Riven Wight

Melodramatic Deities and an Ageless Taste for Pizza

“What?” Anora looked at Pahn with a confused gleam in her eyes as she wondered which question, if not both, he was answering. At the very least, she was sure it was directed toward her last question.
"This topic doesn't exactly seem like one to—" Before she could finish, let alone bother to interrogate him further, she glanced up as Dino returned, their food in hand.
“Oh, right.” Food. She had ordered so absently, she had forgotten they had even ordered “Thanks.” She offered him a small smile in gratitude as he placed her order of lasagna in front of her.
The tantalizing scent rising from the warm dish and voluptuously crimson sauce dotted with spices coating the top made her mouth water and stomach decide it was hungry despite everything.
“That… smells amazing.” Slowly, she reached for one of the neglected bread sticks and placed it on the plate beside her entrée. The bread felt perfectly fluffy on the inside, yet crisp on the outside. Just the way it should be, even after sitting out through the duration of her and Pahn's conversation.
She shook her head at the man’s offer for wine. “It’s just been a long day.” She reached for the glass of water the man had placed on the table earlier alongside the bread sticks. She paused in raising it toward her mouth, her attention turning to one of the most recent customers as they stood. Her grip on the glass tightened as she watched the woman—dressed in a way Anora would approve of, if not a bit warm for the summery day—draw near their table.
Anora suppressed a sigh of relief when she realized the woman was only heading toward the bathroom. Her gaze locked with the woman’s for a short moment when she looked in their direction, admiring the shade of green of her eyes, but it seemed nothing more than a casual glance before she entered the restroom.
Get a grip, Anora! she scolded herself, bringing the glass of ice water to her lips and forcing herself to not cast another glance around at the five—now four—people who had entered. Now you’re just being ridiculous… and referring to yourself in third person. They probably just happened to arrive at the same time. That happens. Right? She frowned into the glass, hoping the cool, refreshing liquid would help calm her racing thoughts and nerves.

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Izzy’s gaze darkened. His father, then.
“They’ve never hurt you before today? What... what happened?” she asked slowly, her voice soft. She looked at him with furrowed brows, unsure whether his nonchalance was some sort method for dealing with the situation, or simply how and in stride he took everything, even something like that. “How can you say that so easily? That’s not normal, you know. Him doing that.” She bit her bottom lip and looked to the gauze, concern and worry for Trevor glistening in her eyes.

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Noticing Trevor look to her, Izzy tilted her head to once more put him in her view.
“What? Why?” She blinked at him at his request.
She doubted she could do much if he was living in an abusive household, but her parents were police officers. They would be capable of doing something about it. But if he did not want anyone else involved, it would be her word against theirs, and the last thing she wanted was to lose him. Besides, that he was trusting her with this was a good sign, wasn’t it? And even if it was another thing to add to her growing list of secrets, at least someone would know.
She sighed and shook her head at the ground at her feet in a dismissal of her questions. “Never mind. That doesn't matter.” She looked back to him. “I promise this will all stay between us.”

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

For a fair warning (if it isn't already obvious), it's been a while since I've orchestrated a battle in a 1x1. If I go too far or you feel like I don't give you enough room to move or anything, let me know and I'll go in and fix that!

Also, I wish I had the skills to draw the shadowmire so badly right now...

