Round the Wrekin' - Saga C. Rhyss

Telling Saga to make herself at home wasn’t really a necessary anymore. Sure, she didn’t feel particularly at home in the house - she had her own where she could be at peace - however she still knew how to be comfortable in every which situation. So, by the time Archibald had trekked all the way from his office and into the far corner of the garden, the little witch had claimed not one, but two of the chairs to herself. Sitting partially sideways to the small, round table, she had allowed herself her feet to rest in the chair next to her. Pulled close enough for her to sit with bend knees - and not taking all the space. In one hand she held a perfectly white and chipless, rounded coffee cup, one slender finger pulled through the dainty handle and the rest of her hand resting relaxed around the structure of the porcelain. In the other hand she held a triangle piece of plain toasted bread. Nothing on it, although the table had been set with both marmalade and butter if she - or the awaited company - felt like adorning their breakfast with it at some point. Her gaze was turned to the morning waters, which the pavilion so graciously gave her a view to, all the while she mindlessly took a delicate bite of the toast and just as mindlessly chewing it. Following it with a rather big gulp of the milky coffee in her cup. She had pulled hair snowy hair back into a quick bundle in the back, but with the short cut of it, it really was only the top half of it which was tied up. The rest hanged loose like an intended half up-do.
From time to time, she’d look to the white familiar, who had made themselves at home on the table itself. Politely taken the smallest form of the ferret to not knock everything off with an accidental sweep of the tail or flap of wings, even if the graceful creature was well adaptive for such accidents to never happen. Like their witch, they weren’t the clumsy or hectic type either. Circe had taken a liking to the fruit and was half-way through a juicy grape when the sound of footsteps had them look up and in the direction of the man, now much more alive, joining them.

Saga did the same, but waited to turn her attention from the ocean until he had taken that first step into the pavilion deck. A curious and almost fawnlike innocence adorned her face as her eyes fell on him. It didn’t show in the slightest how she scanned him for details, even though someone knowing her as well as he, might expect it. It was impressive, really, how three silly minutes worked their magic on him. He still looked like someone who’d need hours of sleep but this was how she knew him. He hadn’t changed in that regard since she had known him and somehow anything else felt off.

As he would sit down, there were also the chance for him to notice the packet of cigarettes which she had pulled from her pocket and put at the side of the second plate laid out for him. “How can it be that it angers you so much when they worry about you?” she said, breaking the calm silence and scooting a little in her seat however, she didn’t move from her position. Her head tilted questioning. She had wondered this many times. “You always speak of them as if they are family so it should only be natural for them. Especially when you wanders the edge like you did.” She gently put down her piece of toast, brushing off crumbs from her fingertips and then pointed her hand to the thermal coffee pot. With a delicate flick of the wrist it lifted from the table and moved to pour the battered banshee probably his third or fourth cup of the day. Her hair was very white still but it didn’t mean her magic or abilities were subdued. Not at all. Her capacity had returned fully. If not stronger than before. Or just more willing to not keep the lid as long as she had in the past.
She placed the pot back on the coaster and moved her eyes back onto him, as she decided to grab her own cup with both hands instead of resuming to nibble at her bread. Still awaiting his answer.

His eyes had first found the sea. The wilderness in front of them that seemed oddly calm in the early morning breeze. Then the pack of cigarettes on the table. He had quickly grabbed hold of a packet from another room on his way there, knowing that Saga didn’t usually like him smoking anywhere near her, and found it a surprisingly gentle gesture from the witch. As he reached for the packet on the table, taking it as a clear reply to a question he would have actually asked for once, she broke the silence and he halted his movement to turn his head towards her. Third thing his eyes found were hers; dark and blue as the sea they were facing.
What a curious question. Archie kept his eyes locked with hers in a few seconds silence before mirroring her, tilting his head and answering her questioning eyes with a genuine curiosity. Had it been anybody else he would have never even considered replying to the question, but the blue eyes in front of him were sincere and far from being demanding like they sometimes could be.

He could have told her many things. That it made him feel like he was weak. That it made his injuries feel more real. That it reminded him of back when he wasn’t anybody of importance. And though perhaps there was a very little part of him that felt all that, the biggest reason of all wasn’t as selfish and somehow, he had come to respect the witch too much to simply waff her off with a cheap lie. “It means I’ve become a weakness to them,” he told her, finally breaking eye contact and flicked open the pack of cigarettes. There were too many scenarios where it would be bad for them to worry about him. They had too many enemies that would exploit that. It was all good that people knew that they were family – it was a sort of security too; people knew that if they messed with one of them, they messed with all, but it wasn’t about emotions or worry. It was about respect and power. Archie gently tapped the end of his cigarette on the table before placing it between his lips. The cheap paper quickly stuck onto the dry surface and after the first, glorious draw, he removed the cigarette and let his tongue wet his lips before putting the cigarette back as he watched how the pot of coffee poured itself into the cup in front of him. It was a soft edge that grew in his eyes at the gesture; not that it made it to his lips just yet. “Thank you. - They’ve better things t’do than worryin’ ‘bout me.”
There really wasn’t much else to say. He would never be caught worrying like that; not because he didn’t care for them, for that he did, and that much was obvious, but the sentimental side it took to stop the world from turning, and be so still in worry, was simply impractical and not at all helpful. Worry was probably fine enough if it led to action. And action was what he needed. He needed them to find the people who had done this; he needed them to deduct, solve and avenge and show no mercy in it. That was all the worrying he needed, thank you very much.

Archie reached for his cup, subtly choosing his left hand to work with even though his right hand probably had gained enough strength by now – not that he was about to test that in a peaceful moment like this. Not in front of her As the cup neared his lips, he reached his other hand to take the cigarette out, allowing the liquid to touch his lips before his tongue. With a content sigh, he took a moment to close his eyes to fully enjoy what was easily the best thing about mornings. Coffee and quiet. What a grand combination that. Still, with his eyes closed, the coffee cup found the tabletop, his back found the backrest behind him.

Something in the little witch’s eyes become more present as he told her his honest answer. She trusted him, after all, to only rarely lie to her. Partially since she, for the most parts, could tell when he did. Archibald Barnes wasn’t an easy book to read but over the years, she had found a way to peek through his pages over. Something she had come to know, that he didn’t much have a liking for and yet she felt like he allowed her that privilege anyway. It means I’ve become a weakness to them. The words weren’t something she would ever be able to oppose against. To argue against. Because she understood where he stood, to some degree. He had made her understand while observing him. Still it had her raise her chin slightly and widen her gaze for a little while before she eventually lowered both chin and gaze as if in a nod that only needed half the motion to convey her acceptance and grasp. She couldn’t hide the small, soft smile on her lips either, as she did so, although not lingering visibly for long. “As do I. Worrying about you could end up becoming much like a full-time job,” she calmly commented while caressing the smooth porcelain surface of her cup with the tip of her ring finger.

Saga discreetly looked to the banshee once more. Watched him with his eyes closed, possibly more at genuine ease then and there than he must have been in those three minutes - and fifteen seconds - he had stayed put on that couch in his office. She suspected the nicotine had a big hand in play. Bigger than the caffeine. With the wind directions she wasn’t sitting within range for the smoke to swirl towards her, albeit she could still faintly smell it. Either that or she had become so used to that exact smell of smoke that it was simply her mind putting in the missing pieces.
The coffee cup was lifted, yet again, but this time it lingered in the air just before touching her pale rose-coloured lips for quite some time. Not just a moment but several. Long enough for the ferret to look up from its feast of grapes and almonds to have its golden eyes lay upon her. “I found my father,” the witch then revealed, adding a bit more context before finally taking that anticipating sip. “In Cuba.” Of all places. She savoured the sip for a tick, as if not really wanting to lower the cup again. But it had to be done at some point. She had contemplated to tell him or not. It wasn’t really any of his business. It was hers and hers alone and yet she had felt a want to share with him. Not like a breakthrough in some sort of case. She had thought it would’ve felt like that when she first had gotten wind of her father’s whereabouts, first she’d heard of in nearly a century but it hadn’t felt like that in the end. The cup found it’s place unto it’s small delicate plate. “I had Circe stay behind when I left so they could keep an eye on the shop and the house while I was gone.” Blue eyes found him again. It hadn’t gone unnoticed how he had snooped around as soon as word had gotten out, that the three-story slim, house had been empty for a good week without any explanation. But what was carried over in her eyes wasn’t shaming him for watching her. This wasn’t a first and she suspected it wouldn’t be the last. Frankly, it was an explanation which, by his watchful eye, made it clear to her, was something he’d want.

With both her hands free, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms under her knees and thighs, restraining from pulling her legs up all the way up to her chest and only had her fingers braided lightly into each other.

It wasn’t that Archie never smiled or wasn’t capable of smiling at all. He smiled when he felt genuine joy which for the most part was whilst in solitude with a glass of whiskey and nobody to bother him or when showering in nostalgic times with Sully. Perhaps it was indeed, as the witch had thought only a moment ago, about allowing people to see it. Mostly it was simply more practical and a whole lot easier that people didn’t see emotions in general. In this moment though, he didn’t mind Saga seeing the gentle, little smile; corners of his mouth raised just enough to have the wrinkles at the sides of his eyes squint together.
On his way to the gardens he had made the decision to take a little moment out of his busily scheduled day and to allow himself a breakfast; most importantly to fully focus on her. As she deserved. One day, he reminded himself solemnly, as he had always done, one day; and so his hectic afternoon could be pushed an hour back for a rare moment like this. Then hell could break loose once she was safely back in her dainty little shop downtown.
“Yes,” he agreed with her. “Perhaps one day it could.”

It was a short rest for the bright blue eyes before they opened again. Her light shuffle of movements had stopped, and much like the golden eyed familiar, Archie noticed the hesitation. As he turned to her, curious about what might be on her mind, she spoke. I found my dad. The words immediately had his eyebrows lift in genuine surprise, creating movement the usually still face; there had probably been more movement in his these past minutes than the entirety of yesterday.
Cuba. So her escapade out of the country had been to Cuba. “So yer dad’s in Cuba,” he muttered to himself, sitting up a little straighter to lean his body sideways so that he could face her more straight on. The cigarette had been removed and was neatly placed between his thumb and index finger with his hand resting on the tabletop.
His head tilted slightly as he watched her place the cup back down on the plate. There was none of the girlish excitement he might have imagined one to feel upon such a discovery; but then there hardly ever was with her. Always that underlying, prideful acceptance.
“Did ye get yer answers?” He knew little about this father; most of his attempts were thwarted by rumours, but he did know that the disappearance was heavy on Saga’s shoulders, and he deeply cared for the fact that she had been able to find him. Regardless of the outcome of the meeting, that.

“I saw,” he replied, allowing himself yet another shadow of a smile. He knew that she knew too and had absolutely no problem with that. He’d been keeping taps on her for a little while now, and where he suspected that she had strongly disliked it in the beginning, he’d come to think that she had accepted it and maybe perhaps one day would feel comfortable in the security it provided. “T’was long to be away from them, eh?” It wasn’t usual to leave Circe alone for that long, and had definitely added onto the immediate worry he had felt when he had noticed; a worry that had turned to the comfort of knowing that as long as the beautiful, white familiar was pouncing around the flat, it meant that the witch was fine.

Saga shot the banshee a slightly straighter glance at that moment. Perhaps one day it could.. She ignored it on instinct, a non-preferable habit having manifested in her, but that little innocent flutter did still occur as her subconscious caught on to a hidden meaning that may or may not even be there in between his words.
Archibald could be very blunt; in his own cryptic way..

Well. “He was. But I don’t think he is anymore.” The little witch hadn’t stayed in the country long enough to actually sense her father’s absence. She wouldn’t even have been able to, if he had actually left while she was still there. The man was a master of his craft and no matter of personal teachings he might could’ve given his daughter; she’d still not have the ability to do much other than notice the signs left behind. Never actually being able to track him down. It was surely a thing to be proud of, because she knew no witch with the same skills in that field as Reuben Rhyss. But when you were the one trying to find him, it resembled a curse. However, she had something different from other people, a family bond, one might call it, in which gave her a gut feeling she for the most parts could trust. And that feeling told her that her father had moved on again. Be it further in his secrecy or home.
She pressed her tights closer together by tightening her interlocked fingers grip and then gently shook her head. “None directly from him, no,” she answered truthfully before letting her fingers elegantly untangle again and finally, she moved her feet off from the chair as well as turned to sit more proper in her own. Still a little sideways. It did make it more natural for her to look at Archibald, be in his company. She didn’t much enjoy having to turn her head more than necessary to look at the people she spoke to, although it had also turned out that the whole sitting across from each other with a table right in between was something she didn’t have the fondest liking to. “Saying that I found him is maybe a bit of a stretch. I never met up with him. Or talked with him.” The tip of her tongue stuck out to wet her lip. “Or saw him. But he was there and that gave some other answers. I had a strong theory that he was keeping me off his track on immense purpose and that, I feel, got confirmed.” She placed her bare feet loosely on top of her shoes that was standing lonely by the feet of her chair where she neatly had kicked them off. Then she leaned in, an elbow on the table and her cheek cupped into her palm where its fingers ran halfway into her hair. For the time a faint sigh escaped her lips, exhaustion was apparent.
She did have to lift her head from her palm for just a little while when attention turned to the furry creature at the table, so her eyes could look to it for a reaction. The question hadn’t been directed at her, after all. Even though Circe wouldn’t be able to speak and thereby answer. But that was just the thing. Saga suspected that Archibald actually understood her familiar nearly as well as she did. A sweet little smile grew unto her pale coral lips. It was strange, intriguing. She didn’t mind it. She wasn’t jealous. Not in the slightest. The smile was therefore still there when she glanced back towards him.

Circe had turned their attention to the banshee and while the little ferret wouldn’t show as expressive expression as a human, that shimmy in its golden eyes clearly stated that they understood what was asked. And the like the air around people told answers so was the case for Circe. There was pride of having kept the promise of staying in Gaia and pride of the trust that they and Saga shared. But there was also a feeling of, yes, it had long. There wasn’t any consequences for the two to be apart, it just didn’t chance that they very rarely were.
The white familiar then dissolved into that all-to-well-known swirl of glittering white, letting the half-eaten almond drop to the table, as the swirl, as if brought by a breeze that wasn’t exactly there, swirled up and towards Archibald before solidifying in the air near him, spreading it’s feathered wings and eventually landing on his shoulder and puffing its feathers.

Cuba was no safe place at the moment, he knew. Not for a lot of people at least, and so he couldn’t help but wonder what business the witch would have had there. Surely nothing to do with drugs. Perhaps ancient rituals and wisdom from some of the island’s traditional witchcrafts. Archie himself had once ventured to the Isle of Man to seek out a traditional witch and knew that their powers and their wisdoms were different than those of the newer witches and warlocks. Ancient. Less controlled. More dangerous.
He tilted his head as she informed him that her father might’ve left the island already. “Think he got ‘is answers, then?” He asked her; interested in her take on it. It wasn’t often she would open up to him like this. Especially not regarding her father, and so he thought it wisest to show his interest in the subject. If Reuben had left Cuba she had either scared him off, he had given up or he had found what he had been searching for for all these years.
He mirrored her shuffle of movement, turning his own body further in line with her. The cigarette had burnt while he had listened and he flicked its ashes off to his side, letting it drizzle onto the dewy tiles under the small pavilion, before placing it back between his lips with a low hum of agreement to signal that he was still paying attention to her words. He gave her a nod. She seemed to have accepted the answers she had gotten as well as the ones she hadn’t. “I’m chuffed ye’ve gotten ‘round to ‘least a few answers then,” he admitted softly. Didn’t sound like pleasant business to deal with; searching for a beloved one like that.
He felt tempted to ask about the hair once again, but solemnly let the temptation fade into acceptance and nodded again, regarding her face cupped in her delicate hands. He knew he would have to let her go soon. She needed rest after all, and he needed to figure out how anyone could have found out anything about his powers. And then he would have to deal with it mercilessly and swiftly.

Archie’s eyes immediately caught onto the shimmer, turning towards the movement from the familiar, and if one knew him well enough, they might be able to catch onto the almost boyish joy that fluttered through him as he watched Circe change form. He would never tire of the sight of that.
He had always had a soft spot for animals. Perhaps it had to do with trust. An animal would never double cross or backstab you, and so they were easy to read. When they loved you, they did so unconditionally. With Circe it was different of course, mainly since she most obviously wasn’t an animal but a celestial being, and also because he had really had to work for and earn the little trust, they now shared between them. They both held the witch in very high regards and trusted each other to take care of her in each other’s absence. And with that, he felt as though a friendship had blossomed between them. A feeling only strengthened as the bright, white wings unfolded, and the new feathered form landed on his shoulder, its wings fluttering along with the strange feeling of pride he felt deep down, knowing he had earned Circe’s respect. “Long, eh?” He repeated in a low mutter, intended for the familiar; his hand automatically reaching to gently stroke the rough side of his index finger on the delicately soft spot right between the white crow’s eyes and down towards its beak. “Ye did well, little one.”

A glimmer of honest bafflement ran across the little witch’s face. Had her father gotten his answers? It could likely have been due to fatigue or other more pressing thoughts but that thought had yet to fill her mind. Not even once before then had she actually wondered that. It’d maybe seemed a waste. A question for later where answers would be a guarantee instead of now where it’d only risk creating a spiral into wonderings. She believed her father’s secret would eventually come to a hold, be it by her force or succession. What baffled her in that moment was also from the unexpected words coming from Archibald. The banshee was no definitive fool – no matter how much she felt obliged to call him just that – she was well aware of that, so it shouldn’t have come as much of surprise as it did. Her head lifted itself slightly from her cupped hand while she looked at him with slightly wider eyes. Lost for words, could fit the veiled expression, if one believed that Saga Rhyss could ever be at a loss of words. Surely, she could. She wasn’t divine.
As the bafflement subsides her head laid back at relaxed rest and her gaze escaped him for a moment as she dwelled into thought. “I wouldn’t know,” she then admitted, softly. “It might be too early to tell. But I hope he did.” She missed her father. No number of years living would change that. She would always be but a girl in that regard; not a grown and mature woman. She looked to Archibald, her thoughts running on their own cause for just a second. Was it the same for him?

Circe shallowed up all the attention with little to no hesitation. White feathers puffed up immediately as a scratching finger presented itself just above their beak. Absolutely delightedly, they lowered their head a bit to automatically optimize the action and give approved room. Compliments were their kryptonite but so was this. It wasn’t so much an actual sound but a light rumbling from somewhere in their throat tweedled pleasantly with their golden eyes closed before they themselves curved their head away from the finger and instantly shook all their feathers down to the tail as if the scratch had created static. A way of saying both thanks and ‘that’s enough’. The bird settled proudly afterwards, feathers smoothed perfectly again and posture majestic. A ‘caw’ sounded as yet another appreciation. And a more direct reply. [Too long.] A part of Saga could watch interactions like this forever. Which meant… she’d overstayed.

