She was dreaming about Dair again.
Reginald hovered. He watched while Lucy dozed, a fashion magazine fallen to her chest, her hair ruffled by a spring breeze. And he could see the dream too. He could watch and feel her sleep-filled thoughts. And there. There was Dair again.
It was always something small. The smallest of desires. Dair appearing to complete a simple task. Unhooking her dress. Handing her a cup of coffee. Brushing her cheek.
He had thought, hoped, that Dair would fade away. But for every single dream Reginald shared with Lucy---dreams of love, of the fiery passion they couldn’t share in the living world---there were three dreams of Dair just holding her hand.
Reginald retreated, letting Lucy sleep, watching as she shifted on the couch. The magazine shifted with her, threatening to slip. He watched it, his brow furrowed. It would be so easy to take it from her, to set it aside, where it wouldn’t fall and wake her. So easy, if he were alive. Such a little thing. A little task. And he couldn’t do it.
There were two things he could feel. Two things Reginald could feel in a living, physical sense. He looked down at the first, the bracelet on his wrist. He turned the woven silver with his fingers. It was a gift from Shae, so that Fin could see him, so Fin could speak to him.
“So wha’ be yer plan? To hang around her, twistin’ her heart more an’ more around yer finger until the separation between ye hurts too much to even look at each other?”
“I don't have a plan.”
“Ye just want to carry on until… wha’, exactly? Because ye must know tha’ this will only end in hurtin’ the both o’ ye.”
Fin was right. How long could this go on? He could already feel it. The way she ached. In her dreams, he could drown her in love and warmth. But when she woke, it was gone. She was empty. Clinging to a ghost.
Reginald didn’t belong here. Jack had told him. One late night in the winter woods, he had told them both.
“You are here because I allow it.” Behind Jack and all around came the baying of hellish hounds and the snorting whinnies of supernatural horses. Flickering shadows amongst will-o-wisps conjured images of Fae riders and their cu sidhes readying themselves for a hunt. “I command the Wild Hunt, and you are astray and out of place. Do you understand?”
Lucy backed towards Reginald. “Don't hurt him, Jack. Please.”
The door slammed shut. The window closed. The switch turned off. It was all gone, the trappings of the other world. Sound and fury signifying nothing. Before the pair stood the tall and terribly thin Ribbon Man, whose grin split his face from ear to ear. “I stay my hand. I fail at my duty for you, dear Lucy. But I watch. I will have my due in time.”
When would it be time? Would there be a time when Jack would come for him?
Reginald pulled the white cashmere scarf from his jacket pocket. He could feel it. This was the second thing. The second thing he could feel. It was soaked in blood. The red as deep as it had been the day he died. He brought the scarf up to his nose, the motion itself a memory of his living body. He couldn’t physically smell it. But the scarf smelled of her. He was sure of it. It smelled of her perfume. Of Lucy.
Reginald knew why she dreamed of Dair. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t because she still loved him. It was life. Dair, for the brief glimpse that they had loved one another, had been alive.
This couldn’t go on. If he loved her---and he did---it had to end. He had to cross the veil. He had to reach her. To touch her. To be alive for her.
And if he couldn’t, he had to go.
By summer’s end, if he didn’t live, he would give himself to Jack, his king, and let him have his due. By summer’s end, he would let go of Lucy.
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Originally posted by Lucy's Ghost on Tue May 17, 2016 from scenes with Jack Scot and Finlay Mackenzie
The Ghost and Miss Mitford
Moderator: Lucy Mitford
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Lucy Mitford
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Lucy Mitford
- Proven Adventurer
- Posts: 209
- Joined: Wed Jan 09, 2013 2:42 am
- Location: Rhy'Din
- Contact:
Re: The Ghost and Miss Mitford
It was spell number fifty-two from 52 Spells for Spectres and the Living Who Love Them. Lucy and Reginald had been scouring magic books, looking for something that might help them. But Lucy was always more comfortable with the modern, self-help style books rather than the dusty ancient tomes of the arcane.
The spell was called “The Yank.” Lucy knew how it was supposed to work. In theory.
At a time and place where the separation between the land of the living and the land of the dead is at its thinnest, a living person may reach across the veil, grasp hold of the dead, and yank them through to the other side.
Lucy and Reginald had been discussing it for days. Organizing the ingredients. Plotting the time and place. But there had been one sticking point. They needed something. Something essential.
They needed an object of fearsome magical power.
The book made some suggestions. A skein of Fate’s yarn. A length of hellfire-forged iron chain. A single thread of Elven gold. Neither of them had such an object. Or even knew where to get one. Lucy wasn’t keen on asking Shae or even Salome, afraid they might raise the alarm with Fin. Asking Jack was a nonstarter.
It was Lucy who finally thought of it. Waking in the middle of the night with the idea. “The scarf,” she said. “Reg, the scarf.”
The bloody white cashmere scarf.
“Oi, really?” Reg’s brow furrowed in the dark.
“It wasn’t a scarf before, remember?” Lucy pressed. “It was Jack’s ribbon. Until you touched it. It was Jack’s.” They agreed, at least, that it was worth a try.
The birds were already singing before dawn had reached the forest floor, the two moons winking goodbye to the sun as they glimpsed each other from one horizon to the other. An eerie half-light cut through the mist lingering beneath the pines. Reginald read the directions from the open book while Lucy followed them. A circle of ash. Divided in half by another line of ash. Offerings for the mother. A cup of sugared wine. A fresh, halved apple. A star lily. Lucy lined these up on the makeshift altar she’d created inside the circle. Then she looked up at Reginald. “Are you ready?”
He nodded. “Is it time?”
Lucy looked at her watch. “Nearly.”
“The mark, love. Don’t forget.” Reg gestured to his forehead.
“Oh, right.” Lucy nodded and stepped aside. From her handbag, she withdrew a small hand mirror and a tube of lipstick. Wild Rose was the color. Watching her reflection in the mirror, she drew a sigil on her forehead with the lipstick. Protect me from unknown dangers. Protect me from my own mistakes. Protect me from what I know not.
With a final look at her own reflection, Lucy exhaled, trying to breathe out her anxiety. Then she snapped the mirror shut. “Once we step into the circle we won’t be able to see each other.”
Reg frowned. “How am I supposed to get it to you?”
Her frown mirrored his. “You’ll have to throw it.”
They faced each other, the large circle of ash between them. Reginald drew the scarf from his jacket pocket. “You ready, love?”
Lucy nodded. “Yeah.” She looked at him, her ghost. At the white scarf in his hands. At the furrow in his brow. At the rough growth of beard he could never shave. The clothes he could never change. She had to do this for him. She had to try. Life was worth the leap.
She took a deep breath. “One. Two. Three.”
------------------------------------------------------------
Originally posted on Mon May 23, 2016
The spell was called “The Yank.” Lucy knew how it was supposed to work. In theory.
At a time and place where the separation between the land of the living and the land of the dead is at its thinnest, a living person may reach across the veil, grasp hold of the dead, and yank them through to the other side.
Lucy and Reginald had been discussing it for days. Organizing the ingredients. Plotting the time and place. But there had been one sticking point. They needed something. Something essential.
They needed an object of fearsome magical power.
The book made some suggestions. A skein of Fate’s yarn. A length of hellfire-forged iron chain. A single thread of Elven gold. Neither of them had such an object. Or even knew where to get one. Lucy wasn’t keen on asking Shae or even Salome, afraid they might raise the alarm with Fin. Asking Jack was a nonstarter.
It was Lucy who finally thought of it. Waking in the middle of the night with the idea. “The scarf,” she said. “Reg, the scarf.”
The bloody white cashmere scarf.
“Oi, really?” Reg’s brow furrowed in the dark.
“It wasn’t a scarf before, remember?” Lucy pressed. “It was Jack’s ribbon. Until you touched it. It was Jack’s.” They agreed, at least, that it was worth a try.
The birds were already singing before dawn had reached the forest floor, the two moons winking goodbye to the sun as they glimpsed each other from one horizon to the other. An eerie half-light cut through the mist lingering beneath the pines. Reginald read the directions from the open book while Lucy followed them. A circle of ash. Divided in half by another line of ash. Offerings for the mother. A cup of sugared wine. A fresh, halved apple. A star lily. Lucy lined these up on the makeshift altar she’d created inside the circle. Then she looked up at Reginald. “Are you ready?”
He nodded. “Is it time?”
Lucy looked at her watch. “Nearly.”
“The mark, love. Don’t forget.” Reg gestured to his forehead.
“Oh, right.” Lucy nodded and stepped aside. From her handbag, she withdrew a small hand mirror and a tube of lipstick. Wild Rose was the color. Watching her reflection in the mirror, she drew a sigil on her forehead with the lipstick. Protect me from unknown dangers. Protect me from my own mistakes. Protect me from what I know not.
With a final look at her own reflection, Lucy exhaled, trying to breathe out her anxiety. Then she snapped the mirror shut. “Once we step into the circle we won’t be able to see each other.”
Reg frowned. “How am I supposed to get it to you?”
Her frown mirrored his. “You’ll have to throw it.”
They faced each other, the large circle of ash between them. Reginald drew the scarf from his jacket pocket. “You ready, love?”
Lucy nodded. “Yeah.” She looked at him, her ghost. At the white scarf in his hands. At the furrow in his brow. At the rough growth of beard he could never shave. The clothes he could never change. She had to do this for him. She had to try. Life was worth the leap.
She took a deep breath. “One. Two. Three.”
------------------------------------------------------------
Originally posted on Mon May 23, 2016
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Lucy Mitford
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Re: The Ghost and Miss Mitford
She was frightened. Reginald watched Lucy across the circle. The furrow of her brow. The pale twist of her hands wringing together. She was frightened. And determined.
“One. Two. Three.”
As soon as he entered the circle, the world was lost. The ash burst into a wall of cold, white flame that roared around them and along the line that divided him from Lucy. He felt a pull on his presence. A drifting that he hadn’t felt since his first days as a ghost. He had to concentrate on holding himself within the plane. Holding himself to his existence.
“Lucy!” He couldn’t see her through the wall of burning light.
“Throw it!” Her voice sounded distant amid the roar. “Throw it, Reg!”
He remembered the scarf in his hands. The real world feel of it, the scent of it, anchoring him to the living world. He held onto one end, wrapping it about his ghostly fist, and threw the other end through the wall of flames. Immediately, the scarf pulled taut.
