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mortemoppetere · 2 months

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TIMING: early february. LOCATION: caroline's apartment PARTIES: @raisareigns & @mortemoppetere SUMMARY: emilio and raisa investigate the disappearance of caroline, raisa's missing coworker. CONTENT: none!

Raisa tried not to feel like they were doing something wrong.

Her goal was to find Caroline, though, and they couldn’t do that without figuring out where she’d been. When Emilio had suggested retracing her steps as best they could, Raisa agreed that it seemed like the best thing to do. She just hadn’t realized that would be prying their way through Caroline’s life and forcing their way into her home.

But it was for the best. Raisa took a deep breath. “Would you hurry up?” she hissed as she leaned over to see how Emilio was doing at getting the door open. “I keep waiting for someone to notice us.”

—

Most of the time when someone hired him, they sat back and waited for answers. Most of the time. People didn’t call a private investigator to hang out with him, after all, and Emilio could count on one hand the number of people who took active involvement in their cases after handing them over to him. He wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad one that Raisa was now included in that number.

Right now, it was a bit of an annoying thing. Nobody liked someone hovering over their shoulder as they worked, and Emilio would insist that picking the lock would go a lot faster without the audience. He cursed under his breath as Raisa hissed at him to hurry, shooting a glare over his shoulder. “Do you want to pick the lock?” He snapped, looking back to the lockpick in his hand. “If you think you could do a better job, you’re free to…” The lock clicked, and the door creaked on its hinges as he pushed it open. “...take the next one. Come on.”

—

Raisa took a step back at his question, opening her mouth to argue, even if she didn’t yet know what she was about to say. Then it opened, so the point was irrelevant. “Perhaps I will,” Raisa said with a sniff as she stepped past him into the open space.

As soon as she did, though, Raisa slowed, her eyes locked on the kitchen table. A lone coffee mug sat all alone. She stepped toward it to peer over the rim. A dried out crust that had probably once been the last dregs of a cup lingered along the bottom, clearly days old. Almost without meaning to, Raisa said, “I don’t think she realized she wasn’t coming back.”

She lifted her head to take in more of the space. It didn’t seem like anyone had left in a hurry necessarily, but things sat scattered in the same fashion as the cup–a normal kind of messy and lived in that had clearly been intended to be cleaned up later.

—

“Sure. I’d like to see you do better.” In all honesty, Emilio had no idea if she was the sort of person who could pick locks. She didn’t strike him as such, but maybe he was wrong about that. After all, in a town like this one, no one was quite what they appeared. Emilio included.

He trailed behind her into the apartment, carefully shutting the door behind them. Raisa’s deduction was a good one; there was a coffee mug on the table, still half full of liquid. Two pieces of bread stuck out of the toaster, an open jar of peanut butter and a butter knife beside it. The television was still on, playing reruns of some show on cable, laugh track filling the quiet of the apartment.

There were no signs of a struggle; that was the next thing he noted. “Nobody took her from here,” he mused, walking over to switch off the TV. It was a little eerie, the sound of it. “If I had to guess… she stepped out for something quick. To get the mail, to take the trash out, to run to the store for something she was missing for breakfast. Must have been morning.” That ruled out a few things, too. Vampire attacks usually happened at night, for obvious reasons. Werewolves were more prone to losing control when the sun went down and the full moon came up. “We should walk to the mailbox first. Then the dumpster. Finding out where she disappeared from will tell us more.”

Or… finding out where she was killed. Emilio was more prone to believe they were looking for a corpse than a person, but he wouldn’t say that to Raisa. No one hired a private investigator to find someone they didn’t care about, and telling someone that someone they cared about was dead without knowing for a fact that it was the truth was a dick move. “Come on.”

—

Such simple words, and yet they made a chill run across Raisa’s skin. She knew it was naive to hope Caroline could be fine with the way she’d disappeared. Some people could blink out of existence for months and come back like it was nothing, but that had never been Caroline’s way. She was dependable. She didn’t make commitments she didn’t plan to keep, and she didn’t blow them off like they were nothing.

“Morning makes sense,” Raisa said. She reached for the coffee cup, then hesitated. Probably best not to touch. She shoved her hands back into her coat pockets, then watched Emilio move around.

She nodded and followed him toward the door. At the last second, Raisa paused to ruffle through the basket by the door. “No key,” she said. “Your mailbox theory might hold a little weight. Unless she carries it with her. I suppose that’s always possible too.” Personally Raisa didn’t like to carry more than she could help, but one up and down of owning her own house: no lock on the mailbox.

Raisa followed Emilio outside at that point. She closed the door gingerly (though didn’t lock it) behind them. She found herself falling back as they approached the mailboxes for the apartment. She glanced around. “Won’t people get upset if we look like we’re breaking into the mail?” she asked.

—

Contrary to what hyperbole might want people to believe, no one ever disappeared ‘without a trace.’ There was always something left behind, always some kind of evidence to be found so long as you knew where to look for it. Emilio had gotten pretty good at knowing exactly where to look for it.

More often than not, the things he found weren’t what his clients were hoping for. He found corpses, found broken watches or bloodied wedding rings or undeniable proof that the person he was looking for was being digested somewhere by something ravenous. Optimism wasn’t the kind of thing he clung to anymore, hadn’t been a thing that interested him at all in years now. As he led Raisa towards the mailboxes, he prepared himself to stumble upon some such proof of tragedy, got ready to tell her that the story they were writing wasn’t one with a happy ending. It was an inevitable thing, after all. Most stories didn’t end in ‘happily ever after.’ Most stories ended in blood.

He slowed as they got close to the mailboxes. Still no outward sign of a struggle. But… something gleamed from the concrete, and Emilio leaned over to pick it up, ignoring the protest from his bad knee. The key was small and silver, and he held it for Raisa to see. “We don’t have to break into the mail,” he said. Finding the box with Raisa’s friend’s apartment number on it, he slipped the key inside and, confirming his theory, found that it fit. He turned it and pulled open the box, finding several days’ worth of mail inside.

