belén villanueva-contreras — xxiv
exhibit curator ( manifestation in fire )
“each of us is born with a box of matches
inside us but we can't strike them all
by ourselves.”
WHERE: ren’s camp
WHEN: may 27th, early evening, after sunset
WHO: closed for @belenvillas
Ren had been eager to meet with all of the witches, to share what she had learned and begin crafting the witches into a formidable team. The fire witches brought a certain curiosity, given what she’d read in her grimoire the month leading up to now. With a resurrection on the horizon she thought it best to prepare with what she already knew. She’d been sure to welcome Belén with smiles, and at the waiting campfire. Now, she was arranging logs.
“Someone mentioned you’d been gone a while - why is this?” She spoke over her shoulder, arranging newspaper and log by the setting sunlight. “That’s not something I ask with judgement, obviously. I’m latest of all to this party. Just curious.” Pointedly, she left the first unlit, dusting her hands off and sitting beside the woman.
Distrust had always been the easier of two paths for Belén; most of her self-preservation has been reliant on reticence and a lack of faith in others. Still, she knows that she is better off stripping herself of these habits, especially now — this commonality with the women around her is enough to lend some trust. And so she finds herself in this campsite, in a state that she could easily deem vulnerable with a woman she could swiftly deem a stranger — Belén decides to do neither of these things.
At the mention of her disappearance, the pyromancer all but laughs; it’s no surprise that the others would have spoken about it. “Well, I was being followed by a man, one of the hunters I believe, and it just didn’t feel safe to stay at home,” the witch trails off, and tries to figure out if she should tell the other woman more...sure, “to add, I didn’t feel as if my magic was in control — I didn’t want to risk harming anyone.” When Ren takes a seat next to her, Belén notes that the other had left the logs and newspapers unlit...and the pyromancer thinks to read between the lines, “may I?”
“i hope you do not think i have put us up in poor taste,” ari couldn’t help but give a hopeless, airy laugh in reply to the jacuzzi comment; she’d not want to come across as someone spoiled and pampered, expecting the finest things in a time of great distress for everyone. her hands ran over the plush comforter, probably a bit too warm and comforting in the days growing hotter as summer approached, and ari leaned back so she was flat against the bed, staring up at the ceiling. she folded her hands neatly over her stomach, listening as belén gave a modest pep talk; and felt bad immediately.
who was she to complain, to talk, to fear? not when she had thrown them all in the fire with her own big mouth, to begin with. ari’s eyes shut against the guilt that bubbled up, sighing long before finally answering. “the same to yourself. living alone, i could not imagine… in a time like this,” plus, ariadne had never lived alone, not for a day in her life. without belén there with her, she may have been a mess, tragic and trapped in her own isolation and utterly unsure how to handle it.
“my father always said that,” ari spoke once more, quietly this time, for the first time not wincing at any comments about her hair; which she considered ruined. belén managed to actually pay a compliment about it that ariadne could accept, and a ghost of a smile hit her expression. “thank you. i think we all have to make our own luck, now. in all the movies, you know, these girls change their heart for heartbreak or trauma. this felt as much a heartbreak than any other, losing…” she didn’t finish the sentence. instead, she rolled to her side, propped up by an elbow. “shall we order room service?”
her reply comes in the form of a laugh, one of those meant to quell any anxieties her conversational partner may think to have. “no, none of that; wouldn’t have made much of a difference to me if we were in a motel, but i do appreciate that we’re not lacking in comfort.” aside from her own apartment ( that studio and the current condo-esque situation), the room ari had acquired for the two is much nicer than anything belén had been used to in her childhood — it wasn’t a source of spite, just fact; maybe even irony, a stalker finally allowing her to experience the lavishness she had claimed to live in when she was younger. even then, beggars could never be choosers and she was feeling like a very lucky beggar at the moment.
“in all honesty, for a very long time i could only see that isolation as necessary — when i first moved to salem i was alone, and it had been the same ever since. then again, i wasn’t being stalked by a hunter in those times...” she takes a moment to look for the right words, “i want to thank you for this, it means a lot to me — more than you know.” if she had been angry with ariadne’s actions once there is no trace of this anger in her tone. there is no manual here, no clueless witch’s guide to navigating magic and men hell-bent on eradicating your existence. it wouldn’t feel right to be angry, not over this.
a comment is made about ariadne’s father being a smart man, and she can’t help but think of her own father — wherever jorge may be. “you’re very welcome,” she says with a smile that ari is sure to miss, “you’re right...i’m sure we can do more with an awareness of our own power...” belén isn’t sure where the other was going with her aside, but she nearly melts at the thought of room service. “i am actually starving, and i would like so much room service.”
