#quod-quartus

[inviciousx]

so @quod-quartus (aka @thornvale ) sent me one of three prints of the Ghost art she did all the way from the UK to my little corner of America; she owns one, I own one (omg), and Tobias owns one 😭🖤

dude, it has been such a joy and privilege to get to know you, your art, and your writing these past few months. thank you so much for helping me grow and push myself in my personal endeavors and writing and I cannot wait for what happens next

[justanothernamelessghoul]

Confessions.

@quod-quartus

Brother Justin Hale had been a member of the church for a few years now, and was one of the more devoted Brothers of the faith, to say the least. Having come from a very bad place, he owed everything he had in life now to the church. In the aftermath of the loss of a handful of Ghouls, Papa III’s little pack to be more specific, the Brother had been asked to replace them, as well as a few the other Clergymen he was friends with; even one of the Sisters of Sin was asked the same thing. She became a beautiful Water Ghoul, while the other’s became Earth, Air, and Aether. That left him; the Fire Ghoul.

Ever since his transition, he has struggled profusely with his faith, and questioned if he had made the right decision for himself, and for the church. Many sleepless night passed as his horns pushed through his skull, and he cut himself on razor sharp claws, and fangs. When his powers set in, he was unable to control himself, and burned dozens of robes, and even a few rugs and tapestries hung within the abbey. Anger burned within him unlike anything he had ever felt before in his life, and he did not know what to do with it. He thought about running away, as the others before him had done. He thought about leaving the only real home he had known for so many years.

Deciding that he ought to go to a confessional before he made up his mind about anything, the Ghoul, Blaze as he had been nicknamed by his brother Ghouls, slid himself into the little booth and murmured a soft prayer to himself as a shaking hand clasped for his grucifix. He heard a low voice next to him ask what he was here to confess, and he swallowed hard, closing his eyes as he spoke.

“I confess to being lost in my faith. I no longer know what my purpose within the church is. I am more trouble than I am worth to those around me. And... I have considered for days now, if I should leave the church entirely or not. I cannot change my, ah... circumstances, that have brought me here. But I can protect anyone else from being hurt if I leave now.”

[stregasbookofshadows]

The Cardinal would turn up at Strega's door with an extravagant bouquet of black and purple roses in his hands. He looked nervous, fingers anxiously shifting on the stems after knocking. When the door opened, he attempted a small smile. "Sorry it is late," he said quickly, with an apologetic look. "I have been so distracted, I had my days mixed up. Uh ... Happy late Valentine's?"

Strega wasn’t sure what she loved more - the flowers or the awkward man holding them. “Oh, tesoro,” she sighed, smiling fondly at him. “It’s quite all right. I’m a terrible girlfriend who didn’t even get you a card.” She ushered him into the Rose Suite, gently divesting him of his sweet-smelling burden, and pulled him close. The ring he had given her glowed softly in the light of the room as her hands came up to rest upon his shoulders. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my love.”

[unholymothermemoriam]

[cont from here] @quod-quartus

Strained whispered danced upon the wind and scattered rain fall, the gloom of the skies overcast looming forth, daring with the threat of further destruction and terrors. The scene itself a perfect depiction of agony, of loss, the stubbornness of man going against that which often frailty fell victim to, whether disease or humanity's own destructive nature which took it down many times before. Everything was still and moving so fast all at once.

A clatter and flutter of old parchment made it's way to the floor, startling both clergy men and women alike in the rehearsal hall, glances over to the Unholy Mother as she stood stock still, having been leading them through the chorus just seconds ago. When Copia was set off on duties that were far from the Church, Memoriam would take on extra tasks to compensate along with the help of various Clergy members, usually the ghouls who sat in and played along on assorted instruments or to provide a beat. She did not mind whether her partner hushed such a possibility, that she had no need to do so, but Memoriam's persistence only egged it on if only for the concern of her lover. He'd been doing so well thus far, monumentally so, that she in turn wanted to lighten the weight of such responsibility - what was a day or so? Not as if she didn't do the same out of concern when he would be gone days at a time for whatever reason, trying her best not to bombard him with questions, or even dig her nails into what plans he had set in his mind. They spoke between themselves questioning the abrupt nature of Memoriam, if they should do anything, up until she uttered a faint pardon before rushing out in a ghostly fashion, alarming the sister's with a cacophony of screeches. Something was wrong. Something was deeply, wrong. There was an up-kick of everything in her wake - from papers to robes to the very flowers of the Church gardens themselves, petals dancing on the stormy night's wind as she fled off. She could not hear those who called out to her in desperation, for explanation or otherwise she wouldn't listen to them. Her mind was hard set on what twinged at her heart so, praying that it would be nothing but a false scare. She often didn't travel by such means either, often keeping what unholy abilities she had a secret lest needed for important means, anything that could be considered a hazard to her or to that of the Church which she resided. Which in some cases...protected. Her body dashed this way and that, dissipating and reappearing from each location in search of the distress that invaded her very being. A might careless...but when her heart spoke true to her feelings, Memoriam was not one to take it lightly. She searched and searched and searched, hearing the weakened cries of an all too familiar voice, which only sped up her heart's palpitations and the oncoming dread in her thoughts. That was what gave her the ping that she needed even as she cursed the lengthy time it took to reach it, but late is better than not finding the point of origin at all. Late was better finding him, then left in confused anguish. Her form returned to it's complete state, looming over him like a curtain saving him from the morning sun, caring not how soaked she may have been or had gotten upon reaching his location. The sight of him left a deep pit in her stomach nearly ill, crouching down and gingerly slipping her arms beneath his body. Memoriam could feel the frantic shuddering of his body, hypothermia and other ailments on their way to grasp at him eagerly and hungrily.

