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[spirestar]

Cam glances from Niya down to her quarry and back up again. The blood seeping into the ground and dyeing the woman several dark shades of red is evidence enough of what's happened and, really, Cam can't complain. The hand resting on her hip--hidden beneath the draping fabric of her jacket where it can lay over the hilt of a blade--falls back to her side. It's not like she needs a knife, or the scythe on her back to fight off a threat. And, as much as Niya appears to be possibly just that, Cam only gives a blasé nod.

"You're good at this," is what she finally says, long ponytail swaying as she leans to get an even better look at the terror-stricken man's dead face. Rigor mortis will keep him like that for a while. It's what he deserves. "I didn't expect anyone to be doing my job for me." A bodyguard, sure, one for-hire by owner the very building they're both stood in the courtyard of. By the abandon they've been laughing and talking with, Cam doubts Niya is interested in talking to her beyond this much; If she walked away now, it would probably be better. But, in a way, she's glad for the help--Cam has dirty enough hands already. "He looks like he might start screaming if I kicked him."

@spirestar liked! / cam & niya!

"Now that you've seen this...'fraid I'm gonna have to kill you." It's an intimidating statement, out of the woman standing, spattered with blood, over a corpse. Niya grins, laughs brightly, head falling backwards, apparently proud of her handiwork — and then she laughter ends abruptly and her head tilts forward, smile shifting from manic to lazy lightning quick. "JUST KIDDING!"

They step over the corpse like it's nothing — and it is! FUCK THIS GUY! — and land in front of the stranger. Clearly a hunter of some kind, too — smells like a hero, so not a bodyguard to morally bankrupt bastards like this one. Maybe another assassin? "I won't kill ya just for admiring my handiwork! It's real pretty, right?"

[spirestar]

She tries not to follow Piramumon's gaze, instead watching the path ahead of them as the morning market grows busier by the minute. Cam doesn't know enough about them--or truly, any more than their name and where she needs to take him--to understand what they're looking after in the street, or what she wishes for as she follows the figures of strangers pass them by. As a hired bodyguard and guide, there's no reason to ask either, but still Cam finds the words leaving her mouth before she can stop them, a hand reaching out to wave in Piramumon's periphery and get her attention: "What is it? Do we need to stop for something?"

Eyes linger — as they often do — on the small family that walks through the streets, a father and a child, and…aches, sometimes old and bone - deep.  He’d never known his parents, but he had been raised — if one could call it that — by servants, forbidden to so much as speak to her.  The idea of a family is…nice.  “I wish…”

[spirestar]

Amy's eyes widen just a touch, but she does her best to keep a pleasant enough look on her face, concern wrenching at her heart. "No, hey, it's alright," they sit up more on their knees, palms flat over their thighs as they try to meet their eyes, "they're not going to hurt you anymore."

@spirestar liked! / amy & kitsunami! / ugly by nicole dollanger.

"I'm gonna find them, don't you worry. And I'll make sure they're really fucking sorry."

[spirestar]

She blinks again and the dark voids of her irises only flick down to her mug for a second before she lets out a little puff of a sigh. It's clearly directed at herself, if the resigned way she scoops the cup up to hand it to Kaien means anything. All the while, Cam's expression stays mostly flat, only a touch more guarded than her vacant staring from before. "Sure, thanks--" And because she's not really used to being approached, she adds, "it's good. I've never been here before, but I would again. Just--" Cam gestures vaguely with a hand before shutting up a small notebook laid flat on the table, "got a lot on my mind."

She probably won't get a chance to do that, not with how often she has to hop buses and trains, but she does like the coffee. And it's been a long time since she felt comfortable sitting somewhere like this alone. The leather coat draped over her shoulders suddenly feels a little heavier, but she does her best not to think about it. "And maybe, yeah--Through you. My bad."

A vague non-answer — his favorite. He inclines his head in a brief nod; as if her ambiguous response revealed exactly what it was supposed to, effectively stowing his curiosity. “Through me, maybe, now that I’ve got an actual point of reference.” It’s usually a fifty-fifty gamble in situations like these — on whether someone’s impression is a reflection of indifference or a silent seek for aid. Seems to be the former here, thankfully. He gestures at her half-finished cup, the picture of customer service. “Want me to heat that up for ya? Seems a shame to drink it cold.” Or toss it, god forbid.