clementine learns that some experiences, no matter how many times they repeat themselves, they hurt just the same. she is used by now to have people slip through her fingertips. she is far too used to have people deciding she is too much and that the pros of her presence don’t outweigh the cons. the earth witch knows what it feels like, to be left to her own devices when she isn’t just looking to heal but also to be healed. yet, despite the familiarity, it hurts just the same and then worse. worse because it’s belén. it’s worse because it’s her corazón and she has a tattoo on the side with poetry belén read her. it’s so much worse because she never expected this and she just can’t understand it.
when she realizes that belén is at genevieve’s, her mind bears one goal: talk to the fire witch. her feet take her in hasty steps towards the living room and her stomach drops as she finds it to be empty. desperation grows thicker and her breathing grows labored as she follows the sound of the backdoor. only then she is confronted with belén.
“ bel? ” she says and then stronger. “ bel, please! ” clementine calls again as she walks towards her – friend? are they still friends? she hates having to second guess the most elementary aspect of their relationship and yet she hates even more the look on belén’s eyes. “ please – please don’t go away. talk to me. what’s going on? what have i done? ” words fall from her lips in a frantic manner. “ just please – please talk to me. ”
her feet can’t move fast enough, it seems as if they never can — the fact doesn’t keep her from trying. belén is already feeling the temperature rising beneath her epidermis, already knows that the air around her is warmer than it should be and needs to put some distance between herself and the healer. it’s a shame that her feet can never move fast enough. the heels of her boots are sinking into the soil of genevieve’s backyard when she stops; the pain in the healer’s voice cuts deeper than any blade could. belén takes a deep breath, but she refuses to turn and face the other woman.
“cleo por favor, you didn’t do anything— i just have to go. this...this isn’t even about you, okay? i just want to be alone right now.” there had never been so large a chasm between them, especially not one dug by the pyromancer’s very hands. but it has to be done, she’s sure of it. burned cotton and charred wood are on the list of things that she can live with, hurting cleo is not and wont ever make its way onto that list.
belén wants to cry. she doesn’t want to create this space between them, craves to turn and run into the other’s arms. still, it’s not a plausible option. “we can talk some other time, i don’t feel like talking right now.” though her voice is soft — strained even — the words are harsh, and they should have never been directed towards clementine. bel takes a deep breath, focusing on the air as it fills her lungs and leaves them; much like oxygen fuels a fire, it fuels her resolve.
“well, home sweet home,” ariadne commented as she gestured to the room, one of the fancier locations that salem had to offer. money wasn’t an issue, and she figured if losing the comfort of her own home was going to be required, then she could at least treat herself (and any guests) to some luxury for the trouble. when belen took ari up on her open-ended offer, at least temporarily, the astral witch was secretly relieved. being alone was beginning to do scary things to her mind, and the nightmares that had leapt from dreams into reality were only getting worse.
and so; though she and belen couldn’t quite be considered the closest, or the best, of friends, ariadne was beyond pleased to have her there in the suite with her. two queen beds were what equipped the room, lavish in shades of red and black and gold, a small desk in a corner, and a large tv against the far wall. in the bathroom, a miniature Jacuzzi tub. “in another life, this would have been a well-spent vacation, no?” ari added with a forced laugh, coming to sit on the edge of one of the beds, furthest the window. she was scared of being seen - by mason, peter, unknown men hungry for blood… so the blinds were drawn tight. “i could not take it any longer, sitting as a duck at home.” and now, of course, thanks to ofelia’s attempt at dying her hair days prior, ariadne’s skull sported vibrant shades of orange and pink rather than the raven black color she;d sported naturally. a walking, talking, neon sign. come get me!
a change of scenery brings relief; less strain on the shoulders, less weight on the bones. belén is thankful to have this room with ariadne — thankful that the two were able to find some reprieve from the shit-shows they’ve had to endure. of course the entire situation is odd, to rely so heavily on someone like this, but she finds that she doesn’t mind it as much as she thought she would. if she can be of service to ari, provide a shoulder to cry on or become some pillar of strength — with whatever strength hasn’t been chipped away by the events that led them here — then she’ll be a little more at ease. “i think it’s pretty cozy,” she says with a smile.
more than cozy. their lodgings lush and beautiful — a gilded cage that was decidedly safer than the outside world. belén is still careful where she places her touch, not yet trusting her calm or any control she had managed...the room was expensive enough as it is, she didn’t want ari to pay for property damages as well. “i agree — that mini jacuzzi has been tempting me,” jokes could fill the space, but there was no humor there, and she was much too tired to really try her hand at legitimate comedy...but the jacuzzi was something she would test out, later. chekhov’s gun and all. when ari sits down on one bed, bel mirrors her actions and sits on the other, testing out a smile. “i understand, it’s very nerve-wracking — this isn’t something you should have to deal with, neither one of us really, but i can only imagine how you feel,” there’s no script for something such as this, “at the very least, you look stylish. pink and orange are both symbolic of something joyous, so...you’re like your very own good luck charm.”
