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The Witching Hr

New Orleans, Louisiana


a part of The Witching Hr, by blvkmvgic.

Welcome to the south.

blvkmvgic holds sovereignty over New Orleans, Louisiana, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

1,663 readers have been here.

Copyright: The creator of this roleplay has attributed some or all of its content to the following sources:

american horror story: coven


A major port, home to countless festivals, and the largest city in Louisiana.
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New Orleans, Louisiana

Welcome to the south.


New Orleans, Louisiana is a part of The Witching Hr.

17 Characters Here

Pell Laveau [65] "What a shit show."
Kyle Spencer [58] "The dead speak just as loud as words. "
Silas Abernathy [48] "Everything's quite... new. And a little terrifying. But I think it will turn out fine. Hopefully."
Jacqueline Emilie-Marie Lavaeu [48] "T'ere is more to life t'en what you see wit' your eyes, Remember t'at"
Hale Bjarki [43] "This is going to be quite exciting!"
Rowe McDermott [35] It wasn't always a problem. Sometimes, it was a solution.
Greyson Ault [31] Give 'em a little edge, kid.
Fiona Goode [23] Who's the baddest witch in town?
Papa Legba [11] "So, do we have a deal?"

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4 Characters Present

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...


6 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.

6 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.

3 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jacqueline Emilie-Marie Lavaeu Character Portrait: Kyle Spencer Character Portrait: Greyson Ault
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Resurrection really messed with your head. Especially when that resurrection was pretty much the closest to a complete failure it could be. Kyle was fairly different than the rest of his peers, and much more so than just a lack of pulse and stitches around his neck. Before his death, Kyle noticed things like girls sitting alone or someone having cut their hair. Sometimes he may notice something someone ate that they didn't normally eat. But now, Kyle noticed things like a cloud's shadow on the ground, or maybe that ant running along the floor. And almost always he noticed how warm someone was.

Kyle knew for absolute certain that people got much warmer when they were upset. He didn't quite remember why, but he knew they did, and maybe it was because she was upset that Kyle noticed the significant different in temperature there was between her and the others. Or maybe it was just that others may lay their hand on his shoulder while she was hugging. That was significantly more contact than normal.

Well, whatever it was, Kyle noticed big time.

As a matter of fact, he almost shuddered with the sudden burst of warmth that started to swarm him, a surprised expression pinned on his lips. As her head lay on his shoulder, Kyle gave a wide eyed glance at Greyson, wondering if she had a clue on what to do. But seeing as most students were antisocial, he assumed she knew as much as he did. So the glance was a passing Imagethought and looked down at the dark hair on Jacqueline's head. Even her tears were warm as they started to soak through his dark shirt. Luckily Kyle didn't have to worry about his heart beating too loud, because if he actually had a tick to his tock, then she for sure would have heard it pounding in his mutilated chest.

His hand twitched into motion again and he raised his arm to wrap over her shoulder. But invitations will be accepted if offered, even if it was subtle, and Jacqueline took the opportunity to embrace the corpse fully. Kyle was thrown into another fit of warmth, tense muscles from his uncertainty giving away their cold posture. As a result, the blonde dead followed, his arms finishing the one sided hug and making it two.

Kyle's skin had been quick to receive the heat, a sensation he had grown accustomed to with various contact with others, but he was never able to keep it because it just evaporates like boiling water. But the hug held it there, and the Spencer boy couldn't help but cherish it because his chest slowed and his mind erased all thought besides it. It just enveloped him liked a blanket fresh from the dryer. No, it was gentler than that. It was more like a ray of sunlight. It was warm like sunlight. She felt like sunlight.

