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banisheed · 4 months ago

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TIMING: During The Apple Gathering LOCATION: The Apple Gathering; Gatlin Fields PARTIES: Rosemary (@necrosemancy) & Siobhan (@banisheed) SUMMARY: Rosemary and Siobhan are unimpressed by a hayride. NOTES: Despite repeated mentions of an action known as "boning" this is a family friendly thread. This thread is G-rated. We promise.

Hay was the thing animals ate. Siobhan kept thinking about it as she pulled straws of hay out of her legs. She thought about it as she looked at the hay ride to begin with, and as the operator of the tractor boasted about a ‘haunted’ experience that was sure to be ‘scary’ and ‘spooky’ and then again, as she climbed up and sat on the hay. She pulled more bits of hay away from her, as though just underneath the dried grass would be a plush leather seat. She turned to her right. “Do you come here often?” She asked the woman beside her because she seemed to be like her: in that she was dressed well (albeit horrifically pastel) and wasn’t a quivering child or tired parent. “To these…” She tried to find the word for it. Was ‘completely idiotic apple themed event’ too harsh? If she said it, would it spawn any questions about why she was here? There were less words to explain that. “...events?” Siobhan tried to smile; she could be friendly, sometimes.

When someone advertised a ‘haunted hayride’, it conjured images of a hayride mixed with the thrills and chills of a haunted house. Rosemary could get behind something like that- she didn’t have to walk through the dark, running the risk of tripping over a scare actor if she was sat comfortably on a bale of hay. She crossed her legs before adjusting the pastel orange ribbon she tied around her ponytail. She was plucking a stray strand of hay from her autumnal sweater when she heard the most bizarre question she’d ever been asked on a hayride. The witch blinked owlishly at the woman next to her as she debated whether or not the stranger was using it as a pickup line. “Yeah, sometimes. It depends. I like autumn, so I tend to go to a fair number of events. How about you?”

Was this what polite conversation passed for these days? It was her fault—she’d started the conversation plainly—but that was before she remembered how boring normal conversation was. Siobhan sighed, deeply offended by herself. What were they going to do next? Talk about the weather? Their jobs? Fates, if this woman so much as mentioned a hobby to her she was going to throw herself off the extremely slow-moving tractor—it wouldn’t be physically damaging at all but she hoped it would be dramatic enough. This was her fault and she ought not to complain (mentally) about it but still. “I like…” She grit her teeth as though the words pained her. “...winter best. And spring. No events.” Being friendly was so achingly boring. And it made her skin itch. And she hated it. And the hay was poking her. And it smelled bad. And the children keep staring at her with their big, insipid, wet eyes.

Siobhan pulled more hay off her. The children shrieked as a skeleton (plastic) pushed through stalks of corn. “It’s not even accurate,” she grumbled. “Missing several bones.” The skull of a dog (also plastic) burst forth next with glowing red eyes—of course it wasn’t the skull of the dog so much as a bone-white approximation of a dog’s head with cartoonish features. “Abhorrent. Is this what scares humans now?”

“Nice.” The witch nodded her head in polite acknowledgment. This stranger clearly did not enjoy small talk. Rosemary couldn’t imagine why the woman had bothered to strike up a conversation if they hadn’t wanted to talk. Obligation, perhaps? Or an inability to sit comfortably in silence.

The ride trundled along, and the least terrifying Halloween decorations Rosemary had ever seen in her entire life caused a chorus of scared and delighted screams to ring out from the six-and-under crowd. The woman beside her, much to the witch’s delight, seemed less than impressed as she began to heckle to decor. “Apparently,” Rosemary snickered in response. “Hell, look. They even gave the dog ears. Dog skeletons don’t have ears. These poor kids are going to grow up thinking they have ear bones.”

“Yes!” Siobhan brightened. She scrambled across the pointy hay to sit beside her ally against the terrible skeletons. “The misinformation is the issue and human children are such sponges. Proper bone education needs to start young if you hope to have a well-adjusted adult.” Like her, who was adjusted extremely well and had no flaws or issues. Skeleton spiders skittered across the ground; which would’ve been an impressive feat of animatronics if it wasn’t an offensive display of bone lies. Siobhan held out her hand. “Siobhan,” she said. “My name, not yours. I like you. You’re sensible. You’re attractive. You dress well.” Although not to Siobhan’s color tastes. “You seem knowledgeable about bones. Do you collect them?”

The witch groaned. “Are those skeletal spiders? Spiders don’t have bones! They have exoskeletons.” Despite her protests against the authenticity of the spiders, she studied them as the skittered by, just to be sure this wasn’t some sort of spell she could utilize. Her hopes were dashed when she saw a glowing red lightbulb on the back of one of the spider’s thoraxes. Damn. Her mouth quirked into an amused smile at the introduction. “Pleasure to meet you. And Rosemary is my name, not yours.” She said cheerfully, replicating the woman’s strange introduction. “I’d say all the same things about you- love your shoes, by the way. Unfortunately I don’t think I have enough for them to be considered a collection. I have a dog skeleton. And a bunch of taxidermied mice. Always looking for more, though. Do you collect them?”

“Yes! Exactly!” Siobhan bit down on the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to quell her excitement—she could feel her voice climbing into the banshee register. It was so rare for a human to be this wise—the bar was very low—and so having just one thrilled her. What a good human this one was! Siobhan resisted the urge to pet her head. “Oh, aren’t they just darling?” Siobhan shifted so her feet were towards Rosemary. “I stole them off someone I ki-” Siobhan paused. “Kissed.” The lie burned a little. “I think it looks better on me. Speaking of…” Siobhan reached out and gently poked the ribbon in Rosemary’s hair. “Really ties the outfit together.” Fashionable, sensible and knowledgeable? Why couldn’t more humans be like Rosemary?

