#htsdfferent

♡ THE WEDDING OF BROCK & CHELSEA EMERSON ♡

"So, like... Okay." Brock has been walking in circles around Anna for the past few minutes. Every time they see each other, he has a new round of questions to fire at her. And it goes without saying, but she takes it like a champ.

"How much guarding are you doing on a daily basis? Like, is it more just watching us, or is it more like..." Brock changes direction, walking in a straight line now.

"I'm walking down the street and, OH SHIT! A piano is about to fall on my head," he holds his hands up and feigns a terrified expression, "-- and then you stop it!" He makes an unidentifiable hand motion, paired with an unidentifiable sound effect. "That's your powers."

There are some days where everything is just too damn loud.

Eden has a good handle on her abilities, but the veil wears thinner on some days more than others. There's no telling who - or what - will come through.

She makes her way into the room, exhaling deeply as she clicks the lock behind her. She squeezes the bridge of her nose with her forefinger and her thumb before looking up and realizing she isn't alone. She doesn't jump; Eden is used to it by now. Anna appears where she wants, when she wants - whether or not she is called upon. But she doesn't mind. Anna is quiet. Her presence is quiet. No spirits cling to it, wail and beg for her attention. Her presence is well, nothing. Her presence is peace.

"Hey." Eden tosses her bag on the bed, hunting tools clinking inside. She kicks her boots off and pads over to the mini fridge, pulling two beers from the small shelf on the door. She cracks them both open, knowing damn well she'll be drinking both despite placing one on the table in front of Anna.

"Doing the rounds? Josie is asleep, but I'm sure you already knew that."

Eden plops down on a chair and starts fiddling with the first-aid kit she left on the table before shrugging her jacket off. A large, fresh gash is revealed from underneath the leather.

"Hold still for just a little longer, alright?"

Anna hasn't moved an inch the entire time, but Josie still feels the need to tell her. After all, she's almost done. Delicate fingers gently pull at long red hair, wrapping the strands around one another as she forms a braid down the back of the angel's head. Finally. She ties the bottom of the braid, and then — for good measure... She sticks a couple flowers she had plucked outside earlier into the strands.

"Okay. Done."

With a huge grin, Josie picks the mirror up and hands it to Anna.

"Here. You'll get a better look if you stand up and turn your back to the big mirror." Gently, she squeezes Anna's shoulders, encouraging her to stand up.

How does the old saying go?

'Tis a fearful thing, to love what death can touch.'

But what then is she to feel? She -- Death -- gazes upon the brunette. Her back is turned to her; they walk through the forest. Agatha leads, Death follows. Brazen, bold, Agatha Harkness knows she can turn her back on Death. For she, Death, takes pause when it comes to her. Only her. Forever, her.

"Agatha." Rio finally speaks, voice but a whisper, carried by the breeze that rustles the greenery around them. "You can't do this forever. You need to talk to me at some point."

You can't do this forever. It isn't a statement -- it's a plea. ( Please, talk to me. Please. ) Plea masked by her nonchalant way of relaying her words; an age-old skill curated by walking amongst humanity and witches alike. Perhaps Agatha would see right through her.