Nain Rouge.

Noah was out for a walk, enjoying the brisk air and getting to know the town. In hindsight, she probably should of been more aware of her surroundings and not so carefree - not considering the place was known to be packed with a supernatural population, it was late at night, and she didn’t know the area well. Nevertheless, she continued to show herself around, not sure how to respond to the woman asking her a question. One which took her a moment to attempt figuring out what was meant. “I’m sorry, I’m uhm.. I’m not sure I can help with directions.. Are you cold?” Maybe the other was hungry, as well? The way she spoke was odd on a good many levels, but being a red and white target for bullying her entire life, she did her best not to judge a book by its cover.

         “NO. NOT cold yet. Perhaps when the sun falls.” Lips pursed slowly, attention shifting to the road behind the blonde. “Just hungry.” For something more than berries and grubs, perhaps. It’d been a good few days since she had shed her feathers for flesh, stealing enough cash to move through the few towns that dotted the Pennsylvania roads before arriving at Echo. “An observer will find her way.”

“An observer doesn’t sound like a hold lotta fun and you sound like my gothic high school girlfriend.” Gabriel followed up.

         “AN OBSERVER doesn’t understand the reference.” Fingers drummed on her arm, finally her eyes shifted back to the boy. “Gothic is an architecture. Was a man’s companion a building?”

“I can see somebody has a pleasant personality.” His green eyes shifted back and forth between the bar and the gal. “You know a more sophisticated way to say you want alcohol is ordering a cool drink. Pro tip.” As the last sentence came out of his mouth, Gabriel’s eyebrows shot up wards.

         “AN OBSERVER has never had a drink. She does not imbibe.” And that was the truth. Too many years were spent in the form of a bird to enjoy silly human whims like alcohol, or getting drunk. Instead the raven-haired girl narrowed her eyes at him and then turned her gaze away entirely --- disinterested. “Sophistication is for idiots.”

Imogen remained silent at the woman’s dig at what had happened in the woods, her eyes darkening into a stormy black, she could of course, sense what the woman was, even though she personally had not met many skinwalkers in her time, her mother had often told her stories of those who could walk in the footsteps of both animals and people. She didn’t really care for the return of their name, she knew their kind weren’t as bothered by a simple word chosen by ones parents. Taking a step forward, she finally snapped her gaze away “I’ll walk to the diner” she waited to see if they would follow, her own stomach grumbling slightly in anticipation of the food they had discussed prior.

         THERE WAS no shame in what she was. So many years, thirteen, had been spent with feathers and a beak. Moira couldn’t grasp what it was to be human, never attempted to claim herself as one. Even now she was a bird adorned in the flesh of a human with features that still mimicked what she truly was. Her footsteps were silent as she trailed behind the woman, like the gentlest rush of wings. Teeth picked at her lower lip, fingers kept her jacket shut. “An observer would like stew, she thinks.”

An almost frustrated sigh passed between Imogen’s lips, she yanked the loose thread and held it up between her fingers before allowing it to drift off in the breeze. “This town is hope” she emphasized, to many supernaturals Echo was a solace, a place where they almost felt accepted. It was their one way to achieve an equal status with humanity. Whilst the stranger was correct in saying there indeed was a lot of sorrow in the town, lord knows Imogen was bombarded with it from all angles every day, The little witch knew that this very unwanted feeling was the basis of the dream that they were all working towards, so she was glad for it at least. “I’m Imogen” not woman, she finished silently in her head, her intense stare making contact with the others once more.

         “PERHAPS TO some. Others are not so keen on this representation of hope. Hope so easily trampled upon by those who wish to destroy it.” The corners of her lips lifted into the smallest of smirks, teasing the idea of what had happened months before. So she had heard. So she had observed overhead as many struggled with false faces of friends and loved ones. It wasn’t Moira who’d come forward and revealed her kin, though she had no shame in her human skin. But it wasn’t her desire to be equal to humans either. Simply to be. And she could shift and be anywhere. “But hope is a stubborn flame. Not so easily extinguished.” She paused, “An observer is just that --- an observer. Nothing and no one more.”

