#wethewitch

"...D'ya everr feel alone? Az if even the beasts and plants arr' a memorry even az yo'rr lookin at them?"

They're not looking at Mortem as they work, hands keeping busy as their voice wanders. They don't often talk while they work, but this time he seems to be keeping a good amount of attention to the task at hand.

@we-the-witch

For all intents and purposes, the answer to their question should be met with a 'no'. The witch's core abilities circulated around energy and souls. Soulless entities she could connect with, whether it was the plants in her garden or one of the fae. Energy resonated and a language could be found with just about anything.

Her entire purpose circulated around the variety of life, and then entropy. She was not like a witch of old she once knew that learned to contort herself into beasts. Despite all the life she was constantly sensing around herself, constantly observing and analyzing because she could not turn off the ability to...

"Yes." She felt alone.

Humans had that saying, 'even in a crowded room you can feel alone'.

It wasn't very different from her. Her purpose as a witch required her to partially exclude herself from it. She watched all manner of life grow and wither, generations come and go. And she was here.

Many of the plants in her garden served as a memory. Tended to, kept for certain fallen individuals or in memory of events that has passed. Everything around her was memories. She was a relic that didn't rust throughout the ages.

She observed them a moment longer before reaching past, fetching a small jar off the shelf to set down upon the table. A quiet suggestion they may find the contents of use in their work. Otherwise, she doesn't elaborate. She doesn't see much use in discussing things that cannot be changed nor altered. Even this time here together was a fleeting thing, a memory she would carry in the archive cradled within this body - within the meat and muscle, cradled within her ribs.

The battery on their MP3 had ran out a while ago. Not that they would need it anytime soon; or have the chance to recharge it. Without it, however, for past hour or so the arguments in their mind could not even be attempted to be drowned out. Maybe they got used to it all in the past few weeks. Maybe they didn't entirely process it. Maybe the fact that Laila was with them help. They didn't listen to the others telling them to do otherwise.

The old cat poked her head from the opened travel bag to look around, sat atop all of the "witch's" belongings: whatever was left of the alchemy set and whatever potions they could grab. The rest was filled with clothing, giving the feline something softer to lay on. Most of them had gotten worn and torn by now. Even the clothes on them had patches from other pieces that were too broken to be repaired. It wasn't all from the journey here.

The villagers weren't exact with what he would find - a sacrificial altar, a shrine for offering, a weird looking stone by the side of a river, an actual home. They didn't give the words spoken to them any credit. Villagers are fools. They could find somebody who's found a way to turn stupidity against these villagers. Somebody who would be worth putting one of the two bullets nestled into the cylinder of the hidden revolver into. Maybe even the name wasn't right.

Close to the strike of noon, however, they would find what they were looking for. Blake did not even try to be sneaky around the supposed myth. "Hail, Mortem." The false witch greeted the true one.

@we-the-witch

Someone was approaching. The moment they stepped into the forest, she knew. Even from as far as the outskirts, she could sense them. A week's travel east, yet their soul was crystal clear to her. Whether they'd arrive sooner or later, she didn't care-- if they survived to make it to her clearing, she'd humor granting them an audience.

And survive they did. How interesting the creatures of her forest didn't seem to cause this one trouble. True, their energy was different from what she normally saw. Consider her curious, which worked in their favor. The witch was less likely to teeter off into disinterest and fall asleep mid-conversation.

She glanced over to the voice's direction, examining the individual. They used a term she would yet looked so painfully... modern. She'd tolerate the obscene apparel of this era, being wise enough to know that times had changed despite her often staying as a hermit out this way. What was more interesting was they called her by name. If anything, that was what granted them her full attention above all else. There was no pretend for her to introduce herself to them, they went through the effort to learn her name. Which meant they visited the right texts and places likely to learn where it still lingered - hauntingly.

"Hail, stranger." Mortem greeted in return as she invited them properly as a guest to her clearing. A gentle beckon, a motion to sit upon a nearby log or stump while she resumed finishing gardening.

the fact the ball ends in the ceiling is another thing entirely

@the-snowy-river // @we-the-witch

Always happy to plot, even if I am slow half the time.

Nestor is involved heavily in genres like horror, fantasy (supernatural and paranormal, primarily) and science fiction (advanced technology, artificial intelligence, etc). To be honest, her bowling efforts are shit so anything she throws is likely to end up in the ceiling.

As an obsessive workaholic, there are many paths she can take to end up before your muse. Investigations, rescue, acting as a bodyguard, intelligence recon, intentionally seeking/tracking, accidental encounter, etc. The BVD prefers diplomacy and negotiating first. Despite her hands being thoroughly stained, she upholds that. If they need aid, she can provide. Nestor is often conducting investigations, so she's easy to find in public environments that could benefit meeting your muse.

Outside of her job, I can have her forced to take leave which puts her in normal settings more casually. On the job, she is more likely to engage. When she's on personal time, she tends to be closed off. If she isn't cooped up in her house, recording artifacts and information for the BVD's archive on her off hours, then she tends to meander. Too much quiet and too much noise isn't ideal, but she tries to balance it out with public walks and ventures.

As always, I'm happy to explore whatever you want with your muse. Nestor (like Mortem) works well as a side companion. Happy to delve into plotting more, friend. I'm sure we can figure out something that's less harmful to the ceiling and just as powerful as this: