Eren eyed the seats for a quiet and contemplative moment, ultimately choosing the evergreen arm chair that didn’t recline. He lowered himself into it stiffly, and sat ramrod straight, gloved hands folded over his knees. His eyes were on her, despite his clear discomfort with the entire thing. He was here at the behest of his secretary, just to say he had gone once and that would be more than enough for him. He would tell her he went to the ‘social meeting disguised as healthcare’ and that he was quite fine without it. That was the plan, and he was good at sticking to plans.

A scoff, not at all delicate because Eren wasn’t prone to delicacy, slipped passed his lips. He almost curled them in amusement, but instead glanced away. “I’ve been like this for… 40 years, almost,” he lamented, thinking about that horrid night and the hole. The viscera. He shook under his thick and unseasonal jacket before he looked back at her. “I know there’s something wrong with me. I wouldn’t be seeking help if that weren’t the case. You don’t have to be soft with me about it. Normal people touch. Normal people like to touch. In fact, they say touching is important for your overall health. Studies suggest it can lower your heart rate and blood pressure, boost your immune system, relieve pain… Lesson your depression and anxiety.” He shook his head. He had touched one other person after the discovery of what he was. Truly touched, not just those very rare times for work. And it felt… nice, he supposed. Scary, anxiety inducing, skin crawling… but nice. He shoved thought of it aside, focusing back on Elif.

Eren did not humor her. He watched her do what she was requesting and fought a roll of his own brown eyes. He regularly meditated, regularly did breathing exercises. It did little for him. Maybe because he’d been this way for decades upon decades, and old habits really were a bitch weren’t they? Especially the ones that had to do with your demons. His demon was rotting in a hole, forever in the base of his mind. It wrapped its decomposing arms around him and said, you’ll never feel the warmth of another. Not without thinking of me first. And he was so loyal to it. He was so faithful, not even his dog was given a pet from his ungloved hands.

He lifted his shoulders and waited for her eye to open to slowly drop them, as if to make it seem he did that which she asked, though he wasn’t committed to the bit. And if she asked him straight he would simply say the truth; that he didn’t take a deep breath. Instead he listened to her explain the various experiences one had in this very room. The thought of sitting there in silence didn’t bother him one bit — silence was a great friend of Eren’s. He relished it, enjoyed its company wherever it found him. The other arms to wrap around him, the ones he leaned into like a child seeking out the warmth of their mother. He didn’t think it would be comfortable here, but it sounded better than the idea of talking. What was he to talk about? What happened all those years ago? The horror of discovering he was a banshee and all the discoveries in the days after? Leaving home, the last look he’d ever seen on his mother’s face… Pure heartbreak. He hadn’t really thought about his parents in a long while, and he swallowed against the thought. Silence was bad, he decided. It brought on thoughts and memories he’d rather not focus on.

Did the car analogy make sense? Yes, he took decent care of his beloved Peugeot, but he also had wings which carried him around more often than not. And so he thought it silly to think of himself as a car that he took care of on a rare occasion when he thought to use it. He didn’t understand how talking to someone related to maintenance on a vehicle, but he tried to see her point instead of being such a Debby Downer. He was already enough of that in general. He didn’t press further on anything she said, merely raising a brow at her follow up desire to ask a question. “I don’t have any questions,” he confirmed. “You’re free to ask, but I never guarantee an answer.” He shrugged his shoulders, “As a faerie I have no choice but to be honest, and we like our go arounds on things we don’t like to answer directly.” Eren was a faerie known for his bluntness, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t clever dodge a question he didn’t wish to answer honestly. And by that, he meant he would flat out refuse.

He was quiet a stretch of a moment before sighing, “…I came here because my secretary seems to think I need it, especially after a recent episode while sleep walking.” Eren swallowed, remembering encountering Aiyla in the streets and shaking her awake. Touching her. “She’s… worried, or whatever symptom of neighborly care she’s suffering from. Unfortunately, I like her a great deal more than I like most people, so… I promised to try and cooperate. But I am a 54 year old man, and I’m very stubborn.” He shrugged, “Ask what you want and… I’ll try to be straight forward.” He was promising no faerie trick, no work around answering potentially difficult questions. He was giving his word, and by god did he hate giving his word.

"That's fair," She locked eyes on him. Her words no more than a hushed melody as she gave him a slow and drawn out nod as if taken the time to soak in his every word. "Well, maybe we can build up to it or maybe not, but for now I can offer you a seat instead?" She posed, motioning to the few different options he could pick from within the room. There was the long white couch, two different evergreen arm chairs - one that fully reclined and one that didn't, the leather seat behind her desk and a chaise lounge to pick from. She waited for him to sit down, before she shut the door behind them, walking over to join in from the seat across from him.

Elif was well aware how much of a barrier it could be for most people to even step through that door and, while, it was blatantly apparent from the way his eyes were darting around the room, warily taking in the decor and then her, that he was still trying to make up his mind as to whether it was a mistake or not to come here, he had managed to take a step that most would not and that alone met a lot.

"Well, for starters, there is nothing wrong with you," She promised him, taking the time to emphasis that fact. "There is nothing wrong with you," She repeated, leaning forwards as her gaze met his once more. She never encroached on his personal space, maintaining distance at all times, but rather than her eyes brushing over him, her shoulders ever so slightly tilted forwards so that she could truly look at him. Her amber eyes practically piercing through him as she went on to elaborate, "We're all different and, while some differences, can sometimes cause distress or feel debilitating or hinder even hinder our day to day experiences, you're not broken. Far from it. So, why not start with taking a deep breath? Which, I know, might seem pointless or silly, but humor me, please?" She asked, softly. "Close you eyes and just let yourself breath." Leaning into the back of her own seat, she waited. Her own eyelids fluttered shut as she, too, took a moment to exhale. To release the breath you might not have even realized you were holding onto. She sat like that for a few minutes in silence, before she peaked an eye open at him, followed by the next.

