#p: bea vural

[professorbcampbell]

A Bid for Power || Bea & Ben

Location: Illusions of Grandeur

Timing: July 13th, 2021

Tagging: @beatrice-blaze​ & @professorbcampbell​

Description: Ben takes a trip to check out Bea’s venue. A very normal conversation occurs.

Warnings: None!

Shutting off the engine of his car, Ben straightened his neatly pressed shirt as he took in the venue. Illusions of Grandeur. Ever since his rather intriguing run in with the woman-- Bea Vural, as he’d found out later-- at Coffee Plus, he’d found himself thinking more and more about her. There was something about her that had struck a chord. It wasn’t just the interest in Ovid nor was it her perspective on antiquity, though neither of those hurt. No, it was the analytical eye. The guarded nature. The way they seemed to be going through the same, practiced movements of waiting, watching, and responding. His dive into her personal page on the White Crest message boards hadn’t yielded much, other than the fact she was owner and performer at Illusions of Grandeur and that she curated a very… eye-catching Instagram. She clearly took care of herself, and her appearances. But, there had to be more to this woman than just carnival magic tricks.

Walking around the building, he glanced at the hours. Closed. Which made sense. It was a venue, it wouldn’t be open until later. But, there were other cars around which meant-- “Hey there. Can I help you?” Ben looked up and saw a rather unassuming man peeking out from the front doors, a curious expression on his face.

“Ah! Sorry to intrude, I was hoping to speak to Beatrice Vural, the proprietor?” He said with a nod. The man blinked for a moment before nodding. 

“Yeah, Bea’s in the back. Is she expecting you?” The man asked.

Ben let out a laugh, tinged with faux-awkwardness and self-conscious airs. “No, I don’t think she is. I met her the other day and was hoping to speak with her again.”

“Uh huh.” The man said, unimpressed before glancing at his watch. “We have a few hours before show time, so hey. No worries. Come on in.” And with that, Ben followed the man inside, his intrigue growing with every step he took.

A week of not paying attention to the paperwork was coming to bite Bea in the ass. It was worth not stressing over it, but now the math in front of her was swimming across the page and her brain was twenty seconds away from exploding. She closed the books and leant back in her chair, she’d have to ask John to look over all the numbers for her. He had basically run the place for a year and to hand the reins back to him after only a month felt like failing. John didn’t care, she knew that, he didn’t want to be the owner and was happy with where he was, it still felt like she hadn’t planned the right way. 

Bea stood from her desk, determined to make herself a coffee and debating if it was too early to add whiskey. She swung open her office door and made her way to the kitchen. A glorious god (most likely John) had cleaned the espresso maker and she made quick work of making herself a drink. Leaving the kitchen, she nearly knocked into someone with her drink. A small, half laugh left her, “That’s the second time I’ve almost poured coffee on you.” Why was Ben here? “What brought you to my theater?”

Following after John, Ben took in the back of house trappings that filled the space before he was led into the business section of the venue. It was a very run of the mill office set up, with the smell of hot coffee floating in the air and-- Ben hopped back out of the way when he noticed the woman in his periphery. He glanced down at his shirt, relieved to see nothing had spilled on it, before letting out a laugh of his own, “Second time lucky, I’d say. In that I haven’t gotten splashed either time.” He said with a nod and a smile. At her question, Ben reached for the answer that he had been prepared ahead of time. “I was curious about the theater after you mentioned it the first time we met, so I thought I’d look into it. Magic acts have always intrigued me and I must say, I was surprised to hear that you were the one running the show.”

“We have perfect reflexes between the two of us,” Bea teased. “Otherwise, we’d both be covered in coffee every time we saw each other.” Honestly, though it was surprising to see him, she wasn’t upset at all. He was interesting, like a puzzle, and she wanted to figure him out. “You were surprised?” She asked amused, “I must have not been dramatic enough the first time we met.” She took a sip of her coffee, “Would you like to join me in a coffee and a tour? The coffee can be Irish, if you’re up for it,” She said lightly, a mischievous look in her eye. 

“So it would seem,” Ben agreed with an obligating chuckle. At her question, he offered a shrug. “You didn’t strike me as an entertainer-- though, perhaps I’m just out of touch with the rest of society. I don’t often interact with people who aren’t either colleagues or students.” He replied. The real reason he was surprised was because he had heard things about Illusions of Grandeur too. About how the acts here had been so intricate, so incredible, so show stopping. And then, the shows had stopped. He’d read as much in the archives of the White Crest Press website. Smiling at her joke, he shook his head, “I must have been projecting. You deal with enough academics and suddenly you forget that not everyone is involved in education.” At her offer, Ben nodded. “I’d be delighted for both, but I think I’ll pass on the extra shot. I’m not much of a drinker.” He said with a sheepish expression on his face. 

“I really must have been off my game when we first met,” Bea replied with fake modesty. She hadn’t been. There just happened to be places and times for being as extroverted as a performer and Coffee Plus was not one of them. She smiled at him  warmly as she went back into the kitchen to make him a coffee, “I suppose the book I was reading didn’t help you with your assumption. We do educational events here, but I fear that doesn’t make me an educator.” Nor did she want to be an educator, she didn’t have enough patience for that. She didn’t like the sheepish expression on him, as convincing as it was, she had an eye for acting and something about it didn’t sit right with her. “I usually only have wine with dinner, but after the week I had,” She shrugged with a practiced smile. “Did John show you anything as he brought you up?”

Following the woman into the small break room, Ben glanced around at the space. Nothing out of the ordinary, just what he would expect from a small business’ break room. “That it did not. And the conversation we had, though quite refreshing, didn’t do much to change the assumption either. But, I ought to leave my preconceived notions at the door. Something to work on.” He said as he leaned against the wall, watching her fix him a mug. Raising an eyebrow at her words, he gave an apologetic wince. “That bad, huh? Well, I can’t begrudge you a little something extra to take the edge off in that case.” Ben said with an understanding nod. “No, he didn’t actually. I think I may have caught him in the middle of something?” He shrugged. He didn’t care about the random man, he wasn’t the reason why Ben was here. 

“I’m quite flattered that you thought highly of our conversation then. It’s always good to have a self reflective goal to work towards.” It certainly was something to work on, Bea thought. There were too many people in this world who thought that value and intelligence came from a stupid piece of paper. Her and her sisters were just as smart as anyone else and they certainly had not gone to school to find that out. She handed him his coffee and took a sip of her own, busying herself instead of replying to his empathy. She waved a dismissive hand, “If you had caught John in the middle of something important he would have ignored you. Which points to your luck again, that you didn’t.” John was the one Bea tended to send out when too many questions were asked, he was not afraid of confrontation, if it had a good cause. “I see two path ahead of us, Ben, we can enjoy our coffee and conversation or we can get the show on the road and I can start the tour.”

With a nod, Ben accepted the cup with a nod and took a sip, watching her over the rim of the mug. It seemed as though there was something she wasn’t saying, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what. “What is life if not the opportunity to grow and change?” He asked with a smile before holding his cup in front of him. His lips curled slightly at the wave she cast in his direction, amused by her confidence. She was certainly a woman who knew herself and the people around her, it seemed. “Well, seems like I’m quite fortunate indeed.” He said before nodding. And she liked to take charge. A trait that made sense for a woman in her position, a business owner, a performer. And one that Ben would entertain, for now. “Yes, the tour-- please, lead the way.” He smiled.

