mooncaught

“Ogam reeds–like–that’s a method of divination, right?” Yvette furrowed her brow, cross-referencing the words in her head against what she had casually absorbed from a few hours of noodling online. She’d had her fortune read a couple times, in various contexts. Yvette had a psychologist’s perspective of divination. There was a certain amount of belief necessary to buy into the premise. She didn’t–or rather, hadn’t–believed in fortune-telling as if it were true, exactly. Yvette the scientist found the interplay of faith, culture, and perception to be mildly fascinating. Not precisely her wheelhouse, but it had a cousin-like relationship to hypnosis, in that sense. It worked better if you went in with a whole heart.

But if fey were real, and illusions and potions that altered your brain state via magic were real, who was to say? Who was to draw the line of possibility, now?

“I … I think I might have something,” Yvette said. She fiddled with the rim of the punch cup she had set aside briefly. She hazarded an attempt at a joke. “Um–to be–to be deployed in a moment of extreme need, of course.”

“Yeah, my aunt taught me when I was young and it just sort of stuck. I’ve been practicing with the reeds since I was ten.” His stomach rolled at the mention of his Aunt Maeve. He could remember the first time she had introduced him to ogam. It’d been close to the autumn equinox, when the sky was dark and the wind was high. There’d been something in the air - something he couldn’t quite explain but it had left him with both a chill and a feeling of intense wonder. Witch weather, his aunt had teased him. They had sat where the festivities were occurring behind Maynooth now but it had just been the two of them then. Emmet had listened as she divined the staves to him, patiently explaining each of the meanings to him. With her help, he had carved his own staves the next day. Feel them, imbue their energy in each one, Aunt Maeve had whispered, creation is magic itself. 

Years later, only the staves had told him the truth about his aunt’s fate. 

“Tell you what, I’ll give you a reading for free if you tell a story. Doesn’t even have to be in front of everyone, you can practice on me first.”

Tyler’s face fell, just a bit. But the way Jason had talked to him about this, it had seemed like more than just coming in a few times, buying things. It seemed like much more. If they knew about him.. Well, they wouldn’t say directly. But Tyler knew he couldn’t push it. It would be harder than that, of course it would. 

“He’s been missing.” He said, not beating around the bush. “For over a year now.” He paused, and then added, “You wouldn’t remember the last time he was in here, would you?”

There was no mistaking the way the man’s face faltered. He’d come in seeking answers for his family and Emmet couldn’t help him. Hope was like that, though. One of the worst demons to come out of Pandora’s Box. It built you up only to let you fall. “Missing?” Emmet repeated, almost incredulously. He frowned as if processing this news. “He came to a few events too. Nice guy. He seemed interested but when he stopped showing up, I just thought he lost interest. I didn’t know he went missing.” 

“You tell a lot of girls they look fruity?” she asked, grinning. “That is a little strange, I have to admit. But I don’t make it a habit of hitting strangers. Or anyone, usually. It’s pretty rare, usually you have to do something awful like insult my family for me to do something like that.” 

Hazel extended her hand to shake his, pleased he was going to take her up on the offer. It was much more enjoyable to eat with someone than alone and she was always up for making new friends. “Lovely to meet you, Emmet. I’m Hazel.” She turned, finally ordering a funnel cake then looked back at him. “Are you here by yourself?” 

“Not on purpose. Only when I’m drunk or my mouth runs before I can help it.” He matched her grin before nodding thoughtfully. “I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same if someone insulted my family but I’ll do my best to avoid that.” He could respect loyalty to one’s family. Of course, his family spanned multiple families within the cult and he’d been the big brother to most of the children. Emmet tried to do his best to set a good example but in rare cases - such as the time someone tossed insults at Brielle and levelheaded Emmet had ended up with bloody knuckles from cracking him across the face - he found himself lashing out to protect them. He’d been raised with the idea of loyalty being the most important thing in Clann Nuadha. Don’t question Slane. Don’t question the Clann. Yet, he found himself doing that more than anything now. 

