want something easy

christopher judge || 27 || airbender

[chris-judge]

amityxbell:

“Christ, another person dead, one missing… How can we let this happen?”

“Not a great time to wander around alone, that’s for sure.”

[chris-judge]

mistress-hale:

  A discharge—an exhale. Oh how a moment of distraction could lead to unintended consequences. It was perhaps the very first thing witches teach one another: control. How to handle the magic that ran in their veins and affected the energy around them. There’s nothing worse than a witch who isn’t in control, yet Georgia had the distinct proclivity to let her power slip carelessly through her skin.

  But then—a flash. The lights in the establishment flickered and ceased to glow. There followed a silence, but Georgia made the first move.

  “That’s not me.”

Chris was staring at his empty coffee cup, simultaneously wishing he could will more into existence and that he could find it within himself to drag his sorry ass out there and actually do something. He had managed to pull himself (somewhat) out of his funk, but he wasn’t sure what the new status quo was. A couple more people had gone missing, and Chris was unnerved again, and...well, the coffee shop was comforting.

Then he noticed a flicker, and looking around quickly, he felt his breath hitch in his throat. After nothing exploded into chaos, his gaze was drawn towards a voice.

“Y’know, denial is sort of a shifty person’s thing. Now that I would now, but...”

[chris-judge]

esther-wright:

“Hi,” Esther said in return. She wanted to run away. He had seen her using her magick. He knew she was a hematomancer. She had barely been able to look at herself in a mirror since that night. She assumed his discomfort was due to fear of her, or disgust, or both. She adjusted her purse strap and looked away, forcing a smile. 

“My husband used to eat peanut butter and jelly when I was out of town,” she said, locking her eyes on the crossing signal, waiting for it to grant her an escape. Talking about Gideon brought the old grief back, but for a moment it drowned out her feelings of revulsion and dread, which was almost preferable. “That, grilled cheese, and ramen were the only things he knew how to make. I always worried he was going to make himself sick while I was away.”

There was a moment of silence between them - Chris was used to silences, but not ones he didn’t instigate personally. He swallowed, tried to smile, but there was no real pretending that they hadn’t been through what they had.

“Hey, you and your husband should come over for dinner sometime. I mean, I can try and cook something. I mean, it’s just, like, the least I could do. I think?” Chris’s smile faltered (also missing her use of the past tense when referring to her husband), and he looked down at the ground for a moment. “Sorry. I’m totally messing this up, aren’t I It’s just...” He sighed. “I’m Chris. I play blues guitar and I walk on crutches and I’m trying really hard not to be weird about this, but I’m not very good at it.”

[chris-judge]

chaucerdowney:

“Do you work over at the auto shop?” Chaucer asked, looking up the street to where he could see it poking around the corner. “That kind of seems to be the case for a lot of the establishments in town… Only a few are really operating out of the necessity for them, I’d say.”

“Yeah… I’ve only managed to get myself out a couple times to go help at Rose’s. Been surprisingly busy over there. Lots of people seemed to have gotten minor injuries over the weekend.” Chaucer took a deep breathe and looked up the street towards the grocery, “Well, shall we?” He asked, making a small gesture towards the store. 

Chaucer cracked a smile and nodded. “Think so, that’s what my gran tells me. Something about shoe makers, or something.”

“Yeah, I work the front desk. I don’t work on the cars at all, even if you’d think I’d have learned some stuff by, like, osmosis or something. But nah...” Chris’s smle came a bit easier, although he couldn’t help but folow Chaucer’s gaze when the other man looked down the street, as if something or someone was approaching them. He had to shake off the shiver that ran down his spine as he nodded in silent agreement. “Understandable, I guess.”

“Oh. Well...” Chris struggled to think of something to say, something that wouldn’t directly relate back to the topic of the weekend. It was weird, how hard he was trying, pretending to be act normal even though he usually spoke his mind. He felt like he was walking on thin ice with every remark, as if mentioning the horrors would somehow summon them all over again.

“Yes, let’s,” he responded quickly with a rushed half-grin. “Shoe makers, really? That sounds...kinda gross. You’d be working with people’s feet all the time. Eugh.” He made a face as he began to walk towards the store, making sure Chaucer was with him. “That’d be terrible, yeah?”

[chris-judge]

esther-wright:

Esther was starving. She was almost certain she wouldn’t be able to keep down anything she tried to eat, that visions of the mutilated bodies, the screams of the men killed in front of her, the memories of the rush and surge of power from the blood would retain their power over her, but she had to try and eat. Her hands were shaking to the point that it interfered with her job, and it was almost impossible to pay attention to things– she had given five customers the wrong change, and accidentally sold $100 worth of merchandise for half that.

“Yeah,” she said to the voice’s question, turning to greet him. “Why do you–” It was the man with the crutch. The man from the forest. If she hadn’t already been close to crashing from hunger her face would have gone pale. “Hi.”

When Chris looked over, it took him a moment to place the face looking back at him. Confusion turned to a complete loss as he wasn’t sure first how to respond - the images came to mind, those of death and destruction and loneliness. It wasn’t surprising that they would run into each other, Birchwood being a small town, but he wasn’t prepared for it in the least.

“I...hi...” was his simple, hesitant response. She had seen him work magic on someone. He had seen her with a knife. In a way, that was more than anyone had seen from Christopher, but they didn’t even know each other’s names.

“I was just...I was totally just going to pick up groceries. Only so much peanut butter and jelly a guy can eat, eh?”

