Sunshine Witch

The helpless optimism of spring

[sunshincwitch]

name: Anathema Chamomile Greensmith (Cham) occupation: barista and PhD student age: 27 sexuality: queer species: witch coven: covenless hometown: Boston personality Traits: scattered, obsessive, generous, kind, cheerful, forcebly optomistic, suspicious, insomiac

&. BACKGROUND tw murder, child abuse/neglect 

The 7th daughter of the 7th daughter born to into one of the oldest matrilineal lines of magic on the east coast would always have been burdened with expectations. The fruition of generations of planning and strategic marriages, the child was named Anathema and her path was laid out before her magic even manifested.

Once her magic did manifest it was different than anyone else's in her family, a small child talking to plants and making flowers bloom was unheard of in the Ironwood coven. But the 7th daughter of the 7th daughter was bound to have some differences, and regardless of her natural inclinations the child’s family was determined to bend her to their will and design. Pressure was present in every moment of her upbringing, with a constant need to perform and measure up to her parents, and the covens, high expectations. She poured all her energies into the study of the arcane, of glyphs and wards and how to draw circles and manifest her intention into reality. Deep down she always felt that there was something to make up for with her natural magic, no one in the coven was ever interested or impressed when she forced a plant to grow in superspeed, or flowers that were withered blossom again with fresh color, but her sygils made them stop and listen so that is where she poured all her energy into.

Her focus was so singular on living up to the expectations of her birth order that she didn’t notice the whispers all around her, that while other children in the coven, including her siblings, went to school she stayed home. That she could go to sleep feeling like she was brimming full of magic and wake up the next minute feeling like she had to scrape the bottom of a bucket to find a scrap. She was constantly separated from the other children, only ever pitted against them against eachother or to be used as a painful teaching moment.

Her world was irrevocably changed when she was 14 and what was supposed to be a family trip morphed into a nightmare. Lured in with false promises of working magic with the coven as a full member, an equal, but after she spent hours drawing sygils only for the coven to alter the sygils and drain her magic as she slept. She woke just in time to see her magic twisted and stolen to curse a pack of werewolves she had never even heard of. The monstrous cruelty they witnessed ripped the veil of naivety from their eyes, and for the first time she could see the twisted coven for what it was. So she ran.

After seeing the horrible things her magic had done any flash of magic filled their throat with bile, and she knew her family could use her magic to track her. Swearing to never allow themself to be used that way again the young witch stopped using magic all together, didn’t acknowledge its existence and lived as a human teen on the run. She changed her name to Chamomile, which had always been her favorite flower, and did her very best to keep her head down and be a normal human blind to the existence of the supernatural.

But magic continued to bloom under their skin, and unused it made them restless. After 4 years of hiding as a human, plagued by nightmares and the guilt of the knowledge of what her magic had done, Chamomile decided it was time to stop hiding and time to do something. She found a school in New York where she threw herself back into the study of the arcane and began to hear whispers that maybe her coven hadn’t been entirely successful in their destruction of the Ryan Pack.

Determined to gain redemption for the blood her magic had spilled, Chamomile made it her mission to learn everything she could about curses, and find the Ryan pack to undo the harm she had unknowingly created. One ill fated return home was all it took to confirm they were on the right path. She organizes to finish her PhD by correspondence and took a train west, headed for the city of Port Liery where magic and the supernatural seem to be drawn together in mass quantities.

Their first stop off the train was to surround herself by nature, walking deep into the woods on the edge of town to try and find herself. By some providence, or fate, she stumbles across an old Victorian house covered in vines and hidden beneath years of growth. The vines part easily for her however, and the interior of the house is nearly intact, some moldering furniture that will need replaced, but there is safety in the old walls and she immediately feels at home.

&. HEADCANNONS

Chamomile survived after she left her coven not through magic of the supernatural kind, but an entirely different magic that she found on the streets of New York, the magic of the ballroom scene. She was far too young, but she found a home with the House of Flora. She helped clean the house, sewed looks for their balls, and shined the trophies. And once she was old enough she walked in the butch category.

Chamomile is a massive nerd, and runs TTRPG games with elaborate magical worlds and carefully crafted props.

They are not a stitch witch by any account, but they are very good with a sewing machine and some embroidery floss. Most of her clothes have some touch of visible mending.

Nearly every room in her house has plants hanging from the ceiling to dry, and she makes tea blends and herb sachets but she never sells them, just gives them away to people she thinks needs them.

Chamomile killed her father, and feels no remorse for it, which is more worrying for her than the actual killing.

&. WANTED CONNECTIONS

players at her table, TTRPG friends

Blood is not thicker, one of her 6 older siblings, or maybe even mother dearest?

A friend in need, a vampire willing to help her get electricity and wifi out to her house by compelling some utility workers

Curse workers, witches she can consult with about curses, to truly break something you have to learn how to create it first.

[sunshincwitch]

New Moon

The last shred of the moon sunk below the horizon and Chamomile shuddered involuntarily. She could still sense magic, threads twining together to form intricate glyphs made of a mycorrhizal network she had painstakingly cultivated that stretched nearly a quarter mile around her house, but she could not touch it. It was like everything was trapped behind thick, fogged class, still there just inaccessible. Her wards should still hold, but she had no power, no ability to pull at those threads to activate a trap or shift resources to an area that had been weakened. It made her feel impossibly small and vulnerable, she had gotten so used to power being there at her fingertips that the absence made her feel like a part of her had been cut off. Even when she hadn’t been practicing, she could always feel it, thrumming under her skin just begging to get out. Now she just felt empty.