The moment ended on that note, and the young woman pulled away, finally composing herself to a calmer state. Kyle on the other hand had elevated from his previous neutral demeanor to one that couldn't stop smiling. If Kyle got paid for every time he smiled, he would be able to end poverty, but this one seriously wouldn't go away, even as he looked back at Greyson who was still there, probably awkwardly watching the whole thing. His gaze stuck to Jacqueline as she spoke, apologizing for her action in which brightened up Kyle quite a bit. "No." He shook his head, still smiling moronically. "Don't." It didn't hurt either of them so it was stupid to apologize. She should be happy if it helped her, not feeling sorry.

He sure was happy anyway.

5 Characters Present

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

10 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."

4 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jacqueline Emilie-Marie Lavaeu Character Portrait: Pell Laveau Character Portrait: Hale Bjarki Character Portrait: Rowe McDermott
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Everyone was inside, he could hear Jac freaking out inside, along with some murmurs from other members of the coven. Rowe did not want to go inside. He wanted to make a run for it even, but that would just make things worse. For everyone, probably. Rowe felt tense, standing in the shadows outside. He wanted to stay there and not move, he really did. But something was making him feel uneasy. Not the fact that the Supreme was probably going to burn him alive or something equally horrific, but because he felt like he was being watched. Or more, like someone was standing right over his shoulder. And if turned even slightly there would be wide, cold eyes inches from his, staring.

Rowe shuddered, the image making him feel nauseous. He was called inside finally, all students being told to gather. He didn't look behind him as he walked back into the academy building. He walked dejectedly, trying to keep his movements from being too awkward or twitchy. But the more he thought about it the more he seemed to be unable to keep his hands still or his expression blank. God dammit, he thought, finally stepping in the doorway. People were crowded around, instantly making Rowe tense up. He told himself to calm down, they weren't paying attention to him. Something worse had happened, and that was more important. They wouldn't be dealing with him till the murderer was caught.

“McDermott!" Hale yelled from across the room, causing Rowe's head to snap up. Well, so much for catching the murderer first. To his surprise, he yelled at Pell as well, who still had blood on her face. Rowe looked at her out of the corner of his eye, feeling a small pang of guilt about what happened. But it immediately was replaced by dread as Hale told them they would be meeting with the Council.

Hale turned to him, grabbing him by the shoulders. “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," Hale said, expression grim. Rowe ground his teeth, staring right back at Hale. Something about what Hale said made Rowe's nervousness disappear, replaced with something he couldn't quite place.

"Don't touch me," Rowe bit out, jerking away from Hale. Surprisingly, his blind rage didn't flare up at all. All there was was a cold bitterness as he watched Hale turn his attentions toward Pell. The momentary break from Hale's gaze let Rowe look around the room, noticing that the whole coven was watching the display. Somehow, that fact seemed a whole lot less important than it had a few minutes ago, when he was panicking about going inside.

"...Tonight." Rowe slowly looked back over at Pell and Hale, vaguely noting that Hale just confirmed that he would have to speak to the council. Rowe found himself rolling his eyes.

"If you think I can tell you anything about why Madison died, you're crazy. Pell's the one who saw Legba," he paused, eyes darting between Hale and the other coven members. He felt angry, but it was different from the uncontrollable rage he'd been feeling the rest of the night. This anger was cold and rational, and while it didn't activate his powers, in many ways he was more dangerous this way. He had different thoughts flashing through his head of what he wanted to scream at Hale about the Council, and how the whole thing was stupid, but instead he just let out a breath and went to dig in his pocket. "Fine, Hale," he said, pulling out a candy, "Let's talk to the Council." He popped the candy in his mouth, letting his usual passive expression return as he stuck his hands in his pockets.

7 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."

5 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.

9 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.

8 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 Character Portrait: Rowe McDermott Character Portrait: Angel Zuniga
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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.

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Character Portrait: Braxton Lee
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Braxton Lee
His evening shift had started off slowly, he ate a po’boy sitting in his cruiser at Carondelet and Jackson, hoping to catch speeders as they raced home from the bars. It was a lot of businesses along the main road, but there were a lot of residential homes in the side streets, he’d normally be able to fill up his quota by catching drunk drivers on their way home. There hadn’t been much action that night, most of the action happened along bourbon street, which Braxton had lost the privilege of patrolling when he’d spend his times in the strip clubs with a drink in hand rather than on the streets.

