Fantasy 𝐒𝐓. 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐍'𝐒: 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

WELCOME! WELCOME!
To the mountainous and inconceivably small and all the normality in between it comes once more that the wrought gates of St. Voisins' swing themselves open and your beloved cars kick you to the curb with their new sentience! Above in cloud-spotted skies the leathery flapping of wings beats into your heart like a knight of old, a lance that strikes and reminds you that you are indeed on the grounds of somewhere whimsical and mystical. Set down your bags and watch as the troll-like caretakers of the grounds haul them away with no promise of return ! Here you are welcome to explore that aura within you that sets you apart from the world, a special thing indeed. Welcome to St. Voisin's Academy for Witches!

Upon your luggage being swept away, you’ll be directed further along the trail of Fre Forest, which opens up to a voracious thunder. The knolling campus courtyard is full of wonder and merriment, seemingly all for you to enjoy. A spinning wheel, larger than you thought any moving structure possible, shoots up towards the sky and brings people to new heights. On the other side of the yard, towards Lake Dior, there is a glowing carousel with enchanted beasts of all variety, including toadstools, frogs, unicorns, and you spot even a strange one that looks close to the Grumsters that carted away your belongings. Squinting your eyes, you see that lining the rest of the trail you walk upon are rows and rows of tents, some with rudimentary labels indicating they’re for clubs or other campus activities. Some, it seems are even for more of the carnival games that fit the theme of the day’s proceedings, including a dunk-tank with a mysterious chihuahua sitting atop it.

A great roar fills the arena as the faculty lining your path direct you forward, all dressed in robes so irregularly formal that you almost wish you had dressed better. The insecurity does not have time to grip you as you look up, startled, and find the noise was not a recording from one of the various rides. No, you look up and see the fictional become literal.

“That’s Tohra,” Professor Walis murmurs to you as you stop short next to her. “That roar wasn’t from her, though. It was her husband.”

A spindle-prick point towards a luminescent cave carved in the side of the mountain. You gasp. A three-headed beast. “Kéhri. Isn’t he beautiful?” You nod, not quite sure what to make of a tri-maned lion, before you start to move on.

Cheers erupt from the crowd gathered before the ornate stage constructed in front of the steps to St. Aching Hall. You had read about this and had perhaps imagined something similar when you made your campus visit. Of course, you hadn’t imagined it being like this. A three-times human-sized, burgundy and mucusy slug murmurs at a microphone, frowning at Tohra, who makes another release of flame, striking stars into the students’ eyes like shooting stars. As you become one with the rest of the body, not even you can avoid being impressed and moved by the display.

It is short-lived as Headmistress Xu shrinks into her human form, realizing her impression is a lost-cause with Tohra around to shoot fireworks in the sky. Grumbling, she catches everyone’s attention as the mic amplifies her prominence.

“Welcome, welcome. St. Voisin’s welcomes you. If you’re one of our brave First-Years, you might be confused as to what all this fanfare is. Perhaps you might even want to settle in and sti down,” she gives an empathizing smile. “As you’ll grow used to, witches have an innate disdain for the dismal or routine. Your warrior’s hearts will run amuck on this campus. Starting today, right now. Welcome to the Freesia Festifall.”

The Headmistress widens her stance and opens an arm in equal spirit. Then, she smiles with a small chuckle, “Unfortunately, before we can delve into the spoils, we must run through the dismal traditions.”

Clearing her throat once more, she unfolds a sheet of prim-typed paper, lined with sluggy membrane, and holds it a sharp distance from her face. Convulsed into an odd expression, she squints before going, “Ah yes!” Finally, after some more enthusiastic shuffling, she clears her throat once more and begins:

The University of St. Voisin has stood since the dawn of humanity’s triumph. It exists well beyond our memories, beyond any text of history, and yet, we know it has stood for centuries. A homestead for those imbued with gifts beyond our comprehension, St. Voisin’s has served as a refuge for the magical kind and a stimulant for scholastic knowledge. She is just as mysterious as the otherworldly miasma that flows through us, and yet, here we stand. And yet, we triumph onward.”

She pauses, glancing across a sea of faces, and perhaps you wonder for a moment if she spots you in the crowd.

“This year, you will triumph in your own ways. Perhaps, even bigger ones, too, if you find yourself lucky enough to have a professor take you on as a researcher. You will grow victorious over the domains that once restrained you, from the mastery of potionscraft to the elusive art of print-making or violin restringing. Mathematics might be your call, where you might find Professor Brunscoe more of a challenge than his calc-based physics course.”

Good-natured giggles flowed amongst the crowd, and the victim-professor readjusts his glasses and smiles with a wave. The Headmistress nods to him, beaming.

“Above all, you will prove yourself a battle-end to the challenges that arise. You will be a victor. You will be a Scholar.”[/i]

It appears that the Headmistress has a flare for the melodrama, as she pauses for effect.

”Above all, we hope you find a respite, a camaraderie, a barracks, and even a jousting-round at St. Voisin’s. Welcome to the Fall Semester of 1949!”

A round of applause, and some hollers from the upperclassmen. Jubilee blossoms amongst the students, and the Headmistress waits for it to calm so she might conduct the chorus once more.

“Now, we will more on to speeches by your elected President, Violetta Williams, and Vice President, Katherine Dubois. This will then be followed by the induction of our newest Praetors with speeches given by Murn Praetor Rahna and Zoi Praetor Arturio Ibrahim-Montoya.”

Once the speeches have been completed, with the Praetors now properly pinned, Headmistress Xu steps up to the microphone once more.

“Thank you, Rahna and Arturio for those lovely… ahem… speeches. And to our representatives, Miss Williams and Miss Dubois. I see why our electorate picked you two to head our school’s society.”

A lull nestles amongst the crowd, befuddled as to why the Headmistress hasn’t set them free. Others, perhaps those more ambitious, know exactly why she has paused. As if sensing the equal-mix of unease and salivation, she gives a fox-hound smirk.

“This year, we are beholden to a Julian Leap Year. I’m sure many of you already know what that means, but for my brow-furrowed friends, I will explain.”

Some shuffling, with a professor passing something shiny on a velveteen plush, and the Headmistress hoists up an ornate diadem. Encrusted at its crown with a sun being swallowed by a moon, the baroque design hosts gold curtains composed of coins emblazoned with all sorts of Spirits, from the ones representative of the Houses to other, stranger ones. Unknown. A hush befalls the students, no longer twittering and mumbling about how boring Commencement can be. Dainty leaves forged by alchemic means encircle the diadem, appearing almost as weak as the natural ones that float in the breeze.

“This is the Galdre Laurel. For all of you, it will be your first time seeing it first hand. It won’t be your last. For some of you, it may be last witnessed amongst your peers as bejeweling your head. Wouldn’t that be nifty?”

Headmistress Xu places the victory wreath on its ceremonial pillow before continuing, “A Weihand Tournament is upon us, and this autumn, we will see who Fates chooses as its Champion. Only ten of the thirty chosen will be crowned Decimpas Champions. Only one will be the Galdre, the ultimate victor. And only the Galdre will receive all the spoils of war, along with the responsibility of battle.”

An ominous tone rings out, throaty and gilt. Headmistress Xu’s gaze narrows, but she quickly recovers with a smile.

“By the start of October, we shall see exactly who Fate calls forth, and by the end of the academic year, we will see who serves in Its stead.”

