if the darkness lasts

Julia had two very clear options: learn how to control her pesky ability to feel other’s people emotions -and her unwilling proclivity for picking up on the really shitty ones-, or embrace the notion that she’d be well on her way to alcoholism if she continued to use drinking as a way to quiet those loud emotions down. She wanted to choose the first one, of course, but that would surely take ages and she had yet to find a mentor. So option two it was, at least for the time being. The gala had begun early in the afternoon but apparently day-drinking was acceptable if it was at a gala. The fae was already on her third -not the fourth yet, surely- glass of white wine when someone familiar approached. “Thief chaser” she fae replied with an exaggerated formal nod, if only to play along to the peculiar circumstances in which they met. “Julia. And it’s nice seeing you in a less…chaotic scenario” she said with a little laugh, not minding too terribly that Fiona didn’t remember her name. “Well, I’m am now” the fae said as she rose her glass and took another sip “It’s a lovely event. And this manor is gorgeous”. The wine had definitely helped some to drown out the overwhelming emotions she’d been sensing earlier. “Thank you. One of my own designs” Julia said proudly. “Yours is amazing too, it’s very Elie Saab” she added, clearly approving of it. It was a flattering gown and the shimmering embroidery on the fabric of the skirt had been exquisitely executed.

Fiona laughs at the mock title, put at ease by the humor. “At your service,” she smiles, giving a small salute to boot. It hadn’t been her most graceful moment, the running after the wannabe thief, but, well... duty calls, right? And that had been wrong. So she’d been happy to help stop it. “Julia! Julia, that’s a great name.” The saying it aloud helps commit the name to memory, she’s learned. A hard thing to do after even a single drink with a memory and a tolerance like hers, but hell if she won’t try. “I’m Fiona. Yeah, I’m definitely glad that we won’t be doing any chasing tonight. Hopefully, anyway, because I really like these shoes but definitely won’t be able to run in them.” She laughs, mirroring the other fae’s sip of a drink. “It’s so pretty,” Fiona agrees, practically gushing as she looks back to the chandeliers. “I mean, I seriously don’t think I’ve ever seen a place this... sparkly.” She hasn’t seen many places at all, in fact, but that seems like a minor detail. And a pessimistic one. “Oh! Oh, um, thank you.” Ellie Saab... Ellie Saab. Doesn’t ring a bell. She’ll have to trust it’s a compliment. “My aunt made it.” Fiona finally supplies before trying to take another sip of her drink only to be met with ice. “Huh.” That’s unfortunate. Well, she’ll have to amend it, and mind her manners, too: “Would you like another drink? I’m going to grab one for myself.”

Time: 30 May 2021, 7:00 p.m. Location: Garden Closed: with Fiona Laughlin @fionalaughlin

Of all the thoughts to pick up on tonight, Joseph was glad to pick up on something this happy.

There was someone. Someone whose thoughts were happy and flighty, jumping from topic to topic like a bunny hopes from place to place. Overall, a relief. And Joseph could feel himself getting drunk off her thoughts, which, thank God, because he couldn’t get drunk off anything else.

Amused with himself, he pantomimed grabbing a walkie-talkie and spoke into it. “Attention, too much fun is being had. Attention. Too much fun is being had here!”

Tipsy’s not a bad thing, right? No, she’d like to think it’s not a bad thing. Besides, she’s feeling even less so having wandered into the garden now and taken a few deep breaths, letting the cool air clear her cluttered mind somewhat. Great as this gala is, the empathetic toll is a heavy one, and the drinks don’t lighten the sensation any. Still, she’s in a high spirits, reminiscing on the conversation she’d just had with Briar. The happy dance isn’t something she quite recalls doing, and it’s not something she catches herself on, either – until a voice from behind her speaks up. Fiona stops in her tracks, face flushing pink slightly as she laughs. After looking over each shoulder, she points to herself with some incredulity despite knowing well that she’s the only probable suspect here. “Me? Well, I think that’s impossible. No such thing as too much fun, at least not at a party.” That’s not true, she knows, but she’s not one to get hung up on technicalities. “Though, um, I do sort of regret making you watch that dance. Not my best work.” Her dancing work as a whole leaves much to be desired. Oh, well. Can’t win them all. Anyway, remembering her manners, Fiona looks back to her company. “Have we met? I mean, um, past this January. I hate admitting it, but I still don’t remember anything before that. Sorry.”

