Sorin Andrejz Radoslav (pl_sorin) wrote in plagued_rpg, @ 2009-10-29 22:19:00 |
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Entry tags: | 1998 october, anthony goldstein, constantine rivers, sorin radoslav |
The Epicly Epic Roleplay That Never Ends
Who: Sorin Radoslav, Constantine Rivers (sort of grab!), and OPEN (once Constantine replies?)
Where: Divination section of the Library; Ravenclaw Tower (at some point)
When: Thursday evening, after dinner through late Thursday night.
What: Sorin has a headache.
Rating: There's no telling where this one's going. Let's assume there might be adult themes, okay kids?
It was so strange. Ever since he'd told Anthony of his Visions, Sorin had found his interest in the broader subject of Divination growing. The day he'd helped (or tried to help) Megan Jones, he'd felt a brief flicker of something, confidence maybe, spark deep inside. On the other hand, it was frightening. There wasn't a chance that he would come to like seeing the future. Lately, all the Sight had done was drag him down, make him weak, leave him shivering and vulnerable to the world. And it was happening more often. Granted, the school was emotionally charged, the word being a complete understatement but at the same time, the best way to explain why he'd had two major Visions within the space of a month. Never, in his seventeen years of life, had such a thing occurred.
Even now, there was a low throb in his temples. He hoped it was just a headache. After all, he'd been staring at a book on Taromancy for hours now, even skipping dinner as the pages began to blur together. Taromancy was an art his grandmother had practiced, though will little real divining skill. Her gift was so faint - she could predict the gender of an unborn child or tell a farmer whether rain was coming - but she enjoyed her cards. All seventy-eight of them, more than a century old, sat by his right hand, between the book and a blank piece of parchment. He'd intended to make notes, but so far, nothing had jumped out at him as important.
Finally, Sorin gave up and closed the text. He pushed it away, clearing the space in front of him, and began to shuffle the deck of Major Arcana. It was the easiest to read, and without the addition of the Minor Arcana, would answer his questions simply. Using the Mirror Spread, he made his query. On first draw, the cards made little to no sense. This was to be expected from a beginner, having learned only a little of Tarot from his grandmother.
He laid the cards down again, and frowned as he read the outcome. Picking up his quill, he scribbled several notes on the parchment, all written in Romanian and further confused in his own peculiar shorthand.
Suddenly he stiffened as his headache intensified. It wasn't yet the blinding pain that had driven him to his knees just days ago, but it was bad enough to straighten his spine like a ramrod, his fingers clenched around the quill tightly enough to snap the fragile instrument. His eyes rolled back, revealing the whites, and oh fuck, not here, not in public, where there were so many students, quiet, studying, and no, no, no. Someone was coming, he heard them walking, smelled them, curious, concern, fear... He sucked in a breath and the quill began to scratch across the parchment in frantic, ugly lines. It was almost like free-writing as the Vision came.
Constantine is walking down the stairs...
Their lips,
Their hands,
And whispers so soft fluttering against skin.
Gooseflesh and fluttering eyes.
Can you feel it?
Their lips,
Their hands,
Their kiss!
The snake and the eagle.
Anthony...
Can you feel it?
On the paper, the words appeared as they hissed between his clenched teeth: Constantine stairs lips hands whisper skin eyes feel KISS snake eagle Anthony feel.