[spirestar]

Cam blinks, her dark eyes focusing again as she's addressed. Her coffee on the small corner table has already gone cold--She'd nearly forgotten she bought any at all. "Maybe," she replies flatly, regaining her bearings. She looks tired, light brown bangs overgrown and crowding her round face with the way her hair surrounds it like curtains to a window. "Maybe not." A tilt of her head as she looks him up and down, unsure of how to take being approached like this. "Was I really staring at you?"

@piliyi

“‘S rude to stare.” He cracks a smile as he says it — undistressed, but nonetheless curious. “Somethin’ on my face?”

@spirestar / sc.

[spirestar]

pls i need to write cam...does anyone want 2 thread.......

[spirestar]

He laughs airily, lifting one hand to tap a few fingertips over his lips as if Edythe has just told a joke. Lucien rarely crosses paths with others like himself, whether by design or chance is anyone's guess, and can't help being entertained by the prospect. It was a whim that had him accept the offer of speaking at a university and a whim that he made a point to speak to her at all, so he's happy for the opportunity — even if it's one he usually wouldn't risk.

"You haven't even tried?" Lucien tilts his head and the curls dangling by his ears frame his cheeks like a painting. A few decades worth of stasis can be a nice treat, he thinks at her, then continues, "I've always thought I got the short end of the stick with all I do, but that must be exhausting." He drops his hand into his skirt pocket to draw out a business card and pass it over, scrawling golden text laid over pink crisp card-stock, "Here, just pretend you have an interest in singing lessons, or floristry, or both--"

If he knew what she dreaded, Lucien might laugh even more at the idea of being killed — Someone as young as Edythe could certainly try it, but there's a reason Lucien has outlived so many others who drew attention to themselves. Unlike Edythe, the humanity refuses to drain from his posture and presence. Even his cheeks appear warm, however pale he may be.

"Artists say all kinds of strange things, don't they? No one will mind," he shakes his head, a comforting tinge to the knowing smile that curls his lips. "I'm not in the practice of bothering people either--But," when he nods his head forward slightly, the braided flower petals surrounding his hair bun sway, "I have to ask: why are there so many of you here?" At the school? In the city? Both are but a few of the answers his mind is open to hearing; Lucien caught a glimpse at Alice on his way to the lecture hall and it hardly ever takes long before he's sensed every vampiric-adjacent thing near him, especially in a new environment. I don't live here, only visiting, he thinks toward her again, hoping to make transparent that he's not asking to poke into her business, but to keep himself from territory issues. "Family affair?"

@spirestar : Lucien tilts his head, tapping his fingernails against the hardcover book in his hands--There's a knowing look in his pale eyes. “You don’t get enough--sleep, do you?” ( lucien as a guest speaker at the college edythe goes to? :0 )

It's not like she can't smell it on him. He can, of course, smell it on her. The beautiful girl shifts, allows the incessant hum of voices, a dull roar she can mostly ignore and strives to, peel away. Focuses on his mind, as she had during the earlier lecture once she'd realized that he was a monster, too. It had been funny, hearing it in his head the moment their eyes had met across the lecture hall and he'd realized.

There's no real ill intent, behind his skull or his question — his mind is all aimless curiosity, that's all. That's good. If he was asking the question with the intent to harm or expose her, she would have to kill him, and that would be just one additional sin on her spine. THOU SHALT NOT KILL. She's reminded of Carine, her mind echoing those words, a desperate mantra in a hundred languages, in the days after learning of Earnest's suffering.

Either way — the pair are alone in the library at current, and Edythe allows her gold eyes to go half - lidded, allows her body to still like a statue, to stop pretending at humanity. It's almost a kind of relief, not to have to hide. "I'm afraid I haven't slept in — close to 90 years, now. But — you knew that, Mr. De Lange."

