Multiple Settings Crescent Hill ~ IC thread

[Pyroclast]

August Lovell
~ Crescent Inn ~​

It was a mystery to August what had come over Helena, but the sickly pallor of her face and the tremble on her breath worried him. He was sure she had been fine only a minute ago, when he had been laying on the couch. Maybe, he wondered, it was one of those things when the body puts off the illness or the stress until it has time to feel it - she had had to be the strong one when he wasn't feeling well, but as soon as he started feeling better and no longer needed her watchful eye on him, her own body had given in. Could it be that?

Even reasoning with himself, he couldn’t shake his concern. He watched as Helena stumbled over to the sofa and sank into the cushions. She looked so small, somehow. Smaller than she usually held herself. She took the tiniest sip of water from the water bottle. August wondered how long the bottle had been there - it looked full, at least, and when the screw cap made that click sound he was at least reassured that it was new and he hadn’t just suggested Helena drink from a water bottle that had once touched the lips of one of their guests. He wasn’t sure who would have left an unopened water bottle there, but if Helena was at all nauseous then perhaps room temperature water would be more palatable to her than one taken straight from the fridge.

With her legs drawn up onto the sofa, Helena looked even smaller, and August felt a natural desire to pull her into his arms and cradle her. Instead, he took a tentative seat beside her and scanned her with a worried gaze. She told him that Lydia had gone to get them some cocoa after her study session, something that she suggested he ought to know, but he was pretty sure his cousin hadn’t told him anything about that. He did remember she had been in the inn earlier, but figured she must have left around the time he fainted and before he woke up again. “Well, that’s sweet of her,” he said softly. “And also good, because now I can stay here with you.”

For some reason she still seemed concerned for him, and her voice even wavered a little when she spoke. When she dropped her gaze and admitted she didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts, it reminded August of when he would feel like that. For him, it had been mostly in the aftermath of the death of his sister and father, at times when he was so shaken and so upset that if he was left alone with his thoughts, they would lead him to fulfill an uncontainable urge to do something crazy: to break something, to punch a hole through the wall, to run away somewhere, to hurt himself, to scream out the anxiety until his throat grew hoarse. Or simply let his thoughts run until he broke down into inconsolable tears, or a panic attack so bad that he couldn’t breathe. During such times, he had needed an anchor, somebody to distract him from his thoughts. Just watching TV or playing video games wasn’t enough - he needed attention, and a reason to keep his head up, and having someone there beside him worked better than anything to stave off the intense emotion.

That’s what he imagined Helena meant; that if he left her alone with her thoughts now, she would descend into tears or panic. He had to be that anchor for her. “Well, then I won’t leave you alone,” he assured her. “I’m right here, Helena.” She held her hands together in a desperate grip, and he could recognise signs of tension and distress in the way she held herself. When she described the tightness in her lungs, the weight in her chest that she couldn’t shake, the buzzing in her head as if everything was growing distant, and the multitude of incomprehensible voices all fighting to take the wheel, he understood what was happening.

“Helena, I think you’re having a panic attack,” he told her. “It’s okay, I used to get them all the time. Just focus on my voice, alright? I’m right here beside you and I’m not going anywhere. We’re gonna get through it together.” He took his eyes off her and instead looked ahead so that she didn’t feel self-conscious or observed, then he let his hand rest in the space between them. “I’m not going to touch you, but if you want someone to hold onto, then I’m here,” he offered. “We’re going to breathe together, now. You can put a hand on your chest or your stomach if you want - I find it helps sometimes to just feel a bit of warmth where the anxiety is. So, first we’re gonna take an inhale through your nose, as deep and slow as you can, and then when you can’t breathe in any more, you’re gonna let it all out through the mouth in a forceful exhale. And on that exhale, just like, imagine that you’re expelling those bad thoughts. So, every time you breathe out, you're undoing a knot or silencing one of those voices.” August stole a glance at his friend, and sent her a reassuring smile before looking away again. “Alright, ready? Let’s breathe in.”

August placed a warm hand over his stomach as he followed his own instructions, listening to make sure that Helena was following along with him. The point of it was to shift the focus from the mind to the body, and in the process gain control of both. Yet, as August performed the technique, he couldn’t help but wonder what had caused Helena to grow so anxious all of a sudden. Was something going on that he didn’t know about? Surely she couldn’t just be worried about him. After all, he was fine.

After a short while, he returned to his normal breathing pattern and looked over at her, watching her for a moment to see if she was any less tense. “Helena…” he piped up, his voice low and gentle. “I don’t know if you’re going through something or whatever, but…if you ever wanna talk, I’m here for you. You know, I think of you as a close friend, and I care about you. I know we work a customer facing job and part of that means leaving your shit at the door, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to be brave all the time, or pretend to be okay all the time. If you’re not doing okay, you can come to me and I’ll listen, I’ll do what I can to make you feel better.” He leaned down to try to catch her eye, willing her to look at him. "So...is there anything you wanna talk to me about?"

