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Post by Thea on Oct 3, 2022 19:38:46 GMT -5
The Witch's Brew was a charming and quaint store located in the downtown district of a college city, nestled in between two other small businesses - a boba tea place and a boutique that didn't carry plus-size clothing. It had all one could think a metaphysical shop would have: crystals, herbs, votive candles and statues. There was incense always burning, the smoke giving the lighting a haloing effect and some customers a raging headache. Music played softly in the background, a mix of soft rock and southern gothic shuffling together like two drunk dance partners stepping on each other's feet.
The patrons loved it, however. The eclecticism that was Guinevere's shop. It was a maze of trinkets and baubles and whatnots that got the coeds excited and brought rent money in for the month. When Gwen first opened the store she had hope in her eyes and an excited glow to her eyes. Three years in, and the business was doing better than she could have ever dreamed. Unfortunately, she was ... tired. Like, all the time. Her feet hurt from standing up all day and her eyes might as well have been carrying designer bags with the gold trim, they were so noticeable. One would think that she wasn't. After all, her bedroom was just upstairs.
But it never seemed to be just a physical kind of tired. It was a metal and emotional exhaustion that no matter how many times she called back her energy, it was gone like that in a flash. She knew that she needed a day off that didn't include running errands and hosting classes. But she couldn't help it. It was expensive to live nowadays, courtesy of living in a capitalistic hell hole. And no matter how she tried to work the numbers she couldn't afford a day off.
Funny how she was supposed to be her own boss, but couldn't be bothered to approve vacation days.
It was the end of the day when she had that thought. The sun was setting behind her neighbors across the street, casting the sky in a hazy autumnal glow. Perched atop a rolling ladder behind her counter, she took a few moments to enjoy the ambience. Reminiscing on her childhood as the oldest of the oldest of the oldest. Where she picked apples and wove wildflowers into her sisters' hair. She clutched the heavy glass jar of dandelions against her chest and smiled ruefully. When was the last time they all talked? It had to have been Nona's funeral.
It had only been a few minutes after she turned back around to continue in the present when the bell to the entrance rang. She didn't bother to turn around, knowing her face wasn't able to match the customer service voice she donned at that moment: "Merry meet. Just want to let you know we close in five minutes."
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Post by Decoii on Oct 13, 2022 0:19:16 GMT -5
He was tired of the patriarchy. Of being the lesser son, of struggling to find footing in the empire his kind had created. The shop smelled overwhelmingly of sage when he entered. Unsure of what to expect. But the crystals adorning the small shelves and the mixture of dry herbs, along the strained voice of the woman behind the counter had him chuckling to himself.
Of course.
He wasn't doubting his sources, but he was doubtful of the witch simply from the meek and typical appeal of the small shop he'd been sent too. The information to track the witch down had cost him a pretty penny and if Isaiah wasn't so damn dead set on his goal, he would have turned right back around and left the moment the smoke drowned out the smell of his cologne.
The witch had her back towards him, but he was told she was the one that ran the joint. From what he could see, her light brown hair left much to be desired and with a roll of his green eyes, he turned to give her his back as well. He picked up a quarts crystal tower, spun it in his palms several times before dropping it back on the counter with a loud clank.
"I was sent here to find a witch, an actual witch not some hippy Wicca wanna be. Is there an elder I can speak business with or have I wasted my time?"
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Post by Thea on Oct 13, 2022 20:40:49 GMT -5
She jumped.
It wasn't the first time someone dropped something in her store. Many a crystal has fallen victim to the creaky hardwood floors. A statue or two would get knocked over by hands seen or unseen. Hell, she's even shattered a glass jar herself. Nine times out of ten, however, a frantic voice would pipe up and apologize or curse as the owner of said voice hurriedly righted a figure.
But there wasn't a hint of that with this newcomer. With a hand on her palpitating heart, she turned her head with a glare straight from hell. Her blue eyes were narrowed, conveying her annoyance without the need of her pursed lips. She didn't answer him at first, instead opting to take in his appearance and the "I'd rather be anywhere else" look on his face. He definitely was a whole new breed to walk in her store. The Armani suit he wore screamed "important business man", all the way down to his polished black shoes. If she had to bet, he had those things attached to his socks that made sure they didn't roll down his legs, too. She always thought those things looked ridiculous; if she wasn't agitated right now she would have laughed.
Elder. A word she hadn't heard in a long time. Yet once upon a time it held so much meaning. So much respect. With a sigh she took careful steps down her rolling ladder, glancing at the purple and orange stockings she wore to be more festive for Halloween just around the corner. Yeah, if the other elders saw her now they would have been shocked indeed. The old coots. "Depends on who's asking," she said, dropping her false happy voice. "Usually people introduce themselves before they speak with audacity."
