Listen Mister Can't you See

{{ | date=07/04/2018 | summary=Alma sends a letter. (previously) | cast=

• Alma
• Aaron
• Note

| st=The Undisputed Truth | place_name=Philip A. Hart Plaza on the Int'l Riverfront then Lakeshore Suburbs | place_desc=
Give me a ticket for an aeroplane
Ain't got time to take a fast train
Lonely days are gone, I'ma goin' home
My baby just wrote me a letter

-- Eva Cassidy cover
| log=It's been a little over a month of late nights. The flights of birds and crisscrossing runnels in the concrete have sent her on so many pilgrammages and she has heard nothing. So many deaths. loved ones, abandoned ones, exhausted ones. Her "soundings of depth" give nothing back. It's finally time, she decides, to admit things aren't working. It's time to burn the letter. The question is where? She's got a map of enigmas. labeled with emotions and shapes and contours. Patterns. The habits of birds and insects. What is the bird's eye view of Detroit? Where shall she go?

Alma's first inclination is Second Stories, but with the setting sun on the horizon, she spies - two nights running - not a flock, but a murmuration [1] of some sort, down by the waterfront, south-by-southeast of downtown.

Alma prepares to follow where the murmuration leads. That day, she spends time contemplating her dead family. She prepares an outfit of funeral respect for her borrowed culture. A white kurta with drawstring pants. Her tools are in a purse slung across her chest. Note is consulted and invited. She bikes down to where she saw the murmuration last.

The murmuration, even as the last sunlight slips from the sky to be replaced by the bluing moonlight, is still there, hovering and undulating over a man who has seen some kind of wisdom in bringing a loaf of staled bread to share this evening. But who cares why, right? Who cares why. He's sitting on a bench in Hart Plaza, not far from a sculpture that looks rather a lot like a Stargate if everyone is being honest.[2]

Alma goes to the stargate and watches the man sharing a loaf of bread. She takes some of her own trailmix out and scatters it while she contemplates this person and their affect on the birds. Are they shaping this murmuration in some way?

To the extent that the birds respond to food, the man is providing them a reason to congregate, but that seems to be the extent to which he is influencing them.

Alma pulls out of a bottle of water to sip from. It's hot. She walks towards the person feeding the birds, scattering some of her own food as she goes. Even though it's now after dark, the heat hasn't really let up. Her way of an opening gambit to an intriguing strangers is, "It's nice to be by the shorefront, when the weather is like this. The wind helps." She takes another sip of water.

The man - when Alma speaks - turns to look at Alma, though it's sort of doubtful he sees much; his eyes are thick with cataracts. "Yes," he says, slowly. He's wearing a brown hat that matches his skin and seersucker suit both, and his face is deeply lined. "I been coming down since I was a boy."

"Where there as many starlings when you were a boy?"

"Starlings," says the man, and coughs once. "No, ma'am. No starlings. I came about to feed the ducks and gulls and geese. I guess there... aren't so many geese anymore; they're not a quiet bunch."

<<OOC>> Alma says, "what birds does alma see around right now?"

<<OOC>> The Undisputed Truth says, "Good enough. It would probably occur to Alma that it's quite reasonable to believe that water-loving birds might be common here - there's a healthy river and quite a lake nearby - but there's literally no waterfowl or seabirds here at all, and come to think of it, Alma hasn't seen any... here. Period. There -are- starlings though."

Alma is uncomfortable because of the missing shorebirds. "There are a lot of starlings out right now. Can you hear the murmuration? It's weird, around here I'd expect to see some common mergansers, mallards, terns, canvasbacks. I don't see any of that here. Just the starlings." (well, and Note, if Note followed her. One crow.)"

"Hmm? Oh." The man laughs. "Sure. Tell me - what's it look like?" The murmuration, one supposes. He throws another crumble of bread; it lands on a scrap of paper, probably a straw wrapper, that flies off toward the big ring-looking thing that this ST is not calling a Stargate.

