Fantasy 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐃𝐀𝐍 - 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲, 𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝

[mother of sorrows]

I needed God to abandon me
so I could feel his presence.
I need to kill someone inside me.

Clarice Lispector
The Depature of the Train

© weldherwings.

 

[mother of sorrows]

code by yousmelldead

The Inheritance

Balefly Estate, cradled in a pack of frost.

It rests where Theodan struggles to fit the definition of a city, elderly birches tangling their thin fingers with evergreen bushes. All of life is muffled beneath a crunching layer of snow, branches struggling under the added weight. Wind moans and beats, and it is cold like childhood. The estate is gray and wet-brick in the near darkness, all the horizon eaten up by white flakes; it envelops around the courtyard like a grief mad orphan, its windows dull and empty. You see no one in or outside, nor is there any track of footprints. It is quite obviously a place of immense, solemn wealth, built old and unfriendly. Four stories tall and statued with stone angels, their brittle forms overgrown with moss and age. You can imagine medieval women of masks and black dresses float its hallways, or sullenly silent children staring out of the bushes like feral cats.

There is a singular light in this whole winter-eaten place. Up at the attic, flickering uncertainly.

If you want your doll, perhaps you should knock.

 

[mother of sorrows]

code by yousmelldead

Bird Song

''Dear guests, the show will be starting soon. Please, take your seats.''

The white-marble walls keep the low conversations from spilling out like an overaching bowl, or a sea muffling an everlasting civilisation. Like ribs, the ceiling disappears into the darkness of its own arhitecture; it is too high for you to see the top of it, distant as the stars boiling in an uncaring cold. Unflinching forms sit on balconies carved out of sea rock, velvet and silk and cotton the price of a house reflecting dully in dreamish gas light. The high and wealthy keep their elbows off their table like a religious vow, their faces unreadable; the newly born rich spill champagne over their laps and laugh like breaking glass. Stale perfume and iron drift to your nose, the smell of a dozen selected few to see strange gifts.

A voice, from an attendant on the stage; the tone is not male nor female, not kind nor grating. A white mask clings to their face like exposed bone carved out of a wound and he shuts the red curtains to prepare the set.

You have some time to mingle. After all, this is supposed to be a night of enjoyment.

cwosont jones573

 

[mother of sorrows]

code by yousmelldead

Hell Bother

The apartments are not what you expected. Or perhaps, they exactly are.

Smoke billowing boats spew into the Gamarina like paper toys, the black waves lapping at their bellies. Birds dive for fish and scream their frustrations out on the washed out brown roofs, dropping half-eaten bones on unsuspecting passerbys. Washer women with tired eyes and cracked hands hold in conversation, their babes hidden from the world under hemp blankets. Children covered in acrid grime watch people with empty eyes, or throw rocks at unhappy sailors. Industry seeps into the damp air here, your nose burning. A dog with human teeth trails up and down the cobblestone street lazily, mumbling something unheard to itself.

The building itself is small and grey and tilting at the foundation. Ruin threatens for it in the future, but not quite yet; it looks like a growing mole that might prove dangerous, all unclean resignation and mold. Whoever has written the ad is nowhere to be seen, but the room must be inside.

You should go in and ask about this missing pet.

AI10100 . D O V E Steve Jobs Sylvio

 

[mother of sorrows]

code by yousmelldead

Attend a Sermon

What a building of sheer magnitude. What power. What a dull, rainy Friday and what cold there is here.

Clad figures step together to stay warm in the wooden pews, incense drifting in the frozen air like a deterring fog. Low, unhearable whispers meet each other in the grand space, as if afraid to be heard by something far worse than themselves; porcelain statues sit in their stone prisons, saints beheaded, skinned, buried alive, faces sweet like rot. Framed oil paintings depict primal darkness, demons and the heroes who have slaughtered them. There is no divinity here. Only straight spines and morose, determined faces.

The sermon has not started yet. If you wish to find yourself a seat and to mingle, now would be the time.

demonology Uxie lucenti

 

[mother of sorrows]

code by yousmelldead

Witness my Word and Deed

Theodan's market is never silent, but it is never quite this loud, either.

Overarching buildings loom over you like a threatening hand, gargoyles snarling into the winter air and smoking couples draped over the balconies. The smell of sweet roasting cakes and the screams of horses, an argument, an owl in a cage that spits out living mice, glinting necklaces that hum in your ears, a woman with a smile so wide the edges are bleeding, laughter, a crying snake-child dropping a quarter into the sewer. Chaos, but a restrained one. Whatever you came here for, be it groceries or clothes or ghost entrails, you are certain to find it here.

It is loud, yes. Far too loud. Through the bargaining and rush of carriages, you hear it.

Screaming. Panicked call for the guards. A group of people, pushing over each other to circle something.

Perhaps you should check. Or perhaps, you should not.

Sear yokai. neon reverie Colorless Spectrum

 

[Steve Jobs]

LOCATION: Woodash Apartments, Room08B

INTERACTIONS: mother of sorrows Lady Bell, open

nicolette barlowe

There was something nostalgic about being in the industrialized side of Theodan.

Far from the briny fish markets or the rose-scented corridors of the Barlowe Estate, the acrid smoke and piss stained streets reminded Nicolette of a childhood spent skipping classes to play with random kids or explore abandoned buildings. Once she became a teenager, she graduated to hellhound races and sneaking into bars, but it rarely came without consequence.

If she wasn't caught by a policeman, it would be her handmaid dragging her back by the ear. In either case, her adventure would end with a lecture from her parents and if she was lucky, a slap on the wrist. In the rare cases that she cajoled her brother into coming, the inevitable punishments would be lighter.

Unfortunately, her father was not so kind anymore.

While he tended to Theodan, the future duchess answered a help ad for a missing pet in honor of the cat her brother convinced their parents to keep eight years ago. The listing was located at Woodash Apartments, one of the older housing complexes in Theodan. Every time she passed by the area, the building seemed to be degrade a bit more and this instance was no different.

She gave the building a cautious kick, only heading inside once she was assured of its structural integrity.

The scent mildew immediately blanketed her lungs, causing her to stifle a cough into the sleeve of her dress. It's no worse than some of the dive bars in the West. Just hold ya' breath and speak quickly, she told herself before approaching the woman at the front desk.

"Hey, I'm looking for Lady Bell's room. O Eight B?" she asked.

Without looking up from her newspaper, the receptionist pointed to her left and mumbled "down the hall on the left," before turning the page.

"Alright, thank you!" the brunette chirped. She walked with purpose, her hand struggling not to cover her mouth and nose. Once she came upon 08B, she shook the mild disgust from her face and gave the apartment door two knocks.

"Hey! I heard you were missing a pet!"

code by valen t.

 

[AI10100]

Extra! Extra!

