MYSTICAL.

          “I told you that you’d be smitten,” Shelby chides easily and the effortless nature in which she’s so uncharacteristically relaxed should be enough to tune Laurent in that she agrees with the fervent sentiment. She has never been one for anything more than spurious dalliances, relationships that had a firm expiration date, but she also had never quite expected she’d fall into bed with Laurent Bernard either; life full of whimsical and perplexing surprises. She had learned to take these instances day by day and accept them with more honey as opposed to vinegar; a new leaf she’d chalk it up to. Shelby wasn’t young anymore and hell, in regards to Red Creek and its rampantly prowling quietus, she was probably considered damned geriatric for having made it thus far. Still, the Fontaine was a glutton for resistance, her entire life teeming with nettlesome bouts where she tested the sensitive boundaries of those around her. 

          “Can’t you just live in the moment? See where the days take us?” A fondness lurks in her eyes and she’d surely smite him if the fellow witch dared point it out, grinning softly despite flippant extempore. “Not everything needs a thoroughly calculated plan with all the routes and possibilities overturned, you know?” Shelby is irrevocably challenging, a trait that would never be snuffed out, a troublesome expression settling on the mien. 

                   Shelby’s entitled to her own opinion, but it doesn’t mean Laurent has to agree with it. This is how the two often scour for dominance, resulting in them not leveling in the needs and wants necessary for them to preservere. What Laurent’s bent on is a partner that seeks for longevity under a robust family dynamic. He craves the elements of secureness to keep him afloat. Shelby has an individualistic ability to rattle Laurent’s cage, finding difficulty in the appropriate words to not retaliate against her childish remarks. “I’m going to regret doing anything if you keep throwing this in my face,” he brought out, immediately palming his forehead out of annoyance brewing. Needless to say, their time together has been exciting; he encounters new discoveries about Shelby every day, persistent in exploring her further. The father and widow in him, though, is enticed on establishing a permanent situation if this is how they’ll coordinate for the foreseeable future. He’s already agreed to easing her pain from the other members of the Fontaine family, happily removing and protecting her from an already toxic situation, however what else can he do to maintain the smoothness in their tracks? 

           Laurent’s method of dating is defined as old school and presentable. Of course, the dynamic between him and Shelby is odd especially because of his previous encounter with her sister, but he still ensured the foundation is decorous. The forthcoming issue arises deep within himself, not necessarily the younger witch, yearning firmness in what they are rather than gyrating in circles. His following words aren’t meant to make Shelby feel constrained, however it is meant to make the two feel more at ease with their establishment. “I like you,” the blonde oozed, disturbed by his admittance. “I like you more than I thought I would; there’s a balance... a charm when we’re together.” Which is true. Their past encounters of bickering stemmed from an improper form of communication that then led to misjudgment. Prior conversations led Laurent to declare Shelby nothing more as presumptuous and entitled, the opposite of who he previously wanted to allow into his life. Their unintended affair immediately transitioned his judgement for the good, tempted to drop bounds and remain close amicably.

          “That’s ——grim,” extempore was nonchalantly choked out, understanding full well she could never find the right words to comfort Laurent on such matter. It was strange now, to peer over at the flaxen witch and realize that their myriad of encounters had been with her venting, filling the empty spaces with her words so she would not dare suffocate on the silence. Shelby hardly knew much about what had happened to the mother of Laurent’s children, or really, about Laurent in general and it warranted a regretful pause. “You’ve never told me about her before,” not that she had ever offered the space to do so, gnawing on her bottom lip in a sullen finality. No matter, she felt irreparably wounded at the mention of her own family, destructive tendencies blooming as feelings simmered within, “Now if I slapped you for my family how do you expect me to just abandon them altogether?” Shelby offers a mild grin in attempts to recover from her lachrymose bout, stepping closer. 

          He had already crossed the invisible line which separated them, something which could never be taken back and its all Shelby needs to completely go haywire on the matter. She has never been one to make clear and conscious decisions, in spite of her occupation, Shelby being the very reckless and impetuous individual that she has treated all these years.  “I do forgive you,” it’s uttered uncharacteristically mellow, grabbing the collar of his shirt to tenderly pull him closer, “Have you admired me all this time?” she snickers at vernacular chosen, suddenly sycophantically coy. She inhales audibly, slowly and full of mirth, as if basking in a moment that now shut out the entire world, a reality in which only they could take part in, even if just for a moment. “What do you want?” Inquiries continue, though she won’t dare initiate a kiss, inhaling his scent as if it offered any inkling of restraint, the collar of his shirt still in possession of her fists. 

