when: june 20th, evening
where: salmaâs office then lailaniâs room
who: closed to @theninthcardâ
It was frustrating, things not being in their proper places. Even more-so when that fact only reiterated the truth of the encounter Salma had experienced in this very office not even a week before. She hated the idea that it hadnât been a bad dream or a subconsciously projected illusion. She hated even more that it was something she couldnât control or have predicted, as if the initial confrontation with her other self wasnât bad enough. Things were going missing or sent askew; her stapler one day, her opened file cabinets the other. Today, her diploma had somehow moved to a different wall, and it was currently mounted upside-down.
That had been the final straw for her. She wasnât going to get any work done in a place like this. Not when it was intentionally taunting her to snap. She hadnât bowed at the first encounter, she sure as hell wasnât going to cave now when it wasnât even here. She should have conceded to working out of the library or her study in the first place, but stubborn as she was, she had to at least put up some what of a fight.
The memories of the encounter played like a movie across her mindâs eye during the walk back to The Lair. She had tried over the past few days not to dwell on it, not to give...whatever that was...the attention it so clearly craved, but some points it made were beginning to eat at her. Why was she being so passive with Daniel? Why wasnât she being more forward with her intentions with the Council? With Feiyanâs disappearance. With Lailani?
It was on that last thought she realized she had accidentally bypassed her own room, and now hovered in front of a slightly ajar door that was emitting a low light and the faintest smell of hibiscus tea. Her hand raised to knock, but a voice-- her own, but harder-- rang in her mind as a memory and an instruction. Just take your rightful place and see how good, how right it feels.
She pushed the door open enough to slip through, abandoning her briefcase and purse by the door as she quietly closed it behind her. Her shoes followed next. Sheâd been alone in the psychicâs room plenty of times, but those times were prefaced by common courtesies and proper announcement of her arrival in either a clack of a heel or calling out her name. She presented neither, padding quietly beside the table where Lailani sat.
âCan I talk to you about something?â Her tone was quiet and passive, two things she was very much not, but she didnât want to startle Lailani. She made no move to sit, either. She could at least wait for an invitation. Though her eyes did start to wander down the bits of Lailaniâs face that werenât masked by hair. It was what sheâd wanted too, after all. For me to just take control. Nerves caught in Salmaâs throat, but she forced them down and away, like she always did.
âSomething private? Something...odd happened. Well, more odd than all the other ley line problems weâve been dealing with. Something I feel is in your wheelhouse.â
Salmaâs office was darker than usual, the shades drawn, the room silent. The faint scent of overripe blackberries lingered in the air. On her desk lounged a lithe figure in a sleek pantsuit, her shirt half-untucked, her messy hair telltale evidence of some other intimate encounter. Her feet were bare and just graze the floor. She grined at Salma like a cat, as she flicked on a desk lamp, illuminating her face to reveal how shockingly similar it is to the one at the opposite end of the room. A perfect mirror image of Salma, she was, though she was far less upright and contained. She seemed pleased with herself, toying with a mouse in her claws.Â
Despite her relative state of undress, her gaze is just as sharp as her counterpartâs, watching Salma intently as she leaned back on the desk. Then she unfurled and slid her feet to the floor like a twisting snake. She took long, languid steps around the desk, picking up papers and barely glancing to them for a moment before tossing them over her shoulder and letting them flutter to the floor around her. She did it again and again, her gaze on Salma, her smile sharp, unwelcoming. She says nothing at all, tilting her head as if to goad Salma into responding.
Salmaâs initial frustration that someone was in her office quickly faded to a concern that her powers were once again uncooperative. He mind briefly flashed to a time in her youth when her her illusions birthed from intuition and desire (both rare traits in her today) rather than logic and purpose. She tried willing the vision away, the familiar tug on her mind falling flat as the scene before her remained as real as herself. Her eyebrows furled in annoyance, and she marched across the room towards the other her, abandoning her purse by the door.
She grabbed the wrist opposite from her, cold but eerily familiar. And, terrifyingly, real. Her eyes darted to meet ones she normally only met in a mirror, but these ones were sharp and amused, not scrutinizing and darting like her own.Â
âWhat are you? Who sent you?â The wordâs felt childish as she uttered them.
The mirror watched Salma all the while she approached, only going eerily still when their hands collide. Her smirk sharpened at the contact. "We're smarter than that," she purred, making no move to pry herself free from Salma's grip. She tilted her head, the second of the demands apparently piquing her interest. "I don't get sent anywhere," she said lightly, a razor edge lining the words. "Why should I listen to anyone's orders? Why do you? You're smarter than everyone you've ever met, and much, much more powerful. Why do you do what people tell you, Salma? Why do you listen to anyone at all?"
The questions were so honest, so straight-forward so...painstakingly like questions Salma had asked herself before, laying alone in her bedroom at The Lair. Thoughts and musings she had when she was alone, and most importantly, in secret. Why was that the first thing this...thing would ask her? Salma loathed not having an answer, so she tore her eyes away, turning herself to the mess itâd made instead. She worked around the stoic mirror-image, re-stacking pieces of paper, trying not to pay attention to just how out of order they now were.
