Fantasy The Case of Lockheed Orphanage for the Supernaturally Gifted

[tityanya]

𝐶𝘩𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑜𝑡𝑡𝑒 𝐽𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠​

I am here: Dining Hall
With: Colette, Gwyn, Ethel, others

The currents have their say...The time is drawing near​

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Colette's eyes squeezed shut as Charlotte could see the girl desperately trying to comprehend her words. "Did you get any sleep last night?" Charlotte murmured as she continued her survey of Colette's face. Colette didn't provide a verbal answer for what happened to her face, instead bringing her hand to the scratches and shuddering. Charlotte's heart broke for her friend. What had happened? Clearly, the dining table was not the correct place to have this conversation. It was something truly, deeply upsetting to Colette. Charlotte was going to have to sneak her away somewhere, at some point, in order to ask.

As Charlotte's face grew closer to Colette's, the girl's face began to match her hair. Violently red, which caused Charlotte to flush as well. She was so pretty with the flush in her cheeks. But Charlotte was probably embarrassing her, wasn't she? They were at the breakfast table, and Charlotte was practically shoving her face in Colette's. That wasn't proper.

Charlotte changed her position to be holding Colette instead, making Colette squeak like a little mouse. Charlotte gave a small giggle, trying her best to hide it, but with her mouth right next to Colette's ear it was an impossible task."What's the French word for mouse? That's what you sounded like, right now," Charlotte teased. Colette snuggled in closer, and Charlotte responded by holding her tighter, running her long fingernails down Colette's head and down her hair. Charlotte had always found it soothing when her mother had done that to her, so she hoped it would have a similar effect on Cole. She could feel Mac's eyes burning a hole in the back of her head at the impropriety, but for once, Charlotte didn't care. She was comforting an upset friend. Was there a more noble and beautiful thing to be seen doing?

Speaking of upset friends, she heard Quinn arriving before she saw him. Hobbling in on a crutch, his normally tied up hair down, hiding his face. Had Frida done that to him? It was a nearly indiscriminate hurricane, from what Charlotte had heard. But there was no way Frida would hurt Quinn to the point of him needing to use a crutch. The two of them were as thick as thieves, and from Charlotte's point of view, clearly in love. Although she didn't say that to them. Frida would probably react dramatically to such words. Charlotte thought about asking him how he was, but she hesitated. The black cloud around him was palpable. While the two of them were friends, she wasn't sure if she was the one to ask him. Both of them were bombs. One push too strong, and one would explode. Where was Frida? She was the perfect one to ask him what was wrong. Was she being punished for last night? Charlotte wouldn't exactly be...surprised at that.

She had missed most of Ethel's conversation with Ozy, but her head snapped over to the girl as she mentioned demon thingies. Normally, Charlotte loved listening to Ethel's bizarre conspiracy theories, encouraged them sometimes even. But demons? That one sat uncomfortably in Charlotte's chest. "Now now, Ethel," Charlotte chastised "Is such dreadful talk appropriate for the breakfast table? You know what they say, speak of the Devil," Charlotte said, trusting Ethel to be able to fill in the rest of the quote for herself. Her mind, involuntarily, flashed images of her family after her mother and sister's death. Some of them had called her a demon. And sometimes, she genuinely felt like one.

Her hand caught a snag in Colette's hair, pulling Charlotte from the dark thoughts. "Sorry, mon cherie," she said softly, carefully pulling the snag out between deft fingers. At the same moment, Gwyneira entered the dining hall. Charlotte glanced at her, and was surprised at what she saw. At first, she thought it was Frida. She turned her head towards the girl, about to gesture her head towards Quinn, but was surprised to see Gwyneira. She had dressed up this morning, and mirth, genuine happiness, covered her face. But the second she saw Cole and Charlotte, her face fell. She hid it well, but Charlotte had seen the happiness just the split second before. And now, it was gone, snuffed out like a candle. What perplexed Charlotte even more was that Gwyneira sat down next to Colette. Charlotte gave the other girl a perplexed look, before looking back towards Colette.

Charlotte wasn't exactly sure what had caused it, but Gwyneira had always been...cold around her. Charlotte was observant, and she had noticed that while the welsh girl was frosty towards the others, she was like a glacier towards Charlotte. Once upon a time, Charlotte had tried to do something about it, but quickly realized that she and Gwyneira were just...opposites. Some people just didn't get along, and Charlotte had resigned to the fact that she and Gwyneira would never be friends. But here she was, taking a seat near Charlotte. Was it because it was close to the door? But Charlotte's presence had clearly caused some kind of upset in the girl. Why would she still choose to sit next to her, when the table Ozy was at was nearly empty?

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((ooc: ))
((All Night))
((Outfit: dress))


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[Paperface]

Doris Martin
She would have found out eventually... Doris thought to herself as she crossed the threshold of the breakfast hall. The spoken word could be rearranged in all manner of ways by a careful mind, she pondered. The choice of words could aid in forming better sentences or soften the message to spare the recipient's feelings. But, she reasoned in that sense, the spoken word was the finished product, and only Gwyn held the key to access the first draft. There was no system in place to filter mental imagery or impulsive thoughts, as there was no need for such a system under normal circumstances. But, Gwyn was no normal circumstance... The only thing Doris could do was accept this fact and put her trust in the young mind reader's promise.

“Thank you, Gwyn, I-- I appreciate that.” She replied, still embarrassed, and noted the abrupt end to the girl's sentence. Had something happened? Her eyes followed Gwyn's gaze to the source of the distraction, and Doris let out an involuntary sigh. There she was, Colette, the source of Gwyn's safety, getting all too comfortable with another girl. While Colette's actions were not inherently wrong, Doris knew the beast that would be born here, Jealousy, and it was an ugly critter if fed. Had the scene centered around possession, skill, or talent, Doris would have involved herself. However, with a matter of heart, she insisted on letting Gwyn decide her own path. While she simultaneously took her own to the other end of the breakfast table.

“Ehem-- Good morning, I hope you all slept well?” She momentarily addressed the room, ridding herself of the remaining shame while her eyes noted the vacancy of her usual seat at the table, “Regretfully, I could not assist in preparing breakfast this morning... However, I do hope you will all show your appreciation toward Uriel for taking up the task in my stead. Thank you.”

Doris slowly moved around the room and noted another empty seat on her route. Despite being a creature of habit, this one drew her attention and compelled her to break her habit. In part mindful of her injuries and also to test the waters, she slowly pulled back the chair. Her eyes took an instinctive glance toward Gwyn before returning.

“Good morning to you as well, Makoto.” She addressed the man beside her as she eased down onto the seat, “I hope you had a good night's rest as well.”

Despite her efforts in appearance and tone to appear in perfect health, she was acting stiffer than usual. Seating herself noticeably further forward in her chair and focussing keenly on keeping her injured back away from the firm backrest. “I apologize for listening in,” Doris added, her eyes moving over to Ozy while reaching for the teapot on the table, “but, I also appreciate your help with the dining room, Ozy, thank you--”

“Ngh!--” Doris drew in a sharp breath. Lifting the teapot had been difficult but not painful. However, tilting it and having the weight of the water within shift forced hurt onto her wounded shoulder. Hot water flowed over the table before she instinctively dropped the pot entirely to alleviate the pressure. The ceramic itself remained undamaged in the event, but Doris felt like she was the one shattering. Holding her hand over the hurting shoulder, she clenched her jaw tight.

“I am fine, let me--” She stubbornly insisted and drew in another sharp breath, reaching for something to clean up the spill, “It was nothing more than a slight cramp, I apologize.”

---

Location: Hallway -> Breakfast Hall
Interaction: Gwyneira ( Sybela ), Makoto ( Kovacs ), Ozymandias ( Sunsmiter )
Mentions: Everyone present, but specifically Colette, Charlotte, and Uriel

 

[Ashy_OCdesigns]

"You know instead of the one you don't?" Ethel guessed, although that was the wrong quote entirely. She wasn't even being crazy anymore.
Charlotte had been looking at her oddly, as a part of Ethel's new, sudden, slight paranoia(Makoto did to, she'd noticed, as she too was glancing everywhere). She was serious, something was wrong here. She didn't know what it was, but she had a slight gut feeling. She needed to trust her instincts, everyone did.
The moment everyone came through the door was when she knew something was even more wrong. She began two write, trying to observe everyone, looking at them.

 

[housegoat13]

CARETAKER

Character Sheet

Oddity

Injury Transfer

Location

Breakfast Hall -----> Hallway Near Guest Bedrooms

Interactions

Frida

Tags

Ghostiiys

Jasper Cummings

Jasper arrived at the Breakfast Hall earlier than most. Those that were already there remained unnoticed by his tired gaze. The morning was monotonous to say the least, the tasks he could do without straining his wrist was most of what he used to distract himself from his weighted body.

He felt as though merely a second had passed before more of the orphanage started to lazily crawl into the hall. Jasper envied their sleep, even if they only endorsed in a minute longer than he.

He stayed against the wall, surveying those who had already taken to the wooden chairs. He needed to find a place that sheltered him from any drawling conversations that one may force. He knew if need be he wouldn’t destroy any relationships that he currently had. Although today was not one of his best days and he would rather not have someone’s perception of him be changed due to something as fickle as his mood.

He soon found a chair that appeared to be mostly free from the accompanying neighbor and was able to have plate to himself once more.

Jasper only had himself to blame for his exhaustion. That of which had forced Frida swinging off the edge could have just as easily been prevented. Perhaps not the situation itself, but of Frida’s mood, if only he had noticed something was off with the blonde sooner. Perhaps he would have been able to consul the child before she hurt everyone else in her rage.

Frida still needs to eat.

The thought was a brick thrown to the face.

A great feeling of unrest settled in his growling stomach, as he stared down at his own plate, the smell of egg paired with sausage wafting in dainty little clouds towards his nose.

God damn him.

Frida clearly had not eaten since lunch yesterday, as did everyone else. He should feel entitled enough to wolf down his food without any prompting, to grab the child an apple and be on his way.

He did not feel entitled as such.

With a heavy sigh he murmured a monotone “Excuse me,” before lifting his plate one-handed from the clothed table and walking out into the familiar halls.

Jasper stopped once he reached the locked guest bedroom where he knew Frida was. He quickly realized that he must maneuver the plate to avoid dropping the food as he needed to knock and grab the silver keys that laid unassumingly in his satchel.

He forewent knocking, and instead simply raised his voice to ask the child a simple question, “Do you want food?” His drawl gave a toneless echo. It was better to ask than go through all the trouble of getting the door open only for Frida to slam the plate against the wall.

coded by natasha.

 

[Feral]

Colette.

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• aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

• home (filler tab)
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  mood

  
  
  

  AHWAHWHAHWHAH.

  
  

  
  

  
  

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  tityanya Sybela

  
  

  
  

  
  

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Backroom Labyrinth

The thumping behind her eyes did little to hide itself now. She could only hope that the forming headache that scratched at her temples would leave her be once she had eaten and slept. But currently, the world around her blurred into one another, mixing into an unpleasant soup of colors and noises. As if she were in a kaleidoscope, spinning endlessly.

Charlotte's words were hardly important to her aching and screaming subconscious, but non the less, she did her best to respond to them. Charlotte was a meaningful friend to her. Someone Cole felt she could rely upon, someone she could trust.

A sound of distress left her lips when the femme asked if she slept. But she had gotten sleep, though only a little. It was about as effective as if she'd stayed up all night anyways. The cursed object laid to rest on her ensured that. It had stuck itself into her skull uncomfortably, like the keyhole it needed to find was stuck somewhere in the flesh of her brain.

"Souris." She answered mostly reflex when asked the word for 'Mouse.' The word was thick and uncomfortable in her mouth, a slight rawness to her buttercream voice. She wouldn't have said something if she hadn't been so in practice lately.

Cole soured a bit as she brought a hand to her neck, touching the thin skin that kept her whole body alive. It was almost comforting, the thought of how the smallest blade could pierce through it, and she would be forever gone. Would that be so bad?

Regardless, the pain she had been slowly failing to ignore continued. It thumped behind her temples and raced down to her fingertips. As if lightning ran through her, yearning for her to move, to run. She still enjoyed the feeling of her companion's fingers running through her hair even with these throughs racing through her.

It didn't do much to lessen the embarrassment, though. God, why was she such an easily flustered person?

Cole leaned her head into Charlotte's deft fingers, a soft hum leaving her lips unintentionally. It was nice to be comforted like a child once in a while. Zoning out a bit more, Cole let out a breath. She could get used to this— Not that she was saying she wanted the girl to do this every morning or anything. She just enjoyed it, that was all.

It was customary for girls their age to be close like this, or at least so she had read in her books. But, of course, this was just teenage girl things. Teen girls did cuddly, nice things. Of course, they did. Cole was a teen girl. She knew this. Cole huffed lightly and forced any panicking thoughts down.

If any came out now, that would be a problem. More than just being embarrassed, Cole would probably mess up majorly if she accidentally let her emotions take over.

Because at that moment, Cole could tell that there was a torrent of thoughts slamming at the door to her consciousness. In fact, they were already there, just being ignored. The idea that she should give up something, to pay and sacrifice something for her wrongdoings against whoever owned the key.

She could only blame herself for these feelings. She had made a choice to grab the key. She flinched a moment when Charlotte's nail snagged on her lengthy hair, a noise of small protest being her response to the pain. In reality, it didn't hurt, but she wouldn't give up a chance to tease the girl.

As she was going to relax into the girl's arms once again, the small noises of someone sitting next to her set her on alarm, hair raising on the off chance it could be something, though logically Cole knew that nothing could be here now. Not with a crowd around them like this.

She turned her eyes to whoever had joined them slowly. Whoever it was, Cole could feel the mood around them imperceptibly shift. She was sensitive to others' moods, almost unnaturally so.

