#inferi.starter

[silentlysilas-blog]

It was simply easier to spend all his time in the library than even see his mother, so Silas had taken to practically living at a long table, only leaving for the odd cup of tea or when the librarian kicked him out. And for classes, of course.

But Silas was a little starved for human company. No, he was desperate for human company, for someone to talk to, even if it was just at a whisper, for someone to joke with. Books, his research, his own brilliant mind, could only keep him occupied for so long. So, when he heard someone else walk in, he spoke a bit louder than was wise.

“Hello!”

[phineasnigellvs-blog]

|| on the wrong side ||

Phineas hadn’t been in a good mood since the aurors arrived, Sirius had noticed. His younger brother seemed to be in a constant sense of paranoia, feeling these trained professionals’ eyes on his every move. Sirius, on the other hand, felt much nicer with this extra edge of safety on his side, unsure of when the next Inferi would attack as Phineas didn’t let him know until the absolute latest moment. But he could see how his brother’s inner paranoia plagued him-- even when Sirius had chosen to let Phineas sleep, the other boy couldn’t seem to find it in him to fight against his insomnia.

It was a rare occasion when Sirius was able to roam around, Phineas far too exhausted to stop him from taking over. He knew what he was meant to do--act like Phineas and do what he would do... or risk being found out. And visions of chains and screams inside asylums was not something either of them wanted to see. He usually tried to keep his head down and remain unnoticed unless with someone that would understand.

However, that was not always the case as little things liked to make sure he interacted with people.

With a hard landing, Sirius toppled over onto the ground after bumping into someone, a low groan emerging from his lips. He quickly turned to the other person, about to explode in a matter of apologies and ‘are you okay’s. But I wouldn’t do that. Scraping his teeth lightly over his bottom lip, he pondered it for a second before speaking.

“H-Hey! Um-- Watch where you’re going! I, uh, um-- What are you? B l i n d?”

[isleblack]

She had been dancing. She had been dancing when it first started -- so light and carefree on her feet, like the world was made from fire and she was a moth, drawn to its flame. First, the screaming: not her own, and not directed at her and mask, but it didn't take long for them to head towards her; it take long for the screams to become her own. She didn't fight them, though -- how could she fight such monsters? How could she fight the monsters that hid under her bed, that hid in the corners of her dreams? Monsters, demons, ghouls -- lurking in the shadows, waiting for her to stop moving, waiting to swallow her whole. She didn't fight them; she couldn't fight them. Not on her own. She looked, first, for her brother and sister -- to the help, to get them to help her -- she looked for Bilius, for Seraphina, for anyone that was a person and not a monster, a demon, but she couldn't find them. There was no one that was left for her to save, no one left to save her -- so she ran.

She ran from the Great Hall, running faster than she knew she could, all thoughts of being proper and well-dressed thrown from her mind as she hitched up her skirts to travel faster and farther, to run better -- the demons wouldn't care about social norms; the demons would care about catching her and ripping her (and her skirts) in two. She picked up the edges of her skirt and her crinoline and held them, bunched them up in her arms as she ran -- for perhaps the first time that evening, she didn't care about what she looked like; all she could care about, all she could think about, was getting to a safe spot -- running until she found a staircase that seemed far enough from the Hall that she would be safe, and then climbing it until she found a corner that seemed high enough from the start of the staircase that she would be safe. She crawled into it, hugging her knees close to her chest and folding herself in on her frame in order to make herself as small as possible, in order to holding back the sobs that fought their way out of her frame, clawing their way out of her throat with hiccups and gasps. She held a hand over her mouth, to keep the sounds from getting too loud (to keep the sounds from alerting the monsters to her presence) but her gasping, stuttering sobs sounded even louder when echoed against the cage of her hand.

[elladxrablack-blog]

Events like the Autumn Masquerade was not her type of thing to attend. It wasn’t like she wasn’t familiar with them; Elladora had attended many parties and balls held by Pureblood families over the years, with dances, and chatter, and all those sort of glamorous things. But it was the fact that she would often be surrounded by people who expected her to be something she no longer was - a giggly young girl, untried in white dresses, blushing and ready for marriage.

She stood off to the side, glass of hot cider in hand. Taking a sip, her eyes glanced to the side as someone came close.

“I’ve seen enough people drink vinegar tonight.”

[silaslongbottom-blog]

Silas was never much of a dancer. Sure, his mother had made sure he new every step known to man and wizard alike, but after years of being forced to perform like a trick pony, he had cooled to the concept. Still, he liked the idea of an escape from the tedium of classes, and there was something about a disguise that was, well, intriguing, and Silas figured if nobody could recognize him, he might as well do a bit of poking around.

For this moment, he stood in the Great Hall, watching dancers spin by. He was prepared, a flask of cheap Muggle whiskey in one pocket, to sneak sips from on the sly, and maybe offer to a pretty wix who passed. As far as he could tell, the professors were occupied, or at least not looking for him, so he lazily removed the flask from his pocket.

“Care for a sip?”

[ursula-flint-blog]

play the part // ursula & phineas

@phineasnigellvs

There was absolutely no way that Ursula could possibly deny that there was something absolutely wonderful about the idea of a masquerade ball. After all, Ursula’s life revolved around deciding which mask would suit her the best that day, and although hers were typically metaphorical, used to bury her true personality deep down inside of herself, she enjoyed the tangible masks as well. Hers was of intricately woven silver lace, curving down and around her eyes and cheeks so that all could be seen were her lips so that she could speak, and her eyes which had enough makeup on them that to most she would be unrecognizable save the ever articulate patterns of her voice and her black hair which was done up the same way she always styled it to be fancy, pinned up with a few ringlets to come down the back of her neck, the way that her mother wore hers in all of the pictures. 

