... (itendsinfire) wrote in shadows_rpg, @ 2018-07-05 20:09:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | #november 2017, reagan, reagan x rostislav, rostislav |
Who: Reagan and Rost
When: Late, Saturday, November 4th
Where: The cemetery
Status: Complete
Reagan had spent the last three days reading through the books Caius had left behind and had yet to come around and collect. She was betting he was too scared to. Too freaked out by what had happened to come anywhere near Black Cove and Reagan. It probably wasn’t fair of Reagan to call Caius a coward, because the Caius she knew wasn’t a coward. But this Caius? She wasn’t sure. Honestly Reagan couldn’t blame him for needing a few days to breathe and try and come to terms with what had happened. She couldn’t expect him to be okay and ready to accept they were married after forty eight hours. He had to adjust to it and that might take awhile. Rationally she knew that. But… Reagan wasn’t really feeling rational at the moment. Veronica had come over shortly after Anthony and Caius had left Wednesday night, and she listened as Reagan explained everything that had happened. She had poured Reagan a glass of wine, and then another, and another until she stroked her daughter’s hair as Reagan laid her head in her lap and cried until exhaustion drew her into sleep.
The next morning, Reagan had woken up with a splitting headache, but made some coffee and went to work, organizing Caius’s old books and then sitting down to start researching. If Anthony was going to pretend like he couldn’t help, then she didn’t need him. She could do this herself.
That had been three days ago. Reagan had blown off work, leaving the shop closed despite Mara’s phone calls. She had agonized over a birthday text to Caius the day before, unsure as to whether or not she should send it. Ultimately she had, a simple Happy birthday. and nothing more, because ‘xoxo’ seemed oddly out of place considering he had no idea who she was. Reagan had been planning on whisking Caius off to Vegas for a long weekend, assuming the curse would have been broken and they had more than one reason to celebrate. But that was cancelled. No, just postponed. They would go once this was all fixed and things were back to normal.
Reagan wasn’t sleeping well, despite the amount of wine she was drinking. She found herself unable to concentrate of anything. It was agony, unlike anything she had ever felt before. And it had only been three days. Three long, torturous days. It didn’t help that she was finding it difficult to track down any spells that might reverse the magic that was affecting Caius. Probably because she couldn’t pinpoint what kind of magic it was. Memory modification was not as specific as one would think. She was growing frustrated, to put it lightly.
Tonight she gave up on the books and opted to try something different. Something that had helped them locate Sebastian. It was the wine and desperation that fueled Reagan. Perhaps a lack of sleep as well. She pulled on jeans and a long sleeved flannel shirt, tying her hair up haphazardly into a messy ponytail. Throwing a shovel and a bag into the back of her car, Reagan drove to the cemetery, her hands gripping the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turned white. The cemetery was locked by now, but that didn’t stop her. She walked the perimeter of the fence until she came to one of the smaller gates that no one used anymore, locked by a rusty chain with a sign attached requesting that visitors use the front entrance. Reagan swung the shovel hard against the chain over and over, flakes of dirt and rust exploding into the dark until the chain disintegrated and fell to the grass below. Rost really ought to get the town to replace it with something newer. Panting hard, Reagan pushed hard against the gate, and even kicked it with the bottom of her boot until it creaked open. It was heavy but once the door opened just enough, she managed to slip through.
She began to walk, the full moon bright in the sky above her. It should have comforted her, but it didn’t. It felt stark and empty, making Reagan feel lonely deep in her chest. It hurt so acutely that it nearly stole her breath, but she pushed through, her eyes on the dark ground as to make sure she didn’t trip or walk into a broken headstone. Finally she found it, Baron’s grave. The grass had begun to grow again, but she could still see the outline from where Caius and Nate had dug before. Maybe she should have called Nate to help again. But… no. He would try to talk her out of this, maybe think she was losing it or something. Reagan could do this.
Tossing the bag onto the ground. Reagan conjured a small flame into her hand and let it go, watching as it began to float in the air beside her. It wasn’t a lot of light, but it would do. The moonlight helped too, so Reagan gripped the shovel with both hands now and shoved it into ground. It wasn’t terribly soft, but she began to work anyway, trying to remember the way Caius and Nate had done it. God, it would have been beneficial to have an earth witch with her right now. It was okay, though. Surely it would feel more satisfying knowing she could accomplish this on her own. She could do this. She could do anything. Reagan was a little too drunk to really recognize she was feeling a bit crazed and desperate, and she ignored the pain in her palms as she dug, indicating the blisters that were beginning to form. She could handle physical pain. It was the other kind, the kind that had taken root and began to grow deep in her heart that she couldn’t handle.