          The pained memory of his deceased wife dimmed a harsh light on the realities of life, one where Laurent only continued to find life worth living because of his children. To witness her death and the struggle ensued brought forth a pang of discomfort, grappling with the existence of someone who he loved now nothing but a ghost. “In all fairness, I barely discussed this with Savannah.” While his former partner, if considered one, knew Laurent employed himself as a full-time father while teaching at the college level, he never specified intimate details surrounding his wife’s death because of him not wanting pity. The Bernard love-story appeared as a textbook example of a tragic story-arch on daytime television —-  sickening and grim, leaving nothing short of the imagination. Suspiring a long breath, words dragged out regrettably, having to pause every few seconds to not tire himself. “I stopped practicing magic because her and I got caught in a troubling situation with an original vampire from the states. You either do the spell right or die. Obviously she did it wrong.” At the realize of strained vocal chords, Laurent cleared his throat once more, however this time, palpitating. “I don’t care to be a witch; I was naturally born to be a shit one, regardless.” Yet in reality, the grisly nature of his wife left him in a whirlwind of mental trauma, fearful of tapping in to only have the same fate as her in the foreseeable future.

          “Well, It’s my legacy and all that,” she reiterated with a scowl as if exhausted from the mere imprecation of her family name. Perhaps Shelby could sever family ties in an effort to save herself, an idea she had tossed away a myriad of times before, the very sentiment preposterous. They had grown selflessly together, only to selfishly be thrown apart, the relationship between siblings dematerializing as years rallied on. “I always find my way back here,” it’s a sliver of self pity that resonates off flaxen mien, internally horrified that Laurent was the one to bear witness to her current mental throes. She hadn’t expected the kiss, jumping back as a sense of dread cavorted across her countenance, a mild gasp escaping her. “What the hell are you doing?” Actions never lie, however, gentle hands acting as a tender barrier between them, gliding up his arms before resting on his chest. It’s a mild protest, one that she does not supply with much vigor, gazing up at him in pure bewilderment for the cause. “Is this your way of not appeasing them?” Mocking inquiry was flung out as if it would offer her any control over what had just transpired, licking the flames of trouble that would be a dalliance between them if she dared reciprocate. 

         “My children’s mother is dead. Murdered by execution. Do you think I’d allow them to have that as their legacy? As tragic as life can be, only you determine what defines your legacy, not others.” Laurent reveled in fear since relocating in Red Creek, though his fright decreased the more his profile kept low and he remained inactive with his magical capabilities. The elder male was fully aware that at any given moment, a malevolent individual could allow him to reap the same ending as his deceased wife. That did not define him, however. He mourned just as anyone else would, but instead of harboring on the departed, Laurent created a trajectory to ensure his children would not meet the same fate. The idea of Shelby’s siblings implementing her heirloom was abstruse; of course, the power of the original family impossible to plant such a seed. “I did what I felt was right.. which was stupid, but it’s me —- Laurent. What do you expect when our first encounter involved myself getting slapped?” The joke slipped in an attempt to alleviate any possible tension, scrummaging to find the most appropriate words to say. Naturally, awkwardness remained on par for the two grown adults, with the witch hissing lowly. 

          “Family is big in Red Creek,” Shelby scoffed, adamantly stubborn as she rallied on, a noxious feeling blooming in the pit of her stomach. This was perhaps as candid as they had ever been with each other without it stemming into petulant madness, gnawing her bottom lip in a near poignant regard. “I’m their big sister, Laurent, and I failed them. I fail them everyday because I choose not to protect them.” She knew it was ridiculous, they were all adults now and could learn from their own decisions but it was a type of trauma that regaled itself from her childhood, horning in on every future decision Shelby would ever come to know. “It was never supposed to be like this,” her tone is bleak, invoking practical nausea from her as she dared swallow the lump in her throat, “Whatever,” she kicked a stone that remained on the floor, arms crossed in tandem succinctness, “Hell with it, I’m starving.” She had immediately flipped from her lachrymose state to that of a more chipper realm, though her vibe certainly came off stale, the effects of her sudden turmoil and regretful word vomit a miasma in the air. 

