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Papa Legba

"So, do we have a deal?"

0 · 1,633 views · located in New Orleans, Louisiana

a character in “The Witching Hr”, originally authored by Seveneleven, as played by RolePlayGateway

Description

Papa Legba









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GENERAL INFORMATION


♠Race
Loa
♠Affiliation
Himself
♠Gender
Male
♠Nickname(s)/Alias(es)
Vye Legba, Atibon Legba, Met Kafou Legba, Papa Labas
♠Age
Eternal
♠Love Interest
N/A

♠Face Claim
Lance Reddick




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APPEARANCE


♠Height
6'4"
♠Weight
Unknown
♠Build
Imposing
♠Hair Color
Black
♠Eye Color
Coal-Red
♠Scars/Tattoos/Piercings
He has no scars, tattoos, or piercings. His body is basically flawless.
♠Description
Tall, dark, and mysterious is the Voodoo God known as Papa Legba. His hair is long and black made up into impressive dreadlocks that flow from underneath his top hat. His face however draws the most attention from those who are honored (or unfortunate) to meet the shady spirit. Covered in a grey-white facepaint that resembles a skull, his already haunting and burning eyes seem to explode from his own head. With eyes so intense, it feels as if he can bore into your very soul. Which may very well be true. His fingers have noticeably long nails that are almost claw like. Besides those eccentricities, he seems to resemble a tall, black man rather than some otherworldly entity.
♠Preferred Clothing
Papa Legba is a deity of style and class. His overall appearance can be defined as mixture of an aristocrat and a shamanistic tribesman. Easily the most distinguishable piece of fashion, the rather stylish Papa Legba wears is his black, Top Hat. Adorned upon his hat is a band with a triangular pattern that is further accessorized by the addition of tiny skulls that ring around his hat. The rest of his clothing is no less stylish, ornate, and imposing. He wears a black suit and trenchcoat, with a red, leather vest, that seems to be made from the skins of alligators, and a white button up shirt that is left undone at his neck. From there he wears a tribal necklace that is adorned with the fangs and claws of dogs. Upon his shoulders he is covered in black feathers that have been plucked from the tails of roosters. Papa Legba also enjoys jewelry, often wearing a ruby pendant and a necklace where a blue crystal dangles from it. He also wears a ring with a green stone of some kind. All of this is topped off with a walking cane that has snake skin patterns upon the wood.



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MENTALITY


♠Oddities
While Papa Legba does seem like a representation of the Christian Devil, he does however show curious signs of being something more than just demonic. He can be rather fatherly, especially towards children. He does care about children, especially their innocent souls. Often leading them to Heaven where they will live in eternal bliss. He also may act fatherly to those who summon him, depending on how they behave around him and what kind of person they truly are. It's because of this behavior that he is called Papa in the first place. Earning him his veneration amongst those who believe in the Voodoo faith.

♠Likes
-Dogs
-Roosters
-Coffee, may have sugar but no cream
-Rum
-Cocaine
+Souls
-Various Entryways, like Cemetery Gates, Thresholds of Homes, and Doorways
-Crossroads
-"Helping" Others ease their torments in life
-Cigars
-Playing Cards
-Anything sweet like Candy, Plantains, Hot Chocolate, Coconuts, and Cakes.
-Tormenting Sinners in the Afterlife
-Children

♠Dislikes
-Disrespect
-Swindlers and Cheaters
-Disobedience
♠Hobbies
-Collecting Souls
-Guiding Souls
-Making Deals
-Punishing Sinners in the Afterlife
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♠Phobia(s)
There is nothing Papa Legba fears
♠Sexuality
It is unclear what his preferences are.
♠Personality
Not many know what the mythical Papa Legba is like, for not many have had the pleasure or displeasure to speak with the storied Loa of Voodoo legend. Some say he is diplomatic, able to speak and understand many languages, an eloquent and respectful orator. Some say he is a trickster, able to come up with clever and cunning ways to outsmart another person. Always mysterious and never fully speaks the truth and has a penchant for telling riddles. Some say he is a businessman, able to figure out what people want and able to negotiate terms and prices that makes all parties happy. Never once did he have a dissatisfied customer. Most say he is a guardian, stoic and ever watchful of the bridge between the Earth and the Hereafter.