Gwyn. Cole stiffened up, leaning back into her own chair, suddenly much more embarrassed than before. Why— Nothing embarrassing was going on— Cole let out a calming breath, a twinge of pain hitting her head as a smile lit her face, looking to her friend with glee, a contrast to the quiet buzzing, muddied thoughts of her mind, racing faster than even she could comprehend.

Cole's shoulders felt stiff like she was Atlas holding the world on her shoulders, all these new events had her messed up, but that didn't stop her from enjoying the company of others. She wouldn't let it keep her from being around the people she loved. No lousy mood would isolate her.

Cole let out a small yawn, back arching like a cat as she stretched. A physical unwinding of the previous day's stressors, not that they would go away anytime soon. Her head flashed with the memories of fire and the weight the damned key had on her soul before she shoved them away. Playing this tug of war with her thoughts all day was going to be the death of her.

Good morning mon chéri, I— Cole's thoughts towards the girl came to an abrupt halt as she noticed how— combien elle était jolie. Even nicer looking than she usually is. Cole made a noise as she cut off any thoughts she was having, panicking.

The few racing thoughts of the girl's appearance were so out of bounds for her. God, Cole never thought about how pretty her friends were. Well, she did... But not like this! Cole wanted to just perish. In her drowsiness, she was so so so uncouth, letting her thoughts run amok like a fool. This wasn't Cole at all!

Logically Cole knew that she was safe to let her thoughts run wild around Gwyn, the sense of homeliness and calm the girl gave her was something that Cole still couldn't quite understand. Still, she knew nothing would break their relationship, not after what they had been through.

Although, that didn't stop Cole from getting even redder in the face. Erm— Morning— She had already said that. But, gosh, think Cole, think! Don't be an idiot. You look very— Very nice. Very... tu es si jolie aujourd'hui.

Cole turned her head away from Gwyn and Charlotte, stiffening as pain pounded. She was in no state to be around people. Clearly, she was so messed up as to get flustered over nothing. Arrêtez de paniquer et profitez de la vie. This is normal. I am normal, not freaking out. I need a nap.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Kovacs]

Makoto Madiyarov

Caretaker

Location

the breakfast hall 》the front entrance

Tags

Adelaide Furse

mizton

Ozymandias

Sunsmiter

Frida Wagner

Ghostiiys

Jasper Cummings

housegoat13

Doris Martin

Paperface

Robert Cummings (NPC)

Coyote

With mouthfuls of food, it was hard to keep a cough at bay when Doris' voice piped up from behind. A closed fist against his mouth, Makoto let the consequences of stuffing himself go down, clearing a hangdog throat in the process.
"Morning, morning," he managed to reply, trying to pretend the inelegance of his initial reaction away. He was quick to make room, using the opportunity to satiate what had long been simmering since he'd heard of Frida's hysterics. Concern deepened alongside the slant of his brow. Easing into her seat as if it could bite back at any moment, his eye on her was as discreet as she attempted to be; such show of silent strength inevitably drew a degree of admiration from the soldier within, but he also knew such silence could only speak volumes on the true nature of her injuries.

Following in his footsteps and thanking Ozymandias, Makoto turned his attentions back onto his breakfast, drawn by the gleam of the half-eaten sausage lying on his plate. His fork had all but punctured through the skin when he heard Doris draw a sharp breath of pain, as if something had sliced her open too.

"Oi, oi—" Makoto swayed forward, English and oddity pushed aside for the teapot that hung in the woman's grasp by a mouse's hair. "Matte, matte—"

His outstretched, scarred palm appeared and caught the bottom of the kettle, spilt tea on the tablecloth pricking his skin. As Doris' withdrew to tend to the source of the sudden ache, his second hand joined to cradle it, before setting it down to catch the radio maid in yet another attempt to brave away her discomfort.

"Ah-ah," Makoto shook his head quickly, enveloping her seeking hand and gingerly returned it back into her lap. "I believe we have found your limit. A slight cramp would not give this much pain."

Leaving her hand with a firm pat, his attention focused back onto the pot and briefly felt against its ceramic wall. It was still pleasantly hot; even with all the mess, he knew to leave an Englishwoman without her morning cup of tea would practically be a crime. And the gods knew enough of those had been committed under this roof. He brought her cup close and poured.

"Careful," he murmured, an odd gleam cocooning his dark eyes, "it could still be quite hot. We would not want to add a burned tongue to the list, hm?"

Just then, as the last drop fell, there was a knock.

It echoed once, past the foyer walls and halls, designed to travel as far as the breakfast hall, where nearly all of them were. Normally, thanks to the incessant chatter from the kozu, it would have been harder to hear—and in Makoto's mind, easier to ignore.

The inside of his cheek caved. Then with a curt sigh, it fell back into place. As he stood back up, he shot a confirmatory look at Adelaide, who, as the nearest caretaker witness to the scene, was no doubt already dealing with the spill. He met her sharp, blue eyes with an increasingly distracted mind, trying to delve into the contents of the file. On the surface, rude would likely be the churchmouse's most forgiving interpretation; to him, it was necessary in the moment; he was, after all, the American's 'welcome committee'.

Taking ahold of his half-skinned apple and knife, Makoto gave a slight bow. "Our newest Caretaker. I will go answer it."

❂​

She's late.

The thought lingered as Makoto slowed down from his jog trot into the foyer, arm raised to take a bite out of the apple he'd brought with him. There was a prick of annoyance, stemming from the military years shot into his blood. For her sake, as far as first impressions went, this was not a promising start. Summoning some modicum of cheer to lighten his scars, Makoto opened the door.

There was no rush of morning air. No need for an internal recitation of her file either. Instead, he was greeted with the distinct odor of muck sweat. The sight was no better; before him in muddied rags and rank ruin, was a man.

A wretched one, at that. Whispers of a lost civilian life echoed in his stature, towering inches above his Japanese counterpart, in a way that was eerily reminiscent of the only other giant Makoto knew. The difference was, one had entered and lived on the premises by the Crown and institution rules. The other...

The moment to size one another up passed. Another took its place, and another after that. The silence stretched itself to its limits, and yet the soul-piercing scowl that pinned the stranger by the edges of his tattered cloak remained.

Brother.

Makoto raised his arm. At its end, rested his apple. Biting into it, he let his other arm raise up, this time with the knife. No bigger than the length of the man's mustache, it met him at a single point below the throat and stayed there.

Silence.

The blade floated up and found itself against the man's grizzled chin. It forced a turn; this way and that, two times, three times, and more. The scowl had loosened in its search, but like an arrow drawn, the threat remained taut.
Finally, he spoke.

"If this is true," Makoto let the knife's tip settle back on the man's throat, accent thick with passive antipathy. "You are a dead man walking."

CODE BY SEROBLISS / VALOROUS ORDER

 

[aurivee_]

CODE BY SEROBLISS

Annai Mestra

LOCATION: Orphanage Grounds -> Main Road
INTERACTIONS: [REDACTED]
MENTIONS: Colette [indirectly], Abigail [indirectly]

Annai’s escape from the orphanage itself went better than expected.

She feigned sleep in her bunk, all the while listening carefully for any movement outside of the room. Once the sounds of the orphanage’s residents died down and her roommates had gone to sleep, she started packing. She had to stick to the absolute essentials, seeing as her physical strength left much to be desired.

A change of clothing. Enough food to last her a short while, if she was careful. Anything that she could find that could be useful. It wasn’t much, but it would have to be enough.

As the sun began to peek over the horizon, she prepared to make her move. She hadn’t wanted to head into the forest during the night, but if she waited too long, the caretakers would wake up. With them awake, escaping would be near impossible.

Given her limited time, she didn’t have much of a plan. All that she cared about was getting out. She could figure out the rest later.

As she prepared to sneak out of her room, she glanced back at her roommates.

She hadn’t known either of them well, and in that moment, she wished she had. She hadn’t really made any friends in this place. She wanted to - she just didn’t know how.

She closed her eyes. It was fine. She was fine. Having attachments would only drag her down. If she cared too much about these people, it would just make leaving harder.

(It had gotten so easy to lie to herself.)

She couldn't even bear to look at them anymore. She couldn't bring herself to envision how they'd react when she was missing in the morning. Casting her gaze to the ground, she slowly closed the door, ensuring that it remained silent, before moving on.

–

The halls of the orphanage were eerily silent.

The usual hustle and bustle of orphans and caretakers was completely absent. The lighting was dim, and she had to squint to see at times.

She’d worried that she’d be found before even making it out of the building, but that didn’t seem to be the case. She encountered no resistance on her way out, which was not what she expected in the slightest. She’d predicted that she’d need to sneak around a caretaker or two, but there didn’t seem to be any awake.

Despite this, she remained cautious as she made her way to the exit.

This was her only chance. If she failed, that was it. There were no second chances.

That brought another thought to the front of her consciousness. What would happen if she was caught trying to flee? Would she be locked up for months? Beaten and punished? Sent to live in some juvenile prison?

But what would happen if she stayed? It was entirely clear to her that this place was not safe. Perhaps the outside would be safer.

Soon enough, the orphanage's ornate and imposing doors loomed above her. The whole thing had been remarkably easy - she’d thought getting out of the orphanage would be the hardest part. Surely, a home for children with powers like theirs would be guarded better than this?

She didn't have time to think about that. Readying herself, she pushed open the doors, and took off into the dawn-lit forest.

–

She hated how quiet it was.

Annai didn’t like being alone. During her time alone at home, she’d always found ways to make the house feel more… lived in. She’d always find ways to keep the house noisy, enough to create the illusion that she was not the house’s only resident.

To her, silence meant loneliness. Silence let her be alone with her thoughts. There was nothing she hated more.

As she traversed the forest with only the sound of the wind in the trees, she couldn’t help but feel anxious.

Suddenly, something moved out of the corner of her eye, and Annai drew in a sharp gasp. Immediately, she whipped around, taking a poor imitation of a defensive stance.

Standing in her sight was a young boy, probably about her age. He was sitting in a tree a few feet away, waving at her gently.

Who was this?

She’d been at the orphanage for a couple of months now, and though she hadn’t known any of its residents particularly well, she at least knew their names and faces. This child, however, was entirely unrecognizable to her. She’d never seen him in her life.

But if he wasn’t from the orphanage, then where was he from? He couldn’t possibly be living out here. He didn’t seem to be any older than her - no child could survive in the woods on their own.

Her voice barely above a whisper, she spoke. “...What are you doing out here?”

“Me? Just waiting. Wanna climb up the tree and join me?”

For a brief moment, she faltered. It was something she so desperately wanted to hear - an offer of companionship, honest and genuine. No traces of pity or annoyance, as she was so used to. Not long ago, she would have accepted in a heartbeat.

Even now, she almost joined the boy. Her heart craved a distraction from the madness, an anchor to keep her stable in the endless sea.

No. Don't get complacent.

A ship cannot befriend an anchor.

“...I’m sorry, but I need to go. I need to get as far away from here as possible. You should do the same.”

A small smile crossed the boy’s face, as he watched her from above. “You won’t get very far. I’ve already tried.”

Briefly, Annai felt offended. Was he implying that she was incompetent? She didn’t exactly look like much physically, but she was more than capable of getting over some fence. Who did this kid think he was?

She quickly calmed herself. She didn’t have time for this kid.

“Maybe you have, but I haven’t. I’ll take my chances,” she responded curtly. Without missing a beat, she turned to leave. She heard no response from the boy, and she didn’t bother to look back to see his reaction.

–

She got off of the orphanage’s grounds without much trouble. The fence was the only obstacle, and even that was trivial.

She glanced back in the direction she’d come, her lips creasing into a smirk. She’d love to tell the boy she’d told him so, but she wasn't going to be seeing him again any time soon.

Her next order of business… well. She hadn’t decided on that yet.

In her haste to escape, she hadn’t taken much time to plan. At all.

Where could she even go? She didn’t know much about where the orphanage was located, nor did she know about any nearby civilizations.

She sat down against a tree, taking a moment to think. She had to find someone who could help.

…That was it!

A police station. A fire station. Some sort of emergency services, or governmental building. A disheveled child showing up at any of their doorsteps would certainly turn a few heads. Maybe they’d hear her out.

It wasn't really a plan, but it was a start.

She had an idea of how to get to the main road from where she was. Hopefully, if she followed it for long enough, she'd find something.

–
The main road wasn’t too far away. She wasn’t sure how long it had been, and she didn’t care enough to find out. As she exited the treeline and started the road, she again spotted movement in her peripheral vision.

Not far down the road, she saw a haggard and disheveled man, looking like he’d been walking for days. His feet dragged down the road as he walked, before he suddenly stopped, inspecting something on the ground that she couldn’t quite make out.

She wasn’t too inclined to be talking to anyone right now, but she had little idea of where she was going. Directions would be helpful.

“Excuse me? Sir?” she called as she approached. Once she got closer, she gave a respectful nod. “Do you know the way to the nearest town?”

The man turned to her. “O-oh. Yes, here. Let me point you in the right direction.” He pointed down the road. “If you follow that out, you reach a crossroads. Durham will be to the northeast. It’ll say so on the sign.”

Annai’s eyes were filled with relief and gratitude. “Thank you, sir.” Again, she bowed her head in respect. She didn't believe in blessings or miracles, but it was moments like this that nearly swayed that lack of faith.

Going silent, she took a moment to take in the man’s appearance. He didn’t look all too well off - clearly, his condition was quite poor. She’d mistake him for a beggar, if there was anyone out here to beg to. She couldn’t help but feel curious, as insensitive as it was.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked slowly. (She'd asked that question twice today. Odd.)

