Post by Emily on Dec 9, 2015 5:03:20 GMT -8
CAST: Isla Byrne (wistfultempest@aol.com), William "Will" Byrne (anyothertale@aol.com)
SUMMARY: Will decides to turn the stalker tables on Isla and ends up blowing it big time. (Wind wizard; blowing it; y'see what I did there? Nyuk.) He's such a jerk.
TW: crime, violence, blood, parental abandonment issues
[Will] "Oi, excuse you!" snapped the slim blonde who shouldered into Will -- she shouldered into him, not the other way around -- and prompted him to flatten the backs of his hands against the collarbones hidden underneath a quilted jacket; forest green. An embroidered guitar strap crossed his chest diagonally, which meant that his best friend was hanging out somewhere behind him. Light from one of the Promenade's ornate street lamps lent a warm cognac glow to his widenening eyes. "Huh-okay, princess," he shot back at her. When she whipped around to glare at him, he crossed them. He also wrinkled his silver-wringed nose and curled his moustached upper lip, then mocked her previous exclamation openly. She flipped him the bird and moved on toward the Eye. Will shoved his hands into the pockets of old blue jeans and kicked the heel of hot pink high tops against the pavement, grinning like the shitheel he is. The grin was short-lived as upon turning his attention toward 'his spot' he discovered that someone had beat him to it. Scowl. Strong, dark eyebrows met in a V. V for vendetta. As in, he was about to have one against this person, whoever they were. You don't busk in someone else's territory, man. It's against the code.
[Isla] Of course his best friend was on the trail! Where in the world is William San Diego? She was a half a block or so length behind him. One of those small city blocks, you know. She could see him well, considering his height put him above many of the others gathered around this touristy area. Given it was the Holiday season, the crowds were bigger down here than usual. People liked seeing the city all light up from the Eye, and to frequent the shops that surrounded it for their shopping and whatever else normal people did. Isla didn't know. She'd never been normal. Nothing was normal with stalking your adult brother either. But yet, she did it. A khaki Burberry trench fit her quite well, belted at the waist with deep pockets that she had her hands shoved into. It covered form fitted jeans tucked into dark brown riding boots that went up to her knees, leaving just an inch or so of the denim shown before the hem of her coat took over. Whatever top she wore was hidden beneath the bulk of a scarf made of the same label as her coat, it's signature plaid tied loosely at her throat. She'd swept her hair back into a fashionable pony tail, the gold strands forming a few smooth coils rather than a mess of wild curls. She kept her distance, kept into the crowd -- only stopping when he came in contact with another blonde; a frown deepening at her bottom-heavy mouth when she witnessed the whole confrontation. Lashes narrowed, not at all liking how the wench glared and got snotty with Will. Lost in the sudden surge of something akin to protective that she'd never quite felt before. Maybe because she'd never had the opportunity, but it was there now, as she stood there among the people still moving on the sidewalk. Seething. Which would account for how Will got too far ahead of her, but for a moment, it didn't matter. Because Isla strode right up to the dumb blonde ( probably from a bottle too, scrawny bitch ). "You ever bump into someone again like that, and don't apologize, I'm going to find you, and I'm going to cut all your hair off and glue it to your face. With super glue," her accented lilt -- so lovely in it's ups and downs and rolled r's -- was a hushed hiss, and before the woman could even really get a chance to say anything, Isla was moving on. Now irritated she'd lost the man, but then again. She knew where he was going, and it was in that direction she headed; unaware someone had taken his spot. How rude!
[Will] Not that best friend! His guitar! Jeeze. The blonde Isla approached was neither dumb nor a stranger, which she would realize as blue eyes met brown. She wasn't a bottle blonde, either! "Sort of a strange thing to get all cunty about, isn't it? Bumps into strangers." Beth was unintimidated. She glanced between Isla and Will and back again, then lifted an eyebrow. "You never struck me as that kind." It didn't much matter how one blonde struck the other, did it? Each returned to her purpose and her path, and soon Isla would stumble upon a grumpy brother whose plans for the night had been changed by an intruder. A turf-trampler. He was grumbling and he'd pulled a hand back out of his pocket to scratch at the mass of dark curls atop his noggin. Now what?
[Isla] The thing about it all was .. Isla just wasn't the type. She didn't get snappy, she didn't get in fights. She was the quiet serenity on the stage, the pretty glow of gold in the background, just observing. It was more the voice that piped up after Isla's oh so inventive threat that was familiar than the face had been, and Isla whipped around to face Beth Lyons with a narrowed stare. All she did though? Pointed a finger at her to know she meant serious business, and then flounced about to continue after Will. Who had stopped before his usual spot, which meant Isla got far closer to him than she'd meant to. "Shit," the word expelled on a breath, and just in case he happened to turn around when there was only a handful of feet between them, she ducked behind the nearest thing. Which happened to be a rather portly gentleman with his family, listening to the music being played by the one who'd jacked Will's spot. The wife and children of said man weren't exactly too happen for the willowy blondes intrusion on their man. He did though, slipping a big warm arm around her waist and dragging her into a bit of a dance in time with the music; while Isla did her best to keep her face hidden from Will, should he look over. Damnit.
