Mavis had been putting it off and off and she really couldn't ignore cleaning out the shed in the backyard any longer. It needed to get done, not that anything in the world was pressuring her other than the fact that the mortal needed a workspace for her art. And, here lately, Mavis NEEDED an excuse more than ever to get out of the house that wasn't work or Lost related.
As such, Mavis is to be found drifting from the back of the house to the front of it. She's moving a bunch of rusted, old junk out of the shed to be hauled off later. The mortal figured, with the stupid hill the house perched atop of, that it'd be best to consolidate all of the rubbish then get it dowwwwwn the hill-- hopefully without killing herself or anyone else-- and onto her truck for hauling off to Widget's junkyard.
Presently, the heap of trash she has relocated to the front lawn is about as tall she is. Rotted shelves, rusted lawn equipment, an old axehead, steamtrunks full of moldy, old stuff and peppered with evidence of rodents. Mavis has laid out a tarp, stacked with smaller, miscenalleous items pulled from the depths of the shed, and she's dragging it along by herself.
Despite the cold, perhaps because of the labor, Mavis isn't wearing a coat. The sky overhead gloomily threatens to rain, but not a drop of it has touched Robin Hill. She probably hadn't checked the weather or even looked up at the sky once the motivation to go outside right NOW and DO THIS bit her.
Mavis wears a faded, sun-orange t-shirt with a violently purple tanktop underneath it and demin jeans with a threadbare hole at the left knee. She has her boots on, paint-spattered and sturdy. Her black hair is held back by a pale, pink bandana that she'd had just enough time to tie on before setting to the task. Sweat shines her tawny skin, a half-drank bottle of water is thrown atop the grass near the trash-pile.
The dreary weather hasn't stopped /everyone/, even discounting Mavis. There are at least two persons out and about on the streets today, though they are admittedly dressed far more sensibly for the weather than the artist is. One of them is pretty short, and perhaps rather familiar-looking. The other is long, lanky, and dressed in an outsized, baggy green coat and hat, carrying a handful of boxes in its arms.
They approach slowly across the sidewalk, apparently talking to themselves as they go - or, rather, caroling. As they approach, and move off the sidewalk and onto the steps leading up towards the manse, the sound of their voices resolves itself into a familiar song:
"We won't go until we got some,
We won't go until we got some-"
The taller figure has a deeper voice, and is not a particularly talented singer, but makes up for it in enthusiasm and genuine good cheer. They might miss notes every once in a while, but they're clearly enjoying themselves, and they don't stop singing until they crest the top of the staircase and spot Mavis dragging another hunk of garbage out to the trash pile. Once they do spot her, though, they lift a hand in greeting.
The face atop all that ridiculously overlong body is... goofy. Ridiculously so, in fact. Casual and unthreatening, with the biggest, goofiest, most buck-toothed grin there's ever been split wide across it. Even the fact that one of its eye sockets is empty and scarred doesn't do much to change that fact.
"Hey hey," he calls, shifting the boxes to rest more easily on his still hand. "Got time for a cookie break?"
Smiling, Nat calls, "Hey, Mavis! This is... my boyfriend, Briar." She grins at the mortal. "Come... get some cookies. You provide... the cocoa, though." Her eyes sparkle.
Singing? Were people singing? One of those voices was male and it certainly wasn't Casper.
Mavis stops and lets the corners of tarp she has bunched sink to the ground. She turns around, peers curiously. Naturally, her gaze rivets to the taller of the figures first-- Briar. He was a stranger, after all. But, then Mavis' eyes dart to Nathania and whatever distrust or wariness she had once held suddenly dispells as her face breaks into a smile.
"Hey!" This to Nathania. "Oh-- Hey! She told me about you." This to Briar and spoken in a breathy puff as she comes striding up. She glances back to the porch when saying that then looks back to the pair of them, arching a brow and grinning mischievous. "Cookies and cocoa, eh? We've got cocoa, yeah, those little marshmallows too. Why-- You're not bringing bad news, are ya?"
She must be teasing, though, because a hand is stuck out for a handshake. An assortment of rings in metal, rock, and wood banding her fingers, and bracelets layers her wrists. "It's nice to meetcha," she beams at Briar. "I'm Mavis. Sorry if you guys tried to call, I left my phone in the house."
