cuddlecity | ( open ) ✘ ❝ i know my call ❞

Entry tags:

( open ) ✘ ❝ i know my call ❞

CHARACTERS: kara zor-el & you.
LOCATIONS: around the city.
WARNINGS: physical violence, angst, general Good Times™
NOTE: forward-dated. spoilers up to supergirl 3.09
SUMMARY: as of january 5, kara's come back from her canon update, and she's ready to ... not be here, mostly.

✘ arrival & arrangements.

( her arrival is... sudden, for lack of a better word. she arrives as swiftly as she'd fallen, blood and bruises still prominent even after the city's administration checks her in. no, she tells them, i want to remember. if she must be here, if she must come back, she wants to be herself.

they offer her the belongings she'd left in their trust — things like her keys, filled with access to everything from the off-site townhome she'd registered with someone else to the back door of a business she barely remembers — but she declines them all. instead, kara quietly accepts a temporary assignment in the alpha building, a room they promise she'll find particularly comfortable on the top floor.

is it comfortable? perhaps it could be, if she wanted comfort. but all kara zor-el can ask for is the one thing she cannot have just yet: peace, brought by the knowledge that what horror she's left behind to flourish in her absence has finally been silenced, and that will not happen until she earns her piece here.

charity, they tell her, or intimate kindness. the idea of being intimate with anyone feels impossible. so here she is, lingering in the hallway of the volunteer center, looking considerably worse for wear, trademark glasses and librarian get-up traded in for dark slacks and a deo-issued grey sweater. )

I'd like to volunteer, please. Somewhere quiet.

✘ the sky & the sea.

( in the middle of the night, the sky is milky black and shimmering from the echoes of the stars dotted across; every so often, the occasional speck of a plane or a light in the distance breaks the scene. if you look closely, though, there's more than just clouds and birds and metal in the sky — there's the faint outline of a girl, too, a blur of colors floating in the distance, the outline of fabric fluttering in the breeze. it's neither a bird nor a plane, however; it's just kara, aimlessly drifting over the city.

from the ground, it might be hard to tell exactly who's up there, but if you've got a higher vantage point — like the high floors of a building, or your own capabilities for flight — you might be able to recognize the shape of the girl afloat, though said shape might be the only thing recognizable. instead of her librarian chic getup or the bright colors of her supergirl cape and boots, kara's dressed a bit... less formally.

warm grey cotton, varying shades from head to toe, might not indicate her current state, but the gentle close of her eyes just might. her hands dangle from her side as she floats, the night breeze carrying her to and fro as she slumbers. sleepflying. it's a thing. maybe you'll care to wake her, or to listen as she murmurs in her sleep. )

... the book of Rao... the symbols... please don't...

✘ of fists & fangs.

( sucker punch, with its dim lighting and the inexplicable coating of dust that seems to settle in everything, is not the sort of place you'd expect to find sunshine incarnate kara danvers. really, it's not even the sort of place you'd expect to hear about her, let alone run into her face-to-face. but if you happen to go in on just the right day, at precisely the right time, you might just find her there.

to be entirely fair, it's not exactly kara danvers, human ray of sunshine, who finds herself settled inside the ring. no, the slim, quiet girl with the echoes of bruising across her cheekbones hardly seems a fair comparison to the chipper sweetheart that had left this city just a week ago.

there's a quiet intensity to her now, intent in each strike of fist against the reinforced metal she's hung in place of a punching bag, resolve in each low exhale of breath as she attempts each move in her memory.

when the metal finally gives way, she lingers near the ropes of the boxing ring, blonde hair tied up in a ponytail and her everyday attire exchanged for a rather cozy-looking sweatpants and t-shirt combo, looking more like a skittish potential fighter than a girl who could knock out the hulk with a good right hook. it might be easier to practice there. it's only this knowledge that has her turning to the next person who crosses her path, to murmur: )

I need a sparring partner.

✘ free spaces & wildcards.

( for convenience's sake, i've drawn up a few starters! however, anyone who knows her might notice she's not been at any of her usual hangouts — home, criminales, the alluring warmth of wok and roll on unlimited potstickers day, and so on. feel free to call her out on it, or alternatively, if you fancy a chance meeting with the girl formerly known as kara danvers, by all means, have at it.

feel free to pm me or hit me up at semicolons if you want to hash something out in advance, though! )

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[Magnus waves the diagnostic spell and sets a hand lightly on her back, supporting her if she needs it while she's getting used to sitting up again.]

Which implies you do usually float when you sleep, that's unusual in journalists, isn't it?

