Realistic or Modern The House on Beacon Street

[Pluvious]

We just want the same things that you do: a chance at life, at love. We're not so different in that way. Being Human, US

 

[Pluvious]

Date: Early September


Weather: Relentless rain


House atmosphere: Neutral


Issues: The roof is leaking; The lights are flickering; People believe the house is haunted

 

. Graham Murray .

​

It started raining on August thirtieth. It began as a light drizzle. On and off showers all day but nothing extreme. On September second, local news channels announced flood warnings. After two more weeks of intense storms, the weather of Brunswick, Maine had become a national spectacle (though to the locals it felt rather more like a crisis). Shocking stories of homes half-submerged in muddy water accompanied lists of to-the-minute injuries, damages and deaths. The fatalities had spiked. Seven more found dead today, according to Pete Rosenfeld of Radio 9.


Zeno must be busy today, Graham shivered at the thought. Or possibly because of the autumn chill.


He rested his elbows on the porch steps behind him, letting his head fall back so his face caught the falling rain. He was only wearing a t-shirt and basketball shorts, and they were both soaked through. Water ran down his nose, his cheeks, his arms. It dripped off the edge of his jaw and matted down his dark curls.


While he sat in the rain, he listened to Pete’s crackly report from an old radio he’d set on the mostly-dry part of the porch. As the wind picked up, the static drowned out Pete’s nasally voice, as if he was drifting away on the radio currents until he was too far to hear at all. Then the wind stifled the static and suddenly it was just Graham and the rain.


He began this odd ritual (sitting in the rain, not listening to the radio) a little more than a week ago. He had a peculiar condition that caused his skin to dry out exceptionally fast. The dry patches would itch, then they’d crack and bleed. Water, however, from the skies, the seas or the spurting taps of his bathtub completely reversed these effects, as long as Graham soaked for a good thirty minutes each day. Forty when the air grew dry. So while it was cold and blustery, the free outdoor shower and the comfort it afforded him for the rest of the day were well worth the price.


Suddenly a voice cut through the wind. It said, “It’s raining!”


Graham’s head snapped up. He was startled to see a figure standing just a few feet from him on the sidewalk in front of the porch. Without his glasses, he could only make out the passerby’s shadowy silhouette and the broken umbrella he was carrying. He couldn’t see any of the man’s features – at least it sounded like a man – but he could tell the stranger was looking right at him.


“It is,” Graham said. His inner Captain Obvious stirred. If water is falling from the sky, then it’s probably raining.


“You’re getting wet,” said the stranger.


Graham’s eyes widened. You don’t say? “I know.”


The man paused. Graham could feel him scowling. “If you must sit in the rain, you should do it somewhere else, kid. This house is haunted.”


Graham blinked a few times. He twisted around to look at the faded and decrepit Victorian he called home. “Oh, I’m sure it’s not. It’s old and faded and, yes, it has a certain New England-Halloween charm, but that pretty much applies to all the houses in this neighborhood. In fact, Beacon Street is on the Brunswick historical registry. That’s why the road isn’t paved, because the state has to, you know… preserve its original, um… materials.”


The stranger harrumphed. “It’s haunted, all right. Heed my words or you’ll be sorry.” Then he turned abruptly and shuffled down the uneven sidewalk. He muttered to himself as he walked away. The wind quieted enough for Graham to catch the words “ghost,” “monster” and “death” before the stranger was out of earshot.


Well. Shit.


Graham scrambled up the steps, grabbed his radio and went inside. “Guys!” he called from the entryway. “We have a problem!”


The problem wasn’t that the house was haunted. The problem was that people – ordinary people – were circulating rumors that it was.


Granted, Graham’s condition happened to be of a supernatural nature, but that was no reason he couldn’t earn his bachelor’s degree, maybe even a master’s after that, and live a perfectly normal life. The only thing preventing that was if word got out that he and his roommates were not, in fact, entirely human.


For the residents of 1819 Beacon Street, a household consisting of a ghost, a grim reaper, a siren, a cherub, a werewolf, a shape-shifter and, as of one week ago, a witch, those rumors were terrifyingly close to the truth.

@Everyone in the house

 

[Trace]

​

I DON'T WANT EASY

THE WORLD MAKES ALL KINDS OF RULES FOR LOVE


I SAY YOU GOTTA LET IT DO WHAT IT DOES


A LOVE THAT REVELS AND WE STILL BELIEVE


WE'RE THE KINDA CRAZY PEOPLE WITH THAT THEY COULD BE
​

When it rains, it pours.


This year’s June Gloom had been replaced by a series of tumultuous rainstorms, an off-and-on shower that had drenched Maine to the bare bone. The roof had begun to leak, though with the state of the weather he wouldn’t have been surprised if soon the roof just caved in once and for all. With the occasional roll of thunder over the last few weeks, however, the true age of the building might just show its true colors yet: aka, they’d all go down in a fantastic crumble of wooden beams and mud and wet.


Maybe it was just as well that his room was on the first floor.


The rain had done a number on Cyril’s usual routine. The usual weekly soccer scrimmage had been canceled until further notice, morning jogs were generally out because mud splatter in the morning was not fun, and though the gym was still a prospective option using the glorious and illustrious public transit system to traverse halfway across town to the fitness center seemed less an attractive option than usual. Still, duty was duty and so Cyril had been out and about since mid-morning and had only returned once at least three couples had found their meant-to-bes. That was more than he’d matched in the last two weeks alone, though that wasn’t a surprising occurrence at all; seemed like finding your soulmate couldn’t compare to the sorry state of the weather and the threat of pneumonia.


Cyril considered it luck that he had managed to snag the shower the moment he had stepped through the doorway, boots lined up by the entryway, and peeled his black rain jacket off his body like a second layer of skin. He’d chirped a quick hello to anyone he’d passed by before ducking into his room for his things and making a straight beeline into the first story bathroom, closing the door carefully behind him.


Sometimes, it was convenient to have the bedroom closest to the front door.


The steam and puncture of the water was a blissful blaze against his clammy skin. Cyril might be able appreciate normal bouts of rain but, lately, the weather may as well have been the prelude to the second coming of the Great Flood. Thus, Cyril was not ashamed to admit that he vastly preferred the comfort of the house and a thick blanket wrapped around his shoulders. It was one of the few time when he was willing to trade in smoothies for, well, anything hot, and so lately his blender, in conjunction with a large steel pot, had since joined together to become a hot bowl of soup delivery system. That had been the thought that had motivated him all day. Well, that and true love; you know, that was important too.


But soup was what Cyril had gotten onto the moment he’d stepped out of the bathroom which, for all of fifteen excellent moments, had been heaven. Now he stood in the kitchen, slaving away in front of a stove where a big pot of thick tomato soup was bubbling away, a recipe he used time and time again, courtesy of Chef Google Search. The kitchen was still orderly, something he prided himself on, and all dishes save for the pot and ladle had been washed and carefully placed in the dishwasher to dry. With one hand he stirred away with a wooden ladle, neck craned to the right as he squinted at a textbook that was outstretched upon the nearby counter—never say that he was not a man who could multitask. A clean and dry fluffy white towel was draped around his shoulders while a pair of dark sweats and matching slippers and an (embarrassing, but he was 114% sure that that had been the point when it had been gifted upon him) novelty apron, courtesy of his father, made up the rest of his post-shower garb.


