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Thread: [M/IC] Night of the Raven

  1. #1
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    Default [M/IC] Night of the Raven

    As the full moon rose over a small, Eastern town, the festivities were only just beginning. Not for the human inhabitants, of course, who were finally settling to rest after an evening of tricks and treats. The night was a time for more unearthly creatures. For centuries, members of the supernatural from across the country had gathered together in peace for but one night, the night of All Hallows' Eve. This year was no different, and tonight, as it had been for over sixty years, the celebration would commence at an ancient manor on the outskirts of town.

    Within the manor, the grandfather clock set against the far wall let out eleven booming tolls. In the next room, rushing from table to table, was a well-dressed gentleman. He was clothed in all black, a beaked domino mask concealing his features, though not the expression of nervousness that tightened his lips. He had been hosting this gathering for over half of his life, yet each year he still became gripped with anxiety as the guests were about to arrive.

    The man fidgeted with the décor in the banquet hall. He only had once a year to impress all of these people, and everything had to be perfect. He was so focused on straightening the centerpiece on one of the tables that he scarcely heard the sound of creaking footsteps behind him.

    "There is no reason to worry, master. Everything looks wonderful," a gravelly, bone-chilling voice spoke from behind, startling the man. He turned and saw a familiar, skeletal fellow. Its bones were held together with a combination of various pieces of metal, as well as an ethereal, blue-tinged magic.

    "Of course you would say that, Kenwood. It's not like you have eyes," he replied. Kenwood, his eye sockets inhabited by eerie glowing orbs, only shrugged. "Is everything prepared on your end?"

    "As always, sir."

    "Good. Go and remind Charley that the cellar is to be off-limits for--" A deep chime interrupted his sentence. A moment of silence passed, and the bell rang again.

    "That should be our first guest!" he said excitedly. Taking once last minute to make sure everything was in place, he strolled to the large front door. As he unfastened the many locks, he sighed deeply, but flashed a friendly smile when the door swung open.

    "Greetings, and welcome, my friend!"

    and dreadfully distinct/against the dark a tall white fountain played

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  2. #2
    PREACH FORGIVE ME PLEASE I BEG OF YOU!
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    Love possessed a certain blindness. Love was harmonious with faith. Devoted to the dark and figureless, he tenderly awaited his lover and father of their unborn conqueror. It was a dark fall night, barred with a tasseled blanket neatly falling over a particular man. Hair sleek as woven spider’s thread dripped in morning dew, black as the darkened day of a solar eclipse; and lengthy beyond humility, fell and wrapped around two bare feet upon the carriage floor. Eyes, an all knowing, vulnerable, and corrupted shade of red peaked past the window’s curtain. Crimson pupils reflected the moonlight they stared upon, cold bled through the thin glass and the man pulled away quickly in discomfort.

    Soft featured, beautiful, he sipped his glass with a slight pout emerging from petite lips. The fingers clutched against the metal were worrisomely pale, fleshy and porcelain. The blood rolling against his tongue did nothing for him, an empty habit he had picked up from two days’ worth of travel and bubbling anxiety. This mortal fluid was empty and lacking in magic, its texture thickening for its source was now dead a lengthy duration – over half his journey.

    Rosemario Luciano-Santo Abbaticchio, released the blood from his lips back into the cup and handed it over to a man sitting an arm’s distance away at his side. A member of the cult dressed in black robes and hardened face took the glass. Rosemario placed his hand upon his stomach, there was warmth to be enjoyed in the darkness.

    “Will our guests be gone as the night ends?” The Perverted Mother asked, shaking voice speaking openly of the dead gentry sitting opposite of them. Various slashes were across their arteries exposed under attractive and tattered clothing. In the darkness, the vying moonlight only dimly formed their silhouettes. Rosemario wouldn’t have mind their hard to see company yet attention was drawn when the carriage found new dips in the muddy roads which shook everyone inside. Their flailing corpses unnerved him to see, made him feel claustrophobic.

    “Yes Perverse” the worshipping acolyte ensured. Under the blanket Rosemario’s shoulders slumped and he drew back and he sighed.

