THIS IS JUST A PSL NOW I GUESS;

[fossick]

(( used the wrong method with the wrong technique ))

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[fossick]

[Her straightforward honesty means that Weir can turn all of this over in his head, and distill it down to a single meaning.]

So you were used. Seen as a tool, little more than that. A bridge for both the living and the dead, trodden over again and again for the sake of initiating communication.

And yet the ʋɛɨʟ between the living and the DEAD is a diaphanous one, besides. Ṡẗïḷḷ, ẗḧïṡ ẅöṁäṅ ṡṗëäḳṡ ẗö ẗḧëṁ while you use them as the tools, too, pretending at đeɍɨsɨøn. How funny! We find that very FUNNY.

[Weir wants to fling a barb back so, so badly. Instead, he strains a facetious smile in Lucinda's direction, one he wishes to give the voice in his mind but cannot. Then he moves to his satchel on the desk, digging through it idly. A shrug of his shoulders.]

You don't seem too bothered by it.

[luciole]

[The woman chuckles, removing the vegetables and adding the bread slices to the grill next. The eggs are removed with a ladle and left to cool in a bowl.]

And that's where the part where I said espers can't be alone comes into play. For you see, I would have continued being a shell with no personality until I died as well. But there were other espers who came to my aid.

[A little too late perhaps? Maybe. She was already fifteen by the time the girl with vivid blue eyes found her, freed her, and comforted her. And yet the moment she locked eyes with her (her burden was just as heavy, if not heavier) for the first time in Lucinda's life, she felt the emptiness that her spirit friends couldn't fix, fill with warmth and relief. Like a child reunited with a parent who wanted them.]

And if I sound like I'm not too bothered by it... Well, the past is past, isn't it? I am much more fortunate now. I have a place I can return to. People who will say, "Welcome home."

[River and his family, her new parents... And even though it's strictly business, other espers within the Collective at least have a level of respect for her. It's like she's almost a whole person now.]

Our tenets as espers, are simple; no one governs us but ourselves, and we protect each other from those who use us... And from each other.

[fossick]

[He's listening, but doesn't respond immediately. Instead, he's pulling out sprigs of loose, fragrant herbs from within his satchel, then returning to the kitchen to find some twine to tie them up at their ends. Weir crosses around her, just to the back, where he hangs them upside-down on a drying rack nailed to the wall.]

The past is still who you are. Whether or not you think you've moved on, I'd wager it's still in there. Somewhere.

[He supposes the normal thing to say is that he's glad she found someone to come to her aid, but he isn't the sort for that kind of sentiment. This much, however, he can mean sincerely:]

But at least it sounds like you have moved on. There's value in that.

[luciole]

[There were some things a new life could not do and that is to undo the hurt and guilt after she left Vietnam. There were times Lucinda wondered as she struggled in her training as an esper, if it would have been better if she wasn't a medium. Surely her parents wouldn't have given into greed and they would have lived quiet, humble lives. She would have married perhaps, taken care of them in their old age.

But the what-ifs were so poisonous to the mind. Her mother and father do not remember her anymore. Flora made sure of that. There are no what-ifs for Huyen, just the here and now for Lucinda.]

Weir, your words could warm the coldest of hearts. You need to refine that quality some more.

[fossick]

[That actually earns a laugh from him, sharp and barely inlaid with any humor. He finishes tying up the last of the bundle of herbs; it smells a bit like wormwood.]

My words are never meant to warm. Only speak the truth. There is value in that, too, that more need to appreciate.

[luciole]

I appreciate it.

[Both bread and vegetables are grilled nicely and she just starts to idly peel the hardboiled eggs.]

I appreciate you. Mercenary mindset and all.

[The manner in which she expresses gratefulness obscures the sincerity. Lucinda isn't under any illusions that he's an honorable man who's housing her out of the kindness of his heart. It's convenient and he's suspicious of her and rightly so. The woman has an eerie tendency to be able to read into another person's character, with or without the helpful whispers of shadows.]

[fossick]

[She's coming along with that meal rather swiftly, isn't she? Weir crosses his arms to examine her work for a passing moment.]

You'd be fool not to. I'm giving you a place to stay, never mind what you think of me otherwise.

[Neither is fooling the other: Weir will not pretend to be a gracious host, but he will be a host for someone who doesn't belong here, who appeared in the forest through a means that can only be described as a tear in the veil between worlds itself. One more oddity to add to the list of strange things happening about, the dangers that have lurked in the deepest parts of the forest, where there should be no danger at all.

Best to keep her close, if only to keep an eye on her for now.]

[luciole]

Mm. And here I thought you just liked looking at me.

[Lucinda is not above insincere flirtatious jests.

The meal is coming along nicely. She's basically making an open-faced sandwich. First the base of toasted bread with artful char marks. It's covered in a thin layer of butter and a generous spread of soft white cheese. Next is the placement of the meat and then the vegetables she cooked are diced into small pieces and mixed with sweet vinegar, salt, and pepper. And last of all is the hardboiled eggs, sliced and placed on top.

