#ruinedevent

Posters for the charity mixer had been plastered all across campus, as well as a couple of email reminders as it drew closer, for several weeks and yet the event had still snuck up on him. He hadn’t wanted to go the moment he’d seen that it was mandatory for current students but his whining to Scott had been answered with a grin and reassurance that he’d be there too, so it wouldn’t be so bad. 

He could’ve arrived with the others, but given that he’d forgotten all about the damn thing, he was running it a bit late so they’d gone ahead without him whilst he spent his time dumping gel on his hair to try and get it to behave. 

Dressed in a shirt with the top button popped and the sleeves rolled up, a waistcoat in parody of his usual layers he favoured, and dark grey dress pants, it was only his shoes -- a battered pair of black chucks -- that made him feel like himself and not a kid playing dress up. What even was ‘smart casual’? He was 23 years old and he still didn’t know and his dad’s shrugged answer of ‘I think it means you can forego a tie?’ hadn’t really helped. 

He’d foregone the tie though. 

Snagging the first drink that he saw that wasn’t wine -- it was something colorful and it even had a slice of pineapple slotted against the rim of the glass -- he used his tongue to capture the straw and pull it into his mouth as he looked around the place, humming in surprise at the flavor. Not bad. Not bad at all. It didn’t even taste like alcohol, which was probably why it went down so well and quickly, until all he was left with was a slice of pineapple to munch on. 

When: The Time of Davina’s Death Where: The Bayou With: Hayley @lcstwxlf

Loitering around the Bayou was fast becoming one of Kol’s favourite pastimes because every evening he was almost guaranteed to have someone come about sooner or later and he would be treated to a little company that he could proceed to irritate until they ran away. He so enjoyed providing everyone and anyone with his particular brand of wit; it was also much safer not to look too much deeper into why he sought out people this way as often as he did. But given the chaos of the city his little proclivities were pushing already stressed people right up to the edge and that was wonderfully entertaining.

Speaking of, it seemed there was a wolf in the swamp, how delightful. Guessing he’d be noticed soon enough Kol remained seated on the thick tree branch quite high up like a darker version of Peter Pan and once the wolf came into view and her eyes met his a slow smirk crept onto his face. “A little wolf came wondering into the glade where Mr. Bat sat watching with care.” his voice taking on the rhythm of a storyteller before trailing off to a chuckle. “Hello there Darling; what’s a little cub like you doing in a big bad place like this?” 

She was not here to be social. She didn’t want to be here at all. Jennifer had never planned to return to New Orleans, it held nothing but past heartbreak and revenge that she was doing all she could to leave behind her for a quiet life now. One phone call and that had been scuppered and here she was, teaching at the university (not a position she minded in of itself) but also dealing with the societal needs of a lecturer and Deans who thought it necessary for all staff to attend damnable fundraisers. The social situation was enough to raise her shoulders in tension, so many people, so many faces looking upon her. That they knew nothing of her was beside the point, the act alone unsettled her.

Yet, here she was, clothed in a simple form fitting black dress, red stilettos, silver jewelry and her hair hanging down, a few curls half-covering an eye and some of her face. She’d thus far relegated herself to speaking with other faculty members, several of whom seemed as disinclined to be here as she (relationships were better forged in mutual dissatisfaction it seemed) but her small bearable circle was ruined by the booming voice of the Dean himself. 

“Jennifer!” he called, stomping over, a jolly grin on his face as he slipped a hand around her waist in what to his mind was merely a friendly gesture, “My dear, you must get around the room more! I’ve been telling many about you, the latest member of staff already enthralling students.” he chortled. Her reply was cut short as he half-dragged her a few steps further into the room and barged them into a current circle of speakers, “Everyone! This is Professor Blake, she’s our new English professor, another find addition to the university but a little shy, do welcome her won’t you.” And with that the would-be helper clomped off to drag more faculty into the limelight. 

