#chatzy

[honeysmokedham]

It's Conditional || Nora & Regan

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Saol Eile, Cliodhna's house. PARTIES: Regan @kadavernagh and Hamstring @honeysmokedham SUMMARY: Regan is ready to go against her training. She's ready to tell Hamstring what Declan is supposed to be.

“Declan is going to die in front of you. That’s how it works. You are going to love him, and he will die because of it.”

The thought of opposing Fate, of even thinking about it let alone suggesting it, roiled in Regan’s stomach like her grandmother’s cooking. Yet she was doing just that. As if the clandestine plans she had made with Wynne weren’t bad enough (but she didn’t need to be part of them herself, she didn’t, she was going to think about it, and that’s what she was doing, not–) her attempt to convince the ham child that this place wasn’t what she thought, was in direct opposition to Fate. Declan was going to die, and practically all of Saol Eile knew it. How many banshees had screamed for him already? And even if, somehow, someway, he managed to escape his destiny, they could not let him leave this place alive. 

Yet Regan was still going to try one more time. The way her chest felt loaded down with rocks was surely a response to the disobedience possessing her, and not out of the compassion she was still trying to exile. Regan waited until her grandmother had left – there was a highly-anticipated worm race in preparation of the holiday – and found the ham child in the guestroom, drawing something, and becoming less and less like a guest every day. That was about to end. “Who’s that one for? Declan? We need to discuss him.” She couldn’t count the number of times she had declared that, then been brushed off, or ducked away herself, too cowardly to say what was necessary and go against her kin. This was the first time she had broached the subject since actually seeing Declan, screaming for him, though. And if she had any hope of pulling the child out of here in the short window they might have soon, she had to strip the paint from whatever rosy walls the child gazed into all day.

She invited herself past the threshold of the door (was it inviting? This was her place of residence) and leaned stiffly against the wall as the child sketched out some of the finer details of a badger’s skull. The child was talented, there was no doubt, but something stung like dirt rubbed into an open wound whenever Regan walked by one of the drawings adorning the walls where there had previously been only blank space. Cliodhna was fond of them. She did not smile, but the small grunt of approval at that first drawing of a dead cow replayed in Regan’s head, where bitterness gnawed like it had teeth.

Regan watched, sternly, pointedly, before realizing the child was too absorbed in what she was doing to listen (and probably wouldn’t even so; it was no wonder Emilio let her do as she pleased). Had the child even heard her before? Regan cleared her throat, tight and controlled; it would have broken nothing. “I will first say what I’ve said every time I’ve spoken to you: leave, because I am not.” It was lip service at this point. The child wouldn’t, even though this was detrimental to the both of them. And as for Regan… she glanced down at the ring on her finger, the one she had almost lost in the lake for making her feel like even half a person every time she saw it, and she had lost the ability to pin her failures on it. 

The child’s assent did not come; of course, the child would not go either. Regan had a decent idea of what would get her attention. “I met Declan. He had an appointment with me. Did he tell you about that?” She was probing for potential knowledge about what Declan was, the honor that awaited him (had the child been a banshee…). Her wings flicked in agitation. “You don’t listen. I’m doing this to you as a favor right now.”

—---

Each day the barrier between guestroom and her room was dissolving, the letters of guest morphing into something adjacent to home. After discovering, and approving of, Hamstring's drawing prowess, Cliodhna had supplied her with paper and charcoal, in return Hamstring had been making her art. The older banshee appreciated the grotesque and morbid art Hamstring was supplying, something the humans in Wicked's Rest would blanche at; shuffling away with muttered lines of distress because monsters were what haunted them and not what they appreciated. 

This badger skull was a new one for Cliodhna. When she returned from the worm races, they would have bone broth and discuss banshee things. Cliodhna's English was confusing. Sometimes she spoke in easy-to-understand phrases that followed all conventions of English grammar. Other times her questions felt badly translated, "Is your flesh ready?" "Are you bonded?" To which Hamstring would employ years of media training. You see, telling interviewers you don't understand their questions is rude. It makes you look uninformed, and being uninformed means you don't care. Instead, you deflect the question, bringing up something new. Deflections were easy when Hamstring was genuinely curious about the giant worm statue and the story that goes with it. 

The heavy thrum of instruments slamming and a "vocalist" screaming leaked out of Hamstring's headphones. Head down, her fingers worked on the fine shading of the badger's skull. Hamstring discovered that Cliodhna liked her bone art to be true to the source, but she still added a twist of her own, a break near the temple where a knife and worm were entwined. A whisper of words, catching on Declan, brought Hamstring to attention that she wasn't alone. Hamstring looked up, slipping off the headphones and staring blankly at Regan. This was new. Normally it was Hamstring walking into Regan's room every morning, asking the banshee if she was ready to go home yet. "Sup?" Hamstring was considerate enough to turn the music off, eyes plastering on Regan. 

"I want to leave Regan." That wasn't true anymore, it was a lie that slipped easily from her tongue to dance in the space between them. A jester performing for his king out of duty and not out of joy. Because if Hamstring left, her days of lounging by the waterfall with Declan would end. That alone was enough to chain her to Saol Eile for the rest of her life, despite the promises she'd made to return to Wicked's Rest. But they wanted her there in one piece. Return whole, is what she had promised. Declan - and this was hard to explain- felt like a piece of her. Leaving him and returning would break something in her. A broken promise. A broken Hamstring. Those were too many breaks, it was easier to stay here, where life was simple.

"But we both know I can't without you. If you want me gone, say you're ready and we'll be out by tonight." Regan wouldn't call her bluff, Hamstring knew, Regan was still searching for something here. Hamstring suspected that something was supposed to stop Regan from feeling like an outsider and fit in. What Hamstring had found here. In Hamstring’s mind, the jealousy of seeing Hamstring fit in this place she was forced to run from, was tearing them apart. Constantly Regan would turn the other way if she saw Hamstring coming, avoid conversation with her, or simply make an excuse to leave her presence. But Hamstring understood. Hamstring knew the bitter feeling of watching someone else thrive where you longed to simply belong, so she didn’t hold it against Regan. Hamstring would also have given anything to help Regan find that missing piece. Maybe with it, she’d feel confident enough to return home to those waiting for her. Or happier with their life in Saol Eile. 

“No, he didn’t tell me,” Hamstring answered, looking up with a question at Regan. Regan had been telling Hamstring to be careful around Declan since the moment they met. To leave him alone, give him space. So while Declan had told Hamstring about his doctor's appointment, the lie was once again easier. To stop a familiar argument from repeating. It would be a waste of time, a record on repeat forced to play the same song over and over again. Hamstring took a deep sigh, looking back down at her art and starting again. “And what is this huge favor, Regan?”

—------

Hamstring didn’t want to leave. If Regan said she was ready to go right now, would the child even go with her? (She wasn’t ready to go (she might have been ready to go), not unless– and even then, how– no, she couldn’t leave, even if she wanted to (did she? Did it matter? (yes, there were things that mattered, people that mattered, one person (Jade, it was Jade (did she get the message?). But her brothers were also (what about her mom? And her dad would have hated to see her here, it was what he spent his whole life trying to avoid))– and they would never know why, would never understand. (but what if they could?)) who mattered so much she–) Did anything matter beyond these short, wind-up toy lives the humans had?), and she didn’t want to, she didn’t, don’t think about the lake (the plan, there was a plan, a loose plan, but a–), focus on them). 

Regan frowned, trying to ignore what was definitely indigestion (she was a medical doctor).

But no. Hamstring had Declan here. She had been able to reinvent herself even if it was as something she was not: the child was able to do what Regan couldn’t. No wonder her grandmother approved. Sometimes Regan wondered if Hamstring remembered she wasn’t really Hamstring. The way she looked at Cliodhna with admiration that Regan never possessed for her grandmother… it wasn’t going to last. Declan was going to die, and Hamstring had to be gone before his body grew cold. And Regan sat complacently by. She had. She held Declan up at the clinic for an unnecessary examination to keep the two of them away from each other, her efforts to tell Declan of what else was out there came from a half-stone heart, and if it hadn’t been for Wynne, for the lake, she was not sure she would have been brave enough to be standing here right now.

Bravery often felt like the worst kind of foolishness, didn’t it? Could a coward be brave? Would her grandmother have looked upon her boldness and declared that it came from a weak heart wrapped in undisciplined muscle and a body attached to wings and lungs she did not deserve?

Regan’s gaze dropped. The child’s question was not what it seemed – not only did Hamstring not really want to leave, but leaving without Regan was still out of the question. Regan wouldn’t play her hand yet. “I don’t know what your plan was. You can’t get out the same way you got in. They wouldn’t… even if I… they wouldn’t let me leave again. There is no walking out.” Which didn’t mean she wanted to go (but–). She couldn’t want. She didn’t. She hadn’t. She couldn’t. Yet worry about those back h– in Wicked’s Rest hooked onto her skin even more than the feeling of fae all around her, and that tiny, stupid, remaining ember of hope for something better kept sparking no matter how many attempts she made to drown it out.

She had told Wynne she would think. This was thinking. That indigestion really was homicidal. 

Wynne left the lake yesterday, sensing that the purpose of this journey here had been worthwhile, feeling the victory of a successful mission, if only they could wait her out for a few more days. Regan remained deeply uncertain. When she came back here last night, Cliodhna’s eyes tracked her in. Her grandmother was silent, until she wasn’t. 

“You breathe,” her grandmother had remarked, and Regan registered the concealed disgust in her tone. 

“Yes.” 

Regan had meant it as assent, agreement, that she had failed and would always fail. Her grandmother had raised a brow and let her slink upstairs. Only now did Regan recognize the defiant edge that had developed that day. She did not feel nearly as sharp as that single, cutting word.

Her disobedience made her feel the burn of the lie she’d told here weeks ago to keep the child away from her grandmother’s scream, it forced her to remember the other lie she’d told at the clinic to afford Wynne and Elias enough time to get out of here if they were smart enough to use it, it made her recall how she spoke of cremation with Declan in a voice so quiet it did not feel like it came from her lungs, it reminded her how obvious the message she’d sent yesterday had been, how even Wynne knew who Regan had been inspired to talk to. There was a common thread weaving all of these together, and it was not Fate, but something more tangible.

It made clear, finally, why she was standing here right now. Regardless of whether she remained here or not, she cared.

“Listen to me.”

Regan wasn’t sure how much she believed that Declan didn’t immediately run to the child after that appointment, but it almost didn’t matter. Declan wouldn’t have told Hamstring what Regan was able to tell her about the rites. All of Hamstring’s gratitude was reserved for Cliodhna, though, not her. 

The child was as stubborn as Regan was desperate. “Put your pencil down and listen to me. The favor is information.” Information she was supposed to spill to the child weeks ago. She had tried, though, she had. Just… not that persistently. Not like this. Never like this. Regan rolled the back of her skull against the wall. She wasn’t supposed to tell humans any of this, but right now, Hamstring was not in a position a human would ever be in. Regan had put her there. “Declan is… he’s part of your an chéad scread. You’ve heard my grandmother mention that, yes? Of course you have. It’s all she talks about.” If Hamstring heard bitterness seething behind her words, no she did not. “It’s a rite. We all go through it. I did. And the second it happens for you, you’re going to be revealed as a fraud. You won’t scream. You won’t have wings. You will break, but not in the way you’re supposed to.” And Regan hadn’t even begun to think about what might happen to her for perpetuating this lie. “Let me guess. She’s asking you about how fond you are of Declan, and how prepared you are to accept what’s yours, or something along those lines.”

She had never asked Regan any of that. She just… she just…

Regan tried to stand a little straighter, pushing her shoulders up, but she wasn’t sure she’d be standing had the wall not been propping her there. Never had she spoken of this so plainly with anyone, and it felt like a betrayal coating her mouth with ash, even though her heart told her it wasn’t a betrayal at all; it was exactly what she needed to say. Like the protective lies, like telling Declan about her father’s smile, like sliding her ring back on her finger. 

“Declan is going to die in front of you. That’s how it works. You are going to love him, and he will die because of it.”

—--------

"There is always a way out. We could steal one of the cars. We could walk. I can turn into a bear and you can ride me out. You have a personal entourage of talented people, and Elias. We'll make a way out for you." This was their impasse, the reason Hamstring knew she'd have more time with Declan. A rock pressing against a hard place, each expecting the other to move, each an immovable force. What was that book she'd started reading? Greek mythology was always good for comparisons. Perhaps Regan was Sisyphus, pushing the boulder Hamstring up the hill to send her home, and each day Hamstring would roll back down, starting the day in Regan's room, proudly proclaiming she was still there with her presence. Or the metaphor could go the other way. Hamstring had never been good at metaphors. 

Regan had a serious tone. Combined with the fact this was the most Regan had spoken to Hamstring in days, she decided to take this seriously. Hamstring placed her charcoal down, and turned in her chair so she was facing Regan dead on. Blank eyes staring at blank eyes. A contest of emotionless presenting. Hamstring had heard of her chead scread, an event she assumed was the banshee equivalent of a debutante ball. Which, by the way, was something she only escaped having because of its roots in white supremacy and was not feminist, as her dads put it. Hamstring knew her dads would have loved to present her to all their peers in a ball gown with a dance. Actually, hadn't that been what happened anyway? This was not paying attention. Hamstring drew her mind from her past, the past that didn't matter now that she was Hamstring. 

Hamstring took a moment to digest everything Regan was saying. It was a loud accusation. It felt like a slap. A sting of pain shot through her body. Hamstring had to sit with it for a moment. Why did these words hurt? "I ran away from my home." Hamstring looked away from Regan, her eyes searching the bright blue sky out the window. Anything but eye contact. "I wasn't good at being my fathers' daughter. I didn't fit into their idea of family and success. I'm a monster. And they are human. It was never going to fit. They loved me. I love them. But I could never love myself there." Her hand started tapping at the desk. The only sign, in a perfectly crafted mask of indifference, that something was wrong. 

"Two years after I left, they adopted a new baby. She's... just a kid. But I think she'll be a better fit than I ever was." A moment, a pause. A silence. "It hurts to see her take my place. Fit in better. Be where I should be and do it right, knowing that I could never." A deep breath. "I'm sorry that's what I'm doing to you here. I would help you, if I knew what I was doing right. This shouldn't be you vs me. It's us vs them. Which is why I don't understand." Another deep breath, as the anger started to boil over. "Why you're trying to scare me again? Every time I do things you don't like, you do this. You tell me someone is going to die. I broke into your house, suddenly I'm going to die. I'm getting close to Declan, fitting in here, and you don't want me, so I better leave so Declan doesn't die?" 

Hamstring was on her feet now, her monotone tinted with emotion. "I know it sucks. But that's not my fault." The anger was too much for Hamstring. She started shoving her way past Regan, intent on leaving the house, putting some distance between them and walking this big emotion off. Maybe then she'd be ready to deal with it. 

—--------

“You will leave even if it’s without me.” Regan was firm, giving her final words on the matter, knowing that it would likely come down to this, and much sooner than the child thought. She would hate Regan for the rest of her life, but she’d be alive to do that.

Unlike… it wasn’t what Regan had expected, the way the revelation of Declan’s death seemed to wick right through the child’s face. It hadn’t been absorbed, only heard. If the child were to move her head, Regan might see the sentiment dripping out of her ears. “Are you listening? I told you to pay attention. Declan is going to die.” And as she said it, Regan realized her mistake. Not one right now (though she was sure there were many now too), but months ago. Why should the ham child believe her about someone’s death when, in a moment of perceived retribution, she had managed to make the girl think her death was near? That she had taken off into the mines shortly after – Regan’s words no doubt on her mind – was something Regan still tried not to think about. Even though Regan didn’t think she was getting to the child, Hamstring did still have a thoughtful look on her face, one aimed toward the past and not the future.

When the child did eventually speak, it was a seeming non-sequitur. Her being a runaway made sense. Regan always knew there was something, some personal interest, that kept her personally involved in Regan’s situation. In hiding in Regan’s luggage, she had been seeking something for herself, too. Regan didn’t even pretend to know where this was going, not that it mattered – the child was doing everything she possibly could to not even look in Regan’s direction. “Why… why would you run away if they loved you?” She probably shouldn’t have asked, but she did; she had known a family that loved her, and the only force that could have pulled her away from them was Fate itself. Something else slipped across her mind, but if it was irony, it was gone before she could see it. And Regan did understand not fitting in, never being able to measure up. She did. Was that the child’s point? No, that didn’t seem right.

It hurts to see her take my place. 

That was it. A connection she never would have made on her own sparked, making her hair raise as if it generated static. “What?” The t came out hard, flipping out of her mouth. A couple of days ago, she might have been able to hold it back, to keep her lip from curling and her brow from lowering, but now the accusation skimmed off her epidermis. She stood up straight, pushing herself off the wall.

“Are you out of your blistering mind? You think I’m jealous? You think…” Regan had to bite her tongue to keep from snapping in the wrong direction, “This is not some adoption, dúisigh. My grandmother does not adopt. Have you watched her at all, downstairs, with the animals? The carcasses with blood crusted around their ears? She deafens them and hollows them out, displays their pelts as triumphs, and then she is proud.” Hamstring didn’t see it. “She is proud of her rows and rows of patellas, selected and cleaned and organized precisely how she wishes. The first words she spoke to me after she– after my– she said ‘at least your wings will be impressive’.” Desperation seeped from Regan’s voice in too many places for her to plug up. She had been leaking since walking out of that lake, shoulders hung in defeat, and it would take decades to undo it. If she ever could. She suspected she couldn’t. After all… it wasn’t working. 

Hamstring was not tolerating any of this well either, though probably for other reasons. She had never heard the child speak this much of her past, and for it to surface in this way– did she feel robbed? Like she had bounced around looking for something like this for years, and finally found it? Regan didn’t care. She was going to feel robbed of so much more if she didn’t listen. “Stop!” It came out as a screech that sent a stab of humiliation through her. That wasn’t supposed to happen. The door swung on its hinges, Hamstring pushing out. Regan chased the child down the stairs and found the front door much the same, with only Hamstring’s silhouette ahead. “You’re not listening to me. He’s– he’ll– it isn’t about fitting in. He’s–” Outside. They were outside. And all of Saol Eile could hear this. Regan’s mouth dropped open. She debated following, but she couldn’t keep up with a bear, nor would it be good to provoke the child to become one. With one last breath, one last attempt, Regan called after her. “It’s conditional.”

[gossipsnake]

TIMING: Early October 2023 LOCATION: Midnight Drive-In PARTIES: Anita (@gossipsnake) and Xóchitl (@vanishingreyes) SUMMARY: Two women hanging out at a drive-in theater. What are they gonna do? Kiss? CONTENT WARNINGS: N/A

There were people who thought they knew Anita, and then there were people who actually knew Anita. The former was a fairly large category of people consisting of former professors, colleagues, some students, bartenders she saw on the regular, a handful of friends, and no doubt a few (dozen?) women who psychoanalyzed her inability to commit. The second group was much smaller - essentially just her family. And Metzli. But with each passing year, Anita worried that her own family was beginning to shift into the first category. The longer she was in America, living among humans with a regularity and familiarity they did not understand, the more she felt isolated and misunderstood. 

Maybe that was why it struck her so distinctly when she came across Xóchitl also scouring the Mexican food section of the local grocery store a few weeks back. Anita had no need to consume human food and she certainly did not have to eat with the same level of frequency that they did, but there was something about enjoying a taste of home that brought her comfort. Usually had she come across a woman that insanely stunning she would have tried to take her home but instead she ended up letting the woman have her mom send some Mexican treats up to Wicked’s Rest for her. 

The gesture was wonderful but brought her some pause. She didn’t have relationships with people that were like this. That were… simply nice? Anita had ultimately ended up at the conclusion that the woman was too comforting for her to be human. So she decided it was worthwhile to get to know her a bit better and figure out exactly what she was. Could she be a fellow lamia, perhaps? 

That was why she invited her to go see a movie instead of immediately suggesting they go over to her place. Anita wanted to see how she interacted with the rest of the world. 

She didn’t remember there being nearly as many latine people in town when she’d been growing up. Of course, Xóchitl’s perception of the town when she was growing up was missing more than a few pieces, but that didn’t negate the immense feeling of comfort that came along with finding someone else looking for Mexican foods in the grocery store. 

Certainly, Anita was beautiful - one of the most beautiful people she’d come across since returning to town, but the near-immediate kinship that she’d felt with the woman felt even nicer than perhaps a night spent together would’ve. Of course, that didn’t mean that Xóchitl didn’t discount a night together sometime in the future, but having someone who she felt good around was more important, right now.

So of course she’d asked her mother to send her snacks for herself and her new… acquaintance. Friend. Whatever Anita was, though the idea of friends was still weird and not something that sat all too comfortably with Xóchitl. Namely due to the fact that having friends meant you could lose them in the most terrible of ways, and she wasn’t going to let herself go through that again. It was why her friendships since Mackenzie had been surface-level, for the most part. Even if she’d found herself fonder of some than she would have liked to be, she’d always done her best to keep it surface-y. Which, of course, made a lot of things lonely, a lot of the time.

So maybe she could decide to be friends with Anita. At least, they could go to a movie together. So maybe it felt nice that the other woman wanted to pick her up, and so maybe Xóchitl had dressed up somewhere between casual and hot night out. So maybe she’d packed some more snacks. She heard a knock at her door and opened the door, offering Anita a bright smile, switching immediately into Spanish. “Nice to see you. I’m ready to go if you are.”

As soon as Xóchitl opened the door and flashed her that near perfect smile followed by the sweet sound of her native language, Anita felt encapsulated by the same warmth she felt when they had run into each other at the grocery store. She didn’t have words for it and she didn’t think she cared to learn any, substantiating those feelings felt a kind of foreign that made her uneasy and she wanted to bask in the warmth for the time being. 

“A pleasure to see you again, too.” Her eyes danced down the other woman, taking in how ridiculously stunning she looked before returning her gaze to match Xóchitl’s and grinning. “Absolutely. Let’s go.” Anita quickly realized that she hadn’t really thought this plan through. Sure, she wanted to learn more about Xóchitl, but she also didn’t know how she’d get through the night without suggesting they bail and go back to her place. 

Determined to at least make it through the movie first, Anita turned her thoughts to less salacious things. “You’re place is really lovely. How long did you say you’ve been in town, again?” Anita had taken the lead walking back from the front door to her car. On her approach she briefly considered going to open the passenger door for Xóchitl before deciding that was far too chivalrous for her, even in these circumstances. 

Anita was unfairly beautiful.

Though, if she were honest, Xóchitl was aware that she herself certainly wasn’t lacking in the beauty department.

Which was probably self-centered of her or something, but she didn’t have too much effort to care about that right now. Not when she had a chance at excellent company, a good movie, and possibly more, after it was all done. “Just since March.” Spanish again. “I can continue in Spanish, or switch back to English, whatever you’d prefer. Anything for beautiful women.” 

Locking the door, she followed Anita back to the car and got in, immediately turning to her friend once she’d entered the car too. “I forget, sorry, have you seen this movie before?” Xóchitl grinned, “and I hope you’ll forgive me if I’m making a fool of myself. I did bring snacks, though. If we wanted. Though I’m content to just watch.”

It was like Xóchitl had taken a page out of Anita’s own playbook, casually dropping a compliment at the end of her sentence. It was good, but not enough to make her veer away from her mission for the night. Not yet, anyway.  “I prefer Spanish when I can, which is not as often as I would like, but thankfully often enough.” When Anita had first moved to the US she had such a difficult time switching between English and Spanish, often answering in Spanish even to questions posed in English. These days, especially in this town, she found it was sometimes the other way around. 

“Oh, yes,” Anita responded with a slight laugh, “I don’t know if I could tell you how many times I’ve watched this movie, actually. Frida has always spoken to me - I adore the strange way that she saw the world. Add Salma Hayek into the mix… I mean, that’s a recipe for success.” 

Normally Anita liked to save her appetite for her big meals but if there was one thing she couldn't resist it was snacks that reminded her of home. “Well you certainly came prepared, huh? What’d you bring?” While tempted to make some comment about Xóchitl herself being quite the snack, Anita resisted. Though she was sure that the way her eyes glanced over at her in the passenger seat gave her thoughts away. So she turned her gaze back towards the road as they made their way towards the drive-in. “What about you, have you seen this movie before?” 

“Thankfully indeed, though I imagine more is always better, hm?” She didn’t need to look at Anita for that answer – if the two of them were at all similar (and she knew that they were), then the answer would be a resounding yes, absolutely. Xóchitl was grateful for all the Spanish speakers she’d run into since coming back – it wasn’t perfect at all, and didn’t make the town ideal in any way, but it did make her feel at least a bit more at home than she’d expected to feel.

“Glad to be watching with an expert, then,” Xóchitl nodded along to Anita’s words, “oh I agree with you on all that, I’m just apparently woefully uneducated,” she pouted, though her eyes betrayed any actual appearance of sadness or shame.

She shrugged, “just some chips, mostly. Some dried fruit too. All stuff my mamá sent me, so it’s legit.” Xóchitl couldn’t help but smile at the way Anita’s eyes made their way over her body, “I like to be prepared, you know – just thinking ahead, I like to make anyone who I’m with feel satisfied.” The eyebrow raise would give away some of her own thoughts, “and no, I haven’t. I’m uneducated,” her lips pouting again, “but I promise I’m a quick learner.”

Anita found that having a playful back and forth with someone else was almost always a surefire sign of compatibility. It was the type of banter that just came easily and felt natural. It wasn't often that she came across people that felt familiar, and it wasn't just the shared heritage with Xóchitl that Anita found compelling. ”Well, luckily for you, I am quite an exceptional teacher. We'll have you properly educated in no time.“ 

”Chips and fruit. Got a bit of salty, a bit of sweet. Some soft, some crunch. Sounds like you've got all the main categories covered.“ It was the next comment that made Anita realize her platonic plans for the evening might be very much in danger. Hell, it was not unlike certain lines she'd used on other women and it caused all sorts of intoxicating thoughts to slither around in her mind. ”Well, sounds like another thing we've got in common there then...,” intentionally trailing off she let the implications speak for her. “I love that you're so eager to learn. I think we'll have quite an informative evening.” 

The rest of the trip to the drive-in wasn't very long at all and by the time the large outdoor screen came into view Anita had already decided to ignore her previous plan of simply getting to know Xóchitl and decided to just give in and see where the night took them. Pulling in,  Anita intentionally decided to park a bit away from the other cars already there for the movie. Nothing wrong with a bit of privacy just in case. “Well, here we are. The most glorious drive-in in all of Maine,” the comment was made in obvious jest. There wasn't anything wrong with the outdoor theater but it wasn't anything special either. “Ever been out here before?“

“I look forward to an informative evening,” Xóchitl bit her lip, because why the heck should she not lean into any flirting that might be going on? Surely, she valued her growing friendship with Anita, but Anita was also gorgeous, and she wasn’t about to turn down any sort of opportunities that presented themselves. That would just be a waste, and she’d never want to be any sort of a wasteful person. “I can bet you’re one of the best teachers around.”

She nodded, “I like to have all my bases covered, where possible.” That much might have been delivered in a somewhat flirtatious manner, but it was also true. Thinking of every way something could go made it less likely that something truly terrible would happen. It didn’t eliminate the possibility, but any sort of lessening of that was good. Any sort of control was good. At least, in her daily life. Where things went outside of that, she didn’t mind so much.

Anita’s choice to park a bit away from the crowd was one that Xóchitl respected and admired, and though she would’ve been fine with continuing to just get to know Anita, she also wasn’t the least bit opposed to having the night take them in a different direction. “Well, the company’s glorious at least,” she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I think once, maybe, when I was little, with my parents. Not recently, though, no. How about you?”

It was sometimes amusing to Anita how impactful language could be. Like the comment about her being the best teacher round. She knew it was just flattery for flattery's sake but despite that knowledge it brought a warmth to her cheeks and a smile to her face. “Well, a teacher is only as good as their students. So if I end up being a great teacher tonight... must be because you're an exceptional student.“ None of that was true, but it sounded good, so Anita said it. 

The drive-in wasn't particularly packed, but there were a good deal of cars around. Anita unbuckled herself now that the car was fully parked and shifted in her seat so that she was facing Xóchitl smirking as she met the other woman's gaze, “You're certainly correct about that.” The soft glow that the large movie screen was casting down upon them created such a soft glow around her face and it had Anita mesmerized. “I've been a handful of times. Always looking for ways to stay busy in this town.“ 

”Not sure how you feel about the cold, but I can't seem to get used to it,” she moved herself so that she was kneeling on her seat and she carefully reached between the two front seats and pulled out an oversized flannel blanket from the back seat. As Anita moved back down, her arm grazed against Xóchitl’s. The action unexpectedly caused soft shivers to spread across her skin in the most pleasant way. “Guess we both like to cover all our bases.” 

“I like to think of myself as a good student, so we’ll see if that’s proven true tonight.” Xóchitl didn’t too often feel the need to be shy about her opinion of herself, and there was something about the way that Anita carried herself that caused her to lean into it all the more. It was so fun and felt so familiar and so comfortable all in one. Which was a good feeling. One she found herself craving, even if she didn’t admit it out loud all too often.

Anita was matching Xóchitl’s own facial expression, and that only served to bolster her confidence for the evening. The night was perfect, the night was beautiful, and she couldn’t help but let her gaze be pulled by her friend, the curve of her jaw and her lips and the way her hair fell over her shoulders. “Makes sense, it’s good to try and find things to do, and movies aren’t a bad thing at all.” Again, so long as they weren’t fantasy ones, filled with creatures that weren’t real, and creatures who helped, when Xóchitl’s interaction with moving rocks had been awful.

“Yeah, I mean, I try to, but I much prefer the warmth.” She felt Anita’s arm against her own and Xóchitl had to shake her head to readjust her thoughts. “Guess we do. Mind if I share? You know, also hating the cold and all.”

“Yes, exactly - life is just so monotonous without trying new things.” Anita never quite understood those people who just stood by and let life happen to them. If she had done that she would still be back in Tabasco sitting around like her sisters and their Tias before them, passively living. She wouldn’t have seen all the things she had or experienced the bliss of individual victory. And most certainly, she wouldn’t be there in the car with Xóchitl. 

“Well of course, can’t let a pretty girl get cold,” Anita purred as she settled back into the driver seat, adjusting the seat further back now that reaching the pedals wasn’t a necessity. Unfolding the blanket she passed the one corner over to Xóchitl, this time intentionally allowing her arm to brush against hers as she did so. 