Briar's only got the one eye, but it's bright and attentive as Mavis approaches. He grins his ridiculous grin down at her as he reaches out with his free hand to accept the handshake. It's a very restrained sort of thing; even with something this brief, Mavis can tell that there's a lot of strength that /could/ be put behind that. It's perfectly nice and pleasant, and not at all threatening - it just puts one in mind of being hugged tenderly by a polar bear.
"Did she?" That one eye glances aside to the doll, but the grin doesn't waver. "Well, I hope it was good stuff, at least. She, uh, told me there was somebody she wanted me to meet, and that we should take some of our spare cookies along before we both ate them and gained like six hundred pounds, but that's about it." He ends the handshake, shifting the boxes again. Big ears, on this guy, Mavis probably notices - biiig old ears under the edge of that hat.
"No bad news, though," he adds, laughing. "Promise. At least not from me. It's, uh, just a social call, so far as I'm aware. Nattie might have some ulterior motive, though. Gotta keep an eye on her." He nudges the doll with his elbow, then shifts and leans in to kiss the top of her head - or, at least, the hat on top of that. "She's tricky. But she also makes real good cookies, so it's all good. Should we, uh, move inside?"
"Proud... to be tricky, this Winter is." After such Yoda speak, Nat makes her way to the porch and grins at Mavis hopefully. She doesn't let go of Briar's hand, though, making him come along. "I made... an assortment... of cookies. Did some Bishop work... in the Midwest and Ohio... regions. Fell in love... with a candy... called Buckeyes. So I have... some of those, too." Peanut butter center, chocolate outside--kind of like a Reese's cup, only shaped like, well, a buckeye. Nat grins.
Cheesesticks. Should she ask about his eye? Mavis decides it's probably tactless to pry about that sort of thing. It wasn't the sort of question she would ask a war veteran so why would it be okay to ask a Lost? Mavis can't help but stare into that scarred socket when Briar locks hands with her and she peers up at his face. Her affable smile freezes then widens to nervously show her teeth and Mavis glances at Nathania before drawing away her hand. She hadn't even been conscious of what kind of handshake she'd reciprocated, but Mavis thinks she recalls her fingers giving an instinctive squeeze.
She grins again, beaming that smile at Nathania. Then, Mavis slies knowingly to them both, "It's -always- the knitters and librarians. Quietly plotting away our dooms." The cruel thing is, Mavis IS actually teasing with these jokes. Finding some sardonic humor in it all is an easy and rewarding coping mechanism. "And, she said really GREAT things about you, Briar. Nothing tricky there," Mavis says to him, glancing at Nathania and back at him again with that grin ever present. "Nat got all starry-eyed and everything."
She motions for them to follow then starts walking towards the front porch. Nathania had mentioned Bishop work and Mavis angles in on it. "Oh yeah? I guess the local Lost keep you busy here." Her boots stomp up the steps and Mavis pushes open the door to the screened-in porch to hold it for them on the other side. "The house is kind of a mess, we've had Casper sleeping in the livingroom, but you're welcome to come in."
"Never been out to the Midwest," Briar says conversationally, as he steps past Mavis and into the mudroom. "I've been doin' most of my work in-state. There's always somebody around who needs a Bishop. But I'm happy to try any kind of new candy." He pauses to wipe his shoes on the mat, taking the edge off the worst of the winter grime that he'd accumulated during the hike here. Big shoes, too. Everything's disproportionate, with this guy. Legs too long, feet too big, ears too outsized, grin too bucktoothed.
He turns to flash a grin at the doll before stepping out, glancing around for a second, and loping off towards the sitting room, where he sets the cookie boxes down on the coffee table. "And it was, uh, what you'd expect," he calls. "The eye, I mean." His voice is still entirely casual. Clearly, as much as talking about their Durances bothers most of the Lost, Briar is not so troubled by it. "Don't worry about it," he adds, as he opens up the boxes. "Everybody's curious, and I don't mind the starin'. I'm used to it."
