erebus

Mildred had insisted that he wouldn’t need a key, but no amount of shoving or jimmying the lock would open the door. A quick look around revealed no security system of any kind, which was either promising or ominous. Darby cursed under his breath as he cast a glance around, noting only the glow of the street lamps and an empty street. He weighed the likelihood of getting hauled off to prison for breaking into an abandoned tea shop before throwing caution (and his fist) out the window with a swift punch to the glass pane above the door.

Instead of shattering– or breaking his knuckles– a distinct zap sent pain flickering up his arm as if he’d touched a live wire. “Fuck–” Darby growled and shook out his hand, flexing his fingers and freezing when he caught sight of someone’s shadow. “Nothing to see here… Just a man working out his aggression.” He hunched his shoulders, trying to make all 200 pounds of him look as harmless as possible and failing spectacularly.

The witch relished in the distraction of working, it stopped her from thinking about all that had happened at the event, it helped stop the flood of feelings and conflict that came with it. It seemed that every town event left her torn up, and this one had been no different. She’d done her best to rid her mind of what had happened, but there were a couple of irritating physical reminders that wouldn’t let her drop it. 

She’d been walking home from her store when she saw the man punch the door, unable to help a laugh from coming out at the sight. “Don’t mind me, I’m just enjoying the show.” Avery said with a smirk. “Were you personally wronged by the tea shop? Did it besmirch your honour or something?” She asked teasingly. 

Nick stretched idly as he glanced up at the door to Nina’s opening, being the only one manning the bar for a moment whilst someone took a break, the bar fairly quiet, something that didn’t surprise him given the circumstances. He gave a nod, before indicating for the newcomer to take a seat. “Drink? First ones on the house today.” he offered, figuring that more than anything people deserved a drink. 

“I never thought I’d see the day you gave me a free drink.” She replied with a half-hearted smirk as she walked into the bar. Everything was out of whack for her at the moment, so she’d come to Nina’s for a sense of familiarity, and Nick’s generosity was throwing her a little. “But I won’t complain.” 

He looked at Avery, his mind already working over that gamble. He felt looser than usual, less high-strung. “Ok, but -” he adjusted his grip on the champagne bottle, “uh, nothing illegal, and uh no stripping.”

“Damn, well there goes the two ideas I had.” She chuckled cheekily, a devilish twinkle in her eyes. She liked this, it was easy and fun; and a much better alternative to being a drunken paranoid mess. “Any idea’s so far?” She asked, eyeing their competitors, trying to call the winner. 

She had a point. He wouldn’t have trusted himself either. “You probably shouldn’t, but killing me’s not gonna go over well either.” He again refrained from knocking her backwards, not even commenting that she should never get that close to a target so much larger than she was. He could literally crush her if he wanted to. Not that he did, but she should know better. They’d have to review that later, when she wasn’t trying to kill him. “Same as you, just tryna not be a fucking terrorist anymore.” He gestured over at Maggie Blackwell with his eyes, since he didn’t wanna spook her. “That’s my boss. I like her, she’s cool and she lets me swear in front of her. I mostly organize her dayplanner and shit. That’s all. I’m nobody here. I like that.” Sighing, he slightly moved the blade nearest his neck. “Look, either do the job or put the blades down, the longer you hold ‘em up, the longer I have to distract you and kick ten kinds of shit out of you. Which I’m not gonna do, unless you make me by tryna fucking kill me. This suit isn’t even mine.”

“Could be fun though.” Avery replied; she’d always been a little macabre and purposely off putting, it threw people for a loop, and gave the impression that she wasn’t entirely sane, that sometimes she thought wasn’t entirely undeserved. Holding the knife a little tighter to his throat she briefly flashed a glance to where he directed and spotted Maggie Blackwell. “Are you kidding me? A Blackwell, really?” She asked incredulously, not able to decide if he was a moron or a genius for getting in close with the original. She couldn’t image willingly working for one, particularly in her current state of being blackmailed by his bosses sister. “It’s cute you think you can distract me.” She said as she lowered the knives, gesturing towards the bar with a nod. “I need a drink.” She said as she sheathed her knives among the others she had holstered to her leg. Moving into the sight of the crowd as quickly as possible on the chance he was conning her, she made a beeline for the bar, and ordering herself a drink. 

The ball seemed to be almost in full swing now. People were dancing, the chats started to be louder, and, he guessed, because of the alcohol, somehow everyone was having more courage, thus every hour the chatter became louder. Having enough small talk inside, Damon moved outside, to get a breath of fresh air, and pollute it with his cigarette smoke. With the cigarette between his teeth, he lit up the end of it, inhaling the much needed nicotine as he heard steps behind him. He twisted around, studying the person without much reaction. “You alright?” 

She wanted to get away from the hustle of the ball usually she would relish in this, dance and enjoy the night; but she was off, she was paranoid, seeing Clave member’s faces behind every mask, and her own drinks weren’t dulling it. So she wandered outside, just to get away, only to be greeted by the smell of cigarette smoke. His question shouldn’t have be a difficult question to answer, but she couldn’t bring herself to admit it, admit how empty she felt without her magic. Her life had been so defined by her magic for so long, it was such a part of her that now that it felt like some part of her had been ripped away. “Could I steal one of those?” She asked, nodding to the cigarette dangling from his mouth, ignoring the question.