He had thought it would be easy. That he’d feel a tug from Lucy and go bounding across to her.
But it wasn’t anything like he thought.
Reginald felt her pulling but he couldn’t move towards her. Rather he was being thrust away, pulled away from Lucy, the two of them forced into a game of tug of war. She was trying to pull him through to the land of the living. But he, unwillingly, was pulling her towards the land of the dead.
“Lucy, stop! Let go!” Reginald strained at the forces pushing him away from her. He could just make her out on the other side of the veil. She held the scarf with both hands, leaning back to try to pull him towards her.
“No!” She shook her head, her blue eyes wide, her arms trembling.
He had seen that look before. Once before. A look of wild terror, hanging by a thin string of bravery. He had seen that look. The night she killed him.
“Let go, love.” He reached for her, releasing the scarf with one hand. His hand passed through the veil. He had to comfort her. He had to tell her, show her, that it would be alright. “It’s alright love. Don’t be afraid. Just let go.”
She was just close enough. His hand touched her hair. He could feel it. Soft and silky. Then her skin. Her cheek. Flushed with heat and damp with tears. She was crying.
“Reg, no. Please.” She kept straining at the scarf between them. Her body leaned back, rolling her hand up in the scarf like he had, tighter and tighter, drawing them both nearer to each other and the wall of licking white flame between them. “You have to try. Please try!”
“It’s alright. Let go, Lucy.” He reached deeper, trying to touch her more, but she leaned out of reach, trying to use her body weight to pull him over. With everything he had, every power he had, he reached for her.
And as he reached across the veil to touch her one more time, the soft white cashmere slipped through his fingers.
Lucy stumbled back, and then fell. The entire scarf landed on her chest.
The roaring stopped. The flames disappeared. For a moment, there was no sound. Only Lucy, panting for breath. The forest silent around them. The birds singing no more.
“Did it work?” Lucy pushed up to her elbows inside the circle of ash.
“Don’t know.” Reginald frowned. He crossed to her and offered his hand down. She reached to take it. But she couldn’t. He was still a ghost.
“Damn.” She flopped back onto the pine needles. “Damn, damn, damn!”
Reginald knelt and reached for the scarf still piled on her chest. With a little relief, his hands closed around it. He still had this. Even if the spell hadn’t worked, he still had this. He still had this piece of Lucy.
Lucy lay there, watching the lightening sky beyond the trees overhead. “Why did you do it? Why did you let go?”
“Lucy--” he stepped towards her but stopped when she interrupted.
“Go away. Just go away for a minute.”
Reginald watched her a moment. At the way the pine needles clung to her red hair. The way she threw a pale arm over her eyes. Her sharp elbow. How small she looked in the circle of ash.
He retreated. Back towards what had been his side of the circle.
It was then that he noticed. It was then that he saw. That the line of ash that had divided the circle, the line that divided the land of the living from the land of the dead, the line that divided he and Lucy, was gone.
------------------------------------------------------------
Originally posted by Lucy's Ghost on Wed Jun 01, 2016
“One. Two. Three.”
As soon as he entered the circle, the world was lost. The ash burst into a wall of cold, white flame that roared around them and along the line that divided him from Lucy. He felt a pull on his presence. A drifting that he hadn’t felt since his first days as a ghost. He had to concentrate on holding himself within the plane. Holding himself to his existence.
“Lucy!” He couldn’t see her through the wall of burning light.
“Throw it!” Her voice sounded distant amid the roar. “Throw it, Reg!”
He remembered the scarf in his hands. The real world feel of it, the scent of it, anchoring him to the living world. He held onto one end, wrapping it about his ghostly fist, and threw the other end through the wall of flames. Immediately, the scarf pulled taut.
He had thought it would be easy. That he’d feel a tug from Lucy and go bounding across to her.
But it wasn’t anything like he thought.
Reginald felt her pulling but he couldn’t move towards her. Rather he was being thrust away, pulled away from Lucy, the two of them forced into a game of tug of war. She was trying to pull him through to the land of the living. But he, unwillingly, was pulling her towards the land of the dead.
“Lucy, stop! Let go!” Reginald strained at the forces pushing him away from her. He could just make her out on the other side of the veil. She held the scarf with both hands, leaning back to try to pull him towards her.
“No!” She shook her head, her blue eyes wide, her arms trembling.
He had seen that look before. Once before. A look of wild terror, hanging by a thin string of bravery. He had seen that look. The night she killed him.
“Let go, love.” He reached for her, releasing the scarf with one hand. His hand passed through the veil. He had to comfort her. He had to tell her, show her, that it would be alright. “It’s alright love. Don’t be afraid. Just let go.”
She was just close enough. His hand touched her hair. He could feel it. Soft and silky. Then her skin. Her cheek. Flushed with heat and damp with tears. She was crying.
“Reg, no. Please.” She kept straining at the scarf between them. Her body leaned back, rolling her hand up in the scarf like he had, tighter and tighter, drawing them both nearer to each other and the wall of licking white flame between them. “You have to try. Please try!”
“It’s alright. Let go, Lucy.” He reached deeper, trying to touch her more, but she leaned out of reach, trying to use her body weight to pull him over. With everything he had, every power he had, he reached for her.
And as he reached across the veil to touch her one more time, the soft white cashmere slipped through his fingers.
Lucy stumbled back, and then fell. The entire scarf landed on her chest.
The roaring stopped. The flames disappeared. For a moment, there was no sound. Only Lucy, panting for breath. The forest silent around them. The birds singing no more.
“Did it work?” Lucy pushed up to her elbows inside the circle of ash.
“Don’t know.” Reginald frowned. He crossed to her and offered his hand down. She reached to take it. But she couldn’t. He was still a ghost.
“Damn.” She flopped back onto the pine needles. “Damn, damn, damn!”
Reginald knelt and reached for the scarf still piled on her chest. With a little relief, his hands closed around it. He still had this. Even if the spell hadn’t worked, he still had this. He still had this piece of Lucy.
Lucy lay there, watching the lightening sky beyond the trees overhead. “Why did you do it? Why did you let go?”
“Lucy--” he stepped towards her but stopped when she interrupted.
“Go away. Just go away for a minute.”
Reginald watched her a moment. At the way the pine needles clung to her red hair. The way she threw a pale arm over her eyes. Her sharp elbow. How small she looked in the circle of ash.
He retreated. Back towards what had been his side of the circle.
It was then that he noticed. It was then that he saw. That the line of ash that had divided the circle, the line that divided the land of the living from the land of the dead, the line that divided he and Lucy, was gone.
------------------------------------------------------------
Originally posted by Lucy's Ghost on Wed Jun 01, 2016
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Lucy Mitford
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Re: The Ghost and Miss Mitford
“You have to tell someone.”
“No.” Lucy shook her head, carefully laying another pair of gold earrings in her travel case while refusing to look at Reginald.
“You could tell Fin. He would know what to do.” Reginald watched her from the doorway.
She shook her head again, pausing in her packing to reach for her smoldering cigarette. Her rule against smoking in her loft had crumbled under the pressure of anxiety. She closed her eyes as she exhaled smoke over her head.
It had been subtle when it began. So subtle she almost hadn’t noticed. Her fingers seemingly misconnecting with objects. Unable to take things in hand.
Then she began dropping things. Dressing took longer. Her fingers suddenly not solid enough to manipulate the buttons of her blouse. Unable to slip shoes on feet that were suddenly not there. Standing outside her gallery for an hour, gazing at a door handle she could not touch.
She could see herself. As if she were there. But she couldn’t feel herself.
“I can’t tell Fin.” Covering the little moments had gotten harder. Harder to control the flicker of uncertainty in her smile. “He’s just going to be mad.”
“About what, love?” Reginald frowned at her.
“That--that we did what we did. That we didn’t tell anyone. That we didn’t ask for help.” Lucy returned the cigarette to the ashtray and frowned. Why hadn’t she listened to Mesteno? He had told her all the ways a ghost could be brought back, but she had rejected each of them. Unable to imagine Reginald in another body. In a dying body. She could do this her own way, she’d thought.
Lucy reached for a necklace. Her fingers passed all the way through the gold chain and into the bathroom counter. Murmuring a quiet curse, she let her hand return to her lap, and sat still.
Time had also begun slipping away. She would put an album on the record player, only to find herself still standing next to it, after what felt like only a moment later, but the album side would be over, the needle returned to rest. Hours passed in an instant. She was losing time.
“But you can’t go on like this. You’ve got to do something.”
Lucy tried for the necklace again. This time her fingers connected. “It will go away.” She put the necklace in the travel case, then closed it up. Rising to her feet, she took a last draw on her cigarette before snuffing it out.
She didn’t step around Reginald as she left the bathroom, her shoulder passing right through his ghostly body like usual.
“No, love, no. It isn’t going away. It’s getting worse, innit? Loads worse.” Reginald followed her into the open space of the loft, heedless of furniture as he moved, his immaterial form floating through objects as if they didn’t exist.
Lucy set the travel case down near the door with the rest of her belongings readied for her summer move to the beach house. “We’re not talking about this anymore.”
“Oi, don’t be a fool, love.” Reginald kept after her, closing the distance between them. He glided through the armchair, a corner of the coffee table, and then the couch. “You’ve got to tell Fin.”
When he reached the side table, Reginald jerked. Instead of passing through, his hip swiped the table in a solid, corporeal bump. A porcelain vase teetered and then tipped to the side, hanging as if trapped in a moment of surprise before it finally gave up and crashed to the floor.
Lucy froze. Then she turned to look at the shattered vase. “What--what just happened?”
Reginald looked across at her. “I--”
She stared. “Oh my god.”
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Originally posted on Wed Jun 15, 2016
“No.” Lucy shook her head, carefully laying another pair of gold earrings in her travel case while refusing to look at Reginald.
“You could tell Fin. He would know what to do.” Reginald watched her from the doorway.
She shook her head again, pausing in her packing to reach for her smoldering cigarette. Her rule against smoking in her loft had crumbled under the pressure of anxiety. She closed her eyes as she exhaled smoke over her head.
It had been subtle when it began. So subtle she almost hadn’t noticed. Her fingers seemingly misconnecting with objects. Unable to take things in hand.
Then she began dropping things. Dressing took longer. Her fingers suddenly not solid enough to manipulate the buttons of her blouse. Unable to slip shoes on feet that were suddenly not there. Standing outside her gallery for an hour, gazing at a door handle she could not touch.
She could see herself. As if she were there. But she couldn’t feel herself.
