Fantasy ♡ need you like a heartbeat. (starboob & ellarose.)

[ellarose]

It's settled, then. Juliet nods and leads the way towards the back cars she traversed before, once again allowing Lucky and Grace to scope ahead and give signals whenever it's safe for them to proceed. With this practiced rhythm established, it doesn't take long at all before they're sneaking through the empty busing coaches. The lingering smell of food in the air is tantalizing. The archer crosses her arms, pressing against herself to stifle any sounds her stomach might make. (Hunger always accompanies a sense of urgency in her... the kind that has the potential to turn into panic if she overthinks it. Willow has her backpack, though. Willow has food. 'It's okay. You're fine.') For a while, there are no pickles to be found-- just disappointing piles of crumbs and stained napkins. Gnats.

Before Juliet can accept that she may not get to eat anything until they meet with Meredith in the city, she spies something bright and green resting on one of the platters further ahead. It can't be-- can it? But oh, it is. Juliet's brown eyes light up with excitement. A pickle! And even better, it's sitting next to a sandwich half with no more than a single bite taken out of it. So much food. Quick as she is, she pilfers the sandwich and inhales it within seconds. (Turkey, cheese, and crunchy lettuce.) It's when she reaches for the pickle that her companion notices what she's doing and says her name in a scandalized, warning tone of voice. Juliet catches Willow's movement in her peripheral and nimbly sweeps herself downward, ducking to avoid having her precious loot smacked out of her hand.

"I was going to share it with you." Juliet insists, presuming that Willow might be upset that she took the entire sandwich half for herself. (Ah. She should have considered that...) She snaps the pickle in half and offers the larger one to the sorceress. Lucky ate her pickle earlier, too-- the archer knows she would also be upset for missing out on the pickles if she were her. "You can have this one."

A faint blush sweeps over Willow's freckled cheeks-- perhaps due to the sentiment-- but her dark curls quickly whip from side to side as she shakes her head and insists that that isn't the reason why. 'Germs! You don't know where that pickle's been, Juliet--'

Juliet blinks confusedly, tilting her head to the side. She doesn't see the issue here. (Growing up in the wood, she has always seen food as food. As long as it's not poisonous or rotting, it won't kill her... and it'd be a waste for this perfectly good pickle to get tossed out!) Before Willow can further explain her stance on the matter, Juliet maintains eye contact with her and eats her half of the pickle. (Hehe. Willow's kinda cute when her face bunches up like that. Wait, wh-- woah.)

Juliet has to perform a backflip down the aisle of the car to avoid having the other half of the split pickle slapped out of her hand. Once she lands, she eats the other half and wears a sly, victorious smirk. (Grace is huffing and shaking her head from her corner of the car, as if to call them children.) Before Willow can scold her for it, or even say 'gross', the lights in the coach snap off and plunge them into total darkness.

Until the lights in their shoes activate, that is. While the halos surrounding them had been subtle in the jungle car, they're extremely noticeable now as they contrast with the darkness. (If not for the perceivable danger of the situation, Juliet might have taken a moment to stare with wonder.) The heroines hurriedly meet each other halfway in the aisle of the car, the luminescence surrounding them even brighter as they stand back to back and survey the area. She wraps her hand around one of the vials that Willow offered her, trying to resist the impulse to reach for her knife instead. (She's more familiar with her weapons, thus more comfortable using them... but according to Willow, these vials can be weapons in their own way. They ought to be effective against foes who use magic like this.)

Juliet notices an almost imperceptible round shape flying towards them from the darkness. She grabs Willow's hand to yank her down with her, narrowly dodging something that whips lightning-quick above their heads. When it collides with the wall behind them, it shatters loudly. Glass. That was one of the plates. (The archer's mind works quickly ahead as she pieces this together. This means they could telepathically control anything in here. The forks, the spoons, the... the knives. The carts.) This becomes especially apparent when she hears dishes and silverware clattering around them-- their shapes rising into the air and circling threateningly around them.

Juliet throws herself over Willow like a shield when the items are flung towards them, taking the impact of the thrown plates, forks, spoons and knives against her back. (Thankfully, none of the knives are so sharp that they can sink into her flesh. That doesn't mean the impact of being hit with them isn't going to leave bruises in the morning.) She hisses through her teeth as one of the plates makes impact with the back of her head, showering glass over them. It's time for them to get out of there. Juliet pushes herself up in spite of the vertigo threatening to take her back down, reaching for Willow's hand. "We need to get out of here." There'll be less weaponry for their adversaries to use in the upcoming cars.

They race towards the back of the coach before another set of silverware can rise and turn against them, Lucky and Grace covering for them as they do so. The dragon takes the lead, batting away the carts that are shoved in their path with their wings while the fox takes the rear, throwing the next set of silverware backward with the force of one of her fierce barks. While Lucky and Willow make it into the next car, Juliet waits for her own companion to race ahead of her.

Juliet's heartbeat is in her ears as she draws a haphazard glyph in the air. Her brown eyes glow a faint amber as she casts-- sparks jumping erratically from her fingertips as she throws a rampant fireball into the shadow car. With that done, she jumps backward into the next coach and slams the door shut behind her. She watches the flames bloom through the glass window, biting her lip as she turns back to face Willow. "...That should keep them busy. Let's head to the caboose. If things get too toasty, we can escape out the back."

 

[starboob]

Gross! That was so unsanitary. Even as danger nips at their heels, Juliet inhaling found train food right in front of her!!! is all that Willow can think about. It plays over and over again in her head, coupled with Juliet’s self-satisfied smirks of defiance. (Five out of five stars cute, but not the point.) Not only was that unsanitary, but it was entirely reckless. She could get food poisoning! She could catch a cold or some other virus! And then Willow will have to take care of her—which honestly sounds kind of cute—and Juliet will miss the Cash Gala and everything will blow up.

Okay, okay. She’s being dramatic. Besides, Juliet staying behind because she caught some sort of stomach bug might be why nothing blow-ups. Willow stares at Juliet with an open mouth, eyes going back and forth between the redhead firestarter and the orange flames consuming the car just behind her. Everything in her body runs cold. The hairs on the back of her neck rise. Willow’s not so used to schooling her expression that her shock, bordering on consternation, is clear as the skies outside. Now she understands what Milfred meant about Juliet’s magic; she’d actually say that toasty-toasty is an understatement. It still sizzles in the air between them, the strength of her will. (She should be afraid.) She swallows. “Juliet—”

Whatever Willow was going to say is interrupted as the window shades close all at once. Right. (And yet she cannot leave Juliet hanging like that. She cannot have her partner thinking that she is afraid of her, because it’s not that. It’s not that at a—)

“Hello, lil ladies.” That too many teeth smile shines through the darkness like the bright scythe moon. The protection of their halos seems paltry against the horrifying silhouette of a man who is not quite a man. “Now, now, let’s not be judgmental,” he drawls out his words, long and slow, addressing the dragon growling on the heroine’s shoulder. “I’m only here for a little chat.”

Lucky hisses, detecting the lie. Flames lick the corner of their maw, inspired by their favorite archer. It’s their favorite sorceress who bates their flames with a consoling nose rub.

“Then chat.” Willow’s fists tighten around her two vials, thumbs pressed against the edge of the cork. While she keeps her tone steady, albeit quiet, her heart hammers against her ribcage like a captive animal. “What do you want? Why are you being such creeps?”

“Well, now, I do understand your degree of upset. My colleagues and I, we just have a different way of handling, ah, situations.” He shifts closer to them—doesn’t move, just appears closer, bordering their collective halos. If it bothers him like it does his colleagues, he doesn’t let it show. The glare of light casts a larger, more looming shadow behind him and makes it more obvious that he is being puppeteered. “I can’t claim to know what my employer desires, but I can assure that this will be your one chance to come quietly, else there will be consequences. Now you seem like a sensible, smart young lady. I advise you to choose your next words carefully.”

Willow scrunches her face. “That’s not very reassuring, sir.” She pops the cork off one of her vials to punctuate her sentence. Aviator Shades tilts his head down, towards the noise, and snarls. He lurches forward, pushing against the halo and though Willow takes another step back, bumping against Juliet, he’s not able to get close enough to touch them. Try as he might, the halo acts as a forcefield. He pushes and pushes and it burns him. His reaching fingers redden, blister, and pop. (Yuck!) This is not a deterrent.

Gradually, she regains her sense of what’s happening, peeling her focus from those nasty hands. She lifts the vial and angles it towards his shadow, but it pulls back even while it drives Aviator Shades further into their circle. Without thinking, instinct and lessons with Clover and Leif taking over, she swings her leg up, right between his legs. In an instant, the shadow shivers and disappears, the glasses fall off his face to reveal his bulging eyes as he keels over, clutching his crotch.

She winces in sympathy, stepping around the whimpering man, searching for the shadow but nothing is behind him. “Gnats.” Rather than stay behind to find out what the recovery time will be, Willow gestures for them to continue. Lucky, thinking ahead, conks Aviator Shades upside his head, knocking him out with their tail. Juliet takes this measure a step further and binds his hands behind his back, then crunches his shades with her bitchin’ boots.

Evidently, they were only one car away from the empty caboose. Taking advantage of the temporary quiet, Willow finally faces Juliet to continue where she was interrupted before. For one brief and cruel moment, Willow debates taking away one of the stars, though she cannot stand the thought of Juliet’s sad brown eyes. So she summons her sticker sheet of blue frowny faces and sticks one on her collarbone. The heat of her skin under the thin adhesive tempts Willow. Her chest swells. She forces herself to pull away, clearing her throat. “Your health is important to me, Juliet. Even without magicked food to worry about, there are illnesses that you could succumb to by eating mystery food. Illnesses that will make you sluggish, that could take you out of a fight.” Knowing how Juliet appreciates practicality as much as Willow, she tries this angle with her.

“Three frowny faces and…” She pauses, rocking her head from side to side, jostling her thoughts. “No stories. No story time.” She nods resolutely, satisfied that her message is clear. There is still the casting incident to discuss, something Willow is dreading because she doesn’t want to sound mean, and it needs to be said.

She considers peeling off another frowny face, but this is more serious than a frowny face could ever communicate. The sticker sheet disappears. Willow shuffles closer to her companion, reaching for her hands. “Your casting back there frightened me.” Quickly, she clarifies, “I’m not afraid of you. I am afraid for you, if you continue trying these experiments. I told you I would teach you, Juliet, and I meant that. I mean that. I know we’ve been so busy that it’s been hard to get proper training in on either side, so let’s make a schedule and stick to it. We can wake up earlier and use the morning to train.”

Carefully, she reaches to tuck a stray red strand behind her ear. “Magic is an incredible power and it can be dangerous. The will of it can too easily backfire if the caster is not strong and I know you’re strong.” She squeezes her hands. “Millie’s talked about your potential before and she’s not wrong, obviously. You have the makings to be as good as me someday.

“I know you weren’t there for my lesson with our favorite wood dweller when I taught her about glyphs, but they require precision. You’re lucky your glyph didn’t explode that entire car or worse.” Willow delivers this gently, without anger, because she’s not angry; she’s concerned. Her tone isn’t chastising either. She balances concern with encouragement well. The last thing she wants if for Juliet to give up on casting. “I won’t lie, I’ve thought about asking you to disaster cast before, because even I forget how particular the will of magic can be, but I want you to promise me to wait. The last thing I want is for you to get hurt.”

After she lets that settle between them, she steps away from Juliet then summons a glyph workbook. “This booklet will go through the basic glyph shapes. When you’ve mastered those, we can get into the elements. You already seem to have an affinity for fire, so we can start there.” She grins wryly. “Or I can start by teaching you about my bag and how to summon from the snack section so you don’t have to resort to found pickles. I’ll even stock up on pickles, just for you.”

 

[ellarose]

'I'm afraid for you.' Juliet holds her breath, stiffening. How many times has she heard those very same words before one of her freedoms were taken away from her? It's always prefaced as fear before she's asked to lock some part of herself away forever. (Asked... no. That's not an accurate describer. Rather she'd be forced. Threatened with curses, isolation and those mind-destroying medicines.) Willow's not like them, but the shock on her face was real. She was aghast. The new sticker burns against her collarbone. (All at once, Juliet is too much, too unladylike, unrefined, not fast enough, dirty, she's bad, on the path to wickedness...) Grace temporarily distracts her from her reverie, rubbing affectionately against her calves. It stops the whispers in her head from becoming screams. Breathe. Listen to the rest. Just listen. It takes everything in her not to tear her hands away from Willow's. She's not even close to seeing the full extent of what she's capable of. If she knew... her stomach twists. She'll find out eventually. It's inevitable.

Willow may not be afraid of Juliet now... but she will be. (Everyone will be.)

When Juliet looks beyond all of that, grounding herself in the present instead of the past or future, she can see that Willow's advice is more or less the equivalent of the advice that she had given her, back when she entered a fight before she was ready. The sorceress doesn't think she should stop casting. Just that she should wait until she's well and ready for it. It's a sound request, practical and reasonable. Not at all restricting. (Even if Juliet is impatient to catch up to their magic-wielding opponents in a world where she can't always rely on her weapons.) These conditions are perfectly acceptable.

Juliet takes a deep breath, holds onto it for as long as it takes for the knots of tension in her shoulders to unravel, and releases. Once her heart is settled, she scoops the frowning sticker onto her thumb and sets it on the inside cover of the workbook Willow handed her. (She still doesn't completely understand what was wrong with the pickles she found. They tasted perfectly fine... and she feels perfectly fine. Hm. If she doesn't want future story times taken away, she'll have to be sneakier about it.) "I understand. I'll take care not to cast in such a way again." She nods solemnly to show that she's heard her companion and means to practice before her next attempt.

"...We probably shouldn't start with your bag, though." Juliet mentions sheepishly. Although she can see that Willow's trying to make her feel better by appealing to the snacker in her, there are some things she wouldn't dare to risk with her casting. (She'll risk the bad men without batting a lash... not the snacks, though. Never the snacks.) Whether Millie was teaching her magic to tie shoelaces or make things levitate, it would always end in fire. It didn't matter how much she practiced with the witch, her magic tends to accompany sparks. Unless she's making or using arrows, it's usually toasty toasty. She bites her lower lip. "I wouldn't want to set the snacks aflame."

Juliet observes the empty vial and then looks down at the man on the ground. (Strangely enough, his body casts no shadow now.) What happened to him?

"I wonder what became of his shadow..." Juliet muses, inching a little closer to him. She squints, studying the different shadows in the coach for signs of maliciousness. (Watching eyes... sharp teeth... the sorts of things that Sefarina's shadows contain.) No. There's nothing there. Not yet, anyway. "It seemed to be controlling him against his will... like a puppet." Especially as it pushed him to fry his hand in the light they cast. Unless he's the sort who has a spectacularly high tolerance for pain, it was unsettling to watch.

Come to think of it, there might be something they can do to keep their enemy's sinister shadow from possessing him again. Kneeling down beside the man, Juliet reaches in her bag for her little sewing kit. As she readies her needle and thread, she searches the shadows around them for one that's vaugely the right size. There. Once she finds one, she sticks it with her needle and quietly gets to work sewing it into the soles of the man's shoes.

"There. He'll be safe now that he has a proper shadow." Juliet says, nodding resolutely. A proper, normal shadow. She packs up her sewing kit and tucks it away before rising back up to her feet. "There were others... it's hard to say how much time we'll have before they come for us." She turns to Willow, her eyes serious. (Considering the 'friendly chat' approach failed, their enemies will likely plan an ambush next.) "Should we try and set a trap for them?"

