𝐹𝐼𝑅𝐸𝑆𝑇𝐴𝑅𝑇𝐸𝑅.

she can feel her face burn, knowing no matter what she does she’s probably playing right into his trap. god, she was stupid. marina keeps her eyes locked on his — can’t afford to waver or look weak. if she was going down, she’d go down swinging. “so i wanted to be alone for a bit — is that a crime?” her eyes roll, false bravado as she scoffs.

trembling fingers continue to scratch out runes and the incantation weaves through her mind. intention was the most important part. that’s what her grimoire had said. and with how loud she was shouting in her head, no god or deity could deny her intentions were crystal clear. “so. let’s talk then. what do you know about my… situation?” she raises an eyebrow, leaves the ball in his court. she knows not to say more than he reveals, not to confirm any of this assumptions explicitly. it’s a game, then, to see who slips up first.

"Oh now, I wouldn’t call it a crime.” Aleksandr clucks his tongue and there’s something almost sing-song to his words. He makes a show of leaning against the elevator wall, at odds with the tense figure she cuts. His body still blocks the control panel from reach. “God knows I value my solitude. Wouldn’t want to be casting stones from glass houses now, would we?” 

That damn hand is moving far too much in her pocket for his liking; Aleksei’s gaze darts to it and it sets his teeth on edge. Still, there’s no sign of it on his face, nothing but that same cold-eyed confidence. “I know there was a strange story in the news recently. The sort of thing most people would dismiss, except... you’re not most people are you?” His gaze drifts from her feet to her head with the sole purpose of making her feel small. “And neither am I.” 

she regards him with cautious eyes as he moves. each word pulls the corner of her lips down until she can no longer sustain a smile. clementine feels her eyes going darker and the hair on her arms going up as this man’s voice sends a cold shiver down her spine. he crosses the lines too fast for her to react appropriately. her brain registers her horror before everything is done and he’s spoken his horrible threats and reaches to be too close to comfort. clementine recognizes all this behavior. it’s not very different from her father and definitely not a far cry from her brothers. she never fought them off properly. not until her cheek was stinging red. 

the grave and funeral theme is what makes her snap. he can’t know about luce and carter and yet it makes her stomach sink. she is very quickly reminded that this, all of this, is their fault. a seance would never be attempted so many times if these men never threatened them. ( and if a seance would never be attempted, luce wouldn’t be dead )

the witch grabs his wrist before he can get too far away. she knows she can’t resist physically but she can resist otherwise. this man is already convinced of the truth no matter what she says so she figures there’s no bigger harm into acting onto her impulse. her eyes are cast down and she whispers some words, low enough to make it unable for him to hear. her eyes only gaze up again once thin black lines start to follow the veins on his wrist. “ this behavior is very inappropriate, sir. ” she says. “ i’m afraid i have to ask you to leave. ”

Victory does not taste sweet — it tastes glorious, smells of crushed petals and wide-eyed, ashen-faced fear. There’s something inexplicably satisfying in that look of defeat; for a moment, it seems as if the witch may cry and Aleksandr finds himself leaning forward in anticipation, hoping for it. It’s not cruel, he reasons; you can’t be inhumane to something that, despite an inflated sense of power and belief, is sub-human.

And victory, Aleksei learns, is fleeting. It’s him who startles when the wallflower grabs him. He doesn’t catch her mutter, but by the time he’s yanked his hand away, it’s too late. Now it’s the hunter’s turn to grow pale — he turns his palm over in horror, staring at the poison prowling beneath his skin. 