Alma describes murmurations to the man. "Flocks of starlings form in layers and undulating ribbons in the sky. It's compelling. Maybe... maybe it would be ike if you had some cords of silk and mixed them in your hand. maybe that feeling is what my eyes see." Alma also mentions hte sound. "I love the sound of them all moving together like that." She takes another sip of water, "I'll be on my way. Have a good evening." She starts back to the ring of transcendence that is totally not a stargate. workers unite!

but then turns back. "Hey," she says. "I just thought of something. See, I don't have any silk cords. or tassels. I kinda wanted to give you some, to help you feel those birds up there." She closes her eyes and thinks about it a little, at the same time, moving her hand like it's swiming around in a wind. That's what she wants to show him.

The old man laughs. "Alright, little girl," he says, which sounds like it's probably a thing that he calls any woman born after 1950. And he gathers up his empty loaf wrapper, and rises to walk along. He seems to know his way.

"May I take a hand?" Alma asks. "I'll 'show' you the murmuration, like."

The man slows. "...beg your pardon?" he asks, but he wanders on over. ...and gives her his hand.

"I don't have any skeins of silk to give you an idea of what it looks like, but here's how they are moving" Alma takes his hand and gently undulates it and guides it around in a smaller version of how the starlings are moving above. "It's uncanny up there, watching those dark ribbons of birds. but beautiful too. And when you throw out the food it's like ripples in the birds." She describes their path and tells him what a starling looks like up closs. glossy and irredecent, with speckles. "Anyway," she says bashfully, "I wanted to let you see, in a way. Say, do you have a light?"

"Well, ain't that something," the old man says. "Don't think I ever saw a thing like that." He straightens his lapels, then shakes his head. "No ma'am. I quit smoking in the nineties. More than a decade before all that mess with Philip-Morris." Beat. "You ought to think about giving it up, too. Bad for your health."

"I don't smoke much really." Alma says. "Just now and then. Have a good evening, sir. I enjoyed talking to you." Alma heads on over to the gate now. She actually did come prepared with candles and a light, but thought perhaps she'd ask for a light in case the universe wanted her to use a different one. When she gets to the gate, she looks around. How crowded is it?

The area is not very crowded at all - that man is walking off, there are a couple kids skatboarding half a block up the river, there's some activity to the south a little bit - restaurant patrons getting in their valet-driven cars. The weather is threatening to spit a little, which is probably contributing to the lack of folks around.

Alma walks around the gate looking for a spot to set the used blessing candles and funeral cards. She reaches in her bag to dig around and her fingers find an old beetle that she found earlier in the week. its remains is set out with the candles, along with the broken walnut shell she found earlier today. She sits with her items and meditates on her love for all and the care that spreads out from her to all of the people out there who need her, both dead and alive.

affect: She expects to be able to see through the shroud so that she can call through the shroud and listen to what the dead say, like her mentor requested.

theory: When Alma woke, she realized that everything in existence is a part of a living system and that everything might even be aware and filled with divine love. Reality is filled with a conscioueness of joy. When she wants to reach across, she finds ways to show the universe that she loves and respects it and uses things she has found that the universe has left out for her and she also uses rituals and things to show her respect for the dead. In this way she hopes to help the universe see that she sees it and loves it and wants to help. In return, the universe becomes accustomed to her and lets her see and maybe even invites her in, as a guest

Alma doesn't explode! No, it's nearing bar-closing time before Alma actually manages to get through, manages to see, but -- There it is. The dark of night gives way to a dark that does not end, the barren, monochromatic dim of what lies between the world of the dead and the world of the quick. Except there aren't any restless dead, here; no spirits.

But that thing is here - that enormous ring, pocked and dinged because metal and stone are nothing against the expanse of time and maelstrom winds. Around it, dust swirls in eddies, and the word devils springs to mind; it's the kind of word that does that, here.

Alma burns the letter

The letter burns. In her hand, Alma can see it - seeing as she is through things, she sees its presence there as well, the universe intimating to her its importance, a weight in her hand. When it burns, her eyes perceive that it burns not with fire, but with the sparking malice of an Independence Day phosphorous sparkler. The smoke hangs in the air like jelly, congealed, until it is whipped away by those dust devils; it circles in the air (which feels oppressively still and dry to Alma, despite the movement visible -right there-) until it whips through that ring; it goes in one side, and it does not come out the other.

