A Season of Loneliness

꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

Josefina had been lying there, in a bed in a mansion she didn’t know well, surrounded by things she didn’t have attachment to, wonder if she was going to die. She wasn’t. Liza had drank enough blood from her on a few occasions that she knew what it was like to feel like you had the kind of blood loss that killed someone and Clementine, despite her attitudes, had not taken that much. She had taken a lot though. Enough that when she tried to sit up on Noa’s approach, she fell back into bed.

The best she could do as groan when Noa started to touch at her skin. Her clammy and hot and sticky skin. God she looked like shit right now, no way around it. She wanted to be embarrassed but this was one of her best friends and she had probably seen her worse.

“Hi,” Jo finally managed to choke out. There were tears in her eyes, the kind that never seemed to stop coming once they had begun. “Noa I think Clem hates me.” Probably not the most important thing to be discussing when there was a chance she needed somewhat immediate medical attention, but it was the only thing at the forefront of her mind.

Of course, of course, that’s the first thing Jo would worry about.  She and Clem both.  Noa would have smiled if not for the everything else.  Instead she sighed quietly.

“I don’t think Clem could ever hate you.”  She furrowed her brows, thinking what to do next.  After a moment, she reached to strip the case off one of the pillows, balling it up in her hand and pressing it gently to the wound which still seeped blood.  “I am, in fact, certain she doesn’t.”  Her gaze flicked back to Jo; Noa hoped confidence, reassurance would be visible through the concern.  “If I had my wings, I’d bet them on it.”

Lying flat, pressure on the injury...the white of the pillow case was turning red slowly, but faster than Noa would have liked.  She swallowed, pictured herself wrapping her fingers white knuckled around her own fear and holding it down.  As if mirroring the visualization, she flexed her free hand and then, unsure what else to do, pressed it to Jo’s forehead.  She wasn’t expecting her to have a temperature, but it was a comforting gesture, wasn’t it?  “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

It was with newfound enthusiasm that Noa worked the bottle open.  She’d never been particularly interested in wine before, for reasons obvious only in hindsight, but fae wine...  Well, she felt like a college freshman all over again, but at the prospect that it might actually pay off this time- call it irresponsible, but oh was she curious.

Finally, after much wiggling, the cork came free with a pop...and an unexpected recoil that had her elbow knocking backwards into something unfortunately human shaped.  There was no time to appreciate her prize, then, as she followed her motion without pause to face them, apology ready on her lips.

“I am so sorry!  Got a little too excited-”  The salt on your skin and lips and hair as you walk back from the beach, a lone votive candle in a cathedral, humming to yourself.  Despite where came from, Noa had always found the siren to have an innate warmth to him.  “Ollie!  Hi!  Still sorry.”  Her smile is apologetic but bright as she recognizes him.  “How have you been?  Oh, would you like some?”  She indicates the bottle.  It should be fine for him, right?

The buzz in her veins was new.  It was warm.  It was nice.  It was not yet enough to cover the spike of ice that ran through them when out of the corner of her eye she spotted Clem.

Thank god.

Wine glass discarded on the counter, she mentally cursed the very pretty shoes Jo had helped her pick for slowing her down in this moment.  Luckily, it seemed she wouldn’t need a full out sprint, just a power walk, to reach the woman in red.  “Woah, hey, where are you going?”  Noa caught her with the hand that wasn’t holding her skirt out of the way, grip as gentle on her arm as she could manage under the sudden urgency.

Her eyes searched over Clem’s features, concern plain on her own.  Smudged makeup, tear tracks...a second shade of red mingled with her lipstick.  That gave Noa pause for just a moment, but she did her best to keep her attention from lingering there.  Instead, she moved it back to Clem’s eyes, careful to keep her face open.  “Hey...”  She tried for soft, reassuring.  Now that they’d stopped moving, she could use her other hand, thumb lightly swiping away some mascara blackened tears.  “What happened?”

