As the night paced around Su’s home like a large, shaggy beast, the inside filled with the thick, comforting smell of chocolate, suffusing the cosy kitchen with familiarity. Stu was sat cross-legged in his armchair in a manner that reminded Su somehow of her own fox form, his toes curled under threadbare socks and eyes bright and soft. He beamed as she passed him a mug, sparkling with excitement at her home filled with magic. Su wasn’t given to showing off- years of trying to avoid detection by bounty hunters and mad scientists trying to get their property back made her cautious even beyond her own reserved personality- but she was more than happy to indulge Stu’s unbelievably earnest delight. She sat herself on an armchair next to his, watching the fire thoughtfully as they sipped their chocolate in silence. For a small moment, she was at rest.
“I need to tell you something,” Stuart said finally, an edge creeping into his voice like hands cupped around a candle on a windy day. Su paused in the act of taking a sip of her drink, lowering it slowly as she fixed her young friend with an unreadable stare, suddenly all fox. He faltered at her face, wide open and reflective like a mirror as she tried to discern what his news was. Realising she was being unnerving, she forced a smile onto her face, but in truth she could tell what it was to do with. There was something she could just understand about everything Stu was in that moment- hands balled tightly around his cup, a deeply set fear that was so palpable that Su felt her temperature drop a couple of degrees, and she shivered in spite of the fire.
“I-it’s. This- one of the-“ Stu screwed his face up, terrified by what he had to say, and somewhere within her own state of deepening panic Su wondered how long he’d been holding onto this. “Hey,” she said softly, hearing her own voice sound like a stranger’s in her ears, “It’s alright.” She would have reached to him but her limbs didn’t seem to be working. “Just take a breath and tell me in your own time.”
He looked close to tears, and it was an effort to not take back what she’d said, to snatch back the peace and silence from a few moments ago. “So- one of-of the. Sc-sc-ientists-“ his mouth twisted around the word, failing to get a grasp of it, “f-from. Verbena. Is here. I- ran into her, I- I think-“ Su made an odd jerking movement and the kettle hung over the fire compacted suddenly, oozing hot chocolate that dripped onto the hot coals and filled the room with a thin sugar-scented smoke. “Ssshit-“ Su hissed, leaping up and yanking the metallic blob from the fire with a sharp jerk of her elbow. She looked wildly at Stu, eyes wide. “Are you okay??” she asked, overcome with concern and terror in equal measure. Stu shrugged his shoulders and held them there, sinking into his chair and his hoodie. “I’m alive?” he offered meekly, voice cracking a little.
A wave of nausea washed over Su and she clutched the back of her chair, recognising her own nightmares in Stu’s hunched, defensive pose. The electric smell of ozone and sharp headaches that never relented swam between her and Stu and frantic magic shivered under her skin at the memory. The impulse to run was magnetising her entire body, and she shuddered into fox form head first, managing to blurt out an apology to Stu before collapsing in on herself, reforming in a single fluid movement like a lick of red flame.
She felt a little calmer, and more so when she silently drew metallic walls around the outside of her house, a wave of strong, light aluminium which protected her home in a cocoon of safety. Nothing could get to them right then. She gripped onto the feeling of the metal in her mind, so cool and sure and safe, and grounded herself to it.
Stu had his face buried in his knees, his gangly frame folded like a scrawny jack-in-the-box, crammed too far in his own mind. She trotted over to him, moving on an entirely different instinct than her usual self preservation. This wasn’t the fox, it was… someone else. Someone who nosed her way under his arm and climbed onto his knees, pushing her soft face onto his cheek. Reverently, his hand came to run along her back, and he buried his face in her thick winter coat. She hoped she could give him some comfort- it was the best she could do. She felt him untense around her and she felt assured that it was the right thing to do. If the truth was told, it was comforting for her too.
“Just that,” said the fox. “To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world….”
