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Angel Zuniga

"All you have to do is get in these girls' heads. It doesn't take much."

0 · 636 views · located in New Orleans, Louisiana

a character in “The Witching Hr”, as played by blvkmvgic

Description

Image


Nickname/Alias:
Zun // Zoom
Birth parents:
Rionne Arthur // Adrien Zuniga
Hometown:
Los Angeles, California

"I don't use the shit that was forced into my blood line. I just use mind power and manipulation. Funny how that works."



Image
Age: 23
Height: 6"
Weight: 155 lbs
Abilities: Cloaking, thought projection

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So begins...

Angel Zuniga's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jacqueline Emilie-Marie Lavaeu Character Portrait: Fiona Goode Character Portrait: Silas Abernathy Character Portrait: Kyle Spencer Character Portrait: Pell Laveau Character Portrait: Greyson Ault
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There was an irritable twitch set into a jawline belonging to a young man standing just outside the gates of Robichaux. His hair was darker than the night, short on the sides, slicked back. Louisiana weather had the tossed strands on the top. But it looked intentional, even as it were, slightly messy. With a flick of his hand, he sniffed, a rasp cutting into his nostrils as he checked the time on his phone. He was late. He’d be sealed out, if it weren’t for the two sultry witches he’d met in downtown New Orleans a few weeks back. By now they’d forgotten about their intoxicated invitation. How at that point, they’d even gone above and beyond to welcome a stranger to Ceremony. 'Any week it worked for him'. He wondered how Greyson and Pell were doing, if they were still even enrolled. He saw a better chance of the two running off and eloping, but he didn’t dig too deep or care. All that mattered currently was the free ride and promise of excitement and sexual zest on the horizon.

A house. Just full of witches.

Angel could have used another bump but figured it would be best to wait. His girls might have forgotten about their drunken encounter, and the last thing he needed to was blaze in, acting like he was personally, closely affiliated with them. Angel dust wouldn’t necessarily render him particularly graceful either. He tugged at his black collar and casually strolled through the gates. His step broke off twice as he stopped to pat his torso. Still alive. Still whole. The enchantment the girls used was still in effect. Sick. With a satisfied Cheshire grin, he wove his way down the path and up the stairs.

ImageIt wasn’t long before he was stopped again. Familiar pale hair masked her features but he knew it was her. Her knuckles had turned white from both hands clenching the knob of the banister. She was only a few feet from the door. It almost looked like there was some invisible tug of war going on, as her body pulled itself back, in a downward motion, but she continued to hold onto the handrail and mewl almost silently to herself. Every now and again she would hiss, “Fuck”, but without looking up or moving in either direction much more. Her frame jolted with every breath. Angel decided to go on a whim and place a tattooed hand to her back. His fingers were softly pressed above the base of her spine, but no matter how gentle the approach, she still snapped upright and stared at him with the wildest eyes he’d ever seen.

What he remembered was not what stood before him. Her hair seemed to have turned to a graying purple in the past few weeks. The cool demeanor was not in progress. She looked terrified. Or strung out. But the matching ebony get up, the nose bleed and look of panic confirmed that it probably wasn’t drugs. The nether half of her face was sullied with her own blood. “Well, hey,” he said with a smile, disregarding her blatant dread, “You and your girlfriend invited me a few weeks back. Do you remember me?” She didn’t hesitate to nod, but she didn’t speak. “You okay?” Again, no hesitation to nod. “Let’s get you inside,” he crooned, wrapping an arm around her and helping her brave the stairs and face the institute which to be honest, stunk of herbs and rose petal. It was far too overdone for Angel to even lie and say it smelt remotely nice.

Together they walked past a male duo on the porch. One was a tattooed man, the other was a sheepish, overdressed man, considering the weather that was at play. Angel was forced to quirk an eyebrow at the hangdog and his chestnut hair, the way he fidgeted next to what looked like a teacher. In passing he bowed slightly, "Evening." With a shrug, he continued his unexpected journey.

They weren’t more than five inches past the threshold before the terrible screaming and perturbation hit their ears. Angel braced Pell and looked around, taking mental stock of the nice paintings and china while the rest of the inhabitants tried to constitute themselves. From a wide doorway across the way, an older blond woman paced without so much as a blink of confusion or concern. A glass of wine was perched between bony fingers. She must have been the Supreme. The Coven rushed past her, servants included, up the stairwell. Lastly a blond hobbling boy, more on tenterhooks about helping than anyone else. Unmoving, the Supreme just lingered. Angel couldn’t tell if she was looking at him directly, or just out the door while the sound of a terrified femme shrieked, “Help!”

“Always this crazy here? Heh,” he kept an arm around Pell’s shoulders, glancing between her and the Supreme while the merriment, alcohol and hexing was abandoned.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jacqueline Emilie-Marie Lavaeu Character Portrait: Silas Abernathy Character Portrait: Kyle Spencer Character Portrait: Pell Laveau Character Portrait: Hale Bjarki Character Portrait: Arturo Christobel DeGari
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For those who paid attention, the evening in actuality was very delightful. The meal was far beyond delectable for the new blood, conversation was plentiful, and the sheer independence was almost exhausting Kyle's smile. Then again, witches were after all independent creatures. All alphas and no betas essentially. So naturally they all dispersed like cockroaches under a heat lamp once their meal was over. All except the new life, of course. The poor souls had no clue what to do.

Thankfully Hale picked them up before they got lost. Or worse.

Listening to the light conversation that Hale created amongst those left at the dinner table, Kyle proudly listened while also synchronizing his fork and food with dance. Prodding at the cooled steak to join the rest of his food, Kyle didn't even have a Imagechance to glance up before he was dragged out of his chair and forced to stand. The firm and hardy grip on his iced shoulder held him in his place like a guide, and once Kyle's googled and rolling eyes looked everywhere but the person before him, he finally zeroed in on what exactly was going on.

Shaken briefly like trying to unhitch your backpack from the corner of her bed, Mr. B promptly instructed, or rather, demanded more social behavior which brought about a flat face from the undead boy. At first he was confused about the whole aspect of "freely" communicating. Was he acting like he couldn't talk freely? Did he looked tongue tied or oppressed? That was certainly concerning, seeing as he was trying his best to make the coven and it's member appear at least on some level friendly. Maybe that's why Silas was timid at the table. Kyle started to frown as his contemplations went on.

He wasn't quite sure how to take it. Because in his mind, no matter how correct it as, there was three types of interactions. Or communications. Or languages. Or whatever it was called. There was verbal communication, which was what Kyle had the most complications with. That's where you talk or sing and grunt and so forth. Then there was body language. Facial expressions, hand gestures, dance, things like that, which really was a type of communication, he was sure of it. But then there was listening. For reasons that Kyle could no longer recall, he had always considered listening an interaction. Whether they were talking to you or not, he's always felt like he was communicating when he listened. But it was apparent that it wasn't the same for everyone with Hale's small correction. Which was weird because it really felt like interactions for him. But then again, it felt that way because connections that weren't really connection were made in his head and those supposed connections influenced action and feeling and so on and so forth. So Maybe Hale was right. He wasn't interacting very much.

