[center][img]https://dcn-wp.s3.us-west-1.amazonaws.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/04172559/CH-3-Pic-1.png[/img][/center][sub][url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5178139]PREVIOUSLY...[/url][/sub][sup][right][url=https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6eW1FvnD5o4ODXvIm0l0Pe?si=7mQ4Lwo2TpGBaJ84OrbPQg]THE COFFIN WITCH[/url][/right][/sup][hr][sub][url=https://i.pinimg.com/736x/e3/99/df/e399dfc6ff2b7e55466a95920c5f2322.jpg]TWELVE FOR A DASTARDLY CURSE[/url][/sub][sup][right]1: AMIDST THE BUTCHERY AND BEAKS[/right][/sup] Eve stopped over in the first town with a bar. It wasn’t even a bar, really, nothing as modern as that; it felt more like some hick’s attempt to restore an old tavern in their garage - the decor reeked of 'Ye Olde Englishe', both aesthetically [i]and[/i] in its actual odour. Tacky was the operative word, and seemed to be the unintentional theme. She sipped Bud Light from a murky pint glass, and tasted sour pipes. She was stunned. Not because the owner had spent most of his money on unnecessary draught taps; not because he’d then chosen to pump the cheapest beer on the market through it; not even because despite both of these facts, he then couldn’t even [i]clean[/i] the needless system. She was stunned because she proceeded to [i]finish her drink anyway.[/i] Eve had a couple more after that, but not of the Bud Light - she instead chose the only canned drink in the building, some dollar-store brand with a generic name and a big star adorning the front - and then found she was exhausted. She’d been on the road a couple days now. Hitchhiking where she could, but walking mostly; her feet hurt and her clothes were dusty and speckled with mud and shit. Not many people stopped when she stuck her thumb out; she suspected those that had only did so because of the view from behind. Half of those good Samaritans quickly paled and sped off when they caught sight of her eye. Hell, the man behind the bar had been deliberately avoiding looking at her for every order after the first, as well as the time in between. It was an evil eye. Gave people the willies, at least. She spoke up again as the bartender whisked away her third empty can, crushing it in a slow, deliberate manner that required a lot of focused, intense staring at his hands. [color=483D8B]“I need somewhere to stay the night.”[/color] The bartender turned his back to her as he stretched out the three foot walk from his position to the trash can as long as humanly possible while he replied. [color=B0C4DE]“Three blocks south and turn left; there’s a halfway house that rents empty rooms.”[/color] Eve frowned. [color=483D8B]“That the best this place has got?”[/color] [color=B0C4DE]“It’s the best [i]you’re[/i] going to get.”[/color] He replied, still not looking at her. Eve snarled. [color=483D8B]“Fuck you.”[/color] The bartender sniffed, and went back to rubbing dirty glasses with a dirty rag. Eve left. Three blocks south and a left turn later Eve stood at the front door of a shanty house dressed up to look like a real building. Nestled in as the penultimate dwelling on a row of terraced housing, it sported discarded needles on the front steps and plywood across the windows; the otherwise run-down but intact residences that flanked it looked practically new by comparison. Eve could sense an old kind of rot eating away at this place: the psychic imprint of human suffering and despair. The people who stayed here often left in opaque bags, their final weeks and days and hours spent filling holes with temporary reprieves and covering pain with a different kind of pain. She could feel it in her bones - cold, hopeless, intrinsically sad. But the bartender was right: she wasn’t going to get anything better. She didn’t have the money, for a start. She raised a fist to knock, but found the door swung open eerily before she could make first contact. The hallway was dark and empty, and a hollow draught drifted through that wrapped itself like grave-hands around Eve’s ankles. The exhalation of anguished ennui, every last breath drawn in and pushed out in these rooms swarming together for a final, extinguishing gasp. Eve nearly turned tail to run, but the dread was over as soon as it had begun, and all that was left was a house with empty rooms to rent and sad stories that it would sooner not tell. Eve approached the counter, but there was no one there; in lieu of staff, only a simple cardboard sign had been left, which read as such: [quote][b]"IF NOT HERE: PLS WRITE NAME + DATE UNDER RM# ON SHEET $5/NIGHT COLLECTED EVERY MORNING NO PAY = PIGS DRUGS = PIGS FIGHTS = PIGS CROSS NAME OUT WHEN U LEAVE SLEEP WELL!"[/b][/quote] Eve wasn’t convinced she would. The sheet was present regardless; she wrote ‘EVE C.’ in the column for room five, beneath the crossed out name of ‘NATE’, and scribbled the day’s date in the margin, and then went searching. She found it soon enough. The door wasn’t locked, but it was stiff to open and stiff again to close. The room itself was bare: a stained mattress on the floor with a ragged pillow and thin sheet, a plastic chair next to the window - an old leather belt lay discarded close by - and a sink against the wall. Eve did what she could to get out the mud and dirt from her clothes beneath the pitiful water pressure of the tap, hanging her jeans and top over the back of the chair to dry, and then cupped a few handfuls of water over her face and hair to rinse out the sweat and muck as much she could. When her head finally hit the pillow, she was asleep within seconds. - Eve dreamt of storms and fire, of lightning and trees, and of blood and rot. Anger swirled around her, but it did not belong to her: it belonged to hundreds of faceless adjudicators, and it belonged to a single persecuted individual. It licked her fuzzy outline and whisked her spirit away. Eve was left alone beneath cold stone and uncaring wood. - She woke to a knock on the door. The sun was up, but it was cold, and she saw morning fog still drifting by, listless and dissipating slowly. Bleary-eyed, she turned her head to the room’s door; a blurred figure stood there expectantly, half-hidden. Eve rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, and the figure sharpened. Some nondescript old lady, sixty-plus, with a stony face that belied the subtle wildness in her eyes. Her hair was graying, but where the color held on it was a deep black. They made eye contact. The woman did not look away. [color=6B8E23]“Witches don’t get discounts.”