It would’ve been out for ages - the craft he’d given her. Even Sorcha’s work wasn’t forever. Noa had made it this far, though. Just a little further. Cam had waved over the dash at the sight of her: alone, slipping away from the entry nook of Dr. Jones’ closed up, blinds-drawn clinic. Leaning across the cab, he slung the passenger side open before the truck stopped, even. And he’d be lying if he said his heart didn’t settle, sinking from somewhere up in the back of his throat, as the changeling hauled herself into the seat and clacked the door shut after herself. A tight u-turn, and they were gone, ripping towards the lot. Thank Christ, the Cicerone, Guide, Greater Demon below and God above and whoever else was listening and gave even half a shit.

The relief - the first he’d felt, since tearing back from the Otherrealm - hit like a brick, settling him into the driver’s seat. “Hey.” He’d sighed it out, slow, measured, eyes ticking from Noa to the street to the mirrors. Back to the street, as Cam started them down a few twists that’d dodge those checkpoints. Cracking his neck, he pointed her towards the glovebox. “Brought another ward, in there. Trade you?” Cam held out his hand for that shoulderbone charm. “I’ll take the old one, see about fixing it up.” Whatever could be done, to keep Noa as safe as she could be from - all this. 

@noatwithstanding​

She’d managed to hold back the tears for more than a day.  They had not fallen when she climbed out the window; they had not fallen in the Starbucks, nor the library, nor any of the places in between; they had not even fallen when she’d curled into the shadow of the clinic’s door.  She’d been close the whole time -- eyes glassy, lashes damp -- but her cheeks were dry.

By the time she slipped, or rather, slumped into the seat, the shield of the door closed on her other side, her cheeks were wet.  It was a quiet sort of crying - no sobbing, no shaking, just intermittent sniffing and the slow trickle of tears as the fear was realized and replaced by relief.  “Thank you for getting me,” the words were soft but only slightly uneven. 

“Oh, uh yeah.  Yeah, here.”  Pulling up the left sleeve of her sweatshirt from where it covered down to her fingers revealed the first charm, the leather strap wrapped tight around her knuckles the way her grandmother had held her rosary.  Carefully, she unwound it and placed it into his waiting hand, before opening the glove box to find the new one.  “You d-didn’t have to do that,” he didn’t have to do any of this, really; she could only imagine how busy he was right now, but she was so grateful that he did.  “Thanks.”

For a moment, there was only the sound of the engine.  Noa fidgeted, tracing over the pattern of red thread.  “I wanted to try and get ahead of them.  Maybe keep them away from-”  Cam hadn’t asked for an explanation, but she couldn’t help but give one.  “And I didn’t want to be used like, like a...”  She swallowed, pursed her lips.  “Thank you again.”

@noatwithstanding​

Among the magic community, Nora has always been reknowned for her mental wards in particular. She prided herself in the specialty and she has yet to find another wizard who could make one better than her. And even though she made these wards purposefuly weaker, Nora was confident that no one would be able to sense her thoughts and even fewer would even notice they were there to begin with. So why was it that Noa kept looking at her like that?

Maybe it was just how Noa looked at people, but it felt different. And considering the two had never actually met, it was particularly annoying. Or maybe Nora was being paranoid. It could also be that. Regardless, she needed to know why.

Nora ignored the odd glances during the ceremony and only after guests began to head towards the reception did the wizard finally hunt down the other woman. “Hey, you know I don’t think we were officially introduced. I’m Nora.” She paused for a moment, debating how blunt she should be with this woman. “Is there a reason you keep looking at me weirdly?” Very bluntly apparently.

“Oh, it’s nice to meet you-”

Noa hadn’t meant to stare.  She never meant to stare.  Still, somehow, it seemed she always did stare.  And almost always got caught.  All things considered, this seemed a less than idea way to get introduced to the other maid of honor, but maybe that was on her for not introducing herself earlier.

Nora was a bit of a mystery to her - someone she hadn’t met or heard much of before now - but so was almost everyone else gathered today.  The impressions she’d been collecting just being here were bright and eclectic, full of new details she didn’t know yet what to make of, and almost too intermingled to keep track of.

That was why Nora stood out.

