#loubliette

[application-woozgo]

L’Oubliette : une boîte de nuit à découvrir sur l’appli Woozgo

L’application Woozgo vous permet de découvrir divers bons plans partout en France. Parmi les lieux proposés, le réseau social vous propose d’aller faire un tour à L’Oubliette. C’est une boîte de nuit très populaire qui se trouve à Aboncourt.

[kingdomofastelle]

FOR THE WILY AND ADVENTUROUS. a birthday mix for rebecca. (listen here)

demons by imagine dragons. | in your veins by andrew belle. | rose by lee hi. | monster by BIG BANG. | i won't give up by jason mraz. | fix you by coldplay. | by your side by tenth avenue north. | awake and alive by skillet. | when i look at you by miley cyrus. | don't you wanna stay by jason aldean ft. kelly clarkson. | chasing cars by snow patrol. | can't fight this feeling anymore by reo speedwagon. | fire by 2NE1. | flavor of life (ballad version) by utada hikaru. | monochrome no kiss by sid. | the slightly chipped full moon (music box version) by saphiralynx. | i'm alive by becca. | good to you by marianas trench. | you are my heaven by SS501. | your guardian angel by red jumpsuit apparatus. | just the way you are by bruno mars. | dreaming of you by selena. 

[suiventurings]

iii. a huntress returns

Busting the door wide open with her heel, a tall and slender brunette rushed into the foyer of the rather expensive house Drina Magdalena had recently manifested on the outskirts of Grove City, Pennsylvania. Ah, how entirely characteristic of Drina to stop by a city known for its premium outlet mall. Had this meeting been arranged under different circumstances, perhaps Theresa would have considered going shopping with the woman. (Alas, such an outing would be really unlikely now that Drina had made it plain that she was no ally of Tessa Gray.) Moments upon entering the decorative house, the shapeshifter sauntered through the halls in search of the redhead. She had made her way across the kitchen and into an empty but of course spacious dining room when the deafening sound of a gunshot resounded through the whole of the building. With a singular, perfect chestnut brow raised, Tessa made her way up a spiraling staircase, her fingers waltzing on its banister. 

It appeared someone else shared in her new dislike of the immortal bitch. 

In the silence that followed the gunshot, Tessa traveled up toward the source of the violence. Although, a second after she set foot on the carpeted second floor, a hushed conversation within her earshot sprung forth. From the end of the hall was a feminine voice unlike Drina's. Despite being veiled by the cream doors that doubtlessly led to a master bedroom, the voice held a rigidity Tessa was much too familiar with. For within the smooth voice that Tessa would be accurate to guess sent ripples down men's spines was a masked distrust and inherent fear of the world and its inhabitants. Such was the fear Tessa clung onto, even before the death of William her beloved. It was a fear known only to some of Earth's (or Hell's) children: the fear of an orphan. 

"How dare you." The letters did not bounce off the woman's mouth pleasantly as one would expect it to. Tessa closed her eyes as she stood by the bedroom doors, observing in her imagination how they whirled about the airy bedroom, only to fall flat upon the floorboards. In spite of this woman's voice being distinctly set apart from Drina's, Theresa was inclined to believe that there was a ghost of Drina's uniquely European accent hidden in the stranger's nearly perfect Miami tone. A smile played at her lips as she remarked on how she was not the only mistress of change. 

The laugh that abandoned Drina's throat in the following moment was weak. There was the sound of sheets crinkling and the aggravated huffs of a woman attempting to sit up. Her eyes remaining closed, Tessa envisioned the crimson blood that was identical to the rouge of Drina's lush lips. Was she shot in the shoulder? The stomach, maybe? Either way, it was unwise to laugh in the face of an already violent adversary. Of course, Drina was not partial to behaving in the conduct of a wise woman. She was, however, self-serving. Tessa had learned long ago of Drina's desperation to cling onto the youthful, careless life she lived. She also learned of Drina's enormous pride. Just how difficult was it to swallow such an inner demon as that when one was threatened so blatantly?

"How dare I what," she spat. 

