Rostislav Zelenka (ghostsongs) wrote in shadows_rpg, @ 2018-08-09 09:20:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | #november 2017, reagan, reagan x rostislav, rostislav |
Who: Reagan and Rost
When: Early evening, Thursday, November 9th
Where: The cemetery
Status: complete
With Emma there to close up, Reagan left work shortly before sunset to drive over to the cemetery. The weather was still miserable and it had gotten pretty chilly, especially as the sun went down. Reagan had grumbled quite a bit as she dug her sweaters out of her closet earlier that morning. It wasn’t that she didn’t like autumn weather because she did. But as the days got colder, it signaled winter, and winter meant snow. She knew they probably had a couple of weeks left before that happened, but she was so not looking forward to colder weather at all.
She wore a dark red sweater over a pair of leggings today, feeling better about herself than she had in over a week. It was probably a silly thing to let some makeup and fashionable clothing dictate her mood, but something needed to pull her out of her funk and she had always been a teeny tiny bit vain, so yes, getting rid of those damned dark circles under her eyes had helped.
So had the package in the seat beside her. Reagan had bought it on Monday at the hardware store, but it had taken her a few days to prepare it. It was simple, but effective, and she hoped Rost would take it as a peace offering. Reagan knew she had overstepped some boundaries by breaking into the cemetery, and she had been needlessly rude, well aware that drinking wasn’t a proper enough excuse. Rost was a much needed ally in town, and it didn’t sit well with her that she had upset him, so… peace offering.
Parking out front of the cemetery, she grabbed the brown paper bag from the passenger seat and opened the driver’s side door, pausing long enough to look up at the sky to try and gauge whether she ought to bring an umbrella. The sky was gray and cloudy, getting darker now as the evening hours settled in. The air was crisp and she could smell some of the sea salt from the ocean nearby. It brought a small smile to her lips, because the scent brought back a lot of fond memories. Ideally she would be heading home to Caius so they could drink some wine and curl up together beside her firepit on the back deck, but… ‘ideally’ would just have to wait.
The cemetery gates were still open so Reagan walked through them, having made sure to wear a pair of black boots that morning. Any mud that she stepped in would wash off easily. She ignored the stone angels, well aware of the dark magic they held. They rarely bothered her. Maybe they had some darkness in common, who knew.
She made her way to Rost’s trailer and reached up to rap her knuckles on the door. There was a light on inside, so she had to assume he was home. If not, she would leave the bag on the step with a note.
It had been a difficult day for Rost. Funerals were never a walk in the park, but when it was the funeral of a woman who’d obviously been beloved in the town, that just made it harder. Ms. Sadie Gaines had been a teacher and coach at the high school, so his cemetery had been full of weeping teenagers. It hadn’t been the only one lately either -- Rost had dug three graves in a short amount of time, and that always affected him. One of them contained a murderer, that funeral had been nonexistent, but if what people were saying was true, he’d been blameless in his insanity.
Sadie’s was the last hole he had to fill for a bit, as far as he knew, and he’d done it with a heavy heart. Then he’d taken to drinking in his trailer, his open coveralls and exposed skin still smeared with drying mud. He sang a few songs to himself as he worked his way through a bottle of whiskey, but Rost mostly just sat in silence and pondered why human life was so short and so often violent.
The knock on the door startled him, and Rost glared at it briefly before he stood up. The half-full bottle was still in his hand as he opened the door, and arched an eyebrow at Reagan Kelly. “Well this is not expected,” he murmured as he leaned one shoulder against the door frame. “Hello.” She looked better, he couldn’t help but notice, maybe her problem had been resolved.
"Is it ever expected?" Reagan asked him, arching a dark brow as she looked up at his face. He was dirty, but that wasn't unusual, given he worked in a cemetery. He was holding a bottle of liquor, but she could smell it from where she stood. Dirty and drunk, perhaps? That was okay. Reagan could empathize. It hadn't been a very peaceful week in Point Pleasant, and no doubt he had been kept busy. Unfortunately. "I came by to say hello and to bring you this," Reagan said, offering him the brown paper bag. Inside was a brand new chain lock for the side gates, complete with key. "I've enchanted it, so that it will repel any trespassers with ill intent, whether it be for vandalism, or grave robbing... including me," she added with a wry smile. "I'm very sorry."
