filippa flashes her daughter a grin, finding the same mischief within her children that exists within herself. although, she prefers the word cunning even if she can see how it overlaps. 'yes, well. had to think on my feet with you two little devils. you didn't make it easy. but i definitely need a medal for best improv of the decade.' she laughs and let's out a knowing hum for the two wolves that now linger through the evening with a broader sense of the world. 'i quite like it, hearing snippets of it. makes me feel like i'm abroad.' she chuckles, before waving her hand. 'i tried to warn them but maybe i need to think of something slightly less harmless. maybe people can make genuine sounding animal noises for a few weeks? don't think anybody would want to risk that.' she muses before giving a soft nod about the foundation curse of the vase. 'yes, exactly that. just how you'd set any intention, do it to this bloody thing and it's all fired up and ready to go. exhausting.' filippa trusts her daughter, however. even if tavi is a forced to be reckoned with, the witch is happy to take the risk.

'a mother always knows, sweetpea.' she then says endearingly, lifting her glowing hand to pinch tavi's cheek gently. 'but lord knows what was in that thing before your nana got hold of it. languages seemed lesser of the two evils.' she shrugs, shaking her head slightly about tarquin. 'we have a little chat here and there, think he was in greece the other day.' but that might have changed by now. 'oh?' filippa turns slightly with genuine interest as tavi announces another time she's jetsetting away. she's never surprised, it's practically in their blood. 'work, i'm guessing? or are you just in the mood for a real cup of tea? sometimes i get that urge, you know.'

Tavi huffs, lip tugging into a smirk as her mum shares the truth of the vase. "Oh, you are a menace, Filippa Arison," she chides her mum, waving a finger. "Very naughty." But she's grinning all the while, leaning in to take a closer, cautious peak at the item in question, hands behind her back. "But clever. I've heard at least two language coming from people who definitely don't know them." Tavi informs her mum before straightening. "If anyone were to find out, they could change the intention then?" It's a clever bit of magic, actually, and Tavi can understand why her mother's kept it as is. The rather harmless curse is entertaining enough when it's not happening to her. "Poor Tarqi, convinced I was just playing with him. Did you know the entire time?" she laughs now, "oh, I can't wait to see his face when I tell him." She declares with a laugh, nodding at her mother. "Have you talked to him lately? He's ignored my texts but I assume he picks up for mummy," she teases her little brother despite his absence. "But I'm going to London in two weeks, figured I'd meet up with him there."

'well, it's ancient, owen. they had different requirements and needs then.' filippa remarks but the thing is, owen isn't wrong. it's a stupid curse. filippa doesn't know what witch on what plantet would ever need or use a curse that makes somebody speak in whatever languages exist in the universe. but it was the best her mother brain could come up with, the most harmless thing she could think of since the vase is a constant emitter of whatever intentions are set to it. 'and i doubt anybody is having their holibobs in israel any time soon, so don't worry your head about getting german.' she adds with a quip of sarcasm of her own. a slight sigh escapes filippa at the question and she resists the urge to roll her eyes, drawing in a patient breath in its place. 'it's very old magic, darling. some of which isn't practiced anymore. no one has been able to analyze it completely. but curses don't tend to...run out. so i suppose it would just...circle through the languages again? heaven knows, i dread to think.'

filippa fights a small laugh at the entire situation, deciding then and there to find complete amusement instead of annoyance. it's not her first rodeo, after all. 'well, italians look good to touch too, darling but i don't go around groping them.' she quips and there's no urgency from the witch when owen's second hand comes into the equation, she resigns herself as a mere observer as she shrugs. 'i think the same one, that's what happened to my tarqi anyway. but nothing wrong with experimenting, i suppose.' filippa sighs, before her own hand waves his away. 'come on, owen. just let go for christ sake, let's get this over with. plus, i'm quite curious now.'

"That seems like a stupid curse. No offence." Owen says honestly, glancing to the vase and back again to Filippa. "I mean...useful if you're traveling, I guess. But not even that if it's random? Imagine going to Israel but getting German. Vacation ruined." the wolf's tone is a mixture of curiosity and amusement, but Owen supposes it won't be long until he finds out what language is bestowed upon him. His hand remains over the vase, planted there now as if it's there to stay. "How will anyone know if the curse is gone without everyone touching it?" he shrugs innocently with the question, not quite meaning to challenge a witch that knows more than him but...it is his very nature after all.

