Realistic or Modern Witching Hours ((Urban Fantasy IC))

[Twomanybagels]

It was dark, the night chilly with the soft gusts of wind that'd rattle leaves from their spots, howling in whispers. The small little park (affectionately called Daydream Square by its locals) was long empty since closing hours, now just a quaint little scene. It was hardly a spot worth visiting: It consisted of only 5 or 6 wooden benches, a few street lamps emitting soft warm glows, and a particularly old statue that didn't seem to be cleaned in awhile. Since it was situated amongst one of the more busier business districts, the park wasn't really all that known for its scenery, and hardly anyone frequented it with any purpose other than a nice outside spot to make a call or eat a quick snack. It would be pretty forgettable honestly, if it wasn't for the statue that stood in the middle.

The figure was of seemingly granite, of a tall woman holding up a lantern in a woven basket, her stance somewhat confident. She wore a dopey look of surprise on her face, as if she had simply turned her head to look over yonder -In this case, at the stop light of Hickory Ridge and K street. It looked like it had been years since it had been properly cleaned, bird poop hanging from her head of bouncy locs, and a crack or two forming on her face. Under her feet was a plaque of brass material, a cheesy quote about 'exploration' forever carved into its browning surface. The date said the statue was a gift to the city, made sometime in the early 1910s by a man named 'Charles Luther'. Latitude knew that was all false.

Being a statue was not fun at all. It felt like a waiting game, but that someone had forgotten all about Latitude and now she was here for no good purpose at all. When it first happened, and she found her body fixing into stone, the pain was just an ache beyond anything she felt before. Now she was numb to it, as if it was natural for her entire being to feel this sort of fatigue from standing so still. It didn't help that there was nothing to distract herself from the pain either. Everyday almost felt the same as people would walk by, admire the 'craftsmanship', maybe make a remark, and then leave. She didn't have that luxury, to just leave, but oh gods did she wish she could. Knowing her state and actively feeling it in the present felt more than just a cruel joke, it felt excruciating.

But it wasn't like anyone knew she was a person trapped to be a statue. How could they? They were just humans going about their daily lives, having their own problems to sort out. Latitude didn't expect to be saved anytime soon, a sentiment she unfortunately held onto for a long long time. So she expected this night to pass on just like the rest. After all, it wasn't worth much of a visit in the day time, much less the night. And Latitude often found that no one bothered to come by after hours, when the city lights were the only illuminations shining into the dim late hours. No one human anyways.

 

[Aku]

The coven residence was a quaint villa sitting on the outer edge of the city. It was two stories tall and surrounded by the local wilderness, which covered most of the house from view. The location was mainly chosen for its privacy, as well as for being within proximity to an urban area. Both of which made it easier to blend in. After the coven’s last brush with hunters had them moving halfway across the country, they figured it was in their best interests to lay low for a while.

They’ve been staying here in Lund for about two years now, and thankfully so far life in the charming historical city has been peaceful for them. Theodore hoped it stayed that way. Currently he was working out of an office in Malmo about half an hour train ride away, running a small private investigation operation. It was nothing fancy, most of his cases tended to be domestic disputes and petty thefts. But it paid the bills and was something to do when he wasn't occupied with coven business.

His latest client was a Ms. Elena Laurier. The woman contacted him a few days ago, asking to meet on short notice to discuss the details of a case she wanted him to take on. She lived locally, so Theodore offered to speak with her at the villa to save them both the trip to his office. It was 7AM in the morning on a cool Saturday evening, and he figured most of his coven mates would still be asleep. Theodore had just finished setting the coffee to brew when the expected knock at the door came.

“Mr. Hayes, I presume. Good to meet you.” The woman greeted as Theodore opened the door. Elena was a tall woman with dark hair and striking gray eyes. She wore a coat over a simple black dress and matching pumps. Not at all like Theodore's usual clients, and looking far too put together for this early in the morning.

“Likewise,” Theodore replied, shaking her hand. “Please come inside. We can talk in the study.”

