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straightlikewetspaghetti · 3 years

Text

Perfection

Pairings: Poppy x MC (Bea Hughes)

Warnings: None

Word count: 1900

Bea Hughes was not a spoiled brat like most of the young people of Belvoire and with the successful completion of her schooling she went straight into police work. Ever since she was a child, she had fought for her own, without any tariffs and faced human envy and selfishness. That's why when she got the job as an officer, she was determined to make this town perfect.

Perfection is a relative term. She knew she couldn't bring Belvoire to that state on her own, but she still hoped that her hard work would bear fruit. She was used to failure, but she did not allow herself to be broken. Just once. God, only once had she bowed to the pressure of her own demons and failed. So shamefully that nothing but a stone mask had graced her face ever since.

Unaccustomed to balls and parties, Bea was faced with a difficult choice: whether to follow society's acceptance and wear a frighteningly beautiful and sweet dress that completely did not suit her, or a simple, elegant suit whose graphite color matched her feelings. With a touch of distrust, she ran her fingers over the delicate material of the dress and held her breath in her chest. The coolness of the material irritated her fingertips, which were warm compared to the silky material, scratching her every now and then with the sewn-on sequins. This was not what she wanted. Not the sweetness and extravagance, but the passion and simplicity the suit would provide.

She had never needed society's approval so much, so with a sigh of relief she reached for the graphite material and nimbly threw it on. With a simple and careful movement, she tied the tie around her neck, which tightened like a noose against her pale rosy skin. Later today, people would hang her with words for this outfit, just as they had done in the past.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the gun holster that rested lazily on the elegant white bedside table. Taking that object in her hand, a shiver ran through her body, one that she always felt when touching the cool metal of a gun. Pure adrenaline, it was a feeling she so needed, and at the same time, didn't want to have. Tonight was all about perfection.

In front of her house stood a perfectly polished Ford Crown, its black and white hues exuding a sleek look. Tonight, however, because of the required elegance of the show, Bea brought along her beloved Ford Mustang that she inherited from her parents. It was the last thing they had left that would always have an important place in her heart and life. Slipping into the driver's seat, she let out a shaky breath. She was getting closer and closer to disaster. A sea of piranhas that were ready to tear her apart on the spot and, as usual, with stoic, even irritating, calmness, she would let them.

Keep calm. Be perfect.

Entering the monster's liege, she adjusted the tie one last time to make the noose let go, at least for a moment. She knew it was worth trying, even with poor results. Complete failure was never an option.

With uncertain and cautious steps, she glided deeper into the darkness. The smell of cigarettes and expensive alcohol irritated her nostrils and her face bent in an unnatural grimace. And although she herself sometimes did not shy away from alcohol, today it seemed extremely irritating. After all, spoiled brats are allowed everything, which disgusted Bea at the very thought.

After making her way through the dark corridor, a bright light flashed across her eyes, like passing through a magical portal, where a completely different world awaited her on the other side. The smell of alcohol intensified as the ballroom appeared to her eyes, bursting at the seams with an overwhelming amount of people. Most of them complete strangers to her, they were carelessly prancing to the beat of simple, primitive music, feeling none of the dangers of adulthood.

"Bea Hughes!" she heard a drunken yell behind her and let the air out of her lungs loudly.

Zoey Wade, her closest and pretty much the only friend she had spoken to in her school days. The complete opposite of her, a complete lack of perfection. Still, Bea felt a strong attraction to her, a need for adrenaline that her friend's behavior always satisfied. In her younger days an unknowable curiosity, today it is familiar and damned by every possible layer of society.

"Zoey Wade," she replied with an undisguised wince. This girl continued to be a harbinger of trouble. The brunette tilted her head gently to the side to carefully examine the silhouette hiding behind her friend.

A young girl with a radiant smile caught her eye. Her hair glinted like gold every now and then, shimmering in waves of colored lights. Bea thrust her hands into her pockets and shamelessly fed off the sight of this beautiful creature. Low and petite in stature, completely vulnerable and innocent.

Perfect.

"Who is this beauty you brought yourself?", she asked nonchalantly, directing her gaze back to her friend's eyes. Zoey cringed, and her eyes popped wide open. The brunette was taken aback by this reaction and shifted nervously from foot to foot.

"Are you talking about my cousin Poppy?", her friend's eyes flashed in semi-darkness as she corrected her posture after that unfavorable reaction.

Bea's lips tightened into a straight line, and soft wrinkles appeared on her face as she became lost in her thoughts. She thought back to the carefree days when she and Zoey would play in the backyard together, paying no attention to the different level of social classes they came from. It was not easy for a simple girl to play with the mayor's daughter. The black-haired girl adored Bea so much that her parents allowed them to hang out, but they made no secret of their disgust with the lower class, reminding her at every turn that she was beneath them.

Finally, one day the cup overflowed and Bea decided to take revenge for all the mental harm done to her. She took away their perfection. After that incident, she was no longer the same carefree person. She closed herself off and put on a stone mask, becoming a merciless jerk.

"If it was your cousin, I would remember. Believe me", she shrugged her shoulders. Her hungry gaze, once again, returned to the blonde, who was dancing with some boy just as she once had, free of her demons. Her movements innocent, made the blood boil in Bea's veins. She licked her parched lips with the tip of her tongue and struggled to swallow the growing lump in her throat.

"She didn't live near us. She's been in New York most of her life because her parents didn't want a simple life for her," she paused for a moment to wet her tongue in the percent golden liquid. "She's a lawyer."

"And everyone's favorite," Bea's throat went dry as she heard the angelic voice of young Sinclair gracelessly slung over her cousin's shoulder. The strong floral scent of her perfume, beat down the bitter stench of sweat and alcohol. The brunette's chest tightened, unable to rise or fall any further.

Get a grip on yourself.

„We don't know each other yet”, she flashed her an overly sweet smile. „Poppy Min Sinclair, lawyer, cousin to that dolt and future Mrs. Jackson.”

Bea lowered her gaze to the small and delicate hand with perfectly filed and painted nails that was extended toward her. She reciprocated the grip and when her thumb wrapped around the top of the blonde's hand, she froze. Her gaze traveled from her tiny, long fingers to the milky white skin of her exposed arms.

Adrenaline.

She needed it.

No.

She needed her.

And she always got what she wanted.

***

After several hours of constant talking and faking any interest, Bea stopped for a short break at the snack table. The atmosphere was so artificial that, for a brief moment, she even felt like she fit into this environment. As if no one there was judging her. How naive that trajectory of thinking was.

It was time for the worst part of the show: the dancing. She preferred to dance with men, although even this was not without a few indiscreet whispers. Because how is it possible for a woman and a man to dance both in a suit. It was so imperfect. Moments passed and so did the partners. Bea felt tired of listening to the stories of everyone she danced with. The most she could think of right now was to sit in her favorite chair with a glass of scotch. That was her wish until someone tapped her gently on the shoulder.

"Hey stranger, care to dance?", the wide smile on Poppy's face softened her heart, not even allowing her to refuse. As a police officer she stuck to the rules, but for this girl she was able to break them.

She returned the smile and found them a free spot on the dance floor. She felt soft hands wrap around her neck and the girl's forehead fell against her chest. Surprised by this closeness, she uncertainly placed her hands on her slender waist, but without moving closer so that their bodies were at a relatively safe distance.

"You intrigue me", she whispered innocently, swaying lazily to the beat of the music. Bea's throat became dry and before she could get anything out, the girl continued. "You show up here in the middle, trying to sit in the dark, and you look quite unhappy", boldness in her words earned her some respect from the brunette. "You seem to be completely different from everyone else here. Why?", Poppy lifted her head and found Bea's mysteriously gleaming eyes in the semi-darkness.

If the blonde had only known why Bea didn't belong here, she would have fled in terror like everyone else. Poppy was a lawyer, a fiancée, her life must have been so perfect she surely never experienced a blemish on her porcelain skin. Skin whose emanating warmth she could feel with every scrap of her taut body.

"So it seems", she replied indifferently, shoving all incorrect thoughts to the back of her mind. "Is it appropriate for you, the lawyer and future Mrs. Jackson, to maintain such closeness with a stranger?", she changed the subject turning the attention away from herself

She watched carefully as the girl's face changed expression, and only for a moment did she feel the need to close the distance and seal her lips in a kiss.

"I...", Poppy was about to say something, but she stopped at the beginning of her sentence. Any trace of a smile disappeared from her face. "I have to go now.", she said mysteriously, sounding like a completely different person, which drew interest from the brunette. She stood on her toes and innocently brushed her lips against the other girl's cheek, stopping near her ear. "Come tomorrow with my cousin to the wedding dress salon for my fitting. The more the better."

Bea nodded, watching the blonde's silhouette disappear among the rest of the dancing partygoers. Automatically her hand went to the place where Poppy's mouth had been and she sighed heavily.

This couldn't end well.

#going on a semi-hiatus so here is #old fic I found #idk #poppy min sinclair #poppy x mc #queen b #choices #playchoices #choices fic

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theouijaboard-archived · 3 years

Text

Séance Live Event 2 - 14.03.2021, 4pm - 7:30pm GMT

When: 11th September, 1888, late night Where: Baba Yaga’s Tent Led By: Baba Yaga Featuring: @hauntedyves, @ishmaelhassan, @lucianriviera, @treadboards, @mvsquerade, @maudxlytton, @pollysheedy

Transcript below the cut. The following has undergone minor edits for clarity and continuity’s sake.

Seating plan: Zoya - August - Yves - Polly - Lucian - Ish - Maude - Baba Yaga

Baba Yaga 16:05

Their coming was announced by a dreadful event ; the Friend worked to answer the questions before the darkness ascended, but with the recent occurrences and the slashes of metaphysical claws, she did not need to look the Ball into the Eye to know that the Six are coming - and if it was a lighter situation, perhaps she would’ve played around, toyed with their mood and amused herself with both ignorance and fear oozing from their pores. But, it was a solemn situation and there was no need to sour it further - her appearance, all clad in black lace and her silver hair adorned with silver-and-amethyst pins, black tourmaline and obsidian and onyx hanging from her ears, neck, and clasped around her wrists and long, bony fingers, was enough to put that primal fear in people’s hearts.

“Come all, and enter. Leave your doubts behind you, or walk no further - the doorway opens and if you come here to mock or ridicule, your sanity may soon leave you.” A fair and usual warning, whisper soft murmur echoing through the tent as the people enter. “You are late. Take your seats and let us begin. Be careful to not disrupt the ring of salt behind your chairs. Do not move until all is spoken and answered, and the spirits are laid to rest.” Baba Yaga speaks and the watery gaze softens for a brief moment as she watches the attendees in her tent, fingers curling around the chicken foot hanging from her neck and pressing against her beating heart.

Polly Sheedy 16:09

Polly was terrified beyond belief. None of this gave them any comfort, but they had far too many questions, and too few answers. There were few who could provide them, but Baba Yaga was one. Their eyes fell to the chicken foot, and they felt a little queasy, but dutifully, silently, sank into their seat.

Lucian Riviera 16:10

He took a seat as requested, to the right of Polly and left of Ish, the previous experience had left him with more questions than answers. It had also stirred the notion of an idea he wished to put to the test today when he'd heard of a second reading. An idea he'd planted in Maude's mind at the botanical garden not several days past. Idly he wondered if she would act on his whimsical notion but there was only one way to find out.

Yves Sinclair 16:10

He had desired answers and from the passing words of other, he had heard of possibilities and promises. Not much of a superstitious man, Yves would've been fine all on his own if it weren't for the recent events of death that seemed to linger at the corner of every street. Even his own mind seemed to begin playing games with him as he felt an inkling of strange ... paranoia overcome him. Thus, here he was - ready to follow the directions of Baba Yaga, perhaps she would have answers to the prodding questions in his mind.

Ish Hassan 16:12

Ish was still shaken from the previous encounter with the world beyond the veil. He'd tried to convince himself time and time again that it was all made up nonsense designed to get inside their heads, parlor tricks and games, vague stories that made the hairs on the backs of their arms stand him. He tried to act like none of this was true. He followed the stranger's instructions, taking his seat.

Maude Lytton 16:13

Maude enters the tent, her expression serious and formal, as she did not want to admit to have been convinced of the existence of ghosts by a stranger no less. She sits on the chair and gives a sharp glance at Mr Riviera's direction. She only hopes that the woman doing the séance is not some kind of charlatan, although the chicken feet are a nice touch.

Baba Yaga 16:14

Lips stretch into a smile and the old woman laces her fingers together. “Everyone in attendance remove your gloves, if you have them, and place your hands on the table. If you seek the comfort of another living creature’s touch, you may join hands with the people sitting beside you. With the outwardly placed circle, contact is not necessary for the communication to flow.” Baba Yaga’s smile disappears, head tilting to the side, as if she’s listening to a noise behind her - slowly, she turned, and the misty gaze fixes upon the First, upon Yves ; “You, boy! Ask us.”

Ish Hassan 16:26

He felt no need to hold hands with anyone. At least Baba Yaga didn't require it of them, so he placed his hands on the table, remaining quiet as he listened to the young man ask his questions.

Yves Sinclair 16:17

While the others appeared to react in fear, Yves was nonetheless intrigued - his curiosity had certainly piqued, gaze fixated a bit on the strangeness of the chicken feet. There were so many questions racing through his head and yet, which one was he to ask? It was as if his throat was caught but he finally managed to utter the words, "Who is it that is here?" Perhaps it was a foolish question but surely, there must be an identity to those who lingered from the otherworld. He wanted names, identities to put upon the faceless entities.

Baba Yaga 16:20

Eyes glazed over, the old witch smiles. "Wrong questions you ask, Yves. Who? Perhaps a what would be more suited."

Yves Sinclair 16:23

Of course there would be mysteries upon mysteries to something as strange and unthinkable of the supernatural. It would be too easy to receive an answer he mused. He pursed his lips to ask yet another question but paused - perhaps this time he'd make an attempt to sound less like an imbecile. "Then the ghost ... I believe there is one that has had the ill fortunate of attaching itself to me, pray - what for? Why?"

Baba Yaga 16:25

The woman's smile widens, a distortion of warmth ; of rot and madness intertwined. "For your sanity."

Polly Sheedy 16:28

If they had been scared upon entering, that feeling only worsened as proceedings began. Polly let out a tiny, almost imperceptible squeak, wide eyes darting between Yves and the old witch.

Zoya Fox 16:32

Zoya had to give it the old witch -- the lace, the jewels, her clothing seemingly woven from night itself all worked in her favor. Zoya was not a skeptical woman, but she still had to credit someone's performance in the face of many who seemed not to believe.

Zoya was not a fearful woman, either, though perhaps she should've been as her gaze darted curiously between Yves and Baba Yaga.

Yves Sinclair 16:30

He nearly snorted, what sanity was there for someone like him? Certainly the dead would have better judgement but perhaps that was an overestimation. "Then what of the girl? Chapman I believe, is she present? Perhaps she may unearth the truth of her ill fated passing." Yves wanted a hard fact, anything to show proof that this was truly, real.

Baba Yaga 16:34

Head tilts to the side, watery eyes glazed with something akin to mirth, and then she speaks. "Such rotten mind you have! Little Annie might be dead and buried, but why do you think she'd answer to you? Better still, why do you think we will let her speak? Her soul has not departed, but a place she haunts is not here."