The thing about living in a place as quiet as a cemetery was sound traveled really well. Stone wasn’t very absorbent, and there weren’t enough trees to block the sounds of forceful metal on metal. Rost had been awake, and he stepped out the front door of his trailer to listen harder and try to pinpoint where the noise was coming from. One of the side gates. He put his boots and jacket on, grabbed his flashlight and shotgun, and headed out. By the time he made it to the gate Reagan had come through, she was already gone. An unsettled feeling crept up the middle of his back. No one just broke open gates and then left, so he had company in the graveyard. Frowning, Rost turned and started walking, following the footsteps in the soft earth as best he could.
It took him a little while to find her, but ultimately the sounds of a shovel hitting earth in the oldest part of the cemetery and the orange glow from her floating fire caught his attention. Rost approached a bit sneakily, trying to get a sense of who was grave-robbing tonight. He noted the light source first, and then recognized Reagan Kelly apparently trying to dig up Abigail Baron again. That was a bad idea, and it made his stomach twist up in knots. Rost hurried over to her, flashlight and gun both pointed toward the ground. “Reagan?” he called as he approached. “Reagan, what are you doing?”
Reagan was so focused on the task at hand, and how difficult it was, that she didn't hear Rost coming until his voice startled her. She looked up from what she was doing, her eyes a bit wide and wild. Her face already had a thin sheen of sweat, but she had only had a few shovelfuls of dirt taken care of. If it had been anyone but Rost, she might have hurt them, or swung the shovel at their head to get them to leave her alone, but instead she went back to shoveling, though she glanced up at him every few seconds. Rost would leave her be, she knew. He wouldn’t cause any trouble.
"I need more," she explained breathlessly. "All of her, actually. I think... that might be the only way. I don't know yet. But if it turns out her bones will work, at least I'll have them." Reagan didn't have a solid plan, not yet, but she would. Soon. Determination and wine went together pretty well, if you asked her. Reagan grunted and shoved the tip of the metal into the ground again.
She did not look ... well. The most not-well that Rost had ever seen her. She wasn’t making much progress on the grave either, which was probably a good thing. Rost tried to follow what she said, but it all kind of ran together and sounded kind of manic and panicky, which wasn’t a great sign. When the powerful people around you started to freak out, it was time to worry. He looked at her with a pained, fretful expression, glancing from her face to the shovel and back. “I do not think that is a good idea, my friend,” he told her, trying to be gentle. He didn’t know what was going on, what had gone wrong with whatever she’d been trying to do, but the idea of letting her dig up Baron again made him queasy.
"I don't care if it's a good idea, or if it's a shit idea, it's the only idea I have right now," Reagan snapped. Her palms were sore already, the skin rubbing raw against the handle of the shovel. How was she going to dig six feet deep without making her hands bleed? Two nails had already broken. But she couldn't stop. Caius dug this damn grave up for her, so now she would do it for him. Why hadn't she brought gloves? Reagan had plenty to drink tonight, but she was realizing she had come woefully under prepared. She got a small clump of dirt onto the shovel and swung it around to join the pitiful pile she had begun. She seemed to realize Rost was still standing there, so she paused and wiped some hair away from her face. "I'll clean it up, like last time. Bless the area, and everything. You won't even know I was here. Just... I have to do this! So... don't try to stop me, I don't want to hurt you."
Rost lifted the fingers of his hands in a small placating gesture. He didn’t want to be hurt, especially not by a powerful and upset witch. The thing was that they hadn’t cleaned up the last time, not completely. He wasn’t sure what-all they had tried, but there had been that unnatural heat and terrible feeling that had both lingered for far too long. “I apologize for the question, but ... did you take precautions? Wards?” Rost asked cautiously. “Baron was not quiet after the last time, and I am worried for you.” He was honestly worried about more than just the dead witch under their feet -- Reagan looked downright sick. And completely unprepared for the hard work that was digging up a grave.
Reagan paused again and looked over at Rost, breathing heavily and staring at him with a rather confused expression until she finally processed his words. Precautions. Oh, right. But what did he mean that Baron hadn't been quiet after the last time? They had reburied her and placed the proper wards around her grave, hadn't they? Her memory of it was all fuzzy at the moment, thanks to the wine and frantic desperation that had seemed to take control of her. Licking her lips, Reagan brought a hand up to brush another strand of damp hair from her forehead. She barely recognized that her fingers were trembling. "What do you mean that she wasn't quiet? Did something happen?" Maybe he was just trying to get her to stop digging.
