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Fiona Goode

Who's the baddest witch in town?

0 · 2,084 views · located in New Orleans, Louisiana

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




" I'm in charge everywhere.”

{Eye Color}
{Hair Color}
{Quirks and Habits}
▪ Is obsessed with youth
▪She is kind of a chain smoker
▪She had a ruthless attitude, even with good intentions

{ Skills}
Powerful witch




Fiona is exceedingly vain and obsessed with her youth, but also has a very "superior" attitude to those around her. Fiona can be kind, but is also ruthless and cruel if it benefits her, exhibiting no guilt over murdering people.
She is a powerful witch, being supreme with all the powers of the seven wonders. She often finds amusement in taunting and belittling others, and has claimed that the only thing to be feared is herself. She exhibits some selfless acts at times, but mostly everything she does has motives behind them, and she always seems to have a plan. She is willing to get close to people only if they will benefit her in some way, and has a hard time finding empathy, though it is not unheard of.
When it comes to Cordelia, Fiona does want a better relationship with her daughter despite what she might think. She has a hard time expressing it though, and instead just comes off as overbearing and arrogant.

"The Seven Wonders"

The ability to manipulate objects with the power of the mind. This is the most commonly seen power, displayed by many witches.
Imposition of one's will onto another. It can be resisted, though doing so causes increasing intracranialpressure to the point of explosion. If exercised, it can bend the strongest of wills. It's also known as Coercion and Mind Control.
The ability to control and conjure fire with the power of the mind.
The ability to obtain direct knowledge about an object, person, location or physical event through means other than the user's physical senses. This can be activated by just being around a person[2], focusing on specific tasks[4], searching for information [12], and touching objects.[5]
The ability to move instantaneously from one location to another without physically occupying the space in between, also known as Teleportation.
Vitalum Vitalis
The balancing of the scales between one life force and another. Witches can transfer their own life force to dead or nearly dead people in order to heal them. Commonly seen side-effects are fainting and dizziness due to the strain. Can also be used to drain life force as well.[2]
Spiritual descent into the netherworld or afterlife. Witches are able to project themselves directly into Hell, which takes the form of their worst fears. If a witch is stuck for a certain amount of time, they will never be able to leave and their body disintegrates into dust. To use this power, they commonly chant an incantation. It's also known as Astral Projection.



"As Supreme Witch of the Salem Descendants, the glamorous Fiona Goode lives a life of luxury, traveling the world and hobnobbing with celebrities. Now, she returns home to Miss Robichaux's Academy in New Orleans with plans to rule her coven again and repair her relationship with her estranged daughter.

Fiona is obsessed with eternal youth and despises her aging body. Though her powers allow her to drain the life of her victims, she has yet to achieve her goals. She has a strained relationship with her daughter, who sees her as an intrusion to her attempt at education at the academy. Fiona, however, disregards Cordelia's wishes and begins to instruct the girls on the true power of witches, while searching for immortality,"
-Coven Wiki

Fiona's history reflects her well, showing her ruthless determination for power and lack of interest in other people's well-being. She killed the previous Supreme when young to gain her own powers quicker and left the coven to its own devices. She lived a luxurious life and met famous people, including a famous singer who happened to be a witch- Stevie Nicks. She had a daughter, Cordelia, who she left at Robichaux's academy while she was still a girl to learn to use her powers (without Fiona's help). Only when she began to age and feel her powers seriously weaken did she return to the academy in hope to repair their relationship (and partially to help run the academy, against Cordelia's wishes).



Misc: Fiona has put a spell on someone, Arturo, so protect school as a sort of guard dog and servant.
Seven Devils
Face Claim || Jessica Lange

So begins...

Fiona Goode's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Fiona Goode 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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Arturo walked around the school, making sure everything wass in order and that people were making they're way to the ceremony hall. He adjusted his collar and his jacket, he had to at least look presentable even if he didn't do anything he just stood there. As usual watching over everything, making sure no one left without permission. Someone always tried to.

He growled softly as his chest began to hurt the closer he got to the room, the prickly heat rising up to his neck and settling in his head almost cooling down the wolf inside. He rubbed his chest and hands as he stepped into the room, the wall of magic almost knocked him off his feet. He opened up the multiple set of french windows, allowing a smooth flow of air into the room. Grabbing a set of matches he lit the candles in the room, he growled again as memories of his binding by magic.

So many candles and so much pain, the threat of Silver being forced into his skin at anytime ending his life unless he continued to serve. A tremendous weight on his body, he couldn't move he felt so angry wanting to kill Fiona for all she had done to him. Denying his wolf to be be free. Arturo groaned softly his eyes glowing watching as his fingernails elongated into short claws. But before they could reach their full length they retracted back painfully, sending electrical shocks up his arms sparking out in his head.

Shaking his head he walked to the corner he always stood his hands behind his back, faithful as always. Arturo growled softly his stare intent at the floor his mind swirling.


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 Character Portrait: Hale Bjarki Character Portrait: Violet Khiara Character Portrait: Rowe McDermott Character Portrait: Lazarus Foreza Character Portrait: Arturo Christobel DeGari
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Pell Laveau

Pell hadn’t so much as blinked as far as accidental onlookers went. But she could feel their flitting eyes and immediate reserve they executed. If she was that concerned, or out for the attention, she would have gasped and clutched herself like something out of a Betty Boop animation. Maybe even throw in the fanning of the hand, making squeaky noises that might imply she was embarrassed, or something. But Pell wasn’t quite on that level of humility. Sometimes, she acted more like a shameless boy than a girl. Let alone a witch from an aseptic bloodline.

She glanced out while Silas and Hale pressed themselves into the hall, as though there were some sort of laser alarm system at the foot of the doorway they dared not touch. Kyle bounced in and right out again. Typical, for him. At least in the case of unanticipated nudity. Hale looked slightly less shocked, but still red in the face. Hale could not see it as anything less than a chuckle marathon. By now, he was a frequent audience member. He might have laughed with others, but Pell knew that in his solitary mistaken viewings before, he would sort of gawk and stumble away. Hale’s square jaw tensed, fighting back a smile. Silas on the other hand… If his cheeks had bloomed a more fervent color of rose, they might have swelled and popped, too. He was panicked and debased. It looked as though he was blaming himself. Pell had cast him a lukewarm expression, then a small smirk at its edge, “It’s okay, really, Abernathy.” Playfully, she waved a manilla folder with his title on it. That was something she would save for post-Ceremony entertainment. Pell might not have confessed it, but he was very strange and interesting. Which naturally, made a girl like herself, intrigued and committed to figuring out just what the hell was up with the guy.

