Night's Omen

 Theia hadn't known where else to go, honestly. She'd sat at home for a while after Brennan had left, but every second that passed by she became more and more anxious. She had no idea what was going to happen. What would Dania do? Would Brennan be able to hold onto his magic if he got emotional? Maybe trying to rile him up all those times had been a bad idea; that Avian reserve would come in handy if he thought he was going to get his balance tipped. She began wondering if he was even going to come back - what if Dania wanted him to stay? She'd been banking on the girl telling him to eat shit, but it had been more than twenty minutes. Why wasn't he back?

  She shifted as soon as the door had shut and flew to the first place that crossed her mind, her form coming back into phase as her fingers curled around the door of the Lounge. Long, lustrious dark hair fell behind her, taking the place where her wings would have been, and a slender form that many would not envy had they only known what she'd done to get it made its way inside, Theia's eyes focused on the table where Tempest and Aristide sat, playing a lazy game of cards.

  She hovered close to them mostly, quiet until Tempest rolled her head back slowly and looked at her, dark eyes studying her form carefully. "Girl, why you jes' stan'in' dere like you frozen? You gon' sit or you gon' be a statue while you wait for him?"

  Theia quickly sat down in the chair at the end of the table, fingers twining against the straps of the alluring top she wore. She had a habit of tugging at her clothing when she was nervous, like she was itching to shift and fly away, and Tempest reached over and firmly grasped her wrist.

  "Stop shakin' about, me nuh wan' to put a spell on ya," she warned. Tempest did NOT like it when Amaltheia fidgeted.

Aristide made no more indication that he'd seen Theia, or that he'd even known she was going to arrive, than Tempest did at first.  They were playing a game, and as with all of the games he played, it wasn't nearly as lazy as it seemed.  Certainly, there was nothing tangible on the table, nothing like what happened in the back rooms of his place, but it still had its importance.  When Tempest had first come to him, he'd never lost.  Now, she sometimes beat him.  It was happening more often, and it was both delicious and dangerous.  She was coming into her own more and more.

That Theia had come to the Lounge, again, would have been surprising if they hadn't been expecting it.  That didn't change the fact that he thought it was odd how dependent on his guidance she was.  He didn't dislike having such a powerful creature coming to him so often, but it was unusual, and he knew it wasn't because he was that amazing.  Even if he was.  It was her, not him, and he raised an eyebrow in her direction when he glanced up from his cards, then returned his dark eyes to his hand, as though uninterested.

"Child, you be makin' trouble outta not'in', an' mo' ev'ry time ah see you," he rumbled from across the table, swapping a card to the discards and drawing another.  "Tell Papa why you really here."

He knew she'd lie to herself if he'd let her, and he was done with it.  They'd tried to lead her to her own understanding, but it was nearing the point of being blunt.  He so hated being straightforward.

 "I don't make trouble out of nothing," she snapped, folding her arms across her chest about as sullenly as a child who'd just been told they couldn't have a pony. She'd all but jerked her wrist from Tempest, who had only regarded her with a dangerous sort of stare before she looked down at her hand of cards.

  "She ain' gon' talk, Papa," Tempest said, her voice like a drawl. She flipped down a card and then reached beyond Theia pointedly, picking up a pack of cloves that Baptiste had imported for her. She slid one out of the package and slowly leaned forward, lighting it off of one of the many candles that were around the table (it was a big table). She exhaled, deliberately into Theia's direction, and then smiled that languid, cruel smile.

  "She'd ratha' jus' sit dere 'n t'ink 'bout how her man ain' comin' back," she finished, looking to Theia with a grin. "Am Ah right?"

  Amaltheia narrowed her eyes at the woman, and then began tapping her foot explosively fast. "He is coming back," she snapped. "Why would he not?" And then she began to speak quickly, feverishly. "I mean, I look better, I'm, hah, obviously more powerful, I'm not frigid or stuck up and I don't have some family with a chokehold around my neck," she ranted, all the while staring at one particularly long tapered candle with her slitted eyes.