“Oh, what a shame.” Siobhan sighed. “We should go bone hunting together—or boning, as it's known. We could bone.” At this point, the silly inaccurate skeletons were completely uninteresting to her. “I do collect them. Oh! Taxidermy.” Siobhan had never been especially skilled with it; the patience required was beyond her and why make the dead thing look like it was alive? It seemed to be a little bit of a waste, but still, she appreciated the art. “Did you do it yourself?”

Rosemary’s smile widened at the woman’s excitement. This woman had solid friend potential. She preened like a bird under the praise as Siobhan poked at her hair ribbon. “They definitely do.” She agreed, not noticing the hasty change of words on the other woman’s part.

Amusement flickered in her eyes at the term boning. Her inner child that couldn’t help but laugh at dirty jokes barely restrained herself. “We could absolutely bone.” The response earned them a murderous glare from a mother a few seats down who covered her child’s ears to shield the tot from their conversation. “I didn’t do the taxidermy myself, but I did sew the little outfit one of them is wearing. I made her a little burlesque outfit. I call her Dita Von Squeak. The skeleton I call Skeledog. Clearly I enjoy naming things.” Rosemary swallowed a groan as a plastic skeleton popped out. “Why do they keep insisting on putting ears on the skeletons?”

“We should go bone now.” Siobhan was ignorant to any looks, excited by having a human that wouldn’t disappoint her. She glanced down the side of the tractor—the jump really wasn’t anything at all. “Very…” Siobhan tried very hard not to frown at her new human pet—friend. “...original names.” Skeledog was an unoriginal, uninventive mockery of bones, but there was no reason for Rosemary to know what she thought. She couldn’t scare this human off just yet, boning was a lonely venture but boning with a companion was an acceptable joy. Boning yourself simply wasn’t the same.

She turned to the skeleton as Rosemary did. “Humans are stup…” She cut her sentence off. “Some people are stupid.” Siobhan smiled. “Not you. Not us.” She gestured to the slow moving ground. “Shall we? Or do you enjoy skeleton ears?”

The witch’s brows rose in surprise at the immediate change of plans from Siobhan. Not that she was opposed - no, quite the opposite. Rosemary was always down for a strange change of plans. She supposed it ought to be concerning receiving an offer to go hunting for remains or boning as the other woman called it. But if Siobhan was planning on leading her to a deep dark pit in the woods with lots of people she’d serial murdered, Rosemary could probably raise one of the murdered to keep her from getting stabbed. Maybe. Probably. Hopefully.

“No, we’re very pretty and clever. And have immaculate taste.” Rosemary strapped her bag over her shoulder and hopped off the slow rolling hay ride. “Let’s go bone.”

Siobhan didn’t like humans, generally. They were insipid, juvenile and arrogant, but they could be at times amusing. Rosemary was sensible and could be enjoyed like a cup of tea. It was important for Siobhan’s particular lifestyle to amass pleasure in different degrees: cups of tea were as important as chugging down 40-year barrel aged Irish whiskey, for example. If she had whiskey all the time, she imagined she’d be pretty sick. But scatter her days with tea and the rest could be managed all the better. Siobhan had come to the apple event seeking fun and she’d found it. For now, she liked Rosemary. For now, she may even deign to call her a friend out loud. Later, perhaps, she might enjoy her tea spiked. Later, perhaps, there would be other things to do with Rosemary. Siobhan was determined to have her fun, after all—it was the only thing she could have anymore.

She jumped down, confident in her manipulative intent and ability to continually dehumanize Rosemary lest she do anything so embarrassing as actually enjoy her company. Then Siobhan forgot: forgot that Rosemary was a woman she just met, forgot that they weren’t actually friends at all, forgot that she was supposed to fantasize about self-serving interests. Walking alongside the woman with the promise of boning in the air, she felt only like her friend.

When she remembered again, it all came back to her with a clenching force, squeezed around her body. She was only doing this because it was better than the hayride. She was only doing this because Rosemary was slightly more enjoyable than other humans. She was only doing this because she was bored. She was only being friendly because she needed Rosemary’s company to scare away the ache of solo boning—and for any future gains she may receive by pulling on that thread of friendliness. This, like the hayride, was nothing special.

Thus, Siobhan and Rosemary boned.

#thank you grace for this fun time and also bones #c: rosemary #s2 #skeleton lies #archived writing

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banisheed · 4 months ago

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TIMING: Recent LOCATION: The Codfather PARTIES: Eve (@technowarden) & Siobhan (@banisheed) SUMMARY: Eve and Siobhan go on a date, which is only improved by the presence of leprechauns (and oysters). CONTENT: Gun Use tw, Eye Trauma tw

There were some minor challenges in being a Warden who didn’t actively hunt for Eve. All that energy meant for prowling along the forest edge, chasing after Cat-Sith, darting around Trolls, none of it was going anywhere. Hours a day meant for hunting instead spent in front of a screen. Eve loved it, but it left her jittery. She was a member of eight running clubs in town, and all that wasn’t enough. Sometimes there was an urge for something more. While Eve often found her thrills at the Three Daggers, sometimes you needed to spend the night with someone who didn’t have quite such a rugged, heavy look in their eyes.

Sometimes, you needed to flirt with a strange but beautiful woman on the internet, talking about soggy cakes and butter knives. Sometimes, you had to accept that the computers wouldn’t solve the impending apocalypse, only steer the right people. And if there was no new information, there wasn’t much more she could do. So Eve had put on her best fuck-me outfit, with long wide trousers that cinched at the waist, a mesh crop top, and a leather jacket on top.

She was taking Siobhan out for dinner, first, of course. (Or perhaps Siobhan was taking her out). She wasn’t an animal. Anyway, it meant that she could figure out if Siobhan was just an internet troll, or something perhaps a little stranger. The Codfather was a good venue, and with their large outdoor fire heaters, they could even enjoy the outdoor fresh air. She arrived a couple minutes early, casually leaning against the wall of the building and checking her phone alerts for anything new.