    “I’m attending a party” He mused with a closed lips smile, bringing a similar reaction from the man he spoke with. There were to be all sorts of things to see tonight. The devoted young man was curious and scared. Having crossed the threshold into the supernatural not too long ago, he still felt like a stranger to foreign land. Rosemario had already asked before but self-consciousness drove him to ask again, “the host will be able to accommodate to my turn of health?” The hand resting on his stomach roamed to soothe himself.

    “The host is renowned for being accommodating” the cultist promised. Soon the wagon stopped, it was one of three before the manor. Briskly men stepped out, keeping their identities concealed with long black hoods, and rushed to the center car. Four men held in their hands an end of Rosemario’s lounging litter. A long bed accented with plush feather pillows and velvet drapes streaming from its roof cover. The mob of men helped their Perverted Mother come out of his carriage, intentional hands keeping a hold of his extremities, core, and expanse of hair. As a collective they united to put the pregnant man in his transport. He was never destined to step foot on any mundane earth.

    Untouched by the manor’s grounds, Rosemario’s lulling ride let him lay his head down and close his eyes. He was growing hungry and the cultists were unable to find any immediate source of food. But that was part of the risk coming out from his tower, the risk exploring this world. The most attentive cultist, the man who had been at Rosemario’s side, rang the doorbell, waited, and rang once more.

    Finally, the guest opened the door, his sight being a dozen heavily cloaked men and a litter they held. Saying nothing they welcomed themselves and turned, giving the host a comfortable view of the man they treasured most. Rosemario fluttered his eyes, opening them with a slight embarrassment as he looked down.

    “I must have succumbed briefly” The mad admitted, shedding the blanket and smoothly standing. A dull thump followed after, his accentuating hair falling off the side and onto the floor. The black robes he wore were drafty, showing much of the man’s delicate skin and blooming womb before he bundled his nude body away from sight. Black folds swallowed him. “You will not have heard of me, Rosemario Luciano-Santo Abbaticchio” he introduced with a smile and tilt of his head, “I’m delighted to attend, please be kind for what you have to offer is all new. Merriment and hunger tether to me.”
    Thank you MayhemsCurse <3


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  3. #3
    hella baked and extra sweet
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    The sound of a great horned owl making his wake-up territorial calls added a soothing song to Albina's walk through the forest that grew behind the manor. It would have been faster to travel via carriage, or even to have walked along the town's paved streets, but the secluded woods were much more preferable for a nymph who didn't much care for socialization. This party was just about the only time a year she intentionally spent time with anyone other than her woodland animal friends.

    As she approached the manor, she tried to sense any other nymphs nearby. All the trees in this neck of the woods seemed to just be trees, however. Perhaps this was for the best, as encounters with other nymphs were typically quite polarized. Nymphs either became fast friends or mortal enemies almost as quickly as they had introduced themselves. Dealing with other creatures was sure to be straining enough, let alone a nymph who decided she didn't care for Albina.

    The owl landed in the tree closest to her, at the edge of both the forest and his territory. He studied her for a moment before letting his feathers settle, showing that he detected no threats. "Hunt well tonight," Albina urged, knowing that these autumn meals were essential for staying healthy through the chilly Maryland winter. She was fond of the mice and other creatures he'd prey upon as well, but such was nature's way of finding balance.

    A small oak leaf fluttered from her hair and landed silently on the manor's lawn as Albina finally approached the front door. A dark aura loomed over the guest who had arrived just before her, and an anxious lump formed in the back of the nymphs throat. The man was so beautiful she had mistaken him for a woman at first, but something about his presence gave Albina a stronger fight-or-flight urge than catching glimpse of a satyr. She willed herself to do neither and tried to find solace in the annual truce that was called for this party. It had been honored as long as she could remember, so she was being rather judgmental. At least, it was this thought that sustained her courage as she approached the manor's open doorway and those gathered in it.