Instantly, Owen witnesses an expression that he sees over his own mother's face plenty of times. In fact, he jokes that the very look Filippa gives him now was on Olivia Hawthorne's face the moment he was born. It's how he knows he's been caught, giving the witch a sheepish yet innocent grin. "It looked good to touch!" Owen defends his actions, using his other hand to gesture to the vase but that's when curiosity piques yet again for the wolf. "What happens if I touch it again with this hand?" he waves, hovering his palm closer. "Does it cancel out or do I just get two languages?" but there's no waiting for an answer as his palm presses to the vase, now standing there with both hands against the ancient pot as he blinks at Filippa for his own choice. "I might have an impulse problem."

filippa feels relief wash over her as, finally, there's somebody with common sense that's approached the artifact. her smile can untwist itself from a forced polite one into a much more genuine curve. 'well, it's the story of nefertari amunet. a witch from the early dynastic period of ancient egypt. she called upon her ancestors for help, you see, when she was removed as head witch by her brother.' filippa abridges, because her little tale about languages and communication is simply to ward others away. which, of course, the well mannered shifter isn't included in. 'all of this depicts the ritual. but some of it has been ruined by time, obviously. so it's not been able to be recreated since. isn't that interesting?' she adds with a perky tone, using her own magically protected hands to twist the vase and showcase the worn away panals of the story. 'happens a lot, though in our world.' filippa then adds with a resigned shrug. 'rituals, practices, all lost to time. there's magic out there just waiting for us to find. or remember.'

as she speaks, the witch senses another supernatural lingering closely, to which she waves away with her glowing hand while listening to the younger woman. an ear trained for multitasking after having two pixie-like children of mischief. 'oh, goodness me.' filippa returns with genuine intrigue, blinking to the woman. 'do you have it? that sounds wonderful. humans call that stone something, don't they, lord knows what gibberish they come up with. something about manifestation.' but witches believe there's unknown magic within some of that meteor stone, the institute bending over backwards to get their hands on some. which is why filippa then offers a glowing one of her own to the other with a kind smile. 'filippa arison, i don't believe we've met, darling.' and it's certainly a pleasure if this shifter has access to untapped magic.

now, even wondering about the woman's apartment is something the witch is happy to engage in if it means getting one step closer to a rare stone and filippa smiles, tapping the vase. 'well, the juxtaposition of ancient and modern can be interesting. they say it's all down to the plants that you use as accents, apparently. i have a few interior friends, i'm sure they'd be happy to help if you were interested.' she offers. 'some people don't quite like how i decorate otherwise i'd offer myself. unless eclectic is your thing, i won't be much use.'

;

Isla chuckles at that, her attention fixed on the vase with a curious look until she glances to the witch with a smile. "Oh wow, a long time. But, very generous of you to donate it. It's wonderful, what does all of this mean?" Isla points to the vase to the carved pictures, but her hand recoils in order to be nowhere near it. "Do you collect a lot like this? My father liked to collect. He had this amazing stone that was apparently from a meteor." and months later everything is still in storage, causing Isla to frown slightly, a quick glance given over her shoulder for any sight of her sister. Maybe they need to go through everything their parents left behind for once and for all. "I'll be surprised if people don't bid on this, even with the curse. Surely the curse is what makes it interesting in the first place." Isla then chuckles, returning her attention to the witch as she exchanges the magical glow around her hands. The shifter grins slightly, wiggling her fingers. "Oh, that feels funny." she comments in amusement, but wastes no time to be able to safely smooth her palm over a piece of history. "I might but my apartment needs some thought." Isla admits, because her and Ines simply shoved whatever looked nice in a way that resembles a home. "No clear feel yet, but I'm working on it."

bianca's life has been a relentless parade of heated exchanges and simmering tensions. angry voices her background music and hunter's verbal aggression is just another note in this discordant melody. it causes her feet to plant her firmly to the groud, a cock of her head in challenge. 'because i can ignore you without batting an eyelash, hunter. i don't huff and puff like i just skipped up the fucking stairs.' she fires back, still offended by the indignant grunt as they passed one another. but then she blinks, an obvious confusion sinking into her expression until it's gone in the next second and bianca offers a mirror image of the sardonic nod. 'oh, wow, yeah. you're just walking around here speaking a whole new language.' her tone is incredulous as she scoffs. 'i know you think i got dumb bitch written on my face but cut me a little slack, huh? that's ridiculous. you're ridiculous.' bianca's words tumble out in a torrent, overlapping hunter's demands. 'you're just speaking spanish now!? okay, what's spanish for that's the dumbest shit i ever heard?' she waves dismissively to him, every intention to turn away but her body only angles at the side, bianca still very much engaged in what she can hear is a childish combat. 'yeah i'll keep on ignoring you don't you worry about it. keep huffing and puffing at me like an outta shape wolf and we'll see what happens.'

Of course then was when Bianca decided to break her vow of silence, when Hunter was in a reluctant one of his own. He continued to walk as he heard her voice fill the space between them, letting out a sharp breath as his hand dragged over his face. He turned, with every intention of speaking but just flailing his arms in an annoyed gesture. There was no way to be sure if it would be Spanish or American but the shifter managed to irk his last nerve. "I know you're ignorin' me! So why the fuck you pissed off if I'm ignorin' you! But I ain't! I just can't speak American right now!" Hunter shouted, before hearing his exclamation and giving Bianca are sarcastic nod as he anticipated her response. "Shut up. I am right now, god dammit but I mean other times I ain't speakin' it!" Hunter corrected with a note of stress. "I know you got no damn thoughts in that head no more but you still remember how to chill out, huh? So do that. I got a damn headache and I swear to God I'ma start speakin Spanish any second and I ain't in the damn mood." Hunter waved his hand at her after that, giving Bianca a challenging glance. "We on the same page now!? You can keep on ignorin' me, I don't give a fuck."