Ursula waited by the door to the Great Hall, twisting the ring on her finger. She would not have worn it at all had Phineas not been so adamant when he gave it to her, insisting that she wear it for whatever reason. She had a nagging feeling that told her she knew exactly what it came from, but she had not confronted him about it. The bottle of veritiserum she had found not a few days ago sat heavily in her pocket where she had put it for safe keeping more than anything. She did not want it taken from her and it made her wonder if she would be wise to use it on her fiance for the answers she desired, although even she knew that would be playing with fire, a very dangerous thing. 

Smoothing down the green skirt of her dress, Ursula looked around the room with wide eyes, looking for her aforementioned fiance whom she was expected to attend the dance with for obvious reasons, despite the fact she was sure she would slip away at some point to speak with various people, her frineds and such, perhaps get a glass of wine if she could find one. 

[isleblack]

a dream is a wish your heart makes / / isla & open

The Great Hall glowed, both from the light of the lanterns and the mass of bodies that clustered inside the room. The warmth swelled with the music, the heat tinting Isla's cheeks and staining them red and riotous. Not that she minded. Her flush completed her look: she hadn't pinched her cheeks, expecting that the Hall would be crowded and overheated. Instead, she had chosen to focus on her lips, plumping them with cinnamon oil, before reddening them with a mixture of beeswax and beetroot that she had obtained at a shop in London, hoping that the colour would -- in time -- match her cheeks. She had spent so much time preparing for this event that it delighted her more to see the final product that to be the final product.

Her dress was beautiful: made from a silk so fine that whenever it caught the light it looked like pale sunshine, whereas in the shadows it turned from golden summer to the dark dust of a springtime rose, the silk changing from cream to pink with even the slightest of movements. Her mask was cream-coloured -- silk like her gown, of course -- and tinged with strands of pink, its curling edges painted gold. Isla had charmed her hair into ringlets that crashed over her shoulders and her back like water, the curls closest to the sides of her face pinned back with little bundles of pink baby's-breaths. The flowers -- and her décolletage; the space behind her ears; her wrists -- were charmed to give off the scent of her perfume -- orange blossom and bergamot -- rather than their own scent. A necklace hung at her neck, cream-coloured diamonds set in gold, arranged to look like a delicate vine of small, pale flowers were trailing across her collar-bone. Yes, her dress -- her outfit -- was beautiful, chosen for this fact. She had spent so much of her time, so much of her thoughts, in ensuring that she looked beautiful -- as delicate and as darling as the princesses in her books, waiting for her Prince Charming to come and sweep her off her feet.

Like the princesses in her books -- like the Twelve Dancing Princesses; like all twelve regal bodies, twirling in and out of motion, spinning in and out of romance -- she was going to dance from twilight to dawn. She had arrived on Bilius' arm -- saddened that her friend hadn't been able to bring his choice, but nonetheless pleased (selfish; shameful) that she had someone to go with. Over the course of the night their paths had seperarted, crossed, then seperated once more, and now she was waiting on the sidelines, waiting to be asked to dance. Waiting, because she thought that it was inevitable that she would be asked to dance; because she had calculated her appearance to ensure that she would be asked. Sure enough, out of the corner of her eye she could see someone coming towards her. She tilted her head in a manner that she thought looked demure and delicate -- and then decided that, no, a head-tilt wouldn't be attractive. She forced herself to clear her expression, fearing that she looked rude or uninviting -- or worse, nauseated. She was so focused on looking like herself -- and not, please Merlin, nauseated -- that had forgotten about the person approaching her, turning to them with a start when she did notice them. "Oh, goodness," she said, laughter bleeding into her tone. "You scared me! I wasn't expecting you."

[malfoyvis-blog]

Hopping off one of the moving staircases, Abraxas straightened his tie as he headed down a deserted corridor towards the Slytherin common room. Hopefully he would be able to slip into his room without the pretense of conversation. Every chat these days ended up at one of two places: the dangerous creature sweeping through the school or the autumn masquerade, neither of which were particularly interesting to discuss.

Really, he just wanted some peace and quiet. He’d been busy that afternoon dealing with a Ravenclaw boy, another sixth year, who had gotten on his nerves during their last charms lesson. It wasn’t hard to find the boy’s pet owl - he’d gotten post just that day during breakfast, after all - and break its wings. The hard part was smuggling the bird somewhere the boy would find it later. It had taken nearly an hour to find just the right place. If Abraxas’ memory was correct, the boy would find the decimated barn owl within a few hours, as he and his friends always seemed to study in the same place every evening. It wasn’t the quickest way of gaining retribution, of course, but sometimes Abraxas had to sacrifice timeliness for style.

He was just about to round the corner to the last corridor before the common room when he caught a slight echoing of footsteps within the sounds of his own. He froze midstep, his left boot in midair, but there - one more footstep still echoed before stopping. With a shake of his head, he continued his walk, now aware of the person some length of hallway behind him.

“Would you care to explain why your stalking skills are so terribly abhorrent?” he said mildly while wheeling around on one heel to face the individual who’d been following him.