vengeance, a badge and a gun

[do_what_thou_wilt]

It's been a long day and it sits, restless, in Auryn's blood, waiting for a spark to set it off. It's raining, again; barely scraping 60 for however many days in a row. The asphalt's complaining about the late thaw and so are Auryn's neck and shoulders, reminding him that he was once a southern boy and he's at weird angles all day working on cars.

(Lately, it seems, Auryn can't even just shut up and get his work done. He's glad enough he hasn't been fired, after his and Davin's confrontation in Quill. He's happy not to make small talk -- he's usually taciturn and focused and he prefers it that way. But today he found himself explaining that yes, he does, actually, understand what "the only one who touches my car" means, and no, he doesn't know who the man with the sports car is, but Davin isn't available and he can schedule an appointment or Auryn can do the work himself right now. He'd gotten the keys, eventually, along with a death threat if there's so much as a rearview adjustment out of place.)

It's a good couple miles back to his little house in the woods, and he's tired and grumpy when he gets back there. It only darkens when he sees, just shy of his usual turn into the road, a tree splintered at the base and fallen across his path, accompanied by thick gouges in the mud, now filled with water, where a Jeep or maybe an ATV made a poor decision about where to infiltrate.

He takes a step into the flooded path to reach the tree, still hanging on on one side, and just crouches with his hand on it for a moment. There's nothing he can do, though: the damage has been done. All of a sudden he's just angry, angry at his own ineffectiveness and passivity, angry at other people and their arrogance, angry at how alone he feels in a place that was supposed to be some Holy Grail of witch communities. He balls up the fury painfully and pushes it out, lifting the tree and the water up out of the tracks to hover and throwing it all with force with a frustrated shout, coming down with a hard thud and bouncing a few feet away down the empty road.

The sudden whine of a siren, makes him freeze. He half turns to see a patrol car slow to a stop across the road. "Siren Cove Police. Stop right where you are,” the officer says as he gets out of the car, hand already on his gun. His partner’s a step behind.

"Hey, let's not do anything stupid --" Auryn says, taking a step and starting to spread his hands out concilatorily, and the officers both pull their weapons immediately. The one in front barks, eyes fixed,
"Hands on your head. Don't move."

Auryn can feel his heart hammering as he stares at two drawn handguns, but all he can manage in response is a cold glare, locking his fingers over his skull and resting them there; it occurs to him late that his hands are probably being considered weapons by the trigger-happy duo. It also occurs to him that in any other circumstance if he were to strike someone who pulled a gun on him it might be considered self defense.

The first of the two grabs him and twists his wrists back behind his back, pushing Auryn against the car. “I know my rights,” he spits at him as the officer cuffs him. “You can't do this."

"You might want to reread your legal codes," the other cop says. "You're in direct violation of Siren Cove law. Open and public display of magic."

"You can't arrest me for that."

"You're not being arrested," the other cop says, patting him down ungently. "You're being detained. But keep up the smart talk and I'm sure we can work something out." He makes a triumphant noise at the long multi-tool knife Auryn has on him, digging it out of his pocket. Auryn tries to twist back toward him, and is rewarded with a hand to the back of his neck, pressing his face against the car. "Keep your eyes and your hands to yourself, boy."

"The problem with this place," the other one says idly, holstering his weapon and digging out his notebook, "is that you witch types think it's some sort of Disneyland. A guy just wants to get some coffee, go to work, feed your family, and instead I spend all day running into freakshows from away who want to re-enact the damn Coombs curse. Come Midsummer it'll be a whole sideshow. Name and address."

"I'm not answering your questions."

"I know who you are, anyway," the other one says. "This is that O'Connor kid," he informs his partner from where he's got his hand against Auryn's back. "Works at the auto shop. Mike was in Quill the other day and heard him as much as admit to brainwashing everyone. I heard he's got some creepy-ass shack up here. Sounds like building without a permit to me, Mr. O'Connor."

"It's Auryn Connor," he growls. "I don't think you'll find much, if you want to go tramping through the woods looking for trumped up charges, be my guest."

"You staying at the motel, then?" The quieter of the two has already run him through the system.
"Yep," he says, tiredly.

"You have two prior unpaid citations for public magic use in Siren Cove and another for trespassing. Ring a bell?"