 

[starboob]

Oh. Why hadn’t Willow thought of that? It seems so simple, so obvious that she almost smacks her forehead. Of course a sewing kit can pin down a shadow! It’s such a staple feature in kid’s shows and storybooks, but the sorceress hasn’t thought of those since middle school. (And she tries to never think about middle school. On principle. As praxis.) She blinks bewilderedly, automatically awarding Juliet another gold star. “Good thinking, August.”

Now to scheming. Willow scratches the top of her head. (A stray gold star that’s stuck to her finger gets caught in her curls.) She tilts her head, swiveling her neck as she takes in the dimensions of this car. Neither of them blew it up, so it’s still intact. Unlike the last car, full of bussing carts and trash (trash!!!), this one is just a rundown passenger car in desperate need of repairs. They can leave the body where it is; nothing needs to be rearranged… She thinks this could work. “Alright, sure… sure.” She mutters to herself, continuing in incoherent whispers as she reaches for her keychain. She plucks off the mirrorball, uncovering it, and feels around for a couple other charms; a miniature rubber duck and a loaded pair of dice.

“I think we can create a web.” By way of explanation, she holds up their thread in one hand and her mirrorball in the other. Once Juliet agrees, she positions the archer at the far end of the car. Clasping both hands around her mirrorball, her eyes flash, and, as she spreads her hands apart, the mirrorball separates. With a few flicks of her wrist, the pieces fly all over the car, fixing themselves to the ceiling, the walls, the floors, the corners, one gets stuck on Lucky then attaches to a table, and on and on until she’s left empty handed. She sticks one foot over the piece in front of her, it widens, and just before she steps through, she reaches for Juliet’s hand. “This might be a good time to get knife incident number two ready. Arrows would work, too.”

Schloop!

The portal shrinks behind Willow as another opens. She falls out of the ceiling into a well placed mirror piece right below her on the floor. It opens, swallows the sorceress, and spits her out from the wall. She launches towards the opposite wall and gets sucked into another portal that has her tumbling across the floor into another. She zigzags up, down, sideways, diagonal in a dizzying minute—Lucky sways just trying to follow their companion’s movements—before she rolls out of the portal right behind Juliet, hitting the back of her heels. She giggles quietly, scooping herself from the floor and grabbing the sides of her head to steady the spinning world around her. Leaning ever so slightly against the archer, because she’s, uh, still very dizzy and it’s practical, she grabs their thread and nudges Juliet to the same.

A searing spiderweb of gold burns Willow’s eyes, their thread igniting under their touch. The intensity of it forces her to let go after only a few seconds. It takes another few seconds for her vision to recover, blinking away the crisscross pattern from her eyes. “Phase one and done,” she nods, snapping her fingers so that her mirrors lock into place and are prevented from opening up as portals.

Phase two is simply: Hide and wait. But first, Willow places the rubber duck next to Aviator Shades then scampers back to Juliet without explanation. Since they don't know from where the next in the bunch will come, Willow takes care to create an illusion around them, causing them to disappear from view, including their halos. This is more than just casting a glyph, this takes up most of her concentration. She settles into one of the empty seats, keeping a soft gaze ahead of her. Lucky sticks close beside Willow, their scales shift like a chameleon’s, allowing them to blend in without the sorceress’s help.

It's quiet until it's not. A sudden whoosh! pours into the car as a dark cloud spills from the ceiling. Edges of the shadow unfurl through the car like hound dogs sniffing for game. When the shadow fully drops to the floor, Pinstripes appears. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his inner pocket, then touches his finger to the tip, igniting it. (Willow wrinkles her nose, but doesn't break her concentration.) He pans his gaze around, landing on Aviator Shades. "Hmph." He shoves his hands into his pockets and struts over to the body, almost stepping on the rubber duck. Right before he does, he stops and a tendril of shadow lifts it to his face. The second he grabs it with his bare hand, thick green goo spurts from the beak, splattering all over his face, coating his shades. He steps back with a growl, and the shadows rise in defense around him. "Cheap tricks won't work, girlies."

 

[ellarose]

Juliet bites into the slightest smile, suppressing a laugh as the duck spits goo in their pursuer's face. He might claim it's not working, but they've got him pressed, as Crimson or Clover might say. (She then believes it imperative that they introduce Lavinia Laurence to such a duck someday... it would be quite funny to see the look on her face.) The archer schools herself as the shadows flanking the man rise higher and then crash down over the car like a curtain, covering every inch of it in total darkness. At first, the only source of light is the pinprick of orange shining from his lit cigarette. A second later, though, and a faint gold illuminates the entire car as their web appears. This is more than a cheap trick. It's a well-laid trap. They're not simple 'girlies' to be disposed of before they reach their destination. They won't fall before fighting the true monsters.

Shades can't see their thread like they can. When he takes a step forward, he comes precariously close to bumping into the one hanging in front of his stomach. He yelps as this unseen light sizzles and burns, taking a step back. Another thread burns a line against the back of his neck. His brow furrows as he looks about the car confusedly. "This ain't funny, girls." Even so, he begins to laugh. It's a dark, quiet laugh that gradually becomes somewhat... maniacal. The train car jerks and trembles as it begins to hurtle forward even faster than before, almost throwing the heroines onto the floor. Juliet grabs for the wall and Willow's shoulder to steady her. Alarm flares through her. Something's wrong. "We're not fuckin' around. Whatever you do to me won't mean shit. It's already too late." He smiles with his too-sharp teeth. "You've already lost."

Juliet narrows her eyes. There were three of them earlier. It leaves at least one of their companions unaccounted for... and it's possible there were others lurking about as well. The train is massive, crowded. What are the rest of them doing, then, if they're not chasing them down? (This is the distraction! They may have laid a trap of their own, but she should have anticipated one waiting for them as well.) Her heart races, catching up to the escalated speed of the train on the tracks. This is why... she was right to think the mechanical beasts dangerous creatures. They are massive, entirely too heavy, and undoubtedly capable of much destruction with the wrong person at the helm.

"You're going to crash the train." Juliet hisses accusingly through gritted teeth. There are children along with so many innocent, unknowing people aboard this train. Are these the lengths their adversaries will go to to ensure that they don't meddle with their plans? She's looked this kind of evil dead in the face before. It doesn't exactly surprise her to encounter it again. She's just furious with herself for not considering this sooner. The train itself may not be their enemy... but it can still be used like a weapon against them, so long as men are at the controls. "You would really risk the lives of all these people to achieve your own ends?"

"Oh, it will be a dreadful, tragic accident to be sure." Shades shakes his head, wearing the kind of expression that nearly convinces Juliet to step out of hiding and punch him in the face. (Instead, she raises her bow and readies one of her arrows, keeping herself cool and composed. Focus. Aim...) "But it is a necessary price to pay for to ensure that justice for our fallen god is--"

Thunk. A sleeping lily arrow hits him square in the chest before he can ramble on, dissolving in a pulse of soft white light. (Considering she's not entirely sure these people are willingly working for Charming Street, she doesn't want to hurt him.) They're nothing but shadows without their puppets. If they wanted to get this job done properly, they should've done it themselves. "Is... what the hell was that?"

Juliet reaches for two of her time arrows, pressing them into Willow's hand. Although she's not entirely sure how effective they might be against an entire train... it could buy them some precious, life-saving seconds. "If things get toasty, stab the train. It has become our enemy." She whispers urgently. "Keep this fool busy until he falls asleep. Make sure he doesn't try anything else." There's no telling what else these maniacs might do to appease their so-called god when left unattended. Grace looks up, alert when she notices that her companion has a plan.

"...We're running out of time. Gracie, stay with Willow. I'm going to stop the train." Juliet takes one of her speed arrows from her quiver, unhesitatingly stabbing it into her arm to imbue herself with its magic. Red light swallows up her frame, igniting her eyes and hair with light before spiriting her body into something like lightning. While she's never raced a moving train before, she intends to be fast enough to stop one. If anyone at all is capable of it, it's Juliet August.

Juliet dodges Shades with ease as she spirits past him-- their thread burning him in the aftermath when he tries to reach after her. As she moves further and further away, darting from one car to the next, the shield around Willow and the companions flakes away piece by piece.

"Your friend is delusional if she thinks she's going to stop this train. And to think! You might've been able to escape together... but now she's gone and left you all by your lonesome." He chuckles, shaking his head. He flicks his cigarette into the air and the illusion around it shatters, revealing a knife as he catches the hilt. The blade gleams dangerously as he angles it towards one of the threads he can't see. "You've been calling yourselves heroines, right? Well, I hate to tell you this, but that's exactly the thing that's gonna get you girlies killed." He smiles, his sharp teeth elongating. "Care for one last dance, little lady?"

 

[starboob]

An entire train full of innocent people. And they are just going to… derail it?

Willow chokes on her rage, unfamiliar fire roiling in her gut. Her vision shades in bright hues of burning red, fists clenching over her knees. ‘No. No, no, no—’ Storm clouds collect just outside. Wind howls and whips the sides of the bulleting train. Lucky trill concernedly, lowering their neck and tilting their head to get into their companion’s line of sight. (This shouldn’t set her off. This shouldn’t set her off, and it is and she doesn’t know why.) When Willow doesn’t respond, still hunched over despite her illusion shattering, Lucky places their front paws over her fists, gently applying pressure while their eyes desperately try to communicate the danger man right behind her.

Grace, sensing that the sorceress is not well, dashes out from behind the seats. She skids across the floor, front paws spread out, lowering her head as she bares her teeth and growls. ‘This is your only warning.’ Pinstripes cocks his head to the noise, grinning. “And who’re you?” His teeth flash. He raises his arm and slashes through the web—or attempts to. The knife ricochets off the thread, swinging his arm into his forehead, slicing into it. Blood pours from the wound. He hisses, once again trying to force his way through the web. His clothes burn. Lines criss cross over his skin as his arms flail out. Grace shuffles back a few steps then, with a powerful spring, launches herself through the air to tackle Pinstripes. He falls as the fox grows to a wolfish size, gnashing her teeth—though she never intentionally nips him, seeming to understand that this man is only a puppet. She only hurts him where it’s necessary.

As this happens, Willow slowly comes back to herself. Red fading from her vision as she repeats to herself, ‘They’re scared of us. They’re acting out because they’re scared. You need to get up, WJ. You need to focus on what you can do.’ Then, remembering all her training with her grandmas, she allows herself three deep breaths, calming the storm within and outside of herself. When she blinks her eyes open, Lucky is purring in her lap. They look up at their companion, ‘Ready-edy?’ She nods. In a swift motion she dips from the seat and spins around to face the action.

Gracie has her paw on Pinstripe’s chest, holding him down without needing to exert much effort. He tries to lift his arms and only weakly slaps against the enlarged fox, succumbing to the effects of the sleeping lily arrow. He grabs for his strength, shadows sweeping around his arm, enveloping the limb but before he can so much as harm a tuft of fur on Gracie’s head, Willow manipulates the halo of light around her, wielding it like appendages and throws one tendril towards the shadowed arm, knocking the shadows off of him. “Don’t touch her.” Lucky grows behind Willow, growling in agreement.

“Ah, h-how cute,” he spits, his words starting to slur together. More shadows rise from underneath the man and, with a shove, he throws the fox off of him. Before Grace can hit the wall, Lucky dashes forward and breaks her fall. Willow throws her own arms of light against the shadows. Where the light burns, the shadows freeze. Frost starts climbing from her fingers to her forearms at a slow creep. She doesn’t let this stop her and continues forcing her will into her spell, her light glowing brighter. (Lucky, sensing that the train and its passengers are still in danger, exchanges a nod with Gracie, shrinks, and flies out a crack in the window.)

As Pinstripes flickers in and out of consciousness, so do the shadows, giving Willow the advantage she needs. With final push, she wrangles the shadow in her light, dragging it closer to the open vial in her hand. The lip of the vial just touches the shadow and, all at once, it’s sucked into the tube. She closes and seals it with a spell, then lifts it to her face. It’s darker than a black hole. Her reflection shines back at her until the shadows twist and morph showing an angered face with sharp, needle-like teeth. “Aghh!” The vial flies from her fingers, through the air and—

—into Gracie’s mouth. Willow blushes. “Ah, thanks, Gracie.” The fox hands the vial back to her, shrinking back down to her usual size now that Pinstripes has been neutralized. Blood is still dripping from his forehead and his clothes are totally ruined from the web. “I can’t just leave him like this. It probably wasn’t even him…”

***​

You York is fast coming up on the horizon. Lucky James isn’t sure how much time they have before the train dips into the subway channels, but the damage will be catastrophic if it does. They can’t tell whether Juliet has managed to pull the lever on the breaks or if she’s run into trouble of her own, and for as much as they want to find their favorite archer, they guess that their favorite archer would want them to do what they can to save all these innocents. Resolute blue smoke huffs from their nostrils.

The dragon dives from their aerial position, speeding towards the caboose. They crash haphazardly into the roof with a low mewl, digging their claws into it to stop themself from falling off entirely. As they come to a halt, they size up, adding some weight to the train. The wheels screech beneath them, grinding against the rails, causing sparks to fly. Carefully, the dragon continues to increase their size in increments, stretching their body across the length of three cars. They’re heavy enough that all they need to do to stay aboard is lay down, but they’re still hurtling at an alarming rate.

The dragon spreads out their wings, trying to increase the train’s drag. In a low trill, they call out to other companions on the train, asking for assistance. It's not too dissimilar from the call they echoed with Jovi back at Mirror Lake.

***​

Back in the car, Willow 2 takes care of sewing a new shadow onto Pinstripes’s shoes and cleans up his wounds. She’s even bandaged Aviator Shades’s fried hands. She rises from her haunches and wipes her hands together. “There. All better.”

***​

Original Willow, meanwhile, has gathered up her mirrorball and uses their thread to help teleport her and Gracie to the front engine, where they hope to find Juliet. (Though Juliet gave her the time arrows, Willow isn’t sure that it won’t do more than just save herself, causing the rest of the train to break off from the car or even throw the entire thing off the tracks with such a sudden interruption. She's hesitant to use them, but she does have an idea.)

Willow stumbles as she lands, just barely catching herself. She spins around, searching for her companion. “What’s the stitch—situation?”

 

[ellarose]

Two more members of the shady bunch are promptly knocked on their asses, tied together and shoved in a supply closet. Hitting them with a classic sneak attack, Juliet didn't waste a second taking her opening to strike them on the back of their heads. Thunk, thunk. Their bodies crashed to the ground. One by one, she efficiently took them down and out of the fight altogether before they could call the shadows to their aid. With an indignant huff, she dusted herself off and got to work tying them up. Seems like the archer was faster than any warning could have been-- they didn't see her coming at all. Must have assumed she was still preoccupied in the caboose with their friend. (At least their trap bought them time... but even then, they may not have enough.) Were it not for the train speeding down the tracks, she'd have also taken the time to sew new shadows into the soles of their shoes. Damn it. The beast isn't slowing down.

Juliet rushes to the controls... only to realize upon gazing down at them that she has no idea what she's looking at. How could she? She's Folklorian. Her world cannot comprehend or accept the construction of such complex inventions. They only have graveyards of crashed rockets and things that a world of magic and stories struggled to grasp. Taking a deep breath to steel herself, she chews on her lower lip and surveys the board in front of her. There are dials with little red arrows spinning out of control. Below that are an assortment of colorful buttons, knobs and... a broken lever. While she is in no way an expert in Evermore's machinery, her heart sinks in her chest with the implication she's taken from this sort of meddling. They've already ensured that this beast cannot be stopped. Not in the traditional way.

