#﹙ visage && cece. ﹚ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cajunmaven · 3 days ago

Text

Walking through the picturesque streets of Cardinal Hill, you find Céleste Zéphir-Baudelaire, the 24 year old yoga instructor at the Stream Studio originally from New Orleans, LA. Living alongside them in such a small town, you know that they're nurturing and self-destructive, but what you might not know is that they are a witch, and that they’re hiding something… ― Antonia Gentry, pansexual demiromantic, woman, and she/they.

threads - visage - musings - wc - mood board

Name: Céleste Iman Zéphir-Baudelaire

Alias: Cece, Essie

Gender/Pronouns: Female, She/They

Age: 24

Birthdate: 02/07

Big Three: Aquarius, Virgo, Capricorn

Occupation: Yoga Instructor at the Stream Studio

Height: 5’1”

Hometown: New Orleans, Louisiana

Family: late mother (High Priestess Mother Zéphir), father (Félicien Baudelaire), god father (Matteo Bianchi)

Friends: Stoker Addams (innocentcurse)

Relationship Status: single

Sexuality: bisexual demiromantic

Other Relationships:

Céleste, or those who know her better, Cece, was thrust into a world brimming with legacy from the very start. She was born at precisely 5:45am, the time she often time’s swears that only extremely successful people get up at. Cece is the first and only child of Felicien Baudelaire, a world renowned art curator and [redacted] Zephir-Beaudelair, a local celebrity jazz singer with deep deep roots in the world of New Orleans witchcraft. [Redacted] was a high priestess, as was her mother in a local coven that was known in reaches even far beyond Louisana; but only ever really noticed or spoken about by other witches. Her father however is not magical, but he did show her other types of enchantment’s and divination. Through the world of art. Felix made sure that she was well traveled; whisking her away to Paris, France or Tbilisi, Georgia. Anywhere that she could experience culture and language.

Despite all of this, she still always preferred her home in New Orleans. In the French Quarter. It was more than just a neighborhood to Céleste. To her, it was a sentient entity. One filled up with music, whimsy and secrets. When she was small she used to wander the cobblestone streets. The fragrant scent of magnolia blossoms mixing with the soulful notes of rich saxophone tumbling from various cafes and bars. It was a sanctuary for artists, it was no wonder why Cece would end up falling in love with Cardinal Hill too. Artist’s like her mother filling the sacred space. Her club performances were iconic in New Orleans. They drew in not only tourists, but also many locals. Everyone was eager to hear her voice that was powerful in more ways than one. The clubs at which she crooned were an eclectic mix. Places where the veil was thin; inhabited by spiritualists and high society patrons alike. It was especially thin during the night. When the French Quarter and Bourbon street would thrum with the humming energy of the iconic coven. From which she was initiated into at a young age. It was extremely secretive and had held influence for a very long time deep in the city’s roots. Céleste’s role within this coven became as natural to her as breathing.

From the youngest age possible, she was completely immersed in New Orleans. The smooth sound of jazz, the succulent riffs of R&B, and the whispering chants of her coven. Her mother’s late night performances were a staple of Céleste’s childhood, and some of her fondest memories. It was during these fleeting but lasting moment’s in smokey lounges that she felt the rumblings of her own musical prowess. She often scribbled down lyrics in shaky penmanship as she tried to mimic the sounds of her mother’s vocal runs. Over the years, she discovered her own voice. One of passion. A style that was definitely her own, shaped by her mother’s legacy and her own spirit. She was deeply intertwined in these two worlds. The glamor of her father’s life and upbringing mingling with the mystery of her mother’s.

And while she was used to watching her mother cast spells and converse with spirits in hushed voices, sat cross-legged and curious. Cece was more drawn to a more grounded form of spirituality. Something more tangible and in tune with her own body. Kundalini Yoga, turned out to be one of these anchors to keep her on the ground. At 12 years old she would join in on her mother’s early bird sun salutations. It started off as a way to bond with her mother but it turned into a personal practice. She found that the way her body flowed was a simple and satisfying way to not only regulate her emotions but also as a way to transmute her energy. While most other kids her age were focused on more ‘regular’ activities, she was always a bit misanthropic than the rest. She was quiet and introspective to most, finding solace in the silence. Or in a book.

