OTA

[jageskro]

Jag had all but forgotten about the box. When they'd got back from the countryside, Val had been mostly out of it, and they hadn't stopped by the museum to drop it off. It had ended up in the pocket of Jag's jacket, and he'd only noticed once he was back at the squat. He'd taken it out and put in his room, meaning to bring it back whenever, but he'd never got around to it. At first, he'd been oddly reluctant, and then he'd forgotten about it.

For some reason, today, his gaze landed on it, and he reached out to pick it up. He was supposed to meet Val in an hour, and had only just come back from busking. He sat on the edge of his bed, fingertips tracing the carvings on its wooden sides. Cursed, Val had said, but there would be no harm in taking a look? Whatever was inside, Jag wouldn't put it on or even touch it. He only wanted a peek. No harm there, surely.

The small lock popped open before he realised he'd been toying with it, hoping to open it. His breath caught in his throat, and he lifted the lid, frowning slightly at the small, ornate mirror that lay inside. Jag caught his reflection in it, and his frown deepened. For a beat, he didn't move, just stared.

Then he shut the lid down with a small snap, and shook his head. This was all bullshit, wasn't it? A cursed mirror. What next? The truth was, he needed a pint, and some time to himself. He was so fucking tired of being in caretaking mode. Maybe he'd still swing by Val's later, he'd see. But for now, he left the box on his bed, grabbed his light jacket, today's earnings, and headed out of the squat.

He found a pub still showing football, and ordered a whisky. It didn't take long to rile up English supporters still upset over the Iceland match, but the bartender was too on top of things and Jag was thrown out before he could start a fight.

He sighed, and pulled a cigarette out of his pack, lighting it up with a thought. "Better luck next pub," he hoped, and got walking.



Find him in that pub, in the next one, in the street, whatever!

ota

[prince_of_nymphs]

The first attack had been unexpected. Sure, they'd all been on guard, but it still seemed to come out of nowhere, and part of him had been hopeful that they were all being overly cautious. ...Will had been right though, and that attack had been nothing compared to what would come.

For the most part they'd taken to pairing off when they could, but it was impossible to be with one another at all times, and tonight Fin was alone- But still more prepared than before. He carried two daggers now, both made of iron, and though his magic was still weak and very new, he was slowly learning to control it and master minor spells and charms with the help of Will. So he didn't feel too concerned as he made his way home down less populated streets.

His training had made him more attune to magic around him though, and he went still for a moment as he felt that familiar shiver pass through him. Someone was coming. ...More than one someone, actually, and he ducked down the first alley he passed, trying to decide if he should run or fight. ...Or call for Will. Common sense told him that was the thing to do, but he knew deep down he had to learn to take care of himself. Will wouldn't always be there to swoop in and save him after all.

Running seemed wise as well, but given how fast Phouka could move, he knew there was a chance he wouldn't be able to outrun his attacker. No, this time fight won out over flight, and he took a calming breath as he drew one of his daggers.

That was all the time he had to prepare, in a flash magic engulfed the alley he'd ducked into, and two tall, blue green figures stood before him, one wielding a knife, the other a heavy sword- So heavy, in fact, that the creature needed two hands to lift it. They looked fae, but- Different somehow. Unseelie, perhaps?

Fin was fairly certain they weren't going to pause to answer questions though, and before either of them could step closer, he cast one of the few charms he knew- A spell that was just strong enough to freeze one of them in place for a few moments. The actor didn't have much time to think about it, and froze the one with the knife. The sword wielding one was much slower, and surely he'd be easier to fight off. 

The creature lunged at him, and Fin managed to avoid the heavy swing of his sword, before lunging with his own blade the way Will had taught him. He missed, and moved away again as the creature lifted its sword once more. His heart was pounding in his chest, and though his magic felt weakened by the first spell he'd cast, he attempted another. ...And only managed to singe himself.

"Shit," he swore softly, shaking away the pain and only barely getting out of dodge as the sword came down again. Though this time the creature had moved closer to him as it struck, and Fin knew now was the time to act. 

His blade sunk into the creature's neck, and it screamed, the sound dampened by whatever spell they'd cast to trap him in the tight space of that alley. As it fell, Fin saw someone approaching from the way he'd come, and rather than watch the creature shrivel into nothing more than bones at his feet, his gaze fell on the person heading his way, their features slightly obscured by the heavy fog that the creatures seemed to have brought with them.

He was so busy looking at the stranger, trying to asses if they were friend or foe, that he didn't notice the his spell wearing off- Not until his other attacker was right beside him, and a sharp iron blade was in his side.