dethroned

N I N A  I S M A I L 33 | "witch of the century" | ceo of foresight co. | begrudging lethe resident 

[wesley-allard]

the wanderer / nina + wesley

[ninaismail]

@wesley-allard​

“If you can walk around in your heels, you will find your balance sooner than most,” he points out, smiling faintly. There’s no weight on his shoulders, flakes of snow only, and he can’t recall a time where things were simple. Peaceful, not unlike his time on his farm for the last few centuries, but they glide across the ice, as much part of the bustling activity around them as they are apart from it. Wesley does not quite feel so lonesome inside his head anymore, and less so every time their shoulders bump each other, first on accident, and then again with laughter. It’s over in a blink, eliciting a sigh from him. He holds her hands, walking backwards off the rink, and the touch lingers, thinking of the strength in her touch and the warmth it brings. Though she calls it cold, he only feels warmth and his touch lingers for a moment before he nods, relinquishing his grip. “Of course, I cannot tell how cold it is right now,” he admits, accepting her skates from her and leaving to drop them off as she gathers their belongings. Wesley accepts his beanie back with a nod of thanks, pulling it back over his head, though that is the only concession he’s made to the brisk weather and it’s more to protect his hair than any attempt at warmth. A good thing too, when they leave the festival and the fake snow turns to real snow. It sticks to his cheek, and Wesley brushes it off, pausing as she does. Before she can leave, Wesley reaches out to hold her elbow gently. “Allow me? It will be snowing more before long, and at least this way you will not have to face the wind any longer than necessary.” He waits for a response, and then nods, turning on his heel to head back for the festival. It isn’t very difficult to get back inside, and he worries as he wanders around the benches that it might be lost, grabbed by a child or a worried person, but he spots it on the ground, peeking out, and grabs it, heading back towards Nina with swift steps. Faster and frowning when he sees the strange flashing from the short-cut they took, like lights bouncing off the stone. And a scream, too, that rattles his still heart and he’s sprinting, rounding the corner with the scarf clenched around his fingers, half-forgotten.

Well, who is she to argue with an offer from a gentleman? Besides, between the skating and the hours in heels, her feet could use the break. So Nina smiles, gives a nod. “That’d be lovely. Thank you, Wesley. I appreciate it.” And she does, really. But she would’ve appreciated the company more, she’ll realize later. First, though, she sees a flash of silver and tries to justify it, to make sense. A glimpse of a child’s toy, maybe, or one of the balloons from the event. But she should have known, should have recognized the insignia that has been burnt into the back of her mind since Reginald showed it to her. One worn by the people – the witch hunters – who grab for her now. Had they been trailing her? Waiting for her to be alone, and there she’d gone, giving them the perfect chance by sending Wesley away. But that will be something that she and more likely her brother can fret about later. If she makes it out of this – and she will.  Though fear makes her cry out, she was well trained for a moment like this, and it shows, a blinding flash lighting up the alleyway they’d been stood beside as magic flies from her fingertips. A hex or a spell, she’s not sure, but the incantation came from somewhere instinctual. Somewhere strong, too, enough so that she’s flung from her feet, crashing back into the opposite wall. A hand raises to her head with a wince, but Nina’s quick to her feet, though it means kicking her shoes off. The sharp pain from her ankle is concerning, but not as much as the two potential threats that lie on the ground now. Another one rounding the corner, maybe, and Nina whirls to face it, palms raising defensively, ready to fire off another spell – but it’s not a threat all. Just Wesley and, bless him, her scarf. “Wesley,” she exhales, staggering toward him and wincing as her ankle buckles beneath her. “I-I’ve no idea where they came from, you’d barely left and suddenly they were there, and I... I did what I had to do to stop them.” Trembling hands clench and unclench against fear and the frigid air, the snow coming down all the harder now. Those same hands find Wesley’s arm, seeking reassurance as well as balance. “I’d like to... to um, to get home. To get indoors, at least. Away, mostly. I’d like to get away.”

[ninaismail]

@noah-ismail​

“Politicians.” Noah scoffs with a specific strain of contempt. Even back in London, he never cared for politicians and their empty promises. He is not the type to sit around and wait for others to solve his problems. “At any rate, It’s a start. I will look into the recent entry into the town– your vision is a valuable lead, always.” He assures Nina, jumping off the seat to grab a glass of water for her. “This town is a full of eccentric characters. Who did you think I was talking about? Sokolovs? Or Birsen?” He snorts at the thought. He is not stupid enough to hire a man who once tried to kill his sister. Noah grabs a pitcher full of water and a few slices of lemon and pours a glass. He looks back at her with a mix of confusion and shock, letting the lemony water to overflow. He puts down the pitcher and turns toward his sister. He puts up a wry smile, shaking his head. “I didn’t give up anything, Nazanin.” He says, “everyone around me believed that I was born a failure. A magicless witch in the line of Ismails? A disgrace. But you– you treated me like an actual person.” There is no trace of woe or anger in his words. That part of him, the young boy neglected by his family, died years ago, long before he knowingly drank that poison prepared for his sister. “There is no other way, because you gave me everything. Without you, I would have been nothing. So of course you’re the most important person in my life.” His eyes flash unwavering, steadfast conviction that outlived his death. “But that is not to say other people are not important to me. Why do you think I stuck around in Lethe? I have friends here, people I’d sworn to protect. It’s just that you trump everybody else. It’s a simple matter of priorities.”

“Suppose I’m glad someone still thinks they’re valuable.” It’s perhaps indulgently self-pitying, but Nina has reason to be upset, she thinks. Not even she can see the value in the visions that had once made her renowned. Nina shrugs at the question, shaking her head. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ve not the faintest idea what to do with this sort of thing. Defense has always been your forte.” Noor’s shock at her assertion only proves her point, and her brows furrow, head shaking. “Your life? That was certainly a sacrifice, Noor. And do not tell me it wasn’t.” Her frustration wavers some at the end of his statement, her expression falling once more. It’s not as if she wasn’t aware of her parents’ treatment of her brother. But to have it laid out so plainly is something else. Nina sighs, shaking her head. “I just fear you sacrificed too much for my sake.” She says simply, with the shrug of a shoulder. “But I imagine we will never agree there.” Nina rises, then, dusting off her skirt before turning to her brother. “That being said, will it give you peace of mind if I look into further security? Best if you spend less time fretting and more time, well, living, I suppose.” It seems like overkill to her at this point, but if it will ease Noah’s worrying tendencies, well, she’ll allow it. “I’ll look into it. But for now, I think that our work is done for the day. You should go out. Meet up with one of those friends.”

