EXOTICA

P R U D E N C E "through the silent city she makes her silent way, prepared to take no pity upon her hapless prey."

[julesbishop]

"Well you earn the top shelf ones regardless." Her smile hints at a good natured tease as Jules accepts the ball from her new acquaintance. "Anyway, I think there's plenty of other games for a bunch of suckers, just gotta know which ones to avoid. This here's a staple. An American institution if you will." Okay now she's playing it up too much and her amusement shifts to the short concourse leading to various pipes of different values. This girl's patience is noted, considering Lilou would've playfully called her a narbo by now.

Satan knows as much as she enjoys mingling with fresh faces, this whole town feels pretty damn empty without her cousin. And despite how fun carnivals are, she'd much rather be here with the other blonde; like a human security blanket. "D'you come to these often? No offense, you just don't look the type." Too pretty.

[prudenceisawitch]

There was a hint of genuine amusement in the laugh she huffed behind the girl, head bobbing as if she understood and agreed. “An American Institution.” Prudence pursed her lips and held her hands up in mock surrender, sidestepping to give her more room. For all she knew, this girl was going to backswing and lodge a skeeball straight into Pru’s eye socket. Keeping her eyes fixed on the flashing lights of the lane leading up to rings printed with numbers, designating their allotted points, she watched as the girl sent a ball up the lane.  “I do.” With arms at her sides and a stiff smile on her lips, Pru leaned against the outer cage of the skeeball machine. “Now don’t you tell me your mommy never taught you not to judge a book by its cover,” laughing aloud, she lifted her brows, “too busy instilling the good ole American Institutions into you instead, I suppose.” Returning her gaze to the lanes once more, now confident she wouldn’t be wounded by the young woman –accidentally at least– she closed in behind her and only stood but a few feet away once again. “What’s your name?”

[damienlefay-cursed]

Who: @thecursed-starters When: 17 June, 1989 Where: Waldenbooks Type: Open

Despite the recent earthquake that had shaken Salem to its core, Damien found himself seated at the signing table, amidst a bustling chain bookstore in the heart of the city square. Damien unbuttoned his cuffs as he sat at the signing table, a small crowd of eager readers already forming a line before him. The backdrop behind him displayed a large poster of his latest novel, "Destiny’s Whispers: Book 4," showcasing an intricate cover that gleamed with an ethereal, almost mystical quality. The chain bookstore, in the center of Salem city square, was bustling with energy, a mixture of anticipation and adoration filling the air.

As the first customer approached, a middle-aged woman with a sparkle in her eyes, Damien's lips curled into a charismatic smile. Her cheeks flushed as she placed her book before him, her fingers trembling ever so slightly. "It's such an honor to meet you, Mr. Le Fay," she gushed, her voice tinged with nervous excitement. "I've read all your books, but this one, it's my favorite."

Damien's smile deepened, a hint of genuine warmth breaking through his usual composed demeanor. "The honor is mine," he said smoothly, taking the book from her hands. "It's readers like you who bring my characters to life." He opened the book to the title page, his pen dancing across the paper with a flourish as he signed his name and added a personal message. "May your destiny always be filled with whispers of hope," he added, handing the book back to her with a wink.

The woman practically glowed as she accepted the book, her face a picture of happiness. As she moved aside, another woman took her place, this one younger with a hopeful look in her eyes. Damien's charm didn't waver as he engaged her in light conversation, asking about her favorite parts of his stories, his eyes never leaving hers. The way he spoke, each word carefully chosen, made her feel as if she were the only person in the room. This was what he did best.

A man approached next. Damien's enthusiasm dimmed slightly, replaced by a polite, tight-lipped smile. He signed the man's book with practiced efficiency, offering him a curt nod and a quick thank you, his attention drifting back to the female admirers in line. Despite his lack of genuine interest, he knew that each book sold contributed to his growing success, and for that, he managed to maintain a semblance of cordiality.

Momentarily distracted by a rather pretty blonde near the middle of the crowd, Damien was caught off guard when someone approached his table and placed a book down for signing. It wasn’t one of the crisp, new editions of "Destiny’s Whispers" stacked beside him, but a worn, well-read copy of his first novel. The corners were dog-eared, and the spine was cracked from repeated readings. Damien's gaze lingered on the book, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he looked up at the person with renewed interest.

"You’ve really put this one through its paces," he said, his tone carrying a hint of admiration. Though this one wasn't making him a dime. "I'm sorry, but I'm only signing my new book today. Maybe if you make a purchase, I'll sign both."