Outside the snow was piled up in drifts that nearly covered all the first floor windows. She didn’t have to rely on the fireplaces for heat but she had built a raging fire in the study anyway. Curled up on the overstuffed couch, wrapped in a blanket and trying to keep that vulnerability and fear tamped down she was lost staring into the fire, and hadn’t heard Flick come into the room. @felicityvanbrunt

[sunshincwitch]

The story so far

Anathema Ironwood was born to be a curse, a knife in her mothers hand, a tool to further the covens plans. She was kept isolated from the other witchlings, training, learning, perfecting her craft. Her natural affinity was for plants, living things, green things. Every moment she could steal for herself was spent soaking in the sun and coaxing flowers to bloom. Every other moment, nearly every waking breath, was spent under the hard eye of the coven’s teachers, studying curses, runes, sharpening her skills until she was devastatingly effective. Her natural affinity was ignored for what the coven wanted her to be, the prophesized daughter that would lay ruin to the covens enemies.

When she was 14 she was told she was old enough for true workings, to show her worth to her coven, and help protect them. Her mother told her that it was a secret, sacred ritual that would reinforce the wards and protections that kept the coven safe and secret.

Instead, her mother twisted the ritual, something she thought would be good ended up branding her as an angel of death. A pack of werewolves, dead. The young alpha, cursed to stay a wolf. And while her mother was drunk on the power that she had stolen from Anathema and channeled into her ritual, Anathema ran.

She ran from her family, her coven, her birthright, and herself. Renaming herself Chamomile she left the world of magic behind, for 7 years she hid from everything she was. Until the ghosts and grief of all those wolves were tearing at her every night and she realized she had to do something to stop the pain that her family had been bleeding into the world for generations.

She started with her father. No magic, just an old atheme with a dull edge, but it sliced through the old man's neck just as clean as a garotte. Only after her fathers blood had soaked into the kitchen’s floorboards, and the old house was up in flames did she allow herself to touch magic.

But spilling her fathers blood wasn’t enough. Blood could not atone for her unwilling sins. So she poured herself into magical study, pivoted her academic career into something she could use to undue the harm her mother had wrought. She dove back into her affinity, where she had slogged through the curses and runework her family forced upon her working with the green was like breathing. The things she could do with a single seed would have taken her weeks under her mothers tutelage. Marrying magic and science she bred plants for her own workings, amplifying their usefulness. She studied ancient grimoires and histories, finding rituals that can no longer be performed because their components had been lost to time, and resurrecting those plants. And when she felt that she had done enough preparation, enough study, she convinced her PhD advisor to allow her to finish her studies via correspondence, arguing that she needed to travel to different climets and biomes to finish her thesis, she began her hunt.

She chased the cursed wolf across the country, dropping the walls that she had built to shield herself from the black hole that was the weight of the wolf pack’s destruction. It all came flooding back, her magic still tied to the curse that had killed so many and trapped the one survivor. She got little sleep, the screams of dying wolves the soundtrack of every dreaming moment, and merely a thread away in her waking hours. She wrapped herself in that grief, in the belief that she could never redeem herself from the destruction she had wrought, and used that to spur her forward.

Then she found the wolf, and all her preparation, all that she had done to get here failed her. All the grief and blood that she had been drowning in welled up, and broke the last bit of control and caution that she still held. In a cleared glade, deep in the forest behind the house she had taken for herself, under the light of the full moon she lifted the curse on the wolf. What she hadn’t told them, is that she hadn’t figured out how to nullify the curse, not quite. She had nearly all the parts of the ritual, but that final cutting piece was still missing. So as she lifted the curse on the wolf, in that same breath that they were freed she herself was bound. Her magic, tied to the whims of the moon waxing and waning in strength, overflowing with power when the moon is at its peak, and bereft of even the barest shimmer of magic when the moon hides it’s face.

This is where we find Chamomile now, a witchling with all the power of her bloodlines but bound to the whims of the moon.

[dearestdarkling]

The corners of her lips rise in wry amusement at the other woman's unflinching response. She doesn't suffer fools, little miss Chamomile. Still, Eleanor's smile broadens some when she picks up the small, anxious spike in Chamomile's heartrate; not half so confident as she wants her to believe. "Fair. Gossip's only got so much mileage. But even if it was just enough to land me here at your door, it's got its uses. So who do you take requests from? And how do I get myself on the VIP list?"

She nods obligingly at Chamomile's caveat about the ashtray, pressing the cigarette between her lips. She cups a hand around the flame of her lighter, shielding it from the breeze, and takes a slow, pensive drag once it's lit. Shrewd eyes rake over Chamomile's face again, searching for something whose shape she's not yet sure of. Some half-assed attempt at courtesy sees her sliding the rest of her Virginia Slims across Chamomile's desk, should she want one. For a moment, she feels caught in the thrall of a rich, flowery scent in a way she hadn't been since her first few months in the lab.

