[Mary] The holidays – its a time of merriment, of good will, of parties by the dozens. Even now, even still, the parties rage on, celebrating Boxing Day, celebrating the end of Christmas Madness, and looking forward eagerly to the celebrations of the New Year, just around the corner.
It cannot be a surprise, then, to see a slender form, dressed to the nines, out and about. She’s lovely, the young woman dressed in white, and a full length formal gown. It is modest – the neck is high, the sleeves long, the length trailing through the light falling snow – yet it clings to her slender form like a second skin. Her hair is long, luxurious and blond, hanging free to her waist, capturing snowflakes and city light to form something of a halo effect..
She has the folds of her dress by her thigh gathered up in slender fingers, in an attempt to protect the hemline from the snow and slush and general city grime while she holds her shoes in the other hand, which is outstretched toward the cars passing by – her thumb out.
Yes. Our Mary is barefoot, and hitchhiking…
[Moira] The weather was such a fickle mistress. Not even two days ago, it was raining on Christmas eve, not even a promise of a white Christmas, just a wet one. Now, that rain has frozen over, turning into a dangerous path of ice to coat the roadways and sidewalks… It had grown cold enough for snow… again.
As much as she was loving it, Moira was also hating it. Swearing under her breath as she trudged through it, heading down the sidewalk after vacating the small bookstore she likes to haunt after it closed up for the night. A brown paper shopping bag looped over her forearm as she tries to cross the street, feeling the snow crunch under the flat, thick-soles of suede winter boots.
A heavy black wool long coat buttoned up to her throat, helps to keep out the cold air. Long black hair tucked up under a grey knit cap with a matching scarf and gloves coiled around her throat and covering her hands. She sees the sleek gorgeous silhouette cross her peripheral, causing the kinfolk to stop dead in the middle of the street as she watches Mary pass by.
A car screeches to a halt, just inches from hitting Moira as she stares, slack-jawed, head turning to keep her eyes on her. The loud blare of a car horn interrupts the daze she is in, and Moira moves. Tucking her head down as she waves at the car, quickly crossing the rest of the way to watch the woman in white.
[Wendy Berber] *Wendy is trudging. The slow weary walk of someone whose day has been long, and burdens are heavy. Christmas without Boy had been difficult. Her emotions were too overt these days, pregnancy hormones running amuck. Tables had turned at La Familia packhouse, the ahroun trying not to upset the kinfolk. Nothing was worse than a nerd bawling over pancakes about some harmless observation. Wendy had been spending more time at work as a result, all the better to be absent from the room that smelled less and less like her mate with each passing week. Black shoes scrape through slush and snow, a long tweed coat patched and overlarge over Wendy’s narrow frame. A thick wool skirt clashes an ugly burnt orange with her green stockings and new purple mitts and cap. Christmas gifts from herself to herself. Her head jerks up as there’s a honk and a screech, nerd taking in Moira crossing towards her and Mary nearby. She knows that one… but not the fancy woman. The barefoot fancy woman? A concerned stutter issues from cold lips against her better judgement.*
Um… hey? Are you ok?
[Mary] The sound of the horn blaring pulls her attention away from the traffic she’d been watching, hoping for a gentleman to show her home. Perhaps even the gentleman from last night – though such a blessing twice in a row is too much to hope for…
When she sees the kinfolk almost get hit, she takes a hasty step in that direction, concern flitting through eyes as pale as ice, her fingertips touching her lip as she gasps in a brief moment of fear for Moira. Only when she moves on, does she relax, her fingers pressing against her breastbone to still a wildly beating heart.
She turns, as if to return to the trial of attempting to catch a ride, and another comes closer, and asks if she’s all right…
…her beautiful face crumples, eyes wide and liquid, luminous and shimmering with tears that threaten to fall at the simplest of questions. Her voice, when it comes, is soft and sweet, the sound of soft bells on Christmas, with the warmth of a home, a fire-warmed hearth… “…y…yes…?”
No… not at all…
[Moira] (post around me… real quick dealing with a distraction)
to Mary, Wendy Berber
[Wendy Berber] *The blonde knockout sounds like Christmas morning, and looks as though she’s about to burst into tears from heartbreak. Wendy plucks at the fingers of her gloves, face tight with concern. A rasping clearance of her throat before she offers meekly.*
Um. You’re going to get sick. Its too cold to be b-barefoot.