It had taken a bit for her to understand what was happening when she looked at the other woman, but eventually it had become clear: whenever her attention settled on Nora, it seemed to slip right past, slightly numbed.  It was like trying to get purchase on an icicle.  The impression itself wasn’t one of cold or slick; it just wasn’t accessible, almost seemed it wasn’t quite there.

“Ah, sorry,” genuinely apologetic, she looked away from Nora’s eyes, focusing instead on the hem of her dress.  “Well, uh, first, I’m Noa.  And it is still nice to meet you.  Second you’re...” how did she put this?  “You’re sort of coming up blank?”  She didn’t need an impression to know not to beat around the bush with this woman.  “I can’t seem to get a...sense of you.  Which is new.”

Fair One:​

───  

another hour, another line, another area full of humans. for many, that wouldn’t be a problem. outside of those that had various type of anxieties or whatever else mortals were afflicted with in the modern era. eun didn’t really feel like troubling themselves with thoughts of what people were cursed with in the past. in the very least, immortality could have been one of them. the black death another. perhaps a good ol’ fashion witch hunt. at least, they had to admit, mortals knew how to have a variety.

still, being around them for too long, was a test of their strength. the smell of blood was always present around them. they didn’t need to be bleeding for eun to sniff it out. so, a thought had occurred to them. perhaps instead of smelling that delicious metallic scent with a mix of car exhaust and body order, they would hunt out a coffee shop. there had always been a particular type of delight that spread through their scenes with the mix of coffee and blood filled the air. something that made them dare to try it once. it hadn’t gone well, but that didn’t mean there was any reason to enjoy that scent.

that was what had eun in the bright bungalow coffee. sunlight streaming through the windows, so brightly, they had to do everything they could not to practically snarl. instead, they looked around the room. carefully taking the time in line, getting a drink that would not be touch. allowing their pale hands to wrap around it. it took a few minutes for the vampire to scent someone out of the humans. someone different. normal really. almost comforting among all the cattle, they were forced to stand around for something as simple as killing time until the next meeting they needed to have to review properties.

it was luck that had their sunglass protected eyes darting to who had been staring at them. the other had looked away just in time. well, perhaps if a mortal was looking at them. a smirk tugged at the corner of their lips as their mind was fully made up.

without missing a beat, eun moved towards their area, sat in the chair near them as if it had been the plan all along and sighed, “i can’t tell you how pleased i am to run into a normal person here.” smoothed over their lips easily while bringing the cup upward as if a drink was going to be had. it wasn’t. 

“i’ll do my best not to bother you too much. you seem,” there was a pause as dark eyes looked over all the items around their new companion of the moment. clearly, they were studying something. of some kind. “quite busy,” their tone was friendly, almost curious. a rare thing for eun not to be…

───  

She almost thought she’d gotten away with it.  Almost thought she hadn’t been caught staring.  She righted the pen in her grip, actually processed a few of the words on the page-

And then the footsteps came back.  They stopped.  The chair next to her shifted.  Noa lost her place in the article again.

An apology was ready on the tip of her tongue as she looked up, more contrite than before, and made eye contact.  At least, she thought she made eye contact.  It was hard to tell with the sunglasses.  Before she could voice said apology, though, they spoke.

Well, at the very least, they didn’t seem offended.  A slow, almost incredulous smile pulled at her lips, as some of the anxiety abated to relief and then amusement.  A normal person.  Wasn’t that a sense of humor.  She took it as a tacit permission to return to studying them, only slightly less intently this time.  She traced their features, then the cup as they lifted it, curious to see if they’d actually drink, before following their gaze to consider her set up.

“Don’t worry about it,” she finally decided.  “I could use a break.”  Noa capped the pen, placing it carefully with the others, followed by the packet of pages, which she exchanged for her own drink.  Somewhat self conscious, she righted herself to sit more properly in the chair before mirroring their motion, though she did take a sip.  And a quiet inhale of its earl grey and vanilla scent to ground herself.  Some of the fear had dissipated, but the subtle twist of danger remained.  It didn’t hang over them so much as drape, like a well tailored jacket.  

