with a cherry on top

It was on nights like this one, that she acted on her impulses with little disregard for her own life. A life, that she had convinced herself, she was undeserving of. A second chance that could've been granted to anyone else.

The woman approached her then, and Anika stood up, legs threatning to give out from underneath her for a fleeting moment, "Not in a place like this, I suppose." she began, " — where a seventy year old doesn't look a day over twenty."

A human wouldn't be as foolish to walk alone at night, and the woman seemed far from clueless, so that only left her with so little options.

Mossy hues traced every movement, "You're no fun then." and she failed to see what other use she'd make of her unwanted company.

"I'm not much of a chatter."

The laugh Cerise gave was void of actual sentiment to it, but it was baked in the undertones of understanding what was going on here. Or believing that she understood. The witch resisted the urge to help steady the girl, though admittedly she would have otherwise been concerned of the drunk little spitfire falling on her own sword, so to speak. She'd wager Hunter given the evidence presented to her, but rarely did those sorts ever let themselves be so vulnerable in the dead of night.

"You flatter me, if you suspect I look that young. Or you're insulting me, if you think I'm actually that old," Cerise shrugged. Yes, she tended to lie about her age, but that was a matter of a few years really. And she still continued to age otherwise.

But in the case this girl wasn't a hunter, would bringing up vampires be so bad if she was too drunk to remember? Then again, some hunters as of late had taken to attacking witches, so again, the redhead kept wary.

"I'll say -- I don't exactly think you're in a fit state to carry on much conversation, unless you intend for that blade to do the talking for you," she said, eyeing the weapon again. "Is that what you're out here doing? Looking for fun?"

"Oh, hi!" she replied, the same touch of nervousness that's always present in her voice. She pushes up the frames of her glasses and gives the taller woman a crooked smile. "Tea would be very nice, thank you," she replies.

Coming to the solarium when she had her emotions all jumbled up had become an inadvertent habit. The plants had a way of helping her untangle some of the worst knots. Hawthorn had a similar effect, but maybe it was also just nice to have someone else around was actively thinking about her, even if it was only because she was invading her space.

Jac sets her bag down and tucks it under a table to be out of the way and moves to join Cerise at the plant. "Does that one have any magical qualities?" No one had bothered to teach her about herbs and plants so she liked to ask questions where she could. "I thought I saw something similar in Hawthorn a few weeks ago."

"Of course, give me a moment to finish this," she nodded, turning over the leaves of her plant to inspect the veins running through them. This yellow dock was healthy enough, likely in a good place maturity-wise to dry out and turn into a powder for potion use. Cerise hummed, looking down at Jac as the girl approached. She was terribly sweet, extremely timid, and had a wealth of curiosity the elder witch could just tell wasn't being properly encouraged.

"It does, actually, though its traditional medicinal uses are far more varied," Cerise explained. "Generally speaking, it's used for drawing out toxins, purifying blood, and has some anti-inflammatory properties. I hear some people use it in salads as well. But for spellwork, I've found that it has its best uses in spells that promote good energy and happiness in the domestic space. Mood enhancers, dream draughts, things like that."

As a Phial witch, she was always looking at her potions as the answers to a particular question. A very alchemical answer, typically, but useful nonetheless. But that meant so much of her mixing was based on trial and error, balancing ingredients with intended effects. She knew the Feng-Lindon coven specialized in the base elements of the world, nature itself. It was fascinating, in its way, how each witch's magic could manifest so differently. She remembered the girl's coven actually merging, right around the time she first came to Port Leiry itself.

"In the fall, the yellow dock seeds can actually turn quite red. I suppose it would look quite fetching for the landscaping of Hawthorn come autumn." Cerise held up a hand and moved to the small adjacent kitchen in her home -- separate from the space where she brewed her potions -- to start the kettle. "What sort of tea would you prefer, Jac? I've got just about anything, though I'm running low on ceylon."

Since her recovery  Blair had been making a point of rotating through the witches of her coven, ensuring they were okay. Doing what she could to shore up defenses and make sure no other people were at risk. Cerise was one of the last names on that list. 

Blair had known the florist since she had first stumbled into town. Blair had been a scared teenager, coming into town in the wake of tragedy. She remembered the women Cerise had once been. Kind, making sure Blair had found a space in the town she could now call home. That had been back when the older witch had been whole. Now.. that women seemed to only truly live in Blairs memory.  She had put off seeing the women, afraid of seeing her own reflection in the literally heartless women.  See her own spiral down into the gnawing hunger of revenge that sat in her gut.

Blair waved as she entered the shop, trying not to wince at the movement. “Depends on the type of flower. Should have seen the hospital room. I could barely make out the monitors through them all. Not so useful from my practice however.”