Rosie has informed me that Andrea is sending Carmita on holiday as a Christmas present between them and Molvis 2017 will be the year of queers on tour. Happy holigay.
also everyone everywhere who knows carmita, if you had nowhere to go for the holidays, they def said you should spend it with them, no-one gets left out
A corny Christmas sweater with a matching one for Waddles and some sweeties and chocolate from Carmita.
Nail varnishes from Annie- glowing, sparkly, neon, you name it.
Scarf, gloves and thick socks handknitted by Cyrus with a polar bear pattern.
Kellan and BB misunderstood the point of the holiday and got her a hen (they were looking for a turkey but couldn’t find one). Do with her what you will, Mabel.
I can’t remember if Stella knows Mabel (I feel like they do but I could be forgetting) but if she did (or probably even if she didn’t) she got Mabel muffins (ofc).
Woody received
A stress toy shaped like a book and some slippers and an itunes voucher and chocolates from Carmita.
A to-go coffee mug and a tin of gingerbread from Annie.
Kellan and BB (luckily) could only find one chicken so they’ve got him a stuffed toy chicken & a stuffed toy reindeer. They’ve been living here for three years now and yet they still don’t understand.
AJ received
A hamper of homebaked christmas goodies from Tia- mince pies, christmas cake, christmas pudding, gingerbread, the whole way.
Some pink sunglasses featuring horses on the frames and a bottle of unicorn tears from Ant.
A large amount of books from Anita and Carmen, mostly on supernatural history and culture.
A walnut shell that’s been whittled (chewed, it’s just easier) to look like a tiny library inside from Brisby (she also left the other half for Dean, which was carved into a cosy looking coffee shop).
Molly received:
Tickets for her and Avis to go to Norway for a holiday from Avis (flights and a log cabin for a week), plus a necklace carved from amethyst.
A book of traditional winter recipes from different time periods and cultures from Carmen and Anita.
Edan received:
A massive bunch of enchanted wildflowers from Rain (they wont wilt, and be a reminder of spring in the middle of winter).
A bottle of (non enchanted) wine from Su (I have the impression he’s designed her something in the past and I hc she wears a lot of his stuff).
Anya received:
Some literature on femenism within the supernatural community from Anita and Carmen comprising a few different viewpoints on the topic, and chocolates.
Annie got her some boozy chocolates and some fluffy slipper socks.
Tomas received:
A tiny wolf pin for the lapel of his jacket carved from a piece of jet, a wee bonsai laurel for the flat and a bottle of wine/spirit (idk what he drinks I cry) from Alex.
A card with a £20 gift voucher for Paperfields from Carmen.
hey loves. sorry for not being around, i’ve been a bit ill and a bit this and that. but I just want to say how lucky I feel to know every single one of you wonderful, kind, creative people. I adore you all.
if you want to, you can send me the names of your characters (about five) and I’ll tell you who got them what for christmas (or any other winter celebration)
University. Su winced at the salient reminder of the lost life Stu could have had. It was easy to imagine him, creative and quiet, tucked over a paper, coffee in hand scrawling notes in the library. She wondered, but didn’t ask, what he would have studied. Literature, she expected, given what his choice of catch up reading was. Maybe with a minor in art. It was hard to picture him as a wild party animal but then, she hadn’t known him before Verbena, and the years of being a young adult were pretty formative. Who knew what kind of person Stu could have been if it hadn’t been for Verbena’s twisted interference. Maybe happier and brighter, maybe less nervous and disparate. Probably still imaginative, with faraway eyes and a mind wandering through lofty thoughts.
Su wasn’t given to the belief that bad things happened for a reason- at least not in the sense that it was part of some plan, that suffering was somehow necessary. However, the tiny shred of karmic justice was that she likely wouldn’t have known Stu, nor a few other people dear to her, without the place. Given the choice, she’d easily trade knowing them for a life uninterrupted, for all of them, but it was some sort of comfort knowing that they had managed to find each other in the dark maze of those halls, like improbable encounters in the depths of empty space, comets brushing one another in among vast swathes of dust and darkness.