bianca's got bigger fish to fry than dwelling on a string of hook-ups that she now can't remember. not because of alcohol, or because they were a choice made during desperation. her memory of hunter cross barely registers beyond a fuzzy recollection of their encounter at the institute and a cringe-worthy conversation about her memory lapses thereafter. ignoring him seems like the easiest option, a decision she's ready to stand by as she aims to breeze past the wolf without a second glance. but she catches that look he gives her, and immediately prickles into annoyance. his huff practically flips the switch in the shifter and she pivots on the spot. 'oh, that...wow that's real mature.' bianca retorts in her drawn out vowels. 'you're not the first guy in history to be forgettable, hunter. take a fucking ticket.' her words carry a note of defiance as she tries to reclaim the upperhand. 'in case you forgot, it's not my fault!' bianca's voice lifts into a firey shout, her arm flailing as she stops walking after him. 'and, you can't ignore me if i'm already ignoring you. grow up!'

beekman hotel

hunter cross and bianca hart @gloriouswhispers

Silent treatment was the second best thing a woman could do with her mouth, according to Hunter. But a slight resentment lingered for how effortlessly Bianca could blank his existence. Obviously the swipe of her memories helped with that, Hunter hovering in a limbo he had never found himself in before. Given the fact most of his American identity was slipping away by the second, there was no chance of the silence ending between them until the Spanish stopped rapidly leaving his mouth. There was a brief moment where his gaze snapped to Bianca, both of them exiting from opposite doors and into the corridor. Hunter paused on instinct, a slight gawp where he almost said something but then decided against it. In case nothing but Spanish ended up filling the air. He breezed around her after that to continue on with an abrupt huff leaving his chest.

bianca's chuckle is weak to odessa's statement, but only because the witch manages to pull a moment of admission from her. 'no, you're right but he was an asshole and i'll stand by that.' bianca sighs. her brother always so much more to her than society deemed his as. one look at his record with the law and people would never be able to see any good, but he was. for a number of years, he was the only good in her life. but then odessa's words draw out a punchier laugh from the shifter, bianca's quick bark echoing through empty stalls as it almost resembles a cackle. 'yeah, i literally...i know.' she sighs out again, feeling the threat of tears but ignoring them. 'he'd tell me to get my shit together and stop being a fucking pussy.' her words conjure an instant memory of her brother, distracting her from the rising tension in their home. her admission of fear becoming a running joke between them. why you scared, bee? he's just shouting. you can shout louder. you don't shut the fuck up.

she supposes chris was right. she never shut up since. did she even thank him for that? a stray tear answers her inward reflection, but bianca fixes her attention to odessa, sucking in her lips to stop a full crying session from beginning. because what if it doesn't stop? the suggestion brings a soft nod over bianca's head as she takes her phone, breathing in sharply to open her notes app. 'this probably won't make any sense.' she laughs slightly, but falls into a concentrated silence as she begins to write. at first, it's an angry statement to the unknown killer. but shortly after, her words flow with the grief. she suddenly realizes what odessa is doing, blue eyes darting to the witch as she grins ever so subtly. 'are you...' bianca huffs a small laugh. 'you're making me do this so i just get it out of my system, right? because i don't wanna stand up there and read all of this to anyone.' it suddenly feels better to know who her brother really was, and watch as others have no clue.

The complexities of grief aren't lost on Odessa. She has long since believed that life consists of little moments of mourning, followed by large ones. How, with grief, comes a thousand questions. She remembers unwillingly revisiting her childhood after learning about her parents. Did they know she tried to look for them? Did they try and look for her? Did they ever forgive her for leaving? In the end, it's always the unspoken and the things not done that haunt. "I know this is not all you think of him." she responds to Bianca's comment, a tone that's a mixture of understanding and precision. But, she can see her friend's struggle, where Bianca has caught herself in a limbo. The bad parts of someone are still them, and at times, deserve just as much acknowledgement. "You know, Chris..." Odessa thinks of the English for a moment, conjuring up her confident recollection of Bianca's brother. "He would call you pussy right now." she adds, with a simple nod.

With a keen but soft gaze, the witch studies Bianca's expression as if the turbulence of grief is written all over her features. In many ways it is, but not from the obvious appearance of tears. Maybe it takes mourning to know mourning in others, Odessa ponders briefly before she gently shifts so she can perch near the sinks. A quick look to her side to ensure she doesn't wet her dress. "They do not care where you from, Bianca." Odessa finally answers, knowing that she's right. But, she also understands that no one can deliver heartfelt words unless their heart is truly close to the moment. "No one know him like you, you can say what you want. Fuck them if it...offends them, da?" her chin juts to the bathroom door. "But your brother is more than this." Odessa adds, already reaching for Bianca's clutch at her side and slipping her phone from it. "Write what you miss, hm? We go from there."