Yves Sinclair 16:36

A part of him almost smiled, surely rotten was an understatement - his mind was akin to filth in some shape or form. "Poor girl must have something to say if she's rationale enough to seek justice ... it all seems so strange," he muttered. "And the man, perhaps she could speak of him. Where is that man?" Yves gaze was fixed. He wanted a story.

Maude Lytton 16:37

Maude frowns, not liking this new information, not liking it at all. These ghosts enjoyed playing with their questions and attention then? She also hoped, naively, that the poor woman was in a better place. Perhaps an afterlife or maybe even oblivion would be better than become a haunting. She attempts to give Polly a comforting smile, very probably failing.

Lucian Riviera 16:38

Now that was interesting, but the place she haunts is not here? Baba Yaga seemed to provide more insight than Muiris' vague responses. But did that mean they would have to conduct a séance around the space of where the recently departed's demise had occurred?

Baba Yaga 16:38

The smile drops and it's exchanged with a frown. She sniffs, as if she's been crying, before her expression turns to rage and the witch growls ; “Away, away he went - they never stay once the deed is done.”

Polly Sheedy 16:40

They caught Maude's eye, offering a shaky, half-smile that didn't reach their eyes. Had they been sat beside her, they would have no qualms about gripping her hand tightly on the table. Every question, and every answer, was hitting far too close for comfort.

Zoya Fox 16:41

She frowns at the answer, instinctively leaning closer in interest. How intriguing. How foreboding.

Yves Sinclair 16:40

The new information was something. He hadn't realized he had been holding his breath for the answer. "The deed ... so you can confirm that he is the culprit?" He wished he had brought a notepad to jot it all down but then again, he had yet to see evidence with his own eyes. Was he buying into it all so quickly with the ravings of a seemingly mad woman?

Baba Yaga 16:42

Watery eyes fix upon the boy and the corners of her mouth quick into another smile. "Someone is. But, it is not the one you suspect, little boy."

Yves Sinclair 16:44

A quizzical look flashed upon Yve's fair features. "I'm not exactly the brightest," he muttered or so were the words of his father. Yves glanced over at the others. Surely one of them would have some more insight. "So then the culprit remains free and on the prowl?"

Baba Yaga 16:47

The witch's expression softens, but it wasn't her who spoke. "Brighter than you think. Though, perhaps, it is safer for you to remain dim witted." A grin stretches her lips, and then she nods - pure excitement radiating off her. "Oh, yes! Yes, yes, yes! Free and hungering for more blood, sweet boy!"

Yves Sinclair 16:50

"Dumb and free is better than clever and dead I suppose," he murmured. The confirmation was expected but it still sent chills down his body. "Then all I have left to ask is if these ghosts that haunt, are they merely bored perverts?" A mischievous grin appeared on his visage, a part of him nearly laughed (wholly inappropriate) but everyone else appeared so grim it was truly as if they were in attendance of a funeral.

Polly Sheedy 16:51

despite their fear, the utter terror that gripped their heart, Polly spluttered a little, the first genuine smile coming to their face since they left the Britannia a week before.

Lucian Riviera 16:52

It was only just that Lucian stifled a snort at the young man's retort, he'd been raked over hot coals by this spirit but it seemed he could give as good as he got. Commendable by all accounts if a little unwise to taunt the dead.

Ish Hassan 16:55

Ish's eyes widened, unable to hold a stoic reaction around the young man. He'd been working around the docks most of his life, so few things could surprise him, but there was something to the unparalleled confidence of Yves that took him off-guard.

Baba Yaga 16:53

The expression falls, and the gaze turns stormy, but a gleeful grin plays on her lips. "We are not chained by the same rules that chain you. We are here to drink. To eat. Though our sustenance comes from your sanity. Now i have a question for you, little boy. How long do you think you can hold onto yours?"

Zoya Fox 16:56

Like Lucian and Polly, she also stifled a short laugh, eyes glimmering with amusement. Finally, someone brash enough to shake up the bleak atmosphere. The amusement faded from her features as a voice spoke once more, and she wondered vaguely just what sort of demons were haunting Yves.

Yves Sinclair 16:57

For all his faults, he was a rather honest boy. "Not long." But if he were to truly lose it all, he'd certainly go out with a bang. "But the mania could be fun," he pondered the idea for a moment, how much more of a family disappointment could he really be sounded like the true challenge of the question. He had said his share and now it was up to the rest of the lot.

Baba Yaga 16:59

The smile widens for a brief moment - then the head tilts to the side, listening, listening. The curtain moves and the old woman laughs - but, the laughter does not belong to her. The moment of minute insanity passes and she takes a sip of a strong, spiced liquor in front of her, before the expression turns apologetic, sliding from Yves towards another ; and a giggle erupts from her when the Second and Third come hand in hand - but, it is to the Second she turns first, the owner of Britannia. “What do you seek to unravel?”

Ish Hassan 17:01

He had known that Baba Yaga would call upon him, and somehow he was still unprepared for it. He couldn't help but be conscious of the other sets of eyes and ears in the room. The things he wanted to ask weren't exactly things he wanted to say in front of the others, but that was the nature of the beast (no pun intended). "When I asked how you died, you said who's to say I lived. If you didn't live, then what exactly are you?"

Baba Yaga 17:04

The woman laughs, and the feeling that washes over her is giddy ; almost teasing. “Who is to say I have never lived? All that is alive will one day die.” Then the expression drops and something sombre takes over her. "Yet not all that is dead had once lived. I am dead - and dead I will remain."

Yves Sinclair 17:05

The concept of something that wasn't truly alive but not entirely dead sounded like nonsense in its entirety. For all Yves could put together, this entity could've been as trivial as an ant. Their gaze remained on Ish as they wondered what otherworld being chose to latch unto him.

Polly Sheedy 17:06

they had to hold back the shiver that ran up their spine. To talk of ghosts was one thing - the dead had been people too once. But Yves first, and then Ish, spoke of something else, a different matter entirely. Baba Yaga's answer puzzled them, unable to make sense of the riddles in the words of the spectre.

Lucian Riviera 17:06

As the attention in the room shifted to Ish he naturally reached for his cane, discreetly unscrewing the handle and returning the blackwood to rest against the arm of his seat. The handle remained in his palm, upended and a cap flicked open, tonight was certainly proving more insightful he thought as he took a sip of the contents though Ish's spectre seemed unwilling to provide anything of true note.

Ish Hassan 17:08

He felt all their eyes upon him, the penetrating gaze of intense curiosity, of perhaps fear. He wet his lips with his tongue, keeping his hands flat on the table in a conscious effort not to toy with them awkwardly. The answer gave him nothing. "Do you know who is responsible for the Whitechapel Murders?"

Maude Lytton 17:10

For once she is distracted by something, she looks at Mr Riviera drinking in the middle of a séance and talk of murders. If she forced her empathy, she would understand the need for something stronger in a stressful situation, but still

Lucian Riviera 17:10

The shift in his curiosity is immediate and there is no helping the way his eyes flicker over to Maude, a small expression that might very well mimic the implication of I told you so reflected in the bright intensity of his gaze.

Polly Sheedy 17:10

their breath hitches in their throat, eyes locked on Ish. They were almost certain that he was dangerous - was he asking to discern the answer, or to find out how much he himself had to hide?

August Palmer 17:10

August’s role as an actor was to untangle words, not make them. He considered briefly sending the riddle to his brother—the academic one, ever eager for a puzzle. The mention of the Whitechapel Murders broke his thought. He watched closely.

Baba Yaga 17:09

The witch's head tilts to the side, watery eyes fixing upon the man - and her smile widens. "Yes."

Zoya Fox 17:12

her eyes widen at baba's proclamation, but she supposed it'd be too much to actually reveal the killer's identity. it'd surely make maude's job much easier.

Ish Hassan 17:11

Was that it? Ish narrowed his eyes, brows knitting together as he looked upon the woman, the vessel. "That's really all you're going to say about it?" He scoffed, shaking his head. He wanted to ask is it me? but he didn't dare, especially in front of the others. "Where do you go when you're not with me?"

Baba Yaga 17:12

The woman giggles in amusement. "Yes." ; but, then her smile widens and it dances between mirth, and wickedness, and madness. "I never leave you."

Maude Lytton 17:13

Once again she stops her desire to stare suspiciously at Mr Hassan. Just a slight glance, with her memorising his expression and the entity's words. She's going to have to talk with him at some point in next days.

Ish Hassan 17:14

Well, that was fucking horrifying. A cold chill made its way down Ish's spine, hairs standing on end on the arms beneath his jacket. He was quiet a moment, unsure how much further to go, unsure whether he wanted the answers, but unable to keep himself from asking the questions. "Are you the reason I've been having blackouts?"

Zoya Fox 17:15

her gaze slides briefly to ish in curiosity. another ghost with an attachment—the dead were awfully obsessive. but what was the owner of the brittania hiding that called the spirit to him so? blackouts?

Polly Sheedy 17:15

Blackouts? That was.. interesting to say the least. It did little to turn off the gut feeling they had about Ish, the sensation that he could hurt them, but perhaps it explained the moments of kindness they felt in between.

Lucian Riviera 17:16

His attention on Maude was enough to pick up the glance in Ish's direction, all focus on him true but this gave him the impression of something else. He'd known Ish a long time, long enough that he had faith in the man despite his strange demeanor of late. But his latest question... Black outs? Well, that was interesting to say the least.

Maude Lytton 17:16

Blackouts? the man who acted was too much nervous near authorities and had a dead being imply dangerous things, had blackouts

Yves Sinclair 17:18

Blackouts? well Yves could relate to a certain degree. After all, he had it happen several times when he had a bit too much booze and was out on the streets promenading and doing all the things a rake enjoyed doing. Maybe Ish was like him. But judging from the man's reactions, something told Yves otherwise.

Baba Yaga 17:16

She laughs, something high pitched and ringing of triumph. "Ah, so you do know what questions to ask! Yes! Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! And they will never cease!" She laughs again, cold eyes fixed upon the poor, young man.

Lucian Riviera 17:19

He had little intention to call upon the child that seemed to have opted to return to him today. He had questions, and at the response sat forwards a little in his seat eyes burning with intense curiosity.

Polly Sheedy 17:20

They felt utterly sick to their stomach, head shaking from side to side as though trying to prevent the woman's words from reaching their ears. For the first time, they felt a pang of sympathy for Ish. Being haunted was disturbing enough but this ... there was nothing about this that any sane person could handle

Ish Hassan 17:20

He remained motionless and quiet for several moments. He was certain he could feel his heart hammering away in his chest, echoing in his ears. He was frozen, and could only stare at his own hands so as not to make eye contact with anyone else in the room.

August Palmer 17:22

August made a mental note to steer clear of the Britannia for a little while, or perhaps the East End altogether.

Baba Yaga 17:22

To the Third she now looks, and the expression shifts into something warmer, before it fades, confusion briefly evident on her face as she takes a long sip of the drink, fueling her vision, eyeing Lucian. “You are strange. They like you, but they don’t like you. Speak, and let us answer.”

Yves Sinclair 17:24

And he thought he was indecisive, seemed like this ghost had commitment issues like him. Well it was nice the dead were relatable, made sense given they were once human too.

Lucian Riviera 17:25

His smile was wry at that, "well, they wouldn't be the only ones to be conflicted on that account," his head tilted thinking of the strange spirit that had seemingly chosen to attach itself to Ish. It sounded crazed, like the stories of souls he’d heard were confined to the walls of Bedlam not but several miles from here. The revelation lingered and he had questions his eyes darted briefly aside to his accomplice who was looking at anything but any other person in the room. “I wish to speak to the spirit bothering Mister Hassan, for how long is it that you have kept him company?”

Ish Hassan 17:27

Ish stared at Lucian. No, this wasn't how it was supposed to go. "What are you doing?" he asked in a desperate whisper to Lucian. "Don't speak to it..."

Baba Yaga 17:26

She turns and the grin returns. "Forever."

Lucian Riviera 17:28

His attention remained fixed on Baba Yaga as Ish spoke up, but his expression was resolute, determined. "I find that hard to believe considering how long I've known the man," his posture straightened, hands clasping together around the flask in front of him as he leaned on the table. "What business is it that keeps you from moving on or do you just enjoy torturing good people?"

Yves Sinclair 17:29

He wondered how many of people would be interested in a good ol drink after all this. He wondered if it was even possible for a ghost to properly haunt should they all be caught in a drunk stupor.

Baba Yaga 17:31

The smile remains wide and the teeth appear sharp - sharper than they are. “What keeps us all from moving on, Lucian? Dead or alive, what difference does it make? Resentments and pain, delight and madness. We all feed from what you give us.” She pauses and then the cold eyes fix upon Lucian's. "You've known him long but I've claimed him longer. You feels us and you don't feel us. You dance to tunes we play, when we play them." The smile widens again ; "There are no good people, Lucian."

Lucian Riviera 17:35

The reasoning the ghost provided made sense, which meant that in order to sort this situation for any of them they would just have to cut this thing off. Starve it out into exposure and deal with it then. "I wouldn't go so far as to say that, there are some good people in this world," his eyes narrowed a fraction, "do we have anything to fear from you?"

Polly Sheedy 17:36

They frowned. They would never disagree out loud, too afraid of angering the spirits that joined them, but on that front, they could not agree. If there were no good people, then what was the point to anything? They were grateful to Lucian for voicing everything they were thinking, and shot him a look of appreciation.

Ish Hassan 17:43

He wasn't convinced he was 'good people', but Lucian's defense of him was rather touching. He might have been a thief, liar and cheat, but Lucian was also a pretty good friend. It would have been comforting, had there been anything in this situation that would allow Ish to be comforted at all. Of course they had something to fear. They should all be terrified.

Baba Yaga 17:37

The witch smiles. "If there are, you are not one of them." Head tilts to the side and she the razor sharp grin returns. "Undoubtedly."

Lucian Riviera 17:40

The chuckle that follows is quiet albeit rueful, "ah, so kind of you to give your judgement of a stranger but you didn't answer my question."

Maude Lytton 17:41

Interesting that the entity thought of Mr Riviera as a bad man, wasn't he known for his philanthropy? What would make it have this opinion? It could be also theorised that the ghost was lying, no matter how much suspicious Mr Hassan looked like

Zoya Fox 17:47

when hardly anyone saw through lucian, this ghost did. yes, lucian had helped her as a young girl, but he was certainly not a saint.

Polly Sheedy 17:48

The assessment of Lucian was another thing Polly did not agree with. They let out a small cough, a frown appearing on their face. "I think otherwise," they said in a half of a whisper.

Lucian Riviera 17:50

Lucian made no claim of good intentions, other people simply did that for him. The church was one such example, he'd been commended and applauded for the act but he'd never claimed responsibility for ever doing it for anyone else. Did he refute them? No. But who was he to correct them either? It was their fault and err in making false assumptions about him in the first place after all. He was many things a good man, certainly not, but also not the worst by far. Glanced at Polly, giving them a small nod of acknowledgement. "Kind of you to say kid," he said under his breath.

Baba Yaga 17:42, 17:51

"Did I not? You asked us if you should fear us. Undoubtedly, you should."

The laughter erupts from the old woman again, and with another drink between the spirits, she turns to the next unfortunate soul and her grin widens ; “All the world’s a stage, but answers have never been staged. Ask us away, August.”

August Palmer 17:55

"... And all the men and women merely players." August manages an uneasy smile. The line was one of the first he learnt but he puts it down to coincidence. "I hope it won't offend to ask after my death scenes. How do they fare?" Rahat’s corpses were one thing, but the chance to speak to a real source, or at least someone versed in death—he supposed even mystic frauds have to be—was difficult to resist. Zoya could listen too, since there was talk of renewing her Desdemona. She wouldn’t thank him, of course, but such was the burden of a selfless mentor.