[ninaismail]

@reginald-roshan​

Reginald places an ice pack against his cheek, hissing as the bruise burns from the cold. For a dainty, polite little man, Noor Ismail definitely packs a punch– to be fair, he didn’t pay that much attention to the older Ismail… As he readjusts his opinion on Noor Ismail, he answers the door. “Nazanin! What a pleasant surprise.” He is quick to put up a perfectly cordial smile, even though they are both trained in the art of pleasantries. Hollow apologies and tiptoeing around? It’s a delicate dance. “Are you sure? He has some unresolved anger down there, which, believe me, is usually hot. But I can’t exactly savor it when it’s used in threatening to decapitate me.” He cringes as he recalls that altercation. He highly doubts that Nina would bat an eye if he was shot in the back of the head. This is all too familiar, the apology leading up to an ulterior motive. “Ah, so this is a business call.” He knew that, she knew that; but he still kids around. “As long as you’re not carrying that deadly umbrella of yours, sure. Welcome to my humble abode.” Reginald gives a theatrical yet disturbingly perfect, courteous bow as he steps aside. His apartment is the balance between practicality and style. The antique, ornate furniture finds odd harmony with the contemporary elements. The room resembles that of a hotel– new, immaculate, detached. “So, have you finally come around? You must admit, I’ve been in this town for almost six months and I haven’t caused you any harm.” He says as he sits down on the armchair in one smooth movement, crossing his legs and leaning back. “I trust my intel was useful to you as well?”

“You’re too kind.” Nina quips back at his greeting, impressed by its sincerity considering the state of his face. She certainly hadn’t asked Noor to do this, but alas, these seem to be the duties of an elder brother. As it is the duty of a younger sister to grimace at the compliment delivered to her brother. “Simply overjoyed to learn about your attraction. Somewhat sorry about the threats though, truly. He took matters into his own hands.” Manners. She has to mind her manners, no matter what sort of traitorous snake she’s working with... ah, now she really does sound like Noor. “I did, in fact, come to apologize. But yes. There are bigger matters to attend to than a bruise, I fear.” She’s getting impatient, standing on this stoop, and her arms cross to show as much. Just in time for his theatrical welcoming into his home. Fighting back the impulse to roll her eyes, Nina walks in. Those same eyes scan the place for potential dangers hastily. Can never be too safe. Especially not nowadays, and certainly not around Reginald, despite his assertion that he’s caused her no harm. Not in Lethe, anyway. This much is true, but one doesn’t forget a near death experience with ease. “I don’t know that I’ve come around, exactly. But I have always been particularly good at assessing the value of something. And your information has been valuable.” There, she’s admitted it, hasn’t she? “It could be even more so, in fact. Have you heard anything more? I... saw something recently, regarding our mutual friends. It’s got me a bit unnerved.”

[wesley-allard]

the wanderer / nina + wesley

[ninaismail]

@wesley-allard​

Questions brew in his head, waiting to be asked, but it seems like he has a list of them when it comes to Nazanin so he stays silent, nodding to her response. “Hopefully magic proves more useful to you in a power outtage than my gifts did for me.” There, easy enough, and Wesley doesn’t mind letting the other mysteries rest. He has a while to figure them out, and when have he and Nina been able to do something pleasant in public? It occurs to him half their meetings are in the privacy of his home, and the other half are in the midst of chaos. Ice-skating, in comparison, is a world of difference. Their shoes are traded in for ice-skates, and he blinks in surprise as he looks at her, down more than usual without her customary heels. “You are shorter than I remember, is this truly the first time I have seen you without heels on?” he asks, surprise coloring his voice, his skates hanging absently in his hands as they await for hers. She’s always been well-put together, even wearing one of his flannels over her dresses. It’s no different now, still looking as though she’s stepping off a magazine cover, but with the snow sticking to her hair and the smile on her lips and the casualness of standing around in socks as though it a home. “It is different, but not in a bad way,” he finishes, turning his gaze towards finding them a place to put on the skates. They find a bench to sit on, lacing their shoes and once they remembers how to properly stand on them without an ankle falling this way or that, they head for the ice. First step, she wobbles, and he thinks it is like riding a bike, remembering how to balance his weight soon after. “I prefer this, it’s less cold than the Thames. For me, that is, are you not cold at all?” The dresses of today are vastly different than the ones he remembers, but he’s had years to adjust to the distance. He strays away from the wall to her other side, and Wesley smiles at her. “We will be natural at this in no time. I forgot how peaceful it is to do something like this, I am glad you invited me along. I might have stayed home otherwise.”

It isn’t until she’s been doing it for a while that Nina realizes just how much she’s been laughing tonight. Easy and free, chattering about weather and festivities. When had things last been this simple? Had they ever, really? As far as she can tell, there is no ulterior motive, no business proposition to follow through. Simply two people — two friends, two... well, certainly friends, at least — enjoying a festival without a care in the world. “Mm, perhaps a bit chilly, but really, I don’t mind it. Suppose the enchanted snow helps with that.” Nina shrugs, her smile wide. His confidence at pushing off of the wall makes her follow suit, her gaze following her company. “Well, I’m glad you accompanied me.” She says with sincerity, though it falters some as she wobbles once more, laughing only when she rights herself. “You seem to be much more of a natural than I am. Should have taken a few lessons to prepare, it seems.” But eventually they do find their way, and she builds confidence enough to let go of her companion’s arm, drifting on the ice with more ease. Their time passes perhaps too quickly once they’ve found their rhythm, laughing and joking and observing the other skaters and their flashy tricks. And then a voice comes over the speaker, announcing that anyone who has their time slot must leave the ice. Surprised by her own flash of disappointment, Nina gives a small laugh, a smile. “And here I was just starting to get a hang of it. Shame, really.” She takes Wesley’s hands in order to safely dismount from the ice and only then, when she realizes how similar their temperatures are, does she admit her fault: “Perhaps I am a bit colder than I thought. Shall we head somewhere warmer? At least for a bit?” Their belongings are gathered and they’re bound elsewhere, taking a side street, when Nina suddenly frowns. “Oh, bugger. I went and left my scarf on the bench – it’s no wonder I’m cold.” Shaking her head at her own forgetfulness, Nina sighs. “I’ll run back to fetch it, I know just where I’ve left it.”