Turning back to Raisa, he nodded towards the box. “Gone before she opened it,” he confirmed. Hesitating, he glanced around. No one nearby, but there was a camera on the wall across from the mailboxes. He nodded towards it. “We’ll get that footage,” he said. “But… Look, before we go any further, we need to make sure we’ve got all our facts straight. Wouldn’t normally ask this, but you and me took down a damn snowman together, so I figure you know more than most people. Is your friend human?”

—

Raisa stepped back as Emilio bent over, though she couldn’t exactly say why. Something about the idea of clues perhaps. She knew the odds here, or at least she thought she did. Whatever they were, they wouldn’t be good. Raisa knew that much. When he lifted a key, Raisa breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing bad yet. Well, she stiffened as she considered the implications. People could drop something like a key without anything being wrong. That seemed unlikely. Caroline was too detail-oriented to misplace something like that.

She peered over Emilio’s shoulder as best she could, but when Raisa stepped back, she tried to see the way he did. As he glanced around, she did the same, eyes lighting on a camera. She glanced toward him, pleased with herself to see he’d also considered it important enough to focus on. She hadn’t missed some obvious clue.

His question, though, took her by surprise. “That’s not–” Raisa stopped to take a deep breath through her nose. He hadn’t asked about her. He could make any assumptions he wanted there, but Raisa knew she couldn’t be offended by a question like that. It probably would help solve this if he knew the truth.

“Zombie,” she said. Generally Raisa didn’t like to acknowledge such things out loud. Even Caroline had only ever mentioned it in passing, something to allude to. Raisa did the same. They both had needs that set them apart from their coworkers, even if they blended in quite well. “Do you think this could be related to that? I know such things happen, but I thought there was usually more of a mess left behind.” She was about to make a smart remark about the recklessness of hunters but best not. From everything she had guessed of him so far, Emilio was of that sort, even if she didn’t officially know that for a fact.

As she spoke, Raisa started walking toward the management office on site. Perhaps they could charm or distract their way into a little information.

—

Zombie. He tensed a little at the revelation, though he knew it was unfounded. Raisa’s coworker was the victim here, the person who they were looking to help. There were no signs pointing towards her having disappeared to go on some rampage, no evidence that she’d hurt anyone. If anything, this new information only increased the odds that he was looking for someone like him. The thought made him uncomfortable.

Even now, he disliked going against other hunters. He’d done it more than once, at this point — there was a body buried in the woods of a hunter Andy had killed, and Emilio had dug the grave. He’d sprung Ariadne from Rhett’s van, would do it again a thousand times over. He’d severed Parker’s finger from his hand, regretted only the fact that he hadn’t taken his head off instead. Emilio was more than willing to go up against other hunters when it was necessary, but it always left a sour taste in his mouth. It always made him feel like he was doing something wrong, like maybe his mother had been right to want him out of the picture. But this was who he was now, he supposed. He did what was necessary.

It fucking sucked.

“Could be,” he acknowledged. “I think whoever got her must have at least known. Otherwise, it’d be difficult to take her out.” Whether ‘taking her out’ meant knocking her unconscious or something else remained to be seen. “Someone could have cleaned up their tracks after. Or taken her someplace less public to finish things off. Just because there’s no mess here doesn’t mean nothing messy happened.” It was important to keep Raisa’s expectations in check. Emilio knew that.

He nodded, trailing along behind her to the management office. “You should probably do the talking,” he said as he pulled the door open for her. “People don’t like me much.”

—

Raisa caught his momentary reaction, but she tried to let that roll off without responding. Normally zombies weren’t her favorite companions either. She couldn’t hold it against him.

She swallowed hard as he vaguely described what could have happened. “You’re probably right,” she admitted. “Caroline was always on top of things. She spent too long around humans to let herself get sloppy about something like… cravings.” The last word left a strong distaste in her mouth, but Raisa tried to brush that off too. It was the reality that came with zombies. If they were investigating this, they needed to stay neutral, perhaps even pragmatic.

At his final comment, Raisa snorted. “Can’t imagine why,” she said lightly, careful to toe the line between joke and too-truthful insult.

She shifted her purse on her shoulder as she quickly scanned the office, letting a smile spread across her face as she caught sight of a balding man reading a comic book behind the counter. Almost too easy when he was presenting his interests so readily. “Hi,” Raisa said. “Are you a big Spiderman fan? What did you think of his last movie? Personally I thought it was a little controversial, and–” She pretended to catch Emilio’s eye and let herself flush. “Sorry, I mean…” She sighed and leaned against the counter.

Raisa offered the man another, more apologetic smile. “So my boyfriend here swears someone must have broken into our mailbox, but I’m pretty sure someone managed to leave the key in it because we can’t find that either.” She rolled her eyes and leaned forward a little closer. “Is there any way we could get a look at the security footage for the mailboxes to find out for sure? We’re just trying to figure out if we need to order a new key or if it’s somewhere in the apartment.”

—

As a child, Emilio had been taught that all supernatural beings were just looking for some excuse to hurt someone. His mother had been adamant that any humanity the undead may have had died when their heart stopped beating, insisting that higher vampires and zombies and everything else with an unbeating heart resting in their chest was just as monstrous as the ghouls and spawn that slayers culled in graveyards to keep people safe. For the longest time, he’d accepted this truth. After all, why would his mother lie to him? Back then, he would have seen this case and assumed, without question, that Raisa’s friend was the perpetrator and not the victim.

But things were different now.

He’d seen plenty of undead people who felt more human than he did, seen plenty of ‘monsters’ less monstrous than the people he loved. If Raisa said that her friend had control, Emilio had to believe her. He had to open his mind to the possibility that they were looking for something else here — and that uncovering it might open a decently-sized can of worms. If someone had grabbed a zombie without winding up dead on the concrete, there must have been a reason for it.

Rolling his eyes at Raisa’s comment, he followed her into the office. He let Raisa strike up conversation, tilting his head slightly when, instead of bringing up what they were here for, she started talking about… spiders? His brow furrowed a little, and she seemed to notice his expression and decide to move on.

