Everyone got the message about the storm but it still seemed like it was business as usual. At least for those who can safely work inside. Zipping up his jacket, he kept his hood up and head down as he made his way over to the canteen both because of his shift and to check on his siblings. Yes, he could text them but he’d prefer to see if they were telling him the truth when they say they are okay. It’s easier for them both to lie to him over the phone, but even then he would still question them both.
Leo was coming to work early, when he was safely inside he took off his hood and looked around the canteen, locking eyes with only one other person. The Italian charming smile crossed his features as he approached the others. “It’s like a damn ghost town in here. Suppose it’ll be an easy day today?”
After gathering a few things from the warehouse he believed will help both him and Katla remain safe from the storm, he quickly made his way back to the West Villas. Putting a mental note at the back of his mind to text Isak later on to see if he’s okay. Though he was more so certain that he’d be with Ingrid during a...crisis such as Calix. Which he’d be doing the same thing if his betrothal was on the island as well - however, she isn’t which is why he’s just staying with Katla. After all he still enjoys her company, least he knew he wouldn’t be bored.
“Katla - hey! Are you home?” Hunter called out as he walked passed the door frame, closing and locking the door behind him. This wasn’t his first time being in the storm but he still couldn’t get used to the chill and underline on edge nerves that filled his entire body. Being inside the villa - the chill left but the nerves still were raised.
Once everything that was in his hands was neatly placed on top of a nearby table he went around the villa to look for his...roommate.
It was like the splitting of the veil in the temple of the Lord, nature itself had witnessed the splitting of something divine and rent itself apart to decry the injustice. So, too, did Verona see fit to cry out against the travesties that were being enacted on its soil. The storm did not abate, did not allow a single soul a breath of air in the midst of torrents of water and flashes of thunder and lightning. There was only the suffocation of the life of Verona, institutions crumbling to pieces at the hands of a vengeful and righteous God. The witches whispered among themselves within the confines of their sacred space, watching from atop their hotel like three gargoyles judging sinners for daring to step upon hallowed ground. Even against the darkened storm clouds of the dim afternoon sky, they seemed to encapsulate the inky blackness of something otherworldly. The shadows that dart in and out of the corner of your eyes. The mass of fear that watches you as you wake up, sweat drenching your sheets, lips locked together to prevent you from screaming.
They stood with their umbrellas upon, black halos that highlighted the paleness of their respective features, each of their lips curved downward in a distasteful frown. From where they stood, they could see how empty the streets were -- an indisputable display of evidence of the toll that the storm was taking upon the city. CIRCE was the first to break the pseudo-silence that had fallen between the three siblings, punctuated every so often by a thunderclap or a flash of lightning.
“Have our prayers been answered?” They asked, staring at the rising levels of water that barraged the cobblestone streets.
“When has our God ever turned away from us? We are His instruments meant to deliver a message of perdition to those who refuse to confess their wrongdoings and reconcile for…” MEDEA trailed off, searching for the word that escaped them.
“Heinous transgressions?” HECATE supplied helpfully, flicking droplets of water from their black gloves. “Let Verona drown, then, in their silence. Let it suffocate them in the form of a great deluge. God did it once with Noah - and as we are quite aware: history repeats itself.”
And it does. In the form of a bullet and a trigger and a body on the banks of a river that saw the rise and fall of empires.
A thunderclap sounded, far closer than they had anticipated, and the three siblings turned their heads up in unison, umbrellas forsaken for the moment. With their faces upturned, they drank in the power of the dark storm clouds gathering, stretching for miles beyond the borders of Verona. There was to be no relief found in the near future, was there? An answer to their prayers - a means of retribution for spitting upon their sanctified rule of obedience while within their domains of neutrality. A smile painted HECATE’S face as they threw their umbrella from atop the roof of Hotel Emelia, a bout of laughter filling the air as their siblings drank in the satisfaction of knowing that no crime against them would go unpunished by a God that decreed them to be something holy. Or unholy.
They did not wait to hear the splash that HECATE’S umbrella would make and turned away from the scene that was laid out before them. But just as they did so, there was a shift, a change in the rain fall, in the lighting of the clouds, in the very breath that Verona took. They turned back, and what did they see when they looked at the waters flooding the streets. Chrome and gold glinted, some of it looking like water in oil, with the water, but not of it. Three pairs of eyes lifted in that moment, to determine where this leak of ambrosia and fae blood had stemmed from, but when they looked there was only more gold and chrome, winking at them, glimmering against the darkness from which they emerged. Three pairs of lips parted in horror.
God had cast the first sinners out of paradise and sent them to a hell on earth. Perhaps what they were to endure in Verona was far worse. Perhaps their paradise was to become their hell. For the sins they committed were far more condemnable than that of their First Parents.
CIRCE’S eyes searched the horizon, squinting past the gentle drizzle that was somehow far more damning than the torrent that poured down upon them moments before. They took a deep breath in, mouth opening to tell their siblings what they already knew -- they had to warn the people of Verona of what effects there might be, of the horrors that they were likely going to endure for the next few weeks. But there was no sound that was emitted. Save for that of a gasp of horror, followed by the screams of their siblings.
