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[godsunderfoot]

who: kang kai soo (@kcngkai) where: the scoop

A dreary blanket has settled thick over Antioch, and his old rattle-trap truck leaves a stretch of muddy tracks as John transitions from gravel to asphalt and makes his way to civilization. The rain and growling thunder leaves him feeling unsettled, and he stares hard at the road with a frown, wonders why he's even bothering.

Antioch's morbid history drew all manner of curious individuals, all hoping to scrawl their names on its desk face in an attempt to become part of the town's legacy. Part of the cult's passive goal was to keep tabs on these visitors, let John know if anyone prolific came into town so he could arrange a friendly meeting - it was always better to nip these things in the bud before a weed started to grow - but it was rare for the newcomers to actually contact him. When he was called by an investigative journalist for the BBC and invited for a friendly chat over coffee, several questions sprang up immediately in John's mind: who was this guy? What did he already know? And, most importantly, how the fuck did he get John's cell number?

John breathes out some of his ire as he parks at The Scoop, puts on that face of composed confidence that he keeps close at hand for such an occasion. There was no reason to suspect Kai knew anything, and he'd hate to fold before the bets were even made. His square-toed, muddy boots leave the same tracks as his truck as he steps into the coffee shop, glances around for the man who, in record timing, tested John's patience.

[classiqals]

status -> closed starter for @rubynoble

setting -> the masked marketplace festival

how freeing it was to hide behind the anonymity of a wooden mask - it smelled of the tree it was born from, of paint, of tumeric dye. it was almost strong enough to block out the scents of a dozen food carts, of florals && herbs, of livestock - everything a frenzy of activity, and tian feng could almost feel his heart palpitate to the energy of the bazaar. a smile, rare over the last year, had made it's appearance behind the mask - something private, something hidden, something just for tian feng.

it was in that moment... the commander nearly felt normal once more. as if he were not still wounded within from the burden of loss, as if embarrassment did not lick his ears pink whenever he entered a room with his face revealed. he was, quite simply, a consumer in a marketplace, clothes plain && hair tied back simply. no warrior of china; no bastard of former emperors. simply no one.

though it was a short-lived relief... in the throng of people, a shout rang out, and the crowd experienced a slight wave as somewhere at a stall, a drama took place, something about a theft. he was uninterested, was off duty, but a mask came clattering to his feet in the commotion. bending to retrieve it and hand it back to it's rightful owner, tian feng's eyes peered out && rose, meeting the gaze of none other than the banished chinese princess. he gasped, bowing out of habit - he'd not seen her since the reckoning... even when they invaded japan, not a glimpse... his heart was thundering and tian feng remembered. he was far from nobody. he was still, unfortunately, himself. " princess kai-ming, your highness, my apologies. here, " and with that, still bowing, still hidden in anonymity, tian feng handed back the mask, dusty from the dirt road.

[kxngdomcxme]

open starter where: diagon alley

“Do you mind?!”

[notwaldenpond]

where; somewhere in the haunted mansion whomst; antonin @xavecamour

Walden wanted to go home so badly it ached. This mask made it impossible to see anyone properly. He was surrounded by dead friends and bad memories, and he just wanted to go home. Luckily for him home was also a person. All he had to do was find him.

That was another thing the stupid mask made difficult: scanning a crowd, looking for a familiar gait, a well-loved figure. It took too long, far too long, to find him. Walden didn't care who he bumped into or stepped on to get to Antonin faster.

"Querido, mi corazon, there you are. Have you been to the library? Don't go to the library, or the smoking room for that matter. This whole bloody place is just---" He shook his head, reaching out to hold on to his boyfriend, "I'm glad I found you."

[connorxrose]

who: @amayapowers

where: aurora bay hospital

It was a small town and word traveled quickly - with or without cell service. When Connor had heard Amaya was in the hospital, he made it a point to go see how she was doing. His bicycle was long gone, so he was forced to walk there. Along the way, he bought some flowers from a corner store that seemed to be up and running - for the most part.