Around an hour after dusk, the radio rang a disturbance rang in by the bible thumping freak of a woman next door to the Miss Robichaux’s Academy, who called in at least three or four times a week. The school fell in his district so he took the call, running solo as usual. After his last stint his sergeant gave him patrol in the least eventful neck of the woods to spend nights alone in the cruiser, since apparently sober Braxton had a hard time “getting along with others”. Jokes on sergeant, Braxton had a pocket flask he would sip on all night listening to his favorite jams and smoking spliffs.

Driving past the academy it seemed pretty calm, as usual. The woman often blew things out of proportion, claiming screaming like ‘blood curdling screams’ from the home at least three times a month, or have ‘satanic activity’. All nonsense really, they just were always required to at least drive by. It had grown into a huge joke within the station, when Braxton was able to comfortably hang around with the other officers. Biting the inside of his cheek, Braxton pulled his cruiser along the curb around the corner from the school, reclining his seat back. He couldn’t figure out how long we would be iced out, not that he really minded. Had he really fucked up that bad that he had to be forced out on the edge of the department?

Admittedly, Braxton had gotten his hands dirty a few times, maybe made friends with the wrong kind of people or turned a blind eye at the wrong times - but nothing at the proportions that others had accused him of. As he pondered this, he broke down a fresh green nugget of delicious thc, mixing it with tobacco. If he was going to be treated like the bad cop, maybe he should live up to the punishment. His phone played the music over the speakers of his Mustang Charger, he remembered when these cruisers came out - the city was so pissed at the ‘wasted tax dollars’, the notion made him laugh. New Orleans was always a city where the law got their hands dirty and the working class suffered, european influence at it’s best.

He sparked the spliff, laying back looking out his window as he smoked the spliff down. The academy always had it’s intrigue about it, it’s exclusivity notorious among locals. The sizes of classes had yo-yo’d over the course of several decades, only allowing women into recent times according to the grape vine. He would drive past the school often and see gorgeous women of all sorts and ages, he even once caught a glimpse of that movie star Madison something or other. It would be a lie if he said he hadn’t considered visiting the school under the guise of a call about a disturbance, just to get a glimpse inside.

Braxton straightened himself up, rolling down his windows and stepping outside of his cruiser to let it air out. If this was punishment, he should’ve taken the cruiser through bourbon street drunk a long time ago. A loud crack cut the silence of neighborhood, placing his hand on his gun, Braxton remained poised and alert. When nothing followed, he took a few paces down the block toward the school, squinting past the trees. He could see the faint outline of smoke against the indigo smoke, curling up and out. He raced back to his cruiser, grabbing his radio. “Diane, this is cruiser 248 please send the fire department to my location immediately. On a follow up to a call about a disturbance on the premises I heard a loud crack, then seeing smoke rising from behind the house. I could do with a couple more bodies too, while you’re at it.”

He threw the radio at the seat beside him, regretting the spliff he had just gunned down. Timing wasn’t ever in his favor, but he suppose the odds of him being inebriated in a time of crisis was more likely than otherwise. Cursing to himself, he pulled the cruiser around to the front of the building, standing at the gate and able to see the flames rise higher and higher. He knew he should run to the front door to try to alert someone or check it out himself, but he was unable to pass the gate into the premises. He couldn’t even force himself to lift his foot to walk in, it wasn’t fear but it was some strange thing within him that defied all reason and willed him to stand there, gun in hand and staring forward, waiting.

10 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.


10 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?"

6 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.

