RP:For A Charm Of Powerful Trouble

Part of the What Dreams May Come Arc

Summary: While on the way over to a meeting with Uma, Mayor of Cenril, Hudson tells Alvina that the purpose of the meeting is to assist Uma in gathering powerful witch talismans (skulls, in particular) that will be used to resurrect Valrae to repair Cenril's weakening magic barrier. They argue, but put on a united front to face Uma, who is waiting for them with a cauldron and large map. Alvina and Uma unite their magics to perform a spell that identifies six witch skulls, .. but only marks five on the map.

Cenril

Hudson and Alvina are in a carriage on their way to meet Uma to assist her in identifying the location of certain powerful witch talismans (skulls, to be exact) that will be used to resurrect his ex-mistress, Valrae. To save Cenril. This is a realization that has dawned on him quite suddenly, the moment he'd stepped into the Office and been told by his secretary and good witch Joanie that he had to pick his wife up for this meeting. His thoughts had been as follows: THAT MEETING. SH-. Now he and Alvina are here and all of a sudden, the carriage feels quite cramped. How had we gotten here? To rewind, at first, immediately following his meeting in Frostmaw with Uma and Lionel, Hudson had vacillated between telling his wife of her suggested involvement and remaining silent. But then, other things had occupied his thoughts. Running the mob, his legitimate businesses, their family. In the end, his indecision and forgetfulness had decided it for him. Their meeting with Uma found its way into his calendar and now they're here. She has been telling him about a play to be put on at their daughters' school and while on the outside he has put on his Husband Listening face, that face is a misrepresentation. Like someone calculating their opponent's moves at chess, he is plotting the conversation they haven't yet had. He is revising the sentence that's been rolling around inside his head since she first climbed in with him. Except it's not getting less awkward, no sense in letting the feeling ripen further. He waits for a pause, and says, "Baby, I forgot all about this meeting with Uma until today and I really should have talked to you about it." He glances across the carriage at his wife, and his gaze connects with hers. She must have asked him a question, which he's now ignored. He frowns. "She wants you to help her do something. Something... awkward. About the barrier."

Alvina had been glad to take the carriage with Hudson. Normally they met up at home, juggling the girls until they passed out as a family. She’d been discussing the play, as told by Marge and the parents of the PTA. It’s about how Frostmaw used to be ruled by a cat lady, as told by Luna. Harper made a remark about how it should have been a wolf, since they are look like they are always wearing coats anyway. Alvina had told Hudson this and asked, towards the end, if they should discuss the girls and their werewolf heritage. Now he’s giving her this blank, nervous look and it makes her uncomfortable. When he mentions forgetting this meeting, her bottom lip curls up, beige sweatered arms and black-skirted legs cross while she leans back against the carriage seat with a sigh. A meeting. Is that what this is about? “What’s awkward with the barrier?” Her tone is cautious, expecting the worst. That it will be something to do with Larket, since the witch governess is involved. “Huds, You know I love Uma…” Her frown creases her forehead, casts her tired eyes in further shadow. “I’ll help if I can.” She settles for that, throwing a glance across the distance with the expectation that he will explain. If it’s awkward, he most certainly did not ‘forget’ until this exact moment, when they are (apparently) going to meet her. “Well….?”

And there it is, his wife's immediately shut her body language. Hudson feels the truth like a nauseous feeling in his throat. He lifts his eyebrows, giving his head a brisk shake as if to give himself an elan of sorts for what he's about to say. "Yeah," he starts. He speaks quickly, his gaze drifting to the wall of the carriage, away from her expression, which he doesn't want to see, "Uma needs you to sing some sort of bardic finding song to locate some powerful witch talismans." He glances briefly out the window, addressing their driver, "Circle the block again until I say if you don't mind." Having bought them some time, he continues, "So, she blindsides me with this up at a diplomatic meeting in Frostmaw because she knows I would have said no to it." A beat. "As you know, the only thing keeping Cenril from being attacked by Kahran is our barrier, which is weakening because two of the witches who cast it have died. Apparently," heavy emphasis on this word, "it can't just be 'fixed,' or a new one cast, because I don't know, witch stuff. So Uma needs these talismans to..." he now dares look at his wife, "... summon ... help."

