Event Log: May

[moustre]

Event Log: May, Moving Day

I. GATHERING The morning of the 15th is heralded by the sing-song voice of The Coven's coimeadai sidhe Nerissa Bell ringing through the hallways, seemingly unimpeded by the heavy doors or any silencing spells that have been placed in rooms. She asks that all those who arrived at the beginning of the month - not the new inductees, the ones from The Looking-Glass House - gather in The Coven's main room; she has some exciting and important news to deliver. Once everyone is gathered, Nessie (very much a morning person, and sorry to the anyone who isn't) grins and lays a hand on her chest. "Thanks to a good bit of your lot, we've managed to get things ready in record time - aye, I should start out with what I'm talking about, aren't I? Well, well - with the Parliament's permission, thank goodness for my Mhairi's sharp wit, we've managed to get a space for all you to live in outside of The Coven. You can still come and attend classes or talk to all of us, 'course, but everyone's been getting a bit itchy with such suddenly crowded quarters, aye?" Aye aye, calls some poor, tired student from the second floor as they pass through, and Nessie pauses with a slow blink before she laughs, shaking her head. "Anyway, gather your things if you have any and follow me. Or us," she corrects herself, as a few other Witches seem to materialize from nowhere. "Can't be out without a couple of friends, I suppose." As soon as everyone's ready, Nessie and her entourage lead them out of the courtyard, aglow with fresh flowers and the soft light of dawn peeking between the clouds. The spot they've managed to get isn't too far from The Coven proper, and it doesn't look much different than the rest of the Aristocratic District that it resides in - the only thing that sets it apart is the sign Nessie takes a moment to conjure up and hang with balls of light between two streetlamps. The Haven. "Named so as a respite for all you refugees," she explains as she turns around; she sets her hands on her hips, gazing out at the crowd, and gives them a small smile. "I can't stay and chat right now - Mhairi's still with Parliament even with the hours, and I've got things to get in order at the Coven still - but if you have need of either of us, we'll be in contact. We've a little mailbox set up in front of the Coven just for you lot, so just drop us a letter or some such with one of our names or both, and we'll be right quick about answering, we will. Within reason," Nessie adds, laughing a little, "'course, within reason. Anyway, find some familiar faces and have a lovely time, will you?" With that, and a few more little goodbyes, Miss Nerissa Bell takes her leave; half of her Witches disappear with her, but the other half remain to help keep an eye on things as the day progresses and to help with directing people to either houses or the barracks set against the Wall. While there will be no NPC threads this time - sorry! - we have opened up an NPC Inbox! You can find it here. While they definitely prefer letters, they do both have watches now like cool moms and can be contacted through that as well, provided they aren't busy at the time.

II. THE HAVEN Formerly part of the Aristocratic District, The Haven is just as well-kept and brightly-lit as the district it hails from. The houses err on the tall and ornamental-side, large enough to fit several families (or, according to the upper class, their one family, several dozen servants, and guests), especially closest to the Aristocratic District. They become a little more modest and smaller as one gets away from the realm of high society and nearer to the Residential District proper. Newcomers are shuffled here and invited to find somewhere to live - the Coven is currently handling expenses for the houses themselves in an program implemented by the Parliament, though if your character wishes to have anything extra - like maids, chefs, and so on - they'll have to pay for them themselves with their own earned money. Much of the landscape and fixtures are the same as in the Aristocratic Districts, though it lacks formal emergency services due to its roots as part of a district that already did. Much of the housing already has furnishing due to the speed at which homeowners were relocated; they were given enough time to collect their valuables, but standard furniture such as kitchenware, couches, beds, etc. were left behind for those moving in. Other houses appear the same, but the dust on the floors suggest these houses were left before the new arrivals even showed up - a reminder that the Cwyld can strike just about anyone, regardless of standing. Some may be familiar with this portion of Aefenglom already, as they took on the task of helping to clean the area up. Surprise, one could say; they were preparing their own future homes, for their stay in the city. However, another portion of this district has been opened up to the new arrivals: the barracks, the row of buildings pressed against the very edge of the Bright Wall. As the city's military force no longer has the same presence it previously did, the barracks have gone into disuse, and a cleanup effort has been in place since before the new arrivals came through the Looking-Glass House. For those who desire something a little less opulent, the barracks might just be the answer. The barracks can also be used for business, for a welcome center, a communal space, for anything that the residents of the Haven see fit to use it for - so long as the legality isn't questionable, on the surface. Not everyone is so happy, however. A very vocal group of younger rich people are set on harassing and bullying those moving into The Haven, and they aren't afraid to use a little magic to do it. Levitation, fake fire, real fire, sudden weather shifts, and threats to do more if they don't find somewhere else to live are all present - these aristocrats don't care for the new people butting into their lives, especially anyone who looks distinctly non-human or already have signs of their Monster traits coming in. There are others, though, who are quite pleased to have new neighbors - many of them weren't so happy with their other ones - and have set up little stalls to peruse and tables to sit at to help foster them in. These have everything from food to flowers, to expensive-looking trinkets and jewelry on them - the people running them are quite amiable, especially closer to the Residential District proper, and don't mind handing these out for free... or mostly free. The only thing they'll ask of any characters wishing to procure something from their gifts is to perform a trick - sort of like a one-man talent show. They aren't picky, and as long as a character does their best, they'll give them a gift. (Or someone with quick fingers could just swipe them off, given how unprotected they are, but that person will find their hands turning red and leaving similarly-colored marks on everything they touch, as if dipped in paint.)

