Round the Wrekin' - Saga C. Rhyss

There were great times and not so great times lately. However much and however desperately he tried to convince himself that right now wasn't anything in particular it most definitely fell under the latter. 'Not so great' might even be a bit of an understatement. He had been ever so bothered with the pestering migraine he often struggled with and it seemed to have clouded his mind. Heavily. It made his eyes tear up every time he tried to focus them onto anything and the beginning sunset annoyed the living hell out of him.
"You need to change this more regularly, sir." Lucy's mellow voice pushed through his foggy mind and he replied with a low grunt. Everyone was so fucking fussy this morning.
A rather fowl smell reached Archie's nose and he wrinkled it inattentively before blinking and lowering his eyes to his right upper arm. Lucy had tensed her jaw as she moved the sticky bandage; careful to not harm him as she tried to gently take it off without ripping open the wound. Not an easy task with the dried blood grabbing onto the fine fabric they had wrapped him up with earlier that night.
"What I need, Lucy, is a brandy with my morning coffee - and a fresh fucking shirt." That should do the trick, he told himself. That should do the trick indeed. A brandy and then he could very well go back and get the bastard. A brandy and a coffee and then his body should have done the work and allow his hand to be strong enough to pull a bloody trigger.
"Sir?" Lucy's voice had turned suspiciously high pitched. The glare that met her when she raised her eyes from the fresh bandage she had been wrapping around his arm, quickly reminded her of her manners, and she quickly stammered an almost silent 'of course, Mr. Barnes', before pulling his shirt back up over his shoulder, covering his arm fully.
The beautiful girl stood up and straightened her skirt before exiting the room with the tray she had entered with. On the tray next to the bloody water and the old bandage was an empty cup where she had had his morning coffee. The second coffee of the morning.

In fact, Archibald Barnes had not closed an eye the whole night and nor had most of his staff. He'd been in a right frenzy when he had come home; not just upset that he had been shot but something else had clearly been wrong, and now he seemed to have forgotten most of the feverish night. Lucy gently closed the door behind her and straightened her back, to look up at the worried faces that had been hiding on the other side.
"They better be here soon, Mr. Sylvester," she mumbled. Sully groaned in frustration. Not more than 20 minutes ago had he demanded that John and Link would go fetch the witch Saga Rhyss; as fast as inhumanly fucking possible. 20 minutes was snail-speed-time and he was getting aggy that the boys were taking such long time.
"He can't act like this today, Luce, he's got a fucking meeting in less than four fucking ho-" Finally - finally - the door downstairs opened and the bickering voices of John and Kit could be heard echoing through the long hallways. "- fucking finally," Sully finished his sentence with a low grumble, straightening his back a little. Lucy lowered her eyes to the floor and moved to the corner as the loud guys continued their bicker; evidently it had not been that easy to convince the witch to come and they seemed to drag her along by her arms. "Just have a look at 'im, yeh?" John grumbled as they burst through the door to Archie's office.

Archie, who had moved from the corner sofa to his desk, looked up in curiosity at the rather noisy entry of a much larger amount of people than what was decent for an early morning like this. His evident annoyance softened up as soon as he saw the short, messy hair of no other than Saga Calliope Rhyss. And she was not looking pleased at all. "Ah! Rhyss," he hummed. What a pleasant surprise. "Bit early for you to be 'ere, ain't it?"

A week. It had barely been a week since the little witch had returned in Gaia. She would never plainly admit it to herself or talk openly about it if not necessary, but she was still recovering from the seemingly countless unpleasant occurrences which she had been unfortunate to experience on the Cuban isles. And yet, she had been dragged from her home in the early morning hours to see to an old fool. The initial fight had been to get her into the car. From there on out it had been a bit easier for the two men as she had sat surprisingly still in her seat - arms crossed and sporting a heavy silence that in contrary spoke very loudly about her thoughts on the situation. Arriving in front of the mansion, the sound of seagull screeching being a clear telling of where they were, she was still held tightly by the arm and pulled up through the door, but she didn’t do much in struggling at that point. Instead she simply walked with the baby-faced vampire, who turned out, didn’t want to risk anything, so the grip didn’t really loosen as she was lead through the familiar house. This most certainly wasn’t her first time visiting the estate. Just like most of the faces she met wasn’t that of strangers. Albeit she didn’t give them much attention while passing them and finally stopping where she had predicted the goal to be. His office. The old fool. Archibald Barnes.

Intense eyes fell upon him immediately, as if he attracted their focus like a hungry and gluttonous beast. Even though this man looked nothing like a beast. Her already beginning frown fell only deeper the moment he spoke and although her expressions were all so mellow and faint, the emotion shouldn’t have any trouble getting across to him. Without taking her gaze away from him - already re-observing every little detail - she reached a hand up to her forceful escorts grip and in a shift yet elegant movement brushed it off her upper arm. A task easily done since it had already loosened enough that it was only a question of seconds before he would have let go on his own. “Your men have an abhorrent tendency to not understand a simple ‘no’,” her poise sounded with sufficient amounts of sternness to get her point across with no chance of mistaking the intent.
Standing there, Saga looked very different than he - or any of the other members of the Barnes Limited family - usually saw her. Her face was the same; moon pale and smooth, soft features. Her eyes hadn’t changed; still mimicking the ocean and most importantly naturally façade piercing. Her fame; unchanged. But her hair… While air-dried and messy and snitching about how she hadn’t been given time to run a comb through it that morning, it was no longer raven. It was white. Completely devoid of pigment. No longer was she a complete opposite of her pure white familiar. And it wasn’t only her hair on her head, bit also her brows had taken that stark colour, although the black hair was starting to grow out again, giving some definition to the brows so at least she didn’t look so much like a blank canvas anymore. The same was for her roots on her head, but hair there only grew so much in a week’s time so it was barely noticeable.

“What is this, Barnes?” she asked, not really giving the sense that he was allowed to not answer her on that. She fleetingly looked towards John, before her eyes were back on Archibald as she took the first few steps towards him. The smell of infection hang in the air of the room, not even close to being masked by the smell of freshly brewed coffee. And her watchful gaze hadn’t just passed over the blood and dirt on his clothes. Or the cold sweat on his forehead. Or the way he favoured one side over the other. She let him see how her eyes wandered around him until they found their way directly into his.

One big luck she had had was that she hadn’t been pulled directly from bed and had to stand in front of Archibald in her humble T-shirt, which she slept in. After a shower a couple of hours earlier - to signify the end of another sleepless night - she had been forward thinking enough to pull a pair of very high-waisted blue mom jeans over her legs and fastened it with a thick belt and then pulling a partially oversized beige-ish kaki coloured hoodie over her torso; cropped and fitted to sit just about where the jeans reached. Was she do reach her arms up over her head, a sliver of bare skin would possibly get exposed. Her attire stood in a sharp contrast to her companion by his desk, even if they ones had been dawning the same style back in the day.

Under ordinary circumstances, Archibald Barnes didn’t move his face a lot; not when he thought nor when he spoke. He had so thoroughly perfected the art of staying straight faced under a vast majority of scenarios and had become confident in simply sitting with a straight back and rip the fruits of how much such a posture could get him. Under ordinary circumstances, that was.
Archie managed to furrow his eyebrows in confusion as his gaze fell from Saga’s unpleased frown to Link, who’s hand was wrapped around the witch’s arm. The vampire’s eyes, however, was not on the girl; it was on him, with a rather annoying dash of either pity or worry. Two emotions he didn’t particularly like; least so when directed towards him.
As she spoke, the sharp sternness in her voice, made him look back up at her. The fluffy white hair made his lips curl up in a sideways smile.
“Next time, try to add a swear word in there,” he advised dryly. “Seems t’work for me - have you been taking hairstyle tips from your lovely Circe?” His words seemed rather jumbled on top of each other as if his mouth was a little ahead of his head. "Suits you well, blonde." He had always liked her dark hair, admittedly. Same colour as his own; reflecting the night sky and framing her face in such a lovely way that made her blue eyes stand out. The white hair made her blue eyes seem a little more piercing. Or perhaps that was simply having been dragged here by John and Link which was entirely understandable, he thought.

What is this, Barnes?
Archie hummed an innocent 'mh?' at her as his eyes refocused onto her face. More not liking her tone of voice, he didn’t like how they all looked at him, and had been looking at him all morning. Even Lucy, who had somehow perfected the right amount of caring and leaving him be, had been fussy all morning, insisting on people constantly checking in on him, as if the bullet would somehow kill him through his arm. “What's what, Rhy-Fucking ‘ell lads!” He snapped loudly, dragging his eyes off the platinum blonde witch to send a staggering glare to the far end of the room where Link, John and Sully all stood looking awfully ... expectant It was hard to focus with the whole house being so on edge. “Quit the gloomy fucking faces will ya? As long as Livery Street! It's just a fucking bullet.”
The frustrated outburst had made the room feel hot and although his hands were just as clammy, he dragged it across his forehead to attempt to dry it off, bringing back his hand to rest on his face. He gently pressed his index finger and thumb on each side of the back of his nose, groaning in annoyance.
“I’m fine,” he assured her, his voice gaining a tad more amplitude as he spoke. It was utterly humiliating to sit there in front of everyone as they looked at him like that. It slowly dawned on him what was happening. Some conspiracy that was! Had they dragged Saga all the way here to have a look at a gunshot wound? Didn’t they know better?! As if a simple shot should be grave enough for her to even be considered; she’d most probably just tell him he was being a whiney wanker - except of course she was a little more articulate in her mannerism than that.
John pushed out his arms in frustration, waving a hand at him. "See?!" He squeaked at Saga, as if trying to justify that they had dragged her all the way here. “I got shot, so what?” Archie grumbled, dragging his angry glare across each of the guys who stood behind her, before finally ending up on her. “The boys are being a right myther. It doesn’t even hurt and it will bloody well heal itself in a day or two, it will.” Truthfully it didn’t hurt at all, actually. Felt rather numb. He knew he still had a few of her healing spells tugged away neatly somewhere and had obviously relied on one of them to speed up the healing process in his body.

With a jumbled push he got up from his chair and walked two steps to the side, placing himself half on top of a chest of drawers in some sort of half attempted show-off that 'see, I can walk so it can't be that bad.'
He had placed his right hand in the pockets of his trousers for a little extra support on the arm. "You lot still here, then? Tell Lucy I need my cigarettes while your at it." There was a pinch of tiredness in the hoarse voice as he spoke and he raised his good arm to waff the boys off, telling them to leave the room.

Saga’s prejudice of the banshee being a fool of a man evolved so effortlessly unto undeniable truth. She was not wrong. Archibald Barnes was no coward and in absolutely no situation had she ever come to believe that and probably never would. But a fool. A fool he surely was. An a big one at that. “Shot?!” she repeated just before he had finished his sentence. With a man in his occupation, one should really not be as surprised by such a revelation. It would be a much greater amazement, had he never in his long life had a gun pointed at him. Even more so, if a gun hadn’t ever been shot at him. But he was no ordinary man in the business. This was something that shouldn’t have had happened. And since it had happened it left the little witch with very little of the same pity which his entourage clearly were filled with.