“I can’t tell Fin.” Covering the little moments had gotten harder. Harder to control the flicker of uncertainty in her smile. “He’s just going to be mad.”
“About what, love?” Reginald frowned at her.
“That--that we did what we did. That we didn’t tell anyone. That we didn’t ask for help.” Lucy returned the cigarette to the ashtray and frowned. Why hadn’t she listened to Mesteno? He had told her all the ways a ghost could be brought back, but she had rejected each of them. Unable to imagine Reginald in another body. In a dying body. She could do this her own way, she’d thought.
Lucy reached for a necklace. Her fingers passed all the way through the gold chain and into the bathroom counter. Murmuring a quiet curse, she let her hand return to her lap, and sat still.
Time had also begun slipping away. She would put an album on the record player, only to find herself still standing next to it, after what felt like only a moment later, but the album side would be over, the needle returned to rest. Hours passed in an instant. She was losing time.
“But you can’t go on like this. You’ve got to do something.”
Lucy tried for the necklace again. This time her fingers connected. “It will go away.” She put the necklace in the travel case, then closed it up. Rising to her feet, she took a last draw on her cigarette before snuffing it out.
She didn’t step around Reginald as she left the bathroom, her shoulder passing right through his ghostly body like usual.
“No, love, no. It isn’t going away. It’s getting worse, innit? Loads worse.” Reginald followed her into the open space of the loft, heedless of furniture as he moved, his immaterial form floating through objects as if they didn’t exist.
Lucy set the travel case down near the door with the rest of her belongings readied for her summer move to the beach house. “We’re not talking about this anymore.”
“Oi, don’t be a fool, love.” Reginald kept after her, closing the distance between them. He glided through the armchair, a corner of the coffee table, and then the couch. “You’ve got to tell Fin.”
When he reached the side table, Reginald jerked. Instead of passing through, his hip swiped the table in a solid, corporeal bump. A porcelain vase teetered and then tipped to the side, hanging as if trapped in a moment of surprise before it finally gave up and crashed to the floor.
Lucy froze. Then she turned to look at the shattered vase. “What--what just happened?”
Reginald looked across at her. “I--”
She stared. “Oh my god.”
------------------------------------------------------------
Originally posted on Wed Jun 15, 2016
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Lucy Mitford
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Re: The Ghost and Miss Mitford
“Lucy, wha' be happenin' to ye?”
The three of them had been sitting on the beach, Lucy, Fin, and Ketch, watching the sun give up the last of its light before dropping below the horizon. Reg was there too, watching from the opposite side of the small bonfire, lurking in the ghostly way he was used to doing.
Lucy pretended not to hear Fin’s question, rattling on about a different topic, and reaching for the joint Fin had been sharing.
He puffed once more (to make sure the joint hadn't gone out) and then passed it to Lucy. “I still be waitin', lass.”
Ketch rose to his elbows. When he cut his eyes around the gathering, he spied Reg, just the outline of him, no detail, that cued an internal 'huh' before he looked aside to Fin. “She doesn't want to answer you.”
Lucy looked at Fin, then Ketch, then back. “It's not a big deal. I just--haven't been feeling very well. That's all.” She raised the joint to her lips and drew in a breath.
Or at least she tried. She didn’t cough as she drew the smoke into her lungs. Rather the sucking sound of her inhale seemed to go on longer than the moment the joint was at her lips. She held it towards Fin, but it slipped from her fingers and fell to the blanket almost immediately.
Fin blanched as the joint dropped from...no, not from. Through. Through her fingers to fall on the blanket. He glanced down, picking it up swiftly before the ember caught on the blanket, but when he looked up, he nearly dropped it again.
Lucy’s mouth was open, her eyes widening in a slowly growing alarm, and she leaned forward over her folded legs. Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly, like a fish out of water. The smoke she'd breathed in seemed to puff from all around her instead of from her nose or mouth on an exhale.
Ketch frowned. Trying to track what was unfolding slowed his reflexes. He could smell the singe of the blanket beneath them as the joint smoldered against it, the heavy cloud of smoke that seemed to hang too long before dispersing.
“Lucy? Lucy!” Fin tried to place a hand to her shoulder as he leaned forward but it passed through her form and hit the blanket underneath her. The Scot jerked back, staring in horror before eyes darted to Reg. “Wha' is wrong wit' her?!”
Reg watched the moment unfold with a horror of his own. He tried to move towards Lucy, only he couldn't move. Gravity was suddenly bearing down on him, the weight of his all-too-real body dragging him to the sand.
“The fuck is going on?” Ketch’s voice was sharp with dawning concern. His whiskey glass tipped over onto the blanket, the spill unnoticed as he rose to his knees, adrenaline spiking his pulse as his eyes pinged around the trio.
Reg struggled towards Lucy, and then fell to the sand, holding himself up on his hands and knees. “Don't try to breathe! Don't try! Just let go, love.”
As Reg spoke, Ketch's eyes narrowed, zeroing in on the man, seeing much more than an outline now.
Fin’s eyes were on Reg too. The look of feral violence he offered the male ghost was vicious, teeth bared and a low growl thrumming at the base of his throat where it coiled, ready to loose itself should the need arise.
Lucy raised her eyes to Reg and nodded slowly, the usual in-and-out movements of her chest slowing as she resisted the impulse to breathe. She straightened back up again holding her hands in front of her, open so she could see her palms.
“She don't know how to talk like that just yet.” Reg kept his eyes on Lucy while he explained to Fin and Ketch, then reassured her again. “It'll pass. Just give it a moment, love.”
“Talk like wha'?” Fin enunciated each word like a bite to the neck, the threat of blood real. “Wha' will pass?”
Reg held up a hand to Fin and Ketch, a plea for patience, for a moment of reprieve before anything happened. “She'll be back, I swear it. I swear it.”
Lucy knew she was back when she felt her eyes welling with tears. She dragged in a shuddering breath, her narrow shoulders shaking. She leaned forward again, trying to hide her face in the shadows, too afraid to look at either of them, to see the looks on either of their faces. “I'm alright.”
Fin felt like his heart had stopped until Lucy started to tremble and pant. Any vitriol for Reg was muted, transformed into wild-eyed concern as he hesitantly touched fingertips to her shoulder, blowing out a breath when he made contact. “Lucy, love, please tell me wha' be wrong,” pleading quietly.
Reg straightened, his hands and knees no longer resting on the sand, just floating there. “I been begging her to tell you. Begging her.”
Ketch had gone silent and still as a slab of marble.
“We tried something,” Lucy finally confessed. She brought her knees up and rested her chin on them. “It was a spell for bringing--bringing Reg over to the land of the living. But it didn't work.”
“We thought it didn't work.” Reg corrected.
“We thought it didn't work,” Lucy repeated in acquiescence. “But it--it did work it just--it worked wrong or something.” She sniffled, her voice thready as tears gathered in earnest. "Something is happening to me. And to Reg."
Fin straightened, the weight of her truth settling heavy across his brow. Eyes closed and he remained silent for many long minutes while a sick realization had his stomach sinking low and lower. Had to take a slow, deep breath before he was able to open his eyes. “Yer tradin' places?” That's what it seemed like, or Lucy was being pulled into the land of the dead or...whatever it was called. “How long ago did ye do it?”
Ketch reached aside for his pants, pulling his cigarettes from his back pocket and tapping out one of the hand-rolleds, lighting it, drawing in until the cherry glowed and then extending it to Lucy in silent offer.
“A few weeks ago.” Lucy lifted a hand to wipe a tear from her cheek, then she reached for Ketch’s cigarette. It shook as she brought it to her lips. After what had just happened though, she was too afraid to inhale. She closed her eyes to keep from crying.
“Certain hours of the day, it's worse. When the veil is thin. Sunrise, sunset.” Reg nodded towards the dusk light, the sun now officially gone. “Think Jack knows. His bird, the crow, he seen it. But she won't tell him. She won't tell you. Couldn't get her to tell anyone.”
Ketch lit another cigarette for himself as he digested Reg's explanation and sank back to the blanket.
Fin raised an accusing stare to Reg, then looked back at Lucy. “Why would ye no' tell anyone, Lucy?”
“I thought it would go away on its own.” She sniffled, her lower lip trembling. “I thought--I thought everyone would think I was stupid.” She thumbed the end of the cigarette.
Fin frowned deeply, twisting to look at her. “Stupid? For wha'?”
“I did a--a sigil, to protect myself.” She gestured with one hand towards her forehead. “Cause--I mean, I know what people say about--about magic having a--a cost.” She shook her head. “But I forgot that--that I was looking in the mirror when I put it on.” Gesturing to her forehead again. “So it was backwards.”
“Why did ye try this alone?”
“Who was I supposed to ask? You hate Reg and--and Jack does too--and--and Shae and Salome are--are busy and--and Mesteno didn't think--he didn't think something like this could be done--and--and Cris was gone. Who was I supposed to ask for help?”
“I do no' hate Reg but I do no' trust him.”
“Fucking Christ.” Reg glared at Fin and the fire snapped and crackled.
Lucy said nothing, just lowered her head back to her knees.
Fin sighed heavily and shook his head, raking fingers through his hair with a rough tug. Taking a breath, he supposed it didn't really matter. Some of the fight went out of him, his voice a little hoarse when he spoke. “An' wha' will ye do now? Ignore it until ye fade away? Is tha'...wha' ye want?”
“I don't know.” She took another shaky breath and finally remembered to ash her cigarette into the sand.
“You're going to talk to Jack and get us straightened out and send me back where I came from, love, that's what you're going to do.” Reg answered for her, glowering and shifting back and forth over the sand, the fire crackling wildly any time he neared it.
Lucy closed her eyes on tears welling afresh again.
“How is it progressing? How fast, I mean?” Ketch could see Lucy's hesitation, the difficulty she was having with an admittedly complex situation.
She kept her head resting on her knees. “It didn't happen much the first week. Once, twice. Then... then once a day... and... and now twice... three times a day.”
“When will ye be gone?” Fin murmured.
“Gone?” Lucy raised her head.
Ketch knocked Fin sharply in the elbow and glared at him for that. “What do you want to do?” This for Lucy.
“I have to fix it, I--I know I do. I just--I don't know how. I don't know what to do anymore. I--I--I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.”
Fin didn't react to the jarring hit at his elbow, didn't stir until Lucy spoke again. “Are ye goin' to speak to Jack or Salome?”
