Dawnsx
Majestic Dinosaur
code: @s e v e n
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Realistic or Modern Balance of This World - IC
- Thread starter Dawnsx
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Dawnsx
Majestic Dinosaur
code: @s e v e n
Fred Colon
It was so much easier to blame it on Them.
The trip to Okea would have been pleasant enough for Icara had circumstances been otherwise. She’d more or less gotten over her fear of cars. They were horrible metal death traps, to be sure. 18,000 people in Europe died in car accidents every year. Statistically, compared to the total population, it wasn’t a huge number, but why in the world would anyone take that kind of risk? Just to get somewhere a little faster? But Icara would need to be in an absolutely catastrophic accident to actually damage her head while it was in its cage. An accident so catastrophic it could bypass the Ouroborous magic protecting it. Not impossible, she had to concede, perhaps some rogue witch opened a portal to hell in front of them, or a Pit Dragon landed on the car. But she was always afraid of something like that happening to her, it wasn’t a fear unique to vehicles. A normal car accident would be survivable.
But the drive was spoiled by two major things.
The first was the fact that she had to be here at all. She had tried to get out of it. She’d pretended to be sick, at first, to flee to safety in the House Infirmary, but for some reason Dr. Broadburn had refused to write her a sick note, even claiming that a sick note ‘wasn’t enough to get her out of her responsibilities’ and that it would be 'good for her to meet new people and get out a little'. Icara had just stayed in bed and, when she realized Dr. Broadburn was serious, pretended to experience an Abdominal Aortic Aneurysm. But Dr. Broadburn had just rolled her gurney out of the house and dumped her into the back of a waiting car.
And worst of all, in the car she’d discovered that she really *was* sick. She’d found a mole on her arm she hadn’t noticed before, and now was wasting precious time here when she could be having it screened for Melanoma.
The second problem was her new companions.
Icara knew essentially nothing about them. Artem and Viktor, the other priest-witch duo, seemed…. Tired, was the word Icara had eventually decided on, not wanting to be rude even in the privacy of her own head. But she didn’t know anything about them! She wanted to believe the best in people, but Viktor could be just a hairsbreadth away from going rogue for all she knew, even if he didn’t seem like he had energy enough to keep all his neurons firing. And despite his eloquence, Artem could be a ghoul in disguise for all Icara knew.
But the real danger was her new minder. Her priest. Agnes. The person who would be watching over her for, in theory, a long time. How could you just… let someone into your life like that?
People needed to be carefully vetted (preferably by someone else), interviewed (preferably from a safe distance away or from behind bullet proof glass) and then carefully, piece by piece let into your life (like how you introduce a fish into a new aquarium to avoid killing it with the shock from the change in water temperature).She was sure Agnes was a lovely person, but this Agnes person had just been… selected! By what process, Icara wanted to know! What criteria had been taken into account?! Had she been thoroughly background checked? But no. The church didn’t care about any of that. Or, if they did, they didn’t bother to tell *Icara* anything, which she thought was an injustice and a danger to a witches’ peace of mind.
Icara was so caught up in her worrying, she didn’t even notice they’d walked into the town until a man had spit at her feet.
Or, well, her dolls feet. Her *actual* feet were hundreds of miles away, lying in her bed. She could feel the soft, hypoallergenic blankets beneath her arms and one of her hands, the other hand being in the pocket of her doll's dress.
She had her doll lift her head cage higher into the air, to a height that had the double benefit of giving her a better view of her surroundings, and also being out of the saliva projection range of the average human, though not the average camel or llama. Her head swiveled in its cage, doing a quick circuit of the area to make sure no camels or llama were in evidence. The nice thing about only nominally being attached to a body, and not, functionally, having a neck, is that she could get a 360 degree view of everything without having to turn her body. It did make her dizzy if she spun her head around in the cage too fast or too many times, though.
While fortunately discovering no hostile camels, and chastising herself for even being worried about hostile camels, she discovered something that was much more concerning.
This town was… familiar, Icara realized. Not the buildings. Not the terrain. But the people.
Not their faces or clothes, but their expressions.
There was hostility there. Hate. Just like Uncle Hob. Just like his drunk friends. Just like their wives, who hadn’t actually done anything, but had nodded approvingly and stood by…
She felt her hand, miles away, move to her side, and she swallowed. It was good that her doll wasn’t really a part of her, else it would have been shaking. As it was, her head was practically vibrating in its cage. She had her doll bring her head down, and cradled it in its arms, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. She edged closer to Agnes, Artem and Viktor despite not knowing them. Because there was nothing… nothing worse, nothing more frightening than the expressions on those villagers' faces. There was no running, no fighting, no reasoning. There was just curling up and being as small as she could be, hoping they would decide not to hurt her but knowing they would because they hated her.
Darkness was eating at the edge of her vision as she tried to control her breathing. She inhaled deeply, put her doll's hand on Agnes’ shoulder so she could keep walking straight, not thinking about how the Priest might react, and shut her eyes. She tried to focus on the song Balfour had taught her, when she’d been too stressed and scared to leave her room after her father had died. She muttered it under her breath, so no one could take it from her.