The heady air rises towards the heavens with these words. The students are back to mumbling kinetically, thirsty for Fate to show its hand. It appears even the Headmistress is stunned, confused as to why not even a single conduit has shown its Spirit’s hide. She shakes it off, deciding that such an oddity is purely coincidental, that habits do not always play out especially regarding Fate.

“Alright!” Pliant eyes recede back to her. “I send you Scholars off now on the Semester Ship. Before, however, partake in the plunders we have to offer: join a club, harass a professor, ride the carousel, and eat cotton candy until you’re silly. Welcome to St. Voisin’s!”

In a spectacular display, the Headmistress lets loose a bundle of rose petals tucked in her sleeves. They sink too soon, covered in slug-slime, though the applause is still hearty, the excitement palpable. Tohra lets a flame ring, and Xu tosses back a glare before leaving the stage.

coded by reveriee.

demonology · Oct 24, 2022

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❝

all things great must first wear terrifying & monstrous masks to inscribe themselves in the hearts of humanity.

nietzsche

class president

violet williams.

mood

mildly paranoid and nervy, rudely interrupted, unself-aware, and ready to tear this from end to end.

location

the commencement stage

interactions + mentions

cecil —

mother of sorrows , rahna —

cavitea

summary

violet's speech gets interrupted by a foe.

primadonna

marina

✵

i haunt you.

The Headmistress's head bobbed like invisible bumpers were keeping her head up straight. Unnoticeable from the front, Violet was sure, but she was mesmerized as the woman spoke. Her expression was taut, with pursed lips just so. They teetered on the brick row with a kittenish carelessness. Unnoticeable from the crowd, Violet appeared like she hung onto the Headmistress's every word as a rope of hair, a whirl of Rapunzel, as she hoped not to be kicked from the tower. In truth, she was leaning over the ledge, knife poised over the cascade of blonde, and prepared to let whatever lie below to their death. It was a countdown, as Xu spoke, and Violet kept time like a dutiful, reaping dancer.

"Now, I hand over the mic to your Class President, Violetta Williams."

Murkily, the audience wooed and cheered. Had they dimmed? Paranoia struck deep, and she swallowed through her playful grin. Looking back, she spotted Rahna standing at the edge, amongst the other Praetors on stage. She gave a low wave, and the smile (and frog) her best friend returned quelled the questions ruminating.

Nails pert against the cards she brought forward and the hair she tucked behind her ear, she began, "Thank you, Headmistress Xu, for the rousing welcome."

Applause, this time, was lessened, but she took this as a good sign.

"First, let me welcome you all to our beloved halls. In particular, if you find yourself a newcomer, I offer to be your tour guide, much akin to a hostess welcoming you to their home for the first time. As your Student Body President, it is my goal, along with the rest of Student Government, from my Vice President, the Treasurer, to our general members, that you find this a genial homestead. With that, I'll make it a point to keep this short, given the festivities that await us and welcome us all into the fold. Most of all, I wouldn't want to miss Professor De Agostini get his fur wet," she smiled and offered a dry laugh, overly formal in a manner she was alien to.

Her eyes gulped, ever greedy, with the field of flowers she longed to pick. They were meant for bouquets, and they filled her fancy in a similar fashion. This was how Violet made her way through the speech, despite the echoes reminding her of fickle humanity. Out of the corner of her eye, she found a ghost. An eldritch thing, crawled from the crypts, but she paid the familiar foe no mind as she returned to her cards. A shimmer-scape tendril fell forward.

Like a horse with blinders, she continued, "It is my responsibility to speak on the nature of our body, as I act on the behalf of us all. What is most common to us all, from our current students to the alumni to the professors, and even, in a way, the Board, is that we all hold campfires in our bellies. The walls of St. Aching to even the House Halls are paved in the fetor of our ambition, of our persistence. Witches are oft thought mythical, unreal, and a threat to humans. Instead, we have show and we continue to prove that witches have always been a kind to triumph.

The Austrian philosopher, Frederick Nietzsche once said, 'All things great must first wear terrifying and monstrous masks in order to inscribe themselves in the hearts of humans.' In many ways, that is what we are. Many of us, either currently or during our first year, felt much the same — monstrous, fleeting, and a horror, either due to our magic, our family, our academics, our visage, etc. Over the past three years, and hopefully during this final year, I have seen transformations beyond witching means. In our histories, we have born witness to innovations and figures we never thought possible. You may not realize it, but we are history, too, and we shall see who Fate chooses to leave their inscription, their embossed print."

Then, as an after thought, she added, "With the Weihand Tournament, promise for such an event rises—"

A voice, robust in vibrato, interrupts her. Finally, the blinders demand to be removed, and she swished her head to see Cecil Mangiarotti.

Mouth agape, flame rose in her eyes to match his hair. She had known that he would demand her attention, a spoilt babe. The months had not satiated the forest fire, and it roared with the fat-plumes of oxygen he spewed at her. Her eyes trailed to the crowd, aware that they watch at the gladiator fight.

Fiercely, she hissed with a snaketail curl to her tongue, "C. Cecil. If you don't stop right this instance, I'll turn you into a pig."

✵

outfit

♡coded by uxie♡

demonology · Oct 24, 2022

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❝

O great star disappear’d—O the black murk that hides the star!
O cruel hands that hold me powerless—O helpless soul of me!

walt whitman

house of murn

ernie.

mood

struck by the past, goofy and dorky as always, a little perturbed.

location

the keating circle booth, which doubles (sort of) as a DPS hotspot

interactions + mentions

rahna —

cavitea , nils, francisco, elena, kathy

summary

ernie tries to keep Gorthax the Frilled Watergout from spilling acid on the Grumsters hired to advertise Helpful Hearts, the match-making service. bumps into an old friend, along with scheming with some current ones and hoping to see others stop by the Keating Circle.

isolation

joy division

✵

o, sweet nymph !

Finally, Ernest plopped himself in the creaky, wooden chair behind his card-playing table, which was perfectly decorated to entice readers to The Keating Circle, and if they fit the bill, the Dead Poets Society. The burgundy fabric of the tent blew in the wind, and one of the nestles of flowers he'd strung to the legs went askew. Huffing, he got back up, trudged to the bouquet of wild Queen Anne's and daisies, and righted it. Someone, too quick to get to the stage to be of note, yelled out, "MacLooney!" and all he gave was a dissenting chuckle and wave off the jokester. Adjusting his glasses just so that he wouldn't smudge them with pollen, he sat back in his chair (lugged from his dorm), and sighed.

The booth for The Keating Circle sat just behind the crowd of students, and due to his nature of being a booth attendant, he got to sit out from the proceedings. Dimly, as Violet took the stage, he wished the booth was farther away. Yet, Violet Williams proved herself an interesting act for the day's events, and Ernest got up from his aging chair one last time, this time his knees cracking more than the wood, to watch another battle of The War. A beat of pride bloomed in his chest, happy to see that Cecil couldn't allow Violet one moment of peace.

Once the warfare ceased, it was time to continue on with the fanfare. With Cecil dragged off the stage, Ernie booed, though quieted when Katherine rose to give her speech. He was still curled around the tent's support, like a morning glory vine reaching up to catch the sun's rays. She had a funny way of always coming up once a semester, sometimes more if he really had a tussle with Fate. As with each reminder that she existed, nostalgia came as the Reaper would: knocking on the door of the mind, waltzing in, and cutting his soul loose. Except, nostalgia was softer, akin more so to a sponge against grease. It always knocked something loose, and he could never tell if it was memory, the sting of it, or exactly like the Reaper, his soul. He chose not to dwell on it.

