undergrounds | Shadows We Cast (OPEN)

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Shadows We Cast (OPEN)

Spells, Talismans, & Fortunes

The non-supernatural have their idea of what magic is. Herbs and crystals, rhyming spells, coloured candles, incense. All of these things can make magic, yes, or aid it, but none of it is magical in and of itself. Still, people expect it in a little house in Enfield that claims to be a psychic shop. The only thing she puts real stock in (besides the talismans she might feel are worth making depending on whether or not the person seems to actually need a little push in their lives) is her deck of Tarot cards.

Tarot is an old art, and she believes in her cards and their ability for divination. It's a small connection she's found to one of her sisters. Both of them have the cards, though Kenzi sees them more as a way to con people than actually looking for guidance. Still, to each their own.

For her part, Abigail has shed her socialite clothes. She wears, instead, the loose skirt, sandals, and peasant top people expect. Two bits of her hair, one on either side, are braided. The smell of lavender is in the air when one enters.

There's a sign that offers her wares. A free consultation and first reading of the Tarot. After that, there are rates for talismans and spells and follow-up readings. The sign also offers palmistry.

From Within the Shadows

'Claiming' Enfield isn't easy. Even with no official Daybreak or Redbright or Night Council presence, there is resistence. In particular, a Daybreak coven in the area takes the presence of offically established Midnight as a personal insult.

One run-in with those witches leaves Abigail with a burn on her right arm, which she holds close to her as she sits in an alleyway, half hiding. She needs to call an ambulance or hail a cab to get to the hospital, she knows, but the pain is enough to make her unable to even think about grabbing her phone.

After that, she becomes more aggressive. While having her 'sisters' spread word through whispers, she makes it more open, tacking up her usual style of business cards. This time, though, they boldly state 'members of Circle Midnight' and offer the phone number of her burner phone. She won't give up the address to her coven easily, but she will be willing to answer her phone now, rather than simply relying on texts.

By Daylight

A Widdowson can't simply be a witch. There are parties to attend, charities to donate to, and events to volunteer at.

Among those are gardening at Capel Manor College, watering the plants and working the soil in exchange for some of the herbs that grow there. It's a wonderful place to get fresh rosemary and other such things for only a little work with the community garden.

Another of her pet projects is an organization that brings parents and babies together to help the parents feel less isolated. One particular event is a tea party, and Abby can be found flitting about not only checking on the parents but also playing with the babies. Especially the babies.

She can also be found doing what most teenage girls with a good deal of money could be found doing: shopping. There are dresses to buy and shoes, along with all sorts of other outfits. And there's make-up as well. All completely shallow, she knows, but also very fun.

Might as well enjoy herself before the university term starts up again.

In Sisterhood

The coven is something Abigail also devotes her time to. (Sometimes at the expense of sleeping, but she hasn't yet figured out how to adjust her schedule to include this new, demanding activity.) The upstairs of the shop is where the coven meets, and it is stocked with fresh herbs, chalk, candles, and representations of the elements at all times.

There are three of them to start, but that's the point of advertising. Not that they're going to have a lot of members, especially at first. After all, anyone who contacts Abby through her card has to be vetted first. They have to be sure they won't be betrayed.

Still, it's a safe place for the three of them, whether alone or together. And at certain times of the day, Abby might just be found napping on one of the couches put up there.

And all the rest

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Abigail isn't as alone in the alley, though thankfully the other presence isn't hostel. Well, at least not at the moment. Not that Tybalt has anything against the witch. In fact, he finds her interesting, for a mortal at least. So when she'd stumbled into the alleyway where he was scrounging for food in cat form, he took notice. And, after a suitable delay, he stretched and sauntered over to her.

Purring.

Few mortals could resist a purring cat.

Normally, Abigail likes cats. She's always laughed to herself about it being a 'witch thing.' Of course, every cat she's ever adopted has spent maybe two nights in Geap Manor and then bolted out the door, never to be seen again. Maybe she needs to find a different flat. One that allows animals. After all, sneaking a dog in had been risky. Strangely easy, though. Like he'd known to be quiet. But, now, he comes and goes. When he shows up outside the flat -- like he always knows when to approach when it's just her -- she takes him in, gives him food and water, lets him stay a few days, then lets him wander off again.

But, right now, the cat... Well, the cat isn't welcome.

"Shoo," she mutters. Even as she says it, she takes in a sharp breath of air. She needs to use her phone. Needs to call for help. Because it hurts. Enough to bring tears to her eyes. But how the Hell is she supposed to explain this to a doctor? "I don't have anything for you."