WHERE: genevieve’s house
WHEN: sometime during this chaos
STATUS: @thechircn
belén has never claimed to be the most empathetic person, too caught up in her own tumultuous tale to focus on much else. and she has proved herself to be less than observant, preoccupied with her bubble and other superficial things — that was her routine, a status quo for all acts and idiosyncrasies to follow. and then she met cleo.
the woman was so well-versed in providing a sense of tranquility to bel, and belén so attuned to the change in the air that cleo brought with her, that the pyromancer could have her eyes closed and know the very moment when clementine walked into the room. calm followed the healer like thunder followed after lightning.
but here, at this very moment, that calm made her uncomfortable. she would syphon it all and more — she would hurt the very woman who provided serenity. belén was hoping to slip away from the house before she could bump into clementine. the witch didn’t know how to have this conversation with her. didn’t want to try and explain the reasons why she wouldn’t answer her calls.
from her place on genevieve’s couch, belén tries to determine how quickly she can slip through the backdoor — so long as she didn’t burn anything or anyone in her stressed stupor, belén didn’t mind being perceived as a little rude, you have no reputation to uphold, this isn’t pomona.
there’s such a thin line between observance and paranoia, and belén has been performing a tightrope act on that very line for years — you only need to be followed by someone once in your life to question each face that appears with an unusual frequency.
she tried to brush it off in the beginning, hoping that her nerves were clouding her judgement.
still, the coincidences were far too many to be overlooked — the anxiety flowing through her veins grew in succession to the amount of times she saw the man’s face.
belén couldn’t confirm her suspicions, not when she had only seen the man outside of her window. that quickly changed when she caught glimpses of him on her commute to work. belén tried anything to lose the man, she would extend her commute and make needless turns, walk into shops and boutiques hoping the man would pass by and keep moving — still he remained on her trail.
the very first time he had followed her home, she felt anxiety and worry chipping away at a strength she had built. instantly she was that young girl in high school, being forced into an awareness of the dangers surrounding her.
didn't she know how easy it was to burst a bubble? didn’t she know how easy it was to undo years of work?
the very first time the man had followed her from work, belén was frantic. she had slammed her door closed behind her, turned every lock and checked every window.
she moved around the apartment as if it were this barren and cold place, not much different than that warehouse all those years ago. she felt cold even though the thermostat in her kitchen told of an unbearable heat — after charring the soft pink surface of a couch cushion, belén decided it was best to try and cool her head.
a cold shower served fruitless, freezing water droplets sizzling to a gaseous form as they touched her skin. the inability to find reprieve was dizzying — hands were quick to shut off the water and rush out of the bathroom. she was suffocating.
as she walked through the rooms in her apartment, candles flickered to life, wax melting much too rapidly for the flickering flames to be the cause.
belén roamed around aimlessly, towel pressed tightly to her chest as she tried to find her peace. had she left it in the mudroom near the door? perhaps it had rolled off of her coffee table and found a new home beneath her couch? the young woman tried to find that peace, but the apartment seemed devoid of any inkling.
by the time the sun had set, belén had managed to dress herself, throwing on a t-shirt that didn’t require much thought on her part. she wasn’t sure how she would fare if she had to fumble with a series of buttons.
her hair had dried in loose ringlets, all she had done to it was tuck it behind her ears. any post-shower pampering that she often indulged in hadn’t even crossed her mind.
the thermostat was still reading high temperatures, and the candles had long burned out.
it was an hour after sunset that belén found herself near the window, index finger sliding between the wall and her curtain and pulling it back slightly. the man was still there, just as menacing as he stood idle.
she didn’t even notice that the curtain had caught fire where her finger touched it, not until the smoke reached her nostrils and she had enough sense to clap her hands over the small flame.
small fires could easily be smothered by human hands, belén had seen her mother lick the tip of her fingers plenty of times before she closed them around a candle’s wick. and what was she, if not the string of little fires igniting within her synapses? what was belén if not the flames sitting inside every single cell in her body? hemoglobin an incendiary fluid, her fingers the match…their hands could smother her flame, could they not?
that night had been as terrible as the night that changed it all when she was an adolescent.
belén kept her phone face-down on her night stand; she hadn’t texted or called anyone, especially not the girls. she didn’t trust herself in moments of high stress, not after she had taken the lives of two young men. with each second that ticked by, she expected the entire apartment to go up in flames — a product of a scared girl, asking the fire to save her.
