gemmaismss

[gemmaismss]

Gemma knows she’s hot, knows how spectacular this fucking dress looks on her and is feeding off all the eyes following her through the crowd, every moment of recognition on the faces of brotherhood members. She and Jameson go off on their own separate whims, and she feels a bit of warmth in her electric nervousness that comes from his support of her mission. Just a bit though, and she’s desperately in need of some other source of confidence.

Dearest Lottie is lingering by the bar and Gemma knows her well enough to track the frustration creeping across her brow. She understands this deeply, these bartenders are a fucking joke. It's not until she watches Charlotte reach over the bar and grab the shaker from the man’s hand that she laughs loudly, then ventures over.

“Oh fucking calm down, she’s done you a favor,” the bartender is stuttering indignantly, “learn how to do your fucking job and then maybe you won’t have this problem.” Gemma gives everyone still lingering her very best mean girl smile and they all decide to mind their own business.

“This is why I only order champagne at events like this,” Gemma speaks and signs at the same time – she misspells champagne and messes up some of the verbs but it's a genuine effort and a huge improvement from where she started. “Caterers are only good for pouring wine and like vodka crans, anyway you look spectacular!”

Open Starter (3/4)

Where: The bar @the Conclave

She could see the freezer full of chilled martini glasses. Could see the lady in her stunning dress asking for her martini to be overshaken and the imperious man behind the counter just wasn’t. He kept trying to hand a martini to her that had been under shaken and criminally underchilled.

It was a matter of pride with some bartenders not to overly dilute their martinis. But it seemed to be more a matter of making the woman wrong on the bartenders part rather than a matter of pride in the craft. A proper martini usually had the thin shards of ice at the top but that required effort and a lot of shaking. This man had been tormenting his customer for almost 20 minutes and Charlotte just wanted a gin and tonic. So she did something she should never do. She pushed her way forward and leaned forward to snatch the shaker out of the man’s hand.

2 minutes later and she placed a properly overshaken martini in front of the woman. With a nod of shared appreciation for never being heard, Charlotte turned to pick up a pack of fever tree, a bottle of Hendricks, and a thick goblet of ice as she went to do what this counter obviously didn’t want to. Actually make a drink someone wanted to drink.

[gemmaismss]

Gemma Castillo-Fiori arrives to the Gala on the arm of one Jameson Roy, Phial’s newest baby witch and newly minted leader. ( Is this a hard launch? Who’s to say, labels are so gauche ) Draped in fabric like liquid mercury, Gemma is here to look hot and be seen – proverbial fuck you to the brotherhood full of hypocrites and fanatics.

( @revencntt )

[gemmaismss]

Obsidian is a godsend, and honestly too good to be true. Gemma’s had enough fucked up shit for a lifetime in the past few months – so this rush is a breeze. She easily figures out her role here – Charlotte is a delight, sunshine and warmth and full of such gorgeous magic. Gemma deep dives on youtube to get the basics of sign but there’s something in the joy of every conversation with Charlotte that has her improving faster than any video lesson. And Jaya – at first she thought they might be taking advantage of him, but soon she learned he was just like that – and could afford whatever they asked. He sends her to deal with any vampires or far too arrogant or rude guests, and honestly she thrives on that challenge.

Still – she’s in her element now, sliding two gimlets in the direction of the couple in front of her. “Cheers, next round we will do something fun with like mezcal or amaro.” A dazzling smile as she turns, finishing the last bit of gimlet left in the shaker before checking on Charlotte. And a perfect time to intervene – the newcomer was an old regular from Sweetwater, Gemma rushes over. “Double Jame-o neat with a side of ginger ale, this place is a little posh for you, Ronnie.” She pours the drink short, but he’s already too distracted to notice. “Heard you left your old man’s place and thought I might finally have a chance,” he leers and Gemma scowls.

“Yeah, absolutely the fuck not,” she pulls back the double shot before he can even register what she says and knocks it back. “Ronnie get the fuck out of here before I turn you into a toad.” He gulps once, quite toad like, but can’t seem to decide if she’s serious or not. Gemma tilts her head to the side and the cocktail straws start to stir the drink in front of her on their own. He deposits a hundred-dollar bill on the bar and promptly vanishes.

After that little show they both deserve a break – so Gemma follows Charlotte towards the back alley. “Ok so like I definitely did not think anyone would follow me over from my old job I am so sorry,” she’s rudimentary signing as she speaks. “But like my dad owned the bar and so everyone had to be like normal. My dad that disowned me for being a witch that is. Anyway – how’s your night going?”

Where: Obsidian

Who: Open (2/5)

Tonight had been bustling. It was the most crowded Charlotte had seen the place and Charlotte couldn’t be happier. Jaya deserved for this place to be a success and between her and Gemma Obsidian was thriving under the new leadership.

As Charlotte was shaking a martini for a very well dressed witch on the edge of the bar, she finally noticed the time. Shit, she was overdue for a break. She had lost track of time in the crush of customers that had rolled in. As she placed the martini in front of the witch, a new customer caught her eye as they sat on a stool at the end of the bar. One more customer, she promised herself, and then she would go take her break.

She turned a beaming smile on the newcomer and nodded at them, ready to take their order.