He picks up a cookie for himself - a snickerdoodle - and takes a bite. An unusual bite, small and with a lot of rapid-fire chewing going on, but that might just slip beneath notice. "Yeah, Nat said you weren't the only one in the house," he says, as he wanders back towards the two women. "I, uh, I'm pretty sure at least one of your roommates has gotta be like us, but I'm not sure which. If anybody walks in I should be quiet around, just poke me."
Grinning, Nat flops down very ragdoll like and gets comfy, in the kitchen. She smiles at Mavis. "So... what's... happening?" She asks. "Tell us what's... up, before we dive into... the Bishoping... issue."
Mavis leads the pair of lovebirds onto the porch and into the mudroom where she stamps her boots on a worn rug then shucks them off to kick under a bench lining the wall. "You can hang your coats up and stuff if you want," she says to them with a careless wave of her hand. "The kitchen is just this way. Oh-- Would you close that door behind you? Draft slams it shut when ya forget to."
The livingroom is a mess, just as the mortal had warned Nathania and Briar. Blankets heap the sofa, pillows are on the floor. A big pile of laundry occupies one of the chairs, a steamtruck crowds the space between the coffee table and fireplace. Someone's personal effects are scattered around the room, already crowded with furniture to begin with. Mavis just shrugs her shoulders about all of the clutter and mis-filing going on here. Didn't bother her half so much as it was probably bothering Amity, little Ms. Everything Must Be Perfect. Mavis is muuuuch less of a control freak and she sweeps a braceleted wrist off to the kitchen, immediately to the right.
Color tints Mavis' cheekbones and she swallows with a heavy gulp when Briar brings up how she'd gawked at his scarred eye-socket in the front yard. Slowly, Mavis lowers her hand and walks into the kitchen, looking back at them.
"Ah-- Sorry," she murmurs. Thanks for being cool about it, no one really likes being stared at unless they LIKE being stared at, y'know?" Mavis turns, chewing her lip at Nathania already cozied in. That was warming, somehow, and it made her inexplicably cheerful to see the Blackbird comfortably welcome at her kitchen table. She beams at her while reaching out without looking to (not-so)sneakily steal a cookie before Briar ate ALL of them. Yeah, that's right. She's counting.
"Nothing too much, Nat, just cleaning out the backshed for a workspace." She pauses to take a bite out of the snickerdoodle cookie. Mavis closes her eyes and rolls them behind her eyelids. Omnmuhgawhd. The mortal brings herself back down from her cloud of buttery, sugary bliss. "This're really good," she tells the Lost, grabbing another with her empty hand. "And, don't worry about it Briar. Honestly, I'd be just as surprised as anyone if another mortal walked in. Wait--" Mavis turns to Nathania, a cookie in each hand although one's missing a huge bite. "Did you mean what's happening with Amity?"
Count as Mavis might, Briar doesn't seem to be in any hurry to eat more than the one cookie he's gotten. He's savoring it, obviously. The things are absolutely delicious, as one might expect when Nathania is in a baking mood, but for all that he might joke about them eating them all themselves, Briar has been a health nut for long enough that he simply doesn't feel the need to indulge in more than one or two at this point.
So he munches his way through that one snickerdoodle, his jaw moving with that strange little rapid-fire motion, and waves a hand companionably at Mavis. "Fuggedaboutit," he says, grinning crookedly. "Like I said, /everybody's/ curious. It's easiest to, uh, just get it out of the way. I don't mind the stares, either. I've tried gettin' a glass one a few times, just to see how it'd look, but it always feels weird, and I save the eyepatch for special occasions."
He slips his hat off his head, exposing a wild mop of hair that is clearly thicker and unrulier than most around here keep it. A permanent bedhead, which he runs his free hand through absently as he glances between Nathania and Mavis. "Yeah," he says. "Nat said there might be something you wanted to talk to us about as, uh, Bishops, but I don't know any details."
Sprawling a little as she gets comfortable, Nat takes a cookie herself, savoring as well. "Seriously, as much as ... Briar jokes, we're trying... to eat healthier. Keep the cookies. I can... make more if we... want more," she says earnestly, before sobering. She looks between Briar and Mavis, and nods. "If you'd.. explain things, Mavis? I don't... have the fine details... down pat yet. Fluff-brain." And she taps the side of her head.