[Will] Offended snorts always draw Will's attention in their general direction; not because he's a busybody, but because he's usually the reason for it, and he'd honest to God not done a damn thing to deserve one, this time! Some other Byrne was the culprit. That portly gent's wife looked like she was about to spit fire as he snared some other pretty girl up and forced her into awkward dance steps -- naturally, he laughed, bright and wide, with a crouch that planted the palms of his hands on his knees... until he recognized Isla. The way he went ramrod straight again and about-faced sent a clear message: He'd have preferred another few minutes with Beth than to have run into his half-sister, just then. The night wasn't going his way. He didn't need her further lousing it up for him. Her and her fucky feet and her plaid scarf; the kind only rich, spoiled women wear. His competitor could have the God damned spot. He just wouldn't eat that week. He broke to the left and tried to lose himself in the crowd.
[Isla] If she wasn't so occupied with trying not to be seen, she'd have stopped the dance with a firm, quick word, but as it was, she let the man flop her around; ducking this way and that -- but one peek was all it took to see that Will was .. gone. Gone. "Sir! That is quite enough," she jerked herself out of his hold; smoothing back errant displaced strands and straightening her coat and fixating the man with a stern look -- while he laughed, and turned back to his angry wife. Isla took a few steps back, unfortunately to the right, raising up onto her toes to try and see over the tops of people to single him out among the heads. Nothing. Where the hell did he go? She pushed through some people, heading back in the direction of the sidewalk that lead into this small promenade that opened to the Eye where vendors vended, and buskers busked and tourists toured. It was a circlular sort of thing, fed from two directions that if they both kept going the way they were going, they might eventually meet up. But maybe, maybe tonight, already spotted .. already called out by the Lyons witch. Maybe it was time to end this stupidity. He wanted nothing to do with her. Fine. So be it. Once she reached the street, she made the split decison to just go home. There was a tube station nearby wasn't there?
[Will] No; actually, you know what? No! Who did Creeper McHighEnd think she was? Flouncing down from on high like some kind of witch-angel, sent by the mighty Alistair to retrieve his wayward genetic material and lure it back into the fold with her gentle suggestions and her careful revelations. He'd told her pretty explicitly to leave him alone at least twice, and she persisted! Aren't there laws against that kind of thing? Didn't he have the same right to walk the street without having to worry about whether or not some Valkyrie was about to swoop down on him and snatch up his soul as everyone else had? (This line of thinking is hilarious, of course, because he has no idea that she kind of is one. Or at least half one.) It was time to end this stupidity. With an inward groan he forced himself to turn on the ball of a sneakered foot and head back toward the... wait, where had she gone? Great. Now he was the stalker. Still, it didn't take him long to pick out a shimmer of tall and blonde headed for the nearby tube station, and once he had he forged ahead, again plagued by a less than jovial facial expression. Come on, he urged himself silently. Think of something really fucking witty to blow her off with forever. Make sure she never comes back.
[Isla] William might have caught sight of her heading for the tube, but the crowd was never a thing that went the way you wanted it. She'd learned that in the beginning of this stalking game ( it's been going on for way too many weeks than she would care to admit, by the by ). They werne't in tune, and got in the way, and it was safe to say it happened now. So what would Will come up on when he finally made it down into the Tube, if he did -- though it was apparent that's where she was headed. There at the bottom of the stairs before the hall that lead into where the train arrived and departed, the sister he didn't want wasn't alone. She was backed against the tiled wall, framed by two men. One was on the shorter side, and it was clear he was in charge; spouting at her to give him anything of value, while his partner, who was just as tall as she was if not taller, stuck a knife out at her throat -- the point of which was already pressing into the tender flesh just exposed above the tan and red scarf. "I don't -- I don't have anything," it was true. She'd left her bag at home, she had nothing but a few coin pounds and identification. She wasn't even wearing any jewelry save the gold studs in her ears! But the problem was, even simply dressed, Isla looked like she'd have so many things of value. Including her person. The knife poked her, cutting her skin a little, and it had her turning her face with a cringe that squeezed shut lush lashes. There were people in the train area -- she could hear them, and the loud sound of one arriving, but none had yet begun to enter into the hall, or even take the stairs. So maaaaayybee it might not hurt much to use some magic. Tricky thing though, with that blade at her throat.
