i see the stars

@evikoning​

This simply won’t do. Irma can count the number of friends she has on one hand with some room left over, and one of them hasn’t come to see her in what feels like an eon. The only solution to it is break into her shop and smuggle her into freedom, and she considers doing just that, if only to see the look on Evi’s face when she did it, but her friend is... Well, skittish is not the word, but paranoid is applicable. Irma, instead, waits for it to be an appropriate time and then barges into the shop with a glint in her eyes suggesting an argument is futile. “Incredibly rude to make me scuttle around looking for you,” she says as a way of greeting, as if she doesn’t know Evi will be here or nowhere Irma can reach, and that’s it. “Here was me thinking it was your turn to treat me for lunch.” Her eyes dart around the shop for the tall, pretty man who is Evi’s shadow. No sign of him, and Irma heaves a sigh. She so enjoys the look on his face around Evi, it’s one of the few things that draws a laugh from her. Such open adoration, and he’s still not back from wherever it is he’s gone clearly. Irma looks back to Evi, and arches a brow. “Lunch then. You need a little more time away from this place otherwise you will become a hermit, do you wish to become like the lich fellow selling his apples at the Saturday market and looking like he’d rather be anywhere else? The answer is no, so let’s be off.”

Date: December 02, 2020 Time: 11:45am Location: Aurélie and Gabriel Meadowes’ Home

@aureliemeadowes​

Given her own brother’s penchant for trouble, and her own luck with love, she doesn’t... flinch to find out Alejandro is up and gone. No, it leaves some discomfort as she considers some of the things she’s told him that she has never said to someone else, and anger at how little it mattered in the end, but Irma trucks on as she always does. She packs up his remaining things with minimal hassle, and loads them into the back of her car and she doesn’t fume or listen to sad music on the way there, but she does narrow her eyes and think men with a scoff as she pulls up outside his emergency contact’s home. Go figure, Alejandro is related to the Meadowes family, a bigger mess she has never seen, and she picks up one of the boxes of the many still piled into her car and more that he left behind and heads to the porch. “Delivery,” she calls, knowing her arrival is an unexpected surprise, but a necessary one. She knows of his sister through the bits and pieces Alejandro has told her, but this is the first time she’s seen the woman in the flesh. It makes her blink, and pause, and then continue on with forced dryness. She can see the resemblance, and maybe rejection is sitting a little more heavily on her than she likes to admit. “For Aurélie Meadowes. Your brother left a lovely gift us both: all the things he didn’t take with him that I do not want to keep. Would you like me to burn it?”

Date: Saturday, November 28th, 2020 Time: 10:36 am Location: Market

@irmasturmer​

Moisés had made a habit of going to the Saturday market since he discovered that was a thing. It reminded him a bit of the ‘tianguis’ back home, only less colorful, less crowded and less eclectic in the kind of things that were sold in the Lethean market. He went there mostly to buy fruits and vegetables, which were cheaper than buying them at the supermarket. He was already carrying his tote bag with his groceries when he spotted a small group of people gathered around a table. The hybrid went to get a closer look and saw it was a woman reading Tarot cards. He’d only had his fortune read in such a way once during a trip to Oaxaca, to the beach of Mazunte, with his old man when he was thirteen. It made quite an impact on him that he’d gotten the card of Death, but the woman who read his fortune explained such a card meant change and transformation. And boy, was she right… Everything began to chage that very year. He couldn’t help but wonder what the cards could reveal to him now, so many years after that first reading. Almost as if the woman shuffling the cards heard his thoughts, her attention went to him.

When working with tarot cards, Irma learned a long time ago to play into the people around her as much as the one in front of her. She didn’t need to read fortunes for coin anymore, she was secure enough, but old habits die hard. “You came last week, too, do you think your fortune has changed that much in a week?” she questioned critically, eyeing the person in front of her. “It could, but from the look of you... No, it will say the same: you have changes to make, and you have to be the one to do it.” Irma dismissed them with a tilt of her chin, and they scampered off, temporarily appeased with the ‘slip’ of information, as if Irma hadn’t known it was the only thing she needed to say. She sighed, shuffling through her cards, and the onlookers slowly drifted until only a few remained and her eyes caught on someone. Interested, but perhaps too polite to say anything. No matter, she enjoyed a challenge and her eyes caught his. “You, I haven’t seen you here yet. Interested in a fortune? On the house this time around,” she said, amused at the way people shifted. Even nonbelievers enjoyed free judgment of their lives, and Irma grinned, trying to decide which one this was. “Or are you afraid of what they might say?”

