Attempted Familiarcide

Title: Attempted Familiarcide
Time Period: July 2, 135 A.E.
Characters Appearing:

Summary: There's an attempt on Sage's life when Mariah and Leonard's paths converge on the Pins & Needles and a still drunk Sorcha.

The sun is bright today - Surprise - and in the early hours of the morning, the town is mostly quiet except for those who's days start early. Baker already up and starting to produce the days fares, somewhere, Niall is likely up and starting to stoke the fire from his coals. Mariah's possibly tucked away in her bed - Company of Cas or no - and in the Pins and Needles….

Well. To those who walk by, the sign stating closed isn't up. But neither is it's counterpart 'Open'. The door is however, and a half broken empty bottle of something likely alcoholic scattered on it's steps. A bolt of bright red fabric trailing out and upon it, a bright yellow canary stands with it's head tilting this way then that, pondering the possibility of escape. How long since they have ever been out of their cage.

«I don't much like the look of that.»

Feet carefully curled around Leonard's shoulder, the black owl sitting upon him swivels her head about as they walk, deep black eyes pausing on the bolt of cloth hanging like a red tongue from the door of the seamstress shop. Her words in his ears are rather concerned, though she knows once she has brought his attention to it- he'll go nearer, and she will have to hang back again. Preemptively, she shifts, skittering down his arm and leg in a bundle of fluffy tail and pointed ears.

Leonard recognizes that look, which the little bird has. His early morning errands have to be put on pause, for the time being; despite the twinging shoulder, and left arm in its canvas sling, the vet finds himself swooping down- in his practiced manner- up to the front stoop to take the canary firm in his hand.

"Why, you don't belong out here, darling…" Sage hovers at the end of the stair nearby, squirrel paws dancing as she grabs the mouth of the discarded bottle and gives it an observant sniff.

Mariah was tucked in bed next to Cas not very long ago, but lately a sense of worry she can't always tame down often drives her to check into work early. She's carrying a basket with her, some coffee and a light breakfast for the two of them. She knows Sorcha's not doing very good at taking care of herself just now, so she's picking up the slack here and there. And usually with the store when they open for business… and even Sorcha's mother gets looked in on.

But Mariah knows this pain, and she's not going to be the one to push Sorcha into getting herself together. But on mornings that start this way, she gets a little tempted.

"Leon," she greets as she approaches the shop as well. And seeing as he's looking after the bird, Mariah looks in on the shop and the woman who is hopefully somewhere inside and not… done anything drastic. "Sorcha?"

Not so easy to catch the canary, it spotting the vet as it draws nearer and hops back before finding it's wings and attempting to fly elsewhere up into the shop, nearly crashing into Mariah's hair as it flutters in and lands up just within potential reach, tittering and scolding the vet.

Inside, the shop looks just like the steps, with fabric falling off shelves, some of it stained with alcohol from the two smaller bottles that have just the dregs in them, laying on their sides. Some of the fabric Mariah recognizes as the new bolts that came from the crate that sits in the corner that came from the ship. Sorcha's curled up on that fabric, one hand curled too around one of the empty bottles. Looking as terrible as Mariah's used to seeing her and at the worst that Leonard has likely ever seen her.

The canary cage broken, the little hatchet at the foot of it having been used to hack at the cage, and the lone little canary the only survivor. Somewhere, in Dornie, Jam and Toast are trying to survive.

Smart birds will come back. Time will tell if Butter and Toast are among those. Sorcha took care of them and fed them, after all. The bird flies into the shop, though that is as far as Leonard is going to go to begin with. The least that he can do is take his cursory look- however brokenhearted- at Sorcha, turn back to gather up the red fabric, and close the door behind them so that the little bird doesn't escape. They may have been a reminder, but now they are some of the only ones. Sage stays outside, but she soon pops up on the outside windowsill. As close as she was ever allowed.

"Mariah," He finally addresses one of them- the more sober- though the rest of his communication consists of a gesture to Sorcha with his chin.

Mariah's free hand lifts to cover her face at the sight of the place. It takes a moment or two before she recovers enough to act, the mix of messes on the floor not the best thing to wake up for. But she picks up the red fabric trailing out the door to carry it in and firmly set out the closed sign in the window.

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to help me get her into a bed?" Because as capable a woman she might be, carrying another grown adult's limp self upstairs is not something she's good at.

As the women have discovered recently.