Thirty minutes of attentive stirring later, it was done, and Cyril crept to the staircase and called out, “There’s tomato soup for anyone who will wash their own bowl!” before shuffling back to the kitchen.


Free food was generally a motivator for people.


It was not long after he said this—a few minutes, perhaps—and turned the burner down to low that he could hear the sound of the front door open, the rush of rain suddenly pitter pattering louder, and the call of Graham’s voice from the entryway.


Cyril curiously poked his head out of the kitchen before rounding the corner, ladle still in hand, and there was the dark haired young man, soaking wet and trailing small puddles of water in his wake.


Justin’s not going to like that, was his first thought, and he tossed the towel around his shoulders towards Graham with an easy underhanded lop.


“Is it the roof again? Are we going to have to put up a tarp?”


A closer look at Graham’s face caused an immediate backpedal, Cyril blinking owlishly at the man who was drenched from head to toe.


“Oh, it’s worse, isn’t it.”

I WANT CRAZY

WHO CARES IF YOU'RE ALL I THINK ABOUT


I'VE SEARCHED THE WORLD AND I KNOW NOW


IT AIN'T RIGHT IF YOU AIN'T LOST YOUR MIND
​

LOCATION - KITCHEN THEN ENTRY WAY , TAGGED - GRAHAM + ALL

CODE AND GRAPHICS BY

TRACE , GIF FROM NOT ME[/color]"]NOT ME
​

 

[kou]

Bip Trumaine

-Location: Home-

​

These were the days that Bip had longed for, the days where rain pounded upon the cracked pavement and muffled out the waking sounds of the world to replace it with a light pattering amongst your bedroom window.


It was so comforting, so tranquil, and yet, Bip could find no solace in the rain anymore due solely to the fact that she could not feel it. She couldn't mirror the expression on the human's facial features when water seeped into their socks and matted to their flesh, she couldn't revel in the bliss of being able to dance joyously as the sky shed tears upon the world of dreariness. She could no longer do such things and it made her feel so empty although she knew that it wasn't such a hardship to become her..except that it was.


Bip stood in the midst of the rain outside, directly behind the house and allowed it to pass through her as if she were merely nothing but an imprint on the world. She had been intrigued by Graham's eccentric condition of being seated outside whilst the weather weeped but had abandoned that in turn for thinking by herself. Had it been so long, truly? Had she overstayed her welcome? Why did she feel so alone?


The red dress did not flutter, barely moved in the torrential downpour and Bip lowered her head. She turned, casting aside her concern and metaphorically turning her back on the world. She wanted to never leave the home once more but she knew that the inquisitive side of her would not allow this detrimental change and so Bip silently mourned for what she had lost in the events of her death.


Much to her chagrin, she was abruptly interrupted by conversation which seemed to be exchanged by both Cyril and Graham. Bip silently wandered into the room, brow furrowing in befuddlement as she gazed at the two. "Pardon? What is occurring? Should we be concerned?"

 

[Novus]

"It's like ladies night at Prowl out here..."
​

It was an exceptionally wet week, so far. Jonnie trudged up to the steps of his new home, practically soaked to his ears in the precipitation alone, not accounting for the slight case of humidity. And while it was a dream for some, it was starting to take a toll on the man. Reaching the door, he sniffled and sneezed--right when a bolt of lightning crashed onto the street. "Aw, come on!" he yelled while rushing inside quickly. That was the type of thing that would blow his cover completely.


Jonathan had moved into the house a week ago, but wasn't quite aware of the type of stress he'd be under as a result. When he'd filled out the application, he wasn't aware that the house's occupants were just as peculiar as he was--especially Graham and Cyril. They were his best customers, on a almost friend-like status. So, when he arrived just a week ago, Jonnie figured it'd be nice to have others to express the strains of having to keep a lid on himself to.


There was no way he could be more wrong about that.


"Hey." he announced, unfastening his work apron and hanging it on its proper hook. Sledgehammer was only a block and a half away, but on a day like this Jonnie wished it was next door. He stripped out of his shirt and left his shoes and socks at the door so he wouldn't track anything on Justin's precious floor. His favorite two people were engaged in some sort of conversation that left a serious look on their faces. Slinging his sodden shirt over his shoulder, Jonathan steered past the entryway and into the kitchen quickly, wanting a little time to decompress.


The first thing he noticed was the tangy hints of tomato soup in the air. It filled his chest with a weird kind of warmth. But something was wrong. He approached the white Northstar stove and immediately caught on to the red-herring. He'd used that same pot yesterday to make Rune Stones with Johanna--out of boiled snake bones. Sure, Jonathan had washed the pot, twice, but that didn't stop him from opting to a salad...that he'd eat later.


He gingerly padded his way back to the the newly formed trio, leaning against the wall for support. His feet were killing him after that double. "Okay, I'll bite." he pipped in, feeling that he was settled in enough to partake in these situations. "What's wrong? Did Prince Eric miss a date?" he asked, trying to lighten the atmosphere just a little.


I'm the hitch, I'm what no one believes...

​

where he went- the soggy outdoors, the kitchen, then the entryway.


what he did- finished his shift, sneezed lightning, chose salad over soup, joined the conversation

​

 

[Angst]

:Justin Herrier:

Wet. Everything was soaking wet. The grass, the trees, the streets, the people, and even

air itself were all inches deep in the rising wall of moisture. Hell, the rain had even found


a way to infiltrate every house in Brunswick, and the aged, decaying Victorian on Beacon


Street was certainly no exception. As if two weeks' worth of waterlogged commutes to and


from his daily classes at the local community college, classes that had been spent in the


uncomfortability of numerous layers of clothing so inundated with precipitation that they


clung to his body like a second skin, hadn't already been enough to put Justin in an


exceptionally foul mood, the intolerable state of disarray that had taken over the house


under the influence of such a formidable storm served as a mounting form of stress as


the days wore on. For with rain came mud, which was followed by footprints left on the


entryway floor, and leaking ceilings, which were followed by the growth of mold, and


mildew.


The absolute icing on the cake was something that Justin had discovered upon his


arrival home that very day. Upon entering the house, after stopping on the front porch


to wring out his clothing the best that he could and slipping his shoes off by the door,


he had wanted nothing more than to shower and seclude himself in the welcome


comfort of a completely dry bedroom to work and study. As to be expected, however,


he had not gotten his wish, and instead found himself stepping into a second floor


room that had finally succumbed to the force of the torrential downpour ravaging the


state, the ceiling leaking in multiple places, and the floor covered in a slick layer of


water.




Justin had put out pans and other containers to as much of the drippage as

possible, but for now he had resigned himself to the couch in the house's main


as the second most favorable location in which to carry out his studies; a bit noisier


than would have been preferred, but better than most of his other options. At the


moment, the young man was sitting back against the cushions, textbook propped up


on his knee as he reviewed the notes on Roman architecture that he had taken


earlier that afternoon, which were positioned on the arm of the couch beside him. In

contrast to his usual preference of a suit and tie, Justin was dressed simply in a pair


of gray sweats and a plain white t-shirt, clothes that he normally reserved for full


moons due to his lack of regard for any damage that came to them but that he had


donned under the excuse of being much too worn out to fix himself up again.




