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neverendingswansong:
She nods at the woman’s words, fingers idly moving up the scales of the piano, melody pouring into the air as Syn smiles. There wasn’t a need to pry because Syn had no shame in explaining her past. It was in the past. No amount of focusing on it would change what had happened. “Yep. I’ve been playing since I was six or seven. Hit a hard brake when dad died. My classes and tutoring cost too much.” She shrugs softly, reaching the end of the keys and reversing the flow, the scales descending now. Not to mention the abusive stepfather and her mother, who was more in love with the idea of being wanted by someone than anything else.
Though, to be fair, most witches that attempted to use their magic on Syn often found that it had no effect. Not that she was immune, but rather, her own magic nullified it. It was a small, but constant struggle to not let her magic get out of hand and begin mimicking the magics of those around her. Some were dangerous. Some were scarring. And without the experience that the original owners had, she might do more harm than good with their abilities in her hands.
Syn shakes her head, turning it to look at Obsidian over her shoulder. “No, not anymore. I recently got a new job. That new-ish boutique that opened, The Cloakroom. I’m the assistant manager there now.” She smiles, turning her head back to her fingers and the keys. “I like it a lot better than waiting tables. A lot harder, too, but I’m starting to get the hang of it.”
Obsidian nodded when she revealed why she hadn’t made it to Julliard, “How old?” she asked. The way the woman played told her he’d had a decent amount of training, but ask Sid knew fuck all when it came to music, her knowledge and what it told her wasn’t that credible. What was credible, though, what did till Sid something, was the nonchalant way the woman shrugged off the disappointment. That wasn’t so easy to do when it came to a dream. Sid caught it pretty easy. It was, after all, her job. Though, not currently. She wasn’t set to work on the St. Clair coven witches, though she worked for them. She would not use her knowledge of the psyche to analyze the people of the house.
She frowned slightly when Syn mentioned a new job. She tried to recall the shop but was coming up short. “No idea,” she said honestly. “I’ve yet to truly get my bearings about me in this town.” She knew how to get home from work and how to get to the ranch. That was about it. Oh and how to find the bar on the water. She’d stumbled upon that and found herself at a party. “For a small town, there sure is a lot to see.”
Keys of Black and White || Syn & Obsidian
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malakaikamdyn:
With a smile to himself, Kai flopped back once more, content with just laying there. Eyes still focused on the woman though, his tongue darted out across his lips. A sense of satisfaction filling him as he noticed the blush on her cheeks. “My apologies. I’d never think to blame you for my mistake. Truthfully, if you are a sign of the devil, then I welcome the devil. Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate.”
“I’m fairly certain it’s a simple sprain,” he commented, twisting his ankle slightly despite the twinge of pain that shot up his leg. With a grimace, Kai gave a shrug before sending her a wink. “If it’ll get your hands on me, then by all means. Help me up or take a look at it. You can’t really hurt it any more.” Malakai was very good at healing. He had always had an affinity for it. Though for the life of him, he couldn’t get it right when it was himself in pain.
Obsidian rolled her eyes dramatically at the blond on the ground but the smile on her lips was one of embarrassment and pleasure. He was being ridiculous, but it didn’t stop her from enjoying his words. They were nice to hear. “Careful what you wish for,” she said slyly. There were some that would consider her power to be that of the devil. The ability to walk through peoples minds, play with their memories and their brains. The fact that she could literally hold a life in her hand and scramble them beyond recognition. That was a power most didn’t want to know she had.
She watched as he moved the ankle, confirming that it was not, in fact, broken. It was clear by the fact that he was no longer writhing in pain that he was feeling alright. She chuckled and shook her head. “There are better ways to get a woman’s hands on you, doll,” she said, though she did reach for the ankle. Gentle fingers tugging up the leg of his pants before pulling the sock down lightly. “Minimal swelling. Can you stand?”
