The Beginnings of the Harvest Season (OPEN)

[acrookedchild]

1) Business as usual

The shop was easy to manage. People came mostly or Tarot or palmistry, but she had a small, steady client base who came from what they considered spells. They were longer-ranged, though. Rituals, not spells, and Abigail didn't have the heart to tell them the truth about the strange ways in which they could work. Not that there wasn't magic in them... Still, no one seemed too concerned that their dreams of love and money didn't immediately come true.

She'd gotten used to referencing the 'Rule of Three' and 'Mother Earth' and saying 'Blessed be.' The clients came, after all, for the New Age sort. They expected Wiccanism, not true witchcraft, so Abby gave them what they wanted. They paid for it. She did, of course, try to work magic where it was needed, and she trusted the craft of the Tarot.

Still, the shop is open, still offering its first Tarot reading free and displaying the rates for everything else on a sign immediately visible upon entry.


2) Everyday dangers on the streets - closed to Cooper
cw: violence from/to a dog

It's a perfectly nice August day. Great for walking from shop to shop. Mostly, she's stocking up on candles and incense for her work, but she's got a few books for herself and other such things. Overall, it's just a nice day to herself. Which makes Abby more than content.

She stops on the sidewalk for a few moments to admire a set of painting in a window display. They might be nice on the wall of her shop. Something to give the place an even more homey feel.

A slight ruckus catches her ear. Someoneone trying to get their dog under control. A woman scolded a man for being so stubborn that he wouldn't even muzzle it. And then-- And then real shouting.

Before Abby can even really register what's going on, there's pain in her leg. Lots and lots of pain. She staggers as the dog sinks its teeth in more. When she's finally really aware of the situation, she twists to try and kick the dog anywhere she can with her free leg, though there are tears already streaking her face.

And she's screaming, too. Saying something? Or just screaming? She doesn't really know. It hurts too much to think and fear robs any remaining senses. People are trying to help, but the dog just bites at them and goes back to lunging at her.


3) A ritual at night - closed to Balem

Late at night on the 17th, Abigail left her flat and travelled by car to Bedfont Lakes Country Park. She wanted to do it when no one else would be there to see. Or, at least, when there was as little chance of being seen as possible. After all, this ritual was meant to be done in safety and privacy.

She sets down her small bag and takes out her supplies. They're simple, hardly worth notice. An apple, a penknife, an embroidery needle, and a packet of sugar.

After a few moments to steady herself, she takes up the apple and the knife, cutting the apple in half horizontally. With one half in each hand, she looked out over the north lake. Then, she spoke, quiet and serious.

"By the water in my blood,
By the rivers of the earth,
By the tides of the moon,
Bring me one who knows my worth."

She repeated the words in a gentle rythym several more times. Nine in all, if one was present and counting through them all. Then, she put the half of the apple in her right hand down on her bag and took up the embroidery needle. She drew a downward pointing triangle on the right side of the flesh, then her name along the bottom, then, at the left, a waxing crescent moon with the needle.

Half of the packet of sugar was emptied onto the apple half, and she threw it into the lake, as far from her as she could. Then, she sprinkled the other half of the sugar on the remaining half of the apple and began to eat it.


4) At the mercy of public transportation

Abby has decided that she hates crutches. They make everything a hundred times more complicated than they need to be, and they slow her down. But, well, they're better than having lost her leg to that mutt attacking her. Which is still so weird. Nothing like that has ever happened before.

Which means there's plenty to consider. That's why she's at a little coffee house, sitting on one of their sidewalk tables, as she waits for a late-evening bus to take her home.

She has a notebook in front of her, and she jots things down at certain points before scratching it out and writing something else. It could be (and probably is) something as simple as a grocery list for another time.

Comments

1

[chronobreak]

Well, she did say to stop by, and he does need/want a job for extra spending cash. So he makes his way down to the shop after all his perfect duties are done for the day and pokes in.

"Still looking for a front desk type?"

2

[emotioneater]

Cooper's up on a nearby rooftop, not doing much besides watching the city with the fondness of someone who's lived in a place for quite a while. He's already fed tonight and doesn't have any other plans. That's when the screaming starts, the scent of blood reaching his nose. Wait a minute. He knows the sound of that voice!

It's one quick jump down from the edge of the rooftop to the street. Nobody notices him landing. The crowd of people is too busy focused on the dog doing it's best to maul Abby. Some people seem to be trying to help, but with the threat of getting bit a real possibility, nobody can get close. Cooper rudely shoves his way through the crowd, his protective instincts out in full force.

He grabs the dog by the neck before it can tear into Abigail's leg again and pulls it off. When it turns to him, all snarls and a mouth full of sharp teeth, he does the first thing that comes to mind and punches it in the face.

4.

[damnyank]

Seeing someone walk around with crunches in London is to be expected, but who Homer Jackson doesn't expect is to see that gutsy witch with a death wish. There's that clandestine part of him that's glad that Abby hasn't gotten herself killed since their last meeting, though he'd never admit to it. He thinks well of her, respects her spine and ambition, even with all her naivete clouding her judgement.

It takes a lot for a person that young to forge her own independence, especially in this modern age of asspatting and standardized bureaucracy. London ain't the wild west of witchcraft, as it might've been centuries ago.

When he passes by the hobbling witch, he slows down and offers her a casual wave, not necessarily inviting her to conversation nor deterring her either.

Jackson decides to speak up, after a beat.

"Ms. Widdowson," he says, as he eyes her injured leg with a grin."Those damn light witches. Who do they think they are bustin' knees? The mafia?"

3

[entitles]

Balem had a rather annoying habit of materializing from the Other Realm when nobody wanted him there, such as he did right now.

"What an interesting spell. I was never much for rhyming, myself," he said, because most of his magic was executed with a mere wave of his hand, such was the benefit of being a fae.

"One who knows your worth? Are we searching for romance?" he said, a bit jokingly, but who knows. There probably really was a spell for that, he wouldn't be surprised if this was it.

4

[vampiracy]

He doesn't have much patience for most human sustenance. He will eat when out for dinner, yet when he's wandering around of his own possession he rarely cares for the hassle. It's more work than anything to eat something he doesn't need, even if it tastes good. The only exceptions seem to be alcohol and coffee — both of which help with his cravings, or at least, he pretends that they do.

Which explains what he's up to in the coffee shop, ordering an unholy amount of espresso, as much as he could get without the barista warning him about the possible health concerns involved. He's not expecting to spot someone familiar, and when he does... He doesn't miss the crutches, even though the bandaged leg is covered.

"I hate to trouble you when you're preoccupied, but the crutches have me a bit concerned," he interjected, and his expression says just that, though perhaps his head and his heart isn't quite in it. "You weren't sporting those when I saw you last. Are you quite well?"

4.

[specifiercity]

Arthur's been haunting this neighbourhood. He had taken Eames' suggestion to heart, surprisingly enough, so he did a little research and discovered that this was part of Abigail Widdowson's daily routine. He had already seen her pass by once today from the window of a restaurant between meetings, so he's not surprised when he sees the crutches as he wanders down the sidewalk in her direction.

He's already decided to approach her honestly about his intentions. She's young, and he can guess that she's probably got a healthy amount of paranoia given the position she's in. He goes into the coffee shop first, grabbing some caffeine for the rest of the walk home, and then he stops next to her table when he comes back outside.

"Miss Widdowson?" he says, with a kind smile. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows and his free hand is in the pocket of his slacks - his posture is casual but he'll never be able to lose the straight back the military gave him. "I'm sorry to bother you, but do you mind if I sit down?"