( ' things that go bump in the night ' ⇾ closed

[Moveedd]

Jackson
Full Name; Jackson Joseph Smith
Species; Human
Age; Seventeen
Sexuality; Homosexual
Status; Single

The journey had been torturous. Well, at least to Jackson it was. He had gotten car sick from the ride to the castle, which he always did when it was over thirty minutes of a drive, and he'd been complaining in the car to stop and rest for a moment. But no, they hadn't stopped the car. He was already annoyed from that, and then the rain started. He could hear the pounding on the roof of the vehicle, as if it were fists pounding and destroying the car, and he could see large droplets of water pool out on the sides and the windows. He let out a huff as he rolled up his window that he had had down to try to cope with the sickening pains in his stomach. As they pulled up next to the castle, he had to lean back to see the entire thing, and even then, he could only see about half of the huge building. It was magnificent. He was actually looking forward to exploring and spending time in the castle. He could envision it now, exploring the grand halls and the rooms in the castle, looking out the windows at the beach and the forest, and maybe even exploring the forest. He'd often find needed peace in the confines of a forest, as that was where he had ventured off to back at home when his father or his brother were being total douches. It was only them three. Him, his father, and his brother. Their mother had passed away only a few months ago, and Jack was still going through the pain, though he never let it show.

Jack was snapped out of his thoughts by a car door slamming. He growled lightly under his breath before he pulled up the hood of his hoodie and he stepped out into the freezing rain. He pulled the sleeves of his hoodie down to his finger tips and made his way to the front door where he knocked lightly on it, then pounded on it. He was already soaked in the rain, and he was freezing cold and shivering too, so he gave up with the knocking and just turned the knob and stepped inside. "Who's idea was it to come today?" He asked and looked back at the other five with an annoyed look. He was still shivering from the rain, and one of them had stated that they should go today. "Honestly, check the weather first." He grumbled and crossed his arms over his chest, but not before adjusting the glasses on the brim of his nose.

[rogue,]

⚔ --t❝ ＬＯＲＤ ＤＥＴＴＬＡＦＦ ＫＩＬＬＩＡＮ
─────────────────────────────────────
xxr[ role || the lord ]xi[ age || thirty-five ]xi[ species || ghost ]xi[ location || castle upper floors ]xi[ tags || rosalind ]

Restoration was a rather difficult task when you weren't a corporeal being. Required a certain degree of concentration on his part to lift the heavier things. A wall here, place a brick there. The years had certainly not been kind to the home. It had not fared at all well against the island's rough elements, storms at the forefront of it's destruction; paint weathered and wooden timbers decayed. A sorry state of affairs. The once-beautiful castle was located in a remote area for a reason; and no-one from the mainland had bothered to see it returned to all it's former grandeur; in fact quite the opposite. They sought to tear it apart brick by damning brick, and that was a heinous crime Dettlaff would not stand for. He lifted an ornate sword from the foetid floor, delicately placing it high above on the weapon racks; various jewels in the pommels glinting in the low light. By the gods, did he love this home of his; a love hopefully shared equally between it and his family, but who could say? Wasn't easy to draw a line between the two. Not anymore.

Being the ever prideful person he was, Dettlaff was dressed in all of his finery; lashings of gold and silvers decorated the outfit; the only noticeable defect to the immaculate attire being the rather large blood-soaked stab wound inflicted to his chest. Right above where his awful heart should lay. It was speculated in the time when he was alive that it didn't actually exist, whether you believed the rumours to be true. "Rosalind, darling," he spoke to the empty air, almost certain her presence was nearby. A sixth sense, if you will. Perhaps he should have gone for a kinder greeting, a: Any troubles you wish to speak of? or a simple: How are you faring, my dear? But no. Dettlaff opted for: "The weapons rack. To the left, to the right, or the main hall?" Even in death he wouldn't stop fixing his family's home. (Fatal flaws and all.) His arms folded across his chest and his form flickered out like a soaring comet, re-materialising out of red-flecked mist across the room for a better view of the wall. A frown. Head tilt. A twitch of the lips. Dettlaff pressed his tongue against the back of his teeth, hand running through his disheveled hair. "I presume you can hear me, yes?" his voice soft, betraying the deadened light to his dark eyes.