the young woman wouldn’t be hurt, she was sure of it…but she could not say the same for the others, and the last thing she would do was endanger those women because of her own selfishness.
she barely slept that night.
young woman greets morning in the same way as she did in her youth. she would go through the motions if it was necessary, cry if she really felt the need. but the minute the theatrics were over, belén would don her disguise.
eye drops for the redness in her eyes, concealer for the dark circles and that oh-so-practiced smile she had learned from her mother.
the woman who left for work that day was not the one who had spent the last twelve or more hours struggling with her resolve. belén villanueva-contreras was not the type to give these men that satisfaction.
her routine that day had been the same as it was the previous — the major difference was a collected anxiety where there had been a frantic chaos. entropy didn’t suit her…as destructive as a fire could be, there would always be meaning to her fire, purpose. when she had finished her day at the museum she had tried a different route home, using the public transportation and making as many transfers between buses as she was able.
she reached her front door a failure, for the man was still close behind.
the routine within the walls of her home is similar to that of the previous day; lock the door, make sure the windows are closed.
belén didn’t try to look for her peace this time, she knew she wouldn’t be successful.
the thermostat read some number her body never seemed to register, some unbearable heat that had her begging a neighbor to keep bethlehem housed for a few days. the animal didn’t need to suffer for her stress. neither did the others.
once more her phone is left untouched…why has the now paralleling her then? when was the fire going to engulf her home? when were the flames going to engulf the witch?
this time she didn’t move around the space, touching flammable objects that would disintegrate in her hands. belén had learned her lesson before, stress was the strongest incendiary fluid she knew. this time, when she moved around the rooms of her home, she kept her hands to herself — the witch doesn’t want to turn any valuables to ash.
in the weeks since learning of her own affinity for fire, she had taken to mimicking a lighter with her hands, using the fire that sat atop her fingers to calm herself. if she tried to do so now, she was sure the fire would consume her hand, her arm…every last bit of her body.
belén would allow it if she wasn’t worried about her hardwood floors.
instead, the young woman just sat cross-legged on the living room floor, too nervous to check to see if the man was still there, too wrapped up in her false sense of calm to do anything productive.
she didn’t contact anyone.
what have you learned? what the fuck have you learned? she wanted to ask herself; what changes has she made in her character from that scared girl that set a building ablaze…why was she gifted with a group she could confide in if she would refuse to do so?
her fear of hurting anyone one of them — of hurting cleo or maia or any of them — kept her from making any of these phone calls. it was most definitely a disservice to the women, they were far from fragile; they had magic within them just as she did, but belén cannot forget that the last time she felt like this, two young men lost their lives.
it would be dealt with alone.
the man had done nothing but follow her…nothing more would come from this, right?
if the words provided any comfort, it didn’t show…the thermostat didn’t display any shift in temperature and the witch didn’t move from where she sat. no matter…
mason watches her as she talks and wonders if it’s nerves or if she’s just naturally talkative like that. pretty as she is, mason quickly decides that it doesn’t matter. he will listen to her speak a little more if it eases her mind and he gets to have eye candy. the words on the paper are very foreign and should he be more inclined to help, he could possibly send the information over to his aunt. mason is pretty sure that if there’s someone who knows niche information on salem would be dina bernal.
“ think that secret society runs the scavenger hunt operation? ” he suggests, amused by the idea. “ so they can win every year. ” mason adds, smiling lazily at it. he hopes the girl can appreciate him being funny. “ but nah, not from here. not from too far away, either. i’m from boston. ” he clarifies. “ hey, maybe figuring out the scavenger hunt is what gets you inside of this secret society. ” mason says, trying to steer the conversation away from his person.
“you know, not to take notes from nancy drew and the likes of sabrina or anything like that, but it is entirely plausible. happens at the same time every year, makes it a very exclusive thing that members from around the world can come to,” belén hypothesizes, “you’re right, what better way to keep it in the family?” the words are followed by a laugh, but part of her wonders if there’s some truth to their joking. it’s salem, after all. “not too far, but not too close; how do you like salem in comparison?”
it’s still in her nature to make conversation like this, she feels like she’s in high school again, filling her quota for pretty people she’s mingled with in a day. “again, you’re absolutely correct...” it’s interesting conversation, even though this was the last thing she thought she’d be doing — and in the middle of a scavenger hunt no less. but belén thinks that, her momentum stunted, she’s no longer in such a rush to find the item or place. maybe talking to someone about some secret society for a few minutes is enough of a break, and hopefully, when she looks at the slip of paper once again she’ll be able to figure things out.
