It was a rare morning Varyx got to watch the sunrise. She's not a morning person by nature, so perhaps it shouldn't have been so surprising that she was watching this morning's sun come up as a result of having been up all night rather than getting up early. She was still wearing the slinky little cocktail dress she'd worn to the party. The fabric shone in the golden morning light, picking out the slightest hints of colour in the black threads pulled over her skin.

Bare feet were propped up on the railing of her balcony. She wore an unzipped hoodie over the dress, comfort in stark contrast to the alluring look of the dress that was clearly made with comfort as a distant consideration, if at all. Toes wiggled in the morning breeze, sparkling with silver nail-polish.

Coffee held in two hands, she watched the light turn from grey to a warm pink as the first rays began to appear over the horizon.

She wasn't going to be living here much longer. Sure, she was going to keep the apartment, but she was going to live, primarily, at the theater. It was an abrupt change because, like she'd told July, she'd never actually lived with anyone before. Well, not since her mom died.

A new experience. But maybe it shouldn't have been. After all, she was already in a cabal.

Would the Forge feel different without her? She had never moved in, never even spent that much time there. She'd been appropriately sociable because that's who she was, but she preferred to spend her time alone, when she could. Being "on" all the time was exhausting. It was why she was out here, alone, on her balcony right now instead of sleeping. Because she'd get up tomorrow and go to work or out to some meeting or another, and she'd be surrounded by people, and she'd be "on" again without much of a break. Sleeping was for physical exhaustion - she'd never found that it helped her much recover from mental exhaustion. Though, perhaps that was just her.

So why was it that she was okay with moving into the Four Walls? Maybe it was because the space was large enough that it would never feel crowded with 5 people. Hell, it might even feel a little lonely, but that suited her just fine. But was that really it? Was it just the physical space? Or was it the people?

Her rational mind was upset, of course, because she could count on her fingers the number of conversations she'd had with most of the Veiled Threats, and that really wasn't supposed to be enough of a basis for anything resembling trust. But instinct was instinct. And, perhaps more to the point, her instincts made her uncomfortable around the other members of Steel Phoenix.

It wasn't that she disliked them on any particular principle. It wasn't that they had done anything in particular to cause offense. Well, not on purpose anyway. But that was the problem, wasn't it?

It was how the Oath had been handled. Not how they had handled it when she had admitted to being unable to return the oath once Wayland had given his - no, that could hardly have gone better. It was how the others had reacted to having an oath like that dropped on them by surprise. It was an act that carried the expectation of reciprocation - either immediate or delayed, yes, but eventual reciprocation nonetheless. And the implication of demanded trust raked against her nerves in the least pleasant sort of way. An oath of trust like that should be a Supernal affirmation of trust that the cabal members already felt. It should not be the basis of the trust, but the symbol of it. Maybe Wayland felt that trust, but she sure as hell didn't, and whether it was intended or not, his actions had carried the insinuation that he was owed that trust in return.

But no one else noticed. Or maybe they just hadn't cared. Pelican had followed up with an Oath of his own. Miach had waited, yes, but he was so clearly touched by the moment that he was nearly moved to tears, and he obviously would have returned it had it not been for Varyx. Faust was the only one who hadn't responded with overwhelming joy to what had been, in actuality, their trust taken hostage, not that he had exactly seemed upset about it. Though, to be perfectly fair, neither had she, at the time. Her own mind had been far too preoccupied with her hand being forced regarding the invitation to the Veiled Threats.

And yet, oddly enough, looking back? She was glad to have Avis' invitation as an excuse. Because she would have had to refuse the oath regardless, and perhaps this way the blow was softer, in the end.

Her decision was as much about recognizing just how out-of-place she was in SP as it was about how much more at-home she felt amidst the members of VT. She'd been concerned, for a while, that she wasn't giving her current cabal quite enough of a chance. That she hadn't given them an opportunity to make her feel at home with them. And maybe that was true, but all it said to her now was that, had she given them that chance, she would have come earlier to the conclusion that she didn't belong with them. There was an obvious difference in the way she and they approached their Awakened life. Perhaps they saw the early exchanges of oaths as a necessary evil, or even something that would bring them closer. But she saw it as naivety - something that would touch the rest of their outlook and decisions, beyond the issue of the oath. Maybe her instincts had always known. Maybe that was why she hadn't ever moved into the Forge. Why she'd always had the sense of being an outsider among the rest of the group. There was something inherent in the way they lived in the world that was fundamentally different from the way she did. It was hard to resent them for the joy of finding people with whom they could make a home, but all this had done was convince her that it was not her home.

No. She was beginning to think her home might be found in front of a run-down silver screen.