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John Ito

the heretic

0 · 376 views · located in The Academy of Unseen Arts

a character in “Guardians of Hell”, as played by mombie

Description

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Image J O H N x I T O Image
Image the heretic Image


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Image . B A S I C S . Image Image Image


Β§ . m o n i k e r ( s ) . Ito

Β§ . g e n d e r . male

Β§ . a g e . twenty-five

Β§ . s e x u a lx o r i e n t a t i o n . heterosexual

Β§ . o r i g i n . brazil, 1994

Β§ . r e l a t i o n s h i pxs t a t u s . single

Β§ . r o l e . guardian of the sixth circle



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Image . A P P E A R A N C E .

Β§ . e y e s . dark brown

Β§ . h a i r . black, always combed over with gel. He takes a considerable amount of time not trying to look like he just rolled out of bed, even if he maybe did.

Β§ . h e i g h t . 6' 2"

Β§ . w e i g h t . 160 lbs.

Β§ . p h y s i q u e . muscular, athletic

Β§ . s k i n . john has a soft olive complextion with beige undertones.

Β§ . t a t t o o s . two sleeves of religious tattoos, tribal tattoo on back

Β§ . d e s c r i p t i o n . John is tall and broad, akin to a bodybuilder. His physique is athletic, a testament to the effort he makes to keep himself in relative shape. His overall look could be seen as a bit compulsive in neatness - tediously combed hair, perfectly clean nails, and a shaved face are just a few of the things he seems to perfect. One could even say that he is extremely vain, or perhaps it is simply self-consciousness. He loves occupying the gym more than he does his studies, which is why the latter often falls short of his physical ability.

His routines are always the same; wake up, shower, shave (everything), brush his teeth - check and double-check himself, throw on a matching set of gym clothes, and sweat it out in the gym. Then it's back to the shower with him to wash away all of the perspiration. As far as attire is concerned, he is always business casual. Always. The things he likes best are expensive ties that match equally expensive suits, cardigans, turtle necks. The appearance of the professional implies that one is put-together and has their life in order, and that is the way he wants to feel. His dress is just the opposite of his own past life, which was chaotic and uncertain and was broken and cheap, and that is not how he wants others to see him. His skin gives off the scent of expensive soaps and even more pricey cologne. He smells good, looks good, and just has it.

The night always ends the same - yet another shower, a billion step face cleansing routine that would put most women's skincare to shame, and then sleep at the same time every night. When he looks in the mirror, which he does often, he feels like he wants to be. His appearance is very important to him. He just can't get over the fact that without it, there's not much left.



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Image . C H A R A C T E R .

Β§ Β§ Growing up as he did with the parents that he had, to say that John is confused is an overwhelmingly under-rated statement. The life that he knew, the one of deep Catholic faith, was uprooted at an age that was perhaps much older than others in the Academy. He thought that he had a deep relationship with God, only to find out that his lineage's blood ran hot with something more blasphemous. His relationship with God melted away, but he still wonders if there is something - a chance for him to have it back. Maybe the others at the Academy could sense this profound wanting to reclaim his old life.

He isn't exactly a loner, but he has gone from bright and social to quiet and reserved. His mind seems far away from his studies, perhaps even absent. Yet, he is anything but absent, rather fully aware of everything going on around him. He isn't like the others, he knows. He's not malicious or vindictive, he is a natural-born leader of the Faith. He just doesn't know what faith right now. He is also a protector, and he has taken careful mental notes of those within the academy that would be prone to the more insidious natures of others. While his magic might leave much to be desired, he'd happily kick someone's ass for being a jerk to someone else.

He is also quite smart; his adoptive parents had taught him English and his birth parents Portuguese, Latin, and Japanese. Learning is easy for him, but he's slightly resistant to lessons on his magical prowess. Yet, his ability seems to match the person behind it - rocky, shifting, sudden. Like his Japanese father, he keeps his emotions tucked away for very little to see, and he doesn't believe in showing them. Despite being in constant conflict with himself, he looks fine - just a little on the quiet side. And like his mother, he has a deeply nurturing soul that genuinely cares for others.

He needs to find his faith again - in whatever realm that might be. John also needs to find that one person - a friend, a partner, whatever will make him feel like he has an actual purpose. Much like his mother, he's lost without all of those things. But one wouldn't notice unless they did some deep prying. On the outside, nothing is wrong and everything is as it should be. As far as anyone knows, he will sign the Book. He, himself, doesn't know if he can.



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Image . A B I L I T I E S .

Β§ John's familiar may not be awfully surprising. It is one of the most loyal and intelligent dogs; a German Shepard. He is tall and broad and apparently well-groomed, just like his owner. He never leaves the man's sight. While he looks nice, he has a strong bite and a readiness to leap and defend. If Ito is fighting, there is a good chance that Max will be, too.

John possesses the power of geokenisis, which allows him to control earthly elements. His strongest abilities are summoning jutting stone from the ground, mentally projecting the earthly objects that surround him, and to create tremors. Most of these things are used in defense because he suffers from an innate ability to want to actually cause someone physical harm. He uses these things to blind or temporarily disables, to stun others or create distance - to build walls to protect someone else. Those kinds of things. However, if the Guardian is in control, he can cause mass destruction and grave injury. The protective or destructive nature of his abilities strong correlates to whether or not he, himself, is in absolute control.