Rost nodded a little, glad that she wasn’t brandishing the shovel at him yet or anything. He didn’t know what he would do if he couldn’t talk her out of this -- how did one make a witch do anything she didn’t want to do? Very carefully? Rost just had a horrible feeling that if she continued on, she would unleash something that no one wanted to deal with. Taking a part of a skeleton was one thing, but the entire remains? No spirit could rest under those circumstances. “There was heat,” he said. “It stayed for days, throughout the whole cemetery. And I felt an evil presence all the day after. She was not put to rest. If it was bad with more than one of you ...” He let that trail off, still looking pained. “Please, come and sit with me a moment? I can get water, you look thirsty.”
"That's not possible. We blessed everything," Reagan murmured. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the shovel handle for a moment. If Baron's magic had escaped, or worse, what did that mean? Gods, it was just one more thing to deal with. It took longer than it would have had she been sober, but Reagan realized Rost was worried that if three witches had failed to contain Baron, how could Reagan alone? The stubborn, ego-centered part of her wanted to declare that she would do it right this time, but she could barely think, let alone perform effective wards on a grave. She hadn't even thought to do so before she began digging. Reagan exhaled softly and opened her eyes, dark and bleary, to look at Rost. On some level she knew he was just trying to distract her and get her to stop in her task, but water was tempting and maybe she just needed to take a break and center herself before starting again. "Just for a moment," Reagan said finally before placing the shovel down on the grass. "That doesn't mean I'm stopping."
They may have tried to bless everything, but it obviously hadn’t been enough. Not that he was going to tell her that at the moment. Whatever their purpose had been, it seemed to have gone wrong. Rost gave her a crooked, faint smile. “Just for a moment,” he agreed. He didn’t have any water on him, and it would probably be a good idea to put away the shotgun, so he started to back up a few steps. “Let me get you a drink, be right back.” Rost turned and jogged off toward his trailer, dodging headstones and dangerous footing with practiced ease. He never tripped anymore. He left the gun leaning in its spot in his home, then got one of the big water bottles he used when he was outside for a long time and filled it up with cold water. After a moment’s thought, he grabbed a couple of granola bars as well, in case she needed the food. Rost jogged his way back, returning to the Baron grave in a little over five minutes.
Reagan watched him go, wondering in a vague way why he had a gun. It didn't occur to her that she was trespassing and Rost had no idea she would be there. She thought about digging some more while she waited, but the shovel was already on the ground and her palms were throbbing with a dull kind of pain. Reagan sat on the grass near the shovel, sitting with her legs crossed. She rested her elbows on her thighs and buried her face in her hands, taking the quiet moments to breathe and try and clear her head. Unfortunately sitting had only made her feel a bit more dizzy and fuzzy and Reagan wished she could do something to just erase her brain for a bit. Like Caius. She heard footsteps and looked up from her hands to see Rost approaching. For a second she thought about getting to her feet, but Reagan had said she would sit with him for a moment, so she was going to sit. She still reached out for the water. "I'll talk to Nate," she murmured. "Tell him about the heat... what you told me. We'll try to figure something out to fix it." So many goddamn things to fix.
Since Reagan had sat down, Rost joined her. He gave her the water and set the snacks down on the grass in front of her knee, in case she wanted them. Rost didn’t know who Nate was, but he assumed he was another witch, maybe someone who had come with Reagan when she’d unburied Baron the first time. “It has gone now,” he told her gently. Couldn’t she feel it? But maybe she was just too distracted, caught up in whatever was happening in her life. “But I fear worse if she is more disturbed.” He tried to say it without implications, like it was just a fact. It was true, and he really didn’t want Reagan to leave him with an angry dead witch on his hands; this sanctuary was already so unsettled. And it would be Rost left with the aftermath, of course. He picked at some grass in front of his folded legs, looking at her by the faint firelight. “What is happening?” he murmured. Rost knew he probably couldn’t help, but he could listen.