The man stopped, offering her a sympathetic smile. “Well, actually I was looking for a place called Lockheed Orphanage. You don’t happen to know of it, do you?”

Annai froze in her tracks.

She knew that no one was allowed to enter the orphanage’s grounds without authorization, and she’d never seen this man before. He couldn't possibly be affiliated with the orphanage.

More importantly, why would he want to go there? It was a house of oddities. A house of horrors, if the previous day was anything to go by.

She was inclined to lie. Perhaps she could spare the man from that place.

However, he had given her directions. It only seemed fair that she provided him directions in return.

“I do.” Cautiously, she pointed in the direction of the orphanage, back the way she’d come from. “Through the forest over there. You can’t miss it.” Her voice was strained and nervous - she didn’t want to tell him this. “But - sir, you shouldn’t go there. It’s not a safe place.”

The man sighed in relief. “Oh, thank the heavens.”

And suddenly, she heard an all-too familiar click.
–

“Listen, lil’ girl. Hand over the bag and no one gets hurt,” the man grunted. The barrel of the gun pushed deeper into her forehead, and she whimpered in fright.

–

“I don’t know you. I can get home myself, thanks-” She was cut off by a sudden click.

“Let me rephrase. I will be taking you home, now.”

–

“We know you’re in there, kid! Open up!”

Frantically, she pushed another chair in front of the main door, and pressed herself back into the corner.

It felt like an eternity, but eventually, the pounding on the door shifted into yelling. Then, it shifted into gunshots.

When she opened the door to the officer, she collapsed to the floor, finally allowing herself to cry.

–

“Let’s take a walk then, shall we? I haven’t much time.”

It felt like time had stopped.

The sound of her heartbeat roared in her ears, accelerating faster and faster by the second. The world around her went blurry, as her eyes focused in on the object beneath the man's haggard coat.

The man’s warm expression had gone cold as ice, exhaustion and desperation burning in his eyes.

A familiar sight to go with the familiar sound. Normally, this would be comforting.

It is, however, quite unreasonable to find comfort in being threatened with a gun.

“Any wrong steps, and I put a hole in you. Understand?”

He looked at her, that painfully clear desperation written all over his face, waiting for her to falter and comply.

She didn’t. He chose to wait, and that was all she needed.

In the blink of an eye, four identical girls stood in front of the man, each with an identical expression of deep and primal fear. Sparing no time, they each bolted in different directions, not sparing the man a second glance.

The true Annai fled back into the forest, as fast as her legs could take her. Summoning the illusions was nearly a reflex at this point - as this, unfortunately, was not her first instance of finding herself at the mercy of the desperate.

"Wha - what the f- shit. Shit. SHIT!" The man's voice, now burning with anger and frustration, roared behind her.

She didn’t look back. She couldn’t. She’d only be able to keep her illusions up for a few seconds. If they weren’t enough of a distraction, then she was as good as dead.

She was quite sure that immediately running away would, by this man's standards, most definitely qualify as a wrong step.

Instinctively, she turned her attention to listen to her surroundings. She heard one pair of feet sprinting through the forest - her own. There was no second pair to be heard.

A good sign. Nonetheless, she kept running, fueled by pure and unbridled adrenaline and fear.

–

She wasn’t sure how long she ran for. She wasn’t sure where she was going (not that she had been all too sure before). Eventually, however, she took the chance of looking back.

She was alone once more.

Annai fell to her knees, collapsing onto the forest floor. The combined strain of three complex illusions and running at top speed had left her with hardly any energy to speak of.

Neither her breathing nor her mind slowed as she laid there. The threat was seemingly gone, but she was still terrified out of her mind.

Her entire body shaking, she propped herself up against a nearby tree, before sinking down towards the ground.

The world was spinning, blurry - everything hurt - there was blood running down her forehead - she couldn’t breathe -

Five things I can see.

That tree. A rock off to her side. A few branches strewn across the ground. The clouds in the sky. Her hands.

Four things I can hear.

Her own breathing. The trees, rustling in the light wind. Her heart pounding in her ears. A familiar voice - wait, what?

“See?” the boy from before called down to her. “I thought I felt someone new here.”

He sat up in the branches of a tree, just as he had before. She couldn’t quite read the expression on his face.

Anger burned through her veins. Had he seen that all happening?

“‘See’? ‘See’? That man pulled a gun on me, and all you have to say is ‘see’?” she hissed. Her body still shook with fear, but rage had now been added to the mix.

Suddenly, her expression became confused. The rest of the boy’s words had just sunk in.

“...The fuck do you mean, you felt?” she asked slowly.

“Well, it was my friend who told me. It lives out in the woods and feels things that touch the ground. That’s how I knew which of the illusions was really you. You were the only one that had footsteps. That’s a cool oddity, by the way! What’s your name?”

Information. Too much information. Her head was still spinning, and this wasn’t helping.

“Your… friend.” It was more of a statement than a question. She had so many questions that she didn’t even know where to begin. First, however, she had to answer his.

“I’m Annai. Annai Mestra. And yours?”

“You can call me Georgie! I’m new at the orphanage, actually. Mateo brought me last night. It’s nice to meet you.”

Now she was even more confused. Had this kid been brought to the orphanage and tried to leave the same day? Had something else happened?

“Why aren’t you there, then?” she questioned. “Surely Mateo wouldn’t have just left you out here?”

“He didn’t. But you probably don’t want to be at the orphanage right now.” He pointed towards the road, and Annai’s eyes locked onto the man fading into the distance. Her breath hitched - she hadn’t seen him there before. He was far away, now, but it was still too close.

“I didn’t want to be there in the first place. Nothing about that place is safe. Not even the people, from the looks of it.” She held her head in her hand. The questions swirling in her mind were beginning to give her a headache. (Or perhaps that was just the exhaustion talking.)

She went quiet for a while. The realization of just what she’d gotten herself into was beginning to sink in. She’d barely gotten out of the orphanage before nearly being killed.

What was she going to do now?

“If it’s not safe here, and it’s not safe there… then where do I go?” She felt her eyes beginning to burn as she spoke. She stared at the ground, hoping that it wouldn’t be too obvious.

Georgie chuckled mirthlessly, amusement absent from his tone. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t entirely honest with you.”

He looked at her, and she looked back. What was he talking about now?

“I’m not actually new at the orphanage. I ran away five years ago and succeeded. Well.. sorta.” He paused. “Truth is, there is no real way to escape this place by running away. At least not from what my friends have told me. They say they’re stuck here too. The only real way to escape is going in. And going up.”

“In truth, I’m terrified. I’ve only ever seen the Owner in portraits on the wall. I’ve never met her but… she scares me. It took me so long just to put together the courage to come back and… well, here I am again.”

Annai was again completely silent.

What did it all mean?

Who were his friends? Why did they know this? Why was this place inescapable? What did he mean by going up?

Despite her confusion, she couldn't help but feel empathy, deep within her heart. The kid sounded scared, just as scared as she was. There was so much pain in his words... just what had he been through?

“I’m sorry. I.. I’m terrified too.” She wasn’t just confessing to Georgie, but to herself too. She was finally accepting it.

"Yesterday, one of the kids at the orphanage disappeared in the night, and the caretakers have done nothing. They didn't even look for her. I was scared that if I stayed, I'd disappear too." The dam had been broken, and words spilled out of Annai's mouth uninhibited. "And other things were happening. One of my... friends..." were they friends? She hoped so wasn’t sure - "was attacked in the bathroom by a five-eyed raven. I ran away. When I tried to tell someone.. that painting moved on its own. And I felt something horrible. I don't even know how to describe it." Her voice quavered as she recounted the events of the previous day.

"It felt like she was watching. And as soon as the others looked at it... it was back to normal. The feeling was gone, and the painting was back where it was before, like it had never moved at all."

She stood up suddenly. "I thought something was wrong with me, I thought I was seeing things... but this! This proves it! There is something going on there!" Her voice slowly got louder, more confident, before she came crashing down all at once. Her voice was quiet and shaken again. "So how do I - we - escape? I won't go back there. I can't go back there." She looks up, as if finally remembering that Georgie was there. "Do we... Do we have to go back there? Is it really the only way?"

Georgie was quiet as Annai spoke. “I know how you feel. I ran away because that started happening back then too. First it was a girl named Kairi, then it was a few others. And I thought the best thing I could do was run away.”

He seemed to smile at her sudden confidence. “Yeah, something is wrong. But we will have to go back there eventually. Sooner than later honestly. If the Owner finds out we know something, we’ll be in big trouble. It’s better to lay low for now and find out ways to… well… loosen the Owner’s control. Here.” Georgie pulled out a small wooden doll with gnarled limbs and a twisted face. “If you feel you’re in trouble, say, Roots of the tree, ferry me away.” Georgie jumped down from the tree and handed it to her. “I’ve only got one but I think it will help you more than it’ll help me. That way, the Owner can’t catch you if you’re in trouble.”

Annai was still, before gingerly taking the doll. She looked down at it, at a complete loss for words.

“Thank you. Thank you so much,” she said quietly. As unbelievable as it sounded (it was just a doll) - it was a promise of protection, of safety. She couldn't help but cling to it.

She hadn't felt this way in a long time. What even was the word for it? Seen? Understood?

She was feeling emotions she'd forgot she'd had. She'd spent so long hiding it all away, concealing anything perceivable as a vulnerability, that she didn't know how vulnerability felt anymore.

She was feeling confident, too. Why was she feeling confident?

Where had that come from?

Before she could stop to think, to reconsider, to let herself come down from this emotional high, she was speaking again.

“I think I’m going to go back. To the orphanage, I mean. If you’d prefer to stay out here, I understand. But I have to find out more. If the caretakers won’t protect them, then someone has to.”

What was she saying? She couldn't do any of that. She could lie, and she could run. What use would that be against... anyone?

Suddenly, Georgie grabbed onto her hand. “You can’t. I mean.. I want to go with you. But that man. He’s no good.” His expression was completely earnest as they made eye contact. “You don’t want to know what it’s like to die. Not here…”

“Then what?” Annai cut in. “Do we stay out here? Either they find us and drag us back, or we die in the woods. We can’t possibly survive out here.”

Ha. She sounded like the protagonist of some fantasy novel.

“We wait here until the Owner kills him. If someone else doesn’t stop him first, I suppose. But I can tell. He’s from the outside. That man has no idea what the Owner is capable of.”

What the Owner is capable of. That phrase terrified her beyond anything that had happened that day.

“Give it twenty minutes. Then we go back.”

Annai took a deep breath. “...Fine. We wait here for.. thirty minutes. The less chance of encountering that man, the better.”

 

[Sybela]

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  how she's feeling...

  
  
  
  

  Jealous
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  what she's wearing...

  
  
  
  

  Blouse, high-waisted skirt and old, black, gloves.

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  where she's at...

  
  
  
  

  Breakfast
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  in the conversation...

  
  
  
  

  Mac, Doris, Char and Cole
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

Gwyneira

The Telepath

Sweet, gentle, coaxing, graceful illusions of honeyed words that conveyed more than she wished to admit. Falcons pecking at her brain, beaks sharpened with the taste of envy: Jealousy.

Glossy-eyed, flushed cheeks with what she decided to be affection— Betrayal. The pang in her chest, the ache that chiselled away and eroded her arteries with an acidic burn that left her little time to think.

Charlotte. Charlotte. A lady who held herself in a much higher regard than others. Gwyn didn’t take to her as much as the others did— How could she? Charlotte flitted like a dancer, much to her chagrin, as it mirrored Colette. Her movements spoke of coming from gold, a spoon in the hands of luxury with all that confidence she spewed. Holier than thou, a saviour to those that worshipped God. Gwyn hated it, despised the attitude that shit on everyone else and screamed, ‘I’m better than you!’ And here she was, flirtatiously touching the woman of her affection. Spiteful.

Gwyn had witnessed the moment Charlotte brushed her fingers through Cole’s pink tresses. Her own digits curled at her sides, nails biting into the flesh at the stupidity of her own emotions. It was easier to abandon herself to the solitude of her room and banish all thoughts of friendship, close bonds, and love.

Mon chéri, Mon chéri

That silly term of endearment, the one that Colette had so affectionally called her, tumbled from the lips of Charlotte and it almost—Almost— Pricked tears forth.

These actions between the two were no friendship, not the way they cuddled and touched one another with all the sincerity of the world- It was as if they were both lost to one another in their own little bubble, and the word jealous sprung to mind. Gwyn hated it.

Gwyneira was acutely aware of the way Colette recoiled back from Charlotte the moment she took her seat. As if she had been caught red-handed in an immoral act. Watching from her peripheral vision, Gwyn took every little movement the taller girl made. Once the usual nickname sounded off in Colette’s head, she wondered if Charlotte, too, would feel jealous at the loving tone given to her.

Compliments burst forth from the dam that Colette built, words like rapids as they jiggled endlessly in her thoughts. If she hadn’t witnessed the living actions just seconds prior, she’d have been left a blushing mess.

You’re always beautiful, mon amour.

Gwyn planted the words into Colette’s head. Despite feeling a little upset, she couldn’t lie. Colette was like the sunset; beautiful, ethereal, enigmatic. Her visage screamed elegance, beauty incarnate. Aphrodite who? The goddess had nothing on Colette.

Gwyneira cast her eyes downwards towards the plate. The food looked delicious, smelled it too. Something gnawed at her, though, a feeling of trepidation that burrowed its way deep into the pit of her stomach. Her fingers flexed against the cold cutlery, and, as if bitten by the metal, she dropped the knife and fork to the table just as Doris had dropped the teapot.

“Miss Doris!”

Gwyn called out, concerned. She knew the caretaker carried wounds from the previous night, ached with lacerations that drew huffs and whines. She had gotten to her feet, mind reaching towards Doris with frantic questions;

Are you okay? What happened?