Hurt || Obsidian & Malakai
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neverendingswansong:
The song was lulling, in a way. For those that had spent much time around Syn, they would realize that it wasn’t just a song to her. It was a part of herself that she played allowed to share. It wasn’t sad. It wasn’t angry. But a soft happiness that could make almost anyone smile. A song that did not match the dreary autumn weather outside of the manor, but would rather match the melting snows of spring. New life.
Once the song had finished and Syn had glided fingers along the last few keys, the notes lingering the room before the voice behind her finally breaks the silence. It even startles Syn, causing her to jump and whip her head around wildly, peering at the redhead with momentary concern before her demeanor melted into a small smile. She knew her face. She was at the meeting Harry had called not long ago. “Thanks. I was training to go to Juilliard to be a concert pianist. Hit a snag, didn’t work out the way that I wanted.” She shrugs softly, that smile still on her face before she lifts her arm, beckoning the woman in. “C’mon in if you want.”
She doesn’t wait for the woman’s answer before turning around back to the piano, fingers gracefully gliding along the keys once more. Much more silent and without musical form, Syn just idly pressed keys along piano, going up and down the scales as a hand stretching technique.
Obsidian didn’t hide or shy away from the other woman and when she was invited into the room she took the opportunity to do so. She was still getting her barrings around the town, but this woman, Syn, was one of the few she’d at least met before. The coven meeting had been interesting, to say the least. She could still feel the fear when she set to recall it, that she’d pulled from the one called Belle.
“You were training for Julliard?” She asked, shocked by this bit of information. It was too bad that it didn’t work out and while her magic itched to find out what had happened to stop her from continuing in her chosen profession, Obsidian was a professional and knew how to keep her magic to herself. It was a morally grey power, and sometimes she walked that line and was perfectly happy to do so, but in this instance, it was neither right nor appropriate. “You’re a waitress, now, yes?” Had that been what she’d said in the meeting? Obsidian had commented on her only being worth a sum of tips, which she knew was incorrect.
Keys of Black and White || Syn & Obsidian
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The St. Clair house was large and expansive, a maze for anyone that was new to the place. She had no idea where she was going and she knew nearly no one around. She was left to her own devices as she explored the large place. She’d considered getting a room to stay in as other coven members did, but there were circumstances both magical and not that required her to have her own place. She liked living by herself, too.
She’d always been a bit of a loner. Her magic, when she was growing up, made it hard for her to be around people. She couldn’t handle other peoples secrets. Some were so mundane and innocuous, but others... She shivered at the memories that floated through her mind when she hadn’t been in control of her powers. Some people were just downright monstrous. They were the ones her magic was for, though. With a tug of a string, a simple snap of a wire in the brain and the person was rendered useless. Brain dead and left on life support for some and for others, the truly evil, a mental break was all the person deserved. A padded cell was a five-star hotel and antipsychotics were the cocktails they’d be getting. Obsidian had always found a little too much pleasure in being the cause of that.
Her fingers traced along pictures, the people in them long since gone and others still around. She was careful not let her magic reach out, she wasn’t interested in slipping into anyone's mind right now. The music floated through the corridors as she wandered, her mind soothed by the lovely sound before she realized she was moving in the direction of it.
Even though she had no idea where she was going finding the room was easy enough. The woman that sat at the bench was familiar and Sid had to squint to figure out why. It was a moment before she put the name with the face and realized it was the woman from the coven meeting... Syn. Her name was Syn, or so she thought. Hoped. She certainly hoped or else she was going to look like a fool not knowing it.
When there was a lull in the notes, the song ending, and a new one not picked, Sid made her presence known. “You’re very good,” she said. She was being honest. At least by her standards. She had no idea how good Syn actually was, but she was better than her, that was for sure.
Keys of Black and White || Syn & Obsidian
It was one of the few times she had come to the ranch of her own free will. She didn’t like the intensity that it had held the past few weeks. With the armed guards and the constant shipments being delivered, it was always busy. And damn near impossible to even get close unless you had a keycard that gave access to the manor. She needed to take some time to think. Her life had become too hectic recently, with a new job and the new apartment that was a product of said job. Dating. Not to mention the happenings around town…everything was just so much. Syn was not a stranger to taking some time for yourself and relaxing.