His strengths are that he is linguistic. His ability to learn language seems to come easy for him, as he already speaks four fluently. He also has strong morals. He thinks that he knows right from wrong and that there is a black and white sense of it. Much of this stems from his Catholic faith, of course, and his mother. He is a protector. He is a shield with exceptional and trained physical combat capabilities. It is easy for him to selflessly stand up for others. Many have sought him out for this very thing, and many others loathe him for it.

His weaknesses are that he has confused faith which has led to a conflicted sense of belonging. He doesn't connect well with others on an emotional level, and many might actually see him as aloof and dismissive. Lastly, he is resistant to corruption, which makes things very difficult for him at the Academy. It goes hand-in-hand with his morals and how he was raised with the Catholic faith.

His fears are that he won't be able to sign the Book of the Beast and he'll be killed. He's also scared that the wrong person will slither their way into his life and find that weak place of his to sew the seeds of corruption - that his very nature will be used against him. He is angry with his adoptive parents, naturally and knows he actually wants to do them harm. Grave harm. Most of all, he is scared that he's truly condemned and that perhaps he always was.



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Image . H I S T O R Y .

John Ito was born in Brazil. His father was a Japanese man that went to the country for international studies, and while he was there, he met his future wife - a Brazilian woman named Marcera Ribeiro. The Ribeiro family has been in Brazil for centuries as practitioners of Macumba. The cult-like sorcery combined voodoo with shamanism and was often imbued with little bits of their Catholic faith. They focused on possessions, shamanism, and animal sacrifice. While this practice is more central to Africa, it made its way into Brazil. The Ribeiro family began with an African migrant that moved to Brazil and married a native. Over the centuries, their African descent became barely noticeable. Yet the Macumba lives thick in the blood. John's father, on the other hand, was just a mortal man - no real significance to anything other than being Catholic himself. The family had refused to sign the Book of the Beast as witches and warlocks, and saw fit to marry whomever they chose.

John had a normal childhood, for the most part. His dad impressed on him the importance of education, thus he excelled in school. On that same note, he never had much of a life because he did so well with his studies. His father forced him into academic clubs and competitions, punishing him for anything that can be perceived as laziness. His mother was a completely different kind of parent. She was kind to him and nurturing as mothers should be. She had taught him old Latin and Portuguese. She heavily influenced his Catholic faith, even though she never brought him into her Macumban practice. Marcera was saving that for an older age when he would be more accepting. However, she snuck bits and pieces of the lore into his learning so that he would be prepared for it later. She also warned him of certain things - the Church of Night and how he'd have to keep his Faith close to his heart.

When he was around 10-years old, his mother was out to perform a Macumba ritual for the initiation of a member that had come into age. When she was possessed by the spirit, everything around her that was alive began to die. The brush caught fire and she was soon rambling off into some unknown tongue. One of the Dark Father's servants had slithered into Marcera's body and took it over. It slaughtered everyone in the forest that was still alive and then proceeded to John's family home. Wild-eyed and smelling very much like the rotten egg stink in the pit of Hell, she unlocked the door and walked into the kitchen. Her white gown was covered in blood and her long hair was damp with it - clinging to her shoulders, neck, and face. She went through the rooms, one by one.

John had awoken, not to the screams of his father because there were none, but to the smell of his mother. It was an awful stench. After he rose from the bed and walked out of his room, he saw his mother standing there as she was. A grim voice called out to him, welcoming him, but it was not her voice. Stunned, he stood frozen and the possession ended with his mother's body blowing up like a bulbous sac of blood and gore before she just - exploded. Behind her were two adults; one woman, one man. They would become his adoptive parents by force, using lies and his terror against him to coax him into believing they were there for him. After it was time, they shipped him off to the Academy of the Unseen Arts where he slowly began to unravel the truth. A truth that has made him resistant to the Academy's studies and its students.



coding x mombie | fc x Hideo Muraoka | hex x 87975C





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D O R I A N x F A W K E S
"AI think he knows about me, but he doesn't show it."


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They are roommates, but almost like two peas in a pod. Both of them pretty much keep to themselves, and neither of them pries into each other's pasts. The only thing they may squabble about is that one or the other has spent way too long in the mirror with their hair. Unlike most of the Academy, Dorian is polite and that is right up John's alley. John suspects that Dorian is elusive with certain topics, but just like he thinks that Dorian suspects something of him, he isn't going to bring anything up. They respect each other's privacy, but also talk easily about anything. Dorian is a good friend to tell secrets to. Well, most of them, anyway.


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I V Y x B I S H O P
"If anyone could get me to sign the Book of the Beast, it would be her."


