Namaste on these Rocks [M]

Young River Falls 
Outfit! All welcome.

She felt like she needed a moment to breathe, to relax, to regain her connection with nature. With each breathe in, she could feel the water swaying and trickling over the rocks toward her. With each exhale, it flowed back toward the river. It seemed to fill her, seemed to make her whole.

Farrah transitioned into downward dog, stretching each calf one by one, her eyes closed as she pictured the water wrapping around her wrists, tickling her sensitive skin. Grey eyes blinked several times as she flowed into cobra, her chest raised, breathing in deep and releasing the water away from her.

The sun was slowly creeping over the trees, no later than 8:00 AM. She had wanted to get out to the river early, before tourists came and biked and walked the trails. She didn’t need their negative, nervous energies swirling around her. All Farrah needed was this place and the water. She reached back, bending one legs and pulling it toward the back of her head, the tension leaving her body, the other leg remaining stealing on her thin mat.

Water began trickling toward her once more.

In Scotland, most of his life was spent existing behind the eyes of his beast, his mind sharing a likeness towards its temperance and a pull towards its preference. Marlene had reshaped that equilibrium. His daughter had cemented it. But now... Well now that feral draw increased with every unnatural beat of his flayed heart, the mangled bastard still managing to flutter despite the heavy will alcohol pressed against it.


Raw-rimmed eyes closed as he took his next heavy breath, opening indignantly to focus on finding what he'd set out to retrieve. A bag. His wife's idea. Just in case. Damned woman still managed to gloat from the grave, the subsequent chuckle heavy laden with the pitiful indulgence of a sob. He jutted his jaw against the inwardly inclement, and pushed an exhale through flared nostrils, dressing himself with clothes that still smelled of her lavender.

The edge of the river charted a road towards an empty house, bare, dirty feet hugging its contours as he lumbered over an outcropping of rocks. He stopped. The scent was familiar, and while her shape was twisted, Logan recognized the young woman rather quickly. Corkscrew Wine and Spirits. Marlene had insisted on celebrating their anniversary there. What was her name? A fog would not let him remember.

"Thoi- forgive meh, lass, I din'na mean teh startle yeh." He could not bring himself to smile, but he dropped his eyes, letting them rest before heaving their weight upwards again. He nodded, and drew a wide, half-circle around her mat, continuing his trek towards home without so much as a second glance at the water encircling her wrists.

Farrah was caught up in the rise and fall of her power within her in connection with her breath to notice the man that came out of the woods. Her eyes were closed, her body twisting and turning into different poses through her vinyasa sequence. It wasn’t until she heard the rustling of grass that she opened her eyes - grey and wide - as she noticed the man that was there.

Instantly, the water flows back over the bank, leavings her wrists and fingers feeling empty. Farrah took a moment, leaning back so that her ass was sitting on her heels, her knees before her. Her hair was loosely tied back, wavy and over one shoulder, loose strands making a halo around the crown of her head. Eyes narrowed, fading somewhere in between blue and gray as she looked at the giant man.

When he spoke, it triggered a memory. Ah yes. The first event she had held at her Corkscrew. She had been nervous then, hosting a party for a bear shifter family. Farrah’s eyes flickered over to the bear. He - the man - seemed restless. Then she remembered about the terrible accident his family had been in. It was just him now... wasn’t it? It had been all over Astoria. How tragic. Farrah frowned, standing slowly as she took a small step toward him, one hand reaching in front of her to old onto her elbow.

"It’s alright. McBane...right? H-how are you doing?" she asked, her voice unusually soft. Farrah wasn’t the most empathetic person. If it came down to protecting her emotional well-being versus someone else’s, she always picked herself. Selfish, sure... but she was always going to be there for herself and no one else could make that life-long commitment. I mean look at this guy... he seemed like a husk of the man he once was. "Would you like to... join me?"

Not doing yoga, but sometimes sitting was nice. Just sitting and listening to nature.


Christ, he hated the sight. He tried not giving himself away by tensing his jaw, but the fight against it only served to punctuate already raw emotions. He looked downwards until he could rebuild a mask of calm, busying his hands with the strap of his empty pack as he listened to the woman speak.

He turned to respond.

What a fool- his back had been facing her.

Even if he didn't have the Scott's gift of pallor, the flush that tinted would have been impossible to hide, with a deep breath, forcing a strained smile she would likely have difficulty interpreting. "Aye...Logan McBane." The bear stamped the ground at his side, huffing through flared nostrils with burgeoning impatience, body pressing against Logan in the space they shared. With a shrug of his arm, he pushed the creature's influence away, hump of its back towering to reach his chest's midline. It circled them both as it waited.

"I'm sorreh, but I dinnae seem teh be able to remember yer name, although yer face is clear teh meh." She was a bonnie thing, but young. Marlene had worried for her, even if she'd never shared it. Wine on Tuesdays. Trays on Thursdays. As many positive reviews as she could punch against her phone screen. His wife's brand of meddling kindness.

"Corkscrew Wine and Spirits," he offered, eyes narrowing against the light of a rising sun. "I hear yer doin' well fer yerself." He pressed his spine against a nearby tree, too restless to sit, but not so unlike himself to be needlessly rude.

He was tall, towering over her smaller form. It didn’t help that the bear was there, circling as if she were prey. It didn’t intimidate her. No... she thought of the bear as his inner self, what he was truly feeling. While the man stood in front of her, holding it together, the bear told her he was restless, impatient, watching. Like it was waiting for someone that would never come back but the hope was there.