Through this, she was able to harness a very fine awareness of her body’s central energy points. She studied extensively on how each pose would unlock and subsequently release stored emotions and traumas. Cece became especially in tune with her heart chakra. The energetic epicenter of compassion and love. This would eventually become essential to her magical practices as an adult. Allowing her to heal herself and others through reiki, yoga and even her music. It could also sometimes be her downfall. A blessing and a curse all the same. In many ways, yoga became her own personal spellbook; allowing her to flow with the universe.

Following her graduation and official induction into the world famous coven, tragedy struck and she clung onto Kundalini as a lifeline. Her mother, her guiding star, passed away in a car accident. A gruesome head on collision. Cece was left to navigate the world without the woman who had meant everything to her. Her mother, her mentor. It was a devastating loss, and she found herself thrust into the role as the family’s anchor. With her father off in Paris, she had to keep the family’s French Quarter estate afloat. The owner’s of these jazz clubs of New Orleans, many of them like big brother’s to her, begged her to fill the absence her mother’s voice left. So, she tried her best to fill her shoes. In an act of prophecy that felt like it was straight out of a modern universe Frank Herbert novel. Cece found this more comforting than sorrowful; almost cathartic. The burden was heavy, so thick you could cut it with a santoku. But it also pushed her to find strength in the music. An outlet for pain so great there could be no words. Despite her growing pains, her talents started to attract attention. Her own music, which was once a private practice, became a refuge and a local hit. People started asking for CD’s of her own music and eventually she caught the attention of a local radio DJ who was compelled to play her music on air.

Her career began to take off, but her world was further shaken when a nefarious secret about her personal life threatened every little thing she had worked so tirelessly to achieve. The intense pressure and public scrutiny would only continue until the only outcome could be a burst. An explosion in slow motion right in front of her. With her father not there to take care of it for her Cece made the hard decision to leave New Orleans behind. She found a quiet refuge in Cardinal Hill, moving into her godfather’s house. The only place she knew to go. After two years, he graciously purchased her a cute and quaint house on the lower side of Cardinal Hill.

Since settling in she’s been slowly rebuilding her life, keeping a relatively low profile but still curating a small local following of her music. The desire to be in the spotlight remains and her divination calls to her.

Additional Information/Headcannons:

Céleste didn’t bring a lot with her to Cardinal Hill but she did not forget to bring her collection of postcards. A lot of them were vintage one’s from New Orleans but there were also many from every place her father had visited when traveling for art exhibitions and the pull to hedonism. She keeps them in an old ornate wooden box. When she’s feeling sad she’ll look through them and feel nostalgic.

She also has a collection of vintage jazz records, some so rare that they are virtually priceless. Those are the ones she keeps locked away, only sharing them with those she trusts and cares for. She also keeps her mother’s recordings locked away, the music a tangible tether to the past.

Growing up in such an energy rich city of New Orleans, she garnered a sensitivity to the local spirit’s that haunted the historic Louisiana streets. She’s been able to see and hear spirits since she was a child, although it’s always shaken her, never fully comfortable with it. She’ll see them in old jazz clubs or the dark corners of the city. There’s a mischievous spirit from the 1920’s who often visits her during late nights, playing crooning trumpet melodies in her head. She’s come to accept them as a part of her life, but she doesn’t always welcome their company.

She uses things like clothing as an extension of her practice to protect herself from baneful energies. Carefully choosing pieces to reflect her mood and intentions for the day. For example if she’s feeling stuck or vulnerable — she’ll wear dark shades of purple for protection and encouraging intuition. If she’s feeling drained emotionally, she might wear more loose fitting, sheer or cream colors as a way to cleanse the aura around her.

She also always wears a moonstone pendant her mother got for her, everywhere she goes.

