Hola! Since I'm out and about more, I've decided to make myself a little blog to make some more friends!
I'm from Ecuador, joined the big leagues because I was getting headaches from interdimensional invasions. I'm sensitive to that stuff, y'know! I'm also the spiritual leader of my village; our goddess, Samaykita, speaks through me.
I can shapeshift into animals endemic to my ancestral homeland, dabble in glamour magic and hybrid apothecary, though my magic specialties are more in healing, wards, protections, and mediumship. So you can def ask me about your dead grandma or just to read some tarot cards for ya! /srs
Current Story Arc: The Not-So-Dead #deadman arc
(with @/the-last-laughing-magician)
Post/Lore Masterlist →
Her Pinterest board →
Mun notes:
My primary blog is @morphomacaw; I'll repost my occasional writing or musings about Violeta's lore or character here. My roleplay style is primarily literate, though I'm down for shorter/silly interactions. I'm flexible!
Asks will be tagged with:
#wari answers
Meme interactions and silly RPs will be tagged with:
#samaykita made me do it
Unprompted/random reblog interactions will be tagged with:
#wandering wari
Yes, I am serious about the magic 'tricks'! I practice magic myself and do specialize in the listed abilities, so feel free to "Ask a Shaman" about any magical curiosities :)
I'm teaching myself Quechua for now to try to reconnect with my ancestral tongue, so know that I'm doing my best, but some of my Quechua might be a tad incorrect!
Anything written in this format is spoken by Samaykita. Unless explicitly stated otherwise, only Violeta can see and hear Samaykita. The connection is not telepathic; if Violeta wants to tell something to her goddess, she must say it out loud.
Mun is over 21, but I'm uncomfortable with NSFW roleplay, so I won't be doing those!
Profile pic credit: Minareii on ArtStation
Character File:
VIOLETA MALLKI || Ama kikinpaqlla munaichu, lliu runapaq maskay. > “Seek not only for yourself, but for others as well.” NAMES: - Violeta M
Or: Ziva has a very different nightmare for the first time in a long time. I don't have any particular plans for this, but if you can make it make sense, feel free to interact! Winner of this poll here, but don't worry if you voted for the other option; that will be released soon enough too. Divider cred
She doesn't recognize the place she's in. It takes a few moments for the surroundings to fully be seen and processed. The smell of chlorine, faintly, but thicker than that in the air is far worse. Tar, sulfur, and blood. Like a nasty demonic presence had been here and taken a sacrifice with it. A gag rocks through her ribs, but she takes a look around anyway, walking slowly as the images process.
A cross shaped pool. Broken glass. A discarded and odd looking gun. Blood against the wall and on the floor, drying in the grout. Black tar blobs dropped on the floor, and black footprints that start without a normal place of origin, the trail ending near the large pool of dried blood. And the footprints having visited spot near the pool, for one reason or another. Something terrible happened here, but she isn't sure what, besides that it makes the hairs on her neck stand on end, and is clearly the work of something that she would usually take on with John. It's evil.
Evil comes to meet her.
"My, my," a disgusting voice chuckles from behind Zee. She spins, but nobody's there. "Aren't you a pretty thing, huh?"
The feeling of dread and nausea seeps into her bones. Zatanna flinches as breath hits her ear, spinning again. This time, the presence is there. He isn't pleasant to look at. Around the same height as her, thinning and receding hair a messy white suit missing a tie. His hands and feet covered in tar. She takes a step back, almost taking another as the sulfur hits her nose, stronger than the stale scent from when she was alone.
"What's a pretty thing like you doing here, at the scene of such tragic events? Surely, there must be a reason, yes?"
Zee swallows thickly, a breath in to steady her. "I don't know," she answers, honesty coming easier than a quip. "I do know, however, that you're some kind of demonic presence."
The man laughs like she told a belly acher of a joke, and grins, the pride rolling off in waves. "Oh, not just any demon, dear. The Devil himself, call me Lu. A name for you? Or shall I search your soul?"
"Lucifer? That can't be right, Lucifer and the Devil are different beings, I know them personally." A little too closely, in the case of one.
"Is that so? That's not how it is here." The man calling himself Lucifer raises an eyebrow, taking her in a little deeper than before. Looking her up and down, walking around to really get a good look. And then he sees a bump for her belly, smirks, and goes right up to her. Hand pressed hard against it. Zee lets out a pained shriek, trying to move away, but his other hand is clamped down hard on her shoulder. The uglier Lu snarls, trying to glare down the unborn, and shoots right back up, hand going from her stomach to her throat.
"These aren't meant to exist, these accursed cubs. It's not time yet. Why do you have them, huh? Shall I get rid of them here and now, as I did to that other broad?"
He's suffocating her. She gags again and attempts to breathe, panicking, clawing at his hand, but the grip only gets tighter. "Scratch," Zee wheezes, "let go. Please." Lu is too angry to care. She squirms, trying to kick herself free, but her strength wanes, unable to get ghe oxygen she needs. Vision blurring first, then slowly blacking at. At the very edge of consciousness, she's dropped, crumpling to the floor. Coughing and wheezing, the glass cutting into her hands. She hears the devil walk a few feet away and pace more than sees it, her vision not yet back. The hell did he mean 'other broad'? There's nobody that she knows who is in the same situation as her.
"You. You are not from here. I don't particularly like when we get visitors who don't belong here, however... you have something I want. Somethings, really, things I think I'll be taking back with me, back home. And then you, I'll let you figure your own little life out. I'm feeling a bit generous tonight."
"Generous?" Zatanna scoffs, coughing hard. "You tried to kill me! Christ, where's Constantine when you need him, or Samael.."
He strikes her across the face, hand wrapping around her throat again. "Never say that name again, never in my presence. And you're friends with that tricky bastard? I think my generosity has suddenly expired."
She's pinned to the floor this time, kicking and screaming while she can, now more focused on protecting her unborn from him than anything else. She manages to get one good punch in, and then...
Then she wakes up, screaming and falling to the floor, hyperventilating while scrambling to the nearest wall. A hand touching her throat and her other arm wrapped protectively around her belly. Her hand comes away with tar from her throat, and she knows without looking that there's a nasty bruise there, in the shape of that devil's hand, and a black stain over top of it.
Outside, on the street, Violetta is wheezing from the effort of sewing shut a cross-reality rift. She had only just landed in the United States a few days ago, and already, the Universe (or Universes in this case) had to confirm what she was led here for.
"¿Que carajos… fue eso…?"
She lands on her ass on the lawn outside the house, her body trembling a little bit from having to pull the strings between a very powerful demon from another reality-- perhaps the devil himself-- and a poor soul that was sucked into the rift while they slept.
She caught flashes of the nightmare while performing the rescue and closing the breach. It was not pretty.
I don't believe it. That was the Prime Magus.
Violeta's head was still spinning a little bit, struggling to capture what her goddess was telling her.
"Prime Magus? ¿Ese es el nombre del demonio?"