@cordeliasturmer​

For all the worry she had on inviting over the remaining people in her family, it was going... well? Irma squinted, looking over everyone’s expressions for some sign of trouble. If she had to strike down an issue, she wanted to do it before everyone started eating. Puke was not on her list of things to clean up -- and ah there was the one she worried about most. “Cordelia!” she called to her niece, waving a goodbye to her great-nephew and his commentary. He, at least, had heeded Irma’s death stare prior to the evening’s start rather well. Irma caught her wrist halfway, pulling her into the living room away from the bustle of activity that was her boy’s grabbing dinner. “Are you holding up alright? My brother has his head in the heavens - almost literally, if you believe in that sort of thing - during holidays, even ones we do not celebrate often like this one.” Thanksgiving, after all, isn’t a holiday she celebrates much at all. Maybe that’s the importance of this one’s success. She eyes Delia critically. “All is well? I would be happy to put someone in their place if you need, or you can. Before we eat, please, I brought out the good table cover.”

@davidsturmers​

Thanksgiving wasn’t a holiday she celebrated much, she hadn’t been American long enough to understand the history behind it short of violence. But the food was an allure, and Irma enjoyed the excuse to drag her family together for it. All of them, much as they disliked being together. “No, no, you cannot have all the pie,” she said, setting aside the leftover bread rolls to reach for the plate of pie in David’s hands. She spun away from him, plate overhead, and then held out a plastic fork to him as a truce. “We put away the food, and then share the reward, yes? In the mean time, you can tell me about your reunion with the one girl. Phoebe, was her name?” Irma’s smile was small, but amused, trying to read the expression on her son’s face.

Maybe it was a stupid move, taking the brunt of the explosion that rocked the auto shop they had been about to pass. Reckless, certainly. His sister would have called it another example of his idiotic chivalry, but she tended to take a dim view of most things that he did. Irma was certainly right about fire, he could have been killed easily enough if the flames had shot his way, but what else could he do? Not protect her? No, that wasn’t going to happen. So he simply gave a strained laugh at her cussing and her pulling him to his feet again. He had just been about to say something when she reached for him, when she…kissed him on the cheek, on the forehead. He stared at her a long moment, stunned. “I am…Irma, I would not let anything happen to you. I could not. I would not be able to live with myself. You realize this, do you not?” Alejandro said softly, his own hand reaching for her cheek in turn. He was not a measured man or a careful one, but he tried to be around her out of respect. Yet he couldn’t quite find that urge right now, not when another seemed to supersede it entirely. This was precisely the kind of thing that would get his face broken in by her brother if he saw but still he bridged the gap between them with a passionate kiss on the lips to match her own from earlier. Definitely worth nearly dying for, that was what ran through his head as their lips met, and even as they separated finally. “You are brighter than any star in the sky to me, you understand? Apparently, you know, enough so that I would face fire for you.”

His smile grew at his sister. “You don’t think I am capable of good behavior? Ouch. Now its you who wounds me.” He followed Irma then nodded at her inquiry. Yes, it was random, a drop-by. Best case scenario Delia wasn’t home and he could leave it with his grandson. Worst-case… she throws it at his head, glass splintering into his scalp and forehead, oh God. A little hesitation spread across his face at the image, but he shook it off soon enough. 

Now sitting, he nodded slowly. “I suppose you’re right. Our eyes aren’t identical, but similar. Maybe she did her homework at the library. She seems rather diligent. Must be for a cop, yeah?” He sighed as Irma continued on. “I have not met Luci, she hasn’t blatantly told me I am not allowed, but also hasn’t given me her blessing. We’ll see if that is still the case once I hand her the flowers you have so neatly arranged. Thank you for the vase, Irma.”

Irma looked over her shoulder at him, the exasperated look showing exactly what she thought about him and his good behavior. “You are extreme and pigheaded, but I have known this my entire life, just as you know I am stubborn and rude,” she said with a shrug. “It is my job to wound you once in a while, yes? Who else would do it with such fondness?” Interacting with Ytel seemed to come in two varieties: painful, and less painful. She hoped it stayed in the latter category, but given the look on his face, and this talk of his headstrong daughter, Delia, then perhaps not.

“You need a drink.” It wasn’t a request, and Irma reached into her fridge to extract a bottle of wine. Not two beers, no, but good enough for the time being and she dumped a little into cups for them both. “If I was meeting our father for the first time, I would do my research, too,” she said honestly. Her father was a distant, foggy figure, and in truth, she found Ytel to have filled his role a long time ago. Irma sighed at his words, reaching across the distance in a rare display of affection to squeeze his wrist. “We are family, Luci and Delia included, and we are long-living, we have all the time in the world to get things on the right track. Have some faith, drink your wine, and talk with your daughter.”