"Your magic's strong. That part and parcel of being prophesized?" She taps off some ash after another drag. "Must be daunting. Lots of pressure. Can't be easy, going to school and trying to make something of yourself with a monkey on your back like that."

[sunshincwitch]

She listens to the vampire talk, she named the 150 species, and their distinguishing markers, in the Vervain genus in her head to keep her breathing steady; keep her heart rate from spiking. The offer of the cigarette feels like an empty gesture, some attempt at casual humanity to lure her into feeling comfortable, but she doesn't know if she could ever feel comfortable when she feels like prey in the gaze of those cold eyes.

Everything has to die, nature is cyclical in that way. It's one of the reasons she works so much with mushrooms, taking the energy from decay and turning it into something else. But vampire's spit in the face of every rule of nature, and while she has learned that Verbena is a good tool to protect yourself, that won't stop a vampire from ripping her still beating heart out of her chest.

The decision to help Aoife had felt like an easy one, a simple transaction. One magical ritual to solve most of her material problems, and give Aoife a boon that would keep her in the vampires good graces. When the vampire had spoke about the sun, about what it felt like to be trapped away from that warmth, always trapped in cool shadow she couldn’t imagine an existence devoid of that light. Never feeling the warmth of a spring morning, slipping through curtains and a cracked open window. The burn of hot summer sun soaking into your hair, your dress, your skin until every inch of you feels baked by its unwavering heat. Chamomile couldn’t imagine an existence so devoid of life in that way, a life without the sun could scarcely be called a life. It was almost out of pity, that she had given the boon. And she hadn’t thought of the long term ramifications, that other vampires would come to her for the same gift.

"Part and parcel, along with a long history of carefully controlling a bloodline where only the strong survive and everything else is pruned off." She replies flatly, the prophecy far from her favorite topic to discuss. She appreciates the advantage it gives her, but it feels gross to bandy about knowing everything her coven had done to make her a possibility. "Nobody I know undertakes a PhD because they think it’s going to be an easy breeze, and don't know how to work hard. My family situation has nothing to do with my studies.” Tired of the small talk, eager to get the interaction over with she dropped the pretense of small talk.

“You didn’t come here to smoke and talk about my studies. I’m not a free market jeweler that can be bought by anyone who walks in off the street. Make your offer or leave, but I’m too busy to pretend that this is anything other than what it is.”

[felicityvanbrunt]

Flick eyes Chamomile from the side as they add to the order. Point. Counterpoint. It's a sweet gesture, and not one she'll call attention to nor combat, because, well, who says no to Croque Madam?

Then there's a smile, wide and toothy and endearing, and the question sails between them on an easy breeze. Felicity smiles and reaches across the table and plants her hand overtop of the witch's. "Cham, if I just wanted to pay a debt I wouldn't be spending my time here - and my time is... infinitely more valuable than my money."

Because it's hers. The trust fund is finite - it can dry up. Her time is finite too, but that's hers and hers alone, no need to fight with Zoe or Casper over it, especially now. Each and every minute of it, she owns. She's done wasting it. Money's for wasting. Time isn't.

Her thumb strikes a gentle trace over Cham's hand. "I mostly just wanted brunch with somebody cute on the other side of the table." Her leg moves under the table too - target aquired - stroking playfully long Cham's calf in an echo of her hand. "You know, like a date. Unless you wanna call this business and not pleasure?" Her teeth bare a gremlin's smile.

[sunshincwitch]

Listening to Felicity talk she realizes maybe she should be adopting a similar mindset, thanks to Aoife she doesn’t have to worry about money, not for quite a while at least. She has money in droves, making her time now more valuable, and with the freedom to choose what to do with it. She tries not to jump at the nudge against her leg, color rushing to her cheeks. Flick is forward, not a timid bone in her body, she’s leading, just like how she did with bringing them here in the first place. It wasn’t unwelcome, she liked Flick taking the reins.

Chamomile paused to consider the question, cheeks warm as she feels the other woman’s foot brush higher along the inside of her leg. But she doesn’t pull away, “I think I am a little over business, time to have my cake and eat it too, or whatever the saying is” she confessed flipping her hand over and running her fingers over the wolf’s pulse point. “Glad I could be a ‘somebody cute on the other side of the table’.” She flirted, lightly at first, with a laugh before taking on a bit of Flick’s boldness for herself, dropping her tone and leaning closer in to Felicity “Are you wanting to keep strictly to what is on the menu? Or…” she asked coyly, running her own foot up the outside of Flick’s leg before planting it on the edge of her chair. "It would be a shame to waste such a beautiful day"

[dearestdarkling]

Nostalgia's insidious, the way it creeps up on you, pressing its chilly fingers against the back of your eyelids and summoning forth visions of the past. It's dressed up differently, sure, but the office and its cramped, academic air, reeking of late nights and encroaching deadlines, reminds her vividly of her mother's office back at UC Santa Cruz, and the smaller, humbler one that followed in the transition to Bumfuck Texas. She feels no particular way about this connection other than a thin sense of gratitude for the fact that at least Chamomile isn't blasting a CD of Gregorian chants from a busted radio on her desk. That'd hit a little too close to home.