Mavis drifts over to the counter, moving both cookies to one hand. She she picks up the kettle with the other, fills the kettle from the kitchen tap, and replaces it on its electric stand then flicks it on. Mavis then turns to lean against the edge of the counter, observing the pair of them with a curious, open expression that drifts from one to the other while she finishes that first snickerdoodle she's plucked. Mavis is NOT a healthnut and has no such reservations about waffling down four cookies right in front of them. She just might, too, because Mavis has finished that first cookie with thoughtful bites while the pair ease in on her about Amity.
"Specifics?"
The mortal was thinking about it. Thinking about those specifics and specifically what to reveal about her girlfriend.
"Do you.. want my speculations or the facts? I mean, she's one of you so I thought you guys might have a better idea," she hears herself saying this before she can stop the deflection. Mavis had assumed that Amity would be the one confiding to the Blackbirds about her trauma and issues. "Look--" She glares at Nathania. "You're not a fluff brain." Then she looks back at Briar, protective concern steeling over her features. Mavis half-turns where she leans to set her other cookie on the counter, safely nearby. She felt silly holding it for this.
"She cries a lot," she murmurs lowly while pointedly not looking at either Briar or Nathania as she turns back to them and re-settles against the counter. This time with her arms crossed. "Doesn't sleep. It's hard for us to go out anywhere. All the people, folks staring at her. She's gorgeous, but.. I guess she doesn't see what I see." Mavis wasn't talking about masks and miens. She searches both of their faces. "Can you just talk to her? I'm not comfortable getting into it without her being okay with it. I mean.. Can't I just front a favor for her to come see you in, like, a professional capacity and you can ask HER all of this?"
Briar reacts to Nathania's mention of fluffbrain as well, though there's no glaring on his part. It's hard to imagine that face ever looking angry. Instead, he just lopes around to the doll's side of the table and runs one hand affectionately through her hair. He doesn't /say/ anything, but he obviously doesn't really need to; even if the statement had been more than typical Winterishness from Nathania, the aura of unrelenting comfort and support he radiates towards her is almost palpable.
"Why not both?" he asks, in response to Mavis' question. He tilts his head to one side as he says it, and, beyond her sight, an inhuman ear flicks once or twice. "I mean, you should probably be careful to let us know what's fact and what's you guessin', but so long as you're clear on that front, uh, it should all be helpful. Even if you turn out to be wrong on some things, knowing what kind of thoughts are goin' through your head right now can't /not/ be helpful."
Still stroking his hand gently through Nathania's hair, he leans one hip against the table, watching Mavis with his one remaining eye. He nods along with her description, then gives a crooked little smile. "A lot of us are like that," he says. His voice is still comforting and conversational, but there is an undercurrent of seriousness to it, too. "Especially when we're, uh, relatively recent arrivals. I was. Thought everybody was gonna try and eat me. Thought I was, uh, a disgusting weird animal-thing that nobody could ever see as a person, 'cause /I/ didn't even think I was a person. But that's what the Bishops are for. They helped me. And, uh, when it was done-" he shrugs one shoulder "-I couldn't really think of anythin' better to do with myself than try and help other people the same way."
He glances back to Nathania, his ear twitching again. "I'd be okay with taking a rain check on a future favor as payment, personally," he says. "Can't speak for Nattie, though. And I've never had an issue with other people payin' on someone's behalf. Not everybody has somethin' to give, particularly if they end up in front of us. If it weren't for the magic, I'd do it for free, but-" he grins a bit sheepishly "-for us, nothin's ever free."
When Briar mentions his thing about formerly thinking he was a 'disgusting weird animal-thing that nobody could ever see as a person,' Nat's arms go around his waist, comforting him the way she's being comforted. The pair are well suited, knowing each other well. But her silence breaks as he says that the raincheck would be fine. "I take... plenty of rainchecks," she murmurs. "And--yeah. Wyrd guides us. We can't help.. but take favors. Though," she admits, voice going even softer, "I'd rather just... work for free, like Briar, but then... we'd probably be taken... advantage of." Her smile, crooked, wry and sad, speaks more than her words as she takes Mavis in, gazing at her. "What... can you tell us?"