Bellz Helena

 

[Bellz]

Helena Crayne
Crescent Inn​

It felt strange—maddening, even—and disturbingly familiar. Helena’s gaze fixed on her trembling hands, resting unsteadily in her lap. They weren’t shaking from hunger, the constant presence that usually gnawed at her mind, but from something else entirely. Anger, her ever-persistent shadow when pushed too far, simmered quietly, but this wasn’t that. Tears refused to fall, though she felt as if she might shatter at any moment. The mix of terror and strange relief left her dizzy, her thoughts spinning out of control. It was so unlike her. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if there had been vervain in the water she drank. But no—it had been sealed.


“Panic? Attack?” she repeated softly, her tone distant as August’s words settled over her. She frowned, her brows knitting as she turned her focus toward him. Yet even as she listened, it was a battle not to let her senses zero in on him completely. Every sound, every movement threatened to pull her attention to him in ways he couldn’t begin to understand. When August turned his gaze forward, she mirrored the action, forcing herself to quiet the chaos in her mind. The soft creak of leather brushing skin broke the silence—his hand had settled between them, steady and calm, just like his words. 


She felt utterly wretched. He offered her comfort she didn’t deserve—or at least, that’s what she told herself. Maybe her body, ancient as it was, was finally reaching its breaking point. Immortality had its limits, after all. Perhaps this was hers: not a battle, not a dramatic end, but a humiliating collapse under the weight of a simple panic attack. What a pathetic way to go—again. Her original death, she thought bitterly, had been far less cruel. Helena glanced at August as he spoke, promising they’d breathe together, guiding her through the steps. When their eyes met, she forced a smile, though it felt weak and hollow. She despised the vulnerability in it. “Breathing. Right,” she whispered, her voice barely audible and frayed with unease.

Helena's usually soundless, unnecessary breaths now came embarrassingly loud, and she silently thanked the heavens that blushing was no longer a possibility. Her mother’s words echoed faintly in her mind: Thou turns red as a poppy whenever caught, Lena. That trait, thankfully, had vanished after her transformation, sparing her the scarlet humiliation she would’ve otherwise endured. The thought almost made her smile. Almost. Yet, as she focused on August’s instructions, her breathing evened out. The tangled chaos in her head began to loosen, leaving her with a single thought.

Somehow, he must have sensed the shift, for he called her name, snapping her attention back to him. She hadn’t realized her eyes had closed until they opened, locking onto his. Cool and composed once more, her brown eyes studied him silently. “Yes, August?” Helena murmured, tilting her head as she spoke. Her voice was calm, no longer masking unease beneath. While the questions still lingered, he couldn’t know the real reason for her panic—that she feared she’d hurt him. Even now, she wasn’t sure she hadn’t. His fragmented memory haunted her, each gap a nagging question she couldn’t answer. What more could she do but hope the blood had worked? The restless flutter returned slightly, clawing its way to her throat as she placed a hand there.

August offered to talk, his assumption that her distress stemmed from something mundane almost laughable. If only her problems were human. Maybe she was carrying too much—of course she was—but she had no one she trusted enough to tell. Wren and Morgan were her only options, and even they came with complications. Wren’s eventual absence was inevitable, a painful truth she tried to ignore. Morgan… was unpredictable at best. Someday, Helena might find herself as alone as she had been during those first two centuries of existence. It was a mystery to her why she still cared for humans at all. Yet, August was proving again, he was different. He made everything feel more tangled, more significant. As he leaned closer, his subtle attempt to meet her gaze pulled her from the spiral of her thoughts. When their eyes finally met, she allowed him to glimpse only what she chose, guarding the rest. He’d seen enough already. But in his eyes, she saw everything—every ounce of concern, every silent question lingering there. That quiet, unwavering worry wouldn’t fade until she gave him something, even the smallest truth, to ease his mind.

“August, you’ve done more for me than you should,” Helena said softly, her voice fragile and barely above a whisper. “Especially after falling from a ladder.” Her breath hitched, and the weight of her words hung between them. She blinked slowly, her teeth grazing her bottom lip as she decided to offer him that small truth. “Not being outside has made me a bit… edgy,” she admitted after a pause. “The tours help. I need the fresh air. It’s like trying to keep a dog that’s been outside its whole life trapped indoors.” A soft laugh escaped her as a genuine smile curved her lips. “Oh god, I’m comparing myself to a dog,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “For the record, I’m much cleaner than a dog.” A chuckle bubbled out of Helena as she shook her head, finally breaking eye contact. She buried her face in her cold hands, rubbing her cheeks gently before glancing around the now-empty room.

