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's an old man sitting on the throne that's saying
that i should probably keep my pretty mouth shut
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Tea time was no
laughing matter in the Caulfield household, and neither would it be for their youngest child, even if she was far away from home at the moment. Despite being in the middle of tracking down a small gang of criminals, Erin had decided it was time for a tea time break for both herself and her mission partner, and so they now found themselves in a very well-to-do restaurant in the middle of one of Sundial's most exclusive zones. Upon the witch's insistence, clearly. She did not know about Maddox's preferences, and she did not much care. They were to have unsweetened earl grey blended with rose petals, and he would have to fight her if he thought otherwise.
She recognizes a grimace of confusion in her companion's face when they're each given a cart. Erin's is devoid of prices, as is customary; though, to justify her disregard of the plates' prices, she has reasons other than expecting the gentleman she's with to pay. She was just going to use her generous monthly allowance, rather than her own hard-earned money, to pay the bill. After all, it was way easier and less painful to spend money when it wasn't earned by oneself.
Erin suspects the bill is not what made Maddox frown, though, which is also why she speaks up in his behalf when the waiter asks if they're ready to order. She would spare her fellow Leviathan novice from having to pronounce any of the plates in the menu, if only because she did not want herself associated with someone who could not pronounce his meals. Oh, the second-hand embarrassment.
"We'll have your vegetable quiche lorraine, the blanquette de veau, and pâte à choux for dessert." The words roll off her tongue easily, like spells practiced repeatedly for years. In a sense, they are: there's nothing quite as magical as a well-planned meal of well-prepared dishes. Not trusting the pre established courses as much as her own palate, Erin's chosen her own set for a three-course meal. She closes the menu and hands it over to the waiter. "Tell your chef to only use goat cheese, and that I'll know the difference if they don't."
While the waiter repeats their order and suggests a red Bordeaux to accompany their meal ("Overrated," she would say, "but it'll do."), the twenty-one-year-old uses one of the two wet towels resting atop the table to clean her hands, and extends a napkin over her lap. She calmly sips at the cup of tea she's been brought while they wait for their meal. "Don't give me that face. Our friends won't be getting anywhere in just the span of an hour. Too much traffic at this time of day. Besides, if what we were told about them is true, they're probably enjoying supper themselves as we speak."
Exactly how close their targets were enjoying supper, they would soon find out.
[attr="class","m2content"]he thinks of missions, and he doesn't think about fancy tea breaks. he adds one 'erin caulfield' into the equation and the situation changes entirely. his peevish familiar's comments go unheeded ( you idiot, you don't need her to finish this mission, just take me and i'll kick them-- ), shoved ever so gently to a side as he allows erin to lead him through increasingly unfamiliar streets. he's suddenly conscious of every strand of hair out of place, and it takes a considerable amount of effort not to retie his hair right there and then, or dash back home to grab a change of clothes, whatever may be more suited to this occasion. instead, he settles for tucking an errant lock of hair behind his ear with as much dignity as he can muster, and tries not to look too uncomfortable when a cart gets wheeled out, completely devoid of any instructions. judging by the look that erin gives him, he isn't very successful.[break][break]
as expected, anyway.[break][break]
price has yet to cross his mind; maddox remains focused on the foreign words scattered on the page. small, fine prints that don't make any sense to him. a frown crawls its way up, draws his brows together slightly, and he sneaks a furtive glance at erin -- who, as expected, seems so very at home in this restaurant. wisely, he avoids the names of the dishes. his comment is half-whispered, "i have no idea what you just ordered, but i have faith in your taste in food."[break][break]
moosely cuts in, i don't.
[break]
maddox's own reply, silent: "who asked for your opinion?"[break][break]
he gets a snort in response, then more silence. stretching in his seat, his fingers struggling to keep from tapping out a rhythm on the tabletop; his impatience, while controlled more than his usual pacing, is unmistakeable. maddox can scarcely fathom how erin can sit there and drink her tea so calmly -- he envies her composure for a moment, before resigning himself to mirroring her actions, cleaning his hands and folding the napkin across his lap. "right." he sounds unconvinced. "let's hope, then."