“Rising with the waking sun
As the morning calls my name
I feel it invite me
To be free from care and pain
For the future days of winter chill
Are too far away to harm—”
And then she opened her eyes when she bumped into Agnes. They had stopped in front of a man and what seemed to be his home. She focused on his friendly face, at least until it morphed halfway into the face of those she’d passed by.
The other people around them had left. Gone into their homes. It was just the man in front of them now. She could… she could deal with that. She felt the ice in her heart slowly start to unfreeze, the trembling stilled and the low grade nervousness that was the closest thing she could feel to calm reasserted itself all across her body.
He seemed to have spoken while Icara had been rebooting herself, but she had missed it. She glanced at Agnes, Artem and Viktor to see how they were reacting, and hoping they hadn't noticed her. Hopefully they hadn't. Her body was a magical construct, so it wouldn't have made any odd movements. They only would have noticed if they'd been paying attention to the head she was now holding tightly to her dolls chest.
But the drive was spoiled by two major things.
The first was the fact that she had to be here at all. She had tried to get out of it. She’d pretended to be sick, at first, to flee to safety in the House Infirmary, but for some reason Dr. Broadburn had refused to write her a sick note, even claiming that a sick note ‘wasn’t enough to get her out of her responsibilities’ and that it would be 'good for her to meet new people and get out a little'. Icara had just stayed in bed and, when she realized Dr. Broadburn was serious, pretended to experience an Abdominal Aortic Aneurysm. But Dr. Broadburn had just rolled her gurney out of the house and dumped her into the back of a waiting car.
And worst of all, in the car she’d discovered that she really *was* sick. She’d found a mole on her arm she hadn’t noticed before, and now was wasting precious time here when she could be having it screened for Melanoma.
The second problem was her new companions.
Icara knew essentially nothing about them. Artem and Viktor, the other priest-witch duo, seemed…. Tired, was the word Icara had eventually decided on, not wanting to be rude even in the privacy of her own head. But she didn’t know anything about them! She wanted to believe the best in people, but Viktor could be just a hairsbreadth away from going rogue for all she knew, even if he didn’t seem like he had energy enough to keep all his neurons firing. And despite his eloquence, Artem could be a ghoul in disguise for all Icara knew.
But the real danger was her new minder. Her priest. Agnes. The person who would be watching over her for, in theory, a long time. How could you just… let someone into your life like that?
People needed to be carefully vetted (preferably by someone else), interviewed (preferably from a safe distance away or from behind bullet proof glass) and then carefully, piece by piece let into your life (like how you introduce a fish into a new aquarium to avoid killing it with the shock from the change in water temperature).She was sure Agnes was a lovely person, but this Agnes person had just been… selected! By what process, Icara wanted to know! What criteria had been taken into account?! Had she been thoroughly background checked? But no. The church didn’t care about any of that. Or, if they did, they didn’t bother to tell *Icara* anything, which she thought was an injustice and a danger to a witches’ peace of mind.
Icara was so caught up in her worrying, she didn’t even notice they’d walked into the town until a man had spit at her feet.
Or, well, her dolls feet. Her *actual* feet were hundreds of miles away, lying in her bed. She could feel the soft, hypoallergenic blankets beneath her arms and one of her hands, the other hand being in the pocket of her doll's dress.
She had her doll lift her head cage higher into the air, to a height that had the double benefit of giving her a better view of her surroundings, and also being out of the saliva projection range of the average human, though not the average camel or llama. Her head swiveled in its cage, doing a quick circuit of the area to make sure no camels or llama were in evidence. The nice thing about only nominally being attached to a body, and not, functionally, having a neck, is that she could get a 360 degree view of everything without having to turn her body. It did make her dizzy if she spun her head around in the cage too fast or too many times, though.
While fortunately discovering no hostile camels, and chastising herself for even being worried about hostile camels, she discovered something that was much more concerning.
This town was… familiar, Icara realized. Not the buildings. Not the terrain. But the people.
Not their faces or clothes, but their expressions.
There was hostility there. Hate. Just like Uncle Hob. Just like his drunk friends. Just like their wives, who hadn’t actually done anything, but had nodded approvingly and stood by…
She felt her hand, miles away, move to her side, and she swallowed. It was good that her doll wasn’t really a part of her, else it would have been shaking. As it was, her head was practically vibrating in its cage. She had her doll bring her head down, and cradled it in its arms, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. She edged closer to Agnes, Artem and Viktor despite not knowing them. Because there was nothing… nothing worse, nothing more frightening than the expressions on those villagers' faces. There was no running, no fighting, no reasoning. There was just curling up and being as small as she could be, hoping they would decide not to hurt her but knowing they would because they hated her.
Darkness was eating at the edge of her vision as she tried to control her breathing. She inhaled deeply, put her doll's hand on Agnes’ shoulder so she could keep walking straight, not thinking about how the Priest might react, and shut her eyes. She tried to focus on the song Balfour had taught her, when she’d been too stressed and scared to leave her room after her father had died. She muttered it under her breath, so no one could take it from her.
