mindfields.

The studio is filled with it's usual bright light. Outside, the city is illuminated with fire & car alarm flashes, and with no help from the random power outages preventing city lights from lighting roads. Darkness is sprinkled all around the city because of these outages. Award-winning news anchor William Asher had signed on to be the chief anchor to this small, single-town news station simply for his love of the news.  Given that he was a fae among men — a changeling to be exact — he had always been well aware, for the most part, of the goings-on of the supernatural realm; stories he would never be permitted to report on lest he ruin his career. Here in Evergreen Parrish, he finally got to report on the actual truth - or so he thought.  There was this thing called The Council. Asher was a man who had once gone over the police department and governor's office to reveal the truth. Try that with The Council and at the least you will find yourself living in another town with no memory of the life that you had made for yourself, nor the ones you loved.  The light was radiant, but not more radiant than the anchor. Asher forced one of his best smiles for the millionth time. “Good evening Evergreen, this is your Chief Anchorman William Asher here bringing you your nightly new updates. Evergreen Parrish is under lockdown.” His smile tightens with tension but he tries to distract this with the reassuring twinkle in his eyes, harnesting the power of his developing eye wrinkles to appear friendly. “I repeat: Evergreen Parrish is presently under a lockdown. No one is to leave and no one is to enter. If you or a loved one do decide to leave, The Council can not be held responsible for any memories lost, nor can it be expected for them to assist with the restoration of said memor--” Screams can be heard from the hallway, so distracting and piercing that it suddenly makes the lights above seem blinding & burdensome. The news anchor’s handsome face squints with discomfort and looks away from it, his first instinct to look at his assistant with an accusatory glance, as if this is all their fault. Asher lifts a finger up and begins to speak to them in a tell-off tone — body language much unlike the image that he is known for— and then the news is suddenly cut off. Soothing jazz music plays in it's place.

The Ancients triggered him in a different kind way. He did not feel the biological pulling to cause destruction. Door by door, he knocked until his knuckles bruised, and passionately he tried to convince each and every adult member of the households to join together to form what would be a defensive front. "If you stay within your homes waiting for reinforcements that have yet to be promised, surely your homes shall burn. Surely your blood and flesh, and the blood and flesh of your loved ones, will be used as temporary nourishment to them as they continue to consume everything and then move on to the next town!" Three times already he had been attacked by the very ones he had tried to convince, for they too had succumbed to the Ancient's pull. With blood all over the front of his clothes, obviously it had been a change he was continuously willing to take. Jesse had been a warrior beneath the sea for hundreds of years, and even though he had attempted to leave it all behind, his state-of-war mindset was now triggered within him. The willingness of supernatural beings more powerful than even himself to hide within their homes and hope for the best disgusted him.

Of course the tree could talk. Of course it was the town's most beloved Oracular Tree that the front of her car was currently wrapped around. It groaned & cursed at her, vocalizing the pain that she herself could not in her state of unconciousness. If it had teeth, they would surely be gnashing. 'Cursed are you, childe! Since the day of your birth! Cursed were your father & mother! Blessed is your daughter, for your presence shall not corrupt the babe!' These laments were what finally managed to awaken the gobliness, her face caressed by a deflated airbag. Her face ached, feeling like she had just taken a punch to it. Fire & chaos greeted her in her rearview mirror as she leaned her head back in agony. Estele froze. She did not want to leave her car. At the same time, her fingers trembled from where they rest upon the steering wheel — a charge of energy familiar to her but foreign at the same time, like an old, abandoned friend.

They weren't his friends. They only seemed to be united for a cause — a cause that they no longer carried enough reason within their minds to figure out. They weren't all wolves, no — not the three or for men and women he had been roaming with for the most part of the night, then day, and then anthoer night. The tie around his neck was the only remnant of the clothing that he had placed on his body before he shifted. It had remained around his neck loosely while he was in his wolf form, like a leash led by no master. It had been placed around his neck to impress a job interviewer & to help create a better life for himself post-incarceration. Now it seemed that all he cared about was consuming life, and to the point of destruction. Though one of his new accomplices remained in their shifted form, he now took matters into his now human-formed hands, slamming down a heavy stone upon the legs of a nameless rescue as they tried to get away. He let out a roaring laugh, having beat his new companion to their prey first & not even needing his supernatural form. "That's why you never take your eye off."

faust like ‘la boheme’ by charles aznavour & ‘calle luna calle sol’ by hector lavoe, off of the top of my head. older songs. lita likes 'is this what i get for loving you’ by the ronettes. she died in ‘65 & they had some amazing girl groups in the early sixties. crow like bauhaus and post-punk groups of the eighties. if it is spooky & thought provoking , he digs it.  joy division - ‘new dawn fades.’ jesse genuinely likes surf music and he’s trying not to come off as cliche. it captures the ocean’s bliss. see ‘pet sounds’ the beach boys album.