It wasn't particularly rare to hear the clopping of hooves against the streets of Theodan— whether it came from some upstart noble scoffing at the poorer divisions of the city or from transport carriages that rattle with new goods to sell to the people. However, this one was an extremely familiar sight to many of the people roaming the streets of the city— a black, repurposed circus carriage pulled along by two horses with Tucker as the coachman. No one truly knew what lay within the carriage but it rattled like it was full yet moved swiftly as if it wasn't.

The carriage rolled along the street, undisturbed.

Tucker made sure to abide by the rules of the street— don't fuck around. Keep your head down 'cause you might piss someone off by just giving them the wrong kind of glance. He's got the scars and bruises to prove that he had to learn all of that the hard way but... well, it was kinda fun being able to get their belongings while running away from them. It's kind of thrilling that way.

But this wasn't the time to do something like that. Tucker had a duty to do and that was to bring the Madame over to this obscure, run-down apartment complex because apparently someone lost a pet and they were going to help find it. Now, he understood fully well the joy of animal companionship— his friendship with Jean and Josephine clear to anyone with eyes when he took over taking care of them— but Tucker wasn't exactly made aware that looking for missing pets was part of the job description. He thought it was all dangerous traps and near-death experiences with a side of dress-up that the Madame made him put on.

Well, he shouldn't complain all that much. The last thing he wanted was to jinx it all.

The carriage pulled to the side of the apartment and Tucker quickly tied the horses off close by. The apartment was no luxury suite, nor was it even a semi-decent living space; but hey, beggars literally cannot be choosers and Tucker was no stranger to squatting in areas like these. He moved over to the side of the carriage to open the door, gesturing widely towards the apartment as if welcoming her to it like a personal entourage. "Welcome to the peak of livin', Madame." He snickered as he waited for the woman to completely disembark the carriage before closing the door behind her. "Y'sure our client's in there?"

tucker

PLOTLINE: Hell Bother

LOCATION: Apartment

INTERACTIONS: Genevievve

TAGS: . D O V E

ITEMS: Revolver, Switchblade

code by valen t.

 

[yokai.]

plotline :

witness my word and deed

location :

the market

outfit :

mentions :

n/a

interactions :

open

iphigenia

✶ the lamb

The last new moon was three days prior. With a healing salve spread underneath gauze bandages tied around her wrists and ankles, Iphigenia went about her days tending to her apothecary with very few interruptions. That is, until she ran out of her stored hagfish slime, causing her to fall desperately behind on burn treatment orders. It seemed that as of recent days, the people of Theodan were getting themselves into too many accounts of arson for some reason. Iphigenia was too overworked and sore all over to really ponder why. Things were always happening in the city, a never-ending barrage of strange curiosities that never failed to confuse and concern the troubled young woman. Still, she had to do something.

Calloused fingers fiddled underneath the bandage on her left wrist subconsciously as she made her hurried way over to the market, a viridian cloak wrapped around her gaunt figure. The day was young, and she had plenty of time to leisurely peruse the stalls all she liked, yet she had lived here for long enough to understand that a prolonged stay at the market could only court trouble. There, you could find peddlers of all shapes and sizes who flaunted all-curing ‘basilisk-oils’ and cursed metalworks that promised eternal life. Iphigenia, herself, had found herself the target of a few too many grifters, too naive back then to tell the difference between a cockatrice's foot and a regular farm hen's.

“Geni, Geni!” A porcelain-masked merchant called out to her, the masks's painted expression was deceptively sweet-faced, like a children’s doll. Iphigenia kept her eyes forward and quickened her pace past their stall, pulling the sides of her cloak ever closer around her body. “Sweetness, where are you going? Our moonrabbit's tail is the best in all of Theo-!” The rest of their sales pitch was drowned out by the roaring chatter of the marketplace, the further Iphigenia hurried away from them. Hagfish slime, hagfish slime, hagfish slime. She only needed hagfish slime. The sooner she got a hold of at least two full jars, preferably at a discounted price, the better.

Fortunately, that meant beelining straight for a cow with a cross-shaped mark on its forehead, sitting on a stool with its legs crossed beside a table full of various jars of blinking sea creatures. As it sat, it stared in silent judgement of the various goings on throughout its surroundings, disinterest put aside in favour of a more welcoming expression as soon as Iphigenia walked into view.

“Glad to see you, girl,” the sacred cow greeted. “Shop treating you well?”

Iphigenia shrugged. “Could be better.” As she engaged in brief small talk, she carefully took a nearby jar full of viscous, murky green liquid and turned it in her hands to scrutinize its quality in the lamp light. The eel-like creature sitting its depths curled around itself as it hissed at her, circular mouth baring membranous rows of teeth. Lili was one of the few merchants who didn't mind any careful examination of their items, and for this, Iphigenia was vehemently grateful. “I'll take two of these, please, Lili. Thank you, kindly.”

Once she handed over the coins, Iphigenia gently tucked the jars into her shoulder bag and was about to make her way out, when suddenly cries pierced through the air, a cacophony that struck alarm in the girl's pattering heart. She watched as a crowd formed some paces near where she stood, people pushing this way and that to see what exactly was going on. By some stroke of misfortune, Iphigenia felt herself swayed by the steadily forming crowd, panic settling in as she was propelled further and further into the eye of the storm.

Whatever was waiting for her there, she could only guess that medical assistance might be required. Firmly planting her feet into the ground before she could be pushed right out of the crowd into the center of the circle, Iphigenia steadied herself as she was knocked headfirst into the back of someone wearing a dress that looked like a cathedral's ceiling.

“Sorry!” She looked up, further apologies ready to spill from her mouth, only to shrink back when her eyes met the face of a severe-looking faerie woman. “I wasn't looking where I was going, I… Do you know what's happening? Is anyone hurt?”

“Move along and see for yourself,” was the cryptic answer, before the woman tentatively moved aside to make space for Iphigenia to squeeze through with eyes wide and posture rigid. Whether she gained a front row seat to madness or a miracle, only time could tell.

coded by reveriee.

 

[Sylvio]

MOOD: Slightly annoyed, exhausted

OUTFIT: Paladin Uniform

LOCATION: Apartment

ITEM: Revolver

basics

MENTIONS:
AI10100
. D O V E
Steve Jobs

tags

TL;DR Gerard's commander sends him to the Woodash Apartments after looking at a wanted poster for a missing pet. Gerard initially refuses but is told about how the deed may prove good publicity to maintain the order's image. Not much of an incentive, yet he can't protest against someone of authority.

tl;dr

Gerard

"A missing pet?" Gerard asked annoyingly.

"Shouldn't be too hard for you I'm sure." His commander said as he looked from his desk.

"Forgive me if I fail to find the logic in why I should be the one to do this."

"Look, people here need all the help they can get. You're good with people and very inquisitive. I'm sure helping out a woman with her pet could give us some extra brownie points with the rest of the city."

"I'm just saying, Grandmaster DuPont was murdered and you want me to essentially find someone's fleabag."

"People need to know we're not sitting around moping and thinking we're vulnerable. Whether or not we find who's responsible for his death, things still happen in this city and we need to keep up with what's happening in every alleyway. Now you have your orders, dismissed."

