Rain drummed against the roof of the car, music humming softly from the radio. Water sprayed up from the tires as it glided on the wet roads. Big brown eyes watched the passing scenery, a letter clutched in her hands. The paper felt rough under her thumbs, but it intended to feel like ancient parchment. The envelope was addressed to a Ms. Nera P. Martell, an address listed under the name.
The letter was from her aunt, requesting she come at once. Her aunt was an older woman, looking much like Nera's father; they were siblings after all. Her aunt owned a shop full of many curiosities. It catered to every witches' needs in the small town of Florence, Oregon. Her aunt helped a variety of witches, whether the variation occurred in age, experience, or what coven they belonged to. Her aunt was a kitchen witch, as that was her calling. Her father was a cosmic witch like herself, pursuing a career as an astronomy professor. Her mother didn't belong to a coven, following the religious footsteps of her side of the family: Catholicism.
Underneath the envelope, the letter read a simple phrase: "Come at once. You're needed here." Nera immediately contacted her aunt upon receiving the letter, pressing for more details. Her aunt didn't give away anything, only informing her of a situation the other covens were contacted about. Nera questioned why her aunt couldn't control said situation herself, but the older witches were called to gather or whatever at the sanctuary. Plus, it was her job as a head of her coven to handle the situation.
Nera pulled her eyes away from the glass, pulling her hands away from her letter. The letter lay in her lap, her right wrist lifted to her eyes. The index finger of her left hand tapped the watch and pulled up the time, 14:51. A soft sigh left her lips. She grew antsy and impatient with the drive and the silence. She wanted to know what she needed to come all the way to Florence for. She wanted to know what was so dire to pull her away from her important business at home, aka laying in bed all day depressed about the relationship her hot fling just got into.
Nera rest her head against the window of the vehicle, closing her eyes for a few moments. When she opened them again, a city came into view. The journey was soon to be over, and she couldn't wait to stretch her legs. Being boxed into a car for forever sucked. She tapped her fingers against cheek, staring at the scenery again.
The drive soon ceased, the car slowly pulling up to the shop. It was a cute, little shop, but little wasn't correct. It was a large shop, the upstairs serving as a four bedroom, two bathroom home. Nera only saw pictures of it, but it was forever ago. She couldn't remember what looked like, but knew it was more than enough room for her to stay at. She paid the driver and got out of the car, holding the letter in her right hand and her satchel slung on her shoulder. She went to the back of the car, retrieving her large suitcase, carry on bag, and telescope case from the trunk. She closed it with a soft slam and made her way to the front door, bending down to lift up a small potted plant. She retrieved the key from under it, standing back up and unlocking the door. The key went back under the plant and Nera ventured into the shop.
Nera looked around her, amazed at the supply her aunt had. The shop was stocked and kept organized, which she appreciated. She ascended the stairs, taking her belongings with her. She went to a bedroom, stuffing them there, before going back downstairs. She knew there were others coming, but the question was when. She figured waiting in the shop would be better than waiting upstairs. She needed to greet the other covens when they came. When she got behind the counter, she saw a letter addressed "To all the covens" in her aunt's script. The temptation to open it was large, but it grew distracted at the sound of the small bell over the door rang, and a figure emerged from the door.
Beatrice A. Kolkowsky Interactions: Nera themysteriousashe
| Location: Florence, Oregon
So... An Air Witch was currently praying to all of the Greek gods--that she failed miserably to remember--and found herself vomiting on an airplane.
No, the irony was not lost on Bea. Not in the slightest.
She hated riding airplanes, only because she had never done so in the past. And why would she? She never once had a reason to leave Australia in the past; at least, nothing ever valid enough to step foot outside the country. Personal woes such as "getting away from the perpetual household drama" didn't quite fit the bill nor gave her the motivation to pay for a plane ticket. However, receiving a creepy old letter about the witch coves and beckoning her presence immediately? With no rhyme or explanation in the mix?
Oh yeah. Bea booked the first flight that she could. To America... Freakin' America. Her mind was still boggled by the development. She'd always wanted to visit America, to be that one obnoxious tourist who asked for selfies with random locals and tossed out a million prying questions that came with painfully obvious answers, to binge eat three New York pizzas back to back and announce pepperoni slices on her chest as a new fashion statement, and, above all else, convince Americans that she survived a tussle with a kangaroo.
Hah! As if! Those suckers are stronk! I've got some beefy man legs of my own--good old winter coat to boot--but they're twice the meat bags I'll ever be, she thought. In that moment, Bea would've felt a shiver race down her spine at the mental image. However, with the whole vomiting into a paper bag and groaning like a zombie to the nearest air marshal fiasco, she couldn't.
Again, she was an Air Witch. Undoubtedly one of the worst.
With Aerial Armageddon out of the way, Bea didn't run into many more hiccups after the plane touched land. She wasn't a fan of airports either, so she made sure to clear through the entire process at the speed of sound. In Bea-speak, that meant moving with the haste and agility of a grown man hustling to the restroom--whose digestive track was throwing a revolution. Bea retrieved her luggage, two massive cases that rolled idly behind her and an instrument case hoisted across her shoulder, and hailed a taxi. The destination was some witch shop, that much Bea knew.
She didn't know much else than that. Which was fine. Not knowing shiz was an integral part of her default state of existing.
The drive was just as uneventful. If it wasn't for the anxiety buzzing through her veins, Bea would've taken a nap along the way, lulled by the passing images through her window and the gentle ambiance of rain. Rain naps were the best naps, after all. Regardless, she never slept and yet, somehow, someway, time passed far quicker than she ever imagined and the shop came into focus. "Welp, that's bigger than I thought," she said to herself while taking in the building curiously. She hopped out with a lightness to her steps, not at all bothered by the rain dousing her from head to toe.
As long as her precious Uke stayed dry within it's case, then she was content. Oh--the envelope too, which she tucked away snugly inside of her oversize coat. Her first steps towards the shop were tentative, hesitant, but she pushed on and the moment she reached the door, all of her pesky nerdling qualities surfaced. Sweaty palms. Stuttering words. Nervous laughter bubbling up her chest at the absence of a joke. The whole shabang. She awkwardly bumped the door open with her back (Gotta use that booty somehow, am I right? Heh, jk. What booty? I'm a le cardboard.) and stumbled inside, nearly tripping over her own feet.
"Gah! Okay, okay, I'm cool! Not tripping! Not today, I swear!" As Bea righted herself, she half-expected to see an empty area and accept the sad reality that she was talking herself. However, that prediction was flushed down the toilet the moment her eyes laid on a woman... Bea gulped. Heat flooded her face in an instant and the babbling worsened tenfold.Oh. Great. Wonderful. Beautiful ass woman in my presence. It's fine. E-everything's fine--GOD BEA DON'T LOOK INTO HER GORGEOUS EYES! BUT WAIT IF I DON'T THAT'LL COME ACROSS AS RUDE FUCK I'M CORNERED LIKE A FAT SQUIRREL ON A DIET! Bea cleared her throat and approached the woman. "U-uhhh... Uhhh... Uhhh... Words. Right. G-gotta use those. Err, heya!" She offered her hand for a shake. "Nice to meet ya! W-well, the creepy ole letter thing being the reason we're here a-aside. Uh..." She blinked, trying to remember what she was supposed to say next-- "Bea! N-name's Bea! You are?" Freakin' gorgeous, that's what. God give me strength!
Anton J. Sheerloft Interactions: None | Location: Florence, Oregon
The letter didn't make much sense. Or explain the situation around it. Luckily for Anton, he didn't care about either of those things. All that mattered was that he had something to do and apparently, something worth his time.
So, yeah. Florence, Oregon--why the fuck not?
At first, he wanted to take a plane. The quickest and safest mode of transportation available... but also the most expensive. With the way his account looked, a bus ticket was his only option. And it wasn't the best bus around, either. There were definitely a few hobos on board; hell, he shared a booth with one for half of the trip. He smelled of cold cut meats that were left in room temperature environments for about a month. No--a year. That and the scent of musk and milk were added into the mix. The fumes were putrid. Awful. And the hobo never stopped talking. Never stopped infecting the same air that Anton was breathing...
Eh. Whatever. He didn't care.
The second half of his ride was a bit more peaceful. A little bit. The bus was perpetually wrought with body heat and sweat; he could hear people's butts sticking to leather, squeaking with every uncomfortable squirm. And they squirmed a lot. And there were a lot of crying babies, too. Again, that was all fine. Anton could tune out sounds like child's play. Ah... Did he just make an unintentional pun? He was a comedic genius now.
He never once spoke during the entirety of his travels.
Anton disembarked the bus with his tattered backpack in tow and slunk into the short line of passengers retrieving their luggage. It was just one suit case for him, though it was large and packed to the brim. Carrying extra luggage meant paying extra and he wasn't about to waste money. However, what he did spend money on was a Mountain Dew slushy and a new black beanie with a faded skull printed onto it. Unoriginal in design, but it did it's job to cover his head.
He had grown tired of the looks from the bus ride alone.
He was only ten minutes away from this supposed shop--if he took a taxi. Twenty minutes if he decided to save money and walk...
Walking. He was definitely walking. He traversed the rain with a dullness behind his every step, shielding the top of his cup as he slurped. This flavor was the only thing keeping the frustration at bay--he hated being wet. It was like the opposite of dry. And he lived for dryness. That adjective was cultivated from a chunk of his soul, after all. Either way, he endured. And he walked.
And soon enough, he reached the shop.
Anton didn't spare much thought into entering, on how to enter. There were no questions about "how to greet" or "what do ask"; he'd rather go with the motions of life and see what the fickle little fucker had planned for him. Strolling in, he noticed two women. One with a relatively normal air about her and the other forgetting how to breathe. "...Contrast, my name is Anton," he whispered under his breath before pulling another long slip from his slushy, the sound obnoxiously loud and slicing through the air.
Oh. Whoops. Wasn't that considered annoying?
He forgot. And forgot to care.