None did not exactly tell Alma what to do after sending the letter. They said to burn the letter and if that doesn't work.... Well, Alma waits a while to see if there is any response.

It takes time. But that time isn't without interest... or menace. There's the way even those eddies still, not long after the smoke disappears; the last of the letter crumbles to ash in her hand before the flame has even claimed it, the fire perhaps denied its fuel entirely. And then comes the moaning, a great and desperate sound that seems to come as much from inside Alma's head as through her ears. How generous of the universe to share that: yes, someone is anguished, and it grows louder - is that more anguished, or closer?

Alma attempts to make out voices in the anguished moaning, and she looks around to see if she can see anything coming towards her.

There are no coherent voices - not in terms of speech - but it does get louder and louder until it's clanging pots and pans next to your own head level. There's no evidence that something is actually growing closer other than the increasingly intimate pressure of the sound. Not until - quite without precedent - a silk streamer of blackness ribbons from that circle. Alma could be forgiven for thinking it is in fact a stream of starlings; she did, after all, prime herself for that. It shrieks with pain and anger that are beyond knowing, this shadow-thing - and yes, that is heading roughly in Alma's direction.

Alma does not like this. not one bit. She she grabs her bag and runs to her bike and bikes the hell out of there. Note flies with her.

Alma is halfway down the street when her front wheel misses the subtlety of the curb and skids sideways, sending her tumbling off onto - well, mercifully the grass, but she's going to have bruises, and she's disoriented. And that thing is coming, still coming - she can hear it, even behind her.

[HEALTH] Alma takes 1 Bashing damage! She is Hurt!

Alma jumps up from the grass and gets on her bike again, and again tries to bike the hell out of there.

This time she's far more successful. Really focusing on the physical world - a world devoid of a lot of activity and other folks this time of night - she manages capably. It's clear the thing doesn't end its pursuit, but it does not move at the speed of thought; if she keeps on, she can probably evade it. Here and there - particularly as she drives through the moneyed financial district - the shrieking seems to fade (as does the grim scenery) - but she hasn't lost the effect entirely, just dulled it going through places the gauntlet is thick.

Alma drops her spirit sight. Her thought is that if she drops this, she won't be as visible in the spirit world. She knwos she's running a risk here, but she wants to try it. She continues to bike as fast as she can

The shrieking fades with the dropping of the ritual, and it's no small relief; the absence of that sound is nearly deafening itself. Around her, the world continues turning, alley-cats do their thing, nocturnal birds about their business, the occasional car drives by.

Alma bikes as hard as she can for 15 minutes and then she stops and calls Aaron. ring ring

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Just before it would go to voicemail, Aaron picks up. "Alma. What is it?" He sounds short of breath.

There's a lot of gasping and panting. "I'm <pant> being <pant> chased by black tendrils of spirit and they aren't faster than I bike but I had to stop <pant pant pant> and I can't see them now <pant pant> but what if they are still coming? <pant pant>. WHAT DO I DO?"

"Start by catching your breath," Aaron says. "Take a few deep ones, then tell me where you are."

He can hear Alma on the phone take a couple of deep breaths. "I'm in lower midtown right now." another deep breath. She's prepared to dash off on her bike if she feels any creepy shit. "I was at the stargate and did a ritual and this blackness ribboneed out of the stargate and started coming after me and it was so loud and it was getting closer. I biked off but I kept my sight so that I could see if it was coming... but I turned it off because what if it could see me! right? but what if it's still there? where should I go! I know you were over there and Maya too but Maya freaks the fuck out when I ask her about spirit stuff!" Alma sounds alarmed and pissed off and afraid and angry.

"Take a couple more deep breaths, and then listen," Aaron says, his voice very calm. Indeed, he seems to be doing the opposite of freaking out. "If you can't see it without the sight, there's a pretty good chance it's just on the other side of the Gauntlet, and unless it can materialize, it probably can't get you." Beat. "Probably. I'd say the safest place for you to be, though, is right here. Does your bike come apart easy to put in a trunk? I can come pick you up in about 25 minutes."