Because she’s always been attuned to the moon. Often times doing rituals under it, slipping out of her house late at night. To her backyard or to meditate on the roof.

Céleste practices in many ways besides these moonlit rituals. She also has a knack for reading tarot. Humans think that her readings are eerily accurate, just by chance. But it is the universe that guides her hands, not some parlor tricks.

Speaking of her hands, they’re also healing in subtle ways. All she has to do is lay her hand on someone’s shoulder, someone feeling anxiety and unease; before they know it a serene feeling will wash over them. An intimate and special form of healing she only gives to those she cares deeply for.

She’s also not the best cook, but she is a great baker. Often times adding medicinal herbs and incantations into every baked good. Which she always has too many of, being a chronic stress baker. Stoker Addams often wakes up with goodies on his front porch when she's particularly frazzled because there's no way she's eating all these damn muffins.

Her Capricorn and Virgo placement's often make her feel the need to be in control of everything in her life but her Aquarius sun gives her a nearly unpredictable range of emotions. So it can be hard to trust herself when she's feeling conflicted, so it causes her to retreat into herself and pull away from people.

Despite this, she actually really loves people. She has a particular soft spot for people who are considered misfits, that don't fit into societal norms. She feels a protective impulse towards them, always able to see herself in others. An extreme empath.

People sometimes consider Cece a bit mysterious because she keeps others at a distance. But she is not intentionally trying to be elusive so this is confusing to her because she's quite kind and goofy. She just really likes to read people and keep a lot of her thoughts to herself, leaving people to wonder what's going on in her head. Unless you get to know her, then she's a YAPPER.

This causes her to sometimes have what she affectionately calls 'resting witch face'.

Céleste, despite being relatively responsible and on top of things she is often fashionably late. It's not that she's trying to disrespect people, she's just running on her own chaotic time frame. She's known to show up to her classes just a few minute's before they start. This is both infuriating and endearing to her student's and friend's alike; who have just learned to get used to her own pace.

Something everyone has also gotten used to is the fact that she's just a bit of a character overall. A certified weirdo. Unapologetically herself. She's the type to blurt out the rest of a song when someone has said accidentally said a phrase from one. Or to dance along in her house or blurting out odd commentary at sometime's inappropriate times. Her sense of humor can be a bit dry at times but when it hits, it hits.

She also has a very good knack for giving pep talks. A side effect of being introspective, she always has an observation, an outside perspective. It seems like she always knows what to say, always grounded and coming from a place of empathy. She has a way of knowing how to make people feel understood and how to encourage them.

#cardinalintro #i'm going to add more headcannon's later i just need to post this because i'm getting carried away

3 notes · View notes

packsbeforesnacks · 5 years ago

Text

A Staggering Revelation || Cece & Winn

TIMING: Wednesday, February 5th, 2020, Late Night LOCATION: Dell’s Tavern PARTIES: @thebickedwitchoftherest & @packsbeforesnacks SUMMARY: Cece gets drunk as a skunk. Emotionally, Winn is like a screen door on a submarine. WARNINGS: None.

Cece should have stopped a while ago. Usually, Cece was better at pacing herself. At least if she was out in public. There were no direct reasons that lead to her drinking as much as she had tonight, but she had on multiple occasions almost been murdered by enlarged lobsters, so she was going to blame them.

It had started innocently enough. She had ordered the cheapest beer on draft, her usual. Then, she had gotten talking to people and listening to their recommendations. Soon enough, she was trying different craft beers and arguing to some Kansas City tool about the Super Bowl. The arguing had made her even thirstier. Multiple hours later and Cece was giggling up a storm, dangling off of the barstool and taking a large gulp of her final beer.

She figured a walk out in the fresh air might do her some good as long as she could remember how to get herself home. She was making her way toward the door when she realized there was someone who must have been talking to her. “Honestly dude, I’m flattered but I am not interested.” Cece turned her head slightly to wave the man off but did a double take. Jesus, he was hot. “Even if you’re — wow damn you’re so pretty. But I am staying strong on my go home alone when drunk policy. Raincheck?”

