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Blythe scritched her fingers through her hair, humming as she people-watched, listening to Millie. She figured trying to make eye contact would be making the anxiety worse, so she didn't try right now. "[+purple I'm sure you didn't mean it,]" she said, brushing her thumb underneath her lower lip. A motion of thought.
She nodded in understanding as she explained. "[+purple Well, I don't really feel super comfortable just letting someone stay at my place without knowing them.]"
[B Why They Wander...]4[center [pic https://i.pinimg.com/564x/7d/4f/cc/7d4fcc935b1455e54f7ec0184a551fc7.jpg]]
[font "Times" [size15 Nathan's eyes were on Christopher when he looked at him, holding the stone on the cord in his hand. His eyes moved to Patrice as he saw her rise, swallowing. Something about her bothered him. Something deep. But. That wasn't uncommon with the cloth. His eyes returned to Matilda, exhaling softly.
He didn't want to leave her. Though he was still struggling to feel safe treating her himself. His breath pushed out heavier this time. He [i didn't] want to leave her. But the idea of leaving Merlot, the one he had precious little faith in combatively, in this pathology, in this unnaturalness, be the one to go and try and help the situation.
"[#00CCFF No,]" he said, eyes flickering back to Patrice. "[#00CCFF I-]" He hated these options. Why was the timing so sour with this? But. At least he bandaged Matilda. God's wounds.
"[#00CCFF Fine. We'll take him.]" he said, glancing at Patrice. "[#00CCFF You keep Matilda, and we will be back. We- need to go to Sister Nancy. Now.]"
[B Hunt Or Be Hunted]
Finlay Street was one of those streets that was really cute and fun and bright during the day, but being this close to a college, and this in-between places populated with people, the storefronts shuttered for the evening and all of the outdoor furniture pulled inside to prevent pilfering, it gained this ominous, liminal feeling. You knew you weren't supposed to be here. There was only one apartment that existed above one of the storefronts that never had lights in it, and thus no witnesses. Only those who filled in the cracks.
Potentially harmless, but intimidating looking men sitting against concrete planter edges or building alleyways with their Huffy bikes and flat brims, looking like they were waiting for trouble or ready to start it. Wandering few homeless, in this transitory street, looking to either kill time or to scavenge what they could here and there. That was the sort of feel the street had after dark. [i Potentially] dangerous. Close to campus, so it should be fine. But possibly very dangerous. College towns as a whole had that feeling. A transitory, liminal, potentially dangerous feeling. Many people either broke, lost, or stuck here during or after school dumps them into the real world. It was a volatile place to be.
The moonlight fell on his face as he entered the bathing chamber from the singular, tall window that the moon was in. There were two, but one was empty to a human eye. His eyes raised to Her, the moon, and he took a deep breath, holding it and exhaling softly after a moment, letting the looseness of an intact body wash over him for just a moment more. The disruption that he was about to wreak on his form would be uncomfortable, to say the least. But magic was like that sometimes.
And so, in that shaft of moonlight, the creature bent, dropping smoothly to his knees as he let his eyes stay closed. Behind his lids he felt the moonlight on his skin and the old, stagnant vestiges of his magic respond to Her light. He opened his hands, laying their backs on his knees, or the affect thereof, centering himself within the room, not without. No thoughts elsewhere. No breath spent on anything else but his body.
He let the moments stretch, keeping the tick of time away from his thoughts. It was a concept he hadn't become aware of before moving out of his home. In a different culture, one dictated by the movement of the sun each day, he was a hard-tried individual to learn. And so, returning to some approximation of that state before time, before these pains, before all of this... He breathed.
It started initially as a vague ache. Something that reminded him of the discomfort of dysphoria's vague, amorphous fingers. But the ache soon built, slowly, working its way into his muscles and his tendons. Alvér breathed through itm willing his flesh to mould for him. He had done it before. He had done it earlier this day, without realizing it. Being was but a current state. And through a mindful focus, he could change that state, at least temporarily.
He could feel Her voice upon him, the immaterial fingers of a patroness he had only become aware of when She was slipping away from him all those years ago. Someone he had returned to with desperate fingers clawing himself back to reality after the strange absence undeath had wrought upon him.