Stu was certainly glowing like a comet as he tripped towards the metallic bowl, limbs flailing like a marionette tumbling after the strings had been cut. Su decided to hold him in place as they ascended- he would probably lean over the side and topple out otherwise, such was his desire to see everything, even in the darkness where there wasn’t much to see. She stepped into the capsule, which resembled a giant walnut shell, and then gestured for Stu to join her. Thinking for a moment, she pulled a couple of handles from the side, twisted pillars of metal with semi-circular holds on the end of them to grip. “Hold on,” she advised, touching the long arm of metal that snaked it’s way thirty feet up to her porch.
“It’s not so impressive,” she murmured, as they ascended through the branches, Su making adjustments so they wove around and between the branches. She knew the route so well she could do it without looking, a part of her mind concentrating on Stu whilst her fingertips brushed the metal that she could feel snaking it’s way up through the tree. “Some earthsouls can conjure hurricanes or create tidal waves if they set their minds to it… But it’s not..” she frowned thoughtfully, looking at Stu, trying to figure out why his awe bothered her so. “It’s just what I am. It’s no more spectacular than walking.” Her expression softened considerably. “I’m glad you find it so exciting, though.” Stu had been dragged into this world against his will, but if the magic in it could keep thrilling him, so much the better.
The trip up to the porch took less than a minute, and Su flattened the capsule they’d ridden up into an extension (with a railing to stop either of them from stepping backwards and falling off). Her house clung to the side of the tree like a cluster of shelf mushrooms, different rooms connected by small corridors and sets of stairs. She put her hand to the wooden wall and lights sprung on along the house’s length, which vanished around the corner of the colossal trunk, illuminating a world of vivid forest greens. The porch, and indeed most parts of the house, were surrounded by the stiff branches of neighbouring pines, which sheltered the structure from above and below. The cedar itself seemed to wrap it’s kindly limbs around the house, protecting it from unfriendly eyes.
The lock on the dark wooden front door had no keyhole, and Su flashed Stu a fox-like grin as she touched it with a finger and a series of clicks emanated from it, and the carved door swung open to reveal a corridor that wouldn’t have been out of place in a hobbit hole, small and cosy. “Did I ever tell you I used to be a bank robber?” she asked, standing back and gesturing for him to head inside.
It was absolutely better Su had not known Stu before this. While he was not necessarily a monster by the regular definition, he was certainly nowhere near acceptable in average society. In and out of institutions and passed from family member to family member, the waif with his head on crooked was more likely to wind up in a ditch than enduring any academic program. He had smatterings of education to go along with what the world taught him otherwise, but for the most part, Stuart Rodgers was deemed unfit to be included in the things most people his age got to do. Better still to stay out of everyone’s way and keep his head down; to try and behave as he saw others behave. To not rock or speak to things that weren’t there. To hold himself together before someone else came along to take him apart.
Stu had already had that happen far too many times.
Su just happened to be there for the last one.
Held in place in more than one way when Su found a grip on him, Stu leaned into the touch and tried not to fall over the side as he peered over Su’s details. “You’re a b-bittuv an artist yourself, a-aren’t you?” Stu inquired quietly; passing a hand over the edge of the makeshift lift with admiration in each finger. Su’s creative aspects weren’t as obvious as, say, his, but they filled up the world around her like protective etchings. She had a handle on herself and what she could do; she was attuned to the movement of nature and capable of making it her own. Or rather, becoming one with nature in the least hokey way imaginable. His heart was full to see her work; to view it up close. To be included in it seemed a dream come true to him, and Stu was perpetually grateful to to even know Su. She could’ve easily pushed him aside once they were both out, but she didn’t shy from him. And because of that, Su had inherited a very spindly duckling.
“Holding,” Stu said cheerfully, shaky fingers gripping the side of Su’s bucket. He wasn’t really sure how to refer to it. Perhaps like a ferris wheel seat. Up they rose; triumphant as the sun and soft as the moon, carefully guided by Su’s gestures and movements. They were outpacing the wind, leaving the chill behind. Or perhaps he just forgot about it in the thrill of the rise. He had seriously always wanted to fly–were he more inventive, he would’ve found a means to try on his own. There was nothing in his sealed file to say he HADN’T already tried, come to think of it: but it hadn’t ended half as gloriously as this. Stu smiled; wide and bright, watching the branches gently whip by.