Kyle's eyebrows started to furrow as he started to confuse himself with this turn around. And once that fluster was sorted out, it started to make him raise his eyebrows with realization. But not nearly as much as Mr B's... compliment?

At first, much like the rest of this short interaction, Kyle was confused on whether it really was a compliment or not. It was nice to know he wasn't an ornament, but he never thought of himself as one. If he was, he'd be some decoration all right. But that popped up the thought that there was a reason Hale would say that. Did other people think of him as an ornament? Did he act like an ornament? Self awareness wasn't entirely a thing for Kyle, so this whole interact more thing was starting to scare him. Because apparently he isn't interacting and looking like a display with him being completely oblivious, or so it seemed.

But there was always a silver lining, and Mr. B usually made a point of bringing that out, and that lining brought a grin on his face. In Kyle's mismatching eyes, interaction was as precious as a compliment here, and being who he was... well, that made things even harder to get. People couldn't exactly come up to him and tell him he looked good that day because he always looked like he got run over by a lawn mower. They couldn't exactly have a casual conversation with him either because at some point he'd end up needing help with a word or need to slow down. So thinking that someone here actually wanted to talk to him was just shy of a miracle. Not to mention someone wanting to get to know him. To actually know him and he felt and thought, not just "know" him. Despite all his tenancies and difficulties. That was something Kyle could hardly believe.

After all, Hale sometimes exaggerated to make a point. It made sense.

But a good kinda of sense. And whether it was true or not, it still brought a smile to Kyle's face and he appreciated that. With Imagethe giddy in his still heart bubbling every slightly, he returned an acknowledging nod to his superior and turned back to the table of people who were still sitting down. That's right he stood up. Kyle flicked his tongue in his mouth, almost preparing himself to say something, but bit it instead because he realized that he had no clue what to say. Having been ejected from the conversation briefly, he lost track of what they were talking about in the first place. Besides, what could he say? It's not like he had anything interesting to talk about that wouldn't make them puke. Unless they wanted to hear about the time where he had to clean up rat guts from his clothes when he squashed it for eating some of the plants in the greenhouse. That sounded appetizing.

Kyle simply returned to his seat instead, briefly watching Hale beat his ear before the two both joined in on the conversation. Hale was always good about interjecting himself into colloquies like that. And like it was before, Kyle listened to the banter that Mr. B went off on as he looked at his food with only minor interest. But this time, instead of prodding and poking, Kyle, almost violently, stabbed the steak and pushed it around that way. He managed to take a few pieces onto his fork as well, but after a bit of them sitting on the piece of metal, he pushed them off, leaving the steak behind before gathering them all up again and rinsing to repeat it all. Exceptionally predictable. It was almost an exercise even. There was a point in which he raised it to his lips and his teeth slid it off the fork, but as soon as he did such, his wrist was jolted and Kyle shook from the sudden warmth and contact of Hale's hand.

He paused his chewing and looked at him with shock. Arturo? Check the premises? What was going on? Was something wrong? Kyle nodded and set his fork down, scooting out of his seat and leaving the small dinner party without a moments hesitation. Not including the initial one, of course. But rushing around like a stiff board on wheels, Kyle must have searched the main floor at least twice before actually finding the guy. It was so Arturo too. Party crasher when you didn't want him around and the invisible man when you do.

Walking over to the trapped animal, Kyle took a deep breath in, speaking Arturo's name first before starting," We need to-" He paused, placing his hands on his hips. Come'on, just copy what Hale said. "-search the-" Come'on, come'on, spit it out you bag of slugs,"-the property." The entire thing was rather slurred, and "property" especially sounded like a failed attempt at some sort of foreign accent indecipherable to even the most geographically educated person. But he got the point, he was sure. He hoped.

Arturo went off as Kyle had expected and Kyle himself went on his own way. He didn't return to the table though, thinking it might be better to lend Arturo a hand. Better to be safe than sorry, and two heads are better than one and everything like that. So walking around for a bit, Kyle first went to the greenhouse. That was a place he was sure Arturo wouldn't check until later. Or at least not first. He didn't know, maybe it was just habit, that's where he always was if he wasn't doing something. But after checking the place as if searching for a lost item, he departed and went back into the academy.

Kyle must have either missed something or been in the greenhouse for longer than he thought because upon finding a few other members of the coven, things must have happened. There was a new person starring down Pell, a few seconds later someone was screaming help and- Wait a minute...

That was Jacquelin screaming.

Kyle jolted into an upright position, when originally it was a confused slouch making him look like the hunchback. His head jerked around, looking towards the dining, half expecting a camera angle to change like in a dramatic action movie. He forgot about the new kid and Pell, who he didn't realize did not look like herself whatsoever, and without a single thought in his slow, dumb mind, he charged around the corner and practically skid to a stop upon his arrival. He didn't make it in time for her vague explanation, merely and simply looking at Jacqueline like a deer in head lights.

Maybe it was just him, but Kyle was starting to think that this night was turning into a disaster. First it was rude introductions, then it was the cut off of the tour, then it was him not interacting. And stepping away from things involving him, the curtains were torched, apparently something or someone was on the property when they shouldn't be, and now Jacqueline was screaming for heaven knows what and he still hadn't gotten anyone to tell him exactly what is going on. Was this not confusing and stressful for anyone else?! Finally Kyle simply exclaimed:

"What's wrong?!"

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jacqueline Emilie-Marie Lavaeu Character Portrait: Fiona Goode Character Portrait: Kyle Spencer Character Portrait: Pell Laveau Character Portrait: Greyson Ault Character Portrait: Hale Bjarki
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Rowe
"You okay?"
Rowe jerked back a bit, genuinely surprised to hear a new voice. Almost all at once any anger he had been feeling before vanished, he couldn't even really tell why he was so pissed off in the first place. His eyes focused on the person who had spoken. Greyson. It took a moment before he realized that Pell was kind of having a seizure, or the fact that her nose was bleeding. He felt himself involuntarily tense up, wondering if he had done that. Of course you did dick head, he thought to himself, grinding his teeth. Greyson had said something else but he wasn't paying attention. He was too busy having a mental struggle with himself over how to help Pell. And how to explain to others what happened. What had happened? He wasn't even sure. If someone thought he was just going to start lashing out at people... well, he didn't know what would happen really. He didn't want to know.

Pell got back up, seeming to recover but seeming really shaken. Actually, she looked petrified. Rowe shifted uneasily, eyeing her. Had he made that look in her eyes appear. No, he decided. It had been something else. She saw, or thought she saw, something. He was sure of it. But he didn't really have a chance to comment on it.

“Is this your idea of a fucking joke?” Pell yelled in his general direction, whatever fear he had seen before disappearing and being replaced with some rage he was sure he didn't want to face. But since her next words were telling him to not go near her, he supposed he wouldn't have to face it. He didn't feel any better.

She stumbled off, and Rowe saw some guy help her before he let himself turn away and start freaking out. Rowe ran a shaky hand through his hair, eyes darting as he tried to think about why he lost it. He was vaguely aware that Greyson might still be there, but wasn't really paying all that much attention to the fact. He was too wrapped up in his panic. "Fuck!" he screamed, hitting himself on the head with his fists. He kept swearing under his breath before finally just falling silent, going numb. He wondered if he was going to have to leave. Or if Pell would even say anything. She was a proud person, he wasn't sure she'd run to the Supreme or anything. Still, could he really let himself be around people, most of whom barely knew him, and trust he wouldn't pull another stunt like that?

