Derek faltered, then shook his head. His mistrust for the Elders was too great to even justify keeping up a front. “I talked to Addison,” he offered, gesturing with his head vaguely. “She gave me some advice, but drawing pictures doesn’t really help me.”

“Have you tried asking an Elder for help. They could definitely help you out, or even one a Familiar could too.” Of course Emilian had a few helpful tricks he thought the man could use, but decided to not say anything. Whenever their conversation got too ‘specific’ it would usually end in a sour note. With his mind on overdrive, he didn’t need to be any more stressed than he already was.

He had already screwed up; she was more interested in him than ever. Derek blanched, his heart rate quickening in panic. For once, he wished he could fake a smile— anything to take her gaze off of him. “I guess,” he said, a sharp edge to his voice. Frustrated, Derek mentally cursed: his nerves were only making it harder to not be afraid of her.

“I can’t imagine it’ll last forever, eventually you will have to … crash.”

His tone was a little startling as they had never talked much prior, so it was unusual that he’d show her distaste already. Most typically waited until they had their first conversation with her. 

Derek was too distracted to hear the doubt in Emilian’s voice, and where he normally would have been defensive, he was passive. Usually, he was protective of his ability despite all the trouble it cost him— or perhaps because of it. He shrugged. “I can’t really control it.”

Emilian’s brows furrowed in confusion, but luckily his attention was towards his book and not at Derek. Precognition was an gift he had thought to be a myth, something witches only talked about but never actually possessed. He was skeptic, to say the least, but Emilian wasn’t one to be vocal about his doubts. “Do you like it? Must be pretty…” ‘Bothersome,’ he thought. “Interesting.”

She spoke to him, but it might have been more of a musing on her part, so Derek didn’t respond. For a while, it seemed as though Circe would ignore him, and he could pretend to be invisible until she was gone. There was suddenly a bitter taste in his mouth that had nothing to do with the coffee. Just knowing she was in the room— a murderer that had hardly blinked while stabbing the poor girl (he was making an assumption there, but it felt right)— filled him with anxiety and anger. His fingers curled, scratching along the mug while his eyes carefully watched the dark liquid inside.

Then, she spoke again, and it was clear she was regarding him. A shiver ran up his spine and he was hardly able to spare her the venom etched into his expression as he lifted his head. Perhaps she could owe it to exhaustion, but he doubted it. Well, if she wasn’t aware he didn’t like her, before...

He shrugged, trying to look casual. “I’ve made it this far.”

“Well, well, well … the early bird does catch the worm, I see,” the Elder says teasingly as she strides through the kitchen in order to make herself a cup of coffee. It was a long day ahead of her and she’d only be awake to see it through with the help of a little caffeine in her system. While she moves to the coffee pot that’s already been filled, she glances out of the corner of her eye to look at the boy. Derek, if she remembered correctly from past talks with the Nevian Elder. He was her latest project, or as she liked to call them, adoption cases. Willow had a habit of adopting any lost puppy that came her way. Circe had yet to see exactly what made him so special, however, and she wasn’t currently interested in finding out.

If only she knew what he knew. He refuses to look at her, even when she was certain that he would. It wasn’t uncommon for people to stare – she knew her allure, she reveled in it. Beauty and fear could be a dangerous combination, but yet he still didn’t sneak a glance. That irked her, she liked the attention. 

Stirring in some cream, she slowly turns and tilts her head to the side as she sizes him up. “Caffeine can’t cure exhaustion, only prolongs it.”

He realized too late this would probably spark a full-length conversation, something he wished to avoid at most times, and especially now. However, he couldn’t take back what he said, and Emilian seemed eager to help. He sighed, leaning his head back. “I see the future.”

Now that was area Emilian could help the witch with. He had developed and controlled his abilities at a young age, the key factor that separated him from his peers, so much so that he was able to provide a permanent telepathic link between his sister and him few years later. He had patience when it came to his craft, taking it slow and perfecting it to his liking. However, he didn’t think Derek would be interested in his help so he downplayed his response. “Oh, really… What can you do, again?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Of course we are. Someone was just murdered. I’d be worried if people weren’t tense.”

“I wasn’t looking for company.” She sighed, leaning back in the sofa. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I guess we’re all just tense right now.”

