#* brandon

Compulsion hadn’t at all been necessary, the lucid blonde male that toed the line behind her, fingers entwined all too willing to abide by the ideas of what she knew he assumed to be a vibrant, promiscuous woman. The sweet nothings she’d whispered in his ear the only conviction she’d needed to sway him into the dark shadows of the museum, and further again, into the dim light of the courtyard. A quieter concealment for what she’d intended than simply leaving him slumped and bleeding in the hallway somewhere - a monumental sentiment to the depth of her compassion as she chose not to simply kill him. His hands found her waist and turned her with the clear intent of finding a place among the decorated architecture to place her when she caught his chin between her fingers. Onyx hues stilled - against the familiar silhouette of another, the undead twist within her chest something she hadn’t expected - how could one without said living organ in the first place. “Go back inside, forget you ever met me.” Her tone low, swift in it’s absolution as she slipped easily from his hold and instead, moved - entirely thoughtless in her action - towards Brandon.  The last she’d seen, he’d sat uncomfortably in a hospital bed and the desire to leave had been far greater for the woman than lingering long enough that she could no longer swallow back what clung to the tip of her tongue. Now, however, her amiable curiosity won out. “I thought for sure you’d have given up on these swanky events, you know....considering...” 

Status: pre-plot drop Location: LITE nightclub

At first, it was far too easy to ignore the fact that he was anywhere near her. Just as surely as she could anyone else, the cold shoulder that she’d armed herself with from the moment she’d spotted him had arisen in her chest like something bitter and frustrating. It truly was only a matter of time - regardless of how irritating he continuously posed himself, something constantly drew them together. If the notion of what it was could become a little more apparent to her, she’d perhaps try to pry it out from beneath her very skin. The slight buzz of alcohol settled in her system the longer she stayed out on the dancefloor, the once tingle in her fingertips had slowly made it’s way through her chest until everything felt like it was alight. Even still, it felt nothing alike the twist of her stomach as onyx hues caught sight of him again - with Violet.  Her best friend. Without much thought, Jack pushed her way out of the crowd, lingering a little on the outskirts as if somehow tossing up the idea that she could easily continue on without allowing such a sight to bother her in the least. She wasn’t here to flout about among the others - this wasn’t a celebration for her; Vasili had been unduly shot, and her mind should have fallen elsewhere and yet.. Watching Violet wander back towards one of the Ozdemir’ siblings, seemed to drive her towards the bar, and towards him. Nonchalantly, she lent against the bar top, not giving him a second glance until she had a new drink in her hand, “So, how do you know Violet?”

It came to her in flashes. A street light, the sound of a passing car, a guttural growl that she now knew to be Lincoln. The ethereal sounds of panic and mayhem that coated the streets in a lacquer that she knew all too well now barely breeched the surface of all that corralled through her mind. The stasis hits her like a tonne of bricks as he stops, her form curled tightly against him as she continues to writhe in pain against the sound of Lincolns fist against solid wood. He cannot enter and she feels as much in the tepid distaste he growls out but there’s something there - something that Lincoln trusts in handing her over now. It doesn’t pass as relief, better yet, a mere acceptance before one familiarity shifts to the next, and she knows, somehow - she’s crossed from the past to the present in a little time as it’s taken for the door to slam behind them. She can barely open her eyes, the light, though dull, feels like a thousand years of guilt upon her shoulders and she cannot feel beyond the uncomfortable and agonizing shift of her frame at the touch of another. Her stomach turns again, the sticky black ooze that spills from her lips is the worst thing she’s ever known as her hand shifts to wipe it from her mouth. Beyond it all, she knows his scent - the sound of his heartbeat, rapid and uneven, “Bran..--” 

the crunch of bone settles beneath her boot and shoots warmth up into her limb - echoing off the surrounding headstones like lightning. it was well beyond esra to allow some kind of admittance to arise from her lips but stumbling upon this particular witch was no longer simply coincidence. the black orb snaps closed behind her, the continued use of portals in this world is certainly convenient, and the finality of the silence clinging to skeletal tree limbs feels like a welcome home from purgatory itself. "oops," skull of a raven; crushed to dust besides his little ritual site. "that wasn't your, was it?" she wears smugness like a second skin - and then throws an extra coat on for good measure, the toe of her boot covered in the white powder of crushed bone tipping the goblet over as she shifts - perches upon the edge of the gravestone as if it were a throne built for her. "You're making a habit out of this."

It was almost impossible to forget. The few short, choppy images that Brandon had managed to pull free from whatever lingered of her brothers final moments. Magic wasn’t exactly something that Brielle understood a lot of, but ever since her offering for the ritual she’d been unable to believe that anyone could help her as much as Brandon could. “I think we should try again. Tonight.”

Strictly speaking, Maggie generally did everything she could to avoid approaching people. Something about the churning anxiety that gripped her from the inside out and being so uncertain of how those familiar with who she was, might react, but Brandon felt different to her. Although he seemed to place himself center stage a lot of the time, the aura she felt seemed much gentler, and after hearing about what he’d done for the ritual - in helping Brielle offer up the kind of human tears required for such a spell, she knew she was right. Illusionary magic was one thing, but to piece together such a thing with memory was another in and of itself, she could only have imagined the pain the young woman felt during the incantation. “Brandon?” She interrupts gently, offering a slight look of apology as his current company excuses themselves, “I’m..-- I’m not entirely sure if you remember me, but I heard about what you did for the Perez girl, during the ritual.” Her words fell a little too quickly and she cast hues around at those nearest, “Pairing illusion with memory. You must be quite talented.”