She wanted to play. Play something with a bit more heft to it than the keyboard she had stashed away in her closet. And the Ranch the only place that came to mind that had an actual piano, something she had seen during her one of her last visits when she was being nosy.
She sat in the middle of the piano bench, adjusting herself before gently resting slender fingers on the keys, fingers curling into themselves, gently stretching before splaying out once more. Inhaling heavily, she exhales and fingers press into keys. Scrunching her nose at the sound, she pulls her hands away and presses them together, bending fingers back, stretching her digits before she began to play.
Within minutes, her fingers are back on the keys, resting as she reaches into her memory and attempting to pull a song free, one she had memorized well enough to play without sheet music. Nodding to herself, her fingers glide along the keys before finally settling. After a breath to recenter herself, Syn presses into the keys, fingers slowly tiptoeing along the keys as the music produced fills the room, low at first, but amplifying as she becomes more fluid in her keystrokes.
@memories-n-dreams
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thestclair-era:
He certainly appreciated her discretion when it came to using her ability. Once, when he had first found her, Harrison had asked her to use it on him. He had never asked her again and, though he could not quite explain why, he trusted that she had not.
The coven leader looked up at her question, shrugging his shoulders with a small smile on his face. “While Spiritvale is not your regular small town, it is still one at it’s heart. Everyone knows everyone else, secrets are hard to keep, the old song and dance.”
She paused when their orders were given to them and she reached for the dark beer she’d ordered. She took a gentle sip, savoring the thick drink and the rich flavors. It was not common, in her opinion, to come across a good beer in the states. Americans had very low standards, but this place, well, it met and exceeded expectations. “Very nice,” she said as she set the beer down. Her tongue slid out and ghosted over her top lip, taking the leftover flavors of the beer away from her before she was again paying attention to her companion.
“Is that so?” She asked. The idea of this town being more than she saw shocked her, but she had only been there for a short time, perhaps she was missing something. “I do hope you’ll be willing to show me sometime.” She always enjoyed spending time with Harrison, though perhaps it was a little different now that they were where the rest of his coven resided.
A Pint Owed || Obsidian & Harry
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malakaikamdyn:
Malakai couldn’t recall seeing anyone on his run, though he was so focused on not falling that it was easy to miss the woman with firey hair. Though now that he was aware of her, of course, he had fallen in front of her. “Just dandy.” He bit out, pushing himself up onto his elbows as he squinted at her. He had to really listen to understand, her accent making the words sound foreign to his ears, yet he couldn’t quite place it.
“Perhaps it’s your fault I fell. Simply blinded by your beauty,” he remarked, a sly grin toying with his lips. “The silver lining pales in comparison to radiant reds I’m seeing.” The words flattery flowed easily off his tongue, having years of practice when it came to saying the lines he often used. Though, he swore that they were always true. Sitting all the way up, his hand still clutched his slightly throbbing ankle, he cocked his head slightly. “I’ll be fine. Not the first time I’ve taken a spill on this trail.”
A grin spread across her lips, her tongue pressed to her top lip as she tried to stifle a laugh. “I dunno about a silver lining but you’re silver tongue appears to be working just fine,” she said. A slight blush crept up her pale skin and she cursed her heritage for a moment. “Though, I dunno if I’d consider it flattery to tell a woman that she caused your fall. That’s partially placing blame on her when you were clearly the one distracted. Perhaps you hit your head. Seeing red isn’t typically a good sign. I’ve heard it’s the sign of the devil.”
People always joked that gingers had no souls, she was more than willing to have fun with that little bit of current cultural idiocracy. “Do you need help up? I could... I dunno. Look at it, I guess.” She was a doctor but her Ph.D. wouldn’t be helping either of them in this situation. She didn’t even have the ability to heal. Spirit sphere or not, that wasn’t in her circle or magic. It was too bad, too, it was a useful little trick but alas, unless this man wanted his head scrambled, she was particularly useless.