Without addressing either women, he simply waltzed over to the steps and sat on the bottom, his luggage placed next to him, and sopping wet from head to toe. And so he continued sipping. He almost looked like a homeless child with dead eyes, but one that screamed of "leave me be" rather than "help, I lost my parents in Wal-Mart".
Seated in first class and completely ignoring the rest of the airline passengers, Victoria looked out of the window and sighed. She thought she would spend her time relaxing but one wretched letter has to ruin it. Hours ago, she and her parents were having dinner when suddenly a letter arrived. The contents were vague but the Smith household already has an idea regarding the matter. After all, the fields have eyes and the forest has ears. So not a second spared, her parents booked her a flight to Florence, Oregon that very same night.
To be quite honest, this was not how Victoria expected her week to be. She expected to spend it with her coven and brew some potions in her own garden. "But we can't have everything we want, can we?" she mumbled to herself, resting her chin on her palm before noticing the city below.
The plane landed around the afternoon, the worst time to arrive. As they came out of the plane, Victoria already felt the cold reflecting off the tarmac. It was humid and hard to hear with all that heavy rain pouring down. The air was heavy and smelled of diesel. She already hated Florence even before she had reached the bottom of the steps, and the arrivals lounge offered no relief. The air-conditioning was on full blast and the black-haired witch soon found herself trapped in a confined space with two or three hundred people and no windows. The terminal building was more like a large shed than a modern airport building. The walls were a drab, olive green, decorated with faded posters of the city and looked twenty years out of date...
"I hate Florence" she murmured after grabbing her bags and hailing a cab.
The rain bore down mercilessly as Victoria arrived at the shop. She was already drenched and was in desperate need of something hot to drink. By the door was a woven mat, fashioned from rustic strings, enriched with the mud of thousands of boots - a testimony to the life that dwelled in the shop. A smile escaped her lips as if she could hear the laughter of the young version of herself returning with new memories of the woodland, infused with the sound of the streams so full after rain. The doormat could have been replaced years ago, its edges were frayed and curled, but it was still here. She assumed that the owner had the floor polished, the curtains made anew and the walls painted... yet still, the mat remained, giving treasured mind-photographs, the best kind of life-nostalgia.
Now feeling a little bit better, Victoria entered the shop but when she noticed the three people standing at the foyer, her happy demeanor slowly diminished. Instead of people, what she saw was a mess.
The first one was Nera, a witch she grew up with when she was a young child. The two of them had a weird love/hate relationship where Victoria finds the other witch annoying but to sum it up, she considers her as her friend.
"Nera!" Victoria greeted with a rather monotoned voice after she placed her two large luggage on the side. She then looked at her friend from head to toe before raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at her friend's hair. She somehow hated how the humidity made Nera's hair a mess. Victoria resisted to grab a comb from her purse and brush off her friend's hair. "It's been a long time, hasn't it? And it seems nothing much has changed. Your hair still looks like it's been cut by none other than yourself."
The next one she noticed was an awkward-looking girl who's cheeks are flushed either due to the cold or something else. Immediately, Victoria greatly resisted the motherly instincts that are telling her to grab a blanket and wrap the poor girl to warm up. Not only was it rude, but it would also be weird. I don't want to make a fool of myself, do I?
She was resisting her instincts even more until her eyes landed on the last one. It was male sitting at the bottom of the stairs who looked absolutely drenched. Droplets of water were starting to seep through the polished hard floors and the carpet on the stairs he was sitting on was also starting to get drenched.
Unable to resist, Victoria finally snapped. How can these three people bear just being... themselves?! One was with messy hair. The other with flushed cheeks. And lastly, one who's completely drenched. Not to mention the poor floor and carpet.
"That's it" she mumbled under her breath before glaring hard at the trio. "Nera, go brush your hair!" she pointed at the said girl "I cannot stand how messy you look right now!"
Victoria then grabbed the other girl and the only guy before dragging them into the kitchen. "I'm going to make you two something hot to drink. After that, you.." She glanced at the male "...should change your clothes or you'll catch a cold. Also, clean the mess you made. Someone might slip and fall from the wet floors"
The kitchen witch started rummaging through the cupboards to find a kettle before filling it with water and putting it on the stove. She then looked at the flushed female before letting out a sigh, realizing that she let her feelings got the best of her.
"As for you, just grab a seat. You're probably not used to the cold weather since your cheeks are all red."
✦ NERA P. MARTELL ✦ INTERACTIONS: bea, anton, victoria ― LOCATION: florence, oregon
✦ NERA P. MARTELL ✦
Nera watched in amusement as Bea stumbled, not realizing her presence behind the counter. She watched in interest, hearing the female talk to herself. When the female looked at her, Nera observed the reaction. The woman grew flustered, nervous, and flushed in the face. Nera didn't want to make any assumptions, but she had a few flitting in her mind. A grin appeared on her features and she stepped from behind the counter. She approached Bea, extending her hand and grasping Beatrice's. She gave it a gentle, yet nice shake. She knew she had a good hand shake, being complimented on it many times. She released Bea's hand, knowing it was her time to introduce herself.
"Hi, Bea! I'm Nera Martell, Maris's niece. You must be one of the air coven young leaders. I hope the flight from Australia treated you well. I'm going to get some tea, or coffee if you prefer, started to warm you up. You must not be used to this type of cold," Nera said smoothly. She smiled at the female, secretly watching her reaction. She figured the Australian had an anxiety disorder or was just nervous in new social situations. OOOOR, the female was a lesbian and turned into a puddle of mush. She had a feeling both occurred at the same time. This was going to be fun to watch.
Nera heard the shop bell ding again, watching a young, black man enter. She scraped her mind, trying to remember who he was. She only saw pictures of some of the young leaders of each coven. As she scraped her mind, the name and face aligned. It was Anton Sheerloft from the ceremonial coven. She watched as he murmured and introduction before settling on a step. She saw he was soaked, and she wondered if he either spent too long admiring the rain outside or walked in it. She tensed slightly, knowing the shop was going to be all wet, but she needed to be nice and tell the young man to go change. She didn't need anyone getting sick on her, especially if her aunt was calling each coven together.
"It's nice to finally meet you, Anton. I hope your travels weren't difficult. Now, I think the both of you should go claim a room upstairs. Anton, you should change out of your wet clothes. Feel free to toss them in the dryer. We don't want you to get sick now," Nera said, hoping to sound pleasant. She wasn't entirely bothered by his wet clothes, feeling some concern. However, she thought it was a little rude of him to waltz in and not bother changing his clothes. The stairs were carpeted, meaning she'd have to lay a towel down and probably put up a caution sign to signal the small puddle on the stairs.
Nera turned to go to the small kitchen connected to the downstairs, as her aunt liked to offer customers with refreshments and required a small kitchen closed off to employees. She didn't complete the action of actually traveling there when she heard Victoria walk in. Good fucking lord, why was this bitch here. Nera turned and faced the entrance to the shop, crossing her arms over her chest and putting a tight smile on. She listened to Victoria's monotone ass greeting, doing her best not to pull this bitch's hair right in front of everyone. How dare she insult her in her aunt's shop, which could just as easily be her own.
"Victoria, it's so not good to see you! Thanks for the compliment on my hair! At least I know how to cut it myself! You look like you were hit by a bus! I really hoped you were!" Nera seethed, her smile tighter. It was obvious the two females REVOLTED each other. Nera knew she was gong to have to lay down some rules, and the first one was going to be to not boss her around in her aunt's shop. She watched Victoria take in the surroundings, knowing this bitch was going to have a damn aneurysm. She silently counted in her head, staring up at the ceiling before Victoria lost her shit. She heard the woman scold her about her hair, causing her to roll her eyes. No one's hair would be perfect in Florence, especially after traveling. She was digging her heels in and definitely not going to brush it.
Nera watched Victoria scold Anton and she shook her head from side to side lightly. This was not the best interaction Nera could've had in front of the others nor was it the best reaction Victoria could've had to everyone. She watched as the trio disappeared into the kitchen, a huff coming from her as she marched up the stairs, going to grab a towel to dry the small puddle on the stairs.
✦ IYRA A. W. ZIMA ✦ INTERACTIONS: none ― LOCATION: pskov > moscow, russia > florence, oregon
✦ IYRA A. W. ZIMA ✦
Iyra was nervous. The thought of leaving home for a while, especially miles away scared him. He'd never been to the States and heard all sorts of things about it. He heard the people weren't kind, that they all looked liked pigs. He worried they would all be like how they are on TV. He also knew they really loved guns and politics caused pretty much the Cold War part two in the U.S. God, don't even get him started on the fear of Russians currently running rampant in the country.
Irya's nerves didn't stem from not having traveled before. It wasn't the first time he'd left his home of Russia. He'd gone all over Europe and in some parts of Asia. It was the idea of why he was leaving home. Here was this air witch, having never been to the States before, having to leave for a witch dilemma. He wondered how serious the issue was, seeing as the letter was cryptic. He wondered what would cause all the witches to gather all in one room. He also didn't understand why it was the younger leaders of the coven, not the elders. The elders were more experienced than them, but whatever it was probably involved an open mind.
The journey was a rather long one. He had to catch a train to Moscow from Pskov, which took ten hours. After the train ride, he hopped right onto a flight for almost sixteen hours and he wanted to die. He didn't travel directly to Florence, and probably had to be the only one to take three days to travel there. He wanted to rest before finishing his journey, which he did as soon as he got off his flight. A hotel room was booked for him, and he immediately passed out. He slept a good while before getting up, showering the grime off from traveling, and getting some American food to eat. The food wasn't bad, but it was far more greasy, salty, and sugary than he was used to. He hoped he could adapt easily to the food.
The drive from Portland to Florence was about two and a half hours. He knew he would have to travel the same distance and ways back home, but knew the sanctuary of all covens provided reimbursement for travel for its foreign friends. Regardless, he hoped to make the most out of this trip, even if the issue was minor. He planned to stay a month, at the very least, in this country and do all of the American things. He wondered if England and America were similar, as he was just in England not more than a month ago.
