january st. james. 42. cursed.
" there is nothing but silence in the hollows of your heart, and you wonder how it is that you are holy beneath your own tragedy. "
she made a compelling point, but it wasn’t as simple as that. he struggled to articulate the complexities of the passage-way between this world and the next - he didn’t have the vocabulary for it. it wasn’t just that he wanted to pick things out, he needed to, they were drawn to him, levelling out some great cosmic imbalance. he dropped the subject. “i’ve never been to a hospital,” he admitted, tracing a finger carefully over some slightly wilting petals. this bunch was crushed - no good. “so really i’m just making this up from old tv shows, y’know like in sitcoms where people show up with flowers and a stuffed bear or whatever.” he paused, and his contemplative expression split into a grin. “god, it would be so funny to get thad one of those little pink fluffy bears.”
“Lucky.” January hated hospitals—anything too sterile and too silent and too mournful always left her on edge and hating it. It’s why the facility itself made her want to grind her teeth every time she walked through those pristine, beatific, god-ridden walls; there was something horrific and hidden that walked those halls, but all she had was her paranoia. Oh, and the white sauce—she shouldn’t forget the white sauce. “I mean... you could. A simple summoning’s—” She cut herself off, not really believing that the Database didn’t have them collared to signal any magical activity. “Well, I’m sure Thaddeus would appreciate it,” she replied, her glacial stare melting a little. “I was thinking of dropping by, too. Maybe we could both... visit?”
καὶ σοῖς ἀραία γ᾽ οὖσα τυγχάνω δόμοις. - i am a curse unto your house as well.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
THE SCIENTIST: a scientist at the Database.
THE AGENT: an agent tasked with overseeing security at the Database.
THE CHORUS: the ghosts that haunt January.
[Inside a testing facility, THE SCIENTIST stands with THE AGENT looking over at JANUARY performing magic; her hands are alight with golden flame, with shadows punctuating the room beneath the overhead lighting. Sweat beads on their brow as they try to communicate her findings. It is more for themselves, than anything else. And the Database, of course. ]
THE AGENT: Are you sure that she’s safe—that we’re safe with her here? Her curse is static, I think; why would you even test her? Thought that she’d reached the upper limit of what she could do. And as if she would even give up her power for a test. We’re just wasting time here.
THE SCIENTIST: This is why you’re tasked with field work, Agent. Don’t ask questions that you know you won’t get answers to.
[THE SCIENTIST pushes the button to a microphone. Their voice rings clear through the white walls, devoid of any emotion but the glint in their eye through the two way glass.]
THE SCIENTIST: Miss St. James, if you would demonstrate the ritual to us, please?
JANUARY: Fine. If it gets me out of here quicker.
[Ancient Greek escapes her lips and a knife slices her hand, causing it to alight with flame. The smell of it, of scorched earth and flesh permeates the testing facility. THE AGENT scrunches their nose at this, behind the glass. THE SCIENTIST takes down notes. JANUARY incants, her eyes growing black as she feels her magic try and carve out yet another thing from her heart—what’s left of it is back in the cities, bleeding out on her penthouse balcony. She never did have much use for it.]
THE CHORUS: We had begged, we had pleaded for you to not do this, and yet you bleed golden light on the circle once more. The endless grey plains are too good for you, sorceress; maybe the eternal dark, the eternal silence would have given you pause, if you had not brought hell to yourself.
JANUARY: Fuck you.
THE CHORUS: Don’t be like that January. We cared.
JANUARY: Look where it got you. An urn on a shelf in a dusty apartment; how’d caring work out for you?
THE CHORUS: We’re already dead, January—you’re only punishing yourself for the vengeance you so desperately clung to. Don’t you think that a normal life, a silent life, powerless and loved would have been better than this?
[Embers start to come down JANUARY’s arm, lighting her clothes on fire, the flame not even hurting, not even burning her dress. There is a spike in the sensors; her heart rate is elevated—almost to the point of exhaustion, and THE SCIENTIST jots it down. THE AGENT looks disturbed at the goings-on. The shadows close in.]
