#you're welcome to leave this thread unanswered

[willxmeyers]

this house doesn't feel like home. (self para) where: will and @lemielewis's house

The headlights of his car illuminated the darkened porch of Will and Lemie's house as he swung into their driveway. The sun had been taking longer and longer to set each day as summer arrived and it was well past dinnertime by the time he'd left Coral Cottage.

It was Lemie's day off, something that they usually planned accordingly so that they could spend the day together outside of their work environment. But Will was training their newest front desk attendant this week, something which had been going.. middlingly. It was just a summer job for some college student on break, hardly someone who's career aspiration was answering phones and welcoming guests, but she'd do for the time being. Working the front desk was a pretty easy gig once you got into the swing of it and Will considered himself a pretty lenient boss.

Throughout the day, Will had checked in but recieved no texts back from Lemie. It wasn't unheard of. If she was out and about, it wasn't as if she was glued to her phone and they'd always catch up when they were home together so it made little difference. He'd messaged that he was on his way home when leaving the cottage and the 5 minute drive home wasn't enough time to raise any alarm bells.

But as he exited the car, Will could just sense something amiss. Maybe it was just how bleak the house looked in the darkness. It was foreboding and hollow without the warmness that usually lit up the house from within. He took their front steps two at a time, keys in hand to unlock the door - only to find it unlocked. Closed, but unlocked. His brows pinched together in concern.

Lemie was sometimes forgetful, he told himself. Maybe she couldn't find her keys before leaving. It wasn't as if she drove so it might've been easier to just head out without them. The logical part of Will's brain was working overtime to ensure that the unsettling feeling inside him didn't sink too deep into his stomach.

But as he opened the hallway and turned on the light, the set of house keys were the first thing his dark eyes settled on and an ice cold shiver ran down his spine.

In a flash, Will's phone was in his hand, unlocking the screen and immediately being greeted by their conversation thread. His unanswered texts shone back, mocking him.

2:04pm Will: How are you going, my love? 5:31pm Will: She just told me she's never made a bed before. Will: Her mum has always done it for her.. she's in college? Does her mum still make her bed? So many questions 8:14pm Will: On my way home now x

Will fought against the sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach and called Lemie. Her voicemail greeted him, the sound of her recorded voice doing nothing to put him at ease. "Hey, it's Lemie. I'm probably ignoring you." The familiar beep sounded and he tried to keep his voice even as he spoke. "Hey Lem, where are you? I came home and you're not here.. are you at Lucky's? Just call me when your phone is back on, okay? Love you."

The trill of Paprika's bell alerted him to the cat's presence at the top of the stairs, stretching as if he'd just awoken. "Hey buddy," Will said, shutting the front door behind him. The ginger cat meowed as if in response, the sight of their non-human son elevating a minor amount of stress. It gave no clue as to where Lemie was but at least their cat was still here. Making his way up the stairs to their bedroom, the feline rubbed against his leg once he'd reached the upper threshold.

Upon pushing their bedroom door open, it felt emptier somehow. Like they'd been burgled but all the culprits took where things like Lemie's phone charger, her suitcase that was still half unpacked from their trip to Italy and what looked like half the contents of her underwear drawer which was still hanging open.

Again, his mind tried to piece together a rational reasoning behind it all. Family emergency? Only Lucky and Lori constituted family enough for that and it wasn't unlike them to reach out directly to tell Will what was going on if it was a crisis. Maybe Cherry had her heart broken, yet again and needed a girl's night? But why would her phone be off? Why wouldn't she had said something? As much as he wanted to imagine it was some silly misunderstanding, despite whatever reasonings his mind could create, a deep, dark voice prevailed. It sounded suspiciously like his father.

She's left you.

As if manifesting it into existence, Will spotted a slightly crumpled piece of paper on her side of the bed. From how Paprika skulking around it like a hunter circling its prey, it was likely he'd been playing with it for however long it had been there.