The shove might not have worked if Mac hadn’t been trying to locate Maggie and wasn’t paying attention. Even when she was human, she could slip away without him noticing, something he was going to have to discourage the next time they spoke. For the moment, he had to deal with a crazy girl trying to stab him. He was wearing metal plates under the jacket, so she’d have a hard time getting him in the gut, but his throat was still nice and vulnerable. “Lady, I don’t know who the fuck you are, but -” Actually, he did know who she was. “Kid?” She’d been maybe 10 or 11, possibly 12 the last time he’d seen her. He’d looked different as well, but then again, it was easier for him to stand out. Still, he recognized the eyes. Shit, what had her name been? “Avery? What the fuck are you doing here?” He didn’t stamp on her foot or headbutt her, which would have been his usual method of dealing with anyone dumb enough to pull a knife on him. “Chill the fuck out, kid, I’m out. I don’t do that anymore, ‘kay? No one here but me.”

Avery kept her eyes trained on him like a hawk, looking for even the slightest movement from him. The last time there’d been Clave members in town during an event she’d ended up with a knife wound in her shoulder and a handful of broken bones, she had no intentions of this ending the same way. She didn’t react when he started speaking, but her eyes narrowed slightly as he said her name. “And why should I trust you?” She asked, not softening at the pet name, not letting her guard down. She’d been raised to see threats everywhere, raised as a perfect little soldier, and as much as she refused to admit it to herself, it was times like this where she couldn’t deny that it still stuck with her. “Why are you here then?” She added.

Gaze flickering across the sea of faces in front of her from her seat at the bar, Phoebe took a sip from her drink as the corners of her lips curved upwards. Not bothering to look at the person beside her, she nudged them gently with her elbow to get their attention. “Would you rather,” she began, mischief etched upon her features. “The dude in the navy blue tux,” Phoebe continued, nodding her head in the direction of the guy she was speaking about before averting her gaze to the blonde a few feet from him, “Or her? The one in red.”

“Both. At the same time, with whipped cream.” Avery purred suggestively, tossing a wink to the guy who seemed to have noticed Phoebe talking to him. “Actually, I know her, she’s more annoying then she is hot.” She amended once she’d gotten a better look at the blonde behind the mask. "Alrighty, would you rather... Greyson edition, which is your favourite flavour of tall and blonde?”

“And to our entertainment for the evening.” He tapped the stem of his bottle to Avery’s glass. For a minute there was something gratifying about living in his own skin, and being immune to the moon’s effects. “May they all wake up tomorrow with the worst hangovers of the century.”

“I mean we could always make it more entertaining.” She said cocking an eyebrow at him. “Whoever is right gets to dare the other to do whatever they want?” She offered with a smirk, as though she hadn’t gotten in enough trouble the last time she’d played like this at a town event. “God I hope so.” Avery laughed.

“Babe, I’m really not Top Model material.” She shook her head; a muffled chuckle escaping her lips at the mare thought of doing this the model way. She was graceful, and a good dancer, but a model she was not; dresses she only wore for work and on special occasions. Expressing her gratitude with a nod and a small smile, she stepped away once the fabric of her dress was free and glanced up at the other woman; brows furrowing slightly, “How do you know so much about this?” Haylee couldn’t help but ask, “Trust me, that dress is the last thing on my mind.”

“Neither am I, but saying ‘walk like you’re going to kill a man’ sounds a little overdramatic.” Avery smirked, finding humour in the fact that she was definitely the type to be overdramatic. “I’ve worn them a fair bit; my dad is from some old money southern family, so me and my brothers used to go to these over-the-top social events he had to go to and get drunk in back rooms on expensive booze.” She chuckled, remembering hiding empty bottles under her skirts when some random relative of her fathers had come into the room the siblings had been drinking in. 

He shook his head at the man. He’d always been good at playing tag along to people who could consume their weight in liquor. “My money’s actually on her,” He pointed out a lady in a blue dress that was boneless against one of the far couches and looking quite ready to pass out against he companions shoulder. “Who knew we lived in a town full of lightweights.”

“Oh you might be right, but I’m still rooting for my guy, I have faith in him, at the very least he’s going to fall over spectacularly.” Avery chuckled, eyeing their two picks. “Vampires and werewolves are over reliant on their powers, makes a lot of them think they’re better than us; how the tables have turned.” She smirked wickedly, a cheeky glint in her eyes, before she raised her glass to him. “Cheers to not being lightweights.” 

Two hours in and he could already tell that this night was going to end prematurely for most of the masked attendants. It was one thing to snicker at their clumsiness, their little frustrations over lack of strength or stamina, it was another to watch them realize their alcohol tolerance levels were way accustomed to. He sat at one of the tables, watching a vampire stumble toward the bathroom with her hand clamped about her mouth. “And another one bites the dust,” he muttered taking a sip from the champagne bottle he’d procured earlier. 

She’d taken to trying to fill the hole left by her magic with alcohol; thankfully even before tonight she was physically basically human, so unlike some of the vampires and wolves, she wasn’t a stumbling mess because of a change in tolerance. “The guy in grey will be the next one to go.” Avery said to the guy at the next table, looking at him over her shoulder before gesturing her drink to a guy swaying dangerously a little away.