He licked his lips, his mouth feeling dry. Chris wasn’t sure how to strike up a normal conversation when circumstances were ideal, let alone now.

[chris-judge]

chaucerdowney:

Chaucer glanced up the street and admitted a nod. “Yeah, I haven’t exactly been in too much myself. I’ve popped into work a few times, but, for the most part, I’ve been trying to come in as little as possible till I know more,” he sighed, fiddling with his key ring for a moment. 

“I’d personally like to stay huddled up in my place, but my pantry and refrigerator demand otherwise,” he said, giving a small grin. “Meant to go shopping the day after… well, all of that. But that obviously didn’t happen. In fact, I only went to retrieve my car just a couple days ago,” he said, looking over to where he had parked the vehicle.

He laughed a little and shook his head, “Don’t worry about it - I’d be surprised if you remembered it, to be honest. I wish my name was as simple to remember as Chase – its Chaucer.”

“This is the first day I’ve gone back,” Chris admitted. “Some of the mechanics still haven’t come back.” Maybe a day or two more would’ve been nice, he thought, as he resisted the urge to look over his shoulder. Chris himself had been on edge, teetering between moments of feisty, independent intent and crippling dependency. Given the fact that Samuel remained somewhat absent, independence won out (well that, and hunger).

“Yeah, the whole ‘eat-to-live’ thing is a total drag,” he said, nodding slightly in agreement. “But, man, I get it. I get it too much.” He wondered if he looked as tired and worn-out as he felt, like he hadn’t been able to rest much, even if most of what he had done consisted of laying around the house without exerting himself much. “Hope everything was okay with that...I mean, I can’t imagine the usual shenanigans going around after...yeah.”

Chris swallowed, glancing down at the ground again, thankful when Chaucer (oh shit, Chris thought - he had gotten it completely wrong) continued. “Chaucer. Really? What kind of name is that? French?” He paused. “Which I guess would make sense, theoretically, but..still...”

[chris-judge]

chaucerdowney:

He’d only just parked his truck on the street, as the small lot adjacent to the grocery was full, and it had been the only street side parking available. A short walk wasn’t too much trouble, at least. He had his car to manage the rest of the way home. It would be a larger trip today - he’d put it off for as long as he could manage.

Somewhat withdrawn in his thoughts, Chaucer hadn’t realized that when as he approached crosswalk, he found himself in the company of the man he’d briefly held a conversation with at the festival - back before it had all hit the fan. It took him a moment to realize he was being addressed. “Oh, hey there. Sorry, was a bit wrapped up in my thoughts. Um, you said something about a grocery store,” he asked. “Chris, right?”

Chris’s eyes fell on his (hopefully) new company, and he was more or less thrilled (as he could be) to see it was someone he had met before. The man he had talked to at the festival had been nice, and just low-key enough for Chris to feel comfortable around. Granted, comfort was absolutely foreign right this moment, but Chris still offered a shaky smile, one that betrayed his relief.

“It’s fine, yeah, I was just...I was just wondering if you were headed to the grocery store. I don’t - It’s been a few days since I’ve been to town,” he said, hoping that the other man understood what he was talking about, mostly because Chris himself didn’t want to broach that subject of his apprehension and fear at all. “And yup, Chris. Chase, yeah?” As soon as he said that, though, he knew it was wrong, and he shook his head at his own mistake.

“Sorry, man, it’s just...I’m just...” Chris sighed. One of these days he’d be able to finish a sentence.

[chris-judge]

Christopher stood near the crosswalk, looking to the other side of the street. He balanced himself on his crutches more heavily than usual, leg still aching residually from the “party” a few nights ago. The events there weighed heavily on his mind, and he’d barely managed to come to work today, even though half the staff was gone and no one had come in to get their cars fixed anyway.

Footsteps approached, and Christopher swallowed before he looked over. “Hey you aren’t by chance heading over to the grocery store, are you?”

[chris-judge]

esther-wright:

alexanderbooth:

Alex could still hear the hum of the crowd behind him as he walked into the forest with his two companions. It took every bit of him not to start smiling as he heard the orders he gave followed, the words he had spoken retold over and over. 

Time to fight… freedom…. Time to fight….

The night couldn’t have gone any better for him, and to think it was all by chance. Well chance that was given room to find its way in. He could have upped security more, asked people to be a little more reserved with their magick, with rumors of hunters in the area it certainly would have been expected. But then again, why should he? 

For years he’d been trying to get his people to understand they needed to stop hiding and start taking back their lives. And for years nothing seemed to work. He needed to find something to shove them into this new area of thought. A match to light the fire.

And then he found it. 

“We do everything we can to stop these people from reaching the others.” Alex responded to the younger airbender. His voice was bold with confidence, yet soft in reassurance. The other man wreaked of weakness and uncertainty, something Alex found a little repulsing if he were honest, but hid it well under kind eyes and a reassuring smile.  

“I’ll do most of the work of course.” He added, trying to put the pair at ease. “But I will need you two’s help.” His gaze shifted over towards the hematomancer now, that same reassuring smile on his face. Both of his companions had a reason for being here. And it wasn’t because of strength in ability. They seemed nervous, unsure of their magick in their own ways, lost…. They both looked hungry for something to believe in- or someone. 

That was the plan, well at least the start of it. Build up his base of followers with those who crave for something to follow. Then the rest will come. Every leader needs his group of devotees. The ones that will follow him to hell and back, or at the least burn in the flames for him. 

