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FEATURING: OPEN ! TIMESTAMP: IN VINO VERITAS SECURITY: PUBLIC, UNWARDED
“hello,” –– a soft acknowledgement, as he was not one to exclaim, flew from his mouth as he turned at the sound of someone approaching. “are you here to see our king?”, he asked, gesturing toward the goat below. a cordial smile lights up his features, all save for. . . his eyes, which remain untouched by warmth or mirth.
timestamp: 01, Aug. 1950 at 22:01 · location: grappenhall heys walled garden ( not warded, public space ) · tagging: open !
he had always found comfort in the night, blending in and out of the shadows as he saw fit. the night had always been his domain, if you were to really think about it, born at the height of the witching hour and always seemingly growing stronger then. it was, perhaps, made up in his own mind, a placebo effect, but sometimes belief in one’s self is all the power one needs. regardless, the reliquary had closed an hour prior and he had spent the last better part of that time imbibing to a respectable state of euphoria as anyone should hope to be when celebrating lughnasadh. easy smile on his face as he strolled through the vendors and small assembled stands, there was a kind of relaxed nature to lazarus that did not reflect his typical state. blue eyes lit up at the familiar face as he made his way over, scottish accent a little thicker as it was wont to do when he started drinking, ❛ have you bowed to his highness, yet ? i was just about to make my way over if you would like to join me. ❜
burial open starter.
artemis hadn’t been this exhausted since she’d left home before her first year. never having been away from her coven, her home, she found herself unable to sleep most nights. she hardly remembered that first month of school; her only distinct memory was her change that month and the pain that had ripped through her. mama! mama please! she’d begged into the abyss. mama, help me!
the dark circles that lingered under her eyes are reministent of that time, nearly purple. she was lost in those memories, leaning against a storefront on diagon alley, as she silently begged her mother for forgiveness. selene had not known what had happened, yet she could feel the disappointment of her mother’s gaze all these miles away. her cloak is wrapped around her, hood pulled over her head to shield her from the mist.
it’s only when she feels gaze lingering on her shadowed form, burning into her side that she glances up. wrong choice. “keep walkin’.” she snarled, her scottish accent licking at the last word. the passerby scurried off and she sighed. if she was to be deemed a nightmare by these people, then a nightmare she would be.
timestamp: 16, Aug. 1950, approximately 11:00 · location: norris house, the ballroom ( unwarded, public space ) · tagging: open !
there was more to see than the conservatory; spiraling staircases within the old house led to merlin knew where, corners where the dark lingered a little too ominously, and the ever present chatter of her peers set her nerves aflame. this house, though beautiful to look at and observe, chilled her bones. maybe she was wrong in coming, in accepting the invitation that had brought her here; had brought them all here. within the main hall, there were figures that she did not allow her gaze to linger, to snag on. gazes had burned her, scorned her, the entirety of the night — she would not give them the satisfaction of returning the favor. rather, she is aloof when gliding from the conservatory to the next room over. pale fingers reach for the knob only to find it locked.
curiosity killed the cat,
brow creases for a fraction of a moment; without thinking further, she reaches for the wand attached to her hip muttering alohomora under her breath. a quick flick of her wrist and the deadbolt slides backwards within the door. there is no guilt in the quick motion. the entire gathering was eerie enough as it was, if their hosts intended to keep the guests out of every room there would surely be something stronger to keep the door locked than a simple deadbolt. stepping within the room, she quietly shuts the door behind her but does not slide the deadbolt back into place behind her. rather, her attention is pulled to the room itself. the moon had risen hours ago and, thus, caused its light to play in the glass of the chandeliers, casting an etherial glow in the otherwise darkened room. artemis fawley, for the first time in a long time, was awestruck.
but satisfaction brought it back.