[Yes, it's playful, but there's a lot of concern there too. Something's wrong with her, something his magic isn't picking up, and he doesn't know her very well but he knows her well enough to consider her a friend, and a friend is someone who receives help when they need it.]

I'm not a journalist. ( the words come out a little harsher than she intends them to, and kara has to take a breath or two to settle her nerves before she can make it right. for her, it's a fact that's been reiterated over and over, in the few days slash nearly a few years at home. she's not a journalist anymore. hardly even anything at all. she helps lena where she can, but her devotion is to her city. to supergirl. and now, she can't even do that right anymore. ) I'm — I'm just not.

( her hands lift to cup over her eyes, fingertips pressing against her forehead and then further as she drags her hands down. none of this is easy to explain. it's not even easy for her to understand. how can anyone else? )

I float in my sleep because I can fly. When I'm awake, I can control it. Lately, when I'm sleeping... I can't. ( if magnus looks particularly closely, he might notice the bags — the ones that have never before appeared under her eyes — looking a bit more prominent today. ) Not that I'm really sleeping very much.

( and then, just as suddenly, the defensive mechanisms kick back in. better to not talk about it, to not allow any chips in her carefully constructed armor, to brush aside any attempts at help or kindness lest she start to need them. )

I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I'm really fine.

[Well, that's new and different. They hadn't talked for long during their dance at the ball, but he'd asked her the usual ice-breaker questions. This is much more raw, it's real. This is the heart of who she is, not whoever she'd been trying to be when they'd met.

He's nodding in sympathy, already thinking to what ingredients he has in stock that he could use to dash together a good sleeping potion, when suddenly she's boxing herself back up as if trying to pretend this never happened.]

Hey, hey hey. [Magnus catches at one hand, presses it between both of his.] First of all, if you're having trouble sleeping, that's not fine, and I can help. Second— [He takes one hand away to wave at the empty roof, the sky, the silent city.] It's just us. And between just us, honey...you look rough. Please come inside? Have a drink. I'll make tea. Or something stronger. I promise you don't need to talk about it.

( she's tried. she's tried so hard — to keep herself together, to stave off the inevitable, to bolster all the pain and fear with a heavy dose of self-loathing and regret. it's easier to blame herself for her own injuries than it is to feel all of the sorrow that comes with them. i should have been strong enough is much stronger than the admissions she's been fighting since she stepped foot back in the city — that her return, should she go back again, will only result in nothing. that worldkiller had truly accomplished her goal in tossing her off that building, that she'll return to the blackness of death, shortly accompanied by her sister's, her mother's, everyone's that she holds dear, and there'll be nothing she can do to stop it.

it's heavy and sorrowful and damning, and kara's done all she can to keep the thoughts at bay, but when magnus' hands catch hers and pull her into an embrace, she's caught off-guard. not for long, not by much, but just enough to shake her defenses, just enough to shake her walls —

— so she cries. it's a long, low choke of a cry, one that shakes her limbs with all the pent-up tears that haven't fallen, and the salt of them mingles with the still-healing cuts on her face. it's enough to make her wince, choking on her own sob as she does, and bury her face against the fabric of his shirt, where the tears might catch on cotton or silk instead of open skin.

eventually, though, as the heaviest of the sobs pass and she's left with just the quieter, steadier sorrow, kara lifts her face enough to stammer out: ) Stronger. Please.

( ideally, something strong enough where she can sleep afterwards, clear of mind if not of heart. )

[He'd wondered if something like this might happen, but he's still taken by surprise that it happens so quickly. But he isn't so surprised that he doesn't catch her immediately, arms going around her shoulders and his cheek resting against her head with a little humming sound. She needs to get this out, whatever the source of it may be. She's hurting, and if he can help ease that, he doesn't mind how long she needs to sob against his shoulder.

Magnus's fingers stroke over her smooth hair, a slow and even rhythm, and he smiles as she lifts her head.]

Stronger it is. [And there's no reason to waste time. Magnus crouches, scoops her up in his arms, and starts for the stairs.] I live two floors down, my couch is much more comfortable than the roof, and I'm sure you've never had Seelie wine but you must try it.