Bea kept her face straight, though she struggled with the question. Life was complex, harsh, and beautiful. It was too many things all at once. Pain had forced growth in her, but she knew others who dug in their heels and never changed. “Life is what we make of it,” She finally decided. “There are plenty of people who don’t want to life to be that.” She thought of her mother, a woman she had seen as someone with infinite wisdom as a child, and how as an adult that illusion had shattered. She thought of herself, just a year ago, and how steadfast she had been in the way she handled things. “Welcome to Illusions of Grandeur. Here we have our state of the art kitchen,” She said with a soft tease. “On this floor, it’s mainly offices, mine and John’s, and a place for our performers to relax. Downstairs you’ll find the dressing rooms and props area.”

Ben kept a watchful eye on the woman’s expression, privately amused. She was mulling over the question far longer than most would, but didn’t appear to be troubled by it. Was she? Had he struck a nerve? He had no way of knowing, which delighted him. What a fascinating woman, this Beatrice Vural. “True. Life is a series of choices and we, blessed with free will, can do with it what we will. I’m of the opinion that we owe it to ourselves to grow and better ourselves. But,” He said with a laugh and wave of his hand, “I’m philosophizing. You can put the professor on summer break, but his heart remains in the classroom.” He said. Nodding, he smiled at her joke. “Oh, top of the line.” He said. “I must admit-- I’ve always been intrigued by stage magic. Would I be able to see the prop room? Or are those trade secrets?”

“I suppose you can look at it that way,” Bea replied, “But I’m not sure we owe anyone, even ourselves, anything at the start. We can certainly live to owe people, and ourselves. You don’t owe anything until you ask for something.” She let out a soft laugh, “Though that could just stem from my distaste for organized religion. Maybe I’m getting lost in the details.” She had never really understood original sin, it seemed wildly unfair to give babies sins. She knew that wasn’t at all what Ben had meant, but that certainly didn’t stop her from voicing her thoughts. “Not a bad thing to be focused on learning, I’m not the type to do well in the classroom, but I enjoy our discussions.” She eyed him for a moment, a practiced smirk taking over her face. She had had plenty of people curious about the elements that they had seen on stage. “I’ll show you some of my performer’s secrets, but none of my own. That you have to earn.”

Her answer posed more questions than it answered, Ben thought to himself. What a curious woman. “The idea of owing something to another and indebtedness is certainly prevalent in most religions.” He agreed, “But-- you said we don’t owe something until we ask for it. What’s life without the asking, the wanting? We all have our own desires, those things we want more than anything else. Isn’t that part of the human experience?” Ben asked. Oh, how he knew about the wanting. The hunger. The desire for more. And he knew all about the owing too. “Well, I’m glad to hear I’m not a total bore.” He said before meeting her confident gaze. The smirk at the corner of her lips amused him. A strong willed woman. “And how might I earn those?” He asked with a tilt of his head.

“Everyone ends up owing someone something,” Bea shrugged. She supposed she had many people she owed, but it hadn’t come inherently, she had put herself in that position. Many people had put themselves in that position with her. “I suppose what really matters is how we react to owing or being owed. Even more so, how much we have to go through with a person until the scales are tipped the other direction.” She had owed her mother so much, but finally, the scales were tipping. Beatrice and Nisa were getting closer to balance, slowly. Soon, Bea wouldn’t owe her. Maybe, one day, Nisa would look to her eldest for something. She started to lead him to the props area, “Well, what has the same value as a secret, Ben? If you can give me that, then you’ve earned something in return.”

Everyone ends up owing someone something. Now, if Bea only knew how true that statement was. Ben had seen his father carry the burdens of his grandfather, carry his debt and forge a path of blood and sacrifice to a brighter future. The future he had dreamed of. And Ben, he didn’t owe, not yet. But he needed to prove himself worthy of His Lord before that which he craved could be his. And then, then he would owe much. And he’d have the power to pay it back in full. “I’ve always been far more comfortable owing than being owed.” Ben said, though it couldn’t be farther from the truth. The leverage, the power, the ability to apply just the slightest amount of pressure on someone because they were indebted to him… he relished the feeling. But no one would admit to such a thing. “That said, I don’t make a habit of owing people things. Level playing fields are my preferred territory.” He sad. Another lie, but she had no reason to know that. Looking around at the props, the gaudy costumes, the sparkling, glittering decor that served to distract the audience, Ben smiled, “Depends on the secret, I’d suppose.” He sipped the last of his coffee contemplatively before replying, “For the price of a secret that your livelihood rests on… I’d say that might be a bit steep for me.”

Bea didn’t believe that for a moment, no one liked that. How could anyone be comfortable in that sort of situation? Perhaps if the person owed was a trusted someone, it wouldn’t be as terrible. She wouldn’t pick it for herself though. “I’m not,” She said nonchalantly. It was an honest answer. This truth might not be comfortable, but she didn’t think it was horrible. “I have owed people in the past and the scramble to bring it back to center is not an experience I’d like to have all that often after. I’d rather hold the power, though that sounds terribly selfish,” She let out a soft laugh. She wore her selfishness as a shield, knowing that her fatal flaw was the loyalty she held for those she loved. Better people think she would pick herself over others than knowing what it would truly move her. “Well, not all of my secrets here will ruin my show in the wrong hands,” She said amused. “Maybe start with one of those.”

Ben raised his eyebrows in an expression of casual surprise, but he couldn’t help but be startled by how open she was about that. People tended to play the humble card, to downplay how uncomfortable they were in situations that tested them. Or, at the very least, they would take the easy route and present themselves as some kind of magnanimous person who didn’t mind owing others because debts could be so easily repaid. How intriguing. What had this woman owed? And to who? “I don’t think that’s selfish. I think it’s quite honest.” He said earnestly. “And even if it was, there’s something to be said about being selfish. So few people are these days. It’s refreshing.” He said, folding his arms across his chest to think for a moment. “Let’s see… I’ve always wanted to know how to pull a rabbit from a hat. What might that run me?”

The cool mask Bea kept on hid the pleasure she had at his approval. It would be a lie to say that some of her self worth didn’t come from the opinions other’s held about her. Nisa had taught her the power of other people’s thoughts and Bea was in no rush to challenge that. That piece of growth could wait until she was better fitted to deal with the pain it would bring. She tilted her head at his words, a shy smile sent his way. “I’m glad you think so. Not many people are open to ugly honesty, it scares them.” Ugliness ran deeply through each of them, it was just a game of seeing who could hide it the best. Or mold it into the sharpest weapon. She made a show of pondering, biting her lip and furrowing her brow quite threatically. “For something like that, I suppose I could take a piece of information you would share in an icebreaker exercise. Nothing terribly personal, but interesting enough to make me remember you,” She teased. 

This woman was full of all kinds of unexpected truths. Ugly honesty indeed. He was no stranger to that, not at all. But, Ben hid the truth well, covered it in velvety words and smoothed it away until it seemed harmless. Until he seemed harmless. “I think it’s less the honesty that scares people and more the act of being honest. Because if someone else has the courage to voice their unpleasant truths then, well… what are they hiding for, hm?” He mused. “The crowd has never liked those who are braver or stronger than them. Admired, feared, but never liked.” As Bea mulled over his question, Ben leaned against the wall, his stance relaxed and casual. Something from an icebreaker. If that was the price of a simple illusion, what might admitting he served a demonic lord might gain him? Nothing of value-- or at least, nothing more valuable than His Lord. “That seems a small enough price. Hi. I’m Ben Campbell. When I was fourteen, I broke my arm jumping off the roof onto the trampoline at a friend’s house.” He said, providing the work friendly lie of how he had broken his arm. In reality, he’d broken it in a scuffle with his brother’s sacrifice at the time, an overgrown sophomore at the White Crest High. 