She was half-finished with her speech when he stopped listening to the Vice President. Instead, Ernest returned, finally and with absolute permanence, to the booth chair. Checking his watch, he grumbled, knowing Nils was late for whatever update he promised about Helpful Hearts. a\As was Elena, if she was going to show up at all (he had hoped so, but assumptions had been made, and now he faced uncertainty). Looking up from his watch-face, which ticked ominously, he gasped.

In the distance, a handful of Grumsters, decked in small wooden cutting-boards with the hand-drawn logo for Helpful Hearts, were being terrorized! Ernie jumped up so quickly, the chair flew back, abandoned in another war (and arguably a more important one than the C&V epic).

"Hey!" he yelled, giving out a yelp as he rammed his hip into the corner of his booth table. "Quit it!"

Sprinting, which was really more like an average run since he preferred scenic walks and had never gotten the hang of cardio-thoracic engagement, Ernie closed the gap between himself and the Grumsters-For-Hire. Completely oblivious to the events on stage, he didn't realize who the war-monger was until he was close enough to squint and unfuzzy the details.

"Gorthax!" A familiarity that could only come out with adrenaline pumping.

He reached out, trying to grab his slimy body while avoiding the acid spewing. "Buddy, c'mon. Leave the Grumsters alone."

Finally, Gorthax spat at him, narrowly missing his thumb, and Ernest backs off.

"Jerk." Outraged, he shook his fist at the beast, saying, "This is absolutely abysmal for business, buddy. Not cool."

Leaping up to his full height upon Gorthax's second attempted-acid, he grumbled, prepared to walk off, when he turned to find a spark of jubilant copper.

"Oh. Hello," he murmured, cheeks aflame, as Rahna reigned her familiar.

°°°

After saving the Grumsters, Ernest returned to his booth in time for the release of the students. He readjusted his collar and hair, looking back at where he'd last seen Rahna, heart mumbling nonsense that served as that sponge. What was he losing? What was being washed away? Again, he didn't dwell. Instead, he righted the chair and set himself in.

Calling out, he attempted to draw students by, picking one out, waiving a flier, and yelling, "Hey! Hey kid! Do you like poetry?"

✵

outfit

♡coded by uxie♡

Pepsionne · Oct 25, 2022

mood :

obsessive, focused, frenzied

location :

House of Enki Dorms, Festival Grounds

outfit :

mentions :

Cecil

mother of sorrows

interactions :

N/A

house of enki

Alastair

“Yes, yes, this is perfect,” Alastair muttered under his breath, his hand busy scribbling black ink in swathes across what was formerly a pristine piece of paper. Now, it echoed the same cries as a battleground, bearing tears and slashes that muddied its surface. “Why did I never think of this Rigel, this is so obvious,” He let out a manic laugh, too caught up in the whirlwind of his excitement to notice the distressed sounds of his familiar from further within the room.

In a torrent like this, Alastair’s attention was nearly impossible to pull from its fixation. His blonde strands were a tousled mess--having survived a night full of his hands raking through them in contemplation. Rigel let out another startled coo behind him, the small bird disappearing in a woosh, only to reappear at his side. The subtle inward pull of air caused by the bird’s teleportation close to his body was something Alastair had not only become accustomed to, but also accustomed to tuning out.

With one grand flourish, Alastair finished the chaotic mess of an equation, holding the paper up to admire in the light of his window. He smiled, wild eyes softening in regards to what he considered the bursting star to his magic; the missing piece he needed to slip beneath the fabric of space itself and nestle in bed with the power of gods. He slid his chair back in a haste, wooden legs groaning against the floor in the process. Alastair swept his hand across the mess of his desk to clear the collection of empty coffee cups, broken pens and crumpled pieces of paper that contained...other bursting stars of equations that didn’t quite make the cut in amplifying his magic like he had hoped.

It took the combination of one final, panicked screech and Rigel’s full force smacking into Alastair’s face for the young man to finally return from his obsession, eyes focusing in on the chaos of his dorm room. “Why does it smell like something’s burning?” Alastair asked his familiar, as if the small creature could respond in kind. His eyes widened when they fell to a corner of the room, where a carefully balanced candle had not so carefully fallen onto a pile of papers and began to catch a flame. “Oh shit, because something is,” He jolted forward, nearly tripping over his desk chair in panic. His hands searched around the assortment of objects scattered around his room for something to put the small fire out, landing on a coffee pot he had “borrowed” from the dining hall. The liquid had long gone cold by now and served as the perfect solution to douse the flame quickly.

Crisis averted, Alastair gave a sigh, placing one hand on his side in relief. He tilted the coffee pot side to side, sloshing what remained of the liquid inside. With a shrug, he lifted the pot and finished the remainder.

“Rigel, what time is it anyways?” Alastair asked, turning to his bed and shifting his hands through the piles of books, papers and magical items scattered about. His hands glided across a recognizably cold metal surface, responding instantly and snatching the pocket watch from his bed without hesitation. Alastair’s reflection glinted back in the cracked glass while he studied the time. “Oh no. Oh no no no no--” The witch looked at Rigel with panic. “The Fesitfall starts today. And we’re late, we’re so so fucking late. The speeches have probably started.”

The young witch scrambled around his room towards the area in which laundered clothes free of the various ink splotches and coffee stains of his current attire were kept, all the while stripping in the process. His appearance on campus was one aspect he had to maintain separate from the chaos he usually operated in, an agreement made to ensure his social standing remained at the very least--respectable.

With his attire out of the way, Alastair began pulling relevant books and papers needed to harass professors with for feedback, including, most importantly, the magnificently magic altering equation he had spent the entire night drawing up. “Alright, ready my little star?” He asked his familiar, the bird responding in kind with an excited coo. He nestled within the golden strands of his master’s head, and in a gust of air that scattered the loose papers strewn about the dorm, the two vanished from sight.

Alastair reappeared in the sea of tents set up within the courtyard that currently served as the bustling grounds of the Festifall, students milling about in amiable, excited conversation. “Okay, first things first we need to find someone who can look over this,” He said, extending the wrinkled and torn paper that framed a barely legible equation. A fellow student walking by stumbled to the side to avoid the sudden intrusion of Alastair’s arm, a large drop of their nearly overturned coffee spilling onto his paper. Alastair brushed off their profuse apology, unphased by the growing splotch that began to suck down tendrils of ink. His dark brows furrowed. “Actually, first thing is coffee, then we find professors,” he corrected, moving to join the milling crowd of students.

As he neared the stage, his gaze still having yet to land on any booth advertising what he was searching for, Alastair noticed something, a voice, that drew him closer to where the speeches were being held. Now able to clearly make out those engaged in conversation, the witch heard something, or someone, who gave him pause. Cecil’s voice. Ah--that was capable enough to slow him down. As the scene unfolded, Alastair stood and watched in the fringes of the crowd, frozen stupidly in place.

coded by reveriee.

