Exposition

[James Blake] He's only been to her place once. It was weeks ago. She'd had a migraine, and she was driving, and he made her breakfast. What he didn't ask was if that was her place or if she had a roommate or what would happen if he showed up around midnight after witnessing something screwed up at a club that he didn't want to be at in the first place. Morgan had flirted with him a bit during the basketball tutorial a few days ago, and when she left James had been in a good mood. He doesn't know how good a mood she would be in if he just showed up unannounced throwing pebbles at her window or something so he initiates contact in the usual style...sending a text message.

You awake?

[Morgan Lake] First, there is this - Blackstone Castle, as she'd told him its called, is highly arcane. It disappears from mind even if its inhabitants do not; when not there, James would be hard pressed to remember where it was, or what it looked like. He might remember it being not far off of the Mile, in one of the nicer neighborhoods but not so lauded as the Gold Coast, but details about the house itself would be difficult to come by.

At midnight or so, Morgan is sound asleep - but she keeps her phone near her bed, used for its alarm. Very few people call her, really, and none of them call her late. Most who would call her know that she's an early to bed, early to rise sort of girl [don't drink, don't smoke - what do you do?]. It takes a bit for a text to come back - long enough that James might think he isn't going to get one, but then there it is, vibrating through.

Yeah. Everything alright?

[James Blake] He's not far from where he (vaguely) remembers Morgan taking him once. Long strides are taking him further away from the club that will probably be closed down before the month is out. He's making an effort not to smoke because if Morgan answers and Morgan isn't asleep then he doesn't want to smell like smoke if by some bizarre chance she decides to see him. The last time he smoked was before he got in the shower. His nerves are screaming for nicotine now that the adrenaline is fading away. The back of his tongue tastes like pennies. His palms are damp but his hands aren't shaking. He's gone almost a mile before Morgan answers him and when his phone vibrates he jumps.

Something weird just happened downtown. Everyone's alright. Can I come over?

[Morgan Lake] Yeah, I'll meet you by the mailbox. It's the white one.

And so she gets out of bed, tries to make some sense of her hair, tests her breath (and decides to brush, quickly), and pulls on a hoodie over her pajamas, the better to be at least halfway decent when she goes out to meet him Her hair is left down, straight, and it tumbles to her waist easily - and there, when he gets close to where he remembers the house being (he's just a little off, but out of sight is out of mind, and he's looking for it now), there she is, bare feet planted in the grass, boxer-esque shorts with peanuts characters all over them peeking from under a hoodie that proclaims a private high school and her the captain of its cross country team for the 2008/2009 school year (and gives her the nickname of 'Your Honor', when he gets a chance to read the back) and all.

"Hey," she says, and signs. "There's tea and shortbread. Come on in."

[James Blake] (( WP -3 ))
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 2, 6 (Failure at target 6)

[James Blake] It's a short cab ride to the general area where he remembers the house being. When he gets out, James walks the rest of the way looking for a white mailbox. He sees Morgan before he sees the mailbox. The sight of her makes him walk faster. He's dressed as though he was out tonight, in dark heavy looking jeans and a blue dress shirt. The sleeves are rolled up. Other than the thick silver band on his thumb he isn't wearing any other jewelry. His hair is mussed but no more than it usually is. He looks tired. He doesn't usually look tired. His boots crunch gravel as he walks but he doesn't hear it. Morgan greets him, and he holds back long enough to let her greet him. Then he moves toward her. He wraps his arms around her shoulders and pulls her in for an embrace. This isn't anything he's ever done with her before. Honestly...James is expecting her to pull away.

[Morgan Lake] [So, Miss The Truth Is Out There, how obvious are you tonight? Man + Sub]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 2, 8 (Failure at target 6)

[Morgan Lake] [And, are you going to let that fly? WP]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 5, 5, 9, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Morgan Lake] There's a definite stiffening of her spine, and surprise - it's been awhile since anyone did anything like this to her, with her, whatever. For a long moment, she's not sure how to react. He can feel the uncertainty quiver through her and, though it doesn't go away, he can feel her relax just a little bit. Not enough for her to uncross her arms from in front of her, to return the embrace, but enough to not pull away at least. Enough to let herself rest against him just briefly, to see how they fit. It's not so bad, really - she's short enough that he can almost, but not quite, rest his chin atop her head, but she's certainly no midget. She's also no frail, delicate thing for how thin she looks, but he'd seen and felt that when they were playing basketball.

She's the first to pull away, of course, and when she does she makes sure she has his attention before signing, and speaking - the former is still slow, clumsy, and some of it's a little off - there's so much nuance and subtlety in sign language that it's hard not to be when one is first learning. "Are you sure you're alright?"