Medium cooked steak was in the air. The scent was hot and fresh. If it weren’t for Greyson being so alluring and hard to pull from, Pell would have flew to the dining room like a rock from a slingshot. Naked, too. But in spite of her devotion to bloody meat, she cocked her hip at an angle to rest it on her door frame while she talked, or more so, watched, Greyson. Clothed. In the distance she could hear Hale guffawing and shouting out to Rowe about punctuality. Rowe ferociously yelled back and corrected the teacher. An arched brow quirked above gunmetal eyes. Pell grinned. The lavender haired girl edged from her room, reaching in a wayside manner to yank Violet with her. “Stick around as long as you like,” Pell crooned, looking over the array of color in the fresh meat’s locks. “We’ve got plenty of room.” Pausing, the Laveau girl’s scrutiny passed between her closet and Violet. “Oh…”

ImageHer white teeth flashed toward Greyson, who had her doubts about anyone who came in at Pell’s heels. Or, at all, really. Greyson didn’t get excited over newbies. She didn’t even bat an eye sarcastically. She just had her usually cold regard, with some ice in the daggers shot from her stare. Pell liked it, low-key. When the boys were out of sight, she snapped her fingers in response to Violet’s question about Ceremony. “Don’t be embarrassed,” she piped up suddenly as Greyson was stripped of everything but her bra and panties, “I don’t have time to sift through my closet with you and if you’re coming, you need to follow dress code.” Pell wasted no more time in the effort. Something black, something that would ‘fit’ to Violet’s style, even if just barely. In a matter of seconds, ebony garb manifested itself, sheer at the torso to give glimpses of Violet’s pale skin.

“Now you’re set,” Pell continued, wandering into the hallway and following Greyson’s finger which had only moments ago grazed Pell’s cheek. The girl must have looked like a little puppy in that moment. Snapping out of it, she watched Greyson go. It was a good opportunity to give Violet a moment to gather herself and maybe take a look at her reflection. The dorm hall became busy. In passing, Jacqueline might have noticed Pell with the new girl, but probably not. She had a bit of candy on her own arm, strolling around the school with her usual smooth demeanor, that cool dialect of hers probably wrapping him around her finger. He seemed content with the idea of her tour and it being more exclusive than the ones given by Kyle, head sort of bobbing happily, shaggy hair shifting as he listened to Jacqueline speak. Pell choked back a snide sexual remark at her own cousin, figuring she could save it for the wine segment of dinner. Besides, even if Jacqueline didn’t acknowledge Pell, she knew she was there, knew what she was thinking.

Pell jerked her head in the direction of the stairs, knowing Violet would follow. She kept her at arm’s length, though. Didn’t want to lose her. “So this is Robichaux,” she briefed, “Established in some… Late 1800’s, maybe. It’s a school for witches. We have class schedules, our own rooms, freedom to roam if you’re legal, and every Wednesday we have ‘Ceremony.’ It’s kind of how we stay in touch with our roots. Or, at least that’s how I see it.”

Once they made it to the main floor, the dusky luster from candles had taken the place of electricity. Hundreds of smells were in the air. Most notably: sage, Delmonico, garlic, and a dash of Merlot. Even some Louisiana fruit aroma had crept through the windows. Pell loved these kind of nights, knowing that the fresh air was coming in, but nothing was getting out. It was a liberating sort of evening. Most of the students and household dreaded it. It forced them to maintain some kind of prompt schedule. To Pell it was an excuse to get drunk and set shit on fire, plainly. But of course there were other perks. Say… Like the possibility of yet another new student, learning advanced spells if Fiona herself was drunk enough, and just letting loose.

The vibrant duo approached the mouth of the dining room, where Hale and Kyle now stood side by side. Kyle’s sandy hair frisked itself as he eagerly requested permission to personally serve new students. And more specifically, Silas. Mostly everyone would be rolling their eyes at his enthusiasm. But Pell hoped that he’d keep that virtue and that people would embrace it. It helped him feel alive. Judging from Hale’s taut regard, there would be no special treatment or excepting meal serving. She frowned at his disapproval, but understood that there was good reason behind it. Hale encouraged and always backed proactive behaviors. Unfortunately, he was under strict surveillance especially during Ceremony hours. There was always business to attend to on Wednesday’s, and he followed protocol. It was bizarre to see him so upright and obedient. Pell might have even scoffed and giggled as she walked by him to find her seat at the center of the table, beside Greyson rather than parallel, to let Violet sit on the other side and have a taste of the ‘finer things’. If she did decide to stick around, she might not sit at this area for a long, long time.

Soon the seats were filled, and voices were low. Even Arturo's growling had ceased. The candle chandelier swung slowly above the buffet and its consumers. But no one dared touch a fork. Cordelia stood, glass of wine in hand, clouded eyes blinking as she waited for total silence. And then she dimpled politely, “Welcome to Ceremony. I know we have a few newcomers, and a visitor,” her smile wavered, probably in the event of Pell being so rushed she forgot to ask permission, “So let me be the first to say, don’t be scared.” A short laugh followed, and she went on, “I’ll save the long speech, I know you all must be starved. Regulations are the same. This area is sealed until midnight. You will not be able to leave unless asking permission.” Emphasis sunk into the last two words. Bowing her head, she smoothed her skirt and took a seat, “Dig in."

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 Character Portrait: Hale Bjarki Character Portrait: Violet Khiara Character Portrait: Aden Orchau Character Portrait: Rowe McDermott Character Portrait: Decimus King Character Portrait: Arturo Christobel DeGari
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Mr. B

Cordelia had seated herself and made casual conversation while Hale eagerly helped himself to first a glass of Merlot, then of Bourbon. By the time she had acquainted herself with the new arrivals, asked Violet how long she knew she was ‘different’ and explained house rules, Hale had relaxed and relocated to a newly empty spot between Silas and Violet. Across the table Greyson and Pell eyed him suspiciously. He paid no mind. His usual uncanny sparkling smile was set in place, eyes slightly glassy, attire ironed to a paragon. Overhead, a primitive and ornate candle chandelier began to sway, surely the work of Pell’s boredom. Hale pivoted, resting one leg on the opposite knee as he turned to face Silas.

“… So, I’m thinking from your rather distressed body language - you are having second thoughts, hm?” A virile hand raised a glass, golden liquid sloshing. The routine grin had slackened into a sort of meticulous and stagnant smile, dimples fluctuating against the expression. In the background Cordelia’s distinct voice crooned with intrigue over new arrivals. Hale kept his gaze away from her and set it on a worthy understudy, writhing probably at the idea of wearing all black and feeling slightly isolated. Now the dining area was aglow with fieriness and laughter. Plates were clearing and conversation buzzed on while sorcery was at play, free and elated. Candles blew out and relit spontaneously. Wares moved about the table on their own. “Was it what I said? About the women being in charge?” Hearty chuckle released, Hale rocked on the embellished woodwork chair. Another swallow of fire water, another casual question and content regard on his lips.

“And you?” Hale jerked his head toward the rainbow trout, yes, that’s what he would call her, now. The flimsy inky fabric of her shirt was revealing but modest. Certainly a fitting choice for Ceremony. “Are you frightened by this?” His eyes lit up with mirth as he finished the beverage. “I suppose being ‘locked in’ is a little much for a newbie, but the nice thing is, it’s more of a perimeter type of screen. So, you can still step out and wander the grounds without being seen, without having to worry. You just can’t go beyond the gates. Which I,” he grinned and slid the glass onto the crimson table cloth, “Enjoy thoroughly.” The vague riddle was answered by the pack of cigarettes pushing themselves from the pocket of his slacks.

“Silas here is new, as well. So you have that in common, along with being helplessly thrown into a coven.” Patting his sweater, Hale tittered again. If anything was frightening to the craft immigrants, it was probably good old Mr. B and his preternatural way of being amused. Even about the grim, nudity, and the plain unusual. He could feel Fiona’s cold stare from the far end of the table. She was not so easily amused. That, and she had probably taken notice that Aden was nowhere to be found.

