Jun 30, 2024
"Show an animal kindness and it will give loyalty until the heavens fall. Show it nothing but the lash, and wonder not why it bears teeth."
open starter
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"Show an animal kindness and it will give loyalty until the heavens fall. Show it nothing but the lash, and wonder not why it bears teeth."
open starter
WHO: open. WHERE: Club Raven’s Opening Night, Carkitt Market. WHEN: 1 May 2003.
They were onto him already.
The glittering views of the VIP section had lost their shine within half an hour of the first flutters of paranoia kicking in — the velvet ropes had begun to whisper of keeping him in rather than keeping the masses out and the servers in their bespoke penguin suits were hardly Dementors but they certainly felt like they were trying to keep him tucked safely away and compliant with their nervous smiles, trapped up here in Cavi’s homage to an ivory tower. What was the point of a party where everything went exactly to plan? Cavi had a thing or two to learn about spontaneity.
Bash had pulled off far greater escapes in his lifetime than this and while most of them had been done with a significantly lower alcohol to hallucinogenic to blood ratio in his system, he didn’t mind a challenge if it promised to be fun. It only took a tripped server, an enraged socialite emerging dripping from one of the decorative, swan-filled ponds and a quick exit to make his getaway to the lower floors and the shimmering buffet of opportunity that they presented. People. Multitudes of them. And multitudes of possibilities that awaited each and every one of them.
Except, of course, for them. Cavi’s staff had been forewarned, it seemed, of likely disruptions and Rabastan had always been something of a disruption. “Excuse me,” he caught the hand of the nearest partygoer with little care for who he was grabbing, “Have you seen the man of the hour?”
WHO: open. WHERE: The Twin’s (and Nigel’s) Residence, between Cog and Bell Clockmakers and Concordia and Plunkett Musical Instruments, Carkitt Market. WHEN: 21 March, 2003
It hadn’t taken long for their ex-ghostly-roommate to latch onto them, distance having apparently made the heart fonder again if the way Nigel floated morosely after them as they wandered through the party in search of the birthday boys, the ghost mindlessly drifting straight through occupants of the party whenever they got in his way. “—You look very unwell—” he was intoning over the cacophany of music, “—That haircolor is quite grim against your skintone. Before my untimely demise, my skin was taking on a most unusual grey pallor as if to—”
“Warn you,” Tonks finished for him, glancing exasperatedly over their shoulder as Nigel bumped through it by accident, rolling the muscles back instinctively against the immediate icy shiver that followed. “I know, Nigel, you’ve told me this bit already. Something, something an ill wind was blowing,” they wiggled their fingers spookily and the ghost’s expression turned sullen as he replied, “I don’t sound like that. I notice that you didn’t find the time to RSVP for my Death Day Party—”
“Only nerds RSVP, Nigel,” Tonks replied, turning to continue their quest through the shoebox of a flat towards the tiny kitchen. Nigel followed, floating directly through someone in his oblivious pursuit and they sighed, turning their head towards his latest victim to add a, “Sorry about him, he isn’t used to all this company.”
Time: Night time, May 1st. Location: The Wilds Beneath St Stephens Green. Status: Open
Fire is such a pretty thing. Fire is a killing thing. He spends too long gathered by the blaze of it in the bonfire. Sticking his fingers close enough to feel the heat. Maybe it will kill him, cook him, make him feel on the outside like he does on the inside. Maybe he’ll find the Unseelie Queen’s prey and cook him for her. Maybe she’d like that, he thinks, with a glint of a sharp and feral smile. It makes him happy to think of that, of winning something and spilling the blood of another onto the earth. There’s nothing more fetching than blood on dirt and green green grass.
Except for fire, which he struggles to look away from. He talks, as he so often does, to no one and to everyone. There are no targets for his words, they just come out of his mouth before he thinks much on them. “Do you think the pretty little Prince would be mad if we set his party on fire some more?”
time. January 25, 10pm. place. The Old Bar ( open )
The old bar in Godric’s Hollow was perhaps his favourite place in the world right now –– it had always been his belief that the best way to sooth a hurt or drown your sorrows was in a pub. He had plenty of sorrows haunting him these days, and he’d rather they all choked with water in their lungs than plague him. If he allowed himself to dwell on it for too long he would start picturing Marlene next to him, start thinking about James’ laughter and his strong hand on Sirius’ shoulder. It was better they stayed quiet, at the back of his mind.
The vigil shook something loose in him, so the bar was where he went, creaky door swinging closed behind him as he settles himself into a seat at the sticky and well worn counter. He helps himself to the bottle of whiskey, settles it by his arm after he pours himself a glass. Maybe its stealing, but maybe he doesn’t particularly care about that. Scratching with his thumb on the wood, he dwells on the words that have been echoing through his head. Part of him had wanted to run out of town at the first moment, start an epic quest of Arthurian proportions. Young Lord Black and the hunt for allies of all shapes and sizes. But he had things here that he couldn’t just run away from, things he couldn’t stomach leaving behind. Or, perhaps, things he knew would blame him with furious anger if he actually did start running away from this.
The creak of the wooden step leading up to the door draws his attention from his musings, and then the creak of the door itself. His voice is almost bland as he calls out, not wanting them to be surprised by the occupied room. “Bar’s open.” He says. “In or out, your choice mate.”
“I leave for a few days, & you all have lost your minds.”
“Oh c’mon! You can tell me!”