There was a prickling in her spine, like her shoulder blades were aspiring to be wings. Eve tensed slightly, looking around. In autumn, she could sense something every five minutes, but there wasn’t enough grassy paths in this area to blame a gnome. Sometimes fae walked the town, that didn’t mean they would require her to take any action.

—

Siobhan walked a fine line between caring and not; dressing up was an obvious indication of care and it was unavoidable for her. If she wanted to be adored, she needed to dress the part. A tight dress typically did it but she wanted her intentions with Eve to be obvious. And so, the dress wasn’t just tight, it cut down low from her chest and revealed the curve of her breasts before stopping in a pool of dark red fabric at her bellybutton. It was the sort of thing that demanded to be pulled off or tugged down; it was the sort of thing that wasn’t entirely appropriate for a family establishment. She wanted Eve to think about it, she wanted Eve to desire it—that thing the dress encouraged—and she wanted to never give it over. There was nothing that thrilled Siobhan more than the wet-eyed desperation of a human. Her fun with Eve might end with the other naked, but her dress would stay on, that was the point.

The unfortunate byproduct of her plan was how much she appeared to care. From the carefully selected dress to her favourite leather jacket (it could hold so many knives) to her tall black heels to her makeup, she was very deliberate. Siobhan knew that was the agreement of a date, if they could call this one: to care in a horrifically transparent way. What exactly they would be caring about would be up to them. Siobhan, for example, didn’t expect to leave this meeting knowing anything personal about Eve. If she happened to learn Eve’s hobbies or favourite colour or name of childhood pet, she’d count that as a failure. Unless, of course, she could use that information to log into her bank account. She thought Eve might be the same; she had a way of speaking online that was purposefully vague. The only truthful thing she’d been given might’ve been that Eve was tall.

Which she was. Siobhan’s heels clicked like drops of water as she approached. She smiled in her amused, lopsided way to see that Eve also cared. If their desires were aligned, it would make the whole thing flow easily. In fact, why bother with the seafood at all at this point? Formalities could be such a bore. “You’ve brought a butter knife, I hope? If we get attacked, I am hoping you’ll protect me. I can’t get blood on these clothes.” Siobhan tugged her leather gloves off, one finger at a time, and stuffed them into her jacket. With her glamour safely in place, and her Irish accent lilting into the air, she held out her hand. “Formally then: I’m Siobhan. And you’re charmed, I’m sure.”

—

The dress had its desired effect, for a moment. It really did leave very little to the imagination. Eve’s eyes drifted involuntarily down. This bizarre internet stranger really was one of the catches around town. Except as Siobhan walked closer, the itchy feeling in Eve’s shoulder blades grew. There must be someone in the restaurant, someone who Eve hadn’t seen enter, right? She took Siobhan’s hand, smiling. “I’m Eve. I imagine I’m about as charmed as you are.”

Siobhan was such an Irish name. And the weirdness from before? Definitely word games. Mathematically, it was a big coincidence. Fuck. Eve’s smile didn’t falter, even as her pulse jumped. Now there was only one reason she’d not be able to take her eyes off of Siobhan, and it had nothing to do with the dress. “Wow, you look incredible.”

“Of course I have!” Eve chuckled falsely, as she pulled the butter knife out of her pocket. “As long as you’re willing to wait three hours while I finish your would be assailant off.” The idea of flirting with a fae for the next few hours made her stomach turn, and somehow the idea of rejecting a fae without offending them felt more fraught than the demon rumbling beneath their feet. Fuck, she’d have to be so much more careful with her lies too. “I was thinking oysters? Safely no butter knives involved, for both our sakes. Shall we sit out here, away from the crowds? It offers us a bit more privacy, and I’d like to have you all to myself.” In case Siobhan tried to pull anything, of course. Also in case she had to make a quick exit.

Eve decided right then she would never tell a soul about this night. If she survived it. “So, Siobhan, are you in a wine or cocktails mood tonight?”

—

Siobhan tried to hide her pleasure at the attention; she wasn’t some lonely old lady who needed to know she was still attractive. Except for the unfortunate fact that she was exactly that, and in the part of her brain shoved between all the other parts and cast over with darkness, she knew it. Compliments to her body didn’t mean much—it was all genetics, not her—and under the glamour it was repulsive, but she could take the silent praise and let it fill her up. Let it be something more and then it could be enough. She felt the most like herself when the attention was shallow. “I am incredible, I know.” She smiled. “You look…” She trailed off.

There came a point in every fae’s life when they had to decide if the joke was worth the repercussions of a lie—if the fae had lived a good life, it would be multiple points. Such was Siobhan’s dilemma: she could compliment Eve honestly, or she could make her fun and suffer a little. “Average,” she said, turning her head as bile rose up her body. She covered her lips and suppressed an acid burp. She thought she’d done a good job of it, turning back to Eve as though she hadn’t moved at all. “Relatively speaking, of course.” She smiled.

To her observation, nothing was amiss. Siobhan delighted in the brandish of the butter knife. “Watch you get sweaty for three hours?” She hummed. “I think I can manage that.” It was strange how much she felt like a younger version of herself—Fates, what a cliché. But the Siobhan who’d been freshly thrust out of Saol Eile couldn’t have managed this; there was an odd sense of freedom here. Freedom to manipulate someone into doing exactly what she wanted, but a freedom nonetheless. It was going to be fun. “I’d like that.” They were seated outside and presented menus, the drink menu being the most important.

“Wine,” Siobhan answered quickly, unable to stand the seconds in silence where she might be misunderstood to be a cocktail person. “Let me guess, you’ll order water, won’t you? Or…” Siobhan trailed her finger down the drink menu. “…something slightly alcoholic, so as to not appear like a wet blanket, but perhaps even that you’ll only sip at.” She closed the menu with a grin. “How’d I do?”