"I can take the wheel off, yeah. Ok, I'll wait but if I feel something on me I am going to start biking again o get away from it. Or I might run."

The night cools further. Or maybe Alma is just sweaty now. She scraped her elbow a bit. The adrenaline wears off a little.

"I'll call you again when I'm in the neighborhood. Stay safe," Aaron says, before hanging up.

Alma's heartbeat starts to get back to normal.

The Undisputed Truth pages: It's really hard not to be kinda anxious about literally invisible things that were actually chasing you. I don't think that's paranoia because... it's... not. But. It feels like a long time before Aaron gets there.

ENTER: Aaron, driving a fancy fucking car.

This woman is agitated and pale. She has an extremely firm grip on her bike and is looking all around her, occasionally jerking when an insect lands on her, or when the breeze blows tendrils of her hair against her skin.

Aaron placed a call from the handsfree to find out just what intersection she was at. A couple minutes later he comes rolling down the street in his armored car. That's right, Aaron drives a black, armored Mercedes. He pulls up to the curb beside Alma, rolls down the passenger window and leans over. "Need a ride?"

He puts the car in park and pops the trunk, hopping out to help Alma wrangle the bicycle into the car. He's dressed to the nines as always. Apparently he comes to rescue missions in a sharp suit and alligator shoes.

Alma helps by removing the front tire and seat so that she can fold her bike up to stick in the trunk. "Ok, so where did you mean when you said it was safest? and can you tell if it is around here?"

The Undisputed Truth pages: Her elbow is really starting to hurt. It's distracting!

Alma sounds really angry, "No! my elbow! What the fuck it's here! we need to get out of here, quick!" She tries to encourage Aaron to hurry up.

Once Alma's in the car, Aaron steps on the gas, and only then does he say, "Buckle up."

He doesn't speed, but he does make a wide circle around the neighborhood and then back out toward Grosse Point Shores. "I meant my house. Although, I'm not sure that's a good idea now that I'm here. What did you do?"

Alma is calmer now that they are in motion. "I've been trying to call through the shroud to look for the spirits of the dead. Because it's weird. And my teacher told me if I wasn't making any progress, to burn a letter. It's been almost a month of nothing much and tonight I finally burned the letter. Down at the riverfront at that stargate sculpture." She's not done but she stops to take a few more deep breaths.

Aaron drives. They've got some minutes to talk while he makes his way towards his house, or maybe the nearby park. "So, you were down by the riverfront, here in the city. Okay. Tell me more about this ritual."

"I do a ritual to let the universe and beings in it know that I love and respect them so that the universe will invite me in as a part of it. I can see through the shroud that way, but in over a month I haven't seen any restless spirits. it's all empty and barren. My mentor gave me a letter and after I did the ritual I burned it. The ring is on both sides. On the other side there is dust swriling all around it. The letter smoke whent through and got sucked in. and then black ribbons came out and started coming at me, and there was so much noise.

Aaron drives along silently for a couple of minutes, devoting his attention--it would seem--to what's on the road. Then, as he pulls onto freeway, he finally say, "Yeah. That settles it, then, I'm going to take you to my place. I'll be able to better figure out what's going on in my library."

Alma says, "When we get to your place, I will call my mentor."

Alma is intense on the drive to Aaron's house. Everynow and then she clenches her muscles or tenses up... at any little motion that might seems like something unseen touching her. When they get to Aaron's library she whips out her phone and calls None. Voice.

When they get into the library, Aaron directs Alma to stand in the center, inside the smallest pentacle. She can have a phone call there, sure, that's no problem. It's the safest spot, though. Also, and he doesn't say this, it's the best spot for her to be for him to do some analyses.

He walks over to a desk, sits down, and grabs a notepad and a pencil, and he starts doing math. Lots of math.

The Undisputed Truth pages: None picks up after three rings and almost enough time for the fourth. "Hello?"