He is many things but those that have met him know otherwise. For the most part Papa Legba is an intimidating, but well cultured being. He isn't rude and disrespectful, nor wild and crazy. He is calm and collected and often speaks with carefully picked words that sound even lovingly. Yet, Papa Legba is devious, his intellect is greater than most would let on. To the point that he doesn't need to sugar coat or lie about his intentions, and people still fall for his tricks every time. He understands you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar and that honesty is more attractive than a well polished lie. Papa Legba does not hide the fact that he enjoys sadistic pleasures, such a perpetrating psychological torment or physical torture in the afterlife. He enjoys watching people suffer and often laughs about if from within the shadows.

He is intimidating and haunting, a tall, dark figure that commands both fear and intrigue. All respect Legba out of fear of his power but also out of greed for his willingness to put that power to work for someone else's benefit. He acts cordial during his business dealings and even is thankful for those that provide a little tribute for him taking time out of his eternity to visit someone. He is upfront and does not lie when someone asks for him to elaborate on the details of his deals. He makes it clear that he wants your soul and your service to do whatever he commands of you. Most people would not accept those terms, well rational people, but Legba worries not. Those who summon him want what they ask for and he is all but willing to give it to you.

Yet, he delights in visiting a collected soul every year to further push someone's sanity. He enjoys breaking people psychologically, knowing that person cannot refuse him lest he take away what he gave them. If refused their soul will end up in Hell to be tortured for all eternity. Either way, Papa Legba gets what he wants, a win-win situation every time. This makes him an incredibly dangerous being, but he does not force people into his dealings. Papa isn't one for such brutish tactics. He'd rather let the world break someone down into the point of desperation and more times than not, the world will screw that person over. No need for Papa Lebga to do it himself. Yet, there are things that he does have particular love for. Such as children for which they see this normally dark and demented figure as fatherly. He is kind to the innocent as he guides them through purgatory to their blissful afterlife. He also loves many things like sweets, food, cocaine, rum, and coffee. These are often small tribute for the deity if someone wishes to incur his favor. He also loves dogs and roosters, even considering them sacred as he proudly wears their parts as dressings.

There are rare instances that Papa Legba breaks his meticulous and chilling demeanor. Yet if angered, the deity will raise his voice as it becomes a deep and demonic while it spreads across the room as an echo. This shows that Papa Legba is an authoritative figure within the Spirit Realm as most spirits avoid angering the God. He sometimes alters his voice for fun and to be intimidating, often loving how people cower beneath it. It's simple, you never mess with Papa Legba.




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BACKGROUND


♠Relationship Status
Single
♠Family
Mawu (Mother)
Liza (Father)
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♠Personal History
Papa Legba was the youngest son of the creator spirits, Mawu and Liza, the Loa that created the world. Like many of the Loa they confine themselves to their own nations. Whether they be Radas, Petros, or Ghedes, the Loa stick to their nations. Legba however was one of the known Loa that straddles amongst all nations. His job since his creation was to be a gatekeeper, a regulator between the Afterlife and Earth. He was the Spirit of Life and Death and therefor guided all spirits to Heaven or Hell. He was also the Loa's personal mediator, he understood all languages and helped facilitate communication between the nations and Earth. Many Loa respect Legba for his honored position but belonging to no one nation he has taken up the characteristics found amongst each nation.

Like the Radas he was a benefactor, but like the Petros he can be aggressive, and like the Ghede he had a connection to the dead. That is why Legba is considered the God of Travel, Opportunity, and Luck in Voodoo Culture. He is also the Gatekeeper of the Spirit World, and therefor has control over life and death itself. Despite his important standing as the mouthpiece of the gods, Papa Legba desired spirits for himself. The other Loa would not allow Legba to forcefully take spirits for himself and denied him to even attempt collecting them. His job was to guide not keep. Yet, the crafty Loa had proposed an alternative, one that would avoid an conflict between the gods. He had said what if they gave themselves to him? He would offer them an opportunity to be collected if they so choose. He would never force, merely offer. The Loa considered this and did believe that the Humans would not readily sell their souls, and even if they did it would be there own faults, not theirs. Seeing as the other Loa will collect spirits no matter what, they allowed Legba to gain his own spirits only if they chose to be collected.

Papa Legba continued to show his cleverness by arranging a system for which would make Humans more agreeable to having their souls be Legba's personal property. He allowed himself to be willfully summoned so long as the summoner shows great desire. He would come and he would give them what they want so long as they give him their soul. Once he owns a person's soul he is allowed to command that human in what ever manner he feels like. The Loa cannot stop him since the Human willingly offered themselves. This has earned Papa Legba a nice collection of souls, which continues to grow so long as desperation and fear commands the Human mind. Papa Legba has continued to do since time immemorial and will continue to do so until the end of all time. So rejoice! Your wish is his command but is the price worth it?