What he deserved was exactly what he wanted; to deal with it on his own. However, what he needed was something much different. The opposite, most likely. And she had been rather close to simply presenting him with the former of the options, leaving him to possibly get worse and worse until he’d come crawling to her entirely on his own. But then he continues talking. It doesn’t even hurt. The majority of situations, this statement was to best claim to hair. But there was, funnily enough, situations where it only was the cause for more concern and while she still didn’t let herself feel such for his stupidity, she sense it spike in the personal around her - John, above them all. “You’re staggering, Barnes. Either you’ll heal up in one or two says, as you yourself estimate.” She held a very brief pause while tilting her head ever so slightly to the side, even putting a delicate lift in her chin. At the same time the pouch of a pocket on the front of her sweatshirt started moving before revealing a white and furry creature, that agility and flexible crawled out and up to place itself around her neck and shoulder. Glittering and golden eyes watching Archibald. After having dealing out scratching claws and bashing wings upon both Link and John as they had been rough to their prescioy witch, Circe had seeked refuge - and transport - right there in the pocket like some kagaroo pub. “Or your staggering will have you laying on your own floor.”
With the words, quite softly actually, having left her tongue she took her eyes away from him to instead let them wander over her shoulder and further as she turned her body to properly look to the three men being shoo’ed out, hoping to catch them before they did, which wasn’t any problem really. None of them seemed to be in any hurry to do the will of their chieftain. They would, eventually, though. “Tell Lucy to leave the cigarettes outside,” she plainly said, not even flinching by the change of the order. It wasn’t unknown information that she wasn’t too fond of smoke. Archibald - or any of the Barnes family - had never been allowed to light one in her quaint little quarters of Oakheart and had they tried their luck anyway, it had been snatch straight out of their mouth with no mercy of potentially grazing them with the flame of the lighter or the embers at the outwards-facing roll of tobacco but at the same time, she didn’t usually stand by the same rule when she was in theirs. This time, though, was an exception. One she was sure the men had enough brains to understand without added explanation. “And see if there’s any stock of Echinacea flowers somewhere in the house. As well as fresh oregano leaves.”
The little list of things should be a decent hinting that she had accepted the request of at the very least have a look at the man in question, even if she hadn’t actually verbally confirmed it with certainty. She was already there, and indeed that was rarely an excuse the little witch took into account as the first or even the second convincing factor, it was the easiest to convey.

Saga hadn’t really given the men any chance of not going along with her directions and neither was she about to let Archibald complain about it. So, as she felt secure she finally turned her gaze - and body - back to front the leaning banshee, only really listening to the door close behind them in the back of her ear. “For a man who’s supposedly impenetrable, getting shot and hit must have been quite the task.” Since he had moved a few steps away from behind his desk, Saga took the last few to lean her hip up against the side of it. “How did you manage such a deed?” There was the obvious answer of someone having pulled a trigger at him. But that wasn’t what she was interested in. And he should well enough know this. For else she wouldn’t have asked.

More than the witch’s voice, what caught his attention was the slight ruffle as a white ball of fur peaked out from underneath the cropped jumper. His face softened up immediately as he regarded the little creature with a surprising amount of warmth. He was just about to greet Circe some creative a version of ‘finally someone sensible in this room!’ when Saga seemed to suggest that he could be hitting the floor sometime soon. He hummed disapprovingly at the notion.
“Tad dramatic this early in the morning, are we, Rhyss?” He mumbled under his breath following an exhausted sigh. He really wasn’t in the mood for the sassy bickering that usually occurred between the two of them. Not today, when he had an important meeting and still had to hunt down the bastard that had managed to get his shot through. Another bitter little detail was that the bloody bullet had gone straight through and gotten lost somewhere in the old warehouse building. Some goddamn Demon gang that had been wrecking havoc in Southside.
Tell Lucy to leave the cigarettes outside
Archie looked up, his eyes expanding in utter horror at the mere thought of not having a cigarette. “Tell Lucy she’ll be doing no such thing!” His angry voice had gotten slurry on the ‘L’s and as he was about to push himself up and away from the chest he had leaned onto, to make sure John got the message, a surging wave of dizziness had him grab onto the wooden furniture underneath him with a grunt, trying to stabilize himself to not simply tumble forwards and hit the floor; much like the pretty little witch had suggested a few seconds earlier.

Archie wondered then if the term ‘glaring daggers’ came from some being with the ability to do just that, and momentarily envied any such being. “Do not test me,” he growled at her heavy sarcasm. The banshee’s glare unfortunately didn’t shoot any physical daggers, nor did it kill. It was however very obvious that he had to control himself not to explode in the face of the now-white haired little witch and her matching familiar. Instead he collected himself, softened his frown and raised an eyebrow at her remark. Had it been anyone but her, he would have taken it as pure sarcasm, but he knew, she actually wanted to know. Needed to, more like it, if she was to help in any way, as she seemed to have decided upon; a rather uncharacteristic decision knowing how much she absolutely despised anyone telling her what to do.
“They usually lack creativity when it comes to bullets. S’pose this guy fucking didn’t,” he stated, still in a low grumble, showing just how much it annoyed him that he had let his guard down. He however seemed to have shifted the tone from earlier, sounding a little defeated. “Seems it wasn’t metal and I was being yampy 'bout it.” That would explain it all to someone who knew a bit more about his abilities that they theoretically should, but the witch in front of him had stitched him up and awful lot of times; enough times, surely, to know how his body worked. And how he had to somehow predict an attack to counter it. Assuming the bullet would be made of metal was a crass mistake possibly stemming from the lack of sleep he’d had lately. There. The secret was out. Archibald Barnes had been lazy and taken a bullet made of god knew what. It almost made him smile - always so calculated, always campaigning for things taking time and for being thorough; yet this had happened. Utterly laughable.

Although his voice still slurred slightly, the nausea seemed to have passed and he took the moment to gently push his weight back onto his feet, experimentally taking a step forwards.
The little step had the last of his stubbornness seep out of his body into the  emptiness around them, as the whole world seemed to tilt dangerously sideways. He muttered a slurred “ah, what the fuck,” under his breath before grabbing hold of the chair behind the desk. “Alright, right, okay,” he surrendered, feeling utterly out of breath.

The anger ringing out in Archibald’s voice shortly after, she had edited the initial inquiry for the man’s precious cigarettes didn’t seemed to fester any kind of concern or fright in the little witch and hopefully watching her unbothered by what usually would have the power to provoke retracting reactions would be plenty of reasoning for the men to choose her side of the underlying argument. But when it really came to it; she wasn’t the one who they were devoted and loyal to. And she could, in a way, understand how they probably wouldn’t be up for dealing with a man such as this one when he was peckish for a nicotine fix.
“I’m not. You should have more confidence in me than to think that I’d be testing waters with you as are now.” His sharp fair-blue eyes cut deep into enough they were looking at - her, in that instance - she met them just as straight and she could easily sense their razor-like edges. They just didn’t hurt her like she was sure he must have been wishing for. Just a little bit. One could conveniently think that Saga experienced a drastically different treatment from this man and while there was a partial truth to it, it wasn’t as if she was completely outside any of the guidelines. It possibly wasn’t even so much, that he just let her get away with more. Although that on occasion was the deal. And as she had predicted, the glares dissolved without any clashing. Archibald was a smart man, after all.

With his face softening - never truly removing that harsh expression, though - so did the judgmental wrinkle between her light brows and the stern glimmer in her eyes faded only leaving that natural and for the most parts; unintentional intensity behind. The first bit of what could actually be descripted as worry appearing as soon as his voice changed. Defeat wasn’t something that particularly suited the banshee. “I suppose not. He mustn’t have been very confident in his creation it would seem, though. If he didn’t properly fire at your chest.” Her attention strolled calmly from his face down to his upper arm, a hole in his dress shirt being a very obvious tattle-tail of where he had been shot. For a moment longer, she let her eyes linger as she could just about see the bandage through the hole, not making it that helpful. Except that it told her, that he had the very least had let it be bandaged up and changed, considering the clean white color contrasting the dirty shirt. “And now he wasted his creativity.” Her eyes found him once again before she continued: “I don’t doubt that he must have intel about how your body works and how his bullet won’t do the trick the next time around.” There was some relief in that. But not enough to remove all worries. If whoever this guy was, could make ammunition that like that, what chance was there, that he wouldn’t just be able to make yet another different kind.

She watched him closely as she attempted to move around yet again. To her inner surprise it was done so as a admitting loss to a game, he himself had been the only real player of. Too bad she had been the rule’s master. Clearly.
Then as if the white ferret on her shoulders knew exactly what the little witch had been about to do, it gracefully jumped down onto the desk, exactly as she pumped her hip slightly to push herself off form the lean. “Sit,” she commanded him to properly insure that he didn’t just chose to use his chair as a support to still stand. He wouldn’t need to worry about keeping the feeling of authority by the height different, he would be on his knees looking up and he’d still emit strong signals of overhanding power. “When was this? Yesterday? Did you bandaged yourself up?” She moved onto his side of the desk and firstly reached a hand up to very faintly place the back of her fingers against his forehead, immediately feeling the heightened heat before ultimately jumping up to sit on the edge of the desk. A single, elegant gesture with her hand was then all it took for her telekinesis to grab the chair by one of its armrests and tucked at it - the weight with him in it being and the chair being without wheels this was about what she would do without straining her ability - and indicated for him to move himselv closer to her. “Open your shirt.”

Archie held her gaze for a second before replying with a nod. Truthfully, he didn't have confidence or trust in a lot of people, but the witch who stood in front of him in her, as-always casual in her high-waisted blue jeans, had gained it long ago. The were moments where she would test him, though, just as there were moments he would test her, but they both knew the rules of the game and respected that there were times for that. Now was no such time, and she wasn't entirely wrong in being offended at him suggesting otherwise.
If his own blue eyes were bright and sharp hers could only be described as deep and intense. Like a still lake. She had never shied away from - and always met his gaze with determination and a subtle confidence that he could only admire.

"I'd like to think he was just a lousy shot, that one," he told her with a wry smile. "But that would be plain stupidity. It might simply have been a warning shot to tell me that they understand how my body works." He had been thinking it over multiple times in his head; in spite of the foggy dizziness that would come in unpredictable waves. It could have merely been a test to see if the intel they'd gotten was true in some much grander scheme. The latter was a rather scary thought. He wasn't one to underestimate an enemy, but some small-scale gang from Southside didn't exactly sound like something worthy of his attention unless of course they were sponsored by somebody else. Someone who knew.
  
