verdantdreams
Spacefarer
parliament
/ˈpɑːlɪm(ə)nt/
noun
noun: Parliament
- a group of rooks or owls.
A study group of night owls is a commonplace occurrence within any academic institute. However, for the Parliament, they don’t only study their designated courses, but are dedicated to unravelling the secrets of their enigma of a university, Miskatonic University. Together, they investigate the murky underbelly of the town of Arkham, where their roots run deeper than they expected. How will this rag-tag study group balance their grades as well as their misadventures?
Think of this as a Lovecraft tale for a college-aged audience meets dark academia meets paranormal investigative works. This story is inspired by Lovecraft's work as well as many other works within the Cthulhu Mythos but you don't have to be well-versed in the mythos to join. I myself am not an expert on Lovecraft so we can take many creative liberties here. Overall, a grounded tale of young adults who dip their toes into a world of weirdness and madness.
TL
R: An amalgamation of Lovecraft Investigations podcast x Ghost Files/Buzzfeed Unsolved x The Conjuring x Martin Mystery (ish).If you've got questions, feel free to ask and I'll answer as best as I can!
As the rain calms, only the sound of the inky black sea crashing into the cliff side remains. The clouds pull apart to reveal the silver grin of the waxing moon which peered down at the solitary figure in white that stood at the bluff’s crest. It was a young woman, surely to be in her twenties, clothed in a sullied dress. Her skirt and long corn silk-coloured hair flounced and flapped waywardly as the gusts of wind grew in strength.
Her eyes were glazed over a milky white, skin pale and mottled with old bruises and gashes. Bare feet, bleeding from the said gashes, left blood in each step as she made her way towards the edge.
The wind howled, and the dark clouds rolled in again, the moon’s grin obscured by the dark veil of clouds, bringing with it heavy rain. The young woman was nowhere to be seen, and the blood left behind washed away with the rain.
—
2:35am The Parliament Study Room, Orne Library, Miskatonic University, Arkham
In in the early hours of the campus, within one of the many study rooms of the library (now booked for the rest of the year by the same individuals thanks to some pulled strings) was a singular student, a young woman in her early twenties, accompanied by a radio from where upbeat played from softly.
Ophelia “Helia” Mannheim twirled a lock of dark brown, borderline black, hair with her left index, her right hand picking at the book’s page she was reading with her normally straight bangs pushed back with a headband. Surrounding her object of focus were sheets of paper, photocopies, and more books. A lot of them were riddled with scribbles of a mint green highlighter circling parts of a text with notes in the margins. Her round gold-framed spectacles sat atop a pile of books, her normally bespectacled face now bare, dark circles and pale ivory skin prominent.
She hummed along the tune of “She’s a Rainbow” by the Rolling Stones as her eyes scanned the words of the article she was reading: a very old edition of the university’s newsletter, appearing to be searching for something.
The song eventually ended, and comes a voice, which the young woman recognised to be a student she’d met who joined the campus’ student run radio station. Her lips pulled into a small smile as the said student spoke.
“And that’s ‘She’s a Rainbow’ by the Rolling Stones—a rock solid classic I say!” Helia scoffed at the pun before listening in silence once more. “Anyways, on a serious note, let’s not forget the vigil for Amity Graves tomorrow evening to remember her, a beloved member of our student body. For all the night owls listening right now who might’ve missed the earlier announcement, it’ll be at 7:30pm at the quad today. I’ve received a request to play her favourite song, “Dreamboat” by Alma Cogan. Amity, this one’s for you."
Helia was met with a brief silence before the voice of Alma Cogan filled the room with her exuberant and hopeless romantic lyrics. It was at that moment the door to the study room opened, a young man just a little older than Helia stepping into the room with more books in his arms.
"You sure took your sweet time, Rice," she commented with a sneer as the said man took a seat across from her. "Didn't you say earlier that translating'll take 5 minutes tops?"
"Not my fault the handwriting's hard to read. Look," 'Rice' held up an old piece of paper with incomprehensible scribbles and continued, "looks like your hair in the morning."
"My hair's perfectly fine, not my fault you're in denial."
"I think you should see a different optometrist, clearly you aren't seeing right, even with your glasses."
Helia rolled her eyes at his comeback, eyes returning to the note.
"Whatever. So, what'd Amity's note say?"
At the mention of their recently passed peer, Rice grew solemn and lowered the note, reading over it once more. Rice remembered the moment of receiving it clearly. Rice remembered how Amity crashed into him, pulling back with her signature gleaming smile and taking his hand in a touchy, but in-character apology before running off with her friends. In his hand was a crumpled piece of paper that she'd left, Rice puzzled at the action, but didn't think much of it.
That was six days ago.
The guilt that festered within Rice bloomed into a mass of vice-like brambles in the heart over those two days with the visit of authorities at the campus along with her heart-broken family members.
'What if I'd translate the note earlier? Would've it changed things?' Rice thought. Despite translating the note, it only left more questions.
"She wrote 'bābu'—it’s akkadian," Rice replied.
"Akkadian? Why akkadian?" Helia asked, mirroring Rice's perplexed state. "She's not taking any language courses right?"
"I don't know, but it doesn't take away from the fact she definitely had a reason," Rice explained as he turned in his seat to the cork board behind him and pinned the note in the centre. Returning to the table, Rice took a scrap piece of paper and wrote something short and grabbing another thumbtack. "This was her last message to me, and I intend to find out why."
A dull thud, and the paper with one singular word hung below Amity's final note.
"Gate," Helia read softly.
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color me curious
will make if there’s enough interest.