Spring Equinox Gala 2021: Fiona’s Outfit

@julia-monter​

It’s fun, isn’t it? Meeting up with everyone, seeing their beautiful outfits... feeling their feelings is, well, another thing, but still. She’s grateful. To be here, to see friends – including this one. “Purse lady!” Fiona chirps in recognition, then winces. “I mean – sorry, that’s... wow. That was really impolite. I’m so sorry. What I meant to say...” She bides her time by sipping her drink. In hindsight, considering its alcoholic content, that was probably unwise. Live and learn. Anyhow: Fiona clears her throat and tries again, smile meek. “What I meant to say was hi. It’s good to see you, um...” The woman must have a name, but Fiona sure doesn’t remember it. How terrible. “It’s nice to see you! Are you enjoying yourself? I hope so. Your dress is incredible!”

Dress shopping is as foreign to her as the television still. Her own clothes are the ones Andreas and his girlfriend bought for her and gifted to her, and a little ill-fitting as a result. Thus, she’s not altogether sure what to do surrounded by the frill and softness of gowns, eyeing a gown in a hideous shade of beige before Fiona calls to her. “Not optimistic sounding, you know,” she returns, thoroughly warned before Fiona’s appearance, and still unprepared for the sight. Her eyes skip from the black dress to the bare skin exposed at her back, lips slightly parted, before she pushes it away and zips her up. “It could be fetching if you enjoy looking like a bird, but does it work for a gala? I thought it was meant to be sweeping ball gowns, something like this.” She lifts a hand, pointing to a monstrosity of yellow and black fabric which looks something like a too large gown with the coloring of a bee. A small laugh escapes her at Fiona’s little shimmy, watching the feathers on her dress shake with the movement. Briar skims a hand over the dresses, focusing on the soft feel of them on her skin. “None of these seem practical, I’d look ridiculous in any of them.” Attractive, certainly, but she isn’t sure about waddling around in a skin-tight dress, barely able to bend her knees or arms. She squints, drawing out a long white dress with stretchy material, and hums at the comment. “I get a lot of things in the mail, but the only thing I can tell about any of them is they have my name on it and my address. I’m not sure on anything else, maybe there is an invite. What did it look like?” Not reading is more of a liability here than it is back in the Otherlands, she realizes, somewhat amused at the lack of questions from her job. It’s easy enough to match the names on the envelopes to a map, though, and she’s hardly required to know what the words actually mean. Belatedly, she remembers some of Fiona’s comment. “You’re friends with a council person? Have they heard anything about Andreas? I keep thinking… Well, I suppose he has no reason to come back.” It’s a bit jarring to imagine no Andreas around and no Alistair, too. She picks a dress in blue, arching a brow. “This one? Same as your eyes.”

“Is that what a gala is like? Can’t say I really know,” Fiona shrugs, used to this pattern by now as she looks to the ballgown. “I mean... hopefully it doesn’t look exactly like that.” She laughs with a bit of a grimace, then laughs once more as she moves her shoulders. “Maybe we should’ve brought along someone with more experience.” As soon as she’s said it, though, Fiona knows that’s not the ideal. No, she likes this time spent with Briar, even if they’re both far from skilled at picking out dresses suitable for a gala. “You wouldn’t look ridiculous!” She protests with a firm shake of the head, then places her hands on her hips to focus, though it elicits yet another laugh as the feathers of her dress ruffle. “Practicality... practical...” Fiona murmurs, still lost in thought as Briar addresses the inquiries about an invitation. “Hm? Oh, um... well, it was in a pretty blue envelope. Well, a tan envelope first, but then a blue – actually, I have a picture!” The fae ducks into her dressing room for her phone, then reemerges, showing it to her friend. “I got excited and sent a picture to my family,” she admits, somewhat bashful, before zooming in. “Like this, see? With all the flowers. Mine said my name on the envelope and the little card. The little card is what you’re supposed to send back to let them know whether or not you’re coming. I haven’t sent mine in yet... should do that.” Her babbling about the invitation comes to a close at the mention of the council, and Fiona simply nods at the question, though her expression grows more troubled as it goes on. “No, she hasn’t.” She answers honestly, that frown still present. “I’m really sorry. I’ll ask next time I see her though, okay? I’ll see if we can get you any answers.” It’s sincere, and half of her feels the urge to move forward, hoping to wrap her friend in a comforting hug. But with Briar, she’s not sure it’d be entirely a comfort. So Fiona fights the temptation, turning back to the dress in question. “Oh! That’s a good thought. Complementary colors...” Still, she wanders out of the dressing room some, still barefoot and feather-clad as she passes an eye around the boutique, unabashed. “Hm... how about...” She has to stretch some to reach the garment in question, holding it out for Briar’s observation once she’s got a hold on it. “This maroon color would suit you, I think, bec– oh!” Fiona gasps in delight, lifting the hanger up higher and giving it a celebratory wave, her voice suddenly far louder as she celebrates: “It has pants!”

