queenking | open post

"Uhhhh, like a store, but on a corner. Small, usually has a deli in it. Good sandwiches, shitty coffee, the whole nine." Saxsice pushes open the door, revealing a back alley with a heavily-graffiti'd dumpster, some old boxes, a few stray cats (who all hiss at her approach and bolt), and a set of rickety stairs that wind upwards, hugging the side of the building. At regular intervals along the stairs are potted plants (all dead), old bikes, various other bits and bobs.

Saxsice points upwards. "Probably got a pen somewhere in my room. You good with the stairs? They look gnarly, but they'll hold my wolf-y ass just fine, so we're safe." Apparently "living close" quite literally means "living above". Can't beat that commute.

“Oh, okay. Been through plenty of those, just not heard that name.” The sort of stop that kept her ass alive during the four cross-country drives she made each year. Back to the Knife once in the summer, then back to Manitoba; back for Christmas, and maybe delaying enough to spend New Year's in Edmonton before returning to Porcupine River for the icy and exhausting now-we-go-back-to-the-grind grumbling through January, February, maybe March. “I should re-graffiti that dumpster next time I'm over. You could join me; it'd be fun. And yeah, we're good. I'm just a little slow-going, but it's not due to any trepidation.”

"Bodega, corner store, mom n' pop shop. All kinds of names." Saxsice pauses by the dumpster to pat it affectionately, chuckling a little. "I do like a bit of graffiti, even if I can't see all the colors. You'll just have to tell me if I'm doin' it right."

She bounds up to the second landing, then pauses, that softly vulnerable look on her face again. "Thanks for -- doin' this, too. I'll pay you back somehow, promise."

“As long as you're being relatively safe and having fun, there's no doing it wrong. Like sidewalk chalk, only with a much more satisfying sound effect.”

That pause and look back had Sam pausing in turn, momentarily unsure of the shift in attitude... but that only lasted until Saxsice spoke again. The thanks alone cemented Sam's certainty. Her answer came with the warmth and friendly regard Saxsice already familiar to Saxsice, but there was something else, there, too---in her answer, in her eyes, in her whole bodily attitude; an adamant insistence just shy of whatever it was that made adepts what they were. “It's fucking hard for people to get the help they need, when they need it. Gets harder as you get weirder. I want the occult underground to be a place where people can get help for whatever's come up, and as far as I can reach? It's gonna be. I'm probly gonna come to you to ask a favor someday, so I'm not worried about payback. Odds are I'll be having you help me help somebody else. That said? It's a pleasure.”

The solemnity abates somewhat, replaced with Saxsice’s warmth, her chin propped in one hand, elbow on the banister. "Well, as soon as you need anythin', you just holler. I'm all about one favor for another, y’know?"

Then she's hopping back up the stairs, pausing at the top to look out towards the view of the water -- and peek through the window in the door. "I think the munchkin's asleep -- TVs still on. He's a light sleeper, so we gotta be a little quiet, yeah?"

That answer got a grin. “This is why we're friends. Partly. The rest is I like your vibes and the cut of your jibe.”

Sam continued climbing; Saxsice had plenty of time to survey the situation, though it wasn't like stairs were a struggle, just hard to hurry on. “Can do. I'll just follow your lead unless I spot something I think I can use?”

Saxsice grins right back, lopsided and a little shy. She's got lots of acquaintances -- kind of comes with the territory, owning a bar and all -- but actually friends? Not really. "I like your vibes too. And the cut of uhhhh everythin'." Cue a vague handwave.

Once Sam reaches the top landing -- sharing it with Saxsice, a grill, an old rusty bike and the deep freezer that's presumably full of rabbits -- Saxsice opens the door, careful to be on the quiet side.

The apartment is the same warm chaos as the bar -- trinkets and items spread across the counters, splashes of color in the form of scarves and paintings and various knick-knacks. But the hardwood floors gleam, and there's sunlight pouring in the windows. True to Saxsice’s assumption, the TV is on low, and Ryan is asleep on the couch, curled up like a puppy under a quilt. Saxsice’s whole persona softens the second she sees him, tiptoeing over to settle on the couch as well.

"There's my guy," she murmurs, stroking back her kid's hair as he instinctively snuggles closer to her. "Hey, sugar."