Gerard let out a sigh and a salute exiting the office and making his way through the observatory and out the main door to the street. He looked to his left to see a cabriolet passing down the cobblestones which he attempted to hail. The driver, a late middle-aged man gave Gerard a customary tip of the hat while the aging mare attached to the cab neighed idly. He gave the driver the address of Woodash Apartments and stepped into the cabriolet before they set off.

He started to contemplate, staring out the window as the city passed him by. He never had enough time to just explore the city for itself instead of treating it like a battleground. The echos of gunfire and screams ring in his head as he looks at rooftops and street corners trying to visualize how a battle with these vantage points would be won.

A normal person would never consider these things but to Gerard, fighting was his life now. Sometimes though, he didn't even know what he was fighting for. It would've been three years since Tomas died, his only love besides a few teenage romances. At the time he didn't have the money to bury him, so he was cremated and had his ashes dumped in the Gamarina. If there's one thing Gerard knew about his late husband was that one day he wanted to swim in that river. As the cab passed by it, Gerard felt a little sick to his stomach. For one the smell of industrial smoke and waste was something he never got used to, as well as the longing for his lost lover who he knows will never come back. Yet he still pines for Tomas against all reason.

Eventually, he felt the carriage came to a stop, and the cab driver opened the door. Gerard stepped out, paying the man the fare and a little more as the driver tipped his hat in kindness and went on his way.

Although it was odd, there was another carriage in front of the one he rode to get here. He simply walked past the carriage without paying it any mind. Odds are they were here for the advertisement but Gerard did not know them so didn't have the need to speak with them for the time being. He walked down the path leading to the aging complex. As he opened the door, the scent hit his face and he nearly gagged. He took a few seconds to collect himself before approaching the woman at the front desk who didn't pay Gerard any mind.

"Excuse me, does Lady Bell live here?"

"You here with the girl?" The woman asked flipping through her newspaper.

"No, I'm here on my own." He replied with a confused look.

"Down the hall to the left." The woman sighed in annoyance before Gerard just tipped his cap seeing that the woman was just having a rough day. He finally understood what she meant however as he walked down the hall and saw a woman standing before a door. She didn't seem like a resident by the way she looked, it was a pretty weird coincidence that people with the same motivation showed up at seemingly the same time.

code by valen t.

 

[lucenti]

PLOTLINE: Attend a sermon

OUTFIT: see here

LOCATION: The Church of Our Starvation

ITEMS: None

two

INTERACTIONS: Diana

MENTIONS: None

two

TAGS:
demonology
Uxie

two

TL;DR: Having impulsively decided to attend the sermon, Kalcimer felt out of place among the worshippers. He decided to stand aside, admiring the interior of the church. While doing so, he stumbled upon a peculiar statue.

two

kalcimer

Faith was fickle in the hands of men.

They'd pray in times of dire need, when their only salvation lay in the hands of volatile beings, but as soon as it became inconvenient, they'd change their tune till it was no more. Belief and its decrees were tools to be used when arguments became as brittle as the paper they were written on. A hollow act. Much like Kalcimer's reasons for attending the sermon.

He stood out among the waves of spotlessly robed figures. Mud caked his boots, twisting his consciousness uncomfortably every time he looked down and saw the dirty trail in his wake. His cloak hid layers of filth and possibly bloodstains in its dark colour. Best not to disturb it where it rested on his shoulders. Most of his hair was unkempt and his face had not seen a blade for some time, judging by the stubble that sprouted from his chin.

It was not a preplanned obligation that moved his feet through the sacred gates, but a whimsical change of heart at the sight of the masses gathered outside the church. A faint hope that whispered of the chance for salvation by merely being on holy grounds.

Pathetic, even to his ears.

Besides, he even completely overlooked his physical appearance while doing so. An oversight he now paid for with stares that bored holes in his neck and heated whispers that pointed forks and torches in his direction. Like a sheep in the midst of wolves.

So it came as no surprise to see Kalcimer standing alone, far away from the busy centre, his back partially turned to them.

Where there were no people to attract his attention or engage him in any meaningful way, the abundant artistic decorations on the walls provided a more than adequate alternative. Strokes and paint created tumultuous scenarios, depicting both calamity and salvation, awakening dormant memories in the depths of his mind. Not necessarily pleasant ones, but captivating nonetheless. His eyes continued to sweep along the statues, observing the hopeful expressions contort into corrupted prayers. Kalcimer could see the intricacies of the marble, and for a moment, as he blinked, he saw himself in the place where previously the sculpture stood. He blinked again, and the stone returned.

Unsettled, he moved on.

But the rows of statues haunted him, and so he walked slowly along them, watching them grow more and more lifelike with each step. Eyes wide, head tilted, he stopped in front of another effigy. It stood at the very end with its back to him. From what he could make out, it seemed to hold a female frame. Wordless wonder struck him, and before Kalcimer could stop himself, he reached out. His fingertips stretching out for golden hair that shimmered white in the light.

it is in the nature of things that joy arises in a person free from remorse

code by valen t.

 

[. D O V E]

The Detective

madame g

location

rundown apartment

tags

AI10100 Steve Jobs Sylvio

A feminine figure stepped out of the carriage as its door drew open, the fabric of her black dress sweeping its steps before they hung high her ankles. A gloved hand adjusted the tinted glasses on her nose as the other secured the sunhat atop her golden locks before moving past the snickering Tucker. A single glance ahead explained the boy's amusement; the same miserable sight tickling her own.

"Why, won't you look at that? The entire thing looks a breath away from crumbling. I'd run too if I was the pet!" The Madame jested as she walked towards the shoddy apartment, beckoning for her companion to follow with a flick of a wrist.

The door eerily squeaked when she pushed it open and slipped through, her eyes widening as a poignant stench swirled with the industrious smog and bombarded her senses. It smelled like a dead rat swimming in a water left stagnating for a month. The Madame scrunched her nose as she turned to face Tucker.

"On a second thought, I reckon Lady Bell- "

"Down the hall to the left."

A monotonous voice called from the reception, briskly followed by the familiar sound of a page being turned. The Madame rose a brow at the seemingly automated response. It suggested that they weren't the first to come looking for their dear client. It wasn't unexpected per say, but it was indeed intriguing. After all, there was a reason as to why the Madame swiped this job.

See, Theodan was due another magnificent literature from the one and only Madame G. Although it has only been a month after her latest release, she has already received plenty of comments mentioning her work's lack of relatability. To be honest, it was an infuriating thing to hear! How could the dear citizens of Theodan fail to relate to a werewolf hiding his true nature in a world where, unbeknownst to him, everyone else was much scarier!? Or was it the fact that the protagonist has a healthy relationship with his father!? Preposterous! The mere thought of her recent criticisms troubled her to the point she failed to notice they were now a few feet away from the lady's door.

