[Sodium_noir] Saturday Evening - En route to the Sinclair Party

[Jennie Teakle]

> Jack, Aurora, Christine, Mara, Mitsuko
> Temple of the Five Dragons

> Christine felt it. Like air rushing in to a vacuum. Like a Destiny  
> slowly being built where there had been none before. Strands and  
> threads being woven that might at some future point be recognised  
> as a fate. The Spirit world around her sparked and crackled with  
> energy, reacting to Aurora's influence. For a brief moment  
> Christine felt a positive vibe from beyond. The sort of warmth one  
> felt from parents watching their child on stage.
>
> The Rote succeeds


Christine feels the sea change in the flux of destinies; Aurora's  
will beams like a light house, illuminating possibilities that  
otherwise would have merged back into the blind and formless swell.  
She cannot yet See what will come. Jack's past remains a mystery and  
his future is too new. Instead, Christine watches Aurora, intrigued,  
as ever, by her quiet self possession and her power - her control.  
Also a little envious because these are traits that Christine herself  
totally lacks. Even now, she is restless, uncertain, her attention  
sapped by doubts and distractions and by intense but unfocused emotions.


> And Aurora crumples for a moment at Jack's head, laying perpendicular
> to his body, breathing heavily and hard.  She was relieved, but
> winded.


Alarmed by Aurora's collapse, Christine starts forward hastily. She  
finds herself looking down into two faces, Jack and Aurora, almost  
touching heads, making an L shape. Aurora, she is relieved to see, is  
breathing but as though she has just run a marathon. Jack still looks  
ill - pallid, undernourished and covered in wounds, livid against his  
pale skin. Yet, somehow, the edge of desperation has gone, the scent  
of death no longer clinging about him.

"You okay?" asks Christine, looking intently at Aurora. She lets her  
gaze stray again to the entity currently calling himself Jack. Even  
in the short time since she last looked, his colour is better, his  
skin no longer beaded and dank with fever sweat. "Hey," she says  
"whatever you did, I think it worked! He definitely looks better. Lot  
less like he's about to, y'know . . ." Christine pauses in mid  
unfortunate comment, too late to retrieve it, "croak. Sorry."  
Christine casts an apologetic glance at Jack, seeing his closed eyes  
tighten and flicker.

"Need help up?" she offers her hand to the prone Aurora.

Christine looks around at the monks, at Mitsuko and at Mara, still  
here, still surveying the scene with iron patience. Something  
definitely needs to give, here. Christine hesitates, not sure what to  
do or suggest next. She's burning to know more about Jack, scared  
too. Maybe, though, her curiosity will have to wait until the guy has  
slept and is more recovered. He may no longer be at death's door but  
he is still very far from 'chipper'. Then, there is the Sinclair  
shindig which also draws Christine strongly; she's Seen Aurora and  
Mara and herself there, after all. It's like a junction, a knot of  
fates where many different threads tangle. Also, thinks Christine  
wistfully, much better chance of getting a drink - or several - at a  
party.

"So, what's the plan?" she asks cautiously.


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