His nostrils filled with the scent of tomato soup cooking on the stove as his eyes


skimmed over a passage about the Coliseum. Probably Cyril. He had heard the


the cherub step in not too long ago. A barely noticeable smile hovered on his lips


at the ensuing sound of Cyril's offer to "anyone who would wash their own bowl,"


which confirmed his hypothesis. It completely disappeared, however, barely moments


later, with the four consecutive thuds that signaled the front door being opened and


closed twice in a row and the muffled conversation that followed. It seemed that


Graham had finally come inside, and Jonathan had returned from his job.





With a heavy sigh, Justin set his reading materials aside and strode briskly out


into the kitchen to discover the source of the commotion. When he crossed over the


threshold, he found that four others -Bip, amongst the three that he had expected-


were already gathered there. Bip, Cyril, and Jonathan all stood within close proximity


to Graham, whose face portrayed an expression of concern and who, much to Justin's


chagrin, was currently dripping water all over the floor. "What happens to be so urgent


that it would lead you to rush in here and track rain onto the kitchen floor?" he addressed


Graham, trying -yet failing miserably- to keep the disapproval from his voice as he


approached them.

​

 

[Nap]

Zeno Koufer

Location: Androscoggin Swinging Bridge

Actions: Collecting

"You're dead."


He had expected the collection to be easier, but there was always one person who didn't understand their situation. Zeno stood in the pelting rain, his cloak clinging to his skin. To keep himself from falling off the swaying bridge, he dug his scythe into the rocky architecture, earning a grunt from the tool. Hossam was as irritated as he was. After all, they'd been in the same place for over an hour. With the same man. Same dead man.


A middle aged man curled up at Zeno's feet, his hands covering his face. For some reason, he wasn't able to process the scene of his body, limp and half way out the front view window. According to what appeared in Zeno's mind, the 43 year old left his office a minute too late. The Reaper knew the male was going to die by crashing on the flooding bridge, or if he lived, getting poisoned by his wife in two weeks. Shouldn't have kissed the secretary, Zeno sang in his mind as he tapped the pitiful soul with Hossam's butt. The skeleton immediately groaned because that sparked a strident speech of how "he couldn't be dead."


"Look, Mark," Zeno began as he crossed his bony arms, letting the hood of his clock further shadow his face. "You're dead. DEAD. D-E-A-D. Muerto. Tot. RIP." He grabbed the sitting figure's head and turned it towards the accident. "That is your body. Your destroyed, actually quite nice, car. No. One. Is. Coming." Which was true. No one dared to come in the current weather, especially to Androscoggin. The river was beginning to become more violent and Zeno knew if a human came to the area, he'd have to collect even more people.


The Reaper sighed before bringing his shoulders back and standing tall. He forced his voice to change and it became low, booming, and almost eerie. "Marcus Gillin. You must come with me or be forced to wander the Earthlands until you turn into a vengeful spirit." That seemed to shake the soul back to reality and Marcus immediately stood up, muttering words that Zeno didn't care for. "Kay, bye." Zeno simply said, touching the male's forehead with a finger. Without emotion, he watched the soul to ash before swiftly falling and soaking into the ground. Hell-4275, Heaven-392.

 

[KaoriMei]

_

E R I N _ R U T H _ W E L L E R

In the forest, the sky vanished almost completely, only a few fragments of blue remained - like scattered pieces of an impossible jigsaw puzzle. The air was rich with the fragrance of leaves and loam, damp too. After hours of pouring rain, the soil remained wet. No longer did the sun come out with it's powerful rays of early summer light. How long had it been? Maybe two weeks or more? What began as some high wind and a smattering of rain had built into the worst storms. Children stayed at home. As did their parents.


Her fur was dark and... black. Her pointy, triangular ears were alert for any unusual sound. Her skull was round with a small nose sticking out with her mouth directly underneath. Her tiny cheeks were completely covered with long, white whiskers. Her eyes were symmetrical, shaped like a tiled round leaf. Inside were large, green eye balls with longitudinal pupils that would spark at some angles.


Delicate paw prints punctured in the mud lead from the tree that Erin once sat on as the little cat raised her nose to the sky, a kiss of dampness hung ready to meet the tender earth. She swayed her tail left to right as if to rid herself of the gathering tension that came with a hunt. Moving down the pathway of the forest with the slink all true felines possess, claws still sheathed, her mind surged sending tingles right to her toes as she landed on the rock.


Suddenly she felt the sharp pain of a paw easily fling her off the rock and she was rolling... slowly rolling down the deep hills of Brunswick's forest. Wet mud covered her fur, her paws waved frantically in the air as she tried to regain her position yet she could not bring herself to. Rolling down a muddy hill while the sky was shredding tears was not exactly fun. Especially for a fragile cat that weighed almost eight pounds and could NOT handle the powerful wind and rain.


B A M


Her body lay arched around a tree stump, almost as though she was camouflaged into the damp mud. Quickly she leaped upwards onto her four feet, however stumbled slightly as the trees slowly spun in her vision. Fuck.





What felt like hours but took approximately thirty-four minutes, Erin finally managed to stalk her way inside her own bedroom window. Perks of being a cat; you can jump... high. Still with no clue what - or who - had hit her earlier on, she did have some suspects running through her mind; either it was her devil brother, Ethan, that was twelve minutes older than her or the blonde bimbo that ran into her talking to her boyfriend who may have been throwing some flirty comments every now and then. Yes, Erin may have pulled that horrible stunt last year but she'd set herself some rules...


DON'T GO FOR A TAKEN GUY, NO MATTER HOW GORGEOUS HIS EYES ARE. OR HOW GOOD HE LOOKS. JUST, NO.


That was exactly what she had written in her journal...


Green eyes glanced around the dark bedroom in case the criminal who had almost 'killed her' was around. Silence. Once she'd checked the room was all clear, she began the slow process of torture shifting back into her human form. Skin, teeth and nails shedding, Erin had somehow managed to put up with the torture of having her teeth and nails fall out. But it still hurt. Hell, she had no idea how she first shifted. It was worse than having sex for the first time.


Erin slowly reached over for her duvet with her hand, dragging it off the bed and wrapping it around her naked body. "Holy hell, that was cool!" A small yelp escaped her lips as her brother's voice came out of no where. It took a moment or two for her to realize what he had been talking about.


"You prick! I could have died," The first thing Erin picked up was her pillow as she flung it over to her brother who happened to be grinning widely. He sat at her window lodge in nothing but simple shorts. Of course, he was always clever enough to take spare clothes with him to wear when he had shifted back to his human self.


Ethan easily caught the pillow in his bare hands as he shrugged, "It was tempting, okay?" He chuckled as he threw the pillow on her bed. "But seriously, are you okay?"


The pain finally hit Erin. She hadn't had the time to examine herself if her brother hadn't made such an appearance. "Ugh. I can already feel the bruise forming on my back." Not only that but smalls cuts also made themselves welcome on Erin's long legs yet they appeared to be healing... slowly. "Just... leave, you moron."