Baba Yaga 17:56

She looks at the man, head tilted to the side, but she does not smile as she speaks. “Overplayed. There is no romance in dying, there is no glorification in feeling your life seep away from you, like sand from a broken hourglass.”

Zoya Fox 18:01

overplayed! oh, if she could burst into gleeful laughter, she would. even august palmer isn't impervious to the criticism from the dead. she sends him a sympathetic smile instead.

August Palmer 18:00

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. Your sort of death doesn’t sell tickets, though, unfortunately. Audiences see enough of it.” There is no detectable malice in his words. August sounds almost apologetic. “Who are you?”

Baba Yaga 18:02

She looks at him and the teasing tone returns to her voice - thought it sounds sharper, higher pitched. “Why does it matter? Must you name a thing to know it? Let us say I am a spectator in you badly written play, watching it all crumble and unfold.”

August Palmer 18:02

August winces, barely perceptible. His nails have dug into the cut on his palm, hard enough to break the scab. He hadn’t even noticed. Zoya feels suddenly very close—too close. He keeps his eyes trained on Baba Yaga’s chicken foot. “What do you want from me?” The question comes out steady, and he is thankful for it.

Baba Yaga 18:04

They like that this one goes straight to the point - no dancing around and tiptoeing around the topic. She smiles, but it is a sad smile. “To feed. Death is dry and it burns our throats.”

Ish Hassan 18:05

Ish didn't quite understand the actor's thoughts or point of view. He couldn't fathom being a performer. He preferred to keep to himself, but he remained alert, listening as best he could, though still perturbed by his own haunting.

Zoya Fox 18:07

she catches him wince and thinks, see, you are not unshakeable. there's something bittersweet about the witch's words—zoya would not like to see august fall for her to rise, but if that is how it must be, then let him crumble.

August Palmer 18:11

“Ah.” There was little else to say to that. August had certainly felt the press of vulture’s wings more acutely of late, sometimes even beside him, and 'the devourer becoming the devoured' had an attractive irony to it. Still, real life didn't work like the stage. This time he was thankful for it. “Before you polish me off, is there a message for us?” He asked.

Baba Yaga 18:13

The expression turns sympathetic and the razor sharp smile softens. “Beware the coming days. Not all is how it seems. Wood rots from within.”

August Palmer 18:17

The words made August falter. Another riddle, though this one was a little clearer to him than the last. He felt a strange wave of gratitude to the ghost, which surprised him, then a nausea. He leant back in his chair. "Well, that's me done."

Baba Yaga 18:18

Murky eyes turn towards the next, the detective extraordinaire, and once agains she laughs, drinking the contents of her glass and filling it again - they are thirsty ; and it is best they did not feed off her. “Speak, child.”

Maude Lytton 18:19

Pausing a few seconds to gather her thoughts, Maude turns her head towards the woman, refusing to call her even in her thoughts as "Baba Yaga". She already had her questions in mind and so she starts with a simpler one. "Who are you then? what is your name, if you even have one or remember it" she can't help but think that a simply answer is going to be hard to get, however she must start somewhere. If it is a ghost then it was a person, so nothing more proper than asking this thing its damn name.

Baba Yaga 18:21

She looks at the woman and the expression turns to one of pain. “I am the one who lurks in the shadows. I am the one who watches over you, when all others are dead and gone. Damnatio memorie follows me. Damnatio memorie forbids me to speak of it, though I do remember it. But you may call me as you please.”

Maude Lytton 18:25

Now the ghost is speaking latim, Maude ponders. She will not name it, refuses to do it and give it power somehow, even this she knows. Maude will remember its words of guardianship, not knowing how to feel about this.

"Are you the cause of the flickering lights of my lights, then? i sincerely hope you don't desire my death too. i believe death by fire is not particularly a good way to go." she starts almost amused, her attempts of initiating a dialogue feeling silly. Why would the damn ghost mess with her lamps? A child crying for attention it was not. However she attempts to make what's nearly a joke, not letting her guard down for a second. This thing was not human anymore and it most certainly wasn't bound by things like morals, it wanted something and would try to get it from her. Perhaps she should feel lucky to not have died in a fire and be the on the other side of the séance.

Baba Yaga 18:27

The witch blinks, and a smile returns to her lips. Ah! She is the smart one. “Yes. The power of it belongs to me.” then, a brief pause, before the spirit adds ; “You will not perish in fire.”

Lucian Riviera 18:28

The theatre goers in the room were certainly a cause for entertainment, but somehow Lucian's interest is piqued by the discomfort of the detective. These séances were proving so much more enlightening than he'd ever thought possible. The Latin he recognises but its meaning is unfamiliar though clearly this spirit has wisdom in its years. Who is it from her life he wonders, does she know?

Maude Lytton 18:31

Staring defiantly at the woman, she's not going to get honest answers, it is are capable of lying even if the woman before her is not a charlatan. It probably enjoy holding all the cards, enjoying their confusion and fear. She refuses to give it this pleasure. It's too nice, too polite, all the previous ghost didn't bother to hide their harming intentions, why would she think otherwise of this one? Either is a poor soul or it's something more malicious and smart enough to play nice. "What are your intentions? do you want anything of me?" not knowing where it stands is one of the most troubling this, so she hopes it's also greedy for something, else why would it be spending effort to talk to her?

Baba Yaga 18:32

She clicks her tongue, as if disappointed. And it thought the detective was smart. “I do not wish you death, for you are of no use to me dead. But, have you not been paying attention? All of us dead desire the same thing.”

Maude Lytton 18:36

"You desire my suffering then? Me crawling in fear? Your hunger for any feeling or sensations must have addled your ghostly brain. You'll not find me so easily scared" she snaps, knowing very well her words are half-truths, she is scared, although not of ghosts.

She makes an effort to not glance at Mr Riviera, not surprisingly, she feels irritated enough to coat her words with sharpness. She did not enjoyed being toyed with, the ones who played around with their answers thinking themselves too smart to say the truth ended having her fully attention, not because she approved of it, but because she would not let it go until her questions had answers. At this point she felt surrounded by these type of persons. And she must compromise, she needs clues, leads, any tips and this is the truth she doesn't want to admit to herself or to anyone. So she let herself be convinced my that man. "A particular man convinced me of the ludicrous idea of making inquiries about the poor women's murders. Will you answer my questions clearly or I will require a specialist to decipher your choice of words?" she stress the last words, challenging the ghost.

Lucian Riviera 18:38

There was no way of suppressing the slight grin that comes knowingly with his reference, instead he masks it by taking a sip of his drink his eyes tracking back to Baba Yaga for her response. They had little else to lose after all, and why not use the dead to their advantage if they had knowledge of pertinence?

Baba Yaga 18:38

She smiles - like a mother would smile to a child throwing a tantrum. But, the ghost chooses to latch onto the other portion of the questions. “We do not speak of another that is dead. If you want to know of it, you must ask her.”

Maude Lytton 18:45

Feeling both exhausted and angry, Maude feels small. It's not something she's prepared to and how hateful it is to allow this parasite of a ghost to feel any of her dark emotions. It doesn't answer her question, she notices it and expects it, but still, it's not the first time she desires the supernatural ability to punch this thing. Her mouth opens a little and then closes, her hesitation obvious. Asking for help with ghosts is ridiculous and a complete failure of her part, but she *must *have answers. What's dignity if even a word could help her stop the killer? She even doesn't care if the ghosts attempts to feed of her emotions, let it try, she only wants the killer caught.

"Would you know where to find the suspect that was with the last victim before her death?" she finally asks, not wanting to remember Annie Chapman, afraid of saying her name and invoking the memories of her body, the pool blood.

Baba Yaga 18:46

The woman tilts her head and nods, once. “I would.”

Lucian Riviera 18:47

There is a delightful sense of triumph that comes upon hearing that response. The warm fire of recognition and being proven right. Wonderful. Simply wonderful.

Maude Lytton 18:49

"And you will not tell me it she finishes, a bitter smile decorating her face. "Perhaps the next séance, if you're feeling more generous, parasite"

Baba Yaga 18:50

The ghost that speaks through her makes an abrupt departure and Baba Yaga laughs again, fingers curling around the glass as she takes another long sip of the drink - and it turns to the Third again, and the Final one. “It is not your turn again, you’ve spoken already!” she almost yells, then turns to the young waif. “Speak, dear.”

Polly Sheedy 18:53

Polly had fallen silent as proceedings had gone on, almost hoping to fly by unnoticed. For a moment, they dared to hope it worked. Alas, Baba Yaga seemed to have other ideas. "Um..." they sat a little straighter, hands trembling where they rested on the table, voice husky with fear. They reflected on what had been happening to them, the voices they had relied on to keep them safe. They had nothing to fear from those spirits - but there was nothing to say they were present tonight. "I suppose I would like to know ... am I in danger? From this - this killer?" They pause for a moment, and add as an afterthought. "Thank you."

Baba Yaga 18:54

She smiles, and it is a sad smile. "Yes, you are in danger. But, not only does the ripper threaten you."

Polly Sheedy 18:57

a sharp intake of air, and Polly is silent for a moment, eyes darting around the circle in a sudden state of mistrust of everybody in it. Their face pales, taking on an almost grey colour. "I've heard spirits." They confess, looking once more upon Baba Yaga, sure they know of what they speak. "I know they protect me, somehow. Warn me of the danger. I just want to know why me? Why not Annie Chapman or the others?"

Lucian Riviera 19:00

Warn her of danger? Interesting. It seems as though Polly had been holding back that little nugget of information. And if they warned her, that meant they must be able to sense the Ripper's presence... It certainly made Polly's situation far more unique than he'd initially anticipated.

Baba Yaga 18:59

The solemn look returns, but the gaze remains soft. “I pity you. You keep choosing wrongly.” It pauses, then relents ; "All living things must walk their path. We send out our warnings, but not many listen."

Polly Sheedy 19:03

The urge to clamp their hands over their ears was only intensifying with every word. It was one thing to be confronted by unintelligible whispers in their ear. To hear the words so clearly was another, even if they couldn't make sense of the warnings. Choice? That was one thing they wasn't sure had ever been in their grasp. "Does that mean the other victims heard as I have?" If that was so, they didn't want to think about what that might mean for their future - or lack of. "I am grateful. For the protection of your warnings." They wanted to make thay clear - lest the whispers stop, leaving them fumbling in the dark.

Baba Yaga 19:05

Watery eyes turn to a soft mist, silver sheen coating them. “No. They refused to listen. To see."

Lucian Riviera 19:06

It was easy to spot the distress Polly was currently experiencing, and naturally whether out of a state of genuine care or something more dubious he reached aside and gently touched the back of their hand. A silent gesture of support in trying times. He could be many things, but he wasn't completely heartless.

Polly Sheedy 19:10

they jumped a little at the unexpected touch, but upon realising it came from Lucian, let out a sigh of relief. There was a comfort in the gesture, drawn from a time long ago when he alone had been their source of protection. Tears slipped thick and fast down their cheeks, the sorrow in Baba Yaga's eyes wrapping tightly around their heart. "I'm sorry." They spoke as softly as they dared. "These warnings... do they come from people like me? Like Annie Chapman? Is that what you are?"

Baba Yaga 19:11

Head tilts to the side as she watches the waif. "No. I protect you, but others failed to listen to their own. All lay in graves they've made for themselves."

Polly Sheedy 19:13

They nod their head a little. There's a warning in their words, a plea to listen. They know that is a fate they could share - but this is their one armour, the sole thing that could save their life. "I'm grateful to you," they need them to know that, to know that they trust their guidance. "And I will listen. I promise."

Baba Yaga 19:15

Head inclines into a soft nod, and there is a softer smile on her lips than before - but, then she turns to Lucian again and the expression turns to a light growl. "Ask us then."

Lucian Riviera 19:16

His expression masked the way his mind raced, connecting tangents and notions together in an intricate web far grander than any of them in the room. A path constructed of ideals, methods of advancement. Yet when he spoke his voice is soft, sombre even for he takes no pleasure from these deaths, and his question when spoken is more an offer to the departed than any formal request, “what is it that we can do to help you?

Baba Yaga 19:18

The question has not come as a surprise - nothing surprises it. But, the expression softens once more as the witch - and the thing she speaks for - studies Lucian. “Not all of us need helping, boy.”

Lucian Riviera 19:21

The thief inclines his head in deferment to the authority in the room that is both the spirit and vessel through which it speaks. He is not so prideful that he will not defer to higher powers should they come knocking and right now they rattled the very foundation of every aspect of this reality. "Perhaps not but everyone needs something," his eyes lift once more, "do you have a message to pass on to those in the room?"

Baba Yaga 19:22

She inclines her head into a deep nod again, and watery eyes skim every single soul in attendance. “There will not be a happy end - but all things end. After one horror there will come another. Prepare yourselves, for the ending is nowhere in sight. There cannot be a happy end, not for some of you.”

Polly Sheedy 19:25

the message isn't a prospect that polly wanted to hear. At the confirmation there are more horrors to come, they whimper, hand rising to cover their mouth.

Lucian Riviera 19:26

Ominous, certainly but the message isn't surprising to Lucian. He thinks for a moment, only one further thought comes to mind. The phrasing of which is particular and deliberate. "Will you be willing to help us find the one responsible if they are known to you?" he pauses to give weight to his next addendum "to keep those at risk safe?"

Polly Sheedy 19:29

they leaned forward, hardly daring to breathe. This question seemed so important, and they felt a rush of gratitude to Lucian for asking it, for doing what he could and keeping them safe.

Baba Yaga 19:30

She pauses, head tilted to the side. "I would be willing, if help is what you desire, but others may not be of shared sentiment. But, if I help you will owe us a favour."

They laugh, both voices intertwining - hers and the ghost's - and then they are no more. Baba Yaga finishes the glass, murky eyes closing as the bony fingers curl around the chicken’s foot around her neck. A long exhale interrupts the silence that’s enveloped the room, and the witch opens her eyes to look at the attendees. “They are gone and they wish to speak no more. I hope your questions have been answered, for tonight they will yield nothing more.”

—- FIN —-

#seances #seance live event 2

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ladynightmare913 · 3 years

Text

Red Rose, Blood Moon

Welcome to Chapter 8! This is an Original Story inspired by the tale of Red Riding Hood. I would like to say a special thank to my best friend and co-author Olivia ( @asunshinepuff ) for joining me on writing this world onto paper.

CW: There are mentions of bodies. You have been warned!

This story contains only original characters created by Olivia and myself. For those of you who want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask to me or Olivia on her blog. If you have any questions, theories, or curiosities about any of our characters or how the story will progress, send them to the ask box! I know this chapter is shorter than usual but I promise to make up for it in the next chapter!

Now without Further Adieu!

Chapter 8: A String of Corpses

Rosabella was welcomed into the Azure’s home to get cleaned up and eat a warm meal. Erinna pried Rosabella’s clothes to be washed. She spent the next few hours explaining to Cassandra and Felis what had happened after the wolf had dragged her away. Cassandra’s temper flared whenever Red or Bardolph were mentioned.

“I want to return to Norwich.” Rosabella admitted.

“What?” Cassandra frowned. “Are you certain?”

Rosabella’s sapphire blue eyes sparkled in conviction. “More than ever.”

Cassandra watched her friend’s eyes sparkle and with a sigh, she nodded in agreement. “Alright. Guess we’re off.”