Reagan took a long gulp of water, not having realized just how thirsty she was. Lowering the bottle to her knee, Reagan licked her lips and ticked her gaze to Baron's crumbling headstone before she glanced at Rost. She might have been semi-drunk, but she knew what he was trying to say. "I need her bones," Reagan said, sound less manic than before, though the desperation was hard to mask. "I can handle her. Actually, let her come. I'll show her exactly what I can do," she murmured before taking another drink of water. It cooled her off a bit even if a dull ache had begun to throb in her temple. Reagan held her hand out and poured some of the water onto her palm where some blisters had already begun to form. The water eased the sting a little. She honestly had no idea if she wanted to tell Rost what was happening or not, but she supposed if she wanted him not to interfere, he deserved the truth. Then he would understand. "I think we were successful. We broke the curse I told you about, only there was something there, something that backfired. Caius... it's like something went into his mind and erased me completely. He doesn't know who I am anymore." Reagan's breath shuddered out from between her lips. "That was only three days ago. Only three days, and look at me." She motioned to her face, sweaty and devoid of make up, her hair, limp and pulled into a messy ponytail. That was all surface, of course. What was happening beneath it all was much more painful. "I always said I couldn't survive without him, but he said I could. That I was strong. But it's only been three days and I feel like I'm losing my mind. I can't do it."
Rost tried to keep a neutral expression through Reagan’s first words, but he couldn’t help but toss a worried glance toward the headstone, like Baron might hear that challenge and just show up. Reagan might be confident in her abilities, but Rost really wasn’t, especially not after what he’d felt and how compromised Reagan seemed to be. He listened to the rest of her story, sympathy starting to really take hold in his face. Not pity, but he knew what it was like to lose someone you loved. In an entirely different way, of course, and permanently, but still. The pain was universal. He wanted to put a hand on her, maybe rub her back, but Rost knew it probably wouldn’t be welcome, so he resisted the urge. “I am sorry,” he murmured first, after he chewed on that for a moment. “That sounds horrible. Three days is not very long though, you are still frightened and in pain. Perhaps not the best time to make decisions? If something so powerful was built into the curse, something worse might be waiting.”
"What else am I supposed to do?" Reagan asked, her tone more snappish than she meant it to be. She appreciated his sympathy on some level, but it did nothing to help her. Three days was an eternity when it felt like you were missing an essential part of who you were. She and Caius had been apart before, and yes, it had hurt, but there had always been a part of her that knew it wasn't permanent, that they would find their way back to each other. Now she wasn't sure. She felt alone and isolated, like she was the only one trying to remedy this. It probably didn't help that she hadn't slept well since Wednesday night and it was driving her crazy, wondering where Caius was, or what he was doing. Was he thinking about her? No, three days was a lifetime in her world. Reagan swallowed hard and looked away from Rost to the fire still hovering in the sky near the headstone. The tiniest part of her brain that remained sober and rational knew Rost was right. She had come unprepared. She had no spell to cast, no use for the bones other than thinking they might come in handy later. Reagan knew she might need more of Sebastian's blood, though she may go directly to his mother instead. She didn't know yet. Reagan sighed, most of the irritation she had felt fading quickly. "Something dark came out of that curse, so something dark has to destroy it," she murmured. "And if I fail, and this stupid bitch kills me, at least I die knowing I tried, right?"
He was sure that was a rhetorical question. All of this was way over Rost’s head, naturally. He didn’t know enough about magic or curses or anything of the sort to be of any real help to Reagan, and they weren’t close enough as friends for him to really know how to support her. He just felt bad for what was obviously an awful situation, and worried that in her pain she might unleash something even worse. There was just no good way to say that. ‘Stop doing the only solution you’ve thought of just in case it hurts other people’? No. “That would be a great loss,” Rost murmured back. “Where there is still life, there is hope. No more life, no more hope.” She couldn’t fix something if she was dead, right? Rost could have empathy about it though -- he would’ve gladly traded his life for Delle’s, if such a thing was possible. “Your man is still alive ... do not rush to fall on a sword, perhaps this is temporary.”
Reagan didn't expect Rost to know what to say, or tell her how to fix anything. In a way she was only telling him this because he was there and she was feeling annoyingly drunk and vulnerable. Reagan didn't want to fall on any sword. She just wanted Caius to look at her again without that blank confusion in his eyes. Rost was right though... again. Caius was alive and if anyone could fix this problem, it was Reagan. She had to sort through her emotions and try to bury the ones that destroyed her, made her feel helpless and out of control. Reagan had never been able to handle not having a firm grip on her life. It prompted rash, impulsive decisions like drinking too much wine and attempting to dig up a grave of a powerful witch in the middle of the night all by herself. "This is temporary," she said hoarsely before she cleared her throat. "It's temporary." Reagan drank some more water and then looked at Rost, still weary and tired, but perhaps the crazed look in her eyes had dulled a bit. "I won't do it tonight... but there may come a time I need the rest of her. I'm sorry." If she found a counter spell to whatever happened to Caius, and it required bones, she would be back to take Baron, whether Rost liked it or not.