  "An' tell me why a Falcon be jealous of a "frigid 'awk" if you t'ink all dat you jus' said is true?" Tempest asked, flicking her clove into an ornate ash tray.

  Amaltheia slammed her fists down on the table with a tremendous force, and a tenebrous wave came off power came off of her form, like a soundwave. "BECAUSE." Just because. She could feel Papa and Tempest and everyone else staring at her and she had to reign those tendrils of magic back before she exploded.

  "Because?" Tempest prompted.

  "Because I ran him off. I just pecked and pecked and he went right back to her," she said, voice in a horribly low and angry pitch.

It was painfully simple, this process, and really kind of sad how easily it was working on Theia.  They still weren't being as direct as she would have liked, but neither he nor Tempest liked being direct.  They were still helping her, whether she thought they were or not. 

Eventually, he decided, she was going to have to figure out her problems on her own.

Tempest had riled her up and aggravated her into confessing that she'd run Brennan off, which wasn't a surprise.  Really, with her charming personality, it was more surprising that Brennan had stayed as long as he had without running to his quiet, golden wife.  Aristide would have preferred Theia over Dania because of the power issue, but that was him.  He lusted after power in ways that some men didn't.  He knew that Theia had other things working in her favor other than the power, though.  It was getting her to realize those things, and getting her to make Brennan realize them, that was the kicker.

He merely watched her as she snapped at them, pounding on the table, as though the power flex didn't bother him.  In truth, it didn't.  He had his own magic, and she might be a falcon, but he'd had a taste of that.  Her magic didn't scare him, not anymore.

"Tell me, child, why you be doin' dat?  You want 'im, non?  You cry an' beg me for 'im, an' ah give you what you say you want, and den you be chasin' it off.  Why?" he asked, because she needed to know.  If she didn't admit why, she wasn't going to fix it.  He could have had a psychiatrist doing this job for him, but no falcon was going to listen to a psychiatrist.  They'd rather listen to a hoodoo priest over a game of cards.  Makes perfect sense.

 Theia responded by making a choking noise. "I don't do it on purpose!" she exclaimed, sitting back in her chair so suddenly that she rocked up on two legs. She leaned forward and slammed it down, pressing her palms to the table. For all of the movement she was doing, neither Aristide nor Tempest seemed keen on making any haste with this, and it was driving her insane. She didn't understand his question.

"Ah see dis all de time, Teyah," Tempest said. The way she pronounced Theia was so strange, and yet it rolled off of her tongue like it was how it was supposed to be said after all. "A woman get her a man dat she t'ink will fix eeeveryt'ing up, an' den she realize later on dat de problem ain't somet'in dat anyone else can fix." She took a drag off of the black burning paper and set her cards down in a perfect fan on the table.

"Trust me, Teyah. You need to stop makin' t'ings about you be about Brennan, or 'e ain' comin' back," she warned.

  Theia shook her head. "I don't! I don't think he can fix my problems. I don't have problems that need to be fixed!" she protested.

  "Den why ya always be comin' 'round 'ere, tryin' ta get free advice from Papa?" Tempest laughed. "Chil', you have problems. E'rebody got problems. You ain' special, you got dem jus' de same as Ah do, difference be dat Ah kno' who to depen' on an' who's bad for me. You jus' t'ink e'reyone is bad and treat 'em all de same," she chided. "If Ah treat Baptiste like dat, 'e would leave an' nuh come back," she added.

"I don't - I don't do that! I just want him to be around and he always acts like he hates it!" she said, looking at Papa.

  "Ya ain' once tol' dat boy you like 'avin' 'im aroun', Teyah, don' try to lie to me," Tempest said calmly. "Ya jus' t'ink he knows dat ya care, but all ya do is make 'im feel bad for t'ings 'e ain' even done yet."

  "I do not!" she screeched. "Papa, tell her I don't do that!" Theia stared at the man desperately for defense.

Truly, he probably could have let Tempest run the show this time, and it would have worked, but he had his role in the conversation, as well.  When Tempest said the things that Theia didn't want to hear, he got to confirm for her.  It was a great bout of 'good cop, bad cop', except they were the furthest things from cops you could probably get. 