“Rising with the waking sun
As the morning calls my name
I feel it invite me
To be free from care and pain
For the future days of winter chill
Are too far away to harm—”
And then she opened her eyes when she bumped into Agnes. They had stopped in front of a man and what seemed to be his home. She focused on his friendly face, at least until it morphed halfway into the face of those she’d passed by.
The other people around them had left. Gone into their homes. It was just the man in front of them now. She could… she could deal with that. She felt the ice in her heart slowly start to unfreeze, the trembling stilled and the low grade nervousness that was the closest thing she could feel to calm reasserted itself all across her body.
He seemed to have spoken while Icara had been rebooting herself, but she had missed it. She glanced at Agnes, Artem and Viktor to see how they were reacting, and hoping they hadn't noticed her. Hopefully they hadn't. Her body was a magical construct, so it wouldn't have made any odd movements. They only would have noticed if they'd been paying attention to the head she was now holding tightly to her dolls chest.
SilverBlack
Poopshroom
» Cecil Ovis
“---So the lady told me that since I visit her bakery so often she’ll give me a discount! And that is how I am able to purchase that box of ten cupcakes at such a cheap price! I assure you the Flobbie Bakery is the best bakery you’ll ever get in town. She even told me that if I continue to visit for another year she’ll finally tell me her secret recipe—”
The curious gossip from the passerby may have instilled some degree of alarm for the two pairs since assigned to the mission. However, for the glistening golden-eyed witch who was only eager to use this opportunity to share her story with not only Dalia, but Lemy and Ira as well, they posed as something that requires little attention. From the busy streets of Florana to the downtown commercial area all the way to the alley, the girl had managed to fill the air with her excited chatter, so much so that even the filth-ridden stench could not stop her from rambling on.
It wasn’t until the door to the bar opened that Cecil’s attention would be distracted enough to cease whatever she was talking about, where the topics had long transformed from bakeries to buying Dalia a new dress, a new pair of earrings she wants Lemy to try and somehow throwing in her 100th apologies for mistaking Ira as a girl when she first met him. The curiosity over the eerie little bar and the air of suspicion it’s shrouded with had finally gotten Cici the Witch to refocus on the reason why they’re even out today. Right. Tourists are going missing! Ba’dam! That’s not good!
Perhaps because it was still early in the night, the bar was not yet crowded. However, with barely enough space to walk between all these tables and chairs, the bar had cramped itself up alright. Without people’s presence, the whole interior design could still pull off some aesthetic vibes. Once people begin coming in at night though…Hmm! Well it’s definitely not good for Icara, but Cecil herself wouldn’t have minded. This was based on the assumption that people even visit the bar though. With barely a formal entrance for Bar Floret, it made even the most brainless question its popularity. Nonetheless, there must be a reason it’s tied to the missing tourists, no?
The sounds of the door creaking open followed by the appearance of the two duos easily caught the attention of the bartender behind the counter. Just as Cecil had gotten distracted by the couple sharing a red cocktail by the bar height tables–how dreamy–the bartender’s pleasant greeting would soon reach her ears. With a wide grin, the cheerful witch wearing her simple white and yellow lace dress would stick her arm up and wave her hand in the air as she happily greeted back. “Hello! Yes, first-timers! We’re powerful adults ready to drink the night away!”
With a quick “let’s go!” to the rest of her crew, she would then happily oblige to the bartender’s words and plopped herself down to one of the two available seats left by the bar counter. The time it took to zigzag through all the chairs and tables was just enough for the only patron by the counter to finish his exchange by the time the bubbly witch sat down next to him. He was nervous, by the looks of it. The exchange was done so softly too for the undercover quartet to barely catch the words.
Patting the remaining free chair next to her as a gesture for the remaining three to sit down too even though the chair could only fit one butt, Cecil then turned her attention to the pale and desperate looking patron next to her. She had taken a moment to note the waiter who was supposed to approach them, but for some reason was sent away. He had glanced at them nervously before he left. Why?
“Boo!” As if to grab his attention from how distracted the patron looked, the girl led a mischievous start. With her arms crossed resting on the bar counter and leaning forward toward the young man, her curious round eyes inspected him carefully. “Are you okay? Do you need water? Should you really be drinking alcohol?”
“Yes!” Then as the bartender asked how she could help, Cecil eagerly expressed her thoughts. “I think this man should have water instead of whatever Special he just ordered! May we have whatever that Special is instead? What is the Special here? If it’s a good drink, I’ll help promote it around!” Using the only word she caught on from before, the girl happily and quite innocently offered her aid to help promote this poor suspicious bar.
The curious gossip from the passerby may have instilled some degree of alarm for the two pairs since assigned to the mission. However, for the glistening golden-eyed witch who was only eager to use this opportunity to share her story with not only Dalia, but Lemy and Ira as well, they posed as something that requires little attention. From the busy streets of Florana to the downtown commercial area all the way to the alley, the girl had managed to fill the air with her excited chatter, so much so that even the filth-ridden stench could not stop her from rambling on.
