[ At the cusp of the end of the world, Mallory hadn't expected to find herself on the hunt for wild white lilacs. There'd been a specific requirement for a spell they were going to attempt to buy more time, instructions sent with Mallory on how to collect the lilacs properly. There was a secret space in one of the above-ground cemeteries in New Orleans that a Supreme had buried a handful of white lilacs, designed to bloom only in the most dire times of need. White lilacs might've conventionally been used to mask the smell of death in the past, but they also held potent magical properties if cultivated correctly. And in order for the spell to work, as Mallory will be the one attempting it, she needed to be the one to pick them.
Navigating through the rows in the quietest section of the city was eerie, the glints of gold standing out against the all-black wardrobe she'd donned. Her cloak catches the wind as she moves, the rhyme Myrtle had almost sung to her of how to find the flowers holding most of her concentration. The clues had been cloaked in a Walt Whitman poem, the flower meant to assist in finding harmony and that's what they needed. To redistribute the balance of good and evil and the world and restore harmony. She didn't want to have to kill anyone, ready to exhaust all other options before resorting to trying to murder the antichrist... But she would if she absolutely had no other choice. For the protection of not just the world, but her found family. Her sisters. The people who had accepted her openly and quickly.
Her quiet footfalls slow when she reaches one of the oldest sections of the cemetery, quietly murmuring the end of the rhyme to herself as she turns in a slow circle. ]
With the pomp of the inloop’d flags with the cities draped in black, With the show of the States themselves as of crape-veil’d women standing Lilac and star and bird twined with the chant of my soul--
[ It took a minute, but she finally found the statue of a woman, tucked behind a larger mausoleum. A blackbird perched on top it. Okay. She was close. Her eyes scan the ground, looking for a pop of white against the dirt and stone. The sky was clear, stars shimmering above her.
And just when she thought Myrtle might have misremembered something, she spots three small sprigs - blooming before her eyes. ]
Oh, thank god.
[ Her focus moves to them, ignoring everything else around her as she drops to her knees to begin the ritual to collect them. The faster she could get through it, the faster she could get back to the safety of her coven. ]
[ Everything was falling into place for the beginning of the end. The grand plan would be executed without a hitch, but there were as there would always be, a few loose ends he needed to take care of. The coven led by Cordelia Goode, that pious, self-serving wench of a Supreme had to go. Oh, how he loathed her for taking the one person who truly mattered most. Thankfully, death hadn't been much of an obstacle, but it was a mere imitation. Sometimes he could be convinced that Ms. Mead wasn't an intricate pile of nuts and bolts, that she was the same woman that had taken him in, showed him kindness, and helped to guide him. The wool was never quite pulled completely over his eyes.
He'd been robbed and the coven was to blame. Michael had every intention of making his promise a reality. Killing every last one of those witches will be something that he will take great pleasure in. Some more than others, but if they aren't with him, then that makes them his enemy.
It's a pity how predictable they are. Sisters of the moon, daughters of nature, whatever they went by- everything is a cycle.
New Orleans has an entirely different and vibrant energy to it, one that takes getting used to. Old, a city withstanding the test of time as opposed to changing with it. Spanish moss clung to just about every cypress and oak, casting everything in its own shadowed curtain and lending a dusty fragrance to the air. The cemetery is something to behold, the above-ground tombs vastly different than the miles of headstones or public mausoleums of the west coast. It would be so easy to spend hours wandering the rows to give attention to their individual beauty. Perhaps later.
There would be plenty of time to pay tribute to the dead long after the end of the world. All he would have is time with which to roam.
Michael feels her brightness before he locates her- warm and glittering like a blanket of stars. Her powers are so unlike his own, intoxicating in their luminous incandescence. She has so much, but she could have more. There is such potential it could make the world itself quake if only she would let it. He would have to help her lift the veil and make her see that this coven was only holding her back. Once, someone had shown him the way- the only way it all could go- now, she deserved the same courtesy. Crouched there in the dirt, her figure casts a sharp contrast to their drab surroundings. He doesn't interrupt her cultivation, sitting with his legs crossed on one of the stone balusters leading to a nearby mausoleum. ]
He gets an awful lot of credit in things He had absolutely nothing to do with.