“…But hurricanes and tidal waves are d-destructive,” Stu said, eyes still fixed on the beautiful [albeit fading] foliage. He exhaled and bowed his head, leaning against the edge of the lift. “I find it f-fantastic,” he addedunder his breath. “If I c-could do something like this…” A shrug; helpless and desperately loose. “I don’t e-even know what I could c-create. This is a power of–being a part of creation. Fully, a-and I find that…” He lifted a hand with a wobbly step, making an explosion sound and movement; one with his mouth and the latter with his hand. “Pfffoh. It’s m-mind-blowing,” he added for clarity, smiling faintly and dropping his hand.
Inhaling sharply at the sight of Su’s little home, Stu eagerly drank in the details with searching, sharp blue-green eyes. He wanted to remember all of it–every piece so he could reimagine it later and attempt to recreate it in some form of art. Perhaps for a Christmas gift. “D'you celebrate Christmas?” Stu asked while he was thinking of it. “O-or anything near or around the holidays? ‘Cos I w-was thinking if…you didn’t have plans…” He trailed off, rubbing his head and smiling at the ground. “I dunno. Might be nice.” He’d leave it at that. And make art for her later.
“…No y-you did not,” Stu said, wide-eyed as he followed Su into her comfy den. “You? A thief, r-really?” He couldn’t believe that–and yet, the way Su entered her own home spoke volumes. As did her secrecy outside the leftovers of Verbena. He was amazed to learn that about her, though. “Like C-Catwoman? E-except F-Foxwoman, I s-suppose…”
An artist Su was not, at least not in this lifetime. She was creative, although she supposed that might be something intrinsic to all earthsouls, and in her youth she’d had an idealistic dream about selling her sculptures, jewellery twisted into delicate tiny flowers on a chain and intricate filigree inlaid with shimmering stones. But the world was a little too cynical for that, and soon it had just become easier to help herself to what she needed. It wasn’t even a challenge most of the time- the modern world was built out of metal, and everything from cameras to alarm systems to locked doors were easily manipulated. It was, she supposed, a little childish, but she had been a child when she had taken it up, and it was addictive as hell. The spiteful rush of taking something from a world she never quite fitted into was therapeutic, although decidedly unhealthy in the long run. Still, she didn’t feel guilty, exactly, no matter that she was older and wiser. She had more than paid for it.
Stu’s wonder and the way he warmed to her like a bud opening under the sun was touching and dangerous. He was also inexorably prying her heart open, and it was a wounded little thing, pale from lack of daylight and cool, like a shrivelled root in the frozen earth below. Precious few were trusted with it- Stu was roughly the third since she had got her life back for her own purposes. Su was an entity of extremes, and as suddenly as a sharp frosty morning, she realised she was in too deep. To have had to fight tooth and claw, scrambling through corridors slick with her own and others’ blood, to just exist, had made her precious about her freedom. She knew without a doubt that she would give it up instantly for Stu.
“I’d love to do Christmas,” she said firmly, forcing herself to leapfrog the disconcerting realisation with a promise to properly panic about it, and Stu, at a later point. She felt sorry that Stu was the one who was having to do all the emotional legwork. Then again, he surely was at least as nervous as she was. “What do you have in mind?” She rarely bothered much with Christmas beyond drinking a lot of wine and eating too much on her own. The entire season seemed to be made for people who made personal connections with people, and for Su, as a self-described hermit, it fell a bit flat and pale.
She laughed at Stu’s surprise, shaking her head slightly as she let him into her house. “It’s true. I wouldn’t recommend it. It’s just stupidly easy for me to access a bank. I mean, everything is made of metal. It was a while ago,” she glossed over the fact that some old habits died hard.