Hurt || Obsidian & Malakai
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Hurt || Obsidian & Malakai
Legs moving as he kept a steady pace, Malakai followed the same path that he had run since he was a boy. Inhale, step, exhale, step, inhale, etc. Mind completely blank, he pushed harder as the breathing slowly came in more shallow puffs. Pushing himself to move a little faster, his foot found the only hole in the trail, one that he had been avoiding consecutively the last few laps, causing the instant rolling of his ankle as he went down with a flurry of limbs.
“Fuck!” he yelled, hands moving to grip at the ankle he had rolled. Tender as it felt, Kai was almost positive that he hadn’t broken it though it sure hurt like a bitch. Rolling onto his back, he sprawled out on the trail, unable to bring himself to put any weight on it just yet. “At least the ground’s dry,” he muttered under his breath.
Obsidian was still getting used to the town, but there were some things she liked about it. The area was gorgeous, the trees and the way the sun danced over the horizon. The air was clean, too and the town was quiet. It wasn’t the hustle and bustle of the large towns, but it wasn’t the rural quiet of some of the towns in the highlands of Scottland. It was a good mix. She’d found herself rather taken with a small park in town. She could often be found sitting on the bench reading over her notes for her clients of listening to sessions.
Her midmorning quiet was disturbed by a loud yelp. The lone runner that had lapped her as she sat and read disappeared from her line of sight and she looked down to find him on the ground clutching his ankle and rolling around in pain on the still sunburnt grass. “Are you okay,” she asked as she got up and made her way over to him. Her Scottish accent was smooth and her concern sincere as she knelt down beside him. She chuckled at his wry humor and smiled. “There’s a way to look at a shite situation. How’s that silver lining?”
@malakaikamdyn
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thestclair-era:
Harry’s face scrunched up slightly at the question, his head cocking to the side as he considered. “I suppose,” He said eventually, “it’s hard to say one way or the other. I keep busy, you understand. It’s hard to know whether that I’m happy with being so or if I’ve just kept myself going enough to really know if I’m happy or unhappy.”
He let out a long sigh through his nostrils and brought a hand up to pinch at the bridge of his nose, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment before reopening them and training his gaze back on Obsidian. “So I suppose. It’s easier to say that I don’t know. But its not something I’m concerned about.”
Obsidian’s fingers tapped against the table as he spoke, her tongue pressed between her lips and she nodded. It was an interesting answer but she was doing her best not to psychoanalyze him. It was not always the easiest thing to do, but she made it appoint not to dig into the heads of people she loved and she certainly loved Harrison. Much to her dismay most of the time. “Well, I suppose there are worse answers,” she told him, rather than attempting to dig deeper into his mind.
“How’s life in Spiritvale?” she asked as the waiter brought them the drinks they’d ordered. “I’ve not spent much time exploring it but it seems so much less than the places we’ve been before.” This place was simple compared to the countries the pair had seen and yet there they sat, in a quaint little bar owned by a rain spirit. Odd.
A Pint Owed || Obsidian & Harry
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neverendingswansong:
thestclair-era:
annabelle-ashworth:
patranergui:
Patra easily brushed off Harrison’s admonishing tone. She had no intention of offending the young woman, but she just couldn’t tolerate Syn’s lack of a ‘can-do’ attitude. By Patra’s measure, such an attitude was counterintuitive, and not exemplary of the St. Clair name. The old shamaness opened one of the small files, the one marked with Syn’s name, she nods towards Annabelle, acknowledging her introduction before delving into the file; simultaneously listening in on the continued conversation.
She looks up briefly from the file to nod at Obsidian’s introduction and notices a slight change in the woman’s voice and aura when she touched Annabelle’s hand. Her interest piqued. Had the Ashworth sister noticed it? Patra’s eyes narrowed, she leaned forward in her seat a fraction, leaving the file in her lap. It seemed Syn and Annabelle have some sort of premonition abilities? But Obsidian’s body language was telling a more interesting story.