“Of everything? That's high praise.” Though she kept grinning, Sam left it at that, to come in after Saxsice as quietly as she could. She didn't follow far, loitering a few steps past the threshold (after carefully, quietly shutting the door behind her). She wanted to give Saxsice a minute to do what she was going to do, and give herself a minute to just take in the space... though she looked to the Kings at Saxsice's soft remark. It was sweet to see mother and son in a moment of peace, and seeing the warmth with which Saxsice regarded her kid was like stepping onto a sun-soaked patch of carpet barefoot, but for the heart.

Safeguarding more moments like these? Absolutely was gutter magic was meant for---all intent and association and scraps-made-symbols, since the first time a parent slid a protective charm beneath the crib, or a hand drew a circle around a sleeping pet, or the door or the chair or the mailbox of an absent friend had something added to hasten them home.

The sweet moment holds for one second, two, almost seems like it's going to continue -- then Ryan jerks upright and awake all of a sudden, going from cuddled up to on alert, both hands clutching in the fabric of the couch. The softness is replaced with the scent -- and perhaps the sight -- of fear, saturating the air within an instant. Saxsice winces, moves her hands away, holding them up where her kid can see them.

"Hey, darlin', just me. Just mom." She wants to shield this part, the effect of her ex's reappearance on her kid. Her son, who's looking at her like he doesn't have a clue who she is or where they are or what's happening. It isn't embarrassing, it just -- hurts. This part hurts.

Ryan blinks a few times, hands loosening as he comes back to himself, as he remembers to breathe. Saxsice scoots a little closer, reaches out to smooth his hair back, exhaling in relief when he doesn't flinch. His gaze flickers over to Sam, taking a moment to place her. "Sam's here too," Saxsice confirms. "Didn't mean to scare you, munchkin."

Saxsice flinched; Sam winced, both at the flash of fear and the poor woman's reaction. Knowing she was a werewolf undoubtedly coloured the though of like a kicked puppy but that didn't make it entirely untrue.

"It's just me, and I'm just chillin'. Mind if I sit, too?" Sam gestured vaguely at the arm of the couch (the best place to sit) furthest from Ryan, expression mildly hopeful. It wasn't that she wanted to sit so much as she wanted to help reassure the kid, at least a little, and putting him in control of the space seemed like a way that might work.

Ryan looked between the arm of the couch and Sam a couple times, the gears almost visibly turning in his little head. He'd migrated to holding onto his mother's arm, fingers knotted in her loose sweatshirt. Finally he nodded, glancing up at Saxsice with a silent question.

She immediately shook her head. "You don't gotta talk, it's all good. No pressure here." Towards Sam, she rolled her eyes, elaborating a little: "My momma was big on "yes ma'am" and "no ma'am", and didn't really get that sometimes people don't feel like talkin' for a bit. Different rules in my house, though."

There's all kinds of hurt in the comment, a cruel and ugly backstory that Sam can likely parse out. But Saxsice scoots over a little, pats the arm of the couch. "Pull up an arm, plenty of room."

“Man...” But what could she follow that stall up with? Even as she leisurely stepped over, letting her limp slow her a little more than it otherwise would, Sam gave up and let her mouth run on its own. “Ryan, I'm going to tell you the same thing I told one of my best friends, early on in our friendship. I mean it just as much now, talking to you, as I did then, cause it's a truth: I'm just some asshole, you don't have to listen to me. Running along those same lines? You'll never have to talk to me. You don't even have to look at me, if you don't want. If it's come to that, I'd really appreciate a thumbs up or a thumbs down in response to yes-no questions.”

As she spoke, Sam made her way to and settled onto the couch arm she'd indicated. “Flip side? Whenever you do want to talk to me, you're welcome to. Whether that's during a visit like this one, an email, even a collect call. It's all good. I'm a people person, so I like when someone wants to talk to me, but... I also dislike pressuring people, so there's no push. I promise.”

As she speaks, Ryan tucks into his mom's side, watching Sam quietly, a much-too-solemn look on his face. His hair's all sticking up from sleep, and Saxsice absently smooths it into place, ready to move her hand away if he isn't ready yet. She hopes Sam can feel her silent appreciation for not making a big deal of things, for letting her jumpy, traumatized kid be jumpy and traumatized for a moment. There've been a lot of good, big steps in the last year, but there's still a lot buried deep.