THE CHORUS: You could have begged him to stay, you know. You know he loved you, once. You loved him too. Isn’t it why you did this in the first place? To be loved? You could give it up all again.
[JANUARY glares at THE CHORUS. It is true, what they say, but she does not want to relive it. The scent of roses wafts through the air. She remembers the last time she’d smelled it near her. Now, she wants to see ichor flow. Insult to injury.]
JANUARY: And become powerless—be a pawn in another god’s game? No. At least now, I’ve got some agency; more I can say for the dead.
THE CHORUS: You’ll be dead soon enough.
JANUARY: At least I won’t have to listen to your voices nagging me from beyond the graves.
THE CHORUS: That’s what you think. What will the judges see when your soul is on trial? Your good deeds? Your family? No, they will only see your rage and your hubris—the mistakes of a woman long since condemned. No one will be left to mourn you.
JANUARY: I don’t need anyone to mourn me. All the mourning was done in an empty apartment two states over under a wine binge. I’m just a dead woman walking.
[A man emerges from the shadows; chiseled jaw and kind eyes staring at JANUARY as she tries to finish the ritual. JANUARY glares at the shade and incants the rest of the spell, trying to tune him out of her mind. The pain helps. The pain always does.]
THE CHORUS LEADER: Are you—are you happy now, Jan? Now that I’m miserable and dead and gone and all the things that you wished I was when I left? Did watching me suffer make you happy? Did making the people I love suffer make you happy? I still thought of you after, you know. I didn’t think you would ever love me, but you did, and gods above, I didn’t think I was ready for it. I only asked them to help me get you to my side. You know that I didn’t mean to—
[Silence falls over the room and the embers flicker and fade. JANUARY looks at the fading shade, and her heart breaks all over again. Maybe the revenge she’d gotten hadn’t made her happy, but it was damn near better than being alone and scorned. Better than being forgotten.]
JANUARY: I think that just makes it worse, Archie.
THE CHORUS LEADER: What have I ever done right?
JANUARY: I don’t know. Think of something. You heroes always think of something to get yourselves off the hook. Shouldn’t it be a flash of inspiration? A stroke of genius?
THE CHORUS LEADER: You always did give me too much credit.
JANUARY: Your name’s written on the stars, Archie. They gave you all of it.
[JANUARY looks at the glass and sighs.]
JANUARY: We’re done for today.
THE SCIENTIST: Miss St. James—
JANUARY: We’re done. I’m going to eat a protein bar and come back tomorrow, but I’m done today. E-mail me if you want; I’m going to fucking sleep this test off.
[THE SCIENTIST hums and nods. They make some final notes to pass along the Database chain. This test was enlightening.]
THE SCIENTIST: Okay. Good evening, then.
JANUARY: Eve—right. Of course. Good evening.
[JANUARY leaves the testing facility. The door closes. THE SCIENTIST begins to speak to themselves, writing down their recent findings as THE AGENT leaves the room as well. A cold stillness overtakes the room, graphite on paper furiously meeting.]
THE SCIENTIST: Timed at eight hours after mark. Ritual physically stimulates #0063332 to the point of causing extremely elevated blood pressure to almost cardiac arrest. Temperature heightens and bright golden flame erupts from open wounds. Whether there is a correlation, unsure. Irises, I assume, turn black, as per footage, though heavy magic use seems to do that to her anyways. The use of magic drains them to the point of exhaustion afterward, though any side-effects after are observed to be positive. While the curse does not force isolation, it reinforces it. No connections, more power—almost like an intoxicant. As seen in an episode where the subject seems to talk to themselves out of nowhere, there is a trial that happens; perhaps the faces of those she’s lost. Spectres, maybe. Or a psychological stressor that manifests when the ritual is done. Prior files seem to report that she is indeed alone, no friends or family or partners before coming to the Institute. Perhaps she might prove useful—plans to be made for integration with the other cursed. Lineage to be researched. Further examination is recommended. Sessions to be scheduled.