It wasn’t until the door to the bar opened that Cecil’s attention would be distracted enough to cease whatever she was talking about, where the topics had long transformed from bakeries to buying Dalia a new dress, a new pair of earrings she wants Lemy to try and somehow throwing in her 100th apologies for mistaking Ira as a girl when she first met him. The curiosity over the eerie little bar and the air of suspicion it’s shrouded with had finally gotten Cici the Witch to refocus on the reason why they’re even out today. Right. Tourists are going missing! Ba’dam! That’s not good!
Perhaps because it was still early in the night, the bar was not yet crowded. However, with barely enough space to walk between all these tables and chairs, the bar had cramped itself up alright. Without people’s presence, the whole interior design could still pull off some aesthetic vibes. Once people begin coming in at night though…Hmm! Well it’s definitely not good for Icara, but Cecil herself wouldn’t have minded. This was based on the assumption that people even visit the bar though. With barely a formal entrance for Bar Floret, it made even the most brainless question its popularity. Nonetheless, there must be a reason it’s tied to the missing tourists, no?
The sounds of the door creaking open followed by the appearance of the two duos easily caught the attention of the bartender behind the counter. Just as Cecil had gotten distracted by the couple sharing a red cocktail by the bar height tables–how dreamy–the bartender’s pleasant greeting would soon reach her ears. With a wide grin, the cheerful witch wearing her simple white and yellow lace dress would stick her arm up and wave her hand in the air as she happily greeted back. “Hello! Yes, first-timers! We’re powerful adults ready to drink the night away!”
With a quick “let’s go!” to the rest of her crew, she would then happily oblige to the bartender’s words and plopped herself down to one of the two available seats left by the bar counter. The time it took to zigzag through all the chairs and tables was just enough for the only patron by the counter to finish his exchange by the time the bubbly witch sat down next to him. He was nervous, by the looks of it. The exchange was done so softly too for the undercover quartet to barely catch the words.
Patting the remaining free chair next to her as a gesture for the remaining three to sit down too even though the chair could only fit one butt, Cecil then turned her attention to the pale and desperate looking patron next to her. She had taken a moment to note the waiter who was supposed to approach them, but for some reason was sent away. He had glanced at them nervously before he left. Why?
“Boo!” As if to grab his attention from how distracted the patron looked, the girl led a mischievous start. With her arms crossed resting on the bar counter and leaning forward toward the young man, her curious round eyes inspected him carefully. “Are you okay? Do you need water? Should you really be drinking alcohol?”
“Yes!” Then as the bartender asked how she could help, Cecil eagerly expressed her thoughts. “I think this man should have water instead of whatever Special he just ordered! May we have whatever that Special is instead? What is the Special here? If it’s a good drink, I’ll help promote it around!” Using the only word she caught on from before, the girl happily and quite innocently offered her aid to help promote this poor suspicious bar.
code by
Nano
Nano
Last edited:
Nano
procrastination symphony
code by Nano
Dawnsx
Majestic Dinosaur
"There isn't another pair that we can spare for this mission," Sylvester had said apologetically when he was briefing Ptolemy and Ira on the missing tourists case. He was one of the few priests in the Obsidian Tower who was genuinely nice to witches, so Ira couldn't even say anything back to the man. He was regretting that now as he and the squad approached Bar Floret.
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweater to hide their tremors. Despite what Sylvester said, it still made zero sense why he and Ptolemy were sent on this investigation. He wasn't insecure enough that he couldn't admit that he looked like a baby, and the bar employees would either have to be real sus or just blind to not suspect that he was underaged. Even worse, the other pair assigned with them was Cecil and Dalia. His aversion for them aside, Cecil looked just as baby-faced as him. Worst case scenario, the bar would accuse Ptolemy and Dalia of bringing minors to a drinking establishment and call the cops on them. It would only take a phone call to Sylvester to get everything cleared up, but it'll still humiliating for all parties involved.
Cecil certainly didn't look concerned at all though, if her excited babbling was anything to go by. Splint was cooing in his mind about "what an adorable little puppy she is," and it took all of Ira's mental efforts to not snap at either of them. He shrank further behind Ptolemy and forced himself to tune both of them out.
It wasn't long before they arrived at their destination. Taking a steadying breath, Ira trailed in after the "adults" and looked around with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity. The bar was... Unimpressive. It wasn't like in the movies, with classy furnishing, drunken people rubbing up against each other, or even any music. It was underwhelming and a little disappointing.
Ira realized much too late that his gawping was probably a tell-tale sign that he was essentially a child. He forced his eyes forward and just so happened to meet the bartender's gaze. It was a challenge not to falter or look away. He fumbled in his pockets for the fake ID that Sylvester had presented to him, but that proved to be unnecessary. The bartender welcomed them warmly without a single question and proceeded to serve another customer.
Huh.
Cecil didn't hesitate to grab a seat, beckoning the rest of them despite there only being one extra seat next to her.