Pressing her ear against the wooden door, Tessa's light, smoky eyes widened. Whoever Drina's enemy was clearly held just as little patience as Drina herself. She cocked her gun once more. Her captive inhaled sharply. "Eva," she murmured. Tessa stepped an inch away from the doors. Eva. The name was familiar, yet sparked no direct memory of any past acquaintance or drunken anecdote Drina has shared with her. "Eva, you don't understand, I was --"

"You would do yourself a service by keeping quiet," this Eva spoke with a sudden solemnity that made Tessa's stomach clench. It was the solemnity that one possesses after making a permanent decision. A decision like taking a life away. So quickly Eva's choice had been made, thus it would not be an incorrect estimate that Eva was not a stranger to murder or violence in the least. She could very well be one of Death's many advocates. "Obviously, you have no desire to admit to yet another one of your despicable acts." 

"What are you going to do, little bird?" A lilting melody seeped out from the injured immortal. Eva was silent, perhaps having stilled. "Shoot me? You know I'll only heal." Drina was going too far, even Tessa was aware of this. Pursing her lips, she turned the brass knob. Both women whipped their heads in the realization that they were not alone. Thirty-four seconds passed. 

"Would you mind if I shared in this fun? I, too, require answers from her," Tessa said with a smile as she gestured toward the pathetic redhead who was clutching her abdomen. Drina snarled in response. Standing at the foot of the queen sized, silk-clad mattress was a raven-haired female who had squared her shoulders at Tessa's interruption. Freckled nose wrinkling, the orphan grinned. 

"No," she spoke softly. "I don't think I would mind at all." 

-

The bus screeched to a stop all due to a distracted driver who smelled vaguely of cigars and marijuana. There were but two passengers, and the old man with a gray beard that set off the cocoa shade of his complexion lifted his green grocery bags. The hooded passenger at the vehicle's rear watched as he clapped a hand on the driver's shoulder. The old man stepped off the bus and began to walk. Slowly, the bus drove past him and then his figure was swallowed in snowy darkness. 

"Hey you," the driver called out to the remaining passenger gruffly. "That was my last stop. Thinking about getting off any time soon?" Under his breath, he muttered something about his 'crazy wife'. Amber eyes narrowed underneath the stained navy hood. Jamming their hands into jean pockets that were slightly too small for their taste, they ambled to the front of the bus. 

"I'll get off now," the stranger spoke. The driver met her gaze and exhaled through his large nostrils. Scowling, he stopped at the next intersection. "Thanks," they murmured before exiting. The man ignored her and drove on. 

Jo Harvelle stood at the street corner, her hood falling away at the winter breeze. She did not shiver as she surveyed the bus disappearing into the distance. Then, she wheeled around and headed to the address scrawled on her bruised palm. Underneath the dim streetlamps she walked past, the wheat color of her hair was illuminated along with the matted blood that hung to each strand. Eleven minutes after leaving the bus stop, she arrived at her destination. Unused to so much movement, she slumped against a cold brick wall next to a staircase, which likely served as the fire exit, attached to the apartment building where her friend resided. She heaved a sigh, and her eyelids fluttered as the sigh furled up into the winter air. A minute passed before she started up the stairs, her feet fumbling through the snow. 

There had not been so much snow when she escaped. The necromancer did warn her of the coming snowfall. But it had been so chaotic that Joanna did not think before grabbing a handful of clothes lay out on the bed. She changed in the all too extensive closet, careful not to make a sound. The girl had also told her exactly who lived in the house. In her opinion, there were far too many vampires in the strange and unsettling club that gathered at the house she woke in. She offered Jo a coat, but she refused. The last thing the girl did hand her was a rolled up piece of paper full of money, names and other such details. She would have made a good hunter. If not for the whole necromancer thing. 

They hid her until it was well after supper (which apparently resulted in several unconscious victims). Chloe -- the girl -- pushed the window open and coached Jo as she climbed down the oak tree covered in icicles. 'Please tell my friends I'm okay,' she begged her harshly. Jo had strained to hear her before the window closed and she landed in a blanket of snow. The supernatural freaks all seemed to be inside and noticed nothing so far. So without looking back, Joanna Harvelle raced off to the nearest bus stop. She heard the scream as she and eleven other passengers boarded the vehicle. Though after she took her seat and looked out at the brilliant violet in the night sky, she could have sworn it was her imagination. 