“Try to parse the ‘academic language’ for too long without pause and soon enough it starts to all just go in one ear and out the other,” she explained.  “Or in one eye and out the other, I guess.”  The little correction came with equal parts exasperation and amusement, directed at herself.

She rolled her finger tips against the side of the mug a few times, nails clicking against the ceramic, a familiar if meaningless motion.  It helped to bleed off some of that nervous energy, but now Noa found herself more aware than usual of how extraneous the movement was, self conscious again after witnessing such elegant precision.

She pulled the offending hand away from the drink, offering it out instead.  “I’m Noa.  Noa Byrne.”  She smiled politely and then added a preemptive, “nice to meet you.”

Faeries were creatures of extremes; their positive emotions brought with them harmony and negative ones caused discordance. They were storms with skin on their best days, and natural disasters otherwise— Esmeray shouldn’t be surprised, thus and yet, the bits that seep from the cracks in this changelings composure feel greater than they should be, like water rushing through a fractured dam. 

She’d hoped that was all there was, hunters would roam these places just like the hunted. A faerie’s wings made a macabre mantle piece for some of the more sinister of the lot. 

“I am doing the rememberings, courses,” and Esmeray thinks it’s both comical and distressing that the woman knows so little about her own kind; the fae rarely ever forgot these things. “The forgettings are not in the simpleness for our kind, though and all you must not have the knowings of these.” If she sounds like her mother, it’s a concern for another day. Perhaps she doesn’t sound like Evren though, it’s been so many years since she’s heard the woman’s voice, she can’t remember it all that well. 

Still, the woman had imparted whatever views she’d been given from her mother before her, and so on. Esmeray’s immediate reactions were those she’d collected around the courts ( laugher ) and the second had been imparted on her through continued nurture and introspection ( compassion ). When Evren had time for Esmeray, she gave it, otherwise the maids in waiting did what they could. But the haughtiness and callous airs of the other noble children was a contagious one. 

“For all the honesties, these are the discoverings that are of the comical naturings in my court,” there was truly no need to hide it, and she didn’t wish to go through the nauseating trouble of lying, “I did the thinkings in the passings, though and all I did not do the dwellings as you may have been having the doing of. My selves should have been doing the slower thinkings, thus,” considering how much it had affected the woman, which should have been obvious given the circumstances. 

Regardless, she didn’t anticipate this reaction— the poor thing must have been smothering her emotions all this time and fae didn’t lend themselves to such forms of control. It would end up hurting her in the end, when the storms behind her eyes could be contained no more.

“Did you do the wishings to do the livings in the lies, in the stead? I have not done the ruinations, those who did the exchanges of your person have done the suchness in them selves.” Harsh words once again, but no less true. 

Noa barely registered the comment about memory, about her own knowledge.  Her whirlwind thoughts had already moved on, whipping only further toward frenzy.  She caught the next comment, though.

“Oh are they?”  She barked a bitter laugh,  “How nice for you.  This must just be so entertaining,” Venom did not so much drip as splatter from her shrill tone.  She didn’t quite process the following admission.  She wasn’t looking for reasons to forgive.

It would be an overstatement, really, to say she was looking for much of anything at this point.  She wasn’t thinking.  She was barely reacting anymore, either.  Rather, she was careening through the spiral of her own unleashed feelings, hurtling towards a cliff’s edge she couldn’t see.

And then the other fairy mentioned who was to blame.

“Oh?”  Her breathing was ragged, frantic.  “Them?  The kidnappers?  The abandoners?  The ones I don’t even know?  My- my- my...”

For a second, she stopped.  Stillness for just a moment.  Taught as the air before downpour.

She couldn’t hear the music.  If the other woman was speaking, she couldn’t hear her either.  Only her own heartbeat in her ears.  The barest suggestion of a branched shadow, almost a trick of the light, flickered over her head and was gone.  One tear slipped to her chin.

