By the time November arrives, Mavis is waiting for her out on the screened-in porch. She's sitting on the porch swing, bundled up under a cozy, fuzzy houserobe in a shade of deep, rich maroon. Underneath, she's wearing warm flannels in black and red and a frayed, long-sleeved, white shirt with paint stains on it. Warm house slippers are pulled over her fuzzy, striped neon socks and a knitted blanket is thrown over her lap. There's a cup of hot cocoa steaming between Mavis' curled, light-brown fingers, banded by many rings. Her hands are lowered to her lap, cocoa seemingly untouched with a glob of melted marshmallows coating the top. Her hair's unbrushed, but she'd washed her face, at least.
The mortal looks ill. Not physically, but something's off. Her usual, wholesome aura is all frayed, sunken, and raw. Her pallor is almost gray and washed-out except for where the cold brings a wintery flush to her cheekbones and the top of her nose. Mavis' eyes are solemn and dark.
-> >> November to Here << <-==========================================
Rolled 2 Successes
< 2 2 4 6 7 9 10 >
=============================-> >> Resolve + Survival No Flags << <-
GAME: November spends 1 Glamour with reason: ESpr 1
November, on the contrary, is as immaculate as ever, fabulous and awe-some in the truest sense of the word, though Mavis only sees the merest glimpses of that -here-. But she knows better, now, doesn't she? She knows what lies beneath the veil of feigned humanity fate tries so very well to weave over its secrets.
Easing out of the car in an evening gown which must have cost her a bloody fortune, she strides her way up toward the front of the house with customary grace and considers Mavis. Stepping closer without permission, the colourful creature drops into a fluid crouch and lifts an icy hand to stroke the mortal's cheek, the contact alone spreading a rush of warmth and Springy well-being. Physically, at least, Mavis now feels as though she had just awakened from a peaceful night's sleep and had a good, filling meal. No little aches and pains, and any small strains or bruises are gone.
Of course November arrives looking like an angel sent from heaven. Mavis steals a shy glance at her then her weary eyes lower to her lap again. She hears November step up onto the porch, then sees her dress sweep into her vision. The tall Lost crouches, coming more focused and into view and a hand touches her cheek. Mavis doesn't flinch back or lean into it, but her eyelids lower over her sad, brown eyes and she squeezes them shut hard as they start to grow watery and hot.
Then, at once, life blooms into her. Vibrancy returns to Mavis and she unconsciously sits up straighter, shoulders tilting back rather than slumping miserably. She lifts her face, eyes popping open then blinking in bewildered curiosity.
"What... What did you just do?"
She felt great. Wonderful. In body, at least, but her heart was still a tight muscle in her chest. The mortal was as lost as she had been when she'd first texted November that she urgently NEEDED to talk to her. She's so surprised by this sudden rush of vitality that Mavis forgets to thank the Rainbow for coming.
Then, she offers, "Do you want to sit?"
The porch swing is a two-seater with a bit of room to spare.
"The faerie godmother is supposed to come bearing miracles, no?" she murmurs, amused, bright eyes dancing with suppressed but merry laughter. The hand at Mavis' cheek turns, knuckles brushing the skin in a manner simultaneously affectionate and impersonal, before the Ancient settles on the swing beside her, skirts swirling about her ankles a bit more fluidly than one might expect. Hair, too, puddles and slides and drips, strands moving more like a liquid than the separate 'hairs' that they appear to be. "A gift, freely given, with neither let nor lien. I wish you to be well."
"Thanks," murmurs Mavis after a small pause in which she takes November's words to heart. She sips her cocoa, then lowers it to simultaneously stall and offer, "You want some tea or something?"
She wasn't really sure where to begin, but she'd met the woman outside due to the fact that the house was warm and toasty, fire roaring in the fireplace and most of the radiators cranked on full blast.
"We can go in if you want, but I figured..."
The icy chill does suit her well, yes, but November offers a subtle shake of her head, gaze lingering on Mavis' own without the slightest hint of discomfort. Confident, poised, a faerie queen prepared to aid a foreign visitor to her kingdom's shores.
"I respect your consideration, lovely, but I can protect myself from heat far better than you can from cold." She laughs, a musical, achingly lovely ripple of sound, and lounges at her ease, still watching Mavis. "You would be more comfortable inside, no? You seem overwrought."
She appreciates the concern, but Mavis' head gives a slow shake. "It's okay," she tells her, smiling a little sadly to try to show November that she meant it. "I don't really want to be inside. Trapped. Stuffy."
The cold helped quell her muddled thoughts, the crisp air bracing in its chilly biting and she's bundled up enough to not freeze. Plus, she felt as if she'd had just the perfect amount of sleep on the most comfortable of beds then woken up and had the best coffee, most enriching of breakfasts. It was an odd discord to how heavy she felt, how low her voice drops when she speaks.