And that was the last Erin heard or saw Ethan. Giving her cuts and bruises some time to heal - Erin would have taken a nice bubble bath but if it hadn't been for the leaking rooftop. Yep, that was the disadvantage of living in the house. The rain easily got through the roof.





A voice. That was all Erin needed to wake her up from her deep slumber. The house had been so peacefully quiet and tranquil till a commotion began to arise in the kitchen. For just a moment, Erin had forgotten what had happened between her and her brother but the memories flooded in. Fast.


Her brown hair was still damp. She'd manage to sneak into the downstairs bathroom to take a quick bath. However, she'd somewhat grew real tired and fell asleep in the closest bedroom she found; whether it was Cryil's, Graham's or Bip's she really had no clue. And that was only because she never entered their rooms. As if they gave her permission anyway. She was sure they barely trusted her after... what happened last year.


"Damn..." Leaning up with her right arm, Erin slowly rolled out of the comfortable bed she'd happily slept in. Like a baby. The commotion that was happening in the kitchen finally hit Erin.


Making her way outside the bedroom and towards the voices, Erin finally made an appearance into the kitchen. Dressed in simple checkered PJ shorts and a tank top, she stopped to stare at everyone.


"Did you set the kitchen on fire again, Jonny-boy?" A small grin slowly curled up on Erin's face; her eyes wandering around the kitchen to see if there actually were any fires. This time there wasn't. Funny. "So, what's all the commotion about?"


As Erin headed deeper into the kitchen, the smell off tomato hit her nose. Her stomach rumbled and immediately her feet dragged across the floor, over to the stove. "Oooh, yummy. Who doesn't love tomato soup?" Picking up the wooden spoon, she brought it towards her mouth and gave it a small lick. "Oh yeah, I kinda slept in one of your -" She pointed towards Bip, Graham and Cyril, "- beds. And used your bathroom. You guys are hella organized."
​

​

 

[Pluvious]

. Graham Murray .


Tagged: Everyone in the house

​

It wasn’t often that Graham commanded the full attention of a room, not that he usually tried. Now that he had the floor, however, he wasn’t quite sure how to proceed. For a moment he stood silently, trying to process everyone’s questions. The rain continued to hammer against the house, as if trying to beat its way inside.


Graham twisted the towel Cyril had tossed him between his hands while water continued to drip off his rain-soaked clothes and pool onto the wood floor. Stop stalling.


“This weird guy just passed by,” he said, trying to make eye contact with the blurry faces of his roommates. “I think he might be watching the house… he thinks it’s haunted – that we’re haunting it? I think he knows something’s up. He walked away raving about monsters and death…”


He could hear the paranoia in his voice, the twitchy uncertainty of his suspicion. There was something off about that guy. He could just feel it.


He reflexively reached up to adjust his glasses before he remembered he wasn’t wearing them. Cyril was instantly recognizable, if not by the familiarity of his voice, then by the look-at-me red apron splashed across his front. Bip he knew by the wildness of her hair and the swirl of her skirt. He heard the playful jest in Jon’s voice and the icy tone in Justin’s, though neither he could see very well. Once Erin had walked past him, he could no longer make out her sharp features, but even from a distance he could discern the shadow of her cheekbones and soft wispiness of her tousled hair. They were only missing Zeno, which supported Graham’s earlier thought: he must be working.


Graham blinked at his housemates. He couldn’t tell if they understood the gravity of the situation, and there was indeed a situation. They’d lived in the house on Beacon Street without incident for a little over two years now, which was as long as Graham had lived there. As far as he knew, everyone had been careful to conceal their true identities. He tried to think of anything over the past few weeks, months even, that might have drawn unwanted attention, but nothing came to mind.


“I’m telling you guys, something feels weird,” he said. “This guy wouldn’t drop the subject. Even after I told him our house wasn’t haunted. He just went on…” And then it hit him. The stranger didn’t brighten up the way people normally did when they spoke to Graham. In fact, his attitude seemed only to worsen. Odd. Graham's voice always had a positive effect on humans.


“Oh my god.” Graham froze while the gears in his mind clicked into place. “That guy… I think he’s one of us.”


He looked up at his roommates once more, tacitly pleading for an explanation. Something wasn’t adding up.

 

[kou]

°°Bip°°


••Location••


°°The Creaking House°°


••Theme Song- Hospital Beds: Cold War Kids••


[media]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JCXstNLh6RA[/media]


°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

What?


What?


That was impossible, quite improbable, highly unlikely. Bip had observed so many passing faces for such a long after the events of her demise, studying them for any sign of the quirks she possessed and she had only seen what they allowed her to see. She had learned to witness the natural process of life as many others had deemed to miss it, the smallest speck of roused dust, the dewiness which clung to sullen trees, the imminent sway of a roudy drunkard.





To say that this obvious spectacle was something she had merely missed was surprising, imposing, foreboding. No, perhaps it was just a unique coincidence but the subtle undertone of warning in Graham's voice suggested otherwise. Bip glanced at the others, her face placidly calm however the tremor in her hand suggested otherwise. In her mind a million thoughts were whirring through her head, the man had apparently voiced his opinions on the inhabitants of this shambled house aloud and that greatly concerned Bip.





"What was once lost to the spirit will now be reclaimed and reborn in his image.." Bip's voice was barely above a whisper against the incessant pounding of the rain intermingled with the hammering in her head. It would be wise to somehow seek the man and ask of his origin but she didn't know whether it was permittable, you weren't exactly provided rules in the Supernatural world.





You were thrust in and treated as if you were a newborn.





"What might he have been wearing, dear Graham?"

 

[Trace]

​

I DON'T WANT EASY

THE WORLD MAKES ALL KINDS OF RULES FOR LOVE


I SAY YOU GOTTA LET IT DO WHAT IT DOES


A LOVE THAT REVELS AND WE STILL BELIEVE


WE'RE THE KINDA CRAZY PEOPLE WITH THAT THEY COULD BE
​

The towel remained dry while the person holding it dripped water, each out-of-order drop sure to grate Justin’s nerves. His opening line was most likely a pretty good indicator of his current mood state. There was a mop in the corner of the kitchen, the dreads of it soaking in a plastic bucket filled with soapy water. No, paper towels would be better. Or, just towels. And with that thought he eyed the fluffy towel he had given the young man with a sheepish look in his eyes. Oh well. He had tried, at the very least.


There was a small gathering of them now, Zeno being the obvious missing link and Erin having just arrived. Her pointer finger found his chest, and then Graham’s, and then Bip’s in turn; and her words made him instinctively slide his gaze over to the door of his room. That was an easy enough check. He pushed his room open with his foot, the door creaking on its hinges. The faint smell of his ‘meadow and rain’ (whatever that meant) air freshener wafted into the entryway and he could see his bed, sheets and comforter still neatly made. Cyril shook his head, hands held up, ladle hanging loosely from his fingertips. Must have been Bip’s, he figured—she had the room closest to the bathroom.