The whole celebration, or whatever it was, had been weird, but also a lot. A lot because he couldn’t stop thinking of Jason being at something like this, whether Jason had believed in this stuff. If anyone there would know his face. Maybe know what happened to him, and just wouldn’t tell. That maybe all the weirdness took some kind of a darker turn. He didn’t want to think about that, didn’t want to look at all their faces, and think that any one of them could have something to do with his cousin going missing. 

So he’d ducked into the shop, figuring there would be someone watching the counter, but at least it wouldn’t be as many as were out there. Part of him wanted to just leave, right now, but he couldn’t. Not until he got answers. He wasn’t leaving without answers. “I, uh.” Again, like the last time he’d come in, he wasn’t sure how to word it. “Actually, you might be able to help. I’m not looking for something, exactly. Just.. I have questions. Does the name Jason Young ring any bells?” 

Comforted by the feeling of Romeo brushing up his legs, Emmet dropped his gaze to the tabby cat. Unable to stop himself from smiling slightly as the cat jumped onto the counter, he ran his fingers along his spine, scratching slightly. Glancing up at the stranger, Emmet tilted his head as the man seemed to struggle with what he wanted to say. When he did speak, however, Emmet’s stomach jumped into his throat. 

Jason Young. Another burden on his conscience. 

It took years of practice deflecting journalists and bloggers to keep his current turmoil from showing on his face. Furrowing his brow, Emmet appeared to be wracking his brain for that name, frowning slightly. “Jason Young?” Recognition dawned on his face and he nodded. “I think so? He used to come in here from time to time for some of the events. I must’ve sold him a few things before too.” Good at pretending, so good at pretending. It’s eating you alive inside. He peered closer at the young man, taking in his features. Was he a relative of Jason’s?

“I’m not rich,” she laughed, “And I think getting all of them might be overkill… I mean, would you even be able to taste the funnel cake anymore?” It was a real dilemma. She took a small step back when he raised his hands, figuring he was gesturing to indicate he was done talking to the crazy funnel cake girl and was going to take her up on her offer to move ahead. When she didn’t, her expression turned confused. “Why would I hit you for saying that? That’s awful. The hitting part, not the fruit part. I do like fruit. I’m thinking berries and powdered sugar now. Keep it simple. Do you know what you want? You can still go ahead. Or split mine, if it sounds good…I won’t eat the whole thing.” 

“Overkill maybe but if it’s what your heart desires, who can really fault you?” He couldn’t help but tease, the words flying off his tongue with ease. For the first time in weeks, some of the anxiety was off his shoulders. The mixture of fried food, annoyingly happy fair music and his previous ride on the cyclone had left him feeling happier than he had been in a while. Laughing with Brielle and Pat earlier had felt like old times before he had been burdened with doubt. He sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “Awful but unfortunately is a thing that’s happened before. Of course, I’ve learned since then to not put my foot in my mouth but I still slip up every now and again.”

“I … I don’t know,” Yvette said, hunching her shoulders and smiling weakly. “I, uh, didn’t know there would be a–I would have prepared something. I … I mean, I’m still learning … I don’t know much in the way of Irish folklore? Or …” 

Her hands formed and unformed fists. “Are, uh, you going to tell a story … ?” Yvette said, the end of the last word turning up in an unspoken suggestion. I’ll go if you go.

She made herself smaller when she spoke, her shoulders curling inward. Emmet glanced from her toward the stage and then back to her, sucking in air through his teeth. “Truth be told, I’m a shitty storyteller. Much better at with the ogam reeds.” He admitted with a sheepish look.

You tell stories to people all the time, the intrusive voice in his head murmured reproachingly, only your stories get them killed. Emmet pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth, a string of expletives directed toward the voice firing off in his mind.

As her voice trailed off, Emmet could finish the sentence for her. “I could give it a go.” He mused before widening his eyes slightly at her. “However, when my story eventually crashes and burns since I can’t remember everything my aunt taught me, you miiiiiight have to rescue me.”

Emmet was careful to shut the door as quietly as he could, trying his best to draw as little attention toward himself as he could from the festivities outside. He could still hear the chatter of conversation and lilting flute music from inside. More people had flocked to the celebrations than he had predicted. When it had come to invitations and advertisement - the ones Emmet had been tasked with sending - they had mysteriously been lost in the mail. 