[wesley-allard]

the wanderer / nina + wesley

[ninaismail]

wesley-allard‌:

Date: December 31, 2020 Time: 8:30PM Location: Winter Festival

@ninaismail​

The bracelet on his wrist is irritating. He isn’t one for jewelry of any types, and it reminds him of the tight, itchy cuffs he’s required to wear to official functions, but short of wiggle his wrist, Wesley ignores it, eyes drifting over the festival silently. “I have hopes this will go better than the last one,” he states blandly to Nazanin, eyes narrowing on the snowflakes drifting down and landing on his dark beanie. The sky is grey, but the snow is fake. “You would think people would be tired of the snow, too, I have heard the power went out for a fair few of you?” His house has electricity, yes, but he uses the majority of it so infrequently that he didn’t notice the entire time. Likely Nazanin, who did not have the luxury of ignoring the cold as it permeated its way through town, noticed if she had issues. Snow lands on her head, clinging to her dark hair. Wesley studies it for a long moment, though it dissipates only a moment after, and he blinks himself free at the uproarious squeals from the ice-skating rink on their left. “Do you skate, Nazanin?” They might not have seen each other a great deal during the mess of winter, but he did not forget their conversation about names. “I have not since…” A pause, as he thinks about it for a second, sorting through the centuries and then ending on a shrug, as if he cannot recall. “A frost fair on the Thames, perhaps. I do not remember.”

She hadn’t come alone this time. It was with the panic of the fall parade in mind that Nina had politely inquired if Wesley would be interested in accompanying her to this winter festival. To her delight — which she’d, of course, kept muted — he accepted the offer. And so here they are, wandering beneath a faux flurry. The air is cold but not unbearable, especially compared to the frigid halls of her house, now twelve hours in without power. “Unfortunately, yes. I was in the midst of brewing a cup of tea when suddenly everything went dark. Shame, really.” Yet the witch gives a sidelong smile, her gaze still forward, as if scanning the area for threats. She hadn’t foreseen anything but that was hardly as reassuring as it once would have been. That train of thought is severed by sudden loud chatter and a question. Nina’s attention is captured fully, her smile genuine at the sound of her own name. How surprising it still is to hear it in a voice that isn’t her brother’s. “Oh, here and there. As a teenager, mostly, but I reckon it’s like riding a bike. Can’t quite forget it once you’ve learned.” Or so she hopes. She allows a moment of quiet as Wesley parses through his memories, a smile flitting across her lips. “Suppose it’s time we amend that.”  It’s easy enough, trading in their own shoes for pairs of skates. Not the sort of shoes Nina hands over without a bit of chagrin, but she’ll make do. Whilst the attendants search for the proper skates, Nina stands in stocking-clad feet and smiles at her company, finding their difference in height has expanded some. And then they skate. Or, well, try for it. Nina wobbles some upon her initial mount onto the ice, and finds herself laughing, regaining steadiness by holding onto the arm of her present company. Quickly, she rights herself, and glides with more ease, her smile wide as she looks back toward Wesley. “Well, it isn’t the Thames, but this is is lovely, isn’t it?”

[ninaismail]

@tildaballantine​

“Clearly good reasons didn’t bring you– Sorry, force of habit.” She isn’t here to prod Nina for a story, and for once the journalist in her is perfectly quiet, content to let this slide away as the tall witch lets her inside. Nina doesn’t need heels to tower over Tilda and make her feel small, she certainly did a great job of it the last time they met, no matter how well Tilda hid it under a veil of pride. The edge of it is missing this time around, though, and the lack of an underlying bite is as suspicious as it is a relief. Her fingers hold tight to the flyer, though in truth there’s a half dozen more of them in her car and probably a few on the post outside Nina’s home. “People don’t just lose their spark, and certainly not someone like you. If it’s gone, I’d say its just simmering,” Tilda says, a tad stubbornly, as if the idea of Nina Ismail being less than top of the line is unheard of, and she supposes it is. But the woman isn’t lying, and a knot of worry builds in her stomach once more. She fusses with Layla’s hair, and nods. “I will accept anything you can offer me, even if its nothing. It’ll be better than sitting around, or combing the woods, or any number of things they want us to do.” All of which she would do, if it weren’t for pesky things like jobs, and a partner, and a child, and she’s only been able to search once in a while. Sometimes bundled up with Layla, and sometimes alone when she has the chance. She did assume it was the tea, and her lips quirk, a fragment of her usual humor, at Nina’s comment. “No one could accuse you of being a heathen. Have you tried a crystal ball before?” she asks, more curiosity than distrust, head spinning through the ways people use them in divination. Her fingers still on Layla’s head, and she looks at Nina. “What do you need from me?” How can she help, really? The Witch of the Century has little use for her, short of being the one to ask for help.

“I appreciate your faith in me, Matilda, though I fear it’s simply because you’re seeking a favor.” Nina tosses over her shoulder, tone light enough despite her bluntness. She’s done nothing to earn her merit as of late, and Tilda is here seeking a favor. Doling out compliments won’t make the magic any more cooperative, though. Nina should know. She’s tried it. Still, she’s sympathetic. A woman with a baby comes to you pleading for help. How could she say no, even with her past with the Ballantines? Can’t say no. Not really. So Nina simply sighs, nodding. “Well, I’ll give you what I can, then. Won’t promise much — certainly don’t want you getting your hopes up. But... I’ll give it a go.” First, though, she pours the tea and hands over a cup and saucer, trading off for the flier of Fiona. Pity, really, the thought of this smiling thing shivering in the woods somewhere. “I haven’t myself, but I had a tutor as a child who did. All sorts of magic lessons, really, but I do remember some of the divining process that she described. Have been doing a bit of reading, too. Plenty of time nowadays to try and light that simmering spark.” It’s a halfhearted story as she squints at Fiona’s photo then nods. “This will do for now. Follow me, won’t you?” The women enter a back room, well lit thanks to tall windows, though Nina is quick to draw the shades. “Oh, the darkness is just for me. Tend to have a terrible headache after this sort of thing if I’m squinting in sunlight.” She then sighs, sitting in what some would almost certainly deem an almost gaudy armchair behind a shining quartz ball, gesturing for Tilda and Layla to sit opposite. “Now. Ah, tell me about Fiona, I suppose. I recognize her face somewhat, but it helps to know what I’m seeking beyond the blonde hair and the freckles, charming as they are. Will help me seek out her... energy, if you will. What is she like?”