[Will] He couldn't believe that he was actually bothering himself with tracking her down, as opposed to vice versa, but what else did he have to do, right? Will dropped stairs two at a time, tattooed fingers wrapped around the cold metal of the railing that separated one half of the concrete steps from the other. "Hey, Edelstein," he called into the din, sarcasm clipping his tone. Edelstein, my ass. What ever punk thing he was about to say after that was strangled by the rising of the proverbial curtain on a scene he obviously didn't expect to find himself presented with. Oh, look at that; she'd gotten herself mugged. That's what you get for looking like a Burberry ad, Isla. "For fuck's sake," he grumbled, approaching the trio before having noticed the flash of silver blade at her throat. "Most of these guys don't want to hurt anybody, they're just cold and hungry. Give them what ever cash you've got on you, and..." It had started out as a chiding. An 'oh, Jesus, you're so well-off that you can't even take care of yourself after dark on city streets.' But he didn't recognize her attackers. He knew most of the homeless who made the Promenade their collection plate. He knew most of the pick-pockets who made it their meal ticket.
[Isla]The call of her name, as sneeringly sarcastic as it was, flew open the oval of her eyes and her heart leapt up into her throat. Really? Now? If she happened to get stabbed right now in this sticky situation, that was no big deal. Easy peasy, but what she could do for herself, she could not do for Will if he got stabbed. Before she could call out to him though, the two seemed to catch on that she wasn't alone. The little one said something about her boyfriend while the other one stuck the knife a little deeper into the dip of her throat, making her choke a little on the pain that flashed, and it was clear by the smile of pleasure that pulled at his dirty mouth that he was intent on pushing in the blade deeper -- if Will hadn't fully arrived that is. A chill shook her when she felt the knife pull free, though blood began to flow quickly out of the small wound and eveything that happened next seemed like a blur.
[Will] Alarm turned the flap of his yap into a piercing stare followed by not one single word more but instead a jam of jacketed forearm into the crook of the knife-wielder's tense elbow. The weapon fell to the station floor with a clatter that contorted Will's face into violence and a beard. He pulled his forearm back and across his chest in almost perfect parallel to his guitar strap, then angled his body into the collision of his elbow and the side of the tall attacker's head, sending him clattering to the ground, too. Will didn't waste much time grabbing up the former-on-the-floor. He left the latter there to writhe with his head in his hands and whine about seeing double. An open-mouthed, teeth-grit growl and a glance from the knife to the short attacker got rid of him easily enough. As one duo scrambled for safety -- wait, who attacked who? -- Will was snaring Isla by the bicep and yanking her into the shadows, all flared nostril and heavy breath. "What the fuck were you thinking?" he demanded, suddenly every bit the cyclone his bloodline promised he'd be. "You don't go out alone at night dressed like that without a real ride home, do you hear me?" Paper trash circled them, just little bits at first, but then larger pieces; empty coffee cups, large pages from the London paper. Faster and faster and faster. He shook her. Just once. "Do you hear me?"
[Isla] From Will realizing what was really happening, this wasn't just about a few dollars for a meal, to the knife clattering to the floor, to the way her brother turned the attack around and sent the muggers scrambling for safety. Before Isla knew it, she was being pushed out of sight and had an angry Byrne before her. Wind picked up, and she could all but taste the magic that swirled within it. Hot with bitter rage. It was a bit confusing though. Dressed like that. To her, there was nothign revealing about the way she was covered from throat to toes, but it didn't click to her what he really meant. Expensive. Money, even in such simple garments, couldn't be hidden. "Okay, okay," she burst out the double words, raising up her hands to grip the wrists of the hands that claimed her shoulders. The wind picked up speed, circling round and round and keeping them in the eye of the tornado he was creating. He shook her, just once, but it was enough for her belly to flip flop and well up bile in her throat. "Slepptu, Will -- let go!," a whispered hiss, he might have even missed it beyond the noise of the rubbage and paper making it's sound within the wind. "Calm down, you have to calm down." A brown so similiar to his own fixated on angry eyes, and she squeezed at his wrists again -- though did either of them notice the blood at her arm? That falling knife was sharp, sliced right through the sleeves of her coat and her shirt, and through the skin unnoticed by the Valkyrie herself, and was seeping a steady stream of half-breed blood to her elbow. "I can't stop it, it's yours. Make the wind stop, or we'll end up somewhere else. Maybe somewhere awful, like Scotland." Could it do that? Who knows. Most importantly. Will didn't. Lil' baby wizard.
