Rearranging

Shoshannah
Evening, sometime after the throng (if throng can mean two, maybe three if Grace hasn't stayed to inhale knowledge as Sid had) disperses, Shoshannah is still pacing, still irritable.  She'd been snipe-y, downright bitchy, and while she can't really say she regrets it she can honestly say she hadn't intended to be a problem.  Hadn't meant to take everything anyone said personally, hadn't wanted to keep poking and prodding and driving away.  She knows she can't help it, that it's part of who she is, but that's still no excuse for the crap she'd pulled.
Not everyone's as understanding as Sid and Padre.  (I wish Padre would come back from Mexico right now.  That jerk.)
So now, somewhere upstairs on the main floor, she paces (as stated), picks things up, moves them, sets them down, doesn't like it, shifts furniture (it's funny to see tall, thin, should-be-in-a-magazine-spread Shoshannah trying to move a couch by herself), and so on.  This goes on for goodness knows how long before she finally flops somewhere with a disgusted snort.
"Nothing fits, nothing works."

Sid
While Shoshannah is downstairs restlessly rearranging the furniture, Sid has been upstairs installing a lock.  She's good at that sort of thing.  It comes from not relying on anyone but herself for these last few years.  Finished finally, she heads downstairs to return the toolbox to its place in the garage.  It's as she's passing through the foyer that she notices Shoshannah slumped wherever she's stopped, and she peeks her head inside.
Maybe they saw each other already when Sid arrived shortly after work, or maybe this is Shoshannah's first time seeing the change in the Orphan.  She has shed her skin, this woman, peeled away the armor that she wore to protect herself so that her true identity can shine through.  Outwardly, this has been a change of wardrobe.  Where before Sid wore oversized clothing that was old and faded and falling apart, now she wears things that fit and are new.  Her t-shirt hugs her upper body, particularly through her bustline, her jeans ride a little low on her hips, exposing a thin line of pale skin between her waistline and the hem of her shirt.  Her feet are bare and her hair is down and her glasses are still just a little too clunky to even pass for hipster-chic.  One might expect her to look uncomfortable dressed like so after so much time hiding her figure, maybe tugging at the hem of her shirt or curling in on herself as they've all seen so often.  One would be correct if that hiding had anything to do with an esteem issue, or a body issue.  But Sid is neither shrinking away nor standing tall and proud.  She just...is.
Leaning in through the door she looks at Shoshannah and says, "Hey," in a way that is somehow a greeting and also What's wrong?

Shoshannah
Even slumped (on the couch facing the fireplace in the living room), Shoshannah's posture is good.  Clearly, there's a sort of training there - the sort that prepares little girls to be looked at, which is probably somewhat good for girls like her.  Not that there aregirls like her, that she's come across.  But there's only an instant to take that in - even Sid doesn't get to see the Dreamspeaker like this much, for long.  It's fractions of a second before everything's slid back into place, before she's again that hard young woman everyone usually meets.
"Hey.  I thought I'd rearrange stuff a bit - the flow's nice, but it's all big an empty like a show room, so I thought I'd see if I could fix it.  But I can't, with what's here."
Maybe there's more meaning to that, maybe not.  Regardless, she leaves it with what she said.
"You look pretty great."  Yes, deflection 101.  "What's the occasion?"

Sid
[awareness-as-empathy!]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 1, 1, 4, 6) ( success x 1 )
Sid
[FUCKING ONES]
Sid
[NO]
Dice: 6 d10 TN7 (2, 4, 6, 7, 8, 9) ( success x 3 )
Shoshannah
[manip + sub, cos Shoshannah's great at hiding things?  Something]
Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (5, 8, 10) ( success x 2 )

Sid
On first glance Shoshannah appears, well, not okay.  But she seems the same as she usually is, quiet, angrily seething.
Sid knows better than that, though.  Once long ago (only a couple of months but it feels like years), she peered through a crack in Shoshannah's armor to see the girl beneath it all.  She's done a wonderful job of patching that crack since then, but what has been seen cannot be unseen.
The quiet redhead leans against the frame or the wall or whatever portal leads from the foyer into the living room.  The toolbox in her left hand rests against her thigh.  The way she looks at Shoshannah is not piercing by any means.  It's steady.  Patient, maybe.  Understanding, definitely.
"I was hiding," she says simply.  "And it worked for a while.  Then I met people who relentlessly cared about me and before I knew it I'd decided to stop hiding.  Took me a while to realize it, but when I did, I..." she shrugs a shoulder.  "I stopped."  Maybe there's a deeper meaning, not to her words but to her reason for saying them.  Like when she talked with Leah in the woods after everything was over.  Or maybe in deciding to stop hiding the pendulum has swung the complete other direction and she's stuck in full disclosure mode.
She lifts her head and looks around the living room, assessing it, and she nods.  It is quite large and spacious.  "Do you think Pan or whoever would be upset if we turned this into the rec room?"

Shoshannah
"I don't care what Pan thinks."  This is far too sharp and quick to be the truth, though she quickly covers.  "I don't know what they did about the deed and all that.  But if it's still Annie's . . . you know what?  It doesn't really matter if we don't do anything permanent."
There's musing, looking around; 'rec room' to her means things like arcade games, darts, fussball and pool tables, that sort of thing.
"Do we have the stuff for that, or the money to get it?  I . . . don't."  What Shoshannah has is a meager savings account that her dad deposits a few hundred to twice a month, that she uses for bike repair, for guitar strings, for whatever.  There'd been enough there to put a deposit on an apartment if she'd ended up in one, still is since she didn't, but that's about it; the girl has to eat and stuff too, and is fiercely independent.  It physically pains her to ask for much of anything, and so she usually just goes without.

Sid
I don't care what Pan thinks.
Sid's brows quirk upward a little, above the rims of her glasses, but she doesn't otherwise draw attention to it.
Then she's smiling a little, which is a little more than Shoshannah has likely ever seen her smile.  "We don't have to knock out any walls or paint or anything."  Pushing off from the frame, she leans to set the tool box down out of the way.  They're the only ones here for now, but just in case anyone drops in they won't trip over it, at least.  Stepping into the living room at last she looks around some more.  "If we pull that couch back," pointing to the one in front of the television, "there's room for bean bag seats.  And we could move the game system down here.  I don't know, what else do you think we could get away with?"
Get away with.  Apparently she has already given up the prospect of asking for permission.  Who would fault them, really, for filling up the space?  And making the place feel more lived in, more like a home?
Standing somewhere toward the middle of the room now, Sid turns her head to face Shoshannah again.
"I don't have a lot, either.  But we could add things, little by little.  Maybe Sera would want to help."  Sera, who always seems up for a little rabble rousing, might be the perfect choice for cohort in this kind of mini-adventure.

Shoshannah
".....I could bring my guitar and stuff down and put them by that grouping of couches and chairs, turn it into a jam space instead of just keeping it all in my room."  Her's is the smallest, tucked in a corner and out of the way - as she generally tries to be.  It's a subconscious thing that's probably obvious to everyone but her.  It's not like she wants the attention she can't help getting.  "Do you have any instruments?  Does Justin?"
There's musing, and then, "We should check Craig's List or freecycle or something, see what we can find, and make someone with a truck pick up big stuff.  Or just borrow said truck and go get it ourselves.  This room has tons of space.  And we could put in Sera's bar."  This last is with a roll of her eyes; there'd been Words about that earlier, though they'd probably had more effect on Shoshannah than on the Cultist.  Maybe this is a peace offering, or maybe it's just an acknowledgement that (she hadn't been able to give earlier) paradigms revolving around drink mixing may be just as valid as her own, or any other.  Who knows, with her.

Sid
If Sid could see Shoshannah's room she might seriously consider asking the girl to switch with hers, but that is neither here nor there.
Shoshannah asks if she has any instruments, and Sid shrugs, her expression shifting a little toward nostalgic, and something else besides.  "I used to sing."  Truthfully she still sings, but it's quieter and mostly to herself, when she works in the garden or sometimes in the shower, and she hums a little when she's studying things through her microscopes.
As for Justin, she simply doesn't know.  She doesn't know much about the Verbena at all.
"I have a truck," she offers.  It's old but well loved and seats only three, but it's helped her move on her own countless times over the last few years.  Shoshannah isn't the only fiercely independet woman in the house.
Her brow quirks at that roll of the teen's eyes.
"What's wrong with Sera's bar?"

Shoshannah
"Nothing's wrong with Sera's bar.  Well, I mean, I don't think she has one - she wanted to put her bar toys - sorry, ritual tools - on one here.  A rec room seems as good a place as any for that sort of thing."  It's not the bar itself that bugs her; why should she care if people drink and enjoy themselves?  Sera, however, may be another story.  "That's something we could probably find on Craig's List or freecycle too, a bar.  We should make a list of this stuff."
This is better - this kind of project perks Shoshannah up a little, gives her focus for the energy that would otherwise just wallow around her.  Goodness knows, little miss Scorpio does better with something to do.  Also, clearly something about Sera had rubbed her wrong, but she's trying to let it go - not because she thinks they need to (or will) be friends, but because they have to share this space, and these people.  No need to make things more difficult for anyone.
"Do you think pool table, or foosball?"  So subtle, the avoidance.  In the way that it's really not.

Sid
Sid doesn't know what words were exchanged between Sera and Shoshannah.  The last time she knew of them being in the same place at the same time was at the cabin, but no one was really talking to anyone else then.  Before that was the night in the bar.  But whatever meeting they've had since then, clearly there's tension, at least from Shoshannah's side.
She wants to know, she wants to understand, but she doesn't pry.  She has her reasons, not the least of which is that she, herself, doesn't like it when people try to pry her open.  Why would she do that to someone else?
"If Sera wants a bar she can get her own," she says, her voice quiet and matter-of-fact.  "Or we can pitch in together for one."  Her hand lifts to cup the lower half of her face, the index finger tapping lightly agianst her lip as she thinks.
"We should start a collection.  Everyone pitches in whatever they can, because everyone's going to benefit, right?"
If Shoshannah would rather deflect, Sid will let her.

Shoshannah
"Sounds like a plan.  We can put up a note on the fridge or something, figure out what people want."  She's under no illusion of the space being hers to do with as she pleases, after all - she's the youngest, the one who's only here because Pan left her here (and yes, she's still touchy, tender, bitter about that) with a job to do.  Every day's a tightrope walk of proving her usefulness, of learning as much, absorbing as much as she can before someone new decides she's not wanted.  It's a thing.  "For now, though, the instruments and console might help.  Should we get them?"
Of course they should.  This is the closest to happy - or at least content - Sid's seen Shoshannah in awhile, and the worst that can happen is that they'll be told to put it all back.  That's not so bad at all.  And once that's decided (and things collected, brought down and placed - and rearranged - and rearranged - and rearranged - to their best benefit and highest quality of aesthetics as Shoshannah sees it (and Sid agrees), the girl seems a bit more settled, a bit less likely to fly off the handle.
"The library still making you happy?  I put my stuff down there, too."  There's a feeling of impermanence in what she says, though it's not intentional.