A soft smile finding its way back to the corners of her lips as she told him, "This isn't about pointing out anyone's flaws or passing judgements. Though to answer your question, as for how this goes, it can depend. It's different for everyone. Some people come to have a moment for themselves. They sit here in relative silence to have a break from reality or to exist knowing that they're not alone. Other's talk, though what you talk about is entirely up to you. You can spend the entire hour chatting about the weather or the news or an interest of yours or you can talk about what made you choose to step through that door. But, wherever the conversation goes, is up to you. You don't have to answer any questions you don't want to. You don't have to share if you wouldn't like to. I am merely here as a tool for your disposal. The best analogy I can give is that you wouldn't wait until your car broke down on the side of the road to get it looked at. There are yearly oil checks. You get your tires changes and realigned. You maintain it. So, why would you not take the time to check in on yourself if you would a car? And in terms of the bill, whether it is hefty or not, will depend on your insurance, though I am covered by most and, the first session is often free, so hopefully it is not too much of a dime off your back. Now, do you have any other questions for me or would you mind if I asked you one?"

setting: the rec center

featuring: eren öztürk & amrita singh @dvsconocvdo

Eren looked at the admittedly crumpled homemade flyer which he had saved from a few crude teenage boys in the parking lot of the local convenience store. One raised dark brow from him and they scurried away, a slightly crinkled paper falling to the pavement. At first he’d only grabbed it to take it to a waste bin, because littering was among the most heinous of crimes to Eren, but he had paused when he’d looked over it. An Archery Class, hosted in part by Amrita Singh. He didn’t know the witch well, but she had been among the group outside of the hotel when the Catalyst was “torturing” Lunar Covians. The ragtag group that was trying to save their friends on the inside, and gathering important intel on the disgraced sheriff. If their lives had been an 80’s film, they would have succeeded in glorious style, and walked off as the sun rose on a peaceful Lunar Cove morning while Jim Keer of Simple Minds crooned an unforgettable tune, fist pumping the air. Don’t you forget about me. Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t. Sadly this was real life, and it didn’t play out like a cool 80’s film. Instead, it ended with tragedy. As Eren looked at the flyer, he decided not to throw it away, instead neatly folding it and placing it in his pocket, to be forgotten until he’d next pulled that particular brown suede jacket on nearly a week later.

Now he stood before the rec center, a place he had been familiar with when he first arrived in the 90’s. When he and Zehra were first becoming acquainted with the town, and had yet to secure proper lodging. The memories brought a hollow ache to his small, and surprisingly still beating, heart. Who knew it was still so sentimental and saccharine? He shook the thought away, once more folding and putting away the flyer as he walked about in search of the familiar face. It wasn’t long before he’d found her, practicing in a designated space for archery. To his luck, she was alone. Perhaps this wasn’t one of the times for this class she was advertising, but he hoped she wouldn’t mind him inquiring. He still didn’t like using his phone in most situations, and he wasn’t tearing off his glove to send off a text. Did the flyer even have her number? He wasn’t sure, and he wouldn’t check. So Eren approached, clearing his throat after she had made a shot to grab her attention, a faint and shy sort of smile on his lips as he awkwardly waved a gloved hand at her.

“Hello… It’s Amrita, right?” He started in his low and somewhat monotonous voice. “I’m Eren, we were both part of the group outside of the Emerald when… Well, you know.” He dropped his gaze somewhat solemnly before sobering, and motioned to the target she had been using. “Nice shot,” he commented with a slightly lopsided smile, a rare dimple showing in his left cheek. He was a great shot with a gun, though he’d stopped regularly carrying or using one in the mid 2010’s. His investigations rarely called for it, anyway. But times were getting desperate, and the offer to learn a new offensive technique felt like a necessity. And the roguish boy hidden deep within his dour and professional exterior thought a faerie with wings and a bow and arrow would be pretty metal. “I saw one of your flyers,” he started, carefully pulling it out of his pocket and smoothing the paper out on his thigh before holding it up. He was embarrassed by the state of it, and the slushee stain those horrid boys left on it, but pressed on, “I was hoping to inquire on it. I take it the lessons are held here? But more than anything, I’m just wondering… how hands on these lessons are?” The ever glooming threat of touch, which kept his life so odd and far from normal in the eyes of most others. Eren dropped his gaze in a shy sort of way after the question left his lips, scrutinizing the ground between them for a moment before he wiped away all emotion from his face. “I think it’s a great idea, by the way. What you and… is it Sebastien? What the two of you are doing. More people need to be ready for what’s ahead. Though I think your skill in literally uprooting buildings is a bit more impressive.” An attempt at a joke, marked by the way his lips curved upwards and his voice sounded lighter. A smile, warm and genuine, but oh so fleeting as it went away seconds after it bloomed on his face.

setting: aiyla's cottage

featuring: eren öztürk & aiyla baysal @aiylabaysal

Eren paused a brief moment, straining to hear. The last few times he’d been by, she had either not been home or she was entertaining. The latter had brought a warmth to his cheeks, the embarrassment of what he possibly overheard. Eren shook the thoughts away and turned back towards the street, confirming once again that there wasn’t a ridiculously priced and outdated car parked nearby. He would not judge one of his very few friends her taste in companions, but he did question what level of insanity one had to be in to stoop to that particular low. He had poked his nose into J. Royce Van Doren III once or twice for scorned lovers before, and it was never a joy. What was she thinking? It’s not your place to judge. And yet judgy he was. Whatever, there were more important things at hand, as he reminded himself while shifting the large file from one arm to the other.