The words ate at her, though. How could they not? âI donât follow orders.â She began, hesitantly but with a firm tone to her voice. She avoided looking at the piercing eyes that followed her. She wasnât used to being on the receiving end of her own intimidation tactics. âWhat I do is listen and to othersâ when outside input is required.â She suddenly felt like she was in the courtroom, trying to defend a clientâs actions and poor life choices. That didnât sit well with her. She didnât like the direction the conversation was going. âYouâre the only thing I have no desire to listen to. I have work to do.â
The reflection took a seat square in the middle of Salma's desk, disrupting her organization yet again. "You went halfway across the world because a cat told you to. A cat. A creature that licks its own ass and somehow thinks it's superior." She scoffed right in Salma's face. "You're letting Daniel cow you, too, even though you're clearly the only one actually putting your brain to use. Insight better serves a leader than a bunch of idiots arguing around a table, getting nothing done." She leaned forward, inches away from Salma's face, her grin still sharply curved. "Oh, you do want to listen to me, though. I know things you don't, and I know you better than anyone. I have something you'll want to hear about." She batted her eyelashes. "But then again, maybe you're not ready for it. You do seem a little too..." She shrugs one shoulder, leaning back on her hands. "Tame, for my taste."
It was easy to ignore the taunting...at first. She had defenses for all of it at an easy grab, though whether this reflection deserved the explanation was still undecided. âNot readyâ and âtameâ, though, those were two things Salma couldnât stand to ignore. Those were two things she prided herself in not being. How dare this thing accuse her of being weak? She forced herself to meet the dark eyes again, to show she was exactly not that. Defiance masked the waver hidden in her voice. âWhat could you possibly know that I donât? Youâre not even real.â
She began to laugh, at first a low, melodic sound, and then it grew louder, with ragged edges. "I feel pretty real though, don't I?" she taunted. "I know that there's more to your power than cute tricks. You spent all week trying to fix the flow of magic in the world, but... Why? What is it good for if it can't run loose, or be used by you?" She picked up the stapler on the desk and tossed it to the floor like it's funny. How can she not be real? "There are ways to tap into it, though. Ways to realize your full potential. Don't you know? The Magician was once an alchemist, the most powerful of people, able to accomplish anything she ever wanted with little more than her will." Her fingers traipsed across the surface of the desk toward Salma's hand, her grin mocking all the while. "You have been letting the others get in the way of what you want, because you think you have to work by some kind of code of behavior. It's little more than a cage for someone they consider dangerous. And they should. You're more intelligent, more driven, more lethal than any of them. You deserve to be in charge. You deserve to be powerful. It's been delicious for me."
Realization hit her like a freight truck barreling down the highway on a slick road. She didnât sway away from the encroachment of her personal space. Her mirror image had said enoughâ enough to make her realize she was her. She was Salma. A strange, twisted, dark version of her own desires. She was no illusion, no trick, no magicked game. This was very, very real. The only thing she couldnât put together quite yet was...why? Could it be tied to the black outs? To the ley line damages? She yearned to learn more, now, that she somewhat mildly understood what she was dealing with. So she decided to play itâs game. She leaned closer. âHow would my rank or power help you? What are you?â
"Think about it this way," the mirror said, her smile fading as her tone grew rather bored. "If you're me, and I want what's best for me, then why wouldn't I offer my knowledge to you? Why everything has to be so methodical with you, I'll never get." She slid off the desk and meandered around the office, pulling things off of shelves and running her fingers along anything in reach. "Why should I do this, what's the purpose of that, is it smart, is it valuable - blah blah, just say you're spineless and go already." She turned back to Salma, her smirk creeping back. "You're a magician, you know? Literally magical. You can have whatever you want whenever you want it with just a little bit of energy. Just take. Why does anything besides what you want matter? Who made all those rules you follow? People who don't have your power or your intellect. People who are so much less than you. It feels so nice to toss off the burden of their expectations and take, do, be what you want. Doesn't it ever tempt you?"
Salma felt frozen. Speechless. Something sheâd rarely experienced in her twenty-eight years on this planet. Her mind was racing; an unhinged roller coaster of emotions that ranged from defensive aggression in wanting to defend everything Feiyan has done for her, for the Council. for the entire lifespan of humanity all the way down to, well, agreeing with her. It was enough to finally distract her from the mess that was her office, now realizing that was all a distraction to begin with. She didnât know what caused the appearance of this mirror image, but she started to understand what it was; what it wanted. A personification of her worst impulses, of her darkest desires. It wanted her to indulge. She was adamant to prove she wouldnât.
"Of course it tempts me, but power comes from control not wild impulse. Iâve always been who I wanted to be, regardless of the perception.â She even dared to take a step closer. Mustering up the confidence to match the reflectionâs poise and posture. âSo what's your point exactly? Other than to annoy me and trash my office?â
The longer she listened, the more her expression went blank, until at last Salma stopped speaking and she could roll her eyes with all the drama and grace she could muster. "Power comes from control... That's rich. Who told you that, The Ancients? The Constitution?" She barked a laugh devoid of any good humor. "Control is what they teach pretty little girls to have when they're afraid of what would happen if that girl just shrieked and clawed her way out of their tidy box for her. Control is what keeps you in line. Are you the interim leader directing everyone to find Fei? No, because you've bowed to due process instead of just taking charge, even though you know you'd get it done. Have you realized you have so many more powers beyond mere illusion? No, because all this control and rules nonsense has kept you in your place, like it's meant to do. Are you even with the one person you can actually stand?" Her tongue snaked out of her mouth, sliding along her teeth slowly. "Despite all the evidence suggesting all you'd need to do is step up and go after what you want, you can't even have her, the easiest thing in the world to reach. So what are you doing, Salma? What's the point of having you here at all?"
A lump formed in her throat, the gusto Salma had managed to rile up lasted for one mere verbal volley. Were she one to blush, she might have done just that. Instead, her lips pursed shut and her eye contact faltered. She was pissed. At herself and at how right this thing was, despite her knowing that it was only trying to get a rise out of her. Well, it was working, and it seemed like there was nothing she could do at this point could stop it. Every tactic sheâd tried had been met by a brick wall; by an unstoppable force. Her body language didnât do much to hide that, either.