This is a beast that Juliet may have to face from the outside in order to stop. How, though? Her mind whirls around in circles. (As she sped through the cars, she could hear the other passengers beginning to panic. Babies crying. A little girl hiding her face in her mother's lap. She thinks about the elderly couple and the fairy who likes birthdays.) While their thread again comes to mind, she's not sure if they can so easily wrap their thread around this beast the same way they did the hydra in Okeanos. There's not nearly as much space or room for movement around it. Not to mention how quickly they're speeding down the tracks.

Juliet checks her quiver, counting her remaining time arrows. If she could get Lucky or even Grace to fly her out there, she could try and... that's when Willow appears behind her. Asking for... stitches? No. The situation. Ah.

"The controls have been tampered with." Juliet informs her gravely. Grace is already at her calves, gazing up at her companion to ensure she hasn't been hurt since they last saw each other. "There is nothing we can do inside the train... unless you have a spell in mind?" She notices the unused time arrows, then, and holds out her hand to accept them back. When Willow explains her reasoning to refrain from using them, she bites the inside of her cheek. Her time arrows have stopped massive beasts in the past-- she is not sure the magic so finicky that it would only affect a single train car. If they work as intended, one well-positioned arrow should be powerful enough to freeze the entire train in time. The only flaw is that it's temporary.

Before Juliet can explain this, the train screeches and jostles around. It's evident that something heavy has landed atop it. Noting that Lucky is missing, Juliet gathers that it must be them. Soon enough, their sharp cry for help is echoing in their ears. Grace whines restlessly at her feet, wings spreading out from her back.

"Wait, Gracie. Take me with you." Juliet speaks, adjusting her quiver on her back with a determined set to her brow. "If I move fast enough, I should be able to stop the train from the outside when the time is right." Willow speaks up at that moment, bringing up a plan of her own to slow the train down. Mirror portals, looping... While the archer doesn't entirely understand it, she nods to encourage anything that might help. There's no time to puzzle out all the specifics. "Do whatever you can to slow the train down." She gently nudges her shoulder. It turns into a comforting but undeniably awkward pat before she jerks her hand away. What is she doing? "I'll refrain from using my time arrows until the train slows as not to cause the shock you were fearing."

With that, Grace grows in size and Juliet climbs onto her back. Willow teleports them to the caboose, saving them some precious time before they steal out the back. Already, Lucky and several bird companions have settled down atop the train at their largest sizes, endeavoring to weigh it down as much as they can. Vultures, an ostrich... swans. The wheels spark against the tracks. Their efforts count for something, but it won't be enough to save them from crashing.

Juliet signals to Lucky to let them know they've arrived before moving towards the back of the train once again. She angles one of her grappling arrows at the railing on the back of the train and it fastens tight, immediately yanking Juliet and Grace along with it. A few of the companions fly towards them to offer their assistance, their accumulative weight pulling hard on the back of the train. A few winged passengers have since taken note of the situation and joined in the effort as well. (Sparks fly against the tracks, but still not going to be enough. It's a train, a heavy beast of steel designed to carry all of them.) Before fear can truly grip the archer, the air around them and the rest of the train shimmers and splinters out in a way she can't quite describe. A reflective opening swallows them up--again and again-- slowing the train phase by phase. (Along with it, a strong wind blows to help push the train back.) Lucky trills happily. Next to her, a few of the other passengers gasp with awed relief. Willow.

Once the train has slowed enough and the station is on the horizon, Juliet nods to Grace. They offer the end of the grappling arrow to a harpy and quickly fly for the front of the train. The archer nocks her time arrow, steadily aiming it, and... thunk. As they approach the station, she lets it fly. Keeping what Willow said in mind, she doesn't stop there. Grace quickly flies her over the entire length of the train as she rapid-fire shoots every other car with a time arrow until they reach the caboose to ensure that the effect takes. And with that-- the train finally comes to a stop. From cracked windows and railings, she can hear the people inside the train whooping and cheering. Whew.

Around them, workers on the platform stare bewilderedly at the train strewn with companions and frazzled passengers-- rushing towards them, shouting all kinds of questions. Juliet doesn't go to explain anything deciding to approach Lucky instead. She offers them a relieved grin and an affectionate rub under the chin. Having accumulated enough gold stars by now to part with one, she decides to award them with it by sticking it on their forehead. (...Only for it to be immediately licked off. Tasty snack.) "You did wonderfully. Let's go find Willow."

 

[starboob]

All of Willow’s remaining energy leaves her body at once and she collapses on the roof of the front engine, limbs sprawled out. She heaves in mouthfuls of hot air, beads of sweat dripping from her temple back into her curls. One hand weakly flops over her chest, massaging over the rapid thrum of her heart. Distantly, she registers the whoops and hollers that echo off the concrete tube, but Willow barely makes out the noise. Still, she manages a weak smile knowing that they succeeded. They did it. Now all she wants to do is become one with the train roof, but she knows better than to stick around for questions.

Her arms shake as she props herself up onto her elbows, peering timidly over the edge of the roof. The authorities haven’t yet arrived, though she imagines that it’s only a matter of minutes before they do. And Willow intends to be long gone before that can happen. The less attention the better. Especially when she considers that she’s just broken approximately twelve hundred and three laws by enlarging the subway transit tube so that no one would get hurt as they hurtled through the tunnel. Then there’s the fact that she commandeered a train without the proper training or license; not to mention those rapid teleports in a crowded space. Her companion also grew well above protocol size. She is so going to jail—directly to jail, do not pass Go, do not collect $200. Duckity duck.

Lucky knows the trouble they’re in, too, as they’re already camouflaged by the time they reach Willow. She barely has time to make out their familiar wing beat before they’re sweeping her into a hug, effectively disappearing her from view, and sliding down the side of the train to place her gently on the platform. She reappears only when Lucky shrinks back down, taking their comfortable spot on her shoulder. Willow blinks a few times, swaying slightly on her wobbly legs before she recognizes that Juliet and Grace are right in front of her. She steadies herself on her companion’s shoulder then switches her grip to her bicep (arms) when she notices three bright sigils light up on the ground a few paces away.

The sigils announce the upcoming arrival of the police and the crowd immediately parts from them, pushing Juliet and Willow back against the train. Three groups of three officers rise up from the glowing marks. Three of the officers stamp their staffs on the ground and begin to trace out complex glyphs; five others corral the passengers off to one area while the last of them presses his fingers to his neck. “Alright, alright,” he starts in a loud, booming voice that easily carries itself over the crowd and silences the whole of the group.

Willow does not wait to find out what the police have to say. Before the three officers can finish up their anti-casting glyphs to seal off the platform, the sorceress teleports their gang right up to the rendezvous point. (Now she can add evading the police to her long list of crimes. She is toast. She is burnt toast.) Fates’ blessing—Meredith is actually on time.

She doesn’t notice them right away, however. She’s leaning against a newstand, pouring over the pages of Evermore’s most popular tabloid, Karma. (This is to the obvious annoyance of the troll behind the counter.) Other tabloids are neatly stacked behind her, whispering tantalizing and juicy bits of information to get passersby to stop and purchase. (Technically, the spell isn’t supposed to be powerful enough to coerce a purchase, but it’s dangerously close anyway.) The issue that Meredith is reading has an unflattering candid photo of a celebrity whose name Willow doesn’t know. “Hey, Mer—”

Meredith squeaks, tossing the magazine haphazardly over her shoulder. (It magics itself back into place. The troll rolls her eyes, as if this is a frequent occurrence.) Her cheeks redden, knowing her dastardly crime has been caught. (Not that Willow isn’t already aware of her embarrassing love for drama she’s not a part of.) “I—I just—sometimes they have good collage material, haha.”

“Right.” Willow is not convinced, though her friend is spared from her teasing (for now). “We both already know this is embarrassing, but I’ll tease you about this later. We, ah, need to jet. Now.”

At this, Meredith finally takes in the heroines’ appearance, raking over their disheveled windswept hair and askew clothing with a scrutinizing eye. (Why do they smell vaguely of fire?) Before she can so much as shoot an accusatory glare at Juliet—because this is obviously her fault; Willow James is too much of good noodle for this level of trouble—she catches three officers rushing from their platform and notices some sort of commotion coming down that passageway. (And Meredith thought she was the bad influence on Willow James. Looks like she’s got competition. Hrmph.) “Tyrant’s tits. What the fuck did I miss?”

“Long story—let’s skaboot and I’ll tell you when we’re at yours.”

Meredith and Willow exchange a quick nod and take the lead, expertly navigating and weaving through the underground station until they reach the lobby. (It pains Willow to pull Juliet away from the moving mosaics and buskers, but they really do need to skaboot.) The lobby itself is also a marvel of architecture and magic with a starry ceiling that reflects the current positions of the stars and a carved marble fountain with moving statues. But the two friends are on a mission and barrel through it until they turn down a long hallway full of generic, boring gray doors. Each door has either a red or green light above it. Meredith approaches one of the greenlit ones and sticks her key into the lock. Whorls of sparkling magic wrap around the door and morph it into a bright purple one with an ornate brass knob and a large oval stained glass window at the center.

She pushes the door open and rushes the heroines inside just as the three officers skid to a halt at the end of the hallway. Meredith makes eye contact with one just Juliet steps through the threshold. More forceful than is necessary, she shoves the archer all the way through and slips in right after her, slamming the door shut behind her and locking it. She braces her back against the stained glass window, like she’s expecting someone to come through with a battering ram, but when the only sounds outside are skateboards, the occasional car, and distant train whistles, she relaxes.

Naturally, she does not apologize for shoving Juliet, because that shove had been necessary and maybe payback for yesterday’s knife incident. Instead, she pretends it never happened and shimmies past both heroines, walking backwards with wide stretched arms and an even wider grin. “Welcome to Rainbowland.”

An apt name for her colorful top floor apartment. The walls have been painted a rich sky blue up to the crown molding that has been painted a peach color. Some of the walls have large shapes painted in colors like yellow, peach, and bright green as accents. Even the furniture is brightly colored, save for the couch; though its cow print pattern more than makes up for it. Opposite to the door is a bay window seating area that overlooks the Lost Ocean.

The apartment, which is just the top floor of a converted Queen Anne Folklorian style home, is rather small. Currently, they’re standing in the living room and on one end of it is a short hallway that leads to the bathroom and Meredith’s room (off limits, very messy); on the other end is the entrance to the enclosed kitchen. Honestly, Willow is mostly just impressed that she can see the floor. She didn’t even know Meredith had a rug.

“Bathrooms down that way, my room is right next to it, and over there is the kitchen.” Meredith nods, deciding that ought to suffice for a tour. “You’ll be sleeping in here, Juliet. The couch can pull out into a bed or you can just sleep on it as is. There are sheets, blankets, and pillows right here.” She lifts the lid to the bay window bench, showing her the hidden storage. “Willow and I will be over in my room.”

While Meredith keeps her tone level, Willow suspects that splitting them up is one of her ways of “protecting” her. She should have known and should have expected this. Maybe if Willow hadn’t just finished breaking the law to save a train full of innocents, she would have it in her to let her friend know she’d rather sleep next to Juliet. Instead, she just tosses her bag into Meredith’s room. (Literally, she throws her bag at the wall, magicking it into the next room over.) Then she slumps face down onto the couch. Snoops’s nose pokes out from underneath, sniffing then licking Willow’s fingers. “Thanks for letting us stay here, Mer. Hey, are those—” Willow lifts her head, sniffing the air. “Lemon shortbread cookies? With strawberry cream?”

“Yes, yes they are,” Meredith nods, nose to the air with triumph. “You both can have some if you fill me in on what the fuck happened. Why were the fucking police chasing you!? Willow, you’re a good noodle!”

 

[ellarose]

It's certainly... bright. That's Juliet's first thought stepping out from the overstimulating city and into Rainbowland. She squints. It is the sort of place that Princess Elise would appreciate-- the shades on the walls matching the colors of her favorite dresses. Everything in the lobby, from the starry ceilings to the fountains and moving statues are the sorts of things she could see the princess fawning over. It wasn't the time for sightseeing, however, and she understood that plainly as they hurried through the station. She's Juliet August. She's fast, efficient. And she'd been keeping up with the Evermorian duo just fine.

...The shove was completely unnecessary.

Juliet pinches the inside of her wrist, packing her annoyance down into a little box. Having dealt with the likes of Lavinia Laurence, she's able to keep these irritations well disguised. Willow had insisted before that Meredith is not like Lavinia... but it may be easier for her to say that as her friend. If more incidents such as that occur, the lines between them will surely grow thinner and thinner. Still. Meredith is allowing them to stay in her abode and they are supposed to have made a truce. She made cookies, implying that they both may have some... if 'both' is not exclusively referring to Willow and Lucky, that is. She is Willow's friend. (She made cookies.)

Though Juliet cannot help but coil up defensively on the inside, she tells herself that she will behave civilly for the duration of this trip. She does not have to be friends with Meredith, but must remember that Meredith is Willow's friend. Willow's friend, Willow's friend, Willow's friend.

Willow's things are already in Meredith's room. Juliet's insides coil tighter, though she's not sure why. She's fine on her own. Before Willow, it was always just her and Gracie.

Juliet's not particularly inclined to speak with Meredith. (She's not unused to the kinds of looks the fae occasionally sends her way, either. Accusatory, like she's done something wrong just for existing. But aside from eating the pickles she found and setting a small fire, she's done nothing to earn more of the frowning faces.) The archer silently sets her things down, wandering across the apartment to sit by the bay window. Grace stays faithfully by her heels the entire time, contentedly curling up in her lap when she settles herself into the seating area.They peer out curiously at the city, allowing Willow to tell the story time version of everything they experienced on the train.

***​

Meredith does make damn good cookies. Juliet wasn't so prideful that she couldn't admit it aloud when they snacked on some after Willow explained everything that happened on the train. (As expected, Meredith does not acknowledge Juliet's praise... but whatever.) When they explain their reluctance to eat anything on the train thanks to their shady bunch stalkers, they also heat up some leftovers to have a light dinner. Ultimately, they decide to call it a night when Willow almost drops her face into her soup. The sorceress can hardly keep her eyes open anymore, mumbling something about the casting taking a lot out of her. Meredith and Lucky are right there to escort her to bed, ensuring she doesn't crash on her way there.

Watching after them, Juliet shakes her head to snap herself from her reverie. Rather than just sit there, she decides to settle in the common area. (Somehow, it seems much larger now that it's just her and Gracie.) The archer doesn't dwell on this for long, instead preoccupying herself with setting up her designated space. She arranges the blankets and pillows over the couch, pokes into the bathroom to change, and is now fully prepared for sleep.

Well... Juliet would sleep. If she could. But once again, she finds that she cannot manage it. If not because her thoughts are drifting towards shadows and murders, then it's because she can hear sirens and other mechanical beasts screeching from the city around them. They're on a high enough floor... she supposes she doesn't have to worry about the mechanical beasts from up here. Unless there are also flying mechanical beasts? Ah. But of course there are flying mechanical beasts. The rockets!

Fuck. Juliet is not sleeping. Instead, she reaches into her things for the booklet Willow gave her earlier. Instead of spending these hours idly tossing and turning, she supposes she ought to put it to good use practicing her glyphs instead...

 

[starboob]

Willow’s head hits the pillow and she’s out for the night.