@annabelle-ashworth
She listened to Syn speak and nodded along, but not before noticing how Obsidian reached forward to touch her arm. She noted a change in her aura, but shrugged it off, not taking her hand away. “Syn is right. It was as if all of our worst fears were magnified. We felt as if something drastic was going to happen. I was covered in goosebumps, my sister Lexington was sitting next to me. Shortly after the feeling settled over all of us, a woman named Ashildr was gravely injured. She was run through by a sword during one of the events. I believe there was a casualty. And that was also felt by the entire witch population.” She took a deep breath. “I can’t speak for anyone else, but I think we all saw and felt something different. It was…death.”
“Nothing has happened since and I don’t know if anyone knows where it came from. It’s hard to explain. But I’m worried for all of us. What if something like it happens again?” She said, partly to herself.
@thestclair-era
“If it happens again, then we will be ready for it,” Harry said, a stoic confidence in his voice, “and at worst… it means we can learn more about it. Prepare more.” He looked around the table, his expression serious. “I want it to be clear to anyone. If any of you feel unsafe for any reason, whether it’s this feeling or something more concrete around town, the Manor is always open to you. Call me, call Patra. We’ll either come out ourselves or have someone out to you and we’ll make sure you are safe.
“On the same note,” he stated, sitting up slightly and tugging absently at his lapels, “if you are suspicious of anyone in town, let us know. We don’t want a, forgive the figure of speech, witch hunt on our hands, but the more eyes we have available the better.”
@neverendingswansong
The gracious words that Harrison offered fell on Syn a little harder than she’d like. If only she had known during her own ordeal outside of Bella Taverna, not so long ago. Syn pressed her tongue on the inside of her cheek hard as the mental image of blood and flesh hung from very human teeth flooded her mind. While Fayre was indeed scary for most witches in the vicinity, compared to the mental trauma of watching someone tear another’s throat out with their teeth, Syn would take the feeling of dread over the images of viscera and be thinking her time in this world had come to end itself.
Her thumb wildly flicked over the screen of her cell phone, stifling a laugh at the message her cousin had sent her, turning her attention to Harrison with a look of mixed happiness and concern. If something else DID happen, she wouldn’t be calling Patra. That was for sure. “Yep.”
@memories-n-dreams
Obsidian had checked out of the conversation after she’d touched and Belle and was working on understanding the few flashes of images she had caught and the feelings that had gone with it. The rest of the meeting fell away while she pieced it together. Even Harrison’s voice couldn’t fully bring Obsidian to the front of her thoughts. There was so much fear, it was almost overwhelming. Were she a different person, less skilled in biting back the emotions others had, she would have already cracked. She had only been in Belle’s head for a second, but it was long enough to understand what they had felt, even if she didn’t understand why they had felt it.
She didn’t even hear his plea for information if there was someone suspicious nor did she catch the confirmation of safety at the manor. Her mind was shrouded in the darkness that had befallen them on the day of the fayre. What she needed was to leave, to sit in her office and puzzle it out without the eyes of others.
@patranergui
St. Clair Meeting - Aug. 19th
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thestclair-era:
The brewery was a light crowd as the two witches entered and before long they were sitting in a booth and Harry let out a long sigh as he leaned back in the cushioned seat, taking a moment to stretch out before assuming a relaxed expression. He made the pretense of glancing over the bar’s menu but found his eyes occupied by something else. He set the menu down and looked over to the redhead, his gaze drifting over her features, refamiliarizing himself with all the little intricacies that he hadn’t seen in so long in the better light of the brewery.
He was about to speak when a waiter stepped up to the table, and Harry closed his mouth, lips curling slightly as the young man made his introductions and let them know the specials. “Two beers,” He said, holding up two fingers, “Dogfishhead 90 for me, as well as a shot of Jameson.”
He waited for Obsidian to make her order before returning his gaze to her. His fingers drummed on the table for a moment before he spoke again. “Have you been happy?” He asked softly, letting one of his legs under the table come to rest against one of hers.