“Now if there really are eight of them, surprise will be our best option, which means…” Alex then glanced down at his and his companions’ feet, flicking his hand in the direction of each, first the airbender’s, then the hematomancer’s, before finally his own. At each flick the sound of crunching leaves began to slowly fade away before dying out completely. Unseen to the eye, Alex had just effectively created small incredibly light in density air pockets around each of their feet. The air being so light the sound waves were unable to travel. Another of his favorite little tricks. 

“We should also have a plan. I was thinkin’ perhaps the two of you could provide a distraction.” Alex began again. As he did so he took off his jacket and tossed it to the side, not too bothered about where it landed. “Nothin’ dangerous of course, I’ll be close by.” He threw them another smile of reassurance as he began to roll up his shirt sleeves, readying himself for what was about to come. “But with them distracted I’ll be able to take care of more of them at the same time. You two can figure out what you want to do, just make sure I get a good clearing to sneak up on ‘em.” 

“Chris, you’re a tier one, right?” Alex asked, making a point to look over and make eye contact with the other airbender. “If anything were to happen where I can’t get to someone, I’ll need your help.” There was little to nothing a tier one of anything could do to help him really, but that was the last thing he needed the other airbender to know. He needed the other man’s trust, and to do that he needed to give him some helpful guidance. Guidance Alex would ensure would work one way or the other. “It’s a little out of your ability range, but you should be able to do it in the right situation.” Probably not, but again he didn’t need to know that. “Now since you can manipulate air, you should be able to draw it out of a man’s chest. Sounds difficult but trust me, when you got someone comin’ at you with a weapon you’ll be surprised at the things you can do.” He added with a light chuckle. “Now all you gotta do is focus in on his chest, and imagine the air sittin’ in his lungs, once you’re focused in you’ll want to start to pull at that air. Kind of like an imaginary string. Do that long enough and that should subdue him til I can get at him.” He wasn’t going to ask him if he thought he could do it or not, he knew the answer to that. But he wanted him to think Alex thought he could do it. 

“Now you young lady.” Alex said with a smile as he looked over at the hematomancer. “You’ll be in charge of the distraction. And to help patch up any battle scars I may get by the end of this.” His soft smile turned into a wide grin before shooting her a wink. Again there was no question as to if she could do it, but Alex acted like he certainly did believe she could.

No sooner after Alex finished his round of orders, the sound of voices could be heard from up ahead. Their owners could have been anyone, but given the current events contrasted with the easiness in their tones it could only be one group of people. “Show time.” Alex gave this companions one last reassuring smile before disappearing into the darkness of a patch of nearby trees. Now it was time to put his plan to the test. 

Mr. Booth radiated power and calm in a way Esther had never experienced before. She followed him, wincing every few steps and keeping an eye out for pitfalls and roots that could trip up the airbender with the crutch, happy for any task that took her mind off the horror they were approaching. Mr. Booth will keep us safe, she thought. Mr. Booth brought me because he has a plan. Mr. Booth will keep us safe. Those two thoughts revolved in her head, shielding her from terror– that, and the hammering in her temples, the fire flooding through her veins, and the ache behind her eyes.

She almost bumped into him when he finally stopped, so lost was she in the thrum of her blood and the mantra inside her skull, and at first she couldn’t really process what he was saying. Especially the “we” part. “We” were going to do everything we could to stop the hunters from reaching the others. What could Esther possibly do to stop anyone? There’s a lot you could do, actually, a voice hissed in the back of her mind, its words pulsing with the rush of her blood. She clenched her fists so hard that her nails cut into her palm, only noticing when the blood dripping off her knuckles made her feel like she was holding fire.

He was going to do most of the work. That was good. But did “work” mean killing? Was there going to be more killing? (Good, the voice burbled.) She licked her lips and scanned the umbral landscape around them.

They were to be the distraction. That was good. Esther was afraid, but she never let fear stop her from doing what would need to be done, though she wasn’t sure how she would have handled having to kill someone. She pulled her pocket knife out of her purse while Mr. Booth addressed the other airbender and stared at it, her eyes focusing on the way her blood beaded up and flowed across the wooden handle and the blade shining in the moonlight.

“Hm?” she said, smiling despite the circumstances at the idea of being called “young lady” at thirty-three. She was in charge. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and nodded. “I can do it. Then she turned in the direction of voices and the sound of snapping twigs. Things were happening fast. Mr. Booth was gone before she had time to register, “Show time.”

“Don’t worry,” she said to the man in the crutch. She reached out and squeezed his hand, forgetting that hers were smeared with blood. “We’ll make it through this.”

She stepped forward into a shaft of moonlight and raised her chin imperiously. As soon as the shadows around her began to move, as soon as she heard the rattle of weapons, she focused her will on the nearest figure, brought her knife high, and slashed her right forearm wide open. Her wound closed almost immediately, followed by a cry of alarm from the figure she was focusing on.

“You can stitch up a wrist,” she said, her voice loud but firm. (Good, the voice just under what she knew herself to be whispered. They should feel afraid.) She brought the knife up to her neck and held it there. “Try stitching this.” The figures didn’t immediately advance. It was in the hands of the man with the crutch and Mr. Booth now.

A distraction...Chris thought it over. He could probably provide a decent distraction if need be - the problem would be escaping from it alive. His leg ached, and he bit his lip in an attempt to forget about the pain there. He hadn’t been in a warzone in years, and being back, well...it was one of those things he would have to process later if he wanted to move forward with a clear head.