“Not mine,” he drawled back at Erin, positioning himself against the door frame and away from the growing puddle of water that was beginning to trail along the floor. The foundation must be slanted; somehow, Cyril wasn’t surprised. There was something off about everything in the house.


And how. It was a thought that segued amazingly well into Graham’s alarming story. The urgency in the other man’s expression, the stricken look in his eyes, elicited a heavy feeling in his gut, like a lead ornament had sunk into the pit of his stomach. However, Graham’s words—well, if Cyril was to be completely honest, it didn’t seem like that big of a deal, not entirely. If the mystery man was a supernatural himself, then that was safe, right? It seemed more a warning to Cyril than anything else. Maybe the guy just didn’t have the best communication skills (because ranting as you leave a conversation is not the way to go).


Cyril’s head tilted, a careful smile drawn upon his face. He spoke once Bip finished her inquiry, his eyes shining bright and sympathetic. “Graham, uh, maybe I’m missing something here so, you know, feel free to correct me if I’m wrong but…”


His lips stretched, frowning. “Is this really a big deal?”


He tossed his head, hands in front of him, backpedaling, words tumbling from his lips. “I mean yeah, the raving—usually an indicator of bad news—but should we be jumping to panic straight away? If he’s a supernatural, maybe he was warning us?” he questioned, sentence ending in a hopeful lilt.


Outside, a bolt of lightning tore across the sky. Thunder reigned. A cymbal crash. A sonic boom. It was enough to make the young man startle in place.


“Christ,” Cyril whistled, fingers tracing through his damp hair. A quick glance into his room and he saw the ceiling stain mocking him, weeping droplets of water to the floor from...Jonathan’s room? Leaky pipe? Worm hole?


A regretful sigh fizzled from between his teeth. “I knew I should have gone up to put the tarp on the roof while I had the chance.”

I WANT CRAZY

WHO CARES IF YOU'RE ALL I THINK ABOUT


I'VE SEARCHED THE WORLD AND I KNOW NOW


IT AIN'T RIGHT IF YOU AIN'T LOST YOUR MIND
​

LOCATION - ENTRY WAY , TAGGED - GRAHAM + ALL

CODE AND GRAPHICS BY

TRACE , GIF FROM NOT ME[/color]"]NOT ME
​

 

[Novus]

'They're coming.'
​

Jonathan forced a smile upon his face. But, in reality, it felt as if he'd been kicked in the gut. Someone was watching them...which could only mean they were watching him. The order might have sent someone to ask questions, start up rumors. "I've got this." he said bluntly, moving past everyone else and up to his room.


He had two options: Use the safer route and bury his Celtic Shield at their doorstep or make a deal with Papa Legba and get the ensured protection-at a price. 'Think of Jo, think of Jo...' he repeated in his mind, finally deciding not to fly off the handle. He would be vulnerable outside the house, for this was an heirloom passed down from the ancestors of his ancestors. Coming back down the steps, he carried his grimoire in one hand and a shovel in the other.


"Cyril, come with me." he said in a strained tone, tossing the huge, old book on the couch. This was becoming quite the place, indeed. Jonathan began to focus, and thus his eyes were a brilliant flare of color. One wrong move right now and someone was getting hexed, or worse. He focused on protection and thought of his sister as he stepped outside, into the rain. The gaelic language was a little rusty, but the Gods would understand his concern as he whispered hymns of sealing and evanescence to the charm around his neck.


I'm the hitch, I'm what no one believes...

​

where he went- his room, then back outside.


what he did- made a decision, started casting

​

 

[Trace]

​

I DON'T WANT EASY

THE WORLD MAKES ALL KINDS OF RULES FOR LOVE


I SAY YOU GOTTA LET IT DO WHAT IT DOES


A LOVE THAT REVELS AND WE STILL BELIEVE


WE'RE THE KINDA CRAZY PEOPLE WITH THAT THEY COULD BE
​

There was a smile on Jonathan’s face: like patchwork, mismatched. Cyril’s brow creased, curiosity and concern coloring his eyes. But before he could manage to say anything, the man was gone. The sound of quick footsteps pounded up the stairs and then down just moments later. Jonathan returned, some sort of giant tome in hand that screamed ’ritual magic handbook’ in Cyril’s head.


Cyril blinked, lashes fluttering incredulously, trying not to be mystified by the radiant light that colored the older man’s eyes, burning bright like a supernova as he walked past. They were a beacon of mysticism, purveyor of a strange sort of energy that even Cyril could feel shuddering in his bones.


“Yessssssir,” fell from his mouth. He glanced towards Bip, still gaping, questions on his tongue but never spilling out.


Fingers made quick work of the bow tied at his back. He tucked the annoyingly red apron over his head, pulling it off and pressing it into Erin’s hands. The smell of tomato soup wafted from it, clinging to the fabric. “Hold my apron,” he told her seriously. It was a less an order, more an urgent and important request that he was confident would be accepted. The ladle was next, this time a gift for Justin.


“And my ladle.”


A flurry of movement and he grabbed at the clear umbrella hanging on the inside knob of his room, kicked on a pair of sandals, and hurried down the porch steps and into the frigid rain. Rain beat at his bare chest and down the fabric of his dark sweats. He had half a mind to quip something clever, but the sheer look of concentration upon Jonathan’s face caught his tongue in a vice. The sound of pouring rain mingled with whispers under Jonathan’s breath, a strange language that Cyril did not understand. He followed after, hovering nearby, heart thrumming and a nervous energy about him. This wasn’t his jurisdiction, not by a long shot. He’d always felt, out of all of them, that he was the one who didn’t belong. The mismatched crayon. The ’one of these things is not like the other’. The one with the ability that was less a power, more like helping fate along. Whatever was happening now was way over Cyril’s head and he was too afraid of screwing something up to risk asking how, what, why?


Instead he snapped the umbrella open and, arm extended, held it hesitantly, high over Jonathan’s head alone, a feeble globe of protection against the pattering rain.

I WANT CRAZY

WHO CARES IF YOU'RE ALL I THINK ABOUT


I'VE SEARCHED THE WORLD AND I KNOW NOW


IT AIN'T RIGHT IF YOU AIN'T LOST YOUR MIND
​

LOCATION - ENTRY WAY, HIS ROOM, THEN OUTSIDE , TAGGED - JONATHAN, BIP, ERIN, JUSTIN

CODE AND GRAPHICS BY

TRACE , GIF FROM NOT ME[/color]"]NOT ME
​

 

[Novus]

"Féadfaidh na cosáin bac ag solas agus aer."
​

Cyril lifted the umbrella above his head, which earned the kid a genuine smile from Jonathan. He was thoughtful as hell, whether it was warranted or not. That was the main reason why he chose the Cherub for this ritual. If it was up to Jonathan, he'd take the goofball and show him what it really meant to recieve all that affection and more. But, as it was, he had much more on his plate. Jonnie slammed the shovel into the dirt, which gave away easily for the witch. "Okay, I'm going to need you to dig."


While Cy was engrossed in doing that, Jonnie took the opportunity to yank out a few strands of the boy's hair. Cyril was needed for three reasons. The first two were simple enough. Being that he was basically the entity of love and bonds, the spell would get a grand amplification that was just a stroke of pure luck. The second reason he needed Cy was the fact that he was a virgin. Jonathan could tell flat out--birds of a feather and such. Even Graham-Cracker got his groove on before those two, and that was saying something.


