She was back faster than Don Juan had anticipated. He'd expected more time to pull himself together, or at least to finish his cigarette. Her cigarette. He was still wearing nothing but his underclothes and a coat, but he was in no state to do anything about that. He couldn't go wandering through the house while he felt like this. Hopefully wherever she was taking him wasn't the sort of place where he would be seen on arrival. Surely not, though, if she'd called it a safe place; she knew what state he was in at least half as well as he knew himself.

"Alright," he agreed. At least he thought the odds of his throwing up on her were low. He'd had a lot to drink tonight, but nothing except alcohol. The world wasn't swimming in the right sort of way to leave him nauseous. He pushed off the wall and onto his feet, gratified to find that he wasn't even wobbling, and then clasped her arm tightly. "I'm ready."

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MJ made this <3

She stood patiently, wondering if he might have changed his mind in the time that she’d been able to go check on Kitty. But seeing him ready himself and head to stand beside her was all the confirmation she needed. She gave him a small smile and a nod. There was a small part of Sybella that wondered if Mr. Dempsey would throw up when they got there. She tucked her arm back close to her side, trapping his hand between her arm and body so he wouldn’t slip from her grasp as she turned on the spot.

The air around them tightened, compressing into something so dense before her lungs finally re-expanded.

Her feet hit soft grass and the immediate smell of fresh air and sea salt engulfed them. “We’re here.” Sybella knew it before she opened her eyes; she immediately felt more relaxed, as if the air had some sort of calming quality to it.

There was a bulkhead in front of them, rocks piled high to break the water from spilling over onto slated path they were standing on. They stared out at a peaceful lagoon, with sea breeze softly buffeting their clothing. The tide flowed freely in and out via a small channel connecting the lagoon to the larger body of free-flowing water. Large trees swayed back and forth, having stood the test of time and sea. And behind them stood — a small cottage, lit warmly from within as if it’d been waiting for them.

  

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Sybella speaks with a slight Italian accent.
Her family is well known throughout the Sicilian Mafia; if your character is attuned within those circles, they might know who she is.

Don Juan lurched to a halt on the other side of the apparition, reflexively clinging closer to her arm to steady himself. It took a second to realize anything about his surroundings, given the disorientation and the abrupt change in light level, but when he did...

"Oh," he breathed. He hadn't been expecting this. When she'd offered him a safe place he had imagined a spartan bedroom at the back of someone's house, or even just a corner chair in her parlor where he was only welcome as long as it took to muster up the wherewithal to get himself home through the floo. They were outside, and he could hear the ocean. He closed his eyes and inhaled the salt. Abruptly he was underwater — not a pleasant sensation, but not an entirely unpleasant one either. There was less; any sound beyond the waves was dull and distant, and the pressure of the water above and around him kept his hands from shaking. There was less buzzing in his ears — less space to think. He inhaled sharply, expecting saltwater in his lungs, expecting to drown... but it was air after all, because his feet were on dry ground and he was still holding on to her arm. Just an intrusive thought. He opened his eyes and shivered as though he could shake off the false memory of being soaked through.

"I think I ought to sit down," he said. "Light-headed."

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MJ made this <3

He wasn’t the first person she’d brought here, on whose face she saw mingled surprise, awe, and a myriad of other emotions she’d given up trying to pinpoint. But still, Sybella gave a soft smile as she observed him look around; close his eyes; inhale. Something flashed across his expression and she could tell he went somewhere else, if only for a brief moment. She felt his grip on her tighten ever so slightly she almost thought she’d imagined it, and she kept her arm close beside her incase he did have to hurl, or stabilize himself on her.

“Alright,” She replied, drawing her wand and conjuring a chair right behind him in case he meant he had to sit down right now. “If you’re cold, we can go inside.” She also had some hot tea and the food he’d mentioned earlier, but she held back, not wanting to overwhelm him with a litany of options.

  

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Sybella speaks with a slight Italian accent.
Her family is well known throughout the Sicilian Mafia; if your character is attuned within those circles, they might know who she is.

The noise behind him made him glance over his shoulder, and the sight of a chair sitting right behind him, entirely out of place in the outdoors, shocked a dry laugh out of him. She must have just conjured it, and the noise was it popping into existence, but even knowing there was a reasonable explanation he found the fact of it ridiculous. Or maybe the chair wasn't so funny in reality; maybe he was veering into hysterics. There were worse people to be hysterical around, he supposed, than a healer with whom he'd had somewhat good rapport previously.