Someone screamed. Loudly. Rowe looked up, but wasn't all that shocked by the sound. He still felt kind of numb to his surroundings, and it took him a moment to realize that he should be worried someone was hurt as others disappeared inside, but he found that he didn't have the will to go and look if everything was okay. Pell was with everyone else, and she had said to stay away. So that's what he did.

Fiona
Fiona sipped at her drink, eyes scanning the room for anything out of the ordinary while her face remained incredibly passive. It wouldn't help to let anyone think she was worried that something was wrong. Well, she wasn't really worried actually, so she didn't have to mask that. More she had to hide he interest in her surroundings, which would seem out of place from her usual nonchalance.

Her interest was proven justified though, when a sudden scream cut through the walls of the academy building. Fiona tensed very slightly, but other than that she showed no reaction to the sound. Still holding her glass, Fiona walked toward the noise, head held high with purpose. It was time to see what was amiss in her academy, and get rid of it if need be.

When she got there, Kyle had already shown up and looked like he was trying to help the screamer. Jacqueline. Other students and some staff also gathered in the room, trying to see what the commotion was. Fiona stared down her nose at Jacqueline, who was in tears and repeating something about Madison. "...Madison's dead," she finally caught the girl say, causing Fiona to raise an eyebrow. Dead? Good riddance, she thought, not phased by the death of the younger girl. The only thing Fiona was now interested in was how the girl died. And, if still around, would it kill anyone else.

"Make sure she's okay," Fiona said out loud, to no one specifically but more to everyone gathered in the room, and motioned to Jacqueline. Fiona began to turn, but then paused and called out, "Hale! Arturo! Gather the students and make sure they don't leave your sight!"
With that she turned and marched up to Madison's room, having to see her death for herself. And, by any luck, get an idea of what happened to the girl.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jacqueline Emilie-Marie Lavaeu Character Portrait: Fiona Goode Character Portrait: Papa Legba Character Portrait: Kyle Spencer Character Portrait: Pell Laveau Character Portrait: Greyson Ault
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Greyson Ault
Neither of the pair answered her question, but Greyson couldn't shake the sick ominous feeling gnawing at her gut. There was too much going on, energies swirling around her. A pressure pushed into chest as she could feel something expand from within her, like the wings of some monster that flapped it's wings as a warning. She felt Pell go limp beside her before she began to seize, eyes rolling back.

"Pell!" She grabbed the girl, trying to stop her from hitting her head. Before she could even steady Pell in her arms, images flashed behind her eyes. Yelping as she jumped away, the burning image of blood red eyes imprinted in Pell's mind burned in Greyson. Her and Rowe stared onto Pell, frozen. She felt useless, unable to help the one person she ever had called a friend because of her inability to control her fear reading.

The look of confusion on Rowe's face was the only thing stopping Greyson from attacking him, after all mind butchering has his unfortunate speciality. She wasn't sure what she should do, run for help or stay and hope to be helpful, or to bind Rowe and feed him to the council. She couldn't get those red eyes out of her mind, menacing yet familiar - or had she only recognized them through Pell. Her hands gripped at the hair at her temples, looking back at the porch where she could see Hale along with Silas, still no sight of Aiden.

"What the fuck." Was all she could manage, still gripping her hair at the temples.

Pell had managed to straighten herself, ranting to no one particular. What did the girl just see? Greyson stepped forward, hands raised, "Pell, you're okay." Although anyone else would be able to tell otherwise. When Pell backed away, Greyson noticed a figure approach from the gate. She didn't recognize him until he spoke, the male witch they had ran into on one of their drunken nights out. It all came rushing back to her, them passing the invitation for him to drop in anytime - they must've been drunk to think that would fly by Cordelia.

She said nothing as he approached Pell, stepping back into the shadows, offering no explanation. Pell usually did the talking, otherwise Greyson wasn't much interested in the conversation. She watched Angel as he helped Pell, deeply wishing she could be the one being able to help her friend. He spoke softly, asked questions, handled the crisis very well. It took everything Greyson had just to stay standing, let alone assist the seizing girl. Leaving Rowe behind,Greyson walked up beside Hale. "Something just happened, don't freak out." She needed to tell him before he saw the state of Pell. "Don't make a big deal out of it."

Looking back, she could see Angel helping Pell up the stairs. She couldn't really say what happened, she wasn't sure what it was. A scream from upstairs saved her from butchering an explanation, she looked at Hale as if to say that part has nothing to do with me, following behind him as he dashed upstairs. There was a whirlwind of students around them, some just looking around in confusion, the rest rushing toward the scream. Tailing close behind Hale, she managed through the crowd as he pushed his way through, almost stumbling into the room.

Greyson could smell the fear before she could smell the blood. She only smelled fear one other time, although she only could remember pieces of that night. Jacqueline stood frozen, unable to look a away and overwhelmed, meanwhile Fiona stood with her glass in hand looking over the room and somehow managing to look calculating, menacing, cool. The smell drowned Greyson's senses, able to look around and catalog the damage but not really processing any of it. The noise of people at the door, screaming and even a few crying, rammed against her head like a hammer, and there was some annoying high pitched whistle in the background that pierced into her temples. Gathering her composure, taking a deep breath out, her hand moved gently from side to side, subtle yet effective. The bodies pressed through the door frame lurched back as if being pushed by an oversized hand, the door snapping behind them.

"Sorry," she said unapologetically.

Jacqueline remain trembling, cautiously Greyson approached her. Tentatively reaching a hand out, she flinched on contact, unable to filter the fear. Comforting others wasn't much of her specialty, although Jacqueline hadn't asked so she wasn't sure why to even bother. Because it's the nice thing to do. a voice rang in her head. Sighing in defeat, Greyson let her arms to her side, deeming herself useless. She was a hole in one if you needed her in a time of conflict, but she's fuck all when it comes to picking up the pieces after.

It was then she noticed a distraught Kyle, she could feel his levels of frustration bouncing off the walls. Before she could notice what she was doing, she was standing beside Kyle. Her hand rested on his arm, calmed by the stillness he gave. She couldn't tell if it was because he was dead or if Kyle genuinely had no fear, but for the first time all night she hadn't cringed at sort of human contact. Looking him in the eyes, she remembered what a soft brown they were, guilt twisted in her gut. "I'll help with Jacqueline." Greyson motioned to Kyle to gently lead her out, turning to face the doll face that was still twisted in horror. "Hey, come on, we're going to get you out of here and clean you up."

As her and Kyle escorted the girl out, Greyson motioned the open the door revealing the crowd that had pressed themselves against the wood to listen. "Move." She said curtly, it came out meaner than she intended but she was sick of how fascinated her fellow students would become by blood and gore. The crowd saw her expression and cleared a path down the hallway, knowing if they had declined she wouldn't have much problem forcing her way through. She helped Kyle get Jacqueline down to her room, "I'll be right back, get her settled."

