Snowy Shoppers: Jolene & Margot, Fabienne & Wes

Margot
••• The withy clairvoyant rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms, massaging her temples after with the pads of her fingertips. Sick of being sick, Margot welcomed any distraction, even if it meant leaving the apartment and braving the brisk evening weather. Her eyes itched, her entire body ached, and her throat was on fire. She was exhausted, and if she hadn’t been prone to seeing things played out ahead of time, the sibyl would have been convinced that she had Mono or Strep Throat-- like any other discerning, self aware sick person. But no, it was decidedly the aptly named ‘Scarlet Pandemic.’ It had yet to reach its height-- only one life claimed in Portree (and many others to follow, she thought grimly,) and awaited the onset of its additional phases. So far, she couldn’t discern any path toward a cure-- and anyway, she (and most of her friends and kin) would be bouncing back within the next week or so. Mostly. With Aiden out of town on the business of tying up loose ends (his untimely faked death and subsequent release of all assets to one Margot Bixby being the catalyst), Margot relied on Aralie and Nohr for commiserating the woes of sickness. ‘Tis the season,’ she had joked, given that winter-spring seemed to be the time of year most fell ill. There was no need to raise alarm with her foresight regarding the Pandemic-- Aralie and Nohr would survive it. And anyway, they’d recently been spiked into anxiety with Aiden’s sudden (tragically theatrical) false death. No need to overwhelm them with the detailed account of the days (and weeks) to come. Oh yeah, and also I’m a clairvoyant! It was a bit much, and Margot was still a bit nubile in the sharing of her discreet abilities. Luckily, Aiden had taken it well. (Better than if she had been a lesbian, even though he said it was ‘totally cool’ if she was.) Thus far, he’d been the only person to both take it well-- and believe her. The experience, while positive, hadn’t thrust her into admitting it to the round table. Everything had its time-- one of the hardest lessons for a seer to learn. All people experienced life differently, mentally developed at different rates, and tailored their coping mechanisms within their own time frames. Like Aiden, Aralie and Nohr would learn of it soon enough, at times independently corespondent to them. The wind rasped outside the windows of she and Aiden’s uptown apartment, blowing chunky clusters of snowflakes past the glass. Margot was bundled up in a camel-colored wool coat with coordinating knitted black cowl scarf and hat (complete with an obnoxiously sized poufball resting on the crown of her head.) Donning winterized Chelsea boots and faded high-waisted denim, she looked like something straight out of Kinfolk, save for the posh poof nearly the size of her head. She coughed abruptly into a curled up fist, suffering a fit of mucousy ire before settling into several tutting throat-clearing breaths. “Urrrgh” she groaned as she spit a chunk of something green and yellow into the trash in the kitchen. “Fuck -me-.” she added, to nobody in particular because she was alone in the apartment. Glancing briefly into a mirror, she noticed the dark pigmented skin around her eyes and flush of fever on her cheeks. Eh, better than dead. Her phone buzzed-- the Uber that would deliver she and Aralie to the shopping district was pulling up. Grabbing her purse on the way out the door, the seer slipped out, locking up behind herself. •••

Aralie
.: Time made it more difficult to remain too deep in defensive delusion regarding the shared visions she and Nohr more frequently and more intensely found themselves caught unawares by. The incongruous but nonetheless synergetic dread and expectancy surrounding it all bore a similar juxtaposition upon them both with invigoration and fatigue. What more might they see or discern? But were they the latest case of folie à deux – a shared psychosis? She was afraid of that, but surely they were self-aware enough that it couldn’t be… but was that just denial, too? It was confusing, to put it in an oversimplified term. Some part of them both desired for these to truly be glimpses into something real – not fabricated by madness of a kind. At least that would spare them of the despair of psychosis. Though what would the implications be if they weren’t mad, but witnessing something else? Something ‘other’ outside of their concrete, tangible present? What did Margot experience, seeing the future of things layered over the present? This was by no means the same thing at all for Nohr and Aralie. They only saw themselves, and decidedly past settings – all the way back to archaic, and even bizarrely fanciful-looking eras and places. They only saw themselves, each other. It wasn’t always, either. Often when they slept, or touched. It wasn’t in the world around them, but… within