She stares at Briar flintily. Hospitable and friendly Mavis Octavia Baines may be, but she was as fierce about Amity as the Lost was about her. "Yeah, I think that might be relatable to her," she tells Briar, letting him have that much for taking such a stab at the issue. This was very close to what Mavis had wanted, but not wanted, to say to them. "She has a huge heart, Amity, but.. I can't help but feel like she's trying to balance some sort've scale. She's a good person," affirms Mavis, standing up straighter where she leans and keeping her arms stubbornly folded. The mortal sniffs, considering. "And you are good people for wanting to help. Do what you do."
Mavis turns, picks up her cookie to nibble on it and listen.
"Nothing is ever free," she agrees, nodding thoughtfully and taking another bite while watching the affection pass between the pair. It made her smile and she shoots Nathania one of those mysterious looks that pass between females sometimes (they were going to have to gos about dirty-deets later-- LATER!). Mavis then looks worried again, thinking about Amity, and she pauses with the cookie half-eaten and held in front of her chin. She looks over at them.
"Well," she goes and her bronze cheeks take on a ruddy shade of pink. "Listen, this is awkward to talk about." Mavis squeezes her eyes shut and lowers the cookie before opening them again. She forces herself to stare at the couple. "I don't know what her Keeper did to her, how bad it was? She cries sometimes when we mess around, just-- just inconsolable, I feel AWFUL because everything is fine and then it's NOT fine. She can't remember most of her time in Arcadia, I'm glad she can't, but she feels.. wretched inside. Disgusting." She nods to Briar. "Like you said. Not a person."
Briar doesn't seem bothered by the flinty stare. He /notices/ it, yes, and even responds to it, but it's with a gentle sort of smile and a bob of his head, rather than anything confrontational. A silent acceptance that Mavis has her reasons to feel standoffish, and an acknowledgement that he isn't going to press. He just leans into Nathania's hug when she wraps herself around his waist, and finishes off the rest of his cookie.
His now-free hand moves up to tousle through his wild hair again, and he pulls a face at something. Behind the Mask, Nathania can see his left ear twitching rapidly for a moment as he scratches at its base. "Man," he mutters. "Winter. I never get used to this." But then he's looking back up to Mavis, nodding. "It's all fine," he says. "We, uh. We're Bishops. We have dealt with some /ridiculous/ stuff. It's in the job description. A lot of people don't come to us until things are /real/ bad. Amity sounds like she could do with some help, and we're happy to offer. It's always better to get at this stuff early."
He falls silent again while she explains their bedroom issue, then nods. "Yeah," he says. Still a warm and comforting voice, still with an undertone of seriousness. "It's a real thing, for a lot of us. They-" the capitalization is audible "-don't really get how people work, and they generally don't care even if they do. And what They do to your head is just..." He pauses. Even Mavis can see his nose twitching.
"...I got part of my brain scooped out and replaced with an animal's," he continues, eventually. "A lot of us have similar experiences. Even if they aren't that direct, They'll do everything they can to make you into whatever They want you to be. And it gets into /you/. Into who you are. It changes you, whether you want it to or not. If she has triggers associated with intimacy..." He looks back down to Nathania, then back up to Mavis. "Well. Like I said, a lot of us do."
Nathania nods her agreement. "It's not pretty. It's not fair, and it's... not right, at all," she says, jumping off Briar's words. "Hell... I'd been working through a fair number of mine... with other partners before... Briar came along." She squeezes the man briefly around the middle, burying her face in his belly for a moment before looking at Mavis once more. "Intimacy issues... are not something..." She hesitates. "We don't tend to work on them... directly." She grins wrlyly then. "There's always... exceptions, mind." Her hand dips into Briar's back pocket for a moment before she starts behaving again. "But... let me assure you, we'll do our best... to help sort her out... in general. It's hard being... the partner... of a Lost," she adds gently, before looking up at Briar and saying, "Even when... you're Lost yourself."
