I will burn

When there's nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire.

[larmoyante]

You forget what you want to remember, and you remember what you want to forget.

Cormac McCarthy, The Road

[nilaanand-deactivated20181210]

Strange Offering || Alex & Aida

[aidasamuel]

alexanderbooth:

Alex stepped out of the way as the pyromancer came walking in, giving her a mixed look of amusement and pure curiosity. After about a week of coven members showing up at his door, he’d become used to hosting the random curious or angered witch, but this was the first time one just walked into his house without asking. And the granddaughter of Virginia Babet at that. 

Curiosity taking the better of him, Alex closed the door and latched the deadbolt as instructed, not saying a word otherwise. He then waited there for a moment, waiting to see if that was the end of her requests. When it seemed like it was he finally spoke, “Alright, well while I go fetch you a drink you can sit down in there on the sofa.” He pointed towards the first room to the left of the hall. “You make yourself at home, and I’ll be right back.” He watched her for a second, unsure if she was going to listen to him or not, before heading back to the kitchen. 

Though the witch hadn’t told him exactly what she wanted to drink, by the look of her he could tell she wanted alcohol and something with more of a kick at that. With that in mind, he pulled out a bottle of whiskey and two tumblers from his liquor cabinet before returning back to the living room. “Hopefully this will suffice.” He said as he sat down the bottle and two glasses on the coffee table infront of her. Pouring a glass for himself he took a quick sip before sitting down in a nearby armchair. 

“So…” He began, “normally when someone comes rushing into my house in a hurry, I’d ask them if everything was alright. But I feel that’d be a pretty dumb question to ask.” He looked over at her, waiting to see what she’d say next. 

Playing for keeps was a foreign concept to Aida Samuel. She was, after all, the consummate survivor. She clung to people and places and things like a life preserver. She would not sink below the waters. She would not sink below her fellow man -- her fellow witch. Aida was abrasive, she was abrupt, she was not a good liar. But she was smarter than she looked. To underestimate what Aida was willing to do to survive was a dangerous thing. When she wanted a thing, she dug her nails in too deep. There was not a single thing she had learned to let go. 

Her nerves scratched at her throat. Her blood was hot and so was her head -- the true markings of a pyromancer. Did that make Alexander Booth airy, she wondered? Was that why he wore those cotton suits, that winning smile. The wind could scream, a fire could consume. She wondered which one of them could be more dangerous. She wondered if it mattered. 

Either way, he offered her a drink and she took it. Had Virginia Babet trust Alexander? Did the opinion of a dead woman really matter? He wasn’t a Crowley and that was good enough for her. Her grandmother had often wondered what right the founding families had to the town, after all the centuries that had passed. Booth was the change, Aida respected that. She only wondered if it was for the better.

“Aight Captain Cheekbones, I have, like, four questions for you and then I’ll tell you what I’m here for,” she paused to take a drink. “I get that you’re like ‘oh man I’m gonna kiss this baby and it’s gonna be so fucking impressive’, because you’re on the fucking Council. But, you know. I’m really fucking tired of bullshit. Okay? I’m a lot of things, but I’m not stupid. I need to know who you trust. I need to know if I can trust you. I need to know what you are going to do about the people are trying to kill us. And then I need you to tell me how much of what you’re saying is just, I don’t know, complete and utter shit. I don’t need the Council’s help, I need someone who knows what the Council is doing.”

[aidasamuel]

chaucerdowney:

It didn’t take much observation to notice that Aida seemed out of sorts. Honestly, he probably seemed even a bit out of sorts. But… he supposed it was different for someone who had spent a majority of their life in Birchwood, whereas Chaucer, well, he’d only been there for a matter of weeks. He could feel for all the losses, but he still felt… detached from it all. It was a slightly vacant feeling coated with a thin layer of disgust for the crimes that had occurred.

As they sat on the stoop of her home, Chaucer leaned against one of the heavy wooden posts, ignoring the way that the corner of the cut dug uncomfortably into his back. The pain was tolerable and easy to ignore, incomparable to what some must of felt just days, just nights, prior. Hands tucked in the pocket of his sweatshirt, rough fingers buckled and unbuckled the strap of his watch in a mindless fashion.

He looked up at her words, and stared, expression softening. It was odd to not hear her words without a certain bite to it. Was it too much effort? With all that must be weighing on her mind? He didn’t know why he’d expected anything else. Mercy killing or not, she’d been unable to save someone - someone who was now dead at her hands. He’d have died either way. But still, death, especially when one’s hands played instrument to it, it wasn’t something easy to bear. It was something you pushed to the farthest reach in your mind, and yet the weight of it all - it pulled and tugged, sharp and painful, ever-present no matter where you tried to steer your thoughts. A ship with an ill constructed rudder. A car with a tendency to drift. Its not a pleasant place to be.