Everyone had scarfed down their meals and helped themselves happily to wine. Slowly they dispersed into the sitting room, where portraits hung and great pillars burned orange. Violet, Silas, Hale and Rowe lingered. The latter wasn’t long lasting. He was more of a lone wolf, McDermott. Hale had taken it upon himself to be his sort of guardian, but Rowe was not a fan of the supervision. It always showed in his tone and his narrowed eyes. Fortunately, not much fazed Mr. B in the way of standoffish people. He pervaded the known limits of those types of folk. Rowe cordoned himself off, hadn’t many friends, or any, at all. At least not that Hale had noticed or seen. Call it charity, call it Council work, but Hale did it for his own reasons. Perhaps empathizing. Who could say? The Council scout was tight lipped about his garnered impressions of others and his ultimate intentions. That was how he maintained his position at the academy.

Rowe split off, probably to go into the courtyard. Kyle wasn’t far from the dining room table, naturally fascinated with newcomers. Fiona lit a cigarette and rose with a glass of rusty liquid in hand. She wrinkled her nose and muttered to Hale in passing, “Don’t let your guard down. There is something in this house.” With that, she meandered into the sitting room to enjoy or manipulate students as they played with their birth-given gifts. A cerebral cackle left her mouth as she passed her guard dog and set her sights on Jacqueline and Pell, two curiosities worth all of her attention. Fiona had certainly tried her hardest to gather Pell’s trust, which proved to be less taxing than the chore of getting her cousin’s. A work in progress, much like all jobs at Robichaux. Pell soon disappeared, bored to death probably and needing her space for a secret cigarette and half a bottle of Apothic to herself. Hale only knew this because she so often followed the same patterns.

He didn’t tense at Fiona’s warning. He simply carried on conversation with remarks like, “Oh, please tell me more about your origins!” and “Do either of you see yourselves here for the long haul?” Truth be told, he was deeply fascinated with fear reading, certainly when it chose someone discrete and timid such as Silas.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Fiona Goode Character Portrait: Pell Laveau Character Portrait: Hale Bjarki Character Portrait: Rowe McDermott Character Portrait: Arturo Christobel DeGari
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Rowe being uncomfortable was an understatement. It wasn't like he felt like he wasn't supposed to be there, he just didn't know what to do with himself. And he wasn't hungry again. The food around made his stomach turn, like he was looking at swamp muck rather than freshly cooked meals. Cordelia was sitting at the head of the table, chatting up Hale, while the other students finished up and began to split up to do their own thing. Rowe himself also go up, but didn't really leave the table. He just stood there for a minute before picking up his mostly empty glass. It was only water, he had a feeling anything else wouldn't agree with him.

Someone was looking at him, he could tell. He glances around casually, not trying to seem like he was looking for anything. It was just Hale, he decided, who always seemed to be interested in his tendency to be alone. Rowe tried to act like he had taken no notice of Hale, avoiding attracting more of his attention. It's not that he didn't like Hale, the man was kind for the most part and had good intentions. He just wished he'd be lest interested in helping Rowe. He didn't need help. In fact, he hated getting help. It was like an admittance of weakness. Rowe slowly put his glass back on the table and began to walk out of the room, unsure where exactly he was going. Most everyone else had already dispersed, leaving only a few lingerers about. Fiona had finally made an appearance as well, with her usual caustic and cold attitude. Rowe had been avoiding her eyes since she showed up, he didn't like being someone in her sight. She was the type to use people as pawns, and Rowe would go to great lengths to not be one of those pawns.

After a lonely walk about he found himself out in the courtyard. He walked off near the fence, to where there were some bushes and sat in front of them on the grass. He hadn't looked around to see if anyone was around, but he could usually tell when no one was around. It was when he was alone, really alone, that he started to feel anxious and like he was being watched. Really at this point it was more a numb feeling in the back of his head, but it still bothered him and at times made him rather irritable. Right now he felt more shut off and distant, but he didn't mind that feeling. It kept his powers under control for one.

Rowe found himself staring at a spider as it crawled along a branch in the bush. It was pretty big, about half a hand wide, and he immediately felt the need to get away from it. He hated things with more than four legs. Instead though, he found himself put his hand out and coaxing the creature onto his hand. He could vaguely hear people in the house behind him but didn't pay any mind. Rowe's eyes turned cold as he stared at the thing crawling around his fingers and then up his hand. His first thought was to try and kill it, but nothing happened at first as he stared intently at it. His inability to use his powers at will sparked anger in him, and just before he was about to crush the damned spider in his hand its body convulsed and actually ripped apart on its own. Rowe slowly brushed off the remaining parts of the spider that were on his hand and started to stand as he heard the door to outside open. Turning, he saw it was Pell. He wasn't quite sure why she would be outside, she tended to be a crowd pleaser. People seemed to just like her, whether she liked them or not. He looked at her carefully, unsure if he should try to sneak off without her noticing or walk into her line of sight.

Fiona loved being fashionably late. Especially since no one would dare say anything to her, besides her pesky daughter. Head Mistress or not, Fiona was still Supreme, and therefore could do whatever the hell she wanted. She was dressed in her typical black outfit and had a glass in hand, filled with whatever alcoholic beverage she happened to find laying about the building. She hadn't even waited till Ceremony started to fill her own glass, and had showed up with it already half empty. By the time most students were going off to execute their own plans for the night though, Fiona felt something was wrong. Off, somehow. She had been getting feelings like that a lot recently, feelings of paranoia. Usually it was just that her powers were fading, or that someone else was going to become Supreme. She'd have moments of such surety that she would be replaced, but then the feeling would be gone by morning. But this was a different feeling than those, this wasn't about her own power, but like the presence of something darker was headed their way.

She found herself standing and wandering over to Hale, mumbling to him, “Don’t let your guard down. There is something in this house,” before walking on to the next room. There were students here and there, but she was too distracted by the feeling that something was wrong. So instead she went to find Arturo, the guard dog. She smiled smugly, remembering the powerful magic that kept him bound to her will. She loved anything that reminded her of her power, and that spell was a certain pride of hers. She eventually found him, standing around with candles lit. Fiona glanced about, her expression seemingly uninterested.

"I need you to monitor the house. Something might be wrong, and on the off chance there's a problem I don't want it having any advantage over us," she said to him, though the way she said 'us' clearly meant just herself.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Fiona Goode Character Portrait: Silas Abernathy Character Portrait: Kyle Spencer Character Portrait: Pell Laveau Character Portrait: Greyson Ault Character Portrait: Hale Bjarki Character Portrait: Violet Khiara Character Portrait: Rowe McDermott
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Pell Laveau

Dull. Everything was dull. Pell’s enthusiasm had evaporated like blood into hot concrete, ugly brown remnants chipping and disintegrating into the air. So long. Goodbye. Beside Greyson she had parked herself for the entire ‘table set’ portion of Ceremony. One hand on the thigh, other hand promptly refilling a wine glass every time less than an inch of fluid remained in the crystal ware. She cast the occasional smile to Violet and Silas, watching them sort of bob along with the flow of Hale’s adamant briefing and almost needy exchange. He was always so eager to know the students. Silas, on the other hand, would waver in comfort and confidence. His eyes would oscillate to the light fixture. Or to the table decor. He was not at home, and he absolutely knew that. The Laveau girl could feel it. Pell’s shameless scrutiny burned so immodestly into him she was surprised he didn’t rigidly pivot to face her and speak through clenched teeth.