The wooden panelled hallway gave way to an airy living room, with a glass side that looked out on a sweeping view of the sky over the treetops. Branches framed the view, like a subtle safety blanket, but distant shapes were visible against the horizon under a sky full of stars. Su flicked the lights on with a small movement in her wrist, grimacing as the chaotic state of the room revealed itself, the reflected light in the window drowning out the faint light from outside. Clothes were strewn everywhere, along with books and various half finished craft projects, metallic bouquets and wall pieces laying around the place. “Let’s go into the kitchen,” she said apologetically, putting her head in her hand.
The kitchen was more similar to the dining room again, with a thatched roof and wooden walls that curved around the trunk. A chimney rose above the central island, and the outer wall was a graceful sweep of copper, set with minute jewels that shimmered in petal shapes. The space was illuminated by soft yellow lamps hanging periodically from the ceiling, along with a fire Su immediately lit below the chimney. She pottered over to the kitchen units, most of which were set into the wall, glancing over her shoulder at Stu. “Go on ahead and sit if you like,” she said, nodding at a pair of comfy armchairs next to the fire as she floated a metal kettle out of a cupboard. “Do you like tea? Or maybe some hot chocolate?” she waved a brown paper packet of cocoa enticingly at him.
@revolutionaryvibes‘s oc Molly (hedgewitch with the bun) n my oc Avis (vampire in need of a haircut) in a like gothic horror AU thing. idk I need to write it and work it all out and it’s hard work whereas doodling them is slightly less hard work since all I ever frickin draw is sapphic women so.
Somewhere far away beyond the smog the sun was setting, but in the depths of the city streets all it meant was that the ever present gloom gathered a little closer. By half past four the icy air was already filled with suspended breath, clouds of speech and coughing fluttering by. Figures in thick coats that were reminiscent of a mundane beetle’s folded wings shuffled from lamp to lamp, gradually illuminating the city with candles on long sticks, as people inside buildings lit their hearths. The blue grey buildings hoarded the light jealously, with curtains drawn against windows and doorways spilling minuscule islands of canary onto the cobbles, which stayed just as frozen in spite of the liquid golden light. Along one street in the unforgiving city lived Miss Anita Radcliffe and Miss Carmen Samuels, at their modest house (which had been purchased with money left to Anita by her late husband). It was shabbier than other similar buildings along the street, a faux-gothic exterior with worn detailing, the ornate style having gone out of fashion recently. The only part of the exterior that was new was the carefully painted sign above the door: "The Radcliffe-Samuels Children's Home." It alone earned more scorn from the stuffy rich neighbors than the entire degraded exterior. Not only did the two women seem to delight in being without husbands, they had the unfortunate habit of collecting waifs and strays in their masses, welcoming every grubby urchin into their home and leading to a crowd of young unfortunates seemingly permanently tramping up and down the street.
Tongues wagged, and the secretive, unusual pair did little to assuage fears that there was something strange and sinister lurking within the walls of their home, something that tended towards trouble. Both carried an air of otherness that wasn't quite explained by simply their eccentric lifestyles, but they kept so much to themselves that no-one was able to prove anything beyond the normal rumours which cloud single, successful women. Miss Radcliffe was short and stormy, aggressively curly hair always pinned in a tight bun and aggressively fierce features usually set in a scowl aimed at whatever city official or well meaning churchgoer was invading their little space on any given day. Miss Samuels was taller and rounder, and would sidle up beside her colleague, beaming, and very calmly describe at great lengths the legal requirements placed upon their establishment by the state, and the various ways they were adhering to them, and then the litany of ways that further interference was heading towards being in breach of the law, and that tended to very rapidly close up any conversations.