Of course, in pure Connor fashion, the man managed to drop the flowers right outside the hospital and into a puddle. He tried to recover them, but they looked a little ridiculous. Connor made it up to where Amaya was after sleuthing on which room she was in (of course he didn't ask for permission to go in). Tapping his knuckle against the door as he came in, he gave a sympathetic smile.

"There she is," he greeted and walked further into the room. He held up the droopy flowers. "I, uh, got you get well soon flowers, but tripped outside. Not my finest moment. How are you doing?"

[hiddcnhorizcns]

open to: ladieeees connection: lucas teamed up with y/m, for a major heist. after they succeeded, she betrayed him and disappeared with the spoils, leaving lucas seeking answers. years later, they meet in italy while they are both living in the same hotel. m: lucas blackwood ; 30 yrs old ; thief ; bio

lucas never thought he’d see her again. the years had dulled his anger, but not enough to forget. he never forgets. not betrayals like that. after the heist, when he turned around and saw she was gone ��� the empty vault staring back at him like a hollow laugh — he realized he'd been played. and she didn’t just take the loot; she took everything. trust. loyalty. his faith in people. all of it shattered in one moment when she disappeared. so, imagine his surprise when he saw her, walking into the same hotel he was staying in, years later, like it was any ordinary day. italy was supposed to be his fresh start, away from the ghosts. but the past has a way of creeping back in when you least expect it. she hadn’t changed much. same sharp eyes that never missed a detail, the kind that cut you before you even realized you were bleeding. same confident stride. but she didn’t notice him—at least not yet. good. he had the upper hand this time. lucas watched her from the lobby, heart pounding like the moment right before you crack open a safe, the kind of thrill you can’t shake. he could feel the weight of years between them, the questions he never got to ask, and the answers he was still owed. he could walk away. should walk away. she probably still had that knife, the one she wasn’t afraid to plunge into his back. but no. not this time. this time, he’d get what he came for. answers.

the evening air was heavy with the scent of olive trees and sea salt as lucas followed her out into the courtyard. her laughter echoed through the stone archways as she spoke to someone — her new mark, no doubt. the sound grated on him, dredging up memories of their time together. they were a good team once. hell, they were unstoppable. until the day she decided that being unstoppable alone was better than sharing it with him. lucas waited until she was alone.

“didn’t think you’d ever show your face again.” his voice sounded calmer than he felt.

[wileyed]

one  would  think  she’d  stepped  right  into  a  campy  mid-afternoon  soap  opera  where  her  character  had  stumbled  upon  a  lover  in  bed  with  a  beloved  friend  (  no  doubt  nearing  its  108th  season  )  with  the  gasp  that  shot  right  out  of  her.  dramatic  ?  perhaps  —  but,  in  her  eyes,  the  severity  of  the  situation  deserved  such  theatrics. it was cashmere, after all.  “  i  swear,  these  freshmen  are  worse  than  the  kids  ransacking  the  drunk  elephant  displays  at  sephora.  like  …  what  do  you  mean  you’re  looking  for  retinol  ?  you’re  ten.  stick  with  neutrogena.  ”  she’d  been  quick  to  spot  the  culprit  strutting  away  with  little  to  no  care  for  the  damage  done  in  their  wake,  “  a  sorry  would’ve  been  nice  !  ”  middle  finger  shot  up  before  her  attention  shifted  to  focus  solely  on  the  girl.  “  hold  on,  we  can  fix  this.  ”  she began to  rummage  into  her  bag,  seemed  never  ending  despite  it’s  minuscule  size,  very  mary  poppins.  “  this  should  do  the  trick,  ”  and  there  it  was,  the  saving  grace  presented  in  the  form  of  an  orange  pen,  a  tide  to-go  stick.  “  y’want  me  to  do  the  honors  ?  ”

"Ugh." That was all Francesca could say as she swiped a wet napkin across her sleeve, grimacing at the yellow that was still apparent on the corner, a putrid blemish she wasn't sure would come out in the wash. She had mostly come here for the food. Mostly. She wouldn't admit that she was hoping to run into some friends from her undergrad that she'd lost touch with, but that played a part as well. What she didn't expect was that the food would come for her. In the form of a freshman accidentally running into her with a plate full of nachos. It took everything in her not to get irate with them, but whatever. She gave a soft smile to the person next to her. "Learn from my mistakes, and do not trust the freshmen with the nacho cheese," she sighed, rolling up the sleeve of her cashmere so it was less noticeable.