"I can depend on your… discretion." It isn't a question, but a favor being asked all the same. For her friend's sake. No one needs to know how hard this is for her.

"I don't need a bed" Just some hair of the dog possibly, a good long hot bath and some food. Perhaps some drugs for the probably already starting headache. "I'm fine where I am" Voice groggy where she's curled in the corner even as she's cringing at the light that filters in through the few windows into the shop. It's only going to get brighter. "Sod off, I'm fine" Drunk, sorcah's drunk. Fine is also the farthest thing from the dark haired womans current potential facebook status.

Between them, the lovely red is all coiled back up in no time. Leonard takes a long, leaning look out the window, before he tugs the curtains closer together with his better arm; they are not closed entirely, he only means to have a middle ground on that front.

"Of course." The man finally looks back, between the two. Mariah knows too- they have both been here. "If not a bed, we should get you off of the floor. At least." Leonard says this with a downward slant to his mouth, though short-lasting. "Fine? Yes, well, that's what we all say." Something snide ekes through there, but he is back to picking up things out of his way, before he and Mariah try anything.

Once they're safely inside with the fabric and mostly safe from prying eyes outside, Mariah carries her basket with her to kneel down next to Sorcha. The coffee smell is distinct and strong. "You're a terrible liar, darling," she says, her tone gentle, but hiding concern under humor. "And I need to clean this place up, which means you have to get off the fabric. Plus, I brought some food to fight off your massive hangover."

If she doesn't have one already, she's going to.

"Leonard Hightower is here, he's going to help us get upstairs and we can check in on your mother and get everyone breakfast, yeah? I made that special coffee from last time," the last added in a singsong voice.

The practical side of her mind, smells the coffee, hears that there's food which in turn makes her stomach rumble and announce it's desire. "Of course he's here. I can see him" Possibly two of him. It doesn't embarrass her to be seen in this state though, nor does the snide tone bring it about.

'I'm not hungry. I'm thirsty" Planting her hands on the floor, the two bottles clink as they connect, and pushes herself upright. Little off balance, she wobbles, then stands straight. Taking a moment to lift her chin, nostrils flair, attempting to smooth skirt and untucked button up blouse that could use a wash.

She freezes in spot though, a moment later, jaw going tight, stiff, around her nostrils going white.

Leonard laughs through his nose for just a breath. Given that Mariah is closer, he relies on her to steady Sorcha when the woman stands with her bottles still being clutched. He narrows his eyes when she stiffens, jaw working, eyebrows finally lifting up in silent question. He left Sage where he always does- outside- so it looks as if he is at a loss this time.

Finally, Leonard resigns to asking. "…What is it?"

Well… at least she's up? When Sorcha gets to her feet, Mariah neglects to support her, likely out of a desire not to insult her by implying she can't do it herself. Even if she can't.

She misses Sorcha's tensing, as she's turned her attention to the fabrics, sorting out which ones will need to be washed in an attempt to get the alcohol spots out of them. The clean ones she piles on the floor for future fixing.

More precisely - AS Sorcha's grabbing the hatchet used to smash the bird cage, - Sage, at the windowsill. Leonard didn't close the curtains all the way and she can see the familiar on the windowsill. A wobbly step forward has the grieving woman lashing out in the form of slamming the fat end of the hatchet against the window in a likely stupid and foolish attempt to kill the familiar.

Take out her anger on a magical creature closest to her, as opposed to the actual responsible creature. The glass bottle is next, even as she screams at Sage and the window.

She never was fond of familiars.


Sage, the rodent, quivers and hops into the air and onto the street just before Sorcha hits the wide end of the tool against the window, likely either punching a hole or at least cracking it. The squirrel seems to have disappeared, though in fact she is not gone far. At most, behind the corner of the wall outside.

Leonard, meanwhile, cannot help his tensing up onto the balls of his feet, looking agape, brows knotted together. When he finally does move into action, Leonard curls his right arm around Sorcha to pull her away from the window. Sharp things in the room make the decision a hesitant one. But he is, after all, bigger than Sorcha is, and she is being unpredictable.

"It wasn't them, it was an it." He snaps in her ear, firmly, not angrily.

Spinning around at the sound, Mariah looks on in surprise. Well well well. Leonard takes on trying to move Sorcha and Mariah grabs her basket to set up on the counter. "Oookay, we're taking today off. And we're having coffee. You wanted something to drink, so come on."