“wait–– thad’s DEAD?” he blinked, completely mishearing and whipping his head round to look at her properly. the sarcastic curl of her eyebrow told him everything he needed to know. he rolled his eyes good-naturedly, and shrugged. “you don’t just get flowers for dead people - c’mon. i just thought the database isn’t big on interior decor… might brighten the place up.” he hangs his head slightly, feeling like a scolded child being reprimanded. she’s not wrong. “i will visit,” he added indignantly, “but look if thad WANTED me to bring him out something cool i wouldn’t say no. i bet they’ve got some pretty good board games - or whatever sick people do - in the abyss.”
"Don’t you think there’s a reason things that were in the Pit, stay in the Pit?” Jude, through no fault of his, always felt wrong to January; the curse did that well enough on its own. Only through heinous magics and even more heinous reagents would she be able to summon things from Tartarus, and here he was, talking about it like he was going to get something from the grocery. Speaking of which—she was going to have to make some carbonara. Some bacon would be nice. “And I mean, go for it, I guess, but make sure they’re going to last for a while. Nothing more heinous than having wilting flowers in a hospital room.”
JUDE PUT THE marshmallow cereal he’d been inspecting back on the shelf ( free toy inside! ) reluctantly. he did really want a tiny plastic racoon, but it looked like there was only a one in six chance of getting it and he was less keen on the other characters. anyway, they were here for a reason. “i’m glad i bumped into you,” he added, running a hand over all the shiny boxes in the pasta aisle - so many shapes, he loved those tiny bow tie ones - “i’ve got no idea what sort of flowers you get for someone who has just been branded by a divine being … you think thad likes sunflowers?”
“Is Thad dead?” January raises an eyebrow, trying to decide whether or not she was going to get fettuccine or angel hair for dinner tonight. Her magic was being monitored, and she hated having to deal with the minutiae of everything. It was much easier to float down groceries than to have to actually grab them, think, and then shove them back. “Because I’d stick to a balloon, or a card if he wasn’t. Just don’t summon anything.” January looks at Jude and makes a face of discomfort, trying not to remember the last time he’d done that. “Maybe you could just visit, you know? Make conversation.”
𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝒔𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 — she forces them to — at january’s question. it catapults her back to that bare bones hotel room she’d occupied for a few weeks, the place where she’d been when she received the email from the database about their new project. the very FIRST thing that had come to mind was the hopeful ( albeit, incredibly naive ) idea that coming to a place like this might mean she could find solace or friendship or companionship in people like her. in retrospect, she should have KNOWN better. everyone here had much bigger things to worry about — their own burdens to shoulder, their own demons to face, their own death certificates signed with ichor. still, something even as small as an offer to walk with her is enough to reignite that very same hope in her once again. “ i would love that. thank you. ”
lourdes is never ENTIRELY sure what the etiquette of talking about curses really entails. she’s been spared those conversations and, as a result, has no idea where the line falls that determines what’s too invasive of a question to ask. still, she’s been more or less HAUNTED by what she’d been shown in her prophecy since the moment she’d delivered it, and now she has faces to pair with what she’d known was coming. she was concerned — for january, for mercy, for thad, for all of them. “ are you… ” she begins, but the words die in her throat. to ask if january is okay seems like a misstep. are any of them really okay ? “ i saw that you were in the area when thad… well. are you okay ? ”
( A Greek chorus sings to her in the eerie blackness, all consuming, ever expanding—perhaps she wasn’t as guarded as she was, or maybe the punishment of divinity really was that severe. January listens to them, frozen to the spot, trying to learn, trying to understand. The words are garbled—but she can make out a few of them. The inky blackness swirls unto itself, as if a concert was being held and she was the only audience member. She will remember, she must remember. )
It occurred to her, that she was with someone, and she’s snapped back into place, as if rebounding back into her own body like a rubber band. The voices sang to her, somehow, ethereal and haunted. No, she wasn’t okay, but she was better than the rest of them. “I’m fine,” she replied, trying to brush off the few minutes that she was out of it. “Better than the others, anyways.” January tried a smile, a sad thing to behold. Maybe she wasn’t fine, but she sure as hell was holding up—and she was going to get to the bottom of this. “It’s, well, very sweet of you to ask—are you okay? Every time I see you, it seems like you’re going to run for the hills or something.”