In accordance to her earlier conclusion, another pair stood in front of the fated room. A tall brunette and a rugged-looking man seemed to share their agenda, and judging from their backs alone, they would make a marvelous inspiration for her new novel. Indeed. Albeit the words has been eluding her, the visions in her head never once waned. Picture this: two unfortunate souls finding solace in each other as they traverse the city in search of a mystical creature. Now lump Tucker in there and yes, yes, yes... It was all coming together now.

"It warms my heart to see many sympathizing with the woes of one in search of a beloved pet. Why, if I were to lose my Tuckie, I wouldn't know what to do but to shrivel up and die! " She lightly sniffled and swiped a finger beneath her covered eye.

code by @Nano

 

[neon reverie]

• .
• .

• 
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  VIII
  art by ares valto

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  THE MASKED PAINTER

  STORYLINE

  Witness my Word and Deed
  
  

  LOCATION

  The Market
  
  

  MASK

  Silver steel
  
  

  INTERACTIONS

  x
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  Theodan trembles awake, and the Rift watches, watches how the city bleeds itself into existence every day. Old buildings lean like tired old men, their windows staring with hollow eyes that never blink but always follow. The skeletal finger of a bridge reaches across the Gamarina, ignoring the troubled waters below and unfortunate passers from above. Something pungent prickles the air; decay and death seeps from corners and dark holes, finding home in Theodan as much as the souls of the living. What happens in Theodan stays in Theodan, trapped and screaming like a sacrifice to the gods who prefer silence.
  
  It is cold and it is cruel.
  
  But it’s life.
  
  And life continues, even for the Masked Painter himself. Viktor is a lonesome figure sitting perched on a balcony that overlooks the tumultuous market square, where grotesque vendors peddled their wares and unearthly creatures bartered in the flickering glow of gas lamps. His finger brushes against the canvas, smudging it red like a bloodstain; colors that the Rift spits out find themselves twisting on paper, contorted by vision and desire. The artist creates what another dares to imagine, paints to their heart's wishes, so long as they have enough coin or enough horrible secrets.
  
  This time, it is one of his more frequent patrons. A collector of and enjoyer of macabre images; the corpse of half an orphan, the gnawing on eyes pulled from their dark and bleeding sockets, the gasp from an opened ribcage. Viktor never comments on the requests, the mask staying as silent as the screams in paint. It is not his job to question the mind of a man, feels it to be too much of a slippery thing to get a grasp on.
  
  Still, one could wonder about a person's fascination with such grisly pictures; is it sickness or anything but that? Can it even be morbid curiosity when the world leaves little to imagination? There are only a few select eyes that have seen nothing here, and the lucky ones kept theirs closed before they could ever open. Viktor, too, has seen many things, could name the things that stay in the dark and cling to the light. And he knows - gods cursing he knows- that no moving paintings could compare to the horror that unfolds in real life.
  
  His steel mask slowly turns to the sudden shouting and screams bouncing off of the market's walls, his hand stopping in his movements. The masked painter glances over the balcony, gaze sticking to the crowd gathering like plagues. All madness, all morbidly curious.
  
  What happens in Theodan, stays in Theodan.
  
  And that's the thing here; something always happens.
  
  
  
  

designed by bad ending & coded by xayah.ღ

 

[Ha_lfLife]

LOCATION: The Craven Flat > The Osluga Estate

INTERACTIONS: n/a

----------------don't type anything after this----------------



[/COMMENT]

LUCINDA & EZRA

“Don’t be so severe,” Lucinda chided, setting down her teacup, spilling a wet ring onto the daily advertisements page. “Maybe this…” she squinted at the block she had just been reading over, the words now growing muddled as the ink dissipated in the tea water. “Mister Oslugo will have other things he’s looking to hand off on the cheap.”

She waited for her brother’s response but heard none. The young miss Craven looked up to find her brother once again consumed with the contents of some heavy book, sipping his coffee serenely as if she weren’t there at all. As she often did, she found herself wondering what was the purpose of his rising so early. Why dress as if going out onto the town before eight o’clock in the morning when he truly has no intention of leaving their flat all day? Indeed, it seemed, Ezra was partial to lazing the day away locked away in his study, poring over volumes that he already knew half by memory. Why not instead take a harmless risk, much like that which Lucinda had proposed, and he’d swiftly rejected?

Sitting opposite him at their spacious mahogany dining table, Lucinda was a harmonious foil of her brother. Unlike Ezra, groomed and rested in this morning hour, Lucinda was instead only partially awake. Her hair was still down, in a dark single plait thrown over her left shoulder, her skin pallid and dark eyes sleepy. She’d donned a scarlet velvet robe, and from her ears dangled a pair of teardrop pearls, priceless and undervalued, seeing as she found it appropriate to sleep with them still in her ears the night before.

She regarded Ezra with both admiration and admonishment. She never understood it - how someone could be up at Dawn and not feel the alluring draw of the warm bed. Gods knew how long he’d been up studying that book. What was it? Mungo’s Guide to Reptiles and their Scales - The Definitive Edition. Lucinda dared not laugh at his readings, though. Ezra was much like an encyclopedia and his uses were multitudinous. The more he took in the more likely it was that, someday, that information he stored in his head would present itself as useful. It was one of the traits she’d admired most about him.

She plucked up a shortbread madeleine in her hand, hefting it in delicate palm as if testing its weight before chucking it at Ezra, the projectile only hitting him softly in his hair. Nonetheless, she drew his attention.

“What is it?” His voice seeped with venomous irritation. Lucinda held up her hands, as if in a half humored surrender, abdicating herself of blame.

“One of us has to keep our business in mind, Ezra.”

“A doll won’t be our ticket to paradise, dear sister.” He condescended.

“I never said it would be.” She raised a groomed brow, sitting back in her chair and regarding him critically. “Nothing ever is. But silly people like silly things. The shop has room for fresh wares. If we put nothing into it and get some meager gain in return I’d consider it a success. Besides…” she leaned forward, fearful that Ezra’s eyes were slowly meandering back towards his text. “What if this man Oslug- Ols- whatever- What if he’s a feeble, old fool with an estate filled with poorly guarded antiques? It wouldn’t do us any great disservice to perhaps … browse.” She then raised both brows, satisfied that she had regained her twin’s attention.

Unlike folks with any iota of compassion, the twins found feebleness to be a trait less pitiable than it was preyable. Especially if a slow and cloudy eye could hardly see the dipping of a quick and lithe hand into its owner’s pockets …

“Shall I prepare more coffee, sir?” Chimed in the mousy Anna, a maidservant perhaps even more undetected in her movements than the twins. Her unannounced arrival back in the twins’ lavish dining room almost gave Lucinda a start.

As Ezra opened his mouth, his sister interjected to what she knew would already be the contrary: “That won’t be necessary, Anna. You may take your leave.” Anna perked up at the dismissal, used to staying through lunch on Sundays, and quite thrilled at the idea of leaving for home earlier than ten o’clock that morning.

Ezra glared daggers at his twin, hating how stubborn she could be. Finally, he resigned. “Fine, then. Where is this place?”