—

“Just average? If I’m not up to your standards, I can leave. Find someone with better taste,” Eve teased, although she almost wished Siobhan would dismiss her. Let her leave and forget this completely embarrassing night, preferably with lots of alcohol. Somehow, she didn’t think Siobhan was going to send her away. Eve was going to have to work harder to weasel her way out of this. “I’d be disappointed if all you did was watch.”

Eve listened to Siobhan’s speculation about her drink, crossing her arms and a single eyebrow raised. The annoying thing was… Siobhan was right. From the moment Eve had felt the first jitters in her spine, alcohol had been off the table. Enhanced reflexes weren’t much use if you unenhanced them. For a moment, Eve panicked and wondered if Siobhan knew. But that was almost impossible. Which meant that she was just being antagonised to get a rise out of her. Classic, wretched fae. Before Eve could reply to Siobhan, a waiter approached the table, asking for their drinks.

“Two glasses of the Alsace Riesling white wine, please. And may we have a sharing platter of the oysters? You’re a star,” Eve told the waiter, extremely cautious not to thank anyone. It wasn't part of her every day language anyway, but she was all the more aware of it now. Once he’d left, she looked back at Siobhan smugly. She probably wouldn’t have much anyway, but this was just to make a point. “I’m normally a cocktail girlie, but I guess I have something a little weaker for once.”

“So, what is your deal,” Eve asked, leaning forward over her elbows. How long would she have to wait before it was acceptable to claim it was cold and zip up her jacket? The mesh top that usually made Eve feel on top of the world suddenly felt incredibly vulnerable. “First you call me a spider, then you call me a lightweight. Do you always insult your dates, or only the hot ones?”

—

“I’m sure you can work your way into my good graces,” Siobhan said. The teasing and the white wine were a great start.

“Was I wrong?” Siobhan folded her hands together, resting them on the table. She smiled softly. The war of wits started now; if Eve could keep up—if Eve even knew they were playing—only the conversation would reveal. She knew very little about the woman across from her, which was her preference, but the inner workings were her favourite puzzle. Was she dealing with someone simple or complex? Were Eve’s motives aligned with hers or did they exist in a realm Siobhan had yet to consider? To dissect Eve would be a joy. “I didn’t call you a lightweight. Do you always spin words to dull their meaning?” The spider was many things: the waiting predator, the clever engineer of an invisible web. Siobhan had no idea what Eve was hoping to catch, but she could tell that the woman was constructing something inside her head. Or, at least, Siobhan thought she could. She wasn’t always right with people, but someone who navigated social interactions like chess was someone she could relate to—if, indeed, that was Eve. She hoped it was; it would be boring otherwise.

Siobhan pressed her palm to the table and smoothed out a wrinkle in the cloth. “It’s the way you ask questions. It’s interrogative, yet you’ve woven them to be unassuming.” Analysis floated around in her head: was Eve the sort of person who enjoyed being underestimated? Was Eve hoping to dissolve into the noise of humans, turning into one drop in an ocean? Did that reveal a lack of ego or an exceptionally dedicated intelligence? And could Siobhan even be sure? What if she was wrong? Looking at Eve now, it was hard to tell that she was doing anything in particular. Her responses were so quick, and so sharp, and she never agreed to or outright denied anything. Siobhan wasn’t certain, but walking the observation back would reveal weakness. “I believe you’re perfectly capable of handling alcohol, but you value your awareness more.”

Siobhan leaned back. Eve’s reactions would tell her a lot, but if she could ensnare her date into revealing her motives, she wouldn’t have to bother with battling Eve like this. “I’m complimenting you and I only do that for the dates I like.” Siobhan was very fond of spiders; it was blasphemously high-praise for a human. “Do you always assume the worst or am I special?”

—

Eve bit her tongue. Ugh, this was all so fae. Arrogance up to her ears, morally superior just in her analysis, twisting her words in ways no reasonable human ever would, and peering deep into Eve’s soul. Siobhan may describe her perception as complimentary, but Eve could see the manipulation, because it was one she used herself. To share those perceptions was to put someone on the defensive. This had never been a date, but a power play. Rotten being. There was cold iron in her jacket that was calling to be used. Eve smiled, acquiescently. “I don’t want you to worry that I won’t keep up with you,” she admitted, having a sip of her wine. “But you caught me. You’re beautiful and charming but my expectations from this were not exactly an overwhelmingly romantic affair. Whenever, and wherever we finish, my aim is to be able to drive home tonight. I’m just not that kinda gal. I thought you might be the same.”

“Being called a spider is a compliment?” Eve made a point of shivering at the thought. “That never even occurred to me. They give me the heebie jeebies!”

Her thinking was changing. This wasn’t an encounter she needed to win or outsmart Siobhan at. It was just an encounter she needed to survive. It was better to relent and bend, than stand tall and shatter. Even if that meant swallowing all her pride. She raised up her hands in defeat. “You’re definitely special, and you’re also probably right. I just wasn’t expecting to be psychoanalysed before we’d even been served our evening meal. Usually deep personal truths don’t happen until drink two or three at least.”

“So how has your week been, anyway? Anything exciting happen?” Siobhan may have been fluent in the language of half truths, but Eve knew exactly how to be a mediocre date.

—

“I wasn’t worried.” Siobhan took a sip of her wine, mirroring Eve; supposedly it put humans at ease, though Siobhan never found that it worked. At least, if Eve noticed Siobhan was copying her—which she would, if she fancied herself even a little observant—it would probably annoy her, which would in turn delight Siobhan. She smiled just as Eve did. “Not interested in romance then? No, neither am I.” But if they were so aligned on the end-goal, why wasn’t Eve moving? Why sit here and waste time? What if Eve just wanted the oysters that badly?

Then she shivered; Siobhan didn’t copy that. It was hard to tell if it was forced, Eve was very good at making her motions seem natural—indeed, they might as well have been natural. Siobhan could’ve been overestimating this human. But there was a small mistake Eve had made: she changed the rules. And Siobhan could tell. Eve was pulling away, forcing distance between them. Which may as well have been a normal reaction for someone uninterested in emotional intimacy except for the fact that Siobhan was sure they hadn’t been saying anything personal prior either. Again, the motive was completely lost on her, but that Eve shifted around at all meant something Siobhan did worked. Eve was getting uncomfortable, wasn’t she? Siobhan could work with that.