He would know.

“I’d love one,” he finally says, a small smile pressed through tight lips.

Aida’s blood was made of coffee, her bones were made of pizza, her brain was made of pecan pie. Fittingly, those were the only things she had been shopping for in the past two months. Buy the coffee, grind it, put it on the pot. Repeat. Order the pizza, eat what she could, throw the rest in the fridge. Repeat. Buy the things to make a pie, never take them out, buy a pie instead. Repeat. There were things she had learned and things she was clueless to, and she was clueless to food and friends and how to combine the two. 

But then, there were a great many other things that made Aida feel clueless. For example, she had never been much of a liar, but she had never quite learned to tell the truth. Instead, she used humor to mask the truth and humor to mask the lies and in the end she only ever ended up confusing herself. When was she genuine? When was she full of shit? The sky was the limit, but she had never learned to fly. 

She had never learned to be happy, but she had never really learned to be sad either. It made being alone impossible. Everything had to be shared. What did other people do when they got so lonely? Turn to family, turn to friends? The thought of calling her mother hadn’t even crossed her mind. The thought of calling Henry or Boy seemed too hard. She had abandoned them, and they had abandoned her in like. Who did she have now? Strangers that she clung to like lifelong friends. Strangers didn’t know when to run. They didn’t know who she was, what she was, they didn’t see the parts of her that made people disappear. 

With some effort, she pulled herself off the step and made her way inside the house -- leaving the door open as an invitation. 

“I tried to hike the PCT -- you know, the Pacific Coast Trail -- like, two years ago. And didn’t make it more than, like, twenty miles before I realised I had no idea what I was doing. But I think I might try to do it again, you know? Like, just get out of here,” she spoke as if he was following her -- she didn’t know if he was -- and made her way into the kitchen. The only thing not covered in a fine layer of dust was the fridge, the sink, and the coffee maker. She went to grinding down the beans -- they were better fresh. When she wasn’t at work, she made the best cup of coffee in town. 

“You should maybe, um, maybe think about going somewhere too. Maybe going wherever it you came from. I just, I think that what happened was just -- somebody I used to really -- uh, know, I guess? -- told me it wasn’t safe here, and, uh, I think that maybe he’s right? So, like, you don’t have to come with me -- cuz we don’t really know each other and I get that might be a super weird thing for me to say -- but, um,” she winced and stared at the coffee as she stumbled over her own sour words. “I think you’re really great and I don’t want you to die in this stupid fucking town.”

[aidasamuel]

Nightcall || Nolan & Aida

[aidasamuel]

nolanblake:

Bear would be the one to wake him. His endless clawing and whimpering at the door pulling Nolan out of a deep sleep. Still disoriented he let out a groan, stared for a second at the old clock radio which dim red light informed him it was two o’clock in the fucking morning, and threw a pillow over his head to try to get back to sleep. 

Then Bear started up again, this time his attention turned towards Nolan. Laying his head on the mattress by the man’s face, he started whimpering again, bound and determined to get him back up. Now with a little more time to let his brain fully awaken Nolan finally registered what exactly was happening. Opening one eye then another he stared curiously into the mutt’s brown eyes as the large dog continued to whimper. But that was the thing, Bear never whimpered. Bear slept, ate, slept some more, and laid on you like a lap dog, but rarely got into a temperament that was anything less than completely chill with the world. 

“You alright, man?” Nolan asked as he sat up, and in response Bear ran back to the door and started to claw at it again. Then he heard it- or more her. “Oh shit.” Throwing on the pair of clothes that were still laying on his floor from earlier, Nolan then went over to the window by the door. Pulling back the floral curtain he saw exactly what he hoped he wouldn’t see, Aida definitely drunk and screaming as she pounded the hell out of the door five rooms down. Good thing he’d been the only guest in the place for the last three weeks he’d been here. 

Throwing his coat on, Nolan ventured outside, pushing Bear back into the room as he did so. “Hey!” He shouted at the blonde. If this were any other time, and about three years earlier, he probably would have shot back with some sarcastic comment about whether she could even swing straight enough to hit him at all let alone kick his ass. But given the fact the pack he was associated with had just committed what was now deemed as a “massacre” against her community, even he knew this was not the time for jokes. 