They were early enough for the movie, allowing a bit of time for Anita to try and figure out her passenger a bit more. It was easier to figure out insects than people, even humans (if that was what she was). Their behavior gave them away, either being the type to swarm in a colony or being a solitary predator. People, on the other hand, could use their behavior to deceive. Anita should know. “Close your eyes,” she instructed gently. “Imagine you’re outside, there’s warm sun on your skin, a soft melody playing in the distance, and you feel safe.” Pausing long enough to give her some time to consider, and partly to see if she would get into the prompt or brush it off, Anita continued looking over in anticipation, “Okay, you can open your eyes. Where were you?” 

“It makes for a very boring existence,” Xóchitl mused, before flashing another grin over at Anita. There had been a great deal of wanting to just sit and let life happen to her, for a time, from when she was about twelve until just before she turned fourteen. Of thinking that if she hadn’t solved her grief by then, then trying any more was, in fact, fruitless and pointless. Which it hadn’t been, and wasn’t, but it was easy to just want to lie in her bed and not think about much of anything. She’d done almost a complete one-eighty and threw herself into life after that, though. Which had been its own sort of detrimental, but she’d elected not to care too much at all.

“Well, I don’t want you to get cold, either – you know, because you’re quite a pretty girl yourself.” Anita’s voice nearly instantly relaxed her – not that Xóchitl had been unrelaxed before, but there was something about the lilt of the other woman’s voice that drew her in inexplicably. The brushing of their arms was a nice addition, too.

Xóchitl followed Anita’s words without question, settling against the seat, letting her eyes flutter closed. She took a careful breath, doing exactly as she was told, settling into a memory that hadn’t ever happened. Her and Mackenzie, on a Los Angeles beach, though that was quickly replaced with a trip she’d taken with her moms, when she was ten. “I was on a beach in Haiti. I visited a few times with my parents, manman is from there, but it’s – I haven’t been back in years, but it was warm and safe, and I could feel the sun on my skin, and how clear the air smells.”

There was always an inherent curiosity Anita felt when she met people who seemed to be kindred spirits. She always found herself lingering on questions of why. When insects display similar behavioral patterns you can’t simply ask them why - you have to observe and form a hypothesis that can then be tested. People, however, can be asked. Over the years she had learned that some women take her genuine curiosity as something more than it is; as some indication that her desire to learn about them is rooted in romanticism. So she has tried to adapt, learn what questions to ask outright and which to resign to observation. 

Xóchitl felt so familiar that Anita wanted to ask a million questions about her, but opted instead for the less involved approach as she usually did. “Good thing this blanket’s big enough for both of us, then.” 

Her eyes remained fixed on the soft caramel skin of the other woman as she followed Anita’s instructions. She wanted to see how she reacted, not just in her answer to the ultimate question but also in any involuntary responses the prompt might elicit. There seemed to be some peace in whatever she was thinking of. A smile spread across her face as she listened to the description of the scene that had played in Xóchitl’s head. “I’ve never been to Haiti, but I’ve been on my fair share of beaches that felt like that. Who’s manman?” As she asked the question, the projector of the theater flickered on indicating that they were gearing up to start the film. 

“Good thing is right,” Anita felt eerily familiar, almost so much so to the point that Xóchitl wanted to pinch herself. A kindred soul, or something, her parents would’ve said, probably. Mackenzie might’ve said something like that, too, or asked what their star signs were, because for some reason there was a deep part of her that figured Mackenzie would’ve wound up loving astrology, loving finding new sorts of ways to explain the universe. “Though I’m sure we would’ve found a way to make it work regardless.”

“Haiti is very worth it – though I like some of the beaches in Mexico, too. Oh – manman is one of my mothers,” Xóchitl lowered her voice, eyes trained to the screen, though only partially, as she was still incredibly drawn towards Anita. “That’s mom in Haitian Creole, so it just made sense to call her that, since I think my parents thought mom and mom, or even mama and mama, wouldn’t work as well. Besides, even if I’m not Haitian, it’s still a part of my family, so…” she picked at her nailbeds for a moment, but Anita was so familiar that she figured it had to be alright to share.

“Well, I speak that – as well as Spanish. Those were my first two languages, and I’ll admit that I like the advantages that being trilingual gets me. It impresses people, at the very least.” Xóchitl focused back on the screen. “Also one of the many benefits that my mouth can give others.” 

“Of course we would have. I’m exceptional at problem solving.” There was such a lightness in the energy between the two women. Anita had been in her fair share of parked cars with beautiful women but this time had a natural ease that wrapped around her like the blanket had. The undeniable benefit to seeing a drive-in movie was the fact that you could continue your conversation once the film had begun. Anita may be a lot of things but she wasn’t the type to talk in a public theater. The added privacy of tinted car windows was, certainly, another added bonus. 

“That’s really awesome,” Anita thought about reciprocating the exchange of personal backstory. She thought about talking about her aunts, who she grew up jokingly calling Tia Mama because of how involved she was with bringing Anita and her sisters up. But for as comfortable as she felt around Xóchitl, she was still a stranger. She knew all too well that giving a small breadcrumb of information could lead down a path of questions that she didn’t want to get into. “I’m only bilingual and even that impresses people to no end sometimes. Which, granted, is fairly impressive.” 

The next comment brought a smirk to Anita’s face and she turned to look at the other woman just as her attention returned to the movie screen. She couldn’t quite tell if Xóchitl was being intentionally suggestive or if that was just how it came off but Anita intended to find out. “Oh yeah? And what other benefits can your mouth give people?” She paused for a second, not wanting to push her luck too much, “I’ve heard that there’s a correlation between knowing multiple languages and having strong tongue muscles.” 

As the movie continued on, the physical distance between the women decreased at a steady rate. Near the half-way point, Anita had moved so that her arm was touching Xóchitl’s. Shortly after that, she reached down and held her hand. By the time the movie was nearly over, Anita was hardly paying it any attention. She was far too distracted by Xóchitl. All her curiosities, all of her intention of trying to figure out if this woman was human, had gone flying out the window. It was all replaced by a burning desire to get to know her in a very different way. She moved slightly, so her face was closer to the other woman, and even though there was no need to whisper, she still did, “You wanna come over for a drink when this is over?” A smirk spread across Anita’s face when the brunette responded with a yes. The night was truly just beginning.

[endlessevenings]

Out of Depth || Van & Mahuika

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Like A Charm PARTIES: Van ( @vanoincidence ) and Mahuika ( @endlessevenings ) TRIGGERS: None! SUMMARY: Van ventures into a magic shop out of curiosity and nerves. Mahuika spots her practically like a spider with its prey, and pounces. But in a nice way. Probably.

Van bit down on the inside of her cheek, shooting furtive glances over her shoulder. The woman behind the counter eyed her from behind the book she was reading, eyebrows pulled together in suspicion. This was so stupid. She wasn’t even… what was it, a spellcaster? A magician? A witch? She just had magic. It was an inherent and unfortunate part of her. It was something she didn’t mind the thought of getting rid of, but she didn’t know how. She figured Like a Charm might be the best place to find that information, but for the most part, she wasn’t finding anything that would aid her in her desperation. She thumbed through a couple of different tarot decks, not able to make sense of any of the symbols or images. This wasn’t her. She wasn’t… somebody who would take to this, she was something else entirely. 

A nervous sweat beaded across the back of her neck as she tried to tuck tail and run, but instead of making it through the door, she was slamming into a girl quite a bit taller than herself. Something from the other woman’s hands fell to the ground, and Van dropped into a kneeling position to pick it up. It was a number of herbs, as well as a book that Van couldn’t read the title of. “Sorry– I, sorry.” She gathered the items, straightening up as she shoved them towards the girl, gaze fixed on her own hands and how they shook slightly. 

Like a Charm seemed like an absolutely kitschy sort of place – or maybe that was just Mahuika’s good views manifesting themselves. Though she knew that she was right at least to some degree, because some of the things in the shop were absolute junk. Still, she wasn’t going to say that out loud (at least not while she was in the shop), and maybe there was something of use here.

Correct, there were many somethings of use here, and she was totally shopping local, which made her a totally good person, right? Mahuika knew it did, and being in a place dedicated to the appreciation of magic was always good in her book. A place that showed just how better those with magic were. How much more deserving of… everything. 

She’d collected some herbs and a book, though those items had suddenly found themselves on the ground and someone else was in front of her and apologizing and Mahuika grinned, giving a shake of her head. “No worries, I was in your way. There’s nothing you need to apologize for.” If the girl wasn’t magic, then she’d have a few other things to work through, but she figured that she should just go ahead and try optimism for the heck of it, at least in this particular moment. “Are you okay? I wouldn’t want you to get hurt or anything like that.”

Van wasn’t sure that was right– she had definitely run into the girl. She resituated the items so that they didn’t fall out of the girl’s hands again and she wiped her palms against her sweatshirt. “What? No, I’m totally fine.” She offered a weak smile. She was trying hard not to look at the items that the girl had, mostly because that was rude, but she was never good at minding her own business. Ever. 

Finally, her gaze dragged down and she took note of the herbs, of the book. “You’re really going to buy that stuff?” Was she just some girl, looking to grow a garden, or was this something else? “I mean– sorry, that’s not the right question.” She felt heat rise to the back of her neck again. “I was just wondering. This is my first time here, and I don’t really know what I’m looking at, and honestly I just thought it was a place for tourists.” She kept her voice low as she spoke, as to not offend the clerk who was shelving items across the store. 

“Yeah, I am really going to buy all this.” Mahuika did her best to keep her expression light – curious – neutral. Any number of good things because pissing everyone she met off was simply not it. Even if a part of her wanted that to be it, but she’d learned through enough trial and error that being nice and pleasant got her what she wanted most of the time. That was – whenever she wasn’t getting what she wanted through her more preferred means of such eventualities. 

“I think some of it is for sure for tourists.” Mahuika nodded toward a deck of mass-produced tarot cards by the front. “But some of it’s legit. Because magic is legit.” She couldn’t help but scrunch up her face ever-so-slightly, ready to duck out or duck somewhere if the girl made fun of her. There was still a bitterness about the possibility of that, but Mahuika liked to avoid thinking about that whenever possible. Besides, she could deal with this girl if she did decide that Mahuika was full of it. “Do you want … help … knowing what you’re looking at?”

“You must be like, rich or something.” Van had no clue how much everything cost, there weren’t really any price tags for her to snoop on. “Sorry– or you’re just really good at managing your money? I mean, I’m like, not. At all.” She bit the inside of her cheek, sending an apologetic glance towards the brunette. God, she was terrible at communication. 

Van’s gaze swept over the goods stacked into the shelves, a minor chill running down her spine at the mention of magic, and how it was legit. It was weird, hearing other people discuss it so nonchalantly. She’d been hiding from it her whole life, and now, she was in public discussing– or rather, being talked at about magic. She swallowed thickly, clearing her throat. “Um… I don’t… really know what I’m looking for? This is my first time in a place like this.” She looked at the girl with a pleading expression, as if begging her not to tell her this wasn’t her place. It had to be. Where else was there? 

“I don’t… I’m not familiar with like, any of this stuff.” How dangerous was it to come clean to somebody else who also believed in magic? Probably dangerous. Van forced her gaze to not linger on the brunette for too long. “What do you… recommend? What are your favorites?” Was she even going to be able to afford it? 

“I’m not.” Which was probably something too blunt and personal or whatever, but it was true. She was working at Bearcliff to make money, not because she was some fancy hotshot princess (well, she was one of those things) who wanted to know what normal life was like. Mahuika’s nose threatened to scrunch up into something resembling disgust but she flipped it around and grin. “No, o-m-g. I’m really not. I guess I’m good?” She shrugged. 

“Your first time?” Now Mahuika’s grin was far more real. Which was incredibly rare, but her smile nearly reached her eyes. “Let me help you! If that’s okay, because I’m a stranger?” She’d already decided that she was going to help, but the girl didn’t need to know that. The girl who she very much hoped was not some freakish magic witch-spellcaster murderer. But if she was, the Mahuika would just deal with that. She didn’t go around without physical items for self defense.

“Well, it depends on what you want to do with it. It’s not like you can get one crystal or one paper — and it’s also about laws, and what the person intends to do as their magic.” This girl better not up and try to steal her thunder, Mahuika thought. But she desperately wanted to know someone else magic, and this girl looked like she needed help, so it could be a double win. A new magic-user to know, and a charity case to work on. “Do you have any clue about any of that? Or we could just take a walk around? Just get comfortable vibing with the place?”

Van eyed the girl apprehensively as if willing some kind of mask to fall away from her face, to reveal her true intentions. But there was nothing– she seemed nice, seemed like she wanted to help in the way that Van so obviously needed. She tucked her balled up hands into her sweatshirt pockets and bit the inside of her cheek as she nodded, a little too pathetically for her own good. “I mean, like I’m old enough to know not to talk to strangers, but this is like, super public and you seem to know what you’re doing.” Van wasn’t really afraid of what might happen here, mostly because she could run away if needed. It wasn’t like they were secluded and alone. 

The stranger was discussing laws and about what she intended to do with her magic, and Van had to stop herself from telling the brunette that the only thing she’d done with her magic was kill people and melt tables. “I– no, I don’t know anything about… are there like, magic lawyers and stuff?” Was she being secretly watched by some kind of witch-y unity circle? Did they know everything bad she’d ever done? Was this girl here to make her pay? Van’s mind ran wild with the scenario and a small sweat broke out across the back of her neck as she considered the possibility. 

“To be fair, I think even some eight-year-olds have that sense.” Mahuika offered the girl a small smile. “But I get that – and you’re right. But this is public, and I wouldn’t ever hurt you.” Assuming, of course, that this girl was also a magic-user. Which was a bit of a gamble, but Mahuika liked to think she had a good read on people. Though there was little that she wouldn’t think she was good at. It just meant that she had really super solid self-confidence. Obviously. Some might have seen it as being overly self-important, but she didn’t, and that was clearly what mattered most.

“Also yes, I do know what I’m doing.” She grinned. “Oh, not laws like that. Laws like…” Mahuika paused, trying to think of a way to explain it without scaring her off. “There’s things that balance the world, and magic plays a role in that. I don’t want to overwhelm you. But you’re not like, in trouble. Fuck the law, right? Human law, I mean. Not the magic law. That is actually important.”

I wouldn’t ever hurt you. Van had to keep herself from telling the girl that sure, that’s what somebody who wanted to hurt somebody would say, but because this wasn’t some low budget horror film, Van kept her mouth shut. She gave a small nod, not sure what else to say to that. Was she supposed to tell the brunette that she wouldn’t hurt her either? Was that more menacing than anything? Probably, right? 

Balance. Yeah, that was the word– that made more sense than the idea that there was some kind of witch institute teaching magic users how to be lawyers or something. “Oh… balance. Right, okay.” There was not really any balance within her own realm of experiences, she realized. Everything felt severely out of balance. “Yeah, fuck the law. Not… magic law, I guess.” Van kept her voice low, despite the fact that they were in a like minded shop. For all she knew, these could be fake people with fake things to say about magic. But then why would somebody who said she knew about magic be here? Was she fake, too?

Van’s mind ran away with the limitless possibilities, uncertainty clouding her expression. “So you… you know a lot about like, all of this?” It was so unfair, she thought. To have been taught nothing; to have existed in this without really knowing what was happening to her. Why had other people gotten lucky enough to know what they were? 

“See? We’re already on the same page!” Mahuika resisted wrapping her arm around the girl, because that wasn’t good to do without asking and the last thing she wanted right now was to scare the girl off. That wouldn’t do anybody any sort of good anything. Especially because for all that it was absolutely a terrible idea, she already found herself drawn in by the other (assumed) spellcaster. If she could get her hands on someone who was confused and new to all of this, and help them become what they deserved, then that would be all kinds of absolutely perfect.

“I do know a lot. I grew up knowing.” She forced herself to frown, just slightly. Except that the pity she felt for the girl was so real that it was almost tangible. Which was not great (the pity, the loss of time being with magic that the other girl clearly had), but at the same time, worked out absolutely perfectly, just as she’d intended for it to. Mahuika nodded. “I got lucky, but I can help you, if you want. I’d love to help. Teach you whatever I can. I’ll even buy us snacks or lunch or dinner or whatever – and I can be free pretty much whenever works for you. How does that sound?”

Van should have been jumping with joy at the sight of another magic user. Between this girl and the shopkeeper at the Sugar Pot, Van should’ve been expressing immense gratitude, but all she could feel was… well, she wasn’t sure what she felt, but it wasn’t really anything good. Van stared at the brunette, mouth slightly ajar. 

“I’m– I don’t know what you’re supposed to like, teach me.” She was recoiling from the help being extended to her again. Even when it came to Teddy, all Van had taken was the ring. The ring that sat heavy in her pocket, unused, because maybe she didn’t want– she wasn’t sure what she didn’t want, and she wasn’t sure what she did want. She took a small step back from the girl across from her, clearing her throat. “I’m– um, I don’t… really know what I’m supposed to be learning.” A small, nervous laugh escaped her as she clasped her hands together, eyes darting around the room. “I just sort of like, walked in here, you know?” This was all too real– the idea that somebody could help her– or a few somebody’s.. no, she couldn’t take up their time. “I’m sorry for wasting– um, your  time.” 

“You don’t need to be sorry. You’ll learn what you’re meant to learn, all in time. You walked in here and that means something, and I’ll be here for you, alright?” God, she needed to chill with the altruism. But, Mahuika supposed, it wasn’t so bad to be helpful when you were helping another spellcaster. At least this way this girl wouldn’t end up kidnapped or dead. Hopefully.

“We’ll figure it out. But how about I take you out for tea and coffee, or ice cream, or anything you want, first? Also, I’ll admit,” and now this part might’ve been a bit of a lie, “I’ve really been wanting friends, and you seem like you know what you’re doing. So maybe we can help each other? I’ll help you even if you don’t want to be my friend though. This isn’t conditional.” Mahuika hoped that was abundantly clear. “Let me just go and check out first.” She turned on her heel, before adding, “I’m Mahuika by the way. You seem like you’re going to be a lot of fun.”

[mayihaveyournameplease]

TIMING: current PARTIES: Siobhan & Beau LOCATION: Tupperware SUMMARY: An unusual fae pair work together to escape and unwelcomed kidnapping. CONTENT WARNINGS:  Unsanitary tw. WRSPICE because IYKYK.

Siobhan didn’t sleep much; the night was for having fun and the day was for having fun and there was no time left to not have fun. Terrible things happened when Siobhan wasn’t having fun, anyway. So, when she did sleep, hopefully so thoroughly exhausted that dreams didn’t dare to knock on her skull, she coveted the time; it was sacred. When the smell of varying stale foods flooded her nose and pulled her up from sleep, she was angry. When she looked around and noted the thick, cloudy plastic walls and bright blue ceiling above, she was livid. Siobhan screamed; if anyone was asleep before, they certainly weren’t now. The plastic, for its part, simply quivered a little—being reinforced by its trips through the microwave, into the freezer and the fridge and then back into the microwave. It technically wasn’t freezer safe but that hadn’t stopped it from showing up in the freezer. 

Little Beau Beep was counting sheep. They danced and pranced in his dreams, and every time he got close to one it would snap its teeth at him. “I’ll turn you all into lamp chops!” He declared, pulling a flamethrower from the dimension dream items came from. Dinner was cooked well done. Deep in slumber, a cartoon figure donned in a sleeping cap with a singular puff at the end, and a onesie, buttflap unfortunately unflapped. The smell of old food wasn’t what woke him, it lingered well with the greasy feast he was partaking in. Instead, he woke up relaxed, and happy. A big stretch and a yawn, eyes blinking wearily. “Good morning world.” He announced, as if he was the star from which the universe revolved around. It wasn’t his bedroom he caught sight of. Beau blinked, rubbing the slumber from his eyes and eyes darting around. “I am not cheesed to be here.” He mumbled in his plastic container. Spotting another contained individual, Beau raised a hand in greeting. “Hello! There seems to be a mistake. I shouldn’t be here. Haha! I’m going to be late for work! Haha.” 

There weren’t many people Siobhan decided she hated upon first sight. To hate someone was usually far more care and attention she wanted to give. Yet, as a chill struck down her spine with the familiarity meeting another fae often did, and as he laughed the way that was too fake and utterly useless, Siobhan decided she hated him. Perhaps it wasn’t fair, they were stuck in a plastic container and that was sure to be what was really souring her mood. She forced herself to smile, in a way that was also too fake, and tried to be polite. “Unfortunately, I’m not the person that put you here! So I can't get you out. Haha.” She imagined jamming his head under the lip of the lid; she imagined it squeezing and popping off like a pea freed from its pod. The image brought her peace. “I’m also not…” she sighed. “…cheesed to be here.” She stepped closer to the man, despite herself. “You wouldn’t happen to know how to get out, would you? I would like to leave.” She paused. “Haha.” 

The tingle down Beau’s spine told him that this was another fae, which was nice. Beau hadn’t made many fae friends since coming to Wicked’s Rest. He had met that dumb fae child, but she was a lost cause. Then there was the Doctor fae that kept turning him down. Beau had stolen the knowledge that he was fae from her, so they couldn’t bond over that. Then there was the goat, who didn’t like him. All these Ls and Beau never couldn’t figure out why. Maybe this fae was a chance at redemption. “Haha!” Beau responded, at least this fae had a good nature. Full of laughs! Even if her laughs sounded a bit dry and flat. “Seems like we’ll be tasked with figuring out how to get out ourselves, haha!” He placed his hands on his hips, very much looking like that one construction worker who only ever watched as the others constructed. Beau turned in a slow circle, staring up at the plastic lid. “It would appear we are in very large tupperware.” Beau announced, as if it wasn’t the most obvious thing he could have said, and it was something helpful. “I’m just swissed about this. Haha!” His forced smile burned his cheeks. Beau did the most manly thing he could think of, he kicked the plastic container with his foot. His foot was only covered by the onesie foot. His toes crushed into the plastic causing him to topple over and curse with pain. “I HATE THIS I FUCKING HATE THIS.” He screamed into the air, before remembering he wasn’t alone. One cough. Two coughs. “I mean. Haha.”

“Haha,” Siobhan said plainly, using the idiotic phrase to hide the anger that roiled inside of her. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, saying ‘haha’ was an easy way to stop herself from saying ‘I don’t care if you’re a fae I’m going to skin you alive and use your flesh as a wreath’. “Haha.” Watching him hurt himself was nice, like a sitcom one might leave to play in the background; amusing enough but largely a waste of time. Even if the live studio audience in her head broke out in laughter, the more sensible director was keen on keeping them on task. As this man was a fae, despite his obvious flaws, Siobhan decided she would pretend like she cared about him. “Oh! You poor, sweet thing!” She walked very slowly to his side, bending down to try and help him out. “Your toe! Oh, how that must have hurt--this terrible, evil box wants to destroy your strong manly foot. Oh! If only you could use your big, smart brain to get us out of here. Oh! If only, maybe, you could stand on my shoulders and see if the lid will lift!” She smiled tightly at him. “Haha.” She was thinking his eyes would look lovely in a jar. 

The throbbing pain in his big toe was infuriating. He hopped around on his good foot for a bit while the other fae started talking. The fae, a woman, she was hot. A bit old looking for his normal tastes, but he could forgive a fae for aging since she was so nice. Beau preened as she doted on him, calling him strong and manly. He is strong and manly. He definitely could use all his big strong manly brain power to get them out of the box. Beau put his hands on his hips, he’d seen superheroes do it on posters and he was about to be the savior of this woman’s world, it seemed fitting. “Have no fear. You should stand on my shoulders. Since I’m so strong and manly. I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself with effort. Besides, I like a woman on top.” He added a wink, just to let her know that if she was interested in staying in this weird large tupperware container with him, he wouldn’t be against it.

The man looked like a simple tap would have him keeled over, Siobhan didn’t want to think about what having the full weight of someone on his shoulders would do to him. Thankfully, at least, she had fallen asleep in the same clothes she’d gone out in, so there was no free show for Beau if he decided to look up between her legs; pants could be a wonderful thing. “Oh, but shouldn’t we uplift men?” She tried to smile; she didn’t enjoy the fact her words seemed to work so well on him. “In this current political climate, shouldn’t men stand on top of women and push up heavy tupperware lids? What if my weak woman arms can’t do it?” Siobhan might have been born over a hundred years ago, but growing up in a matriarchal society that largely sacrificed its men had given her a very pointed view of the sexes; it was a very spider-like idea of feminism. Even joking in this manner had her stomach twisted into knots; she’d have to be careful about how she was complimenting the sad, small man. “I don’t want to damage your…” Siobhan gestured to his sad excuse for muscles. “...manly shoulders.” 

Beau’s chest started to puff out with each passing statement coming out of her mouth. This was a woman chasing after his own heart. Beau bravely ignored the throbbing in his left foot and straightened his back, chasing that extra inch that he knew would make him all the more handsome and impressive in her eyes. “I don’t say this a lot, but you might be the smartest woman I’ve ever met.” His tongue slipped against his upper lip. He’d seen tiktoks of younger men doing the same sign to look attractive to women. He hoped it was working. “Alright, I’ll get on your shoulders and I’ll use my strong manly arms to get us out of here. Anything for you, my excellently aged cheese.” He hoped it wasn’t too soon for fond nicknames. Every marriage needed fond nicknames. Oh wait. Maybe marriage was getting ahead of himself? He mulled it over before deciding it wasn’t. Beau walked closer to the woman, craning his neck up to look at her face. God. She was an amazonian of a woman. “Uppies.” He stated, holding his hands up as if he was the petulant toddler he acted like. 

If this man died right now, Siobhan was sure it would be her happiest memory. Nothing would fill her with more euphoria than being able to scream for him and then stab him several times. She was thinking twenty seven times but the count went up every time he opened his mouth. Suddenly, she didn’t want him on her shoulders. Maybe it would have been better if she had just crushed his trapezius with her heels. “Maybe you’re the smartest man I’ve ever met.” A muscle below her eye twitched. “You’re my hero, my egg,” she said, imagining cracking his skull like one. She hoped she never had to see him again. When he said ‘uppies’ she amended her thought: she hoped that she did see him again, thoroughly dead. 

Siobhan bent down, lifting the annoying gnat with ease--as, unlike the man, she was strong. A lifetime of rigorous training to be an instrument of Fate had changed her deceptively thin physique into the sort that could easily lift up another person. The feat was probably lost on him. “How are you?” She asked, straightening up slowly. She kept a firm grip on his legs, trying to stop him from falling over; she wasn’t sure what lies she’d have to tell about his manly body to get him to shut up if it happened. “Are your strong, big, thick, manly arms doing anything?” 

The woman lifted him up in his big strong arms, and Beau was a little breathless for a second. Strong and a man enjoyer? What did he do to get the whole package? His heart began palpitations. Then she was speaking again, honestly she spoke too much. That was another downside she had. When they got married she’d need to talk at least 95 percent less. Beau stretched his arms against the clear blue plastic cover and started pushing and pushing. At first it seemed like it wouldn’t budge.Then sound of plastic scraping against plastic, and it was becoming loose! “I’m doing it! I’m doing it!” Beau shouted, his feet doing little joy taps against the woman’s shoulders.

Beau was not doing it. A large face appeared. It belonged to a man. The ugliest man Beau had ever seen. “Hahaha! Some feisty ones.” The person’s voice was loud, causing Beau to shake a bit. “Get down. I’m here to deliver your daily milk.” Beau was manhandled. Could you believe it? Man handled! He was lifted off the woman’s shoulders and placed onto the plastic ground as milk began to pour over and around them. Beau was disgusted and a little aroused, if he was being honest. “Hey! Let us out!” He shouted, fist flying against the air. But nothing changed. Milk was delivered and the tupperware was closed. 

The only thing worse than having to deal with the annoying, short man would be a shower of milk. How strange it was that the next thing to happen was precisely that. Siobhan seethed, vibrating with the force of her rage. Milk dripped from her hair and soaked into her clothes, which clung tightly to her body in a way that was flattering, though that was the only fortunate thing about it. Milk covered their tupperware in a pool of white, coming up to Siobhan’s knees. She waded through the liquid, ready to be done with it. She’d plunge his body below the milky wavers and drown him. Escape would be more steps away from her but at least the last shreds of her sanity would remain. She stormed over to him, milk sloshing; she felt a little like a slow-motion attractive lifeguard coming to shore. The milky hair flip didn’t help with the image. 

She was close, close enough to strangle when she remembered that killing fae was the sort of thing that had gotten her wings ripped out. As much as Siobhan hated him in this moment, as he was the vehicle for her frustrations, he couldn’t be harmed; a fae was a fae and fae were family. “Looks like another case of someone trying to keep men down, my sweet, sweet omelet.” Her hands balled into fists by her sides; she spoke between clenched teeth. Her shoulders ached from where he had tapped in excitement on her. She wanted to crush him like a bug. “What now?” Her gaze dropped, she noticed a strange lump in her pocket--cylindrical. What did she have in there? She pulled it out, staring at the drenched knife. She twisted it, watching the blade catch light. “Would you look at that, my egg?” She grinned.

The worst thing about the milk was not the fact that it was seeping into his onesie, congealing against his toes and setting on his skin in a thick and sticky film. No. The worst thing was the milk was warm. Warm milk? What kind of sin had the woman next to him committed to cause them to end up in this place? Surely Beau had done nothing to deserve such a treatment from whatever giant had opened the container and doused them in warm milk. “Haha.” At this point the laugh had lost any and all luster it once had, the smile which never reached his eyes was starting to not reach his lips. How was he supposed to thrive under these conditions? Then Siobhan was pulling out a knife, and for a second, when she was calling him egg, he thought she was about to poach him. Beau blinked, a little bit of a laugh and went. “Haha, my finest aged cheddar, what are you going to do with that knife?”

Siobhan thought about how lovely the man’s blood would be against her knife; she pictured his skin ripping in layers when she would stab him, flesh given to blood given to bone. What sort of expression would he make, she wondered. Would he haha? She looked at him and then her knife and then back at him. She could not kill another fae. She splashed around the container, making her way to the wall. Siobhan plunged her knife into the worn plastic and pulled down with as much force as she could summon, ripping a jagged, vertical line into the box. It looked suspiciously like a certain anatomical opening, but Siobhan wasn’t going to make that comparison. “Come, help me open this,” she called back at the short man, pulling at one side of the tear. “I need your…strong man arms to help me…because I’m…too much of a woman.” She hoped he’d slice his hand on the plastic, feeding it to the warm wilk (which was surprisingly nice, she thought, like a bath).   