The demanding tone of her voice was sharp enough to not allow for hesitation. He had been on his way to sit down regardless and wasn't about to bicker about the tone; she was just being professional and he could not kick up a fuss about that.
It was difficult to separate his feverish dream-states from reality, but he knew it had been last night, because he had awoken in the morning with Lucy faffing about, changing his bandage every few hours, stressing every time he moved. At least he thought so.
"Last night." Which in fact was scarcely more than a few hours ago when you thought it over. "I did. Then Lucy changed it." The fallen angel had not been happy to see the white sheets in his bed all bloody and had shoo'd him out pretty early in the morning to change the bandage. She'd not gotten far and Archie hadn't exactly been compliant, he knew, but it was hardly his fault they were all being so fussy about blood in this house. Especially not considering their line of work.

Open your shirt.
It was ever so tempting to counter the command; as it always was when anyone dared to order him to do just about anything. I seem to recall you doing a much better job at that than me, Rhyss. Although the words never actually left his mouth, the raised eyebrow and slight smirk that showed on his face hardly left much doubt about where his thoughts had momentarily been heading.
He loosened his rolled-up sleeves, keeping his bad arm placed on his right leg. Luckily he had quite the expertise in un-buttoning shirts with one hand occupied in different matters, and didn't let his eyes leave hers as he undid it. He had been expecting Lucy to bring a fresh shirt anyway and only the last few of buttons had been buttoned up. He gently slid the scruffy shirt down his shoulder, careful to not disturb the neat work of Lucy and the bright, white bandage that stood out in a sharp contrast to the exact colour of white his shirt had been some 9-hours earlier. "Bandage off?"
In spite of him stubbornly insisting that he was fine and that it would obviously heal in time, he wasn't stupid. It felt very different from other times he'd been shot and although it had been a fair while since any bullet had made it through his skin, it wasn't a feeling one would ever forget. He had taken a fair share of bullets during the years, mainly so when he was in a position where he didn't want his opponent to know of his abilities. Yesterday had been different though.

Calmly her eyes shot up to his face. Ah.  There was some sense to find in the midst of the foolishness. While the notion of this having happened only last night didn’t speak positively about the state she could expect the wound to be in - it was awfully fast for a bullet wound to render a man as feverish and as weak as the one she currently had in his chair - there was comfort in knowing that it had been looked to for the time being as well as there might as well be some more comfort to find in his unchanging personality. Getting shot didn’t keep him from warping the air around them with a single, faint pull in the corner of his mouth. Although, it was surely the audacious gleam in his eyes, which she, of course, caught unto instantly. However her response was nothing more than a raise of an eyebrow. Just as telling, nonetheless. Not only a small acknowledgement but a silent challenge to see if he truly wanted to let the words leave his tongue as well. Bold of you to expect special treatment, Barnes.

Like his didn’t leave her, Saga’s gaze didn’t waver from him even when he began to un-button his short for her. In those stretching seconds of time, there really wasn’t anyway to tell who held the other one capture. There was an almost perfectly equal exchange of underlying dominance split between the two individuals. Especially as they were the only ones in the room, that is. And yet it was the little witch who let her gaze lower first, just as he shimmied the now opened short down over his arm and revealed the bandaged in full to her. “Lucy. She wasn’t a part of this family of yours back when you first made you acquaintance with me, was she?” she softly asked as she allowed herself to move a bit further toward the edge of the desk and there by closer to him, even gestured to him to turn his body. Just enough so she shouldn’t have to reach awkwardly to actually see to what was going on with his arm.
A gentle shake with her head, had the freshly conditioned white hair fluttering as it had little to none gripping texture. “Allow me,” was the simple reply she gave his equally as simple inquiry. The shirt he could easily handle himself - he was a rather capable man after all - but she didn’t trust much in his ability to be as careful as would be needed with the bandages. She then held up her finger with relaxed ballerina fingers and even though she never touched them, the bandages started unravelling by the telekinesis expertise of the witch. At least this kept going until the bandages were so loose around his arm, that they practically fell off themselves. This was when she reached forward and mindfully pulled the looping, long strip of dressing all the way off and eventually exposed the wound.

Wounds like these weren’t as much for a faint of heart, as movies would have you think. It was rarely just a darkened hole in one’s flesh, filled with blood that kept you from seeing the inside. And the one in Archibald’s arm was worse than that. She didn’t need to take a closer look to know that it was horribly inflamed. A roaring red ring surrounding the entry hole and the same around the exit. It was wet and the surface of it was glistening as if it had been covered in a slab of thin lube. Where the bandages had laid directly against the wounds, it had already turned yellowy again from the infected secretion in such a short time it had been since the maid had wrapped the banshee in new ones.
But it wasn’t bleeding, which was one of the first things Saga took note. Not really. The inflammation seemed to sort of work as a scab. She cradled his muscular arm in both her hand, careful not to grab around any of the two lesions and lifted maybe just a millimeter, turning it a bit. She then didn’t give him any warning before she carried on, pushing around one of the wounds with her thumbs, feeling the worrisome tension and the thumping of provoking the irritation. “What was the bullet made of?” she finally broke the silence with, although she didn’t stop the prodding and her eyes kept analyzing the injury. He only got a break from her missing mercy when she suddenly pulled her back straight and turned her entire torso as much as she could to search his desk for… something. “It’s no wonder that you nearly looks like those walking corpses. Whatever the bullet was made of it wasn’t very body safe. This became very infected rather fast. Ah.”
As soon as she had turned and started looking around, the white ferret had caught on once again. While Circe didn’t actually know what she was looking for, it didn’t take it long before finding it. Or at least finding something for the task she had been in need of. A business card of sufficient tough cardboard quickly found its way in between its sharp teeth and the floppy animal made a flexible turn of its seemingly spineless body toward Saga, golden eyes looking all proudly up at her as she picked the card from its mouth and at last returned her attention to her patient. Eyes back up to meet his.

Archie felt yet another rare tug in the corner of his mouth, as the witch broke eye-contact.
"She wasn't," he agreed. Lucy had been one of the lost ones that Kit had taken mercy on and to Archie's surprise the fallen angel had not been a lost case at all. Although the girl was clearly more in dept to Kit than to him, she had become an invaluable part of the household and had quickly turned into much more than a maid. A confidant of sorts. Not scared of speaking her mind or telling the boys, politely, to piss off, she'd quickly grown on them all and taken over the whole staff organisation. "You'd like 'er," he added. "She reminds me of you."
The notion sounded exceptionally nostalgic coming from him, but q quick look into his glazed-over eyes would show that the words were a little detached from his usual self.
A small grunt had him come back to reality and he shot a disapproved look down at his arm; the gloomy silence speaking rather loudly of the discomfort he experienced at the last bit of bandage that tugged at the dried up infection, before it simply slid off and fell into a tangle around the angled elbow of the arm that still rested on his leg. A tangle that Saga swiftly removed to get a better look at the injury.

Ruthless was a word he would have described the little witch with on multiple occasions, and could easily be said about her delicate yet determined hands, as they lifted, pulled and twisted his sore arm. He followed her eyes, regarding the small wound with distaste and annoyance, but didn't flinch when she started putting pressure on the clearly inflammated areas around the wound.
What was the bullet made of?
Archibald raised his eyes, directing the thoughtful frown from his bullet wound towards the deep, blue eyes of Saga. He was met with bright tangles of white hair that fell down and covered most of her face as she had leaned over him, her eyes fixed on the work in front of her. He tilted his head slightly, catching onto the lightly furrowed eyebrows and the subtle 'v' it created in her forehead, as it always did when she was focused on a task.
He didn't know what the material of the bullet had been and wasn't about to repeat that it 'wasn't metal, as I said' as it would be a rather oblivious reply, and instead kept his eyes on her in silence, leaning backwards as she straightened up in a hasty movement, his own quick movement making him shut his eyes quickly to avoid his sight swimming vigorously.
"I don't get infections," he stated sheepishly; and although perhaps a bit ignorant of a sentence, he wasn't entirely wrong. He'd never fallen ill from any traditional means. Never had a cold or fallen victim to the flu or gotten sick from any type of regular food. He did heal nerve-wreckingly slowly from physical wounds, much like a human, but his body was better equipped to handle such things as inflammation. His immune system had always been near impeccable and something as banal as an infection from nothing more than a gunshot wound sounded awfully ... mundane.
Poison was an entirely different matter. Poisoned, that he had been a few times, and if he recalled correctly he had fallen fever-ish to poisons more than once.

Although Archibald much favoured Circe in its feline form with their long, white hair and golden eyes, looking majestic and utterly beautiful; he admired and was fascinated by all of the spirit's forms. He felt oddly short of breath as he regarded the elegant movements of the white ball of hair, whizzing around his desk with flimsy movements that his foggy brain had a hard time keeping up with.
"Thanks, my love," he muttered softly at the beautiful ferret, shifting his gaze from the flexible, little animal to the piece of cardboard, it had given its witch.
He found that he had inadvertently started listing sideways, whilst his attention had shifted onto the familiar, and quickly straightened himself up. Strands of his dark hair stuck to his glistening forehead, and he dragged his good hand through it to get it out of his face, before lifting his eyes to meet Saga's.
"I dont just get infections, Rhyss," he repeated; a small amendment in the sentence. "What is this? Magic? Poison?"

”Oh?” There was no need to hide away the bafflement which those five simple words brought up in her. Archibald said them so easily and so smoothly that he probably didn’t even know how rarely she had people tell her how she was like someone else or the other way away. Blinking eyes watched him in a momentarily halt in the prodding and pressing of his arm. It was a strange feeling, really. She wouldn’t doubt that she’d like this fallen angel. She pretty much already did through those interactions she had had with the overseeing maid of the house. And of course, Saga wasn’t exactly known to actually dislike people, rather she was known to not give even the light of day to those she did not take a liking too. Every one of those having dug their own grave themselves.
She had been on the edges of feeling a sliver of pity for Lucy when she took notice of this ill-effected eyes and she started wondering just where he really was and her bafflement turned to mild befuddlement for the short while before he seemed to return back to her again.
The banshee was undoubtedly a tough individual. Not even so much as a discreet wrench or a tension in his jaw - only that small grunt from before. Truthfully, it was admirable to say it the least but she was also aware that it wasn’t that he didn’t feel it. He merely held back on any reaction that would show any kind of weakness. She knew this. He didn’t know how plainly it showed in him for the right vigilant eyes. He didn’t exactly let her see more of him - at times it was almost as if he did a greater job at hiding things in front of her - but it was a question of looking at the correct angle.

