[pfsb] the tipping point

[blue_ajah]

Hawk is waiting for her in Upper Twin Park when she arrives in response to his phone call, standing beside the lakeshore bench and looking out at the water, two styrofoam cups of coffee in hand. He hands one to her with a nod as she reaches him, and turns his attention back to the lake while she opens the small plastic flap and takes a polite sip.

"It's stirring," he says.

He sounds calm; her hands tighten around the coffee cup all the same.

"Is it so?"

"Yeah." He slants a look at her. "Don't blame yourself. Would have happened sometime. It always does. We all knew that. Talked it over, before I agreed to help."

She draws a slow, careful breath, and nods. The Wheel weaves, and what is done likely cannot now be undone. What remains is to deal with the matter at hand.

(It has been some time since she thought of Vandene, and the sense of foreboding she had confessed in a letter, never sent.)

"I can set wards," she offers, quietly. "Subtle ones, to discourage wanderers from stumbling on the grove; hikers and the like. I would be glad to do so, if you and the others who guard would find it useful."

Hawk nods. "Appreciate it. I'll take you around the observation points."

---

Later that evening, the Aes Sedai is settled at her usual table in the bar. Tea is at hand, as is also usual, although the service appears to be entirely untouched, which is not.

The artist's sketch pad that she has been using recently lies to the side, closed. A few sheets have been ripped out of it, with some force, and are arranged on the table immediately in front of her, evidently serving as scratch paper for cryptic notes and for the work she is focused on, which appears to be practicing to duplicate something from the pages of her journal. The journal in question lies open flat on the table as well, displaying two talismans that have been carefully attached inside, one to each otherwise-empty page.

To maintain composure even under extreme duress, despite whatever one may be feeling, is an essential part of training in the White Tower.

Moiraine is very carefully composed right now... and very intently focused.

Comments

[for_tradition]

"Well, that's not something you see every day."

It's said brightly and comes from a woman standing nearby who is gazing at Moiraine's assortment of papers and journal with undisguised interest. She looks to be in her late thirties, this woman, and her clothing is impeccably tailored and impossibly rich without leaning into ostentation, and she has two pairs of glasses: one on her head, the other dangling from a delicate chain around her neck.

She's also dead, but that doesn't seem to be bothering her. "Where did you dig up those talismans? They're so delightfully archaic."

[blue_ajah]

Her pen stops moving. After a moment, she sets it down and gives her full attention to the stranger.

"They were provided to me by an acquaintance," she murmurs, perfectly poised, although clearly assessing the woman. Moiraine gestures gracefully to a chair at her table, in clear invitation.

"I gather you are familiar with the style, then?"

[for_tradition]

"Not precisely, no," says the woman, who sits in a sweep of skirts and settles the glasses on her hair over her eyes to peer at the talismans in question more closely.

"...Hand drawn! I love it. They're exquisite. Are they for protecting or containing?"

[blue_ajah]

Her manner reminds Moiraine so much of Verin Mathwin that for a moment, she almost imagines she can see the Brown sister standing behind the stranger, looking over her shoulder.

"Not precisely either as a primary purpose, from what I understand," she replies, and indicates the tea service to make it clear that the woman should feel free to help herself. "Although they could be used for protection in the manner of escape if needed, over at least a short distance, or so I am told."

There is something exquisitely precise, as sharp as the edge of a knife, about the way she says the last few words.

"You are correct; they are hand-drawn. Their creator is around here somewhere, I believe."

Although he does not appear to be in the room at this exact moment, which is perhaps for the best.

"But I am remiss, perhaps, in courtesy, as I have not introduced myself." Although her intent focus has not altered one iota, her manner now has shifted slightly into the court-perfect style equally appropriate to the Sun Palace or the White Tower.

"I am Moiraine Sedai. And who might you be?"

[for_tradition]

"Lady Abigail Pent," she says. "Of the Koniortos Court, Heir of the Fifth House...or I was, anyway."

She does not seem unduly disturbed by her own use of the past tense, simply lifts the teapot and arches her eyebrows politely at Moiraine Sedai. "Shall I pour one for you as well?"