The next time she opens her eyes, it’s early. Birds chirp just outside the window, taking over so that the night time crickets can rest. A single ray of sunshine reaches through the curtain and pokes Willow’s still sleepy eyes. She squints against the brightness, then blinks slowly as she places herself in Meredith’s You York bedroom with her friend sleeping right next to her. Her grumpy friend has already pulled the covers over her head to avoid the inevitability of the morning. She grumbles beneath the covers, either talking to Willow or just talking in her sleep. (A common fae trait, apparently.) While she wishes she could ignore the morning half as well as Meredith, she made a promise to Juliet that she intends to keep. With a strain of effort, she sits up, stretches her arms above her head, and breathes out the last of her exhaustion with a yawn. Then, swinging her legs over the bed, she hops down and summons her staff and sword from her bag, making her way into the living room.

She skates out from the room, sliding along the hardwood floor on her fuzzy socks. She strikes a heroic pose, brandishing her sword and staff as she pivots to face Juliet. But when she sees the archer hunched over the glyph workbook, eyes thoroughly bruised with exhaustion, Willow drops her pose and frowns. “You didn’t sleep?”

Juliet shakes her head and doesn’t elaborate. Willow is about to ask when a siren blares right outside the window. Where she jumps, the survivalist stiffens. Though her hand doesn’t reach for her knife or bow, the Evermorian knows the Folklorian’s tells well enough. She sets her things down on the orange coffee table and takes a seat at Juliet’s feet. “It’s pretty noisy in the city.” Willow concedes, deciding to leave it at that for now. Then she inclines her head towards the workbook in Juliet’s lap. “Learn anything interesting?”

***​

The heroines discuss the basic glyph shapes for another half hour before Juliet’s eyes start to droop about halfway through Willow’s emphatic explanation of the importance of circles. She tries to hide a yawn, but eventually her breathing slows and her head lolls to the side. Willow slowly tapers off her explanation with a smile. ‘Knew that would work.’ She sets the workbook on the coffee table and then pulls the blanket up to the archer’s chin.

Meredith still isn’t up and probably won’t be for another hour or so. Though Willow could try to whip up breakfast, one cursory glance at her friend’s pantry tells her to not even bother. Instead she decides to run through some training exercises Juliet taught her, focusing mostly on perfecting her form. Lucky flies out of the bedroom a few minutes later and acts as her sparring partner. Mostly, they just test her reflexes—diving or barreling towards her to see how quickly she can move out of the way. Willow gets knocked over more times than she dodges, but when she accepts that she doesn’t need to face every opponent head-on, she becomes less shy about side stepping out of the way. She’s just starting to incorporate the wind into her evasion maneuvers when Meredith comes through the door, sleepily rubbing her eyes. “Is… Is that a sword? Fuck, Willow. Not before my tea.”

***​

It takes approximately three hours for everyone to get ready and that’s mostly because Meredith took forever in the bathroom and then had five different outfit crises. (She ended up choosing the first outfit she put on, as Willow suspected she would.) Now the three of them enjoy a simple breakfast of toaster waffles (blueberry flavored) with some Rhode Island berries. Willow sits beside Juliet on the couch, clutching her third mug of black tea, while Meredith sits on the floor, finishing up a tarot reading for Lucky and Snoops. Lucky is protesting hotly, not at all buying that they need to change their approach to love and friendship. Snoops sighs, flopping over onto his side. “Sorry, Luckster. You pulled those cards. I am but a humble messenger.” With a sagely nod, she sweeps her cards up from the ground and heads back over to her bedroom. “I’m just gonna grab my bag, then we can head out, Wills.”

Willow nods blankly, sipping on her tea and hoping for that sweet, sweet rush of caffeine that she knows won’t come. Tea is just too weak for her these days. She leans over to set her mug down just as the television flicks on to static. Willow flinches, almost spilling her tea all over her overalls but stops just shy of that. “Ugh, Lucky. I know you miss television, buuuut—”

The static wriggles and warps, growing louder and more colorful until Dorothea Birdsong appears. She squints, then taps the glass. Willow only stares, mouth agape. (Is this some sort of music video?) When the celebrity notices Willow, Juliet, and the companions, she grins. “Oh good, you are staying with Meredith.” She looks over her shoulder and mumbles something off camera. “I don’t have much time, but you and Jules—hi, by the way. You look bitchin’, as always—uh, you and Jules need to come over to my hotel. ASAP. Before the news breaks this evening.”

“Be serious, Thee.” Willow can hear the eye roll in Kinsley’s voice even if she can't see her. “Why are we helping them?”

“It’s important. For damage control. I explain—”

“What. the. fuck.” Meredith stands at the doorway to her room, eyebrow twitching as she looks between her television and Willow. “What the fuck are you doing in my television—you fucking stalker—” Meredith is already halfway across the room when she summons her (Leif’s) baseball bat, ready to smash her own television. Lucky has to grab her collar and yank her back to stop her while Willow throws her body in front of the screen.

Dorothea, unperturbed and as if she were expecting this kind of reaction, tilts over as much as she can to see Meredith. “Oh hey, Meredith. You can come along, too. Kinsley is dying to see you.”

“Get out of my television!”

“Meet us before eleven?”

Meredith breaks free from Lucky; Willow rolls out of the way; unhesitatingly, she smashes the television then stabs the baseball bat through the screen. With a measured breath, Meredith releases the tension from her shoulders and dusts off her clothes. “Okay. Cool. You know, I actually thought Prescots and Birdsongs were using televisions to spy.” Meredith is surprisingly level as she speaks, as if she did not just go berserk on her television. “Do you know what hotel they’re staying at?”

 

[ellarose]

Juliet stares at the broken shards of glass, static hissing in her ears even after the television has been smashed. 'Surprised to see me? I've been watching. I wouldn't let you die. Not like that, my heart.' As Willow and Meredith speak amongst themselves, listing out options to figure out which fancy hotel Dorothea and Kinsley would decide to stay in. The archer lifts to her feet, forcibly yanking herself back into the present. 'Isn't that kind of me? Don't you love me yet?' She takes a deep breath in. Clearly, she hasn't had enough sleep. There's nothing to be done about that now, however. Kinsley mentioned being there to help them when the news breaks. Juliet can already imagine rather plainly what kind of 'news' this might be. Rumors, falsehoods, blatant bullshit follows her wherever she goes-- even across the gateway, apparently.

Can they be sure this is not a trap? Juliet walks towards her things, bitchin' boots crunching over glass along the way, and reaches for her Scaramouch choker and the Pantera. She does believe that Dorothea wants them here for a reason. She does not necessarily think that she would trick them. Their adversaries are capable of nasty tricks. They may be using her image to lure them out. While she did indeed sound like herself, referencing comments made in the past, Huxley was watching their entire mall excursion-- aside from the bits where he was lured to sleep with Dorothea's song.

The only eyes Juliet trusts in reflective surfaces are Millicent's. The witch of the wood is the only one who has ever used such invasive means to protect her. (Even then, they did have a conversation afterwards about boundaries-- which situations entailed watching and which did not.) She does not blame Meredith for smashing the television screen. It is unnerving. She restlessly tossed and turned in plain view of it the night before... while she hadn't done anything she'd have been ashamed of, her skin crawls to know that someone might have watched her when she was not aware of it. Now she will be searching for eyes in the strange Evermorian screens just as she does the shadows. Great.

It will be a while before Juliet can sleep through the night.

"Dorothea needs our help... and it seems we may need hers, if this 'news' means to make villains of us for the train incident yesterday." Juliet directs her attention fully to Willow. The sorceress admitted to loving her once-- surely she knows things about her that she and Meredith would not. "Are you certain it was her just now? If not, this may be another trap." If she doesn't speak up or confirm it, she knows she will regret it.

"Regardless, I will be bringing my knife." Juliet says, glancing at her workbook on the orange table. While she did not earn a frowning face for using her knife at any point, she did for casting. If she cannot wield magic-- an essentially invisible weapon that most Evermorians possess-- she will be armed with what she is familiar with to protect herself. "I will endeavor not to cause another knife incident... but I must have some means of defending myself should our enemies strike again."

"Uh huh." Meredith sounds unimpressed as usual. She rolls her eyes. "As long as you don't go berserk on me again."

"...Don't give me a reason to and you'll be perfectly fine." Juliet quips back dryly. (She's sleep deprived, on edge. She cannot help but be a bit short with Meredith in spite of her best efforts to be agreeable for Willow's sake. With her patience wearing this thin, she realizes something. They need to settle this now. Or she won't be able to control herself. Their emotions need to be set aside from the conflict if they're going to see it through.) The fae makes a face and then elects to ignore her as usual. But that's not happening. Not when this is survival-- when the stakes are so high. "We've made a truce since then. Or have you already forgotten?" It's a genuine question. The archer slips her knife into her knife pocket.

"Right now we share the same goal. Your hatred of me is a weakness our enemies may exploit. At the very least it will slow us down and obstruct our progress. If you're as serious as you say you are about this mission, then I suggest you set it aside. Our adversaries were willing to derail an entire train yesterday. Our lives and others are at stake." Juliet steps up to the fae, undaunted. "You may hate me to your heart's content when this is over. Or do you require revenge to be satisfied? Then hit me now and get it over with."

Juliet's serious brown eyes flash, offering Meredith a gesture towards her to show that she means it. Shoving is the sort of petty behavior she would expect from the likes of Lavinia Laurence. Not one of Willow's friends. The feeling that coiled up in her yesterday is unraveling now... and honestly, it's probably better that she warns Meredith rather than allowing her frustrations to slowly burn into the sort of accidental knife incident there's no coming back from. One too many shoves like the one yesterday and she might... (She sees fire, roaring all around her, all around him. No. She won't let that happen again.) If it's leading to this anyway, it's better that they get it over with... that she sees it coming. "Go on."

Grace leaps up from the sofa, conflicted on whether or not to run to Juliet's side.

Juliet takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, bracing herself for impact. She can already imagine Meredith unhesitatingly hitting her the same way she just smashed the television set. (Why wouldn't she, when given the opportunity?) "...After that, don't touch me again."

 

[starboob]

An impossible chasm opens up between the two women. Tension bubbles and rises from it, pushing them further away from understanding. Willow chokes on the charged air, green eyes wide with surprise, going back and forth between her best friend and her fellow heroine. Just like Gracie, she’s conflicted and while she does try to step forward to get between them, Lucky winds their tail around her waist and holds her back. They huff red smoke. ‘They need to settle this.’

Meredith narrows her eyes to fine slits, tilting over as if this will help her get a better angle on Juliet’s angle. No part of her trusts that there isn’t a play, that this Juliet August from Folklore is actually serious. Her jaw set tightly, eyes never leaving the archer. She clenches and unclenches her fists, imagining how fucking good it would feel to knock a few teeth from this bitch’s mouth. The knots tangled up in her chest start to loosen and unravel with each heavy breath, because the person in front of her is the reason that Willow will abandon her the person in front of her will be Willow’s future pain. She stands to hurt her in ways not even Dorothea Birdsong could touch; it would be more than just tragedy when it happens. (No part of Meredith believes in a good thread match. She wishes for miracles on Willow’s behalf, but she cannot trust anyone except for herself with Willow’s heart.) If she hurts the best person she’s ever known, whose heart is worth more gold than all that exists in the realms combined, Meredith will turn Folklore to cinders just to avenge her.

…And that’s not really it either. Willow can take care of herself. She’s picked herself up after every devastating heartbreak and continues to embrace the journey of love and view it as magical, rather than tragic. She’s courageous and brave in ways that Meredith just isn’t. And she’s going to leave her. She’s always known this. She’s always known that when Willow finds the person at the other end of her string, that she will pursue that person with her whole heart. And maybe there won’t be any room left in her heart for Meredith. And Juliet August, a Folklorian, is straight out of one of Willow’s favorite fairy tales. It’s not even a competition. She can already feel her friend pulling away and falling into another’s orbit.

Though it’s not like they’ve ever been the same since Meredith left Elsewhere for You York. It’s not like they’ve ever been the same since they tried to make it work as lovers. (“We can be best friends or lovers, but we cannot be exes.”) They made a hard choice to preserve their friendship. And while they haven’t been the same as they were in high school, it has been for the better. They’ve needed their own space to grow and Meredith’s loved watching Willow blossom even from a distance. It's just that Juliet will change everything. But if she hits her, she’ll lose Willow for good. So for as much as she wants to throw all of her fears into a pirate punch, she has enough sense to consider the consequences.

Her jaw clicks and she unclenches her fist with a shrug. The fox on her couch doesn’t take her eyes off of Meredith; she ignores her. (Huh, reminds her of someone she used to know…) “I don’t hate you,” she says tightly. “I just don’t trust you.”

In the background, Willow slumps against Lucky, almost passing out as the tension gradually dissolves between the two most important people in her life.

“But I can give you a chance.” Meredith understands where Juliet is coming from and why she wants to clear the air between them before they venture into something dangerous. It’d been hard to believe Willow’s story last night; it’s easy to get lost in the fantastical nature of her storytelling and treat it as folklore. But Juliet brings a smack of reality to what Willow disclosed last night. She can also appreciate the confrontation, the way the archer is direct with her where she’d chosen petty playground tactics (for Willow’s sake, mostly). “An honest chance. Truce.” She sticks out her fist for a knuckle bump. “For real this time.”

***​

With fists bumped (Willow had to pantomime what Juliet was supposed to do) and an earnest alliance forged, the trio and their companions scale down the fire escape ladder of the converted Folklorian home. (The exterior is as brightly and magnificently colored as the interior of Meredith’s apartment in the triplex.) Willow and Meredith agree that it’s unlikely Dorothea and Kinsley are staying anywhere in the Golden Gate district and, knowing that the gala will be in the Sleepless district, also the ritziest district, they head there first.

While Willow would ordinarily want to show Juliet around You York and take some of the trolley lines that run through the city, time is of the essence. Compared to the rest of You York, the Golden Gate district will feel tame with its steep hills and Folklorian style homes that are so squished together, there’s barely a gap between one home and the next. So before they arrive at the Presto Kiosk, Willow warns Juliet. “The next district we’re visiting is going to be very loud. Lots of cars honking and people screaming at each other. You also won’t be able to see the sky unless you look all the way up. People are going to be brusque. Uhhh,” she taps her chin. “Am I missing anything else, Mer?”

“Nope.” Meredith inspects the tip of her tail. “I mean, the men will be disgusting but I kinda figured that’s a universal phenomena.”

“Oh. Yeah, they’re going to be pretty gross.” She rolls her eyes. “Follow Meredith’s lead if you want to cuss them out. And if you get hungry or want food, Juliet, let us know. Please do not eat trash.” Meredith pauses her tail inspection to look at the Folklorian, lifting her eyebrow. She shrugs, deciding not to ask.

“Alright, let’s go see how the rich live.” Meredith waves her hand over the kiosk, pulling up a map of the Sleepless district. She squints over it. “We’ll start at the Red Tower." She presses on one of the buildings on the map, causing the pinpoint to glow. "They have residential apartments and, uh, the tabloids might’ve mentioned spotting Dorothea Birdsong around that area.” With the location agreed upon, Meredith confirms it on the map. When the glyph appears over kiosk, she presses her palm over it and their little gang is swallowed up by a beam of silver light.

 

[ellarose]

"I see. I am still acquainting myself with the mechanical beasts, so I will endeavor to keep my composure." Juliet allows. However, the implication that she should follow Meredith's lead when confronting the 'gross men' does... bother her. A little. She can see the good intentions behind Willow's warnings. But does she really need to be steered ahead this carefully? If it's not that, she's alternatively being shoved along like she's a nuisance who cannot move quickly enough to keep up with them.

Perhaps Juliet made one too many mistakes to the point that Willow believes she requires the extra guidance? She's not sure how to handle this kind of attention, these small efforts and instructions given on her behalf. While she is still accustoming herself to Evermore... people are people. Hasn't she shown by now that she excels at sparring verbally, that she knows many curses of her own and needn't follow anyone's example? She is capable of defending herself.