The man’s eyes flickered over to Emilio as Raisa spoke, and he offered a curt nod. It was easy enough to play the part of the silent, slightly embarrassed boyfriend who was disgruntled to admit that someone had broken into his mailbox, and the man seemed to buy it well enough. He met Raisa’s eye with a smile. “You sure your boyfriend’s not pulling your leg?” There was a teasing lilt to his tone, and Emilio let out a huff, rolling his eyes as he propped his elbows on the desk.

“We’re sure,” he replied flatly, allowing himself to sound as annoyed as anyone might be in this situation. The man glanced to him again, then shrugged.

“I guess I can let you take a look. Just don’t tell anyone, okay? I’m not really supposed to.”

—

Raisa hadn’t given Emilio a terribly difficult part to play, and thankfully he played it well enough. She glanced toward him here or there when it felt appropriate, but her attention stayed primarily focused on the guy at the desk. When he gave them the yes, she smiled at him, wide and full of sunshine. “That’s amazing! Thank you so much. And absolutely! We won’t tell a soul.”

Without asking, Raisa moved around the counter as he clicked in a few keys on the keyboard to pull up the camera they needed. This would be easier too without him there, but she hadn’t figured out a solution for that yet. After a few seconds, she spied his comic book. If the bit wasn’t broken…

“Here you go,” he said at the same time Raisa asked, “So is that the newest issue?”

He looked at her, surprised. “Do you read it?”

“I try to,” she lied, hoping he wouldn’t push her too hard on facts. She needed to move quickly if they were to avoid that. “I missed the last one and need to catch up. You don’t happen to have it, do you?” Raisa glanced at Emilio in an effort to get him to understand what she was doing. “Maybe I could take a look while my boyfriend looks at the footage?”

The man lit up. “I have it in my car! It’s around back, but give me like five minutes and I’ll have it for you.”

“That’s so great!” Raisa gushed as he was already getting up out of his seat. She waited long enough for him to get out the door before whirling around to face Emilio. “I don’t know how much time I actually bought you, but I hope you’re fast at this stuff. I don’t actually want to pretend to care about the comic.”

—

Emilio followed Raisa around the desk, watching as the security guy pulled up the footage. He was just beginning to wonder how they could view this footage without potentially having the security guard insisting they involve the police — if the footage showed the abduction, it would be a hard sell — when Raisa launched into a distraction.

It was kind of impressive, the way she slipped so seamlessly into the role. Emilio was a little impressed. His own undercover work wasn’t exactly stellar, even on his best days. He managed when he had to, but Raisa was a far better actress than he could hope to achieve. Given her profession, that probably made sense. Still, he couldn’t help but offer her an impressed nod when the security guy rushed out to fetch his comic from the car.

“Nice,” he commented, quickly navigating around the footage. “Shouldn’t take too long. Just need to find the right… Here.”

It was early morning in the footage. Not quite light yet, but not dark enough to be night, either. A woman with dark, curly hair opened her mailbox, pulling out a few envelopes and shuffling through them. A figure came onto the monitor. There was no sound, but Emilio could imagine the commotion as the man grabbed her. He watched closely, pausing the footage when the man turned to face the camera. Pulling out his phone, he snapped a photo of the grainy image. “There’s our guy,” he mumbled.

He pressed play again to watch it play out. Towards the end, the man turned to someone offscreen, saying something impossible to make out. “He had a partner,” Emilio mused. But when the man disappeared off screen and the shadow of the vehicle he’d arrived in sped off, the partner still hadn’t appeared. “First step, find out who this pendejo is,” he said, turning his phone towards Raisa. “Then, we find his partner. Sound good?”

—

Raisa leaned in close as she watched Emilio work through the footage with impressive speed. She couldn’t help her gasp as Caroline appeared at her mailbox, just going about her daily routine. A sense of dread settled low in her stomach as she waited for something horrifying to happen. She almost held back a small squeak as a man appeared. Raisa wanted to look away, but if these were Caroline’s final moments, her friend deserved for it to be seen. They wouldn’t be able to bring her back, but they could find the details and figure out how to get her justice.

Thankfully, though, while Carolien was obviously under duress, she seemed to be very much still alive as the man dragged her off. Raisa felt her hope return. Surely they wouldn’t take her away just to kill her, would they?

“Sounds good,” Raisa replied, almost as an afterthought. She glanced toward the door. “Is it better to fake our way through this interaction or try to get out of here before he’s back?” If she could help it, Raisa really didn’t want to fake flirt more than she had to.

They had someone to identify, someone Raisa didn’t think she’d ever seen before in her life. Hopefully it wouldn’t be as challenging as those parameters felt.

–

It was hard to know what the abduction really was. Emilio had known hunters who preferred to work slowly with their prey, liked to take them somewhere where they could spend days finishing them off. He thought, painfully, of Rhett, of the van, of Ariadne, and he shook the thought away. If Raisa’s friend had been taken by someone who intended to kill her slowly, it just meant they had a more serious time limit on what they were doing here. It didn’t change much.

Raisa spoke, and Emilio turned towards her with a shrug. “Never gonna see him again,” he replied, looking briefly back to the computer. He wasn’t much of a tech guy, but he knew a delete button when he saw one. He quickly deleted the footage of the abduction, knowing that if the security guard got curious and went back to look at it, it could mean trouble.

With that done, he pushed away from the desk and started for the door. It was far easier to slip out before the security guard came back than it was to make up some excuse for leaving. The man would jump to his own conclusions — that the ‘couple’ had realized they’d made a mistake and left, that Emilio had been irritated by Raisa’s flirting, that they’d gotten some important phone call. The best cover, sometimes, was no cover at all. People’s minds would go a long way to rationalize things, he’d learned. You could use it to your advantage if you knew how.

“Come on,” he said, ushering for Raisa to follow him. “We’ve got work to do.”