[ She feels his oppressive darkness before he speaks, finally tuning in to the area around her. Her hands still, a white handkerchief splayed out in front of her as she wrapped up the flowers for safe travel. Taking a steadying breath, she finishes bundling up her find - hoping it will be safe if this turns into a fight. She doesn’t need to turn to know who’s behind her. Mallory needed to be smart about how she handled this. She wasn’t ready to take him on, but she was close.
Bathed in moonlight, her spine straightens - shoulders rolling back as she finishes tucking the white handkerchief into a pocket of her cloak. ]
I’m sorry ‘thank satan’ isn’t a common idiom people use.
[ It was strange knowing so much about someone without ever having met them. She almost doesn’t want to turn to face him, curious if he would actually let her walk away. If he’d strike her down with her back turned. But, she wasn’t that kind of witch. She faced her problems head-on. This needed to be dealt with and she just needed to get out of this exchange alive.
Rising to her feet, she takes her time, dusting off the dirt on her dress before finally facing him. He’s younger than she’d expected, unnervingly striking in person. The hair on the back of her neck stands on end as power seemingly crackles between them. ]
So… Are you here to lend a hand in your destruction or are you planning to stop me?
[ No bullshit, straight to the point. She’s terrified, but she has no choice. Running would be stupid. ]
[ He's in no rush to finish this, feeling almost serene underneath the moon's glow in the middle of a cemetery. About the only thing he'd like to do at the moment is continue to bask in the feeling of her entrapped power. It's like the first burst of spring air after a long, cold winter.
Michael may be many things- deceit incarnate, the conniving voice nestled at the back of a mind, the whisper of doubt- but he isn't heartless. Striking someone while they're turned is cowardice. When he eliminates them, it will be as he's watching the light leave their eyes and he will accept no substitute. ]
You would be surprised at what a simple 'Hail Satan' will get you.
[ She gets to her feet with practiced grace, and he does have to admit she's quite pretty for a witch. Looks aren't as much of a saving grace as mortals are lead to believe. Her power, though? That's a temptation.
He laughs, high and light, waving off her question with a flourish of his hand as he gets to his feet. His strides are confident, and his back straightens as he closes a bit of the distance between them. Out of arm's reach for the moment, but he didn't need to be in her immediate vicinity in order to do her catastrophic harm. Michael clasps his arms behind his back, digits drumming against his elbow. ]
Rest assured, the plan continues to be your coven's destruction... But I find my concentration arrested.
[ His lack of urgency should be more alarming than it is, but like all great villains in the millions of books and movies... He wasn't in a rush towards his victory. Her lips draw into a tight line, determination radiating off of her as she squares her shoulders and swallows down her fear. She could do this. Cordelia had faith in her, saw something she didn't see in herself. Something she didn't even understand. ]
We'll see about the destruction part of your plans.
[ The smartest thing Mallory could do is shut up and leave. But, she isn't sure he'll let her go, effectively cornered in the cemetery in her current position. She should let him continue to believe the witches were too weak to handle taking him on. Watching him for a moment, she tries to keep as neutral and uninterested of an expression as possible. ]
Cemeteries can be pretty distracting. You should really work on that.
[ She doesn't even think he's speaking about her. And she doesn't like that he seems to be slowly closing in. ] As lovely as this has been-- [ much sarcasm, very wow ] -- I should really get going.
[ His eyes never leave her, committing each minute detail into memory- the way pollen has clung to the velvety fabric about her shoulders, the distinct shades of brown and flaxen copper woven into her long hair. She's quite petite so close, and she has a scent clinging to her that is both familiar and unknown. There's the same smell of incense that all witches seem to carry with them with their incessant purifying and cleansing. It stinks of frankincense and sage, but there is a floral note- some sort of perfume. Dainty and feminine.
