Remington's Loft

[Essy ze Ninja]

That's why I slipped out the back before you knew I was there

And I know the way I left wasn't fair

I didn't want to be around just to bring you down

𝕽emington 𝕵agger 𝕹ott

Down trodden once again, the young girl dropped her gaze to the shadows dancing on the hard wood floors and tripping over the cracks as they went. She nodded slowly, wanting to understand why he would be so tired—wizards have magic, don’t they? He can just fly here, can’t he? She shook her head, fumbling with the long blonde hairs before rising warm, honeyed eyes to meet Alfons’ once more. ”Really, you mean it? I love making new friends!” She bounced happily. ”Daddy promised me I’d get to make a new puppy friend soon if I’m good! I want one just like Uncle Will’s!” She giggled as he bounded around the room, barking happily and then scampered down the hall to her room where she tackled her stuffed animals, eager to show them off.

Remington watched on with reflective eyes, wavering gently as she disappeared into the shadows of the loft and left the men alone to their thoughts. ”What brings you here? Truly… I’ve never known you to be a man who fancied his tea time…” He remarked with the shrug of his shoulder and turned his back to him, leading him to the sitting room where the black grand piano sat in silence.

So much has changed, he reflected, and a dead weight dropped in his heart like a pebble in water. He couldn’t even recount how many women he’d conquest, how many lies he’d spun, how many wars he’d won. Idly, his thoughts shifted to the wife of Wesley Edgeworth, it’d been a long time since he’d met one as cunning as her…. Hell…

Now that he thought about it… The last one he met like that had been Krina.

”Just what the hell happened to you?”

╔══════════════╗
39 years old ♛ 6’3” ♛ 194lbs
Location: Home
At peace with Sophie
Home ♛ Office ♛ Island
╚══════════════╝

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Pale Mist

 

[Pale Mist]

alfons marcus flint
head potioneer of the most extraordinary society of potioneers




I came to gaze upon the stars, when they were yet unborn
And consequently, tear at my old scars, and the mask I had outworn
Grow me a garden of roses
Paint me the colors of sky and rain
but healing doesn't seem to happen when you hide away the
seed
And so I came across the medicine man, and he showed me what I'd forlorn
For if I'm stayed it happens by my own hand, and my own voice full of scorn
Teach me to speak with their voices
Show me the way and I'll try again