When Noa was a little girl, she’d had what her parents had deemed “legendary” tantrums.  There used to be a joke, even, among the family friends, that it wasn’t a party until Noa Byrne cried.  But her parents had helped her learn to understand her emotions.  To process them, to regulate them.  They’d practiced with her, carefully, patiently, how to pull herself from the maelstrom of her feelings to see them clearly, to find the true issue underneath.  They’d taught her how to find the words to express it, to communicate what she needed.  By the time Noa reached highschool, her reputation had inverted and she’d prided herself on being fairly analytical and levelheaded.

The tear fell.  And all of that practice went right out the window.

The sound she made was not a word.  It was not an attempt at a word.  The glass in her hand hit the floor, and what little remained of her composure shattered with it.  Rage bled from her like ink across wet paper, spreading and winding and catching and pooling in the people around them, the faces of those closest reflecting first faint unease, then slight but mounting frustration.  

*

If Colden hadn’t spent years being told in detailed, vivid ways to fuck right off and to not let the door hit him on his way out, he would have no doubt shrunk back at the societal misstep he’d made. It was hardly the first time Colden had asked such a question and been hit with the metaphorical brick wall that was the response. It was the first time he hadn’t expected it, though.

“Ah,” he voiced. The two letters were all the vocalization he planned to share of the rolling pile of thoughts that had been in his head just prior to it. “I supposed that’s all I needed to know.” Colden was here for Harker. The pumpkin carving had seemed like a roadblock put together by some pissed bastard when he’d left his place. By the time he’d arrived, it seemed like what promised to be the highlight of the evening. Not that anyone needed to know that shit.

He knew how long it had been since he carved a pumpkin. Or at least, he thought he did. He hadn’t exactly had the funds nor cause to carve a pumpkin for fuck-all payoff in the middle of the desert. Colden was most comfortable with the knife rather than the pumpkin tonight. Maybe if he was lucky, he might actually avoid carving into the pumpkin’s head like that one guy feared back in Monta — Shut the fuck up, head.

“Never understood this stupid ass holiday,” he noted, eyes scanning the diner in an automatic motion. “What’s the point of celebrating, y’know? We’ve got enough shit, we’re up to our eyes in shit, why mock the shit so it can fuck us sideways three days later like Samara?” He paused to cough, the words catching on his throat. “He’s the only damn reason I’d ever be out here,” Colden noted in a rasp, nodding towards Harker. “Elusive bastard.”

His response gave her momentary pause - Noa could hear the downturn in his tone, taste the sour of surprise on the tip of her tongue.  She hadn’t meant to be rude.  “It was a joke, C.”  She turned to face him and flashed an apologetic smile.  “Sorry.  The set up was just too perfect.”  Her gaze moved over his design, a welcome distraction from what had become of her own.

“Most people who celebrate don’t know about...all that.”  She caught herself; there were children around.  “Or how deep we are in it.  Most of them never will.”  Part of her envied them.  It wasn’t like she hadn’t flinched at the sight of a primary schooler in wings of wire and rainbow mesh telling her mother I wish I could be a fairy princess all the time.  She pivoted.  “I think it’s healthy.  Reassuring, in a way, to make light of what’s in the dark.”  As long as you didn’t ever learn it was actually there.

She could go on, probably, musing about the original traditions, the repeated themes, the effect on the psyche, but then his last comment registered. 

“Wait really?”  Her eyes followed his gesture to land on the man and then darted away again almost immediately, back to Colden.  “You want a chat with Harker?”  She confirmed, eyebrows high.  It was hard for Noa to imagine anyone would want to talk with the man, but she knew most people didn’t feel the way about him that she did.  Or rather, he didn’t feel the way to them as to her.  But Colden?  “I figured you’d find his line of work...off-putting.”

And the dissertation wasn’t going to write itself.

She curled deeper into the armchair, sideways as she could be while still resisting the urge to kick her feet up over the side – it wasn’t hers after all.  That was the point of getting out and going to the coffee shop.  Most of the point.  The rest of the point was the tea – her second London Fog waited in a broad rimmed mug on the little table beside her, alongside a small handful of colored pens and highlighters.

