Autumn stands up straight again, not that it makes her look any bigger, and grinds a palm into her forehead. "Look. I want you to let me just. At this point, it's water under a bridge. It's not like I can... go to the fucking cops about it, or even that I want to. But no, the making it normal part isn't not heinous. The whole thing is heinous. And you're probably gonna do it again."

She gets it. She gets why they do it. She gets that it's just how they survive and go unseen.

"And frankly? Where I'm at, if it hadn't been me? I wouldn't have given a shit. I probably wouldn't. But it was. It was my choice you took. My memory. And right now? I have very, very strong feelings about fucking with people's memories."

"So it's fine. It's fine, I forgive you, if that makes you feel better- it's what vampires fucking do, I guess, and you can't take it back and me fucking yelling at you or coming at you isn't going to stop the next ten fucking vampires from doing it to somebody else. But this here?"

Autumn motions around to the street, to the customers and the fair goers and the book store and the Arcade. She narrows her vision, and she doesn't care if it sounds absurd, or if Daniella thinks its laughable, or if she doesn't think she means it.

"This is all fucking off limits. I will fucking kill for this."

She breathes out and looks down. How does she explain things? Autumn probably wouldn’t care about the fact that feeding isn’t even something she fully enjoys, that it truly is just a survival thing. Would she even believe her? Why does it even matter? She runs fingers through her hair. “You shouldn’t forgive me just to make you feel better. It should be because you feel like you can forgive me. Honestly, I’ve never invited someone to my place. I don’t think that makes it any better, though.”

Blue eyes look up, and she shrugs again. “You’re perfectly fine hating me if you want. I might have taken your choice away then, even if I didn’t realize the extent that I had, but this is your choice. I can’t say I won’t continue to feed, as you said, you know that I have to. But I can at least be more mindful of how I do it. I mean, none of it is ideal.” She feels like she is babbling now, and as Autumn gestures and tells her she’ll protect the community, she just nods.

        she’s having so much fun, even more fun than she would’ve had trying to tie herself down to someone else, only to get lost again. this is better, because it’s about friends, and fun, and dancing, and freedom. allie keeps a distant awareness of those she knows she’s here, and she’s missing one in particular- for quite a while, actually. daniella, where the distance between them was a swallowing chasm of complications. she’d hurt madi. allie doesn’t know what to do with it.

She feels loopy, from the laced weed to the alcohol. It’s enough that Allie surprises her enough that she nearly jumps. Her voice is refreshing though, she feels soothed almost at once. It’s a voice she’s missed, a presence she’s missed dearly. Allie. Her shoulders relax, lips already quirked in a grin.

He doesn't know how to answer that — no, he doesn't care to. She mentions his sister's and he's lifting his hands up to grip her wrists that tighten on his shirt; it's his own warning, that Ella doesn't get to fight him without a little kickback.

"Not a story you'd like to hear," it's not because it's the truth, "Thought you were into the other team; you don't want to hear about my fun, do you?" He's got no qualm lying to her face, when wrenching the other vampire's hands from his top and stepping out of her grasp. She looks so worried. Not angry.

It's not expected and it's entirely wasted.

There is something…off. She can sense it, in his tone, in the grip he manages on her wrists. It’s strong, she could still kick his ass, she is sure of it, but there wouldn’t be the usual ease in it. No, whatever is going on with Reid, it is obvious he is fed. Blue eyes scrutinize him in the dark of the shadows. He’d said her name. It doesn’t feel pleasant, much less welcome. “It’s been four months of looking for you in the most unsavory places,” she shoots back, watching him still. She doesn’t let her guard down. He’s putting her on edge.

“I don’t want bullshit.” She bites, she can see in the way he looks at her that whatever fun he has been having is all smoke and mirrors show. “What happened to you?” She’s trying to pull back the worry. “And don’t give me fake Playboy fantasies. I’m not stupid and I’d prefer you not treat me like I am.” She steps back a bit, he smells like gasoline and fire.

Before she can step off, though, Daniella pushes the elephant in the room out into the front yard. Talk? She wants to talk. This ought to be good.

"Look. I'm fucking tired, so while I am busy, and I do want to rip your head off..." She looks towards the bench, and shakes her head, because of fucking course she's actually wasting time and patience on this. "I've got five minutes. you can have two." She doesn't smile - really, if anything, her face is stone neutral. On the way over to the bench, she tosses her food into the trash.

