#rrp:openstarter

[hadrianmordecai-blog]

Devil’s in the Details | O

Hadrian had left Amory with Eva and her devilish devices to roam freely throughout the Festival. If he had it his way, they’d be hauled up in their room with a Do Not Disturb on the door instead, but alas, appearances must be kept and the devil was in the details. It wasn’t that he was an innately peaceful man. Given what he was, violence and destruction had been his middle name for a long time, but they had a life here. A life that took centuries to build and mould. A war wouldn’t stop or hinder it, but it would certainly be a nuisance, which was exactly why Hadrian had been such an advocate for the Accords during their inception and why he was here still, maintaining those appearances. 

A gust of wind kicked the back of his fur lined coat against his legs as Hades tugged the lapels tighter. Of course, the Vampire couldn’t feel the wind, or the chill of the night, but a human would. A heavily tattooed hand dug around the inside breast pocket to find a cigar, 24k gold lighter and cutters. The leather cuff around that served as a finger grip was an old mahogany with a gold letter A embossed with delicate calligraphy into the thin material.

You could say many things about Atticus Altair, that he was the finest cigar merchant this side of the border was most definitely one of them. His opinion of the merchandise irrelevant to the fact that it was his son who does the buying for Amarillo Imports. 

A flicker, sizzle and a few pumps later and the tip flared to life. Eyes as clear as diamonds glanced out across the broad expanse of Roseville, taking in the sights of all that Floriade had to offer. The best way to maintain peace after a tragedy, was to remain open and receiving to communication... 

...Regardless of how little he gave a fuck.

[aureliusshepherd]

winter flowers || open

It wasn’t intentional, really, but it occurred to Aurelius, as his boots crunched down snow gone off-white and compressed by the passage of countless feet, that he hadn’t been downtown in months. There simply wasn’t much to draw his attention there. The few locations that were open past sundown weren’t exactly competition for staying home. But Floriade, well, the festival was probably the only time of year when Aurelius could be counted on to make an appearance downtown with at least reasonable consistency. After all, he couldn’t count on Hadrian’s promises of dragging him along behind him being nothing but empty threats. He knew his brother. He’d do it.

As he crossed the nebulous line into the festival proper, a delineation marked only by the increasing level of lights and intricate floral decorations, interspersed with banners and streamers and all things festive, Aurelius took in the scene before him with care. It wasn’t that Aurelius didn’t like the festival- it was undeniably beautiful, and in the Accords it commemorated a thing he supported, but it also came with an inherent implication that he was supposed to talk to people. Which was somewhat unfortunate. 

A child with a bright smile and a crown of flowers offered him a purple flower from the bunch cradled in his arms, and Aurelius smiled down at him, his vague displeasure at being prodded out of the house vanishing in favor of something gentle as he accepted the stem. He twirled it idly between his fingers for a moment, letting the deep purple petals blur, before looking back to the boy, “An anemone... thank you.” 

And he moved on, continuing to let the ebb and flow of peoples’ movements pull him further along the street as he diverted his attention to tucking the stem into the button hole in his coat’s lapel. He was just straightening the flower when a person appearing on the edge of his periphery had him stopping abruptly to avoid walking into them, gaze flicking up sharply from the flower. 

[talisanxnash-blog]

Talisan found lately that his mind was weighed down by his thoughts. The murders happening around town had him on edge, everyone seemed to be walking on eggshells around each other, even more so than usual these days. Another thought that plagued his mind was the fact that his best friend was currently missing and in all honesty, Talisan couldn’t help but wonder whether his friend was dead, though he hoped he wasn’t. He knew Brandyn was strong and smart, he could handle himself on his own, but the death of his wife hit him hard and he just left. He’d been gone for nearly a week and still Talisan hadn’t heard from him, not one word.

Talisan had been keeping himself busy, he needed to or else his thoughts would run away on his and he’d start things about the worst. So he kept himself busy by trying to focus on other things, doing longer work outs and what not, but his main thought was about Freyja and how he needed to protect her, now more than ever. With her mom dead and her father gone, he needed to step up even more so now.He considered her as a daughter, hell she was probably the closest thing he’d get to having a child. He made an oath to her and her father that he would protect her, even if it killed him doing so.