Michael circles her as best he can while maintaining the distance that edges so much closer. Predatory, in any case. He offers a hum, a placating smile on his face. ]
It's inevitable, you know. Everything has to end eventually, even you have to see that.
[ Perhaps she doesn't, he thinks idly. How could she, when every fiber of her being is its own sunbeam? He cants his head to the side, expression one of curiosity. ]
Afraid of the dark, little songbird?
[ Like an unbidden temptation, he reaches out, fingers brushing against the edges of a stray tendril of her hair. ]
[ Baby’s breath and roses. A gift from Misty. She’d mentioned something about their protective capabilities and Mallory had needed all the help she could get for her solo mission. For some reason, she believes looking at him might give him more power. But, she knew that was foolish. So, stops moving -- trying to watch him and stand her ground. She wasn’t prey and she wasn’t going to be hunted or toyed with like some appetizer. ]
Just because I can see it doesn’t mean I have to accept it and just roll over so you can bulldoze your way through this world. The end may have to come, but I can change how we all get there.
[ The bravado cracks with the question, fracturing even more with the brush of his fingers. It feels like… It feels… like a jolt of energy between them. Like something inside of her just woke up. Unexpected and startling. Enough to snap her out of it and jump back -- away from him. ]
Don’t touch me.
[ What the fuck just happened? Part of her wants to stay to find out more, but the other part of her thinks that might be a trap. She was already in the lion's den and she was over being the mouse. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
/waves hands vaguely about timelines and spell components
Navigating through the rows in the quietest section of the city was eerie, the glints of gold standing out against the all-black wardrobe she'd donned. Her cloak catches the wind as she moves, the rhyme Myrtle had almost sung to her of how to find the flowers holding most of her concentration. The clues had been cloaked in a Walt Whitman poem, the flower meant to assist in finding harmony and that's what they needed. To redistribute the balance of good and evil and the world and restore harmony. She didn't want to have to kill anyone, ready to exhaust all other options before resorting to trying to murder the antichrist... But she would if she absolutely had no other choice. For the protection of not just the world, but her found family. Her sisters. The people who had accepted her openly and quickly.
Her quiet footfalls slow when she reaches one of the oldest sections of the cemetery, quietly murmuring the end of the rhyme to herself as she turns in a slow circle. ]
With the pomp of the inloop’d flags with the cities draped in black,
With the show of the States themselves as of crape-veil’d women standing
Lilac and star and bird twined with the chant of my soul--
[ It took a minute, but she finally found the statue of a woman, tucked behind a larger mausoleum. A blackbird perched on top it. Okay. She was close. Her eyes scan the ground, looking for a pop of white against the dirt and stone. The sky was clear, stars shimmering above her.
And just when she thought Myrtle might have misremembered something, she spots three small sprigs - blooming before her eyes. ]
Oh, thank god.
[ Her focus moves to them, ignoring everything else around her as she drops to her knees to begin the ritual to collect them. The faster she could get through it, the faster she could get back to the safety of her coven. ]
no subject
He'd been robbed and the coven was to blame. Michael had every intention of making his promise a reality. Killing every last one of those witches will be something that he will take great pleasure in. Some more than others, but if they aren't with him, then that makes them his enemy.
It's a pity how predictable they are. Sisters of the moon, daughters of nature, whatever they went by- everything is a cycle.
New Orleans has an entirely different and vibrant energy to it, one that takes getting used to. Old, a city withstanding the test of time as opposed to changing with it. Spanish moss clung to just about every cypress and oak, casting everything in its own shadowed curtain and lending a dusty fragrance to the air. The cemetery is something to behold, the above-ground tombs vastly different than the miles of headstones or public mausoleums of the west coast. It would be so easy to spend hours wandering the rows to give attention to their individual beauty. Perhaps later.
There would be plenty of time to pay tribute to the dead long after the end of the world. All he would have is time with which to roam.