a world they somehow both contained within themselves, it seemed. Couldn’t it just be a snowy day and little more than that for one afternoon, though? Fear of madness was distressing and fatiguing; fear of what *else* might be happening or revealed was none different. So she kept her denial for another wintry outing, so she could enjoy time with a friend, and it would be merely that. No philosophical complications or uncertainty about sanity – just… a snowy day in good company. Did everyone struggle with a chaotic, internal churn? Yet looked so tranquil or at focused externally? What cosmos of pandemonium walked beside her, adorned in the appearance (and perhaps, experience) of content mundanity? Would she even wonder this if she weren’t internally distressed herself? The irony would be, Jolene and Margot would meet, and smile, and genuinely wish one another well – while each shouldered strange uncertainties and experiences within. Each would wish for their friend to feel safe to share all – not knowing what that could entirely mean or entail – while each holding back something critical. Such was humanity, even among friends – especially among friends you wished to keep, and keep thinking well of you. Jolene arrived outside of Margot’s apartment, remaining on the sidewalk so they could meet and intercept the rideshare that’d been called. Amid the powdery bluster that treated gusts in white tufts, Jolene’s platinum hair licked and whipped about her face periodically, tugged by winter (of such like hues to her own palette) to follow off into some chilled unknown – or so it felt to her, while she waxed psychotic. A text went off to Margot that she was there, buzzing in after the Uber message (and Aralie’s cobalt eyes fixed to the vehicle that just pulled up, with its fun-and-inviting-and-obviously-your-ride company logo glowing in the front windshield. This outbreak business was another thing she wished to push out mentally. There was too much going on to digest another large slice on her mental plate. The visions, the *bizarre* meetings with Ryder (civil as *he* was, it could not be discounted that he was still, nonetheless, exceptionally strange in eldritch ways). The whole distress of Aiden’s faked death announced in the newspapers as real, talk of vampires murmured and more people in town who decidedly had a glow cast over their eyes (she was grateful personally about that, it wasn’t fair, she felt, to walk around unaware of frightening people around you. At least the Order helped people have some awareness more explicitly before one of them decided to sneak up on you pretending to be human and toss you in an alley for a meal or whatever the hell vampires and werewolves and the like did). Yeah, yeah, they lived in a world of supernatural things – you grew up with the idea, but like news of distant places, listed under the International column of a paper; you didn’t necessarily *see* it daily. It existed, but elsewhere. Always in the mysterious land of ‘Elsewhere.’ Not lately, though. She was just human,  just a person hoping to live a decent life and go by largely unnoticed – especially by things that perceived you as just some sort of bipedal cattle wandering around for the pleasure of others’ nutrition and torment. Fuck that. She was genuinely relieved for the measures the Order took. At least if something was coming for you, you’d see it in the eyes, right? Ugh. Were things always this complicated and fatiguing when they were kids? Or had maturation let things become so? Or was the world actually heavier these days? It was hard to sort (and perhaps impossible to). So much for ‘just’ a snowy day, huh? She wrinkled her nose and consciously made the effort to dismiss the heavy concerns that haunted after her. Shopping with Margot could create enough pleasant noise and reminder of what their desired normalcy could be. Yeah, Margot expressed having caught something, but didn’t make a big deal about it, so neither did she. It wasn’t like she took Margot for someone to fake being okay while having some deathly condition (as some did out of misconstrued care for how alarmed others would be at the news). A navy blue knit hat kept the crown of her head covered, and she wore her usual white winter coat and black boots, this time over gray leggings. Winter was her favorite season, and even this – as she should have expected, but didn’t, bearing the same inclination toward hopeful delusions as many others about the things they value – was being infringed upon at the edges (and more so). Still, not all was gloom. With the dread of things, came the friends she’d made, the romance she’d too keenly fallen deep into, and the growing pains of seeing more of the world than she considered before. Things would be okay, she assured herself without any evidence to support it. But it was enough to let the day resume being just a snowy one with a friend.  :.

