lxwlers

[lxwlers]

It was convenient that not only did they both work here and knew the bartenders that could grant them a few little extra treats, but Ivy was related to the owner of it all. She wasn't a Scourge by Scourge blood, but Evelyn being her mother gave her a bit of a leg up around here. With a smile, Ivy circled her arm around his back, fingers at his side to keep him close and stable enough as they walked over. Ivy didn't even bother to ask for anything, just reaching over for two full dark bottles. She handed one to Merry and tucked the other under her free arm. "Where to next?" she asked. "Should we drink in the streets and walk until the sun comes up? Find our way up to the roof? I am yours for the night!"

"Ah, yes yes, my most thrilling ascension to governor! This does deserve a celebration!" He had been celebrating since the election in all honesty and with many people buying him drinks, of which he was quick to receive and would not refuse, which resulted in him being even more drunk than he usually was. Even now he was inebriated and so when she lifted her arms to twirl him round he did so with a significant wobble, almost enough to send him entirely off balance but he was used to being half drunk and so was stable enough to keep himself righted. "A good rich red, my dear, of course." He huddled up closer after his tipsy spin to her to urge themselves closer to the bar where they could acquire their bottle.

[lxwlers]

"Of course not," she said, with a very serious nod to show how much in fact she was in agreement. Ivy was old enough to be more than half decent at reading people well. The Anhci clan had been around for quite some time, and she'd had the decades to watch their bloodline grow. Still, she kept her distance. One zealot was easy to tease, a group was harder.

"You say that like I haven't already." Ivy pushed herself from where she stood and circled him - slow enough to seem aimless, but everything she ever did was deliberate. Whether there was any truth or not to her statement was irrelevant, but she wanted to see how he reacted to it all the same. "It's quite easy to blame a trickster when you have such weak moral alignment..." Her fingers danced over his shoulder. "But who am I to say?"

In response to her comment his nose flared Hastalik instead drew it in. He did not consider as he did this it was a manipulation on her part, but the moment his nostrils seemed to thin he realised he had likely done exactly what she had wanted him to do. "I'm not flustered," he insisted, which was not the whole true.

"There are others in the coven that would give into you," he responded. Lots of the other members spoke about 'tricking' women into bed with them. Hastalik wasn't sure that they were ever tricking these women, maybe some were, but other's it seemed more bravado, like a way to distance themselves from potentially actually seeing the women they interacted with as soulful beings, not origins of evil.

Maybe he would have seen Ivy specifically as someone soulful, and thoughtful, if it didn't feel like she found amusement in what he was. "Why not see if you can get them tongue tied?"

[lxwlers]

Ivy never thought of herself as someone who was sentimental, but she'd be lying. She still had many trinkets of her father's - many of his tools, used only in special circumstances, a few shirts that no longer smelled like him after decades of being slept in and hung up in closets, pieces of his jewelry still regularly worn by her. The statue of him that stood proudly in the gardens, made by her own hand, finished and refined before he passed away. Memory could be a fickle thing, and as so much time had passed it was so easy to forget a face, a voice, a laugh - but if she could say so herself, the statue was pretty close. She did learn from the best.

They'd done many of these celebrations over the years, and Ivy usually took the occasional trip to visit his grave and their old home when she had the time to do so. Most of what she ever had to say was spoken over the dirt. Ivy exhaled, thinking it over. "Just that I love him," she decided on, the words coming slowly. "And that I think about him all the time, still... it sometimes feels like a punishment that he was mortal."

Honour Thy Father || Ivy&Evelyn

The man was not buried within the borders of Destarin but that did not mean that Evelyn would not give her daughter the time or place to honour her father. Beyond being a good father to the young half-gorgon, he had been a good man, of well intentioned actions and of kind heart. He deserved a place to be honoured, and so Evelyn had one of the statues that Ivy had made placed on one of the temple grounds in Laras, over the decades since his death it had become overgrown with some of the most beautiful flowers, fed - in part - by the offerings the pair made each year.

"Would you like to say something before we place down our offerings?" Evelyn asked her daughter, eyes the colour of Crirthan waters in the warm months wandering over the flowers his memory had helped grow.

For her own part Evelyn brought a bottle of the same wine they had drunk in the week of passion they had that resulted in their daughter, memories flooding to her each year they came to honour him with the passions of that week, and of nights spent together when he brought their child for visits with her. No secret made of their occasional trysts. If she could have ever loved anyone after Axius it would have been him, and she almost hated herself that she had not been able to fully take on what a life with him could have been. She'd never said as much aloud but perhaps Ivy had noticed, the way Evelyn behaved around him as opposed to the father's of her other children.