Juliet cannot help wondering if Willow's opinion of her has slipped recently. It always happens eventually, does it not? She makes mistakes or allows herself to be known too well, and suddenly she is not enough anymore... no, no, no. It will not serve her to dwell on these things. They agreed to leave anything that might weigh them down behind to focus on the mission ahead. The archer pinches the inside of her wrist, making the herculean effort to shut that part of herself down. That part that gets hurt-- sometimes angry-- over the smallest, most insignificant things. It's unproductive. What she feels does not matter. (What Willow thinks of her shouldn't matter. Not this much.) Why must she overthink this way? And why now?

It's nothing. Juliet straightens her posture perfectly, she keeps her expression unflinching and level. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

***​

When the Red Tower turns out to be 'a bust' (which is not referring to a sculpture of a person's head and shoulders-- but rather, a dead end) they wander about the city, listening for idle gossip about the gala and Dorothea Birdsong. They double check the recent tabloids to puzzle out where the pop star might be. (Although Juliet wonders if most of this information has been fabricated to draw business into the nearby shops.) As they traverse the bustling streets, she works hard to steel herself to the sight of multiple cars lined up on the roads, moving only as instructed by the red, yellow and green lights. ('Traffic'.)

Aside from that, the people walking these streets are indeed people... they might speak and dress differently-- wearing the short pants and a number of other mysterious garments-- but the bustling atmosphere itself is familiar enough to her. While she does not particularly like weaving through crowds like these, she does not let herself waver for a moment around them.

Juliet can handle the people just fine. The true challenge is endeavoring not to jump or tense when she hears the honking of horns or the sharp screech of tires on the road. (Crossing the streets in front of the stopped cars are especially difficult. Willow holds Juliet's hand. Though a part of her wishes to pull away, she finds she cannot bring herself to in those moments. It... does help. For now.) Anyhow-- if her efforts on the train were not enough yesterday, then she must prove herself today. She must overcome this.

Whenever they come by a hotel on their list of potentials, they step into the fresh perfume scented lobbies and conduct an investigation. Willow and Juliet think of various questions to ask whoever is working the front desk while Meredith maneuvers around to search for information on the patrons. (They mention this being somewhat reminiscent of their school days.) Time and time again, there is no mention of Dorothea Birdsong, Kinsley Prescott.

As the Folklorian among them, Juliet tends to stay silent while Meredith and Willow chat amongst themselves to puzzle this out. Still, that does not mean she is not thinking about it. And as she repeats what she remembers of their conversations in her mind, eventually...

"Did you say one of the hotels was called the 'Top Ten'?" Juliet interrupts suddenly. Willow and Meredith exchange a glance over their map before nodding. The archer bites her lip. (Hopefully, this one will not be a 'bust'.) "Dorothea told us to meet her before eleven. While she may have also been referring to the time... what if it was actually a code?" Dorothea certainly strikes her as the crafty sort, weaving secret meanings in her words to elude those that watch her carefully. Having confronted similar circumstances herself, she knows she has relied on such tactics in the past as well. "Perhaps it's worth exploring...?"

 

[starboob]

Top Ten is not located in a top ten location of the Sleepless, let alone You York. Quite the opposite, in fact. As they cross into the rundown neighborhood, gutter rats trounce along the murky sewer drains, trash bags piled high are stacked alongside the curb, and most of the blocks they walk down smell like they’ve been used as toilets. Meredith walks tall, leading the pack at a brisk You York pace, donning her most severe case of RBF to keep strangers at bay. Willow mostly keeps her eyes trained forward, though she smiles at a few folks who pass them by.

As odd as it is to imagine that Kinsley Prescot or Dorothea Birdsong would elect to stay at Top Ten, Willow hadn't outright rejected the idea. Most because they'd exhausted their options in the premium part of the Sleepless and Meredith was starting to get pissy being out among so many snobs. Her swears were getting colorful even for her. She made one of the catcallers cry. (Willow doesn’t feel too bad about that. He was the seventh person to suggest they'd end up in his bed later.) At the very least, Juliet probably learned some new curse combinations to try out.

One of the train lines creaks and rattles over their heads, seeming to shake the steel bridge they walk under. Juliet doesn’t even tense and her expression remains a careful neutral. This is good, Willow thinks. It means she’s adjusting and, hopefully, that means she’ll be able to rest tonight. (Should she ask if she’d like her to sleep out in the living room with her? Ah, she might need some space. They have been spending a lot of time together lately...) She lets go of Juliet's hand to summon her water bottle from her bag, lifting it to her lips then promptly dropping it with a gasp. (Lucky catches it with their tail before it can hit the grimey sidewalk.) Meredith turns to see Willow pointing ahead, because, coming straight out of an alley, is, unmistakably, Jovi.

Snoops and Lucky both bolt from their companions to greet the snow white deer. Snoops stands on his hind legs, perching one front paw on Jovi’s front leg, while Lucky flies around her pearly antlers. Though her antlers have seen better days. Some of the points are flaking away like pieces of ash and, up close, she has spots of gray fur not unlike a fawn. While unusual, the companion does not seem to be affected by whatever is happening to her. She acts normally enough and even lowers her head when Willow approaches, allowing her to stroke between her antlers. Then she looks up at Juliet and dips her head into a slight bow. Meredith hangs back, feigning disinterest.

While Willow wants to trust that this is Jovi, especially considering both Lucky and Snoops approached her, she remembers Juliet’s caution earlier. Jovi, perhaps sensing the uncertainty, makes eye contact with the sorceress. Instantly, images flood Willow’s mind. Among them, visions of Dorothea appear—memories that only herself, Dorothea, and their companions would share. The last vision is a recent memory of Dorothea crouched in front of Jovi, holding an old camp bracelet to her nose while the song Willow wrote for her plays in the background. (How embarrassing.) “Make sure they get here safely.”

***​

“I was worried you wouldn’t make it.” Dorothea sighs, stepping out of the sauna. In spite of everything that’s happened, she looks better than she had before. While there are still heavy bags beneath her eyes, her cheeks don’t appear so hollow and her demigod glow has returned. With a snap of her fingers, she changes out of her towel and into a plush robe, then slips into some cloud-like slippers. “Kinsley is around, if you’re wondering. I think she’s taking a mud bath? I’m not sure.” Meredith’s jaw tightens, hiding her disappointment.

Dorothea then leads the trio and their companions through the residential suite. Compared to the hotel’s decrepit exterior, the interior is nothing short of immaculate. White marble with black veins line almost every surface of the floor and rise up from the columns, as if carved from a single piece of stone. (Dorothea actually confirms this as she gives them a brief tour of the place.) The entire suite is white with gilded gold accents to highlight the details along the columns, the crown molding, and to frame the scenes painted on the ceiling. Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling and faux torches line the walls to illuminate the suite. Meredith quietly loses herself over one of the statues, immediately recognizing a famed sculptor's work.

“This is an old family suite.” The heiress is cavalier as ever as she explains. “We stay here to avoid crowds in the Sleepless. It’s a well kept secret. A lot of old money own suites here, actually. I’ve only been hanging around Red Tower to keep others from finding me. My fans are…” She rolls her wrist through the air, unsure of how to politely explain their fervor.

As they continue through the suite, it becomes clear that, outside of Kinsley, who they have yet to encounter, they are alone. No guards. No golden eagles. No staff, even. Huh. Dorothea takes them into a sitting room with couches that border on being comically large. She snaps her fingers and an assortment of snacks and beverages appear on the coffee table. “Help yourselves. I hope finding us wasn’t too difficult. I would have said more, but…” She shoots a cheeky smile in Meredith’s direction. “You destroyed the transmission. I know—I could have called, but television was the most secure means. I promise, only Birdsongs know how to use that kind of magic and I would not have done it without reason.”

“You mentioned the news earlier.” Willow swallows, taking a seat on the couch across from Dorothea. “So… you know about the train?”

“I know the version of the story they plan to run this evening, but I don’t believe it.” She then goes on to explain that it was Kinsley who brought it to her attention last night after she came back from the Birdsong headquarters. Dorothea magics the stolen draft into her hand then slides it across the coffee table. According to this report, Willow and Juliet were seen tampering with the train’s controls. They even have security images of the pair in the engine room. Several witnesses corroborate the story and, none other than the Shady Bunch, are named as the citizen heroes who tried to stop them. The story chalks up the miraculous save as a combination of passenger and companion efforts. (Not untrue, Willow supposes.) “Right now, the only report they have run on the incident is that the train lost control over the tracks and they’re trying to investigate to find out more." Dorothea worries the inside of her cheek, checking over Willow then Juliet for sign of injury. "I was so sure you two had been arrested, I could hardly sleep. It was such a relief this morning when Kinsley reminded me that you,” she addresses Meredith directly, “moved to You York after graduation. Hence my invasion this morning. But, Willow.” Dorothea rubs her forehead. “It’s going to be bad. Really bad if this story airs.”

Willow exchanges a look with Juliet.

“If we don’t take control of the narrative, they are going to paint you and Jules as villains.” Dorothea reaches down to pick up Snoops, letting him settle in her lap. (“Traitor,” Meredith huffs under her breath.) “So we need to get ahead of this.”

“I thought I smelled cheap shampoo and gutter trash.” Kinsley appears right behind them, causing Willow to jump. Montgomery, her companion, trots in after her and settles between her and Dorothea. Snoops immediately vacates Dorothea’s lap and hides beneath the table. “Seriously, did you three crawl through the sewers to get here?”

“No, we actually went through your pen, Pigsley.” Kinsley’s nostrils flare. Meredith cocks her brow, smirking. “Fake tits, fake nose and you didn’t think to surgically alter your personality?”

Dorothea sinks back into the couch, rubbing her temples. Willow hugs a pillow close to her chest, hiding the bottom half of her face behind it. This is just like high school all over again, in the absolute worst way possible.

“Why are you looking at my tits, Ardent? Obsessed with me much?” Kinsley, refusing to back down, edges into dangerous territory. “Thought you and the stalker would have learned your lesson by now.”

“Kinsley.” Dorothea cuts in before this can get out of hand. She shoots Willow an apologetic look. “Enough. Both of you. We don’t have time to fuck around. We only have five hours to turn Willow and Jules into heroes.”

“I cannot believe you talked me into this.” Kinsley rolls her eyes, crosses her arms and legs, and slumps back into the cushion. “I mean, all the work it’s going to take to make these clowns look presentable, let alone likable? And look what the spawn of Chucky and Strawberry Shortcake has done to the Pantera,” she whines, gesturing emphatically over the jacket. “Pascal is going to murder me. The debut at the gala is ruined. My career—”

“Can be salvaged if you run PR for Evermore's first Folklorian in centuries.” Not that Kinsley's career is actually in jeopardy. She's a nepotism baby and everyone knows it. "They helped Jovi and I. You know that story is bogus, otherwise you wouldn't have told me about it." "Yeah, but I didn't think you'd actually convince me to do something about it." Dorothea tactfully ignores the socialite, turning her attention to the heroines. "Let us help you? If not by spinning the narrative, then at least let us find you somewhere safe to hide. I don't want to see another person hurt and it's my fault you're involved in this mess anyway."

 

[ellarose]

Juliet rubs her temples. Her mind spins around in circles like a carousel at the faire. Or perhaps it'd be apt to compare it to the ferris wheel from hell, such as the one that she and Willow escaped due to the chaos that ensued during their first ride. (Chaos that centered around the two women sitting in front of them now-- chaos that was then unfairly blamed on werewolves like Sawyer.) Birdsongs have television magic which allows them to spy on others with ease. Meredith thinks Kinsley is involved with the murders-- and according to her blood-soaked stories, she is involved to some extent. Why isn't anyone speaking about it? They should speak now, should they not? She thought Evermore was different-- that the people here spoke their minds more freely, avoiding all the pointless niceties and gesture that noble society in Folklore is rife with.

The questions are endless. If no one else is going to ask, Juliet supposes she'll take it upon herself to do so.

"Another person hurt... like the werewolves?" Juliet offers a painfully blunt example, raising her chin to hold Dorothea's gaze. When they refrained from discussing it openly at the mall, she had reasoned that it had mostly to do with Huxley's presence. While it's evident it was not Dorothea herself who orchestrated the story that cleared her of blame and while she does sympathize with her position (whatever it might be between her and Griffith) it doesn't change the fact that her reputation remained untouched from it, that she was sheltered from becoming a spectacle... and that she has not openly acknowledged it once since then. "I must admit, I was curious what you thought of that." She brushes her fingers over the torn Pantera sleeve, shifting herself slightly to show them. Kinsley can barely stifle her gasp at the sight of it. "This hole was not attained through my 'adventurous lifestyle'. Lucky, Grace and I were attacked after we last parted ways."

Grace huffs exhaustedly in agreement, curling up in Juliet's lap. Automatically, her fingers find the scars on the fox's back where her wings sprung out. That attack contributed to their separation over the course of their last Folklore visit as well-- it was a source of much of her companion's grief. Though she was fortunate to have Willow's grandmothers, it doesn't eliminate the fact that it took a toll on her.

"I..." Dorothea hesitates, the slightest flicker of guilt crossing her features as she struggles to find the words to convey her feelings.

"The Pantera is supposed to mend itself. Like, that's part of the brand's appeal." Kinsley straightens herself up at Dorothea's side, resembling Lavinia Laurence when her feathers are ruffled. Rather than acknowledging the topic, she preoccupies herself with fuming and scrutinizing the jacket. "Ugh... and that doesn't even begin to explain the gold stars or that tacky alien patch. It has dorks and dragons written all over it." She shudders, cutting her icy eyes from Juliet over to Willow. "What have you done to it? Forget the story. How are we supposed to salvage the Pantera?"

Juliet doesn't even acknowledge Kinsley, keeping her attention focused solely on Dorothea. Silently requesting that she at least think about what she's said. After a moment, she decides to offer her some time to recover, shifting her attention down to the article on the table.

"Different world, same contrived bullshit. What this narrative needs is to be unspun." Juliet glares at the draft of the story sitting on the table, thinking back to past iterations of fabricated Folklorian scrolls. Make-believe nonsense specifically designed to make their lives difficult. "We shouldn't have to come up with a new story when the truth says everything. Willow and I were attacked by the group in shaded spectacles. They were all puppeteered by shadows." She nods towards Willow. "Willow gathered a sample from one of them if you require any evidence of this."

Grace nods her head once to confirm. The archer gathers the fox into her arms, stroking her gently between the ears. She missed her.

"We stopped the train before it could crash. A few of the companions and winged passengers joined in our efforts to do so, alerted by Lucky's cry. At their size, they would have been especially noticeable in their efforts to stop the train. There ought to have been someone who would have spoken up on our behalf... unless all of their minds have been hexed?" Juliet shakes her head, incredulous. "Criminy. If I am truly the first Folklorian in centuries, why would those ignoramuses expect me to know how trains work?" She looks between Dorothea and Kinsley. "Perhaps we should find a way to stop the story from spreading altogether? In Folklore, I once set fire to a publishing house before a falsified story about me could spread... I did not get caught."

There's a moment where everyone looks quite bewildered. Then Dorothea's eyes flash with unspoken ideas. She nods slowly, considering it. "Well, I could--"

"No." Kinsley promptly raises a manicured finger, stopping her before she can continue. "No fucking way. We are not setting any fires. Right now we're trying to put the fires out." She acts as the voice of reason, sighing laboriously. She makes a huge, exaggerated gesture of massaging her temples before lifting herself from the sofa and padding towards the door. "Gods. I'll make a few calls and see what I can do. Don't go anywhere."

