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vanoincidence · 7 months ago

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Not the Right Banshee(s) Pt. 1 || Van, Jade, Max & Tina

TIMING: current. LOCATION: regan's apartment. PARTIES: @highoctanegem @vanoincidence & the terrible twins (max and tina). SUMMARY: jade is dropping van off after work, but what's waiting for both of them comes as a bit of a surprise. CONTENT WARNINGS: none!

The apartment probably smelled like her, from the time they all packed mice together. The place probably had one minuscule teeny tiny bit of glass scattered somewhere from the time she exploded a glass of Sprite. There was probably a strand of bleached blonde waiting to be found. Jade doubted Van and Thea were too meticulous with their cleaning. So Jade couldn’t, she just couldn’t get herself to go up to that second floor. Even though Van had asked every night she’d brought her home from work. It would be fine, okay? Everybody who ever went through a gay girl breakup knew how intense everything felt at first. (Not that… they weren’t dating dating) (But…) And sure, her cats and blasting CRJ were the only things injecting dopamine into her system these days. But she’d be bouncing in no time! She was Jade. She did not mope.

She waved Van goodbye, watching her walk up to her apartment, refusing to go until she saw the lights turn on. And then, satisfied with her friend’s safety Jade lowered her face shield. She considered doing a round or two of deliveries and calling it a night. But something flashier caught her attention before she could find her phone: A lonely woman in the corner of the street. She looked a little lost, so of course, Jade had to be kind and helpful, cause maybe she could kickstart her rebound tour if she played her cards right. She lifted her shield again, hoping her eyes still sparkled, and flashed a confident grin. “A little late to be out at night, babe. Can I help you with anything?”

Regan Kavanagh was sloppy. It was the first thing Max learned about her, back when they were training together. She’d been so embarrassed for Regan. It was sad, really — to be activated at such an old age. Regan had been practically geriatric in human terms. Didn’t they only live a few decades? Max had tried to keep this in mind at first, had tried to cut Regan some slack, but… she was so sloppy. She’d proven as much in her childish escape from Saol Eile, and proven it all the more in the mess she’d left behind in this pathetic, human town. An apartment with her name on it, two children living inside. What did she expect to happen? How did she think this would end?

So, Max had been watching the apartment. There was so little room for error here. She was to prove herself, to bring pride to her mother, to prove that she was worthy of the gift Regan Kavanagh had tried to toss aside. The children in the apartment needed to die, but so did anyone else who knew about them. Killing them first could spark panic, lead to problems. It would be sloppy. And Max wasn’t sloppy.

There was a woman. She dropped off one of the apartment’s occupants sometimes. Max had done some digging the first night she saw her. People in this town were fond of social media, and this woman — Jade — was no different. And, like many Wicked’s Rest occupants, Regan Kavanagh was all over the woman’s blog. Fate, she couldn’t believe it. How was Regan this bad at something that should have been her birthright? Wasn’t she humiliated by it? She should thank Max for what she was about to do. She should be so grateful.

Max forced a smile onto her face as Jade approached. She wasn’t particularly good at it, but she’d learned to use her youth as an advantage. No one seemed to suspect young girls of anything. Foolish. “Aye, I’m a bit lost, actually,” Max replied, Irish lilt raising the words. “Maybe you can help me out. Mind if I borrow your phone?” She just needed Jade to get close enough to touch. Then, things could be over quickly. It was kind of her, really, to plan on doing this fast. Usually, Max preferred to play with her food. Maybe she’d ask Tina to incapacitate the two upstairs so they could take it slow with them.

Even if Regan hadn’t visited the apartment often (aside from when bringing mice inside), it still felt weird to live there without her in town. She should’ve gotten used to it by now– the way it felt more like the doctor’s home than her own, despite being void of any trace of her. Van was grateful, at least, that Jade hadn’t stopped taking her home at the very least. After waving her goodbye, she pushed through the door, kicking it to a close behind her.

“Um…” Her heartbeat picked up a tick and she flexed her fingers against the tote bag she still had pulled over her shoulder. “Are you…” Why had she been sitting in the dark? That was weird, too. “Who are you?” Van frowned, noticing that the woman was wearing shoes indoors. “Hey, that’s not very polite.”

She’d hated Regan forever. Regan was a bad banshee, and Regan was old, and that was stupid. Max thought so, and so Tina did too. She’d spent so much of their classes rolling her eyes, whispering to her sister and laughing. Both when Regan wasn’t looking and when she was sure that she was. To make matters worse, she’d ended up in some stupid human town in stupid Maine of all places. Didn’t she know that American humans were some of the worst there were?

There hadn’t been a moment’s hesitation when she and Max were offered the chance to come to the town. It was another chance to prove just how good she was, to help everyone back home, and to make her mother proud. Tina also wanted Max to be proud of her. Her sister was absolutely perfect, and once she’d forgotten the name of the bone in your little toe and her sister never would (what did it matter that she’d thought there was a special name). So when they’d found the apartment, where mice used to be, she’d been delighted. They could get rid of stupid tiny humans that Regan was apparently fond of, and be on their way. The very fact that Regan had moved the dead mice was unforgivable, and a reason to kill someone in return, and it wasn’t like human lives mattered. Besides, Tina wanted to look at the metatarsal bones in a human’s foot. It seemed like it’d be fun to do.

She’d broken into the apartment while her sister went off to find some lady named after a stone, and she’d ripped one of the pillows on one of the chairs apart when she’d first noticed that the mice weren’t there. Gods, she was going to murder Regan when she got her hands on the traitor. Still, Max was outside somewhere, and Tina sat herself down on one of their chairs, arms crossed, legs crossed, a grin covering her lips when the door opened. It was only one of the stupid tiny humans who borrowed the apartment from Regan, who’d somehow gotten Regan to care about them, like the failure she was.

And this human had the audacity to call her ‘not very polite’. Tina fought away the urge to break her neck right away. It was important to take your time, to have fun. “Van, oh my god!” She put on as falsely cheerful of a tone as she could, Irish lilt incredibly present. “I’ve been wanting to meet you! This is where I say bestie, isn’t it?”