Bea smiled, knowing all too well why people hid their own truths. For as honest as she came off, she had enough secrets that she kept close to her chest. Her honesty was an old trick, showing a false depth in the hopes no one dug deeper. Those who did were often surprised with what they found, that, at least, was satisfying. A bit like the rabbit trick itself. “Which brings up the age-old question, do we strive to be liked or admired?” Or feared? She believed herself closer to admired, feared when people saw the abilities she possessed. It hadn’t done her too bad at this point, though being liked had its own set of pluses. She smiled at his icebreaker answer, “The perfect thing to say. Now everyone who goes after you will think of their own injuries and have something to relate to you with.” There was a part of her that almost told him about her ankle, the allure of being relatable ringing loudly in her ears. That wasn’t the deal however, it was a secret for a secret, but it wasn’t her own she would be sharing. She pulled over a hat and a scarf, “For the purposes of the demonstration, the scarf will be the rabbit.” She showed him the false bottom and then delivered the trick with flair. 

“Now that is indeed an age-old question. I should watch out, otherwise there might be a new ancient philosophy and ethics professor at UMWC.” Ben teased. The answer was clear to him, as it always had been. Liked, admired… even feared-- the combination of the three was how one conquered the world. False compassion to ensure the tide of public opinion was on your side, benevolent actions with ulterior motives for admiration, and the violent, deadly truth for fear. They were the three cards that he played, one after the other, to unsurprising success. But no one liked to think about that. No one liked to think how easily they could be manipulated. “I suppose it varies from person to person, and from time to time-- goodness knows I don’t want to be admired the same way I did when I was in high school. I find myself wanting to be admired in an inspirational fashion. If I can help guide my students towards their callings and I’m admired for that, I consider that worthwhile.” He nodded. A safe answer. An expected answer.

“I suppose you’re right about that.” Ben laughed, a sheepish sound. “I never thought of it that way.” Lies. Of course he had. He crafted every aspect of his life at the university to be approachable, to be relatable. Ben focused on the trick watching intently as she demonstrated how it worked. Simple deception and trickery, a trick of the light. An illusion. “Ah… That’s far more simple than I thought it would be. But, if it works, it works.”

Bea let out a soft, surprised laugh. She hadn’t expected that sort of praise, no matter how interested he seemed in her conversation. She had always thought of herself as intelligent, though she didn’t think many people shared that opinion. Her vanity often changed the way she was perceived by others, intelligence overlooked for appearance. She didn’t necessarily mind it, it gave her something to use as a tool, but to be seen in this manner by a near stranger felt good. “I think I’d need to go to college before I truly became a threat to your livelihood.” She had never truly seen the appeal to that institution, her worth was nothing something that could be evaluated through a numeric system created by old white men. Her sisters and her were doing quite fine without that in their lives. “And where does the fear fit into that equation?” She asked. She under understood it in some manner though. Her performers were meant to look to her as a source of inspiration, a mentor when they needed one. The fear she held was not to intimidate her performers, but rather those who look too closely at them. It was a method of protection, for her and them. 

“When I first did workshops, I always tried to find an answer that made people relate to me. It made it easier to pull those with more connections than me. Maybe you’re doing that subconsciously.” Or maybe he was like her and planned his answers to these things, even if he claimed not to. She nodded, “It’s so simple that it’s almost disappointing. I try to avoid tricks like that now, if it takes someone longer to figure it out, the longer they think of my show.” The challenge of finding a trick like that was great fun for her too.

At the news that Bea had never been to college, Ben resisted the impulse to stare at her in shock. She’d never been to college? Never even taken a college course? How could that possibly be? She was an entertainer, yes, but her interests and the insights she held-- they were beyond that of what he’d expect from someone with just a high school diploma. Or, Lord forbid, a GED. Incredible. Unbelievable. But, he kept his expression calm and smiled instead. “Well, I suppose that means my job is safe for the time being.” He joked before shrugging at her question. “Fear seems a bit too Machiavellian for me, personally.”

“That could be it.” Ben agreed though her answer, once again, only made him wonder more. She actively tried to make connections, actively tried to be relatable. He could understand why she would do such things, but it still intrigued him. What else lay below the surface of this woman, who seemed just as observant and calculating as himself? “Really? Well. Could you show me one that interests you a bit more?” He asked, eyes bright as a small grin slid across his face. To her it would seem he was eager at the prospect of seeing another trick-- in reality, it was nothing more than a ploy to stoke her ego.

“Maybe I’ll have to look into it now, just for the pleasure of that,” Bea teased. Classrooms were not where she learnt best. She had always been a tactical learner, someone who had to do to get the best experience. Her interest in reading had developed later in life, after high school, when she felt free to explore her interests. The push to learn chemistry, math, and history had been bland while she was a student. Her grades had reflected her feelings on school very well. It was the one place she was allowed to do poorly. “A bit of Machiavellianism isn’t always a bad thing. Being able to use the tools one has to their advantage shouldn’t be considered deceitful or wrong. If fear is a method of keeping the playing field even, why not use it.” The Vurals, Bea found, could be considered ruthless at times, but maybe that’s what had kept them where they were.

The showman in Bea egged her on and with a small smirk, she nodded. “I won’t show you anything I’m using in my current show, but I can show you one of my old favorites.” There was temptation to pull out all the stops, awe him in a manner he had yet to be awe. She held back. This was a trick that required none of her own magic, but wonderful sleight of hand and a bit of trick fire. “Why don’t I show you first and then you can try to figure it out?” That was always a fun game and it would show her how his mind worked. What details he picked up on and what were lost in the end. She was quite excited to see how his observant eye would do. 

“Well, I’ll be able to provide recommendations of classes if you ever decide to pursue a degree.” Ben said with an easy nod. If she ever did do such a thing, and Ben got the distinct impression that she had no such interest. No matter. “Spoken like the diplomat himself. I must say, I don’t entirely disagree that one must use all tools at their disposal. But, I try my best to leave fear as a last resort. And never with students. It’s just not good practice to strike fear in the people you’re teaching.” He replied.

“By all means.” Ben said with a smile and a wave of his hand. He had an eye for detail, but prestidigitation was hardly his strong suit. No matter, he was curious to see what she had in store.

“I’m far too busy right now to consider it, I fear,” Bea said easily. She had never considered, not even as her friends were searching for colleges. Perhaps there would be skills that she could obtain from some instruction, but she was fine with her books for most subjects. “Maybe I’ll sit in on one of your classes one day,” She teased. That was an interesting idea at least, then she could see how he taught his students. How different would he be in the classroom? When she felt a lesson needed to be taught, to anyone, she had a firm hand, though she did attempt to be kind. “Students are different, aren’t they? There’s a power imbalance there already, fear doesn’t need to be added. With adults, though, we have to remind them of the power.” Remind them of who they were dealing with. 

It took a few moments to set up, but once she was ready, she held a deck of cards in her hand. She pulled out a sharpie, “Sign a few random cards for me.” A few fancy shuffling passes and the trick began in earnest. With a flash of fire, her deck vanished, her sleeveless dress giving no indication that it could have slipped somewhere that other people used. It was a simple trick by design, but no less fun to watch. “I wonder where the deck went,” She smiled. 