"I didn't say." Eleanor replies, pulling up a seat in front of Chamomile's desk. She studies the other woman for a beat, taking in the round, thick glasses and the marks of exhaustion creeping the corners of her expression. She looks young. Or maybe the last year's just made her feel older, put more distance between her and the days she'd sported the same weary look from behind a workbench at a university lab.

So she looks young. That doesn't mean anything. Aria looks young to her, too, and Eleanor's seen her rip a man's heart clean out of his chest. She casts another look around the room. There's no sigils, no remnants of smudging in the air; no discernible signs of wards. Doesn't mean there can't be any—she knows by now how annoying witches can be—but still. Funny, how a witch of her lineage could be so unprotected.

"Your name came up at the Conclave. A lot. Which is kind of impressive considering someone whacked a witch halfway through and everyone lost their minds about it for a song or two. Your name's got a lot of staying power, Dr. Greensmith." A thin, cold smile. "Soon to be doctor, anyway."

An idle pick at the cuff of her blouse and she continues, gaze unwavering, "I'm here about some daylight jewelry. Was told you were the one to see." She's already pulling a cigarette out of her pocket when she asks, "Can I smoke in here, by the way?"

[sunshincwitch]

There’s a pricking on the back of her neck, and all the hair on her arms stood on end as the woman talks. It was a feeling that was becoming all too familiar, the feeling of being cornered by a predator. That ancient instinctual part of her brain that tells her to run from the monster in the dark.

I have got to figure out a way to subtly ward this place. She berated herself silently, the University was public grounds, no chance of keeping vampire’s out in that way but she shouldn’t leave herself so vulnerable.

It wasn’t a surprise she was a subject of talk at the Conclave, she had allowed herself to be made a spectacle, to be spectacle and to be known. And now the consequences were coming knocking at her office door. “Your information came half true, fault of relying on rumors” she keeps her tone even, calm, considering how much magic she would have to pump into the pothos twining in the corner to have it restrain the vampire. But pothos are notoriously friendly, hardly reliable for self-defense. “I can make the jewelry, yes. But I’m not exactly taking commission, and not for just anyone who walks through my door”

The question about smoking nearly makes her laugh, would have if it were any other situation. The window is already propped open, allowing breeze to carry smoke out the window which is in conflict with the incense lit in an alter by the door. There’s an ashtray on her desk, and a burnt orange vase that has never held flowers on her windowsill that her advisor pretends not to notice but always reminds her she needs to get new flowers for it when the university big wigs decide to pop in. “Yes, it’s fine, so long as you use the ashtray”

[felicityvanbrunt]

@sunshincwitch Andina

She'd briefly entertained taking Chamomile out to the Bistrot de Ville, but she'd thought a second time when she remembered who runs the place, and while she's not exactly worried about being bothered by blood-sucking annoyances in the middle of a steak dinner, this entire thing is for Cham' to be able to take a breather.

Andina it is. It's nice, clean, high class - she'd booked this months ago, actually, as thanks for saving her life, you know, as one does - but not the sort of place where there's no prices on the menu and they'll judge you for asking why. Still, she's insisted this is on her, and threatened to order for The Witch if she doesn't think they're trying to be a little too moderate with things.

Flick doesn't waste time though; "Empanadas, please, two and also te Lomo Saltado Montado. Oh, and the Humita. Oh and the pancakes."

The waiter, somewhere between mortified and impressed, turns to Cham for their order next. She takes a moment to sip her Gallito and check her phone - nothing has blown up. Good.

[sunshincwitch]

The distraction was a welcome relief, having already spent 4 hours re-reading and untangling Grimoire pages and her notes on curses. She was close, she could feel it, but the solution was still just barely out of grasp.

She hadn't put up a fight when Flick said they were going to brunch, it was inevitable, but she would be lying if she said it wasn't nice to have someone else making the decisions for her. Her brain was always cranked to 11, always working on a problem either her PhD or her mother's curse, unless she took steps to turn it off through a variety of medicinal interventions, and the burden of all those decisions made weighed on her until even figuring out what to eat was a chore.

Andina is gorgeous, the heady aroma of spices and sizzling hot grills beckons, and Chamomile's mouth is watering before they've event taken a seat. The menu offered incite into where the delicious scents were coming from, but did nothing to narrow down her pick. Flick rattles out her order and Cham mentally checks things off the list she had been making in her head. "And if we could add the Croque Madam, the Pan con Chicharron and the Suenos de Pisac please?" It isn't lost upon her that nothing Flick ordered included meat, and while she appreciated it she wanted to make sure Flick enjoyed the meal as well. And after spending so much time with the wolves she did find herself eating meat more often.

"I have to ask, is this purely a 'you saved my life and therefore I feel a debt must be paid' brunch, or are there other motivations on the table?" she asked with a smile once the waiter had left.

[parkskylar]

She was still reeling from her conversation with Irene. No matter how little it might matter, if the other was actually going to keep to her word and say nothing. Sky knew it was possible to be recognized by other hunters, she just had been confident it wouldn't happen at an event for supernaturals only. She could almost hear her father's voice, scolding her, already lowering her guard. And even know she wasn't sure what she'd do in a fight, who she'd protect, what side would she take.