[gemmaismss]

when: sunday, june 15th, late evening where: no man's land who: @ofreardcns and gemma ( happy father's day! )

Sometimes ( read – often ) Gemma fears that she might be just a bit too much. It’s not a new feeling, rather one she’s been suppressing as well as indulging since childhood. Too loud, too cutting; too much emotion, too much spark for such a small creature. Her fathers never told her to be less, but the world did, as it does to all wayward little girls with sharp tongues and electric eyes. But maybe that was just her magic all along, and whatever kept it dormant for twenty-three long years. A part of her, that which still aches for the torment of her twin and how far off the path her life has spiraled, clings to the edge of this guilt born of her overwhelming-ness, embracing the pain like the martyr she will never be. And the rest of her, the innocence long ago gutted and buried in a shallow grave? Gemma is nothing more than the monster they created.

Tonight that little monster has a target – No Man’s Land, a somewhat misleading name given most hunters would be marching into enemy trenches. But Gemma isn’t a hunter, nor has she been for a very long time. Tonight she’s all quick, cruel smiles, enticing eyes, and intoxicating witch blood – all aimed like a gun. Do what I want and you might get a taste, stop me and face his consequences.

 She gets past the bouncer readily, money changing hands with a practiced ease. Once inside she hesitates for just a moment – fuck. She knows her father, even two years undead and deep into whatever the hell this is. Gael will not be found amongst the masses in the blood and sweat and violence – he’s above it all, orchestrating the minute details to his exact specifications, just as he tried to teach her. But it's dark and pulsing with light and music and blood and violence – and Gemma doesn’t think she’ll be able to parse out the right door.

Or maybe – she’s feeling reckless. It's the wild abandon of being disowned that morphs into a playful, almost defiant invincibility. Because when the worst has happened – what could possibly top that? Or it's something more, something primal that’s always existed within her, slumbering and finally awakened – that intoxicating aura of magic, youth, and beauty oft mistaken for divinity. Gemma presses forward into to chaos.

It's not long before she’s stopped – a pair of vampires making no attempt to hide slide up next to her at the bar. “Hello gorgeous,” his accent marks him as Australian and briefly she muses about how the hell he got here and what a tiresome journey that must have been for tourism. “Here alone are you, little witch?” He leans in closer, and Gemma retrieves her drink.

“Hmm,” Gemma takes a sip of the prosecco and wonders if her father knows how shitty it is. By now he has to know she’s here, she spoke to bouncers and servers and bartenders – this is the moment to find out just how much his dead heart still beats for his favorite daughter. She takes another sip, turning towards the foreign vampire with a poison honeyed smile. “Not at all, why do you ask?”

[gemmaismss]

Her eyes widen once with shock – are they actually doubling down on this – then narrow with an electric surge of righteous anger. How fucking dare they stand here and lecture her about humanity and duty and honor as if such things could so easily co-exist with the clinical brutality with which she’s seen them hunt? But it's always been something akin to religion for Shiv, Gemma realized that long ago. Adrian treats it as a vocation, Gael once saw it as logistics – Gabe, she fears, might be veering in the direction of scared practice, but her twin is as driven by guilt as he is duty. No matter what they call it the fact remains – the violence always tastes like hate and shame.

“Jesus Fucking Christ – do you hear yourself? I mean like really,” anger with its electric bite is soothed by the icy ease of cruelty, settling into a fluorescent hum across her skin. “You are far too old to still believe in the fairy tale of the pious knight who fights for duty and honor.”

( Once upon a time there was a Princess trapped in a very tall tower deep inside the dark forest. Her only companion was her brother, a very brave but very small Knight. He protected the Princess from the Wicked Witch who trapped them there, held her hand and whispered to her that she must be brave and strong, for they will surely be saved if their hearts were true. One day a mighty Huntsman happened upon the deep, dark woods and followed the Wicked Witch back to the tower, discovering the lost Princess and her Knight. A fearsome battle waged, but because the Huntsman was honorable and true he prevailed and rescued the Princess and the Knight. The End. )

“Adrian taught us to kill.” There’s a clinical chill in her voice, an almost scientific detachment that’s all the more unnerving as she dissects her past, pulling out all the darkest parts and laying them out for inspection. “Let’s not mince words, we were children, and he taught us how to track, capture, possibly torture, and ultimately kill other beings. There is nothing noble about that. We never had a choice,” her icy exterior cracks for a moment, and the neon OPEN sign in the window begins to pulse in time to Gemma’s heart rate. Fuck – control this. She curls her left hand into a fist behind her back, nails biting into her palm until she draws blood. The pulsing stops, neon sign burns out, but one of the very front dryers whirrs to life. Close enough – she claims the victory and presses on – her anger and hatred having sparked the exact nerve in Shiv to keep them focus fully on her in their sanctimonious sermon.

Jameson does have a flair for the dramatics, it’s one of the things she likes most about him, and this timing is impeccable. What would stop you from turning on me – cloth, concoction, struggle – all according to plan. Jameson hums something about names, but Gemma is too focused on the frantic darting movements of those dark eyes. She steps closer, that same Mean Girl smile she’s known for taking on a darker twist in this moment.

“So many things,” she muses in response to their earlier hypothetical, “So many different things could have prevented this moment – me turning on you, but your blindness to your own hatred practically guaranteed this eventuality. But don’t worry, we don’t need to kill you in order to achive our aims.”

