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Beautifully drawn by Sid (Erasvita@DA)!
Current Novus date and time is

▶ Year || 503
▶ Season || Summer
▶ Temp || 74℉ (23℃) - 100℉ (37℃)
▶ Weather || The end of Spring brings about, once more, the warm embrace of Summer. While some flourish in the comfortable glow of the sun, others take shelter from its sweltering midday heat. Even so, it is now that the continent bustles with life - for it won't be long until a cool chill returns.

Spotlight

Character of the Season
El Toro

Member of the Season
Griffin

Thread of the Season
Bring Me Thunder; Bring Me Steel

Pair of the Season
Eik and Isra

Quote of the Season
"Her mother lives all in day, her father all in night, and Apolonia straddles the thin, dusky line halving her heart with not so much grace - startling awake in the middle of the night or at the crack of dawn, trying to find some way to compromise." — Apolonia in
The Vine & The Rain & The Light

see here for nominations


DISCORD

Private - falling in love is hard on the knees
Bexley — Day Court Regent Signos: 475
▶ Played by REDANDBLACK [pm] Posts: 217 — Threads: 25
▶ Female [she/her/hers] Hth: 21 — Atk: 19 — Exp: 46
▶ 6 [Year 497 Spring] Active Magic: Light Manipulation
▶ 15.2 hh Bonded: N/A
#1

b e x l e y
WE LAUGH, & IT PITS THE WORLD AGAINST US.


She is looking for him in the sea of people like a drowning man looks for air underwater - but what else is new?

The desperation she feels like a little knot in her chest is so familiar she almost doesn’t mind it. It’s stupid, it’s embarrassing, she hates it a little, in the half-hearted kind of way someone wants to hate something they need, but it’s hers. That is more than Bexley can say of almost anything. Even Apolonia.

Above her the vaulted ceiling twinkles with a thousand little lights, dark against the brick, like stars; an orchestra playing in the other room filters in through tiny spaces in the wall and the door, easy and quiet. Bexley cannot decide if it is beautiful or terrifying. She stands close to the wall, stalking the corners of the room like a predator, swishing that bright-white tail in uncontained agitation. Maybe it’s the press of bodies, maybe it’s the fact that she doesn’t know any of them. But something gnaws anxiety deep into her stomach.

She wears a mask made of gold and bone, which would be awfully morbid if it didn’t fit her as well it does, literally and metaphorically. The skull of some long-dead thing with sharp teeth, bleached pure white now from soap and sun, lays across the bridge of her face and covers everything but her eyes; the cracks in the bone are repaired with an inlay of gold, so that thing aureate threads go twisting and turning everywhere like a thousand streams criss-crossing a field. It is an almost-perfect mimicry of the circlet around Bexley's throat and the pale white marking that stretches over her face.

Some part of her, as always, begs to be recognized.

The orchestra picks up and the wail of a string instrument pierces through the walls. Bexley thinks she might know the song, but can’t think too much on it; she’s distracted immediately by a familiar flash of orange across the room and fixates on it with an instant grin.


@Acton <3
rallidae


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Acton — Night Court Citizen Signos: 1,405
▶ Played by Griffin [PM] Posts: 149 — Threads: 20
▶ Male [He/Him/His] Hth: 20 — Atk: 20 — Exp: 37
▶ 6 [Year 497 Summer] Active Magic: Illusion
▶ 15.3 hh Bonded: N/A
#2
Acton
these violent delights have violent ends

Acton had never been the kind of man who was good at handling worry.

It wasn’t coded into him to be anxious; when it happened, when that black thick feeling crawled beneath his skin like tar, he tended to look for the nearest distraction. Best to get drunk (or pick fights, or blow shit up) until the feeling passed and the situation resolved itself.

But this was not a normal worry. This was Raum, and Raum had teeth.

For the first time in his cavalier life the magician was too worried to drink, too worried to eat. He wound through the masquerade the same way he would as a Crow, sticking to the shadows, watching all with his banked-fire eyes. Acton did not wear a mask, and the skin of his throat itched where Raum’s claw had caught him and begun to cut.

All that to say, his feelings were complicated when his gaze finally caught the bright blue of Bexley’s. For once her grin did not make his heart jump like a souped-up engine below the hood, hungry for the starting line, but he tried to match it all the same, and at once shifted course to meet her. In the same movement he altered his gait, too - no more back-alley glide but the kind of swagger he was known for, like nothing in the world was wrong. Like he was already three sheets in and ready for more.

In the space between seeing her and reaching her his heart tripped over and over itself, and his mind replayed every warning Raum had given him about Bexley and what he’d do to her. They had been nothing, they had been idle threats. But that was before.