- -Alfons watched quietly with the appropriate enthusiasm as the girl run back and forth, presenting herself and her things and her excitement to the both of them. He smiled and nodded when it was clear she expected it and was happy to see her eagerness to have him not only here, as a second source of attention, but as part of her life. Her family. It was still baffling to the man that anyone would wish to associate with him under such a subject.
When she finally ran herself out of energy and was called to her room, Alfons offered her a small wave goodbye before turning to Remy's fond jest. Alfons smiled at it, awaiting true question and true emotion. It arrived quickly and with it all the smiles and jests fell like stones thrown into a dark pool. Sinking to some bottom they knew nothing of other than it was the object of their arrival and terror. "...I'll need to start from the beginning, I suppose." he sighed, glancing to a sofa and mutely asking if he could take a seat.
Sinking into the cushions while still holding his back straight like he had always been taught as a boy, he visibly began to search through his memories. Those of the recent events and those of actions and scenes so old they were practically history. Especially now. "Well, I suppo- I assume you knew that Krina and I had a child?" He asked quietly. A combination of fear of disturbing the young child tucked away not too far and over-stirring his own overly bitter memories still too fresh to be from nearly two decades ago. He could no longer remember who had been aware of his and Krina's secret - aware from his telling them or otherwise. "Krina had had quite a bit of trouble conceiving, or perhaps it was me, or the both of us, regardless," he quickly sidestepped the sorrow that had entered his voice, "we finally managed it. The whole reason we were even married was to keep the Rosier name from drowning. Krina needed an heir, a male heir, and a girl was born...
They did not stand for it and They wanted to be rid of it. I was to kill her a-and instead I hid her away. Up for adoption after I removed her memory." His eyes seemed to no longer have the will to look anywhere but at his entwined hands laid on his lap. He hoped he was not repeating himself to Remington or retelling everything the man may or may not already know but a part of him - a very exhausted part - could not care less how many times the Nott could have heard it. It was all spilling out again like it had the first time he had explained it - the first time he had ever breathed air of life into what were before just memories when he had told them to Deanna.
"Krina did not know, no one knew and it was years until she found out. I had hoped that my memory charm on her would have somehow stilled the girl's magical power but instead, at eleven, she received her letter. Not sure what I was thinking, she was a Flint after all," he chuckled emptily, wishing some humor into the atmosphere he was drowning.
"The day she received that letter, Krina left. It wasn't until about a year that I realized why she had. She found out about our daughter and pursued her." Alfons began to immediately remember how he had first seen the girl - recognizing her even after so many years. How it had completely ruined and rebuilt his life in the few precious moments it had taken for her to blink her eyes, her Flint eyes.
"Krina went so far as to disguise herself and infiltrate Hogwarts as a teacher, at the same time you were teacher there if I remember correctly - she disguised herself as her sister, Silia Rosier, and taught Transfiguration." Alfons took this moment to offer a pause and glance up at the ears to his story and watch for a reaction. Allowing himself a break and a breath before continuing,
"She went so far as to kill the family that had adopted our daughter, all the time trying to kill the girl herself...she couldn't forgive this...child for not being born a son, for not being the heir she felt she had deserved and worked hard for. She was obsessed with the idea of ending the life of this girl.
Four years ago, due to some coincidental events, the girl left the school and I had manged to catch up Krina. Trying to stop her, trying to set her on the wrong path, trying to do anything I could to protect ourdaughter.. In the end she could not be fooled. I managed to beat her to the girl and hide her away for a bit longer, but in the end she found us and we...we defended ourselves, I would have to say, but it was chaos."
Alfons swallowed thickly, "Krina, stop this, she was just a ch-she is still just a child! How could you blame her for this? This is insanity!
Krina!"
"Stand aside, Flint, you pathetic fool. I'll do what you never could."
"How is she to blame? How could you think like this?"
and she paused, "You're right, Alfons my dear, you are just as guilty." She smiled before sending a flash of red light towards his chest.

"That is why I was gone, I suppose. I had been trying to keep an eye on Phi since I found out she was back in England as well as in Hogwarts. I tried to protect her from Krina. I slowly explained everything to her - who I was, who Krina was, who shetechnically was, and after it all, very slowly, we tried to build our lives back up." His daughter had lost so much because of him, because of her mother and because her father had not been able to protect her from the start like a true parent should. For a few years it had almost been like he had ignored and tried to forget her before she re sprouted in his life. Yet somehow, even with the truth now known and her adoptive family murdered, she still smiled. Somehow. After the events with that dark spirit and the possession of the boy she had loved and having to end her mother, she smiled so honestly. And forgave Alfons where he could not forgive himself.
"I was gone for far longer than I had expected, but the route to reestablishing her and reorganizing everything was longer than anticipated. I wouldn't be surprised if almost everyone thought me dead as you did," he chuckled.
- -


yew || the flint estate || office

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Essy ze Ninja

 

[Essy ze Ninja]

That's why I slipped out the back before you knew I was there

And I know the way I left wasn't fair

I didn't want to be around just to bring you down

𝕽emington 𝕵agger 𝕹ott

At Alfons’ behest, Remington’s eyes cascaded the room as his old colleague drifted down to the plush leather armchair embellished in the articulate dark wood that mirrored the rest of the house. He meandered, slow and purposeful, rounding about the grand piano as his fingers grazed the cool static wood, and he sat. Opposite him, Alfons’ soul swept away in the winds and flew in time turning the clock back. Soon, Remington could not help himself but to play, and as the bridge of information snaked into the depths of its path, his fingers prodded the keys and music haunted them.