Sweeping down the stairs where it had pretty much emptied, she went into the kitchen, setting out a tray. She filled two large metal bowls with warm water, one to use to clean Jacqueline and the other to wring out the soon to be blood stained rag, and grabbed a rag from the linen drawer, arranging the items just so on the tray. Order brought comfort to her, perhaps it was her way of suppressing her own feelings. Jacqueline seemed traumatized by the bloody scene and Greyson hardly offered more of a reaction than the zombie boy. Carrying the tray through the sitting room, she saw Pell still standing beside Angel. "Hey, Jacqueline is in her room, she was the one who screamed. Fiona is in Madison's room, I think we're on lock down." She said at an attempt to be discreet, not really wanting to share with the newcomer about the slaughtering of one of the witches in their coven.

Knowing Kyle and Jacqueline were expecting her back, she left it at that and continued up the stairs and into Jacqueline's room. She was sitting on the edge of her bed as Kyle stood there in silence. She set the tray on an end table, dipping the rag into one of the bowls and handing it to Kyle, "Can you do this part, I would but...." She felt uneasy about revealing her own weaknesses that she had with her powers, unable to touch another being, she let her sentence trail off.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jacqueline Emilie-Marie Lavaeu Character Portrait: Kyle Spencer Character Portrait: Pell Laveau Character Portrait: Greyson Ault Character Portrait: Angel Zuniga
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Greyson Ault

Intimate was a word Greyson would use to describe the exchange between Kyle and Jacqueline. He was so gentle when he helped cleaned her, and did not protest when she took the rag herself. He watched her as if she were a frail little bird and all he wanted to do was help. Jacqueline was the type of girl guys wanted to help, they wanted to be her knight in shining armor.

Practically pressing herself against the wall, she could see Jacqueline struggle to remain still, hands shaking as she cleaned herself. She dipped the rag into the bowl, wringing red droplets back into the water and cleaning herself once again. The blood didn't seem to go away much at first, only spreading causing her usually golden skin to appear stained. All of this strangely fascinated Greyson, how the blood wouldn't just wash away, the way the water turned scarlet. She struggled to swallow, trying to avert her eyes, biting her lip. Could she just leave, or did she have to excuse herself? She wasn't sure what the protocol was when a school mate had her throat ripped out.

Taking in a breath, tip toeing toward the door, Jacqueline collapsed in tears causing Greyson to jump. Wether it was her sudden movement or shock from having a live beautiful girl with her arms around him, Kyle looked to her with eyes wide. Greyson couldn't help but smirk, almost giggle, but she always had a terrible sense of humor. Jacqueline only leaned into Kyle for a minute, but to Greyson it felt like hours, as most socializing went for her. Jacqueline composed herself, policing herself and Kyle alike, although Greyson didn't feel like she had helped much.

"Don't worry about it, anyone would've done it." She mumbled, averting her eyes to remain trained on the ground. Emotions probably terrified Greyson more than anything else, the unpredictability they came with - she couldn't handle it all very well. "I'm going to check out what's going on, stick together until we know more." All she could offer was hard, cold practical advice, "I'll let you two know if I hear anything."

She let herself out into the hallway, most of the students remained congregated around Madison's room. Sneering to herself, Greyson pivoted on the ball of her foot, walking in the opposite direction. No one ever liked Madison, she was self absorbed and a malicious twat, dying didn't make her a saint - hell it didn't even make her a decent person. At the end of the day everyone would be thinking, At least it was just Madison. Greyson preferred not to be a hypocrite.

The stairs were empty, but she still heard voices in the front room. She rounded the corner to see Pell still beside Angel, in much better condition than before. Greyson could see Pell's nerves still shaking underneath her cool, albeit rough exterior. She opened her mouth to pose a question, quieting herself. Gently cupping Pell's fair face, Greyson bit her lip, able to suppress Pell's fears from her own mind "I know this isn't a good time," she let that weight on its own first, hoping Pell could read that Greyson knew more than Pell might have assumed, "Someone, or something attacked Madison in her room."

Glancing out of the corner of her eye at Angel to observe his reaction, she looked back to Pell's face, searching it for any indication that what she experienced was related to Madison. When she found no answer, she let her hand fall from Pell's face, stepping back and placing her hand on her hip as her other hand ran through her hair, gripping the roots at the crown of her head. She looked at Angel, almost with a look of amusement. "You have quite the talent for timing, Angel."

Collapsing onto the couch, she withdrew her own cigarette, gently placing it between her lips before lighting it. She offered the pack to the other two, "It's going to be a long night, might as well do it in style."

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jacqueline Emilie-Marie Lavaeu Character Portrait: Fiona Goode Character Portrait: Papa Legba Character Portrait: Silas Abernathy Character Portrait: Kyle Spencer Character Portrait: Pell Laveau
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Image What a lovely evening. Hale was peachy, pale flesh of his cheeks flushed with the rush of token intoxication as he stepped onto the front porch. A thin leather lace of his dress shoe had come undone during his stroll, elbows nearly rubbing betwixt himself and Silas. He paid no mind. Smoky clouds sidled across the sky and like raptorial snakes, wrapped themselves about the moon and shot the light from the front path of Robichaux. The night had become excellently dark. Unusual, though. Generally speaking, the subconscious urges at play kept the moon high and full, thanks to Hale. Allowed it to spill ivory luminescence freely for playful witches and warlock alike. But, tonight, it was disappearing. No work of his own. A sign? No, just his ability dimming because of whiskey. He laughed to himself. A virile hand slapped emptily at ebony slacks, until Hale’s eyes lowered to his feet and an ill-matched grin stole at the corner of his mouth. Silas had followed, studious and respectful. Lingered at the Council operative’s side.

The leggy young man, now Hale’s companion of the evening, rocked indiscriminately. His weight was rested in the soles of his feet. Hale turned his head slightly, height of his jaw slack as he sighed and tried to casually allude to his briefing of the Abernathy file, “As much as I would like to keep you the best kept secret, much to my own selfish pleasure, I do think that you should open up about banishment. It would make you an unusually strong ally, not to mentioned a desired essence to Council.” For a moment he locked stares with Silas. The student’s eyes widened at the comment, perhaps interest, and more so disbelief.

“Yes, that’s right. I think of myself as a modest and level man, most days. I do like to also consider myself aware and alert. It’s no secret that I work for Council, and that is mostly, my sole purpose of teaching here at Robichaux.” His eyebrows bounced at odds for a moment. Tendencies to be quirky broke through his composure and ate away at his inebriation. He placed a heavy and sincere hand on Silas’ generally cashmere shoulder, “Forgive me, Silas. I know this is coming off as boozy babble. But now that I’ve got some fresh air and silence around me, I’m pretty much levelheaded. I must admit that I’ve scanned your file more than once. Before, and after your arrival. What is most uncanny is you are roomed with another highly sought out ‘ally’. That is no coincidence. But you strike me as a more realistic and reserved student. Someone who would take all of this into careful appreciation and consideration before zipping away or rolling your eyes, or flipping your ridiculously purple, soft - - “ one of his eyes squinted. “Her hair it - it amazes me. It reminds me of a plush toy. I’m sorry. I get caught up in it. Leave it to me to be endlessly curious about how she keeps the color rather than why she takes midnight sandwich walks completely naked.”