Clearing her throat, the uncomfortable woman shoved a smile on her face and looked at those around her. “Well, the Dean is certainly in good spirits.” And took a drink of wine. 

The scratch of a pen to a sales order slip competed with the crinkle of a paper bag being shaken into usefulness. Bonnie watched the customer sign their name on the bottom of the receipt as she placed the amethyst pendulum into the bag, as well as some fat, white candles, and an assortment of dried herbs. One of these days she was going to have to talk to someone about getting Ida Mae’s caught up with the times. A tablet and emailable receipts were not only more convenient for all parties, but environmentally conscious to boot. 

 Once the customer had signed their life away, Bonnie traded them their goods for the signed sales bill. The bottom copy went to the patron with a smile and a cheerful, “Have a great day.” Their wave was returned and she leaned over the counter to watch them leave. 

 Sleigh bells chimed from the hydraulic arm as the door opened and the customer stepped out into the thoroughfare outside Ida Mae’s. Once it shut again, Bonnie rounded the counter and scampered over to the table near the back of the occult shop. “How’re we doin’, Kiki?” she asked with a grin, dropping into the chair across from the raven haired beauty seated at the table.

 Though they’d bumped into each other plenty of times at NOU, the tie that connected them best was --surprisingly-- Scott McCall. As far as werewolves went, she was closer to either of the Hales, and maybe even Hayley, than she was with Scott. But he and Stiles were the Turk and J.D. of NOU, and she and Stiles were… talking? Add Kira being friendly with Scott to the mix and, vualá, squad goals hashtag trends once more.

 Kira was sweet. A little artless in some areas, but smart as heck and maybe a little too compassionate for her own good. Her presence in Ida Mae’s was at Bonnie’s invitation. Elena said she was going to drop in on Alaric after classes, Caroline was Spirits knew where doing Spirits knew what, and Bonnie had needed help rifling through historical records. That, and she genuinely enjoyed Kira’s company. So, two birds, one stone. Luckily, today was one of those days with not a lot of foot traffic through the occult shop slash bookstore. 

 Grabbing her own pile of papers, Bonnie scanned through the information, muttering the reminder, “So we’re looking for unexplained natural disasters over the last hundred years. Localized earthquakes, sudden electrical storms, wildfires, animal deaths by the dozen, that kind of thing. When the magic in an area is wonky your first and last warning sign is nature.” And the magic in New Orleans was the textbook definition of wonky. All its synonyms, too.

 Marcel had stated that this kind of thing had happened before. If Bonnie could figure out when she could also figure out why, and if she knew why she’d know how she’d be best able to protect her friends.

 Not finding anything interesting on the first page, Bonnie moved it to the back of her pile and started reading the fresh page. She didn’t make it far before a force so powerful crashed into her like a tsunami. It felt like she a hurricane in a bottle, overly full with cataclysmic power, unable to contain the energy that didn’t wash over her, but bulldozed through her; a stampeding herd of elephants bottlenecked with nothing but her to block their path. 

 A pained shout burst out of her. It blackened her vision and the world around her. Bonnie had a brief sense of falling out of her seat but was too caught up cradling her head to care that she’d collapsed. Curled into a ball, face hidden behind her hair, Bonnie cried out as unspeakable power crashed into her, flowed through her, then poured out of her again.

EVENT 002 // YOU REAP WHAT YOU SOW

D, where are you? I’m worried. Text me back.

There was a pit in his gut as his thumb came down on the little arrow that would send one more text to go unanswered. He wouldn’t call that pit foreboding. Calling it that meant acknowledging the possibility that Davina was… 

She was fine. Agitated as hell, probably, but somewhere safe and ignoring his calls to make a point. He knew she was starting to get antsy being cooped up in the attic for so long, but she’d understood. It was for her safety. If the witches got their hands on her they’d try to complete The Harvest. They’d kill her. Keeping her hidden was how he protected her. She knew that. 