[gwyndolence]

Part of Krovs' particular charm was its provenance, especially to a young fae hybrid with a... muddled opinion of the second war. Gwyn was deeply curious to see exactly what the vampires had done with the place since, expecting more of the same fancy, old-fashioned European aesthetic the undead seemed to favor. He was delighted to discover that the vampires had installed a strip club, of all things, instead. Diabolus Luxuriam had a decent crowd going for the late hour: wealthier townies playing tourist, a semi-circle of masters more intent on their conversation than the dancers, a few slaves who hadn't been bidden to get on stage nervously idling, either there as pretty set dressing or pathetically forgotten in favor of other distractions.

Gwyn bypassed ogling the gyrating under the spotlights; he'd go into Krovstown and do some real dancing if mood struck for that. No, the people-watching was the purpose of this exercise and Gwyn put himself in the best possible place for it -- right behind the bar. He'd learned centuries ago there were few places you couldn't access if you walked in with enough confidence. If any patrons had noticed their server was collarless, none had mentioned it yet. For their part, the staff seemed unable to decide if the young master's status forbade Gwyn the spot or gave them perfect excuse not to confront him about it. Either way, he'd been enjoying himself immensely tugging stories out of the chattier workers and sneaking any tips into the poor, confused barkeep's shirt pocket.

Gwyn had keen sense for anyone leaving an opening exposed for approach and he narrowed in on just a one now, leaning bodily over the bar top towards his target, the jumbled collection of necklaces around his neck glittering in the red and blue club lights.

"Someone looks thirsty. Want me to fix that for you?"

@krovscastlestarters

[ironlvngs]

— open starter.

when: sometime in the afternoon where: the hamptons, entrance of the residence

this should be the right address. link starts observing the residence where the address had taken him, finishing off the last of his cigarette in the car he had been driving in all night — every night, for the last three weeks.

as he grabs his backpack from the passenger seat, his mind begins to drill him with the question again: was it really such a good idea to come back and face the consequences of his little disappearing act with the college? at least he had this little "winter break trip" before facing the music. before he could think about it any more, his train of thought was interrupted by a familiar face. "hey, you're here, so i guess i didn't fuck up with the navigation." he greets with a hint of a grin, walking up to them. "so where's the rest of the scooby doo gang?"

[aletheialed]

The Chief Prosecutor from overseas, Miles Edgeworth... at first, Rayfa had come here to see him for a completely different reason to the one that's taking up all of her attention now.

Honestly, she doesn't remember the man particularly well. It's no surprise - she was in such an awful state during the time that she'd spent with him that she barely gave him a second thought with everything that had been on her mind. But he'd been kind to her - she remembers that, and she'd wanted to thank him for it. There may have been other reasons for her seeking him out, too, but right now... Rayfa has forgotten about all of them for one very specific reason: the mystery that she's determined to solve.

That is to say - the question of whatever it is she's been experiencing whenever Miles Edgeworth is nearby.

If you were to put her on the spot, she'd say it feels like spiritual power. But that makes no sense. For one thing, Rayfa has never heard of a man having spiritual power! ...Though until recently, she hadn't thought that anyone from outside of Khura'in could channel spirits... and so much of what she'd believed about the spiritual world had been wrong that it would hardly surprise her to learn if she was mistaken about more. Still - it's strange enough to have made her second guess herself. Then, there's her next source of doubt - the fact that Rayfa can't even channel spirits yet herself yet. So can she really trust herself to accurately discern what she's feeling to begin with...?

To be honest, she hates it - being so unsure of herself. It brings up bad memories in her... uncomfortable feelings that she'd hoped she had finally got rid of. But that's exactly why she's so determined to figure this mystery out right now - so much so that it takes her three times until she realized her name has been called by the man she's been staring at for the past half a minute.