FloatingAroundSpace · Oct 25, 2022

MOOD: Contemplative, irked, amused

OUTFIT: Turtleneck + cardigan, pants, shoes

LOCATION: Commencement crowd to Curtains Drawn booth
basics

MENTIONS:
violetta, rahna, anyone passing by

INT:
ernie - demonology
tags

TL;DR Eyeing Violetta's speech and the ensuring chaos, roasting Ernie while doing the exact same thing
tl;dr

Juliet

house of gol.

Juliet sat amongst the crowd listening to Headmistress Xu hand over the stage to Violetta, raising her hands to clap robotically, her gaze following the Class President as she made her way up to the stage. To her right, Callista sighed without sound, their shoulders shifting up alongside a rising chest that then bent forward, caving in on their figure and making them seem small. She bit her tongue— there was no use bitching anymore, as the past was unfortunately set in stone for the moment. Like all the other times where she had been forced to watch Violetta enact her will over the student body, there was too much to surmount, leaving her with useless knowledge that served no one, that sat ugly in the pit of her stomach, half-rotting.

The words that were being spoken made her want to roll her damn eyes, well-placed quips and manicured sentences that flowed into one another without missing a beat, constructed to be perfect. She tuned it out, a glaze falling over her face as she took the time to examine the crowd instead, to track down the people she knew and might wish to speak to afterwards. She was so wrapped up in her purposeful neglection of the stage and its going-ons that she was not pulled back until Cecil’s voice cut through, and she wasn’t able to clap a hand over her mouth fast enough to prevent the ugly bark of laughter that escaped, harsh and grating. A few glanced over at her but said nothing, looking bewildered as she pressed another hand over the other, shoving down the shaking snorts that were trying to force their way out of her throat as she watched the stage now with rapt attention, far more entertained by this than whatever bullshit was being spewed moments before.

Once it was all over and Headmistress Xu took the stage once more, Juliet found herself in a lighter mood, a grin on her face as she listened to the remaining speeches. However, a thought passed its way through her mind; one of her flaws was her caution, she knew, the fact that she would never have dreamed of attempting what Cecil had just attempted, wanting to fly under the radar in ways that contradicted her desire to be in the spotlight. Conflicting, grating positions that made her want to gnash her teeth and slam her head against one of the walls of the campus, desperately wishing that she could summon the energy to do something one day, instead of just talk about it incessantly. It was remnants of the almost-deliberate training of her so-called family, she knew, the constant pressure to be smaller and smaller and smaller, to keep in her own square and no more, even when she watched the world burn around her, even when she watched those she held dear cannibalize themselves, cutting off limbs and tongues and hopes to fit. She had promised herself that she would not, and yet here she was, four years later, with nothing to show other than her ability to fill the air with the sound of her voice— but only the air, as she had never been able to speak louder than the cruelties that she was privy to.

The sound of flames, of the ending of those goddamn speeches pulled Juliet back from her rumination on her personal flaws that she had yet to fully overcome, and she slipped her way through the crowd, smiling and waving and cheering and raising a fist in victory alongside everyone else. She made her way to the booths, finding the one she had set up earlier. The tent itself was plain white, but the front of it contained two velvet curtains that were held back with golden rope, a fanciful banner declaring the name of her club; Curtains Drawn across the top. Inside, there were tables pushed up against each side of the tent where there were photographs of the previous year’s events, the wild effects they had managed to pull off without pissing off the cleaning staff too much, the magnificent (and cheesy) performances of the actors and actresses, dressed and painted to look the part. She thought the most impressive photo was one of a now-graduated senior with an outfit made of handsewn and meticulously painted feathers that flowed and fluttered with each motion that he made. The feathers were only on his arms, his shirt being a much more plain, flesh-toned thing, but that simply enhanced the effect whenever he danced about the stage, like a bird himself.

Up against the back wall, directly facing the path of students, were photographs of the two directors they had thus far for the plays that year, the Glass Menagerie and Devil Vanquisher,. an original piece that was labeled as such. Between the two photographs, slightly lower, was a frame with a question mark with an obnoxious label of, “THIS COULD BE YOU,” as they were looking for at least one more director and play for the semester. She had also managed to convince some of the tech members of the club to help her set up some miniature lights like the ones they used for performances to spotlight the three frames. Flanking the display of the directors and plays were the other roles individuals could play (pun intended) for the club; actors and actresses, certainly, but also stage managers, technical directors, lighting experts, sound designers, costumers, makeup artists, the orchestra, the list went on and on. There was the wind-up phonograph, borrowed from one of the members as well, that played a jaunty little tune, recorded from their previous semesters.

As she smiled at the passerbyers, welcoming them into her tent to take a peek around and put down their name on the clipboards that she had on hand, or to simply grab a flier to come to auditions, she noticed one of Rahna’s frogs hopping its way towards her. With an affectionate shake of her head, she called upon the magic that she knew, watching the little circle of dirt beneath the creature turn to water, swelling and forming a bubble around it before sending it back to its owner, giving her a cheerful smile and wave, and gesturing for her to come closer as well. As she did so, she happened to glance to her left and spot Ernie, sitting at his own booth, at his rather sad looking table and chair, and leaned over to tease him.

“How’s it going, trying to entice society’s youth with promises of high-brow intelligence that turn out to be your own brand of low-brow humor?” She turned to hand over a flier to an interested looking newcomer, offering an easy grin and a word or two of encouragement to come out and audition, to put themselves out there, before turning back to watch Ernie flail at someone else, giving a sharp cackle at that. “Oh, and you claim to know so many sweet words and turns of phrases.” She handed one of her own fliers out again, before turning to examine the other man, saying in a patient and careful voice, “So, how about those speeches?”

code by valen t.

ravensunset · Oct 27, 2022

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❝

maybe we exist to
bleed / maybe we exist to burn.

oh, but darling, who can say which?

house of gol.

kath
erine.

mood

sort of all over the place ! nervous, focused, ready, wanting.

location

the courtyard

interactions + mentions

violetta—

demonology , alastair —

Pepsionne

summary

giving a mediocre speech and joining the crowd.

black train

over the garden wall

✵

the moonlight on you.

The autumn sky was shining, the sun’s rays dancing circles around it, the clouds swirling on their way. The crowd bustled around, greeting each other, waving and chatting. The carousel spun, the ferris wheel soared.

Headmistress Xu crawled on the stage, and her shifting back into her human shape only seemed to further excite the crowd, still shifting amongst each other, trying to find a place. They laughed, they cheered.

Katherine stood in the midst of it, perfectly quiet, perfectly still. Her hands clasped behind her, and even her dress seemed to defy the breeze, holding its place around her. Nebula, the luminary falcon who’d become her companion, watched her from his place perched on a nearby tree, held just as motionless, a speck of nighttime along the midday sky.

Her eyes were focused on the center of the stage. Only with the speech’s beginning did she stir; her lips moved ever so slightly, tracing the words ‘Welcome, welcome. St. Voisin’s welcomes you’ as they were spoken; her third time hearing them. She listened to the speech, taking in every word as though all of her depended on them.

The speeches began; Violet first. Violet was always first. She shone as if the sun was a mere reflection of her. Violet spoke, until she didn’t.

Katherine’s hands curled into tightly held fists. Her attention didn’t waver.

When, eventually, Headmistress Xu called up Katherine for her own speech, the crowd was more murmurs than cheers. Katherine had no choice but to step forward, find her notecards and too her space. She took a breath, imagining the space as though there was no crowd before her. As though it was not today but last night, reciting into her mirror as she detangled her hair.

