Fatou Seck's page

"I've been... doing homework. We have a project about Slavic folklore. The dance is in a week or two. I don't remember the day. You know it's about to happen when everyone in school starts talking about it."

Is this in the past or future?

Fatou Seck wrote:

"Oh, the date." Fatou smiles to hide the internal panic. "Eight o'clock, Friday. We can double up on your bike if you don't have a car... We could go eat somewhere, then catch that new Nightmare on Elm Street movie? Are you headed home from here?"

I don't think Fatou knows what day of the week it is. Bringing up the dance to her mother was just a cover for not getting any sleep last night. Going to a school-sponsored event is one thing, but she's not going to tell her mother about going to a movie alone with a boy.

"Oh, yeah. He's in football now, and I'm in the marching band. We go to some of the same events." Fatou pauses to eat another piece of waffle. Was it a date? A part of her said a school dance was a date by default, at the same time she wasn't sure. Maybe it was two friends going together. Maybe Steve just felt sorry for her. Maybe it was all a prank. Fatou swallows. "Of course it's a date, ma. It's a school dance. I hope he's got a driver's license."

Fatou looks up. It was hard to see her mother worried. Hard because it made her conflicted. Her mother had let her father send her away -had practically insisted on it. At the same time, it was hard to be mad at her. The older Fatou got, the more it bothered her that her mother felt so defenseless and alone, cooped up in the house.

Fatou shrugs. "Couldn't get much sleep. Thinking about the dance."

It was a lie, and it was not. With Holly cleaning up her own mess, the whole ordeal was a win, for the most part. Magic was real, the circus were witch hunters, but the omens and stuff must have been pointing to Holly's curse. Once that's taken care of, they all can be friends again, and Fatou will go to the dance with a football player. Her father will be pleased.

Fatou manages to put a piece of waffle in her mouth and starts chewing.

"Oh, Steve Dimin asked me to the dance. I forgot to tell you." Fatou wasn't sure what her mother would make of that. Fortunately, she could just watch her react rather than trying to puzzle it out.

Fatou is a zombie. Lack of sleep and her prescription deaden everything out to dull noise. She'll probably miss band practice. When she's done cutting her waffle, she stares down at it and watches the butter and syrup melt into the bread.

Flight: 1d10 ⇒ 10
Fatou climbs the espalier fig on the back wall of the house to reach the round attic window, slipping carefully down the trapdoor in her closet to get to bed.

Sleep was ellusive, as her nerves hummed with paranoid tension.

"I have to get home... Ma thinks we're working on that project, but I still have a curfew." Fatou snuffs out the candles and stuffs her things into her backpack.

Fatou brings Maggie a blanket and a granola bar.

Fatou puts her thumb over the end of the hose and rinses the salt off Maggie.

Fatou sinks visibly at Holly's outburst, but her feet stay rooted for now.

"My father sent me to a mental hospital! They said I was consorting with the d-devil. They said I was trying to make you a l-lesbien. They showed me films and shocked me until I couldn't stand the sight of bones or graves, and I'm terrified what they'll try if he sends me back! -but you're in danger, and Maggie's hurting, and I can't just leave you all to run head first into the next Calvin Kipp." Her shoulders hitch, and she lowers her voice. "That's good, say something before she catches a cold. Think back to how you did it that night..."

Fatou takes a folded piece of paper from her windbreaker pocket, and scans it. "Just make sure it gets all over, no? 'Toes to split ends', as coach says... Once she's soaked, you say your words, and we rinse her off..."

Fatou pauses.

"This is for real, right? You're asking for my help because you're convinced magic is real?" The former mathelete scratches her shoulder. "Never mind. This isn't about me- or, at least I hope it's not, so I should just keep acting like no one's got a camera." Fatou glances around the graveyard, remembers it's a graveyard, and looks stiffly down at her shoes. "I just... can't get caught doing this stuff again."

Fatou busies herself positioning and lighting birthday candles around the pool.

Fatou, a stickler for details, pauses. "Uhm... It's totally inconsistent. They're your words... or the words of the one leading the ritual. Some ask for support from their 'Lady', some evoke a personal power..." Fatou is very flustered to suddenly have to put her 'insane' note-taking into practice. She tugs a warped napkin from between two pages and squeeks. "Here! Yeah, this says everything is relative, like a placebo, and... probably a coarse aggregate of... superstitions." Fatou purses her lips. "Granted, when I wrote that, I hadn't seen anything to suggest witchcraft was real."

All the books are delightfully vague.

"It's not a few pinches of salt though. A bathtub is best to help with the concentration. Fill the bath, pour the salt three times, face East, and say the words... It never seemed like it should be that simple. Uhm, candles... white, or green..." Fatou is shuffling through old notebooks.

I need to fail some rolls, but yeah, I'm ready.

"It's favored because it's a crystal everyone keeps in the pantry. Hard to burn a witch for carrying salt." Fatou laughs nervously.

"That thing about a bath should help, really... Although I don't exactly know for sure." Fatou pipes in from the periphery of the brewing argument.