Jade unbuckled her helmet, hanging it on one of the handles. It would be super rude to approach and not show her face. How else would the stranger know Jade was super friendly and super down to have fun? And look, she had to keep saying it, okay? It was the only way it’d start to feel true. And that was the only way she’d eventually move on. She had to move on. (The ring on her left hand signaled otherwise) (But…baby steps). Unfortunately for Jade, upon closer inspection this lost woman looked pretty young, actually, dashing all hopes she had of taking the first step towards getting over Regan. Oh well, too bad. She tried!

The Irish accent did something, okay? Her knees went a little weak. Regan didn’t even have a strong accent, but… but. She was in that ‘everything reminds me of her’ stage. (Which now included a broom with a white brush, a chicken wing, and Wednesdays). But that was totally different from moping, cause she did not mope. Back to what mattered, Jade wanted to be super helpful and nice to the young girl. She watched Barbie, she knew all about girl solidarity. There was less sway on her hips, now that gay thoughts were out of the way. “Yup, totes, hang on,” she reached inside her leather jacket, pulled out her phone, and handed it to the girl without wasting a moment. (And…Oh. Right. She should probably change her lockscreen too, if she was serious about moving on). “I’m Jade, by the way” she grinned, extending her hand, “and I can totally give you a ride if you have somewhere else to go. I was dropping off my friend”.

Max was all poised to grab the woman by the wrist and end the whole thing right then and there. A solid scream would do it, just one yell. But… she happened to glance down at the phone, to catch sight of the lockscreen and find Regan’s face staring back up at her. The very sight of it filled her with a rage she didn’t quite understand, made treacherous emotions swirl in her stupid chest. Because it wasn’t fair, was it? None of it was bloody fair.

Regan had no idea how lucky she’d been. In Saol Eile, she’d been treasured. She’d been a tool so often utilized, so much so that Max had often found herself envious in a way she’d never admit to. She was a better banshee than Regan was — a better banshee than Tina, too, though she felt less like bragging over that — and yet Regan had been desirable. A doctor, as if that wasn’t a shameful thing to be. So how was it fair that Regan could come here, to this stupid little town with these stupid little people, and find herself treasured all over again? How was it fair that some woman had Regan as her lockscreen on her phone in a way that was just as telling as it would have been to wear a locket with her photo around her throat? Max had known that Regan was a failure. But to this extent?

A swift death with a single scream didn’t seem right anymore. Max was angry, though she shouldn’t have been. Max was annoyed, though she was above such things. Max wanted to make this stranger hurt because Max wanted to make Regan hurt, because nothing about any of this was fair. Regan should have to pay for everything she’d done, for betraying a people who had only ever been looking out for her.

The banshee’s smile was sharp, and she turned the phone to face the woman, lockscreen like an accusation. “She’s pretty,” she commented. “Shame she’s such a disappointment, isn’t it?”

“How do you know my name?” Van stared at her, keys dangling between pinched fingers. She’d seen on tik tok how to use them as a weapon, but was it fucked up to use them on another woman? Then again, she had killed two women. She was not the good person she wanted to pretend to be. She was a woman killer, all things considered– though, she hoped this wouldn’t be another. She willed the anxiety to subside, to not create a black hole beneath the girl in the chair that would ultimately swallow her whole. “I only have like, two best friends. Maybe three, or four. I don’t know.” The number was growing, but something told her that this stranger didn’t actually care about that.

Van flattened her back against the door, sweat dotting the back of her neck as uncertainty made her stomach roll. She quickly grabbed her phone out of her pocket and texted Jade. Somebody is inside of Regan’s apartment. If this were anything like a horror movie, she’d look up from her phone and the girl would be standing in front of her with a knife or something. Van half expected it as she looked up from her home screen. “I um– do you– are you here for Thea? She doesn’t live here anymore.” Maybe this was all being blown out of proportion. Maybe the girl in the chair knew her because Thea actually had brought her over! Or, based on her accent, maybe this was a long lost cousin to Regan who was bringing her the postcards she had asked for!

“Why wouldn’t I know your name, Van. Van, but not like the car!” Tina’s voice rose to a pitch that she thought her mother would’ve been proud of. Except what mummy dearest would be most proud of would be if she could murder this girl and clean up Regan’s giant mess. Regan had always made messes, and yet back home, people had like, worshiped her. Which made no sense. Not when she’d become a banshee when she was so old and, on top of everything, and been a traitor. Which was why Tina knew she had to murder the little girl in Regan’s mouse-less apartment.

“Well, you could make that ‘or four’ into an ‘or five’ if you wanted to?” Tina bat her eyelashes before pushing herself up from the chair. “I’m here for you and Thea actually. Special double fun.” She began wandering around the apartment, turning on her heels every so often. “I wanted you both to show me fun together. Pretty please?” Her lips formed a perfect pout (she’d practiced, because apparently humans were easily swayed by this sort of thing). “I just wanted to have fun, and you’re so,” abhorrent, “like, totally gorgeous.” Her stomach turned at that, but she wouldn’t let that get to her. “So I think pretty people can have more fun than ugly people, right? Is that crass of me?”

Jade’s smile turned bittersweet, looking at the lock screen. “She’s my… we were…” Thanks to this stranger, at least she realized now, how weird it was to still have her picture there. And actually, her smile disappeared completely with the follow-up comment. Her gaze flickered to the girl. Rude? But also… familiar. “Um, she’s not a… why would you say that?” Jade didn’t particularly care, at this point. She’d decided to stall, cause the vibes were definitely not great anymore. Was it cause this girly had the nerve to insult her… Regan in a very specific way? Partly, but also, the accent, and the… slow heartbeat. And the fact that she’d been standing there the whole time while she and Van said goodbye. Fine, maybe she did have some of that slayer paranoia (Emilio might be proud).

Possibly the worst (or best, depending where you looked it from) timing of all time, her phone lit up with a notification, Regan’s face coming to life again. Van. What could Van be texting about so soon after going inside? Did she forget something in Jade’s delivery box? She could see the preview easily, even if the stranger still had her phone. Somebody is inside of Regan… she read. Well, not anymore, technically. She looked up to the second floor. Finishing the equation: The stranger, the accent, the insult, someone inside Regan’s… apartment. And sure, it could all be a giant misunderstanding they could laugh about later, but for now, for Van, she’ll think of worst-case scenarios. “Change of plans!” she said cheerfully, beaming at the stranger. “My friend wants me to stay. We’re getting pizza, watching a movie. So, maybe I’ll call you an Uber or something, yeah? Here let me…” She reached for her phone, attempting to get it back.