“The solution is probably there,” Ketch gestured towards Fin as he mentioned Jack and Salome, “But it sounds like the difficult part is wrapping your head around the result.”
“There's nothing to wrap her head around.” Reg stopped his pacing to answer Ketch. “We trade back and that's it, it's done.”
Lucy didn't look at Reg when he spoke. She closed her eyes and tried not to cry again.
“Wha' if it canno' be undone?” Fin dreaded the answer but felt he had to ask it because magic was unreliable and there was always a catch.
Lucy shrugged a shoulder.
“It can be.” Reg stopped his pacing, and turned to look at Lucy, speaking with more certainty than he felt. “It can be.”
------------------------------------------------------------
Originally posted by Lucy's Ghost on Thu Jul 21, 2016 from a scene with Finlay Mackenzie and Ketch Creeley
The three of them had been sitting on the beach, Lucy, Fin, and Ketch, watching the sun give up the last of its light before dropping below the horizon. Reg was there too, watching from the opposite side of the small bonfire, lurking in the ghostly way he was used to doing.
Lucy pretended not to hear Fin’s question, rattling on about a different topic, and reaching for the joint Fin had been sharing.
He puffed once more (to make sure the joint hadn't gone out) and then passed it to Lucy. “I still be waitin', lass.”
Ketch rose to his elbows. When he cut his eyes around the gathering, he spied Reg, just the outline of him, no detail, that cued an internal 'huh' before he looked aside to Fin. “She doesn't want to answer you.”
Lucy looked at Fin, then Ketch, then back. “It's not a big deal. I just--haven't been feeling very well. That's all.” She raised the joint to her lips and drew in a breath.
Or at least she tried. She didn’t cough as she drew the smoke into her lungs. Rather the sucking sound of her inhale seemed to go on longer than the moment the joint was at her lips. She held it towards Fin, but it slipped from her fingers and fell to the blanket almost immediately.
Fin blanched as the joint dropped from...no, not from. Through. Through her fingers to fall on the blanket. He glanced down, picking it up swiftly before the ember caught on the blanket, but when he looked up, he nearly dropped it again.
Lucy’s mouth was open, her eyes widening in a slowly growing alarm, and she leaned forward over her folded legs. Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly, like a fish out of water. The smoke she'd breathed in seemed to puff from all around her instead of from her nose or mouth on an exhale.
Ketch frowned. Trying to track what was unfolding slowed his reflexes. He could smell the singe of the blanket beneath them as the joint smoldered against it, the heavy cloud of smoke that seemed to hang too long before dispersing.
“Lucy? Lucy!” Fin tried to place a hand to her shoulder as he leaned forward but it passed through her form and hit the blanket underneath her. The Scot jerked back, staring in horror before eyes darted to Reg. “Wha' is wrong wit' her?!”
Reg watched the moment unfold with a horror of his own. He tried to move towards Lucy, only he couldn't move. Gravity was suddenly bearing down on him, the weight of his all-too-real body dragging him to the sand.
“The fuck is going on?” Ketch’s voice was sharp with dawning concern. His whiskey glass tipped over onto the blanket, the spill unnoticed as he rose to his knees, adrenaline spiking his pulse as his eyes pinged around the trio.
Reg struggled towards Lucy, and then fell to the sand, holding himself up on his hands and knees. “Don't try to breathe! Don't try! Just let go, love.”
As Reg spoke, Ketch's eyes narrowed, zeroing in on the man, seeing much more than an outline now.
Fin’s eyes were on Reg too. The look of feral violence he offered the male ghost was vicious, teeth bared and a low growl thrumming at the base of his throat where it coiled, ready to loose itself should the need arise.
Lucy raised her eyes to Reg and nodded slowly, the usual in-and-out movements of her chest slowing as she resisted the impulse to breathe. She straightened back up again holding her hands in front of her, open so she could see her palms.
“She don't know how to talk like that just yet.” Reg kept his eyes on Lucy while he explained to Fin and Ketch, then reassured her again. “It'll pass. Just give it a moment, love.”
“Talk like wha'?” Fin enunciated each word like a bite to the neck, the threat of blood real. “Wha' will pass?”
Reg held up a hand to Fin and Ketch, a plea for patience, for a moment of reprieve before anything happened. “She'll be back, I swear it. I swear it.”
Lucy knew she was back when she felt her eyes welling with tears. She dragged in a shuddering breath, her narrow shoulders shaking. She leaned forward again, trying to hide her face in the shadows, too afraid to look at either of them, to see the looks on either of their faces. “I'm alright.”
Fin felt like his heart had stopped until Lucy started to tremble and pant. Any vitriol for Reg was muted, transformed into wild-eyed concern as he hesitantly touched fingertips to her shoulder, blowing out a breath when he made contact. “Lucy, love, please tell me wha' be wrong,” pleading quietly.
Reg straightened, his hands and knees no longer resting on the sand, just floating there. “I been begging her to tell you. Begging her.”
Ketch had gone silent and still as a slab of marble.
“We tried something,” Lucy finally confessed. She brought her knees up and rested her chin on them. “It was a spell for bringing--bringing Reg over to the land of the living. But it didn't work.”
“We thought it didn't work.” Reg corrected.
“We thought it didn't work,” Lucy repeated in acquiescence. “But it--it did work it just--it worked wrong or something.” She sniffled, her voice thready as tears gathered in earnest. "Something is happening to me. And to Reg."
Fin straightened, the weight of her truth settling heavy across his brow. Eyes closed and he remained silent for many long minutes while a sick realization had his stomach sinking low and lower. Had to take a slow, deep breath before he was able to open his eyes. “Yer tradin' places?” That's what it seemed like, or Lucy was being pulled into the land of the dead or...whatever it was called. “How long ago did ye do it?”
Ketch reached aside for his pants, pulling his cigarettes from his back pocket and tapping out one of the hand-rolleds, lighting it, drawing in until the cherry glowed and then extending it to Lucy in silent offer.
“A few weeks ago.” Lucy lifted a hand to wipe a tear from her cheek, then she reached for Ketch’s cigarette. It shook as she brought it to her lips. After what had just happened though, she was too afraid to inhale. She closed her eyes to keep from crying.
“Certain hours of the day, it's worse. When the veil is thin. Sunrise, sunset.” Reg nodded towards the dusk light, the sun now officially gone. “Think Jack knows. His bird, the crow, he seen it. But she won't tell him. She won't tell you. Couldn't get her to tell anyone.”
Ketch lit another cigarette for himself as he digested Reg's explanation and sank back to the blanket.
Fin raised an accusing stare to Reg, then looked back at Lucy. “Why would ye no' tell anyone, Lucy?”
“I thought it would go away on its own.” She sniffled, her lower lip trembling. “I thought--I thought everyone would think I was stupid.” She thumbed the end of the cigarette.
Fin frowned deeply, twisting to look at her. “Stupid? For wha'?”
“I did a--a sigil, to protect myself.” She gestured with one hand towards her forehead. “Cause--I mean, I know what people say about--about magic having a--a cost.” She shook her head. “But I forgot that--that I was looking in the mirror when I put it on.” Gesturing to her forehead again. “So it was backwards.”
“Why did ye try this alone?”
“Who was I supposed to ask? You hate Reg and--and Jack does too--and--and Shae and Salome are--are busy and--and Mesteno didn't think--he didn't think something like this could be done--and--and Cris was gone. Who was I supposed to ask for help?”
“I do no' hate Reg but I do no' trust him.”
“Fucking Christ.” Reg glared at Fin and the fire snapped and crackled.
Lucy said nothing, just lowered her head back to her knees.
Fin sighed heavily and shook his head, raking fingers through his hair with a rough tug. Taking a breath, he supposed it didn't really matter. Some of the fight went out of him, his voice a little hoarse when he spoke. “An' wha' will ye do now? Ignore it until ye fade away? Is tha'...wha' ye want?”
“I don't know.” She took another shaky breath and finally remembered to ash her cigarette into the sand.
“You're going to talk to Jack and get us straightened out and send me back where I came from, love, that's what you're going to do.” Reg answered for her, glowering and shifting back and forth over the sand, the fire crackling wildly any time he neared it.
Lucy closed her eyes on tears welling afresh again.
“How is it progressing? How fast, I mean?” Ketch could see Lucy's hesitation, the difficulty she was having with an admittedly complex situation.
She kept her head resting on her knees. “It didn't happen much the first week. Once, twice. Then... then once a day... and... and now twice... three times a day.”
“When will ye be gone?” Fin murmured.
“Gone?” Lucy raised her head.
Ketch knocked Fin sharply in the elbow and glared at him for that. “What do you want to do?” This for Lucy.
“I have to fix it, I--I know I do. I just--I don't know how. I don't know what to do anymore. I--I--I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.”
Fin didn't react to the jarring hit at his elbow, didn't stir until Lucy spoke again. “Are ye goin' to speak to Jack or Salome?”
“The solution is probably there,” Ketch gestured towards Fin as he mentioned Jack and Salome, “But it sounds like the difficult part is wrapping your head around the result.”
“There's nothing to wrap her head around.” Reg stopped his pacing to answer Ketch. “We trade back and that's it, it's done.”
Lucy didn't look at Reg when he spoke. She closed her eyes and tried not to cry again.
“Wha' if it canno' be undone?” Fin dreaded the answer but felt he had to ask it because magic was unreliable and there was always a catch.
Lucy shrugged a shoulder.
“It can be.” Reg stopped his pacing, and turned to look at Lucy, speaking with more certainty than he felt. “It can be.”
------------------------------------------------------------
Originally posted by Lucy's Ghost on Thu Jul 21, 2016 from a scene with Finlay Mackenzie and Ketch Creeley
-
Lucy Mitford
- Proven Adventurer
- Posts: 209
- Joined: Wed Jan 09, 2013 2:42 am
- Location: Rhy'Din
- Contact:
Re: The Ghost and Miss Mitford
“I don’t want to die.”
“I know, love.”
“But I don’t want you to die either.”
“I’m already dead.”
“No, you’re not. You could live. Maybe this is what’s supposed to happen.”
“There’s no supposing. I choose. I got no choice but--but this one thing. And I choose to go--”
“No--”
“Listen--I would die a thousand times for you. A thousand times--”
“Reg--”
“If Jack tells me to go, I will go.”
“No--”
“A thousand times, for you.”
------------------------------------------------------------
Originally posted on Fri Jul 29, 2016
“I know, love.”
“But I don’t want you to die either.”