No, Maywa. The one you pulled out of the nightmare. That's the Prime Magus: magician of all magicians.
"Ah. ¿Y… que tiene que ver eso con lo que pasó?"
Hm, don't know. Why don't you ask?
Wari gasps and curses when Samaykita manifests herself just enough to throw a pebble at the bedroom window.
The shaman panics, looking around frantically for a place to hide. Damn trickster god- why does it have to cause trouble now?!
Violeta stands to flee, but finds her legs to be useless after exhausting her magic, falling back down onto the lawn.
The magician of all magicians. Oh, Violeta can only imagine what a mood they must be in after such a horrible nightmare. And there she was, sneaking around outside their house and bothering them at such dubious hours of the night.
Wari's first week in the United States was going splendidly.
A/N: This is pretty long and not meant to be an RP starter-- it's more of a little more context snippet to help move along the dead!Constantine storyline while developing Violeta's character a little more.
Link to Open RP →
Word Count: 1.4k
Violeta didn't think of it as moving in. The camper wasn't her place. It was Mr. John's. Maybe she was mildly taking over his space, but it was only because having her supplies conveniently nearby her patient made the healer's job that much easier. The bundles of drying herbs, mortar, and containers of living plants in Mr. John's kitchen were all her working materials to help hold down his fort.
She brought only the essentials she might need while ensuring his safety. Though she was still relatively clueless about what was going on, she still put all the effort she could towards protecting the camper, caring for Silky, and keeping his husk safe.
His soul had detached from his body, and while a part of her was compelled to perform the death rites, her gut nagged at her, insisting she wait. So she did. It's been two days, and his body hasn't shown any signs of decomposition, proving her instincts to be right once more.
Death usually showed symptoms quicker than this. She's already had her experience with death, being one of its many facilitators and having visited the underworld personally. That last part was a rite of passage for some of the more involved death workers. Violeta was very involved.
So, with her being such a diligent little worker, she was starting to get pissy about Death not answering her calls. Oh, come on. Was she still getting blacklisted from the whole WGBS thing?
Violeta sighs as she turns off the stovetop, allowing the eucalyptus, rosemary, and chamomile tea to finish steeping. Once that was cool, Mr. John was getting a sponge bath. Dead or not, she still felt a duty to care for John Constantine's mortal husk, as both his friend and a humble servant of the dead.
Thanks to the odd delivery job, she earned an extra $200 to care for Silky's needs and replenish supplies as needed. She couldn't understand why cat litter would cost so much if it's just sand-- they had sand outside-- but she wasn't about to stomp all over John's carefully crafted quiet life while he was away.
Silky meows in anticipation as Violeta serves the cat her meal, watching the feline eagerly eat. A good, healthy appetite.
"You need to eat soon, too, Mr. John," she tells his body quietly. His cheeks had started to hollow out. It could be the start of muscular atrophy. It could be the first signs of decomposition. Does a semi-dead body even metabolize? What about his gut bacterial biome? Was that dying too?
Violeta returns to the kitchen to begin fermenting things to help Mr. John recover his beneficial bacterial biome once he comes back. She kept saying that.
"Once he comes back."
Was she really so sure he would? Death was usually a step forward... not something many stepped back from. But this was John Constantine. ...Whatever that meant. He's apparently kind of a big deal. She didn't know what it was about him that inspired her to stay so hopeful.
She stops her movements when the hairs on her neck suddenly stand on end. Even Silky stops eating and retreats under a piece of furniture. Crap-- the spells.
Cursing under her breath, she hurriedly checked on each of the protection spells she had set up in different parts of the camper. Kitchen, bathroom. Entrance, left window, right window... bedroom. All intact, but due for a refresh. The disturbance was outside. Powerful enough to make its threat known in spite of the layer of protections, spells, and wards.
"Puta..." Violet sits on the foot of Mr. John's bed as she projects an extra shield of protection from her own magic. The threat eventually passes, yet she feels its promise to return.
For any threat to come this close meant that the spellwork outside had been tampered with. Someone in the physical realm was sabotaging them.
Violeta refused to be prey.
She allows herself to peruse the few tomes, books, and grimoires Mr. John had scattered across the camper. She grabs one of those big, thick ones, feeling its weight in her hands.
It was heavy. Heavy with history. She could plainly tell by the multitude of notes sticking out of the pages, the thin layer of dust, and the fact it was one of the few personal belongings Mr. John seemed to have. Steeling her nerves, she sits on the cushioned bench by the sill and begins to study.
Samaykita had to help her practice and understand a few details, but Violeta was beginning to understand a different branch of magic. It held some similar principles to what she had inherited, but relied much more on her own mana and will.
Some of it was more mathematical, with specific incantations, sigils, or rituals to achieve certain results. She wasn't too much of a fan of all the rules, though. Perhaps she could take some of the root principles...
Violeta ventures outside the camper, closing the door behind her. She forms a hollow chamber with her hands and blows into pulverized St. John's Wort, charging it with magic and intention. A locator spell.
The herbs dance on a magical breeze, leading the shaman to a patch of green in the parking lot. Well, it used to be green. Even the St. John's Wort was tainted black when it reached the spot. The grass was dying, and even the tree there seemed sick. Obeying her intuition, she avoids using her hands to dig, snapping off a branch from the dying tree to use instead.
Digging three inches under the surface, the stench of decay hits her nose, and she coughs at the smell. Pulling her shirt over her nose and mouth, she uncovers a rat's carcass, wriggling with worms, and a rusting nail pointing towards the camper buried in its insides.
"Oh God..."
A counter spell. Actually, a hex was probably more accurate.
Brujeria.
Though she never came across them herself, as her village's keeper of knowledge, she knew of brujas and brujos. Vengeful dark mages who perverted the old ancient knowledge to cast harm upon others and serve themselves. Brujeria surged as a response to colonization, mixing the Christian pantheon of infernals with indigenous knowledge.
They were meant to be protectors of their people at first, but with all the war, pestilence, and bloodshed, demons easily overtook the practice and corrupted Brujeria to become self-serving and evil. The brujas have long since lost their way.
As Violeta moved the hex far away from the camper to deal with later, she couldn't help but wonder what the hell La Brujeria would want to do with John Constantine. Just how many enemies can one man have?!
No matter. Knowing he had people wishing him harm only strengthened her resolve to be a good friend to Mr. John.
She removed the nail from the rat's innards with the stick, debilitating the hex so it wouldn't cause others harm in the meantime.
...She was being watched.
It's not human.
Violeta tosses the stick away and dusts off her hands. She's been stalked before. She wasn't scared.
"Fuck off and leave us alone!" she calls, to no one in particular. She didn't care to investigate; she had more important things to do.
She senses Samaykita leave her side for a moment, probably to investigate or spook whatever was spying or threatening them.
She spends the rest of the day reinforcing the protection spells in the area, applying the knowledge she picked up from the books. Besides keeping his body safe though... Violeta didn't know what more she could do for Mr. John.