He led the woman to a room past the lounge. Inside was a single mahogany desk with two chairs on each side, sitting on a soft maroon carpet. Lining the walls were several rows of old books. Light was coming from a single large window to the left, facing out to the lush garden outside. “So, you mentioned on the phone you’re trying to track down a heirloom that went missing?” Theodore asked, closing the door behind them.

“Correct, it belonged to my great-grandmother.” Elena reached into her purse and handed Theodore a photograph. Depicted was an older woman with similar features to Elena, wearing an intricate gold brooch with a ruby at its center. “This is the piece. It was stolen when she was still alive, but was never recovered. I have reasons to believe it ended up somewhere in this town.”

Theodore leaned back in his chair, examining the photo she gave him. “I see,” he said. “Is there a specific reason why you’re choosing to search for it now, after all this time?”

Elena nodded. “Yes, actually. You see…”

—

By the time they finished talking, about an hour had passed and Theodore had most of what he needed to know about the case. He walked Elena to her car and bid the woman goodbye. “Thank you Theodore. I’ll be in touch.” She told him as she stepped into her vehicle. Watching her drive away, he took a glance at his watch. “Shoot,” he muttered. It was later than he expected. “I better get started on breakfast.”

 

[BuggaBoo]

Powder - (The Badgirl)

Location: Near a small lake finishing her rituals. In the villa's kitchen at the end.
Mentions: None.
Interactions: None. ​

A Warning From The Otherside...

Ride. Fight. Dance. Chant. Meditate.

It took her 4 months to finally settle into a daily routine. And it was finally paying off.

25km ride. But not just a leisurely stroll through Lund. No, it was up to her to challenge herself each time to find a different route each ride. Whether it be trail or street, locals would see the weirdo foreigner ripping past them, breathing hard and drenched in sweat. It was always: ride for her life as if the lusting devil was there right behind her, threatening to drag her into hell.

30 mins of intense combat training interspersed with a heavy dose of lifting and climbing. Yes, it was solo and she had a membership to a MMA training facility but these solo fighting sessions were not meant to go up against just any dudes. No, she out there in the woods, hitting tree trunks and wrestling branches, training to fight shaggy monsters; four legged and upright. And training to fight fanged demon mosquitoes that moved like liquid black in the night.

By the shores of the bodies of water whether in town or not she sang, drummed and recited. Nude as the day she was born. It did not matter the time of day. For it only mattered that the water find her. She would be drawn to separate sources of water; they called her by her immortal name. Yet in the last month, the calls narrowed down to but 3 sources. The 'Slider' was accepting her beckoning pleas; it would soon be swimming with her in the Scandanavian cold waters.

The voices of her ancestors intertwined with the incantations of yesteryear. The venerable Bloodline of the Coven of 13 coursed through her veins and her ancestors accepted her as daughter and sole survivor of their legacy. It was she and she alone that would teach the next generation of their fallen Coven and their ways. The voices would not rest until restitution was met; there was blood on her hands. Not the blood of her slain sisters and elders but the blood of those responsible. It was up to her to make it right.

Meditation. That was the funny one. Most others would see meditation as a means to 'blank' ones mind; let the energies of the known universe flow through you, no judgement, just neutral energy. But not for this Witch. No, her meditation was a time not for introspection but to draw from the Otherside. Channeling music, crafting tattoos, binding artworks. It was during those times she would find the threshold to the Otherside. Success was being worthy of being spoken to by her Spirit Guide. He was an ancient, oh so mischevious and cryptic, but a blessing when He returned to her once more.

And after months of rigourous training, rituals, and incantations it was all paying off. Crescent was here now.

From the shadows of her mind and the shadows of the Thinned places of her new Coven's territory He came to her. The big, tattooed woman's hazel eyes lit up, pupils dilating, irises shifting to a fresher and greener hue. A smile she covered before holding her formal greeting pose to her Guide.

As always she waited for Him to greet her. Only a neutral stare Crescent donned upon her and for the longest time He just regarded her, standing there wearing nothing but scant cotton towel. This was different. Normally He would have said something by now. Yet Powder knew better than to insult the ancient and so politely she waited. And waited. And waited.