Lucinda cleared her throat with self satisfaction and returned her eyes to the advertisements. “How good of you to ask-“

—-

Approximately an hour later, the Cravens found themselves at the front steps of some urban estate across the city. Lucinda covered her mouth and nose with her kerchief momentarily in a habitual anticipation of the dust that an estate looking like this would hold inside. Ezra saw this from his periphery but didn’t acknowledge it. If anyone were to realize that such an adventure were a complete waste of time and resource, his sister would be the last to admit it. He took hold of the iron knocker on the door and gave it an authoritative rap or two, before drawing his gloved hand back to his person and wiped it unceremoniously with his pocket square. “Quaint, isn’t it?” He teased.

But unwilling to admit that the idea had lost its flavor by the time their carriage had crossed over into this neighborhood, Lucinda simply replied with a defiant “quite.”

code by valen t.

 

[miyabi]

lucíena

mood.

"Somebody get me tf outta here I already made myself look stupid asf"

location.

DOLL HOUSE DOLL HOME RAH

tags.

Ha_lfLife

Comfort nestled in the dead of night; the daylight had no such effect. Tired eyes, soulless, darkened — they stare back into the reflection, what life formerly there had been murdered at the hands of her father. Though, as she’d predicted, her tests have done the same to him; his soul no longer harbored the form of man, he is – as it seems – without his disguise. She listened to the squeaks as they echoed in the laboratory, though those squeaks are not that of her small companions gasping for help; her test subject, her creation, covered in hay and dirt – no longer man, but the monster he had always been. “Hush. I cannot think with your grating voice—,” he interrupts her, fur-covered fingers rattling the bars of his enclosure.

She cannot help but snap her head to the side, once lifeless eyes filled with hatred, anger; her hands, clad in leather gloves, cling onto the edge of her table; contents a mixture of paper and glass; what follows are crashes, waves of vexation curled and crumpled into one. The air felt thick, a miasma of madness that had been brewing for 32 long years. “You have no right to be complaining, Father,” Luci’s gaze falls sullen, what anger had been thrown had relinquished into mourning — yet his title is spat with bitterness; how he’d taken away her childhood, normalcy — her obsession sprouted from close proximity, thus became the driver for such experiments that had fallen categorically into that of compulsion.

“As you've told me: science does not come without sacrifice,” she speaks over the squeaking, her voice empty, but with the looming feeling of power. Perhaps that is what made her sick, a consequence of his doing: power, a weight that she will forever hold above his furry, infested head. "That is correct, isn't it? Or," Luci pauses to give it another thought, bringing a finger to her chin, "was it that science requires cruelty for optimum results? No. No, that isn't right, is it?" Her voices teases him, rubs in the fact that he is the subject now: that all of his free will is taken, much like he has taken the will of other's. It's only right: that a man like him be eaten by his actions — in an unfortunately literal circumstance. Her body turns, facing the creature's direction.

Rancid.

A rotting lump of skin and hair; it moves, screeches and squeaks, claws shaking in a desperate attempt. He reaches from the cage, but is too far; an action that, in return, has curled her lips into a lasting grin.

It is her turn.

Tongue clicking, her head shakes, a false expression of concern projected onto furrowed brows and a scrunched up nose. "Violence won't do, Father. You're in there," her hand gestures to the air, "and I'm out here." Her tall stature kneels to his level, a quick tilt of the head, "now eat your scraps. I need you strong for the next set of tests. Don't think I've forgotten. You've made it to stage 3 already, I can't give up now."

​

The frost had rendered Theodan as nothing more than scattered images; an invitation to nothingness as snow engulfed pathways. There is only a singular purpose for an outing such as this, as much as she'd despised the sun, she gave no adverse reaction: the sun, hidden; its rays, muffled. This lends itself peace and falls into gloved hands, the snow's coldness steadying the pain presented by burning pinpricks. Her eyes had fallen onto the estate, grander than most she'd seen, though incomparable to that of her family's.

Stone had become home to another experiment. It called to her, summoned, begged for freedom in pursuit of curiosity and science itself. In its darkness is a morsel of ember, it flickers as if to communicate, indulging in her already sprawled thoughts. Though it seems that her pace was beaten, despite her certainty that she'd be the first and the last in effort to take what should be her's. A pair, it seems.

She approaches, footsteps etched into the snow, forming a trail behind her — though it is intertwined with that of others. "I do hope it isn't ugly," Luci jokes to quell her anxieties, yet her tone is flatter than she had intended. "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I guess," she follows it up with another stroke of words, though they are quieter; awkwardness enveloped her much like the snow.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[mother of sorrows]

code by yousmelldead

Hell Bother

All this upheaval in front of a single, paper-thin door, is enough to draw half of the living complex's attention; a few nosy neighbours twitch for their door handles and a middle-aged man insists on sweeping his welcoming matt, even though not a single brush seemed to get rid of the dirt that seeps into this place.

The door under such focus finally unlatches and opens, and out peeks a woman; or a woman by some loose definition, short and dark-haired. A fae, quite obviously. Her face is twisted into itself like the dangerous, wild current of a river, mouth too thin for the teeth that force their way out. Her hands remind of bush branches, delicate and uncomfortably small, fingers strewn about the limb like in afterthought. Her clothes are cheap, the apron slightly damp from work; her hair grows past an attempt at a brain like summer grass, past her shoulders.

Not many fae are kind. Even less are trustworthy. This one looks baffled, pitch-black eyes round as she opens the door further to stare down the hall.

''What in the hell!'' She yelps, glancing up and down this line of people that has gathered in front of her home. Two women, one looking more a hungry dog and the other far too elegant for this place, an affable man with a quick smile, a sour looking Paladin. The last one she gives a particular odd look, suspicious about what one would be doing over here. The fae-woman takes a tentative step further, puzzlement strewn all about her frown. ''Don't tell me all of you came here about the ad.''

A noise in her apartment draws her focus and she turns her head to look over her shoulder, glancing back at the merry group. ''Well, with so many of you, you might just have a chance of finding him.'' The vowels of her speech are the hesitant rattle of someone who has learnt human speech, but not mastered it; but she seems friendly enough, for a fae.

AI10100 . D O V E Steve Jobs Sylvio

 

[Colorless Spectrum]

Eryn Vermont

Vermont's Garden was one of Theodan's most mundane shops in the Market, owned by its equally mundane manager. Customers were slow, as most days were. Tammeryn didn't mind it, it came with a sense of peace. An almost ridiculous notion in the ominous town of Theodan, at least that is what she thinks of it. The woman peered from the window of her shop, the flowers obscuring the scenery of people flocking together. "What is all that commotion about?" She asked no one in particular, her question hanging about in the air.

The chimes of the bell were always a sign of a customer but what appeared from her door did not buy her meticulously cared-for flowers. It was someone who detested it, the smell of flowers alone was enough to make the person's face contort in disgust. "I can smell your flowers from outside the door. Nauseating." His hand reached for his nose to immediately pinch it to block off the smell.