#raisareigns #raisa: the search begins #wickedswriting

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bookofbolden · 4 months

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TIMING: Current LOCATION: The Common PARTIES: Raisa ( @raisareigns ) & Eleanor SUMMARY: Raisa's hungry, Eleanor's oblivious. WARNINGS: None!

Eleanor knew that the people in her life didn’t mind her rambling about her writing, but sometimes she could feel when they became a little overwhelmed by just how much she was able to speak about her books. Over the past few months she’d been consciously trying to pull back the reins and only speak about her job if asked and, even then, only give as much detail as was absolutely necessary. It wasn’t that she was bragging about what she did for a living, she found that having a creative career was more stressful than anything, she was just very passionate about what she did.

Raisa’s invitation for them to get together and share some notes had excited Eleanor and she’d been very quick to accept the offer. While in the back of her mind she was skeptical of whether or not her new acquaintance had the best intentions for her, it was in her nature to shake off the uncertainty and simply go forward - besides, it was hard for people to hide their true intentions around an empath. Even if Raisa was the master actress Eleanor envisioned her to be she wouldn’t be able to completely hide what she was feeling in the moment, right? The author may not embrace her abilities but that didn’t stop them from working.

Eleanor arrived at The Common about twenty minutes before the agreed upon time and changed her mind about where to sit three times, whether to have her hair up or down twice, and whether or not to keep her sunglasses on. It was nerve wrecking meeting someone new and she could only hope that she didn’t make a complete fool of herself, as she so often did whenever she allowed her words to flow faster than her brain could filter. She looked down at her hands and picked at a hangnail, a bad habit her mother had tried desperately to break. She was nervous but excited, optimistic but hesitant. She’d learned that that was just the way of life in Wicked’s Rest, especially when meeting someone new.

Raisa wasn’t running late by any means, but she wasn’t as early as she’d hoped to be. Right around the time they’d agreed upon, she stepped onto the path and scanned the green space around her. When she spotted Eleanor, a smile broke out across her face.

Writers weren’t Raisa’s typical focus. She’d spent so long in the theatre world that actors and directors were always around, and while Raisa spent time with a playwright or two, she didn’t have the experience with other kinds of writers. But as a child, Raisa had known a writer or two who saw her mother as a patron and a muse. Perhaps some in her place wouldn’t think back to that, but Raisa’s childhood didn’t feel so far away as she knew it one day would. For now, she remembered the conversations over dinner tables as her mother’s latest prize, the newest recipient of her patronage, would spiral through themes and characters and motifs. Raisa remembered those conversations well, and the idea of having one for herself felt strangely warm.

“Hello!” Raisa said brightly as she sat down.”Great idea for a place to meet. I don’t spend much time here, but honestly I should.” She scanned the space around them, appreciating the sunshine soaking down on them. Raisa turned to fully take in the woman next to her. So young, so full of promise, and hopefully talent too. A tempting start to any connection, although Raisa hoped this could be the mutually beneficial kind. She’d been surrounded by too many of the same lately, and the risks of overfeeding on someone else at the theatre became greater everyday. Time to try for something new.

Eleanor jumped when she heard Raisa’s voice but quickly recovered and offered a welcoming smile. “Hi! Raisa, right? I’m Eleanor.” She offered her hand for a shake then hesitated for a moment as she allowed herself to get an initial read on Raisa. A little bump of excitement but overall calm. She’d focus a little harder once they got a proper conversation going, but her first impression was that Raisa seemed to be the kind of person she’d be able to handle being around without a migraine creeping up on her. “I have to thank you for suggesting this. I think that I typically drive people crazy whenever I’m talking about my writing. I know that I can ramble sometimes but it's just something that I’m really passionate about. I’m sure you’re the same with your acting, right?”

Eleanor motioned to a large bag that she’d brought along. “I brought the first draft of my horror novel that I’m currently working on, a lot of it has been edited in various ways, and I also brought copies of my first two books and some notes that I made while writing. That’s not too excessive, is it? I’d figured that I would bring everything I could think of just to be sure that we had enough material to go over. But I’m jumping ahead of myself,” she blushed nervously, “How are you? I don’t believe I’ve ever spoken with you until we interacted online, but that doesn't really mean anything since I’m fairly new in town myself. Have you been here long?”

“That’s right,” Raisa said, flashing her another warm smile as she responded to Eleanor’s offer of a handshake. The young woman seemed nervous, and it made Raisa wonder how long she’d been writing. Perhaps that wasn’t the right question. Perhaps a better question would be how long she’d been sharing her writing. Then again, any new person could create challenges or hurt more than they helped. She understood being nervous about it. “Absolutely! I love to hear about people’s passions. Everyone’s always at their best when they share what they care about.” She let out a small laugh. “Yes, I’m definitely that way about the work I do on stage. Give me whatever rambling you’d like!”

As Eleanor gestured to her bag, Raisa perked up. “Ooo, that’s awesome! I’d love to see whatever you want to share.” Perhaps if Eleanor could point to specifics and really look at the details, that would only increase her energy. She certainly wouldn’t be sad if it meant increasing the chance that she could feed today. “Oh, that’s all right! I don’t think you’re being rude. And I’ve lived here practically my whole life. What brought you to Wicked’s Rest?”