"Do you know who is responsible for manipulating peoples minds? Or who might have controlled the shadows that attacked us?" Juliet asks Dorothea once Kinsley has left. "We wish to continue helping you as well. If we're to do so efficiently, we'll require answers. Ideally now, while we are not being watched."

 

[starboob]

It has been years since Dorothea last chewed on her nails—her mom scolded that trait out of her by the time she was seven—and she wonders if mom secretly wishes she had allowed that tick to persist, because now her daughter resorts to rubbing her hands raw. She wrings them together in her lap, twisting them, thinking of Juliet's question, her forthright demand for answers and how the heroines deserve to know. The corner of her thumbnail scrapes against the knuckle of her other hand until it’s pink. She wants nothing more than for the world to know her story. She wants nothing more than to confide in the three women in front of her—yes, even Meredith. The fae might not trust her, may forever hate her for breaking her best friend’s heart (to which Dorothea wholly understands), and Dorothea knows that she won’t betray her. If she stuck her neck out for Kinsley Prescot, she’ll keep Dorothea Birdsong’s secret.

Kinsley might be wary to trust them, but Dorothea isn’t.

She levels her gaze with Juliet’s, violet to brown. “I wish I could tell you everything.” Her words come out clear, exhilaration humming through her. (Is she for real doing this?) She leans over to make sure Kinsley is still otherwise occupied and once she’s certain the socialite is too busy making interns cry, she returns her gaze to Juliet then pans down to the fox in her lap. For a moment, Dorothea forgets entirely what she was about to say, completely mesmerized by the fox, like this is her first time noting the archer's companion. Something tugs at the back of her mind the longer she stares, though she isn’t sure what. She only has the vaguest sense it’s important. It's only when Grace hides her face against Juliet, shy under the attention, that Dorothea comes back to the present. She blinks a few times. “But I only know so much.”

“Dorothea,” Willow says, leaning forward. Part of her wishes that the table between them weren’t so obnoxiously large, so that she could reach across it for the hand Dorothea is rubbing raw. But the history between them keeps her rooted in place, not sure if it’s her place to comfort her old friend anymore. “What can you tell us?”

“My mom and the Kings are working together to manipulate the media. They chose werewolves as scapegoats for my… outbursts. Griffith says it’s to protect my reputation, so does mom, but I know it’s about his reputation. I know that I’m going Hollowheart.” She swallows thickly, keeping herself composed—not for the others, but for herself, because the enormity of this will add to the cracks in her already crumbling foundation. “If anyone found out, what will that say about our thread—about Elsewhere’s power couple? Griffith will do anything to preserve his image and mom will do anything to please him. He’s a King.” While she wears a calm face, a storm howls and rages within. She curls her fists in her lap, barely hiding the way they tremor with everything she does and doesn’t know. Before she can rub at her hands again, Jovi shrinks down and curls up beside her, resting her head in her lap, distracting the popstar. “Ever since my engagement to Griffith was announced, my life is under far more scrutiny than it was before.”

Meredith isn’t impressed by what she assumes are crocodile tears from an actress and crosses her arms with a skeptically raised brow. But Dorothea doesn’t pay her any mind or let the woman get to her. She knows that Willow and Juliet are listening; even if skeptical, they’ll listen and that’s more than she’s been afforded in recent months. And now that she’s started, she can’t stop. “I’ve tried to speak up—about this and other things, but all that got me was a canceled tour under the auspice that my health was degrading.” Not untrue, but Dorothea had been doing better while away from Elsewhere and Evermore altogether. Abroad, she could delude herself into believing she was free, but it turns out his and mom’s reach is international. “I tried to protest that, too, but that only got Jovi into trouble.” The deer gently sighs in confirmation. “Somehow, he got to her. She wouldn't stop following him around. Mom thought it was cute, but Jovi wasn’t herself at that time. She started getting sick when he wasn’t around and that started to affect me. It’s why I ultimately agreed to cancel the rest of my tour and went back to Elsewhere. Not much really improved though.

“And after the incident at the fair, Griffith was concerned about my condition and claimed to have a solution, but he’d need Jovi’s help—not that I believed him for even a second. I knew it was a convenient excuse for something else.” She smooths her hair back and out of her face, releasing a breath she doesn’t remember holding. “But he was insistent and Jovi refused to leave his side.” While her companion is fine now, she still obsesses over her eyes, making sure they haven't glazed over or turned glassy as they had been. “He sent Huxley with me to the mall to intimidate me, as if I'd just let him take Jovi.” She rolls her eyes. “But it ended up working out in my favor. Those lullabies were putting him to sleep and his slip up helped me figure out where he’d be that night, though I couldn’t have imagined what he was planning.” She strokes along Jovi’s back, rubbing circles into the swirl patterns behind her ears. “Jovi is free of whatever Griffith had been doing to her. Whatever you two did saved her, she’s more herself than she has been in months and I can’t thank either of you enough; for trusting me like that. But what even happened that night? Jovi couldn't show me anything from the time she was hexed."

Willow exchanges a look with Juliet. They share a nod and Willow tells the story, surprising herself with how long ago it feels even if it's only been a couple weeks. Dorothea nods slowly, keeping one arm protectively over her companion. The actress gives little away on how this all lands, whether she is even surprised or has ideas on what could be next after the thwarted attempt to let loose the Tyrant god. “That explains why Griffith wasn’t home the next morning,” she muses, recalling the way she frantically phoned Kinsley so that they could take advantage and get to You York without anyone following them. “It also explains why they’re going after you like they are.” She sighs, pulling her mouth to the side. “Shadow magicians aren’t exactly rare, but it's obvious now that the Stakes are behind the ambush on the train. With mom taking care of the media, they’ll be able to get away with anything." Her tone darkens, imagining the implications and the danger they're all in by even having this conversation. "It’s also why I’m inclined to go with Kinsley’s plan even if burning down one of my mom’s buildings would be so cathartic. She'll keep us alive.”

 

[ellarose]

Juliet's exterior remains untouched and calm as she fumes on Dorothea's behalf. Every aspect of her story strikes different nerves like matches, until there's a fire blazing in her chest. For a moment, all she sees is a reflection of her former self sitting on the sofa across from them. Lost. Trapped. Straining to hold herself together, to hold it all inside. She flexes her fingers in her lap before clawing her nails in towards her palms and digging in. What can be done? While a brash, destructive part of her wishes to encourage Dorothea to act out, to create an spectacle that none of them can clean up, she does understand the reason why she remains cautiously still. More than she would like to, really. (When Juliet attempted bold moves herself, it only served as proof of her supposed descent into madness.) Then, ultimately, it was Brooks's Lightless transformation that freed her from the hopeless position she'd found herself in.

For Dorothea to be labeled as ill for speaking her mind, just as Juliet had been. To have Jovi taken from her to keep her in line-- and harmed-- just as Gracie had been. It is like she's peering at a rewritten version of her own story set in an entirely different world.

When Juliet looks at Dorothea she sees herself and it's hard to believe they are not actually the 'parallel twins' that Millie and Sawyer speak of. She sees exactly the sort of women she has been fighting for. (...Could she infect Griffith? Give him just a sample of the pain that Dorothea is experiencing right now? Wouldn't it be magnificent if they could heal Dorothea and turn Griffith into the one who must hide in fear from the world?) Gears begin turning in her head, so much so that she nearly misses talk of their current plight and the fact that the Stakes are likely responsible for the shadows.

Grace struggles to hold her composure the same way, pressing her nose even deeper into Juliet's side with a whimper that draws everyone's attention. This distracts her from her thoughts. She gathers the fox into her arms, rubbing her back consolingly. It wasn't her fault... but she is secretly glad for the fact that Brooks has never been found. Everything he did was pure evil. He had it coming.

"Is she all right?" Dorothea asks, her violet eyes brimming with concern. Once again, her gaze seems to linger on the fox.

"I don't know." Juliet replies levelly, carefully. She lowers her gaze to Grace in her lap. Her companion is shouldering a lot... but she does not wish to speak on their experiences in depth. Not in front of everyone. (Maybe someday she'll confide in Dorothea as Dorothea has confided in them.) Besides, Millie advised that she distract herself from any Folklorian affairs. "I think..."

"Well," Kinsley interrupts with a big sigh as she pads back into the room, fresh off the phone with whoever it was she'd been speaking-- or, rather, barking orders to. She settles down on the massive couch beside Dorothea, glaring at the tips of her nails as she gives them an update. "I bought you dorks some time. You're welcome."

Dorothea elbows Kinsley, who rolls her eyes and continues. "In the meantime, you're gonna have to give them another story to air. Something big enough to overshadow the whole train derailment situation."

"And what would be bigger than the 'whole train derailment situation'?" Juliet prompts thoughtfully, calming Grace with gentle rubs behind the ears. (She seems to be doing better now. Good.) The archer's still not entirely accustomed to Evermore's ways. In her mind, all that appears is fire. Though that is now mainly influenced by her opinions regarding Griffith King.

"I wouldn't suggest setting anything on fire, if that's what you're asking." Kinsley retorts as if she's just read Juliet's mind. She crosses her legs, settling her elbow on her knee and her chin on the palm of her hand. "What you really need is something catchy. Gossip, drama, a headline that's sure to get everyone talking."

 

[starboob]

Juliet voices Willow’s exact thought before she has the chance to and while she wants to cut in and point out how cheap Kinsley’s basis for a plan is, she dully realizes that the socialite isn’t wrong. Mistings rarely ever make the media cycle anymore now that they’re nothing new and the public is inured to them. And it took two weeks for major news outlets to report on the freaking ocean disappearing, all because Nicola King happened to be having a public episode at the time. As much as she wishes that they could use rationality and logic to persuade the public, Kinsley has a point.

“If you’re looking for something sensational, I have a story.” Meredith leans forward with a dangerous glint in her eye. She meets Kinsley’s gaze, flashing a hint of fang. “It has a little some—”

“Hearsay won’t make the headlines, bad blood.” Kinsley rolls her eyes. “No one will listen to a raving cursling. Could you be serious? Or do you want to end up with the rest of your kind?”

Meredith growls, gripping the edge of her seat. Her claws puncture the cushion, cutting through it with ease. If only it were Kinsley’s stupid fucking face she was ripping into; and she might have lunged over the table to attack her, but the warmth of Willow’s hand over hers reminds her to reign it in. (Why, though? Why does she always have to be the bigger person when Kinsley continues to hit below the belt?)

“We’re on the same team, Kinsley.” Willow interrupts before Meredith snaps. Even if Kinsley deserves everything her friend could throw at her, they’ll only waste time by fighting. “Don’t talk to Meredith like that again or you’re out and we’ll figure this out ourselves.”

Everyone except for Juliet blinks in surprise, having not expected the nerd to say anything. The old Willow might have sat quietly and let Meredith and Kinsley settle this themselves while she tries to master the art of blending into furniture, but the new Willow is going to stick up for her friends and loved ones. That’s the entire reason she set out on her quest. And even though her heart is thunder in her ears, speaking up has gotten easier since their last stint in Folklore.

It’s Kinsley who breaks the silence, looking back and forth between Rhode Island trash and Dorothea. “Thee, say something!”

“Willow’s right.” She shrugs. “It’s more than just us now. We’re going to need their help, too, Kins.” Dorothea tactfully distracts herself by popping a grape into her mouth, ignoring the obvious waves of heat rolling off of Kinsley. But, really, what did she expect? She can’t feel too bad about choosing the heroines’ side. Somewhere, she knows that Kinsley understands this and that’s probably why she eventually relaxes, the fire going out of her all at once. (What a relief. Dorothea hadn’t been fully confident that would work.)

“Fine.” Kinsley’s tone is knife sharp and sincere. Still, she eyes Meredith warily, grinding her jaw just barely. “Fine,” she repeats, straightening herself out and smoothing her hands down her thighs. “You bitches are lucky that I actually have a practical idea.” “Then why didn’t you just say so?” Dorthea mutters. Kinsley ignores her and continues, “It’s so obvious what we need to do. I mean, we have the Folklorian right here.” She gestures in Juliet’s general vicinity as if she’s an object. When she’s met with blank stares, her smug demeanor drops. “Seriously? Do I need to spell this out like you’r—” Dorothea scolds her with a look. “An interview. We get Jules on primetime and make everyone fall in love with her. Duh.”

“You think that’ll work?”

“If Jules cooperates and does everything I say.” She lifts a carefully sculpted brow, wordlessly challenging Juliet. “Every station will want to boost ratings with a story about Evermore’s first Folklorian in centuries and everyone who's not braindead will want to watch."

“And how will that get rid of the train derailment story? You said this would only buy us time," Willow points out.

“I thought you were supposed to be smart?” She supplies this like a proper answer, but when Willow only scrunches up her face, she rolls her eyes and explains. “We’re in You York, where belief magic is strongest. Get enough people believing Jules is just a nice, young woman and that’s our counter-spell. Easy.”

Willow considers this, grabbing her chin thoughtfully. (Admittedly, the level of thought that has gone into this plan that Kinsley presumably whipped up sometime between last night and ending her call with the news agencies is startling. It's not that Willow assumes the socialite is empty headed and vapid, she's just never seen this side of her before.) Regardless of what she thinks, it's not her opinion that matters, so she turns to the only person in the room whose opinion actually matters. “What do you think, Juliet? Do you want to be in the spotlight?”

“We can always think of something else, too. We, you and I, can do media training if you don't want to work with Kinsley.” Dorothea offers with a reassuring smile, while Kinsley's features twist in sheer offense. “This only works if you’re fully onboard."

 

[ellarose]

Does Juliet want to be in the spotlight? The straightforward, uncomplicated answer to that question is no. The selfish answer is no way in hell. Still, the spotlight has an uncanny way of pouncing at her like a predator upon their prey. She knows it's unavoidable and should she shy away now, it will surely find her later. Undoubtedly so, when she considers the falsified story lying on the table before them now. (Vilifying her as well as Willow in the 'whole train derailment situation'.) If she steps into the spotlight now, at least it will have been a choice. In doing so this way, she can also protect Willow from scrutiny and harm.

...It is also worth mentioning that lately Juliet has perceived herself a nuisance instead of a help. Requiring constant tending to, guidance, and watchful green eyes. This will allow her an opportunity to prove herself capable once more, to prove that she can still be of use. (That she can do what she sets out to do, instead of failing miserably as she had done during the tournament.) When she considers that, the answer is obvious.

"I am rather used to it by now." Juliet muses, glancing carefully from Kinsley to Dorothea. "If they intend to make a spectacle of us anyway, I would rather take control of my own narrative before they can." She nods, raising her chin determinedly. (If she had the opportunity to stop the spread of stories about her in Folklore before they'd begun... oh, she can't even think of it lest her eyes mist over. How different would her life have been? Fates, she would be a damned fool to waste that opportunity as it's presented to her in Evermore.) "Yes, I will do it. Where should we begin?"

"To fix all of this...?" Kinsley clicks her tongue, ice-blue eyes scanning Juliet from head to foot. She barely disguises her shiver when her gaze passes over the Pantera. When she critically pinches a rouge strand of red hair, Juliet glares. In a catlike gesture, the archer swats her hand away. "We should have started yesterday." With that judging remark out of her system, her expression shifts into one of intense focus. She's taking their time constraints seriously, at least. "Okay, stand up. Turn around. Let's see..."