III. AND THEN THEY WERE ROOMMATES To help with filling up the larger houses - and even some of the smaller ones, and the shared rooms in the barracks - the Witches left over from Nessie's group have come together to set up a little roommate finding service that will run for the week. For those who aren't entirely sure who they want to shack up with, they have a small survey for them to fill out and post on the board they've magicked up in the center of The Haven. The board also very helpfully reads aloud each form for everyone to hear in a cheerful, monotone voice. It isn't able to be shut up, nor is it easy to ignore, being imbued with a similar kind of amplification magic that Miss Nessie used earlier in the morning for her own voice. It seems these Witches - or at least one of them - has a prankster nature... and unfortunately, it doesn't stop there. a. A LITTLE MISCHIEF While by and large the board will work as it should - a listing is filled out, put up, and read aloud for all to hear - for characters who aren't interested in doing some writing, or who can't for one reason or another, the board will take it upon itself to make one for them. It isn't going to be the most accurate at all, being either completely fictitious or based on a first impression from the board itself. This can range from "They have blue eyes, so you know they're a kind person!" to "How stand-offish, they must be a crook! A thief! A villain!" and anything in-between, including but not limited to: outrageous feats they may or may not have accomplished, poor hygiene habits, false accounts of incredibly embarrassing moments, and so on. b. A LITTLE HANDS-ON Not entirely content with just allowing people to write their preferences and call it a day, a few of the younger Witches have begun magicking small chocolates, hard candies, and bubble gum, and handing them out to new arrivals as a welcome treat. These aren't any ordinary treats though - they have one of three of effects: • Sticky fingers, meaning characters will stick to anyone or anything they touch. • Truthfulness, meaning characters will say whatever they're really thinking or feeling at the moment. • Desire for company, meaning characters will gravitate immediately to the first person they see, regardless of their feelings on them otherwise. Thankfully, none of these last long - only about ten minutes, and they can't be combined with each other; eating one candy with one effect will simply replace any other effects... Which might be for the better. The subthread for this can be found HERE, while any ones that are made up by the board itself can be simply written into your top levels or replies to other people. Have fun with it, and good luck finding some housemates!

Welcome to the midmonth event log! While mingling on the log itself is highly encouraged, feel free to make your own logs; take the prompts offered and go wild, go crazy, go stupid, have fun. As ever, if your character is getting into any Shenanigans, let the mods know, and if you have any questions about the log, ask them here!

Comments

Kaede | Elfen Lied | Chimera

[long_live_the_queen]

I. Undermael College Library

[The library was a blissfully quiet refuge. No stupid kids and their stupid spells, just books to shuffle back into a semblance of order on the endless shelves lining the gloomy halls. They probably weren't endless, and it wasn't so gloomy on the ground or near a reading desk. But these were details Kaede didn't trouble herself with.

She'd been helpfully pointed towards a ladder to help her reach the uppermost shelves; the thought rankled at her, though she said nothing about it. If Kaede's vectors felt like responding she could have clambered all the way to the ceiling if she wished—and carry as many books as she wanted up with her. But no. Of course not, that would be simple. She'd once welcomed the stillness in her mind where the vectors' resonant buzz had been. Now, not so much.

But it was quiet here, and people rarely bothered her—

There was someone at the foot of her ladder. Kaede tucked the latest book away before glancing down at them, red eyes reflecting green-gold as a cat's in the dim lantern light.]

What?

II. Gardening With Class

[She should do better about keeping her head, the Coven said. Stay calmer. Stay away from those...people. Bad for the head, it was.

"Kaede" and "reasonable outlets for aggression" were largely incompatible concepts. But she was at least making an effort. She was trying. If she made enough of an attempt to not hurt anyone, maybe she could even pretend she'd never broken her promise.