He had never been able to deduce why Sillia Rosier had ever been a professor at Hogwarts—there had been rare times when he’d catch her fleeting form snaking down the dungeons, but he’d never been able to catch her. She disappeared between his fingers like a ghost.

But he’d too much to worry about, so much so, that he honestly didn’t care why she was there… because he’d had his own children to care for. Marta Nettlepot had died, and he didn’t know why, he only knew that his children—her children—were in danger. Mr. Nettlepot was not quite pleased, to say the least, when he’d discovered the truth of the affair and demanded that Remington never saw or spoke the children again. Hildegard and Chase… they…. He’d been forced to resign his position that year, and the children were withdrawn from school taken abroad and—he’d never enticed himself with the knowledge of their whereabouts…

It’d broken him in more ways than one, but it was nothing irreparable; he’d suffered worse. Cozened with the lies he fed himself, he’d been too distraught to ever wonder why, what, or who, had brought Rosier to that school. The surprise was evident on his features, and tainted in the lines of his closed eyes as his fingers danced on white keys.

Cold and impassive, he continued to play his favorite symphony; Für Elise by Beethoven. He’d never been known for any musical talent, in fact, only his grandmother, Evangeline, had ever known—she was the one who’d taught him to play. It soothed him, and in those weak moments of peril, it had soothed Sophie, too. A gnarled stump, his soul felt suppressed, chipped away by life until everything he thought he knew had fallen to the dirt and turned to ash. Alfons cryptic tale haunted life and death into his mind, and all was crystal clear—

Until his fingers crashed and the keys collided and the song thrashed because of the very notion that Krina was no more. His throat tightened and he carried on, his fingers rising in keys as the melody upturned happily in its crescendo before it fell back into the same pattern again. ”And you shouldn’t,” he replied finally, his fingers slowing, teasing the piano as he neared the end. ”Everyone thought you dead.” The music soon died, and then silence filled the void as he cracked open his eyelids for gold to gleam through. ”I’m elated for your safe return, yours, and your daughter.” How unfamiliar the words felt, like the sun and stars instead of the grit and grime glory he’d once been so akin to.

”You’ve been better off gone, though.” He admitted, holding that molten gaze imperiously before refocusing his attention upon the keys. Soon, his flesh collided against the white triggers igniting a much more daunting melody, Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. ”There’s an evil at unrest in this world, and it’s growing.” He need not recount himself the articles in the Daily Prophet, the families gone missing, the deaths spiraling, the blood-for-power potions that’d actually hit the shelves before being found out…

”Our children will be victims of this cruelty…” He carried on, straightforward and simple, as evanescent as a ghost. ”You should have stayed gone…” Cryptic melody daunted in the air.

╔══════════════╗
39 years old ♛ 6’3” ♛ 194lbs
Location: Home
Playing Für Elise and Moonlight Sonata
Home ♛ Office ♛ Island
╚══════════════╝

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Pale Mist

 

[Pale Mist]

alfons marcus flint
head potioneer of the most extraordinary society of potioneers




I came to gaze upon the stars, when they were yet unborn
And consequently, tear at my old scars, and the mask I had outworn
Grow me a garden of roses
Paint me the colors of sky and rain
but healing doesn't seem to happen when you hide away the
seed
And so I came across the medicine man, and he showed me what I'd forlorn
For if I'm stayed it happens by my own hand, and my own voice full of scorn
Teach me to speak with their voices
Show me the way and I'll try again