She felt her lungs crawl out of her chest and out of her throat and onto the pavement. Aida swallowed her screaming and dragged her fingers down across her mouth, her fingers came back wet from rain and spit. Despite the white heat of her skin, she was shivering. She was a testament to her kind -- not a witch, a survivor. She was teeth and she was nail and she was shards of broken glass. 

Loving him had been apocalyptic. She stored up canned goods and bottles of water, she had watched the fuse of their relationship run out -- the end had been a silent explosion that had annihilated everything. Aida had taken to the road without warning -- she saw the world collapsing around her and she knew there was no more surviving in the city. He made her nuclear, and now he was here. There was no safe zone left. Aida’s half-life wasn’t two years, it wasn’t five years, it wasn’t seven years. It was decades on decades of time she didn’t have. Her half-life was eight years ago. It was reversing time itself. 

She pointed at him with her pinky, the bottle clinging to her other four fingers Each clumsy step seemed to scream: See? That wasn’t so hard. This wasn’t so hard. Confront me. Hate me. Try and kill me. Each clumsy step seemed to whisper: This is too hard. Why did you come here? Why try to save me? Do you wish I was dead? 

“You. You think you’re some hot piece of shit, but you’re just a piece of shit,” she was blind on liquid courage, but every ounce of her was on fire. She tingled. She shouldn’t take another step, she couldn’t stop. Did anyone know she was here? Would they find her body in the lake, just like they had found her father? Did Nolan know too much about her -- would he make her suffer? Was it all a lie? An elaborate rouse to drive the witch crazy, to make her walk right into the oven -- would he lock her inside? 

Was she Little Red or the Big Bad Wolf? She used to know the answer to that. Had he known all along?

“I’m gonna yell at you. I’m gonna yell but first I think I need to sit down first.”

She reached a hand out to his shoulder and used him to anchor herself past him. “I’m gonna come in. Okay,” she paused. “Is that my dog?” Aida let herself plop onto the floor and wrapped her arms around the dog. “Oh my lil baby. Mama’s lil baby. Is your daddy the worst? Yes he is! Yes he is! Good boy!”

[aidasamuel]

leviathangeometry:

Jonathan spent a lot of his evening time in bars, primarily due to the fact that people there were drunk. And drunk people were simple. 

Case in point, the likely inebriated woman next to him talking about the tribulations of excessive drinking. “I would hope you don’t have to choose between another round and a premature ending, Miss.” He raised his bourbon and gave her that little socializing smile that he’d perfected for atmospheres like these, a laid-back sort of congeniality that was both inviting and just non-committal enough.

“First of all, who the fuck says ‘miss’ like, I’m sorry -- do you own this place? Am I a customer of yours? Are you a high price hooker?” She stopped and looked at him again. “Low priced hooker, given the general location. I mean, and considering the whole murder thing.”

“Second of all, If I have to live in a town full of skin peelers, I’m gonna get as drunk as I can manage. Maybe if they’re lucky a lil alcohol poisoning’ll do the job for ‘em.”

[nilaanand-deactivated20181210]

Strange Offering || Alex & Aida

[aidasamuel]

alexanderbooth:

It’d been a busy week for the council, and more so could be said for Alex himself. Alongside dealing with Kettle and Celler’s temporary closing, he also had to deal with citizen complaints, council meeting after council meeting, and the odd abundance of curious young witches popping by his residence. Alex thrived on it though. This was what he’d been waiting on for so many years, a chance to finally show his people how strong of a leader he could be for them, and how strong he could make them in return. No matter how hard the other council members seemed to push against any form of revolt, it was coming. And with him at the forefront of it. All it took was the right planning. 

Which was what he was doing right at that moment coincidentally. Tucked away in his office in the far corner of his house, Alex was currently reading over the list of victims from his ball. His reading glasses perched near the end of his nose, he scanned name after name over and over again. He was memorizing them, he had to. These were the names on everyone’s mind at the moment, the names people would fight for when it came time for it. These were the names he couldn’t afford to forget. As he began his sixth turn on the list he grabbed a pencil and began writing out magick veins by each name. Hematomancer, Teraformer, Teraformer, Hydromancer…. BRRING, BRRING, BRRING-BRRING

Alex’s head snapped up as he heard his doorbell sound off once again, this time with three quick rings one right after the other. Well whoever was out there certainly had no room for patience, he thought to himself, or respect for his poor doorbell. Taking the list and hiding it in one of his desk draws, Alex headed towards the front of the house. Just as he got to the door he quickly took of his reading glasses before opening it. 