Beau smiled broadly as the beautiful and slightly too old and aged looking woman stabbed the knife into the plastic and started sawing their way out. He should have known she would be too weak to follow up. “Don’t worry, I am excellent with my hands.” Beau lied, but since he truly believed that lie to be true he suffered no ill effects. Beau stepped forward, shoving both of his hands into the gash she’d created and started tearing it open. Nothing happened. Beau coughed, adjusting his hands to focus on just one side pulling back instead of pushing the two halves apart. He started getting somewhere! The plastic gave a bit. “Big and strong, what can I say.” With each long and tiresome tug the opening got bigger and bigger until the plastic tore and Beau found himself being spilled out on the counter with the milk flowing out. Suddenly the world was no longer small and tiny and Beau was large. This was the tallest he’d ever been! Except, as he looked around, he started to get the feeling that he was simply his normal height now. Disappointing. 

Siobhan knew for certain, in that moment, that her partner in milk was completely useless. She pulled, her muscles flexing--as she’d been raised to be the perfect instrument of Death, there was an undeniable strength held in her limbs. She pulled, and pulled harder to make up for the man’s lackluster efforts. The tiny cut turned into a gash and then an opened and milk sloshed through and their bodies tumbled with it. Out of the tupperware, whatever strange--slightly perverted--magic was at work seemed to wear off and Siobhan was at her usual height, which towered over the obnoxious man. She brushed milk off of her; a futile gesture. “Siobhan,” she said, holding her milky hand out, “I forgot to introduce myself and…” She drew her hand back, which trembled in the cold, dry air. In front of her were a hundred jars, lined up in neat rows, holding their own lakes of milky fluid and a singular figure standing in the liquid. She thought she saw a unicorn in one; she wasn’t even sure those existed. Wordlessly, she tilted her head to the side and wrung milk out of her hair. “I think we avoided something terrible,” she said, “perhaps because of your manliness.” She added that only because she thought it was funny. 

In their miniature forms, the woman had towered over Beau. Old and tall, both had been marked against her in his constant judgment. However, stuck in a tupperware container, Beau had been kind enough to offer her grace. Grace that whatever had stuck them in that tupperware had messed up the shrinking process and had shrunk Beau just a little bit smaller. Now as the two of them were standing normal sized in a room full of jars, Beau felt disgust boil over him to realize she actually was just behemothly tall. That was very unbecoming of her. Old or tall. Pick a struggle. Then she introduced herself. Rage danced underneath Beau’s skin, causing it to prickle. He hadn’t asked for her name, eliminating all ease of snagging it from her. Sure. The pull in his chest informed him that she was a fellow fae, but she could have been kind enough to ask. His practiced smile pulled across his face as he turned to look up at her. “Beau. “ He returned his name, “But you can call me Beautiful. On account of how manly I am.” He struck a pose. At least she was smart enough to recognize him as the man he was.

She marveled at the ease in which murderous fantasies involving the man flooded into her mind. By the time Beau had finished introducing himself, Siobhan had mentally flayed, dismembered and tortured him in a hundred different ways. She stared down at him and knew that her favorite of the fantasies was the one where she crushed him like an insect. No, like a tin can; instead of a smear, she’d stomp down and snap bones into a perfect circle. She smiled. “Beautiful,” she said, looking beyond him and into the imagined version that waddled around with his collapsed body, slowly pulling up to reveal smashed bones and flattened skin in the shape of an accordion, dangling limply. “So beautiful.” Her imaginary arms lifted him, laying his accordion body on its side so she could separate each ring of flesh so she could twist it again to get a never-ending cord of his body. She looked around at the tupperware and jars and suddenly it all made a sort of perverse sense to her. The warm milk, however, remained a mystery. 

She knelt down to his level. “Beau, beautiful, manly Beau.” Siobhan rested a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “Putting you in a jar would be such a waste. I’d want you where everyone could see. I’d want wrapped around the room like tinsel. I’d call people over, I’d say ‘look at Beau, isn’t he so beautiful’.” You wouldn’t believe it, he was such a tiny man in his life, now look at how tall and grand I made him. It was the sort of irony Siobhan liked. “You’re so special. You would have been wasted here. I’m so happy that you’re free.” Trapped, Beau’s unique, repugnant nature would have been lost to the world. He was a pacifier, sized like one too; her mind reached a new level of calm, setting all its cognitive efforts into cruel punishments. He was meditative, soothing, a zen garden for a murderer. She leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to the tip of his nose, picturing herself with acid lips to break down his cartilage. “Beautiful Beau.” She rose to her feet. “I hope the next time we meet, there’s less milk.” And she left.

That night, she completely forgot about the stained tupperware and all questions she had about how they got there or where there even was—she didn’t even remember how she got home—but she couldn’t forget Beau. He’d given her so much peace that for the first time in over forty years, she slept through the night, carried by easy dreams of Beau dying beautifully. 

Maybe older women had their place in this society. Despite the lines around her eyes, and her probably sagging bosom, Beau was enthralled by the tenderness at which Siobhan reviered him. Despite asking, multiple times, to be referred to as Beautiful, Siobhan was the first to listen to him. She kissed his nose. She left him speechless. If only she was better looking. Beau watched as she walked away, not ready yet to escape from the room that had bound them. Milk clung to him, and he knew it would sour and turn disgusting soon, but there was one thing he needed to do first. He’d seen a unicorn, miniaturized just like they had been, only in a jar. Beau plucked it off the shelf and dropped it into his milk-soaked pocket. This would be coming home with him.

[vanishingreyes]

A Seal Seeks Help || Marcus & Xóchitl

TIMING: Late June. LOCATION: Xóchitl's office. SUMMARY: Marcus comes to see Xóchitl for therapy. CONTENT WARNINGS: Depression.

Marcus stared blankly at his ceiling, unable to bring himself to do much else. It was another day where his mental state was at a particularly low point. He had been having these days much more frequently as of late. But what could he do? He had isolated himself from everyone who ever loved him, abandoned his accomplished career, and was slowly being driven to total madness. And worst of all, it was one of the people in this world who should have had his back no matter what that brought him to this state. 

A gnawing sensation grew in the pit of his stomach and he couldn’t tell if it was due to the pain of remembering or the fact that he hadn’t eaten in 36 hours. Probably the latter, he figured. He managed to drag himself out of bed and take a look at what was in his fridge, which wasn’t much. He hadn’t been to the store in weeks. He decided something had to change. His changes may grow to kill him eventually, but he at least wouldn’t allow himself to be miserable on the way out. 

A curious search yielded few viable results, but one looked promising. A clinical psychologist right here in Wicked’s Rest. He wouldn’t have to go far, and they’d be more likely to be sympathetic to concerns that pertain more to the supernatural. Not that he’d jump right in with “I’m actually a seal person and someone here stole my pelt. Also I’m slowly dying without it.” Best not to set off any alarm bells until he could show her he wasn’t actually a crazy person. He took a look at her page and was impressed enough with her credentials to try and book an appointment. 

And so, his appointment with Dr. Xóchitl Reyes was booked.

She supposed that she shouldn’t have been surprised when she actually got referrals and her schedule filled up. It was good, it was even necessary if Xóchitl wanted to make a living. She might’ve had a trust fund, but she didn’t want to touch that unless necessary. The fewer questions her moms asked, the better. She didn’t especially relish the fact that she was lying to them, even in the smallest bit, but it would have to do, if she wanted them to believe that she was better.

Her appointment for today was with Marcus Fremont, a lighthouse keeper - his first appointment, he hadn’t been a referral from a past psychologist - which didn’t especially matter one way or the other, but having people who were brand new was something of a thrill for Xóchitl, even if she wouldn’t always fully admit it.

She’d set out the white noise machine outside of her office, before going back in and grabbing a pad of paper - she’d transfer notes over to the computer later on, but Xóchitl figured it was more personal if she wasn’t partially hidden behind a screen. She heard a knock on the door and went over to open it, offering her most reassuring smile. “Marcus, I presume? You can come right in, and sit wherever is most comfortable for you.”

Marcus couldn’t really explain it, but he was feeling very nervous going into his appointment. He hadn’t really opened up to anybody fully in a very long time. It didn’t help that many of the things that were troubling him weren’t exactly “first meeting” discussion topics. He knew he had to be completely vulnerable, but figured it would be best to hold off on any topics related to the supernatural. 

Instead, he did acknowledge that he was having many symptoms of depression. If he could find a way to cope mentally, at least clear his mind, he’d be in a better position to reclaim what was rightfully his. 

He took a seat down on the couch and looked over at the therapist. She had a kind and welcoming expression that did put him at ease. Maybe he’d be able to make some progress with her after all. After he was seated, she took a seat across from him with a pad of paper. He appreciated the more personal approach, finding it very sterile and impersonal whenever a therapist or doctor just kept their eyes glued to a computer screen while he tried to ask them for help. 

“So,” Marcus started, not wanting there to be too much silence in the interaction. He was paying by the hour after all. “Where should we start?”

“I’d just want you to get comfortable here, first.” That was how these things were supposed to start, anyhow. Xóchitl wasn’t going to be able to do a whole lot of good at giving people therapy if they wanted to run screaming from her office. She’d had enough personal experience with therapists, both good and bad, to know that much.

“Anything you want to tell me about why you’re here, if you’ve seen psychologists in the past, or anything like that. Think of it like… a conversation, of sorts.” Xóchitl winced internally at how cliched she felt as though she sounded. Even though she was fairly certain that it was a case of her being overly critical of herself, but still – being over-done on a first session was also not so good.

She wrote the date down on her notepad, before looking back up. “Also, feel free to call me whatever is most comfortable for you - you don’t need to stick with the ‘doctor’ thing if you don’t want, first name is fine, too.”

A conversation certainly sounded more pleasant than a therapy session. Even though Marcus knew that was what he was here for, it was nice to feel comfortable and open to talking about what was going on in his life. 

“Well, first of all it’s nice to meet you, Xóchitl, and thank you for making me feel at home a little. I’ve never seen a psychologist or a therapist before, but usually my doctor visits are very ‘down to business’”, he said with a smile. He looked up at her and saw she was at full attention, maintaining eye contact. 

“I guess the main reason why I’m here is to help manage symptoms of depression. The usual textbook stuff: difficulty focusing, lack of energy, overall depressed mood, no passion, yada yada yada,” he continued. He wanted to make her aware of what was going on, but still wanted to have a tough and rocky external attitude about it since that was the type of attitude expected of a military man. “It’s really starting to impact my life in a big way. I have important things to do, and I just can’t bring myself to do them at all. I’ve tried meditation and doing things I enjoy to clear my head. Only problem is, even the things that I enjoy are hard to do now. So I was wondering if you had any other advice to help get me out of this hole, so to speak”. It was definitely the most vulnerable he had been with someone since he left the ship. Nobody else in the town really knew what was going on with him, although he was sure his changes hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“It’s nice to meet you too, and oh - of course.” Xóchitl crossed her legs, perhaps in some sort of vague attempt to appear more professional - not that she didn’t think she already was, as-is, but it never hurt to add another layer of professionalism, all while making sure that she didn’t seem too aloof. All of that had to be possible. Even if it wasn’t, she’d make it so.

“I mean, you’re paying for this, and I want it to be your thing. I don’t think it’s very smart of a psychologist to force their beliefs on the people who are coming to see them.” She’d thrown at least one fit when her parents had taken her to a less-than-fabulous one back in Boston. Which Xóchitl figured was a warranted fit, because the woman hadn’t even had any toys in her office, and she was supposed to have worked with children.

“Of course.” Xóchitl’s expression softened as she forced herselfout of her thoughts of the past, and back into the present. She wasn’t going to help anybody if she just kept thinking all about her past and herself. Though she was acutely aware that perhaps sometime between Mackenzie dying and her getting her psych degree she’d stopped entirely hyperfocusing on the people around her (which made the possibility of losing them easier, maybe), she was aware enough to not focus on herself during sessions. After all, the less that people knew about her, the better. “I think talking about it would be the best place to start - to see the foundation of what you know and feel, and we can build up from there.” She let her gaze float off for a moment before she refocused. “Also, this is just the first meeting - we’re not going to figure everything out now, but we can start to work towards you feeling better about yourself. How’s that sound?”

Marcus supposed that made sense. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and no mind was fixed in an hour. Still, he was hoping to get some progress done today. He nodded understandingly at Xochitl and continued. 

“Of course, therapy takes time, that’s what everybody always seems to say. I’m just new to this, so not really sure how any of it works.”

That was mostly true. He did have a previous experience with a navy psychologist who was also former military. However, the two of them hadn’t gotten along together very well. Their miracle cure for experiencing trauma and near death was to “take the experience as a new way to appreciate life”. Just drink the experience away and try to muffle the bad times with artificial and shallow good times. Surprisingly, that method didn’t seem to help much. And since then, Marcus had a bit of hesitation when it came to trusting future therapists. 

“So, any questions you want to ask me to get started?”

“Well, if you were an expert in how it all worked, I might well be out of a job, so forgive me if I’m at least a bit pleased with the fact that you’re somewhat in the dark about all of this.” Xóchitl raised an eyebrow. 

Questions to get started. She knew his name, knew a little bit about his job, but there was always more to find out about that, wasn’t there.

“I’d like to know why you chose your job - if that was something you’d been wanting since childhood, or if you somehow happened upon it… I find that knowing the whys when we can know them can lead us to help figuring out our other whys.” Xóchitl settled back against her chair. “I think a good many things are rooted in our pasts - or at least that’s what some textbooks say - but regardless, I find discussing that helps, and then we can figure out together if struggles are rooted in past, present, or somewhere in between.”

Marcus understood her desire to ask about why he chose his occupation, after all what someone chooses to do for a living can tell you a lot about who they are as a person. 

“I chose the Navy because I felt a calling to serve my country. I’ve always loved the water, felt at home in it. So I figured the Navy was the best branch for me to enter into. As for why I chose to man the lighthouse once I got to town, it just seemed like a good fit.” Marcus glanced up to find the woman listening but not offering much of a reaction one way or another. He felt he was good at reading people, so somebody keeping a neutral expression to remain unreadable bothered him a bit. “I knew a lot about ships, relied on the assistance of lighthouses more than once. I’m a strong swimmer in case anybody needed rescuing, too. Plus, the position was available not long after I came to town, seemed like a no-brainer.” 

Marcus felt that his childhood was very nice. He had a wealthy, he almost dared to say privileged, upbringing. His parents were very supportive of everything he wanted to do, even if that meant him risking death in foreign waters. They guided him along through his identity as a selkie, and gave him all of the best advice he could have asked for. If only he had taken that advice more seriously. 

Instead, Marcus figured his problems are a mix of past and present. His present was messed up because of somebody from his past. Who is now back in his present. Was “the present” just right this minute, or the last few months? Because that’s when everything really started to go downhill. 

“I’d say the problem is more rooted in the present, but who knows? Maybe it’s a combination of things”

“I don’t know if I’d call my love for the water something that I feel at home in, but that makes a lot of sense, then, to choose somewhere that you’d always feel sort of close to home, no matter where you were.” She offered him a slight smile, finally, before nodding about the lighthouse choice. “I’m not sure how much I believe in fate, but it seems as though perhaps you were meant to have that position at the lighthouse.” She couldn’t believe in fate too much, because that would’ve meant that her friend was fated to die, or something, and the thought of that was quite nearly unbearable.  Xóchitl nodded. “Was it a steep learning curve? The lighthouse, I mean.”

Another nod, another attempt at a comforting smile in his next comment. “If things have only shifted more recently, then that’d make sense. Are you still enjoying your job at the lighthouse, or does it leave something to be desired, does it feel like you aren’t appreciated…” Xóchitl held up her hand, “I’m not being reductive when I ask that, just so you know, I am just trying to explore as many avenues and options as are possible.”

Marcus listened carefully to the woman in front of him, taking in what she had to say. Was it fate that he ended up working at a lighthouse? He remembered his youth, remembered the lighthouse by his old home used to be his favorite place to go. He even befriended the keeper of that lighthouse as well, who only showed him kindness. It could very well be that when he came to Wicked’s Rest he was pulled towards it in some way, but he wasn’t sure if he would call it fate. He didn’t really believe in that sort of thing. 

“Not exactly. A lot of it is automated now so it’s mostly maintenance related duties. Thanks to my time in the military working on ships, I’m already pretty mechanically minded. Learning my duties came pretty naturally.”

He thought about his job at the lighthouse a bit more carefully. He was sure the ships and their captains were very thankful to him, but those people often weren’t the town’s residents. He had made a few friends in town, and had some very strange interactions with others. He was a bit irked that people kept greeting him with annoyance whenever he tried to stop somebody from littering on the beach. He considered keeping the beaches and their waters clean as part of his duties, and took it very seriously. Other than that, however, he really didn’t have any major complaints about his job. 

“I think my job is great, I’m fine where I’m at. I guess it’s more that I’ve had a recent touch of heartbreak. There was this man that I knew, thought he was the love of my life. Turns out, major sociopath. And I don’t mean that in a casual sense, I mean you might be able to give him an actual diagnosis. So I’ve been struggling with that betrayal and the sense of cynicism it’s given me. I don’t know, the world just seems a lot more…gray now, if that makes sense?”

“Shows what I know,” she laughed, doing some sort of vague attempt to be somewhat self-deprecating, even if only barely. A little bit of something was better than nothing at all. “Well, sounds like you found a good place. Goodness knows I’m not the most mechanically minded. I think I can change a tire, if, like, pressured, but otherwise, not a strong suit.” Xóchitl offered him another hopefully reassuring smile.

“Oh. Yes, that does make a good deal of sense.” She pondered her words carefully. “Big events, if they’re romantic-linked or anything else, can easily have an effect on the way that we see the world. Sometimes in a positive way, and other times, not so much.” Xóchitl nodded. “Before, with him, things seemed more clear? Both personally and in your view of the world?”

Marcus gave a warm smile in return to his therapist remarking her lack of mechanical expertise. It wasn’t easy to understand a machine, and it definitely wasn’t easy to understand a piece of machinery as large as a massive ship or lighthouse. They did have their own engineers in the Navy, but emergencies happened and sometimes the rest of the crew needed to step up and understand how to do some of the more basic tasks needed. He was thankful that he could now learn how to fix anything and understand how it worked pretty quickly, unless it had anything to do with computers. 

“I think it’s a bit more pervasive than that. Things were more clear, sure. But it was like I was living in a completely different reality. One where I was loved, where I was the most important thing in somebody’s life. Only to find out I was nothing more than a means to an end for him. Now, I guess you could say I’m lost.”

He was a bit surprised, he hadn’t meant to unload quite that much. But once he started talking he just sort of kept going. It was nice to be able to get it all out, but he was a bit embarrassed about being vulnerable with this woman he had only just met. 

Marcus cleared his throat, and sat forward a bit.  “Honestly, it’s mostly that as the issue. But it’s also just in general not feeling like myself anymore.” 

She couldn’t help but wince at the comment about being a ‘means to an end.’ And to that, Xóchitl also offered him a compassionate, genuine smile. Nothing too big – and also nothing that was too patronizing – or at least so she hoped. She knew that therapy, as a whole, was something that could easily come off as patronizing and so she always made as much of an effort as was possible to not have that happen.

“Well, after that, I think I’d be more surprised if you weren’t lost.” She raised an eyebrow. “Though of all the ways to end up lost, realizing that you were someone’s means to an end is never ever a good way for that to happen.”

This didn’t seem like it would be a short partnership of therapy, that much she could already tell – and Xóchitl wasn’t opposed to that at all. It would have been a pretty terrible method of being a therapist if she only wanted short-term clients.

“Well, I can’t promise a cure because that’d be false advertising and I don’t believe in curing people, but I can promise that we’ll work through this, and that I have no intentions of leaving you hanging. Does that work for you as a deal? There’s nothing I need or want you to promise to me other than to try.”

The sympathy that the therapist was showing Marcus was very much appreciated, as she was the first person he had told everything to. The reassurance that he was the victim and hadn’t done anything wrong to deserve it was also welcome. As for not promising a cure, Marcus hadn’t expected that. The cure wouldn’t come until the problem itself went away, and he knew that would likely be some time still. 

“I can absolutely try. Until I get better I won’t give anything other than my absolute best. This is something that’s very important to me.”

For the first time in a while, it felt as though Marcus had somebody in his corner. Sure he was paying her to be there, but felt genuine. After all, she must have gotten into this field because she wants to help people, so some degree of it must be her honest desire to help him out. Regardless, he needed an ally to sort through everything that had happened, and he was pleased to have finally found one.  

[ariadnewhitlock]

TIMING: Afternoon/evening of August 30th PARTIES: Emilio (@mortemoppetere), Ariadne (@ariadnewhitlock), and a brief appearance by Wynne (@ohwynne) at the end. SUMMARY: Emilio goes to see what's up with the mare trapped in Rhett's van. Turns out he knows her! They both have a lot of feelings. Ariadne is safe... ish. Emilio has lots of feelings and also finds out that Wynne and Ariadne are dating. CONTENT: Child death (mentions), suicidal ideation (implied at some points)

Rhett had a goddamn mare in his van. 

This was going to happen. Emilio knew that. This was always going to happen. Rhett had been like this for as long as Emilio knew him. Harsh, brutal. Cruel. He’d never thought the last word would apply to his brother, never thought they’d get to a place where they’d be on opposite sides of anything, because Rhett was a constant. A rock, a foundation, the only person who’d ever really seen Emilio as worthwhile for the longest time. 

And yet, here they were. He was sneaking around the area outside his brother’s bunker. He was looking for that damned van. He was betraying something, even if he was doing what he thought was right. A betrayal was a betrayal. 

But this was still something he had to do.

The van came into view, and Emilio shuffled over to it. The door was locked; he made quick work of it. He was more accustomed to picking the locks on doors, but popping the old van’s lock wasn’t very difficult, either. He opened the door, clicked the button to unlock them all, then circled around to the back. Bracing himself, he swung the doors open and —

Jesus. 

It was the kid. The one from the mine, the one who’d once told him she’d politely ask not to be killed if someone tried it. At least if it had been someone brutal, he could have… excused it, somehow. Put them out of their misery, told Rhett some excuse. But this? This was something else. He wasn’t going to kill the kid, and he wasn’t going to leave her here. 

(Was a discovery that couldn’t be hidden better or worse than one that was impossible to ever discover? He was about to find out.)

“All right,” he said quietly. “All right, kid. Let’s get you out of here. Come on.”

—

She didn’t know how long it’d been. The one thing Ariadne did know, though, was that she actually was probably going to die in this van. Or die again, or whatever it’d be called. 

Being a monster, maybe she deserved it, but she had people she cared about – people she loved – and she didn’t want to just die here. Not for one man’s silly sort of science experiment. The idea that she was an experiment for him made her curl back up into the ball that she’d stayed in throughout most of the time she’d been in the van.

She’d chewed her nails down to the quick, and she wasn’t sure if she’d ever been this hungry. Ariadne didn’t like it, and the focusing on what different sweets would feel like only did so much to satiate her. Which was to say, at this point, not much.

She jumped when the doors swung open, scooting very quickly toward the side of the van, lip trembling, hands balled into fists.

Except it wasn’t Him – it was – Emilio? Right? The one who she’d run into in the mines. Ariadne didn’t know what he was doing here, but she felt shaky. “Please – I – please, I’ve been good, I promise.” The words came out far more uneven than she would’ve liked, a jumble of sounds, both said in one breath and taken forever to stretch out. “I – please.” She shook her head, her whole body.

“Please just leave me here, I’ve been good, I don’t want to – I don’t want to change the experiment now.” Ariadne burst into tears. “It’s fine, it’s – how – how do you know Him?”

—

God, she looked terrified. Emilio felt sick at the sight of her, sicker still at the knowledge that it was Rhett who’d put her here. It was so easy, sometimes, to make excuses for the people you loved. Rhett did awful shit, but he was Emilio’s brother, so Emilio tried to explain it away. He’d lost someone once, and it made him hard. He’d made himself a family in Mexico and had it torn away in a heartbeat, and it made him angry. He’d buried Juliana and Flora, found Emilio half dead and trying his hardest to take the ‘half’ qualifier away, and it filled him with grief. Emilio could take those facts, could bind them together into something that made the only family he had left in the goddamn world into something redeemable because he didn’t want to be alone. He could excuse a lot of the shit Rhett did by closing his eyes to it.

But he couldn’t excuse this.

A goddamn kid, locked in the back of his brother’s van for something she couldn’t control. Terrified and starving because someone had killed her once and she hadn’t died the right way. What made Emilio any different, he wondered? His heart might beat, but he’d died in Mexico just as surely as this kid had died in her bed. Was it love that kept Rhett from locking him up in a van? Or was that beating heart the only qualifier? If he didn’t have that, he wondered, would the love be enough for Rhett to still save him?

He didn’t want to think about it. He was afraid of what the answer might be.

Moving forward, Emilio brushed away the salt Rhett must have been using to keep the kid in place. He faltered when she spoke, when it became clear that she thought he was here to help Rhett instead of her. His stomach clenched, nausea tugging at his gut. How many people would assume the same? How many people would take the things Rhett had done and put them on Emilio’s head? Was all the good he’d tried to do undone because he loved someone who did things like this? 

“I’m not changing the… experiment.” The word tasted like acid in his throat. Was Rhett doing this because of him, because he’d told him he didn’t know how long it took to starve a mare? Maybe this was his fault. Would it have been better if Rhett had just cut the kid’s head off? Emilio wouldn’t have been able to save her, but she wouldn’t have suffered like this, either. Suffering was worse, sometimes. He often looked back at Mexico and everything that had happened since and thought about how much he would have preferred a quick death. 

“I’m not changing it,” he said again. “I’m ending it. I’m getting you out of here. Okay? And I’m going to make sure he doesn’t come after you again.” He didn’t know how. Rhett had always been a hard man to convince, and this particular action would wipe away any doubt he had that something in Emilio had changed. That he was broken now, something different than the kid Rhett first met in Mexico twenty years ago. Maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. Maybe if Rhett had a new target for that anger and grief and hardness, people like Ariadne would fall off his radar as Emilio fell to the center of it. Let Rhett spend all his energy on ‘fixing’ Emilio, and he’d have less to break people like this. That was better.

The last of the salt was gone now, and he took a hesitant step back. “Come on out,” he said softly, in a tone he’d lost years ago. It was one he’d used with Flora, with Jaime. “Come on out, and I’ll call someone to come get you. Okay? To take you home. I’m not going to hurt you, kid, I promise.”

—

She wanted to scream, but even though she technically didn’t need anything other than nightmares to survive, her voice felt dry. Ariadne supposed, though, that not having been able to do anything for so long was probably affecting her voice or something. She didn’t know how any of that worked, and so her half hearted scream was even weaker than normal. Not that she’d ever been good at screaming, but then again, she’d never had to be good. Up until last year, she’d been so exceptionally lucky about everything that she hadn’t ever figured there would be a need to.

Which was believing too much in the good of the world, but that was still something that Ariadne felt, despite everything. Despite having literally been killed, despite being a monster herself… she still believed that. Which was, perhaps, why she got stuck in the back of some guy’s van. Him. She still wasn’t sure of His name, wasn’t sure if that was because He hadn’t told her or if she’d forgotten amidst everything else, but maybe that didn’t matter. It wasn’t like the police would pay attention to it, anyhow.

But she wasn’t supposed to let people just walk all over her. She wasn’t supposed to be weak, and so she attempted another scream, more fortified this time. 

Her lips felt chapped, impossibly so. The man who was here now had saved her, and let her help. Assuming the worst in people wasn’t something Ariadne was used to, nor comfortable with. Except he knew she was here, and he couldn’t have known that without knowing Him. Except she did remember that he’d once said something about being able to sense her, or something?

“You’re not?” She dug her nails into her calves, “but it’s – he – the tally marks.” 

Cass would be so mad at her for leaving. Wynne was probably worried. Unless what He said had been true, and she’d been here long enough to make it so that Wynne had moved on. Ariadne was fairly positive she hadn’t been here that long, but still. Her mind had the keen ability to jump to the worst possible scenario, though never blaming the other person.

“You’re getting me out of here?” 

She needed to stop asking so many questions.

Except, “how’ll you make sure he doesn’t? He’s strong and I don’t think he takes very well to my kicking and screaming and crying. I think he thought it was funny.” She looked down at her shoes, still not moving from her spot.

The tone of voice that came with the man’s next words was something that somehow immediately relaxed Ariadne. Reminded her strongly of how her dad had encouraged her to jump off the deep end of the pool, once - twice. How her mom had spoken to her when she didn’t want to start school without Chance. How Chance’s parents had spoken to the both of them, trying to convince them that cauliflower was good. (Ariadne still firmly believed that it wasn’t).

“I - okay. I – not my parents.” She didn’t know why she said that, but that would involve too many questions. “I need a new phone. I need – I need a lot.” Ariadne finally stood up, legs shaking. “He’s gonna come out and check soon, probably. I - what if - I think I know who you can call. I think I know their number.”

—

She screamed, and it was a hoarse and pathetic thing, but Emilio flinched like it was a banshee all the same. Like it was deafening, like it pierced through his eardrums and left blood streaming down the side of his head. It might as well have. That scream, that terrified little sound that wasn’t really much more than a squeak, it was worse than anything he’d heard in a long time. He thought of the vampire he’d fought with Zane, the one who’d known what happened in Mexico and weaponized it. I heard she died screaming. Had her screams sounded like that, in the end? Like a tiny squeak of a thing, the half-sob of a child who didn’t want to die?

Tally marks, she said, and he felt nauseous all over again. Rhett had treated it like a game, hadn’t he? Like an experiment, like a little test. It was awful, it was heartless, it was unforgivable, and still, there was a part of Emilio that wanted to defend him. Still, there was part of him that wanted to argue, wanted to insist that she’d misunderstood, somehow. As if his brother hadn’t had this kid locked in a fucking van for who knew how long, as if he wouldn’t have killed her had Emilio not come. 

