#mulciber1

[julietbenci]

“Follow me to the greenhouses.”

@mulcibers​

[romieblack]

“I can’t tell you why Sunday’s mash is better than other days, but double up on that and skip the pasties.” She slid closer to her housemate, taking a bite of the dinner roll she held. “Good evening, there.”

@mulcibers​

[evamerriweather]

Ghost Stories | Mulciber & Eva

She knew she needed this. Some time. A getaway. Her mother. The month, as it progressed, seemed only to get worse and worse. Eva Merriweather found herself constantly in a mood. She couldn’t break out of the sour thoughts and the stress was taking a toll on her body. All the self-medicating with booze and cigarettes, lately a spliff to help her sleep, a trick learned from Pedro, bartender at one of the hole-in-the-wall pubs she frequented-- her body yearned for a detox of sorts. She was thin, her face and hands especially reflecting her weight loss. It was subtle, of course. No one who saw her every day truly noticed. She could see it, and she knew her mum would. Looking in the mirror, seeing new shadows from where her cheeks seemed a slight bit more prominent, where her jaw jut just a little more than normally. Only, she couldn’t seem to break herself of any of these habits. Besides, weight loss wasn’t a bad thing. It was a side effect she didn’t mind. The real goal, and what was accomplished through her bender of alcohol and substances, was to forget about it all.

It was funny how she could wipe away the loneliness, rid herself of the memories of her sister, forget about all the mistakes she’d made. Alcohol was amazing like that. Sleep was dreamless when she passed out after several drinks too many. It was preferable.

Her mother insisted on reaching out to her: calling daily; leaving message after message; asking, asking, asking. And eventually, she got through. Something had to give and it did. Nearly letting Mabel out of the house after drunkenly forgetting to close the door one evening when she got home, Eva realized she was only harming those around her. She’d been uncommunicative to her friends, to everyone who thought about her. It wasn’t doing anyone any good, not even herself. She left a scrawled note left on the kitchen table for Donovan to explain her whereabouts and inform him she’d be back after a week, paid a phone call to her mum, and made a quick visit to the Ministry of Magic to request the time off for personal reasons. Getting approval, of course, was difficult. It required a long conversation, a bit of shouting, and some tears that she was, admittedly, ashamed of. But she needed it. Her mind needed it, her body.

She hated using apparation or floo to get to her mum’s home. Magic seemed superfluous and unnecessary. There was something calming about waiting in queue for a ticket, boarding the underground, and watching all the people. Doing things the Muggle way was ingrained in her brain from having come from a non-magic family.

And so, on foot, Eva started towards the station. A chill was in the air, and she regretted not bringing her heavier wool cloak. The weather was relentless, paving the way for winter as the leaves turned brown from their vibrant oranges and reds. She stared up at the sky, grey and blustering. Was it to rain that day? Probably. Her bony hands came to the scarf wrapped around her neck, pulling it further up and shielding her lips, chapped white and lined red from the pre-travel glass of cabernet, from a particularly violent wind. “Oh, shite,” she mumbled, the strap of her purse sliding down her arm and spilling some of its contents. She bent at the pavement to pick it up, watching feet pass her by. A tube of lipstick, a pen, several muggle coins, and a few nips of booze scattered around her, threatening to be taken away in the hustle and bustle of it all. She worked as quickly as she could, hoping the time spent retrieving her things wouldn’t cause her to miss the 4:45 tube towards Bethnal Green.

[lucas-and-clark]

Badger in the Dungeons || Luke & Mulciber

Lucas rolled his eyes at the Slytherin he'd had the misfortune of running into. "Look it's really not a hard concept. There were people a lot like you at Salem too. You think blood lines make you special, and give you the right to look down on other people." Luke paused, only then noticing he had begun to pace the width of the corridor. His fingers playing with the hem of his sleeves. "They thought they were better than everyone because they were related to those in the witch trials." Luke stopped abruptly, fingers loosing their grip on the sleeves of his sweater. His eyes connected with the cold, hard eyes of Nicholas Mulciber. "Thing with both of you is that you don't get it. None of you are better than any of the rest of us." He straightened his posture, holding his head higher. His eyes holding a strong look of conviction. "In fact, you're worse than what you accuse us of being. All because of the way you all act about it."