Fatou looks concerned, but when Maggie drops in, she tries to be discreet. "Do you know if your mom keeps epsom salt?" She gives Holly a look. "A warm bath with that in the water, some candles- the kind that smell good? Just make sure you rinse off after. The salt can, uh, itch if any's left on your skin."

Fatou looks from Holly to Maggie and back, and mouths 'apology'.

Fatou is describing a basic cleansing ritual, which would help Maggie if this had been a solitary hex, but without an admission and apology from Holly, it won't spare her any of the threefold rule. Because the hex was cast by a coven, and I think one with a supernatural member, Maggie would also need support during the cleansing. Basically, Holly needs to come clean, or things will get worse before they get better.

Fatou looks over her shoulder to make sure they've found someplace private. "There are a lot of variables to any spell: the size of the circle, the spirit invoked, the components used, that sort of thing, but you can't exactly hex a person into outer space like a storybook wizard. The magic you're dealing with is about energy and influence. You can put your hand on the scales and influence an outcome as long as you're prepared for the blowback. There's a rule, as I'm sure you knew, that any energy you put out there comes back to you three times, or with three times the intensity. As long as you were working alone, didn't try to use any blood or body parts, and didn't invoke any sinister spirits like Kipp, I can't imagine there being any severe consequences. What did you try to do to Maggie, exactly?"

Fatou tries not turn up her nose or laugh. This was clearly serious. "I knew you weren't out to take seabuiscuit for a ride... I've had to get my hands on a horseshoe before."

Fatou takes a deep breath. "Anything I remember is theory. I never had the courage to chance any kind of retaliation from messing with that stuff. However... what I do know is..."
Brains: 1d20 ⇒ 14

Reflexively, Fatou makes the face one makes when someone dashes the hope that suspicions aren't true. "Please say you need help with math, Holly."

She glances back to where she saw the supposed Solomonar. "I don't know if now is a good time if it's about last night." She manages an apologetic glance at Holly, then peeks past her shoulders like they should keep moving back the way Holly came.

Solomonari? Sent to watch us since we've been asking questions.

What if he is? You made a machine to talk to a spirit. Steve is probably a medium. Holly is invoking now... Poor Maggie.

Why would he have such an old book? Why is he reading here?

Why are we smoking here?

Fatou stubbs out her cigarette.

In any case, I'm hungry, and even that sandwich is starting to look good.

I have a dress to fit into... Should I get a wig?

The internal struggle stretches on. Sighing, Fatou gives the boy a salute and a wink, silently thanking him for their shared alone time. Any chance of leaving a good impression without bugging him? Two antisocial boats passing in the night.

I grew up on fairy tale books illustrated by Arthur Rackham. When I had the bindings restored and sent the books to my nieces, I got a text from my brother that just said "no" followed by a picture of the open postbox. When I asked him to elaborate, he said he thought he burned those books when we were kids because the pictures gave him nightmares.

Fatou PI: 1d8 ⇒ 1 Of course. :P

Fatou smokes and tries to discretely catch the title of the book the kid is reading.
Grit?: 1d8 ⇒ 8

Who would send their kid to school with tea sandwiches? She remembers the first few years her mother spent in America, buying dresses that weren't her colour, and re-watching taped episodes of the French Chef.

During lunch time, Fatou goes out behind the bleachers to smoke and potentially seed more perfectly mundane rumors about herself.

Fatou has fallen asleep with her eyes open, still looking out the window.

Not being impatient, just acting out Fatou's drug regimen.

Brain: 1d20 ⇒ 8
"Lonely, scarred, ignorant... Only thing that defines evil is being on the wrong side when history is written. Everything else boils down to us versus them."

Fatou deflates with a sigh. "That's why I said to mostly use the bibliography." Licking her lips, she looks off across the room at the window.

"Hey, lay off." Fatou manages to express mild annoyance at Holly through the morning fog. "You don't see me asking if anyone made you breakfast this morning, or meddling in your extracurriculars." She nods at Maggie. "We play the hand we're dealt, even when it's the Tower."

Then, as if she weren't in the middle of instigating a fight, she leans in and points at a place in her notes. "This part about Mr. Polanski has since been proven false... Not that we would use it. Not unless you'd like to meet Dr. Weiss..." Fatou proceeded to re-apply some licorice lip gloss.

"Oh," says Fatou, "are you trying to get him to ask you to the dance?" She looks over at Steve. "Reality is relative..."

Fatou rests her head on her hand. "Who? I didn't know any local guys were into that."

Fatou watches Maggie run out, then gives Holly an inquisitive look which flicks to apologetic, then she looks away and down. She seems... numb.

When Holly asks for notes, she pulls a tattered folder marked 'Baba Yaga' from her bag and drops it on the desk. Then she looks at it, rolls her eyes and exchanges it for another folder marked 'Koschei'. "Old notes... Totally not academic, but there's a bibliography in the back."