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[attr="class","m2hov2"]ONE MAN'S OBSESSION IS ANOTHER MAN'S TRASH
maddox rothscus ✨ Let's have Maddox notice their targets while Erin complains to the manager about the asparagus.
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there's an old man sitting on the throne that's saying
that i should probably keep my pretty mouth shut
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[attr="id","invite"]
Erin would be rather
offended if Maddox didn't trust her taste, really. She believes it an implicit, but well-known fact that her taste in anything is remarkable. "As you ought to," she answers simply, blissfully unaware of the conversation going on in the other's mind. The corners of her mouth quiver up into a smile as her mind reaches a hilarious thought. "I'm sure Moosely will appreciate the venison in our main plate, as well."
The witch means to cruelly prolong the suspense of her joke, but ends up breaking into clear laughter sooner than planned. "Moosely dearest, I kid. Blanquette de veau uses white meat." Maddox's familiar has always reacted negatively to the enchantress calling him that, but Erin continues to do it in spite of it. If asked, she'd merely claim ignorance. After all, neither has expressly asked her to stop.
She ignores Maddox's impatience. He's not convinced? His problem. Erin wouldn't be missing out on her meal because of his anxiety to get the mission done right that instant.
It's not hard to notice the stray strands making Maddox's hair look like a bird's nest. If anything, it's hard not to notice. Ever since she'd met the man, she'd come to accept the fact he had a serious case of permanent bed hair. Though his hair had been the subject of a few conversations between them, he still hadn't found a way to fix it, and she can't begin to wonder why. "You're always free to try any of my hair conditioning potions, I hope you're aware," she subtly, but not so subtly, offers.
Honestly, there was a sliver of pity in her eyes. It really ought to be quite embarrassing to hang around her, whose long dyed hair was always so silky smooth and flawless, for him. "Just drop by anytime, and we'll figure something out."
Their first course arrives just in time to save him from answering: two crepes baked in the shape of cupcakes, filled with a delicious mix of eggs, milk, and a variety of vegetables. Asparagus, among them. How did she know, when the ingredients were so hard to pinpoint at a glance? She'd read it in the menu.
[attr="class","m2content"]the mention of venison is met with a derisive snort; in his minds eye, it is all too easy to imagine the bull elk with his antlers lowered, dark eyes glaring balefully ( as they always are ). bell-like laughter bisects the invisible tension, and maddox releases a breath he hadn't known he was holding. moosely returns to his corner, and maddox's mind clears once more.[break][break]
his gaze drifts around the restaurant, though his head remains angled towards erin. a cursory glance does nothing more than confirm that he is very much out of place, and he leans back into his seat. it is further away than expected, but that scarcely dissuades him from doing it, until the chair and his spine form an almost perfect isoceles triangle. a quiet huff; he adjusts his position to something more befitting high society. "one day," he responds even as their first course arrives, with close to zero intention of ever taking her up on that offer. [break][break]
the benefit: blissfully smooth hair, without having to break the teeth of a comb every time he drags it through. the only undesirable consequence: having to admit to erin that he needs her help.[break][break]
as delightful as the food looks, a surface examination sheds no insight on its ingredients. he prods it tentatively with the fork, eyeing the vegetables suspiciously, and eventually reconciles himself( again ) to whatever fanciful, but admittedly delicious-looking, food that erin has ordered.[break][break]
he takes a bite; and a moment later, laments the existence of one particular vegetable he finds distasteful. "ah." he's certain moosely is snickering at him right now. "asparagus."
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[attr="class","m2hov2"]ONE MAN'S OBSESSION IS ANOTHER MAN'S TRASH
maddox rothscus ✨ Let's have Maddox notice their targets while Erin complains to the manager about the asparagus.
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there's an old man sitting on the throne that's saying
that i should probably keep my pretty mouth shut
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[attr="id","invite"]
Tension is palpable
in the very air they breathe, even when Moosely isn't present in material form. Erin thrives on the image of an angry Moosely. The anger, the rising heat, the dilated pupils that are barely discernible in his dark eyes. She notices, though. She always does. Her vision in the dark is too good, too magically enhanced in a setting that feels so much as home. One day she'd learn that if she kept pushing others too much, they'd end up exploding, and her fun would turn into bitter pain. That day wasn't today.