Sid
Of course they should go get the things that they can.  Sid grins, actually grins at the younger woman when she asks that question, and nods.  She doesn't say much after that, her number of alotted words apparently used up from talking in the living room.  For a while it's just nods, points, sounds of agreement or disagrement.  They shift the rugs around a little.  Shoshannah disconnects the console and Sid grabs the one lonely bean bag chair.  Then they get Shoshannah's instruments.  Sid is careful with any she takes, even though they're probably in sturdy cases, like they are far more than mere instruments.  When everything is down in the living room, just before they start to rearrange things - two people being better at moving couches than one - Sid says, "Maybe you could teach me to play one."  It's hopeful, that.  She wants to learn, and it's something they could do together.  In whatever spare time Sid will have when she's at the chantry and not devouring books or helping Justin out on the property.
Once everything is where they like it (for now, chances are someone will come along and move it again), Sid leans against the back of one of the couches, her hands resting atop it just behind her ass.  Her cheeks are a little redder for the effort, but not too much.  It's plain to see that the frumpy, oversized clothing was hiding a figure that is lithe and athletic, though still curvy in all the right places.
Her face brightens when the library is mentioned.  "Yes.  There's so much to learn, so much I didn't know.  What books did you add?  I'll look for them next time."

Shoshannah
"Sure, if you want."  This, in response to possibly teaching Sid to play, is shyly pleased; Shoshannah likes the idea, and has never been asked for anything like it before.  Denver really is a brave new world for her, even with it's share of same-old-same-old.  Then, there's the question about books and her head cants to the side.  "There's a couple little ones in Arabic about death rites and restless dead, a big one in German that's a compilation of most European cultures' pantheons, with a focus on the gods of Death and the Underworld, a Torah in Hebrew and Aramaic - one of those ones with the split translations, you know? - a couple medium-ish ones in English full of ghost stories . . . nothing all that useful, but some good stuff to know if you're into learning about Spirits and passage between life-states."
Not in the more Entropic, Euthanotic way, obviously; Shoshannah's a Dreamspeaker, a ferryman.
"Do you speak other languages?  I translated some passages, but not all."

Sid
As Shoshannah lists off the books she contributed and the languages that they're in, Sid's face falls a little.  She perks up again at mention of books on ghost stories, not just because they're in English, but because she is interested in learning about spirits.  A scientist, Sid doesn't believe in ghosts or things like that, but it would be interesting, definitely, to learn what other people think about them.
She does not, of course, know about the chantry's guardian spirit.  And the stuff in Leah's head, that was in her head, they were literally figments of her imagination.
"Ah, no," is her immediate answer.  Then she sort of winces.  "I mean, only Spanish.  You don't have to go out of your way to translate, though, maybe there's something similar that I can read."
Mythology is interesting.  And the fact that all these things are about death and dead things and after-life?  Sid isn't really surprised.
She glances at the clock on the wall (because of course this place would have one, probably very nice and fancy with hands and numbers in gold-leaf or something, this house is excessive) and her lower lip tugs down and to the side.
"Yikes.  I'd better get going, I have to work in the morning."  There's regret there, regret at having to pull herself away from this place she's growing to like, and the young woman she's almost always liked.

Shoshannah
"Ah, I'm only half American.  Born in Tel Aviv," she says, as if this explains everything - and maybe it does.  Her looks are definitely a bit on the exotic side, and her accent has never been 100% anywhere, though Texas can cover that up in almost anyone.  "So I was raised with both Hebrew and English, and Arabic wasn't far behind.  The other stuff happened because of travel."
Then there's mention of timing, and all - Shoshannah looks too, sighs, shrugs.  "Yeah, you'd better.  Go get some sleep, and I'll see what I can find for the other stuff in here.  Assuming, of course, people are okay with what we've done.  I should probably go to bed too."
There's a pause when she hits the doorway, hesitation; usually, she doesn't say even this much.  "See you when you come back."  Because obviously, she doesn't really expect people will, not when she's around - too many people haven't.

Sid
Sid's brows lift, interested, when Shoshannah lists her history, where she learned all those languages she knows.  She nods a little, acknowledging and encouraging the sharing.
But alas, all good things must come to an end.  Sid is on her way back to that toolbox, still resting just inside the room.  She misses Shoshannah's hesitation, but she stops when she hears the words.  Looking over her shoulder she's first surprised, then she smiles.  Changing course, she heads back over to the girl who is only slightly taller than herself.  Sid puts her arms around her shoulders and gently, because she realizes immediately that Shoshannah was not expecting this, hugs her.  Shoshannah is cold, her presence is weird, creepy even, but Sid doesn't tense up or offer the contact out of any feeling of obligation.  She is warm, the Orphan, and now that she's torn down so many of her barriers, she wants to share that warmth again.
"I'll be back in a few days," she says, and it's a promise the way she says it.  When she releases her she gives Shoshannah a quirking sort of smile.
And then she really does have to go if she wants to get home in time for bed.  So she returns the toolbox to where she found it.
A few minutes later, Shoshannah can hear the old engine of her truck rumble to life, then grow distant as it carries the redhead away.

Taking a Hike

Shoshannah
The first time Shoshannah visited this place, with Padre and Annie, the latter had mentioned that as a child she'd bathed in the hot springs of the node until she was dizzy; Shoshannah, who has spent the vast majority of her time here since the day Padre dropped her off hasn't done the same until today.  There's only so much studying and staying out of the way one can do, after all, even with the rare break that happens when she needs something, or simply needs to get out.  She'll be a good Guardian one day, Shoshannah will, just as she'll be a good Ferryman, but right now she's a girl that no one likes to be around (however the Awakened may do their best to be tolerant and even pleasant in the face of the Death chill she can't help giving off, she can always feel the strain), that doesn't like the reminder.  When people are around, she's most often holed up in her room, or the Library, or outside on the grounds doing . . . whatever it is that Dreamspeakers who were Spirit-touched long before they were Awakened do.
Today, though!
Today, her skin is shinypinkclean from soaking, her hair is wet and freshly washed, and she's dressed in a pretty eyelet top over a bright tank top and shorts, all of which combine to display her long, still slightly coltish limbs, to set off her pale (but slightly olive, underneath) skin and breathtaking blue eyes.  Her hair's been left down to dry naturally, with only the top bit caught back to keep it off her face as she sits outside in the grass (blooming dandelions and clover and a clear blue sky, a world of yellow and white and green and blue, with her in the middle of it), working on expanding her awareness of the space around her.  This is what she does - she works hard at the task to which Padre (who she still calls so in her head, though since he brought her out here she's been more stiffly formal with him even as it's clear she looks to him like one might a father) has set her.  She takes the challenge of learning how to guard and care for this place seriously, as she does most things.
So it is that Justin will find her.

Justin
They've run into each other before.  More than once, surely, since Annie had left to go back to her other home in Texas and left the place in their care.  Justin had occupied the room on the second floor with the big windows and left enough of his stuff in there that one could probably officially call it a second home.  He was usually out here on the weekends, and one or two evenings during the week - whenever he had the energy and motivation to drive out from the city after work.
Most days he was outside on the property, tending the gardens or hiking or fixing up the run-down stable that was currently being used to store a broken riding mower and some old farm equipment.  For whatever reason, this part of the property had been neglected over the years.  It'd probably been at least a decade since anyone had kept horses there.
Annie hadn't gone near it once the whole time she'd been there.  Maybe that meant something.  Maybe it was just coincidence.
Justin, though.  He'd taken one look at the dilapidated structure and decided immediately that it was time to bring it back to its proper use.  Maybe he wanted a horse, or maybe he just liked having projects like this to keep himself busy.  Either way, Shoshannah would have heard him banging around in there on quite a few afternoons.
Today though.  She'd had the place all to herself for most of the day.  It wasn't until some time around seven that Justin's now-familiar black Subaru pulled into the garage and he made his way into the kitchen for a drink.  A few minutes later, he pulled open the sliding glass door that led from the dining room and stepped outside, shutting it behind him.  His footsteps were lazy and relaxed as he came up to crouch down next to Shoshannah in the grass.
"Hey you," he greeted warmly.  "Feel like taking a hike?"

Shoshannah
She knows he's there before he speaks, and tenses accordingly; she's had the occasional Awakened tutor here and there, since her own Awakening, but she's not yet accustomed to people being as friendly with her as they are here.  It's almost enough to make her glad to stay at the Chantry, really - almost.  Anyway, she turns and looks at Justin, checking for whatever it is that girls like her (except there are no 'girls like her') look for when people are nice to them.  Meeting Hawksley yesterday helps some in that respect, maybe.
"Sure.  Let me just put my shoes and socks on."  They're near her and it doesn't take long before she's standing up (on her own two feet with no help at all, please and thank you).  "Where are we headed?  Or are we just exploring?"
They've seen each other, sure, and Justin knows enough from the interactions they've had to expect her to be a bit hard and sharp, a bit distant.  The only person he's ever seen her touch is Pan, and even that's a rare thing.  It's nothing personal, of course, but a thing that goes with the territory.

Justin
They've seen each other.  They've talked in scattered bits and pieces of conversations.  Nothing really memorable.  Nothing that really mattered.  Shoshannah kept the world at bay with a prickly shield that made Justin seem markedly friendly by comparison, but neither of them were very good at actually opening up to people.  And Justin respected that about her (because he understood.)
And no, he didn't entirely know what to do with the ghostly chill he felt whenever he was around her.  So he'd been a little wary at first.  He was Life and she was Death, and it was hard to build a bridge between the two.  Epic poems had been written about just such an endeavor.
So maybe it was about time he did something to reach out to her.
"Doesn't matter really.  I just thought we could go check out the woods before the sun went down."  He stood up and stepped aside to give Shoshannah space to put her shoes on, looking out over the landscape of the property.  The grassy area with the pasture was out front, but most of the land behind the house was forested and a number of small paths led up through the trees.  Whenever she was ready, he started toward one of them, cutting a diagonal past the node and the vegetable garden toward a stand of quaking aspen.
"How've you been lately?"  It might have just been conversational, but he sounded like he meant the question seriously.  He hadn't been there with her and the others in Leah's dreamscape, but he knew enough to know it must have been hard on her.

Shoshannah
"I've been alright."  And now, this far out, she has been - in the aftermath of the happenings with Leah, she'd spent so much time tucked away (not exactly hiding, no, she's a fight-not-flight sort of girl the vast majority of the time) that even Pan had a hard time seeing and talking to her.  'Alright' for her is even more subjective than most.  There's quiet for a moment then and it seems she might just let it go at that; she's stunningly gorgeous by any standard, and charismatic enough, but still she's stilted and awkward in most social circumstances, particularly when she's making an attempt to not actively drive people away (as well as the more passive part that comes along with just being her).  "Things were . . . dicey, for a bit," she finally says, absently adjusting the usual wrist-and-forearm covers she wears - the bulk of her wardrobe consists of them, a set in every style and weight imaginable and several colors besides.  Even now, when it's hot, she wears them.  "But there's plenty to do out here, so that helps.  How about you?"
She's trying, anyway.  It's better than she's done before.

Justin
He never asked about the coverings on her arms.  Maybe he didn't need to.  If he really wanted to, he could find the answer just by reading the details of her pattern, but Justin already felt guilty enough for what he'd found (unintentionally) that day with Sid.  He wasn't going to do it again.  Not without asking.
As they stepped onto the path, Justin pushed aside an errant branch so that Shoshannah could make her way under it.  She told him that things had been dicey, but that she was alright now.  That there were things to keep her busy out here.  And maybe 'alright' didn't really mean 'well' but... it was a start.  Sometimes it was the best they could really hope for.  So Justin nodded gently and accepted that answer for what it was.
"I'm alright," he mirrored back, when she asked the same of him.  And it likely meant about the same, too.
"Don't suppose you want to help me with the fence this weekend?"

