#iii. conversations

[fxllensarchievd]

closed, @holxpyre

She’s sitting down on the edge of the couch, her hand extended as she lets the other glimpse at the ring. “It’s doing what it’s supposed to.. no hiccups or accidental sunburns..” Her lips pursed a bit in thought, before retrieving her hand back and glimpsing at the other. This place still felt.. too big. Too empty. “You’re welcome to stay you know?” Her voice a notch lower. “For a little bit. If you don’t feel like going back just yet.” She wasn’t a good host. But she glimpsed towards the kitchen, her lips twitching down for a moment before they straightened again. “I can order us food.” She didn’t expect a witch, to prefer B negative.

[fxllensarchievd]

closed, @trvnquils

Walking in the daylight, was a new and welcomed addition. She’d grown so used to the night, that even the shadows made her question what was real, and what wasn’t. The sun touches her skin, sitting on the edge of wooden steps that decent down into the sand, her gaze fixed forward. She’d watched him, not on purpose. But because this part of the beach was secluded. Not many people know about it. Sometimes she came to watch the waves, other times she walked the edge of where the water washed forward, at night. It’d been a full moon recently, which meant the lingering effects weaved through the town, and its packs. It’d been two years since she’d been here during the afternoon. “I wasn’t trying to stare.” She said as his frame approached closer. Her tongue pushes against her cheek, but irises shift up. Her tone holding that same inch of nonchalance. “Nobody really used to come here.”

[fxllensarchievd]

closed, @unspoolcd.

Another bartender, didn’t show up. She’s starting to think maybe the shadows had more of an effect on the people around them than they originally thought. It wasn’t just witches. Day had learnt that the hard way. She’s keeping herself busy though, when she glimpses up from cleaning a few cups, she’s startled. The music is low, low enough that she should have heard them approach. “Sorry.” Her voice wavered a bit. She’d been lost in her own head. “What uh— what can I get you? I’m not much of a bartender but.. I’m all we have until later.”

[fxllensarchievd]

closed, @evermyth

“Is it true?” She’s helping unload a few boxes into the back of the club. New glasses, some more bottles for the top shelves. It’s not heavy, at least not anymore. Maybe when she was human, she would have struggled. But now? Strength came easy, that she forgot it was abnormal for someone her size to carry something like this with ease. She’s following behind him, setting the box down for a moment in the back room, on a counter. “About.. the shadows..?” Her voice lower, as she turned to face him. She looked for a flicker of anything across his features. “They can.. it’s getting worse?” That one of them— his sister — had been affected? If it could hurt even the most powerful beings on earth, from the dawn of time, what did that mean for the rest of them? “If they feed on magic.. nevernight is basically an open buffet..”

[fxllensarchievd]

closed, @velmortis

“Here.. you look like you could need it.” The other looked tired. “Some asshole bought the bottle, and then dipped out before he even used it— so it’s technically not on the house.. but on him.” Otherwise they’d just throw it out. “Anything you wanna talk about?” She raised her hands a little. “I’m the last person to judge.”

[fxllensarchievd]

closed, @fatelore.

“Hey um,” she didn’t want to bother the other. The club was pretty full tonight, so it would have been easy to miss. But Day remembered faces. “Just a heads up. There was a girl in here earlier. Looking for Cosimo. Not much taller than me, but she looked kinda like you.” There’s a small gesture, as she holds the bottle up. “Said something about being your sister?” Her brows pinched. “I thought she left? Is everything alright?”

[fxllensarchievd]

location: the de’medici mansion. @evermyth

She’d been clothed, fed, and sitting in a room that was supposed to be hers. But as she silently traces fingertips over books, and journals, and trinkets that she’d collected over centuries— nothing comes to mind. She thought.. being here would spark something. Being here would bring back memories the others had been so sure of. But she stands in the room, and her heart clenches beneath ribs. Irises shift, running her digits down the spines of journals. The one in her hand is labeled, 1967 The Summer of Love.

She wrote about a mortal boy, sent to war that never returned. Her heart reminds her of the memory, but it’s as if she’s reading it from another persons eyes. As she does, her attention shifted. There’s sounds coming from downstairs. Her name catches her interest, and she sets the journal down. Her frame moves towards it, the sound of a disagreement— or maybe it was desperation. But as she descends the staircase, she stops abruptly, hand on the rail and irises shift back to meet theirs.

A flicker of his face, sharpened through her mind. The gold, flecked against feathers. Her breath wavered, the severed pain of the memory reminding her of the pain that cracks against her temple the more she tries to remember.

“I.. remember you..” The name felt — like a broken piece of a mirror. And she doesn’t remember who he is, what he is to her. Only that her heart knew him the same way it did the woman in the woods.

[fxllensarchievd]

location, aphrodisia. @holxpyre

She was waiting for one of the sets to end. Emilia was here somewhere, but as the night went on the two had separated. In the meantime, she could feel the tension clawing at her skin. Down between the blades of her shoulders, rooting itself in the small of her back. There were so many scents, so many people, both licked with sweat and desire— she couldn’t keep track of who was what, and what was who. It hadn’t helped that she agreed that Emilia could dress her tonight. Even when she spent most of her nights in the back rooms of parties, or the cramp spaces of a dingy bar somewhere outside of kairos and closest to the nearest motel— she didn’t dress like this. The tight clothing. The heavy makeup, where lips painted in a deeper plum, plucked against the cigarette she placed between her teeth. Leaning back against a velvet wall, she hadn’t noticed him at first. And even if she had, she would have pretended that she hadn’t. For all he thought— that night didn’t happen. And as she blinks over his throat, the mark was gone, and her brows twitched into a slight furrow when he starts towards her. Her shoulders stiffen, and she almost flicks the bud to the ashtray on the table next to her. But he was compelled. She compelled him before. So why was he walking with a purpose?