You could ask the Prime Magus for help.
Violeta sputters at the suggestion as she cleanses Mr. John's body.
"The Prime Magus? Please, she's too busy to deal with-"
I heard they're good friends. A bit of a messy history but...
Violeta pauses, looking over Mr. John's pale body. She didn't know the details, but what she gathered from an old letter she found was that he and Miss Zatanna Zatara were not exactly on speaking terms. Still... John could use the help. Violeta could use the help.
The shaman huffs as she continues her chore, ruminating over the idea.
Now that she knew the Brujeria was involved, she figured out that Mr. John had been cursed. She didn't know the particulars, and with the magnitude and strength of the curse, she knew it was likely impossible for her to break on her own. Not to mention incredibly dangerous to attempt to do so.
Dampening the towel once more in the purifying herbal tea, she works on cleaning his hands.
"I'll figure this out, Mr. John," she promises quietly, "You won't be alone in this."
I am so sorry to appropriate a wlw love story for this, but Eve's Kororon is sooo Violeta (my oc) x Yūyoku (also my oc) core...
Though I would say rather than the anxiety the pink-haired girl experiences, it's more the presence of Samaykita that torments Violeta.
Violeta would be the Tiger, and Yūyoku the Wolf.
As a medium of the divine and mundane, Violeta sometimes struggles, feeling torn between the two. Sometimes she leans a little too hard into the magical/spiritual when she's just a mortal girl who must lead a mortal life on earth, so she has to keep herself in check to not fall into spiritual psychosis (real thing btw). Turn up the difficulty when you literally have a trickster deity influencing and talking to you every single damn day and making commentary on your life.
Conversely, Yūyoku IS the child of both worlds; he belongs to both at the same time. His role is not that of a bridge, but a mediator. He makes sure neither world bleeds too much into the other, keeping order and balance between humans and yokai. As a demi-god of sorts, both worlds are very real to him, so it's less of a line and more of a heightened experience of reality.
In their canon (that I wrote for them), Yūyoku has never met another person who deals with both realms in a way remotely close to the way he does. His father, Yatagasaru, belongs to the world of Kami and Yokai, occasionally interacting with the mortal human realm. Any other magic users he's come across either use the spirit realms or disregard them altogether.
Violeta is the first person he meets who actually cares what happens on both sides and has her hands in both jars. And tbh, the same kind of goes for Violeta, despite being under the tutelage of Zatanna and Constantine.
Constantine behaves much like Yūyoku's father on the opposite end of the spectrum, belonging and living his life in the mortal human world, and only reaching into the spirit worlds when absolutely necessary. Zatanna is Prime Magus, keeping order and peace between all magical realms as well as the mundane, but the role of the Prime Magus is sooo far beyond what Violeta actually practices.
I see these two sharing and relating a lot about their "God problems", their love for the fleeting nature of human life (shout out my husband Rengoku Kyōjurō btw for that beautiful speech), frustrations about existing systems that make mortal life way more complicated than it has to be, and the overall nuances of being spiritual workers.
I developed these OCs from completely different inspirations, and I only put them together by accident when I considered adapting them for a D&D campaign. And from that moment I was like... oh my God. Oh my god? OH MY GOD...
They also happen to be the healer x protector trope <3
I wrote out their first encounter in a short fic here! I might update a few details later, but the essence of their dynamic is there. Oughhh I love my babies sm...
Girly, do you like going out or having a drink? I'm finally free from work, and there's a club in the Diamond District I've been dying to try.
@zahira-kylealghul
Ugh I would love to!! I need to sneak out of the Manor but I can totally do that.
Does anyone know of an active Death (DC) rp account or should I make one?
I personally haven't seen one around, but tbh I haven't consumed Sandman or general Endless content, so I'd have some reading to do for sure (I'd do shows but I'm terrible at watching series </3), but more than anything I'd likely channel/draw from my own experiences with death.
"Hiiii big guy," the shaman kindly addresses the shadow, "Pspspsps."
She takes out a can of beer. "¿Quieres una cerveza? I have plenty to share."
Violeta squats and rolls a can of beer towards the figure, the can stopping just short of its feet.
"Beer's on me, buddy. I grabbed way too much Thursday night anyway."
She stands and takes her eyes off the shadow for a moment, looking around to look for a different figure sporting a red helmet. She didn't want the wings to go cold and the beer to get warm.
She noticed the other people who were around the alley earlier had seemingly cleared out.
Violeta turns when she hears another voice behind her. "Ah, there you are!" She smiles and hands off the wings and a six-pack of cold beers to Red Hood.
"Hehe, what do you mean call Mr. John? Haven't you heard?" She shakes her head and smiles at the terrible joke.
The girl steps closer to the figure, who watches her in turn. They both seemed to be studying each other.
"You lonely? Maybe a little lost?"
The shade stares.
"It's okay. I'm not scared, so you don't have to be scared either. We can be friends."
The shaman girl offers her hand towards the shadow.
She mentions it casually, as delivering a traffic update. And it wasn't even a stretch. All his bodily functions had ceased, but his body hadn't begun the process of decomposition. His soul was stuck in limbo. And since Death had expressly instructed her to back off from death work for a while, she couldn't do much other than protect John's body and keep it clean.
"Don't talk to them like that, you'll upset them," she warns softly, never taking her eyes off the shadow.
"Hmm, I see now. Alright. I'll do what I can to help."
What the fuck? Was she communicating with the damn thing?
Turning back to Red Hood, she rubs her arm sheepishly. "I'm Violeta, by the way. John Constantine is a friend of mine. I don't mean to be pushy... but might you have that payment on you? I mainly need it to take care of Mr. John's cat while he's out."
Violeta nods, hearing the shock in the vigilante's voice.
"Haha, yeah... honestly, I'm not too sure of the details myself, other than his last words being: 'Run away, I'm dying', but clearly that was an exaggeration."
She was greatly downplaying the severity of the situation. Constantine's soul hung in the balance; she had no idea who had done that to him, how to fix the situation, or how long his body would last without a soul to inhabit it. It was kind of a mess... but she was handling it the best she could.
"Deal with this poor shade?" she points a thumb behind her, sensing the shadow peering over her shoulder in curiosity.
"Oh yeah, I just have to figure out their identity in life, hopefully find their body, and do some death rites. Shades tend to wander when their bodies haven't been properly cared for after death, and nobody remembers them after the fact. This poor soul is just stuck here, with no one to remember or miss them."
She considered it highly likely that the shadow was someone who was marginalized by society, murdered, and had their body carelessly discarded somewhere. She's seen many such cases around Gotham. Broke her heart.
"I'm not much of a detective, I'll admit, but I at least have to try."
"He's my idiot brother. He manages to get involved in a lot of shit, the question is valid just trust me." Her voice managed to carry both exasperation, annoyance, and love for the younger boy.
Bored of sitting and eager to nose around the apartment, she sat down on one of the sofa chairs. She strategically did not choose the sofa so that nobody would sit next to her.
