Moira Coombs (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
chasingtwisters) wrote2015-07-06 08:39 am
chasingtwisters) wrote2015-07-06 08:39 am
Entry tags:
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!]
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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"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.
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"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."
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"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?"
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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."
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"Do you cook yourself? Or is it one of those things that taste better eating out?" She asks.
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"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."
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"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.
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"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.
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"It shouldn't," Moira says, chuckling at his smirk. "New England could use more of your type of insanity."