*A nervous shift of her weight to one hip as she adjusts her heavy satchel and laptop case, looking down the street for any open store or cafe.*
Maybe.. we could get you um, inside? And call you a c-cab? Would that be ok miss?
*Dark blue eyes blink magnified from under thick cat-eye spectacles, nerd offering a tense fleeting smile.*
[Mary] Full lips slide into a tremulous smile, just the barest rendition of the delight a fully felt smile must entail, as Wendy tells her she’ll get sick. She looks at her shoes, the straps wound about her fingers. And they aren’t much for protection against the weather anyway.
“Th…the strap broke – while we were…” a pause, as a soft cry catches in her throat.. “…dancing…”
Wendy suggests they get her inside and call for a cab, and she ducks her head, a curtain of her hair falling in a shimmering slide across her shoulder, flyaway strands clinging to her cheek until she lifts her fingers – slender, pale and fragile looking – to brush them away from her skin. “I fear I’ve lost my bag in my mad dash… I’ve no money for a cab.”
[Wendy Berber] *The bookworm winces in sympathy. Mary was an enchanting creature. Much more classy and delicately elegant than Wendy Berber could ever hope to be. The scrawny glasswalker fights a pang of jealousy despite herself. A quick calculation of funds, and a sigh before she nods.*
Its ok. I can help with th-that. Um.. Here.. maybe.. we’ll duck in over there?
*Her gloved hand points down the street a ways towards an electronics store, open late for the boxing day rush. With that done, she starts walking, eager to get this woman out of the cold.*
Um. I’m w-Wendy. D-Do you live around here?
[Mary] She looks over to the store that Wendy suggests, and then smiles, a trembling little smile that is bravery in the face of crushing defeat and despair. It’s a triumph that it exists at all “Alright.”
Though her skin is pale, and she is obviously chilled, she doesn’t wince, or otherwise make any sign that walking in the snow is cold and uncomfortable. She simply follows the bookworm’s lead. There’s not an ounce of suggestion that she is better than the skinny kinfolk, in her own belief or that she should be in others. She just follows along.
“I am Mary.” she wraps the folds of her skirts into her hand, holding the edge up as she moves gracefully, gathering the attention of any they pass by in the duration. “No… not really. We…” and here she has to catch her breath, and soldier through. “…were here for a party.”
[Moira] Moira manages to catch up with the woman in white just as Wendy intercedes. She becomes hesitant to approach at first, biding her time until she can identify the little skinny kin with large glasses and makes her way over.
Shouldering the brown shopping bag higher up her forearm as she does so, seeming to forget about nearly being hit.
“Hey, Wendy…”
[Wendy Berber] OH. Where do you l-live Mary?
*Wendy’s canny mind was intent on calculating cab fare as she opened the door to the electronics store. An obnoxious digital ding signalling their arrival. Moira catches up, and the bookworm offers a timid smile. Her lacks the charm of the blonde’s, but its an effort at social civility, if nothing else.*
Um.. hello. M-Moira? R-right?
[Mary] Moira catches up, and Mary turns to look at her, concern written across her face. “Are you alright? You almost got hit!”
She seems completely unaware that she, herself, was the cause of such a shift in attention. She slips inside the store, and looks around, shaking snow and slush from the hem of her skirt as she does so.
Then, belatedly, a soft smile for Wendy. “Archer Avenue.”
[Moira] “Yes, Moira.”
A curt nod of her head as she introduces herself, bringing up the rear as they filed into the electronics store. She offers Mary a sheepish grin, crinkling up her nose. “I am alright. I got distracted by something and… well that’s not important, but are you – okay?”
[Wendy Berber] You must be f-freezing..
*Just inside the door, Wendy’s fumbling for her cellphone, digging through occult book upon occult book in her satchel. She pats herself down, finger of a glove caught in her teeth as she slips it off to reveal a boney hand. Something about this situation was bothering her. Archer Avenue. Why did that ring such a bell? she’s hauling out her cell phone when she suddenly goes pale and stiff as a rod. Eyes wide as she looks at Mary. Her mouth opens and closes a moment before she looks to Moira and back to the blonde again in shock. *
M-Mary?
[Mary] “Moira, what a lovely name.”