The other woman’s calming presence was nice for Eleanor, who’d become somewhat used to the internal turmoil so many people in town overwhelmed her with. Wicked’s Rest was, as she’d decided a month or two ago, the worst place for any empath to find themself, but since she’d grown attached to so many of its residents she didn’t really have a good reason for leaving just yet. Plus, there was also the matter of finding Lily…

“I’ve always said that as well! I love hearing people talk about what they’re passionate about.” It’s also nice feeling it, she added to herself, because when the person I’m around feels good, I feel good. “Well, you asked for it.” Eleanor teased before she brought the bag onto her lap and opened it. “The first novella I published was A Season of Secrets and it did a lot better money wise than my later novella The Lost Art of Being Yourself, but I love both in their own ways. Secrets is set in London during the Regency Era, it focuses on two young women who are madly in love but obviously cannot be together because of the time period. One of the women is married off to her lover’s brother and when he finds out about their love affair he issues his wife off to live in the country alone never to be seen again and his sister is all but removed from the family’s fortunes. Not at all a happy ending, but I wanted to do something a little different. Being Yourself is modern day and follows a group of friends just trying to figure everything out about life, themselves, determining what they want their futures to look like… it’s more of a feel good story, something that I expected freshmen in college to relate to more than anyone. It explores the topics like sexuality, finding the courage to leave behind people in your life that hold you back, and just having confidence in knowing what’s best for yourself.” She pulled out a thick folder that held the revision notes she’d made while writing her first two published works and handed it over to Raisa with a smile. “You can either thumb through that or we can break it down, it’s up to you. But I can’t let you leave with it because some of the notes I made in there are helping me with the book I’m writing now. It’s a way bigger monster since it’s a full length novel and I’m needing all the help I can get.

Eleanor didn’t find it hard to believe that Raisa had been in Wicked’s Rest for most of her life because it seemed that almost everyone she’d spoken to had been born and raised here. Again she wondered briefly what it would have been like to have lived in just one place while growing up, but she shut down the thought quickly. There was no need to dwell on the past. “I hear that a lot, I’m guessing that the locals really love it here since they tend to stick around. I’m originally from New York but I moved here because…” She hesitated and her eyes nervously flitted to the empty space above Raisa’s head. No, she did not feel like speaking of her missing girlfriend. Not with this stranger who just wanted to swap some creative notes. “I needed a change of scenery, I guess. And I heard that this place was interesting enough, so I decided to come and see for myself. I wasn’t disappointed. How long have you been acting? Is it something you’ve always known you wanted to do?” The swift subject change was partially due to her wanting to get far away from the real reason she’d moved to Wicked’s Rest and partially because she was genuinely interested in the answer to her questions.

“I did,” Raisa agreed. She propped an arm on the back of the park bench, leaning on it as she settled in to listen. She kept rapt attention. “Honestly that ending might be sad, but given the way forbidden love rarely gets to win when a woman’s agency is involved for stories of the time, it feels fitting. Sad, but fitting.” She gladly took the file as Eleanor handed it over. “I love how different the two concepts seem! I like that you’re letting yourself continuously branch out and explore, especially since it sounds already like the current project is new again.”

She thumbed through the notes, but as Eleanor hesitated, her eyes snapped back up. Raisa could tell there was something more to that story, but she wouldn’t pry. Not today. Perhaps if this relationship could stay mutually beneficial, she’d know eventually. The mention of New York sent a stab of her own through Raisa’s mind. She’d been to New York City a time or two. She’d considered trying to track down members of her father’s family, but what would she even say? Hello, I’m your aunt. Yes, I know I look younger than you do. I’ve aged well. You humans live such tragically short lives. Shorter still if someone like me is around. Can I come in? Can I meet the cousins? No, it hadn’t seemed worth it to even try.

“A change is good,” Raisa said, hoping to encourage Eleanor back to that happy place she’d been moments ago. “This is a good place to do that. I think you’re really going to love Wicked’s Rest. It’s a good place to rest–pun intended–while still keeping things interesting. If it didn’t, I’d have left for a larger city long ago.”

Raisa flashed another smile and looked out across the park, as much to give Eleanor a little less spotlight as anything else. “It feels like ages now. I think I’ve always wanted to. Is that how your writing is for you? Or was it a discovery made of late?”

Eleanor sat back and openly stared at Raisa for a long moment before she realized how rude she must have come across. She quickly smiled and busied herself with pulling two copies of the books she’d just described from the bag. “That’s exactly what I thought, too. When my mom read it she was really disappointed that there wasn’t a happy ending but I didn’t want the ending to be something that would have never been allowed - I wanted the two characters to love, and love hard, but it needed to be realistic. They would have never ended up together, ever. Maybe sometime in the future I’ll write a sequel about them in modern day, something like a ‘we fell in love in a past life’ type of story. But right now I’m fully focused on horror. Here,” she handed over the two books, “You can keep these, you don’t have to read them though, it’s just… if you find that you have some extra time, I suppose.” She blushed and looked down again. It was always embarrassing to her to self promote, but she’d found that sometimes it was necessary. “I like trying new things, writing wise anyhow, and I think it’s really fun. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to be one of those authors that are stuck in a box, I just want to be able to write whatever I feel like writing. Wherever the inspiration takes me, I’ll follow.”

Was Wicked’s Rest a good place to be? Yeah, Eleanor figured it was an excellent place to live so long as you either didn’t know about the horrors that lurked around every corner or didn’t go chasing after them for answers. She’d found that she really needed to start working on trying to stay out of trouble and the thought alone made her look back to Raisa with new scrutiny: was she someone to avoid? She allowed herself to reach out and feel for any kind of malice, any negative emotion… but there was none. Just that little ripple of excitement and she took it to mean that the other woman was just excited to hear about her stories. She continued on without another thought. “I still can't decide whether I prefer small towns or big cities. I tend to lean more towards cities because it’s easier to just disappear. You’re just another strange face someone else happened to pass on their own journey. But I like the peace of the small towns, you definitely don’t get that in the city.”

The answer to Raisa’s question was a no brainer for her. “I’ve always wanted to write. I started when I was really young, back before I could even really spell. But I did it anyway and I would read out my stories to my stuffed animals. It’s always been my way of escape and the older I got the more I loved the idea of doing it full time. I went to college for English and everyone told me that I was wasting my time, that I should have gone for something more ‘useful’, but I wouldn’t have changed anything. I’m pretty content.” Eleanor fiddled with the bag in her lap. Content was all she could truly afford to be these days. “I definitely wouldn’t have the guts to get up on a stage and perform in front of people, that takes true talent. I just sit behind a computer and once I’m done I have an editor who goes through and leaves really harsh notes about things I need to work on. But neither of my books would have been published without him.” She giggled. “Did you get any push back when you voiced your passion for acting?”