Two minutes, a millisecond to a vampire. She doesn’t say it, though, if that is all she is given, so be it. She doesn’t make a comment when Autumn mentions being tired, she knows the girl has plenty of frustration and hostility towards her, understandably so. But it is clear there are other things happening. It isn’t her place to ask, though. It isn’t her place to comment. She doesn’t push for friendship or camaraderie, settling on the tabletop of the bench. Keep them near the same height, a calming thing. Don’t crowd her, don’t make her seem smaller.

She does it with Reid sometimes when they are sitting, makes herself smaller than she is. A habit, something she’s never been able to quite shake in stressful situations. At the girl’s words, she flinches slightly, yeah, she deserves the attitude. The hostility, again, is warranted. Shoulder gives a slight shrug.

“I joke when I’m nervous. Can’t be helped,” she murmurs, hands slipping into her sleeves. How does she phrase this? Best to come out with it clearly. “I’m sorry. I’m not going to word it all fancy or wax poetics. I did a shit thing, and treated you like shit when you called me out. It isn’t an excuse or anything, but hearing it from your perspective made me feel really gross. I didn’t mean to hurt you or anything. I didn’t think about how telling you we had a good time hanging out could like be…manipulative.”

who: open!

Another festival, another Fish Taco. Polly's having a truck here had reminded her that she hadn't had the best Fish Tacos in Port Leiry since last Summer. God, add 'another life' to the list of anothers.

Aria's manning the tiny little stall set up outside of Bookends, and Autumn's done so much helicoptering that she had been able to feel Aria getting annoyed, so she's forced herself to not do that. To have a little faith, maybe, and just... check in occasionally instead of every five seconds.

So, a stroll down the street, and only the occasional glance back at the book stall. Enough that she doesn't see the person in front of her, as she accidentally brushes shoulders with them, swerving just enough to save her Taco from disasters. "Ah, crap, sorry." She says, turning around to see who she's almost bowled over while haphazardly lapping some spilled saucy cabbage and mahi mahi off of the side of her hand. "I didn't wipe you out, did I?"

She’s deep in thought, things have been confusing, caught between possible feelings for Chamomille, a deep rooted pull. The witch feels all too familiar and completely unique. She can’t help the pull she feels towards her. But then there is Blair, she really likes Blair. Their entanglement is just casual, but it already means a lot to her. And that fucking Hunter she has been tracking has gone underground again.

Then there is Reid, plaguing her from her couch, humanity off…she misses his boyscout routine. And then there is the Uber driver, she’d been such a bitch to her the last time they had seen one another. How had life gotten like this? So muddled and jumbled. So complicated? There is a brushing into her shoulder, a familiar scent, followed by that familiar voice.

Autumn.

The girl clearly has other things on her mind, not having caught on to who it is right away, and the vampire takes an unnecessary breath. “It was my fault, I wasn’t watching. Sorry about your taco,” she mumbles and looks away for a second, waiting for the recognition. She should apologize, right? Again? For all the shit she no doubt has added to the younger girl’s plate.

She wants to move in, to get closer, to get in her face. She wants to feel big, like she's the one in charge. It's not something she's ever cared about until all of this. But she also doesn't want to start things. Not here. Not in public. Not with people around who deserve to be happy and feel safe and unbothered by the drama of monsters. People like she used to be.

"You made me think I was a friend. Made me think it was all just a good time. I am so sick of people making me remember shit that never happened and feel things I don't fucking feel. I trusted you when I went into your house, and maybe that was stupid of me, but none of that was giving me a choice, so stop lying to yourself."

Her eyes harden again as the other goes on, she thought she remembered but whatever fucked up iteration Autumn spews is far from the truth. “Are you fucking kidding me right now? You’re implying some really fucked up shit. The only thing I made you do was find everything was normal. That’s all I said. I didn’t make you stay. I didn’t make you watch a movie. I didn’t make you ask questions. Sorry, I didn’t want to fuck your mind with the information of what I was and what I was asking. Sorry, I let you relax. Sorry, I fucking fed you. Sorry, I didn’t bite you, take the memory, and then leave a mark on you like some fucked up momento you could find later and worry about what happened. So yeah Autumn, fuck off. I apologized multiple times now. You don’t have to accept that, but that doesn’t mean you get to pick and choose what you twist to fit your narrative.”