[ninaismail]

Date: December 16, 2020 Time: 11:15am Location: Reginald’s home

It truly is a shame to have to stoop this low. She never would’ve contemplated this a few years ago. No, this sort of information would’ve been handed to her on a silver platter by the very sort of power that made her the Witch of the Century. But those useful visions are gone, it seems, and she is no longer that. Took it all for granted. That thought brings about a huff, as does the trek to Reginald’s entryway. Well. Now or never. Nina gives a crisp knock then steps back from the door, hoping her smile seems genuinely apologetic when it opens. “Reginald. Good to see you.” Is it, though? Probably not for him, and she should amend that before she goes asking for favors. “First and foremost, please let me apologize on behalf of my brother. An altercation like that is... unlike him. I’m very sorry.” Noor certainly isn’t sorry, and truly, Nina isn’t, either. But she is a woman of certain decorum and also not so foolish as to try and ask for a favor without apologizing for what he’d suffered thanks to her brother. “I’ve a bit of a favor to ask, actually, about that alliance of sorts that you offered me a few months ago.” A beat, and then she tries for a jest, though it could be ill-received: “Shall I come in, then? Or would you prefer to keep your distance?”

@reginald-roshan​

[ninaismail]

@noah-ismail​

“Don’t tempt me, Nazanin. I still have my list of available doomsday bunkers in the States,” Noah is only half-joking because he did consider a doomsday bunker as an option for his sister. While he understands that it is a drastic measure… well, Drastic and Dramatic is the way of Ismails, so. “The Council is preoccupied with other issues in Lethe, especially with a man like Koslov on the seat…” Noah sighs. Thinking about the Council gives him a phantom pain of a headache. “Anyway, my point is we can’t put our faith in the Council to solve our problems, nor do we need their help. We’ve been doing this since you were a child, Nazanin.” He takes her hand into his and gives a reassuring squeeze. He is uncertain if her visions coming in less frequency is a blessing or curse at this point. It used to bombard her and… she had a different perspective than others– and he can’t tell if that did any good to her. “So they are planning some kind of an open attack… in Lethe. With fire, perhaps it’s involved with the arson?” Noah theorizes, although he can only guess what lies in the future. “…I have a few favors I could pull in the Council or the force. If I could convince them to issue a warning of some sort, we could at least keep a lookout for the likes of those fanatics. Some people in Lethe are also… questionably skilled at certain things. I could seek them out for extra protection.” He runs a hand through his hair, thinking out loud. “Witch of the Century or not, Nina, you’re my sister, and you are the most important person in my life right now. I’ll be damned if I let anything happen to you while I’m around.” He says with a frail, genuine smile– before ruining the moment by saying, “but seriously, panic room. Give it some thoughts.”

“That council could use a complete bloody overhaul. I mean, really. A man toting manifestos about unity in his kind? Disturbing, if you ask me.” Nina tuts. “Not to mention our chum Mr. Stewart.” Appointed security detail or not, he’s no true friend of hers. It’s for optics, nothing more. Visions may fail her more often than not, but she can still see through that much. Nina can only exhale at the reminder — they have, in fact, been doing this sine she was a child. It’s not the sort of thing she enjoys being tenured in, but her brother’s squeeze of her hand does bring about a flicker of a smile. Halfhearted, maybe. But something. “It would certainly seem so. I’ve no way to be certain, though. Can’t, ah... can’t really trust these things like I used to.” That’s another wry smile. It’s something, isn’t it? To get a vision again? But to be unaware of its value, if it has any at all... that’s not so easy. Nina scoffs, then, easily distracted. “Noor Ismail, I refuse to let you hire regular assassins on my behalf!” But, really, how bad is the idea? Still, Nina shakes her head firmly. A touchy subject, having assassins hot on one’s trail. Not unfamiliar territory. Her brother’s sincerity makes Nina meet his eyes, though something falters in her when he speaks. Enough that she rises to her feet, cracking no smile at his joke. Her back is to him, gaze out the window as she gives a go at voicing a familiar thought after a moment of quiet. “I shouldn’t be.” Nina sighs, then, and specifies: “I shouldn’t be the most important person to you. Oh, not to say you aren’t important to me, don’t fuss. You know you are. It’s just... it’s bollocks, how much you’ve given up for me. In your lifetime, now in your death. It isn’t as if I don’t appreciate your efforts, but I do wonder how your life would be if you didn’t have to give everything for me, all the time. That’s what I mean. I simply worry, Noah. As I know you do for me.”

[ninaismail]

dazzling haze | nina & wesley

[ninaismail]

@wesley-allard​

He blinks, as much from the way her face brightens as it is from the dawning realization of how different things are from the way he remembers them. “I am guessing you learned for something to do with the witch part of you? I was taught as a boy from a tutor who thought I’d take to it better than I did my readings.” Wesley laughs at the memory, shaking his head. “Didn’t click until later when I was in the war against Scotland. Nice to look at them, and think how small we look in comparison.” It’s a comfort when you’re dying, at least to him, though Wesley keeps this thought to himself with a quiet sigh. He hasn’t spoken of it to anyone, and he doesn’t know when that will change, and it makes it easy to hear the things unspoken in her own answers. His eyes linger on her face, lips parting to question.. to question what? He sighs. “I did not choose Lethe willingly, so I always find it difficult to fathom how other people do. Maybe it’s as you say: they wanted the quiet, among other things. Is it working?” The other things is the question, and one he considers asking, but Nina excels at switching the subject and he shoots her a knowing look. A short-lived one, as he considers her words again for a moment and then shakes his head once more. “Wesley. You can call me Wesley, if you’d like.” He doesn’t know if she will, but they have known each other long enough to step beyond the formality. 

Has no one told her how difficult it is to live after surviving something? Wesley shrugs, and explains. “Not many people keep moving, a lot of people crumble forever. You? You take a hit, and you keep moving, you have the look in your eyes.” If he thinks he’ll get a straight answer out of her about coming to Lethe, he’s sadly mistaken as she goes on. She’s a master at giving away just enough to answer part of the question, and leaving him to wonder on the rest. “You have a brother here?” he questions, starting with the easy question she offers him, letting the pieces of everything else fall into place on their own. His eyes slide from her, figuring she’d prefer less attention when it comes to this. A brother, and a fire, and something too painful to talk about, though he recalls her reaction at the parade and supplies an answer. “Think you have quite the collection of stories then, don’t you, ma’am?” he returns, eyebrows raising, returning his gaze to her. His face softens. “You do not have to say. Some stories are hard to share, I know.”