It was not so different. Katherine was performing even when she was alone. Whether there was a crowd in front of her, she was being watched.

“Thank you,” She started, “And thank you, Violet, for the beautiful speech.” Katherine cringed as she said it- she hadn’t been, of course, anticipating the interruption as she wrote it. Now that she was there, Katherine could do nothing but stick to the plan. No edits, no improvisations, the words had already been written.

Her speech was a welcoming, a promise, a tale of the knowledge the school had to offer and the work it took to accept it. It was standard, and Katherine could see the students’ attention dimming as she gave it. It matters, yes, but it’s not everything. It is not them she speaks to.

When her speech concluded, she looked back at the line of staff. Their expressions remained neutral, even as she searched for a moment of approval. She stepped back, the space no longer hers to claim, and forced her hands back to hold behind her, her shoulders back and straight.

Only when Headmistress Xu spoke again is some of that affirmation granted, I see why our electorate picked you two to head our school’s society, does Katherine feel like she can breathe again. Was it enough? It wasn’t enough. Maybe if it was her giving the first speech next year, maybe then it would be.

The Julian Leap Year is mentioned, and again, Katherine’s breath caught. She knows what it meant; she knows what it meant since her first year, when she heard the tournament’s name mentioned and found what there was to know, when the leap year would fall for her, what sort of chance she’d have. Third year is worse than fourth, but it’s not terrible, not for everyone.

And Katherine is good. She knows she is good, even at this year of experience.

The Galdre Laurel glinted. It is everything of witchcraft; the sun, the moon, nature, spirits. Katherine could do nothing but picture it in her own hair. Her hands hold together, nails of one digging into the skin of the other, as though to keep it in place, prevent it from reaching out to the prize.

Her conduit did not glow.

But neither did that of anyone else. Katherine doesn’t quite know how to hold herself together, how to keep her neutral expression, keep from bursting apart. Yet, she is instructed to, told to step off and away.

And so she does.

Katherine melted into the crowd, or at least, tried her best to, a temporary cover as she tried to find her bearings. She searched through it, wanting–

Katherine didn’t know what she wanted. Participate in the festival activities? Not in the slightest. The club tents? She probably should go check the ones she was active in, but that wasn’t right, either. The tournament? Of course, desperately, but she couldn’t have that yet anyways. Her heart twisted in her chest, offering her mind no explanation for its actions. It refused to rest still, no matter how much she asked it to.

She let out a huff, tilted her chin just slightly upwards, eyes forward. Making her way to the tents seemed like the winning answer, even if it wasn’t the right one. As she found her way to the crowd’s edges, she noticed someone there, tall and blond and watching.

Katherine stepped into a spot beside Alastair. She did not quite fit it, yet she remained. Her brows furrowed as something caught her attention, and she turned to him. It was faint, but present.

“Do you smell like smoke?” Her voice was kept low, so as to not disturb the crowd, but it was sharp, and forward, no hellos or announcement to its presence. Her brows narrowed, lips just slightly parted, head tilted expression was one most weren’t able to read whether it was judgment or curiosity. In either case, it was focused, and fully on its target.

✵

outfit

♡coded by uxie♡

sidekicker · Oct 30, 2022

L

ceremony stage - st. voisin's blades club booth

M

contemplative, dutiful, satisfied

O

outfit

TLDR:
dutifully attending the opening ceremony, & recruiting new freshman to sign up at the 'St. Voisin's Blades' club booth...

♦ ♦ VIVIENNE
BHAVINI ♦ ♦

Headmistress Xu's voice echoed across the stage, reverberating through the excited air, spoken as if laying a soft blanket of silence above the bubbling crowd. A feat that Vivienne had always found impressive, when done with the amount of ease and motherly grace the Headmistress held.

The flow of her speech became a sort of ambience for the background of Vivienne's distracted thoughts. "...and yet, here we stand. And yet, we triumph onward..."

She'd already spotted, from her place in the praetor line-up, various familiar faces - faces that, she was only now realizing, were ones that she could quite possibly never see again after this year.

She knew she didn't have the patience to over-contemplate, but...

Somehow she'd caught sight of Juliet, mid-crowd - the dark-haired chatterbox that Vivienne had grown quite used to the company of. Starting from freshman year, they'd became a sort of a locked-in powerhouse of a study team, sharing notes, academic annoyances, and lab coats; supporting each other through their shared major.

And then, towards the outer rings of the crowd, she spotted a burgundy booth, easily finding her childhood friend inside, like spotting a dopey friendly scarecrow through the corn fields... They'd grown apart through the years, focusing on different things and surrounding themselves with different sorts of people - but, there was still a seep of nostalgia, of a time gone...

And unlikely to come again, at least in the same care-free way it had when they were children.

A side glance at Nagisa - one of few people she felt had truly become her 'friend', a label that never felt an easy one for her to use. A flower grown from the dirt of her own jealousy, stemmed with a rivalry more reflective of her own self-image - but now, their friendship a blooming full-petaled one.

There were others too, that she hadn't yet spotted... but she predicted that after this year, things would change with them, too.

For everyone.

As the Headmistress's speech came to a close, and it became Violetta's turn to speak, Vivienne found herself tuning back in, attention regained and ready to move on from this sentimental puddle she had momentarily splashed in.

- - -

She, along with the other praetor's, got through the drawn-out pinnings; the speeches, thankfully, were over with - the whole Cecil debacle left her unamused while the crowd had roared with different responses, varying from boos to laughter...

Vivienne had tried to stare daggers, disapprovingly, wishing she could unspokenly command for the mass crowd's silence, but obviously - wishes aren't enough.

And by the time the follow-up speech by Katherine Dubois had started, it seemed the crowd's attention had already died.

She'd almost felt sorry for the junior, but... the dead of the crowd couldn't exactly match up to that of Violetta's speech.

Upon exiting the stage, she shot the blonde a look, raising her eyebrows with an expectancy, as if saying, 'well, that was unsurprisingly embarrassing...'

But, finally - the required pleasantries were over with. She departed into the crowd, and the Freesia Festifall felt like it had finally begun.

- - -

Amidst a small swarm of twelve to fifteen freshman witches, all hushed and huddled around the stark white and silver St. Voisin's Blades booth - stood, in the center, a high-chinned sabre gripping Vivienne; along side a mysterious, fully-dressed in fencing uniform and purposefully posed, 'mannequin'.

"The St. Voisin's Blades is not for just any average witch. It's for those of you who know you can do more; a club about building up your power, building up yourself. Being ready to strike, while also having the control, and self-discipline to know when not to." she preached, walking slowly back and forth.

Vivienne threw a side glance to the 'mannequin', quirking her brow as if asking, 'does that sound about right?'

She continued.

"You will learn about yourself, in more ways than just the physical; and-" Her shoulders back, arms almost daintily bent in a practiced default, she unsheathed the blade in one swift motion, flashing the point like a lightning bolt mere centimeters away from the mannequin's heart. "-what points matter the most."

The group of freshman were silent for a beat, before erupting in a small parade of applause.

She brought back the blade slowly, and held the sabre point level with the ground. Her eyes darted back to the small group.

"Now, is there any witch here who's actually brave enough to sign up, and join our league? To earn the privilege of challenging against me? Or maybe even the club president themself?"