Alvina considers herself a patient and helpful woman. She’d been the naive roller of the dice in times past, happy to lap up explanations. Take things at face value, jump at the chance to make a difference in this big, bad world. Through the act of becoming a mother (and other fraught encounters) she’d learned to read a room. Hudson’s jitters are contagious. Her left leg shifts off her right uncomfortably and crosses the opposite way while she listens with knowing interest. She isn’t a mind reader that can pinpoint the awkwardness of this so called adventure but she doesn’t have to. He’s radiating diversions. The last time they’d discussed Cenril politics, he’d made a remark about who really controlled things. So how exactly did Uma blindside him? The mobster who would wear the mantle? The Self proclaimed King of Cenril? Alvina smirks in a tight lipped way that makes her look older, years older than she would otherwise. Mention of witches always makes her jumpy...not because she’s prejudice but...the first witch she’d met hadn’t exactly polished their reputation as a whole. “And what does that mean?” Her voice has solidified into something colder, her own barrier to protect her from whatever barbed thing he’s about to say. He -never- acts like this. The curtain of her hair has been straightened, pulled into a low but smart ponytail at the nape of her neck. Several stray hairs cling to the rolled neck of her sweater, calling to some other rogue strand that’s settled itself in that impossible place at your side to prod at the back of her arm until she goes crazy trying to find it. For now, her eyes are settled on her husband, hoping that he is going to say something better than her gut is predicting.

Hudson hears the shift in his wife's tone, from cautiously interested in what he has to say to coldly deposing him. "It means," he says, his hand stirring the air in a momentum-creating gesture, "It means what you think it means." He briefly glances at her. Only his wife makes him feel this way. He can tell people what to do all day, run a literal criminal empire, brutally torture, kill, and/or dismember his enemies, and then his wife uses this tone with respect to this particular topic and he's sweating under the microscope. He doesn't like the feeling. It doesn't comport with the way his world is now. He bristles. "I don't know what to tell you. It's not my idea and Frostmaw is already signed off on it," he adds, glancing at her, this time his attention lingering. Now the ugly situation is between them, writhing in its awfulness, but he's found his footing. "If you don't want to do this, I'll tell the carriage to go home and I'll tell Uma to get another bard. I will. I don't care if whoever else she asks leads to Larket finding out. Maybe... maybe we shouldn't rely on a sketchy witch barrier to protect the whole city. I don't know. I don't know what the right thing is to do, baby."

Alvina’s eyes close and stay closed for a long, painful breath. If she doesn’t want to do this… Words bite along the back of her mouth that she doesn’t say. “Clearly you aren’t so opposed as to prevent it.” With all his power? If he’d wanted to stop it, surely he could have. But why would he want to? When it involved a woman he claimed not to love but could not claim to not care about. Had he been honest about this all resolving before? Or had he just said it, out of exhaustion, and his own personal and private grief. The image of Hudson crying in the kitchen after Valrae’s first imprisonment backlights her eyes. This is why she’d closed them to provide this remark. A harsh comment for a harsh situation. When had she become this way? Her chin falls against the heel of her palm, her eyes swivel towards the carriage windows and away from Hudson’s explanation. That was her jab. The only one she’d allow herself before inhaling the prickly silence between them. “I will be involved. You will not keep me out of these dealings again. I won’t have you two working as a team while I stay home and play mother to our children in ignorance.” Uma would tell her, she thought. Uma knew the pain Alvina had suffered, knew the scar it left in her lungs from how loudly she’d screamed and cried against the truth of it all. An old wound, never to heal. He calls her baby, a bitter wash overtakes her tongue. Whoever she is trying to be in this moment, this composed wife of a mob boss, doesn’t fit her stomach or resolve. She sighs again, the burning puff of confidence dissipated in the aftermath of clarity. So it’s true. “What are we supposed to do…? Find skulls?” It had a ring to it, the cryptic sorcery of magic with all the capabilities of going to hell in a handbasket. The seemingly unstable enchantments of this world. A song of mending, healing. A song to locate. They were simple but...they took tuning in the vein of search dogs. She must have something to draw her search from; a scent, a sound, even a trace of the magic contained in the skulls would do. “Tell me everything…” The chill has melted from her voice. She is his wife again; displeased but committed to doing something to make a difference. The civilian life style doesn’t suit her. There’s too much danger in being ignorant to the affairs of power in this city.