The smile's a hair wary, almost (but not quite) nervous.

[James Blake] He's not exactly relaxed when he holds Morgan, either. It's been months since he took someone into his arms who wasn't paying for the privilege. It's been months since he's wanted to. People find out what he does for a living and assume he's sex crazed and stupid but he really doesn't spend all of his time thinking about how he can get his female friends into bed. James has been in a state of suspended mourning ever since the beginning of the year. Other than leaving his wedding ring on he hasn't even hinted to Morgan that he was married or what the fate of the woman attached to the ring was. He's been content to not mention it. If he wants to do anything more than hug her he doesn't act on it. He doesn't rest against her head or smell her hair or tighten his grasp. He holds her as long as she'll let him and when Morgan goes to step back, he lets her.

When she asks if he's sure he's alright, James smiles. It's a sad smile though. There's no happiness in it. He looks at a patch of grass between them, and his silence stretches out for longer than a few seconds.

[Morgan Lake] Now, her hands drop. Now, without saying anything, she takes one of his hands in one of hers and leads him inside - this one little bit of touching is different than hugging or being hugged - and in this particular case, she's in charge. She doesn't know what exactly he does, or any of the things pertaining to the wedding ring he no longer wears. What she does know is that he's nice, and he's taken care of her when she was upset before; even if he hadn't, she likes him. She's never not had a pleasant time when they were together.

So it's inside they go, and now, yes, he remembers - the house is huge, and warded, and contains a sanctum. Like the previous time he was here, there's not a tour. Morgan takes him directly to the kitchen, which is one of the two best places in the world to be when things outside of it aren't going so well, or so Morgan thinks.

"Here." There are a couple of containers of loose leaf tea to choose from - earl grey, chamomille, mint, Irish breakfast, the like - and a tea ball presented - he's allowed to get that ready while she pours hot water from the kettle into the pot. There's also a small bowl of lemon wedges clearly pulled from the fridge recently, along with a pint of milk, a honey bear, and a sugar bowl. "I'm good with any of them. And I don't know how you take your tea, sorry."

One more plate is set out, and this one contains the aforementioned shortbread, that done, she settles, leaning against the counter between stools, so she can move easily as she pleases, without having to get up and down. "You want to talk about it, or just to relax and let it go?"

[James Blake] When she takes his hand James snaps out of his reverie. He holds onto her hand as tightly as if they're fighting through a sea of bodies...as tightly as he had when he'd led her across the slope of the roof to make sure she didn't fall. Morgan is the one guiding him this time, though. He doesn't let go of her until they get inside. Then, he crosses his arms over his chest to keep from reaching for her again. This girl is young but he wouldn't call her naive. Still the fact that he's coming to her when he's in a state like this isn't good. There's a reason he hasn't really known anyone since January. Opening up to people is a frightening prospect. Sex is so much easier yet Morgan is not some world weary woman looking to have a fling and then forget about him. They're starting to become friends. He doesn't know what he wants from her and that scares the shit out of him.

Morgan leaves him in charge of picking which tea they're going to have. He feeds the tea ball a few leaves of chamomile. He needs to calm down and he doesn't want to ask Morgan if she has any alcohol. There's the question that he had been hoping she didn't ask. James slumps, then sits down on one of the stools. His voice seems louder in the kitchen than it would outside.

"I should tell you." He seems to realize that his voice is booming, and he reins it in. Mouths instead of actually speaking. If she listens closely she can hear the words whispering out of his throat. "Did you know I was married?"

[Morgan Lake] "I kind of figured, with the ring," she says, and there's a blush as she makes herself very busy with preparing her own cup - a teaspoon of honey and a small wedge of lemon, just so. "I'm . . . um. Sorry if I was out of line, the other day."

No, she's not naive. When she was flirting, she'd known she was doing so - she'd felt freer about it because of the lack of ring, but she'd never asked what that was about anyway, if he'd gotten divorced, if something else had happened. She's also not dumb; she looks at him, and for whatever reason, goes to the freezer and pulls out a half pint of Gentleman Jack, and grabs a shot glass from a cupboard.

"I don't know what Solomon's up to, but I barely ever see him these days. He won't miss a shot or two, if you want it." She, though, doesn't drink any more than she smokes - there's more reason for the lack of this vice, though. Just because she doesn't drink now doesn't mean she hasn't before. And that's just a quick interlude, to give him the drink he wants, but doesn't want to ask for, and then she goes back to her tea.

She doesn't want to push, really, but can't help asking, "What happened?"