There was nothing worse than love, he thought. Without it, he would have gotten the kid out of the van and taken a match to the whole goddamn thing, would have filled the bunker he knew was nearby with dirt and cement and made it uninhabitable. It was love that made his chest ache now, love that made his stomach churn. Rhett had done terrible things here. He had tortured someone who wasn’t much more than a teenager, and he’d enjoyed it. He’d left her alone and terrified, and he’d probably thought it was funny. He was a dangerous person, maybe a bad one.

And Emilio loved him anyway. Even now, even still. 

So what did that say about him? What did it mean when someone you loved was capable of something like this? When the first person who’d ever shown you any kind of affection — the only person who’d shown you affection for years of your life — treated kids like they were science projects? If Rhett was a bad man, what was Emilio? Did his brother’s irredeemable qualities paint a black mark on him, too? Could you be damned just for loving someone? 

And how much did the reason for that love weigh here? If he told Ariadne that the same man who’d locked her in that van had once held Emilio’s daughter and rocked her to sleep so that Emilio could get a few hours of shut-eye himself, it wouldn’t change what Rhett had done. If he recalled the way his brother dug the graves that he himself had been too broken to think of, that Rhett was the only reason Emilio’s wife and daughter were laid to rest in the dirt instead of left to rot in a living room floor, it wouldn’t change the days Ariadne had spent locked in a van. You could love someone, Emilio thought, but love didn’t make them good. Love didn’t make a hero out of a villain. The only thing love ever gave you was excuses.

“I’m getting you out of here,” he said again. “And he’s — I’ll make sure. I’ll make sure he doesn’t come after you again. Okay? I’m going to… I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m going to do. But I’m going to make sure you’re safe.” Maybe he’d give Rhett an ultimatum: that if he wanted to kill the kid, he’d have to take Emilio out first. And maybe he’d pretend that he was still confident what Rhett’s response would be to that. “Don’t worry. Okay? I’ll take care of it.”

Not my parents. Christ, she sounded young. How old was she? Nora’s age, Wynne’s? Younger than Emilio had ever felt, older than Flora would ever be. She had parents who were worried about her, and other people, too. 

He took out his phone, tossing it to her. “Use mine,” he said. “Call someone to pick you up, have them take you to get a new one later, when you’re better.” And he wouldn’t go with her when she left, because why would she want him to? She’d feel safer without him around, he knew. Even if she didn’t know his relationship with the man who’d hurt her, she must have been able to figure out that they knew one another. The van was so out of the way, hidden; no one could have found it without knowing it was there.

Besides… Emilio needed to wait for Rhett to get back. He needed to make sure this wouldn’t happen again.

“You can take my phone with you if you want to, or you can leave it here. Okay? Whatever you need, kid.”

—

She’d made him flinch and a wave of guilt swept through Ariadne’s body. Even in all her frustration, unfamiliar tiredness, and unrelenting panic, she still felt guilty, too. All of the emotions felt like too much, but she did her best to push through them. To try to let her focus wander elsewhere, like she’d been doing ever since she’d ended up in this stupid old van. To anything else – it often wound up back at Wynne, but it had also been other friends, and also Chance. A lot of that. 

Ariadne had convinced herself that he would have contacted her parents, because even if they weren’t talking as much as they used to, and even if they weren’t quite as close as they used to be, they still cared about each other, and Chance would’ve known that she wasn’t the sort to just up and disappear for even one day without warning. Even when she went to stay at Wynne’s, she’d let him know. 

She’d also run through dance sequences in her mind – she had neither the energy nor the motivation to actually dance, and thinking about it was good enough. Or, at least, she’d convinced herself of such. 

The whole deluding herself thing was something she’d become remarkably good at, all things considered. 

Ariadne supposed that, on some level, even convincing herself that she was any version of alive was its own sort of delusion, wasn’t it?

Even if, legally, somehow she was. Because being a literal dead girl and enrolling in college would have been difficult, to say the very least. She’d been too confused when she woke up. Came back to life. Whatever it was. Un-died while still being dead? Point was, He had said that she was supposed to think about what she’d done to get herself into this place, and she’d done a lot of that.

She was nothing if not obedient, even to gray-long-haired creeps who very obviously didn’t understand the scientific method.

“I don’t know –” her breath (which, she supposed, she technically didn’t need, and yet now, and yet always, it felt so necessary) caught in her throat that she had to cough to expel it.

“ – I don’t know if I am safe. Can be. I don’t –” her voice broke off, fragmented, unsure. Scared, still.

“You’re not supposed to worry about me, remember? Not supposed to have to help me.” She fiddled with her necklace. God, she thought, how was she ever going to explain not aging to her grandmother? It seemed as though everything Ariadne had panicked about was bubbling to the surface now. Which had to be the literal worst timing in the world, but she wasn’t so sure she had lots of karma points for good timing anymore. 

Thankfully, she did catch the phone that he threw at her. “No. I mean – you can –” he could what? Go with her? She wasn’t sure if she wanted that at all, but she also knew that she certainly didn’t feel safe going alone. “I can – yeah. I’ll call my partner. Except they can’t drive – or don’t – legally not allowed – could you bring me to their place, if I needed you to?” She tapped her fingers against the back of the phone, the click click click oddly satisfying and calming.

“But I – I’m not taking your phone. That’s stealing.” She shuffled slightly closer to where he was. “I don’t steal.”

—

Terror clung to every inch of her, and Emilio had no idea how to combat it. Usually, in situations like this, he could at least do something. A weapon wasn’t much good for comforting a traumatized kid, but it could at least take out whatever monster had birthed their fear. He’d killed ghouls for Nora, even if Nora hadn’t been afraid of them. He’d fought vampires for Wynne, even if he hadn’t fought them quickly enough to save Wynne from a scar on their throat. But what could he do for Ariadne now? How did you fight the monster when you loved it? How did you slay the dragon when the dragon was the only family you had left?

He watched her squirm, watched her panic, and he wondered if Rhett had felt any of the nausea curling in his gut now when he’d locked her away in that van. Had he doubted, for a moment, what he was doing? Had he thought about her family, about her cousin she said was ‘cooler’ than she was or her parents who were still alive because she was a kid? He knew the answer, and it wasn’t a comfort. Rhett wouldn’t have thought of any of that, because Rhett wouldn’t have seen the kid. He only would have seen a monster. Even when she’d cried. Even when she’d been afraid.

She didn’t feel safe, and how could he combat that? How could he make it easier for her to exist in this terrifying world when he was one of the things she ought to be afraid of? 

“I know,” he said quietly, because at least that was the truth. “I know you don’t feel safe. I know. But I’m going to make sure you are, whether you feel it or not. Okay? I’m going to do everything I can.” Except he wasn’t. Because if he was doing everything he could do, he’d slay the monster. He’d make sure the thing that hurt her wouldn’t get a chance to hurt her again. But Emilio couldn’t make that promise when the thing that hurt her was Rhett. Emilio couldn’t save her when the thing she needed saving from had peeled him off the forest floor and carried him to a stolen van with his family’s grave dirt still caked beneath its fingernails. 

He could make an empty promise, but he couldn’t keep it. He thought she might suspect as much. He didn’t know how to explain it away. Love was a hard thing to put to words, harder when you were trying to explain it to someone who’d been hurt by a person you loved. Emilio didn’t think he’d ever know how to do it fully.

He swallowed, remembering their conversation from before. “Maybe,” he said, “but I like doing things I’m not supposed to do. So I’m worrying anyway. I’m helping anyway. Don’t think you can stop me, kid. I’m a stubborn viejo.” 

She caught the phone, which was good. There was still some coordination there. She’d need it if she was going to get home… and get something to eat. He tried not to think about what she’d have to do when she left here, tried not to think about how little he knew she wanted to do it. She’d seemed disgusted by what she needed to do to survive when they’d spoken before, seemed to hate it. Now, thanks to Rhett, she’d have to feed quickly if she wanted to survive. Control would be a hard thing to come by after days of not eating at all, he suspected. But he couldn’t help her with that part. All he could do was what he was doing.

Shaking his head, he glanced back to the van. “I can’t go with you,” he said quietly. “I have to stay here and wait for him, so I can make sure you’re safe.” He’d talk to Rhett. He’d talk to him. He tried to convince himself that it would work, that his brother would somehow see his way of thinking and not hate him for it. It was a useless pipe dream, but what else did he have? “Your partner can take my car. It’s okay if they can’t drive legally. I can’t, either. They can take my car, and they can get you somewhere safe. But I have to stay here.” 

He let her come in closer, didn’t move as she got near. If she wanted to stand close to him, of all people, she could. He wouldn’t move in one direction or another; it was her decision. Something ought to be. “It’s not stealing. It’s borrowing. You can give it back to me when you get a new one, or when you finish with it. I’m letting you borrow it. Okay? Not stealing if I give it to you.”

—

“Okay.” She wasn’t sure how much she even wanted to talk. Not to Emilio specifically, but just in general. Like something was just broken. Even if Ariadne knew that sounded overly dramatic. 

Except that she wasn’t sure if she’d ever felt this tired other than the other time she’d died. Which wasn’t the sort of thing you were supposed to have others of. You weren’t supposed to be able to die more than once. Not unless you were a monster, or some sort of freakish defiance of nature. Except that Teagan didn’t think so, and Inge and Leila thought she was incredible. Cass liked her for what she was. So there were some people, at least, who thought of her as just Ariadne, still. Which meant a lot, even as she sat here, in the back of someone’s van who’d thought it would be fun to experiment with how long it took her to die.

Again.

“I still don’t know much of any Spanish, but okay.” Ariadne lay down on the floor of the van, again. “I’m just offering you an out.” One that she was glad he didn’t take, but still. The offer had to be there. She would’ve felt even more evil and wrong if it weren’t – and of course he didn’t take it, because even if her anxiety told her (and still did) that maybe he was there to help the other man whose name she still didn’t know, he was good and kind and she owed him at least some respect around that.

She had to feed, she was reminded of again, painfully so. Except this wasn’t just a case of her putting it off a bit longer than she would’ve liked. Now it was a matter of living unlife or death, again. She didn’t want that again. She wanted to call Wynne and kiss them and apologize for disappearing on them. Ariadne also knew that with how honest they’d been with her, she’d owe them an explanation of what had happened here, and why it had happened. 

Hopefully they’d still want to be with her after that. Or even be near her, be her friend. 

Ariadne knew that she couldn’t focus on that right now though, and so she looked down at the phone. “Okay. Or - okay.” Wait for Him. Emilio had to wait for Him. She let out another shaky breath, doing her best to not burst into tears again. “Okay.” She nodded again, unlocking the phone and texting Wynne – she wasn’t sure if she could handle being on the phone right now. Just a:

I’m okay. I need you to come pick me up. My friend Emilio says you can take his car if you need to.

With a pin of her location. 

“They should be here soon, I hope.” She stood up, finally, for a moment, still shaking, and stepped out of the van, only to drop to the floor almost instantly and curl her arms back around her legs.

—

She was still afraid. It was a tangible thing, something that radiated off of her like body heat, like a fever. She was still afraid, and she probably always would be now. He thought of the conversations he’d had with her before, about how she’d lamented that if someone were going to kill her, she’d just ask them not to. What life had she lived that she’d genuinely believed a polite request would be enough to prevent someone from killing her? Emilio found himself longing for a world in which she was right about that, for a world where his daughter could have carried the same belief and let it raise her into someone twenty years older instead of someone who died before she had the chance to even live. 

And there was mourning in that longing, too. Mourning for the little girl in Mexico who would never grow older, mourning for the kid in the back of the van who’d lost something of herself even if she was still here, mourning for the brother he’d loved and trusted and respected even when he shouldn’t have. Rhett would never forgive him for letting the kid go, and Emilio would never forgive Rhett for trapping her in the first place. What would they be, after this? What would be left for them?

He pushed the thought aside, because it didn’t matter. How he felt, how Rhett felt, it wasn’t important. What mattered right now, in this moment, was the kid. Getting her out of here before Rhett got back, making sure she wouldn’t be in danger because of him again. Emilio had no idea how to do that, but he knew he was going to. He’d do whatever it took. He couldn’t save that little girl in Mexico, couldn’t save the part of the kid who would be left in the van, but he could try to keep it from happening again. He wanted to do that.

(He tried not to think of Andy in that cabin. He tried not to think about the last time he’d tried to protect a kid by talking a hunter out of doing what hunters did. He tried not to think of dirt under his fingernails and a grave no one would ever find, but it was hard to think of anything else. That wouldn’t be Rhett. He’d die before he let that happen.)

“It doesn’t matter,” he mumbled, trying to pry his accent from the words, trying to exist in the language she understood best even if it was one that still felt foreign to him. “And I’m not — I don’t need an out. I don’t want one. I’m here. I’m helping. Okay? I’m doing that.” I owe you that, he wanted to add, but that would be a confession, wouldn’t it? That would be admitting to something he figured a part of her already knew, telling her that the only reason he’d known to rescue her was because the man who’d hurt her trusted him enough to tell him where to find her. And it was selfish and it was shitty and it was the worst goddamn thing about him, but he didn’t want to do that. He didn’t want to confess to that.

He watched her stammer through a response, couldn’t bring himself to think of anything else to say. She used his phone, she sent a message, she stumbled. He moved forward, carefully putting a hand on her shoulder as she sat on the ground. “Try not to move around too much,” he told her quietly. He ached with it, ached with her. All he could think about was Flora and Jaime and how the only thing Emilio had ever been good for, when it came to kids, was failing them.

They sat for a few minutes, Emilio on high alert just in case Rhett showed up again. But when the familiar sound of his own car’s engine reached him, he relaxed a little. “Sounds like they’re here,” he said quietly. “I’m going to help you to the car. All right? I’m going to help you to the car, and then I’m going to wait here. And you’ll go with your friend, and you’ll be safe.” He’d make sure. He would.

—

She had been gone for four days. There had been four days without messages, without Ariadne pressed next to them in bed, without her at breakfast or her coming to meet them for a picnic in the park, as they had agreed to. Wynne had been sick with worry, showing up at Whitlock Wares with wide, panicked eyes and not finding her there either. Only her parents, who seemed to be equally worried — which only made them worried more.

Awkward first meeting with their girlfriend’s parents aside, it had been four days of a dead trail, no answers and ice cold panic. Their mind jumped from vampiric cults to werewolves (it hadn’t been a full moon, had it) to their own family to monsters they weren’t even sure existed. Things were only just starting to settle, it seemed — their heartbeats growing stronger and steadier, their fear becoming easier to grasp.

And here they were again, caught in sleepless nights. It felt selfish, to even admit that this was making them feel worse — but it was. Wynne had gotten used to having Ariadne’s constant presence near them. If it was not physically, she was there to text during work or the moments where the world seemed to cave in. She was always an arm’s length away, and though there was plenty of time they spent apart (as there was so much to do, and not all of it could be done together), the fact that she was always close enough to call was a comfort they were attached to. More than that, Ariadne was safe. She not only felt safe, but she was supposed to be safe.

But she was gone. Four days of silence. Until their phone buzzed with a message of Emilio that carried her name. 

Wynne was quick. They could be quick if they needed to be, and this situation called for it. Shoes on. No jacket needed. Take the knife, though. Get out the door. Lock it. Avoid Jeff. Slip into Emilio’s place (never locked). Don’t pet Perro. Get the key from the fridge, that’s where he left it when he was drunk. Don’t pet Perro, Wynne, you have somewhere to be! Get out. To the car. Try not to panic. Unlock, get in, put key into the ignition and remember all Sully and the others taught them. Drive.

The issue with their driving had never been their ability to drive — Wynne knew how to handle a car, they just didn’t know how to do so in a tightly populated, urban setting with rules and regulations. They were lucky it was nighttime then, and that traffic was slow — because they were speeding, forgetting about blinkers and speed limits and – at some point – even forgetting how to stop the wipers from wiping the windows aggressively. They at least managed to turn the radio off.

“Your destination is on your right,” the robot lady voice informed them and they hit the brakes, staring wide-eyed at none other than Emilio through the side of the car. Their gaze dropped and they saw Ariadne, who looked alive and okay, but like she hadn’t slept or eaten in quite some time. The window wipers were still going, as if they were running a marathon. Wynne opened their mouth, then realized the window was closed and just burst out of the car, realizing way too late that they’d forgotten their seatbelt. No matter. It meant they were faster to crouch in front of Ariadne now.

“Hey, hey, I’m here, we can go —” they said, placing their hands on Ariadne’s shoulders, pulling her slowly towards them before looking over at Emilio for anything. Explanation, instruction, reassurance: Wynne would take it all. “I’m here, okay, we can – whatever this is, we can go.” 

—

She still wanted to say that he didn’t have to help her. Even now, amidst all her relief, there was still a feeling of guilt. If she weren’t a monster, then he wouldn’t have had to do this. She’d never gotten into trouble even remotely close to this back when she was alive. Ariadne still had to wonder how he’d found her. She didn’t know if maybe his ability to sense dead people was like, super long-reaching and meant that he knew where she was always. She didn’t know how else he would’ve found her. 

Or didn’t want to think about how he would have known. If maybe her anxiety-riddled questioning about if he’d come to help with the experiment held some sort of truth to it. If maybe, somehow, he’d just up and decided to back out at the last moment. Except that he’d offered to help, so that was probably her being unfairly cruel. Being a monster.

Just like He’d said she was.

Ariadne focused back on Emilio, offering a shrug. It was the most she could do, right now.

“Moving’s not easy, yeah.” She pressed her fingers against her temples, trying to make things stop spinning. Hoping for quite literally any other feeling besides panic, anxiety, or dread. Which wasn’t entirely likely or possible, but holding on to some sort of hope, no matter how false it was, had to be good, didn’t it?

Wynne was coming, too. She’d missed them more than she thought possible. 

Missed lying near them at night, missed sending them cute photos or just texts whenever she thought of them (which was a lot. Nearly constantly, as a matter of fact).

Ariadne stayed seated on the ground, still terrified that He’d come out to do one of his checks (she thought they’d been unpredictable, but then again, she hadn’t had any sort of sense for how to tell time, so maybe they’d been exact. Given His grins whenever she freaked out though, she figured they’d been random. It was easier to freak her out that way.)

The sound of a car came and Ariadne looked up, looked up as Wynne came out of the car and made their way towards her, how they were in front of her, suddenly, blessedly, and pulling her close to them and she buried her face in their shoulder, another sob wracking her whole entire body. “I’m so sorry. I missed you so much.” She whimpered again, pulling away to look up at them for a moment, longing to kiss them. “I’m sorry I - I’m getting your shirt all messy. I’m sorry I – I couldn’t text you, and I –” she broke off again, burying her face once again into their shirt, breathing in their comforting smell, the fact that they were here. 

Because they were here, she finally felt some sort of safety. Like things might be okay now – which wasn’t fair to Emilio, but she supposed that was what love was, sort of? Finding your home, having them be the person who could ground you the most and make you feel the safest. Or maybe it was the way Wynne’s hands felt in her hair, how comforting their breathing was, even though Ariadne was fairly certain they were unsteady and unsure about the whole situation. 

Still staying close to them, she finally looked up at Emilio too. “I – thank you, for letting me text them. I – yeah.”

—

His stomach was in knots. It had been ever since Rhett messaged him. Actually, no. That wasn’t — It had been for longer than that, hadn’t it? Since the day he ran into Rhett in that vampire’s apartment, since the moment he’d realized his brother hadn’t changed and he had. Emilio had been waiting for the other shoe to drop for months now, hadn’t he? He’d known since the day his brother walked back into his life that something like this was inevitable. He’d been doing what he could — making sure Rhett and Ren were never anywhere near his apartment at the same time, keeping Rhett away from Teagan’s lake — but it was never going to be a long-term solution. There was no long term solution. At least, not one he could accept.

(He thought of the ranger again, of Andy’s knife sliding between his ribs. The ranger’s face shifted in his memory, turned into Rhett instead of a stranger. The hand holding the knife became Emilio’s instead of Andy’s. He thought he might be sick.)

The kid was talking beside him, but it was hard to hear her. It was hard to hear anything over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. The car was here, and that was good. That meant she’d get away clean, meant she’d be gone before Rhett came back, meant he could… do something. Fix this, somehow. It was good.

But then the car door opened and Wynne stepped out, and nothing felt very good anymore.

The kid was approaching them, was sobbing into their shoulder, was kissing them. Emilio was somewhere else. An empty white space somewhere, a barn basement, a living room floor. The world was closing in tightly around him, squeezing him in a vice grip. He could swear he felt his ribs give way, could swear he felt them shatter and slice up his lungs, could swear he tasted blood in his mouth. Rhett hurt a kid. Rhett hurt a kid Wynne cared about. Rhett was a monster, and Emilio loved him.

So what did that say about him?

The kid was talking again, and Wynne was looking at him, and Emilio didn’t know where he was but he knew it wasn’t here. He nodded tightly, but it was hard to move around that vice grip. It was hard to do much of anything at all. 

He looked to Wynne, pleading with them silently. Don’t ask me about it. Please. Don’t ask me. “Take her away from here,” he said quietly. “Don’t take her to your place. Not yet.” He wasn’t sure how things would go with Rhett, but if there was any chance of his brother showing up at his apartment after this, the kid couldn’t be across the hall. “Take her somewhere safe. You can take my car, she can keep my phone. I’ll reach out. I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again. Just take her somewhere safe.”

—

She was in their arms and maybe that was all that mattered, now. That Wynne could hold Ariadne, and soon pick her up, guide her to the car and drive away — maybe that was the only thing that mattered for now. Even if questions raced through their mind, like why Emilio was here, why there was a van, why Ariadne couldn’t stop crying and what had transpired over the past few days. They were dizzying, but the way Ariadne buried her face in their shirt, sobbing against them was oddly grounding.

It made it clear what had to be done. Wynne had been good at that once, knowing what needed to be done and doing it, with a clear head. Keeping that head high, despite the horrors unfolding in front of them. For Ariadne, they would try to do that too now — keep their head high, keep their crying to a minimum and go.

But they cried. Ariadne was crying against them and it was hard not to fall into the same rhythm, breaths leaving their throat too fast, almost stumbling over each other in their haste. “Don’t, no you don’t have to apologize,” they said, looking at that tear-stained face and wishing they could wipe it all away, whatever had happened these past days. “Don’t worry about my shirt. Or the texts. Okay?” 

What did their shirt matter? What did it matter that Ariadne hadn’t texted? Wynne hadn’t texted her once, too, and maybe because of that they had known. That this wasn’t a case of their girlfriend ignoring them, or needing some time apart — that there was something wrong. That something bad had happened to this, too.

Bad things kept happening. People kept being hurt. But why would someone hurt Ariadne? What could have possibly led to whatever this had been? Wynne didn’t understand it and part of them was afraid of knowing, of unveiling another dangerous and ugly part of the world that they’d have to try and live with.

They could barely live with the world as it was, and now the world had hurt Ariadne. Perhaps that was the most unforgivable thing so far.

Emilio looked at them in a way they hadn’t quite seen before, but it seemed clear they shouldn’t ask too many questions. “Okay. Got it. Hey, Aria? We — are you good to go to your place? Do you want to go to your parents?” Wynne tried to look at the other, rubbing some tears from her cheeks as they fought a hiccup. Then they looked back at Emilio. “No, no, please take your phone, so I can reach you, she can – she can use mine. I have her parents numbers and everything.” 

He’d make sure it wouldn’t happen again and they believed him. They didn’t have anything else left to do in the moment. Later, maybe, they’d realize that there were limits to how much Emilio could stop, that all these bad things happened even if people like him were trying to stop them, but for now they believed him. Wynne nodded. “We’ll go. But you be safe. Okay?”

—

Nothing was okay, but somehow things felt more okay now that Wynne was here. Which wasn’t fair to Emilio, but Ariadne couldn’t help her pattern of thoughts right now. Besides, she figured that when your closest person was around, things were supposed to feel better than with just anybody else. Even if she still wanted to just melt into the ground, to have everything be brought to a screeching halt.

Not her life – that much she very much wanted. Had wanted before this, and even if she’d been sad, miserable, and hopeless for however long she’d been in the van, Ariadne wanted to live. Even if He’d suggested it’d be better off if she gave up. She had people she cared about – people she loved. If nothing else, she had to make sure Chance didn’t keep getting himself into trouble, because she would not have been surprised if he’d wound up in some sort of situation in the past however-long she’d been in here.

“Okay,” she said, words choppy and broken, “but I’m - still - I’m still sorry.” Shortly before everything, the two of them had talked about the practical impossibility of the two of them always being close to one another, but now she wanted that more than anything. She was supposed to be the monster, and yet nothing felt safer than when she was with Wynne. They were here, they’d come when she’d needed them (because they were good, always), and they smelled exactly the same.

Like home.

She only halfway paid attention to what Emilio was saying, her body trying to get her heart to race from the sheer panic of wondering if He’d come back. If that man with the gray beard and cruel eyes and unkind laugh would come out to check, to tally-mark her for the day. Ariadne clung to Wynne as much as she was able, only focusing back on them when she heard their voice again. “I - yeah. We can go to my place. I’ll – yeah. That should be fine.” She’d deal with Chance’s comments if he was there. Though even though she knew the two of them didn’t tend to see eye to eye anymore, he’d still worry for her. “I just want to go to my place, and shower, and crawl in bed. Can - you - will you stay? At my place. Please. Not – not here.”

She let them pull her up, still wrapping her arms around them, as if worried that if she didn’t this would all be some sort of cruel and awful image that she’d conjured up. That she was still stuck in the van. But she could feel Wynne’s breath on her neck and could feel their cheek when she kissed them. So it was real, and she was safe. Or safe-ish, heavy emphasis on the ish. Ariadne didn’t know how long it would take until she was safe, or what she’d do about the fact that she still really needed to feed, but she’d figure that out. Somehow.

“Will you message when you’re home?” She looked back over to Emilio. “Please? I – I don’t want Him to hurt you.” That would be a whole other thing she couldn’t live with.

—

Wynne was looking at him, and Emilio couldn’t meet their eye. He looked down at his feet, at the ground that kept shifting from the forest’s dirt to the floor of that barn basement to the bloody carpet of a living room a country away. The kids were talking — to him, to each other, he didn’t know. He didn’t think it made much of a difference. None of them seemed to have much capacity for conversation anymore; not Ariadne with her trembling, not Wynne with their worried confusion, not Emilio with his fractured mind. Not a single one of them could talk right now, he suspected.

He was aware enough to catch on that they were going to Ariadne’s place instead of Wynne’s, the relief in hearing it a palpable thing. They didn’t ask him why he’d insisted they stay away from the apartment in Worm Row, but he knew the question would come later. He knew a lot of questions would come later, knew that there were things he needed to answer and actions he needed to answer for. 

(Could you explain love, he wondered? When Wynne or Ariadne or both inevitably asked him about it, could he put words to the ache in his chest that bore his brother’s name? This man is a monster, he could say. This man hurt you. This man would have killed you. This man made me who I am. How could he tell the story without damning himself? How could he hate what someone had done while still loving them with all he had?)

He wondered if he ought to give them privacy, if he ought to try to force his legs to take him a few steps away. He was hardly eavesdropping; the ringing in his ears was still loud enough to drown out their quiet conversation. Did it count as ‘giving them a minute’ if, instead of walking out of earshot, he dissociated past the point of hearing them? The question was funny and harrowing at the same time. It seemed a common theme in Emilio’s life, these days. 

Ariadne was looking at him again, and it took him a moment to realize she’d spoken. The words seemed to hang for a moment before finding their way to his ear, and he felt sick all over again. She didn’t want Rhett to hurt him. She didn’t want Rhett to hurt him. She had to know that Emilio knew something, that he hadn’t happened upon her here by random chance, and she was still… concerned. About him. As if he deserved that, as if he ever had.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” he said quietly. “I’ll be fine.” And it was worse, he thought, that he knew it was true. He knew Rhett wouldn’t hurt him the same way he knew the grass was green, the same way he knew the sun rose in the morning. It was a given, the kind of thing you understood the moment you were old enough to understand anything at all. Rhett wouldn’t hurt him, would never hurt him.

But he’d hurt just about anyone else.

Looking back to the van, Emilio felt overcome with emotions he didn’t understand, feelings he couldn’t put a name to. He tore his gaze away from the bad paint job and the open doors, tried not to think about how many times he’d slept in the same floor that had become a kid’s prison for the last few days, tried not to remember Rhett carrying him to the front seat and strapping him in after the massacre, the way he’d bled on the fabric and rested his head against the window. Her hell had been his sanctuary. Her jailor had been his savior. It was not the kind of thing a person could ever forgive.

He forced himself to look back at the kids, nodding his head. “I’ll get in touch with you when I’m done here. Okay? You go, and I’ll tell you when it’s over.” 

I’m going to keep you safe, he promised silently. He hoped that, this time, for once, it was a promise he’d be able to keep.

[theskyspiritstalentshow]

Chatzy.com still exists, I hope it'll keep existing a while longer.

[theticklishpear]

Will there be a nano chat this year? ^.^

Well there is now, Anon! I've had a couple people reach out with interest in a chat for this year, so I've booted up a fresh room.

The Chatzy room will be open in the morning:

Click through and enter nano2023withpear for the password.

You do not need a Chatzy account to participate.

Please use your Tumblr handle as your username; it will help me keep track of who's who.

The room will be open 24/7 throughout November. I will be present:

Monday, Wednesday, Friday: 10 AM–12 PM EST

Saturday, Sunday: 2–12 PM EST

time zone convertor

I'm an ML for my area, plus this is the busiest season of my day job, so there may be times when I can't be there. I am, unfortunately, very human and still have to do life things.

Some ground rules:

We're an extremely low-expectation, chill room, and I intend to keep it that way. Trolling, flaming, anti-LGBTQIA+ sentiments, racism, antisemitism, etc. will not be tolerated.

If it's clear you're not there to write, you will be asked to leave.

Sometimes the room gets quiet — that's okay. Don't get upset if folks take a while to respond. They might be writing, and that's kind of the point after all.

Folks write all kinds of stuff. Just because someone's story isn't your thing doesn't mean you get to be disparaging about it. We do a lot of encouragement and I'd like that emphasis to be upheld.

Come on by if you need some prompts, challenges, or sprints! We're busy little writers, but we do love to feed each other's chaos, and sprints are a great way to buckle down and write hard for 10–30 minutes.