Raisa smiled and nodded encouragingly. She could genuinely listen to someone talk about what made them feel passionate and inspired for ages, but there was always the added incentive of knowing she’d be able to feed soon if all went well. She could patiently wait for hours on a paint-drying scenario if it meant a good meal at the end, and Eleanor’s spark certainly shone brighter than that. She genuinely cared about all her stories, and that made Raisa’s mouth water already.

“These are for me?” Raisa asked as she took the books. “Oh, I couldn’t. What do I owe you for them?” This woman had been more in need of a muse than Raisa had realized. She’d found the wondrous little thing just in time, it seemed.

At Eleanor’s next words, Raisa hid a half-smile before offering it more genuinely. “I love that,” she said. “Honestly and genuinely. More people should follow inspiration. It would do them well. And us in general. The world is a better place when humans lead into their muse.” She knew the play on words would pass right over Eleanor’s head, but that was all right. It let her stay stealthy longer anyway, something that as the writer had pointed out, became more of a challenge in a small town. “Every place has its charm,” she added, figuring it was best to stay neutral on the subject.

When Eleanor started the story of how she’d gotten into writing, Raisa shifted closer. She wasn’t quite close enough to feed necessarily but close enough to get a sense and to feel that building energy. She couldn’t wait to take it in. “I think bringing joy to people and helping them live inside a world other than their own is plenty useful. The world would be a bleak place without the imagination of others. More people would do to remember that.” She let out a small laugh, waving away the idea. “What is real talent these days? I suppose a certain sense of bravery but only if you’re the type to get stage fright. There’s plenty of courage in putting yourself out there– In approaching publishers or these days readers directly and saying, ‘I created this from my own mind, heart, and soul. I’m offering it to you.’ Don’t sell yourself short, my dear.”

Again, a small laugh left her throat. Pushback. Oh, what Eleanor didn’t know about the fae… “I had a job behind the scenes ahead of that,” she said, staying neutral. “I wouldn’t say I received backlash, but plenty weren’t pleased that I’d stepped into such a public role compared to where I’d been.” Muses didn’t take the spotlight. That had been made quite clear. Raisa hadn’t cared to listen.

Eleanor shook her head with a timid smile. “You owe me nothing, think of it as a thank you for allowing me to babble on for a ridiculous amount of time. And if you do decide to read them, I genuinely hope that you enjoy them. My whole mission is to bring back the joy of reading to mankind.” She was only half-joking, but that wasn’t worth mentioning.

Had she been paying a little more attention, Eleanor might have picked up on Raisa’s strange phrase, especially the fact that she’d referred to people as “humans”. It normally wouldn’t have raised any eyebrows, but the empath had been in Wicked’s Rest long enough to know to keep an ear out for such things. She, however, was completely distracted with the adrenaline of not only being outside of the same four walls she rotted behind every day, but also enjoying herself. Every time she got out and had a good time she swore that it wouldn’t be so long before she indulged again, but she just couldn’t bring herself to stay true to her word.

Her eyes drifted away again and her smile faded just a touch. Lily had reminded her many times how brave she was for putting herself out there, opening herself up to the world and its criticism. Eleanor had been so close to quitting many times but Lily had kept her on the right path. She’d always believed. Raisa’s words hit a little too close to home. “Thanks.” She choked out and cleared her throat. Not now. Keep yourself together. “I couldn’t tell you how many publishers rejected my work until I finally found one that saw some potential in me, and here I am. I guess that whole saying about the right thing taking time was true in my case, it’s just so hard to remain positive when you’re constantly being torn down.”

Eleanor shrugged. “They must have been jealous then. Usually only jealous people discourage others from reaching their full potential and living the life they want. I’m sure you’re ten times the person your doubters will ever be.”

“Well, thank you,” Raisa said. “It means a lot that you’d think so highly of my opinion.” She set the books down on the bench next to her for now, on the opposite side as Eleanor to give her the chance to keep slipping closer as their conversation wore on. She had this down to a science when she wanted to. She took in Eleanor’s changing expression and used it as a starting point to continue on.

“You’re welcome,” she said, shifting directly next to Eleanor and putting a comforting hand on the woman’s knee. Raisa immediately clocked her reaction to see if it was a step too far or taken as the comfort it was meant to be. “What is it they say about rejection in publication? ‘It’s not a failure; it’s just a step toward the journey you’re meant to take.’ Of course that’s much easier to hear than to live. I imagine that took immense strength on your part.”

At Eleanor’s next words, Raisa laughed, the sound bursting forth without her intention. Eleanor had no idea that she was saying such things about fae, or there was no way she would have said them. You didn’t cross a fae with that kind of insult. Still, it was refreshing to hear, especially when so many clung to tradition so staunchly. In Raisa’s opinion, it didn’t make them stronger or more influential, just more self-important. “That’s quite kind of you to say,” Raisa eventually managed to get out. “I’d like to think I’ve grown in the time sense.” Several decades would do that for a person. They also added to her skills, and stealth was one she’d spent quite some time on. As close as they were now, Raisa took a deep breath, mouth watering as she took in that first whiff of inspiration. Eleanor’s energy was truly lovely, fragrant and almost floral along the edges. Raisa would feed well today.

Eleanor’s shock to Raisa’s touch was more mental than physical because while her body remained as relaxed as she ever allowed herself to be while around others, her mind jumped to attention and her eyes zeroed in on the woman’s hand. Her expression eventually softened and she smiled kindly as she accepted the gesture - she was more than a little embarrassed of how foreign being comforted felt. “A lot more strength than I would have ever imagined I possessed. My… girlfriend, she used to tell me all the time that things would work out the way they’re supposed to and I used to just think that she was giving me some therapist-esque pep talk to get me to stop crying on the bathroom floor.” She giggled, remembering how dramatic she could get. “Now look, two published works and onto the next. I hate to say it, but maybe everything does happen for a reason.” But did she believe that? No, she didn’t, because there was no reason for anything that had happened to her in the last few months.