    ♥This set was made by my dear, sweet Ru.♥
    Spoiler: my poetry thread 


  4. #4
    RPA's Resident Zombie
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    A dark narrow underground tunnel led to a small room painstakingly carved from its rocky depths. Dampness hung in the air, the scent of decay trapped in the tight recess. In the corner of the room a long mirror stood, back lit by a dozen flickering candles. In the shadows of this room stood a gaunt female figure, a slender form covered from neck to toe. The undead figure spun, taking in the dim visage before her, her movements like that of an aged ballerina, the joints creaking from misuse. She leaned closer, pleased with herself. The body suit fit well, the tight covering form-fitted to her slight curves. Age had taken its toll, but she had filled in the few gaps of fleshy tissue and lines with clay, creating a perfect image of health and vitality.

    Meredith smiled, or what could be mistaken as a smile, her lips not lifting as fully as they used to in her former life. She ran her grey tongue along the corner of her mouth, licking away the traces of her last meal. She moaned deep in her throat, almost a growl, the sound resonating of pleasure. Using her paints, she re-created the image of herself that remained in the deeper parts of her memory, erasing the grey hue and blue lines, creating a life-like blush on her face. She ran her fingers through her thinning silken black hair, arranging the locks in a pleasing manner. Like a cat, she purred, excitement flowing through her slowly decaying limbs.

    Time had a way of eating through memories and flesh, but at almost a hundred years, Meredith was well preserved. She had been lucky in her first years as a mindless zombie, eating her way though the country side with her chosen horde like a termite through wood. She had survived with only minor bodily damage, her mind slowly regaining some of its memories over time. As soon as she realized her fate, she had taken off alone, becoming a hermit to allow her mind to regenerate. She had learned the tricks to un-life, what to eat and drink to retain and rebuild the body's suppleness. Now, she was the picture-perfect example of her kind, a model enhanced with clay and paint like one of her art subjects. With a final twist of her finger, Meredith teased a resistant lock of hair into a curl.

    With anticipation she reached behind her for the silk and lace gown of deep ebony, each stitch lovingly placed by her hands. The dress slid over her head and flowed into place, a river of folds and pleats caressing her body. She laced the back of her bodice tightly, securing the ribbon with a small bow. She spun again for the mirror, the candles creating a ghostly blur of movement. Her hands she covered with black gloves, each finger shoved into the depths fully. She smiled her lopsided grin as the last touch, a smoky bow for her hair, was placed.

    "I am ready," she whispered in her hoarse voice, her damaged vocal chords barely able to produce audible speech. She turned towards the tunnel's entrance, her walk, more like a shuffle, leading her from the safe enclosure to the party awaiting her entrance.
    Last edited by bluemoon; 10-23-2017 at 03:06 PM.

  5. #5
    The bumbliest of bumbling bees
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    "Down along the creek,

    I remember something

    Her, the heron hurried away,

    When first I breeched that last Sunday"




    It was a strange sight.

    Unnerving and queer.

    A figure sat, knelt amidst the twisting vines and reeds that bordered the ebbing sides of a low river. She was submerged from the waist down, the hem of her long shirt haloing her in a sort of strange divinity. The girl was placing flowers on the surface of the water. She had quite a few different kinds. Poppies, violets, bluebells, daisies, dandelions and deadheads floated down the rivers spiralling course. She went about her actions with a sense of silent devotion. Determined and purposeful, yet respectful and completely silent at the same time.

    Yet, despite her admittedly quiet movements, the river did not move around her.

    At all.

    No ripples blossomed from her offerings.

    No waves clung to her skin.

    No water at all, dared to latch to her.

    For it knew of the task she was to ask of it.


    The girl implored the river in a blunt, but meaningful voice. With varying tones that almost conveyed a tune in its nature. It did for the river at least.

    "Come to you river

    I will come to you river

    Wash my soul again"


    "Carry away my dead leaves

    Let me baptize my soul with the help of your waters

    Sink my pains and complains

    Let the river take them, river drown them

    My ego and my blame

    Let me baptize my soul with the help of your waters

    Those old means, so ashamed

    Let the river take them, river drown them"



    "Wemile Oshun

    Oshun dede

    Alawede Wemile Oshun

    Moolowo beleru yalode moyewede"





    Well.

    That was that then.

    Abi had waited sometime after her task, as custom dictated. But she was making her way now. The feeling after performing the baptism was always a rather nice one. Well, at least she thought so. But that was the point of it wasn't it? So why shouldn't she revel in the expected tranquility?