frankie watched january with wide eyes. she couldn’t make out what she’d whispered, no matter how much she strained to. as annoying as it was, there were parts of the magic thing that she wouldn’t ever be able to understand. “she doesn’t really leave the house,” she added, concern flashing across her face for just a moment before she handled her composure. that’s what she was really afraid of, in the end. waking up one day and having izzy be completely gone. “i have things of hers, if you need them.” the pictures probably weren’t helpful – any trace of izzy was gone. but she had other things, like sweaters and a couple mugs. she wouldn’t love handing them over to january, especially if they ended up out of her sight, but if it meant any clue towards bringing her back, she was willing to risk it.
she perked up at the mention of research. literally, her back seemed to straight and her eyes seemed to bright a little. this was somewhere she could be helpful, maybe even more than helpful. this was something that she knew. “absolutely.” frankie didn’t even think about. she just assumed she was important enough to the database that she’d be able to get whatever she wanted (whether that was true very much remained to be seen). she grabbed the old receipt and slipped it in her bag. she glanced up at january, giving her a long look. she hated admitting that she needed help, but she had to put some of her own desires to the side for isabella. “i want…your help.” it still seemed to pain her a little to say it. “i’ll figure out the files.”
She doesn’t leave the house—so why the threats? The curses were complicated enough to give her pause, but not enough that she was going to leave it well enough alone; January was damned already and any good karma that came her way was going to go well in the halls of the dead. “I’d love to have one of them, the one she uses the most—anything with a powerful connection helps.” Her lips are pursed, thinking of the ingredients to grab if it meant piercing a curse; if there was nectar or ambrosia she could use, or some divine ichor, maybe she could start something, but where would she find a bleeding god in the middle of nowhere?
At the admission, January gave a small, sly smile. The other wasn’t inclined to accept help, nor give it away, she assumed, and she couldn’t blame her, not really. A curse was something personal, and if she didn’t want to say anything, it wouldn’t be any skin off her back. At least there was a starting point, and at least she was one step closer to breaking a curse. “Well, I look forward to research with you—don’t hesitate to drop by, and try remember who I am. That’ll be hard in a couple of days. I’ll call you if there are any new developments.” Standing up and smiling, January gave a nod of her head and walked off to the cashier; if she wanted any work done on this today, she was going to need some coffee.
── he watches wordlessly for a few beats, eyeing the objects as january handles them. none of it means anything to him, yet, a seemingly random collection of items which he considers to be little more that that, simply THINGS ; he doesn’t know what is expected of him, here. sorcery is abstract in a way he doesn’t know how to work through, and wonders if that distance is going to make this all difficult. ronan prefers to see things as they are— a knife as a knife.
“ so they tell me. ” that’s what most people know of him, a number and classification and rank, and he’s grown used to that reputation on his name. though at least when she says it, the playing field is more LEVEL ; he’s looked up her id number beforehand, out of curiosity, to make things fair. january doesn’t hold anything above him as the database does, at least as far as he can recognize. the interaction is a bit more balanced between them, and so he tries to let his rigidity ease slightly. “ database gave me charms and shit sometimes. don’t think they worked. never done anything myself, though. ”
Charms and shit. Gods save them both. A simple protection charm against a curseborn monster wasn’t something she thought was going to work remotely, not even if she burnt herself out for trying, but there was something that spoke to her in the back of her mind, a feeling of dread that seemed to consistently appear in times of distress. High monster classification. Under her breath, she spoke something in ancient Greek, the thought of hunger and the smell of a good dinner running through her mind, stilling herself and taking a few seconds to realize it was wafting from Ronan himself. Horrifying. The gods really were horrifying when it came to their punishment. He was barely in his twenties.