And what better way to make someone committed to distance uncomfortable than genuine displays of emotion? Siobhan would know, it tended to make her skin itch too. So, she looked confused, softly—like a fairytale princess being told she needed to be locked away—wounded but not insulted. She was in fact a little confused, and so the expression was slightly genuine, which she thought would help it read that way to Eve. “I love spiders,” she confessed in that same soft and wounded way.

“There was this spider in my grandmother’s garden…” All true. “...and every day I would go out and stare at its web. It made it between two plant stems.” Also true. “I wanted to see it eat, but I never caught it in the act. And then it was gone.” Gone because she took it and put it in a jar with a fly and then it starved instead of indulging her. “I was sad. Horribly, I think.” True. “More than I should’ve been. I’d really grown attached to that little spider, in some silly way I suppose I thought it liked me too.” Embarrassingly true. “They’re lovely creatures, Eve.”

Siobhan raised her hands up as well, as if to show she wasn’t carrying anything dangerous. “You have an odd definition of deep personal truths, love. My conjecture was shallow at best; anyone can see what a spider is but discerning what type…” Siobhan took a slow sip of her wine, adopting Eve’s methodology—normally she had no qualms with being tipsy. “You’re not embarrassed about your nature, are you? I find it quite charming.” If Eve was trying to steer their conversation into the mundane, Siobhan had to wrench it back. “Hm.” She took another sip. “So you value safety then? You’re very eager to escape to it.”

—

“Kids get attached to the strangest things. We had a slug infestation, when I was six. I used to think those little slime trails we found every morning were the slugs leaving me secret messages. Like I was a weird. I was devastated when my mum got the salt out. I don’t think I spoke to her for a week. But, anyway, I’m happy spiders make you happy. It’s just not for me.”

Eve let her face scrunch up a little as Siobhan avoided her question, put off in the way that any reasonable date would be.

“Geez louise, lady. I’m not sure if this mysterious knowing energy works for other people, but you’re coming off a bit cocky.” It’s a bit of a turn off, Eve didn’t need to say, as she leant back, and zipped up the first couple inches of her jacket. ��Safety? What, oh, because you’re going to hurt me with a butter knife? Yeah, I’m always rushing right into danger. But what about you? What’s your job like, anyway?” It was, deliberately, among the most boring questions to be asked on any date.

The plate of oysters were brought in front of them then, delicately displayed on a layer of ice with sliced lemons and an aromatic sauce. It was a shame Eve wasn’t letting this date last long enough to enjoy them. She delicately picked up one, and held it up for a toast to Siobhan. She’d heard oysters were a high iron food. “To good food, and an average view.”

Although Eve couldn’t hear it yet, much further down the road, there was the sound of a little chittering.

—

Siobhan leaned forward, grumbling into her next sip of wine. She couldn’t be sure that she was getting to Eve but Eve was certainly starting to get to her. Siobhan didn’t have a lot of patience, boring things ate at her like a rash. She needed something. The slug story was probably false, though whatever truth could be extracted from it was a truth she knew Eve would never give her. Not like this, at least. Maybe she really was turning Eve off—it wouldn’t be the first time her general demeanour was repulsive to a human. That was the typical reaction. Siobhan leaned back and pushed her tongue to the inside of her cheek, halting a scoff. “Let it be said you’re annoyingly skilled at your art.” And calling it an art was praise she didn’t want to give Eve. Self-doubt didn’t suit Siobhan and Eve was an expert at sowing it. “I’m not letting you get away so easily, Eve.” And again, she refused to answer her boring question. Without hesitation, Siobhan picked up an oyster and swallowed its gooey body, denying Eve her toast out of a simple pettiness. The oyster burned—it wouldn’t sit well over time—but nothing hurt as much as Eve denying Siobhan her game. Then, a needle of ice shot down her back and Siobhan straightened up. She snapped her body around and glanced down the foggy street. The town’s constant hum was punctuated with a few clicks, almost like the failing engine of a car trying to start somewhere far but Siobhan knew the way those sounds tended to echo; tended to mimic distance. The only trace of panic left with her when she turned back around to Eve was in the disgusting transparency of desperation in her voice. “You should go.” It could’ve been mistaken for care, though all Siobhan really wanted was to make sure that Eve didn’t get eaten before she could figure out how to have fun with her. “Now, preferably.” The chittering and the clicks swelled around them. —

“Oh, I’m not an artist. I just work in IT,” Eve replied, pretending to be as oblivious as could be. “I’m not going anywhere. Are you okay, Siobhan?” The toast abandoned, Eve savored her own oysters, as well as Siobhan’s growing irritation. Maybe she was winning, after all! Which, wasn’t the point. Just survival, just getting out of here, and never speaking with this woman again.

As soon as she heard the chittering, Eve froze, all pretence of a date vanishing from her features. If the desperation in Siobhan’s demands affected her at all, Eve didn’t show it. Just because fae couldn’t lie with their words didn’t mean they couldn’t trick with their tone. And what an impressively frightening trick this was, to lure her out here. Not just to a bad date, but a trap. Had Siobhan known all along? She wouldn’t have been so friendly, surely. Dread dug a pit in her stomach.

Eve had a list in her head. On the nights when cleaning felt too reactive and she dreamt of returning to hunting, Eve went over it in her head. In those dreams, she had no future, only a legacy she wanted to leave behind, an incredible blaze of glory. She wouldn’t last long, but there were fae that Eve would be better suited for. The ones that didn’t have built in strength, whose abilities could be cut off before they could be used. Ones who could be tricked until Eve was in arms’ reach, who wouldn’t have time to react to the cold iron blades dragging along her throat.

