#descent.starter

[inkheartd]

#    𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑛    ,                within  the  city  @startyourdescent.

the  nephilim  sits  on  a  weathered  bench  by  the  east  river,  the  city  lights  shimmering  across  the  dark  water  like  scattered  stars.  her  hands  curl  around  her  coat,  gaze  fixed  on  the  horizon  where  the  first  hint  of  dawn  rises  ⸻  the  pale  glow  of  the  morning  star  catching  her  attention.  but  the  quiet  is  ruined  when  a  shadow  falls,  someone  leaning  too  close,  too  casually.  aurora's  eyes  flick  up,  sharp  as  she  regards  the  other.  ❛  you're  blocking  my  starlight.  ❜

[thsndsptlghts]

who; @startyourdescent / OPEN location: Victrola

Her shift had started early, tidying up the dressing room and setting out snacks for any of the dancers that wanted them, it wasn't an official role but Leyla had come to enjoy checking in on them all - helping out with any dance injuries or routines, making sure there were snacks and water out and just occasionally making sure those who got a little handsy knew exactly how many weapons she kept on her at any one time. Once she had everything sorted, she started her official job behind the bar. The Shadowhunter slipped her leather jacket off and tucked it behind the bar, close enough that she could quickly grab it for much-needed cigarette breaks, but there was no way she could wear it all night while rushing around. By the time she had done all that, the club had started to get busy, the hum of voices and music blending together in a way that calmed her more than she liked to admit. She grabbed a shot glass, pouring out vodka and taking the shot before turning over her shoulder with a smirk, nodding toward @startyourdescent, "What can I get you?"

[stardaiz]

# open, cemetery.

that treacherous feeling. the gnawing in one's stomach, the acidic thirst in her throat ⸻ they say she'll feel it harder, more often in the first months following the change. and overtime? it'll never go away, but the newborn will learn to control the impulses that follow. it hits her, and the girl scrambles for sanctuary somewhere far, cold, and alone. where the dead are the only company she can stomach when it becomes worst. the cool air does wonders, the beating hearts of mundanes far and she's able to concentrate on it : until footsteps find her. isara kneels at the grave, hands folded in front of her to feign praying in hopes that they move on, leave her to mourn whoever's name was on the stone.

[ofates]

tara is behind the counter, sleeves rolled, hands busy with something half-finished and experimental. the faint scent of herbs and something sweet drifts around her, and she glances up when she notices the other, a knowing smile tugging at her mouth. her hands don’t stop moving, but there’s a rhythm to it, a subtle invitation — stay, watch, talk, or just exist. “hey, if you’re here for advice or just some company, i can do both… maybe at the same time.”

[edomveined-blog]

"Would you mind telling me exactly how you got into my loft?"

[seraphveined-blog]

“let me guess --- whatever the clave’s suggesting, it isn’t good news, is it?”

[inkheartd]

#    𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑛    ,                within  outside  institute  @startyourdescent.

her  sneakers  slap  against  pavement,  rhythmic  in  each  step.  the  city  was  quiet  under  the  moon,  sirens  distant  and  neon  reflections  painting  the  sidewalks.  violet  preferred  it  this  way  now  since  turning  vampire,  the  way  the  night  made  her  feel  more  awake  in  ways  than  daylight  did.

she  wasn't  paying  much  attention  when  someone  steps  into  her  path,  forcing  her  to  brake  mid-stride.  ❛  oh,  sorry  !  didn't  see  you  there.  ❜  she  glances  up  then  . . .  realizing  they'd  stopped  right  in  front  of  the  institute.  well  this  was  a  dumb  path  to  take.  she  gives  a  tight,  casual  smile.  ❛  heading  somewhere,  or  just  a  late  night  stroll  ?  ❜

[inkheartd]

#    𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑛    ,                within  some  library  @startyourdescent.

rhys  scans  the  shelves,  one  hand  already  lifting  toward  a  worn,  heavy  volume  on  demonic  corruption.  shadows  along  the  bookcase  darken,  curling  from  his  wrist,  visible  to  anyone  who  knew  how  to  see  past  glamour  . . .  before  his  fingers  met  the  spine  at  the  exact  same  moment  as  someone  else's.  the  darklighter  stills,  then  glances  as  the  shadows  slip  obediently  back  into  place.  ❛  well,  either  this  book  is  wildly  popular  or  demonic  corruption  is  currently  trending.  ❜  not  that  he  would  know  ⸻  his  modern  obsessions  ran  more  towards  trash  tv  than  whatever  is  trending  online.  ❛  i'm  happy  to  share,  or  lose,  if  you'd  like  to  flip  for  it.  ❜