Distraction, a tactic she's pretty good at. Especially when she opens the container and the smell wafts out to help her. She doesn't have three cups, but she's only pour one, anyway, for Sorcha. "And there's a touch of breakfast, too, when you're up for it."

"They're all the same! Magic! Familiars, Dragons, Kelpies, Trolls and things that take over tree's and try to kill you" Leonard may be firm with her for all that she's actually just tried to seriously murder his familiar.

She wrenches herself away from him him, stumbling towards Mariah and her coffee. Attempts to pick up the other bottle and throw it at the window but only succeeds in having it crash against the wall and accumulate in the small and large shards of glass that used to be one of the few windows to the shop.

"I hope I killed it" It being Sage. "Like It killed Patrick" That it, being the dragon. Words that if Sorcha were sober would in all likelihood not be saying. Her thoughts on familiars were never that great in the first place, but she kept her tongue. Alcohol is sometimes the worst of social lubricants.

"I hope it dies, that they all die. I wish magic didn't exist" Unsteady steps taking her away from the vet even as the last canary starts to fly around in confusion and fear. "Take that with you too when you go. I don't need it" Flinging a hand in it's direction before giving him her back, sinking into a stool there.

"Sage did nothing. It was that beast." His chin practically juts out this time. If Sage were hurt, he'd know it- and if she had been seriously hurt, Sorcha would know it. Leonard puts himself between Sorcha and the window after the second toss crashes down, and he remains there, the canvas sling on his left arm loosened enough that he needs to adjust it back around his elbow. His stitches twinge, and he takes it in silence.

"And look what happened Before, when people pretended it didn't…" Leonard broods to himself, eyes roving after the canary as it goes. There's never an easy way to catch a loose bird. Not for lack of trying- he makes an attempt to get it, when it lands on the curtain rod.

Taking hold of Sorcha's arm, Mariah directs her to a stool and presses the coffee into her palm. "Come on, hun, sober up a little." Leonard goes for scolding, but Mariah seems to be be giving the woman a lot of leeway.

She looks over at Leonard, her expression making the apologies for Sorcha's behavior. "She's too drunk. Rambling. And grieving." Her hand reaches up to straighten up Sorcha's hair, the gesture almost mothering. "Little coffee, little food, you'll feel settled. Promise."

Luck is with leonard, his fingers closing around the little yellow bird who chirps in protest, does the requisite struggle but remains caught. It doesn't even draw a look from Sorcha who buries her face in her hands, elbows on the counter and not bothering to retort. She is drunk, she is rambling, she is grieving. She doesn't care. Can't even be bothered to shrug off Mariah's mothering.

"She cannot go on like she is. You know it, I know it. It will turn out as it ought to, in the end, but she has to understand that." Leonard gives his exasperation and lowered gaze to Mariah, who will understand all facets of it. As for his ire- there's a fine line between fear and hate, and Leonard dislikes it when hate is directed at him for absolutely no reason. It's not a crime. He cradles the little bird between his palm and ribcage, feeling it settle in there, resigned as well to having been netted.

"I'll get out of your hair, ladies. Sorcha, listen to Mariah. Do everything that she asks of you. You will come to appreciate it…" Some advice, however unwelcome it might be at the moment. Leonard opens the door with his free hand, slipping out before it all gets too close for comfort.

Sage is there, on the corner, huddled and chittering, waiting. She scampers up his leg as he comes near. «The poor missus…» The familiar doesn't blame the seamstress, even if Leonard has his difficulties.

"She won't. But sometimes you've got to scream." Mariah doesn't say more than that, but seems to figure that Leonard will understand it. Maybe after the shock's worn off. Or when Sorcha settles enough to make apologies. "We're just going to have a girls' day. Bubble baths and sweets and doing each other's hair or something," she says, to the both of them this time.

When he starts to make his exit, though, she nods to him with a gentle smile. "We'll see you again soon." Like it were any normal visit. Yes.

Leonard can't see it, with his exit. Mariah can though.

Sorcha's hand lifting, middle finger rising above other fingers and aimed at the vet. But it sinks down soon enough and she's left staring into the coffee as Mariah plans their day. The hangover is just around the corner, she won't be wanting anyone touching her hair then.

"Get rid of the animals" Sliding out of the stool, cupping the coffee as she makes unsteadily for the door to the back room that hides the small kitchentte and the interior stairs to the second floor.

"get rid of them all Mariah"