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John has grown to be rather protective of Ivy. Her beauty isn't the only thing that stands out to him because she happens to be the most normal Witch here. For some reason, he felt like he could trust her. When he spilled his secrets about his devotion to the False Gods and his hesitance to sign his soul away, she doesn't flay him alive. While she supports the Dark Lord utterly, Ivy seems to accept this apprehension as a phase that will pass when it is time for the Dark Baptism. He's also totally into her, but he's not sure if she feels the same. For all he knows, she tolerates him because he's intimidating. And well, Witches and Warlocks aren't known for their monogamy.


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N A M E x L A S T N A M E
"A brief quote in your character's voice about the other character."


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Put a brief paragraph description about the relationship between the characters, why it is the way it is, etc. Copy and paste this section for each character as you make relations. You don't have to keep this section, if you'd rather not have relations on your CS or public. You can remove the images to the left if you'd rather just have the names. But if you keep the image it is the same size as the character images on the intro, so you can just copy those instead of having to find new if you'd prefer.




h e x c o d e x // x # * * * * * * x // x f a c e c l a i m x // x * * * x // x c r e a t o r x // x * * * x // x c s x // x mjolnir

So begins...

John Ito's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Dorian Fawkes Character Portrait: Roman Black Character Portrait: John Ito Character Portrait: Dahlia Bedacholli

0.00 INK

#, as written by mombie
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j o h n x i t o

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t h e x h e r e t i c
#87975C || Outfit

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Just as Dorian opened the door, there was John. He looked a little bit like a hot mess, and his right palm clutched something so tightly that blood pooled in his palm. It leaked onto the floor, and if Dorian would peek just a bit over the man's shoulder, he'd see a few droplets behind him. John pressed his other hand against his roomate's shoulder, moving him aside in the most gentle of manners.

"Let me shower and get dressed and I'll join you. I'm guessing you need a drink just as much as I do," he said after he dipped past him to do just that. He quickly stuffed something under his pillow; his rosary that was passed down to him from his father. There didn't seem to be a God attached to it at all - it was just an object now. It was just an object that he still clung to, and it would appear that he failed to find anything in it during the early hours of the morning.

He trusted Dorian not to pry, and even if the curiosity overwhelmed him, he trusted that he wouldn't flay him limb from limb because of it. So, John left for the shower taking the pristine ivory suit that hung up on the door of his closet with him. He spent quite a long time in the bathroom, and if Dorian would have just left him behind - he wouldn't have blamed him. After all, he had to take care of his hair, go from five o'clock shadow to perfectly shaved. He tugged on his attire, the steam from the shower having smoothed out certain wrinkles, and checked and rechecked himself.

What was going to happen once he signed his name? Would he still retain the person he was? He didn't want to change. Hell, he didn't like change all that much. He was content with himself as he was. For the most part anyhow. There were a lot of things he hated about himself. He loathed this - this lineage devoted to Lucifer and those damned practices that were darker than he could have ever imagined. He didn't like that he was here. It was almost an out of body experience - He, himself, devoted to God was watching some other husk of himself, one devoted to the Dark Father. He's not sure about which entity is actually him anymore - this one or that one. It was confusing. Does he sign the Book of the Beast or does he run far, far away from this place and never look back? What would happen to him if he did? What would happen to the people at this Academy that he's grown fond of? What would they even think of him if they knew the truth? Would that slithering snake of an empty shell murder him as soon as she could get her vicious claws on him?

There were just too many thoughts, and his mind swam with them to the point of drowning. A drink would help. God, it would help so much. Well, fuck... God isn't even listening to him anymore.

He moved out of the bathroom to check and see if Dorian was still around. When his eyes landed on the guy he just gave off a little nod while adjusting the cuffs of his white suit. Virginal, they said. John wasn't a rampant manwhore like Roman, but he wasn't exactly the epitome of virginal virtue, either. The attire looked good on him, so that was that.

John's dog was just downright lazy today. There was no way in Hell that it'd be part of the Dark Baptism, especially since he senses that hesitance from the Warlock. Maybe it was that apprehension that made Max incapable of rousing himself from his master's bed. The lack of enthusiasm was draining, and perhaps he also felt that the decision John would make tonight will also impact him somehow. Just as John doubted, as did Max. He snored away, and John just waved a hand dismissively at him.

"Let's get out of here," he said while he pushed open the door to set them on their way to the rest of their lives. He'd become relatively quiet for the majority of the walk; his eyes cast down to his feet and his thoughts obviously elsewhere. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his trousers. He hadn't even thought of his Baptismal name. He wasn't as prepared as others were because he still just wasn't sure if he could do it. But if God left him, then maybe... just maybe this was the last chance he had to find Faith again.





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t h e x s c o u r g e
#C48495 || Outfit

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The shower in her room was running, and it was overbearingly hot. The steam slipped through the cracks of the door, slithering along the floor until it simply vanished into thin air. Her soft flesh was reddening, but Dahlia was sort of out of it right now. She had placed a hand on the shower wall in front of her; curving her fingers inward as if grasping at the immovable tiles. That long, long hair clung to her wet body, even as she lowered her head and shut her eyes. She had been done washing long ago, but she was just here - waiting in the searing water to cleanse something. Something that couldn't be cleansed. This place, maybe. It didn't meet her needs. She wanted to go home, but she didn't have a home. The Dark Lord assured her that this would be her home.