His mouth parts, and she answers his thoughts before they can become words. "Even if either of us inconspicuous, I can read your mind." It's just polite to warn others.

[spirestar]

He has every right to ask, doesn't he? Minfilia can't blame the First's Warrior of Light for fearing her, or loathing her--Both maybe, or maybe he thinks nothing of her at all. Only of Her. The few moments that Minfilia was consciously herself within the Word of the Mother were ones spent developing an understanding of the world as it truly is in the eyes of a God: small and precious and by design, however flawed and painful that design so often was. In her own heart, Minfilia, wrestled into a cage of flesh and bone once more, pities him. They have a similar problem, don't they? Never really dying.

"I'm sorry," she says firmly, a clear end to the thought, and her arms make a noisy clacking sound as the armor of her other self shifts its plates when she crosses her arms. Minfilia looks almost sad, but the smile on her face never wavers. She's a stalwart force of strength even now; There's nothing she can allow to seep through the cracks, even for Ardbert. Even if Hydaelyn likely owes it to him, and much more. "I do not even know how long I'm meant to return here again and again."

Minfilia cannot explain her own situation in words. It's something she understands only by the nature of her existence now--a being with the density of an Ascian and the presence of a ghost. "Time moves--Differently here. It may not be long at all where you revived before. Longer here." A slight shadow crosses over her face and she appears much older than the body she inhabits, the incandescent glow of her eyes brightening under the Flood's reflection. "It," Minfilia tilts her head just so and a small braid by her ear catches on the neck guard of her engraved chest-plate, "may be much longer. I do not know beyond that." If only She'd said. Minfilia would like to know, too. How long they have / How much time they're needed for. "I'm sure She never meant for you to be able to ask me." If she sounds even a touch resentful of this fact, she can blame it on the truth, that she's eaten a girl's soul recently. Hydaelyn could hardly blame her for carrying that weight. "Truly, I never thought we'd have the chance either."

Though Ardbert can logically understand why he'd take a step back from someone who is not-quite-Hydaelyn, he can't help but feel a shock of guilt when he flinches away from Minfilia. Hydaelyn's power coursed deeply within her, reincarnation or not -- AND ARDBERT THOUGHT HE HAD HAD A SCORE TO SETTLE WITH A GOD FOR TOO LONG. A goddess who gave him a crystal when he'd felled his friends / 'the courage to do what others could not' / though he'd been a warrior of light he'd been the last Warrior of Light in his group / and after he'd killed them all. There's resentment in his heart now. And guilt for that resentment. She had guided them so well, for so long, only for this to be the way their story ended. TO BE IN THE PROPER PLACE? TO GUIDE ANOTHER? He would scream, but heroes don't -- do that.

He flinches again when she says his name. No one has spoken to him / or of him / like a person in so long. Ardbert, the Warrior of Light who brought catastrophe upon our land / Ardbert, who was foolish enough to let the Shadowkeeper into his ranks / Ardbert. The First has made it a curse. And after he had taken so long to pick it. Renda-Rae would call it ironic.

Despite his own pain, which he feels is immeasurable at this point, her words make him remember HE'S BEING UNFAIR. Minfilia is only a vector, some moving thing passing from Hydaelyn to the Source to the First. Of course she can't understand all. Or help him. But his grief wins out. "Please," he tries again / his eyes cast skyward to the spot where everyone had disappeared / everyone but him. "If I -- knew. How long, even? If I knew how long, I might --," he's not sure how the sentence is supposed to end either.

[spirestar]

@badnikbreaker : ❛  you're always taking care of me so now it's my turn to return the favor.  ❜ from cream for amy!

Amy's eyes go wide as Cream speaks to her, a guilty sort of smile crossing her face. It's the exact kind of thing she'd say herself--The kind of thing she never wanted Cream to have to feel. But maybe it's different like this, with Cream getting better from her cold and Amy just catching the same sniffles. They lean forward to pull the little rabbit into a sleepy sort of hug, cheek hovering over Cream's floppy ears. "Well, it's a good thing I have you here," Amy scrunches her nose a little to keep in a sneeze. "You're really feeling okay enough to help?"