A mug of coffee was clasped firmly within Derek’s fingers, trembling slightly as it was lifted to his lips. It was very late, or more accurately rather early in the morning, for the sun had begun it’s eastern ascent and the birds were singing to their neighbors. It hardly mattered; either way, Derek hadn’t slept and he resented the lightening sky. After fruitless attempts to rest, Derek paced his room until it reached a time where he could convincingly insist he had risen early— not that he suspected anyone would ask.

He sat in the kitchen, exhausted, nursing black coffee as the rest of the coven slowly started to wake. He couldn’t keep this secret for much longer, that was abundantly clear to him. Guilt gnawed at him, voices whispered in his ears, scolding him for bowing to his fear. Derek knew that it was wrong to let a killer walk free, and the fact that he’d let it go on for this long was tearing at him. He just didn’t want to approach the situation without a plan. Unfortunately, his lack of sleep was not helping him brainstorm his options. He had half a mind at this point to just storm into Circe’s office right now.

And as if the universe heard his thoughts, and decided to call his bluff, the Elder walked into the kitchen, all power and poise even at this hour. Derek nearly dropped his mug and quickly averted his eyes.

Derek’s expression darkened and his hands balled into fists. “I didn’t even say anything,” he snapped irritably. Tessa was usually someone he got along with, but now was possibly the worst time to argue with him. He could be incredibly petty when he needed to. “If you want company, go to another lounge with more people.”

Tessa’s eyes cut to him when she heard his tone of voice. “You know, Derek, this is a public place. If you really want to be alone, why not just go to your room?” She wasn’t trying to sound rude or mean, but her patience seemed to be running low today. 

“No idea,” Derek replied tersely, eyeing Victoria carefully. He silently cursed himself for being so obvious. His trust in people was running low already, so the sight of someone unfamiliar poking around a locked door raised a significant amount of suspicion. Enough, at least, to cause him to linger in the hallway and watch the woman warily. She noticed him immediately, though, and he was caught in his snooping. He crossed his arms as an automatic defensive reflex, biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from reprimanding her.

He hadn’t lived in the coven for very long, but he had been a resident long enough to know that doors were locked for a reason. While Derek didn’t agree with the secrecy, he also was leery of those who tried to get into things they were clearly meant to stay away from. Still, he couldn’t exactly blame her, especially considering his recent discovery about one of the coven’s supposed protectors. “With all the weird things in here, wouldn’t be surprised if it were, though,” he added, trying for both their sakes to lighten up.

Watching the coven fall apart and grieve over a fallen member was fascinating, like cracking open a beehive and watching from afar. And over a familiar, too. It wasn’t as if they were worshiped as deities here. Victoria pictured the Coven falling in a final bloodbath, but perhaps instead of having her troops trail their targets and gather information, she could let one follow through. The death of a witch would truly send shockwaves. 

Her boots tapped sharply on the hardwood floor as she traced a path through the building, making sure the blueprints she had a hunter sketch from memory were accurate. Everything was a bit ostentatious, but Victoria could appreciate a bit of flair. When it wasn’t coming from monsters, anyway. Taking a sharp turn, she lingered at the mouth of a hallway she was positive hadn’t made it into the sketches. A thick wooden door sat at the end. Even from a distance she could tell from the cut of the lock that it was deadbolted. She had the pins in her messenger bag to pick the lock, but whatever magic also protected it might not be worth stirring up. Always hyper aware of her surroundings, the huntress knew the second eyes landed on her. Someone watching her watching the door. With a small smile, she turned on her heel, brushing a few strands out of her eyes. “What do you think is in there? Three headed dog?”

Derek assumed as soon as Emilian’s reply left his lips that this would be another conversation that would go nowhere. He was surprised then, when the man spoke again. Grinding his teeth, he rolled his head over and made brief eye-contact. There wasn’t a soul Derek was ready to talk to about Circe, with the possible exception of Cristian— and that was only because they had discovered the truth together. Even if he was willing, Emilian was not someone he would divulge the information to. Suddenly it struck him that he had to think of a lie, and he was unprepared to make something up.

“Uh,” he started, but immediately trailed off. “I’m trying to work on my power,” he quickly supplied. It wasn’t entirely untrue; he was in a broad sense always trying to gain control of his visions, and the only reason he had stopped was because his time had been consumed with fretting about the murder.

Emilian’s personality didn’t clash well with everyone he met, and he understood that. Never would the man want someone to like him simply because he happened to be nice to them. So, as he sat there at such a close distance with Derek, he couldn’t help but become more reserved. It was an instinct of his, to close himself off to people who he knew weren’t fond of him. “Aren’t we all,” he said shortly, eyes back towards the pages of his book.