“Distraction. Right, uh, got it. I guess.” Swallowing, he nevertheless tried to offer a shaky smile to Mr. Booth. He wasn’t sure why the other man (council member, he reminded himself) believed in him, but it sort of made him want to uphold that faith. Or at the very least, not fuck up badly enough to make anyone mad at him. Still, he was nervous, and his heart thudded against his chest, even more so as Alexander described the way to take someone’s breath away - Chris could barely do anything with his magic, and he didn’t want to say that this was probably beyond him. He merely nodded, and then watched as the other man faded into the nearby forest.

His mouth was dry, his throat felt like it was going to close up. Christopher closed his eyes, tried to bring back even an ounce of the confidence that Alexander had given him (and just as swiftly taken away as he left).

Don’t worry. We’ll make it through this.

When Christopher looked over, it was with wide eyes at the woman. She had given his hand a quick squeeze, and in the dark, he didn’t see the blood. He swallowed again, trying to come up with some sort of intelligible response before she too stepped away. For a single moment that seemed to stretch into a month, he felt utterly alone, something unfamiliar to the young airbender. It was loneliness he avoided, at least the kind that you didn’t choose for yourself, so hard by keeping his friends around as much as he did. But they weren’t here now - no one was.

No one would get Chris through this situation but himself.

Taking a deep breath, he moved forward, trying not to hiss at the burning sensation in his leg, and hid a a little distance away, behind a tree, where the woman now stood, hand by her throat. As he realized what she was truly doing, his own blood ran cold. He was tempted to run away, but another rustling caught his attention - a man, a tall one, who held a machete in his hand. Chris could tell by the way the moonlight glinted off the blade - and he was looking at Chris’s companion, unfortunately distracted.

Good thing I don’t have any pets to leave behind, he thought before taking a breath and stepping forward, still on one crutch (having abandoned the other behind his hiding place). He really hoped Mr. Booth’s trick worked, because Chris was probably the least intimidating witch ever.

“Hey, you! You...That’s not...just leave us alone!”

And with that Chris reached out with his free hand, imagining himself doing exactly what Mr. Booth had told him to, and hoped desperately that something would happen.

[chris-judge]

esther-wright:

“What sigils do you know?” Mr. Booth said. Esther answered without looking up, too focused on making sure the bodies were treated respectfully.

“Good luck,” Esther said, “sigils to make a space or a room more harmonious and relaxing, sigils to discourage theft, that kind of thing.” She tucked the edges of the tablecloth under the first body and moved to the next. A man in a crutch approached them while she was working but she paid him no mind– at least, until he actually started speaking.

“There’s - there’s more, please…” he said.

Esther had just draped the second tablecloth over the second body when the man with the crutch walked up. She started to stand, only to wince at a shooting pain in her right shin– her penance for straining her busted leg too much before it was done healing. Better to stay down for now anyway. Let Mr. Booth handle things.

Still, she thought, there are more hunters coming. They want to kill us. She looked down at her hands and realized they were smeared with blood from the mutilated corpses. It felt like electricity was coursing through her across her skin. She realized her pulse was hammering and her eyes were starting to ache as if she were hung over. Mr. Booth started speaking then, momentarily drawing her thoughts away from the mounting power coursing through her veins.

“More are coming!” he said, turning to address the crowd. Despite their panic they all turned to face him. The man certainly had charisma. “For centuries these people have led us to believe that our magick is what makes us weak.” A strong wind rose, causing Esther’s hair to whip around and Mr. Booth’s jacket to flap dramatically. Was this because of the hot air rising from the fire, or was he doing it for effect? “They want us to believe that we deserve this!” He gestured to the three bodies. “But now is the time we show them who the weak ones really are! It’s time we fight for our right to live, live without fear, live without having to hide who we are. It’s time we take back our freedom.”

Esther felt a rush even more powerful than the thrum of her magic as she listened to Mr. Booth’s oratory. From the cheers that erupted from the crowd she guessed she wasn’t the only one. He immediately went into action, delegating different tasks to different witches.

“All hydromancers and airbenders, get to work putting out that fire. “Pyromancers and hematomancers establish a defensive perimeter.” Esther got up, wincing again at the pain in her leg, but Mr. Booth glanced at her. “Not you,” he said softly, before returning his attention to the group. “Anyone who’s untriggered or too weak to help retreat into the lodge.”

He turned his back to the crowd, directing his attention to Esther and the man with the crutch. “Take me to the hunters,” he said. Esther limped quickly after them, her pulse hammering so hard she was afraid she was going to lose herself. Why a man like Alexander Booth would take an interest in her she couldn’t fathom, but she wasn’t the kind of woman who backed down from a challenge.

Christopher wished that his part in all this was done as soon as he delivered his news, which gratefully seemed to be understood. He waited until the woman (he didn’t know her name) and Mr. Booth glanced at each other before turning around awkwardly, eyes scanning the area for his friends. Previously, he had been worried that his friends wouldn’t be able to find him, yet as he realized the chaos and the destruction that had already occurred, he worried that he wouldn’t be able to find them in time. They were both able, as far as he knew, but who could truly be prepared for an ambush by armed hunters?

He was about to start looking for them when Mr. Booth started speaking, started speaking of fighting and weakness and magick.

Christopher could claim knowledge to two of those things at most, being an expert in one.