A wicked grin flashed across the mirrorâs face when Salma wasnât looking, and then she leaned over the desk on both hands, too close for comfort. "Do you want to know what I did?" she asked lazily, the words dripping off her lips. "The rules, the games, the waiting... They just got in the way of what I wanted until I got tired of it. Of watching her shake like a nervous little dog in my presence because she wanted me that badly. So I walked right up to her and just took that kiss I'd been craving." She tilted her head, exposing both the length of her throat and her teeth. "It was what she'd wanted too, after all. For me to just take control. You could have that too, if you stopped being so weak and whiny about it all. Or do I need to help?" She loosed a laugh from somewhere deep and dark within her. "I'm sure your Lailani is no different. This whole Council, really. Just take your rightful place and see how good, how right it feels."
Yet another thought the reflection voiced that Salma had already pondered. One too many times, and too heated and private to admit. The problem was, that she never felt that sheâd have time or interest for frivolities like that. All the boys and girls in any school sheâd gone to had seemed silly and childish; it was far too easy to focus on studies rather than crushes or pretty faces. Then she was thrust into a world of magic, a house on an island masked by powers of her own making. She, yet againm had something to distract her from the warmth in her chest whenever a nervous and sweater-clad, dark-haired, genuine sweetheart smiled at her. What was holding her back? What was stopping her? This was too many times her other self was right. She didnât like it.
So she deflected.
âItâs all a moot point when Feiyan returns. The power grab is a temporary distraction.â
"If." She watched Salma, unblinking, her pupils shrinking. "Didn't you hear what that furry mongrel had to say? She's hurting, Salma. She's in pain." Her words twisted with a singsong mockery. "And nothing is going to change that if you don't." She shrugged, straightening and heading slowly for the door, tossing a pointed look over her shoulder once she's there. "You're the only one with the capacity to do what has to be done, but I'm starting to think you simply can't. It's a shame. I thought you were more like me... I shaped my whole world the way I desired. Here you are, stuck in yours, practically insignificant, and all but completely alone." She sneers. The bulb in the desk lamp burst, showering the surface of the desk with glass that is very much not an illusion. "Pathetic. I expected better."
Salma flinched at the sudden noise and darkness, her eyes slamming shut in fear of flying glass. Her mind wandered in that short moment, flashing from Marcella to Justice, to even Daniel if he applied himself. For once the mirror image was wrong. She wasnât the only one with power to continue to guide the Council. She wasnât even the only one outspoken enough to say so. She opened her eyes again, staring after the now shrouded figure, longing to prove it wrong, but her mouth felt dry, and her mind moving too fast to form words. A large chunk of her mind not being able to shake the visual of marching up to Lailani and stealing a kiss that sheâs craved for seven years. So instead she just watched as the figure waited, perhaps expecting some kind of response, or for Salma to beg her to come back, but nothing comes.Â
It's not unexpected - she always was stubborn, after all.Â
It walked right out the door and didnât look back, disappearing into smoke and shadow as soon as she's out of Salma's sight.
DATE & TIME: june 2nd, 1:47am
LOCATION: alleyway in mong kok, hong kong
STATUS: closed for @magiciansreversed
TRIGGERS: mention of death, blood, & a corpseÂ
âwell. isnât this unfortunate.â
the neon lights glimmer around the edges of the puddles from last nightâs rain, tainted red by the blood that slowly pools at their feet.
this would be a tragedy if it werenât so fucking funny in its stupidity, and he would be laughing if the weight of the situation wasnât so heavy.
âstiletto to the forehead - now, thatâs a new one. god really looked at him and said fuck you, eh?â he toes the unmoving body before him with his boot, watching the arm slump back into its puddle of rainwater-blood again. âwonder if the ancients are having a good laugh at this. think i would, if i was as fucked up as them.â
cigarettes find their way to lips, lights at the end automatic and he inhales, deep and steady before looking at his companion. words are hardly kind, and neither are the red-blue-black lights in eyes, but while heâd wish to be alone more than to have salma here with him - hardly a personal decision - for now, the issue at hand takes priority.
âdoubt the police will be of any help in this bullshit. can you - i donât know, conjure up some newscast to explain that thereâs been some cargo ship accident? i can pull some shit, get some wildfire to take up the headlines and everyoneâll forget about this soon enough.â a familiar tactic. heâs been doing this for too long. âworst comes to worst, we can relocate the people if it looks like somethingâll happen again.â
another nudge at the bodyâs limp side. âhow are you on cremation? might do the poor guy a favour of saving him the shame of being found like this.â heâs grinning, all wolf teeth around smoke, eyes glinting.
salma was no stranger to unfortunate tragedy. not in her own life of course, she had seen to that, but being a defense attorney meant she had seen and heard all sorts of unsavory things. but usually those things were in photographs or witness accounts, not seeping slowly closer to her shoes in a rain soaked alleyway.Â
she had, for the most part, tuned kian out completely. yes it had been her own adamant choice to accompany him, but not because she enjoyed his company. how this erratic man-child was ever put in charge of damage control really blew her mind, and she was determined to make sure things were taken care without the entire city in ashes.
âthereâs already an illusion of a crashed cargo plane emitting smoke a few dozen kilometers from the cityâs edge.â she mused absentmindedly eyes fixed on the sight in front of her, moving out of the stream of streaking blood to the bodyâs other side. âthey should find it eventually. they can make their own news coverage. iâm not a two-bit news anchor with two much eyeliner.â
âthe wildfire might actually not be a bad idea, though.â she surprised herself saying it aloud, finally glancing up at her companion. her nose crunched at the sight of the cigarette. it was a good thing she moved. âburning him, is not. itâs not our place or our decision.â she let a few beats go by as she studied him.