His grip on Silas slackened as he burst into his usual zany fit of laughter. Hastily he constituted himself again. He pulled Silas close, lips almost pressed to the boy’s hair as he spoke, “You are much too extraordinary to simply study and be taught. You must teach and be known. Tell me, do you smell the necromancy in the air? See, I thought you might. You must be no stranger to the likes of the king of the underworld. You must have met him many times, whether you were keen to or not. So is it just I, who smells him here tonight, or do you, too?”

"This is quite fascinating!" He smiled cautiously. No sooner than he pulled away, expecting a reply, did Pell come sprawling about the stairs. First she scrabbled, then she swathed the banister and heaved. Hale remained silent, stood upright. His mandible now tensed. Rain began to fall around them, forcing all of the scents of the evening to pack into one steady flow of precipitation that coursed through the gardens and beneath the rose bushes. That was when it hit him. The smell of butchery, and the fading essence of Legba himself. The fear in Pell’s eyes wrote it all, and offhandedly, Hale glanced to his associate, and perhaps, new friend. Silas was bewildered, but certainly aware of the tone of what was happening. “You will find yourself very valuable soon.”

Someone had died, and someone had seen death itself.

He tried to approach Pell, even selfishly seizing the opportunity to touch the puck lavender locks as he cooed like a worried grandmother. With a ferocious back swing, she slapped his digits away before he could make a further advance on her comfort. The brief touch he had made, finger tips to her shoulder, told him what he needed to know. It wasn’t enough to heal her. But she had seized not more than five minutes earlier, and her brain cells were snapping into action, paranoia and anger fusing like a bad cocktail. He stepped back, nodding as a nonchalant young man, suave, came to her aid and wrapped an arm around her. “Very well, I do hope to speak with you later, Pell. I can’t imagine meeting with someone who was eager to take your soul, being remotely pleasant for you.” It was out of turn. Hale never spoke this way. But this was an exception.

Without caution or further empathy, he escorted Silas back into the madness, where neither would be surprised to hear the terror in Jacqueline’s shrieking. “She’s dead, eaten.” He whispered it, and repeated in passing to Cordelia. The staff would exercise no great fear or horror. They would treat it as a routine that was to be dealt with swiftly and cleanly. With an appreciative smirk, a secret and understanding between Silas and Hale, he stepped away from the Abernathy boy and attended to duty. Fiona’s stern voice echoed from above. Instructions were clear.

Cordelia had pressed Kyle, Greyson and Jacqueline into the hall. Madison’s door slammed, Fiona behind it, or, that was Hale’s best guess. The ferocity of the lock on the door rung out as deathly silence suddenly quaffed the academy. Whether anyone wanted to be or not, they were now all locked and stuck. Nobody was leaving Robichaux. Hale, with courteous grace, tying his shoe lace, muttered, “Alriightttty then.” Diverting and mystifying was not a choice. In spite of his personality, he stood rigid and austere. He watched Jacqueline crack under the coercion of seeing a partially devoured classmate, her tawny skin pricked with goosebumps as she melted into Kyle’s lifeless form. Hale did feel rather terrible. But it wasn't appropriate now, to hug and croon. “Everyone downstairs and into the lounge. I mean everyone.” Hale had managed to get behind them and steer them down the steps, where Aden still was nowhere to be found.

When Rowe was unhappily herded through the front door, the quandary involving a seemingly rootless seizure in Pell had come upon answers. Hale eyed the young boy, taking in his darkness and anxiety etched in his mouth. Guilty. Afraid. Something certainly wrong had taken place with Pell and Rowe knew something about it. Not to mention, a murderer was on the loose. Legba had even decided to drop in. Voices and cries arose among whispers again, the sound of panic. He would not maintain patience for this mass mania. A harrowing lick of thunder rumbled and shook the house as Hale shouted, “Everyone calm down!” Hale paced, packing a coffer of cigarettes while the heads of the household assessed damage on the floor above. “McDermott!” Hale yelled, commanding the boy to the front of the room. “Pell Laveau, we have some things to discuss. Unfortunately your twitching and bloody nose have given me reason to suspect you might know about something that Council, the Supreme, and Cordelia, do not. I will not spare you the humiliation of having the entire academy witness this, we all have jobs to uphold.” Hale seized the young woman’s arm, dragging her toward the foot of the stairs along with Rowe, leaving a flummoxed and frightened crowd behind.

He clutched Rowe’s shoulders, leaned into him with a grimace that meant nothing but business, “You do know that you sent a personal invitation to Legba by letting your rage get the better of you, don’t you? You are almost exclusively responsible for a seal being broken, not to mention the jeopardized safety of your classmates. And if that wasn’t bad enough, you let your emotions incapacitate and gravely wound Pell.” Stiffly he turned to face Pell, still broadly announcing all of this in front of the coven, “Your hands are not clean. You’ve allowed not one but two strangers to perforate Ceremony. And since you have had individual interaction with Papa Legba, you and Rowe will be meeting with Council. Tonight."

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jacqueline Emilie-Marie Lavaeu Character Portrait: Fiona Goode Character Portrait: Kyle Spencer Character Portrait: Pell Laveau Character Portrait: Greyson Ault Character Portrait: Hale Bjarki
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Pell shifted in Angel’s one-armed embrace. Uncontrollably, she could still feel her digits and joints twitching as if under some incurable hex. It began to strain her body. She almost wanted to wail out loud and pull on her hair. A splitting headache set into her temples, gouging out brain matter, or so it felt. A pair of familiar vermilion eyes flashed in her brain. Some undefined source of rage throbbed from her core as she was helped inside by Angel, whose timing truly was tragic. The Supreme didn’t miss this detail, either.

“It’s always,” Pell wheezed, wiping blood from her nose, still, “This fucking crazy.” There was no slight upward pitch in her voice, no hint of sarcasm or humor. What came from her mouth was more like a wretched reaction of disgust. She unintentionally leaned into Angel, the brawn in his sternum supporting her weight as she tried to get her posture to be fully vertical. The girl scoffed, mumbled about what a joke the academy was. She threshed her head for a moment and ground her teeth as she pulled the wan lavender tresses into a bun, “I wouldn’t stay here long, if I were you, Angel.” Pell couldn’t lie. She couldn’t foresee herself carrying on ‘scholarship’ or whatever it was, with Robichaux anymore. After what she had seen
 What she had felt


ImageThen, it was clear. What she had felt was not only fear, but demise itself. When Legba showed himself to her, she felt something change in the tenor of the evening. It wasn’t just her seizing brain function, either. It was surely death. If she hadn’t been escorted inside and regarded so carefully, she would have assumed the deceased party was herself. She supposed that’s how she always conceived death. Sometimes she felt it in the air, and with some dormant desire, wondered, or hoped it was coming for her. Had her existence been that lousy since coming into witchhood?

Yeah, it’d been a fucking train wreck. Every minor depressing detail since had been a drop in the bucket.

With enough scattered whispers in the academy, Pell didn’t need to inquire about who died. Clearly Madison had finally bitten her god damn bullet. In Pell’s state, she showed no sympathy. She’d grown tired of dealing with the bitch, anyway. She was rotten. Why make with the crocodile tears? Karma had taken its toll and Madison was not going to be skipped en route. One less silver-spoon fed bitch for Pell to defend the world against. Whoever or whatever had taken her could even reap a queue of high fives from Pell at this rate.