Finally, when Sam stops, Ryan considers for a moment, then nods slowly, indicating his understanding. Saxsice exhales, fluffs up his hair a bit. "You wanna stay out here and chill with us?" He makes a face. "Go to your room, gotcha. Be right back, Sam." They stand, her arm around him, his legs a little wobbly. There's a pause, and Ryan looks very much like he wants to apologize, fix things.

But it passes, and they make their way to the small hallway off the big main room, sidestepping boxes and piles of things. There's plenty to look at in their absence -- random animal bones on the counter, a container of pure white fur, assorted sticks.

In some ways---as she's aware---Sam's not only used to aura sight, but too used to aura sight. It makes reading into a tone of voice on the phone trickier; she rarely calls the betrayal or confession before it happens in a drama or suspense(though she prefers action flicks and b-movies and documentaries anyway). Still... she could probably intuit that appreciation even if she couldn't see it, something between the warmth of embers and light pollution catching low clouds with the city-source still over the horizon, out of sight.

"Sure, no rush. Especially not with me." She'd be the first to joke her two speeds were 'slow' and 'stationary,' even if the lame leg was no real inconvenience. She didn't have to run from things often, and when an exception came up, she had help.

The bones were the most interesting knick-knacks, having the most unanswered questions. What were they from? Where was the rest of the skeleton? Why were they here?

The bones are assorted -- some are clearly from rabbits or birds, held together with what looks suspiciously like hot glue. Then there are the bigger ones, antlers or leg bones, probably all from deer. These latter type all have big, deep gouges in them. Toothmarks.

Saxsice returns within a few minutes, pushing her fingers back through her tangled hair and exhaling long and slow, now that Ryan can't hear her. "Jeez. Sorry. I mean -- I'm not sorry, but. Y'know."

She plops down onto the couch, hard enough to make the springs squeak.

Sometimes the only thing to do what the only thing to do, and so Sam slid off the couch arm, onto the couch proper, and scooted over to pull Saxsice into a side-hug. "Yeah, don't sweat it. You've both been through some stuff. I get that; I respect that. I mean, half the reason I'm here is to help put the brakes on there being more such stuff. It's..."

It's not the same, a small part of her said. The rest answered: This is empathizing. Shut the fuck up.

"It's not too new to me. It might be hard to believe when you're used to the usual me, but there are things that make me incredibly antsy. People don't get rattled without reason; I'm not going to be an ass about it. You want to talk about it, or talk tilts?"

Saxsice is definitely a tactile person, but her type of affection is usually rambunctious, confident, a little teasing. It's the stuff of light-hearted moments. She's not as used to being hugged in comfort. She doesn't let people comfort her, usually.

But it was nice, it soothed the parts of her that were rubbed raw by her boy's exhausted, fearful state. She dropped her head onto Sam's shoulder, letting out a heaving sigh.

"Thanks. It's -- I knew you were good people from the start. It's just. Not somethin' I'm proud of." Saxsice paused, watching the sun reflect off the five or six prisms she'd hung in the windows. "...I mentioned Ryan grew up with my momma, yeah? She's like me, she can change, so can all my cousins and uncles and aunts. Momma was real big on it bein' a gift, somethin' that needed to be protected. So, when Ryan couldn't, it made her...furious. Made her treat him not so good."

A pause, the weight of it hanging in the air. Then: "And I just left him there. For years. Alone."

There's a time and a place for a shoulder-seize, or a playful hipcheck, or even just a pat on the back, but as readily as Sam will enjoy any casual contact with a friend, she's a hugger of note. Having Saxsice accept the side-hug was still something of a relief; it could've been too much, too soon, something to spook at, but no. It was nice, a welcome counterweight to the turn the conversation took.

"Thanks for that. I don't know how you knew, but I'm glad to be well-regarded. And yeah, you said." Nothing about Ryan's growing up came as a surprise, not until that last staggered assertion. "There's a lot you didn't say, too. Between what's been said and unsaid, I still don't know enough to say much myself... but I can say a bad parent has someone's whole life to use against them. No Miranda warning from a mom or dad. My parents are okay. Multiple people in my life? Not as lucky as me."

Saxsice huffs out another sigh, relaxing more -- doing that thing big dogs will do, sometimes, where they just let their entire weight flop against another person. She's surprisingly dense for someone her size, which is almost definitely some sort of weird magic thing -- there's more mass as a wolf than a person, so she has to keep it somewhere.