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Post by Decoii on Oct 13, 2022 22:25:15 GMT -5
Isiah scratches the side of his head, letting out a chuckle at her rude sighs. Other than that, he doesn't react until she's within view of his lowered eyes, letting her snarky tone die off and become silence again. His eyes meet her shoes, brows twitching at the childish looking leggings. Curiosity humors him to look at her outfit, eyes rising to her shoulder, then her hair, but never meeting her eyes or even her face.
"You witches are an interesting breed indeed." His low voice seems to echo heavily through the small shop, and he hopes that he managed to not say the word witch with the same dislike he always would say it. No need in offending a temperamental brat who would only delay him on what he wishes to accomplish.
"How much to teach me a small number of spells from your grimoire?" He asks casually, not wanting to banter or beat around the bush. As a sorcerer he knows that only people born witches would ever have the power to use it. He knows she offers little human friendly classes in the art of witchcraft. Of herbs, crystals, and whatever other bullshit was sellable to the market.
As a sorcerer he knows that legend and time has it so that thier breads do not mix, do not get along. So that witches are stuck with defensive magic while his kind could conjure up spells that could kill. He knows that once thier eyes meet, they could recognize each other in an instant. He knows that her fear would cause her to be troublesome and his dislike would make him want to puke.
So he looks up at the ceiling, and hopes that she goes running to an elder so we wouldn't be wasting more breath.
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Post by Thea on Oct 14, 2022 0:18:06 GMT -5
"Nothing," Gwen said, "because I don't teach from my personal grimoire." Well, it wasn't just hers, as much as her Nona scolded her for thinking so. It was one third of a family heirloom, passed down to her even before Gramp's death. As her generation's oldest, she had been tasked to learn from and guard the largest book of her family's magic, filled with complicated spells from potions to incantations. Each page held sacred knowledge, dangerous to those who didn't follow each pain-staking step.
That is, if someone had talent of her caliber. Yes, there were coeds that came in here thinking that those they "communed with" were deities of societies long since passed. That if they wished hard enough their ancestors would hand whatever they wanted on a silver platter as if they didn't do unsavory things to make ends meet when they were alive and expected their descendants to show at least a little bit of that willpower. That their star sign was their whole personality. So when Mr. Business Man said "hippy Wiccan wannabe", she tended to agree to some degree.
The classes that she taught, though, weren't just to rake in a little bit of extra dough. She did believe that everyone had at least a little bit of talent, a little bit of oomph. And if she could teach basic protection sigils and keep people from fucking with others' free will, then she can go to bed knowing she did her part. Not only that, but she used them as a sort of scout. The university that brought her willful customers in was pretty large. Pretty well known. With that came a large student population. The bigger the population the better the chances there were that the students held witch lineage that had long been thought dead. And witches were a dying breed compared to the sorcerers.
When Gwen was younger, sorcerers had been the bad guys in every fairy tale her Nona had ever told her. Growing up, she vowed to be the best witch so that those bad guys couldn't hurt her family. Now, she was so far removed from them and the others that most days the sorcerers were just that - bad guys in fairy tales. She didn't recall ever meeting one herself.
But she was suspicious of the man that stood before her now. He came into her shop, saying he was sent. Asking how much to be taught from her grimoire. Making a comment that witches were an "interesting breed", as if they were some sort of cross-bred dog. He even threw in the word "elder". Something that the general population surely didn't know. Her eyes narrowed even more, a whispering of a spell brewing in her mind. "Though if you want to put your contact information down on that notebook I can put you on the waiting list for my next set of classes."
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Post by Decoii on Oct 26, 2022 11:50:33 GMT -5
He closes his eyes. Breathe in through his nose to the count of four. Holds his breath to the count of seven. Exhaled through his mouth to the count of eight. Rinse and repeat. Rinse and Repeat. Rinse and repeat. Oh, was he struggling to contain his anger. And oh, was the idea of some wannabe Ms. Frizzle straight off the magic school bus talking down to him was pissing him the fuck off.
Not only was Isaiah the youngest in his fathers cabal, but he was the one with the shortest fuse, and right now the wacky looking bitch who probably came back from auditioning from a real life Brave movie was pressing all the right buttons.
Isaiah scratches lightly at the nap of his neck, passing his nails along his scalp until he's pulling on his hair on top of his head. Longer and wavy. He grips his scalp for a moment while sighing before rearranging his strands back into place. He had a lot on his plate and dealing with this was not on top of his priority list.