He didn’t answer. However the non-answer still told her something that she could use to understand, so she wasn’t about to pry. Looking back at him she found it herself in his face. He didn’t know. He just didn’t want to admit verbally it would seem. Pride of the powerful man holding him back, she suspected. “You’re not completely untouchable, Barnes, however much you might live our life as if you were. You getting an infection is as possible as me, as a witch, getting placed under a curse,” she rather calmly stated right back at him. He wouldn’t miraculously get better by claiming that what was indeed happening to him.. didn’t. Miracles like that neither happened nor did they work like that. He had an impressive immune system, being what he was, better than she could hope for, but it was just that; impressive. Not impenetrable.
Circe was likely the one third of the rooms living creatures that was in the most jolly of moods. Or at least the most carefree. While the little witch’s emotions were all quite muted and reserved, it was as if her familiar made up for it all in its expressive behavior. The thanks which they got had them quickly turn those golden eyes towards the giver, it’s white fur slightly fluffed up from the pleasing joy of the additional nick name. Circe liked Archibald Barnes. Circe trusted Archibald despite the tilting nature of the man. He wasn’t a particularly good man, per se. But he did good by Saga. Astonishingly good. Even when he had her forced to hid aid… It wasn’t preferred but it was forgivable. The ferret then neared him by the edge of the table, knowing better than to jump all the way unto him while its witch was working, but it didn’t hurt to get into the radius of an out-reached hand. It might lead to a nice scratch behind the ear.

At the same time, Saga had leaned back in over his arm and had been about to start scraping the top layer of infection of to, hopefully, make better way for the upcoming herb mixture, when it became obvious how he sudden slugged in the chair and in an instant her eyes shot up at him. “None. Poison won’t do th-.. Barnes?!” The concentrated ‘v’ between her light brows had deepened substantially and the fuss, which he had complained so much about coming from his underlings was now also present in her eyes. He wasn’t well. Not at all. “My guess would be cross-contamination. The bullet might’ve been of organic matter that was already infected. Bone perhaps… You need to lie down,” she firmly said as she glided down from the table. She already knew before she began to usher him to stand up from the chair - again; not giving him much of a choice unless he wanted to play the stubborn dog on a leash - that she wasn’t strong enough to properly support him should it turn out that he couldn’t stand much on his own. Phycial strength wasn’t her forte. Specially not without a boosting spell activated. But if Archibald was as badly ridden as she feared, it’d be best not to waste magic on such a thing. So as she had fight to make him stand, she quickly turned to the ferret beside her. “Circe, hurry the other along!” she relayed and like the team they were, the ferret was off the table in less than a second. Running on its short, but fast legs towards the door and reaching it, it automatically transformed into a flurry of glittering white that disappeared through the small space under the doors. On the other side the familiar rematerialized, taking its feline form to search for other staff.

Archibald fell even more warm to the touch, as Saga got an arm in under his and around his back. She hadn’t needed to scan the office to know about the couch not far from his desk. But all she could hope for was that he either still had strength in his legs to not weigh heavy on her, so she could somehow get him there herself or that help was just around the corner.

You’re not completely untouchable.
Archie lifted his eyes, parting his lips as he regarded her with a small frown; displeased at her statement. He was well aware he wasn't untouchable - he'd lived long enough to know and to feel that on countless occasions - but he also knew that he usually bounced back from whatever it was. Which might not mean he was untouchable per say, but it ment he survived. Pain and illness was such a relative concept that one unfortunately had to experience to get used to.
"Getting cursed depends on the power of another witch, ey. Getting infected is me fucking body bein' incompetent," he grumbled in annoyance. The was an immense difference, he thought, between magic and what was happening to him right now.
He gently closed his right eye to allow the left one to gain focus so he could see her clearly, leaning over to assert that that was all he wanted to say about that matter, not taking any consideration towards her prying hands on his arm or the work she was doing. With a grunt he leaned back, positive that the matter was settled. Her calmness had always been an admirable feature and usually it wouldn't make him the slightest bit annoyed, but he found himself on edge and annoyed at the dizziness in his head and heat in his body.
Despite the annoyance, he had noticed the little flurry of white coming closer, and his face softened up at the sight of Circe, giving them a gentle stroke on their head and a small nuzzle under the ear.

"Dun't Barnes me, like that," he muttered bluntly. "I just need sleep." Which, although most definitely not a wrong observation, very clearly wouldn't be enough at this point. He had tried after all, and failed at anything but dozing off into some feverish dreams. Not that he was entirely aware of it.
He knitted his eyebrows together, matching the 'v' in her forehead, with a puzzled expression. She was looking at him differently."Bastard shot me with bone?! Ain't that a fuckin' first, ey?" A small glisten in his eyes had him perk up a little and gain some colour in his cheeks. He was officially impressed, and it showed in his surprised blinking and slowly drawn breath as his brain worked overtime to push away the fog and come up with a plan.
The fog only thickened the harder he tried to push it away, and the impressed smile that had tried finding its way to his lips, never surfaced properly; not until the witch wrapped her arm around him and gently pulled to signal that he should stand up. His eyes swam away for a second before he was able to focus them on her. "Dun't think I got to compliment yer new do, Rhyss," he added with a meek smile, slurring slightly on the consonants. The white hair suited her and although he preferred the black, there was something rather enchanting about it. "Looks like the moon t'does."

The door opened in a rush, and Arthur stopped short of entering as he took in the hunched over Banshee and the little witch with a grave expression on his face. A rather uncharacteristically loud laugh pushed its way through Archies lungs as he regarded Sully. What a legend, Sully! Always an absolute star, he was. "You look as if you're the one seeing ghosts, man."
"'Ere, miss Rhyss." Sully's thickly accented voice was meek and soft spoken compared to his usual bellowing. He ignored the slurry, loud comment from his boss and focused his eyes onto the witch, knowing that she knew what she was doing. He understood they were heading for the sofa. "Give us 'ere." Sully gently slid an arm under Archie's shoulder, supporting the other side and taking off some of the weight from Saga, supporting him until they reached the sofa in the corner, and placing him on it. Archie reached out to give Sully a soft tap on the shoulder in appreciation. "Good man, Sully."

”That would be my guess, yes,” she said rather plainly, although she undoubtedly shared some of the impressive feelings towards whoever had thought that through. However, it didn’t only mean that they were clever but also mean that they know a great deal about Archibald. They could just as easily have used something more readily available and easier carved into bullets than bone but they hadn’t. And they would’ve known that it probably wouldn’t have worked. The chance of the banshee having been bitten before was much larger than having been impaled by cartilage.. “But without the actual bullet there’s no saying if it’s that. Only that it would explain the speed of the infection.” She glanced up at him. Bone was, for the most part, fragile and had it really been what the bullet had been made of, even if it had been bone strong enough not to simply shatter by the power of the shot, it would have frayed and left infected fragment sin the wound.
And besides; it was a first, as he stated himself.
Then getting him to stand by went surprisingly well. One would’ve expected him to protest as he had done countless times already with his I just need sleep and I don’t get infections. And many more before even that very day. He was a proud man. Too proud. Much like the little witch herself. She didn’t give much attention to his repeated compliment of her pigment deprived locks of hair as she fought to keep him as steady on his legs as possible. Well, not before he added an innocent comparison and it would be a lie to say that it didn’t al the very least caught her slightly off guard, having her expression snitch upon this as her eyes automatically looked up where they met his and his docile smile. Her jaw lightly clenched. And as it relaxed again, her lips gently parted. “I won’t accept any compliments from a slurred and feverish man,” she pointed out, serenely. Inviting, even, despite the possibly hard-hitting choice of words. Inviting the compliment to return once he wasn’t influenced like he was now.

With the doors suddenly opening and Saga’s ocean blues instinctively looking towards it, not rushing it - she had expected someone to raise through sooner rather than later, after all - she also notice how she hadn’t moved from the spot, not having moved after his unforeseen comment, even though she had been determent to get Archibald to the sofa only moments before.
The breach of the momentarily moment pulled her right back - and sound came back just in time for the banshee’s loud laugh right by her ear. She could even feel his chest jump from it, standing to close to him. But just like the rugged, yet fine and proper demon, the little witch refrained from taking any note of this behavior. It really only pressed the serious matter at hand even more. She managed to get both herself and Archibald out from between the desk and his chair to better meet up with Sylvester. And as soon as he got a hold of his boss, weight got lifted from her weak physique. She didn’t really need to help further, still she stayed with an arm around until they got him down onto the sofa.

It was definitely something to watch how the ‘family’ interacted with each other, like how Archibald praised his financial officer. She had been observing all of this for as long as she had known Archibald. Observing from behind a glass and often times wondered how such bonds were made. Was she envious? Perhaps. But more so, she was fascinated. She quickly sat down on the floor on her knees beside the sofa to be at the right level before she looked back up at ‘Sully’, as she had mainly heard him being called. “Do you know how far Lucy is with finding what I asked?” she asked, only just finishing her sentence afore her gaze moved from him to the desk and she held out a hand, directing the discarded shirt from the chair to her. It might’ve been a shame hadn’t it already been ruined by dirt and blood and holes but it was only good for scraps now, so there was no shame in it when she ripped it into a few pieces, picking the one less dirty to scrunch up in her hand. And as if it was magic - which it must certainly was - it started to moisten until she was able to squeeze and drops of clean, cold water ran down her hand and arm. Then raising up on her knees, she gently dapped the make-swift cloth on the sides of Archibald’s face and then stationing it upon his forehead.

Archie grunted. "Ye don't accept me compliments in me sober state either, little witch," he pointed out softly. "'S never stopped me before, t'hasn't." His eyes glazed over momentarily before returning to her with a gentle nod. Not exactly in defeat, but more in a recognition that maybe he wasn’t entirely okay and in some sort of appreciation. The idea that some seemingly minor group of demons could have found out his weakness was truly horrifying. Not many people knew how his powers worked; most assumed he had some sort of powerful immunity and that was the way he wanted it. It humbled people drastically, thinking that their abilities and weapons were worthless on him. In reality his own ability was quite complex and he’d managed to keep it hidden with the help of the abilities of Sully and Kit in particular. The expandable, rather strong mind shield of Sully and the incredible illusions of Kit.
Even John’s refined awareness of people’s powers had been more than great for establishing Archibald’s ‘know it all’ attitude. It was a surprising effect it had on anyone when he would state their powers and simply say that they wouldn’t work on him. A baffling amount of the idiots in this world wouldn’t even try after such a confident statement.
They’d been through too much together him and Sully. And John. And Kit. And even Link despite how annoyingly young he could seem at times.

Flicking his gaze from Sully onto the white haired witch, as she lowered herself onto the floor, he softly hummed in the back of his throat.
Sully folded his arms across his chest, his eyes moving between Archie and Saga for a second before entirely registering the question the witch had posed. He grunted to himself. ”She’ll come,” he replied. “Went to the gardens. Fast legs that one’s got.”
On the other side of the door, John and Link stood silently with folded arms, mirroring much of Sully’s body language. Worry was not something they usually did or had done in many, many years. Especially not for Archibald Barnes. Their jobs were hectic and often quite dramatic, and one quickly managed to grow thick skin in the business they were and had been doing. Yet now they had no words to each other. No consolation. Lucy had never seen any of them like this before. She had not known the men back when they had been to war and formed their bonds. She had only heard the occasional whisper of how they had come to gain their riches and their power in the shadows of wars; never how they had been scarred by them to begin with. As she ran up the many stairs with a bundle of herbs and flowers in her arms, she get as though her future was somehow at stake. The Barnes corporation had taken her in and given her security for the first time in her life and she was not about to give anyone an excuse to ruin that. She shot through the door, ignoring the sulking boys, and entered the room out of breath.

