greek tragedy.

              Going to answer her first question she straightens at the wave of the other’s hand. Instead her own fingers rest against her forehead under Sybill’s gaze, feeling for an imperfection.  Merlin’s beard how’d she run into another one of those Seers while avoiding the one with the crown. “ How the feck would ye know if i were cursed?” It’s more of a bewilderment than a true question. “ Uh, Imogen and uh the bloke bet a full round of butterbeer on it, lost and then went up to ninety.” She doesn’t even budge as the men continue their fight, the dealer not admiting to cheating still. “ It’s been grand watchin’ him go so hard … can you tell if he cheated, ya know wich ye curse vision?”

Where: Frozen Festival, Hogsmeade When: 1st December, early evening Who: Remus && open

This was the sort of situation where Remus felt comfortable in a crowd. Where it was more a case of getting lost in the crowd and finding solace in the dark evening mixed with flickering lights of bonfire and orbs around the tents and various stands. He had always loved the Hogsmeade Frozen Festival, ever since the first time he and the boys had sneaked out of school and into the village for the festival. It wasn’t the sort of thing he got to do as a young child. His father had always been too twitchy about letting Remus out and about, as if being outside at night-time would make him transform without a Full Moon in the sky, or perhaps worrying that one look at the child and all the crowd would turn around and declare there to be a werewolf in their midst. Now, it was almost decade’s worth of happy memories around butterbeer and chocolates and spending pocket money meant to be for Christmas presents on silly games.

He was distracted a moment by the sight of Hogwarts towering over the village, an impressive silhouette which spurred nostalgia within him. Absently he stepped back to let someone pass him but the crowd was too thick and in the process he stepped into someone else. The bag of roasted chestnuts in his own hands started to fall to the floor, as well as the goodies that they were holding but all distraction was gone and Remus had snapped to attention, his reflexes quick as he froze it all in mid-air, just a few of the chestnuts unable to be saved. “So sorry. I think it must be busier this year than ever before, don’t you?”

sybill   did   not   remember   the   frozen   festival   ever   being   so   crowded. but then, perhaps her memories of the festival were hazed with the excitement of youth, when something like a long line or being squished into one another like a jar of pickled sardines was marginally less bothersome. the best memories she had of her father were from the festival, when he’d shed that icy robe he covered himself in and bought her as many sweets as she asked for. alone, and after so long, the festival is less nostalgic memories and more a brand new experience, one that - unfortunately - brings an abundance of people being very annoying, as people in abundance tend to be. 

               Eyes narrow in confusion as the other speaks. All she wanted to do is avoid cedar logg and now it seems like she had bumped into…cedar logg’s sister, devote follower? fuck if she knew, but the idea made her feel queasy. “ A chance meetin’? well this is fecking class. Run in to someone who thinks fecking fate’s real.” She mutters almost inaudibley. Yet, she still sighs reaching her hand out. “ Ye know what?  I think I’m cursed in dis life…sure look or whatever but ye need a hand up youngwan?” Eyes settle on the other brows raised as she waited for a response.Not really wanting to be seen as a horendous bitch, especially if the young woman knew her mother she’d never hear the end of it.

sybill  shakes  her  head,  pulling herself up to her feet.  “you don’t believe fate is real  ?”  her head tilts slightly,  looking at the other in utter bewilderment.  sure,  fate hadn’t been the kindest to sybill  (  she would even argue for her being downright cruel  )  but she’d never gone as far as to doubt its existence.  she waves a hand dismissively.  “you’re not cursed.”  her gaze moves to the other’s forehead,  squinting at it,  all concentration.  “no,  you’re fine.  i’d know if you were cursed.”  she would not.  “i’m sybill,  by the way.  are you gambling or are you also desperately trying to find something that’ll keep your attention for more than five seconds  ?”

who: open to anyone . where: ignes et galcies . when: december 1st, 1981 .

THE BONFIRE was a marvel. 

it stood, proudly, in the center of the carnival, flaming big and bright. par always looked forward to the event every year, mostly because he got to see his friends, but also because he had a bit more time to figure out how the bonfire worked. he was studying it now, looking into the flames as they flickered around the ice and wondering, half out loud and half to himself, if the flames were charmed or the ice. truth be told, he really thought it had to be the ice. the flames seemed too hard to charm; too unruly. then again, he wouldn’t put it against the festival to do something quite so intricate. it was a thousand year old tradition for a reason. 

quickly, though, he saw a flame dance, licking the ice and he bent down to watch it, eyes wide in a childish delight. realizing, quickly, that he’d stepped on someone’s shoe, he looked up and offered a grin, “my apologies, then.” standing up, he wiped his hands on his pants and crossed his arms over his chest. “i’ve been a bit preoccupied with the mechanics of it all. y’know, if someone could figure out how to do this in a practical application…” par was getting lost in his own world again, but realizing he was now not just talking to himself, he pulled himself out of it. “anyways, i’m sure you don’t want to hear me yapping on about all that. are you having a nice time?”

she  didn’t  care  much  for  the  bonfire.  or any fire that didn’t come from her dragons.  still,  there was something about it that captivated her attention.

sybill shoved her gloved hands into her pockets,  watching the flames dance.  a fiery spectacle.  it was odd,  after having spent years knowing fire as chaos,  to come back and see a flame so...  controlled.  so balanced.  a flame that didn’t destroy everything in its path.  she wasn’t sure if the sight calmed or unnerved her.  fire and ice were meant to clash,  and yet here they were,  coexisting in peace  —   certainly the sight elicited some kind of response from her,  something sparking in her chest that she might have called wonder if she were still a child.

she was about to turn and find another,  less distracting distraction when someone’s shoe stomped down on her own. with a jump back,  she hissed,  prepared to tell them off  —  only to be met with a familiar face.  her expression softened.  “you’re alright.”  sybill was silent as he spoke about practical applications and mechanics.  what would a practical application for such a flame even be  ?  “i can handle yapping.  better than awkward silences.  it’s been nice enough.  suppose i could have come back during a worse time,”  she smiled.  “what about you  ?  have you been having fun or has it all been wondering how to remake things  ?”

                   Snow crunches under her boots as Imogen hugs her jacket around her body. She loves the Christmas season but hated the cold wind that constantly accompanies it.  Eyes wander as she weaves through crowds gathered around game tables that in her very important opinion was just legalized gambling. It doesn’t help that a fight had started over a lost wager accusations of cheating being flung into the air between the two wizards. White blonde locks fling over her shoulder as she watches the interaction before smashing into an oncoming wix. “Merlin’s fucking beard!” Imogen stands rubbing her now snow covered back. “Is that how you always say hello to people or?”

sybill’s  grin  widens  as  she  looks  toward  the  budding  fight.  finally,  some entertainment.  watching people gamble was significantly more boring than she’d thought it would be.  but watching a fight  ?  exhilarating.  she’s so entranced,  she doesn’t notice her body moving forward,  closer to the chaos,  until  —  one second,  she’s watching two people  argue,  and the next a body smacks against hers so hard her arm thrums with pain.  

06.  the lovers  : how important are relationships to your muse ? do they value having a significant other ?

05. the hierophant : what are your muse’s morals / ethics ? do they follow their moral code strictly ?

02. the high priestess : how does your muse make decisions ? do they trust their instinct or would they rather trust their heart / their logic ?