"If a law is unjust, a man is not only right to disobey it, he is obligated to do so."

"Not in this town." He gestures at the back of the car. "Auryn Connor, you're being arrested for open and public display of magic and destruction of public property, with failure to pay previous civil fines. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say -- and have said -- can and will be used against you. You have the right to appropriate representation..."
His voice fades dully as Auryn lets his head sink against the cruiser. This is not how he had planned his evening.

[OOC: Dated to this evening! Spot Auryn being brought in, be the employee who processes him or talk to him at the police station, run into him after he's released...]

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[suisen]

When he tells her his name, Hana patiently signs A-U-R-Y-N, one at a time.

Then he writes and Hana waits, distinctly less patient this time. It's no fault of his own but Hana hates doing this kind of thing by notebook. Texting can take time, but it's still faster than the cumbersome process of handwriting and then reading. She clears out her note while she waits, ready to begin her response.

They may as well be pen pals, minus any actual delight in the process.

As she reads it, her opinion of him softens a little, though Hana has a harder time excising the excess of pride and cruelty that seems to come with old magic, accustomed to getting its way.

I meet people all the time who can't be bothered to communicate with me because I'm deaf. Because I have a phone, they figure it means they don't have to do any of the work. Human, witch, siren. But it's witches that I've run into most who say we've been forced to hide by humans. They want to go back to covens and ruling houses but so many of them never bother to learn how to talk to me.

Sirens and humans have learned sign language for me a lot more readily than witches, sometimes.

Pausing, she has a hard time with the next part but given the raw, emotional honesty she's thrown at him, Hana owes him the verbal truth as well.

My parents are powerful witches. They told me to use magic or surgery to "fix" my deafness or to leave home."

[do_what_thou_wilt]

He mimics it back at her, a little more messily than her neat spelling, twice. Names are powerful, and he'd rather be able to have control of his in any language. The silent gesturing makes him think of his father, a little, in a vague way that has more to do with things he thinks he knows about Marines than things he actually remembers. The way most of the blanks in his memories are filled in with supposition.

He can tell she's annoyed and fidgety as he writes and lets her read, but it's not his fault that everyone in this town comes with the newest iPhone and he doesn't, and he doesn't allow himself to feel bad about the fact that he can write in his mismatch of cursive faster than he can text.

He reads her text back, carefully, pen still resting on the page. You should try not having a phone, he jokes, and gives her a halfsmile to let her know he's joking, reading on.

We have historically been forced to hide by humans. But covens and ruling houses aren't any better than humans who try to throw money at a problem. Magic isn't something meant for our beck and call, a technology or a lifestyle. It's a gift we have access to, beyond our being. It's a mistake to . . . He shakes his head and waves a hand, drawing a frustrated line to indicate his dissatisfaction with his own communication and tries to rephrase, thinking.

He looks up when she pauses, and furrows his brow a little, reading when she shows him. He's sure if she's trying, the flare of confusion and then indignance that floods him will be evident. That’s not what magic’s for. Sure, he does little stupid things like light his cigarettes with fire. But that’s not innate change. So your parents throw both magic and money at problems?

That's awful he adds.

Auryn owes her more honesty after that admission, and he chews on the inside of his lip. I was taken away from my parents when I was eight. Babysitter found ritual knives in our home, pagan symbols. Finally had something they could do about our being different. Destroy it. He wraps his right hand around his necklace as he writes, pressing the edges of the tags into his palm unthinking. One set of fosters tried to Save me. Taught me what would happen come judgement...I don't think it worked.

His jaw is set. I can't imagine parents willingly pushing away their child, no matter how many times I see it, he admits.

[suisen]

I'm sorry is one of her favorite signs. The closed fist making circles over the heart is so simple and yet apparent in the way it indicates sympathy for the other's heartache.

So in a way, magic has cost them both family. Hana sighs and leans back, typing rapidly on her phone, hating that such a stilted method is the only way for them to have this conversation. Long minutes sitting and waiting as her mind translates this conversation from ASL's grammar into that of English. English still comes secondary to her.

None of my family know sign language. They made our cook interpret because she learned. Or they used cell phones and notepads and wondered why I stopped having anything to say.