Maddox's response to her offer isn't satisfying, but their quiche is finally on their table and Erin cares more for dinner than for the state of his hair. "I'll be waiting," she says fleetingly, and then she's picking up her cutlery for the light treat.
"Bon appétit."
She enjoys the texture of her quiche's creamy filling, just as much as the crispy crust encasing it. Mushroom, spinach, onions, and asparagus all blend in nicely with the goat cheese she's requested. She has half the mind to congratulate the chef for an entry well done, when she notices Maddox's expression. Asparagus. It's not clear whether he's allergic to the vegetable, or he just dislikes its taste, but Erin frowns at the sight all the same. "Is something the matter with your plate, Maddox?"
Erin doesn't waste any time. Although she ordered the vegetable quiche fully aware of what its description read, she's calling the waiter back with a loud "Excuse me," and proceeding to berate him for bringing them a plate with something as ghastly as asparagus. Nevermind that she actually liked the vegetable in question. The poor waiter's argument that the cart clearly stated its ingredients is quickly remissed by her sheer strength of character. "I want to speak with your manager. No, I don't care if they're busy. Don't you even try to quote any laws to me, I know my rights as a citizen plenty well."
The young woman is quite literally making a scene, and utilizing the attention of the restaurant's other clients to her favor. There's a short intermission during which the employee goes to find his superior, horror plain in his face. Erin doesn't bother to feel pity for him. She turns to Maddox. "Don't worry, I'll get this cleared up for you." Really, she couldn't be farther from telling the truth, but she doubts he'll want to point that out.
[attr="class","m2content"]it's almost guilty, the way his head snaps back up at the question. not that he is in any way guilty about his distaste for this particular vegetable -- he is candid in such an expression, typically -- but their surroundings are different enough to throw him mildly off-kilter. torn between sheepishness ( how dare he ) and simply brushing the matter under the rug ( it's not going to kill him, though sometimes he wishes it would ), he looks up only in time to helplessly witness erin drag a waiter over for an untimely execution.[break][break]
a protest forms itself part-way on his lips before he realises that anything he says is likely to undermine whatever authority erin is channeling; he smooths his expression over, but not before the corner of his mouth curls into a pained smile. pity is almost successful in worming its way across the mask, almost, but he drags his gaze away from the scene and surveys the rest of the restaurant instead with a level, ostensibly uninterested gaze.[break][break]
his eyes linger on a few individuals towards the back; he's not facing erin when she addresses him. "really?" he mutters distractedly, before his attention returns, just in time to make discreet air quotations as he witnesses the horrified waiter skitter off to find the manager. but he doesn't push the matter any further. "well, you know best, in these type of situations." he's fairly certain that any intervention on his part will cause everything to spiral out of control.
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[attr="class","m2hov2"]ONE MAN'S OBSESSION IS ANOTHER MAN'S TRASH
there's an old man sitting on the throne that's saying
that i should probably keep my pretty mouth shut
[attr="class","rotation"]
[attr="id","invite"]
They don't have to wait long
for the manager to show up, polite but annoyed beneath a face made of stone. Busy, the waiter had called him. The underling was lying. She wonders if she ought to bring that up to his superior. She wonder how much he cares about his job, and how much she does about not leaving someone unemployed. Marginally less than she cared about the disappearance of that one Blackburn kid near Amagika Park, which was already very little. The man's likely had to deal with people like Erin throughout the week, not to mention his entire career as manager, and isn't at all amused by her antics. This, she takes as a challenge. She'd have to show him what to find amusement in.
"Is something the matter, milady?"
Erin smiles politely, while she prepares a very impolite argument.
