#fate-accursed

Conquering one’s fear is a funny thing. If it wasn’t for everything that had happened at the lodge, Sam wouldn’t be in Little Hope right now. Josh’s words have stuck with her ever since: I showed you parts of yourself you were too afraid to visit. She had faced her biggest fear--the supernatural--there, hanging from the chandelier in the middle of the lodge, Hannah--her Hannah--possessed and changed by the Makkapitew. Sam had always heard the Washington’s argue about the rumors concerning the mountain. They didn’t believe it, none of them did. They never had a reason before to. Sam too had never been a believer until that night, until she was running for her life so much her chest ached. Until she had to stay perfectly still as their screeches pierced through her. 

Something changed within her after that. With her friends gone, she had nothing else to lose. 

She had read about Little Hope in a magazine about Ghost Towns. It was rumored that with the town so saturated in history, there was no doubt that it was haunted. By what it was unclear. But Sam decided to head out to it anyway, to put whatever was out there to rest. What she didn’t expect in a deserted town was to find Andrew. He was obviously familiar with the town, so Sam gladly accepted his company, though she did get the feeling he was trying to shake her ( like she’d let that happen ). 

He hasn’t said much since they’d reached the execution site. Everything about the place gave Sam the creeps. “Jeez,” she breathes, reading the inscription. “I guess it was easy to lose track with all the hysteria and all.” 

(  ✱.  )      @fate-accursed​    —    andrew :    as  your  friend,  i  have  to  tell  you  i’m  worried  about  you.

          the  door  lets  them  out  of  class  and  she’s  grateful  to  be  met  with  fresh  air  and  clear,    sunny  skies.      there’s  a  maze  of  students  getting  out  around  the  same  time,    probably  hurrying  to  beat  the  lunchtime  traffic,    but  she  doesn’t  quite  flow  the  same  way.      instead  of  the  beaten  path,    she  waves  her  friend  aside  and  out  of  the  crowd.      a  little  breathing  space  never  hurt  anyone,    though  her  feet  carry  her  quickly  regardless  of  her  company.

          still,    she  doesn’t  ditch  andrew  just  yet,    taking  a  seat  at  the  nearest  bench  in  the  shade.    taylor  can’t  ignore  the  feeling  scratching  at  her,    around  her  neck,    ITCHING  TO  GET  BACK  TO  HER  DORM,    though  she  couldn’t  tell  you  why;      her  schedule’s  clear  for  the  day,    and  yet  there’s  still  an  unsubtle  hesitance  when  he  invites  her  to  find  someplace  to  eat.

          of  course  he  picks  up  on  it,    one  of  those   things   andrew  always  seems  to  pick  up  on.      she  hates  how  awful  she  is  at  concealing  it,    but  taylor  covers  it  up  with  a  curt  laugh.        ❝      why,    s’your  sixth  sense  acting  up  again ?      ❞

            god  —  what  bullshit.      part  of  her  wishes  she’d  held  her  tongue,    suddenly  afraid  he  might  take  it  as  A  SIGN  TO  GO.      she  scrolls  on  her  phone  to  avoid  his  eye  despite  having  already  opened  practically  everything,    but  finds  her  brow  furrowing,    both  at  the  thought  of  being  left  here  and  the  sight  of  nothing  from  anyone  she    cared  to  hear  from.      there  she  was  again,    something  echoes,    making  things  difficult.

He doesn’t know this, but the worst for her is pretty bad. She’s lived her worst nightmare, actually, and sometimes she had nightmares where she was living it over and over again. There was nothing he could tell her that would ever be worse than that night only a couple of years ago, with the house fire that she had started. And she knew that. But he didn’t. He still thought that she was good, that she was nice. That she was normal. If the moment were different, she might find that kind of funny.

“Alright, well, what kind of a worst thing?” Not to throw more questions his ways, but she makes sure to keep her voice gentle. She has moved so that she’s sitting with him on the ground, in the spot that she had found him. Rain had gotten somewhat better at comforting, had sat through plenty of different videos and talks during RA training, but she still wasn’t great. It would never be natural to her. She’d had that taken from her when she was young.

HAPPY (belated) HALLOWEEN, ILY YOU THE BEST <3

(  ✱.  )      @fate-accursed​​​    —    abraham :    perhaps  the  worst  is  yet  to  come.

          the  night  had  perhaps  been  the  longest  of  her  life,    and  the  news  that  broke  come  morning,    delivered  by  her  brother  as  she  couldn’t  stand  the  thought  of  bearing  witness  to  her  neighbor’s  fate,    had  left  no  shortage  of  pure  disbelief  in  tabitha’s  chest.      but  even  she  cannot  deny  the  dread  that  lingers  in  their  town,    in  the  very  air.      though  mary  now  sleeps  soundly  in  her  bed,    tabitha  seems  exceptionally  restless.

          whether  reverend  carver  was  correct  in  his  thinking    —    that  little  hope  could  have  been  infiltrated  by  some  evil,    she  cannot  convince  herself  that  HIS  WILL  has  guaranteed  its  expulsion.      perhaps  the  chance  of  that  terrifies  her  more.        ❝      it  cannot  be.      surely . . .      ❞

          but  if  abraham,    of  all  people,    is  at  a  loss  for  words,    then  how  much  hope  can  there  possibly  be ?      no,    she  backtracks,    that  is  no  way  to  think    —    so  dim  and  fatal.      though  she  fears  whether  there  may  be  truth  to  the  thought,    for  why  else  would  it  have  shaken  her ?      so  often  it  is  he  who  offers  his  solace  to  bring  her  back  to  shore,    but  tabitha  cannot  bear  to  imagine  the  tide  rising  any  higher,    ALREADY  UP  TO  HER  NECK.