"I'm sure your voice will be of comfort to him," she smiled as she turned to look at her daughter.

@lxwlers

[lxwlers]

[lxwlers]

The first indicator that something was amiss should have been that this was her mother's home, not the apartment she typically took flavors of the week back to. And typically, when they inevitably came practically begging down her door for more of what she had to offer, they went back to the only place they knew about.

"The head of this household?" she questioned, but there was nothing combative in her voice - solely confusion. Only then did she gaze back to the portrait behind him. He was standing right beside it, so her eyes easily darted in between in shock, raking in how time had passed from portrait to the physical man in front of her.

Ivy was practically rendered speechless at the sight, the pieces fitting together quickly, not having much time to think how impossible she thought this to be. "She is," she said, slowly, inching her way into the room, wanting a better look at him. "This isn't some cruel trick for her, is it? You're really him?"

Too many years have passed, the house remained in the sands of time barely changing since his departure.  The man was no fool, he knew what his wife was and what she needed that he could not provide during his absence.  Still, it left a bitterness in his mouth thinking about the different partners she had been with.  Did she love any of them, or did she remain loyal in matters of the heart to him.

Axius stood in the presence of a painting of his beloved wife and him when they were younger.  Long before the lines on his forehead and light sun marks on his hands.  Before all the battlefield scars littered his body and he was still pristine in his appearance.

While he stared, he heard a woman’s voice but did not turn to look at her, assuming she was one of the staff members.  “The head of this household,” he simply commented.  But then quickly added the mother part and he turned to look at her.

“Evelyn is your mother?”

[lxwlers]

Satisfied that they came to a nice conclusion about the newest piece of wardrobe, Ivy draped herself over a nearby chair, and took the time to soak in the surroundings. It was a beautiful store and there was a reason that she took the time to come out here instead of the numerous dressers around Cheridi. There was just a different kind of personal touch here, and Ivy was nothing if not unique. At least, in her eyes.

"Mmm, not lately," she answered. Her eyes found a mirror, forcing herself to sit up straighter, keeping her in check. The robe was a silky black, and it looked good on her, she thought - she always liked herself in darker colors, and had to assume it was due to the gorgon blood that flowed through her. Besides, her nails were permanently sharp and dark as well - it's not like rosy pink went very well with that, anyway. "I'm not against it, of course, but I'm afraid I'm just too picky for my own good." Ivy shrugged. "Maybe someday someone'll rise to the occasion." She looked back over at the woman. "For now, I just have to settle with making strangers jealous as I walk through the streets."

"You are generous," she insisted of Ivy's compliments. The woman certainly had a way with words that Bella was a little envious of. She'd never quite found her way to that sort of charisma. She presumed because she had never wanted to make people like her in that way, it seemed better to make them less inclined to her. When she performed blessings...well, that was different. She could be kind when she needed to be, kind to those who she passed as an Aasimar Priestess, but to draw people into her, not what she was, felt different. Ivy had that.

"A perfectly valid reason in my mind to do anything," Bellamy assured the other woman. Another endearing quality of the older woman's. She did not seem to hesitate to simply do as she liked. Bella was trying to be that way in her death and she was close, it was only the muscle memory of the life she lived before that occasionally held her back.

Unconcerned by her nudity, but understanding the chill likely affected Ivy more so than other's being half gorgon, she would have happily provided a thick robe for her comfort. With book in hand she took in Ivy's suggestions and requests and nodded. Something sleek, with subtle hints of design that allowed for the woman's own beauty to stand out. It was a contrast to Bella's own repeated layering and details but that was why she appreciated the comments. Sometimes simplicity and structure were the best ways to display talent and it was hard to remember that at times. "Yes, that would suit you wonderfully," she agreed with a nod of her head.

Stepping back with the book to write down Ivy's notes so she would not forget them Bella's eyes remained on the paper as she spoke. "I can't fathom it would be difficult for you to convince anyone to do your bidding," she smirked as she wrote. "Anyone in particular you're trying to convince presently?"