[Will] Money can't be hidden, no, not when everything that goes bump in the night that has any use for it knows a plaid scarf on a girl headed underground in the dark means a good take. He didn't even want to think about what else might have happened to her. It didn't occur to him to stop and wonder why he cared, all of a sudden. Hadn't he been just shy of telling her to fuck off once and for all? Calm down, she'd said. Her hiss finally slithered past his eardrums and into his brain after a long, dead-on stare. Calm down. Make the wind stop. Will's expression changed from one emotion to the next in microseconds: Confusion, irritation; what bullshit was she babbling, now? How did the wind have anything to do with the fact that she was an idiot? With a brief glance down, and then a second, came the bewilderment, panic; oh, God. Oh, God, it's happening again. Why does this keep happening? He became a giant thirteen-year-old, vulnerable and ready to run, ready to hide. A glance back up into her eyes preceded a hasty retreat, large hands pulling down her arms and releasing her in the eye of the storm he'd created without meaning to. The wound neither of them had noticed, yet, left one of his palms a slick of red. "I'm sorry" he muttered, raising both of them and curling his fingers as though he meant to bury them in his hair with distress. "I'm sorry."
[Isla] If she felt it when his hand passed over the open slice in her arm, the adrenaline pumping in her nervous system wasn't letting her brain acknowledge it just yet. Isla searched his face, the confusion and fear struck there in his handsome features above the beard, and even within the scruff in the way he held his jaw, were enough to make her belly clench like a hot poker had just been stabbed through it. All at once, all over again, she hated her father for how he'd abandoned this boy, and the others. Left them to their own devices, not knowing who and what they where. His hands came up, and so did hers; first cupping his face. "Shh, no, shh." But she saw the blood then, streaking across his palm. Just the sight of it started a throb of pain in her arm, but she ignored it for now, because he looked as if someone had just kicked his puppy right across the universe. "You can control it, Will. Just concentrate. Focus. Take a breath, ja? As deep as you can. You can control it," she softly repeated and one soft thumbpad smoothed at the skin of his cheek above the line of dark that littered his jaw. She could control things too, but they were unimportant now, and her focus was soley on her brother, and getting him to ease the tornado away. It was already whipping the ends of her jacket around her knees, pulling at the pristine way she'd fashioned her hair and sending strands to billowing like ribbons.
[Will] Will's hands fell, dwarfing Isla's with cover and smearing the back of one of her hands and one of his cheeks with her blood in the process. His face, furrow-browed, scrunch-shut-eyed, lowered into the cup of them with an inhalation so deep it was a wonder he didn't just suck up every little bit of air there was to be had on the platform. Breathe. Out. Then in, again. Focus?! Focus on fucking what? The fact that these freak weather patterns keep following him around? How about the idea that Alistair had put in his head that he was the one causing them? That he was some kind of freak of nature? No, Will, focus. Focus on her. His grip curled itself over her fingers on either side of his face. It wasn't quite dear life he was holding on for; just some shred of sanity in a reality turned upside down by the surname he'd been given at birth and never given the opportunity to be rid of after that. Gradually, the rise and fall of his chest slowed, and so did the rustle of debris that circled them. The crow's feet fell out of the corners of his eyes and the furrow fell out of his brow. When at long last he straightened up, he pulled her hands out of all that scruff. They remained his prisoners, only against his sternum, where that guitar strap crossed it. "I'm sorry," he repeated, calmer, this time. Well, until he looked down at the tangle of Byrne fingerprints he held and realized that they were all covered in the blood they shared. "Isla," he muttered. "Your sleeve. You're hurt." His clean hand cradled the back of her head for seconds. Just seconds.
[Isla] It was somewhere in the midst of all this, in the way he listened to her, focused on her and the words she whispered to him in encouragement that she realized something. Her father dropped the bomb, but didn't give Will the type of explosives that were used. His hands were warm with magic when they covered hers, and she turned her own enough that their fingers somewhat intertwined. "It's the wind, you know. Our family has a call to it. Other elements of magic, sure, but they'll never be as strong as the wind for us. No, Will. You've done nothing you have to apologize for. I should .. " Her voice trailed, at his realization, and she pulled that hand away from his chest where he'd laid both of them, and turned her arm some to frown at it. She could see within the sliced up material, to the cut beneath it. It wasn't deep, just a sliver, but long enough that it was bleeding like a stuck pig. Amber stare, like a lioness, lifted back to Will. "It's nothing," she was quick to dismiss it. Already it was knitting itself back together; slower than it would have had she realized it to begin with and started to heal it right away. The DNA from her mother wasn't good for much, but it was good for that. "I shouldn't have been following you," color rose a bit into the high set of those amazing cheekbones. "He didn't send me. He doesn't even know we've talked. I just want .. " Here, her throat welled, and stopped her words. Emotions she didn't want, and they glittered wet in her eyes -- visible, but not spilling. The next words came out fast, because she was afraid the tears would streak her cheeks if she let them sit, and she was also pretty certain he was going to run. "Our situations were different, but I grew up just as alone as you did. I didn't know about you until I was old enough to understand why he did it, and even then I wasn't allowed to even ask questions. I just want .. I just want to .. " She felt incredibly stupid then, and really rather nauseous .. and it turned out, she was the one that was gonna run. "I'm sorry," burst out, before she disengaged her hands, and booked it for the train platform, and the crowd.