1 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Decimus King
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#, as written by zeph_gm
In hindsight, sticking around to watch the chaos caused by his brutal attack on the student would have been most entertaining, but in the thrill of the moment, Decimus cared for nothing else. Nothing but the screaming wind in his ears and the feel of the asphalt beneath his taloned hands and feet as he bounded bestially across the city. Magic blood coursed through his veins and he never felt more alive than this. The bursting, fluctuating magic of a teenage witch flooded through his body, fuelling his powers and bringing his jaded mind to life with bursts like sparks of electricity. Yes, this would remain his hunting ground for a while yet, so much blood, so much meat and magic to consume, he would live here like a god. Of course, his future victims would not be savaged in such a brutal fashion, true, he enjoyed the viciousness and freshness of the meal when they are recently alive and kicking, but he was a pragmatist. A meal would last much longer, and be far more satisfying in the long run if he could consume it at his leisure, enjoying each morsel and bite. This was just a stress relief, a soothing of the debilitating hunger for real meat he had felt over the recent months. Now that he had been appeased, the real hunt could begin. Though he would have to be careful now, after making such a grand entrance, They would raise their defences and be wary of the danger he posed. Well, that was assuming that they thought it was him at all, god only knows who they could pin the blame on, and Decimus was fine with that. He would pick them all off one by one, and feed upon their glorious blood, as was his birthright.
With a sickening roar of inhuman delight, he bounded away into the bustling city, eager to celebrate his feed with some more mortal pleasures of the flesh.

8 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Fiona Goode Character Portrait: Silas Abernathy Character Portrait: Kyle Spencer Character Portrait: Pell Laveau Character Portrait: Hale Bjarki Character Portrait: Rowe McDermott Character Portrait: Decimus King Character Portrait: Braxton Lee
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Hale had taken Pell and Rowe by the shoulders firmly. He started to have a twinge of regret, or hesitation, as he brought them to Council in the greenhouse. This tiny sentiment exploded when Pell started caterwauling and howling for Kyle, fear corpulent in those charcoal eyes of hers. She thrashed so violently that Ms. Snow’s factotums seized her securely without words. They pulled her into the greenhouse, ahead of Hale and Rowe. With a flinty whisper, Hale said, “Be contrite, Rowe.” Hale’s long fingers relinquished as he stepped back and watched his students be formally requested… Or taken, by the very council that employed him.

The young scout folded his hands, eyes alert and forward. Myrtle, modish in her regalia with her epic red hair, drew her lips into a thin line. There was no sympathy or curiosity as to why Pell fought back. They did not care, had all gone too far now. It was especially strange to see the anomalous woman not the least bit intrigued. Worse than strange, it meant bad news. Deals with the gate keeper weren’t to be taken lightly, whether or not they were made. Contact with Legba could mean opening a can of worms that no one wanted to confront. Age old wars, voodoo on the horizon, that sort of thing. Pell was certainly in trouble, and Rowe, with his second strike on the same offense, was as well.

Straightening his thin crew neck, Hale stepped to the side and assumed for the most part, his role was no longer needed. Other than witness type responsibilities, that is. Myrtle and her entourage were resolute. Pell took this as some sort of horrible prelude to her death, and begun speaking hastily as components of the green house began to combust. Hale merely raised his eyebrows. The girl was a fighter. Rowe, too, but more of an adamant and silent type. Pell clutched onto him and began dragging him toward the nearest exit while the foundation of the green house simultaneously began to buckle.

The Council was already up to speed, their fingers simply moving to orchestrate the safe rehabilitation of the greenhouse as they proved to be the case from it. Hale filed himself into the madness, but tried to break away to find the two students before Council got their hands on them. He reached them only seconds before Myrtle’s voice rung out.

Inked hands, trepidation etched into their every grasping movement as Pell and Rowe’s shoulder were taken beneath their fingers, held onto the fabric of their clothes until the inevitable came. Hale felt his soul deflating, life leaving his blood as he looked into the pair of students. Rowe was so anemic and fearless looking in the glazed moonlight, but with pupils so flitting that it wasn’t hard to tell his brain was running amok with anxiety. Pell on the other hand, with cheeks flushed and remnants of a nosebleed, looked more calm, now. Both poles apart. Both so brave - but so incompatible. From the two, one could only expect disaster and ruin. And the little show they had just put on would not be handled with elementary laughter and a slap on the wrist.