“I’m already dead.”
“No, you’re not. You could live. Maybe this is what’s supposed to happen.”
“There’s no supposing. I choose. I got no choice but--but this one thing. And I choose to go--”
“No--”
“Listen--I would die a thousand times for you. A thousand times--”
“Reg--”
“If Jack tells me to go, I will go.”
“No--”
“A thousand times, for you.”
------------------------------------------------------------
Originally posted on Fri Jul 29, 2016
-
Lucy Mitford
- Proven Adventurer
- Posts: 209
- Joined: Wed Jan 09, 2013 2:42 am
- Location: Rhy'Din
- Contact:
Re: The Ghost and Miss Mitford
“I'd like to get you on a slow boat to China.
All to myself alone.
Get you and keep you in my arms evermore,
Leave all your lovers weeping on the faraway shore.”
The singing began faintly, just barely audible under the rowdy calls of the murder of crows that wheeled above Benjamin’s homestead. Benjamin had called for Jack, standing beside the small fire pit where sage and tobacco were burning together, and tried to hug a Lucy who was barely there to be embraced. She waited, uncharacteristically still, as the sound of Jack singing grew. Reginald hung back, as if he could just blend with the background, even though he was more solid than he had ever been. And Fin retreated, sinking onto the porch step and burying his face in the warm neck of his dog, Liath, who came to greet him.
“Out on the briny with the
Moon big and shiney,
Melting your heart of stone...
All to myself alone.”
The song ended with Jack’s sudden arrival. One long-legged step seemed to bring the old Crow into their midst, to the sacred fire where the tobacco still burned. He leaned over the smoke, eyes that held galaxies hooded with pleasure.
“Hi.” Lucy had rehearsed the words she would say when she finally saw Jack. But now, in the face of him she could barely speak. “I need your help.”
When Jack breathed enough smoke to sear the lungs of any mortal, he stood straight to shake out the ribbons of his coat. A cacophony of color ensued. When the satin and silk settled into their quiet whispering, the heavy star gaze fell upon them all---including Reginald. As if a ghost could hide from him. Individually and collectively, the well of the universe drank them up. The grin moved across his face like a zipper opening. Teeth gleamed beneath the blazing newborn stars in his eyes. “What sort of help, Lucy Mitford?”
Fin’s callused fingers sought out Ben's hand, squeezing tightly as the two stood side by side at the porch. Benjamin returned the grip, a steady and warm pressure.
“I need--” Lucy looked to Reginald. He nodded at her, encouraging her to say what they had already agreed upon. “--I need you to help me undo it. To--to make Reginald a ghost again and--and stop me from becoming one.”
A crow, perhaps Lucy's own, dropped from above to perch on a ribboned shoulder. It picked at Jack's unruly and overgrown hair. Jack's eyes narrowed until the stars could no longer be seen. “What do you bring to bargain with, darling?”
“Oh boy,” Benjamin breathed softly. He squeezed Fin's hand, more than to bring comfort, it was to keep him standing there beside him.
“To bargain with?” Lucy didn't understand. “I don't--I don't have anything with me.”
“I'll give a night to you. I will sing to you, burn tobacco in your name, dance for you,” Benjamin offered. Not as sweet an offer as it could be, he was Jack’s, after all. But still. Pretty sweet. His head tilted, he smiled brightly.
Jack looked over Lucy's shoulder to where Benjamin stood hand in hand with MacKenzie. “This is not something you may purchase for her, Bright Star.”
Fin tensed, watching intently, anchored by Benjamin on his right. “Wha' of m'self? Could I?”
Jack licked his chops while looking MacKenzie up and down. “Perhaps.”
Reginald, took a step forward. “No. Me. You can have me. As your servant. For as long---forever.”
Jack’s star gaze snapped back to Lucy. “Such loyalty.”
“She doesn't understand, Jack,” Benjamin countered softly, then looked to Lucy, “May I give her some counsel, then?” He winced faintly at Reg's offer.
Jack sighed and waved at Benjamin. A signal the Bright Star could speak.
“I don't--” Lucy looked at Benjamin expectantly.
Benjamin squeezed Fin's hand again, before pressing the man's fingers into the dog's fur, both of the hounds, a murmur probably charging the old and young dogs to flatten Fin to the deck if he tried to move. He stepped to Lucy, gesturing her to turn slightly. “What I would offer him is a night of my worship. Because I know he likes that, but he knows he can gain that from me any time. He'd love for you to offer the same, but you're not me.” His words were quiet and calm. He smiled a bit grimly. “You must offer something only you can give him that he would want. Offer a story, a song, time -- but don't say forever. Say for a night, an hour, a moment.”
Lucy shook her head slowly, then looked back at Jack, a quick flash of anger in her eyes. “You won't just do this for me? As my friend? Our friendship, as it is, is not enough?”
“Lucy Mitford. I gave you a piece of me. I have saved you over and over. I have given you counsel. I am derelict in my honor bound duty to bring your Reginald over the threshold. You now straddle my realm, my duty.” Jack stood there, tall and beribboned, arms folded and lost to the streamers that swayed against the mortal breeze. “How much more should I give you?”
“How much is too much for a friend?” She may have been in a fragile position, a position she had never been in before, but she was not Reginald. She did not fear Jack, even if perhaps she should. And she was much too proud to beg. “A friendship isn't a bargain. I have kept your company with no expectation of anything in return, simply my enjoyment of your presence. I thought--I thought my company was something you valued too.” Lucy shook her head. “I have celebrated the birth of your child with you, and mourned the loss of your love.” Her frown deepened. “I have already given you a piece of my heart, Jack. I won't bargain with it now.”
“Are ye willin' to part wit' nothin' to save yerself?” Fin asked Lucy with a deep frown.
Lucy looked over at Fin and shook her head. “That's not--that's not the point.” She raised a wispy hand and tried to press it to her chest. “Everything I have to offer, I already give freely to my friend. What more needs to be bargained for?”
“Lucy. Stop.” Benjamin’s voice was gentle and quiet. He tried to gather up her hands in his. “If you had Fin forge you a door knocker, would you pay?” The touch, as strange as it was in her half-ghostly state, drew Lucy’s attention to Benjamin. “You're asking Jack to do his job, as if you were asking Fin or me or anyone to do their work,” he whispered quickly, “Never doubt that Jack loves you, he does. I know. But he can't do his job for you without following the rules.”
The old Crow stood there, still as a statue, while Fin and Benjamin tried to make her understand.
Slowly, she nodded. "Alright."
A yard away, Reginald breathed a sigh of relief.
Lucy looked back at Jack. She thought back to all of the fairy tales she'd heard as a little girl. All of the things women offered in their moments of desperation. And this was a true moment of desperation. She took a breath. “A lock of my hair.” He gave her his ribbons. She could give him this. A piece of herself, forever his.
Jack’s fingers twitched, as if he could feel the strands of hair, twining them together. “What else.” His focus sharp on Lucy now.
“A lock of hair is a grand thing, Jack. A piece of herself,” Benjamin pointed out quietly, “I'll wrap it in gold thread for you.”
“What else,” his voice tight.
Fin’s fingers tightened in Liath's ruff, causing her to turn and lick at his cheek. She was spared a glance but he quickly looked back to the trio in front of him.
“Lucy--” Just her name in a cautious tone from the true ghost. Reginald watched and listened. He knew her well enough to read the expression on her face.
Lucy looked over at Reginald, and then at Benjamin. Then finally her eyes shifted to Fin, as if just looking at him would give her strength---and perhaps more certainty than she felt at that moment. She looked back to Jack and took a breath. “The right to name my daughter.”
------------------------------------------------------------
Originally posted by Lucy's Ghost on Sun Aug 28, 2016 from a scene with Finlay Mackenzie, Jack Scot, and Benjamin Piers
All to myself alone.
Get you and keep you in my arms evermore,
Leave all your lovers weeping on the faraway shore.”
The singing began faintly, just barely audible under the rowdy calls of the murder of crows that wheeled above Benjamin’s homestead. Benjamin had called for Jack, standing beside the small fire pit where sage and tobacco were burning together, and tried to hug a Lucy who was barely there to be embraced. She waited, uncharacteristically still, as the sound of Jack singing grew. Reginald hung back, as if he could just blend with the background, even though he was more solid than he had ever been. And Fin retreated, sinking onto the porch step and burying his face in the warm neck of his dog, Liath, who came to greet him.
“Out on the briny with the
Moon big and shiney,
Melting your heart of stone...
All to myself alone.”
The song ended with Jack’s sudden arrival. One long-legged step seemed to bring the old Crow into their midst, to the sacred fire where the tobacco still burned. He leaned over the smoke, eyes that held galaxies hooded with pleasure.
“Hi.” Lucy had rehearsed the words she would say when she finally saw Jack. But now, in the face of him she could barely speak. “I need your help.”
When Jack breathed enough smoke to sear the lungs of any mortal, he stood straight to shake out the ribbons of his coat. A cacophony of color ensued. When the satin and silk settled into their quiet whispering, the heavy star gaze fell upon them all---including Reginald. As if a ghost could hide from him. Individually and collectively, the well of the universe drank them up. The grin moved across his face like a zipper opening. Teeth gleamed beneath the blazing newborn stars in his eyes. “What sort of help, Lucy Mitford?”
Fin’s callused fingers sought out Ben's hand, squeezing tightly as the two stood side by side at the porch. Benjamin returned the grip, a steady and warm pressure.
“I need--” Lucy looked to Reginald. He nodded at her, encouraging her to say what they had already agreed upon. “--I need you to help me undo it. To--to make Reginald a ghost again and--and stop me from becoming one.”
A crow, perhaps Lucy's own, dropped from above to perch on a ribboned shoulder. It picked at Jack's unruly and overgrown hair. Jack's eyes narrowed until the stars could no longer be seen. “What do you bring to bargain with, darling?”
“Oh boy,” Benjamin breathed softly. He squeezed Fin's hand, more than to bring comfort, it was to keep him standing there beside him.
“To bargain with?” Lucy didn't understand. “I don't--I don't have anything with me.”
“I'll give a night to you. I will sing to you, burn tobacco in your name, dance for you,” Benjamin offered. Not as sweet an offer as it could be, he was Jack’s, after all. But still. Pretty sweet. His head tilted, he smiled brightly.
Jack looked over Lucy's shoulder to where Benjamin stood hand in hand with MacKenzie. “This is not something you may purchase for her, Bright Star.”
