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vanoincidence · 1 day

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Not the Right Banshee(s) Pt. 1 || Van, Jade, Max & Tina

TIMING: current. LOCATION: regan's apartment. PARTIES: @highoctanegem @vanoincidence & the terrible twins (max and tina). SUMMARY: jade is dropping van off after work, but what's waiting for both of them comes as a bit of a surprise. CONTENT WARNINGS: none!

The apartment probably smelled like her, from the time they all packed mice together. The place probably had one minuscule teeny tiny bit of glass scattered somewhere from the time she exploded a glass of Sprite. There was probably a strand of bleached blonde waiting to be found. Jade doubted Van and Thea were too meticulous with their cleaning. So Jade couldn’t, she just couldn’t get herself to go up to that second floor. Even though Van had asked every night she’d brought her home from work. It would be fine, okay? Everybody who ever went through a gay girl breakup knew how intense everything felt at first. (Not that… they weren’t dating dating) (But…) And sure, her cats and blasting CRJ were the only things injecting dopamine into her system these days. But she’d be bouncing in no time! She was Jade. She did not mope.

She waved Van goodbye, watching her walk up to her apartment, refusing to go until she saw the lights turn on. And then, satisfied with her friend’s safety Jade lowered her face shield. She considered doing a round or two of deliveries and calling it a night. But something flashier caught her attention before she could find her phone: A lonely woman in the corner of the street. She looked a little lost, so of course, Jade had to be kind and helpful, cause maybe she could kickstart her rebound tour if she played her cards right. She lifted her shield again, hoping her eyes still sparkled, and flashed a confident grin. “A little late to be out at night, babe. Can I help you with anything?”

Regan Kavanagh was sloppy. It was the first thing Max learned about her, back when they were training together. She’d been so embarrassed for Regan. It was sad, really — to be activated at such an old age. Regan had been practically geriatric in human terms. Didn’t they only live a few decades? Max had tried to keep this in mind at first, had tried to cut Regan some slack, but… she was so sloppy. She’d proven as much in her childish escape from Saol Eile, and proven it all the more in the mess she’d left behind in this pathetic, human town. An apartment with her name on it, two children living inside. What did she expect to happen? How did she think this would end?

So, Max had been watching the apartment. There was so little room for error here. She was to prove herself, to bring pride to her mother, to prove that she was worthy of the gift Regan Kavanagh had tried to toss aside. The children in the apartment needed to die, but so did anyone else who knew about them. Killing them first could spark panic, lead to problems. It would be sloppy. And Max wasn’t sloppy.

There was a woman. She dropped off one of the apartment’s occupants sometimes. Max had done some digging the first night she saw her. People in this town were fond of social media, and this woman — Jade — was no different. And, like many Wicked’s Rest occupants, Regan Kavanagh was all over the woman’s blog. Fate, she couldn’t believe it. How was Regan this bad at something that should have been her birthright? Wasn’t she humiliated by it? She should thank Max for what she was about to do. She should be so grateful.

Max forced a smile onto her face as Jade approached. She wasn’t particularly good at it, but she’d learned to use her youth as an advantage. No one seemed to suspect young girls of anything. Foolish. “Aye, I’m a bit lost, actually,” Max replied, Irish lilt raising the words. “Maybe you can help me out. Mind if I borrow your phone?” She just needed Jade to get close enough to touch. Then, things could be over quickly. It was kind of her, really, to plan on doing this fast. Usually, Max preferred to play with her food. Maybe she’d ask Tina to incapacitate the two upstairs so they could take it slow with them.

Even if Regan hadn’t visited the apartment often (aside from when bringing mice inside), it still felt weird to live there without her in town. She should’ve gotten used to it by now– the way it felt more like the doctor’s home than her own, despite being void of any trace of her. Van was grateful, at least, that Jade hadn’t stopped taking her home at the very least. After waving her goodbye, she pushed through the door, kicking it to a close behind her.

“Um…” Her heartbeat picked up a tick and she flexed her fingers against the tote bag she still had pulled over her shoulder. “Are you…” Why had she been sitting in the dark? That was weird, too. “Who are you?” Van frowned, noticing that the woman was wearing shoes indoors. “Hey, that’s not very polite.”

She’d hated Regan forever. Regan was a bad banshee, and Regan was old, and that was stupid. Max thought so, and so Tina did too. She’d spent so much of their classes rolling her eyes, whispering to her sister and laughing. Both when Regan wasn’t looking and when she was sure that she was. To make matters worse, she’d ended up in some stupid human town in stupid Maine of all places. Didn’t she know that American humans were some of the worst there were?

There hadn’t been a moment’s hesitation when she and Max were offered the chance to come to the town. It was another chance to prove just how good she was, to help everyone back home, and to make her mother proud. Tina also wanted Max to be proud of her. Her sister was absolutely perfect, and once she’d forgotten the name of the bone in your little toe and her sister never would (what did it matter that she’d thought there was a special name). So when they’d found the apartment, where mice used to be, she’d been delighted. They could get rid of stupid tiny humans that Regan was apparently fond of, and be on their way. The very fact that Regan had moved the dead mice was unforgivable, and a reason to kill someone in return, and it wasn’t like human lives mattered. Besides, Tina wanted to look at the metatarsal bones in a human’s foot. It seemed like it’d be fun to do.

She’d broken into the apartment while her sister went off to find some lady named after a stone, and she’d ripped one of the pillows on one of the chairs apart when she’d first noticed that the mice weren’t there. Gods, she was going to murder Regan when she got her hands on the traitor. Still, Max was outside somewhere, and Tina sat herself down on one of their chairs, arms crossed, legs crossed, a grin covering her lips when the door opened. It was only one of the stupid tiny humans who borrowed the apartment from Regan, who’d somehow gotten Regan to care about them, like the failure she was.

And this human had the audacity to call her ‘not very polite’. Tina fought away the urge to break her neck right away. It was important to take your time, to have fun. “Van, oh my god!” She put on as falsely cheerful of a tone as she could, Irish lilt incredibly present. “I’ve been wanting to meet you! This is where I say bestie, isn’t it?”

Jade unbuckled her helmet, hanging it on one of the handles. It would be super rude to approach and not show her face. How else would the stranger know Jade was super friendly and super down to have fun? And look, she had to keep saying it, okay? It was the only way it’d start to feel true. And that was the only way she’d eventually move on. She had to move on. (The ring on her left hand signaled otherwise) (But…baby steps). Unfortunately for Jade, upon closer inspection this lost woman looked pretty young, actually, dashing all hopes she had of taking the first step towards getting over Regan. Oh well, too bad. She tried!

The Irish accent did something, okay? Her knees went a little weak. Regan didn’t even have a strong accent, but… but. She was in that ‘everything reminds me of her’ stage. (Which now included a broom with a white brush, a chicken wing, and Wednesdays). But that was totally different from moping, cause she did not mope. Back to what mattered, Jade wanted to be super helpful and nice to the young girl. She watched Barbie, she knew all about girl solidarity. There was less sway on her hips, now that gay thoughts were out of the way. “Yup, totes, hang on,” she reached inside her leather jacket, pulled out her phone, and handed it to the girl without wasting a moment. (And…Oh. Right. She should probably change her lockscreen too, if she was serious about moving on). “I’m Jade, by the way” she grinned, extending her hand, “and I can totally give you a ride if you have somewhere else to go. I was dropping off my friend”.

Max was all poised to grab the woman by the wrist and end the whole thing right then and there. A solid scream would do it, just one yell. But… she happened to glance down at the phone, to catch sight of the lockscreen and find Regan’s face staring back up at her. The very sight of it filled her with a rage she didn’t quite understand, made treacherous emotions swirl in her stupid chest. Because it wasn’t fair, was it? None of it was bloody fair.

Regan had no idea how lucky she’d been. In Saol Eile, she’d been treasured. She’d been a tool so often utilized, so much so that Max had often found herself envious in a way she’d never admit to. She was a better banshee than Regan was — a better banshee than Tina, too, though she felt less like bragging over that — and yet Regan had been desirable. A doctor, as if that wasn’t a shameful thing to be. So how was it fair that Regan could come here, to this stupid little town with these stupid little people, and find herself treasured all over again? How was it fair that some woman had Regan as her lockscreen on her phone in a way that was just as telling as it would have been to wear a locket with her photo around her throat? Max had known that Regan was a failure. But to this extent?

A swift death with a single scream didn’t seem right anymore. Max was angry, though she shouldn’t have been. Max was annoyed, though she was above such things. Max wanted to make this stranger hurt because Max wanted to make Regan hurt, because nothing about any of this was fair. Regan should have to pay for everything she’d done, for betraying a people who had only ever been looking out for her.

The banshee’s smile was sharp, and she turned the phone to face the woman, lockscreen like an accusation. “She’s pretty,” she commented. “Shame she’s such a disappointment, isn’t it?”

“How do you know my name?” Van stared at her, keys dangling between pinched fingers. She’d seen on tik tok how to use them as a weapon, but was it fucked up to use them on another woman? Then again, she had killed two women. She was not the good person she wanted to pretend to be. She was a woman killer, all things considered– though, she hoped this wouldn’t be another. She willed the anxiety to subside, to not create a black hole beneath the girl in the chair that would ultimately swallow her whole. “I only have like, two best friends. Maybe three, or four. I don’t know.” The number was growing, but something told her that this stranger didn’t actually care about that.

Van flattened her back against the door, sweat dotting the back of her neck as uncertainty made her stomach roll. She quickly grabbed her phone out of her pocket and texted Jade. Somebody is inside of Regan’s apartment. If this were anything like a horror movie, she’d look up from her phone and the girl would be standing in front of her with a knife or something. Van half expected it as she looked up from her home screen. “I um– do you– are you here for Thea? She doesn’t live here anymore.” Maybe this was all being blown out of proportion. Maybe the girl in the chair knew her because Thea actually had brought her over! Or, based on her accent, maybe this was a long lost cousin to Regan who was bringing her the postcards she had asked for!

“Why wouldn’t I know your name, Van. Van, but not like the car!” Tina’s voice rose to a pitch that she thought her mother would’ve been proud of. Except what mummy dearest would be most proud of would be if she could murder this girl and clean up Regan’s giant mess. Regan had always made messes, and yet back home, people had like, worshiped her. Which made no sense. Not when she’d become a banshee when she was so old and, on top of everything, and been a traitor. Which was why Tina knew she had to murder the little girl in Regan’s mouse-less apartment.

“Well, you could make that ‘or four’ into an ‘or five’ if you wanted to?” Tina bat her eyelashes before pushing herself up from the chair. “I’m here for you and Thea actually. Special double fun.” She began wandering around the apartment, turning on her heels every so often. “I wanted you both to show me fun together. Pretty please?” Her lips formed a perfect pout (she’d practiced, because apparently humans were easily swayed by this sort of thing). “I just wanted to have fun, and you’re so,” abhorrent, “like, totally gorgeous.” Her stomach turned at that, but she wouldn’t let that get to her. “So I think pretty people can have more fun than ugly people, right? Is that crass of me?”

Jade’s smile turned bittersweet, looking at the lock screen. “She’s my… we were…” Thanks to this stranger, at least she realized now, how weird it was to still have her picture there. And actually, her smile disappeared completely with the follow-up comment. Her gaze flickered to the girl. Rude? But also… familiar. “Um, she’s not a… why would you say that?” Jade didn’t particularly care, at this point. She’d decided to stall, cause the vibes were definitely not great anymore. Was it cause this girly had the nerve to insult her… Regan in a very specific way? Partly, but also, the accent, and the… slow heartbeat. And the fact that she’d been standing there the whole time while she and Van said goodbye. Fine, maybe she did have some of that slayer paranoia (Emilio might be proud).

Possibly the worst (or best, depending where you looked it from) timing of all time, her phone lit up with a notification, Regan’s face coming to life again. Van. What could Van be texting about so soon after going inside? Did she forget something in Jade’s delivery box? She could see the preview easily, even if the stranger still had her phone. Somebody is inside of Regan… she read. Well, not anymore, technically. She looked up to the second floor. Finishing the equation: The stranger, the accent, the insult, someone inside Regan’s… apartment. And sure, it could all be a giant misunderstanding they could laugh about later, but for now, for Van, she’ll think of worst-case scenarios. “Change of plans!” she said cheerfully, beaming at the stranger. “My friend wants me to stay. We’re getting pizza, watching a movie. So, maybe I’ll call you an Uber or something, yeah? Here let me…” She reached for her phone, attempting to get it back.

We were… Were what? Max could make some assumptions, of course, the kind that made disgust curl up like a living thing in her stomach. There was something else to it, too, something far uglier.

For a moment, she remembered being a child. Young enough to remain unactivated, scampering around with Tina and aware of the massive weight of duty on her back even if she’d had no way to comprehend the magnitude of it just yet. She remembered the boy she and her sister used to play with, the way she’d loved him. She and Tina argued once about which of them would marry him someday. It was a childish notion, a foolish one. She should have known better. She still remembered the way it felt when their mother plunged the blade into that boy’s chest, still remembered her first scream bubbling up from her throat and ripping out of her mouth.

Regan should have known better, too.

The only real shame to all this, Max thought, was that Regan couldn’t be here to witness it. She could have learned something from this, the same way Max and Tina had learned something from that worthless boy’s blood staining the grass. Maybe there was some way to pass along the lesson. Would Regan recognize Jade’s finger if Max brought it back to her? Or would an ear be a better option?

The phone in Max’s hand lit up, and she glanced down to the notification. Ah. So the child upstairs had met Tina. Max made a mental note to chastise her sister later for not taking the child’s phone first. Tina was lucky that Max already had Jade occupied; otherwise, things could have gotten far messier.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Max held the phone behind her back and out of reach with one hand. With the other, she pulled a long, thin knife from her pocket. “We’re only just starting to have fun, aren’t we? I’d hate for you to miss it. If you’re good, I’ll even take you to see Regan again.” Her eyes flickered down to Jade’s fingers, the sharp smile on her lips widening a little. “Parts of you, at least.”

Van winced at the increased pitch of the girl’s voice. Maybe she didn’t have a great memory, but Van felt like she remembered some things. Specifically girls, especially brunettes. She stared at the stranger, eager to match the face to a name she might have forgotten. Was this Diana’s friend? But then she’d mentioned Thea, and Thea had no idea Diana existed. If this were any less creepy then maybe Van would’ve fallen victim to the way the girl bat her lashes, but if there was one thing about Van, it was that she was perpetually anxious– always thinking that the person in front of her had ulterior motives. “I don’t…”

She looked down at her phone to see if there was any response from Jade, but there was nothing. Disappointed, she texted again, come back and give me an excuse to leave!!!! Van hoped that she’d get a reply. “That is kind of rude…” Van blinked at the girl, astonished by the way she didn’t seem to care about the implications of what she was saying. How could somebody be so rude? “I think I’m actually– you know, I’ll let um, I’ll let Thea know you came by? But I have to actually go back to work. My boss told me to come back.” She waved her now locked phone in front of her, reaching for the door knob. “Feel free to like, hang out!” She opened the door, making an attempt to slip through.

This human was so lame. Not even finishing sentences. Tina wondered which part of her would be best to bring back to Regan. A clavicle was always nice. It would involve a decent bit of work too, which was fun. Not that Tina was here to have fun, but if she just so happened to have fun amidst everything else, that was a more than alright coincidence.

“Why’s it rude if it’s true?” She batted her eyelashes at this useless waste of a child. She’d been close to a waste of a child, once. Though Tina firmly believed that she’d never been a waste. Her and Max’s mother had to have truly pleased Fate in order to be blessed with daughters, and so the little boy who they both fell in love with, whose freckles practically glowed in the sun, well, he had to die. Tina had nearly given herself a scar on her hand from her brief, stupid attempt to keep from screaming. She wanted to scream, though at first it had been more out of horror before it transformed into something beautiful.

“I don’t like liars.” She pouted. “Liars are awful, and what would Regan think if she knew that someone she loved,” Tina gagged, “was such a big baby of a liar?” Now Van was trying to slip through the door and Tina slammed it shut. “No. Nuh-uh. You’re not leaving. Well, you might, but by the time you leave you won’t be a-waare of it.” Her voice turned sing-song.

Ugh. Was there anything worse than someone absolutely killing the vibe? Well, her being killed, probably. (But it was a tight competition. Neck to neck). Jade sighed, letting the woman hold the phone away from her. Using her height to her advantage was a little rude too. The way she pulled a knife, though? Hot! Objectively speaking. Jade could still appreciate a slay. And right, the math. So this chick totally knew Regan then, but she didn’t exactly sound fond of her. Which was a total red flag. Who wouldn’t be fond of Regan?

Wait. Was that… a threat to her fingers? As if this couldn’t get any worse. That was definitely a line being crossed. “Nuh-huh. These make people very happy, how about we negotiate different parts… I love banshees, you see. There’s no need for this to be an unpleasant affair…” Jade trailed off, hiding whatever nerves she might be feeling in an easy smile. She wasn’t worried about herself. Pft. If things got worse, she had that iron dagger Regan gave her concealed somewhere. (And actually… had Regan known something like this would happen?). But if she was being threatened with a knife, she didn’t wanna picture the same being done to Van. Van, who easily freaked out. Van, who melted chairs, and opened portals that swallowed people. Well, actually. Maybe that was exactly what they needed. But it wasn’t worth the risk. The longer she stayed chatting with the stranger (she didn’t even give a name, so rude) the chances of Van getting hurt increased.

“Look, I’m not the type of girl who pulls a knife on a pretty girl without their consent…” Instead of backing away, Jade approached, her eyes fixed on the woman, paying no attention to the knife in front of her. She let it poke against her abdomen, relying a little too heavily on the power of being a captivating speaker while she got a hold of the pommel on her back. “Unless they lack a heartbeat, I guess, then…fair game. Hey! What I’m trying to say here…I really don’t wanna hurt you. Certified banshee lover. Two out of two banshees prefer me. But—” she drew her iron dagger swiftly, and with a precise movement, she pushed it against the woman’s collarbone. Just the right pressure not to stab (she was a woman of her word). It would surely sting like a bitch, though. Jade clawed the back of her neck, keeping her in place. “I really want my phone back, and to check on my friend, pretty please? I don’t want this to go any deeper,” she taunted, with another jab of the blade.

The fact that this woman even uttered the word banshee was proof enough of the depth of Regan’s failure. For a human to be able to recognize one of them on so few context clues was disgraceful, and Max felt a burning forest fire of anger simmering in her chest. How much had Regan told her? How many secrets had she whispered between bedsheets, betraying her people over and over again with soft touches and quiet declarations? Max hated her more in this moment than she’d ever hated anyone else before. She wanted to take Jade apart piece by piece in retribution, wanted to make sure Regan knew that she’d died in pain and suffering. She was not allowed to have say in whatever punishment Regan was handed by those in charge back in Ireland, but she could punish her with this. She could make sure Regan suffered through the people she’d clearly been foolish enough to allow herself to love.

(Would Regan feel as Max had all those years ago when her mother’s blade found its home in the throat of a boy she’d been sure she loved? She barely remembered the feeling now, had forced away all the negative emotions associated with it in order to focus instead on the joy of activation, but Regan clearly didn’t possess such skills. For Regan, this would hurt the way Max wanted it to. There was some joy to be found in that.)

Her anger only increased when a blade was pressed against her throat; a blade of iron, if the burn was anything to go by. Had Regan shared this secret, too? Max’s lip curled up in an expression of disgust at the thought. “The dramhaíl you met in this town lost their right to call themselves banshees the moment they began spreading secrets to things like you,” she said lowly, tilting her head back slightly. There was no fear reflected in her eyes. If Max died here, it would only be because Fate willed it to be so. But… something told her she’d be just fine.

Quickly, she plunged the knife in her hand forwards, jerking her head back and away from Jade’s blade in the same fluid motion. She aimed to incapacitate rather than kill; Jade’s insolence and Regan’s affection for her had come together to forfeit any right the woman might have had for a swift death.

The mention of Regan made all of this fall apart. All of her previous thoughts about who this girl was practically blew up in her face. Van stared at the brunette, wide-eyed. What did she know about Regan? Was it really the postcards? Had Regan told her grandma about Van wanting to kick her in the knee? Were these Regan’s sisters? Nieces? Were they mad that she had suggested such a thing? No! Regan wouldn’t be a narc, not like that. She would definitely keep all of that a secret, right? “I’m not a liar. I just don’t think you’re very nice, and I don’t like not-so-nice people.” Van practically hissed out the words as she tried to put space between herself and the brunette.

She slipped away from the door, stepping towards the table that now had mismatched chairs surrounding it. So much for the new chairs, they’d be destroyed anyway. “Something super bad is going to happen if you don’t leave.” Maybe something would swallow them both up. Would Regan be upset with her for killing a family member? Then again, Van didn’t even know if they actually were family. They didn’t look anything alike.

Regan must have cared about this child. Tina found herself bristling at the thought. Not that she’d wanted Regan to care about her (that would be bad, to have someone like that care for her). Still, the fact that Regan had found people to care about just made Tina all the angrier, all the more ready to end this child’s life and send evidence of that to Regan. Maybe she’d splurge and get a sparkly ribbon. That would probably surprise Regan, and not in a fun way. “I am nice. Or, well, I can be.” Tina shrugged, “if I’m given enough reason to be.” Which as of right now, she was pretty sure she hadn’t been.

“Something bad will happen if I do leave, though.” Tina pouted. Well, bad for her. Maybe good for this child, though she was fairly sure it was considered bad like, in general. At least that’s what Max and their mother and everyone else back in Saol Eile. “Besides, I want to have fun with you.” She hadn’t said the word banshee, but if she had, then Tina would’ve had half a mind to snap her neck right then and there, even if it would ruin some beautiful bones. “So, you’re totally not getting me out of here, leathcheann. I really wouldn’t push your luck if I were you. Fate has a way of taking things into its own hands.”

The blade pricked against her abs as it went in, and Jade had to swallow the grunt scratching her throat, unwilling to give the stranger the satisfaction of seeing her in pain. (First the threat to her fingers, now going for her abs. It just felt a little homophobic, didn’t it? What did she have against her?). And like, it was hardly the worst way she’d ever been stabbed, but maybe she should save those thoughts and comparisons for when she wasn’t in fight mode, and she could really look at the wound. Which now felt sticky and warm against her shirt. UGH. Another shirt ruined.

“I really wish you hadn’t done that,” she whined, feeling the strain as she tried taking a full breath. Not too bad, still super annoying. She brandished her own dagger, forced to move past the sting. Alright, Jade had manners, she didn’t want to hurt this lady, like… at all. It felt super unnecessary and wrong to harm banshees after collaborating so vigorously with two of them, but she started it, okay? Surely they would understand if they were here. (But they weren’t here, were they? They choose to leave. She chose to leave) The reminder of their absence was enough to spark fire behind Jade’s eyes, she lunged forward, tackling the stranger to the ground. She was never too good at physical combat but she always did love a good tackle. The few seconds where the opponent tried to grapple with the fact that someone half their size pushed them on their back was a super nice ego boost. This girly wasn’t even like, vampire strong so… all the more fun. Not as fun? The freaking knife, still jabbing inside, cause Jade had to hand it to her, girly had a stubborn grip (babies would be jealous). Jade did not waste those precious seconds taunting her like she would’ve any other time, though. She sank her dagger with brutal strength into the girl's shoulder, pinning her there for a moment. She was not the main problem.

Jade took full advantage of the adrenaline dump to get back on her feet and dash toward the apartment. Not a care in the world for her abdomen. (She was so gonna regret that. But, later) (What mattered now was Van). What if the intruder was more ruthless than the girl who tried to kill Jade? What if they didn’t enjoy a sassy little convo before getting down to it? There was no scream, that was good no? From either Van or the stranger, who Jade figured was another one of Regan’s extended family coming for a visit. (Also why were they here at all? Did they miss the memo that Regan and Siobhan were going back to Ireland? They were totally missing the welcome-back party). Jade didn’t make past the entrance before the sounds she dreaded to hear reached her ears: Commotion upstairs. Her heart raced against her chest, and her shallow breathing made it harder to calm it down. “VAN!?”

“I don’t think that’s true! Because somebody who is nice wouldn’t be making like, weird threats and stuff!” Van wasn’t exactly sure what this woman’s intentions were now that Regan had been brought into it. Didn’t the brunette know that Regan had left them for Ireland? Why was she here? What sense did that make? The whole postcards thing didn’t make sense either, because Regan was pretty adamant about Van not getting any, and it didn’t make sense to send somebody rude like the girl in front of her with them. Didn’t Regan know her better than that? Van didn’t like mean people! She’d been surrounded by mean people.

“You are like, super confusing!” Van put some distance between herself and the brunette, eager to find another exit. There wasn’t one, but maybe she could lock herself in a room and then the girl would grow bored, and–

She heard Jade’s voice from outside, desperate and terrified. It was unlike Jade to sound like either of those things, and Van bristled. Anxiety pulled like threads from her, rationalization collapsing upon itself as she finally understood that this was her in danger. “JADE!” Van echoed the older woman’s worry, throwing herself back towards the door. She grabbed the knob, yanking it open. Behind her, the floor of Regan’s apartment began to melt beneath the girl’s feet, and her own, too. She slipped, desperate to get out. Finally, the door was opened, and she pushed herself through, grabbing onto Jade’s arm as she shot out into the dusk.

She wished she had a dagger on her. Well, she did have one, but the child was jumping about too much for Tina to potentially waste a good throw. Not right now. She’d find the girl later and take care of it then. She just hoped that Max wouldn’t be too pissed off at her. “Maybe it’s not a threat! Also, maybe threats can be sexy and cool!” Tina shrieked, ensuring that this child would go away with at least the slightest bit of ringing in her ears.

“I’m not confusing.” Okay, another shriek. Just for fun. This trip was mission-based, but if she had some fun hurting humans who mattered to Regan in the meantime, then she got some extra benefit out of it all.

Except then there was another voice and Tina didn’t like that. She didn’t like that one eensy-weensy bit. Jade. That was the name of whoever was on the other side of the door, and that was also the name of the human who covered everything to do with Regan all over the internet. It was revolting. She jumped out quickly after the girl – after both of the humans – before they disappeared and Tina double-timed it down the steps until she was outside. Her face in a deep scowl, she stomped over to Max. “Where the heck did they go? Is fuath liom na idiots sin! We need to go find them and take care of this.”

There was a moment of bliss as her blade slid into the woman’s stomach, and Max’s eyes danced with the joy of it. There were few sensations she enjoyed more than this, save for that which came with the life leaving a person’s body. But there’d be time for that, too, wouldn’t there? She’d cut Jade up into such small bits, make her an unrecognizable collection of fingers and toes and teeth and hair. She’d bring it all back to Ireland in a Ziplock bag, present it to Regan with a smile on her face. Would Regan feel it before the plane landed? Did she love Jade enough to scream for her from across oceans, continents away? Max wanted Regan to feel it. She really did.

Perhaps it was these thoughts that distracted her enough for Jade to get something of an upper hand. The wretched little rat surged forward, slamming into her and knocking her back. Max kept hold of the knife all the while, giving it a vicious twist that was only half involuntary as her back hit the concrete. Then, there was the burning pain of an iron knife in her shoulder, and the weight on top of her vanished as Jade ran into the building. Max let out a scream, shaking the streetlamps and shattering the windows of the nearby buildings.

This wouldn’t do. This wouldn’t do at all. By the time Max got back to her feet, Jade and the child had vanished, and Tina was circling around to meet her outside. “You should have killed it,” Max snapped, gripping her bleeding shoulder. “Did you even draw blood? Ugh. It doesn’t matter. Come on. We can’t leave this job unfinished. But, Palatine? I’m killing Jade. You can take the infant. If you think you can handle it.”

Without leaving room to argue, Max grabbed her sister by the arm and pulled her forward. They had unfinished business to settle.

#para: not the right banshee(s)#para: jade #para: tina #para: max #wickedswriting

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muertarte · 4 days

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TIMING: A little bit after December

PARTIES: @ohwynne @muertarte

SUMMARY: Still learning how to handle their emotions, Metzli has an outburst with a client. Wynne overhears and checks in.

WARNINGS: References to emotional abuse and domestic abuse

Metzli struggled to keep their breath from speeding up, the sensation of crushed velvet sending unpleasant shivers down their entire body. They rubbed their fingers against themselves, the friction warm and rough enough to keep the vampire from having an outburst. Everyone had been skeptical about their return to work, only a week after they had been set free and allowed to experience the full spectrum of their emotions. The collective continued to overwhelm Metzli at a considerable rate, and despite Leila’s urging to continue to rest, they felt as if they had something to prove.

What the curator hadn’t expected though, was for an artist to come in and demand for frame changes. It was bad enough that he had an attitude and brought in examples of what he wanted to use, but then he forced Metzli’s hand onto the texture that sent alarm bell’s ringing in the vampire’s ear. They supposed he’d wanted them to enjoy it with him, see exactly why he absolutely needed the changes done immediately. The smell of his cologne just added insult to injury, and Metzli ripped their hand away with a bit too much force. The piece of velvet went flying, smacking the artist square in the face.

“I…I-I…” An embarrassing moment was taking place, a few swear words even tossed around at them, though Metzli thought it reasonable for him to react such a way. That’s why instead of giving the same energy back, they had the forethought to force their stiff body to move out of the room and into their office. That’s where things were allowed to implode and fall apart, and they slammed the door before anyone could follow inside and see them begin to pace.

Something was different about Metzli. Wynne wasn’t sure what to make of it — sometimes they weren’t sure what to think about the older vampire. They were elusive at times, mysterious at best and though they had shown them nothing but kindness and patience, they also still remembered how Metzli had ripped off heads and locked themself away afterwards. If there was any proof that there were good people who could do bad things out there, they were it.

They didn’t fully understand what was happening until the commotion between Metzli and the customer was reaching a louder volume. Wynne winced at the ugly words, peered quietly from their own workstation to see what was happening. The customer was huffing loudly, face a little red where Metzli had hit them and they bit their lip. He muttered something about going for a ‘fucking cigarette’ and stalked away, leaving them with two people having stormed off. They considered just staying where they were, but in stead quietly moved to Metzli’s office.

Their knock was tentative and soft, as far as a knock could be those things. “Metzli?” They remained, not wanting to open the door. They knew how bad it could be if someone opened a door when you wanted to be by yourself. “It’s me. Wynne. Are you alright?”

The knock at the door pulled the vampire out of their panic for just a moment, the pacing abruptly coming to a stop by the door. Metzli swallowed, shutting their eyes tightly to force the stress back into themself. It was no use. “Wynne.” They strained to say, tugging at their hair in hopes of that working instead. Still, the panic remained, and the silence that lay between Wynne and Metzli began to gain weight with every beat. They decided to break the silence, voice unable to keep steady and their morals keeping them from lying.

“No.” They laid their head against the door, the coolness of it helping just slightly. “Much…stress. Much, much stress.” The worst part of it all was that now it felt like Wynne was being burdened with a struggle that Metzli felt was a lone one. They were supposed to learn to keep their composure and manage their emotions, like any other person in the world, and yet, they had an overreaction that was now costing a friend. That alone was unfair, but the two of them were also in the workplace, which felt even worse, somehow. Still, with a sigh, Metzli opened the door just slightly, if only to offer Wynne some sort of reassurance.

“I give apology, Wynne. I, um…I am sorry.”

Two instincts were at war within them. One told them to not stick their nose in the business of their seniors and not prod Metzli in a time like this. It was disrespectful and they were overstepping. Another, stronger instinct was one born out of care. Wynne seemed incapable of just letting someone be upset, especially if they felt a connection to that person. It was that instinct that won out now, which is why they were carefully eyeing the vampire.

“Oh.” They frowned at the answers that Metzli gave, and it was still on their face as they opened the door. “Is it okay if I come in? You don’t have to apologize to me.” Maybe to the customer, but that would come later. Wynne figured that they could kind of understand the other’s predicament. They’d burst out into tears at their previous job aplenty — their emotions hardly ever exploded into anger, after all. But it was similar, wasn’t it? A spilling over of emotion. Sometimes it was all too much. It almost always seemed to be too much.

“Maybe you can talk about it? Sometimes talking about it helps? Puts things into perspective.” They gave a reassuring smile. “Or so I’ve heard.”

A small, stressed sigh trembled out of Metzli when they saw the frown displayed on Wynne’s lips. Every marker pointed toward displeasure for what the vampire had done, but they were telling Metzli otherwise. They swallowed, quietly tugging at their hair while they attempted to decipher everything from all the reading they’d been doing. People often said one thing, meaning something else. Or sometimes they hide their feelings and lie to themselves so as to not hurt others, subsequently lying to others. Which was bad. Very bad. Metzli hated lying, and Wynne knew this. It wouldn’t make sense for them to do so, even to spare their feelings. This, and they looked to be genuine in their suggestion.

Metzli paused, opening the door further to let their friend into the office. They could trust Wynne, knowing they would do what they thought was right, and having seen firsthand that they were similar in more ways than one. “Um…” Words escaped Metzli once again, and they tightly shut their eyes to shroud their vision in darkness. The thing most familiar and quiet, a place they could escape to for a sense of calm, if only for a moment. “Perspective,” They parroted once their mind seemed to finally settle. “You are maybe right. Always…” With a deep inhale, Metzli took a few steps back and shuffled awkwardly to their chair.

“So wise.” They offered a crooked smile, fidgeting in their seat and wringing their fingers together. “And you are so young. I have heard this means there was forced growth in childhood.” That in itself was a quiet tragedy to realize, a cold and shaky sensation filling Metzli’s chest as sorrow grew with understanding. They knew what that was like, better than most, but there was a stark difference between them and Wynne. While they had become a beast that bristled with excitement at times with blood on their hands, Wynne was a lamb set to slaughter when they were casted out into the world where their kind heart would be exposed. Metzli’s growth ended with a monster, and Wynne’s with a person. What right did they have to relinquish their worries onto them? With another breath, Metzli avoided Wynne’s gaze and stiffly adjusted their seat.

“Did you…have to grow with force?”

They were relieved when Metzli let them into their office, glad that this bit of trust was granted them. Wynne thought for a moment about the place where Metzli had locked themself away. While they understood a wish to be alone, that sometimes it was just easier to choose purposeful solitude — they also knew there was nothing to gain in it. And so they were glad Metzli was letting them in, even if it was just in their office. They moved in, closed the door behind them softly and eyed the other’s unease. Their lips pushed together in an awkward yet sad smile.

As the other called them wise they frowned, not wanting to disagree and start some kind of debate and yet feeling like they should at some point address the fact that Metzli was wrong to think that. For now, Wynne sat down in one of the free chairs, figuring it best if they were at the same eye-height. “I try.” They bit on the inside of their cheek as the vampire said something about forced growth. They wanted to pivot the conversation back to Metzli, to the overflow of information, on what Wynne could do to make it all more okay, but it seemed their wanting was futile.

They blinked at Metzli for a moment, quiet and wide-eyed. Their question was forward and direct, lacked any beating around the bush. Wynne did prefer it like that — they just weren’t sure what the answer was. But they gave it some thought and nodded. “I guess so. I had a lot of responsibility from a young age.” Ten years old, being told by Padrig that they’d have to die in a decade to serve their community. Sanctified from that day on. “I don’t think I was given what I needed when I grew up. It wasn’t good at home.” They shrugged. “That made me think about stuff a lot. About death and dying and other things.” That was a vague answer. “And because I had a lot of responsibility people often asked me for advice, back home. I think I had to act older than I was, I guess.” They were quiet for a moment. “What about you?”

Metzli didn’t like that Wynne had to grow quickly, and they especially didn’t like that they didn’t have what they needed to prosper properly. Children were strong but also so fragile, absorbing too much too quickly about who they should be and what treatment they should accept. Thus teaching others how to treat them, even if it was to their detriment, maybe especially to their detriment.

By the sounds of it, Wynne was taught to care for others and not themself. Be seen and not heard. Metzli didn’t like that, and hoped that they could provide an environment where Wynne felt comfortable and like they were being listened to. They couldn’t tell if that was the case though, considering how Wynne tried to take back the role of listener. But perhaps, Metzli thought, if they really wanted to ask and were given the same treatment, it was really about the give and take. Love’s currency being one of reversal, a never ending cycle of reciprocation. Metzli could do that. It was the selfless option that helped them both.