Should he freeze her in place? Search her store for the book? No, that only worked when he was keeping his gaze glued to her. It was also witch magic and worked maybe one out of five times he tried it. Witch magic was so stupid. He didn't even know why he was here. Well, he did. He wanted to overthrow his brother's chances of inheriting the cabal.
Which should be easy, if he was even allowed near the main building. Even easier if he wasn't stripped of his name. At least they let him keep his money, but now he has something to prove and the only thing coming between him and his plan was some silly witch.
If he was a demon he'd be breathing fire.
"Every line of witches has a gimoire, you're not fucking special." He tried to keep the bite out of his tone and failed. So instead, he glared down at his tanned hands. Set her on fire and steal the book? Then he'd have to go to another witch, they flock together like birds. Killing one insures his chances of having help gets flushed down the toilet.
"What I need is the basic shit, shit everyone has, shit I actually need help with as pathetic as that is." He stepped closer to the counter, staring at the scratches on it's surface and with one final sigh, his brown eyes shifted up to meet hers. His stomach dropped in disgust and he wanted to gag for the dramatics but there was no question about it. This Ariel wannabe was a witch by blood and even though he hated it, his eyes seemed glued to hers.
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Post by Thea on Nov 3, 2022 0:04:46 GMT -5
"Get out."
Those two words were said with so much hatred and anger that surprised even her. Never once had she been the person to harbor such destructive emotions, at least not for long. But the reaction ... she couldn't help it. It was like Coke and Mentos. Her intuition had been right, though. Nona's fables weren't actually fables. One of her kind's worst enemies stepped through her door. If her grandmother were here, she would have scolded her in between hitting her upside the head with her shoe for not properly warding her shop and thus her home.
Nothing can be done, now. Here stood the devil, someone she figured didn't exist. But then again, she was the type of person that needed proof before she actually believed, eh? The whisper of the spell seemed to agree, raising an octave. And with that octave came the possibilities in which she could use that spell. Should she have a gale of wind blow him out? The floorboard bow up cartoonishly to make him literally fall out of her store? Forget the reason why he came in here in the first place?
Oh she would have liked that one were it not for the fact that it directly messes with his free will. Something that she as a witch didn't do simply based on principle. Mentally, she wiped the thread away, instead opting to use her own energy to box him in before he could do any real damage.
No, no. She was thinking like Nona. The realization hit her like she had splashed ice-cold water on her face in the hopes of waking herself up. As much as Gwen loved her - and the taboo of not speaking ill of the dead hanging over her head - Nona was a close-minded, fear-mongering woman that couldn't bring herself to get out of the house on most days. Her values were not Gwen's values. She made sure of that.
She tore her gaze away from the business sorcerer's to fixate on the cauldrons that were displayed in the glass portion of her counter and took two recalibrating breaths. The witch knew that if she were to look at him again she wouldn't be able to stop the spell that was steadily rising within her. "What does a sorcerer want with a witch's work anyway? Aren't we the inferior breed?" she sneered, holding back the cackle she felt banging on her vocal cords.
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Post by Decoii on Nov 3, 2022 23:02:09 GMT -5
"Don't get your bitch panties in a twist and do not dare think that you could tell me what to do!" He snarled, taking a step towards her in anger. Once again, his temper threatened to get the best of him and if it wasn't for his hip bumping into the low table full of shadow books and cords, he probably would have done something regrettable.
The rattle of the table brought him back to the present, His anger defusing like a flame being smothered and he had to remind himself, as he glared at her ugly ass dress, to breathe through his nose and exhale through his mouth.
His thought process stalled for some time and Isaiah almost got his temper under control, until she opened her mouth and sneered in that impossibly annoying tone. "first and definitely most importantly, inferior is too big of a word to describe what you people actually are. So don't give yourself too much credit, witch." He said the word witch as if it was the most repulsive slang in all of mankind.
"Second of all, it's simple. You have cloaking, you have spells for unlocking, you have perimeter spells. Things that would be very useful when taking down a Cabal. Much more specifically, the Vargas Cabal. Which is, pretty much, what I plan to do." The Vargas cabal was one of the three biggest Cabals in North America. They held as much power over the human financial world as they did within the supernatural community.
His family's Cabal was one rooted in the past. As full of themselves as they were racist. Isaiah would be lying if he said his family hadn't conditioned him into being the insufferable prick he was. He also would be lying if he said his plan was well thought out and not done out of some silly petty vengeance.
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Post by Thea on Nov 5, 2022 23:04:53 GMT -5
"Ooh, you've got a temper," Gwen jibed, though felt as if she were a pot calling the kettle black. She wondered if it was because of the oil-and-water reaction that happened. Because she was very much still trying to get herself to think past the utter hatred she felt just by looking at him.
