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Fantasy Coven Wars IC
- Thread starter Bellz
- Start date
Bellz
What's your favorite scary movie?
Chapter 1: A Sister has Fallen
October 31st 2016
Mayor's Mansion, All Hallow's Eve Masquerade
New Orleans, Louisiana
Cloud coverage, Rainy, Chilly, small breeze.
11:00pm
Mayor's Mansion, All Hallow's Eve Masquerade
New Orleans, Louisiana
Cloud coverage, Rainy, Chilly, small breeze.
11:00pm
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
Here in the masquerade,
plastic faces on parade.
Truth refracted by our lies.
Masks revealing what we hide.
Beneath the mask, a painted face--
there is no truth that's not erased.
We are what we pretend to be--
flaunting our complexities.
We cannot undo the mess we're in;
Our costumes now our second skin.
We choose carefully our facades;
We pay the price to act like Gods
The night air in New Orleans on All Hallow's Eve was always different compared to any other night. No, this was the night of nights. Humans and Supernatural danced the night away in celebration of life, death and anything else they wished. The streets were normally hustling and bustling with people, the night clubs were always open till the crack of dawn, the "night crawlers" as the natives to the city liked to call the young and drunk tourists who always littered the streets, were normally seen in abundance. But this night, the air was still around the city. All that could be heard was the whisper of a gentle breeze and the rustling of the leaves.
The Mayor Mansion was bustling with the sound of Jazz music as half of the city joined the Mayor and his family for the traditional All Hallow's Eve Masquerade, which was started by the mayors ancestors long before most of the guest who were attending tonight were around. How is this possibly you may ask? Well my dear sweet child, there is more to this world than meets the eye. All Hallow's Eve is when the monsters and the supernatural come out to play, enjoying the fact that they could normally dwell among the human population without as much worry as other nights. The supernatural world was a tricky thing as far as human were concerned. Humans. They were mighty strange in their ways. They idolized such creatures...yet when it is revealed that there might be such beings...they slay them without so much as a thought. Out of fear, perhaps...Humans were the least of the supernaturals problems.
Trouble was brewing in the seemingly joyous ball, time was fleeting and no one knows where its going...The clock is ticking towards midnight, an hour or so until All Hallow's Eve ends and the city know as New Orleans returns to hide its true colors. Everyone seems to be enjoying the party thus far, the masks and gowns and suits of the guests creating an almost dream like atmosphere. The Mansion is unlike anything you have ever seen, with unique gothic like architecture and beautifully painted high vaulted ceilings with crystal chandeliers. The main party taking place in the ball room where everyone is supposed to be enjoying the festivities....
Love is in the air, but something bitter this way comes.
The birds will circle, the leaves will change,
the fire dies as the glacier's shift,
forcing things to rearrange in the House of the Rising Sun
The birds will circle, the leaves will change,
the fire dies as the glacier's shift,
forcing things to rearrange in the House of the Rising Sun
DeerPrince
CAST:
Rhaine
Yennie
Lamia
Wonder Woman
apolla
Tarmagon
izayoiix
r e i
Shagranoz
NilNul
SP3CT3R
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
Last edited:
Rhaine
Flightless Bird
○ Condan "Crow" Domnhall ○
Interacting with:
Bellz
Tags:
Yennie
Wonder Woman
izayoiix
NilNul
apolla
Lamia
Tarmagon
SP3CT3R
r e i
On the night before the day of the masquerade, Crow slept little. It was a thin, feverish, trance-like state. His olive toned skin glistened with a faint sheen of sweat, his dark, curly hair sticking to his brow. Words passed his lips that he could not recall during his waking hours.
His quarters were dark, lit only by the dim, fleeting light of the few melting candles by his bedside, and the moonlight that poured thickly through the closed window. The candles' flames seemed to flicker and threaten to disperse with every shallow breath he drew. The air was heavy, close, thick with the sharp scent of herbs and spice. Papers clotted with hastened, dark symbols drawn in charcoal, loose-fitting clothes in muted colors, polished keys, wide crystals, bronze bowls and mirrors, heavy stacks of books, and broken away twigs and branches were strewn about the small space in a disarray without clear rhyme or reason.
Crow's dreams hardly ever belonged to him, yet on that night, they bore a personal mark. He saw the lake he had played in as a child freeze over. He saw six crows in flight before a shrouded sun, dipping below the horizon, out of sight. Masked faces twirled, hiding what lay beneath. Somewhere, a clock struck thirteen, and a woman wept. He saw his mother's hands - or were they Juniper's? - pressed over her chest where her heart drew beat, weakly, desperately. He woke from his dream with the shrill, familiar note still ringing in his ears like a bell.
Hours might've passed as he lay, chest swelling and ebbing with breath. Had the candles burned down to the quick? Had the moon sunk low and ascended again, pregnant and pale in the sky? Yet, further time passed before he stirred from where he lay, and he did this with a bit of madness in his form, muscles taut, dusk-colored body lean and trembling. He brought a fire to the hearth, stirring the coals, as if he were cold, though something like to a fever burned in his head, threatening to split his skull. He could hardly move with the pain of it, yet he didn't pause.
Crow drew forth a jar filled with a dark, odd smelling concoction. He smeared it, a round shape, betwixt his brows, where his Sight sprung from - like fresh water from the earth. Forcing his hands to cease their trembling, he brought his wide, bronze bowl before the hearth, filling it with clear water from a pitcher.
He drew a deep, low breath, willing images to appear in the surface. He sat there, without knowing what time passed, dreaming, seeing, trembling, until there was a knock on the door - a quick word to remind him of the coming masquerade, to prepare himself.
Crow had grimly retreated from his place, limbs aching from sitting so long in stagnancy. He had bathed, dressed in his clean black suit and black-beaked mask, and followed dutifully, though he had forgotten to shave, or to remove the strange-symboled rings from his fingers. His mind was elsewhere, even as Juniper had attempted to pry him from his thoughts, or to understand his despondency. He hadn't truly been able to formulate his visions enough to communicate them, yet as they arrived at the Mayor's home, and the night drew long, he began to come to himself again.
Crow had been receiving similar omens for over a week, and now, had begun to create a picture of what it might mean.
Whatever was meant to happen would happen tonight, and dread coiled thick in his chest at his own grim certainty.
He stood, a tall, dark figure along the edge of the gathering, watching the dancers behind his mask. Light shone and bent, glistening and catching along the jewels or shining fabrics worn by the various guests. The laughter, music, and buzz of conversation seemed to only then find him, as if he hadn't been in attendance until that very moment. Crow had never enjoyed crowds, yet this could almost have been pleasant if the heavy air of foreboding hadn't hung over it like a shroud.
Crow watched as Juniper approached, smirking and shining beneath her owl mask.
A pair of birds in this gilded cage.
A brief moment passed after her words, and in it, Crow decided to humor her. Somehow he knew her good spirits and her joy in the evening would not last much longer. Terrible, grieving fondness rippled through him. He would not be unkind now.
He gave her a tight, thin smile.
"Oh my, I haven't the faintest idea who it could be."
His low voice carried a dim, good-natured sarcasm as he beheld his friend in his light-hazel gaze.
"You're looking... happy. Has the evening been to your liking, my Lady Successor?"
Interacting with:
Bellz
Tags:
Yennie
Wonder Woman
izayoiix
NilNul
apolla
Lamia
Tarmagon
SP3CT3R
r e i
On the night before the day of the masquerade, Crow slept little. It was a thin, feverish, trance-like state. His olive toned skin glistened with a faint sheen of sweat, his dark, curly hair sticking to his brow. Words passed his lips that he could not recall during his waking hours.
His quarters were dark, lit only by the dim, fleeting light of the few melting candles by his bedside, and the moonlight that poured thickly through the closed window. The candles' flames seemed to flicker and threaten to disperse with every shallow breath he drew. The air was heavy, close, thick with the sharp scent of herbs and spice. Papers clotted with hastened, dark symbols drawn in charcoal, loose-fitting clothes in muted colors, polished keys, wide crystals, bronze bowls and mirrors, heavy stacks of books, and broken away twigs and branches were strewn about the small space in a disarray without clear rhyme or reason.