“do you think so?” ari asked genuinely, feeling a flutter in her stomach at the idea of others like them. it had been her hope, her suspicion, since the start. it was what had prompted her to speak with dina, the reporter, and what had prompted her to stick close to genevieve. she couldn’t accept it was just them versus the world alone; just them, their magic, and nothing else. the thought was sobering, but somehow managed to make this festival feel all the more surreal. like a tease. ari glanced out with a curious expression at those walking by them, then back to belen. “you know, they all want to be like us,” she said it quietly, but smiled into her cup.
maybe it was a selfish, foolish thought, but it made everything brighten every so slightly. what would half of the festival goers give to have just an ounce of their knowledge, their ability? “mmm,” ari hummed as she swallowed, nodding to the morbid thought. “interesting how every culture seems to have this unfortunate downfall, but at least the decor is pretty, and it gets you out of the gallery. sounds like a fun day for the salem artists. do you get to help judge the commissions?”
"it’s possible; look at you and i...if i had met you or any of the others before that dinner party, we would be none the wiser of the magic that ran through our veins — and that’s as amazing as it is frightening, i think.” it made sense that there could be others like them, but it also made sense that those people were free to have benevolent or malevolent intentions and they wouldn’t know; they knew about magic, but they were just as much in the dark about the world around them as they had been before. still, it made her feel a little better that she knew more about witchcraft than those non-magical people who walked around them, whomever they may be. “well, they’ll always have this festival — and halloween,” she whispers teasingly.
these festivals were inevitable, after all, and they made the kids happy...so there was that. belén was sure, however, that a festival like this could easily turn sour when awe turned to distaste towards a witch ( if that witch ever decided to reveal herself ). “you’re right, it brightens the area for these few days. we’ve already gotten so many submissions, and as a senior curator i do get to judge, which initially sounds fun until you’re halfway through the application pool and you start feeling bad about all the people who will miss out on a prize.”
It only took a heartbeat for Roland to realize his somber mistake - and at her cautious chuckle and honest reaction, Ro gave a genuine laugh of his own with a wave of his hand. “Oh, wow, yeah. I should learn how to read the room,” His attempt to shrug off his words came with a sweet expression, playing in on that charm he relied a little too strongly on. In most situations, Roland would chuckle and grin, easing himself out just barely of trouble on looks alone.
Somehow, her direction approach yet friendly nature made him feel this could potentially work. Plus, if it didn’t… who gave a shit? She was just a random girl in a random line. “Never wrong? Well, you never met me before, so we’ll see ‘bout that.” Ro was enjoying himself - a surprise, really, and he was relaxing in spite of the constant thread of the supernatural nature of the festival haunting his every move. He could almost, just for a moment, forget his true goal in his jesting. And Belen did her part well to play along, with neither knowing the others true intentions.
“Oh, so convincing,” He smirked, but placed a hand over his heart (or where he figured it would be) and pretended it worked. The line moved forward, and before he ducked inside of the tent with her, he leaned with another one of his self-proclaimed winning smiles to whisper. “Guess you are a witch or somethin’, ‘cause I’m havin’ fun already. C’mon, let’s get this bullshit over with.”
And with that, he held open the curtain slightly, and disappeared with her into the muted candlelight. He was chilled instantly, taking a seat with a stiff back, showing slight discomfort despite his somewhat forced smile. “Looks legit, I guess. You feelin’ spooky yet?”
The witch laughs for what seems like the millionth time and she wonders if it could have always been this easy; certainly didn’t feel like it was in Pomona, but then again she had to work so hard to feel as if she fit in, there wasn’t much energy left to measure the difficulties of social interaction. “The psychic might be able to tell you how,” she says, “but I think those kind of things are hard to perfect, the room is never full of the same type of people.” Belén knew that more than anyone. “Please, I’ve been waiting for someone just like you to prove me wrong,” she teases, growing more at ease as the metaphorical clock on the metaphorical wall ticked by.
Her ease is mostly surface, never heavy enough to sink — when she does think it may lose some of its buoyancy, the man calls her a witch ( little does he know ) and she’s right back where she’s started. Belén has to remember that as fun as this may all be, as easy as the moment may seem, she’s molten lava in a sea of flesh and bone.
Still, she’s smiling and following along as the man holds the curtain open for her to enter. Still, the witch is all smiles as she sits down next to him and takes in the scene around them. When she turns to him, eyebrows raised in mirth, the smile is still there, “wouldn’t use spooky, but I am more than ready to see where this goes,” of course she’s not sure the psychic will have any validity to their words, Belén didn’t think that someone would be so overt with their magic — and psychics like these could very well be a gimmick.