( she's never so much as heard of seelie wine, let alone tried it, which is admittedly saying something, in this place, given that she'd moonlit as a bar manager for a good five months. she'd ordered plenty of strange, niche liquors, but whatever seelie wine was, it wasn't something that'd come up. it leaves a sharpness in her throat as she swallows to think about. that's not her life anymore, not her role to play.

while she's not exactly accustomed to being carried about, the gesture does have its precedents — barry, for one, or even nate more recently — so kara doesn't protest. she does her best to be as light as possible, perhaps even summoning a bit of her own energy (or what's left of it) to hover, trying to manage whatever weight of her own she can in the process. it's not until magnus has her down on the admittedly very comfortable couch that kara actually relaxes — or at least what counts for it, pulling her legs up to her chest and letting her back sink into the cushions. )

I've had strong stuff before. From Aldebar. ( very, very strong. ) And wine, on Earth, but not... well. What's a Seelie?

[Normally, Magnus would conjure drinks from thin air in this kind of situation, but Seelie wine is already magical and he doesn't like to mix his magics. So instead, he perches on the arm of the couch with a decanter made of crystal that looks too thin to be held without cracking, filled with a liquid that seems clear at first, then a pale gold, or is that rose, or pink, or is it green?

The glass he pours for her is small, the size of a sherry glass. It smells like a garden and tastes the way flowers smell, but each time you think you've figured out which flowers, it changes just enough. The scent and flavor are a distraction, almost enticing the mind away from whatever thoughts it had been thinking before to focus just on the drink.]

The Seelie are...well, when I say "fairies" people get the wrong idea. Be careful. I have a feeling you have a higher tolerance than the average person, but that doesn't matter with this. Seelie wine is magical.

[Magnus pours himself a glass too before actually getting up to set the decanter on the table.] It affects everyone in the same way. Their way of ensuring an even playing field when negotiating. Seelie can't lie, so they do what they can to throw everyone else off their game. Cheers, sunshine.

( the vessel itself is beautiful. kara can appreciate that, of course; her gaze lingers on the shimmering color of the glass, watching as the color of the liquor inside changes with each tilt of her hand. each sip blooms across her tongue, reminiscent of the floral teas on krypton, the ones her mother had been so fond of when she took her morning breaks, so delicate and dainty in flavor.

by the time half the glass is gone, her skin is flushed, warm to the touch; the apples of her cheeks have gone pink in color as she lets the couch swallow her in. for the first time since before she'd even left cadelle, kara feels relaxed. )

I've never met a Seelie before. ( even though she's relaxed, she's surprisingly not floating. instead, she's heavy, her limbs sluggish against her body. ) You're not a Seelie, are you? Where did you get the wine?

( sweet kara. she's not drunk, just... content. close to smiling, even. )

I am not a Seelie, but I've done more than a few favors for them over the years. [He has that familiar light inside him now, halfway through his own glass, legs now stretched out on the coffee table.] Payment for services rendered. I am a warlock. So, magical services rendered.

[This time when he blinks, his eyes are golden cat's eyes. It feels safer to reveal his warlock mark here, without any Shadowhunters bent on hunting down warlocks to take trophies from them.] The Seelie have many names. You may well have met one of the Fair Folk without knowing it.

( his eyes are: ) Beautiful. ( they catch all of her attention, like shimmering jewels in the distance, and kara can't quite help but gaze in their direction as he talks. if all warlocks had such gorgeous eyes, she can understand why people who make such wonderful things might want to trade with them. )

What can warlocks do?

( besides pull girls down from their sleep and run very popular clubs, that is. she knows about those things. )

Thank you. [The cat's eyes blink slowly at her, Magnus already feeling the softening effect of the wine. He doesn't know what's happened to Kara, but he feels for her. If this is the only comfort he can offer, he'll offer it without hesitation.]

Warlocks can do magic. [He snaps his fingers and conjures a ball of gently glowing blue light, flickering like flame, and rolls it around his fingers like a crystal. Then smooths it through his hair, where it colors the spikes that same glowing blue.] A lot of magic. And we're immortal, so we have a lot of time to learn.

( without thinking, kara's hands lift up for a moment, as if to reach out and take the light from his palms. when it disappears into his hair, they fall into her lap, a soft exhale of disappointment echoing between them. she'd have liked to have held that magic, if even for a moment. )

That must be lonely. ( being immortal, anyway. the magic doing probably attracted all sorts of people. ) I don't know how long Kryptonians live on Earth... but it's longer than people from Earth, I think.

[Magnus misinterprets the disappointment and reaches out immediately to lightly pin a lock of Kara's hair and leaves that same bright blue behind as he trails it between his fingers. There, now they match, and he'll undo it again before she disappears.]

It is, and it isn't. There are ways to live without letting it weight on you. Even immortals can live in the moment. [He shifts to sit on the floor next to her, blinking away his warlock mark and returning his eyes to warm, concerned brown.] What happened, sunshine?

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( open ) ✘ ❝ i know my call ❞

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