Her friendly hand, though, worried about no such body language from Greyson. At least there was a common understanding between these two. In fact, if written more syrupy perhaps in a five hundred page novel, an audience might admire and swoon over the relationship. Wasn’t that just how it went with modern romance? The more twisted the story, the more attention and devotion it garnered? Well, well, well. Greyson and Pell would make for a great hardcover, then. Greyson naturally brushed Pell off of her shoulder upon their first encounter. Maybe that was a defense mechanism. Greyson didn’t like getting entirely too close to people. Anyone. Much less, new students. That barrier melted off in no time; dorm sleepovers became a regular thing, the partnership in crime, late nights in the garden drinking whiskey and warmly whispering about what could have been a beautiful love affair. It just never took off. There were way, way, too many road blocks. More than Pell cared to admit. But why would she? It wasn’t anyone’s business. The failed ardor wasn’t about to be gossip on anyone’s lips. It wouldn’t even make it that far. Luckily, Greyson and Pell had accepted that with steel resolve. Their colloquy and behavior, though, didn’t change. They gave credence to the fact that, every once in a while, everyone needed someone. Even if the flirting sometimes was a bit diabolical.

ImageKyle sat across the table, quiet as per usual, but with his same little cordial smile. Like he was perfectly up to speed and more than interested in every topic being discussed. Pell shook her head, not with disapproval, but a sort of reserved admiration. He was a sweet soul. Pell shifted and weighed her options for the evening. She found herself uninterested by the levitating objects and now room-temperature steak. When Fiona rose, bored with newcomers, and du jour as hell in her getup, Pell inhaled with tedium. Three wine glasses deep, she relinquished and kissed Greyson’s hair before exiting through the front doors to get some fresh air. She could hear the muffled excitement buzzing from within the walls of Robichaux, but tonight, that just wasn’t an ideal atmosphere.

Again she felt that strange sensation. It was like being watched. That wasn’t uncanny at the academy, but this peculiar feeling, was. It was uninvited. She looked around swiftly. How embarrassing. Getting jumpy and paranoid at a place she’d been residing for months. Clearing her throat, she stuck a cigarette between pouted lips, eyes narrowed in cynicism as she let the flame come on its own. What was the sense in practicing control? Sucking in the toxins, she lazily ambled toward the courtyard, stopping short and circling back in just a few seconds. She’d from there meander down the more clandestine paths between the rose bushes.

Shuffling footsteps. Whipping around, Pell pulled the cigarette from her mouth. It became clenched between two bony fingers, quavering. From the foot of the dingy passage, even in the night, she could make out his dark circles. They cut into his face like black holes. His skin was pale and his cheeks were taut and hollow. None other than Rowe. “Shit, you scared me, Rowe.” Pell rolled her eyes, strung a free hand through her lavender hair and blew smoke toward the sky. Goosebumps had made a home on her porcelain skin. He was quiet. Nothing unusual there. Stepping closer, Pell sort of squinted at him, “Are you okay? Or are you just doing that thing where you avoid everyone and eat candy and maybe, yell when spoken to?” … Silence, again. An irritated laugh escaped her throat, bare feet hinging a little on the dirtied gray-brick beneath her, “Alright, I can see that being the crypt keeper is way more satisfying to you than anything else. Excuse me.” She rolled her eyes again, stepping by him.

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: Hale Bjarki Character Portrait: Violet Khiara Character Portrait: Decimus King
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Mr. B

With Fiona’s gaunt warning in mind, the council scout had risen to his feet with haste. But he didn’t move much. Instead Hale yanked Kyle to his side, a large hand clasping the boys bony shoulder. With a hearty shake, he sighed and spoke into blond tresses, “You should interact more freely, you are not just an academy ornament. You are also someone people want to know.” A reassuring, but goofy grin spread across Hale’s face. The happy haze of being buzzed became bleached and nonexistent. There indeed, was something in the air. Something not right. Not human, nor witch, nor warlock. Hale would let it roll off his square shoulders like nothing. But it did bother him. Ate at him in a frustrating way that he simple had to get to the bottom of before the night was up. That was, if some disaster didn’t strike before then.

Oh, stop thinking that way! The shield was set. The veil is unflawed. Cordelia has been doing this for years. With the help of the Supreme, she can pull off anything. Without fail or a single glitch. Why would you assume something would go wrong? Tonight of all nights? Why? Ceremony is always the safest night of the week, don’t you know that from teaching at Robichaux? Have you learned nothing?

Spastically, Hale beat a flat palm to his left ear, as if hoping to empty bad thoughts out of the right. Suddenly his eyes widened. Scanned his surroundings. Kyle’s confused eyes, rainbow trout twitching, Silas anxiously trying to resume conversation as if nothing strange had happened. Speaking hesitantly about being overwhelmed. A mawkish and priceless beam settled into Hale’s toothy mouth, eyes so narrow they were nearly slits. He must have looked the way a dog did when putting its head out the window of a car. A car doing fifty five miles an hour. Instead of flapping, his cheeks stayed pinned by the corners of his mouth, “Nonsense, that will go away in a little while. Soon you will settle right into the swing of it all, and feel no sense of hierarchy. It’s really a cozy little system - err, family, almost, if you will. I find Cordelia to be quite accommodating, and really such a great teacher.” His eyes twinkled and he caught himself, “And you, you…” His gaze inhabited Silas’ soul, “You strike me as someone who might have a lot to teach others, as well. How exactly do you feel about your gifts, Silas Abernathy?”

ImageHe felt the ridge in the ambiance. It was like this chill cut into the warmth of Ceremony. Something uninvited had arrived. “Hmmm,” Hale rubbed idly at the clean shaven flesh of his chin. The same hand that had perched itself below his mouth struck Kyle’s wrist momentarily, “Go get Arturo. We need to scale some… Of the property. Indoor and out.” He tried to lower his voice as to avoid causing alarm. Quickly he turned away, the height of his cheeks once again shining with rapture, peering at Silas again. Who, was, tugging at his collar and murmuring gradually about only remaining at the academy if he was wanted. Who, was he wanted by - if anyone? That sort of insecurity seemed to be a common theme with newbies. Adorable, really.

As if it weren’t enough that something or someone was intruding, there was now blood slicking the air. And it was by no means some voluntary mishap, an innocent bit of experimentation. It smelt like Pell, burned into existence as a combined redolence of menthol and ichor. Where on earth was Jacqueline? She hadn’t been nearby in what felt like hours. Hale became a bit tense, knees locking as he glanced around the dining room and into the lounge. The chandeliers began to swing at a more rapid pace, an obvious but subtle alarm that had been triggered. Cordelia was out of sight and, from the looks of it, had alerted nor bothered no one else. Truthfully, Hale would have hated to be any more impolite or caused any more broken and perhaps annoying conversation. Even if it were for the good of the academy. He may have then, found it appropriate, to bend some rules.

“Silas would you care to join me on the terrace? I’d like to get some fresh air and maybe see if any of our students have wandered outside. I have a feeling Fiona would like everyone to regroup tonight rather than dispersing and sort of, well, doing their own thing. There might be some general knowledge to be shared.” Graciously he offered a hand, if Silas would accept.