Margot
•••Once out into the blustery street, the seer grinned at her silver-haired companion. Many futures revolved around her, like ghosts of a distant past and present all simultaneously moving ever forward in time. Margot didn’t constantly *see* them, but occasionally a flicker of intuition played at the periphery of her mind, later re-visiting her dreams. Even then, it was often a *feeling* that permeated vivid imagery-- accurate or not in somnolent portrayal. These things were generally more long-term visions, while short-term, immediate futures were brought to her by way of alcohol. These were impulse visions, highly detailed rendered images that captured her attention entirely as they played out. Her irises would shift into a murky, colorless pool-- the visions superimposed over reality until they passed. While the visions occupied -some- amount of her sight, they were more like a core, foundational part of who she was. Unquestioned, intensely visceral feelings- occasionally accompanied by highly-detailed accounts of the immediate future (while drunk) and somewhat more vague, less detailed articulations of the distant future (while she slept.) She drank, and she knew things. In that order, most times. She had basic knowledge about Nohr and Aralie’s futures, and that they occasionally shared odd visions as discreetly shared by Aralie in the future-- but was otherwise unaware of their recurrent lifetimes. She was freshly aware that her interpretations of her visions were up for debate, and had stopped trying to make any guesswork at incomplete visions or unstable intuitions. One solid tether held fast between the pair-- they were both wrapped up in the tumult of supernatural (with Nohr and Aiden, too) while trying to maintain the monotonous human mask. Despite the outward signs of illness on both masks, Jolene and Margot made the best of the chaos through retail therapy. Sidling up to the spot where Jolene stood in the snow, Margot spoke through her scarf, where her mouth and chin were hidden. “Hey Jo.” she said with as much spirit as she could muster, given a cakey sore throat. “How’re you feelin’?” she asked with an empathetic tenor as they climbed into the lift they’d summoned. It wasn’t a far drive, but Margot wasn’t about to take out her tiny two-seat Mercedes in the snow, and admittedly didn’t want to drive. The driver, a cheerful middle-aged woman with glowing eyes greeted them over the sound of classical music and confirmed their destination before taking off. Margot didn’t wear a seat belt-- an old habit. “…and Nohr?” she asked, once the car was en route. •••

Aralie
.: As Margot emerged, flagging her presence with the subtly muting fluff of her scarf over her greeting – Jolene turned with a grin that came easily, ahead of thoughts or social thinking. Friends did that, sparked cheerier expressions just by their nearness. “Hey, girl,” Jolene replied, holding up a double-cupped tea. “It’s loaded with honey, just a heads up,” as she extended the hot drink Margot’s way. “I had mine on the way,” she informed, to be sure Margot didn’t feel alone in the tea business. They both had been under the weather. On Jolene’s part, she wondered how bad the illness would get, as so far it just felt like an annoying cold by her experience. “I guess we can say we got ‘that sickness’ once its all said and done, eh?” She nudged her friend’s arm lightly with her jacket-padded elbow.  It was morbid humor, 'something to look forward to' in saying they got that one outbreak illness all over the news once it was all passed. It was also a sort of optimism, in a way. They were gonna get over it, all would be well, and they’d move on to whatever was next in their lives – like you do whenever you get any other tedious but nonemergency sort of ailment; that mentality hopefully would aid their immune systems (while they both actively mitigated symptoms through medicines, tea, rest (… though Jolene wondered to what degree Margot actually rested, she seemed a day and night owl to her). At least they’d do their best to reduce the risk of complications if they kept coughs suppressed, inflammation attended to, and so on. “I chatted with the Doc yesterday about all this,” Ahem, Nohr. “And they just don’t have a medicine yet specific to whatever all this Scarlet stuff is. He worries about me too much but tried to hide it, but also seemed optimistic they would nail it down soon enough,” she relayed her ‘insider’ peek at what medicine was trying to accomplish. “So he’s alright, but just very busy lately, you know?” Human