“Precious! It reminds me of my friend. She just absolutely loves this kind of stuff!”  Zanna chuckled. “She has a growing collection of these things and I think she’ll appreciate it.” With what little she knew about Emira, she doubted that other woman liked anything and wouldn’t appreciate a gift of any kind from her, but letting an angry, possessed doll wreak havoc on the bitch who destroyed her piano sounded like a wonderful idea. “No, no! I had a sack of potatoes. The stick I found in the park.”  Zanna explained as she watched Irma do her thing. “It is a doll, but I’ve watched all those possessed doll movies and they’re quite vicious. I really don’t want to be a target of one these.” She laughed as she tightened her hold on the top of the sack. She lowered her eyes to the package and saw movement as if little fists were punching at the sides. “Oh dear… lively, isn’t it?”

It was a gruesome sight – a headless doll on the ground. The rest of the town she thought for sure, and her would soon be grateful that the pieces were now hidden out of sight and into the ground.  “As should be. If a parent let their child play with this, a good citizen should call CPS on them.” The act itself was intriguing to Fayre as she keenly watched the woman perform her skills, but no visible expressions indicated so. “I’m sure other places sell more pleasant dolls.” A chopped laugh ran past her lips, almost sounding like a cough as her behavior was called out. “It seemed like the appropriate thing to do. Burying it though – That was the icing on the cake.”

“You should fail your student on common sense and fact check that claim next time. My familiar slithered unexpectedly into the open.” The actual occurrence was skewed over some scaredy cat’s poor judgement. “Sucks to suck.” she simply said in regards to the student. You’re either a failure or an achiever in these instances. Taking a sip of her water, the flames that were ignited by the hybrid died out in an instant. No damage was done completely to the bench except for the ashes that were left from the doll. As such, Gwen shot back with, “Is that enough to reassure your avoidance to dictate a statement over stupidity?” The hybrid could burn anyone and anything at this point, but she had all the control she needed to wield her flames. “A collector sure.” Capping her water bottle, Gwendolyn shrugged and had a look that read ‘Why does it matter?’. “That’s their choice on what they plan to do. The possibilities are endless. I’ve met collectors who sold cursed items.”

Oliver’s eyes roll before he can think twice about it. “Yes, I’ve met a witch.” Quite a few, actually, but the one that crosses his mind tends to make the tips of his ears turn pink with just the thought of him. So Irma’s kick is a welcome distraction, and Ollie laughs despite himself. “Tell the spirits that was a jerk move.” He continues to laugh, though it dwindles as he’s squinted at. Something on his face, maybe? Nope. The food offer takes him by surprise, but he’s grateful for it. The librarian simply nods as she explains her process, though he scoffs at this implication of fear. Too busy chewing to argue, though, he simply looks at the cards. Irma’s expression is much more interesting than these supposed signs that he can’t even begin to decipher, and Oliver raises an eyebrow. Confused? No, she’s troubled, he can feel it off of her. A little unsettling, even if he stands by his staunch nonbeliever philosophies. Her question is another surprise, but he answers willingly: “Uh, my brother, actually.” Gesturing with the half-eaten granola bar, he explains. “This is the sort of thing he’d do. Always trying to feed me. I mean, maybe I forget to eat occasionally, but that’s neither here nor there.” That could be enough, but there’s something else, something probably more pressing. “Thoughts of him tend to lead to my sister, so, I guess she was on my mind too.” He’s never divulged his familial details to Irma and regrets opening that door as soon as he has. Not wanting to go further down that path, Oliver backpedals, turning back to the cards. “What makes them interesting?”