The final cause wasn't the most noble. In fact, the whole point made Jonnie disgusted with himself.


Cyril would mask the fact that Jonnie ever did the spell.


But this wasn't just for his sake; it was for all of their safety, including his sister. Had they not been born who they were, maybe Jonathan could have a normal life or even a normal witch life. He could live here and train Jo as he pleased; not pushing her to the limit before their time was up. He could even have the time to ask the boy he liked out, instead of ripping his hair out.


"Blessed be." he murmered, wrapping the lock around the shield and dropping it into the hole the Cherub had created. he effect was almost instantaneous, with only the ones within the protected radius feeling its effect. A thin, translucently metallic dome erected itself around the house and most of the yard. Only Jonnie could actually see it, though he was sure the space would look funny to any Super from within.


"Fuck. Yes." he said, voice filled with the whimsicality of having pulled off some pretty potent magic.


I'm the hitch, I'm what no one believes...

​

where he went- Outside


what he did- Created a shield

​

 

[Angst]

:Justin Herrier:

​

As Cyril and Jonathan disappeared out the front door and out into the rain, Justin let out a heavy sigh, staring down at the ladle that the cherub had so graciously placed into his hands.


"Well, at any rate," he said, moving over to the stove to neatly place the utensil back into the pot from whence it had come, "I'm going to see what I can do about the state of this room." He glared up at the water steadily dripping from the ceiling with disgust. Surely, the place was appealing to look at from the outside, but what did the house have to be so damned old?


In all honesty, Graham's news didn't concern him all too much. As Cyril had so calmly pointed out, people were going to talk. They had done it before, and would continue long after every one of the house's residents was long gone, either by way of death or otherwise. While the suspicion that the man had been supernatural like the rest of them was certainly unusual, it was hardly cause for alarm. If that were the case, maybe he was simply lost, or, again, as Cyril had put it, warning them of something. That in itself was the only alarming possibility. Warning them of what, exactly? On the other hand, Justin himself knew several other supernatural beings who lived in the area; maybe it had been one of them that Graham had seen. Quite a few of them were the type to enjoy stirring up trouble. Besides, whoever it was, if he wished to do them harm, he would have quite a force to contend with. And if he tried to convince others of their abnormal qualities, who would believe him? Ghosts and monsters...it was all outrageously obsurd. Or, at least, that's what Justin would have thought, if he weren't currently living among them.


Whatever the case, Justin made the decision not to address the matter. All talk of dark clouds on the horizon aside, his primary concern was cleaning up the horrendous mess that was their kitchen. On that note, he crossed over to one of the drawers under the sink and pulled out a towel before crossing back over into the main entryway.


"I apologize for snapping at you," he told Graham curtly as he passed him by, not sounding at all like he meant it. "But you should really take care of removing yourself from those waterlogged clothes."


With that, he knelt down to the floor, towel in hand, barely managing to keep himself from slipping in the growing puddle as he did so. To cover, he turned his gaze on Bip and Erin, who were still standing in the room. "Should either of you be so inclined to help, something to catch all of this rainwater in would be nice."

​

​

​

 

[kou]

-Bip-


-Location-


-The Creaking House-


-Theme Song-


-The Walkmen: Don't Forget Me-


[media]

[/media]

-------------

Bip tuned out after Cyril and Jonathon took their leave, her thoughts still plastered on what Graham had said. This was something to be concerned about due to the fact that it had occurred before, long ago before Zeno was here. It had not taken place directly in this house but many people had whispered of it when they were assured that no one would be able to hear it, Bip had heard it even if she had tried desperately to forget of the event. As if it were merely a reflection, she found herself staring directly into the eyes of a small child whom stood before her rather than the dilapidated kitchen she had previously inhabited. The child gazed up at her with sorrowful eyes, reaching out as if she needed some form of comfort that Bip could not provide.


As if she truly saw Bip. It had been impossible to think of prior to the arrival of new Supernaturals, Bip had always been searching but no one had ever truly noticed her plight. Until this child appeared like a dream, descended upon the Heavens before being destroyed by Man. She could still recall the plump hand reaching out to lock onto hers..that was when they had taken her and done what had happened to Bip. They had strung up a rope and grabbed ahold of the small child, they had placed the noose around her neck and Bip had watched in sheer terror as the girl was strung upon a willow tree and snatched from the world as if she had never placed a foot upon it. She had weeped that day, mourned for the nothingness within her and the sheer thought of what could have been had the girl lived and loose lips had not told of her origin.


Bip knew the child had been one of her. Bip had witnessed the mother spit upon the very grave of the life she had created.


Bip knew quite a lot.


The cutting words from Justin had interrupted her thoughts and she glanced at the ceiling overhead before smiling meekly. "I apologize but if you hadn't noticed, I am transparent and will go through anything I touch."

​

 

[Trace]

​

I DON'T WANT EASY

THE WORLD MAKES ALL KINDS OF RULES FOR LOVE


I SAY YOU GOTTA LET IT DO WHAT IT DOES


A LOVE THAT REVELS AND WE STILL BELIEVE


WE'RE THE KINDA CRAZY PEOPLE WITH THAT THEY COULD BE
​

Cyril nodded, a simple incline of his head and a focused glint in his eyes. “You got it, man.”


The umbrella snapped shut and was discarded haphazardly on the lawn. He gripped the shovel and began what the other man had started: breaking through the earth with strong, precise strokes. His shoulders and biceps ached, residual pain from his time at the gym, but it wasn’t too strenuous a task; if anything, it was the rain and muddy state of the earth that were the adversaries here.


Stab, lift, dump. Repeat again. Though Cyril noticed the other man draw closer, he certainly wasn’t expecting the short-lived pinprick of pain at his scalp—or the few strands of his honey brown hair now pinched between Jonathan’s fingers. Cyril didn’t flinch, but he couldn’t quite hide the openly confused furrow of his brow either or the involuntary ”what?” that escaped his mouth as he stopped digging for a moment to gape at him, expression caught between bewildered and amused.


No explanation. Cyril resumed digging


He snuck a few looks at the other man between each strike of the shovel, blinking back the rain droplets that were blurring his vision. He caught enough to see the strange looking shield, his hair wrapped around it. Through the sound of rainfall he could hear the murmur of some sort of incantation underneath Jonathan’s breath.


Stab, lift, dump. Soon, the hole was finished and the shield was dropped within.


What happened next came the moment the shield hit the ground. There was nothing--and then something. A jolt ran through Cyril, a slow crawl that sped through his body and then—nothing. A quick glance around found the surroundings the same as before.


The rain continued, unperturbed. Cyril shivered, hair sticking damply to his forehead and nape, skin clammy.


By all accounts, Jonathan seemed to have pulled it off—whatever it was. The big indicator—his quietly triumphant ’Fuck. Yes.’—pretty much said it all and Cyril barked out at a laugh in response, exhilarated even as the rain was soaking him straight to the bone.