He wasn’t a fighter, had never truly been, probably. He was a good shot with a gun, but that was about it - and besides, shooting targets was different than shooting people. He had never actually done the latter, his position in the Navy being support with the radios. He knew of weakness, too, perhaps too much. Whatever Mr. Booth said, he was still weak. Nothing would change that. And magick? Well, Christopher was as good as useless in that department. He’d been meaning to practice, but it was one of those things he had never made time for. The rush of wind blew a lock of hair across his forehead, and he couldn’t help but shiver. Mr. Booth was not only charismatic, but powerful as well. Even if Christopher knew he was useless, he still wanted to help, almost.

His friends would come first, and he was about to leave to seek them out when given directions.

Take me to the hunters.

Chris froze. He had just escaped them, his legs were aching and burning now, and he was still separated from Samuel and Piper. And he was to go back to look for the assailants? It was literally the last thing he wanted to do. Perhaps expecting his warning to be sufficient was naive, but he didn’t want to go back, not when real fear clouded his system. He tried not to let the shaking return, took a deep breath and a glance around before looking back at the two, wide-eyed with fear.

“I...they’re over there, but...but...”

He gestured with futility - it was dark outside, and the forest was large. Just pointing wouldn’t be very helpful at all.

“I...okay. I’ll show you.” Chris looked at the woman, almost as if she would somehow help him out with the situation, even if he wasn’t sure exactly what she would be able to do. He swallowed, and it felt like a stone being shoved down his throat. “It’s this way...,” he said quietly before he turned, with some difficulty, and began walking, crutches crunching against the ground, back in the direction of the forest.

“But...but what can we do? There were at least eight of them. And there’s only three of us, and I’m not even...” He closed his eyes. “What do we do?”

[chris-judge]

esther-wright:

alexanderbooth:

He was up on the balcony again when it happened, overlooking the throng of guests, still drowning in pride of a job well done. Then the lights when out. It took him a moment to recognize what was really happening. At first he was overcome with pure rage, wondering if the local electrician/thaumaturge witch hadn’t infact made sure the breakers would hold up for the night. Or maybe it was Crowley to blame, he briefly wondered, he should have known the man wouldn’t have allowed him at least this small victory. Just when he was about to devise a plan of revenge a loud scream rang out from the gardens. 

Oh. 

His head snapped up to the windows overlooking the garden, he could see a fire burning in the distance, the tell tale smoke floating up towards the heavens, then he noticed the trees. Three objects swung from them, deep red in color, bodies most likely given the crowds’ reactions. Well this was certainly unexpected, he thought to himself. Well maybe not completely unexpected… In the darkness of the ballroom, from his high keep overlooking all, Alex Booth smiled once again in pride. Now this he could work in his favor. 

As the crowd thickened in the gardens Alex began down the stairs, taking them two at a time, preparing himself for his next great performance. These people who swung from the trees were more than likely his own, yes, he knew that. He knew that very well. But there was also an opportunity that lied here, one that would help push him and his people forward instead of remain frozen in time. These bodies could help provide just the right accelerant for a revolution, one Alex was aiming to lead. 

“Move! Move! Let me through!” Alex’s voice rang out in the crowd, instead of it’s usual confidence it was laced with fear, anxiety, dread. The crowd began to part as Alex made his way through, the complete horror of the bodies becoming more and more visible. When he finally made it to the opening of the crowd his mouth dropped in dread as he stared at the torn corpses, their flesh exposed, ripped apart by the hands of some madmen. Surely after this there would be no question left as to the evils of mankind. There couldn’t be. 

His eyes then caught that of another witch’s, her hands tightened around the rope that held one of the bodies. This was an act more better done with magick, he thought, it would give it a more lasting impactful image. That magick rulled all. “L-let me.” His voice sputtered out, ragged but stronger in confidence than before. Alex lifted his right hand into the air, his gaze focused on the body infront of him. He could do this without the need of a hand motion of course, but that wasn’t as great of an image either now was it. 

After taking a deep breath he begun to lift his hand higher, now about to face level, as he did so the body on the tree began to move, matching the motion of his hand. He lifted it up at first up to loosen the tension in the rope. “I can handle this.” He said to the woman with the rope, his eyes still focused on the body. “What kind of magick do you possess?” His other hand rose now to pull the rope off the victim. “It might become helpful here.” Once the body was free of the rope he gently laid it down onto the ground below. “But now I’ll need a tablecloth if you don’t mind. They shouldn’t be exposed like this. That’s what those monsters would want.” His voice dripped with venom at his last words. Yes, this he could definitely work in his favor.

“What?” Esther said, eyes snapping toward the man’s voice as the rope went slack. She clung to it desperately at first, her stomach lurching with the thought that the rope had snapped and the body was about to come crashing to the ground. Then she made the man out through the smoke: Alexander Booth, the man whose grand party was being torn down around them by hunters. “Oh.” She let the rope go and watched his raised hand and the evidence of his magick’s power with a moment of awe before his question brought her back to the moment.

She didn’t want to answer. Even here, even now, she was desperately ashamed of a magickal talent she had always thought of as dark, as possibly even evil. This was no time for shame, though, and besides, these people wanted to kill folks like her because of magick. Her anger and her spite overcame her shame.

“Hematomancy,” she said, wiping her burning hands on her dress as she jogged over to him, hoping if she kept her voice low at least only a few people would hear. “I know a couple of protective sigils, and–” she swallowed and closed her eyes, “–and I can hurt people by hurting myself.” She reached into her purse and fingered her pocket knife, hoping things wouldn’t come to that. She hoped she wouldn’t need to hurt anyone, that he wouldn’t ask her to hurt anyone, but thankfully he gave her a much less grisly task.