“I suppose I have that to look forward to.” Ben said, matching her lightly teasing tone. At Bea’s words, Ben resisted the urge to smile-- not the saccharine smile of the doting professor or the wry grin bashful intellectual. He held back the smile of one who understood the power of fear and the joy of that came with using that particular tactic. It was a smile he rarely used outside of those nights in the wood, when he was offering sacrifice to his Lord. “Perhaps, perhaps.” He said, shrugging with a nonchalant air. “The iron hand in a velvet glove technique has its place. But, I prefer to avoid such things, when at all possible.”

He signed the cards as asked and watched as Bea flashed the cards in front of him, intrigued. Ben blinked as a sudden burst of flame illuminated both their faces. Flash paper, to draw attention away from the real trick. He’d seen her hands move, watched her closely, and yet… “Don’t tell me the cards are in my pocket.”  Ben joked, patting his hands against his jeans.

There was something about Ben that tickled Bea, he pulled at her curiosity. He was magnetic to her, but, she imagined, not in the way he was to others. She wanted to take him apart until she found out what his goal was, why he was like her. She wanted to see if he truly believed some of the things he said. “I suppose that would make you the good cop and me the bad cop then,” She smiled. Did he have the potential to be as ruthless as she was? Maybe he could be worse. He was interesting enough for her to want him as a friend, but she couldn’t allow that title to go to anyone she didn’t understand. 

“No, it’s not.” She smirked at him, “If I was going to put my hand in your pocket, I’d want you to know about it.” Her smirk widened as she snapped her fingers and cards began to rain around them. His signature seen as the cards fluttered down around them. 

Ben couldn’t help but grin at her words. He wasn’t surprised by them-- he honestly couldn’t keep track of all the people who made a pass at him. But, this presented an interesting opportunity, one where he could pick Bea’s mind without needing ulterior motives. Watching as the cards fell from the sky, he spotted the cards he’d signed. Ben grabbed it from the air and glanced at it. The Queen of Spades. “That’s quite the trick, I can see why you used it in shows. I wonder how your new ones compare. ” He said, flipping the card between his fingers before handing it back to Bea. “Would dinner and drinks this weekend be payment enough to find out how you managed that?” Ben asked, his eyes bright. The mystery of the woman that was Beatrice Vural was one that intended to crack. One way or another. 

At his grin, Bea smiled back, that wasn’t a smile she had gotten out of him yet. To be able to pull something like that from him pleased her. “You’ll have to see the show to know.” She never passed up the opportunity to get someone into her doors, even after hitting on them. She was a business woman at the end of the day. “Yes, I say it would, but I’ll need to check in with my partner to make sure he’s comfortable with it first.” Her relationship with Felix was based on trust and honesty, and while she was sure he would tell her to go off and have fun, confirming with him was important. “We’ll see how many secrets we can collect over drinks, hm?”

[divineluce]

Tower Rising || Solo (Sorta)

Timing: August 14th, 2021

Location: Empire Tattoo in Boston, MA

Tagging: @divineluce​ and an appearance from @beatrice-blaze​

Description: With her phoenix fire wound healed, Luce gets a new tattoo.

Luce kept her eyes closed, head bobbing slightly to the music that pulsed through her headphones. The pain of the needle had grown over the hours that she’d sat in the chair, the nerve endings of her arm firing as the sharpened point jabbed over and over and over into the skin. It was temporary though. Temporary pain for a lifetime of beauty.

But, that’s what she’d thought about her original tattoo. The beautiful peonies and wildflowers that ran from her forearm up to her shoulder, the belly scales of the intertwined snakes, their tails curled around her wrist. She had thought the image would last forever when she’d drawn it, all those years ago. She’d gotten it days after her first art exhibition. Twenty-one, two years older than Bea had been when she’d had her first main stage show. A fact her mother couldn’t help but tell everyone at the exhibition. How if they appreciated art, they should see the shows at Illusions of Grandeur, that it was more of a performance piece really, how Bea could make fire dance almost like an artist painting on blank canvas.

Luce clenched her fist of her free hand, swallowing at the memory. She’d watched, unable to do anything other than sip nervously on her wine, as people’s eyes slid over her painting and instead were drawn to her parents. Her mother, her father. Well intentioned, probably. But ruining everything. That night, she’d locked herself away in her room and drafted up her tattoo— the wide, open maw of a snake, body curled around another snake that was only too content to go along with the whims of the other. But they were only part of the design, decorations in the background. Because the flowers, the peonies and wildflowers she’d spent so long recreating on her canvas, they were the real focus of the tattoo. They were nothing more than snakes in the grass, sliding through the leaves. The intricate blooms were what mattered.

Or they used to be. Only months ago, the skin of her forearm had been ruined by phoenix fire. The images she’d so carefully crafted blurred and smeared under a mottled layer of scarred, darkened skin. The poultices Nell had given her, they’d made the healing process more bearable. Leah had offered her phoenix tears because of course she had. But Luce hadn’t wanted them. The tears would have removed the scars, would have wiped the slate clean. And she couldn’t do that. After everything she’d been through, she didn’t want to lose that. She didn’t want to forget. She couldn’t forget what had happened.

“Nearly done.” Brandon said, dipping the tip of the machine into a small cap of ink. “Just a few little details and we’re good.”

“Hell yeah.” Luce muttered. She’d driven down to Boston to have him do it—partly because he knew his shit when it came to tarot and partly because she didn’t want one of the guys at the shop to do this tattoo. They were too close to home, too close to the real reason behind it. When Brandon saw the healed scars on her arm, he’d asked and she’d given him a lie about an accident in the house. He hadn’t questioned it. And that was fine. It was better this way. Better than the concerned looks that Ulf would be giving her, asking her if she’d really let the wound heal, if she was sure if this was what she wanted to do. If she really wanted this tattoo.

And it was. She wanted it. She needed this.

 “All done. Check it out.” Brandon said, wiping away the ink and plasma with a damp paper towel.

Rising from the chair, Luce approached the mirror and stared at the fresh tattoo that wrapped around her forearm. The thick stone columns she’d drawn for the stencil stood out, highlights of white in the places where the scar tissue was too dark or too thick. The tower, with bricks laid overtop a skull of death, it climbed up her forearm. Smoke poured from the windows, her scars giving the plumes body and weight. And at the top, the watchful eye emblazoned in the crook of her elbow was wreathed overhead by what remained of her old tattoo. The blossoms of peonies and what remained of the two snakes loomed above the tower. The open-mouthed snake stared back at her in the reflection. But so too did the eye of the tower.

“What do you think?” Brandon asked as he peeled off his gloves.

Luce stared at the tattoo for a long moment, her fingers hovering over the dark black lines. “It’s perfect. Thanks. For doing this for me.”

“I’m glad to. You know I like tarot and…” He shrugged. “This seemed like it was important for you to get done.”

“Yeah. It was.” She said, glancing down at her arm. To everyone else, the tower stood upright but from her perspective, it was inverted. To the rest of the world, what had happened might seem like catastrophe, but to her? It was a mark of her growth, the transformation she’d undergone, the crisis since averted.

Walking back to the main area of the shop, Luce held out her arm, now covered in plastic wrap. “What do you think?”

