#mercuralia.

[atticusbriggs]

Person: @dionbaudelaire​ Location: The Lab There was no way in hell he was back here and yet this was hell. It’d been hell for years and yet it wasn’t his hell, not the place back in Lafayette. But it’s pretty damn close, a lab was a lab and he’d been on the outskirts of the festival, had felt violently nauseous. That shouldn’t even be a thing he could feel anymore surely, that was supposed to be a positive wasn’t it? That he couldn’t get sick anymore? He’d fallen to the ground and he’d stood up only to be here and Atticus doesn’t think he should be capable of having a panic attack either. Not when he doesn’t have to breathe anymore and yet he’d crowded himself on the floor, back against a door as he desperately tried to fill lungs that didn’t even work anymore. Except it feels somewhat labored almost, like he kind of needs the air and it’s not real, it’s not real it’s a nightmare, it has to be. His palms find his eyes and beyond all the fear, there’s that ever present tinge of anger. Ephraim had said he wouldn’t go back here, that he was safe now and he’d fucking believed him. He’d fucking believed that the man that had once been his captor, had thought that everything was really alright. There’s a loud noise behind him, something behind the door and he knows immediately it’s the sound of someone throwing their weight against it. Except the weight sounds far too heavy to be human and so he’s scrambling to his feet, boots clacking on the tile as he moves down the hall. The hall that doesn’t seem to be getting any shorter as he moves and there’s more clanging, clambering for whatever is caged crying to be let out. It echoes down the sterile passage and he finds himself still panicking. Feet slow to a halt and then he falls to his knees and tries to just take a second to again remind himself there’s no way this is fucking happening and he’s not sure how long he stays there just willing for everything to stop until a voice cuts through it. Looking up he’s met with the sight of the other vampire, the one from the bar a couple weeks back, Dion, the one who’d been nice to him. “It’s magic innit? It’s not real, please tell me this isn’t real.” It sounds so desperate to his own ears that if he weren’t actively losing his damn mind he might be embarrassed.

[farenduil]

Person: @wardernirvaan​ Location: Castle “She’s not with you, is she?” It’s not something to be asking upon finally seeing someone else who wasn’t one of those creature’s that’d plagued the Palace of Pluto on Halloween. The undead that were wandering a castle that was his mother’s and yet not quite but he practically collides with Nirvaan in the hall. It would be like him to be going through yet another horrible time and be doing his mental checklist of people he’s afraid for. Granted, up until right then and there he’d thought maybe it was just him in whatever fresh hell Rome had decided to conjure. “Aurora?” To find her warder meant she had to be close behind. Nirvaan looks just as distressed as he does but otherwise unharmed for the moment. “I thought it might just be me and those things, I haven’t seen anyone yet.”

[aegnorx]

where. hedge maze who. @inquisitcr​

There had been no particular reason that Aegnor had found himself within the winding paths of the hedge maze, if only so that he may have a few moments of peace from the going ons of the festival. He knew Cloud, this new warder of his would not be far, likely was only one row away from him even know, but the moment alone did enough to clear the haze from his thoughts. Memories still warred within his head, though almost muted, far beyond the memories that had been returned to him. Those of his mother, and his brother, and the many fey that he had been meant to rule. It were these thoughts and memories that Aegnor was fixated upon when he chanced upon one of the very drow that he had been working to avoid. At least, until a plan had been more properly formed. “Somniar, I didn’t take you as capable of getting lost within a maze.”

[rowanivar]

Person: @emmawrxght​ Location: Woven booth “You’re not planning on replacing all my string lights with yarn, are you?” Coming up behind her and all too casually wrapping an arm around her, Rowan poses the question before pressing a kiss to the side of her face. It’s gentle, it’s easy, because his ass is on time for once, he’d scurried out of the tent and left things to Konstantin just when he said he would. Because he’s trying to be better, it’s a goddamn miracle that the three of them are all back together, it feels like he can breathe for the first time in months. There’s still the whole magic thing he’s desperately trying to figure out, but that’s something irrelevant to the moment. “You know, you’re the most beautiful woman here.” He says it low but casual, because he’s right. Emma never looked bad, especially at one of these things, but there’s something extra special about seeing her get the chance to dress up again after everything. 

[aegnorx]

where. among the booths who. @fennharel​

Attendance at the Mercuralia festival would not likely been Aegnor’s greatest idea, for bits of his mind still warred with the memories of his life raised within the Underdark. Though he had sworn to do what was right, to seek atonement for the unjust he had caused, his actions may have been propelled forward at too quick a pace. He could sense the lingering presence of shadows, of the drow that he once aligned himself with, of the drow that he had once fought for. He had not seen any of them since before his capture, since before his memories had been restored to him. And to say that he was on edge would be quite the understatement, but Aegnor ensured to not allow that to be seen. Even as he chanced upon one of those faces that had sparked within returned memories. “Fen'harel,” the name was spoken softly, as if it were only a greeting. “I had heard the rumors, but I wasn’t sure if I had wanted to believe them.”

[xliilith]

where. outside the gambling extravaganza who. @evethefirst​

There had always been significant differences between the first wife and the first mother, from the very fact that Lilith had chosen not to bow to Adam, and the unfortunate circumstances that had forced Eve to. It had not just been the once that Lilith had extended her hand to Eve, for she had never let go, had never strayed too far so as not to be able to lend her powers to the other if she ever so needed it. Even now, Lilith had found Eve within the mix of attendees to the festival, “Are you going to try your luck, darling?”

[xliilith]

where. out and about who. @hayliel​

A Seraphim was a Seraphim was a Seraphim in Lilith’s eyes. It had never mattered to her which one had dealt the final blow, which one had driven their blade into her being and sent her into the aether. They had all deserved to feel the wrath of her revenge, and this little one would be no different. Perhaps she would offer him up on a silver platter to his brethren, watch as they dealt him the final blow to send him to... well, wherever it was that their kind went to. Or perhaps she would find a way to do it herself. “Who knew a creature could fall so low,” she stated as she advanced upon him, amusement reflected upon her features.

[farenduil]

Person: @wintersaurora​ Location: Outskirts of the festival The thing is he usually really likes whatever festival Rome has to offer and so with Mercuralia being celebrated, he’d at least tried to get out of the cabin, out of the forest. Farenduil knew he couldn’t just stay there forever, he knew there were people who needed him, and yet he tried his best to take it as easy as possible on himself. He’d tuck into a booth here or there, grab a drink and then sit back and observe. It was easy enough, it wasn’t too unlike him. At least it was easy enough until he noticed a certain someone also seeking out the refuge of the outskirts of the festival, no doubt wanting some reprieve from the crowd. The worst part is that his first thought isn’t any sort of bitterness, it’s to notice how despite everything, she looks good and he’s kicking himself for it. He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t even know if she sees him, not a first. But they do meet eyes and against his better judgement, the hand that’s not already holding a cigarette fishes his pack from the back pocket of his jeans. He’s not a prince here, he’s wearing a shirt Vinny thought was funny what feels like ages ago, a pair of Levi’s that are faded at the knees. It’s without speaking that he holds the pack out to her and any deity knows he doesn’t want to talk to her, not really, not after last time, but they’re connected through Mery, whatever is going on at court. Civility is somewhat necessary and he hates how easy it is to give into it.