"Sorry, I'm just trying to think about how to explain what happened," she relays, glancing sideways and nervously licking her lips. Mavis tries to meet November's eyes, fails, and settles for peering upwards at the wooden rafters of the porch's ceiling. "Last night, I met Widget and a friend of ours at Patterson Bridge. Everything was fine, we were having fun. Decided to go grab fastfood, but Thea started asking questions." Mavis puffs out a shaky breath, glances down at November's face then into her lap. "She's Lost, too, I told her that-- y'know. The truth? Awhile back, like, after the new art gallery opened. I dunno what happened, Widget was talking about Carter and Zillah. I said something about fae politics and not being sure about.. getting involved? And she started to freak out, so I parked, and she got out. We started shouting, I was mad that she pretty much implied you and Amity were fucking around with me." Anger creeps into her and she glares up at November. Obviously, she did not like that. "But, yeah, she called me dumb and I basically told her to mind her damn business. And! She scared Widget off-- well... We both did, I think," she admits, wincing as she recalls very vividly shouting BACK at Thea. "But, Widget's okay. I texted her."
She pauses, waiting and reading November's expression. Trying to anyway, trying to glean or pry anything from the Lost's face. Mavis, however, isn't nearly as good at hiding her motives. She was still holding back, hesitant to spill the rest of her story.
November is quiet, and unfortunately for poor Mavis, the rainbow is very, very practiced at maintaining an unreadable expression. Oh, it's pleasant enough, receptive, and she's certainly attending to what Mavis is -saying-, but if the mortal wants to see emotional responses, she's going to be disappointed.
"You are putting yourself at risk," she eventually states, a hand uncurling in graceful indifference. "By your choice to avoid ensorcellment, to avoid joining the Freehold, you are endangering not only yourself, but those you love, and who love you. Indirectly, I'll grant, but Thea is not wholly incorrect."
The Ancient extends an arm, lightly resting a long, pale hand on Mavis' blanket-covered shoulder. She squeezes, ever so slightly, then withdraws the touch. "She cares for you, no? Wouldn't -you- be angry, if someone you cared for were refusing a protection that, to you, seemed madness to deny?"
She fails to wrench anything comforting out of November's expression and looks away, shaking her head and frowning. Mavis glares out through the screen into the yard, lifting her mug of cocoa scald her throat on a hearty gulp. The cup is lowered back down to her blanketed lap, long house-robe sleeves stretching down to cover the backs of her knuckles. She turns her head, sighing helplessly, when November reaches out to comfort her with that brief touch and peers into her face with that scrunchy-nosed, furrowed brow expression that told November that Mavis did NOT like hearing this.
"Yeah, I know," admits Mavis, the fight draining out of her. She slumps back against the swing, crossing her ankles under the blanket. Thea was right, Amity was right, November, too, was right. "That's why Thea pledged to me last night. To be my stupid protector for a season.. Or the end of this one?" She tries to remember the precise wording. It was important. A lot of those heated moments in which they were arguing are now a fragmented blur and at the time Thea was speaking those words, Mavis was pleading her NOT to.
"Thea's just being a jerk about this. She didn't MEAN it. It's just.. so insanely reckless. I'm pissed at her right now, she makes me SO MAD." Mavis holds her cocoa mug in one hand and her free one makes a tight, white-knuckled fist that's very unMavis-like. That's a Summer provocation for ya. "Like, I'm getting there? She shouldn't have DONE that, though." Then, incredulously, she asks, "How am I going to tell this to Amity?"
The faerie rainbow's laughter is quiet, rich amusement colouring her tone as she murmurs, "She would be pleased that you still felt anger, I expect. Summers do excel at sparking fury." Her head tilts to let her look at Mavis more directly, helpful, but .. well, really. Still amused. "She -is- Summer. If you've a mind for more sedate company, I'd seek out a good Winter or two, or Spring, I suppose. They tend to enjoy finding desires to entertain themselves with."
A dismissive gesture sweeps the thoughts away, however, in favour of a simply spoken, "Tell her the truth. Thea swore to protect you. If you can recall the precise wording, that will be important, as it will limit Thea's choices, and it behoves you to assist her if you can. Being forsworn is no light thing; oathbreakers among our people are...mmm...'stigmatized' would be a correct word."
Mavis shoots November a deadpan stare with her lips pressed to a flat frown as the rainbow laughs. It's a lovely sound, but she's bitter to hear it just now. Stubborn creature. But, curious, all the same, and Mavis finds herself blurting, "What do you mean, Summers and Winters? And Springs."
She looks out at the wintery yard, confusing, seeking some kind of esoteric inkling as to what November was talking about. Her ignorance is likely quite willful, a side-effect of Mavis side-stepping any conversations which might lead to Freeholds or structured hierarchies of the fae. She sighs about it all, looking down into her half-drained cup of cocoa going cold.
"Yeah," she glooms. "I gotta, don't I? She's going to.. Ugh, you know how Amity can get." Mavis didn't mean it harshly, but November could probably relate to what she was talking about. "I mean, she's going to be mad. Really mad, but let ME be mad and fix this. I don't need HER acting the same way, throwing out pledges to make a stupid point." She frowns, thinking harder about what Thea had said the previous night, the exact wordings. "I'm more worried about Thea, she's the one in actual danger. Even if she DID douse herself in gasoline." This was a Summer, you say? Hm. Mavis would remember that. "Like, the pledge was SUPER wide open. For all I know, I could stub my toe and trigger it breaking. Thea swore to come to my aid and protect me else she'd be cursed. I'm guessing that's not good."
-- TBC, maybe
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