He knew his actions displeased certain members of his family, some avoiding the father out of some misguided disgust of him. But all would be well once his devil's bargain had been fulfilled to a T. They would know peace one of these days. Not that he happened to regret his choices. It wasn't life; but it wasn't immortality, either. Any one of them could fade from existence, floating in the endless state of limbo until they chose to show their face. The choices, the choices. Thankfully, Dettlaff had the luxury of time to contemplate his choices, vices and virtues, and he'd long come to the conclusion that there was no blame on his part. Frankly, he didn't believe himself to be at fault. If the King thought the Lord wouldn't furnish and build a castle with such exquisite tastes, then he was surely deranged. He wanted the grandest castle? Then he should have built one himself! This piece of land was Dettlaff's, gifted by the the man himself; and Dettlaff created a masterpiece with it. If the damned King hadn't wished for such a thing to happen, then he never should have rewarded the Lord so generously, and expected him to do absolutely nothing with it! Ergo; this entire thing forced his hand. The King was to blame. And the curse forced from his lips? The King. If the traitorous wretch of a man hadn't violated their friendship then the need for such profane slander needn't have wrapped itself around his tongue. And little did he know one of those descendants rested right upon his doorstep.

[tesla ezekiel]

mercutio bassian
location — the car
tags — other teens
ooc — i hope this isn't too short!! almost all my posts are on mobile so most of them will be about this length.

the drive, to say the least, was okay. no one really bothered him, and he hadn't said a word the whole time. mercutio spent most of the drive listening to music or reading, and had almost killed his phone's battery only halfway into the drive. he had brought one of his portable 'power stations' to charge his phone with, but he decided to take a break and maybe stare out the window. mercutio didn't last long, and was soon on his phone and trying to avoid throw-up boy on the other side of the car. closing his book, mercutio slid his book back into his bag, listening to some more calming music.
after a while, he had fallen asleep, and one of his earbuds had fallen out of his ear, phone resting on his lap. fortunately, mercutio didn't snore, but he was impossible to wake up. he was still asleep as they arrived and everyone started to talk and get out of the car.

[Guest]

ｒｏｗａｎ ｃａｌｄｗｅｌｌ
⊱───────────────────────────────────────────⊰
species: human ✿ tags: everyone??? ✿ mentions: val, jackson, mercutio

God flippin dammit rain making her cold. Rowan's teeth chattered like those wind-up denture toys or those Spanish clip thingies they use for dancing as she stood in the pouring rain pushing at the door and trying to get the damn thing to open. The friggin door was already half-rotted and it was this hard to get it open? Where's the sense in that? The others were helping her push, but so far they weren't doing much except create an unholy racket loud enough to raise the dead as they about shook the door off its hinges. "W-what the hell are you guys, eighty?" Rowan grumbled, her voice trembling from the cold. She was never very fond of extreme temperatures. "Put your back into it, idiots!" Someone next to her exclaimed angrily—Rowan didn't care to see who it was─and threw their weight against the heavy, oak-paneled doors with enough force to splinter the lock right out of the wood. Her eyes widened in surprise as they swung open underneath her and she fell facefirst on the threshold, almost smacking her nose on the nice stone floor.

"I'm okay, I'm okay!" Rowan flipped over from her hands and knees, because nobody wanted to see her tush—cute as it is—sticking out to their faces and sat back. The cold of the floor seeped through her wet Levis and made her even colder. She shivered and squawked, flapping her arms in a pretty good imitation of a duck. "Y'all can just forget that ever happened, kay? I really don't want that to show up anywhere else outside this place." She raised her hands up to Val appealingly, curling her fingers in a come hither gesture. "Babe, help me up. I'm freezing my butt off on this damn floor." Rowan grabbed onto the dark-haired girl's arm and used it as a support as she clambered up to a standing position. Hearing someone complain about the weather she huffed. "Jackson, sweetie, I'm sorry if the weather isn't entirely to your taste." She pointed outside, at the cold rain. "There's the door if you want to leave, but don't take the car cos we need that more than you do. Hitchhike or something I don't know." She frowned at the direction of the car. "And...could someone tell Mercutio that he can get out now? We're here. Sort of."