We were… Were what? Max could make some assumptions, of course, the kind that made disgust curl up like a living thing in her stomach. There was something else to it, too, something far uglier.

For a moment, she remembered being a child. Young enough to remain unactivated, scampering around with Tina and aware of the massive weight of duty on her back even if she’d had no way to comprehend the magnitude of it just yet. She remembered the boy she and her sister used to play with, the way she’d loved him. She and Tina argued once about which of them would marry him someday. It was a childish notion, a foolish one. She should have known better. She still remembered the way it felt when their mother plunged the blade into that boy’s chest, still remembered her first scream bubbling up from her throat and ripping out of her mouth.

Regan should have known better, too.

The only real shame to all this, Max thought, was that Regan couldn’t be here to witness it. She could have learned something from this, the same way Max and Tina had learned something from that worthless boy’s blood staining the grass. Maybe there was some way to pass along the lesson. Would Regan recognize Jade’s finger if Max brought it back to her? Or would an ear be a better option?

The phone in Max’s hand lit up, and she glanced down to the notification. Ah. So the child upstairs had met Tina. Max made a mental note to chastise her sister later for not taking the child’s phone first. Tina was lucky that Max already had Jade occupied; otherwise, things could have gotten far messier.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Max held the phone behind her back and out of reach with one hand. With the other, she pulled a long, thin knife from her pocket. “We’re only just starting to have fun, aren’t we? I’d hate for you to miss it. If you’re good, I’ll even take you to see Regan again.” Her eyes flickered down to Jade’s fingers, the sharp smile on her lips widening a little. “Parts of you, at least.”

Van winced at the increased pitch of the girl’s voice. Maybe she didn’t have a great memory, but Van felt like she remembered some things. Specifically girls, especially brunettes. She stared at the stranger, eager to match the face to a name she might have forgotten. Was this Diana’s friend? But then she’d mentioned Thea, and Thea had no idea Diana existed. If this were any less creepy then maybe Van would’ve fallen victim to the way the girl bat her lashes, but if there was one thing about Van, it was that she was perpetually anxious– always thinking that the person in front of her had ulterior motives. “I don’t…”

She looked down at her phone to see if there was any response from Jade, but there was nothing. Disappointed, she texted again, come back and give me an excuse to leave!!!! Van hoped that she’d get a reply. “That is kind of rude…” Van blinked at the girl, astonished by the way she didn’t seem to care about the implications of what she was saying. How could somebody be so rude? “I think I’m actually– you know, I’ll let um, I’ll let Thea know you came by? But I have to actually go back to work. My boss told me to come back.” She waved her now locked phone in front of her, reaching for the door knob. “Feel free to like, hang out!” She opened the door, making an attempt to slip through.

This human was so lame. Not even finishing sentences. Tina wondered which part of her would be best to bring back to Regan. A clavicle was always nice. It would involve a decent bit of work too, which was fun. Not that Tina was here to have fun, but if she just so happened to have fun amidst everything else, that was a more than alright coincidence.

“Why’s it rude if it’s true?” She batted her eyelashes at this useless waste of a child. She’d been close to a waste of a child, once. Though Tina firmly believed that she’d never been a waste. Her and Max’s mother had to have truly pleased Fate in order to be blessed with daughters, and so the little boy who they both fell in love with, whose freckles practically glowed in the sun, well, he had to die. Tina had nearly given herself a scar on her hand from her brief, stupid attempt to keep from screaming. She wanted to scream, though at first it had been more out of horror before it transformed into something beautiful.

“I don’t like liars.” She pouted. “Liars are awful, and what would Regan think if she knew that someone she loved,” Tina gagged, “was such a big baby of a liar?” Now Van was trying to slip through the door and Tina slammed it shut. “No. Nuh-uh. You’re not leaving. Well, you might, but by the time you leave you won’t be a-waare of it.” Her voice turned sing-song.

Ugh. Was there anything worse than someone absolutely killing the vibe? Well, her being killed, probably. (But it was a tight competition. Neck to neck). Jade sighed, letting the woman hold the phone away from her. Using her height to her advantage was a little rude too. The way she pulled a knife, though? Hot! Objectively speaking. Jade could still appreciate a slay. And right, the math. So this chick totally knew Regan then, but she didn’t exactly sound fond of her. Which was a total red flag. Who wouldn’t be fond of Regan?

Wait. Was that… a threat to her fingers? As if this couldn’t get any worse. That was definitely a line being crossed. “Nuh-huh. These make people very happy, how about we negotiate different parts… I love banshees, you see. There’s no need for this to be an unpleasant affair…” Jade trailed off, hiding whatever nerves she might be feeling in an easy smile. She wasn’t worried about herself. Pft. If things got worse, she had that iron dagger Regan gave her concealed somewhere. (And actually… had Regan known something like this would happen?). But if she was being threatened with a knife, she didn’t wanna picture the same being done to Van. Van, who easily freaked out. Van, who melted chairs, and opened portals that swallowed people. Well, actually. Maybe that was exactly what they needed. But it wasn’t worth the risk. The longer she stayed chatting with the stranger (she didn’t even give a name, so rude) the chances of Van getting hurt increased.

“Look, I’m not the type of girl who pulls a knife on a pretty girl without their consent…” Instead of backing away, Jade approached, her eyes fixed on the woman, paying no attention to the knife in front of her. She let it poke against her abdomen, relying a little too heavily on the power of being a captivating speaker while she got a hold of the pommel on her back. “Unless they lack a heartbeat, I guess, then…fair game. Hey! What I’m trying to say here…I really don’t wanna hurt you. Certified banshee lover. Two out of two banshees prefer me. But—” she drew her iron dagger swiftly, and with a precise movement, she pushed it against the woman’s collarbone. Just the right pressure not to stab (she was a woman of her word). It would surely sting like a bitch, though. Jade clawed the back of her neck, keeping her in place. “I really want my phone back, and to check on my friend, pretty please? I don’t want this to go any deeper,” she taunted, with another jab of the blade.

