chasingtwisters | I am teaching myself how to be free. [Open]

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I am teaching myself how to be free. [Open]

It's early in the morning when Marina settles herself just on the edge of the water, letting her bare feet rest in the dampened sand where the water comes and goes. The sun is staggering out of the night and int the sky, casting the beach around her into an eerie glow. She has a book by her side, thick and heavy as any college textbook, except obviously older, with rips and tears all over the seams and pages. She has a topaz from one of the necklaces she owns curled protectively in her fist, and she wears a necklace made of lavender and mint leaves. Even if this doesn't work out, she muses, smirking, at least she'll smell pretty.

She found the spell Friday night, in her research. According to what she now knows of Moira Coombs, she ought to be able to pull this off, without any danger to the baby. Her hand with the topaz comes to rest on her swollen belly, thoughtful. I'm doing this for you, she thinks, because it's true. She doesn't know that she herself wants to entirely remember; but she owes her unborn child the truth, and, if she really is Moira Coombs, she owes it to Moira's sisters to remember, too.

She sighs, willing herself to relax. She drank the same chai tea Rian had before he'd read her hands to help her concentrate; now she just needs to do it, already. The instructions are easy enough to follow: raising her fist with the topaz, she holds it out over the water as she begins to read the words to the spell, written in a mixture of English and French, which comes to her from her high school French lessons.

The words blend musically into the air around her; the tide begins to pick up around her feet, whirling around her like a miniature whirlpool. She chants the incantation, repeating it the three times required, as warmth begins to cackle and pop within her, like fireworks. In the same vein, light begins to spark from her, and she worries briefly that she might, in fact, catch fire in doing this.

When she finishes the spell, she casts the topaz into the water. As soon as she does so, the water explodes, cascading around her and soaking her to the bone, though she does not feel the cold. She trembles all over as images and words spill out from all the cracks in her thoughts: her father teaching her how to swim on her fifth birthday, her twin sisters and her running together over the local playground, and her mother, when once she thought she cared about her. Moira manages one last gasp of air before the world fades to black and she falls back into the sand.

She awakens to the sun fully in the sky, and the chipper sounds of sea gulls circling around her, wondering if she has food. For her part, Moira feels groggy and unsteady, as though suffering from a hangover. She winces at the brightness and focuses hard on not losing what little she has in her stomach at the moment. And then it hits her, all at once. She's Moira Coombs; she got engaged in Europe, and she's about to become someone's mother.

And she's home, back in Siren Cove.

"Fuck!" She yells, still on her back on the sand, unsure if she has the strength to pick herself back up.

[OOC: Moira remembers! The spell itself takes place early in the morning, around four or five am. Moira herself waking up is set to 9 am. Feel free to have seen her perform the spell, or come across her still lying prone in the sand. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get Moira's shit together, but she's finally herself again! Any questions or concerns, just let me know!]

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She's content to lie prone as she is, with the warm sand on her back and her feet still lingering in the water. The contrast is wonderful, and helps to ease the blow of all of her memories rushing back at once. But she does need to move eventually, especially when she recognizes the voice of the man calling out to her.

"Hey," she says sitting up with a minor grimace. "It's Moira, actually. Sorry for the confusion. It's...a long story."

Cam dropped down to sit beside her, offering his hand if she needed it to steady herself. "Easy there. Don't want to go jarring anything that shouldn't be, you know, jarred. Or something."

He offered a half smile even though his eyes widened a little. "Moira? Did I get your name wrong the other day?"

She laughs at that, grateful for his easy manners. They've only just met, and under false pretenses, for Moira, but she decides that she really likes this Cam, for all his kindness. "Yeah, that wouldn't end well, me jarring anything else that shouldn't be," she agrees, accepting his offered hand as she pulls herself to her feet.

"No," she says, shaking her head. "I'm afraid I gave you the wrong name. I was off in Europe and I got hit with a pretty nasty..." She pauses, wondering how much he knows about the supernatural nature of Siren Cove. She decides she's better off not telling him the entire truth until she knows for certain how much he knows. "Something happened to my memory, but it's come back. My real name is Moira Coombs."

"Marina is just a name I've always liked," she admits with a sheepish shrug. "And what I tried to call myself when I was going through my angsty college freshman phase."

"Moira then," Cam responded as his mind worked through what she told him. "So you had amnesia or something like that? Were you in an accident or an illness?"

He wasn't being combative, he was genuinely curious. He'd never heard of anyone having that for longer than a few hours after a car accident and frankly, it fascinated him. "That must have been...well, disconcerting doesn't even sound close."