"When was de las' time you tol' dat boy somet'in' fine?" he asked, and if she could have answered him with a recent instance, he would have been glad to hear it, but he knew she couldn't.  "You be forgettin' what he was before he was bein' yours, an' you not tendin' t'im de way you should.  When you be wantin' a good spell, you gon' be good 'bout watchin' an' mixin' it.  Too much heat, an' it burns.  No good.  If de fire be too low, it cools an' dies.  You be workin' more den jus' a spell, Tee, an' dis boy can' be t'rown away de same," he pointed out, and it really WAS the most direct advice he'd given in a LONG time.  Theia must be growing on him. 

"You gon' lose 'him, girl, an' it be no one's fault but yours."

Somehow, he'd managed that without really accusing her of anything, which still kept him neutral between her and Tempest, just as he needed to be.  Theia wouldn't see it that way, he was sure, but that didn't matter. 

 Theia stared at Aristide as he spoke, her mouth hanging open like a gate. She had told Brennan nice things! She'd told him she liked his wings. She'd - she'd told him that - well, she did like his wings. What else had she said? Had she done anything that wasn't out to benefit her in some way? She thought about all those temper tantrums she'd thrown and how he'd calmly pick up whatever thing she'd thrown in a fit of rage and either throw it away if she'd broken it or put it back if it'd only been knocked around.

  That didn't even cover all of the bad things she'd said.

"Let me tell ya somet'in, girl," Tempest said, leaning forward onto the table with her half-lit clove. "I tell my 'usban' e'ry day I see 'im dat I love 'im. When be de las' time you e'en tol' Brennan you was 'appy ta see 'im?"

  "Well... " she said, voice trailing off into nothing beneath the slow din of the crowd. Tempest put her clove out just as her husband approached, and as though it were clockwork, leaned back in her chair to catch him by the arm and pull him down for a quick kiss and a whisper of this or that.

  "Oh, I've really fucked up," she said finally, putting her head into her hands. "He's not gonna come back, and I'm going to end up floating in some endless sea again," she moaned. Theia - Theia was the definition of a woman who needed a drink. She glanced up at Aristide.

  "It's been like, an hour since he's gone. How long should I even wait? Should I just expect that I deserve this and go?" She honestly didn't know. She was trying not to spy on him, clearly, but if he had no intention of coming back, what the fuck was she supposed to do? Sit in the Lounge uselessly for hours, waiting? She didn't want to go home, though. Home would be empty.

She can be taught. 

"Child, de sun will come up in de mornin', an' you betta be lovin' e'ryt'in 'bout it.  Remembah t'love de small t'in's, an' you won' have t'float 'round," he told her, glancing at Tempest and Baptiste with a growing smile.  If Tempest got her way, she was going to go ravage her husband within the next hour, whether he was supposed to be minding the bar, or not.  Papa would let them, too.  "If he comes back, you gon' remembah de t'in's dat make you happy t'see 'im?"

He was being a little mean, mostly because he knew what was going to happen, but he wanted her to learn.  If she didn't, they'd be back here again, and it might not work out.  "You want dat boy t'be more falcon an' less raven?  Den show 'im how you feel.  De res' will come."

Papa actually smiled at her, finally, and flicked a face down card at her across the table.  He'd been holding it every hand for the entire game without fail, and this was why.  It was the king of hearts, and though he wasn't a gypsy and into reading cards, he knew a sign when he saw one.  If it had been bad news, it would have been spades. 

 Theia took her head from her hands as he spoke, honestly believing this was going to be too little, too late. "IF he comes back," she retorted. She sighed a little, looking at her dark brown hair as it sat in her hand, silky-smooth. No less beautiful than before, but she was different. She'd been criticizing Brennan because she'd drawn his colouring in, but she'd never thought about how it had sounded when it'd come out of her mouth. He must really believe that she hated him.

She sighed heavily. "I think so," she said, glancing back up to him. He flicked the card at her and it landed face up - the suicide king. "How utterly appropriate," she said. She picked it up lightly and examined it, trying to focus on the detail rather than think about what else was happening right now. Theia was amusing when she actively tried to make time pass - it was good she couldn't control it.