He should knock, but he had remembered that these days people used another form to announce their arrival. Eren probably should have texted Aiyla before coming to her door, but cellphones were not his forte, especially this new one. Pulling out the thin device, he used his mouth to tug off the glove on one of his hands, dangling between his teeth as his bare fingers pressed against the cool touch screen. A quick text: Hey Aiyla, it’s Eren. I’m in the neighborhood and thought to drop off those documents about the Catalyst to you. Are you home? He had been told that regular people use this thing called an emoticon at the end of their texts. “They’re all the rage, very fun,” said his secretary as she explained how they work. “Just don’t send the eggplant emoji.” He didn’t know why he couldn’t send an innocent vegetable and hovered over the various emoticons before deciding against it. These were just not him. He sent the text as is and put the device in his pocket, taking a second to pull his glove back on before he then knocked on the door. Like a normal person, because he thought that was more normal than text messages and eggplants.

setting: the emerald hotel

featuring: eren öztürk & suresh sahni @xsureshxsoundsx

Wincing and lowering his head each time he had walked past the damage done to the hotel, a remnant of that terrible night of which he had been partly responsible (he did highly encourage it, after all), Eren had entered the Emerald for perhaps the second time since the masquerade ball. He had tried, and failed, a couple times now to deliver crucial information to the Fae Queen, Aiyla being otherwise occupied as of late (coincidentally) each time he’d come by her cottage. He figured at this rate it would be best to leave the information with her advisor, who could likely ensure Aiyla would receive it, and so he came to the hotel seeking Nyra. Impressively, he’d been there when the advisor was not. “How fortuitous,” he said blandly to the hotel worker who informed him of this, squeezing a thick case file under his arm. “And I take it Ms. Baysal is not in her suite?” The confirmation on their end caused a sigh to escape his lips. They were hasty to offer delivering the parcel he kept close to his person but Eren quickly shook his head. “No, that’s quite alright. I’ll come back another time.” He really should start using that damned new phone of his, but his gloves were not equipped for a touch screen. God he missed the flip phone.

Stalking off to the hotel bar, Eren did a most uncharacteristic thing and ordered a shot, tossing it back as he laid the thick file on the bar. It wasn’t that delivering this information stressed him out — hardly, but he had been so engrossed in it that other cases fell to the wayside and some angry clients came calling. He needed to get it all off his hands. And ultimately, he’d felt no closer to the truth in most of his cases lately, which caused him a great irritation, especially while holding onto these documents relating to the Catalyst. He was getting too old for this, and unfortunately retirement was still eleven years away. “Early retirement sounds better and better,” he murmured against the rim of a second shot. That was still a times away.

Knocking back the second shot, he grimaced at the burn and looked up in time to see Suresh nearby. Eren frowned. He wasn’t particularly fond of the siren. Then again, he wasn’t particularly fond of anyone, but that rarely changed the point. He found a good number of his fellow court members insufferable and felt Suresh belonged squarely in that category. He just didn’t understand what went on in the head beneath that dubiously big coif of his, and figured he didn’t want to know. He figured he could quietly go without saying anything to him, but then they’d awkwardly made eye contact and Eren was told that meant he was supposed to say something. And he was trying to be better at that dreaded thing called socializing. Staring down at the bar for a second, he lifted his gaze to the other and nodded his head in greeting. “Suresh,” he called out, “…I see you’re here.” He winced internally, wishing he could lie and say it was ‘good to see him’, but alas — fae just couldn’t lie. “…so, how are you?”

Their briefly startled reaction caused Eren to flash an apologetic smile, voice softening as he bowed his head and replied, “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to startle you, or anything.” He guessed he had been too quiet, too blatantly invisible. It was as he always wanted to be, part of his job. An ability to blend in and be unnoticed. It was how he did his stake outs, how he worked in the shadows. It was also just how he conducted himself publicly, wanting to never be so perceived, to be left alone wherever he was. And while nobody was inside, it did appear their work was busy. He wondered if he should have made himself more known before approaching, but it didn’t serve much to dwell on that now.

The knowledge that they could fix his glove was met with a deeply appreciative smile, slightly bigger than he would normally spare, and with slightly shaking hands he released the broken glove from his hand. His bare hand shook in the cool air, Eren slipping it safely into his jacket’s pocket as he placed the torn glove on the counter. He kept his other slightly worn glove on. He followed them to a display of gloves and looked over each of them, running his gloved hand over likewise finely made gloves in shades of black, brown, tan and gray, always favoring a neutral — though the tan ones were a bit too light for him. A pair of navy suede ones also caught his hazel eyes. He could add another pop of color to his wardrobe — his secretary had said he looked so nice in that plum suit he wore to the ill-fated masquerade.

He blinked once at the question about touch-friendly gloves, a smile quirking on his lips. And he thought he was somewhat behind on the trends, having recently traded a flip phone for a smart phone and taken on a thing called an ‘iPad’ which amounted to just a very large smartphone as he understood it. Except he could play more games on it, which was his favorite part of the new tech he’d taken on at the agency. “Some of these newer cellular devices and the like have touch screens,” he clarified evenly, not as condescending as he sometimes accidentally came off, but instead sounding equally confused by the concept. “They don’t work well with my gloves. I was told they made gloves these days where some of the fingertips were made to be able to be used with these touch screens, though I’m not sure how true that is. I’m guessing you’ve never seen these?” This was their expertise, and he would trust Kui’s word.