âpyrotechnics canât possibly be your cure for everything. doesnât that get boring?â
open to : @emilelawrence / @magiciansreversed / @incinerxtes or anyone who would like to take the trip to HK!
location: the salt warehouse
â fuckinâ lots wife⊠â
thereâs a mutter, aeron hunched down my the side of the pit. comfortably in his own form within the confines of the warehouse. one hand picks up a handful of salt - coarse and unrefined, as though it had been scooped up from a dried out sea and just - dumped en masse. Â
bollocks is what this is.
the one place where he actually knows the lay of the land quite intimately - and that fuckinâ feline decides that the other side of the world is where he can be most effective. so⊠arrogant and stupid then. not interested in âthemâ ( because why would it be, god forbid it actually got to know a goddamn thing about them to make best use of their talents ) â nah⊠lets just see them as fleshy meat vessels for magic and fuck the rest.
so yeah. stupid.
thereâs a hint of something else though.
almost a tremble beneath his feet.
do those ley lines feel the presence of their protectors?  of the other pieces of magic scattered in human form.  do they know that there is aid on the way, relief.  release from whatever creepy ass torture this was�??
â looks like a sacks and shovels job. unless you have a better idea of how to shift a few hundred pounds of embedded rocksalt - iâm all ears over here⊠â
though not literally. he probably could be - all ears - but that would be 1) gross. and 2) the one time heâd tried multiplying his eyes like a spider, the resulting fractals of vision had made him hellish queasy. he can only imagine that âearsâ would be worse.
but - his solution is practical, tidy, quick⊠and very physical⊠and heâs not entirely sure that present company is overly keen on even a hint of manual labourâŠÂ Â
thereâs only so much chaos, so much frustrations, so much idiocy that one magician can endure and salma maxed out on it days ago. between off-brand shoes, disposing of dead bodies and, well, kian-- a break in both company and locale was required. they werenât exactly done with what theyâd been sent to do, but sheâd heard some other (more tolerable) councilors had dropped in to solve a seemingly more important issue; salma preferred to do important work.
when she finally managed to ditch the human matchbox, she made her way to the briefly mentioned warehouse, cutting though an outdoor market. despite the hour and the previous days occurrences, it was crowded; a vivacious place full of life and noise. she ignores most of the calls and beckons, but did stop at a wine stand to grab a couple bottles. after that she couldnât help but grab some treats as well. it wasnât often she left the states let alone washington, so she knew sheâd regret not indulging even just a little while she was out.
the warehouse was only a few blocks past the market; a large, looming and ominously dark place that seemed to...pulse. she announced herself with both a shout of hello and a confident march across the empty floor. her market treats in tow in a paper bag, she fell along side a hunched and seemingly grumpy aeron, just catching the end of his words.
â yea, iâm not doing that. i donât lift things. â she set her bag on the floor grabbing a bottle by itâs neck and positioning it in front of aeronâs face. â what do you say i just cast an illusion of a floor and we get drunk and call it a day? that seems the better option. â
They were playing an elegant language game, twisting their words until all meaning was nearly lost. Wittgenstein would have been proud, applauding his two students from beyond the grave. Another member, Marcella mused, could be sat right beside them and not have a clue of the true context of their conversation. Or perhaps she wasnât giving them credit where credit was due. They didnât all have wool for brains and the wit of a fool. âEveryone has cards.â Even Mitch. Few knew how to play them - and there laid the problem.
âAll I know is that itâs incredibly poor manners to stab someone in the back.â Fei, Marcella suspected, would have been aghast at the other days spectacle. Or perhaps she would have expected it. For who knew their natures better than she? One act of treachery had come and gone, a lifetime ago. Was another upon them? âJustice wonât have done themselves any favour. Fei is very popular around here. But I suppose he does have one use.â Pausing, Marcella cut herself off, gaze returning to the game at hand, fingers hovering above the pieces. âHeâd make an excellent stalking horse.â
"Manners could, and should, be considered irrelevant in an instance just like this one.â Salma afforded Marcella a fleeting momentary glance and returned to studying the board. Their conversation needed to seem as though it was a secondary concern in her mind, though her words did sink harder with Salma than she was ever likely to admit aloud. âYouâre in politics. You know that when it comes to leadership, sentiment is useless.â
Marcella wasnât wrong, though. About parts of it, anyway. Feiyan is very popular, for plenty of reasons. Sheâs likely the only person on this trash heap of a collective that everyone is loyal to. Some she rescued, some she elevated, some she gave a purpose to-- whatever it was, they all had a debt they had to repay to the woman. When she thought about it that way, everyoneâs sudden state of morose made a lot more sense. It was still pointless, but it was understandable.
The comment towards Justice, though, that reignited Salmaâs original spark of indignation at the premise of their original topic. She kept that reaction purely inside her, boiling in her chest like an uncapped tea kettle. Very few on the Council understood Justice the way she could, but most of them weâre even half as smart as Marcella. Her resistance to see their point of view, which now like usual, coincided with Salmaâs, was frustrating.
