ota

Jul. 25th, 2016 09:07 pm
winter_wisp: (blue darker)
[personal profile] winter_wisp posting in [community profile] londoncallingrpg
Pixies, Winter's sort anyway, were very effected by their environment. Seasons could effect their magic, the colours of the woods they made their homes in could effect their looks, and feelings, emotions, and temperament of those around them could alter their mood. In fact, their very being could be altered if it was severe enough.

Winter was looking less white today, and more... Grey. Tinted slightly violet in some light. Everything about him was ever so slightly off, but the strangest thing about him was his height. He hadn't altered his potion at all, and yet today he'd taken his usual dose and found himself taller than usual. Five foot ten, to be exact. A whole inch taller than Finlay. Usually he'd have been delighted by such a strange and exciting occurrence, but not today. Not tonight.

Tonight he simply wandered the streets, looking less like whimsy and trouble, and more like a vicious creature from dark woods where mortals shouldn't wander. His clothes were no longer bright and cheerful, but were instead replaced with simple muted shades of grey and blue. Street lights flickered as he passed beneath them, and as he dragged his fingers along the brick wall of an abandoned shop, black vines seemed to creep out of the shadows, slinking along the wall and filling the cracks. It was dark enough that many might not notice them. Which was just as well, really.

As he reached the curb, the vines stopped, and Winter went still. A group of people passed him, laughing and smiling, and Winter felt a pang of something bitter and dark in his chest. A sharp stab of pain that perfectly aligned with a sudden crack of thunder and an unexpected mist of rain that began to trickle down, the drops growing fatter and then falling harder and harder.

The laughter faded as the group began to rush for cover, and Winter watched them, wanting to be pleased. Though it wasn't nearly as amusing as it should have been. As he wanted it to be. It felt so childish, so dull. All the things that had been fun to him, things that he'd enjoyed. Lately they meant nothing to him. His toys, his games, his wardrobe. They once had brought him joy, and now they offered nothing it seemed.
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