The fact that this woman even uttered the word banshee was proof enough of the depth of Regan’s failure. For a human to be able to recognize one of them on so few context clues was disgraceful, and Max felt a burning forest fire of anger simmering in her chest. How much had Regan told her? How many secrets had she whispered between bedsheets, betraying her people over and over again with soft touches and quiet declarations? Max hated her more in this moment than she’d ever hated anyone else before. She wanted to take Jade apart piece by piece in retribution, wanted to make sure Regan knew that she’d died in pain and suffering. She was not allowed to have say in whatever punishment Regan was handed by those in charge back in Ireland, but she could punish her with this. She could make sure Regan suffered through the people she’d clearly been foolish enough to allow herself to love.

(Would Regan feel as Max had all those years ago when her mother’s blade found its home in the throat of a boy she’d been sure she loved? She barely remembered the feeling now, had forced away all the negative emotions associated with it in order to focus instead on the joy of activation, but Regan clearly didn’t possess such skills. For Regan, this would hurt the way Max wanted it to. There was some joy to be found in that.)

Her anger only increased when a blade was pressed against her throat; a blade of iron, if the burn was anything to go by. Had Regan shared this secret, too? Max’s lip curled up in an expression of disgust at the thought. “The dramhaíl you met in this town lost their right to call themselves banshees the moment they began spreading secrets to things like you,” she said lowly, tilting her head back slightly. There was no fear reflected in her eyes. If Max died here, it would only be because Fate willed it to be so. But… something told her she’d be just fine.

Quickly, she plunged the knife in her hand forwards, jerking her head back and away from Jade’s blade in the same fluid motion. She aimed to incapacitate rather than kill; Jade’s insolence and Regan’s affection for her had come together to forfeit any right the woman might have had for a swift death.

The mention of Regan made all of this fall apart. All of her previous thoughts about who this girl was practically blew up in her face. Van stared at the brunette, wide-eyed. What did she know about Regan? Was it really the postcards? Had Regan told her grandma about Van wanting to kick her in the knee? Were these Regan’s sisters? Nieces? Were they mad that she had suggested such a thing? No! Regan wouldn’t be a narc, not like that. She would definitely keep all of that a secret, right? “I’m not a liar. I just don’t think you’re very nice, and I don’t like not-so-nice people.” Van practically hissed out the words as she tried to put space between herself and the brunette.

She slipped away from the door, stepping towards the table that now had mismatched chairs surrounding it. So much for the new chairs, they’d be destroyed anyway. “Something super bad is going to happen if you don’t leave.” Maybe something would swallow them both up. Would Regan be upset with her for killing a family member? Then again, Van didn’t even know if they actually were family. They didn’t look anything alike.

Regan must have cared about this child. Tina found herself bristling at the thought. Not that she’d wanted Regan to care about her (that would be bad, to have someone like that care for her). Still, the fact that Regan had found people to care about just made Tina all the angrier, all the more ready to end this child’s life and send evidence of that to Regan. Maybe she’d splurge and get a sparkly ribbon. That would probably surprise Regan, and not in a fun way. “I am nice. Or, well, I can be.” Tina shrugged, “if I’m given enough reason to be.” Which as of right now, she was pretty sure she hadn’t been.

“Something bad will happen if I do leave, though.” Tina pouted. Well, bad for her. Maybe good for this child, though she was fairly sure it was considered bad like, in general. At least that’s what Max and their mother and everyone else back in Saol Eile. “Besides, I want to have fun with you.” She hadn’t said the word banshee, but if she had, then Tina would’ve had half a mind to snap her neck right then and there, even if it would ruin some beautiful bones. “So, you’re totally not getting me out of here, leathcheann. I really wouldn’t push your luck if I were you. Fate has a way of taking things into its own hands.”

The blade pricked against her abs as it went in, and Jade had to swallow the grunt scratching her throat, unwilling to give the stranger the satisfaction of seeing her in pain. (First the threat to her fingers, now going for her abs. It just felt a little homophobic, didn’t it? What did she have against her?). And like, it was hardly the worst way she’d ever been stabbed, but maybe she should save those thoughts and comparisons for when she wasn’t in fight mode, and she could really look at the wound. Which now felt sticky and warm against her shirt. UGH. Another shirt ruined.

“I really wish you hadn’t done that,” she whined, feeling the strain as she tried taking a full breath. Not too bad, still super annoying. She brandished her own dagger, forced to move past the sting. Alright, Jade had manners, she didn’t want to hurt this lady, like… at all. It felt super unnecessary and wrong to harm banshees after collaborating so vigorously with two of them, but she started it, okay? Surely they would understand if they were here. (But they weren’t here, were they? They choose to leave. She chose to leave) The reminder of their absence was enough to spark fire behind Jade’s eyes, she lunged forward, tackling the stranger to the ground. She was never too good at physical combat but she always did love a good tackle. The few seconds where the opponent tried to grapple with the fact that someone half their size pushed them on their back was a super nice ego boost. This girly wasn’t even like, vampire strong so… all the more fun. Not as fun? The freaking knife, still jabbing inside, cause Jade had to hand it to her, girly had a stubborn grip (babies would be jealous). Jade did not waste those precious seconds taunting her like she would’ve any other time, though. She sank her dagger with brutal strength into the girl's shoulder, pinning her there for a moment. She was not the main problem.

Jade took full advantage of the adrenaline dump to get back on her feet and dash toward the apartment. Not a care in the world for her abdomen. (She was so gonna regret that. But, later) (What mattered now was Van). What if the intruder was more ruthless than the girl who tried to kill Jade? What if they didn’t enjoy a sassy little convo before getting down to it? There was no scream, that was good no? From either Van or the stranger, who Jade figured was another one of Regan’s extended family coming for a visit. (Also why were they here at all? Did they miss the memo that Regan and Siobhan were going back to Ireland? They were totally missing the welcome-back party). Jade didn’t make past the entrance before the sounds she dreaded to hear reached her ears: Commotion upstairs. Her heart raced against her chest, and her shallow breathing made it harder to calm it down. “VAN!?”