"Thanks. My childhood was -- fine, weird but fine. Everyone treated me normally. I guess I thought they'd do the same with Ryan, but..." She shrugs. "It's a big deal to all them that he can't change. My momma especially, treats it like a kinda...betrayal. The worst possible thing. I didn't think it'd matter that much, but..."

Then she shakes her head, sitting up straight again. "Can't change the past, gotta move forward."

"As far as I can tell, you've got priorities that make sense. What panned out wasn't what you expected... and it's not a failing to have been expecting different, better. Another friend of mine sometimes puts too much faith in people. Even though we've sometimes kinda fought over it, I'd tell him the same thing. And still mean it." Sam sighed in turn. A moment later, Saxsice was straightening, so Sam let the side-hug become a supportive hand on Saxsice's near shoulder. "You're right. We're going to take a few steps today---building something for you, for your kid. But, wait. One thing?"

Sam's smile was sympathetic, at least a little. It might've been more sympathetic, but mischief had surfaced, and hope with it. "What if we get you a tattoo once we're through with the work? There's got to be a walk-in parlour with good reviews and a solid rep. You could use the endorphins, I could use the enabling."

"Yeah." Saxsice pushes her hair back, offering a little half-smile. "I got better priorities now. I got one priority, and he's in the other room, snoozin'. Everythin' else comes second, from now on. Even if we gotta curse someone to get there."

Then she perks up, grinning. "You gonna do your tilt-y thing to get it to stick? Last time I tried, my body expelled the ink like a scene from that exorcism movie. Puking pores is a sight to see."

"We're not cursing anybody. At worse, we're jinxing somebody. Not that I'm against cursing someone, we just don't need to invest that much." Sam lowered her voice and leaned over. "We don't need him hit by a car. Which is doable, but best avoided unless very very very nearly necessary."

There was probably a way to arrange that kind of car accident with a curse, but point-blank asking Breakdown was also an option, and easier.

"No!" Despite her answer, Sam's grin was bright enough to match Saxsice's. "I'm going to do my thing to get it to stick. It's... not teachable like tilts, but unique to me as far as I know. If anybody else has the same bag of tricks, maybe that Enigma guy, but that's only an if and best guess. That said... I would kinda like to see that. I might be able to replicate it as something to inflict on someone tryin' to start some shit."

"Six of one, half dozen of another," Saxsice says, waving a vague hand. The mention of a car accident has her visibly, seriously considering it...but no, that'd probably be too traumatic for the kid, even if his dad is an ass.

Then she laughs, settling back in her seat. "Well, I won't say no. I've always wanted a tattoo, ever since I was a kid. I used to draw on myself, drove my momma crazy." With a shrug, she adds: "It doesn't hurt, if you wanna see. Piercings do the same thing -- my body just kinda expels them."

"Nah," though it wasn't dismissive; the one of that one word was let's back this up a bit. "As far as I can figure, from what I've seen and done, jinxing has the whole umbrella of bad luck. Someone might get hurt, but it's incidental. In curses as I know them, excluding shit, fuck, sacres, etcetera, the definitive feature is one of two things. Either what's at work is hungry, and a greedy hungry, or a want to hurt that's not far from a jaw clenched so hard it cracks. More than I needed to go on, I know, but normally finding any words to articulate magic stuff is such a struggle I feel stupid, so when good wording actually occurs to me... but now I've embarrassed myself a bit, so Imma move on."

Sam shrugged, not seeming especially embarrassed. She was mildly embarrassed at most, and that was the thing; she'd gotten good at shaking off 'embarrassed' since deciding she couldn't let shame or discomfort hold her back. If the rite of Neptune's Awakening was good for anything ~~other than alarming passersby~~ it was character growth.

But back to the matter at hand, or shoulder, or back, or clavicle. "A tattoo of what, and where? And of course I want to see. I need to see. Skin doing stuff it 'shouldn't be able to' is too much my thing to deny 'no, it's a need.'"

"No, that...that makes sense. I think about if I lose, if that asshole takes my boy from me and..." Saxsice exhales slowly, hands tightening on the couch, nails digging in. "I'd do anything. I don't care how -- risky. I'm not letting Ryan go again."

Then she exhales, shaking it off with a weak smile. "I could -- show you now. Blow off some steam. And I dunno, maybe go all out with a tramp stamp, something suitably 'cool bartender'. Or somethin' bout the kid."

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cw: non-specific child abuse mention

Re: cw: non-specific child abuse mention

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