“Then we’re going to try and get you started with what you need. .” January grabbed the knife and the reagents, holding the blossoms in her right hand. “People think magic is all talent, but they’re idiots who burn up and fade away—it’s hard work and elbow grease, Ronan. If we’re going to do this, please at least try.” She enunciated the spell, the words rolling off her tongue and disjointed enough so that he could follow. “That is a simple warding—could you repeat the incantation? Just so I know you won’t summon something from Tartarus, like—well, just repeat it.”
ella’s features relaxed, and now she looked at january with her sense of serenity regained. but as collected as she seemed now, listening to the other had sent a particular realization dawning on her. she felt a little ache in her heart, like a splinter pulled from tender flesh: she wished she and january had met under different circumstances. looking back at her life, ella had found she’d rarely lacked anything, except compassion. had she had a friend like january, maybe she could’ve endured long enough to see herself spared from her impulses, and thus, from the god’s wrath.
“i figured you might say that. thanks for the honesty, as much as it hurts,” ella shrugged, yet offered the other woman an appreciative smile. “hmm. i’d love to see it – to live long to witness the gods take back our curses.”
ella sighed, “i don’t want to jinx anything, but i think we know better than to get our hopes up. i don’t know what to make of the database so far, and they don’t speak openly about it themselves either. i don’t want to make it seem like i’ve given up on them already, but… how would one go on effectively getting rid of such complex curses? if they don’t have the level divinity these processes take, then… who would?”
"Die,” January replied reflexively, not even trying to hide the bitterness that had dogged her for what ever vestiges of life she had left. They were cursed until death for the sins they’ve committed, or the sins of their forebears. What a waste. If the gods cursed her, she should have been cursed on her own merit—but that was neither here nor there; she was cursed and damned and miserable all the same. “At least, that’s the positive point of view. Who knows, maybe they send us to Tartarus to be cursed all the same.”
The database was dodgy, even by high level government standards; she wasn’t going to lie—they had far too many tests and far too many secrets for there not to be a dead body in there, or at least a maimed corpse. “Who knows, maybe one of us will be favored by the lady of the crossroads and find a way out.” There a reassuring smile, though it remained to be seen if it worked to comfort her. “I mean, don’t forget any of us if it ends up being you, Ella.”
It is the dead of night, and you are walking, carrying the weight of your crimes through the grass, through the ruins. Your home, what was once your home, stands now, as a charred patch of memory, ruined by time, ruined by the gods, ruined by you; the ash in your mouth a testament to the wrathful hubris that you have shown time and time again. There are no time for tears, of course, for the heat of forge-fires and ozone cling to the air, and there is so much that you can do not to scream and burst through the divine gates to drag what they have taken from you, to die trying.
Ancient Greek spills from your lips, and you can almost see the ghosts beneath the cinders stir, the ashes from the death that seems to envelop the estate in a fog. This is your doing, you think, as the ashes float from the floor and into the urn you had brought. It’s gilded, black, and if your sister was alive, she would have said gaudy. You can almost hear her offended, “You’re going to put me in that?” when you close your eyes. So you don’t. The bitterness that you bring is your own, and the guilt is the noose that you bring yourself.
The ashes are collected, as you finish the incantation. You look down, afraid to see any more ghosts in your line of sight. The grass really needed to be redone. You will miss them. There is nothing of them left here, only the memories that you keep.
You do not cry then—but you can feel it in your chest, as you retreat from the home you once had. Maybe you will cry later, or you will never do it. But the ghosts that will follow you, you think, will haunt you until your dying breath.
💘- a memory that gets their heart pounding.
You are at a bar. This is the first thing you remember. The next is a handsome man, prettier than the gods, carved from marble, making a blush rise in your cheeks. He brings you a double, and you tell him that there must be a reason the gods dropped him in her lap. (The acid in your heart as you remember this is merely shadowed by the shame. If you had never met, you would have been happier. If you had never met, there would be less death around you.)