“I don’t think that’s true! Because somebody who is nice wouldn’t be making like, weird threats and stuff!” Van wasn’t exactly sure what this woman’s intentions were now that Regan had been brought into it. Didn’t the brunette know that Regan had left them for Ireland? Why was she here? What sense did that make? The whole postcards thing didn’t make sense either, because Regan was pretty adamant about Van not getting any, and it didn’t make sense to send somebody rude like the girl in front of her with them. Didn’t Regan know her better than that? Van didn’t like mean people! She’d been surrounded by mean people.

“You are like, super confusing!” Van put some distance between herself and the brunette, eager to find another exit. There wasn’t one, but maybe she could lock herself in a room and then the girl would grow bored, and–

She heard Jade’s voice from outside, desperate and terrified. It was unlike Jade to sound like either of those things, and Van bristled. Anxiety pulled like threads from her, rationalization collapsing upon itself as she finally understood that this was her in danger. “JADE!” Van echoed the older woman’s worry, throwing herself back towards the door. She grabbed the knob, yanking it open. Behind her, the floor of Regan’s apartment began to melt beneath the girl’s feet, and her own, too. She slipped, desperate to get out. Finally, the door was opened, and she pushed herself through, grabbing onto Jade’s arm as she shot out into the dusk.

She wished she had a dagger on her. Well, she did have one, but the child was jumping about too much for Tina to potentially waste a good throw. Not right now. She’d find the girl later and take care of it then. She just hoped that Max wouldn’t be too pissed off at her. “Maybe it’s not a threat! Also, maybe threats can be sexy and cool!” Tina shrieked, ensuring that this child would go away with at least the slightest bit of ringing in her ears.

“I’m not confusing.” Okay, another shriek. Just for fun. This trip was mission-based, but if she had some fun hurting humans who mattered to Regan in the meantime, then she got some extra benefit out of it all.

Except then there was another voice and Tina didn’t like that. She didn’t like that one eensy-weensy bit. Jade. That was the name of whoever was on the other side of the door, and that was also the name of the human who covered everything to do with Regan all over the internet. It was revolting. She jumped out quickly after the girl – after both of the humans – before they disappeared and Tina double-timed it down the steps until she was outside. Her face in a deep scowl, she stomped over to Max. “Where the heck did they go? Is fuath liom na idiots sin! We need to go find them and take care of this.”

There was a moment of bliss as her blade slid into the woman’s stomach, and Max’s eyes danced with the joy of it. There were few sensations she enjoyed more than this, save for that which came with the life leaving a person’s body. But there’d be time for that, too, wouldn’t there? She’d cut Jade up into such small bits, make her an unrecognizable collection of fingers and toes and teeth and hair. She’d bring it all back to Ireland in a Ziplock bag, present it to Regan with a smile on her face. Would Regan feel it before the plane landed? Did she love Jade enough to scream for her from across oceans, continents away? Max wanted Regan to feel it. She really did.

Perhaps it was these thoughts that distracted her enough for Jade to get something of an upper hand. The wretched little rat surged forward, slamming into her and knocking her back. Max kept hold of the knife all the while, giving it a vicious twist that was only half involuntary as her back hit the concrete. Then, there was the burning pain of an iron knife in her shoulder, and the weight on top of her vanished as Jade ran into the building. Max let out a scream, shaking the streetlamps and shattering the windows of the nearby buildings.

This wouldn’t do. This wouldn’t do at all. By the time Max got back to her feet, Jade and the child had vanished, and Tina was circling around to meet her outside. “You should have killed it,” Max snapped, gripping her bleeding shoulder. “Did you even draw blood? Ugh. It doesn’t matter. Come on. We can’t leave this job unfinished. But, Palatine? I’m killing Jade. You can take the infant. If you think you can handle it.”

Without leaving room to argue, Max grabbed her sister by the arm and pulled her forward. They had unfinished business to settle.

#para: not the right banshee(s)#para: jade #para: tina #para: max #wickedswriting

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corpse-a-diem · 7 months ago

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The Fun in Funeral Homes | Max & Erin

TIMING: Before the banshees returned to Ireland PARTIES: Max ( @screadqueens ) & Erin (ft. Jack Nichols) LOCATION: Nichols' Funeral Home SUMMARY: Max visits the funeral home to decide if any loose ends need tying up. CONTENT WARNINGS: parental death tw (ghost dad)

Celebrations of the dead were among the few things Max respected about human society. There was something uncharacteristically admirable in the way humans honored their dead, something Max enjoyed even if humanity as a whole made her feel a little nauseous. The cemeteries she and Tina had explored were the only places in town that didn’t find the young banshee rolling her eyes at every turn. So the idea of visiting a funeral home was one that struck her as appealing. So much so, in fact, that she’d cut her sister out of the job entirely. This would be for Max, and Max alone. She wanted it that way.

Of all the people Regan and Siobhan had become entangled with, Max thought that this one was the only one that made sense. Sealgairí who targeted the undead were fine for upholding Fate, but still not humans Max would have fallen in with as deeply as the two older banshees seemed to have done in Wicked’s Rest. But this? This Erin Nichols, with her home dedicated so wholly to death? At least she was intriguing.

Max walked into the funeral home, pleased to find it open. Businesses did that, didn’t they? Open door policies, as if nothing and no one could touch them. It was a funny thing. She spotted a woman behind a desk, and she fitted herself with her most convincing grin. It was an unnerving thing, too wide and showing off too many teeth. “Hi,” she said, knocking on the wood as she approached. “Are you Erin?”

—

The morning had gone quickly, as mornings usually did around funeral homes. Erin had just returned home from a service at the cemetery, readying up for front desk duties while her mother took a break. She didn’t take enough of them, even though she chastised Erin for the exact same thing. It was quiet though, which was more than fine for the older woman. After a morning of supporting a grieving family, some silence was more than welcome. Up until she heard the door open, a young woman entering the funeral home. That wasn’t totally strange in itself–though younger clients calling on behalf of deceased loved ones typically communicated through email or phone. Very rarely in person. There was something unnerving about their chipperness to boot. This was a funeral home. No one smiled that way–unless they had a beefy inheritance waiting for them after this.