[prudenceisawitch]

Only a handful of days had passed since the unusual tectonic activity that had sent Salem into a frenzy and Pru hadn’t dropped her guard as of yet. Massachusetts had but one prominent fault zone that branched and bled off down a split path through Connecticut, the Clinton-Newbury fault zone; a fault zone which only produced nothing more than moderate tremors in the past hundred years, at least. Long before, she’d found that compelling herself to rituals among sites of mortal suffering –the ruins of Pompeii, the broken ruins of San Francisco after the quake of 1906, the decimated neighborhoods of Warsaw– perhaps those Green Witches were on to something with the whole harmony with the planet shtick. Perhaps, but not likely. When she wasn’t dealing with the aftermath of the quake, specifically the influx of mangled bodies that were still being hauled into her office, Prudence was eagerly trotting around town with an out of place grin and bounce in her step. While she had attributed her new attitude to her wholehearted passion of finally fulfilling his wish, convincing him that she lived and breathed to serve him and would of course be sticking to her commitments this time around, it could not have been farther than the truth. Prudence has been a fool but once in her life and when that day had ended in flames of ruin and screams of despair, she had sworn that she would never play the fool again. She felt it in her blood, the substance boiling beneath its olive protectant as event after event stacked before her like dominos. She didn’t believe in coincidences. Today had brought her to none other Waldenbooks. A small piece of paper lay tucked into the breast of her jacket as she arrived, another location to check off the list. Her pursuit of literature pertaining to the history of Salem beyond the fanatical witch trial books and graphic novels had come up short, even the library had failed to suffice, nor the mayor’s personal collection that sat behind lock and key in town hall. It had been rather easy to access it, but she was more than disappointed to find nothing. This bookstore was packed to the rafters, especially compared to the ones that she had visited prior to. It was only after a few moments of surveying the store around her that she realized she had walked into an event of some sort, albeit not of the sort she was incessantly seeking– oh well. Taking notice to the male who seemed to be the man of the hour, judging by the desperation she could feel in every stare sent his way or the book jackets plastered with his handsome face, Prudence watched as he mingled effortlessly. While she had been certain Waldenbooks would also disappoint her and leave her empty handed, she wasn’t so sure now. With a quick tap of the shoulder and quick, deft fingers, Prudence had snagged a rather sad looking book from a girl nearing the front of the line that snaked before a table seating the man. Taking a few careful steps in and out of the line, she had found herself comfortably waiting. While she did, she made several mental notes regarding the features of his face and what she’d like to do to them. Just as Prudence was getting carried away, as per usual, it seemed to be her turn. A slow grin spread across her lips at the sound of his voice, it was nice, after all. With a cock of her head, she now pouted her lips and clutched the book to her chest as though it were a treasured item. “Is that how you got so popular? Extortion?” Unfurling her arms and placing the book on the table before him with a resounding thud, her grin returned. “I suppose you can keep it then, it is rather useless to me now.” While she had spoken her words with more than a single meaning behind them, her actions were pointed and calculated. A manicured finger plucked the marker he had previously been signing with and she carefully scrawled her name across the beaten cover and flicked the pen down the table. “There, priceless now.”

[laurielewis]

There was a subtle twitch of the brows when Pru refers to Joe as 'Bear Food'. It had more to do with remembering the look on Joe's wife's face and her uncontrollable sobs when they'd delivered the news than it was a reflection on Pru's character. To her, it was probably just another dead body. Meanwhile, Laurie struggled to detach himself from the case, especially when all he could think about was how this could've been Mags. So, he silently accepted the report and flicked through the pages instead of focusing on the body.

He looked at Kaya at the mention of 'thumbs', to see if she was thinking what he was thinking, then to Pru, for an answer.

"Mags--" He stops, then corrects himself, "Magdalena Sparrow." Everyone knew of the Sparrows, a nice family who lived by the forest. "She was attacked last week. A bear, is what she said." It was hard to remain controlled, to put his personal feelings aside. His grip around the file tightened. "She, um, she has similar claw marks to this." He nods towards the deep gash that went along the shoulder, which he assumes is how she deduced the 'thumb'. "They're too big to be a man's, aren't they?"

Perhaps he'd hoped for signs of foul play, or even suicide, and a lucky animal happened to come across the body. The probability of being attacked by a bear is so small, less than 1% if he remembers correctly. The fact that two could've happened within the space of a few days is something he struggled to grasp. There's a higher chance of being killed by a bee, even higher to be killed by a human. So, he has to ask, "There's definitely no other cause of death?"

@prudenceisawitch

[prudenceisawitch]

As Laurie flicked through the pages in the folder, she took to picking at her nails. Prudence was in desperate need of a manicure, while she typically enjoyed the sensation of the crimson substance caked beneath each of her fingernails, she found it hard to bask when there were such pained expressions adorning both sheriffs’ features. She hadn’t initially recognized the man, but once she had confirmed his identity with the help of records from the local dentist, she realized he had been just another unsuspecting townie; like Magdalena Sparrow. Flexing her fingers out before her, Pru cocked her head, brows knitting together in a faux expression of confusion. “What a statistic that is, hm? Two bear attacks in two weeks?” Raising her brows, she held an extended palm in his direction, fingers wiggling to signal him to return the folder. Pulling at each page until she found the one she’d been looking for, she held up the folder and positioned herself between Laurie and Kaya. “Bears have five toes –claws– on each paw,” she dragged her finger down four of the lines that marked the flesh in the photo, flesh that was hidden beneath the privacy sheet covering him from the chest down, “but for bears, the fifth claw is directly in line with the other four. Whereas this bear seems to leave marks where the fifth claw is lower, the slashes are almost– grasp marks, like it was trying to keep him from running away while it disembowled and mutilated him.” Pru had lowered the folder now, her eyes on the body before them, vision glazed over just a bit while she spoke. Turning to them now, the body to her back, she smiled. “There cannot logically be another cause of death,” Prudence plopped the folder back onto her work desk and laughed, her tone dark and sour, but just light enough to drip no conviction into her words. “Unless you believe in monsters.”