The sound to her side pulled her out of her thoughts, and she cursed herself once more for making the same stupid mistake, lowering her guard. But still a smile grew on her lips when Cham's voice reached her ears and she shook her head slowly. "No magic needed... though the backdoor sounds tempting." She turned around, looking for an exit before turning back to Cham with a small shrug, even in her torn mindset, she couldn't bring herself to leave Arte alone in such event. "But that would make Arte sad, and they have the biggest puppy eyes I've seen."

[sunshincwitch]

"They really do, don't they" she agrees with another laugh, trying her best to help snap Sky out of whatever is going on in her head. The conclave felt like a maze filled with traps, and obstacles she had no way of preparing for. She had thought she could be of use to Arte, but at every turn it seemed like she was making things more complicated, which was the opposite of her goal. "Events like this just remind me of why I left my coven, and why I'm not interested in joining any others" she confided, snagging an hors d'oeuvre from a passing tray and popping it into her mouth before continuing. "Have you seen anyone you know? It seems like there are people from all over here."

[dearestdarkling]

where: tideview university when: a week after the gala who: @sunshincwitch

A week after the gala and the topic of daylight jewelry is still wagging tongues. Never mind that the whole affair had devolved into a game of Clue halfway through. Memories are short; the love of a good tan is forever.

She cares little for a blinged out ring and resents the continued stipulation that she not be allowed to fry herself to a crisp, but Kali's issued her orders: framed it as a gift, something to be grateful for. Blow me, she thinks, trekking through the silent grounds of Tideview University, shrouded by the cover of nightfall. There's a witch here who can help with what was brokered, but that's not really why she's here.

It's not just any witch: the contact is a witch from a powerful, established lineage. The prophesized seventh daughter of a seventh witch— with, conveniently, no coven protections. It was like wandering into a bank vault that'd been left open. The perfect person to test the serum's efficacy on when it was time. If it worked on her, it should work on anybody. Kali had made it clear what she, Eleanor, was to do here when she'd parted with Chamomile's location. She'll get to business with the stupid ring, sure—after she's satisfied her curiosity.

Eleanor finds her in a classroom and pauses halfway through the threshold, momentarily taken in by the rich notes of witch blood drifting out through the crack in the door. There it is.

A sharp rap of knuckles against the doorframe. "Hi, Chamomile?" She smiles, a cold curve of her mouth. "Eleanor. We have some people in common. Mind if I come in?"

[sunshincwitch]

Life had shifted back into its usual rhythms after the conclave. A PhD never sleeps, and while she doesn’t have any classes to T.A. her supervisor decided that Chamomile didn’t have enough work published and was pushing for her to get three articles out before fall term began. That meant that she was pulling 10+ hour days couped up in her office, pouring over her notebooks, handwriting everything for the first two drafts and only pulling out a laptop when she feels that she has the bulk of her thoughts organized and corralled into the expected academic format. When she started in academia it had been difficult to separate the arcane from the scientific, but as she continued studying and digging into the history of folk medicine the ties became obvious, and she was able to pull more of the arcane into her papers without fully broaching on witchcraft.

It isn’t odd then, for her to be the last one in the building long after the Summer sun has set out over the ocean. The knock on the door is unexpected, blinking as she pushes her glasses up her nose and blinking as she fights for her eyes to refocus on something farther than three feet in front of her. She doesn’t recognize the woman in front of her, but she feels in her gut that their connection isn’t from the school. Not for the first time she regretted not putting upwards here in the school, but another student had nearly gotten kicked from the program for smudging, she didn’t think she could find an excuse that would allow her to cede mushrooms through the walls or carve sigils under the floors like she had at home. Instead, she was forced to trust, and hope this was one place where trouble wouldn’t follow her.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t expecting someone, it’s not exactly office hours, but I guess it’s fine,” she’s too tired to bother with arguing with someone and telling them to come back in the morning. “Who did you say sent you?”

[jonasharding]

He can't help the smile that overtakes his features at her reaction to him. Jonas allows her the momentary freak out and the offer of horticulture, and honestly, does laugh a little. "Your knowledge on horticulture could very much come in handy, but I'll leave that to your expertise than try and make sense of it myself, how about that?"

Another soft little laugh, and he shakes his head. "In all seriousness, I'd like to ask if you'd heard about my human council idea?" If not, he'll have to explain, but he doesn't mind barreling forward - so he does.

"My idea for it is coexistence. But I'm approaching you, specifically, as sort of a witch ambassador, if you'd like to help. I don't know what we, as humans, could offer witches in exchange for safety - but that's why I've approached you. I do have people I'm talking to for the other species, as well."

[sunshincwitch]

It was so left field, and unexpected, she expected to be approached at the event for her magical lineage and reputation. To be asked or intimidated into making more sunlight jewelry for vampires. She hadn’t expected to be approached by the very human mayor for some humanitarian peace council.

“I think coexistence is a noble and needed goal, but I think if that is your goal, there are some other witches you should be going after. Coven leaders, or at the very least members of one of the main covens here.” she says it gently, because she does believe it's a noble ideal, and she doesn’t want to discourage him. “I don’t know how much you know about coven politics, but I am covenless, I don’t have any social power or sway. Maybe if I joined one of them, but that's not something I am willing to do, not even for a very well-meaning attempt at coexistence."

[therawend]

“Oh black is possibly the easiest colour you could’ve chosen,” Thera nods mindfully, white would’ve been the hardest. Black was the absence of light, to get black Thera just had to turn the lights off on the fabric.