"None." Alma says, "None, I sent the letter. Because I nothing worked all month, no ghosts. I couldn't find any ghosts. So I sent the letter. At the Gate on the riverfront. And it is on both side. There's ... it glows and is pitted and dust goes in it... and the letter smoked out and went in it." She talks breathlessly and fast, but is not hyperventalating. She is ... merely /intense/ and attempting to get this across to None. "I waited and waited. and then something started coming back. At first it was moaning and... anguish and some pots and pans falling... louder and louder... very loud... and then I saw this black... streamers maybe. like a murmuration... I found the gate because of one. Someone was feeding it. They started to come after me, and None, I failed. I was not brave enough to stay there. I didn't think I could do it. I left them and I don't... they kept following me on my bike. I'm ok right now. I stopped looking and I don't think they are on me. But what do I do? I left it and it's ....loud and not a happy thing. and I would have stayed and ...I don't know like love and hug and help it get better? but I was too afraid. Please help. I don't know what to do now."

None is rather accustomed to Alma providing a breadth of narrative rather than terse interpretation, and so they are quiet through much of that description. Still, Alma hears None suck in a sharp breath when Alma speaks of black streamers - and on the heels of Alma's words, silence. Not even quite breath. Then, after a handful of heartbeats: "You are - alright, though, beti?" The strain - indeed, the pain - in None's voice could probably physically reach through phone lines and knock over small objects in Aaron's sanctum. Hypothetically anyway.

"I think so. I feel off my bike" she hurredly adds, "but I got back up." as an afterthought "my elbow hurts. I don't know if it is that thing or not... I met this.. you mentioned him, Abraham? Aaron? well, he called me from the other side the other day! woa! and so I called him to ask him what to do /immediately/" she adds as a reassuring parenthetical "it's that he lives close" and then adds "he is condescending and arrogant but not all the time so maybe you could talk to him if you are.... anyway he has this circle thing and said to stand in it. 888 Lake Shore something? suburbs. a library... I think he can make something to make sure it is not here but I don't know. I will tell you" Alma starts to describe a little about what she can see but she doesn't look with her other eyes because she is on the phone and does not want to drop the call.

Aaron looks at the several pages of equations and calculations he just completed and glances up toward Alma and then back down toward his papers. Either he missed her vocalizing her evaluation of his demeanor, or he just doesn't care, because he doesn't seem offended. Though, his mouth _does_ curl down into a frown, it's while he's looking at the math. He doesn't seem to like what he's figured out.

None inhales a long, labored breath, and when it comes out there's a single catch. Don't mind them. "It is well that you fled, ha." That 'ha' has a nasal tone, and sounds like confirmation, not laughter at all. "And moreso that you've sought company and assistance." A pause, then, with a tone reserved for confidences (uncommon, perhaps): "I did not send you on this errand... anticipating this outcome, Alma-beti. This I promise you." None's voice is laced with regret.

"It's... ok," Alma says. And then tries to reassure None, "You did the best you could with what you had at the time. We all do that. You will be ok. I love you. It will be okay whatever happens." Normally Alma is not this open about loving and her mentor and wanting to take care of them too... like there is some sort of equality in a relationship along with the inequality. She does her part even if she doesn't understand. "None, if I'm gone, you can talk to this Aaron. He doesn't know everything and is kind of? I don't understand them all. And there is a Maya, she knows so much but I can't... she had a bad experience and maybe knows a lot about what is bad here. There are more... I've been gathering all these clues. I will tell you as fast as I can if I need to." She offers. "I'm sorry I made the mistake."

Aaron sets his pencil down and taps his fingers on the desktop quietly as he now lets all his attention settle on Alma, listening to her end of the phone conversation.

None is swift to answer that. "Nahin, beti, the mistake was mine." A pause, then: "Those dead we see at first look - those held close to land of the quick - they are bound to some few items, things that - for them, hold meaning deeper than any well, and outlast the memories that imbued them so. This letter - it belonged to one who in life contained a great power. I thought: if any can hear their phantom heart's own calling, it will be this one." A pause, then: "But if what came took not a shape that might walk the earth, not the shape of man - then I think he is no more, and I have set upon you only what remains: his anger."