Damiano awoke with a start, having passed out with a bottle of whiskey in hand. There was a thunderous crack that had sounded moments after he awoke, but it was not what made his heart seize in agony. It was the voice that had whispered in his ear, had dragged him from his troubled reverie of inky blackness. He smacked his lips together, already intent on brushing away the remnants of a guilt-ridden clockwork heart. There was an early darkness that had settled onto Verona, somewhat familiar now after days of rain and storm clouds. The paperwork on his desk was indecipherable now, numbers and words blending together in an unintelligible mix of ink and paper. There was something in there about the monetary hits they had taken thus far, what with the Capulets peddling their own feel-good drugs now. Along with a report about Roman’s failings. Faron’s successes.
A gale of wind shrieked for his attention and Damiano frowned, turning his head while wiping off the flecks of rain that had come in. Had he truly slept through this? There was no other explanation, what with the glass that was on the floor and the carpet that was drenched from the fat raindrops that had invaded the room.
He frowned and picked up a shard of glass, holding it up to stare at the faint light emanating from a street lamp outside.
He took a deep breath and squinted, the taste of whiskey tasting sour in his mouth.
A pair of eyes stared at him through the shard of glass.
Here was his demon, come to haunt him.
“Alvise,” he whispered. “Alvise, please forgive me.”
OVERVIEW: This event, unlike other events, is more open-ended. This event is meant to progress each and every character’s development and give us a chance to expand on the heartbreak each citizen of Verona has to endure. The floods have caused irreparable damage to the factories of the Montagues and the Capulets, where their drugs were being produced. The floodwater has quite literally dredged up the worst of Verona, the drugs culminating into an intoxicating mix that causes hallucinogenic effects. Specifically, effects that bring up visions and apparitions of one’s worst demons, of the ghosts that haunt one into the witching hour of the night. The rain has lessened into a less abusive torrent, becoming instead a light drizzle so Veronans may go about trying to repair the damage that has been done to their city. By October 13th the rain will have stopped completely. By October 15th, the water will have abated -- and will continue to be cleared out from then on.
Threads may be dated from October 10th ( when the hallucinations start to plague the city ) to October 29th. Might want to keep in mind that Verona is known for their Halloween -- ah, excuse me, All Souls’ Day -- celebrations.
TASK: This is, as always, optional. But feel free to write a drabble, or an assessment, as to which element represents your character best. Is it iron? Gold? Fire? Water? Feel free to make a graphic for this as well!
The humid summer air sat upon her skin, kissing it with equal parts love and vengeance. Vindictive sun, with its heat that brought sweat upon her brow, and heavy air, with its promise to never let such sweat die. Yet she basked in the rays, glasses perched on her head as she plucked a ripe, red strawberry from the stand of signore Ignacio whose farm was just along outskirts of the city, perched between some mountains. The minute the red fruit kissed her lips, she gave a sigh of contentment and bit into it, immediately swiping her thumb against her lip as the decadent dessert became rather messy. She laughed as daintily riped the remnants of the dessert from the corner of her mouth, exchanging the handful of euros from her wallet for the strawberries and blueberries il signore had promised her. He gave her a small wink before slipping a peach into her bag as well, the smile growing ever-more-apparent across her lips.
But, alas, it would be dashed away all too soon.
For, she had turned about and found herself staring at the back of a head that looked reminiscent of a dream she once had, as if the god Apollo had decided to cast a spell about her eyes, masking the personification he had donned and bidding her towards it. But then she watched the lines of his face shift, eyes wrinkling at the edges as the corner of his mouth lift. The god Apollo smiling. The devil himself grinning. A gasp was the only evidence she gave of the shock that made her stomach tighten, made her heart sing a rather staccato beat. It was not a face that she was likely to forget, one so reminiscent of a cherub with some dastardly deed, that could break your heart and steal your lips in a single beat.
His name flew from her like a fallen song, lyrics half-finished and incomplete. “Kai,” she breathed. Even now the taste of his name on her tongue proved to be poisonous, for it stole away the warmth in her bones and left her feeling bare, despite the warmth that had once kissed and blanketed her. And yet, she still stepped towards him, hand half-open to take his own -- but she stopped herself short, nails curling into her palm. “When did you get here?” Even now she couldn’t help the softness that laced her tone, the suspicion that lay poised beneath it, like a knife beneath a pillow.
DAISY: could've very easily thrown her phone across the room when Tessa's phone gave her a busy signal. She'd gotten her hopes up when the rest of the diner had started making and taking calls, but of /course/ with her shitty luck, Tessa wouldn't be available. Daisy had to stop herself from wondering if that meant they were dead in a ditch somewhere, shaking that thought away. She considered trying her dad or grandparents instead, but ended up pressing Lottie's contact before she waste any more time lest her luck fuck her over again. She nervously jiggled her foot as she pressed the phone to her ear, hoping that at least she would be available. "Pick up, you little bitch..."