The scent of roses waft from him, flattering you as much as you ego would allow it. The great January, he tells you, as if you were a sorceress of repute, not a back-alley witch that sold simple protections and salves. You are tempted, of course, to roll your eyes, but the smile that escapes your lips does you no credit. He matches yours with a blinding one, and there is nothing you can do but melt.
It is no wonder what happens, of course—you return to his place, you sneak out during the dead of morning and leave your number. You are no schoolgirl, but he makes your heart flutter wildly in a way that seemed too alien to you, too odd, too… godly.
“no chance of them being scanned or anything?” frankie asked miserably, already feeling confident in the answer. life would be so much easier if people were either better at keeping track of their books, or digitized them as soon as they possibly could. maybe that would become a project of hers – she wondered what sort of resources the database kept on hand that she could scan. she’d ask about it the next time they called her in. she sighed. the truth was, she kind of wanted to see what happened when it happened, but january didn’t seem like the could be convinced. “right. trust you. sure.”
“there’s no law that made the gods all powerful or whatever, either,” she replied. there were plenty of things that could bother her about the gods. the curses alone were probably enough. but there was something about their absolutism, the fact they were meant to be accepted as the controllers of the universe just because that’s the way it is. “it…varies.” it was almost awkward, trying to figure out how to explain isabella. the only other time she’d really done it was that phone call to the database immediately after it happened. “i can feel that she’s there, most of the time. i feel weight on my shoulders, or a breeze in my hair. stuff like that. she can even move objects on really good days. she reorganized my whole bookshelf once. the bad days…it’s like i know she’s there, but only as a presence and nothing else. and i can tell she’s frustrated.”
January tried something, a whisper of ancient Greek under her breath as she tried to scan the shop for any mention of her. It was a fool’s errand, of course, like sticking a metal detector in a room made of plastic, but preliminary questions aside, she would help; as much as she could, at least. The scent of olives, wafting in the air made her pause, the spell dying on her lips as she let it go. A threat, maybe, a warning. All the more reason to make herself useful to the cursed—to be a thorn in the gods’ side. After all, she had nothing, no one left to lose.
“It’s tough. I don’t feel her, I don’t see her, I don’t have anything of hers.” Her lips are pursed, and she thought to magical theory, to the gates of the divine and what sort of materials she would need. The database could help, of course, as stewards of the divine, but she didn’t necessarily have an in with the bootlickers to the gods. “I don’t think it’s out of the realm of possibility for me to—well, I don’t know. I’d need to have some in with the database, understand some research.” Taking out an old receipt, January wrote down her address and her number, underlining her name several times. “I don’t have anything divine to help, nor do I have any experience with them, except my curse. Could you get some files for research? At least so we—I can have a jump-off point. That is, if you want my help.”
she snorted into her glass in laughter, before responding with a “joe doesn’t really have anything much to offer me as far as satisfaction is concerned, if you get my drift,” and a wink. it was a rare occurrence, to see her smiling and laughing without worrying about people staring at her. it doesn’t last for long, though, and the mention of artemis makes her smile start to fade.
“i miss her. it feels like she’s so much closer to me than she really is.” she swirls her spoon in her tea, mixing around the milk and honey even more to give herself something to focus on besides the overwhelming feeling of loneliness. it didn’t work. “did i ever tell you the story of how we met? it’s kind of magical, the way it all came together.”
January smiled right back—Adelaide’s smile almost called for a drink, if she had one. The two of them, though? Called for a festival. Or at least a small party. But the bubbling feeling of happiness turned into abject guilt once January saw that her smile was starting to fade, just sipping her tea in a cold, removed manner. She would have told her to move on from the goddess, if she were crueler, but her devotion to Artemis almost made her feel something akin to pity for the goddess. Not that she even deserved it.
