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Johnnie texted Fox, not only following up on the possibility of meeting Fox's fambly (possibly in their fancy Oligarch's Aerie, an idea from many a moon ago), but also to talk about What's Going On (cue Marvin Gaye). Fox agrees, and rather than bring the spooky Autumn Courtier to the house without talking to The Firebirds first, they set a meeting location out in Wissahickon.
(Look, if anyone from the future just happens to show up, Fox at least wants to be sure that she's meeting the spooky scary shadow sorceress out far away from Sleepers too.)
She sits on a rock, one of her knees pulled up, elbow propped on that knee as she chomps down on an apple. Tank top, shorts, bubble of Forces heat.
Johnnie arrives in a whirl of leaves, as she often does, rolling her head delicately to work out some of the kinks as she reforms, an old, worn, but particularly finely bound book under one arm. She favors Fox with a little smile- as expressive of her delight to see Fox as she can be, these days- and sweeps towards them in her too-elegant manner to fold and sit on the ground before the rock, book set across her knees. "I hate reaching out to you over business, so- a moment before I do." She takes a deep breath and releases it, as if to clear the air. "Are you and yours well, still? Your ringmate took considerable risks to help us, I'm hoping there's been no blowback. I- don't... know that there would be, per se, but he was very valiant about putting his head on the chopping block, I don't know if he's so eager with your leadership."
She watches Johnnie approach with those wide, thoughtful eyes of hers, the ones slowly growing more and more gold and less and less green. Vixen's eyes. Fox's gaze lights on that particularly lovely book, and the former Mystagogue bits of her which still remain sort of prick up their ears inside her heart. The Orphan smiles more lazily, more contentedly, than Johnnie's gesture of greeting, and she chomps down on her apple again and again. When only the core remains, she absently twists off the stem and flicks it into the woods, then eats the core. (As if a Thyrsus needs to worry about traces of arsenic.)
A pat-pat for her stomach, and Fox holds up a forefinger. "Let's talk somewhere more secure," she answers, and rolls up to her feet.
It's not new anymore, but hopefully it never becomes anything less than fascinating: strange, impossible-to-understand words tripping off of Fox's tongue, the spinning of her fingers, the way the moonlight catches the ring on her left hand and the brontium glimmers like molten copper ever-so-briefly. And then: an iris opens.
Not that it's obvious to Johnnie, but Fox's Nimbus doesn't even flare. Someone's been studying Prime, which should make the rest of her cadre a little happier, since she isn't splashing her fingerprints everywhere.
It remains, as ever, fascinating in that deep and terrible way that will never truly be resolved. Ever covetous of new magics, it's some small comfort to at least be friends with this magnificent fox of a pal, able to carve reality and make, for them, a nice little diving bell to enjoy outside of it. Johnnie saunters in without worry.
And, sadly, no- Johnnie is unaware of any difference in sweet Fox's castings. She's simply not equipped.
She settles herself familiarly, lazily, in the green and the comfortable beyond, taking just a moment to see if there's a view. Sometimes there is, and it's always fascinating.
Fox has left windows today, one-way peeks into the spirit forest outside the little diving bell into the spirit world. It probably says something that Fox's Spirit Manses aren't 'manses' by any stretch of the imagination, but at best dens. And this one, too. Soft grassy floor, hammock, the usual. The forest's Shadow is largely quiet tonight. The spirits of trees breathe slowly, occasional misty-looking things slip past.
"We're okay. And I don't know what blowback might come yet. The people he reports to are nothing like the people that I have chosen to caucus with." And that's a very distinct difference in word choices, innit? She pads barefoot over to the hammock and slings herself into it, the hammock swaying with the inertia of her movement.
"Mmm. That doesn't surprise me. Vasha's always the person to throw himself in front of the bullet for the greater good." Beat. "And you and yours?"
"What's the difference? Is it like- we have local organizations, and then philosophical ones. Are his like the latter and your caucus like the former?"
"Ah... well. Not -all- well. I'm... I think I came out best, ironic as it is," she admits, brows furrowing just so. "Normally... it strikes our strongest the worst. The more- Story, we are, the harder it hits when our grip on reality is shaken. As happens when all of a sudden, reality isn't what it was. Or when we're forced to act like our own jailors and take prisoners. The first one's the rough one, though," she offers up. "The mind has to reconcile both being affected by the power and then hearing later about how reality isn't what it was. I'm-" Johnnie pauses. "I... used to think I was a God. Or... god, anyway. Little g. I'm familiar with my own weaknesses when it comes to sanity. I've shored them up considerably to hold against the impacts I just described."
"We didn't all handle it that well."