Talisan found himself out in the neutral part of Roseville. He just wanted to get away from things for a bit, have a drink at the brewhouse. He needed the distraction. He took a seat at the bar and ordered himself a whisky from the bartender. As he was waiting for his drink to arrive he noticed someone come up next to him and he glanced over at them. "Looks like we had the same thought." He smirked as he ran his fingers over the top of his glass. "I'm honestly surprised that not more people are here after what's been happening." He lifted the glass to his lips and took a long gulp of the whiskey. "I suppose everyone has their own coping mechanisms during things like this."

[shivonneglacier]

Street-Lit Pavements || Open

Stepping out of The Witches Brew (gods she loathed that cheesy name) Shivonne looked up at the moon, breathing out only to see it fog the air before her, and tightened the belt of her coat. She looked left, then right and crossed the road, the stiletto heels her calf-high leather boots clicking on the road with every step. She was on her way to the graveyard shift, no pun intended, and was half expecting the body of a wolf to end up on her table soon enough.

She’d need to fumigate the damn laboratory by the time she was done to get the smell of wet dog out but that was a bridge to be crossed when she reached it. She brought her takeaway mug to her lips (a quality reusable mug from her home, she wasn’t about to take that cardboard crap into her lab) and sighed as the first taste of pumpkin spice tea went down her throat. She’d kicked up enough fuss for the place to stock it year round just for her, as they should considering the stress of her work.

Stepping around the corner she made out a shadow half-way down the road and didn’t break her stride, merely flicked her hair back and deadpanned, “Unless you’re about to drop dead or organise a burial I’ll thank you not to take up the pavement like a parked plow truck.” Her crisp British accent only making the words more insulting.    

[arranmordecai]

All Along The Watchtower || Open

Location: The Manor Time: Evening Starter: Open to All

There must be some kind of way outta here Said the joker to the thief There's too much confusion I can't get no relief

No reason to get excited The thief he kindly spoke There are many here among us Who feel that life is but a joke But, uh, but you and I, we've been through that And this is not our fate So let us stop talkin' falsely now The hour's getting late, hey

All along the watchtower Princes kept the view While all the women came and went Barefoot servants, too Outside in the cold distance A wildcat did growl Two riders were approaching And the wind began to howl

Arran finished the song to a polite applause, The Manor was hardly the place to burst into wild applause, but holding the rapt attention of every patron in the dining area/bar was more than enough decoration of his skills. He sighed slightly and raised his head, looking out at the room and smiling easily, every charming. Things were as unstable as he’d ever seen them but performing was familiar, and he could do so freely here. Soon he’d be back out again, patrolling the Estate’s boundaries or perhaps even visiting whoever he felt he need to strengthen bonds with. His parents were pursuing peace and it seemed their all had an unseen enemy... or one who was willing to kill their own kind; both options were unsettling. 

He left the stage just as the head server beckoned him over and informed him he had a visitor at the bar. With an easy smile he thanked the woman and made his way to the bar, his fitted suit-trousers, blood-red shirt and black braces earning him several appreciative looks as he made the journey. 

Reaching the bar he inclined his head politely at the person waiting for him, “Well, I do love when people come to see me, but I suppose now’s hardly the time for an easy chat. Shall we have a drink before we get started?” Everything was so serious now, even the thrill of performing didn’t last as long. 

[christiancalvino-blog1]

Midnight Madness              OPEN

To Chris, it was a little ridiculous that he, a Sergeant, still ended up with the short straw for town cruising patrol. But with Dumornay’s murder, and no killer sleeping less-than-peacefully in their cells, everyone was a little on edge--even the Chief. And that meant all rungs of the ladder did their part and drug through the nightly patrol… no matter how terribly cranky they were in the morning, in Chris’ case.

He ran his hand over his face, fingertips catching on day-old stubble, and let out a noise of certain indignity as he reached for his thermos of coffee. Like the night before, and three nights before that, when he’d also been the “lucky winner of such a lucrative opportunity,” nothing was there to keep Chris company but the static of the police radio, the low hum of his actual radio advertising some sort of Floriade costume special, and liquid acid in the form of caffeine.