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

Elayra cast Ghent a quick glare in the dimness of the unlit alley when he all but shoved her outside.
“Do you think I’m blind?” she returned as Ghent passed her up, him pulling her instead for a moment before her pace evened out with his. At least he was fairly fast.
The lights of the street ahead cast a friendly, almost welcoming glow at the end of the dark alley. Elayra still grasped her sword in her free hand as the road grew steadily closer, her head swiveling in a vain attempt at spotting anything in the shadows already saturating the alleyway.
When they neared the road, a stream of shadow shot just beyond the curb and pooled into another oval on the concrete.
If Ghent did not immediately stop, Elayra tried to pull him to one a couple feet from the halo of light cast by the nearest streetlamp, and stepped slightly in front of him as the beast traveling within the shadow leapt out onto the sidewalk.
The beast’s face resembled that of a panther, only flatter as if someone had hit it a little too hard with an iron skillet. Its long tail twisted behind it, curling in ways it should not have been capable of curling. The fur on its scrunched-looking body appeared segmented, the strands of hair a vibrant red save for two black three-leaf clovers, one on its head and the other near its tail. It grinned in a way only a Wonderland cat can, showing off its unnatural mouthful of sharp fangs, its glowing eyes filled with both an intelligence and malice that radiated a taste for flesh.
Pulling from Ghent’s grip, Elayra took a small step toward the cat, the beast’s head about level with her bellybutton. She pushed the fatigue that had been weighing her down to the back of her mind as well as she could.
“Are you lost, poor kitty cat?” she taunted, a cruel gleam befitting Curse-ridden Drust entering her eyes. It would seem she would get her wish of fighting the wretched beasts. “It’s a shame your master gave you too much leash, little pet.” A sadistic smile pulled at the corner of her mouth, while the beast gave a low growl and bent, ready to pounce. “It’ll be enough for me to strangle you with.”
With an echoic, throaty roar, the shadowmire lunged. Its body stretched and thinned at each of the lines in its fur, slinky-like, revealing red, scaly skin between rings of fur, its long, sharp claws extended toward Ghent and Elayra.

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

With the aid of the bottom box of her makeshift seat, Elayra pulled herself to her feet. She did not need to look to know Ghent would be taking a beating. As fast as she could, she hurried to collect her sword as Ghent threw his second punch.
Drust easily turned and slid back, avoiding Ghent’s attack, and reached to grab his extended forearm. Using the force of the missed punch, Ghent's disadvantage of his weight being temporarily on one leg, and his own strength, he moved to pull Ghent's arm down and over to force him to turn, and wrench it behind his back between them. Upon success, he used his other hand to jerk Ghent’s free arm into the same position.
As Elayra, with no intention of leaving, grabbed her sword, she bumped into one of the shelves, making the contents rattle and shift. But the shadow of the objects quivered as if confused, and expanded for a short second before settling back down.
“Drust!” Elayra spun toward the two, a sense of panic in her eyes at the prospect of having more than just Drust fighting against them in this too-small space. “Shadowmire!”
No sooner had the word left her mouth, then the shadow hiding beneath the shelving spread over the boxes covering the back wall near her. Its wispy grayness deepened into a swirling black oval nearly the same height as her.
The lines in Drust’s eyes pulsated and receded a fraction from his pupils as they looked from Elayra to the pair of menacing red eyes that had begun to glow in the heart of the darkness. A short, grinning whiskered maul emerged from the shadow. He tossed Ghent none too gently to the side and drew his katana with a fierce, “Get out of here!”
Elayra ran by him, pausing only to reach to take Ghent’s wrist and pull him toward the exit behind Drust, the door still cracked open.
At the exit, Elayra cast a quick glance back as a roar like a wild panther echoed from the shadow. A mix of concern for Drust and resentment for not being capable of fighting the shadowmire rested on her face, but she did not stop.
Just before the door started to close behind them, another shadow flitted out into the night behind Ghent and Elayra like a serpent slithering after its prey.

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

“You’re, only, feeding it!” Elayra managed between her teeth, unsure whether the strained words were loud enough for Ghent to hear. She rolled onto her front as Ghent continued to egg Drust on, one arm draped over her midsection and the other propping herself up, shaky from the backlog of events of the day as she vaguely wondered what else could go wrong.
Drust only sneered at Ghent’s failed attempt at cracking his knuckles. When the boy pulled his phone out, Drust slid one foot behind the other and stood in a slightly crouched position, fists raised for the defensive as he waited for Ghent to make the first move.
He snarled, stepped back, and averted his gaze when a bright flash burst from the small device. At the sound of the pone hitting the floor, he turned his head and moved back on swift feet, blinking rapidly. Drust bent his head back just in time, Ghent’s knuckles brushing against his skin, only nicking their target.
Still blinking away the effects of the flash, in a swift movement, Drust moved to ram his forearm into Ghent’s to force it away, and jab his other fist toward the left side of Ghent’s rib cage.