Yet when he’d gone to the church to check in on her she wasn’t there. Young witch like Davina, her sneaking out wasn’t entirely unexpected. Expecting her to come back, he’d taken a seat and prepared a speech on why she couldn’t be wandering out in the open. Someone would see her. Take her. Hurt her. When his first text didn’t get a reply he’d given her a call. When his call went to voicemail Marcel had started to sweat. 

The order to his guys went wide: find Davina; discreetly. If she’d snuck out he didn’t want word to spread that he didn’t know where she was. She was his responsibility, his to protect, he’d promised her and he had no intention of letting her down now. 

It was the compilation of unanswered texts and calls, of shrugged shoulders and muttered, ‘Sorry, Boss, no one’s seen her’ that brought him to the Bayou’s muggy heat. His BMW i8 was left on the dirt road behind him as Marcel stepped into the trees. If his feet were moving as fast as his metaphorical heartbeat he doubted even his vamp speed could keep up. Nerves coiled tight in his gut and dread wrapped cold fingers around his throat. Even hurtling at his ribs so hard he was half worried it’d break one, he knew in his heart that he’d find Davina out here. 

“Marcel.”

A familiar grated voice refocused him on the world around. Marcel looked up, nodding a greeting at the Alpha as Derek stepped out from behind the trees. His phone slid back into his jacket pocket, his texts unread, his calls unreturned. 

“Find anything?” he asked instead of wasting time with pleasantries. Derek knew why he was here. He’d sworn to help. It was time to make good on that promise. Lifting his arm as the wolf stopped in front of him, they bumped forearms and Marcel studied Derek’s face as he waited for an answer. 

A curt nod from Derek was followed by wary, “A scent. I tried to track it but I’ve been running in circles.” Before Marcel could process what that meant a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. “If she’s still out here, we’ll find her.” 

Moving his gaze from Derek onto the trees surrounding them, the quiet of Marcel’s voice vibrated with confidence when he muttered, “She’s out here.” He glanced back at the Alpha beside him and nodded. “Take me to where you picked up her scent. We’ll start there.”

Derek’s hand dropped from his shoulder and they both strode through the Bayou. It was a short walk to their starting point and from there, the trek was silent. Tension smouldered in his chest the longer their search went on, burning like an ember at first but when minutes dragged on it was an inferno. It radiated off of him with a heat he knew that Derek could feel. Knew and didn’t give a damn because Davina was out here and he needed to find her. He needed to see her, hold her, look into those big round eyes and see for himself that she was safe. 

It had to be over an hour that they were out there, navigating the bayou by scent. How long exactly he didn’t know, couldn’t bear to take his mind from tracking Davina to check his phone. But, eventually, Derek perked up, his strides slowing as he angled his face up and breathed. 

“Tell me you’ve got something, D.”

He nodded sharply, eyes and expression hard, guarded as he grumbled, “This way,” with a motion for Marcel to follow him. 

Their pace was faster now. If Marcel didn’t need Derek to guide the way he would have left him between the trees and ran ahead, full speed toward Davina. Each second was torture, unforgivingly infinite. The handful that passed may as well have been hours of travel. His chest and lungs and gut felt like they’d run a marathon by the time they neared a clearing. He smelled her then, the flowery scent of her shampoo, of her charcoals and acrylics, and the smell of...

“Marcel…”

Blood. That was blood. Marcel left Derek in the trees and raced through the clearing. Once past the last row of trees his strides slowed, his breath hitched, his brow furrowed. Several blinks and his mind still couldn’t process the sight before him. It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. 

“Davina?”

At the center of the clearing was the stump of a once great tree, the diameter meters long, the roots more ancient than any other tree in the bayou. Laid across it was a tiny figure in a familiar sundress, the cotton soaked with blood. Her skin was pale, colorless. Her lips were blue. Dark hair spread around her head, a halo of mahogany that would have been soft as silk if it wasn’t clumped by the crimson seeping into the Nemeton. With her eyes shut, one hand draped over her middle, the other laying beside her, palm up, she almost looked like she was sleeping peacefully. Like she’d laid down for a nap and just lost track of the time.