The drive to the shop in Florence was long, and Iyra wasn't entirely sure how to keep himself busy. It rained as he traveled to the shop, but he heard this type of weather was normal in Oregon. They often had rainy days, but it didn't bother him. He was sure it was far nicer than the winters in Russia. This would probably feel like spring to him, but it was better safe than sorry to still bundle up. Regardless of the temperature and whether or not his body could handle it, he didn't want to risk getting sick from being drenched. Yes, the rain didn't come down too much, but it was enough to soak someone through if they stayed in it for long enough.
Iyra was immensely happy to be out of the taxi when he arrived at the shop. He paid the driver and chirped thank yous in Russian before exiting the vehicle. He grabbed his suitcases from the car and closed the truck, the car driving off after. His hair started to get wet as he stared at the large shop. He took in the surroundings, as there were little wind chimes hanging here and there, flowers in flower beds, and the windows provided a glimpse into the shop. He took he handle of each suitcase in either hand and walked to the door, pushing it open with his hip. The bell dinged ahead and he hoped he wasn't late.
the answer's always no to questions of a private nature
dami wasn't particularly fond of visitors. in fact, she hated them. she didn't care for the mailman, or the garbage men, hell, even girl scouts pushed the limits. there was a reason she bought an old plantation that straddled the bayou. it was an easy place to spread rumors about it being haunted. her fondness for black animals and knack for befriending crows only helped strengthen the 'this place is haunted by some pretty pissed off ghosts' vibe. most normal people avoided her home; though, there were a few determined teenagers who had heard the rumors of a haunted old plantation and decided it would be the perfect place to have an orgy. she wasn't sure how to keep those kinds of people away. she could possibly stage a murder, but that'd bring the police around and it would probably only work against her.
today had been too quiet, dami should have known better. should have known there were no such things as lazy days. she wasn't thinking this morning when she sat out in the hammock she set up on the porch. the breeze played with the spainish moss hanging from the trees, crows cawed and played from the branches above her. it was all too idyllic for her to resist. even her dog, titus, was snoring in a patch of sunlight while she read. she must have dozed off, because she woke with someone dropping a thick envelop on her stomach. her mother stood above her, full lips pulled into a frown. "i tired calling. but apparently you are too lazy to answer your phone."here we go. dami took the envelop and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the hammock and resting her bare feet on the porch. "i don't have a phone." "you don't have a phone?" her voice was starting to rise with anger as she flung her arm wide toward a nearby table. "you don't have a phone? then what's that." she pointed with a perfectly manicured hand to, low and behold, a cellphone.
dami met her mother's gaze and with the matter-of-fact tone only someone who had been rudely awakened could manage, said "i've never seen that before in my life." her mother threw up her hands and let out something between a groan and a scream. even titus shot her a look like are you serious?"is there a reason you decided to visit me, mother?" she motioned to the envelop. "you're going to represent this family. pack a bag, you leave tonight." with that, her mother swept off the porch and left dami alone.
she thumbed through the envelop, finding a serious amount of cash, a plane ticket and a letter. she pulled out the plane ticket, a mantra of 'please be somewhere nice,' looping through her head. she felt a grin break across her face at the word florence and immediately drop upon seeing oregon attached to it. she knew there was no use fighting it, so she got up and began packing. she had a friend that could feed titus, hopefully he wouldn't mind the short notice.
it took four hours to get through airport security, another six hours was spent on the flight and thirty minutes of driving to the store she was supposed to meet the other covens at. the further and further she was from home, the more she realized that this was in fact punishment. her parents were punishing her for something. had to be. force her to be on her best behavior, suck up to other witches, spend hours next to a woman who took her shoes and socks off on the plane. the relief she felt getting off that plane was like heroin. she never thought she'd be so glad to see oregon. compared to the plane ride, the taxi ride wasn't half bad, she even managed to catch a little bit of sleep. Dami stepped up to the door not long after some else had rung it. she adjusted her bag on her shoulder and offered a nod of hello.
It was 48 hours. It would take roughly 48 hours to drive, nonstop, from Quebec City to Florence, Oregon. Obviously he couldn’t go nonstop like that, so maybe three or four days of driving on his own to reach his destination.
It was actually paining Amias that he was considering it.
Roadtrips could be nice. They were typically taken with other people, but well, he was the only one he knew who had opened up a cryptic letter about witch business upon getting home from work. Still, that was just a detail that was really, truly unimportant in the grand scheme of things.
The important details?
He’d be on his own with only his own company and his music for roughly three to four days in the driver’s seat of his own car. No screaming children of parents that couldn’t be bothered less, no one to fall asleep on his shoulder and snore loudly in his ear, and no airplanes he’d have to board to suffer hundreds of people crammed into a confined space for hours on end. The airplane might be the less-consuming time option, sure, but would it feel like it?
No, the answer was no.
He might’ve done it, too. He would’ve absolutely driven across the entire continent if it weren’t for one very important thing.
It sounded urgent. It was cryptic and vague and confusing beyond measure, but the letter had sounded urgent. Time may very well be of the essence, whatever was going on that required him in Florence.
He had a preference for keeping his feet on firm ground. He would rather not cage himself in a high tech tin can miles above solid ground.
And yet, that was what he was going to have to do.
He drug his hand down his face, groaning in the pitch black of his kitchen lit only by the laptop on the table. Then he clicked on the flight, and booked his tickets for the next morning.
A nearly eight hour flight had passed, with Amias clutching his seat with each bit of turbulence until at last the plane had landed. He couldn’t quite get off that plane fast enough, especially considering someone had definitely vomited early on during the flight, and he had never been so happy to have his feet on solid ground again. Each of his nerves were already worn thin, and the truly pressing part of the day hadn’t even begun.
Checking the directions on his phone, it wasn’t terribly far from the airport to the shop he would be meeting the other covens at. With his umbrella in hand and opened overhead, he was plenty fine with walking in the rain.
The roughly twenty minute walk went by quickly. Fast enough, in fact, that Amias found himself wishing it were just a little longer, if only so he could recover before facing a new group of people.
Instead he kept walking to the shop, clad in his dark muted colors and earthy tones, a black beanie, and his old work boots. He was a silent, slightly intimidating figure as he approached the other two at the shop’s front door. He nodded in greeting as he slipped under the overhang, and closed his umbrella to wait beside them.
When it came to fast-speed air travel, or taking an airplane, Severin wasn't a stranger to it. However, that didn't mean he had to like it. It was six in the morning on the day of his departure and he was already in his seat, of course next to the window. Already, he could hear the sticky kid fingers that were touching the seats as two kids ran by before take-off, a panicking mother attempting to settle them down with a glaring flight attendant looking to be moments away from grabbing the trouble-makers herself.
And it was only six in the morning, as if he needed to remind himself of that fact.
As for the reason he was forcing himself into such a situation, it was still a mystery to the secular witch, even as he sat and contemplated it while looking outside the window. A few days before he had gotten on to the plane, he had been in his isolated cottage in the outskirts of the city. Nobody really knew where he lived since that was his intention, so it shocked Severin when he found a parchment letter stuck in his door. After wondering how the hell somebody located his house, his curiosity got the better of him and he opened the letter, not even thinking of the possibility that it could have ricin or something inside.
Inside the letter had been an urgent summoning to a shop in Florence Oregon, of all places. Severin had a constantly creased brow as confusion riddled his body, unsure if it was real or some kind of invitation to one of those convention things. He had gotten a few of those. However, because of the vagueness of the letter and the feel of the parchment, the male witch had decided to take a leap of faith and book the next flight to Oregon. His apprehension to the flight had started then, along with the possibility that the letter could be a hoax.
Back inside the airplane, the flight began to take off and surprisingly, the seats weren't as full as he had expected, save for the loud kids whose mother had thankfully managed to get them seated. Severin put in his ear buds and put on his traveling play-list before going into his brooding state, staring out the window and contemplating all life decisions thus far. It was an unlikely hobby, but by all means did the job for keeping his brain occupied.
During the flight, the dark haired witch thought deeply about who all would be at the meeting. There was no telling how many would get the letter, but he knew he wouldn't be the only one. After all, the letter specified a witch from each coven, and why he had gotten the letter, he had no idea. Nonetheless, he had packed one of every stone he had, as well as the basic tools for a witch like him to need and hopped on a plane.
"I don't know whether this is stupid or not..." Severin muttered under his breath, his amber and green eyes scanning over the clouds passing by. His heterochromia had been a topic of conversation multiple times, but in moments such as the one he was in, alone and watching the world around him, he would often forget about it. Through his different colored eyes, he watched the people and the world around him, seeing what they might do and if anything could go to shit or not... like he was trying to figure out throughout the flight.
Soon enough, after a few hours of dozing, Severin finally stepped into Oregon. The airport was about two hours from Florence, but he already had the money for cab expenses. Luckily, he had found a cab that would take him, as there were a lot more people bustling around than there were in the plane. Then, after a more than awkwardly quiet cab ride, he found himself at the block, pulling out an umbrella to defend his body from the rain that had started to pour. Despite the water, the man took a moment to admire the dark cloudy sky above him before walking down the sidewalk, his eyes searching for the shop. After a few minutes, he saw a small group of three people waiting outside of the shop, all of them quietly waiting.
Stepping underneath the overhead to stay dry, Severin saw himself almost touching shoulders with one of the men who was waiting last in the line.
"Sorry." Severin muttered as he stepped to the side, making more room for himself and the others. The male witch's outfit consisted of a long black and white overcoat, black pants, black combat boots, and a white dress-shirt, tucked into his pants. His hair was slightly styled, but was a little messy from his journey to the shop, and as he took in the others around him, they must have traveled as well... or perhaps he was just assuming. Thankfully, nobody else had been in conversation, which meant he could stand quietly and wait without having to socialize and waste his energy. There were two men and a woman that were waiting, all of which seemed to be there like him, and that wasn't counting how many were inside... and that thought took Severin back a bit. There were more witches present than he had thought, perhaps...