There are two servings, one for her, and one for Weir and additionally, she prepares a tray with the extra leftover bread and toppings. Lucy explains cheerfully.]

Since one won't be enough, especially since you were out all day. You can add what you like after you're done.

[fossick]

Very forward of you.

[He says, noncommittally. Once more: he's rude, not dead. She is very pretty to look at, quite easy on the eyes, and it's hard not to let his gaze linger maybe a little too long on her tattooed skin, but Weir is not fool enough to fall into the trap she's set with that flirtatious retort. He'll keep that to himself else he's teased to oblivion and back — she seems the type.

Best to focus on the food, instead.]

IS she nice to look at? I can nɇvɇɍ ŧɇłł wɨŧħ ħᵾmȺns. Too shaped, too angled, all the organs in the wrong places, the strangest places—

Tomorrow— [He takes the plate with his serving without so much as a thanks. It’s simple, but still a lot more artful than what he bothers with.] —you’ll be out all day, too. Save enough for breakfast, because I don’t want to hear any whinging about an empty stomach come late morning.

[luciole]

[Lucinda is dangerously aware of her appeal.

In her late teens, she had thought it was all Flora's doing. The spirit's sweet scent can draw people towards her, soften them to suggestion, and in most cases (because this is the most coveted for the Collective's operations), forget.

Her mother (the new one), dressed her up and worked around her ghost tattoos and the real ones to enhance her appearance. Working with other Collective members taught her how to use everything about herself to her advantage, not just her abilities to see and speak to shadows or have her three friends do her bidding.

She's a formidable agent for reasons other than her strange ghosts.

Lucinda seats herself against the wall with her serving using a fork to delicately cut into her meal. She's a slow eater.]

No whinging. [Her lips quirk a little at the word.] That's a promise.

[Not that she's done much of it if any at all. It could be mistaken as passivity, but it's more of a calculated move.

Or maybe she's just enjoying her time in this new world.]

Feather can wake me up. [She beams at Weir.]

So if you hear a thump on your floors, that's just her taking possession and making me roll off the bed.

[fossick]

[Weir knows better than to trust anything or anyone at face value. Lucinda has not been in purposefully obfuscating, but she isn’t an open book, easily read — there’s more to her than just her tattoos and the spirits that reside within them. He isn’t stupid enough to think otherwise.

It’s fine. They both have their share of things unsaid for now.]

And you just let her do that? Possess you?

[Gods, it’s hard enough to sleep with a stranger in his lodgings. The idea of one who might be puppeted around by a ghost is (ironic) twice as bad.

Anyway. He’ll sit at the table and eat? Because he’s not a heathen???]

[luciole]

[Look, she isn't sure if he even wanted to share the table ok she'll take the wall (and haunt it like a ghost)]

Mm. [Lucy finishes a slice of egg before replying to Weir.]

Sorry. I forget that casual possession shouldn't be taken lightly. [yeah lucy you should know... she pats her shoulder where one of Flora's blooms is apparent.]

But these three have been with me for a long while so our communication is finely tuned. They would never take over my body unless I let them and even then it's limited.

[No, that still doesn't sound all that great... But better than the alternative of some stray demon taking hold of her sensitivity.]

Keep in mind, they are not ghosts of humans. To be honest, their nature and make is quite a mystery to even those on my side.

[fossick]

[Yeah casually forcing someone to do a thing sure is bad, sweats,]

If not human, then could they not be something more… insidious? Communication does not necessarily equate to trust.

I’m HURT.

[He can sense her spirits, in the way he can sense faint essences entwined with her own. Still, they baffle him — he’s not encountered anything quite like it since the acquisition of his own abilities.]

[luciole]

I've been possessed by worse.

[Her tattoos, both ghostly and normal draw attention away from the damage that's been done by "worse."]

Just so you know, I'm not dismissing your suspicions. Even among my own kind, they're unsettled by my current state. A medium usually begins and ends with seeing, speaking, and channeling the dead. More than one spirit that manifests beneath the skin? And I'm not dead myself? Rather unheard of. Not impossible but there isn't anyone else like me.

[She twirls her fork at him playfully.]

I'm what's derisively called, "a special snowflake."

[fossick]

Mm-hm.

[Excuse him as he works on his sandwich for a bit.]

Your “snowflake” status [???] is not unsettling to me. That’s the wrong word for it. I’ve seen worse things than a woman who harbors something strange beneath her skin and talks to dead things.

[Its voice thrums in his head.]

What concerns me is why you are here at all. Does your “specialness” have anything to do with being thrown wide of your own world? This simply does not happen here, in this town.

[luciole]

[it's a very tasty sandwich ngl]

Have you now?

[She masks her interest to make it sound mild and proceeds to answer his question.]