Erin stood from the desk chair, pulling her usual welcoming smile. “Hi–yes. I am,” she nodded, taking note of the specificity of their question, bathed in an Irish accent. She briefly thought of Regan as she tilted her head. Weird coincidence. “Is there something I can help you with?”

—

As she surveyed the lobby of the funeral home, Max found herself hoping, in a way she usually didn’t, that Siobhan and Regan hadn’t told this woman anything about Saol Eile. It wasn’t often that she found herself hoping for the chance not to kill someone. For Max, it was usually the opposite. She reveled in things like that far more than she ought to, longed for her blades to taste flesh in a way some banshees might find a little distasteful. She never did it without reason, of course, never did anything other than upholding Fate the way a banshee should, but she still longed for it. Except… not right now. Instead, she found herself longing to know more about what was done here. Did Erin Nichols have a room full of bones? She could feel corpses nearby. Would she be allowed to see them if she asked nicely? If she threatened?

The woman confirmed her identity, and Max’s smile widened. It was almost uncomfortable, but she leaned over the desk anyway, glancing down at the contents. No bones on her desk, which was a little disappointing. “Maybe there is. I think you know an old acquaintance of mine. Dr. Regan Kavanagh? I heard about your business because of her.” Not a lie, though it had to be carefully avoided to ensure such. Max detested lying, but she knew how to stretch the truth when she needed to. “I was hoping for a tour of your facility. I have a lot of interest in what you do here.”

—

There was a sharp curiosity in the eyes of the young woman in Erin’s lobby right now. Curiosity wasn’t unusual. Society had drawn a dark, mysterious veil over what they did here and many first-time guests were usually expecting something more macabre or closer to what they’ve seen in movies when they visit. But this curiosity was something different. Something Erin couldn’t discern just yet. Still, she smiled politely and appropriately, despite the unnerving way the other woman held herself. When she mentioned Regan, her face lit up and softened considerably. “Regan? Really?” The accent–duh. Of course. “Do you guys know each other from Ireland? Have you–have you spoken to her?” She realized how excited she was and tried to stifle it a bit. Regan was in Ireland. She wasn’t coming back.

“A tour?” She paused, well aware of the fact that for at least the next hour or so she was free but better judgment was starting to creep in. “Um–yeah. Sure. We could do a little tour. Though, unfortunately, the cooler parts of what I do are off limits, which I’m sure you understand. Are you looking into careers in the industry?” She stepped out from behind the desk, that polite smile still intact despite the bit of struggle that was growing, but she was always going to highly and enthusiastically endorse more females who wanted to enter the death industry. “What did you say your name was?”

—

Max didn’t miss the way the woman’s expression changed at the mention of Regan. Humans were so bad at this, weren’t they? They couldn’t school their expressions, couldn’t express anything resembling restraint. They were clumsy and reckless, they let everything show right there on the surface. How did they live this way? What was it like to exist and be read as easily as words on a page? It sounded exhausting. “Yes, we knew each other in Ireland. I’ve known her grandmother all my life. She’s a very respected individual in my hometown.” Which made Regan’s betrayal all the more disgusting. To bring such shame on your community was one thing, but on your family? Max felt for Regan’s grandmother… as much as she was capable of feeling for anyone.

She couldn’t deny the burst of excitement in her chest as Erin agreed to the tour, though she would have denied it as best she could if asked. Max was still young, still learning. Stifling everything she felt was more difficult for her than it would have been for an older banshee. She longed to get there someday, dreamed of being a hundred years old and numb, but for now, in the privacy of her own mind, she held that excitement. “I suppose you could say I have a vested interest in the work. I think what you do here is magnificent. And you have a lovely home, of course.” If she could get a thank you out of Erin, she could force her to show her the ‘cooler parts’ that were ‘off-limits.’ It shouldn’t be too terribly difficult; humans were bad about that, too. “Max. My name is Max.” It was no bother, offering only her nickname. After all, if Erin knew more than she ought to, she’d die here, anyway. And if she didn’t, there was little she could do with an abbreviated version of Max’s first name. Honesty was a good policy… especially because Max really did want that tour.

—

Erin recalled Regan mentioning at some point how rural her hometown was with implications that it was so far removed from everything that they didn’t even have some of the same phone applications as the rest of the world, apparently. But why was Max here while Regan was across the ocean? Max’s response was polite and slightly informative but… off. Just like the rest of her. Maybe they weren’t terribly close. But then why or how would she know about Erin? Questions only continue to pile up the more Max spoke. “I take it she made it to Ireland alright?” She pressed once more, curious about Regan of course, but more curious about Max’s response now. “I just haven’t heard from her since she left,” she added, shrugging casually and preemptively glossing over any weirdness with a small smile. “I mean, you guys at least have the internet all the way out there, right? I still haven’t been able to figure out how to download Scapchat.”

A vested interest didn’t tell Erin much. But she trusted Regan and knew if anything, she could trust Regan’s respect for the field and what she did here. She wouldn’t send just anyone Erin’s way. She was probably just misinterpreting Max’s mannerisms. It wasn’t like Regan was a beacon of social aptitude either. Maybe they were all homeschooled where they came from. “Oh, why thank you,” Erin answered, relaxing a little as she started to lead Max away from the front desk and to the showroom. The casket Regan had eyed still sat in the middle of the room surrounded by a few other models made from different materials and colors. Urns sat neatly along display shelves along the walls with Erin’s favorites sitting front and center.

“I don’t trust this one.”

Erin’s attention darted to the figure suddenly behind Max. Her father wasn’t looking at Erin, though. His gaze was stuck on the young woman for a long moment before he glanced up at his daughter. No explanation followed, just a look that screamed Be careful, though her quick look told him she agreed. “You picked a good time to pop in - we’re pretty quiet this afternoon.” She glanced back at Max, keeping an eye on her. “Was there something in particular you wanted to know? I love questions. Especially from a fellow death enthusiast.”