Location: Florence, Oregon Interactions: Severin, Damiana, Irya, and Amias Mentions: All Witches
A loud bang and sudden bright light pouring though his room was what awoke Mateus the first time. He rolled over, groggy eyes peeling open, only to see a very upset-looking Ilza standing directly in front of him.
"Got a letter, slut." The thick envelope smacked his shoulder and slid down to the ground, Ilza storming back out.
"Yeah you too, ho." Mateus grumbled, though she had gone, then turned back over and fell asleep. It was too early for that kind of bullshit. He hadn't even heard what she said.
The second time Mateus woke up, it was due to blunt force trauma. Two rather firm pillows were thrown at him from the door.
"Wake up! Read the stupid letter!" He bolted awake, hearing his sister yelling at him. He glared daggers at her, tossing the pillows back at her, but she just closed the door and they hit wood with a thump, then fell to the floor. Mateus rubbed his face awake, reaching down for the letter. He ripped it open, grumbling about damn people and stupid mail, why couldn't they just email or text or something. He gave it a scan, and felt his heart drop a bit. This was immediately something he wasn't looking forward to.
"But I don't want to go to Oregon..." The plane ride was short and bumpy. Mateus hated riding in the tiny three row planes that felt like they'd crumble any time they hit any sort of turbulence. It was uncomfortable and they didn't even have any drinks outside of some water. He grumpily nibbled on the pretzels he got as a snack from the attendant, trying to savor them. He only got like four in a packet, he had to make those mini-pretzels last. He ignored the rest of the people in the plane, earbuds in and sunglasses down. He got a couple looks of disdain as he was boarding, which he could only assume was because of the very ostentatious yellow crop top and hot pink vegan fur bolero jacket combo he was wearing. If he was going to appear at this meeting thing, he was gonna do it in style.
Landing was bumpy, because of course it was, and with that Mateus swiftly exited the plane, grabbed his luggage from the gate, and made his way to the airport entrance. He managed to find a cab that was more than willing to take him an extra distance, especially with an extra twenty flashed in his face. Mateus was truly glad he managed to find a cab so quickly, he really didn't want to wander around the airport in three-inch heels and Daisy Dukes.
The ride was quiet, in which he had ample time to contemplate and wonder what on earth they wanted them for. They wanted multiple witches, and he was just one of many, he could assume. The letter was sent to his house, though he would have expected it to go to his mom. Maybe there was a reason he was chosen. Ilza was fuming when she found out he had been chosen, as she thought she should have been the one to go as the older sibling. Still, if it was him they wanted, he had to oblige. And here he was.
After only a few minutes of contemplation, Mateus fell asleep. He was jostled awake by a bump, and found out from the driver that they were almost there. Mateus used this time to quickly fix his makeup- specifically his dark pink lipstick- and prepare himself mentally. He didn't know what he was getting himself into.
The taxi pulled up to the curb a short distance from the shop, and Mateus could already see a few people streaming inside. His stomach was flipping but he 30-second meditated himself to calm confidence. He stepped out of the cab, the driver getting the luggage from the trunk. He fished out another twenty dollar bill on top of the one he already gave the man, and his fare.
"Thanks, hon. Hope this gets you a full tank back." Mateus told him, picking up the large duffel bag and telescoping the handle of the suitcase to roll it along with him. His clear umbrella was tucked in between his arm and torso. His heels tapped along the pavement as he approached the building, noting the exterior looked a little dated but otherwise nice. As he approached the door, there was already a bunch of people outside. Apparently somebody was holding up the line. He got behind the tall, dark-haired guy who was at the back, and lifted his head to look at the group.
"Christ I hope y'all are here because of that damn letter, because if not, I am absolutely lost."
Seora Chu | Interactions: Severin, Damiana, Mateus, Irya, and Amias | Location: Incheon, South Korea -> Airplane -> Florence, Oregon
Seora hadn’t been the first choice to send to Oregon. It wasn’t something that bothered her in the slightest, knowing she was a second choice. Ultimately the head with of the fire coven in Incheon had been called away with important business, which definitely required her presence to stay where she was. Seora was certain she’d heard the words “possessed tea kettle directly from hell” enter the phrases she’d heard the head witch spit over the phone as she’d left her coven and her friends behind.
Seora didn’t know what exactly the details of that were. She didn’t ask. She was almost certain she’d find out eventually anyway, through a long drawn out text from her head witch that she wouldn’t see until early in the morning hours.
The coven at home would be in far better hands, at least. Seora could handle whatever little situation had sprung up in America, as her coven’s second and her head witch’s right hand, and be back before it was even noticed she was gone.
She was certain of it.
It was this thought that soothed her as she rode that plane for nearly 13 hours, crammed into the small space with far too many people.
Precisely the way she liked it.
She’d all but chatted the ears off of the woman next to her, who looked like she was craving sleep and forgiveness from god, for hours straight about anything and everything. Truly, she couldn’t help herself. She was going to America. She’d always had plans, of course, to eventually travel there. Take a road trip, eat bad food, get kicked out of a Wal-Mart or ten. The country had seemed so vast and expansive, and full of possibilities
It was hard to imagine how her life had turned and given her the precise opportunity to follow one of those old dreams. It was far too exciting to consider sleeping, even if she were anything of a sound sleeper on the ground.
So for 13 hours on the plane, she was wide awake, chugging at the terrible cup of coffee in her hands as she talked incessantly about nothing, everything, and all that was in-between to the woman who had stopped craving sleep and started craving death.
When at last the plane had landed, the woman beside Seora could not have possibly left any sooner. She’d never seen someone scramble to grab their things and run as fast as she had!
She was in no place to judge, though. She’d practically done the same thing. There were so many people to meet! She’d skimmed the letter they gotten in the mail, taking in as much as she could immediately after rereading it 5 times to make sure that yes, it was in America, and yes, she was the one going.
Multiple witches, from multiple different covens. What fun! And whatever somewhat serious matter it was that had brought them all together, well, that was just a bonus.
Maybe there’d be rollercoasters involved! Or bonfires! Or drinking insane, utterly inhuman amounts of coffee, but that was nothing new. She was doing that right now, after all.
As soon as she’d left the airport, her first order of business was getting something decent to drink instead of plain, flavorless, depressingly bland bean water. 15 minutes spent at a local Starbucks (purely because she hadn’t scouted those glorious underrated coffee shops out just yet, and she didn’t quite have the time to), and she was on her way.
Well over two hours away from the no doubt delightful town of Florence, Seora had hailed a taxi (thankfully that much was the same) and headed out. Packed into the back of the small car, she talked slightly less than she had on the plane, largely preoccupied with the glorious, sweet caffeine she had clutched in her hand. Of course, between sips, she said all she thought she could spare the time to say before at last the car turned onto the street and parked.
She fumbled a moment, remembering how different American money was. Pulling several of the largest bills from her wallet, she extended them forward to the driver.
“Ah, this is enough, right?” she asked, six generous bills clutched in hand. The driver turned, nodded vigorously, and gladly took them. She popped open the door, opened her black umbrella overhead, and unfolded her tiny body onto the sidewalk. She lifted her bags from the back, waving wildly as the taxi proceeded to take off. “Bye, nice man!”
Then she turned, thankful to have dressed comfortably and for the weather. Her favorite burgundy sweater, dark jeans, her ever so cute little black booties, and a long grey coat to pull it all together were more than enough to make a suitable impression. Twiddling with the amber colored crystal hanging from her necklace, she made her way towards the shop.
She definitely loved Florence already!
So small compared to home, so quaint and homey. Rain aside, it was practically perfect! As was that lovely shop! She could practically smell the old books and endless colorful candles from out here.
She had a good feeling about all of this, that was for sure. Maybe, just maybe, whenever the rain let up, she could organize a bonfire for all her new friends.
And speaking of!
There was a cluster of witches outside the door, huddled under the awning. “Hello!” she greeted with another wave and a cheerful smile. She waltzed through the puddles before joining the cluster at the door.
She was silent for a good 40 seconds. And then….
“Hey, isn’t this a shop? Why are we hanging out here? Is it closed? The door’s not locked, is it?” she asked, slipping forward and jiggling the doorknob. It turned easily and the door sprung open.
“Ayyyyyyyyyyyyyy!” she cried gleefully before slipping through, her suitcase trailing behind.
And then she stopped, overwhelmed by the sight of all her wildest, witchy dreams before her. The candles, books, the candles, the incense, the funky jewelry, the crystals, and the candles, did she mention the candles?
And it was so nice, carrying that homey vibe that had stuck with her ever since she’d stepped outside the airport. Homey enough she was itching to chuck off her shoes for fear of tracking all of the outside into the inside.
She settled for swiping her boots vigorously over the sad little mat at the door before continuing inside.
"Sarah, hold still. You asked me to do this, you know." Emmanuel's tongue gently clicked against the top of his mouth. Eyes squinted behind thickly framed glasses, Emmanuel's fingers gingerly looped his younger sister's locks into a hastily formed braid, a huff escaping his fully puffed cheeks. "I know you asked for help, considering Adam is coming later, but I need you to stop bouncing. Yes, I know you are happy~"A quick, mischievous chortle escaped his younger sister as she swiveled around, tossing her arms around his center and giving him a gigantic squeeze.
"Silly Noel, just take it easy~Im sorry for being such a...how do the Americans say, a spazz~. I just cannot help it! Butterflies are in my belly." Patting her stomach in absolute pride, Sarah soon again swiveled away from her brother, sitting erect with purpose and confidence. "That and I believe Rachel wished to do your hair as well, you know, to make yourself seem less scary...as if that were possible!"
"Mm, I may be small, but I will still... Chase him out if I have to. Silly duck." Rearranging himself on the couch, Emmanuel once again released his sister's wild mane of brunette curls, gingerly brushing it out before beginning the process all over again. Emmanuel had to admit it, he never did enjoy seeing his sister's growing up and going to have fun outside of the house, but they were old enough to be trustworthy(and they knew pressure points on the human body thanks to their Avi.). Thus, Emmanuel submitted himself to this grim, utterly grotesque fate of men and their interest for the twins. God, if you are listening, give me strength to accept the things I cannot control, and the physical strength to handle the things I most certainly can and will kick out of the house.