“Are you bribing my daughter with sweets? Sneaky of you, it doesn’t get you out of pointing out you’ve got a sweet tooth to rival Rafael at that bakery of his. The Sweet Spot, he’s the owner there,” she clarifies simply, as she’s decided to do for things that Fiona might not remember, trying to keep the levity of the situation going. Paranoia is unbecoming of her, but she can’t help thinking of the last time she and Fiona had only gone for a walk. A scar for Tilda, hearing loss for Fiona. Her brows quirk, their steps faltering. “You know him?” How? Tilda can’t recognize a thing about him, not even as he comes closer. Handsome, sure, and the sort of smile that she might have found charming if it weren’t for the way Fiona - Fiona, of all people! - slides between them like her instincts are screaming as Tilda’s are. Her eyes land on Fiona’s shoulder warily. Her eyes narrow on him as he talks, pieces of recognition flaring to life as she recalls him from the article Avery wrote weeks ago, the very person she had started investigating herself. “Do you have something to say or are you just trying to intimidate us, Daniel? I’ve got a pen, I’m willing to take a quote,” she snarks, stepping in front of the stroller, mind racing. She’s shoulder to shoulder with Fiona, as if they might form a human shield. Fiona is taller than her by a few inches. It doesn’t fill her with confidence next to Daniel who dwarfs them both by nearly a foot. Her brain scrambles for a magical solution, knowing her fists are little useful against the tell-tale paleness of his face. Vampire, she thinks the article said. No magic comes to mind, not even a sputter of it at her fists. “If not, we’ve got places to go, my dad is expecting us.” Leave, leave, leave, her brain chants, face stony. From the look on his face, he’s torn between amusement and annoyance, gaze swiveling between them. “Her family is fine. Go away.”

There’s a ringing in her ears, something she’d normally be quick to credit her hearing aids for, but that’s not the case. It’s hard to narrow down, whether it’s the remembering of those empathetic visions she’d been unfortunately privy to or simply the fear making her feel this way, but it’s enough to make Fiona ball up her fists. “Yeah,” she answers simply in response to Tilda’s question, her lips quirking in distaste as the man approaches. “They’re good. Would be better if you w–” She’s cut off by Tilda’s straightforward inquiry and heaves a sigh. Probably wiser, considering she can see she’s only amused Daniel. That wasn’t the goal. “I do have a quote, in fact – and thank you kindly for askin’. I’d like the council to know that I’m not too pleased with the passivity around these parts. And I don’t think I’m the only one. Not much in the way of justice around here.” Fiona blinks hard, unable to keep from guffawing. “J – you want – you think justice is what’s right here?” Her own rage mingles with something else, something that isn’t hers, but Fiona pushes that away, too roped into the sudden need to confront. Courtesy stays intact for her to turn to Tilda, whose emotions she can feel rising in turn, and murmur something about just being a second. Something she forgets quickly when she turns and the man is closer still. “No, that’s not right.” Not after what she’d seen. “Leave me and my family alone. Because we won’t give that. Not to someone like you.” 

Help? Briar lingers on the question long after Fiona finishes talking and the cookies distract her from it for several long moments, the motions of baking unfamiliar. “Are you sure you want someone like me helping–” The clatter of the tray and Fiona’s sharp inhale halt her words. She stiffens in her seat, waiting for the tell-tale drowsiness that comes from a fae stealing to heal themselves. Fiona runs her hand under the water and Briar’s shoulder slowly slump. She waits for Fiona to settle in her seat before she speaks, words tentative, unsure of how to say it without, possibly, flinging dirt on open wounds. “With how normal you still are, I forget you don’t remember everything about being a fae, like how to heal. Did your family not show you?” she asks, throat tightening, making it difficult to swallow the cookie she’s chewing on. She lowers it to a napkin, and she should show her. She should– Her teeth lower to her lip, unable to force the explanation past her throat. “It’s dangerous if you aren’t trained properly, but it’s useful sometimes.” There, that she can say that, it’s truthful. She blinks, and nods, listening to Fiona’s question patiently. A right answer to it is slow to come across and her fingers tap on the table, thinking. “I did not spend time with the fae the way you might imagine, and I was not so… fondly regarded that people would share secrets like that with me,” she admits slowly, not wanting to explain the reasons beyond that and hurrying to continue. She leans forward, elbows on the table, fingers tapping. “I don’t think anyone has the way you did. I’ve taken hits hard enough to forget things for a couple of weeks, but those are injury related, not, uh, not ghost. Shade. Whatever they are called.” Ghosts is what she calls them, but she hasn’t spoken to any of them. A few linger around her, perhaps content to grab onto someone in the way the ghosts from the Otherlands cannot, but they are blurry figures she refuses to examine in any depth for the mere principle of it. “I try not to think about the dead too much, sorry. But why were you wondering? The fae, they… even if there was, I do not know if any of them would help you, though your family could certainly trying asking.” Their name holds sway if they use it.