jasper isn't surprised that odessa doesn't miss a thing. her aura emits that sense of knowing, and truthfully it amuses him to no end that his brother is clearly going to battle with an extremely wise woman. possibly for the rest of his life, jasper predicts. 'the shade? yeah, we did. they're getting the gist of it.' he placates with ease, a practiced and calm tone that comes from his years as a detective. the rhodes witch hears the challenge in odessa's tone easily, offering a kind grin as he nods. 'he is, yeah. but that wasn't what i was saying.' jasper stifles a chuckle. 'he...' he takes another glance to his brother in the distance as beckett patrols away, as if he can hear the damn conversation and is purposely making jasper look like a pot stirrer. 'he thinks a lot of you, is what i'm saying.' he says coyly when he returns his attention to odessa. jasper suddenly has the sense that he's not stirred a pot but rather sat himself within a boiling one, responding to odessa's words with a slight chuckle. 'definitely not teasing you.' he insists before accepting that she's caught him and nods, also placating. 'completely understood.' jasper coughs, meeting her gaze so she can read sincerity. 'it's just...you know. brothers can see things a few miles away, huh? he's usually all work and really, what i was trying to say is,' hmm. jasper takes a thoughtful pause as his words draw out. 'you're good for him.'

Smiling slightly, Odessa cants her head to the side and her brows raise with pleasant intrigue. "You see shadow, hm?" she asks, although expects there won't be anything but a vague answer in response. It seems it's either a Rhodes' nature to be mysterious or simply their work that creates it. However, she has a hunch, as she does about most things, that it's perhaps their mysterious nature that gravitated them to mysterious work to begin with. Instead of voicing these thoughts beyond a curious expression, Odessa swiftly takes the sheet and pen once Jasper is finished and once again her gaze drifts to the sight of Beckett. "He is here for murders. Is this what you say?" she challenges with an arch of her brow, the curve mirroring her grin as she watches the moment Jasper realizes his error. Which is no issue once he corrects it, Odessa chuckling with a warmer note. "I can, da. I do it now." she responds, turning to her computer with more contentment for the task. Without glancing to Jasper, Odessa's grin returns to her lips but this time it's a knowing one. "I think..." she hums, fingers tapping away over the keys. "You tease me because he is your brother, hm?" Odessa then pauses to give Jasper a glance before leaning slightly towards him as she hushes her tone to a whisper. "I do not like it. Do not do it."

'oh looking is just fine, darling. touching with eyes, i call it.' filippa chuckles, waving a glowing hand to encourage the other to get stuck right in. an appreciative smile forms over the witch's lips, although given that two hands have swiped over the cursed vase tonight, she hovers slightly closer in anticipation. 'hm? oh, well it was in my mother's ownership for quite a few years. i'd say...thirty? thirty five, perhaps?' filippa squeezes shut an eye as her head tilts while she thinks. 'and it doesn't particularly fit in any aesthetics i have at home right now so, why not for a good cause?' she sighs then with a warm smile, nodding subtly about the curse. 'yes, very old magic. it's fascinating, truly. but obviously, mumbling away in a language for a few weeks is a thorn in anyone's side. i'll be sad to see it go, though, but sometimes sharing really is caring.' filippa lies through her teeth with ease, the vase has been a hindrance for years. she's all the more willing to share the magic glow of her hands, too. filippa steps to the other, waving her palms over the wolf's until hers adopt the same light aura. 'there you are, darling. now you can feel history safely. do you think you'll bid?'

;

Isla's innate curiosity beckons her towards the ancient vase, the intricate markings drawing her in like a puzzle. Her head gently tilts either side as she hovers closely, studying the piece with a natural intrigue. Suddenly, the other woman's exclamation jumps Isla back with a startled laugh. "I was only looking! Promise!" she chuckles, her hands fluttering in the air to prove her innocence. But the mention of a curse ignites a spark of fascination, Isla's brows arching in more curiosity as she gazes from the witch and back to the ancient artifact. "Oh, wow. How did you manage to...get something so old? This is impressive." Isla breathes with a soft wonder. "A thousand voices, hm?" she muses, chuckling to herself. "Sounds like me after a few glasses of wine. I can never decide what to speak." Isla adds in amusement, taking a small walk around the vase to view it in all angles. She stops by the witch, offering another gentle laugh as her hands offer out. "May I? I can't do magic." she wiggles her fingers to silently request the protective glow, now determined to trace her palms over something from the depths of history.

filippa chuckles, her hand hovering slightly in case her daughter decides to be the next menace of the evening. in which case, she is now far more prepared. 'none that's been found.' she answers smoothly, but there's a slight coyness to filippa now her daughter is near her. as if there's a secret she wants to share but can't, her eyes shifting near the others lingering as she side steps just slightly closer. 'it's the curse of the unknown, darling.' she nods, muttering quietly under her breath. 'it holds ancient magic, you see. allowing the owner of it to basically...well, like a blank slate curse. the owner can just set any intention into this and whoever touches it gets that curse. so...' she slumps her shoulders. 'there was no way of knowing what the previous intentions were before your nana owned it, so we just thought it best to say there were languages. because it's harmless. considering tarqiun went through that phase of just grabbing anything.'