"I hope you weren't planning on us sharing a seat," Ira said drily. He turned around and sat at the round table instead, directly behind the other customer at the counter. With the man's back toward him, Ira wasn't able to decipher his body language or expressions too well, but that clearly wasn't an issue for Cecil. Ira did a full body cringe when she wriggled her way into the conversation in her typical tactless manner. While he was morbidly curious about how the exchange will go, he turned his focus on the couple next to him instead. He wanted to ask them some questions too, but he didn't want to draw their attention to himself. Even if the bartender was completely inept (or perhaps just negligent) at spotting minors in her bar, the same couldn't necessarily be said for the customers.
Pursing his lips, Ira gestured for Ptolemy to come closer.
"See if you can get that couple to spill some tea on this place," he said lowly.
You and your funny language, Splint sighed in his mind. I can barely understand you nowadays. Maybe you should stop going on the Twiblr or Tumtter or whatever has been degrading your language.
Ira snorted derisively. Never, he huffed back.
SilverBlack
Blobs
NiftyNat
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweater to hide their tremors. Despite what Sylvester said, it still made zero sense why he and Ptolemy were sent on this investigation. He wasn't insecure enough that he couldn't admit that he looked like a baby, and the bar employees would either have to be real sus or just blind to not suspect that he was underaged. Even worse, the other pair assigned with them was Cecil and Dalia. His aversion for them aside, Cecil looked just as baby-faced as him. Worst case scenario, the bar would accuse Ptolemy and Dalia of bringing minors to a drinking establishment and call the cops on them. It would only take a phone call to Sylvester to get everything cleared up, but it'll still humiliating for all parties involved.
Cecil certainly didn't look concerned at all though, if her excited babbling was anything to go by. Splint was cooing in his mind about "what an adorable little puppy she is," and it took all of Ira's mental efforts to not snap at either of them. He shrank further behind Ptolemy and forced himself to tune both of them out.
It wasn't long before they arrived at their destination. Taking a steadying breath, Ira trailed in after the "adults" and looked around with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity. The bar was... Unimpressive. It wasn't like in the movies, with classy furnishing, drunken people rubbing up against each other, or even any music. It was underwhelming and a little disappointing.
Ira realized much too late that his gawping was probably a tell-tale sign that he was essentially a child. He forced his eyes forward and just so happened to meet the bartender's gaze. It was a challenge not to falter or look away. He fumbled in his pockets for the fake ID that Sylvester had presented to him, but that proved to be unnecessary. The bartender welcomed them warmly without a single question and proceeded to serve another customer.
Huh.
Cecil didn't hesitate to grab a seat, beckoning the rest of them despite there only being one extra seat next to her.
"I hope you weren't planning on us sharing a seat," Ira said drily. He turned around and sat at the round table instead, directly behind the other customer at the counter. With the man's back toward him, Ira wasn't able to decipher his body language or expressions too well, but that clearly wasn't an issue for Cecil. Ira did a full body cringe when she wriggled her way into the conversation in her typical tactless manner. While he was morbidly curious about how the exchange will go, he turned his focus on the couple next to him instead. He wanted to ask them some questions too, but he didn't want to draw their attention to himself. Even if the bartender was completely inept (or perhaps just negligent) at spotting minors in her bar, the same couldn't necessarily be said for the customers.
Pursing his lips, Ira gestured for Ptolemy to come closer.
"See if you can get that couple to spill some tea on this place," he said lowly.
You and your funny language, Splint sighed in his mind. I can barely understand you nowadays. Maybe you should stop going on the Twiblr or Tumtter or whatever has been degrading your language.
Ira snorted derisively. Never, he huffed back.
SilverBlack
Blobs
NiftyNat
NiftyNat
ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ
A Priest
Ptolemy
♡coded by uxie♡
Blobs
Where's The Soup Evan?
Dalia, throughout her brief existence, had visited many a shit hole in her life.
There was the old pizzeria near her childhood neighborhood where she'd flock to with her ragtag gang of friends after school for a slice of cold, greasy pizza, the cheese sticking to the roof of her mouth as she finished it with lukewarm soda. There were the ratty department stores, bathed with fluorescent lights and stocked with threadbare clothes, long gone out of style and heaped into small piles by staff too underpaid to care. There had been the broken down park next to the local high school, weary from years of use, it's swings rusted through and slide covered with all manner of debris- leaves, candy wrappers, the occasional post stamp. Hell, there'd even been the boarded up diner that had once been run by the Furroci's- lovely people, if a bit dense- the former bright red exterior faded through, the boards covering the establishment rotted and crumbling.
So far, Bar Floret was gunning to earn itself a place on Dalia's list of "TOP 5 SHITHOLES DALIA IS NEVER VISITING EVER AGAIN."
If one said that that particular assessment was a bit harsh, seeing as Dalia hadn't even stepped into the place yet, she'd counter it with three facts:
1) The bar didn't even have a front sign, nor a main entrance;
2) They had to enter through a filth ridden alleyway, which was absolutely terrible for Dalia's new shoes (which undoubtedly cost more than the entire establishment's property value);
And then reason number 3, which was that people were disappearing from the bar, for god's sakes.