He’s trying to read her. Nina can see as much in his expression, and it’s enough to make her gaze dart away. Why? It’s not as if she’s not used to a purveying gaze. But his is measured. Calm rather than frenzied in its searching. He’s no paparazzi, no gossip mongrel. This search is more... earnest. More genuine, certainly. And perhaps that’s what makes it harder to stomach. “Suppose it’s had the opposite effect on you, hasn’t it? Being suddenly added within the wards must mean you’ve got more visitors.” An impish smile, then, brought on by memory. After all, it wasn’t long ago that she’d mistakenly wandered up his dirt path. Sighing then, Nina shrugs. “Certainly, yes, it’s different. The pace is slower. I’m not as certain what it’s meant to fix, but compared to what life in London felt like, I’m quite sure something has changed.” The look he sends her way at her avoidance is enough to make her nearly laugh. Most people don’t see through the facade so easily, not unless they care. His introduction makes her smile soften some. She takes it to heart. “Apologies, Wesley. I’ll stick to the informal, then.” She nods, then, remembering her manners, reciprocates: “This means I should ask you to call me Nina, shouldn’t I?” The witch genuinely laughs, then, shaking her head. “Or I could ask you to call me Nazanin, but hardly anyone ever does that. Reckon Nina’s easier.”

That’s likely a practice they have in common, Nina realizes. Altering themselves, their honest truths, to suit the outside world. It’s a bitter thought, but sweetens some as he goes on. She can feel herself smiling, gently now, before she has a chance to stop it. “Kind of you to say.” The witch simply murmurs with a small shake of her head. Not sure she agrees -- after all, Nina Ismail, Witch of the Century... she feels like she was left across the sea. If that’s not crumbling, she doesn’t know what is. But she won’t argue, not with this man who knows so little of her truth yet is quick to reassure her. Kind of him, really. His question is simple, but when it coincides with thoughts of her origins in Lethe, it’s less so. Nina keeps it simple. “I do. Noah -- well, Noor, if we’re meant to be sharing the real names. My elder brother. He was a witch like me, but, ah... he’s like you, nowadays. A lich.” Her doing, that. But she swallows that story, its bitterness having stripped her of any semblance of joy even if it remains unsaid. That doesn’t last long, though, as Nina manages a small laugh at his reciprocation of her own question. “Suppose we both do.” She agrees, responding to his second evaluation with a mere nod. Sharing borders on impossible, and the possibility is fearsome. Overstayed her welcome, anyway. “Well! Mr. --” Nina catches herself then, smile feeble. “Wesley. You needn’t play the cordial host any longer. I should be on my way. I’ll come ‘round with those paint samples tomorrow, so long as you aren’t sick of me just yet.”

[dailywomen]

The advice I would’ve given myself 10 years ago is kill the bully inside your head. At the very least, when you’re being bullied by other people and by society and by media, you cannot, on top of that, bully yourself.

[tildaballantine]

Date: November 18, 2020 Time: 11:15am Location: Nina’s Home

@ninaismail​

Maybe its her fault for not knowing for almost four days, maybe she missed the moments of searching. Its too late to scour the woods, and walking Fiona’s path with her weary looking uncle is a little too much for Tilda to handle. This is Lethe though, and she’s got other avenues, and if one them potential hates her guts, so be it. Its not hard to find Nina Ismail, she just follows the trail of exasperated judgment until she finds her – that is, she badgers a source into spilling the beans and then invites herself over to Nina’s home and knocks on the door like its a normal visit. And maybe it looks that way to others with Layla strapped to her chest the way she is, but Tilda’s face is all business when the door opens. “I didn’t think you’d come back to Lethe,” she says bluntly by way of greeting, though both have been in town long enough to know the other was there. From her pocket, she unfolds a missing person’s flyer. Its crumpled, and worn, and its the one someone handed to her in a news room on November 4th, the first time she realized Fiona was gone. “Have you seen these around town? I’ve seen dozens, and you’d think with the amount of people in this town someone would have contacted you about it.” But she doesn’t think so. Nina is the witch of the century, and Lethe treats it like an empty title, but Tilda isn’t a fool. She holds Nina’s eyes, trying to convey sincerity, and she thinks it comes across like desperation. “You don’t owe me anything, I get that you probably hate my guts for something that imbecile of a brother did, but…  She’s my friend, she’s my daughter’s godmother, and she’s a good person.”

[ninaismail]

This isn’t her inaugural house call. In fact, at her peak, this sort of thing was rather common. Favors of this to friends or business partners that wouldn’t burn her at the stake were a frequent occurrence. But it’s been quite some time, and it certainly doesn’t seem like her visitor’s intention at first glance. In fact, Nina is somewhat irritated as the security system her brother installed beeps, only a split second before the pendant beside her door gives a sonorous hum. Nothing like magic and the mundane working hand in hand. The knock on the door comes next, and Nina huffs a sigh. “Just a moment!” A paint brush is set aside, the borrowed flannel she wears as smock quickly unbuttoned and tucked away. The art of making a house a home isn’t exactly easy, but at least it gives her something to do. She’s distracted by her painting efforts when face to face with Tilda -- and a baby. How interesting. “You weren't the only one who was surprised.” Nina replies with ease, then lets the other witch get to the point. Ah. She’s rather unfamiliar with the woman in question, but the posters themselves... well, how could you miss them? The fae family had practically covered every surface in town with Fiona Laughlin’s smiling face. Pity, really. “I’ve seen them, yes, but as far as them being addressed with me...” Nina trails off as Tilda begins what resembles pleading. Bringing up Cassian, too. Well, then. The taller woman sighs with a nod, gently taking the poster from the outstretched hand that offers it. “Come in, won’t you?” A kettle of tea is put on, to buy Nina time more than anything else. Her eyes scan Fiona Laughlin’s face, lips pursing. This is as good a time as any to put those new purchases to use, it would seem. “I would like to preface things, Matilda.” Nina turns back to the other woman seriously. “You knew me when I was at my best. That’s... simply not the case anymore, I’m afraid. But I’ll try. Oh -- no. Not with the tea.” She follows Tilda’s gaze to the now whistling kettle and shakes her head. “Please, that’s just common courtesy, I’m not a heathen. No, I’ve just bought a crystal ball, actually. Pure quartz. We’ll give that a go.”