Thera closed her eyes as she let the tip of the needle pierce the thinnest layer of skin on her finger.

She found a hole, dark and deep. A place that had not seen light in hundred if not thousands of years. This places thread would’ve had dust if dust could’ve found it. In a moment this place was splashed with red, the same colour as this girl’s dress. Thera didn’t linger long enough to see if anything registered the change, she suspected nothing ever would.

When Thera’s eyes opened as the darkness that had coloured the cave wove itself into this girl’s dress.

“There.” Thera sighed happily, “No one can accuse you of a fashion faux pas now can they?”

She watched her register the change, “How are you feeling? Aside from the fashion emergency.”

[sunshincwitch]

It's a strange feeling, like the dress is weaving and unweaving all at once, a feeling of cold lifelessness so removed from light no plant could ever dream of growing tender leaves or budding flowers. The moment passes quick as a breath, not leaving time to linger, in the darkness pulling at her skin, and she smooths her hands over the fabric appreciatively.

"It's wonderful, truly I can't thank you enough" she gushes, already calmer and more secure as she appreciates the difference in her dress. To some it may seem such a small thing, but at a Conclave of all places, with covens from around the world Chamomile was not so naive to think her mother would not use every possible foothold to her advantage as she fought to secure her own legacy,

"It's a little overwhelming, I have to admit" she confided, casting her eyes around the ballroom to see if anyone had noted the change. "Truth be told, I have been avoiding witches and most supernatural gatherings for some time, but there is something comforting in not having to hide one's talents or more monstrous natures." she nods to where a vampire feeds on a waiter not far off from them. "You seem well at ease, have you been to many of these events?" she asks, intent to actually get to know the witch now that she isn't in a panicked state.

[ajastor]

Gold. The sound has a life of its own. Soft, malleable, easily shaped by an Astor into something beyond its glinted glory. It's a prayer hushed when knelt between legs. A noise screamed at equilibrium. A shattering heart when it fractures. It becomes more than a word, or an element. Something other than a curioso of science and discovery. There's a hunger staved in every drop when touched or metamorphosed the right way. Feeding on unknown knowledge that barely recognises that it has yet to peak. Often, those transfigurations are as volatile as an Astor is.

She makes it sound so surprising that it is not just a colour, or something gleamed. A symbol of wealth, or victory; trophies; medals, a first-place podium. AJ's the best, if there's mediocre terms for it. But perhaps this witch has yet to witness magic and science when it collides. It's not potioneering like most know, and Astor knows nothing of her; perhaps she mirrors another element, or maybe, judging by their magic that bristles, she's a little bit more than lost for options.

He likes her answer. It's Wily. Deviant. To the point.

AJ echoes her sentiment. "Not the right audience in this sideshow for another episode of hotter than my daughter, eh?" He's fucking with her, for the most part. It's all very tragic that they could share their mother, father, do-not-want-to-be-my-parent feelings if they gave in for just a fraction longer. But his fingers reaching for her dress speak a lot more devilish things. "Alright then, love. I like a tale of woe."

It isn't so much a brag as it is entertainment; he's back in the game, after his week of half-measures. He's an overflowing beaker of power desperate to be shaken.

The gloves slip off and sit on the bar between them. Leather draped over the edge. Astor has the question hanging on his tongue as he rakes his eyes over the path of where he would bleed the element into her fabric. Glances around to see what inspiration might hit. He lets the words fall: "How strikingly different shall we go, babe? Lightning and thunder wouldn't touch you. Or do you want to be the blaze that has them quaking?"

[sunshincwitch]

She fights to keep from rolling her eyes, best not to offend the person offering her assistance to get out of her awkward circumstance. Her mother is gorgeous, objective truth, the Ironwood coven was blessed with exceptional looks along with their magical talents. The thought that she cared only about the differences for vanity was almost insulting. "Attractiveness isn't the issue, it's escaping the puppet strings of legacy and keeping my achievements for my own. Being something other than what the bloodline dictates" she grinds out, keeping her voice neutral as she fights against the urge to call up her own magic, force life back into the dead wood of the bar and use it to bend the man in front of her to her will. Her magic had its limitations, but the raw power is undeniable, she could offer some of it to him, favor for favor, or she could use that power to bring him to his knees. She crushes that thought before it is able to run any farther than a fleeting moment of weakness. "You are not your mother, not everything has to be gained by force." She tells herself, blaming the stress of seeing Proserpina here when she knows she has weakness on display for the cruelty running through her mind.

Breathing deeply, she contains herself, and watches carefully as he removes his gloves, and it's like she can feel the magic coalescing around his fingers. "Fuck it, time to stop hiding in the shadows and take hold of my own life. If I can bring vampires into the sunlight, why can't I have my day in the sun. Do your worst" she dares him, chin held high as she waits for whatever transformation he is about to force upon her dress

[sunshincwitch]

Chamomile could sense the tension in Skylar, she wasn't enjoying the party very much, that was clear. Felicity seemed to be the only one at ease among the party and the supernatural politics that were mixing in the ballroom. But there was something else off with Skylar, Chamomile had lost track of her for a bit and when she came back she seemed shaken, withdrawn into herself. Coming up beside the werewolf, making sure to approach in her from the side where she is in her periphery so she didn't startle Skylar, the witch lays a gentle hand on her arm, squeezing lightly and not breaking the contact. "You doing ok there Sky?" she asked quietly, knowing she will hear her easily even over the noise of the surrounding party. "Need me to throw some magic around? Make a distraction so we can sneak out a backdoor?" she jokes, though she is more than willing to make good on the offer if Skylar really wanted an out.

