Nox had been gone for several days now.  Sage tracked his movements and he was safely in London and from what he could tell Nox was hooking up with a cute bartender.  Nox knew how best to hid the phone so he couldn't see anything so Sage didn't bother trying.  It was the one bad thing with a person knowing he was there.  The moments to watch things was limited by their knowledge -- it sucked but whatever.

But along with staying connected Sage had promised to watch out for two little girls who lived at the church he'd been to with Cruz.  The one Raffe knew the guy and Cruz pissed off.  It wasn't in the greatest part of town.  But it didn't bother Sage as he walked from the train station.  He'd told Aiden he was going for a walk -- he did.  He walked to the train station.  It wasn't a lie and it wasn't like he was hiding anything.  Aiden just stood out in places like this -- his being famous didn't help Sage blend in.  And Sage wanted to blend in.

Getting robbed right now would be a bad thing -- though he could easily find the stolen goods.  All of it had trackers in it.  And he'd already installed his software and a bunch of other things.  Most notably some kid friendly games and because Sage knew Nox a few learning things.  One of them was even an instructional on how to do Karate and Tai Chi.  Sage knew Nox was teaching one of the girls how to fight.  He didn't remember which one, but it didn't matter.

Sage pulled open the doors to the church and was surprised by the number of people still living there. Sage wasn't one to fix things for people he didn't care about, but he knew Nox felt bad.  But there was nothing either of them could do.  Some homeless people just didn't know how to do anything else.  But these kids?  Why wouldn't they find a home?  Nox would gladly take them in.  Like he does every one else even if he doesn't have a home.  He took him in.  Sage was grateful for their friendship, even it was a bit strange looking in from the outside.

The girls were huddled in a corner and Sage had never met them.  He approached slowly with a bright smile.  One of the girls stood up and in front of the other. "I'm not here to hurt you.  I'm a friend of Nox's and I have a gift  for each of you."

He held out two decent wallets for the girls.  "You know Nox is away, right.  I have his number right here.  And he has your numbers.  He sent you both an image to prove that I'm who I say I am." The image on the screens was of Nox with a pink bunny riding on a train.  He captioned it. 'Thinking of you both'.  Each picture phone had their names at the top.  

The little girl behind the other darted forward and grabbed the wallet with 'Morgan' on the picture.  "Why would you give us this?"

"So you can keep in touch with Nox.  And so he can see you are alright.  He really cares about you and wants you safe.  I'd take you with me, but I don't know what my boyfriend would think of me bringing home two girls."  Aiden would probably love them, but Sage didn't want to be responsible for two little girls -- he wasn't Nox.  His heart didn't bleed for them like his friends.  And to be fair he had enough trouble taking care of himself and Aiden.

[[ Runs in tandem with Runaway Train]]

Two dossiers were attached to the assignment for Nox's next marks.  He followed at a distance, wondering why he just didn't fly to Paris.  But whatever -- there was that plane accident he was in so maybe that had something to do with it.  But it really didn't matter, Hayden followed Nox. 

The train was unique.  He'd never been on one before.  Hayden checked in with his assistant manage at Harbour House to make sure things were going well. 

He kept in touch with Zef through the burner phone they gave him.  Nox seemed on edge whenever he saw him out of the corner of his eyes.  But they didn't want him to blow his cover, so Hayden stayed hidden. 

Hayden hung out mostly in the diner car, his seat on the train was less than comfortable and Nox walked through regularly grabbing something to eat almost like clockwork. 

There was a lot going on, on this train.  And a party in an adjoining car was loud and raucous.  Hayden wanted to slip in and have some fun, but he was working and it was a distraction.  But the noise drew him more and more and eventually he knew he'd give in.

Target 1: Robert Read, Diplomat, Atharim, Traveling to/from China
[dossier attached]  [itinerary attached]

Target 2: Song Fan, Beijing China [dossier attached]

Enough time had passed. The emotions stirred by her visit to Ebou Dar had resettled, leaving a fine mist of impartiality in its wake. Routine without Kasimir had continued; her studies, alone and with her ajah, her visits to the city, and her deep contemplations. The morning had seen a combination of those already, including a particular interesting meeting in one of the Brown’s alcove common rooms, which had left her with a parchment scribbled with notes to follow up. These she deposited by her favoured armchair, where she would not forget them. A netted shawl of cream and white slipped from her shoulders, and was laid idly on another piece of furniture – an armoire, she thought vaguely in passing, since the shawl had been a gift and one she would undoubtedly feel indebted to wear again.

Her soft footsteps had purpose, but her mind still lingered with the meeting. If any had been present to witness her expression, it was the epitome of Brown stereotype, brows gently drawn, gaze caught in an intensity that lacked focus in the physical world. Fortunate, then, that she could navigate her rooms with her eyes closed. Her left palm pressed again her bedroom door, and saidar brought tender flame to various ensconced candles within. It was the only room in her apartments she would feel uncomfortable letting another see, the only part of her sanctuary she had made any effort to make her own. Convincing herself she had the right to do that – to put her physical mark on an actual space – had taken time, and made slow advances even now. One might struggle to see how – it was still very much generic – but to Malaika’s sensitivities, it was like a portal to the most private recesses of her mind.