They rode out in the dark of night. Gathering the supplies they would need ,Rosabella, Cassandra, and Felis said their quick goodbyes to Mr. and Mrs. Azure. Royce was not pleased, Erinna made them promise to write to her for anything, anything at all.

They rode for an entire day, the horses now used to their long journeys and needing little rest. On the second day, they arrive near nightfall at the village where Rosabella and Bardolph parted ways. The village of Edinburgh. The horse slowed to a stop at the gate.

Rosabella’s horse, Gypsy, grew uneasy. She stroked Gypsy’s neck “Shhh, easy girl.” Looking up, Rosabella scanned the village, it was silent. “It’s quiet.”

Cassandra’s horse, Eumelia, walked beside Rosabella’s. Her sky blue eyes watching the town carefully, she was tense. “To quiet… ”

“I believe we ought to put on our masks.” Rosabella whispered.

The blonde nodded in agreement, “I believe that’s a wise idea.” She whispered.

Reaching into their cloaks, each woman pulled out a mask. Cassandra’s mask was lavender with a pale purple ombre in the center, with intricate detailing in lavender, a dark purple satin ribbon as straps to tie the mask. The light colors compared to the bright blue of her eyes was a strong contrast.

While, Rosabella’s mask was black with thin red embroidery that swirled all around the mask, a rose on the left eye, a black satin ribbon as straps to tie the mask. Red marking around the eyes of the mask made Rosabella’s iris striking.

“Oh I missed those pairs of mystery eyes.” Felis commented fondly. He was the only one who didn’t wear a mask.

Dismounting from their horses, they walk into the village. Relieved to note that the village had not suddenly been abandoned in a matter of a few days, rather gathering in the center, wearing dark mourning clothes. Given the dark cloaks of Felis and Cassandra, Rosabella’s red cloak stood out, the group of villagers all turned their heads to the trio.

The group of three stopped in their tracks. There at the center was a body laying on the ground. Rosabella made inaudible gasp, quickly walking towards the body. It was the woman from before. The woman who Bardolph had relations with. Her eyes were dull, lifeless and maggots clung to gaping wounds. Rose crouched down, the woman smelled dead for longer than a day. Tilting her head, Rose saw clawed marks on her neck. Rosabella looked to the village chief.

“How long had she been dead?”

“We found her this afternoon,” the leader spoke, his eyes couldn't look away from the corpse, “the villagers had smelled a horrible stench coming from the barn. She’s been dead for four days.”

Rosabella gasped. Four days, that was the last day she and Bardolph had been here. She quickly stood, stepping away from the corpse. Cassandra placed a comforting hand to her shoulder, grounding her to reality. “What is it?”

“Bardolph… was the last to be with her.” A chill ran through Rosabella’s spine.

Cassandra frowned, looking to Felis, a silent request to inspect the body himself as she looked after Rosabella. Pulling her away from the gathered villagers. Walking back to the horses, Cassandra turned to look at Rose.

“Do you believe he did this?”

“I don’t know, the musky scent still lingers on her corpse, but he didn’t smell of wolf…” Rosabella swallowed. Something was wrong. Very wrong. The memory of Bardolph’s gleam through the window shook Rosabella to her core. She now knows what she felt that night. She felt like she was being hunted. And he was the hunter.

“We have to search for him.” Rosabella eyes shifted from terror to determination. “I won’t allow him to take another life.”

“He’s certainly suspicious.” Cassandra acknowledges, “If he’s the reason for her death then who knows how many lives might be lost already.”

Felis approached them, shaking his head. “She bore the mark of a beast on her neck. Whatever killed her, wasn’t human.”

Rosabella frowned. If it wasn’t Bardolph, then the only explanation could be that there was another wolf. Her eyes widened. The brown wolf from the forest! It must’ve followed her in it’s human form! She paled, Cassandra had to keep her steady. She did this. The wolf followed her, how many deaths had she been responsible for? How had she not noticed? She raised a hand to her forehead. This was all her fault.

“Rose, what is it?” Cassandra looked at her friend with worry and concern clear in her eyes, if the light tightening on her arm was any indication.

“We have to go back, to all the villages, I know who killed her. And I can only pray they didn’t anyone else.”

They rode out for the next four days, resting at each village, searching for any signs of death. Only one other village in Arcine, had a death. Another woman, and the scent of Bardolph was all over her, but she had the marks of something inhuman. Rosabella couldn’t stand the sight of her.

On the fifth day, the trio made it to Norwich. Quickly settling in at the furthest inn near the hot springs. Rosabella gave Bardolph’s description to Cassandra and Felis.

“Searched everywhere. The stable, the taverns, the markets.”

“Brothels?” Felis asked, Cassandra elbowed him in the ribs. “I was being serious Cassandra.”

Cassandra gave him a look before shaking her head, “Why would he go to a brothel though? Wouldn’t it be a risk?”

The group go their separate ways. Cassandra headed for the library first. Who knows if the supposed traveler or murderer enjoyed books? Walking into the building, men quickly stared at her, frowning even. She rolled her eyes as she scoffed. Proudly entering the building, searching the corridors and aisles. She was about to crash into someone before a pair of hands gripped her shoulders and directed her to the side. The man was ridiculously tall, with shoulder length blond hair, and blue eyes. He was dressed in red.

“Thank you, I hardly saw you.” Cassandra admits honestly.

“It’s no trouble.” The man gave a simple response. Not bothering to look down at her, simply carrying on with searching for whatever it was he was searching for. Cassandra was mildly stunned, he didn’t even seem the least bit perturbed with her in the library in the first place. He eyed her, noticing that she was still there.

“Is there something that you need?” He asked bluntly?

“No, nothing. Have a good day sir.”

The man didn’t answer her, if anything he only looked mildly peeved that she was still here. Cassandra decided she didn’t like him.

Across town, Felis had decided to search the taverns, which ended with Felis somehow in a drinking match. He only smirked, he’s had decades to perfect his technique. He stayed in one single tavern for the majority of the day. Cassandra would have his head if she knew. “Well gents, I’m afraid I’ve won this round, and the last sixteen. Now I must get going, if I don’t, I will be a dead man by morning.” He grinned as he rose to his feet, his chair bumping into someone.

“My apologies,” Felis quickly offered, “I didn’t see you.”

“I know.” The man’s brow only twitched in annoyance.

Felis chuckled lightly, the man was dressed in a rich wine red cloak with black fur, his hair reached his shoulders and had blue eyes. The man simply walked away from Felis. The pirate starred after the man, who was nearly the same height as himself.

“What a strange fellow.”

Rosabella had taken to the streets. Asking the townspeople if they had seen a man with Bardolph’s description. She walked for hours, no one had ever seen or heard of a man called Bardolph Sinclair before. With dusk approaching, she decided to make the trek back to the inn to meet with the others.

Now what? She searched nearly the entire town of Norwich and not a single person knew who he was. Rosabella didn’t know either, only that he had a string of bodies that followed him wherever he went. She frowned as she walked silently, snow began to fall. A sigh escaped her, she could her breath in the cold winter air. Lifting her head, her eyes landed upon the person she had intentionally set out to look for, to ask about her necklace. Her lips parted as she blinked in surprise.

Red stood there, just a few feet away from her. Staring right at her. He looked annoyed.

“You have the most annoying friends.” He said bluntly. “They have the unfortunate habit of bumping into people.”

Rosabella suddenly remembered her first impression of the man. She scoffed. “Is that any way to say hello to a friend?” She raised an expectant brow. “What happened to decorum?”

“We are not friends. Merely acquaintances.” He retorted. “We met in the woods, nothing more.”

“You were the only one who had forgone decorum and called me childish.” She snapped.

“At least they do not share your habit of shooting people.” He smirked lightly. It was just too easy.

Rosabella groaned. “I already apologized! You cannot hold that over me forever.” She crossed her arms, her brows raised in defiance. Red only looked amused.

“You’d be surprised. Still hurts.”

Rosabella frowned at that. Quickly walking over to him, gripping the arm she had unintentionally injured, pulling the sleeve back. There was no wound. She glared up at him. “Liar.”

Red pulled his arm free, shaking his head reproachfully. “Simply because you cannot see it, does not mean it has stopped healing.”

Rosabella sighed. “What are you doing here? I’d thought you have left by now. Given that you travel.”

“I usually stay for a month.” Red looked across the street. “And you, I didn’t expect you back in Norwich.”

“I am searching for someone.” She omitted.

“Another one of your friends?” He asked indifferently.

Rosabella shook her head. “No, I am searching for a man. I believe him to be responsible for the murders of several women. And I suspect there to be more.”

Red’s eyes snapped towards her. He looked… alarmed. “I apologize.” He said quietly, “I hope you find him.”

Rosabella nodded her head, “Thank you, perhaps you have heard of him.”

Red scoffed, “I doubt I would know any murderers in this century who are still alive.”

Rosabella ignored him, “He is a tall man, not as tall as you. He has brown curled hair, and hazel eyes that seem to have gold flecks in them when the sun reflects off them.” She paused, “His name is Bardolph Sinclair.”

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Her heart raced, the air around them seemed to thicken with the sheer rage and power radiating off the man before. His icy blue eyes had darkened immensely, he was glaring right into her sapphire eyes. But for some strange reason, she didn’t feel afraid. Only, curious.

“He’s alive?” He seethed out from a snarl.

Rosabella rose a brow. “I would assume so, I met him nearly a week ago.”

Red seemed to have stopped breathing, but Rosabella could hear his heartbeat, and the shallow breathes he released.

“Bardolph, are you certain that is his name?”

“Bardolph Sinclair?”

“I don’t care for his last name, he always changed it. But Bardolph is always the same.” Red stated quickly. Rosabella frowned. “I don’t understand.”

Red grunted in annoyance, turning away from her, running a hand through his hair. “Nearly 300 years later, you show up in Paris?” He laughed dryly.

Rosabella followed after him as he walked. “What do you mean 300 hundred years? He’s human!”

Red gave a sarcastic laugh. “Oh I assure you, he most certainly is not.”

Rosabella grabbed his arm, stopping him. She glared. “How could you know that?”

Red didn’t hesitate. “Because I am the reason that he became a monster like me. Cursed to live forever only to shift every full moon into a beast.”

Rosabella felt her blood freeze. Red was… a werewolf? But how? And if he was 1000 years old, how is he still alive? She should’ve been afraid, the older the werewolf the more powerful they are. But she wasn’t afraid, she wondered if she would ever feel afraid of the man before her. She had been afraid of mere humans, but the man before her was a wolf, and she felt no fear. She only gripped his arm tighter. “Tell me everything. Now.”

Tag List: Let me know if you wish to be added!

@spookypotato @violetatapiamills @purple-amaranthe

#Original Story #Red Riding Hood #asunshinepuff ocs #our ocs #Rosabella Louve #Red #Bardolph Sinclair #Cassandra Azure #Felis Marin #Werewolves #Curses #Pirate #Huntress #Sorceress #CW bodies #ladynightmare ocs

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lost-in-time-marie · 4 years

Text

Into the Shadows: Chapter Two

The rest of the week passed easily. I hung out with Natasha and Katy whenever possible, easily getting into my familiar school routine. I put in extra effort to participate this year, shaking of the previous years’ disinterest. I avoided any form of contact with Ryder; in class a competition took place of who could pretend best that the other wasn’t there; I liked to pretend I won those. Classes picked up eventually and I started getting the first lessons and assignments of the year.

Things did, however, get interesting one Wednesday. Mrs. Robertson was announcing “Romeo and Juliet” to be the play of the semester, a super original choice, I noted with the roll of my eyes, when Mr. Monroe, the principal, walked in. He whispered something to Mrs. Robertson, and she nodded and smiled. A few seconds later Mr. Monroe walked out and ushered a tall, dark, and handsome male inside. A swarm of hushed, excited conversations passed between the girls in class. The guy was handsome; I had to say that, with curly, dark brown hair falling over eyes so brown they were nearly black, wiry muscles hidden under slightly tanned skin, and his face was all angles, smooth and sharp. The class watched curiously as an introduction took place. Mrs. Robertson greeted the new student kindly; he returned her warm smile and shook her hand. Mr. Monroe took his leave just as Mrs. Robertson turned and addressed the class.

“Class,” she announced, “this is James Sampson, he is new to our area so please be kind to him.” Mrs. Robertson led him to my seat and loudly pushed a desk from the back of class to the side of my desk unoccupied by Ryder. Our school was very popular this year, apparently so was I. For the second time in so many days, the gazes of my peers shot daggers into my back, and I felt every single one.

“I know you already have a partner,” Mrs. Robertson said, gesturing to my other side where Ryder sat, “but would you be a dear and show James around? I know I can trust you to be nice.” Mrs. Robertson flashed a joyful smile and returned to the front of class without even waiting to hear my answer. I didn’t really mind helping out, but seriously? How many new students was she going to place in my care? At least this one appeared nicer than Ryder.

“Is Mrs. Robertson going to put her with all the hot guys?” The girl behind me, Kim, complained to her partner, Elizabeth, who muttered in agreement. I rolled my eyes. God, I hated them so much.

“Hello, I’m James,” the mysterious newcomer greeted me politely, flashing a charming smile and offering his hand after taking a seat. His molten gaze aimed in my direction quickly dispelled my thoughts of Kim and Elizabeth.

“Hey, it’s nice to meet you, I’m Kristin. Welcome to hell,” I joked surprisingly easily, my round face brightening with a warm smile as I took his hand.

“Is this class really that bad?” He chuckled.

“Oh, you have no idea. Mrs. Robertson can’t control a class to save her life, and she just finished telling us the play for the semester. Care to take a guess? It’s a huge cliché: Romeo and Juliet,” I whispered, as Mrs. Robertson began passing out the script.

He let out a low whistle, “Oh man, it’s so much worse than I thought. Just kill me now,” He joked.

“Only if you promise to take me down with you,” I laughed. James was easy to laugh with, I was surprised to discover. Generally being considered the school outcast and finding it a chore to relate to the rest of my species most of the time, I was impressed by our light interaction. After that, we became instant friends, joking about class and comparing schedules. It turned out we had AP Literature, lunch, and AP Psychology together as well. James glowed with warmth and oozed charm. Acting suddenly became my second favorite class of the day instead of a morning drag.

“Hey guys, this is James Sampson,” I introduced, plopping down with my tray at the lunch table. Natasha sat beside Aleks, a Russian foreign exchange student who had transferred to our school two years ago. Natasha always had an odd, bordering creepy, fascination with everything Russian for as long as I had known her. The moment Aleks had been ushered into our classroom in tenth grade with his shaggy dark hair, muscular build, dark eyes, pale white skin, and thick accent, she pulled up a desk and befriended him. He stuck with us ever since, I never minded because he was actually a very nice guy.

“Hello,” James greeted warmly.

“Nice to meet you,” Natasha said kindly.

“Hey,” Aleks said casually after a moment of eyeing James warily. I explained that James was new and Mrs. Robertson instructed me to show him around. Shortly thereafter, he won over Natasha and Aleks as easily as he had me. I got the feeling James was just good at that kind of thing; making friends, charming people, adapting to new surroundings. All of us already felt like we’d known him for much longer than a couple of hours.

“Well, you’re certainly better than the first new kid Kristin had to show around,” Natasha praised openly with a smile.

Aleks shook his head, before candidly adding “Natasha was just filling me in on that. Ryder is a huge asshole.”

“Our other partner in Acting?” James asked with a quizzical look.