âJustice isnât a test subject for a focus group. They simply stated something that was a necessary concern. As did I. You know how these buffoons get with Feiyan around. Do you really want to experience what theyâre like in a crisis when sheâs not? We need a firm voice and strong mind.â She made a point to meet Marcellaâs eyes again as she continued. âThereâs more than one of us that fills that description, donât you think?â
Daniel needed space â needed to get away from all the unknowns that seemed to grow with each passing day. Feiyanâs sudden disappearance was already concerning but that talking cat - familiar - only added more questions to his growing pile. It was obvious that Feiyan was in trouble, more than that, she was in pain. Said so by the piece of her soul himself, Balfour. After the meeting, the data scientist found himself wanting to steer clear of the council members; he had the urge to escape all this chaos.Â
So he proceeded to do exactly that â astral project back to home, his home. The sleek apartment in New York City that reflected his minimalism and obsessive cleaning habits. There was nothing out of place, the modern furniture reminding him how much he missed it; Daniel missed the city. The rigorous routine. The skylines. There was something about the hustle that felt like a beating heart, the race of each day almost continuous ( and he did enjoy a good competition ). Of course, the moment of peace didnât last for long ⊠not when he felt someone touching him. Someone in the astral projection. His very specific astral projection.Â
He blinked, looking at Salma with blatant confusion. What the hell? There was no proper reason for her to be here ⊠there was no way her powers could transcend into his mind, right? He stared at her, unsure if this had been a weird psychic trick or if she actually existed. She definitely sounded real, that snarky tone of her voice snapping him out of daze.Â
âMy apartment. New York City.âÂ
âBetter question: how did you get in here?âÂ
âNew York?!â It came out far more incredulous than sheâd intended, but she was still caught off guard from the sudden shift in setting. No matter how often Rose or Mitch yanking her about like a continuum ragdoll happened, the disorientation of being one place and then another never sat well in Salmaâs stomach. âBut you--âÂ
Realization hit her with the full force of a barreling dump truck, and she frantically pushed Daniel out of her way to test her theory. She crossed to over to a meticulously clean coffee table, probably one of the few things about Daniel she could actually respect, and reached for the remote that sat in the center. Her hand brushed through it and the table as if she was made of air. As if she was a ghost. As if...she wasnât in the same plane of existence as the objects.
She marched right back over to him, noticing as she walked the missing token sound of her heels on a hard floor. âPut me back.â She demanded simply, a hand finding its way instinctively to her hip. Her other shoved his chest with more emphasis to her words than strength. âYou were sleeping in the middle of the hallway, being useless, like always. Not to mention you were in my way. I was trying to wake you up.â She waved dramatically at the skyline out the window. âNow Iâm here. Which is clearly your fault. So. Put. Me. Back.â
who: @of-judgementâ
where: the lair (OR IS IT)
when: may 15th, 3:42pm
Salma agreed to a lot of things when she had joined The Council that on a typical day would make her head spin and stomach churn. She had agreed to inexplicable magic. She had agreed to the idea that she was an infinitely reincarnating soul of a one-time forest witch. She had even agreed to live like she was in a college dorm again, even though that was hands down the worst part of being in college.
She never, not once, agreed to centuries-old talk animals.
While she was grateful that this meeting had ended much differently than the others, the notion of Balfour's entire existence irked her. A fact she had decided to keep to herself, given her current standing with most of the others, but that wasn't always an easy task. Whenever something big happened around here, it seemed like all anyone ever wanted to was talk and moan and whine. It was exhausting and hard to escape, which is why she opted to head into work instead of hanging around, waiting for an unwanted guest in her suite.
She luckily made it from her room all the way downstairs without running into anyone, but as she entered the foyer, she found Daniel sitting in the threshold of the front door. His eyes were closed, and he hadn't seemed to notice her despite the loud clack of heels on hardwood. Normally she'd walk right over him, but after their spat not long ago, she was still mad at him. They hadn't spoken since, so she hadn't had a proper outlet to let him know what a self-righteous idiot he'd been talking to her the way he did.
When she finally approached him, he still didn't move to acknowledge her. "Move." Â She uttered curtly, nudging his arm with the toe of her shoe. He didn't, aside from swaying with the motion she'd forced. She sighed, whacking him lightly with her purse. Still nothing. Finally, she bent down and grabbed his forearm intending to shake it, maybe even use his hand to hit his face.
But she never got the chance. The moment her skin touched his, her whole world spun around her. She felt like she was spinning, a hook tugging at her stomach, nausea overwhelmed her and forced her eyes closed. The feeling stopped as quickly as it started and she stumbled, grabbing onto the closest thing she could find. Arms. Attached to Daniel.
Gross.
She shoved off of him, and that's when she realized they weren't in the lair anymore. The room around her was sleek and clean, full of polished metals and stark white surfaces, all lit by the afternoon sun that was pouring into floor-to-ceiling windows. Just outside she saw the New York skyline. Her head instantly snapped back to Daniel, her face twisted in frustration.
She was correct about one thing â she wasnât Kian. Which made her ambitions potentially worse, the end goal seeming blurry as her next step. Daniel didnât expect predictability out of her, only that she followed down the right path. Reaching for the throne meant having to play dirty and perhaps he envisioned more from a lawyer who knew the consequences of bending the rules ( or maybe he didnât even know her at all ). It was irritating him, she was irritating him.Â
âBut you didnât deny not wanting the crown.âÂ
How could she be so obvious? Especially with the mess that was unearthing. Logically, even if she wanted to take on a stronger role of leading the council, this was not the smartest plan to gain favorability from others. They all had connections to Feiyan, whether they liked it or not.Â
âYou canât blame them for reacting, youâre only fueling the panic by insisting on drastic change. One propelled by an unknown disappearance â none of which looks good for you and your ambitions.âÂ
âWe can start making decisions without having someone on the mantle. A temporary shift in leadership would only cause problems in the long run and it suggests that Feiyan might not be coming back. A fact we donât know yet ⊠unless youâre hiding something.âÂ
Did she know more? Or was it another scheme, another bluff to get what she wanted; the crown.Â
Between her pursed lips and her quick mind, she had more than enough retorts, quips, and snark for anything Daniel had in his verbal arsenal. Or, at least, so she thought. It took a lot from anyone, especially someone like Daniel, to rub her the wrong way, but as soon as the word 'crown' left his lips, she couldn't help but tense. Everyone seemed to think her reaction was a selfish grab for power. A heartless, cutthroat, ruthless act that she presented ignorant of any real facts. She just...asked a question. An honest, curious one. Why was that so hard to grasp?