(  ✱.  )      @fate-accursed​    —    anthony :      it’s  just  a  nosebleed.

          ❝      yeah,    and  it’s  getting  all  over  the  fucking  floor !      ❞        tanya  throws  her  bag  onto  the  couch  and  brusquely  hoists  the  boy  up  by  the  arm,    leading  him  not-so-gently  into  the  kitchen.      the  tile  would  take  less  damage  than  the  rug.      whether  or  not  it’d  be  a   noticeable  stain   by  the  time  dad  gets  home  is  another  gamble .  .  .

          better  to  cut  it  off  at  the  source,    though    —    that  source  being  her  brother’s  head  dripping  lamely  into  the  sink.        ❝      here,    tilt  your  head  forward.      ❞        she  says  more  softly,    nudging  anthony  at  the  nape  of  his  neck.      now  that  he’s  accounted  for,    she  goes  for  the  paper  towels.        

Little Hope wasn't exactly what he expected, judging by the data he's collected thus far in his brief nosing. A quaint town with dark histories isn't abnormal by any means, but he expected more ... Pizzazz? Was that the proper term? Was the weird knot in his chest even disappointment? Either way, he finds himself getting turned around by the same greyed buildings ; eyes heavy from every document he's managed to read from the museum. The dark history is shrouded in supernatural claims, which naturally means malicious intents and misunderstandings were what led to the trials and executions. Not a bad thing, technically, but he was hoping there would be something more concrete. Murders taking place solely between two people. Lovers with treacherous affairs. Something greater then what his own hometown essentially was. Instead, he's handed witchcraft on a silver platter, and Everlock sticks to him like glue because of it.

Despite his own grievances, Mat is always a dog when it comes to cases. The moment he spots a green sign with the words 'Witch Trail' printed in blocky font, he investigates without another thought. Mindlessly following along the path with furrowed brows ---- admittedly a little curious about the events. A quick look around leads Matthew to guessing what type of executions occured here ; thick trees leaving little to the imagination. He humors the trail, however, finding a quick nature walk a good way of soothing the sting of ... Whatever he was feeling. Being sent away from home had been nerve-wracking, yet the more he thought about it, the more eager he had been to explore new town customs and rich histories. He supposes he's getting some of that from this experience. Trails weren't common in Everlock. Besides, the breeze feels nice against his skin ; goosebumps racing along his arms until it beckons the detective to pull his coat tighter around himself. Shuffling forward with careful eyes combing through every tiny detail. Spotting a lurking figure comes easily for someone keen like him, and he can't help the words that slip out next. A friendly tone paired with words laced in warning. Can't be too careful, Mat's seen a couple notorious killers in this decade ; an increasing rise.

But when the man turns around, he's a little taken aback by how young he looks. Barely even outgrowing the baby fat in his cheeks! Matthew's face stiffens, lips pursed ; shame reddening his already raw cheeks. So this isn't someone to watch out for then? Guy looks smart enough, adorned in a sweater with his white collar poking out. It's almost enough to make him smile. He's worn the same look more then he can count, though he appears better in browns and oranges then baby blues. Words fluttering out of the other is enough to snap the detective's attention back to reality ---- faintly picking up on how eager the other man was to scatter back home. He quirks a brow, trying his best to smile kindly. Though he makes it known he has the upper hand here with a subtle gesture he doesn't vocalize. Fingers skimming his trenchcoat up to tap at the golden badge clipped diligently to his belt. 'Everlock Police' drilled into the solid material. Finally, does he begin to speak up again ; a little more chatty and charming with his words. Eyes flickering up at the full moon to show he's acknowledging everything that's been said.

“Just a regular one, though. I'm more fond of the blood red moons myself, but it is a sight for sore eyes. Does Little Hope get those often, or ...? Hm, nevermind, doesn't matter.” Mat finally looks back down at the stranger, gesturing. “And don't let me disturb you, really. I was doing the same thing myself. Taking in the ... Peculiar history, if that's a tame way to put it.”

Naturally, he allows his body to lean back into one of the dead trees. Arms crossing across his chest in a guarded gesture, trying to coax the stranger into thinking Mat was more scared of him then anything else. It would ease the tension, surely. And this is the first decently intelligent-appearing person he's seen in the town his whole stay here ( which, admittedly, wasn't much ) so he's eager to get his hands roofing around in that head of his. See if there's anything this local could tell him that he can't sniff out himself. Recalling the mention of home, the fawn haired man tilts his head curiously. Not looking like he believes how close this 'home' is. Especially since there wasn't much housing around this part of town.

“Yeah, they’re annoying.” Not really opening up, but just repeating what she’s already said. Pencil continues tapping. Blue eyes flicker over to him for just a second, but then there’s more thunder, and the girl flinches. “And loud.” Yup. She was never going to get used to them.