“I do not remember being happy. In trouble much. I…I feel a lot back then. Like-like right now.” Emotions seemed much more intense right then, though. Metzli wasn’t sure if the difference was because their memory was fuzzy or because they were feeling it all at that moment, but they didn’t think that mattered. They chose to focus on the present. “Parents did not like when I behave like,” Metzli gestured vaguely to themself, “This.” They breathed shakily, moving on. “Did work. Father was carpenter and my mother work with bone to make things to sell. Emotions are better when I work. When my hands…” With an awkward smile, they swallowed and attempted to joke. “Hand is busy.” Metzli sighed, a frown replacing the poor excuse for a smile. “They like it better like that and would enjoy it when I was locked in my room. Um…” Their voice cracked. “Did you have a room?”

They understood by now that parents didn’t always do what was best for their children. Wynne had thought all of their struggles were to blame were because of them. That maybe because of their unusual situation, they had felt an ugly distance and lack of safety with their parents. But since they’d ran, they’d talked to others. Alex with her parents who would’ve hated her for what she was. Emilio, whose mother sounded so cruel. Teddy and their demon worshiping parents. And now Metzli, revealing that their past had also lacked the kind of parents they all deserved.

They felt heavy with it, the reality of it. And as Metzli explained how their parents hadn’t liked it when they got emotional, they felt a hint of ugly recognition. These weren’t the kinds of things they wanted to have in common with people. How many times had they been reprimanded if not punished for the same? “That’s not fair. That we – that you got in trouble for things like that. It’s okay to feel things, I think.” Was it? No matter how soft and malleable they were, they still tended to hold their emotions tight to their chest where they grew heavy until they cried in solitude.

“I understand. I think. I also like it when my hands are busy. It’s why I knit a lot. It makes me fret less.” They were quiet for a moment. Metzli locking themself in a room made a little more sense now. It was what they’d known before. They nodded. “I had a bedroom. There were also other rooms. Rooms for contemplation by yourself.” Wynne looked at their hands. They wished they were knitting. “Home wasn’t a good place. I don’t think yours was either.” They looked up again, gave a sad look to the vampire. “It’s okay, though. To be upset. I tried not to be upset for a long time and in the end that just made the emotions worse.”

It was supposed to be good to have things in common, wasn’t it? Connections were built on that, and similarities were meant to help them thrive. So, why, Metzli wondered, did the tethers feel so frayed and worn? Why did it feel like the strings were made of some cruel material? It felt so weighty and beaten, but holding steady as its root was tied to the core of their beings? For a while, Metzli pondered on that in silence, managing to nod along with Wynne’s statements. But they were wrong about one thing, and they were sure it wasn’t due to Wynne’s knowledge being lacking. They were led astray. All of them were. Cass, Leila, Nora, Siobhan, and so many more.

Their childhood dwellings weren’t home. Wicked’s Rest was, though. Metzli smiled at that realization, a tear surprising them as it glided down their cheek. They didn’t even bother to wipe it away, cementing that what Wynne said is true. It was okay to be upset, to let yourself feel things even if you didn’t understand them. So much younger than them, and yet Wynne had given them more wisdom than they could’ve found within themself, a mind over a century old. That was to be expected given Metzli’s newborn freedom, a birthing of their true self. They’d have to be a little kinder to their process and to themself if they were going to acclimate to everything, and it was thanks to Wynne that they were able to calm down and come to the realization.

Sometimes the kindest hearts truly did come from the cruelest places.

“Thank you, Wynne. You are…” A sniffle snuck up on the vampire, and they cleared their throat quickly to continue. “A good person.” Out of respect, Metzli bowed their head for a moment before finally making brief eye contact with Wynne. Their eyes were watery, but much more calm as the fog faded away. “Would you like to take your break with me? We can go to the room I keep locked for myself when I feel like sketching or painting. We can…” They took a steadying breath, clenching and unclenching their fist below the desk. Anxiety was a hard feeling for Metzli to process. The most difficult one, in fact. But they had a feeling it would be good for both them and Wynne to connect while they busied themself with a task. “Make art together. Next to each other. If you will like. We can both talk and have music. Leila has shown me good music.”

There was something so bittersweet about the quiet understanding that hung in the room. Wynne found it was good to speak to people who could understand to a certain extent, but it also made them feel exhausted. A kind of bone tired, as if their limbs were somehow made of a heavier material than simple bone, making every step harder to make. Sometimes it would feel like they’d sink through their mattress with the weight of it, the knowledge that people had suffered and would suffer, that for every inch of understanding they felt and were given someone else had also been in pain.

And now Metzli was crying and they weren’t sure what to do with that. They looked at the vampire who had years and years on them, who must have learned so much in those centuries and who called them good. “So are you,” they said, and they meant it. They had called Metzli a good monster once, but they were more than that. They had learned that over the months working with them, where they were no longer just the silhouette of the person they had been before. That gallery guide who’d come for their rescue, who’d ripped off heads of vampires while doing so and had locked themself away after.

Wynne nodded at their suggestion, patiently waiting for Metzli to finish speaking. There was a tenseness in their breathing they knew all too well. “I would like that very much.” It would be intimidating, to make art next to Metzli, as they weren’t anything of an artist. Wynne put their creativity in their cooking and crafts, sometimes in the notebooks they filled with scraps of thought. “It would be nice.” They tried to catch the other’s eye. “You know what I do? When I feel – when my chest feels like it’s becoming too small to hold my lungs?” They lifted their hand, placed it flat against their own chest. Over their heart, pressed against their ribcage. “I try to breathe to my hand. To just … feed it slowly, small breaths. Sometimes someone else will put their hand there.” They’d do that at home. Breathe in tandem. Grow calm in tandem. And though there might have been crude reasons for such exercise, Wynne found they still worked for them.

The compliment made them stiff, a slight tremble trickling down their arm and straight into their hand. “I…” A breath hitched in Metzli’s throat and they closed their eyes tightly as they remained quiet and listened to Wynne. Seemed as though they understood what their idiosyncrasies meant, even if Metzli didn’t most of the time. “Okay,” They replied with a nod, eyes relaxing but still closed while they moved their hand over their chest. It helped, more than they thought.

Each breath loosened their shoulders, the coiled and sharpened weight lifting away as well. With a stuttered inhale, Metzli opened their eyes and smiled ever so slightly. “Thank…you.” They blinked slowly, communicating their gratitude and affection further. Much like a cat would, having no ability to use words. Just as they couldn’t, not anymore.

Rising silently from their seat, Metzli took a final breath before rounding their desk to meet Wynne at their seat. After a few brushes of their thumb against their palm, they extended their hand to Wynne. It was an offering of trust and acceptance. Not only was Wynne an employee, but they were a friend, too. Now more than ever, it seemed. Metzli hoped Wynne would understand the sentiment and take their hand so they could lead them both to the painting room. It felt like it could be a new beginning. One they both needed.

One they both had hoped for.

Something about it felt wrong, teaching Metzli a tactic they had used back at home. But it had worked, this way of breathing, both in the commune and outside of it. Wynne watched Metzli focus on their breathing and they hoped it worked. A small bit of relief seemed to wash over them and then over Wynne, too, who didn’t want their friend to be in any kind of stress.

“Of course,” they said. “I’m glad it worked.” Maybe one day they’d reach out and place their hand on Metzli’s, should this kind of thing happen again. It would be nice if it didn’t, but experience learned that these kinds of moods came again and again. Sometimes it seemed the best thing to do was to just find ways to deal with it, rather than get angry about the existence. It was what they were trying.

They watched Metzli get up and then extend their hand. Wynne didn’t hesitate before taking it, fingers wrapping around the other’s and getting up with them. United they moved to the painting room and they were relieved and glad, once more faced with the proof that they had made the right decision by leaving. That they had made the right decision by visiting Metzli when they had locked themself away. It was nice, to work somewhere where there were friends. Where they felt seen and not watched. To be able to simply coexist with someone, without expectation or demand.

#wickedswriting #writings #bloody ink #c: wynne #wynne and metzli #overreactions #domestic abuse tw #emotional abuse tw

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magmahearts · 7 days

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TIMING: current PARTIES: @luci-in-the-stars & @magmahearts LOCATION: luci's apartment SUMMARY: cass tries to hang out with luci, but finds herself distracted. CONTENT WARNINGS: none!

It was difficult to try to maintain neutrality, knowing that her father was waiting for her back home. He’d seemed a little disappointed when she’d left, but he hadn’t told her not to go. Cass figured that, like her, he wanted to make up for lost time, wanted to rectify the fact that they hardly knew one another at all. Part of her wanted to offer to cancel her plans to stay with him, but… Well, she couldn’t just cancel on Luci, could she? Luci was her friend. Her father would understand that.

That didn’t stop her from spending most of the outing staring at the clock on her phone, though. She was distracted, she was distant, she was not quite herself. And she couldn’t say why, not without betraying her father’s trust. So, she just… bounced, and squirmed, and watched the clock and completely missed whatever it was Luci was saying. She blinked, realizing her friend was looking at her and offering an apologetic smile. “Sorry. What was that?”

—

Luci was excited, hanging out with friends was a new thing for her and while she had people over before she was very fond of hanging out with Cass. Normally it was fun talking to her as she explained all of the different rocks she’d managed to see or the star maps she had. Cass was easy to talk to, and she had sat as well listening to her interests too.

It honestly reminded her a lot of how Milo and her used to talk waiting patiently to talk about their topic and asking questions. It was nice. Still there was something that seemed off as Luci continued to babble that she couldn’t quite place. Then it struck her.

Luci blinked realizing that Cass wasn’t paying attention. It took her longer than normal, maybe because she didn’t want to think about it but it was pretty clear something else was on her mind. “Oh um - I was just talking about a new crystal I found. Sorry I probably went on about it too long. I just thought you might like the structure of it, that’s all. Have you read any new comics lately?” Luci said, trying to pull on another topic not wanting to feel the sort of panic that came from someone not wanting to talk. “I just finished the one I had.”

Guilt flooded into her chest, leaving an acidic taste on her tongue. The last thing she wanted was to make Luci feel bad for talking. Cass liked it when Luci talked, liked hearing what her friend had to say. She was just… distracted lately. With the knowledge that her father was waiting for her back in her cave, it was so difficult to focus on anything else. Even her friends, even Luci.

“No,” she said quickly. “You weren’t going on too long or anything. I’m just, um… Having trouble focusing today. I didn’t sleep very much last night.” It was the truth, even if it wasn’t the reason why she was so spacey. She had slept poorly, anxiety regarding her father’s presence and concern that he might leave while she was dreaming curling around her like a clenched fist in her chest.

She offered Luci an apologetic smile. “I really do want to hear about your crystal,” she said, and she meant it. “And your comic. Um, which one did you finish? I’m rereading Tom King’s Vision. I don’t even really like Vision as a character, but that’s a good read. You know?” She tried to keep herself present, tried to keep herself in the moment. It was… difficult. But it meant something that she was trying, didn’t it?

—

“Oh,” Luci said, knowing that was understandable. After all, being tired or unfocused wasn’t the same as not liking that someone was talking. “I understand. What was up? Were you doing some star gazing or something?” She hadn’t talked to Cass about stars, but it seemed a lot of people in the town liked them. “Sometimes I don’t sleep either.”

She didn’t really want to say why, even now that she had somewhat settled in Milo’s apartment there were still times she woke up scared. Sometimes it was Gen, but lately it was the caves again and the strangeness there had been there. After all, she hadn’t really figured out why she had known how to fix them. It was - disturbing her.

At the idea she did want to know Luci smiled a little. “Oh okay yeah I’ll show you it if you want. I haven’t gotten it under a microscope so I’m not sure what it is, but you probably will.” She didn’t exactly know why Cass was so good at crystals - she didn’t ask - but it was pretty clear she had a knack. Going to her things in the corner she rifled through them and pulled out a small crystal. “I think it’s quarts, but I’m not sure what kind. Oh I haven’t read that one yet. I’m not sure who Vision is, but I just finished reading She-ra legend of the fire princess. I don’t think it's like a Marvel or DC one but I wanted to start reading those. The guides online are confusing though.”

Luci sat back down showing her friend the little crystal hoping to help. Luz wasn’t good at talking through emotions, but she could see that Cass seemed - off. More like how Milo acted then she would really like. So hopefully the little crystal helped. “What do you think?”

“I’ve been having trouble sleeping for a while,” Cass replied, skirting around a straight answer. It was the truth, of course. Her trouble sleeping was older than her father’s presence in her life, had started sometime after Rhett’s knife found her shoulder and worsened with Alex’s decision to leave town. She was hoping her father being around would help once she grew more accustomed to his presence. He’d be a source of peace instead of anxiety just as soon as she stopped feeling like he was going to leave her.

She chewed her lip for a moment, watching Luci carefully. “I’m sorry. That you have trouble sleeping, too, I mean. It’s — It sucks. If you wanted to talk about it…” She trailed off, letting it hang. She wanted to offer to help, but at the same time… Everything felt so fragile right now. Her friendship with Luci, new and blooming. Her relationship with her father, thin and untested. Alex had left, and if Alex had left, didn’t it mean anyone could? Anxiety thrummed in her chest, settling like a stone in the pit of her stomach.

At least she could still understand things like the crystals Luci found. People rarely made as much sense as Cass wanted them to, but rocks? Rocks were, by definition, steady. You could build a whole foundation on them, could use them to make homes without worry of them crumbling at the slightest touch. It was part of what made her so sure that things with her father were going to be good; like Cass, he was made of stone. Dependable, strong. She just had to lay down the foundation. Then they could build the house.

And she could help Luci in the meantime. She could do both. She could have both. She just… needed to work on time management a little.

Reaching out, she took Luci’s crystal with a smile. In the back of her mind, there was a question she’d never asked before — why did Luci deserve to have this crystal when she couldn’t even understand it? She pushed the thought aside quickly, not liking the way it felt. Luci was her friend. She understood rocks better than most, even if she couldn’t understand them the way an oread did. Studying the crystal, Cass nodded. “Quartz,” she confirmed. “Smoky quartz. It’s pretty common in Maine. Pretty, too.” She hesitated uncharacteristically before offering it back to Luci. “I haven’t read that one. Did you like it?”

—

Luz nodded a little, thinking about everything that kept her up and hoping that it wasn’t similar for Cass. Why they had become good friends over the last few monts, Luci didn’t like to pry or bother people opting to show care by remembering. Simply, she didn’t know a lot about what was going on. At the offer Luci shook her head, “Oh Um - no I don’t think it’ll really help. Mostly it’s just - you know nightmares.”

Nicole had said to reach out to people, but Luci was still hesitant to let people in like that besides she was more worried about Cass. “I’m sure when it starts getting warmer it’ll be easier.” That and it was still so close to Gen’s - she didn’t really want to think about it focusing instead on Cass. “If you want to talk about it though, I don’t mind. I’m not really good at understanding dreams, but I can still listen.”

Luci watched carefully to see what Cass thought about the crystal. “Oh Smoky quartz,” she confirmed muttering under her breath as she reached for her rock journal. “That would make sense. I hadn’t seen one that looked like this.” She took back the rock neatly and examined it again herself as if she was trying to memorize it. “It’s pretty.”

At the talk about her comic she nodded. “Yeah I liked it a lot. It’s not so much superheroes like marvel or DC, but - I don’t know. I like their really good friends if that makes sense? Sam helped pick it out with me - do you know her? She works at the comic shop,” Luci said, looking at Cass.

___

Nightmares. The thought ached a little, though Cass nodded all the same and tried to ignore it. Everyone she cared about had some deep, dark monster in their past that kept them up at night, didn’t they? All her friends, all the people she considered family. She’d already noticed the way her father mumbled in his sleep, the sweat on his rocky brow as things he’d likely rather not think about plagued him even in slumber. Wicked’s Rest was a town full of haunted people, and Cass didn’t know how to help any of them.

She didn’t know how to help herself, either. She thought she might learn, if Makaio stuck around long enough to teach her. He’d been at this a long time, after all, and he must have known more than Cass did about the best way to use the powers the Earth had given them. There had to be some way to create instead of destroy, to make the world better instead of worse. Cass just… needed a little help finding it, was all. And as much as she cared for Luci, she didn’t think the other girl was her ticket to doing that. Her father was the one who would know about this sort of thing, wasn’t he? He had to be.

It was hard not to look at the time again, hard not to worry about him growing bored back in her cave. Would he still be there when she got back? Or would the frustration of being left alone for so long boil over, make him decide she was far more trouble than she was worth. The thought was so overwhelming that it was difficult to really focus on what Luci was saying, though she nodded along anyway. “Yeah,” she said, forcing herself to tune back in. “Uh, yeah. They have — I mean, quartz is diverse. Most minerals are. No two are ever going to look exactly alike.”

She continued trying to keep her mind off her father, and she continued failing. “Right,” she agreed with a tight smile. “I’m mostly into the superheroes, but some of the other stuff is cool, too. I do know Sam.” The ache in her chest grew, just a little, at the memory of how scared Sam had looked at the sight of Cass without her glamour. It was such a stark contrast to the way her father looked at her. “She’s great. She gives good recs.”

—

There was a tension there again, something that Luz could feel in the air but couldn’t quite reach out and touch. It was the same kind of tension that Milo and her had at times, something unsaid and deemed outside. It was a little frustrating to her, to know that there was something off and not know how to do anything about it. Still, like most things Luci found that her hands were too clumsy to untangle the knots. She didn’t know the words to say to make Cass know she could talk to her so she let it go.

Maybe she could ask later, that would be good. After all, not everything had to be disclosed at once and - if she was honest she didn’t know how to talk about her own past and nightmares. She couldn’t even seem to reach out to Milo well at this point let alone anyone else.

Luci nodded at the thought about the crystals all being different, it made sense after all. Even in her family she was always a little different even if she was similar. “Fascinating. I love that there’s nothing exactly the same. I mean it makes sense, but it just shows that everything is unique.”

Luci smiled a little and continued, “Yeah her dog is really nice too. Say what’s your favorite superhero or like one of them? Maybe I could read one of those comics next.” Her eyes focused on her friend wondering if she would tell her something more about herself. “I’ve been interested in expanding what I read.”

___

Luci didn’t push and, paradoxically, Cass was both disappointed and relieved. She wanted someone to keep asking, even if she didn’t want to talk about it. Wasn’t that how you knew people cared? She thought, again, of her father. He’d ask, wouldn’t he? (Or maybe he wouldn’t. Cass still didn’t know him as well as she’d hoped to, still wasn’t quite sure who he was underneath the rocky surface. He was a blank slate; it was easier that way. It let her apply anything she wanted to him, let her pretend he was whatever she needed him to be. It was the same thing she let other people do to her.)

She pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth, subtly checking the time on her phone yet again. Of course, it hadn’t moved forward very much. Didn’t the clock always move a bit slower when you were watching it? Kuma used to say that a watched pot would never boil. (Kuma used to say a lot of things; Cass tried not to think about her, too.)

“Yeah,” Cass agreed with a small smile. And, in spite of her distraction, that was genuine. “Like… fingerprints. Or snowflakes! You might not be able to tell that they’re different just by looking at them, but no two are alike. Rocks are the same way.” And people forgot that. People assumed everything was what it looked like on the surface, and they were wrong. There were whole worlds lurking beneath the tops of most things. Cass knew that better than anyone.

Luci was trying. That much was clear. Despite the fact that Cass was clearly not as in the moment as she usually was, despite the fact that she was pretty sure she’d been pretty rude, Luci was trying. It warmed her chest a little, eased some of the tension there. If Luci could like her in spite of how she was acting, didn’t that mean she stood a shot at convincing her father she was worth sticking around for, too? “I like the Spiderverse characters,” she replied. “Peter Parker Spider-Man is okay, but most of the others are cooler. Miles Morales, Cindy Moon, Miguel O’Hara, Jessica Drew… There’s a lot of variety there, too. And Ms. Marvel is neat! I could give you some recs, if you wanted.”

—

Luci didn’t quite notice what was wrong although there was a bit of her that noticed something. Something that reminded her of Milo the few weeks before he bolted up to Maine - or at least she wondered if she had been present she might have noticed it. Still, she pushed it down wanting to be here with her friend right now. Still, she looked at the crystal lightly in her hand instead of looking quite at Cass.

“Yeah, they are. You know - even chemically a lot of things aren’t as straightforward as they look like. Not major changes mind you, but there’s always a little difference between things.” She didn’t know how to quite describe it but she knew when she looked up at the stars they were all slightly different even chemically. It was an alchemists job to know the exactness of things, but also to accept that they needed to be adapted. It was a strange bit of rules and exceptions that always felt like something well earned. It was the knowing bit that always struck Luci as something worthwhile. Still she couldn’t quite talk about that and instead smiled. “I think even if you looked at this under a microscope it would be ever so subtly different then the rest of them.”

Luci nodded excitedly, pulling out a notebook. “Oh - yes I would love recommendations. I think I’ve seen some of the spiderman movies. Milo and - my sister liked going to the movies sometimes.” There was a pause there that Luci quickly filled, “Isn’t Miles the one that’s in the new cartoon movie? I’ve been meaning to watch it - are there comics on that one?” She wrote notes quickly to look up the spiderverse characters and Ms. Marvel. “But yeah you're the expert. So I’d love recommendations.”

___

Rocks and minerals were things Cass knew about by nature. They were etched into her in a very literal way, from the stony surface of her skin to the magmic nature of her blood. She understood them without trying, without thinking. People were different. And she didn’t want them to be. She’d wanted to understand people since she was a kid, wandering around an aos si and knowing she didn’t belong but never quite knowing why. She’d tried to find her place a thousand different times and, over and over again, she came up short. She liked to think she was closer to finding it when she was with people like Luci, when she was with her friends. Maybe, she thought, her father could provide the final missing piece. Maybe with him in her life, she’d feel whole again, find that belonging she’d been chasing for as long as she could remember.

She listened as Luci spoke about the chemical nature of things, though she didn’t understand it. She wondered if this was how other people felt when she talked about rocks; like someone on the outside looking in. “Yeah,” she agreed quietly, offering another small but genuine smile. “I think… I don’t know. Nothing is ever what it looks like on the outside. Everything’s different when you take a closer look. For better or worse.”

At least this, Cass thought, was a subject they could both talk about at length. “Some of the movies are better than others,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Yeah, Miles is the one in the animated films. Which are awesome, by the way. Definitely the best Spider-Man movies out there. It’s, like, loosely based on a comic run, but the comic run is waaay different and more convoluted than the movie. I wouldn’t rec it to someone without a pretty big understanding of, like, ninety different Spider-Man characters. What you should start with is Silk. The first volume. It’s a great book, and… I think you’ll like it.”

—

Most of the time it felt like Luci was just on the other side of a glass wall with people trying to articulate her thoughts, but even so Cass didn’t seem bad at reading her lips. Maybe it was more comfortable then to ignore the pressure that said something was wrong as she smiled at the idea that Cass sort of knew what she meant.

“Yeah! Exactly. For better or worse we are all just a little different.” She nodded thinking about how she looked different then she felt. Maybe chemically she was actually different - and she decided not to go through that path instead sitting with her friend instead. After all, Cass deserved her attention even if she felt the urge to look at the chemical structure of the quarts.

Luci nodded, “Yeah I can agree on that one. There was one I wasn’t a super big fan of, but I can’t tell you what one it was. I’ll have to watch the animated ones then.” She wrote down the names carefully to make sure she could have it for Sam when she wanted to get a new comic. Maybe the library would also have some. “Okay I’ll start with that one then, and let you know what I think.” She looked up with a smile.

___

“I think it’s for the better,” Cass said, and it didn’t used to be true. She used to wish that people were all the same, that there could be some magical cheat code that might allow her to understand and be understood. But that line of thinking had shifted, especially since coming to Wicked’s Rest. She still didn’t understand humans in their entirety, but she thought she was a little more understandable now.

Her father understood her. She knew that, realized it the very first day in her cave when he’d smiled at her and made her feel seen. It felt like the first step towards something. Maybe this, with Luci, was a first step, too. Maybe she could have everything she’d ever wanted — friends, a family — if she was only brave enough to reach out and take it.

Talking about movies felt safe, even if she glanced down at her phone to check the time again before replying. “I could probably guess. There are a lot of bad superhero movies… and more than a few bad Spider-Man ones. Spider-Man 3 is, like, a total disaster.” Another glance at the time, despite the fact that it had been only seconds since the last one. She tapped her finger absently against the side of her phone. “Cool,” she said, looking back to Luci with a faint smile.

—

Luci nodded lightly thinking that it was for the better. After all, she was a little different than her family members and that hadn’t made her bad right? “Yeah it’s good that we're all a little different I think.”

“Oh - is it with a guy named Toby? I think it might have been that one. I mean it was fun, but it was a little odd.” She said fairly. She often watched odd movies anyway so it hadn’t really made her upset at all. She glanced as Cass looked back at her phone and said, “I’ll go find these movies though. - And you know I’m really sorry but I should probably get back to my finals. I know that it’ll probably bore you to stay here with me, so I understand if you want to head out.”

It was a lie - something Luci didn’t feel good saying - but there was something that she couldn’t figure out. It seemed like Cass wanted to leave, and she wanted to give her friend an out without it hurting her feelings too much - Luci didn’t want her to just get up in a huff to leave after all. “You’re welcome to stay if you want! But I also know you probably don’t want to watch me do physics homework.”

It was good that Luci thought that, wasn’t it? Cass was different. Different than Luci, different than most people. And she wanted to be accepted anyway. No, that wasn’t right. She wanted — she wanted to be loved because of who she was instead of in spite of it. And that was a scary thing to want, because she’d never wanted it before. Before, she’d only ever wanted to be loved, regardless of the details. But her father coming into her life, looking at her like she was precious… It made her bolder. It made her feel as though she could ask for things from her friends that she wouldn’t have been able to before. Wasn’t that something? Wasn’t that good?

“Yeah,” she nodded. “They’re pretty old school. The special effects are, like, bad. Spider-Man 2 is considered one of the best Spider-Man movies ever, and Spider-Man 3 is considered one of the worst, so… You kind of get a lot of extremes there. I really think the nostalgia factor does a looot of heavy lifting for people, honestly. They’re not exactly groundbreaking, but it’s what the old people grew up with.”

She hated the rush of relief that washed over her when Luci provided her with an easy out. She hated the fact that her heart jumped like she’d just been offered a cookie or a donut, hated the way she was already crafting the path back to her cave in the back of her mind. She should want to hang out with her friend. She liked Luci, enjoyed spending time with her. But she had something she’d always wanted waiting for her back in her cave, and it was hard to pretend that there was any part of her that didn’t want to run back to it now. So she offered Luci a smile that she hoped wasn’t too eager, nodded her head just a little. “Oh, yeah, that’s no problem. Gotta pass those finals, right? It was fun hanging out, though. We should totally do it again soon.”

Soon, she thought, her dad would be ready to meet her friends. She could introduce them to Luci, and she wouldn’t have to choose between spending time with her friends and spending time with her family. But for now, the choice had been made for her. In a lot of ways, Cass kind of preferred that. “Good luck on your tests, though. You’re totally gonna nail them.”

—

Luz nodded along at the idea of the different spiderman movies and wondered how she’d feel watching them. Usually she just took what other people said into consideration, but maybe with Cass she could have her own opinion of a movie and not have it feel rotten. She would have to try, but not tonight.

There was a flash in Luci, part of her hoped that Cass would stay, but at least it didn’t hurt as badly as it would have if she had just snapped she didn’t want to be around her. It was okay, Luci was too much all at once she knew that. Besides Cass did seem to like being around her, she would just talk to her later.

Luci was sure they’d talk later so she nodded with a smile and said, “I’m hopeful even if it’s gotten a little harder. I’ll see you later.” She said, leading her friend to the apartment door. “I’ll let you know what I think of the movies and if I find any more cool rocks.” She didn’t say goodbye, adverse to the word now after everything that happened, but a ‘see you later’ was perfectly good.

#luci in the stars #luci: on the clock #wickedswriting

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thunderstroked · 9 days

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Bleating Hearts || Mona & Monty

TIMING: current. LOCATION: monty's farm. PARTIES: @howdy-cowpoke & @thunderstroked SUMMARY: mona runs into monty and his goats! she gets a bit more help from monty, but not before she's run off by his dogs. CONTENT: none.

The fox trotted along the roadside’s edge, nose tilted to the air, doing her best to figure out exactly where the familiar scents would pull from. Her sense of direction, no matter how hard she tried, never got any better. The only thing she could smell was that of other animals– cows, horses, goats, the whole nine yards. If she were near a farm of any kind, she knew that they probably wouldn’t take kindly to a fox, especially if they had hens. Lucky for them, chicken wasn’t Mona’s favorite protein. Besides, it wasn’t like she was hungry yet. If she really needed to satiate herself, she’d find one of the many ghosts wandering town and have that as a snack, not something that would later come back to haunt her. The irony of the thought was not lost on her, even as she stumbled upon the farm in question.

There was a truck idling at the corner, and she stared at it with her wild golden eyes. The cold would eventually find its way through her coat, and she didn’t want to find out what that meant for her later. She hoped that whoever was driving the truck had meant to go into town, so she wasted no time in hopping into the back of the cab, crouching down to avoid being seen. To whoever did find her, they’d be surprised to see no ordinary fox– but some blue melded thing with multiple tails. She’d been in deep shit if it were somebody unkind, but who ran a seemingly healthy farm and harmed animals?

—

Naturally, Monty hadn’t realized that the trailer had two flat tires until he was meant to be hitching it to his truck to go pick up a couple of goat kids from a nearby farm that couldn’t afford to feed all of their animals anymore and had been selling them off. Cursing under his breath, he weighed the pros and cons of just letting the kids loose in the cab with him, his gaze falling on Philip who was standing atop a hay bale, staring at him from his enclosure.

“What do you think, eh? Will they cause as much trouble as you would?” he asked the pitch black goat. The animal cocked his head, long ears flopping about, then gave a long, loud bleat. Monty laughed, waving him off and unhitching the useless trailer, figuring it’d probably be fine. He made a mental note to ask Daisy to have someone fix the tires as he got into the truck, pulling around in the drive and heading to the main road that would take him to the neighboring farm.

It wasn’t a long drive, and Monty kept his truck idling just out of sight of the barn where he’d be picking the goats up from, not really wanting to have to explain himself or his strange decision to the other farmers. They offered to help him load up the kids but he insisted that he’d be fine on his own, paying them and keeping one of the kids held to his chest, the other walking beside him with a small rope lead around her neck.

“Okay niñas, do not tattle on me to Daisy. The trailer tires blew on the way home, sí?” He’d purposefully left the passenger side door open to make this easier (hopefully), first setting the kid under his arm down on the seat before picking the other up from the ground and lifting her into the cab, setting her beside her sister. Their tails were wagging as they began to explore, and he shut the door behind them to circle around the truck to the driver’s side.

The bleat of fear from one of the kids was not what he expected as he climbed into his own seat, brows raising. “What? ¿Qué es?” The farmer twisted in his seat to see what the kid was staring at, and gasped. What… what kind of fox was that? Monty was stunned for a moment before remembering himself and putting a hand on the kid’s head, shushing her and turning her away from the sight. “Está bien, chiquita. Está bien.” This was clearly some kind of supernatural thing he’d never encountered before, and as always, he chose to treat it with respect. “Um… hi,” he began awkwardly, not even knowing if the thing was sapient or not. Might as well assume it was. “You must be cold. Ah... you can stay in the cab to warm up! I just… need to get these kids home, all right? We can figure out what to do with you once we’re back… at my farm.” God, this felt a little ridiculous, but he wasn’t sure what else there was to do.

—

The smell of the ghosts overpowered pretty much everything else, and the fox’s nose twitched in response. It was strange to see somebody allow animals in the front of their car– somewhere that most people would argue animals didn’t belong. Maybe he believed that animals were like minded individuals instead of things that should’ve been treated as lesser than. She could understand that to a degree, as long as it had nothing to do with birds. They were worthless creatures who did nothing but pester her. It was like they knew that she disliked them, so they made sure to make her life a living hell.

But these were not birds– it was two goats and an undead man who was… shit, he was staring at her now. Her eyes narrowed at the goat who was now being turned in the other direction. Gold eyes flickered back to the man, surprised to hear that he was speaking to her, not at her. Most others spoke at her– distressed or not, and while he did seem particularly confused, she wasn’t sure how to feel about the fact that he seemed to acknowledge something wasn’t right. When people often came to that conclusion, there was fear in the air, sticky and hot with the way they’d shoo her or shout, but he was welcoming her in a manner she’d not seen in many. Not without concern, at least.

The fox glanced over her surroundings, tentatively moving forward at the man’s insistence. It was much warmer in the cab of the truck, and so she slipped through the window that led to the back of the pick up, curling up in the corner of the backseat, furthest away from the goats that were bleating so loudly that she was sure she’d hear it for days on end. She wasn’t sure how to say thank you, and while she knew that this could end badly, she figured anybody who let goats into their personal space wasn’t going to exactly take her out and try and get rid of her. She blinked at the man, gaze swiveling over the goats. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her ears twitched at every noise made. She was either going to regret this, or be on the hunt for this man later on to repay his kindness. The fox stared him down, attempting to memorize his features.

—

Watching the creature crawl out of the truck bed and into the cab brought a soft smile to Monty’s face, and he gave the fox a nod. “Okay then. Ah… sorry about the goats, they are talkative.” He rolled the windows down a bit to help give the noise somewhere else to go, cranking up the heat in response and removing his own jacket to bundle it up and give the kids something to nestle into. That seemed to calm them and they had quieted down once the truck was pulled back onto the main road, allowing for a much quieter and warmer ride.

Once they’d gotten back to Prickly Pear Acres, Monty asked the fox to stay put for a moment while he handed off the kids to another couple of hands that would deal with the inspection and tagging. He insisted it would only be a couple of minutes and he was true to his word, returning to the truck he’d left running (to keep it warm) and opening the door again to look at the creature.

“Okay. I don’t… know what you are, and I don’t even know if you can understand me, but if you can… would you follow me inside? I would hate to leave you out here… there are also plenty of barns with haylofts you could nap in, if you prefer. The animals will not mind, I don’t think. They’re all much larger than you.” He paused, scratching at his head. “I don’t know what kind of food you eat, either, but there’s… you know. Mice and things around here. And I have some food in the house you might like. Um.” His gaze swept down to her tails and his brow furrowed in thought. “Maybe if I can figure out what you are… well. That can happen inside. I will leave the front door open for you, so you can come in when you want.” They were parked in front of the house, and Monty kept the truck window rolled down as he very gently shut the door, stepping away from it and turning to go inside. As promised, he left it slightly ajar so the fox could enter as it pleased, and pulled out his phone to start trying to figure out what kind of fox had multiple tails.

The answer was surprisingly easy to find, but of course the details about such a thing were where it all got confused.

Glancing up from his phone when he noticed the creature taking him up on his offer to enter the warm home, he cocked his head to the side. “Are you a… kitsune?” The word was pronounced pretty incorrectly, more Spanish than anything else, and he gave a shrug.

—

The ride wasn’t long, and really, the fox wasn’t sure which direction they were heading. Her gaze went from corner to corner, catching glimpses of the blurred outskirts, then back to the goats who were curled around one another. She might be touched by the image if she weren’t so frustrated by her predicament.

The truck stopped, and the fox had half a mind to bolt out of the cab as soon as the door was open, but the man spoke to her with a certain kindness that was absent in most cases when coming across something like her. She obeyed, not so much out of fear, but out of curiosity. He spoke to her as if he had half an idea that she might understand him. Did he know what she was? Could he help her?

It didn’t take long for that dream to shatter, because the man was speaking to her, reaffirming that he wasn’t sure if she could understand him. Both her tails twitched in response. He wanted her to sleep in the– no, he was offering it to her. Did he have chickens? Wasn’t he worried she might make herself at home a little too much? Mice? He was trying to offer her things that he thought a fox might be interested in, and she made a mental note to tell him after this was all over that no, she did not want mice for breakfast. Or was it lunch time? Her stomach grumbled, and the thought of food– or rather, the promise of it being extended towards her by the farmer was enough for her to follow him inside after he retreated back into the house.

It was warm inside and she paused by the door, gold eyes flickering over the interior. At least he had taste, even if it was a little western.