Fin tensed, watching intently, anchored by Benjamin on his right. “Wha' of m'self? Could I?”
Jack licked his chops while looking MacKenzie up and down. “Perhaps.”
Reginald, took a step forward. “No. Me. You can have me. As your servant. For as long---forever.”
Jack’s star gaze snapped back to Lucy. “Such loyalty.”
“She doesn't understand, Jack,” Benjamin countered softly, then looked to Lucy, “May I give her some counsel, then?” He winced faintly at Reg's offer.
Jack sighed and waved at Benjamin. A signal the Bright Star could speak.
“I don't--” Lucy looked at Benjamin expectantly.
Benjamin squeezed Fin's hand again, before pressing the man's fingers into the dog's fur, both of the hounds, a murmur probably charging the old and young dogs to flatten Fin to the deck if he tried to move. He stepped to Lucy, gesturing her to turn slightly. “What I would offer him is a night of my worship. Because I know he likes that, but he knows he can gain that from me any time. He'd love for you to offer the same, but you're not me.” His words were quiet and calm. He smiled a bit grimly. “You must offer something only you can give him that he would want. Offer a story, a song, time -- but don't say forever. Say for a night, an hour, a moment.”
Lucy shook her head slowly, then looked back at Jack, a quick flash of anger in her eyes. “You won't just do this for me? As my friend? Our friendship, as it is, is not enough?”
“Lucy Mitford. I gave you a piece of me. I have saved you over and over. I have given you counsel. I am derelict in my honor bound duty to bring your Reginald over the threshold. You now straddle my realm, my duty.” Jack stood there, tall and beribboned, arms folded and lost to the streamers that swayed against the mortal breeze. “How much more should I give you?”
“How much is too much for a friend?” She may have been in a fragile position, a position she had never been in before, but she was not Reginald. She did not fear Jack, even if perhaps she should. And she was much too proud to beg. “A friendship isn't a bargain. I have kept your company with no expectation of anything in return, simply my enjoyment of your presence. I thought--I thought my company was something you valued too.” Lucy shook her head. “I have celebrated the birth of your child with you, and mourned the loss of your love.” Her frown deepened. “I have already given you a piece of my heart, Jack. I won't bargain with it now.”
“Are ye willin' to part wit' nothin' to save yerself?” Fin asked Lucy with a deep frown.
Lucy looked over at Fin and shook her head. “That's not--that's not the point.” She raised a wispy hand and tried to press it to her chest. “Everything I have to offer, I already give freely to my friend. What more needs to be bargained for?”
“Lucy. Stop.” Benjamin’s voice was gentle and quiet. He tried to gather up her hands in his. “If you had Fin forge you a door knocker, would you pay?” The touch, as strange as it was in her half-ghostly state, drew Lucy’s attention to Benjamin. “You're asking Jack to do his job, as if you were asking Fin or me or anyone to do their work,” he whispered quickly, “Never doubt that Jack loves you, he does. I know. But he can't do his job for you without following the rules.”
The old Crow stood there, still as a statue, while Fin and Benjamin tried to make her understand.
Slowly, she nodded. "Alright."
A yard away, Reginald breathed a sigh of relief.
Lucy looked back at Jack. She thought back to all of the fairy tales she'd heard as a little girl. All of the things women offered in their moments of desperation. And this was a true moment of desperation. She took a breath. “A lock of my hair.” He gave her his ribbons. She could give him this. A piece of herself, forever his.
Jack’s fingers twitched, as if he could feel the strands of hair, twining them together. “What else.” His focus sharp on Lucy now.
“A lock of hair is a grand thing, Jack. A piece of herself,” Benjamin pointed out quietly, “I'll wrap it in gold thread for you.”
“What else,” his voice tight.
Fin’s fingers tightened in Liath's ruff, causing her to turn and lick at his cheek. She was spared a glance but he quickly looked back to the trio in front of him.
“Lucy--” Just her name in a cautious tone from the true ghost. Reginald watched and listened. He knew her well enough to read the expression on her face.
Lucy looked over at Reginald, and then at Benjamin. Then finally her eyes shifted to Fin, as if just looking at him would give her strength---and perhaps more certainty than she felt at that moment. She looked back to Jack and took a breath. “The right to name my daughter.”
------------------------------------------------------------
Originally posted by Lucy's Ghost on Sun Aug 28, 2016 from a scene with Finlay Mackenzie, Jack Scot, and Benjamin Piers
-
Lucy Mitford
- Proven Adventurer
- Posts: 209
- Joined: Wed Jan 09, 2013 2:42 am
- Location: Rhy'Din
- Contact:
Re: The Ghost and Miss Mitford
Benjamin almost started to speak over Lucy, to obscure any offer of first or second or whatever born children, but as he realized what she said, he closed his mouth. He nodded slightly.
Fin’s wide blue eyes flew to Lucy, wondering.
Jack’s grin turned to a genuine smile. “I will take a lock of your hair and name your daughter and...,” he paused to lean close to Lucy's ear, a conspiratorial whisper, “...your friendship.” He stepped back and turned to eye Reginald. “And you will give me what?”
Lucy had been about to protest that Jack may have one or the other but not both when he leaned in to whisper. The faintest of smiles curved her lips. But it was short lived. She turned to look at Reginald.
The ghost, for as barely ghostly as he was, looked back at Jack. “Ain't got much to bargain with.” In his mind, Lucy had already offered more than she should. But he knew he did have one thing to offer. “I'll let her go.”
Fin sucked in a deep breath. It was the right thing to do, he knew it, but also knew that Lucy would put up a hell of a fight over that. As it happened, Lucy didn't put up much of a fight. She did look away, however. Unable to meet Reginald's gaze.
Benjamin wasn't sure what the significance of that was, he didn't know much about Lucy and her ghost. But a glance at Fin confirmed that it was a fairly deep offer given to Jack.
“And you will cross over as you should have done so long ago?” Jack squinted at Reginald. The devil was in the details.
Reginald nodded. “I will go. I will do whatever I can to go.”
Lucy's acceptance had Fin’s shoulders easing, grateful that she wouldn't prolong her own torture. Benjamin gave a gentle and empathic smile before he slipped back to Fin, a faint exhalation, running an arm around Fin's shoulders. Fin leaned into Ben, head tipped against the other man's while he watched.
Jack spit in his palm and held it out for Lucy to shake. “We have an accord.”
Lucy raised a brow at Jack. She wasn't sure if her hand would be corporeal enough to shake. She reached, uncertainly, to shake his hand. “Alright.”
His grip was solid and firm as if Lucy was not ghostly at all. He spit into the palm of his other hand and held that out to Reginald to grasp. He did not let go of Lucy's hand.
Reginald stepped forward. He was much more reluctant to offer his hand to Jack. In spite of everything, his heart still wanted to stay. It was not easy for a ghost to give up the living world. But he did take Jack's hand. A bargain was a bargain. It was time for him to go.
Jack cocked his head toward Lucy and gave her a wink before yanking hard on their hands and drawing them, careening into one another. Lucy resisted but only for a moment and only out of surprise. She was soon stumbling forward, right towards the direction she was pulled. Reginald met her there, still so unused to having anything resembling a body that he couldn't resist at all.
“Oh, Bright Star?” Jack called out in the midst of crashing bodies and ribbons picked up by an unearthly wind. “Some energy, if you please.”
“Yes,” Benjamin responded, lifting his hands and cupping them. His head bowed, eyes slid shut. Energy ignited off of him in swift threads of electricity, blue and hot. For a brief moment, silvery patterns painted over his face and arms, perhaps a trick of the erratic light. That energy gathered, he passed it over to Jack, a spinning ball of lightning. Thunder boomed over the hills. The clouds closed in much faster. But, no rain. Not yet.
Fin was quick to straighten and lean away from Ben so that he could do whatever he needed to do. He didn't move away, though, just gave the Welshman some wiggle room. Eyes widened again to see for himself what transpired between the two magic wielders, his gaze flicking to the sky when he heard the thunder, felt it rumble in his bones.
As Lucy and Reg closed in upon each other, they came under a shadow of great wings. The Crow let them go at the last moment when impact was certain, to grasp at the lightning and bring it down upon their heads.
Flash!
Fin was suddenly very glad for the amulet that protected him from ricochet magic. Squinting hard, it was difficult to watch through the glare what was happening to Lucy and Reginald, uncertain if he could hear any cries of dismay or pain over the cawing of the crows and thunder rolling in over the pastures.
Lucy and Reginald collided. For a split second it was almost as if they shared one body, for in the end, they had only ever had enough corporeality for one. But then the flash. The lightning blew them back from each other. Lucy stumbled and then fell, her butt hitting the dirt with a solid, earthly thud. Reginald swept backwards like a gust of wind until he could manage to stop himself, his ghostly form floating three feet off the ground once more. “Bloody hell.” The ghost's quiet words of relief.
Captured in the flash, a monochrome image of dusky skinned and dark feathered Fae wearing an impossible pair of black wings. Rub or blink an eye and it was gone, replaced with a singed and unruly scarecrow, grinning like a fiend.
“Are you okay?” Benjamin asked quickly, anxiously, looking from Lucy to Reginald, then turning to make sure Fin hadn't been caught in any blow back. He was pretty sure the Scotsman was grounded, but he hadn't had a chance to check.
Maybe not grounded, but he wasn't zapped, either! Fin was fine, looking to Lucy with concern to make sure she was alright.
Lucy remained on the ground, looking at her hands. She opened and closed them. Her magic was still out of reach. But she could feel, immediately, that she was herself again. She looked up at Jack first, her eyes shimmering with relief and gratitude. Then she nodded and looked over at Benjamin. “I think so.”
That meant Benjamin could now tease Fin with static electric zappies off of his fingertips. He grinned and raised his forefingers like a brat kid who'd just spent ten minutes shoofing his stocking feet on the carpet.
Relief flooded Fin, blowing out an explosive exhale, slumping on the step of the porch. Ben got a shove to the side, a light smirk riding his lips. Ben snickered and slid down to sit beside Fin. He exhaled too, long and relieved.
Reginald tried to fade into the background as he often did when he wanted to just disappear. But he could not fully leave. Not yet. He would uphold his end of the bargain. But even if he wanted to, he couldn't go just yet.
Lucy held one of her hands up to Jack for his help off the ground. Taking shallow breaths still, her own exhaustion starting to show in her eyes.