He pitched the shovel upright in the grass, like a mast. The umbrella was retrieved, the mechanism in the handle clicking as he pressed the button, the ribs shooting out to form the canopy.


“Since no one is that happy when they fail,” began Cyril slowly, mouth crooked and an eyebrow arched. He raised the umbrella over the other man’s head before handing it to him. “I’m going to guess that you succeeded.”


He gestured at the uncovered hole, the shield still in plain view, and wrested the shovel from the ground. It came to rest upon his bare shoulder. “Should I cover this baby up?” he asked breezily, inclining his head in a sidelong glance.

I WANT CRAZY


WHO CARES IF YOU'RE ALL I THINK ABOUT


I'VE SEARCHED THE WORLD AND I KNOW NOW


IT AIN'T RIGHT IF YOU AIN'T LOST YOUR MIND
​

LOCATION - OUTSIDE , TAGGED - JONATHAN

CODE AND GRAPHICS BY

TRACE , GIF FROM NOT ME"]NOT ME
​

[/color]

 

[Pluvious]

. Graham Murray .


Tagged: Justin, Bip and Erin

​

A strange tingling sensation trickled down the crown of Graham’s head to the tips of his cold fingers and the soles of his bare feet. He felt pins and needles everywhere, as though his whole body had fallen asleep, and shivered. Must be the cold.


“Sorry, Justin. I’ll take care of –” he vaguely gestured to the puddles he’d tracked in from the entryway, “– this.”


Then he ducked into his room, quickly scrubbing his black curls dry – or rather, damp – with Cyril’s towel. After peeling off his wet clothes and donning a fresh shirt and a pair of sweatpants, he reached for his glasses and put them on too. The world sharpened. He could see the grain of the wood in the floorboards, distinguish the fonts of the titles of the books on his bedside table. From his bedroom window he could recognize the silhouettes of Jonathan and Cyril through the onslaught of wind and rain. And then, just beyond them, he could make out a faint wall of shimmering light, so subtle he could only catch glimpses of it when he turned his head just so.


That definitely wasn’t there before.


Did Jonathan just perform magic? In the front yard? With Cyril? So much for keeping things on the DL.


Were they right, Cyril and Justin? Was he imagining things were more sinister than they were? Of course there were others like them living in the area. There were probably a good dozen just within a few blocks of Beacon Street. But there was a code, an unspoken understanding, among people of their kind. Or perhaps a better term was etiquette. Supernaturals, at least supernaturals like Graham, regarded their conditions as taboo. Even if they knew their mailman was an elf or their next door neighbor was a djinn, the expectation was that no one would allude to knowing anything. Polite denial. Feigned ignorance. It was an easy rule to live by – an ‘I’ll mind my business if you mind yours’ kind of deal. Graham was rather fond of it.


Yet something still wasn’t right. Maybe the stranger thought Graham was just an eccentric college kid or some new age hippie, but if that was the case, then he had violated one of the most important codes among supernaturals: he outed his own kind. A rogue supernatural was by far more dangerous than a human’s hearsay.


Graham returned to the hallway with a few more towels to find that Justin had already mopped up most of his water drippings. He bit back a reprimand and settled with, “Thanks, Justin.”


Cyril and Jonathan could use the towels when they came back inside anyway. Graham draped them over the railing at the foot of the stairs and turned to Bip and Erin. He lowered his voice.


“I don’t think I’m overreacting,” he said, more to himself than the girls. “Something feels off about this guy, I’m telling you. And if Jonnie’s gone all Harry Potter just now – and I think he has – then something must be up, right?”


For everyone’s sake, Graham hoped Bip and Erin would disagree.

 

[KaoriMei]

_

E R I N _ R U T H _ W E L L E R

Dazed and most likely recovering from her sleep; still trying to process everything that was going on in the kitchen, Erin stood in the kitchen beside the stove. Confused. Everything had been happening so fast. From falling asleep in one of her roommate's bedroom - which had been established that it may have been Bip's as hers was closest to the bathroom, Erin now stood in the kitchen, holding a spoon (the one she'd tasted the soup with) in her right hand and the red apron that Cyril had once been wearing. A small grin fell on her face slightly as the words 'CAUTION: Extremely Hot' stood out to her. It amused her, especially seeing Cyril in it.​

Lifting her head back up, she stared at the others that remained in the kitchen as Cyril and Jonathan headed outside. In the rain. And Cyril was shirtless. Erin shook her head a little, "I'm so confused." She muttered.


There was Justin worrying about the puddle of water on the floor and a leaky roof. Cyril worrying about the stranger who had put the thought in his head that people may be clocking supernaturals actually lived in the house. Jonathan and Cyril... God knows what they were up to. Bip was her usual self. And Erin... She just stared and watched. Confused.


Then she felt it. A strange feeling that she'd never experienced before running through her body that barely lasted a second. It was there. Then it was gone. Erin frowned a little. She was definitely not curious to find out where it came from nor bothered; after all, they were supernaturals. Strange was normal. Except it made her feel weird.


It was only until she heard Justin's voice as he asked for help that made her focus back on her roommates. Erin laughed. "Yeah..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "No thanks, buddy. Not my mess, not my job to clean." But that rule was nothing to Erin either way; she loved messy. Throwing the apron that she happened to still be holding onto the counter, and the spoon in the sink, Erin ran both of her hands through her hair while stretching her back at the same time. A small crack was heard, and a satisfied sigh from Erin.


"Graham, you'll get ill if you stress too much." Erin muttered as he continued on about the man whom he'd spoken to earlier on about a rumor going on around town that 'idiots' lived here. Though Erin couldn't say she didn't care. Because she did; anyone that knew Erin knew she cared when she used somebody's full name. The last thing she wanted was being found out she could shift into an animal. They'd probably send her to the zoo. Or the circus even. Oh god. The thought of being caged up for entertainment made Erin's stomach churn.


And now she was just as worried as Graham. As much as she would have loved to disagree with him, she couldn't. Otherwise, she knew she'd be lying. "I really do not want to live in the circus..." Was all that Erin could reply with.
​

​

​

 

[Novus]

"Cover that sucker and let's GO!"
​

"Oh yeah, and if anyone asks, we were burying my dead mom's jewelry in remembrance." he added, with a solemn note on the end. It wasn't as if he was all that false about it. The blonde skipped up the steps and waited fro his friend to follow. And, then he remembered the guy had no shirt on. No shirt. Abs.


The shy, quiet boy came out of him, his nose and cheeks flooding with color and his hands quaking. Maybe it was from the cold. Hopefully, it was from the cold. "Er....thanks Cy." he said unevenly, trying to hold himself together long enough to get them both inside and into clean shirts. Besides, he had to start figuring out how to give a ghost legs before his next shift.


I'm the hitch, I'm what no one believes...

​

where he went- Outside


what he did- Created a shield

​

 

[Nap]

Zeno Koufer


Zeno's body immediately felt heavy after sending off the pitiful man. Normally, collecting a few souls wouldn't faze him but he hadn't eaten since he started his work in the morning and without human food, his body was as useful as a dried fish. No offense to Graham.