"My friend here is dissatisfied with his plate," she states. Maddox hadn't actually said anything of the sort, but putting words in his mouth when he was already resigned to letting her deal with the situation however she wanted was all too easy. "How is it possible for such a culinary disaster to be served? The quiche is cold, its cheese unevenly mixed, and the pieces of asparagus in it are unsavory. I did not order a meal of this quality." She doesn't let the manager rest his attention on Maddox any longer than she wants to, instead choosing to bring his attention back to her and her endless complaints.
There is a polite apology, an offer for the quiche to be replaced, and more polite words. It's not enough. "I don't want the quiche replaced. Do you think a new quiche will make up for the trauma that his taste buds went through?" Her voice is stern and unwavering, and it really constitutes most of her argument against the manager. If the young witch knows one thing about social contracts, it's this: Refuse to waver, and they'll give in.
Eventually, she's promised an entirely new course, free of charge. A pleasing conclusion, in Erin's opinion. She resumes sipping at her tea as soon as she and Maddox are left alone again. "What's got your attention, Mads?" she asks, curiously. The distracted way in which he replied to her earlier, before her pleasant conversation with the manager, clearly did not go unnoticed.
[attr="class","m2content"]he's not as skilled an actor as certain members of the coven, but he manages to school his expression into some semblance of dispassionate calmness as erin argues with the manager. though 'argue' would suggest that the opposing party has some form of retort, yet it all seems very one-sided, and effortlessly so on erin's part. maddox isn't sure if he wants to laugh or pity the manager, and instead offers a tight-lipped smile -- it looks more like a grimace, fittingly.[break][break]
his attention drifts off again as the manager takes his leave, a nagging suspicion in his gut. moosely echoes his sentiments, a mental commentary beginning to build up. ( their conversation, as maddox interrupts the familiar mid-way through a sentence, follows as such: 'moosely, shut up, i'm trying to focus here.' 'no, you shut up.' 'i literally haven't said a thing!' )[break][break]
"remind me, how did our friends look like, again? i'm terrible with faces." he rests his elbow on the table, resting his chin on his hand, and effectively obscuring a part of the now-vacant table surface, given the removal of the plates. an interface slowly shimmers into existence -- holographic, floating a hair's breadth just above the table, and quite nearly invisible.[break][break]
his eyes drift back over to the strangers, observing, and the mana translates itself, a scrawling script across the atheneum surface. "would you say, one is maybe half a head taller than myself, early thirties? likes to lurk in corners suspiciously and thinks no one notices?"
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[attr="class","m2hov2"]ONE MAN'S OBSESSION IS ANOTHER MAN'S TRASH
there's an old man sitting on the throne that's saying
that i should probably keep my pretty mouth shut
[attr="class","rotation"]
[attr="id","invite"]
She can't help it:
she tilts her head. She could have brushed it off as his incessant need to get the job done first and then indulging in leisure, but Maddox's inquiry was a little too specific to go unnoticed by Erin's own tingling suspicions. She puts her teacup down, softly, using her pinky finger as cushion so as not to make any noise against the porcelain platter. When she looks up at him again, he's staring down at the table, or rather what looks like a normal table but Erin suspects to be his atheneum interface being brought to life.
There is a smile, barely a smile, more like a smirk, on her lips, when Maddox proceeds to describe one of their mission's targets. "Yes, that does indeed sound a lot like one of them." She laughs, then, brief but genuinely humorous, at the last bit of his description. "Definitely him," she reaffirms. The ghost of her smirk don't leave her features for a while.
"Our other friend is rather on the plump side, and a little younger. He has a silly mustache and the most contagious laugh. A lovely man, if you ask me, save for the company he keeps. If I didn't know better, I would think him an accountant."
Some of her words are complete bullshit. Erin was just having fun, calling the taller man and themselves scandalous company. She has never seen the man in question laugh; and, if things went according to plan, she never would. Neither of the two men would ever find anything to laugh about again. The strictly objective parts of her description are accurate enough, however, and she expects Maddox to tell those apart from her fabrications.
Maddox's subtle glance towards the section of the restaurant behind Erin gives her a telling hint, but she doesn't turn around even then. It almost looks like he's looking at her, rather than behind her, and Erin is all too happy to keep up the pretense. She waits, so as not to catch the criminals' attention. Not quite yet. "Why do you ask?"