Eve had a second list too, of fae that she would never even dream of hunting deliberately. Guess which list leprechauns were on, with their height, strengths and numbers? Even before her injury, Eve’s weapon of choice for leprechauns had been a war bow, and a perch half way up a tree. Not a fight outside al fresco dining, where movement was limited. She stood up, with a quick reach into her bag to pull out a gun, sending a quick SOS to a couple wardens she knew on her phone. Even they weren’t knee deep in withercaps already, no one would be here instantly. It was one thing, to choose not to give chase, or to run when it was just her life on the line. It was another to leave a restaurant full of people at the mercy of whatever Siobhan and these leprechauns had planned. Eve quickly walked out of the al fresco area, sliding a chair to block the handles to the restaurant, trapping the other patrons and staff inside. Hopefully, no leprechauns had already made it inside.

“I’m afraid that’s not an option,” she said, her voice stiff as ice. “Call them off, Siobhan. Now.”

—

The road writhed—no, it wasn’t the road, it was pairs of grey bodies squirming down the asphalt. What were the odds that these were the very same leprechauns that’d been harassing her? One broke off from the carpet of grey, sliding up a car, staring her down with its one eye; the other was covered by an eye-patch. So, the odds were clear then: these were certainly those leprechauns. Honestly, she wasn’t sure that one had ever lost its eye—she didn’t remember, anyway. Siobhan stood up, sighing deeply. She didn’t want to kill them; she had that time in Ireland, which was why they wanted her flesh so badly; and then she hadn’t when she first learned that they followed her, and then they stabbed her! She supposed her options were to get stabbed again, clinging to an old idea of what being fae meant, or kill them all and be done with their silly revenge plot. The logical choice was clear.

Siobhan turned, finding Eve with a gun—tacky—and a chair, which she dragged to the doors and locked the humans inside—smart. And then telling her what to do? Eve was strangely calm. Why did Eve have a gun? Why did Eve have any sense of what was happening? Siobhan laughed. “You had that in your bag this whole time? Cute.” Siobhan pulled two knives out, spinning them in her hands. She turned to the leprechauns, who now surrounded their dining area, chittering at them. She said, in Irish, “get over yourselves.” The noises ceased.

The eye-patched leprechaun clicked once and a wave of grey rose up around them and collapsed in. Leprechauns flew at Siobhan, and she couldn’t see Eve anymore, just grey bodies and beady eyes. The leprechauns latched onto her like sea barnacles against a ship—those oysters were still on the mind. She hissed as their razor teeth sunk into her skin and their bodies wrapped around her limbs, trying to drag her down. The knives were lost; admittedly, it was silly she thought they’d be helpful at all. Siobhan tore a leprechaun off her arm and twisted its head off its body. It cracked off with a satisfying pop—like opening a tight jar—but served only to enrage the remaining leprechauns. Siobhan kicked the head away and continued ripping leprechauns off; each time she did, another would take its place.

The instinct to scream was overtaken by another, more learned instinct: something fae got taught young, something that made her feel like it would be a mistake to show Eve. What were the odds that her date was a warden? “You should run while you can,” she called out over the leprechaun's rage. She couldn’t see her at all; what was she up to? More than survival, Siobhan was curious about that. She ripped another leprechaun off and stabbed her thumb into its eye. It whistled in agony as she used her new grip to smash its head into the other leprechauns. When its skull shattered and its brain turned to pulp, she grabbed a new leprechaun and started over. Despite the gore, it wasn’t an effective method at all: in a moment, she’d be overwhelmed. All she wanted was to pull enough leprechauns away so she could see Eve.

—

Eve counted, skimming the crowd with her eyes and she continued backing up, her gait more noticeably off as she walked backwards. Twenty little fuckers, more than she’d personally ever seen. This would be bad, fast. She glared at Siobhan, the threat in her look clear. But it didn’t matter. They weren’t interested in Eve, nor in the people in the restaurant. They were only interested… in Siobhan. They lunged at her like a tidal wave, drowning her. Never, in the history of ever, had a warden written an account of leprechauns attacking another fae.

It was enough to make Eve doubt her senses. What if Siobhan wasn’t fae? What if, all along, she’d been sensing the leprechauns, and Siobhan was the regular form of Rester weirdness? That didn’t feel right either, but there wasn’t time to interrogate it; the doubt was enough for Eve to act. Hopping further back, trying to give herself enough space, Eve shot one of the leprechauns at Siobhan’s ankles. It screeched, beady eyes spinning to turn to face her as its back sizzled, blood boiling from the cold iron in her bullets. It staggered, toppled away. The chittering grew louder and more aggressive as a few of the leprechauns turned from Siobhan and towards Eve. She breathed, and began to fire into the horde.

One of the leprechauns bounded forward, slashing one of Siobhan’s blades at Eve’s ankle. Fortunately, it was the wrong ankle, and the knife just ripped through fabric and air and missing the C-curve of her prosthesis. Jolting backwards, Eve raised her hand over it, iron perspirating out her skin. The Leprechaun scowled, it’s neck jerking upwards, then its whole body straightening, and stretching up towards her hand. Magnetism dragged it off the ground, and as soon as it was airborn, flying towards her hand, Eve twisted her wrist. With a sick crunch, it impaled itself on her knife. The lights went out in its eyes and its jaw dropped slack.

As its grip loosened on Siobhan’s blade, Eve caught it with her other hand. She flicked her own knife, shaking off his body into the crowd. Now they really were paying attention. Eve threw Siobhan’s knife into the spine of one of the leprechaun’s on Siobhan. Hopefully she could use it, Eve couldn’t check. More leprechaun’s surged towards her, nimbly dodging her bullets, so she was barely grazing their arms and tiny legs.

