Chapter One: Lessons On How to be Bad

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JR
VT:L Adventure Guide

Posts: 93

writes for: Alice Clare Bell
writes for: Freya Black
writes for: Isla Byrne
writes for: Jude Fein
writes for: Sybilla Lyons
writes for: Aurie Grey

Chapter One: Lessons On How to be Bad Sept 20, 2015 1:31:46 GMT -8

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Post by JR on Sept 20, 2015 1:31:46 GMT -8

Cast: Alice Clare Donovan & Abaddon Bell

TW: Adult content. Slightly NSFW. Bad words. Violence.

Summary: Since Alice accepted his druggy gum, Abaddon has been teaching her how to explore the darker parts of her afflictions, both mentally and magically. Here, we watch as the blonde female stalks and lures her prey, and the dark male coaches and generally distracts with being too damn sexy.

Alice Donovan: Drip. Drip. Drip. It'd been going for hours, or what felt like it. Taunting her. The plop of water hitting somewhere from which Alice could not find, to a place she couldn't detect either. Every room within the building Argosy and the Donovan witches lived, she heard it. Drip drip dripping. What had happened next couldn't entirely be her fault, right? The way she'd tossed her bedroom. Throwing things left and right trying to find the source of the water that tormented her. She'd done the same in Ophelia's room, ignoring her sister's pleas for her to stop, but as the blonde ranted and raged and screamed for quiet .. it had been her grandfather who'd given it. Chanting softly spoken words that had collapsed the young witch in the hallway on the way to destroy another room in the house. Out cold, with no way to block the spell that he cast around her. When she woke up, it was already dark, but blessedly quiet. She was in her bed, still fully clothed and in a position that said she'd just been dumped there, most likely by the strength of her sister. The bruising that claimed her face felt like fire, throbbing from the state of her injuries and when she gingerly touched at it, she felt the dried streaks of tears she hadn't even realized had been there. A stiff shift sat her up, and seeing the state of things, it was painfully clear she didn't want to be here. It was nothing to leave; creeping down the steps that lead from the apartments above to the store -- bypassing the stairs she knew creaked, and making sure to disable the bell above the shop's front door when she slipped through it. Given this was London, the streets weren't as quiet as her home was, but she welcomed the noise. Welcomed the adventure they might bring. Heading into the heart of things, where activity buzzed and university students went to get the most drunk, the clunky heels of her boots thudded behind her. It was a split decision to use the calling card she'd discovered just the night previous, with the threat of rape and stabbings hanging over her dumb head, and so as she walked she opened up the line, a little cautiously at first. Doonnnnn. Hey Don. Oh Dooooooon. Raspy vocals a sing song in her head. Hands shoved into the pockets of the small leather jacket she wore, paired with the low cut of a top that bled into skinnies tucked into those trendy ankle boots. All black, Johnny Cash style -- save the brilliance of purples and blues that decorated her face. I'm going to go find something to chew on, if you'd like to join, the Alice in her head offered. -d-

Abaddon Bell: A babe in the woods picking up skills as she went deeper in the forest. She fumbled for things she was starting to comprehend, but unable to make a firm connection, or direct. It may have been the lack of emotional distress or maybe another err, but really it was Abaddon merely not pulling back at the flow of energy he felt. The subtle tug on his consciousness and the salt-water that filled his nose, her words in his head. Her response was silence, a void of him. Nothing. Thirty minutes turned to fifty seven when finally her patience was rewarded with the scent of apples. The smell was followed by an assault from behind, apparently sneaking in through fire exits or ajar windows. She'd feel the spidery climb of fingers along hip and coming beneath the hold of leather coat and groin pressed into ample ass. The simmering warmth he always conveyed was there, but even more so against her ass as he already was stirring from the feel of her body melding to his. Whether it was from the nights they spent pressing against each other or naturally structured this way, it was obvious the monster was built to fit against the water-witch. Blonde hair was scooped by fingers that crept over her shoulder, pulling the length back behind her. Even when she was hiding in the darkness of alleys he was there right behind her, even further in the black. The monster found it hard to keep his hands from touching things he felt were in his possession, it was probably why fingers dove down the front of her skinny jeans. It was a tight squeeze too. He grunted and ripped hand down the front of her, fingers clutching at the folds and sliding middle finger into her, to feel her heat. "Mm, now I feel at home." He mumbled at her ear while peering over her head at the room, a few glances went there way. Obviously a few patrons even seeing exactly what happened, it was easy to see. Their eyes would lift. Their eyes would lower. Their eyes would widen. And head would turn. Only one or two people actually had the opportunity to peruse Alice being consumed by the man in the black coat behind her. "What are you doing here?" <done>

Alice Clare Donovan: Bugger all. It didn't work. The night previous, she'd thought a few words, and poof there he was. Almost literally poof, as he'd arrived on in a mist of smoke. Well then. Looks as if she were flying solo, and maybe that was for the better. The aftermath of a breakdown could sometimes be a terrible thing. She was a flight risk, but maybe always had been. The first pub she came upon spilled with uni students, and Alice shoved herself inside -- mindless of the shoulders she crashed into, or the stylish shoes beneath her steps. The pounding in her temple had moved it's way to the back of her neck, and when she squeezed herself into a spot at the crowded bar, she made the split decision that nothing short of tequila would rid her of this pain. This horrible terrible pain. Two shots, she ordered, whatever was going to go down roughest. It was bottom shelf shit, and burned when she swallowed each down one right after the other. But she wasn't going to waste time just standing there at the bar, not when there were so many people there. Crowds were a fifty fifty hit or miss for her. Sometimes she did rather well in them. Sometimes they overwhelmed her, but so far she seemed to be doing fine. By the the time Don arrived fifty seven minutes later, she was doing .. even better, with the help of another pair of burning shots, and a bite. Chew on something turned out be in the most literal sense. But rather, she might've said someone. When the beast bellied up behind her, fitting his familiar warmth against her back, and the even more familiar feel of something far too solid against her rump, Alice was in the midst of getting her teeth in the neck of some sweet young co-ed. An art student, she'd told Alice, with a short crop of fiery curls and a bevy of freckles like a galaxy on her young face. Her bee-stung mouth was already a bit swollen, a testament that Alice had been there too. It was this young thing, we didn't even know her name, that felt any alarm at the sudden presence of another -- because Alice wasn't alarmed at all. There was no one else it could have been but the monster that crept in her bed -- or rather, any convenient surface, as they barely made it into a bed. Tilting her head so he might take what he wanted, seeing as he'd scooped all that spun gold away, her tongue slithered up the side of the redhead's neck. "Company's come," she whispered against her ear, the words breaking with a soft gasp when masculine hand shoved it's way down the front of her pants. Sorry, Don -- some people were afraid of the dark. Because the tiny thing took one look of him all tucked in the shadows and taking liberties, and with a yelp she struggled to get her own hand out of Alice's bra, and took off into the crowd; where few had begun to notice the goings on. Leaning into all that apple fresh heat, her head tilted back along his shoulder and bared her teeth at him. "You've scared her off, like a poor little kitten with a loud noise. Look at the way she scampers for safety." Sorry bout the wrist there, but Alice was twisting herself around, and sliding her arms up and around his neck, so she could smear her mouth against his lower lip. A thing made so much easier by the added height that her boots offered. Go boots. -d-

