![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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!]
Since her confrontation with Aoife in the cafe, where she had been trying to make an effort with her brother, Moira's felt ill, and not with morning sickness. Her sister hates her; her cousin hates her. What else is there but for the whole town to hate her, too? She has to contain her magic as she runs back in the direction of her home; yet sparks keep flying from her entire body regardless, and she knows people are staring.
When she finally reaches her cottage, she runs right past it, to the beach that is her backyard. She finally collapses, out of breath, into the sand. She chucks her jacket and her shoes off into the dunes before she falls over and pukes what little she's eaten for breakfast; she cleans her mess away with a wave of her hand, just as the tears, hot and heavy like the anchor that is her heart inside of her, start to spill down her cheeks.
As she cries, the sparks flying from her channels into something deeper; a more ancient part of herself that calls out to the sea. The waters respond with resounding clarity.
The skies darken and the waters churn; to anyone casually glancing towards the ocean, it looks like the start of a hurricane. Moira stares as the water gradually raises and the winds start to blow. Rain starts falling in time with her tears, and Moira just stands there.
She can take the anger; hell, she can take the dirty looks. But her own sister's words seep into her skin like so much poison and all she can dwell on now is the curse she'll pass onto her daughter simply for being a Coombs.
OOC: Moira has reached her breaking point. It is her magic causing the storming sea and clouds; it's basically only happening around the beach on Moira's property, but, obviously, it's still really noticeable. She's really, really upset right now and could really use a friend or, at least, someone to talk her down.
When she finally reaches her cottage, she runs right past it, to the beach that is her backyard. She finally collapses, out of breath, into the sand. She chucks her jacket and her shoes off into the dunes before she falls over and pukes what little she's eaten for breakfast; she cleans her mess away with a wave of her hand, just as the tears, hot and heavy like the anchor that is her heart inside of her, start to spill down her cheeks.
As she cries, the sparks flying from her channels into something deeper; a more ancient part of herself that calls out to the sea. The waters respond with resounding clarity.
The skies darken and the waters churn; to anyone casually glancing towards the ocean, it looks like the start of a hurricane. Moira stares as the water gradually raises and the winds start to blow. Rain starts falling in time with her tears, and Moira just stands there.
She can take the anger; hell, she can take the dirty looks. But her own sister's words seep into her skin like so much poison and all she can dwell on now is the curse she'll pass onto her daughter simply for being a Coombs.
OOC: Moira has reached her breaking point. It is her magic causing the storming sea and clouds; it's basically only happening around the beach on Moira's property, but, obviously, it's still really noticeable. She's really, really upset right now and could really use a friend or, at least, someone to talk her down.
Been tearing my seams. {Open}
Aug. 28th, 2014 11:29 amIn the wake of the Crabs attacking the beach (and Moira still can't believe that's not a euphemism), especially during the End of Summer Bash, has left the place a complete wreck and covered in trash. And considering how just about everyone in her life is, rightfully, admittedly, pissed off at her, Moira is out in the sun, doing her part to help clean up the debris. She's both utilizing actual trash bags and using magic to get the job done, making sure to leave everything thoroughly looked over and tended to. It hurts, to see the beach in such a shape. But not as much as her own life hurts currently.
She figures, if no one wants to talk to her except to yell at her, the best thing she can do is to be of use, if not to her family, than at least to the town. She's been up since dawn, throwing up violently, even with the new tinctures and potions she's been trying; she'd made her way to the beach then, throwing herself into helping with the volunteer efforts. She's going to find a way to make things right, she tells herself. She has to. And so far, she's been keeping at her work, undisturbed by anyone.
She'd stupidly forgotten to cast a glamour on herself, to avoid the obnoxious press.
She regrets it the moment the woman steps forward and shoves the microphone in her face.
"Moira Coombs! What do you have to say for the fact that you look like the spitting image of your ancestor? Planning on cursing any other towns soon? Is it true you disappeared in conjunction with your mother to help her leave the country?" The reporter's voice rings out like nails on a chalkboard.
Moira pales, wondering how her unfortunate discovery about Viviana could be found out so soon; she internally curses when she realizes how foolish she'd been to come out without a disguise.
She wishes she could say something in reply; she wishes she could tell the buzzard to go fuck right off into the ocean.
But all she can do is wince, before turning and running in shame.
OOC: If your character hasn't gotten a chance to tell Moira how much of an idiot she's been, here's your chance! But she can also really use a friend right now. And, of course, people she doesn't know are always welcome too. Catch her running from the paparazzi who's just discovered that Moira is the spitting image of Viviana Coombs.