"Not very for me." That was a lie. She really liked sweet things. It was just at the moment she was on a diet in preparation for a photo shoot and she couldn't put on any weight at all. That and she wanted to seem not as childish in front of the woman for whatever reason.
He shrugs a little keeping a close eye towards the kitchen.
"I prefer it pretty sweet." He usually puts a lot of sugar in his. He prefers a sugar rush but he doesn't say that outright. He'll still drink it even if it's not sweet enough. He usually burned off calories during patrol anyway.
He fidgeted a moment with the ends of his sleeves. He could offer to help in the kitchen but this wasn't his house and..well he didn't feel like it. He wanted to contribute to the whole Tim conversation too but telepathy took too much energy and trying to figure out a way to word seeing Tim last night on patrol to make it..sound like a casual civilian run in required energy. He was too lazy to think of a cover up.
Violeta shrugs and softly chuckles at Arabella's reply. She'd always wondered what it was like to have siblings. She imagined it must be quite nice. Even if she knew they fought a lot. The shaman would bet her poncho that if she were to badmouth Tim, Bella would swiftly come to his defense.
"She lied. She likes it sweet," Violeta hears the spirit from earlier grumble. For good measure, she makes sure to add an extra spoonful of honey for Bella. Just in case.
The tea is finished soon enough, and Violeta brings out the cups to her guests. She hands Bella a vintage teacup, with those lacey, flowery designs- just the kind of cup you'd find in your grandmother's cupboard.
"Here we are. Rose for the humors, passionflower for the nerves, chamomile to relax..."
Halos' cup is more plain and stout, the bottom flat, and double-glazed; a cool minty-beige on the inside with an earthy, streaked brown glaze on the outside.
"And plenty of clover honey," she gently and intentionally pushes the teacup into the boy's hand, holding his wrist steady as she explains, "The honey really brings it all together, stabilizing and reinforcing the soothing effects, while the aspect of clover flushes out negative energy. So the tea should be relaxing and purifying."
She winks at Halos and pats his shoulder, leaving his personal space as she goes to fetch her own teacup from the kitchen.
What is it, what is it?
Violeta inspects the bracelet she swapped, feeling the energy faintly crackle like a live wire. She didn't even bat an eye when yet another different spirit brought attention to the bracelet Halos wore, and followed her instincts (and Samaykita's insistence) to relieve him of it.
She left one of her own silver bangles in its stead, yet another gift for the boy, and now that she had the thing in her hands, her gut confirmed that the bracelet imparted a negative effect on Halos. She hid it behind a jar so she could look at it later.
Returning to the living room without taking too long, she sits back down on the floor, pleased to see that her guests had made themselves more comfortable.
"Thank you for trusting me to do your reading earlier, Bella. Though I'm afraid my divination was a bit off the rails this time around."
It wasn't strange to the shaman for spirit guides to step in and hijack readings. It was quite routine, actually. But Wari was aware that most psychics didn't have those kinds of abilities, and the spirit had quite the personality, so she did the polite thing and offered an apology anyway.
She took a sip of her tea. Violeta's cup was textured, bordering on tacky. It had bas-relief flowers molded onto the sides, the leaves and petals colored with glaze.
"Halos, me soprendiste; you seem to know a thing or two about magic. What's your experience with it?"
The question was delivered gently, a genuine curiosity coming from a girl who was still getting her bearings in a strange new place. What was magic like out here in the Western world? She knew for the most part it was generally commodified or mystified, but that was for everyday people. It'd be interesting to meet another magus beyond her elder mentors.
He fidgeted with his cup for a second trying to think of a way to explain how he knew.
"My brother is something of a..curious mind I think." In his words he preferred to call his brother an idiot but that was mean and Hansin wasn't here to say anything so he held off and bit his tongue.
"He kinda got into some trouble a few years ago and since then he's been really interested in magic especially supernatural stuff. He takes me places and teaches me stuff sometimes."
Honestly he was telling the truth about...mostly everything. He refused to go into too many details but he was prepared to express his dislike of going on adventures with Hansin. He hated haunted places.
She took a sip of the tea, surprised to find it sweet but somewhat happy. It was nice. It was warm, it made her feel finally relaxed. Something she hadn’t been for a long time.
Arabella know of her friends hatred for Haunted places and things. It was why whenever she wanted to go to one of them, she would lie to him so he would come along. Granted, he got mad every single time but in her defence if he was smarter he would catch on. Besides, he hadn’t left her yet so she took that as permission in and of itself.
The shaman hums and nods in understanding. His brother was a ghost hunter, then. Amateurs. There was no lineage, continuity, or guide for them to follow.
The host flashes Arabella a pleased grin at the compliment. "I'm glad you like it. I was inspired by you both when I came up with the blend, so I'm really happy it suits your tastes."
Like, genuinely. She loved hearing that her efforts to help others paid off. Those moments were sadly far and few between.
She returns to the topic she brought up with Halos.
"It sounds like your brother dabbles for fun, then?" Violeta quirks a brow, "He should be very careful. The occult is far deeper and more volatile than most usually expect. It's not really something anyone should mess with without a proper mentor or tutor."
Violeta has Samaykita, her mother, grandparents, and now Miss Zatanna and Mr. John. She didn't doubt that there were some novices out there who did their due diligence and exercised with utmost caution, but Mr John had told her too many stories of poor, unfortunate sods who played a little too hard with things beyond their understanding. She knew he still suffered nightmares from the things he'd seen.
"Si soy honesta, I get the impression you're not terribly fond of magic, Halos." She smiles at him apologetically, only feeling a little bad to call him out like that. Violeta wondered if the cards were laid plainly on the table, he'd open up a bit more. She didn't mind if he was wary at all.
Violeta smiles wryly at hearing Batgirl continue to try to mix Spanish with her English.
"It's okay, you don't have to speak in Spanish for me. I want to practice my English more."
Now having been acquainted, the shaman turns back and squats once more, her fingers raking through the soil as she digs for more spoils of the earth.
Violeta hums as she considers Batgirl's gentle warning. It sounded more like advice than a hard rule in her head.
"Ah, don't worry! I don't just take. I give back, too."
Without looking up from the ground, she digs into her pockets and grabs a small handful of mixed seeds; all harvested and collected from other plants she's found around the city.
"What kind of person would I be if I didn't take without giving back?"
Considering the subject of her trespassing concluded, she moves on in conversation.
"Ahh... how should I put this..." she tries to formulate her words as she covers up the seeds in the disturbed patches of soil.
How could she put "the front line wasn't doing a good enough job in keeping up the boundaries between realms, so I had to leave my home to figure out what was going wrong and lend my help," without sounding condescending?
"My duty is both to the spirit and mortal realms. These past few years, I've been feeling... uneasy about the breaches of one into the other. The natural order wasn't being properly maintained... so I had to leave my home to make sure that things don't escalate in the future."