Will felt himself sit on the edge of the bed, eyes glued to the piece of paper with only two words written on it. He read it over and over as if doing so would reveal more to it, a clue as to what might have happened. But nothing came to him.

In Lemie's familiar scrawl, 'I'm sorry' was all that was written.

[shadestriders]

@windrunnerrs // A Black Dragon

Oh, they are pesky little things, the mortals.

Nalice finds she doesn’t mind wearing the form of one of them as much as she initially expected; it seems like a fragile thing, this skin of hers, white and soft and so very different of obsidian scales, but she does not reject it, does not feel as if it is a body she doesn’t belong in. Stands out, even as the representatives of other flights wear mortal guises also; Alexstrasza does not disguise draconic features even as a high elf, and most of others have a variation of elven too, even if in half.

Her guise is purely human — so had been that her mother wore to infiltrate Wrynn’s court, so had been that Deathwing himself used to trick foolish mortals. Fitting, then, that it would be her choice when she weaves her own deceit, like those who came before, if setting her sights higher than deceiving mere mortals, culmination that this is of a long plan to infiltrate the other flight’s midst. Keep your enemies closer, as it were; Nalice sought to keep them close as it could be, abhorrent as it was to stand so close to the Lifebinder and not try to shed her blood.

“You presume I owe you an explanation, mortal.” She has little interest on mortals beyond their usefulness. This one seems more annoying than useful, and thus Nalice is inclined to pretend not to have heard her at all until she is left alone; but there are eyes on her, she knows, and more importantly, there are ears, and if she is to redeem her flight (the mere idea of it makes her want to laugh, absurd; her heart is as black as any of her kin, and that they cannot see it is a wonder).

Well, only in part. For the most of it she knows it is guilt that keeps them at bay, even as Nalice does not quite bother concealing her taste for blood.

“They are not my kin.” Blatant reply that it is may seem odd, but she knows to have played her tale well enough even this will only drive the blade further in their hearts, make the hideous Crimson Queen drown in regret thinking this to be consequence of her own actions. “My kin was slaughtered by them, innocent and guilty alike. Now we are too few to defend our own den from the undead.”

“It is no surprise the reds call upon their allies to look after their interests alone, their good graces extend only to the crimson-scaled. But my dragonshrine is infested with undead vermin also, and we need aid in cleansing it. The Dragon Queen is not noble enough to offer us help, but it seems neither is she vile enough to keep me from finding those nobler than herself who might be willing to aid us.” Nalice crosses her arms and shrugs lightly, unaffected by whichever tempers she may have provoked in speaking ill of belovedAlexstrasza. “Amounts to very little when we would not need help at all if not for them.”

Ears perk slightly at the beginning of a response.

Raern had not fully expected an answer, truthfully. Her anxiety awaiting word from her brother had sent her wandering the temple, whereabouts she took about throwing remarks and seeing where they would stick. Most, if not all, of the dragons looked on her as something between a stumbling child and a troublesome guest. Typically pity colored their replies, if they deigned to reply at all.

It had surprised her, however, when she could not seem to get even the slightest gleam on the Black representative’s opinion. Of course, Raern had heard rumor of the Black Dragonflight’s talents in verbal deception, but it was unnerving, now to be confronted by the fact plainly. That same discomfort likely spurned her into speaking to the dragon in the first place.

It is with a plain look of surprise (plain at least to such ancient beings as those surrounding her) that Raern listens to the full response, watching hawkishly for any sign of the inner machinations behind the words. 

Never before had Raern felt so blind. The contempt toward Alexstrasza is clear enough that she can deduce the Black wanted it heard, but she can’t determine much more in the dragon’s unaffected manner. She blinked, ears twitching.

“... I see,” Raern began, attempting to compose herself enough to have... some kind of standard conversation with a creature that gave her as much information as a brick wall. Again, the jarring sense of the encounter was palpable in her demeanor. “... Well, do you require aid, then?”