Moments of calm silence were something that Bea had learnt to treasure over the last year. Much of the time she spent with Luce were those, simply quiet, enjoying that the other was there. They didn’t have to be doing the same thing, didn't have to understand what the other was doing to find peace in the company. This trip held that silence, a contemplative overtone to the time spent together. 

Most of their lives had been spent at odds with each other, unable to find a common ground to understand. Their comfort with each other was new, lines still crisp like the lines of Bea’s tattoo. She hadn’t understood tattoos until after, realized why Luce found joy in creating art in their lives and skin. There was still understanding needed, still questions that they had to find the answers to about each other, but finally they could ask them. 

She stood, looking to see if Luce loved it first before she answered, then she took in the tattoo. Her art was found in a different media, but she could still see the meaning here. Luce poured herself into her art, where words weren’t needed to express. Her eyes prickled, though tears did not form, as she saw what her sister was presenting to her. “Might be my new favorite of yours, Luce. It’s really, really beautiful. You and Brandon did some really amazing work together.” Turning on her heel suddenly, she went to her bag, pulling out a small lunch bag. “I figured you would be thirsty or hungry after that though, so I have snacks for you. Then we can go off to dinner, if you want?” 

At Bea’s words, Luce couldn’t help the sense of relief that washed over her. “Yeah. I’m really happy with how it turned out.” She’d long since given up trying to to impress her sisters-- to impress anyone, really. But, that wasn’t what this was about. Bea was here because she wanted her sister here. She wanted to share this with her. It was a new tattoo, marking a new chapter in her life.

“Thanks.” She said, taking the brown paper bag from her sister. There were some snacks, a bottle of apple juice, sugary stuff to help counteract the shock. Bea had paid attention when she’d talked about people passing out on her table during the drive down to Boston. Cracking open the bottle with her good arm, Luce took a long drink. “Dinner sounds good. There’s a pretty solid Thai place that Brandon likes around the corner.” She said with a nod before looking down at her tattoo again. The inverted tower. Upheaval. Destruction. But that didn’t mean it had to be for the worst.

“Then we can go back home. I don’t want to leave Nellie alone for too long.” Not again. She’d needed to make the trip down here, to go somewhere people wouldn’t know the meaning behind the ink that decorated her skin. But she couldn’t be apart from her sisters again, not after everything they’d been through. This tattoo was more than just a tarot card, more than just a sign of what she’d been to.

It was a monument to all that they’d been through, the storms they’d weathered and the turmoil they’d overcome. They would persist, the tower would stand. And so would the Vurals.

[nelllraiser]

desperate hearts | blanche & nell

PREVIOUSLY: Plot Drop Page

LOCATION: A clearing in the woods.

TIME: 11:48 PM

PARTIES: Blanche Harlow and Nell Vural

TRIGGERS: Sibling Death

"As I told you longe ago, do not calle up That which you can not put downe; either from dead Saltes or out of ye Spheres beyond."

— Simon Orne, The Case of Charles Dexter Ward by H. P. Lovecraft

Time passed strangely now. Though it had been two whole days since Bea had died, since Nell had watched, barely conscious, as her sister was ruthlessly beheaded— she couldn’t decide if it felt like years or simply minutes since it had happened. Everything in the world was still far away, muffled as if there were a veil over all she saw, heard, or did. It didn’t matter. Nell was focused on the task at hand, grateful that she had a next step to focus on rather than just being aimless in her grief. The circle was already set, and as Nell placed the last candle nervous butterflies took flight in her stomach. What would Bea say? Would she be sad? Mad? Happy to see Nell? How good of an idea was this actually? “Are you ready?” she asked, looking to Blanche as she reached for her best friend’s hand, both for the spell and comfort. “You sure you’re okay with this, right? You don’t even have to look if you don’t want to. You can close your eyes.”

“It’s alright, Nell.” Blanche assured her. Summonings were known to be dangerous. Blanche had anxiety in the pit of her stomach, knowing full well that Morgan and Rebecca would both lose their minds if they knew what she was doing. But they weren’t trying to summon a 100+ year old ghost that was hell bent on fulfilling a curse, they were trying to summon Bea. Freshly dead (her mind supplied the cruel freshly headless) Bea, who likely wouldn’t harbor any malicious intent other than to the hunter that killed her. If anything, it was probably fear. Blanche hung around the Vural house after making sure that Bea’s spirit wasn’t lingering where she died. But Bea wasn’t in the house either. Yanking Bea’s soul out of the ether definitely made her nervous, but if she was ready to move on before, then she should be ready now. Blanche took a deep breath, squeezing Nell’s hand slightly. “I’m okay with this. Don’t worry.” As okay with it as she could be. Besides, she wanted to see Bea too. Even if it was without her head. Her stomach churned. “I’ll close my eyes if I have too. But I’m here for you. And for Bea. We got this.”

There was no way Nell would have done this if she thought it might be putting Blanche in danger, but she was certain Bea’s ghost could never harm the girl holding hands with her, and she was confident in her summonings. Besides, this wasn’t Constance, and there was no possessed exorcist present. Either way, she didn’t know if she was emotionally ready to face Bea. Then again, would she ever be? Giving Blanche’s hand a squeeze, Nell took a deep breath before letting it pass out of her, shoulders doing their best to relax for the coming magic. “Thank you, Blanche. I- I really don’t know what I’d do without you.” With that she began her chant, feeling her magic flow through her and into the center of the circle where it pooled, searching the ether for any trace of Bea to pull her through. The words she spoke were as sure as always, though less demanding than when she’d been with Morgan, Jaime, and Rebecca. This was more of an invitation, a pleading rather than a command.

Blanche didn’t know what she would do without Nell either, but it wasn’t time to think like that. It was time to provide as much support as she could. Blanche closed her eyes for a brief moment as Nell began to chant, to invite Bea to be here with them. The air was abuzz with something that Blanche could only assume was magic, and she waited for that familiar feeling that sent the hairs on the back of her neck standing. Her senses weren’t trained, not for her Granny’s lack of trying, of course. But her prevalent fear of spirits growing up lumped the feelings together - she once described it to Kaden after a run in with the dybbuk that it felt like she had been doused in gasoline and set on fire. She hoped Bea would feel different. Not warm, ghosts weren’t warm, but… comforting? Somewhere around there. Except, as Nell continued to chant, she felt nothing at all. Blanche opened her eyes, frowning, unwilling to interrupt Nell as she scanned the area, gripping her friend’s hand tightly. Shouldn’t something have happened? They were alone.

Nell could always tell when something was about to come through with her summonings, like the beginnings of a wave before it crested on the shore. But now...there was none of that. Why wasn’t it working? “Something’s wrong,” she began, refusing to believe the obvious. “I- missed a syllable or something. That’s all.” She didn’t know the last time she’d missed a word or a beat in a summoning, but that’s what had to be going on, right? Right? Bea would come. Bea always came when Nell needed help, when she needed her older sister. “I’m doing it again,” she said suddenly, iron determination in her words as she refused to accept the failed summoning. “She’ll come. I know she will.” Again she started the spell, the force of her magic stronger this time, her words even more measured and careful than they had been before.

Maybe it was too soon after her death. Or maybe Bea didn’t want to be disturbed. Blanche considered both possibilities for a moment. Those seemed like more plausible explanations than Nell missing a syllable or doing something wrong with the spell. She’ll come. I know she will. Nell’s determination seemed like it was leading her for disappointment, as the magic in the air grew stronger. Blanche bit the inside of her cheek hard, willing Bea to come through. Nell needed her, Nell needed her to come through. Blanche had no magic, not like that, but she willed with every inch of herself. Come on, Bea. Please? But even as Nell became more forceful, Blanche’s senses were still dull. Still nothing. “Nell…” Blanche said, softly.