Crow's dreams hardly ever belonged to him, yet on that night, they bore a personal mark. He saw the lake he had played in as a child freeze over. He saw six crows in flight before a shrouded sun, dipping below the horizon, out of sight. Masked faces twirled, hiding what lay beneath. Somewhere, a clock struck thirteen, and a woman wept. He saw his mother's hands - or were they Juniper's? - pressed over her chest where her heart drew beat, weakly, desperately. He woke from his dream with the shrill, familiar note still ringing in his ears like a bell.
Hours might've passed as he lay, chest swelling and ebbing with breath. Had the candles burned down to the quick? Had the moon sunk low and ascended again, pregnant and pale in the sky? Yet, further time passed before he stirred from where he lay, and he did this with a bit of madness in his form, muscles taut, dusk-colored body lean and trembling. He brought a fire to the hearth, stirring the coals, as if he were cold, though something like to a fever burned in his head, threatening to split his skull. He could hardly move with the pain of it, yet he didn't pause.
Crow drew forth a jar filled with a dark, odd smelling concoction. He smeared it, a round shape, betwixt his brows, where his Sight sprung from - like fresh water from the earth. Forcing his hands to cease their trembling, he brought his wide, bronze bowl before the hearth, filling it with clear water from a pitcher.
He drew a deep, low breath, willing images to appear in the surface. He sat there, without knowing what time passed, dreaming, seeing, trembling, until there was a knock on the door - a quick word to remind him of the coming masquerade, to prepare himself.
Crow had grimly retreated from his place, limbs aching from sitting so long in stagnancy. He had bathed, dressed in his clean black suit and black-beaked mask, and followed dutifully, though he had forgotten to shave, or to remove the strange-symboled rings from his fingers. His mind was elsewhere, even as Juniper had attempted to pry him from his thoughts, or to understand his despondency. He hadn't truly been able to formulate his visions enough to communicate them, yet as they arrived at the Mayor's home, and the night drew long, he began to come to himself again.
Crow had been receiving similar omens for over a week, and now, had begun to create a picture of what it might mean.
Whatever was meant to happen would happen tonight, and dread coiled thick in his chest at his own grim certainty.
He stood, a tall, dark figure along the edge of the gathering, watching the dancers behind his mask. Light shone and bent, glistening and catching along the jewels or shining fabrics worn by the various guests. The laughter, music, and buzz of conversation seemed to only then find him, as if he hadn't been in attendance until that very moment. Crow had never enjoyed crowds, yet this could almost have been pleasant if the heavy air of foreboding hadn't hung over it like a shroud.
Crow watched as Juniper approached, smirking and shining beneath her owl mask.
A pair of birds in this gilded cage.
A brief moment passed after her words, and in it, Crow decided to humor her. Somehow he knew her good spirits and her joy in the evening would not last much longer. Terrible, grieving fondness rippled through him. He would not be unkind now.
He gave her a tight, thin smile.
"Oh my, I haven't the faintest idea who it could be."
His low voice carried a dim, good-natured sarcasm as he beheld his friend in his light-hazel gaze.
"You're looking... happy. Has the evening been to your liking, my Lady Successor?"
Last edited:
Yennie
I'm bored
Jason
the wolf
Jason stood in the pristine white bathroom of Wynter's home, dark eyes focused on his right hand. It no longer burned as it did when she first cast the spell on it - an adverse effect from his previous owner. Matilda had wanted all magic to be a source of pain for him, whether the effects were harmful or not. As a result anytime magic is used on him now it hurts. He hadn't told Wynter this of course not wanting her to think him useless or attempting to stall her plans. She had worked so hard for this, whatever it was. And Jason was going to see it through until the end.
He was currently dressed in a crisp white shirt and black slacks, his suit jacket hanging on the edge of the bathroom door. The top few buttons of his shirt undone on purpose naturally. He was sure Wynter was in some fancy gown and twice as certain she looked amazing in it. Hearing her call for him from the bedroom, Jason frowned once more at his tingling right hand before pushing that aside and leaving the bathroom.
There she waited, his snow angel.
Her blonde hair trailed over her shoulders as she fixed her lips with red. His eyes zoned in on the smooth expanse of unmarred skin of her back where her dress remained unzipped giving him a teasing view of her backside. He'd almost forgotten what she said as he was so absorbed with her body, feeling familiar stirrings of warmth in his belly. He knew how old she actually was as well as how old she pretended to be but neither age could truly define her. He sometimes felt words could barely describe or he was just too dumb to know what they were. She had him completely enraptured and enamored and he was powerless to her will.
Breaking out of his stupor Jason walked forward, warm palms resting on her shoulders before his fingers moved to play under the straps of her dress. Where his blood naturally ran much hotter she seemed to be the opposite, almost always a bit cool to the touch. He bowed his head to place kisses on her bare shoulders. "I'd rather take this off." He murmured against her skin playful before doing as he was asked and zipping her dress up. Just from the back of it he could tell she looked stunningly beautiful, the dress very much to her taste. Him in his plain black suit would not do her justice tonight.
"Yea... I'm ready." Tonight was the night her plot would begin and he was prepared to play his role as perfectly as he could. Jason had very little idea of what Wynter's end game was but he had a feeling it was going to rock the very foundation of what little peace the covens had between them. He just hoped she didn't end up paying the price for it.
He was currently dressed in a crisp white shirt and black slacks, his suit jacket hanging on the edge of the bathroom door. The top few buttons of his shirt undone on purpose naturally. He was sure Wynter was in some fancy gown and twice as certain she looked amazing in it. Hearing her call for him from the bedroom, Jason frowned once more at his tingling right hand before pushing that aside and leaving the bathroom.
There she waited, his snow angel.
Her blonde hair trailed over her shoulders as she fixed her lips with red. His eyes zoned in on the smooth expanse of unmarred skin of her back where her dress remained unzipped giving him a teasing view of her backside. He'd almost forgotten what she said as he was so absorbed with her body, feeling familiar stirrings of warmth in his belly. He knew how old she actually was as well as how old she pretended to be but neither age could truly define her. He sometimes felt words could barely describe or he was just too dumb to know what they were. She had him completely enraptured and enamored and he was powerless to her will.
Breaking out of his stupor Jason walked forward, warm palms resting on her shoulders before his fingers moved to play under the straps of her dress. Where his blood naturally ran much hotter she seemed to be the opposite, almost always a bit cool to the touch. He bowed his head to place kisses on her bare shoulders. "I'd rather take this off." He murmured against her skin playful before doing as he was asked and zipping her dress up. Just from the back of it he could tell she looked stunningly beautiful, the dress very much to her taste. Him in his plain black suit would not do her justice tonight.
"Yea... I'm ready." Tonight was the night her plot would begin and he was prepared to play his role as perfectly as he could. Jason had very little idea of what Wynter's end game was but he had a feeling it was going to rock the very foundation of what little peace the covens had between them. He just hoped she didn't end up paying the price for it.
↓click↓
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Mentions:
Bellz
NilNul
intoxicant
Stasya Svoboda,
Mador Priestess
"Waiter! Waiter, Yoo-Hoo~.", the porcelain masked woman tried to catch the attention of the servant, that had taken to ignoring the incessant entertainer. Pointedly, the elegantly dressed server refused to even look at the teasing "vampire", earning more than a few chuckles from the floor tables he was serving. Of course, a dedicated and professional staffer such as him would never refuse service even for the most surliest, nastiest and wretched of men and women who would ask for his attention, but-..."Mister Waiter!~.. Pretty please?~... I will give you a big tip!~"
There were some things that even he wont do for all the tips in the world... And one of those things was crawl up the wall to serve the table of "vampires" hanging upside-down from the ceiling. With a pointed huff, the waiter turned around, and walked back toward the kitchen as a chorus of laughter was heard from the table hanging next to the chandelier.
Whiping a tear of mirth out from underneath her eye, the main antagonist of the table of hanging entertainers shook her head and turned back to her companions "Well damn... seems we are not getting any service tonight ... I´l fetch another bottle then."
Raising up from the chair, the entertainer carefully placed the seating back behind the upside down table, and walked along the ornate ,high ceiling with the seemingly impossible ease as the people beneath drew a few, amused gazes from the people down below, most had already gotten used to the "entertainers" throughout the long night.