Finally a smirk lilted up at the corner of His feline face. When He spoke the sound reverberated in her ears and heart despite His voice being nothing greater than the whispering of the wind. His eyes ignited green, glowing with light made of generations and lifetimes ago, pulsating with the tumultuous knowledge of one who knows too much.

"Blood in Blood out. There is a Hunt. It has begun, Conduit. Your new sisters and brothers will die..."

A heartbeat went missing from inside her. A frown pressed down upon her features, the freshness in her eyes falling, the dark hues of doubt returned in her irises. The compiled walls of denial cracked from within; the wretched black of guilt seeped through. Powder swore would never allow slaughter to befall them. Any of them. Not again. But wait... What did He mean?

An immature and less wise Powder would have questioned the spirit outright, asking for clarity and justification of such a claim. But she was not a girl anymore. No, she knew that the answers to any of her questions lay within tidings to come and addressed with how she would deal with it. The young immortal would she take what Crescent said and let it play out, forcibly if need be, with her own hands.

Hazel eyes closed. A breathless breath she took. Not a single word she uttered. Instead, she respectfully nodded in grattitude for the words of her Guide.

Before she could thank Him properly, a wicked sound pierced the whispering of ether between them. Hazel eyes snapped open. Wide and incredulous they were. Had she really heard what she heard? Was it on this side or the Otherside? She couldn't tell. When she glanced over at Crescent he merely gave her a toothy smile, all teeth seemingly glinting white and all teeth seemingly sharper than razors.

A nod. A wink. With the speed of a slumberer ripping free from night terrors, back into the shadows of the worlds and the space between them he returned. The wind was but merely the wind once more.

"Thank you for your wisdom and grace. I am honoured and humbled by your prescence yet again. Thank you, ancient Crescent..."

One last respectful pose then she gathered her things and hastily dressed. A running start then she hopped onto her bike. The big, tattooed Witch sped through the morning fog as she always did on her way back to the Coven territory, heart racing with the strain of more than physical exertion, mind a maelstrom neath an anvil-shaped cloud.

The misty morn seemed darker, thicker somehow despite the uprising of the sun on the horizon. She turned the final corner on the way to the villa and out of nowhere a massive dark form with angry bright eyes leapt straight for her.

Powder screamed and bailed. The metal beast honked its off-key horn accusing and loud as if this was her fault alone. She flew head over heels, tumbling into the ditch. An explosive crack sounded out as her head smashed off of the embankment; her helmet was ruined. But truly it was better to break a helmet in half rather than her skull.

She should have sworn all known swear words at the driver for not stopping and just peeling away. She should have picked up rocks, screeched and started chucking with all her might. But no, instead she stood there shoulders slumped and eyes wide. The sound of the screeching tires echoed away in her mind-- no. No, it couldn't be... could it...? Full lips puckered as she held her breath and finally she let out a shakey exhale. No, that was not the sound of screeching tires.

It was the sound she heard earlier when she was visited by her Spirit Guide. It was the blood chilling cry of an inhuman.

It was the howl something more than a just a wolf.

"There is a Hunt..." she whispered the unlit and foreboding words of Crescent, "...it has begun."

The hairs at the back of her neck shot bolt upright. She felt-- no, don't lie, she knew she was being watched. But not on this side. Of that she was certain.

Powder made the proper warding gestures and called out the commands of her Bloodline to deny the scrying phantom. Not enough. Once more she called out, louder and the intensity of her movements that much stronger. Still not enough. It was still watching her. One last time...

"Blessed spirits I beseech you. Lend me your strength..."

**TW: Graphic Blood Scene.

White teeth bit down, clamping upon her lower lip. This time she raked her arm, nails ripping skin, splitting the inked face upon her forearm. Reaching towards the soil, Into both hands she collected the warm, bright red liquid.

Hands now balled into tight fists, Powder uttered an incantation that belonged only outside her new Coven. She knew full well this was breaching contracts beyond the here and now. She would owe the spirits bigtime, but she needed their strength. Badly. Both wet, sticky fingers unfurled. Hands quivering, palms up, she raised both inked arms above her head, letting the blood drain, dripping, splashing onto her tan face. Back arched and chin tilted up, she accepted the sanguine flow into her mouth. One last incantation then she blew red out in a vast plume, sending the scrying phantom back across the threshold and into the silvery depths of the Otherside.