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OTHER

In order to summon Papa Legba, one must express true desire and intent. One does not necessarily have to believe in the Voodoo faith to summon him. Papa Legba is more than willing to have any soul he can take. He can also be called upon for wisdom, advice, or answers to questions. Although he would expect and be thankful for any tribute one provides. One may also impress the Voodoo God and in exchange he may do a service to that person. Of course if anyone wants something expensive, like immortality, one most give him their soul and must provide a service to him every year. Once agreed he will pick a day and will return and give that person his request, they must never refuse and most follow it to the letter. Failure will result in the revocation of his gifts and upon death will wind up in their Personal Hell. This shall occur ever year on that same day until they can no longer perform this service. He may sometimes assist someone in the afterlife, say if a witch performs Descensum . He may drop friendly hints or advice to help guide that wanderer in his realm, but of course he will never give direct assistance. Also when Papa Legba comes the shadows in the room seem to alter and shift as the sound of bones rattling can be heard. Almost like a shade the spirit appears from out of thin air before his summoner, awaiting to hear why they have called him.



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So begins...

Papa Legba's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jacqueline Emilie-Marie Lavaeu Character Portrait: Papa Legba Character Portrait: Silas Abernathy Character Portrait: Kyle Spencer Character Portrait: Pell Laveau Character Portrait: Rowe McDermott
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Pell Laveau






Pell’s distaste for her natural lineage was attempting to fight its way through her expression when she fully comprehended the powwow taking place in her bedroom. It stiffed its own efforts, making it as far as a two rows of gritted teeth. The cherry on her cigarette dimmed and disintegrated. Past supremes must have been rolling over in their graves. Craft was becoming a sullied social assembly. Not that Pell personally took any offense, she more or less hated feeling like she owed reverence and high standards to the governing coven queens before her. It was a force of habit. It was a lingering legacy from Andrea. Her mother. Respect your elders. Embrace your bloodline. That sort of thing. She could hear the romance and sincerity of a nearly forgotten maternal tone in her head, some longed for spirit she would never see again. It struck a nerve.

Why did you have to let him take you?

No, he wasn’t real. No way he could be.
Just seemed a little too batshit. Who sacrificed themselves to voodoo divinities anyway? Pell’s thoughts intensified. A curtain hissed as it went up in heated color. Pell nonchalantly pressed a thumb and forefinger to her temple, gaze suddenly sweeping the floor. She was anxious from the abundance of excitement in her room, and as she lifted her perspective so that it could find Fiona’s dog, she maintained this sort of cold temperament with little true emotion behind it. A sigh escaped her throat. Fingers relinquished their pity on her memories and snapped with a distinct ‘pop’. Ashes fell to the pine floorboards, window left bare. The spontaneous fire disappeared and took the curtains with it. The room sort of fell silent as she got to her feet, a slow draw bringing a coffin nail to her mouth so that she could pull the nicotine into her lungs. She inhaled deeply. Her cheeks further hollowed, quiet foot steps tugging the attention of Arturo. Her friendliness dissolved into the mood swing of a fleeting memory. There were those problems with authority again. A mass of thick smoke gushed over Arturo’s face as Pell exhaled and clouded his otherwise wolfish, handsome features.

Her air didn’t change when the tobacco and smog faded. She shrugged, some vague agreement on her cousin’s statement. Like telling a wolf not to howl. Dead silence. She pinched the cigarette and pressed its smoldering remainders into the pale flesh of her palm. Pell was resolute, her skin singed and blistered as a good three or four layers of it blistered and peeled away. “All bark,” she crooned, grabbing a purse and squeezing past Arturo and Kyle, no final looks exchanged with Aden or even Jacqueline, “and no bite.” Poor Silas, must have been terrified at that moment. His country corners, his ironed sweaters and handshake gloves. Would he last a week with Pell as a roommate?

There was no goodbye, no explanation, no beckon for those invited or interested to follow. If they wanted to come, they would. She was through with fine print invitations and congeniality. She just sidestepped and exited, fay lavender hair swaying behind her. Even though she thought to stop, to formally greet the other visitor, a shaggy haired serene individual who had no problem inserting himself, she realized at that point there was no point. The general flock of bedroom guests grew out of hand and attracted more than she bargained for. Or was it her own fault? Arturo had the nose of a bloodhound. Damn! It was her fault.