“Well hello Ms. Samuel.” Alex greeted the young witch, surprised by her unexpected arrival. “How are you doing today?”

How are you doing today? A common greeting. A formality she was beginning to hate. 

“Hey, yeah, cool. I’m gonna come in. I think you should get me a drink, but first I’m gonna come in and you’re gonna lock the door. Cool,” as she spoke, she stepped past him into the house. There was something welcoming about his home, but there was also something inherently empty. All of the houses in Birchwood felt that way though, especially to Aida Samuel. Especially now. She wondered what Alex Booth was missing. Maybe nothing, maybe everything. Maybe it was just enough.

Everyone in Birchwood had lost someone or something. No one came here on accident. It was to escape, to find peace, it was because something was missing or because life was no longer enough. Even the people who had lived there all their lives were missing something intrinsically part of themselves.  

Aida wanted to cling to the bag that was slung over her shoulder. She wanted to keep it safe, just in case. But she needed answers first. She wasn’t a member of the council, she never wanted to be. But she was a Babet, and they had poured as much blood into the coven as any of the other founding families. It was a strange sensation. She felt responsible. She felt that this was her duty. That making this decision -- the decision of who to trust with something that could mean life or death (or even nothing) -- somehow made her closer to her family. The family she had never known, never been part of. The family she might have had. 

She didn’t trust the council, they had blood on their hands. But didn’t that mean that Alex did too?

[aidasamuel]

“No, really. What’s the harm of one more round? It’s not like anyone’s gonna live long enough to have their livers slide out.”

[rpmememaker]

Send me a character name + a room, and I'll tell you my headcanons:

[aidasamuel]

rpmememaker:

Kitchen:

What is the character’s favorite food?

Are they good at cooking? How good/bad?

Do they leave the dishes out?

What kind of food is in their refrigerator?

Do they cook, eat out or get take-away/delivered food more?

Living Room:

How does the character spend weekends?

What kind of movies does the character watch?

What do they do with friends?

What’s their favorite pastime?

What’s their favorite TV show/film?

Bathroom:

How does the character prepare in the morning?

Do they sing in the shower?

What kind of hair product/make-up do they use?

How clean is this character?

Does the character have thousands of shampoo/shower gel bottles by the shower, or do they use only the bare essentials?

Bedroom:

How does this character sleep? (Position, sleeping habits, bedtime routines)

What are their pajamas like?

What do they dream about usually?

How neat/tidy is this character?

How affectionate is this character?

Attic:

What is the character afraid of?

How do they deal with bad memories?

What is this character’s role in a horror movie?

How do they hide their secrets?

Which of the Seven Deadly Sins does the character relate to most?

[aidasamuel]

Nightcall || Nolan & Aida

She had been desperate for desperation, and now she was desperate for simplicity. She wanted a cup of coffee in the early morning. She wanted to be late to work. She wanted her life back -- whatever that meant. But now there were curfews and murders and funerals. Now there was Nolan and nightmares and buried black books. 

She wanted to scream. She wanted to fight. She wanted to pull out her hair. 

The shock -- which had bled her dry over the past week -- had been replaced by anger. Her broken heart no longer ached, it burned. Her blood had soured, she was ready to set the town on fire. No, not the town. The motel. That’s where he had to be. Not at the Inn. Not rented out in some house a few blocks over. That’s where he had hidden himself away. He, him, Nolan. 

It was raining, and even under her heavy coat she felt drenched. Each drop of water turned to steam on her skin. An hour ago, she was walking home from the bar. An hour ago, she was ready to crawl into bed. She would have called Chaucer. Maybe Sid. But now she was here. The neon vacancy flickered, and she wiped wet hair out of her face. 

She had knocked on three doors before realising she didn’t know what she was doing. Where she was doing it. She didn’t know what she meant to do, what she would say if he answered. She raised one hand up over her head, and another clung tight to a half-empty bottle of bourbon. 

“Come on out, Asshole. I’m here’ta kick your ass’n ya know. Oh.” She moved too fast, she bent down and tried to catch her own balance. She stood back up and went back to shouting at the sky. “I’ll kick down every door here. I’ll fuckin’ do it. You can’t hide forever, Dickweed.”

[aidasamuel]

Tome, Sweet Tome || Aida & Mina

[aidasamuel]

minadrake:

Thankfully, the pyromancer didn’t seem too mad about the (relatively minor) deceit, and had already moved on to thinking about solutions to the problem at hand. That meant, to a certain degree, Aida actually believed her–she was trusting her word. Mina filed that knowledge away, blinking at the name brought up. “Alex?” 