Shoshannah
There's wry amusement for a moment, a flicker of an actual smile that lights up her face nicely for the handful of seconds it exists.  "I can try.  I'm not really good at building things or anything like that, though - Padre says I don't know how to swing a hammer."
She's tall enough that his moving the branch is helpful, and she moves like someone who's done a lot of hiking - it's not graceful by any stretch, but utilitarian and useful.  There's little wasted energy in the way she walks and it, like so much about her (but not enough, oh no), is designed to draw as little attention as possible, to counter the magnet-like effect she has, both in attraction and repulsion.
".....it wasn't a thing that was important when I was a kid, making stuff.  With mom it was all about being pretty and polite and knowing the right people, and with dad it was . . ." she shrugs, uncertain how to finish that.  Her dad hadn't been around all that much, and even when he had been there wasn't much time for his weird, eerie daughter.

Justin
Justin laughed quietly at her mention of the priest.  As they walked, he fell in at Shoshannah's side with slow, lanky strides.  They were both used to this kind of walking, and there was always something about Justin that just felt natural and at-home in wild places.  He'd changed out of his work clothes and showered before coming out, but his every-day attire wasn't much different than the things he wore to work.  A little newer, maybe.  And less worn.  The jeans today were dark and boot-cut, and his t-shirt was dark heathered grey.
"It's not so hard to learn, really.  Just takes some practice.  I used to have to help with a lot of projects like that when I was a kid.  Hated it at the time, but I guess it was useful."

Shoshannah
"More useful than the stuff I did, anyway.  By most definitions."
Not all, and not all the stuff she did - or, well, not all the stuff the grown-ups she got dragged around behind did.  She's met a lot of diplomats and dignitaries and philanthropists and politicians and so on at the kinds of things where rich, important people decide where to throw their money.  It is what it is, and everyone's childhood is different.
"I'm going to . . . I want to see some things.  Just, you know, warning.  I might show you too, if you want, if there's interesting stuff."  It's good that she warns, because when Shoshannah's resonance flares it feels like an attack even for something so simple as enhancing her sight - or Sight, as the case may be.  And, though he may not notice, there's the flash of patina-ed copper in her fingers as she Works, a coin juggled between them to help her focus.
[Spirit Sight!]
Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (6, 9) ( success x 2 )

Justin
Given how sensitive Justin was to his environment, he appreciated the warning.  Shoshannah was afforded a watchful, sidelong glance before Justin nodded in understanding.  Then there was the flash of that coin, and a chilling flare of her spectral resonance, and the hair prickled on the back of Justin's neck hard enough to make his head twitch with discomfort.  He tried to hide it though - less for himself and more so she wouldn't feel uncomfortable - reaching up to rub at his neck with his hand.
When Shoshannah looked past the gauntlet, the living image of the trees around her were replaced by a ghostly reflection.  And about 20 yards away, she'd catch sight of a now-familiar large white shape making its way through the trees.  Shadowing their movement at a lazy distance.  The bear dipped her nose toward the ground and huffed at something she found interesting, then looked up and met Shoshannah's gaze.

Shoshannah
"She's here, just over there.  Do you want to see?"  There's no explanation of who 'she' is, and given that this is Shoshannah 'she' could be anything or anyone; they may not have talked much (in some ways, he's learned more about her in this one hike than he has in all the prior times they've talked combined), but they have enough to know that she hears and feels spirits almost as much as she does the living, breathing things around her.  It's different now than it was before, but they're still there for her - always, always.  The times when she's distracted, lost to them (which happen reasonably often, but not enough for concern) are generally because some(one)thing from there is whispering in her ear.
Assuming an answer in the affirmative, there's a long, slim (just like the rest of her) hand slipping into his, with the coin between their palms.  Being inside the bubble of her resonance, dipping in her magic, feels a bit different than being on the outside - it's still angrydefensiveprickley, but the barbs and points feel like they're pointing out, away, driving things away from both of them.  (Except for the bear, of course.  She and Shoshannah have a mutual understanding and respect by now, as much as such things can happen.)
"There, see?  Isn't she beautiful?"
[And now, sharing said Sight.]
Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (3, 8) ( success x 1 )

Justin
Once or twice in his Awakened life, Justin had seen glimpses of the spirit world.  When another of their kind who'd had the sight had seen fit to share it with him.  It was always a strange and exhilarating experience, and one that he might never really get used to.  Some of the Verbena were known to traffic with spirits, but not many.  He hesitated a moment when she asked if he wanted to see, but in the end his curiosity got the better of him and he nodded, so she pressed her hand to his and he felt the cool weight of the coin between them and her long, slender fingers.  His own hand was work-roughened and surprisingly warm.  Like he'd just been soaking in the sun.
And then the world as he knew it fell away, and his grip on Shoshannah's hand tightened a little.  He pulled in a breath and looked around.  And then... there.  He saw the bear almost immediately.  She was impossible to miss, the way her coat gleamed and shimmered like stardust.
"Oh," he said softly.  "She really is"
Perhaps Callisto realized that they were looking at her, because she began to walk toward them through the trees, winding her massive bulk around and between the thin trunks of the aspens' umbral reflection.  When she drew near the trail, she ducked her head against one of the trees and scratched her neck, then stretched out toward Shoshannah and dipped her head as though in greeting.  Then she eyed Justin for a moment and did the same for him.
Justin broke into an awed smile and returned the gesture with a nod of his own.

Shoshannah
Though she acts like it, Shoshannah is never entirely certain of (anything to do with other people) her strength.  She doesn't let go of Justin's hand (and hers is relatively smooth, making the home made arm warmers all the more obvious when his wrist brushes against them, but calloused in the fingertips, where they so often press on strings) in case that breaks the sharing.  The nod she gives Callisto is practically a curtsy, and here, now (of all places and times), Justin can probably see the socialite's daughter, the philanthropist's and diplomat's granddaughter, or even the highly placed general's daughter.  Here, with spirits, she's easy and at home.  She fits here, and that cold, clammy death chill doesn't so much dissipate as it feels more natural.
"I saw her the first time I came here, with Annie and Padre.  She guards us here - her name's Callisto."

Justin
The node back in Madison - there'd been spirits guarding it too.  Perhaps this was a common thing, that they would be drawn to its energies just as the Awakened were (just as many beings were.)  Justin certainly wasn't an expert, but the fact that the chantry would have a guardian like this made a sort of sense to him, and he accepted it without question.
"Hello Callisto," he said, though he wasn't sure if she could understand or even hear him.  The bear regarded him with a long, quiet gaze.  When she angled her head, the penumbral light struck her dark eyes and made them glow (like stars) the way they had when Shoshannah had first seen her.  And whether or not she understood him, there seemed to be a sort of acceptance there.  Of the both of them.  The man who tended the land, and the girl who walked with spirits.
Callisto pulled away then, moving back into the woods to continue along whatever route she'd been taking.  After awhile, Justin let his hand slip from Shoshannah's grasp, breaking the connection that shared her sight. When the living world came back into focus, he reached out to touch the trunk of one of the trees, as though to ground himself.
"Thank you.  I'm glad I got to see that."
And then, when she was ready, he reached out and touched her hand again, this time to tug her along gently.  "Come on.  There's a really cool tree up the way I want to show you."

Rubbing Elbows

Shoshannah Mitchell
It's getting near dinner time, late enough that the pedestrian mall is mostly only busy around the restaurants and bar - which isn't to say it's empty by any stretch, but that it's not particularly crowded as the young Dreamspeaker wanders from shop window to shop window, pausing to look at whatever catches her fancy but not bothering to go into most places.  One particular window, though, a boutique that holds a mix of vintage and modern fashions and more, holds her attention longer than most.  Here, she pauses for quite some time as people veer around her (or approach her awkwardly, in some cases, certain she's someone else or knows so-and-so or . . . any number of things) in a way that speaks of unease or even fear.
As far as anyone can tell, she ignores all that quite well; perhaps she's used to it.  Or perhaps she's a good actress.
At any rate, this is where she's easiest found - not that it's ever difficult.  It is, in fact, rather impossible not to notice the girl who makes one feel like Death's cold finger is lingering at the nape of one's neck.
[Awareness, just cos!]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (7, 7, 7, 7, 9, 10) ( success x 6 )

Hawksley Rothschild
Most of the people who shop in the Pavilions are not that different from Shoshannah, at least when it comes to age and taste.  Here are the chains, the tourist shops, the places to drop off a gaggle of teenagers while you get other things done.  No one dropped Shoshannah here so they could go Be An Adult, though.  She is not part of a gaggle of girls or boys her own age.  She is, like so many of the Awakened, inherently alone.  They may organize themselves into cabals and cliques and traditions and sects and councils, but the path to Ascension is a personal one.  Those that walk beside you for a time may very well veer off before you thought you would be asked to let them go.
So: she is alone.  And Hawksley is too, today -- and it is still day, the sun still beaming, not even near dimming yet.  They say Denver gets over three hundred days of sunshine a year, and it's usually true.  Even in the bitterest cold, the clouds scarcely bother trying to obscure the closest star's shining.  Maybe that's why he's here.
Who?
Oh him, obviously.  And he is very obvious to Shoshannah.  It's hot today, warm and dry as almost any July is in this city, and sunset has not come to steal that heat away.  But the girl who feels like gatekeeper to the underworld, who feels like Death herself without the poetry or kindness sometimes attributed to the spectre, almost seems like a cold spot.  She feels the sun break over her back, rippling up the nape of her neck, filtering under her haiur as though sunlight could have fingers to dreamily massage your scalp with.  It's elevating, as though the world itself is losing gravity, or maybe it's just her.  A wind that does not exist rushes over her face with tear-creating fervor as some part of her mind, some part of her soul, briefly knows what it is to fly.
Forever and forever and forever.  As though there is no touching the ground.  As though the ground is only a dream.
If she turns -- let's be honest, when she turns -- he stands out like a golden idol set on an altar in an otherwise dark, dingy room.  Nevermind that he's tall or well-formed or handsome or smiling or any of those things, in Shoshannah's particular awareness of the universe, the sun may as well shine for him and him alone.  And the sun does adore him, look how it kisses his skin and his hair, how it lights his eyes, how somehow everyone around him seems cast in shadow just because he had the audacity to walk by.
He isn't coming from work in some nearby office building or the finance district.  He's wearing jeans with the cuffs rolled up just a tad to bare his ankles, a pair of caramel-colored loafers worth a month's rent for some people, and an untucked white oxford that is surprisingly unwrinkled, the sleeves folded up his forearms, the buttons haphazardly done somewhere in the middle like he figured a few were plenty.  His watch cost several month's rent, and it glints when the light touches it.
If he has noticed her, he doesn't -- okay, no, he can't have noticed her.  He's walking right by her, and the only thing he does is sidestep her as though he were trying to avoid a pile of something unseemly without missing the groove of his own walk.
--
The last time she saw him, he was not Awakened.  He did not feel quite so much like the sun, or like flying close to it.  But he still had that look about him, was born with it: those avian eyes, that aquiline nose.  It's only intensified as he's gone from his late teens to his early twenties, but the difference there is not nearly so stark as the difference between ten and eighteen-almost-nineteen.
The benefit was charming.  He was home from boarding school and oh, he was the absolute life.  He danced with any partner: his mother, the once-rather-famed ballroom dancer, someone's elderly aunt, a couple of girls his own age who he was kind enough not to upstage, and, yes, if she didn't try to bite his hand and run away, he may have even danced with a creepy dark-haired girl as though his own brightness and happiness in privilege could make up for all the darkness in the world.
He danced well.  He was mannerly.  He looked very smart in his dark suit that night, but he had no facial hair and he still had not reached his current height.
--
The man passing Shoshannah, sidestepping her, glances back over his shoulder after a few steps, which slow.