"Inside," he determined. He wasn't cold, but he felt it might do him some good to have a wall between him and the ocean. And he knew he should be cold, unless she had apparated him somewhere tropical, which meant that when his mind settled for a moment he probably would be. He could see the cabin from here and probably could have walked there on his own, but he was reluctant just at this moment to relinquish the contact with another human body. So he kept his arm through hers and moved at the pace she kept.

"Have you ever had opium?" he asked in a thoughtful tone, looking at the path below their feet.

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MJ made this <3

He was laughing - whether that was a good or bad sign remained to be seen, but she’d take what she could get. When he decided not to sit, she banished the chair back to the cottage. She thought he’d have let go of her by now, but he remained at her side. Given that Sybella could still feel the ocean breeze against her skin, she was grateful for the warmth that emitted from him.

And though she didn’t know him beyond the past two times she’d seen him, Sybella found herself content to keep him close, her free hand coming to rest atop his. Perhaps he still needed support. She would have led them to the front of the cottage at an somewhat unhurried pace, but Sybella was eager to get him inside and fed. From the last she remembered him from seeing him in the soft glow of the garden, he’d seemed rather peaked. She hadn’t wanted to force him to move too quickly lest the motion somehow set off some nausea for him.

All of her thoughts of care for him were interrupted when he asked the question, however, and she almost paused in their gait. She supposed she should have expected that genre of question from him sooner or later, and might have volunteered the information at some point even if he hadn’t asked, but she still paused, taking the time to consider her answer. In the end, it was simple, of course. “Yes.” She responded in the same manner as he, not providing any further detail in the event he wanted to shift the conversation in a different direction.

She opened the door with a quiet turn of the handle. A rush of warm air wafted over them to reveal the rest of the cottage. Unlike many magical buildings, this one remained the same size on the inside as it was on the outside; something Sybella valued at times when the world seemed far too big, too overwhelming to overcome. Sometimes her house was too large; there were too many shadows for demons to lurk behind. With this single-story abode, she knew every inch and crevice of the small footprint it made on the seaside, and she liked it that way.

  

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Sybella speaks with a slight Italian accent.
Her family is well known throughout the Sicilian Mafia; if your character is attuned within those circles, they might know who she is.

On entering the cottage he gently disentangled his arm from hers and looked around for a place to sit, by which perhaps he meant a place to collapse. He read more into the simplicity of her answer than perhaps she had intended. Some people had dabbled with drugs, tried them once or twice at a party, and then put the experience behind them and never looked back. Dean fit into that category, as of this week — or at least Don Juan hoped he did. He hadn't been back since the night he'd found Dean high, so he didn't know with absolute certainty whether or not Dean had been thinking about it since.

But in her lack of qualifier Don Juan read that she had really used opium; that they had common ground there. He ran his tongue over his teeth. Once he'd melted into the nearest chair, he ran a hand through his hair. "It's like — like there's a gap inside me where the drugs always went. And when I'm not high things — echo," he explained. "Sometimes it's so loud I can't hear myself think. The only thing I can think of is how I'm not — how much easier this would be if I were high."

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MJ made this <3

Once he let go of her, Sybella walked further into the cottage and into the kitchen, a well trodden path that she’d taken often. A few waves of her wand saw the dishes and food start to assemble themselves while she went to join Mr. Dempsey in the sitting room. She knew his words all too well, at least knew the meaning underneath it all. ‘Gap’ didn’t even cut close to it, she knew. It was more like an abyss that stared back until she jumped in. And only when she did, it gave her colors, elation, made her feel like she was floating, wrapped in feathered wings and then when she came down — concrete against her skin; gray; desaturated.

She settled into the chair nearest him, not bothering with propriety — he was half naked after all and she only had her tea gown and night gown underneath — as she kicked off her shoes, raised her feet and curled them under herself as she listened. “How life would be much more manageable if you were.” She added with a heavy sigh, then drew her gaze over him carefully, as if he might be able to feel it if she looked too hard. “Does your skin ever itch?”

  

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Sybella speaks with a slight Italian accent.
Her family is well known throughout the Sicilian Mafia; if your character is attuned within those circles, they might know who she is.

Would life be more manageable? It would certainly be shorter. This stuff had killed him once; if he hadn't gotten clean when he had it would doubtless have done it again. He wrapped his arms around his chest, hugging himself. Then she asked if his skin itched and he looked at her almost eagerly. "Yes," he agreed with something like relief, because he was talking to someone who got it, which meant he didn't have to waste his breath trying to explain the inexplicable: why he kept being pulled back in to something he knew would ruin him. "And some nights I don't sleep, and some days sleep is all I can do. Every time I walk out the door I'm on the verge of making the biggest mistake of my life. And people want to know why I'm not a better father." This last word was pronounced emphatically, as though the title itself added insult to injury.

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MJ made this <3

Sleep - no sleep - then sleep again. Sybella nodded, recognizing the pattern immediately, and she leaned back in the chair, crossing her arms over he chest as she did so. Her knee bounced ever so slightly, a nervous tick she’d always had. She felt…vulnerable. But she also felt she’d found a kinship with Mr. Dempsey and his demons. They were so similar to her own, and yet she wasn’t so bold as to figure they were exactly the same. And perhaps one day they would compare scars, but for now she was content to listen to him and provide what comfort she could.

It was the reason why she kept herself on call for nights like these, because she wished she had someone to talk to back then. And while sometimes she did, and it got easier - the shadows, the demons never went away. Only retreated to the recesses of her mind.

Sybella only blinked at his latest revelation. A father. She’d heard whispers around town about a Dempsey man being a father and involved in a legal battle, but she knew not to invest too much trust in the rumor mill around town. She didn’t know what to say in response to that, though. I’m sorry seemed too…cliché. To refute that everyone was just plain wrong would have been kind, but Sybella knew too well that fine words buttered no parsnips. Added to the fact that she barely knew him and Sybella knew Mr. Dempsey would see right through her attempt.

“Our mistakes don’t always define us,” She said quietly, her gaze on the flickering hearth beside them. “But their effects can certainly can be relentless. Lord knows I’ve lost sleep worrying over them, like I’m at a precipice and one wrong move will topple everything.”

  

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Sybella speaks with a slight Italian accent.
Her family is well known throughout the Sicilian Mafia; if your character is attuned within those circles, they might know who she is.

If anyone was defined by their mistakes alone, it could have been Don Juan. He certainly had enough of them to stack up into a comprehensive character portrait. It wasn't a point worth arguing, though; he had learned from Dean that it was impossible to convince someone you were a hopeless mess when they were trying to cheer you up. And the way she continued, about the precipice, reaffirmed that she understood exactly what he meant.

"The next time I use," Don Juan began in a shaky tone. After the week he'd had, after his experiences tonight, it didn't sound like something that needed an if attached; his addiction was a persistence hunter, and would stalk him as long as it took for an opportunity to present itself. It might take days or weeks or years, or maybe the magic that had kept him clean so far would stretch it to decades, but it was a matter of when, in the end. "I'm going to end up like Kitty. And who knows if there'll be someone like you there to pull me back next time."

Miss Capobianco was a better saving angel in many respects than Samuel Griffith was, but was she as effective? Griffith's drug was like nothing else Don Juan had tried before; it wouldn't surprise him to learn that his antidote was also peerless. Kitty tonight had been on the edge — when Don Juan had overdosed he had felt the absence that came after death. He remembered it, because the drug he'd been on didn't cloud memories like opium did. Would a regular healer even have been able to bring him back, under the same circumstances?

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MJ made this <3

His words tore at her, despite the fact that Sybella only knew Mr. Dempsey from this past night and their brief conversation - flirtation? - at that one party. She knew a kindred spirit when she saw one, and in this kind of situation, she wasn’t happy to have found one because it meant Mr. Dempsey was just as haunted by his demons as she had been - as she still was sometimes. It was a lonely kind of existence at times, one that was compounded by the fact that there always seemed to be something missing, even if it was just the smallest, infinitesimal piece.

She stood up, moving to stand in front of him, her hand already reaching out to touch his shoulder. She would bring him into her arms if he let her. Her fingers skimmed the fabric of his jacket, finding purchase before tugging him gently forward, her free hand moving to rest on the side of his head. “I will try.” She murmured, unfazed by the soft clattering of the dishes and teacups that came floating into the sitting room, settling onto a fold out table by the fire. “If you want me to, that is.”

  

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Sybella speaks with a slight Italian accent.
Her family is well known throughout the Sicilian Mafia; if your character is attuned within those circles, they might know who she is.

He allowed himself to be pulled forward, head resting against her. His eyes closed and he took a breath, matching the swell of hers. Her heartbeat was slower than his, and steady. He relaxed against her, breathing, and after a moment he reached to wrap his arms around her in turn.

"Thank you," he muttered. As much for this as for her offer of help in his hypothetical future. Everything in the future was distant and fuzzy; this was real, tactile.

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MJ made this <3