And what would he find beyond the doors? Nothing at all, right?

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 Character Portrait: Violet Khiara Character Portrait: Rowe McDermott
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Pain. All there was in this dream was pain. She didn't remember falling asleep, but she had and awoken in a horrible dream, demons, running, fear, but mostly pain. She'd awoken with a start, having pulled herself violently from the dream, that was always a bad idea, Dreamwalkers should never pull themselves from a dream, it should be gradual, like slipping on a shoe, gently sliding back into her own mind, but no, she snapped back in like an arrow from a bow, and the result was a blinding headache and a residual feeling of paranoia.

Her watch beeped. It was time for ceremony, for a while now, and she was impossibly late. Groaning miserably, she pulled herself from the chair, she'd fallen asleep in, her memory of how she got there was fuzzy. She remembered she had been with Lazarus...she'd offered to help him with his dreams....or she had thought about it. That was the problem with shoving back into her body, her memories were now all askew and it was likely that she wouldn't get them back.

Stretching with a yawn, her body popped and cracked satisfyingly before she slowly made her way to her own room, far on the other side of the building. Once inside she peeled off her clothes, and prepared for Ceremony.

Drenched in all black, she wore a black dress that hugged her frame, she spun her dark hair over her shoulder and pinned it there, lined her eyes with a khol liner and kissed her lips with a crimson lipstick. She felt like shit but that certainly didn't mean she had to look like it.

She made her way toward the others, her head still pounding but stopped when she got an odd feeling, deep in her chest, that tingled her spine.

She found herself toward Madison's room and Jacqueline felt her stomach sink, something was wrong, she could feel it in her bones, and while she never liked Madison, she would a sparkly bitch but still, something was very wrong.

She knocked on the door. "Madison?" She called but silence was her reply. "Madison, Are you in dz'ere?" She called, worry evident in her voice. Something told her to just go inside, Her heart racing. Her head pounding even more so now, the paranoia from the dream washing over her like a violent wave. Her fingers curled around the doorknob, and slowly turned it.

She was hit first with the smell. Thick, coppery, being female, she knew the smell well, the feeling she got from it was not poor hygiene, this was something dark, malicious, hungry

"Madison, 'chere, you 'ave to say somet'ing." She said, fear thick in her throat and it was then she peeked around the corner, her booted foot slipped on something sticky and wet. She gripped the wall, so not to fall, her hand touched something sticky and wet as well, but that when she saw her.

Or, more correctly, what was left of her.

"Oh mon dieu!" Jacqueline clapped her hand over her mouth, at the horribly sight, blood was everywhere, Madison's bed was soaked in it, bits of bone, and cloth from her clothes lay scattered in the blood drenched bed, her phone lay covered in her blood, still shining from it's unfinished text. Jacqueline then remembered her dream.

It wasn't a dream...more like she'd projected in to Madison, as if she'd called out telepathically, in her final moments.

Who would do this?

Madison was a bitch, was...past tense, but she did not deserved to be butcher like this....

Just as she was about to run out of the room, she turned and saw in thick dripping letters the word...


Jacqueline felt sick, and dizzy, when she noticed her hand smeared the last letter when she slipped on the blood. She bolted out of the room and toward the common area.

"HELP!" she screamed out. Everyone had been seated for dinner. "Madison ... quelque chose est arrivé .... quelque chose d'horrible..." She stammered, her vision blurring, she was shaking violently, her hand still stained with Madison's blood. She closed her clean over her mouth, trying to will the bile back down her throat.

*Madison...something happened....something horrible.

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 Character Portrait: Hale Bjarki Character Portrait: Angel Zuniga
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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: Fiona Goode Character Portrait: Kyle Spencer Character Portrait: Pell Laveau Character Portrait: Greyson Ault Character Portrait: Hale Bjarki Character Portrait: Rowe McDermott Character Portrait: Arturo Christobel DeGari Character Portrait: Angel Zuniga
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"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 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: Kyle Spencer Character Portrait: Hale Bjarki Character Portrait: Arturo Christobel DeGari
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ıllıllı ⓚⓨⓛⓔ ⓢⓟⓔⓝⓒⓔⓡ ıllıllı

There were some things in this world that Kyle would never understand. Things such as how life began and the purpose behind it all. Things like why people hurt one another and why he couldn’t control his temper sometimes. But if there was one thing that the young man would understand better than anyone present in the eventful ceremony, it was death.

Blinking at Jacqueline as if he was staring at something he shouldn’t be, the stressed, bugged eyes and tense muscles loosened gently until his posture resembled a more comprehensive nature rather than attentive. His open mouth closed and his lips relaxed Imageinto a common line, his shoulders which were pushed back gave in and slouched as if out of habit. Kyle wasn’t quite sure what the others were doing, only vaguely aware of what was in his immediate vicinity, such as the tears that had started to shed and fall on bloodied fabric and on the swept floor.

Upon his first inspection of the young woman, he figured she had hurt herself with the blood upon her being and her screaming. That’s what people did after all, scream when they get hurt. But she stammered and whimpered, the blatant trauma sparkling in the building up of tears. When you amputate your own hand, that’s when you become traumatized. When your femur is protruding out of your thigh, that’s when you start to become traumatized. She obviously didn’t have anything broken and nothing looked amputated. You don’t traumatize yourself from a cut.

Kyle found himself becoming more confused as he tried to figure out what had happened while he was gone, and the stuttering hadn’t helped. But as Jacqueline screamed in fear and disgust of the moist red that spread onto her face, Kyle’s hand rose to take her hand or arm to perhaps help her calm down. Make sure she didn’t flail or something. But she backed up before he could and she used the wall to sit down. She went on and explained that Madison was the producer of the blood that was now across her face and that she was dead in her room. That was when the tears came in her eyes and that was when Kyle felt like sighing with relief.

It was just a dead body.

Kyle’s tone and body language significantly changed once that connection was made. It had changed briefly before, but this time it was almost as if he thought a burglar was in the house and it was discovered it was just the cat. His balled hands let go of their form and his stiff, lopsided legs bent slightly at the knee, letting go of the locks he had put on them. His chin even lowered a notch, closing his eyes in silence. You could visibly see the pressure melt away.

And being the only dead person did produce a lot of pressure, believe it or not.

It was interesting though. Madison wasn’t liked by anyone, hated by most to be more accurate. She was sassy in a pretentious way and self-seeking, only interested in others when she could use them as her toys. More specifically, toys for adult use. Yet she cried. Jacqueline cried for her. Life was a hard thing to pin down, but at that moment, he felt like he could see it. Maybe that was the purpose of death. The reason he was walking around here. To bring out the humanity in people. To show the life.

With Jacqueline’s sobs ringing in his ears, Kyle looked at the others in the room, observing their version of utter shock or complete indifference (or something in between) before looking at the table. There were a few unused table napkins left and he took a few steps and gathered one or two in his light hands. It was at that time when Fiona commanded someone to look after the weeping girl, which he didn’t hesitate to do, even though he had already started. He leaned over the table to grab another small bunch of the napkins and took a few steps back and knelt beside the traumatized young woman weeping in blood. He gave her one of the napkins, perhaps to clean off her own face or her other hand, but he kept one and took her left hand in his and started to let the napkin seep up the red pigment that only produced minor stains on her hands. A good wash would get it out in no time he was sure. The clothes, he didn’t know. He didn’t have to clean blood from clothe in a while. Which was a good thing he supposed. He made sure however to get all of the liquid, even in the cracks and wrinkles of her fingers and palm, having to uncurl a finger or two along the way.