Eren smiled politely but shook his head, “I’m not very particular beyond color. My wardrobe and taste veers predominantly towards the monochromatic and exclusively in the black and grays. But more than anything, I just need something comfortable and high quality so it’ll last longer than these.” He waved the glove he still wore, with the palm looking thinner and on its way to getting its own tear from all the use. Lowering his hand, he stared briefly at the glove, his safety net and one thing that made him feel safe and ordinary outside of his apartment and office. How naked he felt with his bare hand stuffed anxiously into his pocket. He tried to shake the thought. “But if you are able to craft something that works with a touch screen, if that’s even possible, or something that’s a bit thinner than these clunky ones I usually wear that won’t tear quickly… I’d be interested in commissioning you. The warmer months are so tough since it’s easy to sweat in these thicker gloves, which makes it uncomfortable, but… They’re rather a big necessity for me.” He felt weird and vulnerable admitting that, but shrugged it off.

≽·≼

A small startled noise, barely audible, emerged from the back of Kui's throat when the greeting came. It wasn't uncommon for them to become lost in thought, and today the shop floor was sleepy enough that they let their feet take them about their tasks without distraction. Today that meant sorting through the racks and pulling out the occasional coat or sweater that they didn't want front-and-center as the weather outside began to warm into spring.

They hadn’t expected to see much of Eren, given that before their encounter at the Council meeting, they had barely been aware of each other beyond the assumed connection of the Court. Still, what they knew of him, they respected, and had even sent a very professional note his way, which was more contact than Kui usually initiated with anyone.

“That’s right, Kui James. I'm doing pretty good, all things considered. Thanks for asking," they confirmed for him with a nod, setting aside their current task and giving him their full attention instead. "How can I help you, Mr. Öztürk?” When he presented the torn glove, they nodded with immediate understanding. “I can definitely fix that, if you want to leave it there for me." They indicated the counter nearby. "But we do have some decent pairs kicking around that might serve in the meantime..." They turned, tracing a familiar path to a displays of accessories—hats, scarves, earmuffs and the like, and of course, gloves. “There’s a few pairs to choose from, and I can offer you a discount given it's almost the end of the season, although—” Kui paused and tried to parse the meaning of the last phrase he’d used. Coming up empty, they tilted their head to him. “What do you mean by… 'touch pad friendly'? I’m not familiar.” Fashion and technology had moved in leaps and bounds, and they'd picked up much in the last year, but not this phrase. What did it mean for a glove to be friendly? “Of course, if you're very particular, I do offer designs on commission? I’d be happy to work on some specific to you, maybe even a couple variations for spring and summer, so you always have replacements ready?” Normally such an investment might be a bit much, but he was fae. Putting in some extra effort and planning now could only pay off for him in the long run, given both of their potentially extended lifetimes.

Eren Öztürk was rarely in the wrong, or on the bad side of destruction or the law. Being a Private Investigator didn’t make him some tool of the law, but he needed to abide by things to keep his license active and working, and in some times during his decades career he even worked beside law enforcement in other towns on important cases. Of course that didn’t extend much to Lunar Cove’s own Sheriff’s Department, and now he understood why. Regardless, he kept on the better side of most incidents. That was until that night, when he sprung into action and maybe told a few people that some of their more destructive tactics were going to be okay. Standing beside Nyra and looking at the hole, he felt a deep sense of guilt over it. He did suggest Efe call someone for machinery, which also caused property damage to the Casino, but he also told Rae they would forgive them when they tore up the ground and created the hole. Scratching the back of his head, he let out a sigh and turned to the Fae Advisor with a bow of his head. His eyes did not meet hers. “It’s my fault,” he said rather bluntly, “I told them it would be okay, in the name of trying to find a way to get everyone out. Aiyla was telling me what was going on the entire time within, the horrifying things she put you all through… I thought we could find a way around the barrier, evidently I was wrong. I underestimated the magic she had at play.” He paused on a perhaps unnecessary explanation, and bowed his head even further in a sign of humility. “I am very sorry for allowing them to disturb your home.” He usually spoke in a rather monotonous, almost robotic, tone but for once Eren’s voice was soft and deeply remorseful.

for: open! @lunarcovestarters (but the earth benders amrita & rae must reply!) CLOSED! please do not reply (but if you really want to, then send me a dm!) location: outside the emerald

With the end of her saree draped around her shoulder for no other reason that to provide extra comfort in such a time, Nyra's thoughts raced over the events that had transpired, hurt and chaos cling to this town and she grew weary of it. Pain, destrustion and the damned message left behind on... no she couldn't think about Leyla not without tears wanting to be shed, the resulting sight not for such an open place. She had other matters that needed to be dealt with, and keeping her mind busy and occupied was needed. Sectioning off the casino Nyra had allocated her staff tasks to work on the construction of the wing. Thankful at least the hotel stood, her home intact given things, still there was a big problem to deal with. A very very open thing. "Not to state the obvious," she spoke up as she felt a presence nearby, "But this is a big hole. Do I laugh and dismiss this due to sheer incredulity, or cry at the damage?"

Seated at the diner, a half eaten tuna on rye and a half finished crossword puzzle quickly being forgotten beside him, Eren was scrawling away at a notebook, labelled CONFIDENTIAL THOUGHTS. Scattered thoughts on cases, on things he kept relative tabs on, and more importantly the Catalyst, were written down in his bold hand in messy blocks of text, not always following the dedicated lines on the pages, and filling every possible margin space. Anyone who tried to read his notes would be lost and unable to follow his mental flow. Perhaps that made it an even more secure way for him to approach all the voices bouncing about in his head with theory and thoughts. The identity of the Catalyst answered a very big question, the big “who” that was on their minds, but did it really? Even the best armchair detective would have to still more emphatically ask who the Catalyst was. It blended as much into the why. He jotted down scattered notes and theories, all given to him after that heinous night. The things he learned, the things they all saw. This was coming to an end, he felt it, he just hoped to be there when it all did.

