* TIME / WORN

Born Anna Elizabeth DeWitt, but everyone calls her Liz for short. The daughter of Annabelle and Booker DeWitt both who died in an accident when Liz was young. Soon after the fact she was adopted by Ozpin ( @headmastering ) . She would be the first of a series of adopted children.

Always a lover of the arts but also the hard sciences. Liz had a very diverse range of interests growing up. She was a bit of a strange child always found either painting or dealing directly with complicated math equations. 

Eventually she went to university to pursue a fine arts degree in drawing/painting but she ended up double majoring in physics as well much to shock of her classmates.

After leaving school Liz felt compelled to stay close to home to be near her adoptive father and family. This is when the concept for The Atlantis Lounge came into fruition. Originally, it was supposed to be an interactive art instillation but Liz enjoyed running the establishment so much that she decided to keep it open for business. 

Her longterm sweetheart, David ( @timelordtm ) works alongside her as a pianist when he can. The two met after she starred in his...questionable student film while they both were in school together.

@multiversatile

He doesn’t remember how he got here. Breathing hard, down on his hands and knees, Ozpin clutches blindy at the snow between his fingers. There’s so much blood. No matter how fast he runs there’s so much. Darkness. Grimm. Fire.

He blinks.

It’s gone. Again. For the moment. 

Or is this the hallucination? It’s hard to tell even as he moves to right himself into a normal kneeling position, face pointed at the sky. A shudder runs through him. The urge to sob strongly tugs at his lungs, burning, but he suppresses it. No. He can’t fall apart.

Opening his eyes, Oz lets his gaze fall back down, catching on someone standing nearby. Her face is familiar- muddled with worry. The moment recognition dawns on the headmaster, is the moment he quickly staggers to his feet, smiling. Despite the extremely minute chance, he’s clearly hoping she hadn’t seen that, ah, moment of weakness- or if she did that he can smooth it over.

“E-Elizabeth, it’s so good to see you. I… It’s been a while,” the elder man starts, trying hard to focus on her face and not the creeping shadow in the corner of his eye. “When did you get back in the city?”

          SHE IS CAUGHT IN BETWEEN ! The woman she would become and the young bird in a cage. Through the static she sees a hundred different faces, all similar but worlds apart. Blood begins to drip from her nose staining her crisp white blouse yet she does away with the feeling of displacement with a sleeve against her wet skin. 

         When her vision clears that is when she sees him. A clocktower in ruins, a man on the brink.  ❛ Professor Ozpin ! ❜ She is rushing towards him without another thought. He is something familiar, a beacon in the chaos. 

         He is steadying himself once she is by his side yet she has already placed a supportive hand upon his shoulder to further assist.

“I thought something practical would be nice. You don’t always have to use it, but I hope that when you do, you remember you’re not alone in that war against time.”

Tucked away inside is a simple, reusable lighter.

“Merry Christmas, Elizabeth. Thank you again for… earlier.”

         IN A LIFE OF ETERNITY THERE ARE NOT MANY FIRSTS ! She had been so many different people is hundreds upon hundreds of different places and yet none of these women ever stayed. To stay required a will to live for oneself, to plant roots, to thrive. An impossible task for a woman with such an immense burden placed upon her shoulders. 

         ❛ You didn’t need to get me anything. ❜ It is noncommittal, very blasé but she reaches for the box all the same. Uncovering it with care so as not to damage the wrapping more than needed. ❛ I’ve never received a Christmas gift before. ❜ The admittance is unprompted, for once the words seemed to spill out of her without careful calculation. ❛ That must be why I’m terrible at this. ❜ Both receiving and giving, as she had not gotten the professor before a gift to return the favor.

     “ If you don’t mind, can you tell me more about this place? ”

His tone is polite, posture perfect, and eyes attentive on his host; the owner of the establishment she had told him upon greeting. Venturing past the doorway had not been his original plan, but Allen was drawn despite himself—drawn to the elegant opulence the lounge possesses, how near reminiscent it is of the places Cross preferred and the places where Allen learned just as much from the workers as he did his own master. Nostalgia called him forward, maybe; even if his years of tutelage weren’t the best, there’s still a gentle fondness for lounges and the like he can’t shake despite not being back into one until now. However, it’s curiosity that keeps him here and interest, too.