@buffynpcs-cursed

[buffynpcs-cursed]

"Unless you believe in monsters."

She didn't, and she'd have scoffed a little louder if Pru hadn't been such a good friend. Still, it was evident that Kaya wasn't in the mood for anything she couldn't shoot down with her Smith & Wesson or slap a pair of handcuffs on. She wanted something finite. "So, it's a bear then. A deformed one, but a bear." In her mind, the death certificate was already signed and sealed. There was a brief pause before Kaya added, "Talked to Jay the other night. He's got the lanes back up and said they should be working just fine for next week." Just in time for the start of this year's bowling league, where Kaya, Pru, and Laurie—the Ally Enforcers—spent every Wednesday night bowling turkeys. "Who's ready?"

It was a social scene for a few minutes afterward, once the body was covered up again. She could sense Laurie had something else on his mind. Magdalena would be her guess. As much as she was sorry that Magdalena got attacked, she was still a little suspicious that it was a bear that did it, especially the same bear. Joe was big; Magdalena was not. If anything, Kaya had her pinned as a liar. But most people who hurt her friend were pinned as something along those lines—the distrusting ones.

After wrapping up and driving back out to the reservation, Kaya locked up and holstered her guns before she heard the familiar call of her father calling her into his study. She passed her grandma, kissing her briefly on the head, before joining him and closing the door behind her. "It's a bear." He looked at her like he wasn't quite convinced, but in the end, it was his reply that mattered, and he simply said, "Okay."

The hot water seared into her skin harder that night, mostly because Kaya was desperate to get the smell of the morgue—the smell of death—off her, before she climbed into bed. After pulling on a tank top and a pair of underwear, Kaya slipped under the covers and turned over. She dreamt of monsters and woke up in a cold sweat.

— END —

[vivienneyoungx]

Barf.

Was she actually serious? There was one thing Vivienne absolutely hated was a fake smile and women who tried to pretend to be nice. This one didn't look, didn't feel like she was nice. Be a bitch, shoe me who you really are, Vivienne wanted to say, but didn't.

Yes, Vivienne absolutely was a hypocrite.

"Magical." She repeated, her brow arching. If this was what she thought was magic... Well she truly felt sorry for her then. What a tragic life she must live. Poor thing.

Well, not everyone could be as blesses as her to hold Satan's favour. That thought alonewarmed her heart. Or whatever it was that beat inside her chest. "We-..." She was cut off when she heard her name being shouted.

"Vivvy!" The witch did an immediate eye roll. "I can't believe I found you! I've been looking everywhere for you!"

Lucky was an experiment gone wrong. A month ago or so, Vivienne wanted to show Daphne that yes, the stuff at her occult store worked and no it wasn't by using her powers, but the stuff that was in the books. She chose a fairly good looking boy in town. Lucky was a farmers boy but he could have been so much more if he just tried a little. Put on a bad to the bone attitude, pretend to be an airhead and he'd have the world at his feet. But now, Lucky was just an airhead.

The book worked, of course, but now she had Lucky looking for her at every corner.

So there she was, standing between two evils. Neither was a good choice, and rnning would just make her feet hurt. "Do you want him?" Vivienne offered, poiting at Lucky while speaking to the woman. "He could definitely make it more magical."

[prudenceisawitch]

It had seemed the woman thought her a fool, unable to pick up on the disdain in the young woman’s words, her comment short and clipped. She had only been in this god forsaken town for a year’s worth of time now and of all the people and things that go bump in the night she’s had to encounter over the past two centuries weren’t quite as miserable as those who inhabited Salem. It was like something had sucked the life from its inhabitants and replaced their ever loving souls with something slimy, black and full of wretchedness– and this girl was no exception. While Prudence had urged herself to not mirror the disdainful eye roll, she was overwhelmed by an all different sensation as the human equivalent of a golden retriever bounded upon them. An absolutely wicked grin spread across her lips as she observed his interaction with the girl. The arrogance the raven haired beauty exuded was exhausting and Pru had half a mind to snap her neck and bathe in whatever oily blackness would surely leak from the girl. Trailing a finger across the lengths of his jaw, Pru idly twirled a lock of his hair between her fingertips, lips pursed as her extremities twitched while the girl seemingly mocked her. Turning her attention from the blonde male, she interlocked her fingers before her waist and smiled sweetly. “Oh, Vivvy…,” in the next moment, Prudence was upon her, fingernails digging into her chin as she held the young woman’s jaw in her hand, a predatory gaze in her eyes, “it’s not very smart for you to have your little– experiment running around. I can taste him.” Releasing her grip on the girl’s jaw, she laughed, head tilting over her shoulder to eye him once more. “I can taste your magic, so I suggest you do what is likely to be the first intelligent thing a poor little witchling like yourself has ever done –go home– and take your pet with you.”