"Good Lord, mum, where'd you even get this?" Tavi says by way of greeting her mother as she approaches Filippa. There's a group of people milling around the various items for auction later that night, but Tavi wove between them to approach. "Is there a cure for the curse? If one were to touch it." She furrows a brow before nodding at her mum. "Wait, was this at grandmama's? I think Tarqi touched it one year when we were playing hide and seek. Because he wouldn't stop speaking gibberish after and I guess it was just...one of a thousand ancient languages." Tavi laughs, amused at the memory of a panicked Tarquin, waving his hands wildly when she claimed not to understand him.

filippa catches the look swept over owen's features. how it's one she has seen on tarquin's many a time. it's perhaps the standard one of apprehensive mischief that seems innate in little boys. and men if they don't grow out of it. so her head tilts, a look of knowing in her own eyes. 'a language gets transferred to you and you can speak it fluently. and understand it.' she answers his question, still with the expectation of an admission from him at any moment as her eyes dart to his hidden arm behind his back. however, filippa fails to admit something herself. that there is no way of knowing if there's a thousand voices in the bloody thing. she thought somebody might have cottoned onto that by now but obviously she is just destined to stand here and battle with a sea of lacking critical thinking skills. but if the vase did contain a thousand voices, after the security guard and now owen...there's nine hundred and ninety eight. 'no, it will only start losing value when there's absolutely no curse whatsoever. obviously.' she huffs, because it's looking that way. waving her hand to wade through the nonsense, filippa meets the reveal that's not a reveal at all with a sharp glance to owen. 'i really have to ask what is with this insatiable need to touch something without even a single hint of permission, owen? that's a slippery road, i tell you.' the witch scolds him, and throws her hands up in resignation. 'it's old magic, i'm afraid. very old. obviously. considering it's ancient. you're going to have this language for a while, whichever one you have. and i'm hoping it's not a long since forgotten one like tarquin managed to get.'

Owen glances like a deer in headlights as Filippa appears, half of his mind wondering where she even teleported from and the other half of his mind catapulted into a blank slate as she begins the tale. "Sorry, what?" his head tilts at the mention of a curse, but other than that, Owen appears as a very intent listener. He doesn't even move from where he stands. "What happens if you touch it?" the Hawthorne asks with a curious voice that's quiet and calm, once again appearing as the avid listener and keen learner. "And er...what happens if there's nine hundred and ninety nine voices left? Does it...knock off a zero or something?" he still seems captured by the whole thing, blue eyes darting to Filippa's hands and giving her a gentle nod. There's a small moment of silence before Owen shifts to reveal his hand that has been resting on the vase for the entire conversation. "Bit worried. Not gonna lie." he says, still with no tone of concern. "Kind of don't want to...let go of it now. Because that's when it all kicks in, right? The curse?"

'i'm british. the vase is...' filippa's gaze glides between the man and the vase, how it's weathered by time but the intricate hieroglyphics can still be seen along with the carved story of the witch it once belong to. 'egyptian.' she states the obvious in a simple tone, almost pity for him. 'i can assure you, there's been no beans in this vase.' she adds, her shoulders slumping ever so subtly with the exhaustion from this conversation. and in all honesty, filippa is as relieved as he is when the man is done with the tale, even if her brow arches to the lack of manners. but not everyone can be raised with them, she supposes. 'in a very, very simple conclusion, yes.' filippa agrees with him, tilting her head. 'her brother was a brute.' but as soon as she says it, she can hear how he will perhaps find that an admirable trait.

it's there and then that filippa resigns entirely from the moment, her hands throwing up in surrender as her words are twisted. or misunderstood. she offers just a shrug to the accusation, watching as the man touches the vase and then is turning back to her with a smug drawl. with her brows raised, she listens and as if on cue the spanish slips into his sentence and causes her to offer him a sympathetic straight line of a smile. 'i tried to warn you, dear.' filippa notes. 'i'm afraid this is very old magic. it doesn't particularly exist anymore, nor is practiced as such. so...trying to undo it isn't always easy. my tarquin had a similar situation, and it lasted for a few weeks. sorry.' her tone is anything but sympathetic, more...here's your consequence, darling. deal with it.

"What does that place gotta do with this? This British or somethin'?" Hunter pointed to the vase, his finger brushing precariously close to the cursed object once again. "Seems like somethin' they'd do. Probably ate their God Damn beans in it, huh?" he grumbled, despite his words delivering with full conviction.

As the witch continued about the story of the weird British witch that cursed her bean pot, Hunter's attention flickered back to the vase with a thoughtful frown. A frown that became a scowl the longer the story dragged on for. His hand immediately began to wave at the woman, interjecting without shame. "Yeah, yeah. I got it, I got it. She called on a bunch of dead folks and they did whatever." he bit harshly, squinting as if he was physically pained to be given a history lesson. "Sounds like her God Damn brother had the brains outta 'em." he added, deciding that if he was in Britain and people were fighting over a bean pot, he'd follow the dude himself.