"Don't worry! Me and Rachel will handle it, silly brother." Sarah's hand gingerly went to grasp her brother's squeezing it with a tenderness(and a surprisingly strong grip, dear God Emmanuel cursed his thin, brittle bones. He was only twenty eight for God's sake.) and affection she had only ever administered to Rachel and her brother. "Now relax, and make me look nice."
"That is a biblical feat, little duck."Fully expecting the deserved and impressive swat, Emmanuel ducked and let out a little laugh as Sarah grumbled her false hatred and complaints towards Emmanuel.
"Er, Noel?" A familiar voice called out from behind the two, Rachel emerging from the kitchen with her red apron securely wrapped around her waist, flour and egg stains galore. Her dark, wild mane of hair was bound with a red cloth, eyes shimmering with concern as her hand trembled towards Emmanuel. A note, half torn at the edge, dangled from her grasp. "S-s-someone needs you."
Emmanuel had to read the letter three or four times as both Rachel and Sarah worked to decorate his hair with flowers from the garden, concern radiating off them in waves. Florence, Oregon. Emmanuel had seen some of the states in recent travels, but had never traversed far past New England. A huff built in his throat, lodged with anxiety at the thought of accompanying other witches and abandoning his sisters at home. They will be far safer here in the house, where all the spells are already set, then they will be coming with me. That, and our family is not too far...
"Are you gonna go?" Rachel pipped up, dark pools for eyes baring into the back of Emmanuel's head, a sliver of a rose petal sliding seamlessly into his locks. Emmanuel anxiously nibbled at his lips, massaging his eyes as they drooped and throbbed. "I think I have too, little ducks."
Emmanuel could not fully recall the trip between his home and the Tel Aviv airport, a blur of people obscuring his vision and ripping the air from his lungs. This was beyond nerve wracking. But, from the cryptic letter, he knew something was off, and it was a responsibility for him to assist in one way or another. With shirts, aprons, and a ball of yarn all stuffed into his suitcase, Emmanuel wordless boarded his flight, praying the hours on end from Israel to Oregon would be peaceful and utterly eventless.
He prayed God would save the soul of the accursed child who kicked the back of his seat for seven hours straight. Devil's incarnate.
Following the flight and the wordless thank you to his flight attendants and local security, time seemed to have slowed significantly and by God was Noel ready to collapse onto a mattress and hibernate until the jet lag fluttered away. He should have been used to the feeling by now, but with the bumps in the night and spawn of demons behind him, he found no desire to sleep. This was a wonderful idea. Should have taken melatonin or something. That or brewed myself something nice...but then again, I don't think I would have slept well with it anyway.
And sweet heaven on high, his feet were on solid ground. No more airplane flurry or anxiety of a safe landing. Lips pursed and eyes drooping, Emmanuel shrugged the handle of his luggage behind his shoulder, lugging it behind with a weary gusto. He was here! It was raining! At least the cold droplets seemed to be pleasant along his features.
Trudging the streets, relief splashing along his flushed cheeks, Emmanuel soon found himself near a destination with others surrounding its doors. "Oh God. Someone protect me from this. Hopefully I don't bump into them...I mean with what the little ducks call my strong waist. It's fine. Deep breaths." Mumbling his concerns, Emmanuel ducked behind the crowd, mainly behind the girl with the fiery red hair, praying that he could simply vanish behind her form. Why didn't I make a potion for that?? It's fine. I'll just add it to the list...
"S-s-someone should be here..." He muttered, mainly to himself. His hand went to cup the remaining petal that managed to remain lodged in his hair, a slight blush coating his cheeks. The girls are going to kill me if I don't tell them I came here safely. I don't know which is more dangerous, the trip here or the eventual trip back.
Y-yep. This was happening. The moment Bea swallowed an eyeful of Nera up close and had the pleasure of hearing that sinister smooth voice, she knew she was going to be in a boatload of trouble. Lots and lots of fainting and blushing and stammering and sweating everywhere were nigh; Bea didn't any sort of witchcraft or crystal ball to predict that in her future. Ha... h-haha... ha... Hoooo boi! Okay, okay, okay, okay--you've got this, Bee! It's just a human being. A fellow witch. A fellow gorgeous af witch who just touched your hand and oooooooooh--m--g! They's so nice and soft and gentle and firm and JESUS OKAY IT'S TIME TO LET GO BEFORE I FREAKIN' CATCH ON FIRE AND DECOMPOSE AND REVIVE ALL AT ONCE! For once, Bea listened to her thoughts and did just that; she retreated from the handshake mere seconds into it, moving with the haste of someone who had burned their hand on a hot stove.
She physically winced. That was... Stupid. And probably made her look super freaking rude. Gah, get it together! Internally smacking herself, Bea parted her lips, prepared to apologize for the nervous reaction until another voice joined the conversation. And forcefully, at that.
"Err..." Victoria? Who in the world was that? Bea didn't know a Victor--OH FUCK SHE'S HOT TOO OH NO! PLEASE GOD NO! INHALER! INHALERRRR! Her hands flew up like the wings of a featherless chicken, scrambling to puff air into her mouth with the imaginary device, before being struck with two realizations. Firstly, she didn't have a freaking inhaler, let alone asthma. That was just her spazzing and freaking the fuck out. Secondly--was a wing still considered a wing if it didn't have any feathers? Was it just a scrawny little meat boomerang? Like, minus the aerodynamic physics behind it--
More super attractive women were showing up. And, as if the situation couldn't get anymore dangerous for Bea's trembling heart, they were arguing! Nothing to an obviously hostile degree, but the tension was so subtle and massive all at once that she could slice through it with a lukewarm butter knife. Her head snapped back and forth between the women as they faced off, eyes wide like a pair of puppy saucer plates (what in the actual heck did those look like? Plates shaped like puppies? Plastic ones? Fine china? She'd totally splurge her money on those).
"It's been a long time, hasn't it? And it seems nothing much has changed. Your hair still looks like it's been cut by none other than yourself."
"Victoria, it's so not good to see you! Thanks for the compliment on my hair! At least I know how to cut it myself! You look like you were hit by a bus! I really hoped you were!"
"That's it Nera, go brush your hair! I cannot stand how messy you look right now!"
This was not good. This was not good. This was so not good, although she had to admit that it was also kind of hot but hey she was trash, always would be. Either way, Bea couldn't handle these kind of fires, not in the slightest; all she could do was utter silent screams of panic and hysteria. In her head, they sounded exactly like that. In reality? The closest comparison one could fabricate was the wheezing of a tea kettle with some sort of defected nozzle. "Um. Um. Um. Um. Um! UM! UHHHH--"
Oh. Look at that. Victoria was touching her. Heh. Heh. Heh. Hehehe--GOD PLEASE I'M NOT READY! Regardless, the moment she was being dragged, her muscles fell slack in defeat. She couldn't bring herself to resist even if she wanted to; something about that dominant aura emanating from Victoria sucked Bea dry (gutter brain, gutter brain, gutter brain, GUTTER BRAIN BEA CLEANSE YOUR THOUGHTS) of any motivation to deny her. However, she did have enough awareness left to realize that she never properly responded to Nera. (Also who was the other dude leaving behind a trail of rain water in his wake and why did he look like the non-flavored version of a river ghoul and had the absolute acceptance of death in his eyes?)
Clumsily, she frantically waved at Nera as she was hauled off while rushing out, "By the way it's nice to meet you Nera you're super freaking attractive and make my brain go dumb like dumber than freaking usual so please don't worry if I ever like faint or anything that's totally natural yes I'm from the air coven they made a huge mistake making me a leader but hey everyone makes mistakes I guess anyways thank you don't worry about the tea I'm not cold I'm lowkey overheating like everywhere at once cuz again YOU'RE BEAUTIFUL OKAY BYE!"
Bea had to catch her breath. Diddly dang, she managed to say all of that in one breath?? Well, she was just glad that she was able to squeeze in a proper introduction in time. Yep. This was good. She did good. Responded to all of Nera's questions. Commented several times on how damn amazingly mind-numbingly beautiful she was--...oh shit.
A long and miserable groan followed Bea.
Her head met the counter as she was sat down by Victoria, peeking one eye up at the woman with her face practically on fire. Stupid, stupid, stupid! At the comment about her red cheeks, Bea twiddled her thumbs and chuckled nervously, "Uhhh... S-sure! Yeah. Let's go with that. Much rather that than the social suicide I just casually dropped like a nerd bomb." Clearing her throat, she managed to flash Victoria an awkward and lopsided grin, her lovely tendency for dopey teeth bearing coming into play. "Thanks, by the way! You don't have to, like, stress over me or anything--trust me, it gets old after a few minutes." She capped that statement with a shrug.
"...I've been kidnapped. I'm leaving."
"SHIZ I FORGOT YOU WERE THERE--I mean hey."
Anton shot Bea a stagnant, sidelong stare, making the woman's skin crawl uncomfortably. However, the look didn't last long and all interest was lost in her. And Victoria. And these apparent hot drinks. Without another word, Anton stood and tried to slink out of the kitchen, intent on heading upstairs for some solitude.
"Mon cher, allez, réveille-toi. Il est midi passé. Amelie. Amelie~. Mon Dieu, se lever..." Gentle hands encased Amelie's blanket bound shoulders, raising her a few inches from the ocean blue couch. Amelie released a faint groan as her caretaker slowly squirmed into a snuggle, looping her arms around Amelie's middle and giving her a gracious squeeze. "Amelie, my love, you have overslept again. I told you that you should not have stayed past two a.m...Mon Dieu, Amelie, I do not understand how young people do this nowadays...I used to treasure sleeping at six in the afternoon until the wee hours of...Amelie stop falling back asleep." Lottie's fingers gingerly brushed back Amelie's hair, pressing a brisk kiss to her forehead.