The purring stopped abruptly and the cat gives her a disdainful look, before turning and walking a few paces away, tail held stiffly up. Then it sits back on it's hind paws, and stretches upwards until, with a sudden smell of musk and pennyroyal, the cat is now the man. Tybalt gives an over dramatic sigh and turns around to look at Abigail.

"Cat purrs promote healing they say. But barring that, I don't suppose I can be of assistance?"

"Tybalt?!"

Running into anyone was unexpected, though his presence isn't unwelcome. Asking a favour of the fae is difficult. Dangerous, even. But, well. She can at least ask for a little help. She makes herself smile as she lowers the arm protecting the injured one, showing the burns.

"Could help me come up with a story to tell a doctor about this. 'Kitchen accident' doesn't quite cut it."

He chuckles at her surprise, but he comes over and crouches down. "Mrrr. No, kitchen accident wouldn't really make sense unless you're profoundly unlucky." A small smile plays on his face. "Though I would say you are indeed unlucky to get yourself in this bad a situation." He purses his lips and tilts his head from one side to the other as he inspects her burns. "Motorcycle accident?"

"A motorcycle accident? Maybe."

She says the words as she considers the possibility. That might work, actually. Abigail winces as she presses her left palm against the wall and pushes herself to her feet. The attempt to keep herself from screaming means that tears streak her face. Still, she can force herself to focus.

"Or maybe kids being kids. Stupid college shit and all?"

Swearing isn't something she does a lot, but this situation definitely calls for it.

He offers her a hand to help steady herself. Not to help her stand up - if she can't manage that on her own, then she's weakened herself too much to be worth helping. But he has no problem offering assistance once she has proven she can do that.

"Hmm... Could be fireworks related, if you're willing to endure the lecture," he pauses and cocks his head to the side, thinking. "Are fireworks popular around here? I don't remember."

"More popular in November, but fireworks is a pretty good one, actually."

She takes his hand and balances her weight against his grip to make sure she won't overcorrect and fall. The last thing she needs is for hard concrete to meet the fresh wound.

"Gotta say, that group? Really made me reconsider my 'peaceful expansion' approach."

But she knew she couldn't punish the many because of the actions of the few. That was her entire issue with Redbright and the Night Council. That they were pushing out and eliminating dark witches because a few couldn't control themselves. She had to be the better person.

But she could wish she wasn't.

"It does make a good 'stupid students' excuse," he says with a slight smile. Which fades as he gives her a more appraising look.

"So who precisely did you piss off?" There is a hint of 'this time' in his tone. Not because he knows her particularly well, but because anyone who gets this injured usually seems to do so regularly.

"Daybreak."

It's not surprising. She announced herself at the party, made it clear she was taking Enfield for Midnight, and... Well. She wasn't surprised her non-violent approach hadn't been met with the same reaction.

"They'd likely say it was self-defence or some rubbish like that. And it's not like the Night Council cares what happens to Midnight witches anyway."

He isn't much for charity. Honestly, he doesn't do much with his wealth other than sit on it, he's very pirate like in that way. Still, this is for quite a good cause. Any cause that has to do with children can easily earn his attention, and supporting young families is something he is willing to give to.

It doesn't hurt for him to appear charitable, either.

The name running the event is familiar, one he's heard for centuries instead of just years, but he doesn't know the Widdowson family well enough to know that he's addressing one of them as he spots her with the children. His 'date' is run off with a flute of champagne, so he's alone, and notes, "Are you fond of children?" He's seen her ghost over here more than once.

Abby smiles at the question. It's a more complicated one than most people would guess, but that kind of an explanation isn't needed. Especially at an event like this that at least pretends to be free of the supernatural. She's sure that a few people here aren't as normal as they claim, but that's not her business.

"I am," she admits, laughing a little. It's not entirely a fake expression, but it is exaggerated. More for the show of the charitable socialite. "They're so sweet."

It is a bit of a complicated question, but one that can be easily guised with simplicity. Who doesn't like children, really. Even he likes children, even though nobody in their right mind would trust him around them if they had an inkling of what kind of person he was. Even a former pirate extolled for his viciousness was fond of children. Fond enough that he knew to stay away from them, for their own sake.

"Aye, that they are." Aye is far too old fashioned for modern conversation, but it's the one remnant of the man he used to be he still can't quite kick. He's lived on manufactured smiles long enough to sense a hint of it in hers, but he doesn't question. Now's not the place and besides, she probably wouldn't tell him even if he was right. "It's a great cause. Children deserve more than they ever seem to get." Not all children, not really, but too many were forgotten and neglected as far as he was concerned.

"Killian Jones," he offers, extending a hand in her direction. Might as well rub elbows, seeing that he's here.

"Abigail Widdowson," she replies, taking his hand in hers with another smile. After all, this is the nature of being party to these events. There's no hiding her name and she shouldn't want to anyway. Not as a socialite.