Rost gave her a faint, sad little smile and nodded slightly. Maybe that day would come, maybe not. Maybe Reagan would do whatever needed to be done to protect the cemetery, maybe not. Maybe all of the trouble would go away if nothing of Baron was left in the grave. He didn’t know what the future held. If things got too bad? At least now he had somewhere else to go. People to stay with. Maybe Greer and Dev would take him in, or they could all move on together. Rost loved Point Pleasant in all its weird and dark glory, but if life took him elsewhere, he would love another place too. “Do what you feel needs to be done,” he murmured to Reagan. He just hoped she came better prepared next time. And gave him a little warning instead of breaking in in the middle of the night. “I can unlock gates for you if you ask,” he added gently.
Reagan knew it was a mild admonishment, given she had destroyed the locks on the side gate with her shovel and a laugh caught uncomfortably in her throat. She barely remembered doing it, in all honesty. Now that she was sitting there, she felt exhausted and slightly defeated, but she could deal with those emotions once she was home alone again. "I'm sorry. I'm not myself," Reagan said finally, because it felt like she ought to apologize, even if didn't necessarily feel sorry. If he hadn't shown up and interrupted her, Reagan would have still be digging, bloody hands and all. Maybe next time she would find an earth witch to come and help her. "I'll replace those locks. They fell apart way too easily." She unfolded her legs and reached for the shovel as she stood. The world seemed to tilt on its axis a bit, but Reagan steadied, trying to resist the urge to swing the shovel at Baron's headstone and destroy what remained of it.
Rost stood up a moment after Reagan did, scooping up the ignored food to tuck back into his pocket. That sway she had worried him some, since he assumed she would be driving home, but he wasn’t sure if he ought to say anything about it. He gave a soft grunt of acknowledgement about her replacing the locks -- Rost wasn’t going to expect it, but it would be nice. “Will you be all right getting home?” he asked carefully. He might have offered to drive her, but it was a long walk from the Black Cove houses back to the cemetery. “I have a comfortable couch if you need it.” Rost couldn’t imagine she would want to do that, but he couldn’t not offer, at the same time.
Reagan might not get to it right away, but she would definitely bring a new lock by for Rost. He had helped her out in the past, and he was being kind to her now, despite the fact that he had every reason to be annoyed, especially if she, Caius and Nate had inadvertently unleashed something from Baron's grave when they dug her up. A new lock was probably the least she could do. She could also try to pinpoint what had happened, and try to fix it, but Reagan needed to do that when she was sober and maybe not so out of sorts. His offer of his couch had Reagan barking out a louder laugh. "I'm not that drunk," she said. And then she grimaced and shot Rost a faint, apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, that was rude of me. Jesus." Reagan inhaled deeply and then reached down to pick up the bag she had tossed aside earlier. She waved it toward the fire floating in the air, watching the flames extinguish almost immediately, leaving nothing but curling smoke it its wake. "I'll be fine driving home." And she would go straight home. She wouldn't drive to Caius's house this late, drunk and emotional. No. She needed water and sleep. "Thank you, Rost. I'm sorry for... everything, I suppose. I'll make it up to you."
It was rude and it stung a little bit, but Rost mentally brushed that aside. It wasn’t like they were actually friends or anything. They had something of a working relationship and that was about it. He just didn’t want her to kill herself in a car wreck or something, but she was a grown woman, she could make her own decisions. Rost made no move to help with her stuff, crossing his arms over his chest while he waited for her to clear out. He’d thought about walking her out, but now he was more inclined to let her find her own way. She was the witch and all. “Just stay safe,” Rost murmured in answer. “And best of luck to you.” He hoped she found a solution that didn’t involve having to come back and dig Baron up all the way, and he hoped if she did, she would bring better backup.
Reagan felt as though they were friends. Or something close to it, so she did feel bad for what she had said, even if she couldn't exactly think through the proper way to apologize. So she nodded, annoyed when her vision went blurry again and since she didn't have a free hand to quickly wipe her eyes she turned and began to walk through the dark toward the way she came. At least she was fairly certain it was the right way. If not, she would figure it out eventually. It had been a rough day, and a rough evening and it didn't feel as though it had gotten any better. Reagan felt out of control and out of her element and it was something she wasn't used to ever feeling. Her hands hurt, so she shifted the shovel the best she could, almost inclined to just leave it there, but she doubted Rost would want it laying around, so Reagan sighed and continued on her way, wondering in a rather distant way if this night would ever end.