A woman enters her field of vision ( exactly what she would expect a psychic to wear, albeit more subtle than any caricature that would pop into mind; it’s festive more than anything ). Belén is practically buzzing with excitement as the woman asks them for their dominant hands and begins tracing a finger along the lines of their palms. The witch is enjoying everything about this — if only because she may be the only one in the room that knows that much more. And then the woman veers so far off course — Bel’s concentration breaks and the words that come from the woman nearly have her in tears, and it dawns on her that the psychic thinks they’re a couple — well, it seems that even spirits could be wrong.
“I agree.” Again, Luce felt herself reliving the strangeness of speaking coolly with someone she once knew well. It was no surprise that Belén and Cleo felt the same to her but in the morning it was grating. She didn’t have the smiles for it, not together enough to pretend. She did, however, look amused at how well organized Belén’s grimoire was. “You’ve uh….you’ve really taken to this haven’t you?” When she laughed then it was a tired but mostly friendly. “Sorry I’m…I admire it honest.”
She pulled the sunglasses off to really look at the girl. “Forgive me I’m just….I’m so tired of jumping through hoops with people. We’re about to summon the forces of madness beyond imagination and I,” she snorts, “Well I’m just growing tired of pretending everything is honky dory.” When she looks then her hands on her hips. “I’d prefer if you were rude to me, honestly. I miss the bite, Belén.” Her smile seems tired but a weight is lifted with the acknowledgement. “I haven’t been burned yet…but I also haven’t tried.”
“I don’t know if this even came up in conversation years ago, but I have this habit of making lists when I’m stressed so this is...very on brand for me, and weird I’m well aware.” The tabs were color-coded and she’s even started filling the pages with post-its notes — Belén thought it was fitting anyhow, since it seemed as if the previous owner made a habit of taking notes outside of the margins.
Luce’s words are surprising to say the least, and Belén has to take a deep breath bide her time as she processes what the other woman has said. She’s not wrong, far from it — they’d swept most of those things under the rug because of the circumstances, but hadn’t worked to fix anything. “I appreciate your honesty, believe me I do...but I’m not gonna be rude to you, because that kinda thing usually reads ‘this is definitely a ploy to ease this bitch’s conscience’, and while I did want to have words with you before, its kinda mellowed out over time,” she shrugs, her tone slightly teasing yet genuine.
“But I can add that bite you’ve been missing, Lucrezia,” her tone becomes a little lighter — warm even. “And pretending aside, I’m glad you haven’t...that being said, we can give it a go...to confirm or disprove the added skill? Low-fire so that we don’t do any real damage?”
Maia giggled, looping her arm tighter around Belén. “Okaaay,” She said drawing out the word, “I think the floor and I are on good terms now, I usually end up on it anyway! It should really be my best friend!” While she usually made a joke about her tripping, it seemed incredibly funny to her now. More so than usual, but she leaned against Belén still happily giggling.
“I am!” She beamed, “It’s really fun here! Everyone’s so friendly, are you having a nice time? I saw some really cool vintage stalls, I wanna stay here forever!” Then she was collapsed into a load of giggles again, swaying against Belén’s arm.
“The floor is very very lucky then for having such a good relationship with you, but just for today humor me so I can make the floor a little jealous,” she says, trying and failing to hold back her laughter. Belén was certainly glad that the other had managed to have a good time at the festival, and pretty glad that she had caught her before she had in fact rekindled her relationship with the floor.
Belén glance around the area, and looking for the stalls Maia could have been talking about, deciding that she’d try and take her to a few of them. “I’m having a really nice time, I went and tried samples from all the booths I could find, and now I’m here with you so that adds to the experience...we can go check some of those out if you’d like...don’t know about forever, but we can try.”
he hadn’t planned on taking part in the scavenger hunt at all. it’d been a month since he’d touched base on salem’s shores, and that surely wasn’t enough time to understand the intricacies of the local culture. roman had elected not to make a fool of himself, instead choosing to loiter and observe the locals running around chasing clues.
but a voice breaks through his people watching, and roman turns to face the girl who’d spoken. “i, uh, don’t think i’ll be much help.” he smiles wryly, shrugging as he continues, “i’ve been here much shorter than you have, i’m afraid.” still, he peers at the words her fingers are underlining, his curiosity a force impossible to douse. “could you read the clue you’ve got? i might’ve overheard someone else talking about it earlier.”
belén smiles at the man, tucking a wayward lock of hair behind her ear, “you’re fine...you’re offering some help after all,” she trails off, lifting the paper close and eyeing the penultimate riddle, “um...let’s see: fourteen eyes peer out onto the street, guarding one secret no one has tried to keep...nine to the left, nine to the right, skin is bright as yolk under bright sunlight — cheesy — they walk right by without even peering in, a mistake for this alcove is the perfect place for sin — even cheesier. does that ring a bell to you or something?”
