TRAGEDY OF THE FATALIST | OPEN, PLOT POINT THING

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    [hr]YOU WENT OUT AND LEFT TO BUY A STAR IN THE SKY TONIGHT

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    ALYSS [shadow=white,left]❝[/shadow]AYASE[shadow=white,left]❞[/shadow] BASKERVILLE

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    [align=center][font=century gothic][b][font=georgia]AND IN YOUR MAN-MADE DARK THE LIGHT INSIDE YOU DIED
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    [fancypost bgcolor=; border-top: 0px; border-left: 0px; border-right: 0px; border-bottom: 0px; width: 490px; margin-top: -12px; font-family: verdana; line-height:100%; font-size: 9pt; text-align: justify;]Rarely did the ghostly femme leave the confines of her room in the cabin she shared with her mother and sister. After all, how could she?--she could hardly stand the urge to murder, when she felt the loathing and hatred and malice welling up in her chest every time someone passed her by. 'It's [b]her     fault,' she told herself, 'It was and will always be--she shattered your peace, she made off with every last hope you had for this horrible place... I won't forgive her--not now, not ever. Nor will I forgive those who elect to associate themselves with such a vile, disgusting excuse for a leader.' Oh yes, she would personally see to it that her offender would die a hundred deaths...at the very least. The severity of her enemy's actions were far beyond what words could even begin to describe; others might say that a few dozen deaths might be too lenient, actually. Nevertheless, it would suffice--she had always fancied herself as the more lenient sort, after all.


    All that aside, the dainty ivory-painted femme now found herself teetering precariously at the edge of the island, her hooded, lavender-kissed gaze angled downwards at the various trees and shrubbery that dotted the valley and hills far, far below. How long, she wondered, would it take for someone to reach the ground, if they were to step off the edge? How long would it take--for one's body to twist and crack as they contort in all the worst ways, in the ugliest of angles? Smiling serenly, a light, tinkle of laughter, completely at odds with the femme's darker musings, would leave her parted lips. Yes, there was an easy way for her to acquire the answers here and now--though, she suspected the consequences wouldn't be ones most would find to be pleasant. Though...that didn't matter, did it? She had never allowed the sentiments of strangers to influence her decisions, and she had no intention of starting now. She would do it without a moment's hesitation; she was quite used to falling, she had told herself that she would fall as far as she needed to--both literally and metaphorically--if it meant forwarding her personal agenda, as well as that shared by the other fellowcrafts of the Guild. However...


    A second later, the young girl would release a sigh, before slowly proceeding to back away from the edge. As strong as the urge to satiate her curiosity was, now was hardly the appropriate time to be recklessly hurling herself off cliffs, wasn't it? She could only imagine what the expressions of her dear colleagues, if she were to tell them she'd done such a thing--most of them would be rather irritated with her and her whims, wouldn't they? Alice would surely stomp around and pout a bit (throwing childish fits had never been below her dignity, and Alyss liked to think it was one of her twin's most charming features), and her mother...well, she would likely reprimand her for her behaviour, as mothers should; though, she had to say that Lacie had always been much more tolerant compared to others with similar circumstances.


    Speaking of the elegant, obsidian Baskerville...she had been gone for a while now, hadn't she?


    "Hm, I wonder what Paris is like at this time of year..." the girl mused dreamily, her youthful countenance taking on a distant look. The city of lights...how long had it been, since she had last been able to roam its beautiful streets? She could recall vivid memories of laughter, of pleasant chatter, of winds scented with fragrant blossoms and freshly-baked pastries from the cartes that lined the wide, cobblestone roads. What wouldn't she give to go back to her first home, in this life? She had to admit that she was a bit upset that her mother had left her and her sister behind--it was dreadfully dull here. Though, the regal Baskerville matriarch had mentioned she would be returning from France with a guest. Alyss could only hope it was someone worth observing.
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    && mobile and rushed bc class starts in ten minutes,, there's probably a million errors in this + excuse her and her ic opinions; she's as bitter as an espresso cx
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    [color=transparent] DIALOGUE IN #E9C4FB