“How normal I still am?” Fiona manages a tight laugh despite the searing pain on her skin, shaking her head. “That feels like a compliment. Thank you.” She takes more pleasure in it than she arguably should, but that’s been the effort, hasn’t it? Trying her best to be the person she supposedly is. Or was. Hard to be sure. “Um, they did tell me, I mean my uncle did, but I haven’t exactly tried it.” Flexing her hand, she winces. “Guess this would be a good time to start.” Danger, though, that’s noteworthy, especially coming from Briar. Fiona sighs. “Right. Um, this is fine, then. Not a huge deal, I’ll just ice it.” She nods, tucking her hand under the table before plunging headlong into questions. Headlong into waiting, too, as she watches Briar attempt to formulate a response. Empathy shows her the pain the dusting off of those memories causes, and she’s sorry for it before she even reads the feelings on Briar’s face. “Okay. That’s okay, you don’t have to–” But Briar goes on, and Fiona bites her lip and bites back any further questions. At least until Briar discloses things about injury. Fiona’s head tilts, brow furrowing. “Did you... did you get injuries like that often?” She can feel it, obviously, the pain that mention of the Otherlands causes. But what sort of pain is it, really? Physical? Mental? What was she put through? Fiona wants to know out of concern for her friend, but also falters, not wanting to stir up more unpleasant things. “I’m sorry, I, um... you don’t have to tell me everything, obviously. I’m not trying to be nosy. I just... I can’t imagine that.” She nods at the elaboration about shades, though to her they’re still little more than the voices that linger in whispers behind her. “No, no, don’t apologize. It’s, um, not a pleasant topic. I get it.” Why is she wondering? Fiona sighs, taking her own time to ponder now, looking down at her nervously drumming foot and stinging knuckles. “Um... I guess I wanted to know if there was someone like me out there. I mean, really like me. I know there are other people who were pulled from the river, who might feel some of this, too... but they don’t have the empathy that I do. And I... I don’t know. I feel like I’m handling it all wrong.” It’s a vulnerable confession, and she hates how sorry for herself she seems. “I-I mean, I’m lucky. I know I’m lucky, to have survived what I did. I hear it a lot. But it’s... it’s a lot.” Fiona has to bite back a sigh of relief as the timer goes of, indicating that the cookies are done baking, their stammered conversation eating up time quickly. The fae rises to her feet with haste, hoping to leave the other topics behind her. “Thank you, again, for bringing over the file. I’m sure it’ll be really helpful.” She’s not sure of anything. “Can I send you home with some of these? Brownies, or cookies, or both? As a thank you?”

Julia considered for a second chasing after the thief to retrieve her stolen purse -a poor decision in her Calvin Klein Bayna pumps- but the second she saw him shoot sparks out of his hands, the fae jumped back, startled. She was in no way used to the great number of oddities that could happen in this town and plenty of the townspeople’s supernatural abilities were still unknown to her, which managed to surprise her -or freak her out- more often than now. Julia glanced towards the young woman, shocked that she could even be considering to go after the thief. It was a noble gesture, but an insane one! “What- No, wait! Don’t chase after him. You just saw what he…”. It couldn’t be safe to try to retrieve her belongings by themselves. “Do you have a cellphone? Let’s just call the police, I uh- I can describe him to them” she said. A mundane solution to a theft, but a stolen purse was a stolen purse, be it in a supernatural town or not.

Feelings are a hard thing to sort through – the feelings of others, sure, that’s explainable enough. But her own are a often muddled thing, too, which is less than ideal. It’s enough to make Fiona give a loud sigh of frustration, shaking her head as she tries to extract her feet from her stuck shoes. “What? No!” Maybe that’s the logical answer. Maybe it’s even the answer her old self would have chosen, considering what she’s been told about herself. But it doesn’t feel right. No, her uncle had told her the importance of standing up for herself. And now, she’s feeling the need. She’s feeling... well, righteous, maybe. Over a purse, but it’s something. And so Fiona shakes her head, fumbling ahead once her shoes have been hastily removed. “No, he’s going to get away, he can’t just do that!” She tosses back over a shoulder before continuing what could be a futile pursuit over a bag that isn’t even hers. A strange battle to pick, maybe, but right now, it’s hers.