"It's good to see you too. What is happening out there, Jean?" Tammeryn asked her friend— an employee of the publishing company next door, someone who snuffs gossip like a hound.

"No, not this time. Too sudden, but the boss does want me to check it out right now. Would you like to come with?" His voice turned nasally which prompted a snort from the gentle florist.

She put up a finger to signal that she'd just be a minute. Tammeryn went to the back of her store and fished her bag from the table, the coins in her purse clinking off of each other. She hummed, something she did whenever she needed to think. "Oh yes! Can't forget about my knives." Her voice cheered quietly, you can never know what might happen so... might as well bring it just in case.

Jean was already waiting outside, "Sorry to keep you waiting. Lemme just lock the door then let's go." She wasn't particularly interested in what was happening, and not much surprised her when it came to Theodan. Click. Done.

A piercing scream rang inside her ears. Too loud. It was followed by the quick footsteps of Jean rushing towards the panicking crowd. There wasn't any point in calling out her friend, she knew he wouldn't respond anyway. She followed but at some point lost him in the crowd.

The murmurs grew louder with every step she took. Where was Jean? It was hard to see, too many people hindered her vision. "Excuse me, let me through?" Her voice was soft but loud enough to hear despite the screams. Before she could see what all the fuss was about a certain apothecary took her attention first. "Iphigenia?"

Mention: yokai. neon reverie mother of sorrows

Color: #ffa7b6

 

[mother of sorrows]

code by yousmelldead

The Inheritance

Only after a bitter two minutes does the heavy door groan open, a splutter of snow immediately running through it; a cavernous hallway gapes like a hungry mouth, so gloomy from the lack of light it reminds of a grave.

In it all, stands a man. Tall, somewhat young, obviously noble. His arms are outstretched to keep the door from shutting at the damp, biting draft, and it's hard to make out the details of him - he is vague like the background character of an oil painting, more an impression than a figure. He has a high nose, the rim of his eyes are red, the dye of his suit a mourning black. There is a permeating lack of energy to him, something miserable slumping his shoulders; he looks upon the trio with a moody stare clouded by distant troubles, though not unkindly.

He does not recognize not one of them. Not the intense looking couple he muses as siblings, nor the woman that smells distantly of blood.

''Yes?'' His voice is firm, even with the vengeful howling of wind. ''May I help you?''

miyabi Ha_lfLife

 

[Uxie]

The Cuckoo

darkness

50mang

diana cárdenas

she had never been to church, ever. she could think of all the things she knew about it — of religion, of theology, of the crumbling building that sat on the outskirts of town — but it was not much at all.

she knew that they did not believe in gods. neither did she; in fact, it was one of the only things she knew about them — that they did not exist. the world, she thought, might be very different if they did, and the world was one thing she had seen much of.

but she had found the old, bone-white robe in the attic, lain quite carelessly over the trunk of the late señora cárdenas' things, and she had thought it might be nice to see what the church had to offer. her sister did not stop her when she asked, and she could not muster a reason to stay away. she was no cat, and curiosity would not do her any harm today. at least, she did not think so.

at the crack of dawn, a lone speck of white flitted down the grey-washed streets of theodan towards the spiked metal gates of the church. there was a shout of surprise that echoed through the early morning, before the little speck of white was ushered through the heavy doors of the cathedral.

the youngest cárdenas began her very first visit to the church with an hour-long exploration of the chapel.

by the time the clergy had pushed open the old wooden doors for the other devotees, she had memorised every painting — most were odd, and some elicited familiarity — and stared down every statue — the ones with eyes, at least, though she had looked over the ones without with interest, too. now, she simply stood to the side, watching as people dressed in the same robe draped over her shoulders fluttered in in sporadic bursts. they seemed less than interested in speaking to her, though it might be more accurate to say they barely even took notice of her. her pale visage was not unlike the figures of marble that waited with her for an instruction of some sort, a cue. she thought there must be some sort of initiation ritual, as groups like these usually did, and the last thing she wanted to be was unseemly.

her gaze shifted to the window, clouded panes of glass revealing a foggy image of the garden beyond. carefully trimmed shrub after carefully trimmed shrub, the trunk of a thin, pale tree, a humanoid-shaped lump half sunken into a dense hedge—

she turned at the touch, eyes flitting down to where the hand still held a golden lock of her hair, and then up to the rest of the man to which it connected. he was not pristine like the other devotees; perhaps he was not one at all. she cocked her head to the side, expression unflinching, and her hands slipped into motion without thinking— her right palm, sweeping twice over the left.

excuse me?

when his face gave no indication of understanding, her fingers shrunk back like a fleeing cat's tail. a moment's pause, before her hands moved again, cautious and lethargic, this time pointing to her hair, and then to his hand.

location.

the church

outfit.

a white robe over a pale dress

interactions.

kalcimer, luda (mention)

tags.

lucenti demonology

art credit.

x

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[demonology]

plotline :

attend a sermon

location :

the garden

outfit :

mood :

fuck this bro (hungover)

interactions :

Uxie lucenti

° a reverie

— LUDA

It is apparent, usually upon first entering someone's dreams, what its nature would be. Her least favorite dreams, like this one now, is when that is not the case. But after all, none of this reverie-work is science, but it surely isn't divine either. It is guess-work. Like studying the Rift to know one's future. Yet, right now, when occupying a mind who believes their asceticism is holier than anything, Luda feels inclined to believe. Yes. Must be divinity. Why else would she be here, walking amongst these stinging, violet roots that produce rotting wheat. They are surely poisonous, yet Luda feels not a thing. They kiss her palms as she runs her hands along the tops of them, walking towards some unknown evil. Or good?

Right. These were her least favorite dreams.

But this air — it's turning her drunk. Delightfully airy. Oily bubbles float around their head in a halo. They do not pop on her horns. There is something in the sky. It is nebulous and unyielding. It threatens to swallow her whole. No. Suddenly, her chest cavity is open. Out flows what smells of embalming liquid, and it does not end. It becomes the bubbles that dance around her. It all turns into a taunt, an invitation to hunt. Are all organs indigo? It doesn't matter. None of it matters. Because, as she and the mind she's in both know, this is corruption. This is the end. The body, not hers, seems to ask, Will you survive it?

A look up, and the void, which is more and more like an eye the closer it gets — threatens to swallow her whole. One more minute. One more moment. That is all she has left before she is another mindless being. It is unclear if it is Luda or the other person that opens her arms wide, accepting the end gracefully but not without a tremor in her boneless body.

Just as the darkness eats her vision, suddenly, Luda is back in their body. Their hooves press uncomfortably against the ground as they fell asleep in a strangely slumped position: knees half-crouched and their head using a concrete bench as a pillow.

"What the fuck..." A bit of dribble strings like a web between their lips and the bench. Their eyes are half-closed. Half-everything. Half-a-person. Hm. Interesting. She'd forgotten that.