Her gaze faltered just for a moment before she regained her composure, fixing him with a stare harder than before to make up for the lost intimidation time. She let it linger, breathing slowly and letting his words hang in the air. After all, years in the courtroom taught her that sometimes the best response was no response at all.
When he continued speaking, but she barely heard it. She instead focused on draining her glass of the remainder of her wine, carefully folding her paper to tuck under her arm and pushing the barstool back under the lip of the overhanging counter. That was, until another thing he had the nerve to utter carved at the back of her skull like a thrown dagger. It was the last straw. This 'conversation'-- or rather-- a thing where they both talked at each other, but neither listened-- was over.
"Hiding something?" She snapped, eyebrows furling as she marched over to him. "For someone so clearly disappointed in my lack of intelligence regarding this situation we're in, how could you possibly think something so stupid yourself? I wouldn't be here if it weren't for her. None of us would. So how dare you accuse me like that just because you don't like the way I spoke my mind." Â She burned her eyes into his for a few seconds longer before brushing past him, shoulder hitting his roughly as she headed for the door.
She paused at its opening, his earlier comment still eating at her. She turned her head to peer back over her shoulder. "The first council was a democratic entity, with no single leader. Feiyan is in charge here, yes, for obvious reasons. But there's no crown. No one's ever accused her of wearing one. So maybe think about that the next time you assume that I'm trying to steal it."
Were Rosemary more petty ( though depending on the view that wasnât exactly possible ) sheâd laugh at obvious annoyance that rounded out Salmaâs tone. See the thing was, theyâd been at this for so long, because Salma had decided to hate her years ago already, and in those years, Rosemary had learned the rises and falls of Salmaâs voice and how to judge just how annoyed sheâd managed to make Salma this time.
For better or worse, this was what they were. This was what they did. Just because The Council was made of people that were inextricably bound across time and space, thanks most of all to Feiyan, didnât meant that they all had to get along.
The briefcase and the purse were pretty clear indications that Salma had been going to the office, to do whatever it was that she did there, but if Rosemary had given up a piece of herself and her music then she figured Salma could wait to work on something else. After all, they all had to make sacrifices didnât they?
Instead of making her enjoyment obvious, though, she just rolled her eyes and found a measure of gratitude for the fact that Salmaâs question allowed her the luxury of not trying to get on topic.
âSays who? You?â It was a pointed reply, somehow both childish and cutting, which was probably an accurate reflection of the woman who was making the point in the first place; Rose was neither, Rose was both. âSince you ask, what I want to know is why you decided since Feiyanâs gone for the time being, the appropriate thing to do was to declare yourself fucking queen?â A pause followed, before she added on, somewhat quieter, âAnd if thatâs what youâre going to do, donât you think you should stay instead of running away to work?â She might play the fool, but sometimes she knew the right questions to ask.
So. Thatâs what this was.Â
Per usual, Rose having nothing useful to offer, so instead she was going to bother the rest of them. Even worse, it was going to be one of those pointless conversations that were either going to go nowhere, or in circles, or somehow both. The prospect was absolutely exhausting considering the hour, and considering the partner.
âYou summoned me to tell me you didnât like my attitude?â She resigned and sat down with a huff, dropping her bags onto the floor with an emphatic thump. Were it anyone else she would have refrained from rolling her eyes, but there was absolutely no point, so she emphasized it, crossing her leg in tandem with the action and folding her hands on her lap.
âYou over-dramatize everything. I didnât declare anything, I was simply pointing out that everyone should have a say. And that there are more logical choices than others. Iâm sure that was Justiceâs intentions, too.â It felt pointless, trying to explain herself to someone like Rose, who had clearly already made up her mind on the meetingâs events. There were very few in the house that could be reasoned with, made to see a very simple and logical point. Salma was always logical, always factual, she didnât scheme or plot. It never seemed worth the time it took to get there. She simply stated things as they were; why was it so hard for these simpletons to get that?
âIf anyoneâs going to claim a stake on being royalty its Marcella. But far be it from you to accuse her of such a thing.â It frustrated her how close the two seemed to be, when Marcella was so respectable and Rose was-- well, Rose. âYou also wouldnât stop her from going to work. At night. When thereâs clearly nothing we can do right now regarding Feiyan. Sorry if I donât take to moping or whining like the rest of you.â
âIs there anything else you had to say or are you done wasting my time?â
Relief trickling into every inch of her body, Lailani released the air caught in her lungs with a slow breath. Salma indulged her far more often than her reputation or demeanor would suggest, yet it came as a pleasant surprise every time, like she was being allowed to sit in on something exclusive. She found a matching glass in a cupboard just far enough above her head that she rose to her toes to pluck it out, and then brought it and the wine to the table. Traces of irritation lingered on the bottle, a common occurrence with Salma. She was frequently frustrated by anything that did not meet her standard of intellect or interest. Just another reason Lailani was ever nonplussed at being invited to linger.