[lxwlers]

Ivy made a slight face, absently in agreement. She was often told she was not one that could hide her facial expressions - not that Malas was likely looking closely at what she had to think of it - and it was especially no different around familiar company. Ivy never thought of herself as someone who was shy, but she was always somewhat apprehensive of others, until she could sniff out exactly the kind of person they were. She preferred calling herself cautious, which, in her opinion, everybody should be. When she and Malas met, though, she was still young - that was a different circumstance.

At his question, she wordlessly flipped the book, pushing the bottom in his direction so he could take a look at the painted cover and the text on the back of it. "A romantic drama," she said, ever the secret romance herself at heart. Sometimes it was better to read vicariously the lives of others than put in that kind of effort, though. "I'm sure anything too steamy in there you can readily find yourself," she teased, pinching at his chest. Lightly shoving it in his hands, she slipped from the silken covers to where she had tossed her dress over a nearby standing mirror, her long hair flowing behind her. "It's not even four in the morning," she muttered, glancing over at a clock. "Now what do I do with the rest of the twenty hours left?"

Malas allowed the word 'friend' to do a lot of heavy lifting. It applied simply enough to a lot of people, in a number of different use cases, but even then, calling Ivy a friend was perhaps not quite fitting; Many had known him before he was The Pitch Black Man, before he'd established himself as someone who knew things that were worth trading coin or favors for- she'd met him then, prior to the mythology, the strange urban legend not yet set in the minds of those who called the docks of Destarin home. Yes, when they'd met he'd been much like many before him, a con artist- spending the last of his money on a nice suit to lend credence to his honeyed words and silver-forked tongue- and Ivy had been what he'd hoped was an easy mark.

He'd learned to the contrary rather quickly when she managed to actually get a hand on him as he made his retreat through an alley alongside the bar, pockets heavier with her coin than she would have liked, and wicked claw making a particularly good argument as to why he preferred his jackets with a high collar these days. He could still recall the moment of silent tension, black-stained skin open to muscle, two sets of eyes boring into each other- waiting for some kind of fight, perhaps, something to crack that sent them into a frenzy of violence-

They'd laughed, instead. Every bit of tension gone in no more than a moment, and a promise to make good on what he'd charmed her out of, someday. He's pretty sure he's already made good on that promise by now, as for the last eighty years, he's often greeted her at the door of The Chapel, in anger, in joy, in many things between, and his repayment for her company was certainly the honesty he rarely afforded others- for better or worse. No, 'friend' did not exactly sum up what they'd ended up in that time, it was a comfort in the constant, things that didn't up and die on those who shirked mortality were worth cherishing, but in absence of a better word that didn't sound stupid, 'friend' had served them well.

The sex? Well. That was simply a perk they'd both agreed had been worth the 80 years of tolerating each other.

"Ah, if it wasn't stressing me out it wouldn't be The Chapel." Comes his answer, the reaper appearing from the adjoining bathroom in an open black shirt and loose pants- One shadowed hand already wrapped around the neck of a bottle of wine. He takes a long pull, examining his reflection in the mirror for a moment as he makes his way to the bed. "But of course, it's nothing exciting, unless you find yourself turned on by talk of my finances and rowdy clientele?" He offers her the bottle as he himself spills into the sheets, his pipe retrieved from the bedside table and a green flame at his fingertips quickly igniting the contents, he takes a smooth drag, turning to examine the book in her grasp.

"Mm, anything worth adding to my ever-growing list of things to pick up in my clearly existent free time?" He tended to fill his free time with things more in line with what they'd been doing before Ivy started reading, but he could pretend he was eventually going to tackle his backlog.

[lxwlers]

[lxwlers]

How far had her coworker gone! Mayor of Destarin. Ivy was skeptical about the whole thing - the Guild thrived off of the fact that there was nothing in the city preventing their outreach, and there was always the thought that others would be… less than enthused about the idea of a governmental body in their city. Things seemed to run themselves… for the most part. But having Merry in that particular position of power seemed exciting - he had the ability to think outside the box. Hopefully no one tried anything malicious on him. Then again, he was well-liked within the city, so she sort of doubted it.

Ivy giggled when he came down to meet her. His carefree nature was one she envied, and found herself thoroughly enjoying whenever they spent time together. He gave her the much needed reminder not to take things too seriously. She stood to meet him, her strapless maroon dress rippling around her feet, and her long curls cascaded down to the small of her back. “Why, thank you,” she said, giving a tiny curtsy in response. “Oh, gladly, we have much celebrating to do after your promotion, anyway.” She extended their hands above, leading to twirl him around. “Wine? Red or white?”