Chris brought the thermos to his lips and took a small sip--and too late realized his mistake. Forcing himself to swallow the cold drink instead of spit it all over his jacket, he pulled back the container and gave it a glare usually reserved for the lowest of scum.

“Traitor.” he hissed between clenched teeth, before shoving it back in the cup holder none-too-kindly.

As he looked up, a flicker of movement caught the man’s eye. Christian turned down his radio to see better and, when the figure came into view, turned off his idle engine and stepped out of the crew car with a huff and a frown.

                    “Come on. You know better than to skulk around at midnight.”

[arlynnxmercer-blog]

questions of purpose • OPEN

It felt like before. When the Accords were nonexistent and she was always waiting for the next casualty to be named. The gears turning in her head, turning the situation around again and again until she’d examined it from every possible angle. Every possible outcome. Reason. Cause. It was almost senseless. Malcolm had been a good man. A good witch. A good person. He didn’t deserve what had come to him. No one did. Not anymore. Peace. That’s what they were all striving for, wasn’t it? She wasn’t naive enough to think everyone did but enough people....enough that this shouldn’t have happened. 

The musings of her mind didn’t stop the aching of her heart, though she wished it did. When Shiv had told her and Dean what had transpired it was like someone took a sledgehammer to her chest. Shattered it. One of her own. Someone she should’ve protected. Someone she should’ve known wasn’t safe. She wanted to scream at her ancestors– to plea with them. To ask them why they’d given her such a gift if it did her no good in protecting the ones she loved and cared about. Why would they do that to her? It seemed that for all the good she foresaw, there was twice as much darkness she couldn’t foretell. 

Malcolm was gone and her people would look to her and her brother for guidance and Arlynn knew she must give it. But she didn’t know if she could. She’d kept to herself the days since his death, since Floriade became anything but a celebration. His funeral had come and gone and Subtext remained closed. She couldn’t wrap her head around books and texts now, she couldn’t wrap her mind around anything other than the fact that yet another person was gone and she was left scrambling, grasping for answers in the abyss. She had to do better. She would do better.

Casting aside yet another grimoire at the counter of the bookstore, Arlynn shut her eyes. She was doing her best to let go of her thoughts in order to focus on the spell she was trying to learn. The grimoire itself looked like any other book, an enchantment placed over it to make it so, and the store was closed. So the interruption that came was unexpected but not any cause for alarm. Arlynn could defend herself if necessary and she hated to think that it was necessary but two dead bodies spoke for themselves. Hands were linked loosely together in front of her and she opened her eyes to looked in the direction of the door, obscured by several shelves. She listened as it shut behind the individual who’d just entered Subtext, still unable to see who it was but she spoke nonetheless, “Sorry, we’re not open for business today. You can stop by on Wednesday, though.” 

[arranmordecai]

Harmless, Like a Petal || Open

If one were to pinpoint the allure of this festival Arran would have to say it lay with the flowers. The Anniversary of the Accords (so thoroughly tainted by this point) he would of course keep in mind, but the flowers were all he looked forward to seeing... Well, and his dear family. To play the part of a friendly face he’d donned a slightly puffy, quilted white winter coat with an egg blue bobble hat and mittens. Cute, was a word that could have been used to describe him, despite the broadness to his frame and that was exactly what he aimed for. 

His dear parents had taken their own route here and he’d be sure to pick up his sister in a little while but till then he could enjoy a quiet moment to himself to admire the blooms who’d gone against nature to still be beautiful in this cold. They existed when nature hadn’t intended them to, it was a state of being he identified with. 

Stepping close to a display he cupped his mitten-clad hands around a blooming flower, bent close and inhaled deeply, his enhanced senses focusing in on the fumes produced and for a brief moment he was still, consumed by the floral scents. He rose up with a quiet sigh and chuckled, catching the eye of someone nearby.

“Wonderful isn’t it?” he chuckled, “They’re so alive despite the cold.”