@tildaballantine​

[ninaismail]

dazzling haze | nina & wesley

[ninaismail]

“Indeed? That is something you always say then?” he asks, eyebrows arching, a smile at the corner of his lips. “She says the same, and enjoys adding the tidbit about trusting your twin. I should start listening to the both of you more often, oh wise ones.” Wesley’s never thought much about it. When the sky is as dreary as the snow blanketing the farm, he tends to have little in the way of work, but his eyes flicker to the window now, catching sight of the sky through the trees. “I will start looking up more when I am outside, maybe I will remember my lessons on the constellations while I am at it,”he promises, hands in his pockets, faint amusement in his voice. Her history is a little foggy in his head, he knows she’s someone of importance, and no doubt from the same social circles that once shunned him back in the day. Wesley files this away for future reference, even as surprises works its way across his face. “You run a company, and they left you here in Lethe? I have seen this town enough to know it is the place businesses come to die unless you are meant to work with towns this small and this…. secluded,” he points out, bemused. It doesn’t last long, heartened by the smile on her face, and it has no right in making him smile back. What does it matter if he’s the one who put the look on her face? It doesn’t, and its certainly not worth smiling about, he knows she’s held finer things in life than an old flannel, but nonetheless, he’s proud. Proud to put that smile on her face, however brief, and for whatever reason. Well his head is a mess, isn’t it? Nina inspires that, like she shakes out the old and invites in the new. “I moved into this home before the American Revolution. I entered town… I’d say during their celebrations in July this year, I did not have much of a choice in that regard,” he says, though the answer is more apology than not, taking in the look on her face as she explains her scars. His eyes don’t linger on her back, shifting up to her eyes the moment her hair drops like a curtain, and he nods his head. “You are resilient, charmed flames do not seem as pleasant as it sounds. Is that how you ended up here?”

Nina brightens at the mention of the constellations, though perhaps she shouldn’t. Lessons drilled into her at school, anyway. But they’re easy to be drawn to -- outside of their shimmering facades, they’re said to hold signs. Tell tales about the incoming day given by light made so long ago. She can appreciate that. “I didn’t expect you to be knowledgeable about the constellations, but I suppose I should’ve known better. I imagine we learned about them for different reasons.” She replies with ease, though they soon get into topics that are less simple to navigate. Her lips purse at his question and she sighs softly. It’s trepidatious territory. Trying to wade through this without exposing any of the raw emotion brought about by it borders impossible -- or it would, for someone less experienced in putting on a facade. “It was my choice to come to Lethe, actually. No one deposited me here. I know it comes as a surprise. This isn’t my ideal, really. But my brother is here, and I quite missed his company. I... needed somewhere quieter, too. Or, well. Wanted it.” There, that’s easy enough. The shallowest version of an explanation, really, but it’s her best attempt. Those details are less than ideal to dredge up, and so she doesn’t, deflecting the attention for once. Her brows raise at his mention of dates, her facade broken for a moment. “Well.” The witch finally replies, shaking her head. “You have quite the collection of stories then, don’t you, Mr. Allard?” 

It would've been too easy for the focus to stay on him, though. Nina is quickly left in the spotlight again, finding the sensation overwhelming even if his question is far from prying. It’s his first comment that takes her aback for a moment. As does his gaze, gentle and far from judgmental. She usually despises people’s pity. But it doesn’t feel like pity from him. Simply... care. Yes, she’d healed, but hardly as well as she should’ve. And she’d up and ran. Hard to feel resilient after that. So Nina must swallow hard after his comment, surprised despite herself. “That’s... rather kind of you to say.” She exhales noisily then, reddened lips pressing together before she gives another flimsy story. “Yes and no. This is my second residency in Lethe. My first was before you arrived, it would seem. But it was brief. I came here initially to find my brother after we were separated, and then returned earlier this year because... well.” She hesitates then. Isn’t that what he’d been wondering? And yet Nina puts on a winning smile instead of handing forward the truth, a laugh emitting from somewhere reflexive. Call it self defense. “The story isn’t interesting, I hate to say. No need to dredge it all up, really.”

[ninaismail]

@noah-ismail​

“I can and will condescend you all day if I have to, sister dearest. I highly doubt anybody else in this town is more qualified than I am.” Noah warns her, looking over his shoulder and shooting a strained smile. “You already have two glorified closets– I fail see how a third one could do you any harm.” He mutters as his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He lets out a rather uncharacteristically loud ‘ha!’, followed by a bitter, low laughter. “Genuine is not something Councilman Stewart is capable of, darling. He is a lawyer.” He rarely reveals his unabridged opinions, always wearing a delicate, almost transparent layer of propriety. Noah is always honest; he just keeps himself in check with his manners. His sister is one of handful people he lets go of his compulsion to be polite. “You had a vision?” Noah sits up straight, his brows furrowed with concern. His lips part, about to launch into a two hours of ‘fussing over’, but he bites his tongue as she dismisses his concern. “It’s been a month?” He repeats. Taking a deep breath– even though he technically doesn’t breathe– he runs a hand through his hair. “Alright, alright, no fussing over. It’s a good thing that nothing has come of it yet… And your vision is never wrong.” He processes the thoughts out loud, the dangerous act he pulls only around his sister. “Did you see any face? If they are indeed in Lethe, we need to find them. That is a matter of public safety as well.”

