Acolyte & Psalter

[Alcolyte] The air is redolent with thunder-storming, with a storm of thunder. There is no rain. Just the sound of gods, arguing up in the Heavens, and clouds that brood like they could teach Stefan Salvatore or Edward Cullen or Lord Byron (by far, the winner of these three) or Manfred (of the four?) a thing or two about communing with the spirit of brood.

And Kage Jakes, middle initial R, is seated at a table outside of a corner cafe, confident that she will not be electrocuted by lightning strikes (there are a lot of things, higher than this table she is sitting at), with a big bowl of hot chocolate (cool [tepid] chocolate) and a piece of biscotti. She is handwriting notes in a journal. Plain, average, nothing-much-to-write-home about, even if she is inexpressibly poised, self-contained, Aware.

[Hopefully Aware, anyway. Shazaam!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Psalter] The air is redolent and in the distance there is thunder and lightning - close enough to see and hear, but only an hour ago, a half hour ago, it was all heat lightning. Morgan Lake, no middle initial (she never had one, not before and not now), wanders almost aimlessly, not having found what she was looking for the other day at the more frequented shops along the Mile, and thus finds herself here, looking for out of the way boutiques or perhaps consignment shops for something interesting to wear. She wants a dress-up dress, though she's no occasion to wear it - maybe to play frisbee in the park, or to practice Spirit work with Basil. One never knows with Morgan.

She's a bit frustrated, though, as she walks up to the cafe, having left her car parked somewhere-just-over-there, out of sight but not terribly far away; she's an athlete, and never mind the messenger-bag-as-purse that so often also holds a laptop and/or a book or three. She's here now, which is what matters, all preppy-cute in her two french braids, one on either side of her head, khaki shorts that hit right above her knees and ride just so on her hips, tucked in light polo (complete with little man on horse) in a sunset shade between Red and pink. Aware, yes, aware is a thing. It tells one what's (or who's) around.

(Hi there. Do I sense you?)
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 6, 9 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Alcolyte] Kage feels Morgan before Morgan comes around the corner, feels the withering, dessicating touch of her resonance, the new (to Kage) discerning tint to it. And Morgan, she feels Kage, too, or someone very like Kage, that burning, luminous, ardency [beloved, a caress] counterbalanced against a draining-away, the act of leeching, thirsty, unquenched, winter, unsatisfaction, and then something else [New, kindling, immanent, cutting, who knows]. The point is this: there is a Kage, and both Mages are Aware that they're not the only Mage on the block.

Kage reacts to this by looking up from her book, by glancing around, and there is Morgan: very recognizable, very obvious, Morgan who wasn't always Enid, who decided to, when renaming herself, name herself after a Wicked Fairy, an Archnemesis, a Power, in Arthurian myth: re-make what her parents named her. What her dad, her mom, chose.

And it's been a while. Kage's mouth crooks, but she doesn't yet wave a hello or call Morgan over. Another rumble of thunder, it starts to grow to the East--finishes in a crack, ominous.

What's that thunder trying to foretell?

[Psalter] Morgan pauses, just there, about to step - potential, promise - when thunder rolls over her head, mumblegrumbling something, and behind her, lightning answers marking the world in harsh silhouette. Rip van Winkle plays nine pin with the fae in the Catskills and here, two mages catch sight (or scent, or sense) of each other

Kage looks, her mouth crooks (and oh, crooked glee, a demon lover toys with her hair, or perhaps it's the whistled-up wind that raises goosebumps in skin, the waiting, the antici . . . pation) and in her eyes a fey gleam; Morgan, paused there and discerning with every fiber of her being also withers a bit of the color, the life from the world immediately touching her. It's the sky she's looking at, though Kage is familiar; it's the air she's tasting, though there's more palatable sustenance inside.

It ends, that moment, and Morgan - who gave her parents the honor they're due for creating her, for birthing her, for raising her when she was given the opportunity to rename herself, who kept her loved ones close in the only way she could come up with quickly when forced to sever all ties - moves, looks towards Kage and her own lips curl into a small, self-satisfied thing.

Hi, you, that look says, and then an eyebrow raises and head nods, angles, like so: May I? May she join, of course.