Besides, flowers were nice. They were pretty, and sometimes smelled nice, and didn't have obnoxious opinions. And the longer she sat in on these classes, the more she learned she...didn't know anything about flowers. Which didn't surprise her, Kaede hadn't been to school in...awhile. But unlike the dry textbooks she'd found in newly-emptied houses, she got more interested the more she listened. Though the horned woman did snort loudly when she learned lettuce was also a plant with an esoteric meaning.

Eventually, a practice exercise rolled around—this one for arranging a simple display of flowers in a vase. To layer the flowers, the stems needed a trim—which required a knife or scissors. Normally not a problem. But a burn she'd sustained earlier made holding a paring knife difficult, so she tried using scissors instead.

After just a short while, though, the horned woman dropped the things on the shared table in annoyance, flexing her hand to get the cramping out of it. Her nails were triangular and pointed, and her irritated mutter sounded uncomfortably like a growl.]

Are all these scissors right handed?

[They were a marvel of the city! Technologically advanced! Ergonomic! ...not very helpful to a largely left handed and easily annoyed person.]

III. Wildcard

[For a prompt that's not listed here! My plurk is blueraven if you'd like to plot there.]

i. library

[topslug]

[ The terse inquiry is met with an apologetic smile, and a face Kaede may or may not recognize. The young woman standing at the foot of the ladder is an attendee of the gardening class too, and while she hasn't introduced herself to everyone in it, she's certainly memorable with how much food she packs away every lunchtime. ]

I'm sorry for interrupting. I just wanted to ask if I could use the ladder after you're finished with it.

[ Yako's not exactly gifted in the height department herself. ]

[long_live_the_queen]

[The eyes blinked owlishly down at her. Kaede didn't remember the name that went with this face—she'd squished herself into a more isolated corner during classes intentionally—but she did remember wondering if that girl had a black hole instead of a stomach.

Kaede considered the request, looking down at the stack of books she still needed to carry up. Not too many, but more than zero.]

How long are you going to be?

ii + mild wildcard to post full moon!!

[usurpers]

[ eren wanders about and— wanders with purpose. his hoarding trait has gotten a little strength once he’s settled (poorly) into his scales, teeth and vision. he doesn’t . . . outright reject the changes, knowing full well he has to create some sort of symbiosis if he doesn’t want to go feral. he hardly blinks now, a third eyelid sliding across blue slit eyes when they need the moisture, and seeing pink hair a mile away . . . he won’t say no. he has nothing against kaede, and there’s a newfound tug in his chest when he thinks of the right company.

(he might have to be careful with other dragons, though. he hasn’t met another sans full moon to know he’s territorial now)

that and something with a shine, long and pointed, catches his attention quicker than he could inhale. mm. those are scissors. mm. good shit. GOOD. shit. ]

Someone can change the handle.

[ he’s seen some witches transfigure objects. it shouldn’t be that hard to find someone willing to help out. ]

[long_live_the_queen]

[Kaede tensed at first when she heard someone speak so close to her--which, to Kaede, meant "anywhere closer than two meters"--but she recognized that voice. When she looked up, it wasn't with a frown, but a more neutral expression.

She tried, okay. No one's allowed to criticize her.]

Right now?

[Her horns were longer now; more tapered, and the left one had the beginnings of a branchlike point sticking out of the first third. Her nails looked more triangular than they had been too, something more pronounced in her left hand.]

kylo ren - star wars - witch. ota

[warfares]

( link to catch-all, including event prompt, here. )

Clark Kent | DCAU | Dragon

[upinthesky]

I. Haven
a. The Barracks

[Being given a place to stay as a complete stranger is touching to say the least. Clark is grateful for all of the kindness the people in The Coven are willing to offer their unlikely new friends. But he still feels awkward, especially when there are some disgruntled locals unhappy about giving up their homes. He goes to the barracks, hoping that doing some work will help make things go better for everyone. Another option for housing, more opportunities, and just some good old fashioned cleaning. Clark is repairing rotted door frames, patching walls, and clearing out junk to remake the space. At one point he pauses to examine the progress they are making.]

That's not half bad. And it'll be cozy once someone moves in.

b. A Rough Start

[The complaints and taunts he could almost overlook, but when it comes to people using magic to torment others, Clark draws the line. It may not be an outright attack, but it's enough. He leaps up to catch people being levitated into the air, pulling them back down amid the laughter of the young aristocrat group that has decided to pick on the new monsters. He has to jump off of a step to do it, but he comes down lighter than he should, surprising everyone -- Clark included. They all stop and exchange looks, then Clark steps forward.]

I think it's time for you to move on.

[Okay, so maybe the one trick wasn't enough to impress the locals. One of them sparks fire in his hands and sneers. "Oh, yeah? You may not have noticed, but these are houses for humans. Not pets." Clark frowns at that, but doesn't retort or move back. There may just be a fight.]