Blinking up at the voice of another, the banshee detective shut his notebook and tucked it into his leather satchel, weaving gloved hands over the table as the other spoke. This stranger seemed to recognize him… Eren did not. “A lot of people did,” he responded. Evidently no one cared to spare him, however. Perhaps he should be grateful he was not popular, he had better things to do on the outside. “Yes,” he answered, then after a beat he realized he should probably ask the same. “And you’re okay?” His tone did not indicate an actual desire to know, but Eren was never one for friendly small talk or banter. He was awkward and solitary in all senses of the words. “You mean you don’t know about the Catalyst?” Oh, so maybe this one was new. Picking at the chips which came with his sandwich, but making no indication to eat them, he shrugged, “The Catalyst, or who we now know as our former Sheriff Cavanaugh, is a mysterious figure who has been torturing this community and threatening our lives for some time now. She likes to play games and she likes to cause as much turmoil and pain as possible, all because of some past events or something or other…” Eren trailed off as another thought dawned on him. He blinked and continued, “Anyway, that was another display of her cruelty. No matter who you are, she gets everyone in her crossfire. Hope that helps clarify anything. …are you new in town?” He was doing it, the small talk he hated, and yet… Well, he was trying.

@lunarcovestarters who: everyone where: anywhere when: anytime (after the event)

It wasn't the attack at the ball that had Ernie on edge, it was the fact that he didn't know what the fuck was going on. Ernie was delusional enough to think he could protect himself against whoever The Catalyst was, so he wasn't worried about danger. He was more concerned about what they wanted, and is he to expect them to crash a party every time someone throws one?

A few feet away, he noticed someone he thought he had seen that night. "I saw you at the ball the other night." He said. Of course, everyone was wearing a mask so he could be making a fool of himself, but it was worth a shot if he wanted some answers. "Are you, you know, good? Do you know what that was about?"

Eren had spent every night since the Masquerade Ball sequestered in his office, wildly taking notes and moving around pins and strings of yarn on his “Catalyst Murder Board”. A lot was gleaned that night — The Catalyst’s identity, some notes and hints to what she was planning — but they still felt so far from the true full picture. There were things missing, still truths to be uncovered, and the detective had found himself wanting to dive more and more into the mystery. So he’d been there in his office, ignoring most new or returning clients and guzzling down awful instant coffee pot after awful instant coffee pot, trying feverishly to connect the dots and discover something. What was it in those notes he was missing? What more was there to learn? He was so lost in thought, he missed his office door opening, only turning his attention at the strange greeting. “Flip phone boss man,” he repeated the words back, a clear nod to his apparently unorthodox choice in cellular device, but what was wrong with it? It did the job; he could make calls and send texts from it. What more could one ask for? “I suppose I could say the same thing,” he replied, turning from his chaotic cork board and to the young woman. Elena, he recalled, one of the few who was on the outside with him during the chaos. “No, that’s fine, I think I need a break from it all anyway,” he reassured, motioning behind him at the board before sliding into the old leather chair behind his desk. He motioned towards an arm chair across from him, a decidedly nicer and newer one though still seemingly not of this decade style wise. “What can I do for you? I don’t do social calls so I suspect this isn’t one.” If it was, then he would instantly sour.

Where: Eren's office Who: @erenozturk

Elena had been in town for a month and already she was ready to leave after the events of the other night. Who the hell was the Catalyst and why was she so set on hurting everyone like this? As she continued to be lost in her thoughts for a long moment as she stood outside of the detectives office. She had wanted to find her aunt Camila, especially since she’d vanished from here without a trace and seemed to be her last living relative at the moment so who better to locate her than someone who was trained. Especially since everyone else in town had blown her off when she’d tried to ask about her. Opening the door to the office finally and she was greeted with a familiar face from the other night. “Hey flip phone boss man.” She greeted with a smile. “Didn’t expect to see you so soon.” She commented as she held the folder to her chest tightly. “If you’re still busy sorting documents from the other night I can leave you be?”

Option D: Elif

Eren was loath to ever ask for help. It’s why he worked alone, why he’d only ever hired one person since his establishment opened in the 90’s. He didn’t work well with others, not unless they were a client or a witness he needed to work with for a case. He struggled to deal with other people, and he struggled to get close to other people. And he knew it had, in part, to do with more than just his surly disposition. The interaction with Aiyla on the eclipse reminded him of a big part of him that was broken, that made him a bit dysfunctional and made living difficult. The inability to touch or be touched he had learned, for the most part, to cope with, but his system wasn’t fool proof. Living life so acutely aware of every person in the nearby vicinity, in layers upon layers and with thick leather gloves, unable to breach the space between him and others. He didn’t even so much as pet his own dog without something between them. And people, well… People liked touch. Not just in a suggestive way — families and friends liked to hug, strangers liked to shake hands, and the list of normal touching went on and on and on and Eren just… Couldn’t. He just couldn’t deal.

It was his secretary that suggested it. She left pamphlets, helpful hand outs, left open articles and websites on the company computer (which was boxy and as old as the internet itself). Little hints and subtle nods, that grew less and less subtle until finally she just said it: “Sir, have you ever considered therapy?” Despite his youthful looks, Eren was still a product of his generation, and his generation did not look at therapy in the best light. So he scoffed, shook the thought away. It wasn’t for him. He didn’t need it. Or so he thought.

Playing with a loose thread in the seam of his gloves, he took a tentative step into the space, eying the walls, furniture, and the therapist herself warily before he spoke. “I think the ‘making yourself’ comfortable in this kind of situation is easier said than done,” it was said in a low voice, stated as a fact and not as a joke or sarcastic remark. Still, he carefully sunk into a seat. “So how does this go? I talk, you tell me what’s wrong with me, and then I pay some hefty bill?” His nerves were on fire, his shoulders scrunching up towards his ears with his clear discomfort. He didn’t open up, ever, and he hated talking, but… How could one keep living like this? He had to try something. Didn’t he?