Hudson hears the accusations loud and clear in what Alvina's saying. The air in the carriage has spoiled now. She asserts herself with respect to his involvement and he resists the urge to roll his eyes. "I don't know what you think is going to happen but take it easy. We are including you now. I'm not working with her on anything else if I can avoid it," he says, his tone matching hers in firmness. A nasty silence installs itself between them. Usually when the topic of Valrae is raised between them he's far more cowed. Maybe it's the only thing he's cowed about. But there's something about this particular situation. Perhaps it's that it really hadn't been his initiative, and his wife had been quick to accuse him as if it were. Perhaps he's projecting his own frustration with the situation, that Valrae didn't just stay dead, like she was supposed to. His wife pulls him out of these thoughts by staying on task. "You're going to help reveal their locations, Uma's going to get the witches to find them," he answers her, sounding tired. He doesn't trust the composure in her tone. No doubt their wicked argument is merely on hold until this is done. He feels a resentment toward Uma, who was supposed to be controlled. He feels a resentment toward her because she might be right about this. "We can park," he tells their driver, who does. Hudson gets out first.

Mayor's Office

He helps Alvina but outside of that keeps his distance from her as they walk into the Mayor's Office. They have both assumed the outward facade of helpful people by the time they are led into a large room with an actively boiling cauldron. The air is tangy is herbal smoke. Uma is alone inside. She's in a loudly printed floral dress and holding a grimoire, presiding over a very large map stretched out on the floor. She turns when they enter the room. She knows their story well enough to read their truths. "Thank you for coming," she moves to embrace Alvina, ignoring Hudson, who sits and warily takes in the room. "I take it he already told you," continues Uma, stepping aside to let Alvina view the cauldron and map. "I wouldn't be happy either, I want you to know it was my idea though and I'm afraid it's the best option at present." She doesn't belabor the point. She's all business, she thinks it's better that way for all. She licks her finger to page through the grimoire she's holding. She holds the book out to Alvina to show her an illustration of a number of skulls, each artfully painted in brilliant color. "This is what we're finding. The cauldron is a bit old school, I'm sorry it's so muggy in here. It's meant to recall a taste of their magic, for your song, I think you need that?"

Alvina doesn’t respond to Hudson’s explanation in the carriage. She offers a slight nod of gratitude when he helps her out but otherwise maintains the barrier they set before. The governess greets them and the bard prickles with panic, her discomfort transparent enough that Uma can read it. Of course she can. She knew...everything. Uma knows and still she’s asking. Funny how it’s different when it’s not Hudson. It makes the situation seem more dire, when someone else asks. Alvina would have preferred if this was just a pleasant meeting, with tea and biscuits. They could discuss...The thought turns toxic. Not Uma’s Husband, who’d died in front of them. Not Uma’s child that she’d lost. When the witch tries to pull out of her embrace, Alvina holds on. Holds on for all the things she doesn’t know how to say. Her apologies, for being upset about this, for Uma’s loss. They hadn’t properly talked since it all happened, after all. She speaks once Uma manages to wiggle away. “He did, but…” Clearly this is bigger than Alvina’s petty insecurities. Why couldn’t she see it that way when Hudson asked? The thought goes unfinished as Uma marches the meeting’s purpose forward. The skulls. A pained smirk lights her lips faintly. “I expected nothing less.” The smile grows, forcing her cheeks back and her eyes closed...but it’s hollow. Strictly for show. “I’ll need something to go off of. That’s a hell of a good start...unless you have one lying around.” Set to the tune of a light hearted exchange. Beads of sweat broke out along the back of her neck before any work had really started. Alvina pulls a ribbon loose from her wrist, she’d tucked it inside her sleeve for moments like this. With deliberately slow movements, she winds the navy lace along the back of her neck to separate hair and skin. Deft hands bundle the hair naturally in the ribbon’s circular influence until the string is taut and the bow is loosely set atop the bustle of crimson. The childish urge to reaffirm the plan crosses her mind. Did it really...have to happen this way? Was she selfish enough to fight against it? With a sigh, Alvina studies the image Uma produces. It won’t do much good but it never hurts. The more information the better. Her dismal gaze falls to Uma. “I don’t know that I have enough magic on my own. Would you lend me some assistance?” Her fleshed palm is outstretched, to take the witch’s hand if she’ll agree. The magic in the air is already so thick, the strangeness of the skull’s power is not lost on her or the room. Her bristly nature fails to stand against her anxiety. Alvina turns to find Hudson’s gaze. She isn’t sorry for getting upset but ...she is.