Hunter then shot a glance to the witch, his scowl returning as he peered at her with disbelief. "So you just lied to my face? There ain't voices in this thing? You just said it yourself." Hunter laughed, as if he caught the witch out and with that his hand reached out for the vase, planting his palm firmly against it. "Yeah, see. Told ya." he stated with a smug grin. "Bunch'a horseshit, just tryna sell this to people who got money but ain't got no sense. I ain't talkin in nothin' but American, cómo Dios quería que fuera."

jet is constantly caught between thinking...yes, this is exactly something silas would do and...i can't believe my brother is this stupid. he blinks to the other dempsey with a look of concerned confusion, his brows knitting as silas emerges from under the table like a literal ghoul set to haunt the entire evening. 'oh, i don't know. maybe so it looked like you were invited?' jet remarks to the stupidity about the suit, or lack of it, seeing silas draped in black metal logos and chains as if it's any other saturday. 'i'm here because i didn't go to the funerals, man. just trying to be...' respectful. he hisses before his voice trails away, dumbfounded by silas entirely. jet shoves the other witch harshly, snatching the drink from out of his brother's hands and setting it back to a table. every intention of leading silas to the main doors, yet being as inconspicuous as possible. 'elif.' jet corrects with a snap, offering an awkward nod to some glances shot in their direction. 'connor.' he corrects again, a little shove to make silas walk in front of him. 'it's not a party, it's raising money for...shit. i don't fucking know, whole night is weird but you're not making it weirder. fuck off.'

Silas had a long history with hating the feeling of being left out. And, considering he was an unofficial part of the institute, was slightly offended to not receive a formal invitation. Nothing really stopped him from doing something he set his mind to, however. He managed to slip through the evening, taking residence under a table until he was convinced people were drinking enough to not notice him when he emerged.

It was all going to plan until he saw his brother's skinny legs in the small gap between the table cloth and floor, rolling his eyes to himself and predicting the big reveal. Silas greeted his brother with a serpent's hiss for effect, trying to grapple with the cloth and pull it back down. "Why the fuck would I wear a suit if I wasn't invited?" he grit, struggling with Jet for a moment with every intention of planting himself under the table for at least another hour. "I love death. Why the fuck are you here? Get off, man. Jesus. You ruin everything." Silas muttered, eventually pulled from the table and having no choice to move to his feet.

Brushing himself down, he barely registered the stern look in his brother's face and met it with a confused one of his own. "I'm good, you?" he returned, mishearing as he grabbed a drink from the top of the table. "Who died? That leaf girl, huh? I remember her." but not the others, Silas racking through his brain. "Ohh, er...murder car dude. Connie. Shiettt." Silas slowly realized the weight of the evening, glancing through the guests. "Well, that's fucked up. Why the fuck are they having a party?"

filippa blinks, uncertain if she's ever met someone so blindly confident in their inaccuracies before. then again, he is a man. and another thought sweeps through her mind, causing a light chuckle from the witch. 'i always find it amusing how it's the other way around in britain.' she comments, the thought prompted by his southern twang but she offers no other context. however, his rather brutal way of communicating a rather simple conversation is amusing. and she takes a subtle glance to her watch. there's no where else for her to be, so filippa doesn't mind indulging this perculiar topic. 'she didn't get it wrong.' she corrects, her head tilting to the side as she adopts a motherly tone. 'the story of nefertari amunet is a very interesting one. you see, she was violently removed from her place as head witch by her brother. but she did not wish to solve the situation with force, nor bully her coven into following her again.' filippa can see the story is lost on the other supernatural, and she takes a quick sigh as she waves her hand to hurry through it. 'her ancestors saw that there was great power in not only communicating but connecting others from all over the land. so they gave her multiple languages. anyway, it serves as a lesson that...our ancestors will always see a greater purpose than what we ask for. so to be careful.' filippa finishes, shooting a little nod to his question. 'because they aren't actual voices, darling. simply the power of them. one will be transferred to you at random if you touch it. it...it's all very simple magic.'

"Don't matter how many times you say it, don't make it a real name." Hunter remarked, amusing himself even if his attention remained on the vase. He took a slow walk around it, fairly certain it looked like a bigger plant pot more than anything else. A plant pot with a few markings on. But anyone could do them, the intricate craft of the witch's story etched into the clay was lost on him entirely. "What a load'a old shit." Hunter commented with all the confidence about something he knew nothing about. "That, and that." he pointed to the vase, precariously close and then to the witch. "You're tellin' me, this Nerfereetee was a powerful God damn witch and she got it wrong?" he scoffed. "Bullshit. This ain't cursed. In fact, I bet there ain't even a thing of curses. Just what y'all say so people leave shit alone." Hunter grumbled, back to looking at the vase for a few moments until the witch's warning began to sound like a challenge. It was practically instant for Hunter's stubbornness to rear it's head. "I'll touch what I wanna God damn touch." he declared. "Because sure as shit ain't no voices in this thing. Why ain't they talking? Huh? I don't even wanna know but I wanna see if you know, 'cause I betcha don't."

