InsaneJournal

Tweak says, ""no more rhyming, I mean it!""

Vaughn Davis (shebringscurses) wrote in bellumlogs,
@ 2010-03-18 23:43:00

Entry tags:

beast, beauty, black forest witch, plot: fables

Who: witchy!Vaughn, fuzzy!Daniel, and beauty!Ella.
What: Fable throwdown.
Where: R1.
When: Late morning of fable post. 11 am-ish.

She'd witnessed the sun in a whole new way. Bedroom window wedged wide open, and a witch sat on the sill. The cloak was shed to into the aftermath of forgotten carpet on the floor of 1002, but she wore a thin dress. The wind from ten stories up was quite strong, and it whipped long, black curls into her eyes. Yet, the witch wasn't disturbed from her perch. She quite liked it all the way up here, even if she was forced to come to terms with the fact that this was not her forest.

Or, maybe it was. Maybe the Black Forest had changed. Maybe all of these structures had once been trees. The lean carve of her frostbitten legs dangled out from all those stories up, and the witch tilted her cheek against the cool edge of the sill.

She smoked, but now found herself with a pipe rather than those confusing cigarettes. Everything was coming together. Everything in this moment, in this strange land, was bending to her will. Molding into her comfort, just the way it was meant to be.

The morning rolled through slowly, and by eleven there was really only one more curiosity to sate. The witch didn't bother with shoes, but the cloak and it's heavy hood were dragged back onto the brittle constellation of her bones before she set out. Ascending, ascending. Somehow, she knew the navigation flawlessly. Almost as if she'd made this trip before, although the witch was very confident that she hadn't. There was only a shred of Vaughn's awareness left in her, but it sang like a harp string. It was the lone voice urging her up, begging the witch to go see. Just to check. Just this once.

The witch complied. After all, it seemed like such a simple task, to simply open the door of R1 -- which she found unlocked -- and make her way quietly inside.

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bookshelved
2010-03-20 06:58 am UTC (link)

The alternating calm and storm kept her from finding her footing. She didn't know whether to listen or duck, and she suspected that was what made the witch so dangerous; the not knowing. It reminded her of someone just outside the edges of her memory, and though she tried to catch the thought as it flitted past, it slipped through her fingers.

The Beast's soft whine made her angry at the witch, and with the anger, the vines inched ever closer. From every corner, they crept toward the witch's feet, stopping for a moment when she asked her question. She petted the Beast's fur along his spine, scratched at the back of his neck. "I do not know," she said. It wasn't a lie; she had no idea how it was happening; it simply was.

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shebringscurses
2010-03-20 07:08 am UTC (link)

She contemplated the vines with a tilt of her head and a subtle tension between her brows. Those wintry eyes fell into a tight squint of focus. Although the witch had never known fear, she recognized that these thorns were not of her magic, and would possibly not even react to her magic. She didn't try to influence them; with strange spells, it was best to leave them be. The silence stretched on until finally, the witch took one slow, cautious step backward.

When her attention lifted, the dark humor in her eyes was all for the Beast. "It seems you have a witch of your very own, animal. Let her tinker with or remove my spell for you!" And with that, there was a new hiss of jealousy. It sounded strange and alien on the witch's tongue, but she did not think on it. Instead, she turned to leave them to their sad circumstances.

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