Gone are the days of rats, and deer. He still reeks of gasoline, he’s still got blood pooled at his collar. But it’s late — and Port Leiry’s a city of night that can easily come alive in the dark; it’s quiet out in the streets. He hasn’t even figured out how long he’d been rotting yet, let alone what day of the week it is.

Reid would say he’s in control of this. That he can tidy up, go greet his little sisters and see how much truth there is to his sire’s goading; his sister hospitalised, psychiatric — he's got no means to know, without knocking on her door. He’s burned down his means of showering, for one. Won’t be kind to siblings about the mess of him, either. There’s something demeaning about swinging by his siblings' respective places, only to have them query where he's been. You okay? Better than ever —

Isn't gonna fly as well as he thinks it might.

But as luck would have it, there's a woman on his path — she looks like she's looking for something. Funny. She's not pining over decencies or sympathising with wolf bars. He knows this one. Not changed. But —

It’s still a habit, glancing down the alleys like Reid Halstead will be hunched in one. Even as she walks towards Soleil for the night, Frankie would annoy her more than usual if she calls out again, even if she knows she won’t be fired. She’s the best bartender they have, the closest they have to a witch with the cocktails she creates to make the clientele a little extra loose with their wallets and inhibitions. His voice startles her, like a ghost appearing from the veil. Like Emily had slipped to her on New Year's.

The way he says her name is something foreign. Reid had never uttered it before. Accusatory eyes move to him and without much thought, she grabs him by the front of his shirt and throws him into the alley. “Fucking asshole!” she bites out, she’d been worried for so long. His family has been scared they’d lost their brother. And here he is snarking like he hasn’t been gone. She stalks towards him

“Oh hell fucking no, you rude ass bitch. What are you some drunk alcohol-soaked bastard? Talking to another woman in such a way. Especially in the twenty-first century, you slag.” She bites out in offense, hand moving to shove at the woman’s face trying to get her out and then she says her name. The first of which means nothing, but Mors…she knows Mors, her grip loosens, and the witch tumbles inside.

“I speak a few languages. Ones with us and those that have passed. A bit of a hobby of mine I’ve been trained in through my schooling.” Studying languages as she traveled, learning the ways to speak in lost tongues so she could read through the histories of the lives she carried with her. Those precious lines that had been cut too short. She knows her hand is cold when they connect, the warmth of this Cham feeling faintly like coming back home, something in her scent calling to her.

“Why would I laugh? Perhaps Daniella is merely a chosen name.” she jokes at the truth of it, in the castle they didn’t have names. And she’d been there for oh so long. And after, there was a feeling of displacement. Of not belonging. Her first teacher, her first friend had helped to make her a new life in more ways than one. Blue traces down to where the other maps the sun, something sad fluttering at the thought that yet again she will miss a meeting with the star.

Reid doesn’t know her angle entirely. Cocky, confident — something of himself staring back at him, behind aged eyes and a dulled kind of patience. He might have been that once, but where understanding had once been, coldness had claimed. The mirror doesn't come with age, or acceptance. It comes from experience; he knows everything about a hunter, but nothing about the hunted. Where roles are reversed, Daniella is annoyingly, more versed. But he imagines that’s all the dead are good for; devouring the living.

The scoff is almost silent, a single puff of disapproval to her ignorance.

She studies him as she finishes her drink. She’s dealt with this pathetic punk long enough. And as he doles out his sarcasm she rolls her eyes and snorts. “Please, I’ve had plenty of your words for the night. I have a shift to get to and now I have to go change.” A hand slips around her bottle, finishing it before reaching into her pocket bringing out a wallet, and checking it.

Autumn's lips curl under the weight of her scowl, and she takes a slow step forward. "You sick fuck, you can't just use people like that."

It's stupid, and hypocritical, maybe. Aria had done the same, well, no, not quite. Stealing her memories, bad enough. But what this girl'd done makes her feel the same gross way the memory of the masquerade does. Clueless, stupid, and brainwashed, traipsing around like little more than entertainment and food. A plaything for strangers to indulge in. Aria's done things, but never that.

Her stone-face betrays a tremor, briefly, like she wants to say something else, but she stays quiet, staring into Daniella's eyes. Do it. Do it. She's not sorry, she probably doesn't even remember you. How many other people has she done that to? How many will she do it to?

She flinches, visibly at the words, the stoic look crumbling for a moment. She looks pained. The remorse is clear in blue eyes. The evening is shattered, she wants to go home. Forget that she was here, wanders if that is her true nature. Was she just preying on those around her? She swallows back unnecessarily, looking at the way the other trembles slightly.

