#starter 01.

[necromaancing]

location: the dinner party / bathroom.

when: during dinner.

status: open to all.

What a strange night, the building was strange, the vibe was strange, just everything felt strange. Surreal even. Like a dream. Carter wasn’t sure what she thought or how she felt yet, most of her wanted her suspicions to be true; that something supernatural or miraculous was going on. But she also couldn’t wrap her head around that completely, her logical scientific mind wouldn’t allow it.

She had gotten up half-way through the awkward dinner, some of the girls were talking amongst themselves— it seemed not everyone here was a stranger. Though there was one or two faces she recalled, that she had never seen before. Taking her leave to go to the bathroom, she wandered the darkening halls in search of the place; old paintings of the towns mayors staring down at her ominously. Finally she managed to find it, quickly doing her business before promptly washing her hands.

Carter couldn’t help the sigh that rose into her chest, as she stared at her reflection, wiping delicate slender hands on a handful of paper towels. Leaning forward she examined herself in the mirror, fixing her bangs here, wiping away smudged makeup there, tightening her ponytail etc. An idea flashing through her mind, someone needed to get answers, someone needed to say something. They all needed to have a chat together, to figure this out, was it a prank? Was it real? Was it an accident? Did they all receive a book? Did no one have see who delivered the package or invitation? Turning to leave, the bathroom door suddenly swung open, almost hitting the dark-haired woman.

“Hey! Watch it!”

[snipehit-blog]

A layer of hazy mist covered the headquarter grounds in the morning, leaving everything with slight damp feel to it, from the equipment scattered around the camp, to even the most superficial layer of Weston’s skin. He’d been in a particularly disgruntled mood for some time, ever since he’d been rudely shoved awake by Damian, and that attitude had hardly budged when he came to the realization that he and Damian were going to be separated for their initial combat training exercises. Oddly enough, he often looked forward to sparring with that wild-eyed boy, and it wasn’t because Damian went easy on him, due to their under-the-radar, romantic arrangements. On the contrary, they simply enjoyed pushing each other to their limits, and their lack of intimidation when it came to the other prompted them to not be shy when it came to landing blows. They found quality time where they could, even if that time was to be spent on the battle ground.

But today was not going to be the case. He was to be paired up with some scrawny new recruit, not a challenge for someone with years of experience under his belt by now. He recognized his partner to be someone who he’d heard was starting to mouth off to superior officers, and the thought crept into his mind that he must have been put with Weston as a sort of punishment. It wasn’t training, so much as an opportunity to take a loud, arrogant recruit down a few pegs. And easy enough day, but not nearly as entertaining as it would have been with Damian.

When they finally got a moment of downtime, a break for lunch or to patch themselves up, Weston didn’t give the shaking, wheezing, battered mess he’d turned his partner into a second thought, as he simply nudged past him, trying to locate Damian and check in with him. He caught sight of him easily enough, his distinctive, icy stare and the wisp of blond hair as recognizable to Weston as his own reflection. As he got closer, and put a hand on Damian’s shoulder, a smile of greeting quickly faded to one of alarm, and even anger. Damian’s face was coated in blood, some dripping, some crusted over and dried, and he was looking a bit swollen from the force of the beating he’d received.

“What the fuck happened to you?” He had to fight against every instinct to grab Damian up in his arms to examine him further. It was increasingly difficult, being unable to share physical contact so freely, unable to show compassion for someone he loved so fiercely. Instead he kept a suitable distance, but still made a point to thumb at Damian’s quickly blossoming bruises, the bloodied pulp his split lips had become. “Were you really off your game today? This isn’t like you, to get your ass kicked so much - Okay, get your ass kicked so much by someone other than me.” Despite the humor in his comment, there came a fresh, hot wash of rage on the heels of that joke, and he had to act quickly to swallow down the emotion, suppress before it overtook him and caused him to really fly off the handle. “Spill it - who do I have to teach a lesson with a knife later tonight?”

@switcblade

[bcrtil]

an abuzz afternoon on the sprawls of the montmere estate, open!

nic's presence at the montmere house was made to be a card kept close to the chest, all whom were inquired expected to maintain that he & the blushing bride-to-be had perhaps tuckered off to one of the farther corners of europe ⸻ or took an early retirement on another one of those mid-summer outback excursions. rather, the eve of matrimony was meant to be spent clinging to what little memory of this great, good place that had still gone untarnished. unlike those boundless mornings when nic had just hardly been an oxford man, well beyond his wits and often stupid with alcohol before lunch ⸻ time over the past few weeks had been better spent reconditioning himself for batting. nic had been most content watching as the festivities ramped up. overly zealous in any act concerning an opponent, he had only now been summoned as a fill-in for one missing mr. amberly out of desperation alone. even so, it should be questioned as how to he would see the ball after all the champagne he put away the night prior. still, amid the proceedings of the ongoing matches, it seemed that there was still alotted time for gossip or something of the like as nic accompanied a sparse gaggle of fellow inhabitants of montmere. tall willow bat is hitched at his side, leaning upon it with partial weight; speaking to no one in particular. "i do hope they're good sports, i'm not particularly keen on losing."

[necromaancing]

Status: Open to All

Date: Wednesday; April 22nd, 4:34pm.

Place: The forest surrounding the town. About a 45 minute walk into the woods / from the town on a local hiking trail.

She wasn’t much for hiking but after the events of the past few weeks- she had to get out of the house and away from town. Especially the things that had happened recently— her mind was so full she couldn’t tell where one thought began and another ended, it was all a jumbled mess inside of her head; unusual for her. Andrei of course followed after her; he always did whether she wanted him to or not (most often not). Black silky wings fluttering after her, like a dark guardian angel watching over her safety. The strange bird had been the last thing she had been able to bring back from the dead. He was the second; the first attempt she had failed and the bird had died (at the dinner party), but later that night when she had gone back to the Bed and Breakfast she was staying at— another dead raven had somehow magically (or suspiciously) been left for the thai witch. But this time she had succeeded, a rush of life poured from her finger tips, seeping into the small avian creature. The sensation was strange, similar to the head rush one got when they stood up to fast. And ever since that night a month or so ago, the damn bird had decided he didn’t want to leave her side. Like ever. Perhaps it was a side effect of bringing back something to life? After all she didn’t know the true extent and limits of her power; she didn’t know if anyone else in the coven was similar— and now to top it off she had to worry about witch hunters and traitors.

A long-suffering sigh escaped her lips, and she decided to stop at a clearing a few feet from the hiking trail, and through a few trees. The clearing was small, lined with tall trees starting to feel the beginning aches of spring. A soft caw could be heard from the tree nearest to her, and she turned slightly and looked up at Andrei, who in turned peered down at her curiously, looking at her down his curved and fearsome beak.

“This kind of looks like the clearing in that painting in town hall- the one with the witches being hung.” She said to the bird darkly, wondering if it was indeed supposed to be this place. The thought gave her a chill— and the breeze suddenly picked up, billowing through her waist-length raven black locks. Her stomach tightened and churned, a whisper inside of her told her this was that very place. Where the last salem witches had been murdered.