Walking down the ceiling along the walls, the "vampire" carefully unhooked a small clothesbin from the back of her dress, that had hooked her to a small line of fishing cord, dangling from the ceiling. More than a few masked guests did a small "Aah...", nodding to themselves as if they had finally figured out how the entertainers had managed to hang upside down all night, and continued their revelry as the porcelain masked entertainer walked through the masked masses of Halloween celebrators with a smile hidden beneath her mask.
Looking around, she wondered if the waiter she tried to call for before might be willing to accept that tip now that she is down on terra firma, as she looked for the busy busy servant.
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Shagranoz
One Thousand Club
The masquerade was in full swing, and Claire was in fine form. A green sheer silk dress with a cut low enough to push the boundaries of good taste, bone-white heels, and an ivory mask completed the ensemble. The witch noted the others walking on the ceiling with distaste. Such an obvious show of magic. Three or four centuries ago, that would have gotten them tied to stakes. If I were Priestess, I'd set them straight in a hurry.
The band started to play again, a more upbeat number this time. The Irishwoman slipped onto the floor with ease and grace. People born today had no sense of the beauty of dance- it was all about sex. She looked around, but it seemed that most others had a partner already. No matter. She began to gently sway in time to the music, waiting for someone to join her.
The band started to play again, a more upbeat number this time. The Irishwoman slipped onto the floor with ease and grace. People born today had no sense of the beauty of dance- it was all about sex. She looked around, but it seemed that most others had a partner already. No matter. She began to gently sway in time to the music, waiting for someone to join her.
Yennie
I'm bored
Jason
the wolf
He couldn't repress his grin as she turned around, greeting him with that smile he was sure was only reserved for him. His smile widened at her praise of his appearance, showing sharpened canines. Dogs fed off of positive vibes and praise and weres were no different from their less developed counter parts. She fussed over his shirt as she often did. He found her primping habits cute and noninvasive - they humanized her where she might otherwise seem incredibly cold. Jason had learned to interpret the habit as a sign of her thinking but she was usually even more receptive to his touch as well. His hands found their rightful place at her waist pulling her close so they were pressed together. From the distracted look in her eye it was obvious she was thinking about something that he did not expect her to share.
For some odd reason he did not mind when she called him pet, turning his face so her hand cup his cheek as she caressed. Jason was not entirely convinced that she had as much faith in him as she said but he hoped that his actions tonight would prove his worth. Scoffing as her insecurities about their relationship rose again, "I'm lucky to even be with you. I should be worried about you leaving me." Jason rolled his eyes to hide the fact that he really did worry about that. Constantly.
At some point she'd realize his immature needy self wasn't what she wanted, or she'd become bored of him and move on. Already resigning himself to what he believed to be an inevitable end, Jason would do whatever he could to make her stay.
He kissed her then, a hard press of lips that he hoped conveyed what he couldn't say.
"We should get going, wouldn't wanna miss happy hour. Free drinks till 10!" He let her go then, a bit overwhelmed by his feelings at the moment and not wanting to confront them in any way. Jason grabbed his suit jacket from the bathroom door and slid his arms into it.
"Of course they can't make it as good as I would but still free is free." He muttered as he moved about the bedroom to get the car keys. He more or less moved himself into her home, his belongings finding their own spots among hers. She hadn't exactly invited him to move in but she hadn't protested when he started bringing things over. And as far as he knew, she also didn't know he'd already marked her and her home as his territory. Some things just had to be done and it made him feel more secure anyways. He laughed at her last comment. "No way in hell would you have looked twice at me in your twenties babe. Think it's fortunate that we met when we did." Somehow he just knew Wynter was still up to her plotting ways though he had heard a bit of the story. She had been cheated out of some prime position in her coven and had never really gotten over it. Having never had a pack and only one person he needed to answer to, Jason had no idea of how she felt but he still sympathized with her since it made her unhappy. Tonight was the first step towards making her happy again.
He found the car keys then moved to sit on the bed, content to watch her finish getting ready to leave. "Ready when you are."
For some odd reason he did not mind when she called him pet, turning his face so her hand cup his cheek as she caressed. Jason was not entirely convinced that she had as much faith in him as she said but he hoped that his actions tonight would prove his worth. Scoffing as her insecurities about their relationship rose again, "I'm lucky to even be with you. I should be worried about you leaving me." Jason rolled his eyes to hide the fact that he really did worry about that. Constantly.
At some point she'd realize his immature needy self wasn't what she wanted, or she'd become bored of him and move on. Already resigning himself to what he believed to be an inevitable end, Jason would do whatever he could to make her stay.
He kissed her then, a hard press of lips that he hoped conveyed what he couldn't say.
"We should get going, wouldn't wanna miss happy hour. Free drinks till 10!" He let her go then, a bit overwhelmed by his feelings at the moment and not wanting to confront them in any way. Jason grabbed his suit jacket from the bathroom door and slid his arms into it.
"Of course they can't make it as good as I would but still free is free." He muttered as he moved about the bedroom to get the car keys. He more or less moved himself into her home, his belongings finding their own spots among hers. She hadn't exactly invited him to move in but she hadn't protested when he started bringing things over. And as far as he knew, she also didn't know he'd already marked her and her home as his territory. Some things just had to be done and it made him feel more secure anyways. He laughed at her last comment. "No way in hell would you have looked twice at me in your twenties babe. Think it's fortunate that we met when we did." Somehow he just knew Wynter was still up to her plotting ways though he had heard a bit of the story. She had been cheated out of some prime position in her coven and had never really gotten over it. Having never had a pack and only one person he needed to answer to, Jason had no idea of how she felt but he still sympathized with her since it made her unhappy. Tonight was the first step towards making her happy again.
He found the car keys then moved to sit on the bed, content to watch her finish getting ready to leave. "Ready when you are."
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Mentions:
Bellz
Tarmagon
Murphy was an optimist.
"I hope this isn't a mistake." 
Jasper adjusted the mask he had crafted, settling it more comfortably onto his face as he looked around the huge ballroom. The crowd was setting his nerves on edge, but Kinnia had been right, this was the place to see the 'natives with their hair down'.
"There will be a ball at the Mayor's Mansion on All Hallow's Eve," Kinnia had said. "Anyone who is anyone will want to be there. I'd say most of the important members of the local Covens will be in attendance, so if you want a chance to get an idea about the Powers in the area, I'd plan on attending."
Truth to be told, Jasper didn't want to be here at all, not in this mansion, not in this city, not anywhere with so many people packed so tightly together. Unfortunately, when he had cast the Runes after the debacle at White Oak, they had set his feet upon this path. Now he hid behind his mask, wondering if this was the new normal here. Admittedly, the small group who chose to 'dine' on the ceiling were probably being viewed as showmen by the normal humanity carousing beneath them, and at least one of them, a porcelain masked woman who fairly screamed 'witch' to his senses, appeared to be trying to maintain that fiction.
"Only on this night could people be so gullible," he thought. "And only with the drink flowing so freely. So many here with Power, alongside so many without."
Jasper found his attention caught by a young appearing woman with startlingly red hair who was watching one of the ceiling diners walk down the wall before unclipping her 'aerial wire', which didn't look substantial enough to support a single cup, much less the woman looking around like she was seeking someone. Jasper couldn't see the red-headed woman's expression behind the ivory mask she wore, but she seemed irritated. The Power clinging to her, just as the green dress clung to her body, let Jasper know that she knew exactly what was really going on there, but before he could fully process that thought, the band struck up a more lively tune and the woman headed to the dance floor. No one seemed to be unpartnered at the time, and the red-head stood, swaying gently in time with the music, most unlike the motions people today called 'dance'.
"I hope this isn't a mistake," Jasper said to himself before setting his drink on an empty tray and making his own way to the dance floor. Moving towards the woman, he stepped into her field of view and bowed formally.
"My Lady," he said, speaking just loudly enough to be heard over the music and conversations. "If it would please you, I should be most honored if you would share a dance with me."