she doesn’t expect much from the guy at this point, but she’ll humor him since he’s being so kind and humoring her in return — and who knows, the man may even surprise her. “i figured that it’s a yellow house with lots of windows but that’s about it. and i mean, i’m not so sure if the riddle is talking about the actual house.” the young witch is probably talking to deaf ears — still, the act of thinking out loud might help her decipher the clue. perhaps it might not.
by the third day of the festival, mason is positively done with it. the activities are repetitive and so are the faces, the drinks, the food. there’s little there to entice him and he would be lying if he says it doesn’t make him desperately miss a good night out in boston. he wonders if he’d miss too much if he sneaked out to have some real fun. while the answer is inconclusive, one thing is for sure: he’d hardly relax outside of salem. the mystery of it all is what keeps him, albeit bored, in the small town. mason knows he would hardly concentrate on fun when he’s thinking if peter’s fiancee is gonna sneak out in the middle of the night again.
he’s disturbed from his thoughts as a girl approaches him. it’s not unusual and there’s already a half smile on his face. the question, however, isn’t what he expects and mason’s forehead creases as he reads down the text the girl is pointing to him.
“ uh, ” he starts. “ no idea, sugar. have you tried google? ”
his answer gives her pause, and she has to stop herself from saying something like you know...never thought of that, must’ve slipped my mind, but she doesn’t see the need to be so defensive; he could mean well for all she knows. so belén folds the paper, and tucks it in her back pocket, “you know, that was about the third thing i did once i realized there was no way i could decipher the thing...so my chances of winning are looking very slim it seems,” well there went her chances of ever figuring out where to go next.
“is it safe to assume that you’re not from around here? or you know, if you were a salem native you’re just not in on the ‘top ten of the town’s secret spots’ memo or something like that? can’t blame you if you’re the latter, for all i know there’s a secret society here,” this is, sadly, her attempt at making conversation, but she’s not sure how she’s supposed to slink away from the man after initiating any and all interactions.
The scavenger hunt had seemed like the perfect option for Aida. This is what she was used to doing, after all. She was good at finding clues and figuring stuff out but for the life of her, she couldn’t exactly crack this one. The clue mentioned wood so she thought maybe it had to do with trees or even a forest of sorts. There was a smalled wooded area nearby so she figured that would be the first place she’d look. She folds the clue sheet up and sticks it in her back pocket when she notices Belén. When the other girl speaks she leans closer to look at the paper.
“Oh, we’re looking for the same thing,” Aida says as she reads the clue for what seems like the hundredth time. She didn’t realize this scavenger hunt would be so difficult. “I thought it might have something to do with the forest nearby since it’s talking about wood and trees. I can’t really think of much else.”
“Well this is my favorite coincidence of the night so far,” she says. Over the course of the festival, she’s bumped into the girls more times than she cared to count, and each time she bumped into another she grew more and more convinced this was more of an opportunity to network than anything else — and really she wasn’t mad at it. Belén grew comfortable around the women who were like her. Furthermore, how to know if you would work well with someone? Get together to solve a scavenger hunt that’s part of a festival celebrating women like you who were killed for no rational reason.
At Aida’s words she takes a moment to look around, trying to find the forest she was talking about. “You know, walking into forests is exactly how people get murdered, just saying...that being said I do want a prize and since we’re looking for the same thing, it’s smarter to look together.” Her words, while suggestive, leave enough room for the other woman to say no if she preferred to go at it alone. Still, witch or not, walking into a forest alone was a recipe for disaster.
WHEN BELEN CAME BACK over with two cups, fog-like substance spilling over the top, asteria felt her smile stretch wide across her lips as she listened to her speak. “how cute!” she chirped, easily taking the glass offered out to her, happily bringing it to her nose to take a smell as well before peering inside the cup. “this whole festival is so cool, imagine all those decades back when something like this would’ve been heavily banned. progress, this is real progress.” and maybe it was because asteria knew the deeper meaning, hope that things might change, and she gave been a small scrunch of her nose as she tapped the rim of her glass to belen’s before taking a small sip.
THE SECOND DAY had been a little unsettling, nerves in her tummy, so she prayed this drink had some bit of alcohol in it to take the edge off. licking her plush lips, she looked around as well at all the festival-goers, stars basically in her eyes as she did so. “so far things have been so nice, but i also love a cheesy theme, even if it is a little…overexaggerated.” she commented with a small laugh, pushing her wavy blonde locks out of her face, “want to go have it out?”