Almost. 

If her throat wasn’t slashed wide he might have let himself believe it. “Davina.” Her name was grated rocksalt, it ground out of him, jagged and broken, before Marcel ran the yards between them and lifted a knee onto the Nemeton. 

A hand slipped under her neck to hold her by the nape. Hovering close, the sob he felt building in his chest broke loose. “D, I’m sorry.” There was a scream in his ribcage that he couldn’t let loose, that he pushed down as he hunched over Davina and tapped his forehead to hers. The congealed blood pooled around her was staining his clothes, his hands, her jaw and cheek as he pulled her closer. “I was figuring out another way, D. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen.” 

Tears fell from his lashes onto her face and he moved his brow from hers to hug her cold, stiff body to his chest. He’d made her a promise, and he’d failed her. The scream he’d been fighting exploded from his chest. Birds rustled from their branches and the breeze shifted. The world kept spinning even as it crashed down around him. 

He didn’t know how long they sat there like that, her hugged to his chest, arms hanging limp, body cold as ice now no matter how closely he held her. It was only when Derek spoke into his heartbreak that Marcel remembered the Alpha was still there. 

“We have to take her to Jennifer,” he said, snapping Marcel’s attention onto him with a spark of something too unstable to call hope. Blue eyes moving from the tiny witch in his arms, soaking his skin and his clothes with blood, onto Marcel, Derek explained, “She can tell us what happened. If there’s a way to bring her back maybe she’ll know.”

That unstable thing inside his chest screamed louder than logic or reason. It was desperation, and it was deafening. Marcel hooked his arm under Davina’s knees and scooped her up into his arms with ease. He marched toward the treeline, not sparing Derek a sideways glance as he passed him. “Let’s go,” grumbled Marcel, clutching Davina tight, refusing to let her go. 

@venandi

Elena was exhausted. She was running on coffee and something like an hour and a half of sleep. The nightmares she had been having since her parents death had come back last night in a rush, drowning her even after they had woken her up. She thought that perhaps they had come back to haunt her after a few weeks of quiet because her thoughts had drifted back to the regret of dragging her friends here, of plunging them into this world that she didn’t understand and that scared her. Elena had been beating herself up and thinking about Mystic Falls and so it was probably no surprise that her dreams were going as backwards as her thoughts. Regardless, she pushed on with her day. She finished her shift and then found herself in the back of the library, with her nose stuck in her books.

EVENT 002 // YOU REAP WHAT YOU SOW

Jennifer hadn’t slept all evening. The weight of her actions that night lay upon her like a stone and she’d been sat at her sofa with her head in her hands too exhausted to do anything yet too tired to actually sleep. There was a sharp knock upon her door that jolted her from her thoughts and she slowly rose, opening the door to reveal Derek and Marcel… holding the dead girl in his arms she’d killed hours before. Old Instinct kicked in as though she’d never stopped, the fear of getting caught kicked her heart up enough to hide any lies, “Good God-” she’d barely breathed out, wide eyes resting on Davina’s limp form as Marcel quickly spoke.

“Fix her! You can do it! You have to, y-you killed alpha’s you can do it you have to!”

They may have been orders but were little more than broken pleas and Jennifer swallowed, her eyes darting over to Derek’s stoic form before stepping back, “Bring her inside.” The pair darted in and she closed the door behind her, pulling the curtains to hide the dawn light and looking back, “Clear the coffee table, lay her down.” She ordered, moving into the kitchen to grab some supplies. She didn’t look back and when Derek’s deep voice broke the silence of the room she jolted lightly.

“Can you?”

The simple question Marcel lacked the hope to ask. It was enough to give her pause and she looked back, candles held to her breast with one arm and a basket of herbs in another. She looked into his eyes, once so familiar now changed yet still looking to her to provide answers.

“Life was never something I gave.” She whispered back, taking care where she needn’t have bothered, Marcel too busy whispering sweet nothings to the corpse laid out on her table.

