Chapter Text
It was early in the morning, about 4:30 AM, when the doorbell to Sasha James’ flat rang out.
Sasha’s eyes squinted open as the ringing continued long after the first ring she ignored, and she groaned. It was far too early to be dealing with visitors. Who was even trying to come in this early?
She grabbed her glasses, put on slippers, and walked to her door, opening it, “Hello?”
“Mornin’ madam.”
“Got a package for Sasha James.”
Oh.
Great.
Sasha should’ve reacted more upon seeing the two familiarly unfamiliar deliverymen at her door, but she was far too tired to fully register the weight of having Breekon and Hope here. Instead, she just looked at them, shut her eyes, sighed, and stuck out her hand.
The one named Hope shoved a clipboard into it, “Just sign ‘ere ma’am and we’ll hand it over.”
“Shouldn’t be too heavy.” Breekon chimed in with an unnerving smile, holding the box in question with little issue.
“...Sure sure.” Sasha signed, seeing no other choice, before shoving the clipboard back into Hope’s hands, “Just give me the cursed box.”
“Pleasure doing business with you, ma’am.” Breekon passed the large and heavy box to her.
“Truly a pleasure.” Hope finished the couplet this time as he shut the door firmly.
From there, Sasha stood for a moment, before taking a breath and looking at the package in her hands with a mixture of fatigue and undiluted annoyance.
It took a concerningly short amount of time for her to put on a pair of sunglasses, a face mask, and a pair of welding gloves so she could safely set the damned thing outside in a nearby alleyway (nobody else was awake at this point so she didn’t get any weird looks this time) and open it with a filet knife.
Instead of jumping out of the box and melting her eyes, turning her into a mass of flesh, or even sending a plague of locusts upon the alleyway she was in, the object inside stayed put.
Or, rather, object s .
“You have to be kidding me.” She muttered, glaring at the contents of the box while shutting off the lighter she had been holding in her other hand as a precaution.
Atop of all of the most-definitely-cursed items in the package was a small sheet of paper with the following note written on it in neat cursive:
“To the esteemed archives of the Magnus Institute,
Within this box are several objects of esoteric origin. If you don’t use all of these objects at least once in the next thirty days, you will all face a blight worse than anything these artefacts can do to you.
None of these objects will kill you or permanently disfigure you. There would be no fun that way.
Enjoy the gifts.”
“You have to be kidding me,”
Tim watched as his good friend Sasha James resentfully dropped her box of allegedly cursed objects onto one of the empty desks in the assistant’s bullpen, “ Breekon and Hope showed up at your door and dropped off a box full of spooky cursed objects we have to use.. Or else? ” He added air quotes to that last part of the sentence, unconvinced.
“Yep.” Sasha muttered bitterly, opening the box, “Whoever dropped this off wants us to intentionally get cursed by these things.” She glared at the contents inside once again, mumbling, “For god sake-- I left Artefact Storage to avoid things like this--”
“Are we sure it’s not all a trap?” Jon glared at the box from his corner of the room, his arms folded and his gaze suspicious, “The note said they wouldn’t kill us, but--”
“There’s definitely easier ways to kill us, Jon.” Sasha cut him off, glancing at the old worm scars on both him and on Tim, before rubbing the bridge of her nose, “But none of these things are ‘safe’ by any means either.”
Martin took a sip of his mug, looking at the package with slight confusion, “What’s even in there…?”
Sasha hummed briefly, peering inside, “Books, cause of course there are, a big terrarium, an.. aromatic diffuser I think…” The three men in the room wandered closer to the package, cautiously peering in as Sasha continued listing the objects they were stuck with, “A comb, a flashlight, a jar of… god is that blood--?.”
“And we have to ‘use’ all of these by the end of the month?” Tim butted in, echoing what the note had said before, “What counts as ‘used’ ?”
“Probably just activating whatever curse is on these things.” Sasha pulled a box of vinyl gloves out of the top drawer of her nearby desk and put some on, “If the note isn’t lying, then everything here shouldn’t kill us or turn us into goo, but if we’re touching these things I’d recommend wearing some kind of protection.”
Tim, Martin, and Jon watched with trepidation as Sasha cautiously reached inside and pulled out the most innocuous of the items; the comb.
“I’m still not sure about this.” Tim moved to push Sasha’s hand down, keeping her from putting the comb anywhere near her hair, “I mean, who sent this? Why? ”
“And, again, what if they’re lying? ” Jon brought up again, “Any number of these things could easily take our life if we’re not careful-- or- or even if we are careful. Given your history, I’d think you’d know that.”
“And the note!” Tim picked the note off the desk it had been set on, raising it up for her to see again, “Even if it’s telling the truth, ‘ permanently disfigured’ implies that these things can still absolutely hurt us-- hurt you .” He looked Sasha in the eye, worry apparent in his gaze, “I-- I don’t want to risk anything else. Not again.”
Sasha looked back, before sighing, “We will risk everything if we don’t do something about this.” She took the note from Tim, “What exactly do we think ‘ a blight worse than anything these artefacts could do to you’ means?”
There was quiet from Tim and Jon.
“I’m well aware of what these things can do.” She set the note down, “But I’d rather deal with whatever terrible curses these things inflict than the uncertainty of whatever this note is threatening at the end of this month.”
Sasha locked eyes with Tim again, determined, “Death is far less preferable than whatever these things have in store,” Another breath, “Besides, that note basically says that the effects of these things are temporary.”
“And you trust the note?” Tim asked.
“I trust it enough to believe its threat towards everyone.” Sasha replied.
…
“Alright.” Tim relented, letting go of her hand.
With that, Sasha took another breath and raised the comb.
She used it quickly, pushing back a couple strands of hair that had folded over the wrong way in the wind outside, before setting it back down as soon as she was done.
“There.” She let out a sigh of relief, "That's one down already.”
Martin grimaced.
“Your-- uh, Your hair’s on fire.”
Sasha’s expression already showed her fatigue as the small flame flickered on her hair, “Yep. I just noticed.”
Tim didn’t waste time pulling the pin on a conveniently placed CO2 canister and putting her out.
“This is going to be a long month.” Jon muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose as Sasha was engulfed in the gas.
Artefact #: 0161909-HP2 (1)
“Fire-Spreading Comb”
Item Description: A 20.5cm x 5.1cm comb made of black plastic. The teeth of the comb have 1cm of space between each tooth.
Esoteric Behavior: When used, the comb causes whatever it is combing to catch on fire, usually hair. The fire is typical in nature, and does not exhibit any other esoteric qualities. It’s just fire.
Logged by: Sasha James