“Come in and lay on the sofa. I'll go throw some steaks on the grill,” Benjamin offered with a warm smile.
Jack took Lucy's hand, gentle and genteel. The tug this time was easy, enough to allow her to gain her legs.
She got to her feet, but didn't immediately let go of Jack's hand. Rather she tried to draw in close for a hug. “Thank you.”
Jack wrapped her in ribbons and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “You have time still.”
------------------------------------------------------------
Originally posted on Thu Sep 08, 2016 from a scene with Finlay Mackenzie, Jack Scot, and Benjamin Piers
Fin’s wide blue eyes flew to Lucy, wondering.
Jack’s grin turned to a genuine smile. “I will take a lock of your hair and name your daughter and...,” he paused to lean close to Lucy's ear, a conspiratorial whisper, “...your friendship.” He stepped back and turned to eye Reginald. “And you will give me what?”
Lucy had been about to protest that Jack may have one or the other but not both when he leaned in to whisper. The faintest of smiles curved her lips. But it was short lived. She turned to look at Reginald.
The ghost, for as barely ghostly as he was, looked back at Jack. “Ain't got much to bargain with.” In his mind, Lucy had already offered more than she should. But he knew he did have one thing to offer. “I'll let her go.”
Fin sucked in a deep breath. It was the right thing to do, he knew it, but also knew that Lucy would put up a hell of a fight over that. As it happened, Lucy didn't put up much of a fight. She did look away, however. Unable to meet Reginald's gaze.
Benjamin wasn't sure what the significance of that was, he didn't know much about Lucy and her ghost. But a glance at Fin confirmed that it was a fairly deep offer given to Jack.
“And you will cross over as you should have done so long ago?” Jack squinted at Reginald. The devil was in the details.
Reginald nodded. “I will go. I will do whatever I can to go.”
Lucy's acceptance had Fin’s shoulders easing, grateful that she wouldn't prolong her own torture. Benjamin gave a gentle and empathic smile before he slipped back to Fin, a faint exhalation, running an arm around Fin's shoulders. Fin leaned into Ben, head tipped against the other man's while he watched.
Jack spit in his palm and held it out for Lucy to shake. “We have an accord.”
Lucy raised a brow at Jack. She wasn't sure if her hand would be corporeal enough to shake. She reached, uncertainly, to shake his hand. “Alright.”
His grip was solid and firm as if Lucy was not ghostly at all. He spit into the palm of his other hand and held that out to Reginald to grasp. He did not let go of Lucy's hand.
Reginald stepped forward. He was much more reluctant to offer his hand to Jack. In spite of everything, his heart still wanted to stay. It was not easy for a ghost to give up the living world. But he did take Jack's hand. A bargain was a bargain. It was time for him to go.
Jack cocked his head toward Lucy and gave her a wink before yanking hard on their hands and drawing them, careening into one another. Lucy resisted but only for a moment and only out of surprise. She was soon stumbling forward, right towards the direction she was pulled. Reginald met her there, still so unused to having anything resembling a body that he couldn't resist at all.
“Oh, Bright Star?” Jack called out in the midst of crashing bodies and ribbons picked up by an unearthly wind. “Some energy, if you please.”
“Yes,” Benjamin responded, lifting his hands and cupping them. His head bowed, eyes slid shut. Energy ignited off of him in swift threads of electricity, blue and hot. For a brief moment, silvery patterns painted over his face and arms, perhaps a trick of the erratic light. That energy gathered, he passed it over to Jack, a spinning ball of lightning. Thunder boomed over the hills. The clouds closed in much faster. But, no rain. Not yet.
Fin was quick to straighten and lean away from Ben so that he could do whatever he needed to do. He didn't move away, though, just gave the Welshman some wiggle room. Eyes widened again to see for himself what transpired between the two magic wielders, his gaze flicking to the sky when he heard the thunder, felt it rumble in his bones.
As Lucy and Reg closed in upon each other, they came under a shadow of great wings. The Crow let them go at the last moment when impact was certain, to grasp at the lightning and bring it down upon their heads.
Flash!
Fin was suddenly very glad for the amulet that protected him from ricochet magic. Squinting hard, it was difficult to watch through the glare what was happening to Lucy and Reginald, uncertain if he could hear any cries of dismay or pain over the cawing of the crows and thunder rolling in over the pastures.
Lucy and Reginald collided. For a split second it was almost as if they shared one body, for in the end, they had only ever had enough corporeality for one. But then the flash. The lightning blew them back from each other. Lucy stumbled and then fell, her butt hitting the dirt with a solid, earthly thud. Reginald swept backwards like a gust of wind until he could manage to stop himself, his ghostly form floating three feet off the ground once more. “Bloody hell.” The ghost's quiet words of relief.
Captured in the flash, a monochrome image of dusky skinned and dark feathered Fae wearing an impossible pair of black wings. Rub or blink an eye and it was gone, replaced with a singed and unruly scarecrow, grinning like a fiend.
“Are you okay?” Benjamin asked quickly, anxiously, looking from Lucy to Reginald, then turning to make sure Fin hadn't been caught in any blow back. He was pretty sure the Scotsman was grounded, but he hadn't had a chance to check.
Maybe not grounded, but he wasn't zapped, either! Fin was fine, looking to Lucy with concern to make sure she was alright.
Lucy remained on the ground, looking at her hands. She opened and closed them. Her magic was still out of reach. But she could feel, immediately, that she was herself again. She looked up at Jack first, her eyes shimmering with relief and gratitude. Then she nodded and looked over at Benjamin. “I think so.”
That meant Benjamin could now tease Fin with static electric zappies off of his fingertips. He grinned and raised his forefingers like a brat kid who'd just spent ten minutes shoofing his stocking feet on the carpet.
Relief flooded Fin, blowing out an explosive exhale, slumping on the step of the porch. Ben got a shove to the side, a light smirk riding his lips. Ben snickered and slid down to sit beside Fin. He exhaled too, long and relieved.
Reginald tried to fade into the background as he often did when he wanted to just disappear. But he could not fully leave. Not yet. He would uphold his end of the bargain. But even if he wanted to, he couldn't go just yet.
Lucy held one of her hands up to Jack for his help off the ground. Taking shallow breaths still, her own exhaustion starting to show in her eyes.
“Come in and lay on the sofa. I'll go throw some steaks on the grill,” Benjamin offered with a warm smile.
Jack took Lucy's hand, gentle and genteel. The tug this time was easy, enough to allow her to gain her legs.
She got to her feet, but didn't immediately let go of Jack's hand. Rather she tried to draw in close for a hug. “Thank you.”
Jack wrapped her in ribbons and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “You have time still.”
------------------------------------------------------------
Originally posted on Thu Sep 08, 2016 from a scene with Finlay Mackenzie, Jack Scot, and Benjamin Piers
-
Lucy Mitford
- Proven Adventurer
- Posts: 209
- Joined: Wed Jan 09, 2013 2:42 am
- Location: Rhy'Din
- Contact:
Re: The Ghost and Miss Mitford
“Will you come to the beach with me, love? I want to watch the waves.” One last time, he thought. I want to see the waves one last time.
He floated at her side. He no longer had to work at matching her pace. It was overcast but warm still. The summer humidity building bruising storm clouds over the sea in shades of purple and green.
Lucy sat on the sand, just out of reach of the lapping water. She wouldn’t look at him. Her eyes on the rocks, the ocean, the horizon. He smiled, amused. He knew her tactics. “You can’t ignore me.”
She did though. Or she tried, tucking her hair back from the grasping wind.
“Lucy, it’s time.”
“No, it’s not.”
“I made a promise.”
“He said there’s still time.”
“My life for yours. I promised.”
“Yeah, you promised. I didn’t.”
“Lucy---”
“You can’t ask me to kill you twice!”
Her sudden shout echoed against the cliffs of the beach cove. Reginald shook his head. He lowered as best he could, until it seemed like he was sitting beside her. He let her watch the waves for a moment. The steady forward and back. The constant of the tides. “I’m not alive. I never have been. Not so long as we have been together.”
“What am I--what am I going to do without you?”
“Och, don’t be so dramatic, love. Just look at yourself, would you? Look at where you are. You’re going to enjoy your friends, and do new things at your gallery, and travel, and dance, and celebrate being alive. And someday you’ll have that little daughter you been dreaming of. With whatever fool name Jack gives the poor lass.”
Lucy looked over at Reg, struggling to hold back her smile.
“Something like Little Miss Flower Pot or Lady Apple Bottom or Princess Papaloo. The poor bit.”
“Reg---” She was laughing now.
“What’ll you do when I’m gone?” He scoffed. “What’ll you do? You’ll get up every morning and live this beautiful bleeding life you’ve got stretching out ahead of you.” He shook his head. “You can’t do it if you’re looking at me all the time. If you’re dreaming of me all the time.” He looked at her. “You can’t create your future if you’re spending your days staring into the face of your past.”
Lucy’s smile broke. She looked down at the sand. Reg turned to watch the waves.
They sat together in silence again. The sky darkening as the sun retreated behind them. Day edging towards night. Reg tried to breathe, a thing he did in thoughtless moments, before he remembered that he was a ghost. He wanted to smell the ocean. To feel the sand beneath his bare feet. He could not remember how long it had been. Instead, he touched the only thing he could. He pulled the white cashmere scarf from his jacket pocket. Felt its softness in his hands. Tickled his palms on the fringe. He brought it up to his face, seeking that familiar scent, that last little bit of Lucy that clung to it. He wasn’t sure if the scent was still there, or if he was just smelling a memory.
He looked out at the ocean again. “It’s time.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know how to do it.”
“I think you do, love.” He turned to her. “I think you’ve known all along.”
------------------------------------------------------------
Originally posted by Lucy's Ghost on Tue Sep 13, 2016
He floated at her side. He no longer had to work at matching her pace. It was overcast but warm still. The summer humidity building bruising storm clouds over the sea in shades of purple and green.
Lucy sat on the sand, just out of reach of the lapping water. She wouldn’t look at him. Her eyes on the rocks, the ocean, the horizon. He smiled, amused. He knew her tactics. “You can’t ignore me.”
She did though. Or she tried, tucking her hair back from the grasping wind.
“Lucy, it’s time.”
“No, it’s not.”
“I made a promise.”
“He said there’s still time.”
“My life for yours. I promised.”
“Yeah, you promised. I didn’t.”
“Lucy---”
“You can’t ask me to kill you twice!”