He had stayed outside for as long as he could, sitting at his assigned table and reading ogam for any curious person willing to drop a donation for Clann Nuadha but eventually, it had become too much. From his seat, he could see Slane charming strangers, weaving words into a web to draw them deeper. No matter how many time he tried to focus on the yew in front of him, all he could picture was Slane’s face.

Using the dancing to take a break for himself, he had hurried inside the store. While the familiar smell of herbs and spices might have once soothed him, it now felt like a noxious fog now. Swallowing harshly, he shifted away from the doorframe, moving toward the door separating the back room from the front stop. Ducking under some lavender bunches hanging from the ceiling near the office, he emerged to an almost empty shop. Almost

           Her smile blossomed. “Is that what you’re about to be, in way over your head with trouble? With me? Funny. Most get to know me before they call me trouble.” Still as she spoke, Lark’s gaze drifted between them towards the attractions that lay before them with a sense of excitement coursing through her veins. Equal parts elixir and glee, Lark could easily reminisce about her childhood at Coney Island or the way it made her feel as she were a child again without the help of a song or a voice. She could stay silent and let the nostalgia wash over her as her voice did to others, settling back down to the balls of her feet.   

“Good. Closed minds are never as much fun to play with than the open ones, ones that believe in fairy tales and fun.” She moved in closer, nearly swaying at her feet to a tune that she could feel calling her forth as she took a step and turned to watch him. “Care to play a game?”

“I seem to have the bad habit lately of finding trouble regardless of what I do.” He confessed but there was no bitterness in his tone.“ Actually, now that I think about it, maybe, it’s switched. Trouble finds me instead.” He gestured to her. ”Case in point.” 

Still, despite his words and his mother’s voice in his head warning him, Emmet’s heart still beat a little faster when she smiled ever so prettily at him. He imagined he wouldn’t be the first person she had bewitched with that smile. 

“A game? What kind of game?” His brow creased with confusion again before he rocked back on his heels. Why was he hesitating? A couple months ago he would have jumped at the chance of spending time with her. In his head, his mother’s voice was replaced by the joint voices of Patrick and Brielle telling him not to chicken out. 

who: open when: 28th July, mid-afternoon where: rookery

“So an Unseelie is murdered and is our darling Queen doing anything about it?” A comment made on a whim as she began to restock some of the bottles behind the bar. Any negative word about Lacha she could spread would help in the long run. Taking a glass and pouring herself a tequila on ice, she let out a dramatic sigh. “Hopefully i’m not killed next since there’s a murderer running around freely.”

Emmet wasn’t exactly quite sure what to make of what he was hearing but drinking with his high school buddies at this new bar one of them found suddenly seemed so much more interesting. Unseelie. Queen. Murderer. The last one might not have been a stranger to city but the first two were. Of course, this was New York and there might be many strange, strange explanations. Hell, she might even be British but he couldn’t hear an accent over the bar chatter. Still, as Emmet shifted from behind the person in front of him and set his money down on the bartop, he found himself storing the words mentally. “That’s governments in charge, isn’t it? Doing nothing?” Of course, he couldn’t help the goodnatured tone that slipped out either or the question that followed. “Murderer?”

Defeat Blight: For a wishlist of plot ideas for our muses.

Idea 001. “Son” of a senator, hmmm? That’s exactly the type of friendship that would benefit Clann Nuadha - really help them get that word out. Hell, if they could even convince any of the Daltons to join, that’d be a real win. A chance encounter, a light friendship, work Nicky for everything he’s worth, Emmet. Except, that is the last thing Emmet wants. All this newfound knowledge with the Fey and the Clann? He doesn’t want to spread the word, he doesn’t want to get more people involved. Catch Emmet actively foiling any plots to entrap the Dalton family in the cult - not that he knows any of the Fey things that Daltons are already embroiled in. 

Idea 002. Sean needs some friends, Nickel needs some friends, Emmet's a friendly guy save his desire to kill the fey. Let him befriend them both and then suffer with the eventual nuclear Nickel/Sean war on the horizon. Perhaps he learns some things...some....things he should not in the scuffle 👀.