[Speak]

ｌａｄｙ ｒｏｓａｌｉｎｄ ｃｏｒｉｎｎａ ｋｉｌｌｉａｎ

＂ｔｈｅ ｗｅｅｐｉｎｇ ｗｏｍａｎ＂

[ species ] ghost [ title ] lady [ age ] twenty-eight [ location ] castle, upper floors [ tagged ] dettlaff

Standing in front of a very familiar oaken door was a pale figure fading in and out as if she were trapped in another dimension which of course may have been fact. Long brown hair cascading down her back in waves Rosalind stood nearly motionless staring at the door as if it were the barrel of a rifle. For as long as she'd walked these halls as a spirit the lady of the house had not dared go past this one door and enter the room that lay beyond it and it seemed that today would be no exception. Her pale hand hovering just over the wooden barrier Rosalind could hear the clamor of panicked voices, ringing steel, and screams that had been her last day. Quickly taking her hand away Rosalind turned away from the tragedy and her failure and fought the tears that would never come. As a ghost, a spirit, crying was impossible but that didn't stop Rosalind from weeping with dry eyes.
Turning down one of the grand corridors Rosalind ignored the rain pelting the windows threatening to break through with every impact and instead studied the interior of the hall looking for something to distract herself. So focused was she on distracting herself that she nearly missed the voice that floated towards her calling her name. Though it had been years since she'd actually had a beating heart and a working set of lungs Rosalind could still feel her breath catch in her throat and her heart thump against her rib cage when she heard her husband call out to her. Fading from her spot in the hall Rosalind re-materialized in a puff of soft blue mist with a smile on her face as she was about to answer her husband. However the next words to come from his mouth stopped Rosalind's smile cold....the weapons rack? Startled by the abrupt question Rosalind blinked glancing from her pensive husband to the object at hand which stood against the opposite wall occasionally casting coloured shards of light with every strike of lightening. Closing her eyes Rosalind swallowed whatever half thought through response she was about to say and instead floated towards her husbands side "Of course dear heart, I hear you." she told him planting a quick kiss on his cheek. Joining him in studying the weapons rack with a critical eye Rosalind bit her lip gently in thought "They would be better displayed in the main hall? If we move the tapestry on the far wall we could put it there." she replied. Though she often resented her husbands need to constantly fix their decaying home, just as in life she found that she didn't have the heart to tell him off. On the days that she became despondent and angry at her husband over their situation she would normally just avoid him and allow herself to calm down over the course of a few days. What was it about this place that had entranced her husband so? Or had it simply unearthed something in him that already there? Many times Rosalind had wondered when her husband had truly changed and after all these years she couldn't remember exactly. Still studying her husbands profile deep in thought Rosalind was startled by a crash that echoed throughout the halls causing her to jump out of her skin (ha). Reaching out to grab her husbands arm Rosalind stopped herself returning her hand to her side "Did you hear that?" she asked her eyes wide with concern, "There shouldn't be anyone out in this weather..." she added her mind reeling trying to figure out why someone would come to this place in this kind of weather.

dress}}

[gallifrey falls.]

┌─────────────────────────────┐
xxＳＡＶＡＮＮＡＨ ＭＡＲＩＥ ＫＩＬＬＩＡＮ
x'xa ghost
x.xage: eight
x.xtagged : the friends, evangeline
x.xlocation : entrance of castle
└─────────────────────────────┘

Savannah noticed her sister also come to seek the sound of the noises, and smiled when she came to join her. Her eyes widened slightly when Evalgeline pressed a finger to her lips, and she smiled. This was a game! And they had to be quiet, so they wouldn't be caught. Just like hide and seek. Quickly, she ducked back behind the wall, pressing herself up against the stone. The wind was howling outside loud enough she thought it would be safe to whisper.

"Do you think the storm will delay Peter's arrival? Maybe the ship will sink!" Savannah let out a quiet gasp. What if her betrothed died? She stole a quick peek back at the visitors. They didn't look like lords and ladies from court, but maybe they had seen the royal ship carrying her prince. Oh, what if they had seen it go down? Then she would have to wear black to her prince's funeral, and for a while after in order to properly mourn. But she looked awful in black! Fretfully, Savannah peeked out at the people by the door again, wondering if she should try talk to them. Her mother was always telling her to greet people who visited nicely.