She sat on the edge of the bed, and retrieved the key from her pocket. There was no hesitation; Malaika had made this decision, and arduous though the decision-making may have been, once it was made she did not balk. The ward about her bedside cabinet unravelled at her touch, the faint traces of saidar wrought by her own hand yielding to its mistress. The key turned, the drawer pulled out, and the envelope sat in the shadows within. She pulled it out, memories simmering at its touch, and flicked it open. The page within was folded neatly, and she smoothed it out on her lap. The script at its centre was in Chakai’s utilitarian hand; to the point, nothing extraneous but for the few details he had imparted from his sick bed, perhaps to remind her that the longer she let the wick burn, the less time before even this information would be useless.

She read it twice in quick succession, words carved in mind as if on stone, then the glow inflamed her and the paper burned. She watched impassively as it curled and blackened from the edge, and caught the ash in her right hand, where the heat found no purchase on pain.

Now she knew, and now there was a bigger decision to be made.

The hustle and bustle of Tar Valon was cathartic in a way she couldn’t put into words, except to say that the multitude of life around her brought perspective to her own perceived problems. She liked the freedom of wandering outside the Tower, coupled with the assurance that she was not far from safety. The city might not have been as foreign and new and exciting as it had once been, but she still drew curiosity from its denizens and tourists, still found something to satisfy her interests each time she visited.

Today she spent some time wandering the open markets, politely declining the calls and charms of merchants. She had never had materialistic tendencies in relation to herself, but she did appreciate beauty; she liked to look, to explore, to contemplate, but not to own. These days she was careful not to let her curiosities land her in trouble; few sellers took kindly to a browser who appeared interested, even asked questions, but did not buy. A few times, in her early explorations of the city, she had bought items she had no need or desire for, because she had suddenly become aware that she had spent considerable time asking after curios she had no intention of purchasing. It was more beneficial to smooth feathers than ruffle them, and coin was no issue.

At first glance, one might not realise that the wanderer was Aes Sedai, though this was an unintentional deception. As with most aspects of her appearance, Malaika cared little for aesthetics. She did not dress extravagantly – her gown was neutral, unadorned and loose about her frame – but the workmanship and cloth was fine, as one would expect of one wore the ring. Aside from the natural softness of her features and luxuriant fall of black hair down her back, there was nothing to accentuate her femininity. There was no indication of a waist beneath the light beige fabric, and there was no embellishment at the bust. The neckline scooped, revealing her collarbone, but only because she disliked the constraint about her neck. No jewellery, no face paints. She cut a very plain figure, which was perhaps the only conspicuous thing about her.

As was often the case, at some juncture of the outing, Malaika found herself at Mistress Osilia’s teahouse. It was her habitual sanctuary outside of the Tower, a place she gravitated to for comfort as surely as her own rooms – though they, of course, were not as comforting as they had once been. Cosy as an Aes Sedai’s sitting room – if a touch less extravagant – it was ornamented with arrangements of stuffed chairs and low tables. Flowers adorned sidetables, and bowls of dried herbs infused the heat of the hearth with the scent of relaxation. The clink of china, the low buzz of conversation; the familiarity eased her worries and centred her back to herself.

The place was rarely empty – it was too popular for that – but it was more gentile than a tavern or inn, and more suited to Malaika’s tastes. Truly, though, it was the memories that had cemented her loyalty to the place. She had promised she would return after that first night, and had kept to her word and then some. Her visits were frequent – if punctuated with weeks, sometimes months, of absence, depending on her duties at the time. Mistress Osilia knew, by now, that Malaika was no high born noble, but an Aes Sedai. Still, their relationship maintained the amiable nature it had
begun with – and that was another aspect of the place that drew the young Aes Sedai. Mistress Osilia spoke to her like a person, not a title, and she was the only woman Malaika ever indulged in ‘chatting’ with, without feeling it a chore – even enjoying it.

More often than not Malaika dined alone, but Mistress Osilia did not seem to mind her taking up a whole table. As she had today, she often brought Tower work with her – the sorts of projects she indulged when more serious or private matters were proving frustrating or unattainable. Anywhere but Tar Valon, the sight of a lone woman surrounded by books and journals in a teahouse would have been odd. But here, in the city that cupped the shining walls of the White Tower itself, there were plenty of odder sights. Amidst the books were various plates of pastries (the beef stew she had consumed for lunch had long since been cleared away, before her books had appeared from her shoulder satchel), which she nibbled at from time to time. A pot of black tea sat on her left, the cup in its delicate saucer half-full, steam still gently roiling about its surface.

For the past hour or so, now, she had been consumed in a hand-sized novel spread out on her lap, head bowed, dark hair pushed over one shoulder. From time to time her fingers paused at her lips before she turned the page, eyes narrowed in contemplation. Her mind drifted to the stars in moods like this, a blessed release from the darkness that had consumed her thoughts this morning.

[[Byron's posts written by Number Two]]

Byron

Malaika

Byron

Malaika

Byron

Malaika

[[old thread, when Mal was newly raised; just adding so I can easily reference]]