Lucy quickly regained her posture, pushing away whatever apologetic face she had been about to pull at the witch before her, and instead shook her head, deciding to be factual and quick about it instead of being submissive and apologetic. "No Echinacea flowers, I'm afraid. I brought the oregano and went to fetch some comfrey and chamomile in case you could use that, miss Saga. We have goldenrod outside but they haven't bloomed entirely yet." She informed her. Lucy had no big expertise in any healing magic but had taken an interest on the garden ever since she'd joined their tight-knit family in the Barnes household. She'd read every book in the library on the plants in the gardens and memorized their uses and although they might not be helpful in magic, they each had more common anti-inflammatory properties. She would brew teas and infusions for the different people in need of a boost and especially Link had taken a liking to a late evening pick-me-up-tea in the kitchen while Lucy would set up the table for the next days breakfast.
Archie raised a hand to his forehead to wipe off a droplets that was running down the side, humming to himself again. He liked the goldenrod when it bloomed and turned half of the west wing into an array of explosive yellow fireworks. It had been Sibyl’s favourite.
He gently allowed his hand to rest near his forehead, placing it on top of the delicate, graceful fingers of Saga and closing his eyes. He could almost smell the faint licorice aroma of the flowers as he drew in a large breath.

It wasn’t true. Not entirely. The little witch wasn’t shy of accepting compliments. However, compliments rarely left her youthfully bashful as had become the expected reaction. And perhaps, she had been more stern with this particular man. More firm in taking his confidently layout commentary. She couldn’t deny that entirely, whether or not it had always been intentional. She never thought of treating Archibald very differently some anyone else who had gained her respect to the level that he had but.. Archibald was different. Be it from the length time they had known and been around each other or something else like how awfully similar some of their mannerism was.
“Good,” she replied back in short to Sully, for a moment looking from the demon towards the door where one would expect the maid to bust through any minute. Saga wasn’t actually depended on the flora which she had requested. She had spells that could easily heal Archibald up in no time but with the infection soaring high and mighty in his body, she had this little voice of her mother calling out advice in the back of her mind. Words from her old oraculi pointing out the importance of being thorough even with purely magical solutions. There were measures she could take already which, if the means were at her hands, she wholeheartedly intended to take. But of course… if too much time were to be wasted on waiting, then..

Saga had just about turned her head to look at the sickly banshee when quick-clicking steps arrived through the door and as she almost too calmly compared to the hast of the young maid, looked towards her, quickly noticing the large bundle of plucked flowers and plants, that she was carrying. A brush of relief running over the little witch. And not more than a few steps behind Lucy, the long-haired white cat also returned to the room through the crack of the door after not having closed on the hatches.
It didn’t take long for Saga to get up on her feet. Or at least that had been what she would’ve done when she felt the faint touch against her fingers and she automatically looked down to the culprit. With his eyes closed, it looked as if he was simply resting his eyes. Especially with his hand placed by his forehead like that. But she had to take whatever comfort he might feel from the touch away, so instead she grabbed his hand with her other, lifted it slightly while letting go of the cloth and then directed him to hold it in place where she lastly let go of him entirely and finally got up to take those last few steps to meet up with Lucy on the way. No Echinacea. She shouldn’t be surprised. It wasn’t a common garden flower. Not something people just casually planted. But she was visibly pleased by the compensating choices which had been made. Comfrey. “Don’t pay any attention to that. I can do perfectly fine with this. He’ll be fine.” With that said, Saga only took over the oregano and the comfrey. The camomile, however lovely it both looked and smells or went well in teas and elixirs, her plans with the herbs was a cleansing rub of sorts. With the herbs in hand, she was quick to return to the side of the couch all the meanwhile Circe had found over there as well and now jumped up to lay on the backrest of the couch where they could watch both their witch at work but also the fool being treated. As well as the other two present. Overall, Circe had the perfect vantage point from there. And it was a rather comfortable place to lay.

Saga hadn’t really been a woman of many words. When explaining, she didn’t skimp, of course, but how she, the following amount of time, didn’t speak or point anything out was simply the nature of her. She didn’t ignore to annoy. There was always much to say, but …she had also found that what was to be said was said by everyone else. As soon as she sat, she started to pick the oregano leaves of its tough stem and ripped the lower parts of the comfrey leaves in smaller pieces and when she had picked enough to fill out her whole palm she stuffed them into her mouth to stat chewing. Oregano was a delight in some dishes but she had to admit that it wasn’t pleasant to taste the herb as strongly against her tongue. Albeit she didn’t so much as pull a face. Instead she did a flick of her wrist and the business card, which she had taken from Archibald’s desk, appeared out of nowhere as if she had stored it in an airpocket and now just picked it out. She kept chewing the leaves although she never shallowed, while she moved closer to her patients arm. She lifted it slightly and turned it to get the space she needed before she began scraping the gooey layer of puss from the surface of the slowly healing bullet wounds. She was careful, by all means, but it also needed to be done so she didn’t hesitate. With the first hole scraped, she wiped it off in the nearest thing; her pants. They could be washed. It was fine. And then she immediately scraped the other one too. Scraping the wounds top layer did bring out the blood and other liquids but it was only a good thing. It meant that she had an open access to where she needed. She put the card to the side to then have a free hand to, probably not very attractively, spit out the chewed up leaves into - not being afraid of also getting as much salvia too. It was, after all, the extract she needed, and the extract had mingled with her spit. Then without dawdling she went straight on to smearing and rubbing the mush over both bullet wounds. She made sure to get the mixture as far into the wounds as well without having to prodding it in with a finger. She had no desire to make this more unpleasant than it already was. And yet she worked without looking up from what she was doing. No glances to check if Archibald was doing alright; besides she knew he could manage, she knew that he knew that this was necessary.
She didn’t spend too much time on this before she was satisfied and quickly reached for the remaining fabric of the ripped up dirty shirt. She made and effort to dry the leafy chew off her hands using the dirtier part of the shirt and then again ripped off the piece of the cleaner part where the same trick from before got preformed. Only this time she drenched the fabric much more before she pressed it against the first bullet would and squeezed so a good amount of water started drippling while she wiped. Wiped the mixture of and at the same time rinse out the mixture in the wound itself. With the mixture remainder of infection got washed out too. Invisible bone fragments too if her theory was correct. She kept going - summoning water into the fabric and rinsed - until she was left with a much cleaner wound than it had been only moment before. And the same thing got done to the other

With that done she was so much happier to close up the wound. The ‘cloth’, which was now more greenish than white, found it’s place in the same bundle with the business card. Discarded and no longer needed. Actually no more material was needed, expect one thing. She repositioned herself better and then… she reached a hand up to the side of her neck where with an elegant and vague movement of her finger, she cut her own skin. Not deep, but deep enough that it drew blood. Just enough blood for her to pick it up on the tip of her middle finger.
There was still risk of infections so she wasn’t about to just prick her finger to use the blood to draw and the risking getting some of it into her own body. And really. A small cut like that anywhere on her body had never meant anything. She healed. And it such things had never left any scars on her anyway. It was also just blood to her. Another material. A price to pay for the magic she so freely used. So with the fresh blood on her fingertip she first drew a circle around each wound and then a curving symbol surround them both at the same time. She picked more blood for the last bits of lines until it was done and ready. It was then where she placed both her hands around his arm, one on either side, cupping it actually rather gently. She didn’t press at all. Her eyes closed and she breathed in.. and next she faintly began the verbal spell. Her hands heated up, sending the warmth to the wounded part of his body until he’d sense the heat rise as the flesh started repairing itself from the inside out. Compared to the heavenly healing this wasn’t the nicest feeling but the discomfort that the heat maybe brought, helped numb the sting pain itself. Also; it didn’t take long.
As Saga stopped the incantations she opened her eyes again and slowly removed her hands from the banshee’s arm, sighing out a small relief before her eyes finally looked back up at him. Only then checking in on him. Hoping to see at least some relief. Hoping not to see him more pale then before. Or worse; unconscious.
The small cut on her neck was still red and one drop of blood had run down but with her natural healing it had already closed up again.

He’ll be fine.
It nearly felt as though a gush of fresh air swept through the room and both Sully and Lucy lowered their shoulders and stood up a little bit straighter than before, visibly calmed by the witch’s words.
He’ll be fine.
And they repeated it a few times in their own minds to make sure their brains understood it and would release the tight knot of worry that had grabbed hold of them all. Even Link and John, who always showed more anger and annoyance than any other feeling, got a near serene look in their eyes by the prospect of their boss and friend being fine. They had all believed it in one way or another; that Archibald Barnes would be okay. He always was, after all. They’d seen him bounce back from one too many horrors. But the calm, collected sentence from the professional, little, white haired witch made an impact regardless, lighting the atmosphere drastically. Lucy nodded to herself, curiously peaking over Saga’s shoulder to get a look at the would she, herself, had tended to over night, hoping she hadn’t done more harm than good.

Archie himself had not been listening
to the short conversation, still caught up in his mind, walking the fields of goldenrod near his home in the northern parts of the Gaian forests. With the comforting smell wrapping around him like a blanket, he had barely noticed that the gentle hands of Saga had left him holding onto a soaked piece of cloth; much as he had not entirely paid attention to grabbing said hand earlier.  The notion that he would be okay was after all also something he firmly believed. A bone-bullet wouldn’t be the thing to kill him; embarrassingly disappointing that would turn out to be. By the hands of some low-ranked demon. Absolutely not.
What finally jolted him out of his blur was the chewed up oregano being pressed around his wound. He opened his eyes hastily searching for the cause of stinging annoyance causing the dull pain in his arm. His blurred vision only saw white. White messy hair. Blinking rapidly a few times helped clear up and sharpen the picture and he finally let his eyes wander around the room, distracting himself from the annoying stinging of Saga working on his arm. His eyes locked with Sully, who had taken a few steps back from the sofa to allow the witch to work. A small, near unnoticeable nod got sent in the direction of his most trusted friend, who in turn nodded back, accepting the nod as a sign of bettering and a confirmation of Saga’s words. He would be okay indeed.
Sully took a step backwards and gently put a hand on Lucy’s shoulder, the young girl being caught up in the hard work and the beautiful magic happening in front of them. She frowned before looking up at the demon, who softly tugged at her, signaling for the both of them to leave the room. The fallen angel knew better than to argue with the second-in-command of her job, even if her fingers ached to know more about the magical healing, and with a shy smile, she straightened her back and spun around to leave the room.
Sully lifted his eyes from Archie and regarded Saga warmly. “You let me know when you’re all done, mh?” He asked of her. ”We’ll be down in the kitchen.”
He wasn’t sure whether or not she heard him through the concentrated lightly furrowed eyebrows, but trusted she would have let them know regardless. She was a smart one after all, and knew her way around the house by now, if he wasn’t mistaken. He chuckled softly to himself, relief washing over him as he exited the room, closing the door behind him, content in knowing that Archibald would be better soon.  