complexity made her tone bear her pride for Nohr’s medical talents, but there was an undertow of something lamenting, too. Worry for him? Despondency at seeing him less? Margot could probably easily guess it to be both. They slid into the rideshare, and off they went. Their driver notably had a glowing sheen over her eyes, which Aralie mistrusted. Even if the woman seemed very cheerful and honestly quite warm… Jolene trusted that at least some reason from the authorities to cast this magic existed. Sure sure not everyone was to be typecast into [insert spooky, woogly fingers] ‘ohhh, murderous monsters’ – but let’s be real. If you were human, you had little defense if any if some werewolf or vampire eyed you like some meal. Jolene wondered if the sheen on their eyes helped to check bad behavior – since, well, they were exposed, some kind of morality might have been forced on them for it. Did she feel entirely right about the forced exposure, though? On a philosophical level? No. It was complicated, and even with the glow, humans weren’t necessarily safe, just more aware. She kept quiet about it usually, because she expected if she expressed her genuine fears or just concerns, she’d be given all these examples of right and proper supernatural beings and how dare she feel unnerved that she was surrounded by bloodsuckers and fiends. The majority of them could be benign even, but it only took one to gore your life away (and being an over-thinker, she did consider that human sociopaths and murderers could do the same, though they couldn’t just blink away or manipulate people’s wills like the supernatural killers could). Jolene genuinely felt caught between concerns and philosophies in a way she didn’t k now how to navigate out from, nor did she know if there was a way. Why did the driver have to have glowing eyes? She’d just managed to shove away all of her concerns enough for this  to be just a snowy day with a friend shopping. Ugh, now she felt like a fucking racist… or… whatever it was in this instance. Their car slowed to a stop, and the driver remained so mirthful and easygoing – even as her glowing gaze turned upon the girls wishing them safety and fun as they headed out. “…thanks,” she exhaled almost sheepishly, guilty for her own inner turmoil that related to this glowing-eyed woman’s kind. “Jesus, I need a new purse,” she sighed eagerly as they stepped out in front of the fine shops Margot practically could call her second home (and Jolene could easily see why, man, what options!). “How’re you and Aiden? He’s off for business somewhere?” :.

Margot
••• By contrast, Margot was at ease with their driver (and frankly, most people with glowing eyes.) her comfort was afforded, not by ignorance, but by two other factors: first, her paramour was among the Illuminat-eye population. Second, the handy skill of foresight offered peace-of-mind. The only trouble with that was—Margot spent her life up until this point in agonizing anxiety over her impending death. And not only her own, but every person she ever knew and loved. Even some she didn’t know. Aiden had unraveled that anxiety a bit by masking it with an enchantment that diverted her attention away from their combined future (effectively wiping his own future from her vision entirely) and Margot was still discovering the side-effects from the maneuver. She no longer saw her own death, but the residual anxieties she held prior to the enchantment persisted: forging her into an irrationally fearful state-of-mind. She remembered being afraid of something in the future, but couldn’t seem to recall what it was. She couldn’t remember why she had been so anxious, but knew that she was. It was true anxiety: an irrational fear of nothing in particular. Combined with what she *could* see (Not Aiden, and by proxy, not her own death,) Margot’s life was an endless cycle of underlying tension. She sighed and grinned, only visible by the crinkling of her eyes over her nose buried in her scarf as she gratefully took the honeyed tea offered. “You’re the best.” she croaked. Margot *did* rest...just at odd hours. With Aiden between 5AM and 1PM, when most people were working. It gave the illusion of her perpetual availability, while giving her hours during the daylight to accomplish ‘human’ things before Aiden rose. For example: going to the doctor. Or grocery shopping, because humans ate food and not...people. The withy seer nodded, agreeing with the commiseration, swaying after the nudge “We’ll remember it like American Midwestern gen-Xers recall that blizzard in the 