Her sudden shout echoed against the cliffs of the beach cove. Reginald shook his head. He lowered as best he could, until it seemed like he was sitting beside her. He let her watch the waves for a moment. The steady forward and back. The constant of the tides. “I’m not alive. I never have been. Not so long as we have been together.”
“What am I--what am I going to do without you?”
“Och, don’t be so dramatic, love. Just look at yourself, would you? Look at where you are. You’re going to enjoy your friends, and do new things at your gallery, and travel, and dance, and celebrate being alive. And someday you’ll have that little daughter you been dreaming of. With whatever fool name Jack gives the poor lass.”
Lucy looked over at Reg, struggling to hold back her smile.
“Something like Little Miss Flower Pot or Lady Apple Bottom or Princess Papaloo. The poor bit.”
“Reg---” She was laughing now.
“What’ll you do when I’m gone?” He scoffed. “What’ll you do? You’ll get up every morning and live this beautiful bleeding life you’ve got stretching out ahead of you.” He shook his head. “You can’t do it if you’re looking at me all the time. If you’re dreaming of me all the time.” He looked at her. “You can’t create your future if you’re spending your days staring into the face of your past.”
Lucy’s smile broke. She looked down at the sand. Reg turned to watch the waves.
They sat together in silence again. The sky darkening as the sun retreated behind them. Day edging towards night. Reg tried to breathe, a thing he did in thoughtless moments, before he remembered that he was a ghost. He wanted to smell the ocean. To feel the sand beneath his bare feet. He could not remember how long it had been. Instead, he touched the only thing he could. He pulled the white cashmere scarf from his jacket pocket. Felt its softness in his hands. Tickled his palms on the fringe. He brought it up to his face, seeking that familiar scent, that last little bit of Lucy that clung to it. He wasn’t sure if the scent was still there, or if he was just smelling a memory.
He looked out at the ocean again. “It’s time.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know how to do it.”
“I think you do, love.” He turned to her. “I think you’ve known all along.”
------------------------------------------------------------
Originally posted by Lucy's Ghost on Tue Sep 13, 2016
-
Lucy Mitford
- Proven Adventurer
- Posts: 209
- Joined: Wed Jan 09, 2013 2:42 am
- Location: Rhy'Din
- Contact:
Re: The Ghost and Miss Mitford
“For a while.” Lucy struggled to put the admission to words, her voice so quiet, it nearly drowned in the sound of the waves crashing. There had been no moment of clarity. No moment of discovery. At some point, she just knew.
Reg nodded beside her, looking out at the water. “You think it’ll be pretty up there?”
“I think--” Lucy looked over at him, at her ghost, and for the first time she could recall, she wanted to hold him. Wanted to wrap him in her arms and hold onto him. Instead of wanting him to be the one to hold her. “I think it will be whatever you want it to be.”
He smirked. “Lots of them pretty lasses in lace knickers, then?”
“Why not?” She smiled faintly.
He grinned and winked at her. Then he looked back out at the ocean. The humor faded from his expression. “Will it hurt?”
Lucy drew in a shaky breath and then released it in a heavy, soul-emptying sigh. “I don’t know.” But she did know.
“Alright.” He nodded. Then shifted so that he was standing. He wrapped her cashmere scarf around his fist, as if he were intent on taking it with him. “Now, love.”
She swallowed hard, and then nodded, getting to her feet on the sand. She opened and closed her hands, turning to face him. She couldn’t look away from this. Not this time. She owed that much to him, at least. To be with him at the end.
Lucy dragged in a breath, then opened her hands at her sides. “I won’t be able to stop it, once I let--once I let go, I won’t be able to stop.”
“I know.” He watched her. “Show me. One last time.”
Show me. Because she had been hiding it for so long.
Lucy closed her eyes and searched herself. It was a small dense star, tiny, barely a single cell, adrift in the chambers of her heart. She had hidden it deep, folded it in on itself, again and again and again, forced it away to protect him. To protect her ghost. From her magic.
She could see the star in her mind’s eye, shimmering and pulsing. Waiting for her.
Lucy opened her eyes. Reginald was just there, just across from her, watching her intently. She tried to memorize his face. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes. The scruff of his beard. The warmth of his smile. He was the worst thing she had ever done. And it was time to do what was right.
She let go.
The dense star of her magic exploded. A loud crack ripped across the beach as white lightning burst from her, arcing over her head, from one palm to the other. Her red hair swirled around her, pulled free by the static charges, the air rippling from the sudden energy that wrapped itself around her. Her bare feet left the sand, the lightning of her magic lifting her into the air.
Reginald floated with her, staying with her as he always did, his dark eyes wide, reflecting the sparks that exploded all around her. “I knew it. I knew it was in you.”
“Reg I--” She couldn’t get her apology out. For the pain she knew was about to come.
Her magic tried to surround her, to envelope her completely, but it was tripped up on Reginald. Caught on the place where their souls entwined. The lightning crackled and licked, burning at the connection between them, tearing at both of them, trying to cast out that which didn’t belong. She felt every second of it, every bit of it, as her magic tore her soul from his. Lucy screamed.
“Lucy!” Reg reached for her, the cashmere scarf wrapped in his hand, his face tense with anguish. But he couldn’t touch her. A final whip of lightning lashed out from her body and severed the last thread of their connected souls.
Finally released from her, Reginald surged up away towards the clouds. Lucy grasped after him, as if he were a runaway kite. But there was no string to be caught.
Reginald hung there for a moment, looking down at her. “So beautiful.” A shadow passed over him as black feathered wings spread across the sky behind him. They wrapped him up, drawing him back and out of sight into the rain-heavy clouds. With a cry, the wings broke apart into a murder of wheeling crows.
Lucy crashed to the sand. All was still and quiet. Her magic receded. There was only the sound of the waves, the constant of the tides. She pushed her chest up off the sand and looked up, searching the sky for him, searching for Reginald. He was gone. She knew he was gone.
Something caught her eye though, slowly drifting down towards her.
When she recognized it, Lucy dropped her head, hands curling into fists against the sand. Why couldn’t he have had this one thing? Just this one thing? Why couldn’t he have been given that? She raised her head again and watched as her white cashmere scarf fell from the sky.
Only it didn’t just fall. The scarf twisted and turned on the currents of air, the shape of it changing, thinning and darkening with every spin, until it landed on the beach just out of reach. Lucy crawled forward to grab it before it was carried away on the tide. A dark blue, satin ribbon.
------------------------------------------------------------
Originally posted on Tue Sep 20, 2016
Reg nodded beside her, looking out at the water. “You think it’ll be pretty up there?”
“I think--” Lucy looked over at him, at her ghost, and for the first time she could recall, she wanted to hold him. Wanted to wrap him in her arms and hold onto him. Instead of wanting him to be the one to hold her. “I think it will be whatever you want it to be.”
He smirked. “Lots of them pretty lasses in lace knickers, then?”
“Why not?” She smiled faintly.
He grinned and winked at her. Then he looked back out at the ocean. The humor faded from his expression. “Will it hurt?”
Lucy drew in a shaky breath and then released it in a heavy, soul-emptying sigh. “I don’t know.” But she did know.
“Alright.” He nodded. Then shifted so that he was standing. He wrapped her cashmere scarf around his fist, as if he were intent on taking it with him. “Now, love.”
She swallowed hard, and then nodded, getting to her feet on the sand. She opened and closed her hands, turning to face him. She couldn’t look away from this. Not this time. She owed that much to him, at least. To be with him at the end.
Lucy dragged in a breath, then opened her hands at her sides. “I won’t be able to stop it, once I let--once I let go, I won’t be able to stop.”
“I know.” He watched her. “Show me. One last time.”
Show me. Because she had been hiding it for so long.
Lucy closed her eyes and searched herself. It was a small dense star, tiny, barely a single cell, adrift in the chambers of her heart. She had hidden it deep, folded it in on itself, again and again and again, forced it away to protect him. To protect her ghost. From her magic.
She could see the star in her mind’s eye, shimmering and pulsing. Waiting for her.
Lucy opened her eyes. Reginald was just there, just across from her, watching her intently. She tried to memorize his face. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes. The scruff of his beard. The warmth of his smile. He was the worst thing she had ever done. And it was time to do what was right.
She let go.
The dense star of her magic exploded. A loud crack ripped across the beach as white lightning burst from her, arcing over her head, from one palm to the other. Her red hair swirled around her, pulled free by the static charges, the air rippling from the sudden energy that wrapped itself around her. Her bare feet left the sand, the lightning of her magic lifting her into the air.
Reginald floated with her, staying with her as he always did, his dark eyes wide, reflecting the sparks that exploded all around her. “I knew it. I knew it was in you.”
“Reg I--” She couldn’t get her apology out. For the pain she knew was about to come.
Her magic tried to surround her, to envelope her completely, but it was tripped up on Reginald. Caught on the place where their souls entwined. The lightning crackled and licked, burning at the connection between them, tearing at both of them, trying to cast out that which didn’t belong. She felt every second of it, every bit of it, as her magic tore her soul from his. Lucy screamed.
“Lucy!” Reg reached for her, the cashmere scarf wrapped in his hand, his face tense with anguish. But he couldn’t touch her. A final whip of lightning lashed out from her body and severed the last thread of their connected souls.
Finally released from her, Reginald surged up away towards the clouds. Lucy grasped after him, as if he were a runaway kite. But there was no string to be caught.
Reginald hung there for a moment, looking down at her. “So beautiful.” A shadow passed over him as black feathered wings spread across the sky behind him. They wrapped him up, drawing him back and out of sight into the rain-heavy clouds. With a cry, the wings broke apart into a murder of wheeling crows.
Lucy crashed to the sand. All was still and quiet. Her magic receded. There was only the sound of the waves, the constant of the tides. She pushed her chest up off the sand and looked up, searching the sky for him, searching for Reginald. He was gone. She knew he was gone.
Something caught her eye though, slowly drifting down towards her.
When she recognized it, Lucy dropped her head, hands curling into fists against the sand. Why couldn’t he have had this one thing? Just this one thing? Why couldn’t he have been given that? She raised her head again and watched as her white cashmere scarf fell from the sky.
Only it didn’t just fall. The scarf twisted and turned on the currents of air, the shape of it changing, thinning and darkening with every spin, until it landed on the beach just out of reach. Lucy crawled forward to grab it before it was carried away on the tide. A dark blue, satin ribbon.
------------------------------------------------------------
Originally posted on Tue Sep 20, 2016
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