Something slithered at her ankles, and it winded up her thigh until it coiled about her stomach and latched to her arm. Then it coiled there and slithered up to her neck. The brown serpent coiled some more, then constricts slightly - just enough to jerk her out of reality. It hissed in her ear. It was like a whisper that only she could understand, and she opened her eyes to turn her cheek toward it. "Presto caro," she assured, her words smoothly rolling along the Italian notes. "È tempo per il Battesimo oscuro." The serpentine creature nodded its head, and just as swiftly as it slithered in, it slithered away. By the time she reached up to turn off the shower, Velena was gone.

She had brought her outfit in with her so that Tamsin wouldn't manage to ruin it somehow. It was a long mermaid dress with a plunging neckline. Sure, she didn't have much breast to truly honor the outfit's purpose, but she was going to make do with it anyway. There were plenty of beautiful dresses in her closet, but this one she had yet to wear. It was a special occasion, after all, to witness those that would sign the Book of the Beast. Perhaps even catch a glimmer of the one he suspects heavily will not. It would feel good to finally be rid of his blasphemous presence - John was like a glaring light in these dark corridors. She has had her eyes on him, and she knows. She knows where he goes to wish for the False God's hand.

She spent time drying her hair first, of course, as to not dampen her attire. It took a while and the blowdryer thankfully tuned out the humdrum of whatever was going on outside of the door. It was good because while Roman and Winifred seduced each other in that not so subtle way, she wanted to rip the girl's throat out from her neck. Yes, that was jealousy reeling its ugly head. Not that she liked Roman in any way, shape or form, but that she had a rather strange attachment to him. So, she took her time so that she wouldn't tear the girl to shreds in front of him, and they could flirt away in seeming peace without her.

Yet, she still managed to slip into her dress and out the door before the pair were done. Luckily, just as they were trying to remove themselves from the room. She must have frightened poor Winifred, as she often does with her eccentric and quiet personality because a dash of red fled the room and that left only Roman; his back toward her and the door still propped open.

"Hello, Di bell'aspetto," she purred out that endearing name of hers for him. It sounds complex and exotic, but it was really just "Handsome". "Apologies for scaring date, but would you be kind to zip me?" After the question slipped from her lips, heavy in her accent, she turned to display to him her back. She'd move her hair so that it would be out of his way because there was a whole lot of it, and it covered her back and bottom in a way that would obstruct his task. She pulled it all over a shoulder and turned to look at him through a side gaze as he proceeded to zip her up.

"Are you ready?" Dahlia inquired, adjusting the sheer fabric that hugged her arms.

Once he was done with that, she turned around to face him. She had to crane her neck slightly to peer up at him, and they locked eyes for a moment. There was a slight tilt of her head and that familiar blank stare accompanied a practiced smile. She looked away and rose to the tips of her toes to smooth out a wrinkle that had formed on his shirt. No doubt from lounging about on Winifred's bed.

"It looks like she wanted to leave early, Roman. Come, I go with you." she insisted in her not so perfect English as she held out an arm for him to take. To accompany him was more of a dutiful thing - one witch to a warlock, as she was used to. They were not each other's keepers, but it would be rude for her to allow him to go on his own.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Tamsin Reid Character Portrait: Dorian Fawkes Character Portrait: Constance Lamotte Character Portrait: Bones Burroughs Character Portrait: Isaac Courtney Character Portrait: Roman Black Character Portrait: Lucia DuBois Character Portrait: Taylor Montgomery Character Portrait: John Ito Character Portrait: Dahlia Bedacholli

0.00 INK

#, as written by mjolnir
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dorian fawkes
the charlatanx|xoutfitx|x#8BA3A6

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With the door open, Dorian's eyes widened slightly at the sight of John before him. His gaze temporarily fell to the blood that dripped from the male's hand. But he didn't comment on it and quickly shifted to look somewhere else and act as though he didn't see it. "Let me shower and get dressed and I'll join you. I'm guessing you need a drink just as much as I do."

Dorian nodded his head and side stepped so John could walk past him. "Understatement," he replied quietly as he closed to the door after his roommate entered their room. He took his time making his way back over to his bed and gently took Pearl from his shoulder and placed her on his pillow. His hands gently hiked his pants slightly, before lowering himself onto the mattress. It didn't take a genius to notice the conflict in John. The man clutched to his rosary like his life depended on it, although it was his soul that was truly at stake.

Neither one of them seemed to be in the best of standings for the day's proceedings. One of them worshipped God, the total and complete opposite of Lucifer in everything. The yin to Satan's yang. While Dorian was living a false life. He had no idea what would happen to either one of them once they signed their names. A heretic and a fraud. John was giving up everything he believed in while Dorian was signing his name a second time. Would hell rip open and swallow them both whole? He raised his right hand to tug at the collar of his sweater, finding it significantly more difficult to breathe.

Then the bathroom door open and out came John dressed in head to toe white, although far more formal than Dorian. "Let's get out of here," he said as he opened the door.

