#iambecomcdeath

Raven wasn’t used to getting around without magic - it was annoying as fuck. He was far from a mother hen, but there were a select few people he felt the need to check on after Fidchell. The first had been the Princess, the second his best friend. He hadn’t seen Ro after the fire but he knew she’d gotten out alright. He’d never wanted to be a fire fey more than when the board had erupted in flames; he usually appreciated a good explosion, this one just pissed him off. 

He’d managed to get out without too much incident, but had apparently crossed the hungry grass to do it. He hadn’t realized it until he went to step through the mirror in his living room and smashed the damn thing to bits. Now he was extra grumpy. Who better to commiserate with than Ro? 

Getting to her apartment should have been nothing more than a quick step through the mirror but since he had to go out he picked up the biggest bottle of whiskey he could find on the way. He didn’t knock when he got there, throwing open her door and immediately making himself comfortable. “Ro! Get out here,” he hollered. A large book filled with artistic prints of brain scans thumped loudly onto the coffee table. “And don’t be pissy, I brought you a book of brains and I broke my favorite mirror.”

When: Feb 21, lunch time

Where: The Ludlow

Who: @iambecomcdeath

Why: For reasons we shall never know

1,2,3…..splat. 4,5,6….splat.

He had merely meant for an afternoon of entertainment, at other people’s expense. It was an amusing game, shitting at every third window of some unfortunate building he’d targeted for the day. Sorrel had made sure to stock up on sunflower seeds for this purpose and so far they had been serving him well.

7,8,9….spla- oh shit.

He had merely meant for harmless fun. He hadn’t meant to get caught in the act, his beak turning in horror at the window about to be opened in front of him. What was worse, he recognized the person behind the glass. No, not her.

Too frozen to fly away, all he could do was chirp shrilly as he began to flap, hoping a strong gust of wind would carry him away to safety.

“You!” 

Malachite shouted across the way, a small speck of an Alchemist, but growing closer as they weaved their way through the crowds separating them from their quarry. It was moments like these where Malachite wished that their ability was something a little more helpful and would make them able to slip through people in a pinch. When they finally reached Rowan, they were a little out of breath, but it didn’t diminish the excitement in their veins as they stood before her, practically vibrating in place. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

Matchmaker:

(For an honesty post on what my muse likes about yours.)

She likes that Rowan is sort of unable to be fazed (of course this is not entirely true, as Camellia has learned with the whole Hand thing, but she admires Rowan’s stoicism. 

She likes to think about some alternate world when Caora was Queen and Rowan was Consort, and things were kinder. She obviously very much wishes to be Queen, but the idea of Rowan being a bit of a big sister to her makes her feel nice. It’s a connection to Caora that she still has, even if she cannot ever actually meet her sister.

Some small part of her, though terrified, is morbidly fascinated by the power Rowan has. How they can both instill bits of fear in others (this is not something Camellia will readily admit, even though it might show that she is more Unseelie than some others might believe).

She likes that, for all that Rowan might find her incredibly soft, Rowan is willing to work with her, take her under her wing, as it were (ha ha, Rowan’s an air archfey, ha ha, Emily makes really bad jokes). She likes learning everything she can from Rowan.

She likes that there is more to Rowan than meets the eye.

She likes the way Rowan dresses.

She likes that Rowan cares about Lacha deeply.

Holy Well:

(For a gif moodboard or an aesthetic of our muses.)

I hope it is okay - the aesthetic is forthcoming, because I am a perfectionist and have been busy, but I hope a delayed one is okay. :)

Barter Trade: For your muse’s contact photo and ringtone in my muse’s phone.

     Ringtone: Kill Bill Sirens     Photo:

Holy Well: For a gif moodboard or an aesthetic of our muses.

[Rowan & Raven Moodboard] Like a shadow, I am and I am not 

(For some headcanons about our muses.)

- Camellia’s been aware of her sister for a long while - her urge to not follow in her footsteps has been around since she was at least ten, if not earlier - however, she only became fully aware of the fact that Rowan and Caora were a thing a few years later, and she spent that whole night talking to her photo of Caora and asking all about it - ‘What is Rowan’s smile like?’ ‘What did it feel like to love someone so very much?’ ‘I would have loved to have another sister.’ Shortly after, tiny, twelve-year-old Camellia almost slipped and called Rowan ‘sister’, desperately covering it up the moment the s fell from her lips and she’s avoided thinking about it since, at least up until their conversation at the end of May.

- Rowan’s Wild Hand is Camellia’s most feared thing in the world, and yet in some ways she’s fascinated by it - and she feels some sort of kinship for the fact that the both of them so often wear gloves. When Camellia was little, she’d have nightmares of Rowan killing her, and those still pop up now and again, although less frequently.

- Camellia used to hand-write letters and send them to Rowan asking the older fey to various tea parties when Camellia was a child. We’re talking full on fountain pens and wax seals. 

- I like to think that once, somehow, Camellia dragged Rowan to the Pier and made her ride the carousel. Probably when Camellia was like seven and really into making puppy dog eyes at everyone in order to get her way.

- Like the above, Camellia once braided Rowan’s hair when Cam was about five years old and tried to put flowers in it, but Rowan refused and that resulted in Camellia storming off (although failing in doing so, because her storming off is often fairly graceful). A few hours later, Camellia found a way to pick a bouquet of thorns and wrapped some sort of silver tinsel-like things around them and left them where Rowan could find them, without a note.

- Camellia playing the piano and a pre-teen and Rowan listening by the door but not coming in, yet both of them perhaps silently aware the other knows they are there.

- Especially now that they’ve begun to talk more/been more open with one another, Camellia would love to have Rowan be her future child’s ‘godmother’, or the fey equivalent. Because she will live to have children, absolutely and no matter what.