Archie grunted, not from the pain or the dizziness he still felt, but from her gentle hands and the feeling of her magic hitting him like an invisible wave, as soon as she started chanting. Whether it was the magic working or simply him being as-always-curious and interested in magic, his eyes opened a little wider and cleared up slowly, listening to her enchanting voice. She had closed her eyes now. He could admire every soft feature in her concentrated face. The heat flared up through his arm with the burning sensation of her fingertips. A heat that brought with it an incredible sense of calm and peace, taking over the dull feeling of his arm. Though the dullness disappeared and he finally started to feel the wound, it felt better and he closed his eyes momentarily, taking in the pain as a relief from the absence of any sort of feeling. His jaw tensed sharply.
And then, warmth. The pain faded slowly. He opened up his eyes, searching for hers, moving his gaze from her face to her neck. With a low hum he raised his good arm up, and let his fingertips brush away the bloody droplet, catching most of it with his rough thumb before leaning back into the sofa with a large, sharp breath of air. ”Mmmh,” he hummed, closing his eyes again, gently starting to move his fingers of the injured arm. ”Mh. Yes. Good, that.”

Like magnets, their eyes met almost immediately after both of them had opened them and looked towards each other. There was a sense of something innate imbedded in it. In no shape of form did the colours of their irises actually complement each other but she would be a fool not to notice how his would turn a slightly darker sapphire when they held eye contact for just long enough. They played a dangerous game, the banshee and the witch. One without rules.
The gentle touch of his finger gliding upwards of her neck to catch the escaping drop of blood and her automatically hollow her throat in a little deeper, yet still fully controlled breath. As he pulled his hand back again, her eyes calmly fell down to it as if she had been curious to see the red stain left on his finger, but she didn’t particularly search for it or anything and as soon as he started speaking again, her attention simply returned to the older-looking fool on the couch. It sure was a relief to see him seeming more clear-headed even if she didn’t actually show it with the same transparency as his loyal footmen had done. But still with how well Archibald Barnes probably had come to know the little witch, those rather neutral and veiled feelings she expressed spoke louder than they were visibly shown. “You’re still ill,” she softly commented, not intending for it to bring down the alleviating mood. “The wound is healed, yes. But expect to still be dealing with the remaining infections until your immune structure gets around to eradicate it. It shouldn’t take too long for your body to do that on its down, though. Even if it being incompetent.” I don’t get infections. By first leaning forward and place her hands on the floor she then with a little push rolled back up onto her feet and lastly stand up. All the while she picked up the different pieces of ripped up shirt and discarded plant stems too. She hadn’t lied; he would be fine. He always was. If not himself, then people around him made sure of it. She… made sure of it.

Glancing down at his arm where the only thing still there to indicate the injury was the blood-drawn symbol, now already starting to dry and crumble off his skin. There were no scars left behind. Her magic made sure of that. It was how she herself kept her own body free of them; magic. Healing spell were potent, especially as a witch possessed more advanced techniques. It was the same spells she usually sold to the same exact man in front of her but luckily this time, he hadn’t been forward thinking enough to use on. Well, as far as she knew.

“However,” she then started up again, moving her ocean blues back to his sharply sculpted face. “With rest, you I believe you’d be at adequate health to manage your upcoming meeting later today.” The little witch was knowledgeable enough to know that she couldn’t keep him bedridden unless she stayed behind to order him. Even then it would probably be proven difficult. He was a busy man. Much to the same scale that she was a stubborn woman. Giving him a saying gaze, she then took a step back and turned her body to walk back to his trusted desk where she quickly located his trash bin, throwing in the stuff in har hands before she came back to the recovering banshee.
Circe hadn’t moved from their spot. One would think that the feline familiar was convinced that they’d stay there for the remainder of the day. Maybe they and their witch could demand breakfast for the early morning rush. The generous maid was awake, and about which would mean the potential of treats. But Saga wasn’t in a rush to either leave or to claim a plate of nutrition. She was much more interested in what had caused this need of first aid at the first flush of the dawn. “You aren’t going to tell me what more specifically occurred, are you?” she asked as she walked over to the armrest by his feet to partially sit and partially stand leaned and then tilted her head a little in anticipation.

Much like himself, the soft featured face of the white haired witch was a treasure of micro expressions. Those who didn’t know what to look for, never saw. They never noticed the slight tug in the corner of her mouth or the minuscular wrinkle as her eyes squeezed together ever so lightly. Or like now; where most people would not notice how her eyes expanded a little before turning calm and warm in what could possibly be interpreted as relief. Truthfully it was a special feeling catching onto those subtle emotions time after time; much more rewarding than any obvious facial expressions and much more genuine. Like a game they played; the witch and the banshee. Archie was so caught up in studying and savouring how the sunrise caught onto the dark blue in her eyes that his face looked blissfully peaceful in a rare second.
Her voice made it clear she wasn't going to let him get away that easily. As he followed her graceful movements towards the table, he leaned his head backwards onto the headrest and folded his hands on his barren chest; resembling a man sitting in front of a psychologist. He gave her a rather convincing nod, indicating that he had heard her words and listened to them, but avoiding making any promises he wouldn't be able to keep. He was tired, yes, but nothing a little fix couldn't help him recover from if he needed -
With rest, you I believe you’d be at adequate health to manage your upcoming meeting later today.
His eyebrow raised and he managed yet another nod, this time around a little more interested. Didn't sound too bad at all in fact. Might not even need a cheep fix in the end - that stuff was reserved for the likes of Link anyway.
Archibald Barnes liked when the young witch was being stubborn, waltzing around his study room. There was something utmost enchanting about it. "Rest, eh?" He repeated with a knowing smile. A genuine one this time. That she was one to speak of rest, that one. She was even worse off than him.

Although a beautifully posed leading question that he didn’t doubt some people would rush to reply to; assuring her otherwise and attempting to not harm any feelings, it simply made Archiebald’s eyes glisten a little more warmly. “No,” he replied, rather softly for such a short, confident word. He knew it would not hurt her feelings; she knew the game after all. Mixing business was bad for business and he would only ever really share with her in a weak moment if she could provide help or a new perspective. Or if it was in hindsight.
He knew that meeting the demon alone had been a risky move and some might have called it a mistake; Archie didn’t believe in mistakes much. Things happened and you’d grow from it or get over it. Last night was a reminder and a lesson, and he would not go soft on repercussions. “Not yet,” he added. Not yet. Speaking too soon usually put people around him in danger. Was always better to discuss business after it had been conducted and finished.
“Ye gunna tell me ‘bout the hair?” His voice sounded every bit as tired as he looked, but it was clear and sharp. Not slurred like it had been earlier, just a little rough around the edges. He raised an eyebrow at her before turning his head upwards, tilted sideways to look up at the beautiful, white cat that had placed itself on the backrest. “What’s she been up to, eh, luv’?”
Lifting his arm up gently, opening his palm up to Circe as a gesture for them to move closer to him so he could stroke their soft white fur and give a little scratch under their chin. Archie straightened up slightly before focusing his eyes back onto the witch. The outstretched arm he had held to the cat got moved towards Saga, still with the open palm. A gesture he rarely offered anyone but animals. Palms up could easily be seen as a weakness or a sign of submissiveness, and it spoke very highly of the comfort he felt around her, and how he had come to trust her as a near-part of the family. Even if she, herself might not know it.

”Rest,” she repeated as well, with a little added sternness to the calm accent-neutral voice. A final statement to that conversation. It should suffice as enough explanation. And it should also be enough to shot down any playful thoughts that might’ve crossed the banshee’s mind. He knew exactly what there had been meant, she knew that, as well as how he should’ve expected the outright rejection to let him sneak around it this time. He could stand up with a confidence of a healthy boy skipping about but he must remember the staggering and the inability to stand steadily which she had predicted only moments before he become victim to just that.

Archibald then telling her a straight no really came as neither a surprise or an expectation. Or ended in any kind of offended witch. Must of anything, she liked these short, direct answers. No playing around the bush and of course, with the answer being like that, she wasn’t about to poke to it any further. At least, she knew she wouldn’t get anything out of him. There was still other heads to poke if she so desired. But then after a longer pause the not yet was supplemented and this did catch her rather of guard and she automatically looked at him with slightly bigger eyes. Her vocal cords didn’t vibrate to make the sound but still the sound of ‘hm?’ was still visible in her moon pale face in that same time. Not yet. Meaning at some point.
However it faded as similar questionnaire bounced back to her. The questions being far from the same and yet there was the exact same feel to them as they were asked. It was questions pointing to answers which had been hiding and … frankly; avoided. Very discreetly, though. Until now when there weren’t any curving questions either. Her brows sank to normalcy again, whisked away the gentle bafflement.
The little witch didn’t reply immediately. Especially not as he turned his attention away from her to consult her familiar with the ask of answering instead. She liked this, for some reason. The way the two interacted. Or maybe it was more the way Archibald interacted with Circe. Circe liked him and had probably done so since the very first time. They were a big reason for the relationship that she had built up with the man. The white cat firstly lifted its head and stretched to attempt a sniff of his hand from there it lay before lazily getting up and sitting down closer to it. “An extensively stramineous spell,” Saga finally opened up just as Circe, without bothering with sniffing his finger this time, instantly just rubbed their furry head into the petting hand and thoroughly enjoying the much-needed scratch. Mean while the witch had reached a had up to run the fingers through the white hair and then pick up a lock of it as to inspect it. The softness from the conditioner used making it drop like fairy strands. “There’s a certain price for all magic and this one… It happens that spells just simply take what it wants when the offer given isn’t enough instead of the magic disappearing.” It was partially what made magic so dangerous. It wasn’t about exhausting an amount of magic and then not be able to do any more. Magic didn’t care about that. One could keep using magic beyond that but end up paying unwanted fees. Bodily pigment like her, memories… life.

She let go of the hair again and her eyes found their way right back to Archibald. “But it’s growing back, the dark colour.” Only when she had looked towards him did she notice the hand and at first, she didn’t understand. It was such a soft gesture for a man who could take what he wanted. One who didn’t necessarily need to ask to get it. And yet this gesture was close to that. Then pushing herself off from her seat on the armrest, she took that remaining step to take his hand. Or more so than taking it, she placed her hand in his. Her fingertips delicately grazing his open palm. She stayed standing up there beside the couch looking down at him as her gazed moved from the hand.
“What?” she asked curiously. Perhaps also a bit confused as to what he was planning. This wasn’t something they could do in the company of the others since there was this underlying feeling of intimacy. Possibly stronger than what the little witch initially caught on to.