Shiv falls into unconsciousness, weightless in Jameson’s arms. Gemma lingers for a moment longer, than snaps back to business, eyes meeting Jameson. “The office is through that door; it's got enough space for the ritual and there are absolutely ropes or zip ties or something in one of the desk drawers or cabinets.” She pulls another tincture they made in preparation from her bag. “I can take care of the cameras, and meet you back there in like two minutes?” The electric cruelty still glints in her eyes but softens – still the eager student trying to please her tutor.

@cutthroat-service

Shiv gives Gemma the space she needs to sort out her thoughts and put them into words, elbows propped on the front desk as they lean on it patiently. But, try as they might, Shiv isn't perfect. Because immediately their face scrunches in a look of confusion, disbelief, cognitive dissonance and Shiv fails to hold back the disappointment in their voice. "...What?"

"I mean- Yes. I was raised similarly but the hunt is never done out of hatred. Why? Did Adrian teach you and Gabe to hunt out of just that?" Hate. Such a vile word. One that should never be associated with the hunt ever.

"Gemma, do you only hunt out of hatred?"

The cobra tattoo along their nape sings. A warning sign. Shiv mistakes the burning sensation for their mother's outrage from whatever spiritual plane hosting her. Outrage to see the hunt this badly misinterpreted, this sorely mistaken. This needs to be corrected or put into a different perspective at the least. "A hunt cannot be sustained on hatred. It is supposed to be a neutral force strictly born out of necessity. Emotions have nothing to do with it. Especially hatred. Never hatred. I'm so sorry but I cannot stress this enough: To bring hate into the equation is to spoil the entire hunt. If we only hunted out of hatred, we are no better than the monsters. Worse even."

"Duty. Honor. Humanity. Those are the sole reasons why anyone should conduct a hunt in the first place. If not that and only hatred, what is stopping from hunters from killing one another? Think about it. What would stop you from turning on me-"

@revencntt

[gemmaismss]

Gemma hops out of Jameson’s car ( a different one from last time, but that’s honestly none of her business – he’s got that east coast money vibe so she doesn’t press it ) and runs towards Romy, flinging her arms around her favorite cousin. The hug is far tighter than usual, but Gemma isn’t willing to admit how much it means and how much she needs this. She blinks back errant tears and slips her face back into that dazzling performance ready smile.

“No, it's absolutely these shoes I’ve literally been the same height since like the sixth grade and you know that,” a mock pout gives way quickly to easy laughter. “Thank you – glitter is for sure seasoning if you aren’t a coward.” Gemma gasps appropriately when Romy pulls back to reveal all the gifts – and it's utterly genuine. It’s not a stretch to say that Gemma has been somewhat spoiled in her short life, but this year feels so different as distant as she is so suddenly from the other half of her heart, Gemma’s never felt more alone.

“No – stop, no,” now she might actually cry, swiping quickly at a few tears. “Now I’m gonna actually cry, like ugly cry! Thank you so much, obviously I’m going to love it because you’re literally the coolest person ever and I have always said that. THE CAKE OH MY GOD !” She shrieks just a little too excited, but it's her fucking birthday so why cares. “I’m immune to emotional manipulation, I’ll share because it's you and obviously I’m not so cruel as to eat an entire cake alone.”

Gemma hops up on the car hood, popping the two mini bottles of champagne that constitute her contribution to this little shindig, and passes one over to Romy.

“Cheers!” The bubbles ease the lies she’s about to tell, second nature to protect Romy from the realities of her world, but they taste a bit like guilt – an echo of accusations in Gabe’s voice. “Oh you know, the usual, a casual day nothing too wild,” which is one way to describe her morning, “I’ve yet to summon a demon, I’m saving that one for like a more milestone birthday, maybe 25 or 30? New job is great, a much cooler place than fucking Sweetwater. A girl can only pour so many shitty beers before losing it.”

“How have you been? I miss you – this past month has been so chaotic and. Anyway!”

WHO: @gemmaismss WHERE: 205 Drive-In

Romy was currently lounging on the hood of a perfectly polished teal Chevy parked just outside the 205 Drive-In, sipping a strawberry milkshake like it was a fine wine and she was about to monologue about the golden age of cinema. One boot dangled lazily above the gravel, and beside her, in a meticulously curated little display, sat the haul —a collection of birthday gifts that practically screamed Romy loves you and has no concept of restraint.

There was a sleek, rose gold cocktail shaker set, the kind you’d expect to see in an editorial spread titled Hot Bartenders of the Apocalypse. Nestled beside it, a cat-shaped ring holder sculpted out of crystal and definitely overpriced, tail curved like it held secrets and jewelry alike. A cashmere throw in blush pink, because Romy believed in luxury comfort and also emotional damage control via soft things. And lastly, a tiny, glitter-filled snow globe that featured a black cat in a tiara — because Romy saw it and thought Gemma would either love this or haunt me with it, and honestly, win-win.

The cake box had GEMMAGEDDON iced across the top in metallic gold letters, complete with edible glitter stars because subtlety had never been Romy’s brand.

When Gemma finally appeared, Romy popped off the car like a toast popped from a very enthusiastic toaster. Arms wide. Grin wider. “There she is! The only person I’d break my no birthdays after midnight policy for.” She walked over, looked her cousin up and down with mock scrutiny, then gasped. “Wait. Are you taller? Did you level up in height and hotness? Disgusting.”

She wrapped her up in a hug, all tight squeeze and warmth and hair in her face. “Happy birthday, baby chaos,” she said quietly. “I remember when you tried to convince me glitter was a seasoning. And honestly? I still believe you a little.”