Suddenly, a new girl entered, and promptly fell flat on her face. Savannah watched with a partially open mouth as the girl began to talk, rather boisterously. She chattered to her friends about something called a 'car' and 'hitchhiking'. The words were all very strange to her, but the way the girl was acting was funny. Despite the fact she was supposed to be quiet, she giggled. She caught herself a moment later, but it was too late. She had lost the game. Her disappointment was soon brightened by the fact visitors were here, and one of them was funny.

Savannah slowly stepped out from being the wall, looking at the group with wide green eyes. They were strange clothing, though it was similar to what she had seen on past visitors. The girls wore pants, which was wrong, but when she had talked to a girl from last time she made it sound like they were from a foreign land. What strange customs they must have over there! These people must be from the same place.

"Hello," she said with a smile, partially curtsying. She forgot all about the storm, and the fact her prince might be caught in it. "Did the king send you?" Savannah frowned, then. Her father would not like it if the king had sent people again, he always grew angry when they arrived.

ooc; It's probably obvious, but I just want to make clear that Savannah was never actually betrothed to a prince or anything, it's just a fantasy she likes to imagine herself in. You can have Evangeline know who "Prince Peter" is because Savannah has chattered about him before, or not know who her sister is going on about.

[Legendary TrashCan]

Evangeline ⇾ aka Ivy ⇾ fifteen ⇾ tags: the teens, savannah

Evangeline had no idea what game her sister was thinking she had initiated. She watched her curious sister slip away and she slowly followed. The howling winds drowned out her almost silent footsteps as she followed her sister, stepping from pillar to pillar. After a few minutes she began to listen to the conversation that unfolded, she struggled to understand some of words such as her sister had but she was still interested. The group that appeared didn’t look like they belonged in any court but their past visitor who had befriended Ivy had managed to explain to her women wore men’s clothes and occasionally worked similar jobs, she didn’t understand. The ghost girl paused when she heard an all too familiar name, Peter. Her sister would ramble on about a prince named Peter, over the years she had figured out it was coping mechanism so she just went along with it. “Peter will be alright dear. His boat will have probably have been delayed at port.” she placed a reassuring hand on her sister’s shoulders before melting into the wall alongside her sister.

Another girl entered and fell onto the ground before beginning to talk quite loudly, she blinked a little and listened intently. Her curiosity was sparked as she new words, they must be from from a foreign land, they must be from where their last visitor was from! ‘Ivy’ grew excited at the thought but it was soon dulled, she knew it was highly unlikely they were from the same land and even then it had been years. She froze and stared as her sister promptly stepped forward into their view and gave a partial curtsy. After all these years Evangeline had learned it wasn’t a very good idea but she quickly followed her sister out in the open and stared at large group of teenagers. The females wore trousers and shirts that revealed their arms and the males wore attire she had never seen before, some of which had strange words on them. Unlike her sister Ivy didn’t curtsy, she was long past the phase of keeping up formalities that these peasants didn’t recognize. The ghost had to admit that they were very well groomed if they were peasantry, she hoped not. Father didn’t like peasants, not that he liked her father. “You must’ve been stranded by the storm. My name is Evangeline and this is my sister Savannah. You are?” Evangeline realized she probably looked like a ghost without even being transparent. Her skin was a deathly porcelain white and her lips had a faint blue ring around them, she wore a black dress that looked darker than midnight and reached her knees.(DRESS HERE)

sorry this sucks

[rogue,]

⚔ --t❝ ＬＯＲＤ ＤＥＴＴＬＡＦＦ ＫＩＬＬＩＡＮ
─────────────────────────────────────
xxr[ role || the lord ]xi[ age || thirty-five ]xi[ species || ghost ]xi[ location || castle upper floors ]xi[ tags || rosalind ]