And then she asks if Mary is okay, and her eyes fill with tears again, liquid and luminous, as she looks down at the shoes in her hands, twisting the straps around her fingers, restlessly. “Y…yes… we just… Yes.”
No, not at all.
Then Wendy says her name again, and cold fingers lift to brush the moisture from her eyes, as she turns to look at her. “Y..yes?”
[Moira] Wendy was starting to fidget, rustling hastily through her satchel in order to hunt down something. Whatever it was, the sharp thin lines of Moira’s eyebrows arc up high over her blue eyes that seem to stare rather intently at the other kinfolk for a second, easily reading the display of her body language.
Her attention is diverted back to Mary, the distress appears in those eyes of hers, filling with tears. It sets her aback with shock, quickly chewing on her bottom lip as she tucks it in. “It’s okay… What happened? You said – we… but I see only you and your missing your coat aren’t you cold?”
[Wendy Berber] *What the hell did you ask in a situation like this? Wendy takes a deep breath, nodding as Moira speaks. Did they dare set this .. woman.. loose on an unsuspecting cabbie? What was Mary doing so far from Archer Avenue?! What if this was just an eerie coincidence? The gw kinfolk’s brain is working overtime, and what seems like minutes is only a matter of moments before she ventures a strange question.*
J-just to make s-sure you’re ok.. n-not hypothermic.. or anything.. um.. can you tell me the d-day.. m-month, and y-year? I don’t want you to take a cab home when m-maybe you should go to a h-hop-hospital instead.
*Alright. So it was thin. Wendy was a terrible liar. But it was something. And Wendy was not having a dead cabbie on her conscience.*
[Mary] Full lips pull down slightly into a frown, as she studies her shoes again. “W…we had a fight..” it’s said with such a crystalline ache they can almost feel the despair threading through such simple words… “While we were dancing…”
A shuddering breath is taken, filling her lungs before she let’s it slide free again, a tear trailing down her cheek before she whisks it away from her skin with a fingertip. “It is a bit chilly..” Is all she says of the cold, because its Wendy’s questions that catch her attention now.
She steps closer to the fidgeting kinfolk, and lifts a pale hand to brush her fingertips along her cheek. “Are you alright…” The touch is very real, leaving a lasting impression of the chill of Mary’s skin across Wendy’s cheek.
Then she pulls away, and takes a step toward the door. “I don’t like hospitals very much… I’m fine, really…” In turning, she sees a sign, and tips her head, slightly, reading it, musing out loud… “The sign says it’s December 26th.. one day sale..” Perhaps she’s simply answering the question.
Perhaps not.
[Moira] “Ah, that isn’t nice. Is there someone we can call, your husband/boyfriend/friend maybe to come pick you up?”
She frowns at Wendy, tongue clucking in the back of her throat as she steps around Mary and over to Wendy, reaching around to loop her hand through the skinny arm of the other girl and pulls her aside, hissing in her ear softly.
“What is wrong with you… your fidgeting and acting weird.”
[Wendy Berber] *Wendy’s shudder is visible as Mary touches her, hands coming round her midsection protectively. Cold. She takes a step back, filing the sensation away and swallowing hard. Mary’s despair was almost infectious. Moira loops around Mary and hisses in the bookworm’s ear, causing the kin to flinch. Words murmured back in a rushed stammer. Wendy’s eyes riveted to the sad blonde in the vintage ball gown.*
R-Resurrection M-mary. Died. Car accident. Archer Avenue. Coming home from a d-dance in winter.. after a fight with her b-boyfriend. Hit and run. In the 1930’s. Chicago u-urban Legend. Res-Resurrection M-Mary. Look at the dress. Sometimes she crashes c-cars. Hitch-hikes… Things like that…
[Moira] Mary, Mary, quite contrary how does your garden grow… with silver bells and cockleshells… and pretty maids all slain in a row.
Moira’s head jerks up suddenly, the vibrant cobalt blue hue of her eyes become incredibly dark and distant, staring at the beautiful woman in the white vintage dress and then beyond her. A memory swimming to the surface, causing her wave a hand in front of her own face and suppress a shudder.
“Nay…” she breathes out, “It’s not that type of Mary…” she wrinkles up her nose, focusing on the blond as Wendy’s words digest in the back of Moira’s thoughts, “Resurrection Mary? I have never heard of her.”