This would end in flames.

There was a crowd gathering on the front lawn, and even if a seal was secured to keep non-magic folk unaware, they surely would see and hear all the people. Myrtle, in her ostentatious tone, hailed, “Enough!” Silence enveloped their world. The only sound following her stipulation was the cat’s paw pulling through the plot of garden and brick as the smell of smoke fell from the air. Ashes settled into Pell’s lavender locks from whence she came. Ivory cinder flecked Rowe’s eyelashes. They stood as a team, prepared for a fate they didn’t mean to embroider into Robichaux’ history books. "You must all be aware that we are facing more than just unruly students. Fairytale monsters are real, very much alive and present. A Haemomancer has been here tonight." There was confusion in wake of her statement. Fiona slowly sauntered along the perimeter of the bedlam, still with a Cabernet in hand. Somehow apathetic and somehow pleased. It baffled Hale until he peered back to the empty brick path where Pell and Rowe once stood.

"That experiment of yours," Myrtle hissed at Fiona, "Kyle. Get him to give you a statement on Pell and Rowe. Seems he would be the only honest source." Her red lips quirked, "Maybe, this new Silas, too." She glanced around for him on the porch.

A squad car rolled gradually to the front of the academy. Myrtle, unfazed by this blatantly fluctuating scoreboard between herself and Fiona, drew an Oriental fan from the waist of her cinched garb. Idly she fanned herself with it, breaking the seal and looking above to the second story of a school she used to attend, “No messes to clean up. Except for your ever so distasteful attitude, Fiona.” She and her entourage swayed elegantly to the same rhythm upon exit, nodding to the attending officer with a, “This one will bore you to death. Good night, officer.”

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Character Portrait: Benjamin Hawthorne
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Death Comes to Town (Part 1 of 4)

"New Orleans...finally." He spoke as he entered the city limits. The night was nearly over as a group of mysterious individuals greeted Hawthorne's group off the side of the road. They too where Witch Hunters, based in and around New Orleans, they have eagerly awaited his arrival. Benjamin exited his vehicle fully armed as he walked up to the captain of the New Orleans sector. "Master Hawthorne, it is such an honor to finally meet you." He spoke with a bow as the other Hunters followed suit. "Of course, and I shall be honored to join your struggles." Benjamin responded. "Excellent sir, we will finally bury the Witches of Robichaux Academy." The Captain spoke with great vigor.

"Yes, that cesspit of witchery, promiscuity, and sin will finally be razed to the ground in an act of divine retribution!" Benjamin spoke with such resolution that it rallied all hunters in the vicinity with a here, here! "But first I have been traveling all day, and I wish to have some rest before I begin the hunt." Benjamin spoke. "Yes master, we will lead you to the finest hotel room in all of New Orleans." The man spoke but before he could leave an response was spoken, "No, that will not be necessary. I much prefer a more inconspicuous hideout, one that people will ignore and one that I can easily set up as a base of operations." Hawthorne commanded. "Of course sir, I have the perfect location in mind." The Captain spoke. Soon the Hunters entered their vehicles and drove off into the city.

They found a location that suited Benjamin's current needs. An old foundry, one that is still in operation and is own by the Witch Hunters. It serves to create a majority of their silver bullets among other silver weaponry used in their eternal war against all witchcraft. Benjamin toured the facilities and found their hidden entrance to an underground base of sorts. He saw stockpiles of silver bullets and weapons as well as computers. Some where used to track shipping manifests while others were hooked up to their private systems. He was lead to the office of their foreman who had retired some weeks ago. The room was outfitted to be much like a war room. Ben requested blueprints and maps of the city and of the foundry. He also had the best computers installed within the room. "Excellent work comrades, soon the witches of this city will know death." Ben spoke as he took a cigar from his case and began to smoke it.