It’s nice, isn’t it? Their normal back and forth, the banter that no one in her life had ever quite matched after she’d lost her only brother. So even as he asserts his right to condescension, even as she gives a reproachful huff, Nina smiles. The closet comment twists it slightly, and she’s quick to nitpick. “Those are not glorified, simply glorious. I will not damage the aesthetics in order to act like some sort of dreadful doomsday prepper.” His bark of a laugh raises her brow, but Nina simply replies with a smirk. Noah is usually tight-lipped, but contempt breaks even him, it seems. They have that in common. “Ah, of course. Silly of me to have thought otherwise.” She quips back with ease, but it’s punctuated with a sigh. Troublesome, this inaction from the council. And her vision even more so. Her brother affirms that thought with his reaction, and Nina raises a palm, quick to halt him. “Let’s remember that I used to have a dozen visions in a day, Noor. I’m fine. It’s fine. I would have appreciated it a bit sooner, but that’s neither here nor there...” His next question earns a grim nod, and the younger sister looks down. It’s hard to not be disappointed. After all, she’d once lived up to her title. She’d navigated her visions with ease, had used them for good. Now, if they even appear, they’re essentially useless. As her brother parses through the details aloud, Nina sits back, pinching the bridge of her nose. As if the simple memory of seeing could conjure a headache. “Hardly. It was only a glimpse, and I only realized it was them because of that ridiculous brand they all wear. Less than incognito, I’ll tell you that much...” Nina rolls her eyes as if subtlety has ever been her style. The hypocrisy not observed, she goes on. “It was more... the violence. The pain of it. But that doesn’t mean it will necessarily be me getting hurt, we both know how I like to project. I saw everything in the midst of that awful fire, which certainly didn’t bring back the fondest memories.” She looks back to her elder brother then, one of the few people whose advice she’s ever cared for. “Who do you suppose we should contact? They may have believed this sort of thing back in London, but I doubt Lethe's council will. Not really the Witch of the Century anymore, am I? They've no reason to believe me.”

[ninaismail]

dazzling haze | nina & wesley

[ninaismail]

@wesley-allard​

Was it important to him to see the colors of his walls? It requires caring in general, something Wesley is having difficulties grasping in general, like its water fleeing between his finger tips. More jarring is the fact that he can’t recall when it faded over the centuries, and he doesn’t even notice the frown on his face as he thinks until she speaks again. “You are right,” he says after a pause, sighing, his arms crossing, the vulnerability a little difficult to expose. “My sister, Isolde, she might say the same thing. Even if I do not sleep here, I should have some pride.” No, not pride, but Wesley can’t find the other word. He substitutes it for happiness, for comfort, and none of those fit either, so he lets it settle there, shaking his head. “Forgetting the sky, or the snow?” he questions, returning back the situation at hand, pushing the near existential crisis to the back of his head to stew. Wesley smiles back at her, and its not so foreign or surprising, but the quiet laugh as she nudges him is. “I think I’ll leave the interior designing to you, but I assume this is not the only thing you do in Lethe? I realize I do not know much of what you do.” Her concern over the fabric is touching, but ultimately he has a collection of flannel and he isn’t too beat up over the flecks of paint on one of them. Wesley shakes his head, and says, “Needn’t bother. You’re welcome to keep it, for any other messy endeavors you might decide to try.” He catches sight of the markings on her back, a glimpse of which he only saw briefly during the parade, and his reply to her question is a little distracted, trying to find a way to ask about them. About the events of the parade in general, really. “In Lethe, or this particular house? I’m afraid both are wildly different answers, I am not native to this country or this town, even if I have been here longer than both.”

His agreement makes Nina grin, raising a brow as he mentions a sibling. “Well, I think she has a point. And as I like to say, one must always have faith in their sister.” Or so she nags to Noor when he refuses to listen to her. Or let her decorate police property. Or replace the contents of his closet. “Forgetting the sky. That’s unfortunate,” the witch answers his inquiry with a frown, shaking her head. “Snow can be dealt with. And besides, there are always winter accessories. But forgetting the sky, well, I suppose that just means you should get out more.” It’s a jest to this man who works in the outdoors, and her smile shows as much, until she’s grimacing at the state of his flannel. “Ah, well, I do dabble in other things besides painting, yes. Not farming, though I hate to disappoint. I used to run my family’s company. But now... well, I suppose I’m not sure what I do. Much easier to conjure up a business in London than it is in a town like Lethe.” His lack of concern is surprising, and the offer heartening. At one time, Nina would have scoffed at being handed a button down shirt. Like she would need a donation, let alone one of this kind. But now, it makes her smile. “I appreciate it.” She simply nods, folding the shirt and turning to set it aside. Wesley’s gaze raises to her face when she looks back to him, but not quickly enough. No, she’s familiar enough with the marks he’s looking at. Has spent her own time staring in the mirror, after all, at the newly blemished state of her back. She answers his question first: “I meant in Lethe, but either answer will do...” It trails off then, and the witch sighs. “Charmed flame.” Nina offers to answer the unspoken inquiry she can see revived now in his eyes. She gestures behind her to clarify with a passive shrug though she feels anything but. “The scarring. It was done by charmed flame, which is why we couldn’t mend it. I was, ah, suppose you could say I was attacked. At a function for that delightful family business.” It doesn’t bother her. Really. Or so she’ll say if asked. But her quick removal of the ponytail in her hair says otherwise, her long hair serving as a shield over the harmed skin. Just because he knows doesn’t mean she enjoys being on display. How things change.

[ninaismail]

dazzling haze | nina & wesley

[ninaismail]

@wesley-allard​

“I spend very little time in here, I’m often out there,” he admits, flicking his knife to the window, shut tight against the cold air outside. He tests the the edge of his knife against his thumb. A tad dull, and he sets it down into a bucket to be sharpened later. “It didn’t occur to me as something to worry about until you were here, pointing out my blindness.” His eyes flicker to Nina who has come to be a regular guest in his home, albeit she comes with commentary on what pieces need working on and he’s spent more time fixing things up this month than he has in nearly two decades. Truthfully, his flannel looks a little odd over her pristine dress, but he enjoys the sight as proof they aren’t so different that they can’t be friends, something that worried him once it occurred to him that Nina is, in fact, his only friend these days. What a pair they make, he thinks, blinking in response to her question, and looking to the streaks of paint on his walls. Flecks of paint are on the flannel over her dress, so at least it did the job he intended it to be when she walked in with paints. “Not sure. Give me a minute, if its so important to you then I should - perhaps - give it more focus than half a second,” he murmurs, standing up from his perch on the sofa, trying not to laugh. She doesn’t have to come here every so often and keep him company, but she does and the least he can do is humor her. “Blue, you think? Would like nice in the winter, it snows real bad up here and I forget what color the sky is.” An exaggeration, but not quite, it did get gloomy enough and grey enough that a splash of color might be the type of thing he needs to pull himself out of the haze his life has become. His eyes flicker to her dress for a moment, frowning thoughtfully. She makes most colors look striking, he knows this already, and yet the blue… “Do you have any like the flowers on your dress? A little darker than this one,” he says, indicating the streak of a lighter blue and then turning to look at her, trying to gauge her opinion. 