@briarbishop​

“Well this is... it’s something!” Fiona calls from within her respective dressing room toward the back of the shop that her aunt had apparently once owned. An aunt who would, according to her family, be more than a little miffed if Fiona bought something to wear to the gala rather than allowing her to make it. She’ll take that to heart, but it doesn’t stop her from trying on dresses for fun. Besides, she has to learn what her own taste is, doesn’t she? Thus the trial and error, which she does now with her friend in tow. With some frustration, too, as she fumbles with the back of a dress that she knows well won’t be her choice, but still, she wants to try it rightfully... Fiona huffs a sigh as she walks backward out of the dressing room, looking to Briar over a shoulder. “Can you zip me? I’ll write ‘flexible’ down on the list of things I’m not.” Blonde hair is pulled aside in order to help with the effort, and Fiona smiles once the task is accomplished. “Thank you.” Then, she straightens up, looking at her reflection rightfully, with a laugh. “I look, um...” She’s got a small reservoir to pull from for comparisons, but Fiona shrugs a bare, freckled shoulder.  “Like a sad bird. Or maybe an evil one.” So tight, black, and feathered isn’t really her style. Good to know. Despite the failure, Fiona grins, turning toward Briar with earnest. “You should try something! Don’t you want to look as ridiculous as me?” After another laugh and a foolish shimmy, she turns back toward the rack and wheels back to the conversation they’d been having before zipper troubles arose. “You know, I really doubt that you didn’t get an invitation. I don’t see why you wouldn’t be invited. I can ask Lily, if you want. She’s a councilperson – for the fae, technically, but I’m sure she could check, if I asked. She’s... my friend, I think, so hopefully she wouldn’t mind.”

“Forgive me, I did not mean for it to sound that way. Riverborn are not something I have ever experienced. It was more to prepare me for meeting you, but I fear I did little in the way of reading. I’ll do research tonight.” Lily imagines there has to be something about the Riverborn in this place, what’s the point in amassing this many cultures with differing knowledge in one place without something? “I would suggest healing, but I recall being warned not to play with the memories of a Riverborn in such a way, the council is perhaps wary of damaging your memories further,” she notes, tapping her fingers only briefly on the table in thought. She’s relieved for something she can do more tangible than guessing on plans, she’s always been the sort of person who sees something to be done and finds a way to do it. Lily laughs, offering her a smile over her shoulder as she leads the way out of her office with a gesture. “Nonsense, let’s go find your file. So long as you don’t touch anything else, no one here will stop me and these are hardly a secret. No one wants someone getting their hands on it, but that doesn’t mean no one knows where they are.” People in this town are secretive, she can see why the idea of letting people rummage in the files of everyone on town are strange. Lily leads them down a long corridor with only an absent wave at the security guard who watches them. “Is your memory poor for even new memories, or you just have no recollection of the ones prior to your, ah, swim?” she questions, fiddling with a key on her belt to unlock a door. Another wave to a security guard, and down another corridor. A pause at a different one who taps Lily’s forehead with a long finger, magic trickling like cold water over her skin, and then Fiona next before declaring them good to go. “Just to make sure no one else is wearing your skin, I am told, I am unsure if it was a jest,” Lily explains with a roll of her eyes. “Come, it’s this way. What is your name? Last name, if you please, I hope these are alphabetized, but more likely it’s by year of arrival knowing them.”

Fiona merely nods at the advice against healing. It’s something she’s heard murmured among family conversations, but nothing has come from it, and she certainly hasn’t tried it herself. Good thing, it seems. “Yeah, it’d be nice to keep what I have intact,” Fiona manages with a small smile, a shrug that she hopes looks unbothered. It’s disheartening, after all, being told you have over a quarter of a century of life that you should be able to look back on only to come up short. Nights full of research, days bogged down by neurology appointments... nothing has yielded any results so far. Still, she tries. So do others, which she’s thankful for, and tries to show as much with the smile she gives to the councilwoman. “Oh! Great, that’s great. I’ll, um, keep my hands to myself.” Fiona nods earnestly, laughing slightly. This sudden nervousness feels slightly strange, but she knows better than to bring it up. It’s not unfamiliar, this anxiousness mixed with anticipation. Seeing facts supposedly about yourself on paper will do that, as will the ever-present hope that something will click into place and unlock everything else. These are the hopes that have her biting her lip as she trails Lily down the corridor, though she gives a tight smile toward the security guard. “Hi,” she greets the unfamiliar person to little reply. Luckily, Lily’s question harbors her from the awkward silence that would have been sure to follow. “Um, I guess I struggle a little with memory in general. There’s... well, there’s a lot going on up here,” Fiona gestures vaguely toward her head with an airy laugh. “I mean, um... I don’t know, once I get more settled, on a regular sleep schedule and stuff, maybe that will improve.” Five months now and she still hasn’t achieved that. She’s nothing if not optimistic, though. That perky smile wobbles some as she feels a rush of cold thanks to the tap of the guard’s finger. Chills down her back still make her clench her jaw hard, despite the time that has passed. It’s enough to leave her unable to laugh at Lily’s mention of the possible joke. “Right.” The fae murmurs with a clear of her throat, wrapping her arms around herself as she trails after Lily. “Oh, it’s Laughlin.” She states, dutifully spelling it out before letting her eyes travel the room. “Wow... I knew there had been plenty of residents of the town over the years, but I guess I never imagined a collection like this. It’s... wow.”