God, this story. Her curse be damned, she was subjected to this story upwards of seven times, and this was going to be the eighth; she’d stop Adelaide if she didn’t put her foot in her mouth earlier. This was going to be her burden: recalling the love story between Adelaide and Artemis, and sit through each and every one of them. “No,” she lied, drinking her tea, trying to recount the last seven times she’s done this. “How, though? I’ve never heard you talk about this.”
“divine luck…” ella laughed, clearly sarcastically. whichever room she’d once held, specifically meant to house her respect for the gods, was gone and taken over by her own bitterness. it made her feel heavy and tainted, and by whichever vulgar god’s name was she tired of feeling like this. “is there such thing as that nowadays? i can’t imagine those fuckers caring about us enough to spare us some luck.”
there she’d gone, shooting off at the mouth, almost sticking her hand into a fan. “sorry for snapping. you’re the one who deserves putting up with me the least.”
she sighed, tricking herself into thinking that’d ground her again. “i think you’re right. wouldn’t it be rotten luck if they’d just… cursed us in ways never meant to be solved? we’d be going around in circles, just… avoiding the inevitable. you know about magic – could such thing happen?”
The brazen show of vitriol brought a smile to January’s lips—she may not have shown it as much, but she was in full agreement. Gods were vicious things, grown fat on the praise, adoration and wealth of their adoring petitioners. Her eyes flickered upward to a clear sunny day, no clouds, nor the scent of rain present. They were allowed this, maybe, but enough bootlickers were here that she held her tongue. How conspiratorial.
“I’ve done some things,” her voice caught, and she took a breath. This was never going to get easier. “Well, safe to say that I’m little better than the pettiness that the divinity shows sometimes, and I wouldn’t put it past them.” The curses were supposed to be a damning of the highest degree, or the whims of petty immortals looking for amusement. Either way, she didn’t have enough insight into the mind of the gods to deal with this. “I think—well, someday, someone will take magic to the level of divinity, maybe right these wrongs done unto us.” January felt the sun on her skin, the heat of it becoming more apparent. She pursed her lips. “Someday.”
── he’s not sure what to expect. this isn’t the first time the database has given him some new FIX, their latest and greatest idea to counter his curse— or at least try to offset the balance in his favor for a while, attempting some time to breathe. over the years he’s learned not to be too hopeful, as their assurances are rarely as concrete as they’re played to be. but this is different, at least, not just a indifferent sort of promise over an email or written out in some form letter. sorcery might not be an area he’s eager to dabble in, yet he’s not in much of a place where he can turn down an option as it’s offered, dubious as he may be.
“ ronan. ” he counters simply. he knows he’s on time, barely, yet the way she’s waiting on his approach makes him feel as though he’s walking in on a scene late— it doesn’t help his feeling of being out of place in this plan. ronan has never considered himself neither patient nor COMPOSED enough for things like magic. “ ‘ monsters ’ ? yeah, i’m well-versed there. ” it’s nearly a laugh, a dry and humorless sort ; not at her, just at the strangeness of the situation as a whole. within the database he’s often too known, painfully so, and so her question isn’t the kind he’s used to, here. “ how much did they tell you ? ”
“Right, the classification. That’s on me,” January replied, grabbing the few items she’d requisitioned from the database. She was slipping a little, as she ran through the materials they needed. Nettle, purslane,amaranth knives, and some chalk if he didn’t feel comfortable with the knives. It would be a simple warding spell today, then he could expand and then work towards trying to gets monsters off his scent. Maybe in a few months, he could graduate, but January was a pessimist by nature—this wasn’t going to be easy.