Reagan had a point there, he supposed. Rost’s eyes ticked down to the bag as she lifted it, and a little smile came onto his face as she spoke. If that wasn’t a good apology present, he didn’t know what was. He leaned to put the booze bottle down inside the trailer, then stepped out onto the stoop to take the bag from Reagan. “That is wonderful, thank you,” he said, hefting the weight a bit in his hands. He’d been miffed at her for breaking into the cemetery and trying to dig up Baron, and a little offended at the time at what she’d said, but Rost wasn’t holding a grudge about it. Reagan had obviously been going through hell, and that made people act crazy. “How are you holding?” Rost asked, eyes on Reagan’s face. “Would you like a drink?”
Her expression softened a bit and Reagan was well aware of the vast contrast between the woman he had found in the cemetery Saturday night, and who was standing in front of him now. Was she a whole person again? No. But she was getting there. "I'm doing better," Reagan told him, choosing her words carefully. "I haven't found the solution I need, but I no longer feel like I need a corpse to get there. But I wouldn't mind a drink, if you're willing to share." Why the hell not, right? She had no other plans other than to go home and clean up a bit. And honestly, now that she wasn't spending her free time with Caius, Reagan was woefully aware of how few real friends she actually had.
As a person who was well-versed in mental crises, Rost could read between the lines. How many times had he told people he was doing better when that just meant he’d gotten out of bed that day? It was all relative. Reagan seemed much more in her right mind though, and that was good. Maybe it meant that he shouldn’t give her alcohol, but whatever. “Always willing,” he said with a half-smile, then motioned for her to follow as he turned and stepped back into his trailer. “Come sit, if you like. Or we sit outside.” There was a canopy, and he knew his place was not up to Reagan’s taste. In either case, they were going to drink, and Rost went to find a clean glass for Reagan. And a second bottle of whiskey, because he definitely had one somewhere.
"Inside is fine," Reagan told him as she stepped up and into the trailer. She remembered besmirching his home the last time she was there, and Reagan felt like she ought to show him she didn't really mind how he lived. Because she honestly didn't, even if it wasn't how she would prefer to live. Reagan had been inside before, but tonight she could smell the liquor and she wondered how long he had been drinking already. "And how are you?" she asked, closing the door quietly behind her before she helped herself to his couch. "I suppose you've been pretty busy this week, unfortunately."
Rost left the lock in the kitchen, then brought the glasses and the bottle over and sat on the other side of the couch. He poured them each a drink and offered one to Reagan. He’d been drinking a while, but he’d also been drinking for a lot of his life, so he was just drunk enough to be mostly numb and still coherent. He honestly wanted to be asleep, but now he had company, so he would nurse this one for as long as Reagan stayed. “I am tired,” he admitted ruefully, glancing at Reagan with a tiny smile. “And sad. There has been a lot of unnecessary death. This town’s ground always wants blood, but it has become greedy lately.” He sipped on his whiskey. Rost needed to see his people, the ones who brought light into his world, but he hadn’t in a while. Too long. There were too many graves to dig.
She took the glass he offered with a murmured thanks and took a sip as Rost got comfortable. He was right about Point Pleasant. The disappearances and deaths seemed to happen so frequently that Reagan had almost become numb to them. Sometimes she wished she could protect this town from the darkness that swirled around it, but Reagan wasn't that powerful. Her gaze drifted from his face, observing the small living area around them. "It feels darker than usual," she agreed. "like something is coming, or maybe it's already here. I felt some of it when I walked into the cemetery tonight. Perhaps it's not directly connected to what's happened these past couple of weeks, but... maybe it is, I don't know." She was the one who had dug up Baron. Well, she, Caius and Nate. They had thought they took the proper precautions, but they also thought they had figured out Baron's curse. Apparently she was a much stronger witch than Reagan had given her credit for. Reagan wasn't prepared to say the 'unnecessary deaths', as Rost called them, was a result of whatever they might have unleashed, but there did seem to be an unusual amount of bad news in this town lately. "How are you sleeping?" Reagan asked him, her gaze ticking back to his face. "Restless? Nightmares?"