Lips part, close, and then part again. “Autumn…” the name hangs, she had thought what she had done was the closest she could give the girl to a choice without scaring her. Without breaking centuries upon centuries of rules. Regulations even she won’t sacrifice. A survival tactic.

She'd escaped that night with little more than an oddly vague memory of watching a movie with a... a what, a friend? It didn't bother her that she had no memories of Daniella before that night, or since. Then, by the light of the full moon, clarity.

Clarity and humiliation and frustration and anger.

She thinks about reaching out, but knows better than to do so. She can see the anger in those eyes, the fury. She isn’t scared by any means, if Autumn was turned there is no danger now. There is a mere glimmer she thinks she sees for a second, hurt mixed in that angered scowl. She knows she deserves, hates that things couldn’t have been different. The girl had been sweet and understanding.

’ It’s because you made her that way ‘  echos in her head, a chilling reminder of the life she leads to survive.

She winces at he pain of being pulled free, brought around just in time to not be torn free so much as pulled roughly free, red staining the insides of her lip and the white and silver two-tone of her teeth with a pink wash, she already looks ashamed, and all-to breathless for something which need not breathe. Birdie swallows it down, drags a forearm across her mouth, looks up to Daniella with something that's not quite apologetic but certainly not proud either - time was not too long ago when she'd have made a play to kill another vampire without much to-do, but things have changed, and become not quite so clear cut in this city.

She feels her stomach curl at the stale, dead blood, already drained from another, already sapped of its potency for the most part, and her body - her corpse - steals what it can.

“Shit happens,” she replies easily, her hand moving to wipe the traces of the leftover meal before rolling her sleeve back down. “You don’t have to shrink away like that. Blood is blood.” she tells her in her own honesty. “I won’t tell you how to live your life, but the more you deny it, the harder it gets, kid.” Honestly, now she is hungry, but the thought of feeding on anyone in this air makes her stomach a bit queasy. Granted if she ravaged someone there would be less of a possible feeling of guilt.

“You look a bit better at least. Do you frequent this place? Maybe you’ve seen someone out of the ordinary? He has a tattoo about here,” she motions to where Reid’s tattoo was held. "Tall, blonde, clean cut. He doesn’t feed either, violent, but not in the typical way. Talks about killing our kind and praises hunters. Someone who wouldn’t be here of his free will.” She tries, eyes moving from the other to scan the area when she hears a ruckus coming from a group of men talking about bloodsuckers putting up a fight.

who: @blccmedrage

Back inside from dropping something off in the car, she scans the venue; Aria's not performing yet, so she's got a bit of time, anyways. So then she's looking for somebody to hover with. The venue's kind of loud, and kind of overwhelming - she's not quite learned how to deal with this kind of setting with the new, acute nature of her senses, or how to use them to isolate scents in big groups like this, so she has to rely on her eyes to find Morgan or Kevin or, hell, even A.J.

But as she tries to make her way through the sea of party-goers a whips of blond passes directly in front of her; innocuous enough, but the scent on the trail of her sparks a memory that leads her to follow the flash of gold hair, and when the woman turns around, the cut of her face sparks a flash in her mind, like shining a flashlight into a dark but familiar room.

It's weird, remembering something twice, a memory lurking there, you cognition unaware it ever went missing until it slaps you in the face. Daniella, that was her name. Call me Ella. She feels a sharp pain at her wrist - the one left unmarked by Aria, and raises it - clean as anything, not a scar in sight. Her lip curls in sudden fury and she trudges through the crowd, shouldering past one person roughly enough for him to call after her, even if she doesn't hear.

Behind Daniella, her tone's dark, angry - she can't lose it, not in here, but God, something in her coils tight at the thought of not pressing it here and now. Of not making herself heard. Nobody's here to tell her not to make a scene, least of all herself.

She’s having a good time with both Chamomile and Blair, the witches and her having smoked one of Cham’s coined girl blunts before they’d gotten here. And she’s half sure Blair has been staring at her most of the night already. Which she is pleased with, perhaps she had dressed so scantily this evening for the witch’s attention. She was on her way to get more drinks for the table, it made sense, she was the most graceful, and if she set her face a certain way crowds would part for her easily.