But, a more robust presence had made itself known— Something primal and primitive, intoxicating yet calming, to an extent.

Turbulent with its ashy fog, flecks of neon purples and eviscerated reds, almost like ribbons sliced by a tanto, coiled in her mind's expanse. The sound of birds became muted, replaced by metal on metal— Slicing, parrying, murder.

Gwyn flinched in her position, eyes widening as she hurriedly tried to close the channel, retreating from Makoto's consciousness. Heavy snow, blotted with ringlets of blood, seared into her memory amongst the screams and wails of pain and torment. There was a reason she hated Mac's mind, a reason why she had never entered it since the first time she tried.

Gwyneira fell back into her chair, gloved hands holding onto the table leg for dear life as she prayed, internally, that the visions would pass by quickly.

They did.

Subsiding and taking the headache that they brought, Gwyn pressed one hand to her head and tapped a few times, forcing a coolness to edge away the pain that returned from the crowd. She was getting good at this.

He wasn’t there for long, leaving with knife and apple in hand, and, despite her curiosity as to who was the new caretaker, she turned to gaze at Colette, offering her ballerina friend a smile.

Jealousy rampaged through her body, but as each minute ticked, it receded naturally.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Ashy_OCdesigns]

"I want to look for Annai." Ethel thought. "She's missing, despite breakfast being good. I don't know who misses breakfast or what Annai's like." She didn't say anything, but hopped down from her chair. She didn't know where Annai's room, was, or where she hung out. SO what did she do? She went outside. She was always the stupid, impulsive one.

However, from reading, she knew people usually disappeared into creepy forests, so that's where she went first. She wandered in, while yelling Annai's name. She didn't know if the other girl could hear her.

Or, at least, that's how she would've liked it to go. In reality, there was Makoto and his big knife blocking the door. She hurriedly backed away from the front door. She didn't want to be impaled. On top of that, she'd never seen Makoto ever hold a knife. Times were changing, apparently.

pings: Coyote tityanya Kovacs ​

 

[tityanya]

𝐶𝘩𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑜𝑡𝑡𝑒 𝐽𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠​

I am here: Breakfast Hall
With: Colette, Gwyn, Ethel, others

The currents have their say...The time is drawing near​

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Charlotte's mouth dropped open in a little "o" at Ethel's response to her idiom. How...had she messed that up? "No, Ethel. Speak of the Devil and he shall appear," she corrected.

In response to Charlotte's question about if she had slept, Colette responded with a pitiful sound of distress. "What ails you? Are you sick?" Charlotte asked, concerned. It was the cold season, ripe with opportunities for illness to spread. Just last year, Charlotte had caught a nasty flu and had been bedridden for days. They had even called up a doctor to attend to her. Was Colette sick, or was it a mental ailment? Charlotte didn't entirely expect Colette to answer here, with all the prying, watchful eyes. But at the very least, Colette knew that Charlotte was asking about her, and could write something down in privacy later.

Souris. The French word for mouse. Colette's voice seemed raw, thick. Something was desperately wrong. Charlotte wanted nothing more than to whisk Colette out of the breakfast hall, to sit her down in front of a sheet of paper, and ask her to tell her everything. But that would only draw attention to the issue, and possible cause the girl a bit of embarrassment. No, it would have to wait until later, after breakfast.

So Charlotte took to comforting her friend instead, running her fingers through the girl's hair as she hummed with contentment. Charlotte lost herself for a moment too, basking in the warmth of Colette's skin against hers, and the silky softness of her hair between her fingers. It felt so nice to have someone to be so close to. Colette really was her best friend in this place, the only one that could make her feel calm when her mind was stormy. She wanted to provide the same comfort back. It felt so right to be holding Colette in her arms, like they were matching puzzle pieces.

Charlotte's fingers snagged in Colette's hair. The girl let out a dramatic sound of pain at it. "Sorry, petite souris," she apologized again. She hoped she had gotten the grammar correct on the sentence. If not, Colette would probably laugh at her. But Charlotte wouldn't mind hearing Colette's laugh. It would mean that her comforting had done something, had made the girl feel better.

But that was when Gwyneira came into the room, like a little thunderstorm unto herself. At the sound of her chair scraping against the floor, Colette pulled back and away from Charlotte, sitting stiffly in her chair. Charlotte looked at her arms, still outstretched. It had happened so fast. She felt cold now, in all the places that Colette had been touching before. Why...was she upset? Was it the speed that Colette had backed away from her? Why had Gwyneria's arrival done that to her? Charlotte watched in perplexed silence as Colette's attention entirely diverted towards Gwyneira, her face flushing as...some kind of unspoken conversation occurred between the two of them. The storm clouds began brewing in Charlotte's mind again. She tried her best to imagine a bright, shiny sun as she looked at the food that had been freshly served in front of her. She was absolutely starving. She grabbed her fork and began to hastily eat, as elegantly as she could.

She had finished half of her eggs when she heard a cry of pain and the thump of something softly hitting the table. Gwyn cried out for Ms. Doris, and Charlotte's eyes followed over to the woman, where Mac was carefully placing the teapot down, and there was a mess of tea all over the table. Charlotte's eyes narrowed. Did this count as shenanigans? No. Doris wouldn't intentionally distract everyone from breakfast. But what had happened? Charlotte focused her gaze on the tea, of a rivulet that was running, threatening to fall off the table. It stopped dead in its tracks, and against nature, began running backwards. In fact, all of the water began to collect in one nice, neat spot. "If someone opens a window, I can try and throw it outside. Or we can use napkins to try and sop it up," Charlotte said, focusing hard on the blob to make sure it didn't deform. While she had stopped the water from heading every which way on the table, the stains from the tea leaves still remained in the tablecloth.

The door at the front of the orphanage had a knock. Mac, ever the dutiful caretaker, announced that it must be the new caretaker, and took off. Charlotte gave him a look of minor annoyance. So he could catch the teapot for Doris, but he couldn't provide a napkin to clean up the mess? Charlotte glanced around the room, looking to see if anyone was fulfilling her request. Ethel, the ever helpful, hopped up from her chair and took off...somewhere. Jasper had disappeared at some point prior. And Annai...Annai still wasn't there. Worry gnawed at Charlotte. Abbigail had gone missing the day before. Annai was missing today. Was this a trend? Who would go missing next? Was Annai okay? Was she safe? While she and Annai didn't always get along, Charlotte never wished ill on the girl. She absentmindedly ate at a piece of bacon as her brow began to furrow. "Where's Annai?" she finally blurted out, her voice colored with concern. She didn't think any of the roommates knew where the girl was, as she was the first awake. But maybe someone else had seen her?


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((ooc: ))
((All Night))
((Outfit: dress))​

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[mizton]

1926

adelaide furse

locations

Breakfast Hall; seat 3

interactions

People at breakfast + Doris + Charlotte + Mac

mentions

Annai, Hank, Oliver, etc.

"Adelaide."

"Hm," was her reply: a light, flat hum. After so many years, this amount of curtness was alright. The example set forth by her did sting in her pocket, but what else was she to do? Greet him with a mouth full of food? No. Instead, she felt rather thankful for the toast she held between teeth, wasting breath on a man who himself dared not spare give meaningful glance toward a lady, however wretched he thought her. How rotten for him, as she felt rather kind today; enough to have perhaps spared a 'how do you do?' Though, in that regard, Adelaide couldn't've foreseen a favorable reply after the events of last night. No, it was for the best that unfortunate things be forgotten.

When the gait that Adelaide recognized to be Doris' did their tapping at the floorboards to her right, Adelaide mindfully kept her head down; though, her chin did tilt towards the direction. Against better judgement, to look up was to invade her vision with that of the brute's visage beside Doris & she was in a rather pleasant mood worth savoring. Though... if she inched closed towards the bob of that brunette, that was neither of conscious will or want, rather a habit that she'd do well to later fix. Yes, she supposed that, while the chairs slowly filled with the rest of the orphans, she'd keep an eye on her Doris. An action brought on by her earlier declaration to herself to check in with the head maid's recovery.

It was because of this that at Doris' first wince, the one that pricked the room's light chatter, did Adelaide find herself lurching towards the clatter that followed. Closer, Makoto was the one that took the teapot's handle when the maid faltered. One long stride & she was at Doris' right. A lighter offense might've had her fussing uselessly, the way she liked to. Instead, a soberness guided her next actions, now brought her out of that morning's rosy blur.

Doris was eased down. The pot was set aside. A couple children cocked their heads at them. The spill would turn the table's edge within the minute. With little thought, Adelaide's head bent to dig out a few handkerchiefs from her pockets & would've been quick with them to blot the puddle, but... she stuttered. When her chin lifted to tend to the mess, her eyes met a vision before her like that of one played at picture houses. While she watched, the spilt tea that she could spot between the crooks of the their two figures unnaturally... pooled. Its capillarity gave it the appearance of an oversized water droplet, like if she disturbed it, it'd burst. & it did. It was odd. The spill demanded her attention, but she felt paralyzed by the redness that'd crept upon that maid's ears. Yes, odd it was to hover where she stood, primed to act but wavered for the sake of that blush.

When Makoto had given her another nod — admittedly, she didn't exactly meet it; even now, after so many years, her subconscious preferred sights other that that damned cap — did she finally feel release, as though she'd been wound up like a doll & only then allowed to move. The scene was over &, grip she was, she'd ready the stage for the next. With little fuss at Doris, as the children were within earshot, she instead gave an earnest nod at Charlotte who'd earlier called to soak up the droplet.

"Stellar idea," said Adelaide earnestly, albeit with that despondent voice of hers that might've not traveled well enough to reach the girl. With a hushed tone, she then muttered at the head maid, "'Haps you ought to take note. What the devil were you thinking, straining yourself as though you were of sound body. Achilles, are you? Honestly!" The way she spoke was dull; her colleagues knew her never to raise voice with children present — Olivia in the kitchen yesterday aside. Expecting no answer from the girl who'd often just took her verbal lashings with bowed head, Adelaide went on. By then, she'd given a helpless sigh & taken seat in the chair left abandoned at Doris' side. She bit her lip at the thought; how reckless it was to leave Doris alone like this, after all. Brute.

"Fortunate laundry's today; table cloth can be tossed in with the rest of it. You'll come see me after breakfast, won't you? I suppose it was that Jasper that saw you last night. Lord knows he's aching just as awfully. God, the two of you... What mess." When she'd dried up what she could, she set the sopped mess that'd become of her handkerchiefs into one of saucers closest. If it happened to have obviously been Makoto's, that was neither here nor there; she'd replace it with her own when he'd come back. For now, she'd find humor in it. She reached across to retrieve the toast she'd abandoned at her plate earlier & bit at it.

"You'll do well to make use of that head of yours. Here, have this"—Adelaide placed an inoffensive pastry at Doris' plate & then another—"And th—"

When Charlotte blurted mentioned of Annai, Adelaide's brows fell flat. Odd that, of everyone in her room, Charlotte asked of Annai; neither Hank or Oliver had by then come to breakfast yet, either. Had Charlotte not caught of the girl that morning? Had she fallen ill too? Perhaps she was in the bathroom or something. Finding gossip with Doris, Adelaide's hushed nagging at Doris' ear turned sober. She warned, "Don't you fuss; you're in no condition to humor whatever's this is about now."

Decidedly, Adelaide offered a calm reassurance to the room, with the gloomy voice she couldn't help, far from comforting, "Just about half the table's missing today. I'll see to it in a moment, alright?" Yes, that'd do. When Mac came back to accompany Doris, she'd find the opportunity to check the bedrooms. After last night, she could only imagine a bit of lethargy from the children was appropriate.

code by @Nano

 

[Paperface]

Doris Martin
Hunched forward, Doris painfully gazed at the teapot. Still intact, held aloft by a scarred palm tasting the heat of the spill. Trembling eyes found no weakness in the ceramic. The only cracks caused, it seemed, were those in her facade. In desperate thought, she had rather seen it shatter. Shards loudly scattering across the tabletop would have distracted prying eyes off herself. Instead, she felt them watch and heard only Gwyn's voice echo amidst the numbness in her skull. She had nowhere to hide, body or soul.

Jasper did the best he could. Doris admitted in thought, favoring private and strainless communication through their mental connection. However, I am terribly sore. My apologies, Gwyn, I did not mean to worry--

Her thoughts fizzled out before completion. Familiar words lost all meaning as the usual murk of her crowded mindscape brightened under a quiet, warm glow previously unknown to her. The sensation against the back of her hand had shot through her arm like lightning. Drawing her gaze and immediately diverting it upon reaching the origin. Redness stained her ears, and instinct pulled at her hand to retract, but even loose from it, searching for something to clean the spilled tea, the sensation lingered. The ghost of a feeling kept that comforting warmth in her mind; the touch of Makoto's scarred palm against her unblemished hand burned forever into memory.

Searching the table for cloth as a distraction, her hand found only the gentle grasp of Makoto's once more. He was persistent, as she was attempting to be, but the redness gaining ground across her face forced her to give in. Pale eyes, accentuated by the rosy color on her cheeks, followed as he brought her hand to her lap – where Doris kept it unmoving as he spoke. Free from objections, she watched intently and took his every word to heart. Her attentiveness rewarded by the tea she had wanted to pour herself.

“Ah,” Doris stammered as both hands reached for the cup, gently cradling the vessel and feeling the warmth radiate through the smooth surface, warming her palms. “I will, if you insist."

A moment of silence passed before Makoto broke it with a sigh. And, as he stood up, a feeling of dreadful insecurity washed over Doris. Had her choice of words forced him to take his leave?

“Makoto, I apologize. I meant; I will be careful,” Doris hastily corrected herself to still her worries, eyes finally focused on the man. “...Arigato."