Michael feels her brightness before he locates her- warm and glittering like a blanket of stars. Her powers are so unlike his own, intoxicating in their luminous incandescence. She has so much, but she could have more. There is such potential it could make the world itself quake if only she would let it. He would have to help her lift the veil and make her see that this coven was only holding her back. Once, someone had shown him the way- the only way it all could go- now, she deserved the same courtesy. Crouched there in the dirt, her figure casts a sharp contrast to their drab surroundings. He doesn't interrupt her cultivation, sitting with his legs crossed on one of the stone balusters leading to a nearby mausoleum. ]
He gets an awful lot of credit in things He had absolutely nothing to do with.
no subject
Bathed in moonlight, her spine straightens - shoulders rolling back as she finishes tucking the white handkerchief into a pocket of her cloak. ]
I’m sorry ‘thank satan’ isn’t a common idiom people use.
[ It was strange knowing so much about someone without ever having met them. She almost doesn’t want to turn to face him, curious if he would actually let her walk away. If he’d strike her down with her back turned. But, she wasn’t that kind of witch. She faced her problems head-on. This needed to be dealt with and she just needed to get out of this exchange alive.
Rising to her feet, she takes her time, dusting off the dirt on her dress before finally facing him. He’s younger than she’d expected, unnervingly striking in person. The hair on the back of her neck stands on end as power seemingly crackles between them. ]
So… Are you here to lend a hand in your destruction or are you planning to stop me?
[ No bullshit, straight to the point. She’s terrified, but she has no choice. Running would be stupid. ]
no subject
Michael may be many things- deceit incarnate, the conniving voice nestled at the back of a mind, the whisper of doubt- but he isn't heartless. Striking someone while they're turned is cowardice. When he eliminates them, it will be as he's watching the light leave their eyes and he will accept no substitute. ]
You would be surprised at what a simple 'Hail Satan' will get you.
[ She gets to her feet with practiced grace, and he does have to admit she's quite pretty for a witch. Looks aren't as much of a saving grace as mortals are lead to believe. Her power, though? That's a temptation.
He laughs, high and light, waving off her question with a flourish of his hand as he gets to his feet. His strides are confident, and his back straightens as he closes a bit of the distance between them. Out of arm's reach for the moment, but he didn't need to be in her immediate vicinity in order to do her catastrophic harm. Michael clasps his arms behind his back, digits drumming against his elbow. ]
Rest assured, the plan continues to be your coven's destruction... But I find my concentration arrested.
/shows up 8000 years later than planned
We'll see about the destruction part of your plans.
[ The smartest thing Mallory could do is shut up and leave. But, she isn't sure he'll let her go, effectively cornered in the cemetery in her current position. She should let him continue to believe the witches were too weak to handle taking him on. Watching him for a moment, she tries to keep as neutral and uninterested of an expression as possible. ]
Cemeteries can be pretty distracting. You should really work on that.
[ She doesn't even think he's speaking about her. And she doesn't like that he seems to be slowly closing in. ] As lovely as this has been-- [ much sarcasm, very wow ] -- I should really get going.
that's quarantine baby, also same hat
Michael circles her as best he can while maintaining the distance that edges so much closer. Predatory, in any case. He offers a hum, a placating smile on his face. ]
It's inevitable, you know. Everything has to end eventually, even you have to see that.
[ Perhaps she doesn't, he thinks idly. How could she, when every fiber of her being is its own sunbeam? He cants his head to the side, expression one of curiosity. ]
Afraid of the dark, little songbird?
[ Like an unbidden temptation, he reaches out, fingers brushing against the edges of a stray tendril of her hair. ]
♥
Just because I can see it doesn’t mean I have to accept it and just roll over so you can bulldoze your way through this world. The end may have to come, but I can change how we all get there.
[ The bravado cracks with the question, fracturing even more with the brush of his fingers. It feels like… It feels… like a jolt of energy between them. Like something inside of her just woke up. Unexpected and startling. Enough to snap her out of it and jump back -- away from him. ]
Don’t touch me.
[ What the fuck just happened? Part of her wants to stay to find out more, but the other part of her thinks that might be a trap. She was already in the lion's den and she was over being the mouse. ]