"amore mio, sono qui ... va bene. Oh ... dobbiamo portarti fuori di qui. Quello che è successo??" Her words were soft, a brush of warmth against his ear making her best attempts to cradle him without hurting him, inspecting his body. She just needed to get him warm. "Are you hurt? What..." Don't shower him with a barrage of questions right now! Lest you wish your love to expire in this very spot, you best keep your wits about you! Her brow furrowed a bit. That voice...but then she heard off in the distance a scattered array of people - a fair sum from what she gathered with how they yelled and sounded as though they were on their own search. Probably for Copia...anyone else that may have been with him as well. A low resounding growl rumbled in her chest, brushing her fingers over Copia's dirtied face, kissing it gently. Whoever they were, if they managed to find the two...Memoriam would not hesitate in disemboweling them herself for what they had done. Considering too that a low voice seemed to be agreeing with such a notion.

[lanottedellastrega]

Strega’s marques, as rendered by @cultivatedgrounds. Thank you, dear!

[stregasbookofshadows]

The next morning...

Strega woke with sore muscles. The combination of sharing a bed not intended for multiple occupants and not wanting to disturb Copia once her obviously-exhausted lover had fallen asleep upon her breast meant she had held far more still than she ordinarily would.

It was a price she would have paid a thousandfold if asked.

Looking at the clock on her nightstand, she sighed heavily. She’d let him sleep as long as she dared, but people would be looking for the Cardinal soon, and finding him in her room would be suboptimal on multiple levels. Particularly in light of precisely who might be looking for him.

She brushed his hair out of the way and kissed him on the forehead. “I’m sorry, tesoro,” she murmured, “but we have to get up now.” Once his eyes were open, she tilted his chin up with a fingertip and kissed him softly, then wriggled her way out from beneath him and began rummaging through her bureau for clean clothes.

“Back at the Conservatory, whenever someone was spotted spending the night in someone else’s dorm room we would all gather around the door the next morning and applaud when they finally emerged.” She chuckled, somewhat bitterly, as she pulled on her panties. “Somehow, I don’t think good-natured ribbing is in store for us today.”

Crossing over to the closet, she peeled out of her nightgown and hung it on a hook inside the door, then grabbed a dove-gray dress and dropped it on the foot of the bed while she climbed into her bra. Thus fortified, she pulled the dress over her head and sat back down next to Copia.

“Are you likely to have time to see me before rehearsal tonight?” she asked. “Because I need to bring you up to speed on a few things. Nothing bad,” she hurriedly clarified, seeing his raised eyebrows. “Potentially really helpful.”

[stregasbookofshadows]

It was another stormy night. Strega would enter her chambers to find the dark figure of the Cardinal illuminated by moonlit storm clouds outside of the window. He handled a black rose between his fingers, watching her intently as she entered, and he slowly offered it forwards. “For you, songbird. It is a rose enchanted to bloom only in adversity.” The Cardinal eyed her, a tilt to his lips. “I think that the most beautiful ones do.”

His silhouette was instantly recognizable as she walked through the door. There were candles lit on the vanity, the flames reflecting in the mirror, and she left the lights off. She was learning to love the storms again.

Strega took his hand with the rose still in it and closed the distance between them. “Ah, Maestro,” she sighed, as his free arm wrapped around her waist. “Thank you. There is a very important difference between this rose and myself, however.”

She set the rose down on the table and wrapped her arms around her lover’s neck. “You’ve enchanted me, as well, of that there is no doubt,” she purred. “But for you, I shall open at the slightest touch...”

