of the fire.

sixteen; the last song you listened to?

“SLEEPOVER by Hayley Kiyoko.”

twenty-five; you just found $100! how are you going to spend it?

thirteen; your worst enemy?

“I don’t have a worst enemy. Even if I did, I wouldn’t name them, and I certainly wouldn’t hex them so that they having a creeping sense of doubt for twenty-six hours or blotchy, burnlike scars on his body or cause his ears to itchy painfully whenever he lies… No, no, no. I wouldn’t do that to my worst enemy. -- If I had one.”

thirty-two; you got kicked out of the country for being a time-traveling heathen who sleeps with celebrities and has super-powers. but check out this cool shit… you can move to anywhere else in the world!

“Time-traveling? Sleeping with Celebrities? - What era was James Dean again? Early fifties, right? Yeah, that's where you'll find me. Or not.”

forty-eight; do you hold grudges?

“Depends on if I’ve heard what the person I’m holding a grudge against has to say. I usually don’t because people are chickenshit, - so, yeah, I hold grudges.”

fifty-seven; what is the last thing you drew a picture of?

three; the person you would never want to meet?

Answered.

seven; what shirt are you wearing?

I’m wearing a black t-shirt. The hem of the sleeves are white, on the back is a small print of the middle finger emoji.”

nine; bright room or dark room?

“Depends on my mood. Sometimes I feed off of the sunrays that spill into a room. Other times, if I’m feeling moody, I like my atomsphere to match my mood, so I’ll turn off the lights and close the blinds.”

fourteen; what is your current desktop picture?

“This picture of a campfire.”

thirty-six; have you ever been admitted to the hospital?

“Yeah, and not to my parents' knowledge, for a few stitches on my upper left arm, the back of my left thigh and my right thumb... That was my last, wild night in Johannesburg before leaving to come here.”

forty-five; if you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

He creased his forehead for a moment, finding it ironic that she’d call the woman in the mirror a witch. A witch would’ve been able to trick him out of his magic — that’d have been much more plausible than a ghost. His mouth fell open as he processed the thought, then he shut it again when her expression shifted from excitement to wariness. Maeve could see right through him, not like the fae could, but in her own way; she could read him like a book even when he wished she wouldn’t, which was why he’d avoided her when he started dabbing into blood magic. She’d have seen through his lies. She’d have known, like she did now. The concerned look on her features pulled at his heartstrings. 

“I did.” There was a knot in his throat where he kept the details of his own recklessness. Time and again he found himself there, drowning in the consequences of his mistakes; his dark curiosities. He took the leap when no one else would, and he paid the price for it when it didn’t work in his favor. It was difficult to admit to the truth, to voice it and make it real. Desmond reached for her hand across the table, catching it in his. He couldn’t feel her magic, nor would she feel his. Lost, or blocked, either way he was left with emptiness. It felt like before, like getting cut off from the coven’s magic; numbness. “She took my magic. I don’t know why or how, but it’s gone.” He swallowed, a pause to collect his strength. “I’ll take it back, I just need to find out how.”

The eldest Browne sibling took her hand and she knew what had happened before Desmond voiced it. She felt a quick panic flutter into her chest, creating a quick rhythm of heart again ribcage. In return, she took both of her hands and cupped them around Desmond’s, as if to warm them. Her brows then furrowed, but not in worry, in anger. Her brother had been foolish to face Bloody Marry. She also knows and understands why he did it and not thinking about the repercussions. Or maybe he did, but the curiosity got in the way. It also angered her that this was one more thing that was taken away from Desmond. This time around, he had his little sister and she wasn’t going anywhere.

Desmond: You're the bratty one then.

Desmond: Your apathy concerns me.

Desmond: I'll take your word for it.

Maeve: Now you're just saying stuff you don't mean.

Maeve: As long as it's not you or three more people in this town I like who's not dying, I can carry on peacefully.

three; the person you would never want to meet?

“Nobody really comes to mind... That's probably because I’ve already met the person I would never want to meet, back in Johannesburg, and they’re out of my life and incredibly unhappy.”

six; when you looked in the mirror this morning what was the first thing you thought?

Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary… “I thought that I’m a mess of a human being that should stop staying out until four in the morning when she has a shift at nine.”

eight; what do you label yourself as?

“Pal, I have no idea. I didn’t realize that people still use labels to describe themselves. If I had to pick… Maybe The Troublemaker? Or The Troubleseeker? The Free Spirit? This is shit that other people have called me, but I'm taking them for the sake of this question.”

fifteen; do you like someone?

“Of course I do. I like everyone I meet.” She smiles cheekily.

seventeen; you can press a button that will make anyone person explode. who would you blow up?

“Donald Trump. He fucked with the people, he fucked wih the envionment, and now he’s fucking with the elephants.”

twenty; what is your best physical attribute?