    However interesting the topic was, Abebi shook the thoughts from her mind. For she had other things to focus on tonight. Possibly, much more important things.

    The girl had never been to one of these parties before, as she'd been too busy mastering all the basic magics the young witch about town should know for the past fifty years or so. But the time had come where she felt confident enough in her skills to go out into the world and do a little... supernatural networking shall we say.

    As a Yoruban witch, the level and power of her skill was completely up to her you see. But for the majority of her other fellow otherworldly creatures, they could just somewhat control their powers from day one, no prior practice or knowledge needed. Abi was still a relatively young witch, and as of such had much to seek out and do.

    So here she was, doing just that.

    The girl approached the described location on foot, with a surprisingly optimistic spring in her step. She hummed a sweet little tune under her breath, that sounded somehow strange and familiar all at once.

    Now, Abebi was not a shy girl, by any means. But she slowed to a stop as the house came into view. And honestly, you couldn't really blame her. The sight that met her eyes was certainly, an... odd one. Oh! That was a man! Goodness. She couldn't help but feel glad that she'd noticed that now and not later. That really would make for an awkward dinner conversation...

    And what was the other presence? It wasn't that far away...

    Oh! A Fairy! No, A Nymph!

    Abi made a mental note to enquire about borrowing some strands of hair from her at some point. That would surely give her punch a bit of kick.

    The rather grand looking carriages arranged in front of the house presented a pretty grand and formidable entrance in truth. It certainly made Abebi's simple walk on foot look rather humble in comparison. But she put her best foot forwards all the same. For good first impressions had to be made if she was going to get anywhere.

    The quite exquisite looking gentlemen was introducing himself first, so Abi decided to simply sort of walk up from behind and... well.

    Just wait for her turn I guess.


    The last mosquito that bit me had to check into the Betty Ford clinic

  6. #6
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    Shadows melded into one another as the hour grew later, a brisk wind making music of the hardened leaves that still clung to their branches. Such was a typical late October evening in the Mid-Atlantic, but this was the night that the dead - and a manner of other things - paid the human realm a visit.

    Silently, high above the rustling branches, another shadow soared. Its wings the breadth of several broad-shouldered men, its skin as dark as a storm cloud, the creature descended upon the land. This beast had traveled far to be in attendance to a grand gathering of like beings on All Hallow's Eve, and the fatigue showed as its great clawed feet touched down onto the earth and began walking towards a picturesque manor nearby. The monstrous figure shook out its enormous wings, and as they folded, it began to transform into the shape of a masculine human woman in a crisp brown suit, with soft waves of grey hair and steely eyes that were ever watchful of their surroundings.

    Her name was Hollis.

    It was not often that the gargoyle received invitation to any sort of event, least of all a gala such as this. She did not have many acquaintances, and her list of friends was even shorter. Still, she saw life as the clay pot of Pandora: there were many terrible evils in the world, but hope remained protected at the base of all things. Perhaps hope would lead Hollis to a happier life.

    Perhaps it would not.
    Misty day, remains of the Judgement...


  7. #7
    daddy
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    On this night, the night of All Hallows, the moon seemed brighter and larger than ever before, its seemingly ethereal white light casting tall shadows through the woods. Tall trees reached up into the night sky like thin fingers, swaying with the wind.

    An ensemble of dead leaves flew low over the ground, the wind whistling faintly.

    Crunch.

    A small doe, thin and fragile, stepped through the branches, its hooves carefully probing the ground before taking a step. The doe huffed, a grey cloud emerging from the nose that quickly dissipated in the night air.

    Slowly, its brown eyes ever watchful, ears peaked, the doe lowered its head and began gnawing at a lonely patch of grass.

    Crunch.

    The doe quickly lifted its head, ears jerking around to locate a potential predator.

    This time, it had not been the animal making noise.

    The woods resumed the quiet atmosphere, the only sound the wind and the chirps of small forest critters. Hesitantly, the doe continued its chewing and bowed its head.