Shoshannah Mitchell
what would an angel say, the devil wants to know . . .
It's amazing, how differently the sun can treat two people.  Where Shoshannah stands, it seems the sun should touch her as much as it does him, or at least as much as it does everyone else - and yet, somehow light around her deadens, chills, turns to shadow.  In her presence, even light comes to be ferried to its next destination.  Her skin is as pale as if she never steps outside, moon-touched and silver where Hawksley is a different sort of idol entirely.  He is as analogous to light and life as Shoshannah is to the underworld, and as unearthly - or perhaps extra-earthly? - in his own right.  He moves to pass around her, steps away, and she can't help but feel him in that way everyone feels her.  Her eyes close and Lilith's daughter tilts her head towards the light that actuallydoes touch her in a way she seldom feels touched.  In this one moment, she's unguarded though she doesn't realize it; when her face relaxes, she looks still more like the girl that she once was.
Not that she's changed much, mind.
--
When they first met, she was an ethereally beautiful child, a doll with porcelain fair skin and black hair, the contrast creating the sort of image that those more poetic than she are so often inspired by.  She was as ill-tempered as she is now and might have bitten - perhaps had already a time or two that night - if Hawksley had been anything other than he was.  She was not Awakened, but she was still Death's courier, a ferryman, a harbinger.  Even then, no one wanted to be near her; even then, she was at least as much a part of some other world as she was of the flesh.
She danced well enough, though, and spoke prettily in several languages even as she hid behind sullen glares and flayingly icy blue eyes, and worn the right clothes and shoes, and done her hair just so.  She was every inch (so many inches, too - then, she was by far the tallest of those under the age of thirteen or so) the daughter of the mother who didn't know what to do with her, couldn't stand to be around her.  She was very much her grandfather's granddaughter, even as he quietly prayed for the curse she represented to be lifted.  Perhaps most importantly, she was a descendant of her grandmother.  She was kind and gracious, even when her teeth proved themselves sharp.
Even when Hawksley was the only one who could stand to be near her for the length of a song.
--
He glances over his shoulder after a few slowing steps - her hair is lighter now, the one indication that she has seen the sun in all these years, and she's taller (still above average, but not as startlingly much so), and her face has slimmed as her body has taken some shape.  She's long and lean, now, so very slim and willowy-lithe where once she'd been all awkward limbs and straightness - and finds her looking back at him.  Those eyes are still icy, still cut to the [soul] bone.  That skin is still porcelain fair.  She still belongs at least as much to some other world at least as much as she does to this one.
".....hello."  It's rare that she speaks first, at least as much so now as it was then.  "I . . . do I know you?"

Hawksley Rothschild
Certainly, definitely, not of this earth but tied to it, loving of it, gentle toward it.  Of course the sun would need to love the earth, or the earth would be doomed.  The earth is lucky, then, that the sun and the sky are so enamored of its color and its shape.  And these thoughts likely come unbidden to her, all at once, because something about him does make words like golden god come to mind.  Something about him makes one think of how, without the blessing of certain beings who are only vaguely terrestrial, life would cease.  The fifth wind would stop making the world rotate.  The light would die, and so would the warmth, and then
it would be a being like Shoshannah who would rule.  And who wants that?
--
He looks at her.  Because she feels like the opposite of everything he is, and because she feels like the cold of the grave, and because -- contrary to appearances -- Hawksley has met her kind before.  Not her kind, but: he has seen his share of the interiors of forgotten tombs, has stood at the feet of his share of gods of death and known them by many names, and when he feels her strangeness it makes him want to recoil but the greatest lesson he ever learned was lean in.  So: he looks, and catches her looking unguarded, which almost makes her look normal, and certainly makes her look pretty -- for someone he's reasonably sure is not legal for him to breathe on -- and makes him think, too, that she couldn't be the source of that weird feeling.
But it is the feeling that makes him look back, and it's the feeling that makes him keep looking even after he's dismissed the idea that it's coming from her.  He slows his steps and then he stops them, and then he turns, and then he meets her stare with the sort of fearlessness that, in the really old stories, gets heroes killed and gods eviscerated so their blood can water crops or some other fool thing.  He's still sort of smiling.
"I don't know," he says, then rewinds a bit and takes a few steps forward before he asks: "Are you on anything right now?  By any chance something borrowed, something blue?"
What an absolutely bizarre question.

Shoshannah Mitchell
It would be bizarre, maybe, if Sid weren't one of the two people that Shoshannah finds herself (unwillingly) caring about.    It would be weird if Shoshannah hadn't been condemned in a Nephandic dreamscape not that long ago.  Now, though?  Well.  It's only weird in that it's actually directed at her.  It takes a moment while she glances behind her to make sure this good looking (golden god of a) man isn't talking to someone else.  The way she looks, it's quite possible that he's the first person to talk to her today.
"No, not even allergy meds.  But I heard about something going around the party scene - of which I'm not a part."  She speaks in the precise way that only those who learn English as a second (or third or fourth) language can, though it's not so obvious as it once was.  Her voice is deeper now, richer; then, she'd sounded almost as much like a doll as she'd looked (down to the very slight and very hated lisp that clung for far too long).  And, quite clearly, she takes this question in stride in a way that not many people would - even as she closes up as quickly as she'd opened, and with far more ease.  "What do you know about it?"

Hawksley Rothschild
Sid.  He's met Sid!  He doesn't know that Shoshannah has met Sid or he'd be asking her another bizarre question, which is whether or not they both know Sid from somewhere because seriously, it's driving him nuts trying to figure it out.  He wants to see her without her glasses, maybe that'd do it.  He's pretty sure he could figure it out.  Maybe she's like Clark Kent and when he takes the specs off he'll recognize her.
Like, he realizes, he is recognizing Shoshannah now.  Taller by half, older, with things like boobs and full lips and all that post-pubescent stuff.  But that feeling is sinking into him the longer he stands here, and the closer it gets to three minutes, to five, the more he remembers his hand on her side, her hand in his hand, her hand on his shoulder, and how it should have been awkward because she was so much smaller than he was but he has never been awkward while dancing and she was rather defiantly refusing to be awkward, period.
not even allergy meds makes a grin crack across his face, splitting to reveal his white, even teeth.  He does her the courtesy of not laughing, but he grins like that, particularly when she mentions hearing about something going around.
"I'll tell you later," he says, and he isn't lying.  Not that he could.  Well maybe he could, but he doesn't try.  It isn't worth it to try.  "I want to know why I recognize you."  He lifts one long-fingered hand that has never done a day's labor and puts his finger on his nose.  "Too young to have met you at university or any school functions before that."  His hand leaves his nose, swirls in the air, points at her.  "Upper East Side?  Hamptons?  Any friends up thataway?"

Shoshannah Mitchell
The snort is ironic and amused in that stand-offish sort of way that certain people get; in it there's something of 'you take me for the sort that has friends?' and 'you got me' and 'oh god, those people' though when she answers verbally it's with walls of civility firmly in place.  "Both, actually, but I haven't been to either in ages.  Those are my mother's people."  The 'kind of', as in 'that kind of people' is left implied - quite strongly, practically dripping from her words, but still only implied.  She's less kind and gracious now, it would seem, at least on the surface.  She certainly doesn't let her soft parts show, and is, in fact, rather defiant about that, too.  Defiance (and now anger and defensiveness) tends to be her natural state.
"The last time I was there for any amount of time," she offers, just a hint gentler - it's a rarity that people aren't driven off by now, and if they aren't it's usually because they're throwing that superstitious sort of warding sign that nearly everyone has (or things more solid, or at least more difficult to ignore and more hurtful), regardless of faith or upbringing.  "Was not quite ten years ago, with my mom.  Maybe you," not we, because if he's fairly certain she's not legal to be breathed on now, she certainly wasn't then, "ran in similar circles."
There's a pause then, and a slight frown.  "But you're closer to my age than hers, I think, so maybe your parents ran in her circles, if that's the case.  Anyway, we were at all the parties."  That mattered, anyway, if her mother was to be believed.
She doesn't look like her mother, or her father, so even if Hawksley remembered her, there'd be no drawing the connection - Shoshannah is very much her own person.  While DNA tests would show that she's the sum total of her parents and their predecesors, there's very little else that does.  (Her desire for and adoration of fine things and aesthetic beauty comes from her mother; her need for tidiness and a job well done comes from her father.  These things, though, aren't things that one can see until one has spent significantly more time with her than this.)
"I assume you must, since you brought it up.  Should we name drop to see where we match?"
It should be said, Shoshannah isn't as trusting as she seems.  And those eyes!  If anything, it's more uncomfortable to be in their focus now even if Hawksley is better at bearing it.

Hawksley Rothschild
Snotty disgruntled teenager is snotty disgruntled teenager and Hawksley ignores the scoff, the snort, the standoffishness the way he expertly ignores many other things that people feel.  And still he smiles, and he's amused and he's delighted because it is in him to constantly, always be a bit delighted with the universe and the earth and the silly creatures that walk upon it, himself included.  He can take the snotty disgruntled teenager bits in stride right along with the Feels Like Death bits, and he does.
"Ten years ago," he says, "I was in high school, and on holidays from said high school, my family was at all the parties as well.  The Livingstons?"

Shoshannah Mitchell
"Mmmm."  It's a noncommittal sound, as is the seesawing gesture she makes with her hand to go with it.  She knows them, then, or more likely knows of them.  "The Levines?"
Inherently disgruntled, but not with any purpose or drive in this conversation; he's familiar, and pleasant (so far) to talk to even while she waits for something ill to come of it.  She has her reasons for the way she is, as they all do.
"And ten years ago my mother was touring.  Both the Upper East Side and the Hamptons were stops on the way to drop me off with my father."  Clearly she's not close with either parent, though given the way she feels that can't be a surprise.  More surprising would be if she actually were close with someone.

Hawksley Rothschild
"On the upper east side?" he says, laughing.  "Half of every block is named Levine or something similar."
Hawksley turns, offering her his elbow, because he's a Flippin' Gentleman, and because she's tall enough that it's not too awkward to do so.  "Let's walk, standing in the middle of the sidewalk is irritating my feet."
Whether she agrees to take his arm or not, he starts walking.  Not quickly, not in any rush or hurry, but no longer standing still.  "Maybe we met at some party or other," he muses, then realizes he should also ask: "What is your name?"

Shoshannah Mitchell
"I guess you're right.  I think one of the Levines was getting married to a Hurst or something - it was a long time ago.  And I was little."  There's a shrug, and an offered elbow and the way she eyes it is startled and hungry at the same time - the reason for which is made clear when she touches him and the metaphorical death chill becomes that much more difficult to ignore.  To be touched by Shoshannah is to put one's life in her hands and have her keep a bit of it, or so it feels.  "An engagement party, I think.  And there was an amazing music room right off of the dance floor, full of things I knew how to play.  Everyone has a guitar, you know, but not just anyone has a mandolin or lute."
There's a pause then, brief, and a shrug.  "Shoshannah Mitchell.  My mom's last name is Caspit - you're more likely to know that than mine.  But . . . I think we danced.  You move like someone who danced with me once, anyway."  She hasn't had many partners to which she can compare him, to be honest.

Hawksley Rothschild
Oh, if he were a peacock he would fucking preen.  Tailfeathers spread open in an irisdescent rainbow, this one.  But he's human, or looks it, and he grins when she says he moves like someone who danced, and he doesn't really care that there are words after that.  "I dance rather well," he says shamelessly, then gives her a wink.  "I know your name, now.  Not the most common one even among all the Caspits and Livingstons and Levines and Hursts and so on and so forth."
Hawksley smiles.  "I do remember you, with the name and the creepy vibes."  There.  He just says it right out, like she knows, like she has to know, and if she doesn't well then she should.  "Now, who might we know in common here?  I've met a handful of the most interesting folks you could hope to meet.  There's a redhaired girl with glasses and a girl with a tattoo of a shark-scissor-thing and a priest and the coolest hippie guy with a shaved head I've ever met, and then there was this other girl -- gorgeous, very old-fashioned but you know those hairstyles are in or something, and she talks like a robot.  I've also met a roller derby team, a hipster band, and they said they'd introduce me to the Swedish women's handball team next time they're in town, and the conductor for Jazz in the Park, and there was a floor party at the Four Seasons where I met positively everyone for six floors in the lounge and I'm pretty sure I felt up three of them, but who's counting?"
He shrugs, and pats her hand.  Or her shoulder.  "I'm sure you know neat people, too."