Pulling back, she gestured grandly to the gift spread like she was about to present treasure to a queen. “So I might’ve gone a little bit overboard,” she announced. “But in my defense, you’re incredible and I’m pathologically allergic to giving people just one thing.”

A wink. “And if you say you don’t like them, I will cry. Not, like, fake cry. Oscar-qualifying sobs.”

She nudged the cake box. “Also, there’s cake. I will not fight you for it. I will guilt you emotionally until you share.”

Sliding back onto the hood, she patted the space beside her. “Come on, sit. Tell me everything. The birthday chaos. The new job. Did you punch a man? Fall in love? Summon a demon? I’m here for all of it.”

She took a sip from her milkshake, eyes soft despite the smirk she wore. “And just for the record, if you ever need a getaway driver, I’ve already mapped three escape routes out of this town. That’s cousin-level love, baby.”

[gemmaismss]

“And then Adrian lied and you fucking lied! You lied to me Gabriel.” The space between them is so vast, “But apparently I’m the fuck up who’s never been good enough for him – but I’m the only one who’s never lied about anything that really matters!” Fat tears roll down her cheeks and Gemma does not even attempt to stop them. Maybe it was always going to be like this – maybe they could have stopped it. Which of the thousand tiny choices and inconsequential moments lead to a world where her family implodes.  

Or maybe it was always going to be like this – they’ve been cursed since the moment of their birth – or rather the moment in which Adrian found them and decided to keep them.

She’s back in the corner – fighting all of very real and very present fear that surges up through her body. It’s so goddamn horrible. Gabe is her twin, her only confidant, the one person she would happily lay down her life for. And yet here he is, standing before her saying such horrid things and fuck they have to go down stairs where everything will be fine – but he’s pulling out a stake and a knife and Gemma is so goddamn scared.

Scared – and fucking angry. She’s goddamn livid. And she has been for a long time.

“You lied to me,” but it's more like a whimper, a desperate plea for this to all be a dream, for her twin, her best friend in the whole world to take her hand and tell her none of it was real – it was all some cruel hunters’ trick. And for a second she might think it's that – but they won’t trust her with this kind of thing anymore.

So she stands there trembling as he offers a stake and a knife. In another world she’s a proper lady who accepts the tokens offered to her. In another world she’s stronger and cleverer and takes these weapons and fights back – however feeble that would be. But no – Gabriel is offering them to her. The promise that follows is heavier than she’s willing to carry, but she does take the knife and the stake.

“No – I mean, no – what are you saying? Gabe, no – it doesn’t have to be like that,” she watches as he hands her the weapons, and takes them both upon instinct. “we have to go downstairs, once we go downstairs everything will be fine. I promise. Please.”

        gabriel does look at her. like a promise, he does. like a begging for forgiveness, he does. he’s so sorry, guilt submerging him under a violent wave after leaving it neglected for so long. he’d never thought about keeping this from gemma, only that he knew he had to, to keep her safe. he knew it was the right thing to do because … because adrian did it. because adrian said so. but what was the use of it? he’d failed to keep her safe, too. both of them had, she’s entitled to her rage, to her fear. gabriel just doesn’t know what to do with it, and in the grey of her eyes he can see the panic and so it rises back up in him, too, like it had downstairs. the truth had them in its jaws, the monsters waiting for them outside the bedroom door. the twins couldn’t hide anymore.

        gemma startles backwards, this time, without stumbling. her fear stains the air so potently gabriel can taste it, it sours his stomach, knots up the same kind in him. calming his sister down, finding comfort in their own little world was a skill gabriel knew well. but, this, now? she’s scared of him, he can feel it. gemma’s scared of him and gabriel doesn’t know how to fix this. he has to convince her, he has to make her understand-  “ no, gemma, he lied. gael lied. he lied to us, he lied to adrian. he lied longer than we’ve been alive. ”

        he doesn’t mean to look away from his sister, but he still does, his eyes snapping to the lights as they begin to flicker, sharp movement drawing from instinct. the lights, it’s like they’re breathing. in panicked, quick heaves, they’re breathing, pulsing, the feeling snakes up his spine and wraps around his ribs and he’s listening to gemma and his tattoo- no. no, no, no, no-

        he doesn’t run away from his sister. he doesn’t flinch, or cry, or aim the weapons he has tucked under his shirt towards her. he keeps talking. firm, and steady.  “ they’re our fathers. they’re supposed to keep us safe, but they can’t anymore. they failed. we have to keep each other safe. it’s up to us. ”  they could get out, just the two of them. his sister, the witch. her brother, the hunter. they could. for gabriel, there’s never been anyone else. it’s always just been her. he’d do anything, he doesn’t care. the brotherhood accepts help from witches, they could pretend that’s all it is, like they hadn’t betrayed anyone else to get out of this town. for gemma, he’s willing to do whatever it took to keep her safe.

        frightening will do her no good, so he draws the stake out slowly, then the knife. presents them to his twin sister like a knight with his sword.  “ i brought these here for me, to protect myself. but i can do it for you, too. ”  gabriel doesn’t dare speak the crime out loud, the concept is barely grasped in his head before he’s speaking it, offering up to gemma. a finishing of an act he already started, to protect himself. but he doesn’t have just one weapon, he has two. one for him, one for gemma. not for her hand, but in her honor. to keep her safe. it’s all that matters.  “ i’d do it for you, you just need to say the word. ”  twin telepathy is bullshit, but him and his sister have always understood each other, deeper than either of their fathers had. he knows her, he knows she's never once wanted to hunt. but now, he'd do it for her. he'd kill gael, he'd kill adrian, they could go. he’s begging her to choose them, for once. instead of the one who lied and the one who poured them into a mold. choose them. the brother and sister who had truly been together since the beginning. nobody else, just them.  “ it’s your choice, gem. if- if you want to go back down, i’ll do it with you. ”  he means that, too.