“All I know, Ronan, is that you’ve got a high level monster classification, and I could probably guess why you need the warding,” she continued, grabbing a knife and floating the rest of the objects to him to grab. The basics were always hard to grasp for beginners, usually, but she still held out hope that he would be at least, a half-decent student. “Is this your first time—well, doing sorcery, then?”
frankie frowned at her initial response. she wasn’t too concerned with warnings or guidelines – all she really wanted was the answers. “but what happens?” she repeated, leaning in a little more, her elbows resting on the table. she listened closely to the explanation, nodding slowly as january went on. “read? are there books about this sort of stuff? do you have them?” god that would be so much easier. “i guess if you run out energy, the power goes out. or the circuit blows.” it felt a little like translating – turning the magic into something she could understand, something she could break down to its essentials.
something of equal value. frankie wasn’t sure if she had anything in her life that was of equal value to the months she spent with izzy. a connection her family was nonexistent by design. she didn’t have any connections to her creations, all they did was sit on her desk for a period of time before she went them to who knows where. her intelligence…well, she didn’t know who she was without it. being trapped in her own mind like that would probably drive her to the brink. or maybe she’d just live in blissful ignorance. thad never seemed to have a problem with being short a few braincells. “i don’t know what i’d trade.” that was the truth. and the trade probably wouldn’t even be her own choice, it seemed. the gods would be the ones calling the shots, at the end of the day. “collateral damage. right. because the regular old damage isn’t enough.” she doesn’t want january’s sympathy. in fact, she’d despise it. but that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t complain for her own benefit.
“My family—well, safe to say those books are long gone.” The memory of the old library, with her uncles and aunts and siblings dropping in once or twice to check out books and convene on the knowledge of the divine and the arcane, almost felt real whenever she tried to remember anything. It was cruelty, for January to remember everything with a clarity that escaped her, that almost felt nothing short of divine, but she was the only one left, out of all of them, and so remember she must. “You’ve got to trust me that you don’t want to see what happens when it happens.”
“There is no law that says that the gods must be fair,” she replied, the bitterness in her voice as clear as day, a contrast to the smile that she half-plastered on her face. Perhaps her circumstances could have been different, if she’d been a devout sycophant to the gods, nodding and smiling along with the best of them. But she knew that she was no sycophant; better her tongue cut out than nodding to the gods’ petty whims excitedly. “How is she—well, how is she? Her interaction with the world, at least?”
𝙲𝙰𝚂 𝚆𝙾𝙽𝙳𝙴𝚁𝚂, 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝙰 𝙼𝙾𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃, if he’s done something to OFFEND her in the brief amount of time since he’s entered her apartment. a quick glance back reveals that no, he didn’t track mud into the place, so he’s a little uncertain. still, some people are protective of their space, so she probably just wants him out as soon as possible. he’s a stranger to her, after all. “ sometimes it just takes a little mundane fixing-up, ” he assures her.
he kneels down in front of the sink, opening the cabinet and sticking his head inside to assess the issue. “ well, it doesn’t look like a MAJOR problem. best practice would probably be to replace the sink’s pipes here — it would take a few hours, but it’d be worth it in the long run. otherwise, i could pop some sealant on there to fix the leak for now, but the longer you wait to fix the whole thing, the more likely you’ll be to get water damage. you’ll have to replace it eventually. ” he pokes his head back out, leaning back on his heels. “ it’s up to you, though. i won’t bother charging you if you just want some sealant, but replacing the pipes will probably end up being around one-fifty or so. ”
“A few—” The gods be damned, she was going to have to learn yoga before her blood pressure skyrocketed and the stress went to her head. The spitting image of Archie in her apartment repairing her sink; it was almost funny, the way that she tried to turn it around in her head like a puzzle waiting to be solved. Almost. January tried to keep a blank face, cold and unyielding, but the slight downturn on her lips and crease in her brow told otherwise.
Waving a hand, she zoomed her purse towards her hand as easy as can be, and counted out the bills. If the indignity of having a ghost repair her sink wasn’t enough, there was the fact that the service cost one-fifty. For a leaky pipe. She was going to kill her landlord one of these days. Maybe soon. Maybe tomorrow. “Here. And if you need anything else, anything more, I’ll be—” An irritated sigh from her lips. Maybe he could’ve just done sealant, but it was better than another repeat visit from a skeleton she’d tried so hard bury in her closet. “I’ll be around. Could you do this… faster? I’ve got a call, and if you or I could make this easier on us both, that’d be great.”