    A sudden loud rustle disturbed the forest greatly, a murder of crows emerging from the trees and passing through moonlight, loudly cackling. The doe jumped and turned instantly, galloping away, zigzagging through the tall pines.

    The doe could hear its predator behind her, a large beast that growled and huffed, its presumably enormous claws shredding through the foliage like a knife through butter.

    With a shriek like nails on chalkboard, the forest returned to silence and the doe's life ended.

    * * * * * * * * *

    "Ah, son of a-"

    A hunter in a brown vest and a white cowboy hat emerged from the shrubberies, his hands clasped onto his rifle as he panted heavily. He coughed and wheezed; the old bugger had clearly overestimated his stamina.

    From the clearing in front of him emerged a laugh - but nothing even remotely close to sounding human.

    It was like the laugh of hell itself, a soft shrieking combined with a gruff wheezing and a low, deep growl.

    "Told you I'd be faster," resounded a voice of the same caliber as the laugh. "No bullet can ever match my speed."

    "That right?" asked the old hunter, his breath finally caught up. "Because I reckon that if I were to fire this here rifle right now, it'd puncture a hole in your chest before you'd even see it coming."

    The creature laughed again. "Yeah, but you'd need another one to put me in the dirt. And before your hands can even reach to reload that thing, I'll be at your throat in a second."

    "Fine, fine," said the hunter, lowering the rifle, "you win. How much do I owe ya?"

    An enormous monstrosity now emerged from the shadows of the clearing, standing at least twice as tall as the hunter. Its grey hide was patchy and raw, bones sticking out as if the creature had just been in a fight and barely made it out alive. Its head was literally a skull, a faint white light shining within the dark hollows.

    Two enormous, half-broken antlers stuck out of its head.

    "Eh, keep it," spoke the beast, its humongous claws waving away the question. "This was just for sport, anyway. You can keep the head, too, if you want."

    The severed head of a doe landed before the hunter's feet, blood trickling from the fractured throat.

    "Thanks," said the hunter, raising an eyebrow at the gift. "Er... would ya mind changin' back? You know I can't stand this... thing." He gestured at the monster with his rifle.

    "Very well," growled the beast. It cocked its head, producing a horrifying crackling sound, as if it had just broken its own neck. As if on cue, a cloud passed over the moon and obscured the creature, hiding away whatever happened next.
    When the moonlight returned, there stood a sharply-dressed... wolf?

    It appeared human, at least in posture, but its head was clearly that of a dark canine and the human hands went covered under thick patches of fur. Two yellow eyes stared at the hunter, their color further saturated by the light glinting off them.
    He wore a suit of classic blacks and whites, golden buttons sewn onto the white cuffs and a deep red cravat stuffed into the collar.

    "And it's called a Wendigo, by the by," said the wolf, its voice now sounding strangely human.

    "Whatever," mumbled the hunter, hoisting the deer head onto his shoulders and preparing to haul ass.

    "Oh, yeah, sure!" yelled the wolf after him, his hands on his hips. "Just waddle on off, will you? I just changed into this form for you and now you leave? Do you have any idea how tedious it is to constantly shift?"

    The hunter cackled in the distance. "Suck my hairy balls, Hyde!"

    * * * * * * * * *

    There certainly was a commotion at the front door of the mansion, all the guests seemingly arriving at exactly the same time. It seemed almost planned. A black raven circled above them, and had been circling there for quite a while, for whatever reasons.

    But as another guest approached, a tinted girl with a - needless to say - full head of hair, the raven dove down and circled around her instead.

    It took perch behind her, not on a place of elevation but on the ground.

    And in a matter of seconds, a truly astonishing and rather disturbing sight took place: the raven cocked its head with a chilling crack, then shed its black feathers instantly. Then it grew in size, turning more and more into what appeared to be a fetus - but then the pale skin grew dark fur again, and as the morbid creature grew a black cloth seemed to wrap itself around it.
    Finally, there stood the tall stature of a wolf dressed in man's clothing, his stance suave and collected.

    "Evening," he purred, baring his sharp teeth. There seemed to be blood and skin wedged between his molars.

    He peeked over the witch's enormous head of hair, picking skin from his teeth, and raised an eyebrow. "Didn't know there'd be a line."