Dorian pushed off his bed, moving to his feet. He stroked Pearl's head with his index finger before scooping her up and placing her back on his shoulder. As he past John in the doorway, he gave the male a reassuring pat on the back. There weren't many words exchanged, or any as they exited the dormitory and made their way toward the coven's Gray Room, the local gentleman's club for warlocks. Neither one of them wasted much time making their way inside and to the bar. No one was working, no doubt getting ready for the Baptism and celebration to follow. So Dorian took it upon himself to walk around the counter and search the bottles for the strongest liquor he could find.

Halfway through his search, he found absinthe and figured that would more than suffice. Dorian grabbed two shot glasses and filled them to the brim. He held the small glass between his index finger and thumb as he raised it. He parted his lips to say something encouraging maybe? But no words escaped. Instead he simply clinked his shot glass to John's, then downed the contents without hesitation. He slammed the empty glass down on the bar and gripped the edge of the counter in his hands. The alcohol was supposed to help but he could feel his hands fighting to tremble against his grasp.

He spared a glance around the gentleman's club, making sure they were in fact alone. Dorian inhaled sharply as he poured another shot for himself. His hand trembled just enough to make some absinthe miss the glass and hit the counter. "Damn it," he cursed under his breath as he set down the bottle. He tried to calm himself with deep breaths, then quickly downed the alcohol once against with a cough.

Dorian had long accepted the fact that there was going to be a special place in hell for him. He was a liar, a fraud... a murderer. He cleared his throat, looking down at the counter as he tapped fingers upon it. "Are you sure you can go through with this?" While he himself was royally fucked no matter what he did, John still had a choice. Dorian's finger tapped upon the bar faster before he lightly smacked the surface with his hands. "I can cover for you," he offered in a hushed tone, looking his friend in the eyes. He might beyond saving, but... If John wanted out, maybe he could help him. Before Lucifer smites him from existence when he signs his name a second time.




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tamsin reid
cursed witchx|xoutfitx|x#000000

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It seemed as though her presence was a magnet that day. Surprising. More often than not Tamsin was her own special breed of deterrent but it seemed that she must have mixed up her honey and vinegar that morning. Taylor, dressed nearly as dark as herself, found her way into some semblance of the group, sitting herself down in a chair that was close but not too close. She made a priority of getting out a book or tome of some sort before addressing the small handful of them that lounged around. "Morning, folks."

Before she could part her lips and make some half assed comment about how it was actually evening or who knows whatever else, Constance strutted down the corridor toward them. Tam knew full well that caramel skinned she wolf was seeking out her clingy French counter part. It wasn't like she hated either Constance or Lucia, arguments could be made that she was friends with one of them but that didn't change the fact that the toxic relationship between the two churned her stomach.

β€œNow, Tamsin. There are plenty of orgies and whatnot all around the academy now, you just haven’t been asked to join.”

β€œAs oppose to you, who has been explicitly asked not to join,” Bones spoke up without even sparing the queen a sideways glance.

Tamsin pursed her lips slightly at the comment. She chuckled, running the tip of her tongue along her teeth as she shook her head. "Lucky for you, Princess. You wouldn't be able to handle me."

Constance ignored her comment to no surprise and turned her attention temporarily to Lucia. β€œThis why you were occupied? You’re talkin’ to the town elder, letting her fill your head with heretic ideals of our Dark Lord and talks of nihilism. How nice.”

"Someone has to corrupt the youth," Tamsin replied plainly as she ran her index finger along Chesare's back.

Although her head was downcast, she slowly looked up over the frames of her sunglasses catching Constance gain a mischievous smirk as she eyed her up and down. Tamsin quirked a brow curiously, just a fraction so only the witch opposite her would notice. β€œYou look exceptionally jaded and morbid this morning.”

Tamsin reached up, pushing her sunglasses up onto her head. "Black has always been my color." Simple words uttered with a very subtly suggestive undertone. To most it'd appear to be a simple comment about to choice in attire, but Constance would be able to pick up the hidden innuendos in her words. All the while, Tam's thumb and index fingers playfully toyed with the zipper on her shirt. "And it's always a sad day when people willingly sign their souls over to the world's biggest twat."

She leaned her head against the wall, trying not to audibly groan as Lucia leapt to her feet and to Constance's side. Tam rolled her eyes as she looked over at bones and clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. The following quips between Connie and Taylor, or whatever clingy shit Lucia did quickly lost her attention. Eventually the pair left to finish getting ready for their baptisms or whatever else. She couldn't care less to be honest.

β€œToo late to lodge a petition against her joining our coven? I’m sure I could get a million signatures with a little effort.” Tam chuckled as he moved to his feet. β€œI’ll catch you at the Baptism, I’m going to find Josie.” She gave bones a salute with her right hand before he left her sitting there with the ever talkative Taylor... And a talk, dark and very handsome gentleman that joined the chaos some point around the topic of orgies.

β€œWhat’s Connie’s deal?” the handsome stranger asked once they were alone... Or relatively while Taylor's nose was back in her book.