"Mais Lottie...C'est un jour pluvieux...Je suis faible." Amelie's eyes slowly peeled open to embrace the midday sun that invaded her vision, perfectly aware of her contradiction. Rolling flat on her stomach, she rested her head against Lottie's chest with a protesting huff. "Today is no good. I do not want to see the outdoors or the indoors. I like my head better." Pressing her chin into Lottie's collar, her shoulders deflated almost instantly at the sudden peace that washed over her.
"No. Bad week." Amelie answered before Lottie had the chance to question further, a thin smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "What else is new?"
"Amelie...You know that you need to get up regardless, yes? Do not waste the day away with your jour pluvieux. Mon dieu Amelie...buck up a little bit! Oh! and I do have some good news. Remember your old primary school friend? I think you have received a letter from him, you got a few pieces of mail for you. Now, allons! The day is still fresh and bright and it awaits you!"
"The day sucks and it can go kiss my..." With eyes widened, Amelie suddenly became aware of the shift in weight, and with a light THUMP, Amelie found herself hovering mere centimeters from the floor as Lottie had rolled herself off the couch, keeping both of them afoot with her heel barely latching on to the nearby coffee table. "Okay! Okay!" Amelie squealed, holding onto Lottie for her dear life. "Attrap le jour, ou merde."
"Ah, I've got you some coffee, cher, what does it say?" Lottie scurried hastily behind Amelie as she absorbed the information laid out on the page, her hand trembling with each reread she had conducted.
"There...I believe there is an issue, Lottie. I need to go to Florence...Oregon. Sounds fantastique. Something about witches and the covens. Er...shit...I should go soon as possible but..."
"Oh. Well, I am surprised they asked for you rather than little old me, but I can understand. I'll...I'll go get the plane ticket ready, sweetie. You drink your coffee and let yourself relax a little bit. Maybe this will, er, prove to be good to you, you know?"
And bullshit it was. Even with the long goodbye that came from Lottie, the surprisingly strong grip she possessed when she embraced her adopted daughter enough to nearly crush Amelie's spine. The airport had been crowded with bustling families and overall dipshits who kept bumping into Amelie's petit form. The flight hadn't been much more of a relief, the bumpy flight damn near slamming a sleeping Amelie into the seat ahead of her. Amelie hadn't found it within her to fall asleep once more, merely gluing her eyes to the screen ahead of her, relieved there was some entertainment for the long trip ahead.
And as mind numbing, as eye burning, as nerve tingling as this trip was, Amelie found one sanity point of relief. The plane landing was smooth, gentle raindrops splattered against the window, and Amelie was greeted by a rather short and stout flight attendant with a radiant beam.
Bonjour, adorable little man. Finally, someone else who deserves a cheek pinch rather than myself...Fucking Lottie has got to stop bruising mine...
Popping from her seat and quickly gathering her luggage, Amelie managed to bolt her way through customs, throwing beams and an occasional eye roll at certain patrons that accompanied her journey. However, as soon as the rain trickled against her face, a pleased exhale escaped her, the generous gift steaming down to meet her chin.
"That's better." She mused, placing a rarely genuine smile along her features as she strutted out into the open, returning her stoic demeanor once her eyes landed on her destination. As well as all the people who gathered at the door, waiting to be greeted. "Ah, merde...Nooo, I couldn't be the first one here~" Wait, maybe I can sneak past them and no one can see me. Lets see how long it takes...
Smirking at the sarcastic thoughts bouncing around in her head, Amelie squeezed her way inside, mouth agape at the sight before her. Ah, this was no Lottie's cottage, but it certainly hit a twinge of bitterness to pierce at her stomach. Her mouth thinned into a line, clicking her tongue impatiently. "A-alright. Im here. Puis-je rentrer à la maison maintenant?"
"Mon cher, allez, réveille-toi. Il est midi passé. Amelie. Amelie~. Mon Dieu, se lever." - My dear, come on, get up. It is past noon. Amelie, Amelie, my God, get up.
"Mais Lottie...C'est un jour pluvieux...Je suis faible." - But Lottie, its a rainy day. I am weak.
"Attrap le jour, ou merde." - Trap the day, or some shit.
Connerie. - Bullshit.
. Puis-je rentrer à la maison maintenant?" - Can I go home now?
Victoria stared at Beatrice hard, not liking how the girl was acting so frantic and awkward. She also didn't like how she told her that she shouldn't stress over her. She was about to say something when the kettle started screaming. Giving Bea one last look, Victoria turned around and began making the drinks. She already knew where things are since she's familiar with the place and started grabbing mugs and spoons out of the cupboards, placing it on top of the counter. Victoria then started pouring drinks when Anton voiced out that he was kidnapped.
"Kidnapped?" Victoria let out a laugh before giving a cup of freshly made hot chocolate to Bea. "I assure you, I did no such thing. I am simply holding you hostage." Leaning against the kitchen counter and taking a sip of her hot drink, she let out a satisfied sigh. The hot chocolate tastes so good! "Now go drink your hot cocoa before its get cold."
She was about to take another sip when the bell rang. Victoria was planning on letting Nera open the door so she can watch Anton finish his drink but after a couple of seconds and the door rang again, the kitchen witch couldn't take it. Knowing that people were waiting outside the pouring rain made her motherly instincts go crazy. "Bollocks" she mumbled under her breath before glancing at Anton "Finish your drink or else."
The brunette walked out of the kitchen and huffed at Nera who was busy with the puddle. She can't believe that bitch is really letting her open the door. Well, at least I'll be the first one they'll see rather than Nera's frizzy mushroom hair
Victoria was about to open the door with a sweet smile, her cup of hot chocolate held close to her chest when an auburn-haired male entered the shop. She greeted him with a smile before noticing the other guests and let them enter the foyer. "Welcome! So sorry for letting you all get soaked. Please do come in and dry yourselves."
Her eyes assessed each and every one of them. The first one was a male with auburn hair. Next was a willowy girl with black hair. After that was a male with beautiful dark skin. Not a second after was a man who wore very stylish clothes. Victoria already decided that she liked him already. Her eyes then shifted to a quite handsome man. He has an odd sense of fashion and Victoria admired that. A girl with orange hair was next and Victoria couldn't help but smile. She didn't want to judge the girl but she had a feeling that she's a fire witch. She also couldn't help but wonder if the oranged hair girl will be similar to fire: feisty and ill-tempered. Well, I just have to wait and see.
Next was a familiar person: Emmanuel, a fellow kitchen witch. Victoria's smile grew warmer at the sight of her friend. "Emmanuel!" she greeted. She was about to give him a hug but a young-looking female barged in and started speaking french.
Victoria understood some words but she wasn't that good. After all, she chose to learn Latin rather than French. Ignoring the girl for now, she closed the door once all the guests entered before introducing herself.
"I'm Victoria Smith, head of the Durnham Coven in England. I made some hot chocolate in the kitchen to warm yourselves up."
✦ NERA P. MARTELL ✦ INTERACTIONS: no one > everyone > victoria ― LOCATION: florence, oregon
✦ NERA P. MARTELL ✦
Nera wandered through the upstairs, memories seeking her out as she passed doors to rooms or familiar areas. Some of the memories dealt with Victoria tormenting her, locking her in a trunk in one room, or judging everything about her. Even when Victoria was young, she got away with everything. Her parents allowed to torment the fuck out of her, and she would always act like a sweet angel to Nera's own parents, scaring the young, dark haired girl from expressing the hell she went through. Victoria made her insecure when they were mere children, and she still made her insecure. She knew her narcissism would flare up big time while the female was here. It was to protect herself.
Other memories flew from different areas of the house. When she first entered the upstairs and passed the kitchen, memories of aiding her aunt entered her mind, making her feel warm and fuzzy. She remembered helping her aunt make candles for the shop at such a young age. Wax had dripped everywhere that day, covering some of the kitchen floor and counters. Glitter was next to follow, the two being covered head to toe by glitter. It hadn't helped the two decided to have a glitter war and try to sneak some on the other person. At the thought, a soft chuckle left Nera's lips.
The journey to the linen and towel cupboard wasn't long. She opened it, seeing some towels were already missing and some of the linen ran low. She was sure her aunt prepared each room for everyone. As long as there were towels still, that's all that mattered. She grabbed an old tea towel, her instincts guiding her to it. It was kept in the same place all the time, but it always came in hand when a spill was cleaned up in the kitchen. Nera closed the linen cupboard immediately after grabbing her rag, venturing through the hallways again and to the large staircase separating the shop and home. She could hear Victoria introducing herself, her blood boiling.
Nera journeyed downstairs, setting the towel down on the step and stepping on it, sucking up as much as the water as she could. She looked around her, examining the group. There were a lot of people, but she didn't see anyone from the voodoo coven. She knew there numbers were running low nowadays or it was difficult to keep track of every witch interested in voodoo. It didn't appear there were any green witches either. She hoped the green coven didn't suffer the same fate as the voodoo, but she doubted it. After all, veganism and vegetarianism was a huge thing in this modern day and age, more people finding a place within the green coven. Regardless, the numbers were sufficient enough for right now. After all, she wasn't sure why everyone needed to gather to begin with.
Nera gently cleared her throat, wanting to take her attention away from Victoria. She watched as people looked to her, and she smiled kindly, still stepping on the small puddle on the stairs with the towel. She was glad she wore shoes to clean it up. Having wet socks and having to introduce everyone would suck. She grasped her hands together, a hopefully pleasant and welcoming smile on her features. She didn't seeing Anton in the group, wondering if he made his way upstairs. She'd grab him or have someone grab him when everyone went to deposit their belongings in a room before gathering back together.
"Greetings everyone. Welcome to Florence, Oregon. I'm Nera Martell, head of the cosmic coven in the western region of the globe. You all are here due to a mysterious note sent by my aunt, Maris Martell, requesting our presence here. Before we all gather to figure out why we're here, I would like all of you to please choose a room upstairs and put your luggage up there. Feel free to get refreshments in the kitchen either upstairs or downstairs, and try to join me back at the front counter in about ten minutes," Nera said, walking down the stairs. She smiled gently, hoping everyone would go put their stuff away. She didn't want them to stand there with all of it around. Her eyes found Victoria, and she bade gentle hellos to everyone as she made her way to the female. She grabbed her elbow and leaned in, keeping that pleasant smile on her face.