She had a hard time admitting it to herself, so she wasn't going to even think about admitting it to him. But his outburst scared her. Had her heart racing a mile a minute and a breath lodging in her throat to keep herself from screeching. Her concentration stumbled, and the spell that was humming in her brain stuttered before it caught itself. She hated it when anyone lashed out like that. It took her to places she thought she moved past from. Her knotted stomach suggested that she wasn't. Even though it was unfair, she blamed it on the bastard in front of her. If she were as lithe as her baby sister, she would have cleared the counter separating them and frogged him in the Adam's apple.
She scoffed and rolled her eyes. The audacity of this man was palpable. Gwen couldn't believe his hubris. Nevermind him wanting to take down a Cabal - though she was curious as to why a sorcerer would take down his own kind like that. No, she found it absolutely hilarious that, "You come into my business and ask for spells in my grimoire while with the same breath insult me. I was throwing you a fucking bone with 'inferior'."
With a deliberate finger swipe, her shop door opened forcefully and stayed open without her having to even look in its direction, much less keep her hand raised in the air. With a haughty air, she continued. "As a business owner I have every right to refuse service as I see fit. Now, I'm being nice by asking you to leave and don't come back. If you don't I have no choice but to defend myself."
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Post by Decoii on Nov 14, 2022 14:03:40 GMT -5
If there was one thing Isaiah hated more than anything else in the world, it was being mocked. The witch's tone was mocking, and he felt what little patience he had within him snap into nothing. His blue eyes glanced to the ceiling, then around the walls as he took a deep breath. His jaw flexed and before he could figure out how to stop himself, the words rolled off of his tongue.
He could feel his breath become shallow as his eyes focused on the vermin in front of him. His pupil dilated as his tongue continued to conjure up the spell that was rolling off of his tongue with speed. His hands formed a fist and he felt the surge of power coursing out of his body with his last breath and into her. His spell would make her lungs feel like they were shrinking. "The answer to that question was yes, that you'll help me. I don't want your grimoire, I want the coven's grimoire."
She could still move and nod the answer, honestly. But Isaiah wasn't going to let go of her until he got what he wanted since she wanted to play hard to get. "Or I could kill you and take you to one of the Cabal's necromancers. We can bring your soul back to your rotting body and then you're forced to do what I want anyways. I really like that idea." He glared, fists tightening to make her lungs feel smaller
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Post by Thea on Nov 19, 2022 22:48:16 GMT -5
Oh, shit he was fast.
That was the only coherent thought in her mind before his spell completely gripped her lungs. It was as if corporeal hands reached into her chest, squeezing the ever-living shit out of them. Tried as she might she couldn't work the words she needed to lay him on his ass. Gwen was nothing if not stubborn, though - she stayed leaning against her counter, working her mouth to inhale futilely.
All the while she stared into his eyes, gleaming with an equal amount of hatred as her own. This was her kind's sworn enemy, in her shop, wanting access to her coven's grimoire for a reason - what was the reason again? She was getting light-headed at this point, her vision going blurry with him being the last thing she saw before she felt her legs go weak.
Then his spell released. Her lungs inflated in a rush. She collapsed onto her knees, chest heaving and throat constricting with coughs. Her vision came back like a television static clearing. With it reemerged the threads of possibility. She reached out in her mind's eye and yanked, using her physical hands to help herself up and brace against the counter so that she can watch her spell in action.
In the corner of her store were plants stacked practically one on top of the other. At the thread's behest, two of them reached out with thickening vines and wrapped themselves around the bastard's wrists, ankles and neck to drag him back into the corner. Along the way, he was bumped into crashing tables and thumped with falling books. She'd fix it all later, she assured as the store seemed to come alive in defense of its owner until he was pressed into the corner with the plants. She'd make her payment then too. But right now, she needed to understand what was so important that he wanted to destroy a cabal.
"Hate to break it to you," she rasped, wrapping an arm under her breasts as if she could keep her lungs behind her ribs. "But when the other elders find out I was attacked, you can kiss the coven's grimoire goodbye. Besides, if you wanted simple spells, that's not going to help you. Not even what I have can help you."
With a flick of her finger her door slammed shut and locked itself, the old-fashioned open sign flipping to the other side matter-of-factly. Thankfully she didn't have anyone trying to come in during this but was going to have to see if security cameras from other stores saw hers essentially coming to life. "And since you're going to be such a pain in the fucking ass to get rid of without promising half my life away, I'll help you. On one condition."