It was such a cold evening, being the beginning of December, that Anita had suggested they prepare a warm drink for the children when they arrived home for the day. Carmen was being assisted in the kitchen by some of the older children. The women tried their best to place their various charges at apprenticeships and jobs around the city, but they were able to persuade most of them to take advantage of the fact that a school existed within the city which taught children until the age of sixteen. It was a rare stroke of fortune to have it, but Anita knew several of the staff there, occasionally taking a few lessons for some extra cash when money got tight, as it often did. Most of the rest of the home's occupants would be returning any minute, so Anita left her partner in the capable hands of the elder youngsters (most of whom were already superior cooks to the unfortunate Miss Samuels) and began the task of lighting the lamps and fires throughout the house. It wouldn't do at all for the children to come home to a freezing house, given how cold the winter was getting already- Miss Radcliffe had nearly run out of wool, she had knitted so many pairs of mittens, and still some of the smaller youngsters were fending off chilblains. The season would be tough, she knew, but her and Carmen would face it with grim good grace as they did everything. They had chosen to make their lives a struggle, but the home simply couldn’t close, and that was that.
The front door swung open, and she finished lighting lamps in the room adjacent and went to greet the children, brushing her fingers clean of soot carelessly on her skirt. A few of the younger children fluttered over to her, flinging themselves onto her with hugs and exclamations of delight, and she beamed, kneeling to gather them closer, tutting over their frozen faces. "Hello, my doves," she smiled, wiping a smudge of the cheek of one and adjusting another's clumsily redone necktie, "Is it cold out?"
There was a chorus of affirmation from the younger children- and the older ones in the process of taking off their boots and scarves. Releasing the armful of youngsters, she stood up briskly, shooing them towards a row of coat pegs. "You should make sure to put your thick socks on then, even whilst you're inside," she said, "Now hurry up and get your coats off- Carmen and the others have hot tea for you in the kitchen." She watched a small army of frozen figures take off down the hall, and glanced around, frowning slightly at one who was taking much longer to shed his coat. Folding her arms, Anita tilted her head to try and see why he was dropping his- his shoulders were so arched she couldn't see his face as he took a markedly long time to take his scarf off, unwinding it around his frozen fingers.
"Woody?" she asked, carefully keeping concern from her voice, if not her thoughts. He was here, at least, if something was wrong. Whatever it was, they could deal with it. She sidled closer and her heart sank as she spotted the beginnings of a bruise emerging around the curve of the boy's cheek. He wore his hair short, so he couldn't hide his entire face, whatever angle he stood at. She repeated herself, softly but firmly: "Woody. Come on, love, it'll be alright."
As he turned, it was an effort not to wince. His lip was split in two places, and an eyebrow was bleeding. Bruises were starting along his eye and the line of his jaw, and his nose was bloodied too. The stiff way he moved told her it wasn't limited to his face- as he hung his scarf up she noticed that his knuckles were split as well- and Anita skipped through pity and anger as she watched him. "Oh, Woody," she sighed, her features expressing for the both of them, since Woody was holding his in a carefully mute mask of non-emotion. "C'mon," she said, holding her hand out. "It's nothing-" he tried, but the effort at deflecting was perfunctory, since they both knew one thing Anita would never do was let him leave without any treatment. Sighing at her stubbornly commanding expression, he loped towards her, and she patted his shoulder gently. She had to reach up to do so now, since he was rapidly outgrowing her, yet it was difficult to not still think of him as a child, and a dark, furious voice inside her chest was calling for the blood of the people who'd hurt him. "What happened?" she asked kindly. He looked as if he was considering not giving her the truth, but she fixed him with a piercing stare so he knew she would know he was lying.
"I got into a fight at school," he said. Anita raised her eyebrows. "That's not like you, Woody," she said, tone mildly surprised as she opened the door to her office. She was glad she'd decided to light the fire earlier in here- she normally didn't bother if she wasn't planning on using it, but she had hoped it might prevent the room from leeching heat from the neighboring kitchen, which tended to be the warmest room in the house, owing to the massive stove. The study was cosy, with dark wooden panelling and an entire wall as a bookcase behind the desk. Woody sat in one of the armchairs as Anita bustled around in a cupboard set into the bookcase, fetching an unmarked black case and coming to join him by the window.