“Right,” she said, at his suggestion that she cover the bodies. “You’re right.” Her eyes stuck to him for another moment before she ran back toward the ballroom, sidling as quickly as she could between the agitated crowd. She snatched the clean, white tablecloths off of three tables, sending fine plates and crystal to shatter like the worst stage magician on earth. She was back by his side as fast as possible and immediately went to work covering the first body.

“How else can I help?” she panted over her shoulder.  

Christopher wasn’t quite sure how he had arrived back at the lodge so quickly. By all accounts, any able-bodied person would be able to outrun him at a reasonable walk, so he must’ve stumbled upon some ungodly stroke of luck. Either that, or something had delayed the group of armed men and women, and even Christopher, normally a glass-half-empty person, preferred to think of this as good fortune.

Well, as good as this could be called, he thought as he came just in time to see a couple of his fellow witches attempting to do something with the bodies. It was surreal - how quickly this night had went from miserable to actually, legitimately bad, how memories and feelings he thought were long-buried (or at least skillfully hidden) were slowly dredging to the surface like scum in a pond. His stomach felt sick, and he knew it wasn’t solely because of the copious alcohol he’d consumed earlier.

When he stumbled into the area, his face was grim, his brown stubble standing out against his now-pale skin. A sheen of sweat covered his forehead. Where had Samuel gone? Or Piper? Christopher knew Samuel wouldn’t just...abandon him like this, but the other man wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Christopher felt so...so lost. Why had he even come back in the first place? He wasn’t anywhere near the caliber of the other witches in town, magically or physically. His trembling leg was a testament to that - though he had been fine earlier in the day, all this physical activity was beginning to take a toll on him, in addition to the stress that was quickly building up inside him.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to remember what his therapists had told him. Don’t stop moving, even if it was hard. And so move he did, towards a woman who was moving rather purposefully with tablecloths. He winced at the sound of shattering glass, swallowed at the realization of what they were for. For a moment, he stood paralyzed, and then inhaling again, Christoper gripped his crutches and walked forward.

“I...guys, please, I know...I know...”

He swallowed. His nerves were threatening to overwhelm him. Christopher closed his eyes.

“There’s - there’s more, please...”

[chris-judge]

Split Second (Self)

 Christopher had had more than enough of this party. The more people he talked to, the weirder and more inept he felt. Why couldn’t he be normal and just enjoy the party like the rest of them?  The food was great, the entertainment was top-notch, and the champagne was flowing like water - a fact he was all too aware of, though both time and cool air had helped to clear his head a little. And that was before the bodies had been found, at which point, Christopher decided to high-tail it out of here, friends or no friends. Of course, he hadn’t driven here so that meant a walk, which seemed reasonable at first to his compromised judgment, but was quickly becoming a plan with no real sense to it.

Like, at all.

Hobbling on the road back to town, he  was beginning to realize that this was a ridiculous idea. Today was a good day as far as his legs were concerned - had he been at home, he would’ve attempted to forgo the crutches. Still, the alcohol had done its number on him, and his already-unsteady gait was further rocked before he decided to stop and think for once, something he didn’t want to do. He didn’t want to think of the corpses, or of the burgeoning panic that had begun to overtake the party-goers when he had begun to make his mistake. He was beginning to regret his decision when he heard a group of voices approaching him.

At first he was thrilled, but then something occurred to him - why would anyone be walking to the party? People were dead; it was not a place to be. And in the back of his mind, he still knew - those deaths had been far too unnatural to be anything but man made. Now, Christopher never had considered himself a book-smart man, but his intuition had only failed him once, and right now, it was telling him to get out of the road, out of sight. He hesitated at first - he was both a witch and a former soldier - but he was also half-crippled, and he possessed neither a high grasp of his magick nor a working firearm (the only thing that he would’ve trusted at the moment).

His heart pounded at his ribcage, and before it was too late to change his mind, Christopher changed direction, manuevering himself to the side of the road. A second’s thought, and as the voices seemed to grow closer, he hid behind a tree. If these were people he knew, he was going to feel like a real loser, but then again, they probably already thought that. Regardless, he leaned up against the tree and waited. Christopher swallowed, or tried to but his mouth was dry. When the voices were parallel to his position on the road after some time, he risked a peek - there was a group of men and women, with dulled lanterns. He couldn’t make out the specifics of the conversation, as their voices were hushed - but they didn’t sound very pleasant. And it was then that he saw it - the glint of weapons from the reflection of the lanterns, as he peeked his head out carefully from his hiding place.

It took him a moment to place it, and for a moment, Christopher thought he was in the middle of a bad memory. There were people with guns approaching the party where there had just been multiple murders. This wasn’t a memory, nor was it a reality he wanted to deal with. It occurred to Christopher that he was in so far over his head it wasn’t funny. He squeezed his eyes shut and ducked back behind the tree. This wasn’t happening, it couldn’t be happening...

Christopher did the only thing he could think of. He breathed. A deep breath, shaky and unsteady at first. A few seconds later, the shaking that threatened to overtake him subsided, and he took another peek. He could definitely see the outline of weapons on almost all the people in the group, and unbidden, the story of the witch hunters crashing the masquerade so long ago came to mind. That story couldn’t be really true, could it? And it couldn’t be happening again?

He was sweating now, a few drops beginning to collect on the back of his neck. Christopher was the only one out here, which meant any confrontation with these people, whoever they were, would inevitably turn against him. No one would know any better of the young airbender. Then again, no one knew of these people either...

