LIFE & DEATH

[m0rbidity]

# M0RBIDITY . a multi-muse roleplay blog exclusively affiliated with portumhq written by emily ( she / her . 23 . bst )

* ester madani ( she / her ) . intro . pinterest . 365 year old reaper working at second chances * perdita otero ( she / her ) . intro . pinterest . 292 year old gorgon working at portum art museum * íde macarthy ( she / her ) . intro . pinterest . 25 year old oracle working at midnight steep * vincent catchlove ( he / him ) . intro 33 year old warlock working at the portum chronicle

* credit for gifpacks I use can be found here .

[macabr3s]

         (    ↻    )    to  a  degree  ,  valeria’s  faulty  memory  could  be  seen  as  a  blessing  in  disguise  .  roaming  the  earth  for  over  seven  hundred  years  became  rather  lonely  .  they’ve  met  people  in  passing  but  life  eventually  catches  up  and  claims  a  soul  for  them  to  guide  into  the  afterlife  .  as  their  mind  fractures  under  the  weight  of  time  ,  they  take  it  as  a  chance  to  start  over  .  new  name  ,  new  place  ,  new  life  .  it  was  tiresome  at  first  to  constantly  change  aliases  every  fifty  years  .  but  as  human  mortality  decreases  ,  the  more  valeria  is  able  to  allow  themselves  to  take  things  in  stride  .  and  their  learnings  as  a  reaper  were  something  they  could  never  forget  .  

lips  twist  up  in  thought  as  they  listen  to  the  other  reaper  ,  following  along  with  a  light  nod  .

“  and  it  feels  like  you’re  always  trying  to  catch  up  with  these  constant  shifts  ?  there  is  a  chance  that  you  could  be  unknowingly  manipulating  these  dreamscapes  .  i’m  not  saying  you  are  ,  but  it  is  a  possibility  based  on  what  i’m  hearing  .  they  are  rather  tricky  to  handle  at  times  .  apply  a  little  too  much  and  the  dream  can  shift  into  a  completely  different  environment  .  apply  too  little  and  it  feels  like  nothing  has  changed  at  all  .  ”

valeria  reaches  for  their  own  drink  and  takes  a  leisurely  sip  .  they  can’t  help  but  observe  ester  .  the  habit  of  observing  from  the  sidelines  and  reading  emotions  was  never  something  they  could  shake  .  

“  i  can’t  say  i’ve  experienced  anything  like  it  in  a  very  long  while  .  but  what  you’re  dealing  with  isn’t  out  of  the  ordinary  .  ”

[m0rbidity]

"Hmm. That's a relief. That it's not just me and I'm not… dying, or something worse than that,"

An uncomfortable chuckle escapes her, and it feels as unnatural as it sounds. Ah, death: it's a friend she knows so well, but only from a distance. That's what people these days do with people on the internet, isn't it? You can know somebody so intimately — their secrets, fears, entire self — yet not know what they smell like. Death, to her, is the other way around: she can smell it, taste it and observe it from an outsider's perspective, but she will never know the depth of emotion that accompanies it. And something different in herself… these slips into dreamscapes: it feels as close as she's ever been to the truth of her trade.

Ester is probably an amusing person to observe. She can't quite sit still, and instead opts to wind a lock of her own curls around one finger while she seems to delve deeper into her own psyche. Something in the juxtaposition of her melancholia and the action itself — a sweet, girlish thing — would be interesting to anyone, and perhaps even amusing in the right circumstances. A different conversation, perhaps, and it'd be a little less sad.

"I just hope I'm not manipulating things in a bad way. Oh, what if I'm manipulating other people into acting strange, or something like that, while they're dreaming. Not that that's actually happened, I don't think. Forget I said anything. Perhaps I'll just need another drink,"

Relaxing would certainly be nice, appreciated during all of this. She exhales a little and swirls the remaining contents of her glass, eyes firmly fixed on the pattern it creates in the liquid.