"Oh! Ummm...." Suddenly, Rayfa feels awfully embarrassed. Not that she has anything to be embarrassed by, of course! Her curiosity is completely reasonable, and as the future Queen of Khura'in, she is obviously one hundred percent justified of wanting to get to the bottom of this matter!

"Mr. Chief Prosecutor! Did you- say something to me just now?"

@demon-prosecuted ( starter for edgeworth! )

[tragiclike]

Icarion resisted the urge to admit he needed her help. While it was true that he required assistance, it wasn't in the usual sense. What he truly sought was companionship and solace—something only someone close to him could provide. His father, mother, and even siblings were out of the question; he didn't want to burden them. A crooked smile graced his lips as she expressed concern, guilt tugging at his chest. Inconveniencing others was something he loathed, but this time, he couldn't deny his own needs.

"The last thing I want is to startle you, and for that, I am deeply sorry, Niamh." Finally stepping inside, his gaze wandered across the unfamiliar surroundings. Her home defied his expectations—it was small, modest, yet oddly comfortable despite the limited space. Icarion hadn't paid much attention to the wages of palace employees, and it seemed they weren't paid well, judging by her living conditions. A twinge of remorse hit him, but he understood it was beyond his control.

"I was cold, but now I am warming up... thanks to you." Turning toward her, a gentle smile graced his features, though it quickly faded as she continued expressing concern. "Well, I..." Hesitation halted him from revealing the truth. Despite feeling certain moments ago, as he stood there looking at her, he couldn't help but consider the impact of the truth on her.

"These dreams are just dreams. They are nothing more... right?" A pause followed as he gauged her reaction, uncertain of how to articulate his thoughts. Finally, after a deep breath, he admitted, "I dream of death and destruction. Everyone I love ceases to exist before my eyes." Another pause, his jaw tensing at the thought. "But it is just a dream—a bad dream. Not a premonition, not a warning from the gods."

The only people who tended to visit her at such hours of the night were those gravely injured, ones who were already one foot in to the darkness beyond. "I ... I thought you were hurt, that you needed my assistance. It startled me", the femme admitted, all traces of sleep gone from her being as she listened to his words. His reasons for being outside at such a late hour. "Forgive me, but while you are not hurt you do not seem well either. When was the last time you slept peacefully?" Nightmares were known to visit the young woman on occasion, often leaving her sweating and wide awake in the middle of the night. Yet Icarion seemed to suffer much heavier than she ever had.

"Of course it is, Rion --- come in, please? The weather is awful, I can't imagine how cold you were on the journey here." Stepping back Niamh invited the prince in, her home modest and yet comfortable. Being the primary healer to the royal family did not pay as well as some believed, but it kept her warm and clothed. "You must tell me what these nightmares have been about, they have written their story on your face and I need to know the language to read them."

[kmadrigalsoto]

❛ ☾ ◟━ LOCATION: nash's supermarket

❛ ☾ ◟━ TIME: mid-afternoon

❛ ☾ ◟━ STATUS: open to anyone

Coming from a place of privilege, Kimberly didn't have to learn independence. The heiress had her fair share of help, whether it be her driver, nanny, maid, etc. However, when she went abroad for her studies, that's where she willingly learned how to do things on her own. As she got older, the concept of adulting wasn't something she could relate to with someone outside of her tax bracket. However, as soon as she ran away from the Soto Legacy, she knew that it was crucial to adapt on her own—especially in a new country. Out of her day to day chores, there were a few things she despised. One of them was figuring out what to eat. She didn't want to heavily rely on food delivery apps, takeout, or dine-ins, when she's well aware that she has a kitchen that needs to be used.