The fox padded into the foyer, ears rotating as she took in the sounds from each room before finally she refocused on the man. So he did know? She tilted her head to the side before nodding slowly. She felt so small, in the grand scheme of things– it should’ve been terrifying, the lack of heartbeat from the man, but it made her somehow feel safer. Like she knew his secret, and he knew hers, even if he couldn’t put it to her face until this nightmare was over. The fox pawed at the ground in an attempt to trace out STUCK against the wooden floorboards, but she knew it was no use. She couldn’t even tell what she was attempting to write, and she was the one doing it.

—

The nod was somewhat unexpected, but it filled Monty with unbridled curiosity and enthusiasm. “Oh! Oh, okay! We can work with this! The internet… well, it says a lot of things, and I can’t know exactly what’s true and what isn’t… but maybe we can just stick to yes or no questions.” He watched for a moment as the fox started to paw at the floor. It didn’t mean anything that he could discern, and he felt bad about that. She was clearly trying to communicate. Stepping toward her carefully, the man clicked the door shut behind her to keep the cold out, then began thoughtfully pacing a respectful distance from her.

“The thing I was reading said that kitsune can look like people, too.” He glanced down at the fox. “Is that true?” Then why didn’t she? Maybe she preferred this form, though it seemed limiting to her ability to communicate. And if she was in no need of help, if this was just how she chose to be, why would she have followed him inside? Well… maybe she just wanted a warm place to sleep. It could be as simple as that.

—

Maybe they should go back outside to where she could trace out words in the dirt like she had with that man who had found her in the cage. The fox stared up at him as he asked his questions, and she nodded. This might get them somewhere, or at least she hoped it would. She wasn’t sure how this man could help her, at least with the bit about her being stuck in fox form. She didn’t figure he knew Felix or Inge, so somehow getting their names out into the open would possibly prove futile, too.

The fox regarded the farmer for a moment before trotting past him in an attempt to find something to assist her in literally spelling out that she was stuck in this form, but one round around his kitchen, and there was nothing. She found her way back to him, clearly disappointed by the lack of tools fit for a fox to communicate, and sat at his feet, peering up at him. The yes or no’s would have to do, and she would just have to hope he would ask the right questions.

—

Monty watched her move about the place, looking for something, though he didn’t know what. A way to speak, perhaps. But if she could shift, then… “Are you… I have a friend, well, several friends that can shift between people and creatures. And you said that kitsune can do this as well.” He stared at her for a moment, brows furrowed. “But you’re… not doing that. Which I would think would make talking easier.” Could shifters get stuck in an animal shape? The idea of it was upsetting, frankly, and he started to wring his hands together. He was severely under qualified to deal with something like this, but maybe someone he knew…

“Are you unable to change back?” It made the most sense, but even knowing for certain that the answer was yes, he wasn’t sure how he was going to help. Hm. He knew Gael would likely not know anything about them, but Alan might… or maybe Felix?

—

At least the farmer seemed to understand her plight. Well, slightly. The fox simply nodded slowly, hoping that he would be able to discern that yes, she could shift back, but clearly that wasn’t an option at the moment. The flash of light that’d come from the young girl’s wayward spell had blinded her momentarily, but not before she’d shifted into fox form in an attempt to get away. Was it better to be stuck like this, then to be stuck in her human form?

At his question, the foxnodded furiously, head bobbing up and down. There was no way he’d misunderstand that. She looked up at him with a helpless expression, gold eyes meeting his dark brown. It was difficult, to say the least– communicating with somebody while like this. She again cursed the lack of evolution within her own species.

If she had more tails, she could communicate within his mind, maybe– or had that only been for other kitsune? It wasn’t something she learned about, just knew it was possible. What was really frustrating was the idea that after this was all said and done, she’d have to do a tour of Wicked’s Rest to give her gratitude to those who had helped her.

The fox sat down finally, ceasing the incessant pacing. She watched the man as he clearly began to think. Maybe he would come up with a solution– maybe he knew somebody, another spellcaster who could reverse whatever had happened to her. She hoped that was the case, at least.

—

“Okay… okay. I’m not—I don’t really know a lot about shifters, obviously, um… but I think maybe my friend Felix would be able to help you! They live in Worm Row, and they… well, they would probably know a lot more than I do. Maybe they’ve known other kitsune before! Here, I’ll—” Monty began patting down the pockets of his shirt and jeans absently, turning on the spot like he was looking for something—“give you their address, sí? And a note to take with you, so they know what’s wrong!” The next offer would be to take her there himself, but now knowing that she was much more than just a strange-colored fox, it felt a little condescending to assume she couldn’t take care of herself. Still…

He was scribbling down the note when he heard the back door to the house open, and his heart leaped into his throat. “Wait!” he called, dropping the note to the floor and stepping between the fox and the person coming inside—person and animals coming inside, that is. Daisy was strolling down the back hall toward him, a bemused smile on her face as the dogs started to kick up a fuss. “No! Pomelo, Cinder! Back!” The dogs’ protective nature overrode their training to listen to his commands, and they came crashing down the hall barking and snarling. Monty backed away from them, moving toward the door again and wrenching it open, giving the fox a place to escape to.

“Sorry, I’m sorry!” he called after her once she’d slipped through the door and he’d wedged himself there to keep the canines from pursuing her further. “Sorry, you can—Pomelo, heel—just get yourself to Felix Mendoza! They can help you!” He didn’t even know if that was true, but it was the best idea he had.

—

The fox’s ears twitched at the sound of Felix’s name. This man knew Felix? That was fantastic! If he knew Felix, then Felix would recognize her, and he would be able to help her. It had occurred to her that she could just go to their apartment, but every time she had tried, something thwarted her. This town was full of things keeping her from getting back to normal and she was sick of it.

Things were finally beginning to look up. She didn’t know how to communicate to the man that she didn’t need the address, but her thoughts took an immediate detour at the sound of footsteps– fours and twos. The fox’s head snapped up, ears pinned in the direction of the door as it opened. The smell of the dogs filled her nostrils before they actually came into view, and the same must have been for them. They ran forward, teeth bared, and the fox resisted the urge to send a zap in their direction. They were just dogs, and it was obvious that this man meant no harm for her, because he was too, diving in the direction of the door, shoving it open.

The fox wasted no time in slipping through, grateful to hear it close behind her, but not without the sound of nails on the wood. Their barks pierced her ears as she ran, knowing well enough that this had been the closest she’d gotten to being saved. If this man knew Felix, then maybe she could wait, but something told her that hanging around would only get her hurt with the dogs inside, so she ran as fast as she could in the direction of where she knew town to be.

#para: bleating hearts #para: monty #wickedswriting

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faoighiche · 10 days

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PARTNER : @banisheed TIMING : A few months ago. LOCATION : Somewhere downtown. SUMMARY : A vampire tries to feed on Siobhan, so she passes him to Burrow. To Siobhan's dismay, Burrow enjoys that kind of thing. WARNINGS : Under skin (minor)

Vampires were terrible: abominations of un-life, pests, occasionally strangely obsessed with bats. But lazy vampires? “Honestly, this is insulting,” Siobhan sighed, palm pressed to the cold forehead of a snarling vampire. It was the same principle that deterred curious sharks, a swift hit to the head to send it swimming the other way. Or so she assumed about the sharks; what did she know about sharks? It worked on vampires. “It’s just rather embarrassing for you, isn’t it?” At arm’s length away from her, his jaw clomped uselessly in the air. Through his snarls, the deconstructed plea repeated. Please, he was saying, just a little taste. Back in her day, vampires actually worked for their meals; they didn’t just flail at her fingertips and beg for a sample. Something-something-televisions rotting attention spans and dissolving backbones. “Isn’t there a little bit of shame left in that smooth brain of yours?” The vampire continued to chomp on the air, held back by Siobhan’s outstretched arm, which was getting tired.

That was the catalyst for all of it: fatigue. Fatigue had probably forced the vampire to flail at her like a child, thwarted by the superior reach of her arm, feet scraping against the asphalt as he tried to push against her. Fatigue had certainly made Siobhan drop her hand and grip the worn collar of his t-shirt. She flinged him down the street like an egregious sack of potatoes. Fatigue pushed her to say: “Just go for that kid over there.” She pointed at the figure coming up on them. “Do us both a favor and feed on someone else.”

He looked back at Siobhan, as if suddenly taken by the morality of feeding from a child. He blinked, then addressed the girl. “C-Can I suck on your blood, p-please?”

Burrow heard the commotion: sounds of cloth ruffling and shoes scuffling. Sounds that began and ended in the same moment, to be replaced by a grunt as a human fell into her view. She continued on her walk, though was wise enough to keep an eye on the human. A caution to prevent him from causing harm. Curiously, she did not need to be so alert in order to notice his attack. He begged her to let him do it. To let him bite — to let him feed — to know her in the most intimate way. The thing was not a human at all. She saw those fangs barely covered by trembled lips — those sunken eyes that flashed crimson, the same color as the thing he craved. He was one who walked in death and hungered for life. Hungered for her, for the fae were the essence of all life. A life that could return his own to him, if he was able to take it all from her. How delightful.

Burrow was no fool, she would not seek out those that wished to be her end. Still, there had always been a fascination with the poor dead. They reminded her so much of her parasites. Things scorned by society, cast into the shadows, but forced to the light in order to survive. Forced to take from those that hated them so much. She did not hate them, though she did not love them enough to give without taking. “You may take as much of my blood as I allow, if you promise me a favor of my choosing.” That bind readied to dig into the dead’s neck, the same as his fangs into her own. Desperation had him accepting the deal without hesitation. The bind claimed him, writhing in anticipation for what would become of it. The dead did the same, overcome with eagerness that she would not grant him access yet.

There was the issue of the other: the one who had thrown the dead on her path. Burrow held him in place, the power of her bind assisting her. She led him to the shadows, away from the watching eyes of the other in the distance. When she had tucked the two of them in a corner, her leash on him slipped with intention. As soon as she nodded her head, his own was lost to the curve of her neck. It was followed by a flash of pain that was so familiar it had her smiling.

And that was that! Siobhan clapped her hands together, brushing off imaginary dirt. She didn’t care as the vampire and the child went away, vanished into the dark. She certainly didn’t care as a shiver ran down through her spine, telling her that this child was a fae—family, a friend. There wasn’t an ounce of care inside of her as her mother’s chiding voice boomed through her skull: fae take care of eachother, or some variant. Fae are family, fae protect each other. One fae’s pain belongs to another. All fae are connected. No harm shall come to another fae. Fae are family. Siobhan sighed; she did care.

“Alright, that’s enough.” Siobhan snapped her hands around the shoulders of the vampire. As she pulled back, he didn’t move. As she leaned the weight of her body in the opposite direction, his latch on the child seemed only to grow stronger. In a huff, she released him, fingers throbbing. “Leanbh, push him off! What are you--” Siobhan dug her fingers into the vampire’s cold flesh again, pulling back. “This is enough! Release her!” Or was it the girl that had him? Siobhan looked down, trying to figure out who held the power between them. Why would anyone willingly subject themselves to this?

That desperation, that hunger, that need for another’s life. Burrow knew it so well. She could feel it with each gulp of her blood. As if the two were made brothers, as they shared in that same blood. But he was not a brother: he was a strange and unknown thing. As familiar as he was a mystery. How exciting, to feel such beautiful greed without a presence in its existence. It was a wonder to consume and be consumed. Why did the humans fail to appreciate such a joy?

Or the fae as well, for that matter. The burning alerted Burrow to the intruder’s presence immediately, sucking away her pleasant mood faster than those hungry fangs. Then came the vicious tone and the yelling — all things she had experienced before. What was unique was to see the fae struggle. The intruder was no match for the might of her bind, rendering the dead into a statue. A thing that only moved when Burrow did, as she craned her neck to the side to reveal her face to the fae. Her eyes locked with the other, staring in silence. A stare that lasted until she felt the creep of dizziness. “You are done.” The fangs were out of her neck before she even finished the statement. “We will meet again to discuss my favor. You will not stray far from me.” The dead scampered away without another word.

Burrow finally addressed the fae. “Hello.” She brushed away the trickle of blood still left on her skin. She licked what remained off her fingers. “Do you know of an Aos Sí?”

Siobhan blinked; she imagined it happened with the tink-tink of a cartoon. Incredulity swept over her in a cold wave and her jaw, hanging open, didn’t close until the blooddrunk vampire stumbled completely out of sight. “Hello,” she said in repetition more than greeting. Her head turned to watch the darkness swirl around the place the vampire had walked away into, and then back at the young fae. “You let him do that to you?” It was beyond degrading: it was confusing. The constant analysis of her mind—the churning logical machine in her head—could make nothing of it. It spun like old gears, grinding, and produced a cloud of black smoke. She blinked some more.

“I do know of an Aos Sí, I grew up in one. As most fae do.” The confusion turned Siobhan honest. It didn’t occur to her to stomach the pains of lying, or to question what she was being asked. “But as for any here… I am not so… I do not…” What was the nicer way of saying that as a disgraced fae, she had no desires to ingratiate herself within local fae communities? “I do not know of any in this town. Though, there must be a few—the fae community here is larger than most. I do not…” What was the nicer way of saying it was strange that a fae who was interested wouldn’t know this? Was there a nice way to say ‘you are stupid, go walk into a fae bar and ask anyone’? Probably not. Why did she care about being nice? Siobhan’s head, as if answering her internal query, turned to the empty space the vampire once occupied, and then back again to the fae.

“Why did you let him do that?” She jutted her thumb out into the empty space. “Leanbh, you do not deserve a… it’s degrading to…” Siobhan sighed; she should’ve walked away when she first thought about it. “Why are you looking for an Aos Sí?”

The stare from before had been a mere prelude. Burrow’s eyes did as her namesake: burrowed into the fae after her admittance of awareness. Digging into the soul that lay behind that false skin, as if she could pluck out her secrets. The secrets of her home, so that Burrow would make it her own. But distance would be her enemy today. Though not a stray, this fae was as useful as the rest. Her sigh was quick and sharp. Burrow’s awaiting home dangled further away, by the hands of the strays and the imbeciles and the far from home.

“I also assume there are a few of na Aos Sí in this nest. Well, somewhere, in this nest. Many of the fae of this nest do not know the location of an Aos Sí or what an Aos Sí means. It is sad… for them. I only feel irritated about their ignorance of na Aos Sí.” An irritation Burrow let slither out of her with the flicking of her wrists. Nature slept in the depths of winter’s belly. To avoid its hungry maw, those that were homed stayed nestled safely behind the féth fíada. She knew this. She will find success when the warmth of the sun drew them back to the light. She will wait, and watch, and practice, until their return.

At least a piece of them did, in the presence of the intruder. Unlike the others of the town, she reminded Burrow a bit of her family. That disgust on the fae’s face was so familiar. “Chan urrainn dhuibh a thuigsinn.” You can not understand. None of them ever could. “It is not degrading to be consumed. It is wonderful. It is affection.” The dead offered a meager imitation, but one she appreciated nonetheless. Appreciated more than the poor excuse of love the fae showed her. “I look for an Aos Sí because I am in need of sanctuary.”

Something was wrong—wrong beyond the things that were usually wrong. Yes, she lacked her wings. Yes, she was a disgrace. Yes, this fae was staring at her like she wanted to dig into her skin like a worm in dirt. But something picked at her guts, rearranging the ribbons of flesh. Something was wrong, Siobhan thought. Something about all of this was wrong. Unguarded, unsure of where her guards should be, Siobhan’s voice wavered.

“Many fae do not leave their Aos Sí; why would they? So, either you find someone out on some manner of errand or someone who…” The words caught in her throat. She shifted her weight between her feet, dislodging her unease into the bowl of her dry mouth; the words spilled like sand. “Someone who’s been thrown out.” Quickly, she added: “or someone who abandoned their home.” But the possibility that there could be a fae who would willingly leave home seemed so unlikely to Siobhan that, even though she could think of a certain annoying baby-banshee it applied to, she considered it impossible. “If you ask enough fae, maybe, eventually…” She trailed off, no longer able to stomach being helpful.

Siobhan’s face betrayed all of her confusion and discomfort. “Affection exists in servitude—worship—not consumption. You allow a lesser creature to feed on you and what do you become?” The echo of her mother was summoned, swirling inside her head in streams of words. She could tug at any number of them to make her point: you would be weak, you would be pathetic, you would degrade yourself into the ranks of prey. But the fae’s admittance cleaved her mind instead, parting her mother’s thoughts. ‘Sanctuary’, the fae said and the strangeness of it burned; not a home, not just a shelter. Sanctuary. “What do you mean?” she asked. “Are you in trouble? Do you need help?”

The way the other spoke became strange. As if stones replaced the fae’s uvula, striking on the membranes of her throat with each syllable. Burrow was not sure of the cause. Was she succumbing to the effects of the weather, or perhaps the effects of the heart? Perhaps it was the topic, for she herself knew the… complications of home. Still, the answer to the mystery mattered little. She was more interested in the actual words themselves. They were all things she had thought before, but they did offer something new: this fae was inclined to help. “Yes, I am aware. I remember the visits to the human nests during the springs.” Visits she was never allowed to join, but she did recall their existence. She had watched as those groups returned, bringing trinkets and tales. In her first year of exile, she had hoped to find such a group and join them in their return to home. This plan, obviously, had not worked. “I am also very aware of… the exiles and the strays.”

The helpfulness did not extend to those that reminded Burrow so much of her kin. What did this fae have to say of her precious ones? Perhaps more of the same. Her own face betrayed those soured thoughts: creases formed against her lips and brows. “I become happy. The dead desire me. You saw how much the dead wanted me. The dead wanted me so much, he would have killed me if I had not stopped him. It is lesser than…” Than her own precious ones, who were better at taking their spoils. “It is lesser, but the feeding is still love.” She did not expect the fae to understand, for she had long given up on that prospect. Still, she would not let the misunderstanding stand without a rebuttal.

“Yes, I am in trouble.” Trouble always found Burrow, in a world that wanted her dead or locked away. Peace was never an option for her kin, only fleeting moments of comfort. “Yes, I do need help.” Her lips pulled down, resembling a frown. The expression seemed effective on Teagan and Cass. She wondered if its power could sway others. “Will you help me?”

The exiles and the strays. Siobhan’s skin prickled; the twin scars on her back burned, as they always did when something approached the memory. The air is thick suddenly, or maybe it’s her throat all seized up. The dull, wet grass molded to her shifting weight. “The undead desire you,” Siobhan said. To her, the distinction was important; Death wasn’t something that had desires. Siobhan huffed. “At least your notion of love is more understandable than…” Her mind drifted to other people; to the stupid books she’d read under moonlight. This time, the words of Dickinson, who wrote in the style of hymns, contorting rhyme and religion—“the wind does not require the grass”. Whatever love meant, that inescapable curse to her surroundings, it was at least tolerable as the younger fae said it. It didn’t align with her understanding, and it seemed far more degrading than poetic, but she could abide that to this girl, consumption was love. “Aye,” she sighed, “that’s your love then: fed and feeding.”

The mystery of love would wait another day for her, preferably, she’d never have to answer the damn question of it. “Eh?” Siobhan shook her head. “What are you doing with your face?” Was it supposed to be a frown? To someone else, she imagined the look must have been effective: people did hate when others were sad. However for Siobhan, displays of emotion only served to make her uncomfortable. “Yes, I’ll help you—no, I’m not promising it. You’re fae. Fae help fae. We’re family.” Siobhan frowned. “But never display emotion at me again; it’s unbecoming.” It was unbecoming of both of them. It didn’t occur to her to ask what exactly this child needed help with.

The distinction was less important to Burrow. Undead, dead, marbh beò, zombie, vampire — all words to describe the same entity. A cursed thing that walked and continued despite death’s claim on them. A thing that disregarded the cycle of nature: to take and to give. The dead only took. Only fed, as the other put it. She was surprised that there was understanding admitted from the fae, from whom she mostly knew rejection and disgust. Perhaps this one was not as terrible as the rest. A hope to be justified or denied in time. How funny that she even dared to still hope. Teagan and Cass had certainly wormed their way into her better judgment, infecting it the same as her own kin. “Yes, the feeding is… one part of my love.” Much more than food can be admired and wanted and taken. There was so much splendor and spoils to be claimed in the world, and she wanted them all.

A want that was as attainable as the garner for sympathy. “I am doing a frown.” It was clear the frown was not as sufficient as Burrow had hoped. It had felt correct. The tension on her cheeks were similar to when she had stood in front of her mirror — her face had been quite pitiful and pathetic then. She would practice once more. At least she had no need for what next overcame her face. Lips twitched and curled and peeled back to reveal a small sliver of teeth. Fae help fae. Hinder, harm, and hate: that is what the fae did. But, she had learned that, yes, the fae could and would help, whether they wanted to or not. The lack of promise hinted that this fae was of the latter sort. She would take all the offered generosity, and then some, when the moment was right. “Ok. You will help me, cousin.”

Burrow’s moment of amusement was gone, fizzling out of existence for it was no longer needed. She returned to her usual quiet, both of mouth and soul. Not because the fae asked it from her, but it was convenient that the other did. At least it was one less thing expected from her to get what she wanted.

#wickedswriting #thread #thread : siobhan #ft. siobhan d.#under skin tw

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corpse-a-diem · 17 days

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Dancing With Death | Anita & Erin

TIMING: Current PARTIES: Anita (@gossipsnake) & Erin (@corpse-a-diem) LOCATION: Anita & Metzli's Home (Mansión Mexicana) SUMMARY: Anita teaches Erin how to salsa. It's a perfectly normal, uneventful date. Until it's not. CONTENT WARNINGS: wrspice (touching, kissing)

Anita was great at distractions. One might even say that most of her life was just bouncing from one distraction to the next, never allowing herself time to think about the space in between. So when a beautiful woman online mentioned a dire need for dance lessons… well that sounded like an exceptional distraction. A lesson out on the packed dance floor of some seedy downtown club would certainly be more lively, a private lesson at home would hopefully be a bit more intimate. Besides, both locations had ample tequila.

Fortunately, her brooding and even-more-annoying-than-usual roommate wasn’t going to be around to bother them. After clearing an impromptu dance area by moving around the couch and coffee table from the main living room, Anita changed into a flowing but short red dress and went to the kitchen to pull out a crisp bottle of Casa Dragones from the freezer. In a house where both occupants had … unique diets, there wasn’t much else taking space in the freezer.

Just after she had cut a fresh lime into thin slices, Anita heard the doorbell ring and smirked.

Every intelligent thought in Erin’s brain was screaming at her not to go to some stranger’s home for dance lessons. Her mother had taught her better and Netflix documentaries had taught society better. But there was a growing, overwhelming need for something other than constant death gnawing at her insides. Anita seemed lovely and lively and alive. Something Erin had to remind herself she needed more of, now more than ever. So she donned a simple, silk black dress and some courage to possibly (definitely) embarrass herself in front of this total stranger. It was fine.

She’d found the address simply enough, thankful not to have to navigate around the mess that was Worm’s Row area right now. But the mansion she found herself at was definitely unexpected. How much did college professors make in this town? Footsteps drew closer after she rang the doorbell, and in the midst of briefly questioning her own career choices, the door opened. Erin’s eyes widened in delight as she set her eyes on Anita for the first time. At least if she was going to get murdered tonight, she’d be okay if it was by the woman in front of her. “Anita?” She cleared her throat after a second, remembering herself and holding a hand out. “Erin. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” She smiled, shaking her head slightly, glancing around the exterior of the home. “Am I still in Wicked’s Rest? Because you and your home are just—stunning. We don’t get nice things like this here.”

The look on Erin’s face as Anita opened the door made her smirk widen. It was rather refreshing to be around someone so expressive. It was a lot different than what she had been getting from her roommate. It was also nice to know that this woman, who was undoubtedly stunning in her own right, clearly found her attractive. That would surely make this night that much more interesting. “I am,” she reached out to meet the extended hand, “It’s equally a pleasure to meet you, Erin.”

The question genuinely made Anita laugh and the blatant compliment caused a soft, satisfied blush to spread across her cheeks. “Well, see! That’s exactly the point. Wicked’s Rest deserves some fun and flavor in town. So I’ve done my best to bring a bit of Mexican beauty to town. Both with the house, and with my presence. After all, we all deserve nice things every now and then, no?”

“Come, I’ve got some more Mexican beauty to share with you.” Turning with the comment, Anita walked further into her home leaving Erin and the open door to sort themselves out. Making her way through the initial foyer and heading towards the bar situated between the kitchen and dining area. “And by that, I mean the best tequila you’ve ever had.” The open-floor plan let the rooms flow into one another, and they were mostly decorated with vibrant (slightly suggestive) artwork and bold colors. There was also, however, a sprinkling of more macabre decorations. Some art that Metzli had brought home from their gallery. Some skulls or other bone fragments situated between vases of flowers and warm candles.

Anita was just as charming in person as she was online—not that Erin doubted she would be. It was infectious and drew her into the home and after Anita. She pulled the door closed, trying not to think about how Ted Bundy’s victims had thought he was charming too. But her hand was warm and the blush on her cheek from her words didn’t feel even remotely dangerous. She was worrying for nothing again. Erin smirked, considering her words. “You know what? We sure as hell do,” she answered enthusiastically, eyes drifting around her home. Definitely a varied taste, the style and semblance of pieces only reinforced the mental picture she was building about Anita. No complaints yet. “You know, something tells me you might be from Mexico.” A grin broke across Erin’s face and she peeled her attention back to Anita. “How did you end up here of all places?”

She watched the other woman, leaning against the back of a nearby chair. “The best? Wow. That I’ll have to see for myself.” She said with feigned arrogance, straightening out her blazer as if she was preparing for the ordeal. “And I’ll have you know, I did do my dancing homework. Turns out practicing alone in your bedroom the night before doesn’t make miracles happen. Hopefully you and that tequila will though.”

It was always exciting when there was a quick chemistry with whomever Anita invited over on a given night. Some people were all talk where others followed through with action. Erin seemed like the ladder. “No? What gave me away?” Anita teased in response with a smirk. “But yes, I am. I take it you’re from here? The way you said we don’t get nice things here,” she offered as her explanation before the question was even asked. She poured out two shots of the tequila before reaching over to grab the limes and salt, talking while she did so, “I moved here for the teaching job and a desire for new challenges. I came to the US for college, down in the southwest. After I finished my PhD,” she shrugged as she looked up at Erin, “I study insects and their environments, I guess I just wanted some new material.” It was an oversimplification of reality, but that was what Anita excelled at. Luring people in with enough honesty to seem vulnerable without any of the actual risk.

“Ay, warming my heart! A woman who does her homework,” she said with a smirk as she slid one of the shot glasses across towards Erin. “Well lucky for you, here’s your chance to see that for yourself.” Preparing for the drink with the lime and salt, Anita licked the back of her hand while keeping her gaze focused on the other woman before putting a shake of salt on her skin. “I promise me and the tequila will be far more thrilling than anything you’ve done alone in your bedroom.” With that, she licked the freshly placed salt off her hand, shot the tequila back, and then placed a wedge of lime in her mouth. The drink was smooth enough to take on its own in her opinion, but she liked the foreplay.

Anita poured herself another drink, before shifting her focus to the pretense for their meeting. “What music did you play when you practiced? Music sets the tone you know.”

“All my life,” Erin nodded. Her brows raised. “PhD? Shit,” she laughed softly, watching the apparently very well-read woman prepare the shots as she spoke. There was something so carefree about Anita, in the way she moved and spoke. And she was smart? It’d almost be annoying if Erin wasn’t so drawn to it. “A beautiful woman who studies bugs and their homes, on a PhD level, huh?” She responded, taking the shot glass offered to her. “I knew you were more interesting than Wicked’s Rest deserved.”

Erin appreciated the light and playful energy Anita brought, emphasized with every smirk and teasing lilt. She knew exactly what this visit was about, as did Erin. The promised reprieve from the shadows and hard, dark tones making themselves home in her mind felt like a true beacon in the night. Erin knew she needed this but until she felt her own cheeks burn pleasantly and turn up in a bright grin, she wasn’t aware just how badly. She kept her eyes on Anita’s, mimicking her motions with the salt and lime, knocking her drink back, which went down so much smoother than expected. “Oh, yeah.” She nodded, pushing her shot glass back towards Anita. “That’s good. You were right. Of course you were. Hit me with another while you’re at it?”

Right. The dancing part. She smirked and moved around the table, phone in her hand until she was closer to Anita. “Well, don’t laugh at me but I started off with some classic Ricky Martin. Because he’s great, you know?” She laughed and felt the flush of the liquor shoot through her chest, then motioned to her phone again. “But then I wisened up because I could just hear you mocking me in my head and found a popular latin dancing playlist on Spotify.” She pressed play, letting the music fill the room and she looked to Anita’s gaze for approval. “Good? Yes? No?”

–

“Must be kinda nice, getting to know a singular place with intimacy instead of bouncing from one location to the next.” It wasn’t necessarily a fate that she wanted for herself, not that there was any way to change the past even if she did, but Anita did find the idea of a lifelong community to be exceptionally compelling. “Two, actually,” Anita stated with a sly grin. The clarification was not one she made often, not usually wanting to come off as bragging, but Erin seemed to be intrigued rather than intimidated which made Anita feel like she could perhaps brag a bit without it souring the mood. “One PhD for the bugs, one PhD for their homes.”

“My three favorite words,” Even with just the simplicity of their interactions thus far, Anita felt like she was getting to know the other woman quite well. She wasn’t presumptuous or pretentious. At the request, her fingers wrapped around the cool bottle and refilled both of their glasses. Acutely aware of the closing distance between them, Anita leaned towards Erin as she approached as if getting a glimpse at the playlist on her phone was somehow a necessity. “I mean, he’s an international sensation for a reason. An exceptional place to start if you ask me.”

As Erin kept talking about the music choices, Anita picked up her glass again and shot back the second serving of tequila - this time without the salt and lime ritual. “I would never mock a gorgeous woman playing latin music, of any kind, mami.” As the playlist began, a grin spread across Anita’s face which was followed by a joyous laugh as she heard the sounds of Calle Luna Calle Sol fill the room, “Muy buena!” With the exclamation, she reached over and grabbed Erin’s hand pulling her out towards the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the living room. “Follow my lead, yes?”

“It has its pros and cons. Just like anything.” Erin answered nonchalantly, eyeing Anita and trying to discern whether that was longing or general curiosity in her tone. She couldn’t help but grow more curious about the other woman from the simple statement though. How much of her life was hopping from one place to the next, like she’d implied? There was a level of anonymity that came with moving around like that and it was a point of note that Erin made sure to keep in her back pocket. “The familiarity is nice, I will say that. But the other side of knowing a place that well is that the place knows you just the same.”

A genuine laugh shook her shoulders. She liked Anita already. “You’re very humble. I like that about you already,” she teased, reaching for the refill on her glass and trying not to think too terribly hard about how close Anita was to her now. The tequila would help. Anita’s infectious energy already was. She watched her down the shot without any assistance and knew immediately she couldn’t back down right in front of her. Anita was already ten thousand leagues cooler than she’d ever hope to be. So, with only the smallest hesitation, she knocked the glass back. Thankfully, Anita was already pulling her toward the living room and she hoped she didn’t see the painful wince that followed.

A flushed warmth spread through her as the alcohol trickled from her chest, into her limbs as she readied herself in front of Anita. “Oh, with pleasure,” she smirked, desperately trying to think through the haze of alcohol and excitement swarming her insides. God, she was going to embarrass herself in front of this beautiful woman and there was absolutely no stopping it now. She kept a firmer grip on the soft hand that led her here, lifting it up into the air while her other hand moved to slip around her waist, resting it tentatively. Her brow raised expectantly and she watched for further cues from Anita, unable to tear the grin from her lips. “Like that, right?”

–

“It’s easy to be humble when you’re so beautiful and amazing.” Anita’s tone and body language were as if she was telling a joke, but in reality she did believe what she was saying. She had been on her own in life for long enough to know that when it all came down to it, you had to be your own support system. She couldn’t afford to doubt herself so she simply didn’t. The night started to fall into place as the salsa music warmed the atmosphere around them as the tequila warmed the two of them.

Anita took the lead, like she had so many times before. If she were focused on teaching true, technical salsa moves it would involve much less prolonged physical contact with anything other than their hands. Instead, she opted to teach her the more casual salsa - the one that wouldn’t be seen on the latin ballroom dance floor but the one that would be found at every Mexican party. “Exactly like that,” she encouraged, moving her left arm up into form while she let her right hand rest gently on the small of Erin’s back.

After getting the hold set up, Anita took a moment to appreciate the closeness between the two of them, the soft blush that spread across Erin’s cheeks, the smallest specs of yellow in her beautiful blue eyes, and that adorable grin. She let the music dictate the dance, letting her feet and hips move along with the beat while she kept them in the basic form, “I know it's a cliche… but salsa is all about the spirit. You let the music take you where you need to be, it’s an intuition.” It didn’t take long before it seemed like Erin was starting to catch on, following right behind where Anita was leading.

As the song began to reach a crescendo Anita applied a bit of pressure to her hand on Erin’s waist and gilded her to spin out, then released that hand while she stepped to the side and spun Erin around with a grin. Without missing a beat, she then pulled Erin back in with her other arm and gently dipped her down as the song began to fade out. Their faces were closer now than they had been all night, and Anita’s eyes jumped between Erin’s and her mouth - silently inquiring about closing the remaining distance between them.

Alright, so maybe this wasn’t as painfully awkward on her end as Erin had built it up to be. People always told her she thought too much. Planned too much of her life out into neat lines that didn’t leave much room for anything else. But as Anita held her close, she remembered how good it felt to let those lines blur once in a while. “Cliche isn’t so bad sometimes,” she smirked, noting - with absolutely no complaint - how close they were now. Her first few steps were a bit of a stumble, but Anita was patient and gracious, taking her time as she followed her lead. Eventually the rhythm started to click, and while her steps were imperfect and more clumsy than her elegant teacher’s, she’d stopped thinking and just moved.

“I absolutely had my doubts…” she started, moving effortlessly into the small spin, breaking to let out a laugh as she twirled back into her arms. “But I think you’re magic. I swear. It’s the only explanation,” she grinned bigger now, only needing Anita’s guidance sparingly at this point of the song. She was even a little disappointed when the music began to slow. Only a little bit, and just for a second, because she was close and looking at her like that after a final dip to end their dance. A chill smoothed along her skin, up her spine and despite the heavy warmth in her cheeks, her skin was suddenly cold. Her brain was fully off at this point and all too familiar signals went ignored.

Another song started playing, softer and slower than the previous one. “This was a cliche I was counting on, you know,” she murmured playfully, moving a hand to cup her jawline. Erin pulled Anita’s face to hers, pressing her lips to hers, finally. Softly, slowly at first. Wrapping her hand around Anita’s back, it was incredibly easy to lose herself in the moment–

SLAM!

A door shut in the distance, slamming so hard it felt like it shook the entire house. Erin jumped, dazed, her head moving to the source of the sound then back to Anita. “What was–is your roommate home?” She asked slightly out of breath.

–

Not to discredit her own exceptional teaching skills, but Anita was quite impressed with how quickly Erin had seemed to pick up on the basics of the salsa. She didn’t seem to get upset or discouraged by small missteps like some might, instead she just moved on through them and let the music guide them from one step to the next. It didn’t take long for the movements to flow with little effort as their bodies stayed closed together as they danced across the living room. “Don’t discredit your own magic. It takes two to salsa,” she said with a smirk as she paraphrased the classic idiom.

Anita was pleasantly surprised when Erin was the one to make a move and close the distance between their lips, something Anita had thought she would need to take the lead on. The kiss had been just as tantalizing as the dance and Anita kept one hand pressed firmly against Erin’s back as her other hand moved to her waist.

But then, suddenly and abruptly, their lips parted and as Anita opened her eyes back up it seemed as though Erin had been startled by something. “My roommate?” She looked around the room and it was just as empty as it had been ten seconds ago. “No, they aren’t. And they aren't gonna be home at all tonight, I promise.” She didn’t know if Erin was rattled at the idea of someone walking in to see them kissing or if there was something else going on. She reached out to grab Erin’s hand to try and pull her back in, “We can just go back to the dancing if you’re more comfortable with that.”