@lunarcovestarters

Option A: Leyla

TW Blood

Shit. A shaky breath left her lips as she placed the heavy bucket of soap and water down with the thud. Every muscle in her body was begging her to curl up into a tiny little ball, to pull the covers as high as they would go and stay in bed for the next eternity, or even worse, do what the Selvi's did best- run without ever daring to look back. Her best friend was in the hospital thanks to her biological sister who, from the not so subtle message sprawled across the windows of her coffee shop, had used Aiyla's own blood to write it. She felt she was going to be sick, but rather than letting herself break down into tears, Leyla did the only thing else she knew how to do. She threw herself into task, scrubbing away at the horror scene of vandalism before her rather than let anyone feel the gut-wrenching sensation that she currently did. She had gotten nearly all of it but 'think again' cleared up before she felt the presence of someone behind her. "Fu-dge," She jumped, spinning around on her feet to catch the other's glance. "You scared me," Leyla mumbled out, ringing out the sponge in her hand and trying her best not to wrinkle her nose too much as she watched the blood run down her hands into the bucket.

Option B: Jasmine

"Mhm," Jas winced slightly as she rubbed her sore wrists. The metallic cuffs glistening in the sun almost could be mistaken as a fashion choice. Almost, except for the fact that they were latched onto her skin. The distinct and ancient charms cut off any access she had to her magic. Now, as she sipped her cup of coffee, attempting to reschedule all of the ghost tours the Seen It Route was having this week, the cuffs, besides the relatively hefty weight for bracelets, weren't much of a bother. They were clunky, for sure, but they no longer hurt. Though, the immediate pain she had felt when they had been placed on still lingered in her thoughts along with the fact that for the first time in weeks, the world seemed silent. While, she hadn't exactly been looking forward to paying the cost for something she had done over six months ago, she'd be lying if the fact she couldn't be harassed by the dead or overwhelmed by the coven's judgements that she had 'gotten off scott-free' while Rohan had not, had been nice. And now, hopefully, her name wouldn't be able to be thrown around as a weapon against her sister, the Supreme, or her boyfriend, the Alpha's character. The only problem remained, how the hell was she going to rebook five different tours and how many refunds was she going to have to give? A groan slipped out as she rubbed at her temples. "Who knew scheduling would be so complicated."

Option C

PTSD, Depression tw

Meena sat at the end of the bar. It was one of the first times she had sat, period, after the past few days. Aaliyah was finally healed up and headed back home. The emptiness in her house was hardly lost on her. Her eyes drained of even the slightest hint of a spark as she milked the glass of wine in hand. Her thumb and forefinger swirling the stem back and forth as if she was completely and utterly memorized by the red liquor. She was more angry than anyone could possibly imagine. The Catalyst had hurt her own and one who was older and, by proxy, physically stronger than even she was. But, on top of ever fiber of her being being filled with rage, she also felt entirely drained. The typical curve of her lips, her signature smirk, was no where to be found. Instead, the clan leader was entirely and utterly numb. Too exhausted to even bother to fake it anymore. It wasn't until someone slide into the open seat beside her that she finally took a moment to glance up. "I'd say care to join me, but I take it you already have?"

Option D: Elif

"Oh hey, come in, come in. Please make yourself comfortable," She assured them as she ushered her next client into her office. She'd be lying if she said business hadn't been slow recently, which one likely wouldn't expect with a therapist's office given how much had been going on in town these days. From the attacks to a witch getting their magic stripped to a death curse, you would think, now, more than ever, her scheduled would be booked solid. But, instead, the office almost felt like a ghost town. As if people were too afraid to attempt to start to process what they had collectively gone through, let alone talk about it. The chill in the air these days was unsettling to say the least. But, thankfully, there was one brave soul who had come to see her today and maybe that alone was hope.

No amount of showers had washed away the panic attack that he had on the street the day of the eclipse, and since then Eren was more of a recluse than usual. He even closed the agency for a few days, let his secretary take a week, paid, to enjoy the changing of the season. He stayed home mostly, with Hardy being his only company. But after a few days of picking at whatever was still good in his fridge and pantry, the need for higher quality food drew the banshee out and into the bustling streets of Lunar Cove.

His only solace was the mixtape, blaring Bowie, Hall & Oats, The Eurythmics and more into his ears. He had missed it at first, when the girl noticed her food being wrong. It was only in the lull between songs that he heard his name and tore the headphones down to raise a hand meekly. At her approach, he took an impulsive step back, but gingerly accepted the bag with a gloved hand. “Literacy has been on the downslide these days,” he murmured, bristling from being near so many people after some time. He took a tentative peek in his bag and frowned. The name was his, but the order was off. He would have to reorder or accept what he’d been given. “They’re rivaling the coffee shops with the mistaken identity bits,” he tried a joke but his tone was always too dry for the delivery. “It looks like the contents aren’t… exactly right. Is any of this yours?” Maybe they mixed and matched everyone’s orders tonight.

Who: @erenozturk

Where: A Bao Time

"Oh I don't think--" Safiye started as the waitress shoved the bag into her hands and she stood there stunned for a moment. Sure, she didn't need to eat, but it helped curb the cravings that she felt. Plus it helped her feel somewhat normal still. Looking in the bag and the order was completely wrong, along with the name on the receipt. "Ummm.. is there an Eren?" She asked as she held up the bag. "I have your food." She informed them. "Not sure how Safiye sounds like Eren, but let's go with it I guess."