She figures, if no one wants to talk to her except to yell at her, the best thing she can do is to be of use, if not to her family, than at least to the town. She's been up since dawn, throwing up violently, even with the new tinctures and potions she's been trying; she'd made her way to the beach then, throwing herself into helping with the volunteer efforts. She's going to find a way to make things right, she tells herself. She has to. And so far, she's been keeping at her work, undisturbed by anyone.
She'd stupidly forgotten to cast a glamour on herself, to avoid the obnoxious press.
She regrets it the moment the woman steps forward and shoves the microphone in her face.
"Moira Coombs! What do you have to say for the fact that you look like the spitting image of your ancestor? Planning on cursing any other towns soon? Is it true you disappeared in conjunction with your mother to help her leave the country?" The reporter's voice rings out like nails on a chalkboard.
Moira pales, wondering how her unfortunate discovery about Viviana could be found out so soon; she internally curses when she realizes how foolish she'd been to come out without a disguise.
She wishes she could say something in reply; she wishes she could tell the buzzard to go fuck right off into the ocean.
But all she can do is wince, before turning and running in shame.
OOC: If your character hasn't gotten a chance to tell Moira how much of an idiot she's been, here's your chance! But she can also really use a friend right now. And, of course, people she doesn't know are always welcome too. Catch her running from the paparazzi who's just discovered that Moira is the spitting image of Viviana Coombs.
Let the storm rage on. {Open}
Aug. 22nd, 2014 09:16 amThe bus is an old, weathered piece of shit, one that really shouldn't be functioning still. Moira winces at the creaking noise every sharp corner pulls from the vehicle and the way the driver barely seems able to stay on the road. She keeps fidgeting in her seat and playing with her newly darkened hair, fingers curling around the piece of paper she clutches close to her chest. The island did her good in many ways: it healed the shock of the cruise, helped ease the burden of all the stress in her life, and helped her come to terms with being pregnant, with the exception of the morning sickness that still rules over Moira.
Yet, just two mornings ago, a woman named Blair, one of the elders of the island, brought her to one of the hidden springs, deep in the heart of the island. They'd done their breathing exercises and a couple of renewal spells, as had become their normal routine during Moira's time on the island. But then Blair had offered to scry with her, just a brief glimpse to check in on Siren Cove. Moira hadn't realized how much she'd missed home until then; fueled by a desire to see James, her sisters, and her cousins, she'd readily agreed.
Scrying with water had always been a bitch.
She never thought she'd catch a glimpse of her ancestor, one Viviana Coombs; but catch a glimpse of her, she did, and now, she's on a bus home, clutching the sketch Blair drew for her in her hands and trying to remember the breathing exercises from the island. But she can't stop thinking about it. Viviana Coombs could be her twin. Viviana Coombs, the one rumored to have started the curse in the first place. Moira can't tell if the nausea she feels is from the morning sickness or the shock running through her veins. And she has to keep it under control, for the baby's sake. The baby who, as the witches on the island had confirmed, would inherit some of the Coombs' powers as half a witch.
The bus finally screeches to a stop at the bus station in the center of town. Moira has to keep from leaping over the heads of everyone to get out. She misses her loved ones dearly, indeed, she realizes she owes them all an explanation, at the very least, but she needs to get to the library. Even as she can hear Blair telling her that the vision they'd seen was very much real, Moira wants to find evidence to the contrary, that she does not resemble her ancestor who might have caused the curse.
She keeps fidgeting as she makes her way through the line, her hands smoothing down the front of her loose blouse, disguising the small yet distinguishable bump of her stomach. She hopes no one with a discerning eye catches sight of her today.
She pulls her hood up over her head before exiting the bus, determined to avoid the inevitable mess of press that might await her. As soon as her feet hit the ground, Moira sets off at a sprint, maneuvering between people as she tries not to shove them out of the way. She needs to get to the library, needs to find evidence to reassure herself that she isn't the living image of a woman who once cursed an entire town.
OOC: Moira's back! Find her anywhere in town as she tries to make her way to the library. She'll be in a hurry, but obviously will stop for anyone who calls out to her. She's freaked out, but not nearly as badly as on the island. She's trying to cope with the fact that she looks so much like Viviana Coombs, so any friends will be greatly appreciated! Oh, and those with a discerning eye will recognize the slight bump on her now.