The freshman quietly looked amongst themselves, waiting for someone to be the first brave soul to speak up.

"Well, your booth is deserted - where are all of your members? And where is this club president, if it's not you?"

Finally, a brave freshman spoke up...

The snarky after tones of the comment didn't miss Vivienne's notice though, and she met his challenge - letting her unruffled attention linger, gaze quiet and sharp, resembling that of a alligator watching from the surface; she waited.

It was only when the freshman had started to writhe uncomfortably, like a burning slug under a magnifying glass, that she decided to spare him, breaking the tense silence with a strange bark resembling of laughter.

Sheathing the sabre, she took three long strides to the mannequin.

"Don't act as if all you see is all there is."

At this announcement, she gripped the wired mesh fencing mask of the mannequin, hesitating for only a moment, before dramatically raising it into the air in one quick swish - in reveal of the beauty that was:

"Please, introduce yourselves to: Kamo no Nagisa - the club president of the 'St. Voisin's Blades'."

- - -

The little display had ended up being... a bit more dramatic than Vivienne had originally planned, especially because of the on-the-spot Nagisa face-reveal to a crowd size neither of them were expecting. She had... sort of forced them into the spotlight; an act she knew Nagisa to not be too keen of.

Though already, they had ten new club members eager to try-out for the team. She'd say it was a win.

She tossed Nagisa a side smirk.

"You can say this isn't true - but after I revealed your face, I'm sure that was an instant lock-in for at least nine of those new sign-ups."

(tagged) - nagisa

triples + anyone! / (mentions) juliet, ernie, kathy, violetta, nagisa

© pasta

demonology · Oct 30, 2022

scroll

❝

O great star disappear’d—O the black murk that hides the star!
O cruel hands that hold me powerless—O helpless soul of me!

walt whitman

house of murn

ernie.

mood

struck by the past, goofy and dorky as always, a little perturbed.

location

the keating circle booth, which doubles (sort of) as a DPS hotspot

interactions + mentions

juliet —

FloatingAroundSpace

summary

being roasted ...

isolation

joy division

✵

o, sweet nymph !

Flailing and proving himself a massive failure, Ernest tossed a flyer to an avoidant freshman. Sighing, he sat back, nudging the edge of the Keating Circle's sign with his toe, miserable after seeing a flame that held him in such a reverie. The dream was broken, and he remained, alone, a plucky senior member of the poetry club. To boot, he was a less-than-average salesman, which deterred him further since he wasn't selling anything other than words, which came freely.

No one even asked about the DPS, which surprised him as most newcomers wanted to know. Hell, even an upperclassman would ask jokingly. He thought, heart-renderingly of the former member he'd interacted with earlier. He knew she likely milled about nearby, but he almost wished he had the power to disappear, not fudge feelings. Perhaps, he thought jokingly, she had Violet curse me with a lack of luck.

A tuft of black hair peaking 'round. Ernie tucked his hands under his tortoise-shell glasses, rubbing at his nose and pinching it before letting the frames fall. I would have rather Violet made me a frog... at least I'd have camouflage.

Juliet ribbed him lightly with her words, and he gave a grim smile at them. "I'm–," he started, before snapping his yawp shut and reworking his jaw to form coherence. "Yes, yes. I s'pose you're right."

Defeat was apparent. Normally, he might have been compelled to say something further, to push himself to be more biting, but seeing Rahna's pepper-corn face and swamp-recluse eyes made him smaller. The tender underbelly faced upward, and he was asking, begging for someone to sink a spear into him. Juliet was always there, and in this instance, he let her have a go.

"So, how about those speeches?" she continued.

Adjusting his glasses, Ernie sat up straighter, watching her pass out the flyers for the Drama Club. "Uhm, yeah. It was, an event to be sure." His eyes flit to the stage. "Honestly, I was distracted by Gorthax more so than the V + C showdown, but are we surprised? I half-expected it to end in mucus-flame or one of them hanging from the top of Gol Hall's Greenhouse or something else fitting for a bunch of adolescent witches with too much magic. S'prised one of them didn't try to steal the Laurel."

He shrugged, giving a dry chuckle and playing back the events. "Do you think they'll get expelled?" he remarked, rather hopefully in regards to Violet but tempered at thought of Cecil.

✵

outfit

♡coded by uxie♡

cavitea · Oct 30, 2022

scroll

❝

The course of true love never did run smooth.

w. shakespeare

murn praetor

rahna.

mood

ribbiting to the gods for if you ignore the problem it can't hurt, right?

location

a stage of her own

interactions + mentions

ernest

demonology , juliet, violet

tldr

rahna retrieves her frogs and starts a sport revolution.

bad habit.

steve lacy

✵

a midsummer dream.

Her day with welcoming students had begun as normally as a day within Rahna's astral sphere could be. Frogs had hopped lazily around lace-fringed socks and marked her presence within the Praetors stepped fresh-faced to speak to the school. The fresh pin of a cloak deinging her status was the only particle of clothing she had on that reflected a true image of cleanliness.

Swamp water and the faint aroma of a damp forest emanated off fire-sparked curls and colorful fabrics. The hours before the sparkle of sun had already been squandered with mythical and beast-like inhabitants of the St. Voisin stables. Now she stretched scarred fingers out along the bumped back of a toad, pressing between its eyes with an outward laugh as feet danced side-to-side on lilypads of anticipation.

A speech had been wrongfully assigned to her to give, words collected in a cursive shorthand on rolled paper clutched in slimed digits.

Of course, there could be one assuming the girl of bubbles and whimsy carried no sense of nervousness but it was a false statement. Crude and scrunched, she let a nose free of image twitch against frog-laden air as eyes watched disaster unfold before her in the speech of a girl she most lovingly called a friend. An 'ally', as they often spoke between themselves during hushed talks and almost companionable tea times. Violet was almost the perfect friend.

Blonde, beautiful, unashamedly herself in a way that frogs hopped a little too high, landing gracefully even in failure.

Her speech would assuredly be of an equally high caliber, lofted and sparkled like the crown jewels nestled invisibly on her head. Pretty to look at, Rahna could casually muse but thorned against others and crude, crude—

A bubble interrupted her thoughts, the captured frog spinning in great confusion as it floated with ease and popped before her eyes on top of the disgruntled toad. "Ah! Specie! I was wondering where you hopped off to my friend, ribbit. It appears our bubbling acquaintance has saved you so kindly." She smiled down at the frog, teetering forward on feet to peer for the witch so fondly thought of before another sight caught her eyes and took away from even the mystical ways of a bubbled frog.

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。
✿°。 ✿°

Gorthax was a menace against the cardboard-laden Grumsters. Granted, Rahna had never expected him to be anything but a menace but the indecisiveness on whether he was an innocent baby versus a potential danger to society was a fine line she ballet danced across each day. Tossing her speech and speech-carrying toad behind her in a strawberry-scented ‘pop’ she had run off from the stage and Violet to the attacking familiar.

“Gorthax! Put down the fleshy turnips!”

Bubbles and pops resounded in her speech as she ran, stomping on the ground like a child in puddles before the presence of another halted her progression. Gorthax spat again at the taller form, hopping with a familiar recognition shared between him and Rahna in caught breaths and reluctance. Ernie was the unseen rays of dawn trickling through sea-stained glass and leafy ferns. A toad of great strength that sat in a damp terrarium and sang his songs against bubbled glass. Something soft, something lost.