"Thank you blessed Spirits. Please rest easy now. Blood for Blood you will be sated..."

Disrupting and dispelling the unwanted scryer left her so drained and shaken that she could not ride her way back. Instead she trudged along, pushing her gravel bike beside her to the rear of the villa, trailing droplets of scarlet behind her. From there she began to chant and collect the soil that the Coven would tread everyday. Eyes rolled up into her head, she drew warm, liquid red sigils at the thresholds to each entry way; she was not fully prepped to make proper wards, but these would hold off anymore intrusive eyes until her sisters and brother were informed of what she had just encountered.

Hopefully they still had time.

The spray of the hose was a welcome relief despite the icy chill upon her skin. The cleasing of the red from her body felt like she had put out an inferno immolating her whole.

After a quick search, Powder found then dressed her wound with a set of clean cloths hung in the shed, chanting softly all the while. When done she checked and cleaned off her black football jersey and denim booty shorts. Once satisfied, she wiped down her bike before locking it up. A heartbeat longer she waited and listened, but not only on this side, but intent on hearing anything from the Otherside.

Nothing. For now.

A deep inhale, a long exhale. Heart somewhat settled, Powder made her way into the villa. In through the back door and into the kitchen bare feet padded softly.

 

[__Space__]

There were times, when days would blend into nights, nights into days, hours smudged like fresh ink on paper. Those times came in packs - hunting down for answers with bared teeth, howling and growling and pushing with a hunger that dimmed her vision and turned her focus into steel, days and nights and days and nights becoming one continuous pursuit of whatever goal she had.

Alessa was aware that we could be driven. To a nearly obsessed point, at times. That awareness, however, tended to dim sometime between the tenth and twelfth hour she spent in her laboratory in the basement.

Speaking of - the lab was a vision of contrasts. Old tiles and décor, even older books and records clashed with silvers of modern technology. The pristine, medical whiteness of her lab coat drew out the flecks of blood that marred its surface in a few places. The nearly obsessive organization of tools on the right on the table nearly invisible in the otherwise chaotic placement of everything else. And the woman herself, of course - over sixty, but looking to be no more than half her actual age.

Her most recent goal, her most recent drive, had been one that visited regularly, like an old friend. Protection from hunters, in the widest sense. But despite the countless - Alessa wasn’t sure how long she had been down here, exactly - hours spent dulling over her latest hypothesis, despite all the cutting and hacking and mending and spell-casting, it had turned out to be a fluke. She sighed, an old and painful sort of exhaustion settling in her shoulders.

A failed experiment still brought some answers, if only of what did not work, she tried to cheer herself up, but the thought felt sour as she murmured it to herself. Shaking her head and shaking off her lab coat, she clicked off her recorder, washed her hands and decided to rejoin the world. With a slowly growing pain in the back of her head and no idea what time of the day it was, she walked up to the kitchen, finding something to eat at the forefront of her mind.

 

[BuggaBoo]

Powder

Location: In the villa's kitchen doing dishes. Again...
Mentions: redraider Irene
Interactions: __Space__ Alessa | Aku Theo. ​

The Gathering in The Kitchen...

Powder found herself at the sink. Again. Washing dishes. Again. Normally she'd be practicing her Swedish curse words under her breath at whomever 'accidentally' (*cough-cough* Irene) forgot to do the bloody dishes in the sink. Again. Just look at them! Not just pots but the cutlery were crusted up and caked on. Again.

And so the Warrior Witch donned her pink rubber gloves and had at it because she just had it with whomever 'accidentally' (*cough-cough* Irene) kept doing this. Besides cleaning up the dishes just made it more justifiable to yell at whomever 'accidentally' (*cough-cough* Irene) kept forgetting to do the bloody dishes and let them grow a layer of food sediment upon them. Yes, they were Witches here but you only called upon rats when you needed them, not because of whomever 'accidentally' (*cough-cough* Irene) forgot to do their dishes was a filthy, dirty person with filthy, dirty bad habits.