Sometimes, it feels like the whole world is a cake. When you're hearing or able-bodied or whatever, you have access to the whole cake. I only have access to the slice of the cake that's made of people who are willing to learn my language. Then the slice of cake of people who understand my language and my powers is even smaller. By the time you get to witches who speak my language that like me...I'm down to a petit-four.

And it seems to me that the people who talk about the superiority of magic are always the ones who don't bother with me. They want to have their cake and eat it too. But I only get a nibble.

It's a weirdly appropriate metaphor, she finds. After he reads, she holds up a hand to pause him so that she can clear her note and write anew.

So the witches...the arrogant ones. I don't like them. They turn this town into their personal plaything and it's supposed to be on behalf of our kind but I end up with nonconsensual amnesia, sewing nettles until my hands ache.

And when I felt your emotions at the station, it felt like you were one of the people who'd take part in that kind of thing, proudly. I got angry.

[do_what_thou_wilt]

He doesn't know the sign, but both her slight emphasis and the very nature of the gesture makes it apparent. He shrugs with a tight smile and waves his hand abruptly from left to right; not sign language but a clear mime for it's done, it doesn't matter.

He takes a long drink of cappuccino as she types and watches her, clearly a little frustrated with having to talk to him in longform. It makes him wish he knew more of the language she preferred; he feels stupid and hates it. Auryn can understand why people have tried to communicate with her using magic; it'd be faster for her and easier for him to try to beef up her existing powers to actual telepathy or something else. But that ignores the fact that she can speak already, has a language that he just doesn't know. Besides, he's not entirely sure what she'd hear, if she heard someone's thoughts in words. Would it even make sense when her language is visual?

He reads when she shows him, and makes a face at the paragraph about her family, though he feels a little guilty for being yet another person who doesn't just know sign language and requires notebooks and cell phones. Not that he's had the opportunity to learn it, ever, and he thinks that earns patience, but he's not known for his.

Auryn has no idea what a petit-four actually is except something that fancy people eat, but he can get the idea from the word petite, and he nods, waiting for her to finish. He chews on his lip and looks at her evenly at the next part.

I did, he writes, because they're being honest, and holds up a placating hand, but it's her choice if she wants to read on.

I didn't know what was going to happen. None of us did. We wanted to free magic, we wanted it to be unbound. It wasn't meant to be a game with humans, or witches, anyone. To bind anyone's mind. Just to live as one with magic around us.

We were arrogant. But not because we-- He strikes it out, because he's not sure of that with Nerium and Aoife. Not because I think I'm superior over humans. Or other witches. We were arrogant in that we thought we could control that level of spell. Just as the laws here can only play at it. Magic is not something we bind. Witches think that they control it, but we're vessels. This place is full of energy and the longer it is repressed, the more chaotic what escapes will be.

I'm sorry he scribbles, and echoes her gesture, looking at her. For the wrong done. We were foolish.

He doodles a cake quickly and draws up totally uneven slices, scribbling words around the big and littler slices. Rich, poor, able and otherwise, educated, uneducated, white, black, asian, Latino, men, women... the list goes on. Above that, to indicate the same categories for both: Humans. Monstrous. He then circles them all with an underline and draws another cake and an arrow to it from the circle. This is all I want he writes. Not my own cake. Not a bigger slice. Just the same one. But people will die to keep from giving a tiny share of theirs. They'll kill, hurt, make you hate yourself. You don't get what you're owed by being passive.

[suisen]

This type of conversation is easier for shorter conversations, the How do you do? I'm Hana. I use sign language, but I can text if I have to :) But this is a real, important conversation, something with gravit to it. Their philosophy. Even if her empathy could play well with telepathy, it would be all lost in translation, him trying to mine out My parents kicked me out from Parents make leave. Past.

His honesty inspires more respect than ire, after the previous words. The recognition of his own intentions, separate from those of those damn Coombses and Grimhildes, and failings goes further. They aren't the first witches to think they're masters and not vessels. She only hopes that he'll have more respect for that, as she's had to learn as a conduit for her own and others' emotions. And, she hopes, more respect for the humans who are even more powerless to stop such an onslaught.

I can't blame mortals for being scared, she types. They live in a town where people can see their thoughts or summon forces of nature. I could reach out and make you feel emotions that aren't your own. Witches and sirens have defenses; they don't. It doesn't make their persecution right, but I can understand why they're scared.