the moonlight is calming, even more so than the conservatory had been. seeing it dance within the crystals brought a sense of home. it felt, for a fraction of a moment, like her mother reminding her to breathe. the world was not all bad. there were people who loved her. she was not alone. as she glides through the room, she stirs dust in her wake — this room has not been used for a while. it causes a sneeze, two, before she makes it to the other end of the room. the tall glass doors are pushed outwards, letting the cool night air wash over her and, subsequently, stirring the dust further. with wand still in her hand, she turns and faces the full expanse of the room. “ tergeo, ” another flick of her wrist and the dust disappears, leaving glittering surfaces it it’s wake. this room has to be one of the most beautiful she’s ever seen. she’s absolutely enamored.
it’s only then, with the moonlight at her back and wand drawn, does the door begin to creak open. brow raises as her fingers tighten around her wand, though it is not raised. as the figure steps into the room, artemis almost utters an apology for being here, for her presence at all. she will not apologize, not for anything. not tonight. she’s unapologetic for getting caught in a space where she did not belong; it shows even in her posture. it seemed to be her modus operandi as of late. instead, she offers a radiant smile to the other, unashamed. this room, the moonlight, the air has lightened her mood even as her pulse skips for just a moment — “ it’s beautiful, isn’t it? ”
timestamp: 24, Oct. 1950 · location: the verdant reliquary ( warded, public space ) · tagging: open !
it was dangerous, undoubtedly, but there were worse things in the world than this and if the wizengamot decided to censure the avery heir for protecting his family’s livelihood and legacy ? then the wizengamot be damned. blood wards were barely legal and even then not positively looked upon, but there was something to be said for the gift of being grandfathered in. when the reliquary had been established, plenty of protective charms and wards had gone into every part of the building and the magic it housed. avery blood, in this place, was powerful, and laz did not hesitate in utilizing it as he invoked spell after spell after spell. the wards around the reliquary shimmered as they settled into place though he seemed noticeably paler, perhaps the only thing keeping him moving was his self preservation. taking a moment to evaluate his handiwork, he noticed people in diagon alley, still looking for some kind of shelter from whatever was coming. practically ripping the front door open, he yelled out, ❛ well, come on then, before i bring up the last of the wards ! get inside, there’s no safer place in the city right now. ❜
WHO: open to any of the party-goers WHERE: just beyond the norris house’s wards WHEN: immediately after the partygoers dispersed and left the house
HE’D BEEN SHAKING from the moment he got up from the table. no, before that–– the tremor in his limbs had set in the moment that pathetic, weak question had left his mouth. as soon as the man that was presumably their host more or less ordered them to leave he’d done just that, striding out the door without a moment’s hesitation. without meeting anyone’s gaze. SHAME bubbled up in his gut, hot and vile and sour. he’d only just managed to retrieve a cigarette from the bronze case in his pocket and light it when he heard the telltale crunch of footsteps on the gravel behind him. fleamont whipped around, blinking at the figure before him through the smoke. his jaw worked, voice eventually coming out low and with an edge of defensiveness. “..well? have at it, whatever it is you wanted to say, i probably have it coming. go on. say it.”
location: norris estate ; dining room
timestamp: august 16th, 1950
tagging: open
there was something unnerving about the norris estate, and it wasn’t just the missing host. every guest in attendance seemed a little more on edge than usual, but that was to be expected — if their invitations were as disconcerting as druella’s was.
with a simple flick of her wrist, the placard emblazoned with her name went flying across the dining room toward, straight toward the opposite end of the table where she had seen a matching ‘euphemia gibbon’ card earlier... only to circle back around and fall right back into it’s original place like it never left. her lip curled in something resembling disgust as she read the names on either side of hers — not company she usually kept. a small gust of wind that seemingly came from nowhere billowed the tablecloth, as if the house was daring her to try it again... and like the grown ass adult she was, dru stuck her tongue out at the not - so - inanimate object.
she was about to leave ( the dining room, though the leaving the estate did cross her mind more than once throughout the night ) when she spotted a familiar face... and because she was still channeling her inner first year, she pouted, folding both arms over her chest. “whoever made these seating arrangements has a death wish,” she grumbled, head canting to the side. “i can only hope that you faired better with your assigned dinner companions than i did.”