It was both comforting and a little unsettling to have his feelings confirmed by a witch. Rost had always held them in high regard, especially the women. They were in touch with forces he couldn’t even imagine, and being tuned into such things made them more sensitive to the ebb and flow of power in the world. They were the canaries in the coal mine for him -- if Reagan was worried, Rost would be too. Of course he was more resigned than anything at the moment, as deep into a bottle as he was. He didn’t think it was due to their grave robbing adventure, though. Point Pleasant had always attracted darkness. It just seemed to have more of it now. He arched an eyebrow at her question and looked thoughtful. “Yes ... not unusual, however,” he answered eventually, shrugging a bony shoulder. “I have nightmares more than nice dreams, for years. This helps --” he lifted his drink with a faint smirk. “But not always. I will try to pay more attention now, for something significant. I will ask my friends too, they are ... in tune, with things.” Plus he missed them, but he wasn’t going to say that out loud to a woman who’d just sort of lost her husband.
Reagan knew something had happened after they had opened Baron's grave. She had been drunk that Saturday, but she remembered Rost telling her Baron hadn't been quiet afterward. And Reagan could still feel a bit of that magic hanging on the air now. It didn't seem as though it was affecting Rost negatively, though. Most of his internal pain seemed to be coming from the tragedies this town had endured over the past couple of weeks. The memory of Gavin Lucas rose unbidden in her memory and Reagan realized she needed to go see him. After what had happened with Caius, she had completely forgotten her promise to help him. Just another tragedy to add to this town's long list. "I have remedies for that, if you're ever interested. If I had known you had nightmares, I would have brought you something sooner. Not that this doesn't help." Reagan tapped her fingernail against her glass. Gods knew she had been drinking more than her share of alcohol in the past week. "But my remedies are much easier on your liver."
Rost chuckled at that and lifted his glass a bit as if in toast to their livers before he took another sip. “I imagine so,” he murmured. He was haunted by a lot more than what he’d witnessed in Point Pleasant -- tragedy and Rost were very old friends. Even though his dreams tended to be nightmares unless he was drunk or stoned, Delle was often in them, and he did like to see her face. She’d been on his mind a lot more since Devlin had visited and acted as a medium for him. Hearing from Mrs. Mercer had been a small mercy, but he still longed for the love of his life. To at least say goodbye, which he’d never gotten to do. It was probably better that she wasn’t lingering on this plane ... it was just a bit lonely. Rost blinked himself back to the here and now and cleared his throat. “Perhaps I will come to buy some soon. Have you made any headway on your problem?” he asked, looking over.
Reagan had no intention of making Rost pay for the tea that would help eliminate his nightmares. He had done enough favors for her and she made a mental note to drop off a small bag of the tea leaves soon. Sipping her drink some more, Reagan watched Rost, noting the way his eyes went glassy, as though he wasn't really present in that moment. Lost in thought. Maybe lost in memories. She felt for him, and found she could empathize. But then Rost seemed to snap back to attention and she gave him a very small smile before shaking her head. "No, not really. Magic is complicated. I've been researching, but I haven't come across anything that can help yet. I know it's there. Curses always have a solution." It felt like she was rambling so Reagan paused to take another drink, her gaze shifting away from Rost again. "I'll figure it out," she said finally, once she lowered the glass to her knee. "It's just keeping my sanity intact until I do."
Rost knew that magic was complicated -- or he’d always imagined so, anyway. He didn’t have any talent in that direction himself, really, he was just a consumer. He nodded anyway though, since he wasn’t unfamiliar, then gave a faint humorless chuckle. “That is the trick, no?” he murmured before lifting his glass again. He’d never been particularly good at keeping his sanity, either. “I cannot offer much help, but if there is anything I can do, you know where I am.” He didn’t particularly want her to go digging Baron up again, but if sober Reagan decided it had to be done ... well, Rost was open to being more convinced. She just probably needed more backup than she had brought the last time. “I wish you best luck, Reagan,” Rost added, looking over at her with sincerity. “Losing love ... I would not wish it on my worst enemy. Death came for mine long ago, keep faith that yours will end up better.”