[James Blake] How is this girl not reading his mind? She apologizes for being out of line the other day and then gets up to grab a glass of bourbon out of the freezer. James looks confused. He can't figure when she was out of line but doesn't have the chance to ask her. When she sits back down he looks grateful for the alcohol, and signs Thank you when she actually offers the alcohol to him. Most Choristers aren't huge drinkers. A lot of them are reformed alcoholics. James isn't even old enough to drink but that doesn't mean he doesn't, period.

When Morgan gives him the shot he drinks it fast, the way it was designed to be taken, and sets the glass down gently. She asks what happens, and he tells her.

"Her name was Sarah. I met her when I was 16. We got married when I was 19. She died less than a year later...almost six months 'go." He pauses here. Works up the courage to continue. "She Fell. Became a Nephandus" he has to finger spell this word "and had to be killed. I left Alaska after that. Three days ago I got a text message from someone saying I could see her again if I did something for him. I sneak into a club and almost get killed by the owner and...this woman was there. I could hear Sarah's voice with someone else in my head. It was her resonance but she didn't really look like her." He pauses again, this time to breathe. "I had to make the spirit in her leave. It sucked."

[Morgan Lake] [post written, now the WP roll that tells me if the last part of it works!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 5, 5, 10 (Failure at target 6)

[Morgan Lake] Morgan is not a mind-reader; she has the potential to be so, but he's seen how uncomfortable she is with other people touching her mind, and she's considerate enough that she generally has no interest in touching anyone else's. But she does know the look of someone who wants a drink after years of being the only child amongst adults, and she's lived her long enough to know where the (equally underage) master of the house keeps his booze. She can't say she approves of anything near inebriation, but before her Awakening, she'd been to her share of parties and the like (with her peers, granted) and understands the need for a bit of fortification sometimes. (She also likes a half glass of wine with dinner if the meal or occasion calls for it, and has been allowed such since she was fourteen - since her mother left her with her British expat father. But that's neither here nor there.)

All this to explain how she knows he may need a shot or two after a clearly troublesome night, and more so when the conversation turns to dead wives. She listens quietly with nods and cues that she's doing so here and there, blowing her tea to a coolness she can drink without burning her mouth as she does, and there's sadness there - for him, for his wife - but not pity. Sympathy, not empathy.

"I'm so sorry," she says, and sets her tea down to come to his side of the counter - there's a hesitation during which her arm rises as if she might hug him, but it's stiff, clumsy, and ends up with a weak pat on the shoulder instead, before she subtly steps back. Out of reach. Aloof. "If you need to talk about it, you may. Any time. I'm a good listener."

[James Blake] He doesn't know why he tells her all this. Because she'd asked, maybe. Because he wants to know her. Because part of knowing someone is opening up to them. It's rare that he can talk about what happened to his wife with people that he meets. The excuses he gives for Sarah's passing are always bullshit. Sometimes she had cancer...sometimes she died in a car crash. He gets no great enjoyment out of making up myriad less painful ways for her to have died. If she had died of cancer, or in a car crash, or however it is that he lies, at least it would have been her that died. Not this thing that had taken her place.

Morgan is too young to be exposed to this. Not that an 18 year old girl can't be married and find herself in the same position. He had only been 19 or 20 himself. It's only been six months. That he can talk about it without getting angry or upset speaks of how far he's come in grieving. It can't have been very far, though. He'd worn his wedding ring until three days ago. She gets up and pats him on the shoulder instead of hugging him, and he smiles a sad smile. If she actually had hugged him James might have burst into tears.

Thank you, he signs. He watches her a moment. Forces himself to keep speaking what he's signing. His voice is starting to go. He's not conditioned to speaking for long periods of time. "One day I'll talk more about her. Not tonight though. I'm tired." A pause to breathe. He picks up the sullied shot glass and carries it over to the sink. "Can I stay here tonight?"

[Morgan Lake] Again, there's a brief hesitation, and then, "Yeah. You can sleep in my room." And she'll take another (the place is huge, after all), or a nearby couch, or something. And then, "They were . . . pretty innocent, the ones I killed. At least you had a real reason."

Quite a few of the longer standing mages in Chicago know the story, but she's only really talked about the deaths caused by her Awakening to Ashley, Kage and Emily - she hasn't forgotten, will never, but she doesn't like talking about it. Nor would anyone in her position, really. That she's mentioned it at all says something, and that she doesn't shut herself off to the idea of questions on the matter says more - but he's tired, and she shrugs.

"Drink your tea, it'll help you sleep." And of course, she's following her own advice.