A slow nod, Imogen certainly would if she could but she knew that living off pastries would certainly send her to an early grave. She gestured in the direction of a restaurant that wasn’t far from them “five minute walk, there’s a diner” she said vaguely before retracting her hand and lacing it’s fingers between the other’s. “To befriend happiness, you must first become acquainted with sadness” her voice was a little bolder than usual, her eyes canting to the side as she spoke the words her mother had taught her “that is hope, no?” she became distracted by a loose thread on her jacket, her hands tugging at it unconsciously as she spoke.

         “A WOMAN assumes that an observer is foreign to happiness because she sees sorrow. A woman is mistaken again.” Her own fingers shifted into the mess of dark hair, sweeping it from her eyes. She was no friend of colder weather, and the season was certainly shifting quickly, even despite the storms in the south. “An observer is greatly aware of happiness. She’s experienced it through most of her life. She merely marks how sorrow dots this place, and dwells within the hearts of its residents. It doesn’t make an observer any less happy than she’s always been.”

A shrug, her eyes following the others as her face turned away from the small witch “…there’s cake” Imogen herself didn’t much like coffee. preferring to only frequent the shop for an occasional tea and one of the sweet delicacies they always had on sale. Blinking as she continued to study the stranger, she felt strange vibes from her, the emotions emanating from her form not quite human, but not inhuman either. “Sorrow is hope, in a way” she sighed, her eyes moving to stare at the sky where clouds drifted lazily overhead.

         “FOOD. NOT sweets. An observer can’t live off of cake and crumpets.” Something warm, perhaps full of meat and steam. The thought made her stomach growl, though a pat quelled it for only a moment. “Sorrow is sadness. A woman deceives herself if she believes otherwise.” Fingers grasped at her jacket, tightening it around her frame. There were a few places dotting the outermost ring of the city she’d sleep. Moira was too new to have a home of her own, and even then she had no interest in keeping one.

Imogen’s brows came together slightly, looking at the girl who was speaking to her. She had an almost foreign way of speaking, the witch wondered what her purpose for using such drawn out sentences was. Looking around she pointed towards the coffee shop not far from the pair “there” her simple answer was effective and to the point, the way she viewed speaking should be. Her large, dark eyes turning back to the other her lower lip pouted out slightly as she observed her form, almost birdlike. “Sorrow, chaos, hope” she nodded, agreeing.

         HER OWN brows furrowed, disinterest in the coffee shop imminent on her features. “An observer despises coffee.” That much she knew. Arms crossed over her chest, her back turned both to the dark-haired girl and the suggested place to eat. She’d rather starve that fill her belly with that swill. “No hope. Just sorrow.”

“there are places on this street, places with food. they are warm inside.” curious. the way she spoke, the way she dressed. smell. she was a black bird in appearance and tone, her feathers visible for everyone to see. he knew about others like him but unlike, never met them before. no, he met wolves, but another akin to him. a bird hiding in plain sight. when his gaze shifted away from, too curious, caleb nodded and blinked in the direction of what she asked.

“where do you see sorrow?” he hadn’t seen it. he wasn’t looking for it. he saw people smile, people avoid, he saw individuals and groups, happy or… what was the word, not happy, not sad. they were passing through life with their eyes wide but shut. he saw wolves, though he walked a different pathway than them.

         HER HEAD canted softly to the side, first one and then the other, before she considered his response. Whatever money she had on her person was stolen or swindled from another, and while her feathered clothes bore pockets they were often light. Still, she had enough to get some food, and maybe more to find a warmer place to sleep. “An observer sees sorrow written on the faces of the people in town. They paint false smiles onto their lips and walk around wearing masks, but an observer is keen. She sees the way their facades drop when they round a corner and believe nobody is around.”

A pause. Moira’s eyes narrowed but her own softer smile did not falter from her lips. “There is always sorrow in towns built upon it.”

IDENTIFY YOUR CHARACTER:

Full name: Moira Medivh Osbourne. Age: 25. Species: Skinwalker – raven. Occupation: Legally unemployed.