“You little snake.” He wants to hurt her. He would too, but whatever voodoo she’s cast upon him has stolen all his strength. When Aleksandr backs away towards the door, his feet drag. “We’ll be back. We’ll burn you and your fucking friends back to the Hell where you belong.”

clementine looks at this man and tries to see beyond her fear. it paints the man in front of her with mean features and malicious eyes and she so much wants to believe nothing of that is true. the florist refuses to believe that he caught a glimpse of the secret that ever consumed her life. she doesn’t want to realize that hunters are closer than they’ve ever been and that the fog over her name has been lifted. so she tries, and she tries so hard, to look at this man and see nothing but a vaguely familiar face. the witch refuses to acknowledge she isn’t successful.

his choice of words throws her off for a bit and she looks away from him. clementine takes in a nervous breath before smiling at him yet again. “ ah– i’m sure people are way too nice about my job, ” she says as she guides a strand of hair off her face to hook behind her ear. “ well, i’d love to help you. what’s the occasion? ”

She’s scared. He doesn’t need magic to know it and as far as Aleksandr’s concerned, it’s confirmation of her guilt. His fingers drift over the petals of the arrangement she’d been working on before he entered. “Friends, perhaps? I’m sure a pretty girl like you has plenty. A tight knit group of girls...” he grins, something charming and dead behind the eyes. “The kind of friends who’d say nice things about your job, who’d take your secrets to the grave...” 

Abruptly, he tugs — the vase topples over, spilling flowers across the counter between them. The smile remains. “Oops. I guess accidents happen, huh? Speaking of... how’s your hand?” His own almost brushes hers when he picks up one of the fallen purple blossoms. He twirls the stem between his fingers as he hums. “Speaking of secrets and graves, the occasion’s a funeral. I need something more unique than lilies. And leave these out of consideration too.” He snaps the stalk between his fingers and then, Aleksei leans in close and tucks the end of the flower behind the witch’s ear. “Violets, shrinking or otherwise, feel a little false.”

honestly, she knew it was a bad idea to go out on her own. there was a literal bullseye on her back, marina was sure, since the hunters had already declared their awareness of her… status. still, it was getting a little claustrophobic with everyone around all the time — whether they were just in pairs or in a big group, marina felt like she couldn’t truly breathe because she was too busy keeping herself veiled. so she’d made up an excuse about a doctor’s appointment, left her apartment just to walk around the mall in circles for a bit.

and it wasn’t like she wasn’t being careful. she’d pulled droplets from the air into a foggy shroud around her, swerving her bike in and out of alleyways and running a couple of lights just in case someone was on her tail. but you can’t hide forever. she’d gotten into the empty elevator once she was ready for the ride home, finger dancing on the close button just to speed things along. the moment the door clicked against the intruding foot, she cursed internally at the interruption. the silence threatens to choke the air from her lungs, each second of the elevator’s painfully slow descent only fuelling her own panic. in her pocket, marina picks at her fingers until she can feel the skin just begin to break, blood beading on the surface. she presses down, waits for feeling of the swelling droplet and draws a protective rune on the inside of her palm.

when he speaks she knows she was right. right to eye him in suspicion and fear, right to take some extra precautions, even though she could not escape just yet. her eyes blaze with a cold indignation as she takes a step away from him. “what do you want from me?”

Fiery. He hadn’t expected it of her from all he’d seen of cowed shoulders, nervous glances. A facade, he decides a moment later, but she has tricks up her heathen sleeves that he does not, spells and curses that he won’t take for granted. Aleksei holds his palms up in mock surrender. “To talk. You seem in an awful rush and it’s good to slow down, consider your situation, don’t you think?” He folds his hands behind his back and smiles. In another context, it may have been charming — he’s an attractive boy, but there’s something dead behind his eyes that turns the expression glib.

His gaze drifts from her face down to her hands. It’s the one buried deep in her pocket that he knows to be wary of, perhaps clutching at some talisman or powder to beguile him. Instead, he focuses on the bag clutched in her other. “I’d always thought shopping was a group activity. What’s the matter?” He clucks his tongue and tilts his head. “No friends to accompany you?” 

It’s been a week now and the hunters remain two short. Both Roland and Jack have all but vanished and dissent blossoms in the group that remains. Some believe the witches are to blame — Aleksei disagrees. Occam’s razor suggests Roland is preoccupied burying himself in his public lover from the festival, and, if town gossip of his father is anything to go by, that Jack is somewhere several bottles deep. Still, the Ingels boy doesn’t share his thoughts. It’s an opportunity to prove himself and so, he chooses one of the known witches to target and sets about the task.