    He sighed over-dramatically, tutting. "And here I thought I would be fashionably late."


  8. #8
    2Spooky4U
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    As Nevermore swept open the front door, he was somewhat taken aback. Not one guest, but apparently a group. Had they all arrived together? Scanning the crowd, he noticed that most of these people he had never even seen before. Quite strange... he shook his head. No matter. The more the merrier, thought the host as he beamed a welcoming smile.

    "Welcome, welcome, my friends! Please, come inside!" He took a moment to glance at the cloudy sky, hoping that rain wouldn't spoil anyone's journeys. As the patrons stepped into the foyer, he studied each one. The first was perhaps the most curious, a feminine figure with a bulging belly that seemed to radiate some sort of energy. Then a nymph, an undead woman, and a couple human-looking fellows. Nevermore knew from experience that these were simply facades to blend in, and he was secretly eager to see their true forms. Trailing behind was a wolfish figure, though surely not a werewolf. Nevermore was quite pleased with this first group of guests. If they were signs of what was to come, this party would surely be one of the most interesting in recent years.

    Kenwood stood silently behind his master and bowed as the guests passed, offering to take their coats and hats. "Welcome to the party, sirs and madams," he spoke with what seemed like a skeletal smile. Afterwards he retreated to the living room, arms draped with each guest's belongings. Nevermore coughed and drew their attention to himself.

    "Greetings, my fellow denizens of the dark. Happy Halloween! You can call me Nevermore, and I am your host this evening. As you can see, you are the first to arrive, but trust me- many more are to come. Now, onto the festivities... official events and such usually do not start until midnight, but that is flexible. Until then, my home is your home.

    On this floor you'll find the living room, the billiard room, the dining hall, the bar... most of the recreational things, anyway. Upstairs are bathrooms and bedrooms, should you have need of them. I do ask that you refrain from entering the cellar, please. Aside from there, the house is yours. Oh, and feel free to roam the gardens outside; my gardener is quite good at his job." The raven scratched his chin.

    "Hmm, anything else...? No, I believe I've covered everything for the moment." He clapped his hands together. As he opened his mouth to say a few final words, the doorbell clanged sharply. "Feel free to disperse," he said to the group as he grinned and stepped towards the door. Opening it revealed a massive silhouette, a bear of a man that loomed over Nevermore and barely fit through the doorframe. The raven's eyes lit up behind his mask and his grin grew wider. "I think you've gained a few pounds, ol' dog," he teased the newcomer. As the mountainous man moved inside, he sported a frown. The man could easily pick Nevermore up and toss him about, one could observe. But the frown quickly melted into a hearty laugh, and the atmosphere lightened.

    "I could say the same for you, little birdie," the stranger chuckled, extending his arm. Nevermore shook the hand twice the size of his own and turned to the assembly. "Guests, this is Arthur Grey. Arthur, guests."

    Arthur flashed a toothy smile and tugged at his casual clothes. "Looks like an interesting crew you got this year, Nev. Hope I don't scare 'em off." Nevermore let out a short laugh. "Well, as long as you don't get drunk and clog all the toilets like you did last year, things should be fine." Arthur snorted and gave a dismissive wave, then headed past the other guests and towards the bar.

    As the guests mingled and dispersed, Nevermore decided to remain near the door as new guests continued to arrive. A vampire from Washington, a banshee from Boston. Even a faerie all the way from Little Rock. One of Nevermore's favorite things about hosting this gathering was just how many different people from so many different places you get to meet.

    and dreadfully distinct/against the dark a tall white fountain played

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  9. #9
    PREACH FORGIVE ME PLEASE I BEG OF YOU!
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    Mother Perverse was startled by the oncoming row of folk which followed after him so fatefully. He and his cultists were oddly jostled, moving and accommodating the unusual crowd. Rosemario hadn’t put eye on any of them just yet, his fellow cultists crowding around him and painting his view to nothing but black cloth. They moved Rosemario down the entrance a touch and eased him through at Mr. Nevermore’s charming ushering. The black robed figures parted, giving Rosemario his vision back in time for Sir Nevermore to explain the layout of his celebration.