Nell came to the end of her spell once again, and still...there was nothing. Where was she? “She has to be here. She has to.” If Bea didn’t show up, that meant she was well and truly gone, that Nell was never going to see her sister again, whole or not. She’d never hear her voice, smell her perfume, feel the warmth of her hug. Blanche didn’t think Bea would show up, Nell could hear it in her friend’s voice, but Nell, never ready to accept defeat, seemingly still didn’t know when to stop. “One more time.” Her words held a tinge of desperation to them, and her unwillingness to accept her current reality. “Just one more time. It’ll work, I know it will. If that bitch Constance- if so many other ghosts- she has to come.” Again her lips parted as if she were readying the spell once more, intent on doing it over and over until she collapsed to the ground, spent.

“Nell. Nell!” Blanche tried to soothe her friend, but it wasn’t working. Nell and her shared the same determination - trying to do something over and over again until they physically couldn’t anymore. But Blanche couldn’t let Nell do that to herself, no matter how much she wanted to see Bea. No matter how much either of them wanted to see her. “Nell!” Blanche said, her tone sharper than she meant it. “Stop. Stop it!” Her toned softened and Blanche shook her head. “Look at me. Don’t. Just look at me, okay?” Blanche tired her best to ground her friend. “It - look. There’s a lot of things that could be happening right now. It might be too soon to contact her or she might have moved on already.” Blanche said. She bit her lip, knowing that might be the case hurt her, and she knew that it would hurt Nell. Yanking souls out of the ether was possible, especially for those who left something unfinished, but Blanche wasn’t entirely sure that Bea had become a ghost in the first place. The method of death was certainly violent enough, but she didn’t want Nell chasing something that was only going to hurt her more. “We need to stop and wait. And I know that sucks, okay? I know. But if you keep doing this you’re only going to hurt yourself.” Bea wouldn’t want that. “Please?”

The rising emotion in her had been the most of...anything she’d felt in these couple of days, and for a moment, Nell hadn’t minded the chaoticness of it. At least it was something, even if it felt like it was burning her from the inside out. Finally, she looked at Blanche, something like anger flashing there for a moment, though it was less that and more sheer desolated conviction. Either way, it wasn’t meant for Blanche, and the feeling and expression quickly vanished as Blanche continued to call her name. She’d been so focused, so hellbent on making this work— it took a second for her to come back to the present, to pull herself out of the rut in the ground she’d been planning to work herself into. Fuck, she was going too far, wasn’t she? Though, she wasn’t sure that line existed for her anymore. But with Blanche here...she couldn’t do that in front of Blanche, couldn’t cause even more pain that heaped onto everything that had happened. “Fuck,” she cursed aloud, a hand wiping absently at he face. “I’m sorry- I’m sorry, Blanche.”

“No, don’t apologize. It’s okay, it’s - it’s okay,” Blanche said quickly. She squeeze her hand hard for a moment. “It’s - I know. I know.” Blanche could never imagine her brother dying, how she would react, no matter what pain they put each other through. She wasn’t about to judge Nell for being in pain. She reached out, hesitating only a moment, before pulling Nell to her. Blanche was awkward and bad at giving hugs, but she hoped as she wrapped her arms around Nell and squeezed she would understand that she was trying to be comforting. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry Nell. We can try again in a few days, if you want, okay? And I’ll keep looking. I promise.”

It’s okay, Blanche had said. But it wasn’t. It was the furthest thing from okay. What if this was it? What if she never saw her sister again, and she had no one to blame but herself, and her recklessness? Nell accepted the hug wordlessly, her arms wrapping around Blanche as the rest of her body went slack for the moment, trying to focus only on her friend and the comfort she was offering. It worked to an extent, not necessarily healing the wound of Bea’s death, but at least bringing Nell back down to the resting state of numbness she’d been functioning with rather than ready to risk her well-being to see her sister one more time. “Yeah, yeah, sure.” Nell would keep trying for as long as it took, unable to imagine a time she would simply give up the fight for her sister. Bea wouldn’t stop trying for her, and Nell would do the same in return. Still, there was a soft shake of her head as Blanche continued to offer her services. “Just don’t- just take care of yourself, too.” She knew she’d said it in the kitchen at the house, but she didn’t want to risk Blanche forgetting, to run herself ragged like Nell was most likely to do for Bea, as well.

“Taking care of myself? What’s that, can I eat it?” The joke fell flat, strained in her tired and stressed voice, but it at least added a sense of normalness to them. Blanche pulled back, anxiously searching Nell’s features. What could she do to help? Blanche had re-targeted her numbness into something that she thought was more productive - helping Nell and targeting her anger at the motherfucker who had done this. Anything else didn’t matter. How she felt didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Bea was dead, and they were the ones that were left behind to deal with the fallout. She took a deep breath. “I know, Nell. I’ll be alright.” And then, after a moment, Blanche added, “I want to see her too.” Perhaps adding something that she wanted would make Nell feel a little better about asking her for help.

There was no way a chuckle was going to be wrenched from Nell at a moment like this, but she did offer Blanche the upturn of the corner of her mouth, perhaps not in good spirits, but at least appreciative of Blanche’s efforts. “Yeah, just add hot water.” Her joke also nose-dived into the ground, her tone nowhere near selling it. But she had to try. For Blanche, she would do that. “It’ll be alright,” Nell echoed, though she only half believed it. It was hard to believe much of anything at the moment. Blanche’s desire didn’t exactly surprise Nell, but it did take a grain of her guilt off her shoulders, glad to know that at least Blanche was doing this for herself, as well. “Then we’ll see her. We’ll find her, and I’ll do whatever I have to do.” Even if she wasn’t sure whether the words were for her or Blanche, she’d keep saying them until they were true, until Bea was standing in front of them once again. Bea wouldn’t have rested until Nell was found had their roles been reversed, so Nell would do the same for her.

[divineluce]

Freeze Your Brain(s) || Morgan & Luce

Timing: The night of May 25th, 2020

Location: Deep in the woods

Tagging: @mor-beck-more-problems

Description: Nothing good ever happens when Morgan and Luce meet up in the woods.

TW’s: Death CW, Grief CW

Luce’s running shoes pounded against the dirt trail of the forest, her path illuminated by the light of the moon overhead. Bruises and still healing cuts covered her legs, which ached in lingering pain, but she continued to run through the woods. The pain didn’t matter. None of this mattered. The exhaustion, the sleepless nights, none of it could cut through the numbness that had sunk into her bones. The void that had filled the pit of her stomach. But, as her limbs began to flag and she began to slow to a stop, it was yet another reminder that she was still human-- still fallible, weak, and human. Too powerless to be there when her sister was dying, even with raging fire that flowed within her veins. Doubling over, her shoulders shook and heaved from the exertion. As Luce stood in the middle of the trail, panting, her ears pricked up at the sound of footsteps. Without pause, her hand ignited in blue flames and she whirled around, ready to let loose a torrent of flames at whoever approached her. But, when she saw a familiar face, her hand lowered. “Oh. Hey, Morgan.”