Tamsin adjusted how she sat slightly, crossing one ankle over another. She rolled her eyes, shaking her head slightly as she tried to think up a substantial response. "No fucking clue," she chuckled. Her index finger tapped on her thigh for a moment before she spoke up once again. "You're new here." Tam said it like a fact, not a question. She's been at that damned academy long enough to know everyone's names and a new face when she saw one. "So, what's your name and how do you know about Constance?" Her brow quirked as she posed the question, curious to hear his response.





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roman black
the lecherx|xoutfitx|x#AC945A

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"Hello, Di bell'aspetto," Dahlia all but purred from behind him as Roman stood in the open doorway. "Apologies for scaring your date, but would you be kind to zip me?"

Roman slowly turned around and found himself greeted by her slender bare back. Dahlia slowly swept her hair out of the way. He didn't say anything, instead closing the distance between them in silence. His fingertips softly brushed her bare skin as he took ahold of the zipper and slowly tugged it upwards. All the while his breath was warm, tickling the side of her exposed neck. Once he finished, he gently took her hair and pulled it back over her shoulder so it could cascade down her back. But before he stepped back, he couldn't help himself and placed a gentle lingering kiss upon the cusp of her shoulder.

"Are you ready?" Dahlia asked as she adjusted the sleeves of her dress.

Roman was quiet for a moment as she turned to face him and even smoothed a wrinkle in his shirt, causing him to smirk slightly. "As I'll ever be."

"It looks like she wanted to leave early, Roman. Come, I go with you." She held out an arm to him in offering which Roman didn't hesitate to take. He led her out of the room and closed the door behind them.

"You look absolutely ravishing, bella donna." He took her hand and gently raised it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss upon her knuckles. Unlike the other witches and warlocks who wasted their time socializing and scurrying about the dorms, they made their way to the desecrated church for the evenings proceedings.

The walk was peaceful and they went, relatively, unbothered aside from some glances from the younger students they passed on the green. It came as no surprise that upon entering the church, Roman and Dahlia were some of the first to arrive other than some of the teachers and the high priest. Father Proctor was the first to approach them. Although the man's smile seemed friendly, Rome could see through it to the hidden animosity he felt towards him due to his mothers favoritism. "Roman Black, punctual as always." His handshake was firm, borderline threatening before he released Rome's hand.

The High Priest greeted Dahlia with a chivalrous kiss to the hand and then motioned to the rest of the church. "We will beginning at sundown. Until then, feel free to mingle. Although Ms. Bedacholli will not be able to accompany you during the ceremony."

Once Father Proctor left them to their own devices, Roman's mother was quick to approach the pair giving a friendly smile to Dahlia before embracing her son. "Roman, my love. You look so handsome. I cannot believe the day has finally come." She took Roman's face in her hands then proceeded to place a kiss on either of his cheeks. She gave him one more hug before looking back over toward his company. "Dahlia, darling, you look beautiful."

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Dorian Fawkes Character Portrait: Roman Black Character Portrait: John Ito Character Portrait: Dahlia Bedacholli

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#, as written by mombie
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"You look absolutely ravishing, bella donna," Roman complimented her as his lips found their place tentatively upon Dahlia's knuckles. Most women might fawn over him for such expression of praise coming from a man such as he. However, she knew that she was ravishing already because he had uttered such words before. The more traditional Witch was inclined to say nothing, as it was duty to be appeasing.

When his lips fled her knuckles, she hooked her arm through his, her fingers gently grasping his bicep. They were not each other's keepers, but she could not see her accompanying anyone else to the Desecrated Church. No other Warlock would touch her, and she was neither a friend nor acquaintance to many of her own Witch peers. Roman was not the last resort, of course. He'd always be her first choice regardless of her popularity among the rest of the coven. She didn't still understand what he wanted of her, but she believed that he would bend the knee to the old ways when his name was signed in the Book of the Beast.

Is it an awful thing to hope for that? She wondered this as their steps carried them quietly down the corridors of the Academy. Some Witches and Warlocks change in certain ways after signing their names. The woman's deep chestnut gaze sought him sidelong for only the most fleeting of seconds, a small smile gracing naturally dark rosy lips devoid of other false shades for this special night. She watched the array of expressions that venture across his features and even those that might not. During one brief second, the long crimson nails of another hand stroked quietly at his wrist. Then it all fell away; her fingers, her curious and hopeful eyes. She kept hold of him, of course, until they were at the threshold of the Desecrated Church.

Dahlia released Roman entirely so as to not seem attached to him by others. She wouldn't want to give off any wrong impression, and the man had a reputation to keep. She walked with him, however, her pace keeping in line with his. She'd not speak out of turn, so she stayed in the realm of silence until words were directed to her.

"Roman Black, punctual as always," addressed the Warlock first, of which she had no qualms with. Her hands fell in front of her at the lap of her dress, one folding over the other. Dahlia did not pick up on many social ques, and she didn't care for whatever drama took place at the Academy. Father Proctor, however, was a handsome man to place eyes on. Not that she'd give him some sort of leering gaze while at Roman's side, nor would she ever.