[spirestar]

[spirestar]

🐝  *  ―  𝑪𝑨𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺. (  add " + " to reverse the action.  )

❛  do you want to tell me about your day?  ❜ ❛  here, you look like you're freezing.  ❜ ❛  i love you just the way you are, and i'm here to remind you of that whenever you need to hear it.  ❜ ❛  i promise i'll always be here if you need me.  ❜ ❛  i wish i could take away all your pain.  ❜ ❛  i'll stand by you, no matter what challenges may come our way.  ❜ ❛  i'm gonna make sure nothing bad will ever happen to you.  ❜ ❛  if you need a shoulder to lean on or someone to listen, i'm here.  ❜ ❛  if you need someone to talk to i'm always just one phone call away.  ❜ ❛  it's okay. i've got you. you're safe now.  ❜ ❛  it's okay to feel this way, we've all been there.  ❜ ❛  it's okay to lean on others for support occasionally.  ❜ ❛  just let me take care of you for a bit.  ❜ ❛  no matter what happens, you'll always have a place in my heart.  ❜ ❛  what do you need me to do to make you feel better?  ❜ ❛  you can always ask me for help if you need it.  ❜ ❛  you just relax and let me do the rest. you deserve a break.  ❜ ❛  you look like you could use a hug.  ❜ ❛  you're always taking care of me so no it's my turn to return the favor.  ❜ ❛  you're not alone in this. i'm here for you, no matter what.  ❜

[ blanket ] sender draping a blanket over receiver's shoulders [ breaths ] sender helping receiver to calm down by using breathing techniques [ compliment ] sender complimenting receiver to make them smile [ cry ] sender offering receiver a shoulder to cry on [ gift ] sender giving receiver a small gift [ hand ] sender holding receiver's hand while they're walking [ hug ] sender pulling receiver into a tight embrace [ injured ] sender helping an injured receiver with everyday tasks [ jokes ] sender trying to make receiver laugh [ kindness ] sender surprising receiver with random acts of kindness [ massage ] sender giving receiver a shoulder massage to tend to their sore muscles [ patterns ] sender drawing random patterns on receiver's skin [ pillow ] sender offering receiver to use them as a pillow [ scars ] sender gently tracing receiver's scars [ sick ] sender bringing a sick receiver whatever they need ( food / medicine / etc. ) [ steady ] sender wrapping an arm around receiver's waist to steady them [ support ] sender quietly sitting down next to receiver to let them know they're there [ touch ] sender letting receiver know they're there through simple touch [ warmth ] sender pulling receiver into their arms to share body heat [ wound ] sender cleaning / bandaging receiver's wound(s)

[spirestar]

𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 ( 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟕 ) dir. paul thomas anderson  /  feel  free  to  change  pronouns  and  subjects  as  you  see  fit  !

❛ he has made my dreams come true and i have given him what he desires most in return… ❜

❛ yes. maybe he’s the most demanding man … ❜

❛ there’s nothing i can say to get your attention aimed back at me, is there? ❜

❛ i cannot begin my day with a confrontation, please. ❜

❛ it’s the most lovely thing i’ve ever seen. ❜

❛ it makes me feel like i have courage. ❜

❛ comforting to think the dead can watch the living. i don’t find that spooky at all. ❜

❛ will you remember? ❜

❛ may I take you to dinner? ❜

❛ for the hungry boy, my name is [ … ] ❜

❛ i like to see who i’m talking to. ❜

❛ that’s beautiful, your secrets. ❜

❛ your things are so well arranged. ❜

❛ my sister is a terror maybe she’ll be a great dictator some day — ❜

❛ if you want to have a staring contest with me you will lose. ❜

❛ you look like a bird to me sometimes — or an alligator. ❜

❛ you’re a very handsome man. ❜

❛ why aren’t you married? ❜

❛ i am quite certain i was never meant to marry. ❜

❛ marriage would only make me deceitful and i don’t ever want that. ❜

❛ you sound so sure about things. ❜

❛ you’re just acting strong… for who? not for me, i hope. ❜

❛ it is only the expectations and assumptions of others that cause heart ache… ❜

❛ and who’s this lovely creature making the house smell so nice? ❜

❛ i feel as if i’ve been looking for you for a very long time. ❜

❛ well here i am..  you found me. ❜

❛ whatever you do, do it carefully … ❜

❛ but in his work i become perfect and i feel just right. ❜

❛ you look beautiful, really. very beautiful. you’re making me extremely hungry. ❜