"It was anguish too... maybe he's not all anger," Alma feels sorry that in someone only the anger would remain. Maybe, maybe just having more than one thing is better. "What do I do now? I don't want to... I don't want it to hurt anyone else either. Does it... people are gone, None. I mean... ghosts. Like maybe, Maya called it Eater of Dead... my family might be all gone, there. What can I do, now. before anything." Now she has that firm voice almost angry but not the bad kind. The kind that is a fueling for action. It's the tone of voice she sometimes has when there's a bunch of stuff and talking but now let's get down to some business before we sit around all day getting nothing done. hop to it people. or in this case, Alma.

Equally quick: "I do not know. If you have come to safety, then it is well." None pauses. "I - must think if this creature will have other items to which it is bound. They must be found. Burnt, perhaps, as well. It is no task for you." A pause, then: "Magar... this gate. I cannot come. If it is through this gate that came this shade - you must discover why."

"Yes, None." She nods. "I will. If I don't find it out, I will make sure others do." She looks at Aaron.

None's tone softens. "Achccha," she murmurs. "Thank you, beti. I will seek to find more answers, and that which holds the shade here."

"Thank you too, acarya." Alma says. She doesn't end the call, she waits for None to.

None hangs up without delay.

Alma puts her phone away and a big sigh escapes her. She looks at Aaron, like wtf and she is so exhausted that she just sits down right where she is.

Once Alma puts away her phone, Aaron scoots his chair out from his desk--leaving the papers and pencil there--and walks to the center of the room to stand next to Alma. "Did they offer any insight? Because I'm having a hell of a time understanding what's going on here."

Alma cranes her neck to look up at Aaron. Does he not sit when... ok, she can work with this. "Yes" she says, "Give me a hand up?" She just can't even.

Aaron extends his hand and gives her a good tug up then he motions over toward the desk where he'd been working. It has more chairs than just the one. "Why don't we go sit down over there?" You know, like civilized people. In chairs. Then he starts walking.

Alma follows him to one of the chairs. "I guess it's okay to be out of that?" She points to the symbols on the floor. She's exhausted and scrounges in her satchel for her water bottle. She takes a sip and spills a little, she's still banged up and unsteady. She wipes off her face with part of her satchel. It's a little scratch but she doesn't want to get her nice outfit any more grimey than it is from the fall off the bike. That done, she starts her explanation.

"Yes, yes, the analyses is just easiest if you're in the center of the room. The geometry of the room isolates subjects placed in the pentacles from a wide variety of complicating terms. The math is all much simpler," Aaron says as he resumes sitting in the seat he had only just vacated moments earlier. Because of course, that all makes total sense.

"So, tell me, what did your mentor--that's who you were calling, right?--what did they have to say?"

Alma nods, "Yes that was None, my mentor. I'll start ith the immediate goal, I mean, if I keel over then you got that at least. And then I'll ell it from the start. I burned a letter that belonged to someone who had conained great power. None thought... well, that maybe they could help. But what happened means that there may only anger left of this person. None is on that job to help unanchor that one. My job is to find out why this shade come through that gate. I was at the riverfront, calling through the shroud. At the stargate."

Aaron considers her words for a minute and then nods. "So it's your mentor's thinking that you actually attracted the attention of precisely the entity you wanted to, and that they just aren't what you were expecting they would be," he says. His lips purse and pull to one side for a moment. "Tell me, did something unusal happen with your hands?"

Alma does her best to remember what happened. "I don't think so, you need to explain what you mean. I did my ritual, and then burned the letter. It didn't behave like a normal letter would... but there was ash. uh..." She looks at her hands, "and it crumbled away and some ash was on my hand." She waits for him to explain what he meant, while she starts digging through her bag for some things.

"Aha! I bet that's it, then," Aaron says. "There's some outsized imaginary coefficients in the functions that presently describe your hands, and that offers a reasonable explanation as to why. Might just be that you need to give your hands a good scrubbing to get the ash residue off them." He pauses, and considers. "Though, I'm not sure I want it getting stuck in my plumbing. It's hot out. Want to take a dip in the lake?"