"Accident," she says, latching onto the word as soon as he says it. Though it didn't explain everything that happened to her back in Scotland, it was a close enough word that she doesn't mind using it. "It was unfortunate. I'm still really putting together bits and pieces of it."

"Yeah, disconcerting is the polite way of putting it," she says, managing a smile in spite of her fragile emotions. "In some ways, I feel like I've kind of lost part of my life I won't ever get back. It's weird."

"There are parts of my life I wouldn't mind losing," Cam commented in a voice that was almost a mumble before he cleared his throat and gave his head a shake. "Are you all right? After getting those parts back, I mean? Is there someone I should call, or...?"

He reached up and rubbed at the back of his neck. "I'm really not usually this useless. I promise."

She lifts an eyebrow, catching the mumble and unsure what to say in response. "Funny how you always wind up losing the parts of life you'd rather keep," she manages, with a small shrug and a knowing smile. "Yeah, I'll be alright. I've got family here. And a house."

"You're not," she assures him. "You've been nothing but nice to me and 'Marina.' That is the opposite of useless."

"I appreciate that, thanks. I'm a lot better around cars and machines than I am around beautiful women. It's been years since middle school, but I still get a little blustery sometimes. Annoys the crap out of me, to be honest," he finished with a look down to his feet before raising his eyes back to hers.

"I'm glad you got your memories back, though, Moira. I hope they're happy ones?"

"Hey, most days I'm better around cats than I am around people," she tells him with a shrug. "No judgement here. Although, I can't say I'd know my way around cars, though they're fun to look at." She lifts an eyebrow as he shifts his gaze from her, to the ground, and back again. "I think you're doing just fine, dude."

"Some of them," she says, her turn, this time, to turn her gaze to the sand. "My family's got a lot of history, and I have a lot of history. Not all of it happy, or pretty, really."

She glances back up at him with a small smile. "Gotta take the good with the bad, I guess."

"Thanks for that." Cam nodded along with her words. "I have to say you're off to a better start than I ever was. It took me a few years in some pretty intensive therapy to get to that point. I'd tip my hat to you, if I was wearing one. Or, you know, we lived in the 18th century." His grin was both teasing and self-deprecating at the same time.

"Sometimes its hard to stay focused on the good, in light of all the bad or not so pretty. I think that's why I stayed so focused on cars. They were some of the happiest parts of my growing up."

"Well, good for you," she tells him, in all earnestness. Therapy can take a lot out of a person, she knows, depending on how they're feeling. "And I'm not trying to be flippant or anything. Therapy is...well, it's a good thing, and I'm glad it helped you." She feels like, given everything she's experienced lately, and given the history of her own family, therapy might not be a bad idea for herself. "If we were in the 18th century, I would be excommunicated. Or hanged, maybe." She grins back, pointing at her stomach. "They weren't so big on unwed mothers, back then. So I'm glad we're not. In the 18th century, I mean."

"What about cars makes you happy? What draws you to them?" She asks, genuinely curious.

"Considering how often men went around in panty hose and ruffled shirts, I'm kind of glad we aren't either. Between that and the rampant disease, I think we're much better off where we are." He winked, just a quick one, and gone in a second so that if she blinked she'd have missed it.

"We didn't have much growing up, so my father was always working. Most of the time I spent with him was spent in the garage where he worked. He taught me engines, makes, models, everything he knew. Now, I feel close to him every time I'm elbow deep under someone's hood and it's like he's not really gone."

At that, Moira laughs, the first she can remember doing since Europe, long before the whole evil witch coven and cursed memory loss thing. It feels damn good to do so. "Hey, I'm a ruffled shirts kind of girl, I'll have you know," she says with a smirk. "And yeah, I'm rather fond of my right to vote, too."

"I'm sorry about your father," she says, sympathetic. "But I'm glad you had so much quality time with him. It sounds like you guys were really close."

She pauses, before adding: "I lost my dad, too. He used to take me fishing all the time. I think that's why, in part, I love the ocean so much."

"I'm sorry, too. For mine, and for yours. Loss is a funny thing, isn't it? Most times you feel pretty much okay and in control, and then one thing happens and you're almost back where you started, feeling it all over again." Cam looked out over the water and nodded. "My parents are still in the water somewhere. Their bodies were never recovered after the crash, so I feel the same. It's why I've never been able to settle anywhere not near the water."

With a shake of his head, Cam refocused himself. "Okay, I really, really didn't mean to get all that morose. It was a long time ago." Then a smile returned to his face, thinking of her in ruffles and flourishes. "You'd probably wear those ruffles a lot better than I would."