II. Sticky Issues

[Candy shouldn't be suspicious. After all the tension and trying to keep the peace, Clark was hoping that he'd finally made some headway when the smiling young Witch offered to share a simple treat. He didn't notice anything off about it and it didn't taste bad, so it's a complete surprise to him when he accidentally brushes up against someone and suddenly can't pull away. He tries to unstick himself, but that only makes things worse by increasing the contact.]

I'm sorry. I'm not trying to do this. There must be something wrong.

[He doesn't want to pull anyone either, so he stops tugging, giving the unfortunate person a helpless look of apology.]

We might need to find some help.

III. That Dragon Problem

[As he finally starts settling in, the changes get more prominent. First it's just an itch, a subtle irritation on his arms. But it spreads and gets stronger, and a few days later Clark is clawing at his shoulders and rubbing his face almost constantly. He really tries not to show his discomfort, but when he thinks no one can see him, he starts rubbing against a wall.]

Ugh. Is this another prank?

iii

[thisisamazing]

[Hiccup is on a mission. He's got a notebook in one hand and a pen behind his ear, and he's browsing a list while he walks, Toothless plodding along at his side and effectively keeping anybody from bumping into his rider just by existing. It's a list of shops and forges around the city that deal in metalwork, and he's scratched off a few of them by this point.] Okay, I guess we can try this one over closer to the Harbor District-

[He's talking to Toothless, mostly, but he stops short when he spots Clark, rubbing against a wall. For some reason.] Hey, uh- Hey! You okay? That looks... painful. What happened?

[upinthesky]

[Clark jumps a little when Hiccup spots him and calls over. It's more out of embarrassment than anything, although the effort he was putting into the scratching has rubbed off part of the surface of stone, leaving some rough marks where he's been.]

Ah, I'm not sure. I might have gotten into something without realizing it? I think it gave me a rash.

[His skin does look dry in places, but it's patchy and not red as much as it is pale and calloused. Clark doesn't have experience enough to tell.]

I'm sure it'll be fine.

iii

[horkbajir]

[It hasn't been that long, and maybe Clark won't notice, but Toby's just a bit taller. Maybe half an inch. She misses the wall-rubbing, possibly because in this kind of environment you need to have your back turned to not see her coming. She does notice the inflammation, the uneasy cast to the man.]

Hello. Are you well?

[upinthesky]

[Scratching is only a temporary relief that Clark has to give up on, and he recognizes Toby from the bonfires, smiling at her with a tired but warm expression. As uncomfortable as he might be, he's still glad to see someone familiar rather than the sore locals.]

I think I'll be okay. I've just been under the weather lately. It might be something in the atmosphere.

[Yeah, he has no idea what it is. That's completely a blind guess.]

b - Rohan will answer.

[iminthebook]

Harry sees this from a distance, and swears as he sprints forward. "Hell's bells." As the man conjures fire, Harry employs one of his only reliably working tricks, and materializes a shield, this time, around the fire that is being conjured, snuffing it out.

As Harry moves up alongside Clark, he employs another of those very few spells he can make work, and his hands spark and flicker with flame. Not brightly, or a lot, but steadily.

"I think you better move away. These houses we're moving into are ours now. If you have a problem with any of us, you have a problem with us all."

[upinthesky]

Clark lets the floating person go, making sure they get to retreat out of danger by making himself a bigger, easier target. He's still used to being the one able to take any hit, and he thinks no matter what it's still better that he ends up taking more of the trouble than an innocent who is questionably armed.

He's lucky that he isn't the only one who doesn't like bullying. The fire goes out and Clark glances to his side, grateful to have the company. The group of artistocrats don't look happy at all. They immediately start throwing insults at Harry, who is a human and shouldn't be siding with monsters. What happened to civilized people? This is why outsiders should stay out.

"There's no need for violence." Clark tries to keep things calm. "We're not looking for trouble. We're all here to help each other."

That... doesn't go a long way to persuade them. But Harry's fire does keep them at bay at least. One of the younger looking guys throws a small rock their way, since magic didn't scare them off.

iii; #relatabledragonproblems

[fifty]

[America might not have noticed at all, except he has two blue dragon wings that, even folded, arc a bit over his head, and getting those was traumatic enough that he's hyper-aware of back issues right now.]

Hey, dude, you okay?

[upinthesky]

[Clark is trying very hard not to look uncomfortable, but he is also a man that has experienced very little discomfort or pain in his life. He's still learning what hunger actually feels like for the first time, so the incessant itching is too much for him to just brush off. He straightens up a little bit sharply, clearly embarrassed by his own fussing, but can't stop quietly scratching at his arm.]