Alma looks at Aaron like he's kind of nuts. "Uh... no, first I'm going to look at my hands very closely. But if you don't want... I'll go do the ritual on the beach. sure." She's still looking at him like he's weird.

<<OOC>> The Undisputed Truth says, "I EQUALLY LOVE THAT NOW ALMA IS LOOKING AT AARON LIKE HE IS THE WEIRD ONE"

Aaron shrugs. "Depends. You gonna burn something? Because my library is strictly non-smoking," Aaron says, his tone and expression only 5% silly. "Otherwise," he says with a gesture toward the pentacles, "mi pentaculo es tu pentaculo."

"uh... well maybe I was going spin an open water bottle..."

"With water in it?" The expression on his face now says 'cash me ousside."

Aaron can see Alma doing a ritual and then after a while she is studying her hands. She calls out to Aaron to ask him a question. It is this, "Okay, so I'm studying this and see something going on. If you touch my skin you will be hooked in to my... uh it's like a nervous system but not... and can sense what I sense but not the qualia or whatever but anyway you get the idea? but if there is a weird thing there then maybe you don't want to. Who know if it is catching."

The Undisputed Truth pages: After this scene, Alma will get a text from None. It says: DO NOT CROSS
The Undisputed Truth pages: None will be non-comms for a brief while.

She looks at Aaron like he's crazy again. "Are you sure you want to hold my /hand/. You could just, I dunno, touch my neck or something."

"Heh, good point," Aaron says, and then reaches up to rest his hand on her shoulder, his fingertips touching her neck. It's not weird if it's her suggestion. "Alright. Show me what you've got."

Once there was a family reunion. People brought lots of food to share and, and when someone was tired, or maybe too fragile to get up, everyone pitched in to bring plates to that person. and take the plates away. And from far away you hear the satisfied murmers of that party. But those murmers start to get tense. Like throats tensing and the voices sounding strained. Some kitchens have big hanging racks with pans and lids and soup broth bots. Something fell. Something leaked in to the kitchen and some of the chains holding up the rack corroded and broke, dropping half the pans on the floor. CRASHING LOUD. Moans of people... wailing. The rest of the roof caves in. People flee. The sounds flee. the air can't make any sound, your ears are clogged. they are stoppered. You can't stand it, you open your eyes.

These are her hands, First, her nail polish starts flaking, and the colors turn brown and and flake up and fly off as though they were flecks of ash. The end of her sleeves start to unravel and deteriorate in to broken frayed threads. Her hands... the skin is turns black and it looks like smoke is rising up off of them, leaving some pale yellow behind.

Aaron blinks, and then blinks again, and then takes his hand off of Alma's shoulder. He shakes his head followed by his whole body. "Well, that was creepy," he says quietly. "So did you see what you wanted? I'd still recommend cleaning up real good in the lake."

Alma looks at Aaron as though he's crazy. Who wouldn't be cleaning up in the lake? What? "Uh, yeah, was planning to. Uh, in hermie speak I guess it's like entropy and spirit, yeah? more entropy. I don't know what the fuck is up. I'll figure it out. Do you know anything about that getting on someone when they did a thing?"

"That is _not_ 'hermie speak'," Aaron says, the upturn of his nose audible, "but rather the terms used to converse about the Ars amongst all the traditions. We use older, more correct terms for each of the Ars, but those names were selected to ease communication with others who weren't so accquainted with such scholarly approaches."

There's a long pause, and then he shakes his head. "In any case, I don't have any experience per se. I am just operating of a theory of sympathy. If that letter you burnt was meant to summon a spirit, and some of the burnt ash got on your hand, it stands to reason that it might be linking you to that spirit."

"Oh yeah," Alma nods, "I got taught more correct stuff too. whatever, that's not the point." She shrugs. "Yeah, I was wondering if it was something like that." She stands up and puts a hand on his arm, like a hospital chaplain might who was talking to family of a patient. "That was extreme, but you see? That's when happen when people don't care. Normally, it's beautiful and you can see all of the ways people care for each other. Ok?" She has a soothing reassuring voice. "You'll be fine. People love each other. Life goes on. There's a lot of contentment out there to find. Go back and splash in that water and think on that." }}