“Do it.”

Two words which held faith, however badly delivered, that this was something she could do… Something she should do. The Nemeton had called for her but the death had been pure, she’d ensured it. The Stump had feasted and if she returned now? It would be on Jennifer’s power alone; power the Darach knew she didn’t have. She’d chosen a path of death. Life was not hers to give in any way… not anymore.

“Wait in here. Both of you.”

She refused to meet Derek’s eyes as she moved back into her living room, pulling her sofa back for more space while Derek coerced and unwilling Marcel into the kitchen and closed the door behind them.

In a ritual eerily similar to her actions hours before Jennifer lay out candles and lit them before moving to the body of Davina and stripping her naked. She moved to her bathroom and filled a large bowl with water, gathering several more before returning, kneeling next to the corpse and with slow, deliberate motions she wet a cloth and brought it to the severed throat, pressing hard and pulling back she began to wipe the skin clean. It was hard work. Gruesome. The clear water ran an ugly pink in moments as she cleansed the wound till it sat grotesquely bare, sinew and veins empty and on display.

It was merely a beginning though. She emptied and refilled the bowl, putting a few drops of oils and some herbs into the mixture before using a new cloth to wipe down Davina’s body, rinsing out her hair, clumped thick with blood, down her body to her fingers and feet, leaving her pristine, blessed, new. She disposed of the water and mumbled archaic words under her breath she took a pair of small sowing scissors and cut loose ends of the young witches hair gathering the locks in her palm she set them in a small clay bowl with twigs, more herbs and set it alight; it burned unnaturally fast, a pinkish hue to the flame. It wasn’t enough. She continued in her cleansing, clipping nails, both hand and foot and sprinkling them into the flames. Jennifer lifted the clay bowl, uncaring of the heat and placed it beside her head.

A flame to guide.

She returned to her bedroom one last time and moved to her wardrobe, pulling an old, silk blanket of blood-red. There was magic in the cloth, it had belonged to a druid who died long ago, killed with her coven for a alpha’s greed. A connection to a people she’d long since forsaken. Her only hope to beg back what she’d cast out.

Jennifer placed the silken cloth reverently over Davina’s naked form, covering her from neck to foot, only her head and the small pinkish flame that burned beside it on displace. Jennifer swallowed and gazed down upon the body, the faintest of twitches to her lips as her words to Derek echoed in her mind:

‘Life was never something I gave.’        

Her hands reached forward, a fine tremble to them as they rested lightly upon Davina’s unmoving breast. The candles had burned down, the room black save for the pinkish flame from the clay bowl. Jennifer took in a shaky breath.

Gofynnaf i'r Hynafiaid ddisgleirio eu goleuni, ac arwain enaid allan o'r tywyllwch. Erfyniaf ar yr Hynafiaid i rannu eu tân, a chynnau cannwyll sydd wedi mynd allan. O dywyllwch, goleuni. O ludw, tân. O farwolaeth, bywyd.

The words of Ancient Welsh made the room heavy, just as in the bayou all seemed to pause, no hum from electical appliances, no sound from the outside world. Nothing.

Nothing at all.

Jennifer took another shaky breath.

Gofynnaf i'r Hynafiaid ddisgleirio eu goleuni, ac arwain enaid allan o'r tywyllwch. Erfyniaf ar yr Hynafiaid i rannu eu tân, a chynnau cannwyll sydd wedi mynd allan. O dywyllwch, goleuni. O ludw, tân. O farwolaeth, bywyd. 

No change. The body remained empty. The world remained still.

Jennifer’s lip trembled, her eyes misted slightly and she closed them, a single tear running down her cheek. A scarred, mutilated thing just like the rest of her. Jennifer’s eyes opened and there was no beautiful woman, merely a ripped apart body pulled together beyond what should be possible, taunt skin still pink and unhealed flickered garishly in the fire’s light.