Dalia would much rather have been spending the night in, stuffing her face with the pie Cecil had baked for her while catching up on all 9 seasons of 90 Day Fiancé -shitty reality tv was rejuvenating for the mind, as one wise scholar (which would be herself) said- or curling up on her couch, scrolling through FarFetch and impulse purchasing anything that struck her fancy. Yes, perhaps Dalia might not have worn half of the stuff that she'd buy and it would simply sit at the bottom of her closet (at least until Dalia decided to gift it to a relative or pack it up in a box for charity), but still. It was the thought that counted.
Yet here Dalia was.
That wasn't to say, however, that Dalia hadn't enjoyed the walk to the bar. Far from it, actually. It had been enjoyable, with Cecil going on about various topics, from the way she was able to get boxes of cupcakes for cheap- to which Dalia interjected with a half joking, half sincere statement asking if Cecil could grab her a discount as well- to clothing and jewelry, which Dalia had divided her attention between as her ears caught on bits of conversation about the situation at hand. Speculations on who could have nabbed the bar goers floated about in the air as passerby gossiped with each other, the blame for the disappearances apparently oscillating between Witches and the Church.
As Dalia entered the bar, she took stock of her surroundings. Despite it being fairly early in the night, the bar was packed- not with people, but with chairs. Chairs upon chairs upon chairs, all huddled about in the small bar. What did a hole in the wall bar need so many chairs for? It barely had a sign- it couldn't get that much foot traffic in a night.
If one ignored the chairs, they'd notice the bar itself being quite sparse of decoration. The wall bar was modest in appearance, accompanied by a small smattering of bar stools. There was a circular table behind it, one of four, the three other tables pushed up against the wall. Besides the bathroom and kitchen, there wasn't much to look at.
The bartender looked up from the counter and after a moment, grinned and greeted them warmly. No asking for id's, no suspicious glance at the childlike Cecil and the actual child Ira- why did the Church even send him on this mission in the first place- nothing. It could either be attributed to the fact that, again, hole in the wall bar, or to the fact that it was quite possibly run by a ring of snatchers.
Probably both.
Cecil, flashing her signature bright grin and sticking her right arm up, replied with an enthusiastic "Hello! Yes, first-timers! We’re powerful adults ready to drink the night away!", and plopped herself down into the second to last barstool available at the counter. Really Cici, "powerful adults ready to drink the night away"? We're leading with that? Dalia thought as a mixture of fondness and exasperation for the girl rose inside her chest. Cici tried, bless her soul, but- and Dalia said this with all the love in the world- she was remarkably dense. Not that Dalia was complaining- it was all a part of her witch's charm.
Dalia slid into the seat next to Cecil as Ptolemy and Ira settled into the table behind them. Dalia glanced backwards at the two for a quick second, to check how they were settling in. Ira, despite his childish gawping at the bar earlier, seemed to have composed himself well enough. Sharing a brief exchange with Ptolemy, Dalia watched as the man lumbered over to the couple near the wall and began talking to them. Dalia swallowed down a note of worry. Ptolemy, while not as dense as Cici, could also be horribly sincere at times, which could pose a bit of an issue. Dalia wouldn't worry too much though- Ptolemy was smart enough to not blow their cover.
Probably.
Dalia turned back to the bar and, setting her elbow against the table, noticed a peculiar interaction happening near the kitchen doors. The bartender was whispering softly into the ear of a serving boy- the only other serving boy in the establishment, Dalia realized. He took a nervous glance at the four of them before disappearing into the kitchens, the door swinging shut behind him. The bartender, meanwhile, had returned back to the bar and flashed another grin at them. Cecil had turned her sights at the twitchy man who sat next to her, who seemed about as tense as a rabbit on a shooting range. Dalia, as she had done so far, said nothing, merely tuning in curiously to the conversation at hand....and then immediately regretting letting Cecil talk to him as the witch began questioning his health, then turning to the bartender and offering to help sponsor the bar.
Oh hell no.
Dalia fixed a quick grin on her face as she leaned forward, catching the eyes of her current companions at the stools. "Hey, let the guy have his drink!" Dalia admonished Cecil, playfully flicking her shoulder. "You can't just dictate what a random person can or can't drink without even introducing yourself! That's, like, terrible manners." Dalia gave Cecil a Look, which she hoped conveyed to Cecil to just let Dalia do the talking, or, at the very least, to shut her mouth. "Beers for the both of us, please. Cancel those Specials." Dalia really, really didn't want to get kidnapped before they got their info.
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OldTurtle
Shells Are Nice
Viktor Anura
Okea, Wesland
Viktor had once detested long car rides. Being confined within a cramped metal box for hours on end would wear away at even the patience of a saint, much less a boy with too much energy for his own good. There were few things as exasperating to him then as being stuck in his seat with nothing to amuse himself with. It certainly didn't help that he'd been prone to frequent bouts of carsickness as well. But time had sapped that energy and strengthened his stomach. Now, the thought of a long ride merely evoked memories of days long past.