“Well, I suppose that’s what I’m here for then, isn’t it? Point out some blindness. I would say something about liking the roof you sleep under, but...” The witch smirks over her shoulder before regarding the colors on the wall with utmost sincerity. His evaluation does earn her respect, really, since he is willing to consider the importance of color choice. But he’s doing it for the wrong reasons. “I should hope that it’s important to you as well, Wesley. But I suppose even if it isn’t, you still deserve somewhere nice to live.” Nina’s arms fold against her chest as he joins her, her gaze wandering to his face to properly watch his expression. Important matters being decided and whatnot, nice to see his opinion as much as to hear it in words. “Now, that’s a pity.” She frowns as he mentions the snow, though that territory is familiar -- many a gray winter in London will do that. It’s when his gaze turns to her that Nina raises a brow, as expectant as she is confused. As Wesley elaborates, though, she smiles slowly. Consider her charmed. “Well... this is more of a cerulean than the other blue, but yes, I do suppose I could scrounge something up. A little darker... yes, that would suit the room, wouldn’t it? See?” Playful as she gets, Nina bumps an elbow against her counterpart’s arm. “You’ve got an eye for this whether you know it or not.” She unbuttons the flannel she’d acquired then, brows furrowing at the flecks of green paint on that fabric she’s only just noticed. “Oh, and here I thought I’d done well. I apologize -- I’ll have this properly laundered and returned to you.” Better than the alternate of getting it on her dress, but still, not the goal. Nina’s about to fuss with undoing the ponytail in her hair but simply sighs and decides to leave it, raising a brow in Wesley’s direction as a thought occurs. “You know, Mr. Allard, until this very moment it hadn’t occurred to me to ask: how long have you lived here, exactly?”

[ninaismail]

@noah-ismail

Crouched in front of the front door, Noah puts down an electric screwdriver just to shoot a pointed look at his sister on the sofa. Unlike the Witch of the Century, her brother was born with almost no talent in arcane arts. He had to learn how to protect her without magic, through technology and tools. “One can never be too careful, Nazanin, and magic is not without its limits. These extra measures are physical– concrete. They are better than nothing.” He lectures with his typical responsible older-brother tone. He resumes back to drilling and wiring for a few minutes in silence. He puts everything back into the toolbox and replies, “like I said, better than nothing. At least this way, if the wards fail, it can buy some time– and I still think you should reconsider the panic room idea.” He dusts off his clothes (surprisingly casual compared to how he dresses most of the time) and flops down on the new sofa. Even though he abandoned Ismail family’s extravagant lifestyle years ago, it still remembers him. He fits right back in as if he never left. He looks back at his sister, his brow raised in a specific way that reads ‘do you need to say something?’ He doesn’t need his undead mind-reading to read his sister. “Funny you should say that. It was not my idea but Councilman Stewart’s.” He points out, rolling his eyes as he thinks about Councilman Stewart. It is no news that he is not fond of that man. “Since you, and by extension our family, are too high profile, if something were to happen to you in Lethe, it is a ‘bad publicity’” he air-quotes Stewart, with yet another eye roll. Consecutive eye rolls are bad signs with Noor Ismail. “Anyway, c’mon, out with it, then. Surely there’s something on your mind. You have that, look about you.” 

Nina raises a brow as her brother tells her about limits of her own powers. “I of all people know that. The condescension, really.” The once-Witch of the Century knows more than most about the foibles of magic, doesn’t she? She raises her palms in some sort of mock surrender as he goes on. “Fine, fine, consider me properly secure.” She watches her brother’s work quietly as he goes on, then hands over a few of the tools to help him in cleaning. “Noah, please. We have this place charmed and locked to high heaven, I really doubt a glorified closet will make any difference. It’s fine as it is.” She gives a tut as her older brother flops back onto the sofa, sitting more primly to join him though her feet do return to their propped position on the ottoman. His inquisitive look makes her confused at first -- it’s replaced with surprise. “Hugh? What could have possessed him to do that?” She guffaws, but Noor’s explanation makes her mirror his eye roll. “Ah. I see. Keep tabs on the potential liability, of course. Foolish me, thinking maybe he’d have genuine concern after hearing what I’d told him.” And she’s just done herself in, hasn’t she, but her brother already noticed her troubles thanks to the expression on her face. The younger Ismail huffs out what could be a dramatic sigh but punctuates it with what she hopes is a casual shrug. “I... well,” another sigh, more genuine, and Nina searches for the right words, the sort that won’t make her brother anxious. She’s not sure there are any, so she just goes on with it, certain that leaving him waiting will only make things worse. “I saw something recently. Clearest vision I’ve had in years, actually. But not anything especially pleasant. Those witch hunters, on the attack. Looked like they might have even been here. But of course I wouldn’t know, because why would my bloody powers work a in time of need...” Frustrated, Nina just shakes her head. “Nothing’s come of it and it’s been a month. In other words: it’s not worth fussing over. So don’t start.”

[ninaismail]

Date: October 28th, 2020 Time: 6:15 pm Location: Nina’s new home

“Really, I think we’re approaching the point of redundancy.” Nina frowns from her position on her brand new sofa, heeled feet propped against the ottoman, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. “These wards are surely going to cancel each other out eventually, and I have quite headache brewing, so I think I’m finished with that.” As if enchanting her apartment with protective spells wasn’t enough, Noah is working on bolstering the locks on the door, so Nina stands and crosses the room to observe. Once he’s finished, the younger Ismail raises an eyebrow. “Does this give you more peace of mind, then? The heavy padlock doesn’t do much for my decor, but I’ll allow it.” The truth of the matter is that this reassures her as much as it does her brother, headaches be damned. But there’s something worth telling him about -- something she saw, something that still hasn’t come to fruition. Perhaps it had been a figment of her imagination rather than a true vision. Her gut says otherwise. Still, Nina bides her time, sighing and tracing her fingers over the screen of her new security system. “Suppose this means you can stop sending patrol cars by my house now.” Her gaze turns to her brother, gauging his reaction. “Oh, you couldn’t possibly think I hadn’t noticed, Noor. They’re practically on the hour. It’s not worthwhile, I do not need surveillance. Surely police resoruces can go towards something more worthwhile.”

@noah-ismail​