Reagan appreciated the sentiment. She didn't think there was anything Rost could do for her, unless she decided later down the road she needed more of Baron's bones... or just bones in general. He might be wary but Reagan was generally pretty persuasive when she needed to be. And despite some missteps, it felt like maybe Rost trusted her. Both hands wrapped tightly around her glass and she felt that uncomfortable squeezing in her chest that often accompanied emotional pain that she didn't want to reveal. Reagan was often quite skilled at slamming the proper walls into place, but it had proven to be more difficult lately. Physical exhaustion made it harder to combat. Looking down into her glass, she realized she should be thankful that neither of them died. There was still hope that they could fix this. She couldn't exactly try to explain what she was going through to Rost. He had lost someone in the worst possible way, and she knew anything she might say would probably just sound like whining. "I have faith," Reagan said finally. "But it's more of a default feeling, because I have no other options but to have hope that I'll fix this. If I can't make him remember... then I can't see the light, do you know what I mean? The dark tunnel just continues, never ending. How do I live like that?" She brought her glass up to her lips and arched a brow. "Do you think you'll ever love someone again? The way you loved before?"
Rost didn’t hear whining in anything Reagan was saying -- or not saying, as the case may be. She’d been in love, and something horrible had happened to put space between them. Whether that space was death or a magical brainwashing, space was still painful. He could understand that. What she said about the tunnel was slightly chilling, because gods, he knew what that felt like. There had been a time when he’d felt that same way, like he would never see the end of constant pain. Sometimes he wondered how he’d made it through it all alive, but here he was. Rost considered his words carefully as he sipped on his whiskey, not wanting to tell Reagan that she should go ahead and move on ... but there was life beyond loss. “I know what you mean,” he said first, looking at her again. “There were many times I wanted to lie down until the earth claimed me again. It is difficult to see, but light always comes, if you give it enough time. I will not say that I will ever love like I loved Delle, every love is different. But I do love again. Times two, in fact, and I did not see them coming.” Rost smiled a little, fondly. “Light can surprise you, if you keep your eyes open, even in the darkest places.”
It was probably overly dramatic of her, but Reagan could not imagine life after Caius. Not while they were still living in the same town. Not when he couldn't remember their history and there was the possibility of Caius moving on with another woman. Reagan knew she wouldn't be able to handle it, at least not in a mature way, and there was a very real possibility of her doing something drastic just to cope. Reagan really didn't want it to come to that. She wanted him back, the Caius she knew and the one who knew her. Sipping some more of her drink, it was rather strong, Reagan couldn't help but look surprised when Rost mentioned being in love again... times two? Okay, well that was interesting and Reagan undeniably curious. Unable to help it, she smiled and arched a dark brow playfully. "Is that right? Times two. Do they know about one another?"
He wasn’t sure if she wanted to change the subject or if she was really interested, but Rost couldn’t pass up an opportunity to talk about his favorite people. He huffed a soft laugh, a real, bright smile crossing his face. “Oh yes,” he said. “They came as a set, a couple before they arrived. I am the interloper ... but they share very nicely.” He grinned and tried not to look too wicked about it. “Greer and Devlin. Beautiful. I do not think they are like you, exactly, but they have their own sorts of magic.” The only downside to talking about them was that it made him wish that they were there. He wasn’t sure if Reagan would like them or not, but it would be an interesting mix of company, he thought.