It took a moment to remember to whom she was referring, then it clicked. Alexander Booth. “What, Mister Southern Charm? Didn’t know you two were on a first name basis…” she murmured with mild surprise. She’d met the councilman briefly at his fateful ‘little shindig’, remembering his syrupy drawl, and the way he’d been trying to appraise her allegiances with a line of none-too-subtle questions. And she’d only responded with the sort of answers she thought a man like him, proud bordering on pompous, wanted to hear. Something about him rubbed her the wrong way–probably because his polished demeanor reminded her a little too much of herself, as if he, too, had something to hide.

Besides the airbender and her sometimes-boss Naomi, the only other council member she’d met was Micah Shipley. But between the three of them… Maybe Aida was right. Maybe she was a better gauge of who to turn to, being a lifelong resident of Birchwood. At the very least, she knew Booth wasn’t a weak leader–he had a vision for his community, and he bore confidence about his magick that stemmed from experience.

Without realizing it, Mina had been biting at the inside of her lower lip while she thought, barely stopping short of puncturing the thin skin. “Okay. I mean… If you think he’d be discreet about it…” And responsible with it–god forbid they arm a lunatic with a volatile book of hidden power. She frowned. “What if the council doesn’t know jack shit about the tome, though? Or they do, and they lie about it?” Not their responsibility, she told herself. Except… 

Her voice lowered to a rough whisper, “Do you think it’s a trap? Like, is it just dumb luck that I found it that night, or… Shit, would hunters be fucking around with this kind of thing?” Hypocritical as it would be for their enemies to turn the very thing they feared and despised into a weapon for themselves, Mina couldn’t put it past those assholes to bend their so-called principles to meet their ends. “God fucking damn it.’

Birchwood’s very foundation was desperation. They were desperate to feel safe, desperate to be part of something, desperate to survive. It was the founding families who made the decisions that had to be made. They were responsible for the future of Birchwood, for the safety of the citizens. For the first time in her life, Aida Samuel understood how her forefathers must have felt. How her grandmother must have felt. 

Because Mina was right. The Council could already know, they could have been the ones who hid it. They could be planning something even worse than Aida knew. Than any of them knew. Or it could have been planted by the hunters. By not destroying it, they could be unleashing something terrible. Or, by destroying it they could unleash something even worse than terrible. Something nasty, something evil. 

A founding daughter of Birchwood, that’s what Aida was. But she wasn’t a council member. The greatest decision she could make was figuring out whether they could trust Alexander Booth or whether she was putting herself and Mina at risk.

She carried the tome -- the nasty fucking tome -- to her bag and slipped it inside, zipping it up and throwing it over her shoulder. 

“Either way it’s a trap. If it’s the Council, we’re fucked. If it’s the hunters, we’re dead. But I mean, we’re fucked anyway and we’re dead anyway. So. You know. How much worse can it get?”

Famous last words and she knew it. She banged a fist on the wood table next to her. Knock on wood, right? 

“I don’t know if we can actually trust Alex, but he’s not part of the founding families, so he’s the lesser of nine evils. And nothing in here is gonna fucking possess him like it could Micah -- in case it’s haunted or some shit. If it someone on the council, my money’s on the Crowleys. They’ve always been evil motherfuckers.” 

Her Grams had always said that the Crowleys were the ones who drowned Aidan Babet. She said that they needed to make sure a Babets would lose their place on the Council. Whether that was fact or fiction had never been discovered, but the suspicion was enough to make Aida hate them more than any other family in Birchwood. 

“I’ll take it, if it’s council and he turns on us... Well, I’m founding family. They can’t do a whole lot to me. Babets own as much of this town as the rest of them. You know, unlike you. Being the local axe-murderer doesn’t earn you any special treatment. If it’s hunter... Well, I got it covered.”

[aidasamuel]

Tome, Sweet Tome || Aida & Mina

[aidasamuel]

minadrake:

It was too late to lie. But worth a try, anyway. Mina narrowed her eyes at the accusation. “Why the hell would I want to curse the dogs?” She added a beat too late, “Let alone anyone at all.” The dogs least of all, though. Maybe they could get a little annoying when they started barking at any passing cars from the front room while she was trying to take a nap, but she really was the type who got more upset at animals getting harmed in movies than when humans bit it. 