It would start off small, Ben had a battle plan already, and the first step is surveillance. As much as he would like to attack the Descendants of Salem now, he needed new Intel on his foes. He would need control over all of the cameras in New Orleans, including their own. He would need agents in the field regularly spying upon every inch of the city, and finally he, himself, will conduct a little reconnaissance. Like every good strategist, he needs to know the lay of this land and plan everything carefully, ensuring that all advantages rests with him. Once he conquers his battlefield he will then conquer his opponents. Yet he had a full day's and nearly a full night's journey to reach New Orleans. A good soldier knows the value of rest and would know the perfect opportunities to do so. After all those Witches aren't going anywhere...they don't even know that they are in danger.

(End of Part 1)

6 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: Rowe McDermott
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ImageBy this point, Pell’s fingers were rigid. The knuckles had gone all but white as she held tightly onto the fabric of Rowe’s shirt. All that was left in wake of the fire she inducted was the heat of New Orleans. And Myrtle Snow’s stare. Men in suits formed a half moon a short distance away, like, they were some sort of human wall or something. All of her classmates had gathered on the front lawn. Except for Greyson. But could Pell blame her? She shook her head, feet edged together, closer to Rowe’s. With weak faith, the Laveau girl tried to reinforce herself. Beside her Rowe was resilient, maybe only a twitch of real fear showing in the muscle movement of his face.

The Supreme stood off to the side. She was quiet, and Pell hoped it was part of a facade or plan. The woman was magnificently irrepressible. Cordelia came to her side, with a frown of concern and worry inscribing itself into her mouth. She rasped, “You can’t possibly be thinking of burning these students at the stake. They haven’t even learned how to properly harness their powers or, or even ward off the likes of voodoo, Legba, or have anything to do with murder. Ms. Snow, please, reason with us…” A nervous hand fluttered to Cordelia’s chest. Her mother still said nothing, standing beside her in a steel sort of way. “Silence, Cordelia. I may hold you like blood but I do not take Laveau’s, or their ancestry lightly. It is even astounding to me that you allowed not one, but two to be enrolled here. Where is this other one, Jacqueline?” The head of Council had spoken. Cordelia squeaked in surrender as she grasped a rung on the fence of Robichaux. A squad car rolled right up next to it. Pell glanced at the officer in the vehicle, quirking a brow.

Noting that the greenhouse had survived, a twinge of guilt rushed through Pell. Poor Kyle. How difficult it must have been for him. To witness all that, to not fully fathom it, or how to fix it. And Pell made it worse by screaming for him like an uncontrollable toddler, and using his safe place as an escape from punishment. She wished she could apologize.

No sooner than the academy and its visitors looked away from Pell and Rowe were they gone. Seemingly into thin air. They manifested again sloppily a few blocks from the academy, somehow hand in hand. It was almost like the universe had chewed them up and spit them back out. Fiona was behind it for sure. No one else at the academy had that type of ability. And with all the chaos going on, she probably had a hard time masking what she was up to, hence why they didn’t get very far. New Orleans was quiet, with only the hints of crickets and spinning wheels in the air. Pell released Rowe, finally.

The wind chilled her to the bone. Catching her breath, she started peeling off her black lace top. They had only just narrowly escaped death, and to continue to avoid it, it would do them well not to make spectacles of themselves. Even if she revealed some skin, it was better than toting each other, adorned in all black, traipsing the streets at an outlandish hour. She was left to the thin fabric of an ebony bra and taut stomach muscles. For a minute, she doubled over, sure she would vomit. Rowe reminded her that they needed to get going, but she didn’t move. She planted herself and tried to breathe through the nausea.

What else was she going to survive?