Shoshannah Mitchell
Of course she knows - how could she not?  With the way she makes people twitchy, the way they shy away from her except when they don't, and oh the interesting conversations she has then.  Sometimes in the Chinese sense, sometimes not.
"I know Sid and Padre - I stayed at the rectory for awhile when I first got here.  I've met Sera, Jim and Patience a couple times each.  And other than that, I know a martial artist with a strong leaning towards the ecstatic, a landscaper-gardener who's beyond amazing at his job, and a DJ."  So in short, they have a lot of people in common here, and she knows a few others besides.  "I mean, aside from way too many hipster baristas and film school drop outs.  I only count them if they have a conversation with me."
The people that do are far less common than one might think, given that she has a draw almost as strong as the repulsion she exudes.  She's both poles of a magnet at once.  The next is amused, and lacks in the wry, dry delivery that so much of what she says holds.  "I haven't felt anyone up - or been felt up - or been invited to any parties, though.  Sounds like you had fun."

Hawksley Rothschild
So she feels like Hades to his Zeus, she knows Sid and 'Padre' and Sera and Jim and Patience, and Hawksley just nods.   "I thought as much," he offers mildly, then stops their forward progress quite suddenly, turning on a heel and offering her his hand, palm up.
"Hawksley Rothschild," he says, and then --
nothing more.  No naming of his Tradition or his Spheres or anything else.  Hawksley Rothschild.  Offering her his hand.

Shoshannah Mitchell
It should probably be said that Shoshannah is far from lacking in charm.  It's not as evident as her looks which, despite the feeling she gives off, are undeniably unearthly and rather stunning besides, but it's there.  She's also not lacking in upbringing and the manners it gives, as evidenced to her reaction to things like this - which is to say, taking the gallantly offered hand in an equally gallant fashion, and shaking in the way all the best-taught young ladies do.  It's not limp and cool and damp, though it seems like perhaps it should be, and for all that it feels like she could be ferrying Hawksley into the afterlife or the life after it, she's very much warm and alive and vital.  Her hands are strong and her fingers nimble in a way that people who play instruments often display, and her grip is firm but not hard even as her hand turns just slightly, as if he might pull it to his lips the better to brush them across her knuckles.
Oh, yes.  At some point or another, this girl was a daughter of society.
"It's a pleasure, Hawksley Rothschild."  It seems genuine enough, that offering from moon to sun, from Hades to Zeus.  And then -- not nothing, but a change of subject.  "If for some reason you need to reach me, Sid and Padre know how.  I don't have a mobile or anything, and I need to contact my ride back to the house," not home, but more than just squatting, "before it gets too late.  I don't like to be any more inconvenience than can't be helped."
And nothing else.  Just Shoshannah Mitchell, accepting his hand as any society girl might.

Hawksley Rothschild
That hand is goddamn gallant.  And he lifts hers, very barely and very graciously touching her knuckles to her lips but there's nothing lingering or even soft about it; it is about as intimate as ladies kissing the air beside one another's cheeks.  One does not kiss the hand of a young lady who you're not sure is legal.  One suggests the kiss on that hand, then gently releases it.
"Sidddd," he says thoughtfully.  "I got an interesting text from her the other day.  I think I'll ask her to coffee or something.  Pick her brain."  He blinks, then looks at her.  "Oh, would you like me to call someone for you?"
And perhaps she does.  And he does, because he can.  He does not hand her his phone, certainly not, but it's nice and it's new and that's not shocking at all.  He calls her ride and walks with her, then waits with her.  He talks enough to fill the silence between them.  He finds out what instruments she plays, and how old she actually is, which significantly calms him down for even hanging out around her.  He doesn't ask her where she lives.  He doesn't ask her anything very serious, at all.  After all: they only just met.

Weird Women

Shoshannah
It had taken a lot for Shoshannah to call . . . well, anyone really but calling Sid was somehow both easier and more difficult than calling Pan, with whom Shoshannah's retreated to her more usual behaviors.  Which is to say, she's quiet and distant and moody and as closed down as it's possible for someone with a face as expressive as hers to be.
The girl practically wears a 'DO NOT TOUCH' sign around her neck.
But when it came down to it, this time it was Sid she called when she needed something.  "Hey.  I'm out of some things and I don't know where anything but the house is out here.  I can kick in some gas money?"  She doesn't expect anything for free.  To be honest, Shoshannah doesn't expect anything, full stop.  It doesn't matter that there's an uneasy (for her) sort of understanding between herself and the Orphan or that they've gone through as literal of a hell as they're likely to find together; the Dreamspeaker just doesn't relax.  It's quite possible [probable] that she doesn't know how.  Regardless, Sid agreed to come get her and so - after a brief stop at a bank for Shoshannah to take some cash out of her account - they find themselves back in Federal, shopping not far from Padre's church.
It may be interesting to note that Shoshannah doesn't even look in that direction.
".....thanks," she offers, though she hasn't had much to say this whole time (which isn't anything new - she watches and absorbs, for the most part, though it's not out of shyness or anything like that).  Given what Sid's seen, it's probably no surprise that asking for things is terribly difficult for Shoshannah, and giving thanks for them is worse.  That's not something on which she lingers for long, though.  "You're doing alright?"

Sid
Shoshannah needed a ride.  Sid was a little surprised - but a lot pleased - to get the call for a rescue, but she was at work at the time.  She told the Dreamspeaker she'd see if she could get away and she'd get back to her.  To her surprise her bosses, the leaders of the different divisions of the Science department, were perfectly okay with letting their office assistant take off early.  It's the day before the holiday and things were slow one of them said, and her friend needed her said another.  So go said all of them in their own ways.
It took most of the drive out to the chantry house for Sid to get over the shock of it.  It was nice, though, working at a place that would let her help out her friends, even encouraged it.  There's still a niggling feeling in the back of her mind that she'll pay for this later that has nothing to do with the general discomfort with which she interacts with the world.  It's that years of working in retail will do that to a person.  The offer of gas money is politely turned down, accepted only if Shoshannah is insistent.  Truthfully, Sid could use the coverage, but only because she's still waiting on that first check from her new job.  She still has money left over from the loan her roommate gave her, but she's been trying to avoid dipping any further into it.
Now they're back in the city, at some shopping place close to Shoshannah's previous residence.  If Sid suspects there was something more to this location choice than "I know where things are there" (and she does, though she doesn't know of anything that's happened with the padre so it's not that), she keeps her suspicions to herself.
Shoshannah's gratitude is met with a faint shake of Sid's head, as close to No need or Don't worry about it as she's likely to express.  She's a woman of few words, usually, so the teen's quiet is accepted easily.  It keeps the Orphan relaxed knowing she won't be dragged into conversations, particularly ones that might circle back in toward personal things.
You're doing alright?
As usual, Sid doesn't answer this question right away.  She stops and ponders as if that question were infinitely deeper than it probably should be.  Most people answer it automatically.  Sid considers it carefully.  After a few seconds she shrugs a shoulder.  "I'm okay."  She's dressed as usual in her faded and torn jeans, her old falling apart sneakers, and a faded purple t-shirt.

Shoshannah
"Good.  I'm glad."  It's decisive, that, and rare for the girl who spends so much time and effort Not Caring to admit.  Her shopping list has been a bit strange, though not anything too weird for a girl who lived off her bike and out of a tent, then in the rectory of a ghetto church before landing in a stunningly gorgeous house on even more beautiful property (at which she seems more at home, natural, and at least a little more angry about it because of that) outside of the city.  And she did, in fact, insist on giving some gas money.  "I've been studying some stuff, and practicing some stuff, but it's hard to know what's going on here when I'm way out there, you know?"
She shrugs, and of course she looks and sounds indifferent.
Shoshannah, it must be said, doesn't have a 'usual' mode of dress; the closest she comes to that is that all her clothes are in remarkably good repair for being kept in a backpack and tent until fairly recently, and are of a quality that clashes with her previous lifestyle, at least the one of which Sid knows. Even with the revelations that came in a Fallen dreamscape, most people no very little about Shoshannah; to her credit, Sid probably knows the most of anyone other than Pan.

Sid
In that they are quite a bit alike.  Very few know much about Sid beyond what they've seen of her.  Even Shoshannah, who traveled that hellscape with her, didn't glean much about the redhead.  She's afraid of small enclosed spaces.  She's very, very quiet.  As far as Shoshannah would know she's still very much against physical contact.  Except that she held her hand all through Leah's mind.
She is a little bit different around the younger woman these days, though the difference is very slight.  It's in the way she walks with her through the aisles, close to her elbow though not so close they risk knocking into each other.  She's wary and watchful, but that wariness is focused outward, keeping an eye on the people who pass them, staying aware of their surroundings.  It's defensive.  She's being protective of Shoshannah without exactly hovering over her.
Even as they're stopped now, talking about whatever, Sid's dark eyes move over the area behind Shoshannah.  Her ears are alert to the sounds of approach.  Even her senses are open.
That gaze shifts abruptly back to the younger girl when she says it's hard to know what's going on here, then drops, and a little of the tension of preparedness eases out of her.
"There've been some things," she says quietly.  Her lips tighten to a line.  "There's a, a very tall man, very big.  He almost seems alright, but he's...he scares me," she admits, which might not mean much.  All this time Sid has seemed afraid of everything and everyone.  So there's one more, big deal.  But her head tilts to the side as she says it, her eyes shifting away as the uncomfortable memories resurface.

Shoshannah
Sid's preparedness isn't entirely unwarranted; Shoshannah seems a magnet to all sorts of attention.  Some of it's good but most of it's bad, and as they spend more time together in this populated area, it's not difficult to see why her tension level - which she's not as good at hiding as she thinks she is - is always through the roof.  It ranges from the occasional pick up line, to an old woman who thinks she has the Sight (she does, of course) and wants to know about her husband, to signs against the evil eye.  At least no one throws anything at her or touches her . . . this time.  For an eighteen year old girl who swirls with anger and defensiveness, Shoshannah does a good job ignoring it all, except for the old woman - who she tells that this isn't the time or place, but if she really wants to know to go ask Padre Echeverria for a message left for her in two days.  There's a surprising sympathy there, an empathy that most might not know Shoshannah has.
Well, most who didn't see how she was with Leah, anyway.
"There are always things.  Is there anything I can do to help, do you think?"  Anything more active than sitting on her butt at the chantry, that is; sure, she can read languages that not many outside of the Order of Hermes can and doesn't mind doing it, but that doesn't mean that's all she wants to do.  Not when the two people she might tentatively think of calling friends could be in trouble.