He paused briefly in this process once to think whether he should have helped Hale and Arturo gather the students and help take care of Madison first. Taken her to wherever Fiona and all them wanted her. But death was a funny thing. It was patient. It didn’t matter now how long Madison sat there. It wasn’t like she was going anywhere. Unless someone wanted to resurrect the bitch, he figured she would be fine just waiting there. Because really, once you’re dead, people don’t realize that you’re completely independent. You’re unattached. You don’t care about others, you don’t care about waiting, or yourself. You just sit there patiently decaying until someone comes along and screws it up. Then you just turn into a dumb meat sack who walks around with no place to belong. Besides, Fiona probably wanted to assess the damage. They didn’t need him, they were fine.

On the other hand, Jacqueline was not.

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 Character Portrait: Hale Bjarki Character Portrait: Rowe McDermott Character Portrait: Angel Zuniga
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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.

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Character Portrait: Jacqueline Emilie-Marie Lavaeu Character Portrait: Fiona Goode Character Portrait: Kyle Spencer Character Portrait: Greyson Ault
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She could barely register what was going on. Fiona was there for a moment, saying something, but Jacqueline could barely make out the words. She felt her die, she had no memory of falling asleep but it didn't matter, she had been, she had to have been, how else was she able to feel Madison before she died.

Suddenly, cool hands curled around hers, breaking her from her thoughts. Kyle was kneeling before her, tending to her blood sodden hands. Jacqueline just watched the scarred boy as he blotted napkins over her hands. She was still shaking, she couldn't stop them, but he managed to work around them.

His hands were so cool...why?

Jacqueline then, and much to her own surprise, wondered why he was helping her? Everyone else seemed to not notice, or care...So she thought, because then, Greyson appeared, or had she already been there?

"Hey, come on, we're going to get you out of here and clean you up." She said and suddenly, Jacqueline was up and being helped to her room. Her mind still half in a daze, they were there before she knew it.

Her room was much like her, feminine, fashionable, French but subtle, It had a vintage feel, candles in place of what should have been a fireplace, a vintage mirror atop the mantle, french purple, black and white style wallpaper accented that wall purple painted walls with grey tree decals adorning it. Her bed was a simple much like everyone else, yet it had the same purple and grey color scheme, making it look somehow different.

Jacqueline always had a flare for design. Not that she would have noticed anything at the moment.

Finally, seated on her bed, swallowed, trying to regain herself and soon it was only her and Kyle, Greyson off doing who knows what. Jacqueline could barely focus at the time.

She looked up at him, and nodded. "T-T'ank you." She said, with a sniff, before they stood there in silence. Jacqueline's mind flashing back to her horrible discovery. What could do something like that?

and the Pain, Madison was in so much pain. Jacqueline's head began to ache, she wanted to hold her head, but she couldn't, not for the blood that still stained her skin.

Greyson reentered again, but with a bowl of water and Jacqueline was grateful.

"Can you do this part, I would but...." She asked Kyle, and Jacqueline shook her head.

"I-I can do ett." She said, her accent a bit stronger now, she wasn't trying to hide it like usual, typically she would damper it, make it easier for others to understand her, but now, it was a surprise she was even speaking English. It wasn't her first language.

She stood up, her head swam causing her to sit abrutly back down. She swallowed the dizziness and tried again, she found her footing, and took the bowl, she set it down, on a coffee table and began cleaning her hands, blood swirled around the formerly clean water, and soon the bowl was a deep red. Thankfully, she was clean now. Staring into the water, Jacqueline began to sob softly this time, once again.

She was in so much pain...


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jacqueline Emilie-Marie Lavaeu Character Portrait: Fiona Goode Character Portrait: Kyle Spencer Character Portrait: Greyson Ault Character Portrait: Hale Bjarki Character Portrait: Arturo Christobel DeGari
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In an incomprehensible way, Kyle was jealous of Madison.

He hasn't seen the corpse yet, but he already knew that once he did he would be jealous. He would be confused and frustrated. Because in reality, everyone knows she's not worth resurrecting. No one would want to and everyone would pity the poor soul that did if they must. She wasn't worth the time to put back together and get her ticking again, so she didn't have to worry about it anymore. She just had to be dead. She was forever at rest.

By why did the bitch deserve to rest?

Why did she get to stay dead? Why did she get to have a rest despite her abuse? Why was she free from her burden when he was brought back like Frankenstein's monster, even though he clearly deserved it more? Dammit, Kyle put up with everything. He Imageput up with pathetically stupid frat boys, he put up with his mother, he put up with not knowing what happened to him and why he was brought back to life. He put up with life after death! Yet that snobby pig who couldn't stand it when she wasn't the center of attention and couldn't put up with her hair being cut wrong got cut slack. Everyone would simply say that life wasn't fair, he was sure. But guess what.

Death wasn't fair either.

Forcing the infuriating thoughts to the back of his mind for later food for thought, the corpse continued to wash Jacqueline's hand the best he could without hurting her. He tend to forget his strength sometimes, especially when he as upset, so he was being extra careful to not grip her hand in any way as an extra precaution. And good thing too, because he almost jolted when he felt a hand land on his arm. Somehow he managed to keep himself together, but he could have swore it was someone scolding him or something for not going about business as he should be, even though he hasn't been told what to do by anyone. But it was simply Greyson, probably wanting to help. At least he hoped. She needed all the help she could get, he was sure.

Kyle looked up at the young woman with a default smile on his face, but he didn't linger to long, returning his foggy gaze to Jacquelin's hands. But really, the warmth of the lady's contact kept the smile on his face and started to overwhelm his angry thoughts. The cold thoughts melted into puddles and any thought of Madison had left his short term brain. He simply went on his way cleaning up the blood, switching hands and napkins to soak up the excess before Greyson offered to help. Without a second going by, Kyle nodded and helped Jacqueline up the best he could. But along the way, he did wonder if they should have stayed with Arturo and Hale, seeing as Fiona just told them to keep everyone in their sight.

But it was funny how you don't notice how many people actually are in this place until you need to leave a crowded area in a hurry. Greyson did a good job of dispersing the crowd so they could take her to her room so it didn't take all that much more time. Once they got to her room, it was almost like he gawked at it's interior, as if he never saw the colour purple before. Of Imagecourse he had, and it wasn't the colour at all that really surprised him, in actuality. It was just how well decorated it was. It was like it was an entirely different place. Kyle knew his room was about as plain as a bag of potatoes, but this was a lot nicer than many students' rooms. Was that just because their rooms had clothes all over the place or piles of ash under the window? Well, whatever it was that was different, it was spectacular.

The pair had set the traumatized witch on her bed, and it seems as soon as they did, Greyson left to do whatever Greyson did. Whether she was going to be back or not, he wasn't sure. Why was it that people left as soon as their task was done? Kyle simply ignored it and went on with what he figured was best. Starting with giving her the rest of the napkins he had taken with him up to her room. After that though, he wasn't sure.

Was she okay enough to do it on her own? Did she want to be alone or for him to stay? Did she even know what she wanted or what to do? Kyle, conflicted by his own thoughts, decided to wait until she said something otherwise. If she wanted him to leave, he will. If she wanted him to help then he would.