Lord Killian's posture instantly relaxed at the soft voice denoting her arrival. Fitting indeed. A blue mist to match the rich colour of her dress. (The rose, complete with thorns, adorning the waistband was his particular favourite feature.) Dettlaff dipped his head in greeting, eyes still fixated on the far wall. Still, he regarded the weaponry more so than her at the current moment, brows furrowed and mouth pushing to the side. He inhaled slow and tapped his foot before huffing derisively at himself. "Where are my manners?" Rosalind was diligently waiting by his side when he finally tore his gaze from the swords and turned his head, wrapping his arms around her. Her body was no longer warm, and he found little peace in that lack of a life spark. What he did find solace in was her simple presence alone, and that smile of Rosalind's that always enchanted entire nations to fall at her feet; despite him being the one to kill it. Tact was not his strong suit. His fingers then brushed through the torrents of pretty golden-brown hair as he held her for a moment or two in his embrace. A soft, almost contented sigh sounded from him when a kiss fell to his cheek. Unfortunately, duties still existed and the home wouldn't repair itself. Drawing back, Dettlaff's eyes traced the marking slashed across his wife's slender neck and he frowned, choosing not to speak of it. It hadn't been his finest of moments, granted, the siege catching the entire proud household unawares. And that was the problem with an island: No route to flee. Even then, the Lord had fought the trespassing armies both tooth and nail when they rained metaphorical hell on the home, swords braced and pistols singing. The help being the first line of defence at the doors, him with sword in hand and some foolish idea of hope in his heart. A few soldiers fell to his blade but he was no renowned combatant when compared to a legion of the King's finest. It was a waiting game. Just prolonging the inevitable fall. But oh! How he had roared, practically demanded, for them to spare innocent blood when Rosalind's barricade gave way. (That was probably the main issue, his pride didn't allow for him to beg for their lives.) But what good would it have done? They had died all the same and in his blind rage Dettlaff damned them all. Thanks for nothing, unkind father. And so it was a day best forgotten. The lost battle best left alone.

Absent-mindedly, he tapped his wedding ring against the side of his leg, musing over the placement ideas she had suggested. Yes, yes. That could work! It would contrast nicely alongside the current decor of the main hall; the Killian family coat of arms working as the main centrepiece. The weapons would only enforce the idea of their fierce family heritage. A tapestry was easily moved. "Ah, ever the wondrous eye, my lady." What would famed Lord Killian ever have done without her by his side? Sure, he had grafted the homestead from his flesh and blood, but the heart of the home was Rosalind, and their children: the soul. "I will see to it. Any particular room you wish for me to see to after this one?" Perhaps that was why this monster of pride had come into being, the house a subsidiary of the family. Or maybe it was simply his way of providing for his family, a love so fierce it demanded meticulous care to be shown to their estate to keep them all safe and warm under it's roof. Whether it be misplaced care or just pure arrogance remained to be seen.

A growl rose in Dettlaff's throat at the sharp noise that had startled Rosalind, the sound pervading even the upper floors of the castle, (not that it had taken much; the walls were paper thin, worn down by time). "Company, perchance?" he straightened when her hand reached out, ever so slightly angling his body to be half in front of hers as an innate response to protect his own. Black eyes darting to his wife's figure, he watched her expression morph into one of worry. An odd, almost foreign concept to him. Concerned? For possible strangers? That was Rosalind, ever the kind and thoughtful one. A sweet notion, her words were. As if almost afraid for the poor souls unfortunate enough to breach the threshold of their home. All the while the weather outside raged loud and clear, the elements depraved, wild beasts of the sea and sky shrieking in their dance of death. Thrashing of limbs and a crackle of lightning from the heavens to cheer them on. "They shan't find refuge here," his tongue clipped the words into short stabs of glass fragments. He schooled his features into neutrality, gaze cutting. King's blood or not, visitors always had an ulterior motive tucked up their sleeves, as Dettlaff had long come to learn. There weren't many people he liked; from peasants to passing nobles he regarded them with all with the same disdain. Plus, any normal person would die of the fright alone when faced with a sword-brandishing ghost. If anyone of the household were to offer them hospitality, it would surely be his kind-hearted wife, and he could hardly deny her, the children, that now, could he? A fleeting moment of happiness with others just for the chance to forget who they were, what had happened. He may have been proud, yet he would often bow a knee to his wife's requests in a heartbeat if any were voiced. "If it is life, then I suppose a greeting of sorts," death, definitely death, "is in order, my dear Rosalind." A sword was snatched back from the rack high above, the bolts of lightning igniting the precious gemstones decorating the steel. Dettlaff offered out his hand to her with a smile, head inclined. "Shall we?"