See you there! -Pear

[felixcosm]

when will our chatzy return home from the war

[contemporarybardess]

[pm] Hey. How are you? I just wanted to say thank you for saving me. I didn't hurt you did I?

[pm] Oh wow, hi! I'm doing great! It's nice to hear from you when you're not all zombified. You didn't hurt me at all! Had me scared for a little while there, but I was more worried about your safety than I was my own. I'm really glad Monty was able to get you the help you needed, we should definitely go back and see if he got those llamas he promised!

[kadavernagh]

Spirit & Bone || Coyote Exorcism

TIMING: Same time as Fury & Flesh LOCATION: Regan’s cabin  CHARACTERS: Regan, Lil, Leah, Ari, and Nicole SUMMARY: A group has organized to free Regan from her coyote problem. But the coyote won’t go easy, and has some tricks up its sleeve -- or really Regan’s. Will the coyote meet its match in an exorcism, especially if it’s an ACME brand one?  CONTENT WARNINGS: Animal cruelty (mentioned/implied)

The coyote was restless. Regan didn’t know why, and it offered no explanation. Sometimes it just had a feeling. It sensed things no banshee, let alone human, could ever dream of. The scent of sweat on the skin of nearby hikers, creeping too close to the cabin. Or the sound of a hawk crushing a songbird in its claws half a mile away. Today it felt threatened, caged. And it hated feeling caged. It was desperate enough for some of its nerves to sink themselves into Regan, latching to her skin. She couldn’t shake it off any better than the coyote.

Something was going to happen. But perhaps it was the fruits of their labors, rather than anything to fear. For once, she was relieved she had already asked Emilio to patrol nearby. This was the most delicate part of the ceremony they were to do – the laying of the last bones on the mound of death they had been building for months. If they were interrupted, the whole thing was sure to unravel, decomposing to nothingness before the coyote’s hollow eyes. That couldn’t happen. This was its only path to a peaceful rest. Most of the bones in her vast collection were in place, now. She had shuffled back from the mound to the cabin, collecting the remaining skunk and raccoon bones in her arms.

Something… there was something. The coyote seemed to freeze, a deep chill emanating out from the bag its skull was swaddled in. Regan delicately set down the bones and scooped the bag up in their stead, holding it close. What did it sense? What was it? 

Regan’s head turned sharply toward the door, eyes narrowed and a scream simmering in her lungs. Someone is there. Multiple someones. Its thoughts were like chattering teeth in her head. “I know.” Regan replied. We will deal with them. “I know.” She repeated, this time with finality.

Lilian had been quiet most of the time going to the cabin that they were approaching, her eyes focused on the road ahead. She was tired, dead tired from the ghosts and exorcisms that seemed to follow her around these days clinging to her. Her usual up-beat nature was tampered down knowing that this event wasn’t going to be easy. She didn’t know all the moving parts, but in fairness she rarely asked questions about the details of things. Simply, there were things that were easier not to know. Exorcists were called to be focused on a goal, not wondering about the contents of a soul. Not wondering what the coyotes wanted, even if she felt something sour about it in her mouth. 

Nodding to the others softly Lil said in a low voice, “ Is this the cabin? If so - she’s probably going to go after me first if the ghost realizes what I am. If you can get her in a chair I can draw a circle quickly. It won’t be able to get out of it then, and probably won’t be able to jump. Are we ready? ” She hoped at least. From what she was told, this seemed to be a spirit not a demon, but - well it was worth a shot at least. Her left hand curled around the chalk in her palm while her right held her dagger hoping not to use it. 

Leah could not wrap her mind around all the ways what they were about to do could go wrong, and she hated the feeling.  She had the privilege and the resources to always have a plan in a situation like this.  Or-, multiple plans, really.  Plan A, and plan B, and even plans C-ZZ when all the previous ones went wrong.  She could research, meticulously and with finality, all the ways that situations had gone wrong before, and all the ways to avoid those wrongs before they happened.  

But there was nothing concrete about this, at least not in the limited Ramirez scribary.

It wasn’t unheard of for new situations to arise, of course, but it was the first time in this life at least that Leah had to deal with it.  She gripped Nicole’s hand in hers tightly, uncomfortable with the feeling.  Regan was going to be angry.  She would have been angry being surprised like this anyway, but the possession made that anger entirely too unpredictable.  She hoped the real Regan would fight through whatever was tainting her mind, but couldn’t imagine how hard that must be.  She looked over at Lil with a nod at her question, and then back at the familiar door. “We’ll do our best.  I don’t have much to offer in strength but I can try to back her into a corner via temperature.  What are you thinking?”, she asked, turning to Ari.  Ari, who she hadn’t seen since their memorial for Alcher.  She had to remember to invite that girl over for dinner or something, lest all their interactions be through traumatic events involving mutual loved ones.  The thought made her look to Nicole again, letting out a breath.  “Maybe I can distract her somehow… maybe you two can each take a side.”

When Nicole and Leah had asked her to come along to help with some ritual, Ari hadn’t thought much of it. When it came to helping people, she rarely did. Just yes and action and that was that. The details hadn’t fully registered given the hazy state she existed in most of the time these days, but in the moment, she knew she’d know what to do. When it came to a fight, her instincts were pretty sharp. Being a predator with years of training had its perks or something. During the walk, the wolf hadn’t been paying all that much attention or she would have noticed the route seemed familiar. 

Once they were at the door of the cabin it clicked and Ari had to swallow back the panic that was rising in her. Why were they at Regan’s cabin? Maybe she really should have asked some questions, but if they were here to help Regan, it was probably fine. She was sure it wouldn’t count as repaying her debt to the banshee. Or maybe it would. She couldn’t really say. The cabin felt just as cold and sterile as it had the last time she was here. Death and wood being the primary smell. Leah’s voice pulled her out of her head. “This is Regan’s cabin,” she said, slowly, “Are we here to help her?” 

Nicole had no stakes in this situation. She didn’t even know the woman about to be exorcised. But her conscience wouldn't have allowed her to sleep at night if these women risked their lives for nothing. She had to be there to make sure Leah's bones remained intact, that Lil didn't exert herself like she almost did banishing the termites, or that Ari didn’t attempt anything reckless. Alright, she had stakes but they were different. If they needed an exit plan, she wouldn't hesitate to make it happen. No ifs or buts.

Nicole didn’t know this woman, but a beast's spirit inhabiting your body was not something she wished on anyone, even if the circumstances weren't quite the same. “Just give me enough time to leave to circle” she glanced at Lil. They had been an unconventional team against the ghost termites, but an effective one. She trusted her to get it right. And it shouldn’t be a problem for her and Ari to muscle the woman into a chair as long as she didn’t have reinforcements inside. Like those awful coyotes they fought in her garden. “We can try that” She gave Leah a curt nod, but squeezed her hand in reassurance.

Planning and executing were two different things though, especially under pressure. And so, standing right outside the cabin, ready to open the door, Nicole hoped for the best but prepared for the worst. Ariana’s question registered in her brain right as she pushed the door open. She did a double take. Wait. Did they not tell her the name? “Yeah… Why’s that—” her words died in her throat once she peered inside the slight opening, shivers running down her spine as the scent of decay flooded her lungs.

She would not get the door. It wasn’t even locked, anyway – she had only meant to stop in for the rest of the bones. Bounding over to do so wouldn’t stymie anyone with steely determination. And Regan had a feeling this was no lost hiker. She could hear them. Voices outside. Multiple, familiar, but she couldn’t place them. So she froze, letting the coldness of the bones in her arms fill her as she stared at the door knowing it would move at any moment. Her wings flicked against her back, the only anxious betrayal of her composure. The skull commanded her to be prepared. A scream whipped up like a storm inside of her lungs, and Regan held it in her chest. Movement. The door getting nudged. 

Leah. The scream seared her intercostals, wanting to be belted squarely at the librarian. There were others, too – Lil, that child Ariana, someone Regan didn’t know – but none of them enraged her quite as much. Leah’s presence said enough. She knew what this was about. “One chance,” Regan said, the edges of the scream leaking into her voice, “You all have one chance to leave.” One of the skunk bones – a darling scapula – shattered in her hands in response to the vibration. She gave the remaining bones a loving clench and then sat them down, opting to keep the more valuable skull in her bag. It would be safe there. It would always be safe with her. “Do you understand? We will do the same to your bones.”

It was already happening so fast.  Ari’s question (which Leah was glad Nicole answered), the door swinging open, and …Regan.  Still somehow both fully herself and less herself than Leah had last seen her.  She adjusted the bag on her shoulder, filled with things for the ritual and anything else they might need.  Candles, sage, a bag of salt, tears… She hoped they wouldn’t need the tears.  Then, there was the threat, and the tell-tale sign that Regan was about to scream.   Her voice echoed around them, more ominous than the threat could ever have been.  Bones shattered in Regan’s hands, and it was almost a wonder that her own bones weren’t already cracking inside her.  With a swallow, she looked hard into Regan’s eyes. She’d heard what she thought was Regan screaming plenty of times before, but from a distance.  She knew the power her scream had.  But they couldn’t leave.  They couldn’t let Regan destroy herself anymore.

She needed to get her attention; she needed to find some way to get her to listen.  She didn’t listen back at the apartment or on the internet, and she didn’t seem primed to listen now.  So Leah had to try something different.  “Regan”, she said, both in greeting an acknowledgement.  Her nerves got the best of her, and in the blink of an eye, she flashed to her flame state and then back in an instant.  Her fire hadn’t been working properly in months, but she tried to see the silver lining of it all- maybe this would serve as a good enough distraction to Regan for the time being.  With adrenaline rushing, people’s senses went into overdrive.  Maybe the shock of seeing a friend on fire would do enough of the trick.

“I can’t even begin to imagine how scary this must be for you.  None of us can.  But there is something inside you that doesn’t belong there, Regan.  It’s not there to help you, it’s using you.  And when it’s done with you, I’m worried it will leave you with nothing left.” Regan was threatening people she loved and there was no longer a doubt in Leah’s mind that she would follow through with it.  “We first met because you needed help, Regan.  In an absolutely wild situation, you needed help.  And I came, because there are things I know about this town that are just unexplainable to most people.  And we can help you now, okay? But we can’t help you if you don’t let us.”  She took a deep breath, glancing at the women around her.  ‘If there was ever any ounce of trust you had in me that I could help you with something like this… if there was ever an inch of doubt about what’s been going on with you… then I need you to promise.  Promise me you won’t scream while we’re here.”

Leah. She did something. For a second, just a second, Regan stared at where her friend stood as her slow heart raced. There had been fire. Leah, somehow, looked as if – but that was impossible. So why did her heart sprint at the impossible? The coyote was unimpressed. But an old memory dislodged itself – Augusta’s Office of Medical Examiner going up in smoke, the flames licking at the entrance of the autopsy suite, the half-finished autopsy shielded behind her. Regan squinted at Leah, seeing if she could summon back the fire with her mind for long enough to be convinced to run. But there was nothing. Only Leah. Leah and her pleading words.

“You don’t know anything,” Regan hissed, a lightbulb popping behind her. “I gave you a –” Warning. But Leah wasn’t done. And while the coyote was tugging at her, calling on her to act, something was stopping her. But not for long. The coyote’s urgency doubled at Leah’s words, enraged that it had been detected and spoken of in such a manner. What could they do? Nothing. It wouldn’t allow it. Regan wrapped her arms around her chest, no longer confident she could contain the scream even if she wanted to. And she didn’t. Right? She didn’t. The coyote confirmed it.

This was it. She would not give up her scream. The coyote knew her for the servant and weapon that she was. And while the scream wasn’t their only asset – there were still the shadows –  it was the only one capable of causing true, physical harm. It sensed Regan’s hesitation. Only a flicker of it, but enough for the coyote to grow concerned by her cowardice. You’re better than this, it reminded her, its voice like chattering teeth in her head. It was afraid, Regan realized, too slowly and too late. Think of your training. The social tethers choked out of you. These humans don’t matter. What matters is finishing the work. 

They were intruders, interlopers. The small amount of warmth Regan felt at seeing familiar faces, the tiny gap of doubt Leah had been needling at, was wrung out of her. They might as well have been strangers. Humans interfering with things beyond their ken. The coyote pushed harder. They were an active threat. Regan’s gaze darkened as she looked at the humans. It was time to listen to the storm inside of her lungs. She released it; the scream poured out of her and filled the cabin, cracking the “crack-proof” windows and shooting small shards of glass everywhere. She barely noticed it against her own skin. Was it enough? Regan looked at the huddled forms before her. More, the coyote demanded. She pushed her lungs further, deeper, and the scream continued until finally, she was breathless. 

Regan panted, trying to see what state the threat was in. The coyote didn’t want her to. It wanted her to take the bones and run. She turned to the table and reclaimed her skunk and raccoon bones, making a beeline for the door. But as she darted by one of the humans, she slowed. Go. She stopped. Go. The coyote howled and thrashed and pushed. Regan grabbed onto the door frame, and looked toward the human she’d screamed at. Leah. The name entered her thoughts for just long enough that she could latch onto it with her fingertips. She was hurt. Of course. Because – Regan choked, a lump lodging itself in her throat. Go now. Regan slowly shook her head no.

Leah had said I need you to promise… the lump in Regan’s throat grew, and the bones fell from her hands. “I–” The brief attempt to speak came out a screech. The coyote could deny her this much. She would not be permitted to answer with a promise. It filled her head with an unearthly howl, and Regan clenched the doorframe harder but didn’t stop looking at Leah. If she tried to speak, it would be a scream. So she wouldn’t. Once more, slowly, Regan nodded – this time a yes, I promise.

Things were happening fast, questions and answers coming out quicker then Lilian knew how to really address them. Still she had nodded lightly to Nicole on making sure she got out of the circle in time. She wouldn’t put the other in that situation again, if she could help it. It hadn’t occurred to Lil that everyone didn’t know what was going on, but it was getting to the point where they just needed to trust each other and do it. 

Before Lil could say anything there was horrible noise, causing her to buckle under the sound her hands automatically putting her hands over her ears for a sound she really couldn’t hear . Stumbling backwards she felt the scream more than heard it. It knocked the wind out of her and for a moment she couldn’t think.

After a moment though, she saw Leah go up and try to talk to Regan and Lil wanted to warn her to get back. Whatever this was wasn’t good. Without a thought Lil held onto her knife harder as she tried to get closer to the Librarian. She wanted to distract the ghost, get it angry at her and not attacking the other, but Lil wasn’t sure if she could do so and not get the noise to come back. Shaking she decided to go closer. 

“Regan - the spirit in Regan. I know something awful happened to you, and I’m going to help you,” Lil said calmly, one of her hands behind her back gesturing at the other two to come closer. Hoping that they would know that they might need to pull Regan back into the cabin. “Do you want to move on? You’re making a mound in the woods, why? Are you trying for a proper burial? Did you want a proper right of departure?” Lil was babbling slightly trying more gently to get the ghost to focus on her and away from Leah. It wasn’t the approach she normally took, but maybe it would be worth it. “Is that why you have all of these bones?” 

No matter how many times Leah read about a Banshee scream… no matter how many times she imagined what it might sound like in person, hearing it was 1,000 times worse than she imagined it.  Even with the earplugs she had them all put in as they were walking toward the cabin, it was all encompassing, and despite it lasting for less than a minute, it felt never ending.  She doubled over, her hands clasping at her ears in a desperate yet futile attempt at protection.  Where was Nicole?  Where were the others?  When it was about halfway done, she felt a tell-tale snap in her chest.  She let out an involuntary scream of pain, but it was indistinguishable over Regan.  

She was sure it was going to kill them.  But somehow, there was an end.  At least, she thought it was over.  Her eyes were ringing- an awful, high pitched sound that seemed to rush through her head like a train.  A hand came down to grip her chest, confirming that yes, her rib did crack during the scream.  She groaned, barely hearing herself as her ears tried to come back to Earth.  She could not stand up, at least not swiftly, but she lifted her head to find Regan.  

They locked eyes, and there was a glimpse of her old friend again.  Tears started to fill her eyes, and then Regan nodded.  It was all Leah needed to spring everything into action.  

“She’s ready.  She won’t do it again”, she yelled out. She wasn’t even sure if anyone could hear her. A swarm of relief was swelling in her chest, and she hoped it wasn't misplaced delusion from the broken rib.  “Grab her. We need to start the ritual now.”

Leah warned them. They tried to prepare in case of a scream. But Nicole soon realized there was no preparation effective enough for a banshee’s scream. She had nothing to compare it with. She shrunk, arms going up to cover both ears and head, but it wasn’t only that. The waves vibrated against her clothes, it made her blood pump faster. Glass shattered everywhere. The logs creaked dangerously. Had Regan kept going, she was certain the cabin would’ve buried them all. There was no silence when she finally stopped screaming, only a high pitched ringing and the stupor preventing her from going back into action.

Heart in her throat, she reached for Leah, who took the hit the hardest. It was exactly the type of situation she wanted to stop. Was she hurt? Mission was over if she was. Regan could exorcise herself for all she cared. Leah, being Leah, was already commanding them to do something. But her words didn’t register clearly. It was hard to overcome the ringing in her ears. Or feel like she was back in her body again. With the few words she caught, and the pointed looks, she understood the message. Lil needed them to restrain the woman. Leah thought the woman was ready to be restrained. She glanced at Ari, wondering if she’d join her, before she yanked Regan by the arm, gentleness forgone. She’d throw her over her shoulders if she put any more resistance. Yes, she wasn't easy to handle, but she was easy to overpower. She kicked the first chair she could find to face them, forcing Regan down, and looked back for instructions.

The panic that had begun to rise in her was only exacerbated by the vibrations the scream sent pulsing through her body. Ari was still frozen in place outside the cabin, hands somehow managing to find her ears as glass fell over her like a harsh rain. The knicks in her skin were nothing compared to the ache it sent through her body and the ring in her ears, but even that couldn’t cut through the worry. She should have been paying more attention, her being here wasn’t good for anyone, but it was already too late. 

Do you think I’d let you down?

Maybe not intentionally. 

Words that hadn’t even been technically spoken played in her head over the continued dull ring in her ears. Ari knew she’d fucked this up just as badly as she had with Sammy. She was letting everyone here down. She was letting Kaden down and it made her stomach turn, but heavy feet followed behind Nicole as if on autopilot. Regan made a promise of some sort so it had to be okay now. It had to be. There was no way shit like this could just keep happening. Whatever ritual they were here to perform was happening now and she had to make sure Leah and Lil weren’t hurt. “Right, yeah, ready,” she responded, but her voice remained hollow as she followed behind the others.

Lilian tried to move quickly, knowing that time was probably not on any of their sides, but she still winced as she tried to right herself. She was used to heavy bones, but she wasn’t sure the last time she felt this shaken by something. She felt a little more human and fragile then she really wanted to at the moment. She almost waited to hear the responses from Regan - the spirits in here more accurately, but she wasn’t sure how much she could reason with a ghost anyway. Either they would let her do this, or they would fight. Either way she was going to get them out of Regan. 

So when Nicole grabbed Regan, Lil went in behind the two and almost automatically said to put Regan into a chair before seeing that Nicole did it already , “Thanks - Yeah chair is perfect.” Without hesitation Lil moved to draw a circle around Regan, careful not to step into the circle or put down her knife. She didn’t want to threaten the other, but she didn’t want to have her jump either. So she didn’t point the knife at her, but kept it in her hand nonetheless the tip facing her in her hand. 

“Nicole - you need to move a little ” Lil said softly to the other hoping that she could hear her and wanting her not to get the salt on her. She might have asked Ari to move in, but she hadn’t heard the other in a second and she didn’t want to waste time. 

It happened so quickly – a woman’s arms encircling her and tossing her haphazardly into the chair. She attempted to kick. She attempted to scream. But her motions were futile and her scream amounted to nothing more than a pathetic mewl. Regan felt the hard clunk of the chair, the careless way her wings were bent across its back, and the knowledge that the precious cargo inside of her backpack had nearly been damaged.

It was all unforgivable. But she would not allow herself to feel anything else. 

Regan eyed the knife, then looked at Lil. “Iron? Doesn’t look as sharp as the cold iron daggers I’m used to. Unimpressive.” She gazed past Lil, scanning Leah, Ari, and the Other. “What is this about? Clearly there’s been some mistake. I mean, you think you’re talking to a spirit? Breaking in? Forcing me into a chair? You do not deserve answers. I do.” Regan wasn’t sure what to believe. The word believe was hardly in her vocabulary. But this, whatever it was, was insulting on all levels, and the coyote wanted to tear itself out of its bony confines. It was afraid. More than that, it still sensed something – and it was more than just what was occurring here. There was another threat. Regan adjusted herself on the chair in the small amount of wiggle room she was afforded. Her wings flicked with agitation, and she carefully positioned her backpack so as not to damage what she was meant to protect.

The skull. It was all about the skull, everything was about the skull, she had to protect–

Scream.

Regan’s chest heaved, and she opened her mouth, attempting to summon even a wisp of what she had before, but her lungs were failing her. Sweat dripped from her temples as she choked out nothing but an unbecoming yelp. Scream. Now. “I’m trying,” Regan growled, immediately regretting the display of irritability. The promise would not allow it. But the coyote wasn’t one to give up. Not in its first lifetime, and not in any of the following ones. Certainly not in death. 

The coyotes came, all twelve, and they had never looked so low and so mean. They appeared by the chair, trying to force space between the skull and their assailants. Foamy spittle sprayed across the wooden floor, and stiff hairs bristled along their backs. Regan knew what they probably didn’t: the coyotes would only buy time. They couldn’t kill. She needed to think. And perhaps, even more than her connection to death, that was why the skull had chosen her. She would not fail it.

The pain in Leah’s side would not dull out.  Instead, it sparked with every subtle movement, and flashed with every breath.  The nod was barely a breath of a promise, but it was apparently enough to keep any more screams at bay.  She winced at the sight of Regan being thrown around, cognizant of the vials of tears still tucked safely in her bag should they end up needing them.  “You’re severely underestimating my intelligence- and our friendship, for that matter, if you expect me to believe there’s not a coyote spirit hijacking your own right now”, she groaned out, pushing against her legs to help herself finally stand up fully.  “I will answer any questions you might have when we’re done, but it’s been pretty clear to me that up until now you didn’t want to talk.  Have you changed your mind?  Are you ready to talk, Regan?”

She was about to warn the others to be careful with Regan because of how uncomfortable she looked as they were working to tie her up, but something about how the banshee was moving caught Leah’s eyes.  She wasn’t adjusting herself because she was uncomfortable, she realized.  No, she was adjusting herself because she was trying not to harm whatever was in her bag.  

The only thing that might be important enough was the very skull they were here to destroy.

Leah’s mind was racing, and Regan seemingly responded out loud to someone who wasn’t there.  It was an unneeded confirmation that there was something else going on here.  She didn’t have too much time to think about it though, because she was suddenly thrown back off her feet.  She had never seen anything like the twelve seething wisps of coyotes that filled the room before them, and it filled her with such a wave of dread and incompetence that she wasn’t prepared for. The descriptions from Nicole and Kaden about them had been apt, but it wasn’t comforting in the slightest. This was why she was worried about this ritual and exorcism and ritual.  She had pulled pieces of similar situations when preparing for this ritual.  She had no idea what they were up against, and so she had no idea if  their methods were going to work.  

Lil raised her eyebrow slightly at the comment about the knife still trying to concentrate on preparing for the ritual, and not putting  Nicole near the salt. She wasn’t quite sure what would happen, but she didn’t want her to be hurt. “Not sure what you mean by that, but trust me it’ll do what it needs to do.” After all, she didn’t need it to be sharp. 

Before she could do anything else she saw the ghosts like a howl. Like before, they seemed to be coyotes and at one point Lil thought they were. They weren’t something from beyond trapped here, and there was something like a twinge of sadness to see them. Lil couldn’t tell how they died by looking at them, whoever had killed the Coyote was careful, but the spirits didn’t seem right either with too many of them working together. Cursing under her breath Lil pointed her knife to the ground and got ready to throw some of the salt at the wolves. She could try and banish them, but she wasn’t sure if she’d get up afterwards which would lead to this process to be longer. So she moved between Regan and Nicole to finish the circle scrambling up to get into the circle to replace Nicole and keep Regan in the chair.  “Hey Ari or Leah - come, come help me keep her down. I can’t do the ritual inside here. The ghosts shouldn’t be able to cross. Nicole, if you still got that knife I gave you, now’s a great time to use it.”

The scene around Ari moved in slow motion as she stayed rooted a good distance away. This was the last place she should be and she’d been so absentminded as they made their way there she didn’t realize until it was too late. For a moment, everything sounded muffled though that could have been the effect of the scream. It wasn’t until she heard her name that she made any sort of motion. She shook her head, trying to figure out what was being asked of her. Instinctively, she made a move toward Lil to what was asked. Leah had taken the brunt of the scream and someone needed to help. On the chance that Regan asked something of her, she could fight it, she would accept the consequences. Her own carelessness was what got her here. “Got it,” she said, trying to sound more certain than she actually was. 

Ari approached the chair Regan was seated in from behind and grabbed a hold of the banshee’s shoulders firmly, putting a good deal of her strength into the motion while trying to dodge fluttering wings.  

Lil was scrambling to draw some sort of circle on the cabin floor, and the others seemed to be under the impression that they could hold her down onto the chair. “I owe you nothing,” Regan said, trying to tear away from them, eyes going black as fury filled her. What did they think they were doing? How dare they touch her? How dare they make her coyote feel such terror after lifetimes of suffering? They wouldn’t. They couldn’t. The coyotes would – but something stopped them. Several had bowed down to lunge at the intruders, but it was as if they froze, became objects. A couple of them then pointed their muzzles toward the door, sensing something that Regan couldn’t. What could possibly be more important than this? She asked inwardly, hoping her coyote could supply an answer, and explain that the two of them were not truly threatened.

The only response was a savage growl.

The coyotes vanished in the same manner they had appeared. Seconds. Regan knew she only had seconds to come up with a plan to protect both herself, and the skull, whose judgment seemed to be erring for the first time. And she felt… alone. Why? She had the skull. But it only offered pained howls and furious snarling. No. She was on her own. And because of that, she had even greater responsibility not to fail.

An idea struck her. The invisible strings that Lydia once spoke of – ready to be tugged and plucked when the time came to collect. Regan hissed and squirmed away from Leah’s hands, and looked only at Ariana. Her voice was cold and stony when she spoke, and for a second, right when it hit her ears, she barely recognized it. “It’s time. Stop them by any means necessary.”

When she’d seen the ghost coyotes, her hand itched to reach for the bag of salt she knew was in the pocket of her jacket, but Ari kept her hands firmly on Regan’s shoulder. She refused to look at the banshee or process the shuffled noises around her. Her focus shifted entirely to the feeling of Regan’s shoulder under her hand and how she was cooler than Ari had expected. How each flutter of her wings sent a flap of cold air toward the wolf. It could only do so much though. She felt the sharp iciness of Regan’s eyes on her and she had no choice but to hear the words. Stop them by any means necessary. 

Her heart dropped and everything around her became static. Any means necessary. Ari had to believe Regan didn’t truly know how dangerous an ask that was. “Regan,” she said through a strained voice, “You don’t want to do that. I won’t be able to stop myself from hurting you either.” But her bones ached under her skin, demanding her to move, to do something. She took a few slow steps back to put some distance between herself and the others. A sheen of sweat was already coating her skin as she fought what the promise demanded of her. 

Rooted in place, Ari heaved in short breaths that burned. It felt like her body was moving forward without her, ripping her apart in the process. She had to fight it, she couldn’t let the strings of the promise pull her. She wouldn’t hurt anyone here, she couldn’t, but there was only so long she could suppress the side of her that was more wolf-like. Ari knew she didn’t want to hurt them, the wolf only knew it was in pain and needed to bite back. The claws came out first, against her will and she still resisted. The searing pain in her now more paw like hands only grew the longer she tried to keep herself in control of her own form, but it was a wasted effort. 

Fur sprouted along her body as her body contorted and shifted into its lupine shape. Ari could hear the cracking of bones and tearing of clothes before the room no longer became full of her friends, but her next meal. Yellow eyes scanned the room, picking their prey. Drool hung off large jowls as the wolf let out a low growl as it began circling the women in the room, ready to pounce at whoever moved next.

Leah wanted to bark out that the skull must have been her bag.  That Regan was adjusting over it and trying to protect it and its very proximity might have been the thing that was corrupting her mind.  But Regan would have heard, and they needed to be 3 steps ahead of her if they wanted this to work.  Without some sort of mind communication, that meant Leah would have to get the skull from behind Regan herself.  She was glad that Ari elected to go stand by Regan, because any movements at all, sudden or not, shot sharp pains through her chest.   It was enough, anyway, that they had to deal with the coyote ghosts-  Or at least it would have been, if they didn’t seem to get distracted by something and scurry off.

It had to have been the other group that drew their attention, but to Leah, that wasn’t good news.  To save Regan, they needed the other group just as distraction free as they needed themselves.  She didn’t have too much time to dwell on the thought, though, because what was going on in front of her was much more terrifying.

She had not registered that Regan had spoken directly to Ari.  She had barely even registered the cold, calculated voice that came out of her friend.  Instead, all she could focus on was the seething, searing transformation in front of her.  Her breath hitched, and for the first time in the last few minutes, it was not due to the pain in her ribs.  Her mind flashed back to the Alcher wolf, to the two of them tumbling down her stairs as each of them tried to fight for the upper hand.  To lying, broken and bruised at the bottom, sure she was going to die.  She couldn’t breath or think.  Her eyes searched desperately around the room, trying to find an out or a solution or anything that might prove that this could still be a success instead of a jumble of obstacles that were impossible to overcome.

And then her eyes landed on Nicole’s.

Ariana transformed into a monstrous beast, coerced by some sort of banshee power. It was no longer their friend, but a ferocious creature ready to rip them to shreds with no remorse. And Nicole wanted to focus on what a horrendous oversight was to bring the girl along with them, but Leah’s gaze found hers across the room.

Leah was looking at her. The woman who always had one last trick up her sleeve was seeking her help. Which only meant they were truly, undeniably fucking screwed. Her limbs trembled as she held one hand up, but the emotionless tone she used masked her fear perfectly. “Regan” she looked between Lil and Leah. “Focus on her. Do it, quick. Finish the exorcism” she commanded, taking a step forward. “I’ll— I’ll… I—” She’ll what? Nicole felt none of the bold determination the situation required, only the sheer panic wrapping around her ribcage. This was it. How they all died. Her airway constricted as she bore into savage yellow eyes.