At Makoto's departure, Doris' eyes quietly drifted back onto the cup held in her hands. Her thoughts were disorganized, but finding comfort in the sight of tea gently swaying in her cup. Every morning she had tea, and never before had the color seemed such a vivid, shimmering red. It was beautiful, warm, and strange. Bringing the cup to her lips, she paused to take in the aroma and heeded Makoto's advice before sipping. The warmth spread through her body as she swallowed, much like his touch had initially felt. It brought forth a moment so peaceful that once her eyes looked up and saw the spill pooling together under Charlotte's will, her dreamlike state ended too abruptly. Creating momentary confusion before the hushed words of her fellow caretaker brought her back to the reality of her situation.

"Adelaide, I--" She discarded the remainder of her quiet interjection upon noticing the disapproval in the hushed tones and resigned herself to let the woman speak first. While silently wondering how she compared her with legendary heroes, yet still instilled such profound shame. She was no Achilles, far from it. And, if she were, today she had found her heel. Her whole body struck down by the simple touch of scarred skin. Finding her thoughts momentarily returning to Makoto, she distracted herself from further attempts at interaction. Only nodding in agreement to the notion of meeting with Adelaide after breakfast concluded.

Only once Adelaide began placing pastries onto her plate did she attempt once more.

"Adelaide, I assure you, I had no intent to strain myself," Doris insisted, gently placing the cup of tea on the table, before accepting one of the pastries as a sign of submission. "I may be sore, but I assure you I am well enou--"

She halted when Charlotte's concern cut through the other sounds in the room. Her eyes immediately drawn toward the girl and her plight. Yet, before she could offer to check up on the missing child, Adelaide cut her off with a hushed warning - leaving her with no options other than eating breakfast in frustrated silence.

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Location: Breakfast Hall
Interactions: Gwyn ( Sybela ), Makoto ( Kovacs ), Adelaide ( mizton )
Mentions: Jasper ( housegoat13 ), Achilles

 

[Feral]

Colette.

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Backroom Labyrinth

The thoughts of the pretty girls around her flitted through her psyche, and Cole pushed them away faster than she could think of it as wise. She wasn't thinking now. Not at all, her mind it—

The hunger was gnawing at her now, begging. Cole was starving and tired, and that incessant buzzing behind her temples made it all the worse. The banging of other people's existence and the rawness of Cole's sensitivity to the little emotion flickering around. It was torture to the girl.

She was still ever so tired. Cole stiffened from her previously relaxed posture. One of her arms, coltish and thin, reached to grab a small roll, an egg, and half a sausage for her plate. The knot in her stomach tightened as she looked at the food.

Eating was a chore for Cole. It always had been, as long as she could remember it. She had to watch what she ate, thinking about how thin she had to be to fit in those God-forsaken ballet costumes. Even as a young child, she had to think about it. It wasn't a joyful or pleasureful occasion like it could be for the others around her. It wasn't something she would ever come like. So she would eat what she had to survive and nothing more.

Cole's face was kept ever so neutral, poised. Dining in elegance. It had been drilled into her that she mustn't make a fool of herself. No matter how pretty or talented she was, she must keep up her image, her elegance. Else she be thrown away, kicked onto the street to die. A fear that had colored her childhood.

The whirr of people talking hit Cole's ears every few moments. Still, she couldn't bare to pay any attention to them, now all-encompassed with the feeling of hunger she had ignored all morning in favor of the girls she fancied. Despite that it was scratching at her brain, Cole kept her head. She couldn't act like a ruffian, not after last night.

And so Cole ate. She was hungrier than she remembered feeling earlier, grabbing more for her plate. Still not enough that it was considered a large breakfast, but an absurd amount for the slender and picky Colette.

If she weren't the type to hold her poise and manners so highly, she would have shoveled the food as fast as she feasibly could into her body. As if a beast had taken over her body. Now her stomach hurt. Cole stopped short and blinked in bewilderment.

Now she was aching from the average amount of food. A small serving that Cole couldn't seem to stomach despite the aching hunger that pounded at her psyche. Cole knew she wouldn't be able to eat a lot, but this felt absurd. Cole hardly got hungry at a young age, always lagging behind her peers even when she had food access. Her appetite was so small it was always labeled as concerning. But now— She couldn't get enough. She was still so hungry, starving even.

The foggy haze of her mind was starting to clear as time ticked by. She always woke up more after breakfast, even when she stayed up through the night as she did. She could now realize the apparent truth. It seemed that the fog was the only thing keeping her safe from her own mind.

Cole felt— Sick... She frowned. No, not sick. That tug. Cole touched her nape, touching the chain wrapped around her neck, a noose of her own creation, a tie with the promise of death hanging on its end. Cole bent over, body almost crumpling against the table, almost entirely hunched over herself.

As the lens of her senses shifted, she became more aware and awake each moment as if she had put on a pair of glasses, finally being able to see what she had been obscuring. The buffer of the outside world was fading away as she disconnected. It was the slightest bit, but it was enough for her to hear her mind's screaming.

Things were going on in her head— Things she would have to confront to survive. Oh, she wished she didn't leave the Breakfast hall yesterday or hadn't touched the damned key. Maybe then she wouldn't have to deal with this mess.

It was starting to become more apparent. Oh, it was so logical now. As logical as this damned unholy land could get. She had thought about it so many times. She had brought this upon herself, taken something. What must one do to repent other than to give something back, with equality at its heart?

Cole— She was raised as any child in a God-fearing household. But, oh, she had read much of the passages kept in the bible so many times more than most. After all, she didn't get to go to the library all that often. So it was one of the few books she always had access to.

Now, she could only think back to a particular passage. She knew it by heart. Father had spoken it many times to her, whispered in her ear. She could remember that much. Using an excuse that made no sense, blaming a child for their own existence. She could now brush off the words like sand, seeing their fault.

Nonetheless, the verse followed her even here. Word for word. Exodus 21:23-21:25— If any harm follows, then you shall give life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, wound for wound, stripe for stripe.

Eye for Eye. Cole could almost feel where her hands had touched the dripping black substance, cold and unnatural. Reached into the eyehole and taken— Was that what the grinding, aching hunger meant? What it screamed for, begged for?

She knew it did. Underneath the surface of her skin, Cole knew that was what the feeling meant. The ache for equality, she knew it was false and untrue, but... What was she supposed to do then? Give in? Scratch out her own vision, let this feeling take something so important to her?

The world didn't follow such linear terms. No. No, It never did. So it didn't have to be her eye then, did it? Shuttering, Cole felt her fingernails dig into the scratches on her face, the key dangling loosely beneath the cloth of her clothes.

She had reopened the wounds slightly, fingers jabbing at her face, the white lines of desperate scratches marring her own face as she stressed. She wasn't in a good state now, was she? She—

What was she thinking? She couldn't feel like this, with Gwyn around— Even if this wasn't her at all. It wasn't her, right? It was the key— It almost burned against her skin, hot with her shame despite being cool and metallic.

Flashes of the disturbing thoughts hallowed her— The eyes— and Cole almost let a pained noise lurch out of her mouth, biting her lip hard enough that Cole wouldn't be surprised if it were bloodied. She— Cole couldn't be around others, so misshapen, so broken and off.

Cole grasped the key, gently slipping it out into her grip. It was... Tugging? Like it was searching, yearning for something. Almost imperceptible, but it was there. Weak, not anywhere near powerful enough to move on its own or even give her a vague idea of where the key was going.

It was trying to belong somewhere other than on her. She would find out where this key went. She had to. Up, down, or out of this place. She wouldn't fall to it. No, she would survive. She wouldn't— the thoughts slipped into her mind again, and Cole had to face the reality of her new situation. She was thinking like a monster.

She couldn't stay around these people, not when her thoughts— They felt so... Disturbing. So wrong. So filthy. So violent. With a small sigh, Cole slipped the key back into her dress, suddenly standing, her chair screeching. She was done. She couldn't be here. She had to go now.

Cole nodded to her two companions, her friends and the Caretakers. They wouldn't mind her leaving? Right? Regardless Cole stepped away, quickly out of the breakfast hall, shutting the door behind her with a thump.

She would just go sit in the study rooms and wait for lessons. Yes. That was alright, wasn't it? Cole stepped towards the study hall, pace steady. Step— Cole flinched, the echoing of her own steps delayed. Her eyes thinned as she looked behind herself. She was just paranoid. No one was behind her.

Step. Step. Step. Cole clawed at her ears no. It was something. It was there, it was— It was Right. Behind. Her. Cole choked on her own breath as her stomach dropped. A second pair followed closely in each step, only there if she focused. Mimicking, Following, Trying to hide.

Cole's stomach dropped, not in worry it was— Cole felt her stomach lurch, legs wobbling. Nausea overcame her senses, her head buzzing in a solid but familiar way as if her oddity was flaring but it—

It wasn't her doing it. It wasn't— She wasn't— Like she had no control. Like her abilities had turned in on itself like— Emotion filled her, oh that's what it was then. It had turned in on her, hadn't it? Her Oddity? She had done something to deserve this, hadn't she.

She felt shame. She had done this to herself. It was her fault. She was guilty. But... Wasn't that par for the course? Cole always messed things up. It was always her fault... She had brought so many things onto her life.

It wasn't a stretch to say that she deserved this. Her nausea flared, and Cole heaved lightly as if she was to throw up, but she kept it down. It wouldn't do to give the Caretakers more trouble than she had already caused...

She had caused them so much pain. She had made them take food to her in the first few months... She should have just suffered— If only she hadn't angered that Caseworker, then maybe she wouldn't have even been here in the first place.

Maybe if she hadn't knocked over that candle. But now it was her guilt to hold, and only hers. She had killed her aunt with a stupid blunder. She was a murderer— She was at fault for all these things. She could have been a better niece, student, or classmate. So so so much better—

She could have done so much more— So much better— A sob escaped Cole as her legs shook, letting herself fall to the floor, barely past the bathroom door. Cole wiped away the cold tears from her face. She didn't deserve to cry. She was guilty. She was wrong. She—

She shouldn't have cried when father— She should have just let him— She should have, she should have, should have— Her fault, all her fault— Cole gasped for air through the sobs wracking her body as the feeling snapped away just as suddenly as it came. The guilt was still lingering in her, nausea fading. Maybe it was really her fault, then?

Cole let her head fall back, looking at the ceiling, "The things I have done... Oh God, are you punishing me for being a demon?" Cole's raw, wet voice whispered to whatever God could hear her before she paused, eyes closing. God had no place in this unholy home, did he?

The only one with any power was her, the Mistress, the Owner. Cole could only wonder how she could leave this place and live freely, though she could guess by now that that wouldn't happen easily. Nothing had been normal before this, had it?

Cole had just been too blind to see it. Had the others seen it? Had the Caretakers been so blind? Cole wouldn't blame them if they kept these horrors from them. They were children, but... Now that she knew what things she would have to face? Well— She would do her best to Survive then.

Cole let out another ragged breath. Then, hand pawing at pounding her head, she leaned against a wall. Exhaustion filled her, the thoughts still barraging her. She would have to resist them, wouldn't she?

This was now her life, it seemed.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Sybela]

Gwyneira

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  Colette, Adelaide, Jasper, Doris, Annai, Makoto
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

Mr Cummings deserved a medal for the lengths he went to ensure the health of his fellow caretakers and students. It wasn’t fair, Gwyn thought, about the magnitude that he surely sought to cure. After last night and the injuries sustained by most, Gwyn wondered quietly how many people he had actually tended to— And if he was okay.

How she escaped relatively unscathed was something Gwyn couldn’t comprehend. Then again, a glance towards Doris cemented the reality in stone. If it weren’t for Doris, if she hadn’t had come to Gwyn’s aid, then she’d have ended up a pin-cushion.

For a moment, just a tiny fraction of a second, Gwyn got caught up in a connection with Miss Furse. Grainy and monochrome, loud and obnoxious. Amongst the fluffy cloud seats and childish laughter, before she played out a moving picture, one of romantic origin, with blushing cheeks and trembling lips. Gwyn, too blushed; the redness that attacked her cheeks had her imaging it was Colette and herself in the reenactment. Not Miss Doris and Mr Makoto.

Annai was absent? Surely it was too soon to shout missing and panic over a late shower.

Most of them are late.

The thought pierced her skull, the voice that Gwyn so willed to stay behind the well-constructed wall, seeping out with its malice tongue of glass and iron, battering her mind into submissiveness.

They’ll be here soon. Annai too.

Gwyn countered on the off-chance that the voice would retreat.

Just like Abigail?

It defied, voice a poisonous drip that fed her poppy juice, killing her with unfounded guilt.

Guilt. What was the guilt for? She hadn’t done anything wrong, and she wasn’t the one that held Abigail’s hand and walked her to her succumbed state. Gwyn had not been the voice that lulled Abigail from cohesive thinking and barraged her with silly choices.

But

She was the one who stole Colette’s current affection. If their close bond was anything to go off of, this affection must’ve happened between the two girls before Abigail’s disappearance. Was that why Colette was so desperate to find the teen?

Colette. Beautiful, gorgeous, Colette. Colette, with her rosy disposition, blushing under the gaze of Abigail. Colette, with her slender fingers, curling them through the black tresses of Abigail, much like Charlotte was doing to her now.

Gwyn felt sick. The feeling of Colette shifting her attention to someone new didn’t sit well. Truthfully, Gwyn had followed Colette’s movements during their time at the orphanage. Wherever the ballerina glided, Gwyneira’s eyes chased. These feelings weren’t a burst of emotion but something more tempered— Developed.

Gwyn chased the thoughts from her head, discarding uncomfortable ideas with the soothing tone of Colette. She delved into her mind, happy to feel at peace with the pink candyfloss-haired girl. But the thoughts closed off.