ImageThe breaks in what would be spiral stairs if not for grand landings every tenth step found Pell catching a doe-eyed redhead in her arms. Static music pooled in their brief haphazard clinch. Pell furrowed her brow, suddenly shrugging the girl away. Madison’s silhouette swayed and vanished in the distance. Pell noted the dangling headphones as she mused, “You should tell her to fuck herself if she even looks at you. Scampering away like a kicked puppy will only encourage her.” With a heavy breath Pell grabbed the girls fists and unballed them in spite of the fresh injury on her own hand that had started to slowly throb. Her expression softened. A half-smile yanked at her mouth and released a toothy grin, “You know there’s no class today, right? It’s Ceremony.” She laughed, nudged the girl and continued on her way out. When she passed the ancestry room, Rowe of course was isolated and binging on whatever, mumbling and sinking into a couch cushion.

“You’re going to get fat,” she called wayside, satire in her voice, twang on its extremity, “Throwing things and eating bread isn’t really a real regiment.” Apathetic to everyone, she kind of rolled her eyes. She made her way outside, sun scattering over her skin as she hopped down the front stairs and let the rhythm of her walk catch in her swinging hips. A pair of white sunglasses were pressed onto her face as she looked into the horizon, happy to just get out of the ‘house’ and get some shopping done.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Papa Legba Character Portrait: Pell Laveau Character Portrait: Rowe McDermott Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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Man or Myth?

Hell


Ah, Hell. They say that Hell is what you make for yourself...and, they weren't wrong. The darkness swirled about a tall man who walked the dry and cracked plains of a forever gloomy, overcast day. The dust lifted and created a fog as it blocked a grey sun, leaving this desert forever a grainy, monochromatic color. He walked down the sooty path as he cut through the thick fog of dust, never once, not a single particle of dirt clinged to his body. He walked up to a single tree in the vast expanse of an endless desert, it was black and dead, not a single leaf hanged from it's twisted and crooked branches. The only thing things upon it was a single crow and around it's roots, a man.

A man dressed in ragged clothing, and dirty beyond compare. He hugged the tree as he sought an escape from the stifling sun, he clinged on hoping beyond hope that tree will provide a canopy of leaves the shield him from the rays of a hotter than Hell Sun. Papa Legba looked down at this wretched and scraggy piece of Human raggedness. The Man was so hot he could no longer perspire and it would seem eventually he would melt away and become one with the dead tree. Papa Legba laughed at his misery. Alone in the desert with no food and water and all he asks for is a little shade. Well Papa Legba did tell him that there was a tree, a tree filled with leaves that would provide him with a much needed retreat.

Finally the man looked up. "So den, I see you found da tree." He spoke as calm as lake.

"B-but," The man could hardley speak. His lips were caked and cracking and his voice as dry a seven year drought. The man could not even produce spit to help ease the pain of speaking. Mustering with all the might he could, "Y-you said...this...tree was full of l-leaves." As soon as he finished the man had one serious bout of a coughing attack. The man hacked and wheezed as it pained him. Each time a little more of the grainy particles entered his lungs as soon as he could cough it out.

"Ah yes, I did, and it was alive last I saw it." He then chuckled. "I'm afraid you just didn't make it in time, da tree dried up a long time ago." He spoke as he looked up. More crows had come to roost upon the tree.

"P-please...Papa...Legba...let me have a drink of water." He begged. The man would be in tears if he had any tears he could shed.

"Ah, no, I can't be givin' you water," Legba paused as the tortured soul leaned against the tree, all hope fading from his eyes, "but, I do know where you can get some." He spoke with a smirk. The man perked up as happiness began to flood within him.
"Yes, on my way to see you I passed another tree, one that is lush with da greenest leaves I have seen, but that is not all...dere is water, a small oasis in da middle of dis accursed desert." He then laughed, "And all you need to do is go dat way." Papa Legba then pointed left. "But I would hurry if I was you, who knows how long you have until the Sun dries it all up."

The man then showed a look of sheer horror upon his face. "B-but, P-Papa Legba! I-I don't have the strength to run, a-and the crows, they'll hurt me...p-please help me t-to the water!" He pleaded.