SUMMARY: Will decides to turn the stalker tables on Isla and ends up blowing it big time. (Wind wizard; blowing it; y'see what I did there? Nyuk.) He's such a jerk.
TW: crime, violence, blood, parental abandonment issues
[Will] "Oi, excuse you!" snapped the slim blonde who shouldered into Will -- she shouldered into him, not the other way around -- and prompted him to flatten the backs of his hands against the collarbones hidden underneath a quilted jacket; forest green. An embroidered guitar strap crossed his chest diagonally, which meant that his best friend was hanging out somewhere behind him. Light from one of the Promenade's ornate street lamps lent a warm cognac glow to his widenening eyes. "Huh-okay, princess," he shot back at her. When she whipped around to glare at him, he crossed them. He also wrinkled his silver-wringed nose and curled his moustached upper lip, then mocked her previous exclamation openly. She flipped him the bird and moved on toward the Eye. Will shoved his hands into the pockets of old blue jeans and kicked the heel of hot pink high tops against the pavement, grinning like the shitheel he is. The grin was short-lived as upon turning his attention toward 'his spot' he discovered that someone had beat him to it. Scowl. Strong, dark eyebrows met in a V. V for vendetta. As in, he was about to have one against this person, whoever they were. You don't busk in someone else's territory, man. It's against the code.
[Isla] Of course his best friend was on the trail! Where in the world is William San Diego? She was a half a block or so length behind him. One of those small city blocks, you know. She could see him well, considering his height put him above many of the others gathered around this touristy area. Given it was the Holiday season, the crowds were bigger down here than usual. People liked seeing the city all light up from the Eye, and to frequent the shops that surrounded it for their shopping and whatever else normal people did. Isla didn't know. She'd never been normal. Nothing was normal with stalking your adult brother either. But yet, she did it. A khaki Burberry trench fit her quite well, belted at the waist with deep pockets that she had her hands shoved into. It covered form fitted jeans tucked into dark brown riding boots that went up to her knees, leaving just an inch or so of the denim shown before the hem of her coat took over. Whatever top she wore was hidden beneath the bulk of a scarf made of the same label as her coat, it's signature plaid tied loosely at her throat. She'd swept her hair back into a fashionable pony tail, the gold strands forming a few smooth coils rather than a mess of wild curls. She kept her distance, kept into the crowd -- only stopping when he came in contact with another blonde; a frown deepening at her bottom-heavy mouth when she witnessed the whole confrontation. Lashes narrowed, not at all liking how the wench glared and got snotty with Will. Lost in the sudden surge of something akin to protective that she'd never quite felt before. Maybe because she'd never had the opportunity, but it was there now, as she stood there among the people still moving on the sidewalk. Seething. Which would account for how Will got too far ahead of her, but for a moment, it didn't matter. Because Isla strode right up to the dumb blonde ( probably from a bottle too, scrawny bitch ). "You ever bump into someone again like that, and don't apologize, I'm going to find you, and I'm going to cut all your hair off and glue it to your face. With super glue," her accented lilt -- so lovely in it's ups and downs and rolled r's -- was a hushed hiss, and before the woman could even really get a chance to say anything, Isla was moving on. Now irritated she'd lost the man, but then again. She knew where he was going, and it was in that direction she headed; unaware someone had taken his spot. How rude!
[Will] Not that best friend! His guitar! Jeeze. The blonde Isla approached was neither dumb nor a stranger, which she would realize as blue eyes met brown. She wasn't a bottle blonde, either! "Sort of a strange thing to get all cunty about, isn't it? Bumps into strangers." Beth was unintimidated. She glanced between Isla and Will and back again, then lifted an eyebrow. "You never struck me as that kind." It didn't much matter how one blonde struck the other, did it? Each returned to her purpose and her path, and soon Isla would stumble upon a grumpy brother whose plans for the night had been changed by an intruder. A turf-trampler. He was grumbling and he'd pulled a hand back out of his pocket to scratch at the mass of dark curls atop his noggin. Now what?
[Isla] The thing about it all was .. Isla just wasn't the type. She didn't get snappy, she didn't get in fights. She was the quiet serenity on the stage, the pretty glow of gold in the background, just observing. It was more the voice that piped up after Isla's oh so inventive threat that was familiar than the face had been, and Isla whipped around to face Beth Lyons with a narrowed stare. All she did though? Pointed a finger at her to know she meant serious business, and then flounced about to continue after Will. Who had stopped before his usual spot, which meant Isla got far closer to him than she'd meant to. "Shit," the word expelled on a breath, and just in case he happened to turn around when there was only a handful of feet between them, she ducked behind the nearest thing. Which happened to be a rather portly gentleman with his family, listening to the music being played by the one who'd jacked Will's spot. The wife and children of said man weren't exactly too happen for the willowy blondes intrusion on their man. He did though, slipping a big warm arm around her waist and dragging her into a bit of a dance in time with the music; while Isla did her best to keep her face hidden from Will, should he look over. Damnit.