"I hope this helps when I dream tonight,"

[silkeared]

calahan  chuckled  again.  what  else  could  he  do ?  if  he  let  the  smile  falter,  if  he  let  his  expression  drop  for  even  a  moment,  he  was  afraid  he  would  crumble  entirely.  he  had  lost  his  family  once,  watched  from  afar  as  his  beloved  brothers  withered  and  died  and  rotted  away,  and  for  the  first  time  in  a  century  he  had  truly  been  scared  of  it  happening  again.  for  so  long  the  vampire  had  resigned  himself  to  the  fact  that  he  was  lonely,  that  he  walked  the  world  with  nobody  at  his  side.  now  he  had  a  family,  and  he  had  almost  tasted  the  threat  of  loss  once  again. if  only  he  had  been  there,  at  the  autobody  or  on  the  shore.  calahan  was  not  a  killer.  he  had  taken  lives  on  the  end  of  an  order  all  those  years  ago  but,  since,  blood  had  been  sourced  from  less  alive  sources.  but  if  he  had  stood  and  watched  his  niece,  his  husband,  be  ripped  apart  by  the  monsters  that  infiltrated  their  beloved  sanctuary,  he  would  have  wasted  no  time  in  tearing  them  limb  from  limb. “i  was  knocking  at  death’s  door  a  long,  long  time  ago.  they  refused  to  let  me  in.”  his  smile  didn’t  fade,  but  the  light  in  his  eyes  did.  for  a  moment  he  thought  of  what  could  have  been,  returning  to  an  empty  house  with  only  bodies  to  bury  instead  of  loved  ones  to  nurture  back  to  health.  he  didn’t  have  all  the  answers  —  and  he  was  sure  that  íde  could  do  without  soup  and  constant  check-ups  —  but  it  was  something,  and  the  small  gestures  showed  her  that  he  cared.  truly  cared. “but  we’re  rebuilding,  aren’t  we ?  you  look  stronger  every  day.  liam  is  up  and  walking,  and  kanda  has  her  appetite  for  poptarts  back.  things  are  righting  themselves  slowly,  and  i’m  here  to  help  however  i  can.  i  can  fetch  you  whatever  you  need  —  within  reason.”  calahan  extended  his  finger  in  playful  warning  and  raised  his  brows,  letting  íde  know  that  alcohol  was  well  and  truly  off  the  menu.  in  that  light,  he  really  did  look  like  a  father. and  wasn’t  this  what  he  had  always  wanted ?  to  care  for  people,  to  provide  refuge  and  comfort  in  times  of  trouble.  perhaps  not  under  these  conditions,  but  calahan  had  always  wanted  to  make  a  difference  in  the  lives  of  those  less  fortunate.  he  never  became  a  priest,  and  wearing  black  suits  and  stiff  collars  was  a  distant  dream,  but  at  least,  there,  at  the  end  of  íde’s  bed,  he  could  offer  her  a  branch  and  wait  for  his  great  niece  to  take  it. his  lip  twitched.  his  golden  gaze  focused  on  the  girl,  and  it  was  almost  as  though  he  could  see  right  into  her  heart.  something  wasn’t  right,  but  what ?  “there  is  something  on  your  mind,”  spoke  the  vampire.  “tell  me ? ”

[m0rbidity]

"You're too nice. You know that, right?"

For her, or in general. She's not honestly sure which one applies here, but perhaps the question will be enough to entertain her in the weeks to come, while she's stuck here. It'd be one thing if Calahan was a bastard, or even unlikeable, or if she saw only the worst parts of her father in him. But it's a lot harder to be mad at someone who's clearly trying, the mother hen of a whole nest left miraculously unscathed and probably feeling guilty as shit about… something. He's Catholic, right? That's what they do.

Meanwhile, Íde's been a right shit to him. She knows she is, and it's not like she's contemplating how to repay him or have a dramatic turnaround or anything like that, but she's all too aware that he deserves anyone else in this town as a niece instead of her. Anyone else would be better to him, anyone else has already proven that they fit into this town of misfits perfectly. And she'll never find the words to say it to him.

It's uncomfortable, knowing that he can see her. Nobody else ever did.

"I wasn't planning on staying in Portum," she says slowly, eyes diverting from the warmth of his and focusing on… something across the room. For a moment, her eyes frantically hunt for anything that might serve as a distraction, then settles on the banjo left neglected, leant up against the wall. Her mother's…

"Not really the sort of person to stay anywhere too long. Before I came here I used to just… drive around, find people wherever I went and feckin'… talk to their dead nannas or whatever to make a living. Not a particularly exciting life, and I don't even know if I'm gonna be able to do any of that shite anymore. Guess it's all just a bit of a feckin' mess. Didn't think I'd be living here with you any time soon, that's all,"

It goes deeper than that. It'll always go deeper than that, but she shrugs as if it's a simple thing, something she doesn't even want him to worry about, or think too much about, or think about at all. Like she's not even confessing to anything.