Shagranoz
Lamia
Member
Indigo Castillo
Indigo Castillo wasn't one for parties. She never was. But seeing as everyone from her coven was attending the masquerade party, she thought that she might as well go. The girl looked in the mirror in her bedroom, biting her lip. The blonde was wearing a gorgeous off-the shoulder silver flowing dress. Her hair was done in two buns with the rest of her hair hanging down. Indigo grabbed a mask from her dresser, placing it over her face. Her blue eyes looking over her appearance, raking her fingers through her blonde tresses. Diamond earring were placed in her earlobes.
"You look beautiful mija."
The voice of her mother caused her to turn around. Indigo's mother was a beautiful woman. She had curly kinky hair. Her eyes were hazel and skin the color of copper. Her mother still looked young. The woman had the girl when she was only a teenager so her mother was still young for her age. Only being 35. However, the contrast between Indigo and her mother often made people question if she was really her daughter. The girl usually tried to brush it off but it got annoying after some time. Yes, she and her mother may look very different but they had similar features which were undeniable.
Indigo smiled softly, "Thank you mom." She voiced.
Indi's mother came froward from the doorway and stood behind her with a smile. "Have fun. Just don't get too drunk okay?"
The girl laughed and rolled her eyes. "I promise mami. I don't know about having fun though." Indigo responded.
"Oh lighten up, you're only young once." she scolded with a playful tone.
The blue-eyes girl chuckled, "Yeah, yeah. I'm going now." she spoke, walking away. She sighed softly. "Go meet a handsome boy!" Her mother called.
The young witch shook her head, smiling at her mother's antics.
She grabbed a purse and headed outside to where her car was. Indigo got in and drove to the location of the masquerade. Upon reaching, she stopped and exited her car. Her eyes wandered over to the building where the party was being held. Many people were here already. She let out a breath.
Here we go
Indi bit her lip, realizing how cold it actually was tonight. Nevertheless, Indigo entered the building to see many bodies dancing, conversing, and laughing. Her feet moved to stand in the far corner, observing everyone dancing. It was mostly couples dancing. Indigo thought about what her mother said and chuckled at the thought.
"Meet a handsome boy!"
The pretty young woman leaned against the wall, "Yeah right." she muttered.
Bellz
Yennie
apolla
Rhaine
Wonder Woman
izayoiix
Tarmagon
SP3CT3R
r e i
Rhaine
Flightless Bird
✧ Ashni Rao ✧
The time of the year in which All Hallow's Eve took hold was usually a trying time for Ashni, and the past few days leading to the night in question were no exception. Blood ran high and misfortune seemed to loom in every path like a tumbling fog. The Crone, the Goddess in her dark cloak, the waning moon - Ashni felt her gaze as a chill down the length of her spine, even as she slept. She would lay, her dark hair fanned out against the pillow, long body curled in on itself, waking with Circe's name on her lips and a faint sense of loss over her brow. Her bed would seem suddenly colder, emptier. Feeling like a girl again in those few moments, she would wrap her covers about her shoulders and creep quietly to stand at the wide window, the floor cold against her bare feet. The moon would gaze at her impassively. She would betray nothing.
Spirits crept close to the surface, a sheer veil held between two worlds. Sight wasn't one of her most potent strengths, yet even she could feel the tension in the air, strung tight. Ashni had nothing to offer the dead. There was nothing she wished of them, no one she desired to try and speak to through the fire, not even the old woman from her earliest, faintest memories. In her opinion, the past was best buried, best cast away like a cheap, dirty shawl. She disliked to think of such things.
Ashni wished for the summer - heat, golden-tinged grasses, lazy, satisfied ease, stockings rolled low, and honeyed glances. Perhaps there were some things she desired of the past.
Still, while she may have dreaded the time of year, she looked forward to festivities without fail. She was one with gaiety, with frivolity. She could be what the night willed of her, with ease, with poise. She was glad of it. Yet, as she drew her gown over her long form, cream, gold fabric draping about her curves and falling to the floor, she couldn't help but feel that something was amiss.
What could be amiss? I have overseen the day's duties adequately, and tonight I will see Circe. What could possibly be amiss when she is so close?
Applying hints of rouge over her small, cupid-bowed mouth and the apples of her deep, warm-toned cheeks, Ashni attempted to discard the feeling in perhaps the same manner she would a curse or a trespassing negative energy. Looking into her reflection, she was distracted briefly from her foreign misgivings by her grooming, subconsciously searching for changes in her appearance. There were none, not that she could see. There hadn't been for more years than she cared to count. Still, though it might've been a trick of her own mind, she thought she could see the age in her round eyes.
I am an old woman after all. Yet, not the Crone. Not yet. I could still be called to bear a child at the Rites of Beltane if the Goddess willed it so.
She wasn't sure whether the thought was comforting.
Ashni brushed her ebony hair to a shine and pinned a few thick strands up with her golden-toothed pin, letting the rest of her hair lay free and unburdened. As she finished, adjusting her mask into place and heading off to descend into the night, all memory of her vague misgivings had almost completely left her.
The night flew by in a whirl. After seeing that the members of her coven were well situated, she had been passed through conversation to conversation, greeting those she felt necessary to give a good word and a few moments. She had looked disbelievingly and a bit disapprovingly at the witches seated upon the ceiling, the act disguised as entertainment, as a man-made spectacle. Even as time seemed to drift quickly, she was hyper-aware of Circe's absence.
A wine glass perched delicately in her hand, a small, polite smile pressed against her lips, Ashni felt Circe's presence - could almost hear her voice through her form. She quickly excused herself from the small group she had absently been a part of, leaving her wine glass behind as she seemingly glided further into the crowd, her dark eyes searching from beneath her mask.
It didn't take long for her to catch a glimpse of her vision in blue. Her breath caught, her heart fluttering like a hummingbird in her chest. It was a reaction Circe never failed to garner from her, despite all the suavity she pretended at, despite how many years she had known her. She felt her form threaten to lift from the floor, and she gathered what control she had to remain on the ground.
In that brief moment, even as she was drowning in tenderness, in longing, a passing, fleeting despair gripped her heart, yet was gone as soon as it had come.
If it should be her life for mine here and now, I wouldn't hesitate - not one moment.
She couldn't say why the thought had come upon her.
Quick to not appear too conspicuous, to discard the 'struck-by-lightning' expression from her face, a light, all-encompassing smile eased over her features. Yet, she couldn't keep her eyes from wandering over Circe's form as she approached, admiring her curves in the gown, how fine the color turned her complexion.
Reaching her, it took all of her will not to embrace her close, to kiss her. Discretion had always been a challenge for Ashni.
Giving a slight, brief bow of her head, choosing her words wisely, she spoke in the smooth, willowed tone she possessed, though her heart was in her throat.
"Lady Circe, you are a vision as always. I'm delighted to see you. I had begun to think you weren't in attendance."
They were pleasant words that she might've spoken to anyone, yet they thinly concealed the fire beneath. Her dark eyes smoldered in the breaks of her mask.
Spirits crept close to the surface, a sheer veil held between two worlds. Sight wasn't one of her most potent strengths, yet even she could feel the tension in the air, strung tight. Ashni had nothing to offer the dead. There was nothing she wished of them, no one she desired to try and speak to through the fire, not even the old woman from her earliest, faintest memories. In her opinion, the past was best buried, best cast away like a cheap, dirty shawl. She disliked to think of such things.
Ashni wished for the summer - heat, golden-tinged grasses, lazy, satisfied ease, stockings rolled low, and honeyed glances. Perhaps there were some things she desired of the past.
Still, while she may have dreaded the time of year, she looked forward to festivities without fail. She was one with gaiety, with frivolity. She could be what the night willed of her, with ease, with poise. She was glad of it. Yet, as she drew her gown over her long form, cream, gold fabric draping about her curves and falling to the floor, she couldn't help but feel that something was amiss.
What could be amiss? I have overseen the day's duties adequately, and tonight I will see Circe. What could possibly be amiss when she is so close?
Applying hints of rouge over her small, cupid-bowed mouth and the apples of her deep, warm-toned cheeks, Ashni attempted to discard the feeling in perhaps the same manner she would a curse or a trespassing negative energy. Looking into her reflection, she was distracted briefly from her foreign misgivings by her grooming, subconsciously searching for changes in her appearance. There were none, not that she could see. There hadn't been for more years than she cared to count. Still, though it might've been a trick of her own mind, she thought she could see the age in her round eyes.