[/color] She finally said, her voice low but firm. [color=6B8E23]“Got me charms for the evil eye anyway.”[/color] She fished a necklace out from her bosom and held it aloft; a crudely-fashioned pendant, but one Eve was able to recognize regardless: the nazar. [color=6B8E23]“Five dollars.”[/color] Eve reached for her bag and dragged it across the floor towards the mattress, rooting around in it. She could feel the woman staring at her as she dipped her head to rummage. [color=483D8B]“You don’t look Hindi.”[/color] Eve said. The woman snorted. [color=6B8E23]“Charm’s a charm. Evil Eye ain’t care where you’re from; charm ain’t care neither. If it works, it works. Five dollars, or I call the pigs.”[/color] Eve found her money and fished out a five dollar bill, tossing it across the room where it drifted spinning to the ground. The woman crossed the doorway swiftly in a single step, stooping to collect the money, then retreated back to the precipice just as quickly. [color=6B8E23]“Gotta get out during the day. It’s when I clean.”[/color] Eve guffawed. [color=483D8B]“You need more than just a day for this filth.”[/color] The woman’s lip twitched, a snarling micro-expression flitting across her face. [color=6B8E23]“Ungrateful bitch. You got gall to criticize - you got more than just dirt on [i]you[/i],”[/color] she retorted, and then turned to leave. Eve sighed and stood up, letting the sheet fall off her body as she retrieved a top and jeans from her bag; dressed, she unhooked her jacket from the door and slung it around her shoulders. The clothes she’d ‘washed’ last night were still mildly damp to the touch, but Eve suspected anything left in the room might disappear forever. Besides, it was bad practice to leave personal belongings around where anyone could collect them. Eve didn’t trust anyone, and witchcraft could be practiced by many. She stuffed the clothes into her bag, and left the room. Downstairs, she paused by the desk, the woman who’d collected her money not glancing up from behind her magazine. Eve steeled herself to ask her least favourite question. [color=483D8B]“Where am I?”[/color] [color=6B8E23]“Crack den.”[/color] The woman responded. [color=483D8B]“What [i]town[/i], I meant.”[/color] The woman spared a quick glance up before returning to her magazine. [color=6B8E23]“Petrified Copse.”[/color] [color=483D8B]“That’s...unique.”[/color] [color=6B8E23]“It’s evil.”[/color] The woman said, and then she didn’t say anymore. Eve left. - Eve wandered through the town for a while, eventually finding the main promenade, such as it was. It was still early, and the street was quiet, but the few businesses there were had begun opening - an old man setting out goods and stands in front of his general store, a younger couple carefully arranging seats and tables outside their coffee shop - although what drew Eve’s eye was a gentleman tenderly wafting incense across the fascia of his shopfront. He moved carefully and rhythmically, and when he finished his work he gave a curt nod to his reflection in the store window. Eve watched with growing curiosity as the man paused to stare at his mirrored self for what felt like a longer and longer amount of time; and then the man breathed, and went inside. Eve realized she had been holding her breath as well. She released the tightness in her chest and looked away, down the street ahead of her. There was a magpie looking at her. Eve couldn’t be sure, of course, but she was fairly certain. It was stood in the center of the street, body facing Eve and head cocked ever-so-slightly to put her in the bird’s cone of vision; Eve took a few steps to the right and the bird’s head seemed to follow her. It hopped back and forth a few feet at a time, but never got further away or closer to Eve. She frowned, and moved forward. The magpie stayed put, up until Eve got to within nearly five feet of it; then it crowed, once and pointedly, and then hopped away before stopping and looking back, crowing once more. Eve felt compelled - something from the depths of her subconscious moved her legs for her. She followed the magpie. It took her to the town square, at the heart of which stood the remains of a splintered and shattered tree, resting in the soil undisturbed for centuries. The magpie stood at its base, and looked Eve in the eye. There was something about the gaze of the bird that unsettled Eve, something slightly too intelligent in the black beads that beheld her. She stretched an arm out to touch it, but it shrank away, pecking when she got too close, crowing again. [color=483D8B]“What are you?”[/color] She asked, musing to herself for the most part. It chilled her when the bird responded. [color=000000][b]“I AM JUST A MAGPIE.”[/b][/color] The magpie said, in a voice that reverberated the earth and sent vibrations up Eve’s legs until she could feel her teeth rattling in her skull. She blinked, and the feeling was gone, and she was left bewildered. [color=483D8B]“...what…?”[/color] “Caw!” Said the magpie, perfectly mimicking what a magpie should sound like, before taking flight and suddenly turning mid-air to dive-bomb the ground. Eve could hear the bones of the bird’s neck snap when it hit the stone cobbles. The magpie was dead on impact, wings splayed, skull askew at an unnatural angle. Eve buried the magpie beneath the remains of the tree. From the far reaches of the town, beyond the streets and buildings, a young girl screamed, and was suddenly cut short.