Raisa’s laughter caused Eleanor to jump, but she joined in for a brief moment as she laughed more at herself than whatever her acquaintance had found amusing, and decided in that moment that she didn’t mind this woman’s company - she was easy to talk with and didn’t give her a headache since her emotions were well in check. She liked the spikes of confidence and eagerness that sometimes shot out of her and she interpreted it to mean that Raisa was enjoying their conversation just as much as she was. “I’m very curious though, what is it about this town that makes you stay here when you could no doubt be acting on any stage in the world? Do you have family here? Or, if that’s too personal a question, I’m… I don’t mean to pry.”

Raisa nodded in understanding as she listened. “Sometimes it helps to have someone to cheer you along like that. You’re very lucky to have her, especially if she has off-the-bathroom-floor pep talks.” She noted the hesitation at a label, and she wondered idly if it was new or just ill-defined. It could have been either, and right this moment, Raisa didn’t see a point in focusing on it or trying to determine it. If Eleanor stayed in her orbit, the information would make itself known in time. Or she’d get nosy. Either way, not a now issue.

At the questions, Raisa leaned back against the bench and considered how to answer. “It’s home,” she eventually answered. “I’ve thought about going elsewhere.” Briefly she had a few times. “Nowhere has ever felt like it stuck. As weird and wild as this town is sometimes, life here moves just a little differently. I like it most of the time.” She closed her eyes and let it look like she was taking a deep breath, enjoying that Wicked’s Rest air. As she did so, the edges of that energy filtered through her nose again. It was good, but she needed to get Eleanor focused on the right things again. “How has it affected your creative process? I imagine it’s quite the place to write horror.”

There would never be a time when Eleanor would disagree that she was lucky to have had someone like her girlfriend in her life, so she simply nodded in agreement. Again, this is not the time, she reminded herself. “I thought about making a collage of all of the rejection emails and letters I’d received just to remind myself of how far I’ve come, but it just seemed too cheesy so I never got around to it - I do still have every single one of those rejections though, just in case.”

There was that concept that she still couldn't fully wrap her mind around: home. Yes, Eleanor had a home back in New York with her adoptive family, and there was the home back in Portland, but she’d never been in one place for so long she couldn’t imagine ever leaving. “I like it here a lot more than I thought I would. I’ve met a lot of nice people, even more strange ones, but for the most part it’s nice. I have friends.” The last part was more for herself than Raisa and she couldn’t conceal the happy smile that crossed her face at the thought.

“Mm?” She was ripped from her thoughts and gazed at Raisa before the words made sense to her. “Oh, it’s wonderful. Actually, I don’t think I could have picked a better place to write my novel. It’s like every time I leave my apartment I’m faced with something new that would fit perfectly in the story, right down to some of the shops in town. I’ve been doing a lot of research and going into places I normally wouldn’t go in just to get some inspiration for different settings. Not too long ago I went to a dive bar, something I won’t be doing again any time soon, but it gave me lots of ideas for a seedy place I’ve been trying to bring to life in the book.” Eleanor had once again been transported to the place in her mind where she didn't feel bad for babbling about her work so she didn't hold back. “And don’t tell anyone this, but several of the characters are based on people I’ve met here. Nothing bad, of course! I’ve just… taken a little bit of inspiration from them. I’m changing a lot of things about the characters so that it’s not obvious, of course, but every writer needs a muse.” Besides, it wouldn't be the first time she’d taken inspiration from real life people.

“Oh, but that’s lovely!” Raisa said and meant it completely. “When you’ve met that goal and overcome it in such a way, I think that’s worth celebrating for yourself. If just having them and knowing you’ve gotten past that is enough, that’s lovely, but I also think you shouldn’t let worries of sentimentality hold you back from it.” Raisa still had a playbill from every production she’d ever done. Some she didn’t particularly like to think about now, but she understood the idea of holding onto visual signs of finding success. That Eleanor could do it with her stumbling blocks was absolutely lovely.

Her eyes snapped sharply to Eleanor’s expression at the comment about friends. Oh, she recognized that pang of loneliness, but didn’t want to dwell on it. Raisa went for the joke instead. “Wicked’s Rest is full of strange people. Perhaps that’s just what you’d expect, but I like to think everyone contains a surprise. We just wear that a little more on our sleeves than most.”

As Eleanor babbled on, her inspiration bubbled over. Raisa took the moment to savor the way it tasted on her tongue. She drank and drank but didn’t let herself drift too far from the present. A stealth feeding strategy had become one of her best, and Raisa forced herself to keep her eyes fixed on Eleanor, nodding along with her story and ready to chime in as needed. “What bar?” she asked. And when it seemed like the right time, Raisa flashed a smile. She was about to tease as to what a character based on her would look like when Eleanor uttered that particular phrase.

She snorted. “Town full of muses, huh?” What Eleanor didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. “Think you’ve picked up one or two to inspire you?”

“Th-” Eleanor caught herself just as she was about to make the same mistake she’d made many times in the past - she still found it hard not to thank anyone she didn’t one hundred percent know wasn’t fae. “I appreciate it, really. And I think that that’s an understatement, but I think it’s good that most of the people here aren’t afraid of just being authentic. It’s tiring always being around people who care more about what everyone else thinks.” If there was one thing Wicked’s Rest had offered her it was the chance to be completely herself because there was always someone far more strange just around the corner. “Speaking of which… are the mimes a real thing? It’s been plaguing me ever since I moved here but no one will tell me the truth!”

There was a subtle change in the atmosphere that Eleanor was unable to place. She took a quick look around them but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. They were out in a public place, perhaps someone had their eye on them and she just couldn't find them - that had to be what was making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. She shook off the strange feeling and continued on with the conversation, “The Wormhole, have you ever visited? I wouldn’t recommend it; like I said, it gave me a lot of inspiration but I don’t think I’ll be visiting just because I want something to drink. There’s far safer places around here for that. But considering one of my characters waltzes into a sketchy bar after a disappointing day at work and gets the idea to visit the town where everything happens, it gave me a lot of inside pointers to how an actual hole-in-the-wall place looks, feels, sounds… smells. Ugh, the smell.” She giggled with a wrinkled nose.