[blue_ajah]

"I am pleased to meet you, Lady Abigail. And yes, if you would, that would be quite gracious of you."

She makes silent note of the court and house, but does not remark on them.

"I might presume, then," she says, delicately, "that your circumstances have changed...?"

[for_tradition]

"My husband and I were killed," she says. "He's not here just now – says popping back and forth between the liminal spaces gives him a headache, the dear man."

Her smile is warm and affectionate, and she passes a cup of tea to Moiraine. "Not that he would be much help with this! I adore Magnus, but he has never gravitated towards scholarship. May I?"

She taps her finger on the corner of one paper talisman.

[blue_ajah]

"I see," she murmurs. "My condolences."

Moiraine accepts the tea and arches an eyebrow at Abigail.

"Certainly," she says, curious to see what it is that she will do.

(If the talisman activates and she loses access to it, well, then she will have to fall back on other plans she has already made. It will be worth it, to learn more here and now.)

[for_tradition]

Abigail Pent does not activate the talisman, merely draws it a little closer. "Rapid corporeal transference," she murmurs, obviously thrilled, "But how does it compensate for changing telemetry? Oh, I see –"

She nudges at the folder to get a better look at the other talisman, deeply impressed. "Your acquaintance appears to be quite a knowledgeable spirit magician," she says. "What I'd give for a little Sixth pyschometry. Paper talismans! Imagine!"

She pushes the folder back towards Moiraine, and settles her glasses back up onto her hair. "I'd be quite careful not to lose its partner," she says, apparently delighted at the prospect of travel via talisman. "And you might wish to add a little more protection; a simple blood ward would help ensure nothing follows you in the event that you need these to make a quick exit."

[we_bring_hell]

Harrow has spent her day in the library, moving notecards around into different configurations and cursing at them when they don't make any more sense in that arrangement than any other.

She recognizes at least something akin in the layout of Moiraine's table, and approaches with caution. "Greetings, Moiraine Sedai. Am I disturbing you?"

[blue_ajah]

"You are not," she says, with precision, and looks up at her.

"Light illumine, Harrow. How are matters with you?"

[we_bring_hell]

"Matters are satisfactory," she says. "Nav is on the mend, and I have been working in the library, trying to assemble the theorems I've acquired."

[blue_ajah]

"I am pleased to hear it."

She gestures to a chair at the table.

"Have you had any success?"

The papers in front of Moiraine, for once, show no indication of the familiar circular diagrams and spirals that she has been working on recently. There is one circle, however, that may look familiar, with a black dot at the center and twelve marks around the perimeter... along with additional new marks further out, each numbered.

[we_bring_hell]

"Somewhat," she says. "I have grouped them into theorems which act upon the spirit, and those which act upon the body; and am attempting to establish an order of operations."

"Is the site you described before continuing to vex you?"

[blue_ajah]

"Indeed," she says, and for all that she remains outwardly composed, there is frost in her tone. "It is, as it happens. It is stirring."

[we_bring_hell]

Harrow frowns. "If there is aught I can do to assist you," she says, "you know I am at your disposal."

"Is there a normal procedure for such moments? Sacrifices to be offered?"

[blue_ajah]

"I appreciate that, very much," the Aes Sedai tells her. "I may very well take you up on it, once the situation is further understood."

The open journal gets a flat, unfriendly glance, and she turns back to Harrow.

"If there is a normal procedure, as you say, I am not aware of it. Certainly it seems that the most usual approach in the town is to watch, ward, and react, if things go poorly."

A beat of silence.

"I would prefer to be prepared, so that things do not go poorly. But those who you would call adepts of any sort, in that place, are nearly nonexistent as far as I can tell."

[acrookedpath]

The back door opens.

"...and that is where I keep getting stuck," drifts a familiar voice.

Wei Wuxian enters the common room backward, stepping lightly around a waitrat scurrying past. It becomes apparent why very quickly: Lan Zhan is right behind him, listening with the faintest of smiles as Wei Wuxian babbles on about his latest project.