❛ my little carnivore. ❜

❛ what are you looking so forlorn about, hm? ❜

❛ maybe one day you’ll change your taste, ❜

❛ perhaps i’m looking for trouble. ❜

❛ if that’s your wish, i hope it comes true for you. ❜

❛ have you had enough to eat? you seem thirsty. ❜

❛ i think he’s being too fussy… ❜

❛ let me drive for you. ❜

❛ when he’s like this, he’s very tender. ❜

❛ what do you want me to do with that? ❜

❛ accept her invitation. if you can stomach it. ❜

❛ i know you’re doing the best you can. ❜

❛ i’m afraid i must insist that you come. ❜

❛ i brought sincerity into his life. ❜

❛ go on, give us a kiss for the cameras. ❜

❛ how beautiful you are. ❜

❛ when you dream about your wedding dress, what is it that you dream? ❜

❛ are you a gold person or a silver person? ❜

❛ i’m trying to surprise him and love him the way that i want to. ❜

❛ i have to know him in my own way, ❜

❛ let me collect myself for a moment. ❜

❛ she’s very beautiful, like a sculpture of some kind. ❜

❛ this is meant to be a nice evening. ❜

❛ let me serve you. ❜

❛ usually, you always tell me what you think. ❜

❛ i don’t know what i’m doing here. ❜

❛ i wanted time with you. i wanted to have you to myself. ❜

❛ you have me all the time. ❜

❛ is it because you think i don’t need you? ❜

❛ are you a special agent sent here to ruin my evening and possibly my entire life? ❜

❛ do you have a gun? you here to kill me? ❜

❛ stop playing this game! ❜

❛ what game? what precisely is the nature of my game? ❜

❛ why don’t you just fuck off to back where you came from? ❜

❛ if you’re going to make her a ghost, go ahead and do it. ❜

❛ don’t let her sit around waiting for you. ❜

❛ don’t pick a fight with me, you certainly won’t come out alive. ❜

❛ i don’t know what the hell came over me. ❜

❛ i’ve never really felt like this before. ❜

❛ i’ll take care of you.❜

❛ i think this is clear. he wants you to fuck off. ❜

❛ i miss you. i think about you all the time. ❜

❛ i hear your voice say my name when i dream. ❜

❛ i just miss you, it’s as simple as that. ❜

❛ i want to tell you everything. ❜

❛ i don’t ever want to be without you. ❜

❛ there are things nagging at me. things i simply cannot do without you. ❜

❛ a house that doesn’t change is a dead house.❜

❛ will you marry me? ❜

❛ i probably owe you an apology of some kind. ❜

❛ how do you know how my life has been? ❜

❛ i want to go dancing. ❜

❛ there is an air of quiet death in this house. ❜

❛ i want you flat on your back. helpless. tender. open. with only me to help. ❜

❛ you’re not going to die. you might wish you were going to die, but you’re not going to. ❜

❛ kiss me, my girl, before i’m sick. ❜

❛ if he wasn’t here tomorrow, no matter. for i know he’d be waiting for me in the afterlife. ❜

❛ i am older and i see things differently, and i finally understand you. ❜

[spirestar]

It's hard sometimes to resist the urge to draw back and apologize, too. Mia doesn't scare him in the way a monster would -- He's scared for her, for her well-being and happiness, afraid she'll never feel comfortable ever again, even for a moment, for a second. And Ethan tries desperately to never be a part of what was done to her, even though he'll always be tied to those same people, to that same house and horror and bitter mold. He chose that, though. To go. He'll never regret it. Ethan only regrets that he can't be more patient; Mia deserves better than his exhausted frustration.