***​

Soon enough, two large racks of gowns are rolled into the room. Moments later, the oversized couches in the sitting room are piled high with rejected gowns. Kinsley holds them up to Juliet in front of a full-sized mirror, assessing each of their options with a most discerning eye. There are some she wordlessly rejects with the twist of her lips, casting them aside. On a few occasions she'll remark upon on Juliet's figure or her red shade of hair.

"These are the exactly the sort of gowns one would wear to a costume ball." Eventually, it's Juliet who has an opinion to voice. And not in a good way, judging by the expression on her face. (She is not quite so certain how Kinsley managed to have so many dresses brought to the room at such short notice... but it is evident that no skilled Folklorian seamstress worked on any of them.) "...The material is garish. I am not pretending to be Folklorian, am I?"

"These are costumes. If you'd have packed more gowns from your closet in Folklore, maybe we wouldn't be having this problem right now." Kinsley bites the inside of her cheek. Though she doesn't state it outright, she does agree with her. These dresses just aren't going to cut it. She sighs and haphazardly tosses the dress towards the couch, this time hitting Meredith square in the face. (The dress is shorn with claws and glared at on impact.) "You two are getting in the way." Kinsley addresses Meredith and Willow. "Shoo. We'll call you back when we're finished here."

"...If that is the case, you should leave as well." Juliet tells Kinsley, who is utterly scandalized by the notion. "I'd prefer to have Dorothea's help." She doesn't bat a lash, turning to the pop star with an idea. "I think it'd be wise to combine Folklorian and Evermorian fashions for the interview. Wouldn't it be appealing to the public, knowing that I am eager to learn more about them and their ways?"

 

[starboob]

Magic weaves into each one of Dorothea’s actions, as effortless as it is thoughtless. Though it had made sense when she swept her arms over the room and disappeared the costumes Kinsley managed to pull together (how!?) as well as when she set up a magicked three panel mirror, she seems to have no qualms using it for even the simplest of tasks—like summoning a pen that is well within reach. She simply snaps her fingers, draws a glyph, or waves her wand and all her errands are done.

With the suite entirely to themselves, a companionable silence falls over the two women, each one scrutinizing the different reflections of Juliet as they deliberate over what will be the best blend of Folklore and Evermore’s fashion. Dorothea had earlier suggested that she lean into a more Folklore focused look and use Evermore as accents, noting that the public will be expecting her to look the part. (“It’s silly, I know—you just need to speak and they’ll hear it in your accent, which is super cute, by the way, but we’ll have to balance expectations and reality,” she had said.) However, unlike Kinsley, Dorothea is far more open to Juliet’s ideas and makes it obvious that her comfort is priority. When facing the vultures, the popstar has always believed it’s worth more to feel one’s best than look one’s best. While she doesn’t want to assume that the noblewoman is unused to scrutiny and niceties, Evermore might be a different beast. (Or maybe not. A rose by any other name, right? And what really separates their realms aside from the veil? Perhaps they are just the same beast in different disguises.) She just wants her to be prepared, so she shares her opinion and offers insight into how the typical Evermorian will receive certain choices.

“One thing I might need to be uncompromising on…” Dorothea abruptly breaks the silence, rising from her seat on the couch. “The jacket. It’s not ours to debut and the artist had a vision that I’d like to respect.” She takes the spot next to Juliet, tilting her head at the three different reflections; one wears a red dress, another a green, and the last is in blue. The colors are hardly important and it’s the cut they’re mostly trying to sort out. Once they know the cut, modifying the dress will be easy—especially if Meredith and Willow are open to helping. (It’ll almost be like drama class all over again!) “Though I guess I could call Pantera and ask… What do you think?”

Before Juliet even has the chance to answer, the popstar summons a rather impressive jewelry collection and begins sorting through pieces—after all, accessories are what will really saves this look. Her fingers glide over a few golden necklaces and bracelets, items she thinks will complement the redhead’s complexion. A few of them float in the air and move to hover over Juliet, waiting for her opinion. “You know… We keep approaching this from the angle that you’re a noblewoman from Folklore—Amoria, was it? But…” A glint flashes in her eyes, finding Juliet’s gaze in the mirror. “You can be whoever you want to be here. You can be yourself.”

Again, Dorothea is not trying to make an assumption about Juliet’s life—she barely knows the woman—but she knows enough about the Folklorian to know that they are birds of a feather; perhaps in more ways than she initially imagined. When she looks between their tired companions, she sees the parallel lines in bold. Oddly, it gives her hope. If her life parallels Juliet’s, then perhaps she does have a future still waiting for her—one not bound to someone who wants her for the one thing she refuses to be. Juliet escaped her fate. Maybe she can, too?

“Folklore… What’s it like?” Though they have spoken on Folklore before, she really only learned about the fashion and, while interesting, still so much is unknown about the realm that overlaps Evermore. And… Well, Juliet once asked if she’d like to escape to Folklore. ('Folklore isn't Saturn. But it is far away.') Tempting as the offer is, she cannot leave Kinsley behind. It would not be right.

Besides, with the news of the Tyrant, someone needs to warn the seven. They might not care much for meddling in mortal affairs as they once had, but they ought to know. (Is it silly to assume they don’t already know? Ah, well. It would not be the first time she's been a fool in front of them. Better safe than sorry, anyway.) At least one still frequents this realm and she’s certain she knows where to find him.

…Anyway, even if she doesn’t plan to leave Evermore behind, it’d be nice to dream of another place. Maybe a place where she can just be herself, where no one cares about her last name or whose godblood runs through her veins. Maybe a place where she could just be a person. “Is it really much different from Evermore?”

 

[ellarose]

You can be yourself.

Juliet's feelings are carefully masked while she turns the notion over in her head. For a moment, it's like playing the 'I Spy' game that Willow introduced her to. She can spot just as many differences as she can similarities between herself and Dorothea Birdsong. The differences being the heavenly aura that emanates off of Dorothea's body, the magic she commands with the effortless flick of her fingers. From what she's seen, her image is as carefully tended as the hedges in Queen Viviane's garden. There's a level of protection she has in the preservation of her image that the archer never had herself. However, it's only surface level and the reasons for that protection are ulterior. Does Dorothea ever get to be herself without repercussions? Where Juliet violently fought and struggled against those dragging her down her intended path, Dorothea appears to drift gracefully along. At times, she masks her own emotions so well she seems to float above it all.

Juliet wonders how Dorothea does it, how she bears it all without setting everything around her aflame... but then she recalls the thorns, the transformation she underwent at the fair. Looking at Dorothea now, going about each task with grace and ease, it is hard to tell that she's the hollow-eyed woman they found in the fun house. There is no telling how many outbursts she may have experienced thus far, knowing that they are all promptly swept clean by her mother and Griffith King.

That begs the question... does Dorothea ever really get to be herself?

"I was not born into nobility. I grew up in the wood. It is magical, beautiful... deadly." Juliet explains. She's impartial to the red, but she is not sure what it will say about her when she ultimately takes the interview. Seamstresses are always picky about these things when considering the purpose of a gown. White is innocence. Red, passion. Violet is regal and so on. Her mind starts to drift, though, as she considers Dorothea's question. They're alone now. For all the differences they have, she knows all too well what it's like... everyone around them sense that they're screaming on the inside. All the while, no one says a damned thing to their faces about it. "I was adopted into high society when I was ten. Since then, my true self has been trained out of me by strict governesses, strict ladies, and stricter men. Melodramatic as it might sound, I scarcely know how to be myself anymore." Her brown eyes flick up to Dorothea's, searching.

Juliet doesn't look for sympathy, nor does intend to patronize Dorothea. There's room for nothing but mutual understanding as she gazes at the other woman's raw hands before opening her own-- exposing the bruised insides of her wrist and the palms of her hands littered with red, crescent-shaped cuts. While she might feel alone, she's not really alone.

"If we need to garner more excitement for the evening's interview, asking to debut the Pantera tonight could work out in our favor. However, I don't mind one way or the other about it. If the designer would prefer to wait for the gala as intended, I'll respect that." Juliet offers thoughtfully, shifting her thoughts to the jacket. If it were Kinsley she were speaking to, she might have been purposefully difficult just to get a rise out of her. "I might decide to wear my hood instead. It is properly Folklorian. Although, I suppose it may be quite warm. The summer season is rather consistent here."

The differences between Folklore and Evermore... the process may be very much like discerning the differences and comparisons between herself and Dorothea.

"Folklore's seasons often change. It is not unheard of to experience all four seasons within the span of a single day." Juliet considers, deciding to elaborate and thus highlight the first difference she can pick out between the two worlds. Still, the weather has become especially unruly as of late. It used to be easier to predict its whims. Now it is more of a guessing game. "I never wore short pants before I visited Evermore. The ladies were scandalized when I told them about it." A playful flicker flits through her eyes at the memory. "That, of course, was merely the opinion of the Amorian royals. People dress differently across the kingdoms and in various villages as well. Wonderland's fashion, for instance, is quite impossible to describe." She considers this. "It is extremely different. The way people hold themselves, the way they speak and dress. But every day, I find myself noticing similarities as well. Simple as it might sound, people are people regardless of where you go. Driven by ambition, desire, greed, fear, what have you..."

In some cases, it's like watching a play I've seen before on stage-- only the actors, costumes, and set paintings have changed." Juliet tilts her head to the side. "I will admit, it has been nice to experience a world where no one knows my name." She breathes out a slight laugh at the thought. "Nice while it lasted, anyway. But this was bound to happen sooner or later... and I am determined to see it through, to ensure that Willow does not come to harm."

 

[starboob]

It’s comforting to know that Willow James has Juliet August to look out for her. Not that Willow James is ever really alone. Dorothea still remembers the love rush when she first ever entered that charming Rhode Island home, how everything and everyone in that home came together and cared for one another. Willow has never been in short supply of love and it shows in all the ways she shines. (“If Evermore had more Willow Jameses—” “It’d be full of dorks.” “...No. Well, maybe, but I don’t think that’d be so bad. I’d rather that than anything else. At the very least, there'd be more people cute enough to kiss.” Willow’s face got so red after that.)

And as Dorothea considers this along with the evidence of earlier, she wonders if she’s giving the sorceress enough credit. It would be a mistake to underestimate Willow James, after all. It’s not even because of the rumor she’s storm kissed. It’s that Willow James is fearless. It surprised her earlier when she put herself between Kinsley and Meredith, and it shouldn’t have. This is the same person who laid out her heart and called Dorothea a coward for refusing what she knew she wanted. (Her exact words had been, “I triple dog dare you to leave with me. You’re a chicken if you don’t.”) More than that, it was the least surprising thing in the realms to discover that Willow James had taken it upon herself to save love. She’s been fearless this entire time and Dorothea never noticed, too stuck focusing on everything that has her labeled as meek.

Yes, so maybe Willow James doesn’t need Juliet August to look out for her and it’s still nice to know that she is not fending for herself alone. It's not like Dorothea was ever strong enough to defend her. She was a coward. (And maybe still is.) She tries to tell herself it was to protect her. She tried to reason that if she stayed away, then Willow would never be sucked into a world of hunters and foxes. ...But if that were true, then maybe she would have turned the other way when she saw Willow at the fair. At the very least, she never should have invited her to the mall. But Willow is a good person and she does the right thing, so maybe there was never going to be any stopping her involvement and maybe she never should have tried. Willow James is Willow James.

Jovi has to nudge Dorothea when her silence stretches beyond what would be considered thoughtful. She blinks, finding Juliet again as a smile softens her features. “You must care about her a lot, to put yourself in the limelight like this.” She directs Juliet to sit on a summoned stool that appears just behind her. Then she starts running a comb through her red waves. “I never would have taken the risk. I’m not quite so fearless as you both are. If I were given the chance to run off to a new realm where no one knew me, I think I’d enjoy being a secret too much to sacrifice it.”

As she talks, she separates Juliet’s hair into sections and begins to weave the sections together. This, mostly, is to keep her hands busy, to keep her from scraping them down to the bone. (Mom swears that’s what will happen one of these days.) “I’ve lived on Charming Street my entire life, but sometimes I wonder what life would have been like if my mom hadn’t paid my dad to conceive a child with her.” Dorothea keeps herself focused on layering one strand over the other as she speaks, hiding herself (again) with shrugs and airy laughs. Not that this fact even stings anymore. “I mean, obviously the version of myself that exists right now could only ever have been curated by those set of circumstances, so it’s pointless to wonder about something different. Still, whenever I see my dad, it’s nice to imagine what life with just him would have been like. Like, maybe instead of mom keeping me, he does and he raises me and maybe I become a pilot, too.” Not that she thinks she’d actually like being a pilot. It sounds boring and maybe that’s why the fantasy appeals to her. The more extravagant her life becomes, the more she craves the mundane. (Willow would have given that to her in the best way possible. But when she considers the archer, the way the sorceress steals glances at her, the old flame knows that ship has sailed.)

When she thinks about it, all she’s ever tried to be is good. Because when she’s good, life is easier. The path to follow is clear and she knows all the steps, words, and expectations. It’s a role she knows and for as much as she dreams of something else, she doesn’t see how she could ever leave all that she knows behind. “Anyway, I didn't need a strict governess to teach me what I am supposed to be. That has always been clear. I suppose I have neglected to discover myself at all.” She punctuates this with an airy laugh, meeting Juliet’s eye in the mirror and sharing a look of understanding. “Well, that’s an exaggeration. I do know myself through the few fantasies I haven't denied myself, but the disappointment of knowing that that will never be mine to claim is just not worth the effort. I know where I am meant to be." The few things that have been her own have been taken from her the second they are discovered. She has always had to be careful.

“It’s a good thing that you at least know somewhat what to expect,” she continues, breezing straight past her admissions in true Dorothea Birdsong fashion. She only glows in the spotlight when she’s someone else. The actual Dorothea doesn’t seem to care or crave the attention her life has afforded her. More often than not, she skirts the spotlight and steers conversations away from herself. However, this Juliet August from Folklore pulls her story from her like she's sucking out poison to save her. “They probably won’t ask you any intelligent questions. Mostly, I imagine that they’ll want to know about your dating history and whether the men of Folklore are as chivalrous as the stories suggest.” She wrinkles her nose at that notion. “There might even be a game where you rate Evermorian heartthrobs. Bleh. Seriously, it’s going to be so unserious.” And it bothers Dorothea that this kind of tactic will work in disappearing that article about the falsified account of who’s responsible for the near derailment of a passenger train. “These kinds of interviews make me so irritable. I’ve had to stop doing them altogether.”

 

[ellarose]

"That's another difference between our worlds, actually. Folklore is only allowed so much progress in terms of invention. The absurdity of our magic and monsters can grow to unprecedented heights... but inventors who endeavored to emulate Evermorian aircrafts have always failed in their attempts. It's as though the world itself refuses to accept it. The technology, the mechanical beasts... ahem. Cars. Trains. Planes." Juliet notes when she ponders on Dorothea being the daughter of a pilot. That seemingly mundane fact about herself is, perhaps, the most unusual to a Folklorian like Juliet. (The very thought of the mechanical beasts kept her awake all last night.) "The closest we've come to flying outside of the backs of dragons or griffins are chariots with wings."

Juliet continues on the subject, to show she is listening, but does not dig insistently for more information as not to come on too strongly. They've only known each other for so long... but as Dorothea works her fingers through her hair, there's this sense that they've known each other for far longer than that. She sighs softly. It does feel rather nice to have her hair fixed this way. (She used to hate it vehemently, hiding away from mother whenever she saw her approaching with the brush. Always yanking much too hard, as if a rough untangling would also sort out her adoptive daughter's unruly personality.) However, Dorothea's touch does miss a little something that was there when it was Willow's fingers working through her hair... there is a distinctive gentleness that comes from her touch that sets her apart. 'You must care about her a lot.' Juliet stubbornly tamps down on the thought, the feeling.