asphodel charity event jet & silas

jet doesn't claim to have the best senses in the world. he's always navigated life through muscle memory, which means if even the slightest thing is moved, he can knock into it from never paying attention. but...that table seems...off. the slight fluttering of white fabric making him frown to himself. at first, he assumes it's nothing more than a breeze until he wanders closer and sees the subtle movement of the entire table. just a slight tremor. it prompts jet to double over, whipping up the cloth to reveal his hunched up brother. 'you're a fucking moron.' jet hisses, eyeing at the contorted shape of silas. 'and you couldn't even be bothered to sneak in wearing a suit?' he adds, grabbing the other witch by the arm in an attempt to drag silas out. 'this shit is serious, man. people died. why do you even wanna be here?' he squabbles under his breath before catching sight of silas' blown out pupils. ignoring the itch in his veins, jet shoots his brother a stern glare. 'how high are you?' @manybcdthings

'great. good one.' jet sighs, muttering in defeat. sometimes, felix's wit is too quick for him and not even being raised alongside the battle of sharp tongues with his brother and sisters can arm jet well enough against it. 'well, i know you've been to my shows because you were fucking annoying about it. asking for earplugs from the team.' he adds, hearing how he loses the edge to his words and leaving him no choice but to laugh. 'you're a fucking dick.' jet huffs, glancing to felix with a subtle shake of his head but plenty of amusement. it fades entirely when he sees the knowing expression on felix's face, that simple cut the crap look which brings an instant nod from jet in response. 'i know.' he admits, because there's been six months worth of discussions about righting wrongs, owing apologies. nearly always, seraphina at the forefront of his mind during them all. 'i'm working myself up to it, alright? just...breathing room, felix. jesus.' he adds with a hint of frustration, but it's only aimed at himself.

a small chuckle winds it's way through jet's chest, but he decides that moderation doesn't count when it's just a cigarette. could be worse, he thinks as he fetches his packet again for a second. 'i didn't look smart. i looked like a freak that never touched grass.' jet goads, laughing slightly before a reluctant nod agrees with felix's observation. 'but yeah, every fucking time it got to mindfulness, i was like...so...stoicism. which is funny, right? doesn't bella say it's unhealthy? so what's her technique? or do you two avoid the whole therapy-ing your partner shit?' jet can't be certain where felix has gone to for that brief moment of a vacant look behind his eyes. but he knows the feeling well, grinning again once he sees the flicker of presence return. 'yeah? shit, man. but happy it worked out.' he says genuinely about the reconcile, finally lighting his cigarette as he grumbles a laugh. 'real funny but you can relax, pretty certain it's off for good this time.' or should be.

"I'll think about it." Felix grinned, his words just a faint mumble of amusement. Before the attack on his memory followed, he was already shaking his head to Jet's words and refuting them as he chuckled. "No, I've never seen you play live. I like music." he remarked simply, fighting off his smirk. "It makes sense that I've been to California, though. At some point. Maybe L.A but I doubt it was for long." one thing Felix could say for certain was that he never checked himself into a rehab there, and it wasn't quite a sense of inadequacy that he could feel while sitting beside someone who had. It was more a strong reminder of his own avoidance. Something Jet knew, considering his following statement, which made Felix's brows raise subtly in acknowledgement. "Oh, come on." he muttered and scoffed out a laugh, certain Jet would know better than to think the avoidance wasn't obvious to Felix. He drew in a breath, not caring if he trampled all over the pretense as a sense of duty for Seraphina urged him. "You put her in a position where she couldn't be angry or resolve anything because obviously, going to rehab is a good thing. It was the most confusing type of closure to give someone so...yeah, her face probably isn't just like that because of Asphodel." he shrugged. "And sorry is probably the least you could say to begin with."

Felix wasn't ashamed for the small glimpse of alliance with Seraphina, as he saw enough to witness right and wrongs on both side. A sudden gratefulness that none of his relationships particularly followed such a volatile pattern. Felix offered a slight grin to Jet's returned sarcasm, crossing his arms with a long sigh as he remained against the wall. "Literally every single one of you know that's not his name." he droned, unimpressed by the lingering joke yet accepting it was never going anywhere. "But I'm glad I made you smarter. It's funny, to me anyways, that stoicism has just been rebranded as mindfulness these days. I bet you saw all those links." he remarked confidently before letting out a slight laugh at their brief back and forth. It wasn't lost on Felix, however, that the Jet he sat beside was considerably different than the Jet he last saw. Unable to control where that thought led him, Felix decided in that moment that there was a certain charm to insanity. All the best minds had a touch of it, he thought. Maybe one could never exist without the other, and he felt a small mourning for the intensity that Jet once carried in comparison to a rather empty seeming man now. "Uhh," Felix scratched his nose to the question, pulling his thoughts to the moment as he shrugged. "We weren't but we are again. So, I guess we're on track to be the new Phina and Jet. Just need to break up and get back together...a hundred times."