Wasn’t that the thing about someone dying? Everyone would mob the scene and be immersed in some spontaneous mutual sadness. Even if the deceased was a total dirt bag. Pell never followed that pattern. It was rare to even see her cry to begin with. What was it about death that made people bond? What was it that made them want to pretend?

The train of thought flickered and spasmed out of survival before she could process it further. Suddenly, the hall and the lounge was milled with all the inhabitants, guests, and staff of Robichaux. Jacqueline was driven solely by Kyle, down the stairs. In spite of his uneven gait, he took the utmost care in being steady and balanced. He appeared focused in his purpose. The other Laveau girl flinched uncomfortably, a quiver on her full lips. From the look in her cousin’s eyes and the smears of carmine all about her, Pell knew that she was who discovered Madison. Grisly. Someone had slaughtered the bitch. Pell cocked an unnaturally grim smile but washed it out with a disinterested expression whenever someone looked her way.

Hale shouted, terribly baritone for a man of his
 Well, being. It shocked Pell. Greyson had rushed onto the scene, presumably from the murder discovery group. When she came into view, her wavy shocks of dark hair dancing above her equally dark eyes, Pell swallowed hard. There was some delusion there, now. More so than there was love or common understanding. Still sweet, Greyson’s elfin hands reached to cup the structure of Pell’s face. They were so warm, and the scent that came off of her skin was as glacĂ© as ever. Pell always liked to think it was because she romanticized Greyson so much, not that she actually smelt like honey 24/7. As much as she wanted to linger there, she refrained. In one jerking motion, she withdrew from Greyson’s touch and disregarded her small verbalization. “I know,” Pell glanced away from her.

With her usual demeanor, Greyson took the hint. She turned to her closest companion, her cigarettes. In a luke warm fashion she plopped on the couch as Hale stood at the head of the crowd and made a surprisingly accusing speech. One of which Rowe and Pell were tied into. Beloved Mr. B, goofy and sympathetic, was by no means gentle as he towed her to the center of chaos, alongside Rowe. To no surprise, Rowe still had his usual snippy attitude, with no trace of guilt, not even in the dark circles below his eyes. Pell wasn’t a snitch, either. She’d deal with him on her own time.

But the thought of Council - she - she could actually be prosecuted in grave fashion for interacting with Legba. That broke a handful of house rules, not to mention marred the notion that Pell was not an informant for Marie Laveau. She could be in deep shit. They could burn her for this. Pell tried to maintain her composure, stone faced as she followed Hale and Rowe to the green house. When the men with milky skin and black suits came, she refused to enter the green house. If Myrtle’s entourage was at her heels, someone was going to pay the price.

“Kyle!” Pell screamed, uncertain of what to do. “Try to tell them! Tell them that I’d never summon him! Tell them!” He was out of sight, but she could only imagine the look of bewilderment and helplessness on his poor face. He was perhaps now, the only one, who knew her confessed fears. And fate so had it that he was the only one who could not convey these things to Council. A pale arm scooped under Pell’s and pulled her behind the closed door of the green house. Wishing subconsciously for an end now seemed so ridiculous. It wasn't like Pell wanted to be burned alive.

So, she acted. Tall potted plants at either exits burst into flame. The house filled with uncontrollable heat. It might have been panic, it might have been stupidity. With a hollow glance toward the main supporting beam in the green house, Pell stated, "I'm not going anywhere with you." She stepped in contrary motion to her proclamation, though. Toward Council, toward Rowe. Her unapologetic gaze set into the frames of Myrtle Snow's glasses. "Neither are you," she murmured as she gripped Rowe's wrist and made a break for the nearest exit. A severe 'crack' was heard as the center strut of the indoor garden began to collapse. "They're going to try to fucking burn us, Rowe!" She whined as she ran through the Robichaux garden, which started to look like a maze.

There was a ripple in the universe, small confirmation that, indeed, another seal was formed. Pell had to know there was no such thing as escaping Council, much less, the Supreme. They wouldn't be able to leave the grounds. Would Fiona try to weasel the students out of trouble as a sheer contradiction of what Myrtle Snow wanted?

The commotion brought the curiosities of the academy, the Supreme, and the headmistress onto the porch. A raging fire, set by Pell, was put out like it was nothing. The green house was resurrected, and from its dying flames came Myrtle Snow, Cecily, and Fleming. They were unfazed. "Fuck," Pell backed away instinctively, fingers still grasping at Rowe. They were somehow less menacing than Legba but, all together, frightening nonetheless.

"Well done, Miss Laveau," Myrtle crooned, a sardonic smile on her coral colored lips, "And Rowe McDermott. Truly, you are a sight to see when your malignancy is at work. We didn't think you would be a repeat offender, but sometimes, even Council is wrong. It's heartwarming, to see you two holding onto each other now, really. But we've got a mess to sort out and punishments to be divvied, surely you didn't think this would be overlooked." Her gloved hands came together, "Nothing to say? Well, that's alright. We've seen everything firsthand, anyway."

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jacqueline Emilie-Marie Lavaeu Character Portrait: Papa Legba Character Portrait: Kyle Spencer Character Portrait: Pell Laveau Character Portrait: Greyson Ault Character Portrait: Hale Bjarki
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Greyson Ault:
Perhaps the expected way to respond to such crisis in their home was to fuss until a solution surfaced, but Greyson never had much control on her reactions. She usually cherished when she didn’t feel as if she were about to explode, except today it made her feel out of place. Everyone was in distress around her, yet she couldn’t even appear agitated. She watched the chaos unfurl around her with great curiosity, like a fly on the wall. This was the role she really played, but tonight was different. The energies were swelling from within the house from all directions, inside and out. She could still feel Jacqueline’s woes in the next room, and the imprint of horror on all the young witches minds, along with whatever the hell they had left outside.
It felt like she was the audience, and everyone else was the show.

Unphased, she watched Hale drag off Pell and Rowe, with a look of anger she had never seen on his face before. Reading his lips, she made out him mentioning Pell over exceeding the amount of guests allowed per witch. Greyson almost interjected that Angel could technically be considered as her guest, although no one would believe that Greyson would invite anyone anywhere - let alone a stranger into her coven, but she was much more curious in what else he had to say. A voice in the back of her head told her to stay quiet, to watch what else he had to say. She knew what she was waiting for as soon as his lips formed the words. ”Papa Legba.”

The image of menacing red eyes flashed her vision once again, she didn’t flinch. She repeated the name to herself, quietly, the word almost caressed by her lips. There was a familiarity behind it she couldn’t explain, something beyond folklore she might’ve heard in passing. She spoke the name again, and as if a curse she had casted she saw the thread being tugged that initiated the unraveling of their coven. Hale had never seemed so serious, Greyson hardly recognized him. He shamed Pell and Rowe in front of whatever part of the coven stood in the common room, making both of them seem smaller than ever before. Hale ushered Rowe and Pell out of the room, with an expression that Greyson could only place to a man that was about to do something he didn’t want to have to do. Furrowing her brow, Greyson sat upright to put out her cigarette, watching the three as they walked away. Slowly, like a cat stalking her prey, Greyson followed out the door as they walked toward the green house. Pell began to scream and the men pulled her toward the door.