"I understand that. I felt indebted to my adoptive parents for a time. How couldn't I? I went from begging and stealing on village streets to dining with the queen herself." Juliet admits. For all her little rebellions and antics, she used to make an earnest effort to be good. She truly did. To fit in as much as her patience and morals would allow, to repay her gratitude to her parents for keeping her sheltered and fed, to blend into the background instead of causing more trouble than she already had. "Then I was forced into an arranged marriage with an awful codfish of a lord. It was no secret, the way he treated me. No one seemed to care... " Ouch. She blinks, catching herself pinching her wrists again. (Has she ever admitted all of this aloud before?) She smoothes her hands flat on her lap. "No one cared. Everyone smiled, congratulated me, told me I was lucky. Eventually, I realized if I didn't do something, nothing would be done at all. That would be my life forever..."

Juliet closes her eyes, picturing the nightmarish scene. The mansion's cold, massive rooms. Lavish and devoid of character. The scent of floral perfume trying and failing to disguise the stench of the mind-numbing medicine that would permeate the air of her chambers. Perhaps she would still be on bed rest to this day, with nothing but needle point and cards to entertain herself with. And Brooks would stroll in at his own discretion, doing whatever he pleases. Through marriage, he'd appoint himself the right to do whatever he pleased with her-- treating her as he would any object he owns. Before she can seethe at the thought, Grace presses against her calves under the stool to soothe her.

Juliet knows all too well what it is like, trying to speak up. Trying to rebel and failing because ones opponents are too influential, too powerful. Feeling helpless, controlled. Acts of rebellion led to higher dosages, attempts to escape Brooks's capture led to Grace's capture, to her life being used as leverage. If not for his transformation at the altar... she wouldn't have gotten away at all. A terrifying thought. The prospect of that fate is far more haunting to her than the monstrous nature of the Lightless afflictions themselves. How can she help Dorothea, an Evermorian, escape her own fate? Surely there must be something she can do.

"It took years before I realized the people I was trying so hard to please weren't worth the effort. Everything changed when I began to see it that way... though it wasn't easy. My reputation suffered as I strove to make my own decisions. Not everyone understands or accepts me for it, but the world did not end." Juliet takes a deep breath. She's rather surprised she's going into this much detail... but she feels emboldened as Dorothea trades pieces of her own. Because of what she's been through, the life she lives, she knows that she will at least understand. And like Willow James, she does not have a preconceived notion of who she is based on lies. She will not challenge her or cite fabricated tales to invalidate her truth. "Is it really so selfish of me, refusing to be a lord's miserable captive?" Now she's dedicated her life to causes she actually cares about instead of appeasing those who do not deserve her time or energy. That has been taken even further now that she has broken away from mother and the royals.

Juliet takes a deep, steeling breath. That's enough of that, is it not? What is she doing, though, if not using her own experiences to try and help those who suffer at the expense of the men in their lives-- just as she did? It serves her well to remind herself of the reasons why she is fighting for change.

"Of course, that is not the story I intend to give at the interview tonight. I wonder what they would do if I rated all of the heart-robs a zero out of five stars?" Juliet asks with an amused flicker in her eyes. If she was to wager a guess, they'd probably hate her and label her a snob. "What is a heart-rob, anyhow? A person who steals hearts?" The archer gently trails her fingertips over her braid when Dorothea finishes with it, assessing it. It appears Folklorian enough-- it will do. "Perhaps I ought to concoct a riveting story for the audience instead? If they wish for something romantic..." She muses. "I could say I have a lover who vanished. With my thread as my guide, my search has led me across Folklore and all the way to Evermore. That is exactly the sort of story that would captivate Folklorians... though I am uncertain if it would have the same effect in Evermore. If so, I could ask Willow to help me with the details. She is an excellent storyteller."

 

[starboob]

(̶̞̑Y̴̡̦̫͈̙̣͒o̴̪͙͚̟̐̄̒̇͆͘ų̶̧͈̰̹̩̜̯́̂̉ͅ'̷̯̘͕̉̍͒͊̽̔̆͝r̵̳̎́e̵̡͉̺͈͚̖̣͓̩̐̒̈́̀̎̚͝͠ ̵̱̭̯͙̭̈́͌͗̈͂͒̆̚g̷̛͍̊̈̈́̓͊͌̈́̌̓͌ọ̴̺͕͉͚͈̭́͛̏̈́͋͂͆i̴̢͎͔͇͉͋͒͒n̴̦̈́̀̇̾̇̍̅̄̅̋̂ͅģ̴̗̫̬̲̼̺͖̈̎̃ ̸͇̘͔̦̰̹͔̤̐̐̈́t̴͉͗́ò̵̠̝͈̯̱̹͖̼͇̑̏̈̈́ ̴̛̘̝͙̱̖̺̞͈̅͑̎̾̈̐̋ͅĺ̷̡̲̬̹͚͉̬͍͔̥̓̆̊̎̑̔̇̉̔ŏ̴̰̤͇͈͖̘̉̃͗́͜ō̸̢̻̖̼̯̰͔̈́͒ķ̵̫͇͒̍̍̾̃̕͜ ̷̖̔s̵̨̭͕͍̤̦̦͉̙̘͇̄̊̾̀͊͘̚o̷̠̼͍̯̭̔͂͂ ̶̡̧̱̪̯̞̫̹̳̠͉̔̿͗̄̀̅͐͋͠͝͝c̶͍͓͌͒̀͝ŏ̴̳͚̀̐͑̾̋͆̀̈́̕ö̸̧̱̙̟̠̬͉́͒̎͆̓̎̔̎̍̔͜ľ̸̞͈͇̪̗̀͌͛̚͠ ̷̧͔̄͌̐͑̕w̷̧̬̮͇̗̯̹͔͌̃̚h̵̨̪̦̮̪͇̼̹̝͈̒̐̋̾͝e̶͚̯͚̔̿̅̈́̍̀̿͐̓̂͝n̶̡̬̟̤̺̠̊̃̂͋͋̔̀̚ ̷̮͎̖̝̝̩̍̂͛̏́͑͝t̵̢̢̛̪͔̙͖̝̫̣̞̐̐͛̈́͛͂͋͊͘h̷͖̦́͛̿̾̀͗̒̽̐̆͠ả̶̦͔̘̰̥͔̦̹̝̂̀̕͠t̴̨̪͕̜̘̜͇̓̂͑̂̓̈́̕͘͝ ̵̼̳̇̈͐̔͑͑̔̚̚s̸̼̋̾̿̔̓̂͝͝ć̵̙̼͙͍̟̍͌̀̇͘͝ạ̵̬̣̰̬͕̩͎̤͔̋̍́̎̃͑̚̕͜͠r̷̛̜̈́͊̈́̏̆s̶͉̦̪͍͎̺̣̎̈́ͅͅ.̴̧̢̝̘͔̞̼̙͖̦̠͗̎)̸̨̝̘̠͖͛̎͆̈́̎


Something gnaws at the back of Dorothea’s mind, a memory or a piece from a dream she’s only just recalled. It’s burrowed deep within her brain, as if a beast stuck in hibernation. If she turns all of her attention towards this feeling or place, the softest feathers brush under her fingertips. Though she cannot see them, somehow she just knows that they are speckled gray and she knows that they belong to a griffon and she knows this is a companion and she knows and she knows and she knows—

Her breath hitches in her throat, taking a step back from Juliet. Aside from the gasp and her dilated eyes, the actress remains in character, features placid and soft. (Is it just the lighting or are her eyes starting to hollow? Are the flowers on the table starting to wilt? Are the lights dimming? Is her divinity losing its luster?) When she lifts her hand to comb through her strawberry tresses, right in her palm is the unmistakable feather belonging to that griffon. She stops, smoothing one thumb over its familiarity, brow puckering in frustration as she struggles to place this pebble patterned feather or the reason she conjured it.

Jovi doesn’t nudge her out of her reverie this time. She feels those curious brown eyes on her, not prying or suspicious, just simply noticing. She lifts the feather from her palm, twirling it between her index and thumb as an explanation for her distraction. “I have a powerful imagination.” This is not a lie. Her imagination has always had a tendency to overflow and leak out of her, a symptom of her godblood. This is all this is, she is sure. She slips the feather into her pocket to investigate later. “You mentioned griffons and I suppose I started thinking of the petting zoo mom brings out for the annual Birdsong block party. Griffons were my favorite of the magical creatures.”

She waves her hand through the air, waving away the topic and busies herself with Juliet’s red hood; mostly just inspecting it for the sake of inspecting it. Summer heat aside, the building the interview is hosted in will probably be colder than a bitch’s tit. The garment will be fine to wear. Her fingers smooth over the stitching, thinking over Juliet’s story.

‘Not a single person truly knows Griffith.’ It’s a bitter thought. She’d like to believe that mom wouldn’t push this engagement if she knew the truth, but all she knows is what she sees and Griffith is as much an actor as she. She remembers a time where he held all the sweetness of summer—like the night she came over crying, woken by some awful nightmare, and how he held her until the sun rose. He courted her, too. Even though their thread made their relationship a forgone conclusion, he courted her like a gentleman. She doesn’t remember when he changed, just that one day he wasn’t that sweet boy anymore and he had become completely unrecognizable from the person who she thought she knew. (This scratches at the back of her mind as everything seems to lately. She ignores it, not wanting to tempt another outburst. She’s been so good lately.) The only person in this world who understands is Kinsley.

Anyway, as much as she’d love to dream of escaping, it’s a flight fantasy like going off to Saturn. Even with Folklore as an option, she does not want to bring trouble to the sister realm should it be discovered she crossed the veil. And it will be discovered, because what belongs to Dorothea only ever remains hers for short bursts. (Her wings were clipped the moment she was born and every time they grow back, they are gouged out, each time more painful than the last.) Even so, she would be a liar if she said that Juliet’s story doesn’t inspire something like hope and dangerous curiosity.

But enough of that.

“You should rate the heartthrobs a zero out of five stars.” Dorothea laughs, punctuated by a quiet snort that mom and Kinsley and Griffith and everyone all hate. “It would be accurate, at least. A heartthrob, not rob, is just some boy that teen girls tend to fawn over and project fantasies onto. Most of them are vain, egotistical maniacs.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m sure you’re overly familiar with the type.”

Dorothea comes around to Juliet’s front and magics eight different lipsticks, stains, and glosses into her fists then fans them out for consideration. She doesn’t impose any of the options onto the Folklorian and even would allow her to turn down make-up altogether. It’s about Juliet’s comfort, after all. “That story would work here, too. We’re all as love obsessed as Folklore, it seems.” It’s not just Elsewhere that has an abundance of heart and love themed shops, it’s all of Evermore. It’s as if everywhere is trying to be the perfect first date location should a person meet their thread-match while shopping for kitty litter. (Willow, naturally, has always been a fan. Dorothea thinks it’s a little overkill.) “Or it’d be more accurate to say that we’re thread obsessed.” She glimpses hers briefly, spindly and no longer glowing. (Did it ever glow?) When she compares Willow to Griffith, it's obvious that love and threads have little to do with each other.

...She really shouldn’t be thinking about this.

“Jules, earlier you said that, at a certain point, you realized that you would have to be your own hero. How did you know that no one else would be hurt by your actions?” Because Dorothea isn’t convinced that she can make a move without others getting hurt. Even now, she's worried who she's putting into harm's way by meddling (again). 'I might be a gone girl, but I don't want to drag others down with me.'

 

[ellarose]

"Don't tempt me. I really will say it if you encourage me like that." Dorothea's snort draws the slightest of smiles from Juliet, a pure and childlike amusement flickering in her brown eyes. It's a peek behind the curtain the actress is always holding up. Sure, the patterns on that curtain might be conventionally beautiful, but it's still a curtain. Not nearly as interesting as the person who hides behind it, striving to be everything that everyone wants her to be instead of the person she really is. It's satisfying, getting to glimpse underneath it. It's not that Juliet wishes to undo Dorothea or anything like that-- she just knows how excruciating it is, carrying so much. Hiding so much. If she can offer her reprieve from that task for even just a moment she's content.

"Folklore is the opposite. The nobles have stopped regarding threads altogether. It is little more than an afterthought to them... they care too much about bloodlines and power. However, it is also due to a lack of trust in threads. Hexed and severed threads have become commonplace. It's no secret that someone has gone and made a royal mess of the fate's design." Juliet's eyes trace her own thread curiously. Willow James is unlike anyone she's ever been connected to before. Coming from this world, where one's thread is regarded so heavily... what did she think of when she met Juliet? Willow must have been disappointed. Juliet was so disenchanting, nudging her fallen form with her foot. Giving stiff, awkward answers to all her questions. She's so unlike this Dorothea Birdsong, who she has loved before. Who she admitted she'll always love, to some extent. 'Why are you thinking about this, Juliet?' The question jostles her. Blinking slowly, pulling herself back to the present, the archer directs her attention to the lipsticks. It takes little hesitation before she pulls a red that compliments her hood.

Juliet knows Dorothea doesn't mean it, but her next question slides through her like a knife-- piercing a soft, lonely, unloved part of her.

"When I made my decision I had no one left in Amoria." Juliet's nails are gnawing through her palms again. Her cheeks are slightly red with the admission. As someone who claimed to love her, Viola shouldn't have looked at her like that. They'd talked about running away so many times... and when the time finally came... "My adoptive parents were affected... but for everyone else, it was something to gossip about at the next ball. I grew up as the cursed, lowly girl from the wood. I never belonged there. Since the day I arrived, they expected me to ruin everything I touched. All I did was prove them right." She pops the lipstick lid off, inspecting it. "Choices like that are easy to make when you're alone and inconsequential."

They are extremely different in that way. Dorothea's been lifted up so high that she has a long way to fall. Juliet just digs herself deeper.

And yet... and yet. Thanks to Grace's transformation, the people are now suspecting that Juliet's bloodline connects her to royals. Things may change irreversibly now that such a rumor is in circulation. She may know very little about her birth parents, but her mama was not the queenly sort with her calloused hands and simple cloth dresses, floral patches sewn lovingly over each hole and tear. She was ordinary. Or at least, that's how she appeared. It goes to show how little she really knows.

More than that... Juliet considers the griffin feather in Dorothea's hand. That is the sort of magic one would expect from the likes of a deity, no? Then what does that say about her as she creates invisible arrows with her imagination?

...Who the hell am I?

"At a certain point, you have to trust that those who truly love you wouldn't-- and shouldn't-- want you to suffer." Juliet raises her chin. Millie stood by her-- encouraged her to leave. In the end, she is the only one who cared. She is the one who helped her realize that she is allowed to ask for more. That she doesn't have to settle for a love that's not really love, just to be held. "Try to see it from the perspective of those you mean to protect. Would you want someone you care about suffering in silence for your sake? Would you fear that they might start to resent you as the years drag on?"

I don't have all of the answers. I'd suggest you consider what you have to lose. Or rather, what you're afraid to lose and why. Then consider what you have to gain by choosing something different. The worlds are full of possibilities... I can scarcely believe I'm here in Evermore right now." Juliet shakes her head, clicking the cap back on the lipstick and setting it aside. It'll do. "Ultimately, it is your decision to make. I know it's not easy for you. And for what it's worth, I am willing to help in any way I can." She bites the inside of her cheek. "Actually, Willow and I have been healing those in Folklore we call the Lightless. We do so by entering the labyrinths of their hearts. Would you like for us to try and heal you the same way we've healed them? I cannot promise that it would work-- but we could try."