Oh, I'm. Fine? I'm not hurt, but ever since I've gotten here I've felt strange. And I can't seem to get rid of this itch.

francel de haillenarte; ffxiv; monster (dragon)

[haillenarte]

ii. the haven.
[francel was, himself, born wealthy; he is accustomed to the whims of the rich and the xenophobic. as such, he bears the residents of geargadas no malice — none whatsoever, not even when two young women throw angry glares in his direction, and a group of children attempts (ineffectually) to pelt him with pebbles as he crosses the street. he has other things to be concerned about. he has settled into a house near the wall, one that is sorely in need of dusting and new furniture, but his meager salary at the college has afforded him only a neatly-tailored cream shirt that covers his neck and wrists even in the springtime heat. he hasn't any money. he doesn't feel well enough to take up more work. he can't fit his gloves over his strangely sharp nails.

so when a local woman calls out to him from her charming little stall and asks him to show her something exotic and interesting in return for one of the pretty baubles she doesn't want anymore, well...

it's not really a trick, but he winds up reciting scripture from memory for her amusement. he recites one verse of the enchiridion, then another — then a hymn that was often sung at the cathedral — then the story of king thordan and his twelve knights — and she, delighted by this amusing young foreigner with a strange and silly religion, invites her friends, and then their friends drop by, and —

francel isn't a priest, or even a relationship counselor, but if you see him now, you'll find a young elezen man surrounded by a bevy of local women, of varying ages, all of whom are very interested to know what "his goddess" thinks of their various petty life problems. one of them has given him a pretty ribboned hat in which he is collecting his "payments" — which are really just whatever the girls can find: brooches and earrings that they don't like anymore, silver hairpins that are last season's style.

"so, lord francel — should i call you lord francel?" one young witch asks, after explaining a complex situation between her estranged mother and the monster to whom she is bonded. "what do you think? or what would your goddess say?"]

Er... well, the Enchiridion states that the Fury rewards those who place their filial obligations above all. But I have always interpreted this... more liberally, I suppose, than some of the ordained priests in my country. It sounds as though your mother has never truly been in your life — thus, if there is anyone towards whom you have filial obligations, might it not be your Monster companion? It seems to me you should have a conversation with him about how important he truly considers your inheritance...

[this... is obvious advice, in truth, but the girl titters as though she's never quite seen the situation that way before, and tips him a little crystal hatpin. by the bemused expression on francel's face, however, he's not really doing this for the money anymore. maybe you should drop by his advice corner and see what he has to say about some problem in your life?]

iv. wildcard.
( feel free to contact me through pm or at charlemend for an alternative prompt or extra plotting! )

[civicbooty]

[ As the witches disperse, and the conjured sign attracts the mild chaos of a small crowd, Aymeric stands still at Francel's side, crossing his arms, calm and emanating dissatisfaction at once. This was not the exciting and important news he hoped to hear.

He tilts his head toward Francel, watching the crowd at the board: ]

If you would prefer to make other arrangements, of course, I shall take no offense— [ with someone else he might have cracked a joke about whether he was fit or interesting company, but Francel has several excellent reasons to resent him, and neither of them needs to be reminded— ] —but if not, then perhaps we might forego this process and speak to a witch.

Soren | Fire Emblem: Radiant Dawn | Dragon

[silentsavant]

i. A Maelstrom in the Undermael

Soren is minding his own business, earning some coin by employing his keen sense for organization in the college library. It keeps him busy, won't hurt to have sources of income while he's here, and offers him a wealth of reading material and time to spend hunting for the tomes of information that seem most relevant to him.

He's not so irresponsible that he reads on the job — or at least, is never caught doing so. He glosses through the pages to judge whether it is a worthwhile read and, if it merits interest, checks it out when he's finished performing his daily tasks.

Today, however... it appears a prankster is in the midst of the library.

It begins to smell fishy when he finds himself shelving the same books three times. Or when he returns to the alchemy section to place a fresh return where it belongs, he finds a motley of titles that simply don't belong.

Detective novels. Self-help books. A dissertation on microeconomics. A harlequin romance novel featuring a hunky Turnskin and his swooning Witch. He frowns at this work of fiction in particular.