"Oh boy," Reagan said, feeling a soft laugh formed in her throat. The alcohol had definitely been strong, and she was feeling it settle warmly in her body now. This was much better than drinking alone at home. "Scandalous." Was Greer a woman's name? Devlin was definitely a man, but Greer sort of sounded unisex. They weren't names she recognized, but there were visitors to Point Pleasant all the time, and honestly, she was glad to hear Rost was enjoying their company. She always imagined him lonely, living out here in a trailer, surrounded by the dead. Although the dead were their own form of company, weren't they? "I don't think I could share a lover," Reagan mused. "Not that I judge those who can. But I think my possessive streak is too strong." Possessive was a nicer word for jealous, in her mind. It was a terrible personality trait she had never been able to overcome. Locked and loaded ammunition for Caius, when they would be fighting, or broken up. "Are you allowed to tell me what kind of magic they're skilled in?"
Rost chuckled fondly -- he knew a lot of people felt that way. Or thought they felt that way, anyway. Sometimes they were right, but sometimes it just took the right people to come along and make it possible. Being with Dev and Greer wasn’t Rost’s first exposure to polyamory or open relationships, he’d seen and participated in a lot back in New York, in his younger days. This was just the most fulfilling and loving triad he’d ever been a part of, and he felt privileged that they’d chosen to bring him into their warm loving circle. He didn’t presume to tell Reagan that maybe she would be surprised -- she knew herself, and that was fine. “Devlin is ... he can speak to the dead,” he said with a nod. Rost wasn’t sure if Reagan would call that magic or not, but no matter, it was pretty magical to him. “He can touch objects and see their history, as well. He is connected to the spirit world. Greer is more ... intuitive. She reads palms and cards and such, but I believe she just knows things. They are both so full of love for everything, it is its own magic.”
"A medium." That was interesting, and potentially beneficial to her if the man stayed in town. Reagan thought of Amelia Lucas and wondered if Devlin had something of hers, if he could tell her what had happened to the girl. It was a thought, and she made a mental note to contact Gavin. She knew she shouldn't offer Devlin's services without speaking to him, but that would come. "I think everyone has a sense of intuition, but some are sharper than others. I can't fault anyone for using it to their advantage. You sound very much in love," Reagan said. "I'm happy to see it. I feel as though they should be here drinking with you instead of me. Especially if you've had a difficult week."
Rost thought there was something more special about Greer, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, and he’d never asked her to be really specific. It didn’t matter, not everything could be defined with clear labels. Life was more interesting that way anyway. Reagan’s words brought another warm smile to his face. “I am, I am,” he murmured, lifting his drink slightly before he took another swallow. He was glad that it was easy to read on him. Being in love was good for the soul. “But I am glad you are here too,” Rost added, giving Reagan another little smile. “I will see them soon enough. You have had difficult week as well, we can commiserate.” His week hadn’t been on the level of bad that hers had been, but still. Misery loved company, it was true.
"It could have been worse," Reagan said of her week. She didn't feel right complaining about her situation with Caius when Rost had legitimately lost the love of his life. She was happy that he was happy again, but nothing could ever replace that first, great love, could it? Surely he still carried the pain, even if it was a bit more muted now than before. "Caius came to visit me the other night. I know him, but it felt like talking to a stranger, in a way. I think maybe I'm afraid that I won't like the person he is without my influence. And yes, I know that sounds fairly self absorbed and egotistical, but we've both had immense impacts on each other's lives... my impact is no longer there. I don't know what that means." She didn't expect Rost to have the answer, or to even know what to say, but it felt good to say it, because she knew her mother wouldn't understand, and Nate would just try to make her feel better. No one else really knew what had happened beyond Zania, and Reagan was so not going to open up to that woman.
He looked thoughtful and slowly nodded, thinking he could understand where she was coming from. If they had been in one another’s lives for so many formative years, there was no way that hadn’t had a great impact on the both of them. “If we are formed by experiences, and so many of his are gone now ... does he seem different to you?” Rost asked, looking over at Reagan with a quirked eyebrow. “Like perhaps those things never happened? Or still the same, like they did, he just does not recall them? Has his subconscience changed?” That seemed like it might make a difference, from Rost’s limited perspective, but maybe it didn’t. If Reagan knew her husband so well, even if he didn’t remember her, maybe she could tell whether his behavior had shifted. “Either way, what a mindfuck for you both,” he added with a sympathetic little chuckle.