If she’d thought Stump would go nosing around in an old dig spot for once, she wouldn’t have left it there–though in hindsight, she probably should’ve warded the hole against any living creature, rather than solely the bipedal kind. The spell she’d cast had rendered the dirt pile not invisible, but completely unremarkable; anyone looking at it would feel compelled to ignore it. That magick didn’t seem to work on hounds, however. Stump was circling their feet, still yapping and grumbling at the book.

“It’s not mine,” she sighed, her mask falling, exasperation plain on her face and in the slump of her shoulders as she crossed her arms defensively. “I found it in the woods, back when…you know. That night.” Mina didn’t have trouble talking about the murders as what they were, but Aida–like so many others in this town–seemed to be more shaken by what she’d seen, and so she handled the subject with greater sensitivity. “It was buried under some leaves, beneath a tree. I didn’t think I should leave it there, though, for some random kid to stumble across and hurt themselves, you know?”

Maybe she should’ve apologized then for bringing a bad omen onto the property. But as far as she was concerned, she’d done the right thing–though probably not the most sensible. “I know, I should’ve said something to you about it sooner. I just…” Didn’t know if I could trust you, either. “Didn’t want to put more shit on your plate. You look like he–like you’re having a bad enough week, and I thought I could take care of it myself.” It wasn’t an entirely fake answer. Even the sympathy was partly genuine.

There was another sharp bark. Mina’s gaze went from meeting Aida’s eyes and back to the fat tome. Just looking at it raised the hair on the nape of her neck. “You should probably put it down for now, though. Just in case someone really did curse it.”

Virginia Babet would have known what to do. She would have formulated a plan and found the right answer. She would have told her fellow council members what to do. She would have known how to figure this all out, or at least she would have had an idea of who to talk to. But then, maybe she would have been clueless. Maybe she would have been just as lost as Aida was now, just as confused. What did someone do with something like this? Bury it, like Mina? Dig it up, like Stump? Whatever Virginia Babet might have known meant nothing. 

Now, it was only about what Aida would do. 

If Mina had found it in the trees, then why hadn’t someone found it before? Had it been placed there? By who? She thought of Nolan. Hunters are here. She thought of the killings. But Aida, who knew nothing of hunters other than they existed and she had loved one, couldn’t imagine they would have any sort of tome. Nothing like this. Nothing that seemed to carry the air of magick. Sour magick at that. Then, was it the Council? Were they trying to start something? Was this the first step in the grand plan. Was anyone on the council really smart enough to have an executable grand plan?

Either way, Mina was right to keep it to herself. Well, maybe not only to herself. But she had been right to keep it out of the hands of the Council at large. Not before they knew what it was. The mistake -- of course -- had been bringing it to the Babet house before they knew what to do with it. 

And she was certainly right to warn Aida not to touch it. 

Aida looked down at the tome and grimaced slightly. Between the strange air around it and the way it upset Stump, she couldn’t help but be wary of it. If it was cursed, the damage was done. If it was cursed, she wanted it off of her land. But where else could she take it? Who could she trust to look at the book and keep it to themselves? She could take it to Micah, but she worried he would be too sensitive. Rather, the spirits around him would be too sensitive. If there was something inherently dark about the tome, would it put him at risk? 

Who could she trust without fearing for their safety?

“We should take this to Alex. If it’s cursed, it’s his problem. If it’s the Council’s, he’ll know. If not...” Then I know a hunter we can beat it out of. “If it’s a bad omen, we should make sure we’re not on the receiving end.” 

[aidasamuel]

Tome, Sweet Tome || Aida & Mina

[aidasamuel]

minadrake: 

Mina yanked the laces on her tennis shoes tight, looping them around her fingers and knotting the bow twice, just to be sure. She was rolling her leggings down when she heard Aida calling from downstairs, and yelled back, “Yeah?” Maybe she wanted to add something to the grocery list. It was getting late–the onset of autumn would eventually lead to fewer hours of daylight–but there was still plenty of time to jog to the store and back with a couple of bags. 

She threw her light jersey hoodie on, tugging the zipper up while walking down the hall. “What is–” Mina reached the first tread of the steps when she saw Aida below, two things in her grasp: Stump tucked into one arm, and… “Oh. Shit.”

The tome. The fucking spooky-ass, ancient tome she’d buried that night (with more respect than the victims of the attack had received) in the backyard nearly a week ago. Judging by the dirt hanging off of the dog’s furry little muzzle, he’d found it before she could properly deal with it.