Abaddon Bell: Grin in place and the gators of his eyes chased after the redhead that sparked off and away from where the fire that he had joined. He didn't look disappointed or shocked to see her bounding off, the monster's mask tipped to her. Fingers danced and his arm bent, grinding harshly against her body and becoming an awkward shove that did send pain lancing up in his arm, but he only stuck his tongue through a bite of teeth. Face scrunching just a little when she drew her lips to his, tongue sprang free and he drew sustenance from her mouth. A hand that smelled of her and warm left her vacant and empty again, pleasure in the absence of pain softening his grimace while he took her by the cheek and cradled her chin. He lingered and chewed on her like the apple she was, plucked from the tree. Rotten, but still so sweet. Tongue cradled her own and sinister face tilted back, to revel in her glory. "I don't chase the ones that run away, but sometimes they come back." He said carefully, but was that truth? Alice had run initially, right? She had come to his door, tasted him and ran for the light. She had said she'd be back to the dark, but he found her before she had the chance to make that promise. Sometimes he saw things in others. Things he wanted. He treasured her in his touch that was so careful on her face, while tongue tapped at his own tooth. "You must be feeling better." The wolf's head tilted a little and let eyes linger down the lithesome thing and the garments she chose this night. A grin that said nothing returning to deliver nip to the swell of bottom petal, broken scab made fresh and red that was tasted in the murmur of the bar. "Mm, how long would it take for you to catch us another?" <done>

Alice Donvoan: Such a pout planted itself within her expression when he removed his hand, even having seen the discomfort that rode his own features at the way her movement had twisted him about in there and made it so weird. She ignored his pain for more favorable things, like stealing the taste off his tongue with her own, until he began chewing on hers and Alice squirmed against him. Pressing herself as close as close could be, she figured if she gave a little push they could be lost in the dark shadows of the room and no one would be the wiser. But she didn't make the move, keeping herself in the dim light that shone just above, staying in that illuminated halo so it looked a bit as if she were being felt up by the shadows themselves. And how accurate that might be. His words had her sparing a glance over the curve of her shoulder, but rather than the redhead, she locked eyes with one of the onlookers; one that just so happened to prudent and disgusted by such behavior. Alice blew a little kiss before her attention returned to the wolf who'd thrown off the sheep's clothing so long ago. "Don't you?," she all but purred, guiding the allure in her voice to something akin to seduction. It was all so new to her though, so forgive her if she sounded a bit off with it. He'd found her more than once, she remembered, and that rhetorical question said as much. A slash of dark brow rose when he inquired after her well being. "Not at all. I think that dead fuck rattled something lose in my head. Or my water is turning against me." Details? Maybe if he pried, but she was too busy now with how he was tearing open her lip again to take a proper taste of the witch within his dangerous clutches. The question spoken against the taste of blood on her lips detached a soft murr of a laugh. "I wanted that one. She looked a bit rather like a strawberry, just ripe for plucking. Shouldn't I be feeling guilty?" The question sprang from nowhere, and what it's subject content could be was up for grabs. Pawing all over sweet girls in the dark, when it'd been made so clear her sweet treats belonged to another. Hacking away the life of a creep on a basement floor. You decide. -d-

Abaddon Bell: He pinched her chin then and there, and there was a starkness in the air. The warm buzz of his energy going chill and dead, it was nothing. The grin drifted away only briefly and it was a blistering winter in the absence of the things he always permeated. Green eyes didn't even burn, but looked pale in the dark. Voice frigid and crisp, a truth laid out in a piece of what he was. "I drowned my brother when I was a young boy, never feel guilty for anything you do. Or you always will feel guilty for everything you do. There is no shame you could wear that I wouldn't suck from you skin." The grin creeping back and the heat flooded back over and his mouth hot against hers, teeth chewing at her lip. Black inked fingers crept over her abdomen and up to feel one of those rounded soft breasts through her shirt, pressure applied and fingers sent to knead. "If you want to taste a strawberry, eat one." She'd feel fingers on her ass, on her thigh, up her hip. He gripped her through the clothes and nails dug through to her skin. He tilted his chin some to peer away from her briefly and into the crowds of people mingling, but he didn't have anything in particular he was looking for. Maybe the redhead, but who knew. Attention wavered and tendrils of brown hung over the handsome structure of bearded features. "I can watch you eat it, or we can eat it together if you want. Whatever you want. Always." He cooed, in the grin, and he sank poison in deeper in words of devotion. But words he had been saying since the day he met her. Always asking. What do you want? <done>

Alice Donvoan: The force of the way he caught her chin, the intensity of it, brought a still to Alice's restless movements. She barely felt the hurt of it, when his taut fingers gripped over the bruising from the gray man's fist, so caught up in the look in his eyes when he corrected her. For a moment, she couldn't take a breath -- not with the chill that came from him, frosting over the air between them rather than the sultry heat that usually passed. She only had a moment for a nod, but he'd see the truth in the blue of the eyes that stared into hers that she trusted him in that. There was no need to even reason with herself -- it'd been self defense, hadn't it? -- because what he spoke was just that. Guilt was a thing that didn't belong here. He took her mouth once more, tormenting her well abused lip, and Alice rose to her toes some just to get that much closer. Her hands slid down, finding the lapels of his coat to grip there and keep him right where she wanted; while the scorch of his touch found her again. She craved that heat, a girl who loved so much the cold. Squirmed into it and let her body beg for more of it. "She didn't taste like one though," Alice muttered. "I would probably have to mash her into jam just to get the sweetness." A pity, she decided, while walking fingers up his chest like a spider might to get them into the power of that beard. Amusement played in the lift of his brows with his suggestion. "It'd have to be just the right one. That wasn't the right one. We'll find us one, maybe one still hanging from the vine, so we can pick her off with our teeth." Chomped hers at him, and before he knew it, Alice was dancing back some steps to void him of her charm. "I want you to teach me something. Anything. Anything at all." -d-

