#lachasse

@lachasse

There’s a strange change that alerts Riddle that maybe he should turn back. A tightness of the air, the sudden way small bodies have dispersed through the trees in a rush that barely let anything take proper breath. He shouldn’t have come alone, but he had no choice. He was extremely limited to the people he could count on in this world, and he wasn’t about to ask them to defy odds for him as they were only but classmates. He ought to change that when he returns to school. 

When he had read about the Misty Woods the warnings of what was to come sounded very small compared to reality. Creatures appearing and disappearing into thin air were daunting but the chances of them noticing him in the vastness of trees were little. At least, it’s what he had thought so. Riddle didn’t possess the hard won skills of a hunter, nor the mindset of one to understand that even in the most dense of places, the smallest chance of a strike is almost always fatal to the prey. 

But he had to do this. He was desperate. Although he trusted his friends to keep a hold of it while he was gone, he couldn’t leave them waiting anymore. Heartslabyul would return to it’s old ways without him, he couldn’t let tradition die at the hands of barely trained cards and rule breakers. He couldn’t let his own legacy be tarnished by such an uncanny absence. He’s not even able to fathom what would be of him if his life could be jeopardized with it, and he rather not. He’s going to get home. He can do it.

It is his goal to get as far away as he could from sounds and bright lights. He doesn’t like what he perceives as unwelcome stares and snickering behind closed fists, and though it may be his anxiety acting up it still feels incredibly real to him.

He doesn’t expect to see anyone on his walk, at least not as deep in the woods as they now are. His eyes squint in the dying light and he ducks himself behind a tree to avoid being seen  — 

The cracking sound that reverberates through the air makes him jump back. He looks down at the offender, a large stick now cracked in two, and winces. So much for not drawing attention to himself.

        “  you’re looking at the wrong person;  i believe a child threw it at you before running off somewhere over there.  ”

Welcome back to scenic Isola Radiale, Rook!

You’ll be staying in CONDO 404!

You’ll retain everything you were given previously.

PLEASE NOTE: Because you were removed in an activity check, you have one week to make two in-character posts or else you will be considered inactive once more.

"r-rook?!” 

he’d recognize that head of hair - and that hat - anywhere; sometimes, it signalled that he was about to be saved from an uncomfortable situation, and sometimes, it meant he was about to be thrown into one without any warning or choice.

his upperclassman’s many eccentricities and troublesome ways aside, though, it’s still nice to see another familiar face - especially one that epel knows can be reliable when needed... in that weird way of his. 

Despite hating water, Grimm found the boardwalk, with its backdrop of the ocean, a beautiful place to draw a crowd for his classic fire dance. And now that he has his flames back, now’s the perfect time to show off.

There’s really no time other than battle that the Troupe Master feels so alive. He spins the staff around himself with grace, both sides lit with his alluring scarlet fire. It leaves trails of light as he moves, a show of luminous red flares. Tossing the staff up, Grimm twirls and catches it and repeats, the skill of having danced with death for countless of his past lives. So many absurdly dangerous movements are peppered in, throwing it between his legs and behind his back.

||  █ ▌— vil’s eyes widen ever so slightly at the sight of his friend. it’s a relief, and at once he feels a weight lifting slightly. he doesn’t like being without familiarity, and being out of his element has him... snappish. cold. irritable.

and more or less magicless on top of all of that.

he doesn’t like it here. he’s tried to, tried walking through the different wards, staying out too late at night because no one can stop him from doing it. no one can stop him from doing anything. he’s been trying to get into a new routine without school, without his job, and failing, finding it harder and harder with each passing day. he can do whatever he likes here, more or less.

which means, of course, that none of it matters.

vil wakes up at noon. vil goes to bed at noon and wakes at dawn. he goes for a run, wanders in circles around the city, to the point where his feet shriek at him in his high heels and he has to stop and sit. people don’t recognize his face. none of it matters at all.

which is why it is such an absolute relief to see rook again, here and whole and smiling like he always does.

none of this relief shows on his face, of course. he keeps his expression tightly controlled as he approaches rook quickly, as if worried he’ll vanish if vil blinks.