"No, Mia, I'm--" One of his hands reaches toward hers, but he pulls it back when he sees the way she moves her fingers, that familiar discomfort bleeding into her bones and breaking his heart. "I should've said something." Because he should have, but it hurts far worse to admit what she's compared him to before when she feels so trapped by their home. He knows it's not on purpose, knows he feels just as trapped some days by the restrictions put on them just for being victims, but he can't sink into it--Can't let himself. He'd crumple into a ball of hurt and venom if he did and there's too much he needs to keep trying to do to keep them safe. It's just too much sometimes. "It's alright, I know you didn't--I know you," he says firmly, trying again to offer his hand, this time palm out.

Maybe if Ethan could read her mind he'd be able to help more--If he could understand what not to do, what hurts her and how much. But they can only talk, and it's proven more difficult to remember how after so long apart. "You don't want to hurt anyone, not really. I just--I care about you Mia." He swallows, eyes flicking to the floor, "I'm sorry, too."

@spirestar : ❛  can't you see i'm hurting? or do you just not care enough to notice?  ❜ ( really shitty of me but. mithan ) / accepting.

Ah.

It's almost always a kind of relief — the rare moment where Ethan snaps at her, gets angry at her. Gets almost - angry at her. The self - hate is sharp, like dried mold or the knife Daddy sharpened special the first time he carved her throat half - open by way of punishment. ( not the chainsaw she hacked his arm off, that thing was dulled and rusted with too - many killings and too - much blood. ) It hurts, but it at least makes sense, as so little does outside the cage she spent three years / her whole life, it often feels like / trapped inside. Ethan's anger is far righter, far more logical, than his patience and his sweetness. And it would be even had she not spent three years learning that cruelty and abuse were the only true things.

She spits cruelty, somedays. Had today. She's just afraid — she's always afraid — and was a control freak long before Dulvey and her own sins drug every minute sign of potential autonomy out of her throat. Umbrella is so controlling and so close and Ethan tries to keep her safe, she knows he does, but she can't breathe around it somedays, their apartment feeling more and more like a prison / more and more like the rotted house that broke her heart. She'd snapped something cruel while he'd tried to soothe her, and he'd, for once, snapped back.

She looks at him, dark eyes flat with sick and relief and sad. Her hands are limp, her fingers too - long, too - pale, too - scared where Momma cut them off. His hands are fists. She can see the scar she left him at his wrist, and the hundreds of others she left behind his skin. "I'm sorry," she says, and she is, even if it is close to comfort, the way the confusion gets quiet, makes way for the devil she knows. "I'm — sorry." And she is. She's sorry that it's so hard to see anything outside her own skull, notice anything outside her skull. She hadn't realized he was hurting. Not more than they're both always - hurting. Not more than the man she loves more than the stars is always - hurting. Because of her. She's not a very good wife. She wasn't a very good wife before, either.

"I didn't mean to snap. I'm sorry." Her hands raise, fingers pressing together before her stomach, fidgeting. She can't pull them out of the sockets like she could before. She tries not to think about how much safer and more steady it feels when he's angry at her than when he's not. "I...I notice. I'll be better about noticing. Do you want...to talk about what's — what's wrong?"

[spirestar]

amy my friend amy

[spirestar]

Cam gives an actual, entertained smirk at Beatrice's impression. She's only observed this game for a short while in person, but already she's wondered how the Golden Witch can stand the guy sometimes. Maybe she really does hate him. Cam thinks she really hates Vergil sometimes. So probably not, huh? It's not worth thinking about -- The hope in her chest doesn't need / have enough space for him anymore. Because he's never coming back. She takes another sip of her tea and nods.

"I won't forget," is what she says, because she won't. Cam was raised by people too much like what little she's seen of this Ushiromiya Kinzo, cruel and violent and obsessed with the occult, unbending in the face of reality or logic. Magic, however, just as the Lady Beatrice says, relies on reality in some ways, too. Whatever that supposed sorcerer has done with his power, it's nothing compared to the magic Beatrice has birthed, that Ushiromiya Maria creates within her heart. To Cam, at least. If she knew magic was meant to make people happy in the same way Beatrice has been told, she might even believe it. As stupid and far away as happiness is, Cam does wish happiness for one person. "And--" she shrugs, her voice as genuine as she's ever able to make it sound, "who doesn't love a closed room?"