[Mary] She turns, quickly, her pale eyes – ice and cold and glittering shimmer – fix on Wendy. “…you’ve been to Resurrection?”
She takes a step forward, closer to the two kin, her eyes wide and innocent as she meets Moira’s gaze. “I… i don’t crash cars… I would never…” And she leans forward, and murmurs softly, cryptically… “That’s Mary.”
A pale finger lifts to her lips, in a ‘shhhh’ motion, before she turns, gathering her skirts in her hands to lift them out of the way, and runs outside once more. In the time it takes it to register that she did not bother to open the door first…
she is gone.
[Wendy Berber] *Ink blue eyes swivel to Moira. “I Told you!” unspoken. A gulp of hair as she squeaks.*
HolyCrap.
[Wendy Berber] [ahem. AIR]
[Moira] Moira blinks, stares as her eyes grow wide. Wendy yells at her, “I TOLD you!” and the dark-haired Fenrir just cuts her a cool gaze, narrowing her eyes.
“Christ.”
Moira goes to the door, throwing it open as she looks up and down the sidewalk, holding the door open until the owner of the shop yells at her for letting all the cold air in. She looks back at Wendy, glaring over the top of her head at the owner and pulls the young kin out into the cold with her. “You’ve seen her before?”
[Moira] (ex-out the yelling “I told you” part)
[Wendy Berber] N-No. Never. I.. I’m..I’ma – I study the occult. Ur-Urban Legends. She’s.. its a legend. Chicago Legend.
*Stammers the skinny kin as she’s tugged out of the electronics store. She’s an ugly shade of pale, bite of the winter wind seeming all the more pink on her cheeks. Wendy stricken.*
The other Mary? What does she mean the other M-mary? Not Bloody Mary. Not Bloody Mary.
*She repeats with all the desperate conviction of a child repeating “there’s no such thing as monsters. there’s no such thing as monsters. There’s no such thing as monsters.” while hiding beneath the sheets. A shake of her head.*
I should go home.
[Moira] Before Wendy could even think to repeat the name Bloody Mary for a third time, Moira reacts a bit hastily. A hand clapping down over Wendy’s mouth just after she murmurs about needing to go home, Moira drawing her close to her and brings her face down over Wendy’s.
“Whatever you do… do NOT repeat that name….ever.”
There is a serious tone in the Fenrir’s voice, “The last thing we need is that – creature – resurfacing in Chicago again.”
[Wendy Berber] Nmmhmmph!
*Is Wendy’s response, head shaking. No bloody Mary’s. While traditionally the thrice naming only worked in conjunction with reflective surfaces, one could never be too careful.*
[Moira] Moira peels her hand away from Wendy’s mouth, wiping it on the back of her thigh, and glances away. “Why would she say she wasn’t that Mary?”
Frowning a little, “That doesn’t make any sense… is there more than one Resurrection Mary?”
[Wendy Berber] I’ll.. do some r-research. I d-don’t think so. But there are alot of.. um. Alot of M-Marys in urban l-legend.
*Warm air puffs steamily from her mouth as Wendy takes a deep calming breath and shakes out her hands. She looks at her feet a moment before murmuring to the Get kin.*
I n-need to go home. Before M-marrick comes looking. I’ll. Um, I’ll call you? If I find anything?
[Moira] Moira sighs, stepping back from Wendy, her head dipping in a small nod to the other kin. “You should go. See what you can find out, I’ll do a bit of my own investigating.”
Something about the name Mary always seemed to pop up in Urban Legends, Moira began to feel rather unnerved by it. She sucks in a deep breath, feeling the cold swell up in her lungs before releasing it out in a sigh, glancing up and down the street absently.
“Where is Archer Avenue?”
[Wendy Berber] N-north east to south west near ch-chinatown. Look between the Willowbank Ballroom and Resurrection cemetery!
*Wendy calls over her shoulder, rather matter of fact. She might be nervous and flighty, but it would appear the beanpole glasswalker kin knows her Local Legends, if nothing else. Wendy’s scrawny form huddles against the cold, heading hurriedly for home. Bad things came in threes, and if two and three decided to strike tonight, she wanted them to occur head on with a Black Fury ahroun. *