70’s.” she joked. Margot was American-born, from Portland, OR. She had heard hundreds of times about the blizzard in the winter of 1970-something or other. (1978) Her parents’ generation never shut up about it. Given the prolific nature of this illness-- Margot already knew that the adult members of Portree Society would be hailing it in the same way in the not-so-distant future. As they rode, Margot listened to Aralie’s account of Nohr’s insider perspective with interest. “I’m sure he’s right. Most cases will be resolved soon…” Margot interjected between pauses with feigned oblivious intonation. The glowy-eyed driver coughed a bit herself, though remained silent otherwise. “He *does* have a bit on his hands with all of this,” she continued, picking up on the subtle cues of Jolene’s demeanor in regard to Nohr. “I heard someone died from it already.” the seer concluded, expression sobering before she sipped at the still hot (bless) double-cupped tea. “Did he do the examination?” she asked, still feigning ignorance. Nohr was the only toxicologist she associated with, so it would be believable that she assumed as much. The question was loaded, begging for any information Jolene was willing to share on the matter-- womanspeak. When their ride drew to a close, Margot handed a cash offering between the console. It was discreetly generous, folded beneath a five-dollar bill were some larger bills to help cover the cost of that fuel pump about to go out. “Happy Holidays.” Margot added in response to her well wishes and safety advisory, as cheerfully as a sickly human could before closing the door behind herself. Without needing any pause for direction, the clairvoyant fell into her routine shopping regimen alongside Jolene. There were hardly any objections from the wild-haired American, she loved shopping in all of its forms. She seemed to know which stores Aralie preferred too, lingering just a bit longer out front of their windows to peer in at the holiday-remnants and exclaimed sales suggestively. “Ah, yeah.” she resumed at the mention of Aiden-- they still hadn’t quite explained *why* Aiden was assumed dead amongst his artist circles in New York. “He’s a bit…eccentric.” Margot joked, sipping at the edge of her cup as she weighed the possible outcomes of revealing Aiden’s secret in confidence to Aralie. She didn’t want to lie to her best friend, and at the same time, it was Aiden’s secret to share. She straddled the line with finesse (leaving an intentional air of uncertainty for Jolene to fill in the gaps.) “He’s had this business for ages.” she continued conversationally, exaggerating tenor concealing the truth of her words. “And a few before that, too.” she held up the sleeve of a velvet dress to inspect its tooth. “I guess it’s something with foreign taxes and something to do with old politics…old money…” she waved a hand, like any oblivious girl chattering about things over her head would. “I wonder if he will change his name again…” she said aloud, as if it were some kind of vapid slip. It wasn’t. She was writing the lines Jolene would inevitably read between, feeding just enough information to keep their conversation innocuous to others shopping around them while pushing the envelope of subjects Aralie was already keen to through interactions. •••

Aralie
.: Jolene snickered about this 70s blizzard mentioned, though she herself hadn’t grown up in a place to hear about it – she got the concept. “Excuse me?” The platinum-haired woman responded in a quick kneejerk about an ‘examination’ from Nohr, as her culpable mind shot back to the night prior with Nohr. The reaction, followed by a sheepish grin and a look away gave away enough on *that* topic. “Ehh, you mean the person who died? I’m not sure, he keeps pretty hush-lipped about specific work details – but I wouldn’t be surprised if he had, given the size of the town and his specialized profession,” she ventured a reasonable guess, forgoing the initial flush at what she *thought* Margot was asking. Hell, this was her best friend, she knew Jolene and Nohr were in deep (….in literal and metaphorical senses). She just didn’t explicitly *talk* about it, though made no secret of their intimacies. “Yeah, he answers his phone even less than usual – but showed up at my door super late, said it was as soon as he could see me, he was worried, et cetera – and is back at work until who-knows-when,” and left it at that. They’d exited the vehicle, and Jolene, emotionally fatigued, was desperate enough to quit heavy concerns or philosophical quandaries, she was