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[sub][b][color=5E7366]Place:[/color][/b] Nyx's Apartment → Hekate’s Crystals & Curios
[b][color=5E7366]Interacting With:[/color][/b] Julian [@murdoc][/sub] [/right]
[hr][hr]

Cynthia woke up to the pounding of a cellar door and her father's accursed screams in her ear. Whatever dream that created them, these memories of sound-- no, ghosts, was forgotten the moment she made eye contact with the crumpled Swan Lake Ballet poster on the opposite end of the wall. It was a nostalgic piece, that poster; gotten when her father had once taken her to see a local performance of the show during her middle school years. It was the first and last gift he ever got her. The intense eyes of Odette stared down at Cynthia, almost poignant in their judgment, and Cynthia stared back with the levelheadedness of a teenager who could truly not care less. It's been two months since she put up that poster, two months since she settled her mattress down across from it, and two months since she had gotten used to Odette's endless, endless judgment. It had turned from a discomfort into a source of normalcy, somehow.

At least they weren't her father's eyes.

[i][b]"Don't you miss him?"[/b][/i] Odette asked, mouth unmoving, eyes unmoving. Judgment. Cythnia had learned to not grant her any sort of response until she had her morning coffee. She moved with the grace of routine, stepping over still-filled boxes and strewn about clothes until she was head to head with her favorite gadget, her 2014 Keurig Coffee Maker Trademarked. One cup of simple black coffee later and Cynthia was back on the foot of her bed, staring at Odette with benign attention.

[i][b]"Don't you miss him?"[/b][/i] Odette repeated. The glossy black sheen on her eye gave the illusion of shifting back and forth, and then Odette said, [i][b]"He would hate for your room to be like this."[/b][/i]

The room in question was the messy studio Cynthia had no interest in ever cleaning up. The rent was cheap due to the drafty factory style windows on the far left wall and the drippy bathroom, the floors were unpolished and cold no matter the temperature outside, and the ceiling was covered in a popcorn-like texture that made her vaguely uncomfortable when she looked at it.  She only used the apartment to sleep and eat in any way; no work could be done here, so there was no point in giving it any order. It was a mess when she arrived and it would remain that way for the rest of its natural life.

[b][color=5E7366]"He's not here, so I don't care about that."[/color][/b] Cynthia said, blinking only once as if to punctuate her disinterest. Odette made a sound similar to the scraping of metal against concrete, a disconcerting [i]shrrrrk shrrrrk[/i]. Cynthia sipped her coffee, cursed when it burnt her tongue and lifted her head in time to catch Odette's whispered:

[i][b]"I think you care a lot more than you want to admit."[/b][/i] The scraping sound stopped. Cynthia frowned in a way that made her seem childish; she lowered her face, jutted out her lower jaw, and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Odette tutted, angry, maybe, or just disappointed, and Cynthia opened her eyes as the poster continued, [i][b]"There is nothing wrong with missing your father, Cynthia."[/b][/i]

[b][color=5E7366]"My name isn't Cynthia here, it's Nyx."[/color][/b] Cynthia sipped her coffee.

[i][b]"My comment still stands for Nyx as well."[/b][/i]

[b][color=5E7366]"We aren't two different people."[/color][/b]

Sip, sip. 

[i][b]"You certainly act like someone new, when you're out here alone, all alone.[/b][/i]

[b][color=5E7366]"It's to fit in. I have to fit in, people need to trust me. Daddy won't let me come home unless I get a lot of work done--"[/color][/b]

Sip.

[b][i]"So you want to go home?"[/i][/b]

[b][color=5E7366]"No! No, I like it outside. I like talking to people. I like drinking and doing the things I used to do. I did ballet last year and I was so good even, even after all the- all the. No. I like it here. There's work to be done here. I like to be busy."[/color][/b]

Odette paused, her eyes almost appearing soft, comforting. She looked like a mother shrouded in pure white feathers and stark shadows; a monochrome painting of maternity, of protection, of love.

[i]shrrrrk shrrrrrk[/i]

She said, [i][b]"There is nothing wrong with missing your father, Cynthia."[/b][/i]

And Cynthia stood up and threw her mug at the stained wall beneath the poster.

[b][color=5E7366]"I don't miss him! I don't miss that sorry fucker, that monster, I hate him! I hate him! I hate both of you!"[/color][/b]

Coffee pooled across the hardwood floor, soaking a pair of already ruined underwear and a few old letters sent from her home address. The mug was shattered, green and white bits strewn across a field of other ruined ceramics. She would have to buy a new mug today, to replace it. Another chore to add to the list. Odette remained absolutely silent, a glossy, rumbled, coffee-stained poster as she always had been.

Her phone, which was still shrouded in her thick comforter, rang out shrilly. Her alarm. She had work in an hour. Cynthia stood and smoothed down her bedhead as she reached over and clicked it off. The cracked screen darkened, and she pulled the phone from its charger and moved silently toward the bathroom, collecting clothes as she walked along. Her shower was quick and cold, another downside to the apartment, and she finished her morning routine with a face of smokey makeup (the people who visited her workplace loved it, said she looked positively witchy, said she looked hot) and a mouth full of minty-cold toothpaste.

Back out in the studio, she dodged a few chips of ceramic and sat down on the foot of her bed to pull on her dark, dark combat boots. They were platformed and marked witch latin on the heel, a single phrase that meant "speed". Once clothed, she pulled her nearby backpack on to her lap and, as she did every morning, organized the items within. Black hair, vials of holy water, knives upon knives, bibles, spell books, teeth in ziplock bags, graveyard dirt, ash, and her favorite-- a rotted noose curled around everything in the bottom of the bag. Everything seemed to be ready for the day. Cynthia placed the spell books and more occult oddities on the top, just to keep prying eyes sated, and she stood and threw it over her shoulder.

[b][color=5E7366]"I'm going to work, mom. I'll be back after the witching hour."[/color][/b] Cynthia said as she grabbed her keys and paused by the door. No response came. She left without another word.

The walk to Hekate's wasn't long. She lived a mere four blocks away, and autumn in Salem this year was cool enough for her to wear her self-patched leather jacket. Cynthia breathed in the fresh air and sighed, happy, truly, to be out and about and doing the things she was taught to do. Hunt Witches. 

Cynthia considered her workplace as she rounded the corner and saw it there, just a yard away. Working at an apothecary made the most sense; where there were components, there were witches. She got the job thanks to her efficiencies and seeming interest in the occultish aesthetic of everything in the store. Miriam was suspicious, a prime target for spying as of right now. Her son was nice and probably involved as well. She was playing it cool, for now.

Cynthia entered the store and immediately went to work to help with the opening. She took up the cashier area once everything was fine. Julian was nowhere to be seen, which was expected. He was often late. Sometimes Miriam complained in hushed whispers that he was "a bit lazy". Most children were these days. Cynthia settled down on the counter as she watched the day's first few costumes enter and begin to oogle the collections of herbs and crystals, and her only reprise from the boring action came as Julian slipped in through the front door.

[b][color=5E7366]"No problem at all, Jules."[/color][/b] She said in lieu of greeting, [b][color=5E7366]"It's been pretty slow so far. It's bound to pick up soon though. Hopefully."[/color][/b] She smiled, all trained friendliness and professionalism, and with her knee pushed her own bag further down the shelf, away from Julian's. [b][color=5E7366]”Up late last night?"[/color][/b]