There won’t be a second time. A promise Nicole slurred every night for a year as she lay on unfamiliar curbsides, more alcohol than blood in her veins. More animal than human back then. Guilt ridden and angry with herself. A promise often followed by a plea: For fate to take her too, and the universe to show her mercy. Never again she’d turn into the beast that took everything from her. It was her mantra, repeated through clenched teeth and salty tears until it became her essence. What helped her out the quicksands of grief. The spirit had coiled within her plenty of times after that, threatened to take over, but each time she prevailed. Control like a chokehold. Never once let the jaguar win.  

There wouldn’t be a second time, but Lil didn’t deserve this after selflessly offering her help time and time again. No second time, but Ari shouldn’t have to carry the burden of ending three lives. Leah shouldn’t have to be traumatized again by a beast. There wasn't supposed to be a second time except, brown eyes met feral yellow, and the spirit clawed desperate against her ribs, ready to be freed at last.

Nicole thought of her father, of his actions as he faced his reckoning. Giving her the best shot at survival. She stood there, proof of his sacrifice. She had to give them the same chance, whether it took a year, or five or a decade of her life. Her gaze sought Leah, wondering if she'd ever see her again. But if it was the last time she saw her then— fuck, she wanted her image burned into her mind. In the end, all she wanted was to stop being torn apart every time she found something worth living for. She thought she’d be beat down already, numb. Yet the unfairness of life filled her lungs with rage. Her muscles burned. This time, she let it happen. Something bigger was required. Something fiercer. She was something. It was something. She said she'd get them an exit plan. 

There was no exit, but she was the plan.

Flesh tore and bones shifted, but the jaguar ripped through her so fast and so fierce that she barely suffered. It came out bigger, angrier, more threatening than it had at seventeen. No intent on running this time, but set to kill instead. The thundering roar vibrated against the floor, and it was the only warning before the jaguar lunged towards the wolf. Two forces of nature clashed, teeth and claws out to destroy. Humans forgotten as they battled for dominance. The wolf struck first, but the jaguar recovered quickly, claws slicing its upper body. The wood buckled and cracked beneath them, their beastly bodies thrashing about with furious strength, too big to fit through the door frame without damaging it. As a result, it was torn out as the beasts freed themselves from the cabin’s containment. Out in the open, their fight turned into a thrilling chase.

Lil’s jaw stealed as she heard words around her she didn’t quite understand. She was used to being a human in a room full of supernaturals, but sometimes there was a bit of her that  remembered all too well she was a human. One swipe and her life was over in this room, and part of her recognized that she should be scared of that. After all, she was usually calculated with situations she couldn’t handle. She bowed to a demon for Christ's sake knowing that she couldn’t do anything dead. 

Still she promised. Lil promised to get Regan out of this, and she’d already resolved herself to this fate. She hadn’t done so to any one person nor was it a binding promise , but when she said she could do this she meant it. She would do it.  Maybe the noises in the background of people fighting turning more into supernatural creatures might disturb her. Maybe she wanted to go help them and not be stuck in a ritual she couldn’t be taken out of until it was done, but she wouldn’t be a help either. She had to trust that she wasn’t about to get attacked. She had to hope whatever was happening to Ari would dissipate if she did this. She had to trust that Nicole was handling this as she told them to focus on the ritual. 

So with a grip on her knife Lil kneeled down and struck the outside of the circle and said softly to Leah, “I’m probably going to pass out after this. You’re going to want to break the skull when I’m done.” 

With that Lil looked at Regan for a moment resigning herself to a ritual that wasn’t going to be pleasant. Still she said softly with a hint of pity she normally didn’t have for ghosts, to the ghost she was fairly sure was still in Regan, “I am going to give you as proper of a funerary rite as I can. I will try to make sure your bones are buried.” Maybe it was a sympathy that the coyote didn’t deserve after the havoc, but with the bits Lil could put together there was something tragic with the ghost she couldn’t help but want to put to rest. Even if her ears were still ringing, and her bones vibrating, she could at least try to do the right thing. 

With that Lil started the ritual, her voice ringing out clear as she started speaking in Latin, her knife turning hot quickly. 

Regan expected Ariana to simply throw herself in front of her. The presence of a child there would have stopped the others in their tracks. Or perhaps she would leap onto them, limbs flailing like a wild animal as they refused to kick her off, not wanting to risk hurting her. No. That was not what happened. Ariana was shaky when she looked at Regan, her eyes pleading with her to take it back. Moments later, Regan understood why. Where Ariana once stood, then bowed, then writhed, there was a snarling beast. Regan’s mouth dropped open. How– no. That wasn’t – but the skull pushed all thoughts of the impossible away. It doesn’t matter. It managed to snarl as much, even in its nearly blind rage. She knew it was right. The beast was less handsome than her own favorite predatory mammal, but more useful at the moment. It scanned the room as if on a hunt, and Regan got to work trying to wiggle out of the chair, singularly focused and trying to block out the wolf-thing in the room. It didn’t want her right now. But the Other was up to something. The way Leah looked at her. The demands she gave. Regan grit her teeth, trying with renewed effort to get away. The scream she coughed up withered and died before it left her mouth. 

And then there was a second beast, this one a jaguar, and it lunged at the first beast, cartwheeling and clawing toward the front of the cabin. Regan’s stomach hardened like a rock. This was bad. Beyond possible, and incredibly bad. She was failing the skull. She said she would never do that.

That was – Regan couldn’t think of anything else. What else did she have? There were the daggers. So many of them in here, but none within reach. She strained, especially as Lil spoke of the skull. They knew. Leah. Of course. She still couldn’t make sense of what this whole thing was, though. The circles, the Latin, the bags of miscellania brought in. Regan craned her neck at Lil, eyes narrowed. And what Lil said made her run cold. “You’re going to give me what?” She spat, lips bared back. “Funerary rites? Bury my bones? What does that– you’re going to kill me? Is that it? You think you can kill me?” The coyote was still pulled elsewhere. She didn’t understand it. But when she needed its support now, it was nowhere to be found. “It’s not– whatever you think you’re doing, whatever homeopathic nonsense this– Leah thought there was a spirit in me, whatever that means. You have it wrong.” Her bag grazed against the back of the chair, and her heart skipped a beat. The coyote still seemed distracted, in another place. Part of her yearned to mention the skull, that it was the skull, they wanted the skull, she wasn’t goddamn possessed, but then she felt the waves of death coming off of it, and all was forgiven. Lil was already chanting, so Regan tried to catch Leah’s eyes. Something. Maybe she could manage something. It was the pained way Leah held herself, and the sharp breathing that sank in. She had done that. “Leah,” Regan started, an apology on her tongue. But the skull had many times insisted apologies were not given to those who were inferior to you. She swallowed it back. And the coyote, even in its relative absence, had the final say. “You still don’t know anything.”

When Leah had looked to Nicole, she didn’t know what kind of help she expected.  Perhaps a calming gaze or some reassuring words, or even a quick way to solve the new Ariana wolf debacle.  But what came of her pleading was so unexpected that Leah almost couldn’t catch her breath at the sight of it.  Nicole was being ripped apart by the Jaguar inside, and Leah couldn’t take her eyes off the sight as she watched it take over.

They hadn’t had a chance to practice.  They should have taken the time to practice having Nicole try to change in a situation that wasn’t stress induced.  Because that had to be why she changed for so long the first time, right?  Five years gone… and then another several being lost trying to find her way back to who she was.  Leah couldn’t bear five years.  Not when they had only just begun.  But then, this was different from the first time, it had to be.  All those years ago, Nicole was basically still a child.  She hadn’t expected to turn, she hadn’t even tried to.  But Nicole’s eyes had locked on hers before she changed, deliberately and with finality.  She knew what she was doing.  She wanted this, and maybe it was the smartest way to save them.  Leah couldn’t even gather how she felt about Nicole and Ari tumbling out of the cabin, because they had to continue helping Regan.  Because if the exorcism didn’t work, all of this carnage would be for nothing.  It had to work.

It had to work.

She nodded at Lil’s request, eyeing Regan sitting in the chair.  It wouldn’t be easy to get the bag from her, not when she was practically sitting on it.  “Not your bones”, she told Regan, getting closer.  Her steps were slow and cautious, and her hand held her side the entire time she inched forward.  “She’s speaking with the coyote.”  Lil was deep into her ritual now, so it  was practically just her and Regan in the room.  Well, her and Regan and whatever was corrupting Regan’s mind.  Was it dormant?  Did it leave with the ghost coyotes a few moments ago?  Regan was still riddled with anger and confusion, but there was a mere moment where their eyes caught when Leah knew it was the real Regan again.  Her friend’s expression pleaded with her; though whether the pleading was apologetic or desperation for help she couldn’t tell.  But regardless, Leah gave her a shaky nod.  “I do know”, she whispered, her voice barely heard under Lil’s chanting.  She was still inching closer, her eyes traveling between Regan’s and the bag behind her.  “I know this is scary and confusing.  I know none of this seems like it can be possible.”  She hoped to fate that the rope holding her in place was strong enough. Tentatively, she reached out, putting her hand on Regan’s. Regan’s skin was a stark, cold contrast to her own, something she always wondered if Regan ever realized.  Or, was it like so many other things with Regan, that she found it easier to explain the strange away than face it head on.  

Leah assumed Lil was nearing the end of the ritual, because her chants were getting louder and more demanding.  She had to do this now, if ever. “I may not know everything, Regan.  But there’s a hell of a lot I do know.  And I know that skull has to be the cause of all this.” 

By the time she finished speaking, her free hand was already on the bag behind Regan, and she took the opportunity of distraction to yank it out from behind her.  The skull clattered inside the bag, and just as Lil finished her chant, Leah pulled it out and slammed it onto the ground.  For a moment, she stared at it, trying to understand how so much power and corruption can lie dormant in such a small vessel.  They needed to destroy it for good, so that even after Lil’s exorcism, no harm could come from it again.  

So she stared at it, finally letting all the seething anger she held for it over the last few months release.  Her anger for lost friends, for people too blind to see the beauty of what they truly were, and even for all those months Regan lost being a muse to something none of them quite understood.  Just like when she destroyed the tree, she was struck with how a town full of such beauty and wonder could also hold such a dark, sinister underbelly.  It wasn’t going to work.  Her fire hadn’t behaved properly in months.  But somehow, miraculously, she watched in front of her as anger turned to flame, and the skull was finally set ablaze.  

The skull, the skull, the skull. Regan thrashed back, trying to twist away from Leah enough that she couldn’t find purchase on the bag. But she was stuck, and the coyote had abandoned her, and Lil’s chants rose far above the scuffling chair and her failed screams of desperation. All that came was more hacking, and for a moment, it struck Regan how much she had been relying on the scream and the coyote – two things that should have felt utterly alien to her. To anyone. What happened? But Leah’s hands found the bag, and her thoughts were dashed, refocused on the tender bones cocooned in there. “Do not touch it,” Regan growled, twisting more. She couldn’t reach them. Couldn’t reach Leah. Leah’s eyes seemed to say that she couldn’t reach her, either. “You don’t deserve to–” Regan hollered, but it was too late.

The sound of the skull shattering into the floor of her cabin sent tears to her eyes. While it remained mostly intact, parts of the parietals fragmented and flew off. The already-fragile maxillae were ground to mere dust. “Stop!” Regan screeched, but it wasn’t the kind of screech she needed, and Leah’s shoe was firm against the frontal bone and– “Stop! Don’t hurt it! It didn’t do anything wrong, it just–” Leah’s eyes were glued to the skull, her skull, and Regan knew she didn’t have long to plead. “The coyote doesn’t deserve this. It didn’t deserve any of what happened. Please don’t hurt it. It–” But Leah almost seemed to be elsewhere. Regan didn’t understand what was on her face. 

Until she did. The anger was unmistakable. The kind of anger she sometimes wished she could still feel, but it had to be the first to go, the first to sacrifice for her control. Leah’s burned red and hot. It almost smelled like smoke. And then the first of maybe-actual-smoke wafted upward, a gray hair becoming a curling, sizzling tendril, and it smoldered against her nostrils, and the panic inside her screamed where she couldn’t. It was a lifetime ago – the morgue going up in flames, the smell of burning skin and hair, the cough she had for weeks after they yanked her out. And powerless, all she could do was watch the fire engulf what she loved once again, as the chanting rose in a sinister arc and the smoke burned her watery eyes.

Lil didn’t like the commotion around her when she did a ritual, but to be fair it wasn’t as if it was ever a silent endeavor. Usually though, it wasn’t this chaotic. Ghosts rarely wanted to exit a host, especially ones that wanted to finish what they were doing. She wanted to say that she was doing the right thing, that the spirit was distorted, that it needed to move beyond. She wasn’t hurting it - she’d never cause pain to a ghost despite not particularly liking them. Hell, she was pretty sure the person was the one that ended up feeling the pain of the exorcism, not the ghost.  She wanted to say a lot to calm down the two in front of her, but the ritual didn’t allow for deviation. 

Her words rose higher, Lil’s hands gripping the knife as it became warmer and warmer the feeling of temporary power making her bones feel more steady. She tried not to think of the fact it was going to hurt worse when it was done.  Her eyes closed, trying to block out the pleading and the want to assure Regan she wasn’t trying to hurt her. She was trying to tell the Coyote that it was okay. Instead she finally opened her eyes looking at Regan - or past her really for a moment as the words came to an end, “ -Coyote spiritus, tempus est ire. Relinque! Anima tua in pace requiescat. Relinquere Regan et requiescere.”  

For a moment the dagger felt like a warm fire instead of unbearably hot, Lil thinking that if she could see her final words that they would be golden. It was different than normal, and if she could think about it for a moment Lil might have wondered if her will had gotten stronger. She doubted that though. 

She couldn’t see the ghosts, not sure if they were still here but knowing that the rope was snapped between the spirit and Regan.  For a moment it felt still for Lil, even if she could see Regan turning and pleading. Her body felt weightless and strong, like she wasn’t quite here and instead on a different plane. It should have scared her but it felt peaceful for a moment  - until it slammed back into her. Her dagger turned ice cold as she struggled to keep a hold of it. Whatever adrenaline she had left her body as she suddenly felt the scream rattling in her bones again. Folding over for a moment she could smell smoke - and what she could imagine was ash. 

Lil tried to speak, but what came out was more of a rough whisper than anything the shout taking out the bits of her normal voice. “ The - Spirit is at rest. The coyote - I don’t think he’s in pain anymore. - Uh, I don't think I can get up.” She hoped whatever had caused Ari and Nicole to start fighting might ease up now, so one of them would get her back to her car at least. 

The Latin, the smoke stuck inside her nostrils, the sensation that something dear to her was slowly peeling its presence out of the room, out of this world. Regan hadn’t felt so overwhelmed in her confusion since the day her dad died and everything changed. The rope dug into her and she could feel contusions forming from her thrashing against the chair, but what else could she do? The skull was destroyed. Dust. The coyote – she could barely feel it, even its rage. It was a howl turned hiss turned whimper, and it reminded Regan of its past deaths, the desperate animal noises of so many deaths it didn’t deserve. And now it would have another, also underserved, all because she had failed.

Regan tried to scream, her voice rising into a screech as the coyote’s very existence receded to nothing. The room, her head, her duty – it was all so empty. She wasn’t sure at which point she was able to scream again, but it meant this was over, didn’t it? That thought gave her no pleasure, and only fostered more bitterness toward the people who were responsible. The scream changed once again into a sob. One, then another. And the rope was cut, and concern filled the eyes of the traitor. Regan glanced toward the floor at the other one. She didn’t understand what just happened, but it had sapped most of Lil’s energy, clearly. Regan didn’t care. She didn’t. Traitors. 

“Leave.” Regan commanded, not able to wrench her eyes away from the pile of bone ash on the floor. She was sure Leah was hurt. Lil was exhausted. The traitors who couldn’t understand the coyote wasn’t an enemy. She had people to make amends with – Kaden, Emilio, Metzli, Ariana – so many. But right now, all she could think about was the ash, and the silence in her skull. The coyote was gone, somehow vanquished. Another death it did nothing to deserve. And where did this leave her? 

Regan barely noticed as Leah and Lil limped out together. She was no more alone.

[honeysmokedham]

Another kind of Nightmare || Elias & Nora

TIMING:��The Day of the Trial LOCATION: Saol Eile, the clinic PARTIES: Elias and Nora SUMMARY: Nora goes to retrieve Declan's Body. Elias is hanging out. WARNINGS: Suicidal Ideation tw

They came for Regan. Nora didn’t know what time it was, how long they had been down there, or where they took her. There were only the words trial and tar thrown around, the harsh of the ts clicking against the damp silence of the prison. Nora didn’t want to let go of Regan, but the physical effort to grab her and hold on exceeded anything she could muster. She was a wraith of who she once was, empty, shattered, broken. She watched Regan go, dragged up the stairs, a ringing in her ears. She was going to lose another person. It was all she was capable of. 

The warmth left with Regan. The small oasis of something that wasn’t the soul-tearing pain of loss had been a distraction. She was left, once more, face to face with the reality of life. Declan was dead. Her promise to save him as empty as the space next to her. She wanted to see him again. She needed to see him again. Nora left the prison. It had never been the bars that held her there. They were only effective in holding Regan, and Regan had held Nora. They’d unknowingly untethered her by taking Regan. So she left. The streets of Saol Eile were empty. No one around would question the dried blood that crusted to her clothing and under her fingernails. It was one less obstacle. 

The walk to the clinic had warped. Before walking the streets of Saol Eile was warm, and bright. This was a good place to be. Now Nora could see the ghosts of the dead, lined in rows, their gaunt eyes watching her stumbling lone parade. Had they been here the whole time? Had her relaxed eager attitude blinded her to their stabbed wounds? Blood coated them. Blood coated her. She should have been dead with them. 

There was someone in the clinic. She could smell them first, it was familiar, but not familiar enough for her to care. It wasn’t Declan. She slid in, the wraith, the monster, the would-be ghost. A familiar man lay sprawled out on a cot, tension wired through his body, popping his veins. Bandages were crossworked onto his flesh, all over. “You look like shit.” The words croaked out of her throat. In the past, this would have been the time to scare him. An illusioned monster hovering over his bed. He would have peed himself. But nothing would ever be as scary as what happened here. “Why aren’t you at the trial?” 

______

Wynne had left Elias when the trial had begun. As much as he’d wanted to attend, to be there for his friend, he didn’t have the strength. Turned out, being stabbed that many times? It sucked. It sucked a lot. Pain bloomed in his left shoulder, where the first stab had happened. He’d be lucky if he didn’t sustain any nerve damage. Funny, he thought, that the person who designs the prosthetics might be the one who ends up needing them. 

He squeezed his eyes shut as the pain began to take over, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep it off, hope that it would go away if he just stopped thinking about it. Of course, it wasn’t that easy. He’d been stabbed four times, and his throat had been almost slit. He’d nearly died. It was almost him thrown in that tar pit. But Regan… she didn’t let it come to that. She saved him and damned herself all because of Elias’s stupidity to follow someone to Ireland. He should have stayed in Main, should have accepted what was. But of course, he was stupid. He didn’t. 

Footsteps interrupted his thoughts, and he went rigid as a board, preparing for a final blow that finally put him under, but it never came. Instead, he opened his eyes to see a familiar face that once terrified him. It should terrify him, but he was so tired and so done with everything that he just stared blankly at her. You look like shit, she had said. He’d barely registered his words, took him a few seconds to catch up with the world outside his own pain before letting out a hiss of pain. 

“Cliodhna tortured me.” He told her, his voice gravelly and barely there. The slit on his throat had done something to his vocal chords. He continued to stare blankly at Nora, no emotions rising to the surface, only numbness in the place of what should be emotions. At least she was alive. She didn’t look like she wanted to be, though. He could see it in her eyes. He knew that look. 

“I’m not there because I can’t move without tearing open a stitch.” He told her, that same emotionless stare on his face. “Why aren’t you?” He asked, having no idea of what the other had been through. He had no idea the pain she was in, how she’d lost everything. He wanted to care, but he just… didn’t. She’d given him no reason to care, and he was done reaching out to people who didn’t want it. So instead, he answered her questions, then closed his eyes again, that same tenseness in his face as the pain continued to do numbers on him.

_____

The ground still trembled, pieces of debris falling away as she took a step. Each stumbling step forward begged to be her last. The world could disappear, and it was all she wanted. She leaned against Elias’s bed, looking down at the human sacrifice that lived. Jealousy mixed with anger mixed with guilt in a tornado of emotion. It raged through her body with such veracity she thought she’d lose control and topple over. But she couldn’t. Not yet. She had to keep going, she couldn’t stop until she at least tried to fulfill her promise. But why him? Why not Delcan? It was wrong, and selfish and proof that she was the monster she always knew herself to be. But that thought nagged at her. 

“I’m going to go.” Nora told Elias after the tornado subsided, leaving her with only the earthquakes under her feet. “I have something I need to do first.” Nora forced herself back into motion. The few scattering of morgue ranged freezers in the back wouldn’t take long to search, but Nora already knew. Frozen in time, overshadowed by the start of rot and decay, Nora would still recognize Declan’s scent anywhere. Her arms trembled, replicas of a baby deer’s first steps, as she drew them close. A breath. Two breaths. Please be alive. She begged the universe. I will sell my soul to anyone if you’re alive. Please be alive. 

Declan wasn’t alive. His body was cold, his eyes empty. The red of his sliced flesh faded into blue. Nora’s knees buckled. The earthquakes gained magnitude. The tornado raged. The ground fell beneath her feet. “I’m so sorry.” A whisper. A breath. A plea. A cry. Her hand stopped on her cheek, resting there for one final time. Eternity slipped away from her. If it hadn’t been for the ragged breaths, the awareness of Elias’s eyes on her, she thought maybe she would have died there. 

“Do you need anything before I go?” A wheelchair was near. She pushed it over. Declan’s lifeless body was heavy, but Nora would not leave him here. This would not be his final resting place. It was with all the care in the world that she maneuvered him from the freezer and into the chair. Tucking a blanket around him, as if his dead body could feel the cold biting him. “Water?” Maybe she should thank Elias, her unwillingness to display the ocean of grief she was currently lost in was thanks to his presence. She could do this. She could get this one thing done for Declan.

_____

He could see the monsoon of emotion on Nora’s face, and Elias felt as though he shouldn’t be there. If it were up to him, he’d go upstairs. But as things were up to his very broken and weak body, he couldn’t. So instead, he turned his head away to give Nora a semblance of privacy. He couldn't imagine what she was going through, to lose someone that she’d formed such a solid connection with. He’d heard about the goings on between her and Declan from Wynne and their frustration towards it. Still, he couldn’t get himself to feel, to care, to anything. It was as if someone had turned off the switch that controlled his empathy. Perhaps it was because he was still in survival mode, knowing that his body wasn’t right even after the attempts at first aid that Wynne had done. 

He was grateful to Wynne, of course. They were the reason he was alive. But even still, he just felt numb. He heard Nora whisper something, and he cracked open an eye to see her by the body of the boy she had loved. His heart broke for her. He watched as she maneuvered the body into the wheelchair, and his frown deepened. There was nothing he could say to ease her pain, nothing that would make it better. So he said nothing at all. 

Then, she was asking if he needed anything. “I’ll…” his voice was still so hoarse and broken. “Be fine.” He finally finished out, shaking his head until the pain caused him to stop. Stupid shoulder. “I’m…” he started to say, looking over to Nora. “Sorry. For your loss…” The words came out slow and halted, but he got them out. He was just so tired. He needed to sleep. He thought of Emilio’s words, how if anything happened to Nora or Wynne, there would be hell to pay. But he was the one that had gotten physically hurt. Nora was going through a hell of her own. An emotional pain that rivaled Elias’s physical pain. 

Even as he sat in that clinic with no one to watch over him, Elias felt like he was on borrowed time. If he didn’t get to a hospital soon, he would be in trouble. Regan’s favorite thing would be realized if he contracted sepsis, wouldn’t it? He remembered her cries of desperation, pleading for his life because he was her best friend. She’d said it. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the emotional pain that would make the physical too much to bear.

_____

The shadow moved into the wheels of Declan's wheelchair because it knew Nora couldn't look down. If this journey was going to be made, she couldn't get lost in the lifeless image that had just recently been her bright and vibrant future. The shadow stabbed her legs with blunt safety pins, it cackled at Elias’s voice. Sorry for your loss. Sorry for her loss. Sorry for the loss that she had caused. The loss that only happened because she was here. Declan would have been alive if Nora hadn’t come to Ireland. Sorry for the loss she caused the world. Sorry you killed Declan. Sorry you’re a murderer, always killing, always taking, always dragging precious life from anyone who gets close. Sorry you’re not smart enough to listen to save a life. Sorry all of this could been avoided. Sorry you thought yourself talented enough to save a life. Sorry for your loss. Because the loss was your fault. 

“Thanks.” The world was crumpled, gone, collapsed. Sorry for her loss. Sorry for killing Declan. All she could say was Thanks. “Thanks.” A word so useless, so meaningless, so self-flagellating she said it twice. “It should have been me.” The words slipped out, reshackling themselves around Nora’s wrists, dragging her down. Anchoring her to the ground, her legs trembled from the holes the safety pins left gorged into them. She hadn’t meant to tell Elias that. She didn’t want Elias to see that weakness. She didn’t want to display the shame, but the words were an avalanche that kept coming. Stuck in the never-ending loop, incapable of moving forward, circling the drain but never disappearing down it. “It should have been me.” 

Nora didn’t want Elias to comfort her. Nora didn’t want anyone to comfort her. Comfort was the last thing on her mind, it was forgiveness for her greatest crime. It was a water bottle in the desert. Or Emilio in the graveyard after Debbie’s death. Van coming to check on Nora in the winter. It was compassion too large, too massive, too exponential. Repulsive even. “Thanks.” That word again. Nora couldn’t get out of her head. Couldn’t get her legs moving. Couldn’t push the wheelchair into motion. “Sorry for your…” The sentence trailed away. The word too hard to find. The effort too pointless. It would be understood.  

_____

There was no answering the devastated statements of a virtual stranger. He’d never gone through true grief like Nora was going through, he’d never understand it until he experienced it for himself. For that, he was lucky. For that, he would be grateful for. Laying there in the clinic, he should be more grateful to be alive. But it was hard. Instead, he felt numb. He felt hollowed out and raw. Maybe he wasn’t grieving the death of a loved one, but he was grieving the death of who he once was. That Elias was never going to come back, not ever.

Instead of offering her words of comfort, Elias just looked her way, then straightened his neck, closing his eyes. He wanted to say something about how he couldn’t wait to get out of there, or something to just say something. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t get himself to speak anymore than he was, still exhausted and fighting the pain that just wouldn’t quit. “I’d say that he wouldn’t want you to blame yourself, but. I didn’t know him. Didn’t know you either.” He said simply, looking over to Nora out of the corner of his eye. “Grief is a shitty journey that we all have to walk alone. But I hope that one day, you’re able to find a bit of peace.” Despite the pain he was in, he wanted to go to that trial, despite the feeling that he was dancing on a tightrope of death, he wanted to still be there for Regan. Despite everything he’d been through, he still wanted to help, to be there. He had to stop caring about people that just didn’t give a shit about him. Regan didn’t care. Only when it suited her. Elias’s expression darkened before he took a shallow breath, it hurt too much to take deeper ones. “Good luck with whatever it is you need to do.” He said instead, trying to say that she could leave without speaking the words into existence.

_____

The earthquakes weakened. The tornado subsided. The tsunami’s wave dropped into her ocean of grief, the tide eroding her from the inside out. Elias was being kind, a lot kinder than Nora deserved considering the countless hours she’d spent bullying him. But it was a struggle to care. All her energy had to be focused on her task. One step forward would turn into two. Anything else had to wait. Nora missed Regan’s warmth holding her up. She hoped Regan wouldn’t die but even that thought was an ember flickering out, where once a fire would have roared inside her.

“Thanks.” She was a broken record. Her voice box still shattered, the glass still nestled deep, the shadow still behind her shoulder. She wanted so badly to say more, be more, help more, but wants were wishes and wishes killed people she fell in love with. “Thanks.” Maybe he could read all the words stitched between the syllables. Maybe he’d work out the distress, the panic, the pain and understand that she heard him but she couldn’t answer him. 

“It should have been me,” It slipped out again as she mustered everything she had to push the wheelchair forward, towards the exit, marching past Elias’s punctured body. Of course it wasn’t what she’d meant to say. She bit her tongue until the taste of blood pooled in her mouth. She closed her eyes, focusing on the pain, the shadow laughed. “I’ll come back for you and Wynne. After the trial.” No matter what happened, Wynne had to get out. Wynne wanted to leave, Wynne tried to leave, if anyone got out for sure it would be Wynne. Nora would send Wynne without them if she had to. She’d try her best for Elias, but he didn’t look escape ready. But she would try for them all.

It wouldn’t work out, she knew that now. Nothing worked out. Nothing was chill. But what happened would happen, and Nora would have to cling on with her shaking fingers. Maybe they would survive, maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe it didn’t matter. One foot after another. Nora pushed through the clinic door and stepped into the street full of ghosts. They watched her with dead eyes. One foot at a time. 

[gossipsnake]

TIMING: February 24, 2024, (the evening of this) LOCATION: Inge's House PARTIES: Anita (@gossipsnake), Metzli (@muertarte) Inge (@nightmaretist), and Cass (@magmahearts) SUMMARY: After learning about what had happened to Anita and that she had been brought to Inge's house to warm up with Cass, Metzli comes over to make sure Anita is okay. CONTENT WARNINGS: None

It wasn’t right. Anita had been hurt, and any reasonable individual would’ve been motivated by panic and stress, guided toward their loved one with such a force that everything stormed out of their path. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case for Metzli, who had to usually rely on logic above all else to mimic love. They didn’t know how to feel or what to do or how to process, but they had a location and a place to be, so they drove. And somehow, they’d done so calmly, even if they were going twenty over the speed limit. 

By the time Metzli arrived, there was not much they could recall from between their walk from the car and their knock at the door. Nothing else mattered except getting to Anita. They just wished they could have made the moment sweeter with a warm drink or a filling pastry, but that was something they could do another time. Their focus diverted completely to their sister. 