    [align=center][fancypost borderwidth=0;color:#B6D8C0;font-size:20pt;letter-spacing:-2px][font=georgia]A TINCTURE OF MEMORIES[/fancypost][fancypost borderwidth=0; width: 330px; color:#ECDBBC;font-size:8pt;margin-top:-9px;letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: 98%;][font=arial][justify]/ ooh track

    [fancypost bgcolor=Transparent; border: 0px; width: 400px; margin-center: -5px; text-align: justify;]☆— [size=10px]tracks this


    tags

    [justify] //tracking


    tags and information

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    [hr]OH, WE DON'T OWN OUR HEAVENS NOW; WE ONLY OWN OUR HELL

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    ALICE [shadow=#000,left]❝[/shadow]LUCA[shadow=#000,left]❞[/shadow] BASKERVILLE

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    [align=center][font=century gothic][b][font=georgia]IF YOU DIDN'T KNOW THAT BY NOW, YOU NEVER KNEW ME ALL THAT WELL
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    [fancypost bgcolor=; border-top: 0px; border-left: 0px; border-right: 0px; border-bottom: 0px; width: 490px; margin-top: -12px; font-family: verdana; line-height:100%; font-size: 9pt; text-align: justify;][b]"Les jardins au Château de Versailles sont probablement en pleine floraison,"     came the ebony creature's response, as she slipped into her second tongue with practiced ease. Ah, yes, the gardens at the Palace of Versailles. Though Alyss had evidently appreciated its beauty more than she had at the time, one simply couldn't deny the elegance of its design...and the aptly named 'dancing fountains' had been quite the entertaining spectacle. Permitting a nostalgic smile to briefly form and linger in the contours of her face, the girl would pause a little ways away from where her lighter counterpart stood, brushing the hem of her dark, velveteen cloak aside with a sweep of a paw before offering a smooth greeting, "Bonjour, ma chère soeur. Feeling homesick, at all?" Living in France had been an delightful time--everything from the food, to the fashion, and right down to the cultured air they'd inhaled day in and day out, had been nothing less than perfect, at least by her standards. Simply no place could contest the charming, sophisticated atmosphere of the Parisian streets.


    Honestly, Alice hadn't the slightest clue as to why on earth Lacie had chosen BlizzardClan as their base d'opérations. She (and she was sure she could speak for many of the other fellowcrafts, as well) would have been content to stay in the mansion they'd inhabited, or back moved down to Réveil. In comparison, this--BlizzardClan, and its log cabins--was a throwback to a far more primitive, unenlightened era. Regardless of how much they dressed up the interior of their homes, the outside and overall structure of their abodes would remain the same. Several had been quite expressive with their displeasure, and had voiced their complaints the instant they made it up those horrendous stairs. Individuals like Mitchell, Montgomery, and Hawthorne had stated they found the journey up to the islands to be exhausting, and living up on a floating island to be incredibly idiotic. No one even knew how the hell they'd come to float, or why. And, as a famous English physicist had once said: "what goes up, must come down". Who was to say these islands would stay suspended amongst the clouds forever?


    Swallowing an exasperated snort, the young Baskerville would settle for adopting a mildly irritated expression, and made an abrupt attempt to change the subject in hopes of taking her mind off of their mother, and her vacation (business trip, she had once corrected, sometime before she'd set off, I'm going there on important business, not to have fun; but really, who did she think she'd been trying to fool?), "...By the way, do we have any updates on Lovecraft, Steinbeck, Poe, Alcott, or Christie's whereabouts? She had considered bringing up Dostoyevsky as well, but given what she'd heard the other day...she had a good idea of where he was hiding, and therefore saw no need to include him in the list of their fellow members that were all supposedly en route to the designated meeting location.
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    && lmao i'm also mobile, school just let out tho :^)))
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    [color=transparent] DIALOGUE IN #6E000E