When she spoke again, her voice was quieter, tinged with vulnerability. “The Festival puts me on edge,” she admitted. “I’m not… fond of the memories it brings back. Bitter ones, mostly.” Her gaze lingered on the empty space, her expression darkening slightly. When Helena spoke again, her voice dipped into something colder, something sharper. “Ghosts belong in the graveyard where they can’t haunt the living.” She said no more.

with: Unpaid Therapist Pyroclast

 

[WanderLust.]

LYDIA SINCLAIRE
HUMAN

Ornery

The Porsche

Rhys

Click me!

“Something the matter, little bird? Didn’t take my warning to heart, did you?” Rhys’ voice grated against her ears like nails on a chalkboard and Lydia was again reminded why she had always disliked her brother’s best friend. Her full lips pulled downward in an agitated scowl, her feet remained stuck in place, refusing to turn to face him as he rapidly closed the gap between them.

“If you’re in need of a ride, I might be inclined to help.”

Her stomach dropped then, as if she had just cleared the highest point of a rollercoaster and was now hurtling towards earth at an alarming speed. She wished he hadn’t offered, she would’ve preferred being left with no other option but to walk home - now, she was forced to choose between a dark, ominous walk home or an extra ten minutes with arguably the worst person in Crescent Hill. She faltered for a moment, edging closer towards the car… foolishly overlooking the fact that Rhys never gave anything away for free. This offer came with strings attached, she should’ve known better.

Before her next breath came, Lydia found herself pinned between Rhys and his Porsche. The cold metal of the door frame pressed against the thin fabric of her blush colored sweater, sending chills down her back as Rhys braced his right hand above her left shoulder. A sharp intake of breath, that faintest hint of a yelp betrayed her nerves. She internally cursed herself for such a reaction, hating how easily Rhys had been able to catch her off guard.

“But I need to hear it. Ask for my help, little bird. And don’t forget your manners.”

God she hated him. Hated his money and his influence, hated his stupid car and his stupid face with that self satisfied smirk that made her want to scream. For a moment, she seriously debated stomping on his foot as hard as she could before telling him to go to hell. But, from all that she had gathered, Rhys Arkwright was already in hell.

“Will. You. Drive. Me. Home.” She swallowed thickly. The words tasted like vinegar in her mouth, “Please.” She spat the last word as though it were a vulgar insult. Not waiting for Rhys to respond, She turned in place, struggling to open the door with two drinks in her hands before sliding into the passenger seat of his pretentious mode of transportation.

Rhys irked her to no avail. This was a game to him, and she was losing. By the time he sauntered his way into the driver’s side Lydia had all but decided to give him the silent treatment for the entirety of their drive together. She should have done exactly that, shouldn’t have granted him the satisfaction of provoking her further and yet -

“You know, you don’t always need to be such an ass.” She placed August’s hot chocolate in one of the cup holders, sipping at her latte like she was nursing a wound… a wounded ego perhaps.

There had been a time in her life when she had harbored romantic fantasies of Rhys, though she would never admit to them, especially not now. At the age of twelve or thirteen, she had followed after her brother and his best friend like a dog begging for scraps. Gone out of her way to capture his attention, enamored by his dark hair and pale eyes, convinced that someday, somehow she would manage to get him to fall in love with her. She wanted to scoff at the notion now. Her childish fantasies were asinine and foolish.

But as her mind drifted back to her youth, she found her focus lingering on a different memory entirely. The day her father had dressed her and Leon in ebony ensembles to attend the funeral of Marcus and Elara Arkwright, Rhys’ parents. That was the first and only time she had witnessed any display of genuine emotion from Rhys… he was human, somewhere, deep down, buried under all his defense mechanisms and devil-may-care grins. For a heartbeat, Lydia softened.

“Thank you… for driving me.” her tone was tempered, cautious as though she were fully aware she was treading on thin ice.

coded by natasha.

 

[Bellz]

Rhys Arkwright
En Route to the Inn​

The scent of her hatred was intoxicating, a sharp, acrid perfume that seeped into Rhys's senses, even from the distance he maintained as she slid into the passenger seat. Her reluctance to surrender even a shred of civility amused him; another small victory, perhaps, that his words had found their mark. At least she said please. He let his gaze drift through the encroaching darkness, he listened. The coffee shop had been busy, but the tourists were starting to thin out. No doubt heeding the warning of the Sheriff despite their morbid curiosity. Rhys exhaled slowly, tension coiling in his muscles as he moved with deliberate precision to the driver’s side, the door shutting behind him with a finality that resonated in the quiet.