I am an old woman after all. Yet, not the Crone. Not yet. I could still be called to bear a child at the Rites of Beltane if the Goddess willed it so.
She wasn't sure whether the thought was comforting.
Ashni brushed her ebony hair to a shine and pinned a few thick strands up with her golden-toothed pin, letting the rest of her hair lay free and unburdened. As she finished, adjusting her mask into place and heading off to descend into the night, all memory of her vague misgivings had almost completely left her.
The night flew by in a whirl. After seeing that the members of her coven were well situated, she had been passed through conversation to conversation, greeting those she felt necessary to give a good word and a few moments. She had looked disbelievingly and a bit disapprovingly at the witches seated upon the ceiling, the act disguised as entertainment, as a man-made spectacle. Even as time seemed to drift quickly, she was hyper-aware of Circe's absence.
A wine glass perched delicately in her hand, a small, polite smile pressed against her lips, Ashni felt Circe's presence - could almost hear her voice through her form. She quickly excused herself from the small group she had absently been a part of, leaving her wine glass behind as she seemingly glided further into the crowd, her dark eyes searching from beneath her mask.
It didn't take long for her to catch a glimpse of her vision in blue. Her breath caught, her heart fluttering like a hummingbird in her chest. It was a reaction Circe never failed to garner from her, despite all the suavity she pretended at, despite how many years she had known her. She felt her form threaten to lift from the floor, and she gathered what control she had to remain on the ground.
In that brief moment, even as she was drowning in tenderness, in longing, a passing, fleeting despair gripped her heart, yet was gone as soon as it had come.
If it should be her life for mine here and now, I wouldn't hesitate - not one moment.
She couldn't say why the thought had come upon her.
Quick to not appear too conspicuous, to discard the 'struck-by-lightning' expression from her face, a light, all-encompassing smile eased over her features. Yet, she couldn't keep her eyes from wandering over Circe's form as she approached, admiring her curves in the gown, how fine the color turned her complexion.
Reaching her, it took all of her will not to embrace her close, to kiss her. Discretion had always been a challenge for Ashni.
Giving a slight, brief bow of her head, choosing her words wisely, she spoke in the smooth, willowed tone she possessed, though her heart was in her throat.
"Lady Circe, you are a vision as always. I'm delighted to see you. I had begun to think you weren't in attendance."
They were pleasant words that she might've spoken to anyone, yet they thinly concealed the fire beneath. Her dark eyes smoldered in the breaks of her mask.
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Shagranoz
One Thousand Club
Claire gave the man a nod. Not to her taste, obviously, but cute enough in his own way. "Of course, good sir," Her voice still carried a trace of her old accent, even with her decades in the states.
The band finished their song, and started up a slower Irish tune, one that Claire had heard many times in her youth. The man certainly knew what he was doing, moving with her brilliantly. "You have a great talent, sir, but I never got your name. I'm Claire O'Hara."
The band finished their song, and started up a slower Irish tune, one that Claire had heard many times in her youth. The man certainly knew what he was doing, moving with her brilliantly. "You have a great talent, sir, but I never got your name. I'm Claire O'Hara."
Rhaine
Flightless Bird
○ Condan "Crow" Domnhall ○
"Sarcasm is not appreciated, my young Crow."
The edge of Crow's mouth turned up a bit, yet there was no humor in the expression. Somehow, he could make even a smile appear hard and downtrodden. He watched the sound of his title bend through Juniper's parted lips. It was a title, after all, much like the Merlin of old.
He had been a sorcerer, just the same.
Crow absently wondered if the Merlin had been a prophet, an oracle, a soothsayer. He had known that Arthur would be King of the Britains, so perhaps there was merit to the thought. Crow wished his visions were as optimistic, as joyous, as hopeful.
His heavy-lidded, light eyes glanced into the crowd, caught by a flash of a familiar tone of blue. His mother was there, small and dark-haired, and then she was gone, disappeared into the crowd again. While it should have been nothing, it felt as much as an omen as the rest. As if it had been a black cat, and not his mother, who had come in passing - as if someone had walked tenderly over his grave. He shivered.
That is the spring from which I have risen, Goddess born and forsworn.
Many times in his youth, and on rare, troubled nights in his adulthood, Crow would wake and draw forth a small mirror, bent on conjuring the image of his father. Just once, he would think, I only want to look on his face once. Yet, just as the thought came upon him, the will for it would depart, and he would be unable to garner a single image. He would be left, crouched and empty, staring into his reflection in the mirror - the reflection that so favored his mother, yet without her fairness or good graces.
He listened as his friend spoke once more, caught from his reverie, following her gaze up to the ceiling and to the tall girl who was descending.
The name 'Stasya' rose up in his mind as if in response to a question. Her face was completely covered by her porcelain mask, yet there was something familiar in the cadence of her movement and the distance in her wide eyes. He must have seen her before, yet he couldn't recall ever speaking to her directly.
It is a mire-bird I see. This is a pale creature from the marsh, draped in black and red.
There was a bit of reverence in the thought. He watched her closely until she met the floor, losing her in the crowd.
Crow's gaze returned to Juniper as she voiced an inquiry. He had felt her anxiety before he had seen it in her eyes.
I am afraid my mother is going to die tonight.
The notion came upon him so suddenly and so forcefully that he nearly gasped. The world momentarily came to a reeling halt. He faintly struggled against it, for surely it couldn't be. He had no real evidence that it was true or final. Yet, bitterly, he knew that either way, there was nothing he could do to stop it. If it was so, then meddling might very well be the final nail in her coffin.
Reality seemed to return in a flash of blinding, swaying colors. He took in a deep breath, as if he had been under water.
Composed, posture straight, as if nothing very great had transpired, he spoke.
"I have my suspicions." His voice was a low scrape, steel against stone. "Whatever I have been warned of, it will transpire tonight. I have no doubt of that."
Crow met her gaze with a new sense of tenderness.
"I don't mean to impede your evening, my friend. It is only gloom and doom that I have to offer. Coming storm clouds. It is a party, and I would rather see you enjoy yourself."
"Sarcasm is not appreciated, my young Crow."
The edge of Crow's mouth turned up a bit, yet there was no humor in the expression. Somehow, he could make even a smile appear hard and downtrodden. He watched the sound of his title bend through Juniper's parted lips. It was a title, after all, much like the Merlin of old.
He had been a sorcerer, just the same.
Crow absently wondered if the Merlin had been a prophet, an oracle, a soothsayer. He had known that Arthur would be King of the Britains, so perhaps there was merit to the thought. Crow wished his visions were as optimistic, as joyous, as hopeful.
His heavy-lidded, light eyes glanced into the crowd, caught by a flash of a familiar tone of blue. His mother was there, small and dark-haired, and then she was gone, disappeared into the crowd again. While it should have been nothing, it felt as much as an omen as the rest. As if it had been a black cat, and not his mother, who had come in passing - as if someone had walked tenderly over his grave. He shivered.
That is the spring from which I have risen, Goddess born and forsworn.
Many times in his youth, and on rare, troubled nights in his adulthood, Crow would wake and draw forth a small mirror, bent on conjuring the image of his father. Just once, he would think, I only want to look on his face once. Yet, just as the thought came upon him, the will for it would depart, and he would be unable to garner a single image. He would be left, crouched and empty, staring into his reflection in the mirror - the reflection that so favored his mother, yet without her fairness or good graces.
He listened as his friend spoke once more, caught from his reverie, following her gaze up to the ceiling and to the tall girl who was descending.
The name 'Stasya' rose up in his mind as if in response to a question. Her face was completely covered by her porcelain mask, yet there was something familiar in the cadence of her movement and the distance in her wide eyes. He must have seen her before, yet he couldn't recall ever speaking to her directly.
It is a mire-bird I see. This is a pale creature from the marsh, draped in black and red.
There was a bit of reverence in the thought. He watched her closely until she met the floor, losing her in the crowd.
Crow's gaze returned to Juniper as she voiced an inquiry. He had felt her anxiety before he had seen it in her eyes.
I am afraid my mother is going to die tonight.