    [align=center][fancypost bgcolor=#ACC579; border: none; width: 450px; height: 40px;][fancypost bgcolor=transparent; border: none;font-family: georgia;text-align: justify;color: black;width: 400px; height: 20px; text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing: -1.5px; margin-top: 1px; margin-left: -5px; font-size: 21px; padding: 11px;]LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY-BASKERVILLE[/fancypost][/fancypost][align=center][fancypost bgcolor=#e6e6e6; border: none; width: 450px; background: linear-gradient(#e7efdc, #fff9e6); min-height: 140px; overflow: auto; margin-top: -1px; text-align: justify; color: white; font-size: 9pt; font-family: arial; line-height: 12px; color:#000][fancypost bgcolor=; border: 3px solid #ACC579; height: 110px; width: 90px; margin-top:5px; background: url(http://i.imgur.com/UVK3svy.jpg); background-position: right; background-size: 100%; float: left; margin-right: 9px; margin-bottom: 2px;][/fancypost]A throwback to darker ages indeed; had she known them, the cinnamon-hued femme would have surely nodded in agreement with her sentiments. To be fair, it certainly wasn't as ugly a setting as that of some of the other groups she'd passed by on her way here--she could remember having encountered some savage bunch that lined their borders with the corpses of their enemies--how [i]disgusting...what, did they fancy themselves as some stereotypical villains from a third-rate novel? The whole 'we-live-in-this-dark-place-filled-with-skulls-and-we-kill-for-fun-and-therefore-you-should-fear-us' message was getting old real fast (if only this world were that black and white--hah, then she wouldn't have so many problems to deal with). She had told them so--she'd told them to quit whatever the hell it was they were doing with those nasty, and told them to get a goddamn hobby, probably one that didn't involve senseless murder and torture. But, of course, they hadn't listened to her. They'd sneered at her words, called her a fool, said that she would be their next victim.


    Oh, but approximately ten minutes later, she'd had them singing a different tune.


    She'd been kind enough to let them go with their lives, but not without first shattering those silly notions and ideologies about death and killing they'd harbored when she had found them. And naturally, she'd made them play with her and her dear companion before sending them on their merry way. But...goodness, her friend had been such a brat, demanding that those strangers play a game of tag, but Lucy thought she was quite cute, nevertheless. However...those 'exilers' (or whatever ridiculous term it was they'd used to refer to themselves) hadn't really thought the same...it had been a tad saddening, but oh well. It was their loss, not hers. It wasn't her job to wipe the crap out of their eyes and whatever pathetic excuse of a brain they had between their ears to enable them to recognize nice things when they were being dangled in front of their faces.


    Now, speaking of nice things, she had been on her way to Alyss's cabin. The ivory-hued femme had plenty of charming little dolls in her humble abode, and given that today seemed a bit chilly, Lucy had figured it wouldn't hurt for the too of them to get together again and have a pleasant chat over tea and cookies. However, she did manage to spot the girl and her sister at the island's perimeter on the way to her destination...what were they doing? Was that French they were speaking? She could understand some of the words they spoke; she'd been to Quebec enough times to have picked up on vocabulary used in small, casual exchanges--although granted, Canadian French was a little different from the French utilized by the inhabitants of France. It was then that Alice piped up again--and this time, Lucy could fully understand what it was she was talking about seeing as she was fluent in English, of course.


    "Pardon my intrusion, but I believe Lovecraft is on his way, and Poe and Alcott both have a crippling fear of heights...so I reckon they stayed behind," she offered in a breezy sort of tone, punctuating her statement with a small wave of greeting. "As for Steinbeck and Ms. Christie, I think they're both still unaccounted for, which is a bit worrisome." Hm, maybe they were both in the middle of something important though, so it'd be wrong to accuse them of slacking off. Who knew--maybe in the next few days, one or both would turn up, with some story about how they'd gotten caught up in the port or held up by those other groups...some groups hadn't received her presence in their territory all that well, even after she'd explained and told them she needed to pass through their lands to get to BlizzardClan.
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    && wow, so we're all mobile today haha
    [/fancypost][align=center][size=7pt][color=white]lightsy loves you | edited by seliane
    [size=3pt][color=transparent] #lucymaudmontgomery #anneofabyssalred #theguild #bungoustraydogs #baskervillefamily DIALOGUE IN #748F3D