[Will] Offended snorts always draw Will's attention in their general direction; not because he's a busybody, but because he's usually the reason for it, and he'd honest to God not done a damn thing to deserve one, this time! Some other Byrne was the culprit. That portly gent's wife looked like she was about to spit fire as he snared some other pretty girl up and forced her into awkward dance steps -- naturally, he laughed, bright and wide, with a crouch that planted the palms of his hands on his knees... until he recognized Isla. The way he went ramrod straight again and about-faced sent a clear message: He'd have preferred another few minutes with Beth than to have run into his half-sister, just then. The night wasn't going his way. He didn't need her further lousing it up for him. Her and her fucky feet and her plaid scarf; the kind only rich, spoiled women wear. His competitor could have the God damned spot. He just wouldn't eat that week. He broke to the left and tried to lose himself in the crowd.
[Isla] If she wasn't so occupied with trying not to be seen, she'd have stopped the dance with a firm, quick word, but as it was, she let the man flop her around; ducking this way and that -- but one peek was all it took to see that Will was .. gone. Gone. "Sir! That is quite enough," she jerked herself out of his hold; smoothing back errant displaced strands and straightening her coat and fixating the man with a stern look -- while he laughed, and turned back to his angry wife. Isla took a few steps back, unfortunately to the right, raising up onto her toes to try and see over the tops of people to single him out among the heads. Nothing. Where the hell did he go? She pushed through some people, heading back in the direction of the sidewalk that lead into this small promenade that opened to the Eye where vendors vended, and buskers busked and tourists toured. It was a circlular sort of thing, fed from two directions that if they both kept going the way they were going, they might eventually meet up. But maybe, maybe tonight, already spotted .. already called out by the Lyons witch. Maybe it was time to end this stupidity. He wanted nothing to do with her. Fine. So be it. Once she reached the street, she made the split decison to just go home. There was a tube station nearby wasn't there?
[Will] No; actually, you know what? No! Who did Creeper McHighEnd think she was? Flouncing down from on high like some kind of witch-angel, sent by the mighty Alistair to retrieve his wayward genetic material and lure it back into the fold with her gentle suggestions and her careful revelations. He'd told her pretty explicitly to leave him alone at least twice, and she persisted! Aren't there laws against that kind of thing? Didn't he have the same right to walk the street without having to worry about whether or not some Valkyrie was about to swoop down on him and snatch up his soul as everyone else had? (This line of thinking is hilarious, of course, because he has no idea that she kind of is one. Or at least half one.) It was time to end this stupidity. With an inward groan he forced himself to turn on the ball of a sneakered foot and head back toward the... wait, where had she gone? Great. Now he was the stalker. Still, it didn't take him long to pick out a shimmer of tall and blonde headed for the nearby tube station, and once he had he forged ahead, again plagued by a less than jovial facial expression. Come on, he urged himself silently. Think of something really fucking witty to blow her off with forever. Make sure she never comes back.
[Isla] William might have caught sight of her heading for the tube, but the crowd was never a thing that went the way you wanted it. She'd learned that in the beginning of this stalking game ( it's been going on for way too many weeks than she would care to admit, by the by ). They werne't in tune, and got in the way, and it was safe to say it happened now. So what would Will come up on when he finally made it down into the Tube, if he did -- though it was apparent that's where she was headed. There at the bottom of the stairs before the hall that lead into where the train arrived and departed, the sister he didn't want wasn't alone. She was backed against the tiled wall, framed by two men. One was on the shorter side, and it was clear he was in charge; spouting at her to give him anything of value, while his partner, who was just as tall as she was if not taller, stuck a knife out at her throat -- the point of which was already pressing into the tender flesh just exposed above the tan and red scarf. "I don't -- I don't have anything," it was true. She'd left her bag at home, she had nothing but a few coin pounds and identification. She wasn't even wearing any jewelry save the gold studs in her ears! But the problem was, even simply dressed, Isla looked like she'd have so many things of value. Including her person. The knife poked her, cutting her skin a little, and it had her turning her face with a cringe that squeezed shut lush lashes. There were people in the train area -- she could hear them, and the loud sound of one arriving, but none had yet begun to enter into the hall, or even take the stairs. So maaaaayybee it might not hurt much to use some magic. Tricky thing though, with that blade at her throat.