Blair chirped along as she moved closer to the other witch. Keeping up her normally relaxed Mask. Trying not to show how each day she felt closer to become just as heartless as the florist. Reaching Cerise her she lowered her voice slightly. “I was looking for something a little more deadly.”  The younger witch would pause

While witches of the coven have come and gone, attending to matters elsewhere over time or peering in with newborn curiosity, Cerise has watched Blair for some time now. One of the rare few in this town to have known the redhead before her loss of a heart. Cerise has no ambitions to lead the coven, but seeing the way in which Blair takes initiative makes something that would have probably been pride under any other circumstances stir in her chest.

While she cannot feel the same hurt and fear and anger her fellows must be awash with after the festival, she's not stupid. She knows what she should feel. And it leaves her wishing she could channel that into her magic more fully.

"Well, I'm glad you were well attended, in that case. Next time you need a bouquet for any reason, be it personal or other, it's on the house," she says, recognizing an absence of guilt for not reaching out properly sooner. Cerise can see the wounds inflicted and doesn't need a heart to understand how painful they all appeared.

Blair's request doesn't surprise her. Revenge has been on Cerise's mind as well, though she has yet to fully act on those urges. "I would be happy to assist with something more... assertive. But you know I cannot do that level of magic entirely on my own, not against however many hunters we have lurking about."

She supposes she won't be alone, of course. Not with Blair so intent on fighting back. Cerise wonders if she is the right person to be encouraging this, impartial as she feels.

"What exactly did you have in mind?"

"I'm happy to hear you found success with it," the older (but not that much!) witch said. Though the happiness wasn't anywhere to be found in her actual body, Cerise hoped the sentiment of the words was earnest enough. Just because she couldn't feel didn't mean she didn't want the best for others, especially young witches. It just meant she had to be more deliberate in verbalizing what she believed was best for the situation at hand.

The offer of herbs was a kind one. For all the work she did in her solarium, the redhead primarily catered to her own potion needs and simple floral arrangements. But the more the merrier, she supposed.

"Of course. Competence is often rewarded with more work, in my experience. It's not a bad thing, to be needed. But don't sacrifice all your time and energy for others if you can help it." Whether her assistance was needed or not, Cerise would always offer her advice.

"Me? Oh, no. I'm doing just fine -- unless, of course, you happen to have found my heart lying around someplace. I doubt that's something you could exactly find with your tracking spell. Hells, I doubt it's even still in one piece these days. Who knows what sordid sorts of things one would need a witching organ for. Anyhow! What is it you've brought me this time?"

''There was this guy - an absolute asshole, trust me - he flipped me off in the left lane for no reason at all, I didn't do anything! We were waiting for the lights to go green and I heard people arguing so I looked around and saw they had their window rolled down and, you know so I - I took one good look at his wife in the passenger seat and, I said 'hey hot stuff, if that micro dick doesn't want you - I will gladly let you sit on my face all night!''' Syndra snickered the words, almost forgetting to breathe in the excited rush she was having.

''I couldn't let him fuck off just like that, I had to go see if she was alright - of course. So at the nearest gas station, she went to the restroom and he went in to do whatever. I slashed his tire before making a visit to the restroom and surprise surprise,'' she slid a piece of paper out of her handbag with the biggest shriek of vengeful victory. ''I got her number, ha! Take that, fucking dick of a loser.''

Syndra was full of fire, it didn't take Cerise's aura reading abilities to know that. It would be amusing, if the heartless one could be amused. But the other witch is good company regardless and Cerise does love a good comeuppance story. Or she would love it, in theory.

"Oh, I trust you. Men in their cars always tend to feel more important, more virile than they ought to. I can't even imagine what he thought he deserved, driving in the passing lane," she said, sipping her tea. Cerise gave the other witch a charitable smile, seeing the regal, purple pride radiating off of her at the insult.

"Impressive." The redhead hummed, looking at the slip of paper Syndra showed off. "Now, do you actually intend to do something with that number or was this just a headhunt to prove you could?"

Sometimes it was hard to tell with the blonde. Her whims were capricious as they were entertaining, and if she could, Cerise would envy her simple passion for life -- and for chaos, that much was clear.

She supposes distance can be kept, between discussing what is needed and the source of its necessity. Cerise words lead her to suspect the woman knows, but Nikko won't admit it. She can't. "Dispel them." She takes a step closer. "Would it work like a draught for nightmares?" She wonders. Something to sleep would be appreciated, she knows. Most days, she wakes in a cold sweat, jumping from the bed, screaming and gasping, unsure of the things she has seen. The emptiness inside of her, the shadows lurking in the corner of her room, make it impossible for her to find a home in Hypno's arms.