Abaddon Bell: The little thing was turning into a monster in the dark, unraveling from chrysalis to spread her colorful wings and put her poison in the air. He would never let her get too far. He was pulled and he came. She tasted and he bit. Fingertip finding themselves empty of her curves when she began her little wander. She was becoming sharper and harsher, something fierce, but she moved unfrightened. Her words summoned forth and he already chose that he would teach her "anything", a thing now and a lesson later. He would be cruel in his games. Already plotting pieces in his mind and putting weaves in the air, he grinned a little deeper and dipped his head down to cover his face in tendrils of chocolate. Arms shifted and rippled the black overcoat sloughing off his shoulders to reveal the black button-up dress shirt beneath, a red flower tucked in his pocket. He regarded the little birdie Alice again with a steady eye, and tongue peeking once more. She was addicted to the death, no doubt. There was so much power in it, and those who had their fingers in the well could find themselves swept away. He would this for her. "Find someone out there you want to have all of, bring them back, and I'll teach you a lesson that you will never forget." He let his tongue linger at the air before jacket was folded over his arm and he tilted himself towards the doorway of that empty sideroom. Shoulder hitting edge of the door, tilting it just so, greens on the girl to see if this was a road she wanted to take. To see if the high she was after was worth the price of snuffing a soul out forever. So much power in that. The fate of everything altered. Time itself manipulated and a whole new world forged by one simple act. <done>

Alice Donovan: The truth of the matter stood. He'd offered to be her private dancer -- er no, Alice, tutor -- but so far the lessons given were on the matter of their ever growing ardor. Were they matters of the heart? Hints and glimpses, but mostly he was opening her world to a better half, where pleasure reigned along side power and fear had no place in the kingdom. Perhaps it was best to start mingling in the two things he offered. She always did like learning, and there was far too much for him to teach her that had little to do with his dick. As long as that too wasn't kept away, Alice was certain things would continue on smoothly. His suggestion of what they'd need for this lesson rose up Alice's brow. But she simply tapped the side of her nose knowingly at him, and turned on her heel; leaving him with the sight of the left to right swing of rounded rump in tight black before she was nothing more than a golden halo in the crowd. It hadn't yet crossed though her mind that whoever she brought along to play was going to be made to suffer. But magic demanded sacrifice, a thing she had long since been taught. That sacrifice could be many a thing, but it was almost always done in blood. She wasn't long. Sliding back into the room in, with company in tow. A murmur of words spoken for another's ear alone, but Abaddon's wouldn't miss their affection. She made empty promises to the lad she tugged along, using the newfound wiles of her body to urge him with her. She was wrapped around him, and he was younger than she. Which had made the mark too easy, perhaps. We'll see. -d-

Abaddon Bell: The blasting heat of his energy was so blatant and hot that the tendrils that ran deep and silent always went unseen. There were few who could trace out the complicated workings he knitted with practiced precision. A needle and thread designing something beautiful. Glances from the crowd, jeers from his mates, and he probably had young hands braver by the brew he imbibed. Abaddon played in the side-room and set his little web for whatever thing she decided to bring. A few extra tables stacked up on top of each other and rows of extra chairs. It was a room that could have been used for a small banquet, but was utilized as storage at the moment. A couple of empty kegs lined up against a far wall. He tucked himself up and a corner, shirtless and in ebony trousers. Barefoot. Whenever she would come in there would already be a chalky circle painted on the floor and candles flickering with a breeze that shouldn't have been present. He arose from where he had been sitting, corner of the room and he spoke aloud. "He can't see me right now." Once they joined that is. 'Or hear me. So don't look at me too much." Grinning he stepped around the exterior of the drawing on the ground. "He might think everything is a little weird, so make sure he doesn't focus on that. I'm sure you can keep him focused." And as he said it the boy was drifting attention and making faces at the funny shit painted on the ground and the weird smell of apples that was heavy in the air. He would feel the unease, dark magic had a way of scaring worms before the hook sunk too deep. <done>

Alice Donovan: Walking into the darkness that clung to that room pushed a feeling of comfort through Alice's bones, and a delighted laugh rippled off her tongue before she might stop it. Peeling away from the boy, but keeping his hand caught within hers, she twirled deeper into the room and tugged him with it. "How pretty, don't you think?," she asked him over the curve of her shoulder with a siren's smile. Don's voice coated along her skin, and she murmured in response and dropped the boys hand once she had him on the edge of the circle. Alice stayed close, but swayed herself in Don's direction some. Already sliding out of the jacket that had really only been worn to hide the rope burns around her slender wrists. It was tossed somewhere out of the way. But she didn't stay away from the boy long. With a trail of fingertips seemingly in the air, but Don would feel them pass along his ink laved chest, she came wandering back. Keep him focused on something else, she'd been instructed, and she had a feeling the boy who'd imbibed a little already wouldn't want to hear Alice's dissertation on the blending of potions. Instead, she nuzzled herself back up against him, making little coos and trills within her voice. "We should play a game. Would you like to play a game? Hide and seek? Tag? Do you want to chase me? I'll take my clothes off." A litany of questions, fired off in a breathy hush against his clean shaven jawline. -d-

Don: He caught her wrist when it trickled in the air, drawing his mouth to her fingertips and sucking on a tip before letting it go and speaking again. "This sigil on the ground is simple. It traps the essence of the moment, purifies the energy and makes it lasting. Otherwise it's so fleeting." The boy pawed at her ass and tit when she came back close again, hands pulling at her clothes once she said she was willing to take them off. Abaddon drifted across the floor, almost floating, while the boy grabbed at her and kissed at her neck and jaw. While the boy's lips were enthusiastic in hungry, his was careful and soft at the shell of her ear. The rose painted hands on each ass cheek and the other lad's hands feeding up her chest. He whispered into her are tongue, nipping at her skin with each tender syllable. "Get him to come, however you like, but don't let him fill you with it, or make sure you spit it all out. It's poison. It's death. Don't give him anything more than what he's worth. What he has to offer..." He switched ears and let mouth nudged at the lobe of her ear. "...before you drown him in your water." Don's hands on her ass sifted off while teeth nibble at the opposite side of her neck that the boy was moving off of to begin unbuckling his pants. <done>

... And then some poor kid totally died, so Alice could get all his energy and turn him into a thing much resembling the Crypt Keeper. Without even drowning him, boo.

