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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"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?"

"What can I say, born and raised in the south as I was, some things get taught practically from birth," he teased as they walked.

"I suppose you drink sweet tea and all of that too?" Moira asks, teasing right back.

"When I can get it, but finding a place up here that sells it is something of a struggle," Cam admitted. "There are times I have to go back to visit my foster family just to get my fill of hush puppies, sweet tea, and chicken and waffles."

"I've always wondered, what the hell are hush puppies?" Moira glances over at him, amusement clear in her eyes. "And chicken and waffles, as in, together?"

"Hush puppies are small corn bread-like muffins that are deep fried to delicious perfection," Cam replied, hand to his chest in nostalgia. Then he looked at Moira with shock in his eyes. "You've never had chicken and waffles?"

"Okay, corn bread-like, that sounds delicious," she admits with a smile. "But chicken and waffles together? That sounds disgusting, dude."

Cam's jaw dropped. "You've never had chicken and waffles? Baby, don't knock it til you've tried it. Believe me on this one. Sweet syrup, chicken fried to perfection and a warm, fluffy waffle? It's heaven on a plate."

Even now his stomach was growling as if he was sitting at a table waiting for it to be delivered from the kitchen. "Damn. Now I've made myself crave it again."

She raises an eyebrow at the 'baby,' but since he's been nice to her this whole time, she'll let it slide. His endearing enthusiasm for the food doesn't hurt, either. "Okay, in fairness, I have eaten weirder shit. The joys of cravings," she says, remembering the time she devoured nearly half a jar of mayonnaise on her own.

"Do you cook yourself? Or is it one of those things that taste better eating out?" She asks.

"I tried once when I was feeling both homesick and more confident than I should have been," Cam told her. "It was an unmitigated disaster. So the short answer is, yes, it is better ordered from people who know what they're doing. Unfortunately, that tends to mean I have to go back for a visit. I tried to order it up here and got...about the same look you just had on your face."

"Well, I'm an expert in unmitgated disasters, especially in the kitchen. I can imagine how fun that must have been," she says, shaking her head with amusement. "And I'll try and keep that in mind, if I ever travel down south."

"I think it's a New England thing. The patented New England disgust. It comes from us being so cold and distant all the time," she muses with a laugh.

"It's definitely a difference from growing up in the south where people will dart across the street to say hello to someone," Cam nodded at her comment. "It's more than a little weird to wave at someone and have them look at you like you're nuts. Not that that stops me," he added with a smirk.

"Yeah, if you attempt that here, I can't promise people won't slam the door in your face for it," Moira says with a knowing shake of her head. "Or leave a disgruntled note on your porch because calling people is too undignified."

"It shouldn't," Moira says, chuckling at his smirk. "New England could use more of your type of insanity."

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

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