reborn

@cecilyhale — farmer johnson’s house. 

Gabe had stepped away from his date for just a moment — only enough time to find her Jeep and pull his jacket free. He’d noticed the dropping temperature, and while it didn’t affect him much, it would be different for Vienna. Hence, the jacket. Little did the man know, he wouldn’t make it back so quickly. Because as he was walking, he felt the change — the scent of decay hitting his nose, giving pause to his movement as oceanic hues scanned the area. Visually, he could detect nothing… but as the seconds passed, the Beta realized something was very wrong. 

It was Cecily he saw first, catching her by the arm as she moved past him. “Do you smell that?” he asked, brows knit together, standing straighter with broad shoulders — on guard. And then, he saw it, the crease in his brow deepening as he warred with what his eyes delivered and his mind knew to be impossible. Funny. He should know nothing was impossible in Blackvale, even zombies. Gabe realized the path back to the blonde was blocked by a hoard of the undead and there would be no way through, no matter how much he wanted to get back and protect Vienna. “Come on,” he commanded, turning back to Cecily before jogging to the house only a few meters away. “We need to get somewhere safe while we still can.” He would trust Vienna to do the same. 

In all of her nearly 337 years, Cecily had never experienced anything quite like this. The smell was overwhelming and it wasn’t just because her senses were heightened; humans in the crowd had their hands covering their noses, the logs in the raging fire not even enough to cover the stench. Cecily’s eyes searched for a familiar face as she began pushing through the throngs of people toward the source of the horrible odor, eventually finding Gabe’s when his hand met her forearm. Her mouth opened to answer his question but before she could speak, the look of alarm on his face drew her gaze across the field. “Are you f...” she breathed, convinced that her eyes were playing tricks on her. Was this even possible? Oh if her father could see this...

The change of tone in his voice was like a jolt of energy and Cecily immediately sprung into action, following him and a handful of other people who’d had the same idea into the house. She instinctually locked the front door after they had made it inside, though she didn’t know if that would actually do any good; in all of her years of studying, Cecily had never thought it necessary to pay attention to the zombie section. “Who did this?” she snapped at Gabe, though she knew he wouldn’t have an answer for her. “What the fuck is going on?”

Cecily confirms, and Quinn is both at peace with it all, and completely distressed. It is such an odd feeling, though she supposes she is grateful that he simply hasn’t noticed her yet - rather than it being a case of ignoring her existence. Truth be told, she isn’t quite sure why he did what he did, or if he had meant to. It doesn’t matter, now. Only the question at hand. Her lips press together, and Quinn wants to circumvent this entirely. But she can’t. Not now, not with Cecily. A quiet ‘um’ escapes her as she attempts to decide how to go about this.

For whatever reason, she isn’t ready to go into great detail on the past fifty years. Not with her, at least. “He bit me.” Quinn would count on the downward lilt of her voice to fill in the unspoken blanks. He didn’t mean to, it wasn’t on purpose, she just wants to go home. “I… didn’t want to stay away..” For whatever reason, she feels as though Cecily requires an explanation. She’d always been close to Tiber, and Tiber close with her. Quinn knew she didn’t stack up to this woman’s expectations, and she didn’t know why until that one night when it all went wrong. And now, in spite of it, she is asking her for so much. “Can you help me? Please? I know you’ve never much liked me, but..”

Tiberius killed her. Cecily remembered that day like it was yesterday, she remembered how horrified her closest friend had been when he realized what the monster inside him had done. She’d held him and tried to comfort him, two things that Cecily rarely did for anybody anymore. She had never seen a heart break so jagged as Tiber’s. But now Quinn was standing in front of her, the same woman from all of those years ago but also different somehow - more timid, frightened, unsure. Cecily’s brows drew together when a thought came to mind - if Quinn was alive, why didn’t Tiber already know? Why couldn’t he sense her, or smell her, or just...feel her? How didn’t he know?

“Help you?” she repeated back to her as if trying to decode what those words could possibly mean. “Where have you been?” If Quinn had been turned in Blackvale, then that meant...she had been right under their noses the whole time. A strange feeling washed over Cecily then, a mixture of nonsensical jealousy and truly not knowing what the fuck to do. Part of her knew that Tiber would want to be with the love of his life again, but couldn’t he be better off never knowing? “What do you want?” It wasn’t a question laced with any malintent...but it couldn’t have been all that comforting either.