She thought it was a pretty polite way to say that the current magic front needed to do a better job.
"I go where my goddess takes me. She told me to hang around here for a while."
Violeta pats down the soil where the seeds were sown and casts a water spell to dampen the earth. She begins to gather her harvest, seemingly concluding her communion with this piece of land.
I lean back against the fence and watch her work, letting her explain herself. When she says she wants to practice her English, I raise both hands in surrender.
“Fair enough. English it is.”
A small smile tugs at my lips as I watch her scatter seeds back into the soil. Okay. That is definitely not the answer I was expecting. Most people justify trespassing. Most people don’t explain their ecological repayment system. I glance between the disturbed earth and the seeds she’s planting.
“You know, I was fully prepared to give you a lecture about property laws.”
I point at the ground.
“But that’s actually a surprisingly solid philosophy.”
My amusement fades into curiosity as she begins explaining why she’s in Gotham. The further she talks, the more my detective instincts start quietly lighting up. Spirit realm. Breaches. Natural order. A goddess. Under normal circumstances, those would be some pretty major red flags. The problem is that in Gotham, and especially in my line of work, those aren’t necessarily insane statements. I’ve personally dealt with enough magical disasters to know better than to dismiss them. So instead of laughing, I listen. Carefully. When she mentions being guided by her goddess, I fold my arms.
“That’s… a pretty big responsibility.”
My gaze follows the motion of her hands as she dampens the soil. I don’t visibly react to the spell. Mostly because I’ve learned that acting surprised around magic users only encourages them. Internally? Different story. Because that’s definitely magic. Not a trick. Not stagecraft. Actual magic. Of course Gotham attracts another one. I push off the fence.
“So let me see if I’ve got this right.”
I start counting on my fingers.
“You’re a shaman.”
One finger.
“You can apparently do real magic.”
Two.
“You’re concerned about supernatural breaches affecting both worlds.”
Three.
“And you’re following instructions from a goddess who specifically told you to come to Gotham.”
Four. I stare at my hand. Then at her. Then back at my hand.
“To be honest, I’ve heard worse introductions.”
A laugh escapes me. The city has done permanent damage to my standards. My expression softens after a moment.
“But if what you’re saying is true…”
I glance toward Gotham’s skyline in the distance.
“… then you’re not the first person who’s noticed something strange.”
That part isn’t a joke. Too many weird incidents. Too many magical disturbances. Too many cases that don’t fit neatly into any normal explanation. I’ve seen enough reports to know there’s a pattern, even if I can’t fully see the shape of it yet. My eyes return to her.
“So your goddess sends you here.”
I tilt my head.
“And what exactly did she tell you about Gotham?”
I pause for a moment.
“Because if the answer is ‘everything is fine’, then I think your goddess owes somebody a refund.”
Wari watches Batgirl put up each of her four fingers and nods in affirmation. She got the gist of it.
Violeta follows Batgirl's gaze to the skyline, but looks back at the redhead when she fails to see something out of the ordinary. She can only blink at her line of questioning.
"I was told nothing about Gotham," she explains, shoving her gathered herbs into her pockets, "I was just told to be here."
Violeta walks to the fence and briefly shapeshifts into a snake to slither through the gap in the fence, retaking her human form once on the other side.
"Spirits don't always follow human logic or reasoning. They only provide just enough to get things where we need to be. Such is the way of the Universe," she muses with a casual shrug of her shoulders.
Wari was no more than an instrument of divine will. Who was she, a mortal girl, to question or doubt the will of the divine? As Wari, she knew well that not all humans could easily accept fate, especially if it were spelled out for them, so she understood it was better for everyone if she moved along with minimal information. Everything that she might ever need would be provided in due time. She didn't have to worry about a thing; she had faith.
"It was an honor to cross paths with you, Batgirl!" she waves cheerily, voice bright with genuine joy, "Keep up the great work!"
Violeta turns round and marches off, as if that were a fine conclusion to their interaction. Her strange approach to social situations and life had much to do with her philosophy, spirituality, and culture, all of which were deeply ingrained in her being. It might be easy to grow frustrated with her if she weren't so obviously good-natured and naive.
The shaman ambles down the road, humming a melody to herself when her eyes land on a patch of wild raspberries. Score! Without a second thought, she slips through another fence and happily begins harvesting the berries.
I watch her turn into a snake. A literal snake. A real, actual snake. The transformation lasts only a moment before she’s human again on the other side of the fence. I stare.
“Okay...”
I point vaguely in the direction where the snake had been.
“See, that’s the kind of thing people should lead with.”
I pause for a moment.
“‘Hi, I’m Violeta, I can become wildlife’.”
I shake my head.
“That feels like important information.”
Despite myself, I’m smiling. It’s hard not to. Most people who possess that kind of power carry themselves like they’re the center of the universe. She talks about it the same way someone else might talk about taking the bus. Then she thanks me, wishes me well, and starts walking away. Just like that. No dramatic exit. No mysterious warning. No request for help. Just genuine well wishes and a cheerful goodbye. I blink.
“Uh…”
I raise a hand.
“Thanks?”
She’s already halfway down the road. For a second I consider leaving it there. Nice meeting. Weird conversation. Gotham as usual. Then I watch her immediately slip through another fence. I close my eyes. Of course. Of course she does. My head drops forward.
“Violeta.”
I don’t even raise my voice. Not because I expect her to hear me. Because I already know what’s happening. Three. Two. One. I look up. Sure enough, she’s harvesting berries from another property. I let out a long sigh. The thing is, I don’t think she’s ignoring me. I think she genuinely doesn’t understand why anyone would care. Which somehow makes this harder. I grapple over the fence and land lightly on the other side.
“Okay.”
I walk toward her.
“New plan.”
I point toward the berries.
“Before you collect those, we’re gonna have a lesson about something called ownership.”
I point at her.
“Then we’re gonna have a lesson about why fences keep appearing around you.”
Another step.
“And after that, I’m buying you a map.”
I fold my arms.
“Because if your goddess really sent you to Gotham, I have a feeling I’m going to spend the next six months preventing you from accidentally committing minor crimes.”
A reluctant laugh escapes me. I honestly can’t tell whether that’s a joke or a prediction anymore. I glance toward the berry bush. Then back at her.
“Just out of curiosity…”
I tilt my head.
“Has anyone ever explained trespassing to you before, or am I about to become the first person in your life to attempt this?”
"Ownership?" Violeta looks between the berry bush and Batgirl.
"...Would you like some too? There's plenty-"
The shaman blinks when Batgirl points at her. She knew what fences were for, of course: protecting land. They could be helpful in the right circumstances. But more often, she had seen how fences disrupt ecosystems and hide exploitation beyond the barriers.
She's had to tear down her fair share of fences in her tenure as Wari, even receiving death threats for protecting her ancestral homeland. Thankfully, she was able to scare off the villains threatening the land before any real harm came down on her village. Maybe a couple of bad nights, but no one had to die.