Currently in Nash's Supermarket, she had been making laps around the store with her grocery cart trying to figure out what to meal prep. By the fridge area, she watched as the last carton of egg was taken from the non-existent pile and it was there that Kimberly was ready to admit defeat. "Maybe this is a sign." she said aloud. "Is there even a point for me to flag someone down when I don't even know what I want?" Turning to the nearest person beside her, she wore a sheepish smile and added, "Apologies, it looks like talking to yourself is a clear sign of hunger...Hm, off the top of your head, what's the easiest meal to make that leaves you satisfied?" Clearly she was looking for quick food-spiration.

[trgicstar]

a private starter for DANIEL ADLER ( @hotxrod ) Winter was coming — or as the infamous quote went. Temperatures dropped, the ground and trees were engulfed in white, forcing animals to shelter away from the season and for heavy, warm coats along with knee-high boots to replace summer shorts and tank tops. There was something utterly magical about winter — the way the livelihood of the blazing sun slowly offered the stage to silent frost. The scenery allowed for cozy evenings with a warm cup of cocoa next to a burning fireplace, a book on lap with Spotify’s gentle hum used as background. It was the perfect opportunity for Cecilia Salazar to be within her prime, no matter how many times she had questioned this spontaneous trip to a vacation home high up in the mountains with no reception, no way to access her website and see any requests, no contact with civilization. It wasn’t the trip that bothered her as much as the group of strangers that would join this small gathering. Many would say she was out of her mind, many would have declined the invitation sent by the one and only Daniel Adler with little to no hesitation. ‘ don’t know you well, dude, gonna pass ‘ — that’s the normal response, right? Yet, her fingers were itching as she typed the opposite message. The trip to the cable car was normal, used primarily to draw small sketches of the scenery around her. Ah, the air was sharp and cold and absolutely amazing; it filled her lungs with frost and upon releasing it, she never felt more thrilled, more open, more alive. With one bag over her shoulder, the young woman approached the lower cable car station with the purpose of getting to the lodge as quickly as possible. Supposedly, the plans were to wait for the trouble called Adler, but plans change constantly, yes? Plus, Cece was fairly sure she could navigate on her own. The tire tracks of undoubtedly a motorcycle had caught her attention. Oh? She followed the tracks to, indeed, a beautiful Yamaha 1998 next to an even more beautiful Mustang 1969. “Well, hello there, gorgeous,” murmured Cece who pulled down the glasses down to peer at the beauties. “Damn, who had the nerve to abandon you here? Don’t they know I’m coming?” She ran cold, frosted fingers along the two vehicles, unable to help herself. Hazel orbs trailed over every inch of both the bike and the car, all before something obvious caught them. Footsteps. They travelled up and up, back the same way she had come. As if on queue, the crunch of snapping twigs had reached her ears. Oh, hell no. “If the owner of this bike or car is there — I am gonna have to request a ride before you hang my head on the backseat,” called out Cecilia. A yapper she was, when she wasn’t in control; just like now. A serial killer could be approaching her like a predator and yet she wouldn’t turn around to run for her life, she’d simply talk like she knew what she was even doing. “Hey, I accept pictures too. One selfie, alright? I won’t upload it on Twitter.”

[morphemeta]

dracula's coffin club, early october / @anchoragestarters

October. Halloween. Harvest time for the owners of businesses dealing with occult, the spooky, the dark and dreary and whatever other haunting things of which you might think. For Dracula's Coffin Club, this was peak season (and, indeed, Halloween may as well have been Christmas) and, almost as soon as the sun had first dawned on the tenth month, Kaz had set to work on getting the place decorated. Some of this would have been done by hand, other parts handled by the kinds of professionals who specialised in dressing shop windows. There was little doubt he likely had more important work to be doing with regards to the City Council but he would always carve time out at this time of year to focus on the Coffin Club. If there had been any objections to this early on, they had fallen on death ears. Kaz was the sort of man who followed through with his plans.

For now, he was stood just outside the shop itself, clad in a thick black furry coat and frowning at its facade; although he'd spend twenty-odd years in Anchorage, he'd never quite acclimated to the weather. By now, the people of Rabbit Creek had likely gotten used to the shop's annual makeover but Kaz was never quite satisfied with his work. It wasn't quite perfect, it needed to be better. Yet he was at a loss. As loathe as he was to admit, nothing new was coming to him but the simple relief was that it would be easy enough to find outside help. After all, it only took a few short minutes of waiting before someone stopped in their tracks to take in the store's Halloween display.

