1 november, or: the cavalry [attn: kiara, margot, ned, will]
Not long after dawn, footfalls tromp back up the porch steps of the cabal's adopted home and allow reentry to the two who'd stormed out not long ago. Low voices in the corridor as they pull themselves together, or else come up with a quick game plan. Texts have already flown back and forth. The house is in no state for impressing guests, but said guest isn't exactly coming over for tea and sandwiches.

For the sake of confirming his suspicions with his actual eyes and not some gadget he has stashed away in a pocket somewhere, Andrés pokes his head into the library. He is expecting to see Will still on the floor underneath the table with Ned beside him, and Margot nowhere in sight.

The Etherite's hair is a mess, his lower lip savaged by a pair of human teeth, his clothing on but in a disarray. Though the resonance in the air is still repellant to him, he was expecting it this time. He can tolerate the electric menace lurking just beyond his peripheral vision.

If Margot is still upstairs in her room, she's about to have a guest. Said impending guest fishes his eyeglasses out of his pocket as he leaves Kiara to deal with Ned.
Look. I have school. And RP. And all my other time is taken up by sheer, unreasoning panic. I don't have time for Reddit.
-- ixphaelaeon
Ned is in the library/study still. So is William, obviously.

The latter is up on one of the sofas, face pointed at the ceiling, eyes mercilessly closed because open eyed staring unresponsive people who are still breathing is one of those tropes Ned would probably freak out about in some ill-timed monologue at a later date. There has been little to no change in his demeanor or substance. William is the next category up from dead.

Ned is asleep.

There is a small assortment of books beside him, depicting various scientific, some esoteric and one philosophic, exploration of anatomy, health and life. The one in his lap is thickly bound and looks to be a presentation of basic human anatomy circa somewhere in the 1970s. He hasn't gotten more then a few pages in, hands palm up on both sides of the open book. His head is leaning up against the sofa arm and his mouth is hanging slightly open, hair a tumbling mass scrunched up to one side. The sound of soft snoring can be heard.

Both boys are wearing cake crumbs and frosting. One of Ned's hands is a smeared mess of Strawberry angel food cake and coconut cream icing.
The catatonic Hermetic is taking up an entire damned sofa. Rude.
The Verbena is left to deal with Ned. Although given she finds him snoring on the sofa, she doesn't so much deal with him as she quietly shuffles over to the sofa where the catatonic Hermetic is laying and carefully climbs in behind him, lifting William's head and depositing it down on her lap, where her fingers begin stroking the hair back from his brow.

She has enough knowledge of mindscapes to understand William is far from any of them at present, but the physicality of the act is a comfort to her.

When (if) Ned stirs, he finds Kiara seated with his Cabalmate's blonde hair on the pagan's lap, one of his books in her hands. She's thumbing through it idly as she waits to see (or hear) the results of Andrés attempting to apologise to Margot.
Knock knock knock.


Look. I have school. And RP. And all my other time is taken up by sheer, unreasoning panic. I don't have time for Reddit.
-- ixphaelaeon
"So what exactly are your intentions with the Doc?"

Ned wakes not with a stirring but a question. He isn't exactly shy with them and has been the reasonable object of Andres' annoyance on more than one occasion. It emerges from him haphazardly, followed quickly by a yawn that pulls his head off the sofa's arm and his hands stretching out in front of him, like reaching for a cliff's edge after lazily falling off.

"I mean, I get the whole sex thing. You two aren't exactly shy about that angle but there is something unreasonably dangerous mixed in the way our lot interacts. He's my Mentor. My Cabalmate and I find myself asking those others who often hang around with or interact with said peoples about themselves if only to reassure my own mind that there's no real threat or concern to be had about it." Ned turns to peer up at Kiara with a steady blink. The bloodshot in his eyes is a thin suggestion of what had transpired here but for the Orphan's tone, he doesn't seem off-put or exhausted. Curiosity would be the best word.

"That and I really only know your name at the moment and the fact you tend to share similar workings to Margot. Which isn't much to go on, really."
Dark eyes lift from a fascinating passage about a philosophical quandary to find Ned quite awake. He goes on to mention 'the whole sex thing' and one of Kiara's thin brows arches. She sets the book down absently and studies the man as if he were a curious discovery she was attempting to identify. There's nothing particularly aggressive in the pagan's focus but it can be intensive; presently, it also appears to carry a hint of surprise.

A plume of amusement drips in to her voice, like ink to a glass of water.

"My ... intentions." She repeats, (questions?), turning the words over slowly as if their meaning were foreign to her. He wants to know if she's a threat and there's a moment where Kiara's fingers, which had been stroking through William's hair as if he were an overgrown cat snoozing on her lap pause and she tilts her head to one side.

Somewhere above them, Andrés is repeatedly hammering on Margot's door. "I'm not planning to kill or otherwise maim your Mentor. If I had inclinations to, believe me, you'd have known about them by now." There's a smile that settles across the brunette's mouth that is not quite comforting, but doesn't seem malicious, either. Merely: ambiguous. An apt description for the Verbena, herself.