—

There was a tickle on the back of her neck. It was like hair standing up straight, like the feeling of someone watching you from behind. Max tilted her head to the side ever so slightly, though she didn’t turn around. There was a whisper of a voice behind her, but no one beyond herself and Erin in the room. But Max was smart. She had enough experience with ghosts to know when one was near, and wasn’t that interesting, too? A house of the dead, haunted by ghosts. Was this one a soul belonging to one of the corpses that Erin had not yet let her see? Or was it a more personal thing? And, perhaps more importantly, was Erin aware?

Max let her eyes go to the woman, studying her for a moment. Was her attention truly split between Max and this invisible force, or was Max’s knowledge on what else lurked in the room with them clouding her judgment? It was important, she thought, not to make any such assumptions. She couldn’t assume that Erin knew of the ghost. She couldn’t assume that Regan had told Erin anything that would require her eradication. Banshees ought to operate on proof. Otherwise, the risk of altering Fate was too prevalent.

“Oh, I’m sure she made it just fine.” She hadn’t seen Regan back home, but she’d heard whispers throughout the community of her return. It had made her feel a little stormier than she’d admit, made a bitterness she’d never cop to rise up in her throat. Why should the return of someone who’d left willingly be so celebrated? Why should everyone rejoice at someone who’d betrayed them changing her mind? As far as Max was concerned, Regan Kavanagh could rot. It was the only way Max could ever imagine thinking of her fondly.

Erin’s statement brought her back to the conversation, and she quirked a brow. “She told you about Scapchat, did she?” That wasn’t a good sign. She’d clearly been talking about their community to outsiders; the only question was, to what extent? “What else did she tell you?” She made no effort to answer Erin’s questions. Unlike Regan, Max had no intention of selling her people out.

Luckily, Regan hadn’t told Erin everything. She thanked Max, and Max’s smile was a predatory thing. “You’re welcome,” she replied, clearly pleased with herself. “Now, how about we repay that thanks, hm? You’re going to show me the cooler parts of what you do, the bits you were talking about earlier. It shouldn’t be a problem, since you’re quiet now.”

—

Erin simply nodded her head at Max, who was becoming more curt and unforthcoming the longer they spoke. So she… hadn’t spoken to Regan? But she knew about this funeral home specifically, and the fact that Erin knew Regan. This didn’t feel right anymore. The conversation she’d had with Regan in this very room crept back into her mind–her reasons for leaving, the reluctance, and the secrecy that shrouded the whole thing regarding her hometown. And now one of her “acquaintances” was here? Just because? It was starting to feel a little too cult-y and a lot more uncomfortable than she’d like. “Yeah. It sounded pretty cool,” Erin answered, though the enthusiasm she held before had vanished. The worried look on her father’s face caught her eyes again. Max had to go. Now.

Absolutely not.

…Was what Erin should have answered, angry and with a shuffle towards the front door. Her mind screamed the words until they rattled along her skull but all she got for it was silence. Painful, choking silence. Her legs were moving now and she reached into her suit pocket to grab her keys. “Seriously? You’re just going to let her down there?” Her father appeared at the door, like his spectral state could somehow stop what was going to happen. Confusion spilled into concern at the wide, terrified eyes staring back at him. They were practically begging him for help. “What’s wrong with you? Erin–Erin, answer me.” He practically shouted when she ignored him and then did shout for her attention until her hand reached through him to the doorknob.

The metal of the key clicked into place and the old, hardwood door that separated the basement mortuary from the rest of the home creaked quietly open. This wasn’t real. Right? This couldn’t be real. This was a dream, or a hallucination, or something that she could snap herself out of if she tried hard enough. Her body continued to betray her and she moved aside, gesturing to the stairs. Max was free to roam to her heart’s content.

—

No one had ever really taught Max the best ways to navigate conversation. Why would they need to? Banshees were agents of Fate, and not necessarily meant for anything else. She knew how to talk to people back home — Tina most of all — but humans? She’d never even tried. Humans in Saol Eile were good for exactly one thing, and Max hadn’t needed a sacrifice in years now. She had no idea that she was saying anything at all that might make the funeral home director suspicious or uneasy.

“Maybe you ought to come visit sometime.” The words were innocent enough; someone who didn’t know Saol Eile or what they did to humans there might not know how predatory the suggestion was. It was also insincere. There was no place for Erin Nichols back home, though Max wouldn’t mind parading her through the streets just to make Regan uncomfortable. For now, though, she would settled for this. For seeing the funeral home in all its glory, for learning more about death as was her birthright. She followed Erin to the door, hyperaware of the sensation of the ghost in the room. She wouldn’t look for it now, though maybe later. Only if she determined Erin needed to be killed, of course; otherwise, she risked exposing too much.

The basement door opened, and Max let out a pleased exhale as she stepped inside. She could feel the death all around her, the rot. “Tell me about it,” she said, looking back to Erin. “Tell me all the things you do here.”

—

Erin led her downstairs, despite her brain fighting uselessly against each step. She wanted to show Max. Better yet, she needed to show her exactly what she wanted. Down another corridor, the temperature dropped before they stood in front of a wall of metal, square doors that lined the refrigeration units like a checkerboard. They’d just received a new intake that morning, untouched and ready. Perfect for Max. “This is where I fix them,” she spoke mindlessly, her hands already reaching for the unit door.

“Erin,” her father warned, following close behind her. Something was wrong in the way that Wicked’s Rest was wrong. Wrong in all the ways he’d tried to hide from her for most of her life. But it didn’t work. It had never really worked. The wrongness still managed to touch her.

Erin pulled the slab out from its confines, delicately pulling the zipper that encased the fresh corpse. The smell wasn’t so bad yet. Her eyes jumped to Max, a sudden urge to please her overwhelming her senses. “Would it be better if I showed you?”

—

Max followed along behind Erin eagerly, the feeling of death calling to her the closer they got to the door. “Fix them?” She repeated the word, sounding half offended. What was there to fix? It was more fun to watch them decay, to take in the beauty of it. It shouldn’t have surprised her that even Regan Kavanagh’s human friends would have made terrible banshees; Regan herself was a bad one, never doing enough to earn her birthright.

She could still feel the ghost trailing along, and she wondered if there were more. Did they stay with their bodies? Did they follow Erin around as she did her work, did they haunt her? Maybe if Max did end up needing to kill the woman, she could allow herself to see. Maybe it would be fun.