Gwyn, startled at the sudden absence of images and monologue from Colette, barely got a chance to witness the thought of pretty girls before it all went dark, quiet— Haunting.

Hurt, Gwyn watched as the stick-thin girl ate. Questioning eyes coaxed her brows inward and skyward, expressive at how she wanted to ask; Why? Why close off your mind?

Despite feeling upset at the sudden change of direction that Colette went, Gwyn grew startled at the jolt of the girl as she curled into herself, and, just as she reached out to touch Colette’s shoulder, she too jerked back and held a tight grip on her head; the blatant screaming that sounded off like an air raid alarm threatened to burst her brain, the sound felt as though someone was conducting a lobotomy into her thinking organ over-and-over again.

Words followed, recited and absolute. Their rehearsal found no discrepancies, no fault. Colette was akin to a sister at one of the Convents, preaching the beloved words and confidence in the matter. Gwyn couldn’t sympathise or empathise with the thought; her household was brought up on the principles of hard work and the fruit of the land, not the words on paper and a man in the sky.

Still, she listened to the desperation of Colette; words cutting, thoughts pounding, and memories fluctuating with painful bright exposures, much like someone shining a torch into one’s eyes.

Absently, Gwyn's fingers curled into her hair, tugging at the strands while the onslaught continued to play out in her head, sharp as blades and blunt, like maces. Curdling, contorting, glossy-eyed and tight-lipped. Strangled, choked, ruined by fingers pressed deeply into throats, prints indenting into squeezed oesophagus. Chortled words, humourous as a front, terrified beneath.

‘Please let go, I-I can’t bre-eathe!’ She begged up at her offender, face masked in soot and blood.

‘A bitch should know her place,’ He spat down, spittle running off Gwyn's cheek. ‘Hell awaits you, little sister.’ Eyes rolling back, jaw unhinging and hanging with a sway— teeth falling and echoing in her mind's expanse. Her brother's body, once full of life and brawn, peeled free of its skin and bled mercilessly to the ground with a crumble of its skeleton.

He was dead, and this was a memory. Nothing more, nothing less. A horrid thing brought on by the lashing of Colette’s struggled thoughts- her strained memories like a whip and its crack? Gwyns own peril.

Something touches her hand that is pressed into the ground, and upon looking towards the object, she’s greeted by the pale, translucent eyes that once held a place in her brother's head.

Eyes. Dripping, like sludge, black and lumpy- A vision she wouldn’t be able to place if she hadn’t ventured into The Other with Colette. The Other, it seemed too impossible to believe, too uncanny and awful— A place that if you were to utter the description to someone, it would land you in an institution for babbling nonsense.

Gwyn watched as, quite quickly, her consciousness shifted, and she was back into Colette’s mind. The fragile ballerina reached into the sludge, hand covered with the travelling slime that clung to her pale skin with mottled patterns. She tore something out, something that played on her mind terribly, an object that sent her body into deprivation and gluttonous despair. Beelzebub firmly looked upon Colette with greedy eyes, much like Arthur did to Adelaide.

Gwyn came too, the room spinning and the bile in her stomach threatening to retch free and spew forth onto the table. She held it back, fingers since moved to the cloth and squeezed her eternal pain away. How did she look? A mess while her eyes widened and lips fell agape? Gwyn would have laughed if she could find the voice beneath the ruptured chords.

She felt the slick perspiration as it dabbed at her brow, sticking strands to her forehead and just as she moved to wipe them, Colette’s rampaging mind attacked once more and with an audible grunt, Gwyn bit her lip and balled her fists in her lap as her hands fell to her skirt.

Immobile, stunned into submission, Gwyn sat there while her eyes practically rolled back at the over-stimulating torrent of abuse. Colette knew no better; she had tried to hide her thoughts after all. That small action, though? That little thought of hiding everything made it all so much worse as what would have been a trickle of information now burst forth like a collapsing dam. If Colette just trusted her enough to talk, to confide in— her mind wouldn’t be so…Disciplined.

Disturbing, harrowing images sprung forth anew— fire, keys, sludge and food. Overeating, retching, too disciplined with routine and life— Much like the caretakers with their strict structured days.

Father, daughter, dark and alone. Screams and hoarse cries, childish innocence lost in the name of perversion and grotesque obsession. Lust-filled eyes, too red and cherry-like, spread over the image with blotted shapes that cruelly curled onto bodies and made the one word stand out amongst everything else; Betrayal.

She had heard it from Colette before, how the truth tumbled from frightened lips and sodden lashes. How collapsing memories of a disgusting ordeal twisted into a make-belief of ‘it’s my fault,’ It wasn’t. Colette was not at fault.

The screech of a chair jostled her back into the land of the living, the scrape of wooden legs against the cold floor enough to send the largest of rats scurrying up the walls of the old orphanage. Nails on chalkboard, loud and precise as the action begged attention, and Colette got it.

Gwyn stared at her, shoulders shaking under the heavy ordeal that batoned her mind into screaming chaos.

Breathe in.
Breathe out, Gwyn.

The voice was back, stern as always.

And in,

she replied

Out.

Eira demanded. The voice ceased, returning back to the depths it crawled out from.

She wet her lips with a dab of her tongue, the edge of a headache breaking off and splintering around the shell-shocked images that replayed over and over. She wasn’t ignorant of the war that took many lives; she had lived it through the memories of her brothers, through the minds of the soldiers that lay dying. Colette had been the key in the ignition, one that purred the engine of an automobile and ran rampant with undesirable consequences.

Still, she got to her feet. Her movements are a lot quieter than that of Colette. Gwyn didn’t want attention, and she didn’t want eyes to follow her as she exited the room.

“ Please excuse me; I’ll check on her.”

She announced to the room, a solemn look given to her plate of untouched food.

Her exit was quick, her footsteps following those hurried ones of Colette as they headed to their destination— Another bathroom. They’d be her death eventually; she was sure of it.

Unwanted words spiralled out of control, and the depths of despair and gloomy depression tugged at her heart as Colette suffered with ravaged pain and deceit.

Gwyn felt for her; she truly did. How her heart twisted and ached, swelled to impossible size and threatened to burst at the cruelty of the situation.

Rather than enter immediately, Gwyn waited outside. Gloved hands pressed to the door, and, with a gentle push, she found her way into the sobbing Colette, who had crumbled to the floor and cried endlessly into the old material.

“Colette,”

She called to her, knees dropping to the ground beside her, and her arm, although frigid at first, encased the blubbering mess of a girl and hugged her close. The contact, while dull in senses, caused a wave of nausea to arise, but she battled it down.

Her chin pressed atop of Colette’s head, soothing words of praise and soft words of encouragement falling from her— begging the pinkette to stop the blame. Gwyn moves in position, hands moving from encasing Colette to curling onto her cheeks, her gloved palm pressing over the opened scratch and hovering there. At the same time, her fingers gently swabbed away at the fat tears that tumbled down Colette’s flushed cheeks.

“Everything is okay, Colette.”

She spoke, more confident than usual. Her voice, thick with accent, hummed the encouragement forth- assertive, sure of herself.

“I’m here.”

She locked eyes with the pinkette and pleaded for that eye contact between them both as gentle fingers caressed the pretty face of Colette.

I’m here, ma chérie

Sweeter, this time, more pronounced as her presence pushed into Colette’s brain and she willed a sootheness into the organ. A gentle blanket, one of whites and soft blues. Gwyn attempted to manipulate the thoughts of Colette to calm her down and stop the rapture that fell from her wracked body.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Sunsmiter]

Ozymandias
Location: Breakfast
Interactions: Makoto + Charlotte, everyone at breakfast
Mentions: Annai

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"Thank you...I'm glad my oddity could have been of use." In truth, Ozymandias' was far more concerned than he had let on, especially given the fact he had seen the girl in such distress before Annai's sudden disappearance.
Ozymandias grimaced at the sudden cry of pain, tiredly looking up to make sure everything was alright before returning to his breakfast. ”Oh…interesting. I think we should probably leave it outside, but if that’s not an option I can probably build a temporary cage for it or something…” That was, assuming the kitten in his quarters didn’t eat the mouse first. But Ozy was fairly confident in his own abilities to not let that happen, although whether or not his confidence matched his skill is up in the air for anyone to guess.
He had finished roughly two-thirds of his eggs and was polishing off the last remnants when Charlotte spoke again.
Annai… In truth, he had been wondering that question himself.
”Charlotte, I’m sure Annai will be alright. ” Yet even now his optimism sounded flat, even to himself. The formerly cheerful golden-eyed orphan made a tired attempt at his usual cocky grin, which faded back into what resembled melancholy. ”I believe I saw her not so long ago.” Another attempt at a smile. ”Probably overslept or something. Who can blame her? She might miss out on a few eggs and stuff, but hey, the more for us, right?

 

[Coyote]

Feral Sybela

Something is lurking nearby... two presences... one, however leaves the room. The other remains. Just when you feel you may need to hide or run, a singular black feather gently comes to rest on Colette's lap. Upon looking up, she finds the 5-eyed raven albeit in a sharply distorted form. Its eyes are bulging from an engorged head and its elongated neck slithers across the ceiling, drawing closer to Collette.

"I can smell your desperation, you know..." it croaked, low and gutteral, like a sick old man. Much of the raven's body was featherless, leaving bare, sagging skin and rail thin wings in its place.

 

[Coyote]

Mentions: Feral Sybela

Uriel took her time to ensure the meals were prepared properly and delivered to the breakfast table in a timely manner. In all honesty, she wasn't sure the food was any good at all. The Caretaker could only watch with a smile as the children quickly got to work on their breakfast. At the very least, they thought it was good enough. Collette seemed quite distressed, prompting the feelings of pity to swirl in her chest. Abigail's disappearance must be quite hard on her. Makoto's account was quite worrying but... she had to believe Abigail was ok. The rapid developments of the previous day were overwhelming enough.

A hand suddenly found itself on her shoulder and when she turned, Edgar was there.

"Lost in thought, again?" he asked.

"Oh, I just hope breakfast was to everyone's satisfaction," she said.

"Judging by everyone's hurry to scarf down their food, I'd say so," he assured her.

Collette stood up and left the room, followed by Gwyn, leaving unfinished plates at their seats.

Uriel pursed her lips and fidgeted nervously. Unfortunate timing indeed.

"Tell you what, let me do a taste test and I will determine once for all what kinds of skills you have in the kitchen," Edgar did his best to recover the mood.

Uriel scoffed, "You will just tell me its good."

"Good food is good food, no matter the chef."

"Alright," she indulged him, her cheeks slightly flush.

While Edgar took his seat, Uriel fetched him a plate and set it before him, waiting expectantly for him to try it. A healthy smattering of eggs, sausages, and biscuits laid themselves out before the man and the fresh fragrance lent itself to his hunger.

"It's like I can taste it already," he said, grabbing a fork and cutting a piece of sausage to chew on.

Uriel sat down beside him to watch his expression change from curiosity to enjoyment. The sight of Edgar's smile was comfort enough for her and she joined him in his happiness.

"As if there could be any doubt about your food," he said, looking towards her with another bite. "Care for some?"

Uriel blinked. "Wha-?"

Edgar held the fork for a second as Uriel's pale face turned beet red at the offer. Slowly, Edgar lowered the fork. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to appear so forward."

"No, it's fine, I'm quite flattered, really," she blurt out, averting her eyes and moving some hair behind her ear. "It's just- I was taken aback is all. I don't know if such familiarity is appropriate in front of the children."

Edgar nodded and looked back at his food. "Right..." he said, as an awkward silence began to droop over them.

 

[Coyote]

Mentions: Kovacs mizton housegoat13

The Professor stormed down the hall. Forty minutes. It has been forty. minutes. since Uriel left to retrieve his coffee. "Stupid, foolish girl. Never attentive, always distracted by that bumbling idiotic boy," he grumbles, steam practically seething from his ears. The heavy footfalls of his impeccably polished shoes made their way down the hall and into the foyer, stopping suddenly upon a most concerning sight.

A gentleman held at knife point by Makoto. "Makoto! By God, what are you doing?" he boomed, training his fury on the foreigner.

Robert holds his hands up as a show of goodwill but never once takes his eyes off Makoto. The man standing before him clearly had a soldier's instinct.

His eyes; slated blue and unusually sharp against the blurs and browns of his disheveled state. The ridges of his brow tensed, but to say the stranger faced the blade in a cold sweat would be an overstatement. It felt like a small betrayal to admit it, but a pernicious ghost of resemblance to Jasper did rise to meet Makoto. The blade had long since lowered from its inspecting place along the man's jaw, but still the veteran had no intentions to let his hand waver.

Until a clap of thunder; the Professor.

Eyes not leaving the man's, Makoto's chin went halfway over his shoulder. "Good morning to you as well, and apologies, Professor," he replied, mustering as much dispassion as he could. His tone took on an appeasing yet tight edge, as if to smooth the Professor's ruffled feathers. Yet his blade still remained, now with hints of wavering. "I could ask the man here the same question."

The Professor approached but once his eyes settled upon the man, his expression twisted into one of suspicion. "Who are you? Do you have authorization from the Crown to-"

"I have all the authorization I need right here," Robert glares at Makoto and reaches into his pocket. Then, he pulls out a card. One with a royal seal and a signature from Arthur, though not in good condition. It appears to have dried after being soaked in water and much of it appeared faded. Nevertheless, the Professor hesitated.

"We haven't used such permits since the war."

"But they are admissible, are they not?" Robert frowns. "Am I to assume that Lockheed Orphanage greets all its guests with knives and suspicion?"

The Professor scowled at the jab, remaining silent for a moment before relenting. "And your name?"

"Robert Cummings. I am here to see, my brother."