"Yeah," Moira nods, trying not to grimace, considering all of the loss in her life recently. "Sounds about right. Loss especially seems to appreciate swooping in when you least expect it and ripping the rug from right out under you." She starts when he mentions his parents still being in the water; her first instinct is to offer to help find them. She knows a location spell especially good for the water. But he seems so nice, and her being a witch generally turns people off from remaining nice to her, so she mentions nothing. "I can't not live near the water," she adds, thinking of her cottage. Sealed off by magic, no one but her own sisters and cousins should have been able to access it while she was away.

"Eh," Moira says with a shrug, managing a small grin. "I grew up with the ruffles thing, being the kid of wealthy parents. Those dresses are highly overrated, really."

Cam thought, watching that small smile and remembering the soft laugh earlier, that she should smile and laugh more often. And that she was quite beautiful when she wasn't, but that her face transformed into gorgeous when she did. Then he reminded himself that she was probably mourning the baby's father and that he should dial those thoughts way back.

"Had one of those families did you? My foster mother tried that with her daughter. It didn't turn out well. Sarah ripped off the ruffles, used them to tie her hair back, and climbed trees with Jason and I."

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"I like the sound of this Sarah," Moira says, her grin widening, easily picturing how she could tear up ruffles and re-purpose them for more practical uses. She used to do the same thing, with all the lace and refinery her mother always insisted on her wearing. "I used to do similar, with all the expensive fabric my mother wasted on me."

It's an odd feeling, having a relationship pulled out from under her feet. Stefan and his charming smile still lingering in the back of her mind. Moira doesn't know that she's actively seeking any sort of romance at the moment, but she thinks her fiance wouldn't want her to close herself off. Still, her priority at the moment is preparing for the imminent birth of her child.

"Oh yeah, she's a real pistol. Southern sweet as they come and able to cut you down to size while sounding sweeter than cherry pie. Big blue eyes that melt pretty much any straight man. I think you two would get along great," Cam told her and made a mental note to call home soon. Maybe even a quick trip if Davin could spare him from the garage.

"So," he began with his eyes on the baby bump. "You said you were due soon, right?"

"A girl that can cut and melt with the best of them," she considers with a wide grin. "Sounds exactly like my kind of person." Moira has a tendency towards rebels and those with the talents for letting their sweetness cover the steel laying underneath, seeing as she's done the same, herself.

"Yeah," she glances down to where he's looking on her bump. "End of the month. But it could be any day now, really. Or it could go on into August." She winces at that prospect; pregnancy is hard enough in July, with sweat clinging to every swollen limb and making her feel even more sluggish than usual.

Cam looked from her belly to her face and back again. "You sound more like you'd rather it be closer to the any day now than into August," he observed, wondering if he should ask what he wanted to ask or if it would get him slapped or something. In the end, he threw caution to the wind. "Is that because you're anxious to meet the baby, or because...yeah, that's got to be uncomfortable as hell."

"If I'm being honest, I would rather my daughter decide to drop right now," she nods. When he asks his next question, Moira has to admit that she kind of admires him for having the nerve to ask such a question. She doesn't mind it, actually. She's too tired of dealing with people politely asking questions about her baby, anyway. "Both, truth be told," she smiles at him again. "I would rather deal with sleepless nights than all this baggage." She gestures to her swollen stomach.

"I can only imagine, and I'm starting to think that the powers that be had it right when they chose women to have the babies. If it was up to men, and we had to endure months of it, the species would have died out eons ago." Cam was only half teasing, but then he realized they were just standing there.

"I should probably let you go and get off your feet or something, right?"

"Yeah, probably," she agrees with a grin, appreciative of Cam's humor in the moment. "We womenfolk are a lot tougher than people give us credit for."

It's only after she says it that Moira realizes how decidedly weak she feels. Her feet and back ache, and she kind of wants nothing more than to return to her cottage and curl up in her own bed. She very much wants to not move for the next month.

"Not a bad idea," she agrees with another smile. "But we should grab coffee or tea or something some time. I definitely owe you," she says. "For putting up with me and Marina both."

"I'd like that," Cam told her, and thought that he'd probably like it more than he should. Still, he kept that thought to himself. "Put up with? You make it sound like it was a challenge or something to be endured. Trust me, it hasn't been."

He offered her his arm, prepared to walk with her until they'd left the slippery, ankle-turning sand behind them.

"I'm a challenging type of person, even without the pregnancy," Moira admits with a self-deprecating grin. Actually, she's mostly surprised herself that she isn't moodier than she is, currently. "But I'm glad I haven't been too much to put up with." The next smile she offers him is genuine.

She accepts his offered arm, though not without a wry quirk of her eyebrows. "Feeling a little genteel today, are we?"

I am teaching myself how to be free. [Open]

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