[inviciousx]

The Cardinal batted at the hat, forcing it to flop back down onto Caroline’s lap.

     “Keep it. I have, like, fucking … five-thousand of them,” the man slurred dismissively. Now that he was in the fresh air with the grounding sensation of cool mist on his face, he was forced to blink several times to refocus his vision, realising suddenly just how much wine he had consumed down there in the pounding atmosphere of the party. Now that he had been pulled out of it, the ground suddenly felt a lot more uneven, and it was becoming harder to translate himself properly into English. He moved to lean on the grave beside Caroline’s, finger scratching idly at the illegible name carved into it. He wondered briefly if the spirits of the occupants below were watching them, tutting and shaking their heads, and he snorted a little with laughter.

     “Maybe I was lying,” the man offered suddenly, something playful about his tone. Whether that was a good sign or not remained to be seen. “Pulling your tail. Or leg. I can’t remember which it is. Maybe I do want to kiss you, at least to only … to show what you’re missing. I am easily the very best. The rest of the Clergy are rigid as corpses, just, ehm … not rigid in the right places, you know? Rigid as rigor … rigor mortis and limp as wet spaghetti.” Amused by his own comparisons, the Cardinal smirked groggily. “Besides, it’s better to let them think that we’re fucking. They’re more likely to leave you alone that way, you know? There are men three times your age talking about you like you’re Venus rising from her shell. It’ll be our little - oh, shit -”

     Having made to move closer, his shoes slipped on the wet grass and he lost his balance. He grabbed the grave on the way down and ended up landing on his ass, legs splayed either side of the gravestone and staring blankly at the worn words etched into it. His hands were still holding the sides of it, coated with moist moss, but he was too far gone to care about that. In that moment, the Cardinal likely appeared less like the leader of a global Satanic church and more like the sort that would stumble their way home after one too many drinks in the bar.

     Brief reprieves like this were in their own way a blessing. Though he could still feel the vibrations of the party below, he felt apart from it, from the people within, and like he could breathe. Leaning forwards until his forehead was resting against the grave, he sighed and stared down at the grass below, his mood shifting as easily as waves in a storm. The graveyard hid many skeletons of those who had wronged the church. The chance of he himself having a grave up here, lonely and uncared for, was higher than he cared to think. An unwelcome intrusive thought.

     Copia then grunted and moved to lay there on his back. The world swam around him sickeningly for a moment before steadying itself, and he could see the dull colour of the sky above with better clarity.

     “Have you ever seen a dog dance?” He piped up suddenly, moving an arm beneath his head to rest on it. “They don’t tend to do it very well at all. You are a good dancer,” the man commended thoughtfully, then added in a teasing tone, smirking stupidly towards the heavens, “I suppose people are more than how they appear.”

The black hat fell back onto her legs lamely. Caroline glared at it, feeling she’d been insulted in some underhanded way, as if she’d stolen something he’d never cared about to begin with, making the whole exercise fruitless. She tossed it into the grass carelessly to continue being rained on, hoping the moisture and dirt ruined the fabric in case he ever asked for it back.

Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled over the tops of the trees, and the forest shuddered with a short blast of heavier rain before the storm settled back into a mist. Caroline ground her teeth as the quiet seconds passed, running her hands through her curls to push away the wet strands sticking to her cheeks. She anticipated rough handling again any second, hauling her up onto her feet and back into the catacombs. However, after a suspicious silence, she looked back at Copia. Her face pinched in brief confusion, wondering what on earth he was doing, just lingering, feeling the texture of a weathered headstone. Copia didn’t linger; he acted. The whole scene set her nerves on edge. Something was stirring in the stillness, but she didn’t move, fearing to set whatever it was out into the wild.

Caroline was already looking up at him when he spoke at last. She shook her head in bewilderment as the Cardinal mixed up his idioms, only to reel directly back into herself as he reached the point. The blank expression she ordinarily tried to project was obliterated by the bourbon that was keeping her warm in the night air. Her spine straightened like a steel pole and her skin singed with embarrassment. Caroline bit her lip, unable to find a word to object. Every next word he spoke to further his case on the matter of intimacy struck her as being more and more foreign. Whether Copia spoke in jest or in earnest was obscured by his thick Italian accent, though she couldn’t quite imagine a scenario in which he was doing either. Perhaps it was a test of some kind, meant to shock her into revealing the strength of her will or else testing the effect of his words, passing it off as a joke if she objected, but in success. . . Caroline stopped her mind right there. He had a stock-room full of willing partners inside, so surely he couldn’t be serious. Her mouth twisted a bit, wondering if any sincerity he had was something of a conquest, a desire to assert the power he’d wrangled over her, as if it weren’t obvious enough. All the possibilities mixed poorly with the alcohol, yet she suddenly wanted a lot more. 