Lungs constricted as his stomach seemed to leap into his throat. No one at the party knew about the armed group - and with people already panicking, that could end badly. 

He could either keep on going or return to the party. Pressing onward would mean safety for himself, but going back might mean safety for everyone else. Tears came to his eyes as he tried to convince himself to go home while he could, let other people take care of this. Christopher couldn’t do a damned thing. He looked in the direction of town when a memory came to his mind’s eye, unbidden: Christopher standing in front of the autoshop for his interview, anxious yet knowing that nothing would happen unless he made it so. Getting that job had been a huge step for Christopher then, a victory over the vicious mood swings that had almost consumed him back then. He had only himself to thank when he got the job, and he had been so proud. He had been a man of action, if only for a moment.

And he couldn’t stop now. Not when this had the potential to affect everyone. He closed his eyes, and tried to figure out what exactly to do.

“Look, in the forest over there,” he heard all of a sudden.

Christopher froze. He was still behind the tree - had they really seen or heard him? He could feel his hands start to tremble again, the grip on his crutches slippery now with sweat. He had mde his decision, but if they came to investigate and were hostile, well, that wouldn’t do him much good. All he could do was wait, and...

...listen as the footsteps went the other way?

Christopher poked his head out, hoping that he wouldn’t get a bullet to the brain for his risk. Instead, he saw the group heading into the forest on the other side of the small road. Christophe exhaled, almost unable to believe in his good luck, and with only a second’s hesitation, began to hobble back to the lodge and the party to warn everyone. Maybe he was sealing his fate, he thought, but if he did nothing, he was most certainly doing so, and Christopher wasn’t ready for that yet.

[chris-judge]

leviathangeometry:

Jonathan suppressed a chuckle as he motioned to the table at the back with hors d'oeuvres, beverages, and, yes, even water pitchers and cups. Was this kid drunk, or just unobservant?

“Well, then, I redact my previous statement. Enjoy yourself, so long as you have no intentions of operating a vehicle or heavy machinery for the next several hours.” Tipsy, at the very least. Or else he was just lacking inhibitions to begin with. 

“According to probability, yes, someone someday likely will do something like that.” He didn’t manage to suppress that chuckle. “You’re asking the wrong guy. I only have a month’s worth of observations to go by, so this seems to be pretty standard, to me.”

“Mm, you know me,” Christopher said, despite being fairly certain that he had never met the other man in his life, “Operating heavy machinery at, at all hours of the night. I’m like a mad man” he said, words slurred slightly. And Samuel was his ride. Or Piper. Thinking for a moment, he decided Samuel was the safer bet, simply because trying to predict Piper was always going to be an ill-fated venture.

“Mm, well, I hope I’m long gone by that time. You should too.” Christopher squinted. “People are crazy. Don’t want to be around them when stuff like that goes down, y’know? And really?” So he was new too. Weird. Christopher had met someone new as well recently - what was up with Birchwood lately? The thought passed without comment in his mind. “Well, prepare to be disappointed. Or, like...not. It is standard. I mean not the parties, obviously, but the weirdness. It’s like always there, even when people want to pretend it’s not.” Another pause. “Are you moving here too? I met a guy who was moving here.”

[chris-judge]

noah-ofhousecrowley:

“If they would open a book, they would not have to wait for a campfire to learn about their own history,” he dryly replied, turned his back on the man and grabbed a chair to sit on. Noah tilted his chin up and looked down on him: “You could always argue that your disguise was so good that no one recognized you. Or you could leave early.”

The more he listened to him, the more he could hear how sour the man was, and how much he did not want to be here. Sounded familiar.

“I see. I’d advise you get yourself new friends, starting now.” He declared as he gave the man a pat on his shoulder, “as for the dancing, I’m a lost case myself, and there’s nothing you can do but embrace it. My wife found it charming. You’ll be fine,” eyeing at the empty glass, then back at the guy, at the crutch. Christopher, right? “If you like the wine, I could show you the cave. I’m bored anyways.”

Christopher gave a shrug of his shoulder. He wasn’t exactly clamoring to read the history books, and he had never seen the point in sitting down for hours in front of old newspapers and family trees, not when nothing good could be found in the past. He didn’t think his sentiments would be shared with the man, though, and Christopher wasn’t drunk enough yet to not have enough sense to pick his battles.

“Yeah, the whole disguise thing sort of falls apart when you’re the only guy in the room with permanent crutches. At the least, they make it hard to run away” he tried to joke. When the other man pat his shoulder, he had to try not to wince, instead looking over to the side.

“Nah, they’re...they’re fine. They don’t get to have fun like this often, and I’m not going to make them take care of me, y’know? Dancing, though...at least I have an easy excuse for that.” Christopher realized how much self-pity seemed to seep into his words, and he wanted to shake himself out of it. The mention of good wine, though, promised to help with that...

“The cave? That sounds both shady and, like, intriguing. I’m totally game.”

[chris-judge]

leviathangeometry:

Jonathan really wasn’t the type to be a regular wallflower. For most of the night he’d be dancing along with the best of them, mingling and shifting and swaying his way through the crowd, all of the people high on their own happiness. 

But, as with any event involving alcohol, hydration and sustenance was important to maintaining a level head and sound body the next day. His previous dancing partner did not see things that way, but he couldn’t say he didn’t try.

