“Fucking Tag. Taggart. Tag McSwag…”
“Taggart McGiantAsshole.”
"Sunny, please,” Ester groaned. Several fingers pinched the bridge of her nose because she didn’t know what else to do to fight the pounding headache. The last thing she needed was to hear someone else whining over the asshole of an Irish merman she left back on the east coast. True, he’d called repeatedly to speak to her. It got annoying.
Another vision flashed like they had been for the past month. Little pieces of something she didn’t understand. Totems, feathers, snow. Sometimes all she got was screaming. Other times she saw two wolves whimpering in the corner of what felt like some kind of medical facility. She’d only managed to glean that much from the vision of bloody paws walking in front of a projector. There’d been screaming in that one.
A week go Muginn, one of her ravens, had come to her with a familiar looking talisman; vegvisír, the viking compass.
Where am I going, Gná? But no answer came. Touching it triggered yet another wonderful experience. Greyed skin pulled taut over a living skeleton. Teeth sharp as needles. A hunger. Such a deep, deep hunger.
Sadness and fear moved her to call to her grandmother back home. To Ester’s surprise, she’d finally managed to stump the woman who was supposed to know everything. An old coven of witches scoured through their grimoires. They guessed it to be a wendigo - a creature summoned by mass tragedy and extremely hard to get rid of.
Somewhere in the background her friend was still talking. At least the subject jumped from poor romantic decisions to the ease with which Ester was able to pack up and leave. She’d spent three whole years in Pasadena, which was a decent record. How did you explain to the non-magical that the spirits were pulling? They wanted her to travel north. Even weirder was trying to explain that they wanted her to leave today. Someone was coming for her. All she needed to do was be patient.
A wave of nauseating sadness caused Ester to double over. Only one person had made her do that since moving to California. The guy with all the talismans and tattoos. Turning from the glass case to the front door there he was, looking tired as ever. "Hey,“ she snaps to the woman behind the counter. "Give me the box.” Since she was pretty confident she wasn’t going to see Mr. Sad before the vision pulled her away she’d spelled a rose quartz chunk and tied it with black cord.
Never helping had been difficult. His aura demanded attention. Whatever made him that way was only spiraling out of control but, like Sunshine always pointed out, it wasn’t her business. Since Ester was leaving anyway she figured a healing crystal was the least she could do. He could wear it or chuck it but she tried.
Pinkish chunk in hand, she walked over to the tattooed stranger. The stone was held up and the motion had it swinging gently between them. "I didn’t think I’d be able to give this to you. It’s dumb, ok, but I’ve always wanted to…“ She shrugs. Honestly, she always wanted to give him a hug and a cup full of chamomile tea. Happy energy would have to do. "This is rose quartz. I’m into crystal healing. It, um…well, hopefully it’ll help you find some peace again. Maybe love.”
he stops just outside the door to finish his stoge, pocketing his pack on the inside of his jacket. fingers find the vice, he inhales the smoke into his lungs as the other hand rests on his hip and listening to the cars drive by as he looks around once more. whatever the reason, he feels high. mind bogged down with this impossible black inertia. tension clings to the muscles and tendons of his shoulders as he closes his eyes to try to breathe in.
wind gusts, just as the door of the small establishment opens behind him, another patron making his way back to his red truck. michael glances back towards his own beat down form of transportation. he would have never thought that this would be the life for him.
there’s a purse of his lips, razor focus sharpening as he remembers why he needs to make this quick. the guns are next. a sick satisfaction centralizes him. clears the fog, even for just a moment. he supposes makkapitew is to blame for that. killing as a form of celebration.
but it doesn’t make the violent bloodlust any less real in his heart, soul, and mind.
the male cranes his neck, turning back to the shop and stalking towards the door, opening it with his cigarette still dangling in his mouth, bells at the top of the threshold jangling to alert his presence.
he’d read to sam today. it was a book on mexican folklore. he thought she’d enjoy that. a story about how two certain mountains were actually the daughter of the sun god and son of the moon god, and that they were in love. and in their parents finding out about their forbidden love, they were both banished to earth.
samantha’s placid expression flows through his mind and the wave of quiet sadness washes over him. he doesn’t normally want to cry in public. but this onslaught of emotion catches him off guard.
the vibrant HEY causes his eyes to flash upward and the moment he sees her, everything tunnels. familiarity rushes through him in a way that shouldn’t. he’s never seen her before. ( flashes of nocturnal somnolence flash but nah.. nah.... no way ). his heart stammers when she finally reaches him, defense at the ready as he rolls his shoulders, standing up straight.
frankly, he’s scared shitless.
he looks from her, to the quartz. then back at her. can’t will himself to ask if he knows her because for whatever reason, he knows he does, but shouldn’t. come on, mikeyboy, you’ve seen cannibal monsters... you can handle a chick you might have possibly met in your dreams. so his hand stretches out, takes the necklace as described. takes it at first from the chord, sliding his fingers down on the trail to touch the stone.
“you make it a habit to freak out new customers?” he asks with a little laugh. he’s being ridiculous, shaking his head fractionally. just freaking himself ou--
pink purity to touch-- bright white light flushes his vision, as if bursting from within himself. palm retracted ( metaphysically burned ).
“what the hot diggity captain fuck was that!”
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