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.
Post by saoirse ó floinn on Nov 27, 2017 10:38:31 GMT
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be yourself; everyone else is already taken
[attr="class","jartoxpost"] Propriety soon begins to seep out of her rigid posture, her shoulders loosening and her form softening, as she feels more comfortable. Her ankles uncross and she stretches her legs out relaxed, wiggling backwards onto the bench. Eclair eaten, she doesn't hesitate to pull another pastry out ( this time, a profiterole ) and nibbles on the puff. For once, words fail to come to mind when she attempts to describe the dessert and her thoughts are blank aside from the utter bliss and content she feels encompassing her body. The cakes don't need words, she thinks to herself, they are perfect and hardly need describing.
[break][break]Her head is tilted slightly towards Kasimir, her gaze absentmindedly following the shortcake as he takes a mechanical bite of the small thing. She blinks twice, a betrayal of her otherwise placid expression, inquisitive for a moment. Does he not like sweet things? Well, that is certainly awkward. Swallowing the mouthful of puff pastry and cream, she pretends not to notice, turning her eyes to look at the sparkling lake. She is not too fussed about him not liking his own creations; it would just mean that there is more for her try.
[break][break]He answers her question simply, not oversharing and giving just enough for her to be satisfied with the response. The male doesn't look to be older than his early twenties, his face youthful and retaining perhaps a shadow of his childhood. She is genuinely interested in what he has to say, her own sampling of cakes having stopped in favour of paying attention to him. Thirteen. It is a young age, although not as young as some others and she's tempted to press for more, although she feels that she'd be overly eager to know about him. Thus, she opts for another path.
[break][break]"I can certainly see the fruit of your efforts here." With just one and a half eaten pastries, she has already grown quite fond of them, certain that all of them would not fail to impress her. Turning to Kasimir, she grins toothily, friendly in nature, "I wish I could bake like you."
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Nov 29, 2017 14:37:24 GMT
two birds
falling in love at a coffee store
she seems to enjoy the confectionaries he had spent the past too many sleepless hours baking, something like contentment flitting over her expression, her posture loosening into a more relaxed one; he is... glad, he finds, that something of his make can provide a positive experience. such an occurrence is most certainly a rarity to be appreciated whenever it happens.
he is... fairly certain saoirse notices his aversion to his own desserts - there are two rapid blinks followed by a flash of curiosity before it vanishes as she discretely turns her gaze to the lake - try as he might, the impact of some things are too deep to fully hide. kasimir appreciates the tact with which she pretends not to have noticed, though. not too many he is... familiar with would have resisted pressing.
"thank you," he murmurs quietly at her praise, ducking his head in mild embarrassment as his cheeks heat up. fortunately, composure is not too difficult to regain; by the time he looks up a few moments later, only the barest hints of pink remain. "it is... not as difficult as it may seem," he says, carefully keeping his eyes on the lake also. "following an accurate recipe usually yields satisfactory results; the rest comes from experience." on the tip of his tongue is an offer to show her, to teach her how to bake; kasimir bites down on the words and does not allow himself to give into the impulsive urge. saoirse is a stranger, one he has known for less than an hour - it is unlikely they will even meet again after today.
even less likely is someone wanting him to stay around - kasimir has not forgotten the pink-haired witch's familiar, after all.
finishing the strawberry shortcake he holds in one more rapid bite, he wonders if when would be an acceptable time to make his excuses and leave. kasimir is still not sure how he got to this point - eating desserts he cannot stand in the heart of one of his few sanctuaries, alongside a strange woman who for all intents and purposes should not have wanted anything to do with him; but then he stops that train of thought in its tracks, feeling vaguely guilty. saoirse has been nothing but kind, after all. it is merely that kasimir knows not what to do in such a situation, and rather fervently wishes he could return to where the world made sense.
Post by saoirse ó floinn on Jan 15, 2018 13:08:59 GMT
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be yourself; everyone else is already taken
[attr="class","jartoxpost"] another bite of choux pastry has the pink-haired witch sighing into the bench, posture sinking further in a languorous position. uncaring of the sticky residue left upon her fingers, she picks up another pastry; a lemon tart, judging by the fragrance of the filling. licking her lips in anticipation, she nibbles into the crust while her gaze is pinned upon the shimmering lake before her, not quite focusing on anything particular. such is bliss intertwining with pleasure.