"This is the fourth time I've come across this very book," he mutters loudly to himself, dashing the dog-eared cover with the back of his hand, then glances up to find your character nearby to complain to. "It appears someone with a penchant for chaos has seen fit to make this job more difficult than it has to be." He plants a hand on his hip. "Do you know anything about this?"

ii. Not Welcome Here

a. It comes as no surprise to Soren that when the aristocrats are shuffled out of their mansions at the Coven's and Parliament's urging, they turn their noses up even higher at these foreign interlopers and make even greater demonstrations of their resentment. Why the coimeadai sidhe and her Bonded chose to displace members of high society from their lands of luxury, where the opinions will hold the most clout, instead of boarding this ragtag group of burdensome newcomers into the most run-down sections of mere commoners, whose voices not only have little volume in society, but compliance can be bought at lower prices and with less bureaucratic dickering, is beyond him. If it's not outright foolishness, it's suspicious. What are their designs? Just what do the newcomers mean to these people?

And the newcomers suffer the brunt of their decision. Even though he keeps to himself, those snobbish bluestockings come stalking over, thronging him in a blockade of sorts to lick their wounded prides by trampling over his.

They take their stabs at him with their sharp tongues, deriding him with remarks aimed at any part of him deemed a target for ridicule, running the gamut from, "So, whose house are YOU squatting in, half-pint?" to "You do your hair kind of like my sister does," to "Who tattoos runes on their FOREHEAD?"

"What does it mean, anyway? 'hellspawn?'" "Hahaha! By jove, you might be right! His eyes are flashing!"

Soren sighs, his patience tried, but trying to maintain a level head amid the buffoonery. All he wants is to get on with his life, not be irritated by the hijinks of the highborn idlers. "Please step aside. You are in my way."

"And he has the gall to tell us to move aside!" The tallest of the flock flicks his wrist and mutters something incomprehensible that sounds like some sort of invocation he has never heard before, and Soren knows then and there he has been subjected to something magical and dastardly. "You're the one who should be moving along! Go back to where you belong, you snake!"

When he opens his mouth to speak, what comes out is so alarming, he has to abort his sentence completely. "Taebtreh a ni os ad... ...!"

They roar with enough arresting laughter to make them recoil. Startled by his lack of intelligible speech, Soren takes a few seconds to recover from the shock, but only that much, because their reeling is his opportunity; he tries to push forward, but to his surprise, ends up going backward instead, and trips to plant his butt on the sidewalk.

"Go back! Go back, I say!! Dahahaaha!" They skitter off, leaving Soren stunned and disoriented. Other civilians glance his way, but either look the other way in feigned ignorance so that they may continue as though the harassment never took place or glean a few private smirks or snickers out of it. Once more, he tries his mouth at speaking, bringing his hand next to it.

"Gniyas i saw... tahw...?"

How mortifying.

b. The harassment don't end there; Soren is subjected to a few disgruntled opinions and the magic cast from the occasional prankster: a harmless bubble trap he could escape from with a pop; knocking him sideways into a building; and then, there was fire. That had actually felt like a threat to his life, enough for him to whip his Elfire tome out in retaliation. They wanted to fight him with fire, did they? Very well. He had the same tricks up his sleeve.

But his own magic failed him, just as it had when he'd tried to demonstrate that he had plenty of magical potential to become a Witch. He knew this, and yet, in his vain, reactive hopes...

As a result, Soren stomps off clutching the tattered, scorched pages of his useless weapon, his pristine robes singed with black and the distinct smell of burning following the high-strung ex-mage wherever he goes. They aren't salvageable this way — not by ordinary means. But if there is enough magic in this world to enchant brooms to do housework, there must be a way to mend crisped clothes as well. His mind races in time with his pace and his heart.

I can't do it. I can't do magic. I cannot fight back...

What does it mean? It means... No, he doesn't want to think of what it might mean. But if he doesn't, how will he confront this problem...? What a tangle.

Soren weaves through the streets, an uncharacteristic aimlessness to his direction in spite of the purpose he seems to emanate with his marching; he takes big steps for a small person. Someone looks like he's having a bad day! Or should at least get those burns checked out.

iii. Mirror, Mirror, Under the Moons (18th: Full Moon) (CW: blood; mild body horror)

His blood is surging, pulsing like the rush of the tide.

He can't study; he can't sleep. He's hot; his head pounds; he is being hammered into a jagged edge as though a cosmic blacksmith is forging him into something twisted, something unlike himself.

Ever since he arrived, he's been suffering chronic headaches, but nothing quite like tonight. They had been building up to this point, but now his skull screams with pain. His very bones ache. He claws at his arms and shoulders to scratch them; they itch; he draws streaks of blood. Perhaps it is best that his outer layers of clothing have been discarded temporarily; if he wore them, he might tear them apart with his...

They're really like claws, aren't they? His nails, sharp as daggers, more like talons than anything a mere human could grow. Is he just imagining things, or did they grow twice as long in only the evening...?

He was already in the Coven, drawn like a madman suddenly to the Looking-Glass House: his closest portal to home. His own mirror brings on a staggering pang of homesickness like never before. When he steps up to his own moonlit reflection, rendered ghostly and glowing by the power of two full moons, he examines his face and finds himself engrossed in the horror of it.