The Professor looked at Makoto with something that wholly new. He trusted the foreigner more than the unannounced guest. "Very well, Makoto, escort our guest to the library," placing a hand on him and muttering, "Keep him away from the children, I am going to contact Arthur to confirm his authorization. Something tells me that card was washed for a reason."

No matter the connection or how long he'd had it since the war, Makoto let his focus hyperfixate on the mention of Arthur Greens, missing the man's glare entirely.

The distaste pricked at Makoto's tongue. Unable to retrieve a single file on Kairi after all these years, and yet strangers could drop from the sky carrying washed-out cards bearing his signature.

Makoto drew in a sharp breath. The boldness on the man was a thing to behold. One was only a guest if invited, and surely, Makoto thought, the Professor wouldn't think-

“Kuso."

It came out from under his breath, the morning breeze enough to let the Professor and the man to have heard.

Makoto could only spare a nod of assent before shooting the man his own curt, beckoning glare. Brisk and businesslike, Makoto turned and began to lead the way across the foyer to one of the exit doors, which led straight down to the library entrance. He went in and stood aside in a military fashion, fingertips lightly brushing against the pocket where he had slid the knife back into. His other encircled the apple and he raised it to his lips to take another slow and calculated bite.

They arrive at the library in silence. Robert takes in his surroundings carefully, calculating something in his mind before turning back to Makoto. "I take it my brother is here then?"

No answer set out to waylay the man's question. Makoto simply chiseled away at his apple; when it wasn't being bitten, it cajoled gently in his hand. His back leaned against the wall, gaze taking on a distant look for moment. The last he was sure he'd seen Jasper was in the dining hall. Earlier than all the rest but just as quick to leave, two plates in hand. Tch, thought the veteran, chin down. Always the bleeding heart.

Makoto looked back up and regarded the man once more. The road from Durham to the institution was certainly not a leisurely one, frightfully more so under the curtain of winter. Luckily, the man's choice of coat seemed to serve him well; thick and broad, it concealed him in a cocoon of warmth. Makoto's instincts whispered, and he could only incline to agree; if the man had truly served, or at the very least had some sense of caution before showing himself, it may not be the only thing concealed.

"So..." Makoto took no mind to be delicate. "You are here to tell your brother you were a deserter?"

Robert studied Makoto’s face for a moment and scoffed. “That’s rich… coming from a Hummingbird.”

Makoto blinked. The word was like a pebble kicked down the city gutters. The initial surprise of the washed-out card and the connection to Greens finally began to creep into the Japanese caretaker's features like black tar.

"You've worked for Lockheed before?"

———

The Professor stepped into the breakfast hall.

Uriel spotted him and the color drained from her face. “P-Professor! I-I apologize, allow me to bring you your coffee straight awa-”

He stepped forward, ignoring Uriel entirely, and turned, surprisingly, towards Edgar and Adelaide. He approached the woman and placed a small key into her hands. “You two… I need you to fetch the telegraph and relay a message to Arthur.”

Edgar stood up immediately.

“Accompany him, Adelaide, and ensure that Arthur receives the following: ‘Has a guest received lawful authorization from the Crown?’,” he said before turning at last to the others. The Professor scanned the room slowly. “I ask that you all continue to enjoy your breakfast. Caretakers, ensure that the children finish eating their meals in its entirety before leaving the breakfast hall,” hoping that they would catch his meaning. The ominous feeling of a ticking clock hung heavy over the Professor and an ever sinking sense of dread continued to build up in his stomach. Something was most certainly wrong.

The Professor found Jasper outside of Frida’s door and cleared his throat. “Jasper,” the Professor paid her no mind. “You have a guest in the library that is here to see you. I advise you attend to him quickly.”

 

[tityanya]

𝐶𝘩𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑜𝑡𝑡𝑒 𝐽𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠​

I am here: Breakfast Hall -> Guest Bathroom
With: Orphans and caretakers -> Gwyn, Cole, and a demon

The currents have their say...The time is drawing near​

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Charlotte stayed gazing at the giant droplet, trying to keep it from deforming and running horribly. Adelaide, always the most serious of the caretakers, gave Charlotte a curt nod, and Charlotte watched as her mouth moved. She had to focus close to hear the earnest "stellar idea." Hmm, a compliment from Adelaide. It was rare she gave those out, and it gave Charlotte a small, smug sense of satisfaction deep in her chest. She smiled like a smug cat, watching as Adelaide whispered something furiously at Doris as she cleaned up the spill. No doubt berating the poor woman, honestly. While Adelaide tried to keep her...particular-ness away from the children, Charlotte had noticed. She was not a woman who suffered mistakes quietly. Poor Doris, mistakes really did happen. The smug smile faded from Charlotte face as she got back to her meal.

She and Colette were near mirror images, starving girls eating as fast as possible with perfect poise and dignity. But as Charlotte began to gnaw on her bacon, Colette went for seconds. Her brow furrowed. That was strange. She was always begging Colette to eat more, the waifish girl had the appetite of a bird. And here she was, getting seconds? But Charlotte didn't pay it too much mind, instead focusing on something more pressing on her mind: Annai's absence. Being late wasn't like her. Adelaide spoke up, ever practical Adelaide, nothing is ever wrong Adelaide. Charlotte saw red at the "half the table is missing" comment. It was so...dismissive. Like Charlotte's concern was as simple as "I don't have enough salt for my eggs." "Yes, but unlike half the table, Annai wasn't in bed this morning when I woke up. She wasn't in the bathroom either when I took a shower, and I was in there for upwards of forty minutes. And it's not like Annai to be late." Charlotte snapped. It was probably a little unfair to Adelaide, who hadn't dismissed Charlotte entirely. But in Charlotte's mind, Adelaide wasn't taking the situation seriously enough. Abbigail missing yesterday. Annai missing today. Something was happening to the orphans, and it required the utmost attention.

Charlotte's gaze whipped over to Ozy as he spoke her name. The boy was trying to reassure her, sweet thing, but his own voice sounded unsure. His usually cheeky grin was melancholy. Something was wrong. Was she the only one who saw it? Colette, barely awake, covered in scratches. Frida having a breakdown and attacking the caretakers and orphans. Ozymandias, a human embodiment of sunshine, looking like a raincloud had covered him. The missing orphans. Ozymandias said he saw Annai not long ago, but that didn't reassure Charlotte. The boy had...a weird relationship with time. For all she knew, not long ago could have been last week. "She didn't oversleep," Charlotte reiterated, her voice sharp. "She wasn't there when I woke up, but she was in the room last night. She disappeared som--" Charlotte's words got cut off by the sound of Colette's chair dragging loudly on the floor. Charlotte looked at her, and her face blanched. The wounds around Colette's eyes had opened again and were gently bleeding.

The girl nodded at Gwyneria and Charlotte as though nothing was amiss, and then took off out of the breakfast hall. "Colette!" Charlotte called, abandoning her own breakfast to follow her friend. But as she reached the hallway, she had found that Colette had raced away. Which way had she gone? Charlotte stood glancing left and right for a moment, trying to decide the best way to go, when Gwyneria left the hall as well. She resolutely made her way to the right, and Charlotte watched with a sinking pit in her stomach. Was...Gwyneira going after Colette? Why? When had they become friends?!

As Charlotte watched Gwyneira's retreating form, the evil voice of the snake began to twist its way around her mind. "Colette doesn't need you. She has Gwyneira now. Besides, weren't you just all worried about Annai? Such a fickle woman you are." Charlotte beat the voice down with a bat. The sound of rain was getting louder. She didn't need the dark thoughts to come again and get her. Whatever Colette's new relationship with Gwyneira was, Charlotte still knew her better. She would benefit from having both girls she cared about helping her. Don't be selfish. her mother's voice echoed in her head.

With new determination, Charlotte followed after Gwyneria. Charlotte reached the end of the hallway as Gwyneira pushed open the door to the guest restroom. The same area I heard Frida's scream come from, yesterday Charlotte thought grimly, her lips pursed together. Charlotte's hand hesitated on the door. Her heart wavered for a moment as she heard the soft, soothing sounds of Gwyneira talking. Did...Colette even want her? She had so hurriedly jumped away from her once Gwyneira had showed up. The sound of rain grew louder. She stood frozen, hand on the door, the wind whipping through her ears. A good person always helps others in need, Charlotte, her mother's voice whispered in her head. Mama was right. If Colette didn't want her, she was going to have to tell Charlotte that herself. Charlotte pushed the door open, her eyes first looking at Gwyneira and Colette's huddled forms on the floor. Charlotte couldn't help but feel as though when she opened the door, something had slid past her. A feather fell from the ceiling, and Charlotte's eyes were drawn up to the horror that clung up there.

Charlotte couldn't even comprehend exactly what it was that she was looking at. It wasn't facing her, instead its long, distended neck was extending towards where the two girls sat helpless on the floor. It was pale and fleshy, engorged and disgusting. Charlotte had the morbid thought that if she touched it, it would explode in her hands. Then she noticed the sharp, wicked claws. Claws much like the marks Colette had around her eyes. Was this what had caused them? Charlotte watched in horror as the thing spoke, telling Colette it could feel her desperation.

Charlotte's first instinct was to strike. She even raised her hand in anticipation, but the creature was too high up in the ceiling. I'd need some kind of bat, she thought grimly, conceding to her second instinct: to protect Gwyneira and Colette. Charlotte rushed in front of them, one arm splayed to keep the girls behind them, one arm bent in front of her face to protect her eyes from being scratched out. She looked it as well as she could in the face. A wicked beak and five eyes, distending out of its head. Disgusting. A demon. She was going to have to give Ethel a good thrashing later. "Begone, foul beast! Go back to where you came from!" Charlotte shouted at it, her strong and clear voice not betraying the bashing of her heart in her chest. She was scared. It was a miracle that at first, she had been too shocked to scream.

A bible verse came into her head, something she had read with her grandmother many Sundays over the years. She invoked her grandmother's voice when she spoke. Baby, I've seen demons before. But when I speak this prayer, they all disappear. "God is my strong one, in him I trust! My shield, and the horn of my salvation! He lifteth me up, and is my refuge! My savior, thou wilt deliver me from iniquity!" As Charlotte recited, anyone trying to use any of the facets in the orphanage would find a sudden drop of water pressure. She was drawing it all through the pipes, as fast and as strong as she could, towards the sink in the restroom. If the demonic bird pounced towards them, she would unleash a torrent of water upon him. "I will call on the Lord who is worthy to be praised: and I shall be saved from my enemies!" Charlotte hoped the prayer would work. While she would do what she could to protect herself and Gwyn and Cole, she didn't fancy her chances against a demon.

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((ooc: In trying to find a bible verse for Charlotte to say, I found this super cool website that shows you how different verses were translated in different versions of the bible! Being a catholic gal myself I decided that Charlotte's catholic too ))
((All Night))
((Outfit: dress))


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[Coyote]

The raven turned towards Charlotte and stared for a while. It's breath wheezed and choked for a moment before suddenly, the door slammed shut.

"Your God?" its voice hissed, "Saaaaaaavvvvvvvviiiiiooooooooooorrrrrrrr?" The raven's pitch black eyes went milky white and his beak curved into a crooked smile, sharp, jagged teeth revealing themselves from within a fleshy maw. Portions of its body bulged and swelled, its wings stretching, its bones snapping and popping.

"Nomen patris ante me affertis. Videamus an salvet te antequam carnem tuam de ossibus tuis, et membratim, a discerpam."​

Present: tityanya Feral Sybela

 

[SavannahSmiles]

location

Olivia: Hallway -> Breakfast Hall
Oliver: Breakfast Hall -> Bathroom

mentions

Charlotte, Cole, Gwyn

tags

tityanya Feral Sybela

Twins

As Makoto headed off towards the Breakfast Hall, Olivia glanced one last time at his closed door where the dirtied scarf was hidden before padding after him. They arrived a couple of minutes after Oliver had sat down. The pair entered into the room and Makoto helped Olivia into a chair beside his own, however before Oliver could move to the chair next to where he was seated, Adelaide sat down. Frowning slightly, he peered around the caretaker to take a peek at his sister.

Just as he was about to stand up to help her fix her plate, he realized that Makoto was already doing so. Satisfied that his sister's meal was being taken care of, Oliver focused on his own. Since dinner had been over before he had a chance to eat anything, he was rather hungry that morning. After checking that Olivia had started eating, he tucked into his own meal. As he munched on some toast he listened to the conversation flow around him, though he didn't contribute; he had enough self-awareness to know that he didn't want his words to cause a repeat of dinner last night so he remained silent so as to not poke the proverbial bear again.

Sudden movement from further down the table had him glancing over, spying Colette leaving, quickly followed by Gwyn and then Charlotte. He frowned lightly, wondering what that was all about. He returned to his food, listening with interest as the Professor spoke with the other caretakers but a loud sound filling the room distracted him from the conversation. It took him several seconds before he realized what the noise was. It was the sound of pipes groaning rather loudly and he knew without a doubt in her mind that it was Charlottes doing; someone taking a shower would cause such a racket.

His icy gaze turned to stare at the door Charlotte had left from with concern. Was she okay? Why would she be drawing the water from the pipes like that? He slowly lowered his toast back onto his plate as he made up his mind. "I'm going to the bathroom, if you will excuse me." He was pushing his chair back and darting out of the breakfast hall before any of the caretakers could tell him that he wasn't, in fact, excused.

As he stepped out into the hall he could hear Charlotte's raised voice coming from the guest bathroom. 'What is it about this accursed bathroom?' He silently grumbled to himself as he made his way to the shut door. "Charlotte?" He called out loudly as his fist rapped against the wood, "Everything alright in there?"
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nine lives

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[Feral]

Colette.