[antondevlaux]

"Intriguing hypothesis -- I, however, prefer to think of it as a healthy skepticism, which, unlike believing in psychics, is actually supported by evidence." such an easy retort, even as a smile threatened to tug at the corner of that otherwise monotone expression he'd worn that evening. He couldn't shake off the creepy crawlies on his skin, just at the proximity to the...fake witch. And still...something was different.

Anton found himself unexpectedly (and he hated that) caught off guard. It was rare for someone to throw him off balance, and here she was, doing just that. Sharp, unapologetic, he was usually so carefully constructed. And yet, he stared. If only for a moment before he diverted his gaze. And a profound 'what the fuck' rang through his mind like a church bell. He wasn’t used to being read so easily, especially by someone who seemed as disinterested in him, as he was everyone else in his life. Who the hell was this? And...

He had no words to describe her, not thoroughly.

Anton, however, was glad to be out of that sweaty, little tent.

“Feel, huh?” a short, humorless laugh followed, settling beside her in a slow walk. “Around here? This place is literally in a place where witches were tortured and burned. The only reminents of that is the hatred of the curses they sang that day, and the uncivility of those who thought death by fire would save them from judgement day." Not that he truly cared, he wished they all had. Then he would've never been born into this miserable exsistence. Where a mother found power more inviting than her son "And...feelings? They’re as manufactured as Madame Zara's bullshit.”

He wondered if she was simply playing a game with him, each of her movement, her word selections had him wondering if this was a facade that she was manning. Her own. "Most people come here to escape reality, not to confront it.” Anton, he internally scolded, but didn't listened, even to his better judgment. “Look,” brows furrowing into a v. “if you’re looking for something real, this carnival isn’t the place. It’s all smoke and mirrors. But if you’re serious about wanting to feel something, maybe you need to start by being honest with yourself.” voice dropping into a whisper, condescendling so. “Why are you really here?”

[prudenceisawitch]

There was a conscious effort for Prudence to not gag at his words– not because they made her sick, no, the stories of witches burned was hardly enough to turn her stomach. A hint of a smile danced at her lips, twitching as he prattled on about death by fire and torture. It was nearly enough to make her crack like an overwhelmed dam and shriek with laughter, just as she had that very night she’d burned hundreds of witches to death for trying to condemn her, a sacrifice for power that never belonged to them. Pru had visited the church, or what remained of it, some hundred years after her ascension and had nearly busted a seam laughing as her eyes came upon plaques and signs designating it a historical site; the massive fire that had taken the church down to its bones was said to be the work of Catholic extremists, fed up with the witchcraft and voodoo that had plagued New Orleans. If he only knew. Turning to him, her steps not faltering as they walked in pace together, she cocked her head with a brow raised. “What a way with words you have. These full blown, vivid tangents are just enthralling.” Prudence spoke pointedly as her lips tugged upwards in a mischievous grin, finger twirling around a strand of her dark tresses. “A real Edgar Allan Poe.” Shifting her brows up, she shifted her gaze to the carnival around them, the lights now brighter than before as the sun began to disappear behind the horizon. “I’m really here,” she started, steps just slightly slowing as the distance that had separated them became smaller and smaller, “to kill somebody– or something.” Stopping short, she held a hand between them to stop his body as it nearly collided with hers at the sudden movement. “But don’t worry, I’ve already decided it won’t be you.”

[likeaprayermp3]

you will always be famous

[buffynpcs-cursed]

The weather outside matched the young deputy's mood: somber. If their earlier assessment was correct—a bear attack—local park authorities would have to be called, and they were an absolute pain to work with. She'd much rather keep it in the family. Her father could track down any coyote. Bear? No problem. It was all the same. Animals didn't think about their unfortunate victims, so they didn't think about covering tracks.

"The tracks disappear here," he said. She asked what he meant, picking up her pace because she had fallen behind somewhere over the ridge while trying to ignore the comments about Calian and her. She wasn't in the mood to explain why she wasn't interested. Why she'd never be interested. "They stop..."

She was confused, unsure what he was talking about. He leaned down and traced the outlines of something only a tracker like her father would recognize. He'd tried to teach her, but she had been a bad student. Distracted. She knew she had. "I need to speak with the other elders."

Now she had weird on her brain, and Prudence didn't help. "What did you say... thumbs? Are you saying it was a man who did this?" She wanted to be sick. A human—a human that could tear into a grown man's flesh and leave him like he'd just been run over with a sit-down mower—was not what she had in mind when she came down here. Whatever she had thought she'd hear, it wasn't this.

[laurielewis]

There was a subtle twitch of the brows when Pru refers to Joe as 'Bear Food'. It had more to do with remembering the look on Joe's wife's face and her uncontrollable sobs when they'd delivered the news than it was a reflection on Pru's character. To her, it was probably just another dead body. Meanwhile, Laurie struggled to detach himself from the case, especially when all he could think about was how this could've been Mags. So, he silently accepted the report and flicked through the pages instead of focusing on the body.

He looked at Kaya at the mention of 'thumbs', to see if she was thinking what he was thinking, then to Pru, for an answer.