Viktor rested his head against his window and closed his eyes, hoping for sleep to take him. It didn't, of course; sleep was an old friend who rarely visited these days. Instead, he listened to the low droning of the car's engine as they traversed the rough countryside roads leading to Okea.
Though silence had long since become a comfortable companion of Viktor's and he was content to remain in it, the witch found it refreshingly surprising that none of his companions took it upon them to make conversation. He'd worked with other witch-priest pairs on numerous prior occasions and, more often than not, they'd attempted to more closely acquaint themselves with their temporary team. It rarely went very well, admittedly due in large part to Viktor's lack of receptiveness. Making friends with each other was never one of the mission objectives and he'd seen no reason to try to do so of his own accord. They were, after all, infrequent colleagues at best.
That being said, it would be a lie to say Viktor was utterly disinterested in his partners this time. Peering through heavy-lidded eyes, he briefly observed the car's other passengers. Putting aside his longtime supervisor, Artem, and the very young, but otherwise rather unremarkable priest Agnes, the other witch was quite a sight to see.
Witches often tended to eccentricity. It came part and parcel with their skillsets and backgrounds. Even for Viktor, however, Icara was unusual. A decapitated head locked away in a gilded cage, transported by some kind of puppet. This wasn't any application of magic he'd encountered before, though it was easy enough to deduce what it was from the girl's name - Arachne. In all his years, Viktor had never encountered a witch quite so unhinged as to perform spatial magic to sever her own head. But intriguing techniques aside, Icara otherwise appeared to be a regular, abeit jittery, young woman. Viktor's short-lived interest subsided swiftly and his gaze shifted back to the headrest before him.
Soon after, the tiny, old car creaked to a halt at the heart of Okea. They had arrived at their destination. Disembarking from the vehicle and shaking off the encroaching grasp of sleep - as always, arriving much to late to be of any use, - Viktor shielded his eyes from the sharp glare of the sun. All his time indoors had rendered the gaunt man deathly pale, a specter of death entirely out of place in the tiny village.
A sentiment the villagers clearly shared. Ignoring the usual pointed glares and fearful retreats, Viktor followed sluggishly behind Artem. Discrimination against witches was prominent in Wesland. Many of his childhood instructors had been vocal in their opposition of the status quo, but Viktor couldn't bring himself to care much. As long as their views didn't inconvenience him - and they rarely did so these days - he remained indifferent towards the issue. There was an argument somewhere in there that the social and political tensions were a matter of great importance to all witchkind, even if Viktor himself was not affected , but he'd had more than enough of that over the years.
Viktor adjusted his grip on the large briefcase he toted and tugged at the snug collar of his outfit, finding the bright sun overhead to be rather disagreeable. Finally, their quartet stopped before the home of Okea's mayor, one J-something (Jacob? Jeremiah? Jackson?) Runner. Quickly losing interest in whatever poetic Julio was waxing, Viktor began to stare languidly at the line of black ants crossing between his feet.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Twenty-three. Twenty-four. Twenty-five. Twenty-six. Twenty-seven. Twenty-nine - Ah, no, he'd messed up. That one was twenty-eight, so that made the next twenty-nine. Thirty-
Viktor glanced up from the ants as a soft, familiar whisper prodded his mind. Thanking its owner silently, he returned his focus to the matters at hand. Jezebel - an odd name for a religious man, but Viktor supposed he had no right to judge - had finally stopped speaking now and it was Artem leading the conversation now.
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Dalia brought the beer to her lips, taking a small sip of the drink as her eyes followed the bartender. The door shut with a decisive thunk behind her as she headed into the kitchen to fetch the fries. Dalia set the drink back down to the bar and turned to Cici. “Oh my god, do you know what happened yesterday?” She announced loudly, a glib smile on her face as she leaned towards the witch further. “It was like, sooo embarrassing.”
Cupping her ear around the woman’s ear, Dalia let a mischievous smile bloom on her lips as she opened her mouth, as if to share a secret. Instead of playful whimsy however, Dalia’s voice lowered into a sharp, reproachful hiss. “Be careful Cici. We’re on a mission, not girls night out. Watch your back, and keep your eyes peeled. You don’t know what’ll happen.” Dalia settled back into her seat as the doors swung back open and the bartender returned, carrying the promised fries.
Dalia clasped her hands together as the fries were set down in front of the duo, sending a grin to the bartender. “Oh my gosh thank you so much! You’re so sweet!” she said as she plucked a fry from the basket and popped it into her mouth. Chewing slowly, Dalia’s eyes caught on the waiter as he moved down the table, to where the finicky man sat. Setting down a plate of meat in front of him, he muttered something under his breath and turned away, scuttling back into the kitchen.
Probably the special Cici was asking about, Dalia thought as she curiously inspected the dish. From her vantage point, Dalia could see the dish, a faint yellowish-whitish clump of meat surrounded by limp fries and a smattering of ketchup. It didn’t look at all like a special- more like a meal you’d order at a decrepit, mismanaged fast food joint late at night, low on money and springing for the cheapest thing you could find.