"You," said Kaz with a snap of his fingers, addressing the passerby without a hint of hesitation or self-reservation. When you were very good at commanding attention, those were not the kind of worries you had to nurture. "This display. It feels incomplete somehow." He crossed his arms over his chest and pressed a finger against pursed lips. "What's missing?" Although it was not directly said, it was clear that this was his way of opening the floor to suggestions.

[cress-meadowforge]

The evening had swallowed the Capitol in darkness, and even the nights were left sticky from the heat of summer. The whole world felt like a sigh -- unraveling with warmth, releasing inhibitions and breath and tension. She'd long discarded the daytime burden of responsibility, giving herself over to selfishness and need. District 0 may not have existed, but she considered herself its prize Victor -- an eternal tribute of Panem's primary source of sin.

It was an unassuming front. The store, owned by a woman named Sateen, sold wigs -- fine powdered specimen and unusual, complex ones too, all popular statement pieces worn as part of the outlandish Capitolite costume. In the back, a row of barren mannequin heads looked on with unseeing eyes. Cress called them the Watchmen.

The third from the left gave way under her touch, its blank face turning upward as the mechanisms triggered, and a latch behind the display opened with a rattle. Then they were swallowed up again. Their shadows danced across the walls as they descended the staircase down, down, down further still. By the time the spiraling thing came to an end, there was no trace of the world above. With suspended disbelief, one could pretend it had never existed at all. Red velvet curtains cloaked the visage of what awaited, but she could feel the energy pulsating from beyond, and it was as though it pulled her toward it -- an undeniable tether. With an amorous glance back at Miller, she crossed the threshold. "Last chance," she whispered, disappearing behind the curtain without another word.

The popping noise distracted him for a beat, his neck craning to find the source only instinctively. Her voice drew his attention back to her before he could zero in on anything. “I can’t promise to be good, but I have a feeling you’ll approve anyway.” Miller pulled the card off the knife and pocketed it, then proceeded to hurl the weapon at one of the target dummies. The blade stuck into the dummy’s chest, just as intended.

As Cress turned towards her responsibilities, he, too, retreated. “Oh, don’t worry,” Miller called back. Amused, the smirk on his lips could not be helped, even though he was already facing away. “You know I don’t scare easy. I’ll see you.” He shot her one last look over his shoulder.

Finally, something to look forward to, again.

[idolsummons]

what lurks deep in the woods... ｡･ﾟ✫ @heavywebbing

Some rituals were very specific: use the blood of a goat on the night of the new moon; ensure your robes cover all and mask your face, lest a demon seek revenge for acts you are about to commit; ensure the room is sealed and salt lines all cracks in doors and windows to ensure the beast is not tempted to escape. Thankfully, this ritual required none of that. All it required was that it take place in the forest, which was much easier said than done when you had to find the deepest, darkest part of them to ensure none might stumble across your activities. She remembered the last time she had found such an area and the creature she had encountered there. That time, her ritual had not been completed as she tried to reason - and, ultimately, to befriend - the part-arachnid beat. Part of her hoped it had moved on, if only to make things easier for her. Were it not for the light of her torch, she would not be able to see that the area was much the same as it was last time. A stark contrast to the rest of the forest, it was covered in webs, untouched by other animals that lived in such a habitat (although, she reasoned, it was possible they had become prey for the inhabitant). Hana sighed. There would be no point in unzipping her Hello Kitty backpack and setting up, for she would not be able to draw the required symbols on the ground - not in this state. She could turn back. Only a few metres in the opposite direction and she'd have an area in which she could perform her ritual (which was not one necessary to her practices but which she desired to complete for the purposes of learning), but would it not be rude to at least speak up? 'Are you there?' she called out. 'It's me. Hana.' At the very least, it might recognise her and not lead to any potentially fatal misunderstandings.