Right now she held blue, tip poised to make a note in the margin of the article she was trying so hard to focus on.  She managed to keep her eyes on it, but pen remained still as the rest of her attention shifted elsewhere.

It was the footsteps that stood out first.  They weren’t loud, but somehow still distinct from the rest of the hustle and bustle of the café which had all but faded to background noise.  It was something about the pacing, the careful but effortless evenness, that caught her attention.  It was the impression that followed on their heels that kept it.

The tang of blood - hadn’t she had that one before? similar but not exactly the same, the difference between crimson and wine - intricate gold filigree, a chord drawn sudden out of violin strings.  She flipped the pen in her fingers without realizing, the blunt end starting to tap lightly against the page.  Don’t Look.

Noa looked.

Dark hair, dark clothes, pale skin.  Nothing out of place, no movement wasted.   Like the steam off her tea, danger twisted smooth and subtle.  She had a guess.  Not the sort of guess she could say out loud.  Not the sort of guess she would say out loud.  But were vampires really allowed to dress like vampires?  Hiding in plain sight and all that, she supposed.  A sort of frantic inside joke with herself.

She was staring.  She had to stop staring.  Noa blinked and tore her gaze back down to the article, eyes scanning for where she left off, but not seeing it or any of the words yet, the pen still backwards in her hand.

And on a collision course.

It’s one of those habits that comes back when she’s stressed.  She can almost hear her mother’s voice – could you not text and walk, No? – over the sound of her phone clattering to the pavement and the shuffle of her steps adjusting backwards to at least keep herself from following it.

“My fault.  I am so sorry.  Got distracted,” she holds out her hands apologetically, poised to help steady them.  “You alright?  Sorry again.”

Lingering smoke, sour-patch candy, a tenacious grip.  Out of the corner of her eye, Noa can see where her phone landed, but she keeps her gaze on the other woman, now more curious than concerned.  And maybe it’s a strange thing to do, but she’s just got a feeling and that usually counts for something, so with a bit of hesitation and more inquiry than one should put on so plain a statement, she offers:

“I’m Noa?”

Lifting one hand to better shield her eyes from the desert sun, she made her way up toward the house, careful to keep her distance from the old tree with the red berries.  Rowan, Cam had warned her.  Bad for fae.  She wasn’t sure exactly how bad, but she darted around even the shadows of its branches, just in case.  What would the people who planted that tree think of Cam helping her?

Soon enough, the soft crunch of the dirt beneath her steps changed for the creak of wood, and Noa was at the front door, hesitating.  It almost seemed frivolous, asking for a charm to be able to go to a wedding, compared to everything else going on.  It was like something from a storybook, in the midst of nightmares.  But maybe that was the point.  Little victories.

She raised her hand and knocked.  “Cam?  It’s Noa.  From the clinic-”  That was probably really not the most useful descriptor any more but it was the first thing that came to mind.  “And everything else,” she amended.  It was funny; she’d known him less than a week and somehow she already was starting to feel like he had all the answers.  Or at least a good number of them.

To be fair, though, what a fucking week.

* ✶ 

Esmeray could breathe a little easier in the Otherealm, relax her shoulders and thrive in a space where her responsibilities were minimal. In her homelands, she’d been raised as a princess without a throne— a creature starving for a crown, while carrying herself as if she’d already secured the royal headdress. Time would deem her more fitting for the role of court jester, but she was ever so stubborn in her pursuits. When all was said and done, the semi-permanent banishment seemed a kind punishment for dreamers such as she.

All the same, Esmeray’s time spent among her kin was essential in making her the faerie she was, mischief and magic and all. She was far too comfortable in her own skin to imagine any other existence, let alone that of a changeling. 

Mother below, their stories were the stuff of nightmares when she was younger; her own father had kept her from trouble with these tall tales, warning Esmeray of the fate of those faerie children who misbehaved. She’d thought it odd, then, as faeries were in the business of misbehaving, but the threat had her following the rules nonetheless ( mostly ).