          Hues were dampened at the mere thought of their family turmoil, not entirely expecting Laurent’s sudden and perplexing behavior. It caused her mouth to go dry, tongue feeling akin to a brick in her mouth as she did her best not to recoil from his touch. The very action could illicit a strange pause, before inching backwards, arms crossing in tandem. “Yeah, well, I’m a doctor. I’ve got a fucking PhD and I’m still considered beneath the heap because my magic is subpar,” a haphazard chuckle followed suit, eyes diverting from his flaxen mien as if ashamed at his touch and sullen apology, gnawing at her inner cheek in finality. “It’s just how it goes here.” 

          “Well, Fontaine’s are supposed to be perfect and all that,” a wave of her hand as if to encompass the entire family as one single entity, knowing each sibling was more fucked up than the last deep down. “My problem?” A brow raised, as if taking full offense to the sensitive topic which was no unleashed, a sigh leaving her after a perpetually unnerving pause, “Look, Savannah chose to be on the council, she sacrificed plenty so we, the older siblings didn’t have to. She says that it was her choice and that it’s all okay, but I feel the tension and the hatred piling on, year after year. And nothing I can do now will ever change that. I did nothing, I do nothing to help with the magic that this town so desperately needs and I suffer the consequences but I’d rather a broken family then a broken, massacred town. Ruin a few, save a lot.” It wasn’t archetypal of her to relinquish herself to her feelings so easily, word vomit tumbling from her in a catastrophic bout; nausea seeping into her throat in finality. “Are we done here?”

          “Easier? Just because you were bedmates doesn’t mean Saint Savannah would become a petty crime doer for you,” brow was raised as if she dared Laurent to challenge her on the matter, not intending the burn that would likely come in tandem with extempore. “Mm, well I’m a normal, human gal who fancies herself a string of errands throughout the day. Not everyone is caught up in magical woo day in and day out, honey.” Shelby was on a roll with the saccharine monikers and could not stop, relentless in her plight of vexation. 

          “Don’t tell me you’re secretly the town’s biggest troublemaker,” Kara ruefully teased, a brow raised in mock anticipation. “I never pictured you to be a louche, Laurent,” saying his name brought great joy to the ghost, the male somebody new whom she had met postmortem. “I’m always here to listen, I promise you just have to call out, and boom! - I’ll appear,” she could adore the little jabs at herself when around those who weren’t aware of her predicament, giving a mild shrug, “I’m…okay, I think.” She turned to him, nose crinkled, “Hey, are you a hopeless romantic? I think it’s my fatal flaw.” 

          “And yet you felt it was dire to mention her,” Shelby muttered as if finding it a nuisance to be reminded of the relationship her sister had with Laurent. He was a nuisance and it was he who broke up with her little sister all to save face and blame it on having a damned epiphany thanks to Shelby. “Laurent, I’ll kick you in the balls if you don’t stop,” deadpan was paired with a mien painted with amusement at the thought, arms crossed as if daring him to test her on the matter.

          “Mm, no, though I’ve been finding it hard to reappear in town as of late,” a secret joke at her own expense allowed a giggle to roll forth, “Laurent.” His name was expressed as though it was a breath of fresh air, “How are you?”

          “Oh, well we could absolutely call that guy back over if you really want to get Savannah instead…” Shelby made the means to appear as if she was beckoning the officer back who had long since stormed off in an amalgamation of confusion and perceptive disgust. She paused now, brows knit together as if coming to a mind blowing realization, “What the hell are you doing breaking traffic laws anyway? I thought you’d be all haughty and above that.” 

          “Mm, right,” she nodded with a near sly grin as if she could actually commit to his lie, eyes twinkling with mischief as she dared to conjure up a retaliation to his false claims. She could suppress a snicker, saddling up to him in tandem finality, “Unfortunately, babe, the blood work came back and we are related, so sorry to break the news this way.” Her face contorted in a mocking essence, doing her best to present herself seriously to the strangers who looked on, mouth agape at her outlandish and fictitious confession that would embarrass him till kingdom come.