Last Edit: Sept 20, 2015 15:34:19 GMT -8 by JR

JR
VT:L Adventure Guide

Posts: 93

writes for: Alice Clare Bell
writes for: Freya Black
writes for: Isla Byrne
writes for: Jude Fein
writes for: Sybilla Lyons
writes for: Aurie Grey

Chapter One: Lessons On How to be Bad Sept 20, 2015 3:36:21 GMT -8

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Post by JR on Sept 20, 2015 3:36:21 GMT -8

Characters: Alice Clare & NPC Inspector Mullen

TW: None

Summary: Lessons have consequences. Alice is questioned by an Inspector in the disappearance of a boy.

Bob, playing the role of Inspector Mullen: Whoever it was, someone lead this man to her door. Opened by grandfather or sister as they said 'Alice, you have a visitor' and a man with a tan hat being plucked from his head stepped into the girl's room. He had a light smile, aged face placing him lower forties, as bushy blonde eyebrows rose up. " 'ello, Alice. My name's Inspector Mullen, and I'd like to ask you a few questions if you don't mind. Thank you very much." He said to the one who led him in and he took a careful steps. If rotting apples were there they would surely be something to look at. A big black box recently unwrapped probably would have been given a careful eye to while the inspector pulled out notepad in one hand. He tipped his chin a little and waited to make sure she was indeed comfortable, ever-present and ready. Cheerful and soft features not at all making him out to be the imminent doom he could have easily represented. "Ouch. You got banged up good somethin' fierce there, oi? What happened with you there?" He made a face as he tried to comprehend the event that was certainly cringe worthy. <done>

Alice Donvoan: One of them, grandfather or sister, had also tidied up the wreckage of Alice's room. It hadn't been put fully to rights, but the bedding was back on the bed, the books were stacked once again on the shelves and the antique desk she was currently seated at. The blonde hadn't looked up from where she furiously wrote in a book of bound pages -- some filled with her nonsense, with quotes that found deep meaning within the girl, or hastily drawn shapes of things that would mean nothing to anyone but her, and maybe a few others. Some pages were missing from the book, making the remaining ones flop listlessly if she didn't hold them down. It was the unfamiliar voice that had her head popping up, and she twisted where she sat in the chair at the desk; sliding an arm over the top rung of the back as she did. The box was indeed out, and on her messily made bed in fact. The newspaper that had been inside, however, was gone. Out with the rubbage bins that had been picked up not an hour or so ago. What had been encased in the paper? Well that wasn't in plain sight. She'd taken great care with that. Finding an nineteenth century copy of a mortuary textbook somewhere among the rare and antique volumes down in the shop below, and painstakingly following the directions on how to keep an organ preserved. She'd mixed the concoction herself, poured both it and the heart in an apothecary jar, and for now, it was safely somewhere in the room. Her roses? The thorns had left little scrapes against her fingers, but she'd filled a vase with them, and they sat on the desk behind her. "I fell, on the stairs down to the Tube. I don't understand why you're here," the bold slash of her brows furrowed closer together, and Alice shifted a glance behind him to where her Grandfather had left the room, but no doubt stood close by and out of sight. -d-

Inspector Mullen: "Yes, well, indeed." He smiled a little when she broke her question back and he nodded a little, he inscribed something that couldn't be more than four letters long and shuffled pen and paper into one hand. He removed from his left hand a picture on paper, a blonde thing's head and ass and shape, the boy from last night turned slightly with his tongue hanging out. "Can you tell me where you were last night? And if this was you?" He said quietly while looking at her while the picture was shown. It was impossible to distinguish the girl that had arms coiled on body, luring to the hall, the angle imperfect. Only bits of golden hair, a skinny jean ass. He said nothing. Nothing of witnesses or names. Or any reason as to why he was here asking her. He said nothing of boys gone missing. But she probably had to wonder. Her name was never there. How quickly they showed at her door. How direct. Precise. Right on the nose. The inspector always smiled like Don always grinned, but different. This man's eyes blue while they waited for her to flinch, waited for her to to hold her breath. Her heart beat to rise. This man didn't place with the same magic she did, but he had his own spell. Liars. He sniffed at the air a little and he shuffled his feet across her floor, pulling his hawkish attention to the details of her room again. Pulling the harsh light of his eye off her, give her a moment to catch her breath while she answered. <done>

Alice Donovan: A frown pulled at her expression, and Alice leaned in a little to get a closer look to the picture he was showing her. "That could be anyone," she pointed out softly, pointing at the girl in the picture and lifting her sights back to the Inspector. "I was here, sleeping. I had .. an attack, and my grandfather put me to bed." She watched him without moving now, just the follow of her stare as he moved about her bedroom without invitation and took in what he found there. There was no trace of rotten half eaten apples, a thing Alice was a bit irked over. Whoever had tidied her room had thrown them out with the rubbish too. She'd found them in there when she disposed of the bloody newspaper, but hadn't wanted to take them from the bin. In there, mixed in with other waste, they were no longer pure. Tainted. The furniture of the room was dark, and heavy, like most of the furniture in the apartment beyond and the shop below. It hardly suited a young woman, nor had it suited the young girl she'd been, but Charles Donovan hadn't been too keen on redecorating when he'd taken in his orphaned granddaughters. There were traces of Alice all over though, from the white duvet on the bed, and the trinkets and airy feel of the room despite the weight that the furniture brought to it. She knew, from too much experience, that he was going to inquire on her choice of words. Attack. Cool as a cucumber, her voice piped up once again, when he turned about and took his gaze back to her. "I've a condition. They call it Cyclothymia. An emotional disorder." -d-

Inspector Mullen: He paused when she spoke of where she was and turned abruptly, smile still present while he looked at her. The close-lipped thing was softened when she spoke of her disorder, nod a little fiercer and scribbles given quick. "I"m so sorry to hear that." He took a step forwar and waved his hand carefully as he spoke. "I am sure that you were here as you say. The problem is that we have one of this guy's friends saying, that he recognized this girl as the cute girl from the bookstore. His words. But true." He chuckled a little as he said that bit of flattery, and waved his hand a little more. "I'm sure he must have been mistake, as he had a few drinks. There were a few other people there that night who have a vague recollection of the girl, but if you maybe have a picture I could get from you. Show it around, make sure the blokes get their heads straight, eh?" He winked and shimmied a hand into his pocket, producing phone. "I can just snap one now, if you don't mind Alice." He smiled sifting, but not raising it until he was given permission of course. This was England after all, had to be polite. <done>