[Acolyte] "Go ahead," Kage says, and there is another chair, something wrought and metal, something white and black at the corners, where paint has cracked, been rubbed away to reveal a metallic gleam. This is Kage, today, see: dark green pants, demure cream-coloured shirt, a pendant which rests at the hollow of her throat, tarnished, needs a good polish [we all go down to the dark eventually, don't we? And age teaches the bones of the world that light isn't worth reflecting, that shining must be dilluted and softened], metal wing, her hair pulled back into a loose tear-drop, a little too messy, falling apart strand by strand, and of course vibrant. Especially vibrant against the J. W. Turner-esque Apocalypse of summer storm sky.

"How are you doing, Morgan?" This time, the name that isn't Morgan's name, not in Kage's thoughts, not in her head, comes easily; there isn't so much as a hitch [after all, what's in a name?]. "I never expect to see you out and about. I imagine you diligently slaving over a desk and that's it." A touch of wry, there. Because Kage is wry, that's just how she is. Sardonic.

Most people don't peg her for a Cynic, though.

[Psalter] "I'm out a lot, actually," she says as she takes the seat, legs crossing in front of her at the ankle, not the knee - closer to a picture of elegance and poise than many (most) her age come, and easy with it. She's as comfortable here, speaking with a woman nearly a decade her elder, as she would be at a track meet, or bent diligently over a tome on a desk. It's the way these things go; Morgan can find a way to be at home in most situations, which is good for her. It's a useful skill to have, this blending in. "I alternate one long run and two short, and I've been getting my books and stuff for school. The semester starts soon, and I wanted to be a bit ahead."

So, yes, she also slaves diligently over the aforementioned desk, and admits to it a bit sheepishly And she does far more so than she indicates, in fact - between mundane studies and magical ones, it's lucky she finds time for much else.

Thunder rumbles again, and this time ends in a loud crack, but there is still. no. rain. The light is a bruise, all yellowgreenpurpleblue against the fervent, fervid gray of the clouds as lightning jumps from one to the next, an expulsion energy built up and wrong, a discharge of negative ions.

"And I'm . . . alright. Better, anyway. Most of the time." Or maybe she just deals better - there have been dreams, her subconscious' way of clearing the cache, as it were, but there have been no more breakdowns, sobbing on Ashley's couch or tucked away in her room at Blackstone castle. She's normalizing, evening out, which isn't necessarily a good thing - balance is great, for a while. But sometimes, one needs to be just that little bit off to learn, to fight one's way back. "Have you met James, yet? I've been hanging out with him, some. Mostly running and studying, though. And shopping, lately."

[Acolyte] "I have," Kage says, of James, "If the James you're speaking of is a little the sound of silence." Which is Kage's way, see, of saying: James? Deaf James? We've met, Deaf James and I. "What do you think of him?" The woman (older [twenties, at a glance: mid-to-late, and then stop, clock]) has always been a studious creature, and she contemplates Morgan for a second. Rosary beads, see. And then: Musing; then she says, "Question. In your studies, have you spent much time learning about Avatars of Consciousness?" There will, of course, be a follow-up question or three, but they can't be asked until the first [threshold (gateway)] question has been answered.

A beat, and, "You know, if you'd like to run in and grab a coffee or something, then bring it back, I won't say a word. If you wanted to aquire a brownie so that, say, we could point out the brownies flaws and its greatest faults, reminisce about the brownies back in the golden days when brownies were home-baked and roamed the streets, when the gutters ran with good french press coffee - well, that would be okay, too."

A subtle creature, Kage. Full of hints.

[Psalter] "He's nice. He made me breakfast, once, and we've had lunch together twice now. Well, one brunch, and Ashley was there. And one lunch." She shrugs, and nods, yes, Deaf James, of course. Chorister James. "He's helping me learn sign language. I'm terrible at it, really. Only language I'm any good at is Chinese." It's rueful, really, that - she's tried to learn a great many languages and not done so well with them in the end. She's retained a few essential phrases in some, and not even that in most. Then there's the question about Avatars, and Morgan's brow raises - curious, this. "The anthropomorphizing of a collective idea, or the more personal version thereof? In any case, both."