I dunno if I like it here. Or maybe this town just feckin' hates me,"

[baekxhanna]

perhaps the people could benefit from both. the prophetic omen that went unpublished ( would it have changed everything if the supernaturals had seen it? would they have been more prepared or deemed it as mere macabre art? ) and the memorial for those that perished, blameless and scared and taking a stand, to the best of their power and abilities. the council had been a sac of rotted fish, stinking up the room before they were taken out like the trash they were. not even good enough for compost.

heavens forbid the soil of portum being sullied by their venomous, rotting blood.

"it is a good idea." han-na responded, taking a sip of the wine and noticing how the gorgon avoided to speak of her sisters. some wounds were better left untouched, so that the soreness and the fear can be left to heal rather than fester. "a memorial would be decent and respectable. to show portum we can all heal from it when time of healing comes. now, we are allowed to mourn for those who had left us, without guilt or remorse." everyone needed a good cry every now and then -- there was nothing shameful in having a cry when it was needed for the soul to heal. "when would you like to hold the memorial?" han-na asked, offering ; "I'm at your disposal, if you need a helping hand."

[m0rbidity]

"I'm not sure that should be my decision," she says slowly. "It was more… I suppose it was an idea for when the town feels ready. Sometimes we can do when we're all ready to mourn together, but at least I can know I've played my part in everything, that there'll be something tangible for everyone to see and mourn the dead,"

She didn't know many of them too well, though. It's hard to think of what to do in order to pay respects to a whole town, a whole variety of people with their own lives, all born of different species, from different countries, living completely different lives to one another. There would never be enough stone, or enough chiselling to make up for a life lost, and even if there was, Perdita doesn't think of herself as an artist capable of such a feat.

"Thank you, though. Your support means the world to me, especially right now,"

With a careful twist of her wrist, she takes a sip of her wine like it's something bitter and sacred at the same time. Even this feels inappropriate in the wake of everything, thinly veiled sophistication and the refined posturing of her art gallery position doesn't suit the gloom she feels in her heart. Her hands tremble, though the glass remains securely within them.

"This has to be the end of it. Of all of it. I'm sick of all this death,"

[ofated]

cosima didn’t flinch at the jab, just let a little laugh slip out as she set her pen down. “awful, is it? i’ve been told it’s endearing, actually.” the tease carried a spark of humor, her smile curling faint but bright at the edges. she nudged the journal with her fingertips, not protective but amused. “guess that means you’ve been listening to me longer than you’d like to admit.” a tilt of her head, eyes narrowing playfully as she leaned forward. “and you? is that your thing—heckling strangers, or are you just curious what i’m writing?”

[m0rbidity]

"Awfully brave, don't you think? Openly admitting that people lie to you about something as trivial as the sound of your pen,"

He's closer to witty than cruel, though, capable of matching her teasing rather than succumb to it. Is it not the best way to make friends in a new place (not that he's been especially friendly thus far, but whatever). Either way, they're engaged in a form of conversation now, and if it weren't amusing him, he could quite comfortably get up, make one cutting final remark and promptly walk off into the abyss of Portum itself.

"I don't heckle. This is journalism, plain and simple. I want to write a piece about my experience of moving to this... town. I suppose you can call it that. If I were you, I'd be careful that I don't get included,"

No. He just smiles and sips his coffee. He's going to stay and talk. Was it ever truly in doubt?"

"Are there medicinal benefits to scratching that book in coffee shops, or is it some sort of elaborate conversation starter?"

[m0rbidity]

THE FIRST STEP . by vincent catchlove

Nobody in my father's family has ever stepped foot within Portum. The reason for this is simple: many of us would be considered dangerous by your town's standards, and perhaps it has a right to think that way about us. Growing up, I was heir to a long history of monster-hunting, and I've embraced it in my own way. I know how to protect people from the worst of us. Perhaps it's narcissistic of me to say this, but I've suspected many of you may have wondered why and how I moved to this town back at the end of August. If you have, I understand, and the reasoning is solid. Your sanctuary failed and invited in hunters (humans who, may I say, seemed like amateurs at best). It's reasonable to wonder if a Catchlove might have seized such an opportunity to move here. But I can assure you, I came here in the aftermath. I needed sanctuary as much as any of you do. Notice how I only mentioned my father's family. I know for a fact that my mother has some distant cousins who'd been raised within Portum's wall of fog. Her family, as I hear it, are quite the delightful group of witches. My first impression of Portum is woefully tainted by pain. I came to find a town that needed rebuilding: both infrastructurally and mentally. The resilience that required Portum in the first place, I've seen it in the people I've met here. Yes, by nature, I am biting and seem rather cynical. And that is probably what you have seen from me. But I won't deny this town has been oddly welcoming, even in the wake of a tragedy. Perhaps it was just the knowledge that you haven't given up on it all, after the year I hear you've had. Why am I here? Well, that's personal. But rest assured that I won't be leaving any time soon.