"No! I cannot help you on your journey, you must make it on your own, now go! Unless your perfectly fine cookin' out 'ere in da Sun." Papa Legba then laughed as the man weakly stood up. "I told ya to hurry, now run ya fool or dere will be no shade and water for you!" Legba spoke as he raised his voice. The man, with whatever strength he had left took up in limping jog. Soon a whole murder of crows left the branches of the tree and began to swoop down pecking at the poor wretch. Papa Legba couldn't help but laugh.

Then suddenly his head turned upwards to the sky. He is rather happy disposition disappeared as he looked intensity at the grey sky. "It seems I must make another visit." He spoke as he disappeared.



Earth- New Olreans, Louisiana- Miss Robicaux's Academy

"Hm, so wat is wrong wit my favorite Coven of witches?" He spoke with amusement. He knew perfectly what was wrong, but he had no interest in directly involving himself. He could tell that the people of this school are gonna have a rather entertaining night on their hands. But he wasn't here to concern himself with all of the witches here, no, a particular one he had his attention on. Out in the grounds, in the quiet of the courtyard, it would appear unnoticeable to all but Pell. If her attention was not too terribly absorbed by the rampaging Rowe, the wind started to pick up. It wheezed and whistled between the rose bushes. It was very chilling breeze, one that is far too cold for this time of year. The shadows around her and Rowe began to move on their own, without anything moving the objects the shadows are casted from. Then came the sounds of rattling bones and a dark, but almost velvety laugh pierced the silence of the courtyard.

Papa Legba decided to help Pell, but indirectly of course. Becoming physically involved just isn't this God's style. Images would soon enter the mind of Pell is she so chooses to acknowledge them, images of her life when her mother was still alive. All the joy and all the pain that came with it. They would come like flashes from camera, flickering on and off and in rapid succession. Then at the end of this subliminal slideshow came a laugh and pair of red eyes behind a pale face. The visions suddenly ended and in the darkness merely a few feet away stood a tall man in black as a pair of bright red eyes bore deep into her soul. Yet all he gave her was a glimpse, and in a blink he disappeared. Was it real? Or just a figment of the imagination? It does not matter, he could feel the deep seated fear of him. A fear he hoped would push Pell, a shot of adrenaline, one to help her out of her current predicament. Even if it was not fear that would drive her, then perhaps curiosity...curiosity about a mystery that has long since haunted the girl...the truth about her mother and perhaps the truth about her? And he hoped it would work, after all he has plans for her.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Papa Legba Character Portrait: Silas Abernathy Character Portrait: Pell Laveau Character Portrait: Greyson Ault Character Portrait: Hale Bjarki Character Portrait: Violet Khiara
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Greyson hadn’t been much of a lively dinner guest, but that was never her forte anyhow. Most of the meal consisted of her consuming to much wine and watching the new comers with the matching intensity of Pell. It was so pleasant to have someone who she could just know she was on the same page, but it had always been that way with Pell. She had been this wonderful possibility, but Greyson knew she couldn’t keep anyone close, for their own safety.

Biting her tongue to not make a comment that she might be reprimanded later as being rude, Greyson watched the painful exchange between Hale and Silas. She honestly pitied Hale for his genuine caring nature, he was still new to the Academy from her eyes. That being said, he had many other reasons that left her thinking of very many ways to be very, very, very nice to him. She pretended to be interested in what Silas and Pell’s pet had to say, still having Pell beside her to look over to every now and again, almost like a refresher.

Honestly, one of the main perks of dinner was usually the fact that all of the seasoned coven members would sit together, so Greyson didn’t have to tolerate the small talk bull shit. She wasn’t even sure how they had room for two people, when it clicked to her. The boy was usually so equally sullen and quiet, she hadn’t noticed his absence. Scanning the table for Aden, she made eye contact with Kyle, looking away quickly.

Everyone else had continued the conversation, the new comers professing a want to dive right into the coven, it took everything she had not to scoff. Pell took the BS queu as a moment to leave, she felt the girl lean in beside her, kissing the side of her head. Greyson had almost instinctually wrapped her arm around the girl, not phasing any other way, letting her hand linger as the girl walked away. Now she was alone, without an ally, which was not good.

While Silas did seem entirely endearing, there was almost this sickly naive part of him that just made Greyson want to vomit what little food she had consumed right onto his plate. The girl with the technicolor hair was tolerable, she just seemed sort of out of touch with the world, but Silas just had something about him that made her feel like he should know better than to appear so optimistic. As he spoke about his past and of wanting to stay, Greyson couldn’t help but groan. She received a stern glance from Hale, which caused her to smile briefly before straightening up in her chair.