“Please.” The word barely legible through a ripped apart mouth, spittle dripping down a skinless jaw, a single tear mixed within.

Gofynnaf i'r Hynafiaid ddisgleirio eu goleuni, ac arwain enaid allan o'r tywyllwch. Erfyniaf ar yr Hynafiaid i rannu eu tân, a chynnau cannwyll sydd wedi mynd allan. O dywyllwch, goleuni. O ludw, tân. O farwolaeth, bywyd. 

The flame blew out.

Darkness.

Jennifer was motionless.

Davina was the same.

The door to Jennifer’s kitchen opened and a once again beautiful woman stepped inside, her expression enough to denote her failure. Derek closed his eyes and Marcel’s head went into his hands. No one spoke, there were no words to say.

Then a fierce gasp for air sounded from the dark living room.

Jennifer remained frozen while the men’s eyes went wide. Marcel didn’t hesitate and ran into the room so swiftly he was but a blur. Derek ran moments after, flipping the lights on as he went. Jennifer took longer still but eventually turned and walked back into her living room.

Marcel clung to the reanimated Davina, saying all he’d been unable to since seeing her last while Derek hung back, not wanting to interfere. The young witches head turned back, her eyes finding Jennifer, the wide look in them enough to mean, ‘How?’

Jennifer’s expression of shock was much the same, she barely moved her head but the shake enough to answer. She didn’t know. But life had reigned. Life within her walls. She had given life.

Her first life.  

EVENT 002 // YOU REAP WHAT YOU SOW

She has known destruction and chaos, has lived through war and famine, has lived at the mercy of those who inhabit her and still- she has survived… but now, New Orleans is a town on the precipice of shattering. The Nemeton’s power has grown more unstable with each passing day and Davina Claire, the witch who bore the power of her fallen sisters, equally so. Her death was the only way to complete the ritual and appease the Ancestors, the powers that be who rule the land from afar.

Feeling a shift in the city, Marcel Gerard rushed to the church in search of his witch- only to find the attic empty and Davina, missing. He called Derek Hale, recruiting him in his search. Before long, the witch’s body was found, draped and bloodied across the Nemeton. The boys knew why she was there- what she had done… though not how she had gotten there. It requires an elder of extreme power to perform a ritual like that, all of which were long since slaughtered. It was Derek’s suggestion to seek out Jennifer Blake, the only one who could provide them with the answers they needed. Marcel carried her lifeless form to the Druid’s apartment, desperately hoping for any way to bring her back to him…

Bonnie Bennett was working a shift at Ida Mae’s when the change hit. A ripple of power tearing through the city, bringing the Bennett Witch to her knees. Kira Yukimura happened to be in the shop, hanging out with her newest friend when the witch fell. Rushing to her side, she stayed with her until the wave passed. Confused and isolated, the pair knuckle down on what the hell is going on, trying to get some answers out of the resources available in the shop. 

Cora Hale and Braeden Aldaine were having lunch at the time, Cafe Du Monde wasn’t their standard go-to but Braeden loved the architecture and Cora loved the company so it was a win-win situation. Stiles Stilinski happened to be walking past when he spotted the women, plonking unceremoniously into a spare chair at their table when Cora’s phone sounded off, a text message from her brother carrying the news.

Unfailingly buried up to his ears in work, Alaric Saltzman was in the middle of digging to the surface of his desk when Elena Gilbert sought him out, looking for advice on their current state of affairs. What should have been a pleasant exchange was darkened by the buzzing of both their phones. Texts and calls carrying the news. 

Kol Mikaelson was the unwanted visitor that no one seemed to be able to shake, especially not Hayley Labonair. She had found the vampire exploring the Bayou at the time of Davina’s death, though the news had not yet reached her. The alpha wolf hadn’t checked her phone whilst in conversation with the vampire, needing to learn more about the Original, his plans for her beloved town and why he was here. It’s not until the end that she feels the buzz, cutting their union short and leaving her in search of Derek.

A Missive From The Main