"Mags--" He stops, then corrects himself, "Magdalena Sparrow." Everyone knew of the Sparrows, a nice family who lived by the forest. "She was attacked last week. A bear, is what she said." It was hard to remain controlled, to put his personal feelings aside. His grip around the file tightened. "She, um, she has similar claw marks to this." He nods towards the deep gash that went along the shoulder, which he assumes is how she deduced the 'thumb'. "They're too big to be a man's, aren't they?"

Perhaps he'd hoped for signs of foul play, or even suicide, and a lucky animal happened to come across the body. The probability of being attacked by a bear is so small, less than 1% if he remembers correctly. The fact that two could've happened within the space of a few days is something he struggled to grasp. There's a higher chance of being killed by a bee, even higher to be killed by a human. So, he has to ask, "There's definitely no other cause of death?"

@prudenceisawitch

[prudenceisawitch]

As Laurie flicked through the pages in the folder, she took to picking at her nails. Prudence was in desperate need of a manicure, while she typically enjoyed the sensation of the crimson substance caked beneath each of her fingernails, she found it hard to bask when there were such pained expressions adorning both sheriffs’ features. She hadn’t initially recognized the man, but once she had confirmed his identity with the help of records from the local dentist, she realized he had been just another unsuspecting townie; like Magdalena Sparrow. Flexing her fingers out before her, Pru cocked her head, brows knitting together in a faux expression of confusion. “What a statistic that is, hm? Two bear attacks in two weeks?” Raising her brows, she held an extended palm in his direction, fingers wiggling to signal him to return the folder. Pulling at each page until she found the one she’d been looking for, she held up the folder and positioned herself between Laurie and Kaya. “Bears have five toes –claws– on each paw,” she dragged her finger down four of the lines that marked the flesh in the photo, flesh that was hidden beneath the privacy sheet covering him from the chest down, “but for bears, the fifth claw is directly in line with the other four. Whereas this bear seems to leave marks where the fifth claw is lower, the slashes are almost– grasp marks, like it was trying to keep him from running away while it disembowled and mutilated him.” Pru had lowered the folder now, her eyes on the body before them, vision glazed over just a bit while she spoke. Turning to them now, the body to her back, she smiled. “There cannot logically be another cause of death,” Prudence plopped the folder back onto her work desk and laughed, her tone dark and sour, but just light enough to drip no conviction into her words. “Unless you believe in monsters.”

@buffynpcs-cursed

[antondevlaux]

"Normal? Good? Those are usually words people use when they can't handle character." it slipped out before he could stop them, an involunary response, and one that he'd grown to use to doing when he was surrounded by idiots on a daily basis.

Sigh, she wasn't going to be an easy one. Was she a loon, too?

Anton met her gaze, initial irritation melting, instead he came face to face with a woman he'd never met before. In truth, there was no one like her, he'd ever met. Sharp eyes, and elegant features were masked with a cool indffierence he wasn't used too. In fact, it was enough to have him taking a step back when her eyes found his. A depth, a power that flickered in her eyes, not magically (or as far as he was aware), but enough for Anton to know when he was stepping over boundaries that was not his place to be. Yet, that'd never stopped him. His deflection was in the art of sarcasn challenging him. He hated challenges.

Maybe he'd fallen into a comfortability over the years, of being able to pull himself away from the crazy, away from the noise of this place. Jo was right, he hated carnivals, in fact, he hated people -- period. So why was he trying to play the knight saving the girl? Especially when she so obviously didn't want to be saved. For a moment, he forgot he was in some make shift shack with a crackpot dressed in purple, and shitty makeup. Even the smell, his nose scrunched, swiping his gaze around the room before finding her again. Out of place, he thought, that was how she looked.

"You don't seem like the type who buys into this crap." He glanced back at Madame Zara, whose inscrutable gaze had never left them, burning into him like he might set on fire. Good job she wasn't a real witch, because they hated that shit. Himself included. Even if he renounced it, there were some parts of being a witch that stuck to the soul. The fake witch's presence was starting to irrirate, and offend, an uncomfortable reminder of the world he was desperately trying to leave behind.

A world he wanted no part of, and she profited on.

His movements deliberate, yanking the curtain back until the neon lights of outside shone into the tent. "Being good, ah, well, let's just say that's a relative term. And not one I'd typically associate with anyone in this....grotty establishment." using his chin he gestured outside again. "There's far better than this piece of theatre. You're in salem, for christ sake." He gestured towards the outside with a lazy wave of his hand, families curling in and out, childish laugher. Far away from this. "Shall we? I promise, the world outside is far more interesting out there, than stuck inside here."