Then there's a smirk, wry. Of course she'd like coffee and a brownie, and so she rises. "Can I bring you anything?" Whether or not the answer is affirmative, Morgan's in and then, after an appropriate amount of time, back out with her bowl of chocolate, espresso and whipped cream, whatever Kage requested, and a tuxedo brownie roughly the size of Morgan's hand, plated and with two forks. Of course she'll share - she's a baker, it's what she does.

"Someday, you'll have to try my brownies. Maybe all the varieties I know how to make. In the meantime, this will have to do - help yourself."

[Acolyte] [Annoying Sister powers activated? Yea or nay?]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 8, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Acolyte] "Good luck," she says, of learning sign language. And, "The more personal version thereof,"Kage says, a beat, "and how that pertains to the anthropomorphizing of a collective idea." Another beat, because every conversation has a cadence, every conversation has a flow, a rhythm, and those who've never heard it before, well, it is unfortunate for them. Unfortunate, because it's a piece of something larger, greater, grander, and it is a good detail. Life. A spark. And, see, Kage adds, "But I was thinking more specifically, the essences, how they might relate to your own, whether or not you've seen your own yet, what you think about it, etcetera."

Kage has never treated Morgan, not even Orphan, just-Awake, Enid like an innocent child, like someone who can't think for themself. Doesn't matter. Experience is Opinion, yes, but sometimes Understanding wakes on up out've Opinion: right?

Can Morgan bring Kage anything? The Orphan's reply is something to the effect of Why, whatsoever you bring out that looks a lot like a brownie I would be ever so happy to nibble on. And Morgan, she says something about baking brownies, all varieties, and Kage's response is a brief smile, something that lilts, cool, and this: "Well, my birthday is coming up, in a few months or so. The world's largest brownie was three thousand pounds. I'm not saying that's what I'll be expecting from Kitchen Witch Morgan, but..."

[Psalter] "But Kitchen Witch Morgan may well make some brownies, even if none so lauded as the world's largest," she says with light humor, answering the last first out of deference to the more serious consideration required to answer the first. She's a studious girl, is Morgan; rarely does she speak without thinking.

"I haven't seen mine, no, but she's there," comes with a shrug - 'she' says Morgan, clearly giving her Avatar gender, if not much else. "I almost hear her, sometimes - this thing is right, that other is unjust, this person or situation needs help - but that's all, and . . ." she's read enough that she's well aware of the fact that she doesn't know more than she does, that she has more questions than answers. It could be intuition, that, or sometimes common sense - but it nudges, pulls her. It doesn't let her stay in one place, but drives her to seek Truth behind Reality, and to know the difference between the two. "The essences . . . I can't help wanting to find things, to learn more. I think if it weren't for that, she would be different. And what I think of her . . ."

Here, there's a bit of wry, and a sip of mocha followed by a bite of decadent (hand made, but en masse - not the same as a pan of brownies baked in someone's kitchen, too perfect, too soulless) brownie.

"She's quiet, most of the time. But when she wants my attention, she can be a demanding bitch."

[Acolyte] Kage has very little problem taking a piece of the soulless brownie and consuming it. Maybe because it has no soul; there is no regret. But then again: maybe because it has no soul, it is actually nothing, and she is eating nothing; in which case, there is no need to worry about calories or whatever it is women are worrying about these days, because the brownie does not exist, and the exquisite taste is just a mirage on the tongue.

Very little problem, indeed. And she listens to Morgan talk, then says, "How do you think she would be different? And when has she wanted your attention?"

[Psalter] "She's . . . haughty, and aloof." Which could well be fitting for Morgan, depending on the day and time and price of tea in China. "And sort of cold. Not physically so, but black and white with little room for gray, and no room for red." Which is also fitting, in some ways. It's not just her age and certainly not her upbringing, but Morgan is a right or wrong, yes or no sort of girl, and becomes more so all the time. This isn't to say that she can't argue a case in which something is a little bit wrong, or not quite right, but they frustrate her, don't make sense. They don't ring of truth, of Verity (dropping like lakelight from her hems).

