@canonfoddcr | anne for the duke
The sudden burst of rain had caught them by surprise and left them scrambling to close up shop and get inside to find some shelter. There was no one to buy anything anymore, with everyone looking to get a roof above their heads, so Anne had simply put a kettle on and perched on a cushion. Turned slightly to the side, she looked outside, listening to the droplets hammering against the roof. It was soothing.
“I wonder where that came from. It was such a lovely day just an hour ago...”
@canonfoddcr took a chance on snicket!
he doesn’t acknowledge anyone standing in front of him. not immediately, at least. lemony flips through a few more papers before his glances up from the book in hand, noting a curl that could be considered a smile by some.
“did you know that i once read about a species of large mountain cat that was fond of baring it’s teeth before attacking that was typically MISTAKEN by explorers as a smile? food for thought.”
“Me and some friends played with a Ouija board the other night… and things have been a little strange since then.” from Isadora // @canonfoddcr
Really, she ought to take every hunk of plastic and throw it into a bonfire to rid the world of the board’s evil.
Not that the plastic diversion is evil of its own accord -- It’s just that, a mass produced party game that makes fine sport of the easily rattled of humanity. No, as with all forays into the supernatural, it’s a matter of intent. Hel finds the younger the user is, the more likely they are to put their faith in such a place that the world weakens in the face of it. She’s never known a proper haunting from the truly old’s fretful or mocking plays, but the youth are something different.
Scrubbing a hand down her face, she looks to the girl bleakly. So what now? Does she call it the nerves of a superstitious sort, or true activity. Has something been pulled from the edge by true belief. If not by her, who else has she crossed paths with, what do they think, what do they know?
The silence drags. At last, Hel heaves a sigh that betrays her true age for a fleeting moment. No, there is no knowing unless she delves the reality of the situation. Her tongue loosens, and she comes at it with a blank slate, with a questioning nature.
“I see. And what is this strangeness you speak of?”
@canonfoddcr | luiza for the duke
In a village where nothing ever happens, the odd traveller was a welcome distraction. Though no stranger to these parts, the Duke was a well-liked face, especially among the kids. Whenever he set up shop, they began to crowd around his cart, hoping to get little handouts, or see something shiny he brought from places they couldn’t fathom (that’s what happens when you grow up in such a small town, Luiza mused).
Approaching the cart with a basket on her arm, Luiza waited patiently until the children were either called back by their mothers or ran off on their own. “Good morning,” the woman said with a smile, wasting no time to reach into her basket and pulling out a still warm loaf of bread wrapped in a hand-embroidered cloth, holding it out for him. “I made a fresh batch this morning and thought you might want some.”
The neighbors, damn the neighbors.
But they didn’t have room to do much about that, especially when they were being shoved into the pillow just so that their sounds could be muffled. And some sounds they certainly were making, the feeling of Annabelle’s fingers between their legs, the circling motions right where they wanted to feel was sending waves a pleasure through them.
“I’ll try not to.“ It was one of the few coherent things they managed in between their muffled moans.
When Annabelle pauses for a moment, Z can take a breath, still feeling kind of longing for that pressure. But they do answer the question.
“Yeah. Yeah - I like what you’re doing a lot. It’s really nice the way you feel.“
cont. with @canonfoddcr from here
The Duke squeezes his arms around Lip, taking in as much of their warmth as he can. The beast is in the back of his mind, rattling the bars of its little cage- any time he's close to a human it's a conscious effort on his part to ignore all the urges to snap their necks and suck them dry. But he manages, just as he has for centuries.
"I'm not too cold for you, am I?" he chuckles, patting Lip on the back gently. "Normally people complain."
Lip lets out a little sound as the Duke holds them closer— something between a sigh and a hum. This really is nice. Lip isn’t usually a hold-me kind of bitch, or anyways they’re not the kind of bitch who gets held, but... the hold-me bitches might really be on to something with this. They just wish—
There’s a pang of guilt as the Duke asks about the temperature. It’s not even the Duke’s fault, really, it’s just— Lip gets cold so easily, they always have, haha, and it’s not anyone’s problem but their own, but...
“S’alright,” they mumble. “I’ll just... get a sweater.” They brought a sweater with, right? Of course they did. It must have just... ended up somewhere else. On the floor, probably. They’ll just get up and grab the sweater and collapse right back into the Duke’s embrace. They’ll just get up right... now. Uh, right now. Okay, right now.
...No, they really don’t feel like getting up.
𝚁𝙴𝚀𝚄𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙳 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙵𝙾𝚁 @canonfoddcr [ 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙳𝚄𝙺𝙴 ]
always she flits wherever she pleases, moving about her home with ease of decades spent mapping out the halls in her mind. she is a whirlwind, a storm in silk and lace. skin the color of the dead, waxy and cold to the touch, she shifts between states of being. from girl to plague and back again, and as such, the sound of a thousand winds fluttering announces her presence.
they are not supposed to intrude upon the duke, this mysterious being, elevated above the common villager. a bond and brotherhood with him, whatever he may be, that not one of the lords would betray-- not even the pious miranda would dare besmirch his good name. though he often appears in their home, his trinkets and smoke hanging as if they had always been there, mother’s orders stood not to interrupt him unless it was upon her proclivity, but as always, the moment the youngest daughter is told that she shouldn’t, she does.
fractal eyes of her legions, observing the room first beyond the visible light spectrum in washes of heat signatures, a tide of black bodies, rushes under the door. ants marching along the jittery paths of blowflies and fleas that jump about, never able to sit still. spiders descending on silk from along the crack above the door whilst moths with powdery wings clamber through the antique keyhole. all of it coalescing in a pillar of pestilence, focusing in as a girl with a mischievous smile.
“ hello again! “ her sing-song voice accompanied by a short, uneven curtsey. “ i knew i’d find you in here-- you are always right where you are supposed to be, just when you are needed. “
The feeling of Annabelle’s long fingers against their ever-shifting patterns was a delight to Zora. There was something so intimate and caring about the way her fingers felt on their skin. And to know that Annabelle was marveling at them made Zora feel so lovely in this moment.
“Thank you. Could you believe, I tried to keep the patterns so hidden for so long? It wasn’t worth the effort so.. I just.. let them be and embrace the way they look on me. I do love them.“