“Yeah, I’d watch out for that one, he’s not terribly friendly. He’s said about one whole sentence to me since school started, and that one sentence wasn’t very nice,” I explained, recalling our brief introduction and the hallway when I tried to help him.

“Yeah, I kind of got that feeling from him. He doesn’t look at us at all; just sits perfectly still and straight in his chair, when the bell rang today, he practically ran out the door.” James observed.

Conversation eventually took a new turn, for which I was thankful, and the rest of lunch passed easily as we introduced James to the school and gave him tips and warnings. Soon the bell rang and I headed off to Teacher Assisting. Helping Mrs. Enders grade papers and make copies certainly doesn’t make a class period go by quickly, but at least she was nice and when I finished my work she let me do my homework in the library. Eventually the torture ended, and I headed off to AP Chemistry, an entirely different, more painful, kind of torture. After what felt like ages of hearing Mrs. Gold ramble about atoms, molecules, ions, and other things I didn’t care about, the bell rang and I bolted for AP Psychology, my favorite class. I caught up with Natasha and James before the late bell rang. We took seats near each other while Natasha dished the latest school gossip. Soon the bell rang, and Sinclair came sweeping in the door, right on time. Class passed quickly as he explained an upcoming project, when the bell rang again, I could hardly believe the school day was over.

“Hey, Natasha, do you mind waiting by the car for me, I need to drop off my volunteer application at the elementary campus,” I said, shoving a binder into my already heavy green backpack.

“Ooh, I want to see the babies,” Natasha cooed excitedly.

“Wait for me at the car, I don’t want to have to bail you out of jail for kidnapping,” I laughed. She sulked and grabbed her books, trudging off to the parking lot.

Our school had an interesting tier design. The high school, my school, stood at the very front of a large piece of property, behind it, across a grassy field, the middle school was built, and across another grassy field, in the very back, sat the elementary school. The elementary school had an after school care program to watch the students whose parents worked late, the school was always looking for volunteers to help out; I loved kids so it was a convenient way to get my mandatory volunteer hours for graduation.

I made the long trek to the elementary campus, taking my time, appreciating the vast greenness of the school fields and the dappled patches of wildflowers growing amongst them. A large brick building loomed closer and closer, a copy of the two other large, brick buildings behind me. My legs led the way without any prodding and I found myself in main office. Air conditioner and the scent of orange sterilizer blasted me the moment I entered. I wrinkled my nose in distaste. None of the office ladies sat behind the long tan counter, which bisected the room. Just when I was about to turn and leave, I noticed a small, black bin perched on the counter labeled Volunteer Applications. I placed my packet in the bin and turned to walk out the door. Instead, I slammed right into the person behind me. At least, I assumed it was a person, because it felt a little more like running into a brick wall.

“Ouch!” I yelled, landing on the floor with a loud thud.

“Are you alright?” A soft, concerned voice asked from above me. My eyes fluttered open to the sight of Ryder, except he didn’t look like himself. The stone mask I’d grown so accustomed to melted away, worry and concern softening his sharp features.

“I’m fine,” I replied a little dazed, still curiously studying his expression. His jaw line softened from harsh angles to a more rounded edge and his eyes looked more brilliant instead of glaring intimidation. Ryder grabbed my arms gently and pulled me up with ease; he studied me for just a moment longer, then all at once the stone mask slammed into place and he jerked stiffly away.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, not letting him turn to stone so easily.

“Picking up my little brother,” Ryder said in the same stiff tone he always used. I sighed and said a half-hearted goodbye, not wanting to be near stone-statue Ryder any longer than I had too.

“What took you so long?” Natasha complained when I finally reached her car.

“Long line,” I muttered sliding into the smooth, leather passenger seat of her car, not feeling up to divulging in a six hour play by play of my run in with Ryder.

“So do you want to come over my house and work on the AP Government assignment?” Natasha asked starting the car and backing out of the parking lot.

“Oh, I completely forgot about it. Yeah, that sounds good, just let me text my mom,” I said. I got permission from my mom and chatted with Natasha about James and other school events for the rest of the short ride to her house.

“Kristin?” Natasha asked in a more cautious voice than usual once we parked in her driveway. I paused halfway through undoing my seatbelt to turn to her, sensing a more serious turn of conversation.

“Yeah, what’s up?” I asked.

“That night I pulled you out of bed, I’m sorry for being so reckless. It was really irresponsible of me. You know how I get in those danger seeking moods with my bipolar disorder,” Natasha apologized softly, staring at the steering wheel.

“It’s really okay, once you ran off I just went home,” I shrugged, wishing to end the conversation. It wasn’t often Natasha had enough insight to realize her actions in her manic phases, I wasn’t quite sure how to take her sudden maturity. Perking back up to her usual self, Natasha retreated into the house ready to begin our project with a clear conscience. As I stepped out of the car to follow her, an image flitted through my mind, a dark figure darting about in the shadows, but the more I reached for the memory, the further it slipped away. I shook my head as if that would dispel the thought, grabbed my books, and ran after Natasha into the house.

My footsteps echoed on the wet asphalt street. I hugged my jacket closer against the cold, damp air. I warily searched each shadow and dark, empty yard for figures and silhouettes. I felt the oddest sense of déjà vu. Why am I being so nervous? I’d made the short walk from Natasha’s house to mine thousands of times, during both the night and day. I could probably close my eyes and my feet would just lead me home. I squared my small shoulders, shook my head, brown hair smacking me in the face, and told myself to stop being such a baby.

Natasha and I hadn’t intended to work that late. The assignment wasn’t due until next week, but we got an idea and finished the whole project in one night. The next time I looked up it was already 10pm. We quickly packed up and now I was practically jogging home so my mom wouldn’t ground me for breaking curfew. I silently cursed myself for insisting on walking when Natasha offered a ride, but I wasn’t ready to be home so soon.

“Hey! You’re the girl that got my brother in trouble!” A deep, harsh voice shouted at me. I jumped in surprise, shuttled instantly from my thoughts to reality. The dark street came into focus again, but this time in front of me a hulking man blocked my path. The darkness sheltered him; in the only bit of light offered by a distant streetlamp, I could make out thick, rippling muscles. I instinctually backed up. The monstrous man let out a bellowing laugh.

“That’s right, girlie, you should be afraid,” He taunted, taking a giant step forward. A knot formed in the pit of my stomach and I fought desperately against the panic rising within me.

“What are you talking about?” I asked annoyed, faking confidence, “You’re making me late. I have a curfew.” I crossed my arms and stared straight at him. This guy was bigger than a horse, but I was determined to keep up my façade, so I kept glaring at him defiantly and refused to show any weakness. The flashes of images were running rampant behind my eyes, confusing bursts, a flurry of overwhelming emotions. One thought tickled the back of my mind, taunting me with the clarity just out of my reach.

“You better make time for me then,” He bellowed angrily, “You got my brother arrested. He was just being friendly and talking to you. The police arrested him for no reason at all,” He ranted, walking closer. I refused to move an inch.

“What on Earth are you talking about?” I complained, forcing an exasperated sigh. My head was spinning with the force of the memories, and still the one memory I needed for them all to make sense danced just out of reach.

“I’ll just have to finish this matter then,” He rambled nonsensically with an excited smile, sauntering closer. I took several steps back this time, fear crashing down on me like an anvil. The snarky, sarcastic voice in the back of my mind joked about being attacked by such a cliché thug, but fear quickly gagged that voice. This was real, actually happening, it wasn’t like the movies I was accustomed to watching or the stories I was fond of reading. That thought almost pushed me over the edge, and if my joints weren’t locked in place I may have collapsed.

“Run little girl,” the thug whispered, “I’ll even give you a head start.” He taunted.

“That makes you nicer than me,” A light, teasing voice echoed from behind the thug. Suddenly, in the time it took me to blink, the man before me was lying on the floor, leaving a lean figure standing in his wake. The man roared and jumped up. I stood frozen as the lithe figure danced around the man, easily avoiding his blind, rageful attacks.

The memory ripped forward from my subconscious, finally ready to be discovered. I remembered Natasha rapping loudly on my bedroom window, calling me outside to seek danger, and then her leaving me alone in the street. On my journey back home, two experienced thugs trapped me in the dark street and a strange figure saved me. The next thing I knew it was morning and I was waking up in my room thinking the whole ordeal had been a strange dream.

“Oh, you’re going to have to do better than that,” The shadow teased, leaning against an unlit streetlight, pulling me from my reverie. I squinted to get a better look at the figure; it was definitely the one from the other night. The figure was rather tall, a head taller than my 5 foot 3 inches, lean, and muscular. That was all I could discern in the dark. The man bellowed and charged at the shadow, but the figure was already gone, the man instead punched an empty streetlamp with a metallic thud. The thug cried out in pain and whirled around searching for the taunting shadow. His eyes fell on me. Before I could move an inch, if I could have even moved at all, he had his thick, sweaty arms wrapped around me. I gagged on his overwhelming stench of sweat and body odor. His hot breath on my neck made my stomach churn in disgust. I might as well have been restrained by steel bars because no amounts of kicking or squirming made him even ease up.

“How about if I squeeze the life out of your little girlfriend?” The thug shouted at empty air, spinning wildly looking for the figure. This thug smelled about as pleasant as the last, apparently his brother, and his brother I only got a whiff of from a distant. Up close and personal was not a place I wanted to be with this guy.

One moment the man restrained me, the next I dropped quickly to the ground and the man lay behind me in a crumpled heap. The shadow stood with the unconscious man at his feet and made no attempt to approach me. My head swam, black spots dancing across my vision. I wanted nothing more than to curl up on the damp, dirty street and never move again.

“Are you okay? You’re not going to pass out again, are you?” The figured asked from the shadows, his voice softer now, wary. I quickly stood up and brushed myself off. Luckily my huge displeasure at showing emotion to strangers won over my weaker self.

“I don’t think so,” I said, scowling and giving myself a quick once-over. I squinted in the dark trying to get a look at my savior. In the glint of the moonlight I saw only a black, Lone Ranger style mask and dark eyes. I stepped closer to get a better look, but the figure retreated farther.

“It seems you have a knack for trouble,” the figure teased playfully, leaning lazily against the unlit streetlamp again.

“Whatever do you mean?” I joked with mock confusion. I thought I saw him flash a bright grin as he turned to leave.

“Wait!” I shouted, “Don’t I get to know who saved me? Twice,” I added.

He chuckled, “Just stay away from dark streets, they’re dangerous at night.” With that, my hero melted silently into the shadows.

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the-writerly-night-owl · 4 years

Text

A Tale of Two Something New’s

Desire and Decorum/Ernest x MC + minor Theresa/Harry

Summary: It’s Harry and Theresa’s wedding, what could possibly happen?

Author’s Note: For the 41 Days of Cheer day 32, Something New. Can you believe we only have nine days left of prompts?! This has been fun to think of ideas and see what I can come up with (sometimes on a whim!).

Clara Sinclaire was in a whirl wind of panic as she looked around. Where. Was. Theresa’s. Wedding. Gown? She took a deep breath and tried to remember where she had put it. Oh great, this was not her morning especially she spent most of it puking. She rubbed her tummy softy thinking of her child knowing that she’d have to tell Ernest soon.

“Briar,” she said looking for her friend. Perhaps she had taken the dress? There was no need to panic. A dress couldn’t just get up and walk away. Sighing she turned outside her door searching for Briar Marlcaster.

“Clara!” said Briar coming out of her room already in her new pale-yellow gown. She looked very pretty in it as Clara marveled for a minute at her mother’s handy work.

She looked around before pushing her friend into her room. “Where’s Theresa’s wedding dress? I left it in my room, and I can’t find it.”

Briar paled for a minute and then straighten up with a smile on her face as something clicked in her mind. “Never fear I believe that my mother has it so she could be ready to help her in it.”

“Oh, good I was scared for a second,” she said absentmindedly rubbing her tummy again. This was good as she didn’t want to get her more nervous then she already was. Now that was over, she had one more thing that she had to do. “Now I have something new for Theresa. Do you know where she is?”

“What did you get her?” she asked.

“You’ll see.”

With that the two women headed down to Theresa’s room. The new bride already had her gown on which made her even more relieved. It was a very light shade of pink that it looked almost white in the light. Her hair already swept up into an elaborate bun with some loose curls. Mrs. Daly fixing some stitches on the hem of the dress. Another woman fixing the top of her gown.

Clara had cleared her throat holding a box her hand. The three women had turned to see her still in her dressing gown.

“Clara you need to get ready,” said Mrs. Daly.

“Before I do, I must gift Theresa with her present from Ernest and I,” she said her cheeks colored as she remembered how she was dressed.

She had made sure that her mother didn’t have this for her. Very gently she opened the box and pulled out a necklace made of gold and ruby. They had wanted to do something that was unique for her and different from what Clara had worn for her wedding day. The look on her face was just pure perfection.

“I love it, thank you Clara and tell Ernest as well,” said Theresa leaning in to hug her. “Now get in your dress.”

Nodding she left with Briar to help her into her Edgewater blue gown. She had smirked more to herself knowing that this was the gown she had worn to oppose the wedding to Mr. Richards. It was certainly lavish but Theresa’s still very much beautiful and decorated up a bit more then this.

“Don’t tighten it up too much Rachel,” she said to her lady’s maid. Briar had found her gown and pulled it over her head and straightened it out once that was done.

She glanced at the clock and hurried down to the carriages. She was to ride with Theresa, Briar, Lady Grandmother, and to her dismay Henrietta. Ernest would be bringing Harry with Edmund in their carriage from Ledford to the church. Then finally would they would return to Edgewater for their breakfast. In all this was going to be a very long day. At least she would be able to meet with Ernest as soon as she got there.

Ignoring Henrietta, they were ushered into the church. Surprising Ernest she had walked up behind him and slide her hand into his. Looking up from his conversation with Bishop Monroe did he squeeze her hand.

“I’m glad that Harry and Theresa waited for spring,” said Bishop Monroe. “Although I’m disappointed that they didn’t three weeks after the proposal!”

With that she just giggled and tucked a curl behind her ear. “I believe Harry wanted to as well, but Theresa wanted to wait until the duck pond wasn’t frozen over anymore. Apparently, that is there special spot,” she said bumping up against Ernest. “Much like how ours is the gardens.”

“I can’t imagine not having the gardens in bloom when we were married,” said Ernest smiling down at her. “I’m very glad our wedding was in early August for us. Now Theresa and Harry have early March for themselves.”

“Then Briar and Edmund have June, it’s a shame that all of us didn’t have our own season.”

She giggled softly as Ernest just smiled warmly down at her. If they weren’t in the presences of the Bishop, he would have gathered her into his arms and kissed her already. Although once he was gone, they have very few precious seconds until the wedding started.

“I have a special surprise,” she whispered into his ear once Bishop Monroe did leave and they found their seats near the front. “Meet me in Ledford’s gardens at sunset.”

Puzzled Ernest nodded as the ceremony had started. The organ had begun to play as Harry looked very excited to see his bride walking down the aisle. She had pulled Ernest into a hug watching her father give her away. While she didn’t have that, Clara was thrilled knowing that any daughters they had would have Ernest walking them down.

Bishop Monroe cleared his voice as he started the ceremony. “Dearly beloved: We have come together in the presence of God to witness and bless the joining together of this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony.”

The ceremony went by fast as Clara’s mind far off thinking of the baptism that would be here in, oh, say around seven months? They would have this entire room filled to the brim with special flowers and a baby. Just smiling and peering at Ernest every so often made her heart swell. He would be a wonderful father.