Uma is surging forward with the purpose of the meeting. She knows this must be uncomfortable for the pair and figures the sooner they're done, the better. Unfortunately, she does not have an extraordinarily powerful magic skull lying around. Lionel does. "No sample skull lying about. Unfortunately this magic .. broth will have to do, I've used a mimicry spell to call forward certain trace elements of their magic. Like a very faint shadow," she comments, pushing up her sleeve so that she can reach over the cauldron to stir it. After that, perhaps, reminded by watching Alvina do it, Uma likewise re-gathers her pony tail. "Good idea," she breathes in a female conspiratorial manner. She nods at the suggestion that she lend her magic to Alvina, and she reaches to clasp the other woman's hand in hers. Her lips begin to move in a near-silently murmured incantation, one that would lend Alvina her magic. It's powerful but it would feel like the pins and needles feeling of one's arm falling asleep to a non-witch. Goes with the theme. The air is pungent with the smell of herbs but there's also something else crackling there. Shadow it may be, it raises the hair on Hudson's arms. He remembers the nearly all-encompassing desire he'd felt in the presence of the skull that Lionel had. It's a confused feeling now, there's nothing to fixate on. Uma had wasted no time, now they're in the thick of it. He's not sure whether he appreciates it or resents her for not pretending that everyone's fine with this. He watches his wife. There's something written in her face, he thinks embarrassment. He looks at her steadily, feeling whatever he reads there for a moment lance the fraught feeling between them.

Alvina had secretly hoped it would feel...different. That the surge of magic would be empowering. That she’d radiate cosmic energy and knowing list off precise locations and magically stamp her visions into ink and parchment. At the very least, she could point in various directions with awe inspiring confidence. Instead, Uma’s magic floods her veins with thorns, rooting around in her limbs. She groans, discomfort plain on her face as she tries to focus. ‘Track’ the scent of the magic back to it’s sources. Her lips part and flood the room with an entirely new sense. The air was thick with heat and earthen tones, but now it felt heavier. As if slud was coating the walls and the little room they inhabited was sinking rapidly into muddy quicksand. Her chest tightens and her mind's eye is unchained. A hound hunting a familiar scent.

“Shimmering emerald hits artificial light. A blonde is nearby. The skull is already home.” Alvina didn’t recognize her own voice, words she mutters aloud as she goes. The speech is broken up, an old record with scratches and skips. As if she’s forced to regurgitate the information instead of acidic bile. “Five more. Magic all. A blonde witch. A brunette...another dark chestnut…” She groans again, shoulders tensing. Tendrils of magic shift below the canopies and brush, slithering through cracks in the earth and father still. “A male and female, hair dark as pitch…Uma…” Alvina was not only seeing where the skulls were hiding, but the skulls themselves were shouting loudly to those bound to possess them. “Opalescent but...darker. Most like the forest than the snow. Another is...a rainbow of colors near...home.”

Alvina’s knees begin to buckle, one folds into the flooring while she maintains connect with Uma’s hands subconsciously. “The Forest Fae, Two towns on opposing sides of the sea...Woods and rivers and streams….and...and...I can’t…” She coughs again and lets go of Uma’s hands. The oppressive feeling of the room immediately ebbs, she struggles to catch her breath.