"I don't know why I cannot push it any lower than a count of eight -- maybe it is the resistance the inn's suppression is putting up?" He begins to turn around. "But I thought I had accounted for that when I rewrote the lures, so if... that is why..."

He trails off.

It would be simple enough to ask a waitrat for their dinner, breeze upstairs, and pretend he never spotted Moiraine. It would be, if not for the familiar yellow paper secured in her notebook, visible even from this distance.

[lightamidchaos]

"Wei Ying."

As his words fade into silence, Lan Wangji places one hand at the small of Wei Ying's back for support and moves up beside him, trying to see what is wrong.

He follows Wei Ying's look and sees the woman in blue seated at the table across the room. Lan Wangji frowns, a frown that turns thunderous as he notices the contents of her book.

"What does she think she is doing?"

It comes out low and flat with dangerous promise.

[blue_ajah]

Whether she has heard the question or merely noticed the shift in movement by the lakeside door is impossible to say, and in the end it does not matter.

(The Wheel weaves, and all things are part of the Pattern.)

Moiraine looks up.

Her dark-eyed gaze passes over the man in white, assessing him. This, she thinks, must be Lan Wangji, who Wei Wuxian had called Lan Zhan. She takes in the nuances of his appearance (including what appears to be some form of hadori, which draws an instant's slightly sharper look) and the way he holds himself beside Wei Wuxian, and suspects that she now knows something of why Wei Wuxian had looked at her as though he was ready to kill her, when she had suggested approaching him before.

("His work, his safety from the judgment that pursued him in his world, and his friends are all he has," Harrow had said. "I believe he sees you as threatening all three....")

Her glance flicks to Wei Wuxian, and holds.

Unlike the serenely curious expression she has maintained when they have spoken previously, the look in her eyes now is more akin to a hawk's bright stare, sharp and ruthlessly intent. She watches him for a long moment, then raises her eyebrows and looks back down at the paper she is working on, evidently dismissing him.

She studies it for a moment, then tilts the notebook to compare what is on her page to the talisman.

[acrookedpath]

His jaw tightens.

"I do not know," he says, just as low, and stalks across the room to Moiraine's table. It is not only the talismans -- Pent-laoshi told him of those -- but the sharpness to the look she turned on him and Lan Zhan. As if considering what she could do to them both, once she had dissected his work to her satisfaction.

He raises his voice. "Moiraine!"

[lightamidchaos]

He is not alone.

Lan Wangji moves with him, as though he himself were the shadow and Wei Ying the shining white light that outlined and defined him.

He takes up position slightly to the side and between Moiraine and Wei Ying as the two of them reach her table. From this angle, if need be, he can have Bichen out and strike in the same heartbeat.

[blue_ajah]

"I am right here, as you can plainly see," she responds, coolly, not looking up from the diagram she is making. That does not mean she is not aware of the two of them, or of how they have arranged themselves. "There is no need to shout at me."

From this angle, it is clear to see that one of the pieces of scratch paper is covered with copies of the portal talisman and its counterpart, similar to a student's transcription exercise. They are imperfect, clearly practice exercises, but they are just as clearly improving.

The second piece, the one she is working on now, contains the diagram of Glastonbury Grove. In addition to the dark spot in the center and the twelve marks around it in a circle, the Aes Sedai has placed an additional dotted-line ring, and drawn a faint spiral from this outer ring to the dark spot at the very center of it all, and is now marking additional locations along the spiral. Three of those locations, so far, look like miniature versions of the portal talisman.

"I am busy, so if there is something you wish to discuss--"

[acrookedpath]

It would almost be easier if she would lash back to meet Wei Wuxian's anger instead of being so damn calm all the time. Her composure only makes his fists close tighter.

"What are you doing?" he snaps.

[blue_ajah]

She lifts pen from paper and pins him with a level stare.

"Designing wards," she informs him. "And escape routes, for the guardians."

Her tone has shifted from cool neutrality into something tightly controlled and unnaturally level. Her gaze does not waver from his face.

"As it seems there may almost certainly now be need for them."