"That's the thing, though," explains Mavis, shaking her head although she's not sure what SPECIFICALLY she's disagreeing with about what Briar has said. "Amity's so pent up, wound tight, and tacked down that I'm worried whatever's trickling through is just a symptom of something much, much worse. Maybe I'm just being overzealous," she admits, shrugging her shoulders and watching the Bishop twitch his nose. It reminded her of something, Mavis just couldn't put a finger on what that something was. She stops trying when he tells her what his Good Folk had done to him, feeling a little ashamed for trying to glean it.
"Oh," she goes with a sheepish glance at Nathania feeling into his back pockets. "Well, I definitely didn't mean you guys should help her like THAT." Mavis recalls her cookie in her hand, half-finished, then chomps it down for something to ELSE to do. Then, she remembers something and chirps, "Oh-!"
She spins around to open cupboards and bring down three cups.
"I forgot about the cocoa," she tells them with her back turned, now pouring water into the mugs. Mavis opens a jar on the counter with hot cocoa powder and stirs it into the cups while saying, "I just really worry about her." The metal spoon she's stirring with clinks inside of the last cup. Stir-stir-clink-stir-clinkclink. "I can just feel it, you know? That something's wrong, but fuck if I can get her to talk about it." Clink-clink. "I dunno, maybe she thinks it's so horrible that.. I won't see her the same anymore if I knew. I don't CARE if she was awful there," insists the mortal with a scatching vehemence, adding marshmallows to the cups then turning around with two mugs in one fist and hers in the other. She walks over to the table, frowning, and sets the two cups down for Nathania and Briar. Then, she smiles much like the smile she had welcomed them with. Bright. Beaming. "Here ya go."
Briar laughs, and there's a definite moment where he's pressing back into Nathania's hand, but he doesn't go farther than that. Other than to lean down and kiss the top of her head again, anyway. "Yeah," he says, in answer to Mavis. "I didn't think you were expecting us to. And I don't think, uh, it's particularly likely. Not on my part. I'm a bit committed, here." And he gives the doll another affectionate squeeze.
He straightens up and leans against the table again, then plucks up the mug of cocoa that Mavis offers. "Hey, thanks," he says brightly, before taking a sip. The noise he makes is very much one of approval. And, of course, because the man is the platonic ideal of a goofball, he doesn't realize immediately that he has a chocolate mustache going on over the top of that buck-toothed grin.
"No, it sounds like you understand pretty well," he says. "Whatever she went though, it was bad. Real bad. It doesn't necessarily mean that, uh, /she/ was bad, but it's like..." He pauses for a moment, then shrugs. "One of the analogies I've used to explain this before is like this. Imagine she was a victim of human trafficking. You don't know exactly what kind of stuff was done to her, or what she did, but you know it was bad. And then imagine that, even though she got away, her trafficker was never caught, and everywhere she goes, she just gets more and more reminders that they're still out there. And she knows they could come back for her, or anybody she cares about, at any time."
His tone is uncharacteristically dark and somber as he says it. Only once it's over does he seem to realize that he still has the chocolate mustache, which gets him to blink and wipe it hurriedly from his face. "It's not a perfect analogy," he says, "but it, uh, gets the point across. It's just important to remember that it's not easy, for her or for you, and that it's not really either of you that's the problem. Whatever is holding her wound up so tight, or whatever she can't talk about, it's, uh, not about you. She very likely wants to tell you, but can't overcome the mental blocks for it. Trauma is some real bad stuff, and it's important not to blame either of you for not knowing the magic word to make it all magically go away."
He looks back down to Nathania, and his grin, this time, is crooked and affectionate. "It didn't for me," he says. "I spent a lot of time with Nana, and she did /so/ much for me. More than I could ever say. But she couldn't fix everything. Nattie's been helping me since the day we met. You gotta take it one step at a time, is the point."
Nathania blinks up at her boyfriend. "You're so right," she murmurs. "I got lucky. I was..." She shrugs. "I was pretty... well adjusted, for what happened... to me. Or I faked it." She hesitates. "I faked it well." She laughs, but it's bitter and coming from a dark place inside her. "The human trafficking analogy is correct." Nat's cookie, half-eaten, sits beside her untouched cocoa.