Hudson watches as his wife's expression bleeds into a pained one. He sits upright. Maybe she shouldn't be the one to do this. He remembers the night of the election and how Uma's dress had been covered in blood. She's speaking now, and she looks uncomfortable. He's wondering: when should he say something? Uma is not looking at her, she's leveling her breathing, focusing on channeling her energies whilst looking at the map. Stains red like blood appear in various locations. Except there are only five stains in total, and Alvina had spoken of six skulls. And suddenly she's coughing and Hudson is pale and standing. In time for the spell to stop. Uma takes Alvina by the shoulders, guiding her to a chair. "You did great," she reassures the other woman, gesturing at the map. "We've got the locations of a number of them, that's a great start," she adds. Hudson is glaring daggers at her, so she moves aside. He puts his hands on his wife's shoulders as Uma sinks to her knees and contends with the cauldron. She uses magic to extinguish the brazier beneath it. It has the immediate effect of dampening the feeling of a simmering presence in the room. "Better," she breathes, rising to her feet once more. "I'll get some water," she says, before leaving the room. Once alone, Hudson asks his wife, "Are you OK?" and puts a hand on her forehead. It's unclear whether he would be able to tell if she felt overly warm, it's more that he doesn't know what to do and he's seen her do this many times with their daughters.

Alvina’s vision is blurred but she’s conscious. She did not possess half the magics Uma did yet she’d been overloaded with the witch’s power. It’s the only way her ability could be useful - only if she was amplified...cranked to 11. She says nothing to Uma, but nods reassuringly to her husband. The man with whom she’d quarreled about doing this very thing. Heavy lines of exhaustion are etched into her face but she’s trying to soothe him. Her hand curls around his and she nods. “Are you trying to tell me I look hot?” Her disjointed laughter fills a short cough, it’s relieved when Uma produces a glass of water and the bard drinks deeply. “It’s fine.” The blooms of blood on the map are marvelous. It must have been Uma’s little twist on her detection abilities. Or maybe it was another joke of those twisted skulls. “Uma -” She starts, turning towards the woman, her own brow heavy with concern. “I get the sense...this is more dangerous than we might think. Or maybe, just me.” Emerald optics swivel between Hudson and The Governess. “These skulls are....” She ponders a beat, trying to sort her thoughts for the right word. “I think they also crave...something.” An exhale and another hearty swallow of water. Alvina waits for Uma to reassure her that it’s just the mingling magic. Witches powers and bards powers aren’t cohesive. While they can exist in the same place, they can’t wholly fuse.

Hudson can appreciate that Alvina's making jokes even if he doesn't laugh. He exhales in a relieved rush instead. "It seemed a lot is all," he says, putting his hands back on her shoulders. Uma is back with the water, and she stands in front of Alvina, likewise putting her palm on the other woman's forehead. Uma is a mother herself so she has confidence in being able to read a fever. "You're fine," she echoes Alvina's diagnosis. "You did great," she strokes Alvina's hair in a surprisingly tender gesture that Hudson overlooks now but will later reflect was uncharacteristic of the mayor and perhaps indicative of the danger this whole operation poses. Alvina is making the right observation. Uma steps back to consider the map. Five skulls. She knows one is in Frostmaw, with Lionel, so that leaves four markers on the map. And somewhere, unseen, there's a sixth. The mayor's brow furrows. "Old witch magic," she says, cryptically, in response to Alvina. "As old as human sacrifice, but more reliable." A shadow of grief passes over her face and she turns it away, bending at the knee to begin rolling up the map. "I'm going to call a witches' meeting so that we can gather them," she continues. "You're welcome to come. Thank you for helping with this part."

Alvina can't help but think that this whole process is going to be a lot; a lot of work, a lot of risk, and a lot of heartbreak. One way or another. "For Cenril." For their daughters. For the witches. Maybe even to soothe that guilty corridor in her heart where she locks Valrae's name. But not For Valrae. Certainly not to reintroduce the need for her own anxiety about the witch's existence. Damn it all. " Of course, I'll..do whatever I can." Alvina's metallic digits curl around Hudson's wrist with a matching look to suggest they go. "Uma..." What could she say? Please don't? Life is filled with enough regrets, so do we have to add one more mistake back to this list...? Not a mistake as a person just.... It all feels wrong. "Good luck." Her defeatist tone is punctuated with a thin lipped smile. The ribbon that had held her hair slipped down her flattened curls, into the floor ignored. Still wrapped in a lopsided bow. A terrible habit. "See you soon." With Hudson's help, they move out of the shared space and back into the night. The sun has already set, leaving little illusion about the time that's passed since they began.