[m0rbidity]

THE FIRST BOND . by íde macarthy [ a transcription from a speech given during her still unnamed band's first attempt at a gig at the old haunt. unsure who transcribed it. probably vincent. ]

As most of you feckers know already, we only got this slot because of nepotism. Which, honestly, is feckin' hilarious because I had no clue what I was driving into when I came to Portum. Feck if I knew my great, great, great, great, great, great... you get the picture, he's old as shite. Anyway, I had no clue about him, or that he'd be the only guy in this town who can pour a decent pint of Guinness.  It's funny, right? Walking into somewhere, you've been smacked in the face by fate and the only thing you can do is stick around and see what happens. But I just wanted to thank Cal, actually. I don't really have anywhere else to go right now — especially not at the moment while I can't even feckin' walk. But he's been nice enough to let me into that weird little Addams family setup of his and lets us come here and do this, and the best thing of all is that he's actually nice. Actually nice, too. Trust me, I know the difference. Shoutout to Cal. Maybe get a drink while you're here. Support local bars and all that. [ she then proceeds to play the opening chords of a song. they all sound the same to me. i'm getting another coffee ] so much for journalistic integrity you english prick

[m0rbidity]

THE FIRST STEP . by perdita otero

It is one of my great shames in life to admit that I didn't come to Portum sooner. For years, I had felt the fog in the horizon, and heard word of the town spoken by the few fellow supernatural beings I encountered during years I'd rather not discuss. I knew, but Portum terrified me. Community terrified me, and it still does. Many of the people reading this may have never truly spoken with me, and that is by my own design. I'm admittedly reclusive, but that doesn't mean I don't value the community I have always needed. I needed Portum. I was in a terrible place before I came here, the sort of terrible that involved pushing even my sisters away. And when I got here, it was exactly what I expected, what I knew I'd been avoiding. A town where small businesses are given room to thrive, people care for their neighbours and I no longer had to seethe in resentment for the powers of mankind? It is, most certainly, a sanctuary. As you might expect, my sisters were the first connections I had in this town, the people I sought out. To reunite with Juni and Rory was one of those rare, truly euphoric moments in my life. To feel their arms around mine again after so long... to describe it would be, perhaps, a little too intimate for what I wanted this thinkpiece to be. All you need to know is that I adore them, that I would and have killed for them, and that they are the best people I have ever known. I have connected with many of the local business owners, people who have always been gracious enough to commit to accessibility where I need it. I know that I always have a menu I can read, or your sincere understanding, and I appreciate that more than words can say. And Hera, who I had known before Portum, is a huge motivator for me in my work at the art gallery. Her strength astounds me, as does her appreciation for art, and especially her ongoing work for the town in the wake of everything that happened. The council may have failed us, but Hera certainly has not. There is, perhaps, obvious reason why I am an artist and not a writer (although I did love to tell stories in my youth). I have cut myself off far too much, and am hardly of a mind to share my most intimate thoughts on my sisters, or indeed the other incredible I have known in Portum, in such an honest way. Come to the gallery, if you haven't lately, and see my feelings on the town laid out in the ways I feel most comfortable. Less honest, but you can interpret art in whatever way it speaks to you. To many more years here, and in the hope that Portum's newer, brighter age may be upon us.

[m0rbidity]

THE FIRST STEPS. by ester madani

My kind had never been in Portum before January. It was only when something terrible happened that the town opened its gates to us, and I'm still not sure why I wandered through. Perhaps I was bored, or lonely, or curious, or all three (that's quite likely!). You could have met us with fear and suspicion. You could have fought back, kicked us out, or... um. I've seen many wars, lots of death and revolutions and changing regimes. I know how these things go. I'm not going to say that EVERYONE in portum was ready for reapers to be their neighbours. I'm still not sure that everyone is or ever will be. But my experience here is something more like joy than loneliness, despite everything that's happened since I showed up. I have been welcomed with open hearts and open hands, taught things about community I was yet to learn, and I even met the cats! The thing I love about Portum most is the people. Hansa was so lovely and patient with me when I started working my first ever job at Second Chances, and I liked getting to know Tango too! Turns out I'm a cat person! I've loved helping Calahan shopping for wedding rings, or um... when I first met Kareem and told him all about why I love to keep dead flowers. It's hard not to feel accepted when there's so many lovely people in town that I've met, and people I STILL haven't met. I normally don't stay somewhere for too long. I've walked across the earth and observed so much of it. But Portum is different, and I'll stay as long as you'll have me.