It wasn’t Winn’s policy to go out drinking on a Wednesday, especially if he wasn’t drinking at the Arena — and, honestly, this was, what, the third time he’d been out drinking this week, counting the Super Bowl? But fuck it.

Natalia had gotten him enough weed to last him through a small apocalypse, but after his outing with Miles in the forest last month, Winn was keen to appease the beast within as best he could before Friday’s full moon. Since his cabin had recently run out of both Ricky’s barbecue and cheap beer, and since the wolf demanded booze and meat to keep it happy and sated, Winn found himself at Dell’s Tavern, drinking cheap beer, and burying his face into a double order of sliders.

Some loudmouth was blathering on about the Chiefs’ win Sunday, though he’d long ago been taken on by blonde woman who wouldn’t stand for the asshole’s slander of the entire state of California. Winn tuned in and out of their conversation and the basketball game, watching the Raptors come back from behind to give the Pacers a run for their money. He noticed the woman getting far drunker than the loudmouth, eyes squinting as he tried to figure out KC’s intentions. But he seemed harmless enough, and eventually left the woman to her own devices.

Winn nursed his beer, protective instincts — after all, last time he’d helped out a drunk person, he’d made a friend in Noah — kicking in. When she got up, starting to stumble to the door, Winn followed, slapping a twenty on the counter and nodding at the bartender (who’d mostly left Winn alone after he’d been waved off twice, and whose was now staring at the twenty like he’d spike Winn’s drinks with liquor, always tip your bartenders) to close out his tab.

He tried calling out to the woman, realized it might look bad, and double-timed it to the door. “Hey, uh, you alright?” he tried. She looked just past him for a moment, then nearly ran into the door, slurring somethin’ about Winn being pretty. Oh, right. Some dudes liked chicks. “Uh, was gonna offer to walk you home, actually, uh… ma’am?” He winced. “You never know what could be lurkin’ out in the streets.” God, could he sound creepier? “You’re a little… well, shit-faced, if I’m being honest.”

Shit faced? Who was this guy to call Cece shit faced? Even if she was shit faced, which she most definitely was, where did this guy get off telling that to her? But Cece had way more important things to be offended by.

“Ma’am? What am I? Forty-five?” She scoffed at him and kept making her way to the door, forgetting how cold it was outside until she swung the front door open and the burst of cold air smacked her in the face, her cheeks immediately flushing. The walk from the bar wasn’t that long on a normal night but would certainly feel that way in this cold. Maybe having a pretty face along for the ride would make the walk go more quickly.

“You listen here, sir.” She walked over to Winn and pointed her finger at him, poking him in the chest. “I am the thing that lurks in the streets.” She spoke as seriously as she could, holding a serious expression for as long as she could before breaking into giggle. It felt like she was doing great. Realistically, her vision was blurred, and she wasn’t sure that she was even looking directly at the man. “Fine. But you better keep up. And you better make good conversation.”

She burst through the door, expecting him to follow along. She felt her weight slipping to one side and risked falling over, so she corrected herself and ended up tumbling the other direction, tripping over her own feet and almost falling to the ground. “That was less graceful than I intended, but I assure you I’m fine. What’s your name, pretty boy?”

Had she just poked him in the chest? She’d just poked him in the chest. Winn listened to the woman talk for a moment, used to dealing with drunk people from the… everything about his personal history. She was looking past Winn, which typically meant that she’d look past other things, like street lamps or trees. Winn had been there; he definitely understood, but that just made him more adamant to help her get home.

Fortunately, though, she agreed to his proposal, and spun on her heel, walking (and nearly falling, and then actually falling). He placed a hand on her upper back (the safe zone, his straight friends had told him, though, really, what did they know?) and offered his arm to the woman. “I’ve been told I’m pretty good at conversation… or at least at listenin’. Name’s Winn. And I wouldn’t have to call you ma’am, ma’am, if you told me your name.”