“At the very least. I’ve been writing nonstop recently, it’s nice to finally be back in the right headspace for it. This town in itself as well as the people here are to thank for that. Maybe I’ll be able to squeeze in a bit about a stage actress who lends her time to listen to a rambling girl.” She teased. “I’m even a little afraid of what will happen when it’s over. I don’t imagine horror to be the genre I’ll stick with for the rest of my career, maybe I’ll revisit it every so often, but I’ve started to worry about what I’ll write about once this is over. I’ve lots of ideas of course, just none that seem right. It has to feel like a good fit at the time I first sit down to begin the writing process or else I refuse to force it. I’ve been called a primadonna by many other writers for that, but I just can’t imagine putting so much work into a book that I don’t fully love.”

“Mimes?” Raisa repeated, blinking at her a couple of times. “I… don’t know what you mean. If you’re asking about the authenticity, who can say?” Raisa shrugged. “Everyone knows themselves best. I can’t speak to it.”

Her nose wrinkled automatically at mention of the seedy little place, but Raisa couldn’t judge her too much. “I do feel like it’s the kind of place that everyone should experience at least once.” She recalled a moment when it had been almost fashionable to go to it for ironic reasons, at least among the theatre crowd. Something about not being above the common experiences of the common man. The common human anyway. Raisa had never particularly liked it, even if she could acknowledge a certain charm to the kind of debased humanity that went on there. She also knew better than to bring her wallet.

She took another nice, deep breath, letting that inspiration fill her. Raisa knew she needed to be careful not to take too much, especially all at once. Still, Eleanor’s feelings rolled off her so beautifully. It was hard to take in moderation about such a buffet, but Raisa forced herself to hold back. To take a shallow breath or two instead of drinking as deeply as she wanted to. She winked at the line about an actress, then frowned alongside Eleanor as she revealed her fears.

“I think that’s a valid fear,” she said gently. “I also think it’s a gift to approach every project with so much passion that you fear it will be your last. The world would be a beautiful place if everyone gave so freely of their own creativity. Why, just walking down the street could be intoxicating: surrounded by so much inspiration, so much whimsy and drive and love for the world.” Raisa sighed. “I wouldn’t mind that world.”

Eleanor frowned. It wasn’t the answer she’d been hoping for, but it was along the lines of what she’d come to expect. Maybe in the future she’d finally have the answer to her many, many questions about the mimes that seemed to plague the town. “Well, I’ve had my experience and I think I’m good for the next couple of years. No offense to the people who frequent the place of course! It’s just not… me. Coffee shops, bookstores, and thrift shops are the kinds of places where I like to spend a majority of my time.”

She watched Raisa from the corner of her eye - the woman’s mannerisms were a bit strange to Eleanor, but she wouldn’t bring attention to it because she could only imagine what others would have to say about her if they watched her long enough. Instead, the empath busied herself with looking down at her hands and trying to shake off the strange feeling that was coming and going in small waves, just barely noticeable. It had to be the fact that she had excitement pumping through her at the prospect of having acquired a new friend, so that was the theory she would go with. She once again shook it off and continued onward with the conversation.

“Wow, that was incredibly poetic. Maybe you should start writing your own plays, I’d be more than happy to help with character development or setting ideas.” Eleanor joked - she didn’t know much about theater beyond the scope of what little she’d learned during the year that she was required to take theater in high school and spent the entire time running the lights (to her anywhere was better than being on the stage). “Maybe one day I’ll write something non-fiction, just to see how it goes. Not necessarily a memoir, I don’t think I’ll ever be recognized enough to be able to have an excuse to publish one of those, but just something to say ‘This is what life was life for me, I bet a lot of you can relate, here’s how I got through the shitty times and savored the best times’. I think if I had a book like that when I was a little younger it might have helped me get through a lot.”

“Those sound like a lovely way to exist,” Raisa agreed. “You can spend a whole day luxuriating in a goal like that.” Raisa had many times. “And while I know you can do that in a city too, there’s something about it when people aren’t speeding by quite so fast. We’ve got some interesting places to fill those niches for you.” Her eyes lit up. “Have you been to The Party Thrifter? I’ve probably spent far too much money there over the years.”

At the idea of writing her own works, Raisa waved her hand. “You’re sweet. While I will admit I have a way with words, I prefer to be the mouthpiece rather than the idea maker.” Though the idea did give her momentary pause. Once upon a time, she’d never imagine she’d be directly involved in any creative endeavor the way she was now. Maybe someday she’d feel the same about writing. “You, though, seem like you have the potential to tackle anything. If you’re thinking that something closer to home is worth it, I say it is.”

The empath had to agree that there was something very relaxing about small town living, although sometimes the lack of horns honking or police sirens could be a little unsettling. Either way, she’d more or less decided that she would be leaving Wicked’s Rest anytime soon, if only to spite her family. “Oh, I just recently went in and I think that I will be visiting nearly every day from now on.” Eleanor giggled - since her first trip to The Party Thrifter she was hooked. “It’s definitely the kind of place that I could accidentally spend hours in.”

Eleanor smiled kindly and rubbed the back of her neck. Her head had started to hurt and she made a mental note to start getting out more, she didn’t want to get sick every time she decided to speak with someone. “Well, everyone has their own way of contributing a bit of art to the world, so I say continue on doing what makes you happy, in the end that’s truly all that really matters, isn’t it?” She sighed quietly and hoped that her sudden illness didn’t show too much. “And it’s been very nice speaking with you, thank you again for listening! I hope that we can maybe do this again, it’s always nice getting to meet new people, especially people who don’t mind my awkwardness.” It was only a partial joke. “And I promise to come by and see you onstage sometime, I’m actually really looking forward to it!”

#wickedswriting #writing: raisareigns #writing: every writer needs a muse #//beth thank you for writing with me!!!#//you're amazing and i can't wait for more trouble with raisa!

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