( @multiversatile )

         FLITTERING IN LIKE A GHOST ! Across her threshold to where he now stood. So much more than an apparition yet he is painted in ivory. No more than a boy and not quite that either. A child caught between who they wished to be and who they were made to become. An unending dispute that tore at the very fibers of ones being and she knew it too well. Peering up from her leather-bound guest list she hands off the book to the concierge beside her. Red lips easing into a far kinder smile than she usually wore. Knowing too much was without question a burden, but occasionally it brought her to like shores.   

     A LEATHERBOUND TOUCH dared the porcelain, only to hover shy a key as if a force he couldn’t name were taking hold, his hesitance stoked to a brighter flame by the voice at his back. The encroaching click of heels wrought with it the fragrance of warning and roses and words like velvet, and his hand withdrew from the piano so that he may better angle toward the presence. He had come to know the taste of a human soul on the air, that of mages or otherwise, but her, while indeed human… there was something different. 

     The man of the grey observed with a sharpened crimson gaze her approach, following her each and every move to seat herself at the piano, and then, she began to sing, playing alongside it. He listened in silence, noting a few stumbles here and there, but there was no doubt she could play. Hands idle by his sides, he found his eyes shadowed her every chord, every sweep of her fingers across the keys, before he closed them to drink in the sound. When she had finished, he peered at her with a renewed and narrowed stare.

          ❝ … Truly, though it has been some time, I assume. You sing wonderfully however. ❞ Curious– most would not delight in engaging the unknown unless they were familiar, or simply confident, and there was a strange sort of knowing in her eyes, ❝ Were you taught, madam? ❞

          HE IS SURVEYING HER ! As she is enigmatic in her bearing. A woman caught between worlds  -- Between time. She was a pesky loose end, a blight on a supposedly neat universe and those which surrounded her could feel it. If they stood still enough they would notice the surrounding atmosphere ripple around her frame. Bending and winding in order to fit her faulty existence into one sustained moment. And here she was, upon a piano bench crooning softly in the near darkness. 

          He was something slipped out of time, as well. Far different from her own circumstances but similar in the matter of displacement. A clash of blue and scarlet, as her eyes settle on his own. There is curiosity there which mingles with a sense of knowing. ❛ Oh, no. Not at all.” Looking away as she shakes her head. ❛ As a child I was alone, quite a bit. I was able to teach myself many things. ❜ A vast understatement yet her tone remains pleasant, even. ❛ Singing being one of them. ❜ Then she rises leaving her former dwelling vacant. 

  of stardust and broken clockwork ,    like the hands of a celestial grandfather clock that never passes it’s mark. the witch found herself staring at a midnight locks, immersed the familiarity of expensive perfume and cigarettes paired with a honey-drowned tone. heel-to-toe she sprung into a skip frantically waving with the tips of her fingers to match the pacing of her breath. 

❝  i sniffed you out to be exact. sorry if that sounds  weird  but— to be fair,  ❞    a smile to pair another’s smile.   ❝    i’ve came around here once or twice but you keep disappearing into dimensional planes more than i do, liz— and on another note, the only person who smokes more than someone we know— is  probably  you.  ❞

          CHARMING IN HER WAY !  The space weaver was a companion of those who dwelled in clockwork. There was certain synergy between them, like and unlike forces operating beside one another. Not to mention she was quite fond of the witch although her cheery exterior might lead other people to believe otherwise. With an exhale, she grins at the younger girl unfazed by her keen sense of smell. 

          KEENLY SHE OBSERVES HIS UNENDING INTAKE ! It is quite the mystifying sight but if she were to be completely candid it was not a peculiarity that stood out among the many she had known her infinite lives. Still, it was enough to gain the dimensional interloper’s interest which was a fearfful fact in and of itself. 

         WE ARE BUT ORBITING PLANETS ! A gravitational pull that kept both women perfectly aligned with one another. The time was midday and the restaurant slowed to a stagnant lull between dining hours. Outside of the luxury establishment in the winter chill she stands. The biting cold hardly a deterrent from the promise of smoke so readily filling her lungs. As she exhales the witch makes her grand appearance. Difficult to miss, clad in deep ebony with snow white ears nestled in herequally dark hair.