Books are certainly something Cam spends enough time with. Not that she needs to tell something so trivial to the Game Master. Her opponent must truly be floundering endlessly if Beatrice can spend any time with Cam. It's a gift, surely. Not that the witch couldn't be ten places at once, but to have a fraction of direct attention as a piece / tool is less common than someone like Battler might assume. Cam often feels out of her depth, but he must feel like he's six foot under if he can't stop flailing. Idly, she wonders if he's privy to this conversation, or will be at any point. Certainly not--But it makes Cam wonder nonetheless.

She doesn't want to sound presumptuous, so she tempers her tone to remain flat as usual and not lilt at the end when she says thoughtfully, her brow furrowing as she watches the cousins below do something or other, "It must be strange, waiting for a miracle," must because it is. "A flash of time for someone as powerful as you, but so long for Humans."

The witch pouts for a moment over Cam's cool attitude. "Mu." When she'd first descended upon her, Beatrice'd thought that she would be a fun one to break with all her crabby eyes and glowers. But, surprisingly enough, the Human had offered nothing but respect to Beatrice from day 1. Odd to not have to fight for it. Contrasting with Battler's stubborn performance in the parlor, Cam is like a breath of fresh air, her cranky demeanor almost sweet in comparison to the anti-magic vitriol Battler spews even as he giggles and cries and shouts. Cool rock versus blistering storm.

Is this how Lambdadelta feels when talking with her? It's nice -- to be in control of SOMETHING. The gameboard is Beatrice's and Beatrice's alone, but the gameboard is also an empty world with pawns to inhabit and knock over and kill and revive. Cam has a will of her own. Wishes and desires. Cam has magic, even if she doesn't understand how to use it. Controlling that output feels empowering, especially after the years Beatrice has spent locked up and powerless in a homunculus's body.

Teacher and Maria have always said witches should make people happy. So even if Beatrice's role is ultimately to bring despair to the Ushiromiyas of 1986, maybe...well...maybe she can be a bit selfish and act out that role with someone who doesn't exist in that scope. Behind the curtain, so to speak. A crumpled up draft. Beatrice can only hope Cam's wish doesn't amount to something like that too.

"Ahhh, that redhead...He's got quite the personality!" Beatrice cackles mirthfully. " 'Is there a Device X?' 'If I just spin the chessboard around ooooone moooore tiiiimeee!' 'It's uuuuuseless, it's aaaalll uselesssss...!' Really, all he does is use the same arguments over and over again. I confess it is a little tiring to face such an unimaginative opponent. These closed rooms are simple matters for me and my magic, and yet I must face the same 'deductions' every twilight." How many times will Beatrice have to say It's a closed room, so no hidden entrances or exits exist?

"But rituals are important for magic. The tedium is sacrosanct too, you understand. For without those mundane things to put your hope into, a miracle cannot interrupt the routine, and therefore magic cannot take place. You will do well to remember this."

[spirestar]

for @sunhalf , piper & cam

Cam likes to say she doesn't like kids. It keeps them away from her, even the biggest ones, and her glares don't hurt either. She doubts they ever find her scary, that'd be preferable, sure, but Cam also knows she probably looks more like a pissed off dog who bites than a scary woman who might hurt a kid. That's not really her fault, though, is it? Kids are stupid. If they knew better, they'd all be scared of her. She'll get them killed.

Which is why, after -- How many years has it been? Since she held a baby? Since she had to think about what happens when a baby gets older, since she had to read books about how toddlers and teenagers become adults somehow? -- fifteen years, at least, she's utterly confused by this kid, practically a kid, she's currently, certainly saddling herself with. All because she still hasn't learned how to quit being so nosy. How much blood are kids this age supposed to have again? She used to know back when she was a teenager, exactly how many liters she could lose before it was dangerous. It's probably not a lot right? Is it different for boys? Cam's practical knowledge on the subject is somewhat skewed by half-devils.