The two men exchange their pleasantries - or the lack thereof - before the High Priest brings Dahlia's knuckles up for a kiss, "We will beginning at sundown. Until then, feel free to mingle. Although Ms. Bedacholli will not be able to accompany you during the ceremony." "Certo, Padre Proctor," she spoke in her native tongue, as it came more easily. Just as swiftly as the Italian words departed, as did the High Priest, and she watched him leave as Roman's mother stepped toward them to impart some last words on her son before his momentous occasion.

"Roman, my love. You look so handsome. I cannot believe the day has finally come," she praised him, complimenting it all with those loving and proud maternal kisses on his cheeks. "I agree. His looks must come from mother," she replies with an obligatory smile. "Dahlia, darling, you look beautiful," came a slightly more unexpected line from Vanessa Black. Surprising because Herbalism was not her best course by any means. Maybe the woman was just being kind, just as Dahlia was. "Grazie, signorina Black," Dahlia thanks her.

She turned her body toward Roman, but is also careful as to not intrude upon his mother's space. After she rolled to the tips of her toes, she placed a departing kiss on the side of his mouth while grasping at him for a little leverage. She whispered something quietly in his ear, "We celebrate later, hmm? Find me." Then she pulled away from him and stepped backward a couple of times before turning around to find a pew to place herself on. She was going to give him and his mother a bit of privacy before the flood of Warlocks and Witches began to fill the space, and he was the social sort. Dahlia was not. He attracted people to him, and she wanted to keep most of them away. It was just for the best.

Her attention all but slipped away; the mother and son interaction melting into the background as her thoughts venture to other places.





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Dorian was excellent company. In fact, he was the only company that John could stand for more than five minutes. There was one other, but that was a complicated matter. The loneliness of the the Gray Room was welcome because that meant that the two of them could relax without the threat of other Witches and Warlocks breathing down their necks. Many were happy for this day - they had waited for it all their lives, but there was a sense of dread here so thick that it could choke the air out of this room.

As Dorian helped himself to the bar and poured the glasses, John placed himself on a stool. His own tremorous fingers reached for the glass set for him, and they clinked glasses. They both must have locked eyes for a moment. They both wanted to say something to each other, but neither could summon the words that either of them needed to hear. John pulled his shot glass up to his lips, kicked his head back, and let the burning liquid slide hotly down his throat. After Dorian refilled his own, John soon followed and poured himself another. He'd have said something about Dorian's little spill, but honestly - they were both feeling the same anxiety for two different reasons.

"Are you sure you can go through with this?" The question jolted John as the shot glass was pressed to his lips as though the current thought was: should he be drinking? It wasn't a new inquiry, honestly. Not or him. He asked himself this same question so many times that he had lost track of what his answers were. He lost count of all the reasons not to go through with it, or to do so. He forgot how many times he asked God for answers, and then could not conjure the last time he felt his Faith could help him. It was so simple. Wasn't it? He could sign it. He could not sign it. He could choose to do so many things, but this would come back over and over again. He didn't want to give up certain things that he has become used to. If he were honest with himself, God left him a while ago. If He was even there to begin with.

He didn't answer just yet, instead, he finally proceeded to tackle his drink in one swoop. "I can cover for you," Dorian offers.

Broad shoulders rise and fall to the slow cadence of a long, drawn-out and defeated sigh. John's eyes lock with his and he offers up a weak smile and a gentle chuckle. "I'll sign the Book," he relents, but he doesn't sound happy about it. He had hoped for a different path. The one that his parents took. The one that got them both killed. "I haven't come up with a Baptismal name yet, though. Maybe it will come to me when I get there."

He reached for the bottle of Absinthe, offering to pour Dorian's right after his own. "How about you, Dorian? Do you need me to cover for you?" Since they were both talking about conspiring to somehow beat this rite of passage. He leans forward toward him, a forearm sliding along the counter. His head tilts a bit and he traps his friend's gaze with his own. You know, he never really asked what the deal was with his own obvious nerves. They, up to this point, never pried into each other's personal lives. They had glimpses, maybe, of certain things but they never asked too many questions. "What has your nerves rattled? I know we don't typically... share these things, but if we can't escape signing the book, we will still be there to help each other. You can trust me, Dorian. I am the last person to judge anyone here for anything, I think."

That was all, and there didn't seem to be any pressure to entertain his inquiry. There was only a genuine wish to know, at the very least, about what troubles him. John's own conundrum was not so hard to notice if one was astute enough, but he could not pin down Dorian's own source of hesitation.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Tamsin Reid Character Portrait: Dorian Fawkes Character Portrait: Constance Lamotte Character Portrait: Casper Reid Character Portrait: Isaac Courtney Character Portrait: Taylor Montgomery Character Portrait: John Ito

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#, as written by mjolnir
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John sighed in a reluctant, almost giving up fashion. "I'll sign the Book," he said giving in. "I haven't come up with a Baptismal name yet, though. Maybe it will come to me when I get there."

Dorian's fingers lightly tapped the bottle of absinthe. "It's not quite as big of a deal as they make it sound. It's like Catholics with their confirmation names. You choose a name for a single occasion, to then promptly forget it and never use it again." He gave a slight smile with a shrug of his left shoulder. "Mine is Xavier, not that that helps much."