Despite his newfound position as governor, which was wholly unexpected for the tiefling though delighted him immensely, he had decided to maintain a majority of his time performing as he usually did. It was his singular greatest joy and truly he had no mind for stuffy political babble so needed to clear out the cobwebs of boring things in the best way he knew how, by attempting to wow and amaze and garner a few laughs out of his darling audience. His performances at Scourge House tended to go over much better than at Blood, Sweat and Beers, the patrons of this club more enthused by the bizarre and extreme. Following his performance, Merry met the eye of Ivy and he promptly went over to her directly afterward, not minding at all that he was still sweaty from flipping around the stage, not minding that his stage makeup was streaking and smudged around his eyes as it usually was when he exerted himself, and bounded toward her with all the enthusiasm in the world as if he hadn't just performed and was still lively enough to do it all again.

"Dear one," the tiefling made a great show of bowing lowly before her, the crown of his dark curled hair dipping, jagged edges of broken horns peaking through as he had lowered his head and disappearing once he stood upright once more, "You are positively bewitching. Why, I could gobble you up right now," he giggled, now moving to lean in closer to her, whispering loudly into her ear, "What say, you and I abscond with a fresh bottle from the bar and run away together?"

[lxwlers]

Ivy nodded diligently at that, feigning that she understood and agreed with all his sentiments. Though the Scourge house had extended family of hers and they often passed in and out of each other’s lives at a moment’s notice, a temple and whole coven felt different than what the Guild was. She could only imagine what went on behind closed doors in a place like that. Every time she passed Hastalik by, he looked stressed out - to a point where she had accepted that was just his default state of being. The Guild never made her feel like that.

She was confident that everything she was stood against everything he believed in. If she were kinder, she would have backed off a bit, offered sympathy to someone who couldn’t control the upbringing he was raised in. But, she wasn’t all that nice. Hastalik was good looking too, and she particular found it shameful that he was off limits if he wanted to stay in the good graces of his family.

But she’d get over it - besides, was there really that much harm in teasing?

“I like bothering you, though, you make it so easy,” she smirked. Her arms crossed, and her weight shifted to one hip as she sized him up. “You get all flustered, your nose flares out– like that, see?”

"He is my biological uncle," Hastalik countered her argument firmly - irritation not remotely subtle - that the man was some sort of figure of relation to him. Ivy, to his knowledge, was the epitome of everything his coven said women could be. She was a monster, to begin with, an evil creature made from another creature of evil, and though he'd never said so to her face other's in his coven likely had and surely she knew he had thought it or at least thought to think it... "Covens have leaders, that's not abnormal."

Hastalik wasn't half concerned with the man smoking a pipe, it wasn't like he was the one who had implied fresh, he'd just said air, and so her desire to mock him for it because of the smoker mostly felt illogical to the young man. "It's still air."

Shifting in his robes there was an obvious furrow to his brows not even the fabric could hide. "You could always bother someone else, Ivy," he commented, after all she had approached him, why should his words not be a little biting if hers were? "Presumably you do this to your family constantly."

[lxwlers]

“Don’t sell yourself short, I’ve gotten lucky every time I’ve come in here, I think,” she said. Ivy enjoyed details herself, but on her jewelry - almost everything she owned was a statement piece, and any garment she had after that was typically on the plainer side, to let those shine. Bella did a great job at combining those, she thought. And the vampire always seemed to nail getting the right colors for Ivy. She’s lived a long time and likes what she likes, but she felt more inclined to try newer things since she’s been regularly coming to Bella’s boutique.

“Neither,” she answered, as she stepped away from the curtain to a folding partition to change into something else. “Well, I guess I could use these for that too. But I’m just freshening up the wardrobe a bit. I was in the mood for some shiny new things.” Ivy carefully slid the dress down her knees and stepped out of it, hanging it back up and pulling on a robe so she wouldn’t parade about the shop in the nude. She made her way back to where the vampire sat, looking over her shoulder at what she had in the book. The last fabric, the color with the darker florals towards the edges caught her eye and she pointed a sleek nail at it. “I *adore* that,” she told her. Then she chuckled. “I prefer to get others to fight for me, I’d much rather be in these.” Ivy leaned against a nearby table. “Maybe something strapless in that, ruched against here–” She gestured to her midsection. “Could look nice?”