Desmond: I'm not the brooding one. I'm the mature one. There's a difference.

Desmond: Haven't you heard? The town is a mess tonight. People are dying.

Desmond: Just tell me you're somewhere safe.

Maeve: You can take the title of the brooding AND mature one. How about that?

Maeve: Isn't this town... Always a mess? And aren't people... Always dying?

Tranquilitea would have been a cute spot for Maeve if it didn’t smell like dirt. The scent was heavy as it lingured in the air; as did a few potted plants in circular glass bowls that hang from the ceiling. Maeve tipped it out of her way and let it swing behind her. “Hey, you weirdo," The redhead calls to the familiar witch, her voice echoing in the small place. She still has mixed feelings about Cael, but she knew that grudge she held was slowly easing. She can't hold onto the resentment for long, she doesn't want to, and to get over the bitterness was to slowly easy the earth witch back into her life. Maeve was disappointed him like she would have been with a family member, not a friend. So, here she was. "Find any Griffin’s lately?” They haven't seen each other since the day they were suppose to get married. Maeve gives a snort of a laugh before she felt her stomach lurch at the thought. It would have been like marrying a brother. Alright, she needed to stop thinking about this. "Have any teas for nausea?"

The revelation was enough to pull a giggle from the vampire’s lips after her brows unfurrowed. “Did you really? Did he really?” Another bit of laughter escaped before she continued. “Did he really think all it’d take was buying you a drink?” Stranger things had happened, but the nativity surrounding the man almost seemed innocent. The thought of his trusting nature stifled her giggles after a time. Perhaps he deserved it, but he seemed lucky a more devilish manipulation hadn’t grabbed hold of him. “I don’t think I would have ever thought of that, if I’m being honest but thank you for the drinks.” She sipped from her glass, the burn still barely present on a numbed tongue. “I don’t usually drink at bars, but they are always severely overpriced.”

The blonde gives a bit of laughter and Maeve silently promised her that she was going to try and keep up trying to get Avery to laugh for the rest of the night while they hung out. It was an improvement from five minutes ago and that was a good sign. “Right or wrong, mostly wrong, acting or looking a certain way can make a guy think you’re easy.” She says to the blonde with an underhanded grin and shrugs, “I play into that because It’s not hard to get free drinks; guys just can’t help themselves the poor schmucks.” Maeve takes a mouthful of her drink, halfway finishing it. “You never thought about lying to someone to get free drinks?” She asks, brows raising, smile still on her lips. Essentially, that’s what it came down to. Lying. And Maeve was kind of good at it. In the last five or so years, she’s had more than enough practice. “Don’t mention it, it’s not  a problem.” It really wasn’t. In fact, every now and then she would look to the crowd to see who she could use next. “You’re not alone in that. No one really drinks at bars anymore because of that reason, unless it’s a huge event. I tend to binge drink before leaving the pre-party, but I tend to lose my buzz around eleven or twelve."

Calloway shook off her next comment with an equally embarrassed grin, joking, “I usually don’t worry about being obvious, because I’m usually certain it’s obvious, no intuition required.” The confidence he saw in the redheaded stranger was something Calloway knew he would never possess, but he couldn’t help but admire the girl’s effortless transition into conversation. He laughed at her more than accurate description of the party they had left, and responded, “That’s true, though in all honesty it was so crowded I doubt that there were any closed doors left. I don’t really know what I expected, but at least there was plenty of alcohol. It’s hard to be too miserable with alcohol.” He reasoned lightly, though he wasn’t sure he had drank enough to make him anything more than a little buzzed. 

“The energy was something else.” He said in agreement, though he had little time to reply as she seemed content in moving on from both the subject and the club. He watched in paranoid awe, as he always did in view of magic, as she incinerated her cigarette in her palm, which at least cleared up the feeling he’d had about her being a witch. In a knee-jerk decision, he followed the girl after she turned back to him, asking her, “Where are we going?”

“In a way, that’s a good way to live. At least if you know you’re being obvious, you can give less of a fuck, right?” The Redhead replies as she walks along, arms swaying carefreely with a smile to match on her lips as if she were walking towards freedom. This was always her favourite part of the night; going to parties and leaving with strangers. It was a dicey move, but Maeve put confidence into her abilities to keep her safe. Probably too much confidence. The people she left with usually ended up holding a connection to her more than the people she went with in the first place. "Do you wish you could ever be that carefree?" She asks, "So carefree that you don't care that people see you? All doors opens! Mind, heart, soul. You know what I mean?" The tall witch looks to the other, eyes squinting slightly. The thing was... This wasn't even drunk babble. The vibration in the back pocket of her jeans caught her attention for a moment. Taking it out and looking at the screen, having to squint to get past the slightly blurred vision, she sees she’s gotten a few text from Desmond. “Anywhere you want, babe. The whole town is ours.” She answers Calloway with a grin. “What’s your name, by the way?”