quite content to play avoidance coping through shopping. It also gave a distraction at hand while talking, in case anything even moderately cumbersome came up. Conversation carried now away from Jolene’s court to Margot’s & Aiden’s, and she was glad for it for the moment. The sort of back and forth that gives the minor buzz of unease a bit if reprieve. The comfort and ease with which Margot casually prowled the shops gave no ripple of suspicion to Jolene when things she genuinely really liked (and had missed) were pointed out to her. Would she have ever stumbled upon those prized purchases as Margot might have envisioned in Jo’s future without Margot intervening? Would she don that scarf or that new pair of fashionable winter boots if the seer hadn’t glimpsed that particular possibility? Schrödinger's scarf would never tell. These were considerations far outside Jolene’s awareness, and thus, they were never her burden (yet) to contemplate. Funny, there was a luck cat for the brand logo stitched into the tag at the end of her new, white scarf. “Like the day we all met—” she murmured whimsically about the chubby cat with its raised paw (intact) while observing the tag for its fabric composition, then let it fall dismissed. Margot began touching on ways to describe Aiden that were decidedly *very* ambiguous, which naturally lured in Jolene’s cobalt gaze under the curve of curious brows. Of all the terms she used, some could seem as casual hyperboles, the likes of which often slip into everyday dialogue, but ‘old politics’ strung them all together – it was a lynchpin to questions she’d had but felt too ashamed to pose. Like congratulating a woman on being pregnant when she’d just gained weight – it was mortifying. She suspected something *off* about Aiden, as much as she and Nohr admired their friend and knew his kindness (especially through his natural demeanor with Margot). “What is he, Prince?” She asked regarding name changes, trying to keep a laugh to her tone, but the breadcrumbs left for her weren’t leading her to anything positive (and now she had a vision of Aiden as a gingerbread house with a witch inside poised to eat them all – the fuck?). “Well, as long as he’s good to you and you’re happy with the circumstances – as long as these things remain true, I’m happy.” She put up an avoidant wall, though one built with truths. “Like with Nohr, we’re happy, circumstances are weird, weird shit happens, but all things considered – and it might sound crazy, but even the weird stuff we wouldn’t give up. It’s part of our composition.” Indirect way to say ‘whatever makes Aiden ambiguously ominous through what you’re saying, I encourage whatever, as long as you’re safe and happy.’ She couldn’t outright say ‘I have fucked up suspicions about Aiden’ – it felt like a slap. So the chasm remained, both wishing to cross, and neither certain on how just yet. :.

Wes & Fabienne
.: Tesla remained on the corner where it was before, in near the antique shop. Fabienne wasn't done exploring the town just yet, but she wasn't sure who to ask to go with her. "Someone take me shopping." she looked between Wesley and Muriel. //I'll go with you, love.// Wesley said to the girl. //I have to pick some things up anyways, and Muriel should take a rest.// The angel looked at him with squinted eyes and a tilted head, she was getting ready to say something but then Fabienne handed Wesley a mask and grabbed his hand. "Great! Come on cousin!" she said. She dragged her human outside into the snow again, making sure her mask was secure in the process. Wesley didn't put up much of a fight, after all, the angel might get touchy if he did! He actually liked the activity of shopping, where some men might flinch and drag their feet, he enjoyed exploring a shop. His forest green eyes looking down at the girl a moment and then he smiled as he lead her off into the shopping district. The warlock was somewhat hesitant about the idea of exploration, the last time they were together a weird dog attacked them. It may have been a hellhound of some kind, but he could not be sure about that. | As per usual, the girl was filled with energy, she dressed for the cold. *Some what, she was wearing one of Muriel's old coats that had been re-tailored to fit her.* There were a pair of gloves on her hand-paws, but her feet remained uncovered, mostly because the shoes hurt her feet and she was a pro at walking on snow anyways. *Natural lagomorph ability.* There was a bit of a hop to her movements but all in all, she didn't run ahead of Wes or lag behind. :.