When she rose to her full height again, she looked at him without words, and continued toward the darker end of the street. She proceeded to the margin of the block before turning to face him, her eyes dark and her face wan, “I’m not going to waste what time we have left in our lives being angry, especially at you. But if there’s something I want to say, it’s this…” Huffing, she pulled her hair into her hands, “Whatever you did to me, whatever you planned… It brought Legba to me. Do you know he was promised my soul? That man - thing, entity… He wants what was promised to him. Aside from nearly killing me, giving me a fucking aneurysm, you almost gave me away to some black magic, purgatory deity. I don’t think you know what that felt like, Rowe. You might have seen some shit. You may have killed other people, for all I know. But don’t look at me with an ounce of sympathy like you understand what you’ve done. What you’ve done to me.” She tied her hair and continued walking at a brisk pace, throwing the topic to a metaphorical open window.

“And now that we’re both fucked, we might as well work together. We need to get at least a couple hundred miles away. Neither of us are dying. Neither of us are going to burn."

6 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: Rowe McDermott
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Watching Kyle miming, and shoot out a word here and there, Jacqueline got a general idea about what was going on. She took a deep breath and looked at him again. "There was a fire but now it's out?" she inquired, running her hands into her hair. The french girl looked around. Everything was discombobulated and she knew not where her cousin was but got the frightening sense that she was in the middle of all this. Especially after that little display at Ceremony. Finding her strength, Jacqueline stood up, and offered her hand to Kyle. "Let's figure ou what dz'e 'ell going on, Oui?" she said and moved, whether he would take her hand or not. Making her way outside, she found Pell walking away. Everything else vanished from her thoughts then as she darted toward her cousin. "Pell, mon'chere, what is going on, are you 'urt?" she asked her English garbled in her haste as she wrapped herself around her cousin. "I am so very confused,"

OOC: Sorry it's so short.

2 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Pell Laveau Character Portrait: Rowe McDermott
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“Whatever you did to me, whatever you planned… It brought Legba to me. Do you know he was promised my soul? That man - thing, entity… He wants what was promised to him. Aside from nearly killing me, giving me a fucking aneurysm, you almost gave me away to some black magic, purgatory deity. I don’t think you know what that felt like, Rowe. You might have seen some shit. You may have killed other people, for all I know. But don’t look at me with an ounce of sympathy like you understand what you’ve done. What you’ve done to me," Pell ranted, tying her hair back as she did. The actions seemed to be trying to say that she wasn't really that upset, or at least interested, but Rowe knew better. Whether she even recognized it or not, she was freaking out. But still... You don't want sympathy? he thought to himself, eyeing her for a moment before turning his gaze away, uninterested. You never had it.

She started talking again. But he was only half listening. Something about working together, which actually made him laugh under his breath. Pell didn't trust him, not in the slightest. And Rowe wasn't feeling particularly helpful after the condescending speech she just gave him. To think I actually was feeling guilty a few minutes ago. The air around them was tense, but it was more from their current situation of being on the run than their own personal problems. He paused, looking up and down the street as they began walking again. He didn't really know where anything was, if he was honest. He didn't get out much. On an impulse he stuck his hand in his pocket to find his candy only to realize he had none. He was wearing his black ceremony pants, the pockets were empty. Rowe's eye twitched slightly in irritation, but he tried to bury the feeling and focus on the problem in front of them. But focusing on the fact that they were screwed only made the irritation worse.

"God dammit," he growled aloud, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. He was tired, he realized. His eye lids felt heavy and his feet were dragging. "We'll get a hotel. I can get us a room," he said, his voice more confident that he felt. They had no money, but he could probably influence whoever was behind the counter to give them a room. And think that they paid. And weren't kids. Maybe. Usually the most he could pull off with concilium was get someone to walk out of the room he was in so he didn't have to talk to them. But what other options did they have? Sleeping under a bridge was not going to work.

(OOC: Tell me if I need to change anything. Sorry its so late. Vacations and stuff~ oops. )