"Don't believe you can come in here and run the place, Victoria. We're not children anymore and you cannot torment me like you used to. You don't have run of the mill nor head of whatever is currently going on. I can just as easily replace you with the other kitchen witch here. So, don't boss me or others around and don't step on my toes or else you're out. I'm in charge here, Victoria, not you," Nera fwhispered venomously. She needed to keep Victoria in her place, but knew the woman might not be swayed by her words. She expected the witch to laugh in her face, but Nera felt at the insult of replace, it would keep her in her place. She knew Victoria hated being on the bottom, and would prove herself if her livelihood was at stake. Nera released the female, walking past her and to the front counter, going to wait patiently.
✦ IYRA A. W. ZIMA ✦ INTERACTIONS: dami > seora > nera ― LOCATION: florence, oregon
✦ IYRA A. W. ZIMA ✦
Iyra was half in and half out. He noticed it was dead inside, nothing looking out of place. However, the shop was quaint. It appeared small from the outside, but it was rather vast inside. It was such a witch haven, he was happy to be there. They had everything they needed there from tarot cards to potions to candles to everything. He wondered if the owner herself would be here or someone familiar with the owner. He didn't think they would run out of items here, but if they did, he hoped there would be plenty of people who knew how to retrieve more of said items. He continued to gaze around, soon hearing footsteps behind him. He turned around, watching Damiana nod her head in greeting to him.
"Привет друг! я Iyra," Iyra introduced, smiling happily. He realized the woman behind him might not speak Russian, causing him to quickly repeat what he said in English, "Hello, friend! I am Iyra."
Iyra wasn't sure if the female would be interested in introducing herself, but it didn't hurt to have someone know who he was for right now. He quickly fell silent, not wanting to bug the female. He watched as others began to form over a series of minutes, until a bright haired female gently pushed through the crowd. He watched her, intrigued by how orange her hair was. He wondered how it looked so healthy, as the female appeared to be from somewhere in Asia. He mentally gave her praise, marveling at how nice it looked on her.
Iyra listened to the female call out in greeting, helping everyone out from doing so. He shuffled in after her, not wanting to take up the doorway. He found somewhere he wouldn't be in the way, and settled his luggage at his side. A brown haired female appeared, introducing herself as Victoria. He wondered what coven was in Durnham England. He was mainly familiar with the kitchen, green, ceremonial, and other air witches in Russia. He didn't want to proclaim himself as a witch in his travels, and didn't seek out witch shops as often as he liked. He knew more would come to light later, he would just have to be patient. He also needed to remember not to revert to Russian, as he was sure no one else knew it.
Iyra noticed another dark haired female coming down the stairs. She gently cleared her throat, and his attention fell on her. When Nera introduced herself, he nodded slightly. He felt like the cosmic coven was a rare coven. He hadn't really heard of any in Russia. For all he knew, there could be many in Russia. Again, he didn't advertise his witchiness, especially in a strict place like Russia. If they hated Mormons, they probably hated witches still. Thanks early 1900's witch persecutions!
When Nera told them they could head upstairs, Iyra was all for it. If he could put his luggage somewhere where it wasn't in the way, it would make him happy. He'd worry about someone running into it or tripping over it. He carried his luggage upstairs, a somewhat difficult feat as rolling two suitcases in either hand grew tough. However, he eventually got it and journeyed through the hallway, looking for a room that sparked his attention. He soon settled for a room in the middle of the hallway on the left side.
Location: Inside the shop - Upstairs - Back down again Interactions: Errybody - Anton - Nera Mentions: All
Pushing inside, Mateus scooted to the side, dropping luggage to the ground for a moment. He folded up his umbrella, shaking it off sort of outside, but most of it just kind of fell on the inside mat. Oh well. He leaned the transparent umbrella off the the side, and gave his hair a quick re-fluff as he scanned the crowd inside.
Didn't recognize, didn't recognize, didn't recognize, didn't re- No he did recognize him.
He gave Anton a knowing look and a nod of acknowledgement, even if he wasn't paying attention and trying to run upstairs. Mateus said nothing, but made sure to keep in mind to hunt him down later. When Nera came down and explained everything, he let out an almost content but exasperated groan.
"Oh thank god, I need to dump these and I need a goddamn coffee." He quickly wiped off his heels to the best of his ability on the rug, then started his ascent up the stairs, pulling his suitcase up and shouldering the duffel bag. As he reached the top, he saw a familiar back side of a person heading into one of the bedrooms, so he ended up following. When he entered, he flashed a grin at the fellow ceremonial.
"What's up, slut." He greeted, dumping both bits of luggage at the foot of one of the beds. He took off the pink jacket, instead just wearing the yellow crop top strappy-tank with the shorts and gold heels. The fur had been a bit matted from the car ride, plus the inside of the shop was actually quite warm and pleasant. He would do without. He fished a few items from his makeup bag and sat on the edge of the bed.
"Figured I'd see you here. Pretty crazy, huh? So many people getting called in like this." He knew Anton was never a talker, but it didn't mean he wouldn't try to talk to him. "Well, you weren't downstairs so dunno if you heard, we gotta be back down in ten minutes to listen to why the hell we're all here in the first place. So you should be down there, babe." As he spoke, he quickly blotted the oils from his face and brushed a bit more powder to even things out. He put everything away, then stood, reaching his arms over his head to stretch after the long car ride.
"I'm going to get some coffee. Remember, ten minutes. More like... probably more like seven or something at this point. See ya in a bit." Mateus gave Anton a quick wink before heading back down the stairs. He moved over to where Nera stood behind the counter, and side-leaned a short distance from her over the counter, giving her a quick once-over.
"So firstly, I'm Mateus Cardoso of the ceremonial coven, you may or may not have heard of me or my mother, Carmen, doesn't really matter. Secondly, Nera, sweetie, darling, I don't particularly want to intrude in this fine abode, but... This bitch need some coffee. There wouldn't happen to be some made up already?" He lowered his voice a bit. "I heard hot chocolate, but, well, not really my style y'know?" He gave a well-meaning smile to her, trying to keep a bit lower. He was taller than her even without the heels, and with them, well it was almost comedic.
Anton J. Sheerloft Interactions: Victoria DANAsaur
& Mateus Tarieles
| Location: Kitchen => Upstairs => Downstairs
Oh, good--he wasn't being physically stopped. Nor manhandled. That was preferable. He didn't care for others touching him, especially strangers. Loud ones. Overbearing ones. Just didn't like it. Took too much effort to deal with those types of people.
At the mention of hot cocoa, Anton glanced down at the offered cup. Paused. Then shrugged. "You're bossy. I don't like it. Bye." He took it with him and left the kitchen. As he reentered the lobby, he stopped to take in the sudden gathering of people. Oh no. More of them. This was bad. He would avoid them. And so he Anton did--with very stealthy steps. He could cloak his presence pretty well. It was easy to act like he didn't exist, because he technically kinda didn't. No attachments to reality and all.
Dang, that was dark.
Which was fine. He was dark-skinned. Close enough. Good enough.
Anton didn't visibly show a reaction to Nera's announcement, but he had absorbed it. Ten minutes. Okay. That was cool. Squeezing through the bodies and picking up odors that he wished he hadn't, he finally made it to the stairs. Oh yeah. He left a puddle... He didn't care. People would get mad at him. Again, he didn't care. Still sipping cocoa, he scaled the steps and entered a vacant room, his single backpack in tow. He discarded it onto a bed, followed by his shirt and pants. It was okay--he had a spare in his bag. A single spare outfit. Hopefully the first one dried soon. Wait, he would have to clean and dry it. Damn. That was annoying.
Anyway, Anton had kept on the soaked beanie and slipped on jeans. He was rummaging through his stuff for a shirt when someone entered...
Oh. Oh yeah. He knew that voice. Matthew. Or something like that. He met him before at a coven meeting. Kinda. Matthew did all the talking, like he was doing now. Anton simply stared at the man, shirt in hand, eyes dull and alight with analysis all at once. He hadn't changed in the slightest. Still dressed super weird. Which was cool. Dressing weird was the way to live. Matthew was living right.
He didn't care.
Oh, wait. That was right. Matthew was talking. When did Anton become a slut? He barely liked being touched. Or, well, it didn't do anything for him. So why would he bother with that? How did he earn that title? Maybe he just forgot. Probably. Likely. "Who did I fuck..." he whispered under his breath. It would remain a mystery forever, he guessed.
Matthew was still talking.
Yes, he knew about the ten minutes. Yes, it was weird to have everyone here for vague reasons. Yes, Anton had stopped listening. Still paying attention, still looking at the fellow ceremonial witch. But tuned out his voice. But, apparently, he used a wink as a parting gift. Oh, okay. That was cool, he guessed. Robotically, Anton returned the wink. "Mmkay. Bye." And finally slipped on his shirt. Then he just stood there, stared at his backpack, at the bed, the standard furniture, the carpet, the walls... This was boring. Time to brave the sea of overwhelming personas.
Yayyyyy.... Murder me with a plastic spoon. Lol. I'm nihilistic.
He probably didn't use that term correctly. But it was four syllables, basically an SAT word. It made him feel smart. Not really.
Anton descended the steps at a casual pace and found a nice little corner for himself, as far away from the others as possible. So many voices. So much talking. It was awful...
Beatrice A. Kolkowsky Interactions: Victoria DANAsaur
& Noel KatSea
| Location: Kitchen
Welp. He was gone. Bea couldn't quite put her sweaty finger on it (well, duh, because it was sweaty--no friction), but something about the man filled her with... unease? Well, maybe not something quite as negative. Just uncertain. Foreign. Unpredictable! Yep! That was the word! Give this lovely lady lass an award~. Ya know, like, a drop or two of normalcy. That'd be nice, if you could. Please? ...No? Mmkay, that's cool I get it. Too much power. As soon as Anton was gone, Bea placed her attention back on Victoria, her anxiety born anew as she just... freaking... looked at her.