One jumped up at her. Eve tried to dodge, but it hit her square in the chest. She stumbled back, her prosthetic leg lagging behind as she toppled backwards. Eve grunted, air knocked out of her lungs as she hit the floor, along with the hard clatter of plastic and metal hitting the gravel. Another jumped up, grabbing her arm and dragging it out to the side and away from her chest.

—

The gunshots didn’t bother Siobhan, but the idea of the gun did. It was offensive to a banshee or, rather, it was offensive to Siobhan. How much she could claim to be representative of a banshee now was debatable. Banshees didn’t get attacked by leprechauns, leprechauns didn’t attack other fae, other fae didn’t attack leprechauns. Siobhan thought about it as she watched leprechauns fall over in bloody heaps. One of her knives—so that’s where it went—sailed through the air and crunched into the back of a leprechaun on her shoulder. It clicked and fell off, landing on the hilt of the knife, sending the blade clean through its stomach. If Siobhan didn’t know any better, she’d say Eve was trying to kill her instead of the leprechauns. She was certainly very unconcerned about aiming close to her.

Siobhan would’ve cared if it wasn’t exactly the same method she employed when fighting alongside someone, which was a rare enough event. The real threat was the leprechauns, if she hurt someone else accomplishing her goal…c’est la vie. Thanks to Eve, she could kick the few leprechauns beside her away and pick up her knife. Her favourite jacket was torn, she was bleeding, her dress now showed a little too much skin. While those were all things she imagined would happen on her ideal date, she didn’t want it to happen like this. Siobhan reached into the shattered wreck of their table and grabbed the oyster tray. She stomped over to Eve, crushing the bones of dead leprechauns under her heels.

“Are you some kind of hunter then? That would explain the…” Siobhan swung the oyster tray at the leprechaun on Eve’s arm, sending it flying into another table. “...sudden change of mood, clearly it wasn’t…” Siobhan thrust her knife through the skull of a leprechaun climbing up her leg. “...anything I did.” A downed target was a leprechaun’s favourite, and Eve laying there was sugar to ants. The living leprechauns, all bleeding lumps of grey, rushed them. Siobhan sighed, turned to face away from Eve, crouched and screamed.

The problem with being a perfect, sexy, issue-free banshee with great boobs and decades of practice was that it all appeared effortless and therefore seeming to be undeserving of praise. Behind Siobhan, there wasn’t a single crack in the restaurant’s glass. In front of her, the leprechauns burst like fireworks of blood. So Eve’s ears might be ringing…c’est la vie. The one-eyed leprechaun slinked away in the distance as Siobhan turned back around and offered her hand to Eve. “Imagine having to shoot at each leprechaun individually. How embarrassing.”

—

The leprechauns tried to pry Eve’s fingers off her gun, so this one too she let become covered in iron, so that as it was drawn to her it burned. With her other hand, she tried to stab the leprechaun on her chest, and while it shrieked as the knife burned its side, it kept dancing on her, the weight of it and its companions slowly starting to crush her. Eve hissed, planning her next attach when a sheet of metal swung out of nowhere, smacking the leprechauns away.

Eve didn't respond to Siobhan’s accusations, far more focused on trying to kick the encroaching leprechauns away from her with her good leg. They were fast at dodging, but occasionally her foot connected with their chest in a way that sent them flying. From Siobhan’s mouth burst a horrific wail that rattled Eve’s very bones. It was a sounds unlike anything Eve had ever heard, but one she knew immediately. Inhumanly fast, Eve threw her hands over her ears, although it did little to shield her from the piercing pain that came with it. Splatters of blood and tissue splashed on her legs as the leprechauns burst before her.

Eve eyed Siobhan’s hand as if it were a trick, ignoring it to rock her weight over her biological ankle and pistol squat from there until she was upright. The fact there was still iron on her hands had nothing to do with it. Seriously. Pain bloomed in her sighed as she moved. Definitely some bruised ribs there, maybe even some cracked ones. Under her jacket, Eve was confident her arms were already starting to look black and blue.

She spun, looking for any surviving leprechauns, but the survivors had scrammed, a couple leaving bloody footprints in their wake. Much like Eve, they had not been prepared for the full power of a banshee scream. “Terribly embarassing,” Eve agreed lightly, “although, I imagine, not as embarassing as being a fae attacked by leprechauns.”

Her gun was still in her hand. It wasn’t pointed at Siobhan at the moment, but it wasn’t all the way lowered. If Siobhan screamed again, would Eve have time to pull the trigger before her lungs ruptured too?

—

“Would that be more or less embarrassing than being a warden on a date with a fae?” Siobhan’s response was quick, she hoped to get it out before the sting of Eve’s words settled. Eve had to be a warden: it was the simplest explanation for her behaviour. Unless she’d figured it out by the numerous fae-like things Siobhan committed on the daily, but Siobhan liked the narrative it introduced. How humorous that Eve had shown up expecting a little fun only to be surprised by her date being one of the most vile creatures to live—Eve’s thoughts, not hers. Siobhan’s gaze dropped to Eve’s torn pant leg. She frowned; the two vertical scars down her back burned in solidarity. She didn’t like it, it was one of those things that revealed a little too much about a person, the way a scar or a nervous tic did. The missing leg didn’t alter her opinion of Eve, but caused her mind to fixate on the obvious question of how—which was awfully personal, and not exactly inline with Siobhan’s goals.

She stared at her gun instead. The funny thing about dealing with a warden was the inherent social disadvantage: nothing Siobhan said would be taken with sincerity. If she showed concern, that was a trick. If she explained that she didn’t intend to harm Eve (yet), that was a scheme. It was much more complicated to get a warden to like her, let alone trust her. And now Eve knew two useful things about her: she was a banshee, and she killed a group of leprechauns. Doubtless, Eve was thinking of a way to use that to her advantage. What did Siobhan have? Considering they went out for oysters, Eve could easily claim that she was luring a fae into a trap. Siobhan hummed and picked her knives out of the leprechaun gore, wiping them clean on her ripped jacket sleeves as her mind ran through useless possibilities.