With the passage of time, these tales became tinged with comedy, being used as gossip amongst the prepubescent faeries of the court when a child went missing. Another oddity of a species filled with them— and one she had yet to figure out.

Las Vegas, it seems, was full of these oddities; so much so that she’d found one of these kinfolk that had been spirited away in infancy. It was easy enough enough to spot them, with their subdued auras, smelling so tragic that it’d made her nose sting. She’d be forgiven for laughing, but it was as pitiful as it was comedic; the faerie didn’t even seem to know what she was!

Cruel as it had been, Esmeray thought it necessary to burst whatever bubble the woman had lived in. These things only get harder with time.

Still, she didn’t expect to come face to face with the changeling so soon, aura less subdued but not as vibrant as you’d find on another faerie. And that look on her face? It was obvious she hadn’t taken the news well. “Myself?”

Myself.  Something about the way she said it - the innocence, the surprise, the memory of her laughing-

Rage it was, then.  It snapped to incandescence within her in sudden clarity, cutting through cacophony of other emotions to the surface.

“Yes, yourself.” She spat.  “Do you remember me?”  She better.  There was something cutting about the idea of her simply walking away and forgetting the interaction that turned Noa’s life on its head (continued turning it; you’d been on the path- the voice was lost in the maelstrom).  “I remember you.  You took one look at me and laughed in my face.”

It would have been nice if once it had been realized, the anger would dissipate, burn itself out hot and quick.  But it had been held too long, and so it did not.  It only grew, crackling through her, sharp and visceral.  A frenzied pressure against her ribs that flared from her sternum out across her collar bones and through her veins to flicker over her skin, it felt like - a new wave on every heartbeat.  She could hear the rush of blood in her ears.  Her mouth tasted like ozone; her eyes burned.

“You just said it.  Like it was nothing.  Like it was funny,”  Her voice rose, building from a hiss towards a shout.  “Did you ever think about what it did to me?  What happened after you just went on your merry way?”

What had happened was that Noa had stood there, eyes wide, heart pounding for probably a good three minutes.  She could still remember how it echoed in her mind, in her breath, in her pulse, in the throb of the stupid fucking fish-shaped mark that had been on her palm at the time- Changeling.  Changeling.  Changeling...

Once she’d heard it, it was all she could hear, all she could think.  Absurd and undeniable.  And true.  It had been true and that meant that everything else she’d thought she’d known about herself had been-

Her eyes were wide and bright and wild; the tears fell and stung on her cheeks.  Whatever was inside her threatened to tear through and out and part of her wanted to let it.

“You ruined my life!”  It was a good thing the music in the club was as loud as it was as Noa progressed to screaming.   

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Growing up, the folklore and fairy tale section in a bookstore was Connor’s favorite. It was fascinating for him to learn about what the Unaware thought he was like - thought they all were like. And sometimes, well, if he lost himself in a story where a prince sweeps you off your feet and saves you from being locked in a tower, that wasn’t anyone’s business but his own.

He isn’t sure if it was worse as a kid or worse now. At least he’s an adult and this space is his to create and love and hide in when the worst of it all come  crashing down. When he was younger and didn’t want to stow away at Cam and Ken’s, he would hunker down in between the shelves of the local library or bookstore until someone from the pack found him and drug him back home kicking and screaming.

After Cam and Ken, well, then it was the only place he could hide.

The woman nervously shows him the book and Connor is immediately curious. A book about fairies? It makes him laugh.

“I know quite a bit about that. About them. About a lot of things. I’m a bit of a werewolf expert myself,” he offers her a smile, canines particularly sharp in the dim yellow light in the shop. He prefers it this way though. It’s not as reflective off of his eyes. “Care to define how new? Last I checked the fairies weren’t the changing type. They were the making type.”

Connor hums gently as he picks up one of the books and traces along the spine. It’s a little dusty, which makes him frown. “It is, yeah. Since I got back from college, or maybe a few months after that. So going on seven years. I’ve been collecting since before then though. Too much, if you ask my rather unaware worker. Every time I run off to a new antique fair I think he contemplates resigning and running out of town.” He hopes she gets the hint there. “Do you want something to drink? I’ve got tea in my office.”