[prudenceisawitch]

There was no sense in hiding the amusement she now felt, surely her features indicating such. Tapping the pad of her fingertip to his nose, she grinned, smug but without her usual edge of condescension. “Yet you chose to use them only moments ago to describe me. I’ll just chalk it up as being related to the other indications that I make you nervous.” Prudence followed him toward the curtains that separated the tent from the rest of the fair, their thick material shrouding out any source of the lights displayed en masse steps away. “Either that, or you just have some sort of unchecked hostility toward psychics, which I find to be quite obtuse.” It wasn’t as though she was now avoiding his gaze, but she definitely took her time in finely examining the psychic’s tent. One thing was for certain, all these hacks had awful taste in interior decoration, the whole tent looked like a crystal shop stall in the dark corners of a swap meet. “I certainly don’t buy this crap, but we hadn’t even gotten to the best part yet. Shame you had to go and ruin the fun.” Cocking her head to the side, her gaze flickered up and out between the slice he had created in the curtains. Prudence could have just bid him farewell and sent him on his merry way before settling back in with the psychic, but it wasn’t like she was in desperate need currently. She was always rather gluttonous and never went long without nearly drowning herself both on the inside and out with the blood of her chosen victims, some thought out and others verging on pure recklessness, but always just outside of any level of detection– like a traveling carnie psychic. Pru questioned her own sanity for just a moment before following him. “You speak as though I was manning that charade. I have seen enough of Salem and the world outside of it for this lifetime and the next. I’m tired of seeing.” Prudence walked in step beside him, the faint glow of neon lights creating a distinct haze over the fairgrounds. “I want to feel.” Trailing her fingers along each of the railings that separate the attraction lines and the walkways, she pursed her lips. “Nothing is exciting. Not anymore. I want to feel something.”

[meridakrawczyk]

WHO: @thecursed-starters WHEN: 31st of May, 1989' WHERE: The Carnival — The Ghost Train. TYPE: Open to all.

Prowling like the darkness from which she emerged, Merida stalked the oblivious crowd as they meandered with no worry in the world: if only they knew. The flashing lights irritated with every explosion against her senses — it was an insult to her eyes. Bright lights had never been her friend, not since the change. The carnival, a year on year family outing filled with fun activities and endless fun, was really a festering pit, its air thick with the scent of the "others," making it a perfect hunting ground for her kind. People wandered around, happiness plastered on their faces as if attending this place were a prize. To her, they were walking blood bags with big fat dollar signs on them. Begging her to take them. But they had a system for a reason: one rule. They kept their business out of Salem.

Merida, turned in the late 1800s, had once been as unassuming as they were. Now she reveled in their naivety.

The ghost train, with its...attempt at the theme known as horror, pathetic as it was, had Merida walking towards it with a raised brow. She was hungry, and after her dinner — which hadn't been satisfactory in the slightest with being so close to Salem, her mind was elsewhere. Like the young woman, early twenties, walking toward the ride alone.

"Could be interested. Do you want to come — or are you too chicken shit to even try?"

This carnival might be a joke, but at least dinner was looking up.

[prudenceisawitch]

Never one to be challenged, Prudence swiftly turned to the brunette stalking up beside her. With a most demure smile, she interlaced her fingers at her hips, extremities fidgeting after she had made sure to tuck a stray hair behind her ear bashfully. While she had been ready to turn around and lash out at whoever had found the courage to challenge her, sneers, scowls and all, what she hadn’t been expecting was the look in the woman’s eyes. One didn’t come to live for centuries by being naive, but oh, she’d play the part. “It’s a little frightening. Don’t you think so?” Kicking a toe into the dirt and twisting it, Prudence dashed her gaze from the woman to the ground and back up– innocent. “Promise you’ll hold me tight if I get scared, won’t you?” Okay, perhaps it was a little bit over the top, but she hadn’t had fun like this in so long. Prudence loved a good roleplay, especially if it preempted what she could only assume was only something absolutely unpleasant. How intriguing. “I’m Prudence.” Turning on her heel, she paced off toward where the line had begun stacking up near the ride’s entrance, waiting.

[vivienneyoungx]

When: 1st June, 1989 Where: Carnival, The Love Tunnel Who: open

With her head tilted back, Vivienne stood in the middle of the heart-shaped arched, obviously blocking the way for anyone who wanted to pass it, and focused her eyes on the flickering sign. It was pretty, yet the giggling couples who made their way through surely slipped some poison into their cups. It was their giggles that rang in her ear.

"Daph is going to love this." She said, not intending for anyone to hear, but not caring if they did. That, or she was going to make them wish they were all dead. Viv really hoped for the latter, because at least that would add some more colours to the tunnel walls.

"Should I risk it?"

[prudenceisawitch]

By now Prudence had made her way through each of the more acclaimed rides, the shrill giggles and shrieks of children and teenagers alike still making her teeth ache. She was making a round through the more lowkey attractions and had quite unfortunately found herself strolling along the makeshift path to The Love Tunnel. She couldn’t help the unpleasant scowl that upturned her features, lips pursed and arms crossed as the non-anatomically correct heart-shaped arch loomed ahead like a storm cloud. Perhaps Prudence would appreciate it more had it been anatomically correct, but alas, few people could appreciate the true beauty and structure of an actual heart. Shrugging more so to herself, Pru turned to the dark haired woman who seemed to be attempting to talk herself into heading forward.  “Only if you let me come with you.” Prudence smiled, small and warm, but certainly nothing that exuded cheerfulness or camaraderie. She simply felt it would be tragic to ride The Love Tunnel alone and she found it much more amusing when she spoke to anyone outside that damn voice in her head. She’d nearly come to the point of demanding payment for the amount of time he spent skulking about in her mind, but that was neither here nor there. “Out of all the fairs I’ve been to, I can’t say that any of them had anything as… magical as this.”