"Oh, excuse me, here was me thinking you didn’t believe in magic,” she retorts, a cheeky smile on her face, watching his expression with interest. Food is her favorite trick to keep people from interrupting her when she works, and if it happens to help her friend have some sustenance when she’s taking up his lunch time then its a win for them all. Her brows furrow, thinking. “It says a lot about you that you have multiple people offering you food, have you considered having a snack bag with you when you’re at work?” she questions, chewing on her lips, till the talk of his sister makes her eyes light up with recognition. Irma doesn’t enjoy prodding on people’s loss, its a trait she picked up years ago, when it was her and Ytel and the ghost’s he carried with him, but only a fool ignores the power those thoughts have over a person. She wants to ask, to question about this brother he rarely mentions and this sister he’s never spoken of, but he backtracks before she can. Her eyes lock on his a moment, a slight hitch to her brows announcing how she notices his move and concedes to follow it, and then she’s looking at the cards one more. Her fingers hover over one, tapping it gently. “This isn’t like the divination a witch uses, I don’t have that power, and its not as concrete nor as specific,” she explains seriously. She is no witch, not like the way people thought in her youth. “This is the Wheel of Fortune, it means bad luck and helplessness in this form. Wands VIII -- things manifesting quickly, rapid action.” Combined, none of these sounds good, and he must see why she watches him with a tinge of worry. She taps the last one: Cups III. “This one is friendships, and community. Something is coming, and it will happen too quickly for you to stop it. Because of the cups card, it could mean to a friend, or it could be a friend is involved somehow. This is not the fortune I wanted you to get, I was hoping for something happier, I apologize.”

He was minding his own business walking home from work when someone started yelling. Of course it didn’t start out that way, it was a deep rumble that was designated for who-knows-where, but somehow his intuition told him the woman’s anger was geared toward James Fuckin’ Proctor. And then there was that name, seemingly raised from the dead. Alfie Carnahan. He quirked an eyebrow and his head at the woman, turning towards the sound of her voice. “Yes, I do,” he said quietly, knowing better than to bark back and make the situation ten times worse. “I remember an Alfie, and an Alberta, Veronica, Trevor, Sebastian, Corrina, and more. Did you know them as well?” he asked rhetorically, then shook his head, tsking quietly. “I didn’t think so. Not all of them died, ma’am. I know that doesn’t make it any better. But the lich Odette saw my true intentions and let me in, I have no other explanation.”

Does it make her deflate? To know that Alfie isn’t some nameless, faceless person in this man’s mind? She ponders it for a moment, her brows scrunched together in deep thought. But the list of names does not ease her, and Irma’s eyes shoot back to his, a fire lit in them as he tsks. “You are a monster,” she says sharply. “’Not all of them die’ -- do you want an award for how lucky some of them were to escape? Do you stay up at night, thinking ‘God, at least it wasn’t everyone!’ to soothe your conscience? Is that how you can manage to show your face around?” Irma is no huge fan of the council, but nor does she consider herself their enemy. And yet her opinion of them is dropping and dropping the more she sits here. Her mouth hangs open, no words escaping, and then it snaps shut, her head shaking with disbelief. “Then she is a fool. What possible lies could you feed yourself and them for this to be a good idea? Please, tell me the justifications.”

Date: September 23, 2020 Time: 7:08pm Location: Undisclosed Street @jproctors

Half the time, she didn’t think about it anymore, like distant had made the wound a little easier to handle. Or something was broken in her that didn’t allow grieving for anything except her own lost children, too little room for a romance long gone. Anger, that she could do, and it was this that flooded her when she spotted him in Lethe with his sharp, distinct features. “You,” she said loudly. It didn’t matter that he would not know her, that the person he killed had likely only ever referenced an Irma Sturmer, but never shown her to him. She knew him, that was enough, and they were alone on the street as she marched up to him, fists balled at her sides. “What deal did you have to make with those.... idiot council people for them to let you in?” It was tame compared to what she wanted to say, her lips trembling with fury, but the words she knew in German had no such English translation for him. She didn’t love Alfie Carnahan, not when he died and certainly not now, but he was genuine, and loud, and she had cared for him. He deserved someone to have righteous anger over his death. “Alfie was an idiot, but he did not deserve to meet you. Do you remember him? Do you remember any of them?”

@alejandrosrosales

“Sheisse!” was the only appropriate response to someone knocking you off your feet. Alejandro cradled her, her face pressed into his chest and his arms cushioning her head before it could impact the floor, all the while using himself as a vampire shield on her behalf. Her ears rang from the sound, the air escaping her lungs in a gasp and another swear, waiting for the world to stop quaking. She held her breath, clutching the collar of his shirt, unable to see anything more than the soft fabric pressed against her face and flesh beneath it. A second. Then two, or maybe more, and the only sound left was wailing car alarms and nearby wailing. “Alejandro, you... you!” Irma couldn’t find the words, not even when he lifted his near smothering hold to look down on her with concern on his stupid, worried face. Oh, that was the word she needed. “Depp! You could have died! Vampires, and fire, and these are not things even you can walk away from easily!” She freed a hand, and if it was shaking, she didn’t pause to comment on it. The fingers that brushed his cheek were gentle, cupping his cheek, but the kiss she pressed against his other cheek, against his forehead, were brutal and punctured with quiet insults. "Are you okay?”