“Oh, coffee!” Naomi exclaims, eyes brightening when she sees the extra iced beverage in Fiona’s hand. “I love coffee,” she assures the fae while locking the door behind them. It takes her a moment to realize Fiona’s just standing there awkwardly with two coffee’s in her hand and that maybe she should take one. “Oh great,” the witch smiles, leaning over to take one of the coffee’s from Fiona. “I like walking too. You and I have that in common.” As they walk over to the registers, Naomi takes a sip, humming when she tastes the familiarity of caramel. This is good. As Fiona goes on, Naomi expects the girl will follow behind her as she stops by the cash registers. But something about what Fiona says catches the witches attention. Naomi swivels around on her heeled boots, taking a sip of her coffee before she speaks. “You’re sweet. I definitely wouldn’t offer you the position unless I felt like you were right for the job. But I know you’ll be perfect. Everyone has nice things to say about you, and you’re probably one of the most positive people I’ve ever met,” the witch shrugs with a wave of her hand, still sipping on her coffee. Man, this is really hitting the spot! 

“Really? Well thank you, that’s always nice to hear. You should’ve told you came around and wanted to see something, I would’ve shown you,” Naomi insists, looking around at her lavender walls with a small smile. She too loves the color of her walls. “I like the color too. They say white or black is best for higher end stores like this, but I liked the idea of having a softer tone, something soothing…anyway, you’re already winning brownie points with me, this is a great interview.” If they could even call it that. Fiona practically already has the job! “So, I figure we can start with the front desk, register area. This is where we check out customers, and everyone has an employee number. You get a discount too, forty percent, and you can save things in the back. It’s a pretty standard machine, I can show you how to use it once you start…and then the jewelry’s, well…everywhere. Feel free to roam around and look at the cases,” the witch chuckles, seeing the fae already eyeing a couple. 

So far, so good. Fiona’s delighted by Naomi’s joy at the coffee, pleased to have succeeded. People’s tastes can be hard to guess, she’s learned, so she’ll take this victory. She nods at the mention of walking, giving a shrug. “Yeah, I mean, there’s a driver’s license in my wallet, but I’m not quite sure it really counts anymore.” Too dark? Oops. “Um, besides, yeah, I like the walking! Now that I’m not getting lost as often, it’s great. Plus the weather’s getting warmer...” That’s better. Fiona’s smile is at least partially apologetic when Naomi turns toward her, but it softens some at the compliment. “Oh... thank you.” She laughs, not sure about the candor of the comment. How does everyone have nice things to say about the girl who dredged up the ghosts? Fiona chooses to give it the benefit of the doubt. “I’ll, um, I’ll try my best. Positivity is key, right?” That’s a line she ripped out of one of the neurologists’ books. Her own were clearly coming up a little short.

“Oh, I didn’t want to intrude.” Fiona shrugs. It’s a nice offer, but really, she probably would’ve been a nuisance around a construction site. “I’m just happy to see it now!” True enough, though it sounds a little too chipper. Trying to tone it down, Fiona gives a gentler laugh at the mention of brownie points. Whatever that means. “I wasn’t sure if it counted as an interview, but hey, I’ll take it.” She smiles, nodding along at the instructions. Her expression lights up some at the offer. “Really? Oh, I saw this pair of earrings when I came in – I’m not even sure if my ears are pierced, actually, but they’re so – oh, shoot.” If there’s one thing Fiona’s learned about herself in the last few months, it’s that she’s... lacking in the grace department, to put it gently. This much is shown as she tosses her comment in Naomi’s direction, looking back just in time to send her own elbow careening into a display of leather bracelets. Not especially fragile, Fiona assumes, but she still winces, quick to kneel down and try to fix the mess she’s made. “I’m so sorry. So, so sorry, um, I swear, I’m the clumsiest person I know.” She doesn’t know too many people, but still, it feels like an impressive title. “Um, if anything’s broken, I’ll pay for it.” With money given to her by her family... great. “I’m thinking this is not good for my brownie points.” Fiona’s smile – if you could call it that – is meek at best, her gaze darting up to Naomi, seeking affirmation about if she has, in fact, ruined this.