"But... I don't need a map," she mutters, beginning to feel rather patronized.
Violeta had a wonderful sense of direction. And even if she didn't, she wouldn't make use of a map. She wanders as a free spirit, her feet and intuition guiding her as she moves through the world. A map would be useless to someone who doesn't have a destination in mind.
"Trespassing. Yes, it's been explained to me before."
The indigenous woman's voice suddenly takes on a serious tone that commands respect and attention, befitting of someone raised to lead and defend an entire village of some of the most vulnerable people on the planet.
She stands and looks Batgirl in the eye, a stubborn, jaded determination simmering in the depths of her pupils. Violeta's disposition shifts from free-spirited wanderer to firm political leader. From childhood, she's had to push back against a war that started centuries before their time, a violation of humanity that the Western world turned a blind eye to. Because of course they would. They profited from it.
"It's been explained to me politely over meetings. It's been explained to me while staring down the barrels of rifles. It's been explained to me by politicians, oil companies, miners, and cartels."
Violeta sighs, knowing that Batgirl did not mean to threaten her. But the issue was generational and deeply personal.
"I understand this particular piece of land has a caretaker. But as human beings, we are all caretakers of the same earth. She is not a dead thing you can claim sovereignty over. She breathes. She lives. She is our mother, and we are all her children. And no child of this Earth is unwelcome to any part of her."
The joke dies on my tongue. Not because I’m offended. Because suddenly I understand that we’re not talking about berries anymore. I study her quietly as she speaks. The shift in her demeanor is impossible to miss. The cheerful wanderer is still there, but beneath her is something older. Heavier. Someone who has stood in rooms full of powerful people and refused to back down. Someone who’s had this argument before. Many times. By the time she’s finished, I’ve stopped smiling entirely. I don’t answer right away. Instead, I glance toward the berry bush, then the fence, then the city beyond it. Finally, I look back at her.
“I believe you.”
My voice is calm.
“I believe every word you just said.”
I cross my arms.
“And for the record, I don’t think oil companies, cartels, and people pointing rifles at indigenous communities get to claim the moral high ground on much of anything.”
A slight edge enters my voice.
“Especially not stewardship.”
I’ve seen enough corruption to know how often the law and justice are two completely different things. The distinction matters. A lot. I exhale slowly.
“But I don’t think we’re actually arguing about the same thing.”
I gesture between the two of us.
“You’re talking about philosophy.”
Then I point toward Gotham.
“I’m talking about reality.”
I hold up a hand before that can be mistaken for dismissal.
“And I don’t mean that disrespectfully.”
Because I don’t. Not even a little. The conviction in her voice is real. The pain behind it is real too. I can hear it.
“I actually agree with part of what you’re saying.”
My gaze drifts to the ground beneath our feet.
“The Earth isn’t just a resource.”
I shrug.
“Trust me, I’ve spent enough nights hanging off rooftops to appreciate that.”
A faint smile tugs at one corner of my mouth.
“But Gotham isn’t your village.”
I look back at her.
“And the people here don’t share the same relationship with land that you do.”
I pause.
“Some of them inherited property. Some bought it. Some spent their entire lives saving for a tiny piece of it.”
I gesture toward the surrounding neighborhood.
“For some people, that little fenced-in patch of dirt is the only thing they actually own.”
The smile fades.
“And while I might disagree with corporations buying up half the world, I also don’t think Mrs. Ramirez growing tomatoes in her backyard is the enemy.”
I tilt my head.
“So when I talk about trespassing, I’m not talking about multinational companies poisoning rivers.”
I point at the berry bush.
“I’m talking about not accidentally giving some retired grandmother a heart attack when she looks out her window and finds a shapeshifting stranger harvesting her raspberries.”
I pause for a moment.
“Which, for the record, would be a very difficult police report to write.”
The tension eases slightly. Just slightly. I shove my hands into my belt.
“Look, Violeta.”
My voice softens.
“I don’t think you’re taking these berries because you’re selfish. I think you’re probably one of the least selfish people I’ve met in a long time.”
I mean it. People don’t replant seeds. People don’t wander around healing strangers. People don’t uproot their lives because they think the world needs help. Not unless they genuinely care.
“But caring about people also means understanding the rules they live by.”
I hold her gaze.
“Even when those rules don’t make sense to you.”
The wind stirs between us. For a moment I just watch her. Then a small grin finally returns.
“Besides.”
I point toward the berries.
“If we’re having a philosophical debate about land ownership…”
My grin widens.
“… I still think you should at least ask before declaring yourself co-owner of someone’s raspberry bush.”
Violeta still has that stubborn look in her eye, but her expression softens. They weren't enemies... simply part of two different worlds. And Batgirl was making an attempt to meet her halfway. Violeta glances at the raspberry bush.
"This is a wild raspberry bush," she says as she approaches the plant, pointing out the key differences.
"The stems are covered in thorns, and the fruit is more seed than pulp."
She takes one of the fruits she already harvested, crushing it in between her fingers to reveal the large seeds inside.
"The cultivated kind is thornless, and the seeds are much smaller, though that makes them infertile. Because the wild variant is so spiny, most people rip them out. They're undesirable."
Like her. Unruly, unwelcome, unconforming. Too inconvenient for Westerners to allow for true coexistence.
"I'm not a thief. I'm not a tyrant. I don't own this berry bush, nor do I own anything at all."
A rather poetic way to clue in the fact that she was homeless.
"But I assure you, I know the difference between neglected land and a cultivated garden," she murmurs with a small, amused smile.
It was westerners that didn't understand. The Western world thought that indigenous people had left the land virgin, untouched, wild, just as they assumed the "savage indians" were. It couldn't be further from the truth.
Indigenous communities have been manipulating and altering the landscape since time immemorial. They had just gotten so good at coexisting with the Earth that all their efforts seemed like natural conveniences rather than carefully engineered and responsive solutions. So naturally, it was second nature to her to be able to identify what land was stewarded and what was left to waste.
"Caring about people means understanding the rules they live by.”
She found that point difficult to argue. She's learned to live under the boot of tyranny... she hated the idea of imposing on others.
These Westerners do not understand our righteous wrath. They exercise their own tyranny and call it justice. You hear Pachamama's heartbeat, Maywa. You respond to her. Your duty to divinity supercedes any mortal law.
Violeta chews her lip at Samaykita's whispers. She was wary of her goddess, always, but as her servant, Wari was defined by their servitude and the divinity that ruled the mundane.
"The Gods provide me only with what I need; no more, no less. I am a humble servant of man, but my supreme duty is to the divine. I will not always be aligned with mortal rules."
Violeta's gaze softened, her expression almost apologetic. She was the chosen bridge between two worlds, living in the borderlands, never quite belonging to one society or the other. She would always be the outsider. She couldn't neatly fit into a box or simply conform.
And for that, she was sorry to Batgirl. She knew the vigilante meant well. But she couldn't make the caped woman's job any easier, nor make her own life any smaller to fit in better in this strange Western world.