Alice Donovan: For the first time, her lashes dropped her eyes from sight, and it came with the incline of her head as he made unnecessary apologies for her illness. But everyone did when they found out. Mostly. Some continued to look at her with pity, or with blatant fear that at any given moment her mood might shift and she might be tipped into the nutter bin. Which is why Alice did so very much pretending. The weight of her stare lifted once more when he continued on, blue eyes a serene pool without a ripple or a current. Don't do it. Don't say it. Don't you dare. This, this would be the worst thing you could possibly do -- he asked, point blank what was the worst thing you could do, you stupid girl, and you should have said you hadn't done it yet. Because now she did. "Perhaps it was my sister, Ophelia. We're twins, you see," she explained. "But no, if it will clear things up, I don't mind if you take a picture." Shifting a bit straighter in the chair, so he could get a clear and concise snap of her -- but she didn't smile. There was no reason for that adorable ``cheese!`` to be called out. She just stared at him with those eyes, and waited until he snapped it. It'd be a funny thing though. Such a perfect picture the Inspector would take, but when he'd cleared the screen away from the camera option, every picture on his storage, not just the one of Alice, was tainted and ruined with water spots -- leaving not a one usable and faces smudged and blurry. Funny thing, that. -d-

Inspector Mullen: He had pictures of his newborn grandson on that camera. Gone forever. Terrible. He smiled again and tucked his phone away into his pocket. He nodded his head again and finally stuck out his hand and bobbed his head at her. "Thank you for your time Alice, I'll be sure to get to you as soon as we get this whole thing cleared up. But, if you do happen to see... or hear.. anything about that boy Nelson, you go on and give us a call, aye? Thank you for your time." Again the inspector crumpled his face, palm stretching over freshly shaved, but old and rough chin and mouth. "And, if you don't mind me asking before I go, do you have a physician or a therapist that I could get into contact with... For your disorder.. that was...." He scanned over the notepad carefully and smiled a little brighter when he found it, tilting his chin at the girl. "Cyclo Thigh Me uh?" Each syllable making his eyebrows grow in height and looking at her expectantly. The detective looking for the treat for getting a question correct right before the bell rang. <done>

Alice Donovan: Luckily, his grandson was so new. He could take more pictures! Her hand was warm and soft when she took his to shake, and she nodded her head softly. "Thank you, and I will." Nelson? He'd been called Nelson? Totally deserved to be sucked dry until he was nothing but a husk of a lad. Nelson. She should find his parents next and practice on her own what Don had shown her how to do to the eager, handsy can't hold on to his load bloke. Nelson. Gross. But she still just smiled softly, and retracted her hand back into her own possession. One brow rose again, just a smidge, when he asked after her doctor. "Of course, just give me a moment .. " Her moment turned out to be a rifling through the top drawer on the writers desk -- the small drawers were on the top of it, rather than below -- and after just a moment, she produced a card. She hadn't seen that doctor since she'd left the hospital she'd been sent to in Edinburgh two years ago, but that didn't matter much. She hadn't seen any doctor since then. Turning back, it was presented to him. "Yes, that's very good," she praised him softly, her own smile growing as his did. The information on the card was for a doctor Fergus Roan, with a UK number, but the address on it was for a place called The Sanctuary, Edinburgh, Scotland. "Is there anything else?" -d-

Inspector Mullen: "Not at all, I'm sorry for the intrusion, we'll get these blundering fools in check, righty-o." He bobbed his head, floating in the water, accepting the card. "May I keep this?" If she said yes, he took it and jotted a note, if not, he copied it in the notepad. Either way he was bowing his head to the grandfather that lurked nearby with a smile, and making his way from the bookshop the same way he had come in. He was stepping down the steps with his phone out when he paused again and turned a little, while he went to re-open the photograph that he just taken he found it blotched out and distorted. Thumbing through to the next and last, finding that every single one had somehow found itself all warped and mangled. That smile that he donned so easily now fell into a crumpled face and he rose the phone in the air with a curse. "Bloody things.. I do.. hate to be a ..." He turned his chin towards the wall, or nearby table, and see if there was a picture there to be had. "Wanker, but your grand-daughter here is being confused with some other girl and we're trying to set things straight here, you don't have a photo you could spare. Promise to return it once we get it all straightened out, sooner the better for everyone." He was all smiles as he again looked to his phone and even turned it in his hand to show the ruined pictures all broke and splattered. Squished by puddles made magic. He tucked the thing back into his overcoat pocket, the trench shifted about his average build with hands in his pockets. <done>

Alice Donovan: "Of course, I have others." She didn't, but that was her business. Ever compliant, and chalk full of the manners that her grandfather had instilled to his young granddaughters. She rose when he started for the door, to see him out of her room, and when she was left alone there was nothing but the light click of the door shutting behind the Inspector. Charles Donovan, tall and white haired and sophisticated in the way he held himself, saw him fully out in the same manner he'd seen him in. With the utmost care of propriety and grace. You'd never know his ancestors were fishermen and pirates. The question, and the man's language, brought him to a stop just before the door of the apartment that would lead down the stairs and to the shop, and from there the Inspectors leave of this place. Charles too looked about, but all he could find as he stepped to the mantle and retrieved the newest photo there, in an elegant frame. New as it was, it was still at least eight years old; depicting a sixteen year old Alice Clare, smiling brightly despite the fact that only hours ago her Grandfather had made the decision to send her away for the first time for treatment that wasn't going to help ( but how would he have known that then? ), and nestled into the side of a stoic, reserved looking girl of the same age and coloring, build and eyes. The only difference besides the subtle curves to her face where Alice was angular, was her hair was a bit darker in it's golds and browns than Alice's was. "I'm afraid this is all I've got," the Elder Donovan frowned, and shifted his bespectacled gaze over the ruined pictures on the mans phone. "You might borrow it, but I'm afraid I'll insist on taking it back when your inquiries are at a close." -d

Inspector Mullen: "I promise you sir, I can have a lad run it back to you this afternoon if it pleases you." He smiled with friendliness and shook the old man's hand before making his way from the Argosy and to his vehicle. Things went smoothly he would be a man of his word and the picture would be returned no later than a few hours later.

JR
VT:L Adventure Guide

Posts: 93

writes for: Alice Clare Bell
writes for: Freya Black
writes for: Isla Byrne
writes for: Jude Fein
writes for: Sybilla Lyons
writes for: Aurie Grey

Chapter One: Lessons On How to be Bad Sept 20, 2015 16:46:58 GMT -8

Quote

Post by JR on Sept 20, 2015 16:46:58 GMT -8

Characters: Alice Clare & Ophelia Donovan

TW: None, unless you don't like complete and total brats.