Picking up an empty flowerpot at the small balcony of one of the apartments, she broke through a window framed with frozen Christmas lights. She did not wince at how the shards of glass sprinkled uncomfortably against her pale, numb flesh. Twenty-five seconds later, a light was turned on in what appeared to be a kitchen, and a tall young man stumbled toward the balcony. Immediately, he recognized the intruder and lowered his gun. 

"Jo," the boy said, the tattered name expelling itself from his mouth as he stared at the unfortunate looking woman with both disbelief and horror. 

"Haneul," she answered before she collapsed. 

[suiventurings]

the reunion

Perhaps lounging around for seven and a half hours on his bed was not the wisest or most beneficial daily activity. After all, it made sneaking into the kitchen for midnight snacks (or feasts) a far more difficult task than necessary. Clearly, Razalude needed to exert more physical energy -- there was nothing lacking in his exertion of mental energy, of course. He wasn't completely lacking in exercise, but it was becoming increasingly evident that he needed to spend more time reading and walking rather than reading and laying. The latter was not effective, he concluded within a matter of days -- nineteen days, in fact. 

So it happened to be on the twentieth day of his being restricted from traveling the deserts with Philomel that he stumbled upon the visitor. In reality, he was not shocked in the least. His mother, who now made sure to spend a few hours conversing with her only son each day, had previously confided in him of there being an apparent need for his father Magellan to meet and speak with one of the Eucalystias. It was something in relation with transportation or military. Maybe it was trade? Razalude was not apathetic about such ordeals, but admittedly, it had been some time since he was permitted to help his father with administration. He could count the weeks on his fingers - seven, a longer period of time than his current restriction. Alas, there was no surprise in Razalude's countenance in seeing his cousin Jeile.

Truthfully, Razalude thought little of his cousin -- except when he wanted to be particularly negative on an already horrid day (those days resulted in his forgetting when to eat). Was Jeile even really his cousin? They were connected only through the marriage of the Queen and King; nothing more and nothing less. Though Razalude did not treat Jeile with much kindness (if at all), he usually did his best to avoid the other male with caution unless it was absolutely necessary to speak with him. And after the events that unfolded quite haphazardly within the last few months, Razalude had made certain to disappear at the mere mention of Jeile's (or that bastard Lei's) name. Indirectly or otherwise, they were part of the reason he was forbidden to leave the Zerothuhia home. Really, it was Raz's own fault that he was stuck looking out the window toward the constellations instead of swimming in the skies with them, riding upon his beloved xintahn. He should have had no reason to blame Jeile. 

Yet, the monster in his ribcage did. 

Fortunately for -- well, all of them -- Razalude had long since learned to tame the beast. (Of course, there were several occasions during which he let the thing loose but that's how he ended up in this mess, right?) Still, the animal was growing restless and lusted for some morsel of vengeance -- of satisfaction. Razalude, it murmured, you have bit your tongue too long. It was curious, then, that Jeile would visit on the twentieth day of his punishment; the beast howling from hunger pains and Razalude the boy finding himself stumbling about in his mind aching for freedom. 

-

Today, he leaped out of his bed to escape the terrible cycle he had created for himself. He was halfway down the hall (missing his silk, sunset bedsheets) when he halted at the sound of Elizabeth's voice tightening, and at the mention of his own name, too! Razalude lifted a fine eyebrow, turning a fraction to face the direction of the voice, which seemed to come from behind the pillar he was closest to. He swallowed and winced as he remembered suddenly how his throat was becoming sore, not moving for a moment before approaching the voices silently. 

"Razalude is quite fine, thank you," Elizabeth was saying. He could hear the smooth lie in her voice, and Razalude was uncertain as to whether whoever she was speaking to could as well --

Who was she speaking to? 

Did she mention them before? Razalude could not recall anything but the wretched sound of 'Eucalystia' hanging in the air of his bedroom several nights ago. Was he even aware of how many nights ago that had been? Was it four? Eight? Razalude scowled. Ten days left and he was free. Hopefully, his sanity would come racing back to embrace him. As he mulled over the likelihood of returning to lucidity, his father spoke and jarred him from his reverie. Placing his left hand on the pillar, he slowly poked his head out from behind the pillar. The stone underneath his fingertips was cool, and he exhaled as he recognized Jeile. His fingers curled into a warm fist.