She hadn’t forgotten about the bundle, exactly–she just hadn’t had the time, between reconfiguring her work schedule to suit the curfew, and still make living wages. That, and she remained uncertain what she should’ve done with them, anyway. Bringing it to the council was still off the table–she didn’t trust any of them as far as she could throw them, and who knew if she hadn’t accidentally stolen them from one of the members in the first place? According to Willow, all of them had their own agendas, apparently–which meant, at this point, none of them could be believed.

Although she suspected her reaction had given away any chance of feigning ignorance about the book, Mina continued down the flight, each step groaning ominously under her minimal weight. Her expression was neutral as she reached the ground floor, hands tucked into her pockets as she looked over the tome, if it was the first time she’d ever laid eyes on it. Though, to be fair, it was the first time she’d actually gotten a clear visual. It was even more ragged than she remembered, but that might’ve been Stump’s doing. “Well, that looks creepy.”

Oh shit. The words flew out of Mina’s mouth before she -- apparently -- tried to back peddle. Aida used the tome like a pointing finger, an accusation. She had been making too many of those for her liking this week. Hopefully this one wouldn’t reveal any more nefarious plans or murderous tales. Even if she did suspect she was living with an axe-murderer. 

“For fuck’s sake Mina,” she sighed and Stump licked the entire left side of her face. “What the fuck is this? Dude. Don’t bullshit me, do you know what it is? Is my dog cursed now? Did you curse my dog? What the fuck man?”

It seemed almost uncharacteristic for Mina to leave something potentially dangerous -- or secretive, for that matter -- in a conspicuous enough place for a dog to find it. But then, maybe she had overestimated Mina. Maybe -- like Aida -- Mina was playing to survive. Not playing to win. Or maybe Aida was projecting and Mina had nothing to hide. But it was hard to shake the feeling that everyone in Birchwood had an agenda. 

But if they did, what was hers? And how did she know whose agenda to trust, and whose would go against her own undefined wants and needs? She couldn’t trust the council. The only member she could trust -- her grandmother -- was dead. The only one she didn’t think was evil was Alexander, and even then she had her doubts. She had her doubts about everyone. 

Stump did his best to wrestle out of her arms, she tossed him onto the nearby sofa and he barked at the tome in her hands. Something was off about it, there had to be. If there was one thing her mother had taught her, it was to always trust the judgement of dogs.

[aidasamuel]

Tome, Sweet Tome || Aida & Mina

Aida sat in the living room, her hair knotted up on the top of her head. She was sipping coffee and watching something on the television -- she wasn’t sure what it was, only that it was on and it was distracting. It was about people living in small houses, much too small for full families. Aida thought it was a waste of money, but it was better than silence. She was on the verge of leaving the house. She considered getting a drink or three. But the combination of the curfew, the trauma, and the warmth of her blanket kept her planted to the couch. 

She was only briefly distracted from a dining room table (which was also a wall), as Stump came rolling through the living room trailing dirt behind him. 

“Dude!” She sat up and looked at him. “That’s fucking rude,” he payed her no attention as he gnawed on something big. Probably half the size of him at least. “Stump!” The dog perked up and ran towards him, dropping the thing. Aida rolled off the couch and picked up the terrier, she went to examine what he had. A book? She leaned in closer as the pup rested head on her shoulder and tried to eat strands of her hair. A book. 

Aida opened it, and took a look inside. Not a book, a tome? It didn’t read like anything she had seen before. Latin? Greek? She couldn't remember the difference. Where had it come from? 

“Yo Mina,” she shouted up the stairs as she stood up, a dog on one arm and the tome in her other hand. “Come take a look at this shit.”

The book -- tome? -- didn’t look like Virginia’s grimoire. It looked older -- which was impressive considering how old the Babet grimoire was. It was heavy, it set her on edge. It felt like something to worry about, and Aida didn’t need anything else to worry about. 

[aidasamuel]

chaucerdowney:

He mostly got up early out of the habit of doing so for a morning run and coffee on the return trip. The past couple days had not fallen to that tradition. Instead, he’d sufficed with not-as-nice coffee, and then tea when he had gotten tired of trying to make decent coffee. 

So, that morning, he followed his typical routine. Go for a run. He’d skipped too many days following the whole… mess of that party. He decided to take a slower pace that day, and well, at some point the run had turned into more of a jog, and then a walk. He couldn’t help but feel a certain sense of paranoia as he made his way into town. He couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose as he passed by bits of forest that were close to some of the areas that had burned. It had been days since the fire, but he could still catch the occasional sent of ash on wind that brushed through the forest.