Despite the meal’s normalcy, a certain tension emanated from the man as he stared at it, before grasping his fork and cutting off a piece. It seemed almost as if he had to force himself to bring the meat up to his mouth, staring at it hesitantly before eating. Dalia felt her stomach twist slightly as he chewed slowly, almost thoughtfully before gulping it down.
Dalia turned back to face Ira and Lemy, gesturing to them to come over with a yell of “Fries!”. Dalia, still half twisted in her stool, tapped Cici’s shoulder and whispered once more in her ear. “Keep an eye on him.” she muttered, eyes zeroing in on the still chewing man. Changing focus, she flashed a megawatt grin at the bartender. It was time, apparently, to start fishing for info- or, to put it more distinctly, to “schmooze around” and find out.
“You’re really cute.” Dalia stated, placing her head in her palms. “What’s your name?” She blinked up at the woman in what she hoped would count as coquettish. Having had chosen the persona of a ditzy, over enthusiastic party girl earlier that evening while getting ready for the mission, Dalia was determined to see it through to its furthest logical conclusion- awkward flirting.
For the info, of course.
SilverBlack
Poopshroom
» Cecil Ovis
In the beginning, the girl had gotten herself excited when Dalia acted as if she had something interesting to say. When she realized it was just a warning, the witch was slightly disappointed, but nonetheless happily took it in because she knows it is indeed very important for them to remain cautious. Lemy and Ira didn’t seem to be too successful in whatever progress they were making, although Cecil didn’t really pay too much of an attention towards them. Her focus was too much on the waiter, the bartender, and the strange man beside her. When Dalia had reminded her that it is rude of her to just blurted out like that without introducing herself, Cecil had clasped a hand over her mouth. “Well, my name is Ce—Celine—! And this is Dal—Daliavinci! Yes—! How about you? What’s your name?” She would ask the anxious man, then her glowing eyes would look toward Nina. “And oh yes! Beers and fries would be nice!”
It was as much as a mission as Cecil nonetheless took as an opportunity for a bit of fun. It would hurt to always be tense. In the back of the head, the girl would remember Dalia’s warning:
“Be careful Cici. We’re on a mission, not girls night out. Watch your back, and keep your eyes peeled. You don’t know what’ll happen.”
Of course she will.
But.
Dalia may say to watch over the suspicious man and the suspicious waiter and the suspicious Nina carefully but the moment that suspicious fried yellow-white meat thing with some fries and ketchup was placed onto the counter labeled as some suspicious special thing, Cecil decided this is no time to think more about whatever Dalia said!
Her big, round eyes stared fiercely at the strange plate of meat that just didn’t look that special. The girl closed in at the man while he took his time to chew down the meat. He took an unnaturally long time to chew before swallowing down though. Did he perhaps secretly have a toothache? Cecil hopes that his teeth are okay.
Then, Cecil took a sharp breath in.
Then she patted the man on the shoulder. “Excuse me,” she said solemnly.
Then she snatched that plate of food away from in front of him just as he was about to dig in for a second piece, and hopped toward Ptlomey’s direction just as Dalia had beckoned the duo to come forth for their fries. “Le—Flintemy Flinty Fliiiiint what kind of meat do you think this is? I have never seen it before! Bestow us your wisdom to discover this mystery because Nina said this is some bar’s special but it just doesn’t seem special except I can’t tell what type of meat this is? Do you think we should try it? Ira what do you think? Da—oh Dalia just went off to hook some guy’s girlfriend.” She furrowed her brows at the last moment, as if somehow not really approving of what her assigned priest is doing.
It was as much as a mission as Cecil nonetheless took as an opportunity for a bit of fun. It would hurt to always be tense. In the back of the head, the girl would remember Dalia’s warning:
“Be careful Cici. We’re on a mission, not girls night out. Watch your back, and keep your eyes peeled. You don’t know what’ll happen.”
Of course she will.
But.
Dalia may say to watch over the suspicious man and the suspicious waiter and the suspicious Nina carefully but the moment that suspicious fried yellow-white meat thing with some fries and ketchup was placed onto the counter labeled as some suspicious special thing, Cecil decided this is no time to think more about whatever Dalia said!
Her big, round eyes stared fiercely at the strange plate of meat that just didn’t look that special. The girl closed in at the man while he took his time to chew down the meat. He took an unnaturally long time to chew before swallowing down though. Did he perhaps secretly have a toothache? Cecil hopes that his teeth are okay.
Then, Cecil took a sharp breath in.
Then she patted the man on the shoulder. “Excuse me,” she said solemnly.
Then she snatched that plate of food away from in front of him just as he was about to dig in for a second piece, and hopped toward Ptlomey’s direction just as Dalia had beckoned the duo to come forth for their fries. “Le—Flintemy Flinty Fliiiiint what kind of meat do you think this is? I have never seen it before! Bestow us your wisdom to discover this mystery because Nina said this is some bar’s special but it just doesn’t seem special except I can’t tell what type of meat this is? Do you think we should try it? Ira what do you think? Da—oh Dalia just went off to hook some guy’s girlfriend.” She furrowed her brows at the last moment, as if somehow not really approving of what her assigned priest is doing.
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