So she stood there, waiting for the other to cast their judgment on her. As they all did. It wasn't lost on her the looks and faces people made when they saw her. The names and whispers of the brown immigrant girl with strange clothes, strange mannerisms, strange voice. She was a disruption, a cognitive dissonance.
Violeta didn't "belong" here; not in this empty lot, not in Gotham City, and probably not anywhere else in this country. Perhaps she could achieve acceptance or tolerance, but that would never really mean belonging. Such was the life of a drifter.
I listen without interrupting. To be honest, I don’t know enough about raspberry bushes to argue with her. The way she points out the differences, the way she handles the fruit… it’s obvious she knows what she’s talking about. So I let her talk. And the more she does, the more I get the feeling this conversation stopped being about land a while ago. When she’s finished, I stay quiet for a few seconds. I’m not judging her. I’m thinking. Finally, I let out a slow breath.
“You know, for someone who keeps insisting she’s not a political leader, you sound exactly like one.”
A small smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.
“It’s not a criticism. I’ve met a lot of people who care about causes. A lot fewer who carry them around every second of the day.”
I lean back against the fence. My eyes drift toward the skyline.
“Gotham’s full of people who think they have all the answers. You’re not one of them.”
I glance back at her. That’s obvious. She’s absolutely stubborn, but she doesn’t sound arrogant. She sounds like someone carrying responsibilities most people would never understand. When she talks about duty to the divine, I don’t roll my eyes or make a joke. I’ve worked with enough magic users to know there are things in this world bigger than me. Bigger than Gotham. Bigger than any law book.
“I don’t think you’re a thief. I never did.”
My voice is simple and direct as I gesture toward the berries.
“If I thought you were stealing for yourself, we’d be having a very different conversation. And probably a much shorter one.”
A small laugh escapes me, but the humor fades.
“But I also don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit.”
I frown slightly.
“You keep talking about yourself like you’re just some instrument. Maybe your goddess pointed you in a direction. Maybe destiny exists. Maybe all of that’s true.”
I shrug and spread my hands.
“But you’re still the one making the choices. You’re the one who left home. You’re the one helping people. You’re the one planting seeds instead of just taking things.”
My gaze settles on her and I shake my head. For a moment, I study her expression. The apology in it. The expectation. Like she’s waiting for me to tell her she’s wrong. Or unwelcome. Or impossible to deal with. I’ve seen that look before. Usually on people who’ve spent too much of their lives being treated like a problem. Then my expression softens.
“Hey… you don’t have to apologize to me for being different.”
The words come out before I can overthink them. I wait until I have her attention.
“I mean, look at me.”
I gesture at my batsuit, the cape, the mask and the utility belt.
“I dress like a bat and spend my nights jumping off rooftops. I’m not exactly winning any awards for fitting in.”
A grin slips through. The joke fades, but the warmth stays.
“But I can tell you this… you’re right about one thing: this city wasn’t built for people like you.”
I look around the lot and around Gotham and pause for a moment before continuing.
“Truth is, it wasn’t built for a lot of people… but people make homes here anyway.”
My voice stays quiet as I push off the fence.
“And they don’t perfectly belong, but they decide to stay no matter what.”
I shrug. The evening breeze rustles through the berry bushes. I offer a small smile.
“I don’t think Gotham’s ever met anyone quite like you. That might cause a few headaches, but I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing.”
Then I glance at the berries in her hands and point at them.
“Are those actually any good, or have I been standing here defending a bush that tastes terrible?”
Violeta stands there, utterly dumbfounded, processing... that she wasn't chased away? Batgirl actually believed her? She was so used to fighting, having to over-explain her existence and personhood, exhausting herself spending her precious time on this mortal earth justifying things that should have been natural and common sense.
"Ahh..." there was only one thing she could easily answer, "Not... not as good as the supermarket... More seed than fruit, but it's something to eat. More acidic, still sweet."
She didn't even realize her English had gone to shit; the immigrant was that surprised and taken aback. She stared at the berries in perplexity, as if the fruit had grown a mouth and started singing.
She takes a deep breath, producing a cloth from her pocket and tucking the berries inside to store for later.
"I don't think Gotham is my home," she admits softly, "Home is where my ancestors are buried. This place... I'm just passing through. Staying for a while, how long I don't know. I am just here to share my gifts and service where I can, and protect the mortal and mundane from breaches from other realities."
She turns back to the bush to continue harvesting, since the wild variant really did have much less fruit pulp than the domestic kind.
"You are a good different, Batgirl. You use your courage and talents to help people. If everyone is the same, what could we offer to help each other? Having differences makes a community strong."
Metropolis was a welcome change of pace from the grit and gloom of Gotham. Violeta was growing rather weary and heavy from the despair that seemed to lurk at every corner. Her soul was tired. But she still had a duty to fulfill.
Wari lets out a sigh, her chest heavy with exhaustion and burnout. Her fingers curl around a cup of coffee in the hospital cafeteria. She thinks back on the tragedy that befell the WGBS News building. It was all a blur, quite honestly. Right until that hero, Superboy, got the last person out.
The girl hums as her eyes flutter closed, recalling the darkness and dust, navigating the collapsed building, the names and final requests of each of the unfortunate souls she helped ferry to the afterlife. The memory soothes her. It was a rare opportunity where she could actually see her work through completion.
The people she came across in Gotham weren't the kind she could really help. Any attempt to appeal to them, comfort them, or guide them usually ended with a couple of sarcastic remarks or insults. She felt deeply that Gotham needed a healer, but the city was not ready for it. She mentally curses Samaykita's insistence on having her stationed there.
"You keep looking for me, Wari."
The voice was unfamiliar, but the energy was unmistakable. She doesn't even open her eyes, simply basking in the aura of her old friend. Always there for her in the toughest of times.
"Is there a problem with that?" Violeta couldn't help the lazy smile that found its way to her face. Their presence was a welcome balm to her aching, mortal soul.
Death sighs, gazing out the windows of the hospital cafeteria. Wari could still be a bit childish at times. They don't hold it against her; Violeta didn't have much of a childhood anyway.
"You know that lingering around me doesn't actually count as resting, Wari."
Violeta's smile melts into a pout, and the shaman finally opens her eyes. Death had taken the form of a 30-something-year-old man with black, slicked back hair, grey eyes watching her as he sat back in his slate business suit.
Wari pouts at them for a while, as if it'd have any sway on the Endless. She eventually has to relent.
"Helping you is the only thing I feel like I can actually do."
She hangs her head, looking down at her lap.
"I try to help the living, I swear I do! But these city people have a stick stuck so far up their asses, I think they forget what the point of living actually is."
"Then you should-"
"Remind them! I know, I know," she interjects, running a hand through her hair. The motion has her realize just how unkempt it was. She sighed, taking the opportunity to rebraid her hair as she chatted with her friend.
"I was going to say: you should take a break. You're putting too much pressure on yourself. You're a guide, a healer... not a savior."