[avdaciter]

open   starter   ·   claudia   briggs   (   3   /   5   ) location:   hallowed   grounds

Claudia   had   always   been   a   lover   first   and   a   fighter   second,   hence   why   the   creator   of   the   SoulMatch   was   very   proud   to   have   been   thriving   in   the   dating   apps   category,   especially   since   it   had   been   considered   the   safest   and   most   trustworthy   of   them   all.   She   also   knew   her   research   team   was   the   one   who   was   supposed   to   be   asking   all   these   questions,   but   she   was   there   grabbing   a   cup   of   coffee   and   asking   more   out   of   curiosity   than   out   of   wanting   to   add   anything   to   her   app   anyway. “   So,   what   do   you   look   for   in   a   partner?   ”   The   phoenix   asked   with   a   smile   as   she   leaned   on   her   hand. 

[m0rbidity]

Honestly, it was the principle of the thing more than anything else. Íde lived in her car, and smoked despite being born after the year 2000: dating apps are not her thing. Forgive her for romanticising the past or whatever, but underneath the sharp interior, the medium was just a tiny bit obsessed with the idea of meeting somebody "the old fashioned way." Her fantasies are simple things, really: to enthrall someone who'd come to see her band, for a conversation in the pub to turn into something more, for enough romcom cheese to make a salad taste bearable. Dating apps, to her, ruin the alure of it all.

She's not sure why she's even doing this. Just to get out of the house, honestly. Even if Calahan still won't trust her to drink anything alcoholic.

"Depends," she says bluntly. Almost defensive, until the realisation crosses her face that she had actually consented to the conversation. There's worse things to be doing, anyway.

"I don't really do the whole 'partners' thing. As long as they're good in bed, have a bed and don't give a flying fuck about the whole... ghost shite I've got going on. That should be an option on that stupid app of yours. They're honestly more of a pain in the arse than I bet all that blood sucking would be."

[venar1]

It was good to meet someone who matched his energy, energetic and upbeat, the problems of yesterday rolling off them and slinking into the tide as it recoiled back toward the ocean. It was a nice feeling to stick his head, metaphorically, in the sand and just embrace some easy conversation and a beautiful day. "I do feel lucky." Today. But that was for him to know. "Sometimes it feels like a dream." He admitted, a deep sigh escaping him.

"There are some flowers that just bloomed up by the mountain." He gestured behind him with his thumb. "Passed them on my run. Nice and blue, I think it was. Just bloomed." He was no expert in flora, but they had been beautiful enough his run had slowed to a jog to get a better look at them. "I could take you there, if you like?" He offered, hoping it didn't seem odd of him. While there was certainly no dangers as far as he could tell, he'd still feel safer if he played bodyguard to the flower picking townie. If she'd accept the company, of course.

He kicked at the sand aimlessly, his cheerful demeanor and the problems that had occurred just a while ago battling for position at the forefront of his brain. "'Course I am." Happy won, he decided. "We're here and safe, and well, the weather's magical." He laughed. "Gotta focus on the good, you know?" He paused, then wagged his finger at the other. “You seem in a good mood yourself. Come on, out with it. What's got you so pumped?”

[m0rbidity]

"Like a dream..." she repeated - half questioning, half echoing, her voice light and full of a sort of joy and airiness that might seem strange coming from a reaper. And certainly seems strange following the town's string of misery, but Ester isn't one to dwell, or to mope. She's doing her best to seem like a positive force, to be somebody pleasant and joyful within a time of so much turmoil, and it's nice to meet somebody else who seems so similar in that regard. A friend? It's very easy for Ester to make new friends these days.

"Well, that sounds absolutely lovely. I'd love for you to show me, maybe help me pick a few out? Honestly, I think the weather and the prospect of flowers is enough to keep me happy on a day like today,"

Even though Ester didn't know where those particular flowers were going to be, she's fully aware of where Portum's mountains are, and turns to walk towards them before she even finishes talking. There's a spring in her step, though she keeps looking around to keep an eye on her new friend, not quite a body guard but more to check he's actually following her.

