this is Salem, a land filled with magic and maladies. It is a place where witches and their elemental familiars gather, a home to legend and
lore that predates time itself. Yet of all the wicked and wonderful stories the past can tell us of, the most magical are the ones yet to happen.
This is Salem - this is the start of your very own journey. Welcome to starfall
Starfall is an animaga witch roleplay set in mostly modern times. Members play as witches in a world plagued by monsters, where the only safe spots are walled cities. Starfall strives to be a character-driven roleplay with expansive lore and a highly interactive plotline. We want to allow members to
create and look back on a magical journey, and mold the site and its plot as their characters grow.
It is not very common anymore for Aisling to have the free time to play and compose music. Most of her days as of late have been dominated by lessons and practice with magic, her duties as the heiress to her house, or adjusting to the responsibility of a newly inducted witch of the Helios Knights - perhaps not as great a change as one might image, but a change nonetheless. The greatest challenge has undoubtedly been adjusting to the new environments: learning to navigate the subtle pitfalls that are inconsequential to a sighted person, attempting to memorise voices with the people she meets and the cadence of their footsteps, attempting to conduct herself with the poise and composure expected of the Fei heiress while ignoring the whispers that fan out in her wake.
Aisling thinks she has done an acceptable job thus far, but it is draining, far more draining than she had expected. She is glad to be home, among familiar people and familiar rooms, the coolness of ivory keys against her fingers comforting in a way little else is. Lyze perches on a stand nearby, set up deliberately so that he has full view of the room and the door in particular, amber-red eyes all but luminous in the dim half-light filtering in from behind semi-translucent gauze curtains.
Quietly, she begins to tap her fingers against the keys, coaxing out a slow, soft tune. It is nothing grand, nothing magnificent or thrilling or even demanding skillwise - it is a child's lullaby drawn in crystal notes and diaphanous memories. It is one of the first songs Aisling ever learnt to sing, to play, and to this day it remains one of her favourite.
'She is coming.' Lyze's voice rumbles across her mind a moment before Aisling hears the footsteps treading the corridor leading to her music room; a small smile crosses her lips at the thought of seeing her closest friend again, despite having seen her last only just the day before. She does not yet stop playing however, content with the fulfilling the desire to finish this song knowing that Chanel is dear enough that she does not need to stand on ceremony around her. This is by far not the first time a session like this has occurred after all. note: hope this is okay? feel free to have there be servants around or smth
Post by chanel crestwalker on Jul 23, 2017 13:09:20 GMT
初めまして。
chanel dresses for every occasion- she likes fashion, but it's also what's expected of her. she can't, therefore, afford to be anything but fashionable and so it sucks the fun right from the wardrobe, and leaves hollow but filled with it a boring sense of responsibility. a dress is a weapon. but she feels the most secure on days when it is not- when it doesn't have to be.
wearing a cute scarf from last year that she can't bring herself to throw away and a loose, breezy magenta top, chanel finds herself gliding along the marble of the familiar passages that make up the fei residence. aisling's parents are absent, though she would have greeted them had they been there. instead, she smiles lazily at the servants that offer her bows in return.
when she arrives in the room, aisling is in the middle of a song with lyze perched above her. chanel smiles, knowing that the click of her heels (no matter how many different types she wears, it seems like aisling has memorized the very rhythm of her footsteps) will alert her friend of her presence. if, of course, the owl hadn't already done so.
"that old tune again? you really never get tired of it, do you?" her voice lacks all its usual venom, and her words, instead of being handpicked, are careless and realxed.
Even as her fingers dance across her beloved keys, Aisling hears the soft 'click-clack' of Chanel's heels grow louder, then the quiet sound of a door opening and closing. Neither of them say anything until the last few bars of the lullaby fade into the afternoon air; their quiet is comfortable, serene. Aisling does not try to hide the smile that plays across her lips at her dear friend's words, the banter an old, familiar jest between them.
"Ah but sometimes simplicity is best. Nostalgia is it's own beauty." Quiet and philosophical - Aisling's own equally as familiar brand of countering, of balancing out Chanel. She finally turns around to face the other girl, standing and reaching out to embrace her friend as Lyze brushes Chanel's location across the back of her mind, the gesture seamless with practice. Chanel's skin is warm against hers, soft, and her scent is floral as always. Lotuses, it seems, today.
Also comes the whisper of her familiar's comments on Chanel's clothing, her style - she restrains an exasperated, fond sigh at the owl's hobby. "You look lovely today," she tells the blonde, drawing back to 'regard' her, a sparkle of mischief in her eyes. It reaches the curve of her mouth soon after. "Lyze assures me your scarf is particularly cute." Really, what does it say about her that her cute grumpy familiar loves fashion as much as the rest of their friendship group?
"Greetings," Lyze grumbles at Chanel, then refuses to say anything more, hunching in on himself and sulking at Aisling's teasing.
Post by chanel crestwalker on Aug 2, 2017 13:37:51 GMT
初めまして。
chanel is a storm of quick words and quicker judgments- it seems an almost uncounterable weight (and sometimes, the scale does tip over) but usually aisling's soft-spoken eloquence balances her out just well.
nevertheless, she lets out a "hmph" at aisling's philosophy (wearing this scarf as she is, it would be hypocritical to go further than that), and then quickly outstretches her arms for a tender embrace. she smiles as her hands cross around the back of her friend, meeting eachother quickly after brushing through seamless violet locks.