Like pure liquid obsidian, Memento clings to Cam's arm like a promise as she shifts it into a barrier like a shield, broad enough to defend two people -- something she hasn't done since she was nineteen and not alone -- and it shimmers. That's the devil at the other end of the street's blows against it as it spits flame and brimstone, but it looks beautiful from beneath the shield. And she turns halfway to look the kid over again, her eyes as pitch as the demon clinging to her, protecting them both. They look alright enough, not dying yet. Which is probably the best she can hope for. Because she's a professional, Cam makes quick work of the creature on the other side of her shield -- Slides over the dark aegis like it's made of water and blasts the devil through its every not-quite-organ, her wrists and two handguns stacked atop each other. The monster's pinned to the alley stonework and its skin hisses as it disappears into smoke with a bloodcurdling shriek. Here's where she'd usually leave. Memento, the strange shield left defending the kid, slowly dissipates like sand in an hour glass and shimmies across the alley in the form of a black snake, tongue flicking when it glances back to the person it'd been defending. It darts to creep up the hem of her coat to find her hand again as she shoves her guns away ( kids find that shit scary right?? do teenagers??? young adults?? jesus christ. ) and approaches the back end of the alley again, her round eyes searching for any evidence of further combatants -- all before landing back on the kid. She's going to think of them as a kid because she can't imagine anyone thought anything differently of her back then. And she'd been worse than stupid.

"Hey, uh--" She holds her hands up once to nonverbally say I won't hurt you and then drops one hand to her pocket, drops the other to her side until she's face to face with them. "You alright? I didn't get you with any shrapnel right?" Cam offers out that loose hand carefully, fingers scarred over nearly every knuckle more than once. In the light from the next street, she looks almost greyed out along with everything else, providing little contrast on her person aside from the comparatively lighter brown of her hair and the pink of the scars covering half her face, trailing down her neck. She doesn't even look mean now, really -- Concerned, maybe, or frustrated a little, but not angry. Not what she really is. It would be odd for her to consider she might not look cruel. Then again, it's not like her face ever comforted her baby sister because she smiled a lot. "Are you hurt?"

[spirestar]

@heartinhands : ❛ we're finally having some good luck, why can't we enjoy it? ❜ (mia + ethan)

Ethan glances from his plate to his hands, palms turned up and forearms exposed. He doesn't wear clothes that leave his wrists uncovered much anymore. They're at home, though, where it's safe. Or, where they want it to be. To keep himself from being swallowed up by the fear the creeps under his skin like hands trying to break through, pushing against his veins and tissue until they burst out, he drops his bad wrist to his lap and retrieves his fork with his other hand. Tries to smile.

"I'm not trying to be difficult," he says, smiling mildly. He's really not. Ethan loves their new home -- It may not be where he wants it to be and it may be stressful to be so far away from anyone they've ever known, but he understands -- and he loves Mia. Enjoying their time together isn't hard for him, not usually; Even when he's afraid, when she's hurting and refuses to talk to him, when he feels like he might lose her over and over without any mold to blame at all, Ethan could never say he doesn't enjoy being with her. Through it all, the thread binding those moments is their love for one another. He'd never consider otherwise. "I just--I'm trying to adjust."

It's unlike Mia to think anything Chris's people have done for them is worth praise, but -- and it makes Ethan's heart twist to consider -- maybe she wants him to feel a bit better. Maybe she wants to comfort him. Things could be worse, that's for sure. He's don't the same thing for her before, tried to find the good in the bad when they both knew things could be far better. So how can he blame her? They have a massive house, enough room to do what they like, they're allowed to visit the nearest towns for food and to talk to people. It's more than they've had under the thumb of organizations in the past several years. Ethan swallows and offers his scarred hand across the table, the kind of olive branch that's become a way of offering out his heart. "Sorry." The rest of his complaints from before, about feeling trapped and hints about wanting to find a way to quit his job -- an impossible thing, but still, still -- slip back under his smile. "Did you really make this soup, Mia? What happened to," he lifts his fork-clad hand to make air quotes, "'I burn frozen dinners?'"