[gemmaismss]

It's not that she needs money – the summer after Gael’s death spent grieving on her grandparent’s vineyard in Italy cement her as the favored grandchild, and thus they are more than happy to continue financing Gemma’s life. She’s never officially been fired from Sweetwater, but given everything that happened – Gemma’s not going to push it. It’s more that she’s bored, and boredom is a dangerous thing.

She’s not actively looking, more like wandering through Port Leiry nursing an iced coffee feeling sorry for herself. Something catches her eye, a little static directing her attention towards a storefront. Obsidian, recently under new ownership, lures her in with velvet and glamour, the possibility of some taste of magic. So she does the thing that every boomer parent tells their job hunting kid to do, and simply walks in to ask for a job.

“Hi, yes – sorry, I noticed that.” She grins sheepishly but presses on. “I’m Gemma and I cannot believe I am doing this but are you possibly hiring? I am a spectacular bartender with like four years of experience and yes it was much more of a divey place than this but that means that I can literally deal with anyone and everyone.” She’s speaking far too quickly, emotions bubbling up in her rush to explain. A lamp flickers. “And I would absolutely love to give you a reference but I can’t because I worked at my Dad’s bar and, uh, yeah – he disowned me!” She smiles more like a grimace, and blinks furiously to prevent any wayward tears. “But that’s a very complicated story that I don’t need to bore you with, and honestly I don’t think he’d give me a good reference regardless because he was all like,” she lowers her voice in an imitation of Adrian’s gruff scolding, “’we only do beer and bourbon’ and ‘what the hell is a gimlet, Gem?’ so like. Yeah.”

A pause.

“I’m sorry. This was so much, I can just go.”

When: Evening Where: Obsidian Who: @gemmaismss

This late in the evening, the lounge should be packed. Instead, Jaya was alone at one of the booths, music playing low through the speakers, a drink in one hand as he outlined the essay that Cait had assigned him. Whatever anyone could say about him and the decisions he makes in life, he was undeniably thorough, and reflective work like this required peace and quiet for it to be done well.

With how woefully understaffed the lounge was, it was for the best that it remained closed for the time being. One new employee wasn’t enough to keep it afloat, and forcing that new employee to man the bar on the same night felt both cruel and ridiculous. He was rich enough already, and sending her off with a signing bonus for the sheer luck of being the first to come looking for a job after so many others had left felt much better than trying to pander to the crowd that would be looking to get drunk after a hurricane when they should be focusing on rebuilding and helping others to rebuild.

Besides, he’d put his trust in the idea that someone might just walk in looking for a job before, but he didn’t think it would happen a second time. He could put up a Help Wanted sign in the morning. For now, he had an essay to write and some ideas about the relationship between blood and magic to unpack.

The little rune he’d slapped over the door rang in his ears as someone entered the building, and Jaya set down his glass, looking up from his seat at the newcomer. “I’m sorry, we’re closed.”

[gemmaismss]

In her nearly twenty-four years of existence, and twenty something under his care, Gemma has never seen her father take a drink of alcohol. The man owns a bar and has a particularly violent profession - and yet as far as she can remember, Adrian has never had a drink. A chill runs down her spine, more than the wind and the rain and the fear, this was uncharted territory. Gemma takes another swallow of her wine, pulling her knees up to her chest as she starts to tremble ( with fear or cold she won’t admit ) atop the bar.

Define it.

It's a command more than a question, and she’s never been an obedient daughter. But it's also an opening – and invitation. He may have let her inside out of a misplaced sense of parental affection, but there’s no mandate that he carry on a conversation with her – so she will take each and every opportunity given.

“No and like that’s the question isn’t it? Defining it?” Gemma sips her wine, “And it's super important because I don’t know how long you’re going to tolerate me being here, so I don’t know how many questions I get to ask.” A pointed look, another sip. “So I should just dive right in with ‘why’d you kill my dad?’ but then that question is really – why’d you make Gabriel kill him? Were you too cowardly to do it yourself? Was it some kind of profoundly cruel hazing ritual?” She lobs these accusations with an air of negligence, nursing the bottle of wine and flexing her fingers such to work the feeling back into them.

“But then because I’m me, and a wholly self-centered creature – I have to ask. Why was I never good enough for you? And I don’t mean like all the technical hunter bullshit, I mean like why was I, Gemma, the whole person and your daughter, never good enough?”

Why did you do it?

The question runs a shiver throughout his entire body. It's not something cool and breezy, as if the crisp hurricane air had followed Gemma inside the door. No, this shiver aches his joints and is so bone chillingly subtle and cruel. It's the warning shots of a ghost, letting him know he shares the space with the dead. What dead do they find themselves in company with today? The death of their father and daughter relationship; It haunts this entire goddamn bar.

It makes Adrian wonder, why did he do it?

He felt justified at the time; being betrayed does that, it will greenlight every violent thought one has. Gael's lies are secondary, still a knife to the chest, but perhaps, a wound that could heal. Not a mistake Adrian could forgive, but one he could daydream about forgiving. The twins is where Adrian drew the line and that is the line Gael crossed repeatedly.