“Yes,” she said, trying not to let her voice show just how much she wanted to see the corpse within the bag. “I’d love to see it. You’ll show me.”

—

Usually Erin wouldn’t dream of touching a decedent without the proper gear on–head to toe, full body PPE was required. It simply wasn’t safe. But this was for Max, and she needed to impress her. Needed to show her exactly what she’d asked for. Erin would do it gladly. “Fixed, yes,” Erin repeated with a nod. Max was from Ireland, and knowing what she did about Regan, she wondered how different the customs were there–or how their small town of people viewed death. It was obviously different than most. She’d have to ask Regan one day, if she ever spoke to her again. “When a person dies, they’re sent to me to be fixed, if I can. Their families want to see them as they were. A final memory.” Erin paused, turning to Max with a firm but gentle look. “It’s important. It’s how we grieve,” she assured her, remembering briefly only moving to grab a table of medical tools. The metal pieces rattled against the sterilized tray as it moved, squeaky wheels echoing against painted cement walls.

Jack was beyond recognizing that his words were falling on deaf ears. He needed to do something. This needed to stop. Max needed to be stopped. He didn’t know what she was or what she was doing to control his daughter but a protective fury built in him. He’d never done this before–didn’t even know if he could do it–but what else was he going to do? Stand there and watch while his daughter was mind controlled by some Irish brat? “Stop!” He yelled, charging towards the table. The items clattered to the floor and still, he flew past it. Erin tumbled to the floor but it was Jack who felt the shock of her back hitting the cement.

“Shit, that hurt–” Erin’s voice came out of his mouth. Or, her mouth. He looked down to find his daughter’s physical form and not the corporeal one he’d been roaming around in for the last few months. This wasn’t exactly what he’d had planned. The idea was to knock over the table and her if he could muster the strength but–shit. This would do, he supposed. Glancing up at Max, he reached for the closest tool near him and stood up. The medical buzz saw sprung to life as he jutted it in her direction. “Take one step anywhere but to the door right now or so help me–” he started, Erin’s voice shaky but firm. And pissed.

—

Grief wasn’t something Max fully understood. It was a feeling she’d cut herself off from with her first scream, when her mother’s blade tore through a boy she’d loved and her lungs had ripped and shattered with a feeling she refused to hold onto. Death was a beautiful thing. It wasn’t a problem to be fixed or a memory to be held. It was something to be revered, something to be admired. Where did some human get off on claiming otherwise? For a moment, something hot flashed in her chest, but Max discarded it. Humans were stupid, silly things. That was something she’d known all her life. One could hardly blame a dog for not learning to write, and the same reasons made it pointless to feel angry at a human for not understanding death. It just wasn’t something they were capable of.

Deciding to ignore Erin’s words — a kindness Max was sure made her something of a saint — she turned to the body on the table. Better to give this her full attention, to marvel at the silly human customs surrounding death. Why didn’t they allow the bodies to decay naturally? Why didn’t they sit and watch bone fall from flesh piece by piece? What was the purpose of preserving the memory of something long gone?

Max wanted to ask. But, before she could, Erin spoke in a way that was strange. Her voice, still, but the wrong tone. The wrong emotion behind it. Erin was bound; she ought to be malleable, the way she was before. But she wasn’t. Instead, she was picking up a saw? “This isn’t what we agreed upon,” Max said, tilting her head to the side. “You know there are consequences to going against an agreement, don’t you? Do yourself a favor and put it away.” How had she been able to lift it to begin with? How could she threaten Max? It didn’t compute.

—

Max seemed confused. Good. It meant that this was working against whatever magic was compelling Erin before. For now. Jack took another step forward, giving the air a small slash as if to beckon the younger woman backwards even more. He hadn’t decided if he was actually going to use it or not yet. Getting Erin arrested for attacking a young woman and then peacing out of her body seemed like something he’d get exorcised over. Probably rightfully so. Allowing this charade to play out until the little psychopath was content didn’t feel right either. He liked his odds a little better this way. “And there are consequences to disobeying the person holding the bonesaw.”

Another step forward echoed another screee from the saw in his hand. It felt odd in his grasp–Erin’s grasp. Different from his own, of course, but the strength behind it didn’t feel like it should. It felt like borrowed time. Like driving someone else’s car for the first time. The mechanics were familiar and he could get around fine but it just wasn’t right. Max wasn’t moving fast enough for his liking. He raised a brow, feigning interest in his next question. “Sorry, did you misunderstand? Do you still want me to show you what I do with this?”

—

The barely evolved ape had the audacity to slash at Max with her blade, and the banshee felt a frustrated scream building in her chest. She’d been so close to seeing something beautiful, something that might have made this whole wretched trip to America a little bit less irritating. It wasn’t fair that she’d lose it when it was right there within her grasp. Didn’t she deserve it? After everything, hadn’t she earned it? Wasn’t death hers to hold and to mold and to store behind her teeth and deep within her lungs? If she were less rigid in her training, if she were someone more like Regan Kavanagh (she shuddered at the thought), she might have let out a scream. She might have brought the whole building down on both their heads, a glorious repeat of the house where Regan’s friends had tried to hide out falling down brick by brick. But Max was better than that. Max was built for this, had spent her entire life honing her power in a way failures like Regan Kavanagh could only dream of.

In any case, she thought, Erin would have consequences for breaking her word here. Wasn’t that how it worked? Max had bound her and Erin had broken it, but it wouldn’t come without cost. It never did. Fate would have its way with her, Max suspected. And for a banshee, that had to be enough. She reminded herself of this, even as she yearned to take matters into her own hands. She was not Regan Kavanagh, and she wasn’t Siobhan Dolan, either. She was better than the both of him, an instrument of Fate through and through. She flashed Erin a smile sharper than the blade she was swinging around, tilted her head to the side. “I suspect you’ll regret this later,” she said, taking a step back towards the door. “I only wish I could stick around to see it.”

She made her way back, eyes on Erin all the while. She turned to walk back up the stairs.

(And if she let out the smallest ear-splitting screech on the way? Well… no one was perfect.)

#wickedswriting #para #para: max #the fun in funeral homes #parental death tw

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