"T-T'ank you."


Kyle blinked. Then smiled simply and nodded. He's always thought saying 'You're welcome' took away from the sincerity of it. Like he was taking credit for something because he wanted to be recognized. Smiles were worth more than a thousand words in his eyes. But Greyson came in just after that with two bowls of water and a towel. Much better than some napkins or sure. Why didn't he think of that? Because he was too busy thinking about a thank you.

Gripping his hands behind his back, Kyle watched Greyson set the bowls on the table, expecting her to help Jacqueline clean of her face and the rest of her hands. But she had surprisingly turned to him and held out the rags, asking if he would do it. For some reason, he felt uncomfortable saying yes. Maybe it was because he'd be cleaning a woman's face, maybe it was because he was just caught off guard, but no matter what it was, he hesitated. And it only took the few seconds he waited for Jacqueline to to step up and do it herself.

It was clear it wasn't easy for her, though. Her hands still shook as she wrung out the rags as she washed off the blood, and Kyle felt somewhat helpless just watching. Kinda like watching an amputee going up the stairs but they refuse help. It was awful, but if she wanted to do it herself, he wasn't going to take that away from her. He didn't realize it though, but even when he thought he had accepted it, he had managed to inch closer without even himself noticing. By the time she was sobbing, causing Kyle's smile to disappear, he was already close enough to sit beside her on the bed. His hands refused to move from his lap, even when he told them too, but they couldn't stay still forever and they finally gave in. Subtly, Kyle tried to stop her from continuing. Perhaps so he could help her or to simply get her to stop all together.

Because really, when you're traumatized, it really wasn't the best time to worry about your appearance, let alone having to work on it yourself. When you're traumatized, you're suppose to just stop what you're doing and just relax. That's why when someone witnesses a murder, the police give them a blanket and just have them sit. They don't make them go back inside and clean up the floor. It just doesn't happen. So why should she be forced to clean up by herself?

That was the logic behind it anyway.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jacqueline Emilie-Marie Lavaeu Character Portrait: Fiona Goode Character Portrait: Kyle Spencer Character Portrait: Greyson Ault Character Portrait: Hale Bjarki Character Portrait: Arturo Christobel DeGari
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The touch stirred her. She hadn't expected it, and it gave her pause. His hands were cool, but soft, gentle, like a whisper. It was enough to make her look up and realize, she'd been scrubbing too hard. Her hands and face were nearly raw, red and sore, and his oddly cool hands were nice.

She wanted to be strong, she wanted to swallow this down, but she couldn't. She wanted--needed something, someone to tell her it was going to be okay, Madison wasn't suffering anymore, that surely the pain she was in was over and Jacqueline herself was going to be fine. Or maybe, she just needed not to be alone.

She dropped her head onto his shoulder,and sobbed, unabashed.

Kyle was cool, she thought, not cool as in an okay person, but literally, cool, to the touch, which was perfect for her at that moment. Like a cool rain after a hot day. That coolness eased her aching head, soothed her raw rubbed face, and cooled the fever that rose in her panic and stress.

Her hands came around him, and curled into his chest an after a moment, her sobbing slow into a soft sad weep, her chest huffing a bit as she breathed.

She didn't know why he was still there, she hardly knew him, she'd seen him around enough, and honestly today was the first time she'd truly noticed him, he was a friend of Pell's which that was a loose term given her cousin's social circle was pretty much the diameter of a period, she didn't know why, nor care, he was kind enough to help her, look after her, he hadn't left her side since he'd found her, and he didn't seem to be leaving anytime soon, after stopping her manic scrubbing, he seemed content enough to just be there she was grateful for it. She needed someone there. She didn't want to be alone. She didn't want to think about what she saw.

All that blood....

The image flashed through her mind and she whimpered against him.

She was awfully glad he was there.

A moment or two longer, she moved away, the panic had faded, and the sobbing ceased, She set her hands in her lap, her head down, but not before wiping away a few linger tears.

"Sorry," the french girl said softly, a southern belle once again "I... shouldn't 'ave done dz'at...but t'ank... you, ." She wiping a few more before looking up at him, and then to Greyson, she'd completely forgotten about her. "You... too." She said, small hiccup like huff still escaping her chest, she used to do that as a child, crying and hiccup gasp, but only when she cried very hard, she hadn't done that in years, but today, was just awful.

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 Character Portrait: Greyson Ault Character Portrait: Hale Bjarki Character Portrait: Rowe McDermott Character Portrait: Angel Zuniga
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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 Character Portrait: Angel Zuniga
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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 glacé 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: Fiona Goode Character Portrait: Kyle Spencer Character Portrait: Pell Laveau Character Portrait: Hale Bjarki Character Portrait: Rowe McDermott
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Fiona stepped out of Madison's room, now sure that it was not a student who committed the murder. Most students couldn't pull that off, and the one's who could weren't stupid enough to do it. Not to mention, if you wanted to murder someone, you didn't rip them apart like that. It looked like she was eaten. But by what? Or maybe the better question was who. Fiona's lip pressed together in a grim line as she walked toward the stairs. Down below, she heard Hale call out Rowe and Pell. Fiona knew before Hale had even finished accusing them that the Council was going to be involved. He said her name too, but once the Council was being brought in on the matter it wasn't her choice unless she forced it to be. Pell looked absolutely frantic as the pair began to be dragged off, but the boy, Rowe, didn't seem to be reacting to anything like he should. Fiona walked down the steps briskly, face still calm and composed but her pace giving away her urgency. Image

The two students were taken toward the greenhouse, and with a last attempt at saving herself Pell screamed out for Kyle. Fiona almost felt bad, almost. However, she did not like the Council being here and taking students, her students, to judge as if it were their choice. Fiona was sure, that for once, Cordellia would agree with her.

But only seconds after being taken in the greenhouse, Pell and Rowe came running back out. The building began to burn behind them, probably from Pell's doing. Fiona even smiled a bit at this blatant act against the Council, and as magic started to do it's work on rebuilding the greenhouse, Fiona took that chance to drop the barrier around the academy.

"Well done, Miss Laveau," Myrtle suddenly spoke, emerging from the greenhouse. Fiona gto a bitter taste in her mouth as soon as she saw the woman. She told the two that there would be punishments, and paused as if they could object. "Nothing to say? Well, that's alright. We've seen everything firsthand, anyway."

Fiona suddenly smiled, using her powers to teleport Pell and Rowe a few blocks down the street. It wasn't far, but they were smart enough to know they should run. As the two vanished, Fiona immediately put on a blank expression, secretly enjoying the incredulous look of Myrtle's face. Bitch deserves it.
They were going to be burned. The second that they were taken outside, he knew it was going to happen. But for some reason it didn't scare him. It was almost like he didn't actually think he was going to die, like he knew some secret no one else did that kept him safe. But he didn't.

They were taken inside, but in only seconds Pell was already fighting back. It was kind of interesting to watch, really. With everything that happened, she was still fighting against everything. What really shocked Rowe though is after she set the whole building to flames, she grabbed his wrist and pulled him away with her. He kind of wanted to ask her what the hell she was doing, or say that he needed to burn, but the look on her face and her screaming they were going to burn them alive kept him quiet. Plus, things were happening to fast for him to really be able to get a word in.