[attr="class","m2content"]the corner of his mouth quirks upwards in a satisfied grin, and though he does glance back at erin, his eyes dart intermittently down to the interface. the script curls slowly across the surface, shifting and changing as it does. the affinity of atheneum can make patience an art.[break][break]
"i beg to differ," maddox replies with mock gravity. "i'd say he has the misfortune of choosing friends that know how to have fun, and merely pales in comparison." but erin's description of their second target, woven into her conversation with a grace he knows he is unlikely to ever achieve, suffices to confirm his suspicions. the affirmation is all he needs.[break][break]
he doesn't make a move, though, content to await a further prompt from erin. "just thinking of dropping by. buy them a drink, maybe." a shoulder lifts in a half-hearted shrug. when he consults the interface once more, information has coalesced neatly. he lowers his voice, and with manner unchanging, he informs erin of his latest findings. "taller one's an enchanter. 'accountant', alchemy."
[attr="class","m2icons"]
[attr="class","m2icons2"]
[attr="class","m2hov2"]ONE MAN'S OBSESSION IS ANOTHER MAN'S TRASH
there's an old man sitting on the throne that's saying
that i should probably keep my pretty mouth shut
[attr="class","rotation"]
[attr="id","invite"]
It's fascinating,
the kind of magic that athenians work, and somewhat a shame that she never really got into the field. Watching Juls work it for almost five years must have been a turn-off for her, if not the fact that a good portion of her inner circle had chosen to pursue the affinity in some way. Either way, Erin can't help but briefly wonder what it would be like to be the one scanning their targets at the moment, rather than the man before her. Not that it matters much, given that Maddox would have to summarize his findings in a moment or two— Ah, yes perfect timing.
"Isn't this convenient?" she asks, genuinely amused by the combination of affinities. "It'll make playing with them a lot more fun." Not only would an alchemist be easily disarmed by simply taking any potions he may have on his person, her elemental affinity would make sure to trump any attempts at brewing an escape route on the spot. Enchantment was a trickier affinity, due to how versatile it was, but Erin herself was an enchantress. Who could possibly be more capable of always staying a step ahead?
The only matter left for discussion was how they wanted to go about the brawl about to take place. Now, Erin would usually prefer a civilized approach; but, honestly, all she cared about right now was resuming her meal. "I think you need to go to the restroom," she adds, her eyes lazily scanning the restaurant for exits. They only settle again on Maddox at the same time she, too, rises to her feet. "Wash your hands before our meal. I'll pay the cooks a visit." Someone needed to tip the chefs into serving them a flaming dish that she could innocently use as excuse to spill water on both their targets, after all, subsequently forcing them into the same room Maddox was supposed to be waiting in. She doesn't say any of this aloud, but the look she's giving him strives to come across as an I've got this, just play along.
[attr="class","m2content"]the look on erin's face makes him think of cats toying with mice -- he almost pities their targets ( then remembers what they've said about leviathan, and suddenly, the feeling vanishes ). he knows the workings of alchemy better than he does enchantment -- somewhere, on his desk, lies a book detailing magical theories of hexes and jinxes -- and already, he's anticipating the brawl to come. the interface vanishes, dismissed with a crook of the finger.[break][break]
"i think you need to go to the restroom," she tells him. "wash your hands before our meal. i'll pay the cooks a visit." maddox obliges, moving towards the restroom as told. the enchantress probably has some sort of plan in mind -- he is, as always ( to the extent of potentially considering it a speciality ), content to play it by ear. improvisation, if it had not been before, is quickly becoming his strong suit.[break][break]
it is a fancy restroom, the type with dark mahogany and cream marble tiles -- it seems almost sacrilegious to do anything but admire its design, nevermind the actual function of the room. he wanders a little, cracks open the window on the opposite side and peers outside curiously, then ambles back towards the sink to wash his hands. even the handsoap smells fancy.
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[attr="class","m2hov2"]ONE MAN'S OBSESSION IS ANOTHER MAN'S TRASH