A deep inhale as she stretches her upper half. The smell of callalillies and bird shit invades their nose, which wrinkles on reflex. The dream they just had comes back to them, and their gaze snaps open. Frantically, they look to the right, then the left. In search of anything that should not have been brought back. Then, they check their feet. There: a small, lavender-colored sprig of that noxious wheat. Caring very little for their body, they pluck out the plant, grumbling as they do so.

With a furrowed brow, they glance up at the Rift and then across the landscape they've found themself in. Oddly thematic place to be. She hated that the most: when she ended up in a place that matched her dreams perfectly. Takes all the spice out of life! Puts her right back in the nightmare, and makes it a lot harder to figure out where she ends and everything else begins. Or maybe its the other way around. Shaking the grass out of her hair, she pushes herself onto her hooves. Immediately, her body regrets this and doubles over, hoping and needing desperately a hair of the dog. Fuck this. Their grip tightens on the prickly piece of wheat.

Swallowing a bit of bile, they finally get themself upright. Their line of sight is level with a window, which two people stand in front of. Like an oil painting. The woman, macabre and frozen, seems offended. Recognition dawns on them when their eyes travel to the more masculine figure. A smile brightens their face, and they immediately set off.

Knocking on the window, they holler, "Kal! What are you doin' 'ere?"

coded by reveriee.

 

[Ha_lfLife]

LOCATION: The Osluga Estate

INTERACTIONS: miyabi mother of sorrows

[/COMMENT]

LUCINDA & EZRA

To the quieted announcement of the stranger arriving behind them, the twins both looked over their inner shoulders. Though Ezra was quite tall, the heels of Lucinda’s boots brought her nearly to his height. The result was the eerie effect that the twins, already quite alike in looks, seemed to be two sides of a mirror glowering back to her. The masculine and the feminine, the irritable and the unbothered, a large snowflake settled on one’s eyelash while another rested on the bottom lip of the other. Two pairs of dark hazel eyes, aglow like embers, regarded the girl with a spectrum of interest, playfulness, and boredom.

Lucinda looked the stranger over, assessing her with mild interest, all the while fending off the sensation of a stone catching in her throat. Odd indeed … a delicate face. And yet, the feeling of dread when looking upon her. And for just a moment, Lucinda believed she smelled that metallic and acrid scent of death. She’d only caught the faintest whiff of it before it dissipated entirely, leaving her wondering if she’d instead been sensing the manure-lined stench of the nearby thoroughfare.

Once satisfied she’d assessed the newcomer quite thoroughly, the Craven sister clicked her tongue, almost in a tsk, her eyes growing round and downturned as if she were feigning remorse. “What a pity,” she mused with a saccharine tongue. ”It seems you’ve arrived too late to stake your claim. I do hope you didn’t travel far.”

She moved ever so slightly so that her shoulder brushed with her brother’s, as if to barricade the stranger from the door. Her voice was like a songbird’s, lyrical and lilting, and if it weren’t for the meanness of the words themselves, it would seem like she truly were sorry for the inconvenience.

Ezra moved closer to his sister to utter something in her ear to the effect of “We don’t need the damned doll…”

While Ezra had his cruelties, there was a softness to him that his sister had always lacked, a trace of compassion dwindling on the precipice of being forever lost to oblivion. Yet, it could very well have been that, here, the young master Craven simply wanted to ruffle no feathers… particularly for an object he thought was neither profitable nor worth the early morning ride across town. But he knew Lucinda as well as he knew himself, perhaps more so. Her steadfastness was boundless. Once she set her eye on something she wanted, neither man nor Gods could keep her from clawing for it.

As if to emphasize that last sentiment, Lucinda quite subtly drove the sharp steel heel of her boot into the soft top of his shoe. To imagine their mother had placed her wishes for the family name on him! Must she really do everything herself? Their silent disagreement was only broken by the opening of the door into a dusty and forlorn foyer.

At the man’s youth Lucinda couldn’t help but feel her chest sink. Not only was she disappointed at his age, but his posture, his height, those eyes that struck her as both eerie and all-seeing... It appeared the twins’ hopes of pulling tricks on some ancient crow were diminished entirely. With such fortunes as they’d been dealt, they’d hardly be able to tuck away a napkin ring.

Not one to display defeat, Lucinda looked to her brother at her side, to find he was already looking at her expectantly. It was as if his stern look was anticipating her admittance that the idea was a wash. As if he were silently conveying to her that they could so easily feign a mistakened call on the wrong estate, turn heel and leave.

Something about the man struck Lucinda as off-putting, though she couldn’t place what. Of all the seedy and immoral characters the Cravens brushed elbows with on a daily basis, not much permeated her thick skin. Yet, her obstinate nature took precedence over caution.

The challenge of Ezra’s resolve was enough to push Lucinda forward in defiance of his doubt. She cleared her throat pluckishly before presenting the man of the house with a cloying smile. “Good morning. We’ve seen your advertisement in the papers. We deal in antiques and would very much like to discuss the item you’ve posted about.” She paused, an artificial sigh in a well-recited repertoire of dialogues. “Might we come in? It’s dreadfully cold this morning.”

code by valen t.

 

[jones573]

“Oh, you simply must spend the weekend with us,” Georgiana insisted, taking the skeletal hand of the pale blonde woman and squeezing it tightly, as if she might transfer her own warmth to the other lady. Cordelia smelled- and often looked- leaden since her recent marriage, and Gigi had been surprised to see her here. “It will be ever so much fun! We’ll go to all the best shops- I need a new hat- and we’ll see an exhibit and-”

“We will consider your offer,” Cordelia’s husband said firmly, and Cordelia snatched her hand away from Gigi’s at the reminder of the man looming beside her.

“Please do,” Captain Crane said affably, but Cordelia’s husband had already grabbed her elbow and was pulling her away.

Gigi smiled after them, the white of her pearly teeth even starker than that of her eyes.

“We have to get her out of that house,” Gigi said tightly, her smile never faltering as she waved at the couple’s retreating backs. “Before he kills them both. Or worse.”

“And what do you intend to do, once a wealthy merchant’s wife disappears in our care?,” her surrogate father asked quietly.

The young woman pursed her lips. “Haven’t gotten that far. Yet. Come now, let us continue with our hello’s.”

Crane held out his elbow and Gigi looped her arm through his, and they strolled about the lobby, nodding at those they knew as Gigi examined the architecture of the magnificent building.

She wore a cream colored gown in silken jacquard, the fabric moving delicately across her dark shoulders when she raised a gloved hand in greeting. She smelled strongly of bergamot and a hint of vanilla, a perfume she often dabbed on her clothes and hair to mask the usual scent that followed her. A particularly discerning nose might still be able to make out the smell of damp, overturned soil and decomposition, like a grave being dug up.

The Captain was dressed in a dark gray jacket and black pants, simple yet never quite out of style. His graying hair was combed back and tied neatly with a black ribbon. He found it suspicious that neither his uncle nor his cousin were able to attend tonight’s performance, but knew there was little point in bringing that up to his adoptive daughter. She would only deny the oddity of the coincidence.