[James Blake] He has to briefly look away from her to wash out the glass and find a place for it to dry. Eventually he turns back around. That's when she talks about the ones she killed. It makes him frown. There's a story there but like Morgan he doesn't want to push. He stands with his hands in his pockets for a few seconds, as if the "silencing" of his true voice is indication enough that he wants to listen. When she tells him to drink his tea James steps forward. He puts the bourbon away before he sits down again.

"You want to talk about it?" he asks, signing with one hand. The other is around his cup.

[Morgan Lake] "You're tired," she says, but then, they have the tea to finish yet - their cups, and the rest of the pot (though she'll lead James to the room she's offered as soon as he wants to go to bed). She shrugs, glancing his way before continuing - when she speaks again, her eyes are on the counter, on her hands around her cup, anywhere but on him. "Cliffs Notes version is, it was a party I went to with my boyfriend and best friend. I had a couple beers but not more than that, Val and Bryan both had more, but weren't trashed. We got separated, then I found them making out by the koi pond."

She sips her tea, and her hands are shaking.

"Things had been weird all night - all day leading up to that, in fact. I didn't really want to go, knew something bad was going to happen, but I let Val and Bryan talk me into it anyway. Then that, and I kind of flipped out - I still don't remember how I got home, though I know I didn't drive. I woke up the next morning, Awakened, to the news that Val and Bryan were dead, and found out at school that everyone thought I'd done it. Which . . . I did. Them, the yard, the trees, and every koi in that damned pond, life sucked out." Which explains the withering resonance twined with the more obvious discerning.

[James Blake] That isn't going to work, her looking everywhere but at him. James tries to follow along with her gaze averted but it's harder to read her lips this way. So he reaches out, long arm easily extending his hand to tap her on the knee. The sign is easily ascertained but he speaks it anyway. "Look at me." If she keeps talking, he relaxes. He drinks his tea and watches her. His eyes are on her the entire time. It isn't outright staring. She's got to be used to this by now. This is how he lip reads...watching the entire face. Still...his gaze is soft. Understanding without knowing everything. He keeps his hands to himself.

That's horrible. He's tired. Even if he were to speak his voice would be coming out hoarse and thin. He doesn't even bother talking. He mouths in English but makes no sound. I'm sorry. Police involved?

[Morgan Lake] "And newspaper articles about underage drinking, and nearly getting expelled a month before I graduated. That was last Halloween." She raises her head so that he can read her lips when she's reminded that it's necessary, but still her eyes don't meet his - they still fall elsewhere. "They couldn't use my name because I was a minor and there wasn't enough proof that said I did do it; my dad wouldn't sign off. He's pretty awesome."

There's more than that, of course, but one traumatic story is enough for one night - even if it is only the short version thereof. It got across enough; she'd been pissed off, felt betrayed, and twisted reality in a way that ended in the death of her best friend and boyfriend both. However unintentional it had been, it still shows something about her. That, though, doesn't explain the space issues, even if it does explain some of the ones she has with trust.

[James Blake] The tea is making him sleepy. Still he'd rather stay up and talk to Morgan than he would go to bed...even if he doesn't yet realize that her plan is to give him her bed and take up a couch or a guest room to get some rest on her own. James doesn't need much sleep. It actually works out that he can function on less sleep than a normal person. Half the time he wakes up with nightmares ringing in his head. The longer he can keep Morgan from finding this out the better.

You still talk to your father?

[Morgan Lake] ".....no," comes quietly, almost whispered. "I've only seen him once since February - I'm not sure where he thinks I am. It's sort of . . . complicated."

She hasn't said that in awhile, though everything is; or rather, so much is. Absently, idly, her fingers rise to toy with a gold ring on a gold chain around her neck - she always wears it, though it's generally tucked under her clothes - and seems to find a bit of comfort there.

"He's a Sleeper," the only one she cares about these days, in fact, "and I want to keep him safe. The possibility exists that he wouldn't be if I were with him, or if he knew where I was."

[James Blake] My father died. This comes almost as an afterthought. If she hadn't told her story he probably wouldn't be sharing this with her. Four years ago, when I woke up. My mother and 2 sisters are Sleepers. I haven't seen them since I left home. I know what it's like, I think.

[Morgan Lake] "A little, maybe," she answers, "not that what's gone on for me is any worse than anyone else's travails, except for to me." She sips her tea, pours some more for herself, and lets it sit to cool; she's awake, now, and he's tired. "My mother and her best friends - friends close enough that I've called them uncles and aunt as long as I can remember - are Technocrats."

She only looks at him long enough after that to add, "Come on, I'll show you my room. I might have some old track sweats you can sleep in, if you want."

And then it's bed and sleep for James, and eventually the same for Morgan - though she likely finishes the whole pot of tea, first.