Fatou draggs in. Between a late night arguing with ma, and marching band practice, she didn't get much sleep at all.

Any chance one of the others cursed Fatou?

Having a wife who is a practicing Wiccan, we both shake our heads for the threefold toll Holly will bear for her evocation, but no offense taken.

One of our favorite movies is The Craft, which I assumed was Holly's main influence, given the four-point coven.

I'm visiting my brother this coming week. Not sure yet what my availability will be during travel, but I should be able to keep up with updates.

And Fatou is too clever by half. She can't even comprehend others not being able to make the same connections and allusions, and is too burnt out trying to decide if she's crazy to intuit a productive approach to getting her friends back.

The slow burn has been good. It's given us the opportunity to really cement the state of our relationships, and put us in the mindset of folks who have been looking for trouble that's not there for too long.

Fatou takes a half step back. "Zut alors, I have gotten too good at lying." She doesn't seem to realize she said that out loud. Her hand goes to her empty cigarette pack. She doesn't even remember smoking. "Okay... I'm sorry." Fatou turns to leave. At this point, Meetch, if things ever get emotionally intense, remind me Fatou's immediate instinct is to leave. Being bad for her friends, or actually being crazy are at least as strong as fears as human remains would be.

Fatou keeps her distance. "You have a totally different idea of what moving on means. Good luck. My own experiences with... equestrianism... have not ended happily. If... if you ever need help, Holly. If things get gnarly... Nothing would stop me from helping if you ask. I'm sorry I have lead you to believe otherwise."

"It is not important... I spoke to Marty. He says the circus is in eastern Europe fighting Baba Yaga." That sounds like I'm crazy, right? Is that just this morning jumbled up into another symptom of paranoia? Steve said he saw it.

Fatou spots Holly and approaches in the dark. She seems busy, and hurt. The giant book under her arm was suspicious. There but for the grace of Kipp go I. As Holly approaches the door to the barn, Fatou clears her throat.

She's still carrying her flute case. Even in the dark, Fatou's neon mint and hot pink windbreaker suit stands out. She inclines her chin toward the barn. "Horseshoe?"

Brains?: 1d20 ⇒ 2
Steve doesn't even register on Fatou's radar. -and yes, sorry, Fatou was going home. Maybe she sees Holly and tells Steve to go on ahead?

Sure, any chance Fatou runs into Holly? Otherwise, what do you think would work best?

Charm?: 1d6 ⇒ 1
It's Soo obvious Fatou is hiding something. Only way Steve is unsure is if he also rolls a 1 on... I dunno, Brains?

Fatou slows down until they're walking side by side, and takes Steve's hand.

"Oh, the date." Fatou smiles to hide the internal panic. "Eight o'clock, Friday. We can double up on your bike if you don't have a car... We could go eat somewhere, then catch that new Nightmare on Elm Street movie? Are you headed home from here?"

"Do about what? Marty said the circus isn't coming back. There's nothing to worry about," Fatou lies.

Fatou shrugs. "I have band practice in the morning. Other than that, normal stuff normal people do? After practice I usually hang out with some other girls until classes start, but I could ditch if you want to hang out. I think people would ease off if they thought I were dating. You know... fake it till you make it. Wait, are you... asking to go out? -like on a date?" Visibly nervous, Fatou uses the indiglo on her watch to check the time. "Sorry, ma's going to freak if I don't get back in time..." Fatou waits impatiently for Steven's response.

Fatou shakes her head, having a private laugh. I dragged my bones out of the street like a civilized witch... "What do your grades tell you? Nah... I don't know if it was being scared half to death, touching Calvin through that board, or the crackpot therapy, but I can't hold it all together like I used to..." There's a long pause where Fatou takes a half-step closer to Steve, shrugging her shoulders against a chill. "Steve? Do you... do you want to just go to the dance? Like, not on some Scooby Doo caper, just go like normal? Make me go like a normal person, please?" Fatou smiles and wipes at her face.

Fatou swallows hard. "I don't know about Holly, I think I messed up with her, but I don't know how. It's been really hard, and I'm always scared they're going to send me back. It's just hard when they say the world is one way and it's so totally different. I feel like I can't trust anyone, or worse, that I can't trust myself."

Fatou doesn't turn, but she stops. "I don't know if your parents told you, but they sent me away for writing about what happened that night. They didn't believe me. They told me I made it up- that I was imagining things- that I was crazy... -but I'm not crazy. This is real. Marty is real. That's what I learned today. None of the rest of it is important."

Does he think I chose to leave town for so long? Suddenly angry, and not totally sure why, Fatou rolls onto her feet, collecting her things from the ground. "I learned that boys are totally oblivious and thoughtless creeps!" The spook-n-spell slides off of her flute case and she has to bend down to snatch it up again, her windbreaker whispering as she moves. "Maybe I'm crazy, and weird, and ugly, but we're both out here alone, dufus, so... shut up!" Clutching her things to her chest, Fatou turns so she can storm off.

In her own way, Fatou is asking to be stopped.