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Backroom Labyrinth

Cole flinched as Gwyn called her name, each syllable sounding harsh to her tender mind. Her head was thumping heavily as if someone was banging at the thoughts in her brain with a battering ram.

Like they had dug their fingers into each bit of her, clawing and scraping, punishing her with pain— making her body heavy, holding her down with the exhaustion of sleeplessness.

Everything would be fine, Gwyn said. Cole didn't quite believe that. In fact, she thought quite the opposite. She wasn't fine at all. Not a bit. Things weren't alright. They wouldn't ever be. Cole could tell herself that she was okay. She tried every moment of every day to tell herself that.

Cole would be fine if she could just hold her head shut and keep the thoughts at bay. She would try to close the seams of her mind and keep from falling apart, but it wouldn't be effortless if this were any sign of what would come in her future. She never was genuinely okay.

Cole knew she didn't have a pretty mind— She was ashamed at what went on in it, the pain it screamed out uselessly. She was regretful that Gwyn had to see that side of her, how broken she was.

Gwyn didn't deserve to see such terrible things or be subjected to them unwillingly. Cole was a horrible person, really. She should be normal. She should be fine. She may have gone through more than others, but that was no excuse for her being this way.

But she never would change, would she? She was broken and not damaged in the way a stuffed bear was, how they got ripped but were sewable. She was...

She was broken in the way that branches were. They'd never be the same. They'd splinter and snap, fitting the pieces together like a puzzle wouldn't fix them. You cant sew them. You cant repair them. Irreparable.

She was as fundamentally flawed as a person could be. Others could still tell she was different even when she spoke or acted normally as she could. But, oh, they saw through it so quickly. Everyone did.

She would always be flawed and unloveable. They could all see it, and Cole knew it. She had accepted that fact so long ago that it didn't hurt as much as it used to. It was just a fact of her life. She was born broken, cracked, and unloved.

She would always be a broken record doing the same thing every day, wanting, begging for the sense of security that monotony held. A wish for the day to continue as it had before, a desire for change never to happen again.

That was all a ploy to be loved in reality, and she knew it. Something she wished for with all of her bones, unconditional love. A myth beyond her reach. All she could do now was look inwards and try to find a way to make herself more desirable.

Gwyn was here for her though, a voice in her mind interjected. That had to mean something, didn't it? She had to mean something to the girl, enough for her to come after her even after what she had done at least.

Gwyn didn't hate her, nor did she do or say anything that betrayed anything but affection— The stray thought of giving up some sort of control to the girl flashed intensely through her mind. She wanted to follow it. She did want to— She just...

Cole really didn't know how to give up that need for control in the first place. She had never learned how to do that. Relying on others was a terrifying experience. Cole's breaths were short and shallow, panicked—

Cole scowled sharply, taking in a deep breath, trying to calm herself a bit, tears stinging her cheeks slower than before as she forced herself to take slow breaths. She leaned into Gwyn's presence slightly, nervously.

Unsure if the girl was doing this out of genuine care or a twisted sense of duty. She let the pretty girl lay her thoughts over the intruding ones, a comforting blanket of sweetness. She surely could get used to this, being snuggled up to Gwyn and getting soothed, a fantasy Cole was sure would never come about. Not with what she had subjected the girl to.

I'm sorry— I should have told you earlier. I planned to later— I promise I did, I— Cole shut her eyes tightly. I was supposed to be able to handle it until we could have a moment alone. Cole met Gwyn's eyes, a shamed look on her face. I didn't want to sour breakfast. I'm sorry...

Cole wiped some of the tears away, blood tingeing them light pink as her breath steadied and— The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Someone is here— Tensing, Cole leaned away from Gwyn a fair bit.

A black feather.

While the hairs still stood on end, Cole could only calm now. It was La bête, wasn't it? Its words stung her ears as it leaned into her, her lips pursed, hackles raised, and shoulders stiffened, still trembling. But then, the overwhelming calm of danger washed over her, and Cole gave one last sniff, her tears cutting dry.

Desperation. Cole knew the feeling well, the wish for something, for differences— For them to stop. Cole opened her mouth. She wouldn't fall prey to him. "I—" The sound of a creaking door. Charlotte. Cole felt dread in her throat. No. This wasn't good. Charlotte didn't know how to play the bird's games. She didn't—

Charlotte's words scrapped Cole's ears, and she could only imagine the damage she had just done. Thoughts of pain flashed through her. The mistakes she— Cole lifted her long limbs from beneath her, standing behind the girl as the bird's croaking words hit her, strange and unknown, but clearly angry.

The bird bears its teeth at Charlotte, at all of them really— And at the moment, she could only wonder right then and right there if they would bleach the floor or if the wood is too sensitive.

Perhaps they would rinse away the blood with soap. Cole wondered if they would use the same kind she had back in France, it wouldn't be nearly enough to wash it away— it couldn't get rid of most dirt, let alone hemoglobin.

And if they stained the walls, what would they do then? A piece of them forever embedded in the walls. Cole supposed it could be art, which would make them artists, wouldn't it? Though no more an artist than the person who would try and fail to clean them up in the first place.

Coming back to the present, the terror of the bird didn't register much beneath the rushing adrenaline— But she was shaking, despite her fists being balled and her eyes firmly looking at the bird. She was terrified, but she was no doubt better at reasoning with the bird than Charlotte. As foolish as she was at that moment.

Cole stepped closer to Char, wrapping a hand around the girl's shoulder, "Bird." She took a breath, the mask of calmness falling entirely over her, the rushing of her mind safely hidden behind a wall.

"Please forgive her rash words— Surely, as you are the wise bird of truth and falsehood, past, present, and future, you can tell she is afraid, speaking out of fear, looking to defend her friends?" Cole pushed past Charlotte gently, holding onto her arm tightly.

Her hair stood on end. Fear coursing through her body, "You know we are foolish and young and we have offended you unintentionally, but we wish to learn how to correct our wrongs, oh wise bird." Cole could only beg that this would work, "Please— Do not punish us just this once. Let us make up for our errors fairly,"

Cole stiffened, asking, "What can I do to lift your wrath, make amends for her blunder, o bird?" She was prepared to be bitten, harmed, and killed, but it was better for her than for her friends to die. Regardless she still looked into the bird's five eyes, the defiant spark of life behind her own.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Sybela]

Gwyneira

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There was a small moment between them, one of dropped walls and innocent thoughts. She could read Colette easily, even without her telepathy. The girl caved in on herself, body a broken coliseum, One that had known many fights.

The shivers that shuddered Colette’s shoulders, a gentle reminder of the nerves that wracked her body- Gwyn felt awful, helpless even. She couldn’t help Colette if Colette didn’t reach out.

Apologies, ones of sugar and water. Built upon the foundation of solid feelings and, eventually, crumbling down to a mushy mess. Promises, ones that didn’t need to be uttered. Gwyn smiled sadly, hand brushing the strands of pink hair from the beautiful pale face before her.

Colette, Colette!

Gwyn called to her friend's mind, trying her hardest to soothe the emotions that tumbled out of her body like a waterfall. She needed to breathe, to take a deep breathe and let all her problems go awa—

And then she felt it. That horrible sensation of freezing water being poured down her spine, an awful anticipation for that of what shouldn’t be seen. He was there— Was it a he? Indeed an It was more convenient- After all, neither of them truly knew what they were dealing with.

Her fingers trembled from her position, mind drawing blank as that awful memory of The Other battered her like a stormy day. She didn’t want to go back in there, not so soon. As if to remind her, her ears throbbed at the memory. Pulsating, bloody rushing and muting the sounds around. They weren’t healed yet, that was for sure.

The raven came into view in all his demonic glory. Beady eyes, gargantuan neck with featherless, sagging flesh. It reminded her of a parasitic worm, one that had come back to quench its thirst.

Charlotte was next to enter, and everything went from bad to worse. Actions before thoughts, consequences springing right back at them with religious scripts tossed back and forth.

Charlotte wasn’t to blame; who could blame her? After all, she had just walked in on a parasite about to feast.

Gwyn was silent through the ordeal, lump in throat and tremble throughout her whole body. Even when Colette moved, she stayed sat on the floor, hands moving to cover her ears absentmindedly.

Such a reminder, one that wasn’t welcomed. Even when Colette begged for forgiveness, essentially, Gwyn cowered from shock and terror. She didn’t want to go back, no.
No.

No.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Coyote]

The raven's neck cracked and snapped as it turned back to Colette. In a sickeningly eerie way, a grin twisted its face and its five eyes squinted, ecstatic at Colette's offer. "Foolish indeed, girl," it said. "But here I offer you a most enticing bargain.”

It shuddered, a flurry of feathers falling from its body, baring its taut leather surface even more. It opened its mouth for a moment, but stopped. Suddenly, it fell into a coughing fit, hacking away like a wheezing creature with knives in its throat. The raven’s form shrunk back, retreating towards a corner in the ceiling before jerking head around 360 degrees, wringing its neck completely. Then… silence.

“A bargain…” it croaked, looking directly at Colette. “Give me that which you’ve taken from the eye in the painting and I will happily overlook this offense and more…” Its head turned back around and in a flash, its body snapped and cracked, forcing itself to shrink down to the form of its original raven appearance, the five eyes remaining. But otherwise, the raven’s body was now covered in pristine feathers and it’s head cocked to the side, quietly awaiting Colette’s response.

tityanya Feral Sybela

 

[tityanya]

𝐶𝘩𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑜𝑡𝑡𝑒 𝐽𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠​

I am here: Bathroom
With: Gwyn, Cole, Raven, Oliver

The currents have their say...The time is drawing near​

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It was working. It had to be, right? The demon was sitting there hacking and choking, unable to proceed further on the girls. Her grandmother was right! But as soon s Charlotte had that thought, the door to the water closet slammed close. It took everything in Charlotte to not blow the wall up then and there, the pressure behind it mounting as the wall groaned loudly. Her face paled as the demon began to speak, his face contorting and becoming something so incredibly unbird-like that Charlotte was afraid she might faint. As it began speaking in latin, Charlotte realized that she had made a mistake. She didn't understand the words, but she could hear the malicious intent behind them. Were the girls still on the floor? The door might be closed, but they could still make a run for it. Hitting the demon with a blast of water would be enough to distract it, so long as the girls were ready.

As Charlotte prepared to launch her attack, however, she felt a hand on her shoulder. A strong grip, despite the shaking, as though telling her to back off. Charlotte looked with bewilderment at Colette as she spoke. Charlotte stared at her friend as though she had grown a second head as she flattered that damned creature in front of them. Colette pushed Charlotte behind her, and Charlotte couldn't help but let her. What was happening? Charlotte felt sick as she listened to her friend's soft, rare voice speak such high praises to that damned monster. Colette knew this demon. How long had she known the demon? What was their relationship? The only thing that stopped Charlotte from protesting was Colette's strong grip on her arm. Whatever was happening, Colette was trying to save her. They could have a conversation later about what all this meant. Colette...wasn't a witch, right?

That fear gnawed at Charlotte, only broken out of it by the sound of a knock on the door, and Oliver's voice outside. Ah, sweet Oliver. He had heard the groaning of the pipes and had come to check on her, hadn't he? Another orphan in the room could spell out disaster, but Charlotte was loathe to tell him to leave. Their powers worked really well together. If Colette's pleading didn't work, she could cover the demon in water while Oliver froze it. If it couldn't move, it couldn't hurt them, right? "Stay right there please, Oliver. But don't come in yet!" she shouted at her friend. She hoped he would listen. She was going to have to tell him later what had happened, after she got Colette's side of the story. And Gwyneria's.

Where was Gwyneria? Charlotte spun around as the raven began to speak, looking at the poor girl still huddled on the ground, terrified. Charlotte had never seen such a look on the girl's face before. She's encountered this raven before. Charlotte thought grimly. The raven was speaking of bargains to Colette, and Charlotte watched as the foul thing fell into a coughing fit, before it's neck...snapped? Charlotte couldn't help but let out a little gasp. None of them had done that! The only one who could harm people from a distance like that was Frida, and she wasn't here. But when it spoke again, Charlotte jumped. Its neck hung there limply as it croaked once more, its sole attention on Colette. It was like it had forgotten everyone else in the room existed.

Charlotte reached for Gwyneira, to haul her up off the floor, but her hands stopped an inch short. Gwyneira hated being touched. Charlotte had seen her jump and look ill whenever others touched her. It was probably for the best if Charlotte didn't. "Get up, Gwyneria," Charlotte hissed softly. She was trying to sound as kindly as possible, but this was urgent. If things went south, they needed to make a run for it, and that would be impossible if Gwyneira was still on the floor. "I'm here to help if you need it. But please hurry," she whispered once more, her hand outstretched to take Gwyneira's. The raven had finished speaking. Something about Colette giving it something she had found. What had she found? Why would a demon want it? In Charlotte's firm opinion, one should never give a devil what it wanted. No good would come of that. But the decision was Cole's. They were already in such a volatile situation, and Charlotte was aware enough to realize she had thrown fuel on the fire before.

Right now, her energy would be best devoted to coming up with an escape should the...oh, it was almost a normal raven now. The only thing that belied the impression of it being a normal creature was its five eyes, all staring beadily at Colette. Charlotte couldn't help but stare at such the drastic change. Where it had been bloating, disgusting, and barren, the idea of a bird painted by a blind person before, it was now shining and luscious. Had...it fed off of something? There was certainly enough terror in the room to feast on. The thought turned Charlotte's stomach. Once she got out of here, she was afraid she was going to puke up all the food she had just scarfed down. What a waste.

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((ooc: If you want to have Gwyneira see an impression of the escape plan, feel free! Charlotte's idea is to call for Oliver to open the door, spray water at the bird, and have Oliver freeze it as the girls run. Will this actually work? Who knows!))
((All Night))
((Outfit: dress))


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