“Where was she found?” They rushed inside with a curt nod at whatever invitation they were given, not paying much mind to Inge so they could lay their eyes on proof that Anita was alive. It wasn’t as if she or Inge had any reason to lie. As far as Metzli was concerned, they both had their trust, and had given no grounds for them to not take her at her word. But between someone who thought themself a sibling, and the person they saw as their family, nothing else mattered more than reaching them. 

With utmost care, Metzli opened the door and reached Anita in a blink, hovering a hand over her hair. She looked tired and worse for wear, but she was warm and breathing, resting soundly in clothing that looked much too big now. Metzli thought perhaps their mind was playing tricks on them, which would be no surprise. Panic had a way of altering a mind.

Metzli retracted their hand and backed away slowly. “I am here.” They kept their voice quiet, waiting for Anita’s approval to get closer. Their touch would do her no good, considering their lack of body heat, but they still held onto hope that they could offer some sort of physical affection she usually claimed she didn’t need. It wasn’t uncommon for Metzli to find her cuddling up with Fluffy or leaning into their touch. As much as Metzli wanted to, they never picked on her for it, and they especially wouldn’t right then. Not in front of Cass or Inge. 

It was important that Metzli find out what was going on as soon as possible. Cass could only imagine the worry they must have felt when Anita didn’t come home. Were they looking for her? Were they scouring the woods, were they searching? She couldn’t imagine they’d be doing anything else, not if they had any inkling that something was wrong. Metzli was proactive, was dedicated, was loyal. And they loved Anita, Cass had seen it. If they knew Anita was hurt, they’d be worried. So they needed to find out right away.

She figured it would be better for Anita to text them, maintained her position practically curled around the lamia as she did so. She kept up that warm-but-not-too-hot temperature, gradually warming herself a little more to make sure Anita got the heat she needed without being too hot. She tried making awkward small talk with Inge at first, but she got the feeling neither of them really wanted that, so she gave it up after a few minutes. 

And, when Metzli finally arrived and entered the room, she let the relief wash over her all at once. 

She wondered, somewhat absently, if Metzli would display the same desperation if it were her in Anita’s position. She felt guilty for wondering it — Anita was hurt, and this should be about her — but her mind went there all the same. Cass was so used to being an afterthought and, in this moment, Anita was clearly anything but. She thought back to Alex, after she was hurt, to the way she would have done anything to get her out of Rhett’s cruel grasp. Hadn’t it been intoxicating, being the center of someone’s world? Even if only for a moment, even when it was over now? Hadn’t it felt good?

“She’s getting warmer,” she spoke up almost tentatively, like she was no longer sure of her place in this room. Neither Inge nor Metzli had the body heat to warm Anita, so Cass was necessary. She liked being necessary. It meant no one could make her go. “I think it’ll be a while longer before she’s… back to full strength.”

—

They had been at Inge’s place for a little while before Anita had the strength to even send Metzli a message about what had happened. And of course since she didn’t even have her own phone with her she had to rely on using someone else’s to even send the message. It felt like this was becoming a habit, needing help from others, and it made her feel uneasy. As much as she wanted to tell everyone to leave, not because she didn’t want them there but because she felt that her debt to them was growing with each passing second. Debt she didn’t know how to repay. 

Just before Metzli arrived, Anita had finally felt warm enough to shift back. While most things in life were aided by being an incredibly large rattlesnake, trying to get warm was certainly not on that list. “I’m gonna get smaller,” she said to Cass so as not to startle the woman wielding that much heat near her skin, “It’ll make it quicker. Warmer blood and whatever.” It took more effort than she was used to but the scales that spread across her body were slowly replaced with soft pink flesh, allowing her to curl up into herself and get herself under the aluminum blanket that the tall stranger had given her. 

When she heard Metzli’s voice there was a simultaneous relief and guilt that panged through Anita. She didn’t want to worry anyone… she didn’t mean to worry anyone. There had been nights, plenty of nights, that she didn’t make it home. She usually let them know that was going to be the case though, when she remembered to. “I didn’t mean to worry you,” she offered up. Normally the lamia adored being the center of attention - she thrived on it - but this type of attention, this type of care, felt so foreign to her. She didn’t know how to handle it all. 

“I just need to get warm. I already healed the wound.” Nodding towards Cass, Anita agreed, “Will be a while, for sure.” Even if her body got warmed up Anita wondered how long the exhaustion she was feeling would last. “I’ve never… I don’t know anyone who’s ever… guess this is why my father wanted me to stay in the desert.” 

_ 

She couldn’t recall the last time she’d turned on the heating in her cold apartment, but she had it blasting now. Inge could host, at the very least — it was one of the skills she’d taken with her from her former life. She could fret a little, offer whatever comforts Anita needed while waiting for her to warm up again. In a way, it was good to be on the other side of this: to help rather than to need to be helped. 

And though her body ached from all the walking, she got up and moved towards the door all the same when the doorbell rang. Her eyes locked with Metzli, she offered the, “Come in,” required for a vampire and let them burst in. She followed, pushing through as she tried to keep up their pace. “In the Pines. I was astral hopping and I saw her and got help.” This was the second time in a long time where Inge was confronted with the fact that she was limited, that in some cases she was powerless. She had none of the superior healing her vampire brethren had, nor the strength. Not even the bodily warmth to assist Anita. And even though she’d manage to help Anita, she despised the feeling.

She followed Metzli, no longer bothering to keep up with their vampiric speed and leaned on a chair in the living room. What a strange combination of people, two of whom she’d only met rather recently and in very different settings. Inge didn’t question it. Life was spontaneous. And pain connected, that too she knew. 

A small smile for Cass. Ariadne’s friend, she assumed. The one she’d asked her not to give nightmares. “Good.” She moved around the chair, sat on its edge, close to the gathering of people in her living room. So filled with life. She found it confusing. “You can stay as long as you need to, you know that.” Not often did she open her doors like that for people, and it wasn’t like Anita and her were as tightly entwined as she perhaps was with Metzli or even Cass — but still. Inge wasn’t going to kick her friend out. She wasn’t quite sure what to say. “It’s … you’re here now, hm? Just focus on getting warmer.” 

“Ay, mi hermosa.” Metzli leaned forward and planted an affectionate kiss to Cass’s head, fully trusting that if she was in contact with Anita, then it was safe to do so. Besides, they couldn’t help themself when the person they saw like kin was making them proud. She truly was a hero, and Metzli wholeheartedly believed that’s what she was meant to be. They smiled, “Thank you for helping her.” They didn’t care if Cass would bind them, and some part of them knew she wouldn’t. Regardless, it felt important to express their gratitude, and they turned to regard Inge, who they could see through the doorway to the living room. “And thank you as well, Inge. I…” Tears brimmed their eyes, a few daring to streak down their cheeks as they returned to Anita’s side and sat.

Metzli sniffled and cleared their throat immediately, trying not to feel too embarrassed. Anita likely didn’t have the energy to tease them, but they hoped she might. Anything to further cement that she was still there, and what Metzli was seeing wasn’t just a figment. It was asinine, really. They knew that. So, carefully, they reached forward, placing a gentle hand on Anita’s head for a few moments. They smiled warmly and retracted it before they could undo any of Cass’s hard work. Anita was real. Anita was real and even if Metzli had failed in finding her, she was alive and able to recover. 

“I looked for you. Was very scared you were hurt and I am very sorry I could not find you.” The possibility (and really, the inevitability) of Anita dying became far too real, and it choked them. It formed  a ball of some sort and it lodged itself in Metzli’s throat. Their leg began to bounce as discomfort overtook them, but they took a grounding breath to keep their emotions at bay as best they could. Some emotion was okay, but they didn’t want to overwhelm Anita or overtake the attention she needed. Instead, they breathed once more, offering Anita their hand, palm facing up. 

“I will be here until you can come home then. Whatever you need, hermana. Like Inge say, focus on getting warmer. We will help.”

A warmth that had nothing to do with the magma flowing through her veins filled her chest as Metzli addressed her, and she offered them the smallest of smiles. When they’d first found Anita in the woods, trailing behind Otis and Inge like a lost dog, there had been so much desperation. She’d been so afraid, so uneasy. If anything happened to Anita, she’d thought, and Cass didn’t prevent it from doing so, she was sure Metzli wouldn’t forgive her for it. She was good so long as she was useful, and she’d been useful tonight. She’d used the destructive force of her volcanic nature for something decent, for warmth instead of ruination. 

Metzli thanked her, and Cass disregarded it with a shrug. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m happy I could help.” She looked down at Anita with a small smile. “Everybody deserves somebody to help them, right?” It was something Cass desperately wanted, needed to be true. If Anita deserved salvation, if everyone did, didn’t she get to be included in that, too? 

She flashed Inge a grateful smile as the mare said they could all stay as long as they needed to. It was funny — she hadn’t liked Inge much at the beginning of all this, but she was grateful for her now. Offering her home not just to Anita, but also to Cass, who she probably still hated, was a pretty heroic thing to do. And Cass would know; she was a superhero.

“So, um…” She shifted her weight a little, repositioning Anita slightly so that they both could be a little more comfortable. “Anybody have any Uno cards?”

—

As much as Anita adored being the center of attention in normal circumstances, these were not normal circumstances. This collection of people surrounding her, from different aspects of her life, all coming together to help her out was not a dynamic she knew how to navigate. But they didn’t seem upset or annoyed, at least not visibly, at needing to tend to the weakened lamia. That felt surprising to her, mostly. Metzli’s reaction, their support, was expected. But the other two, that felt surprising. Not because of who they are or because of anything they had done but simply because having people around to support her was such a foreign feeling at this stage in her life. 

The idea of her absence causing Metzli to go out and search for her, knowing that she caused them any amount of fear, only added to the guilt that was cursing her. How many nights had she not come home in the past without letting them know? Did it always spark such a reaction? That wasn’t a question she really wanted an answer to. “Don’t apologize. I shouldn’t have … been out there like that.” She reached out and placed her hand in theirs, keeping it there despite the cold. 

She turned her attention towards Cass, who was doing the work of a dozen heat lamps all by herself. “Is this tiring for you?” For all that Anita knew, whatever Cass was, and whatever powers she had, were foreign to her. “Don’t think I’ve played Uno since… college, maybe?” She didn’t wanna make presumptions but it seemed unlikely that Inge had a deck of Uno cards lying around. But Cass was onto something. If they had something to do to pass the time, maybe Anita would feel less guilt, or at least be distracted enough to not think about it for a short while. “Wouldn’t be opposed to playing a game or something, though.”  

__ 

The scene was a strange one. Inge had people over at her house aplenty, but it was never this kind of combination. Anita in her living room made sense, had occurred before, but Metzli she only knew professionally and then there was Cass, the thief who’d melted her things. Put together the fact that someone was being offered aid and she wasn’t entirely sure if she’d encounter this kind of thing again soon. She gave Metzli a serious look, nodded. “Of course.” It wasn’t like she’d done it for Metzli, but still. She didn’t mind a little appreciation.

Inge remained leaning on the chair until Cass said something about Uno. Now the scene was really becoming something completely foreign. It wasn’t a bad thing, though. She raised up, jaws tight at the movement. “I can find us something. I’ve got a deck of cards, so we can just play crazy eights.” She could host. Though the days of serving guests pickled eggs and vruchtenbowl were over, she hadn’t quite lost that. 

She moved away from the three others, feeling strangely out of place. She cared for Anita, certainly, and enjoyed her company deeply — but she and her had never felt this proximity she seemed to share with Cass and Metzli. No matter. It was hardly like she was jealous. Inge opened one of the many cabinets in the living room, most of them filled with various items. Old games from back at home, books and collections, dried flowers and trinkets she intended to do something with, one day. A deck of cards was produced and she returned, pulling an ottoman close to the small gathering. “If anyone wants something to drink, you can help yourself. There’s wine and other things in the kitchen.” No blood, that she only got when she had planned vampire visits. “But for now, I’ve got the deck. Shall I deal?”

Metzli shook their head at Anita and shushed her. “You are strong and your confidence is big. Maybe you make mistake, but you are alive. That is what matters.” They paused for a moment, offering Anita an intimate gesture by pressing their lips to the back of her hand. For someone not normally too keen on touch, it meant a great deal. It was something that required trust and comfort that they had only just begun to understand. “You matter to me. Worry will happen and that is okay. Just shut up and accept.”

There were various options that everyone presented for entertainment, nourishment, and comfort. Uno sounded interesting enough. If there were only a single item in a game, Metzli figured it couldn’t possibly be overstimulating or incredibly complex. It sounded quiet. Perfect, even. That was probably why Cass suggested it, and they offered a small and gentle smile to her as they gave Anita’s hand one final squeeze. She didn’t need her temperature lowered again. 

“Let us play this Uno game and I can pay for pizza if someone will like to order.” They turned their head just in time to watch Inge’s hair bounce around the corner as she mentioned a much more chaotic game. Crazy eights? That is bigger than one. Not by much, but enough. And the numbers were crazy? Metzli couldn’t make sense of it, but before they knew it, Inge provided the group with a deck of cards. They stared at it as if it were as atypical as themself, their back stiffening as they shook their head and responded. “I will watch. I do not want to gamble in your deal.”

Anita asked about her, about her well-being, and it was enough to make Cass’s chest feel warm in the metaphorical sense as well as the physical. She offered the lamia a small smile, shaking her head. “It’s not tiring. This is just… being, for me.” Without the need to maintain her glamour, this was actually less tiring than her day-to-day, even if the glamour only took a very small amount of energy to keep up. Regardless, even if it had been exhausting, she would have done it. Anita was cold, and Cass could warm her. That was all there was to it. It was a simple thing.

She hummed, disappointed but not surprised that Inge didn’t have any Uno cards lying around. It had been something of a long shot, given Inge’s whole ‘fancy lady’ aesthetic. Fancy ladies probably didn’t play Uno, which was stupid. Uno was fun. But, regardless, Cass knew how to work with what was given to her. Metzli wasn’t interested in Crazy 8s, though Anita didn’t seem to mind the idea. Cass considered it for a moment.

“Maybe we can do a round or two of that, then Go Fish?” She looked to Metzli as she said it, brows drawing together in a pleading look. It was an expression perfected from years of making sure everyone felt included enough to stay. If there was nothing for a person to do, they were more likely to walk away. And Cass didn’t want Metzli to leave.

She didn’t want anyone to leave, but Metzli was the only one who really could right now. Anita was frozen in place (though not quite literally anymore), and this was Inge’s house. If she could keep Metzli here, they could stay as they were right now. And Cass liked how they were right now. It felt kind of perfect… or as perfect as anything could be, under the circumstances. “Maybe we could have hot chocolate, too?”

—

It would have been too overwhelming for Anita to take the time to fully process and internalize the amount of care that was being given to her. So she was glad to have a distraction in the way of a card game, no matter what game that ended up being. Something to do other than talk about the situation she got herself in. “Crazy 8’s isn’t all that crazy,” she offered to Metzli in Spanish when they seemed uninterested in playing. She wanted them to have a good time if they were going to be stuck here waiting for her to defrost, but also knew that watching the others play might as well be as enjoyable as playing for them. 

Anita was feeling well enough to move her arms a bit, being able to do the absolute bare minimum action for a game of cards. As the cards were delt she reached out to grab her hand, fully accepting that it would be near impossible to keep her cards fully concealed from Cass.  “Hot chocolate would be amazing. Especially if you’ve maybe got some tequila lying around to throw in there?” She asked, looking over at Inge. She should have asked Metzli to bring some from home. Even though she knew the science behind it was flawed, there was no denying that a bit of tequila was known to warm just about anyone up. “I think after a few rounds of the game I should be warm enough to head home. I don’t wanna put y’all out all night.” 

_ 

She looked between the strange range of people and folded down the cards so they could be shuffled and dealt at a later time, “Maybe you can explain the rules to Metzli? It is not so different from Uno.” Inge got up, sure to not touch Cass and her searing skin again. She remembered how she’d burned her once and thought it some kind of metaphor — how warmth could be healing yet also dangerous. 

“Anyway — hot chocolate I can do. With tequila. I’ll also order a pizza.” And she’d pay for it. She was a gracious host, after all. It was a fundamental skill for women of her once-caliber. It was one she didn’t mind not having unlearned — though plenty of the other submissive housewife traits had luckily left her. “What kind of toppings do you like?”

Her eyes flicked to Anita, then. “Don’t worry. Neither Metzli nor I need sleep. You are hardly putting me out. You’ve —” Slept over before, she almost added, before remembering herself. Inge smirked vaguely and then gave Cass another one over. She was okay. Even if she’d stolen her bag and burned her hand. “And if you doze off, that’s alright.” She moved to the kitchen to heat up some milk on the stove, feeling a distant sense of a feeling she couldn’t quite describe. Perhaps it was as simple as contentment, but maybe something more rare — a feeling of safety and unity. 

They knew what Cass was doing when she made that face. They also knew she was scared that they’d leave, even if that was far from the truth. More than once, she had used it to get her way, ensuring abandonment of any kind wasn’t any option. It was how she operated, experiencing dismissal and loneliness far too long. If given the chance to live those moments again, Metzli surely would’ve given Cass what she wanted without any sort of plea. 

They just enjoyed her face far too much to give in immediately. They enjoyed the way she knew a certain look would sway any decision they made. As if Metzli was truly her guardian. “I am staying, mihijita. And I will beat you at this crazy game.” Gently, they reached over and patted her head, ruffling her slightly and playfully with a small but genuine smile on their face. “I will also beat Anita.” They chuckled, rising to their feet to help Inge out in the kitchen. A room they were comfortable and navigated well in. Never mind the fact that they had no need to eat actual food anymore.

“If you have chocolate that I can melt with the mix, I can help you make it very tasty.”

 “Pineapple!” Cass cut in immediately, eager to make her preferred pizza topping known. Normally, she might have let someone else respond first, might have pretended to like whatever the popular answer was, but… she felt comfortable, in this moment. She felt comfortable enough to be a little more of herself, to stop pretending even if it was only for a heartbeat. Later, the mask would slip back on as easily as breathing. She’d cut herself into smaller pieces, something easier to digest. But right here, right now… Cass felt good. And that was good. Wasn’t it?

She grinned a little as Metzli agreed to stay, feeling as though some invisible weight had been lifted. The teasing, too, felt good, felt like something she’d never thought she’d have. “There’s no way you’re beating me,” she shot back, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m totally gonna win. You’ll probably beat Anita, though.” She flashed Anita a grin — a quiet confirmation that she was only kidding, with a question underneath it: is this okay, are we here yet, can we do this? 

As Metzli and Inge went into the kitchen, Cass remained with Anita. This was good, she thought. However terrifyingly the night had started out, this ending was good. She wanted more nights like this. She wanted them forever. 

—

It was not very often that Anita found herself alone, physically. She usually had some body nearby to keep her company - either a meal or a tryst. Even when she spent time with people she cared about, the people in this room, it was almost always one-on-one. Genuinely, she did not know if that was an intentional doing on her part or if it was coincidental. Laying there, wrapped up in physical and emotional warmth felt so foreign to her. It made her think back to Mexico, before she left home. But even as she let her mind wander back there, as she shuffled through her cards and listened to discussions about pineapple on pizza, Anita was faced with the reality that home had never actually felt quite this warm. 

Back then she may have been constantly surrounded by a sea of family but they were all so preoccupied with themselves that moments like this - simple evenings - were scarce. Anita smiled up at Metzli when they returned with cups of cocoa and nodded at the indication from Inge that pizza was just a few minutes away. As she took that first sip of the spiked beverage, for a moment the guilt she had been feeling slipped away. For a moment she was just in a living room, playing cards with people who cared about her.

[endlessevenings]

Food to Meet You || Daiyu & Mahuika

TIMING: current LOCATION: a latte to love PARTIES: @bountyhaunter & @endlessevenings SUMMARY: daiyu is the unfortunate recipient of mahuika's desire to chill. the two actually get along! CONTENT: passing mention of infidelity

It was the middle of the day. A Latte to Love (which, stupid and ridiculously cheesy name, right?) was far busier than she would’ve wanted. Mahuika had half a mind to make people decide to leave, but she was trying to turn over a new leaf, or something (she wasn’t). However, her gaze zero-ed in on a woman sitting by herself. At a small table, probably chosen because she didn’t want anybody else around.

Luckily, Mahuika didn’t really choose to pay attention to things that didn’t fit with her vibe.

So once she’d gotten her extra-hot-extra-chocolate-mocha, she wandered over, dragged her fingers across the chair opposite the woman. “Can I sit?” She raised an eyebrow. “There’s nowhere else to go. Please?”

—

Her earbuds were slotted perfectly in her ears, music pumping through them as Daiyu scrolled through her phone. She was here to be productive and take stock of her financial situation, but it wasn’t working out. Not even while sitting in a coffeeshop filled with people tapping away on their little stupid laptops. No, she’d not even opened her notebook and calculator app. She was just tapping away on Reddit, arguing with a stranger about something she hadn’t been passionate about up until fifteen minutes ago. So it went.

Even her drink (a caramel frozen latte) was abandoned in favor of the fight, so when she spotted someone’s fingers on the chair across from her and saw her mouth move she was pulled from her thoughts.

Daiyu pulled out one of her airpods, caught the last of what she was saying. She pulled her legs (which she’d stretched out under the table) up and nodded. “Yeah, sure, go ahead.” She’d prefer to say no, but she was a little taken by surprise. She considered plopping the earbud back in. “They gotta add more seating spaces here, it’s always so fucking busy.”

—

“You’re the best.” Mahuika grinned before sitting down. “It’s way too busy, right? I mean I can’t speak from tons of experience, I sometimes just get coffee to go, but you’d think a place with this much success and this complete lack of space would give thought to expand, right?” She was just talking to talk at this point, but she had a good voice and her opinions were at least relatively well curated, so her talking was good, and the woman across the table from her was bound to be grateful for her company, even if her face didn’t show it quite yet.

She tapped her nails against the coffee cup. The sound was satisfying, and it gave her time to think about what to say next (not that she was really in doubt of what to say, but it was good to give that illusion, and to be prepared for if she ever was in doubt).

“You come here often?” It sounded like a line, but that wasn’t something Mahuika was interested in right now. “I’m Mahuika.” She stuck her hand across the table in at least some level of excessive enthusiasm and an attempt to hold an aura of welcoming vibes or something. “Also do you want like, a muffin or something to eat? Least I can do, since you’ve been so nice as to let me take over some of your personal space. I heard the banana-blueberry ones are to die for. Not literally, of course.” A stifled and seemingly awkward giggle escaped her lips. “I was feeling hungry, so I was gonna maybe get some sort of tempeh sandwich anyhow, and I’d be totes down to get something for you, too!”

—

Daiyu hadn’t the foggiest idea about when or how a business should expand. Her brother and sister had gotten the entrepreneurial gene, but it had fully skipped over her. She didn’t mind it much, there were other shortcomings that were worse. “Yeah, absolutely,” she said, with feigned confidence, as she’d always back up whatever she’d said even if it was completely nonsensical. “So many people, ridiculous.”

The sound of the other’s nails on the coffee cup went right against the beat of her music and she wasn’t sure whether she should take the other out or put them both in again. She should just go back to getting take out in her car. But then there were her finances …

She pulled out her airpod, as it seemed the other was in a chatty mood. Daiyu took the extended hand, shook it. “Daiyu.” Mahuika seemed nice, if not a little eager and it wasn’t like she hated people — it was just that she wasn’t particularly good at talking to them without starting something. But luckily the other spoke her love language. Food. “Oh, I won’t refuse a free muffin,” she said shamelessly. “I’ll take that one, yeah. Sounds healthy. Got a bunch of fruit and stuff.” She sunk back in her chair a little, put her phone down. “It really is the least you could do.”

—

“It really is!” Not that Mahuika had half an idea about how to run a business, nor did she have any intention of ever running one, but it felt good to say things with confidence. It could make them true, and even if they weren’t, she sounded competent and that was good enough for her. Or at least good enough of a start. Not good enough in the long run, but being at the start didn’t necessitate being in the long run, so she was chill with that.

“Awesome, swell, cool.” She wanted to slap herself across the face for how she sounded. “The sugar must already be getting to me, I’ll go and get your muffin and my sandwich all lickety split. Be right back!” She set the business card of some lady who’d been staying at Bearcliff and who had told Mahuika to contact her if she ever wanted to talk about other jobs (bleh, gag – the lady was in HR or something too, which double yikes), but it would do well to make sure that nobody messed with her mocha. Not that she thought Daiyu would, but other people? You could never be too sure.

In almost no time, she had made her way back over, muffin on a plate in one hand, sandwich in the other. “God, I was totally starving. Famished, you know?” She took a big bite of her sandwich, marveling at how good it actually was before she focused back on the other woman. “So what do you do for work? I work at the Bearcliff Motel. Not like, way exciting or whatever, but it does the job, and sometimes I get tips, so that’s… chill.” Mahuika shook her head. “Plus, it gives me time to read and learn on my own clock.”

—

Daiyu was never sure if she hated or loved busy places. She liked the sounds of other people, but sometimes it all seemed to drill into her head aggressively, leaving her defenseless against all the stimuli. Right now, as the other passed through positive words as if searching for the right one, she found herself amused. Sometimes humans could be so endearing, right? It made her feel like watching a toddler jump in puddles, drenching the clothes of them and their parent alike as they both laughed. Observing the pretty simplicity of life without partaking. 

“See you soon,” she said, curling her lips into a grin as she fiddled with her airpod case, clicking it open and shut, open and shut. The conversations of others droned in her ears and she tried to block it out as she waited, not wanting to know about Lucy’s ex or Jonathan’s new job. This was part of why it so often felt like she was more observer than partaker — her heightened senses weren’t made for hanging in bars, but rather for tracking in the woods. Still, she grinned as the other sat down again. “Awesome. And yeah, I get you, I feel like there’s a void in my stomach that’s never filled.”

Daiyu picked at her muffin, taking a piece off and stuffing it in her mouth. Mahuika asked her about her job and she wanted to slam her head on the table. “Oh, cool, what do you do? Clean rooms and shit or deal with the people at the front desk?” She couldn’t imagine a worse job at the moment. “What’re you learning about?” This also seemed like a horrible thing. To read during work. Double punishment. “I’m a food critic,” she said, taking a demonstrative bite. It wasn’t a lie. She was very critical about food. She just wasn’t paid for it. “Not working now, though! But this muffin def gets a good rating from me regardless. Anyway, work’s work. Work sucks. What do you do beside work?”

—

She had to be doing something right, considering the other woman was smiling. So, score one for her, Mahuika supposed. Not that she was keeping score of how successful she was at life (except that she totally was), but there was often something satisfying about being able to get people to act just as she wanted them without whipping out her magic. It meant she had power all her own, just like her parents had said. Though thinking about her parents nearly immediately soured her mood, and so she pushed those thoughts away. She could stew in her thoughts later, back in her apartment, when she was alone, but right now that would totally destroy the vibe. 

“Same. I’m just always so hungry.” Which was half true, but it was the right thing to say, and Mahuika could always eat. Something something filling a void that she couldn’t fill otherwise. Which couldn’t be true, right? She was plenty full of everything. (Including, perhaps, herself, but that wasn’t a rabbit hole she was going to follow anytime soon!)

“I do both actually. Front desk and also clean rooms. It’s … well, it’s boring, but it’s something, and not that I’m one to follow gossip or rumors, but I do get to know a whole lot of things just because of where I work, which is kinda rad.” Mahuika grinned. “I’m reading about Physics. It’s my favorite subject, but I figure I might go and try one of those Emily Henry novels sometime. See what all the hype on TikTok is about.” What did she do besides work? “Oh! I like going clubbing sometimes. Also for hikes, because, like, nature, you know? I only moved here back in like July,” (never mind that she’d lived outside the town most of her life), “so even though it’s been a while, I guess I’m still looking for what the cool stuff to do is. What do you do?”

—

The muffin was really good and Daiyu bit off another bite, this one larger. She chewed as she talked, “Sometimes I do get stuffed, of course, when I get a full meal but even then I always know I’m just gonna get hungry again. Not the worst, though, considering there’s so much banger food out there.” She chased her muffin with a sip of coffee.

“Yeah, well it sure is something. What kinda things do you hear? Get a lot of criminal activity? Affairs?” She’d slept in her fair share of motels over the years and seen some funny stuff — things that could be disturbing to others, too. “Oh, cool. I don’t really read a lot, to be honest, don’t have the attention span for it.” And she was bad at reading, but that was an easy to omit fact. “Physics is like … about gravity and shit, right? Well I know about that.” She grinned, a little dopey. “Hikes are great, I love those too. Just get out in nature, stretch your legs and all. Perfect. Clubs are …” She grimaced. “Loud. But you do you.” Daiyu pulled her notebook to her, deposited it in her bag. “I’ve only been here a few months myself, first time in town. Figuring stuff out as well. But yeah, I like to hike. Watch movies. I like my dog.”

—

“There really is. People limit themselves way too much with what foods they eat, but it’s a relief to see that you aren’t one of those people.” Was it possible that she was actually just getting along with someone, even without trying too hard. There was a sort of magic in food (though not actual magic, and the people who claimed as such were idiots) and maybe that was bringing the two of them together in conversation. Mahuika took another bite of her sandwich and quickly chased it with her drink.

“Yes – to both of those, actually. But sometimes also people who’re like, running away. Which I get, if you have a shit situation at home, running away can be the best option.” Or even if your life seemed picture perfect but your family were a bunch of lame cowards, but Mahuika wasn’t exactly about to say that. Not to mention she hadn’t really run away. Not far, at least. If her family wanted to, they could find her. But she didn’t want them to, and so far her wish had come true. “So valid, not everyone can have the attention span for it, but I guess I just was bored a lot as a kid and books were always there, so…” she trailed off, lost in thought for a brief moment before she shook her head and returned to the conversation at hand. “It is about gravity and shit. I just think it’s a fascinating science, and I like finding answers and making stuff make sense,” (which was true, at least in a way) “nature is the best. Also something you can always count on. I mean, weather and shit can be unpredictable, but I’m betting you get what I’m saying. Clubs are loud.” Which was part of why she liked them. That and drunk people usually didn’t question what they were doing. “Movies are good. I have a cat and a rat. I like them. They’re good company.”