"What I mean, and I think... Briar here means, is that..." A hesitation again. She bites her lip; Briar can see her worrying at the loose stitch there. "It's like... human therapy. You can't go in, first meeting, and talk... about your darkest moments... after saying, 'hi, I'm Nathania. Now I have... this stammer... because I spent... what feels like 30 years... not talking to anyone.' Steps. Baby ones, sometim'es."
Well, good. Mavis doesn't outright SAY it, but she looks relieved enough that she wasn't signing her girlfriend up for sex-theraphy with these two. A giggly sigh and rolling of her eyes does relate that some tension had just lifted from her, though. She sombers once more, gaze flicking down to his chocolate mustache before flitting back up to his eyes again. Mavis wasn't smiling, although, another time she might've had something cheeky to say about his mustache.
After a moment, she tells them, "November triggers her in some way. Amity says she reminds her too much of her Keeper. I came home one day and she was sitting right there," notes Mavis, nodding to an empty seat at the end of the table, "drinking Jameson and coffee. Drunk-- she's not much of a drinker, really-- and then when I asked her what happened." Mavis sets her cocoa down, untouched. "She said November had tried to /touch/ her, not like THAT, but just touch her. I think she was trying to comfort her? But Amity threw her out, banned her from the house. Got really weird about November for awhile." The mortal adds, for context, "November's my boss. Over at the paintball range. And my friend. But, Amity was hysterical about it. They've made up since.. mostly 'cos I thought it was a good idea. I hope that if I tell her talking to the Blackbirds is a good idea, she'll go along with it."
She frowns at Nathania, pity welling up inside of her for the Lost. It leaks into her eyes and she grits her teeth then looks off out through a kitchen window. She could see the shed in the backyard, almost scraped clean. "Yeah, well.. I'd still like to hurt the bitch that did that to her. And you," she adds, snapping her face back to look at Nathania. For just a second, there's something fiery and ablaze about her. Then, she just shrugs and that flame ebbs down. "But, I'm just mortal. I want to help, but I know I don't have the right -tools- for it. I know that there's stuff she can't tell me 'cos I just -don't- get it."
"I don't think there's anybody who's got the tools, really," Briar says, again somberly. "I don't think They even /can/ die. Or be hurt. Except in ways They kind of... allow? I dunno. Nattie knows more about the magic stuff than I do, but from what I get, it's all about, uh, bargains. And rules. If They can actually be hurt in some way, it's because that's part of Their specific rules. And I don't think those rules really include dying unless you pull something /really/ crazy. But yeah. Totally get the instinct to want to hit 'em back."
He takes another sip from his mug, and is conscious enough to wipe the mustache from his upper lip before continuing this time. "But, uh, about November," he continues, less darkly. "That's... pretty understandable, for Amity to be triggered by her. The stronger we get - with magic, I mean - the closer we get to /being/ Them. The more we start to /think/ like Them. And November's... really close." He shakes his head. "I don't think she's really /bad/," he adds. "Not nearly as bad as one of Them, definitely. But she's close enough to be really, /really/ terrifying for a lot of us. And if she turned up here, and Amity wasn't expecting it, and she hit on a trigger, and /especially/ if November in particular resembles something from Amity's specific experiences- yeah. I could see how that would be rough for her."
He smiles crookedly, then adds, "We appreciate that you care enough about her to try and get us involved. And, uh, I mean, if Amity's all right with it, and /you're/ all right with it, and you want to be involved - whether meeting together or separately or both - I'd be okay with you joining us as well. Not 'cause I'm insinuating there's something you need from us, but 'cause I think having some of us to talk to on a more regular basis, who are maybe a little more open than Amity is, might help to put you at ease a bit."
Nodding her agreement, Nat just gestures to Briar. He's hitting everything she wants to say on the head, and she finally sips her cocoa, licking away any mustache before setting the mug down and finishing her cookie.
Mavis chews the corner of her bottom lip thoughtfully and peers down at Nathania, the one to talk to about magic and the Gentry. She would. Later. There's something greedy in her honey-brown eyes gone a bit darker. A hunger for knowledge that mortals shouldn't have, but craved nonetheless. Mavis just supposed that her reasons were righteous enough to make them justified. To Briar, she just goes, "Yeah," about it and shrugs her shoulders before pulling out an empty chair to sit down in front of her cocoa cup.