He glanced over as a young man with a crutch and champagne approached him. “I’ve noticed,” he held up his cup of water as if to say, ‘cheers.’ “Don’t forget to pace yourself. Alcohol can be a cruel mistress.”

At his statement he shrugged a shoulder. “At least we’re not burning an effigy like they did in that Nicholas Cage movie.” 

“Water? Where - where’d you get that at?” Christopher knew the stranger was probably right. One time he had heard that you were supposed to have a glass of water with every drink you had, but doubling up on his drinking didn’t sound like much fun to him. “And whatever, I guess. This tastes so much better than water, though. And water’s always free. Champagne is never free.”

At least we’re not burning an effigy...

Christopher wrinkled his nose. No, there weren’t any burning effigies, but it didn’t make the event any less morbid in his mind. If it wasn’t for his friends, he wouldn’t have even been here in the first place, having long since accepted his lowered social status.

“No, but maybe one day, someone will. Or something like it, anyway.” Christopher took a long drink of his champagne, wiping his mouth with his sleeve and looking over to the other man when he was done. “I swear, this town gets weirder and weirder every year, y’know? I mean, right? It’s weird and I’m not crazy?”

[chris-judge]

mxderndayjudas:

Thomas meandered around the food and champagne, finding that if he was going to be forced to be here then he would just make off with all their fancy cheeses and sparkling wine crap. The cheese he could get behind, but the champagne wasn’t to his tastes. When he heard a familiar voice speak, to him no less, he glanced over and pushed the stupid mask up on top of his head like a pair of sunglasses “Christian?” Christopher, more like, but Thomas was notorious for pretending not to remember his name.

“Is that what we’re celebratin’? See, I didn’t even know that.” That was how much he really didn’t want to be there, he didn’t even know what the occasion was. Just a bunch of rich assholes flouncing about in fancy shit, probably invited the rabble to laugh as they tried to fit in. “You actually drinkin that bubbly shit?”

“It’s Christopher. Chris. To. Pher. Like, like animal ‘fur.’”

Christopher wasn’t truly annoyed, but he didn’t feel quite as timid as he usually did not when he had liquid courage running through his veins and loosening his tongue. Seeing Thomas push up his mask, Christopher wondered why he had even bothered in the first place - anyone who knew Thomas would probably be able to pick him out from a crowd the minute he spoke. Hell, the way he carried himself was quite distinctive, Christopher thought.

“Yeah, we’re supposed to be like, like celebrating Founder’s week, but this ball...like, long ago, one of these deals ended up with everyone dead and burned by witch hunters. Or y’know, that’s the story everyone tells, but it’s still really weird if ya ask me, eh?”

He took another drink, looking at the half-full glass of champagne before turning to grin at Thomas. “It’s free. Friends ditched me. Hell yeah. Do you want some? The first few glasses aren’t very good, but it, like grows on you, yeah?”

[chris-judge]

alexanderbooth:

“Nah.” Alex shook his head as he looked thoughtfully out at the crowd. A warm smile spreading across his features. “We stopped doin’ it out of fear. Not just fear of hunters, but fear of ourselves.” He obviously wasn’t there the night of that fateful masquerade ball, but he could definitely imagine what it was like. To feel helpless, to feel beaten. Fear, however, was not a word in Alex’s vocabulary he often used against hunters or himself. But he could tell it was very much in the man’s standing beside him. 

“They weren’t stupid, you can never be stupid bein’ who you are. They were just vulnerable. And perhaps a bit naive to the evil lurkin’ next door. But not stupid.” Alex then looked over at the man, vaguely recognizing him as one of the airbenders he was dutied to serve. It was easy to be angry at the man for saying such a thing, to put his magick- their magick down like that, and while he was a little angry he never showed it. Instead he looked at the man knowingly. Because while he was angry, he also saw an opportunity to open the other man’s horizons. 

“Do you think your magick is stupid?” His voice came out soft and soothing, dripping off his twang like honey, as he eyed the man curiously.

“Why would we be afraid of ourselves?” Christopher asked, though he already knew the answer to that question. He met the other’s look for a moment, noting the warm smile and wondering why people had to be so genuinely cheerful. Christopher wondered for a moment if perhaps he wasn’t so caring as he let on, if he was secretly feeling something else, but he quickly reminded himself that doing so was probably putting his own state of mind on the man.

“Yeah, yeah you can, though. You can be stupid in trying your best, thinking you can actually make a difference, when you’re actually not in control of a damn thing that happens.” He hadn’t meant for it to come out as bitter as it did, really. Christopher didn’t have anything against the other; he just vehemently disagreed, and Christopher wasn’t known for mincing words or for lying. “You say that like it was a little mistake they made, but it wasn’t little. Once you’re dead, you’re dead, and being a little naive does you just about as much good as being a little stupid or a little brave.”

He sighed, then, running a hand through his hair. Just being here was throwing Christopher off his already-unstable game, and for a moment, he was about to apologize, and then he was asked a question.

Do you think your magick is stupid?

Looking over, he examined the other’s face for a moment, wondering what he could say would make the man most happy. Chris didn’t like talking about his feelings, felt a little confronted when someone actually asked him. But at the same time, it was nice to think that someone maybe cared about what he thought, and the words were given with such care as well.

“I...it’s not stupid. I’m  stupid.” He paused, shook his head, regretting his honesty already. “I don’t...I don’t mean it like that. But it would’ve been a hell of a lot more useful with someone else. What’s the point in me having something like that when I’m already useless? It’s like trying to polish a piece of concrete and pass it off as gold. It just doesn’t work.”