. Its a small thing, not exactly warm though it isn't false or forced either. Its just an expression one doesn't see on him much these days. If Catholics are known for being overtly stern and ritualistic, he's one of them.
"I understand... . Please, make yourself at home. If you wish to speak with a priest, on any thing, let me or another know. Also the entryway has a table, I'm sure you noticed ? There are brochures and pamphlets and service listings if any catch your attention, from regular mass to special events."

He glances back to Malcolm, not so much ignoring the girl as a quick shift in attention in order to shrug to the man. Apparently a near empty Cathedral wasn't the best place for this conversation after all, though the man isn't overtly worried or upset. Another shift of focus, back to Morgan, as he watches her. "This is a very special Church, called a Basilica. There are very few in the United States. The country just isn't old enough to house the traditions required. It has been afforded certain privileges by the Pope, and in turn stands ready to receive him at any time"

[Malcolm Galloway] Malcolm gives a little shrug at Solomon's glance. "It's refreshing to see young people taking any sort of interest," he says, though he's fairly certain her interest was chiefly in their hushed conversation. "I'm Malcolm, by the way. Malcolm Galloway." He stretches her arm out over the pew to shake her hand. It trembles noticeably.

[Solomon Ward] [hate to run but i gotta outro]
to Malcolm Galloway, Morgan Lake

[Morgan Lake] "My father's a mythology professor - mostly Arthurian, but a fair amount of it touches on Greco-Roman pantheons and how the advent of Christianity affected the stories. I know a bit. Just not . . . you know. Prayer and stuff, I guess. Anyway, I'm Morgan Lake, and I'm terribly sorry for interrupting you. I'll be sure to grab any of those pamphlets on my way out, yeah."

Polite, she, and very proper for her age (because while she may be old enough to buy cigarettes if she wants to, she's certainly not old enough to buy alcohol), and also very ready to leave them to their conversation.

[Solomon Ward] Solomon stood and nodded to them both, repeating his name for the benefit of the newcomer "Solomon Ward. I apologize if I seem haste, but there are preparations I've been placed in charge of and I must see them through. If you wish I can be found here, or granted I'm unavailable just ask for me and they'll call me."

To Morgan he says " I do hope to see you again", though Malcolm is right. Its rare to see any interest in the young these days.

Then to Malcolm, he speaks in Latin, bearing the sign of the cross as he does so. "Be strong in the Lord and in the power of His might. Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places."

A brief pause "I hope to see you as well, my son. Dominus Vobiscum"