To an outside eye not much happened, silence, stillness. Until his back bowed forwards, arching, and then arching past that point, too far. Each fine vertebrae popped, the creature's spine straightening as it did so. The flesh, that alien, extra matter that had hunched him began to move, to pull away, fading underneath clothes
[B With Tweedy]
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Alaric was roused by the gruff announcement that there was someone here 'for the necromancy and such'. The elf frowned softly, confused, and felt a trickle of fear run down his shoulders. Who was seeking them? He hoped it wasn't a desperate woman who was begging for their husband or son back. The last time he had managed that one, they were hardly pleased with the results of him resurrecting the fellow. Certainly, with control, it could do the work, but the emotional stress was a lot for most people.
He closed his book. Moving towards the entrance, the priest had been left outside, the high elf poked his head out, glancing over the man.
[right [pic https://i.pinimg.com/564x/21/cf/db/21cfdbef1cc828c07e46616c99ef8306.jpg]] [u [B Blythe Masters]]
A young, caffeinated adult and recent college graduate in folklore, funerals and just enough film classes to give her an idea of production without actually earning a degree, [i and] looking for a roommate, and a collateral partner in shenanigans. So long as you can handle her cat and her menagerie of plants, aren't rude, and have a job, you're a shoe-in. Currently working as a handyman type for all manner of magical and supernatural. The neighborhoods within the neighborhoods, basically. She knows where all the troll markets, the fey areas you avoid like they're radioactive, and where all the raddest supernatural pubs are at, which includes on that list the ones you definitely shouldn't go to.
A social media videographer of the strange and the how-to. Most normies think it's a character act, but some of it is legit; the magic and the folklore lessons and the how-to-human content. Look her up!
Often seen with her cat Valerie, a Definitely not cursed, absolute unit of a black shorthair cat, this goth pretty easy to spot on the street.
[left [pic https://i.pinimg.com/564x/d5/b0/3c/d5b03c132ffd3815974d00f99e886ce5.jpg?b=t]] [u [B Oleander Hargreaves]]
Resident vaguely gentlemanly, pouty boy who enjoys lurking, skulking and enjoying his immortality however he chooses, and probably snuck into college lectures on the nearby campus. He likes volunteering at the animal shelter, and includes "wasting time", exploring, movies, people-watching, looking around for a paying job, and stealing people's rings at a party while they're distracted because he can entertainment. He may eventually feel bad and return it in some little secretive way, that is, if he doesn't like it enough to keep it and remember you by. He likes jewelry, striking clothing, dogs, and wandering at night and unsettling people. It's easy to get away with because he's white, and he is fully aware of this.
[right [pic https://i.pinimg.com/564x/20/d5/ed/20d5edb93aa86a1b079a6cbfda113c01.jpg]] He doesn't particularly care to talk about what the eighties/nineties/etc. were like, or how old he is, nothing particularly like that, unhelped by a bad memory. Or is he just lying? It's hard to tell sometimes. He misses his sister, will do most things if dared or if you pay him $20, and he likes to suck on pieces of dark chocolate or ice cubes.
Well, let me lay out the options I have right now. My original character I had for the idea to be the boss who gets assigned this new secretary is a woman called Gweniviere Nitzsche.
She's what I call an old school supervillain who came from and lives in Germany, so she's here seasonally, but we can bring your character along if you want him to go across borders. She's a tall, white haired woman with gold eyes and a lot of scars on her face and neck, very tall, and very built. She's pretty civil, sarcastic and a bit biting sometimes, and has an accent I will mention but won't like write into the dialogue itself. Pretty military/superspy aesthetic here.
Another option is Dr. Felix Arndt, an Austrian-American who wears a glass mask, kind of in the vein of daft punk if you're familiar. He's more your sort of scientist villain, a little more mob style, he is.
There's another one, his name is Oliver Alexovich. He's a bit of an enigma, for plot reasons. He's a white-haired, young man with bright blue eyes. He's abnormally tall with wide shoulders, almost no hips, and dresses in a sort of slick, gothic, antique style now and again. If you comment on his 'vampire aesthetic' it'll just make him smile, all pleased. He's a sort of more supernatural/nighttime criminal jewel thief and museum whore. There's old stuffs he wants to find and get his hands on.
And, all these characters can be in the same story. By choosing, or liking one, you don't have to lose the rest, cuz for instance Dr. Arndt and Gweniviere come together cuz they are in the same sort of villain spheres. And Oliver can be there too
[B World of Deaca]
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"[+crimson Ah, fuck me, Judath,]" Brilla was groaning. "[+crimson What is it about you- making me- so irresponsible?]"
