[semi-open] I was looking for a breath of a life

[fantoche]

Who: Davina Claire + YOU!!!! (Minus the thing closed to Rebekah Mikaelson)
Where: Closed - the garden, Open - the roof
When: October 13th afternoon into late evening
Rating: PG-13/R-ish - mentions of blood, death, general angsty angst - will update as needed.
Summary: Davina reviving in Wonderland and coping with things...
The Story:

CLOSED TO REBEKAH:

She lets out a small groan as she moves, the air chilled against her damp skin. She remembers a flash of pain and then darkness. A cold, unwelcoming darkness. The Ancestors had been so angry with her, calling her actions a betrayal to the coven. The coven that betrayed her first.

She hadn't asked to be lied to, almost killed, and then hunted. She hadn't asked for her own mother to deceive her - offer her up to have her throat slit for the betterment of the coven. For the enrichment of their own powers with no guarantee of their return from death. While the choices she'd made after her rescue hadn't exactly been positive, they'd been hers. Or at least that's what she kept telling herself. That she hadn't been a puppet for Marcel - a weapon he could load with just enough ammunition to make her dangerous.

There was so much more to it than the Ancestors could possibly understand. And yet, they'd seen fit to punish her rather than the elders for what happened. Threatened to take away her magic. Punish her if she acted out against the coven again. It wasn't an empty threat, that much was sure. It had left her shaking, everything so uncertain.

She gasps, shooting upright in the bed of flowers, eyes wild with panic. They dart around looking for something familiar - anything to give her a location. Tell her she was at home - that this wasn't just another way of the Ancestors punishing her. She pushes herself to an upright position, arms wrapping around her midsection as damp hair clings to her face. Tears begin to freely flow as she realizes she's not home - that the revival hadn't worked.

"Marcel? Marcel - where are you?"

When there's no response other than a soft breeze, she tests her magic a little by reaching out - trying to find him. After a moment, it's clear he's not here - so she does the only other thing she can think of... She screams.


OPEN:

She needed air - opting to go up rather than out. After 8 months in an attic, it was almost natural to want to go to the highest point - it almost seemed safer even if it wasn't true. She needed to think, clear her head and get out of her room. A room that reminded her too much of everything at home. Of what she'd lost thanks to Klaus.

She didn't want to forget - wouldn't forget - taking the violin that had appeared in her room and a blanket with her as she climbed the stairs to the roof.

She settles in towards an edge, watching quietly as her fingers toy with the violin in her lap - a small sound escaping from the instrument occasionally when her fingers brush the strings. It doesn't take her long to get lost in thought, grateful for the darkness as a mask for the few tears that slip out.

There had to be a way home. She couldn't give up - not yet.


[ooc: If you'd rather run into her somewhere other than the roof, she will have had to travel from the 2nd floor up, with a stop to the kitchen on her way back down before heading back to her room. Feel free to throw up a top level somewhere else if you so choose. Also no preference on prose or action - your pick.

Bonus! As a general note, feel free to have heard the scream in the garden - especially if your character is supernatural. Also people are welcome to notice the small touch of magic from when she reached out in search of Marcel.]

Comments

[equalmeasure]

The name being called caught her attention first and foremost; it was only half a moment later that Rebekah realized she recognized the voice. The scream seals it. Of course, she could think of no one else who would call out to Marcel first and foremost in their time of need; she wasn't even certain she would do it herself if the need was great enough. That would have meant she trusted him to come when she needed him most, and he had already proven to her that she could not. She would never be first--

But Davina. Davina might be.

She interrupted her own walk through the garden to change her course, turning immediately towards the witch's voice as she wound her way among the flowers, following the path with a steadily increasing urgency until she was sure she was close. "Davina!"

And there, finally -- upon turning another corner, there she was, looking lost and distressed and everything one would expect of a young girl who'd found herself so far from home with no familiar face to turn to. Rebekah huffed a sigh, dropping into a low crouch and holding a hand out to her, offering to help her up.

"Come on. You can't stay out here all night."

[fantoche]

She stills, eyes darting towards the voice. Her fingertips are practically burning with magic - prepared for almost anything... Almost. She concentrates on her breathing, on letting her defense melt away before she accepts Rebekah's hand - unsure of what state her magic was in after her death. The words of the Ancestors still linger in the back of her mind, sending a shiver down her spine as she finally accepts the help up.

Her arms wrap around her midsection once she's up, not wanting to maintain the contact - not wanting to possibly hurt Rebekah. It was for her own good... Everyone's really.

Her voice is quiet as she gives a small sniffle, not bother to wipe at her face.

"Where am I?"

[equalmeasure]

"You won't believe me if I tell you," Rebekah informs her, matter-of-fact as she watches the girl slowly pull herself together, tears shining brightly on the young witch's face. She purses her lips, reaching to pull a handkerchief from one of her pockets, offering it by simply extending her hand.

"I'll give you a moment to get your bearings first. I stormed around the place shouting for some form of retribution after I woke up; it didn't do me much good. I'm sure you can begin to imagine what sort of place this must be if I didn't make much headway." She offers the girl a wry half-smile, the boast itself tongue-in-cheek and yet with some degree of truth to it.

"Are you hurt?"

[fantoche]

She gladly takes the handkerchief, murmuring a small thank you as she wipes at her face. There's a stillness that takes over as she listens, processing what she said - what kind of place this must be if an old one didn't make a splash on arriving.

It was unnerving.

Davina mulls over the question, trying to put together a response that made sense. "Not physically, no." Emotions were a whole different story after her time with the Ancestors, a small shiver washing over her as she remembers the darkness - the chill that accompanied it.

[equalmeasure]

"Good. We'll deal with the rest as best we can."

Physically was, for the moment, what mattered. Even without having to suffer the transition from New Orleans to this place, Rebekah knew that emotionally, things were already difficult. Davina had seen a great deal more in her young life than most girls ever did, something Rebekah sympathized with. Any chance she'd ever had at a normal life had been cut short too, and she hadn't been much older than Davina herself.

"We shouldn't stay here," she says simply. "You'll catch cold out here; let's get you inside and cleaned up and I'll explain what I can."

It might have sounded brusque or uncaring, but letting Davina sit out here drowning herself in her own tears wasn't doing either of them any favors. Once the girl was comfortable, Rebekah would help her to get her bearings as best she could, though that was easier said than done considering she was still in the process of getting her own.

[fantoche]

Wasn't that how it always went? Get through what they can and figure out the rest later? See what kind of fall-out they'll have to deal with? She knew how this story went, and it usually ended with her getting the short end of the stick somehow. She could only allow herself a little hope that the trust she'd placed in Rebekah wouldn't fall apart like it had with everyone else.

Only time would tell.

"Ok." There's no point in arguing and definitely no point in staying outside in the cold. Of the people she could have asked to show up, she's realistically in the top 3. It's a bleak thought, a homage to what her life had become. She would happily settle for a shower and possibly some food - clean clothes. Basics.

"Are there rooms here?"