He traces the shell of his ear with a quaking hand. Progressively, and most noticeably tonight, it has been whetted into a dull point. The first thing that captures his imagination are the ears of the bird tribes and dragon tribes. The glint in his eyes are wrong, too: they almost seem to glow like embers in the night, his pupils constricted. Just as well he doesn't look right; he certainly doesn't feel right, either. Like he's suppressing an immense and powerful emotion threatening to surge from his tiny frame, to rend everything asunder —

Someone is coming.

He never wanted company like this, but he has no choice. Holding back his tremors, he eyes the trespasser's reflection warily to glimpse who is joining him up here.

[[or:]]

The pain has become unbearable; he can no longer make it back to the barracks, where he has been camping out these nights. In the ever-changing gardens of the Coven he is brought to his knees, unable to walk straight much less think straight. Not when his body is being torn apart so viciously from the inside-out. Or perhaps you find him in the Haven, in the middle of the night crumpled in the streets.

He is beyond caring about anything, especially not his composure or how vulnerable he appears to a perfect stranger. He can't contain himself for much longer, or so it feels. Gripping his arms in desperation, the sleeves of his undershirt ripped, his partially unbound hair a chaotic black veil cast shimmery forest green in the night lights, he croaks out what he can manage in his state.

"It's too much...! I can't... I can't...!"

It's a pitiful explanation for why he's making such a pathetic scene.

iv. Wildcard

[[Want something else? Feel free to hit me up on discord at paingel #4140 if you want to arrange something special! That, or you can add me on plurk at wingything to plot something. I'm really eager to build some CR, even though it will be a painful process! BEAR WITH ME PLEASE... In addition, feel free to tag me with action-style tags. I will match you.]]

iii b, in the haven!

[topslug]

The full moon has brought out strange sights and sounds, tonight, but none so urgent as seeing the figure doubled over on itself on her way home from the Coven, felled as though it might have been caught by an attack.

When she hears the voice cry out, the thought of potential danger to herself or that it may be some kind of trick doesn't even cross Yako's mind -- she just shoulders her bag and hurries closer, already flicking frantically through the extremely limited list of spells she knows. Once she's in arm's range, she crouches down beside him, unslinging her bag and reaching out ... though she doesn't quite touch him, not yet.

"What's wrong?" she asks, her voice clear and steady despite the worry gnawing at her stomach. "Can you tell me what's happening to you?"

i. A Maelstrom in the Undermael

[hearthebell]

L hasn't found a job yet, nor has he soundly established adequate living arrangements. In truth, he's a little driftless without a handler, and getting used to living without one promises to carry with it an adjustment period. No matter; he has an advantage, in that he's used to keeping a bizarrely inconsistent sleeping schedule and his eyes don't tire easily from studying. That's why he, like Soren, has found himself drawn to the library, and he's taken it upon himself to commit as much to memory as he possibly can. It's a direction, and an objective, and he's brilliant when it comes to throwing all of his focus into an endeavor he's convinced is constructive. So here he is; Soren might have noticed that he's been here for hours, a frail and spindly-looking young man in dark Coven robes curled and perched in a chair close to the back of the library, only moving occasionally to fetch more books. He's not particularly tidy or thoughtful about his usage of the library, not reshelving what he's already read, but at least Soren can rule him out as the mischievous culprit.

He glances up sharply at the way the library's silence is suddenly sliced by a voice, shoulders stiffening, perhaps making a bit of an affected show of being startled at the interruption.

"A penchant for chaos, or just a careless attitude," he suggests, pulling his knees and bare heels a little closer to the base of his body. His beaten, worn-out looking sneakers have been pushed under his chair. "I think the latter is the simpler and more likely explanation. What makes you think it's the former? Do you have many enemies?"

ii, a.

[tryhard]

Waver can't say he's quite brave enough to interfere when he notices, certainly not for the sake of a complete stranger-- but still, it pisses him off. These pompous mages, flaunting their powers when he can't even reach the meager scraps of his own magic, outright bullying the newcomers that most likely can't fight back. He's seen them around before, picking on the smaller folk, anyone who looks at all inhuman or outwardly 'strange' to them, choosing the easy targets. Disgusting. The personification of the worst kind of mage, the whole gaggle of them.

Waver himself has been rather used to such treatment for a while, and has gotten necessarily savvy about avoiding it. Thus far, he's been lucky not to catch anyone's attention for long, and he's lucky too that he doesn't really look like much -- no markings or runes or, heaven forbid, non-human features. And no magic.

