anna_loudoun

Past

- and weary o' the darning, Orkney, springtime
- Annika & Morgause - NYC, Spring 2003

Present
- watching, waiting
- Anna had been wandering the city...
- The wind is icy and dry.
- The weather outside is frightful.
- and this child I would destroy
- She takes care of herself.
- Cause everyone's my friend in New York City

Once she had started, it made her wonder why she'd let the power slumber at all. It felt good, and now she wanted to use it. To grow it. To test it.

She'd found the selkie. It had been just as easy as she'd told him it would be, though she'd been bluffing when she said it. Even if she hadn't gone out shopping, she probably could have found her. But the gathering up of little stores had helped. And the way that touching the old reminders of who she was... who she really was... the way that her sons had set the dominoes falling. She'd been listening to that little voice within her without knowing it was pushing her toward Mordred and Gaheris. Alex.. that had been a happy accident; it had helped her throw off the last lock and get to work.

She didn't want to think about Alex too much; she wasn't sure where that path led, and she didn't like the way it clouded her vision when she tried to see it out further.

She was sitting on the floor of her apartment, her nightgown loose around her. It was weird to be working at this in this apartment, in this city. All sorts of weird little things got in the way. But she was able to scry, if her focus was good. And she once she knew where she was looking, or what precisely she was looking for, she was able to plant little seeds of work she thought might come to flower.

And so she comes now to Gaheris, seeking him out. She kept hitting a wall; usually, they're more open to you when they're not quite whole. Mordred was tricky, always had been tricky. Gaheris ought to be easier. But she was having trouble pinning him.

She peered into the little bowl, incense heavy around her. She focused. Nothing but cold clouds. She cast about a moment, refocused, lost her concentration. She set the bowl down; got up to move. She was dressed as she used to dress; a loose shift, bare feet. She thought about having a cigarette, but that would just get in the way, and besides...

... the lighter.

She smiled. That dark smile that would probably scare you if you saw it. She did so love it when a plan came together.

She woke from a dream she hadn't had in a very long time. She woke shaking and too warm, throwing the covers off clumsily. She crossed the loft and snatched the heavy curtains back, looking out on the never-quiet city.

The building was aging, and the window stuck as she try to shove it open. It wouldn't open more than a crack, so she leaned her head against the cold glass and waited for the shaking to subside. Here, alone in the night, she didn't feel the need to call on the modern trappings she so often used to distract herself. Even in this city, which was too full, too bright, too everything -- even here, she still had trouble at night. This city magnified solitude. She had never been a solitary person.

Once she felt calmer, she gave the window another shove and it groaned open. The city wind came in, and she let it touch her face, her neck where her gown opened. She thought about her boys, not as they once were, but as they had been last night. She wondered if she looked as out of place as they did, as haunted; she knew, somewhere inside herself, that she was probably at the bottom of whatever it was that made them look the way they did. Gaheris, he had always been made of glass... Mordred had always been stiff, hard, calculating.

No, not always. Once they had been children. Once, even Mordred was capable of looking almost sunny. Once, Gaheris had come to her full of longing. Once, a thousand lifetimes ago.

She cast it aside. Couldn't think on it. She had work before her, and if two of her sons were here, there was the danger of others. She had allowed herself to drift, and as a result, her skills and the edges of her power were diffuse. She sat at the window, drawing in the air, drawing in thin tendrils of what used to be magic.

She set herself to work on the easiest of magics. Finding the lost.

You:
Name:Jess raanve
Contact: anna.loudoun@gmail.com

Character:
Deity Name: Morgause
Pantheon: Celtic/Arthurian
Current Alias: Anna Loudoun
Apparent Age: late 40s/early 50s
Occupation: Self-described writer and literary agent

Personality: A wry, attractive woman in her later-40s or early 50s; though she can seem quiet, even withdrawn, there is a kind of forceful magnetism about her. A strange, sly smiling around the eyes. She's at ease in the modern world, but with a few eccentricities. At first blush, she comes off as earthy and maternal, but there is an underlying edge; just enough to throw one off. A smart-mouthed snarker when provoked, she has a sharp wit and a keen eye - nothing gets by this one. A schemer, though maybe that's just the agent coming out. She smokes unashamedly, drinks like a man when the mood strikes her, and takes no guff from anyone.

History:

Half-sister to the legendary King Arthur of Britain, Morgause's history is well known and oft repeated. She bore her brother a son, called Mordred; whether or not she knew he was her brother at the time scarcely seemed to matter, considering all that came after. With her husband, King Lot of Lothian, she bore four more sons (Gawain, Agravaine, Gaheris, and Gareth), and raised them in Orkney's fogs before sending them to Camelot to serve as knights to her brother the king.

A meddler, a schemer, a witch, or worse... she's been called a great many things over the centuries, and most of those have been unflattering. She's heard it all, and from all sides. She has not always enjoyed the loving relationships she often desired with her children; she's done her best, now and then, to be motherly, but family has never been a warm place with good feelings. In spite of all this, she's done well for herself. There are those who will carry her name in a kind of honor, those who keep the candles lit and the memory strong. Strong enough, it seems, to carry her over the ocean to this city of skyscrapers and noise; this city that's seen everything, heard everything, and that manages to hold everyone all the same.

These days, known as Anna Loudoun, she spends her time in cafés, works in her loft apartment office, writes, listens, waits. She is often alone. She would like to see her sons, her family. If she is here, they must be, too. Perhaps it'll be like starting over again... again.

PB: Julianna Margulies
Image Link: http://s388.photobucket.com/albums/oo327/anna_loudoun/?action=view¤t=anna2.jpg
Journal: anna_loudoun

Sample Post:

Anna Loudon steps out into the brisk air of late fall. The day is grey, misty - it puts her to mind of Orkney and she shivers a bit, pulls the cowl neck of her cashmere sweater closed. She starts off down the block; she has a purposeful walk that only slows momentarily as she pulls out the little silver box she keeps her cigarettes in. She ducks into a chain-coffeeshop doorway, out of the wind, to light the cigarette, ignoring the disapproving glares of the mommy crowd gathering nearby.

She sets off again, ticking through her mental list of items for today. She crosses a street, dodging a cab, as she discards half the list in favor of sitting somewhere with a hot drink and people-watching. She spends a lot of time, lately, people-watching.

She takes a last, lingering drag from the cigarette, flicks it into the slushy puddle at the curb, and heads into the café, hoping to find whatever it is she's seeking.