Sid
Sid.  Actually.  Glares at people.  The ones who get too close, the one who threw out a catcall.  Only the old woman doesn't get a menacing look.  Not that Sid is terribly menacing in appearance, her glare is her usual frown but a little more intense.  There's a little bit of a spark in her dark eyes.  It's not as fierce as it was in Leah's mindscape, she doesn't reach out and grip Shoshannah's hand tightly and stand against a tide of ghostly figures.  But she blocks them.  One person laughs at the mouse protecting the beautiful but eerie young woman.  It didn't phase Sid in the slightest.
The only person she didn't try to block of shoo off was the old woman, but only because Shoshannah herself accepted her approach.
"No," she says sharply, frowning, her head rocking back a little with the force of the refusal.  It eases almost immediately, so that when she says, "No," again it's quieter, more normal.  "Not with him.  If you see him," stay away from him she wants to say, but doesn't.  Shoshannah is her own woman, she'll do what she wants and Sid doesn't presume to tell her what to do.  Into that brief but awkward pause, she says, "Be careful.  He...likes to bring out bad things in people."  There is so much more to it than that, but she doesn't have the words to describe it, nor does she want to.  Shoshannah can probably tell, though, can almost see the thoughts that swirl and fill Sid's dark eyes.
She blinks and suddenly it's gone, replaced by concern.  Leaning a bit closer, she asks quietly,  "Do you do drugs?"

Sid
[because we might have other mages come woo!:  awareness!]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 4, 5, 7, 7) ( success x 2 )

Patience Mason
[Paradgmically scanning]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (3, 4, 5, 5, 7, 9) ( success x 2 )

Patience Mason
It was a day for shopping, some had cut work early to be here, in this tiny little plaza in search of food or clothes or who know's what. The two young magi were standing about, perhaps leaning against the reassuring frame of Sid's pickup truck the duo preparing to go elsewhere, but in no hurry to do so.
The sound of a vehicle can be heard nearing the entrance to the parking lot, the deep thrum of its motor reminding those who heard it of a motorcycle except slightly off, there was no heavy base to this machine, no hearty roar, just the feeling and sound of parts moving and pavement being eaten up as the machine moved into the parking lot.
It is down the lane in which Sid has parked her truck that the machine turns, an unusually wide machine with an even more unusually designed appearance. Most motorcycles are a lesson in practicality, or at the most, attempt to convey just how much of a rebel, how bad ass their riders are. The machine which pulls into the parking lot now however is all smooth lines and subtle features, the design undoubtably art deco and though it bares a style utilized so often these days...because of what it had been used upon, it held a striking appearance unlike most machines of its ilk.
The woman astride the machine is equally unusual, so much so that it is a hallmark of her existence much the same as Shoshannah, dressed in riding leathers and a pair of dark riding goggles Patience Mason rolls slowly into a vacant parking spot and cuts the unusually quiet motor. A moment later the sound of a kickstand can be heard scrapping against the pavement,  before Patience herself is seen rising above the cars and pulling up her goggles, and then pulling off the old leather riding helmet she wore.

Shoshannah
"................no, I don't do drugs."  There's a hint of indignation there, a bit of teenage huffiness and upped defensiveness that implies that, like most people her age, Shoshannah has at least tried a thing or two in her travels but doesn't do anything regularly gawddo you think I'm stupid or a burn out or something?  "Do you?"
And then there's a motorcycle pulling up, and the somewhat familiar Patience rising from it; as the various approaches haven't stopped (and have, in some ways, gotten worse outside of the store where there aren't rules that could get one kicked out - someone spits at her feet, someone calls her puta fantasma (ghost bitch) several people go out of their way to avoid her.  She's not an easy girl to hang out with, Shoshannah isn't.

Sid
[WP not to beat the ever-living fuck out of whoever spat at Shoshannah]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 10) ( success x 2 )

Sid
Shoshannah's indignation washes over Sid like a warm summer breeze.  Ever since that one time, so long ago now, that she saw through that momentary crack in the girl's armor, Sid has largely viewed her huffiness as protection.  And after witnessing that ghostly mass surround Shoshannah, she understands a little more the reason for it.  She neither attacks nor judges Shoshannah for her answer, nor does she appear relieved.  She didn't ask to make sure that Shoshannah is straight edge.
She nods her head once, accepting the answer.  Before she can continue someone comes along and Sid freezes.  Her dark eyes narrow behind her glasses and, very slightly, she begins to tremble.  With rage, yes, but mostly fear.  Fear that if she speaks out he'll come back and, well.  That fear, it courses through her veins, sending an icy chill up through the base of her skull.
She uses that fear, harnesses it as she watches the man walk away.  Reaching out with her mind, she finds and bends and twists the little threads of his fate.  Not a lot.  Just enough to really fucking ruin his day.
[Hex: Entropy 2, +3 (coincidental), -1 (appropriate resonance), +1 (fast casting/making it up), droppin' a WP to guarantee successs]
Dice: 2 d10 TN5 (6, 6) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

Patience Mason
Patience had of course, noted the two women down the lane of the parking lot, noted them as she had pulled into the lot itself. But now that she was closer, pulling off her gear and stowing it in the motorcycles sleek and well hidden cargo pods she noted that there was a considerable number of people who seemed to be less then pleased with Shoshannah's presence. She frowned at this, less then pleased by this fact, because she too had experienced this sort of treatment before.
She strode towards the others now, those sky blue eyes fo hers taking on a steely patina as she watched these ignorant savages move this way and that, and recieving her own share of glares. It was only because of her size that most of them didnt go any further, but one spoke ill of her, swearing at her in a language she didn't understand....she simply kept walking until she stood before Shoshannah and Sid.
"I have ascertained and visually affirmed a drastic decrease in overall noospheric cohesion and positivity in this locality by a minimum of 23.532%." She shook her head in displeasure. "Such degredation within the sociological gestalt consciousness is reprehensible."

Shoshannah
It's to Shoshannah's credit, perhaps, that she doesn't try to hide.  She stands tall (not compared to Patience, perhaps, but the Dreamspeaker is well over the average height for an adult woman at her five foot, nine inches) and proud and appears to let it all roll off her back like so much water on a duck.  Given the size of the easily evident chip on her shoulder, though?  She wasn't always so good at it.  Sid twists reality just slightly, with a subtle flare of resonance, and the look Shoshannah gives her is sudden and unreadable other than in its assessing quality; this is not the first time the Orphan has stood up for her or defended her in some way.  It's an oddity to the younger girl, something uncertain.  People spitting and hissing and cat-calling and harassing in so many different ways, she's used to.  This . . . this sort of solidarity, though?  It's foreign.
And then there's Patience, and Shoshannah still has no idea what 'noospheric' means - though she knows the rest, at least, even if she's never met anyone who actually talks in such a way in real life before.  She can make an educated guess, at least, and gives a shrug when she comes to her internal translation.  "This actually isn't that bad."
Which is to say, she's had it so very much worse.

Sid
It may surprise Shoshannah further to know that, despite her apparent potential, Sid has only recently begun to fully explore it.  A few weeks ago all she might have done as these people harass her friend would be to frown, maybe shrink away.  Because to confront people like that would be to invite physical conflict, which is the think Sid fears above all others.  Everything else is tied to that knot at the middle.
And yet, with very little provocation, the air around her shifted to the desperate.  As the man and his cronies walk away, one of them catches a rather large nail with the toe of his boot.  No matter to him, his shoes' soles are thick and durable.  But that nail happens to land in just such a way that, as they pull their vehicle out of their parking spot, it drives clear through the rubber of the driver's side rear tire and the inner tube as well.  They all clambor out and curse their fate, their lack of luck.  They, or rather their driver, doesn't yet realize that it's only the beginning.
Someone says something rude to Patience as well, and it keeps Sid's hackles from lowering even a little bit, but if she railed against every single person who threw these protected, special people, well, Sid would collapse before the hour was out.
"That doesn't make it okay," is her reply to Shoshannah, though her eyes are focused on the efforts of the man who spit at her friend.  There's a light in her eyes that seems counter to what they've seen of the quiet, shy woman.  It's faint, but it's there in the slight lift of her chin and the fainter curve of her mouth.  Smug satisfaction.
Turning her head away from the men, she looks up at Patience and that smile widens to something warm and genuine.  "Hi Patience.  I was just about to tell Shoshannah.  A few of us ran into a, um, a paradigmically active person.  She dropped a bottle of PCP.  If you party, uh, just.  Be careful."

Patience Mason
Patience looks about after Shoshannah's declaration of the fact that this wasn't at all that bad, an eyebrow raised dubiously, perhaps Patience hadn't experienced the levels of disgust and anger that Shoshannah has, or perhaps she simply has a much lower tolerance for it. Regardless she eyes anyone else who is coming near before speaking to Shoshannah with a cool tone. "Even a variation in the gestalt consciousness of 10.43% requires a direct and immediate correction. The geographical locality within which we currently exist is not that of the ideo-political republic indexed as the 'the Congo'." She said with a frown.
"These coordinates within which we physically, noospherically, and paradgimically exist reside within the continental geo-political boundaries of the nation indexed as the United States of America." She shook her head before eying another person who drew near before she let out a gentle huff and  tried to smile.
"As Sid has stated verbally, such degradation is unacceptable." She then looked at Sid and her smile brightened as she listened, when she has a moment to process it she simply shakes her head and waves a hand with a laugh.
"Any noospherically altering chemical compounds which I may utilize in any capacity are strictly controlled, manufactured, and cultivated within specific conditions and environment's of my own design Sid, such concerns for my sociological and physical nominality are acknowledged in a positive register, but are unnecessary."

Shoshannah
"I've smoked some weed, eaten some mushrooms, and had the occasional glass of wine at dinner or sip of someone's drink at a party, but that's about it.  And about all I ever intend to do other than on special occasions."  Like twenty-first birthdays, that sort of thing.  And, given people's reactions to her here and now, it's kind of difficult to imagine Shoshannah at . . . well, any sort of party that wasn't Awakened-oriented, really.  So she's not straight edge, per se, but close enough - and she still sees with the totalitarian eyes of youth - and younger ones than she should, perhaps.  She hasn't told anyone here much about herself - is, in fact, a very hard nut to crack - but what one can pick up from her in conversation is that things have been the way they are for her for a very long time.
Then, there's that smile that breathes wry not-quite-bitterness and leans far closer to smirkiness than anything else.  "No one invites me to parties, anyway."  Not even other Awakened folk.  Her presence isn't particularly easy for them to bear, either.

Sid
Sid gives a little, emphatic nod at Patience's words.  That's right, this isn't the Congo.  This is America.  A place where people have come to regard "free speech" as meaning "I can say whatever I want without consequences."  Sid is prepared to prove those people wrong if their words get aimed at her friends, particularly those who have somehow fallen under her sphere of protection.
The words of the Etherite that follow Sid's warning are met with a frown and a constriction of brows.  Her head lowers, down, then a little away, and then lifts again toward Shoshannah.  Her mouth quirks, then, but she says nothing.  At least, she doesn't list off any drugs.   Maybe she's never done any.
That quirk melts into a thoughtful frown.  "That's not true.  Is it?" she asks, more for verification than out of disbelief.  "I thought Sera invited everyone over."

Patience Mason
[Per+Aware your secrets sid, give them to me.]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (3, 6, 7, 8, 9) ( success x 4 )

Sid
[no!: subterfuge]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 3, 4, 4) ( fail )

Shoshannah
"I only met Sera that one time, not counting the cabin."  The girl shrugs and she knows there's reasons that aren't just bound up in her being creepy and wrong and not entirely of this plane - like the part where she's underage and doesn't even have a fake ID - in this particular case, but that doesn't take the sting out of it.  This, though, goes unseen; Shoshannah isn't kidding when she says she's 'used to it', or 'this isn't that bad'.  She's had plenty of time to learn to cover when it bothers her.  "If she invited everyone, I wasn't in the loop."