[Will] He couldn't believe that he was actually bothering himself with tracking her down, as opposed to vice versa, but what else did he have to do, right? Will dropped stairs two at a time, tattooed fingers wrapped around the cold metal of the railing that separated one half of the concrete steps from the other. "Hey, Edelstein," he called into the din, sarcasm clipping his tone. Edelstein, my ass. What ever punk thing he was about to say after that was strangled by the rising of the proverbial curtain on a scene he obviously didn't expect to find himself presented with. Oh, look at that; she'd gotten herself mugged. That's what you get for looking like a Burberry ad, Isla. "For fuck's sake," he grumbled, approaching the trio before having noticed the flash of silver blade at her throat. "Most of these guys don't want to hurt anybody, they're just cold and hungry. Give them what ever cash you've got on you, and..." It had started out as a chiding. An 'oh, Jesus, you're so well-off that you can't even take care of yourself after dark on city streets.' But he didn't recognize her attackers. He knew most of the homeless who made the Promenade their collection plate. He knew most of the pick-pockets who made it their meal ticket.
[Isla]The call of her name, as sneeringly sarcastic as it was, flew open the oval of her eyes and her heart leapt up into her throat. Really? Now? If she happened to get stabbed right now in this sticky situation, that was no big deal. Easy peasy, but what she could do for herself, she could not do for Will if he got stabbed. Before she could call out to him though, the two seemed to catch on that she wasn't alone. The little one said something about her boyfriend while the other one stuck the knife a little deeper into the dip of her throat, making her choke a little on the pain that flashed, and it was clear by the smile of pleasure that pulled at his dirty mouth that he was intent on pushing in the blade deeper -- if Will hadn't fully arrived that is. A chill shook her when she felt the knife pull free, though blood began to flow quickly out of the small wound and eveything that happened next seemed like a blur.
[Will] Alarm turned the flap of his yap into a piercing stare followed by not one single word more but instead a jam of jacketed forearm into the crook of the knife-wielder's tense elbow. The weapon fell to the station floor with a clatter that contorted Will's face into violence and a beard. He pulled his forearm back and across his chest in almost perfect parallel to his guitar strap, then angled his body into the collision of his elbow and the side of the tall attacker's head, sending him clattering to the ground, too. Will didn't waste much time grabbing up the former-on-the-floor. He left the latter there to writhe with his head in his hands and whine about seeing double. An open-mouthed, teeth-grit growl and a glance from the knife to the short attacker got rid of him easily enough. As one duo scrambled for safety -- wait, who attacked who? -- Will was snaring Isla by the bicep and yanking her into the shadows, all flared nostril and heavy breath. "What the fuck were you thinking?" he demanded, suddenly every bit the cyclone his bloodline promised he'd be. "You don't go out alone at night dressed like that without a real ride home, do you hear me?" Paper trash circled them, just little bits at first, but then larger pieces; empty coffee cups, large pages from the London paper. Faster and faster and faster. He shook her. Just once. "Do you hear me?"
[Isla] From Will realizing what was really happening, this wasn't just about a few dollars for a meal, to the knife clattering to the floor, to the way her brother turned the attack around and sent the muggers scrambling for safety. Before Isla knew it, she was being pushed out of sight and had an angry Byrne before her. Wind picked up, and she could all but taste the magic that swirled within it. Hot with bitter rage. It was a bit confusing though. Dressed like that. To her, there was nothign revealing about the way she was covered from throat to toes, but it didn't click to her what he really meant. Expensive. Money, even in such simple garments, couldn't be hidden. "Okay, okay," she burst out the double words, raising up her hands to grip the wrists of the hands that claimed her shoulders. The wind picked up speed, circling round and round and keeping them in the eye of the tornado he was creating. He shook her, just once, but it was enough for her belly to flip flop and well up bile in her throat. "Slepptu, Will -- let go!," a whispered hiss, he might have even missed it beyond the noise of the rubbage and paper making it's sound within the wind. "Calm down, you have to calm down." A brown so similiar to his own fixated on angry eyes, and she squeezed at his wrists again -- though did either of them notice the blood at her arm? That falling knife was sharp, sliced right through the sleeves of her coat and her shirt, and through the skin unnoticed by the Valkyrie herself, and was seeping a steady stream of half-breed blood to her elbow. "I can't stop it, it's yours. Make the wind stop, or we'll end up somewhere else. Maybe somewhere awful, like Scotland." Could it do that? Who knows. Most importantly. Will didn't. Lil' baby wizard.