He flushed a bit at being called “pretty boy.” He knew he was pretty, sure, but, having gone through multiple years with no one pointing it out, Winn was still unused to hearing it again. Part of him had suspected, maybe, that everything that he’d done, everything that had happened to him, had erased some part of that shining visage he was known for amongst his friends, lovers, and, hey, even his enemies had to admit that Winn was easy on the eyes. Nothin’ to be self-conscious about, really. “And which way’re we headin’?” he asked, ready to steer the woman (gently, subtly) in whichever direction spoke most to her.

Even if he was cute, the good boy demeanor annoyed the hell out of Cece. Not because she found nice guys to be especially obnoxious or because she couldn't stand some random guy trying to do her a favor, but because she was drunk. All men annoyed her when she was drunk. He guided her along the street and back to her feet, his hand gently pressed against her back. For now, Cece couldn’t tell if he was good at conversation or if people just enjoyed talking to the pretty face. But she tried to reserve judgement until she got to know the person.

“Shit, if I tell you my name do you promise to stop calling me ma’am?” Cece rolled her eyes at the man and looked up at him, finally noticing how much taller he was than her. “You can call me Cece. And only Cece.” The two followed along together, heading in the general direction of Cece’s house. She was pretty sure. Technically speaking, she knew she wasn’t drunk enough to have lost her home but clearly she wasn’t very focused right now.

“We are heading to my house, obviously.” Cece took a long pause, glancing in both directions and trying to visualize herself walking in each direction to get a feel of which one gave her the best vibes. “As soon as I figure out where my house is.” She eventually picked a path, fairly confident that it was the correct one. For a block or two, the two worked in relative silence sans the constant cuss words Cece muttered under her breath when she stumbled. Eventually the silence pissed her off more than the hot guy did. “If you’re such good conversation, tell me about yourself, Winn.”

Winn had been just about to break the pointed silence (well, semi-silence, but Winn wasn’t gonna count swearing as conversation… in this instance) when the woman, Cece, did it herself.

“Hmm. Well, I was a teen model for a minute,” he started. Belatedly, it occurred to him that the woman looked about his age and might know him from when he’d been a teen model, but he hoped that she was too drunk to remember his cover issue of Seventeen… if she’d ever picked it up in the first place. It wasn’t that he was embarrassed, no, no, no. Just… wasn’t the fact he usually led with.

“Uh, oh, duh, I coach hockey. The Crypteens — or, uh, the White Crest Cryptids. If you’re lame.” He laughed, looking at the sidewalk to scan for hazards that might trip up drunk women who didn’t think they were that drunk and were liable to make dumb mistakes for that assumption. Least she wasn’t drunksplaining yet. “I’unno, what do you wanna know? And what’s your deal, Cece? Like I said, I’m happy to listen, if you got anything you’ve been meanin’ to get off your chest; I’m a good secret keeper.”

Cece wasn’t even surprised that he had been a teen model. She immediately began wondering how famous he had been and if she had seen him at any time in her life. If she had, then props to her high school self for finally meeting a model. She was killing the game even more than she already knew she was back at sixteen. “I need proof of this so-called modeling. How am I supposed to know if you were just like a hand model, or did a photoshoot for your random friend who wanted to be a photographer, hm Winn? Pics or it didn’t happen!”

Cece shrugged as if there was nothing else she could do in this situation. Her hands were metaphorically tied. And literally too drunk to actually do anything with. “Oh that’s cute! Hockey wasn’t really a thing back in LA. When I’m sober, I need you to tell me this again so I can come to one of the games. Does the stadium serve alcohol? Asking for a friend.” Plot twist, Cece was the friend.

“We’re not talking about me, mister. There’s nothing to tell about me. I’m just a girl who tests urine all day and then likes to have a couple drinks.” The joys of a toxicologist. She spent her days testing much more than urine, but that seemed to be the most common or at least the one that stuck in her mind. “Nice try, but your smooth talking won’t get me that easy. I don’t spill my darkest secrets until at least the third date. I’m a girl of class, clearly.”