On top of his personal studies, he had Morgan’s list of assignments to finish as well. He hadn’t slept in his bed in days, finding comfort in a random bench or one of the lounges’ many sofas. “What are you so busy with,” he said without looking up from his book.

I do mind, actually, he thought bitterly. However, he restrained himself from speaking these thoughts and instead looked decisively away from her. “Whatever,” he mumbled into his hand, making it very clear that he wasn’t happy about sharing a room with her.

His tone of voice brought Tessa out of her stream of thought, and she realized where she was. I need to stop thinking so much…She shook her head, turning to her attention to Derek. “No, I don’t need anything. I’m just sitting here, if you don’t mind.” Taking a glance around the lounge, she saw that it was empty except for herself and Derek. Most people were at the service or just anywhere else, probably. It was just that kind of day. 

He crossed his arms and glared at Holly. Besides the small, selfish satisfaction it gave him, Derek had also hoped his words would have clued her in on his desire to be alone. He was aware that he had no claim on this longue, but it didn’t stop him from silently trying to will people away from his presence. But since his meanness hadn’t helped, Derek decided to be direct, even unreasonable. He picked up the book and held it out to her. “Do whatever you’re doing somewhere else. I need to be alone.”

Holly smirked back at him one of those sharp mean smilesshe reserved for the more annoying residents of the coven. In the state of mind she was in however, it meant absolutely everyone without exception. She had turned into a ball of repressed frustration and anger over the last few days.

“That’s hilarious. I am in fucking stitches on the inside really. Are you done?” she replied curtly, dropping one of her books next to her uncaring if it landed on his fingers or on the cushion. It was a pity they had to always meet when one or the other was not in a mood for discussion but while Holly was willing to bite her tongue in front of the Elders, she did not have to when it came to Derek which made him an easy target, unfortunately.

Derek put his head in his hands and took a deep breath. He tried to speak but no words seemed appropriate. All feeling drained out of him, leaving him painfully empty. He shook his head, trying not to see it play out behind his eyelids yet another time. “I need...” he started, then paused as a wave of nausea overtook him. “I need to be alone.” He didn’t move, though, after speaking.

He felt cold and unsure of what exactly was the next step to take. Why would an Elder do this to one of their own. Cris exhales and puts his head in his hands, sighing loudly. “What the fuck?” That was the most eloquent that he could be right now. It was just all so messed up and God did he feel sick.

Derek hadn't spoken to Emilian since the man intercepted him after his vision, and though he expected they would run into each other again, he hand't exactly looked forward to it, either. He sighed audibly and shifted his position in the chair. Derek's eyes moved briefly to the books in the boy's hands then back to him. He was well aware of the fact that their rocky relationship was partially his fault, so his bit his tongue and refrained from being rude.

Instead, he looked ahead again and spent a pregnant moment trying to find a tone that wouldn't insult the man. "I'm fine," he mumbled. "Kind of busy."

With his home still suffering from the familiar’s death, Emilian was thrown back into his studies. He felt too inadequate as Elder-to-be, his mind kept telling him he wasn’t strong enough to face whatever the threat was that loomed over his and everyone else’s head. Counter spells were memorized to heart, charms were made to protect his family’s living quarters, and he planned to learn every corner of the Coven. He wanted to know the mansion inside and out in case of an emergency. 

Grabbing a few books from the library, he headed towards one of the lounges, praying to God at least one of the many would be empty. He no time to socialize and coven residents weren’t exactly known for minding their business. He had gone to three already, all filled with people, all louder than the next. He almost gave up hope but decided to check just one more before simply going to his room. As he came close to the lounge, he didn’t hear any voices and so, he breathed a sigh of relief as he entered the room. But God was playing tricks on him it seemed because the room wasn’t as empty as he thought. Derek sat in one of the seats and Emilian debated whether he should leave quickly before the witch noticed his presence. He decided against it and sat down a few seats from Derek. 

Flipping open his first book, he felt the man’s eyes on him and, Emilian being Emilian, he couldn’t just stay quiet. “Hello, Derek. How are you?” He kept his vice cool, knowing the man wasn’t a fan of his friendliness.