Had she been happy? That was such an interesting question. It wasn’t one she truly knew how to answer but once she had placed an order for an Obsidian Stout, she did her best to figure out if she had indeed been happy. “Mostly,” she said finally. Her leg extending to wrap a little around his. “You know how it is, moving around all the time, it gets a little tiring.” She was hoping to find something more solid in this tiny town, but she wasn’t sold on it, yet.
She had traveled a lot since starting work with the St. Clair group. Sometimes she was on her own, other times she was accompanied by others with the organization and on the lucky occasions, she got to have Harrison himself there. Those were perhaps the times she was most happy, but she knew that was foolish so she spent a lot of time trying to find happiness in other things as well.
“And how about yourself,” she asked, unable to shake the formality with which they conversed. “Have you been happy?”
A Pint Owed || Obsidian & Harry
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😜
😜 …someone who makes my muse laugh
I am not an easy one to make laugh, but on from time to time I can find myself laughing at some of my patience... Is that what you meant or are you talking about less in the make fun of and more in the enjoyment way? Perhaps Harry when he isn’t also being stoic and serious. He has quite the sense of humor.
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👊 …someone who hates my muse.
BAHAHA! There are probably so many. For me to be able to tell you, though, would mean I would have to care enough to remember their names. Fun Fact. I don’t.
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👀
👀 …someone my muse likes, but doesn’t trust.
I trust only one person and even that has strings attached.
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👌
👌 …someone my muse has only met once, but will never forget
I’ve met most people in this town only once, though Patra (that’s her name... yes?) I’ve only met once and she certainly left an impression. I’ll get back to you on if it’s good or bad, but I certainly won’t for get her.
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thestclair-era:
“Rain Spirit, right,” Harrison said, nodding with a chuckle, “I’ve never had the pleasure unfortunately. Though I guess that’s not quite true, a hi here or there when going in for a drink. But you understand.” He kept his eyes on the road as he spoke, but a hand moved across the center console, giving the red head’s shoulder a soft squeeze. “Not like I know you. It’s really been too long, Glass.” He only let the contact last a short moment before returning his hand to the wheel, but it was enough to give him some sense of warmth. Over the past decade of getting to know how to run this coven on his own, learning to work with Miss Nergui and the company, and Obsidian had been with him through most of it as one of his greatest allies, sometimes lover, sometimes mentor, always friend.
Headlights appeared on the road ahead and whipped by them in rapid succession as they moved through the city streets, a comfortable quiet forming between them, laden over the music that filled the SUV. But before long, they turned a corner and a sign poked out onto the street indicating they were very close to the destination. He pulled to the side of the road, parking in a free spot and killing the engine. “Shall we?” He asked, then opened his door and moved around to open hers, offering her a hand to help her out. It was a thing he did with all his female guests, sure, but not nearly as many with the knowing smirk on his lips.
Obsidian certainly understood and she nodded. There were very few people that she actually knew. She was not one to make many friends, choosing instead to stick to herself. A lesson she had learned the hard way back when she was still getting used to her powers. The things she saw in the minds of her friends and the people are her had been enough to make her put up a wall and never let anyone in. As she’d grown up, she’d gotten better at controlling the power and making sure unwanted thoughts and memories invaded, but still, she remembered the pain of caring about others.
A smile graced her features as his large hand slid into hers. “It has,” she agreed. “My apologies for taking so long to find my way here.” She’d wanted to explore a bit, find different places that needed her help, but the fact was this town was in need and the St. Clair organization was needed in this town. So here she was, doing her job for the organization and getting the lay of the land. She was making it work and tomorrow she would see about getting set up with her own apartment.
Her hand slid into his as her door opened and her foot was placed on the pavement before she was lifting herself out of his car, with his help, of course. She had the strangest sense of deja vu. They had been here, in this position before. It felt so long ago and yet she recalled it perfectly. “We shall,” she told him as the door was shut. “Lead the way.”