/ @parkskylar

[felicityvanbrunt]

A hand falls, manicured, menacing, on the vampires shoulder - grip firm. The Vampire pulls away from Chamomile - this is fine, and the intended goal, but where Felicity finds a problem is when the Vampire, in all his misguided bravado, hisses, mouth full of fang, in her face. That's when she pulls, spinning him.

The Gala is on Conclave ground. It's netural. Let this fanger cause a proper stink by pulling witch blood outside of the feeding rooms, he'll be staked out on the roof by sunup.

He says, well, something, as he snaps to his feet and she's not listening. "What are we doing here, blood-sucker, and at the conclave, I think you should apologize to my friend here."

He laughs again, and Felicity rolls her eyes, "No?" that's when she snatches him up, not by the throat or the shoulder or even by the back of the neck, but by that which men like him hold most dear because frankly, this whole thing is an affront to the delicacy of her nature.

Seems to disable a vampire the same as it would anybody else especially with a werewolf's grip. Flick casts her head back towards Chamomile for a moment, yellow-flared eyes fading back to more seafoam hues in offering a smile of reassurance, before she sends him stumbling backwards, towards Skyler and Arte, who are coming in at the rearguard. — @parkskylar / @huntedarte / @sunshincwitch

[parkskylar]

Sky was already on edge, reeling a little from her encounter with Irene and the sinking realization that she would care if anyone from the pack finds out. If Arte finds out. Against the conflicting idea of reaching out, of going back. As if she would be accepted, as if she could belong with them once more.

So when she hears the growl, followed by Flick's voice and her eyes catch sight of Chamomile almost trembling, and then the vampire in Flick's grip, Sky feels something inside her snap, and she moves, reacting with long learnt reflexes and the rush of a wolf that wants to protect. Her fingers stop fidgeting, as her hands ball into fists and she rushes closer.

There's some satisfaction almost, at the way she sees Flick grab him in an iron tight grip, and by the time she's close enough, he's already sent back, stumbling with desperate hands cradling what Flick was recently crushing, only to come face to her. She pushes him, both hands against his shoulders to send him back, down, hard enough that she can hear the way he hits the floor. She steps closer, looming over him.

"I think she said to apologize." There's a hardness on her voice that's usually not there, where she's almost always so guarded. Anger seeping into her tone, coloring her eyes a bright gold.

/ @huntedarte @sunshincwitch @felicityvanbrunt

[huntedarte]

They feel unsettled, incomplete almost, without Cham rounding out their group at the gala, and they've spent much of the night so far looking for the deep red of her dress. When they finally find her, Flick and Sky move first without a word, easily peeling the vampire off of the witch that had enchanted all of them.

Under normal circumstances, Arte is not one who chooses violence. In fact, they generally prefer to avoid it at all costs if they could, but recent events have taught them that it isn't always possible. The marks of what Cam and Elyse had done to them have healed, but their muscles still ache from the repeated shifts forced onto them. Each move is a reminder that there are threats out in the world, and they cannot afford to be complacent.

Arte places a hand on Sky's shoulder, wordlessly asking her to stand aside. They lean down and pick the vampire up, setting him back on his feet easily by the lapels of his jacket and they don't let go. "I'm Arte. I'm Alpha of the Eventide Pack." They pause there and let the words sink in. "That's Cham," they nod over in the witch's direction. "She's with us." They stare directly into the vampire's eyes with a stoic expression on their face. "Okay." They nod and let go of the man's jacket, carefully smoothing out the wrinkles they left behind. "I'll bite you next time," they add in afterthought, in case there was any confusion.

He mutters out something that sounds like it could be an apology and scrambles away, hopefully to rethink his life's decisions, and Arte watches him disappear into the crowd. "Are you o-okay?" they ask, eyes softening as they turn back towards Cham.

@sunshincwitch / @felicityvanbrunt / @parkskylar

[sunshincwitch]

One moment she is pressed against the wall, sure that treaties were about to be violated and she was about to be food and the next she has nothing but air around her, the vampire quickly and nearly effortlessly dispatched by her wolves. The relief that floods through her is palpable. It’s not logical the way her body screams that she is prey whenever a vampire is around but she feels so safe when her wolves are present. She goes to take a step forward, show some kind of strength, but the moment she leaves the wall she sways, lightheaded as the adrenaline begins to crash.

She reaches out, her grasping hand finding Felicity, the closest to her as Arte and Skylar stand over the vampire. Clutching on to Felicity’s arm she pressed her forehead against the blonde’s shoulder, grounding herself in the familiar smoky warm scent that is Flick. “I hate feeling fucking helpless, it’s like my brain shuts off whenever one of them is nearby. What good is a ward if I leave the house. I need to learn some offensive magic or I’m going to be a fucking hermit at this point” she’s grumbling into the werewolf’s shoulder, words garbling together as she bites back the scream that had been building in her throat.