Reagan considered his questions thoughtfully before she shook her head softly and took a drink from her glass. "I can't say for sure. Tuesday night was the first real conversation we've had since it all happened. He's definitely unsure of himself, and me, but I think that's to be expected. I think it's more of a fear, you know? That we won't be able to fix the problem this time, and we'll just be strangers to one another. My brother suggested making Caius fall in love with me again." She huffed out a short laugh. "As if it's that easy. But then I wondered... what if he's not the man I'm in love with? What if we try to give the relationship a try and I just don't feel the same way. It's complicated." Reagan wrinkled her nose. "I worry about outside influences. Family, friends... I don't know. I feel a bit cornered right now. Like I'm on my own here. That's not to say I can't handle it alone, but damn, the bullshit is never ending, isn't it?"
Rost gave a low chuckle without much humor in it. “The bullshit is never ending,” he agreed, and drained the last of what was in his glass. If that wasn’t a concise summary of human existence, he didn’t know what was. “Many of these questions will have no answers until you are there, I feel sure,” Rost continued, leaning forward to set his glass down on the small coffee table. He unscrewed the cap on the fresh bottle and gave himself a little splash more. It wasn’t like he was going anywhere. “Life is slow to reveal itself. The waiting is the hardest part. All you can do is follow your instincts. But I wish you luck. It is not a happy position you are in, and I hope for the best for you. My door is open and my glasses always full, if you need a useless ear.” He gave her a little toast with his new drink before taking a sip.
It was wise advice, of course, but Reagan knew she just needed to be patient. It was a difficult thing for her to do, and always had been. But she had no other options right now, other than to keep working at it until she found a solution. Reagan lifted her glass to him and then downed the remainder of her liquor. It was strong and burned her throat a bit, but that was okay. She set the glass down on the coffee table. "I thought about walking out to Baron's grave before I left. Not to dig anything up," she added with a smile, "but to cast a quick blessing, just in case. It might not do any good if we've already released something, but it couldn't hurt. It may banish whatever is lingering in the cemetery, at least. I don't know if you feel it, but I can. You don't have to walk out there with me, but I wanted to let you know before I left."
Rost gave an appreciative sort of nod, glancing toward one of the trailer’s darkening windows. He couldn’t exactly feel the wrongness like Reagan probably could, but Rost was aware of it, in a way. It was a restlessness in his stomach, extra prickles along the back of his neck if he was out walking too late. “I thank you for that,” he told Reagan. His impulse was to insist on accompanying her, but Rost knew she could handle herself. Much better than he could, honestly. “Anything that helps, helps.” Rost chuckled again and took another sip. He was ready to take a hot shower, then stretch out somewhere soft and sleep deeply. It sounded like Reagan was ready to get moving though, so he stood up with a low groan and stretched. “I will put the lock in place tomorrow,” he told her. “You can always call me if you do need to get in.”
The drink and conversation had been nice, despite the topic, and Reagan felt like maybe she had properly made amends. She stood, thinking Rost would likely pass out soon, given the amount of alcohol he had probably ingested. Hopefully his new lovers would come by soon and cheer him up. "I promise I'll give you notice the next time," Reagan said with a warm smile. The night was settling in now but Reagan knew she would be able to find Baron's marker with no problem. She would just follow the strength of the magic still hovering. Besides, she had her own makeshift light if she needed any. Resting a hand on his shoulder, she squeezed briefly before heading for the door of the trailer. "Call me if anything strange happens around here, all right? And I'll come by soon with some of that tea to help your dreams."
Rost made some sound that indicated that wasn’t necessary, but he was grinning a bit too. He would take tea for more peaceful dreams, for sure. Even if it hadn’t been the cheeriest of conversations, he was glad that Reagan had come by. It had been good to see her with a grip on herself again. Everyone slipped sometimes, and it sounded like she still had a rocky road ahead, but Rost had faith she would be okay. He walked her to the door -- not quite steady, but luckily there were plenty of things to hold onto on the way -- and then gave her a little wave as she descended the stairs. “I will. Take care, Reagan,” he told her, leaning in the doorway to watch her walk away.