“Wow, Silas, you are right. That was not interesting at all.” Greyson stood, shooting back the last of her wine and sleekly pulling out yet another cigarette. “Welcome to the coven, I suppose then.”

Hale was shooting daggers at her with his eyes, she wouldn’t be surprised if he stormed out after her in a rage, but she also knew he’d feel a sense of obligation to mend the damage. She could hear Madison behind her, “And I’m supposed to be the bitch around here?”

Yet again she found herself on the front porch, lighting her cigarette. She wasn’t able to pinpoint what it was that made her say the things she did, or feel the way she felt. She desperately wanted to want to be nice, but Greyson was pretty sure she was incapable of thinking outside of her own world most times. There were a few people in this world she found tolerable, Pell being one, Aden another - Kyle once upon a time.

As if someone had blown a breath on the back of her neck, Greyson felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She stared out onto the gate, stepping forward, slowly. ”Aden?” She called out, inching closer. Where was that kid? Movement on her left caught her eye, she jumped, spotting Rowe and Pell. “For fucks sake..” she mumbled under her breath, and for a moment - she smiled to herself.

Analyzing the situation, she could see the tension and body language between the two. Greyson rounded onto Pell’s side, burning cigarette still in hand, “Everything alright here?” She asked, looking between the two. There was something in Rowe she recognized, maybe in his eyes or from the way he stood, but she could sense the hostility growing from within him. She saw a bit of her own madness buried under his own layers, recognizing the demon that fueled his reactions. “You okay?” was all she asked, her voice monotonous as ever.

She would have asked Pell the same question, but the woman was stronger than steel, she was sure it would have been more offensive than caring. Eyes shifting to the windows of the house, she could see people head to the door, and while she had found the source of her noise she still had the sensation that someone else was out there. She looked back behind her, to the gate again, looking for someone. Goosebumps her rising up and down her arms. For the first time Greyson’s confidence wavered, her arm wrapping across her torso to run her fingers up and down her arms, perplexed by the way her body was strangely reacting to the situation.

With genuine confusion, Greyson looked up at the others. “Am I the only one that feels that?”

She risked sounded mad because the sliver of hope that it wasn’t all in her mind meant everything. She looked at Pell for the first time, searching her face. There was a look she had never seen on Pell's face....anger, fear? There was nothing to compare it to, so often Pell kept the same mild smirk or neutral expression. If it wasn't for the lavender hair, she almost wouldn't be able to recognize the girl. "Pell? What's up?" she asked softly.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Papa Legba Character Portrait: Pell Laveau Character Portrait: Greyson Ault Character Portrait: Rowe McDermott Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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What was otherwise a good evening had turned sour in a way. The air smelt miasmic. Pell was starting to feel unwell in the evening isolation. The cigarette she was using for composure was flicked and left to the earth. She figured it was best to leave Rowe to his feelings and solitude. It occured to her that he was having a moment. The young man was volatile and it was no secret. After all, she had seen enough of him and his outbursts. Maybe she should have gone a little easier on her comments, but she hoped he would understand it was harmless. Maybe even a little flirty at times. Twilight had nearly swallowed his eyes and digested any fullness in his face. That was how he generally looked, but at this particular point, Pell was almost sure that his eyes had turned black. He was angry, and Pell was just having a playful jab. But as his frigid hand gripped her arm, she realized that it had gone a little too far.

“I don’t have a problem, Rowe. Learn how to take a friendly joke. I just mess with you, and you let stupid shit get to your head and then act like a psycho!”


She’d only gotten a couple or feet or so from Rowe when her hand instinctively shot toward her face. In spite of his grasp, she hauled herself away a touch. He still choked the circulation out of effect in her arm. Didn’t budge. Thumb and fore finger pressed agilely to her temples, she held her breath. The last thing she wanted to do was break under the pressure of a migraine in front of Rowe. Especially after making a moderately unpleasant remark. She was the stubborn type who didn’t like to look anything but secure, even in her most injured state. That’s just the way she was. But she could feel his shadowy examination on her as she adjourned and slightly wavered in posture. As she glanced back at him, eyes barely peeking over her shoulder, some thawed impression seeped to the curve of her upper lip. She dabbed a finger tip in it, vermilion smearing her digit. Her brow creased in confusion. She knew what was happening, but had trouble understanding why it was necessary. Then again, look at where she was enrolled.