Her arms were encircling themselves in a cage around mossy flesh, reigning back the destruction of her beloved friend as she watched the remnants of another walk away.

"Ribbit?"

A response perhaps unheard as roses peeled quietly on star-kissed features and swept themselves into the rare moment shared.

Forlorn waters could now only watch as the back of the other wandered away to a lonesome booth, the writhing of swamp-laden slime and arrogance hardly pulling away from the call she wished to make, to yell out. Confrontation, after all, had never quite been her strongest pair of socks.

Gorthax grumbled and burped in her arms as mud-sunken feet slapped themselves against the ground towards the menagerie of booths and tables. His wings beat in a slimey morningstar against her outfit, a uselessness only halted by the squeeze offered to him. This man was not about to continue his tirade against her today; at least, not within the scope of this welcoming festival.

She trapezed them both away from the disaster collection of chairs and arguments to one of the more raucocious booths. Various winged creatures stood in a makeshift paddock and assortment of ties behind the booth. Crimson and earthen banners flapped freely around the table laden with sports equipment and crisped parchment.

Libelulle.

Smacking the withering creature in her arms down on the ground of the paddocks she turned unceremoniously towards the other students already gathered near the booth. The entirety of the front of her outfit was damp and coated lovingly in the mucus of her own hobbies. Her energy and friendliness towards mounts had pinned the responsibility of a captain on her shoulders as bold steps took themselves atop a table, the cape of Praetors flung and fluttering towards the dirt as a call for new players came in squeaked ribbits and pops.

It wouldn't take long, surely, before the collection of animals that cawed and balked at passing students drew attention, the boldness of a goggle-snapped nature sprite pulling in younger attention with awed fright. Softened sunshine could fade away from the forefront of her mind as she kicked around and flailed frogs and limbs alike towards students.

"We haven't had a player sent to the medical ward in almost two games, ribbit!"

Rahna crowed out the words to others as a slip and jump took her off the table and trapezed forward with the other rowdy members of the club within their booths respective space, a leg kicking here and there as frogs joyfully hopped around and down the alley of booths in an excited wave.

✵

outfit

♡coded by uxie♡

FloatingAroundSpace · Nov 3, 2022

scroll

❝

What are we made of but hunger and rage?

a. carson

house of gol.

juliet
wen.

mood

contemplative, excitable as per usual.

location

Curtains Drawn booth

interactions + mentions

ernie —

demonology , vivienne —

sidekicker , noticed nagisa

summary

conversing with ernie and supporting the blades club.

bad dream baby

hippo campus

✵

drown out your broken heart.

Juliet made a humming noise to Ernie’s confession that he had been more distracted by Rahna’s peculiar familiar rather than the fireworks display that was the conflict between Violetta and Cecil, revealing nothing of her internal thoughts to such a statement. She, like most others who had found themselves with a healthy dislike of the now class President (a position she still fully believed belonged to Callista, not that the other student would like to hear that at this point. “What’s done is done, Juliet,” a statement that clutched at her heart and twisted it, a sharp reminder that, indeed, what was done was done, and she could do nothing about it, then or now), were vaguely aware of others who had drawn battlelines, finding themselves a touch closer because of it. Ernie was one such individual, and she could usually rely on him to meet her eye whenever Violetta passed by with her posse, speaking in jovial tones with words dripping in poison that infected the ears of passerbyers without them noticing. As such, the fact that he had been distracted away from something that Juliet might call long-awaited comeuppance intrigued her.

She set the thought aside— Gorthrax was always up to some sort of mischief, taking after his owner in that sense, though she got along much worse with the American Frilled Watergout compared to its peculiar owner. As she placed that thought down, a flicker of another one came to life, like a snap of one of the final embers in a fireplace sputtering out.

Most who knew Ernie would perhaps compare him to a wisp on the wind, the last leaf on a branch, snatched away at a moment’s notice, flowing through life like a phantom, barely leaving a mark or a scratch. Those same people would perhaps consider Ernie and Juliet to be opposites, that while he was quiet, she was loud, that he was subtle while she was boisterous.

Those people had probably not had enough conversations with either of them.

The subtle tricks they both utilized to keep their secrets close to their chests, their lives and inner thoughts locked away, played out in many of the conversations that they had, matching perhaps not word for word, but run-around for run-around. Avoid, and then redirect, and dance around the subject until landing on a new one, speak and speak and speak about nothing until the air is filled and there is no space for personal talk anymore, until the tongue is worn out and the ear is tired.

Well, perhaps he would not talk as much as she did, but at the end of the day, the two of them had an agreement to not pry, to not question, to respect the distance and silence and the cards crumpled to the chest. Still, there was her constant curiosity (some might call it a pathological need to know, to prevent surprises, to calculate when the next shoe would drop after a lifetime of having them slam down on her toes and bruise them down to the bone) and she had thought that she might have found a flicker of a thread between the two there, some complicated, convoluted thread that twisted about Violetta and all those that fell under her spell.

She set that thought aside as well, placing it neatly next to the previous one, listening instead to what Ernie was saying, a question that made her snort and nearly roll her eyes, though she suppressed the desire as she handed out more flyers to the students streaming by, a wide, beaming grin on her face. “One can dream that we may perhaps see the day that she gets some taste of what she was wrought, but I highly doubt she would go without burning half this damn campus to the ground.” She paused at the thought of Cecil being expelled— “I think,” she said slowly, “there’s enough people going to bat for him that he’ll be fine, too.” An awkward, unspoken pause; Would this be it? The final incident, the final occurrence, the bang and crash and sputter that would finally end his career at St. Voisin’s?

She turned to Ernie, her face its usual pleasant appearance, squirming thoughts set aside, always to the side, placed down and ignored until they stilled. “I wonder what other incidents we may be seeing this upcoming year,” she mused, “if this is the opening chapter.” Something so public, at an event so important, done with enough fanfare and witnesses to be the talk of the campus for at least a handful of weeks— if Violetta did not decide to divert the attention away from her to someone else, picking a figure to toy with and break and throw to the dogs that she had trained.

There was a bit of commotion a few booths down and she peered down the alley towards it, her eyes latching onto the sight of a familiar companion that soon became a pair of familiar companions. Knowing that Nagisa would probably not want more attention than they were getting, she stretched her hand in a sudden, almost brutal movement, nearly clotheslining a student that had simply been trying to make their way to the next booth, and yelled out brightly, “Vivienne, Vivienne! Hello, hello, we’re right next to one another!” Partially a lie, and the person that was right next to her gave her an irritated look she politely ignored and shoved a flier towards. “How is it going, enticing the freshman?” She could not resist a glance at Ernie, her smile turning a bit mischievous, “Doing better with prettier faces I presume?”

✵

outfit

♡coded by uxie♡

cavitea · Nov 7, 2022

scroll

❝

house of enki.

nils.

mood

tired, concerned about business

location

a silly heart-themed booth

interactions + mentions

just me, a silly guy

tldr

come get your love read!

bad habit.

steve lacy

✵

dreaming of the future.

Dust particles danced their usual waltz, spinning with each other in the trailing sunlight that made itself into the dusty dormitory of a sleeping figure. Feathered sprawls of pillows and blankets coated the room until there was hardly space for the few pieces of furniture that settled in. Cards sat in a misshapen pile beside the remnants of what one might've thought to be a tea party had it not all been consumed by a single slumbering mass.