Normally others could get a good sense of her anger as she aggressively banged and clanked pots, earthenware and utensils as if she were washing dishes in a tornado.

But not now. No, instead, she was staring out the window above the sink, hazel eyes aimed the fence near the shed but not seeing it at all. A placid look actually had captured her tan face as she methodically, gently even, scrubbed and washed the soiled kitchen ware.


Powder was not here right now. Obviously, she was deep in thought, far away back in time when she was a girl. She was just little PoPo. And little PoPo had two piggy-tails. They were done up nice and tight cuz only pretty girls kept nice and tight piggy-tails. Combed straight until the shine was as bright as her eyes and smile, just like Auntie Jackie said. But when little PoPo looked in the mirror she did not see a pretty girl. No, the little girl in the mirror was hideous with her fat, swollen pink lower lip and shining purple mark neath her puffy left eye. But Auntie Jackie said to focus on the eyes.

'The eyes are the most beautiful things in the whole entire world, PoPo. And did you know they are most powerful too? That's right, child. They are windows to the soul and reflect your own heart. When you look into someone's eyes, like really, really for real look into their eyes, you will always recognize them. Even beyond death, child, you will know them...'

In the here and now, big Powder's mouth fell wide open, almost as wide as her hazel eyes, "I know you..."

The young woman's whole body clenched up suddenly. Something was in the kitchen with her.

There was a face in the window.

Powder startled but managed to stifle the oncoming scream of terror. You dumbass, Goofy girl... It was just reflection of Alessa over her shoulder coming into the kitchen.

The dishes were all but racked up and set to dry yet the big, tattooed woman turned on the tap and let the water run. She let out a welcome exhale, scoffed softly at her overreaction and collected herself. Yes, it was only pipewater, but still, the flow of it all was reassuring all the same. She just could not wait until her patron Spirit made it over to these waters.

"God morgon, sister," said Powder as she turned off the tap and shook off her pink rubber gloves before taking them off to hang on the pinching hook-thing near the sink, "any news from the basement for the Daily Broomstick reporters today?"

Yes, that was her futile attempt at a joke. Yes, it was lame but it should also be telling. They should know their Coven sister as that dark cloud that hung over the depressed and the dying, and that she only lightened up when she had been 'enlightened.' The only time she felt brave enough to attempt to fail at saying anything remotely humourous was when she was visited by her guiding Spirit, Crescent.

She let the awkward moment hang a bit longer. Then she overexagerrated clearing her throat. Thankfully, Theo waltzed on into the vast expanse of the kitchen breaking the uncomforting air.

"Go’morron, brother," said Powder cheefully. And a friendly wave too?! "Sooooo... What you gonna be cookin' for me? Some kinda' breakfast feast--"

Then suddenly the 'wind' following their Coven brother brushed up against her sending a shiver down her spine. It wasn't right. If Powder could feel that then undoubtedly Alessa should feel that doubly so. Hazel eyes flicked over to their Coven lead to gauge her reactions.

Was this an omen? For Powder had the sneaking suspicions that the 'winds of change' had just blown in their direction.

 

[redraider]

Irene slipped into the kitchen, looking at Powder working at Mount Dishmore. Oh, crap. Sloth was as much a sin as Wrath, after all, but the Hellwhelp still had some compassion for her fellow witches. "I am so sorry, Powder. I'll take your next turn, I promise." As Alessa poked her head up, Irene blinked a few times in surprise. Alessa had been spending ages down there in the lab- there were days Irene couldn't even remember her coming out of her hole. The poor woman needed to see sunlight more often.

"What have you been working on, anyway? Do you need any help? Information, rare ingredients?" The blonde was babbling a bit, but she couldn't help it. Irene didn't mind learning more about witchcraft, she was always interested in broadening her skills and powers. She started assembling some breakfast foods for the rest of the coven. "In the meantime, let's eat. Then we can get to work with full bellies and clear minds."