Pell whipped back around, and watched as the Council emerged, unharmed. Rowe could tell she was frightened, just the fear made her want to fight. She was still gripping his wrist in this tight grasp that he was sure was going to leave bruises similar to the one's he left on her arm. But he noticed something. Frowning, he looked around. It was like the atmosphere had changed. Not the danger and frantic vibe that was going on, but like the air itself felt lighter. And Rowe smiled. The barrier was gone. As Myrtle began talking, Rowe gently put his free hand on Pell's shoulder, nodding toward the exit. Sure, making a run for it probably wouldn't work, but it was better than just standing there.

Before he could even see if Pell understood what he was trying to get across, the world around them faded. Or more, vanished. It was too sudden to really fade. When he could see the world around them again, all he could tell was they were on some street near by. Oh, sure, you can teleport us, but just gonna drop us on some fuckin' street, he thought to himself, grimacing. It was colder there than the academy yard. Or maybe that was because just moments ago he had been in a burning building. He didn't have any money or his phone on him, and they were both dressed in all black. If someone saw them, they were sure to get attention.
"Pell," he said suddenly, speaking for the first time in awhile, "we should go." They needed to get somewhere safe, and fast. He wasn't sure how they were going to accomplish that exactly, but it was that or death. He glanced down at Pell, hoping she was taking the whole thing okay. Then he remembered that he had nearly torn her to pieces earlier, did piss her off, and now was probably on the top list of people she wanted dead. Great, just great. Hopefully the immediate danger of the Council would keep her from freaking out on him too much, at least until he got them somewhere to hide out.

"Come on," Rowe said, starting to walk in the opposite direction of the academy. Where? Who knew. Just the further the better. And preferably quickly. He walked for awhile, only occasionally looking back to see if Pell was following. He didn't bother apologizing, he felt like they were past that point somehow.

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 Character Portrait: Hale Bjarki Character Portrait: Rowe McDermott Character Portrait: Amanda Rae
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For the dead, life was simple. Having already experienced the ever mysterious sensations of death that haunted the waking moments of life, the terror and fear fled. There were no waking hours in the night where you thought about the meaning of life or when your time would come. There was no gasping realization that one day you weren't going to be there anymore. So, Imageessentially, with most of the worries of life gone, it was simple as ever. So when things started to get complicated, it was significantly harder to deal with.

It was like people didn't understand that sudden requests and movements didn't usually go so well for zombies like himself. He needed time to understand what the hell was going on before doing something or else he'll end up doing something wrong or completely fall over. He already ran into Hale earlier today, he didn't need to run into anyone else. But maybe that's not what Hale had in mind, because as soon as Greyson left with a request of her own, the council member charged in and shoved them out of the room like dogs that just puked on the floor and he needed to clean it up. Kyle almost stumbled out the door, but he kept both of their requests, taking Jaquelin down stairs and away from the scene.

Everyone was murmuring at once, some louder than others, and some even blatantly gossiping and talking exceptionally loud. People's footsteps, the clinking of dishes people took with them to finish their meal, it was all a cloud of noise pollution and the Spencer boy blinked wildly at it all. He made sure to sit Jacquelin down on the nearest chair or couch, but once that task was done, the bewildered butler simply gasped at the noise.

Realistically, the noise escalated as people's imaginations and realizations spread, and once one person started to panic, it burst into flames like wild fire, as if it wasn't loud enough. The already pale skinned boy gripped his arm tightly, head looking back and forth almost as crazy as his messy curls. He didn't know what was going on anymore. People were pointing at him Jacquelin and those nearby started to ask questions that he didn't know, nor could he answer. How was he supposed to know what Madison looked like now? How was he suppose to know what Hale or Fiona or Cordelia were going to do? What was everyone expecting from him? To suddenly just know everything? He couldn't even talk! Kyle gritted his teeth, his brows started to crease drastically.

But in his ear, he felt a soft breath puff with the words,"You're okay, Kyle" and a soft finger glide on his shoulder. Startled, Kyle shook, looking over his shoulder, but there was no figure. He turned himself completely around only to see blonde hair walking away and disappearing into the crowd of panicked folk. Kyle blinked. Hale shouted.

Everyone turned to the man who screamed.

It didn't take a genius, thank heavens, to know that things were going to go down tonight. And those things weren't likely to bear good results. Frowning at Pell and Rowe's public scolding, the undead wished he could either say something or disappear entirely, but neither of wish would likely happen. Even when Pell called for him, he couldn't pull himself to do anything but look ahead dumbfounded. The over stimulus of the situation was starting to take tole on his reactionary responses and he found himself twitching his lips as the small group vanished. Some who? Who wouldn't Pell summon? Pell could summon people? Yes, people did that sometimes didn't they? But wait, who was she talking about? There was only one person who Pell had told him she would never summon and that was-

Oh shit.

Kyle sprung forward, almost running into another student as he did so. He briefly turned around to give a vague gesture for Jacquelin to let her know he would be back, but he rushed through the students and found a window that looked to the Imagegreenhouse, as that was the direction they went. But with the gold reflecting in his glossy eyes, Kyle gawked at the flames he saw bursting from the plants within. They were burning them?! In the greenhouse?! The bastards!

They had no right to burn Pell! They couldn't have had enough time to listen to her story walking from here to there so they couldn't just burn her! You can't just burn someone without knowing what they did! There had to be a rule or a system for this sort of thing. Kyle had never witness any sort of witch burning, but wasn't there usually a stake involved? And why would you do it in the greenhouse of all places? Almost everything in there as flammable. This wasn't making any sense whatsoever.

And what made things worse was the fact it all went out like a light.

Kyle gawked, distraught at what he had witness. Or at least what he thought he witnessed. He really didn't know what to do. Should he go over and try to explain, and tell them that Pell couldn't have possibly wanted to summon Legba, at the risk of burning himself but with no avail? Because surely if they were willing to just burn her right then and there, he didn't think it would be below them to burn anyone who tried to help. Then again, he didn't know what to think about it all anymore. Should he just go back and hope that they didn't actually burn her and it was just an accident?

He didn't understand a thing, and his confusion started to get the better of him as his face twitched and contorted into anger. Disfigured hands ran through his rats nest of hair, stepping from side to side, trying to think. But he just couldn't do it. He couldn't think whatsoever. This whole thing was just too complicated because he didn't know what was going on. He just needed to relax. Yeah, this whole thing made sense, right? He is just frustrated so it doesn't make sense. He just needed to take a few deep breathes.

Inhaling an almost obnoxiously loud breath, Kyle tried to relax his hands, but his hands were balled up tightly enough for him to be unable. So instead he returned to the couch that Jacquelin had been sitting at. He wen around to the back of it faced his back to it, then fell over the back of the couch until he head hung off of the seat. Quickly he could feel the blood rushing through him, visibly making it's way down his neck and into his face in a purple wave until his torso and face for a soft shade of bruise like blues. He just needed to chill out for a minute.

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 Character Portrait: Greyson Ault Character Portrait: Hale Bjarki Character Portrait: Rowe McDermott Character Portrait: Angel Zuniga
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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 Character Portrait: Greyson Ault Character Portrait: Hale Bjarki Character Portrait: Rowe McDermott Character Portrait: Angel Zuniga
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“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?"