"That's my favourite thing about Portum - the weather! It's always nice, or... it wasn't for a few weeks. But it's been nice for the rest of the year,"

[avdaciter]

Indeed   it   was,   but   Aurora   refused   to   leave   her   sisters’   side   once   again.   There   was   a   lot   to   unpack   and   after   knowing   that   Marisol   was   safe   and   sound   and   that   Yong   Sun   had   managed   to   keep   everyone   at   the   house   safe,   all   that   Aurora   could   do   was   to   stay   strong   for   the   younger   Oteros.   She   had   already   failed   them   once,   the   gorgon   refused   to   let   herself   fail   them   again.   There   was   a   wheezing   sound   in   her   chest   that   made   the   older   Otero   practically   groan   at   the   thought,   especially   because   she   knew   Perri   could   hear   it,   otherwise,   the   petite   gorgon   wouldn’t   have   brought   it   up. “   It   is   not   important.   ”    Aurora   shook   her   head.   She   then   crouched   down   next   to   Perdita,   and   even   though   the   younger   gorgon   couldn’t   see   her,   Rory   still   remained   there.    “   You   are,   mi   vida.   ”    She   said   while   gently   taking   Perri’s   bruised   hand,   covered   with   bandages   and   planted   a   soft   kiss   over   the   white   drapes.    “   You,   and   Juni.   ”  Her   eyes   fluttered   close   as   Aurora   rested   her   forehead   against   her   sister’s   leg.    “   I’m   sorry,   P.   ”    Her   voice   came   out   as   a   whisper.   As   a whimper.   Like   a   wounded   animal,   ashamed   of   her   own   failure.    “   I’m   sorry   I   couldn’t–I’m   sorry   you   had   to   carry   that   weight.   ”    Quite   literally.   And   Perdita   knew   (or   at   least,   Rory   assumed   that   she   did),   it   wasn’t   that   Aurora   didn’t   deem   either   of   them   capable.   It   just   wasn’t   their   job.   It   was   Rory’s.    “   But–   ”    The   older   gorgon   turned   her   head,   her   fingers   gently   ghosting   against   Perdita’s   soft,   cool   skin.    “   I   need   you   to   stop   being   stubborn   and   actually   eat   something.   Juni   is   going   to   need   us   to   be   okay   when   she   wakes   up.   ”    A   pause.    “   How   else   are   we   going   to   pin   her   to   bed   and   keep   her   from   walking   around,   hm?   ”

[m0rbidity]

Rory had never failed her. It's an odd thing, to exist within a family so splintered by trauma, to feel a sense of guilt for something that had never been expected. Because Perdita feels it too, feels like she's supposed to protect her sisters, to look out for them in the ways only she could ever understand. Not because she's the oldest, but just because she can, and because it feels like she has to. It's what they deserve, to be cared for and loved in every possible way.

And she never expected Rory to be that person. There's no part of her that expects anything more from her sisters than what they've given her, but she knew them too well to think that they wouldn't be worried.

She didn't want to tell Rory the truth: that even the thought of eating something is a little nauseating to her, that it isn't simply self-neglect keeping Perdita from venturing out to find food. And besides, it'd be impossible for her to leave Juni's side right now. Not until she knows for sure that she's okay.

Rory's presence is comforting though. She's always been so safe, so secure, the sort of rock she needed to cling onto, someone so strong and familiar to her.

"You don't have to be sorry, Rory. You know I'm strong enough. And I'd do it anyway,"

It's not that she thinks her sisters think she's weak, exactly. She knows it's all the same sort of defensive love that she has for them. But still, her weight was hardly a burden, and Perdita was just glad she was there to help. Where the hell would they be without her?

"Well, I'm not opposed to pulling the bedsheets very, very tight. Better than physical force, anyway, and we can have her pinned down before she wakes up,"

She laughs, and it's a little forced through her particular brand of melancholy.

"Have you been back to the bar yet?"

[phoenixevie]

trauma response was different in every patient. defense mechanisms at vulnerability as well. she used to snarl at everyone and then show her plumes of flame, as a warning to not get close to her. lately, she just allowed her magic to be seen in her eyes, a ring of golden fire sparking up her blue irises when shew as close to snarling. íde's injury was great, which is why evelyn didn't hold the biting and the snarling and the sarcasm against her.

she would've been much worse.