The notion came upon him so suddenly and so forcefully that he nearly gasped. The world momentarily came to a reeling halt. He faintly struggled against it, for surely it couldn't be. He had no real evidence that it was true or final. Yet, bitterly, he knew that either way, there was nothing he could do to stop it. If it was so, then meddling might very well be the final nail in her coffin.
Reality seemed to return in a flash of blinding, swaying colors. He took in a deep breath, as if he had been under water.
Composed, posture straight, as if nothing very great had transpired, he spoke.
"I have my suspicions." His voice was a low scrape, steel against stone. "Whatever I have been warned of, it will transpire tonight. I have no doubt of that."
Crow met her gaze with a new sense of tenderness.
"I don't mean to impede your evening, my friend. It is only gloom and doom that I have to offer. Coming storm clouds. It is a party, and I would rather see you enjoy yourself."
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r e i
-- the lost king --
r i a s . c e l i n a
she is like the moon... part of her is always hidden away
r e i
-- the lost king --
n i a l l . u n d o r
he is like water... always moving, never staying
NilNul
intoxicant
Stasya Svoboda.
Mador Priestess
The faux-vampire sighed as she could not find her ever-illusive waiter. Walking through the masked crowd, the "entertainer" gave a happy reply to all the guests who stopped her on the way, speaking to each and every one of them with an exaggerated Russian accent.....
"Здравствуйте!~" .... "спасибо!"
A simple welcome, and ´thank you´ was all she knew of that tongue... along with a few swear words.... But that was more than enough to convince all the guests of her being part of the travelling Russian circus. And that served her well enough, to accept any praise and welcome thrown towards the porcelain masked entertainer.
Finally managing to shift through the crowds, the entertainer finally reached the bar, and took a seat right next to...
...
*sniff*
...
The "vampire" removed her mask to stand as a porcelain hat on her head, as she turned her attention toward the silent bar patron to her right.... Toward the dark-haired mystery, silently sipping on a glass bottle....
Noticing the method of her discretion, the "entertainer" grinned, and snatched up two napkins from nearby. On one of them, she wrote her order, and slid it toward the bemused bartender... On the other, she left a little text, and slid it toward the silent guest behind the bar.
Whats on your mind, lovely thing?~
r e i
Mador Priestess
The faux-vampire sighed as she could not find her ever-illusive waiter. Walking through the masked crowd, the "entertainer" gave a happy reply to all the guests who stopped her on the way, speaking to each and every one of them with an exaggerated Russian accent....."Здравствуйте!~" .... "спасибо!"
A simple welcome, and ´thank you´ was all she knew of that tongue... along with a few swear words.... But that was more than enough to convince all the guests of her being part of the travelling Russian circus. And that served her well enough, to accept any praise and welcome thrown towards the porcelain masked entertainer.
Finally managing to shift through the crowds, the entertainer finally reached the bar, and took a seat right next to...
...
*sniff*
...
The "vampire" removed her mask to stand as a porcelain hat on her head, as she turned her attention toward the silent bar patron to her right.... Toward the dark-haired mystery, silently sipping on a glass bottle....
Noticing the method of her discretion, the "entertainer" grinned, and snatched up two napkins from nearby. On one of them, she wrote her order, and slid it toward the bemused bartender... On the other, she left a little text, and slid it toward the silent guest behind the bar.
Whats on your mind, lovely thing?~
r e i
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Tarmagon
Murphy was an optimist.
Jasper smiled as he glided through the steps of a dance older than most of the attendees of the ball. The young woman was an excellent dancer, and as the music shifted tone and tempo, their steps transitioned smoothly as well.
"You have a great talent, sir, but I never got your name. I'm Claire O'Hara."
"A pleasure to meet you Lady O'Hara," he said. "My name is Jasper. And your talent is also exceptional. Thank you for sharing it with me."
As the music swirled to a close, he stepped back and gave a bow worthy of the King''s court.
"That was the most enjoyable dance I have had in years," he said warmly. "For now though, I think I shall avail myself of the refreshments. Could I get you anything?"
Shagranoz
"You have a great talent, sir, but I never got your name. I'm Claire O'Hara."
"A pleasure to meet you Lady O'Hara," he said. "My name is Jasper. And your talent is also exceptional. Thank you for sharing it with me."
As the music swirled to a close, he stepped back and gave a bow worthy of the King''s court.
"That was the most enjoyable dance I have had in years," he said warmly. "For now though, I think I shall avail myself of the refreshments. Could I get you anything?"
Shagranoz
Rhaine
Flightless Bird
○ Condan "Crow" Domnhall ○
Crow felt as a stone beneath Juniper's hand on his shoulder. He was wretched beneath the bright lights, which only seemed to cast more shadows along the planes of his mask. Her words, her reassurances, the hand on his shoulder, their shared phrase - birds of a feather flock together - only seemed to increase his consternation. The more fondness he felt for her, the more he thought of how the turn of the tide would come crashing upon her. He would not be the only one caught in the crossfire, the only one to lose something, of that he was absolutely sure, even if he could be certain of nothing else.
His skin beneath his suit felt as ice, while his head took something alike to a fever. Had the music always been so loud? The conversations such a disquieting roar?
Caught in a grim sort of torment where words failed him, where he could give her no nod of reassurance or kind word, the moment passed as the High Priest of Coven Mador approached, requesting Juniper's presence with no lack of charm or gusto.
Crow gave an instinctive bow of his head.
"High Priest, of course."
Crow was no fool, and he had a particular skill for knowing things he shouldn't. Even without such a gift, one would wonder what sort of business the High Priest of Mador would have with the Successor of Aeris. To put it delicately, Crow had his suspicions, to put it indelicately, he was rather certain that their 'business' was far from that of a professional nature, and that it had been far from that of a professional nature for quite some time - not that Crow had any intention to speak a word of what he knew. It wasn't his secret to tell.
He had little regard for politics or petty squabbling. He had been consumed throughout his life with the future, and at times, with the past. It left little time for the present. In his youth, he had had a distinct, inexplicable need to prove himself, yet now, he felt as if he had done so. He had served loyally as Priest, as Oracle of Coven Aeris, served the Goddess, served his destiny for several long years. What more could be expected of him? What more could he desire or hope to attain? He had no hunger for power. He had been a tool of something higher for the expanse of his life, and he had come to accept it in his own way. There was little else he could do.
Yet now, it all seemed to be rising back up to the surface - too much to bear, too quickly. What if he had warned his mother before tonight? What if he had told her not to show her face here, to remain safe in her quarters?
He gave a small nod of assent and a weak, fleeting smile to Juniper as she implored him to enjoy himself, turning to the High Priest at her side. Crow excused himself, striding seemingly blindly into the crowd with his long-cadenced gait, unsure of where exactly he was going.
He found himself at the bar, and he took a seat a couple spaces away from the two woman already seated. He glanced at them from behind his mask, noticing the tall woman who had recently descended from the ceiling first.
It is the mire-bird again, yet now I can see her face.
He searched her now-bared features as inconspicuously as he could manage. She was terribly familiar, and there was something terribly enthralling about what the lift of her mask had revealed. He took what few moments he would allow himself to look at her, before he forced his eyes away. He recognized the woman seated beside her as the High Priestess of Coven Terra, watching as the mire-bird slipped her a note. It was curious, and it almost diverted his thoughts from the circumstance at hand.
Had he come to the bar to drink and take his mind from things? Or was there another reason he was drawn here?
The bartender stirred him from his reverie with an inquiry after an order. Crow requested a drink without allowing himself to overthink the notion. He hardly allowed himself such things - always monitoring his intake, careful to rarely ingest such things that would cast a fog over his mind and impede his Sight. Now, however, he felt that he needed a bit of a buffer, or at least something to hold on to.
When his drink arrived, he tipped it back, and the spirit leveled out bitter and fine on his tongue and down his throat, sending warmth into his chest.
Crow felt as a stone beneath Juniper's hand on his shoulder. He was wretched beneath the bright lights, which only seemed to cast more shadows along the planes of his mask. Her words, her reassurances, the hand on his shoulder, their shared phrase - birds of a feather flock together - only seemed to increase his consternation. The more fondness he felt for her, the more he thought of how the turn of the tide would come crashing upon her. He would not be the only one caught in the crossfire, the only one to lose something, of that he was absolutely sure, even if he could be certain of nothing else.