Then sitting back against the chair’s back, she pulled a leg up, only this time it was to put on her shoes one by one. “I’ll have to take my leave,” she announced as she did, standing from the chair as the second shoe was properly put one and explaining further: “Mrs. Brown is to come by the shop at some point nearing midday. And it’d seem my business here is done.” Eyes fell back to Archibald. It was true. He was healed and nowhere near as pale as he’d been when she’d arrived. That glow, that aged him significantly when not there, had returned.
She reached her arms tall up above her head to stretch her stiffened body – something she’d barely had any chance of doing after practically being dragged out of bed. And as if it had been a sign for the crow, it sat off from Archibald’s shoulder in perfect timing to land on Saga’s instead just as she finished her stretch. And with a shake on the head, the magic hair band released her hair from the small bundle. “Refrain from being as reckless with getting shot again, would you? If you don’t want others to worry it’d be easier to simply not involve yourself in situation that worry them than demand them not to. At least I can hope to trust you won’t go on and die any time soon, right?” One would think he valued his life but she still had an inkling that this man might value pride more and that was what actually would drive him to seeking out who tried to end his life. She felt it proper to ask him for some reassuring. She wouldn’t want to see him dead. Nor hurt.

It was a strange sensation that washed over the old Banshee as the escaped question caused an innocent reaction of pure bafflement. It had been long, he thought, since he had had such a reaction from her, and for the first time in a very long time, the widened eyes and hesitation from the girl next to him, made him do a quick, confused second take. Had he spoken incorrectly? He didn’t believe he had; but then again, he rarely did, and so the swift and unprovoked double take was pushed away with the excuse of feeling the exhaustion of the long hours he had ventured through. Any and all signs of it vanished with her softly spoken voice, and he nodded in solemn agreement. “Aye,” he settled. As did he. He had no real recollection – not a noticeably happy one at least – of his own father. Memories long forgotten, moments long buried and eras long passed had no grand value to him and frankly was not something he longed for nor missed, but he could appreciate the bond between Saga and her father.
The many people claiming that Archibald Barnes had no heart and no empathy were, sadly perhaps, strongly mistaken. He empathised with people quite easily, in fact. However, he was selective with whether or not he really cared or let it affect him in any way. In this instance he wished for her to get her answers fondly and knew that such a scenario would bring him a version of joy.  

The small caw from the beautiful familiar was enough for Archie to lower his hand back down, his eyes getting a slight humorous gleam. He felt what it meant. Saga’s shuffle of movement only served to underline his interpretation of the sound, and he slowly nodded in agreement. It was time.
He stood up with her, politely so, but also to make sure that his balance was better than earlier. The short break had done him good, he knew, and the movement felt organic and smooth as it usually did.

Never one for empty promises, Archie simply granted a rare smile in the direction of the all-too lovable, stormy blue eyes that but avoided answering her, mainly rhetorical, question of reassurance that he would avoid getting shot again. The witch knew him well, however, and seemed to rephrase the sentence with a more answerable question. A nod would have sufficed, he knew. A nod to agree that he would, not necessarily be more careful, because that was a promise he would never make, but a promise that he would not die. He had no plans on leaving earth in any foreseeable future, and though life was a fragile promise, it was one he dared to make. “I’ve got promises that need keepin’, Saga Rhyss,” he replied. “However long they’ll take.” And that would have to do, they both knew. That was the only ‘yes’ he could give her.
The moment shared between them, the softness in his eyes and the uncharacteristically nostalgic smile that tugged the corner of his mouth took its sweet time. Silence had never been awkward between the two, and it wasn’t now either. So, when the moment had slowly passed, Archie gave her a nod with whatever promises laid in it.
“I’ll ‘ave Sully bring the car ‘round,” he offered, though much more a statement than a question. Sully would take that moment away from the house happily, and Archie knew that Saga would enjoy the short ride that much more than with any of the other boys present at the minute, and it would give the banshee a moment to reprimand John and Link on how to treat a respectable witch. “Give my regards to Mrs. Brown,” he added warmly. A promise to seek her out soon lingered on his tongue but remained silent. If she knew him as well as he thought she did, she might’ve heard it with the mesmerizing rhythm of the waves from the wild sea.