"oh?" chanel asks, used to the banter regardless of the topic-- aisling's blindness was not really something she saw anymore (though she was hardly kind enough to extend that grace to others). "you don't have to ask lyze- i look good every day."
she nods at the owl regardless. "likewise."
"anyway, let's go to the gardens. don't you get tired of this stuffy room? you really need more sun, you know."
the room was the furthest thing from stuffy- large and empty and filled with cool, unused air. yet for chanel, whose house had windows for walls and gardens that expanded to the horizon (sol did the insect cleaning), any kind of room was stuffy. it was a wonder her skin wasn't a little more sunkissed, but that was where her affinity for expensive alchemical potions came in.
"how's coven work?" sadly enough, they didn't get to spend all their time together anymore. of course, they still did talk to eachother regularly (exclusively, too, when they were feeling petty); but that somehow made the brief absences more enjoyable to talk about.
She hears Chanel's huff, a soft smile touching her lips at the monosyllabic sound that conveys far more than mere words ever could. Dark as the world is to her, there is a world of meaning within the subtle inflections of one's voice - even more so for people she knows as well as she does her beloved friend.
Banter, though, is even more familiar ground, a quiet and implicit affirmation of friendship as it is. "That you do," Aisling responds warmly. "But Lyze has better taste than I, I fear, and a critical eye besides." Her familiar has to have thus, of course, given her disinclination to rely on servants to choose her clothing.
"Anyway, let's go to the gardens," her says Chanel, reminding Aisling of friend's love for blossoms and plantlife. If it were permissible and appropriate for a noble of her rank, Aisling has no doubt she would spend half her days in the gardens - or does so, regardless.
"Coven work is... certainly an experience," Aisling says diplomatically, unable to sum up the entirety of her feelings succinctly. "You know how foreign environments are." A struggle for her, truly, when she is unfamiliar with the terrain and environment that she must navigate. "And to you?"
She does not yet move towards the door as Chanel had suggested, instead smiling at her friend and gesturing at her piano. "Before we go to the gardens, there is something I would like to play for you. A new song."
Post by chanel crestwalker on Aug 29, 2017 13:44:41 GMT
初めまして。
chanel rolls her eyes-- a gesture aisling cannot see. she ikes lyze too much to press the issue. Aisling's familiar is afforded the light immunity she grants to people she holds higher than average opinions of.
the blonde stomachs a wince as it comes. of course, aisling is probably in a pressured environment she cannot understand. "oh please, you can bitch about it if you want." she doesn't understand how her friend can be such a saint, even in the company of equals. chanel knows what it means to put a facade on for the mighty, or for the weaker, but to mince your words before you present them to people who eat at your own table just sounds like a recipe for disaster.
she smiles. "i honestly can't make an opinion of it. on one hand it's just more opportunities for those commoners to come around and make puppy-eyes at lady crestwalker. on the other, it's kind of fun to annoy the sinclairs when i see them around the halls." she snickers malevolently, the dark aura radiating off her and disappearing just as easily.
chanel isn't loved by many if any, and she seems the least bothered about it. she is about ready to turn to the doors but she notices that aisling is not getting up from her seat. she makes two steps towards the door and then turns around, an involuntary "hm?" escaping her lips- vocal dislike of the hindrance automatically spilling out of her mouth.
"sure," she says. chanel loves the arts. they intrigue her and amuse her but they are not her forte. she can criticize and observe with the keen readiness of a cultured and vocal young lady, but the things she creates are far different from notes and melodies. yet creation is creation never the less. and it is one of the few things that she can respect.
She cannot help but laugh as her friend responds to her diplomatic words with anything but. Chanel's bluntness is ever a trait Aisling feels equal parts admiration and fond exasperation for, a trait she hopes that she might one day possess the courage to imitate also.
"There have been a few less than desirable interactions," she admits with a slight shrug. She can feel her familiar's dark irritation and surge of protectiveness as said incidents come to mind; Lyze ruffles his feathers and glares. "I forget, sometimes, that not everybody has the tact nor social awareness not to express their discontent directly to my face." Everyone gossips, yes, but the nobles within their social circles have at least the mind not to slander her when she is within audible range ( or if they do, it is entirely deliberate. ) But it is a consequence not unexpected, only irritating.
Aisling makes a slight face in sympathy at the mention of commoners 'making puppy-eyes' as Chanel puts it - even if she cannot see them doing so, she is not immune to those people either - and sighs in fond exasperation at her friend's opinion of the Sinclairs. She herself is rather neutral in regards to that family, but she is well aware of Chanel's different feelings.
But now is not a time to be thinking of House and Family politics, nor whatever differences may lie between she and Chanel and the Sinclairs. Now is free time, precious and rare and even more valuable for the company of her best friend.
She turns her attention to the keys resting beneath her fingers, the cool ivory turned warmer from her skin's proximity; she turns her attention to the song that loops in her mind, the song she has not the words to yet, the song whose inspiration and the source of her passionate feelings resides in this room right now. The piano sings the love she dares not voice out aloud, sings it clear and bright and intense; it starts slow, sweet, soft like ripples in water, then builds and builds and builds till it is a crescendo, a fever-pitch of waves crashing against the shore and a tangle of everything called 'Chanel, love' and her heartbeat drowns in her ears in a cadence that matches the beat of the song.
And Aisling plays, for herself, for her heart, for Chanel in a confession she will never actually speak, and lets the music speak for her.
