#portum:plot004

                           …  april  26th,  2025  .

is  that  sunshine  on  the  horizon ?  a  golden  hue  blanched  portum  in  yellow  light.  the  fog  started  to  thin,  and  the  grass  began  to  come  alive  with  bursts  of  pale  pink.  the  grey  and  dreary  sky  grew  paler,  and  if  you  squinted  at  just  the  right  angle  it  almost  looked  blue  …  at  least,  that  was  what  aldrich  nair  had  thought  as  he  walked  down  the  promenade  that  springtime  morning.  he  had  lived  long  enough  to  see  the  rise  of  man  and  the  fall  of  it,  an  aged  dragon  with  seven  centuries  beneath  his  scales.  out  of  nowhere,  his  palms  started  to  pulse.

        …  what is this feeling ?

he  stopped  and  stared  down  at  his  hands.  the  fire  that  he  expected  —  at  the  ends  of  his  fingers,  from  the  indentations  in  his  palm  —  almost  boiled  from  inside,  unprompted.  instead  of  being  showered  in  flame,  jets  of  water  burst  from  his  hands  like  a  broken  pipe.  it  gushed  down  onto  the  cobbles,  soaked  the  front  of  his  trousers,  leaving  him  standing  in  a  puddle  of  his  own  making.  violently,  then,  water  came  from  his  throat  in  short  bursts  ;  he  clutched  his  stomach  as  it  drained  out  of  him  wherever  there  had  once  been  flame.  and  down  the  street,  dahlia  apeldoorn  was  walking  with  her  headphones  firmly  in  their  ears,  oblivious.  they  stepped  up  onto  the  curb,  and  almost  instantly  the  nymph  whirled  upwards  into  the  air,  carried  on  an  invisible  gust  of  wind.  she  was  whipped  in  a  circle  before  being  lowered  back  to  the  ground,  falling  to  her  knees,  a  trembling  mess. 

        …  “ this has never happened before, ” she choked. “ something strange is coming.  ”

all  across  the  town,  powers  started  to  take  on  a  mind  of  their  own.  werewolves  started  to  bark  despite  being  weeks  away  from  a  full  moon,  vampires  lost  control  entirely,  and  ghosts  phased  in  and  out  like  faulty  projections.  banshees  went  quiet,  nymphs  recoiled  at  the  sight  of  wildlife,  mermaids  became  caught  somewhere  between  human  and  fish  …   

        …  and portum was thrust into a total loss of control.

Skylar didn't do sleepovers. She didn't do the morning after and she most certainly didn't do... breakfast. She was usually the sneak out the back door before the sun comes up type. No one could really blame her for that. Especially after the disaster that was her last relationship. The idea of forming attachments seemed to make her skin crawl now. She couldn't do that again.

But there was something about Laon that made her want to break all the rules she'd inflicted upon herself. She wanted to stay in bed and kiss Laon's neck. She wanted to cuddle and be big spoon — while breathing in Laon's shampoo scent. The first time she had stayed over, the sleeping over part had been an accident. This time? Well, she'd already slept over once. What was the harm in doing it again?

"What smells so good?" Skylar wondered, having snuck up behind Laon as she cooked. The savory sweet smell of breakfast had drawn the wolf out of bed — and now she was nuzzling her nose into the back of Laon's neck. It wasn't any kind of breakfast Skylar was used to. But it certainly smelled good and anyone who knew Sky for more than five minutes knew that she was ruled by her stomach.

                location : hera's home .

This sucked. Really fucking sucked. The mere thought of sleep was freaking him out, the dreams, or more like nightmares he got were messing with him, and every time he opened his mouth he couldn't control his volume. He even broke one of his favorite mugs! Which was why he resorted to signing instead of speaking for the time being, thankful for his dad to have taught him. He was outside the station, having nothing to do at work (for now), sitting on a chair and soaking up all the sun he could now that the clouds cleared up, when he saw Laon walking by, and he quickly waved her down, signing: Hey, what's up? Are your powers fucked up too?

The only two ways they would survive this chaos were with a copious amount of alcohol, and with a company that would easily distract them, with single look even, if needed. Which was why Kiyan was setting his big jug of margarita down on the glass table outside in his garden, waving at Maren who was seemingly having a lot of fun under the sun after all those gloomy weeks before. For a moment, as he watched her, it was almost like nothing was wrong in the world. "Come here, my sweet. Aren't you tired yet?" He poured a drink for himself, leaving it to Maren whether she would want some of the margarita or just juice instead.

"By all that is unholy, will you just shut the hell up already?" There was a certain whine in their tone that was uncommon from the demon, but they couldn't help it, feeling utterly weak and tired for absolutely no reason, and it didn't help how they could hear their vessel keep pestering them in their mind, begging them to let him go. Kiyan looked up, realizing that he was very much in the middle of the street, seemingly talking to himself, if not regarding others in a rude manner (which wouldn't be too surprising, actually). "Sorry. No, not you, shut up!" He spoke to Lucien, and then once again talked to himself. After an exasperated groan he glanced up at the vampire again. "Don't mind me darling, I'm havin' a bit of a vessel issue..."

The sun was shining and birds finally found their way back into town to grace the residents with their songs. If only they weren't so miserable having their powers messed with, the demon might've even appreciated it. Instead, he was sitting by the edge of the pond, throwing pebbles into the water mindlessly as he wallowed in eternal self-pity about losing control over his powers, feeling pathetically mortal all of a sudden. He only looked up when he heard pebbles hitting something else other than water, only noticing then that he wasn't alone and very much threw pebbles at someone, and after a quiet "Oops--", he tried very hard not to let that laugh in his throat escape. "Zehra! Please, tell me you can feel your vessel trying to claw their way out too!"

lithe  fingers  glided  across  the  keys  with  the  precision  and  skill  of  a  virtuoso .  then  again ,  one  would  expect  nothing  less  from  someone  with  a  couple  centuries  of  experience  up  their  sleeves .  a  wrong  note  struck  and  the  entire  melody  came  to  an  abrupt  halt  –  the  baroness  did  not  make  mistakes  and  yet  here  she  was  ,  glaring  at  the  piano  as  though  the  blame  fell  upon  the  instrument .  ❛    this  is  not  a  good  time .   ❜   the  person  did  not  need  to  be  seen  to  be  sensed .  genevieve  need  not  a  witness  to  her  faux - pas ,  there  had  been  too  many  of  those  recently .  anger   -  no ,  rage  -  boiled  within  ...  the  urge  to  feed  once  more  simmering  to  the  surface .  wood  splintered  as  genevieve  closed  the  lid  with  such a  force it took even her by surprise ,   ❛   i ...  i  did  not  mean  for  that  to  happen .   ❜