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There it was, the smile Izzy so loved to see on him. Her heart fluttered every time one graced Trevor’s face. She felt her cheeks grow warm, and looked away, letting the lose part of her hair, which she again wore pulled up in its usual high half-ponytail, fall over her face.
“That’s what friends are for. Listening without feeling imposed upon, I mean.” She took a deep breath as, once again, her question about the gauze came to mind. “So,” she began, a dark tone to her voice at the thought of anyone harming him, let alone the people who were supposed to be his parents. Her grip on her walking staff tightened slightly. “Which one hurt you?”

Schooled in Magic

In the silence that fell between them, Jazelle munched on her breakfast, one hand still shoved in her hoodie’s muff, and careful to keep an eye on Sunder. She was still not quite sure what to make of him, whether or not she should trust him and his apparent kindness in saving and taking her temporarily under his wing. She glanced around at the tables, at the remaining servants chatting and laughing, the warmth filling the room from the chef’s fire as the man bustled about to keep what food still cooked from burning.
As real as it felt, she could not get over the strangeness of it all, the improbability of a world like this existing anywhere outside her head. A look of conflict crossed her eyes as she tried to decide whether or not to believe what her senses were telling her.
Noticing Sunder look to her, her attention snapped back to him. She held her breath at his expression, angling herself so she was a bit further away in her seat, a piece of the unidentified meat on her fork.
She snorted bitterly, and absently started to push the food around on her plate with her fork-turned-push-broom at the concept of him sending her to Whitehall to get her out of his hair.
“How very generous of you,” she muttered into her plate, sarcasm slathering her voice.
Jazelle shrugged nonchalantly at Sunder’s question. “If that’s what floats your boat, I suppose it wouldn’t matter if it didn’t, would it?” Satisfied she had mixed up the food on her plate well enough, she brought the fork to her mouth, bits of other food now sticking to the meat.

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

When Ghent pulled the door open, a shadow pooling innocently beneath one of the shelves near the floor close to the exit stretched out in a wispy strand, as if ready to follow. It shot back into place when the boy turned back around, its unusual actions going unnoticed by the duelers.
The moment their swords collided, Drust slid his from Elayra’s and swung it with speed and accuracy rivaling even the greatest ninja, the hilt now grasped in both hands.
Elayra leapt away, trying to keep Drust’s attention from shifting to Ghent, the tip of his sword slicing at the fabric of her dress at her stomach. The end of his swing collided with one of the shelves, shattering packages of tube light bulbs and sending splinters of cardboard and glass clinking to the floor.
“Wait!
Drust’s head twitched toward Ghent.
“Get. Out!” Elayra hissed, sparing Ghent scarcely a glance as he rebuked Drust for the role he now played.
Drust, katana already drawn back for his next swing, hesitated, his head twitching consecutively and bearing a toothy snarl, the constant battle between man and magic warring anew.
For a precious moment, Elayra thought Ghent may have helped snap Drust out of it, or at least come close to it. But then, Ghent opened his mouth again, taunting him.
“You idiot!” she groaned as Drust’s attention turned to Ghent, something between a malicious grin and lopsided smirk twisting his face.
“And I was worried you were just a spineless oaf,” he jeered with a gravely undertone. “If it’s a fight you want, little oaf,” Elayra’s grip tightened on her weapons when Drust raised his Katana, sliding a foot to the side in preparation to stop Drust from using it on Ghent, but instead, he sheathed it, “who am I to decline?”
Fearful of how far he would go in a battle with Ghent, Elayra hastily tried to take advantage of Ghent’s distraction.
She jumped toward Drust, her sword aiming at his calf.
Drust growled and shifted out of the way, turning in a kick, but her blade hit its mark, creating a gash in his trousers before his foot collided with her stomach.
She bent double and stumbled back with its force. Her foot collided with the edge of her box-seat, and she fell to the floor, landing painfully on her side. Her sword clattered to the ground and skid into one of the shelves as she frantically tried to gasp in a breath.
Apparently satisfied she would be down at least long enough to deal with the other teenager in the room, Drust turned back to Ghent. “Let’s find out if you deserve to be called Hatter’s son, shall we?” he purred nastily, his neck cracking in yet another violent twitch.