#wvtchpls

@wvtchpls pleaded ; BELLARA LUTARE - PARTY BANTER ( accepting! ) "it's mostly a survival thing."

gaze settled on the woman before him. sizing her up clearly. yellow and red eyes roamed over her form, but saw through her to something else. her very soul. the chair he sat in was comfortable enough, and his hands clasped over the top of the staff he wielded. an unreadable expression settled into his face as he stopped, the room growing hotted with his muted power.

❛ Is it? How so? What purpose in survival does it serve you, what you do? Give me one good reason to believe you. ❜

he didn't think she could. not really.

He'd been screaming in his car, beating his fists as hard as he could against his steering wheel, his hair a mess and tears and snot streaming down his face as he wailed his pain away. He'd thought he was alone...until he spotted someone approaching out of the corner of his eye. He frantically straightened, wiped his face with a discarded napkin on the passenger seat, and rolled down his window.

 He  looked  at  her  inquisitively.  There  was  a  certain  empathetic  gentleness  in  his  gaze,  as  well  as  brusque  curiosity.  Zeev  thought  he  sensed  the  vibration  of  regret  in  her  statement.  As  if  there  had  been  many  lost  opportunities  in  the  past  that  she  would  approach  differently  now,  in  regards  to  the  knowledge  she  had  gathered  since  then.

“Why  is  it  that  we’re  always  so  prone  to  blame  ourselves  for  things  that  are  out  of  our  control?”  he  ushered  into  the  space  between  them.  The  candle  shook  upon  his  words,  his  breath  stirring  the  stale  air  smelling  of  sandalwood  and  sage.  Casually,  he  rested  his  head  into  his  palm,  attention  still  lingering  on  her  square  face.  Her  red  hair  deepened  by  the  warm  hues  around  them,  resembling  calm  fires  inside  the  fireplace.

The  thought  unsettled  him—and  the  pungent  stench  of  charred  flesh  etched  itself  into  the  forefront  of  his  perception. 

“A  conversation  is  a  two-way  door,  innit?”  he  claimed.  “Otherwise  all  we’re  doing  is  monologuing  in  hopes  for  someone  to  finally  listen.  I  think  there’s  a  lot  to  learn  about  a  person  and  how  they’re  behaving  during  speech.  Some  just  engage  to  reach  an  audience.  Others  listen  to  answer,  but  I  believe  I’ve  always  been  the  kind  to  understand.  There’s  much  joy  to  pick  apart  sentences  and  see  underneath.  If  you  haven’t  been  good  before  at  conversations,  perhaps  you  haven't  had  the  right  partner  yet.”  Encouragingly,  he  smiled  at  her. 

“I’m  sorry,  I  made  this  sound  a  wee  bit  cunning,  didn’t  I?  Old  habits  die  hard,  I’m  afraid”

Casually,  he  raised  from  the  seat,  moving  towards  the  small  kitchenette  on  the  other  side.  The  modest  cabin  he  had  been  gifted  by  his  husband  was  made  of  robust  pine  wood,  the  glaze  turning  the  otherwise  natural  orange  colouring  into  a  warm,  rich  brown.  The  low  ceiling  of  the  building  was  covered  with  countless  sagging  drapes,  whose  deep  red  and  amber  tones  were  reflected  in  the  upholstery  of  the  armchairs  and  the  couch.  The  floor  was  almost  completely  covered  in  old  carpets  whose  patterns  were  barely  recognisable  due  to  weathering.  The  building  was  part  of  a  reserve  and  bordered  the  bird  sanctuary  where  his  younger  sister  often  spent  her  time.  This  patch  of  earth  was  surrounded  by  various  tree  cultures,  nestled  in  a  natural  environment  in  which  Zeev  found  refuge  when  the  stress  of  everyday  life  became  too  much  to  bear.  Admittedly  though,  he  usually  found  this  peace  at  home,  close  to  the  person  he  loved  above  all  else. 

The  witcher  reached  for  the  kettle  and  poured  the  boiling  water  into  the  pot.  After  just  a  few  seconds,  he  was  hit  by  the  soothing  smell  of  herbs,  which  would  undoubtedly  reveal  their  all-encompassing  properties.  The  mint  in  particular  proved  how  much  it  loved  attention. 

With  the  pot  in  one  hand  and  two  mugs  in  the  other,  he  returned  to  the  circular  table.  To  make  her  stay  a  little  more  pleasant,  Zeev  had  taken  the  liberty  of  serving  her  an  encouraging  portion  of  Scottish  bannocks.  He  also  served  his  husband's  homemade  strawberry  jam.  With  the  tea,  he  provided  the  classic  shortbread. 

He  sat  down  with  her  and  reached  for  one  of  the  knives  he  had  left  in  the  centre  earlier,  tore  off  a  piece  of  the  bread  and  plunged  the  tip  of  the  cutlery  into  the  jam  before  applying  a  thin  layer.  One  of  the  few  rare  occasions  where  he  enjoyed  sweets.

   “So,”  he  clicked  his  tongue  and  searched  for  her  gaze.  “I  was  aware  that  it’s  possible  to  bind  a  soul  to  an  object,  but  as  far  as  I  can  tell  you’re  much  more  than  a  spectral  force.  Flesh  and  bone  and  all.”  Slightly,  he  tilted  his  head.  “Blood  magic,  wasn’t  it?”

All the same, it wasn’t very often that Melody’s seemingly permanent status as an unexpected guest got her a response like this from those whose homes she’d entered. Food and drink instead of unkind words, walls of hands hurtling her way? She twirled lively in the air for this human—how refreshing!

“Oh, yes! I would like that very much,” Melody said with a grin, hovering closely before her. “I can eat lots and lots and lots!” More than the scraps and crumbs she had initially come in for—being given it all rather than taking it helped.

@wvtchpls: “I’m giving you another warning - take one more step. I dare you.” For Sahana. Unprompted

　　　The Nightsister keeps her distance from the other for a moment -- not in any submission to the warning but rather to gauge the potential threat. Some type of sorceress, she's been told. Not Dathomirian. At the very least, not from Mother Talzin's clan like she. She's intrigued, in any case.

　　　Sahana's pointed hood and face mask, both red as the rest of her garb, conceal her identity as she watches Hughanna.

{ @wvtchpls ;;

@wvtchpls

"Oh, this?" she glanced down distractedly at the pretty floral blouse she'd put on that morning. "Thank you. I've had it for ages, but I love the flowers," she fidgeted with the embroidery on the edge of her sleeve, before turning her gaze upwards to meet the other woman's eyes with a faint smile. "It's kind of you to say, I tend to just grab the first thing I can reach before I go to work. I'm in scrubs most of the day anyway, so most people don't see this."

Carter hoped the evening would have nothing interesting happening again. The ruffle from earlier left them quite shaken both mentally and physically, hence his presence. He managed to clean most of the dirt and dust off their clothes. The rest could be properly cleaned later; they still had money to make.

He was simply waiting at one of their usual meeting spots, by the corner of an alley, when he was approached out of nowhere.

It shouldn't have been a surprise for them to be recognized as one, seeing as they gave the name 'witch' to pretty much any passerby. But being approached about it so directly - with happiness rather than discontent no less - was something uncommon. One wouldn't guess that they were a witch, looking more like somebody that was into grunge over witchcraft with ripped jeans and an old, hand-made sweater a size too large.