"Fear? From them? Would I have to spit in it?" The words fly by her mouth without a breath, without a wink. She only notices their meaning a moment later, in which she blushes furiously. "They ⸻ just keep seeing things they do not wish to. Like, spirits. Ghosts."

Cerise considers the girl's request. She recognizes the degrees of separation Nikko tries to keep between her words and her own feelings, though something like sickly fear finds itself radiating off the younger witch anyways. Still, the redhead takes no special pleasure in exacerbating the concern (she takes no special pleasure in anything these days). So she does her best to answer directly.

"I've made sleeping draughts of varying strength and purpose. If the nightmares are simply just an overactive imagination, it could calm the mind. However, if they're the manifestations of a curse or something otherwise supernatural, it's not as straightforward. Magic against magic rarely is."

Still, the echoes of amusement cross her lips in the form of a smile. "You don't have to spit in it if you don't want to. Depends on how much you like or dislike them, I suppose," Cerise adds with a wink. "I can of course crystalize the fear if there is no other direct source. Otherwise, the potion's effect might not be so pointed. As much as I hate to admit it, my magic is already somewhat unreliable without my own heart these days."

The elder witch strides closer to the girl, smoothing her hair gently with a flat palm. "Is that a risk this haunted one would be willing to take?"

Still, Lis couldn't help but roll her eyes and laugh dryly at her logic regarding confusion. "No, no. Definitely not. And if it did, then they're as dumb as a box of rocks. Different businesses, different product, different ways of running things. People don't haggle in restaurants, or supermarkets; High Hopes is no different." She was trying her best not to let the anger sit there and seethe, but it was there... The rage, it was always there bubbling underneath even if nothing happened that day. "That is, I'm assuming the herbs you sell aren't mary jane?"

Cerise nodded to the bartender, indicating she'd take the girl's purchase on her own running tab. Then she caught the somewhat pained smile and returned one of her own -- effortless and yet entirely unfeeling.

"Many of those who breeze through this town aren't exactly the brightest in the bunch," the witch commiserated. Funny that this child, selling herbs, should be so tightly wound herself. Cerise almost wanted to suggest her something stronger, something magical for her troubles. But the double whisky would have to do, dulling the sharper edges of her attitude for now (or making them worse, her emotions were still a warm pulse of irritation and anger radiating around her like a halo of hatred).

"Lis," she repeated. "I'm Cerise. And you say people don't haggle in restaurants, but I'd beg to differ -- how many times can one lie about their birthday before it just cheapens the whole sordid affair for everyone else?"

The witch laughed at the thought -- given that she herself tended to shave off about nine or so years whenever asked.

"I don't sell that sort of herb personally, no, but I have plenty of others that are just as potent in other respects, if you know how to apply them."

"Uhhh, what you need is to leave. And preferably without attacking me or leaving a mess."

It wasn't a normal request, no. Best for the girl to get her shocked reactions over with quickly, as Cerise wasn't terribly in the mood for a drawn out situation. As opposed to a vampire's compulsion or other witches' spellcasting, her Phial magicks weren't terribly persuasive, unless the morgue worker had a cup of coffee half-drunk somewhere...

"I have no intention to attack you, and this doesn't have to be particularly messy -- though organs aren't known for being the most sterile," she said rather flatly. Cerise was under no delusions this was going to be a simple errand, such as running out for groceries. But given the recent attacks by hunters and the typical churn of Port Leiry's supernatural side, it wasn't so far-fetched to believe a potential replacement might have surfaced somewhere in the body freezers.

"I'm not a gambling woman," she began, although these days Cerise knew her emotionless poker face could be quite lethal. "But I would be willing to bet that working this shift, you are not ignorant to all manner of strangeness that happens in this city. Well, a part of me is missing -- rather, it was stolen. I'm in the market for a replacement."

The witch gently slid the neckline of her shirt down and past the gaping maw of her sternum where a heart should be. "Don't worry, it doesn't bite. Or beat, anymore."

Somewhere between the fifth why am I even fucking here muttered under bitter breath, and the constant fucking nagging in the back of her head that this — this is the right place to be. For once, it wasn't just a stop along the way — a gas station in the middle of nowhere or a dodgy ass motel. This was where the bread crumbs took her. The ones her father left — intentionally or not.

Third empty beer bottles rested empty next to her on the cold pavement, as she swung back a forth one. A couple of men walking past her kicked one of the bottles causing it to roll down the street — the sound echoing around the empty alley.

"If you wanna pick a fight — " a quiet mutter of a sound, followed by an instead scoff. There was very little she was actually afraid of. " — then do it fucking right, don't just walk off like a pussy." louder.