Finally, they had signed the marriage book before exiting into the mid-afternoon sun. They would have their breakfast and… Oh forget sunset she had to tell him as soon as possible.

“Briar,” she said turning to her friend to help distract everyone. Instead she had waddled out of sight with Edmund to do their own thing. Now Ernest had been roped into talking with Henrietta who was complaining about her new daughter in law already.

Mingling she found herself talking with Bishop Monroe once more as he was beginning to plan a few baptisms. Apparently Viscountess Lavinia was going to have her baby soon. Then switched to talk to her grandmother about how perfectly had gone. At least she didn’t know about how she thought the dress was missing, she thought, with a wry smile. The hours dragged on before she could finally get alone with Ernest.

“Thank you all for coming,” said Theresa as graciously as possible.

“Yes, we can’t wait to see you for our first dinner together,” said Harry brightly.

Henrietta unfortunately was the first to leave going back to the home they had bought her. Edmund and Briar had left with her to keep her company for a day or so. Lady Grandmother coming home with them so Harry and Theresa had Edgewater all to themselves.

“Ernest,” said Clara pulling him to the gardens. Lady Grandmother going inside to freshen up before their supper. Had it really been that long since their ‘breakfast?’ Admittedly the wedding was around 11 so it must have been.

It was quiet between them as they found a seat at the edge of the garden, far away from prying eyes and ears. Not saying anything Ernest had pressed his lips to hers as softly as possible and then her cheek and finally on her forward.

“You don’t know how much I missed doing that for the last twenty-four hours,” he said holding her close. “Let’s just say your brothers had a given me a very interesting night.”

“How so?” se asked curiously kissing him repeatedly.

“Let’s just say that Harry might have a trick or two to use on Theresa…”

Gasping and feigning horror she gently slapped his shoulder. “Ernest you did not.”

A smile tugged on his lips as he just raised his eyebrow. That look just said, maybe or maybe not. She had collapsed into giggles then looked over at the sunset. The sky a brilliant shade of purple, gold, and orange. Night was soon arriving as she let Ernest pull her closer to him.

Her head rested against his shoulder holding hands as the sun was starting to set. The garden in full bloom around them but he could only stare at her. Now would be the time, it would be the perfect time.

“Ernest,” she said softly taking his hands and intertwined them with her own. “I have something very important to tell you, very very important. I’m not sure if I should tell you right now though.”

Perhaps she shoudlnt’ have said it like that. Even though the ceremony was over and everything it was still her brother’s wedding day. Then again nobody would know, she thought, slyly smiling to herself.

“Clara,” he said a little alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

She smiled mysteriously taking one of his hands and used hers to touch her. Moving his palm from her arm to the area just above her stomach. “I saw the doctor this afternoon- morning really, while you were out and…” Clara paused dramatically before breaking out into the biggest grin. “I’m having a child Ernest. We’re going to be parents.”

His body froze unable to believe it. His palm still pressed against the fabric covering her swelling baby bump. Was he okay? She pressed her body closer to him as if that even possible with their clothes still on.

Clara’s eyes grew wide as Ernest lifted her up and twirled her around. Lips met lips unable to help it excitement coursed through him unable to think of anything else. She was going to have his baby and that was the best part of this day.

“I hope we have a son that’s just as strong and compassionate as you Ernest,” she said. “You know this morning I gave Theresa something new as a gift. Now I’m giving you, us, something new too.”

“I couldn’t imagine a better gift,” he whispered as the warmth of the setting sun glowed around them.

Tag list: @noeschoices @hellooliviaolivia @adrianadmirer @fluffy-cat-whisper @symonde @paisleylovergirl @elainew13 @brightpinkpeppercorn @darley1101 @mfackenthal @jlpplays1 @writerapprentice @wildsayeed @princess-geek @perriewinklenerdie @lilyofchoices @flyawayboo @am-i-invisible777 @indescribablechoices @itsbrindleybinch @radlovedreamer

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strangest-loser · 5 years

Text

How to date a teacher. Scott Clarke X Teacher! Reader

This was cute and my man Scott doesn't get nearly enough love

Also I'm sorry its late, school is hard.

Warnings: none it's just sweet.

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Living in Hawkins was very different than living in New York City, this was something that Y/N Y/L/N was constantly reminded of everyday. But, she wanted to be a teacher and after deciding to move to Hawkins to be closer to her elderly mother after her father's passing, she decided a small town school might not be the worst place to do that.

She loved her school. Hawkins Middle was by no means a perfect school, but it held many gifted students for the multitude of subjects she taught. She remembers teaching Nancy Wheeler and her gift for writing in her 8th grade English class, Johnathan Byers in the photography club she headed and his brother Will in her art class. Dustin Henderson was her secret weapon in choir class and Lucas Sinclair and Max Mayfield were amazing at shop class, crafty with tools and such.

She truly adored her students and her job, and she was always most students favourite teacher, the only other teacher who took that spot was Scott Clarke, a science and math teacher.

The only thing their students wanted more than a longer summer vacation was for the two to get together.

Y/N was used to it by now, the endless giggles she heard whenever she and Scott chatted in the hallways and the playful looks that the young girls would throw her way whenever he came into her classroom looking for a student (Michael Wheeler more often than not). She was used to the whispers that would circle the staff room and the giggles that were in the playground. But, the joke was on them all.

"Miss Y/L/N, will you be supervising the Snow Ball again this year ?" Marie-Anne Roberts asked from behind her easel, the girls blonde hair wrapped up in a scrunchie atop her head, blue paint staining her cheeks. This got everyone else excited, having their favourite teacher supervising their favourite night of the school year is a good idea in their book. The woman in question simply smiled from her cupboard of paint tubes, every colour of the rainbow and then some sitting stacked neatly inside and replied that she in fact would not be able to attend. She had a date.

The entire class shook with gossip and soon the entire school was electric with the news of who was her mystery date. Teachers even whispered in their lounge about who their soft spoken, kind, pretty co-worker could be dating the night that she usually gave up to their middle school dance.

"You might have missed your chance Mr Clarke, word is Ms Y/L/N has a date on Friday night". Hearing this out of Dustin Henderson's mouth was not the first thing that Scott would have expected when the four boys stood at his desk Tuesday after class. He knew that the whole school was gunning for himself and the H/C woman to get together and it made him smile.

Giving Henderson a look of 'no more talking about this' definitely did the job as nothing else was said for their entire AV club meeting.

The week continued on at a slow pace with the kids excited for the dance and the teachers excited for their long weekend. Y/N just finished up with her clay sculpting class with her 6th graders when a sharp and familiar knock sounded through her classroom. Spinning on her converse clad feet she made eye contact with the familiar brunet science teacher and smiling at the familiar paper bag in his hand, Friday bagels for lunch, their tradition.

"Just let me wash the clay off my fingers Scotty." She called out walking over to the big sinks at the back of her classroom. She wore her long Hair up in a bun, tied with her favourite piece of cream lace. She looked completely at ease with the winter sun streaming through the windows. Their lunch was spent with a familiar chatter and friendly laughter. This was how they spent most of their days anyway, while recess was happening outside, they sat in their own little world.

"Don't you find it funny how much the students want us to get together" Scott asked her with a sneaking grin and Y/N only replied with a teasing smirk as she played with her silver necklace, the only jewelry she could wear as an art teacher who frequents clay and paint. Their lunch was eaten in a friendly atmosphere and friendly chatter.

Friday morning brought an electric atmosphere to the school. The art students from both middle and high schools were attending to the gym, blue streamers and white fake snow garlands being hung and lights being set, all under the guidance of Ms Y/L/N. While Mike, Lucas, Will and Dustin sat in their science class, ready to conduct an experiment involving heat and electricity.

"Now since metal is a conductor of electricity I have to make everyone wearing any piece of metal jewelry to take them off for this experiment" Mr Clarke spoke out to his class of mainly bored 7th graders, however, everyone snapped to attention when he reached around his neck and removed a silver chain... A silver chain that held a wedding band.

The entire room erupted with questions.

"Well I don't wear it during class because of the sheer amount of experiments we do, it could get ruined. Now, carrying on".

That evening was cold but clear. Not the kind of cold that makes you feel uncomfortable, but the kind that makes you feel refreshed and alive. The kind of cold that meant you could still wear a beautiful dress, as long as you didn't mind a chill. That was how Y/N Y/L/N was dressed walking down Main Street that evening, wearing an emerald green silk dress and shining, glittering silver heels and golden diamond ring glinting on her finger.

Opening the door into the Italian restaurant she made eye contact with him across the room before smiling her gorgeous smile and making her way across the room to her love and met him with a sweet kiss.

"Happy five year anniversary Scotty".

#fiction #scott clarke #stranger things #st x reader #x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things x y/n

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regencylady1810 · 4 years

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Lost in Desire and Decorum Chapter 1

Prologue Here https://regencylady1810.tumblr.com/post/188771085064/lost-in-desire-and-decorum-prologue

Tags- @princess-geek @malakbesharah

Characters Belong to Pixelberry. Inspiration taken from Lost In Austen and Goodnight Sweetheart

Previously- Laura has seemingly come into the world of desire and decorum. Is it real or just an hallucination.

There he was. Ernest Sinclaire. The beautiful, handsome Ernest Sinclaire. Who looked at me and rode on.

“Can you believe the nerve of him? We are walking here!” Briar called. She said the very same line.

“At least he is pleasant looking.” I replied. “And anyhow, I think it is us more at fault. We ran into the road. He was riding on the road, luckily for his fast reflexes he stopped.” I said as a filler to the canon line I didn’t instantly remember. Then I did. “A glimpse of him may be the best part of my day.” Perhaps even my whole life because I had just seen a living, breathing, real flesh and bones Ernest Sinclaire.

“He had eyes for you, I can tell.” Blair smirked and said in a teasing tone. Amazingly her voice sounded exactly as I always imagined it did. “It was a lingering look. And we all know what lingering means!” That was different I didn’t recall that line. “That and you lingered too. Mutual lingering. For it is indeed common knowledge that mutual lingering is the first step to falling in love.”

“Briar, I think you have said lingering too much in too shorter time.” I smiled.

“That may be, but it is still the truth. Oh can you imagine if you two will cross paths again.” Briar smiled. “You must forgive me, going all romantic again.”

“I also have a feeling our paths shall cross again.” I smiled. If this was indeed real or simply a hallucination, I know I would be meeting him again.

Another voice came, and then I knew what was coming, it was the death of my mother. Briar and I came running to the cottage. I knew it was coming, yet because I hadn’t got my head around my situation, I hadn’t realised it. I went into the bedroom. This woman whom I had never met, her life peacefully reaching it’s end. A woman I had never met and yet I still felt a bond with her. I was afraid of losing her. It was like she was my mother.

“Laura, my sweet, I must speak to you before it is too late, about your father.” I knew what it was. I knew. But I took her hand and nodded.

“I am so sorry for lying. For saying he is dead, in truth he is alive. Your father is the Earl of Edgewater, the head of a large powerful estate, just a day’s journey from here.”

Again I nodded. Which probably seemed more that I was rendered speechless from the shock.

“We were in love, but his father forbade our marriage, the family cast me aside before I discovered I was with child. I did not want you to endure the heartache as I had and to only be known as the bastard child of an earl, so I hid the truth. I made the best decision for you...please forgive me.”

“Yes mama. I forgive you. I don’t want you to go.” tears in my eyes.

“I know, Laura, I don’t want to go, but you do ease my heart. I have written to your father, he is sending someone to send you to Edgewater next week. He will take care of you after I leave you. I know I can rest in peace knowing you are cared for and safe.”

Again I didn’t say anything, from actually knowing what was going to happen and that the tears were falling.

“He will give you the life you should have always had, will you go?”

“Yes mama. I will.” I replied.

“Be strong my beautiful girl never forget who you are.” she whispered.

“Mama, I am here. You can rest now.” her eyes closed and I passed out.

When I came around I realised I was in a bed in another room of the cottage. It was all real.

“Oh God it is real.” I said. Thinking I would wake up in my bedroom in 2019. Back to my uneventful life and I hadn’t.

“It is, I am so sorry.” Briar said. She hugged me tighly. It was there I told her about being the Earl’s daughter. I then had to experience over that week unknown events. The funeral, the readying to leave. I was gradually becoming more and more used to it. And yet I was keen to know how it was all possible. Briar saying she wanted to be my maid so we could stay together.

After the week, the carriage arrived. Mr Woods and Briar lingering. Hopefully it wouldn’t be up to me if she prefers Mr Woods or Mr Marlcaster. I was also eagerly awaiting the next meeting with Ernest.

I loved the carriage ride, there was something about a carriage ride that cars could never meet up to. We brought the new dresses, actually being able to get it as there was real money that we had been given. I had far more free reign without the ties of diamonds!

Eventually the house was in my sight. It was absolutely beautiful. I saw Henrietta, I knew that was coming, I mentally had been planning a different comeback to her.

“So you are Miss Laura Weston? The charity case. This is only temporary” she sneered. I was ready for her, knowing she would be as she seemed.

“Oh you wait and see. You’ll one day be the charity case.” was the response I would have said but thought of after she left and Lady Grandmother arrived. Oh God. It was really hard to like her when I knew what she was going to do. I realised what was going to happen. If I was going to have to live my life here I wanted to stop that, change it. I was not going through the Duke Richards fisaco I decided...especially as there’s no way of skipping days. I actually would have to live them. She requested me spin and I did, if I was going to stop it, I still had to be well mannered...just more obvious about my feelings of Mr Sinclaire.

“So you are my son’s daughter. I do indeed see him in you. You do indeed look a lot like him. You have his eyes, his nose, his hair colour. One would have to be blind to not see the similarity between you two.”

I was eagerly looking at the doors, knowing Mr Sinclaire should come out at any moment at that time. And finally he did. He truly was a God in human form, and his suit only added to his already handsome features.

“Mr Sinclaire, meet my granddaughter, Miss Laura Weston. Laura, this is Mr Ernest Sinclaire of Ledford Park.”

“Ah yes, his natural daughter, the Earl mentioned your arrival.”

I knew that was coming, but I knew his true nature. And well. If I were to avoid the set path, I would have to be more obvious.

I was still not over the fact this whole situation was real and I was just staring at him. Probably not the best idea, of course lady grandmother mentioned how he should give a tour of the gardens.

And so it began. The walk that started the journey.

As usual I was planning a conversation in my head, but I was so perplexed that he was real. Ernest Sinclaire was a living human being not a pixelled fictional character. I could barely say anything for I was starstruck. But he wasn’t say much either, as he was in the story.

“Your grandmother was a very talented landscapest.” I stated. I gave myself a mental appluase. I actually spoke to him. Oh how I wish I had the confidence of the MC! Inner me kept saying to speak to him. Say one of the actual lines to him it said to me. “You do not speak very much sir. Perhaps you can tell me more about you.” I said.

“Such as?” he asked.

“Your family maybe? Likes and dislikes. Interests?” I suggested. It is hard to pretend not to know someone when you already know a lot about them.

“No. It is just me.” he answered. Not answering the other suggestions

“You are a man of few words Mr Sinclaire.” I smiled.

“I find idle conversation to be a waste of time.” he remarked. He was saying what he was, I had to try my best to stick to it as best as possible. “Why remark on such things like the weather and mere pathetic gossip. My time is valuable, Miss Weston. The same cannot be said for others.”

