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 iolani kótsyfas on Jan 9, 2018 14:20:24 GMT
sometimes, the world is shit and deserves to be drowned in alcohol.
no wait, booze is way too good to waste on this shitshow of a planet. unfortunately, there really isn't many other ways she can block out the sensory input from this accursed life unless she goes to extremes, like taking on an entire famiglia with bloodlust howling in her blood, or immersing herself within the mindlessly hedonistic pleasure of sensuality and sin, or drugging herself with sleep-inducing potions and hoping someone doesn't come by and stab her in the throat. she really doesn't feel like any of the above today, so....
getting shitface drunk it is.
tossing back yet another shot ( she's long since lost count ), iolani scowls darkly at the blurry counter in front of her, glaring at it like it personified everything that's wrong with this world. which is a fuck of a lot of shit. "another one," she says roughly, signallng to the bartender for another drink, and transfers her glare to him when he hesitates.
she's still aware of her surroundings, still can walk and talk and be aware of her stupid fucking thoughts that won't shut up, so evidently she's not wasted enough. fuck this shit. fuck this world. fuck this life.
tag:briar atkins words: 218 notes: i hope this is okay!!
thistle pads in front of her. the bottom of his paws glow faintly, leaving minute footsteps behind him that fade as briar follows him. the familiar had been in the middle of a nap when she'd woken him, but he had no complaints to voice when he'd seen the look in her eyes. they almost shared the same mind; he felt the nightmares too.
so they walk now, under the half-moon sky. briar has a bulky blue hoodie on, hands in her pockets to stave off some of the cold. her hood is drawn up. she's well-versed in the ways of looking less tantalizing to some of the creeps that like to skulk around in the city's alleyways.
they have nowhere to be and nowhere to go, but they're used to this. thistle walks without purpose and she follows dutifully behind him. she loses herself in the sky every once in a while; the city's glow blots out some of the stars in the sky, but she can still make out a few. she still knows they're there.
she stumbles to a stop, not having noticed the familiar had paused outside of an establishment. he lets out a cross yowl and tugs his tail out from underneath briar's shoe. she quirks a smile and apologies tenderly, turning her attention to the inside of what she now realizes is a bar.
'why stop here?' she asks.
he shrugs as well as cats can shrug and replies, 'i was curious. there's something tragic about them, don't you think?'
she can't see much of what's inside, but she understands what he's getting at. it's nearing three in the morning and still some linger in the swill. she has her own reasons for being out of bed at this hour and so she empathizes. thistle goes to raise a voice in protest when she takes a cautious step forward, but only sighs and opts to disappear.
'if you need me--' he starts, though briar cuts him off with an of course.
needless to say, the girl doesn't frequent bars, and she can count on one hand the amount of times she's ever been drunk. she has, what most psychiatrists would say, healthy coping mechanisms.
another one.
there are fewer people in the bar than she'd expected. she avoids a few eyes she gets when she shrugs her hood back down and takes a seat next to the woman who'd demanded another drink.
why am i here? but she knows the answer even before she deigns to try to catch the stranger's attention. it's not a look most people like being given, especially with those who need it most. pity. she doesn't say anything for a moment, only pulls out her coin purse and drops a few silver pieces on the counter. the bartender doesn't even give her a second glance as he swipes them up.
Post by iolani kótsyfas on Jan 11, 2018 6:56:43 GMT
little by little, the chatter permeating the enclosed space of the bar dies down into a dull murmur as people with actual lives who have their shit together leave. or, it could just be that iolani's finally getting wasted enough that the surroundings are beginning to blur. could be both - who the fuck cares. both options are expose her to be the sad, pathetic idiot she is.
hey look, self-awareness! it's shame her newfound self-awareness just exposes how shitty she is - this is why she doesn't do it more often. or do it sober.
hah, look at her, throwing herself a pity party. it just gets better and better, doesn't it. scowling at herself, iolani drowns herself within her newest drink as some chick with a hood ( who the fuck wears a hood indoors? ) and pretty eyes sits herself down right next to iolani. when there is almost an entire bar's worth of seats to choose from. fan-fucking-tastic.
she seriously contemplates ignoring the woman, hands cradled around her glass and staring into the depths of the booze swimming within. it offers no advice, or answers, other than an emphatic fuck you; welp, 'i go to booze for answers' said no one, ever. also, she has a strong suspicion the woman isn't gonna let her leave without some sort of conversation, so might as well get it over with.
"y' wan' s'mthin' from me?" she slurs, a whole lot less aggressive than she had meant, and a whole lot more miserable than she had intended. well, isn't that just icing on the top. she narrows storm-grey eyes at the woman, fringe falling in her face that she really can't be fucked fixing right now. "whaddever it is, i ain' 'nterested."
tag:briar atkins words: 303 notes: i hope this is okay!!
a thank you would have been nice, but she hadn't really been expecting one anyway. she observes the woman for a moment, nearly flinches back when she opens her mouth, but her words are less scathing than briar had intended. she does a better job, this time, of keeping the pity off of her face. but something inside of her stomach twists and her mouth goes dry. she's definitely out of her league here, definitely ill-prepared for this, but that doesn't stop her from staying planted firmly on the seat, despite the fact that it's obvious the stranger (and that's what she is--a stranger) doesn't want her here.
"i don't want anything from you," she says, almost under her breath. but the bar is quieter now. a majority of the patrons have shuffled off or are drunkenly dozing. it's a weekday night after all.
typically, she's not very keen on making herself a bother for the sake of making herself a bother. but she has a weak heart (her achilles' heel, as thistle likes to put it when he's cross) and she can't will herself to give up before she's even started. she props her elbow up on the bar instead, drops her chin in her hand, and says, "do you want something from me?"
her cheeks go red when she realizes how quickly that can be misconstrued. obviously she's not a prostitute, selling herself in bars while dressed in an oversized hoodie and converse shoes. "i mean," she says, choosing her words carefully this time, "if you could do anything right now--anything feasible--with a stranger, with a friend, with someone, what would you do?"
she offers a careful smile, "because i'd like to do it."
Post by iolani kótsyfas on Feb 18, 2018 14:18:32 GMT
the chick doesn't take the hint and go away, which is a fucking shame. how much clearer does she have to be to get across the message that she just wants to be left alone to drown her stupid issues in booze? she deepens her glare, scowls darkly as if attempting murder with willpower alone ( doesn't work, for fucking shame ), then turns away back to her drink with every inch of her body language screaming 'fuck you, go away, go bother someone else.'
doesn't work. of course not. of course nothing in her life is that easy. fucker.
the nosy stranger mutters a reply, soft enough that it's almost inaudible but loud enough that it's clearly meant to be heard. wow. make more work for iolani, yeah? what a damn night. "if y' don' wan' 'nything, go away," she snaps. again, it comes out far less aggressive than she'd intended. probably because of the booze. about damn time it starts working.
then there's another question, and another, and another, until she's faced with three questions and shit far too wordy for this time of night. geeze, give her some time to respond! fucker. but the questions, oh my. iolani laughs, loud and harsh with no hint of humour to be found within the sound. "you offerin' to go fuck?" she smiles at the chick, a dagger slash of red across her face that couldn't be more sardonic if it tried. "sorry darl'n', i know 'm easy, but y' gotta come up wi' a better line than that."
cutting sarcasm followed by another harsh, bitter laugh. iolani drains the rest of her drink and slams the glass on the counter. the bartender watches her with wary eyes. "no, i don' wan' 'nythin' from you," she says, self-depreciating dark amusement lacing her words. "fuck off."
tag:briar atkins words: 303 notes: r-rip im sorry this took so long! and at how rude iolani is ;;;