The music was swelling when they met, and he ghosted his lips across the bridge of her mask, still wearing that grin (like a mask of his own). “Goldilocks,” he said grandly, “you could stop a man’s heart, looking like that.” Any eyes on them had moved on, by now, and did not see (or thought nothing, if they did) when he reached just behind her mask, for the shell of her ear, and dropped his voice to a lover’s whisper. “We might have a problem.”





@Bexley





Reply
Bexley — Day Court Regent Signos: 475
▶ Played by REDANDBLACK [pm] Posts: 217 — Threads: 25
▶ Female [she/her/hers] Hth: 21 — Atk: 19 — Exp: 46
▶ 6 [Year 497 Spring] Active Magic: Light Manipulation
▶ 15.2 hh Bonded: N/A
#3

b e x l e y
KISS THE BOYS AND MAKE THEM DIE




Oh, foolish girl. She should have known better than to think anything good could come of a night like this.

Denocte has never treated her well. This will not be any different. When Bexley hears the coarse ringing of a flute in her ears, when she watches Acton cross the room in so many overconfident steps, she is not sure whether the sickness sitting in the pit of her stomach is love or want or apprehension or just deja vu, throwing her like a rag doll through ripples of time to the night they met and the warmth of his breath following her hip and the way the stars made their cries against the sky, the same way candles flutter against the dark ceiling now.

And yet some part of her still hopes, with all the fantastical yearning of a child, that she will escape this unscathed.

Foolish girl she is, but not so foolish that she does not notice the ersatz way he smiles, how his stride changes pattern halfway across the floor. Not so stupid that she does not raise her head and watch him with blue-blue eyes sharp and too suspicious. Her heart knocks, canorous and ragged, against the inside of her throat.

She does not shiver when his lips brush the line of her cheek, though God knows it takes effort to keep that wanton gut reaction from rolling all the way up her spine. Music blows to a head in the air around them. Coked-out, tenuous, struggling to keep her breath and her posture and the spasm of her pulse in check, she is almost relieved to hear the soft noise of the words that follow - we might have a problem - because it means that the terror she feels is, for once, justified.

Bexley cuts her gaze at him sideways, lowers her lashes, sets her jaw in a soft line. She pauses for half a moment. A problem, she repeats, pacific, and the low timber of her voice in almost lost in the swell of noise and breath and body that surrounds them. But her gaze never moves from his, dark and fervent.

Then she smiles - hellish, wishbone, utterly intrepid - and blows a cool breath over the curve of his spine. When do we not? Her teeth scrape a gentle half moon against his shoulder; her voice drops to a murmur. What kind of problem.


@Acton <3
rallidae


Reply
Acton — Night Court Citizen Signos: 1,405
▶ Played by Griffin [PM] Posts: 149 — Threads: 20
▶ Male [He/Him/His] Hth: 20 — Atk: 20 — Exp: 37
▶ 6 [Year 497 Summer] Active Magic: Illusion
▶ 15.3 hh Bonded: N/A
#4
Acton
these violent delights have violent ends

Gods bless her for how well she knew him, and how much they were the same; foolish and fearless and ready to fight.

No small wonder, really, that they had nearly killed each other. They both had been born with kerosene instead of blood, and with matchstick hearts and tempers shorter than a fuse. It was not much of a stretch to look at Bexley Briar and picture her setting the city alight (again) on his behalf - and oh, Acton loved her for it.

A shame that love had never been enough for anything.

She knew him for a liar from their very first meeting (a summer night like this, bonfire-smudged, midnight-dark) and it is no surprise to him that she saw through him now. His show was more for others’ benefit, an audience whose eyes weren’t even on him but might turn, any moment, with a flash of blue.

In the cacophony of the music and the dancing and the voices and the drink they are nothing, just two more bodies, disguised gold. Acton, even this close to her, does not note her terror - it has always looked so much like her rage or her want, and both of those things he knew well.

He couldn’t help but smile when she spoke, even now. Even with pricks like a ruby necklace dried to scabs across his neck, with his sides scraped from a cold cave wall (the both of these disguised by his own illusion-magic). Acton even laughed, when she said when do we not. “So pragmatic,” he answered, light as though this was any other conversation. The scrape of her teeth grounded him; he pressed a shoulder against her chest, watched the way the candlelight glazed the edges of her bone mask in red.

“It’s Raum,” he said, breathing the name out like a swear. And then a new worry blossoms like an inkstain in his heart (how can it hold so many? it isn’t made for it; surely it will burst) and he felt his spine tense, even as he fought to keep anything but pleasure from his face. “Is Apolonia here?”

Surely Raum wouldn’t. Not when he was after bigger prizes, dearer blood.

But the memory of the cave is still too close, and it is too easy to picture is body there, crumpled like cinders, dried ashes after the fire has been fed.




@Bexley





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