"phoenix blood." evie replied, sitting down on a chair in her vicinity, beside the bed, giving the medium a once-over. she should be on quite a few painkillers. maybe even a transfusion of blood with healing properties to let her heal quicker. human bones were so fragile and brittle, they healed so slowly. reaching for the document clipped at her bed, evelyn flipped through the page with the list of medicine, the hours administered and other must- know information. as someone who saved her, the medium was her responsibility.

"how are you feeling?" she asked.

[m0rbidity]

"Never better."

She rolled her eyes, feeling so blatantly childish as she does so. No amount of phoenix blood, vampire piss or essence of wet dog was going to cheer her up until her life fell into place again. And her place, as she'd been so delightfully reminded, is not Portum.

Well, it's not really anywhere. But that's besides the point, isn't it? She's too human for all of this, too easily freaked out by the horrible quirks of a supernatural town. And as much as people had reassured her that hunters are not the norm here, that she shouldn't need to worry about powers going haywire or vile weather, she can't believe them anymore. Not even her well-meaning great great great uncle, or the few true friends she'd made. Not even the Doctor who'd been with her on the night of the attack, who very well might've saved her life.

The sarcasm doesn't wash away so easily. Íde just seems miserable, deflecting from the question entirely.

"If this shite sets me on fire, I'm taking this hospital to court," she says dryly. It might be a joke, but she certainly means it. "And I know ghosts exist so I can do it from beyond the grave. I've thought of everything,"

[avdaciter]

Kareem   smiled   softly   as   they   took   a   seat   next   to   the   reaper.   They   wouldn’t   have   thought   about   reapers   needing   medical   help,   but   then   again,   in   Portum   anything   was   possible.   Portum   was   probably   the   only   place   on   this   planet   where   buildings   would   collapse   on   top   of   people   and   they   wouldn’t   worry   as   much   as   others   did.   Or   bear   traps   almost   cutting   one’s   foot   off   their   leg   and   them   still   being   able   to   walk   in   and   out   of   places   with   a   cane   and   a   nasty   scar   to   account   for. “   I’ve   been   better,   but   I   can’t   say   I’ve   seen   worse.   ”    Because   they   hadn’t.   Kareem   hadn’t   seen   war   like   Portum   had   that   day.   They   hadn’t   seen   people   crying   and   screaming   for   help   like   that   day.   They   had   known   of   the   existence   of   hunters,   of   course   they   had,   but   they   weren’t   counting   on   people   actually   barging   into   these   borders   like   they   were   in   the   16th   Century.    “   They   think   I   will   never   not   need   a   cane   again,   but   at   least   I’m   still   here,   right?   And   so   are   you.   ”    The   psychologist   offered   Ester   a   small   smile,   reaching   for   her   hand   and   giving   it   a   light   squeeze.    “If   you   would   like   to   talk   feelings,   I   also   happen   to   be   an   excellent   listener.   ”

[m0rbidity]

"Oh, that's a good way of looking at things. And besides, if you'll always need one, that's just an excuse to get lots of pretty ones, right? Imagine something with flowers pressed into it. Or... carved in a cool way? I'm sure the possibilities are endless,"

There's always a bright side, something to find joy in. Even after all the pain the hunters had caused, Ester didn't want to see Portum this gloomy. While the friends she'd made were still alive, there's enough hope to drown it out. They're alive, and if anyone knows the severity of death, it's probably Ester. Death had been her whole existence before Portum, and for the first time ever, she was surrounded by people who meant enough to her that she doesn't want them to die.

Ester smiles at them, and it's a sweet, earnest thing. Honestly, she doesn't feel much need to talk. Sure, her hands were practically torn to shreds, but she still has them. Sure, she still feels incredibly weak, poisoned by something she doesn't quite understand, but she's alive. Sure, it was the closest she'd ever felt to dying, and almost terrifying for that reason, but she's still alive.

"What do you want to talk about? I hope you don't mind if I say I'm a little bit flowered out. Is that a word? Flowered? Flowers... too many flowers. I keep promising people I'll get them flowers, actually. That's unimportant, sorry. Anything but flowers or feelings please,"

[macabr3s]

          (    ↻    )    “  by  all  means  ,  go  for  it  .  ”  elodie  gestures  to  the  platter  of  drinks  .  truth  be  told  ,  she  holds  some  conflicted  feelings  about  this  town  .  for  one  ,  she  never  truly  believed  in  this  town  was  a  true  sanctuary  .  things  happen  .  magic  finds  a  loophole  .  her  existence  should  be  proof  enough  .  but  the  founders  had  become  her  friends  and  who  was  she  to  criticize  something  they  so  deeply  believed  in  ?  she’s  unsure  if  they  ever  considered  a  full-scale  attack  on  the  town  .  part  of  her  doesn’t  think  it  was  ever  planned  ,  but  another  part  also  knows  that  they  would’ve  done  anything  to  protect  it  .