There was a moment of silence before John took the bottle of absinthe and poured himself another glass, offering to do the same for Dorian. He nodded his head in silent acknowledgement to gain a refill before John spoke. "How about you, Dorian? Do you need me to cover for you?"

The question took him by surprise, causing his blood to run cold. He couldn't see his own reflection but imagined he had gone pale. His palms grew clammy as he clutched the shot glass searching for words. Before he could speak, John continued. "What has your nerves rattled? I know we don't typically... share these things, but if we can't escape signing the book, we will still be there to help each other. You can trust me, Dorian. I am the last person to judge anyone here for anything, I think."

Dorian downed the shot as his mind search for an appropriate response. Part of him wished to divulge the truth to someone so then maybe, if for a moment, he'd be able to breathe. But out of everyone at the Academy, he felt like John would be the last person he'd tell the truth to, considering he is a Godly man. He was one of his few friends, and it scared him about what the truth would do to him. "I appreciate it. But... if I told you, you wouldn't look at me the same."

After another long silence, and one final shot, Dorian pushed off the bar and stood slowly. "We might as well get this over with." He gave a slight smile while patting John on the shoulder. He then motioned his head in the general direction of the desecrated church. "Don't make me do this alone. If you tap out, you better warn me so I can disappear too." This time he gave a genuine laugh before turning and heading towards the door.




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tamsin reid
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"How could he not know her? She's a complete twat to put things nicely. If she doesn't hate you, there's something wrong. Not like I'm any better honestly though."

Tamsin laughed as she pulled out another cigarette and lit it. "Yeah, and I'm a fairy princess."

β€œThere’s a reason that witch sounds eerily similar to bitch.” She snorted back a laugh as she took a drag from her cigarette. Ain't that the truth.

Tamsin kept her gaze fixed on the male as he made his way across from them and began to sit. β€œIsaac Courtney.”

Tamsin Reid, your local immortal," she said, pointing her thumb toward her chest. "And Taylor Montgomery, soon to be book signer." Tam motioned her index and middle finger that held her smoke towards Taylor, being sure to introduce themselves. At least she was a little bit polite... a little.

β€œI once knew a relation of her’s," Isaac said returning the conversation to Constance. Wouldn't she be happy to know that the conversation revolves around her even when she wasn't here. But the way that he held her gaze, almost intently made Tamsin furrow her brows slightly. It was like a silent communication. Like he was trying to get her to see something that only she could see. It gave her a strange yet familiar knot in her gut. But she said nothing nor acted on it.

β€œI merely wished to know if she shared the same disposition.”

"Oh, she is... But finding a nice witch is far harder than finding a bitchy one."

Then, Isaac turned his attention toward Taylor. β€œI’m hardly new, though that’s a matter of semantics.” The comment made Tamsin purse her lips in thought as her mind tried to connect the pieces. There was no way it could have been him, could it? β€œTamsin likes to thinks she knows everything about everyone.”

And then it hit her. It was Raphael, or Johannes, or whatever the hell he continues to go by. It didn't matter. She lost track of how many years it had been since they had last seen one another, but he hadn't lost is taste for testing her nerves. It was one of his favorite past times after all. She squinted her eyes toward him in a mocking fashion. "Well, I'd wager I know more about the people on this island than you. The benefits of a curse that keeps me in one place."

She tried remaining as vague as she could, without seeming more than just Tamsin banter to Taylor or anyone else who might have over heard. But they both spoke on a level that each other understood, that kept others at bay. It worked. And regardless of how many times he tried to get on her nerves, he was the one companion she had going through life with this curse. Her immortal companion through an endless life.

Isaac then moved to his feet and gestured towards the door. β€œNow it’s time to, in the words of Tamsin, watch witches make the worst decision of their lives.”

Tamsin collected her things and shoved them into her purse, preparing to head toward the desecrated church. She carefully unraveled Chesare from around her leg and draped him across her shoulders, then stood up. Just as she made her way toward Isaac, Casper came bursting through the door like the flash. In such a rush, he ran into the back of Isaac and gave him a rushed apology. He tried to catch his breath before looking towards Tamsin, holding out his hands as if trying to block her from exiting the room.

"Grandma Ophelia's here." Tamsin quirked a brow, her curiosity peaked. She was tempted to smirk but didn't. It was well known that everyone in the Reid family, other than Casper hated her guts and looked at her as a stain on the Reid family name. Her niece Ophelia was no different. Perhaps the worst of them all. "I mean, I'm going to keep her company... but you had better figure out how to stay out of her way. She's in the church right now."

"I have to go or Father Proctor will have my head." She sighed softly. Tamsin would love to cause a scene and ruffle their feathers. But on the other hand she knew how much Casper tried to keep that at bay. "I'll try to disappear in the crowd and hide with my new friend Isaac."

After reassuring Casper a couple more times, she hurried him out the door so he didn't keep their family waiting. "Sorry about my cousin. He means well... the rest of my family, not so much." Tamsin then hooked her arm with Isaac's making sure he was pulled close to her so she could speak quiet enough for only him to hear. "You have shitty timing, you know that?"