They never stopped walking. Barely even turned around to flip her off with a half-arsed gesture.

Another swing of the bottle. Beer was like fancy water to her. She never got the men's full attention, they were probably just messing around, getting a rise out of her, but she did catch someone else's eyes.

A slow hand to her knive. "I'd hate to break it to you, but you're not invisible." the smallest tild of her head to the right, gaining a better view of the woman. Come out, come out —

Cerise didn't tend to lurk. Or stalk. Or generally sneak around. She had no need for that, aside from her subtle witching work as she borrowed the emotions of those around her for her potions. But she knew Port Leiry was full of dangerous sorts and while under the right circumstances she was equally dangerous herself, the witch wasn't exactly as skilled in combat or defensive measures as others.

And as it turned out, lacking a basic instinct of suspicion was quite a detriment as well. Had she known what losing her heart would entail, she would have guarded it a little more fiercely.

But there was a girl -- a young woman, rather -- that Cerise spied from quite a distance for the emotions radiating off of her. Mostly within the cardinal family of anger, but there was haze of complicated feelings following her, pulsing with the beat of intoxication. Alcohol was occasionally as potent as anything the Phial witch could brew -- it dulled the senses and strengthened emotions most mortals refused to confront for themselves.

"Pity, that," Cerise said, lips curling into a wary smirk. "I'd heard women of a certain age were practically unseen by most of society these days. Glad to know I'm not as old as I feel." The witch eyed the girl's weapon and tilted her own head.

"No need for that, dear. I'm not going to give you the fight you want, or seem to deserve."

The moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the quiet, suburban street. The occasional rustle of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl were the only sounds that broke the stillness of the night. Rain poured down in relentless sheets, drenching Céleste to the bone as she approached Cerise's house, each step heavy with the weight of her mistakes. She had tried to help Reid, to undo the nightmares that plagued him, but her efforts had only made things worse. Now, she found herself at Cerise's doorstep, her last hope for guidance.

With a trembling hand, Céleste knocked on the door, her breath hitching as she waited. Her eyes darted around nervously, her pulse racing, rainwater dripping from her hair and clothes, pooling at her feet. "I fucked up. Again," She blurted out.

It was a serene night, mostly. Moon low in the sky, slung in a curve that wasn't quite ready to wake the wolves in town, so there was a relative quiet over Port Leiry, apart from the rhythmic drum of the rain. But it added to the peace more than the cries of beasts broke the stillness.

It wasn't often she had late night visitors, but if she were to receive a visitor more inclined to the supernatural, like herself, it tended to be in the evenings. Vampires, witches, wolves, all -- mercifully, not too many hunters, though. They were always preoccupied with pretending they were above the rest.

Wrapped in a robe, Cerise glided over to the door to answer the knock, humming sympathetically as she saw Celeste soaked to the bone, looking discomforted. "Again? A terrible habit to be in, fucking up. Here," she said without hesitation. "Come inside, and mind where you drip. Would you like me to fetch you something warm to wear? You know Brindille won't let you hold her while you're so damp."

"If one more person argues with me about the price of their goddamn weed like I'm not just the part time worker, this town is going to see some inspiration from Ghostface real fast. It's 2024, do people really still think the person selling you shit sets the prices? Fuck, man." The frustration was obvious, so much so you could almost see it seeping from her, smell it in the air surrounding her. "Drink? Yes. Good choice. You're getting first round? Well, you just made my night. Well done for volunteering." They didn't volunteer at all, in fact Annalise wasn't even sure they spoke a single word but they were unfortunate enough to be close enough for conversation.

The frustration was obvious. Cerise could see it seeping from her, a churlish red, but not on the same end of the color spectrum that bled into passionate pinks and purples. No, it was on the hot side of red, orange, yellow, almost radiating like a muffled flame. Not as specific as direct hatred, but deeper than a generalized annoyance. It was delicious, potent -- the witch would have to find a discreetly find a way to crystallize it without being terribly obvious. This sort of emotion was wonderful for working hexes.

Were they anywhere other than this bar, Cerise would have commended the girl on her boldness, demanding a drink from a Phial witch. But they were in public, might as well play nice and see what other emotions she could coax from her.

"I am quite generous that way. You find me in a rather sympathetic mood," she said, a practiced smile crossing her lips as she hailed the bartender. Cerise would almost laugh at her joke, but only her logic found the humor in the inside joke. The guarded hollow of her chest remained empty as always. "Terribly sorry, I might be partly to blame for your problem. I run a small local greenhouse and sell flowers and herbs there. So I do in fact set the prices. Maybe that's caused the confusion?"