"They were saying things...they were winding me up!" he protested, showing the first bit of willing emotion since he had entered the house. "I'm just going to clean you up, alright," she asked, and he nodded, beginning to look perhaps a little regretful as she reached out to gently tilt his face upwards into better light, tutting as the injuries moved into sharper relief. "This is going to sting a little," she warned, holding a handkerchief to the lid of an upturned bottle for a moment, before beginning to carefully dab at the injuries on Woody's face, which twitched with a grimace as the solution met the open wounds. Appearing to be concentrating on the task at hand, Anita continued casually, "What did they say to upset you?" Woody looked defeated.
"They were saying you're running a freakshow," he sighed, gritting his teeth through pain or something else, "They said you and Miss Samuels are witches."
Anita's expression didn't wobble an iota as she continued to clean, but her sharp mind was deeply preoccupied with choosing how to respond. She finished wiping the blood from Woody's face and turned her attention to his scraped knuckles, changing to a fresh handkerchief and fresh dismay at their sorry state. "Me and Carmen don't care what people say about us, you know that," she said carefully, glancing from the young man's fingers to his face, trying to read his expression. Neither of them practised magic within view of the house's occupants, but a large proportion of the children who life found on the street had magic of their own, and the home was no stranger to it. Explaining to children why they had to hide their myriad powers didn't always work, and it never felt right, but thankfully the rumors were easy to dismiss. It wasn't quite the right time or place for witch burnings, mercifully, but the idea of the supernatural alone was enough to draw an unnecessary amount of grief for the pair and the children in their care.
"But it shouldn't matter," Woody said, agitated, his earnest eyes blushing with furious withheld tears. "Without you- we'd all be on the street, or who knows where. It's stuipd, and if they think that it isn't then they're stupid as well."
Anita, who was starting to deftly bandage the young man's injured hands, smiled wryly. "And I'm guessing you told them as much?"
He nodded, with a rueful grin. She raised her eyes to the heavens for a moment, nodded resignedly. "I should be less argumentative in front of you children," she sighed, "I'm becoming a bad influence." Woody's features puckered once again, but less furiously than before, as if his fire had been tempered by the cold emanating from the window. "I don't think I was being argumentative," he said, "Don't you always say it's important to stand up for what's right? And look out for each other? I'm not exactly much of a child anymore, Miss Radcliffe- I can't rely on you to protect me forever!"
Anita frowned, expression suddenly serious as she looked him in the eye, holding his injured hands in hers. "Woody, listen to me carefully. It doesn't matter how old you get, you'll always be one of my children. We're a family here, and you can always rely on your family." The fact that he was nearly sixteen was an unpleasant reminder that he was outgrowing them. He would want to take a job soon, she imagined, and maybe begin to live his own life. It happened, of course, as it ought to, but it was never easy to see them go. Not all of them did, and a great many of them returned frequently for visits, or even to take some work now and again- they were never short of jobs to do, and sometimes a hot meal and a bed for the night was more than enough pay- but she was going to especially miss Woody whenever he did move on. He was ridiculously smart, and his dry sense of humor chimed in harmony with her own. He looked faintly embarrassed by her insistence, but smiled as well, and she shook her head, brushing a little hair out of his face.
"For now, no more getting into fights on my account," she said after a moment, back to businesslike as if nothing had happened as she unscrewed the lid from an enchanted jar of bruise balm and held it out to her unruly charge. He scooped it onto his fingers and began to dab his face with it, nodding with a guilty smile. "Take it to bed with you so you can put it anywhere else that needs it," she said, handing him the heavy jar. Woody nodded, slipping it into his pocket and standing as she did. He looked a whole lot better already."Let's go and join the others," Anita said, rubbing his back bracingly, "I expect dinner's nearly ready, if Miss Samuels hasn't managed to burn it yet."
Woody laughed and nodded, and for the moment, Miss Radcliffe decided to shelve all anxieties about the future that extended beyond her partner's ability to ruin even the simplest of dishes. The evening was dark enough as it was.