"[+crimson I promise I can survive better than this usually...]"
[B Castle of Secrets and Shadows, Notes for post]
He glanced at her as they glanced around the quiet street to cross towards his door. "[#00CCFF Weakness comes and goes,]" he responded, eyes on their direction across the street. "[#00CCFF It's situational. And- you made sure to box my ears if I treated you a way you didn't like. I'm a quick study.]" He aimed a little smile towards her at that.
[B Shallow Depth]
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The candle went out almost as soon as the woman's knuckles made contact with the door. The silence was heavier now, [i heard] as she entered. The house awaited her with bated breath- whether shocked at the entrance or knowing as well as she was that this was trespassing.
[https://i.pinimg.com/564x/ac/a9/98/aca998c1f3d6b3a6830b502eb9a2905b.jpg PICTURE POTENTIAL FOR LAURENT'S MORE BEASTLY JOTNAR FORM]
[B Wander the Woods]
[left [pic https://i.pinimg.com/564x/db/65/83/db658323ce7abf02bbeba575bcb6f9a1.jpg]]
[pic https://i.imgur.com/Qx4FlSkm.jpg] gay gentlemen bois
James too frowned at the roughness of her voice. It was ghastly, and meant what? Was she really that sick all of a sudden? She really had an awful constitution then to be exposed to all of this. He felt bad. It had barely been a week of this nonsense and now suddenly it seemed like it was coming to a head like this. A lot of his life was suddenly spilling out into hers and it was really weird, really vulnerable to think about. He didn't like it.
Presently Maria reached out and tugged on his sleeve, his brows arching as he looked at her. What did that mean now? It had taken on a couple meanings recently.
[font "Times" The individuals around the table consisted of ___ individuals. The most noticable was either Dr. Arndt from earlier; the glass of his daftpunk masked face glinting in the slanted light, or it was the woman in full niqab; her black shrouds showing only a sliver of sharp, dark eyes.
The others consisted of a group of myriad individuals. A tall, androgynous type of individual in a dark, sleek suit with a red tie sat next to the woman in niqab. Their pale face was shifting, anxious eyes taking in the new individual. Beside them sat a young man; angular, typically handsome for what somehow in either his stature or his features identified him as an englishman. Dark hair as well, long and swept behind his ears to fall down his back. Analytical, strangely light tawny eyes glanced over her as he seemed to consider her features.
Next to him sat a small, but muscular, compact Asian woman with judgmental eyes glancing over everything from Florence's outfit to her stance. A tiny, angry, built Lucy Liu from Kill Bill Vol. 1, sans the kimono. She sported a white blouse, under which sprouted two shiny, metallic arms in a sleek prosthesis. Next to her sat an incredibly goth looking young woman She was chewing gum, peering at Florence through sunglasses. Inside a room without windows. With something that strongly resembled Starbucks iced coffee sweating all over the nice, black tabletop.
On the other side of the table was seated two black women roughly around the others' age. They resembled one another sharply; medium tone skin. One with a decidedly more sleek, black turtleneck, undercut, natural hair in a punk pouf about one side of her head, wire rim glasses, and elbows on the table than the one next to her. She was in a pastel bubblegum pink sweater-blouse with a little, prim collar and one of those annoyingly adorable pixie haircuts that made her light hair look feathery and soft and... it better be a wig, that's nice hair. She sat with her hands in her lap. Prim. Adorable. Bright pink lips. Pearl drop earrings. Put. Together.
Next came Draco Malfoy as James Bond. He grinned a little upon being looked at again. Beside him was the epitome of a millenial introvert. Cross legged on the chair, concentration deep into whatever hideously mechanical contraption was seated in her lap. Milky brown skin and dark, messy but nicely messy. The cleanliness of this obvious shut-in was a nice addition. This one showered, [i and] wore clean clothes! A blue button up shirt with a little spaceship embroidered to be coming out of the pocket, and those sort of black jeggings that almost looked like skinny jeans-- except this chick was crisscross applesauce, so obviously not denim or that wouldn't be happening.
And lastly was White Boy Model No. 1 in a collarless, nicely structured suit jacket in different, figure complimenting blocks of medium, light, and dark gray over a white button up and a tie [i with] a tie pin. He was forgettably handsome; brown eyes and hair, sat ridiculously prim and at attention and was exploring Florence as curiously as she was exploring him.
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