Summary: Ophelia returns from a few weeks of me-time in Ireland, to find her sister carrying bruises that weren't there before she left, and suddenly blocking out the telepathic bond they'd shared since day one. Cue the concern.

wrecked ships: Let's really really hope Ophelia decided to give up on waiting for Alice to come home last night. It was late late afternoon by the time she did; missing her morning shift at the shop by several hours. She wore exactly what she'd been in when they'd happened upon each other in the green last night, though this time the flannel was buttoned up and the tee was missing; left behind wherever she'd been. There were some leaves in her hair, and a smudge of fresh dirt across her cheek. The store was quiet, but they were just at closing time so it was no wonder. Sundays they closed rather early, so technically that morning shift she missed was an all day affair. Oh well. Ophelia was home now, and Alice had every confidence that the shop had been well cared for. There was a book or two out of place there in the front and she straightened them automatically; blues too bright from magic that shouldn't be hers lifted to the registers. No sign of either of the other Donovans, but their Granddad rarely stepped foot in the shop on Sundays. "Feeeeee .. Feefeefeefee," she sang out, her voice a little raw within it's already natural husky tones. -d-

paxes playbill: Welp, Ophelia did in fact attempt to wait up for her sister. Just like she said. But when the wee early morning hours arrived and the sun had started to slip through the slits in her shades, Fee eventually fell asleep. Only to be awoken a few hours later by the alarm on her phone. Early to rise to meet with a professor... And when she returned from that? Her Grandfather let her know her sister STILL had not shown up for her shift. She shrugged it off, kissed his cheek, and said she had no problem covering the few hours the shop needed to be open. They were always quiet days and thus Fee would be able to get a bit of work done. And that was currently where she was, sitting behind the counter, her own workbooks sitting open before her. Mish-mash of brunette and blonde shades were piled high atop her head in a very precise and neatly done bun. A few hidden pins keeping the stray pieces out of her face. Face clear of make up - she needed nothing to accentuate the line of her jaw or cheeks. And those lips were far too plush for that narrow chin. Pretty in a very odd way Ophelia was. Her ears picked up the tones of her sister's voice and those icy eyes slowly lifted up from the books. Arms slowly crossed over the chunky tan sweater she wore, all bundled up within the turtle neck because the shop was always cold. "Alice Clare..." And when she came to view, there wasthat classic raise of her brow. "Where were you last night? And what is going on with your eyes?" She was quite astute and observant when it came to her sister. [d]

wrecked ships: "There you are, little puppy," Alice cooed when Ophelia came into sight -- though she'd been there all along hadn't she? Curious. A smile gleamed across her mouth -- but with the second in what would only be a billion zillion questions she stopped short. Widened her eyes and let them cross as if she were trying to look at them. "I dunno. Can't see 'em. Are they there? Sometimes they feel like they're not there and I'm looking out through someone else's. Through green eyes, like a dragons. Where was I last night .. where was I where was I. I was home." Sly fox of a smile, and Alice pitched forward to rest her elbows on the customer side of the counter. Leaning all of her weight into it, she lifted up her feet off the ground like a child might, and smiled prettily at her sister. -d-

paxes playbill: The brow - which probably needed a good waxing or plucking knowing those Donovans - lifted as high as it could. Little Puppy? Her head shook softly as arms fell from her chest. "Alice Clare. You know what I mean. Stop crossing your eyes. They will get stuck that way again and that potion to uncross them is quite difficult to make." Hopping off the stool, she mirrored her sister's lean against the counter. Elbows on the wood, hands up, chin in palms. "Green eyes, hmm? Does he have green eyes? The one you will not let me see?" A very slight tilt of her head. "You were not. Do not lie. I looked for you on my way to and from my meeting on campus." Hardly any inflection in her words, per usual. Even tone and gray. That's what it was. Fee was just.. Gray. [d]

wrecked ships: "I can unstick them!" Giggling a bit, she swung her feet some, and dug her nails into the wooden counter, because possibly they alone could keep her from slithering boneless to the floor. She felt a little boneless. But that was no wonder. Eyes went wide again when she found herself staring directly at Ophelia. "Yes," Alice answered, admitting for the first time that there actually was a him, but then with the accusation that she lied, Alice dropped her feet and reared back -- nearly snarling with the sudden anger that pitted itself into her belly. "I did not lie!," she hissed. "I was home. All night in fact. My home. Where no one questions every fucking move I make, and looks at me as if I might break, myself or other things. I do not break," each word bit out through the clench of her teeth. Her fingers tingled with the way the sudden flash of anger rose up arcane too black, and as it coiled up her spine, she worked to snuff it down. Fee was not the enemy, Fee was not danger. Or so she told herself. -d-

paxes playbill: The giggle drew forth a brief, small smile on Ophelia's lips. It was good to hear her sister's giggle. She had missed that off in Ireland. There was a blink when Alice Clare admitted to having a 'him' in her life, and maybe a very small pang of jealousy began to knot itself in the pit of her heart. But she wasn't sure why it was there and thus, being the control freak that she was, she pushed it far far away. What came next had Fee standing up straight rather quickly, arms coming up to a surrender position even if her eyes showed no sign of backing down. "And how am I supposed to know you feel you are at home with him? This is your home. You tell me nothing. I know nothing of what you have done. And yes, I do question your moves because you can break." and there she was. Just.. flat out laying the truth there on the table. Hands pressed gently against Alice's cheeks now, and she felt far too warm to Fee. "I do not want him to hurt you, Alice Clare. Or ignore when you need a little bit extra care." [d]

wrecked ships: "Feel," she barked a laugh. "Feel. It's not feel, it just is. I can't tell you what is not for you to know." Oh, Fee. Fee, really? Sure, argue with the girl on what she's so adamant against. Wrenching her face out of her sister's touch. "NO, get out. Get out get out. I don't want you inside." Which was the whole of it. She could tell herself a billion times she was hiding her mind from Ophelia to keep her safe, to keep her oblivious to the dark things Alice craved, but really. She just didn't want her in there. Alice backed up, until she couldn't back up any longer; pressed with her shoulders against the spines of the books shelved opposite the counter Fee stood behind. "I won'tbreak. Not by you," a flicker of glassy blue, across Fee's face and down a little, back up to meet the same reflective pools. "And he won't hurt me. Why does everyone worry so? You, the ruby empath, Mira. Worrying so over things that are no concern of yours." Energy surged her forward, as if carrying her feet right back a few steps, like she rode along the currents of it, and fingers jabbed into her own chest. "I picked him. All for me, made it so. I'll hurt him, leave him wrecked and put him back together again, because he's mine." Sucking in a breath between her teeth, the tension between her shoulders thick and vibrating, and Alice tipped a step forward, and another until she was back at the counter. "Do you want to know? Really?" A laugh was cold, considering how hot she burned. "You who plays with snakes when you think no one is looking, just testing to see if they'll bite. Baby games, Fee fee boo boo.
You should find a serpent. I did." -d-