"As for the rest, ask me." She twists a lock of Will's hair around a finger. "I might answer. I might not."
Some hours ago Margot had gone to her room, leaving some to make their way back out of the house and others in the magick-stained study to fall asleep (or lay motionless) where they were left to recover. The little witch had tried to lay down, but didn't want to stain her pillowcase so she'd tried to nest on the floor but that hadn't seemed right either. She paced, restless, for another hour and change before falling asleep sitting up on her bed with her head back against the wall.

Though she'd been unconscious at least two hours before the pounding on her door awoke her, it felt as though she'd only closed her eyes for a dozen seconds-- just long enough to flash vivid-red-fast through a dreamscape of burned lands and rains of arrows and blood-edged blades and the pounding of wardrums that would follow her into consciousness in the form of a hammering heart and pounding headache and the slamming of Doc's fist on the door before being followed by shouting.

"God damnit," she croaked quietly to herself and rubbed her arms, feeling like they were covered in static electricity still. She lifted her hands to rub her eyes and called louder so he would hear through the door. "I am, just open the door, it's not locked."

When he did, he'd find the room had the feeling that it housed a caged lion instead of a young woman, and could all but physically feel the cloying dense quality her magick tended to leave in the air. Margot was still sitting where she'd drifted off, and was eyeing the Doc in the doorway from between the fingers that still covered her face. Not quite saying 'What?' like a disgruntled teenager out loud, but projecting it heartily enough in the quiet that she sat in instead.
"I'm not sure we would, really."

Ned might make the attempt to stand but there is a weariness happening. The body can only take some much exertion across multiple spectrums of 'I'm Fine!' 'We're fucked!' 'I'm fine!' 'Owie!' before some internal system says it is time to shut down. Ned had gotten a power nap in but the nerves and the need to do something and be something were powerful in the Orphan. In every Mage, really.

"Doc's secretive. Protectively secretive. The worst sort of secretive because he thinks he's doing us a favour. Really, half the time he'll go off and do something that says 'I'm fixing things' and we're just sort of sitting around waiting for either the Fallout or the Fix. Usually one of those. Sometimes, both. The point is, he just does. Kinda like the Cabal's creed actually. Also a Nike commercial now that I think about it..." Ned was fond of tangents.

"The point is, No one really plans to kill someone without there being an agenda there and I doubt you're malicious enough to have waited this long to want to kill the Doc. That doesn't excuse the possibility of you having enemies, friends, frenemies, enemends, old lovers with jealousy streaks, new lovers with jealousy streaks, past tense time traveling space mongos looking to turn you and anyone near you into an experiment or parental figures with nuclear capability. You're not planning it? Doesn't mean it can't happen." He taps the floorboards gently, eyes falling back into the book in his lap as if he just remembered he had been reading before passing out.

"So I suppose the first question is, can you think of any particular reason or circumstance the Doc might have to fear for his life/existence/sanity in associating with you or being around you?"
Rule number one of having a daughter: never enter her room without knocking and receiving express permission to enter.

Rule number two of having a daughter: don't tell your new cabal that she exists, because she still hates you for what you did to her little brother and her mom.

Margot informs him that the door isn't locked, and before she's even finished her sentence in he comes, barging like a 5'6" explosion and not like the creeping sense of inevitable death that even Sleepers, at this point, can sense. Her Work hangs in the air, she looks homicidally miserable, and he just woke her up, but does he care? Noooo.

He takes care not to step on any salt pillars or tarot cards or hash pipes that might be lying around on his trip from the doorway to her bed, then parks himself at the foot of the mattress, avoiding her feet but not her angry expression. He isn't afraid of Kiara, for fuck's sake, and that woman could immobilize him without too much trouble. He isn't afraid of Margot.

Huge sigh, a pause to frown and remove dirt or blood or something that's become encrusted at the corner of his mouth, and another pause to flick it into his pocket rather than on her floor. Then he looks in her direction.

"That Chakravat assassin Grace is shacked up with is going to be coming by in a few minutes," he says. "To fix--" Wait a minute. Before Margot can react, he holds up his empty palms: "--NOT KILL." Down they go again. "But bring Will out of his Mindscape. If you want to come downstairs for that, you're more than welcome to, but your brain is still developing, so if you want to go back to sleep, that's... 'you do you, boo.'"

He looks away again, like he's about to stand up and leave, but he doesn't.

"Also, I would like to..." His eyes point skyward, like he's appealing for assistance from an entity he's pretty certain he could prove, mathematically, does not exist. "... apologize for... eh... squabbling with Edward. I know that it upsets you. It accomplishes nothing. I am... trying to do better. Yeah?"

If she has nothing to say to him, he'll give her an awkward pat on the knee and get up and leave. He does not, however, assume she has nothing to say.
Look. I have school. And RP. And all my other time is taken up by sheer, unreasoning panic. I don't have time for Reddit.
-- ixphaelaeon

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