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DRUID · 133 Posts
Posted on: Feb 2 2017, 11:45 PM
in the middle of the night;-coded by cherrybee-/>
| outfit: click
Everything happened so quickly that she couldn't even process it.
Things were getting more and more hostile in New Orleans and so the Holt druids decided it would be a good idea to stock up on supplies and put up some protective wards around places they frequented. And their first stop was deep in the forest in the middle of a grove of trees. It wasn't exactly like the legendary Nemeton of Beacon Hills that she had heard of, but it was a Nemeton nonetheless. It was a sacred space of the ancient Celts, namely druids. This grove would've been the perfect place to initiate their protection rituals.
But of course everything had to go to absolute shit.
Just as they began setting up, the breaking of twigs caught their attention. The two Holt women froze and scanned their surroundings, Joanna instinctively inching in front of her daughter. A man broke through the trees, a suspicious look on his face. His gaze fell on their supplies, a look of panic and anger spreading across his face as he reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun and pointed at them.
"You goddamned witches. You took my wife from me!"
Both Joanna and Maggie froze, caught in a position where neither of them could do anything. Joanna stepped forwards, despite her daughter's hushed warnings not to move, her hands outstretched and a peaceful look on her face, unwilling to startle the man. "Sir, we're not witches, please, this is just a misunderstanding. If we're trespassing on your land, we can leave right now."
The man's hands were shaking, Maggie noticed. That was good. That meant he was scared. That could either mean that he'd do something stupid or he was just bluffing. "Those men back in town told me about people like you. They called themselves hunters, or somethin'. They warned me about you. Told me it'd be better to just get rid of you."
Maggie furrowed her brow in confusion before returning her gaze to her mother who continued to inch towards him. She clenched her jaw in fear, "Mom!" she hissed. There was a look of determination on Joanna's face, but just before she got too close to him, a shot rang out and a look of surprise replaced her determination and then that look of surprise was replaced by excruciating pain. She looked down, a bright red spot blooming through her blouse on her left shoulder, much too close to her heart.
And down Joanna went.
Maggie could only notice the scream that ripped through the air and it took a few seconds for her to realize that it was coming from her.
Rushing towards the man, she blindsided him, tackling him to the ground aggressively, the most aggressive thing she had ever done. But it didn't stop. Pure rage fueled her actions. All the teachings she had grown up with about respecting every life, keeping the balance between chaos and peace, went out the window in that moment. All she cared about was causing this man pain
One punch. Two punches. Three. Four. Five
The gruesome crunching underneath her fists did nothing to quell her fury. But just as quickly as she had the upperhand, she lost it. The man overturned the two of them, pinning her under him (it wasn't a huge feat, she may have been tall, but she didn't weigh all that much). Her eyes widened as he reached for a large knife at his hip, but instinctively she lifted her knee swiftly, hitting him in the most painful place she could reach. A pained gasp came from his lips as he naturally fell off her, rolling to the side.
The angry girl rolled herself over and with a glint in her eye she sent one hard, powerful jab into his xiphoid process and without blinking she reached up and pressed her index finger into the pressure point behind his earlobe, immediately sending him into unconsciousness.
It wasn't an orthodox way of fighting and she didn't have much use of it in the past other than for medical reasons, but it did the job. She fell backwards onto her ass, her chest heaving as she struggled to get oxygen into her starving lungs when her eyes widened and she scrambled to get up and rush to her mother.
The wound she had sustained was bleeding much more profusely than Maggie had originally suspected. Panic rushed through her veins, the same anxiety that she had felt when she was woken up and received the news of her father's death was sneaking up on her scarily fast. She snatched up her bag that had been dropped earlier before falling to her knees beside her mother, immediately getting to work, applying pressure to the wound and scrambling inside her bag, trying to find anything that would help.
"Y-you'll be alright. You'll b-be okay. This i-isn't as b-bad as it l-looks. Y-you'll be fine. A-all I n-need is some...some uh...salve and s-stitches. Y-you'll be good in n-no time."
Her rambling was more for her own benefit than that for her mother. The older dark haired woman smiled fondly, pain etched into her features as she reached up, her hand bloody and shaking.
"Maggie. Mags. Maggie, stop."
Bright blue eyes, glistening and bloodshot with tears met a sad, pained older version of themselves.
"Mags, it's okay."
"The hell it is!"
Her outburst was violent, but her mother was unperturbed, her soft smile remaining on her face as her hand made contact with her daughter's pale cheek, made even pale by the girl's panic.
"Maggie, you know I'm not going to make it. I know I'm not going to make it. Just stay with me."
"Y-you're going to make it! J-just hold on!"
Her voice was thick with tears, sobs wracking through her body and her hands shaking so badly she could barely move them voluntarily.
"I love you baby. I'm so proud of who you've become. Keep going."
"M-mom! Stop. You'll be fine, stop saying your last words!"