ImageShe needed to get into that green house.

Checking behind her to make sure that no one was watching her, Greyson walked around to the other side of the green house, she could hear the door slam behind Pell. There was a large vent, with screws her mind could manipulate. Almost soundlessly she managed to remove the vent to step through the and replace the vent in under fifteen seconds, making her entrance unannounced. There were voices from the center of the garden, but before she could get close enough to look, hell had already broken loose. She could see fires start near the front and from behind her, and a loud crack was followed by rubble from falling from above. Only able to make out Pell by her iridescent hair, she watched the girl run out holding Rowe’s hand - shortly followed by who she assumed was the Council and Hale.

Attempting to follow behind, the fire had already began to spread and made the exits unbearable to pass. Only able to focus on her survival, Greyson picked up a dirt packed pot, hurling it at the window. The pot only broke, leaving the window unscathed. Wheezing, Greyson found a spade, lunging at the window - able to break the glass but the wooden panels that formed a pattern that provided aesthetic pleasantries at this moment was standing between life or death. The smoke had began to burn her lungs, she couldn’t stop coughing and was short of breath. Leaning against the wooden work table, wheezing her breath, Greyson felt as if a balloon was growing within her. Collapsing into a fit of coughs, she felt the balloon pop and one minute she closed her eyes and the next minute she was laying on her side in the garden, fresh air hitting her like a slap.

She had to blink several times to realize what had just happened. The burned edges of her dress and soot smudges on her hands and face confirmed that she had just been inside of the burning green house, and not just a vivid hallucination. It had all happened so fast she was unsure if it was even real, she had never experience transmutation before. Despite all the gloom that was over her head, Greyson managed to smirk as she straightened up, wrapping her arms around her knees to lean up against the shed behind her. What was curious was how she ended up here, the last time she experienced how powerful of a witch she could be. That time hadn’t had such a positive outcome. She looked at the garden tools with a cross of anger and sadness, trying to ignore the blood that had stained the rocks.

Greyson had many secrets, she never told any of them. It wasn’t because she didn’t trust people, although that in itself was generally true, the truth was that she didn’t want to burden others. If these grounds could talk, how many stories would they have to share? Only able to sit in self reflection for a few moments, the sound of a scene unfolding beckoning her. Greyson lingered behind as the coven spilled onto the lawn, watching the green house burn and Fiona stared down the council, rebuilding the greenhouse with a wave of her hand. She always had a way that she carried herself that made Greyson idolize the woman, despite her many obvious flaws.

Deciding to prioritize washing away evidence of her Nancy Drew brush with death, Greyson snuck through the front entrance, unable to figure out her next move. She made it to the bathroom before she started to wheeze again, her lungs stung when she breathed. She was unable to react as a reasonable human being would, and not treat her current situation as a reason to panic. There was just an attack on a promising witch with their walls, some entity name Papa Legba was at their heels and she had just almost died in a fire, yet she turned on the shower and stripped down before getting in as if nothing was wrong. She hadn’t left her soap or shampoo in the shower, so she could only scrub herself with the water, still able to smell the smoke in her skin - or maybe it was just the smell burned in her nostrils. Emerging from the shower, she wrapped herself in a towel, looking over the sink into the steamed mirror. Using her hand to wipe the mirror, she stared at herself. “Where are you?” She asked herself, struggling to breath normally.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jacqueline Emilie-Marie Lavaeu Character Portrait: Fiona Goode Character Portrait: Papa Legba Character Portrait: Silas Abernathy Character Portrait: Kyle Spencer Character Portrait: Pell Laveau
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Well, then. Silas' mouth snapped shut, mortification and drink coloring his face a rosy hue. Of course he was boring, an uninteresting specimen to these... these characters around him, all vibrant and flaunting hidden secrets like the covers of mystery novels. It was just that, to hear Greyson put it forward so plainly, well, it hurt. Accurate, but still painful. He slumped slightly in his seat, corrected his posture immediately, and instead decided to take out his awkwardness on his fork, twirling it in his fingers, fidgeting disgracefully. Hale's words were lost on him even after Greyson left, even Madison's mystified admission falling on deaf ears. His eyes failed to note the swinging chandeliers or the subtle shift in the room, those in charge bristling slightly at something unknown. He shouldn't let such a brief comment, and from a stranger no less, get to him, he knew that well, but, well, today had already been a bizarre mixture of emotional turmoil and the chaos that is moving away from home for the first time, so he thought he might be forgiven for his kicked-puppy gaze and a mumbled "Sorry, but I did warn you" that was meant to sound infinitely more cheerful than it actually did.

The worst part about it, though, wasn't the blunt honesty, but the way he was listening. Not to anything, but for something, a familiar, commanding voice that would cut through the din with a retort worthy of the history books, words wielded like a deadly weapon and aimed and dealt with as much accuracy. It didn't come, but how could it? Aunt Lavinia wasn't here, and Silas sure wasn't going to provide it, even if the words were ringing in his head, a phantom memory of dinner parties past. It was like when you have a pet who was constantly underfoot, but when you went out the eat or were staying away for them, you still dodged invisible paws or expected them to appear and snap up fallen food before realizing that they weren't there. A pang of loneliness shot through him. There was no Aunt Lavinia to make smart comments, no family friends to catch him up on neighborhood gossip. He was alone for the first time in his life, hundreds of miles away from home and without a single thing to show for it. Was this what homesickness was like? If it was, he didn't like it, not at all. He wasn't ready for this, for any of this, was he?

Before he could dwell anymore, a hand was in his face and an offer was provided, a lifejacket tossed carelessly to the young man drowning in his own mind. In that moment, Silas could have kissed Hale if Silas were the sort of person to go around smooching anyone who extricated him from painful social situations (admittedly, if he were, then he would probably be constantly kissing someone). Instead, he offered him his first honest smile since dinner had begun and a breathy, "Yes, I- of course." He nearly took his hand as well, but centimeters from touching he realized how bare his hands were. Eyes darted to the gloves folded neatly next to his plate and his hand flinched back as if burned, smile turning into something apologetic as he slid back on his soft, brown barriers from the outside world and stood clumsily to his feet.

He followed behind Silas, steadfastly refusing to glance behind him. He didn't speak, knew that if he did then he'd be rattling off a drawn-out apology mixed with gratitude that no one needed or wanted to hear right now. They found their way out to the porch and the Louisiana air, while cooler with only the moon shining down on the Academy, was still thick and warm but far more breathable than the perfumed halls inside. The night was quiet, or as quiet as any night could really be as the bugs whirred and buzzed and sang and the nocturnal creatures carried about their business, unheeding to the unnatural insanity that pervaded the house. It was peaceful, or the closest thing he'd felt to it in days, weeks even.