paxes playbill: No! That wasn't what she was trying to do. At all. She was not trying to read her sister's thoughts this time. Not after last night when Alice Clare had made it so abundantly clear she did not want Fee in there. "Alice Clare no.. no I was not going to try to get in there..." For once, hurried and uncalculated steps hastening to the other side of the counter - only to stop right in their tracks at this sudden flare of anger. You would think she was used to it by now, but this.. this just seemed different... "How dare you..." Words cold, quiet, when Alice stated she would not let Fee break her. "I have done all I could to make sure that did not happen." When the younger twin surged forward,

Fee stumbled back, catching her hands against the top of the counter. "What is wrong with you? Baby games? I play with those serpents to know how to protect us should one bite us! You of all people should know this!" The level of
her voice starting to tick upwards in volume. "You think you found a serpent, Alice Clare? Fine. Enjoy him. I hope he bites!" Suddenly a flick of a wrist and a splash of cold water onto Alice Clare's face - thanks to the beverage Fee had been enjoying prior to her sister's outburst. [d]

wrecked ships: The water that hit her face sizzled and melted off like wax; dripping down off her cheeks to hit her shirt and dry in hard little dots. "All of the time. Everywhere. You should see the last one, really. Thing of beauty, that. Stop protecting me! I don't need it." Says the girl sent to hospital twice in her young life. But she'd found a new doctor, a new way of self-medicating, and a brilliant smile slashed wide across her face. "If you keep pushing, I'm bound to push back, and then we'll have to worry about you getting hurt, and Ophelia, I love you." Simple as that. A shrug lifted her shoulder beneath red and black plaid. And then it crossed her mind. Life was a bargain. A mess of deals struck here and there. You had to give to get, so Alice gave. "Here," she said softly, and quickly struck out to capture Ophelia's right hand, bringing it up to cup the curve of her own cheek, fingers and palm molding over the back of Fee's hand. Eyes on hers, Alice let her in. Giving her flashes, here and there -- but certainly not all. She couldn't bear it if Ophelia hated her, and if she knew all, that's what would be left. But she mostly gave her feeling. The hot wash of it thick and intense; love and lust and power, Alice was violently drowning in the mix of all three. Just a moment of the touch, but enough to flood Ophelia. And then she let her hand go, skimmed her pointer finger down the bridge of Ophelia's nose, and then booped her there. "I've got to pack." -d-

paxes playbill: Brows came together atop her the bridge of her nose. "Dragon fire?" Well looks like Ophelia was going to be burying her nose in some more books. Was water not supposed to put out fires? Consume them all on their own? If fire was warming the water witch it must have been a powerful fire. Truthfully, she was left standing there, blankly, as Alice Clare stated she was going home. "But.. this is your home.." Words muttered one more time, though most likely not heard by the one who turned and headed towards the steps. The scent of apples made Fee so confused. Such a homey scent, warm and comforting, from a girl who no longer needed comforting. It was hard for Fee to imagine, not being the one to take care of her sister. When the thumping started, she finally moved away from the counter to the bottom of the steps. "Please stop banging on the steps. Grandfather was a bit under the weather today." Back to her normal self. Emotionless, cold... Balanced. [d]

wrecked ships: Halfway up the steps, and Alice stopped on a dime; managing to do a slow turn on one foot without falling over for once in her life, to stare down at Ophelia when she scolded from several steps below. "Oh? Well, then." Right there, she jumped; feet hitting hard with the heavy sole of biker style boots. Jumpjumpjump, the loud echo of it carrying up into the apartment. And just for good measure, she kicked the wall; scuffing it with dried mud from her walk home -- no, back to Argosy -- through the woods. "I'm stealing your cat!," she declared then, and bounded up the stairs, long legs eating them up in twos. Spilling into the apartment, the living room too dark for how the sun had gone below the trees; leading her to believe their grandfather wasn't there at all, and Ophelia was just playing mom. She left it awash in the dim light, and dashed into her bedroom. The book, tossed to the bed, and Alice went right for her closet -- distracted again, by the bunny cage on it's pedestal in the room. "Phillip? Where'd you come from?" He'd been forgotten, completely, and a pang of guilt bit at her throat. So she wrapped her arms about the wide cage, and carried the adorable little bunny who would just be dinner if she took him with her from the room; nudging her way into the biggest bedroom of the three, and setting the cage down on the Elder's bed. "Stay." -d-

paxes playbill: No surprise on her face this time. All she could think now was that Alice was in fact having one of her moments. Soon it would all end and Ophelia would be left standing there picking up the pieces of broken plates, windows, or the tattered shreds of paper and wiping away Alice Clare's tears, taking on all the pain as her own and letting it sink to the bottom like a lead brick. "Alice Clare Donovan!" She cried when the younger one kicked the wall. Steps taken quickly to that spot, trying her hardest to clean it off the way. Control issues lead to OCD, ok? And she hated dirty things. "Leave Argon out of this, please." Why always with the manners? She came up with quick steps yet again, trying to follow her sister form room to room. "Stay out of Grandfather's room." Finding her there with Phillip, grabbing her arm to tug her out. It felt like Ophelia couldn't deal with it all today. [d]

wrecked ships: "I don't think that's my name," she sang out, letting the words trail behind her on their way to Ophelia, to get physically caught up in the thick length of dark and light hair -- like little bugs crawling through the strands, each one echoing what Alice had sang out, over and over, until the spell faded away seconds later and Ophelia was left alone. "I'm giving him Phillip! Hey, hands off the merchandise," she tried to squirm her arm out of the hold that took it; flinching a little when soft fingers bit into bruises and cuts. Very very deliberately, she reached up and took a hold of Ophelia's wrist, and pulled her touch away. "You have two choices, I think, and I can see it, brimming in your eyes that you don't want to do this. So just don't. Make that choice, and we can live in harmony and peace." Leaning in, Alice's hand found Fee's shoulder, and she leaned in even further. Lips close to her ear. "Besides," she whispered. "I'm stronger than you." A pull back, and a fleeting kiss laid to Fee's mouth, and Alice was gone again, skipping back to her bedroom; finding a travel bag to fill. Maybe a few. Dunno. Don was waiting outside to be turned into a pack mule.00 -d-