—

“Yeah, like I get having comfort foods, but you’ve gotta try new stuff and be experimental. Life’s bland without good food!” She plopped another bite of the muffin into her mouth. Daiyu wasn’t the best at non-confrontational conversations, as she hadn’t had many of those in her life, but there were a few safe topics. Food, dogs and shitty movies. The weather, maybe, at times. “How’s the sandwich?”

The subject of people allegedly having families they wanted to run away from was something Daiyu really didn’t feel like addressing. Wasn’t that how she ended up in motels? Why she was in this town? Putting miles and miles between herself and her family in an attempt of separation. Not that she was running away, though — a deep buried part of her was afraid of what would happen should she try to sever ties definitively. Her father’s hands were like claws holding onto all that was his already.

“That’s not really fun gossip, though. Guess that’s nice that you offer a place, though. Should give discounts.” She stuffed her mouth again so that she didn’t have to say anything more (not that eating was a deterrent from talking usually). “Ah, shit yeah, I get that. I mean, I did ‘read’ as a kid.” Daiyu used physical air quotes. “As in, I liked to look at the pictures in the books we had.” But she’d always taken to the violence best, not the study. In a way it made her a good hunter. “Oh, valid. I just don’t try to question things I don’t get, you know? It works.” She sat back a little, splitting her muffin into little bitesize pieces. “Yeah, it’s always there. Nature, I mean. Consistent like that. No opening hours or whatever.” She let out a laugh. “A cat and a rat? And the cat doesn’t eat the rat, like Tom and Jerry? I mean, that’s a mouse, but still. That’s awesome. What’re they called?”

—

“I agree. Life’ll be all boring if you don’t try new stuff!” She nodded. “The sandwich is great. It’s perfectly flavored and the bread isn’t even like, stale or dry or whatever? Which is amazing.” So maybe Mahuika was, once again, falling back in her habits of being too cheery, but at least this time she was far more tempered with it all, and the woman didn’t seem to mind, and so she kept going.

“Oh yeah, that’s not fun gossip.” Mahuika made a face. She might’ve not always been even close to the nicest of people, but even she knew that taking joy in someone else’s bad situation (when you didn’t cause it, that was) was a bit over-the-top movie-villain cruel. So she didn’t take joy. Not usually. Rarely. And if she did, she didn’t do so outwardly. Because that was lame and also could just get her into trouble and she very much didn’t want to get into trouble. “Pictures are like, super cool, so I get that. Plus, there’s that saying that a picture’s worth some huge number of words, so you’re just like, way more efficient or like more advanced than the rest of us, maybe?”

“Yes, a cat and a rat, and no, they don’t.” The rat was her familiar, so maybe the cat just got that? Not that Mahuika was going to explain that to the stranger. “They’re called Cat and Rat. Except Cat’s the rat and Rat’s the cat. I just wanted to be quirky or whatever when I named them, I guess?” She shrugged. “What’s your dog's name? We should also totally chill again when we’re not getting crowded out by college students, yeah?”

—

She took a mental note that the sandwiches at a Latte to Love were good rather than asking for a bite, which she was admittedly very tempted to do. “Absolutely. Hate dry bread, though, yikes. So good to know the sandwiches here slap.” Daiyu was glad with her muffin, though, as it had a nice kind of stickiness and was hitting a sweet spot – literally.

“I’ll want to know all about the hot goss, though,” she said, “Maybe not here.” She was still bothered by Jonathan going on about his job. She longed for her airpods. She clicked the case open and shut again. She nodded fervently, “Abso-fucking-lutely. I’m pretty much just a genius because I just look at pictures and don’t read books, you’re absolutely right.” It was a fun line of thinking, anyway.

Daiyu thought a cat and a rat being called Rat and Cat respectively was the height of comedy and so she laughed. “That’s fucking amazing. I love that. You weren’t being quirky, you were being hilarious. And the way they’re friends, that’s amazing too.” She pulled up her phone, showed her background. “This is Nugget. He’s the best. Clever as hell, and fast as a whip.” She stuck the last bit of her muffin into her mouth. Jonathan was still buzzing in her ear. A head ache was setting on. She didn’t want to grow agitated when things were going pretty well, so she said, “Find me online, yeah? I need to get to a work thing but we should keep this ball rolling.” She grabbed the wrapper and balled it up. “Gonna tell them allll about this muffin. Tasted great! Appreciate ya.” She gave a salute, grabbed her coffee and bag and got up. “Great meeting you.” She did mean it. Sometimes it was nice to not sit alone.

[mayihaveyournameplease]

TIMING: current LOCATION: The Grit Pit PARTIES: @mayihaveyournameplease & @recoveringdreamer SUMMARY: beau decides to scam the system. felix is the system. CONTENT WARNINGS: None! They are best friends. Nothing could ever go wrong.

Gambling was a problem Beau had struggled with for the entirety of his life. There was an unearned air of arrogance about him at all times. Other than his ability to twist words into shapes they’d never meant to encompass, Beau could do nothing else to maintain hold over his gambling. And yet, when a fellow fae whispers sweet words of a fight pit where he could bet for names, Beau found his interest piqued. 

It hadn’t been a hard place to find, it hadn’t taken him long to watch his first fight. It had, however, surprised him to see a familiar cat, one that he’d wanted to keep forever until it'd betrayed him. No scars remained from that interaction, except for the one slashed across his heart. Beau shot to his feet, racing down the stairs and into rooms out of bounds to track down his “friend” after the fight. It took awhile to navigate the unfamiliar maze but finally he saw the back of the person who had hurt him. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t my favorite little cat.” His signature smile was plastered to his face, but it was hard to keep the scorn off his tongue. “Imagine my surprise finding you here.” 

—

It was one of those nights where Felix had fight after fight scheduled with few moments to rest in between. They were already exhausted as they finished up one against some undead something or another that they could only identify in the vaguest sense due to its lack of heartbeat. It was a warmup fight, not meant to really draw a crowd. Felix was given permission to end it quickly, and they had. Not so fast that no one was entertained, but not so slow that it drained him. After all, there were more fights scheduled for later.

For now, though, the balam made their way down to the rest area for fighters who were between matches. They sat a little ways away from their colleagues, not particularly feeling like conversation for the moment. A nervous energy thrummed through them as they waited, eyes periodically darting to the clock. They were distracted enough not to spot the familiar figure entering, not to notice his presence at all until his voice sounded through the small space. Felix jumped a little, nervous without really knowing why as their eyes found Beau. They slid a small smile onto their face, offering him an uncertain wave. “Oh. Uh, hi, Beau. I didn’t — I didn’t know you… came here.” Anxiety clenched in their chest. Beau was still so mad at them because of the jaguar’s attack. Seeing Felix in the ring must make it worse, right? Their violence on full display… Shame ached in their chest. “Yeah. I, um… I work here.” 

—

Ideas flitted around Beau’s mind faster than neurons could capture them. He could cheat. A rarity given the way fae magic wound itself so deeply around faes. He could regain a fraction of the names he had lost. Of course, that would only be in number. The real names he had lost, including his own true name, were still hoarded by that disgustingly handsome man Elijah. Who had cheated to get them. At least it was his turn to cheat. His turn for something good to happen. That’s what kept the smile plastered on his face, his cheekbones pulling apart like a predator, slowly and without remorse. ‘First time here.”Beau explained, casually leaning his small frame against the wall because he had seen a cool man do it in the movie, and he wanted so desperately to be the cool guy. In a hall surrounded by rough and ragged fighters, he could be the cool guy, right?

The scent of lavender fabric softener wafted off Beau’s freshly pressed cardigan as he spoke. “It's been awhile since we’ve been face to face.” Nightmares of the jugar’s claws digging into his chest sometimes woke him up at night, the pain searing in memory. “But like I said before, I’m a good guy. I’m your friend. And I do forgive you. I just needed some time, some space. You know how it goes, for me to be a good friend. But now, look at me! I’m happy to see you. See how big my smile is?” His cheeks burned with the size and effort it took to maintain his smile. “Now as a good friend, I was hoping you’d do me a favor.” Beau lowered his voice, leaning in, eyes shifting up and down the rows to make sure no one was paying attention. “Throw your next fight.”

—

Things still felt so awkward with Beau. It was Felix’s fault, of course. Even if they’d never meant to attack their friend, they’d still done it. Their claws had ripped through his skin, left him bleeding and hurt, and intention didn’t really matter when it came to a breach of trust that big. Beau had been the one to get hurt and Felix had been the one to do the hurting. It was as terribly simple as that. The fact that Beau was willing to forgive them after that showed just how lucky Felix was to have him as a friend to begin with.

“It — I mean, it’s okay. If you, uh… If you don’t. I know I really messed up.” They could still feel Beau’s blood on their hands, sticky and thick. You never forgot a thing like that, not entirely; it stuck with you long after you’d washed the physical remains of it away. “But I am happy to see you! Uh, even if — I don’t know if this is a good place for you. For anyone.” That was the reason for the unease curling in his chest, right? Beau was here, and he shouldn’t be because it was dangerous. Because people got hurt here. That must have been why Felix felt so uncomfortable in his presence. At Beau’s request, however, the discomfort spread, and Felix’s smile fell. “I — Beau, I can’t do that. I’m not… Not allowed.”

—

“You did really mess up.” Beau agreed to their words easily, flippantly, because to Beau it was obvious how badly Felix had fucked up. It was gospel truth that hurting him had been in error. There was no self reflection on the situation that both of them had found themselves in there, and why a jugar had been out in the middle of Wicked’s Rest, because that wasn’t about Beau. Blood dripping down his chest and a hot white pain was what mattered. And then Felix was telling Beau that they couldn’t do this for them. After all they had done for Beau, they couldn’t do one single little favor. 

The corners of Beau’s smile faltered as he tried to keep back the ever present seething rage. How hard was it to follow a simple plan. “You can.” Beau told them. “You will.” Beau continued.. There was a fae bind wrapped around Felix, one that meant Felix would do whatever Beau asked them to. It was a shame he had to tug on that magic to make it happen. Weren’t friends supposed to help friends? “You will do this, I need you to do this. Throw the fight Felix. I want you to. I need you to. You’re going to.” As easy as that, the fae magic should take hold. “I’m betting big on this. Don’t let me down.” He reached out, a finger pressing lightly against the tip of Felix’s nose before moving away. “Well this was a very good talk, don’t you think?” 

—

The anxiety in their chest only intensified as the faintest anger spread itself across Beau’s face. It wasn’t entirely fair to Beau, they knew, but Felix never dealt well with anger being expressed towards them. Even when it was earned, even when they so sorely deserved it. It always took them back to a kid walking on eggshells under their father’s roof, or to those moments with Leo when things snapped from perfect to terrifying in a split second action. Instinctively, Felix curled in on themself a little, pulling themself away from Beau without thinking. As if they hadn’t been the one to hurt him before, as if he didn’t doubtlessly bear the scars their claws had carved into his skin. 

Then, Beau was speaking again. He was insisting. And there was — there was a feeling. Deep in Felix’s gut, like a knot tightening. Their options dwindled as, unbeknownst to them, two binds fought against one another. There was nothing concrete in the Pit’s contract that prevented them from throwing a match. After all, part of the full control the Pit liked to have meant that they needed to have the ability to decide who would win a match when the money started to roll in. It was about profits, at the end of the day. But there was an unspoken sort of rule that you weren’t supposed to throw a match unless someone with the Pit’s management team told you to. Not for friends, not for your own profit. Nausea tugged at Felix’s stomach, his whole body aching like he’d come down with a bad case of the flu. Without knowing about the bind Beau had put on them, they figured it was guilt. They still felt bad for hurting their friend, they wanted to make it up to him. That was all it could be, in Felix’s mind. They couldn’t fathom that Beau would tie them up in a bind. He was their friend. He was human, as far as they knew. It was guilt. It was just the guilt.

Beau’s finger pressed against their nose, and Felix flinched without meaning to. “Wait,” he said as Beau moved away. “Please, I — I can make it up to you another way. They’ll hurt me, Beau. Please don’t ask me to do this.”

—

A laugh escaped from Beau. At first light, a butterfly fluttering around, but quickly transformed into something obscene and loud. “Make it up to me?” The smile was real, but only because this was funny. Comedy in its truest form. “What could you, Felix, the little kitty who doesn’t even know how to fill out a driver license form do to make it up to me?” The words were a hiss, a whisper pressed sharply through his smile. He didn’t need anyone else in this hall to hear him, even if some of them had turned their pathetic eyes on them during his laughter. “They’ll hurt you the way you hurt me.” Beau’s finger slid off Felix’s nose, his hand moving to cup Felix’s cheek. A forced look of kindness and understanding on his features. “Don’t you think that’s fair?” Beau asked, his voice switching to one of the most reasonable man alive. Beau let his hand drop to the side. “Now, this was a very good talk. I’m so very glad we understand each other. I love that about our friendship, we’re going to go far together. On even ground as even friends.” 

—

The harshness of Beau’s words were so familiar. How many times had Leo said something similar? In that same tone, with an apologetic smile. It made Felix feel just as small coming from Beau as it had when it was his ex slinging the words around, and they shrunk even farther into themself. Maybe Beau was right. It wasn’t as if Felix had much of anything to offer in a friendship, just like they’d had very little to offer Leo in a relationship. And maybe they did deserve to be hurt. For what they’d done to Beau, for the blood still soaking their hands. They looked down at those hands now, curled in their lap where they sat. If they did this, they’d be punished for it. They knew that. Even if the bind from their contract didn’t hurt them, the people in charge of the Pit would. The fight would. There was no way to throw a fight and walk away from it unscathed. 

But… Beau was right, wasn’t he? Felix deserved to be hurt, because Felix had hurt Beau. Swallowing, and feeling so little control over the action, they nodded their head. “Yeah,” they agreed quietly, “okay. I, uh… I’ll throw the fight.” The words tasted like acid on his tongue, burning all the way out.

—

“You’re a good person, Felix. I knew I liked you.” All signs of anger had faded from Beau, docile once more now that he had gotten his way. No more need to throw a fit, or slam his huge emotions around, he had won. “That’s what I like to hear.” Beau clapped a hand across Felix’s arm. “I have some bets I need to place, but I will be in the seats watching. You won’t be alone while you go through this. I’ll be with you. And I’ll be ever so happy and sympathetic for you. I guarantee.” A giddy laugh released from him. His toes were practically dancing in place. Just like that he was about to get a lot of new names. So many names, all meticulously documented. “I better hurry. I’ll have to write down all the names I’m handing over.” Beau fished a notepad and pen out of his jacket pocket and started writing, walking away, a spring in his step. He’d already disregarded anything Felix could be feeling in this, because it didn’t matter. The bind was in place, and the bind was going to see Felix fail this fight no matter what.

“Oh, before I forget.” Beau turned around, his real smile still in place. “Make it look good. We all want a show right? I think the fans love it bloody.” Beau did not care for violence at all, if bloody was good or bad, he couldn't say. But the call to gamble was the swan song that made violence suddenly look appealing. He left, and made his way to the fae broker. It was time to get rich. 

—

“Okay,” Felix said quietly, unsure how else to respond. They flinched again as Beau clapped his hand on their arm, a distant expression on their face. On some level, they knew that this wasn’t right. They couldn’t imagine any of their other friends asking something like this of them, after all. But… they’d never attacked any of their other friends while shifted, had they? They’d never carved claw marks into Teagan, or Anita, or Mona, or anyone else the way they had Beau. If he was angry, it was justified. If he was upset, he had a right to be. Felix owed him something, didn’t they? They’d hurt him so badly, and he hadn’t even gone to the police or called a hunter or done any of the thousand things he could have done for retribution. Surely this, what he was asking, was a small price to pay.

Felix’s eyes darted back up as Beau spoke again, swallowing tightly at the instructions. Make it look good. Let themself get hurt, let their blood paint the floor of the ring. Beau asked it so easily, and Felix felt they had no choice but to obey even if they didn’t have the emotional capacity to understand why they felt that way. They only nodded, watching as Beau left.

Time stretched on and, all too soon, the fight ahead of theirs was over. The announcer was gearing up the crowd for Wildcat’s next match, for them to face off against the zombie whose coffee they’d paid for in line at the truck once and who knew better than to ever pull his punches. It would have been a decently close match, if not for Felix’s agreement with Beau. Felix would have pulled ahead, because they usually did. But now…

Someone pushed them out into the ring. There were lights shining in their eyes, and they felt sick. The announcer screamed the match into beginning. And Felix prepared themself to make it look good. 

—

The betting process had been faster than Beau anticipated, a fae accepted the names he offered to hold as a broker, and then Beau was racing to find his seat. He was giddy. His toes tapping, his butt shaking. When he won this bet, and he would, he would have more names then the count he had been out before Elijah stole all his names. His beautiful names. He was going to punch Elijah when he next saw the man. Or maybe he should set his pretty panther friend on the man. Have the panther maul the human until he surrendered Beau’s names back to him. Then he could maintain his distance from violence, just like he liked. The thought pleased him as he settled into his seat and waited for the match to start. Felix was pushed into the ring, and Beau beamed down at them. Whatever he was fighting, whatever was about to happen, Beau hoped it hurt. 

A zombie. Tasty. Or at least Felix would be to the zombie. Beau let himself laugh at his joke. A popcorn seller walked buy and Beau decided today was a good day. He would splurge on the buttery treat. Right as the popcorn was handed over the zombie got in a good fight. Oh. That looked like it hurt! Beau smiled widely, shoving the popcorn in giant handfuls into his mouth as he gleefully watched his friend get beaten.

—

Make it look good. They weren’t sure why they felt such a… compulsion to do everything the way Beau had ‘requested’ of them, but it was certainly there all the same. After this, at least, maybe they would be forgiven. Really forgiven, nothing halfway. If Beau needed to see Felix’s blood stain the floor of the ring to get past the jaguar’s claws in his chest, maybe Felix owed it to him to give him that. So, they went out into the ring knowing how it would end. They fought in a way that still looked like their normal fights; claws, dodging, kicks and ducks. But they let themself take more hits than they usually would.

They could see the uncertainty on the zombie’s face. Wildcat was known to be a formidable opponent, and they weren’t fighting like it tonight. The zombie they were up against was one Felix had faced before, and he recognized that Felix was holding back. Felix caught his eye, silently begging him not to say anything, but they didn’t know the other well enough to know if the request would be met. It didn’t matter, anyway. What was done was done. They told Beau they’d throw the fight, so they’d throw the fight.

Make it look good. The zombie sunk his teeth into Felix’s arm, and Felix let him. Make it look good. The zombie swept Felix’s feet out from under them, and Felix didn’t dodge the attack. Make it look good. The zombie landed on top of them, and Felix only tilted their head back as his forearm landed on their throat. In their chest, the jaguar raged. He wanted out, wanted to win, but it was like there was a… wall there, somehow. Like something was blocking him from emerging fully, like victory was never an option at all. The arm across their throat blocked oxygen to the point of seeing spots, and Felix tapped a hand against the mat.

The official let it go for a few moments after Felix tapped out. The crowd cheered and jeered, the announcer sounded surprised even if Felix couldn’t make out the words he was saying. And then, the bell. The weight disappeared from Felix’s chest, their head fell back on the mat. The match was over, the zombie was crowned the victor. Turning his head to the side, Felix caught sight of Leo on the sidelines. The look on his face said he knew what had happened, at least partially. That scowl promised retribution. Felix closed their eyes.

When they caught their breath again, they rolled out of the ring, limped back to the fighters’ area. Thankfully, this had been their last match of the night; they didn’t think they could have handled another. Settling onto the bench, Felix sat tense and uncertain, waiting to see if Beau would find them again.

—

Felix was getting destroyed. Beau found a new delightful glee as he watched them get shred into. Practically torn apart by the zombie without ever dying. Blood splattered the areana and all of it had to belong to Felix and none from the zombie. Make it look good never felt so good. Even if he was slightly disgusted by the mess and the smell of blood, definitly the sweat of the audence as they hooted and hollered. None of them knew what beautiful piece of history was in creation. What beautiful acts of service was partaking as Felix got crushed and slammed and bit and kicked. Today was a good day.

Beau instantly went to the broker. He collected his names, he reveled in the feel of fae magic tightening around him, as the threads of new names wove themselves into the pattern of his existence. Fae magic was beautiful, it really was. Beau felt stronger, better, he felt more. Beau knew that he should have gone back to Felix, but surely they were ready for a nap. Or in the infirmary. And who was Beau to take their precious time that they had earned? No. Beau left the wretched place, a skip in his step. They would probably message Felix later, if they remembered. Really there was no rush. Felix had deserved the beating they got, and Beau had deserved his new gift. He smiled. He lavished in the moment. He went home and cooked himself a nice expensive dinner and didn’t spare a single thought to the Felix.

[vanishingreyes]

TIMING: December LOCATION: Xóchitl’s house PARTIES: Alan and Xóchitl SUMMARY:  In the never ending quest to better himself, Alan decides to make amends and apologize to his neighbor. It’s not too awful. CONTENT WARNINGS: None!

This was stupid. He wasn’t sure why he was even doing this. Yes, to be the better person, but right now, he felt like the embodiment of regrets, standing in front of Xochitl’s front door with a homemade cake in his hands. He’d been craving tres leche cake for a bit but it was not precisely a good idea to cook a whole cake for oneself, and he figured this was better than an olive branch. 

He knocked at the front door, and immediately started wishing that she weren’t home. The car was parked in front of her house, but maybe she had gone for a walk.

Alan shook his head, snowflakes falling off graying curls as he already took his first step off her front stairs.

__

She’d been doing nothing much more than lounging around on her couch, in her lazy day outfit – which, of course, still looked very put together. Xóchitl wasn’t going to risk looking anything other than good, even if she had no plans for anybody other than herself to see her.

So when there was a knock on the door, she raised an eyebrow in confusion – because she hadn’t ordered any food, and she wasn’t expecting anyone over, and yet still, she made her way over, pulled open the door, and only raised her eyebrow more sharply. “Alan? What brings you here? Did you lose something? Need some butter or flour or something?”

__

“I…” His eyebrows furrowed and Alan’s gaze fell to the snow covered front steps, to the marks his shoes had left there. He supposed he hadn’t lost anything recently, even if he already missed Gael. He also supposed she didn’t mean people, but rather his keys, or something in his front yard. “No, I didn’t lose something,” He shook his head again, and, looking up at his neighbor, tried to find a proper way to let her know why he had come all the way to her front door. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” Because he noticed she was in lounge wear, and that he owned a cardigan just like hers, in a different color. “Alpaca wool yeah?” He inquired, because that was easier than an apology, wasn’t it.

Clearing his throat, he extended a tupperware box containing a few slices of cake toward her. “I made too much, I figured you might…” He sighed. They hadn’t spoken since he’d sent Siobhan her way and Alan found out that his plans had failed. “I suppose I wanted to have a chat with you.” 

__

“You’re not interrupting anything, no.” Xóchitl shook her head, though the look of confusion still hadn’t left her face. Because while she was in no way opposed to getting any sort of attention, or having people come by her place, Alan was fairly close to the bottom of company that she’d expect. The two of them just hadn’t gotten off on the right foot – at all, and everything seemed to have snowballed and neither one of them was the sort to back down first.

She nodded. “It is Alpaca wool, good eye.” Something close to giving in, but he was being nice, and it only felt right for her to give him something in return. “Oh – that’s very nice of you.” Xóchitl nodded for him to come in. “Come on in, then. Can I get you anything to eat, or drink? What … do you need to talk to me about?”

__

His lips pursed into a thin line, which was the closest he’d get to smiling right then. “I… yeah. I have the same one in navy blue,” rubbing at the back of his neck, Alan was already trying to find an excuse to leave on the spot when she invited him in. Great, well there was no way to politely decline, not when he had no one waiting for him at home, no plans, nothing else to do. He supposed he only had himself to blame for his situation, and this was why he needed seriously to work on improving his situation. 

“I… A drink I suppose would be nice,” he nodded. It definitely would help with his nerves. With a sigh, the werewolf caved in, and stepped inside, brushing his shoes on the mat carefully before further walking in. “I’ve never been in your house,” he noted, taking a look around. It was well decorated, tasteful, which you could tell from the look on his face alone. “It’s nice.”

__

“A drink I can always do. Should I surprise you, or do you have a preference? I have most things.” Because Xóchitl could hardly go two days without drinking something, but Alan didn’t need to know that. Just that she had exquisite taste in alcohol. 

“I am aware, yeah.” She looked over, not wanting to insult him, or make him think she was being intentionally rude. That could come at another time, but right now, since he was trying – or doing a damn good job at faking it – she’d refrain. “Thank you. It’s not maximalist, thank god. Not that – if you have that vibe at all, no judgment or whatever, but I don’t want there to be too much.”

__

“Wine’s alright,” because he didn’t want to seem like the sort that fed himself on tequila and rum, and he felt like people’s wine choices reflected a lot about them. “Red, white, rosé. It’s fine,” his eyes stopped traveling around the hallway and fell on his neighbor. Her confidence drew a light laugh out of him. There it was, the reason why he couldn’t stand her, allegedly. They were a lot more similar than they should have been. 

“Maximalism wouldn’t have gotten that response from me, I can assure you that,” he didn’t like a cluttered environment, and Alan’s house perhaps sometimes lacked warmth, but he felt at home there, which was what mattered most. “Don’t worry, you didn’t accidentally insult my design choices,” he brushed off the comment, and followed after her, unsure of where she was taking them. 

__

“Works for me.” Xóchitl rolled her eyes, away from Alan’s view. “I do know the types of wine, but good to know you’re not picky.” His laugh made her smile, and she shouldn’t have liked that, but it felt nice to laugh, and it wasn’t like she was even remotely trying to sleep with Alan (she did draw the line somewhere, and for all that she thought well of her looks, she was also aware when she wasn’t someone’s type). She let him see that she was smiling, because it was nice – again – an overused word certainly, but well-enough to describe Alan, at least right now.

“And thank fuck for that,” Xóchitl brushed her fingers against the bridge of her nose. “I respect that you don’t want a maximalist lifestyle. You do, in fact, seem to be proving yourself to be somewhat a man of taste. Though I’ll have to come by your place sometime to see for sure, won’t I?” She led him over and into the living room, motioning for him to sit down before she went and grabbed a bottle of red wine, older than she was, and a couple wine glasses. “Here,” she poured one nearly full and handed it to him. “If you tell me you put ice in your wine I am kicking you out.”

__

“Yellow, orange,” he went on with a slightly mocking smile, this once. He didn’t mean to school her on wine types, but rather to let her know all sorts would be appreciated. 

“Thank… fuck, indeed,” Alan did his best to keep a straight face. Her choice of words was a bit insulting. Somewhat a man of taste. But he wanted to behave, and instead of clicking his tongue at that, he smoothed over a wrinkle in his sweater, and fell quiet. He supposed he could host a party for the neighbors. It was nearly the end of the year and it would be nice for everyone to meet. “Sure. I’ll let you know when you can come over,” because there was such a thing as a bad time of the month which was more than those three nights. Recovering from those was always rough. He wondered if it was getting worse with age. For a while, he thought he was getting better at handling it, but now he wondered if that wasn’t just his usual hubris speaking. “The fact alone that you thought I might put ice cubes in my wine. I’m offended,” he didn’t need to approach his nose from the glass to get its scent, or imagine precisely how it would taste. “Someone’s looking to impress me,” he commented, taking a small sip. “And succeeding.”

__

“Listing the colors of the rainbow are we, Mr. Real Estate Duarte?” So maybe this was fun, and maybe he was good company. Not that she was ready to outwardly admit that, not just yet.

“Please do. I can bring food, or something. I know a place that makes banging birria tacos. So good they’re better than…” sex, she wanted to say, but that wasn’t necessarily entirely true, and also not the sort of phrasing she was comfortable with around Alan. Emilio, Jade, Siobhan, maybe, but not Alan. Not because she loathed him (in fact, she enjoyed his company more than she was ready to admit). “I didn’t mean to offend you, but I also just had to make sure. There’s only a few reasons I’ll kick someone out of my home, and ice cubes in wine is… probably, one of them?” Xóchitl shrugged. “Well, I’m glad I can impress you. We should do this more often. The impressing each other thing, because what you brought looks phenomenal.” 

__

“You’ve never had orange wine?” He paused. “You can call me Alan, you know.” There was another brief silence before he added. “I’ll have a bottle sent to you. It’s great with seafood, and impressing your date,” he gave her a knowing, yet appreciative look. It was hardly her fault that she managed to charm Siobhan into some sort of good behavior, when he miserably failed. 

His eyebrows furrowed at the sentence she left unfinished, though he didn’t comment on it and instead leaned back into his seat, his smile disappearing in his glass of wine. He supposed the way things were going wasn’t the most terrible ground for an apology, and setting his glass on the coffee table, he looked her way. “That’s actually why I’m here. I believe we’d have a lot more fun trying to one up one another in a friendly way,” a pause, “I would also like to apologize for my past behavior or… poor choice of words.” 

__

“Can’t say that I have. I normally go for the harder stuff.” She dug her toe into her carpet. “Okay – I will call you Alan and you can send me wine. Don’t always get to the food part of dates, but I’ll keep that in mind.” There was no reason for her to get into the whole ‘I don’t like or feel comfortable with emotional attachments’ deal.

“I’d much prefer to one-up you in a friendly way. I also suppose that as we are both eligible daters, there’s only a small pool of overlap in our competition. Bi men, who are, for the record, some of the best men to be with, and are actually far more aware of others’ needs than like, straight men, but that’s not my point. I … accept your apology.” There was no reason for Xóchitl to not accept it. “I’m sorry for the rudeness that I’ve been responsible for towards you, too. I can get… snippy. At times. It’s been known to happen.”

__

“Is that so? I find that’s the most delightful part of a date,” because that meant getting to know the other more intimately than a bedroom could ever allow, and Alan, for all he could pretend to be stoic, was one for romanticism. “But fine, I’ll make sure to have tequila on the shelves when you come over.”

Once again, Alan’s eyebrows furrowed. Even if he agreed on bi men being quite remarkable lovers, he was unsure he had reached this point in their new friendship where he felt comfortable talking about this just yet. “I’m glad,” he cleared his throat and rubbed at his cheek to conceal the blush on them. “Sorry, I… I suppose that was on the both of us, yes. I’m glad to put this behind us,” and Alan, who wasn’t one for believing in fate, or luck, managed to see the turn of events as evidence that he could indeed become a better person.