offthebeatenpath: (holding back tears)
They'd let Jag ride in the ambulance with her, but once at the hospital they'd been separated when she was taken back for triage. The EMTs had given her basic information during the handoff: Emily Fournier, twenty-three years old, with a single gunshot wound to the left hip. Police were en route and would want to speak with her when they could.

Em focused on not crying, practicing meditation patterns to help, and let the nurses or whoever do what they needed to without paying much attention to it herself. She answered their questions as best she could, and tried not to wish too hard that Jag were with her, or that she could be back in Duninnean where she lived with and knew most of the people working in the hospital. Maybe it was good, though, they weren't acting like every second counted, the frenetic energy of some hospital drama on television. She'd been shot, but it was going to be okay.

Anael

Nov. 25th, 2015 02:34 pm
offthebeatenpath: (dont forget to look up)
Flying, Em discovered, hadn't lost any of its thrill in the year she'd gone without. It felt every bit as wonderful and natural as it had in Duninnean, only now there was a hint of anxiety too, that she might be seen. She'd flown a few times since Halloween and the new understanding of her powers, but only at night, and usually further out from the city center, over quiet neighborhoods or wooded areas where there would be fewer people to see.

Autumn nights in England weren't exactly warm at ground level, let alone in the air, but she'd found if she bundled up, the warmth of her real clothes was just as real no matter what the projection over herself appeared to wear. So she could enjoy her flights without being too cold on her way back to the squat. Tonight she 'wore' a long, white dress trimmed in gold that matched the golden angel wings lifting her into the sky. The wings were the strangest thing, mostly because they didn't feel strange at all, as much an extension of her thought as they would be on her Knight of Swords. She wanted to fly, so they beat and she flew.

The moon was just past full, making it all the more likely someone could see her, but Em wanted to clear her head, and flying worked even better than Askani meditations sometimes. She could soar on the wind, looking down over the city, heart-free and head-quiet, no distractions, and just be for awhile.
offthebeatenpath: (pretty girl)
Em had been surprised when John first mentioned the possibility of her coming to dinner sometime, and when he called to actually invite her she was even less sure how she felt. But Jag had gone back to the circus for awhile - after assuring Jake, Ollie, and Em he'd be back sometime, who knew when - and that made it easier for her to say yes.

A bottle of wine would've been an obvious host gift, but she didn't know this John and Bobby well enough to know if they drank wine at all, or if they did, what they preferred. So she took a chance that neither of them were vegan... or diabetic, made up a batch of bourbon marshmallows and homemade graham crackers, and boxed them up with some chocolate bars for a s'mores kit. It was either that or some flambé-able ice cream topping, but those did better made immediately before lighting and serving, so she went with the s'mores.

As she headed up the walk, Em worked her way through the first few Askani meditation patterns to settle her nerves and put her feelings in some kind of order. It seemed to help, some, and after a slow breath, she pushed her hair behind her shoulders and out of her face, then rang the bell.

for Jag

Jan. 10th, 2015 04:53 pm
offthebeatenpath: (im a wanderer)
Em had known it was a temporary situation from the beginning, and whenever she'd asked the cards something related, they'd hinted temporary would end fairly soon. So when the most responsible of the flatmates had said he wanted to talk to her not long into the new year, she'd been prepared for what he had to tell her.

The guy whose room she'd been staying in was coming back from Midsomer Newton or wherever - she'd never been entirely clear what English village he'd ended up in, mostly because no one seemed to tell her the same name twice - in a week, so she had to clear out by then.

She didn't like having to depend on anyone, and she could work something out herself, but Jag had said to call, that he would help. So she'd called, and they'd agreed to meet for a bite and to figure things out once they were through for the day.

Em thanked the middle-aged housewife type who'd been her last reading for the day, and once the woman left, packed up her cards, the tiny folding table, and most importantly, the can holding the last of the day's take. The rest was already tucked away elsewhere, so it wasn't as easy for someone else to grab.

She could do with a chance to warm up, and, if she let herself admit it, with seeing Jag again. It had been easier making friends at Muir. London was a far lonelier place for someone like Em, and would have been even if this had been her world from the beginning.

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