Image“Are you for real right now?” She managed before it felt like her throat was closing. All she could focus on was the silence that consumed her surroundings. How the color of the world sort of drained and her pale purple hair danced on the breeze in front of her face. The sound was siphoned away by something unseen. Silence, nothing but. Strained, she exhaled to the best of her ability as she felt another presence approach her side. It smelt of mature lavender and tobacco. But Pell couldn’t manage to move her gaze while she started to crumple and slip from Rowe’s hold as gravity called her. Was that Greyson? Oh, god. If her conscious mind wasn’t snap, crackle, and popping, she might have groaned in agony or even managed to ask for some help. Control of her own body was seized and what came in its place was pangs and violent discomfort.

Fay tresses splayed about her head and shrouded her features. Final collapse. There was no poise left in the girl. Her back arched while her brain tried to make a final attempt at regaining authority. Her vision was soiled by inky incertitude, the blurred silhouette of rose bushes and pixie-colored strands. And regardless of all of her disappearing dominance and composure, she managed to lift her head enough to see someone else. Convulsions had pulled her out of her own body and left a jerking, barely breathing Laveau on the Robichaux walkway. Twigs snapped. It was such an acute sound that she was suddenly aware of exactly where it came from. Who it came from.

He blended into the night but she knew him well. As much as she’d hate to admit it, those hellish scarlet eyes fooled no one when they made themselves apparent. As warned he came in dire and sinister circumstances, top hat and all. “No,” she rasped as fate tugged her back into her helpless body. Funny how now, she wanted nothing more than to stay outside of it. Because if she were to go back, he could take her at will. He had finally come. All those years of folklore and warning. It was real. The denial she had subjected herself to was a defense mechanism, tearing itself down as his eyes burned into her. The sound of her own throbbing shrieks brought her into consciousness again, where hopefully he wouldn't be. Pell grappled along the floor of the earth until she found her footing and stared into the flora and hickory. Blood trickled down her face still. She heaved and tried to catch her breath, afraid to look away.

She thrashed to find Greyson and Rowe not far away. With trembling lips she managed, “Is this your idea of a fucking joke?” The girl fumbled as she backed away and barked, blood streaked fingers pointed at what used to be a sweetheart, and a new found enemy, “Watch your fucking backs.” Quavering, she wiped the back of her arm across the lower half of her now gory face. When she managed to pull herself onto the veranda of Robichaux, she tried to prepare herself for what would happen once anyone saw her.

Characters Present

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sorry," she said unapologetically.

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

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

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

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

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

Characters Present

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

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

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

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

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

Someone had died, and someone had seen death itself.

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

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

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

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

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

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jacqueline Emilie-Marie Lavaeu Character Portrait: Fiona Goode Character Portrait: Papa Legba Character Portrait: Kyle Spencer Character Portrait: Pell Laveau Character Portrait: Greyson Ault
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Image


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

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

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

ImageShe needed to get into that green house.

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

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

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

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

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

Characters Present

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jacqueline Emilie-Marie Lavaeu Character Portrait: Fiona Goode Character Portrait: Papa Legba Character Portrait: Silas Abernathy Character Portrait: Kyle Spencer Character Portrait: Pell Laveau
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“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?"

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jacqueline Emilie-Marie Lavaeu Character Portrait: Papa Legba Character Portrait: Silas Abernathy Character Portrait: Kyle Spencer Character Portrait: Pell Laveau Character Portrait: Rowe McDermott
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It was interesting to think about all the things he took for granted when he was alive. He almost always complained about being hot, having to wear his fraternity vest and jacket everywhere he went and having to living in New Orleans all along the way. But now he found himself enjoying the tingling sensations in his face as the lukewarm blood trickled into the vessels. Even if he looked like a giant black eye with white spots where his scars were.

His disfigured fingers slowly grazed his face, unsure if he should itch the scratchy feeling the blood gave him or sit and enjoy the odd sensations. As usual, he did neither, simply running his fingers along the thin and blotchy scars. His glossy eyes starred at the ceiling with a deadly still gaze and his mind wooshed away in the blood stream that pooled in the top of his head. Kyle could feel his brain pounding and practically splashing in the red pond. A pounding and slightly dazed head was the closest thing the zombie would ever come to having a pulse again, and even though a pulse didn't increase intelligence, he still felt smart. Like a Imageproblem solver or philosopher like Pluto. Wait-, Plato. Yeah, that guy. He felt smart because he found out how to simulate a pulse, especially on his own. Well, sorta, it wasn't really a pulse at all, and if anything, it was a headache depending on how long he hung upside down, but still. Smart was smart, and pule or not, he still solved his problem.