The tension is palpable in this very moment, and Quinn’s earthy hues are locked onto Cecily as she tries to make a judgment call on her own safety. Nothing has changed about the blonde. No wrinkles. No gray hairs. She’s frozen in time, or at least, her time has stilled considerably. Just like Cecily. This is the right thing to do, right? Do her homework, check in with her friends? But Quinn is dead, or at least, that is what everyone believes. But one by one, that veil is being lifted. Eventually, he would know. Perhaps he already does. Carefully, she retracts her hand, pushing the hood back only enough to make herself clear. “Don’t freak out,” she whispers, as if soft words would keep any nerves at bay. Despite how far from close they had been, Quinn desires nothing more than to hug this woman. Tiber’s best friend, and the one person who would never lie to her. “I’ll explain everything, I promise. But… I need your help, Cecily.” Pressing her lips together, her brows pull upward, “…he doesn’t know, does he?” Less a question, more an observation, the words are still spoken. Unlike every other encounter, there is no part of her that has the will to beg for secrecy.

The two women could not be more different. One was dark, one was light. One had seen ehr fair share of evil in the world, one was as innocent as the day she was born. In the sixties, Quinn was a carefree flower child, and while Cecily had not been one for governmental authority or rules of any kind in a long time, the blonde’s hippy dippy, angelic appearance nearly made Cecily nauseous. Tiber had been infatuated with her for reasons beyond Cecily’s comprehension and though she valued her friend’s happiness and wanted him to find love, she had never understood why Quinn had been the one for him. She hadn’t wished her dead, however, and it had taken a long time for Tiber to begin to heal, a process that probably wouldn’t ever conclude. Or so she assumed.

The ghost before her spoke again, revealing that lilting voice and wisps of golden hair that Cecily remembered so well and haunted her best friend’s dreams at night. “Quinn-- I don’t--” She had learned a long time ago not to believe that anything was impossible, but Cecily had never considered this particular situation. She stared at Tiber’s wife with wide eyes, still trying to get the idea of her being alive through her mind. “He doesn’t.” Of course he didn’t, he would be beside himself...he would have told her. “How?”

Tiber: Make sure the statue they erect of me in the town square is anatomically correct.

Tiber: See you soon, grandma.

Cecily: 🖕🏻

So there she was, already halfway through a bag of popcorn that she’d snagged when they first arrived and strolling through the crowd by his side. “This actually...isn’t as bad as I thought it would be,” she admitted, eyes taking in everything before them before focusing on Guillaume again. “Don’t judge me if I eat my way through this whole event.”

Tiber: Can't really talk now cec I'm

Tiber: There are still people out here. Can't leave them. I'm with caleb so find gabe and STAY PUT. If you get yourself killed before we get you back to andover i'll kick your ass.

Cecily: Are you fuckin

Cecily: Fuck you

Cecily: Where are you??

@cecilyhale

Quinn had come early, fearing that if she didn’t push herself to just go, she might never. That is what led her to this place, a giant field where others had begun to gather. Anxiety riddles her body and mind for a multitude of reasons, but she is doing her best. She knows the truth now, through and through, and she is doing her very best. Or so she thinks. She’d yet to go to the keg, though her sights are glued upon it and in the distance, the finishing touches are being put on what would soon be a bonfire. It is a warm evening, but the cool breeze is what brings her to wear a hoodie, stolen from god knows who. She never used to be like this, but Quinn felt she needed something to help hide in. A security blanket, if anything. Bottom lip having become the victim of nervous chewing, her fingers fumble with the sleeves of the too big covering. That’s when she sees her. Cecily. And for whatever reason, her gut propels her forward. Their relationship had never been strong, though it had never been rough. It simply wasn’t there, despite niceties and attempts made. But now, pushing her insecurities aside, she would reach out to the only other person that knows Tiber even close to as well as she does. She likely does know him better, now. The thought stings. A hand would lift to touch to the woman’s arm, and Quinn would only whisper, “Cec.”