His skin beneath his suit felt as ice, while his head took something alike to a fever. Had the music always been so loud? The conversations such a disquieting roar?
Caught in a grim sort of torment where words failed him, where he could give her no nod of reassurance or kind word, the moment passed as the High Priest of Coven Mador approached, requesting Juniper's presence with no lack of charm or gusto.
Crow gave an instinctive bow of his head.
"High Priest, of course."
Crow was no fool, and he had a particular skill for knowing things he shouldn't. Even without such a gift, one would wonder what sort of business the High Priest of Mador would have with the Successor of Aeris. To put it delicately, Crow had his suspicions, to put it indelicately, he was rather certain that their 'business' was far from that of a professional nature, and that it had been far from that of a professional nature for quite some time - not that Crow had any intention to speak a word of what he knew. It wasn't his secret to tell.
He had little regard for politics or petty squabbling. He had been consumed throughout his life with the future, and at times, with the past. It left little time for the present. In his youth, he had had a distinct, inexplicable need to prove himself, yet now, he felt as if he had done so. He had served loyally as Priest, as Oracle of Coven Aeris, served the Goddess, served his destiny for several long years. What more could be expected of him? What more could he desire or hope to attain? He had no hunger for power. He had been a tool of something higher for the expanse of his life, and he had come to accept it in his own way. There was little else he could do.
Yet now, it all seemed to be rising back up to the surface - too much to bear, too quickly. What if he had warned his mother before tonight? What if he had told her not to show her face here, to remain safe in her quarters?
He gave a small nod of assent and a weak, fleeting smile to Juniper as she implored him to enjoy himself, turning to the High Priest at her side. Crow excused himself, striding seemingly blindly into the crowd with his long-cadenced gait, unsure of where exactly he was going.
He found himself at the bar, and he took a seat a couple spaces away from the two woman already seated. He glanced at them from behind his mask, noticing the tall woman who had recently descended from the ceiling first.
It is the mire-bird again, yet now I can see her face.
He searched her now-bared features as inconspicuously as he could manage. She was terribly familiar, and there was something terribly enthralling about what the lift of her mask had revealed. He took what few moments he would allow himself to look at her, before he forced his eyes away. He recognized the woman seated beside her as the High Priestess of Coven Terra, watching as the mire-bird slipped her a note. It was curious, and it almost diverted his thoughts from the circumstance at hand.
Had he come to the bar to drink and take his mind from things? Or was there another reason he was drawn here?
The bartender stirred him from his reverie with an inquiry after an order. Crow requested a drink without allowing himself to overthink the notion. He hardly allowed himself such things - always monitoring his intake, careful to rarely ingest such things that would cast a fog over his mind and impede his Sight. Now, however, he felt that he needed a bit of a buffer, or at least something to hold on to.
When his drink arrived, he tipped it back, and the spirit leveled out bitter and fine on his tongue and down his throat, sending warmth into his chest.
Rhaine
Flightless Bird
✧ Ashni Rao ✧
Ashni's round, dark eyes gently grazed over what she could see of Circe's face with her mask impeding the rest - as if she had not memorized her features countless times, as if her face wasn't the harbinger of her dreams, as if this soft-spoken creature was not the goddess of her idolatry. A warm sense of satisfaction flooded through her as she caught sight of the light, pink flush blooming over her pale skin, knowing that she was the cause. It was as if they were girls again, bashful and unknowing.
My little love still blushes so finely for me.
Ashni preferred to take apt advantage of whatever time she was allowed with Circe, even if they were barred by the surrounding presence. It was a rare thing for her eyes to leave her, only something intended to keep up appearances. There were few things she enjoyed more than gazing at her companion.
Questions, faint insecurities rose like a fog about her. She wondered, as she often did, what had been occupying her time, her thoughts, her dreams. Here, with her so close that she could reach out and touch her, the absence seemed as potent as ever, the small distance a mockery of what she endured so prevalently.
Ashni followed Circe's gaze toward the witches perched supernaturally upon the ceiling, and she gave a light scoff, her fingertips resting over her bare collarbone, a small gesture that revealed a bit of anxiety, though there was no show of it anywhere else.
"High quality indeed. It seems they grow bolder every year. One would have to wonder what they have planned for the future. Turning the entire house invisible, perhaps? Summoning ghouls to roam the ballroom?"
There was a light, sardonic humor to her words, a sheen of pleasantry that disguised the hint of bitterness she felt. She believed the act had no use, save but to show off under the thin guise of natural spectacle. Perhaps it was only her personal experiences and faults bleeding into her words. She had been working all her life not to lift from the ground at the slightest sense of elation or fear, and here these witches were, resting atop the ceiling before the entire town. Perhaps she envied them, though of course, she would never accept or admit such a thing.
Her gaze turned back to the other woman as she began to respond to her inquiry, almost an afterthought, as if she had forgotten, or was reluctant to say.
The night has been close to a chore without you.
"The festivities have been divine otherwise. You know how I enjoy a celebration."
She gave another smile, though it quickly faded as she took in Circe's suddenly anxious body language, the apparent almost hesitance in her form. Her next words shook her to the bone. What could be ailing her? What had happened? She fleetingly remembered the long nights she had endured, the odd helplessness she had felt in the wake of the moon. Another chill slid down her bared spine, and desperate protectiveness jolted through her. She wanted to take her beloved's hand, implore her to not waste any time in telling her the cause of her unease, her veiled despair. Her voice came out thick and a bit clunky.
"Of course, Circe. What sort of friend would I be if I refused such a request?"
The words burned on Ashni's tongue. Pleasantries and charades for the sake of discretion turned sour after so long, especially in the face of something that required her direct attention. It would not be for long, not if she had anything to do with it. They would come out from under any prying eyes, and she would be able to speak and act freely.
Ashni gave a quick glance to the surrounding faces, and for the moment, no gazes were turned their way. She gestured her hand towards the stairs with a quiet, "After you."
If she had wanted, she could have pretended that the masks they wore gave them some semblance of anonymity, yet it wasn't the eyes of humans from which they were hiding, not especially, it was from the eyes of those that could see through such things that they fled.
Anxiety caused her long body to tense, yet she forced herself to loosen up, to appear at ease. Betraying her inner turmoil would only cause them to be more conspicuous.
Ashni's round, dark eyes gently grazed over what she could see of Circe's face with her mask impeding the rest - as if she had not memorized her features countless times, as if her face wasn't the harbinger of her dreams, as if this soft-spoken creature was not the goddess of her idolatry. A warm sense of satisfaction flooded through her as she caught sight of the light, pink flush blooming over her pale skin, knowing that she was the cause. It was as if they were girls again, bashful and unknowing.
My little love still blushes so finely for me.
Ashni preferred to take apt advantage of whatever time she was allowed with Circe, even if they were barred by the surrounding presence. It was a rare thing for her eyes to leave her, only something intended to keep up appearances. There were few things she enjoyed more than gazing at her companion.
Questions, faint insecurities rose like a fog about her. She wondered, as she often did, what had been occupying her time, her thoughts, her dreams. Here, with her so close that she could reach out and touch her, the absence seemed as potent as ever, the small distance a mockery of what she endured so prevalently.
Ashni followed Circe's gaze toward the witches perched supernaturally upon the ceiling, and she gave a light scoff, her fingertips resting over her bare collarbone, a small gesture that revealed a bit of anxiety, though there was no show of it anywhere else.
"High quality indeed. It seems they grow bolder every year. One would have to wonder what they have planned for the future. Turning the entire house invisible, perhaps? Summoning ghouls to roam the ballroom?"
There was a light, sardonic humor to her words, a sheen of pleasantry that disguised the hint of bitterness she felt. She believed the act had no use, save but to show off under the thin guise of natural spectacle. Perhaps it was only her personal experiences and faults bleeding into her words. She had been working all her life not to lift from the ground at the slightest sense of elation or fear, and here these witches were, resting atop the ceiling before the entire town. Perhaps she envied them, though of course, she would never accept or admit such a thing.
Her gaze turned back to the other woman as she began to respond to her inquiry, almost an afterthought, as if she had forgotten, or was reluctant to say.
The night has been close to a chore without you.
"The festivities have been divine otherwise. You know how I enjoy a celebration."