“The next two hours to…?” Arms crossed over his chest, Eren tried to urge Leyla to continue her thought. He wanted to point out that it was unprofessional to close an establishment to “enact revenge”, but seeing as he had offered himself to help in the task he knew it was hardly the right thing to say. He was rude, yes, but not always. And he supposed in a way that he dealt in revenge — at least, many a jaded person turned to his services to get back at someone, be it through finding the dirt or uncovering some twisted dealings. He didn’t care so much, as long as it was within the law and did not require him to be in an uncomfortable position, at least where his own limitations and fears were concerned. Something told him Leyla was not intending to confront someone directly, it sounded mostly clandestine in nature. Whatever could the other fae be up to? “‘No take backs’ isn’t a real thing,” he sighed, but he knew he would be bound to it. He was as honorable as he was sour. “Fine… who are we trying to enact revenge on?” If he was going to help, he might as well get the details.

"Is it?" She asked, blinking up at him innocently, seeing that she may or may not have used her break to enact revenge once or twice in the past as well. "And oh no, I'm sorry. I'd love to help, but that would be really unprofessional of me to let someone have free rein of the café while I'm not here and oh, but-" Her bottom lip jutted out into a small pout. "But, I- I only have the next two hours to-" She mumbled out. Her brows creasing at the thought. She had been tipped off that both Suresh and Poppy had left their places which would give her the perfect opportunity to sneak in and out unseen, but at the mention of helping her with her revenge, the pixie's eyes lit up. "Really? Oh! You've got a deal, but no take backs!"

Sleepwalking was just another in a daunting list of fears Eren kept hidden behind sullen stares and disassociation. It wasn’t so much the act, or the fear of hurting himself, it was the fear of being jolted awake by some stranger, their grubby bare hands on him. He didn’t like being touched, and he only allowed it during deeply necessary interactions. He couldn’t remember when was the last time he willingly touched another person outside of a professional capacity… the fear of unwanted touch lingered in him always. Padding down the streets of Lunar Cove, he wanted nothing more than to disappear into the solace of his home. He was fortunate that it wasn’t a stranger to wake him from his sleepwalking that day. No, it was the poking and prodding, followed by the low growling and eventual nipping of a Dobermann Pinscher who dutifully followed his aimless fae father out the door what must have been a short time ago. If only Hardy had snapped at him sooner, then maybe Eren wouldn’t be walking barefoot down the sidewalk, wearing a tank top and boxer briefs and not much else. No armor to protect him, not even his treasured gloves. His bare fingers shook where they sat on his biceps, hugging himself as he walked along, Hardy trotting happily at his side. If it weren’t for the dog he’d have taken flight, but Hardy couldn’t follow him into the sky. “We’re almost home, it’s okay… nobody will stop you, nobody will touch you,” he breathed repeatedly to himself, a mantra to calm the rapid beating of his frantic heart. But it did little to soothe his deep rooted anxiety.

It wasn’t far now, just a few blocks before he’d see the familiar neon sign of the Tower Treasure Detective Agency, and Eren was ready to book it the moment it would come to view. He was so singularly focused on making it home, he almost missed the whines and growls of his canine friend. It wasn’t until the dog let out a rumbling bark that Eren spun on his bare heels in Hardy’s direction. “Quiet, boy, we’re almost home now, what could be…” He trailed off as his eyes followed the line of the dog’s sight to a familiar figure ambling aimlessly in the street. “Aiyla?” He called out, unsure at first that it was the other banshee. It didn’t take long to register her odd dream like movements, the way she moved so unaware of the world around her. She was asleep, just as he had been. “Shit,” he cursed between grit teeth, half caught between continuing his walk home and stopping to help. She is your Queen. But I have no protection against touching her. She needs your help. Swallowing back his anxiety, he nodded toward the dog. “Stay here,” he said sternly, wrapping a hand into the hem of his tank top as he bent down, allowing the fabric covered limb to touch the dog’s back. “I’ll be right back.” Trying not to second guess himself further, he jogged over to Aiyla, hovering just a couple feet behind her.

“Aiyla… Aiyla? …Aiyla, can you hear me?” It was no use, even raising his voice above the low, almost whisper like tone he tended to use, would do little to wake her. He needed to do more, needed something more. But here, in the middle of the street, not too far from Downtown… there wasn’t much at his disposal. Flexing his bare fingers, he stared between his shaking hands and the ground. There wasn’t even a rock he could use. You would really throw a rock at your leader to wake her? The ridiculousness wasn’t lost on him, but he hadn’t known what to do. You have no choice. No, there must be another way. There isn’t. He let out a shuddered breath, blinking through the haze and looking at Aiyla. His hands, cool without the usual second skin of leather choking them, palms facing the fae queen and just barely hovering a few inches away. They trembled in the air between them, Eren’s gaze focusing on the knobby knuckles in each hand and finger as they reached anxiously towards her. “Just a shove… that’s all. Just ove shove… God, I’m sorry,” the apology wasn’t for her but it did little to calm his jolting nerves as Eren reached out and grabbed her, his hands curling around Aiyla’s slim shoulders which he jostled just a bit roughly. His palms, slick with sweat and fear, pressed against her skin, twisting her towards him as he attempted to stir her from her stupor. “Wake up,” he raised his voice, stern and loud for a fleeting moment as he attempted to speak again. His next attempt at words was drowned out in the air evacuating his lungs as the sensation of touch quickly washed over him. His bare hands were on her — on her bare skin, a sensation he avoided so much it always felt so shockingly foreign and horrible when it happened. Vision clouding from discomfort and a tinge of fear, knowing there lay a possibility of receiving a haunting memory of death just then, Eren shook her once more before practically jumping away from Aiyla, his arms curling around himself as his breathing shallowed. His jaw dropped open, dry heaving in a panic as his knees buckled and Eren sunk down towards the ground. His wings, long and webbed, dark shades of purples, blues and greens shimmering even in the darkness of the eclipse, unfurled from where they lay at his back, standing sharp and on alert as his forehead met the hot asphalt of the street, a trembling mess on the ground. That had better done it, you’d better be awake, he wanted to say but all words were caught in a tight knot in his throat, where it constricted and closed against his windpipe, cutting off the air flow to his lungs. He could hear barking as Hardy barreled towards him, worried for his person, and his eyes clenched shut as Eren mentally counted down from 100, trying desperately to even his breaths, to forget the feeling of warm bare skin against his palms, to forget the shock of touch, the way he wanted to crawl out of this skin which now felt tainted. It brought back memories, those that haunted him when he was alone in the recess of his mind. Falling, tripping down an endless hole until the deep, wet earth found him, and his hand, plunging and sinking into rot. The visions that came to him, the feeling of being so unclean and crawling in filth up to his ears. It all rained down on him and threatened to drown him in an endless sea of discomfort and anxiety. “It’s not happening, you’re not there, you’re not in that ditch, it’s over, you’re fine, that was so long ago,” he repeated hoarsely, the cracked asphalt biting into his forehead as he begged for the ground to swallow him whole.