The two continued their hike, Winn letting Cece lead the way for better or worse. She made a right turn, not because she could tell a difference between any of the roads in the night but because she remembered that she took a right turn at some point in her usual path home. “I want to know why someone goes to the bar if they don’t plan on drinking.”

“The Arena,” Winn said pointedly, dodging the questions about his modeling career in their entirety and hoping she’d forget upon sobering up, “does serve alcohol, yeah. Big D — yes, that’s his name, I know, I know — can make a mean mixed drink.” He got the distinct impression that the friend was Cece, herself.

“Los Angeles, huh? I haven’t been since I was a kid, and it was mostly in—” Wait, no, don’t mention Mom. “—uh, hotels, y’know? Got bad food poisoning and had to stay in the hotel the whole time.” They made a sharp right turn, heading in what Winn assumed was probably the wrong way. Worst case scenario, Winn would put her up on the couch. Best case scenario, even a blind squirrel finds a nut every once in a while, right? Or a drunk squirrel, as the case may be. He ignored the comment about dates.

“I did have some drinks, just have class in the morning, so couldn’t get quite as drunk as maybe I wanted to. Don’t worry, I’m sure that by Friday, I’ll want to drink my body weight in liquor.” What could happen to put him there, he’d never know, but it was… possible, he supposed? “

There’s not a ton to tell about me either.” Lie. “I’m an open book.” Lie-ish.

“Alright, how about a story from my childhood? We used to go down the Potomac to the beaches on the coast of Virginia — where I’m originally from — and swim, pretty often.” Well, often relative to, you know, familial affection in general. “First time that we’re down there, my parents are holdin’ my hands and guiding me to see the ocean, between them. They got married pretty young, but one of their friends married them — right there, on that beach. But the waves were a little rough that day, and my parents were talkin’ ‘bout somethin’, can’t remember what, but they weren’t paying attention as close as maybe” — definitely — “they should have been. So, when I’d just gotten my feet wet, the ocean knocked me under. One of their hands slipped, think my mom, and then my dad couldn’t keep me up on his own. The waves retreated pretty immediately — we weren’t that far in — but I still remember the way the water crashed into me. I was scared as hell, even if I didn’t understand somethin’ like drownin’ quite yet” He smiled, a little sad. “But the thing is? You think that’d turn me off of the ocean, right? But I love the water. I love the salt, and the brine, and the air, and the waves, and I love feelin’ the crash of it against me, now. I never, y’know, held it against the ocean. I was the one fightin’ against nature, it was just… being. It couldn’t change what it was. But I had a choice. Let that pull me under, or embrace it.”

He laughed, a bit nervous. “Sorry, I guess I, uh, kinda got going there.”

“I’ll call him whatever he wants if he makes a good mojito.” Cece grinned at Winn. “Whoops. I think I just outed myself.” It’s true, she was the friend after all. But she had kept Winn guessing for a minute there. The Arena. She would try to remember that, to the best of her drunk ability. Hockey was never something she had gotten into, being from Cali and all, but Cece had always been into that stadium mentality that sporting events brought on. She loved screaming down at an arena of people wildly more athletic than herself to tell them all the things they were doing wrong.

“Well there are certainly a lot of hotels in LA. I hope you at least got a good one, since you were stuck there.” Cece was of course, not familiar with the hotels in LA given that she lived there. “Well, not drinking on a school night is very responsible of you. Wish I could say the same.” Cece had gone to college, mostly. A lot of moving around and online classes made for a less than stellar college experience, but what could a girl do when she spent all her time with a traveling coven?

Even drunk, Cece was able to stay mostly quiet as Winn recounted a story from his childhood and she was immediately sucked into the drama of it. The romance of the wedding. The place setting. Cece stared, she gasped, if she had some more drinks in her she might have even cried. It was all very raw, and honest. Cece was almost disappointed that she was too drunk to appreciate the depth of it.

“Dude…” Cece began, drawing the syllable out for longer than needed. “That was depressing as hell, oh my god.” She was full on laughing now. “I can’t believe that was the story you went with for an introduction story. You’re hella raw, Winn. I dig it. Guess we’re sorta friends now, aren’t we? I don’t let just anybody walk me home after all.”