He has no hope of offering a counter-curse, but once the bullies have run off laughing at their own fun, the balance between self-preservation and empathy tips a bit more toward an inclination to commiserate, even if he can't help.

Waver sighs, put-upon, as if someone were forcing his hand. As if he has no choice. What an idiot.

"Don't sit there gaping like a fish," he snaps, stepping closer to offer his fellow newcomer a hand up. "They don't deserve the satisfaction."

closed to cloud strife

[activatingcombatmode]

[It's finally moving day and Zack is more than pleased to be finding a real place to call a temporary home than passing out in those cramped beds over in the coven main building. So here they are heading towards some of the smaller cottage spaces to try and find something suitable for two dudes and a giant chicken.]

Something with a huge yard, right? You sure this neck of the woods will do?

[Cloud is the expert here. He's just following along as he rubs a finger at his temple. His head has been hurting since this morning and he hasn't been able to get it to stop.

But at least he has some of those little chocolates that the witches were handing out. That was nice.]

[actuallyadork]

Sunshine will need space.

[Zack might, too. Cloud has no idea what Zack is supposed to be changing into, but space will be good for 2/3 's of the residents.

He glances at Zack with some worry.]

Are you gonna be okay?

Suzu Kuromori | Ensemble Girls! | Witch

[unlightmusic]

A. Can You Deliver Thixty Eggth? (NETWORK)
[So guess who got fed up with the string of harassment from former residents, especially after being subject to it herself? This gal. A text post appears on the watch network from someone named Suzu Kuromori:]

hey anyone know where i can get some eggs? like a whole shitton of em at once. maybe around 60 or so.

these bourgeoisie bastards throwing a whole stink about us moving in gotta get knocked off of their high horses. those fancypants assholes will rue the day they decided to fuck with the rebellious fallen angel clochette! even if they have more experience with magic, a sneak attack can fall the mightiest of heroes.

anyone who also wants to wave a banner of war in the elites faces are welcome too. MOTHERFUCKIN EAT THE RICH!!!!!!! ROCK N ROOOOOLLLLLLLL!!!

B. GuitARGH
[A medical eyepatch can only last so long, especially when getting waterlogged by some magic rain, and Suzu can feel herself being at the end of her rope going this long outside without one. Thankfully, she spotted a nice leather one with an interesting silver insignia on it amongst the trinkets being "sold" by the more agreeable residents of the district, among other little silver accessories that catch her eye.

Still, having to do a "trick" in exchange for anything here... Given that magic was commonplace, it probably doesn't count to make a fireball. She had her bass, though, but given that she was without an amp or electricity, she wasn't sure how to make her performance more impressionable. Though... She did learn that the technology here ran on magic... Hm...

Suzu had a pretty good idea, but that'd require talking to people, which she'd really prefer not to do, but... She really wants that eyepatch... So, a girl with mismatched eyes and a guitar at the ready approaches you with a question, doing her best to maintain her usual confident and abrasive self.]

Oi. You any good with backin' up someone else's magic yet?

C. Going POSTal
[Man these roommate finder board posts that just somehow manifest themselves is really annoying, aren't they? Well, guess who's the latest victim. There's an eyepatch girl getting steadily irate at a particular posting as it gets magically read aloud:

"Suzu Kuromori likes to act edgy and say weird things to sound cool, but she's actually really lonely and wants friends! She's a pure-hearted romantic and the only thing you need to do to gain her absolute loyalty is to say that her eyes are pretty----"

All right bitch THAT IS IT.]

Argh, NO! Stop, dammit! I'm the solitary Fallen Angel, Clochette! I don't need any philistine asshole to shack up with me! If you ain't gonna shut up, I'll do it for ya!

[So she says, as she impulsively makes a small fireball to chuck at the message board. Of course, this being Suzu, she doesn't even take the time or patience to aim properly, and the tiny round flame completely misses its mark and towards you. Look sharp.]

D. Wildcard! Create your own prompt, or hit me up via PM or mirrorbread for plotting.

@ koga oogami

[unlightmusic]

[The good thing about dreams sometimes is that what happens in there stays in there.

However, Suzu has learned rather quickly that this world doesn't work this way, especially now. Thinking that she had gotten herself an apartment all to her solitary self, she unlocks the door as she cheerfully hums a tune... only to find a very familiar-looking idol and a corgi minding their own business.

Oh hell, oh no. Suzu practically drops the luggage in her hands, her bass guitar thankfully still intact by means of being in a case strapped to her back, and the color quickly drains from her face.]

O-Oi, what the fuck're you doin' here!? Is this some kinda sick joke!?

[Smooth. She could have just played dumb and hope that he didn't remember anything from their incredibly mortifying first meeting, but unfortunately Suzu's too straightforward and simple-minded for that.]