Although the two of them were so often intertwined in their mannerism, the starkest contrast lay in their way of speaking. Although a calm man, Archie had a distinct northern accent and a flavourful language dabbling in versatile, colourful swearwords and profanities. The witch was most opposite that; plain accented and proper in her words. Flavourful in a completely different way as well, often sporting extremely complicated words in simple sentences as some foreigners so often did after learning a language. Speaking it more properly than its natives that had turned to slurs and slangs. It was also a clear evidence of their different class of upbringing. No one had ever expected Archibald Barnes to speak the Queens English, and if they had, they had not known him very well at all.

As Archies head slowly cleared, he felt an increasing need to understand his surroundings. He glanced up at the old clockwork, neatly hung above his chimney, noting that it was almost 9 in the morning. Almost or only. He had no real recollection of what the time had been when Saga had arrived, or at what time he himself had arrived, and would need Sully to give him a quick run through of the night as it was getting more clear that his mind had been playing a trick or two on him.
An extensively stramineous spell.
His head turned back to her, with eyebrows slightly knitted. Not exactly surprising, but definitely a first.
The white hair, although utterly wonderful and fascinating, was a sharp reminder that magic came with a price. He could smile and joke about it as much as he wanted to, but he knew all too well, that if she had stretched her magic further that what she had seemingly done, the repercussions would have been worse than that of a lost pigmentation. He knew of witches loosing much more than that, and couldn't help but furrow his eyebrows at her, as she studied her blonde locks. The way she spoke so softly about something so dangerous made him admire her even more. The way Saga Rhyss looked at magic and its limitations was different of that of other witches he knew.
He let out a low hum in appreciation of her last words about the hair. Dark, he had decided upon studying her face a little more intensely, was her colour. This bright, light hair made her look remarkably like her grandmother, Calliope. He fell silent then, letting her gentle fingers grace his open palm, as he studied the array of blue and greys in her iris'. Perhaps, he told himself, it was best to not get ahead of himself. This sentiment, although genuine, also stemmed from being tired. Her little, innocent 'what' only confirmed what he had been telling himself. None of this, now, Archie. None of it. Not while you owe her.
"You, telling me to rest, eh?" He smiled solemnly; gently closing his hand around hers and giving the back of her hand a stroke with his thumb. "Saga." Though he rarely called her by her name, the way he said it didn't sound like he was telling her off. In fact it was gentle and filled with admiration. He could after all only admire how hard the witch worked. He cleared his throat before reaching a more determined edge in his voice. An edge only fading after the first few words. He was still feeling the exhaustion creeping up on him, but knew there were things to be done to send a message to whoever had tried to rid the world of Archibald Barnes. "You need rest, too. I've a guest room if ye need and a car out front ready to take you 'ome if that is preferable. Now, give us a hand up, eh?" He amused a tired, low chuckle in the back of his throat. Saga would not be amused at his ignorance, so he'd have to think of a way to not simply sit in his office whilst still 'rest' as she put it. Food, perhaps? He wasn't hungry but thought he might be polite to ask her after. He knew the white-furred familiar had a bigger appetite than their witch. "I'll have Lucy bring some fruit to the gardens. Can't sit 'round 'ere all day, can we."

There was this thing with Archibald Barnes. In actuality, the little witch had little to no control over the man. He wasn’t someone who ever seemed affected by the silent authority in her mannerism, in her eyes and her gracious sternness. With Archibald Barnes it was different. What she had come to realize over their century long acquaintance, was that he only really acted upon trust. He wasn’t controlled, he simply trusted her.
She looked down at their hands as he moved his slightly to wrap it around hers. His was rough, like the rest of him. Like his attitude, like his way of speaking, like the life he had chosen to live. Hers was smooth and fine and dainty. The practically unfair benefits of magical healing veil for the many scars she would have to show for all over her body, hadn’t she been so fortunate to wield it, but it was truly only part of it. She worked with Archibald, but she wasn’t living his life and it showed. “You speak as if I wasn’t already resting before I was required elsewhere to tend to an old fool,” she softly commented, however not shielding him from the initial annoyance it had caused her, even if it already by the time she had accepted the ushering of the rest of the family, it had dulled and disappeared. She then shook lightly on her head. “Regardless, this happened over a week ago. According to you, Barnes, I’d say that’s plenty of rest for now.” The addition was both meant as an excuse but also a sort of way to lower his worries. A way of saying that she was just fine. That the hair might look concerning now knowing the lore behind it, but sadly the pigment in the long strands were forever lost. The times passed, however, could be calculated through the dark roots growing out.

The mention of food had the white familiar perk up a little bit. Or maybe it was the mention of Lucy. Or maybe both. It first looked at the banshee and then its glittery golden eyes found its trusted witch, awaiting her answer. It was as if it had known how she had been about to decline to stay any longer, how she had been about to accept a ride back home. It was a thing much more natural then telepathy, the bond and communication between the too. Circe didn’t speak words to her which she understood like the ones she spoke together with Archibald or any other, but she understood perfectly. And sometimes she suspected Archibald so have gained a sense of that similar understanding. She discreetly eyed him as the though crossed her mind again before turning attention back to the pleading cat.
A rather large sigh passed over her rosy lips just as she took another step closer to him, letting her hand glide seamlessly out of his and running it up his wrist, as if she planned on grabbing it and give a hand in pulling him up. Instead, her fingers just grazed the underside of this arm halfway up towards his elbow before lifting off and placing the index finger against his forehead and gently pushing it back. “How about this; I go down to the kitchen and inquire Lucy about some food. And in the meantime, you stay put and close your eyes. That’s all I ask. 3 minutes.” The white cat then stood up on all four to elegantly jumped in a perfect curve from the couch’s backrest, over Archibald and landed on the floor to stand next to Saga, sounding a agreeable purring meow. “I’ll inform mr. Thorne that everything is over and done too while I’m down there. Or you can join me and stand model to further of your men’s concerning looks and fuzzing behaviour.”
With this she tilted her head to search for the expecting micro expressions in his face, removing her finger from his forehead. The cringe of getting reminded of the irritation she had caught wind of when they all had stood in the room and looked at him like he was a dying puppy. She the held up her thumb, index finger and middle finger to showcase ‘three’. “Three minutes.”

With a low chuckle, quite possibly sounding like a short grunt more than actual laughter, he turned his eyes to her, shaking his head gently in the process. “Rest is a generous word for someone who was already up.” He pointed it out to her with amusement. She was much like himself, was she, without anyone much to frown at their unhealthy habits and lack of sleep.
Archie would lie if he was to state he hadn’t known that Saga had been away. Out of Oakheart. He knew most people’s business around here. Liked to keep tap on his city. He would also lie if he was to claim he had not tried to figure out where his most favoured witch had gone, but to no luck. Somewhere far away it seemed. It had obviously bothered him for a little while before he had had better and more important things to occupy himself with; but he had not liked not knowing where she had been. An empty shop without so much as a sign to tell she was away. Not knowing if she had been safe. He wholly trusted her abilities and capability to take care of herself and the annoying nervousness he had felt had slowly dulled and faded away until the moment a bird had sung that she had returned. Relief was perhaps not entirely the feeling that had washed over him, but something like a short flutter of proudness in having been right in trusting her ability to handle herself, had pushed through his heart.
“S’already been a week, eh,” he stated drowsily, lost in his thoughts. Time would escape him one day.

And to his utmost surprise, she moved her gracious hands from his and up his wrist as though to grasp him by the arm to pull him up. He had even lifted his other arm in anticipation, to push back on the back of the sofa, so she wouldn’t have to put in too much heavy lifting on her own with her small figure and delicate fingers. A hand he let fall again immediately after; letting her push him back down into the seat where he had been placed. Had it been anyone but her, the grumbling annoyance would have been more visible. To the witch, he just squinted his eyes disapprovingly at the gesture. The gentle marks he felt on his arms from her delicate touch had nearly made him close his eyes.  He might be stubborn and proud, Archibald Barnes, but he was realistic, stubborn and proud. Had the platinum blonde witch left it at that, she would have been met with a sharp remark, but the mention of Sully, had all the snarkiness fade into a more mellow acceptance. She was right. He had not been pleased with the grand fussing about there had been or the pityfull looks from the boys, and knew that he would slap either one of them if they were to look at him like that again. So perhaps, in the name of diplomacy he told himself, it was best to not face them at all and avoid such unpleasantries when they had helped him.
Three minutes
His narrowed eyes relaxed and he nodded lightly at her stern face as she tilted her head. He was almost sure that had he lowered his eyes to the graceful, white cat on the floor, it’s head had tilted in much the same manner, but kept his eyes locked with Saga’s before nodding again.
“Three minutes,” he repeated.
He would wait for the pretty, little witch to leave his office before breathing out with a sharp wince and letting his head lean back on the backrest behind him.
“Bloody hell, Archie, eh?” He muttered under his breath and closed his eyes tightly. “Bloody hell.”

It brought with it a special kind of satisfactory feeling when the fool on the couch in the end gave in to her terms but perhaps it was exactly because those two were frightfully similar that have the little witch more luck than most. She smiled gently at him, sporting that slightly pleased glimmer in her eyes before they escaped him as she began taking steps towards the door. Circe stayed behind for just a moment longer, looking at him with those glittering golden eyes, but then when Saga had mostly reached the door, they got up and ran to meet her there. The white furred cat with the first one out of it but she stopped up, a hand resting on the edge of the door, and turned a bit around; not really enough for her to actually see back at him, but just enough so her back wasn’t entirely turned and her voice would have better chances of being heard and not muffed by speaking in the completely opposite direction. “It’s good to see you again, Archibald.”
Then she walked through and the door closed behind her with a controlled click.

Having just taken one or two steps out into the hallway, her gaze unconsciously lifted as her subconscious must’ve caught the glimpse of something on a small decorative table outside the office. A pack of cigarettes had been placed there. A rather cheap brand and Saga could by simply looking, caught a phantom scent of the smoke this particular tobacco emitted when smoked. It lingered all over this house. Lingered thicker upon the man who smoked them. She decidedly picked the packet up and found herself taking a moment to read the name although she already knew what it said. Lucy must’ve placed them there, as she had told her to. Gone against her immediate employer’s own orders.
A bit further away by the stairs, the white feline jumped effortlessly up on the railing which seemingly had the success of bursting the sentimental bubble Saga had ended up on, because she automatically looked up. Actually, it could easily look like the familiar had spoken up from the way it pulled her attention towards it. But not even a purr had sounded. And yet the witch had understood. She quickly stopped the packet of cigarettes into the front pocket of her hoodie as she walked the remaining distance to meet up with her life-companion again and the cat synchronized walked down the railings side by side her as she walked down on the partially fabric upholstered steps of the stair. “Not yet,” she said, answering whatever mysterious communication that had transpired. Nothing more was said. Or if there was, it wasn’t said out loud. Only a disbelieving vibrating chirp from the cat.