"I love you so much."
A moment passed.
Two moments passed.
Shaking hands made their way to her mother's neck, checking for a pulse. And when she found nothing, she felt something in her snap.
She screamed once more, a bloody, raw sound that rivaled that of Lydia Martin. She draped herself over her mother, clutching the bloody corpse of the only woman in the world who truly understood her. The woman who had supported her, who had taught her everything. Eighteen years and this woman had been the best thing in it.
And now she was gone because some misinformed man had listened to some stupid hunters.
Her breathing became shallow, her vision tunneling as she descended into a panic attack.
She was alone. She had no one left. Her father died and not even a year later her mother left as well. She was alone.
And so she remained. Draped over her mother's body, sobbing uncontrollably until she passed out hyperventilating.
She didn't bother trying to calm herself down. She didn't bother trying to breathe. She didn't bother worrying about the colder temperatures or the fact that there were dangerous things and people.
She didn't care anymore.
DRUID · 133 Posts
Posted on: Feb 3 2017, 09:14 AM
in the middle of the night;-coded by cherrybee-/>
| outfit: click
Nothing felt real anymore.
She had hoped to high heaven that she would wake up to the smell of burning sage and mint and pancakes. Her mother threatening to pour a glass of ice water on her if she didn't haul her ass out of bed (and maybe even feel that threat be put into action). She had hoped harder than she had hoped for anything before in her life that she would wake up and everything would be a bad dream. Just the worst nightmare she had ever had brought on by the stresses of all that was happening in New Orleans.
But she had woken up in the hospital. A cold, unfamiliar place with an IV drip hooked to her and blankets piled high on her body. Hypothermia. Of course she got hypothermia. She had spent God knows how long laying on the forest ground in the middle of February.
She didn't notice when Eva rushed to her or when Stiles called out for her or when Lydia tucked a loose dark curl around her ear. She didn't notice when Noah Stilinski tried talking to her, tried to draw something out of her. She didn't notice the nurse who had shooed them all away to check up on her.
Everything was numb and it had nothing to do with the fact that she was hypothermic.
She hadn't spoken a word since she woke up. Two days later and she was clad in her nicest black dress, donning a rare pair of heels (her mother always loved it when she wore heels, always compared her to a baby giraffe) allowing her to tower over her usual 5'8". She layered her usual vial necklace filled with mountain ash with the necklace her mother never took off. The one the love of her life gave her. Perhaps Maggie was selfish for taking it for herself, but she couldn't feel guilty about it.
The day was just like that of her father's funeral. Sunny, bright, and otherwise pleasant. Once again she felt as though nature was mocking her. Life taking place all around her while hers was put on a standstill.
As she approached her mother's casket, she held back tears. She knew what her mother would tell her. Not to cry. That druids didn't see death as death but rather a birth of the soul.
It was easy to say when she wasn't one the being left behind.
Of course, Joanna wasn't saying anything at this point.
Maggie pushed the thoughts away and stopped when she was standing right beside the grand glossy black casket. She raised her left hand, pressing her fingers to her lips before placing them on the casket, a final kiss to her mother and for the first time in days she opened her mouth. "Codladh sámh" Sleep well, mom. Her voice was hoarse from tears and disuse.
She had been able to hold herself together until she saw the vessel containing her mother sink to the ground. The head stone coming into full view.
Solas na bhflaitheas uirthi
The Light of Heaven on Her
It was like she broke. The flood gates opened and the tears began falling once again. Someone wrapped their arms around her but she didn't bother to notice.
Oh God she hoped that she would wake up and have this be just a nightmare.
The little townhouse that had once been so small and cozy and welcoming was now cold and empty and huge. Maggie had very pointedly ignored her friends' pleading to not be alone but she couldn't take being stifled. She now understood her mother's logic for leaving Barberton when her father died. It was just too much. Reminders were everywhere.
She made her way to the kitchen, flicking on the light that hung right above the little island where they had sat on bar stools making whatever they deemed was necessary to stock up on. She busied herself with taking care of replacing the charred remains of the burned sage and mint, placing fresh herbs on the porcelain plate, adding just the smallest bit of Valerian flower stalks into the mix and lighting it before carrying the plate and making the usual rounds through the home.
Returning to the kitchen she placed the burning herbs in the middle of the granite island, sitting herself down on a stool and placing her head in her hands.
A moment of absolute silence passed, stifling her, choking her. She let out a frustrated, pained yell flinging her arm out in a sweeping motion and knocking the smudging herbs off the table as well as the porcelain plate that held them before placing her hands on the island, breathing heavily and holding back a violent sob. Breathing in and out for a few moments, she steeled herself before going over to the shattered plate, picking up the little pieces and the bundled up herbs, her expression a complete mask.
She was sick of the constant tears. She was sick of it. It was then that she had decided. She was going to do whatever it took to pick herself up again.