Anywhere in town during the solar eclipse

Aiyla had developed ways to keep herself out of harm's way when sleepwalking. She had set up bells around her house, little warning systems that would hopefully wake her if she found herself in an aimless dream-like stupor, and up until now, it had been successful. Exhaustion and the unknown of the town's recent happenings...constant happenings had worn her guard down, and now the Fae was gliding aimlessly about town. Her shoes were long forgotten, and her wings folded at her back as she moved in her dreamy daze foot after foot, muttering what sounded like nonsense but was truly the memorized text from her mother's (the late fae queen, Hazal) diaries. Standing in an ebb and flow, she began to cross the street, "The cakes were terrible- I didn't think so." She sighed her shoulders heaving. "I should have told her. I can tell her. We have time."

EMIN GÜNENÇ ÜVEY ANNE | 4. BÖLÜM

“Again, that is subjective — people have different ideas of fun. Just because mine doesn’t align with yours doesn’t negate its validity. You really should invest in a dictionary or something, I shouldn’t have to explain basic words and concepts to a person your age,” he shot back, about to return to his crossword when she took it from him. He rolled his eyes and glanced up at her through his lashes. “Didn’t your parents teach you to not touch what doesn’t belong to you? Whatever, keep it. You look like you can use an intellectual hobby.” He shrugged a shoulder, “I don’t have to show you support. I’m not part of the court for you. And that’s ridiculous — living in a small town doesn’t mean I’m required to participate in these town events. You do also understand the concept of free will, right? Or do I have to explain that as well?” He didn’t have all day. “Just because I’m in a public place, doesn’t mean I want to be accosted.” He rose to his full height, shouldering his bag and he sidestepped Dilan and began to walk away, clearly not interested in this attempt at getting him to participate. “Funny thing, I don’t have to do what you want, so you can take that as a ‘no’.” The normal person comment had him letting out one short humorless “ha”. “We’re fae, not ‘normal people’.”

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Is it really or do you just not know how to have it properly?” She asked with her hands on her hips as she looked at him. “You’re right you don’t have too.” Reaching over though and she snatched his book away from him and held it to her chest. “Although you’ll probably want this back right?” Pointing a finger towards the book. “I did. Because all the other fae are participating in my events, yet here you are. Showing no support.” Taking a seat across from him to let know she wasn’t going anywhere much to his dismay. “You realize that’s like part of the point of a small town correct? Everyone knows everyone and there’s events and cute little shops.” Rambling on for a moment. “Also you’re at the freaking fae ring. How does this scream I want to be alone? When there’s people here constantly. I mean if I’m not here I know Suresh is.” She pointed out. “Cause I want you to pick at least one event and go to it. You know like a normal person.” 

Option 2

Eren’s gaze trailed over the sign, a single brow arching in response. “That’s serious?” He questioned, though he figured it must have been if she insisted on closing the shop for revenge of all things. He was a curious creature by nature, and part of him did wonder what the hell that was all about, but there was also the dedicated part of him that had a job and little time on his hands. Twisting his wrist, he pulled back his sleeve just enough to expose a slither of skin to the elements and to read the face of his watch. Ten minutes… The Daily Drip was in the perfect spot for him to casually sit with a coffee and disguised camera, to catch some shots of his latest mark from across the street. She had to choose now to ‘plot revenge’. “I take it you won’t let me sit inside, even if I promise not to steal? This is kind of the perfect spot for a stake out… I only need to be here for about thirty minutes.” If not, he’d have to go back to square one and figure out another opportune moment in the subject’s schedule, but if it came down to it… “Maybe in exchange I can… help you with your revenge?” He shivered at the thought. He worked typically on the side of justice, but he also couldn’t help the small curiosity at whatever Leyla was up to.

Option 1:

“What do people even put on a bucket list?” Jas asked with a curve of a brow as she turned back towards her notebook in hand. Her pen lightly tapping against the surface of the bar as she continued to milk the drink she had in hand. "If you only had, let's uh say a year or so left to live, what would you top five things to do before you hit the bucket be exactly?" She asked, lifting her gaze up from the page in front of her to the person beside her out of curiosity.  

Option 2:

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Leyla apologized as she stepped out onto the street of the Daily Drip having just put up the closed sign for the day. "We're actually closed right now," She admitted, motioning over with a tilt of her head to the sign that distinctly read 'Gone to plot some revenge. Be back soon.' "Don't worry about it. But, I should be back in an hour or two though, if you can wait until then?"