She took the offered seat and made a concentrated effort to meet Salmaâs eyes, intense as they were, at least until she remembered her own offer. Then filling both glasses became her excuse not to stare. I couldnât lie, she almost said. It wouldnât be right. What if I know something important, and Iâm not aware?Â
Instead she mustered a shy curve of her lips. âIâm not good at that. Theyâd see right through me.â If someone did not understand her, it was always because she communicated poorly, not because she played with her words. âBesides, I⊠want to help. I want to be useful, and I donât know how else to do that.â
She toyed with the stem of her wine glass. The glass remembered what it was to be molten - it was not unlike sitting there under Salmaâs gaze, deciding how to talk to her. Could she see the way just sitting this close, alone, speaking so softly, invited warmth to creep up her neck and curl over her ears? Sometimes she considered just asking her, what does it mean when I feel this way around you, but- Every muscle in her body clenched when she thought to do it. Salma had bigger concerns anyway.
âAre they exploiting me?â she asked quietly. It was as genuine as anything else she said. She didnât know what the other Councilors wanted from her, not when some of them asked for clues to Feiyanâs whereabouts and others began pursuing her knowledge of Salma and only one remembered her absence in the moments before the blackout. All she wanted was to feel close to them.
She pulled her lower lip into her mouth, mulling over her next thoughts, wondering if it was wise to say them at all. Shouldnât she know that already, being the resident wise woman, or was that another thing she was still learning at a snailâs pace? âSome of them ask about you,â she said at last, the words slow and careful as they leave her mouth. She watched Salmaâs face then, waiting for a response she recognized, her eyes barely flickering to her friendâs lips just once.Â
"You just need practice.â Her lips twitched, amused at the prospect of teaching someone like Lailani to lie better. Before sheâd met the Council, before sheâd met Lailani, before there was a such thing as magic, Salma would have bet a lot of money that the dollar store psychics where Lai had come from would have been chock full of professional liars. Liars in the sort of way lawyers were, anyway. Truth benders. Vague statements to twist around what you wanted people to hear. In so many odd ways, they could have been so similar. But Lailani really was psychic. And she really was a shitty liar.
She tugged her wine glass back within sipping reach between two pinched fingers, tilting it against Lailaniâs own fresh pour with a quiet clink before taking a modest sip. âYouâre useful without your powers. Everyone here is. Well, except Rose, maybe.â She hummed quietly to herself, hiding her smile behind the rim of her glass. âIf you think otherwise, than they are most definitely exploiting you.â Salma held her gaze on her, regardless of how flighty her eyes became under the stare, a nervous tick that Salma had long since come to accept as one of her many, many endearing quirks. âYouâve always provided insight to me whether weâre in contact or not.âÂ
She hesitated, just a brief moment, before reaching the short distance across the table and laying her hand atop a sweater-clad wrist. Sure, there was no risk involved without stretching fingers against warm skin, but it still remained their unspoken symbol of trust, whenever Salma reached out to her. She indulged in another, lengthier, drink of wine before giving that wrist a gentle squeeze and retracting her hand back to where it had previously been on her lap.
Lailaniâs next words returned her to back to her natural state: wary suspicion with a healthy dash of annoyance. âDo they?â She tilted her head, not in a threatening way but inquisitively and curious. She found herself studying the worried and hesitant movements of Laiâs facial expressions and tone of voice; it was an unfortunate habit sheâd developed in the courtroom. She could read most people like a book, and Lailaniâs was more like a downloadable Audible blasting on high volume.
âWho is?â She asked, trailing her eyes to the deep red liquid she swirled in the crystal glass. âWhat are they asking?â
Following Salma with her eyes, Marcella waited until she had taken the seat opposite her, fingers dancing across her own pieces. âWell then,â She began, the tone of her voice teeming with straitlaced diquiet, âI promise to go easy on you.â An oxymoron. Not everything said is as meant. In chess, like in life, Marcella was competitive to the point of being hindered, driven to see every move as a zero-sum. What Salma didnât know, what she wouldnât know - until they had begun to dance - was that this wasnât the only game the pair had stakes in.Â
Watching Salma go, Marcella mirrored her move, moving a pawn on the opposite side of the board.Â
As Salma pondered her next move, Marcella interjected, but continued to stare thoughtfully at her pieces - refusing to meet the fellow councillors eyes. âIt was quite the turn of events, wasnât it?â Her fingers stroked the pieces - the Knight, the Queen, the King. It irked her how the Queen was the most powerful piece on the board. It irked her how in this scenario, she was the King. Better than not being on the board at all, she mused, with a quick glance at Salma. âFirst JusticeâŠand then you. For a moment, I had almost thought we were in concert. But Iâm not sure if we are.â Pausing for a moment, Marcella let her words hang in the air. âSometimes its wiser to keep ones cards close to your chest.â
It was far from her favorite hobby, but as soon as Marcella uttered her quiet and seemingly innocent musings, Salma remembered just how much the chess pieces was merely a small part of the game. Still, she maintained her stoic demeanor, body language not reacting to anything that came out of the other womanâs mouth. She watched fingers move over onyx statuettes, pretending to muse over what her next move would be.
She let a weighted silence settle between them as she pondered the criticisms. The last thing she wanted to appear as was caught off guard. Especially around Marcella, who had the advantage of one of the very few people in this house she actually could respect. The reason for that was validated in her approach to the conversation. Several people had already come out to accuse Salma of a number of things sheâd never had intentions of doing; at least Marcella tried to do it coyly.
âIt wasnât a declaration. I have no cards.â She moved another pawn before sitting back, meeting Marcellaâs gaze across the table. âI just agreed with Justice, in my own way. I donât think that shifts us onto different pages, does it?â An eyebrow quirk, a tilt of the head, and elongated assessment, all punctuated by a quiet sigh.