Date: Tuesday, May 11th, 2021 Time: 11:20 am Location: Downtown Lethe  

“No, no, dile a Diego que es urgente que entregue esas telas para el jueves a más tardar. Ya te mandé los patrones y necesitamos que las costureras empiecen con la base del vestido ya, si no ni de broma va a estar listo para el evento” Julia spoke fast and determinedly as she walked. Staying busy and on top of her work had proven to be an efficient way to cut off from the outside noise. A noise that happened to be other people’s unwanted, interfering, pesky emotions. Even though she was miles away from her business, the fashion designer had technology to thank for letting her stay in touch with her employees and still be able to direct everything from a distance. “Okay, te marco mañana para ver cómo va todo. Y sabes, cualquier cosa, tengo el celular a la mano siempre”. She ended the call without another word and slipped her AirPods back into their case and into her purse. And just as she was putting her phone inside of it as well, someone reached to grab it and make a run for it. “Hey!”.

Who is she to play law and order? Well, it seems that Fiona is about to find out. Or she’ll try, anyway. As much as her hearing aids help, they aren’t of utmost clarity, and Fiona had just winced from the feedback they were giving her when she caught onto a shout. Blame the ringing in her ears for the delayed reaction, because Fiona can only stand and stare for a moment before realizing what’s occurring. “Oh!” Well, shit. This is no good. It’s instinct to chase after the man clutching the purse, but maybe a poor one, as he wheels around and shoot something she can only describe as sparks in her direction. “Wh–” Fiona lurches suddenly, finding her feet impossible to move. Luckily, she catches her balance on a lamppost before she can go tumbling face first. “Crap. Sorry, sorry,” she calls toward the woman, still trying to extract her own feet from whatever seemingly invisible binding has them weighted down. “I tried to help – I mean, I’m trying! Still trying. I’m going to keep trying, in fact, just give me a second here...” Fiona sighs heavily. “I think I might have to take off my shoes.” They’re brand new, too. That’s a shame. “Then I’m on it, I swear.”

Tea time comes and goes without a comment, and he shares a look with Caoimhe from across the table. No empathy is needed for them to understand the concern, nor does it take him long to decide to just… check on her. Paranoia aside, Faolan knows how easily she gets distracted, and he has to remind himself not to panic on the short drive over. It’s impossible to stifle, and his nerves are shot by the time he pounds on her doors. Scared her? Yes, he can feel the flash of startle in her, and then the striking change to apologetic. Faolan, she says, and he feels a flash of hurt that’s quickly smothered, remembering too clearly the Uncle she used to attach to the front of it. “You are alright?” he asks, warily, short-lived as the question is when he looks her over. Faolan swears in Sidhe, ushering her deeper into the apartment and closing the door behind him, and launches into questions before it registers how little she knows of the language. The Fiona from before might pick up a phrase or two, but not this one. Her swear is proof enough of the difference. Faolan stops, pulling a hand down his face. “Sit.” He points to her kitchen table. “When did this happen?” he says in English, pointing at the bruises and cuts marring her flesh. Faolan attempts to take her wrist, wanting to heal them. “You cannot tell me these are new, I have seen enough bruises and cuts to know when some are hours old. How did this happen? Why have we not heard anything about it?” He wants to ask if she learned anything from the last time they had this issue, his eyes straying to her forehead, but yet again it’s a reminder of what they’d lost. It’s a strange feeling to have a history with someone and be unsure whether it benefited them to remember it or not.

So he’s upset. She was, too, when she was being ferried through the hospital, but now she’s fine. Really, it was all an overreaction... like this seems to be. Fiona’s expression goes through various stages of bewilderment as her head shakes. Are her hearing aids acting up? No, no, this is gibberish. He’s speaking in tongues. That’s not a good sign, is it? “Is... Is that some kind of incantation or something? I don’t know what you’re – oh.” Well, now she understands, and she’s less than pleased by it. “I’m okay. The doctors gave me the all clear, I swear.” Fiona practically sulks as she sinks into her chair, avoiding her uncle’s gaze. She sighs instead of answering the first question, though her gaze lifts as Faolan takes hold of her wrist. Biting back a grimace, she shrugs. This was exactly what she hadn’t wanted, the worried look on her uncle’s face, the concern she can feel practically rolling off of him. “They’re not new, but I promise, they’re fine. I just, um, I don’t know.” Obviously Fiona knows what happened. What she doesn’t know is how to best phrase it in order to save from any real panic on her behalf. After all, she can handle some bruises. “I just had a... lousy conversation, that’s all. But I stuck up for myself, which you told me is important.” If she’s learned anything about her uncle, it’s that vague details like that won’t satisfy him. She can only hope that carrying on will make him forget to ask. “I didn’t tell anyone because I was okay. I am okay! I didn’t need a ride home and...” Her foot started bouncing sometime. It doesn’t let up now. “Also I was scared that... I was scared that you, or Gabe, or anyone else seeing me back there would just remind you of how it was a couple months ago.” January, when she was freshly washed ashore and privy to all those prying, pitying eyes. Nowadays, she wants to feel like a person, not just a victim. “So I handled it by myself and everything turned out fine. I would’ve come to tea and everything today, I just... I forgot, that’s all. I’m sorry I scared you. That’s the opposite of what I wanted.”