Morgan was wary of wandering into the woods alone, still shaken by her encounter with that hunter, the feeling of that chord around her neck. But she couldn’t stay at home or wander the aisles of Took’s endlessly when she was taking a dip for the worse. She had to be moving, she had to shake it off somehow before she fell under. So, the trails in the woods, moving at a brisk jog. If anyone approached, she could just run faster. She could run as fast as she needed, as long as it took. She would outrun her sad, and she would outrun-- “Oh, shit!” She skidded to a halt as flames surged up before her eyes, outlining a small silhouette in flickers of blue. “L-luce? Is that you?” She looked at her hands, the cold, raging flicker around her. She hadn’t known she could do that before. “We uh, gotta stop meeting like this, huh?”

Though she knew that Morgan wasn’t… human anymore, Luce couldn’t help the slight rush of surprise that surged through her at the sight of the other woman. She didn’t have much to compare her to, but she looked like Remmy, in a way. Forlorn. Tired. She could understand that. “Yeah. It’s me.” She said and, while her hand remained at her side, the blue flames didn’t recede. Staring at the other woman in the washed out, unnatural firelight, Luce was momentarily confused. Meeting like this? Oh. The spider thing. She’d forgotten about that. How long had it been, since she’d hauled Morgan out of the woods on her back, paralyzed by that shitty poison? A couple months? It felt like… an age away. Back then, Morgan had been alive. Back then, so had Bea. Eyes impassive, she shrugged, “Maybe. You… holding up okay? Nell told me what happened to you. I’m sorry.” She said, though the words felt like ash in her mouth. How she wished that someone would say those words to her.

“Oh. Yeah.R-I-P Witchy me,” Morgan faltered, her will starting to peter out with her voice. It should be a relief that she didn’t have to break the news again, or pretend that everything was fine. Like the other Vural sisters, Luce was a no-bullshit kind of person. There wasn’t any point in hiding that she was afraid of losing her grip a little. Felix’s magic pills raised the floor a little, but if she turned towards the wrong thought, there was only so much she could do. “You don’t have to say you’re sorry, by the way. I...am what I am. As the song goes. Not much anyone can do about it, so.” Wow, she was really sliding into a bit of a place. She looked at Luce,  wincing with apology. The correct words for a friend trying to give condolences for your sad life and new zombie bulshit were ‘thank you, I appreciate it.’ But Luce seemed to be having her own problems. There was something sunken about her, like she’d had her spark sucked out. Clearly not in any literal sense, but Morgan was unnerved by how similar it seemed to the way she felt when she’d first come back from the dead. “I’m still kind of bad about talking about it, with people who weren’t there. Things come out sounding weird. Sorry. But what’s up with you? You don’t… you don’t look okay, Luce.”

R-I-P Witchy me. A flash of pain, of anguish flickered across Luce’s face at Morgan’s flippant words. Rest in peace… Bea. Bea. Dead, dead and gone and lost and-- Digging her fingernails into the skin of her hand, Luce forced the thought from her mind. No. The flames in her hand wavered for a moment as she focused instead on all the things that she’d loved-- that she still loved about her sister. Bea half-heartedly reprimanding her while she sat on the countertop, watching her sister cook. The feeling of her fingers braiding plaits in her hair while she did the same for Nell, the three of them giggling on the floor of their childhood home. The small vases of fresh cut wildflowers that she’d leave around the house, bright splashes of color against the modern white walls. Swallowing, Luce let the flames withdraw, letting the darkness overtake both her and Morgan. “No more sorrys. It’s okay. Don’t apologize for shit being… shitty.” She said as her eyes adjusted to the rays of moonlight that glinted down above them. “Just tired, just really fucking tired. Haven’t been able to sleep but,” Luce let out a wry laugh, “I’m preaching to the choir, huh?”

Yeah, Morgan knew exactly what that feeling was like. She still longed to be able sleep something off. A bad day, a bad month of being dead, anything. Trancing out at the ceiling, being not asleep, but half there, half absent, just like she was half dead was enough to make her tired mind twist on itself and drive her downwards. When she was alive, sleep was the perfect escape from depressive episodes. You can’t be sad or hate everything if you’re unconscious and swaddled in jersey sheets. “Yeah, sleep? Don’t know her anymore, unfortunately. But I’m dead so, there’s a lot that’s different now. But...I mean, I know we didn’t really hit it off so you don’t have to say, but it must be bad, if you’re out in the woods like this. It’s not exactly a safe place to be at night.” And if she could get Luce to carry this conversation with her elsewhere, that would be even better.

Dead. She kept saying that word. Dead. Rage coursed through Luce as she kept her face emotionless and blank. How could she say that when she was still standing here, when she was talking? She wanted to grab Morgan by her shoulders, wanted to shake her, wanted to summon the flames and burn them against her skin. She wanted to remind her that, Hey! At least you weren’t in the ground! At least the people who loved you were still here, able to see you. At least she had that. Instead, Luce shrugged. “Yeah. It’s okay, though. I can keep myself safe just fine.” She said, with a nod down to her hands. Besides. It didn’t matter what happened to her. If something attacked her, she’d either die or it would die. Didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. 

Morgan knew better than to press the issue. She had been that tight lipped and bitter with people when she’d first woken up, when her mother had died, when she’d lost her life stability and had to conjure enough money for a bus ticket. There were some things that were too much to talk about nicely, or talk about at all. “It’s not okay,” she said, “But I would appreciate at least a little help getting back not-murdered. That’s a whole thing now. Just, straight out, by the trail, I think we’re both adventure’d out right now. I uh, could take us to Al’s though, if you wanted. You kinda seem like you could do with a little pick me up.” She gave her a hopeful look. From the past few times she’d been out here in the dark, it seemed like getting her safe would be what her sisters would appreciate most, no matter what she was going through.

Jaw tightening, Luce stared at the ground. Not murdered. She’d love that too. For Bea to be not murdered. Not dead. Not lying on a cold slab somewhere. Fuck. Fuck. As the rage washed over her, she did her best to temper the heat that built within her. Morgan didn’t know-- she didn’t need to know. She was going through so much of her own shit that she didn’t need to know about what had happened to Bea. With a slight breath, she nodded, her thoughts turning back to Bea. Back when her sister was alive. “That’s fair. I can’t blame you for--” Her words died in the back of her throat and Luce’s eyebrows pinched together in confusion. What… She… What had they done as children? She could, she could remember bits and pieces, fragments. Something, something to do with the house? Their old house, the… Nell? No, no, it was about Bea. She tried to remember the scent of spices wafting through the house, the warmth spreading through the home and… nothing. There was nothing. “I-- No. No, no, no, no, no.” Luce muttered, shaking her head. 

Morgan let out an exhale just for the relief of getting Luce to come along with her. She shouldered her gently and turned to walk back when the girl began to cry. “...Luce?” She asked. “Hey, what’s up?” She sounded like she was having some kind of attack, but they had just been walking. What could’ve happened in the space of a minute? Morgan stopped, one hand on her shoulder, the other fishing for the flashlight on her phone. “Are you hurt, Luce?” She prodded.

Why couldn’t she remember? Why couldn’t she remember those, those happy memories? They were the only thing she had left of her sister, the only thing that she could handle right now. Luce gasped as she fell to her knees, trying to remember. The picture, she could remember the picture that Bea had slid across the kitchen counter that day, years and years ago. She could still remember that-- but why couldn’t she remember her words? “I can’t, I can’t remember. I can’t remember her--” She managed to choke the words out, still wracking her brain to try and conjure back those precious memories. Before she could say anything else, another memory came to her, unbidden. The sensation of someone she loved, loved with her whole heart in a way Luce had never felt before, touching her face and water rolling down her skin. But none of it felt real, none of it felt as though it was happening to her. Her skin, it felt dead, felt cold. The water was merely a ghost of moisture, not cold or warm, just wet. Numbness she’d never felt before… the absence of touch. All with the lingering taste of flesh and blood in the back of her throat.