[julesbishop]

Who: @thecursed-starters When: 31st of May, 1989 Where: The Carnival, Game Stalls

"It's not rigged, you're just not in the right mindset."

If there was one thing that Juliet Bishop loved, it was a damn good carnival game. Whether they were of chance, skill, or strength, the category hardly mattered when she could indulge in some truly mindless entertainment for a few hours. Juvenile? Maybe, but there happened to be a little girl she'd promised a giant unicorn to and like hell was the witch going back on her word. Kid tears were the worst kind.

Besides, all of the random sounds and music of the evening meant wearing her headphones a little less and gave her overused walkman a temporary reprieve. Win-win. "Look, watch and learn, okay? They don't call me the Skeeball Queen of the Eastern Seaboard for nothing." Nobody called her that.

[prudenceisawitch]

Quirking a brow, Prudence uncrossed her arms and plucked one of the balls from the awaiting lineup and extended it. “While I don’t mean to impose on such a lovely title, it is quite certainly rigged. There’d be no money to be made off all these idiots if they were just forking over the king size stuffed animals and top shelf prizes, no?” Prudence made a show of bowing and waving her hand, as if asking the young woman to do the honors.  Resuming her previous position, Pru had her arms crossed over her chest once more, an inky grin set upon her lips all the while. She had half a mind to knock the ball off its course just so she could prove a point, what point exactly she hadn’t quite determined, but she knew damn well that giving off any whiff of her power would have disastrous results. Still, she almost hoped the woman would prove her wrong and be filled with smug arrogance. Prudence always loved to inflate her prey before completely tearing them apart– killer looks like hers don’t come without a price.

[luciancluna]

Who: Luciana Luna + OPEN @thecursed-starters

When: 31 May 1989

Where: Carnival

Carnival season was a bit of a mixed bag. This year featured some new rides that piqued Luciana's interest--The Ghost Train in particular--and the food featured at such attractions also happened to be one of her biggest weaknesses. Unfortunately, years of shutting herself in dwindled her list of friends somewhat, and too afraid to contact anyone to apologize for her absence, the witch simply began to do things by herself.

Unfortunately, the shine of new activities and her favorite junk foods quickly wore off, leaving Luciana on the precipice of too overwhelmed to really enjoy herself. The last straw came when a gaggle of teenage boys in ripped jeans and dirty band t-shirts collided with her, causing her to dump what remained of her funnel cake into a mud puddle. Stuck somewhere between screaming and crying, Luciana stared at her soaked funnel cake as the boys continued on their way, and only as an afterthought did she send a quick, pointed gust of air to trip the little group of them, but they were too far gone to think much of it aside from perhaps uneven footing.

"Fuckers," she murmured as she picked up the now-dirt-covered paper tray and the remnants of her funnel cake, then turned to find the nearest trash can only to smash into someone else and drop the thing all over again.

"Stop MOVING," she snapped, half to herself and half to whomever had the misfortune of standing too close to her.

[prudenceisawitch]

There was probably something to be said about how much time Prudence was willing to be around mortals and their places of supposed entertainment, but what else was a hundreds year old witch to do? Things were much different now and while there were no more of those silly little witch trials, there also wasn’t much public execution in general now. To be short, Prudence was bored. It was the unyielding bleakness of said boredom that always drew her out and to places like the Whispering Woods fair. Despite all of Pru’s reminiscing of good, old medieval torture she didn’t miss the graceful swan dive of a rather delicious looking funnel cake. Shame. What she certainly hadn’t missed was the small, nearly imperceptible gust of wind that had tripped up the young hooligans who’d caused the young woman on her knees before Prudence to plop her fried dessert in puddle of mud that now squelched beneath them. A wicked grin tugged at her lips, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she offered a hand to the stranger. “Let’s get you another. Now I’ve got an excuse to get one of those mother loving caramel apples I’ve been trying to avoid all night.” Straightening her shoulders, Pru observed the young woman before her, eyes roaming her features before flickering to the food stall. “I’m Prudence.”

[fuckyeahmvltifandom]

Any requests?

[laurielewis]

who: Investigation Squad ( @prudenceisawitch, @buffynpcs-cursed ) when: 2nd June 1989 where: Coroner's Office

As the sheriffs walk, the soles of their boots produce a resonant thud, each step amplified by the acoustics of the long and narrow hallway. The air is thick with the musty scent of neglected corners and old paper. It's hard for Laurie to keep his comments to himself, especially when the lights overhead flicker intermittently, clear that some of the bulbs have long since burnt out.

The coroner's office is tucked away in a forsaken corner at the bottom of the hospital, where Judd the Janitor moves along the corridor with his clunky cleaning machine, as if searching for something lost. Laurie still doesn't say anything, but instead shares a knowing look with Kaya that reads: So creepy.

After knocking on the door, Laurie holds it open for Kaya to enter before stepping into Pru's office himself. "Hey Pru," he greets with a small nod. Then, as he stands with his hands on his hips, he directs his attention to the body on the cold steel table. "What'd you have for us?"