Erin wasn’t sure if she should have been relieved by Anita’s response or not. The obvious distraction was there but the noise had startled Erin enough to pull her out of the moment. Leaving her now trying to discern the nagging prickle it’d left in its wake. Her eyes bounced around the room as discreetly and quickly as she could manage, fully braced for the jump scare that always came when a presence decided to make itself known. “You really didn’t hear anything?” She asked, settling her attention back onto Anita. Doors slamming or small objects falling from tables was something she had gotten used to over the years. As used to it as anyone could be, she supposed. But the fact that Anita hadn’t heard it at all alarmed her the most–those things weren’t just for her eyes and ears alone. The house was still now, silent but for the salsa music still playing defiantly in the background. She shook her head, at herself more than anything, slipping back into Anita’s embrace at her prompting. Not everything was a fucking ghost, Erin.

“Oh, no,” Erin started, her smile returning along with the playfulness in her words. Eager to move on and forget it, the nagging only a small buzz compared to a moment before. “I definitely want to do more of that. For sure. Way more.” Her hand squeezed Anita’s assuringly. Erin moved them now, her other hand on Anita’s hip, pulling her forward as Erin walked slowly backwards in one motion.“We could definitely dance as much as you want too. You saw me out there a few seconds ago, right? I’m basically a pro now, thanks to you. I can hardly believe it myself. But I have one very important request.” A dramatic pause lingered in the air as she tugged Anita closer, as close as they had been dancing moments ago. The shiver returned and she ignored that too. Then finally, Erin gestured towards the tequila with a nod and an imploring smirk. “Can we please make some margaritas?”

–

“No, I didn’t hear anything.” Anita had no idea what Erin thought she heard and while she was glad that it seemed they were moving past it, she found herself slightly more on-guard listening more closely at the happenings around them. “Maybe it was that stupid dog, though,” she offered up as an explanation no matter how unlikely. “My roommate has a small, yappy little thing. Always getting up to trouble.” That wasn’t entirely true about Fluffy, but she wanted to offer up a reasonable possible explanation to ease the mood.

As they got back into a more relaxed dialogue, Anita hoped that whatever had distracted her dance partner before wasn’t going to interrupt them again. With their bodies closer together now, that interruption drifted further and further from her mind. “Oh, absolutely! I mean we could go out to any of the dance halls in Mexico City tonight and you’d fit right in with the baddest of them.” Even though she had no idea what request was coming, Anita was fully ready to comply - she already had her sights set on how she was hoping this evening would go and didn’t want anything to keep that from happening. “Anything for you,” she said as she returned the smirk.

Before pulling away, something that was unfortunately necessary in order to make some margaritas, Anita leaned in and kissed Erin again. Her teeth gently caught her lower lip as she pulled away to head towards the kitchen. “Come, I’ll show you how to make the best margarita you’ve ever had.”

A dog. Right. People had dogs. There were more dogs in the world than there were ghosts (probably - Erin would have to ask Lil about that later). That should’ve been one of her first thoughts to begin with. She graciously accepted her own paranoia, alright with feeling a little silly now if it meant she could focus on the woman in front of her. She laughed. “Sounds like you and lassie are the best of friends then, huh?”

“Only fit in? I’d lead the crowd. An instant overnight sensation,” she teased further, but the smile and gentle tone that followed grew sincere. “That really was a lot of fun though. Especially once I stopped stepping on your toes. ” The way Anita carried herself, how eager she was to please and appease her guest, and the charm that left her as easily as breathing. Anita was very good at this and she didn’t doubt that Anita probably utilized those talents with others just as easily. Good. It made this simpler. Made it easier to know they could have their fun and she would leave without further implications once she left.

She almost regretted her request when it was Anita who pulled away from her this time. Though she wasn’t far behind at all, missing her warmth the second it left. It was freezing in here. “Ah, you don’t say. Because it’s made with the best tequila I’ve also ever had, right? Funny how that–”

A figure darkened the doorway Anita slipped through and past without a glance. The first thing she saw was red–dark, thick trails congealing down the man’s neck, bloodying his shirt and arms. Piercing blue eyes shot through her like javelins, rooting her to the spot. They startled her more than anything. Erin felt her stomach drop. She felt… wrong. He felt wrong. She didn’t say a word, leaving Anita to whatever she was doing now in the kitchen.

“Get out.”

The words were harsh. Demanding. Full of barely contained rage packed into two syllables. She flinched and stood dumbfounded. Afraid to move, afraid to call out for Anita. What would she even say? Fuck. Fuck. Well. So much for thinking she could attempt even a night of normalcy. There was no explaining this in a way she could come back from. When Erin didn’t move, the ghost rushed forward in a blur and she jolted back, feeling like she’d been dunked in ice water. “I said LEAVE.” His voice was no longer calm and the painting on the wall next to her flew at her feet, the glass shattering into pieces.

–

“Eh, the little thing’s grown on me. Don’t tell my roommate that though, they’d never let me live it down.” Anita liked how easy the evening had been. She liked how the evening had just been simple and fun, spending time with Erin felt almost comfortable. As comfortable as Anita let herself get with humans, that is. “You’re absolutely right. We’d be the talk of the town in the salsa community - two gorgeous women dancing like we were born to do it? Unstoppable.” She said with a wide smile and a gentle laugh as she stepped into the kitchen.

“I don’t know where the blender is so I’ll make us some on the rocks,” Anita had noticed that Erin cut out mid-sentence but had opted not to think much of it. She just wanted the night, the ease of it all, to keep going. So she began preparing the drinks, squeezing out fresh lime juice that she would later mix in with the tequila, some simple syrup, and triple sec.

Just as she turned around to ask Erin if she wanted salt on the rim, Anita saw her standing in the living room looking like she had just seen a ghost. That was how people described it, didn’t they? A pale face and an expression somewhere between terrified and horrified. She turned away for a moment to wipe her hands off on a towel before planning to go over to her guest when she heard the sound of shattering glass. Quickly making her way over to Erin, Anita looked around the room but didn’t see anything. “Vaya, are you okay?” She wrapped her arm around Erin’s waist and pulled her away from the shattered glass.

Erin didn’t realize her hands were shaking until she moved to pull Anita’s hands from around her waist. “No. No, I’ve got to–” She held onto one of her hands, trying to implore how serious she was. “We’ve got to go.” The spirit had disappeared when the glass shattered at her feet but she wasn’t eager to wait around to see what else it would do if she didn’t heed it’s warning. Her feet edged towards the entrance and she tried to pull Anita along with her. “Listen, I–I know this sounds nuts and you barely know me–and I can’t really explain without sounding even crazier, but–”

How could she explain this, if Anita pressed her further? She pulled away only to reach for her jacket. Even if she couldn’t persuade her, Erin knew she was getting the hell out of here. The house was quiet again, eerily quiet. She didn’t like it. “We have to leave. We just have to. It’s not safe. You can come with me, or you can go somewhere else, which I get, because I’m ruining what was supposed to be a really good night–” Jacket on now, she paused only to catch Anita’s eyes, her own pleading desperately. A long breath left her lips and she took another step back towards Anita. “Please trust me. Please don’t stay here.”

Whatever was going on, Erin’s reactions seemed truly genuine and Anita did not know how to respond to it all, which rarely happened to her. Cause, fuck, maybe Erin had seen a ghost? Not like she had any way of knowing but it wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibilities. It was curious, though, that Erin wanted them both to leave. Maybe if Anita was not so well versed in the supernatural world she may have been more apprehensive, but this was a far more interesting end to the night than she had been hoping for. And, she was offering to let Anita go with her. Playing up the confusion a bit, she nodded along as Erin was pleading with her. “Hey, hey, it’s okay.”

“Not safe?” There was undoubtedly going to be some kind of conversation about all this later, wouldn’t there? It was nice that Erin’s reaction wasn’t just to flee but to also get Anita out of whatever situation she felt wasn’t safe. Maybe it was just best to go along to get ahead of whatever was happening. As Erin went to put on her jacket, Anita downed another shot of tequila and then grabbed her cell phone and keys. “I trust you,” she lied, before grabbing a jacket of her own and heading towards where Erin was near the front door. When she got over to Erin, she reached out and grabbed her hand. “It’s gonna be okay. Let’s just get out of here. Take me wherever you think is gonna be safe.” Maybe there was still hope for the night being really good still.

#wickedswriting #para #para: anita #para: dancing with death #wrspice

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asirenscream · 27 days

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a shrimptastic picnic | wren & felix

TIMING: current

LOCATION: the common.

PARTIES: @asirenscream & @recoveringdreamer

SUMMARY: wren's bad attempt at potato salad leads her to the lions & lambs picnic and felix is kind enough to taste test, until they're interrupted by a man insisting they learn more about the well respected shrimp. a totally normal picnic, right? right!

CONTENT: mentions of the potential of food poisoning.

The Lions and Lambs picnic seemed pretty daunting to Wren. Well, not just because she had to subtly find out that there weren’t actually going to be any lions or lambs, but because of how many people would be there. Standing in the grass of The Common, Wren tried not to sweat too much. Her fingers were gripping the tupperware container she had put her potato salad in. She hadn’t ever made potato salad before, but someone had mentioned how that was a common picnic food. She had taken hours attempting to boil the cubed, unevenly sized potatoes and mixing them into the mayo mustard mixture. The website on The Google she had found said that anyone could put what they wanted in potato salad! The comments were very helpful so Wren threw onions, celery, raisins, and walnuts in it. Hopefully people liked it.

Shifting on her feet, Wren tried to coax up the nerve to approach the crowd of people in The Common there for the picnic. This would be a good way to step over her anxiety and fear of humans—of people in general. Should she have brought forks or spoons? She didn’t own many of them… Or plates. Or bowls. Should she have brought those, too? Oh, she was definitely spiraling now. Brown eyes squeezed shut as Wren tried to take a steady breath and ignore the racing of her heart. Maybe if she pretended people weren’t there for a minute then it’d be okay. It’d be fine. Right? Right!

Wren slowly opened her eyes and tentatively started walking across the grass, the slightest tremor in her form. She accidentally bumped into someone and squeaked, looking up with wide eyes. “Sorry! I’m—wait. I know you, right?” She got out in a rush. She felt like she remembered him from online. “You have the cat? Um, right? I’m not misremembering.” Cats didn’t tend to be birds' biggest fans. Wren hadn’t met a cat before so she wasn’t sure how they’d in turn take to her. “I’m Wren! I think we talked before, hi!”

—

For years, Felix had felt fairly isolated. First, they’d had their father as their well-meaning warden in that house in the woods. Then, there’d been Leo and his less-than-good intentions in the apartment they’d shared for years, where Felix made themself smaller and smaller by the day in order to allow Leo space to be big. Felix had never really had the chance to branch out and meet new people until after their breakup with Leo and, by that point, they’d been so nervous that it seemed a herculean task just to start a conversation. But they were working on that. They were doing better now. They were reaching out to people, they were making friends.

They were going to picnics.

It had seemed like a good idea, in theory. They’d even managed to talk themself out of the tempting idea of dragging Mona or Natalia along for the ride, reminding themself that they needed to be able to meet people without the security blanket of someone they were already close to being there to help. They could do this on their own. Just Felix, the muffins they’d brought, and… a whole lot of people. Like a lot of people. Were there always this many people at things like this?

Someone bumped into them in the crowd, and Felix stiffened a little. “Sorry,” he said, at the same time that they apologized. Then, blinking down, they realized they recognized the girl. “Oh! Hi! You’re, um, the bird girl. I mean, the girl who likes birds. I mean, person. Bird person. Person who likes birds.” All right, Fe, reel it in. “I’m Felix! Um, what did you…” The trailed off, looking down at the tupperware in her hand and what they could see of the… substance inside. “...make?”

—

Bird girl. Well, they weren’t wrong. It caused Wren to let out a high-pitched, nervous laugh. That felt a little too on the nose, even if they didn’t realize it. “Yup! Yeah, bird girl seems… fitting.” Her laugh strained just a tad bit more before she reeled it in. “Big fan of birds! That’s me, yes. Um, anyways!” She rocked onto the balls of her feet as she tried to ignore her own anxious, awkward tendencies. “Hi Felix! I’m happy to see a friendly face.” He really did seem friendly from their brief conversation. It did little to ebb her already overwhelming anxiety, but it was something at least.

Looking down at the container, Wren had to take a moment to remember the name. “Uh, potato salad!” She looked back up and smiled. “The recipe said to just add whatever I wanted! So I did that. I’ve never made potato salad. I didn’t even know what it was! I had to search what picnic foods were, because I don’t think people would like my go to foods.” Raw meat, raw fish may be more accepted, but she didn’t know how well either of those would hold for human consumption.

There was plenty of activity around Wren and Felix. It was overwhelming, so Wren did her best to ignore the push, push, push of it all. “Um, did you bring anything? Or just come for the fun? Would you want some potato salad? I didn’t bring forks! Should I have brought forks? I don’t know how picnics work, I’ve never been to one. What do you think?” She blabbered on. Wren could tell when she was spiraling and it was definitely happening. “Oh god, sorry. When I start I just kind of can’t stop! Ha.” She winced.

—

She seemed nervous, and Felix wondered if they’d said something wrong. They had a habit of that, they knew, of speaking out of turn and generally making a mess of things. They were trying to do better, trying to improve, trying to… be the sort of person that people wanted to talk to, but it was an uphill battle. Spending most of your teen years living off the land in a murder cabin tended to make social interaction a little more difficult. Trying to save the interaction, Felix nodded. “Uh, yeah! Birds are great. I like birds, too.” They didn’t. Not more than the average person, at least. In fact, some birds freaked them out a little. But, hey! They could pretend, in the interest of friendly conversation. “Yeah! Yeah, it’s nice to, uh, know somebody.”

Glancing back down to the container again, Felix tried not to let their… surprise show on their face. That was not potato salad. Felix had seen potato salad. Felix had made potato salad. Felix had even enjoyed potato salad. That was not potato salad. But it was her first time making it, and she’d found a recipe that apparently wasn’t very helpful, and wouldn’t it be unnecessarily mean to point that out? “It looks great!” Felix lied, flashing her a bright smile. “I can’t wait to try it!” They hoped they had remembered to put anti-nausea meds in their jean pockets.

“I brought muffins,” Felix replied quickly, holding up the muffins and offering one to Wren. They liked to think they were some quality muffins, but they might have been a little biased. They glanced back to the ‘potato salad’ Wren was holding with a forced smile. “Oh, yeah. I’d love some potato salad. I think, uh — I think there’s forks where the other food is. So we can go over there and get some forks. And then. Eat this potato salad!” They felt a little like they were tying a noose for their executioner here, but it was fine. “No, hey, it’s okay! I kind of do the same thing. It’s cool. Come on, let’s… go find a fork.”

—

Wren’s smile was shaky at best, but it was getting easier to breathe through the anxiety when she just focused on Felix in front of her instead. They seemed really nice and dealing with one person in comparison to several was always going to be preferable to Wren. Especially when they seemed to be as kind as Felix was. “I don’t do this kind of stuff often,” a pause as Wren tried to figure out how to word it, “go out, I guess. Being around a lot of people kind of freaks me out.” An understatement, but she could lighten it a tiny bit. There was no harm, right?

“Thanks! I tried really hard, so I hope it’s good.” Wren smiled, holding up the container briefly to observe the potato mixture in there that had taken her way too long. Humans were really strange in what they could eat and couldn’t. She didn’t want to make something she’d enjoy, but would make humans sick. That was the quickest way to give away the fact that she was very clearly something else entirely. The constant fear and itch to not be found out was persistent enough.

Baking! That was another thing that Wren was eager to try. “Oh wow, these look amazing! Thank you!” Wren took the muffin excitedly. “Do you bake a lot? Or cook in general? Baking seems really hard, but so fun. Do you have a favorite thing you like to cook or bake?” She practically bounded alongside Felix to go near the other food. Someone was going to eat her food! She was way too excited. “Fork adventure! Hah,” Wren giggled almost nervously and could feel the heat from her embarrassed blush travel all the way up to the tips of her ears.

There was a table full of other dishes and cutlery, plates, anything you could think of. Wren made work of setting down the tupperware container and popping off the lid. It didn’t look awful, at least. Or to her, anyway. It looked like vegetables and sauce? That was normal, for sure. “If you hate it, it’s okay! Don’t worry.” Wren added quickly, resisting the urge to grimace. “Rome wasn’t painted in a day or whatever the saying is. I heard that one on TV.”

—

Given her overall demeanor her words — that this wasn’t a thing she did often — felt unnecessary to really say. It was clear that she was uncomfortable, out of her element. But that was okay. Felix was a little out of theirs, too. So they smiled back at her, they shrugged their shoulders. “I don’t really do this often, either,” they admitted, wondering if they were this obvious. Being around a lot of people was pretty scary, but they’d found it was a lot better when you were around one you trusted. They could be that one for Wren, they thought. Or… try to, anyway.

Even if it meant eating her potato salad. They spared it another look, careful not to let the uncertainty shine through in their expression. They weren’t sure she would have picked up on it, but they didn’t want to take any chances. “I’m sure it’s great. I think, um, the first step to cooking and being good at it is to try your hardest. Right?” Wrong. Very, very wrong. The first step to cooking and being good at it was not making anything like what she had in her hands. Felix’s stomach was not going to be happy with them after this.

But Wren was happy, or seemed to be. That made it feel kind of worth it. She took a muffin, and Felix offered her an encouraging smile. “I love baking. It’s something I do a lot. Um, I do more of it when I’m stressed. I like to think I’m pretty good at it, because of all the practice.” They paused. “Baking, I mean, Not being stressed.” Though they got plenty of practice at that, too. “Yeah! Yeah, let’s go on a fork adventure.”

It didn’t feel like much of an adventure. They walked to the table and grabbed a fork, trying not to sigh as Wren popped open her tupperware. It smelled… interesting. Like a lot of things at once. Felix, unsure where to start, stuck his fork in. “Yeah. That’s — That’s totally how it goes. Um, I think.” They tried to remember that meal at the Raven, the one that looked terrible but tasted fine. They did their best to convince themself that Wren’s potato salad would be the same as they brought the fork to their mouth.

—

Wren swallowed hard around the small lump that formed in her throat. Ever since all but crash landing at Wicked’s Rest she had been endlessly surprised by the kindness people showed her. She hadn’t ever really considered before that this may be the norm for humans and their society. Felix was offering her kindness simply because they wanted to. She couldn’t say it made her any less perpetually terrified of those around her, but at least it was comforting to know that kindness was the go to for a lot of people she had, thankfully, already met.

“Oh, yes! I think so, too. Something about being bad before you can be good at it,” Wren agreed cheerfully. She peeled carefully at the wrapper around the base of the muffin before taking a bite. One of the things that Wren had also come to love was all the various foods humans had to offer. The muffin was sweet and the sugar went right to her head with how ready she felt to bounce all around. “Wow! This is amazing, Felix!” Maybe baking was something people were just good at off the bat. Felix seemed to be at least.

Nodding along, Wren took Felix’s words into consideration. So they weren’t good at it off the bat then. Practice was the key. She’d have to keep that in mind for herself. All wasn’t lost. “I get that, though. I’m always stressed—especially about things I can’t control, which I’ve been told isn’t great for me, but it’s hard not to and all. Do you make cookies or anything? Or cupcakes? Those are baked goods, right?” Okay, reign it in, Wren. That wasn’t a normal thing to ask someone—a fellow human. It took her best efforts sometimes to not look like a fish out of water.

Wren clapped her hands together and smiled expectantly. She hoped that they didn’t feel too pressured right now, but this was a big step for her. Cooking and trying to offer it to people without having an anxiety filled meltdown. She thought she was doing pretty well so far. “So? Thoughts? Concerns? Comments? Questions?” She asked, trying to do her best to not look over eager, but failing.

—

She was right about that, at least; the first step to being really good at something was being really bad at it. Felix’s mother had been particularly fond of that saying, smiling each time one of her children came to her to admit to some mistake. That’s how you learn, she’d tell them. So… maybe Wren’s potato salad was effectively poison. Maybe Felix would regret eating it. But this was how she was going to learn, wasn’t it? Their mother had helped them with that, so maybe it was their duty to pay it forward and help Wren.

They smiled as she took a bite of the muffin, pleased that she seemed to enjoy it. “I’ll give you the recipe, if you want. Um, baking is — It’s about being precise, but knowing when to improvise. My mom used to say it was like jazz music. There’s notes, but some of it is you making it up as you go.”

It was easy to see themself in Wren. In her stress, her anxiety. Felix had a pretty good idea how she was feeling right now, and they wanted to help. If that meant eating bad potato salad, they’d eat it. “Yeah,” they confirmed with a nod. “I make cookies a lot. Cupcakes sometimes, too, but I’d rather just make a normal cake. I don’t know why, but I like normal cakes better than cupcakes. Those are baked goods, yeah.” Man, Wren wasn’t kidding when she said she was new to cooking. Maybe she was a sheltered kid, someone who’d just moved to town for college or something. She was about the right age, and Felix had heard that some college kids didn’t even know how to do laundry when they first got to their dorms.

The potato salad sat on their tongue, and it was… wrong. All of it was wrong. The texture, the taste. It was hard not to make a face as it settled, and when Felix swallowed, it was… a little too hard of a gulp to pass for neutrality. They opened their mouth, now blessedly free of “potato salad” and tried to think of something to say.

Luckily, they were rescued by an approaching person. The man wore a red shirt and red shirts, with a red had sporting claws on either side. He came to stand beside Wren, the smile on his face a little too wide. “Shrimptastic day we’re having!” He greeted, and Felix, eyes wide, nodded.

“Um. Yeah?”

“Have you seen our booth? We’re just over there. We have pamphlets. Would you like a pamphlet?”

—

Jazz music. Wren wasn’t quite sure what that was, but she could figure it out. The website Google had been her best friend since stumbling right into the thick of human culture. “Sure! That would be really nice.” She nodded, “improvise… kind of like how I did in the potato salad!” She supplied, looking proud of herself. The website did say that you could throw whatever you wanted into it and it’d more than likely work.

“A normal cake! Like the big ones with a bunch of layers? I saw that on a TV show.” Wren gasped, trying to refrain from getting more muffin crumbs all over her sweater. She wasn’t entirely successful, but that was fine. “Do you have a favorite flavor or anything? I’ve heard that you can’t go wrong with chocolate. I like chocolate loads.” She informed them. Taking another bite of her muffin had her head bobbing along happily as if there was music she was dancing to.

Mouth full of muffin, Wren didn’t get to hear what Felix thought of her potato salad when someone came up beside her. She did her best not to choke on the baked goods in her startled state. Thankfully with that came not shrieking out loud like the impulse had been. Wren quickly chewed and swallowed, wiping at the crumbs on her face. ‘Shrimptastic day’... what did that mean? Shrimp were delicious, she’d allow that.

“Um, yes?” Wren wasn’t sure if that was the right answer. “What is your booth about? Shrimp?” Someone did say that they had been given a bunch of shrimp they didn’t want. Her brown eyes flickered over to Felix to see if they had any earthly idea what could be going on with this shrimp enthusiastic person. “I didn’t realize so many people here liked shrimp that much.”

—

Felix didn’t want to encourage more potato salads like this one. They really didn’t. But saying, no, nothing like what you did with the potato salad, do the opposite of whatever you did with the potato salad would probably hurt Wren’s feelings, and that wasn’t at all what Felix wanted. So they grit their teeth together in a forced grin and nodded their head. “Yeah! Like that!” Surely not every attempt would be as bad as this one, right?

“Yeah, like that. I like chocolate a lot, but I have to be careful how I make it. I’m lactose intolerant — uh, which means I don’t process cow’s milk well — so I have to, you know, use other ingredients instead. But you can make it work! And if you don’t have allergies to worry about, they make a lot of boxed good cake mixes. Pretty much all you have to do is add the wet ingredients!” Maybe that should be Wren’s first stepping stone if she wanted to be a baker. It was hard to mess up a boxed cake mix, wasn’t it?

It was strange, feeling grateful for a stranger approaching to talk about shrimp. After their experience at the theatre with Mona, Felix had little desire to talk about shrimp at all. But talking about shrimp would give them time to think of something nice to say about Wren’s potato salad, wouldn’t it? It was… was sticky a compliment? No, right? She probably hadn’t been going for sticky.

The man smiled at Wren, something strange behind his eyes. “Isn’t everything about shrimp? If it isn’t, it should be.” His eyes flickered down to the potato salad. “I spotted you from across the way. Your food looks very good. I think we might have similar ideologies.” He reached out, putting a hand on Wren’s arm in a way that was strange; like he wasn’t quite used to having hands. Felix blinked.

“Um, actually —”

The man continued as if they hadn’t spoken. “Of course people like shrimp. Who would deny shrimp? You wouldn’t, would you? Would you deny shrimp the respect they deserve? The fear? The awe? Be honest.”

—

“My friend Van is like that! She offered me medicine once when I cried at her work then got raw meat.” Wren informed Felix. You’re supposed to share stories with friends or people who would become friends, right? She was totally nailing this. Boxed mix sounded a lot easier than trying to bake from scratch. Maybe she’d have to give that a try. She could make something for her friends and hopefully they’d like it! “Oh, that sounds like a nice idea, thank you! I’ll give that a try. I can follow instructions, for the most part. Sometimes I like to do whatever I want since that’s more fun, but I’ll do my best to try to follow it all without too much change.” Jazz, jazz music. Had to follow it to make it work best, but with some changes is what Felix said.

The man had a certain look in his eye that was making the hair on the back of Wren’s neck stand up. She didn’t have a good gut feeling, but when did she ever? This could just be her anxiety talking, knowing her. Poppy always poked at her mercilessly for her fear over the smallest things that she wouldn’t be able to sense real danger if it smacked her in the face. Was this one of those situations? She wasn’t equipped to be able to handle this, she was sure.

“Oh, ha! Um, thanks!” Wren laughed nervously, the brief grimace on her face quickly being hidden by an equally as uncomfortable looking smile. “I didn’t think everything should be about shrimp, to be honest. Isn’t there other things to enjoy like… I don’t know? Nature? Um, stuff that isn’t shrimp? Right, Felix?” She quickly looked at them with a wild look in her eyes. She didn’t want to do this alone.

Shaking the man’s hand off as casually as Wren could manage, she looked at a loss for words. “Aren’t shrimp usually just eaten instead? Is that what your pamphlet is about? A shrimp eating contest sounds like fun!”

—

“Oh, hey, I know Van!” And… they also knew that humans weren’t supposed to eat raw meat. Felix could handle it — the jaguar was built for digesting raw meat, and they did share a body — but it made human sick. Maybe Van didn’t know that, or Wren didn’t, or both; either way, Felix felt it was their responsibility, as an adult in the equation, to say something. “You cooked the meat, though, didn’t you? You really need to cook meat before you eat it. I mean, um, there are some kinds you can eat raw, I think — like sushi and stuff — but for the most part, you’re really supposed to cook it.”

At least she seemed willing to accept boxed cake mix. Felix thought it would be a big step for Wren, the kind of thing that could really push her in the right direction. Boxed cake mix would be so much better than this potato salad, because anything would be better than this potato salad. Not that Felix was going to say that. They were not breaking kids’ spirits. “They usually put the instructions on the box with the cake mix. But, um, you know, you can still add stuff to it! Like… chocolate chips.” And not onions, they wanted to add. Definitely not onions.

They wondered what had drawn this shrimp-loving man their way. Surely he didn’t really want Wren’s potato salad, did he? He kept looking at it, something like hunger in his eyes. Felix moved to grab him a fork when Wren spoke, drawing their attention away. “Um, yeah. Shrimp is cool, but it’s not everything. Haha.”

It was like a flip had been switched. The more Wren spoke about shrimp, the less friendly the man seemed. His hand dropped from her shoulder, his eyes narrowed. “Eaten? You would eat them? Shrimp are to be adored! Worshiped! Eaten, perhaps, but only after a natural death. Only to keep them close, to make them a part of you.” He reached into his pocket, retrieving a pamphlet which he shoved into Wren’s face. “You will educate yourself. You must.”

“Hey,” Felix took an uncertain step forward. “Look, you’re being a little —”

The man turned to them, reaching out and shoving them. It wasn’t a particularly hard shove, but it caught them off guard enough to send them stumbling backwards and make them drop the tray of muffins they were holding. “You cannot possibly understand,” the man mumbled, seeming to grow more and more frantic. “You could never. But you!” He turned back to Wren, gesturing again to the potato salad. “You must! Come with me. Come with us.” As he said it, he reached into his pocket again, this time producing… a shrimp.

—

“Oh, wow! She’s great, huh?” Wren smiled happily. Oh. Right. Humans didn’t eat raw meat. Sometimes she forgot how far away from human she was the longer she was in her human form. Though, then stuff like this would happen and she’d be very much reminded how human she wasn’t. “Um, sure! Yes. I definitely cooked the sausage. Don’t worry. I am very much a food safety expert. I watched two videos on the site YouTube about it. Especially since I didn’t want anyone getting sick from my potato salad!” She looked it up after realizing that human stomachs couldn’t handle what a siren’s stomach could.

Wren really wished that they were still talking about boxed cake mix instead of shrimp. Which, that was something she never thought she’d think. She loved eating shrimp. This whole shrimp loving man seemed to take it to another level than her casual enjoyment. Casual enjoyment of shrimp was also another thing that Wren didn’t think she would ever think to herself before. The longer Wren is in Wicked’s Rest, the more she is convinced it’s an odd place to live. It worked out, though, she was pretty sure she also was considered odd to most people.

Blinking owlishly, Wren merely stared at the man with wide eyes. This… was so bizarre. She flinched back with the pamphlet being shoved in her face. At least this wasn’t as distressing as Regan taking her to see a dead bird. Wren had almost transformed in front of the woman with how upset she was, so she would take the building anxiety over that any day. Especially when it was with some man insisting that she educate herself on the worship of shrimp.

“Hey!” Wren said sharply the moment that he shoved Felix. “That was mean! Don’t touch my friend!” She shook her head rapidly as he seemed to get more frantic and set his sights on her instead. Snatching the shrimp out of the man’s hand, Wren bit off the shrimp leaving only the tail. She chewed thoroughly and shook the tail around, “that’s what I think of your shrimp! Go away! You touch my friend again and I’ll claw a chunk of you and your shrimp! Again!” Wren scowled at the man, shoving his shoulder hard to get him away from the pair. “Get out of here, weirdo!”

—

“Yeah! Van is great. And, um, so is cooking sausage. Before you eat it. Which you should do!” Did watching two YouTube videos make you an expert on something? It was hard to judge without knowing the length of the videos, Felix supposed. They’d seen videos on YouTube that were up to eight hours long, though they’d never ventured to watch any of them. There was every possibility that Wren was an expert on food safety, even if the content of her potato salad made them doubt that she was an expert at food anything.

In any case, she was probably better with food than… this guy. This guy who was so angry at the prospect of them eating shrimp, a popular food item! Felix didn’t mind the shove, really — they’d suffered far, far worse, after all — but it was nice that Wren was so upset about it. They offered her a small, grateful smile. “I’m okay, Wren,” they assured her, glancing down at the muffins. At least they’d managed to let one person eat one before they were ruined. And Wren had said they were good!

They glanced back up, away from the muffins and back to the situation at hand. The situation which saw Wren… eating the man’s pocket shrimp. That couldn’t be healthy, could it? It had been in his pocket! Shrimp needed to be stored at certain temperatures, probably! Felix took an uncertain step forward, faltering when the shrimp man’s wail cut through the air.

“You would dare? What makes you think you’re worthy? What makes you think you’ve earned this?” He pointed a finger in Wren’s face, wagging it around. His own face was red with fury, growing impossibly redder as he was shoved away. He looked from Wren to Felix and back again, eyes narrowing. “We won’t forget this,” he said lowly. “You’ve made our list now. You!” He pointed to Wren. “Are an enemy of the shrimp.”

And with that, he turned on his heel, stomping away and tossing the pamphlet behind him.

Felix knelt, picking it up and flipping through it. “Um, that was… weird,” they admitted, shoving the pamphlet into their pocket. They’d find a garbage can to dump it in later. “It was nice of you to stand up for me, though. I really appreciate that. Are you okay?”

—

Felix insisted they were okay, but Wren felt so angry. How dare this man think he could just shove people around because they don’t like shrimp? All Felix’s hard work was on the grass. It made Wren’s heart hurt and that only increased her anger. She let out a shaky breath and managed a small smile in Felix’s direction. “I’m glad you’re okay, Felix. That wasn’t okay what he did! I’m very sorry for your muffins. That’s so mean of him. Mean people don’t deserve good things!” She turned her sharp glare to the man in question.

“I would dare? No, you dare!” Wren threw back in return. Though it wasn’t the best comeback, but she was too mad to think of anything better. “Get your dumb finger out of my face, weirdo! I hope you stub your toe every morning when you wake up and every night when you go to bed! It hurts really bad and you deserve it!” Wren shrieked back at the man. “That shrimp wasn’t even that good so I’m not that worried about being on your list! List of bad shrimp recipes and storing, I bet!” She huffed. “Watch some long YouTube videos and maybe you’ll be a better person after!”

Enemy of the shrimp. Wren would eat shrimp for breakfast if it meant telling that man what’s what again. She huffed and knelt down to carefully pick up the now ruined muffins. “That was really weird. I don’t think normal people keep shrimp in their pockets.” Her head shook as she held the muffins with a sad sigh. “I’m sorry about your muffins, Felix. They were very yummy and he ruined them.” The younger girl sniffled, feeling the tears start to well in her big, brown eyes. “I’m fine! Sorry, I cry at everything.” Wren hiccuped weakly. “I’m just so sad that he was so mean to you! Maybe we could make muffins some other time? Ones that won’t end up on the grass.”

—

The anger on her face was a familiar thing. Felix didn’t get mad often, didn’t tend to rage against any machine or whatever it was that people did when they were upset with the world at large, but the jaguar did. They felt his anger in their chest sometimes, burning and directionless, upset at a situation he had no control over but was stuck in all the same. Did Wren’s feel similar? Felix wondered, sometimes, how things felt when your body was only yours. Was it preferable? Or was it good to have that ‘out,’ that thing inside of you that you could point the finger at if things went too far?

The shrimp man stormed off, not bothering to respond to Wren’s words. He’d said his piece, it seemed, put them both on some… list that Felix hoped wasn’t a literal thing. (He didn’t know their names, did he? Felix had called Wren by hers, but only her first name! You couldn’t do anything with just a first name. Could you? Anxiety ebbed in their chest.) Felix watched him go, unable to relax even after he’d disappeared into the crowd.

Turning to Wren, they tried to offer a comforting smile. They wanted to be a force of good, a steady thing to lean upon. It was hard; Felix hadn’t felt steady in years now. But Wren was clearly upset, even if she said she was fine. “I can make new muffins,” they assured her. “And, um, yeah. You could help. If you wanted to. Um… I don’t know about you, but I’m not really… feeling the picnic anymore. If you want, we could go back to my apartment, and I could show you how to make muffins? Maybe we can come back tomorrow and bring them. Does that sound okay?”

—

Using her free hand, Wren wiped beneath her eye where a tear had escaped. She felt like a tsunami inside right now. Everything was a swirling mix of chaotic emotions that she was having a hard time tampering down. She couldn’t remember a time she felt so angry and so upset in one breath. That man was just mean and he was mean to her friend. That wasn’t okay. She didn’t want her friends to be upset or hurt because other people didn’t know how to be kind. Part of her contemplated actually going flying for the first time in… well, ages, but immediately decided against it. She wouldn’t be any good flying like this, even if she already wasn’t the best flier there was.

Wren managed a small smile in return. “That would be fun.” She agreed after a moment and a small sniffle. “I don’t think this picnic sounds very fun right now, either. That sounds like a lot more fun.” She sighed shakily, standing to her feet to reluctantly throw away the newly ruined muffins. Wren wiped her hands on her jeans and contemplated whether or not she wanted to take the potato salad with her to Felix’s apartment. Maybe people would enjoy it and she could come back for the tupperware container tomorrow when they brought the new muffins.

“Okay! Okay, muffin mission time. We got this.” Wren did her best to be optimistic after the torrent of emotions that had been swirling throughout her. “I’m thinking we make sure to taste two of them, one each, that way more than just one person gets to have them.” She reasoned, practically skipping beside Felix as they headed away from the picnic. The picnic definitely hadn’t gone like Wren envisioned, but she got something out of it regardless. More time with a new friend and apparently on the list of the shrimp… Whatever that may mean she could only hope for the best and be optimistic for what could come. Not everything had to be scary, right? Right.