A grunt came from the dark scythe he carried as he leaned his weight on it. "Zeno, don't lean your fat self onto me." Hossam grumbled irritably, his Arab accent thick and full of spite. The reaper frowned and hit the tool against the concrete floor. "Maybe I should have cut your tongue off before trapping your soul." That earned a snicker from Zeno and a scoff from Hossam. The trapped soul knew his tongue would get him no where and until Zeno, or someone with magical abilities, freed him, he'd forever be in a stick.


With Hossam finally being obedient and the soul collected, Zeno quickly returned to his normal form. As the the cloak began to dissipate, his once bony fingers turned into flesh and his body was beginning to look somewhat human. Zeno ran a hand through his dark hair, trying to run the wetness out. He hated it when his hair stuck to his skin and silently cursed to himself for not bringing an umbrella.


"That's what you get." came a tiny voice from the bracelet on his wrist. The bracelet was made of black twine and had the blade of a scythe kneaded into it. It was the only way Zeno could carry his friend around without looking like an obsessed role-player.


"Be quiet. Talk to me when you're jokes actually make sense Hossam." Zeno sighed as he began the agonizing walk to the house.





Fifteen minutes passed by the time Zeno arrived at Beacon Street. By then, he was soaked to his core and the few humans who stood outside and didn't mind the pelting rain gave him strange looks because he didn't seem affected by the cold. Reapers were invulnerable to pain, injury, and illness so of course he wasn't.


When the old house he'd been living in for decades came in to view, a sense of comfort filled the male. It was odd how someone like Zeno, nicknamed "Death", could actually feel comfort from a house. Then again, this maniac was the same guy who used to play tea party with a little girl.


"What the hell are you two doing?" Zeno asked as he stood in the yard, watching two of his house mates, one shirtless, doing who-knows-what outside.


@AlwaysYours

 

[Trace]

​

I DON'T WANT EASY

THE WORLD MAKES ALL KINDS OF RULES FOR LOVE


I SAY YOU GOTTA LET IT DO WHAT IT DOES


A LOVE THAT REVELS AND WE STILL BELIEVE


WE'RE THE KINDA CRAZY PEOPLE WITH THAT THEY COULD BE
​

“Sounds legit,” Cyril snorted, grinning broadly, “Your secret’s safe with me.”


He began to dump the moistened dirt back whence it came and soon the hole was patched up, a mound that was just slightly raised. He flattened it with the back of the shovel, the mud like a thick paste. The rain would level it out, he figured, and as soon as he was done he made a slow jog back towards the house, propping the shovel against the porch steps. No need getting Justin even more worked up; he might have an aneurysm if they brought the mud-covered shovel any closer in proximity.


“We’re completely drenched,” Cyril laughed as he approached. With the water dripping from his body and sweats Cyril most likely looked more drowned cat than actual human being. The cold irritated his shoulders, the raindrops like the pin pricks of needles. He was going to have to take a lot of vitamin C to ward off whatever waiting sickness that he was sure he had picked up during the excursion.


“Justin’s going to have a fit.” The end of the sentence slowed, just as his steps did. The other man’s cheeks were mildly colored and though it could easily be from the cold—they were both drenched and freezing—Cyril felt some heat rising self-consciously to his cheeks, a chain reaction.


Incoming cold aside, he really, really wished he had a shirt on right now. Even the dumb apron with its even dumber slogan printed on the front would be welcomed.


A sheepish chuckle rang out from under his breath, a hand going up to run through his drenched hair. “Yeah, I…no proble—”


"What the hell are you two doing?"


Standing in the yard a few feet from the newly made dirt patch (inconspicuous but still noticeable to him because, well, he was the one who had made it) was the house’s resident purveyor of death, looking similar to a drowned rat just like the rest of them. Cyril’s chin jerked up to look at him, an awkward jolt coursing through him.


Oh, you know, some magical ritual that required my hair and the burying of some object. And chanting. The shirtlessness was optional.


But that wasn’t on the table. He remembered Jonathan’s words, the solemnness of them. If there was a reason he didn’t want to let the others know, then Cyril would respect that.


He exchanged a meaningful look with Jonathan, a tilt of his head, before gazing out at their roommate still out in the rain.


“Oh, well, you know,”


Cyril positioned himself against one of the beams running through the railing of the porch, arms crossed against his bare chest, eyes hooded and expression utterly straight faced. He fluttered his lashes, the crowning jewel of his best come-hither look.


“Waiting for youpfttttttttttthahahahaha!”


Yeah, that didn’t last long.


Cyril’s chest was heaving with laughter, a damp hand going to choke it down. It worked. A little.


He’d managed to stifle it completely as he turned to grab the door knob, holding it open for Jonathan and Zeno, if he so chose, to come in.

I WANT CRAZY

WHO CARES IF YOU'RE ALL I THINK ABOUT


I'VE SEARCHED THE WORLD AND I KNOW NOW


IT AIN'T RIGHT IF YOU AIN'T LOST YOUR MIND
​

LOCATION - OUTSIDE TO DOOR , TAGGED - JONATHAN, ZENO

CODE AND GRAPHICS BY

TRACE , GIF FROM NOT ME[/color]"]NOT ME
​

 

[Novus]

"Ummm..."
​

Jonathan passed by his personal Cupid and strode into the house, immediately taking strides past the rest of the group and toward his huge book. "We have to look as normal as possible and fool everyone else." he said, now a little too concentrated on the task at hand. There was the added edge that Cyril just looked at him in the most gorgeous way possible and he really needed to distract himself right there. "Bip, Do you have any jewelry here that I can attach you to?" he asked, flipping through his book without touching it.


Jonnie always forgot when he was using a lot of magic at one time. Most witches had very few capabilities, even when they practiced spells and incantations all their lives. Jonathan and Johanna never had this problem. If they though about what they wanted, it just happened. Although his sister did this pretty much all the time, Jonnie only did it absentminded or when he was worried.


He was now standing in the living room, with the grimoire floating before him. The spell was somewhere, for it was the simplest of Necromancy. It wasn't like there was a table of contents for anything. Sometimes, the book spoke for itself. And that had to have been the reason that the Binding spell he was looking for was next to a Love Binding ritual. Jonathan sighed and let the book drop, throughly done with cosmic irony for the day.


I'm the hitch, I'm what no one believes...

​

where he went- Living room


what he did- Distracting himself

​

 

[kou]

|Bip|

|Location|


-The Creaking House-


|Theme Song|


-Buzzcut Season: Lorde-


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Bip solemnly considered the question posed by Cyril, she did have one artifact of jewelry she happened to keep close to her however she wasn't entirely sure why Jonathan had asked her or if he could even touch it. It had belonged to her mother, a set of pearl earrings which she had been wearing upon the day of her unfortunate death. Her mother had said they complemented her skin tone nicely however she preferred them because they were beautiful and had often provided her with a sense of nostalgia whenever she thought of them. There were many things that Bip glanced at which served to remind her of the life she had once had although the time period had changed drastically and it appeared that every day Bip was able to see something new which had been created by the most imaginative people, she approached Jonathan before peering curiously at the book and nodding.





"I happen to have a pair of earrings that could be of possible use, what do you mean by "attaching" exactly?"

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