#plotdrop002

CLOSED location: dutch alley artists timeline: plotdrop #002 @inaducursehqstarters

Kaya stood in front of an easel in the corner of the art gallery. As one of the artists in the previous showcase, she had an obligation to work a "service shift" as the gallery owner had called it. But basically, it just meant she had to paint live for anyone who might be browsing the gallery at the time. The place was mostly empty, though, so it was just like painting alone in her studio. No eyes, just her and the canvas.

Unfortunately, ever since unlocking her demonic prowess at the masquerade, she hadn't been able to paint like she used to. No, there had been no landscapes of sandy beaches or past friends in flower fields. The canvas in front of her, instead, featured a wolf caught aflame, the fire spreading through the same wildflowers, leaving ruin in its wake.

    For a couple of days after that life changing boat outing with Renzie, Isidore sat silently and solemnly on the information he’d been given - and still struggled to truly believe. Something new in the seas, or rather, in town; the latter being the scarier thought. Of course, he had his human pals to discuss it with, if he chose... but he hadn’t wanted too. Steph would be too excited, not the slightest bit fearful, and Emilia - what would Emilia even think of this? He had to assume that Renzie had told her, too. Was she on board or would this rock the boat of their newly found romance? 

   Isidore truly hoped so, for their sake. He could go to Mellora - but still, he hesitated. Of course, she should know, but.. he wasn’t ready, not yet. There was someone else he knew who would understand, and who had similar priorities to him. Elistra was his opposite in so many ways, and yet with this, she was the one person he realized he trusted to go to. 

   “Knock, knock,” Isidore called gently out into the sanctuary as he entered, closing the door behind him. There was no bell for him to destroy by means of getting her attention, so his own voice would have to do; for a moment, he feared she wasn’t there. And as much as he enjoyed Cecil as a person, the man would not be helpful to him on this day. “Elistra? It’s Isidore.” 

    Though the siren hadn’t been in town for long, she was already enthralled by the recent happenings, and was beginning to think that humans and their lifestyle were a little more exciting than she’d originally judged. When she arrived, the town was stressing over a big storm, pulling together to repair the damges; now, a new wedding on the horizon, and from what she’d overheard, not everyone was happy about it. 

   In fact, it seemed most people were against it. It was a curious thing to her; she understood little of love and politics, but in this town, it seemed that neither outweighed the other. Victoria Wolfgang had made a good impression on her, and Ridley was half a mind to go in the city centre, try and deepen that friendship - misguided and charmed by the woman, entirely. She sat on a little bench outside of the double doors, trying to think of what she could say or do to increase her importance, make her seem valuable to the woman, maybe even catch up on some gossip inside of the big city building; which wasn’t that big, but she had zero frame of reference. 

    As someone approached, she thought maybe she recognized the man... Ridley had taken notes on who the ‘top dogs’ in town were, and the name popped in her mind - Moray, brother of Mayor, who is in charge. Maybe she should work her way up too charming those in the building, and start here? So far, her plan of attack seemed to work well 80% of the time, so she stood and greeted him with a smile. “Your the mayor’s brother, right? Guess we are both here for the same person, then. I was thinking about asking if there was any help needed for the wedding, but... oh, wow. Is that why you’re here, too?” 

Except the dead were no longer still. They were violent and chaotic. They knew no difference between woman, man or child. They killed without bias or prejudice. That made them all the more terrifying in her mind. Cruel men killed for some reason or another. They had intentions, some selfish and some righteous. The dead just killed. They shoved their blades through them as if they were no more than parchment. 

Her father’s master of horses had been among those killed. He had been kind to her when she was a girl, letting her hide in the stables when she didn’t want to attend her lessons. Her father had respected him, spoke well of him. The fact that she could not open her mouth to offer the old gods a prayer for him horrified her. Her limbs would not move, her lips would not curve to form words. She simply stared, letting the weight of her emotions wash over her.

She jumped when she heard the footsteps around her, jarring her out of her own head. She didn’t turn to greet them, however. Such pleasantries didn’t seem particularly necessary in the godswood. “I’m praying.” Clara said, wringing her fingers in her hands, her voice small. “Offering words to our dead. Or at least trying to... Do you think the Gods care to hear them?”

CLOSED location: downtown timeline: plotdrop #002 @inaducursehqstarters

After slipping out of the house under Damon's unconscious nose, the soulless woman walked through the downtown streets, uncertain of her next move. In passing by strangers, she could nearly feel their souls calling out to her. We have something you lack. The knife she'd borrowed from her and Damon's supply weighed heavy in her pocket. How easy it would be to maim someone and drag them back to Raymis. The contract had instilled some sort of drive in her, it seemed, a drive to hurt and destroy and steal.

closed — @salvatcres timeline: plotdrop #002 tw: blood, knives, violence

The dagger nearly vibrated in her hand as she drew it, keeping it close to her leg and out of sight in the darkness. Its power thrummed through her, spurring her on. As if being in its near presence was a danger. She'd let the idiotic and way-too-young for her man press her up against the brick wall of the alleyway. He whispered flirtatious and frankly meaningless things in her ear. She only nodded, giving a soft mhm, smiling at him and batting her eyelashes, just to keep him interested.

   Preferring to stay out of any politics, Isidore had kept a fairly wide berth to anyone bearing either the Wolfgang or Blackmore name, but now it seemed there wasn’t a single corner in Port Vale that weren’t whispering about them in some form or another. The mayor had recently rocked the sleepy coastal village with his news of romance, and though Isidore had personally sworn off of the stuff, he had to admit it was all pretty exciting.

   If not beyond concerning. He was suspicious, naturally, of any new faces in Port Vale; so many of them crawling from the ocean, like ghosts of his past designed to haunt him on two legs. This was different though - Siobhan, whoever she was, did not seem to be of the sea. So he was pondering, and tired of it, feeling so personally invested in the lives of the town elite, and had hoped to clear his mind by sinking into the sweet silence of the museum walls. Not many locals were there, too busy with the affair of humans than of that within the sea, and he was relieved for it. However... Isidore was not alone, gazing at the bronze statues and trinkets, lost treasure and preserved poems of sightings and lore. Someone else stood there, and he recognized her even without Victoria’s attempt to draw attention to Charlie within the crowd. 

   “Ah, I am in the presence of the future Mermaid Pageant queen, am I not?” He spoke quietly in the eerie still of the museum, an eyebrow raised as he glanced over to Charlie. Curious, maybe, about how she felt about the volunteering her mother had done. Curious more, definitively, about why Victoria would throw her daughter into the thick of it. With that woman, there always seemed to be a scheme at hand. Charlotte was only 11 when Isidore first came to Port Vale, and there hadn’t been much to bring the two together in the years since.