Yet, just two mornings ago, a woman named Blair, one of the elders of the island, brought her to one of the hidden springs, deep in the heart of the island. They'd done their breathing exercises and a couple of renewal spells, as had become their normal routine during Moira's time on the island. But then Blair had offered to scry with her, just a brief glimpse to check in on Siren Cove. Moira hadn't realized how much she'd missed home until then; fueled by a desire to see James, her sisters, and her cousins, she'd readily agreed.
Scrying with water had always been a bitch.
She never thought she'd catch a glimpse of her ancestor, one Viviana Coombs; but catch a glimpse of her, she did, and now, she's on a bus home, clutching the sketch Blair drew for her in her hands and trying to remember the breathing exercises from the island. But she can't stop thinking about it. Viviana Coombs could be her twin. Viviana Coombs, the one rumored to have started the curse in the first place. Moira can't tell if the nausea she feels is from the morning sickness or the shock running through her veins. And she has to keep it under control, for the baby's sake. The baby who, as the witches on the island had confirmed, would inherit some of the Coombs' powers as half a witch.
The bus finally screeches to a stop at the bus station in the center of town. Moira has to keep from leaping over the heads of everyone to get out. She misses her loved ones dearly, indeed, she realizes she owes them all an explanation, at the very least, but she needs to get to the library. Even as she can hear Blair telling her that the vision they'd seen was very much real, Moira wants to find evidence to the contrary, that she does not resemble her ancestor who might have caused the curse.
She keeps fidgeting as she makes her way through the line, her hands smoothing down the front of her loose blouse, disguising the small yet distinguishable bump of her stomach. She hopes no one with a discerning eye catches sight of her today.
She pulls her hood up over her head before exiting the bus, determined to avoid the inevitable mess of press that might await her. As soon as her feet hit the ground, Moira sets off at a sprint, maneuvering between people as she tries not to shove them out of the way. She needs to get to the library, needs to find evidence to reassure herself that she isn't the living image of a woman who once cursed an entire town.
OOC: Moira's back! Find her anywhere in town as she tries to make her way to the library. She'll be in a hurry, but obviously will stop for anyone who calls out to her. She's freaked out, but not nearly as badly as on the island. She's trying to cope with the fact that she looks so much like Viviana Coombs, so any friends will be greatly appreciated! Oh, and those with a discerning eye will recognize the slight bump on her now.
Visiting Abroad. (One-shot)
Aug. 11th, 2014 02:45 pmMoira realizes it isn't the smartest thing to do, leaving town when you had a mother who was wanted for questioning by the police. But she can't stay in Siren Cove, not with Clint cracking down on magic and the paparazzi swarming herself and everyone she loves. So, with a trembling hand, she writes out a note, before casting a spell to send it to everyone important to her and those who need to know.
Dear all,
I realize this is probably the poorest timing for me taking over, but such is life, as they say. If you're reading this, it means I trust you immensely, enough to not fuck me over. I'm not in a good place right now, and I need to be by the sea, to clear my head. There's a place, off the coast of Scotland. It's a...refuge of sorts, for witches. I'm heading there. If you need to contact me, I'll have my cellphone. I'm sorry this is so abrupt, but I can't stay here. I just can't.
Best,
Moira
That done, she whispers the spell, her whole body pale and trembling, and she disappears into the late afternoon.
OOC: Moira's on hiatus! I need to get my head around her before resuming her again. No worries; she'll be back! I'm just not sure when.
Dear all,
I realize this is probably the poorest timing for me taking over, but such is life, as they say. If you're reading this, it means I trust you immensely, enough to not fuck me over. I'm not in a good place right now, and I need to be by the sea, to clear my head. There's a place, off the coast of Scotland. It's a...refuge of sorts, for witches. I'm heading there. If you need to contact me, I'll have my cellphone. I'm sorry this is so abrupt, but I can't stay here. I just can't.
Best,
Moira
That done, she whispers the spell, her whole body pale and trembling, and she disappears into the late afternoon.
OOC: Moira's on hiatus! I need to get my head around her before resuming her again. No worries; she'll be back! I'm just not sure when.
As soon as she listens to Amelie's voice mail message, Moira feels guilt and anger wash over her. Of course, Fabrice was bound to realize the truth of everything, everything he knew before the attack and the cause of said attack to begin with. She knows, currently, he's still holed up in that hotel Amelie brought him to, shutting himself away from the world and trying to come to terms with what happened. Moira's visited to make sure he's eating, and to put extra spells and wards around his room; she also managed to sneak in his cats to him, which at least brought a smile to his face. She hurts, still, seeing her cousin like that, cocooned in blankets and with a face whiter than the moon.