But, he still found himself making his way towards the coffee shop - unsure of whether or not it would be open. On his way into town, many of the shops windows had remained dark and void of customers and employees. He vaguely wondered just how many deaths had affected the infrastructure of the small community. The town held an unsettling quite to it. He wouldn’t be surprised if the coffee shop was closed as well. No Aida fumbling with keys to open up the shop - usually late. 

As he rounded the corner, he found his suspicions on the right path. Closed, empty. He stood there for a few moments, before turning to go back the way he came. But, as he took a step forward to retreat down the streets, Chaucer decided to stray from his usual path, and instead, started to aimlessly wander the streets in town, all sense of purpose to the morning ‘stroll’ more or less cast aside. 

Soon enough he was in some of the surrounding residential areas. More or less quiet, no body seemed to be in a morning rush to get to work. Somehow he knew that the deaths had reached farther than just the witch community in Birchwood. He soon found himself in front of Aida’s home, with the owner in question sitting on her front porch. He hadn’t seen her since the… The night. Without much of a thought about it, he turned up the walkway, and sat himself down on the stairs, a short distance from Aida, taking her words into account, but not really wanting to pay them much mind. To be quite frank, he was more or less on the same page. Keeping his hands tucked into the pockets of his sweatshirt, he sat, quietly for a moment.

“Missed my coffee this morning,” he said absently, the words falling flat. He hadn’t done much talking the past few days, and it somewhat showed. He sighed, tipping his head to rest against the banister. It was a few moments before he really said anything else. “How are you,” he asked, turning slightly.

How are you? How was she? Her toes curled against the wooden steps, she felt years of disrepair and generations of stomping feet. She was tired of questions she didn’t have answers too. She was tired of answers she didn’t have. She was tired and it showed on her face, in her hair, and in big bags under her eyes. Hours ago, she had considered leaving Birchwood. Heeding Nolan’s advice and doing what she had always done so well: running. But there was something keeping her tied to the town, the house, the steps where she sat. 

Her fingers dragged across her mouth and she tried to think of how to speak without speaking. She wanted to tell him to fuck off. She wanted to ask him to sit closer. If her grandmother were still alive, she might have invited him in for breakfast. Or maybe she wouldn’t have. It was strange to imagine that weeks ago they had been strangers. After that night -- just a few nights ago, just a string of hours and moments -- it seemed impossible.

How are you? Who are you? That was the question she had been asking herself for hours. She felt changed in some way. More anxious. More afraid. Afraid of herself, of her shadow, afraid of who she was and who she might become. There was a new depth to her failures. Five years married with a hunter. In bed with a killer. The smell of poisoned blood lingered on her hands. It was all in her head. 

Aida almost asked him how he was. If he was sleeping. If he could still see it when he closed his eyes. She wanted to ask him what he was doing on her front steps. But she didn’t want to ask him questions that she wouldn't want to answer. If there was one thing to be said about Aida Samuel is that she always knew when she needed to keep her mouth shut. 

“You want a cup of coffee?”

[coral]

You don’t get to choose who handles your heart. There are simply people who were born with it in their teeth. When you meet them, it is best to build a bomb shelter.

Tara Hardy (via feellng)

[aidasamuel]

The rules had changed, and she no longer knew how to play the game. Not the game of life, not the game of living, but the game of survival. There were people she had been, there was who she had become, and there was who she would be after -- but all those women were defined by her own innate ability to survive. What was she without that? A dead girl walking?

She had spent the last few days in bed -- better that than dead. In bed, she could see the world through the lens of her grandfather’s old abandoned Super 8. Outside her window it was grainy, the lens was unfocused. She could hear the laughter outside her room, her grandmother was still alive. Maybe her father was too. She was seventeen, or she was someone else. She wanted to go back to the times that were, and the times that had never been.

But Aida wasn’t in her bed. She was on her front steps, watching the town go by. It was quiet now -- understandably. People were scared, she should have been too. Maybe she was. Her cigarette burned close to her fingers, she stared at it until a piece of ash fell on her knee and she put it out on the old white wood beside her. She looked tired. No sleep would do that to a person. Dark circles padded hazy eyes and made her cheeks look hollow. 

She hadn’t called in sick, but then, she hadn’t gone to work either. She wondered if someone had opened it for her, or if Common Grounds remained unopened. Empty. All the lights turned off. 

“Whatever,” Aida spoke to herself, a hand running over her face. They felt more callous than usual. Dryer. She was too cold to feel this warm. 

She heard steps coming up the walk, she didn’t look up.

“No offense, but I can’t deal with fucking people today.”

[aidasamuel]

Aida Samuel + Moodboards ↠ AFTER THE MASQUERADE