"Not quite sure that I always do," she reasoned. Trial and error typically tended to be the way. It was hard for Bella upon seeing someone to not simply dress them as she liked, to style them as she desired to work, even if she did always consider someone's origins when starting her process. The young vampire was a fan of excessive detailing, this rather tended to be her downfall, but Ivy's beauty was not one that had, in the end, loaned itself to garments of excess. Ivy was tall and despite her species seemed to have skin as soft as cashmere and colouring that favoured boldness. Bella had, with time, found a place with specific fabric choices and thoughtful detailing.

Stepping away from the pedestal that, to one side, was surrounded by mirrors, so clients might observe what she had placed on them, Bella moved back behind her small desk to withdraw a small book of fabrics and drawings with 'Ivy' written on it. Bella had references for all of her regulars where she put ideas and included new fabrics she had purchased. Since Ivy's last visit it had grown. Actually a few things had changed in the small room of Red Thread dedicated to 'Craft by Chevalier' as Bella labelled all of her items. The large closet that was typically in one corner of the room had disappeared and was now replaced with new fabrics, and the sewing machine she used had been upgraded, no longer slightly rusted.

"Have something to attend of your mother's or trying to impress the guild?" she asked, trying to find a black fabric that might work amongst the book. "Because if it is simply about making a statement for the guild could I offer an alternative...?" she held up a drawing of a sleek bodice with a statement 'mermaid tail' that did not fall into the more basic elements of the silhouette. "I could do the bodice in this fabric so it almost looks like it is just an extension of you, and then this for a subtle flower like base so it's almost like the ground is carrying you."

"My suggestion, at least, since I cannot make fighting leathers," Bellamy commented. Her needle would break with so much dense fabric and beyond that she didn't yet know the practicalities of what was required for armour to be useful so she tended to redirect people to Deri Dovme.

[lxwlers]

Ivy had spent a long time in the fair city of Destarin, and luckily, there were many other faces that had done just the same. It was comforting, knowing others in the neighborhood for so long without the threat of age or mortal ailments coming between (Ivy wasn’t one who conspired with too many mortals, admittedly. Most of her family and tastes in friends were on the supernatural side). Ivy didn’t always like change, and didn’t have to face it so often given her species and how she spent her time.

Malas was one of those people. They had arrived in the city under far different circumstances - Ivy moving after her father had passed away to be with her mother’s side of the family, a culture shock given where she had come from. She had often liked to take long walks in the city, at night preferably, and was never all that concerned about anything happening to her. One harsh scratch, to draw blood, and her venom would paralyze the recipient. That happened to occur with Malas, a striking conversation with a striking man in a tavern by the docks. A simple wager she had lost - and while she was fine with losing back then, what she wasn’t fine with was seeing how more of her coin was taken out from under her nose before she even realized. Chastising herself for being naive came later, but she quickly followed him out from the bar and with one clawed slice… he didn’t go down.

Expecting some kind of resistance - her one saving grace - and seeing none, there was a still moment where he now had a deep cut in the back of his neck and they both were face to face. They ended up having a good laugh about it and after seeing his living conditions, didn’t even argue over the stolen coin. She appreciated his tenacity, though, and through that a friendship had blossomed over the years. Ivy would darken his doorstep and vice versa in boredom, in excitement, in frustration, and she found he was a good confidant - there was an honesty about him she felt she didn’t get from many others.

Ivy was reading a book she had checked out of a library earlier, nude under his covers while he was off in another room, perhaps getting redressed. Neither of them got much sleep, so while it was the dead of night for others, she was still wide awake. “How’s the brothel?” she called. “I feel like I should ask how your life is going every so often, I haven’t for awhile.”

@deathsdogma

[lxwlers]

“Makes sense,” she answered, half-listening as she removed the pins in her hair next, what kept it in place so that it wasn’t flying too far out of place as she was dancing. Ivy liked the windswept look, but it got frizzy and unsightly if she let her curls run amok too much. Sometimes Ivy wished she had capabilities that extended past anything physical. Mind games, and manipulation like that felt like something that could have been fun for her. She didn’t want to get her hands dirty - her pointed nails could get so hard to keep polished sometimes.

Ivy had turned away from the mirror and towards her mother’s direction as she further explained their reasonings, and their plans for upholding their own sense of order among the guild. She was fascinated by how she handled things, trying to imagine if she would have done something different in her position. Not in a way to be competitive, or an I can do better sort of thought, but Ivy liked to test herself. What would have been deemed too harsh, too light - it was a delicate balance, she had long understood. Fear and respect lied on opposite sides of a careful tightrope. “A shame I was on stage, and had to miss the real show,” she remarked with a shrug. Then she smiled - tired from time in the spotlight, but happy with how her performance went tonight. “Thank you,” she said. “I like it up there. Same routines, but it still feels different every night.” Ivy stood then, heading over to a rack of costumes to change. “Will you be staying longer, or heading home?”