Caroline opened her mouth and formed the beginning of an unknown question in the break of his soliloquy, but only managed to get the first syllable out before he pushed on. The next sentence shattered any semblance of composure she had maintained. Heat brushed up the nape of her neck. In blunt-force shock, she she raised her hands and looked around as if there was someone around to explain what he was on about. Caroline adjusted herself to face him more completely, wearing an expression that begged any kind of explanation for his suggestions. 

The tension was reaching the threshold of her limits. She leaned back upon seeing him start to round on her, suddenly realizing she might not be ready for the answers she’d just been considering. She froze to the spot, about as useless as the bones a few feet below her. Seconds passed before she registered he’d hit the ground, as if watching him in a dreamShe stared at him blankly, suddenly registering the full extent of their mutual intoxication. 

Caroline clapped her hand over her lips and exploded into a fit of laughter as the pressure in her chest released like a spring. She clutched her sides, lost in hysterics until she couldn’t keep her eyes open and tears rolled down her face. She rolled onto her back, kicking her legs up in the air and trying to clamp sniggers between her lips, but, upon looking at him again, still straddling a tombstone, she burst into a fit of giggles that took her breath away. Her abdomen ached from it, but it was all she could do to keep breathing. She covered her face with both hands, chuckling as the rain soaked through the back of her shirt. 

With a few final giggles, she rested her hands on her stomach, rolling her head over to look at the state of the man with perhaps the first genuine smile he’d ever seen, even if it was as his expense. He owed her that at least, she thought. After painting a rather vivid picture of his mastery of the human body, karma seemed to have picked up the slack she couldn’t. She made herself comfortable against the white marble below, closing her eyes, completely at the mercy of the storm. The earth seemed to rock gently under her, the air undulating with energy, a pleasant cradle to lay down arms in. The thought of lying next to Copia over the bodies of the dead did not cross her mind. 

It seemed she would have a few moments to continue decompressing, imagining her body was resting on the slopes of the Montana mountains, but Copia’s voice made her eyes blink open and back to reality. 

Her expression buckled into confusion again as her slowed reasoning connected the dots.

“Excuse me. . .” she said immediately, rolling over onto her side to see him. “Are you being. . . nice?” she finished, her voice rising. “Cause it’s great. Don’t get me wrong. But, uh. . . it rings a little hollow after you just suggested we pretend to     or actually     you know.” 

She regarded him with suspicion that bordered on humor, navigating herself out of the effect of acknowledging anything he’d just said. The makeup on his face was beginning to run in the downpour. Caroline bit the inside of her cheek, the questions beginning to flow again. She shook her head and laid back down, exhaling slowly in an effort to suffocate the slight electricity running through her muscles and navigated the stream of wet hair out from behind her back. Her clothes were beginning to truly cling to her skin with every passing minute, and while she relished the storm, it was a wonder Copia felt the same, even hammered.

“Anyway     “ she began again, a bit shrilly, wiping the rain off her face. At a momentary loss for words, she stuttered a chuckle out. “Uh, you know we, uh, tried that a few weeks ago. You got into it, then bragged about the amount of ass you pull, then you said I ‘ruined the mood,’ and I broke your arm, which, I mean, I’m outta practice, but I don’t think that’s how it works. . . Oh, then your actual fuck buddies stuck me with knives a few thousand times. So. . .” She clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth twice. “Not what I’d call foreplay.”

Caroline began circling her pointer finger in circles over the slick marble. It felt like ice. The muscles in her temples flexed in response to the situation. As she ventured further from the shock of his statements, some truths started to emerge. If people wanted bragging rights from her, it explained the odd behavior she’d seen since she’d been released from her cell. She wet her lips slowly, and sat up. The feeling of being so open suddenly felt unbearable. It was as if these people were inventing new ways to take her dignity.

Caroline leaned onto her bent knees, looking over at him with a small expression. She studied him silently. “Are you messing with me or not?” she asked quietly. She hushed again, swallowing a tremor. “Cause I was just    “ Caroline forced herself to laugh, but it was hollow, “messing with you inside. I wasn’t trying to like    lead you on, or, fuck. . . I don’t know. It was    “ She shook her head in lieu of anything audible, rubbing her arms. “nothing. So if this is your way of getting me back: haha, good job, but. . . drop it.”

@quod-quartus