A Pint Owed || Obsidian & Harry
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neverendingswansong:
thestclair-era:
annabelle-ashworth:
patranergui:
Patra caught Harrison’s playful tone and spared him a glance and a smirk. she nodded, recalling the meeting with the family heads and leaders of spiritual. An eccentric group to say the least. “To echo, Mr. St. Clair’s words the time it will take us to transfer these artifacts will require a little of the extraordinary from all of us.” Patra made eye contact with Syn, to drive the point.
“But…” she looked to Harrison again, “Before we get ahead of ourselves. if only for my benefit, can we make some introductions.” The witch placed her hand on a short stack of files, “I have a bit of information on all of you, so i wouldn’t be at a complete disadvantage. How bout I start the ball rolling?”
“My name is Patra Nergüi. Second to Mr. St. Clair, appointed Ceo of St. Clair Inc. I oversee more of the business end of operations and will serve as the primary point of contact should any issues arise in our endeavors to relocate our stockpile of artifacts. I work in tandem with Harrison for the good of the coven, needless to say you will not find us divided on any front in regards to the well being of the coven and by association Spiritvale. I look forward to working with you all.”
@annabelle-ashworth
Annabelle sat, back straight, hands crossed on the table. As an Ashworth, and as someone who had been in Spiritvale and this coven for a long time, she was thrilled to be at this meeting. She nodded at the new faces, and gave Syn a sympathetic smile, wishing she could reach for her arm to give it a squeeze. “It’s nice to meet you, Patra. I’m Annabelle Ashworth. I have three younger sisters, and a number of ancestors who still roam around.” She cleared her throat and readjusted her position to look at everyone at the table. “Those of us who were here for the Fayre…there was something that swept over us. My sister, Lexington, was with me. It can’t be a coincidence that the same moment a disaster happened–the one with Ash, and the poor man who died.” She shook her head for a moment. “It’s been hard to shake that feeling ever since. As for the coven, I would love if we could perform some kind of protection spell? Surely all of us together could create something powerful?” Her mouth always ran away with her. She opened her mouth to say something else and shut it, sitting back a bit. She’d said her peace for the moment.
@thestclair-era
Harrison sat quietly as the others spoke, his only motion being a small gesture of ‘down girl’ in the direction of Patra as she spoke pointedly to his niece. “Syn,” he said eventually, “I appreciate your presence nonetheless. In the coming months, family will be just as important to us as business.” His gaze turned to Miss. Nergui as he finished speaking, lips forming a hard line before relaxing slightly. “As for the events at the Fayre. Can you describe the ‘feeling’ in greater detail, Ms. Ashworth? Any new knowledge might give us insight into the creature. As for the protection spell, I would prefer starting with patrols around town. Once we more, a protection spell would be useful but without pertinent information, a general spell could have gaps that I would prefer to avoid.”
@neverendingswansong
Syn sat silently, eyes drifting from one to the next, eyes finally fixing on the red head that spoke after she did. A soft smile finds itself way on Syn’s features. No one is invaluable. They were nice words that Syn could and couldn’t believe, depending on her mindset. Currently, here, where she felt like she didn’t belong, a measly tip is probably the best she thinks of herself in a situation like this. “I uh–”
Her eyes quickly shift to Patra as she interjects, eyebrows furrowing at her words. Chewing on the inside of her cheek, Syn turns her attention to her lap, a silent “Bitch” slipping from her lips before her hand found the found that halfway stuck out of her pocket, flicking it to life.
She remains silent for a time, thumb running along the screen of her phone, her eyes shifting upward toward the other young male at the table, Finnley, flashing him a smile, her eyes drifting down to her phone once again, their silent conversation through text messages bringing her what little joy she could find in a situation like this.
She perks her head up at the mention of the Fayre, however, turning her attention to Harrison as he asks for a description of the feeling that flooded the Fayre grounds. She pauses, turning her attention to Annabelle, that faint smile growing wider at the Ashworth before she clears her throat. “Dread. Just a feeling that something dark…something bad was going to happen.” Syn starts, her own memories shifting from the Fayre to the incident at her work. A flash of blood and viscera in her mind makes her huff, turning her attention back to her phone, pursing her lips.