Evelyn waited for her daughter who seemed to pause. The succubi thinking on how upstanding Ivy's father had always been. aware that in a lot of ways Evelyn was such a contrast. It wasn't like she was unkind, but she certainly did things in a way that was perhaps not what the girl's father would have done. When she eventually did answer, wanting to know, Evelyn couldn't help her own thoughts lingering on the man, hopeful he would not be disappointed in the ways his daughter had changed since his death.

"We have establishments that pay for our protection and when people decide not to simply understand such places should be left alone we need to make sure an example is set," she began, eyes watching her daughter's expression as she spoke to try and note how uncomfortable what she said was potentially making her. "A changeling had been robbing one of them, probably thought so long as they looked different every time they'd get away with it, but we can't maintain our hold if people think they can slip through the cracks. Some of the guild grabbed them and when they were brought here I made sure they wouldn't be able to change their appearance for a while. Broke each bone in their fingers, reminded them they can't slip by. Some of the other guild members are working them over now, they'll dump them in front of the establishment so other's see. We'll either find what was stolen in their home, or we'll make up for the loss, make sure they know they aren't paying us for nothing."

Ivy seemed more contented by her compliment though and Evelyn wondered how much Ivy cared for the business side of things so much as she potentially enjoyed the applause. It didn't quite come to her mind that perhaps her daughter's reaction was less about having applause so much as getting her flowers from her mother. "You have always been exceptionally talented, love."

[lxwlers]

For many children, the idea that your parent was involved in any... adult activities were likely the topic of uncomfortable thought, let alone conversation, but Ivy never felt that way with her mother. It was how she lived. Truthfully, she herself was always a little relieved that that particular aspect wasn't passed down to her. She was her mother's daughter, and it wasn't a difficult feat to find someone to take home for a few hours - or the evening, depending on how it went - but she always felt that the nature of a succubi required a lot more maintenance, and Ivy counted herself lucky with the abilities she did have.

She grew up knowing that her parents weren't soulmates, certainly not true love, but valued their friendship as that was all she understood out of parents. As the years went by and her and Evelyn grew closer, she got used to seeing 'friends', or other nutritional flings pass through the various places her mother lived. Rarely did she see any in Evelyn's house, though. When she had entered, down the hallway into the sitting room, Ivy was almost taken aback by the squared shoulders of a man staring at a painting. Quickly doing a once over of the room and found her mother was not around, she carefully stepped closer. "And who might you be?" she sighed. "Can't get enough of my mother, can you?"

@axius-scourge

[lxwlers]

Ivy tilted her head and hummed. "Uncle, Daddy - don't all cults have some fatherly type figure they attached themselves to?" she asked, before clearing her throat. "Sorry. Coven. My mistake." As if that was the first time that slip of the tongue ever occurred.

She probably didn't have much room to talk - surely people spoke of the Scourge guild in unfavorable ways. But she wouldn't be caught dead covering her face the way he did. She knew enough about his coven to not be fans of them - their treatment of women, for starters, but the way they shrouded themselves, doing everything in the shadow of the night because they knew the common person disagreed with just about everything they stood for. At least, that was all she gathered. Truthfully, she only knew enough to be able to tease and bother Hastalik this way. Ivy didn't particularly want to get him in trouble, but didn't seem to care if he did or not.

"Ah, air..." Ivy trailed off, her eyes glancing over to a man smoking a pipe not three feet from them, stepped out of the pub to take his time. The slightest breeze carried the puff of smoke in their direction. "Fresh."

The witch frowned as the young woman approached him, in truth it was all she could see of him, the rest draped in soft black linen, mask covering his lips. It would have potentially actually hid his identity if it was not how everyone in his coven dressed, the attire meant more for hiding, rather than going about town, and yet they were not meant to leave without it. What likely made it obvious he was one the coven members she could tease without having vitriol spat back in her face was that her slender form a few inches taller than his own short height.