#para: a shrimptastic picnic #wickedswriting #para: felix #recoveringdreamer

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kodiacast · 1 month

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Timing: Within the last week or so Location: Whichever cemetery is closest to the harbor probably Feat: @recoveringdreamer & @kodiacast Warnings: None! Summary: Just two confused folks lookin at a lobster

Felix had never really understood the appeal of cemeteries. It had always seemed a little morbid, the idea of standing on top of your buried dead and speaking to them as if they were there. Maybe it was the balam’s ability to see ghosts that made the concept a strange one, or maybe it was more tied to the fact that the dead person they’d loved the most hadn’t been buried in a graveyard. (Cremation had made more sense, their father said; the idea of someone digging up his mother for her pelt had been more than enough to convince Felix to agree.)

So they didn’t spend a lot of time in places like this, tended to avoid them altogether when they could. But… cutting through this particular cemetery was the quickest way home tonight, and Felix was tired enough to put aside their discomfort in favor of the shortcut. They had their hands in their pockets as they trudged past the tombstones, trying not to look at the names carved into the granite. Some were familiar; that was a side effect of growing up in Wicked’s Rest for the fourteen years they’d lived here before their father whisked them away.

A scuffling nearby caught their attention, and their head turned towards it instinctively. They were expecting to see a mourner or another passerby. They were not expecting to see a giant lobster. Maybe that was their first mistake.

Blinking, Felix stopped in their tracks to stare, eyes wide. They heard someone else approaching and quickly put their hands up. “Careful!” They warned, turning towards the stranger. Whoa, was he dressed like a fireman? Was it Halloween? Felix stared at him, too, for a moment before snapping out of it. “Um, careful. There’s a lobster.”

—

On the ranch, the weirdest thing Otis ever saw was a cow born with two heads. Only strange as a quirk of nature, rather than something truly bizarre. Wicked’s Rest however, had a panoply of oddities around every corner. The distinction between the stories in the writer’s head and the sights he’d spy on the streets had never been thinner. Never been so unclear.

He’d always seen things. Ones that shouldn’t have been possible, shouldn’t have existed. But hell, he could turn into a bear. Often would, if lacking in the esoteric eating habit he couldn’t seem to shake. Who was he to judge? Even so, he was hard pressed to find much else supernatural on the ranch. He was just an anomaly. Alone in kind but not in heart. His mother’s both saw to that. They didn’t care whatever he was, so he didn’t really put much stock into it either. Still, every so often, they’d be out in town and pass by someone who neither Brenda or Patti noticed a difference in yet Otis saw them for something distinctly un-human.

Maybe he just had a big imagination. Always had, actually. Maybe this was just a part of it. So why couldn’t he just be seeing things as that expansive mind thought they might be, rather than what they were. Otis never minded. Never brought it up even when talking to someone who looked much more like a bush than a barista, more like a shadow than a sales clerk. Wicked’s Rest was full of these strange visions. Otis assumed it was just because he was somewhere new. Somewhere more populated. Maybe the cold and dealing with northern attitudes had made him seek comfort in the strange. That made sense. He was content to leave it at that until, well, right up until–

“A lobster?” The firefighter’s path home had taken him through the cemetery. It wasn’t a great place to be at night (Otis’ relief had been late again, but the bear didn’t mind much) but it was much faster to get back to the shitty little apartment by going through, then circling the length of the whole field. He expected he might see some oddities. Always a daydream of a goth kid or two, some people pretending to be vampires, or an imagining of a zombie or something. He did not expect someone else to see the very same chitinous creature the bear assumed he’d conjured from his thoughts.

“You– you mean the big guy?”

—

The stranger — the firefighter? Were there firefighters in Wicked’s Rest? There must have been, since there were fires and all, but some part of Felix found it strange, somehow, like firefighters were too normal to exist in a town full of giant lobsters. — didn’t seem entirely put off by the lobster, and there was a moment where the balam wondered if they’d somehow imagined it. Had their mind invented a lobster where there wasn’t one? They had been under a pretty great amount of stress lately. Stressed minds saw things that weren’t there, and that probably included giant lobsters. But… no. That was ridiculous. This was Wicked’s Rest. If you thought you saw a giant lobster, there was probably a giant lobster.

This was confirmed when the probably-a-firefighter spoke again, asking about the big guy. Felix blinked, looking back to the lobster and holding up his hands. Palms out, thumbs together, carefully placing the lobster between his fingers as if to measure it before turning back to the stranger with a satisfied nod. “He’s pretty big, yeah,” they agreed, feeling fairly confident in the response. “I, uh… I don’t know if he’s friendly or not, but a lot of things aren’t, and he’s in the graveyard, and maybe he wants to eat someone, so I’d, um… Make a wide path.”

—

The scene was something out of a sunday comic strip. Two tall figures at the edge of a winding path, both staring out in disbelief and confusion at a sight that shouldn’t have been possible, but somehow they could both perceive. The monstrous lobster was scuttling to and fro. It paid little mind to the living, fancying itself with the fresh lump of earth it appeared to be quite fascinated by. Otis couldn’t help but be taken by musings. Observations.

Descriptions blossomed in his mind, the way he’d describe such a thing if it were to appear in Tales from Beyond. A mass of bright red bone-like structure, entirely too still until it began to twitch this way and that. Not unlike a spider, but much more bulbous, spiky. Its body swayed with a groaning grind of carapace against carapace as it dug at the freshly turned earth. Long spindly limbs akimbo. Too far to properly get a glimpse of its maw, though that particular fact was more of a blessing than any kind of problem.

Otis tore his eyes away for a moment, realizing how wrapped up he’d been, and how it had made him forget his manners. “...’preciate it.” He nodded, offering the stranger what he believed to be a smile, but in reality was no more than a twitch where his lips met his cheek. “...The heads up, I mean.”

—

It wasn’t as if Felix had never seen strange things in Wicked’s Rest. Felix was a strange thing in Wicked’s Rest. But you never really expected to see a giant lobster scuttering through a cemetery, did you? It wasn’t really something you put on your list of possible activities for the day. And yet, there it was. Undeniably present, unless the stranger at Felix’s side was messing with them. (But he probably wouldn’t do that, right? Firefighters were upstanding citizens. They had to be. They fought fires.)

Glancing over as the man spoke, Felix offered him a small smile. “Yeah,” he acknowledged. “Um, of course. I wouldn’t want you to get… Do lobsters pinch people? Is that — Is that something we should be worried about here? I wouldn’t want you to get pinched. He’s got really big claws, right? It’d probably hurt. My, uh, my brother used to say that normal-sized lobsters could pinch your fingers off. I don’t know if that’s true, but if it is, I bet a lobster that big could take off your whole arm. And you probably need your arms, for the firefighter thing. I mean, assuming you’re a firefighter. And not just dressed as one. I know other people dress as firefighters sometimes. I went as one for Halloween when I was a kid. Not that it’s Halloween now! It’s winter. Or spring. And Halloween is in fall. So…”

Trailing off, Felix looked sheepishly back to the lobster. They’d never been much good at this — at the talking. They always wound up saying too much, rambling on and on about things that didn’t make sense. Leo used to cut them off in the middle, remind them that no one really cared what they were saying. In some ways, Felix had come to rely on that. Without it… They’d go on forever, wouldn’t they? Rambling about things no one cared about to strangers while giant lobsters dug at the dirt. Embarrassing.

—

“...yeah.” While Otis wanted to wax poetic about the size of lobsters, and how he’d heard that up north they got big, and yet he wasn’t prepared to see something quite like the creature a few yards away. Instead, he nodded along. Soaking up the stranger’s words. Considering their position. The firefighter blinked a few times, tried to collect his thoughts into a coherent sentence. “Makes sense with the… big claws.” He nodded knowingly, despite how much he didn’t. “Bigger pinchers, bigger… appendages…right? Like it could take an arm maybe.”

A curiosity spread into inspiration, and the bear took out his sketchbook. Pulling it from the side pocket of the duffle bag he had slung around his back. Otis figured it wasn’t often that he’d get another up close encounter with the local wildlife. Certainly not on his way home. “...You dressed up as a firefighter?” Conversation, people liked that sorta thing, right? The other seemed better at it than he was. Not that that was a hard act to follow. “That’s… sweet.”

—

“Right! Right, yeah.” There was some relief in the way the firefighter seemed to understand the rambling stream of consciousness that tumbled from Felix’s mouth. Most people didn’t. The nice ones would just let him talk, while the less polite would snap at him to shut up. No one had ever agreed with them before, though. They weren’t really sure how to feel about it. It was nice, but it kind of felt wrong. There was something almost sad about the thought.

Craning their head a little as the man pulled out his sketchbook, Felix nodded absently. “Uh, one year, yeah. Another year I was Superman. I went as something different every year. I didn’t really dig repeats, you know? My brother went as Peter Pan every year for five years in a row, but I didn’t like that. I wanted to be different. And — And his Peter Pan costume wasn’t even really a Peter Pan costume, anyway. It was Robin Hood, and our mom just made adjustments, so it wasn’t…” Not important. “Um, are you drawing? In the sketchbook. Are you drawing the lobster?”

—

“... Superman? Fan of…comics then?” Otis liked comics. His moms kept a variety in their ‘library’. Everything from old anthologies to whatever came out recently, if they had a chance to run into the closest town with a geeky store anyway. “...Repetitive could get old, I see what ya mean. But if he liked it… s’pose that's well and good for him. Ta each their own pancakes, er somethin’ like that.”

The firefighter didn't look over at the other, might have felt a little bad about it but it seemed they were fairly interested in whatever he was doing anyway, and it required a lot of his attention. The pencil floated over the page, slowly shading in the details that he could see. Multiple angles, gestures and studies.

“Ah, yeah. Y’know. Never seen somethin’ like that before. Are…they common ‘round here?” Otis finally peeled his gaze away, fairly satisfied with the sketches for the moment, back to his manners and his new acquaintance. “I mean, if yer also from ‘round here. Guess there's lots a–” he paused, searching for the word transplants, but failing to find it. “–folks who moved from yonder.” He nodded. Nice. “Me– me too. I'm one of them. Guess you could pick that like a prize pie at a state fair, what with the accent…”

—

“Not really. I just kind of thought his costume was cool. I liked the cape.” And the spandex, though that felt a stranger thing to admit to. “Yeah, he liked it a lot, so that’s his, uh, pancakes, I guess.” They’d never heard it phrased like that before, but the firefighter seemed smart, so Felix figured he knew what he was talking about. If he said pancake metaphors were the way to go, Felix would support him.

It was fascinating, watching the man draw. Felix had never been much of an artist themself — they could manage stick figures, but anything more complex was out of their wheelhouse — so it was interesting to see someone work through a process like this. The firefighter made the pencil look like an extension of his own hand, and Felix didn’t think they could do that with anything. Not a pencil or a paintbrush or a knife or a sculpting tool. They didn’t even know what it was to have full control of their own body, given the jaguar of it all.

Humming, Felix shrugged at the question. “I’ve never seen one before, but I don’t know. That doesn’t mean they’re not common, right?” A lot of things like this had ways of avoiding detection. That was why so many humans lived in Wicked’s Rest without knowing that there was anything odd about the town, wasn’t it? “I grew up here. I mean, kind of. I moved away when I was a kid. But then I came back! So…” They trailed off with a vague gesture. “Yeah, um, it’s a cool accent. Like Bones in Star Trek. Or the cowboy in Night at the Museum. Where are you from?”

—

He could appreciate that. The taller figure nodded along. Thinking it through, remembering the sheet of crimson flowing behind the blue suit. Picturing it and rolling the idea around in his mind. Each thought bubble meandering through a syrup thick stream of consciousness, they met and multiplied, carrying off the bear’s attention through the roster of all things Kal El related. He was a nice boy. That memory stuck out amongst the rest. Otis’ mum had made sure to stress the importance of that to the young bear as he grew up. Superman was strong, but people liked him because Clark Kent was kind.

When the fog lifted, Felix had added more questions to the roster. Ones the man had missed. Lost to the night like the many, many, many limbs lost to the large crustacean by the small pile of corpses it was amassing behind its spiny legs. Otis’ brows lowered, coming to a halt in a straight line over his eyes. His lips responded in kind, curling into his cheeks making him look like an exceptionally confused and confounded chipmunk.

The very last question was the only one to sink past the fortress of frolicking thoughts. Otis shook the concern from his face, chalking down the lobster’s display as just ‘one of those weird WR things’. One he might have to talk to someone about. Probably. Whenever he had a moment. “Uh– yeah, I’m from Georgia. Just a bit outside Savannah, my mamas own a big ranch.”

—

Felix had never really been much of a superhero person. The outfits were cool — they’d always like the idea of wearing a cape — but the concept was a little too much for them. The idea of helping people by hurting them wasn’t one Felix could really get behind, even when the people being hurt were the bad guys. It was something their father had used as an excuse for decades, after all, a thing he’d spouted while Felix was stuck burying bodies. Felix didn’t want to be like that. Having freeze breath or laser vision or whatever superpowers comic books boasted seemed just as stressful as having a jaguar spirit living inside you who’d really like it if you started eating people more often.

The firefighter shot Felix a confused look, and Felix blinked, wondering if they’d said something wrong. They knew they talked a lot, in situations like this one; it was a nervous habit. They liked to fill the silence, liked to make sure there was always something to listen to even if it was only their own voice.

Still, the man didn’t seem annoyed with them, and Felix decided to take that at face value. If someone was mad at you, they thought, it was that person’s job to tell you they were rather than leave you guessing about it, right? They offered him a smile, nodding. “Georgia! I bet Georgia’s cool. There’s a lot of songs about Georgia, right? Um, did you like it? The ranch. Hey, do you know why they call ranch dressing ranch?”

—

“I mean– It’s actually pretty warm. Even in winter.” Otis misunderstood. It wasn’t that he’d never heard the phrase. One of the ranch hands used it pretty liberally, it was just never in the context of a chilly night in Maine where his mind was fairly preoccupied with the large creature going about its business, oblivious to the two chatting away at the edge of the cemetery. “S’pose there is songs, yeah.”

The other question was a lot more to consider. His moms hated the smell of ranch dressing, but Tawny, yet another ranch hand, loved the stuff. Put it on everything. Fries, burgers, peaches. It was a bit much. The sauce had a nasty acerbic stank that wafted out and around. Hurt the bear’s nose, made it itch and twitch and feel like he couldn’t orient himself. Fair to say he avoided the stuff as often as possible. So again, he was quiet for a bit. Stirring the thoughts inside like a big old pot of risotto, until it came together, finally. “Has milk in it.” Otis nodded.

“But- uh– You?” He realized, a moment later, that he’d been rude. When people asked questions, they liked to be asked them in return, right? “Where you from?”

—

“Oh,” Felix let out an uncertain laugh, not sure if the firefighter was joking but not wanting to be impolite either way. Was it worse to not laugh at a person’s joke, or to laugh at something they meant genuinely? Sometimes, it was difficult for Felix to pick up on little things like that. After all, they’d spent most of their life only interacting with their own family. Social interactions weren’t something they were great at. It was difficult to understand tone, sometimes, when the person speaking wasn’t someone you’d known since you were a baby. “Do you, uh… like the songs?” It seemed odd to make small talk in front of a giant lobster, but Felix wasn’t sure what else to do.

Milk? Of all the things Felix might have expected ranch dressing to contain, milk wasn’t one of them. Maybe it should have been, though — why else would it be white? Felix had never cared for the taste and, given their lactose intolerance, that was probably a good thing. Maybe their distaste for ranch had saved them an upset stomach more than once. “Do you eat a lot of it? On a ranch, I mean. Is that why it’s called ranch?” They were half curious, half filling the silence, but they really did hope that the guy might have an answer for them.

“Uh, I’m from here. Wicked’s Rest. I moved away for a while with my family, but I moved back a few years ago on my own. What brought you here? I know it’s kind of got, um, a reputation.”

—

It only ever dawned on Otis that the quip was quop in the presence of a laugh. Half-hearted as it may have been, the great bear was glad to have brought forth any amount of joy. Of course he always sought to add more, but fell short on any additional puns in the present moment. Instead, he nodded along. Thinking briefly on the second question before coming to a response.

“Some of ‘em.” Eloquence. Practically a monologue. Champion of conversation. He almost wished he could blame it on the lobster but, sadly, this was just kind of how the bear acted. Blundering along, all of his thoughts and all of his words so carefully kept and organized behind that thick skull. Never really making it out until he had a chance to put pen to paper or fingers to keys.

“Can't stand it, really.” Ranch dressing. Eugh. Put a bad name to what was a wonderful place in Otis’ mind. The most wonderful, probably. “Maybe… other ranches though.” He affirmed, not wanting to shut down the other’s idea. “We have more of a… peach thing.” A pause. “Orchard. Make all sorts of peach wines and mead. Got goats…. Honey too. For the– use it for the mead.” The words themselves seemed to mozy about with the same languid tempo his accent danced upon. Many pauses and noises that sounded an awful lot like a bear trying to root its way through a pile of rubbish. “Lots of stuff but not– no dressin’ or nothing. Though my mama did try and make a sauce, what with the peaches and the honey. Tasted mighty delicious on some fried chicken, I'll tell you what.” Something about being given space to complain a little was enough to open him up juuuust enough for a few more words to escape. A little more introspection to his introduction. Maybe more than he'd shared with most of the people he interacted with.

In the same respect, the big old lobster seemed to be satisfied with its haul and began to skuttle off, dragging the dirt laden bodies behind it. Heading in the direction Otis had to guess was towards the sea. He watched, half fascinated, half repulsed. “From here? You must be a whole lot more used to the…” A hand shuffled out in front of the tall man. Gesturing vaguely towards the creature. “Not so much of this back–” Half sentences were all he could muster each time before hearing another bone snap, or smelling the putrid essence of death.

“Came here for uhh– inspiration. Writing.” He admitted, though if Otis had been asked, he didn't know if he would answer truthfully to what he was writing. Couldn't risk losing the anonymity of his podcast. So maybe it was a novel. And hey, scary writers loved Maine. Look at Stephen King! Very plausible. “Bit too quiet back home. Strangely enough, it sorta… made it so I couldn’t hear my own thoughts. It's…. Nice to be busy up here. Tryin’ sum’n new.” Otis sighed and tugged at the bottom of his shirt absentmindedly. The fire department was a very different ball game to the ranch. Whole new team too. At first it was…. A bit too much. But it came to be one of the things he relied on now. The routine interlaced with just enough spontaneity to keep his mind flexible. To keep stories coming so he didn't have to… well. Use the strange stone that sat in the back of his closet and whispered in the deepest reaches of his mind.

“What brought you back?”

—

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense.” After all, weren’t there a variety of genres of songs starring Georgia? Country western seemed to be the most popular — for reasons Felix figured were pretty obvious — but there was no hard and fast rule saying a song about the state of Georgia had to be sung with a southern twang. And nobody liked every genre of music, did they? Even Felix, as flexible as they tried to be, had their preferences.

And clearly, the firefighter did, too. Felix wasn’t sure why they laughed at his response to the question of ranch dressing, but the noise slipped out followed by a quiet murmur of, “sorry.” Peaches, they thought, sounded a lot more appealing, anyway. “Oh, I like peach wine. It’s sweet. You know? I like sweet things more than the bitter stuff.” They couldn’t stand most alcohol because of the taste. More often than not, they found themself practically choking it down just to fit in with whoever they might be with at the moment. Leo had been fond of beer; he’d often chastised Felix for not enjoying the taste, tried to ‘sweet talk’ them into drinking more. Peach wine would have been better, they thought. “Does she make it often? I bet it’s great on chicken.” They smiled a little at the way he spoke about his mother, the look in his eyes, even if there was a distant pang in their gut at the thought of their own mother.

They’d almost forgotten about the giant lobster, what with the conversation and all. They only remembered it when it made a noise as it prepared for its departure, scuttling off towards home. Felix felt a strange sense of envy towards it, in a way; it must have been something wonderful, they thought, to be so sure of where you belonged. “Yeah,” they confirmed, wrinkling their nose at the stench. They were glad their abilities awarded them a way not to always have access to the jaguar’s enhanced sense of smell; they had a feeling this was the kind of thing that was bad enough with human senses. “This kind of thing happens sometimes. You learn to roll with the punches.”

They looked back to the firefighter as he spoke again, offering a small smile. “That’s cool. I always thought a writer looked like a fun job to have.” They’d wanted to try it once, had expressed some interest to Leo, who’d laughed and told them that writers were meant to be smart and Felix wasn’t. Like most other inclinations Felix had, this one had died in infancy, strangled before its first breath. Maybe it was better that way, in some sense. Better to never have a thing than to have it and lose it, right? “What kind of books do you write? Have you, um, published any?” It would be cool to read a book written by someone he knew, wouldn’t it?

The question sent Felix’s gaze back to their feet, and they shrugged. “I, um… I was dating someone who lived here. I moved back to move in with him, but…” They trailed off with another shrug, allowing a heavy, uncomfortable silence to settle. After a moment, they cleared their throat and looked back to the disturbed grave. “I, uh… I think I’m gonna fill it back in. I know the lobster made off with the body, but… It’s not really about the body, is it? And someone might come by in the morning. With flowers or something. So I’m gonna…” They took a step towards the grave.

—

Otis paused, eyes lifted up to the sky as if the stars peering out behind the partial cloud cover would act as some sort of cosmic shazam feature, letting him know all the Georgian songs he hadn’t heard of. When they didn’t, and he still didn’t know, he simply nodded again. A purse to his lips that still held deep consideration. “You got a mighty fine head on you, kin. Thinkin’ a things I ain’t ever pondered.”

This too, was something to sit on. They liked sweet things, and despite not even knowing their name, Otis filed that info away. After all, he’d have to find a way to thank the kind stranger for stopping him before becoming… lobster chow. “Sort of a special occasions thing. We had plenty of peaches, bein’ a peach farm n’ all. But Mama always had a mind about her that if we ate ‘em always, we’d grow tired right quick.” Otis didn’t think he’d ever get tired of them, but that was okay. It wasn’t like he couldn’t go out and sneak a stone fruit on the slightest of whims. What was more intriguing though, was the honey. More than once he’d gone and given himself a quick lick when the hives were calm enough. “Could try and get the recipe if ya like, though I ain’t much of a cook. Always… take it out… too early… More hungry than scared a’ raw stuff I guess.”

His gaze drifted again, on the wind, towards the beastie. Almost invisible beyond the treeline. Well enough out of their path that both of them could probably make their way forward, but ah– His new acquaintance had a better idea. A kinder one for sure. Otis followed, continuing the conversation as they moved to start filling in the emptied grave. “Couple of short stories, but not like… widely published.” His shoulders were built for hard labor. Nothing about this was too different from mucking out the horses' stables, or digging in the fields. Except maybe, the lack of shovel. But whatever. “S’pose if you see fit to give me a number or somethin’ I could send ‘em your way. Along with the chicken recipe.”

—

It wasn’t a compliment Felix got often, and they couldn’t help but smile at the words. They liked the firefighter, were glad that the two of them happened to be in the graveyard at the same time, glad that this strange experience had brought them together for a chat. It wasn’t the strangest way Felix had met a new person in this town, but it was one of the nicer ones. No harm done, no danger. Just two people who could find decent company in one another.

The promise of a recipe only made Felix’s smile widen, and they nodded their head. “Oh, I love to cook. Hey, maybe if I crack it I could make it for you! Then you can eat it without having to worry about being the one cooking it. Right?” After all, it was probably more than Felix would be able to eat on their own. They could share with Luci and Milo, too, of course, but… maybe the firefighter walking through the graveyard at night could use more friends to fall back on. Felix knew they could, at least. “And I promise, I won’t make it raw.”

Humming, they nodded again. Widely published or no, short or long, the stranger had finished something. That, to Felix, was a thing to be admired. Pulling out their phone, Felix offered it over for the man to add his number. Once he had, the balam sent him a quick text so he’d have theirs, too. “I’d love to read them sometime. And make the chicken, of course. Whenever you want…” They looked down at the contact that had been added with a smile. “Otis. It was great talking to you!”

#wickedswriting

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recoveringdreamer · 1 month

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TIMING: current LOCATION: wicked's rest community theatre PARTIES: @thunderstroked & @recoveringdreamer SUMMARY: felix and mona see a play! CONTENT: none!

Mona sat beside Felix, hands folded in her lap. The musical was at intermission already– an hour and a half having flown by in the blink of an eye. As others began to get up from their seats, she turned to her friend. “What in the hell are we watching?” She’d won the tickets and had done hardly any research prior to arriving at the theater. Felix had graciously agreed to go with her, and while she felt Inge might’ve gotten a kick out of tonight, she figured that with everything going on, it might be better for the mare to stay settled. “I didn’t realize that one shrimp would explode.”

—

Felix had never been to a musical before. Halfway through the shrimp musical Mona had somehow acquired tickets for, Felix still wasn’t sure they’d ever been to a musical before. The whole thing was… bizarre. Even for Felix. They couldn’t figure out the plot and, quite frankly, they weren’t even sure they knew which of the shrimps was the lead. What was more, the shrimps in question didn’t seem to be people in shrimp costumes; they seemed, as far as Felix could tell, to be actual real life shrimp. Which was weird! “You’re the one who got the tickets,” they said in a hushed tone, glancing nervously around the surprisingly crowded theater. “Are the blue shrimp and the red shrimp a couple?”

—

“Yes, I got the tickets, but I didn’t go seeking them out. They gave them to me as a prize for my mirror sweater.” It’d taken her awhile to finally find the energy to go and use them, but the moment she’d been given them, Mona knew that it would be Felix who’d accompany her. She stared at the stage as the red curtains closed them from watching the stagehands rearrange. “I don’t know, maybe? There is also a purple shrimp, so if they are following color theory…” Mona trailed off as she watched the people around them disperse into the lobby. She wondered how many would come back. “Why did they have to use real life smells? You can smell the brine from here too, can’t you?” She wrinkled her nose in distaste as she shifted in her seat, crossing her legs. “I cannot believe somebody brought their baby. What was that about a sacrifice?”

—

“You’re the one who decided to use them, though!” As if Felix had hesitated at all when Mona asked them to accompany her. This was hardly their idea of fun, but hanging out with Mona was always worlds better than hanging out at home alone, even if it did come with a shrimp play. “You mean… You don’t think…” Felix squinted at the stage, trying to determine whether or not they liked the implication that the purple shrimp was some lovechild of the two main characters. (Or, he thought they were the main characters. It was a little hard to tell. The play’s dialogue was in a language Felix didn’t recognize.) “I don’t know. The smells are… a lot.” Felix was glad they weren’t shifted at all; they could only imagine how bad the smells would have been to the jaguar’s nose. “The sounds are weird, too. Why do their feet squelch so much? How are they so wet when they’ve been on stage in the open air for this long? They shouldn’t still be dripping.” Felix glanced down a few rows to where someone was holding an infant up to see the stage. “Do you think there’s supposed to be… audience participation?” They felt a little concerned for the baby now.

—

“Yes, and?” Mona piqued a brow before turning her attention back to the velvet red curtains, as if willing them to open on command to continue the play. At Felix’s comment, she nodded. “It smells like something washed up on shore, yes.” It smelled like when she’d fallen off the dock, thus creating the second time that Felix had saved her from herself. She looked over at him, shaking her head. “Maybe they are wearing special shoes to create the sound?” She didn’t think that was it, but it never hurt to throw a guess out into the open. “I hope not. I’m not interested in watching a shrimp kill a child. Maybe the other way around. Shrimp are delicious.” Probably not these shrimp, but still. Mona clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she considered what they’d seen on stage so far. “Do you think the shrimp with the beret will come back out? It sounded like they said its name was Liz, but I’m not sure.”

—

“Okay, fair.” If Felix got free tickets to a show, they’d probably use them, too. Even if the show was… shrimp. Felix flipped through the playbill again, as if willing it to contain more information than it previously had. No new words magically appeared on the page; in fact, the only thing on the page at all was a series of photos of shrimp, increasingly close up until the final page, where the shrimp was evidently so close to the camera that red was the only thing you could see. On the back of the playbill, there was an advertisement that was no less confusing than the playbill itself. Felix was beginning to wonder about the validity of this theatre. “You don’t think — I mean, they wouldn’t serve shrimp to the audience after this. Right?” Their stomach rumbled a little in anticipation. A woman in the row ahead of them turned, shooting them a dirty look. Felix ducked his head. “I don’t know. It, uh… was kind of weird to see it in the striped shirt, wasn’t it?” Shrimp wearing hats were strange enough, but shirts? There had to be lines. “Do you think that other one is going to… keep eating eggs? I’m not really sure what the, um, point of that is. I think it was looking right at me when it slurped up the sixth egg. It was kind of weird.”

—

“I really hope not.” Mona’s expression twisted at the thought. She didn’t particularly feel like being fed the shrimp that were on stage. She kept an ear out for any screaming from backstage, but there wasn’t anything wrong that she could tell. “Were they trying to make us think it was a mime? It was talking, or whatever it was doing. Was that talking?” She couldn’t be too sure– it sounded like a series of squeaks and words strewn together. Come to think of it, maybe that was just the way that they sang. She noticed the way Felix ducked into their seat and she turned to look at the woman that was giving them the eye. She raised a brow and shooed her away before turning her attention back to her friend. “Maybe he knew you were hungry. I’m not sure why they’d choose eggs. Eggs aren’t even that good.” Mona frowned as she leaned into her chair. “I really hope that the second half isn’t as long as the first… I don’t know how many more times I can see them impersonating a wet cat.”

—

“I think it was supposed to be talking,” Felix agreed though, in truth, they weren’t sure. They hadn’t understood a single aspect of the play so far. What made even less sense was the audience’s reaction. No one else seemed nearly as confused as Felix and Mona were. In fact, at one point, they’d heard several sniffles throughout the seats around them despite the fact that they couldn’t figure out what was happening on the stage at all, much less the emotions that should have been associated with it. “I am pretty hungry.” Not so hungry that their appetite increased at the sight of a shrimp in a wig slurping eggs on stage, though. Mona was right — eggs really weren’t all that. “Wait, was that what it was supposed to be? A cat? I thought it was a dog. I’m — I think I’m offended.” Shrimp, Felix thought adamantly, shouldn’t pretend to be cats. There was something not right about it. “What about the one in the cowboy hat? How’d they find a cowboy hat that fits the shape of a shrimp’s head? Do you think they had it custom made?”

—

“Was it? Seriously?” Mona wasn’t sure if Felix was right, or if they were grasping at their own straws. Probably the latter. She fiddled with the edge of her arm rest, pulling at the loose velvet-y fabric. “We can get something after this. I’m unsure about shellfish, though.” She may not be eating it for a while, anyway. The smell was abhorrent. “It was most definitely feline in nature.” She wasn’t only saying that because she wasn’t of that family. “Maybe it’s something about reversing the food chain…?” She eyed Felix, twisting fully towards them now. “How many shrimp have you eaten in your lifetime, Felix?” Would they remember? Probably not. Mona considered their question before nodding. “That, as well as the assless chaps… I didn’t realize shrimp had asses. I’ve never thought of it before.” She made a face before pulling on Felix’s sleeve. “Is that–” She pointed up towards the ceiling where it looked like one of the shrimp performers was gearing up for some kind of aerial performance. “Don’t tell me it’s going to go over our heads?” She looked around for something to cover her head with, “I do not want shrimp juice in my hair.”

—

Felix only shrugged. They couldn’t be certain if the sounds coming from the shrimp on stage were intended to be dialogue or not, but that was the only thing that made sense, wasn’t it? Plays had dialogue and this was, allegedly, a play. Maybe Felix and Mona just… weren’t the intended audience. After all, presumably everyone else in the crowd had purchased their tickets while Mona had been given hers without much of a clue as to what the play was about. “Yeah, I think… no shellfish. Or any kind of seafood, really. I might be a vegetarian now.” Was that a thing they were allowed to be? The jaguar was still going to eat meat, no matter how much Felix might try to stop him. Did being a vegetarian count if you shared your body with an apex predator? How did that work? Uncomfortably, Felix squirmed in their seat. “I’m not sure I like that,” they admitted. They tried to think about how many shrimp they’d eaten, but they only knew that the answer was a lot. “You don’t think they brought us here to…” They lowered their voice, “eat us, do you? I don’t want to be eaten by a shrimp, Mona.” They followed her gaze up into the ceiling, blinking before looking back to stage. One of the performers peeked out from behind the curtain, and Felix caught a glimpse of wings retrofitted to their back. “Uh…” They were definitely gearing up for an aerial performance. “Maybe they won’t drip?”

—

“Don’t go that far. Spare ribs are too good to pass up. Though, I guess they are on land.” She didn’t think there were any rib-like creatures in the sea, but she could be wrong. She didn’t want to think about it for that long, mostly because the squelching sounds were making her stomach churn. Mona folded her hands in her lap, thumbs pressed into her knees as she observed their surroundings. “To eat us? How would they eat us? We’d be able to eat them. We have sharp teeth when we need to.” The idea of shifting to defend themselves was feasible, but would Felix be able to keep themself from hurting others? She wasn’t so sure. “Or maybe I should do the eating…” She reached over to pat their shoulder with a sour expression. “Listen, if they do drip, I think I might ask for some kind of compensation. Forget the fact these were given to me.” Mona sighed, watching as the curtains began to peel open. “What do you think they’re going to do first?” It hadn’t occurred to Mona, but most of the people who’d left at intermission hadn’t come back. There were only a handful of people still in their seats. “Felix.. maybe we should have left.”

—

Okay, so they hadn’t considered spare ribs in the equation when pledging themself to vegetarianism. Mona, as always, made a very good point. “We can still eat ribs,” they said, unsure if the ‘we’ in the sentence was themself and Mona or themself and the jaguar. If it was the latter, it was probably unnecessary. Felix knew the jaguar would do what the jaguar wanted to do, despite Felix’s protests. “I don’t know! They’re really big shrimp. They might have really sharp teeth, too.” The last thing Felix wanted was to shift in a theatre full of people, though they’d do it if it meant keeping themself and Mona from being eaten by giant shrimp. “Could you eat that many on your own? That’s a lot of shrimp.” And she’d just said she never wanted to eat shrimp again. “I think… I might already want compensation. That green shrimp has human feet, Mona. Human feet! I don’t want to see that.” They really didn’t want to see any of this. A saner person might have just left the play, but it felt rude. Felix didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings; not even a giant shrimp with human feet. It seemed most of the rest of the audience had other ideas, though. The theatre wasn’t exactly filling back up. “I mean… I’m sure they worked hard on this. The shrimp, I mean. It’s probably not easy to put on a whole play, especially when you’re… you know… a shrimp. We should stick it through to the end, right?”

—

“We can,” Mona echoed, nodding her head in agreement, unaware of Felix’s inner deliberation. “Do shrimp have teeth? If that’s the case, I absolutely want nothing to do with them.” A shiver ran down her spine as her gaze wandered around the venue. She was half-expecting a bucket of krill to fall over their heads, or maybe something worse– what did shrimp eat? Algae? Would algae fall over them? Mona wasn’t keen on being covered in algae. “I could do whatever I wanted, but if they have teeth, then those are all on you.” Mona grimaced at the thought before shaking her head as if to physically dislodge the thoughts from her mind. “Okay, I do not think we’ll need to eat our way out of this. I think we should be okay. Our mind–” Cut off by Felix’s outburst, Mona’s brows shot up before she was leaning forward, hands pressed firmly against the seat in front of her to get a better look at the aforementioned foot having shrimp. “Are these costumes? They don’t seem like costumes. Should I push you into one of them and you can try and rip it off?” No, that wouldn’t work, not with how they were seated and the shrimp were far away from them. Mona flexed her fingers against the seat, digits digging into velvet. “I’m not sure… if they have human feet, then really…” She gave him a look that said do we owe them anything? “But if they are this… shrimp-human hybrid, as shifters, I believe we have a duty to support them.” The grimace stayed intact as she settled back into her seat.