Even in a packed event, as she walks she keeps the disinterest bitch of a persona on and as normal they move from her path, but something in her tells her she’s being trailed. The plod of sneakered feet paces not too far behind, the scent of wet fur and earth intruding her nose, she’s being stalked. Not followed.

She keeps blue forward, she doesn’t want trouble, just wants to have a fun night with her friends. Hopefully, go home with Blair at the end of the night. The witch had commented on her being her Lyft despite her lack of a vehicle, probably a play on words. She’s almost to the bar when the wolf finally speaks. It’s demanding, of course, it is, she didn’t need a wolf’s nose to know that aggression is rolling off the other. The way her sneakers had been hitting the floor had been telling enough. An angered march.

She needs that book; it represents years of work.

She whispers some old word or another, and a force unseen braces against the door, pushing against Daniella's grip on the door in a way that Briar wouldn't have the strength for, locking them in a tug of war over control of the door itself. She peers in through the opening at Daniella wrapped in her cloak. "Out the way, thief!"

It’s not until the push of an obvious spell that she squints at the woman again. “Where did you come from?” she asks, still holding the door strongly, despite the magic’s push. “What year and how are you not dead?” she demands, she’s never read of an immortality spell that didn’t cause death and destruction. And it was an obvious sign that she wasn’t a vampire if she was using spell work and dousing rods…or well a clearly a craft project version.

“I’m not a thief, so I don’t know what you are on about. I’d have to know you to steal any book of yours. So you’ll have to talk a bit more clearly.” she tries to push the arm out of the doorframe.

        when daniella asks so nicely, how could she push harder? it was what she was most afraid of, losing daniella, forcing her away with how needy she is. too much, and not enough. it’s not fair to feel this much, for both of them. allie’s supposed to suffer, but daniella doesn’t deserve it. she has to deal with allie’s mess, and she’s still gone through so much. she wishes she wasn’t so greedy.

        her fingers wander up to her new favorite necklace, tracing the stone masquerading as cold.  “ did you promise emily? ”  

        “ okay, well, just saying, if you’re ever, like, starving, or even hungry a little bit, you can have me. ”  she’s being playful, fulfilling the prophecy of daniella’s world of silly witches. but she gets too attached, too invested in a new little plan. it’s not so much the blood she wants to give, as much as the trust, the gift, the warmth and sweetness and magic. she takes ella’s hands in hers with a sort of urgency.  “ we could totally, like, put in a cup, or something. or even a mug! i have so many cute ones, ella. ”  she’s gonna’ get an old-timey bat one, just for her, something with cute little teeth.

        it’s easier to breeze past the compliments, flushing sweetly without touching it too closely. her thanks comes in the way she squeezes ella’s hands.  “ you’re not selfish, everytime we’re together, you’re always looking out for me. and even when we’re not. ”  her heart’s beating quickens with the intensity of how much she believes her words. she knows ella can hear it, the beating in her chest, she’s told her before. maybe it will convince her.  “ and, it’s alright, i’m the one that’s totally in love with you, and wrecking everything all the time. ”

She hums at the question of who she promised. “Not Emily, no, though it did strengthen my resolve having her. I promised myself. You see, there have been so many witches throughout my entire life up until even now. They took care of me, and taught me about who I am and what I am. I watched their blood spill with no way to help for so long. Evil people executing them for simply existing. For being different. I swore after my first mentor was killed that I would never do that, I would never be the cause of spilling a witch's blood. No matter how hungry I am. I will feed on rats if I have to, be weak.” she sighs only to chuckle.

“Allie, I love you dearly and I’m sure you would taste amazing, I have heard that witch blood tastes particularly rich, but I’m not going to feed on you. Even like that. If I had my way all that precious blood would stay in you. But that isn’t my decision to make. I only ask that you are careful with yourself.” her fingers play over Allie’s hand between them.

Human blood though, it's a line in the sand for her. Even Lara's bagged blood makes her stomach turn at the thought.

She watches in curiosity at the look in the other blonde’s eyes. One of those, fair enough. She won’t make a big deal of this or tease then. She can see the way the other eyes her arm with a dimming glint, pride wounded as she moves in to take the offer. The woman feels ashamed, of that she can tell. And that was fair.

She had always been taught a meal was a meal no matter where it had come from, but her teachings hadn’t been given from anyone of their species. Sometimes she still couldn’t grasp the laws and teachings of their kind. They didn’t make sense to her, though she is sure her own repulsion to the idea of feeding off of a witch could also be seen as unconventional.