Arte’s question snaps her out of the panic self pity spiral that had her crumpling against Flick’s back and she straightens up, taking a deep breath and meeting Arte’s eyes over Flick’s shoulder. “I’m getting there. Thank you, all of you, I-” her voice breaks and she shakes her head, refusing to sink into weakness. “I was stupid and forgot how vulnerable I am. You are all ok yeah? This isn’t going to mess things up for your Pack right?”

/ @felicityvanbrunt @parkskylar @huntedarte

[ajastor]

He's lost count of the drinks and the people. He doesn't even turn-up to half of his own company events, and those he does bitterly attend in a familial capacity are merely to avoid a crucification. Astor's a player in his own game, building his own realm amongst the graveyards of the ones this room leaves behind.

But he's had an agonising week of sputtering power. When returned to him, in all its gilded glory via Caitlin's runifications. It'd come as a rushing current that desires to be abused, used and manipulated to make statements of the room. It's a sudden control he's had to temper quickly. He's no amateur. Not at a red carpet event, especially.

His head turns sideways, a woman beside him, talking about colours.

Transmutation, she says. She knows how to get a bloke's attention. AJ's hand gestures to her outfit, feigning thought.

"Gold would suit you, love." And he pictures how easily he might ghost fingers down her bodice, and rip apart the threads, crafting and sewing them anew; just a thin, plated layer of liquid and cooling metal that would wrap around her. Hug her tight. He can already imagine Frankenfurt approving of the glittering change.

Magic senses magic, too. She's a witch out of options, then.

"Tell me why."

[sunshincwitch]

His eyes are almost glazed over, and she doesn’t know why she is bothering, about to turn away and find someone else. And then she says the right word, and it's like everything has changed, and he is alight and engaged, and she can almost feel the magic thrumming out from him.

“Gold?” She questions, not expecting that to be an option, and while it would be much more attention than she was usually comfortable with, it would still be better than matching her mother. She chews on her lip, considering how to answer a question to someone who knows none of the backstory, the history. “There isn’t enough weed or time to get into the centuries of my family making the worst decisions. But it boils down to I’ve been made into the spitting image of my mother, and that is everything I have spent my life running from.” it's more honest than she should be with a stranger, but she lets it happen, anything to separate herself from Proserpina. “And at an event like this? With covens and powers watching, I can’t let my achievements fuel her advancement.”

[rivenvictors]

Whoever she was, she’d asked the right person. He could do far more than change the color of her dress or the length of the fabric. Like cloak her in invisibility, drape her in flowers that would wither away by the end of the night, or wrap her in silk shadows that clung to her body. His magic could do all of that and worse. But Riven didn’t hand out power like loose change, and he certainly didn’t give a damn about fashion mishaps in a room full of monsters.

Mismatched gaze drifted from her dress to the bar, where an older woman in the exact same shade of red held court like a queen. He snorted, amused by the theatrical absurdity of it all.

"I know how," Riven said, eyes returning to her. “But it’s not exactly riveting work." Maybe if she was a little bit more convincing than that, he'd give her a chance. She'd really have to make it interesting for him.

His lips brushed the rim of his drink before he added, lazy but deliberate, "Tell me why, and I might change more than just the color of your dress."

[sunshincwitch]

He’s so confident, and seemingly unbothered, and she has to reel her mind in from all the horrible pathways her mind is sprinting down. In a room like this finding someone to do something just from kindness would be rare, and she shouldn’t expect it no matter how panicked.

“Not riviting, no, but I would be incredibly greatful” she pleads, clenching her glass to keep her hands still, and to keep herself from downing the glass in one. She fights the grimace at the question, unsure how to explain the history and everything beyond this one little incident. “I don’t think I can sum up an entire life and generations of fucked up coventry. But right now I am looking too much like my old life, something I have worked too hard escape just to be rocketed back there because I’m wearing the wrong dress.”

[therawend]

There was an instant where Thera felt immediately perceived before she found the panicked, searching eyes of the witch standing next to her. “I…. I could do that.” She said startled.

She looked down at her gloved hands. she had done so much stitching in the last month it had left her hands cracked and raw, but there seemed little more fun use of a Fate swap then using it to recolour a dress. Wendell’s were designed to do favours and what a delightful one this would be.

Thera pulled one of her amethyst pins from her hair and peeled off her glove. Turning back to the witch with a delighted smile, “What colour would you like? I can change absolutely anything you want about the outfit you are wearing right now,” she took on a contemplative gaze, “it won’t be illusion though, it will change the dress. I hope that is all right with you?”

[sunshincwitch]

Relief washes over her like a cool glass of water. “Oh thank you so much, you don’t know how much this means to me” she doesn’t even care that she is showing weakness, something she knows her family would hate to see. She hadn’t even thought of what color to change it to, she just needed different, to be her own person. Her mind flashes to her fuzzpile, and she regrets that she won’t be quite matching with Arte anymore but maybe if she matches her other wolves it will still look good, and make Arte pop all the more.

“Can you do Black? Honestly as long as the gold jewelry stays I will be happy. I'm having the worst 'we cant be wearing the same dress' moment and my brain is just shutting down" She offers as some strange semblance of half an explanation.