[ravenblue;;]

Ｖａｌｅｒｉｅ

◤...................................◥

seventeen | female
tags;; the crew/Mercutio
location;; castle entrance/car

◣...................................◢

Whilst her friends seemed to despise the torrential downpour of rain accompanied by relentless wind and cracking thunder, this was Val's favourite weather. As the others hopped out of the car and bolted for the covers, (well, not Mercutio - he was sound asleep, and for him sleep was like death. Only a whole lot of voodoo could wake him up without his consent) Val on the other hand took her sweet time, letting the wind play with her raven hair as the rain soaked in to her clothes, which she only found refreshing. Watching her crew race to the door, a small smirk plucked at her lips, observing their struggle to get it open, the smirk breaking out to a full blown grin as she drew near enough to witness Rowen. "Calm down crazy, the weather's not that bad" Valerie called out with a laugh, shoving a shoulder into the wooden door as she reached it.
Suddenly, the double doors swung inwards, and while she managed to catch her balance Rowen did not possess the same luck, falling face first onto the stone floor. Chuckling, she strode towards her "Hun, you are the definition of class and grace" Val offered, hoisting her friend up off the floor. When she mentioned Mercutio, her hazel eyes scanned the crowd around her and, figuring she was the only one willing to brave the storm again, started towards the exit. "I'll get him, although I doubt i'll do much good. Expect me back in - let's say, a couple of hours?"

[Guest]

ｒｏｗａｎ ｃａｌｄｗｅｌｌ
⊱───────────────────────────────────────────⊰
species: human ⚜ tags: savannah, ivy ⚜ mentions: lol everyone else
ooc;; trash post i'm surry

“Har de har har, Val.” Rowan rolled her eyes, placing her fists at her hips. “Just get your butt over to Merc’s and get him out of there alrea—oh.” She stared as two girls, one teen, one child, suddenly approached the group and introduced themselves. Rowan was not ashamed to say her eyes was on the verge of popping out of their sockets as she stared at the two ghosts.

Huh. Why are they wearing old-timey clothes?

Does the little girl have blood in her hair? Holy crap.

The older one looks so dead it’s almost kinda creepy.

Haha. What if they are dead?

…

Oh frigg what if they are???

Crap, where are the Winchesters when you need them!?

SCREW THE WINCHESTERS WHERE THE HELL ARE MY SALTINE CRACKERS.

Rowan opened her mouth to say something. Nothing seemed to come out. She raised a finger, like, hold up, man, gimme a minute to get my voice I seem to have lost it. She took a deep breath, opened her mouth again. Nothing. Really??? She sucked up a lungful of air, slapped herself on both cheeks. Pull yourself together, Rowan. It’s just a couple of creepy girls. At any rate, it took a while for her to get her voice. “Hi there.” she said, and not very loudly at that. “Savannah and…Evangeline? Nice to meet you.” Was she supposed to go up to them? You know, shake hands and all that? Rowan settled for introducing herself and the others, because she really didn't know what else to do. “Uhm…” she pointed to Jackson. “he’s Jackson. Girl that went outside’s Val.” She pointed outside, a bit lamely. “Guy outside with she’s supposed to wake up’s Mercutio, but just call him Merc. And then we got Sawyer, and Kodi too. And, uhm…I’m Rowan. So…yeah.”

Awkward? Well, not as awkward as the thought of having to wake up Merc and then having to explain to him why she had to be the one to wake him up. Rowan combed her bright orange hair over her shoulder, just to give herself something to do, and started twisting it like a towel, letting the water drip down to the stone floor. The water made trickling noises at it hit the ground, barely audible over the rain. Rowan thought about Supernatural, her favorite TV show. Why does she get the Supernatural vibes for this meeting right here? She always thought the way they died and/or got severely injured were funny (because they were! Who gets all their teeth pulled out by a little fat guy in a pink tutu that claims to be the Tooth Fairy?), hence she did not want to die and/or get severely injured like a Supernatural extra. Actually, not dying at all, at least not right now, by these creepy duo, would be nice.