it's simply comical to watch his brother try and battle with rationality. something beckett usually doesn't need to battle with at all, but jasper's brow quirks as the other rhodes clearly talks himself into little circles. 'i said i agree with you.' he chides, his grin becoming a smirk and then a chuckle. 'you don't need to prove yourself to me.' he pats his hand to beck's shoulder, fighting another laugh. 'i think it's admirable, obviously. anyone would help her if they were in the same position.' jasper adds, giving a serious nod despite the hint of mischief in his expression. 'but i hear you loud and clear, beck. you look at odessa and just see...a witch in need.' his nod becomes sardonic, his grin almost impossible suppress.

the only thing that manages to dispel jasper's amusement is the curious presence of the shadow. the sense lingering even when it swiftly disappears. 'i think it...wants us to follow it.' jasper adds, which means to proceed with caution, not that they won't proceed at all. her catches his brother's gaze briefly. 'it's probably not a shade.' he mutters, which means they are instantly on the same page when it comes to their resolve. jasper nods, his hand slowly raising as if scooping the force of his magic, ready to conjure the blast of light whenever his brother is ready. there's a silent countdown as the brothers look to one another, not needed to be spoken at all. and once they both arrive at zero, the rhodes brothers summon the glow of a vibrant light, sending it along the corridor in a surge of energy. it works to scatter the shadow from the corner it clings to, but does nothing to disperse it into nothing, jasper watching as it glides away across the walls to scamper from the light. 'where is it going?' he hisses in a small frustration as the shadow becomes a blip through the library doors.

By this point in their lives, Beckett is used to his brother's sense of humor. Which, really, boils down to whatever comes at Beck's expense. Still, he fights back an annoyed smirk and waves a hand at Jasper instead. "I'm not talking about this anymore with you." He decides, even if, as they walk, he finds himself doing just that. "Helping someone can just be helping someone. Not everyone's got an ulterior motive." And, for the most part, that's true. He doesn't have any motive beyond helping Odessa.

Still, he can't deny there is some truth to Jasper's words. The other witch does look like that. Beck would have to be blind not to notice. But it makes no difference. He would have helped regardless. With as much enthusiasm. He swears it to himself! Even if he rolls his eyes at Jasper. "Not all of us act on our most basic instincts, Jasper. Not that there's any instinct apart from helping a fellow witch in need. That's half of what I do already." Beckett reasons, even if he knows his brother won't buy it. "People in need is comparable. Which you were and she is. That's all." Thankfully the conversation ends there as more pressing matters pull their attention.

Despite their good-natured ribbing, Beckett trusts Jasper's instincts implicitly (at least when it doesn't concern women), and nods. "Darker than a shade's presence." He frowns, trailing to the end of the hall before his gaze is pulled in another direction. The flicker of movement drawing his focus as he speaks lowly. "I don't think it's one of ours." An attendee. There's something too...precise about it's movements. Not like the shades they've seen in recent months. "I don't think a shade circle will cut it." Just as he says it, there's another shudder of dark to his right and Beckett turns, magic humming in his veins as he prepares to make a move. "Light?" He utters softly, assuming the shade, or whatever it is, is listening. But also trusting that Jasper knows him well enough to suss out his plan. Getting rid of any shadow in the hall by which the shade, or being, can travel.

'was. but not now, thankfully. home time.' jasper offers a polite grin, rubbing his hands together as if in excitement to call it a day. except, it's far from over. he swaps one job for another, but doubts he'd ever bore anyone with the details of his schedule. at first, jasper simply nods to odessa as he scribbles down his name on the sheet and passes it back to her over the desk. he's momentarily distracted (and amused) by beckett lingering in the distance. it's only when he returns his gaze to the russian that he realizes she's waiting for something. there's a brief second where jasper's head tilts in a subtle confusion. 'that's not...technically why he's here. but i think you know that.' he only teases slightly, suddenly having to clear his throat as she corrects his manners. or lack of them. 'i don't...completely know what that means or if i can pronounce it but...' he gets the gist, and bows his head in apology. 'please can you get the message to olivia for me?' jasper grins again, attention pulling to beckett rounding back on himself. 'is that what you think, though? that he just patrols around and it's a coincidence?'

"Hello, Jasper." Odessa returns politely, bopping her head higher so she can take his badge. So far, she's noticed that there's a certain calmness that is clearly part and parcel of being a Rhodes witch. "Net, only a little. You?" she asks, sliding over the sheet for him to sign out from before he leaves the institute. A brow arches slowly at the request and Odessa offers Jasper a simple nod, despite a faint grin growing over her lips. "I can, da." she responds to the request but there's no urgent movements from her to begin it. It seems today has been a day where she waits for simple manners, and Odessa doesn't mind waiting for as long as she needs to. Her gaze catches sight of Beckett in the distance as Jasper mentions the other witch. "He is patrol?" Odessa remarks with slight confusion, looking back to Jasper with a shrug. "He check on everything? It is his job here." she adds, precise tone included before she sits back in her seat. Still waiting for the simple manners as her fingers hover near the keyboard. "In Russia we say it like пожалуйста."