She’s unassuming — average height, pretty and paranoid too, judging from all the furtive glances and hurried steps. She looks hunted — good, he thinks. He knows the havoc witches can wreak unchecked, has seen it before. A little power is a dangerous thing, and it’s up to him to remind her of her place. 

The elevator doors are almost shut when he slides a foot into the gap. “Going down?” He knows she is, to the basement and its parking lot. They ride in silence up until the last moment, when Aleksei calmly leans across her and hits the emergency stop button. “Looks like we’re stuck here.” He moves to block the control panel from her reach and smiles. “Perfect opportunity for us to have a little chat.” 

   Ro couldn’t help but scoff- probably not helping the inferiority complex that Aleksei hid, thinly veiled. “What, you didn’t think to lead with that?” Roland chastised, but he was intrigued by the statement all the same. “You got a name, right?” If he didn’t, Roland was gonna be pretty annoyed, and he pulled out his phone to start taking notes on who one of their newest suspects were. His mental wheels had been turning nonstop, eager to make a plan, even as he had been distracted by Cole. 

To have this boy, so clearly his junior - if not in age than certainly in experience - speak to him this way? It’s an offence, and Aleksandr takes it as so. “Clementine.” There’s a sense of victory in having the answer, her business card a brand that burns in his pocket. “No need to worry. I’m on it.” When he nods it’s a silent dismissal; Aleksei stalks off into the crowd, his need to prove himself once more renewed. 

  “That’s it?” Roland frowned, lips twisting to the side as he thought over the barely-there clues. He could easily point out a couple of strange, short blondes; and plenty of women gave him sass on the daily. Hell, the festival was a sea of empowered, sassy, and downright witchy women, but even he could admit most were entirely human and harmless. “Fuck!” He cursed, always just a bit too violent in his emotions. 

   Ro rolled his eyes. “Some chick has got this big ass bird that follows her around. Listens to her, too, but she says it’s some sorta rescue. Another chick; it was weird, she seemed to know a bit too much about the history here, for just an art gallery worker. You are trying to ask questions, get to know the suspicious bitches… right?” Roland raised his eyes knowingly. 

That’s it? Those words are all it takes to transport Aleksandr back to his youth, back home to his father’s slumped shoulders as once again, his brother bragged about his own childrens’ slate of success. “Obviously.” It’s a bit too barbed, too defensive for a so-called friend. He rubs at the back of his neck, frustrated. Roland’s observations certainly sound stranger, more like leads and he’s a little too eager to prove himself. “There was some scrawny thing running a stall. Cut her hand open, blood everywhere but there was no wound. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

the florist doesn’t think the man is listening to her which is – typical, she thinks. annoyance runs through her veins as she reaches for the handkerchief on the pockets of her skirt to wipe the blood off her fingers. that is, until the man pulls her up. clementine knows it’s supposed to help her, but it hurts enough for her to have to bite back an exclamation of pain. fear freezes her for a second as she finds her balance on her feet again and she has to concentrate on the bills coming out of the man’s wallet to come back to reality. 

“ th– ”  she takes a deep breath, quickly wraps her finger before reaching for it. in any other circumstances, clementine would most likely turn down the money but she doesn’t like this man and she doesn’t like the way he acts towards her.  “ thanks. um– i owe you some change, though. my table is right there, ”  the earth witch points before reaching down for her box.  “ if you come with me i can give you your change. ”

This little waif is far from Aleksandr’s type — she’s the sort of woman he’d overlook in any other setting. It’s the mention of her table that intrigues him, the perfect vantage to notice anything strange taking place. The man settles his features into something warmer, pinched with regret. “Sorry, I was a little rough there.” When he smiles it’s all gleaming white teeth. “There was this girl I was trying to catch up with. She ah - she might be the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” he ducks his head in faux-embarrassment.”Maybe you know her? About this high, platinum blonde hair, looks like she could kill you with a stare?” 