“very — they were using cauldrons as bowls, and i have to say it really sold me.” in all of her years living in salem, she had only attended this festival a handful of times; and it felt so different this time around. belén knew that there was some magic in this world but she had never known the extent of it. when she had yet to become aware of her ability to manipulate said magic and her role in previous events in her life, these festivals were intriguing but otherwise mundane. she could laugh at the irony. “you’re right, this would have been deemed blasphemous and now it’s just family friendly fun, with the occasional cauldron full of booze,” she punctuates the sentence with a soft laugh.
belén takes note of the wonder in asteria’s eyes, something she’s noticed is as ever-present as her smile, “i’m glad things have been nice, i myself am liking it so much better than i thought i would...and i agree, it’s much grander than any halloween celebration,” while she had used some make-shift map of the booths and attractions yesterday, belén didn’t think that the two needed the map. a lax exploration of the festival seemed best, “of course, i think we have to get the most out of this.”
“Well, good thing Salem’s got this for you,” He whirled a finger around in the air, indicating the whole festival in his summary of this. The negative connotation had a way of surprising some, because Roland appeared to be quite happy-go-lucky with the wide grin, the sparkle in his blue eyes. His quick tongue and attempted clever remarks, yet a pessimist he remained.
As she spoke, Roland couldn’t help but quirk his head to the side, pondering her words for a moment. His father, with whom he was closest to in the world, had never been one for ideologies and useless dreams. It was doom and gloom, and Ro preferred that. “Doesn’t matter what you decide, you could still die. They do still die, positivism be damned. Winning the battle wasn’t real, not ‘till they do, or die tryin’,” He shrugged, the somber dialogue oddly chipper from his upbeat voice, the thin smile written in his features. Morbid, probably, for a first conversation with a stranger - but Ro thought a lot of death, and war, and morals lately.
Witch cookie. God, Ro would rather choke and die - but he gave a forced laugh all the same, shaking his head as if she had made a great suggestion. “Definitely gotta eat at some point, yeah,” He confirmed, pleased when she shifted topics. Probably wasn’t going to make much sense if he admitted how much this whole charade pissed him off; he had, after-all, come of his own free will. “Art Gallery? Fancy. Never been. But… you’re right,” Ro grinned, gesturing to the tent, nearly within their reach. Just another moment more and they’d be ushered inside. “Let’s get into the spirit. Cast a spell on me, make me have the time of my life and believe everything I’m told tonight.”
Well, the man would never win an award for his sunny disposition, but Belén would be lying if she said she wasn’t amused. She looks around the immediate area of the festival one more time before focusing her gaze on him yet again, “oh for sure, if they didn’t put on this festival every year I would have tailed it out of here just as quickly as I came.” It’s ironic, really, how normal the conversation was feeling, so far removed from everything that had been happening to her and the others as of late — and then she realized she had spoken too soon.
“God, you must be so fun at parties, that’s very intriguing stuff — but since it seems like there’s a lot to unpack there, I’m going to avoid stepping on that landmine. Though, I do recommend that you suspend your disbelief for one moment and read The Art of War; if I remember correctly it doesn’t try and sugarcoat things, so I’m sure that’s down your alley.” His words are solemn, but she’s not all that sure of what to make of it as he hadn’t sounded humorless. Belén doesn’t feel like a laugh is appropriate then, not a full hearty laugh, but she scoffs and somehow that becomes a chuckle — she can’t tell if it’s an incredulous sound she’s making or an amused one.
If she notices that he avoids mentioning the cookie and opts for a vague answer, the witch doesn’t voice it. Instead she makes some throwaway comment in return, “I’m sure you’ll be eating in no time.” They would probably part ways once they reached the front, there was no reason to ask needless questions. “Not to give my place of work free advertisement, but you should give it a visit sometime...and well, I’m hardly ever wrong,” the words are smug on the surface, but she’s teasing. This is fine. Belén is starting to think that she could have fun like Genevieve had said...and then the mention of spells flushes all of that down the drain, but even that couldn’t mess with the poker face she’s cultivated over a lifetime.
She quirks a brow and the smile on her face remains soft as she thinks, why not? It would be weirder to deny the silly request right? She really had no good reason to say no to something that seemed so harmless and silly. “I’m no Sabrina, but...” with a chuckle she raises her hands in the air right above his chest, “not the best at biology either, so I don’t know if the heart is supposed to be on the left or right, gonna cover all my bases,” Belén shrugs and starts wiggling her fingers comically, “by the power vested in me, tonight you’ll live a little, have fun, go crazy...” she’s laughing towards the end of it, at the absurdity and irony, “that’s all I’ve got.” Today, she’ll try and make herself believe that.
