A World Enchanted

After her amazing time at the dance the night before, Tara wanted nothing more than to sleep in, possibly for a decade or so.

Her body disagreed though, so it was still fairly early when she woke up and silently snagged a book from the floor next to her bed. She could read and wait for Kennedy; staying in bed gave her an excuse to keep grinning doofily at her girlfriend.

If she was waiting for anything beyond Kennedy waking up so they could maybe go get breakfast, she didn't know it yet.

[OOC: For ... three, please.]

Tara never thought she'd regret putting all of her classes in the second half of the week, but today, she did. She would have welcomed an hour or so of something normal to get her back to thinking about something other than alternate dimensions and rips in the fabric of reality.

Their magic had worked; that was something. She just wished she could have done more, even if she didn't know what more would have been.

At least it was over. Sighing, she settled onto the floor cross-legged and held out a cat toy shaped like a fishing rod. Mr. Moxy was in for an extra-intense play session today. She needed to spoil something.

[OOC: Open door, yep!]

Curtains drawn so she wouldn't have to look at the grey, foggy landscape outside, Tara sat cross-legged on her floor, bedroom door cracked open and R.E.M. softly playing on her stereo. She occasionally munched a cookie from the batch she'd made last night as she read.

It was a casual pose, but the studying she was doing was anything but casual. After class and talking to Kennedy yesterday, she wanted to see if she could find anything in her books on magic about lifting a fog, or detecting demons, or fear spells or -- anything, really.

The problem wasn't that she wasn't finding anything; it was that she was finding too much, and a lot of it contradicted itself. Taking a brief break, she absently stroked Moxy as he wandered by. "Bet you miss your friend," she murmured, glancing to Fiona's empty side of the room. She'd gone home to take care of family business. While Tara missed her, she was almost grateful there was one fewer person to worry about on the island until the fog lifted.

[OOC: Cracked door, open post!]

Tara was, in her quiet was, bubbling over with happiness when she woke up Monday. Not only was the demon story she'd believed all her life banished like a bad dream, but she'd managed to get her mother on the phone last night before anyone could intercept the call.

Her mother hadn't entirely believed Tara's story; she'd had the demon thing in her head for too long. Still, she'd at least agreed to try to talk to someone outside the family about it. That was a start. Everything else would follow.

Door open, Tara sang softly to herself as she did some tidying. The room didn't entirely need it, but it felt good and right to clean.

Her eyes lingered on a spell she'd copied out a long time ago -- one that would hide all demons and, she thought, protect her if things went badly. She tossed it into the trash without a second look.

[OOC: Open door, open post.]

Tara was spending Sunday night the same way she had spent most of her weekend: sitting cross-legged on her bed, flipping through a book.

Because she'd been focused most of the last two days, though, she had switched from a book of demonology to a comic book about the children of superheroes. She was developing a crush on the alien girl who flew.

While she read, she absently flicked balls of paper around the room telekinetically for Mr. Moxy to chase down. This totally counted as practicing her powers.

The room door was open, and Tara's cat was growing into a fierce hunter.

[Open post, yep!]

Content to be back in the room -- the cabins were fun, but a little chaotic for Tara's tastes -- she spent much of her day contentedly placing her possessions just so, in the way she hadn't taken the time to at the start of summer. Once she was done, the room felt much more like home, with crystals arrayed along the windowsill to catch the light, spellbooks in order of usefulness on her bookshelf, a potted philodendron on her desk, and a framed portrait of Tara as a baby with her mother and grandmother on the nightstand. The only thing the room lacked, she thought idly, was a kitten -- and that was something she'd have to ask Fiona about.

That done, she put Tori Amos on the stereo and settled at the desk and started on a note home. Fandom was almost impossible to explain, which was why she was writing it down; she knew that if she tried to call home, she'd stammer too much to get the words out even if she caught her mother when no one else was around.

The faintest whisper of a chill passed over her; it almost felt as if the island's psychic hum of background energy had ... flickered. Like something was going wrong, or could go wrong.

Or it was a draft, and Tara was imagining things. It wasn't enough to be certain either way. Frowning, she decided it didn't matter and returned to the note.