It’s not like he needs the change back, but it gives him an excuse to scan the area. It’s only when his gaze darts back down to her hands that Aleksei notices the bloody handkerchief, discarded whilst she flicks through her moneybox. “Allow me, you’ll get that cut infected.” He’s not particularly concerned for her health but rather receiving blood-smeared notes  — but on closer inspection, he can’t find the source of it.

she ALMOST felt sorry for the loser, but she felt even sorrier for the girl who had to go home with him. as the stranger next to her spoke, her crystal eyes followed his finger gesturing to an OVER-sized and under-stuffed plush toy of a cat. the thing was huge and surely every child that walked by fawned over the thing. “ALRIGHT, you’re on. ten bucks.” she agreed to his terms. a prize that large was ALWAYS unwinnable, even on the games that didn’t seem so rigged. if he managed to win that, she would have to admit – she’d be IMPRESSED. 

Presented with a new challenge and consequently, an opportunity to alleviate his boredom, Aleksei’s mood brightens. He even shoots the blonde a wink before he approaches the stall. Challenge is a word he uses loosely – arms spread wide and hands flat against the tabletop, he can tell this will be even easier than he thought. “How many do I have to get to win that?” 

The premise is simple – moving targets, throwing objects. In this case, knives, which is what made him stop in the first place. And sure, he has an unfair advantage on the simp from before but it doesn’t make the satisfaction any less sweeter when, with startlingly speed and accuracy, he sinks each knife into the bullseye. 

   In all fairness to the boy scout, Ro was often drunk; but a functional one, eyes always alert and quick and tongue desperately clever. He was more than met the eye, but just slightly, and the glitter on his jeans from the craft he’d barely managed to glue and tie together reflected the glint of the setting sun as he walked. Aleksandr was one he had yet to figure out, though he tried to be close with all of the hunters. If you believed his dad and his stories - they would be fighting and dying together, worst case scenario. 

   A sobering thought. Ro pushed it away with a smile as he held up his dangling, glimmering dream catcher. “Uh- I don’t entirely know?” He confessed, giving it a shake and sending a rhinestone and a waterfall of glitter cascading to the group. An eyebrow rose suspiciously at the creation, and he shrugged. “Let’s call it a sacrifice in the name of our good work, or whatever. Got anythin’ yet?” 

Let’s call it no good work at all. Aleksandr looks out into the crowd and frowns. It’s not as if his idea of a good time lacks alcohol or men that, quite frankly, look a lot like Roland. There’s simply a time and place. He hides his disdain behind the rim of his cup, but the grim expression remains. “Maybe. A blonde. 5 foot nothing. Sassy as fuck. Felt like she knew something she wasn’t saying.” It sounds weak even to him as he says it. 

“What about you?” He crushes his empty cup in his hand and tosses it into a nearby trash can. His aim is, as ever, impeccable. “Y’know, before or after the arts and crafts segue.” 

WHO: closed for @rolandbb​

The conduct back home is a world apart from the shitshow they’re running in Salem. Aleksandr is used to order, professionalism. Results. Instead, their band of so-called ‘hunters’ have been tasked with a wild goose chase, expected to find serpents at an event dedicated to celebrating them. As not to be insulted, Aleksandr reframes it as a challenge. He is by far the most experienced, and this is simply an opportunity to demonstrate so.

So far, there seems to be a recurrent correlation between sightings of his fellow hunters and proximity to the nearest alcohol stall. He has the self-restraint to remain sober, a cup in hand purely for show. Of all of them, he can tolerate Roland. He’s capable, controlled  —  and, as he comes to stand by him beside one of the enumerable striped tents, drunk. “So. What the fuck,” he nods to the mess of string and glitter clutched in the other man’s palm, “is that?”