The question is how do they even move forward from that? Hana doesn't know.

Everyone wants their cake and their rightful share. Shit goes badly once they notice their slice is smaller. Hana nods at his diagram and then sighs.

This metaphor is making me hungry. For emphasis, she cups her hand and swings it from sternum to stomach, indicating hunger.

[do_what_thou_wilt]

He sighs a little and nods reluctantly.

I'm not sure there's any more to fear from us really than there are from them, he writes. Humans can do enough to each other on their own, and having the ability to prevent it doesn't make it stop. He lifts his father's dogtags. He respects soldiers, and even the necessity of fighting, sometimes. He doesn't love war. But maybe that's why they're scared.

He takes a long breath. I can't forgive what's been done. To me, to others. He tends to doodle as he writes and others is illustrated with a fire drawn around it. But I can understand it.

Auryn smirks at shit goes badly. No kidding. He gestures in a mine! way, hands clenched and pulled toward himself. He wonders what he's saying in sign language, if anything. But it's her next admission that makes him actually smile, and he mimics the hungry sign, nodding. He hasn't eaten today. Being arrested kind of messed up dinner.

You want something? I owe you. He draws an arrow from owe to where his coffee cup sits. Auryn counts his debts carefully, but trading food is one of the easiest to deal with. Their pastries are good.

[suisen]

Hana personally thinks that that's why they're so afraid. History is full of ordinary humans without supernatural powers who have done horrific things. It's frightening to think of what might happen if a witch decides to try his hand at being a maniacal despot. It's often troubling.

But on a small scale, at least, peace has been made between the two of them and Hana hopes he'll forgive her waspish behavior. She doesn't know what's gotten into her lately; it must be all the judgmental family genes activating or something, like a mutant power.

Smiling, she nods and takes the pen to scribble out I LOVE their cheesecake. She attempts to doodle a raspberry but it comes out looking more like a cloud from a Don Hertzfeld cartoon.

[do_what_thou_wilt]

Auryn isn't an empath, but the conversation has settled into comfortable debate rather than frustrated manifesto, and he appreciates that; that they can come to terms with each other. The conversation has been emotionally charged, but it's calmed him down as well to find someone he can actually talk to about it. The energy he can generally sense around, especially more powerful witches is less frenetic around her.

He grins at the doodle and gives her a thumbs up. Right back, he scribbles, and returns with a slice of raspberry cheesecake for her and a brownie for himself, putting her plate down first and sitting.

He glances up over a bite of brownie and scribbles, Would you teach me some ASL, sometime? Learning probably takes a long time :( but talking would be faster. She had no reason to keep talking to him, and he appreciates that she did: he'd like to be able to with some regularity.

[suisen]

Hana grins ear to ear at the sight of the cheesecake, one of her very favorite desserts. It's wonderfully paradoxical, made from something that's typically savory instead of sweet and, by composition, more like a custard pie than a cake. Dense, rich, and sweet, easy to make and rather more difficult to master.

She thanks him by sending a spark of cheer his way, not enough to alter his mood but give him scope of her own. It's an invitation, not an order.

Touching her chin with her fingertips, she waves her hand down and then repeats the gesture before writing down Lesson 1: Thank You.

Since he doesn't seem to use a phone, Hana uses her own and pulls up a few useful titles to start, showing them to him.

[do_what_thou_wilt]

Hana's grin is contagious and he grins back. He can feel a little nudge of lifted mood, just brushing up against his senses and clearly hers, and even though it's not meant to affect his mood it does, pleasantly, in the way that being around someone happy always has that ability.

He watches her sign and glances at the paper. He steals the pen back and scribbles sideways, how do you say, you're welcome?

Auryn leans to look at the phone studiously, noting abbreviated titles of things he should look up, and looks over at her. He signs thank you more directly to her with a little nod. Not just for the sign language. For the conversation, and the time.

[suisen]

She smiles again and shakes her head, making a sign for it's nothing before scribbling down on his paper. No sign for that. Just sign stuff like 'no big deal' or 'it's nothing. She shows him a couple options for the sign, shrugging.

When he signs thank you, Hana returns the gesture. It might be a point of pride that she sticks with sign language, but she's still grateful whenever someone is willing to learn.

It's strange starting a fight and finishing with a new friend.