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.
there was tired. and then there was lying down passed out on the floor in a corner of the Navigator's quarters with the dim lamplight attracting enough moths to drown the ship but you're snoring kind of tired. right now, he was the later. basil awoke when he heard the faint clattering of spoons in the distance.[break][break] what the fuck- was his first thought out of waking up. in accordance with his sleeping habits, though, this wasn't entirely unusual. he sighed, wondering if they had a goddamned pantry thief now. merlin, the things he was expected to deal with. he stood up and groggily grabbed his cloak. the door made surprisingly no noise as it shut behind him.[break][break]
he stalked towards the kitchen, each step strengthening the smell of some delicious fragrance he couldn't quite place. which was puzzling, because he didn't really recall any intruders that came here to cook at three am in the morning. you see new shit every day, he supposed.
[break][break] when he reached the kitchen door he knocked and shoved it open without warning. "i know fane's a slave driver when she wants to be, but i assure you. shift's over." his tone is a deadpan- his eyes are tired and thoroughly unimpressed.
Post by maddox rothscus ✨ on Sept 7, 2017 16:07:34 GMT
that was you.
restless feet carry him into the black widow, and truly, it is restlessness that drives his actions, baseless apprehension coiled in his chest. he thinks, what inspired this was only a nightmare -- just a dream! -- and yet here he is, hoping to ground himself in something painfully mundane to relieve the pain of something that may not even have been real. ( countless discussions with sima and he keeps going in circles, he can't quite tell. )
he strolls into the kitchen just as the cook walks out, and receives a look that he translates into something like, 'i'm not paid enough for this shit'. the night is still young, and just before he completely devotes his attention to the cooking, the sea glimmers with the reflected brilliance of an unclouded night sky. it's somewhat unfortunate that maddox has since turned his attention to the folded piece of paper in his hand, a hastily scribbled down recipe that, at this point, he cannot quite decipher.
"time to wing it, i guess," he tells moosely through their mental bond, and receives a snort in response. he pointedly ignores the derisive tone and does not deign to further comment.
so he cooks -- an impulsive decision to delve into the ever-complicated art of desserts, but, judging by the smell of it, not a bad one. he's just about done, sliding a final, neatly covered tray into the icebox to chill overnight, and considering going out for some fresh air. maddox reaches for the door handle -- there's a knock -- and it swings open quite suddenly, narrowly missing hitting him right in the face. he can feel the breeze it creates as it does, and instinctively takes a step back.
"i know fane's a slave driver when she wants to be, but i assure you. shift's over," comes a voice, and for a moment, maddox doesn't know what to say. ( he rarely does, as do many others, when faced with someone who they admire and, dare i say, adore, so much ).
oh, merlin, it's basil.
( 'oh! it's basil!', adds moosely, ever so helpful. )
"i'm, uh, not--" breathe, maddox, breathe. "the cook already left," he finishes lamely, and his elbow bumps against a plate on the counter. "lemon meringue?"
there's someone inches away from the door when he swings it open carelessly, and even basil blinks at the too-close encounter involving the door and the man's face. the man seems to be panting (or something? basil doesn't really know). "are you doing okay?" he asks cautiously, eying the kitchen, wondering vaguely where he's seen that face before.[break][break] the man walks backwards almost like he has something to hide, and basil steps forward as soon as he does. eventually, his elbow crashes against a plate- at the same time, the stranger steps into the light and basil vaguely recognizes his face as something he's seen on deck before. he's inches within placing a name to the face, when suddenly he's offered a midnight snack.[break][break] the tension hangs suspended in the air at the peace offering, before basil shrugs. "sure thing." he's never been much of a cook, but he won't say no to a much deserved midnight meal. "so you're not the cook then. i forget your name, but you're that novice, right? i heard you've been pulling in good work. well done." [break][break] he's not really great with praise, but fane'd been compelling him to try out talking with his juniors. you'll love the kids, she'd said, like they were some kind of old married couple. he didn't know how to place that woman, that was for sure. basil sat down hesitantly at an odd table- the aroma of the kitchen made him wonder why he didn't come here more often. [break][break]
Post by maddox rothscus ✨ on Nov 25, 2017 3:13:33 GMT
“i’m doing great,” he chirps in reply, maybe a little too quick, maybe a little too enthusiastic, not so much reeling from the near miss with the door but with the fact that basil himself is standing right there. he steps back. basil steps forward. at this point, maddox is more or less at a loss for words. he blinks owlishly, doesn’t quite trust himself to say something that isn’t terribly stupid, so he says nothing instead. the air, heavy in its silence, is broken by basil’s acceptance.
maddox breathes.
he’s searching for a spare plate ( he swears he left one right there, but apparently not ) and some cutlery when basil speaks again. “--you're that novice, right? i heard you've been pulling in good work. well done.”
“i guess?” there are quite a few novices, but he supposes he’s one of them. he spins around, slides the plates of pie onto the table. a brief moment of hesitation; he sits opposite basil and, try as he might, cannot help but feel slightly awkward. “it’s maddox,” he offers, ducking his head in an almost imperceptible gesture from the praise. “maddox rothscus. just, uh, in case you were wondering.”
what is he doing? face to face with someone he idolises and he’s tripping over introductions and his own name. it’s not so much uncharacteristic as it is amusing for anyone who might know him better, acting like some silly, lovesick teenager confronted with their crush.
he examines the pie on his plate and helps himself to a forkful. there’s a genuine note of apology in his voice when he looks back up; a mildly sheepish grin follows. “sorry if all the clanking around in here woke you up.”