—

“I mean, they must, right? Everything has teeth. Geese have teeth.” Was a shrimp like a goose? Felix supposed they had some similarities, if you really thought about it. They didn’t know what shrimp ate — or what geese ate, for that matter. Were teeth necessary for their mealtimes? They hummed as Mona continued, sounding a little uncertain. “I don’t want to eat them if they have teeth, either. What if they bite back? I don’t know how sharp their teeth are. Maybe we should just, you know, make a break for it. Like with the snowperson.” Though that had seemed an easy situation in comparison to the hypothetical they were dancing with now. Snow was easily defeated — you just had to melt it. A giant shrimp with teeth was a far harder foe to best. Especially the one with human feet. Felix wrinkled their nose as Mona leaned forward for a better look, closing their eyes. They’d seen enough, really. They didn’t want to look any more. “I don’t know. They look wet. Costumes can’t look wet like that, can they?” If they were costumes, they were realistic ones. Not made of fabric or rubber; even from a distance, Felix was sure of that. “I don’t want to rip it off. If they are costumes, people might be naked under them. Right? And they might taste bad. And if they’re not costumes…” Felix didn’t want to touch them. Mona brought up a good point, of course; there was a chance that these were shifters of some kind. And if that was the case… “We should have solidarity.” They sounded mournful at the thought, shaking their head. “We have to stay.”

—

Mona shuddered at the thought, sinking further into her seat. Maybe leaving wasn’t such a bad idea, even if they didn’t necessarily have confirmation that they’d be forced to eat the shrimp. It seemed a little odd that the theater company would treat their cast as expendable, but it wouldn’t be the first time, would it? “I do not think this is like the snow person at all.” These could probably fight back in a way that the snow person couldn’t, and there were no hot tubs to boil the shrimp alive. What if they were already boiled, and that was how they came to be? Did they need to be frozen? Mona watched the curtains carefully, looking for any sign that they might open soon. “Stage makeup is an incredible thing, Felix.” She actually had no clue, but she figured it was. Felix did have a point, Mona didn’t feel like seeing any naked people tonight. She didn’t think shrimp shifters were a thing that existed– the closest that she’d gotten was a krill nymph years ago, but even then…

Her gaze lingered on the curtains, and she noticed a shrimp head pop out from the other end, telling somebody in the orchestra something in its native language. Mona leaned forward to try and listen in, but it was a series of vowels she didn’t understand. The lights began to dim again and Mona looked back to Felix. Then, the shrimp that’d been buckling into the harness above them swung from their perch, shrimpy arms extended as they belted out a song. The curtains opened with ferocity and the shrimps that’d been onstage beforehand were now dressed in suits and tophats, kicking their shrimp legs forward as they linked arms. The theming of the musical seemed to have drastically changed, and Mona was a little grateful– it was better than whatever was happening before… until it wasn’t.

The shrimp began to huddle together, arms raised, objects that Mona could not identify falling from the ceiling overtop of them. Screams filled the room and the smell of cooked shrimp reached Mona’s nose. “What– Felix, what is–” hot water poured down onto the shrimp as they ceremoniously chanted.

—

“No, I guess it’s pretty different.” The shrimp, at least, seemed less… angry than the snowperson had been. They weren’t actively trying to kill anyone, nor were they chasing anyone across the stage. They were just… putting on a play. And it wasn’t a particularly good play, in Felix’s opinion, but it wasn’t dangerous, either. “I don’t know. I mean, I saw a production of Cats once, and the makeup was kind of bad. The whiskers looked really fake. It was almost offensive. This would be — I mean, this is pretty intense for stage makeup.” Wasn’t this a community theater? Felix wondered absently what the play’s budget was. The set decoration was pretty extensive, and it all looked a lot more expensive than what one might expect from a community theater production. Maybe Mona was right — maybe there was just some really impressive stage makeup going on here.

The lights began to dim and Felix, never one to be disruptive, straightened in their seat, jaw tightening as they snapped their mouth shut. They hadn’t been enjoying the play, but that didn’t mean they’d talk during the performance. It was clear that the actors — the shrimp — the shractors? had put a lot of work into this, and that ought to be appreciated. Even if it was… very odd. Felix blinked as the line of dancing shrimp came out on stage, all kicking along to whatever the one in the harness flying above them was meant to be singing. The beat was nice, even if Felix couldn’t understand the words. They found themself nodding along absently.

But then… the mood shifted. Something fell from the ceiling, the audience screamed, the theatre smelled — delicious. Something smacked Felix on the head, and they blinked as they picked it out of their hair. It was a piece of cooked shrimp, but it was… moving. There was a strange sound coming from it. Felix brought it to his ear hesitantly, shifting just enough to make out the sound and regretting it shortly after. The shrimp was singing. Singing along to the music still coming from the stage. Felix tossed it, making a face and grabbing Mona by the arm. “I think we need to get out of here now. I think — Mona, this is some weird shrimp thing that I’m not comfortable with anymore.”

—

Mona leaned forward, picking up a piece of shrimp from the floor. Just like Felix’s piece, it was singing. She stared down at it, then looked back over to her friend. The distraught expression that peeled over their features told Mona it was time to go, even if he was also verbalizing it. She nodded and grabbed his arm, pulling him up with her. There were a few other people who had the same idea– namely the woman who had been staring at Felix earlier.

As she directed him towards the back doors that’d open up to the lobby, a large– shrimp man–? Stepped forward, a bat in his hand. He slapped it against his hand menacingly, making some kind of sound. Mona took it as an authoritative one, mostly due to the expression on his face. She looked back over at Felix before turning back to face the man– shrimp, thing.

“My friend is allergic to shellfish, they are having an allergic reaction. Aren’t you?” She turned back to face Felix, nodding at him to start a coughing fit, or to maybe start wheezing. Hopefully he wouldn’t feel bad about lying here, especially since he’d been the one to want to go.

The shrimp bouncer stared at them, bat slapping in his hand– squelching, more like, Mona realized. She winced, tugging Felix to the side so that they could maybe climb over the one row of seats preventing them from leaving the theater.

—

There was a rushing relief when Mona seemed to agree that they ought to leave the theatre, and Felix wasted no time in allowing her to drag them along. They practically tripped over their own two feet in their haste to get to the top of the stairs, trying to avoid being trampled by the rest of the crowd who had, evidently, also decided it was time to go. Freedom was in sight in the form of the door at the top of the stairs, and Felix rushed towards it along with Mona, faltering when it opened to reveal a security guard. A shrimp security guard. A shrimpurity guard?

Whatever the correct term for the creature was didn’t seem to matter much. It was there, it was big, it was holding a — was that a giant stick of butter molded into the shape of a baton? Felix let out a small sound of distress, tugging at Mona’s arm desperately. It seemed she had a plan, and it seemed that plan involved… Felix feigning a shellfish allergy.

Okay. They could do this.

Bringing a hand up to their mouth, they forced out a fake cough which, in their stress, didn’t sound particularly realistic. The shrimpurity guard’s expression didn’t change; Felix wasn’t sure it was capable of changing its expression. But it did stare at him, slowly outstretching its hand until the butter baton was inches from Felix’s nose. There was something expectant in the way it stared, and Felix didn’t know what do do beyond stare back.

There was a beat. Felix looked to Mona, and then to the butter. Slowly, they stepped to the side. “I, um… I’m also lactose intolerant,” they said.

The shrimpurity guard swung the butter baton at their head.

—

The butter baton was extended towards them and Mona tilted her head away, stomach grumbling as both the smells of now cooked shrimp and butter filled the air. Maybe they hadn’t planned on paying those who performed in the play– maybe they counted on the audience to eat them that way they wouldn’t have to dish out expenses? Whatever it was, it was messed up, and Mona could not wait to get the hell out of here.

Felix was a terrible actor and that didn’t surprise Mona, but the words that came out of their mouth and the action that followed had her dragging him to the side, the butter baton smacking her across the shoulder. The shirt she was wearing (in her opinion) was already ruined, so it didn’t matter that now there was a smear of butter across it.

“That hurt! What the hell is wrong with you!” It didn’t actually hurt, not in the way one would expect being hit with a baton would feel like, but the words left her anyway. She lifted her hand, an orb of blue fire shooting from it towards the baton, immediately beginning to melt the butter stick in his hand. The expression on the shrimp guard’s face went unchanged, but it was obvious he was displeased by the development.

“Felix, get OUT!” She shoved her friend towards the seats to their right, urging them to climb over them. The guard was trying to pick up the melted butter baton off of the ground now as it slipped from his hands, only his shrim-like-human fingers slid through the butter. The singing ensued, even as Mona managed to spill into the lobby after Felix.

She could still hear the screaming from the shrimp musical even after the doors were closed, but there was nobody else in the lobby with them. At least, until she heard the quiet squeaking of a voice at the till. She turned around, gaze narrowing in on the small shrimp that held up a knife. The knife was bigger than it was, but– really, Mona wasn’t sure what she was seeing anymore. “Let’s go,” she groaned, leading the way to the door, pushing it open.

The rush of fresh air was welcomed, and she turned to face Felix. “I’m never taking you to a musical again.”

—

Felix let out a loud yelp as the butter baton came towards them, half surprise and half anticipatory. But there was no butter smacking across their shirt; instead, Mona took the blow for them. She said it hurt, and Felix stared at her with wide eyes. The baton was half-melted and didn’t seem like much of a threat, but had they miscalculated? Were they going to suffer a very literal death by butter here?

Not if Mona had anything to say about it, it seemed. She held up a hand, melting the baton with her foxfire and earning them what, in Felix’s opinion, was meant to be a stern look from the shrimpurity guard. Mona shoved Felix towards the seats and, without really knowing why, Felix shouted a quick, “I’m sorry!” at the guard before following her direction, climbing over the backs of the seats to get around the guard.

The pair scrambled out towards the door, the guard no longer showing any interest in them. It was still trying to revive its butter baton, pressing buttery fingers together with an air of what Felix could only describe as intense concentration on its strange, expressionless face. The face didn’t change, but the vibes did. The posture, the stance. The guard was clearly distraught about the butter baton, and Felix, in spite of everything, felt a little bad.

Just… not quite bad enough to stop.

Out in the lobby, Felix glanced around. None of the crowd that had been following them had made it out yet, and Felix wondered if they ought to be concerned about that. Were those people going to be okay? There was little time to worry about it in earnest, given the whole… shrimp knife situation. Felix let out another squeak, allowing Mona to shove them through the door and out into the streets.

Outside, it didn’t smell like melted butter or shrimp. It smelled the way Wicked’s Rest usually smelled — ever so faintly off. Usually, Felix wasn’t a fan, but right now? It was the best thing they’d ever smelled in their life. They turned towards Mona, blinking owlishly. “Yeah,” they agreed, “I don’t think I’m a musical person. Even Cats was better than that.” They paused, taking a few steps away from the theatre door and tugging Mona along with them, but whatever shrimp monsters had wanted to keep them within the walls of the theatre seemed to have no interest in pursuing them outside of it. There was a beat of quiet, the calmness outside the building providing a stark contrast to the chaos within.

When they’d finally caught their breath, Felix sighed. They paused a moment, chewing their lip. Then, in a tone that was almost apologetic… “Do you want to get some lunch?”

—

Mona cast a glance over her shoulder back into the venue, squinting past the tempered glass to see if anybody was following them outside. Instead, a giant CLOSED sign slapped itself against the window. That wasn’t great! But what did it matter? Both she and Felix were outside now, free to exist from the confines of shrimp… hell?

“I think your jaguar would be upset if you complimented Cats like that.” She shot him a glance, expression seemingly playful considering what they’d just witnessed. Mona followed after Felix easily, glad to put the theater behind them. She didn’t think she’d ever go to another musical again, especially not here. To say she was scarred was an understatement.

As they walked, Mona’s stomach grumbled, but before she could approach the subject of maybe getting something to eat, Felix was beating her to it. She considered his question, wondering if they shouldn’t feel hungry after what they had just witnessed, but that didn’t make sense– it was normal, what with the smells that had filled the air.

“I could go for some fish and chips. If there are any seagulls, we roast them, too.” She motioned forward, allowing Felix to lead the way.

#thunderstroked #mona: shrimp!#wickedswriting

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realmackross · 6 days

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PARTIES: @debauchfairy, @realmackross TIMING: A Saturday morning in early April SUMMARY: Mack meets Kiernan for their first brunch were they share mimosas and all the hot goss. WARNINGS: None!

Kieran didn’t have many friends. It had made sense when him and his mom had been, y’know, basically hiding from the whole world and moving every couple of months but even after somewhat settling here in this strange town, he wasn’t even really sure he knew how. Sure, people liked him - of course they did - but those were all fleeting connections and perhaps a few too many of them tainted with imposed spontaneity and bad decisions. Not that he needed friends, especially not human ones. It seemed like a hassle when it came to upkeep and fuck forbid he’d mingle with fae again.

Enter Mackenzie Ross. Undead, apparently, but a talented and stylish actress. She had taste so it had been no surprise when she walked into Covet Couture but the fact that she’d been immune to Kieran’s magic had been a fun discovery. Not that he cared, seeing as he was decked out with hooves and antlers. She was interesting, and gossipy, and after way too many weeks just talking about it they’d finally set up a lunch.

“Stunning, as always,” he greeted as she arrived, picking apart her wardrobe with a satisfied smile. So far they’d only talked when she dropped by the store and a few times online so Kieran was happy they were finally doing this. Closed off from people all those years, he’d at least had access to the internet which had included Mack’s work along with every tabloid article of her glamorous life, something he’d deeply longed for back then. “I already ordered mimosas.” Could she even get drunk? If only he could reveal that he knew her secret without coming clean about his own.

—

It was nice to have a friend Mack could sit down and gossip with. Though she wasn’t much of a gossip, until she had a few glasses of wine or champagne, the real treat was finally getting to spend some genuine friend time with Kieran. She had met him at his little boutique in town, and they had hit it off immediately. He had reminded her of home; a place Mackenzie was still trying to figure out how to let go of. And until she could fully trust herself to have this zombie stuff under control, a place she would sparsely visit. Plus, all the talk and tabloids about Brody didn’t help matters, and while they were dying down, she knew if she had shown her face in LA, all the talk would fire right back up again. She had, after all, murdered her fiance by accident, and there was never going to be any solace from that. At least not that she could ever see or feel she truly deserved.

As she stepped foot into the small cafe, Mack let her eyes scan over the patrons finally laying sight on Kieran – The best dressed boy in the entire establishment, “Uh, I could totes say the same for you! Is this new?” She looked over his outfit and was impressed. “Everytime I see you, I swear you just get classier and classier.” She smiled warmly as she took a seat across from him at the small table. “You’re a legend.” Though Mack wouldn’t really be able to taste it, she was an actress and could pretend to enjoy it with the best of them; especially if he had thought to take the time to order for them.

—

Kieran gave something of a humble shrug, not quite matching the pleased expression on his face as he picked off an imaginary piece of lint from the sleeve of his jacket. “Hmm, maybe,” he answered slyly, smile only widening as Mack continued with the compliments. “How am I supposed to keep my ego in check if you keep flattering me, Ross?” Kieran asked, fully unserious. As if even a miniscule part of him actually wanted to keep said ego in check, where the hell was the fun in that?

Leaning back with a content sigh as the mimosas arrived, right on time, Kieran trailed the departing waiter with his eyes before turning back to Mackenzie. “What do you think? Worth a shot? I’m pretty sure he was looking you over but it seemed very PG so maybe just a fan. Although the sneakers are giving me a bit too much ‘frat boy’.” Turning slightly in his chair for a second glance, Kieran then cocked his head at Mack. “Straight, poor or just bad fashion sense, thoughts?”

—

Mack watched Kieran shrug, shaking her head in return, “I’m going to keep complimenting my friend who knows style okay? It’s few and far between in this town. Most of these people prefer the just rolled out of bed look, which is okay, I guess, but it wouldn’t hurt to see more people take pride in themselves.” Of course, she couldn’t always talk. There had been plenty of times Mack had been seen around town in an oversized hoodie, a ball cap, and yoga pants. But even then, she somehow still looked more put together than some of the people in the town. “Besides, that cut looks good on you. Take the compliment, Kieran.” She laughed.

Seeing the waiter walk over with the mimosas, Mack couldn’t help, but look up at him and smile, but as soon as he was gone, she could hear Kieran’s comments, “Well first off, he is cute. Not my type, but definitely adorable. Second, I have a girlfriend, so you don’t have to worry about me trying to steal him away…” There was only one man who would ever fully have her heart now, and he was dead. “Plus, with that outfit and those shoes…Thinking Frat boy with just bad fashion sense. Though the apron kind of makes him cuter in a Tyler from Wednesday sort of way.” Mackenzie didn’t doubt there were hydes living in Wicked’s Rest. She just hadn’t seen one yet, unless…She looked the waiter over again as he served people, “I say we question him when he comes back to take our order. I don’t want to just go off of looks, because I’m already thinking you two would be supes cute together.”

—

Nodding along solemnly as Mack, justifiably, took shots at the general lack of upkeep in this town, Kieran found himself surveying the surrounding tables to confirm her facts. Sure, some of them had potential, an eye for color combination and a general aversion to graphic tees (he shuddered mildly at the thought) but it was just so obvious which table took the prize for best dressed and best looking. “Well, if you insist,” he sighed dramatically, flashing his teeth. Just one of the reasons he was fond of keeping Mackenzie around, endless supply of compliments that were actually based on knowledge and not just empty flattery. Not that Kieran wouldn’t also accept empty flattery.

Mack spared no detail in sharing her thoughts and Kieran mulled over each one, having to suppress a slight eye roll as she mentioned her relationship - seriously, so much wasted potential. “That reference means nothing to me but he is weirdly making that apron work, that we can agree on.” Whether or not Kieran was actually interested in more than simply discussing this stranger’s pros and cons with Mack remained to be seen. “Alright, don’t go writing a wedding speech yet, sweetheart. If I were to date anyone and that’s a big if, I don’t think café waiter would be the way to go.” Or a human for that matter.

“Some subtle questioning does sound fun, though.” Kieran picked up the menu, glancing over it as he sipped at the mimosa, enjoying the bubbling of the champagne on his tongue. “You ordering?” he asked casually, itching to know what exactly Mack would prefer to be eating that wasn’t exactly available on a brunch menu.

—

“I do insist. So there.” Mack playfully stuck her tongue out at Kieran. This had been a friendship she hadn’t expected to form with such ease. But the day she entered his shop, and they first spoke, it was like the Fashion Gods had spoken up and told the universe that this was meant to happen, and after a few more interactions online and at the boutique, here they were discussing whether the waiter would be a good match, “Are you kidding me? You haven’t seen Wednesday? Okay, we need to change that, like, asap! You’re coming over for a Wednesday marathon, and then you’ll see what I mean. But until then.” Mackenzie pulled out her phone and pulled up a picture of Tyler from the show, “See? Now if he had the curls, we’d be in business.” She put her phone away, “But that whole messy thing is actually working.”

Mack took a sip of her mimosa tasting nothing as she listened to Kieran continue on, “Oh come on. I could totally see you running your boutique, and coming over here for lunch where your littles are running around in their miniature aprons following Daddy around excited to see fashion Daddy walk through the door.” A grin spread across her face as she looked down at the menu sitting in front of her, “And of course I’m ordering. This is a brunch date right?” She glared at him playfully, before scanning the menu, perking up at the spicy options available.

—

Kieran rolled his eyes fondly as she scolded him - he couldn’t exactly spend his nights on Netflix binges when there was so much else to do and see. Not to mention that he’d already spent too much of his life doing exactly that, substituting actual interactions since they’d been off limits and too dangerous. But he couldn’t exactly say no to Mack considering the fervor in which she pitched this idea. As long as she’d allow him to bring drinks. “Fine. If you find a way to make it into a drinking game, I’m in. No way am I watching teenagers fall in love or whatever while sober.” Kieran peered at the phone, giving a soft hum of agreement. It was a pretty accurate reference.

As Mack went into vivid detail of the little fantasy, Kieran’s face showed an impressive mix of amusement and distaste, eyebrows raising at the mention of children. “Oh, you clearly need to get to know me better if you think I could be trusted to raise children,” he argued, needing a good drink of the mimosa to wash down the mere thought of that. No fucking thank you. Waving off her glare, he turned in his chair to catch the waiter’s eye, holding up the menu to indicate that they were ready. “How am I to know if you’re on some insane actress diet or not?” Blood or flesh would definitely score as an insane diet, though maybe just on par with feeding on literal emotions.

“Hi,” Kieran greeted smoothly as the waiter shuffled up, shooting him a disarming smile and gauging the reaction. Placing his order, he waited patiently for Mackenzie to do the same, catching a glimpse at the waiter’s name tag. “Say, Benjamin, settle a debate for us, would you? In the new Baywatch movie, who is objectively hotter, Efron or Alexandra Daddario?”

—

Mack was ecstatic when Kieran agreed to join her for a Wednesday binge. It was one of her favorite shows, despite the main character looking oddly like Nora. She shuddered at the thought, but the actress was so good at her role, that Mack was easily able to look past the eerie similarities, “Yes! And if that’s the only way you’ll watch with me, then fine. But you’re supplying the alcohol, and it has to include Fireball. I’m not made of money here.” Actually she was, but that's besides the point.

“Oh come on, Fashion Daddy. Which is totally your new name now by the way. I hope you like it, cause that’s all I’m referring to you from now on! You’d totally make a great dad! Plus, those kids would have so much fashion in their blood they’d bleed glitter and rhinestones.” She took another sip of her mimosa, barely getting a hint of bubbles on her deadened tongue. “Because I am currently not an actress. Does Wicked’s Rest look like it lends itself to the entertainment industry. Goo Girl is a thing of the past. Thank God.”

Mackenzie watched as the waiter came back over, ready to grill him about his fashion sense to see if he and her friend would be a perfect match. Giving one last glimpse to the menu, Mack ordered the spiciest thing available adding some guacamole for good measure living up to that Hollywood stereotype.

As the waiter took down her order, he listened to the question at hand, while Mack easily shot Kieran a look of amusement. Once he was finished, he looked back up, “Uh, I’m gonna have to go with…” He chewed on his bottom lip for a minute, before looking back between the pair, “Gonna have to go with my man, Efron. Have you seen his quads, but more so his biceps? Gym goals. Like Alexandra is hot, and I’d totally go out with that, but dude. To spend an afternoon getting all the tips and tricks from Efron, would be golden, especially with this huge weightlifting comp, I’m trying to get into. I may not look like it yet, but these washboard abs are coming along. I’ll go get this order placed for you guys. Solid question though. Hope that helped.” He slapped Kieran on the back firmly, before walking off.

Mackenzie stifled a laugh looking between Kieran and the waiter. She definitely hadn’t seen that one coming, “Well, Fashion Daddy. Maybe you won’t have to worry about Cafe Daddy, since you know, he’s totally into weightlifting and hot chicks.” Her voice mimicked his.

—

“Fireball?” Kieran questioned with a grimace, followed by a soft shake of his head. “I’ll bring it but I’m not touching that shit. Also, remind me, how much was that bracelet of yours?” He nodded towards her wrist with a knowing expression, as if he wasn’t properly decked out with expensive accessories himself. In his defense, many of them had been gracious gifts, given with various amounts of conscious willingness. “Woah, I don’t look anywhere old enough to deserve that nickname, alright? Respect the age restrictions of the Daddy title,” he argued with a laugh, fully deflecting from the conversation of children now.

Clicking his tongue, Kieran cocked his head. “Aw, come on. You’ll always be an actress at heart. Can’t run away from your true self.” Wasn’t that just the truth.

The question had been a silly one, testing the waters and mostly gauging whether or not their waiter would be appalled at the idea of picking a man as the hotter choice, objectively or not. Kieran had not expected the way his soul begged to leave his body as Benjamin expanded oh so eloquently on his answer. Stifling a groan as the man slapped his back, Kieran let his eyes close in pure disappointment, mostly because he’d had to listen to that. “Wow,” he breathed, straightening in his seat.

Downing the rest of his mimosa as Mackenzie’s dream of a happy little family shattered, Kieran shuddered dramatically at her eerie impression. “Yeah, that’s a solid pass. Maybe I’ll check in after a few months though, see how those washboard abs are coming along. He might do if he just… doesn’t do a lot of talking.”

—

Mackenzie knew Fireball was gross. Every time she mentioned it, she often got the same reaction, but until someone made something much hotter to satiate her dead taste buds, the zombie was stuck drinking it, if she wanted a slight buzz. That was just the cards she had been dealt. The bracelet and the actress at heart comment were something of a different tale, and she quickly looked away as if she hadn’t heard him.

Unfortunately, Kieran’s cards were looking a little different at the moment. He would forever be Fashion Daddy. That much was settled. But it no longer was the waiter who Mack saw as someone being a viable option for her sassy and extremely fashionable friend. It was still hilarious though, especially the shoulder slap, “Oh come on. You don’t want to hear him talk all day about how good his body looks and what happened at the gym with his bros? I’m sure he’s got some extra spicy tales. And then, just think, you could give him a nice shoulder massage and feel those firm deltoids.” Mackenzie hated herself for knowing as much as she did about what gym rats focused on. “But I do have one question…based on how hard that back slap was…is he actually as strong as he lets on? Cause looked on the scrawny side to me.” She finished the mimosa.

—

The complete lack of response didn’t go unnoticed - talented actress or not, there was no faking that she hadn’t heard him. Nevertheless, Kieran wasn’t here to dig into topics that were clearly off limits, that sounded grueling and emotional. And she’d dropped the whole ‘literal dad’ discussion without a second thought so they seemed to be on the same, unspoken wave length. Fuck those topics, onto bigger and better things.

Not Benjamin, though. “Yeah, no. There’s only room for one conceited individual in the bedroom and that position is already filled.” Kieran gestured to himself with a flourish before giving a sigh, glancing once more over his shoulder to the man whose looks were wasted on an absolutely tragic personality. “I do love some nice shoulders, though,” he added wistfully, only partially joking. He did not appreciate anything enough to go to the lengths of a shoulder massage - seriously, if anyone was getting spoiled, it was obvious who should be the first choice.

Laughing at her question, Kieran made a show of thinking it over. “He’s definitely leaning more towards Efron in Hairspray,” he concluded. “But it was still an unnecessarily straight slap.” Holding up his empty glass to catch the attention of any waiter that wasn’t Brojamin, Kieran shamelessly ordered another round for the pair of them, ready to settle down for a continued discussion about things with no real emotional relevance whatsover. And wasn’t that really the perfect thing to go along with a nice brunch?

#para: you know you love me #para: kieran #wickedswriting

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eldritchaccident · 1 month

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Timing: Current Location: Darkling Lake Feat: @closingwaters & @eldritchaccident Warnings: Nothing in Particular from the list, but there is descriptions of a panic attack Summary: Lets go for a swim!

New England weather never ceased to amuse Theodore Jones. They didn’t know if they’d ever quite get used to it, but that was half the fun. On Tuesday it’d be snowing. Blustery bitter cold, enough to make a witch’s tit shivver. By Thursday it’d practically be tropical. All warm, sunny, and wonderful. The ex-demon was incredible grateful for the latter, and how the fates had seen fit to alleviate the gloom of early spring with the golden glow peeking through the bare branches above.

They were walking in the woods. Not something they did too often, but a task that was about as enjoyable as anything else. Teds liked nature. Maybe not as much as the nix they sought, but who besides the lovely fae and maybe a few really crunchy hippies could love it that much? Not many, Teddy thought. Still, seeing the woods like this was a welcome change to the fairly constant self imposed house arrest they’d been under. Too much shit going on, the least of which was the goo that had separated them from…

Teagan.

Such a sweet and lovely lass, ripped out of their life mere moments after being added to it. Teddy was tearing themself apart with guilt even after the nix was freed. Arden said she wasn’t dead, and they hardly believed it. She said the nix hadn’t suffered too much, that it was like a blink, and she was back. Tired, but back. Void below Teddy hoped that was the truth. Just about nothing in this world sounded more horrific than being in a stasis, unable to move, to speak, but still conscious of your surroundings the whole time.

In an attempt to chase away the wibbles and wobbles of anxiety and guilt, the ex-demon had brought snacks. A tin full of cookies and treats, a thermos full of hot cocoa. Extra marshmallows. Extra love. All homemade. Maybe it’d make up for the fact that they hadn’t been able to save her. Not when it happened, and not during the month she was trapped.

“Vala! Wait!” The kelpie brayed excitedly, continuing the fast swimming pace that the weak nix could not keep up with. It was a kind of training that Teagan hoped would help, but it seemed only set on frustrating her and damaging her already poor self-esteem. “Argh!” She halted frustratingly in her path, watching Vala continue without looking back, which was just as well. She was having fun, and that was what mattered to Teagan. It brought a smile to her face, albeit a weak one, but it was a smile all the same.

With a disheartened sigh, she made her way to the surface and took a peek. There was no one around as she scanned the area, taking a few extra moments to ensure no one was well-hidden in the brush. Teagan blinked once, twice, and then finally felt safe enough to find purchase on the silted ground of the shallow portion near shore. She stood there lamely, trying to gain her footing while her legs trembled with exhaustion.

Teagan tried to hold the tears back, truly, she did, but the stinging in her nose overwhelmed her and eyes leaked while a breath hitched in her throat. She slashed at the water, immediately apologizing to it just before making her way to a nearby boulder. The coolness of the stone helped calm her a little, but only for a breath.

When she caught sight of her tail, the pain of being too weak and useless caused the wave of frustration to mount over. She wanted to punch something, anything, even knowing it wasn’t the best idea with nothing soft around. Eventually, after rubbing her face and splashing her face with water, Teagan calmed, finding a spot to lay in where half her body rested in the lake and the other half remained on land.

Sleep grew heavy on her lids, head bopping to the side, but her determination to stay awake was still somehow winning. Catrin did always say she was the most stubborn one of all her babes, and the thought brought a sleepy smile to her face, but only for a second. The soft thump of a nearby footstep took Teagan’s attention, and she rolled to her feet as quickly as she could. Her bagged and tired eyes met with a familiar face. A smile grew into a bright grin, and she giggled as her energy was renewed.

“Teddy!” Her voice was hoarse, body swaying just slightly, but nonetheless, she made it to them and gave them a wet hug. “Oh, I’m so happy you’re visiting!”

Their heart swelled by the sight of the lake, and even more so when the nix rushed toward them. Teddy laughed, taking the sopping arms and scooping the fae up in a quick spin before nearly falling in the moss beside the lake, carefully placing the treats down so they could properly squeeze back. Almost like they were confirming that, yes, Teagan was still here. They were real, and safe. Despite everything.

“Hey there cuddle-fish, didn’t know I needed a second shower today.” Any sarcasm in their voice was fond, and the brightness of their smile only served to emphasize that fact. Ted, of course, probably would have done the same thing, rolls reversed. Still the warmer weather was once again, very appreciated.

“Do you like hot chocolate?” Eager, of course, to bring out the gifts. Always. Never visit without something to give, Teddy wasn’t sure where they picked that one up. Certainly wasn’t from Leviathan, whose presence was a present enough. Obviously. “What are your opinions on cookies, truffles, and macarons?”

Teagan couldn’t help but snort at the remark and nickname, only just then realizing she’d been far too wet to hug someone fully clothed. With a bashful smile and a scrunch of her nose, she backed away and clasped her hands behind her back, moving her weight front to back repeatedly. “Oh, please forgive me. I get overly excited at times. Turn into a bit of a scamp.” She bit her lip and winked, shaking her head and flicking water onto Teddy. They’d likely be a bit chilly considering the weather, but Teagan had a feeling they wouldn’t mind. Their playful nature matched one another’s.

“‘Course I like hot chocolate. It’s chocolate and it has sugar. Why? Do ya got some?” Her interest was piqued and she took a look behind Teddy to see they had brought some gifts. “Oh, my dear, you’re speaking sweet music to me. Love sweets, and you’ve chosen the kind full of luxury. Hm…” Teagan tapped on her chin and considered what the next option should be. The two of them were the same in nature based on their first interaction. It would only make sense to partake in the lake and then some treats.

“What do ya say we go for a swim and then warm ourselves with some of that hot choccy after?”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Teddy beamed, taking the spritz with pride. “Cheeky little shit.” A rumble of laughter rolled through their chest. It was strange, with Teagan, there was this strange sense of closeness. Like they’d been best friends since childhood, they just somehow hadn’t figured it out yet. Teddy loved meeting people like that. Who didn’t seem to care if you spent a month apart, or a year. You could just pick right back up where you left off. Perhaps even more admirably in the fae, knowing all the trouble she’d been through in the meantime.

“Well good to know you have taste then, I was beginning to get a little worried.” They were not. But gently and lovingly messing around was a language Teddy was perhaps more fluid in than any other. And they knew quite a lot of fucking languages. “Well, the tin looks extra fancy. They’re all from scratch. Ain’t saying that’s not fancy, but y’know. Packaging helps.”

Teddy shifted uncomfortably, somehow they hadn’t the topic of swimming to come up. Hoping the cooler weather might quell some of the drive for that, but– It never had for them before. The ex-demon had gone diving off a damn iceberg before. Been swimming down in the depths where the waters were only ever warmed by thick columns of mineral smoke and thermal seeps. Their breath caught up in their throat.

“Ah y’know maybe not today. Been a bit– tired lately.”

Of course it was easy to fall into step in the dance of friendship with Teddy. They were kindred spirits, made evident on what ended up being the worst kind of day. But that didn’t matter right then, did it? Teddy was in front of her, and Teagan was free to live. None of it had been Teddy’s fault and there was no way she would place any blame on that sweet lad. After all, it was Teddy that had made sure to keep her as hydrated as they could.

It was Teddy that stepped up to the responsibility and let Arden know the news. And it was still Teddy that had made the trek to visit someone they had met only briefly and yet treated her like they were just catching up. “Oh come now, Teddy. None of that! We’ve got to get you in! And there’s nothing like a swim to get the energy going, eh? Come!” Teagan pulled Teddy with her as she burst toward the lake. She didn’t give them enough time to protest again, and in an instant, the two were surrounded by water.

Before words could be shared or explanations given, the cold waters of the lake rose to greet Teddy. Welcoming them into their depths, covering and cradling the one who once called the ocean their only true home. Instincts warred between two sides of the ex-demon. Drowner and drowned, a rush of air broke through the human’s resolve, blustering upward as they scrambled to catch the bubbles as if they could somehow shove them back in. A gasp for air was only met with icy water. Teddy’s vision swam while they sank. Their eyes weren’t built for this anymore. The surface became a dimly lit blob as the pressure built.

Teagan was still holding onto them, of course she was, it had barely been a second. Might have felt like an eternity to the one struggling to stay alive, but the pair had only just submerged. Teddy struggled against her grip, panic rising like the tide, an aggressive gnarling gnashing thing. Long limbs flailed in every direction, one hand broke the surface. They tried to remember what could bring them closer to it but found themselves floundering instead.

Luckily (perhaps not for her) their other hand found Teagan. The mop of wet hair tangled Teddy’s fingers and accidentally they gave a yank. They weren’t controlling their own actions, fear was. Certainly not behavior fitting one who’d been in the water all their life, but ones born of a war tearing up the inside of a creature newly formed. Not quite human enough, no longer demon at all. Lost.

Panic. Nothing but panic overtook Teddy, and it was unlike a water-dweller to do so. They never said they had certain requirements for what water they dove in, and they’d been so excited at the prospect of a swim together. It was confusing, to say the least, and painfully alarming, to say the most. Thankfully, Teagan didn’t need to breathe, and so the yank to her hair and the thrashing against the water didn’t phase her, besides the pain. But that hardly impeded her ability to keep them both afloat.

“Teddy, my dear, Ted—ah!” They gave Teagan’s hair hard enough tug to strain her neck. “Breathe.” Could they? She wondered for a split second before another tug tore her from her thoughts and pushed her to launch them both out of the water in a frenzy. The two landed on the cold shore with an unceremonious thud, silt running along their feet as the waves continued to run along the shore. “Okay, now breathe!” Urging Teddy with a few pats to their chest, Teagan paid close attention to her friend, careful to not cut them with her claws.

“Talk to me, dear. What’s doin’ ya a panic? What was that?” There was no frustration in her tone, nor was there anger. Only genuine concern and confusion. After all, Teagan saw the panic and fear consuming Teddy’s body, and considering they’d spoken of true forms and their love of water, she could only guess that something had changed or something very bad had happened to them. Either way, she wanted to help calm Teddy down and let them know that she was willing to help any way she could.

“What can I do? Do you want to go inside?”

Teddy and their mind sputtered. One dribbling the dregs of water out of their lungs, the other reeling through visions of what it still believed was happening. They were drowning. They drowned. They were dying, they were dead. Pain erupted from Ted’s chest. In reality from of strain from thick ragged heaves and coughs, but in their head it was the waves, the pressure. No longer the comparably safe and shallow lake, it was the ocean, the depths, the darkness. Even on land, Teddy thrashed. A series of screams finally able to escape between the hoary breaths they didn't realize they were taking.