As she moved down the stairs and further through the house on her own, she was once again reminded of just how grand a place it was. In this way, the two of them were very different. While she might own funds to live like this, she had chosen much more humble living. She didn’t have the same need to show her wealth and power to the outside world like Archibald did, so it was only understandable. He was an outside turned figure; she was anything but. However, she could still appreciate the old, well-kept structure of this place. Circe liked it here, maybe more than the small and slim three-story place on Filigree Crescent. More space to roam. And more willing - and allowed - hands to give a good scratching. From time to time, Saga would wonder about what percentage of actual animal they were.

Saga could already hear a murmur of the people gathered in the kitchen before she stepped inside. She had expected how all eyes turned to her, expectantly. This… This was a feeling she had never gotten used to, despite she had managed to hide the taken back feeling from her face. “He’s resting. As much as I could convince him to, at least,” she inquired the entourage before they could get a chance to asked themselves. Three minutes. It wasn’t much. But enough. Her eyes, which had laid mostly on the men in the room, then found their way over to the darker skinned woman. “Would it be possible have some food to the garden? I was pulled right from bed- ..” She shot a discreet look toward John and Link. “.. so it was limited what of my morning I could get done.” Of course that displeasure was gone from her eyes when they returned to Lucy.

The grand kitchen – usually clean and in perfect order thanks to Lucy and the elderly looking house cook, Margery – was a mess. Not in the dirty way that, but in the way that nothing was where it was supposed to be. Link was nonchalantly leaning on the polished, dark marble countertop that accompanied the chalky, white units; the marble continuing up onto the walls, serving as a splashback as well as a dramatic flair for the otherwise simple, white kitchen. Dashes of open, dark walnut shelving made the room feel almost industrial with its large scale and copper metal details scattered around for a bit of warmth.
John was sat on the wooden dining table that the household used for their dinners, having placed his legs onto a chair, whilst he was scolding in annoyance at Sully as he grumpily spoke, wafting a bottle of scotch around as he did so. The boys would often speak on top of each other, cutting their voices off or doubling up on them, as they each had taken glasses and bottles from cabinets as they impatiently awaited any news from their boss and long-time friend.
All the whilst Lucy was stood in a corner, looking exasperated and tired of the men in the house. Which she was. Which she had stated more than once already. Which Sully had told her to ‘shut her pretty yap’ for. She might have built up the courage to raise her voice at the bickering men if it hadn’t been for the door slowly opening.  

He’s resting.
Mixed reactions on the many faces in the rooms, but almost everyone immediately lowered their shoulders. Sully narrowed his eyes in scepticism at the words, knowing very well that rest was a foreign concept for the stubborn Banshee upstairs. As much as I could convince him to, at least. The narrowed eyes fell back into place and he gave a slight nod to the newly platinum blonde witch. “E’s okay, then? Are ye sure?” John broke in, placing his hands on the edges on the table. Out of all of them it might be safe to say that John was the most clueless about a lot of things; mainly the emotional aspects of life, and so he trusted the witch perhaps a little less than the rest of them. Saga had gained Sully’s trust long ago, so he trusted her words without questioning them. “John, shut yer fuckin’ yap, will ye,” he muttered in a low growl, favouring just that statement over telling people to ‘shut up’.
Yet the men got ignored by the dark, blue eyes of the witch that quickly found its way to the only other woman present.

Lucy had already straightened her back remarkably as the door had opened, her keen eyes observing the witch in curiosity and esteem. She nodded with a solemn smile, pleasantly amazed at the other girl paying her such attention and showing her such trust. The dark curls had been tied neatly into a bun that gently wobbled as she gave Saga a nod. “Of course, Miss. Any preferences for food?” And as the maid awaited the reply she turned to Link, still sat with a slight frown on her precious countertop. “Right, that’ll be it then. Off with you, Mister!” And she gently shooed the young man down with both of her hands. Link groaned but slowly scooped down. “Come on, Lucil-“ “-Won’t hear it today, Mister Davies! Off you go. You too, Johnathan, there ought to be more important matters for you gentlemen in these early morning hours.”
Sully quickly straightened his face, knowing a wide smile had found its way there. “She’s right, lads, house don’t run ‘tself, does it!”
The boys retreated, mumbling defeatedly on their way out of the kitchen but Sully halted at the doorway, turning to Saga. “Right, Miss Rhyss, I’ll trust ye on this one. Will ye be needin’ me assistance to get ‘im to the gardens, then? Or is ‘e gunna tell me t’fuck off.”

While the ever so slightly mistrusting comment and tone of the boyish-looking vampire didn’t seem to strike at much in Saga, her familiar had to fight the sudden urge to scratch the man. What probably kept it on good behaviour was yet another one of those mysterious ways of commination and bonding between a witch and their life-long companion, because not even a hiss nor a slow stomach-growl was to be heard. Only the tail-lift was an indication to the white cat’s distaste. Jonathan should feel like a lucky man that someone else had stepped in to tell him what to do if he knew what was good for him before anything could escalate.
Another lucky card dealt by Fate, was the attention turning to the young angel. The white, fluffy tail sank slightly by the sweet sound of the maid’s voice as the sparkling, golden eyes fell upon on. And before long Circe calmly stood back up on all four paws and walked further over to the kitchen counter before with even more floating elegance than an ordinary cat, they jumped up onto it. They dared a little closer to Lucy but politely kept where they wouldn’t be too much in the way when she’d get to work and sat down with their tail wrapped nicely around themselves and their position regal. “Some fruits,” the little witch, in the meantime, informed, not being concerned with what her familiar was up to. “Ah, and some toasted bread.” Just something simple and probably most importantly; something easily nipped at. Saga rarely actually felt hunger or any intentionally craving to eat but she had also found out about herself, how, if food was in front of her and easily obtained, she would eat. So, such things like finger foods were a given. Anything that didn’t need an arrange of utensils. And of course; simple flavours. Fancy dinners where as if wasted on someone like her as surely was known by at least one individual in the house.

Continuing being a witness to the largely more chaotic interactions between this people in the kitchen, had the little witch smile a faint little smile while allowing herself to stuff her hands into the front-pocket of her cropped sweater and rested her arms in it like a sling for a bit. Then the room started to get emptied out and rather naturally, she stepped to the side to better allow them to get through the doorway, she was, in some way, blocking off and in the midst of it, she found herself vaguely leaning up against the frame as Sully stopped on his way out. Of course, she automatically looked up at him with an anticipating look in her face.
I’ll trust ye on this one. Actually. It was funny. She had heard him say that exact same line countless times before. She now knew the demon never meant it as if he only would trust her that one time. “I believe you know him better than I ever will, Sully, so you should know as well as I that he’ll most definitely tell you that,” she softly pointed out to the moustached man, still keeping that sweet smile on her lips for the world to see. At least for a few more seconds, before she breathed in deeply, yet very controlled and discreetly, pushing herself off from the door frame to turn her body more frontal towards him.
“I made him promise three minutes of uninterrupted rest. I trust him to keep that promise. An idiot, however, would hope that it’ll end with him falling asleep so undoubtedly he’ll get up when those three minutes have passed.” The deep breath she had taken exhaled into a sigh before seeking his eyes in unshielded eye contact. “Check on him in fifteen, will you? And then you can drag him into the garden if he hasn’t done so himself.” She pulled a hand out of the pocket and gently placed in on the arm of the financial adviser as she then started to walk away and let the fingers glide off him just as gently. Instead of following the men out of the door, she herself had just come in through, she strode through the kitchen to the other side to reach another way that eventually led her outside into the garden.

A peculiar place, indeed. A garden much like the one from her childhood home. But the different was the location. While her childhood home was a village with nature and space around it, this was a place by the harbour. Not the usual place to find green grass and well-kept bushes and flora like this. It was nice out. The sun was obviously still very low considering how early it still was, but it had risen since she had been tugged into a car. It was still cold, it being the end of winter, but it only made the air fresher. And with a bit of magic; Saga Rhyss was never really cold.

Although the men in the house would seem to be brutes and villains to some, they had good hearts and good heads that had simply seen too much and been through more and had in turn taken control over their lives and made their own world. They were old, the lot, and although many of them still acted young, they knew things and they knew people. At least they thought they did. Sully had long ago noticed that if people were willing to keep eye contact with him, he immediately felt some sort of admiration or perhaps even respect towards them. Saga Rhyss had never shied away from eye contact. As a Soul Demon he had always agreed that the eyes were windows to the soul and the witch had earned his respect with far more than simple eye contact, yet he found himself once more admire the young girl for her confidence and her manners in the house.
Check up on him in fifteen, will you? He spared her a smile and nodded at her suggestion. It sounded reasonable. Like her, he knew all too well that Archie would most possibly be counting the seconds of those three minutes. And as the boys left the room, Lucy started preparing the light food and the witch and her beautiful, white feline crossed the kitchen, Sully finally lowered his shoulders since two in the morning when he had been woken up by a feverish and angry Banshee busting through the front door.

Said Banshee had pushed himself back on his feet at this point, having stayed seated for a whole fifty seconds extra, simply listening to the calming ticks coming from the old clock on his wall. He mumbled to himself, as he sat down by his desk, easing himself down with his good arm on the armrest. Documents got spread out, and he systematically worked his way through them, lifting corners to read the dates at the bottom.
“Right,” he muttered, pulling out the document he had been looking for, reaching for a pen to circle the address that was placed at the top right. “Right.”
A light tap on the door had him lift his head expectantly. Had it been Saga, he was positive she would have simply opened. “Mh. Yes?”
The moustache entered the room before the rest of the face. Archie lifted his eyebrows, not about to repeat his ‘yes’ to get Sully talking. “She’s in the gardens,” the soul demon explained, wriggling his nose lightly, making the moustache vibrate. “Am I getting the car?” Archie ran his tongue across his dry lips. His eyes momentarily flickered to his left, searching for a pack of cigarettes that he usually kept but to his distaste they were not at their usual spot and his tongue once again tried wetting his lips. He really wanted a cigarette.
With an annoyed hum, he raised his hand and waved the piece of paper in the air for Sully to grab it. “Yes, but not for her. I need the guys to go find this fella before he disappears. Bring ‘im back alive, eh?”

At least he walked straight now and wasn’t leaning. The white shirt had too many wrinkles to his liking, but supposedly it wouldn’t matter after having put on his vest. Lucy hadn’t come when he had called on her, so he had not really had a choice as to a fresh shirt and frankly had decided that it didn’t matter at this point and what mattered for once was that he wasn’t rude to the guest in his house.
The garden was his favourite place in his whole estate; perhaps only beaten by the grand library on the first floor. The smells on every day of the year seemed to remind him of home. Of the north. Especially in the beautiful winter weather with that slightly salty breeze that came so close to the sea. You could almost feel it stick to your skin when you walked through the light morning mist towards the far end where a dainty pavilion was placed on top of a rockier landscape, shielded by a mountain wall but allowing the view on the wild sea. And there sat a young witch with hair much the same tone of platinum blonde as the foam of the waves below them. Silently he placed his hands in the pockets of his pants, not paying attention to the slight dullness he still felt in his arm, and sat down next to her.