Patience Mason
This was not the experience that Patience had anticipated having today, she had not expected to be talking about drugs, or parties, or the state of the worlds social conscience. But here they were, in a parking lot talking about those very things, its awkward in its own way, but wonderful as well. Patience reaches up and runs a hand through her messy hair, made that way by the helmet she wore as she watched her compatriots.
The frown from Sid is noted and Patience's own brows furrow for a moment before she shakes her head with a gentle laugh. "I can assuage any intrinsic or ephemeral disturbances in your noospheric attitudes Sid, these drugs are specifically and primarily, secondarily, and tertiary manufactured soley for immediate scientific utilization, and in on regard utilized in any method of recreation." That said, draining all the fun out of the idea, she settles her hands upon her hips let out a sigh.
"Do either of your biological structures consider the concurrent atmospheric settings to be approaching a state of sub nominal attitude in regards to the dermal and internal stability of your structures?"

Sid
That first time Shoshannah met Sera was Sid's first time, as well.  Pan had been there, too, a quietly imposing figure in black who didn't quite fit into the bar scene.  He had been very parental toward Shoshannah that night, at least in Sid's opinion.  Making sure she'd eaten, things like that.  That might have been a large part of why Sera hadn't included Shoshannah in that party invite.  She's underaged, after all.
If Sid were the type to throw parties anymore, she would invite Shoshannah to one, definitely.  But she's not, and so there's nothing more really that she can say to that.  She, herself, doesn't go to parties, even if she happens to be invited.
Patience assures her that the drugs she manufactures are intended only for scientific purposes, which get another frown, but this time it's confusion.  It's then that she realizes they might not be thinking of the same sorts of drugs, and that more than anything is what makes her feel very very very slightly relieved.
"It's getting hot," she agrees, reaching up to run her fingers through the hair at the base of her skull, lifting it from her shoulders a little in a vain hope of cooling off the back of her neck.

Shoshannah
"It is, yes."  Shoshannah's wearing a pretty patchwork-and-lace hippie sort of tank top and light, possibly linen pants with wide enough legs to potentially be mistaken for a skirt.  Her hair is caught back loosely and somewhat messily (though it's still lovely in a way that isn't entirely of this world, as Shoshannah can't help being) caught back from her face in a low ponytail that trails down her back to the bottom of her shoulder blades, but for the stray bits that straggle out and curl more tightly around her face.  Her wrists and a good portion of forearm are covered in patchwork bands made of the same materials as her shirt - basically, she'd gone for easy, but still pretty and light when she left the house.
"I've got what I need, if you guys want to go somewhere else."

Patience Mason
The Etherite surely has the worst of it standing there in the dark brown of her riding leathers, her long limbs and torso encased in leather which held close to her form and seemed to have not a single slit for ventilation, it is likely that the woman was currently getting ready to stew in her own juices, yet she shows very little sign of external discomfort.
Patience considers the options, looking between the two women with whom she stood, and the store she had intended to visit, sitting barely fifty yards away. There is a moment where she seems to chew on her cheek in contemplation and then she simply gives a gentle shrug and looks back to her fellow Magi.
"The previously assigned locality intended as the primary objective of planar movation has now been downgraded to a tertiary objective. If your individualized personages are of the distinct noospheric configuration to proceed to an alternate locality of interest, this personage would not be negatively predisposed to such a convergence."

Sid
They all agree that it's getting hot and uncomfortable, though of the trio Shoshannah is clearly the best dressed for the weather.  Sid's clothing is old and a bit oversized, masking the exact contours of her figure, so at least she can breathe a little.  She would expect Patience to be dying in that outfit on a hot summer day like today.
She turns a little, following the Etherite's gaze back toward the shopfronts and then looking back at her.
"I'd like that, but.  If you need something that's right in there.  I mean, are you sure you're alright with coming back?" she manages, starting and stopping until eventually she gets it all out.

Shoshannah
"There's a taqueria right there - no air conditioning, but outdoor seating and great virgin daquiris and margaritas if you're into that kind of thing," Shoshannah offers; a good part of her reason for coming to this part of town rather than somewhere else had been stated as knowing where things were, and it's true.  The question is, however, whether or not she'll be able to get someone to serve her.  This is always a question on the occasions that she goes out and about, this girl who makes even many of her Awakened acquaintances so uncomfortable.
"I mean, I have to get back eventually, but it's nice to be in town for awhile."

Patience Mason
Sid offers a way out, the reason Patience came all this way must be of some import after all. Shoshannah offers a potential destination however, and the Etherite considered that for a few long moments.
It only takes the return of the sun from behind a lonely little cloud to seal the deal, Patience reaches up and unbuttons half the jacket, letting it swing in the still air as she reached up and flapped one side to try and cool herself off even slightly.
"Let us movate towards the physical structure indexed as a Taqueria. A substantial reduction in internalized thermal levels is required immediately, and Shoshannah's aforementioned ethyl alcohol infused liquid state nutrient packets sounds supremely positive given the current state of this bio-physical structure."
"Females....let us movate?" Its not the most pleasing thing to the ears, but the confidence with which Patience delivers the line is solid and palpable. She smiles at her companions and gestures for them to go, off to the taqueria for cold beverages and maybe a hint of food, and if some waitress refused to serve Shoshannah, they would have two other very insistent women to compete with.
It would be a battle any server would lose.

Finding Patience

Shoshannah Mitchell
[how are we doing today? char+perf]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 9) ( success x 6 )

Shoshannah Mitchell
[and how aware are we?]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (4, 6, 7, 7, 9, 9) ( success x 5 )

Patience Mason
[Scanning...Per+Aware]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 5, 5) ( fail )

Shoshannah Mitchell
It's not at all uncommon, really, to find random college students holed up under trees, in grassy knolls, on handy concrete walls with their guitars and their coffee treats or sodas and their friends, just having a good time in the summer weather.  It's somewhat more rare to find a lone troubador, but, well.  Just look at her and it's not difficult to tell why people stay away.  She is what she is, and what she is is terrifying on a base, instinctive level that's difficult to put words to.
She feels like bad omens, like ill fortune, like death approaching.
Still, she doesn't seem particularly unhappy sitting alone with an odd, whimsical ukelele in her lap, singing along as she plays something oddly bright and pop-y that is both at odds and perfectly fitting with her brightly colored mish mash fashion.  Somehow, she pulls it all together; somehow, she makes it work.
And her playing?  Well, it kind of makes sense when performers are weird, doesn't it?  It puts it in context a little more.  No one that good can be perfectly normal - or even near it, really.  But even with how good she sounds (both instrumentally and vocally), her attention is nicely, neatly split.  She watches people as they scurry around her, avoid her.  For the most part, she's a bit on the sneer-y, disdainful side; there's definitely a chip on her shoulder.
Every now and then, though?  Every now and then there's a smile, a flash in her strange eyes, and it's enough to take one's breath away.  This particular coed doesn't feel like a part of this world - nor does she look like it's all she sees.  It's enough to make anyone uneasy.

Patience Mason
The Santa Fe Art's District is a favourite of many, it was a place of livelihood and excitement, one could find wonder down ever alley, a bit of magic in every performance. It was a wonderful place to be...if one had the eyes that were open and willing to see. Even with her abrasive nature, and otherworldly feel Shoshannah was apart of that magic, her very nature adding its own unique feel to the area, and making it greater for it.
Another approached that stood out, adding her own sense of wonder and strangeness to the scene. She was like Shoshannah in a sense, a feeling of oddity and strangeness pervading her, most would think her not real, or an elaborate bit of costuming to suit someone's idea of an add campaign. Yes she was like Shoshannah the lonely troubadour in a sense, but beyond that...they could not be any more dissimilar.
Patience Mason strode down the street like she had stepped out of the thirties, or perhaps even earlier. A knee length dress of dark brown covered her form, the stylings and patterns inlaid into the dress bringing mind to the fresco's and designs of an earlier era, of the oft imitated but never replicated Art Deco period. Solid lines of geometrical importance flowed through the dress, and impressions of clouds and the sun dotted area's beneath her bust and upon her back. Upon her feet were a plain black pair of kitten heels of a sturdy and dependable make, though no designers logo or ideal could be placed upon them.
She moved along like a piece of an old film, a single solitary frame which had been cropped out and tossed into the technicolored world of the modern day, she stood out because she was timeless in a sense that few could fathom, and those who could not felt all the more uncomfortable in her presence.
She strode slowly but precisely along the street, her head turning this way and that to take in the sights and sounds, her sky blue eyes missing nothing as she pushed a singular stray hair of dirty blonde locks back over her ear, her eyes..somehow, manage to drift past Shoshannah....and that in of itself..is an oddity indeed.

Rhodes
[where my favorite magi at?: awareness!]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 7, 8, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 5 ) Re-rolls: 1

Shoshannah Mitchell
There's a certain luminosity in the air and just as Patience's eyes are skating over Shoshannah, taking no notice (an oddity, indeed, on top of so many), the younger woman's own blue eyes (sky, water, snow - the purest, clearest distillation of blue in existence, for which there may be no words) arrow to the woman-out-of-time (Ms. Cellophane?  But without the arguable benefit of being invisible, only the feeling of having stepped out of a vintage film), piercing her, pinning her.
you could look right through me, walk right by me, and never know I'm there doesn't at all fit in with what had come moments before, and perhaps the non sequitur draws attention that the ownere thereof hadn't initially.  It's targeted, that bit of lyric.
"Hey," is all she says as Patience draws nearer - it's polite, the greeting, simple.  It leaves so many options.

Rhodes
She's back on this street again, and after only a few days.  Sid counts that a victory in the name of Not Being Afraid.  Which isn't to say that she's not afraid as she walks along, hands in her pockets, head down.  If she weren't afraid, if she felt completely safe, her awareness wouldn't be cracked wide open, extra-senses feeling out into the warm sunny, smoggy day for the touch of resonances both familiar and not.
Because he was here the last time she came.  And no matter how things turned out Friday night (because woo, email scenes that aren't finished!), she still feels that edge of nervousness.
But she's back.  There was a parlor she noticed in passing, a kind of memory that sticks in her mind's eye like an after image, like the purplish burn spot one gets when one looks at the sun a little too long.  She wants to see it again, wants to go inside and look around and maybe possibly ask questions but first something else catches her attention.
Music, of course, that she hears.  The sound gets her to pause, lift her chin, look around.  Drifting along with it, drawing her attention like a compass finds magnetic north, is the resonance.  Angry.  Defensive.  The resonance of a certain teenager she knows, not well but well enough.  And another, strange yet strangely familiar.
Sneakers scuff on concrete and she changes her direction to follow all of her senses.  Sid sees Shoshannah first and her eyes brighten and the corners of her mouth quirk like they're considering mabye lifting up a touch.  She notices Patience second, which shouldn't be if she'd only been going on sight.  The woman is incredibly tall and dressed like she's a step out of time.  Sid knows that she is.  Her lips actually curl a little into a small but genuine smile as she nears the unlikely duo.

Patience Mason
Patience had been prepared to walk on by, to continue on her way past Shoshannah's position. Leaving the curious woman with her curious ukelele to their own lyrical devices. But the lyrics themselves, and then the hey in particular snap the woman out of whatever unknowable thought she was having and brought eyes so very similar to Shoshannah's towards the woman, and locking there before her body followed suit, the six foot frame turning smoothly before stepping towards her, a small pleasant smile and a nod given to Shoshannah as she approached.
The woman's hair, though free and flowing in its lower extremities was bound up into a pair of curls which seemed to form laurels upon the top of her head.
"Appropriate sociological and noospheric signifiers and entreaties to your direct actualized personage miss." The woman said without a pause or a smirk, there was no sign that she was making fun, her voice simply flowing like one would simply say 'hi'.
"It is of visual remark that the vibration oscillator your personage is utilizing at this temporal juncture is of unusual but....intriguing dimension and ascetic principle." She seemed to nod appreciatively...
What had Shoshannah gotten herself into..