Seriously. Was it like, a genetic thing for witches to be so pretty? If so, then why in the heck did it skip her genetic pool? Which ancestor thought it would be funny to sprinkle her lineage with a heavy helping of human potato? Who? WHO?? ...Eh, whatever. She probably deserved it. Causing trouble ran in the Kolkowsky blood, after all, whether it was intentional or not. Bea would accept her spud-speckled appearance with (faux) pride--
OH FUCK VICTORIA WAS STARING AT HER! AND SO FUCKING INTENSELY!!
Oh god. Oh god. H-ho boy. This was fine. It was fine. Bea could handle it, n-no problem! Swallowing back a basketball-sized gulp, she shakily drew a sip from her mug and immediately cringed at the awful slurping noise. Smooth. So freaking smooth. You know what? She didn't need hot cocoa that badly. This was for the greater good, after all. She placed the mug down, fingers drumming against it busily. "Soooo... C-come here often?"
She grimaced. Oh god, no. Please no.
"Please, could you just like, pour some memory bleach on your brain for me? That was so freaking cringey--gah!" And then Bea opened her eyes... Oh. Shit. Victoria left. When??
And the Academy Award for Talking to Herself goes to Beatrice Loserville Kolkowskyyyyy! Thank you, thank you! I'll be loathing my insecurities all week! Oh! Madam, please. No pantie tossing. I'll literally die.
Did Bea mention that she didn't have any friends? No? Why in the hell did she need to clarify that to begin with??
Heaving a dejected sigh, she decided not to dwell over the dismissal for long and just settled for sipping more of her cocoa. Great, now that she wasn't suffocating on nervousness due to the presence of a gorgeous woman, she was drinking like a normal person now. How freaking annoying. She was so damn annoying. Seriously, why did she even try? Because she couldn't keep her mouth shut, that's why. One day, she would grab that duct tape and just...
Oh snap. Footsteps?
Internally praying that it wasn't another beautiful woman, Bea prepped her heart before turning around in her seat. She flashed a peace sign and smiled bright. "Yellowwwwww! Welcome to the Kitchenette of Disasters! I-I'm your host, God's Mistake and Reason to Never Touch the Bourbon Again! H-how can I make you feel better about yourself today?"
Severin couldn't help the words that were muttered under his breath. He bit the inside of his cheek as he furrowed his brow, taking in the witches around him. They just kept coming. His eyes lingered on the fiery-haired woman who made her way through the group, testing for the door. She seemed incredibly bouncy, considering the mysterious aura that the shop gave. Or, perhaps that was just him.
The tall witch also couldn't help but lock his eyes on another witch as well, a man wearing makeup and a unique style. Severin blinked a few times as the other had spoken moments before, but didn't think to respond as the door was eventually opened. It was about goddamn time, too. Another second standing outside, he knew he would die from the awkward silence.
There were a lot of people, and though he honestly didn't mind, it did tick him off a bit with how crowded the doorway was. He was never one to be rude and shove his way through, so he waited quietly until he was able to walk through, casting his green and amber gaze across the room, not even realizing the brunette witch who had begun talking to them. It had that 'warm, cozy, inn' type feel that made him a bit apprehensive. So, he held onto his suitcase with both hands away from the larger group and finally turned to look at the witch speaking.
She had an aura that Severin didn't... quite... understand? The male witch pressed his lips into a thin line and mentally brushed off the hot chocolate offer that she made to everyone. After his long trip, the last thing he wanted was some 'hot cocoa bonding'. As he was about to start walking toward the stairs, he stopped as he saw another brunette walk toward the group, her hair shorter and slightly frizzy. For some reason, all of the direction from the two girls made him irritated, like he was being instructed by camp counselors or something, though he knew they probably meant well. He was just starting to develop a roaring migraine, so it didn't help much.
To not focus on the throbbing in his temples, Severin took in a breath and looked over the new witch, Nera her name was, and narrowed his eyes a bit at her direct way of speaking. He glanced between her and the other witch, Victoria, and saw their clashing auras. Well, he didn't need to note the clashing auras with how thick the tension was in the air. Anybody who wasn't a secular witch in the room could see that the two obviously didn't like each other. And, if he was honest, Severin wasn't too sure if he'd like them either, but he knew he had to stop himself from thinking those thoughts. If he was going to be working with everyone in that room, he needed to at least put his best foot forward... at some point.
After the short meeting, Severin watched as quite a few people immediately rushed up to the stairs.
"At least they have the right idea." Severin spoke out loud once more as he shortened the handle on the suitcase and lifted it onto his shoulder, heading silently toward the stairs. Once he was away from the crowd, he could feel a weight lift off of his chest. After a stressful evening of endless questions, he was glad to have a moment to himself. As he walked down the hall to the very last room that was empty, Severin closed the door behind him and sighed, leaving his things by his bed as he shed his coat. Though he knew he needed to start socializing with the others, it was so much more tempting to stay upstairs and wait for the whole ten minutes to be up...
But no, life wasn't fair that way.
Gathering himself and half-heartedly replacing stands of his hair into the right position, Severin stepped back outside of his room and made his way back downstairs. However, as he looked among the people still in the room, the man grimaced slightly and pulled at his right sleeve cuff, unsure of where to go next. Deciding to take a chance, Severin moved toward Nera and the uniquely dressed witch. He walked up just in time to hear the unknown witch's name: Mateus. Of course, Severin was not used to joining conversation, and stood awkwardly to the side until Mateus had finished speaking to Nera.
"I'm Severin Terbis from the secular coven." Severin finally spoke up and stepped beside Mateus, glancing over him a bit now that he was closer. The other man was quite tall, even next to Severin himself. He raised an eyebrow unconsciously to the male before turning to look to Nera, a calculating look washing over his gaze as he took her in, his mouth neutral with lack of either a frown or a smile. He just wasn't feeling up to it.
"And I wouldn't mind a cup of coffee too, it's been one hell of a day." the male added in order to keep the conversation from growing awkward or odd, because he knew that once it turned that way, he would leave the conversation immediately and shut down. Socializing was not fun, but he wanted to try. Despite feeling awkward inside, he made sure it didn't reach his voice... hopefully it didn't convey that way, other than his body language.
✦ DAMIANA AL GREST ✦
INTERACTIONS: irya > no one ― LOCATION: florence, oregon
She was being spoken to. What the fuck. Dami turned toward the voice and found--found like he just popped up out of the snow like a daisy, get it together--the man who had been at the shop before her. She offered a tight lipped smile at his introduction, "Dami." Alright, she knew one person's name. That's a win, right? She met her socializing quota? She could almost feel her mother whacking the back of her head. Dami fought to keep from rubbing the phantom ache. Dami stepped aside as a woman with fiery hair pushed past and into the shop. Oh, so I've been standing here like a jackass this whole time. Good to know. She followed the others inside without a word.
She hung back, hovering by the door as two witches introduced themselves. The moment they stopped there was a whirlwind of activity. How did people know where to go? She'd never been good at being in other people's homes. Hell she felt weird opening the fridge of her best friend. Speaking of him, she needed to text him and check up on Titus. He was probably fine, he was a good dog. She wished she could have brought him, he would have loved all the new people to beg for food.
Quietly, she followed a series of others to the upstairs. She found herself an empty room and set her bag on the floor. Dami flopped onto the bed, and pulled out her phone. She sent a flurry of one word texts. A message of "here" was sent to her mother and "baby" to her friend. She was thankful they knew each other long enough to know that when she said "baby" she meant her dog, and not him. Titus was not only a baby but her baby, despite being six and like a hundred pounds. She missed the big doof.
✦ TASHA A. VOLKOV ✦
INTERACTIONS: no one > nera, mateus, severin― LOCATION: moscow > florence
Tasha didn't mind traveling. It wasn't her favorite thing, but she didn't outright hate it. She hated airports though. She doubted there was a single person who actually enjoyed going through an airport. Her own hell probably looked like a mix between an airport and working in retail. She shuttered just thinking of it. If the strange letter didn't say it was urgent, she probably would have road tripped this shit. It'd take days, maybe even weeks. Maybe a month if she took her time. For an urgent letter, it wasn't practical. So, here she was. In an airport, trying to block out the sounds of a screaming child with loud music. It wasn't working. God, she hoped that kid wasn't on her plane. She handed her ticket to the stewardess (was that even what she was called?) and boarded the plane. Ten minutes into the ridiculously long flight, she realized that the screaming child was, in fact, on her plane. Tasha prayed the child would just, like stop, and turned up her music. It took exactly three minutes for her to fall asleep.
She woke to a flight attendant shaking her. The woman was speaking to her, her lips were moving and probably forming words. Tasha didn't bother pulling a still playing earbud from her ear and just nodded. She grabbed her single bag and exited the plane. Her legs hurt from sitting for the past, fifteen hours? God, she had no idea. Time was an illusion and nothing was real. She needed a bathtub of coffee. She hailed a cab outside the airport and gave the driver the address of the shop. Tasha stretched her legs out in front of her as far as she could and prayed this place had coffee. And maybe some alcohol. But mostly coffee.
She lost track of time before the cab stopped in front of the address. She payed the man, and apparently did not tip well enough judging by the dirty look he gave her, and stepped out of the cab. She watched as the crowd of people began heading into the building. This must be it. Unless she got the address wrong and this was just a some kind of weird book club meeting or whatever. She filed in behind the others. The shop was larger than she had expected, she guessed it had to be if they were all sleeping here. She heard the word coffee being spoken, and like a moth to flame she slipped into the conversation. "Hi, sorry to interrupt," she spoke with the kind of accent only fancy boarding schools could afford. "I heard coffee?" She was like eighty percent sure this was rude, but again, coffee. She'd gone at least a day without a cup, which was frankly unheard of for her. She didn't know how people lived without it, she didn't want to know.