Liars make for shitty husbands and terrible fathers, yet Gael was neither. Adrian wonders if Gael played the part so well, he began to believe it. You say I love you to a person enough times, it starts to stick. Where did the lie end and where did truth begin with Gael?

Adrian chooses to believe Everything was a lie. It makes it easier for him to live with himself.

Adrian doesn't say any of this to Gemma. He only ponders the question, as if any string of words he could say would get Gemma to understand his point of view. Even if Adrian had been good with words, trying to explain to someone the reason why you killed their father is a tough sell.

He's silent as he walks over to the bar, silent as he pours himself a shot of whiskey, silent as he shoots it down and the harsh alcohol hits his chest. He hasn't had a drink since he was a kid. Adrian opens a bottle of beer.

Owning a bar has taught him, it's easier to talk after a drink. With this conversation, with Gemma, Adrian needed all the liquid courage he could stomach.

“Define it.” Thirty years sober, the whiskey hits him hard. It sharpens his tone and harshes his gaze at her. There's no use of dancing around the subject, this open pit of a conversation. Their graves, dedicated to father and daughter, have already been dug. Why not jump in and let the dirt bury them whole?

[gemmaismss]

There’s a tiny part of her, buried deep underneath all of the anger and lies and chaos, that might feel just a tiny bit guilty for using Shiv like this. She said might. And anyway, guilt is a normal thing, okay, she was raised culturally catholic. It does not mean she’s going to stop. The anger and fear burn brighter, and Gemma is already in too deep.

“Thanks!” It’s almost genuine. She’s much more perceptive than most people realize, having played up the ditzy cheerleader bit for most of the past ten year to her benefit. So Gemma notices the file Shiv tries to hide. “24, yeah – ok that’s a terrible joke and a little bit mean,” She frowns, fully joking. “Like if I look 32 then I have to start botox like yesterday.” There's another way to preserve youth, but that’s not something they would be receptive too, even if she’s joking. For now.

“Have you seen Gabe recently?” Suddenly she’s all business, catching sight of the faintest hint of movement behind them – it has to be Jameson. So she continues, truth bleeding into her words even though they are meant only as a distraction. “He told me something recently, well more like confessed. And it scared me – I don’t, I mean – “ she huffs in frustration. “Like you were raised like us right? Do you ever think about how like, profoundly fucked up it is that our parents, the people who are supposed to keep us safe, are the ones who are putting weapons in our hands and teaching us to hate before we are even old enough to know what that means?”

@revencntt

And just as predicted, Shiv emerges from the laundromat’s back rooms when called upon. “Ah, Gemma!” Shiv looks onto their fellow hunter with a smile, back kicking the door and allowing it to auto-lock behind them as they approach. "As if I could forget-- Happy birthday!"

They are so quick to greet her that they don’t even realize the Kessler file is still on hand until they’re already behind the counter. Oh well. Gemma was no stranger to Shiv’s dedication to their work; surely she wouldn’t mind.

When considering possible places to take Thera, Brewed Awakening was an immediate first contender. Quint little place that serves tea as well as coffee. It would have been perfect had Brewed Awakening not been ravaged by the storm and indefinitely closed since. To add salt to the wound, the establishment is now rumored to be under new management, Kessler ownership. But that’s another can of worms to open after the Castillo-Fiori twins’ birthday.

“23 is a big number! Or is it 24 now? It's hard to tell. You don’t look a day over 32!” Shiv laughs. They hope the teasing will distract Gemma as they tuck the file into the counter drawer. Out of sight and out of mind as they turn their full attention to the birthday girl. “Oh but enough of that. What did you want to talk about? I’m all ears.”

[gemmaismss]

44. How easy or difficult is it for your character to say “I love you?” Can they say it without meaning it?

So easy. It's the easiest thing in the world. It's the most important thing to say. Gemma was raised in a world where life is not always a given, and each time could be the last time she sees someone she cares for. So it was important to her that they know she loves them. Maybe it's a reflection of her own insecurities, Gemma only believes in love and affection if its said or demonstrated. It doesn't matter how long she's known someone - she needs to hear it to believe that it's true. This is how she thrived as Queen Bee in high school - collecting worship and admiration like a mercurial queen; the little despot atop a makeshift throne. Before she even knew of the magic that runs deep in her veins, Gemma knew innately that to name something is to give it weight, power. Love is no different.

[gemmaismss]

⚡️- would you save jameson over gabriel?

"Frankly this question is offensive because I would commit atrocities for Gabriel. It's a twin thing, and clearly you don't understand."

[gemmaismss]

7. Does your character have recurring themes in their nightmares?

It always starts the same – that generic house party, you’re drinking with Lis – sometimes it's shots, other times it's a drinking game. The specifics shift, but the feeling lingers. They never tell you how wonderful you will feel on the day the world ends – shitty vodka tastes crisper, that same old music is so much more exuberant, your best friend’s hug a little sweeter. You laugh your way through a voicemail, as you have a hundred nights before and will a hundred nights to come.

If you’d known that this was the last thing you’d get to say to a living father – would you have lingered longer in that moment? Would you call and call again until he answers and you can hear him breathing and living and telling you that he loves you?

But you’re still at this party – you down another shot and that heady invincibility that comes with a certain level of drunk carries you down a hallway, seeking out your darling Lis.