It was in that moment that something electric coursed through Silas's body, a familiar tingling sensation skittering down his spine and coursing through his limbs, ending with his toes curling, his fingers stretching wide, and a full body shudder wracking his frame. He leaned forward, hands grasping for the railing in front of him. Hazel eyes fluttered and he gripped the railing tighter, the wood warm and solid beneath his palms. The feeling wasn't unpleasant, not by a long shot. It was like a part of him, some unknown nerve, had been pressed on and a part of him, a part that never really saw the light of day, had been triggered giving an almost orgasmic experience, loathe as he was to describe it as such. The following sensation, the intense aroma of fire and brimstone burning under his nose paired with the bold and unmistakable iron scent of blood, was far less pleasant, but he knew exactly what was happening to his body and, more importantly, to the world around him. Death had arrived at Robichaux or at least somewhere nearby and, perhaps together or perhaps separately, a presence he'd prefer to avoid had flickered in and out of this mortal plane- Papa Legba come to visit some unfortunate being.

Hale was talking now and Silas forced himself to listen, in spite of this new information. Maybe, he thought wildly and hopelessly, this was all quite normal and this man next to him, face slightly sobered since their exit from the gathering, was about to tell him something comforting.

He wasn't. In fact, Hale's words were about as far from comforting as Silas could handle at the moment. That single word, banishment, hung over their heads, a proverbial sword of Damocles dangling over his head as it had since a name had been given to his... condition. Silas didn't know much about Councils, about being an asset to something he'd inadvertently become a part of just by existing here, but the hand on his shoulder was warm and kind, so he let Hale keep talking. There was that file again, the one that he'd tucked away in his pillowcase because now he absolutely knew that this wasn't information he wanted Pell to get a hold of. Hale's mind was wandering her way as well, musing about her hair and habits Silas had yet to endure followed by a brief explosion of laughter before Silas was being pulled bodily to the other man and, well, wasn't this just something?

“You are much too extraordinary to simply study and be taught. You must teach and be known. Tell me, do you smell the necromancy in the air? See, I thought you might. You must be no stranger to the likes of the king of the underworld. You must have met him many times, whether you were keen to or not. So is it just I, who smells him here tonight, or do you, too?”

"I... Yes," Silas offered, a yes to all of the questions laid before him even if the stiffening of his body wasn't answer enough for this man. So he hadn't been mistaken as he'd hoped against hope. "I-"

Any further admissions or protests (and, really, he had more than a few of both) was cut off by Pell's stumbled arrival and, oh, oh. So that's who Papa Legba had visited this night. Her arrival was paired with a scream of unknown origin inside, a new person, a stranger, casually strolled up to take Pell under his arm and inside, and Silas was left confused and bewildered because what on Earth was happening now? What even was this?

Hale was ushering him inside, a whispered admission to the unknown student's fate- eaten, she'd been eaten- and everything was devolving so quickly as they were all ushered into the lounge and then, as suddenly as everything else, accusation were being thrown. Papa Legba, intrusions, invitations, rage... Silas' eyes were darting around, begging someone to tell him what was happening, but all eyes were either enraptured by the events unfolding or too caught up in some personal drama to even think of the poor new student, so lost in this chaos.

They were being led out now, and Silas was powerless to not follow far behind, arms wrapped around himself and eyes as wide as any morbid spectator could boast. Their destination was the Greenhouse, a structure Kyle had pointed out with some enthusiasm earlier on in the day when tours and making friends were the worst of his problems, and now there were others, unknown others, appearing from who knows where. Familiar faces popped up amongst them, of Myrtle Snow who looked far more menacing and far less like his own aunt as Pell shrieked and struggled, calling for Kyle to play the part of witness to a crime Silas didn't fully understand. Then the Greenhouse burned.

Silas moved off the porch, took several steps towards the burning structure before forcefully stopping himself in his tracks as Pell and Rowe were running and the smoldering Greenhouse began to reverse, moving from ashes to a full structure once again with the three faces that had changed Silas's own life strutting from the dissipating flames. And then they were gone- Pell and Rowe, that is- and, what. What. He nearly whimpered, eyes darting towards the figures still on the Academy lawn where Pell and Rowe had left them, waiting for their next move, for the next scene to unfold. He should have stayed in Maryland. He absolutely should have stayed in Maryland.

~*~

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jacqueline Emilie-Marie Lavaeu Character Portrait: Fiona Goode Character Portrait: Papa Legba Character Portrait: Silas Abernathy Character Portrait: Kyle Spencer Character Portrait: Pell Laveau
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Image
“Everyone downstairs and into the lounge. I mean everyone.” Jacqueline rubbed her eyes, and took a deep breath, stood up, straightened herself and her clothes and followed behind Kyle as they made their way downstairs.

Once there, it seemed as thought many things had gone on at once, not just Madison's mutilation. The crowd all seemed to be unsettled, murmuring, a few of them were pointing at her and Kyle.

Jacqueline had to swallow down bile that rose in her throat at the thought in her mind but suddenly, a loud voice boomed.
“Everyone calm down!” Hale shouted and Jacqueline stiffened. “McDermott!” Hale hollered at Rowe, forcing him to the front of the crowd. “Pell Laveau, we have some things to discuss. Unfortunately your twitching and bloody nose have given me reason to suspect you might know about something that Council, the Supreme, and Cordelia, do not. I will not spare you the humiliation of having the entire academy witness this, we all have jobs to uphold.” Hale snatched Pell by the arm as well as Jacqueline's eyes went wide, in her panic, she hadn't even thought of Pell, and now, it seems she had a seizure, and a nose bleed. What was happening?

“You do know that you sent a personal invitation to Legba by letting your rage get the better of you, don’t you? You are almost exclusively responsible for a seal being broken, not to mention the jeopardized safety of your classmates. And if that wasn’t bad enough, you let your emotions incapacitate and gravely wound Pell.” Jacqueline rubbed her head. Her head ached. Legba? That name, it sounded familiar but her memory was all still fuzzy from being shot back into her mind so suddenly. “Your hands are not clean. You’ve allowed not one but two strangers to perforate Ceremony. And since you have had individual interaction with Papa Legba, you and Rowe will be meeting with Council. Tonight."

"...Tonight." Rowe said.

"If you think I can tell you anything about why Madison died, you're crazy. Pell's the one who saw Legba," The conversation when one from there, and Jacqueline wanted to go to Pell, but then she was gone in the crowd, and soon Kyle was gone too,

Jacqueline rubbed her eyes, holding her aching head. Madison hardly deserved such a response, she was a bitch, she really was, no one liked her, and no one would miss her, but still, the way she went, the agony she was in, Jacqueline felt it all.

She knew what she had to do. Once this was over, she had to call Marie. Marie told her to call if anything strange happened...she was sure this counted.

Though, now thinking about it, Jacqueline felt as if Marie had been expecting such a thing. Though, death wasn't strange, the manor in which Madison met her demise was certainly strange, if not, sadistic.

A cold chill ran up Jacqueline's spine at the thought that...maybe this wouldn't be the last horrible thing to happen here, and who is the Legba person and what did that have to do with her cousin?

It was then Kyle sat back beside her, his entire body was tense, bright blue veins glow against his alabaster skin. Something...which seemed to be the theme today... was wrong.

"Kyle?" She asked, her voice still a bit gruff from all the crying and screaming she'd done. "What's wrong," The french girl rolled her eyes at herself. "I mean....what else is wrong? Did somet'ing else 'appen?"