Well. I think the conditions were just about right for it. Prior to waking up here, I was having... A disagreement with a warlock from my world. Fang had taken care of him but his workshop was in disarray. Many substances. I don't really remember what happened after I blacked out.

[It's true. Being thrown into another world was not on Lucinda's to-do list for the weekend.

She rolls her eyes as if expecting Weir to agree.]

Magic.

[fossick]

[He lets it slide. Lets her imagination fill in the blanks of what she thinks a huntsman might find out in the woods. He will not rise to the bait of what only sounds like mild interest, besides.]

Substances.

[His brow wrikles. That isn't particularly specific, nor is it helpful. He does, however, very much agree.]

Magic of that degree, I imagine, is only asking for needless complications. Of course this one had to find itself in my lap.

[weir you're not even the on who was flung out of your world]

[luciole]

Magickind, for all the phenomena they can produce, are all about needless complications.

[Her opinion on witches and warlocks is lesser than most.]

Having dinner in another world with the most jubilant man I've ever met wasn't exactly my plan on my weekend off you realize?

[fossick]

[Well, they can agree about magic equating to needless, frivolous complications.

Even though Weir still uses magic to a (very) small degree, it's not like what used to exist; sorcerers and their ilk, weaving spells and unweaving them over and over again, testing, trying to achieve new heights that seemed far too fantastical to ever be anything than an opportunity to boost one's own reputation, one's own pride. Beyond that, he knows very little, beyond his passing experiences in the city and that one woman; those were never circles he cared to walk in.

And now, those circles very much do not exist. Magic is an untapped well, and those who try to draw it back up are cursed with bumbling fingers.]

You sound as though you speak from experience, from before you were sent here.

[He is not remarking about his jubilance, thank you very much.]

[luciole]

Where I'm from, there are espers and there are the witches, or the magickind if you will.

[Lucinda idly places the side of her fork in the middle of her bread. Most of the toppings have been eaten save for a few diced vegetables and some egg slices.]

There are other individuals who fall in between the categories. [Like her to an extent.] But by and large that's what it mostly comes down to.

Espers outnumber the latter but those with magic are... Troublesome. I can kindly say that most witches keep to themselves and contribute when it matters.

[fossick]

[By now, he's about done with his own meal. Weir can carry on a conversation while being immediately aware of how food should not go to waste — old habits.]

But those that do not… Like your warlock fellow. Is that the sort of trouble they cause? The sort that unwinds the fabric of time and reality?

And how is that TROUBLE when it is, in your tiny mind, so ͓̽f͓̽a͓͓̽̽r͓̽ ͓̽f͓͓̽̽r͓͓̽̽o͓͓̽̽m͓̽ ͓̽y͓͓̽̽o͓͓̽̽u͓̽? You are asking the wrong questions, River-child, if you want to know about this woman and the REAL pains she may cause.

...Why were you there, exactly?

̷T̷̷h̷̷e̷̷r̷̷e̷ it is.

[luciole]

Not all of them. This was a unique case. But if magickind does anything that disturbs the peace or catches the attention of the mundane, well. That's where I step in.

And I was there to apprehend him.

[That's the vague explanation. She cuts her bread in half and takes one piece to take a small bite.

And then she follows up with something more concise.]

Since he resisted, Fang took care of him as I've mentioned before.

[How? She actually hasn't been forthright about his power, how out of her three spirit companions, he was the most dangerous and posed the most threat to espers and magickind alike. Fang has a non-corporeal form and yet a physical and mental threat of significant proportions.

Lucinda is a perfectly well-rounded agent.]

[fossick]

[He doesn't need the details, though he would like to know them, but it's clear: Fang is the dagger she keeps beneath her skirts, so to speak. He wonders at his power. He can sense it, but he cannot make heads or tails of it.]

So... you are something of an authority figure in your community.

[aRE YOU THE POLICE, LUCINDA!!]

"Took care of him" as in, you killed him. How?

[Might as well see what he can get out of her about this Fang of hers.]

[luciole]

[how DAAARRE yOOOUuuu yeah i guess]

Mm. Enforcement is part of what I do but I'm not a go-to authority. I'm given assignments. More often than not, I perform damage control.

[Thanks Flora.]

Unfortunately, yes. It's really just my last resort.

[Lucy takes another bite of her food before answering Weir.]

Fang got the jump on him. [And she stops there, looking pointedly at Weir.]

What? Are you going to write a book about me?

[fossick]

[sounds like the cops to him

He gives her a pointed look in return.]

Haha, dangerous to you, my boy. ᴬˡˡ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵒᵗᵉⁿᵗⁱᵃˡ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ⁿᵒⁿ-ᵃⁿˢʷᵉʳ...

Am I not allowed curiosity? You come from another world, operating on a standard of rules utterly alien to a man such as myself.

[Deflect right back!]

We may eat in silence if you prefer.