But he couldn't solve this problem at all.

He couldn't really pull any rational answers to his head about the whole thing. When Kyle worked on his words and sentences he imagined the letters like pieces to a puzzle and he tried to piece them together. But with this situation, he was missing pieces. A lot of pieces. He couldn't even tell was the image is suppose to be how many pieces he is missing. How are you suppose to figure out a puzzle when you don't even know what the image looks like? It's like when you're trying to fit pieces to make it look like a dog when it's actually a chicken you're supposed to be making. It's just plain hard!

Not that this situation was like a chicken or anything, but it was equally as hard.

But so far he had these pieces. Madison is dead. Pell and Rowe are in trouble. That trouble involves council as well as Papa Legba. Why do they call him Papa Legba? Why not just Legba? Does he have a son or something or do people see him as a father figure or somet- oh forget it. Let's see here, he also knew that the Greenhouse caught on fire and then was put out. He knew Hale was upset and Pell was scared. What sort of conclusions can he make from that? Well, if Hale is made about Pell doing something with Legba, and the greenhouse caught on fire right after Madison died, then maybe Legba set the Greenhouse on fire after killi- No, no. They burned the green house because Hale was made at Pell for summoning Lebga because Madison is dead? Augh, no, Pell wouldn't summon Legba. Pell killed Madison which summoned Legba and Hale burned the greenhouse. No, Hale wouldn't do that. Okay, Pell set the greenhouse on fire because Legba killed Madison which made Hale-

"Kyle? What's wrong? I mean....what else is wrong? Did somet'ing else 'appen?"

With teeth clenched tighter than an alligator's jaws, Kyle screamed through the white enamel, fists grabbing his hair and bashing the side of his head three times. He grunted loudly as he swung his legs up, forcing him to roll backwards and off the count until he was on his knees, holding his hair again. Why in the hell of it would he had any clue what's going on?! Did Kyle ever have a clue whatsoever on what was happening or what to do? No, he never has, not once. So why was it all of a sudden everyone expected him to know what the heck was happening? He didn't even know what was going on in his head let alone what was happening with Pell or the greenhouse or stupid Papa Legba or any of it! How was he supposed to know?

In the fit of confused anger, the Spender boy didn't realize that it was Jacqueline who had asked the original question. He didn't know who it was at all until he glanced up through his blonde curtain of hair. Bad habits die much harder than life itself, and his temper wasn't getting any better when he had several people looking to him for help. He didn't know where Silas was whatsoever, but with a murder taking place he must be terrified, and Jacqueline who was on the verge of tears, if not already crying, since she saw Madison was simply trying to figure it out like he was. Yet he couldn't help but scream.

He didn't know what was wrong with him, he couldn't contain his frustrations anymore. Even the slightest amount of anger expressed itself in it's fullest form and he had no means of stopping it. And the fact of the matter is that not being able to control those outbursts and having them in the first place only made him more angry.

Blinking furiously as if it were an outlet of anger, Kyle forced himself to breath, his chest expanding significantly before falling a clear inch and raising again. The air passing his noise rushed quickly and shakily, sometimes whistling a small amount as well. As Imagehe did, the blood in his face trickled down like a small pattering waterfall, most returning to his legs but some going down his arms and into his hands, making his fingers the same crimson like purple. The slug like pace of it matched his melting anger, but after several long seconds, the blonde let go of the bunches of hair clumped up in his hands and his breathing more or less turned to normal. His eyes glanced everywhere but at Jacqueline however, trying to wrack his scrambled brain.

He couldn't even comprehend words right now.

"Th-the-e-" He stuttered,"the... graho-gree-n-house-" Sounded more like green hose but he didn't want to correct it particularly. But Kyle raised his hands and wiggled his fingers slowly back and forth, trying to mime what he was saying. But from experience, he's learned that that doesn't usually work in his favour. "Fire." He glanced at Jacqueline, still wiggling his fingers until he quickly pulled them together. It was supposed to represent the fire going out but it probably looked more like he was he was making shadow puppets of some sort. "Out." Wow, what a great first impression.

Way to communicate effectively.