Who Jean-Auguste and Romeo Where A prepartory Mabon gathering with the Dianthus Firewitch coven in Grenoble When After the Jacques/London trade off and trip to Hell What Two initiates of different coven hives meet for the first time Warnings TBD Status In Progresso
The Mabon was coming next month, September, the Autumn Equinox and the Dianthus Coven was known for their marvelous harvest festivals and it was time for all the French hives to come together and finish plans for such a huge event. Quarter-angel, Jean-Auguste Charbonneau was there and ready to listen. The coven was his way of learning all the magic he didn't learn from his father in his childhood and had since come to find them his home away from from home, his other family. Jean was a bit of a black sheep in the family and wanted to impress his parents without their help and this was him finding his own way without being coddled and cooed.
He sat through the long array of speakers and paid attention the best he could, but his mind was full. His recent visit to Hell left strong reminders of beautiful old scars that still burned inside him. He never expected to be there again, not even for a visit. It never dawned on him he might have to for rescue missions and this left him uneasy.
By the time the last speaker left the podium and the entire auditorium was being ushered to the banquet hall for dinner someone even had to lay a hand on Jean's shoulder to alert him it was time to go. He was staring off into a corner at nothing in particular. He jerked his head up only to greet them with a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm coming." The girl rubbed his back and told him she'd meet him in there then and ran to catch up with her friends. They were all young adults to teenagers around the same age as Jean. He could hear her from there saying, "Jean-Auguste is in one of his moods again." It was the group Jean usually hung around and practiced and studied with.
Again?
What was that? Was he always so transparent? He supposed he was. This only served to make Jean feel more strange and off-balance. He stood his 6'2" lanky self up and leaned his rear against the back of the seat in front of him, crossed his cowboy boot covered ankles, and ran his tattooed arms up and through his hair which was growing longer and settling at his shoulders again. His face was plain, none of his special make-up artistry or war paint, but piercings intact as always. A hefty belt buckle seemed to drag his low lying dark jeans a little lower still. He just stood there, leaning, arms then crossed as well, watching everyone shuffle out, trapped within his own head again.