Here’s where things shift – the hallway keeps going and going, dread creeping in like some noxious fume with every step. There’s something you should have done. Something that will fix everything, prevent every future terrible-ness. Only, you can’t remember what it is. The hallway stretches out ahead of you, endless and looming, but the terrible-ness is only seconds away.

The dream is utterly terrible, but also it's not. Because as long as you’re walking down that hallway – Gael is not yet dead, there’s the faintest chance that you can reach whatever end in time and stop the inevitable. Rationally you knows this is not possible, but in those fleeting and endless dream moments, it's something to hold on to.

Grief, you learn, should be worn like a little black dress – beautiful and aloof like a gothic tragedy. No one wants to see the messiness of your sorrow. They want Jackie at the state funeral, not Ophelia handing out imaginary flowers and demanding everyone feel the rawness of her emotion. Adrian and Gabe are stone-faced, some shared stoic melancholy that you’re entirely shut out of, and it scares you in ways you cannot name.

When the world ends, you are left to fend for yourself. The apocalypse demands a coldness and a cruelty of you to cope with the crushing nothingness. Some days the grief is a vice on your heart, your lungs, your throat, and you want to scream out for air. And other times it is nothingness, a deep and dark expanse that goes on and on and on like the cosmos and there is nothing holding you to anything. You aren’t sure which is worse. In the middle of the day you will suddenly find your fingers have gone numb and the coldness spreads and you think maybe it would be nice not to feel for a bit. Then you realize you cannot remember the last thing he said to you and everything comes crashing in at once – and you’re still the little girl lost in the woods crying out for her father.

[gemmaismss]

SEND “⚡️” AND A QUESTION AND MY MUSE WILL BE FORCED TO ANSWER HONESTLY

Please specify the muse for multimuse blogs.

[gemmaismss]

Character Development Questions: Hard Mode

Does your character have siblings or family members in their age group? Which one are they closest with?

What is/was your character’s relationship with their mother like?

What is/was your character’s relationship with their father like?

Has your character ever witnessed something that fundamentally changed them? If so, does anyone else know?

On an average day, what can be found in your character’s pockets?

Does your character have recurring themes in their dreams?

Does your character have recurring themes in their nightmares?

Has your character ever fired a gun? If so, what was their first target?

Is your character’s current socioeconomic status different than it was when they were growing up?

Does your character feel more comfortable with more clothing, or with less clothing?

In what situation was your character the most afraid they’ve ever been?

In what situation was your character the most calm they’ve ever been?

Is your character bothered by the sight of blood? If so, in what way?

Does your character remember names or faces easier?

Is your character preoccupied with money or material possession? Why or why not?

Which does your character idealize most: happiness or success?

What was your character’s favorite toy as a child?

Is your character more likely to admire wisdom, or ambition in others?

What is your character’s biggest relationship flaw? Has this flaw destroyed relationships for them before?

In what ways does your character compare themselves to others? Do they do this for the sake of self-validation, or self-criticism?

If something tragic or negative happens to your character, do they believe they may have caused or deserved it, or are they quick to blame others?

What does your character like in other people?

What does your character dislike in other people?

How quick is your character to trust someone else?

How quick is your character to suspect someone else? Does this change if they are close with that person?

How does your character behave around children?

How does your character normally deal with confrontation?

How quick or slow is your character to resort to physical violence in a confrontation?

What did your character dream of being or doing as a child? Did that dream come true?

What does your character find repulsive or disgusting?

Describe a scenario in which your character feels most comfortable.

Describe a scenario in which your character feels most uncomfortable.

In the face of criticism, is your character defensive, self-deprecating, or willing to improve?

Is your character more likely to keep trying a solution/method that didn’t work the first time, or immediately move on to a different solution/method?

How does your character behave around people they like?

How does your character behave around people they dislike?

Is your character more concerned with defending their honor, or protecting their status?

Is your character more likely to remove a problem/threat, or remove themselves from a problem/threat?

Has your character ever been bitten by an animal? How were they affected (or unaffected)?

How does your character treat people in service jobs?

Does your character feel that they deserve to have what they want, whether it be material or abstract, or do they feel they must earn it first?

Has your character ever had a parental figure who was not related to them?

Has your character ever had a dependent figure who was not related to them?

How easy or difficult is it for your character to say “I love you?” Can they say it without meaning it?

What does your character believe will happen to them after they die? Does this belief scare them?

[gemmaismss]

“Look at me!” She almost screams, head pounding and heart racing. It’s unlike Gabe to keep things from her, but all the rules have changes since they’ve lost Gael. She’s dazed and profoundly confused, but when her twin says Adrian found out the Gael was a witch – Gemma’s blood runs cold. She knows her father, listened to all of his dinner table lectures on the vileness of supernaturals, even if only half paying attention. If this is what he does to the man he loved and built a life with – then what the hell was she? Some random child they’d found and raised so long as it was convenient? So long as she was obedient?

I killed Gael. I shot him.

The room tilts as her own personal gravitational force – the love of her family, her twin – shatters before her eyes. Gemma is suddenly on high alert, pulling out of her brother’s grasp and backing into a corner, her fear winning out over any other drive.

“No – you’re lying. That can’t be true, say it's not true!” But he won’t, or can’t, and she’s panicking and the lightbulbs are flickering, rattling in their sockets with such ferocity. “How could you?! He loves us! He would never do anything to hurt us – he did all of this to get back! And maybe not all witches are bad!"