His wife and his child. Gone. Just like that. The whole town knew and she wished there was some way she could ease his pain. "The name’s Farrah McCarthy." She offered, wondering if she had ties to Scotland with a name like hers. She probably did, but that mean nothing. "And yeah, I think this little town needed something other than a bar or two," she said with a small smile, watching as he leaned against a tree. She carefully watched the bear, wondering if she should bring it up or if she should just leave him be.

"I’m sorry," she nearly whispered, taking another step toward him. "For what happened. I wish there was a way I could have helped... could help now. I can’t take your pain away," she said, her voice barely a whisper as she looked up at his towering form. He was strong, she could tell that beneath all the clothes he wore and she didn’t need the shadow of a bear to remind her of how easily he could crush her.

"Farrah," he mimicked, nodding to himself, eyes moving away before they refocused on her countenance, "that's right...And a McCarthy as well." He subdued the urge to shake his head at the pair of Irish names and offered a small smile instead, blue eyes narrowing as he forced himself to pay attention so his mind wouldn't drift. "Oh aye," he agreed, with a genuine peak of curiosity, following her gaze as it mirrored the path his bear set.

Can she see it, then?...a witch?

"There's enough want fer drink teh satisfy all establishments, I reckon'," he mused with a noise akin' to the beginning of a chuckle, "But mind Jacob. Old bastard's superstitious and dinnae take kindly teh stranger-" The condolence bit like an iron brand, features visibly tightening at her words. She meant no harm, he knew, but for a moment, he'd been able to breath unhindered by the weight of remembrance.

"Thank yeh," he said tersely, chest heaving as she moved closer, his beast bellowing a warning in the background, "yer kind." She was near enough now to reach with an outstretched hand. The thought lingered as her voice dropped- the beguiling melody of a woman and the invitation it carried.


The strain in his voice was palpable, the edge of the word envenomed with a tone that he hoped would compel a re-evaluation.

Farrah smiled softly at him, stopping within touching distance but still giving him enough personable space, again? Her eyes flickered toward the bear and the anguish she assumed he felt. He had lost everything and yet he was still standing. He was not showing weakness, at least not yet. And weakness in others was not something Farrah could understand. Power... she could understand that and this man... a shifter had strength and a bear shifter at that was stronger than ten men combined.

She looked up at him, his massive form -despite the soft warming in his voice - made her feel more delicate than she had in a long time. But she was not delicate. She was powerful. "I’m not afraid of you," she whispered. "I can make you forget, if only for a while. Make you feel like you’re in control... of you want that." it was an invitation, her blue-grey eyes looking up at him, willing that power to shine through as her eyes turned gray she held her cupped hands displayed in front of her.

Droplets of water gathering in the palm of her hands as she offered the clear water to him, held just before his lips. "Let me help you," she whispered, tilting her head in silent invitation.

Sharing his life with witches, Farrah's revelation failed to startle, but it did inspire a weary reflection, despite his pack's bond with their coven, the lure of power twisting actions towards ambitions that often led him to wonder if such symbiosis was worth the risk. Now, staring into the lass's ashen eyes, he questioned if this invitation was as it was painted.

"I dinnae ken what I want," he answered slowly, feeling himself drawn into the vortex of the liquid as it coalesced in her palms, the pattern flattening his worry with a unnatural ease. "I dinnae ken what yeh want." He felt drunk, as she lifted her hands, following the promised ablution with both admiration and contempt.

Did he want to forget?

The battle emerged in the lines of a deep frown, blue eyes unable to move from the wavering reflections in the clean pool. It was a temptation he knew too well, desire pushing his quickened heart towards a gallop his weariness could not hope to dispel. He imagined knocking away the swill, but found his lips drawing from it instead, her power coursing through his veins like satan's own tonic.

Both hands encircled her wrists and tilted the makeshift vessel towards his mouth, the desiccated suddenly satisfied. Closing his eyes, he lingered in that relief, hands trembling, her fingertips pressing against the edges of a tightened jaw.

Farrah watched his face carefully, aware of the bear that still lurked. He was restless - the weight of the world on his shoulders - and yet he stayed. She was waiting for him to turn tail and run or to lash out in anger. Surely if he did, she would no longer exist, her power unable to save her though water was all around them. His stubble was rough beneath her fingers, prickingly her senses as he drank from the water welling you in her hand.

Her eyes glowed as she looked up and into his face. She leaned in, her head tilting to the side, a small smile hinting at her lips. "Isn't it obvious what I want? It’s what will help you heal that matters..." she whispered, though her voice not lacking confidence. She willed the water to continue to fill her palms until his thirst was quenched, only moving to lower them if he allowed her. His hands were warm around her wrists, making her feel unusually small and frail.

It must be the bear so close to her feeling that way. "Are you a lover or are you a fighter? Because I’m not much of the latter." No. Farrah could not physically fight him. She wouldn’t win. All she had was a bag of tricks and her power. Physical strength was lacking though she was in no way a weak woman.

Flesh turned to fire, the warmth spreading from belly to fingertips with a rush logic could not hope to dispel. He leaned into her touch, and closed his eyes, heavy hum intermingling with an exhale as the fever grew. Her scent was unfamiliar, but it beckoned with a biological invitation her blurry words did not have to explain.

He responded with quiet, feeling the world tilt with the shift of his weight, as her palms parted and the tonic fell, pulling her forward roughly. His mouth dropped to hers with enough pressure to make his stubble painful. She was but a wisp against him- a twig seated in the palms of a child that did not comprehend their own strength.

He could break her, but at the moment, he did not care if he did, need occluding a bruised humanity that invited the animalistic to prevalence.

Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)