She gave another smile, though it quickly faded as she took in Circe's suddenly anxious body language, the apparent almost hesitance in her form. Her next words shook her to the bone. What could be ailing her? What had happened? She fleetingly remembered the long nights she had endured, the odd helplessness she had felt in the wake of the moon. Another chill slid down her bared spine, and desperate protectiveness jolted through her. She wanted to take her beloved's hand, implore her to not waste any time in telling her the cause of her unease, her veiled despair. Her voice came out thick and a bit clunky.
"Of course, Circe. What sort of friend would I be if I refused such a request?"
The words burned on Ashni's tongue. Pleasantries and charades for the sake of discretion turned sour after so long, especially in the face of something that required her direct attention. It would not be for long, not if she had anything to do with it. They would come out from under any prying eyes, and she would be able to speak and act freely.
Ashni gave a quick glance to the surrounding faces, and for the moment, no gazes were turned their way. She gestured her hand towards the stairs with a quiet, "After you."
If she had wanted, she could have pretended that the masks they wore gave them some semblance of anonymity, yet it wasn't the eyes of humans from which they were hiding, not especially, it was from the eyes of those that could see through such things that they fled.
Anxiety caused her long body to tense, yet she forced herself to loosen up, to appear at ease. Betraying her inner turmoil would only cause them to be more conspicuous.
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NilNul
intoxicant
Stasya Svoboda.
Mador Priestess
Mador Priestess
Leaving the sent note at the edge of her fair-weather letter friends table, the vampire-costumed "entertainer" looked around the bar, catching a black-masked patron a few seats away stealing a glance. Looking in curiosity, the water-witch noticed... ah, the faint residue of magic, clinging on to the black, well styled hair of the Ball guest.´Curious...´, the priestess thought. ´I thought Mador had a monopoly on most fetching of male practitioners~´
Noticing the mage now in a new light, the dull maned witch Took a studious look on the young man..
´ Hmm... A sharp suit, a bird mask.... Might he be the ´phoenix´?.... No.... that one is more flamboyant.... The ˇdoveˇ?... No...wait, that was not a man....Black bird mask.... Ah, of course!~"
The water-witch grinned widely to the ´Crow´, with the fake white fangs in full display. With a grin, the witch waited for the prophet of Aeris coven to glance back at her once again, and patted softly at the empty seat to her left, wondering if the seer might heed her call.
Rhaine
Shagranoz
One Thousand Club
"I've always had an affection for a good white wine," Claire commented to Jasper. "Feel free to make your own choice on that, though. I'm not that picky."
The witch moved off the dance floor, taking a seat at a table. She could feel the raw magic flowing off seemingly dozens of witches. So much raw power in this town. We could be the most powerful coven in the world, if we could just unite. Shame that will never happen.
The witch moved off the dance floor, taking a seat at a table. She could feel the raw magic flowing off seemingly dozens of witches. So much raw power in this town. We could be the most powerful coven in the world, if we could just unite. Shame that will never happen.
Rhaine
Flightless Bird
○ Condan "Crow" Domnhall ○
Having hardly ever drunk alcohol in his life, after a few sips of the spirit, Crow was feeling slightly more relaxed. The cool, sharp liquid had a bite, yet it only seemed to soothe and warm him. He was far from intoxicated, or from even a solid buzz, but there seemed to be a lightness to the moment that there hadn't been before. The air about him felt a bit softer, and despite his grim awareness of the seconds slipping by, he felt less burdened by them.
With this brief levity taken hold, Crow allowed himself to glance back at the mire-bird. He was startled to find that her eyes were already draped over him, and that her lips were parted in a wide grin, baring a fake pair of fangs. A slightly amused, taken aback wideness took place in his light eyes, reflecting the somewhat humorous, somewhat transfixed thought that came upon him.
So the mire-bird has sharp teeth tucked away in her beak. Perhaps she is not a mire-bird at all. Perhaps she is more of an alligator.
He watched, surprised, as she patted the seat to her left, offering him a place there.
She was dressed, he realized, in the guise of a vampire, or at least of the picture humans drew to mind in the wake of the word. He wondered how he hadn't noticed before she had bared her fake fangs. The rest of the witches perched upon the ceiling were dressed accordingly, in similar fashions, all posing as "entertainers."
Once more, it was as if he hadn't been in attendance until just that moment. He had been so wrapped up in his own foreboding and menacing premonitions that he had neglected to be perceptive, proactive in his surroundings.
Crow stood from his seat, rising to his full height. His stance felt more solid than before. He didn't need to muster any courage to traverse the distance and accept the witch's invitation. He was bold enough on his own, even without the daring spirit that his drink had provided. He brought it with him, the glass sliding along the counter with a hollow sound. He took the seat to her left that she had offered, glancing at her politely.
"I saw you before - up there." He shot a look up to the ceiling. "I think it's brave of you, in front of so many," His low, graveled voice drew quieter with his next addition, and the slight shrug of his shoulders. "Even if it is disguised as an act."
He could see her closely here, the lines of her features and the fall of her yellow hair, yet his gaze only lingered a moment. He held out his hand for her to shake in greeting, pausing a moment before he spoke, his title seeming to stick in his throat.
Condan, he thought, My mother named me Condan. It is what they called me in my youth.
"Crow." He spoke quietly in introduction, just loud enough to be heard over the buzz of the party.
He glanced to the woman on her other side, the High Priestess of Coven Terra. By no means did he mean to be impolite, and he considered speaking to her as well.
Remembering the note that the alligator had slipped her, noticing how she seemed averse to the presence of others at the moment, he only gave her a respectful nod of acknowledgment, not wanting to intrude upon her silence.
Having hardly ever drunk alcohol in his life, after a few sips of the spirit, Crow was feeling slightly more relaxed. The cool, sharp liquid had a bite, yet it only seemed to soothe and warm him. He was far from intoxicated, or from even a solid buzz, but there seemed to be a lightness to the moment that there hadn't been before. The air about him felt a bit softer, and despite his grim awareness of the seconds slipping by, he felt less burdened by them.
With this brief levity taken hold, Crow allowed himself to glance back at the mire-bird. He was startled to find that her eyes were already draped over him, and that her lips were parted in a wide grin, baring a fake pair of fangs. A slightly amused, taken aback wideness took place in his light eyes, reflecting the somewhat humorous, somewhat transfixed thought that came upon him.
So the mire-bird has sharp teeth tucked away in her beak. Perhaps she is not a mire-bird at all. Perhaps she is more of an alligator.
He watched, surprised, as she patted the seat to her left, offering him a place there.
She was dressed, he realized, in the guise of a vampire, or at least of the picture humans drew to mind in the wake of the word. He wondered how he hadn't noticed before she had bared her fake fangs. The rest of the witches perched upon the ceiling were dressed accordingly, in similar fashions, all posing as "entertainers."
Once more, it was as if he hadn't been in attendance until just that moment. He had been so wrapped up in his own foreboding and menacing premonitions that he had neglected to be perceptive, proactive in his surroundings.
Crow stood from his seat, rising to his full height. His stance felt more solid than before. He didn't need to muster any courage to traverse the distance and accept the witch's invitation. He was bold enough on his own, even without the daring spirit that his drink had provided. He brought it with him, the glass sliding along the counter with a hollow sound. He took the seat to her left that she had offered, glancing at her politely.
"I saw you before - up there." He shot a look up to the ceiling. "I think it's brave of you, in front of so many," His low, graveled voice drew quieter with his next addition, and the slight shrug of his shoulders. "Even if it is disguised as an act."
He could see her closely here, the lines of her features and the fall of her yellow hair, yet his gaze only lingered a moment. He held out his hand for her to shake in greeting, pausing a moment before he spoke, his title seeming to stick in his throat.
Condan, he thought, My mother named me Condan. It is what they called me in my youth.
"Crow." He spoke quietly in introduction, just loud enough to be heard over the buzz of the party.
He glanced to the woman on her other side, the High Priestess of Coven Terra. By no means did he mean to be impolite, and he considered speaking to her as well.
Remembering the note that the alligator had slipped her, noticing how she seemed averse to the presence of others at the moment, he only gave her a respectful nod of acknowledgment, not wanting to intrude upon her silence.
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