A voice broke through, hazy and muffled at first, but persistent. It sounded like their past. It was their father's growing tone, repeating the chant that stripped them of their powers. It was every shitty kid in every shitty schoolyard or park, hurtling alienating insults like daggers. Then it was the one and only phrase Teddy ever remembered in their mother’s voice, the words she tried to command the Leviathan with. The ones she used to give Teddy up, condemning her baby to death so she could live forever. The voices shifted through a clip show of the ex-demon’s greatest failures. Until it began to open to a clearer tone. Until it was obvious that the real voice was a helpful one. That it was close. Warm. It was Teagan.

Their eyes had been open, but they finally blinked back to sight. To the surroundings of the clearing, to the worried axolotl, standing over them. On land. On land. On land. Teddy felt their body crumple, felt hot tears fill their eyes again. “I'm–sorry–” They croaked, they crushed themself against her lap, they sobbed. “I can't– I'm not– I'm sor– I'm sorry—”

—

“Teddy! Teddy.” The first call for their name was a little too harsh, wasn’t it? For someone so panicked and apologetic, the treatment needed to be a little gentler. Teagan watched their eyes open, and she saw the way horror and sorrow swam in them like the worst tidal wave imaginable. “No, no, lovely. Shh…” Carefully, she brought Teddy into her and let them do what they needed to feel any sort of relief. She let them do that for a while, their sobs catching Vala’s attention enough to bring her to the surface. She peeked around curiously, snorting loud enough for Teagan to hear.

The nix arched a brow and waved the kelpie over. She circled around and planted herself behind them, as if to both cover them from the elements and wrap them with a sense of safety. “Don’t mind Vala.” Teagan ran her clawed hand carefully through Teddy’s hair, trying to ease them into the realization that they weren’t alone. “She’s just a curious and concerned kelpie, and a mighty good friend.” In response, Vala placed her muzzle in Teagan’s lap, bringing a soft smile to her face. She looked around then, making sure their surroundings remained safe, but her attention quickly went back to Teddy, who was likely incredibly cold.

“Why don’t we get you inside? You’ll catch your death out here.”

Sensation seeped back in, prickles of pain in their fingertips spread outward and illuminated Teddy’s arms and legs. Each limb felt like an icicle, sharp and jagged, and far too brittle. There was warmth, but coming from the other. It felt like they were hollow. A vessel fit only to feel the stings of thousand mistakes that had led them wherever they were now. Still, they soaked it in. Teagan’s arms around them, the strange fae horse. The comfort. Lost and found.

Teddy wasn’t alone. Wasn’t lost to the waters without their father’s guidance, its power. It wasn’t the familiarity they were used to, the reliance. But she was there, she was holding them. Picking them up. Only just aware enough to parse the changes, Teddy realized they were being led off. Between the nix’s arms and the kelpie, they were steadied. She was pulling them toward a house not too far off the shores of the lake. There wasn’t much they could do to resist. Wasn’t much of a reason to try.

Any residual ache unfortunately passed along to the nix, but thankfully the majority of Teddy’s pain was mental. Spiritual. A deeper, more undefinable thing. One that had them only really coming to once they’d been sat down, wrapped tightly in a blanket. Their eyes finally met with Teagan’s. Their heart felt like an anchor.

“I’m—” Tears stained Teddy’s cheeks again. Fresh, hot, stinging. “–I’m just a… human now. I’m nothing– I don’t– I can’t go in the water Teagan. I can’t even go in the water without– I’m sorry. I can’t do it–I’m not– I can’t… ”

“Hey.”

Panic and fear were two fiends that could hardly be fended off alone. They wanted to latch and consume, digging and digging until their victim was a husk or their former self. It was a wretched experience that Teagan had had far too many times, and seeing Teddy become undone by those same demons made her legs wobble and her nose sting. She sniffled, biding herself a little time before her own tears mixed with her friend’s. Now wasn’t the time for that. Teddy needed someone to be strong, whether they’d admit it or not.

“Hey,” She said again, patting Vala to pause the trek indoors. “Human is enough. You’ll learn to swim again in time, learn to…to let the water consume you once more.” With a bit of hesitance, Teagan shuffled a bit closer to Teddy, mindful of her depleted strength. Vala obliged without request, huffing and nuzzling at Teagan. They were both in a safe place. “Taught Arden how to swim. She even plays with Vala sometimes.” She chuckled at the memory, eyes softening as she continued. “Kept the lake safe while I was gone. If she can do it, you can too. Because you will be okay again, and you are not lesser because you are changed.” Pressing her forehead to Teddy’s, Teagan raked a clawed hand through their curls once more, appreciating their existence.

“You’re not ready now, and that’s okay, too. Took me weeks to even step outside after my tail was taken. I can only imagine how difficult it is when everything is gone.” With a swallow, Teagan stepped back to get a good look at Teddy. Their stubble, their deep eyes, the wrinkles at each corner of their lips from the smiles and laughter they’d had, and then, finally, the scar on their face. Beautiful, to say the least. But appearances hardly mattered when it came to the content of one’s heart. Handsome or not, Teddy was still themself. They were still Teagan’s friend, and she was going to get them inside to a change of clothes, a warm blanket, and hot tea. That, she promised herself.

“Now, come.” She kissed their cheek, giving them a good and slow blink as she would with Alffi or Hobbes. “I’ll put the kettle on, and you can sift through my laundry to find something to change into.” Taking Teddy’s hand, Teagan let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, allowing it to become a shaky chuckle.

“You’re sopping.”

#wickedswriting #closingwaters #eldritchaccident

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vanoincidence · 24 days

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Power Creep || Van, Wynne & Emilio

TIMING: current. LOCATION: deersprings. PARTIES: @ohwynne @mortemoppetere & @vanoincidence SUMMARY: wynne and van are on a walk to the store when they get interrupted. luckily, emilio shows up. CONTENT WARNINGS: none!

Van kicked at a loose rock, watching as it skipped over the edge of the sidewalk and into the road. “I miss winter.” She hated slipping on ice and not being able to ride her board, but hated allergy season even more. She looked over at Wynne with a frown, pulling her hat down over her ears. It was a little too small for her, and every time she talked, the fabric wiggled upwards. “We should have a beach day once it’s warmer though… even if we don’t go swimming.” She kicked another rock, squinting into the darkness as it hit the tire of a car.

“Maybe we can collect seashells.” Van wanted things to be normal so desperately. It was easier to pretend they were if she didn’t think about the magic coursing through her, or the fact that Regan was leaving. Though, she guessed one of those things was normal. People always managed to leave, especially in this town. “Do you really think Dr. Kavanagh is going to stay there? In Ireland, I mean…” Would she be back, or would she love Ireland so much that she stayed put? “I heard they have free healthcare. I think. But she’s a doctor… doesn’t she already have health care?”

—-

“I don’t,” Wynne said, and though the idea of disagreeing with someone didn’t sit well with them, it was the truth. They did prefer summer over winter, thought spring the best season of all. Especially when the days got warmer. Winter made the clouds in their mind seem heavier. “I would really like that, to swim as well. And maybe we can do something fun with the shells we collect. Do you think we could take a surfing class? Or … well do you already know how to do that?” Their eyes followed the rock too and they smiled at the small collision. “If you want, we can also celebrate the spring equinox together. That’s what we used to do at home too, but I do it my own way now. It’s later this month.”

It was nice to walk though. Even if the skin was so cold that it was harsh against their cheeks. Besides, the two of them had a goal — to get a snack! Wynne was glad to have Van’s expertise when it came to treats. They looked sideways at her as she mentioned Dr Kavanagh. “I don’t know.” They looked ahead again, at the way the streetlights were reflected in the icy streets. “Maybe. I hope not, but maybe that’s selfish.” But if Regan’s family was really like their own, they hoped she’d be back. “I don’t know a lot about healthcare, Irish or otherwise.” They were pretty sure they got it through their current job, though. At home, they’d not gone to hospitals. They now understood people had died when maybe they hadn’t had to. “She is a good doctor to have in town.”

—-

“Surfing?” She shook her head, “no, I’ve never tried that… but I’m sure we could find somewhere around here to do it.” Van was sure that somewhere in Wicked’s Rest, somebody was offering surfing lessons in the summer– she just hadn’t ever looked. “We could try snowboarding, too, if you wanted.” She’d only been a few times, mostly on school class trips, but she always became overwhelmed with the ski lifts and opted to stay closer to the bunny slopes. She wondered silently if things would be different now. “Oh, that’s what–” your cult did – it contains itself before it slips, and Van nods instead, “I think I saw a documentary about that the other day! I think um, that’s what it was.” Nice save, idiot. “It’s too bad I wasn’t born on the equinox… I think that would’ve been cool.”

“What’s selfish about it?” A part of Van felt relieved that she was leaving, but only because it meant she wouldn’t be thrown out onto the street. Then again, she guessed she could go back to her house, even if she didn’t necessarily want to anymore. Dr. Kavanagh’s apartment was sterile in a way that felt right– it was void of any memories, good, bad– any of it. Though, Thea brought in… different feelings– seeing her every day. She cleared her throat and tightened her arms around her, kicking another rock. They weren’t too far from the corner store now and her stomach grumbled at the promise of hot funyuns. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her be like, a doctor. Only talk about it.” Dead people needed doctors too, she knew. They needed to be respected, and it really seemed like Dr. Kavanagh did that. “But I hope she likes Ireland, but comes back…” For her sake, for Jade’s– it seemed like Wynne cared about her too with the way that they had shown up at Regan’s apartment, expecting her. “Have you ever been to Ireland? I’ve never been to anywhere abroad except for Toronto, but we like, drove there, and it was super quick.”

—

“Yes, right? Because there’s beach. We sometimes did some watersports at home, but that was a lake. Mostly a lot of swimming.” Wynne missed the lake, the way the fog formed in the mornings. The squeals that erupted when you dove in in the summer. “Snowboarding? That sounds … cool, but also a bit scary. I’d like to go on the mountains, though. I’d love to do that. Is it still cold enough for this? I bet, right?” They nodded. “It would have been. But your birthday is also special!”

They were quiet for a moment, processing that question as well as why they thought that selfish. Wynne shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I should just be happy for her that she’s going to her family. And not be thinking about my own feelings or something. That feels selfish.” It had always been branded selfish to take their own emotions into consideration. They had been more than just a person, at home — they had been sanctified, a future savior, a beacon of hope. Prioritizing that was key. But maybe not wanting Dr Kavanagh to leave just meant they cared about her. “I have been to her office. She has a lot of skeletons there. I never saw the corpses, though. I don’t want to.” They grimaced, kicked the same stone after it had rolled their way. “I hope she does too.” They shook their head. “No. I’ve only been here, in Maine. And New Hampshire, a little. I have never been in another country. The world is so big, am I right? How was Toronto?”

—

Van silently tried to imagine the life that Wynne had before finding themself in Wicked’s Rest. She’d heard enough to picture it in bits and pieces, but it wasn’t entirely clear. She tried to imagine people who looked like Wynne– siblings, maybe, or cousins, who dove beneath the water to grab at rocks beneath the lake’s surface. “It’s definitely still cold enough for it.” Van offered a smile, brushing past the memories she was re-creating in Wynne’s stead. “I want to, for sure… we should definitely do it.” She was a little nervous at the prospect of falling flat on her face, but she was great at skateboarding! The mechanics were there! “The 21… I’ll remember that, I think.” She nodded, committing the date to memory. It was clear that it was important to them, because this hadn’t been the first time they’d mentioned something about an equinox.

“I think it’s okay to be…” Van gestured vaguely, “upset..?” She thought for a moment before shaking her head, “maybe that’s not the right word, but..” Van shrugged, mimicking the way that Wynne kicked a rock, sending her own flying to the side, off into somebody’s yard. “I don’t think it’s selfish to feel things. You can be selfish, but I don’t think feeling things has anything to do with it.” She offered Wynne a small smile before shrugging, pulling the sleeves of her coat down so that she was cupping them against her palm. “It was okay. It was for a convention.” She couldn’t remember too much about it. Her anxiety had spiraled tenfold, and now that she looked back at it, she was sure that the melted convention tables had been her fault.

As they continued to walk, Van saw movement out of the corner of her eye. “Oh, the cemetery is over there… I wonder if Nora is home.” It felt weird, calling the cemetery Nora’s home, but it felt right, too. “Should we go check?” She offered Wynne a smile, before it faltered. “Wait, this isn’t hers, never–” The sound of something scraping against the floor, a body being dragged through mud– there was dirt, too. The sound of gagging. Van’s eyes widened as she grabbed onto Wynne’s arm, dragging them backwards from the fence where the creature stood, taller than either of them. “What is that?” Van asked, breathless, skin now itchy by merely looking at it. As if in some kind of response, the creature dropped the individual by the leg it held onto and leapt over the fence, now standing a foot or so away from either herself or Wynne. “Wynne–”

—

“Let’s do it! I love trying new things,” Wynne said, glad that there was another possible prospect to look forward to. They had learned that it were those kinds of things they needed to continue to feel like life was valuable, to keep them from sinking into the dark and depressed mood they were always teetering on the edge of. “Especially with friends. And if all goes wrong we’ll at least laugh about it, right?” They smiled at Van. “Sweet. I will let you know where to be when it’s time! I think on the beach near where I live now.”

They were silent as Van spoke, focusing on the pavement. She didn’t think it was selfish to feel things — and it sounded right coming from her mouth, even if the concept in and of itself was wrong. It was selfish to be overrun by emotions, to feel so deeply that it might upset others. Wynne wished there was another stone to kick. “Oh,” they said, as if Van was saying something completely new. In a way, she was. “I think I find it hard to be upset. I was taught it was bad and selfish. But I think you’re right. I wouldn’t think it selfish if you were sad.” And Wynne was no longer someone special or chosen, so why shouldn’t those standards apply to them? They were here now, in this world. “What did you convene about?” They weren’t sure if that was what people did at conventions, but it sounded right.

They looked at the cemetery, nodding at the suggestion. They hadn’t really been at Nora’s cemetery home a lot, as they’d always met in public or wherever Emilio was living at that time. Wynne was ready to go in, though. Seeing Nora would be nice — but she didn’t live there, Van realized. And there was something else. Their eyes were wide, pushing deep into the darkness to try and see what it was the pair of them were hearing. They too felt an itch running down their skin. “I don’t know.” Wynne took a step backward, felt themself holding onto Van’s hand where she’d grabbed their arm and took them further back with them. It looked monstrous. Their free hand reached inside their jumper, pulling out the necklace Emilio had given them. It seemed to cause some kind of response, the silver cross and Wynne held it out as they kept stumbling back, a moan escaping from their throat. Something fearful, something pathetic, something that wasn’t equipped at all to handle the winged beast closing in on them with a fist full of dirt.

—

If she and Wynne lived anywhere else, they could have continued their conversation. Van would have convinced them that they deserved to feel anger, if they wanted to— that it was alright to exist for themselves now that they were out of their cult. Though, she still wasn’t sure that was the appropriate word to use. Probably not. It didn’t matter that much, though, because the beastly figure that stood in front of them now took over practicality on Van’s behalf.

It advanced on them, and Van noticed out of the corner of her eye that Wynne was digging into their sweater, pulling something out— the hand that was closed around theirs tightened, and she half expected something to happen at the reveal of whatever Wynne had closed in their hand, but nothing did. There was no magical light that poured from the necklace, but it did, however, deter the monster for a moment. That moment was all Van needed for her magic to push forward. The ground at the monster’s feet began to melt, cement running grey around the creature’s feet. It caused it to slip, almost too comically, and Van was stumbling backwards, pulling Wynne with her.

“I did that, and we have to go— what is that!” She was shrieking now, admittance for what she’d done ringing through the air. She thought about all of the times she had denied such a thing, and how it felt almost freeing to finally say that yes, she had been on the other end of the magic that temporarily rendered the beast unable to advance on them. “Wynne, what do we do!” The melted asphalt wasn’t enough to keep it at bay for long, and it was trudging towards them, steps too careful for something entirely beast like— this had smarts to it, Van realized. The dirt that it held in its hand spilled from the corners of its large hands, and Van shrunk away as it got closer. Panic rose in her chest and Van outstretched a hand, willing something to happen, but nothing did.

Wynne knew that strange things existed. There were demons and vampires, fae and mares. There was such a thing as magic as well, but they didn’t fully understand it — but when the ground started melting they figured that might be it. The thing slipped, ugly and made clumsy and they stared with wide eyes. Disbelief still washed over them, an emotion so familiar to them that they might as well no longer register it. The world was full of strange things, but they weren’t used to it yet.

And then Van was shouting that she’d done that and Wynne wanted to ask her what she was going on about, but in stead ran after her. They too were letting out a shriek, “I don’t know! It — maybe — vampire!” It had responded to their cross, hadn’t it? Did Van know about vampires? She had made the ground melt, so maybe she did. They continued to move backwards, fear continuing to strike in their heart and striking twice as heard when their bodies hit what seemed to be a car. “I don’t know! Do that thing again!” Whatever it had been, it had seemed to slow the creature down.

But nothing was happening and the creature was upon them now, taking hold of Van and ripping her from Wynne’s grip. It stuffed a hand of dirt in her mouth and they didn’t even know what to do for a moment, so stunned by this action. “Stop that!” They kicked at the creature, which seemed very intent on finishing his task of making Van eat dirt.

“A VAMPIRE?! Wynne, that looks nothing like Edward Cullen!” She wasn’t exactly upset by the lack of Edward Cullen-ness, especially because to her, he was the least attractive in the family. If the vampire looked like Alice, on the other hand… Van’s thoughts jumped from one medium to the next, trying to dilute the idea of vampires into one single image. If both magic and bugbears existed, then who was to say something like vampires didn’t?

While she really wanted to have a breakdown about it, she knew that now was not the time. “I can’t just do it, it just happens!” She was panicked enough, but that brought on another fear– that the ground might come up to swallow both herself and Wynne.

As hard as she tried to concentrate– to follow Wynne’s instructions, she was interrupted by the beast ripping her forward. Had her shoulder just popped out of place? The pain was blinding. She let out a scream, but it was soon muted by the way dirt poured into her mouth. She choked on it, kicking against the creature. Her fingers dug into the arm, but it was no use– he was far too strong for her. The dirt in her mouth was rancid, and she couldn’t breathe. She was going to die here, all because her stupid magic only worked when it wanted to.

—

There was always something to do in a graveyard. Emilio longed for a busy mind these days, needed the constant distraction that came with pumping adrenaline and hands covered in dust. He was no good on his own, with his thoughts and his feelings, and he couldn’t expect to always be surrounded when the people he cared for had worlds all their own inside their heads. So he fell back on old habits. He stalked graveyards with stakes and blades gripped in his hands so tightly his knuckles hurt, he made himself useful. There was relief to be found in destruction, in the sound of commotion that he knew he could resolve.

There was less relief when the voices causing that commotion were familiar ones.

He recognized Wynne’s voice first, of course. It was the one he heard more often, the one he’d had many a late night conversation with in the hallway of their old apartment building or the quiet living room of Teddy’s house. It took him a second to pinpoint that other voice. Not Nora, not Ariadne. Someone else. He was almost on top of them before it hit him, though given the way he spotted the ground half-melted, he wasn’t sure the revelation meant much. Van was the only person he knew with a habit of melting the ground they stood on as a mechanism of defense.

And defense was a necessary thing here. He spotted the vampire instantly, recognized it as a blutsauger with a quiet string of curses. He didn’t have any garlic on him, and he felt stupid for that. These things were rarer than most other types of vampires — it wasn’t the kind of thing you went out expecting to find. But of course, Wynne and Van had found one anyway. And of course, it was doing its goddamn damndest to turn Van with dirt going for her mouth. “Hey!” He called out, unsure if he was trying to get the kids’ attention or the vampire’s or both. “Get over to me. Okay? Get over here.”

—

Van didn’t know about vampires and Wynne wasn’t sure who Edward Cullen was and it was all a little bit too much to comprehend and explain, so they just tried to focus their energy on what needed doing. The whole vampire and supernatural things exist conversation could come after they’d survived this. Besides, they had questions about what Van had just created! They hoped one day they’d have to stop learning about things that made their head hurt.

For now, they continued to kick at the creature, their anger and fear both growing louder with the sound of Van’s voice. Wynne watched with horror how the dirt got stuck in Van’s throat and they dug for their knife, the one that Emilio had gifted them but that they hadn’t had to use yet, that just sat in their pocket in case of. The knife they hoped to never have to use.

They kicked the creature again, screamed at it to, “Let her GO,” and then tried to hit it with the knife. It wasn’t wood and the skin barely broke, the knife sliding down and leaving a cut that seemed to barely bother the thing. They roared, trying to take Van’s hand to pull her away but Wynne wasn’t strong like that. They didn’t know what to do and they hoped that someone else was here, that —

And that’s when fate seemed to be on their side for once, Emilio’s protective voice calling out and ringing through their body with a feeling of recognition. “I don’t know how!” Their voice was shrill as they called back. How could they just run towards the slayer if their friend was in such trouble? If she might die? The fear struck through their heart and they looked at Emilio. “Van — I can’t — we need to stop it, I don’t know what it’s doing but it needs to stop.” Wynne pushed with their hands at the vampiric monster again, their knife cutting into some of its skin but it was futile in the grand scheme of things. “Van, Van, can you — pull free? We need to run.”

—

There was another voice– although grating, Van felt a wave of relief. She’d recalled the last time she’d gotten into trouble with Emilio, how he’d taken care of it pretty swiftly. Would this be like the last time, or would she die here? Her mouth was full of dirt and she was coughing it up as the monster was shoving it in. She could see Wynne out of the corner of her eye kicking at the creature, but it didn’t seem to care all that much. She tried to, too, but she was growing tired– exhaustion set into her bones the more dirt that filled her mouth.

Van spluttered, nails digging into the wrist of the creature as she tried desperately to break the hold it had on her. Tears streamed down her face, both from the suffocation and the fear. She was starting to lose feeling in her toes, she thought– was that what that was? Suddenly, one moment she was being held upright, and the next she was being half-tossed, half-thrown to the side. The ground beneath the monster began to disintegrate, liquid asphalt pouring over the creature’s feet. At least her magic was working now. Was she about to die? Was that what this was?

She hit the ground hard, stars scattering across her vision as she coughed up the dirt, hooking a finger into her mouth to scoop it out. Tears made her face sticky and wet, and she could only imagine what she might have looked like to those around her. But that didn’t matter– not right now. When she looked back towards the beast, it was stuck in the goo she’d created. The divet into the earth looked like a large pothole, and then suddenly– a giant hand, grotesque and feathery grabbed onto the creature’s shoulder, pulling it down beneath the level at which Van could see it.

—

There wasn’t time for this. The blutsauger had a hold of Van, was already stuffing dirt into her mouth, and it wouldn’t be long before it killed her. Maybe Emilio couldn’t keep it down permanently, but he had to do something, had to find some way to at least save the kid’s life. He yanked his holy water from his pocket, pushing himself as best he could to cross the distance between himself and the kids quickly in spite of the pain in his bad leg, but he could already tell it wasn’t going to be enough. Van was sputtering and coughing and running out of time, and Emilio could push himself as hard as he wanted to but he couldn’t force his useless leg to work. He couldn’t close the distance quickly enough, couldn’t stop what was about to happen. He’d walk away from this with another dead kid on his conscience — or two, if he was too slow to save Wynne, too. The thought was enough to push him a little more, make him move faster but still too slow. He was going to be too late, he was going to fail here the same way he had a thousand times before, he was going to —

The Earth opened up beneath the blutsauger’s wretched feet, close enough that Emilio stumbled back to avoid the gaping canyon that had appeared in the world. It looked like what Van had done back the last time he’d run into her, but… different. Bigger, more intense. Something came out of the hole — a hand? None of it made a whole lot of sense, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter, because Emilio was close enough now to dart around that hole, to close the distance between himself and the kids.

He came in as quickly as he could, still clutching that holy water. It had seemed small in comparison to the blutsauger, but it seemed utterly miniscule when held up against the size of the hole that had opened in the ground. Emilio held it anyway, unscrewed the cap with his teeth as he crouched next to Van, between her and the crevice that had swallowed the blutsauger. “You okay? You — Can you breathe? Wynne.” He gestured wildly at them, ushering for them to get behind him, to let him put himself between them and the hole, too. “Here.” He pulled the cross from around his throat, shoving it towards Van. Wynne had the one he’d given them, still; it would be better if Van weren’t entirely unarmed. Although… looking to the hole, Emilio had a feeling Van never quite had that problem.

—

Wynne was moved by pure instinct only, driven by the fear of losing Van, of this ugly creature killing her on a random evening. They had just been on their way to get some snacks — surely that couldn’t be how death went? Death came for old people or happened in grotesque ways, like a sacrifice on an altar or a vampire’s head being torn off. It didn’t just happen like this, did it? Sure, there were stories of things just happening like this, but Van couldn’t just die, right here, on a random evening when they had been going to get some candy. And so they were trying whatever they could, attempting to pull and hit and kick and shriek – but none of it gave.

And then the ground started to move, something strange happening and Wynne jumped back a beat after Van was tossed away. They watched her cough up the dirt and started to pull at the bandana tied around their neck. Their intention to hand it over for Van to wipe the dirt off of was discarded when they looked at what was happening. The ground was transforming, sinking, becoming some kind of hole — and then there was a hand, a tug and it was gone. The feathery hand and the vampiric thing itself. They stared, tasted the salt of tears leaking into their mouth and let out a whimper.

Soon enough they rushed over, pulling off their bandana fully and holding it out to to Van. Their eyes danced viciously from the hole to Emilio to Van, not sure what to focus on. “Is it — is it gone?” They were crouching, hand placed on the ground and an exhale passing from their lips. “Van —” They didn’t know what to say. Should they address it, how afraid they had been? How she’d almost died? No, probably not – it would probably not be sensible, even if it was the thought circling their mind viciously. “Are you okay? What can we do?”

—

Between colliding with asphalt and the dirt in her throat, Van was gasping for air. Chest heaving, she held onto her shirt, pulling it slightly as if it’d allow her more room to breathe. She wasn’t dead, and neither was Wynne. Emilio was still talking, and now Wynne was talking to her, too. She blinked rapidly, tears blurring her vision making it hard to take in her surroundings. Something dropped into her lap and her hand splayed wildly around until she felt the weight of the cross. She held onto it as if some sort of lifeline, reaching up to rub away the dirt on her face.

“I think I’m okay,” Van managed to choke out, wheezing slightly as she tilted her head back, blinking away the now dirty smeared tears. Her mind raced from Diana in the parking lot to recently with Regan’s apartment, and now–? Once her vision became slightly more clear, she found the space where the creature had been, where the ground had swallowed it whole. It was left with an indent just as it had been when Diana disappeared, and as when the man in the ice cream shop had. She felt less guilt, less fear about this one, though.

“I did that,” Van whispered, confirming what she was sure both her companions were trying to figure out. “I did that.” She had saved her own life, and possibly Wynne’s by proxy, but it’d been too close– what if the creature had dragged either herself or Wynne with it? What if Emilio had been trying to fight it off? “I’m sorry– I–” She choked on the remaining dirt in her throat and shook her head. “It was going to kill me, and maybe you, Wynne, I couldn’t– I had to do it, I had to kill it.” Even if she hadn’t exactly instructed her magic to do such a thing, the fear had pulled up over her like a second skin, leading the way to the creature’s destruction. She wasn’t sure what had come up to take down the vampiric beast, but she was grateful for it. How many more times would she feed her demons (literally)? “I don’t know how it– I– I was scared, and then– this happens when I’m really scared.” She looked at Emilio, “I didn’t want to hurt Wynne, I swear.” Because Emilio hurt things that hurt other people, right? Van had hurt people, plenty of them. Would Emilio retaliate? She stared at him, eyes glossed over with fear and regret.

—

It all happened pretty quickly. There was a threat, there was a hole, there was a hand, there was nothing. Emilio’s adrenaline was pumping, but there was nowhere for it to go now. Nothing to fight off, nowhere to put the energy buzzing beneath his skin. The paranoia that had taken up a permanent residence in the back of his mind worked overtime as a result, insisting that something else was going to happen, that he’d missed something. Was that tingle on the back of his neck anxiety, or his senses warning him of another approaching undead? He whirled around, glancing off to the side with wild eyes. But the only chaos here was inside his head now; everything else was still.

“It’s gone,” he said, half in answer to Wynne’s question and half in an attempt to reassure himself of as much. There was nothing left to fight. He repeated it to himself a time or two, tried to calm the wild beating of his heart. It was gone. Van was alive and coughing, working on getting that dirt out of her lungs. Wynne was at her side, offering her their handkerchief and making sure she was okay. Emilio was scanning the perimeter like a damn crazy person, half-convinced something else was going to pop out of the woodwork and drag Wynne away next, or Van, or him. Was that something he needed to worry about? It must have been Van who’d caused the hand to appear, just like it had been Van who’d melted the asphalt during the goo shit, but how much control did she have over it? He’d wager that the answer was not much.

Van’s voice managed to force its way through the haze of paranoia in his head only after she’d admitted to the ordeal, and he tuned in about halfway through. She was apologizing, she was scared. Of him, maybe? Guilt churned alongside the adrenaline in his gut. He felt a little nauseous. “Hey, it’s okay.” It didn’t come out quite as comforting as he’d meant for it to. It wasn’t gentle, wasn’t paternal. It was hoarse and uncertain instead, like a man out of practice with kindness. He grimaced at the sound of his own voice, shaking his head. “Look, you — You did what you had to. That thing was going to kill you. Then Wynne, then more people. You did good, kid. Okay? You did good.”

—

They wiped at their eyes, where tears of their own had fallen in the blind panic that was slowly ebbing from their body. Wynne didn’t know how to cope with these surges of emotions, but it didn’t much matter — there was no time to stress about emotional incapacity when there was something to take care of. And that, at the very least, was someone they had learned at home. Besides, Emilio was there now, and with Emilio they felt safe. Even if the earth had opened up and strange claw had snatched their assailant away, even if Van was still shaking.

And Van was apologizing for killing the thing and they wondered what it said about them that they were taken aback by it. Maybe it was because they hadn’t known a lot of people who apologized for their murders and sacrifices. Blood stuck to all the hands of the protherians, even Wynne. In this case it wasn’t even a matter of sacrifice, this had been self defense. This had been one of the monsters that should be killed, like the vampires in the barn or the demon their people had worshiped. They looked at Van with wide eyes, “It’s okay,” they said. “You did what you had to do. I’m glad you did. Okay? I — but … I don’t know what it was you did. But I’m glad.” If the world was filled with death – which it quite clearly was – Wynne wanted it to be monsters like the one who’d been swallowed whole to die, and not the people like Van.

Emilio was also saying that Van had done good and they were glad for it. They remembered the vampire falling on their stake and turning into dust. Emilio turning more of them into nothingness, because maybe that was what best. They remembered Padrig, guts spilling. Jac, neck slit. The creature that had just died didn’t tug at their gut the way those last two did. Wynne nodded. “Do you want to go back home?”

—

You did good.

Van choked on the apologies as they swarmed her mind. She would need to explain this in further detail to Wynne, would need to figure out how to make them understand that she wasn’t dangerous in the same way that the creature had been. In a different way, sure, but different. Van didn’t want to hurt anyone, much less Wynne. Van blinked back the tears, both from the fear and agony of not having been able to breathe. She reached up to wipe away the few strays that managed to fight their way through with the back of her hand.

She grabbed onto Wynne’s hand, holding it tightly as if willing them to be an anchor of some kind. If Van could feel something real in this moment, it would make it easier. She could feel Emilio’s gaze on her, too, and so she pushed herself up, exhaustion evident in her movements as she struggled to get to her feet. Her hands and knees were scraped and she could feel the sting with her movements, but that wasn’t important right now.

Home was an option, but Van didn’t want to be alone. Regan’s apartment, though put back together after what had happened that night, felt a little… wrong.

“Can I come over?” Van asked, stare blank as she looked down at the asphalt from where the creature had disappeared. “Is that okay?” She tightened her grip on Wynne’s hand, looking between them and Emilio. “I don’t–” She thought it was obvious, but she forced herself to say it, to bend at will to the idea that maybe they didn’t want her to be alone, either. “I don’t think I want to be alone.”

—

There were tears, though none were from Emilio. He wondered, somewhat absently, if Van had done this before. Not the melting — that was familiar enough that he knew it had happened before — or even the hole that opened up and the hand that thrust its way out of it. Instead, he wondered about the creature he presumed to be dead now, wondered if Van had killed anything before it. How much of the fear on her face or the tears in her eyes were for the suffocation she’d nearly suffered, and how much were for the sensation of taking a ‘life,’ however ugly it had been? He tried to remember the first time he’d killed something, tried to remember what it felt like. But it was hard. It was hard to remember his hands before they were bloodied. Maybe it was better that way. Maybe that was the way things were supposed to be.

Wynne assured Van that she’d done what she’d had to, and it was strange that Emilio had thought that went without saying. He rarely considered things like this to be something a person needed comfort for. No one had comforted him, had they? His mother had praised him if he’d killed something exceptionally well but, beyond that, it had only ever been expected. Van killed the blutsauger, and of course she had to. But Wynne said it like the reassurance was necessary, so Emilio nodded as if he believed it, too. It was hard, teaching an old dog new tricks. None of them ever felt natural.

He glanced to Wynne at Van’s question, though he wasn’t sure if it was for them or himself. Wynne’s house was their own; Teddy had made sure of it. But Emilio nodded, anyway. “You can both come to Teddy’s,” he offered, because he thought Wynne might feel safe there and he thought he might feel better if he could keep an eye on them, on both of them. “You can have… Uh, how old are you again?” Wasn’t the drinking age different in America? In the twenties instead of eighteen. Emilio had been far younger when he’d had his first drink, though, and he’d never cared much for laws, anyway. So he shrugged. “Eh, doesn’t matter. You can have a drink. Helps calm you down. Or… There’s probably food. Uh, whatever you want. Yeah? You can do whatever you want.”

—

Van’s hand was in theirs and Wynne held on tight on her too, her thumb running small circles over the back of her hand. They weren’t sure what to say just yet, but maybe that was okay. There could be conversation about what exactly it was that Van had done and what it meant later, just like they could converse later about the existence of vampires. (And demons, maybe those too, if they were ripping off bandaids anyway.)

For now, though, there was a hand to hold and tears to let dry. As Van quietly asked if she could come over, they were ready to offer their home. Going to Teddy’s (and Emilio’s – even if he didn’t quite see it that way yet) home seemed like a good idea, though. More space, there, and the slayer could remain to linger in their periphery and make sure no other vampires somehow ended up on their trail and attacking them. They wanted to ask if there was a chance that there was more, as there always had been in their previous encounters with vampires. One look at Van made Wynne think twice about bringing up that potential reality, though.

“Sounds good,” they said, nodding. They squeezed Van’s hand. “Are you … did you drive?” They looked up at Emilio, who seemed to be suggesting a favored solution. Liquor. They wouldn’t mind some at this point. “There’s a bunch of stuff there. We’ll just go there and get you cleaned up and relax, okay? Teddy also always has treats. No need for the shop.” They looked at Van, catching her eyes. “We’ll be okay there.”

—

She wasn’t sure why, but she half expected Emilio to tell her no. She felt a little guilty for that– thinking so badly of him when all he was trying to do was help. Van leaned into Wynne as they ventured away from the scene of the crime. At Emilio’s question, her brows furrowed. It occurred to her that Emilio hadn’t even said happy birthday to her. Actually, that seemed normal. “I just turned twenty-one, and I like pink drinks.” Her voice shook slightly as she explained herself. It didn’t really matter what she liked or not, she didn’t think.

Van attempted a smile, but she could still feel the dirt on her teeth. “Do you think Teddy has an extra toothbrush?” Would they be upset with her for what happened? Especially after getting her the ring that was supposed to help? She wasn’t sure. She bit the inside of her cheek as she stared off into the distance, She had to believe both Wynne and Emilio that it would be alright– that the beast she’d sent off to… wherever, wouldn’t come back to finish the job.

