Realistic or Modern ❛ 𝑯𝑬𝑳𝑳𝑹𝑨𝑰𝑺𝑬𝑹𝑺. [ 𝘪𝘤 ]

[chamomile]

hellraisers ;;

demon & witch.

CHAMOMILE X NATASHA.

 

[chamomile]

01

summoner / signet

THE 6TH OF JUNE. 10PM. LONDON.

 

[natasha.]

trixie

• o
• o
• o

• a little curious, a little eager
• nobody yet, soon to be raziel
• warehouse, banstead countryside

It took a while for Trixie to make her decision on the location. She didn't need a space as big as the one she ultimately went with, but it seemed like the better option compared to emptying out her living room and ruining the carpeted floors. Plus, this was much more secluded whereas most of her other choices involved potentially being walked in on.

Truthfully, that could happen here too, but the abandoned warehouse Trixie had found nearly a week ago seemed to not have any visitors aside from a few stray animals. Banstead was close enough to Central London to be reached quickly by the underground line but the countryside was empty enough for her to carry out what she needed to do without needing to worry about being found out. Perhaps she could have waited to find a better place but Trixie wasn't willing to wait that much longer for another new moon. It had to be now.

So, she did her best to spruce the warehouse up by mainly shifting some debris out of the way and dusting part of the floor so she had everything ready by the time night fell. Trixie had made sure to park her car behind the warehouse to keep people on the main road from finding out that anyone was at the warehouse at all. It wasn't common for cars to pass by the area at this time in the night, but for once, she had the foresight to be a bit more cautious than usual.

The hole in the roof was perfectly situated and would have allowed her to look up at the moon if there was one that night. The various gaps in the warehouse's structure did allow for more wind though, so it was an exceptionally chilly evening but Trixie felt like she was dressed well enough for it in jeans, boots and a black sweater pulled over a collared shirt she had on underneath. There was only some mild concern when she began to draw the sigil in the ground, but that all faded once she'd started lighting the candles and the flames stood strong. With that done, there was only one thing left to do.

The summoning.

After kneeling down in front of the drawn sigil, Trixie opened up the book in her hands and set it down on the ground in front of her. "Here we go," she muttered to herself under her breath before beginning to speak in Ukrainian. She invoked the true name, calling out for the demon to come forth, and sat back on her heels as she waited for some kind of sign to prove that she'd been successful so far.

A few seconds passed before the candles went out in front of her, leaving Trixie in complete darkness save for the twinkling stars in the sky above. Despite knowing this entire ritual would take its toll on her, she could feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins. Grabbing the book, she rose to a standing position just as the candles were automatically relit, but this time, as light slowly filled the abandoned structure, Trixie was no longer alone.

 

[chamomile]

raziel

• o
• o
• o

• intrigued and wily
• his summoner
• in the human world

It begins with absence and desire.
It begins with blood and fear.
It begins with a discovery of witches.

―A Discovery of Witches, Deborah Harkness

There is no such thing as reprieve for a demon, but coming back to Earth has rarely felt like much of a punishment. Truth be told, he hasn't been away for long enough to warrant a clean hunger, and it's while he's duty-bound among the sinking library shelves that he sensed the familiar tug of a summon. He listened to the name read to him, the closest thing a human could pronounce, and magnified their intentions.

Oh?― this one seems like it's worth answering. Unlike his last short-lived pursuits. No, he wasn't shallow for instant gratification, patience is part of the work. Virtuous even.

So he arrived, the wind howling with him into frantic whispers and the air given weight. His form beaded like ink and bled out of the ground, almost visibly evaporating up into the night. In a blink, he towered over the human, pitch amalgamation skittish as he tested the boundaries of the sigil. A pair of milky white eyes blinked open at an unorthrodox place, too far back and too far high.

The land he surfaced in was foreign to him, though he cares less about the specific geography for now. He managed a glance at the meticulous work that held him in place, hardly legible in this light and turned to the caller in question, a human girl.

His book was splayed before her, and something crawled over him. How splendid.

She had gone through the painstaking process of tradition to call him here to this abandoned warehouse. A rare witch in this century. Those are always fun.

From the pitch, a face moulded into a mimic of the girl's expression and craned slightly to meet her gaze. Mouth slightly ajar as if to speak, but there was only the sound of a tongue clicking softly against sharpened teeth. The whispers were still present, though to her, they should now be somewhat muted. Simple distractions, made to daunt her concentration.

He held himself perfectly still, taking the pause to study her a moment longer.

Finally, with a velvet voice— of an accent she knew, one she may have heard before— echoing in her mind, he asked, "How might I help you on this dreadful night?"

The smile was audible, brimming with guile.