Outed herself? Boy, she was really choosin’ excellent word choice for someone so smashed. He barked out a laugh at her (potentially?) unintentional pun, covering it with a cough. Winn had paused after his story to take an account of her reaction, and she’d paused for a moment before the long, drawn-out, “Duuuuude,” she’d graced him with. He didn’t hold any of what she said against her; it was a pretty depressin’ story, when you got down to brass tacks. The laughter was a bit new, and he bristled a little, but tried to let it roll off him, much like the tide had rolled over him. (Dark humor, Winner? Very funny.)

“I can’t really believe I went for it either,” he admitted. “I probably haven’t thought about that in, Christ, years?” But, hey, if Noah was anything to go off of, ranting to drunk people (or drunk ranting at sober people anyway) was free therapy, and… maybe he needed to get that out, again, to someone new. He played his cards in White Crest pretty close to his chest. He didn’t like lyin’, as a rule, but bein’ selective about the truth? Yeah, he was all about that life. Wouldn’t lie if he was asked, but, then, who was there to ask?

His ear perked up at “friends,” Winn tuning back in to remember why they were walking together in the first place. “Oh, right. Home. Your home. Cece, uh, not to doubt you or anythin’, but what part of town do you live in? ‘Cause, well, we’ve been walkin’ for a bit and I thought maybe you knew where you were goin’, but… I don’t even think I know where we are.” Thank God for cell phones. Maybe Cece really did live in… Winn glanced around… the… abandoned warehouse district? What was this, a bad horror movie?

Despite her initial annoyance, Cece had eventually decided that Winn made for good company. Maybe he was a little overly noble, led with depressing stories about his childhood, and was freakishly tall. But those aside, Cece was enjoying her night with the Big Friendly Giant.

“Well, not sure how I helped make those memories bubble back up to the surface, but happy to be of service.” She giggled at him. Was that memory really something she should be thanked for? Maybe not, but it was Winn that had decided to share the story in the first place, not Cece. Besides, she needed to focus on other things. Like getting them back to her house. Which according to Winn, she had lost. As if he had any better clue where they were than she did.

Admittedly, glancing around Cece wasn’t familiar with the area they had ended up in. But she wasn’t about to let that stop her. “Excuse you sir but I definitely may or may not know exactly where I amn’t.” That didn’t feel like a word. Whatever. “I live by all the rich people. Harris Island? Not there — I’m not rich. But I live by it. Take notes!” Cece yelled aloud, suddenly realizing how loud she had been talking. Then she had the idea to ask her phone.

“EY SE RE!” she yelled at her phone. “Takemehome.” She spoke as clearly as she could before getting annoyed and shoving her phone off to him. “Shhh. It’s nighttime. Tell her to take us home.”

Winn placed a gentle hand on Cece’s back as she mentioned Harris Island — and, wait, had she had people livin’ out there were rich? — and steered them in almost the total opposite direction of where they’d been going. He’d pulled out his own phone to check Google Maps while Cece had been talkin’, ignoring her jibe about how he didn’t know where they were. He did know where they were, thanks. Now, anyway.

Truly, Winn needed to stop makin’ friends this way. First Noah, now Cece? He knew he had a loveable, almost bartenderly air about him, but he wasn’t Ted Danson or anythin’.

After a flaccid attempt at getting instructions, during which Cece was nigh comprehensible, he took — well, had shoved — Cece’s phone from her. Winn was half-expecting it to not have even been an iPhone that he’d been given — would be just his luck, really. But, no, blissfully, he knew how to operate this particular piece of hardware. He held down the side button for a moment, Siri’s electronic voice chiming in. “Siri,” he said, “What’s my address?” He took down the address into his own phone and thanked the assistant for her services, before putting Cece’s — haha, kinda sounded like Siri — back into the woman’s jacket pocket.