And for that reason, she has to play the part. Pitch the cause as much as she'd like to just keep working. "Helping the children is a wonderful cause, but there are a great many organisations that help them." And that much is true. There are a lot of groups that make children their priority.

"The parents -- especially the mothers -- often feel incredibly isolated, though. Single mothers even more so. Because they don't have the support system. We help bring them together, show them that they're part of a community. That just like their children don't have to grow up alone, they don't have to raise them alone."

Genuine emotion creeps into her voice. Not necessarily when she talks about mothers being alone but when she momentarily slips back to the children before she corrects her course. That is something she knows. Utter isolation.

"Widdowson." He says it like he's just repeating it to help him remember, but he already knows that name quite well. Hard not to, if you've been in London for any period of time, and he's been for far too long. That's a name he knows, a name he's heard a great deal of. She might not even be the first he's met, but it's safe to say he's familiar with her legacy, moreso than he is with the girl herself.

He shakes her hand with a friendly smile and releases her. It'd do well for him to make friends with a girl like her, so if his charm wasn't on before, it certainly is now.

"Anything that keeps families together deserves my patronage," and that is more or less a genuine statement. He's seen enough in the world that he will do what he can to see that families aren't torn apart. Helping the mothers is just about as vital as helping the children, even if his heart is easily swayed toward the more innocent of the two.

Abigail Widdowson runs true to form. Like her female ancestors, she is tall, pale, and blonde. Today, of course, she isn't draped in black. Instead, she has on jeans and a short-sleeved blouse for dealing with the children, but she's still perfectly put together, not a hair out of place. Any volunteer or donor is worth almost as much time as the people she's helping. After all, without their help, charities don't run.

"We're very grateful, Mr Jones. It's always wonderful to meet people who appreciate good causes."

Especially when they were good-looking men. Not that she'd come on to someone at an event like this, but, well, that didn't mean she couldn't admire the view.

That makes one of them that isn't draped in black. Killian doesn't run around in full leather anymore, his flamboyant style has been forced to be dampened in modern day London, yet he can't quite escape his fondness for the more villainous shades. He's dressed expensively, but honestly he finds modern style painfully dull. Different fabrics, all the same cuts and styles. He misses the leathers he used to wear.

"Killian, please. If you knew Mr. Jones, you'd understand." Honestly he hardly remembers his father, other than being abandoned by him, but it sounds just like playful, friendly conversation. He's had plenty of time to practice this act, and he's always been charming. "I'm sure the honor is mine. I didn't realize I was introducing myself to one of the hosts. Not in the way, am I?"

"As long as you call me Abigail," she says with a warm smile. She even chuckles a little. After all, especially at an event like this, she'd be remiss in her socialite ways if she didn't do a little flirting with a cute guy. Plus it was just fun. A nice break from her usual ways. "And you're not in the way at all."

She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, tilting her head. "I'm always happy to spend some time with my guests."

"Abigail it is, then." It's easy enough to agree to, because honestly for all his pretensions about good form and being a gentleman, he'd always much rather call a lady by her name instead of her father's. She seemed receptive to flirtation and he stepped a bit closer, following her body language.

"I realize the folly in offering you a drink when you're running the event, but that's the gentlemanly thing to do, isn't it?" Considering the charity, he doubted the drinks would be alcoholic, but it'd be a good place to start a conversation.

No one ever said she's not allowed to take a little time to socialise herself, Abigail decides. So, she smiles and reaches up to push some hair behind her ear before realising she's already done that. Gesture of habit? Just a bit.

"It would be impolite of me to say no to a glass of sparkling grape juice." Because with children around, alcohol was out of the question. Still, it wasn't out of the realm of possibility she might come out of this with an invitation to actually drink with him.

He did notice the repeated gesture, which made him wonder if he had her nervous, or it was just a quirk. Whatever it was, he didn't comment. He was just far too attune to reading people, he'd spent centuries honing the craft. He'd need to learn to survive as long as he had.

"Hardly rude, but I might be a bit disappointed." He veered out of the way of a pair of girls that went running past, reflexes perhaps sharper than most all considered, but not bizarrely so. He headed toward the drink station, very proper even though it was a dry event. "So what is it that brought you into this work, Abigail?"

She follows in stop with him and laughs a little as the girls run past. It's good to see high spirits. Definitely a change from the somber mood that Geap Manor always conveys, and her flat is too lonely to be anything but calming on a good day and depressing on a bad. It's nicer to be where there's energy and movement.

"I had a small family, but I always wished it was bigger. So... I guess I like being around kids and moms and getting to feel like it's just one big community -- a large family." It's a sentimental explanation, but it's true. For the most part. It also gives her something to do, and volunteer work looks good to the university. Plus, with her standing in society, it's expected that she have a few pet causes. Not that she'd admit to having political reasons for it. "It gives me a chance to help people."