Cecily hadn’t been planning on going to the bonfire until Guillaume walked into her store earlier that day and ever so sweetly asked her to go with him; the last public event held in Blackvale did not exactly end well, and it left an ominous dark cloud over the town in the weeks since. Not to mention that she had just learned that her brother was alive and very well, the leader of the Loches’ rival pack, though Cecily had never cared for pack politics. She hadn’t even gotten the chance to fully discuss her brother’s return with Tiber, things had happened so quickly... But there she was, out with the rest of the town’s citizens in an open field with a huge fire burning in the center of it. What could possibly go wrong.

Guillaume had gone off to find a snack for them only moments before, and Cecily’s eyes immediately scanned the crowd for the two most important men in her life: Thomas and Tiber -  Thomas because she felt compelled to know where he was at all times now (call it separation anxiety after over 300 years spent apart) and Tiber because there was so much that she needed to speak with him about. She had just begun to weave her way through the crowd when someone caught her arm; Cecily was ready to throw the hand off of her and mutter something about personal space, but the face shrouded in a much-too-large hooded sweatshirt froze her to the spot. Even enhanced eyesight could not confirm what..or who...she thought she saw. “Who--” Could this really be happening to Cecily again?

He’d laugh a little, awkwardly, not entirely out of the ordinary for Gui, but not exactly on brand, either. Moving through most of his life in a way that made him feel like an outcast had him coming to grips with his awkward demeanor early on— but those feelings never came from a place of bashfulness, or a lacking of surety. Not like they did now. Not only is this woman beautiful, but she has bite. Guillaume is way out of his league, and he knows it. “Not so much a brag as a profession. You wouldn’t shame me for my hobbies would you, now?” A soft breath shook free from his chest, having been trapped for however long since he remembered to breathe. “You know…” A hand waves before his fingertips make their way to the counter top, tapping idly as he did his best to muster a look of consideration. “Everything.” He grinned, “I wish I were joking. You should see my house. My uncle gets quite cross with my mess.” By mess, of course, he’d been referring to the hoards of novels scattered across their shared living space. 

“I want to know what a quirky bookshop owner reads in her downtime.” Gui allowed his smile to widen, genuine as it was, until it crinkled the edges of his eyes. “And, maybe, if she could pull herself away from it long enough to join me at the bonfire tonight?”

This guy was adorable. The thought popped into Cecily’s head and caught her by surprise, despite the smiles that he had been bringing to her lips in the short amount of time since he stepped through the front door of her shop. It was refreshing to speak with somebody so genuine...most people in Blackvale were too jaded from living so long or just insufferable in general, but the man whose hand grazed the countertop between them didn’t seem to have a cynical bone in his body, if her ability to perceive an accurate first impression hadn’t faltered. “Of course not. That wouldn’t be very nice.” Of course, Cecily being nice really depended on her mood of the day. “Well, your uncle doesn’t sound like a lot of fun,” she commented, ironic considering just who Guillaume’s uncle was, though still unknown to her. 

“I don’t think that quirky is the right word, necessarily...” What came next completely threw her off guard and it surely showed on her face. “You’re ask-- what?” It had been a while since anyone had shown this type of interest in Cecily and even longer since she had accepted. But something about the man before her made her want to oblige. “I mean I’m flattered, but you don’t know anything about me...are you sure?” Why was she doing that? She’d been alive long enough to know that she shouldn’t question a sweet invitation. “...okay. Sure. Why not?”

It’s not that he hadn’t expected Cec to comply, it’s just that he didn’t think she’d give in quite so easily. He wouldn’t complain. Tiber certainly did not mind listening in on a runaway reverie- especially where it concerned one of the very few he’d come to actively care about. He turned his attention back to the sky above them, last bits of light filtering away as the sun sank over the mountains. It was easy to forget about the world outside of Blackvale. But once in a while, the memory sneaks up on you, and it’s hard not to let that wanderlust shake you to your very core. “Andover.” He repeated, doing his best to coat the word in jest, though he’d had a difficult time leaving off the bitterness. “So what if you were homesick.” Tiber lifted his foot, kicking gently, playfully, in Cecily’s direction. “Home can be a feeling. A person. Doesn’t have to just be a place.” He shifted to press the bottle back into her hands.