She thinks about that for a while, and scrunches up her nose. "There's no way for me to really answer that without saying things that will make people very cross with me. It's the same... sort of... man it's not really possible to explain it. They're both basically the same 'kind' of organization, in the terms of like... it's the place you choose to be? But mine is more like a kibbutz or a commune of people working hard on tikkun olam, and his is like... "
Fox curls up a little more into the hammock, looking a bit like a classic Disney animated character expressing the emotion 'grumpy' when she crosses her arms across her chest and harrumphs. "I can't say any nice things about them as an organization. I hate them. They're mean to the people I love."
She puffs out her cheeks, and then almost pales a little bit when Johnnie explains. "... oh jeez." A slow blink. "Yeah, I can see how what happened would be a real mindfuck." A little scratch of her cheek with her stubby fingers. "... can we help you fix it?"
"Ahh, no, I get that. Here's more like that you describe. There's much stricter or militant places." Johnnie seems to connect that much at least.
"I-" Johnnie pauses. "... I do not know." She glances down at her lap. "I -do- want to see if I can find -out-, though. Do you mind if I work a little of my own magic here? That won't- disrupt things, will it? I won't be casting on our place or you or your things, just my book, I just want to be sure there's no strange reverberations or- whatevers."
"It's not a location thing. All Cops Are Bastards, even the magical ones."
Her face screws up thoughtfully. "Uhm... It... might not work?" Fox offers back. "We're on another plane of existence. If it doesn't work, you can just step out the iris and then come back in, if you'd like."
"Well, I meant there are places whose local organization act more like cops. Usually places with stronger Winter contingents."
"I don't- THINK- it matters where we are? But if it doesn't work, like you said, I'll pop out and try."
And in the meantime, Fox curls up on the hammock; she casually turns on Prime Sight (so new and shiny!) to watch this new magic in action.
Johnnie reaches down and strokes her hand across the surface of the book, and Johnnie's Wyrd flows into it, filling the cracks in the binding, swirling into the pages, filling them with vibrant, Autumn color to her own sight. As she turns the pages, she consults the Index- vital for a book whose contents change so frequently- and flips back to a chapter emblazoned as The Magi. She pages through a little, finds a subsection entitled, "The Magi And You," and reads quietly aloud from what looks like an old, illuminated page in an old, beautifully bound book. "The capabilities of the Magi are many and hardly fully documented. Any particular Magi might be capable of any number of feats- it never hurts to ask. Whether the specific one you know can be of service depends on their studies, your relationship, and how many humans are watching. Magicians and humans are like sodium and water- they're wonderful and essential in their own ways but cataclysmic if introduced together improperly." She looks up at Fox. "Does that sound about right to you? You'd have a better idea than I would."
"That's ... pretty spot on, mostly. I mean, I spend time with some humans, but fewer than I used to. It's true that our magic doesn't always react well to them, or they don't." Fox sits up in the hammock, which still sways. "Though it ... has gotten more risky, recently, our magic. I'm -- I have some guesses as to why... but... "
Johnnie nods. "That's- still, pretty fantastic. I've been trying to find research materials for esoteric questions like that and just finding someplace to start is so difficult." She pauses and admits, "Well, unless I want to go talk to an owl. Who apparently has a private library." She sucks her teeth. "Pretty important owl. Think there's admission fees."
"... wait, how has your magic gotten more risky? I don't know the underpinnings of it, so a high level overview's fine. If that can even cover the explanation." Johnnie's instantly curious. While she can't CAST Supernal magic, she's never tired of learning about it.
"I like owls," Fox offers thoughtfully. "I like to be an owl now and again. It's a nice thing to be, an owl." She shifts her weight slightly to make the hammock swing. "That is a very cool book. I know a whole group of Mages who would get really big eyes looking at that book." Or try to take it from Johnnie but that's another thing entirely.
"I have theories, but I'm not sure. And I'm not actually -- Oh, fuck it." The Thyrsus rubs her hands over her face. "I think it has something to do with some extremely weird shit that is going on that I'm not sure if I'm supposed to talk to anyone outside my cadre about, really, except Mom-mom -- err, one of the leaders of the group I'm a part of. It's all really fucked up. The last few days have been ... very interesting. In the 'interesting times' way."
"Aww, you call her mom-mom, it really is kinda like family." Johnnie coos gently. It even manages not to sound condescending. "And I don't mind big eyes, but you didn't say that in the "and let me introduce you to them" tone, so I'm going to assume I should keep it to myself."
"I've always thought being animals would be fun. Leaves is fun, it's super nice not to have to breathe or worry about the temperature, but what if wings? Right? What if feathers? I've had claws, that's not such a big thing for me, but wings! Those would be new."
"Interesting times like the Chinese curse, or interesting times like how it sure was interesting to get rewound like I rewound your hamburger when we met?" She pauses. "... I wonder if someone got hungry when I did that."
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