"I don't know that I ever really thought of her - consciously, I mean. I know I have an Avatar, but I don't know that I would have called her 'she', until you asked. But she pulled at me in that spirit mess, and because of it leaned on me to learn more of the Sphere."

That, too, Kage would have noticed - there is no more blue half-heart on the young Hermetic's torso - no mark, nothing claiming her.

[Acolyte] Kage has not yet (not yet) looked sideways, done whatever it is she does, which allows her to See another dimension to the world, to open her eyes and regard what is essentially spirit [not flesh not rock not bone], but she plans on doing it, at some point, plans on sideglancing at Morgan, at seeing that half-heart, still vibrant, wrong, like somebody's idea of a card-mannered joke, or something else.

"Are you learning it by the book, with Ashley's help explaining theoreticals, as needed, or do you have a tutor?" Kage asks, when Morgan refers to a Sphere [instead of an Art, an Ars]. Also, "And what exactly is this 'red' there is no room from?" (Go ahead, explain your personal symbology, the mythology of how you work. )

[Acolyte] ooc: ahem, there is no room FOR.

[Psalter] She'd used the vernacular because, while she spends the majority of her time with one of the two elder Hermetics, she also spends a fair amount with those of other Traditions . . . and more than that in mundane study. Spheres of influence, as it were - those that she's gaining due to work with Malcolm, or those that she's gaining through study with Ashley, or Basil, or those that she's earning solely on her own, through hard work and forcing herself to connect with people in her eventual field.

"Basil, actually," she says easily. "Ashley can't yet. Neither of them calls it 'Sphere', and Basil calls it by the older name." So many different words, different realities, muddying the truth - but Morgan discerns, and may well one day pierce through them all.

But then, "Black and white are right and wrong. Gray is the 'middle space'," the air quotes are implied in tone, not actually formed with her fingers, "and red is what's outside. Or it could be blue, or green, or any other color I suppose. But I like red."

[Acolyte] "Ah hah. So no outside, only within," Kage says, an eyebrow quirked, as though to say, That's right, isn't it? "And that is part of what you think your Avatar wants. How important do you think that is -- the wanting?"

[Psalter] "Not necessarily within me - well, my strength, my Will - but within the issue. The facts and figures that apply to it, the testimonies and evidence, the applicable precedent. The case at hand, not the extra stuff. And more often than not, it's a fight to keep it at that, which is okay - I'm good at arguing when I have to be." And there's no doubt that she must be - she's intelligent and articulate, and there's that constant thought she puts into things. "And the wanting . . . it's important, but not always practical. I think she's learning too, you know? She knows more than I do, but she's looking for the Truth as well. And sometimes, I think you have to look in the red to find it."

[Acolyte] "So you're saying that you, yourself - your Will, your strength - that's just 'extra stuff'? That your Will, your Strength, they don't apply? They're there, but essentially unimportant?"

Enid -- no, Morgan. Morgan has always been precocious, always been frighteningly intelligent, always been driven, focused, always been able to have her own way (no, no, not at the beginning of the year, not then), and it shows in the way she holds herself, shows in the way she has chosen to shape herself, post-whatever it is that happened to her.

I think you have to look in the red to find it, Morgan says, and Kage's mouth curves, briefly. "So what have you been baking, lately? The few times I've dropped by the white fence house, I am sad to say the cupboards have been bare of delicious-looking treats."

[Psalter] "Oh, no, not at all. It's my Will and my strength that shape the argument, that make the case take the course I want it to. They're there and of key importance." Of course they are, says the haughty toss of her head that doesn't at all go with the girlish braids to each side of it - and yes, she's always been precocious, intelligent, driven and focused. She's (almost) always been able to have her own way. It shows in the curve of her lips, the cross of her legs, the poise that so few eighteen year old girls exhibit.

Then, there's baking, and Morgan grins. "I've been toying with new recipes. Baking is kind of like a trial, you know. You have the Plaintiff and Defendant, the jury, the evidence, the deliberation time, and at the end, you have the judge. Anyway, I made a blueberry crumb coffee cake and a strawberry pound cake, and a few different breads - maybe I'll have to replenish the white fence house.

[Acolyte] [Pausetastic!]