Molly’s soft, small kitchen was filled with alarming smells that prickled in Avis’ sensitive nose, the cosy space and warm light wavering like an illusion as her senses told two different stories. She clenched the doorframe tightly in one hand, closing her eyes and wishing she could close it all off. Molly’s call had been short and capricious, telling her not to panic but requesting immediate assistance. The hedgewitch was sat, mouth set in a stubborn line, looking paler than Avis and coloured with evidence of a disaster. Forcing herself away from the door, Avis breathed out and approached, each step uncurling cautiously as she made herself take an inventory of her beloved’s injuries. A shining red bruise was rising over one eye. Twin splits in her lip glittered in the low light. And her arm- something was badly wrong. The angle of it was mirrored in the sharp turn of Molly’s pained smile- an obvious attempt to reassure her but utterly ineffective.
“I can’t mix anything m'self,” she admitted, glancing at her injured arm regretfully, before turning her shrewd eyes onto Avis, “And I don’t want t’ see someone else.”
“I was gathering herbs in th’ woods and I ran into… something. Not really sure what it was, it was dark and I didn’t get a proper look. I was lucky t’ get away t’ be honest…” she appeared to instantly regret being honest as Avis’ expression dropped, fairly thudding through the floor. “Don’ look so injured, Avis, I’m the one with a broken arm,” she teased weakly, humor strained but sharp, and lacking none of her usual pragmatism. Under her stern, loving glare, the vampire pulled herself together, taking a deep breath, wishing she hadn’t, and trying to follow Molly’s example of set jaws and a sturdy persona. She never understood how the woman did it, and admired it enormously: she was so sure, so certain, and ceaselessly practical. No energy was wasted in panic, she simply bore down on whatever problem was facing her with a steadfast ferocity that was less rabid and more inexorable, wearing into life with all the inevitable calm poise of an ocean carving into a cliff.
“Right. Okay. Tell me what to do,” Avis said, glancing around and spotting an apron. She looked enquiringly at Molly, who nodded at her, sickly face nevertheless amused at the painfully apparent fish out of water. “Get the pestle and mortar and mix myrrh, mustard, lemon peel and hyssop. It wants t’ be in a smooth paste.” Avis dutifully started gathering the herbs- Molly’s cupboards were well stocked, and soon she had an acrid smelling mush, which she was eyeing with a degree of trepidation as she passed it to Molly, who wrinkled her nose at it. “Yeah it doesn’t smell great. Lucky I don’t have t’ swallow this one,” she winked at Avis and muttered a few words into the bowl before handing it back. “On th’ arm, please, love, gently if ye can, and get the eye and all, while we’re at it.”
Avis gathered some of the balm on her thumb and sat on a chair next to Molly, focused on the swollen elbow joint, which was laid at an unsettling angle like some sort of pale twisted root vegetable. Carefully, she ran the coated finger over the witch’s skin, bent close to make sure she could see and trying not to think about how close her face was to Molly’s as she worked. As she coated the injury in salve, warm, living skin that felt hot under her undead fingertips was an aggressive reminder that her dearest might have slipped from her that day, out in the woods. “Is- that enough?” she asked, glancing up, almost nose-to-nose with Molly. The other woman nodded, expression unreadable, but looking considerably less pained. “Ye- yes,” she said, blinking, “That’s- loads better. Thanks…”
Avis nodded, biting her lip and tutting sadly as she took in scrapes on Molly’s cheeks and reached for more salve. “Let me get your eye,” she murmured, gently dabbing at the swelling with the salve, tender movements that became smaller and longer, index finger ambling slowly over the injury, small sweeps like a painter’s gentle strokes. Molly sighed in relief, closing her eyes as the pain visibly left her face, and Avis’ hand, free from salve, wandered sideways from her eye to cradle the hedgewitch’s head, fingers sliding gently among greying hair as she made gentle motions of comfort with her thumb. Molly’s closed eyes didn’t catch the wonder as Avis saw her in a rare moment of stillness, half lent on the table and expression peaceful, and Avis felt with certainty that this was the most precious thing she’d held in her fingers in a thousand years of life.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” she said, every syllable infused with devotion. Molly opened her eyes and beamed, turning to offer Avis’ palm a kiss. “I’m glad you’re here,” she replied.