Shoshannah Mitchell
Blink, blink.
Glance around.
"I . . . uh."  What had she gotten herself into is a good question, indeed.  Shoshannah, while reasonably intelligent in a lot of ways that make little sense to everyone else, is not at all prepared for conversations like this.  "What's a vibration oscillator?  I mean, I know what the words mean separately, obviously . . . oh!  You mean the uke?"  She'd been edging into more concretely defensive for a moment; no one likes being talked to in ways they don't understand, after all.  "Yeah, Mr. Man's cool.  I like him."
She doesn't stop strumming absently, nimbly flowing from one silly song to the next - folky, uke driven versions of all sorts of things, a few bars here, a chorus there.  She's good, this girl.
"I like your shoes.  Those are hot."

Patience Mason
Patience listens to Shoshannah talk, and where the Ukelele player had trouble understanding Patience, the Etherite seemed to have little problem understanding her. When the younger woman pointed out her shoes Patience hiked up her skirt ever so slightly to reveal the heels a little better, sticking one out gently and waving it about with a smile.
"Your positively aligned verbalized acknowledgement of these ambulatory assistants is logged and accepted in a pleasant and agreeable manner Miss. These particular assistants are of particular quality and durability as I assured that the quality and purity of the required materiel was of super nominal standards at the temporal juncture of assembly and manufacture, which this personage undertook specifically." She seems quite pleased, and quite happy for the compliment, even if she gave Mirriam-Webster a run for their money.
She let the hem of her skirt fall once more and she smoothed out the dress with her hands before continuing on, her gaze metting Shoshannah's once more. For some reason the woman seemed unphased by the young woman's otherness...perhaps she was simply to used to her own?
"Is your primary objective in this venture to ascertain and induce transfer of monetary script for services rendered? Or is the objective driven by entirely philosophical and self attenuated means?" She inquired curiously.

Rhodes
As Sid comes closer, she picks up snippets of the conversation at hand and her smile turns a little wry.  She picks up the pace, to get there more quickly, but then slows a little.  These are people that she likes, one of whom she walked hand-in-hand through a nightmarescape with, watched amazing things morph and come to life in an other realm.  The other is newer, but Sid feels she knows her fairly well.  At least, she understands a bit of her make-up, the structure of the cells of her skin, things that she'd studied in her spare time over the course of last week.  That's a kind of knowing, just not the usual kind.
Then again, Sid hadn't tried to get to know Patience in a usual manner.
But she's learned to be unsure of herself around people over the years.  These two that she likes, they're talking and she might be intruding.  The hesitation lasts all of two steps before Sid is frowning (at herself, but outwardly) and kicking up that pace again.
"Hi," she greets, nodding to Shoshannah.  "You were playing," she observes rather astutely.  "It was lovely."

Shoshannah Mitchell
"I'm not asking if you're looking for a date or anything."  This comes wryly, and perhaps in a harder fashion than is intended - or perhaps not.  It's difficult to tell with this prickly girl who speaks of temper and otherworldliness just by being, even without added perceptions.  "And even if I were, I don't put out.  So there's not much service rendered, is there?"
And then there's Sid, and for just a moment there's a hint of relaxation, of comfort.  It's difficult to come through what these two women have together without some level of understanding; sometimes that breeds discomfort and resentment, but not in this particular case.  "Hey, Sid.  Thanks - I dabble sometimes.  You doing alright?"

Patience Mason
A brief gambit of emotions flows over Patiences features at Shoshannah's response, her features widen momentarily in concerned and apologetic shock, before knitting together in a moment of confusion, before at last finding humour in the situation, the woman letting out a dulcet laugh as her hands came together, her head falling back as she did so, before righting herself and shaking her head, a hand mimicing the motion.
"Negative. Negative, This personage is not inquiring as to your current socio-hormonal symbiotic status, nor is it attempting to ascertain your fertility or current copulative viability." Another chuckle that is almost a titter rises from her lips as she gestures to Shoshannah's ukelele, her other hand reaching into a slit in her dress to pull out a five dollar bill.
"I am attempting to ascertain wether your primary objective is to acquire monetary recompense for the vibrative oscillation in a harmonic methodology you are currently undertaking." She said with a nod, as if that completely cleared up the misunderstanding.
Then Sid is there, and the woman's face brightens at the sight of a familiar face and she nods to the other woman witht hat same pleasant smile. "Social noospheric and temporally positively aligned acknowledgements Sid. This is an unpredicted and atypical sociological encounter type, but positively aligned regardless of percentages."

Rhodes
She catches that bit from Shoshannah, where she asserts she's not asking for a date and she doesn't put out.  Sid, having missed precisely what brought about that response, frowns with her own confusion.  Patience comes out of hers first, and laughs, sounding delighted.  Sid's reddish brows rise above the dark frames of her glasses as she looks between the pair of them.
Then Shoshannah's asking if she's doing alright, and Sid doesn't answer immediately.  Her gaze drops and she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, her hand falling to the strap of her bag where it meets the pouch.  She has to think about it, which could mean anything.  A second ticks by, then another, and she shrugs a shoulder.  "I'm...I'm okay."  Then she grins, actually grins a little at Patience, and she answers her as though she understands her perfectly, which, she almost does.  "I'm glad to see you, too, Patience.  You two have met?"

Shoshannah Mitchell
"Oh!  I was just practicing.  Change of scenery, you know.  's why I landed here."
Goodness only knows where she had Padre drop her and her bike (which is now leaning against a nearby tree, or sign, or . . . something) off, however many hours ago; she's always been an independent girl, at least as long as anyone in Denver has known her.
"We just met now.  Patience, hmm?  I'm Shoshannah."  That comfort exhibited with Sid isn't applied to others - or at least not to Patience, not yet.  Shoshannah is guarded and, as mentioned before, tends towards the hard and prickly.

Patience Mason
Sid gives away the Etherites name and it doesn't bother the woman one bit, if anything she takes it as an appropriate, if unorthodox  introduction from the woman. She actually curtsy's ever so slightly to Shoshannah, her skirt lifted once more as she spoke. "It is an acknowledged and actualized temporal juncture of note to actualize your personage Shoshannah." She said to the woman with a pleased air about her.
The bill she was holding in ehr hand is placed back into its pocket, hidden within the folds of the woman's dress now that it had been ascertained that she was simply practicing in public.
Her next question is directed at Sid, the woman gesturing between the three of them with a meaningful look in her eyes as she asked. "Is there a rationalized commonality between the three individualized personages at this geographical locality aside from genetically assigned gender traits?" She asks with intent. "I enquire for clarity, as well as the security of sociological elements which could be exposed at this juncture."

Rhodes
Sid understands that prickliness of Shoshannah's perhaps more than the young woman would want to know.  One day some time ago she found a chink in that armor and caught a glimpse at the girl beneath.  Since then she hasn't seen much of that girl, at least she hasn't gone looking for her, but it has made her feel more protective of her.  Not that anyone would likely consider Sid the protective type, at least not of anyone but herself.  She is quiet, shy, withdrawn usually.  Her self-preservation instincts are top notch.  And yet.
She catches something of that hardness, and though she comes as close to trusting Patience as she does very few others, Sid shifts her stance again.  It's a subtle maneuver, one that brings her a little closer to the younger mage.  Not quite a barrier, but she's there, offering a quiet kind of support.
Reaching up with one hand, she tucks some of her hair behind her ear, brushing it back from her face in the process.  "Ah," she starts, and frowns thoughtfully.  "We're all, um, para...digmically...active," she finishes quietly, a little pleased with herself for remembering the woman's own words on the subject.  If they could barely understand what she meant, surely other sleepers would be even more perplexed as to the meaning.

Shoshannah Mitchell
".....is it Learn an Obscure and Antiquated Form of English Day and I didn't get the memo?"  There's a furrow of Shoshannah's brow and like the time spent researching how one might come back from Nephandi-hood, it's quite possible the only thing keeping her afloat with Patience's end of the conversation is her affinity with languages - her semi-educated guesses, as it were.  This makes it slightly easier to take, but not much.  Not enough.
The younger girl stands, now, having stopped playing and put her ukulele away, and glances between the two older women briefly.
"I actually need to head back, anyway.  I'm not at Padre's any more, if you hadn't heard - I'm out in the sticks."  At the chantry, she means, and this is obviously more for Sid's benefit than Patience's.  "You can tell her what she needs to know, yeah?  I'll trust your judgement."  Which . . . says a lot, really.  As far as Sid knows, the only person Shoshannah trusts is Pan - or at least as far as she knew until now.
The uke, in its case, goes into a clearly custom saddlebag on the bike, and Shoshannah's ready to go - as quickly as they'd run into each other, their little group is exploding.
"See you soon?"

Patience Mason
Sid clarifies and affirms a theory that Patience had been formulating, and when that happens she looks at Shoshannah with an appraising eye, perhaps formulating in her mind what type of magi the woman was. It would seem however that Patience would have to wait for such introductions, the specifics would come forward another time.
Shoshannah packs up, turning to go and Patience raises a hand to wave at the woman. "I anticipate that your geographical movation via dual wheeled transit medium will be without incident and of nominal quality Shoshannah, I also predict to within 87.6543% likilhood that our distinct actualized personages shall occupy the same relativistic geographical locality within the next lunar tranversement cycle." The tone in her voice is exaclty like one might expect someone to say 'fair well' but its gregarious and expounded in the way Patience speaks.
She would watch the newly identified mage depart, before turning towards Sid and inquiring with a tilt of her head.
"To what conclusive end did your biochemical analysis of my formerly integrated dermal and follicular cell structures arrive Sid?" She looks rather intrigued, perhaps hoping the young woman had found somethign she had not.

Rhodes
They are rather like a unknown chemical mixture, and no meeting ever mixes the same.  Sometimes they collide violently and explode apart, which like now isn't always a bad thing.  Sometimes, like with the Verbena, it's gentler.  And sometimes it's dark and frantic and ready to explode and wipe out a city block.  These three strange chemicals mix and swirl and separate again, and it seems like that should be no big deal.  Except when Shoshannah says that, or asks that, about learning a new language with no one getting her the memo, Sid frowns.  "Oh, ah," she starts, but doesn't finish.  Shoshannah has to go, and in the end it's not the most important thing, letting her know she hadn't meant to exclude her.
She nods, because she had heard, and that frown doesn't exactly leave her face easily.  And she nods again, because she knows, or has an inkling of understanding, of how distrustful the Dreamspeaker is with most people.  The teenager is trusting her and that lifts one of the darkened corners of Sid's heart a little.
And she nods a final time, yes, to see you soon.  It's a hope more than a certainty, because with Shoshannah living so far away (not really all that far, but farther than she did before) the chances for random encounters becomes limited.  There's a sort of yearning in the Orphan's dark eyes, in the particular set of her frown, but she merely waves Shoshannah goodbye.
That is, until Patience says her own farewell.  Sid's frown gets turned on the woman, but she shakes her head.  "Take care, and see you soon," she says by way of translation, but also for herself.
When they are alone on the path, Patience asks her about her findings, and Sid can only shrug.  "I saw what you said.  You're...stuck...at a cellular level.  I'll research what I can, see if there's something that can be done to...I don't know, bring decay back into the equation."  She feels weird saying it, but it's true.  The woman is not aging, her cells are not decaying.  She's got a few of them still, or did, kept in a container so that she can continue to monitor them, maybe even begin some experiments.  Though the very idea terrifies her in a way she can't articulate.