[prudenceisawitch]

It was getting to be the late afternoon when Pru had finally completed her work for the day. Aside from a couple run of the mill autopsies, she had been left with one case that she had refused to simply check off her list; not when she’d never been faced with such gruesome injuries in the past year she had been working as the chief medical examiner in Salem. Just as Prudence had begun to slide a delicate fingertip across the jagged skin of the decimated throat of her patient, the door to her office opened and in walked the sheriffs. While she certainly had been expecting them to come by at some point, she was rather miffed it was just as her senses began to pick up on something. She supposed it’d have to wait. “Bear food,” her eyes lingered upon the wounds adorning his neck before flickering up to gaze at her company with a grin, pushing herself off the examination table where she’d been seated beside the body, “or so it seems.” Prudence shrugged while she picked up the file toward the very end of the table and offered it in their direction. “It’s not general behavior for a bear –brown, black, or polar alike– to go for the jugular, or have thumbs.”

[antondevlaux]

WHO: @thecursed-starters WHERE: The Carnival — Seer of Truths. WHEN: 31st of May, 2024.

Having been born a witch, there were a few things that he'd come to know: one...fortune tellers were just crack pots who liked to wear purple clothes, preaching spirituality while pretending that they could be one s...he didn't want to say it. How could anyone wish to be something so monstrously inhumane? For power they could rarely use. A carnival was meant to be a happy place, but Anton had never been the type. He detested everything about that "gift" that lived inside of him. What most believed from the TV or fiction books was a lie to turn the human's blind eyes from the truth: Because they couldn't handle it. Society was such a fragile thing, always on the cusp of greatness or crumbling down.

The entrance, with its false sense of cryptic symbols, flickering candles and a sign which proclaimed, "Madame Zara - Seer of Truths." With a snort of derision, shaking his head, hands dipped into his pockets with a heavy sigh. He would've usually avoided it all together, but maybe it was the sight of Jo elsewhere or the fact that his eyes kept finding it. Why the fuck not?

However, when he burst through the curtain, he realised his mistake: someone was getting a reading, hands raising in apology as that haggard old voice from the so-called mystic spoke.

“Welcome, Anton,” she said, her voice smooth, which was oddly out of place against the leathery look of skin, folded and creased in ways he'd never seen before.. “I’ve been expecting you.” Madame Zara beckoned, her finger bony and thin.

She could fuck right off, and shove that bony finger up her ass.

Anton’s eyes narrowed. “I doubt that,” and still her words unsettled him. Distrust immediately setting in like the ugly doubt that had been with him since he found his gifts, or...exploded with them. "Sorry for disturbing," he said to the other seated person as he turned to look at Madame Zara. "They seem like good, normal people —don't feed them this fuckin' nonsense."

"You wanna get out of here?"

[prudenceisawitch]

There had always been something about carnivals that drew Prudence in. Whether it was the breathtaking dance of the lights adorning the rides, their fuzzy beams protruding through the thick layer of clouds that lay overhead, blanketing the moon; or if it was the abundance of bodies, mortal souls ripe for the taking. It was practically a buffet for a two hundred year old witch and if there was one thing she was certainly known for, it was her indulgence. Unfortunately for her, she’d only come across families, cherubic faces of children stained with the sticky remnants of cotton candy and caramel apples beaming up at her every which way she turned– it was awful. Prudence had grown up an orphan and it was a sacred rule of hers to never bore the same fate upon another child. Sure, she technically orphaned herself, but what was one to do when their parents are thrusting kitchen knives in their chest? Part of her had always resented them for not bothering to even use the good cutlery. Prudence twirled a lock of her dark hair around a finger as her chin lay rested in the palm of her other hand, an amused grin splitting her lips. Tarot cards, palm readings, fortune tellings, they were some of her favorite things. In the two centuries that she had roamed this earth she had come across but few that possessed any true gifts, turning tricks to make money to support a nomadic lifestyle. Prudence had even once considered it herself, if only to wear the flashy garb that was accustomed to psychic aesthetic. It was part of what always drew her to their tents and small shops in strip malls, she would typically allow them to woo her. She was nothing if but a talented actress, her features feigning surprise and shock at whatever bullshit he or she churned out, usually basic things that could be picked up by anybody who took the time to pay attention to minute details like body language. It was always entertaining and when the time she’d granted them to play drew to a close and she began counting down the moments until they realized they were cornered, prey to the predator. It’s not like anybody missed the neighborhood carnival psychic, please. She was rather miffed when she sensed the curtain had opened behind her, her head only cocking slightly to eye the man who’d walked in.  From what she could tell, either he seemed rather familiar with the psychic, or he was painfully cocky. When he asked her if she wanted to get out of there, she decided it was painfully cocky. While she was rather disappointed that she wouldn’t be staving off the hunger that lingered in the pool of her gut, a hunger that could hardly compare to that of which mortals and beasts alike felt for sustenance; what Prudence claimed was power and she found that devouring the very souls and being of mortals and beasts alike was a gateway to such power, or so she’d been told. Huffing out a sigh, she shrugged and flicked a few bills down on the table as payment, despite their session being interrupted. “Pray tell, what gave you the impression that I’m normal?” Prudence rose to her feet and grinned, her eyes low, “or good?”