The desperation bleeds through and she realizes Gabriel doesn’t know or hasn’t connected the truths within their fairy tale founding.

“Gabe! Our birth parents were fucking witches, he’s always told us some version of the truth!” She’s fully shouting now, too wrapped up in her own fear and anger and the utter desperation to bring him downstairs to care who hears her. “Did it never occur to you that we might be ones too? And what if I am the wicked witch in this story? Are you gonna kill me too?!”

        what happened, gabriel?  “ yeah, he was. ”  he wasn’t, unless you count gael as the one being hunted. what happens is that gabriel prolongs the truth with short bursts. all of the emotion, pent up and useless, tries to escape and peel through his words. his eyes leave his sister, straying to a blank wall in the guest room. he can’t do this. he can’t look at her, can’t tell her, can’t protect her any longer for the truth and the monster and the nightmare. but he’d tried. he’d tried so hard. now, their choices were gone. now, nothing else mattered but that he had to tell her.  “ dad- uh, ”  dad means adrian. he wants to tell her about the drive there, that suffocating silence that filled gabriel up with more information than either father were willing to tell him. he wants to tell her about the fear, the anxiety, that weight he’s carried since they’d brought the twins home.  “ he found out that gael was a witch. so … ”  so i had to. so i had to do it, gemma. i had to do it for you.  “ i don’t know what was supposed to happen, i don’t know what they were planning but then they were fighting and i … ”  i shot him. i killed him. i did it. he’d never had to say it out loud before.  “ i killed gael. i shot him. and then we buried him in the woods. ”  gabriel knows what he’s done, he knows the weight of his words and it’s why he can’t look at her- but he has to. she’s his sister and it’s his burden to bear; how she responds to his actions. his crime, and now his failure.  “ but- but i failed, gem, and now he’s back and he’s going to kill all of us if we don’t stop him. ”

[gemmaismss]

He calls her back almost instantly and Gemma sobs in relief, even as her father shifts into that clinical chill that in some far-off corner of her mind she recognizes from hunts. She tells him her approximate location, and then the whole story comes tumbling out of her in gasps and ragged breaths. It's all shock and instinct, she’s yet to fully reckon with everything that happened and certainly can’t do so sitting alone next to the still bleeding body of her would be assailant.

Gael always knows what to say, the steadiness in his clear commands is grounding. Gemma is no stranger to death; she’s been trained on how to kill since she was young. But there’s a distinct difference here, one that she’s not yet able to comprehend. Still – she follows his commands as best she can, peeling off her light sweater to hide her fingerprints. She can’t find water, but there’s plenty of leaves. She drops a pin and sends it, sinking to the forest floor like a marionette whose strings have been cut.

“There was so much blood,” a half-choked whisper, the first thing she’s said since her frantic confession and shaking plea. “I didn’t mean to, I –“ Gael interrupts, telling her softly to look away and she does as she’s told. Fifteen minutes stretches out long and dark into the night, Gemma flinches at every sound of an insect or owl, knees against her chest as she tries to control the trembling.

The crack of a twig and her head snaps in the direction of the sound. She’s reasonable enough to know that anyone from the party would be making far more noise, and it's still a week out from the full moon. Only one person knows where she is, or would have reason to be in this particular clearing ( she only realizes how deep into the woods he brought her when trying to explain the location ), and so she barely whispers, “Daddy?”

Is that what it means to be the father of a daughter? To carry a quiet, constant dread that one day the world will show her its sharpest teeth? Gael thought he and Adrian had just about made it out of the woods. And then the shoe drops. The voicemail doesn’t finish playing before he’s moving. He calls. She answers.

“Tell me where you are,” he says—no greeting, no breath wasted. His voice is flat. Clipped. All the softness stripped down to something cold-blooded and mechanical. He can’t afford to feel this. Not now. Not yet.

“Gemma. You need to get your head clear.” Gael's already in the car, tires squealing out of the driveway. “Is the knife still in him?”

A pause. Just enough for her to breathe, or nod, or not scream.

“Good. Leave it. Don’t touch it. Grab something - branch, coat, whatever’s near - and cover it. No fingerprints.” She says his name, broken and shaking. For a second, the ice cracks. “I know, sweetheart. I know. But you have to listen to me. You need to move.”

He exhales hard through his nose, one hand tightening on the wheel.

“Check his pockets. Everything—wallet, keys, phone. Don’t open anything. Just bag it. Use your shirt if you have to. Keep your prints off.”

She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t need to. He’s already giving the next command.

“Cover your tracks - drag a branch behind you, disturb the path. Don’t step in the blood if you can help it. If there’s water nearby, don’t go in, but use it. Wash your hands. Dirt, moss - whatever masks scent. You’re not making it clean, you’re making it unreadable.”

No comfort. Just orders. Delivered fast, clean, and perfect. She knows this rhythm. Gabe does too. The survival drills Gael and Adrian buried into their bones like gospel. But Gael isn’t expecting recall. He just needs her to stay here. Stay grounded.

“Drop a pin. Text it to me. Then sit down. Don’t move. ” A pause - barely perceptible. “Gemma. Don’t look at him. Not his face. You don’t need to remember that.”

And just like that, he locks it all down again. Emotion buried under precision and rage.

“I’m fifteen minutes out. If anything moves near you - don’t wait. Run. I’ll find you.”