“I’m not fussy for the east coast.” Too many memories. Too many terrible experiences. “London wasn’t so bad. I wonder what it’s like now.” Considering that it was vastly different than what it was like in 2019. “You know I met Charles Dickens once.” Humblebrag. “But I don’t know. I guess I’ve never really cared much for the scenery. It’s always mattered more who was with me.” Tiber shrugged before he’d prop himself up on his elbow and turn to face the other wolf. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to ignore your gut, Cec?” It was almost a warning, “I know damn well you’re not new enough to this party to be ignoring intuition.”

“Yeah, Andover.” She repeated the name of the town with the same tone as he had, appreciating the fact that he cared enough about her to recognize the weight behind a simple threading of syllables. Cecily cracked a smile and her eyes met his again. “I guess so. I’ve been here longer than I’ve been anywhere else but I don’t know if I would call it home, really.” There were only two people that she connected the feeling of home to and they were both long gone, and by her hand. Or paw. Even the romances she’d had over the years didn’t compare to the feeling of belonging to a family; she supposed that’s what a pack meant to most wolves, and though Cecily knew that the Loche pack had grown on her, it still wasn’t her idea of a perfect situation.

“Oh wow, cool!” she commented, turning up the dial on enthusiasm for just a moment. “Did he model Scrooge after you?” Teasing aside, Tiber did have a point. He was one of the few people who could talk any amount of sense into Cecily, the only person whose opinion truly mattered to her other than Zachariah’s...and while her relationship with Zach had been forged out of necessity, Cecily had actively developed this friendship with the Loche alpha. “Yeah yeah, I know.” Her lips met the bottle again and she took another long swig as she thought. “Problem is, I don’t know what my gut’s trying to tell me this time. So I guess I just have to wait and see.” One would think that after years of practice, patience would have become one of her strengths...unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.

He wasn’t entirely certain he could look any less amused had he tried, the sharp edge of his brow as it rose might have all too easily mimicked the edge of the knife tucked safely away at his hip. “Sarcastic.” Zeke repeated, not nearly stupid enough to believe as much. Too many within this town easily caught up in the goings on, letting subtle details slip between their fingers well enough to leave the truth of their existence tangible enough to reach out and grab. You just don’t see quite enough hangings anymore. Past tense; spoken as if she’d certainly seen her fair share. The hunter quick enough to piece together what he needed to. “Says she willing enough to use the hanging of the Mayor as a conversation starter. Most normal people, at least pretend to be fucking shocked by it.” Rather than piece it together with reminiscence of some sort. “You fucking said it, not me.”

She stood her ground, though this conversation was not one that looked like it would continue for much longer. “Cool it with the tone. Are you always this aggressive? Because it’s really not a good look.” She had known too many angry people in her lifetime; those angry people became so consumed with proving themselves or asserting that what they believed was the only correct way to think that they destroyed themselves and others in the process. It was dangerous for everybody involved, and Cecily was not about to become collateral damage yet again. She pulled her bag higher up on her shoulder and moved to step around him. “There seems to be a lot you need to unpack here. There a few good therapists in town, maybe you should look into getting rid of that rage.”

He was expected to have been paying attention, he’s sure. Something something about a small town, a friendly face, and a barrage of people who knew way too much about each other. But he’s sat quietly with his coffee and the paper, and there’s at least one other person in the cafe that she could be bothering besides him. “Unfortunately, I did not have the pleasure of attending.” He’d wave idly before licking his thumb and turning the page. “Shame, really.” Rich remarked dryly, “Fucking around in the mayor’s mansion until three in the morning sounds like such a hoot.” 

It did not.

Cecily wasn’t the friendliest person around...it was difficult to actually cultivate relationships with people when you would likely outlive them by at least half a century, so what was the point in extending extra pleasantries? In this case, the man seated at the table was just somebody to throw a comment towards so she could meet her quota of interaction for the day, not anyone she was going to befriend. He seemed just about as thrilled to be alive as she did at that moment, though, which could be considered amusing. “I don’t know about fucking around,” Cecily returned with a light snorted as she pressed down on the lid of the coffee cup to secure it. “Certainly not what I was up to. Consider yourself lucky, it wasn’t exactly the party of the year.”