  She set the card down finally. "I still don't know what is taking so long."

  "An' if you'd gotten ta say goodbye, 'ow long would you 'ave taken?" Tempest asked, brows raised.

  "I'd probably still be there," Amaltheia said, voice lowered. "I guess patience is a virtue, after all."

  Tempest seemed satisfied by this and fell into silence, eyes focused on the door.

It really was somewhat cruel of Aristide to refuse to tell Theia that Brennan was coming back, but it did help give Brennan a damn good idea as to what she felt when she saw him.  He'd gone back to her house, thinking that's where she'd be, and only waited for a few moments before he just couldn't stand it any longer and came to look for her.  As it turned out, falcon sought out falcon, and it wasn't hard to determine where she'd gone.

For the first time since he'd died under Delia's teeth, he felt confidence in his stride as he pushed the doors to the establishment open and scanned the room for Amaltheia.  Really, he didn't have to scan for her, not when she was so obviously at the table where the most magic was concentrated (between Aristide, Tempest and Theia, it was like a bomb waiting to go off at that table), but he felt like he was really seeing the place for the first time.  He wasn't afraid, even of the horrors he sensed from that hallway.  It didn't matter, not to him.

What did matter was that Theia seemed upset over there, and he frowned as he strode over, violet eyes meeting Tempest's before anyone else's.  He could feel Papa staring him down, but Theia still hadn't looked over, not yet.  It was as though Papa and Tempest had known he'd be showing up, but Theia hadn't.  Why wouldn't she have?

Because she probably thought he really wasn't coming back.  He wondered if she'd been relieved.  If neither of them wanted him, he wasn't sure what he'd do, and he faltered ever so slightly at that thought, but even Baptiste had turned to watch him approach the table, and something told him that he really needed to go over there. 

"Theia?" he asked, just a split second before he set his hand on her shoulder.  If she was upset, he didn't want to set her off, for sure. 

Theia had actually been staring down at her hands, looking utterly lost and forlorn until he said her name. She'd really studied the shit out of that card, and then she'd moved on to her nails, fingerprints, tiny marks and specks of dirt, fibers, everything you could think of that she could count, or memorize - she'd done it. She didn't even really register, when she looked up at Brennan, what was going on, because she thought for a second she was imagining things.

  Very clearly though did the light flick on above her head, and she tipped her chair over quite loudly as she turned and jumped to a standing position at the same time. Brennan wasn't but perhaps two or three inches taller than Amaltheia was, but it didn't seem to matter, because she jumped on him all the same. It really looked like something that a highschooler would do, not such a "distinguished" Falcon as Theia, but Theia had really proven to everyone time and time again that she was about as mature as a seventeen year old girl.

  "Brennan!" she literally exclaimed, wrapping her long legs around him and practically forcing him to hold her up. "You came back! I didn't think you were going to come back but you did!" And then she squeezed him so tightly that she might have asphyxiated him if he'd been human. "Please, please never leave again, okay?" she begged into his ear. "I'll try not to be so mean, just please please don't do that again, ever?"

Tempest burst out into laughter at how the girl could still manage to make demands at the same time as she was pleading.

Brennan might have thought that it was possible for her to be pleased to see him, maybe.  Any imaginative abilities he possessed were proven inadequate at understanding Theia when she took notice of him, however, and it went from her wondering if she was imagining things to Brennan doing the exact same thing.

Then, he registered the fact that she'd jumped on him, had her arms and legs wrapped around him, and grabbing onto her was a good idea.  It wasn't at all distinguished, but neither was the obvious wide-eyed shock on his face at her jumping him, squeezing the hell out of him, and then promising she'd try not to be so mean while she begged him not to leave.  He hadn't realized she cared so much, or that she'd been so worried he'd leave her. 

Even better, he hadn't realized how relieved he was that she cared, and that whether or not he was there mattered to her.  He didn't CARE if Tempest laughed at them, because this was his life, knitting itself back together after acting like it was broken forever.  He couldn't believe it, but he clutched Theia's body to him, staring at her for an instant before opting for an equally aggressive response (or, aggressive by his standards; he was still working on that).  He kissed her, hard and sudden, and it felt good.