“yes,” the sculptor agreed shortly before turning around. love. just as with the days of the past, he couldn’t be bothered to think of such an overwhelming thing whilst focusing on his art. his replicas of henry remained his only ones unfinished & just like henry, this fact got beneath his skin. each step closer that he took towards his unfinished creation breathed life into his undead body. somehow the stars came into alignment with the three of them there - faust, henry’s blood, and the art. “i am two-hundred and eighty years old,” he spoke, looking down at the bust of his dearly departed friend and not into forrest’s eyes, his hands getting to work. “and yet i still remember how he smelled. i remember what use to cause those lines in his forehead - much more fainter than your own - to line up with uncertainty. i saw his eyes light up at the offer of employment, as he too once modeled for me. your ancestor. now before me sits a lawyer. a polite, controlled professional. i am unsure if this would have made my friend swell with pride or be wholeheartedly bewildered.” a small laugh appears and disappears as soon as it shines though, quickly buried with the seriousness of focus.

age only seemed to make henry’s beauty more timeless & easing into faust’s studio was a noticeably well-nourished and older henry. those extra years of life that this privileged life had granted today’s model had created more lines on their face, which defined every single feature that faust had once taken such a delight in. molding out forrest’s face would be even more complicated than molding his ancestor’s. faust was mentally salivating at the challenge. he does his best to remind himself that forrest is just a model and not his old friend, however, he remembers having to give himself the same just a model, only a model reminders two centuries ago when foreign feelings developed. the sculptor says nothing in response, he only studies the face of the other. a deep sadness can be seen in his eyes & in a flash it is gone. finally, he speaks. “sit down,” he says. he speaks in the same way he spoke to henry when he first hired the young man. sit there and be an inanimate object. the last thing he needed was for forrest to unintentionally charm him into a friendship.  “i said i would be sculpting you, yes?" he dismisses. "now i need to get the lines in your face. and that very faint scar.” he walks closer and places his hand beneath the chin of the other and tilts it at different angles, “you look so much like him. i dream of him during the day. i never forgot, not one freckle or blemish. i only curse my hands for not being able to accurately make display of each one. henry."

🗡️ 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦  🤡 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘪𝘮𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦 🕊️ 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴 / 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯  🧐 𝘫𝘶𝘥𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 / 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨

Lending a warm hand of comfort upon the other's forearm, she blinks once before responding. "If it's those three fates that you are relying on, then so be it." She hums before taking another sip of tea. "Truthfully, I believe the fates to be so uncooperative at times that I do not even wish to wear their clothing designs." she admited followed by a small, bashful laugh at the lack of class with her confession. "How good is it for me, Amelia, that my sweetest friend is hiding things from me?" she adds. "How ever can I help you if I do not know what is happening?

it's lunchtime at lucky's, one of the busiest hours of the day. some would argue that the new cook malik is one of the best cooks there. some are actually making this argument right now, trying to persuade the ex-con into going right back into that kitchen while he is on his own lunch break if only for their own sick satisfaction of a properly seasoned meal — of techniques taught to him by his dearly departed mother whose cooking everyone loved. his facial expressions are tired, his shoulders slumped, as he gently shakes his head no and drinks his coffee from one of the diner's booths. other's have the decency of mind to comment that it's such a shame that they arrived at an hour where he wasn't working & make plans to come back tomorrow at a different time. "sounds like a plan," he answers unenthused, though raising his voice at least one octave to fake pleasantries with the customers. malik has been back for one month. with moments like these, he wishes he were back in prison. at least there people had enough mind to know not to mess with him.

it is the home of her chosen 'patron deity' that she walks by every single day. it's nowhere in between her path from home to work, but she makes the extra two block walk to do so, and all in hopes of catching a glimpse. unashamedly, she lifts her head high and looks around — squinting past the curtains in their windows and seeing nothing but black in the daytime and shades of light at night. her reasons for moving to evergreen parrish were much more different than her peers — and so she dare not let anyone know, lest they judge her harshly for it. she was already a human, not a gifted or exceptional one, and a pagan at that. surely, within the social structure of this town, this would put her at an even lower level of a hierarchy. she wishes for the days where her gods reigned supremely. she yearns for the days where the dedicated worshippers such as herself would be rewarded. lita wonders if they can still hear her prayers to them here on earth. until then, her prayers remain unanswered & lita continues to do her best at blending in with the rest. a large part of her hopes that her patron knows. she hopes her patron can hear her prayers and see her walking by their home almost twice a day, for she is dedicated to them & ready to do their bidding whenever they tell her to. suddenly, the front door of the residence opens. lita freezes in her tracks, her glance suddenly cast aside out of nervousness, before returning her gaze. her trembling fingers latch onto her bag tightly and she gathers whatever courage she has and turns on her feet to walk towards them. she has waited for this moment all of her life. to see the face of god, so to speak.