@memories-n-dreams
Obsidian’s eyes flicked from Syn to Patra and they hardened if only for a second. The woman was very business like and not too warm, but perhaps looks were deceiving? She certainly hoped so. She trusted Harrison and if this woman was appointed by him he must have seen something in her that was worthy of the coven and the cause. She appreciated the call of introductions, though, because Obsidian, it appeared was as new as Patra. “Obsidian.” Her Scottish accent caused her to stick out even more in the group than normal, but she didn’t care. “Resident psychologist on call for the St. Clair group.” Those that knew what that meant knew there was more to her job than sitting on a couch listening to the woes of witches. Those that didn’t, didn’t need to know.
Her fingers twitched and she reached out to touch Belle, the girl to her left that has said something about the fayre, “I would like to know more about this fayre,” she said softly and in a second the woman’s memories were flashing through her mind. Obsidian hadn’t wanted to go too deep, all she’d wanted to know what the feeling that had been felt. “Could you explain it a little more? What kind of bad thing was going to happen? Did something bad happen?” She asked as she pulled her hand back. Obsidian had been filled with a horrific feeling, dear and worry had welled up inside and made it hard for her to keep herself level as she spoke. It would not due to let others know she’s just used her power, but the feeling was overwhelming.
Her eyes flicked up to Harrison’s for a moment before she settled back into her seat and silently processed the feeling and images that she’d grabbed in the moment long touch. Even a touch that small had yielded some interesting information.
@patranergui
St. Clair Meeting - Aug. 19th
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Artifact || Obsidian & Tapper
tapper was a creature of habit. he didn’t often stray far from his common paths. despite being a resident of spiritvale for nearly ten years, he rarely ventured from his usual haunts. so, anyone who knew him might have been surprised to find him so far out of his comfort zone, at the porch of a rather dilapidated mobile home. it appeared abandoned, but appearances were often deceiving. as was his general assumption. familiars were often drawn to places with significant magic, and though he had no other reason than a ‘gut feeling’ to go on, he was sure there was something important in that home. what it was? he couldn’t say. but if he had to guess, he’d say some sort of artifact, something he could perhaps make use of.
but even so, it was not his property. and while he didn’t really care for these trivial and ever-changing laws of the humanoid world, that defense wouldn’t serve so well in front of a judge. breaking and entering weren't his things. perhaps he could get through a window if he slipped into cat form. but they all seemed shut. maybe there was a way in from the roof, maybe—
he heard someone approaching, and he turned quickly, eyes locking onto the new person walking unwittingly (or perhaps wittingly) onto his discovery. either way, he pulled away from the door, wood rotting and unstable, and held up both hands. perhaps he could use this new person to circumvent his entry issue. “oh, I'm not doing anything nefarious.” yes, he was. “I've got reason to believe someone may be in trouble inside.” no, he didn’t. but come on, it was an abandoned mobile home on the outskirts of town, it was hardly an upstanding place.
Artifacts were a think the St. Clairs dealt in, not specifically Obsidian, but her coven. In the perusal of a few of the town folks minds, she’d caught sight and memory of an interesting little object not to far away from here. It was her understanding that little thing was well hidden, but she had the ability to recall the memories of those whose dreams she’d walked through and whose memories she had played with. It should not be so hard to find the little jewel.
Perhaps she should have told Harrison about it, but she hadn’t been sure it was even real and so didn’t want to bother her boss with something as trivial as a game of hide and seek. She’d taken it upon herself to locate the artifact. If she found it, she would take it to Harrison, if she didn’t, he would never need to know she had gone looking for something.
What she hadn’t counted on was finding someone else in the same area. Her head cocked to the side, eyes narrowing as she took in the man at the door. “No,” she said, the Scottish accent thick with sarcasm. “You’re the pillar of morality. Pay no attention to the bloke trying to break into the abandoned house.” She snorted. “You’re full of it. There’s no one in that house and hasn’t been for a long time.”
@tappersup
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