(no subject)

[andhiswife]

Greta spends most of the morning in the kitchen.

Sort of absurd, really, given the preparations being made across the city. But they've been working on the cottage for weeks, now — fortifying both magical and physical deterrents, getting Aggie's animals settled and comfortable, stocking up on whatever they might need based on every miserable eventuality she could envision — and it's belatedly occurred to her that if all goes according to plan, what she'll mostly be doing is just... hosting. She's told everyone she can think of that the cottage should be a safe harbor, and while she doesn't expect all of them to come by, or to stay for the whole evening, she imagines the ones that do might be wanting more than just a brief rest and some first aid.

So she bakes, wanting to get it done early enough that the wind will have time to dispel any tempting scents well before the siren sounds. Wanting to give herself something to do besides wringing her hands, or checking and re-checking everything like a madwoman, or lecturing Saoirse about the importance of not doing anything foolish.

Later, as people begin to arrive, she focuses on making sure they're comfortable (or as comfortable as circumstances allow). There's a large pot of soup on the stove and fresh-baked goods for anyone who's managed to keep their appetite, and plenty of tea in the cupboard. By the time 6PM rolls around, she's half-tempted to bring out something stronger, for all that this seems like a terrible time to impair her own judgment. The heavier stuff can wait, she decides, until they've all made it through this, ideally unscathed.

When the siren sounds, she's standing on her front stoop, brow furrowed at the city skyline, windows tightly shuttered behind her and arms folded tightly across her chest. What a stupid bloody excuse for a holiday.


[ A gathering post for anyone who might be riding out the Purge at the cottage, either temporarily or for the whole evening. If Greta knows your pup, it's a safe bet you've been invited or otherwise made aware, but anyone without evil intentions should be able to safely bypass Magnus' wards and make it onto the property for a respite. Open forever! ]

Comments

[negative_feedback]

The windows are shuttered and the wards are in place; the cameras Regan has set up on the roof and a couple of trees are readily in night vision. She has an alert set up on her phone for each one of them, so if any movement gets by, she'll know immediately. They're in night vision mode, so the screen is eerie white-and-gray as she looks at her screen. She's got a two-monitor setup in her room right now, and she feels like a real hacker, checking cams for any sign of suspicious activity.

And for the first time in a long time, she's glad that she can't hear how loud or quiet it is in the cottage. The air feels like home: that quiet tension, expecting every sound to be the one that dooms them. That's enough for her. She doesn't need to hear the silence, too.

Her eyes are tired, dry and in need of a screen break, so she turns off her monitors and tucks her phone into her pocket, then heads down for soup or tea — or both. Both would get her away from her screens for longer, and while the thought makes her anxious, she knows it's still a good thing. Besides, she's got her phone. It'll buzz in her pocket if one of the cameras is triggered.

Saoirse's in the kitchen, picking at a scone and getting crumbs all over the floor, but Regan just nudges by her and grabs a bowl to fill with soup. There are a million animals here tonight; one of them can sweep up.

"Anything?" Saoirse asks one-handed, sending a shower of scone crumbs to the floor like snow. Regan shakes her head.

"Nothing." She pauses, then adds, "That's a good thing, though. 'No news is good news,' right?"

Saoirse rolls her eyes, but nods, and Regan smiles more reassuringly than she actually feels. She brings her soup to the table and settles in, phone face down on the tabletop beside her.

[ghost_holder]

Aggie recognizes Regan's smile and comes over with her own bowl as an offer of company. It's easy to see a reflection of her constant magical checking in Regan's phone system. "I hope..." she starts. Then Agatha shakes her head. She might be a powerful witch but she's not stupid enough to tempt fate by saying she hopes that the cameras and wards are overkill. Instead, she lifts up her soup like she's proposing a toast. "Here's to being prepared."

[negative_feedback]

Regan nods, lifting her spoon in answering toast. She doesn't want to jinx it any more than Aggie obviously does, so instead she says, "How're you holding up? You've been doing a lot of work." They all have, she knows, but she has no idea how it feels to use the kind of magical energy that Aggie's been using.

[ghost_holder]

"Holding up," Aggie agrees. Neither bad nor good, really, but certainly here. She feels steady, somewhere beneath the anxiety, but that almost feels normal under the circumstances.

"It feels different from last time. I don't know how, exactly, but it does."

[negative_feedback]

She forgets, now and then, that Aggie, Greta, and Saoirse were all here the last time this happened. For Regan, it's brand new and terrifying, something out of a movie that she'd been too young to watch.

"Maybe because you're a little older?" she reasons, though she's fairly certain Aggie is one of the oldest people in Darrow. She isn't sure what else would make it feel different, though, unless it's something supernatural that only Aggie herself can feel, some sort of premonition she hasn't pinpointed yet.

[ghost_holder]

Aggie snorts and then scrunches up her face apologetically. "I'm sorry," she says, making a circle with a closed fist over her heart. "I know I don't look like a three hundred year old dead girl. It's all the skin care." Her smile doesn't really feel like it fits over her face, but what else can she do?

"The first time it happened, I guess I couldn't believe people would do something like this. Now I know they can and they will."

[negative_feedback]

Regan's own smile is a bit of a wince, because she gets it. It's hard to smile tonight. When Aggie explains, though, she nods.

"That makes way more sense," she confirms. "I guess I didn't really think about it like that. Expecting an inherent goodness that maybe isn't there, and then having that expectation shaken out of you. Makes it feel worse, right?"

She wonders if Saoirse feels the same way. Saoirse had been young the last time this happened, too young to really understand, probably, that people could and would do bad things. Now, she's older. She's been through a lot of shit — Regan still guiltily remembers the way Saoirse had gotten taken during that impossible summer snowstorm. It's possible that this is harder for her now than it was before because she better knows what people are capable of.

And Regan isn't really checking in on her all that much. Shit.

[ghost_holder]

"People being people, right?" Aggie says with a shake of her head. "At least I know there are other people who are doing good." They're not just stumbling into it, either. There are people out in the city who are doing their best to keep people from being hurt, channeling the destruction away from areas that could be scarred forever.

"I guess that's people being people too."

[negative_feedback]

She nods. She knows she can't do much out in the city. It would be too chaotic, too dangerous, and it isn't like she has magic or swordfighting skills. She's just a girl from New York who'd stabbed an alien in the face. She doesn't want to stab a guy in the face. But Aggie is right: there are people out there who can and are doing what they can.

"I don't think I thanked you," she says. "For strengthening the wards. So: thank you. I know it makes a lot of us feel better."

[ghost_holder]

"And I don't think I thanked you either, for doing everything with the cameras," Aggie counters. It's not an attempt to one-up Regan, nor downplay her own work, just a reminder that the other girl has also done plenty. At the same time, for Greta, Aggie feels like it's the least she could have done.

"I'd do anything for my family," she adds, nodding at the gathered occupants of the house at large.

[negative_feedback]

"So would I," Regan agrees. Greta and Saoirse have been her family for years, and Aggie has been working her way in along the way. She'll always miss her mother, her father, her brothers, but here, she has something close — maybe even a little better, since there are no creatures like the ones from home.

"I'm really glad you're here," she tells Aggie, reaching to place a gentle hand on her arm.