“Alright, I’ve been keepin’ up my side of the conversation, and we’ve still got a bit of a walk ahead of us. I know you said we weren’t talkin’ about you, but I’m curious. So…” He let the vowel hang in the air, waiting for a genuine response... or a prompt “fuck off” from the woman. Either/or.

Cece began staring up at the sky as Winn fiddled helplessly with the technology. The sky sure was pretty that night. Even if it was cold as balls outside and Cece wanted nothing more than an electric blanket and a hot cocoa machine. Despite her upbringing, the travels around the country had allowed her a surprisingly fond appreciation for the beauty of nature. But fuck it was cold. That ruined the mood. She missed the always sunny, excessively smoggy, annoying warmth of LA.

“Me? Oh there’s not so much to me.” Cece waved him off, but then immediately began laughing hysterically. “PSYCHE. Buckle up buttercup.” Cece cracked her knuckles for dramatic effect. “Well, I was a cheerleader in high school. It was way fucking boring and not important to my life at all,” Cece admitted, forgetting why she had brought it up in the first place.

“Whatever. When I was sixteen I left LA and started moving around the world with my hippie family, traveling from place to place. Took some breaks to go to school, transferred schools a lot due to the moving. Then one year there was drama, blah, blah, blah. I wanted an out and went off on my own. I was 25, it was about time. Ended up on the East Coast and then just sort of stumbled into Maine. Saw a posting for my current job and applied for it.” Cece clapped her hands with finality and smiled triumphantly. “There you go. My whole life story. Badabing badaboom.”

She could tell that Winn had shifted directions for them and decided to withhold judgement to give the tall man a chance to get them to the right place. She was proud of herself, drunk rambling to a hot guy without even a mention of witchhood. Someone was going to get to keep all their memories of the night. And Cece was trashed, so it definitely wasn’t her. “Questions?”

Winn walked along, bobbing his head occasionally at what was probably supposed to be a brisk monologue. Whether Cece knew it or not, though, she stopped after about every sentence — or fragment of one — and stared off into the distance before starting again. Winn figured she was thinking and the brain was workin’ a little slow. But… It was easy enough to pick up on. Didn’t feel right tellin’ her she sounded goofy.

“Hmm. I was a jock in high school, though not sure the hockey team ever got cheerleaders of our own. Other than some real nice parents with orange slices. My parents were, uh…” He scrambled for a word, figuring Cece wouldn’t notice the pause. “Worldly? We darted around a lot, but always came back to the South. Had my own drama year, fucked off to Europe, and here I am now.”

He got the distinct sense, given the space between the “blahs,” that maybe there was something more to Cece’s story. But that wasn’t something Winn wanted to take advantage of and, besides, it wasn’t like Winn wasn’t hidin’ his own secrets. “And no, no questions. Other than, well… This is your place, right? He stared at the cabin. Nice place, though a little too close to the rest of the town for Winn’s taste. But nice. “You think you can get the door open and get to bed safe?”

Cece listened intently on what Winn was telling her. Or at least, she tried to listen intently. Admittedly, her mind kept wandering astray. Drunk Cece found the most mundane thing interesting. A flickering street lamp, the strange noise that echoed when the wind blew against the bundle of trees. Everything distracted her. And everything was spinning.

“Oh yeah, you totally have the jock look going for you.” She nodded, at least catching onto that part. Every now and then a keyword would stick out to her. For example, worldly. Which she assumed implied rich.

“My home!” she exclaimed upon seeing it for herself. “Good work, Winny!” She gleamed, reaching back and patting him on the chest without turning to look at him. “I got it from here, my dude. Thanks again for keeping me company.” Realizing that he had to walk back to the bar by himself now, she eventually did turn back to him. “If you need a place to stay you can crash here. But strictly the couch for you.” She pointed at him and then went back to fiddling with her front door.

Winn waited until she got into the cabin, listened closely for the sound of a woman falling down a flight of stairs, and, when he was satisfied that she’d make her way to her bed, walked back to the bar in silence, missing the company.

#wickedswriting #para #Cece #A Staggering Revelation

7 notes · View notes