Margot
 •••The kind of relationship Aralie described-- one of late-night rendezvous and overwhelming concern-- was enough for the seer to intuit what happened behind the doc’s curtain. (Nevermind the forthcoming moment where she’d walk in on them in the Antique store after close. To her defense, it would be dramatic, and she *would* require their assistance, post-haste! About what, the clairvoyant was still ignorant.) Margot’s attention was momentarily averted to the scarf as they walked the store floor, eyes skimming the outlines of the portly lucky-cat with reminiscent care and a hint of remorse. The cat was another loaded symbol. Luck! Despite all of the things Margot knew ahead of time, luck, chance and will were three factors that were constantly shifting things at the edges of her vision. Everything effected everything. It wasn’t luck that placed the four of them in the antique store that first day, but Margot couldn’t take credit for that through foresight, either. She hadn’t imparted herself or any will into their lives in order to make it so-- she simply knew about it ahead of time. Some ineffable eldritch threads tied the four of them together, no matter what path she chose to avoid them. She had considered a few, trying to detour parts of their friendship that would be difficult. Hardship was unavoidable, and their fates were tangled no matter what day they met. A broken luck cat was an eerily accurate omen. Loaded into that somewhere was the residual emotion tied to that broken cat. Margot glanced around to see where the rack of collectibles from the corresponding company were located. Ah, on the endcap alongside the scarves. She picked up one of the lucky-cat mugs and ran her thumb over its unbroken face. Aiden had dropped his when she fainted at his proposal. Her memory was a bit vague on the details-- it wasn’t like her to faint. Her brow crumpled as she looked at the mug. Had it just been shock? The engagement ring presently hiding beneath her glove was suddenly begging for air. Margot recalled the confusing haze of emotions surrounding the confusing proposal-- but not exactly what had caused them. She seemed momentarily bothered. She cleared her throat for both necessity and clarity, “Aiden is great…” she said, still holding the mug, but dropping it to her side as her attention again shifted. Her hands shuffled around a bit before she pulled off a glove and held her left hand up, “…I guess you could say he’s husband material.” she added with a grin, wiggling her fingers in the air so that the small diamond glittered in the hyper-luminous store showcase lights. She could sense Jolene’s incoming intuitions. Neither were ready to approach *that* particular subject, so a distraction was in order. A happier one, sort of like the entire shopping trip, yeah? As the pair lingered in the aisle of the store, the vague, fleeting imagery of an incoming duo played at the outskirts of her vision. They’d be crossing paths-- though their intentions or interactions were entirely unclear. In order to discern anything more, Margot would need a drink. •••

Aralie
 .: Jolene didn’t follow Margot step-for-step, but eventually browsed up beside her friend, curious of what she’d picked up and held for longer than other items. She didn’t know about Aiden’s broken mug, nor how its symbolism might have emerged from, well, wherever fate whispers from. Just as it had the day they all four had met and the antique luck cat had shattered in the shop. “Hey, you should get that. Then we both restore a little luck today, or something, yeah?” she encouraged without much for realistic grounds other than wanting to cheer her friend out of the moment of somber quiet she’d slipped into. Whatever Margot had just said next, and it had merit and value to be processed fairly – and wasn’t – it was lost to Jolene staring on, beyond. There wasn’t judgment, prejudice, love, or hate in her expression – because there wasn’t a schema in her mind that yet existed for what she was witnessing, or to be more considerate to the obvious higher sentience – ‘whom.’ In Jolene’s consciousness, the fact Margot was showing her an engagement ring took seed, and was rooting and sprouting toward conscious reaction. Just……….. Jolene had never seen anything anthropomorphic before. “I…Margot…er…-“ she sputtered, and perhaps Margot would take it as an initial bewilderment and rejection of the engagement, which was far from the truth. “..hopping…” she added with what word-power she could only barely muster. Fabienne had a hopping gait beside Wes, who on the surface seemed ‘normal,’ but then there was the rabbit girl and hopping and what, jesus maybe she was going nuts, the flashbacks before had some root in ‘sensible’ things even though they didn’t. NOW? Legit, a rabbit girl was cheerily and casually exploring the shops. She suddenly snapped toward Margot. “YOU’RE GETTING MARRIED!?” glance toward the rabbit girl, glance back toward Margot, words sort of lost between. But then she hugged her friend with an exuberant suddenness. “ITS OKAY IF HE’S NOT NORMAL!” She declared in her bewilderment. A confession that called across their unspoken chasm. “CONGRATS, DANG!” :.