"I'm not leaving, not if you don't want me to," he promised when they parted to breathe, and he actually smiled.  It was a relief, even if it had a sad aftertaste to it.  "It's over, she knows and we're done.  I want to stay here."

Well, not here, at the Lounge.  He thought that would suck, but with Theia?  He wanted to stay with her, he'd decided it finally, and he was glad to know what he wanted, for once.

 Theia was surprised when he kissed her, of course, because Brennan didn't take initiatives like that, but she'd gladly return the favour. When he'd pulled away, she leaned back, still holding on to him. "DUH!" she cried, slapping him on the arm. Yes, Theia = teenager. Eventually she'd wiggle her way to a standing position again, fixing her clothing as it had ridden up or shifted or whatever when she'd jumped on him, and then ducked under his arm to make it wrap around her shoulders.

  "They made fun of me because I didn't think you were coming back," she said, pointing with his hand at Papa and Tempest. She looked at Brennan, and cheesed a large smile. "Buuuut I guess I'm over it, since they kept me company for the longest sixty minutes of my life."

  "Brennan, dat girl be a 'andful! Ya betta watch her close nuh," Tempest warned, pointing a card at him.

  "I'm only as much trouble as the situation requires," Theia replied, glancing at Brennan.

He couldn't remember seeing her quite like this before, since even her good humor over being a true falcon again had been more contained and less aggressive, but he also wouldn't have dealt with the constant contact quite as well then.  Now, he was far more accustomed to it, and the more she pressed it, the more he wanted it.  He was starting to feel as though he'd been missing out on something incredible his whole life, and that touch didn't have to be awkward or limited to the smallest amount necessary.  He could be greedy, and Theia would be just as greedy as he'd let her, and it didn't have to be a bad thing that they were.  He was learning, albeit slowly, but these were invaluable lessons.

"How dare they?" he returned, his sense of humor still far more subdued than hers, simply because progression DID require time, but he was teasing her, and that alone was something that hadn't happened before.  He was okay with it, too.  In fact, he liked it.  It was satisfying, this excitement.

He turned his attention, which had been completely on her until Tempest said his name, to the other woman as she warned him of Theia being a handful, and he smiled once more.  Had Tempest said this to him even the day before, he'd have been unhappy to agree with her, because he hadn't thought that he belonged, but it was pretty impressive how far a little appreciation could go.  He felt a million times better, just knowing that Theia had cared whether or not he came back, and that she'd been upset by it.  That he mattered to her changed the whole situation.  He didn't feel so stupid for being there. 

"Noted," he said simply, rather than agree or disagree, and really, he'd been something of a handful for her, too.  He couldn't have been easy to deal with, what with his unhappiness with losing his old life.  He felt like this was the start of something much better, for both of them.  "Trouble might not always be a bad thing," he added, in a much lower tone.  There had been nothing but trouble, it seemed, for a long time, and a lot of it had been horrible, but it hadn't all be bad, had it?  It didn't all have to be bad in the future, either.  In fact, he was pretty sure that there would be a hell of a lot more before long, and he was determined that not all of it be bad.  Dania had been right about moving on, and if he was going to live this life, he needed to really try.

Amaltheia changed positions again, attempting to drag Brennan away to where she could talk to him without people hovering around. When she'd gotten him to a table not terribly far from where they'd only just been, the questions started.

  "So what happened? If you don't want to tell me, I guess that's okay, too, but I really want to know," she admitted, her voice almost to a whine. She was nosy, jealous, vain - all of the things that Dania wasn't. "If you don't say I won't be mad, but I will probably ask you about twelve more times before we get home - unless you really don't want to talk about it. Then I might still ask," she warned him.

Theia really could never get over her selfish, curious nature, but that was just who she was. She supposed as long as she tried to balance it out with adoration and consideration Brennan might be able to tolerate her. The Falcon sank low in her chair, half-stretched on the table so that she didn't have to raise her voice, and looked up at him with her chin propped on her hands.