“Oh! The Duke,” Gigi said with some semblance of awe when she spotted the noble among the crowd. “We simply must speak with him!”

“I’m sure he’s otherwise engaged-,” Crane tried to protest, but it was little use- Gigi had already crossed the room and the captain had no choice but to hurry after him.

“Duke Barlowe,” Gigi greeted with a wide smile. “It’s such a pleasure to see you! Miss Georgiana Crane,” she reintroduced herself, in case he couldn’t place her- She’d grown a bit since they’d seen each other last. “And you know the Captain,” she said.

Crane nodded solemnly at him, a gesture vague enough to be simple acknowledgement or a more complex ‘good on you for getting out of the house’.

“Have you had a chance to see this singer perform yet,” Gigi asked. “I’m so excited!,” she said with a shiver, as though the excitement could not physically be contained.

@ cwosont ​

Bird Song

• aaaaaaaaa
• aaaaaaaaa

• filler tab!
• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  hello

  
  
  
  

  goodbye

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  hello

  
  
  
  

  goodbye

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[miyabi]

lucíena

mood.

"Somebody get me tf outta here I already made myself look stupid asf"

location.

DOLL HOUSE DOLL HOME RAH

tags.

Ha_lfLife

In observation, the two share a face: yet in her experience, most twins would be far from the same personality. The woman, yes, she was in most of the sense, quite candid; while her words were laced with a sweetness, the message behind was quite clear. A shame, how one’s beauty is often trampled by the sharp words spoken through the façade. The brother, however, his expression didn’t quite match the one severely painted upon her face. Curious. Luci had never tested on twins before, perhaps this could be the first. Her pale brow raises at the thought, though the coldness in her eyes show no projection of such curiosity.

She pushes the thought away, breaks free from the morbidity. Even paler eyes looked them over once again, an expression stained with disinterest. “It seems to me that you haven’t gotten your hands on the prize,” her hand lifts from the coat’s fur-line, lilac stuffed pocket, “seeing as we are both out here. I do hope you don't mind that I will be the one to take it home.” Lucíena’s voice is deep, authoritative with a twist of gaiety, a further march from the former jest. If she were to play along, then so be it, one's sheer audacity is another one's fuel. Her eyes follow the other half who was not as eager; his sister must have him on a tight leash.

Who knew that something as simple as this, a doll, could bring forth the competitive nature of man; Luciena couldn’t help but grin, if one could accept a challenge, then so be it. It is all in good fun, isn’t it? To watch as her competitor accepts defeat when her claws sink deep into the doll. And the experiments, the possibilities, it made her hunger grow. Her eyes turned as hungry as her thoughts, one could see it, not even the biggest bit of self-control could stifle it. That was, until the quick yet sharp exchange was interrupted by a quick flash of light from the door and the voice of an unfamiliar man.

There is something wonderful about being able to smell the grief of others, perhaps it distracts from her own, but the scent is there. It is prominent, obvious. Who had he lost? Was the doll too painful to keep around? Or is something wrong with it? Questions, there are always questions. He was younger than anticipated, though the young weren’t safe from the throes of tribulation: Lucíena is no stranger to that.

Before she could speak, the woman among the two responded to the ‘warm welcome,’ as if he hadn’t posted flyers. She grits her teeth and musters up the warmest smile that she could, bright, white teeth painfully shown between aching jaws. Lucíena butts in, “I saw your advertisement as well. But I will spare you the why.” Her hand reaches for a shake, but it is quickly pulled away, hesitant of the action. “The three of us had just gotten acquainted. May I ask, and pardon me if you wouldn’t like to answer: are you Lord Osluga?”

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Steve Jobs]

PLOT LINE: Hell Bother

LOCATION: Woodash Apartments, Room 08B

INTERACTIONS: mother of sorrows (Lady Bell), . D O V E (Madame G), Sylvio (Gerard), AI10100 (Tucker)

nicolette barlowe

In the time that Nicolette waited for Lady Bell to answer the door, several humans joined her cause. Neither the older man nor the scruffy boy were noteworthy; however, the black-haired woman caught her attention. Was she Lady Bell? No, she seemed too theatrical for the building, too happy for a place like this. Not to mention that anyone with a retainer (who she assumed to be the young boy) wouldn't be caught dead living here.

Between the lady's words and the noble's continued knocking, their presence finally drew Lady Bell's attention along with that of her neighbors. The door unlatched and revealed a short, dark-haired woman that looked more tree than person. Willowy arms, slender fingers, and unkempt hair indicated a less than put together person while the threadbare apron proved it.

''What in the hell! Don't tell me all of you came here about the ad,'' Lady Bell grumbled.

"That we did, Bell!" Nicolette smiled, glancing back at their motley crew. It occurred to the future Duchess that the Fae probably hadn't expected such a big group to look for an animal, but surely Bell should have known that nothing brought people together like a pet right? "My name is Nicolette Barlowe. May I-we come in?"

code by valen t.

 

[AI10100]

Extra! Extra!

Tucker snorted as the Madame made her comment and followed at her heels when she beckoned. He let out a low whistle as they entered the building and he swore the door creaked just enough that it almost fell off its hinges. One good kick would send it tumbling down.

The smell, the rot, the unstableness— Tucker couldn't help the feeling of home seeping into him. Tucker's attention snapped back to the Madame when she began to speak before she was cut off by the woman at the reception. Looks like they weren't going to be alone in this request— oh well, as long as they weren't actively trying to kill them, then that was fine with him.

Whatever the Madame had wanted to say was lost to the ether as she began moving in the direction they were directed to. Tucker wasn't anywhere curious enough to pry it out of her so he kept silent, noting their surroundings. Once again momentarily distracted by memories he'd rather not dig up and relive, he almost nearly bumped straight into the Madame but he caught himself just in time before peering from her side to look at their temporary companions for this little quest.

His face scrunched as he turned to the Madame. "When did I become a pet...?" He asked with a tilt of his head, betrayal clear on his face. Before he could even comment on that further, the door opened to reveal Lady Bell, and Tucker had to suppress a sigh. It really couldn't be simple, could it?

Still, he wasn't going to say anything because that was one way to get cursed and he really wasn't keen on having to speak strictly in sonnets for an entire week ever again. He didn't even know what a sonnet was before that happened! At least this fae looked like she wouldn't bite his head off for looking at her the wrong way— maybe it was because she needed help? Animals truly had a way of softening folks up.

He looked between Lady Bell and the other woman, Nicolette. "What kinda pet are you missing anyway?" He asked without much concern for the etiquette of contracts or jobs or whatnot. It wasn't like they were being roped into something highly illegal to make it all secretive anyway.

tucker

PLOTLINE: Hell Bother

LOCATION: Apartment

INTERACTIONS: Genevievve, Nicolette, Gerard

TAGS: . D O V E Steve Jobs Sylvio

ITEMS: Revolver, Switchblade

code by valen t.