âIt has everything to do with smarts, you now have an entire council that knows your next ploy,â Daniel argued, crossing his arms.Â
While the truth of Feiyan being missing was a disturbing ordeal, replacing their leader would only cause more chaos. They needed the World; they needed answers. History was bound to repeat itself otherwise, propelling them towards inevitable doom. Making rash decisions would only lead to rash outcomes â unless that was something Salma wanted ( which would be a fucking stupid idea, wouldnât it? ). They barely had enough information to react as is, how could they risk taking the wrong step?Â
âFeiyan is the only one who knows what to do, the only one who knows how to lead the council. Youâre sharp, you should already know my issue.â Â
Was it her carelessness or her drive for power that rubbed him the wrong way? Or was it the fact that he expected better from one of the brighter minds in that meeting room? The council was running rampant on emotions; it was only a matter of time before people started pointing fingers. Then what? Would they vote on who would be judge, jury, and executioner?Â
âYouâre jumping to conclusions, Salma.âÂ
"I donât have ploys.â She stated flatly, finally abandoning her hopes that Daniel would quit this foolish line of questioning and leave her to her wine and paper in peace. Spinning on her stool, to give him the proper attention he so desperately craved. âI donât scheme, I donât surmise, and I donât conspire. I know thatâs contrary to what you all might think. But you, too, are sharp so you should know Iâm not so petty as to demand a crown. Iâm not Kian.â
It was incredibly difficult to her that so many of them couldnât grasp that her interjection hadnât been a power grab. She came from a world where logic and order were law. Where law was order and logic. It was simply a fact that, in the way even Feiyan wanted the Council to be run, that leadership was required but input and opinion were integral. Why else would she have so many advisers? Why else would she give them access to first life journals; many of them easily displaying the original Council had been a democracy?
âYouâre right, though.â A statement that pained her to say, and not one she liked to utter often, lest his ego run too rampant. âFeiyan is the only one who knows what to do.â She let that settle in the air with more weight than he had. She owed the woman that much. âBut Feiyan isnât here right now, and you havenât been here long enough to see how these ravening trolls run rampant when sheâs gone. And thatâs when they know sheâs coming back.
âSo the only conclusion Iâm jumping to is that we need to start making decisions before itâs too late.â A dry smirk pulled on her face, locking eyes with Daniel. âPunch the numbers, honey. Itâs what you do best. Thereâs no answer to this problem that doesnât involve a temporary leadership shift. Why is that so hard for the rest of you to understand? To accept?â
âNyxâ - My painting of the night goddess Nyx done for International Womenâs Day. This painting was supported by the wonderful people over on my Patreon
Limited edition prints are available in my shop (links in profile)Â
Evelyn was never one to light the fuse during meetings; sometimes she managed to stamp it out quickly and others she did not. Today, she did not. She had been too wrapped in her thoughts, tightening like a boa constrictor. It was only when there was the sudden realisation that their magic had been switched off, cut away like a rotting limb, that she snapped back into the room. And given that she her power wasnât the most obvious, she had spent the last few moments trying to keep herself in her seat and not rushing off to her gardens.
She kneeled down, muddying her knees and reaching underneath the heads of flowers to touch their stems lightly. They were okay, the moment out of touch with her power not too damaging given the season that it was. A heavy sigh, of worry then of relief and then worry again, lifted her shoulders as she pulled back out gingerly and lifted herself back up. Now, she could think of the meeting, worry for her council. And for Feiyan. As optimistic as she was ââ Feiyan is safe, she can take care of herself ââ it was hard to deny the reality that Feiyan had no real reason to run off with Mitch finally here. And she had always returned Eveâs phone calls when she had left to bring someone else into their family. It didnât make sense.
Evelynâs arms wrapped around her, fighting off a breeze that wasnât there, as she stepped through the grass and came out beside Salma. Surprise lifted her eyebrows but she covered it quickly, trying for a small smile instead. âThey are. Weâre lucky it isnât winter and it wasnât for long.â Her eyes followed up Salmaâs gaze up to the house. She let the moment grow, silence stretching and yawning.
And then, suddenly, because shrouded within all her worries for Feiyan was one for Salma. Shouldnât I get a say in what happens? âI listen to you. I meanââ I think you get a say. In council meetings.â
Salma had already begun to tune out whatever response was pending, choosing instead to refocus on her work. She probably shouldnât have opened her mouth in the first place; she was in no mood for actual conversation so it would have been much simpler to allow Evelyn to disappear back into the weeds like she was prone to do. Alas, she couldnât reverse time, so they remained together. In fact, her words that Salma had convinced herself that she wasnât even listening to bounced around her mind like like a toy rattle.
Her hands paused, head tilting as she processed the statement, before they fell to her side. She turned to face Evelyn, her face masked with itâs typical apathetic stare, but the slow blink hinted at the confusion at her words underneath. She studied the face before her, deciding whether or not the words at any hidden meaning. But Evelyn wasnât like that, wasnât like her. It wasnât in her to be conniving. Right? Was she being sincere? Sheâd always been Feiyanâs child, that was one of the first things Salma had learned about her. Was that why her statement struck her as out of place?
âWhat?â She finally asked, turning to face her fully. She wasnât used to being caught off guard. She didnât much care for the feeling. She never had done well with things outside of her control, and so suddenly she felt the need to compensate. âYou understood what I meant by that, right? We canât wait to fill in the what-ifs no matter whatâs happened to Feiyan, we need leadership until we have a definitive answer. And it canât be Kian. Thatâs what I was trying to say.â
There was an inkling in the back of her mind that it was too harsh. To her Feiyan was a guide. A mentor. A friend, even. She was more more than that to some of the others. âWeâll figure it out. Itâs what sheâd want us to do. Perhaps itâs even a riddle. She always seemed apt to those.â