[break][break]they spend a few long minutes sitting in silence, with only the soft quacking of ducks to accompany the rippling of water. the pastries in the first box are almost gone and her stomach is completely full. placing a hand upon her belly, she inhales and closes the lid to the box. there would be no dinner tonight, for sure.
[break][break]placing the box to the side, she glances at the baker, biting her lower lip as she thinks of what to say. they know little of each other, aside from names and from what she can gather from their current situation, he isn't one to talk much either. how much could she ask without prying too deep or rather, what was he willing to say? with such a thought, she says nothing and instead lets the moment pass by.
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Jan 15, 2018 13:45:05 GMT
two birds
falling in love at a coffee store
moments pass with the languid rhythm of summer-soft wind; the sun leans down to gild their skin with golden luminosity while a playful breeze darts by and threads long fingers through their hair. it is, by any measure, a beautiful afternoon painted in tranquility and peace; on any other occasion, kirjava would likely have taken advantage of this glorious weather to laze around in the warmth, with kasimir splayed out on the grass by her side.
relaxation is difficult to come by, however, when he cannot help but admit a hyperawareness of the girl seated by his side, silence stretched gossamer-thin between them while she makes her way through the box of pastries he had made. there is too much thought: should he speak? should he leave? what judgement passes through this stranger's mind? and there is a fear, no matter how illogical, that saoirse might somehow be able to infer from what little he has revealed the source of his aversion to his own baking.
and so passes seconds, minutes, stretches of this golden afternoon passing by with the 'tick tick tick' of time's silver cogs; whir as the universe spins upon its axis and swirls them through the space-time continuum. his eyes trained on the steady rippling of the lake, the sway of jade-crowned willow branches ( and darting, every so often, to check on the girl beside him ); slowly, the pastries dwindle.
when at last the box is empty, through the peripheries of his vision he sees saoirse hesitate, unvoiced words darting fleetingly across her expression before silence wins out; this, he thinks, is his cue to leave.
kasimir stands, shifting to face the pink-haired woman before offering a polite bow. "i am afraid i must take my leave now," he says quietly. "i hope the pastries were satisfactory."
Post by saoirse ó floinn on Jan 15, 2018 14:11:32 GMT
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[attr="class","jartox"]
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be yourself; everyone else is already taken
[attr="class","jartoxpost"] Were her mind to always be this calm would be a virtue that'd she be unlikely to let go of. There's a charm to sitting in silence, contrary to the common belief that it is ( sadly ) most suitable to those who are lonely. The chaos in her thoughts has simmered down to mere bubbles and for once, picking out a singular thread seems to be a far more easier task than ever before. Stored away ideas for her next novel suddenly arise from their compartments and she can see plotholes being filled one by one, a concept at a time. Hope blossoms in her chest as her expression brightens, cheeks flushing at the prospect; there is promise in her venture and she has cause to complete it.
[break][break]Her glee is short-lived when Kasimir's voice breaks her out of her reverie. Startling, her whole body jolts as he stands, declaring his leave. His bow has her leaping to her feet, heels clicking softly as they hit the stone beneath them. Inclining her head in return, she offers him a genuine smile as she picks up the remaining full boxes and tossing the empty one on top. "Of course, it was about time I did as well. Thank you so much for allowing me to take these. For free even!" She knew for sure that if she did pay for all three boxes, her weekly budget would be diminished more so than average grocery shopping.
[break][break]With everything all gathered, she continues cheerily. "Let's walk back to the gate and we can part ways there. It was very nice to meet you, Kasimir."
Post by kasimir burovski ✨ on Jan 15, 2018 14:39:08 GMT
two birds
falling in love at a coffee store
this time, thankfully, no sable materialises to insist he stay, and there is no hint of offence within saoirse's expression. instead, there is a smile, no falsehood nor disingenuity underlying the curve of her lips ( not that he particularly expects such; fear, however, is never so merciful as to be logical ); though nothing even remotely approaching a smile, he feels his own expression softening in return.
"you are very welcome," he says, a tad awkwardly, with another small duck of head. he... cannot understand, not really, why saoirse seems so pleased, but anything given free of charge, he supposes, is deserving of a measure of delight. "it was a pleasure to meet you too."
as they make their way to the gate, footsteps trailing in parallel echoes against each other, he decides that despite its spontaneity, despite its more than occasional awkwardness, despite still knowing absolutely nothing of how he should act, he is... rather content with how this afternoon was spent. and though they are undoubtedly still strangers as they part, he decides that he would not be adverse to interacting with saoirse again.