“Idle conversation, can allow one to grow closer to another.” I smirked. “Or are you afraid of breaking down your wall?” He looked starled, as though I had worked out his cleverly laid plan. It was working, it was working as it should. I had to get this part of the story to stay the same, but the unsavory to change. I had to do it.

“We should continue.” he cleared his throat. His pace quickening a bit. I do not know quite what to make of you Miss Weston. You are very different from the other women I have encountered here.”

“Let me guess...I am different to the others because of my handsome looks and angelic yet wittish charm?” I smiled. Wow, I really was gaining confidence by the second. He looked away blushing. It was working, the story was panning out as it should.

“I did not say that.” he replied.

“Perhaps you did not with words. But there are other ways to say things Mr Sinclaire. Through the manner of the body, through the eyes...the colour of the cheeks.” I replied. “What is your opinion of me sir?”

“I do not need to inform you of that surely?”

“How about I go first? I find you to be rather alluring. There’s a mystery about you that I am intriqued to uncover.” I said. I totally would have been completly honest but it was not suitable for a ‘first meeting.’

He looked like he wanted to say more, but backed out. “Shall we continue?” he said. We strolled on, getting to the lake. It truly was beautiful.

“This is such a beautiful view.” I said. Smiling watching the spring landscape in awe.

“It is, as a boy I would walk here everyday with my grandmother.” he replied. “Never failed to impress me or take my breath away. But now reminds me of happier times.” My poor Ernest, suffered so much. This is part of my plan. To prevent the future events that hurt him. I cannot do anything of the prior events but I will stop the upcoming.

“You miss your mother. I am sorry for your loss.” he said.

“Yes...but I apperciate little reminders, it’s like she’s still here. Not gone entirely.” I answered.

“No matter how long passes, memories never fade.” he said, so sadly it broke my heart. I just wanted to give him a big hug. But knew I had to hold back. Our eyes meeting. Such a beautiful sapphire shade.

“Your grandmother was indeed talented.” I smiled.

“Yes. Your grandmother asked her to do the gardens.” he said.

“She does give the impression she is not one to be refused.” I stated. A smile. A small laugh. The story was continuing to go as it should.

“Was that a genuine smile?” I teased. The smile fell and he refused it was ever present. “I know what I saw. You will not convince me otherwise.” I remembered the hand brushing of the moment, so I carefully and discretly brushed mine against his warm hand.

“Miss Weston!” he said in surprise. I smiled.

“Yes, Mr Sinclaire?”

“We...should head back.” he said standing up. “You will want to meet your father.” He offered his arm. I wouldn’t be surprised if my whole face was the shade of a tomato, butterflies were full in my stomach. I was actually arm in arm with Ernest Sinclaire.

At the door he let go. “Thank you for the tour. I hope we shall see more of each other.” I stated. “I really enjoyed our time together.”

“It was not as dreadful as I feared.” he replied.

“That might be the most favourable thing you have said all afternoon.” I said in a joking manner.

“Until we meet again.” he said bowing and walking away. I sighed, enamoured by the experience. Wow, that felt intense, it felt passionate. It felt otherworldly.

I made my way inside seeing the inside for the first time. It was stunning. I met with Lady Grandmother. Really emphasising how much I liked him.

I collided with Miss Parsons, we talked for a short time as she was in a rush. I was keen to have her as a friend. I noted to myself to make it very clear to her I like/love Mr Sinclaire and see if she will also drop hints. I had to do everything in my power.

Then came the moment. Going up the stairs, in the corridor and knocking on the wood of the door to father’s study.

#desire and decorum #ernest sinclaire #ernest sinclaire x mc #mr sinclaire #mr sinclaire x mc #desire and decorum book 1 #desire and decorum book 2 #desire and decorum book 3 #pb choices fanfiction #desire and decorum fanfic

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ernestsinclairs · 5 years

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Lady Luck - Adrian x MC

Adrian Raines x MC (Gianna)

The last memory Gianna had of Las Vegas was of cheap alcohol and stained party dresses. Vegas had never been kind to college girls trying to think beyond their years, and it happened been kind to her, when she’d travelled in stilettos to casino bars with a gaggle of fellow sophomores. Now, Vegas was rolling out the red carpet.

“Champagne, ma’am?”

Gianna looked up and gave a small smile as she plucked a delicate flute from the server’s tray and gave it a small sip. It was good champagne, most likely the best she’d ever had. It anyone asked for her thoughts on it, she’d say it had pear aromas with hints of orange blossom. Yes, that sounded convincing enough.

“You look like you’ve been here before,” she whispered to Adrian as she leaned into his ear. “You look . . . comfortable.”

“I’ve been here a number of times,” he admitted, dark eyes still darting around the poker table. “Let’s just say I have some practice.”

“And how much?”

“Enough to win.”

With a smooth movement, Adrian pushed his entire stack of chips to the center, the heavy black chips clinking over each other as they all but burst outwards. Five pairs of eyes followed, four of them hungry, one of them merely observing.

“All in?” Gianna asked quietly. “That’s two hundred grand right there.”

“I know who’s going to bluff,” he whispered back, shrugging. “Just keep your eyes on the scenes.

Reluctantly tearing her eyes away from the table, Gianna leaned back in her chair, casually surveying the casino scene laid out before her. The VIP status did come with its perks, she admitted to herself, noting the rich drapery and fine champagne still pouring and flashes of people she vaguely remembered from the tabloids and the Fortune 500 list.

A sudden commotion rose up from the table, and Gianna snapped back to focus, just in time to see the dealer push an even larger stack of chips to Adrian, at least double the original investment.

“Your luck’s good,” a pinch faced man in an awful suit sneered from the opposite side of the table. “Didn’t particularly expect it to. This city isn’t kind to the newcomers.”

“Not a newcomer,” Adrian said casually, surveying the cards before him. “Just under the radar.”

“Not with those winnings you are,” he shot back. “Tell me, what’s that lady doing on your arm?”

“Me?” Gianna asked, a tiny touch of surprise creeping into her voice.

“It’s not the first time men at the table have used the ladies,” the man said, lighting onto that hesitancy. “What’s your cut, darling? Ten percent? Fifteen?”

“She’s with me,” Adrian said curtly, a strong hand coming to rest on Gianna’s.

“Oh that I know,” the man continued. “But it’s a little suspicious that you’ve racked up half a million with her flitting around. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was doing something a little . . . behind the scenes.”

“I’m not cheating,” Gianna snapped. “If you want women to cheat, I’d look to your wife.”

“Don’t have one.”

“And I can guess the reason.”

The man slapped down his hands of card, wheeling on the dealer as if the poor man could do something.

“Let’s raise the stakes, shall we?” he offered brashly. “I have a yacht docked on the Riviera. Beautiful piece, got it refurbished last summer season. What can you offer?”

Adrian paused for a moment, and the man seized on it gloatingly.

“Can’t do it now can you?” he taunted. “Not that your little lady luck’s been called out. It really was her, wasn’t it?”

“Adrian what are you doing?” Gianna whispered, covering her mouth covertly to stop anyone from listening in. “This can’t be a good idea.”

“It’s not a good idea if you’re not experienced,” he whispered back before turning his sharp eyes back to the table. “Unfortunately for him, I am the opposite.”

He gave a smirk to the man across the table, the one Gianna recognized as the one reserved to the most torrid of businessmen in deals and towards the antics of certain council members. Despite herself, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity for his opponent. Anybody would.

“If you win, I’ll give you one phone call,” Adrian said. “Call my contact in the Swiss banks. There should be . . . quite a nice payday.”

The man’s eyes darted before he licked his lips, obviously considering the possibility.

“You’re bluffing. You don’t have the money.”

“I don’t have the money?” Adrian said mockingly. “I don’t think that’s the right thing to say to a billionaire. You’re well versed in wealth, or at least in who has it. I thought you would have at least known that.”

The man bit his lips, eyes flickering oh so subtly to the others seated around the poker table, all who were no watching with obvious interest. The red haired woman said to be a European duchess of some sort leaned back in her chair with a fresh flute of champagne, a fascinated smirk beginning to spread across his face. The tycoon from Monaco clapped his hands and pushed his own meagre pile to the size, studying the scene with the same amount of interest as he beckoned a young waitress over.

“Done,” the man simpered arrogantly. “Just me and you, Mr. Raines.”

“Perfect,” Adrian said shortly. “Shall we begin?”

“Adrian, what are you doing?” Gianna hissed, flashing a sweet smile to the others around the table in between. “I thought you said you weren’t going to do anything tonight.”

“Gianna, what’s tomorrow?” he asked softly as he watched the dealer pass out the cards.

She paused for a moment before the realization hit her.

“Our anniversary?”

The tiniest of nods told her she was right.

“Adrian, what does this have to do with that?” she said softly, still trying not to draw any attention. “I didn’t even expect to be in Vegas for that.”

“No, but you should have expected something,” Adrian teased before turning his attention back to the table. “Trust me on this.”

He cleared his throat, smiling pleasantly in a way she recognized as the predatory one saved for the most lethal of business meetings. She fought back a wince, hiding it behind the rim of a champagne flute. This wasn’t going to end prettily for Adrian’s opponent.

“Shall we begin?”

The match again, the audience watching with a mixture of rapt interest and cool judgement. Here he was, one of the gaudiest and flashiest high rollers in Las Vegas going toe to toe with the markedly more mysterious and certainly wealthier man from the streets of high Manhattan.

Even the dealer was in on it, Gianna observed, watching how the man’s eyes flickered in between the beats from man to man. No question that the details of this game would be retold over and over in the break room or wherever the dealers met after their shifts.

The cards grew faster and faster - or on one side at least. Adrian’s face stayed settled in its facade, perfect and ungiving, devoid of any cues while his opponent began to betray himself. It was small at first, then larger, a twitch of the mouth or thumb, then a clear flushing of the cheeks to a shade Gianna didn’t even know existed.

He’s going to win, Gianna realized with a sudden shock as she fell into Adrian’s careful, practice rhythm. There was little chance his opponent would make it out. Just by watching for a few seconds, it was clear to see that this was something he’d easily been doing for decades.

“Three kings.”

Adrian threw down the winning hand with practiced nonchalance. His opponent did not.

“You’re cheating!” he snarled, lunging forward to scoop forward Adrian’s cards and rubbing them desperately to find any trace of counterfeit effort. He apparently found none.

“I advise you pay up,” Adrian said, his voice reverting back to that curt and unamused tone at the beginning of the game.

The man sputtered for a few minutes more before the stunning red haired duchess beside him flicked the last dregs of champagne from her flute onto his sleeve in disdain.

“Just pay up already, Neville,” she sniffed. “I don’t think this will help your standing if you don’t. Tell me, are you seriously that cheap?”

Without a backwards glance, she swept away from the table, the crowd of people instinctively parting for her. The man stared at her for a split moment, then snapped angrily for a host, a timid looking man that appeared out of nowhere, balancing a silver yacht key on a plate of all things.

“You’ll be hearing from me soon,” the angered man sniffed haughtily as he rose to escape the scene. “And my lawyers as well.”

“I sincerely doubt it,” Adrian said coolly, plucking the yacht key from the aide who came scurrying over.

He twisted around in his chair to meet Gianna’s eyes as she hovered above his chair, fingers tapping on the back of it as if still caught in the suspense in the game.

“Happy anniversary,” he said, the familiar warmth and sweet smile she knew of him tugging on the corner of his lips as he slipped the yacht key into her fingers.

“Enjoy.”

@femmeshep @kawairinrin @justendlesssummerfeels @sweetfluffyunicorn18 @mrsinclairstightpants @indiacater @hopefulmoonobject @perrieraines @universallypizzataco @lacielino-ff @elles-choices @adrian-raines @acvossthevoid @itlivesbeneath @choicesfannatalie @crispymilkshake-choices @flyawayboo @kinda-iconic @nobounderiesplease @noloveshorty @give-me-ernest-sinclaire @boneandfur @littleredroseonthevalley @bloodboundismylife @kinda-iconic @adrianadmirer @lilyofchoices @flyawayboo @isabella-choices @regina-and-happiness @darley1101 @arkhamknightsworld @desiree-0816

#BloodBound #bloodbound fanfic #bloodbound fanfiction #bb #adrian raines #adrian x mc #adrian raines x mc #adrian headcanons #adrian x reader #adrian raines x reader

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amandajoyce118 · 5 years

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Friday Five: Let’s All Take A Trip To Neptune

With the surprise fourth season of Veronica Mars coming to Hulu this month, and having a couple of freelance pieces related to the show, I’ve been rewatching the first three seasons. (They’re all available on Hulu and season four drops at the end of the month, so you can binge before the new episodes are available.) As a result of this rewatch, I thought I’d bring you five things I’ve decided while reminiscing about life in the fictional Neptune, California.

Do I need to warn you that there are spoilers for a show that premiered on television 15 years ago? Fine, there are spoilers if you’ve never seen an episode of the show.

Five: Paris Hilton Should Have Hung Around Longer

Okay, this one is a surprise admission from me, I’ll admit. Paris Hilton is not the best actress, but she was everywhere in early 2000s television, including a guest star spot in season one of the show. She played the girlfriend of Logan Echolls, and her part didn’t require her to do much more than flirt with cute guys and act snobbish toward other people. She only appeared in one episode. I actually think her arc could have gone for a couple more episodes to foreshadow the connection between Lilly and Weevil the show addresses later. She cheats on Logan with a member of Weevil’s biker gang, despite being an 09er. That same gang member happens to be Weevil’s cousin, and he happens to be committing credit card fraud using their grandmother’s name to take her on dates. That’s the standalone mystery of the episode. I would have actually been interested to see that play out a bit more over time - with Weevil increasingly reminded of his time with Lilly and Veronica more suspicious.

Four: The Show Should Have Started Younger

Maybe Rob Thomas was afraid of making the characters too young? I don’t know. I just think starting the series during Veronica’s junior year of high school meant networks aiming their programming at teens weren’t going to expect the show to go beyond two seasons. That’s why season three, in college, was the last. People say it got poor ratings, but on average, the show retained all of its viewers from the pilot. It average. 2.5 million views every season. Yeah, that’s low during a time when we didn’t have streaming options and most people didn’t understand DVR, but it aired on UPN and then the CW, two networks that were not rating powerhouses. If the show had started just a bit younger, the first three seasons could have been high school, and viewers might have been hooked for a bit longer.

Three: Tessa Thompson And Alona Tal Were Robbed

Tessa Thompson joined the series in season two. Yes, Valkyrie once lived in Neptune and dated Veronica’s BFF. This is one of the earliest things I remember seeing Tessa Thompson in, and she was so great in the role. It’s disappointing to me that they never brought her character back or had anyone keep in contact with her after she moved to New York to help her mom and raise her son. I also remember reading a while back that the actress wasn’t entirely comfortable with her role as Jackie because when Jackie was “bad” early in the season, they kept her natural hair, but when she was “redeemed” later, they had her straighten her hair. Yikes. I get that discomfort. Jackie was such a fun character and someone who could match wits with Veronica. I wish Veronica hadn’t wasted so much time being suspicious of her and befriended her sooner. Maybe then fans would have embraced the character sooner as well.

Did you know that Alona Tal was actually next in line to play Veronica Mars if Kristen Bell had turned down the role? The role of Meg Manning was created for her so she could recur. She was the one nice girl at Neptune High in season two - until she started dating Veronica’s ex, and then, suddenly, she and Veronica had this Duncan shaped wedge between them. And then, in season two, they got rid of her by sticking her in a hospital room for half the season and killing her off. I mean… she was one of your best assets. If you had given her more to do, Meg would have been a bigger fan favorite. I would have loved to see how the writers reconciled someone as “good” as Meg helping Veronica’s friend group do bad things to solve mysteries.