Preach, Supay!
Violeta shrinks when even Samaykita is in agreement. Two divine entities giving her the same lecture... what a joke of a shaman she was.
"No living being wants my help," she grumbles, her stubbornness so infallibly human. She knows it's a weak protest.
Death chuckles. So absolute. Violeta seemed to forget she's a mortal herself sometimes. She has more than enough right to lead her own selfish life.
"Stay away from the intensive care unit for a while," Death instructs, "go smell the roses. And stay where the sun actually shines for a while. You're looking a bit pale."
Violeta glances down at her arm, and when she looks up again, Death is gone. She slumps forward onto the table, coffee cup still in hand. She taps her forehead against the wooden surface, like banging her head repeatedly might do away with her frustration.
Mara was bored out of her mind. And hurting, constantly, from her recent surgery. Oh the pain was manageable and well-managed, but ever present, like a headache in the back of the head, leaving an uncomfortableness easy to ignore until those moments where it came back throbbing, full force. Then she'd take some more meds and go on in the same cycle.
The woman had seen her surgeon earlier in the day, and been informed that she would be allowed to leave the hospital soon. As well as been told to schedule PT as soon as she was out and told about her posology for the incoming weeks. Well, months really. Apparently it could take up to 12 weeks to fully heal and she'd have to be on the lookout relentlessly for any respiratory issue in the incoming future.
Heaving another sigh as she glanced out the hospital window from her hospital bed to witness the rainy weather outside, Mara forced herself to sit up, grunting through her nose in exertion and protectively bringing an arm across her ribs. The young woman now gave herself a minute to exhale and re-settle a little. Then slid her legs over the side of the bed and into fuzzy slippers brought by her mother earlier. Mara stood slowly, deciding to indulge in a small walk, though she knew she'd pay for that later. Eh. Laying in bed with ice would be on her to-do list anyways.
Taking slow, careful steps, the journalist progressed through the long corridor of her ward, making it to the nearest elevator with a simple plan: get to the fourth floor, which had a cafeteria with an actual terrace that was always mostly empty from what she could see from her room. At this point, feeling a couple of drops on her skin might feel a little cathartic. Perhaps this was the whole almost dying in a huge explosion and subsequent fire thing, that had her appreciate water all the more. Or perhaps she just needed a minute to breathe some air without her concerned mother breathing over her shoulder. Either way, that had been Mara's plan, when she got into the elevator. But as she read the name of the ward: hospital palliative care unit; Mara understood a little better why the terrace always was so empty... Still, she pressed the button and headed down.
Luckily for the researcher, the disposition on the floor was quite similiar to her own and after a little bit, that felt like a lotta bit, of walking, she was entering a, well, mostly empty cafeteria. Except for a young woman, who was apparently banging her head against a wooden table whilst holding something that looked like coffee. Instinctively, Mara glanced towards the cafeteria worker, who was apparently too busy reorganising cinnamon rolls to say anything about the whole situation. "Ah..." Biting her bottom lip, the black woman armed herself with all the courage she could muster and walked towards the other woman, softly clearing her throat before stating: "Feel free to ignore me if this is really what you need at the moment, but I don't think that's helping...." Mara declared as softly as she could, voice filled with understanding and gaze as gentle as she could keep it, though her brows were slightly creased, feeling rather embarrassed in her own hospital two-piece set.
Violeta thought she was hearing things from the other side again. No... wait, there was a presence. She taps her forehead once more against the table for finality, then turns her head to the side, finding a hospital patient watching her.
The shaman could plainly tell the woman was kind and in pain. The moment she noticed the IV pole and the hospital garb, her consciousness started to shift towards the astral, to do what she could to help this kind soul's pain management. Death's words of wisdom were already tossed out the window.
Huh. That's funny. In the astral, her ribs were already mended. Wait a moment... Violeta blinks a few times as she returns to herself, lifting her head from the table as a flicker of recognition flashes through her eyes.
"You... you were there- at the disaster..."
Violeta brings up a hand and holds her fingers to her forehead, sighing when she realizes she forgot her basic manners. Wow, she was more out of it than she thought.
"I'm sorry, you're right... Thank you."
Violeta brings her coffee cup closer to herself, taking a moment to ground herself and recalibrate to mundane reality.
"I'm sorry, I guess I've been a little out of it, I suppose. But you shouldn't worry about me-"
Violeta stands and pulls out her seat, offering it to the kind lady.
"You must be in pain. Do you want to sit down for a moment?"
Morpheus sometimes didn't understand himself or his emotions.. he pretend to, and pretended well. Staying what most would call a "emotion-less state". He wasn't emotionless, Dream had alot of emotion. So much emotion it usually affected the dreaming..
Especially where he was, The Ghost castle.. him sitting in the grand hall. Tiny cracks appearing throughout the castle and dreaming.. not really the big details.. only the small ones getting cracks...
Dream was dissocating.. he didn't even realize he moved around the dreaming.. he didn't recognize where he was blinking slowly. As star dust tears randomly dripped from his eyes.. and left streaks of black in their wake.
Violeta was gliding on air currents, letting the high and low pressure drafts of the Andes push against her feather and wings as she drifted higher and higher. Gliding as the king of the heavens, the Andean Condor.
Condor held the wisdom of the heavens, medium of ancestral wisdom. Condor was guiding Violeta's consciousness. She was never much of a lucid dreamer; dream magic seemed to be barely out of reach of her innate talents. She could interpret well enough with some effort, but it didn't come quite as naturally as other things did.
There was something curious in this dream, however. A dark figure wandered through the glacial peaks. This environment was inhospitable to life. In the past, priestesses of the sun would come here to offer their lives to Inti. But what walked through the snowy mountaintops was no priestess.
Before she realizes where her dream takes her, Violeta is already landing, drawn in by the mysterious figure. Could it be Supay? Did they come to offer her more guidance?
Her feet sink into the snow. At some point, she had returned to her human form, dressed in llama pelts for the cold. She watches the figure and concludes it was not Death. Just as vast and timeless as they were... but not them. She had not met Morpheus, Lord of Dreams, quite yet.
She gazes upon the Sandman curiously, taking in his starry features. In her dreams, she speaks in her native Quechua.
"Are you lost?" she asks, approaching gently, "These mountains are unkind to wanderers."
I have to vent about this; every time I think about the upcoming Germany vs Ecuador game, I get super emotional. It's gonna be a tough fucking match, but I can't help but hope against hope that we'll win it.
Our team has been steadily improving, while I heard Germany is kind of off its game rn? But my hope is that Germany underestimates our small country and our morenitos give it their fucking all and score a goal or two against this futbol giant.
We have a great defense, though I don't doubt Germany might be able to score against us, but I am praying with my entire BEING that Ecuador wins that game. I want that win for us so fucking bad.
If y'all are gonna tune into the game in two weeks and aren't cheering for Germany, please cheer for the underdogs, Ecuador!