WHERE: main st., festival. WHEN: may 9th STATUS: closed for @aleksei-ingels​

   the air swirls different at this year’s festival. clementine thinks the theme never felt so heavy before, weighing on her shoulders of a real witch. she doesn’t know if she will attract less or more attention this way, but the florist dresses her part: black dress, pointy hat, a pentacle hanging from her neck. she thinks that if anything, it will lure potential customers to her small booth. no matter how much she practices magic, nothing is yet able to conjure money and goddess knows she has a stack of bills to pay for.

  the box she carries tinkles as she walks, the small terrariums clinking and clashing against each other. clementine decided to make some this year, as little tokens clients can take home with them. they’re stereotypically witch themed and she hopes to sell them well. that is, until someone bumps into her and she loses grip of her box. it falls with a loud noise and clementine inhales sharply, takes a second and another to crouch and assess the damage. not all of the terrariums broke but some of the more delicate ones are surely done for.  clementine reaches for one, definitely not carefully enough and the pain of a glass cut makes her hiss. and then she notices – the man is still standing near.  

  “ sorry, sir – are you okay? ” she asks, looking up, as she catches herself.

Given purpose, tonight’s activities are somewhat more tolerable. There’s something about the blonde from the night before — a regret that has him awake until sunrise, chain-smoking on his motel balcony and cursing the fact that he allowed her to slip from his grasp. No matter. He’s returned to the festival to make amends. The plan is a family favourite, effective and concise: find her, extract a confession and use her as bait to track down the others.

So far, he’s reaped no success. The weekend has brought along a bigger crowd, an unanticipated amount of who are small, blonde girls. The hours wear on and with it, his patience. It’s in passing that he spots her — a petite frame, pale skin, platinum hair. He stalks through the concourse with purpose, dodging hordes of families, giggling teenagers and is so goddamn close to catching up until he collides into someone else. 

The shattering glass isn’t enough to garner his attention, but it is for the blonde; she turns and  — it’s not her. Fuck. Only then does he look down to assess the damage he’s caused. “Here,” he’s a little brusque when he slides a hand around the girl’s forearm and lifts her back onto her feet. “I’ll pay for that.” He’s eager to get this sorted, sliding out his wallet and plucking out a few fifty's.

zelenia was BORED. she wasn’t sure why she was standing there, watching SO many people fail at winning the cheap, pathetic prizes that hung from the game’s tent. as some taller, lanky boy spoke up next to her, the blonde raised an eyebrow. “ME? fuck no.” she scoffed with a roll of her eyes. “you’d catch me dead playing these games. for starters, they’re fucking rigged.”

not that she had any PROOF of such things, but, it wouldn’t surprise her in the least. “ — not to mention the prizes are cheap as hell and you could probably buy TWENTY of them from some wholesale place for 10 bucks.” she rolled her eyes.

The man isn’t sure what he expected; perhaps a sweet, girlish voice to match her appearance, a stuttered apology. Instead, she’s derisive and unrepentant, and for the first time that evening, Aleksei’s intrigued. 

“All excellent points.” Hands in his pockets, he watches as the loser admits defeat and sidle back to a girl who looks like she’d rather be anywhere but with him. Aleksandr smirks. This town is fit to break with thrice as many beta men as alleged witches. It’s an opportunity to prove himself and he’s never missed one yet. “How about we make things interesting? 10 bucks says I can’t win that — “ he points to the top prize: a hideous, baby blue plush cat that’s almost the same size as her, “monstrosity.”

WHEN: the first night of the festival WHO: @zeleniarosi​

There’s Occam’s razor, and then there’s this. Centuries of tradition and righteous bloodshed, only for witchcraft to be lauded by the descendants of those who fought tirelessly against it? It’s pure impudence — worse still that the hunters here believe they’ll find serpents hidden in plain sight. For now, Aleksandr bites his tongue. It’s imperative to win their good graces and so he goes, shifting through the crowd with a sour expression.

So far, the night’s highlights include tearing pointy hats off the innocent heads of small children and reducing a tarot woman to tears. He falters at the carnival games. Such baseless activity is usually below him  — but he’s bored, and he knows he’ll be good at this. The same can’t be said for the simp occupying the stand. “Pathetic, isn’t it?” The question is for the girl by his elbow, a small blonde thing who looks equally unimpressed. “Are you next?”