No, Eve wouldn’t let her try to help—did she even want to help? No, Eve certainly wasn’t interested in sleeping with her. Yes, Eve was going to hold on to that gun as long as Siobhan was still here. “What do you do about them?” Siobhan asked, jerking her head towards the restaurant and the humans pressed up against the glass, gawking. “I usually go with performance art; it’s a wonder what humans will forgive if you call it art. But there’s the risk of them blabbering about it: likely this was the most exciting part of their year and to know it was art!” Siobhan shrugged, moving closer to Eve with slow steps. Eve denied her hand when she offered it, so Siobhan didn’t have delusions of being able to touch her. “It might be better to call it something mundane, forgettable. We’re exterminators and those were rats, for example.”

Siobhan hovered by Eve’s side. She supposed she ought to just leave: Eve was expecting nothing positive from her and though Siobhan delighted in breaking expectations, she wasn’t keen on doing any work. It wasn’t her problem. “You’re hurt,” she said plainly, as if stating the colour of Eve’s hair. Eve wouldn’t let her help with that, not that she cared, and not that she wanted to, and not that Eve even needed her help at all. Siobhan was the one who was bleeding and Siobhan was the one with the tenuous relationship with her own community—could she even call them her community anymore? She’d be the one haphazardly applying first-aid to herself. Anyway, what could be the worst of it for Eve? Some bruises? Boohoo.

“Well!” Siobhan dusted her hands off, which had the effect of splashing more blood around. “I’ll leave you to it! I know how you wardens love your busy work. Call me, don’t be a stranger, et cetera.” Siobhan backed away slowly, keeping her eyes on Eve’s gun.

—

Eve flushed. There was no sense denying it, she’d been caught iron-handed. “Is it less embarrassing for you?” She asked. Although evidently Siobhan was not like other fae. Even from the way she’d aimed her scream away from Eve rather than allowing her to be collateral. Eve’s ears were still ringing, but at least they were still functional.

Siobhan’s question was sensible, the moment she proposed her solutions, Eve felt argumentative. No, obviously they couldn’t sell it as a performance piece. The people in the restaurant would never buy that! Humans could be smarter than you realise, they wouldn’t fall for such a simple lie. Nor would they buy a story about extermination, or they certainly wouldn’t be happy about it. Eve couldn’t just say any random nonsense, it had to be clever, it had to be believable…. It had to be, shit, exactly what Siobhan suggested. Not that Eve would admit that. “I’ll figure it out. No need to worry.” Once the pain had wilted a little.

“As are you.” Eve’s eyes skimmed over the cuts and bites on Siobhan’s body, the thin bodice of her dress possibly exposing more than Siobhan would like. At least Eve’s jacket zipped up, and her trousers had only torn below the knee. She ground her teeth together. It was one step too far to offer Siobhan any help, she felt, but she let the gun lower to her hip. Her instincts were all twisted up. It wasn’t often a fae saved her life. It was never. While she supposed it had been a debt repaid, as she had cleared a few of the Leprechauns off Siobhan in her moment of doubt, it didn’t sit well with her.

She sagged against one of the tables, inhaling sharply and surveying the horror around them, blood spattered all down the street. She could drive her car up close, and scoop up the bodies. It’d rain tonight and sort most of the blood for her. It was maybe an hours’ clean. Eve set her bag down, and pulled out some stronger pain relief. Once the digging pain in her side subsided, she’d begin. Once it was finished, Eve’d go home. This was the one advantage of her solitary hunt: she could easily go a week without seeing a soul. No one other than Siobhan would ever know how close Eve had been to being bested by some leprechauns.

“Yeah, you should leave. There are more wardens en route,” Eve said quietly, although she was already reaching in her phone to call off the alert. When she next spoke, it was in American accented Irish, and the slightest hint of a tease. “Do try not to upset any more leprechauns. I hear they hold a grudge. I’d hate to scrape you off the street next.”

—

“Oh,” Siobhan winked, “you’re not my first.” Taking a warden out on a date was the epitome of a good time, with all those delicious buttons begging to be pushed. Siobhan enjoyed annoying people; if her inherent presence was an annoyance, that gave her all the more space to play. Limitations breed creativity and so on and so forth. She could do anything she wanted with a normal human but the ways to play with a warden were limited—risky—and so, more fun. Eve was a fascinating warden in addition: in Siobhan’s experience, most wardens were terrible socializers. Something about the fae power to twist words probably shut them up. To Siobhan’s estimation, Eve fancied herself wiser than average—perhaps even the average warden—and didn’t fear conversation in the same manner Siobhan was used to. In the ninety-some years since Siobhan’s activation, that was a novelty.

She ought to kill Eve but that would be boring. There was so much game left to be played. “I’m not worried about you,” she said with a smile. “You’ll figure it out.” Which was all the better for her since she wouldn’t have to do it herself. The last thing she wanted was a group of angry humans collected outside her door accusing her of Devil worship or something of the like. It hadn’t been fun the first time it happened. Siobhan didn’t need to be told to leave but took Eve’s command anyway, spinning around and striding off. She paused when Eve’s Irish hit her ears. Though the warden couldn’t see it, Siobhan smiled. She turned her head to regard Eve through the edge of her vision.

“Do try not to seduce any more fae, I get jealous,” she replied in perfect Irish. She swiped a leprechaun half-skill from the ground and settled the hollow cranium on the tip of her finger and spun it around. With a whistle, she was off. It was only when she was certain she was away from Eve that she crouched to whisper prayers for the dead leprechauns. Standing up, she considered that the bigger shame would be having to scrape Eve off the street. Mostly because she wouldn’t bother with any scraping—Siobhan liked her wardens in several pieces.

Clean up was for the boring people, anyway.

#i was having so much fun writing with immo that i forgot what the plot of this thread was supposed to me sdkjfhakjs #c: eve #s2 #enemies to leprechauns #gun use tw #eye trauma tw #archived writing

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