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Post by Decoii on Nov 26, 2022 21:39:53 GMT -5
"I don't care about your fucking conditions, witch." His face was red with exertion, darkening and welting in spots he had been hurt with her tantrum. The vines that constricted his neck tightened against his skin, but despite the pressure, he turned his head to offer her a toothy boyish grin. His brown eyes glimmered when they landed on hers, no longer shying from the dreadful reminder of who and what she was.
"I guess, now that you've agreed to help I could say that I already have a grimoire. Your coven's grimoire is pretty basic, as is every witch coven nowadays." He gives a small laugh, huffing afterwards at the pain in his chest. What exactly had he been dragged through? "It's a witch's book and as upsetting as this may be for me to admit out loud, it seems I lack whatever pathetic gene you guys seem to have because I just can't seem to understand certain... things." His voice was heavily mocking.
Lore has it that a sorcerer could not cast witch's magic and viseversa. But Isaiah has enough experience to contemplate the possibility of that being a load of horseshit. Casters of the past, before the split, seemed a thousand times stronger than anyone in the present. If Isaiah could just figure out what had happened and how to reach that level of power all of his problems would be solved.
The clown witch was just a tool in obtaining that glory.
He twisted his hand and grabbed as much vine as he could despite the constrictions on his wrist. His mouth turned up in another shit eating grin and while maintaining eye contact, he silently casted another spell, one that would start burning the vines and turning it into ash. The spell worked slower on anything organic, but he could feel the heat radiating out of his hands.
Fuck her and her stupid ass pants.
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Post by Thea on Dec 2, 2022 23:35:24 GMT -5
Gwen guessed she should have seen it coming with the vines. Of course, he would have a fire spell on his hands that would kill her plants. Her jaw clenched tightly, making her teeth groan in protest before she yanked on another cord of possibility to suddenly release him of the binds he hadn't turned to ash. The desire to instead use them to wrap around his neck was so palpable that she could see the future events before her like a storybook.
Of course, she would be dead as well.
It wasn't like it hasn't been done, a witch sacrificing her life to cast a spell. But usually, when one does that it's a selfless act that will carry her into the next life. Her mother did it without a single bit of hesitation. If she killed this sorcerer right now with nothing but hatred in her heart, she would be damned. Besides, that wouldn't be very "Warrior of Life" of her, she thought with an eye roll that transcended the physical plane.
Fuck him and his dull gray suit.
She didn't dare get close enough for him to work close-range spells on her. From her own experience, those are the deadliest of all. But she did get courageous enough to walk out from behind her sales counter shield and grab an athame from the closest table. After this whole debacle was over she'd get a gun. Maybe. "I have so many questions I should be asking you right now as an elder myself, but I'm too busy trying not to stick this athame in your goddamn eye." Like how did he get a grimoire? Whose grimoire? Was it compromised? And how bad were the damages he did to her plants? Would she be able to clean up all of this mess by herself? "But if you want my help, then you need to give me a break and do me a favor."
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Post by Decoii on Dec 3, 2022 15:19:52 GMT -5
Isaiah scoffed, letting go of the plants in order to avoid setting off the fire alarms. Well, maybe. He wondered if she had even bought any to begin with. "You shouldn't threaten me like that, that shit turns me on." Despite the jokes, he could see the uncertainty and the questions in her eyes, as clear as day.
"Ayden Violeta." He said gently, a softness he hadn't expected taking over his voice. Everyone knew of the black magic witch who mingled with the sorcerers. The name was enough to shame the core elders into a heart attack. "The Vargas Cabal took her grimoire when they caught her." He didn't want to go into details, "I took it from the cabal."
Remembering her, it was as if all his anger and energy was zapped away. "What fucking favor?"
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Post by Thea on Dec 5, 2022 1:19:11 GMT -5
The sorcerer might as well have said Bloody Mary with how shocked she was.
Ayden Violeta was used as a warning to others about the dangers of selfishness. She was the Biblical Jezebel, cavorting with sorcerers for reasons unknown to the coven. Gwen wanted to know how the woman would have been able to "cavort" with a group of them when she herself couldn't stand to look this fucker in the eye.
She had felt disgusted when he made the turn-on comment, scoffing at him before turning away to look at anything but him. Finding it easier to speak to him without eye contact, she didn't miss the softness of his voice. A curious thought formed. What was she to him, for him to say her name so gently? And then the rest of his words registered, and she had to make the mention, "I was told she enjoyed the company of sorcerers. Why would a cabal capture her?"
The grimoire must be compromised already, with it being Ayden's. Even so, she still wanted to see it, and with his (hopefully) agreement to her favor, she will see a wish of hers come to fruition. "I want the four-one-one on everything to do with sorcerers. Especially since you want to take down a whole group of them when you're one yourself."
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