“Luce!” Morgan followed her to her knees. “You have to breathe through it, okay? Whatever it is, Luce, you have to breathe. What is it you don’t remember? Who--” But somehow her own mind had an answer. She could see her: Bea Vural, dancing around a kitchen table, music blaring, working a blender and swinging her hips to the beat. They held each other’s hands as they danced, all three of them, cackling like maniacs and chugging more margaritas. Their mother wasn’t home that night, they could be as loud as they wanted, and Bea thought they should have a treat. The mix was cold down her throat, the tequila went straight to her head and she didn’t always admit it to herself, but she loved her sisters-- “Fuck,” Morgan whispered. “Brain biter.” There was no one around to have done some memory fuckery charm or potion. So it had to be that, right? “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, Luce. Maybe we can figure something out. It’s just a memory, right? I’ve--I’ve got Bea. Maybe she can help us sort it out.”

Luce’s face was wet, with tears she didn’t realize she’d cried. They were cold and soft and she could feel them, feel the way they streaked across her skin. Staring at Morgan with unseeing eyes, Luce shook her head. She couldn’t breathe-- the memory of having to force her lungs to action, to deliberately fill them with air. Otherwise, they just lay within her, still and unmoving. Just like her heart, that refused to beat, that would never beat. Everything was stiff stillness and dark, with only a single hint of a light. The woman who cupped her face, stared at her with those soft brown eyes filled with love and tenderness and heartbreak. She loved her, this unknown woman, who she knew without a shadow of a doubt loved her back. Even when she was like this, lips stained in wolf viscera and gore. At the sound of her sister’s name, Luce’s shoulders shook and she took a gasping, shuddering breath. “She can’t. She can’t-- Bea…” A pained sound escaped her lips as she reached out and grabbed Morgan’s hands. Staring at the other woman, Luce whispered, “She’s dead. Bea’s dead.” 

Morgan stared at Luce with confusion. “Bea’s what…?” She’d just talked to Bea a few days ago. They had plans, soft plans, but still. But Morgan looked at the girl in her arms, she thought of the grief her behavior reminded her of. Morgan came out here to mourn herself, didn’t she? And why would one night of midnight margs matter, unless there weren’t going to be anymore? “Oh,” she whispered, the word trembling on her lips. “Oh, Luce. I didn’t know... I’m so...I had no idea. The three of you…” She couldn’t stop seeing them, they danced so hard and drank so much she, or Luce, got dizzy and almost fell over. Her sisters, the Vurals, they’d laughed harder, teasing her about not being so tough with her alcohol after all. “Come here,” she urged. “We shouldn’t stay here, but come on. I’ve got you.”

Morgan knew better than to say sorry. Of course she did-- she’d died. Morgan had… died. Even if she was here, talking to her, holding her steady, that didn’t change the fact that she’d felt death in a way no one should ever have to. “I need them back, I need my memories back.” Luce sobbed, shaking her head. As she stood, she glanced down at the other woman’s hands held firmly her own. “How do you live with this?” She said, squeezing her finger around Morgan’s hand. “Not feeling… anything.” Luce shuddered, unable to shake the memories away. She could still feel the inhuman, unnatural stillness of a body that wasn’t hers. But, it wasn’t a body that Morgan felt was hers either. “The, the brain biters…” She grimaced at the thought of such a stupid, stupid fucking creature bringing her to her knees like this, “They gave me things. Memories. Of you, waking up. And a woman.” She said, not adding the fact that she was the woman, the only woman who mattered. Morgan already knew that.

Morgan was stunned silent all over again. “How do you know that,” she murmured. “I don’t tell people about, I don’t even know how to tell people about…” But Luce was already explaining and Morgan was reaching back, taking careful inventory of her past weeks. Fighting with Remmy, nights laying awake, days spent on the floor, and before then, being anxious and alive and loved. She was so caught up in life she hadn’t realized she was hurtling toward its end. And then she’d died, and then--- Morgan’s mind began to draw a blank, like a step had been cut away in the middle of the stairs. “Deirdre,” she said in a whisper. “Her name is Deirdre. She--” Had she been there when she woke up? Morgan remembered a conversation later, one where she claimed she hadn’t been, and how much it had hurt.  But Luce could see her, and Morgan couldn’t remember. “She and Remmy were there when I died. She’s my girlfriend.” That much she remembered. And she couldn’t not remember what it was like to be undead. The feeling smothered her, always. She had built up a few precious defenses for her sanity, she had her tricks to help her mind make it less tortuous, but seeing Luce, already breaking with grief, ask her with such anguish how she did it, existing like this, sent a viscous crack through those defenses. “I didn’t really get a choice about it. Being this way,” she said in a low voice, her body clenched together with what little resolve it could muster. “But that doesn’t matter right now. We can’t stay here unless there’s more. I can carry you if you need.” She reached out and wiped Luce’s cheek with her thumb, brushing the tears away. “I’m sorry. That you have to know what this is like for me on top of everything else. We can figure this out at Al’s, or yours, anywhere. Let’s just get moving, okay?”

The shock on Morgan’s face might have jolted Luce out of her misery, if it wasn’t compounded by the sleepless nights and the fact that she could still clearly remember sitting in the living room, hearing Nell break the news. Why hadn’t the fucking monsters taken those memories? Why couldn’t they have gotten rid of that? At least then, she could have pretended that none of this had happened. Instead, she was missing the memories of Bea that she loved most-- some of the happiest times with her sister. With, Luce faltered, trying to figure out just what had been taken from her, with both her sisters. There were holes in her memory, neatly scooped out, and this terrible memory of opening her eyes to a half-life had been forced onto her instead. “Deirdre.” Luce repeated and the name felt both so right and so wrong on her lips. Of course it was Deirdre in her memory. But the name wasn’t hers to have or to know or to love. Feeling Morgan’s thumb against her face, she did her best to pull herself together. Sucking in a deep breath, Luce replied, “I’m sorry you have to feel like that… all the time.” She said, though she knew that the words couldn’t fix anything. They couldn’t change what had been done to Morgan. Nodding at the other woman’s suggestion, Luce felt the strands of her hair catch on something-- reaching to her neck, her fingers grasped around a scuttling carapace. With a grimace, Luce stared at the bug in her hand, at its glowing body and large pincers. “Is yours-- is there one on you?”

Morgan put Luce’s words of comfort aside. She couldn’t bear to hold onto them, to be even a little satisfied that someone else could understand how awful it was to be her, that she wasn’t coasting on some great second chance, that she had to contort her brain into new shapes just to make it through the day, and the night, and the day again. Luce understood, and she was sorry in a way no one else could be, but if Morgan let that thought linger too long, she might collapse back to the floor. So away it went. She worked her hands through her head searching carefully for any signs. No bug, just a little bite at the back of her neck. “No,” she said. “We’ve got a one bug culprit. You keep her safe, we might need her to fix our heads.” She took a deep breath. What did they need to do? What would Rebecca do? “We um…we should pick up some food for you. And then…” The Archive would be closed at this hour, but there was the old HQ in the woods. “I may know a place where we can get started on a solution.”