Two: Why Was The Baby Switch Not A Bigger Story?

This is a storyline from season one that has a single episode for it, and then… it’s like it never happened. Mac, computer whiz and future Veronica Mars ally, asks Veronica to dig up some dirt on her parents. She’s never felt like she fit into her family, so she’s curious to see what Veronica finds out since Veronica has been making $50 a pop telling people their parents’ high school secrets. What Veronica finds out is that Mac, social outsider, was actually switched at birth with Madison Sinclair, one of the most popular (and privileged) girls in school. The hospital didn’t admit the wrong doing until the girls were four, and they awarded each family a million dollars for the trouble, but the families kept the kids they had instead of switching back. After all, how do you tell a four-year-old they went home with the wrong parents? Not easily.

The point is, it’s clear from the episode where Mac finds out that Mrs. Sinclair knows Mac knows the truth. When Mac shows up at Madison’s house to pick up the purse she conveniently left there during a party, it’s obvious. The woman then sits down the street from Mac’s house right before Mac leaves on a family camping trip, and the two share a moment. But it’s never talked about again. It’s clear that Mac wants to know her birth family - which includes a little sister who is just as interested in nerdy things as she is. So, why not make it a running subplot? Especially since Mac gradually had a larger and larger role in the show.

One: Logan Has One Of The Biggest Character Turns In TV

I was never obsessed with the Logan and Veronica dynamic. I tuned into the show for the mysteries. When they got together, I did think it added an interesting layer to the show, but I wasn’t broken hearted when she dated Duncan again, or Piz for that matter. But going back and starting the series from the beginning and being reminded of what a tool Logan is at the start is eye opening. I always talk about how Pacey (of Dawson’s Creek) has the best arc on television because of how much he grows over the course of the series, but Logan’s up there too. His character turn from rich bad boy to momma’s boy to true friend to epic love story is something to see. It’s amazing that the guy that celebrated when Veronica got arrested in season one, the guy who based her car’s headlights in when she got in trouble, becomes the love of her life just a short time later. Yeah, we can put his early actions in the show down to his pain - he’s mad at Veronica for telling Lilly he kissed a girl at a party, he’s mad that he wasn’t there to help Lilly when she was murdered, he blames Veronica for not giving him the chance to be there for her, he’s angry that his father’s a dick who beats him and cheats on his mom, he’s protective of his mother and her unhappiness, and he just wants to numb all of that pain by having a good time and this blonde chick always seems to get in the way of that. It’s easy to understand his pain in hindsight, but as it happens, you’d never think he’d one day give one of the best drunken speeches on television about love.

That’s it for this week. Now, go binge watch some Veronica Mars.

#veronica mars #tessa thompson #alona tal #pari hilton #friday five

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the-bummer-set · 5 years

Text

Unpredictable Part 1- Bill Hargrove

So, this was going to be a one shot.. but I started to love the idea.. and now it will be a mini-series.

Pairings: Billy Hargrove x Reader

Plot: Reader is an escaped experiment from Hawkins lab. She has the power to see a few days into the future. When she starts school in the middle of senior year she finds out that there is something wrong, but it isn’t all bad,

Warnings: Light swearing.Foster family. Entrapment.

Taglist: @dacremontgomerylover (If you want added let me know!)

Author’s Note: Comments and feedback are always welcome!

You had spent your whole life in Hawkins, Indiana and yet you knew absolutely nothing about it. From a young age you were told no one would accept you outside of the walls that confined you. A personal prison. You a personal poison to anyone you could come into contact with. His words, not yours. The outside world was scary, people were scary, but you... you were terrifying. Being along was a scary thought. You hated being trapped inside your own mind, trapped with the never ending onslaught of the same visions over and over again. You were taught to read and write and how to do arithmetic. Just like the children in the books you read. From all accounts of 'normal' outside childhood, you were just as normal as the rest of them, save for the nearsighted glimpses into the future. But, that was your blessing and burden to bare. Everyday the visions were the same. Didn't matter. Walks down the halls. Sitting in the cool metal chair. Hooked up to wires. Saying you didn't see anything important. Being called a liar. It was true though, you never saw anything further than a few days ahead. Your powers were as simple as being able to know what you were having for lunch the next few days and who you would and wouldn't see in your daily travels to E-Val. "Open your mind, look deep, try to manifest what you want to see." Dr. Brenner would say to you. "It isn't the simple." You would tell him only to be disconnected and thrown back to your room. You saw the ending in sight. It came creeping upon you in the dark night. You thought you had to be dreaming again. You could hear the howling, so loud your ears hurt. The power failure that terrified you. The distinct sound of a door opening. That morning you would keep that from Dr. Brenner, trying your best to hide it from E-Val nurses and lie detectors. The next night the vision was more intense and longer too. This time you could see the emergency lighting lining the hallways. You could predict where the monsters would be. Your heart beating so loud you were afraid it wold give you away. Each night the nightmare got longer and darker, until the last night you spent in your room. Sleep eluded you. You had just closed your eyes when you heard it. A low rumble of a howl. Your eyes shot open. The only source of light in the room creeping in from under the door faltered. A rapid succession of flickers, then nothing. The room was the darkest it had ever been, you held your breath, waiting for the unmistakable sound of a lock unlocking. CLICK. You heart skipped a beat. Last night's nightmare prepared you for the escape. You slowly crept from your bed over the door, opening it slowly. The emergency lighting had come on, like your visions had promised. Slipping your way through the hallways you found yourself standing by an emergency exit. You could see through the small window that it was pitch black outside. You had seen all of this before and you felt the fear dissipate. Pushing the door open you could feel the cold air hit you like a blanket. ____________________________________________________________________________

After getting settled in your foster home you had dreams about today. Your foster parents didn't know where you had come from or what you were capable of and you felt like you were deceiving them. They were an older couple, probably close to their 60s, Helen and Frank Barber. They took you in from the police station no questions asked. Sure, a lot of people at the station were suspicious of your origins. Chief Hopper the most. You insisted though that you ran away from home. Home was in Maine. The setting to all of your favorite books. Don't bother looking for parents, they were.. gone. The visions of your first day at Hawkins high, for being a foster kid on the run you certainly did test high and were able to go for the last leg of your senior year, were intense. You were ogled by so many different people and asked so many questions. Mentally always thanking your love of reading for the social queues of teenage normalcy. When Helen and Frank dropped you off you thanked them, waved, and prepared for the stares. You had been getting them your whole life from the same people. When you are conditioned to be a freak, you feel like one. Everyone looked the same from your visions. You didn't look up, too afraid to make eye contact. Instead, you bee lined to the front office, introduced yourself shyly. Your class schedule was exactly how you pictured it. Each classroom was perfectly placed like you had spent your whole life going here. You had been muddling your way through the morning, everything exactly as it should be until third period. You introduced yourself to your teacher and turned to face the class. When you noticed a huge abnormality to your vision. Something you did not see at all in away way shape or form over the last few days. He was sitting in the back corner. Leather jacket and long blonde hair. He had this devilish grin on his face, shaking his head while looking out he window. Everyone must have noticed how shocked you were to see something that you weren't expecting because every single pair of eyes were on you. "Hey, Hargrove, looks like someone likes you." Some arrogant jerk spoke from the front. This caught the boy's attention. He turned his gaze from the parking lot to you. "You like what you see Princess?" He asked raising his eye brows and getting a chorus of laughs. "That's enough Billy." The teacher said. "Y/N go ahead and take a seat next to Victoria. Victoria dear can you raise your hand so she knows where to go." The girl with long brown hair and thick rimmed glasses raised her hand. No surprise to you, you saw this. You saw every little detail, even the writing on the chalkboard, but you never saw this Billy Hargrove. The rest of class went by undisturbed.When the bell rang you got up keeping your eyes to the floor, doing everything in your power to not deal with Billy. Which was going just perfectly fine, until you ran smack dab into him in the front of the classroom. "I didn't see you." You muttered. "What?" Billy asked. His voice softer than it had been now that the room was empty. "I didn't see you." "Well, I guess not, but no harm done." He smiled and extended his hand. "I'm Billy Hargrove. Sorry for the comment I made earlier. I have a reputation to uphold here, I can see it made you uncomfortable and that wasn't my intention." "I didn't see you at all..." You spoke louder. "Yeah, we established that. Um, listen what class do you have next, I feel like I owe it to you to at least walk you there." You shook the thought from your head. "Uh, Literature with Mr. Duvall. Room..." "237." Billy smiled broadly. "Me too." Your visions were completely void of BIlly Hargrove, and even now having met him, you didn't see him in any of them. He was a complete and total mystery to you. You replayed the vision of you walking to Literature class and not a single person beside you or anything of the sort. It was troubling. You couldn't pinpoint him anywhere on the map of your visions. No where, past, present, not so distant future. "Mr. Duvall... this is Y/N. Today is her first day." "Thank you Billy. Class this is Y/N. She's a new student, here from... where are you from dear?" "Maine." You answered quickly, pushing down the truth. You were from Hawkins, Indiana, born and raised, I was trapped in that awful research facility that killed your fellow classmate Barb and had all that mysterious toxic bullshit. "Maine? The land of Stephen King." Mr Duvall beamed. "Have you read any King?" "Yes sir." It was after all the reason you chose Maine instead of anywhere else USA. "What is your favorite work of his?" "The Stand." Mr. Duvall raise his eyebrow. "I just find the idea of being able to see the future in snippets extraordinary, like how Stu knows where to go to get out of trouble..." The rest of Literature was uneventful. You could feel the warm sensation of someone watching you. It was delicious and terrifying all at once. Literature in your visions was just another class. Nothing worth writing home about. You tried to scan your visions, trying to figure out what was in the room where Billy was seated. When you realized it, you were mortified. You shook the vision from your head and peered back towards Billy. He smiled at you and you smiled back feeling a wave of heat flush over your cheeks. You tried the rest of the day to get it off. At the end of the school day you grabbed your bag from your locker and walked out into the warm Spring air. "Hey Y/N." Billy walked up beside you and you could feel the heat pulling from you. "Do you want to go get something to eat tonight? I could give you a little tour of this shit hole that is Hawkins and maybe make up for the fact that I was an ass." The thought of something you didn't see happening ahead of time was overwhelming, but you were always so jealous of the exciting lives of those that you read about. "Sure, I'd love to." "You're staying with the Barbers right?" You nodded. "I'm only a few houses down. I'll pick you up around 6." You confirmed six was fine and said your goodbyes to Billy, until he noticed you were walking home. "Do you want a ride? My sister Max is getting a ride with that Sinclair kid, so I don't have to pick her up today." "You have a sister?" You questioned him as you walked towards his car. "Step sister. You? You have any siblings?" That was a tough question. You were one of the oldest out of all the experiments in Brenner’s arsenal. You knew Brenner was your biological father, but you didn't know if the case was true with any of the others. "No. I'm an only child." You responded. It could have been true and for right now, that was good enough. "So Maine huh?" Billy opened up the passenger side door for you. You were surprised by how chivalrous he was given his demeanor when you were being a complete idiot. "Yeah..." You trailed off. "Maine." "What's it like?" Horrifying? You had never been to Maine, you only read Stephen King books and by all his accounts Maine should be completely eradicated from the face of the Earth. "Same as Hawkins." Given the news lately and the inevitable military shut down of Hawkins Labs, the multi dimensional hellscape of Maine was actually rather comparative of Hawkins. "Boring, crap shoot of an American town?" "Exactly." You both laughed. It was the first time you had a full laugh in ages. It was few and far between when you had a great day locked up. You found comfort in your reading and that was the usual cause of your joy. "So, did you grow up in Hawkins?" You asked him. Billy turned to look at you amazed that you asked him such a stupid question before remembering you're the new kid now. You had no idea he existed before today. "No. My family, we're from California." You got excited. California was a high contender in places you have longed to see. Reading about the perfect combinations of landscapes, the bustling city life, the feeling of ocean waves crashing on your feet. "I've always wanted to go to California." Billy shrugged, he desperately missed being at home... "Well, once you've seen one ocean you've seen them all I suppose. I'm sure living in Maine and living in California have a lot of similarities." You didn't know what to say, you never honestly lived any place other than a stagnant laboratory with only glimpses of the Hawkins forest scapes outside tall office windows. "I guess so." You were almost disappointed when Billy pulled up in front of Helen and Frank's house. Your house too they insisted. You were genuinely enjoying your conversations with him. "So I will pick you up around 6. If anything changes, just call me. Try to do it before five though, before my prick of a dad gets home." "I doubt anything will change, but sure." You took the slip of paper from him and slid it into the back pocket of your jeans. "Honestly, I am sure Helen and Frank will be delighted I am making friends already." You smirked. "If I don't hear from you before five, I'll pick you up at six. Hope to see you then." Billy waved before driving down the road. You made your way into the house, smelling the scent of lemon and Petunia bu Yardley Smith perfume. Helen must have spent most of the day playing 1950s housewife. "Oh Y/N! You're home! How was school dear? Did you make any friends?" You told her all about your day over a glass of lemonade and a plate of chocolate chip cookies. "Do you mind if I go out tonight for a little bit?" You asked her. "Billy Hargrove wants to give me a tour of the town and take me to dinner." "That sounds like a date." Helen couldn't hide her giddiness. "I don't think I would call it a date." "Oh honey, I don't mind, you go out and have fun, that's what girls your age need. Go on dates! Live your life." Helen patted you on the shoulder. "Frank is going to be so excited!" "Thank you Helen." You smiled and finished your lemonade. "I'll be in my room getting ready." Standing in front of your mirror you tried to visualize your night, but nothing would come to you. Ever since you saw Billy the visions were blurred. You could see tomorrows classes, unless you had them with him. You could see what Helen was making for dinner on Thursday,but you couldn't see Billy at all. It was horribly confusing. When you were finally ready and sick of obsessing over why you couldn't see the exact future anymore you settled on finding an outfit. A simple pair of jeans, black high heels, and a burgundy off the shoulder top. You brushed your hair out and put on a little bit of makeup. Nothing over the top. This wasn't a date like Helen was trying to convince you. You grabbed your bag from off the chair and made your way downstairs. Hearing a knock on the door you looked over at the mirror, your played with your hair getting it perfect before opening it. "Hey Billy." You smiled. "Hey you." He gave you a quick nonchalant almost invisible look over. "You must be Billy." Helen came over and introduced herself. "You're so handsome! Your step mother always has such nice things to say about you.." Billy raised and eye brow before brushing it off. "Well, that is good to know. It is a pleasure to meet you." He extended his hand and shook hers softly. "You two have fun tonight." "Have her home by ten." Frank yelled from behind the newspaper in the living room. "Yes sir." Billy replied and took your hand. "Sorry about all that." You groaned. "Don't worry about it." He opened the car door for you again and you beamed. "So, where to first?" "I figured we could go to the diner. Then I will take you for a ride." He shrugged looking over at you making sure his plans were okay. "Sounds good to me." You settled into your seat. playing with a string hanging from the bottom of your shirt. "Is that a tattoo?" Billy asked looking down at the inside of your wrist. You covered it up quickly. "Yeah. It is." "So what does the number 4 have to do with anything?"

#unpredictable #Billy Hargrove #billy hargove x reader #stranger things #stranger things 2 #stranger things fiction

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