#wrenhugo

[ruthsheart]

the heart-lines on your hand

“Hello helloooo~ Georgia, are you here?” Ruth pushed through the door to the tiny cottage shop on the beachfront road.

The place was more like a shack than a building. The door creaked on its hinges. The windows had fogged over with age. The paint on the slatted outside walls was chipping away to reveal an older coat of brown paint beneath the sunny yellow color. Ruth had fallen in love with the dejected little cottage with the roof that was missing tiles and the row of shimmery wind chimes made of flattened silverware and chipped teacups and thin wisps of willow and dream-catcher knots all dangling from the salt-laden eaves. There was something so romantically lonely about it.

Georgia, the wrinkled thin woman with snow-white hair, owned and operated the shop, but so many young people at Durham University had fallen in love with her cheerful, wise demeanor that she always had volunteer helpers around. Unfortunately, none of the students knew how to fix a rickety old roof. Ruth was certain that the magic inside the building was the only thing holding the place together. Like Georgia, it seemed to stand and to grow off of the support and love of others.

“Georgia, I brought a friend. She has a service dog with her. He can come in, right? It’s fine, Wren. Come on in. Pluto won’t bother anybody. He’s a good boy.” Ruth stepped inside and held the door open for Wren. “There’s a bit of a step here coming in.” Ruth added. The rickety old building was not traditionally handicap accessible, another thing these lazy hippie bums needed to get on ASAP. “Georgia, where are you hiding, woman?”

“In here, Ruthie! Come in, yes, come in, all of you! Who is your friend?” A small, light tone called from the room at the end of the hall. A short old woman tottered out, wielding a magnifying glass in one hand and a feathered quill in the other. The old woman stuffed her tools into her little red apron dotted with black ravens. She peered up at the two girls with small squinty eyes. “Ruthie your aura’s a little cloudy today. Is everything alright?”

Ruth ignored Georgia’s aura talk. The old lady could be a bit batty from time to time, but she meant well, and she had the goods. “Yeah, it’s fine, we’ll fix it with some crystals. Get it all pink and whatever again. It’s this first door to the right, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am, let me know if you find anything you like.” The old woman nods.

“You’re a peach, Georgia.” Ruth cooed as she turned into the brightly lit room, her boots thumping loudly on the squeaky floorboards. She did a little spin as she took in the rows and rows of tiny rocks displayed over all the counter space beneath two wide old windows. “Okay, pretty babies, show me what you got.” She purred at the rows of little boxes.

@wrenhugo

[ruthsheart]

a year older, a year gone forever

More birthday headcanons for the last summer and early autumn.

@desmondbeaumont: So caught up in her anger and sense of betrayal, Ruth spent this time focused more on spellwork and closing herself off emotionally from the others to protect herself. She was mortified to find that Des’ birthday had snuck up on her and caught her unprepared. She locked herself in her flat all day, and furiously did the one thing she was certain she could do well. She painted. Shortly before midnight on Des’ birthday, she knocked on his door to deliver a large painting of a tropical beach with two figures walking in the sand toward the sunset. “It’s a reminder,” she said. “Of where we’re going to go once the curse is broken.”

@faye-westaway: Ruth had been actively avoiding Faye since the exorcism. She feared the horrible conversation they might have about their relations while Faye was possessed. She tried to distance herself from the desire and infatuation that spiraled in her thoughts whenever Faye was near. She hadn’t planned on giving Faye a present, better to keep away and not face the beautiful woman. Days before the birthday came Ruth’s sketches began to overflow with images of a romantic picnic in the sun, cakes and flowers, a large rugged hand twined with soft pale fingers. Jude and Faye... Walling herself off from the nauseating disappointment, Ruth gathered up the sketches and slid the little stack under Faye’s bedroom door before cuddling with Cleo and trying to wipe Faye from her mind.

@ava-x-park: On her best friend’s birthday, Ruthie went all out. Ava deserved the world, but Ruth had to settle with only a few things that reminded her of her bestie. She bought Ava a sunny golden citrine pendant, an enormous rose quartz tower to channel love into Ava’s home, a book of unbelievable weather photography--storms that streaked with pillars of lightning across the sky, snowbanks that towered above roadsides and dwarfed people, floods and fires that inspired fear and awe--and a fancy bottle of limoncello straight from Italy for them to share.

@wrenhugo: After her fumble with the enchanted shark-tooth gloves at the exorcism, Ruth wanted to try again to make something that Wren might find useful. Ruth wrapped and knotted a leather string around a small obsidian dagger, filling it with intention. Glassy black obsidian gave a grounding effect, cutting away excess thought and worry. It rooted its wearer into their senses, into the here and now, as well as in the subtle world. The shimmery reflectiveness of the volcanic glass tapped into the sixth sense, the intuition. Scorpio being ruled by Mars, Ruth chose the dagger shape to resonate with the martial planet and intensify the effects of the stone. Altogether, the dagger might help the blind woman feel better connected to the shadowy world around her.

[marco-marino-hart-blog]

In Good Company

Marco’s parents had outdone themselves once again. The charity ball was one of the most important events of the year, a chance for Eduardo and Elizabeth to show the world that they were good people. Under the guise of philanthropy, his parents promoted their brand and formed alliances with those that could benefit the Marino Aerospace Corporation. Giving money to the poor was part of doing good business, his father had once told him. Public image was everything and causes that pulled at people’s heartstrings was a sure way to fall into everyone’s good graces. Tomorrow, once the glittery decorations were taken down and the suits and dresses were messengered to the dry cleaner’s, his parents’ communications director would contact the press to inform them of Marino-Hart’s generous donation. Another positive article on page six.

Still, he had been surprised to learn that the theme of this year’s ball was mental illness. Not that his parents weren’t progressive, but advocating for the invisible illness of the twenty-first century was avant-gardiste even for them. From where he stood at the bar, he had a clear view of the guests entering the grand banquet hall. Most of them he knew, old family friends, business partners and everyone else in between who had a decently-sized cheque book. Marco brought the champagne flute to his mouth and wet his lips with the bubbly mixture.

He might’ve tumbled to the floor had he not personally known the person who walked into the hall next. Wren didn’t seem to have a care in the world for dress codes. She wore what she wanted, and despite himself, Marco felt his sternness soften into a small smile of admiration. It took someone with a strong backbone to pull off what Wren was doing, openly throwing her disregard for rules and order in the faces of those who wouldn’t have even imagined doing such a thing. A woman in a suit, or rather, half a suit, for Wren wasn’t even wearing a tie. The rumour mill would be churning out stories about this strange guest all evening.

Marco set his unfinished glass down on the counter and walked over to meet Rory’s friend. “Hello, Wren,” he said, standing a few feet away from her so as not to startle her. He felt sorry that Pluto hadn’t been allowed to attend the ball too. “May I offer you a drink?”

@wrenhugo

[twelvesignsrp]

-_-

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