—

“Oh. Happy birthday.” It was flat, and a little uncertain, but it was genuine, too. Emilio was sure Teddy had the ingredients to make pink drinks (were those just drinks that were pink?) back home, though he had no idea how to go about making one. He’d figure it out, he guessed. Fuck only knew the kid could probably use one, after everything.

He turned to Wynne, shaking his head a little. He hadn’t driven — and if he had, he’d have been on his bike, which he wasn’t sure would comfortably carry three people — but they should be fine to walk. And… stop by a store on the way home to buy a toothbrush. “I’ll get you one. Call it a late birthday gift or something. And Wynne’s right, okay? You’ll be all right.”

Emilio would make sure of it.

#para: power creep #para: wynne #para: emilio #wickedswriting #//tysm both of u < 3

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muertarte · 6 days

Text

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @disengagedspirit @muertarte

SUMMARY: Mercy experiences her first slayer, and Metzli is around in time to help.

WARNINGS: None

Anytime Mercy could get out of the town and into nature was a relief. The sound of cars flying by and constant chatter of people around town seemed to be enough to drive anyone with a long history of silence mad. So when Mercy had pulled up directions via Magistra Google on how to get to Wicked’s Rest State Park, she gladly followed them out of the house and down the street despite the fact that it was night outside. Though she had greatly missed spending time in the sunshine and hadn’t quite figured that one out yet without being heavily cloaked by clothing that weighed her down uncomfortably.

As Magistra Google told her which way to turn, she had found herself walking down an empty sidewalk that was hardly a place to be desired. There weren’t any cars around, and though it was quieter than before, she could hear the sounds of chaos off in the distance. Did this mean she was getting closer to her destination? She wanted to believe so with all of her heart, but according to her phone, there was still quite a ways to go. But there was something else that felt off. It was as if eyes had been following her for quite some time, and though she had chosen to try and push past the discomfort, she was starting to question whether or not she should return.

Looking up to the stars with a sad sigh, Mercy had opted for the latter. Maybe Caleb could take her via his metal carriage, but tonight was no longer starting to feel safe, and as she put her phone into her pocket and began to turn around, she had been met with someone much larger than her. Someone with a nefarious look in their eyes and their fists clenched and ready for a fight.

—

Metzli wiped the sticky blood from their face, licking at the remnants staining their fingers. The kill wasn’t too messy, considering that their meal had been a lowly raccoon. An animal so small was not nearly enough to keep the vampire sated, but seeing as their hunger pangs began at the end of the work day, Metzli thought it best to have some sort of snack before venturing into town for a few evening errands.

“Hm…” Humming to themself, they mulled over the idea of taking the carcass with them. Surely eyes would be locked on them, and even if Metzli rarely met anyone’s gaze, they felt it might be possible for a concerned citizen to call authorities on them. “Hm…” They hummed again, retrieving their handkerchief from their jacket and wiping the rest of the blood away before grabbing the raccoon by its scruff and walking out of the treeline. Metzli looked left and right, and left again, pleased to find that no one was around.

With a small smile, they sighed contentedly as they cut through an alleyway to get back to their car. They had only just spotted their black sedan when they saw what looked to be a couple getting intimate in the cover of darkness. Strange, really, but Metzli stared a bit longer with a curious tilt of their head, wondering how anyone could be so openly affectionate. Leila always held their hand and kissed them while out and about, but that was hardly—oh. Oh. Metzli was wrong. Cocking an arm back was not affection, and the scream the woman let out was most definitely distress.

“Hey!” They exclaimed, sprinting forward and throwing the dead raccoon at the back of the assailant’s head while closing the distance. It felt wrong to do so, but Metzli had little to work with. “Run!” They instructed the woman, watching as the raccoon fell to the ground and rolled only once before it landed on its side. “Run now!” The man stumbled, shaking away the ambush as he turned around just in time to see a fist meet his face. It caused minimal damage, somehow. Metzli grumbled and reached for their knife, grabbing ahold of its hilt, but only for a moment. A body collided with theirs with great force, sending the two rolling and fighting for dominance. Much to Metzli’s dismay, they were overpowered, and it was their turn for their face to meet a fist.

As she watched as the man drew his hand back ready to strike her down, the centuries old vampire cowered, until she heard the loud exclamation in the distance. Looking over, Mercy noticed as someone had come barreling towards them, and on the instruction to run, the small woman found herself stumbling backwards out of the way as she watched the two people rumble. But when she noticed the large man once again getting the upper hand, Mercy knew she couldn’t run.

She wasn’t just going to take off and leave a complete stranger, one who had saved her, fend for themself, and without much hesitation, she found herself launching onto his back like a wild boar attacking a man mounted on a horse; fearless and ready for a fight. But it was the feral side that had managed to get the better of her, and without the strength to control it, Mercy sank her teeth into his shoulder and bared down ripping out a chunk and spitting it on the ground.

With red eyes, blood smeared across her pale face, and teeth bared, she let her crimson hues drift down to meet with the person laying underneath the man. It was a look of ravenous hunger and need to dominate, until suddenly a burning took over her entire face and mouth. Dropping down from the man’s back, Mercy stumbled backwards and began to frantically try and wipe the remaining blood off of her face all while trying to spit out the rank liquid. It had been her first taste of hunter blood and definitely her last.

Metzli’s eyes widened with surprise, watching as blood spilled from the hunter’s back. “No!” They exclaimed, worried at how bad the burn would be. It seemed to hit her almost instantly, and despite how Metzli wished she wasn’t hurt, her ignorance gave them both the edge they needed. The slayer screamed and staggered just a breath away as his blood ran down and painted their face, allowing Metzli to ram their foot into his stomach. He flew away with a wheeze, landing on his back with another hitch of his breath.

There was a slight burn to their skin, the wind causing it to heighten and spread like a real fire. It was followed by a rush within them, as if to ignite a ferocious blaze in Metzli. “Take this,” They offered the woman a handkerchief to help with the blood, taking advantage of the moment of reprieve. What else would the hunter do anyway while he was struggling to breathe?

Red eyes trailed away from the woman’s, landing on the slayer. Their pupils dilated at the sight. He was helpless and unable to do more than gasp like a fish out of water, and Metzli was the bear ready to play with its food. That was the instinct, at least. But a more humane nature muddied that sensation, softening their disposition. They wanted to be better, so they would be. “I will not kill you if you leave. Please lea—mrph!” A knife plunged into Metzli’s calf, and they lurched forward from the sudden pain.

The force of it nearly ended everything, but they managed to throw themself to the right to avoid the stake the slayer had readied in anticipation of their reaction. “Leave!” It sounded like a plea, but it went unheard as the hunter rose from the ground. Metzli scooted away, removing the blade from their calf and swiftly throwing it toward the hunter’s chest. He moved just enough to avoid a fatal blow, but still fell back as it landed deeply into his shoulder. They used the interruption to run back toward the fellow undead woman, picking her up and urging her to run with them. Away from the danger. It was the only option left if they wanted to avoid more death on their hands.

Mercy stumbled around in pain, finally laying eyes on the handkerchief being offered. Taking it without any reservation, she began to feverishly wipe at her mouth trying to ease the pain. Anything at this point had to be better than the way this felt on her face. And as she tugged the cloth down her skin, she couldn’t help, but let her eyes follow the direction of the scuffle happening between…another person like her and the brutish man that was at least getting his arse handed to him.

However, it didn’t last long. And as soon as Mercy laid eyes on the man digging a knife into the other vampire, she immediately felt regret for the actions she had caused. She would apologize in depth when they were both safe, but until then the welcome arms at her side, sent Mercy scurrying forward with the handkerchief still in her grip.

It was as if safety was just over the horizon, and Mercy ran as fast as she could with the other vampire without any hesitation, until they had finally found a place to stop with the brute out of sight, “Art thou okay? Doth thee need help?” She looked towards the other vampire with concern in her eyes that were starting to fade back into their natural bright blue.

The slayer didn’t want to let go of his would-be victims, and with each step the vampires took to escape, Metzli could hear him struggling to keep up. An arrow or two flew past the duo, but they didn’t look back, although the urge was there. They kept their focus on their getaway, maneuvering around the alleyways they had grown to know so well. They only wished they could be traversing up on the rooftops.

Utilizing the high ground was always the best strategy, and it was the way Metzli was taught. Having lived in a place like Mexico, where most roofs were flat, it was just the way they traveled for maximum discretion, and they had kept that habit into the states. It was just unfortunate that most others didn’t share that particular skillset, especially when it would have taken far less running for an escape.

“You are using strange words.” Metzli’s brows scrunched together as they attempted to decipher the words spoken as they kept watch around the corner. “Help? I do not need help. Art does not need help either.” What did art have to do with that situation? Was it that obvious that they owned a gallery? Or did this vampire somehow read minds like that one strange vampire in those movies about an eclipse? Or was it a dawn? They couldn’t be bothered to remember, not when they leaned back into the wall to find that there was something sticking out of it.

“Oh.”

Mercy couldn’t understand what the other vampire was rambling on about when it came to art, but when they mentioned not needing help, it gave her some relief. The 21st century was tricky to navigate, and while she could fire back about how the other person was using strange words, she opted not to. It was the expression and the single word that left Mercy narrowing her eyes in confusion and concern.

“Why doth thee proclaim oh?” Mercy looked the vampire over curiously, until she made her way around the side and noticed the arrow sticking out of their back, “Thou hath been shot!” The 16th century vampire moved closer to examine the arrow sticking jutting outwards, “I must find thee shelter and someone to help!” Mercy wracked her brain, until she thought about Caleb. “Goodman Caleb! He can assist thee! He is wise in many ways!” And he was the only person she had really trusted, besides Allistair.

Again, their brows furrowed with confusion, and they shook their head. “What are you saying? I cannot understand you.” Their was an underlying tone of frustration in Metzli’s voice, and they had to take a breath to keep it from turning into anger. They didn’t like when they couldn’t understand things, and it was made worse by the fact that they couldn’t understand someone in need. But apparently her safety didn’t really matter to her at that moment.

“Yes. I have been shot.” A statement made lackluster with their bland tone and stoic face. While she blabbered on in her strange English, Metzli turned in circles, trying to reach the arrow on their own. They understood the words ‘shelter’ and ‘help’ at least, but they stopped their spinning to shake their head in disagreement. With a few more attempts to reach the arrow. “Do not need shelter. Just pull it out.”

Mercy growled in frustration of her own. Not at the person in front of her, but more so out of not being able to speak perfect 21st century modern English. When she got back to Caleb’s she was going to do so many green owl lessons that the stupid owl would be begging her to quit pestering him.

How could this vampire be so nonchalant about being shot with an arrow? Mercy couldn’t understand it, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was getting the arrow out, which apparently she noticed the person trying to do as they spun around in circles like a dog chasing its tail. If it wasn’t such a serious situation, Mercy might have found humor in the action, “I am not a doctor, but if this is what thou requests of me..then so be it.”

Stepping forward, Mercy reluctantly put her hands on the shaft of the arrow, “Do not move.” Her voice was firm, but there was a slight tremble in her hands. However, the longer she waited, the more she was less inclined to do this, and with a deep breath, the vampire yanked as fast and as hard as she could, pulling the arrow from the person who had saved her life.

Metzli groaned as the bolt was ripped out of them, but no real exclamation escaped from their lungs. With a few grounding breaths, they stood fully and rolled their shoulders, winding their half arm over and over again to get the sensation the arrow left out of their nerves. “Thank you.” They hissed, “I think we are safe to leave for home if you are done burning.” Carefully, Metzli leaned forward, almost touching their nose to hers. There was hardly any blood left on her face, but her skin did look irritated.

Could’ve been worse, and it wasn’t deadly in any way, so Metzli didn’t bother checking on her further. “When I say home, I mean you go to your own home.” It felt important to clarify that. People too often misunderstood even when they were being blunt. “I will leave now. Thank you for taking out the arrow, whoever you are.” Metzli stiffened their posture and extended their arm toward the vampire, offering a handshake.

And just like that, the other vampire was good. Something Mercy was grateful for. She didn’t know what to do if the person who had saved her was worse off from the removal of the arrow. But Mercy still had a lot to learn about being part of the undead, “Wilcuma.” She bowed her head, before looking back up to the other person.

Mercy had forgotten about the burning of her face. All the excitement and rush from the escape and then yanking a bolt from the other vampire’s back had distracted her, and with good reason, “I hath forgotten of such a pain, but thankee for checking on my wellbeing.” Almost nose to nose with the other person, Mercy’s eyes grew wide, but there had been relief when they pulled away. Such odd customs for a new century.

“Aye. Caleb will be waiting for me. Travel safely.” She looked down at the vampire’s hand before clasping it and returning a good firm shake, “Mercy. My name is Mercy. And I shall call thee?” She wanted to know, so if they ever crossed paths again, she could greet them, and if not, at least, she would know of another friend that resided in Wicked’s Rest.

Their expression contorted slightly at the sensation of Mercy’s flesh meeting theirs. It was still odd to touch anyone they didn’t know well, but the custom felt necessary after they had helped one another. “Okay.” A curt nod, “I am Metzli. I own the gallery.” They quickly retracted their hand and pocketed it, wringing their fingers together to trade one sensation for a better one. It grounded them, as it always did, and they let out a sigh of relief.

“I am going to leave now.” Metzli looked to the sky and turned on their heel, tripping slightly on themself. They winced at how it jostled their shoulder, but they quickly coughed to cover it up before taking a few steps toward freedom. She probably didn’t notice. Probably.

“Goodbye, Mercy.”

And goodbye to the raccoon, too.

#wickedswriting #writings #bloody ink #c: mercy #mercy and metzli #take on thee

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magmahearts · 16 days

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TIMING: current PARTIES: @vanoincidence & @magmahearts LOCATION: the magmacave SUMMARY: van comes to visit cass in her cave, but is confused to find she isn't as welcomed as usual. CONTENT WARNINGS: none!

“Someone is outside.” Makaio’s voice was booming, gravelly. He didn’t put up a glamour and, since he’d come to stay here, Cass hadn’t been keeping hers up, either. Not when she was in the cave, at least, not when he was around. It seemed to please him, she thought; he looked more satisfied now that she kept the glamour off than he had when she’d had it up just after she found him in the cave, and she liked that. She liked the look of approval on his face, the way she felt like he probably liked her more in her true form than he did in her disguised one. She wasn’t sure anyone else ever had.

She glanced to the mouth of the cave now, nodding. She could feel someone just outside, drawing closer to the entrance. “Yeah,” she agreed, getting to her feet.

“Should I take care of it?” She tensed a little. She got the feeling her father didn’t much care for outsiders. It made sense; he’d been alone for so long, he’d said. Apprehension was natural, after something like that. But if someone was here, they were probably here to see her, so she shook her head.

“It’s probably one of my friends,” she replied with a small smile. Something unreadable flashed across her father’s face before he nodded, turning away. It ached, somehow; she couldn’t decide why. “I’m just… I’ll be right back. I won’t tell them you’re here, okay?”

Makaio didn’t acknowledge her, and she waited a moment before slinking towards the entrance. She put her glamour up when she was far enough away that she thought he might not notice. Her chest felt tight as she approached the entrance, and it usually didn’t. Usually, someone coming to visit her would put her in a good mood. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth thoughtfully as she made her way to the front of the cave.

—

A lot had been happening all at once– it was hard to keep her head on straight. The urge to fall beneath the pressure of quite literally everything was overbearing, but she couldn’t do that, not yet. Not until all was lost, and right now, things were still salvageable.

Or so she thought.

“Cass?” Van stepped carefully around the cairn she and Cass had built together outside of the cave that way she’d remember the entrance. She peered into the darkness, digging into her back pocket for her phone. Turning on the flashlight, she directed it inside, light illuminating the dark edges of rock and dirt. Only when she stepped further in did she hear footsteps coming towards her.

Another few steps, and Cass was right in front of her. Relief washed over Van as she smiled at her friend. “Hey! I’ve been trying to text you. I thought about calling, but like, nobody likes those.” She looked past Cass and motioned forward, “I brought you some new comics, do you want to go read them inside?” She made to brush past Cass, holding the flashlight ahead of her. She knew that Cass could see easily in the cave (probably due to habit at this point), but that didn’t mean she wasn’t typically feeling her way around clumsily to venture further inside.

—

There were already footsteps in the cave by the time she got to the entrance, and anxiety thrummed in her chest as she moved a little faster. She didn’t want anyone who might be coming to visit her to find her father in the cave. She wasn’t afraid he’d hurt them — he wouldn’t do that, she was sure of it — but she was afraid of his disappointment. She was afraid he’d leave, afraid he’d see she was more trouble than she was worth, and she didn’t want that. She wanted him to stay. Just for once, she wanted someone to stay.

So she met Van towards the front of the cave, relaxing a little as she recognized her friend. Van was a good person to be here, Cass thought. Someone else might want to go deeper into the cave, but Van could be easily convinced to stay towards the front. Cass offered her a bright grin, bounding over to meet the other girl.

She faltered slightly at Van’s offer. Any other day, she would have jumped at it. The idea of reading comics in her cave with a friend was the very thing she’d longed for for most of her life, but right now? With her father in the back of the cave, not wanting to be seen or heard? It was bad timing. She grabbed Van’s arm quickly as she passed, holding her in place. “Um, actually, this isn’t — It’s not a great time. For reading in the cave. I mean, it’s dark, and reading by flashlight is supposed to be bad for your eyes or something. Right?”

—

Before Van could take another step, Cass was grabbing her arm, holding her firmly in place. Slightly startled, she looked from Cass into the darkness of the cave, brows pulling together. “What? We did it before– remember, you even had candles…” She shrugged out of Cass’s grip, rubbing her arm. “Besides, like, I have way too much screen time on record to not have messed up my eyes.” Van let out a soft laugh before she dug into her bag, producing the Cassandra Cain comics. “You said I was like her, so I wanted to read her stuff. She’s like, really cool.” She pushed the Batman’s No Land into Cass’s chest. “I brought snacks, too.”

—

Maybe she gripped Van a little too hard. She felt a surge of uncertainty at the way her friend rubbed at her arm, dropping her hand down to her side and wondering if she’d been too intense in her desperation. “The candles got wet,” she said, the lie burning her tongue. She pushed through it, doing her best to ignore the discomfort. It was better to deal with the uncomfortable feeling of a lie in her throat than the unfathomable concept of disappointing a father she’d only just started to get to know, wasn’t it? “I don’t want you to mess up your eyes more, though. We can just do something else!” Though the sight of the comic made her yearn for the very activity Van had come here to participate in. Cass Cain was one of Cass Akamai’s favorite heroes for reasons that went far beyond the shared first name. “What if we read it outside? It’s nice out. We don’t need to be in the cave to read and eat snacks.”

—

“But we have the flashlight, even if there aren’t candles.” She held up her phone showing off the light that beamed from her phone. Van wasn’t sure what was up with Cass. Usually it was Van who was uncertain about venturing further into the cave, but these days she’d been trying to become braver. “I…” She looked around them, frowning. “Cass, it’s about to rain.” The clouds had already begun to cycle through the sky, clinging together with precipitation. “I’m sure it’s more dry in your cave?” Van was a little hurt by her friend’s insistence. She wasn’t sure what she’d done to deserve being brushed off like she was. “Are you okay? You’re acting weird, and usually I’m the one acting weird.” She tapped the flashlight app off and stuck her phone into her pocket, frown deepening.

—

“It’ll drain your phone battery!” She was grasping at straws here, with an edge of desperation to her tone. The idea of disappointing her father was terrifying; even more so than the idea of upsetting Van. It wasn’t that she didn’t care about Van, because she did. But Van was more likely to stick around, wasn’t she? Cass thought of the promise that bound them, the one made in that supermarket. Wouldn’t that make it harder for Van to leave? There was nothing like that keeping her father in her life, so she should try harder to please him. Shouldn’t she? “Who cares about the rain! Rain is fun! We can — Dance in the rain or something.” Van seemed unhappy, and Cass’s mouth felt dry. “I’m fine. I’m not acting weird.” Her stomach clenched with the lie.

—

“I have a battery pack, it’s shaped like a duck.” She nearly dragged it out of her bag, but it was probably at the bottom and she didn’t feel like pulling everything out, too, just to prove to her friend that she had her battery situation covered. Van scratched the back of her neck. “Dance in the rain? With the comics?” That didn’t seem smart, or safe. What if one of the ones she had found was worth a lot of money or something? “You’re like, super acting weird.” She folded her arms against her chest and watched her friend for a moment before continuing, “I guess.. we can go do something else if you don’t want to go inside?” It was really unusual, Van decided. Nora wasn’t here to talk about it with, and so maybe that’d leave Ariadne. “Are you decorating or something? You know, my birthday already passed, so if this is like a surprise thing you’re super late.”

—

“But what if you need it later for an emergency?” Did Van have to have a solution to everything? Normally, Cass would have been thrilled, but right now? Right now, it had anxiety thrumming in her chest like she was a kid who’d been caught with her hand in a cookie jar. “We can leave the comics under a tree or something. So they don’t get wet.” The anxiety only increased when Van pointed out that she was acting strange. She knew she was acting strange, knew it was noticeable, but… What was she supposed to do here? She couldn’t risk making her father angry, but she didn’t want to upset Van, either. It was a hard situation, an impossible choice. Cass didn’t like it at all. “I’m… doing spring cleaning!” Was that a good excuse? She didn’t know anymore. “It’s a mess in there, and it’s super embarrassing, so I don’t want anybody to see it. But we should celebrate your birthday late, anyway. By dancing in the rain!”

—

“I have another battery pack, but that one isn’t shaped like a duck so I don’t use it as often. It’s just a square.” It was easier to tote around, but it was less fun. Van wasn’t sure what was going on with Cass. She was acting super weird, and while Van wasn’t usually one to call people out for being weird, the idea of leaving comics under a tree for later was confusing in its own. The Cass she knew would never leave comics behind. “What if the squirrels get them?” It was a valid argument, she thought. Squirrels would take anything they wanted. Van looked past Cass into the mouth of the cave. There was definitely something that Cass wasn’t telling her, but hadn’t she kept secrets before? Though, hadn’t there been a whole talk on how they could trust each other? “Cass…” She grabbed her friend’s arm, steadying her a bit. “What’s going on?”

—

What was Van, a Girl Scout or something? Always prepared? It was great, really, but it was also just a little bit inconvenient right now. Who carried two battery packs around? Who did that? “Squirrels don’t read comics. They’ll be safe.” Frustration bubbled in her chest, and she hated this feeling. She hated feeling frustrated with her friend for wanting to hang out with her, hated feeling frustrated with her father for wanting to be alone, hated the way that both of them were completely valid in feeling the way they felt which meant she was the one in the wrong. Van grabbed her arm, and Cass felt warm and cold at the same time, like she was both freezing to death and burning up. Everything felt so conflicting. Was it supposed to be this hard? “Nothing’s going on.” Her stomach clenched with the lie, nausea rushing over her like an ocean wave. She grit her teeth against it, pressing her tongue to the roof of her mouth. “Can we please just hang out out here?”

—

“They like to make nests though, don’t they?” Did Cass not know anything about squirrels? Had she never had things stolen off her back porch that were later found in a nest in a tree surrounded by squirrels? She thought about the pokemon cards she’d lost to the squirrels. She didn’t want the same thing to happen to Cass’s comics. Especially ones she’d gotten for her. Van stared at Cass, surprised by the way she was so adamant about nothing being wrong. “Are you sure?” She should’ve just let it go, but this really wasn’t like Cass. Usually she was being pulled into the cave. Had something terrible happened? Was Cass trying to protect her from it? She bit the inside of her cheek as she mulled it over. “Yeah, okay, fine.” Finally, Van relented and let go of her friend’s arm, feeling a little dejected by their interaction. “I– I think I’m just going to go home, actually. Enjoy your comics, Cass.” She offered Cass a smile, hurt by her friend’s insistence that they not go inside. It was something small, but it was obvious that her friend was lying. What was inside that she didn’t want her to see?

—

“Not in the rain.” Honestly, she had no idea if that was true or not. Van seemed to know more about squirrels than Cass did, so it was probably better to defer to her judgment on this one. But Cass was frustrated and uncertain and torn in a way she hadn’t been in a while now, and the urge to lash out and disagree for the sake of disagreeing was stronger than it usually was. She’d never felt quite like this before, and it was uncomfortable. She felt like she was being torn in two, like an earthquake had split her right down the middle. Half of her wanted to tell Van everything, wanted to share her excitement about her father with someone, but the other half was terrified of disappointing him.

And, in the end, that second half won out. If she disappointed her father, he would leave. He would leave, and she’d have no one who was the same as she was all over again, would know that her blood relative knew about her and chose to walk away all the same. It was different before, when she could convince herself that her parents only abandoned her because they didn’t know her yet, when she could pretend they’d have loved her if they’d have stuck around long enough to try it. But now? If her father left after getting to know her, that would make it her fault. That would prove, definitively and entirely, that she was the problem. And she didn’t want that.

Still, fear curled into her stomach as Van pulled away. She tried to reach out, a stilted motion that halted halfway through and left her arm hovering, half-raised, between them. She wanted to apologize, wanted to beg Van not to go, but… she couldn’t, could she? Not without admitting what was back in that cave and losing her father’s trust in the process.

With a sigh, Cass dropped her hand back to her side. “I’ll text you later,” she said quietly. “It was, um… It was really nice of you to stop by.” But even as she said it, she felt emptier than she had in a long time. How could having two people who wanted her attention make her feel more isolated than having none? Did everyone feel this way, or was Cass just… broken, somehow? “Um… Bye, Van.”

As she turned back into the cave, she pretended her hands weren’t shaking, pretended her chest didn’t ache. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? This was what she’d always wanted. It was good. It was a good thing.

Plastering a smile back onto her face, Cass made her way back towards her father.

#vanoincidence #van: above ground #wickedswriting

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thunderstroked · 1 day

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Mutt Pup! || Mona & Metzli

TIMING: current. LOCATION: downtown. PARTIES: @muertarte & @thunderstroked SUMMARY: mona is downtown after the situation with monty! she finds fluffy first, metzli second. things are looking up until they aren't. CONTENT: none.

Wandering around town, the fox decided, might be more dangerous than wandering around the woods. She felt the need to avoid all eyes, and it was a little harder to do when she didn’t look like a typical fox. Lucky enough for her, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, and all that were left in the nooks and crannies of alleyways were shadows. It would be easier to maneuver around town this way, she thought. Safer, she hoped.

Except, the sound of a bark– loud, piercing. It made her ears hurt, far more than the yelling from the children. She recoiled, backing up into a dumpster, half-way slipping beneath it. The barking was incessant, and soon enough, the dog’s scent curled around the fox’s nose. Was she going to die to some mutt? After everything she’d been through so far, she was going to die to a MUTT? Desperate, the fox darted from beneath the dumpster, distracted by the dog at her heels as she ran face first into the shins of a human– no, undead individual. The pain of the impact cascaded through her head to her shoulders and the fox veered around, finding a box to hide behind. She was so fucked, and this was the end. Either the mutt would eat her, or the undead would eat her, drain her blood, or make her wish she were dead with visions.

The world was loud. Constantly, incessantly loud. Most days, at least as of late, Metzli wondered if being free to experience their environment fully was truly worth all the trouble. They found that the answer was always yes. In the way anger sparked introspection and learning; the blooming of a pleasant buzz in their chest when they saw their loved ones, and everything in between. Though, if Metzli were honest, they thought they could do without the ability to be startled. They jumped and grew confused when Fluffy sniffed at the air, bursting into a sprint as he barked toward an alleyway. Metzli gave chase, skidding to a halt when they reached the irritated canine.

“¿Qué te pasa? ¡Fluffy! ¡Ven para aca!” They reprimanded, voice firm enough to cause Fluffy to sit in place just as something ran into them. Fluffy still continued to bark loudly until the vampire snapped their fingers, training returning to his mind. It gave Metzli the space to check the source of Fluffy’s distress, and their eyes grew worried and soft. With another snap, Fluffy returned to their side, giving them the opportunity to latch the leash to the collar and dock him to a nearby pole. The dog whined and paced, finally dwindling into a huff when he laid down.

Metzli relaxed then, attention returning to the small fox that trembled and hid. It wasn’t an ideal spot for hiding, but with so little to work with, the vampire understood. They felt bad for the scared creature, and knowing how domineering they may look, Metzli crouched down and made themself as small as they could. “Esta bien.” They whispered, showing their open palm and half-limb in an attempt to look friendly. Whether or not the fox would understand though, Metzli wasn’t sure, but they still wanted to try.

The fox cowered against the brick facing of the opposite wall, nose twitching in response to the way they crouched down to greet her. Immediately, the fox’s gaze traveled over their features, picking up the immediate understanding that maybe they did not mean her harm. She could hear her father’s voice in the back of her head, never trust anything on two feet. But they had reprimanded the dog, had even restrained it, despite its high pitched whines.

She could either run now and risk being caught in the jaws of the mutt, or she could put faith into the undead individual ahead of her. The sound of cars and footsteps at the other end of the alley told her she had little time to decide. A fox of her kind wasn’t found in most places, and she was sure to garner a few stares– especially because in certain circles, her photos had already been spread. It was unfortunate, but she knew she had no other choice. Putting faith into people wasn’t exactly her thing, but she tried to remain calm as she pushed out from beneath the dumpster. If the people previously had been any indication of how she could trust people, then maybe this would be the same.

The fox sniffed at the individual’s hand, looking up at them with round golden eyes. Her two tails twitched behind her in response to the sound of the mutt’s whine, and she looked him over as if to reprimand it– a little too human like, she realized. Then again, maybe this person would realize they were in semi-like company and be more inclined to help her rather than for the sake of a good samaritan helping a wild animal. God forbid they call animal control. She began to paw at the ground, scratching claws through the dirt there, attempting to spell out something– Help. The p was lopsided, but she hoped it’d be enough. She looked up at them with unblinking eyes, small heart battering in her chest rapidly. This would either go well or terribly, but at least she could light this alleyway aflame if it were the latter.

The sight of a second tail on the fox caused pause. Never before had Metzli seen that sort of mutation, or if it was a cause of that for that matter. A town like Wicked’s Rest was like a beacon for all things strange, all kinds of supernatural beings. They wondered then if that’s what the fox was. And just when Metzli was going to silently theorize to themself, they noticed how the fox sneered at Fluffy. Almost as if they were irritated and making a face. Just like a human would.

Metzli’s brows raised in surprise and they looked around to make sure no one else was around to cause the fox any harm. When it began spelling though, that’s when the vampire jumped and frantically removed their suit jacket in a hurry, placing it over the creature. The fox needed help, and it no longer mattered whether it was a shapeshifter or a sentient animal. They needed help, and Metzli wasn’t going to hesitate to do so.

“Can carry you to my business. It is three blocks away. Have loft there with bed you can use. Is this okay? Can I carry you there?” It felt important to ask, especially after such an ordeal with Fluffy. Even more so because the fox had to make the big decision of trusting Metzli, a complete stranger. “I will not hurt you.” They paused, adjusting the jacket a bit to keep the tails covered. “This is my promise.”

It worked, somehow, and the fox was being draped over with the stranger’s jacket. The wriggled, surprised by the sudden movement. The urge to bite or claw died instantly at their words. She had to trust that they had good intentions, even if everything in her screamed to run. She nodded carefully in an attempt to make sure that her movements couldn’t be misconstrued– or that the undead individual might think she was simply too smart for her own good.

The promise they gave meant something to her even if she couldn’t hold onto it like a fae could.

There were too many people she would need to find after this was set straight.

After she braced herself for the way the stranger scooped her up, she peeked through a small opening within their jacket, immediately taking in her surroundings. This, at least, was familiar. She was getting closer to Felix, she thought– or at least, Inge.

There was no biting, or scratching, or even a loud warning call to prevent Metzli from picking up the fox. Much to their relief, the creature all but sank into their embrace and settled against the vampire’s chest with a relief of its own. “It will take ten minute walk for us to arrive.” They notified, watching as a muzzle barely peeked out of the jacket.

The sight was adorable enough to make a small smile form on Metzli’s face, and it continued to grow as they grabbed hold of Fluffy’s leash. It was a slight struggle with only one arm, but after some finagling, they managed to wrap the loop around their wrist without tossing around the fox too much. Meanwhile, Fluffy spun in a circle a few times, barking once more before Metzli made a disapproving noise. “Be good.” He responded with silence, which Metzli approved of, and they began their trek toward the gallery.

“Once we are at the loft, I will leave with Fluffy to get you food. You will be comfortable in there.” A few people rounded a corner and Metzli immediately quieted down and held the fox closer to their chest. They passed by with no issue, but Metzli thought it best to no longer look like they were speaking to no one after some final reassurances. “Have many blankets and a couch and a bed.” They whispered, “You will be safe.”

She was closer now to Felix than she had been previously. She recognized the area they were in, and as she poked her head out of the undead being’s jacket, she could also see faces of those who might mean her harm if she were to unveil herself. She’d need to bide her time, she decided. The fox sank against the individual’s chest, ears twitching in response to the way the dog yapped, but was immediately quieted down by his owner.

The walk truly only took ten minutes, and eventually a door was being closed behind them. Slight panic rose in the fox as she popped her head out of the jacket, ears swiveling to take in noises from every direction– to make sure she was not about to be ambushed. Luckily, it seemed to be only the three of them.

She settled down slightly as she was put down, the dog put away in a different room. The fox looked down at her muddied paws, suddenly feeling guilty for tracking anything in. She looked up at her temporary savior with a blank stare. How was she supposed to give her thanks like this? She hated the idea that she’d need to make rounds, but she’d feel guilt if she didn’t. With a too-human sigh, the fox sat down, gold eyes narrowed in on the subject, waiting for what came next.

The idea that she might die here came to mind– that she��d been too quick in believing the words they had to say, but she had very little choices out here, and besides, weren’t most undead afraid of fire? If something did happen…

The fox’s mind wandered as she looked around the loft that, in her opinion, looked like it’d come straight out of a magazine.

The fox focused on its paws, and while the mess did bother Metzli, they knew it couldn’t be helped. Whoever the fox was, they had been struggling and needed a break. They didn’t need someone reprimanding them for making a mess where they were placed. “Do not worry. Can wash it when you are gone.” Metzli smiled as soothingly as they could, though it appeared too toothy and childlike as it always did.

“I will leave you now and get food for you.” Stiffly and far too rigidly, they stood upright and headed toward the door. They stopped midway, recalling a promise of clothes. “Oh.” Heading quickly inside the closet, they grabbed some sweatpants and a t-shirt for the person to wear once they were human again. “Now I will leave.” Metzli quietly placed the clothes on the bed, and headed out, bowing their head before closing the door.

The fox’s ears twitched as they spoke. She knew that to be true, but there was still some guilt regarding the situation. She felt helpless, and though she knew not how to get back to how she’d been before whatever had happened to her thanks to the pollen, she figured that at least one of these people had to of run into her type of situation before and know how to help. Only thing was, how many more people would she see and how many more would either be kind or try and kill her? It seemed 50/50 at this point, and the fox wasn’t willing to sway further onto the opposite end. She quite liked living.

They spoke of food, and the fox’s stomach growled involuntarily. She could absolutely go for a burger right now, though she didn’t figure that’s what they would bring back. They left clothes, too – far too long for anything that’d actually fit her, but even so, she knew that she wouldn’t be shifting back anytime soon. She stayed put, waiting for them to return.

Within the ten minutes they were gone, something shuffled at the other side of the door. Four paws instead of two feet. Her head swiveled around, gold eyes boring down on the doggy door she hadn’t immediately noticed. The dog from before– Fluffy, as they had called it, shot through. She knew she shouldn’t be afraid of the mutt, but god forbid she accidentally hurt it should it try and actually hurt her. The fox jumped onto a nearby shelf that was next to an open window, and unfortunately for her, the fabric that’d been laid overtop of the shelf slipped beneath her paws, sending her falling out of the window with a yelp.

The fox hit a branch on the way down, which in turn helped to break her fall, but the crack in her shoulder sent vibrations of pain through her frame as she attempted to stand, another low whine pulling from her snout. She shook her head, staggering to her feet. The pain was bearable, though troublesome. The fox looked up towards the window knowing well enough that in this state, there’d be no climbing back up in the way she would do so if able.

Before she could even consider going to the front door and scratching at it incessantly, the sound of something behind her– a voice, loud and booming– accusatory but afraid, caused her to run. Who was she if not a coward?

#para: mutt pup!#para: metzli #wickedswriting

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