    On the surface, the host appeared to be a splendid man, but nothing more. The Perverted Mother wondered what other occult things the man was capable of, more than keeping a hospitable demeanor while basking in the unusual. He watched the host with a wonderful twinkle in the eye, observing delightfully.

    Mr. Nevermore’s lips sealed, ending introductions and one of Rosemario’s fellow cultists caught his attention with a touch on the shoulder.

    “I think it is time you leave, for now” Rosemario explained to the loyal servants of the Dark Lord. It was quietly agreed upon and they shuffled as gracefully as they could with Rosemario’s lounging furniture and their sparse duo rows of bodies. They squeezed their way through and out of the door before other guests could come.

    “Ah!” Rosemario exclaimed, now getting a catch of who were so serendipitously summoned simultaneously as he. Naive eyes fluttered from the darkly dressed woman whose many powders only amplified a gripping, and strange elegance. Oddly there was a negro, something he was not used to seeing in high society in the United States. Rosemario passed her quickly, but looked back one more time wondering what was uncanny about this woman that prompted her invite – wanting to know. Others were more conventional and for now Rosemario noted them passively.

    Then he noticed what imagination would have never drawn in his mind. No whimsey would have prompted Mother Perverse to think of a bipedal wolfman neatly dressed in debonair flair. With night black fur, bloody teeth and suave this figure stood there regardless of Rosemario’s ability to comprehend such an existence.

    He was nervous and giddy, he wanted to know more of these people. But with how clustered they were and how isolated his recent months had been such groupings made his knees weak. Rosemario knew better than to stare. Pushing himself, the porcelain colored man made a pace straight to the wolfman, smiling at the powdered woman in the dark dress along the way. Following the pregnant cultist was the carpet of beautiful hair which tirelessly flaunted his every step.

    Before the Gentlewolf’s presence, Rosemario put his hands over his baby and smiled up to this most Halloween figure with welcoming eagerness and innocence intermingled in his serenely red eyes.

    “Hello sir of cruel teeth and merciless fashion, if I may hear your voice again, may I hear your name?” The black robed figure beamed.
    Last edited by Minkasha; 11-04-2017 at 05:49 AM.
    Thank you MayhemsCurse <3


    Spoiler: Memorable Quotes 

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    The entryway had quickly become too crowded for Albina's comfort. She sidestepped into the living room and tried to urge her feet to stay in place as Nevermore gave his welcoming speech. The raven and his butler seemed pleasant, but several of the other guests radiated a sort of malice that made the nymph uneasy. A couple of them even smelled like fresh kills, though one of them--the un-dead girl--didn't smell fresh at all. The metallic odor of blood mixed with the faint, earthy death smell of the zombie stung Albina's nostrils. She slipped into the garden as soon as the raven suggested it, already grateful for a chance to get fresh air.

    As she slid the door into place behind her, the nymph sighed and scolded herself, "Stupid girl. What was the point of showing up just to avoid everyone?" In previous years, this party may have featured a mix of guests that seemed more peaceful, but that was no reason to evade this year's bunch. Perhaps the fresh kills indicated that they had sated themselves before arriving in preparation to honor the annual truce. Besides, not all of the other guests gave off an evil vibe. The young, curly-haired woman had a wise and benevolent feel to her.

    Albina's bare feet padded softly through the garden as she regained her composure. Nevermore had been correct in saying that his gardener had done the plot of land justice. A variety of native flowers and shrubs thrived among several exotic trees the nymph had never seen before her first visit to the manor. She suspected that Nevermore had brought some of the seeds back from his own voyages. After all, as dapper as their host was, he was indeed still a raven. Perhaps this was why Albina had always gotten along with him well enough. Birds and nymphs tended to look out for one another, and she was especially fond of them.

    "Just five more minutes, then I'll head back inside," the nymph decided. Saying it out loud made it feel like a promise, even though she'd much prefer to remain out here among the flowers. She'd have the company of plants for the rest of the year. Tonight, she'd force herself to try and enjoy the company of fellow beings that humans were convinced didn't exist anymore.

    ♥This set was made by my dear, sweet Ru.♥
    Spoiler: my poetry thread 


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