Crawling among the warmth and disaster was a wrinkled blob of malice, a symbol of hate that had risen in notoriety among students as a truly foul creature. Folded flesh and an ancient layer of dust sniffled its way over to the sleeping man, rat appendages moving in their usual menacing way before teeth sunk themselves directly into the exposed flesh of a neck.

"AH."

Fingers clawed and curled themselves around the fleshy form, squeezing with the gentle rage of a sleep disturbed before a coughing, cackled laugh came from the creature. A toss through the air sent it gracefully spiraling into a pile of pillows with a soft thump. "Young sir, you're rather late for the festivities, no?" Wheezed were the words, as if pulling themselves from an ancient tome that sputtered and coughed themselves before a rudely awakened Nils. Leisurely taped fingers rose themselves through the waves of dirtied blonde, ruffling out incense and exhaustion before limbs lengthened themselves high towards star-painted ceilings and fell unceremoniously to his side.

Glittering dust danced before his eyes again, a whimsical form of imagery that showed the faintest pictures and tickled along his ears in whispers. Surely today would not allow itself to be the calm environment he usually wished for and this only seemed to promise him of that fate. Exhaustion already teetered itself dangerously from the roof on silken thread, a wavering promise for the divulgence that fingers tangled themselves into and brushed away.

"Yes, I suppose someone will miss me." He bowed his head only slightly in disgust as the rat pulled two gnawed on socks over to him, digging into wrinkled pockets enough to offer out the remnants of a cracker

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。
✿°。 ✿°

Stepping languidly through the collection of booths there was now Nils Berg flipping absently through a collection of gilded cards, the rat he had previously thrown horrible return looks at perched in a rather unseemly way upon his shoulder. It was warm enough outside to allow the decrepit family heirloom out with him in the world, a free hand occasionally feeding it the corners of crackers from his pocket as he sauntered over to the last remnants of the welcome speeches, familiar green meeting into brown and red, controversial blonde.

He sighed leaning in the back of the collection of students, resuming the casual flip through cards as he offered a brief glance towards the growing mess of a welcoming ceremony, a withered card settling more comfortably between fingers than others before feet dragged themselves away from the cacophony and towards a booth plastered helplessly with handmade hearts and a flimsy poster.

Advertising themselves as a group of matchmakers had done nothing beside bring gaggles of giggles and nervous looks at them all. They had been a trio of guys just trying their best and now there were Grumsters walking around, sandwiched with poster advertisements and loudly proclaiming the services of 'Ernest the Poet, Frankie the Alchemist, and Nils the Seer'.

A brief mental note was made to have an earnest chat with the creatures about their choices of language as soon as he could.

Settling down on a worn seat though, Nils spread out his collection of cards before him, reaching towards a box of handy supplies for a secondary deck as another Grumster walked by, biting at the ankles of fresh-looking students about their need to find love in such a loveless world.

Nils simply sighed and flipped over another card.

✵

outfit

♡coded by uxie♡

L3n · Nov 7, 2022

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❝

house of gol.

susu.

mood

slowly falling asleep rn

location

visiting the booths

interactions + mentions

no one dont mind her

tldr

energy drinks are good

wander with me.

jeff alexander

✵

but a fleeting memory.

Sleepless eyes snailed their way down the grooves of the floor. They took their time to point out the small bumps and the hints of cracks. Taking in the way specks of sunlight glittered off the grains. The feeling of the sun's rays as they placed soft hands across her back despite the chill. Their gaze swayed up, just barely, to make out their classmates' shoes. The natural low murmur of the crowd embraced Susu’s ears like a blanket. The firm voices of the rotating speakers, which she recognized from last year, lulled her like a lullaby. Even the chaos had yet to bother her dreamlike state.

It was rude to not pay attention. Susu was sure it took a long time to write out their speeches, to get them “perfect” enough to share. She could envision them hunched over a desk, inking down their thoughts with a quill. They would pen down an idea too hastily and have to scribble out sentences to fit in a better word. Maybe they had scrapped their first takes altogether. Once they got their final ideas on paper they perhaps took to a mirror to practice speaking them out. Thinking about all the unspoken steps kept her awake, just barely, enough to get through the initial orientation. After all, who could sleep through something others had invested so much time in?

With the newfound freedom of being released from the speeches, Susu raised a hand to block a silent yawn. Her eyes stung as they pressed together, yearning not to part. Her body felt sore and gross despite taking a long cold shower before the event. She wasn’t going to make it through the day. Not at this rate. Susu’s arms drooped down to her handbag, taking all the time in the world to unfasten its closed button. She existed on her own time. While others quickly dispersed to check out the festive club stalls or bunched up with their group of friends, Susu was standing still fiddling with her bag for a dragged-on minute. In her mind, she was floating with the stars. Reality was a plane she had yet to land on.

Sleepless Meng’s fingers grazed the smooth cool texture of glass. Grasping the vial she rummaged it out of her purse, holding up a pale green potion. It looked as if light and nature danced, combining together in a bottle. Susu’s lips mouthed out an incantation as she popped open the cork. The flavor was nothing special compared to the way the drink felt in one's mouth. It fizzled and exploded, sparkling like candy as it flowed over the tongue. It went down the throat like pop rocks, gently massaging one’s body awake from the inside out. Susu blinked and the dreamlike state she had been in had been in washed away. Liquidized energy soaked into her bones, rejuvenating her aching limbs.

Susu cracked her neck creating the vilest booming snaps imaginable. The absolute sheer claps could be heard from yards away.

Then she finally moved from her spot.

Susu eerily made her way down the line of stands. Not sleeping gave her more time than most of her peers, even with her student council duties. That’s why last year she had taken to joining a charity club. She could spare free hours throughout the night, no matter what time meetings were held. It was something she knew she was going to repeat again this year. She just had to find the booth for it. The problem was there were just so many and she was trying her best to stay clear of frogs.

Her eyes fell upon a select stand as she quietly passed. Her gaze lingered just a bit too long. Curtains Drawn was St. Voisin’s own drama club. Susu had seen a variety of their work during freshmen year all thanks to her friend Juliet, it's Creative Director, who currently was busy socializing with Ernie. Susu knew him too. They had been penpals for years, his letters all carefully memorialized under her bed in a box. She longed to go join their conversation, but she didn’t want to crowd the area. Susu would see them both later, she reminded herself to reason over the slight ting of loneliness.

✵

outfit

♡coded by uxie♡

luxnoctis · Nov 7, 2022

scroll

house of zoi.

elena

mood

relaxed/curious.

outfit

outfit 1 in discord channel.

location

the keating's circle table.

interactions

ernie. juliet.

Fantasy 𝐒𝐓. 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐍'𝐒: 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

demonology

𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒚 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒎𝒚𝒕𝒉.

demonology

𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒚 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒎𝒚𝒕𝒉.

demonology

𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒚 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒎𝒚𝒕𝒉.

Pepsionne

oi oi

FloatingAroundSpace

Three Thousand Club

ravensunset

no thoughts just vibes

sidekicker

. . .

demonology

𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒚 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒎𝒚𝒕𝒉.

cavitea

𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧

FloatingAroundSpace

Three Thousand Club

cavitea

𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧

L3n

your moms a hoe

luxnoctis

clarissimum tempus diei.

Pepsionne

oi oi

sidekicker

. . .

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