[Will] Money can't be hidden, no, not when everything that goes bump in the night that has any use for it knows a plaid scarf on a girl headed underground in the dark means a good take. He didn't even want to think about what else might have happened to her. It didn't occur to him to stop and wonder why he cared, all of a sudden. Hadn't he been just shy of telling her to fuck off once and for all? Calm down, she'd said. Her hiss finally slithered past his eardrums and into his brain after a long, dead-on stare. Calm down. Make the wind stop. Will's expression changed from one emotion to the next in microseconds: Confusion, irritation; what bullshit was she babbling, now? How did the wind have anything to do with the fact that she was an idiot? With a brief glance down, and then a second, came the bewilderment, panic; oh, God. Oh, God, it's happening again. Why does this keep happening? He became a giant thirteen-year-old, vulnerable and ready to run, ready to hide. A glance back up into her eyes preceded a hasty retreat, large hands pulling down her arms and releasing her in the eye of the storm he'd created without meaning to. The wound neither of them had noticed, yet, left one of his palms a slick of red. "I'm sorry" he muttered, raising both of them and curling his fingers as though he meant to bury them in his hair with distress. "I'm sorry."
[Isla] If she felt it when his hand passed over the open slice in her arm, the adrenaline pumping in her nervous system wasn't letting her brain acknowledge it just yet. Isla searched his face, the confusion and fear struck there in his handsome features above the beard, and even within the scruff in the way he held his jaw, were enough to make her belly clench like a hot poker had just been stabbed through it. All at once, all over again, she hated her father for how he'd abandoned this boy, and the others. Left them to their own devices, not knowing who and what they where. His hands came up, and so did hers; first cupping his face. "Shh, no, shh." But she saw the blood then, streaking across his palm. Just the sight of it started a throb of pain in her arm, but she ignored it for now, because he looked as if someone had just kicked his puppy right across the universe. "You can control it, Will. Just concentrate. Focus. Take a breath, ja? As deep as you can. You can control it," she softly repeated and one soft thumbpad smoothed at the skin of his cheek above the line of dark that littered his jaw. She could control things too, but they were unimportant now, and her focus was soley on her brother, and getting him to ease the tornado away. It was already whipping the ends of her jacket around her knees, pulling at the pristine way she'd fashioned her hair and sending strands to billowing like ribbons.
[Will] Will's hands fell, dwarfing Isla's with cover and smearing the back of one of her hands and one of his cheeks with her blood in the process. His face, furrow-browed, scrunch-shut-eyed, lowered into the cup of them with an inhalation so deep it was a wonder he didn't just suck up every little bit of air there was to be had on the platform. Breathe. Out. Then in, again. Focus?! Focus on fucking what? The fact that these freak weather patterns keep following him around? How about the idea that Alistair had put in his head that he was the one causing them? That he was some kind of freak of nature? No, Will, focus. Focus on her. His grip curled itself over her fingers on either side of his face. It wasn't quite dear life he was holding on for; just some shred of sanity in a reality turned upside down by the surname he'd been given at birth and never given the opportunity to be rid of after that. Gradually, the rise and fall of his chest slowed, and so did the rustle of debris that circled them. The crow's feet fell out of the corners of his eyes and the furrow fell out of his brow. When at long last he straightened up, he pulled her hands out of all that scruff. They remained his prisoners, only against his sternum, where that guitar strap crossed it. "I'm sorry," he repeated, calmer, this time. Well, until he looked down at the tangle of Byrne fingerprints he held and realized that they were all covered in the blood they shared. "Isla," he muttered. "Your sleeve. You're hurt." His clean hand cradled the back of her head for seconds. Just seconds.
[Isla] It was somewhere in the midst of all this, in the way he listened to her, focused on her and the words she whispered to him in encouragement that she realized something. Her father dropped the bomb, but didn't give Will the type of explosives that were used. His hands were warm with magic when they covered hers, and she turned her own enough that their fingers somewhat intertwined. "It's the wind, you know. Our family has a call to it. Other elements of magic, sure, but they'll never be as strong as the wind for us. No, Will. You've done nothing you have to apologize for. I should .. " Her voice trailed, at his realization, and she pulled that hand away from his chest where he'd laid both of them, and turned her arm some to frown at it. She could see within the sliced up material, to the cut beneath it. It wasn't deep, just a sliver, but long enough that it was bleeding like a stuck pig. Amber stare, like a lioness, lifted back to Will. "It's nothing," she was quick to dismiss it. Already it was knitting itself back together; slower than it would have had she realized it to begin with and started to heal it right away. The DNA from her mother wasn't good for much, but it was good for that. "I shouldn't have been following you," color rose a bit into the high set of those amazing cheekbones. "He didn't send me. He doesn't even know we've talked. I just want .. " Here, her throat welled, and stopped her words. Emotions she didn't want, and they glittered wet in her eyes -- visible, but not spilling. The next words came out fast, because she was afraid the tears would streak her cheeks if she let them sit, and she was also pretty certain he was going to run. "Our situations were different, but I grew up just as alone as you did. I didn't know about you until I was old enough to understand why he did it, and even then I wasn't allowed to even ask questions. I just want .. I just want to .. " She felt incredibly stupid then, and really rather nauseous .. and it turned out, she was the one that was gonna run. "I'm sorry," burst out, before she disengaged her hands, and booked it for the train platform, and the crowd.