"He's my Uncle, not my father," he responded, as though the difference mattered all that much. Surely having been in town as long as she had Ivy had seen a myriad of his family members - she may have even seen his mother - but Hastalik, despite his annoyance at her talking to him, never responded as the others had or would. The vulgar woulds his family and coven used to speak on women were not terms Hastalik enjoyed repeating, even if he was often forced to. His Uncle the worst of all, which tended to disappoint women who on first approach simply saw a handsome and tall man leading a group of witches that fought evil and ended up being spat on. Those that did not suffer such a response got all they desired, until the coven had the information it needed and they were cast aside, killed so far as Hastalik had ever understood.

Shifting his posture so he was slightly further from Ivy Hastalik's furrowed brows became slightly less tense. "And no." He resisted the urge to share that he was allowed out more often now, because he had a mission. "I am just getting some air."

[lxwlers]

While Ivy wasn't a fan of the style of the house, she knew it made her mother happy, and she always wanted to be in her good graces. For starters, she was her only living parent, and had been for quite a long time. On the other hand, the Scourge house was full of a long history of power, of influence, and Ivy was drawn to that like a moth to a flame. She wanted to make herself an undeniable asset to it.

Ivy stopped for a moment, thinking - did she want to hear about it? "A little, actually," she said. She was curious what sort of things her mother dealt with on a somewhat day-to-day basis. Over time, as she started to chisel away at Evelyn's resolve and ask question after question, wanting to know the ins and outs of the guild, it became easier to convince her to keep Ivy in the loop. Though she beamed slightly at the compliment, as she finished taking off her jewelry. "I'm glad you thought so," she said. The silks were always her favorites, she could stay up there for hours if she so desired.

Evelyn sat on the small lounge in the space, a piece of furniture as old as the establishment itself, fabric on it worn in areas from how often it had been used over the course of almost two centuries. For Evelyn it was all hers, she had earned it when she helped her husband kill his parents, when the pair of them had sewed dishonour amongst the guild members and aligned their loyalty to her instead. She had bought none of it, she had clawed her way in for her sisters and herself, but, perhaps unfortunately for her eldest daughter she never considered how out of place it could all make her feel that the name on everything was that of a family that only her older brother was the remaining member of. He was the only true Scourge left on the mortal plane.

When the door opened Evelyn did not shift her posture but she did adjust the ruffles of her high slit so it covered some more of the woman's cream coloured thigh. Her own style and preference was in every aspect of the establishment, as though simply by the facade of the original Scourge family she had been drawn to her husband because he got to exist in it. It had been more than that, she had loved him for so much more, but it had been the start of it. She wanted what he had. She did not want to live in a tiny home with her mother's and sister - Lilith fortunate enough to have been born when Evelyn already had her wealth -, she did not wish to have to watch how they spent their gold, she did not wish to dress in linens.

This did not mean however she expected each of her children to look as she did. In truth, beyond the stage, Evelyn thought it endearing the way her children seemed to hold onto so much of their father's, especially the ones that had passed. While no romantic love had blossomed between Evelyn and Ivy's father she had loved him as one could love a dear and trusted friend. Perhaps she could have loved him, if the wounds of her husband had not still been so fresh. Evelyn did not live in what if's however, but she had seen no flaw in him that would have pushed love away.

"I did," she acknowledged with a slow nod of her head. "I missed the first half, I was dealing with something." Specifically she had been repeatedly breaking the bones of a changeling who had been breaking into one of the establishments her guild protected. "Would you like to know or would you rather not?" Evelyn asked, as for the longest time she had intended to shield her daughter and yet in the past few years it seemed she was quite determined to include herself.

"What I did see was excellent however," she assured her daughter.

[lxwlers]

Ivy wasn't a main attraction, or really any reason why people came to the Scourge house. She didn't think, at least. Rarely did she perform alone, but with others soaring through the air as she would, ready to catch or throw or whatever else the aerial performances needed. Often, when she was by herself, it was a different performance altogether, down to the costuming and the music choices. No, many of her shifts were spent as general eye candy - which she was fine with - above the heads of patrons, dancing among the silks to add to the ambience.

And when that was done, she didn't often linger around the shows. She had seen them many times in the decades she's worked here, and had ample opportunity to watch. Sometimes, though, she reserved special time for when Merry was performing. It was the first show since he had been elected governor, and it was delightful - he was just as fun and charismatic as she remembered. As he wrapped up, she spent a special wave when they locked eyes, motioning with her head to come join her when he pleased - whether that was immediately, or after a trip to the dressing rooms, that was up to him.

@merrymockthejester