It fuels her now, as she pulls various books and ingredients from her cabinets and bookshelves. She has everything set up on her coffee table, parchments and instructions, as well as the wand she barely uses anymore. She is not hesitating to pull out all the stops; she wants Violet to hurt, as much as she can cause hurt to a mother who also happens to be one of the most powerful witches in town.
"Fuck," she mutters, clenching her trembling fists by her sides. She has to keep herself from rushing things; honestly, she could set fire to her mother and feel no remorse, as her emotions currently stand. Her stomach churns, with morning sickness, she suspects, and she winces, hating that she has to balance her pregnancy with everything else going on right now. She sets her face in a stern line and resumes her work.
OOC: Find Moira at home, working on...rather intense magic as she plots to strike back at her mother. She probably needs someone to talk her out of doing anything stupid.
It fuels her now, as she pulls various books and ingredients from her cabinets and bookshelves. She has everything set up on her coffee table, parchments and instructions, as well as the wand she barely uses anymore. She is not hesitating to pull out all the stops; she wants Violet to hurt, as much as she can cause hurt to a mother who also happens to be one of the most powerful witches in town.
"Fuck," she mutters, clenching her trembling fists by her sides. She has to keep herself from rushing things; honestly, she could set fire to her mother and feel no remorse, as her emotions currently stand. Her stomach churns, with morning sickness, she suspects, and she winces, hating that she has to balance her pregnancy with everything else going on right now. She sets her face in a stern line and resumes her work.
OOC: Find Moira at home, working on...rather intense magic as she plots to strike back at her mother. She probably needs someone to talk her out of doing anything stupid.
Moira's out of jail, off from work, and now she has a rare moment entirely to herself. She grins. Her feet begin their path to the beach almost of their own accord; she knows the way as well as the skin on the back of her hand. A slight breeze ripples through her light summer dress. She carries nothing else with her but her satchel, filled with various magical apparatus.
She feels the magic flowing through her veins, as rough as sea salt. It itches, eager to get out, and this evening, she is of a mind to let it. She passes by her sweet little cottage, tucked away in the dunes like a sea shell. She allows herself a small smile, anticipating the left over strawberry shortcake she has stored in her fridge.
Tonight, she is free, empowered, ready for magic, and fully clothed. She continues at a steady pace until she reaches the edge of the water just behind her house. Her grin widens.
She drops her satchel at her feet before tracing a circle in the sand with her foot. She pauses, murmuring an ancient, Gaelic blessing before closing it. She takes out a small sapphire, her chosen instrument for the moment. Briefly, she pauses to scan the area around her. Utterly alone. Perfect.
She begins murmuring incantations, sweet, beautiful incantations she found in an ancestor's Book of Shadows. They are words of harmony, peace, and inspiration, and as she utters them, she begins to weave the sapphire in the air, in time with her words.
Sparks of light, as cobalt as the New England ocean, start to fly out before forming ribbons of smoke-like material, transforming into runes, letters, words, animals, and various other shapes. Tonight, Moira is using magic solely to bring herself peace. Tonight, she is strengthening herself by practicing illusionary spells.
Tonight, a shiver runs through her that has nothing to do with the breeze.
She feels the magic flowing through her veins, as rough as sea salt. It itches, eager to get out, and this evening, she is of a mind to let it. She passes by her sweet little cottage, tucked away in the dunes like a sea shell. She allows herself a small smile, anticipating the left over strawberry shortcake she has stored in her fridge.
Tonight, she is free, empowered, ready for magic, and fully clothed. She continues at a steady pace until she reaches the edge of the water just behind her house. Her grin widens.
She drops her satchel at her feet before tracing a circle in the sand with her foot. She pauses, murmuring an ancient, Gaelic blessing before closing it. She takes out a small sapphire, her chosen instrument for the moment. Briefly, she pauses to scan the area around her. Utterly alone. Perfect.
She begins murmuring incantations, sweet, beautiful incantations she found in an ancestor's Book of Shadows. They are words of harmony, peace, and inspiration, and as she utters them, she begins to weave the sapphire in the air, in time with her words.
Sparks of light, as cobalt as the New England ocean, start to fly out before forming ribbons of smoke-like material, transforming into runes, letters, words, animals, and various other shapes. Tonight, Moira is using magic solely to bring herself peace. Tonight, she is strengthening herself by practicing illusionary spells.
Tonight, a shiver runs through her that has nothing to do with the breeze.