It felt wrong, thinking to himself that the loss of her memories was more of a gift to Fiona than a burden. He loved the Fiona that was before the river, but this one? She was happy, bubbly, not held down by anxieties and whatever it was her pseudo parents had gotten into her head over the years. “Because she’s beautiful and warm like the sun? No? Alright, well she does like orange.” Gabe offered. The question about glitter made him snort, but he let her finish her rambling before he’d offer another opinion. Then she started down that primrose path again, the one where she doubted herself, and that was reason enough to step in. “First of all, it’s not a silly project. It’s an excellent one. I could have gone all my life without being associated with glitter glue and blue washi tape, but now I don’t have to. Second of all, our family tree is a bloody mess so you’d need a chart like this to understand it.” Her delight at remembering where he worked was in and of itself delightful. It made him smile wide enough to match as he took the tapes she handed him and dropped them into the shopping basket. Did they only meet for lunch? It was a solid question and one that made him uncomfortably aware how true it was. Something else to work on, clearly. “Y’know, we didn’t and that’s despicable. But hey, new beginnings, right? But Fi, I do want to point out you’re asking a colorblind man about which colors suit and I think you’d be better off picking yourself. I can’t see the vast majority of the ones you’re holding, love.”

“Gross,” Fiona wrinkles her nose at her cousin’s comment about his wife, though her smile and laughter show that she’s far from serious. “Also, I thought you guys were always cold, not warm. Or am I mixing up my species facts again?” She pulls her gaze from the shelves to look at Gabe rightfully when he evaluates her project. What can she say? Any opinion that isn’t her own feels valuable these days, especially when it’s family. So that’s reassuring. “Good to know. I was about to say your silence on the glitter issue was deafening, but I’m going to take your glue approval as a yes.” She grins, gaze returning to the sparkly selections of tape as she laughs. “I’m beginning to see that. You know, I already sort of knew I was an anomaly, and let me tell you, the amount of parents I apparently have does not help that feeling.” Weird amnesiac fae girl raised by humans. There are worse things, Fiona imagines – not being raised at all, for instance. Her poor cousin... Not that she remembers a bit of her own youth at this point, but she’d like to think it was better than growing up under the watch of nuns. Fiona’s pleased grin at her memory’s success shrinks some as she spots glaring eyes from down the aisle. Oops. “Guess not many people excitedly yell ‘morgue’ around here.” She murmurs toward Gabe, the snicker that follows it stifled some. Two shades of blue poster board are clutched in her hands when he then brings up a pertinent fact and Fiona’s expression falls. As do the large pieces of paper she lets go of. “Oh, man... I forgot.” Typical. Fiona sighs heavily, casting a guilty look in her cousin’s direction. “I’m sorry. Um... here!” Quick on the rebound, she rights what she’s dropped and pulls two different papers from the racks. “Spots or stripes? You – you can see patterns, right?” Realizing the ridiculousness of the question only after she’s said it, Fiona laughs. “Maybe this is why we didn’t get into crafting much. I should probably just go check out and stop dragging you around the store.”

@gabrielmeadowes​

“Well, I don’t know why Aurélie is orange. She just... is.” Here they are, cousins in the craft section, the younger of the two comparing sets of washable markers with a squint. The colors in question pertain to the family tree that Fiona has settled on making. Color coded, of course. Clearly, with the way she keeps forgetting names, the hospital’s lists just aren’t cutting it. One could point out that there are more pressing matters to discuss – the incident a little over a week ago, maybe. But she’d already begrudgingly confessed to her uncle. She’s not bringing it up to Gabe. Instead, she has more important inquiries to make. “Is glitter tacky?” A word she’d only just learned, overheard in a discussion about a girl’s pair of boots that Fiona had really liked. Maybe her taste isn’t good. “Be honest. You know I don’t know any better.” Deciding more is better, Fiona puts both sets of markers into her basket and turns to look at Gabe full on, her smile genuine. “Thanks for helping me with this silly project, by the way. You don’t have to. But I can’t say I don’t appreciate it – ooh!” She looks beyond her cousin toward the wall colorful tape selections on display, squeezing past him to look at them more thoroughly. “If fancy tapes are tacky, don’t tell me. I’d rather stay ignorant.” Once quite a few of those are selected, Fiona wanders, looking for the right canvas for the project at hand. “I’m guessing we never did anything like this before,” she muses between looking at pieces of poster boards. “Probably didn’t have time for it when I was always in the ER and you were in the...morgue? The morgue. I remembered this time!” Little victories. “Did we mostly meet up for lunch?”