He's a good listener. He doesn't connect to people, by determined choice, but that doesn't mean he doesn't hear them. He needs to be able stay sharp. Glean anything useful from a conversation and the people he is interacting with. He nods at her words, glancing back as he gestures to the girl running the drink stand for a pair.

"I can understand that." He knows just as well as anyone what it feels like to have a small family, considering he only had the one. He doesn't think his bastard of a father would count in any sense of the word. It's a little too close to the truth for his liking, so he veers away from it. "Very valiant. I find a lot of people say they enjoy helping people, less actually bother doing it." He holds the drink out for her to take once the bartender hands it to him.

Abby takes the drink politely and holds it up in a kind of toast, even if there's no alcohol in it. Then, she sips it and looks around. The parents and children are a good sight for her, but she can't help but be careful as she does her survey. Any of them might be Reds or from Daybreak. Any of them might be watching her. And anything can happen. She isn't unaware of the 'accidents' that tend to happen when she's around.

"Most of those people cut cheques, rather than help in person." At least in the circles Abby runs in. People of old money can't just talk about helping. They'd be disgraced. "Both kinds of contribution are vital, I think."

It's true, that the sort to give money won't put in much effort other than that. He's seen people put the word in without actually walking the walk for absolute centuries now. Charity work was often more for status and to keep up appearances than any care toward the causes involved. Despite his vitriol, Killian himself knows better than to get too close to children. He's not the sort of person they need to be around, and he never has been. His money will do them more good than he ever would.

"Suppose you wouldn't get very far without the contributions." No matter where they came from. You couldn't change the world with positive thinking. "I have to say I'd rather have someone willing to put in the actual work than hand over money. I'd say the children are the same."

"Without the contributions, most charities wouldn't be able to keep their doors open. There'd be no events for volunteers to help out at." She can't look down her nose at just donating. After all, she has a few of her own charities that she just funds. Some of them she helps out at in person, but not all of them. "But both sides of it are very important."

Still, it's always nice to have people actually present, helping those who need the assistance.

He sees her point, and nods agreeably. He just thinks it's too easy to throw down money, and it didn't necessarily require interest in the cause. He finds the people willing to put in the hours more amenable, even if they may not be the wealthiest. Still, he knows when to change a subject, and after a sip of his (horrible) juice, he does so.

"Is there something you're into besides charity, darling? As noble as it is."

Abigail laughs a little.

"Shopping, of course. Cliche, I guess, but I love it. And the arts. Theatre and music especially."

A proper little lady, just like she'd been raised to be. Of course, there was also magic on that list, but that wasn't something she'd say at any public event like this. Even her New Age shop was run under a different name, mostly so people didn't connect it to 'Widdowson' and refuse to come.

"I won't hold the first against you, even though there's little more in life I detest. I understand I'm a rarity in that respect." Hook had always preferred stealing to buying. Even grocery shopping was entirely tiresome after doing it for centuries. It was a good thing he rarely chose to eat.

"Music has always been a fondness of might as well. You know they call me old fashioned, but I favor the classics." Mostly because those were more similar to what he was raised on, a very long time ago. "You know, I've some tickets to the orchestra — I wonder if you could be tempted to join me." It was only a matter of time before he tried to invite her out. She had a powerful name, it would only benefit him to get to know her better.

Abigail can't help but smile at that offer, reaching up to push a piece of hair behind her ear. It was a sophisticated offer, probably more trading on her name than anything else, but it was still a handsome man offering to take her to the orchestra.

"I'd be delighted. Let me give you my number."

He probably could have gotten a card or something a bit more sophisticated, yet for his decadent offers, he was in the end a bit more simple. He tucked a few fingers into the pocket of his coat, plucking his phone free and unlocking it quickly before handing it over.

"I'll give you a ring, we can set it up." He smiled back, and he did seem pleased. It was always good to make a connection, even though emotional connections were far and few between for him, if he could avoid it.

Abigail took the phone and entered her number. When typing her name, she considered it for a moment, putting in her last name and then, for the first name, the more casual 'Abby' instead of 'Abigail.'

After all, there was no reason to always stand on ceremony. She was allowed to be young sometimes. "There. And thank you for the offer. It sounds like a lot of fun."

"Of course. I'd rather not have to go alone, and beautiful company is likely to make it even better." He accepts his phone back, takes a moment to look over her number, and then replaces it in his jacket.

"I should let you get back to your work, but I do promise you'll be hearing from me." For better or worse, she would be.

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Shadows We Cast (OPEN)

From Within the Shadows

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by daylight!

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