She glances up at Brair as he starts to talk about November, perfectly patient with raised eyebrows and head cocked. The mortal was listening, listening very closely, and when Briar confesses that he doesn't think November is BAD? Mavis relaxes a little. "She has been a great boss and friend to me," confesses Mavis, loyally. "To us both, really. Amity was just too terrified of her to see it."
Mavis looks between them both again, her head turning so fast that it's almost comical.
"Of course I'm okay with it," she says to the pair, lifting her chin a little higher. "I wouldn't want to waste your time and, honestly, before she ever told me about.. all of this.. I was a little concerned. The warning signs and stuff were there, then she told me that she actually HAD been kidnapped by traffickers... Which is bad enough, y'know?" She takes a moment, sipping her cocoa and wiping her mouth self-consciously after Briar's cocoa mustache a minute ago. "I'll come if she wants me to go with her. Now that I know you guys are willing to see us, lemme talk to her. I'm... not sure how she will react, but I can probably bring her around."
"Yeah, I don't doubt it," Briar says. He's grinning again, and it's genuine. "She's definitely a really interesting person, and probably knows more about all this stuff than... maybe anybody else? I dunno. From what I hear about her - I don't talk to her personally all that much, she's not interested in Bishops - she's, uh, really..." His nose scrunches up oddly for a moment. "...carefully spontaneous? Is that a good way of putting it? Like, she always does new things, but she always knows /why/ she's doing them, and- eh, whatever."
He waves his hand to brush away the thought, nose un-scrunching as he does so. "But yeah," he continues, "whether or not she's actually being helpful, a lot of us have an understandable knee-jerk reaction to people like her. And Miss Grimes. And Mister Logan. They're, uh... They're a lot to deal with, for us. Even if they're genuinely on our side, there's always that, uh, little voice in the back of the head that's like, they're one of Them, they're dangerous, they could turn at any minute. Whether or not it's true, it's always kinda there."
He shifts, lowering himself onto the chair beside Nathania, lounging lazily in it and slinging one arm over the back of the chair on his other side. "Just let us know whatever she decides," he says. "And I'm happy to come around and chat basically any time. I do yoga instruction, meditation, personal training, occasional self-defense courses. That kind of stuff. If you ever want a workout buddy, well-" he turns to grin at the doll "-Nattie humors me a lot, but she needs rest time eventually."
"I don't need THAT... many breaks," Nat argues, but it sounds real thin. She looks abashed, even. But she brightens up and looks at Mavis. "I'm sure you just... want to have... girl time sometime, too." She smiles warmly. "I am always up... for chatting over tea."
Mavis expression goes still but a black eyebrow shoots up at the mention of Mister Logan and Miss Grimes. That must be Zillah. This wasn't the first time the pair of Lost had been mentioned by other changelings in a significant way. She didn't know until now, however, that Carter Logan was right up there with November. The mortal taps her thumb against her coffee mug filled with hot cocoa and the dark band of metal around her thumb clicks against the ceramic.
"November knows that," she states to him, firmly. "And, she knows what she's doing."
She just sniffs after saying that and damned be anyone for trying to change her opinion. There was little point in the act and attempting to alter her perception on THAT particular subject only made her more stubborn about it.
"Thanks," Mavis says to the pair of Blackbirds. She smiles at each of them in a way that was both sad and grateful at the same time. Then, she laughs and cutely scrunches up her own nose. Mavis shakes her head and lets Briar down with a mirthfully muttered, "Oh- no- not me. I always failed P.E. in school. Didn't dress out, but you're welcome to swing by the house. Hell, there's enough Lost living here that Amity might not be the only one who needs to speak to the Blackbirds." Mavis glances off through the open archway into the living room when she says that where the couch could be seen. She was speaking about Casper, of course, the Lost currently crashing with them. Mavis looks back at the Blackbirds again, blinking.
"Thanks for the cookies," she tells Nathania, forcing a smile. "We -definitely- need a girls' night."
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