Sawyer manages to give the woman a nod, eyeing her easily as she moves across the room in an attempt to leave. He doesn’t necessarily blame her, the house does have a certain creep factor to it, which Sawyer can’t tell came before or after the death of the mayor. Either way, he isn’t overly keen on sticking around either and, once the woman is out of sight, he collects himself and goes back to his job. The sooner this shit is done, I’m out of here, he thinks.

But little does he know it will become much more extensive than he could have imagined.

Sawyer can’t help the smirk that is forming on his lips at her response. He has always enjoyed making people wonder about him and his motives, though in most cases it is as clear as day what purpose he is holding. But to him, when interacting with the very things he kills for fun, Sawyer knows better than to lay all of his dirty laundries in front of them. “That’s the point.” He murmurs to himself, hands still being stuffed into his pockets as he looks around lazily with the woman for her bracelet. It was a bracelet, correct? Sawyer has long since forgotten the real reason for meandering around.

“That was easy enough.” He quips, eyes wandering to her wrist as she lifts it into the air, a gesture he had seen many times before.

Cecily rose from the floor and kicked the frayed edges of the rug back into place, then rubbed her hands on her jeans as if to get any dust from the creepy house off of her skin. What she really wanted to do was drown herself in a giant vat of Purell, but a hot shower at home would have to do. “Mhm. Told you.” She crossed back across the room towards the doorway from which they had entered, not allowing her eyes to slide back towards the sight in the foyer. Jesus, were they ever going to take that man down? “Well, I got what I came for. Good luck with whatever...this entails...” A hand gestured to no one thing in particular; Cecily was not easily made uncomfortable, but the detective was not exactly a friendly presence and she didn’t want to spend one more second there than she had to.

Gui watched carefully as she grabbed at the book, inspecting it closer in an attempt to address his query. A soft roll of his shoulders and a clearing of his throat lessened the grin that had overtaken his visage. Perhaps, he thought, it might bode him well to come across a little less stalker-ish. “Of course it’s in print, darlin’.” Gui drawls, taking a step closer to the counter, elbow pressing against it’s top as he leaned his weight against it. “That there’s a classic. Translates well, too. French version is almost a different novel in its entirety— though equally as exciting.” 

He’d wave a hand, perhaps meant for himself, in an attempt to keep from oversharing. Guillaume had a tendency to become excited. Not everyone handled that well. “That’s not the only reason I’m here.” He blinked a few times, rapidly, slowly swallowing a lump that had began to form in his throat. It’d be easy, surely, to just ask the girl for her number. Give her a call. Ask her on a date. But Gui, boy, did Guillaume have a hard time with people. “I, uh- wondered if you had any recommendations of your own?”

Smooth.

Emerald hues slid up to his face again as he spoke, connecting the accented words to the lips from which they came. A small smile spread across her own lips then and she placed the book down on the polished wooden countertop. “French, huh? Is this what the kids call a humble brag?” He seemed a bit nervous for some reason, so teasing him seemed like the only natural thing to do. “I know a bit myself, though I can’t say I’ve read an entire French novel in a while. Not even a classic.” Perhaps the idea of re-reading certain volumes felt tedious because Cecily could recall a time when these so-called classics were brand new. “Let me see what I can do.” Her laptop appeared from the drawer beneath the counter and she opened the lid, fingers quickly dancing across the keys as she searched the title.

“Oh really? Well there isn’t a Starbucks out back, unfortunately, so your options are a bit slim.” The words were sarcastic but her tone stayed playful, the only way she could really get away with consistently sassing people on a daily basis. She looked back up when he finished his question and nodded slowly. “Sure. It depends on what you’re into, really. What do you like?” It was a surprisingly intimate job that she had - the old shop wasn’t a Barnes and Noble where people roamed through aisles upon aisles without speaking a word to another person; Cecily learned more about people sitting behind that counter than she had in most other places she had been in her life.