Derek watched with growing annoyance as the girl fluttered expansively into the room. Her presence seemed to feel like the embodiment of a long sigh, and he had to resist rolling his eyes. She hadn’t noticed him yet, and he was content with ignoring her and being ignored in return. However, just before he turned his gaze forward again, she looked at him. Derek raised an eyebrow at Holly, unsure of what she meant by the retort. He was a bit surprised at the bite in her defensiveness, but made no comment. Then his eyes flickered down to the scratches on her arms and his brows raised even higher.

He thought of the last time they spoke, and how adamant she had been about being a source of support because she shared his burden somehow. He never was told what power she had that made her think theirs were related, but he had already decided it was probably nothing like his visions. He almost smirked. “I know how you feel,” he said, referencing her arm, “sometimes I cut myself shaving.”

After the funeral, Holly had locked herself in her room, drawn up a bath and scratched her skin nearly raw as she washed herself. There wasn’t a bone in her body that knew how to simply relax and while she couldn’t go around punching people she could release her frustration on her body, as unhealthy as that sounded and the weight of her uneasy conversations with Circe and Tessa were weighing down on her. She wore a sleeveless gown now well aware that it would attract unwanted attention but her focus was squarely on the task ahead of her. If she couldn’t help in the interrogations than she would have to help in what small ways she was allowed to and she had made a run for the library to retrieve every book on runes and protective spells she could find.

She made her way one of the common rooms now, her wild mane of black hair bouncing as she walked, she plopped down on the couch scribbling down on her notebook with two books open on her lap, before long she felt eyes on her and turned to round on them. Right now she was behaving very much like a wounded animal gone feral, forgetting all sense of manners or civility and instead working purely on instinct. “What, you’ve never seen scratches before?” she asked, believing the red marks on her arms to be the source of the unwanted staring.

tessanevian:

Tessa hadn’t stuck around for very long after the funeral had ended for Samantha Ashe. It had been a beautiful ceremony, and Tessa was glad that so many people had shown up to pay their respects, but besides that she hadn’ really known what else to say. She just hadn’t been in the mood to make small talk with people, so she had left after a while and gone to her room, had a word with Addison, and then chose to just roam around the parts of the Coven she knew would be quiet today. It was good for some thinking–something she hadn’t had the chance to do since the murder had happened. 

She was still having her dreams of Circe and her mother, and as time went on, they seemed to be getting just a little clearer. The interesting thing, though, was that last night’s dream consisted of Samantha. It wasn’t much: her face just appeared and suddenly Tessa was awake. She really couldn’t understand what was going on in her head, but sleeping was only becoming harder and harder for her, and all she wanted to do was just leave the Coven for a little bit and clear her head. But how was she supposed to go when there was a killer on the loose? 

With these thoughts running through her mind, she found herself taking a seat in the lounge, barely glancing to her side to someone familiar sitting there. “Hey, Derek.” 

Derek often was short or rude with people; it was not any sort of inclination, but rather a reflex that came from years of fending off bullies in his childhood. Even when others were showing him kindness, whenever he was disturbed or interrupted— really, just spoken to by others that he didn’t want to deal with— he snapped at the person responsible. It had been a personal challenge when he came here to reign himself in and hold his tongue and show a little more understanding. There were times when even his kindness shone through his ingrained defenses.

However, this was not one of those times. “Do you need something?” he asked Tessa shortly, crossing his arms.

Agitation was clear on Derek Thayer’s face as he sat in the longue, his knee bouncing rapidly, his teeth grinding, and his brow furrowed with concentration. The funeral had been hard to attend; he couldn’t look at the dead familiar without seeing her bloody corpse sprawled out on the forest floor. Senesless as it was, he felt guilty, but apologies to her family had died in his throat, and he spent most of the service hidden away. This was partly due to grief, but also because he spent the day keeping close watch on Elder Circe.

Now that it was over, Derek retreated from the rest of the coven, in every sense of the word. His day had been exclusively solitary, hours spent thinking over and over of what he could do with the new information on Elder Circe. It had all but consumed his mind, bordering on obsession. While normally tempted by the piano— currently bathed in the light of sunset, as if presenting itself admirably to invite Derek to play— today he couldn’t find it in him to press a single key. Who could he tell, or trust with the information? What if the rest of the Elders were aware? The only thing he knew for certain was that he couldn’t solve this problem dead, so he was taking great precaution before he acted.

His intense concentration was broken, though, when some seated themselves near him. He glanced out of his thoughts and stared at them, wondering if they would attempt conversation.