The engine purred to life under his touch, a low, satisfying rumble that mirrored the smug curve of his lips. "You’re right. I don’t. And I’m not," he murmured, voice like velvet laced with steel. His eyes flicked ahead, unreadable, dangerous. "I’m sure your brother has a different story to tell about me." Not that it mattered. She wouldn’t believe him; she was too entrenched in her preconceived notions, like the rest of this town. They all thought they knew him, painted him in shadows and whispers. And Rhys liked it that way.

Leon would play his part, a useful pawn in the grander scheme, until his utility ran dry. Then, like the others, he’d learn the truth. Rhys Arkwright didn’t have friends; he had allies, tools, and disposable connections. Friendship was a relic of a past life, a luxury for those who hadn’t been hardened by the cruel twist of fate. His innocence was long buried, sacrificed on the altar of vengeance and power. Now, all that remained was the predator, always calculating, always a step ahead.

The life he once knew as a child felt like a distant echo, a spectral fragment of a world that no longer belonged to him. Memories of his parents drifted in and out of focus, their faces blurred, their voices warped by time and the relentless march of his rage. What little warmth he could recall had been snuffed out, leaving only the smoldering embers of anger in its place. Grief, once a fierce storm, had dried up long ago, buried beneath layers of hardened resolve. Rhys’s grip tightened on the wheel, knuckles blanching as he forced those thoughts aside. There was no room for sentimentality now.

After dropping Lydia off at the inn, ensuring her safety was more about practicality than concern, he’d return to what he actually set out to do tonight. His true focus was on the items the Crimson Grimoire dictated, each one essential for harnessing the power of the Veil.

"On the eve of the Festival of the Veil, when the worlds of the living and the lost grow perilously thin, the power to unbind the ethereal barrier rests within the soul of a chosen one. Their essence, a rare and potent key, must be claimed and wielded by one of resolute will. To seize this power is to command the veil itself, bending its secrets to the wielder's desire. But beware, for the act demands both mastery and sacrifice—failure to harness the soul’s may condemn the seeker to eternal shadow."

The book’s riddles fucking grated on him, but the clarity of its demands was undeniable. A list for the ritual. A vampire fang, a silver-burned bone shard from a werewolf—acquired at a steep price—and cursed candle wax already in his possession. Only one item remained: the voice of a Siren or a whispering vial. Both rare, both nearly impossible to obtain. Rhys’s jaw clenched as he recalled the fire that had razed his past, consuming not only his home and loved ones but every relic and treasure within. The blaze had reduced his legacy to ash, leaving him to rebuild from nothing. He wouldn’t have to search so hard for everything on this list if everything hadn’t gone up in flames.

That fucking Coven was going to get what was—

“Thank you… for driving me.” Lydia’s voice, soft and unexpected, cut through the storm brewing in Rhys’s mind. It was quiet, barely a whisper against the hum of the engine and the faint noise of the road, yet it pulled him back from the brink. His grip on the wheel eased, the tension in his chest releasing with a measured breath. He allowed himself a brief glance her way, catching the subtle curve of her profile in the dim light. "You’re welcome." His reply was low, almost a murmur, blending seamlessly with the car’s steady purr. A strange lump formed in his throat, an unfamiliar weight that he couldn’t quite place. He swallowed it down, eyes fixed ahead on the dark stretch of road.

"An asshole I may be," Rhys admitted, his voice steady, stripped of its usual bite, "but I wouldn’t have had it any other way." His expression remained impassive, a mask of detached indifference, no trace of a smile or smirk—just the hollow void he’d grown accustomed to wearing. "I’m not here to change your mind about me, Lydia. I don’t expect that. But I couldn’t let you walk alone in the dark." The silence stretched, the hum of the engine the only sound between them. After a pause, Rhys exhaled, the breath heavy with unspoken thoughts. "When I was a kid, my mother used to warn me about walking alone at night. She’d say the darkness could hide things you weren’t ready to see." His jaw tensed, a flicker of something raw tightening his features. "I didn’t listen. Thought I was untouchable. Until one night, I wasn’t."

He fell silent, his gaze distant, the weight of that night pressing down like a specter he wasn’t ready to face. The air between them thickened with the gravity of his words, a lingering shadow of a past he’d locked away. Then, with a faint, almost playful curve of his lips, he shattered the tension. "You know," Rhys said, his eyes sliding to hers, a flicker of something softer in their depths, "you’ve got a knack for pulling things out of people. Maybe you should think about becoming a therapist. Could be your true calling." A low chuckle escaped him, the sound rich and smooth, a contrast to the somberness that had settled moments before. "And at this rate, I might need to start paying you for these sessions. Feels like I’m getting more out of this ride than you are." The humor was genuine, but beneath it lingered an unexpected tenderness, a vulnerability he rarely showed. It was fleeting, a brief glimpse into the man beneath the armor, before the shadows reclaimed him once more.
with: Lydia WanderLust.