“  you’re  new  to  town  ,  right  ?  ”  she  observes  the  warlock  ,  noting  that  it’s  a  higher  likelihood  that  he  arrived  after  the  attack  .  even  with  half  the  town  destroyed  ,  portum  still  opens  itself  up  to  others  .  “  i  can’t  tell  if  it’s  shit  timing  or  fortunate  timing  that  you  came  after  the  whole  attack  .  ”

[m0rbidity]

"Probably a bit of both," he says, almost cheekily.

It's funny, to think about how Portum had opened its doors to the first of his family alongside those human hunters. People would be suspicious, and even he had to wonder if he truly deserved the sanctuary that'd been offered to him. But he didn't come in with them (honestly, they were rather amateurish) and he certainly didn't mean to harm anyone in this town. Knowledge of a topic and intention are two entirely different things. He's more of a scholar than a threat.

Maintaining a smile, he leans forward and takes the middle one of the drinks and studies it intently for a moment, as if the thing might be poisoned, or its appearance might give away some details on the flavour. There's a certain inquisitiveness to how he sips the damn thing too, taking the job of taster far more seriously than it deserves.

"You know, that's not bad. Do you do this for a living?"

Well, obviously she does, seeing as she's behind the bar. Everything about him suggests he already knows that, though.

"I'm definitely getting the taste of memorial. What is that...? Whiskey?"

[ofated]

"then i’d still count that as something," serena said quietly, offering a small, reassuring smile. “even if it’s only a handful of words, it’s still more than nothing.” she tilted her head, taking in the sight of the broken stirrer and the untouched latte, but didn’t point it out directly — just let her tone stay warm. “it’s hard to focus when you’ve got too much on your mind. sometimes sitting here, even if nothing sinks in, is enough.” a pause, soft and unpressing. “want me to keep you company, or would you rather the quiet?”

[m0rbidity]

"Company. I think I'd like that,"

The words certainly ring true. It feels nice to physically be somewhere that isn't her home or her sister's bedside, safe in the knowledge that she could exist around other people at all. And while the gorgon was hardly one of Portum's most social animals (hell, there were people who'd lived in this town for as long as she'd been here who she'd never even spoken to) she hated to be alone when she was feeling so... adrift. Any company can be good company when company is what you need most.

"How are you holding up?" she asks quietly, fingers snapping yet another coffee-stirrer in half. "Because I can listen, if that's what you need,"

[mystvcs]

❝ cute. ❞ but it hardly sounded like she thought so, a moment of letting herself break through when picking up the other's sarcasm. then again, would anyone be surprised by the attitude with a smart ass stranger after everything that happened? probably not. and without her daughter, the witch was always edging closer to what she was. ❝ yes, the owner. charvitha. ❞ a hand is held out for him to shake. its never lost on her that so many put themselves in danger around her — unbeknownst to them, but still amusing. ❝ you missed a pretty nasty fight. the fear and suspicion wouldn't surprise you, if you were here. ❞ even, she could admit that. having been the cause of others' fear and suspicion, she now got to be the ear that heard what was left of them in the wake of danger. ❝ have you done something worthy of fanfare? ❞ yes, it is a slight dig, but asked with genuine curiosity as she wonders about him.

[m0rbidity]

You can tell a lot about a person by their handshake, and Vincent's is firm and precise, well practiced and utterly polite. There's a certain self-assuredness to his grip, fingers stiff and unyielding. While he still smiles like a smartass and still has the sort of fire in his eyes that suggests he's studying her obsessively, he's a man who knows how to be formal.

"Just how nasty are we talking? Because that's certainly a shame... those sorts of things make for the best stories, don't you think?"

As he pulls his hand away from her, he relaxes in his seat and gestures as if offering for her to sit: not so much out of formality as much as playful curiosity. He's certain that, as the owner, she'd linger if she wanted to talk either way, but there's nothing quite like extending an invitation, is there? It's almost gentlemanly.

"I suppose that depends on your definition of fanfare. People round here love a monster hunter, right?"

Oh, the tone of his voice suggests that he knows all too well the kind of vitriol he'll be party to in Portum. There's a dark, though not unfriendly, chuckle that escapes him all too easily.