It’s as good an invitation as he can get to help her out here. There aren’t many customers around, but it’s better to make sure they’re still out of earshot. Supernatural discussions can only be worked in so many ways before people start to wonder what weird game you’re playing.

“You do?”  She can’t help the excitement, the hope and relief that fizzes right to the surface.  It’s not so much a surprise that he knows - that’s why she’d come here, after all - but she truly appreciates that he seems so willing to share that knowledge.  For a moment she’s almost giddy.

And then she remembers the previous night and forces it back down, at least somewhat.  His next question helps.

“Ah,” The chuckle that comes with it is only somewhat bitter.  She eyes his teeth as she thinks how to respond.  There’s something fun about his phrasing; she focuses on that, on returning it, to keep herself from thinking too hard on the words.  “Apparently making and exchanging, so less changing and more,” her voice drops, both as a precaution but also because she could probably still count on one hand the number of times she’s actually brought herself to say the word, “changeling.”

Noa meets his eyes briefly and offers a small smile, before her gaze falls again.  It’s not an easy thing for her to discuss, but there’s no avoiding it.  Not if she wants to get anywhere.  “So about six months new.  Since discovery,” she clarifies, tracing over the title of the book still in her hands.  “Only twenty-seven years since making, though, so...”  She shrugs.  From what she’s picked up so far, that’s still pretty new in terms of fae anyway.

"No such thing,”  An antique book fair sounds fun, but she doesn’t have too much time to dwell on it as his other words register.  “Does he now?”  She’s not referring to the resigning and running away.  Maybe they should-

“Tea would be lovely, if it’s not too much of an imposition.”  She would have accepted the invitation however he dressed it, but Noa actually does really like tea.  Even if there’s isn’t any tea, though, she is more than grateful for the chance to speak more privately and, thus, candidly.  It’s not something she’s had much opportunity to do.  No one to blame but herself for that.

a closed starter for @noatwithstanding​

when: halloween

where: pete’s diner

It had been years since Colden had carved a pumpkin. It had been even longer than that since he’d considered himself good at it. Tucked into the distant, dusty memory he holds of the past was the impression of competitions fueled by younger days and youthful ambitions that he failed spectacularly even then. He wasn’t holding out hope for this evening.

Colden had thought that he’d be able to get in, ask Damien a question, and get out. It wasn’t that simple. It rarely was, but he’d hoped perhaps this was one of the rare times it would be. Of course, that didn’t happen, and he’d been roped into a pumpkin carving contest just to accomplish his one goal that evening.

Looking around at the people that filled the space with him, some were normal. Some were not. But even among the abnormal were people Colden never would have expected to see here. Going over to one and internally reassessing why he thought she wouldn’t be here, he paused next to her. “Why the hell are you here, Noa? Harker doesn’t seem like someone you want to meet.”

A faint ringing in her ears, the salt of tears, the warm scratch of flannel.  Colden, she didn’t even have to check at this point.  Her lips twitch from their focused purse to a bit of a smile.  Was she on shift?  No.  Was there only one right way to answer the opportunity he’d just given her?  Yes.

“Dude, I just work here.”  She chuckles at the joke, but there’s something shallow to it.  He was right that she didn’t want to be around Damian Harker.  Something about that man didn’t sit right with her. But in her desperate search for some bit of normalcy, she hadn’t been paying attention.  

Noa had participated in Pete’s Pumpkin Carving Competition every year for the last four- five now, assuming there was any pumpkin left to show.  She was trying for a sort of stained glass or lace pattern.  Small, simple shapes placed close together to create an intricate effect.  It wasn’t as easy as her mother made it look, but not too difficult either.  It just took patience and steady hands.

The latter were what she was currently missing.  Harker’s presence loomed large over the party, setting her nerves alight and her hands shaking.  She cursed under her breath as another cut went too far and a piece of her design fell away.

“I’m always here on Halloween,” she explained honestly, setting her knife down for the time being.  “Didn’t realize he would be too.”