paxes playbill: "Then what is your name, hm? What is it this time?" Speaking more like one of those nurses in the hospital than her actual sister. She stopped short, hands starting to whip around her bun. The repeating little words only lasted a moment but they threw her off her game. She tripped on something she didn't see and barely caught Alice Clare's wrist. "Why would you give him Philip? You love Phillip. You need Phillip..." Those icy blues were wide as saucers, trying to figure out just what choice that would be. The stronger comment had that jealousy, that unknown feeling starting to rise back up into her throat. "In casting only.." She shot back just as Alice Clare was moving past her, Fee moving to Grandfather's bed, picking up Phillip's cage and taking it to her room. Her own. With Argon. The two of them could be friends. No. She would not let the scattered, fleeting shards of Alice Clare's mind start to unravel her own. Not if she wanted to fix her sister. Not if she wanted to restore the balance that Alice Clare was missing day after day. "I do hope you enjoy your new home, Alice Clare. Do not forget to visit.." No. No more pushing. All she could do was act like things were normal. That this was the way things were supposed to be. She had no room to fight, even if she wanted to. "You should bring him to dinner. I am sure Grandfather would love to mee him as well." This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. They were supposed to support each other. Be excited for one another when the other fell in love and moved in with - gasp! - a boy. It shouldn't be this.. toss some things in a bag and hell maybe I'll see you again soon. No. This was nothing like Ophelia had imagined. Not even close. she plopped herself down at her desk, so neatly arranged that one would think Fee had her own mental issues, and began to read about the Black Mamba and its venom. Soon enough little Argon was curled up in his human mother's lap, purring softly, and Fee used that purr to calm herself down. Recenter herself. "Pick a night and I will make mother's cheese souffle." [d]

wrecked ships: "Phillip is just meat," Alice Clare stated in response to Ophelia's parting shots about which ability she was stronger at. She wasn't going to correct her. Besides, it was better that Ophelia think that. Uh huh. Only stronger at spells, nothing else. With her sisters voice carrying into the bedroom, Alice laughed. "Please, stop acting as if I'm going to Reykjavik. I'm not even leaving London." But the idea of sitting down to a nice cheese souffle, everyone in their dinner best and trying to make small talk with a monster at the table had Alice Clare in positive stitches; giggling about while she stuffed clothing and books, and too many journals with their pages already filled with her nonsense into the bag. There were other little mementos that she packed, but really -- what else did she need from her childhood room? Nothing. Oh! Oh! She did need something. Something very very important, and she had to dig a bit through the top shelf of her closet to find it, but find it she did. Bag slung over her shoulder, a clutch of thorny roses in their vase tucked in one arm, and a glass apothecary jar with what looked to be a human heart swimming in some sort of mortuary solvent tucked beneath the other, Alice gave pause at her sister's room, tilting in to peek her head in. "It's not the end, dear Fee. But only the beginning. Remember that. Only the beginning, and everything is going to change. You'll see." -d-

paxes playbill: There was a look down to the little bunny. "She did not mean that, Phillip. I promise." Kissy face to the little scrunched nose as he was set on O's desk. "Well I never know where you are anymore so how I am supposed to know?" There was a sudden realization that maybe Fee also needed to set up something in her mind.. a veil, a shield, to keep out the only person in this world that she trusted. It was hard for her to even trust her Grandfather. Charles always seemed like he was keeping secrets. The giggles started to stab at her heart - like the idea of the family being together was so far fetched anymore that if was all just a joke. Fee did not even look out her door, nor look up from her book. "Ok, Alice Clare. When you need me, you know where I will be.." [d]

wrecked ships: Alice, very wisely, refrained from pointing out that she hadn't been the one to skip off to Ireland for weeks at a time on a frequent basis. Because she understood it. The pressure Ophelia was under. To be the smartest. To be the most perfect. To clean up messes she didn't make. She understood the need for escape, and would never ever blame Ophelia for doing that for herself. In fact, she wanted her to do more of it. She wanted her to unwind that god damn bun out of her hair, and play with the stars. "When I come next, I'm going to bring you some of the most delicious gum you'll ever chew, promise." It turns out, and though we already suspected as much, that Ophelia knew her sister better than anyone else -- at least in some retrospect. Like leaving her nose in that book, because of all things Alice Clare couldn't stand to be ignored. Fine though. Don't look. Keep watching the words, that with a few silent murmurs from the water-witch who thrived with another's ancient powers, began to swim before Ophelia's very eyes. The words tipping this way and that, fading in and out as if they were riding on waves -- and then just like that, the book dissolved in her hands; splashing down onto the desk and drenching whatever was on it's surface. Alice wasn't there any longer, in the door, by then; delicately dancing steps taking her from the apartment to the shop and London beyond, to find the waiting arms captured in vines and creatures that would welcome her into the dark. -d-

paxes playbill: But Alice Clare always knew where Fee was. Always. It was not Ophelia who had severed their mental ties. It was not Fee who had chosen to gallivant off with people the other had never met. Truth be told, yes. Fee was jealous. Fee was jealous that Alice got to be that bright flame while all Ophelia got to be was gray. "You know I do not eat sweets..." So true. She hated candy, cookies, cakes, and gum. Her tea was usually taken with cucumber sandwiches. Gray. ALL THE GRAY WAS HERS! Boo. Hiss. She was going to keep ignoring her sister this time, too. Until Alice Clare got her damn head back on her straight. She started to blink, confused.. The words.. up, down.. like ships on waves. Her head shook, hands to the sides of her head.. And then the book was a puddle on her desk. Splashing Argon, her denim.. She hopped up. "No! NO!" Not that book. That book of all books. It was on ancient uses of venom - be it snakes or spiders - and it was pertinent to Fee's success. "NO! ALICE CLARE GET BACK HERE!" She cried as she started to pull things from the white vinyl desk. "no no no..." Copies of books she needed for her studies, drenched and soaked. She fell to her knees, starting to unravel. Being perfect was far too much of a burden any more. "I cannot do this..." She whispered in the near dark, sopping up the water with a blanket she could wash. those books were far too important to make the trek to the kitchen for paper towels. [d]

wrecked ships: Ladies and gentleman, Alice Clare Donovan. Ruiner of all the things.

paxes playbill: Ladies and gentleman, Ophelia Fawn Donovan. Controller of all things. Except Alice Clare.

wrecked ships: Damn straight.