- -As Alfons recounted his explanation to the somber Nott, he watched those golden eyes flash with memories. He gambled that he could guess what sort of memories the younger man was seeing other than the imagined scenes of those Alfons was telling him now. There were gleams in those golden shards and they looked like amber tears. Crying for all eternity for a suffering they cannot even remember any longer - nothing but the torturous pain and the crushing unfairness of this world.
The music the man's fingers gave birth to added the discomforting air to the Flint's tale and it made him sit uneasily in the plush softness. The haunting notes birthed by keys of such cold material echoing the two men's combined sorrow - enough, perhaps, to end this world. And in some sick way, their sad lives were only just beginning.
"Come now Remington," Alfons spoke up after the silence that stretched after the last note cracked the air and made their throats thick, "Do you not think there is a reason I have returned? And that I am here before you? New enemies have come up and new evils that need to be vanquished. Now more than ever." His eyes glared without target thinking of the papers and news he had managed to smuggle for himself and Phinelia in their months in hiding. Now, with the fuller reports and rumors closer to them than ever, Alfons' disgust only grew as he knew Phi's despair did. He would no longer keep these stories under his arm as fickle conversation to fill the silences of the office with. They were real now, and threatening to a thing that was not him.
"Am I to hide away now like I did for sixteen years and leave these things to be fought by someone else? I won't let my child be threatened by it all, much less be made a victim to it. Fight now when I finally have something worth fighting for." His stark voice had fluttered into a whisper with his eyes downcast, "There will always be some cruelty waiting for them," bleeding out another pregnant silence before a smile tickled his lips and made his eyes grown tired. "I didn't know you played. The most obvious things are the most illusive, it seems."
- -


yew || the flint estate || office

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Essy ze Ninja

 

[Essy ze Ninja]

That's why I slipped out the back before you knew I was there

And I know the way I left wasn't fair

I didn't want to be around just to bring you down

𝕽emington 𝕵agger 𝕹ott

Heavy lidded eyes cast in bronze shadows wavered so hesitantly in the darkness. Dry lips cracked open, and only a chortle of dust escaped the raspy confines of his throat, the years of smoking had been unkind to him, so it seemed. His fingers raised to claw at his throat willing away the wretched worries that chagrined there, marred by the red marks like emblazoned defeat in his flesh. He cleared his throat and his fingers hovered over the piano begging to play again.”You never asked.” He said as simply as wings taking flight.

Then the crash of keys echoed as his elbows fell without grace and fingers interlaced under the weight of his jaw, studying the man across from with cryptic eyes of a mossy ridden gold. ”I was robbed just this past week,” he admitted, his mind spinning webs like his heart beat with blood. ”It’s curious, because after the building fell to the ground, my vault was all that withstood…

“Peculiarly enough, every ancient artifact, every dark relic…. Priceless…. It’s all still there…

“My documents, my research papers, textbooks, scrolls, everything—all of the books I stored there are gone… Now what kind of wizard do we know out there that would do such?” He listed everything he’d noticed missing, everything—except the missing vials of memories… He still couldn’t decide who would have done such, his brother, his nephew…. Or…

One of Guiseley’s…. No, he quickly ripped the stem from its roots, she’s dead, after all. Krina’s gone…. They’re all dead.

╔══════════════╗
39 years old ♛ 6’3” ♛ 194lbs
Location: Home

Home ♛ Office ♛ Island
╚══════════════╝

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Pale Mist

 

[Pale Mist]

alfons marcus flint
head potioneer of the most extraordinary society of potioneers




I came to gaze upon the stars, when they were yet unborn
And consequently, tear at my old scars, and the mask I had outworn
Grow me a garden of roses
Paint me the colors of sky and rain
but healing doesn't seem to happen when you hide away the
seed
And so I came across the medicine man, and he showed me what I'd forlorn
For if I'm stayed it happens by my own hand, and my own voice full of scorn
Teach me to speak with their voices
Show me the way and I'll try again


- -Alfons winced visiably at the smashed notes punching the air as Remington dropped more than just his physical weight on them. He listened carefully to the younger man as he continued to speak, bringing up news of a further robbery. Immediately to the potioneer's mind sprang the event that mirrored this one - as he was sure it had sprung to Remy's just as quickly. Krina had been the last, and only if the Flint new his rumors, to steal from Remington. She had stolen but just one thing and it was as dangerous as she had been. But now there was a list, "It was not Krina," the Flint found himself standing as he declared this seeming fact. He wondered when his legs had moved to stand him up. He used them now to move towards the Nott and place a hopefully non-intrusive hand on his shoulder. In softer tones he said, "She is gone, Remy. I made sure of it myself." His lip stung sharply under his teeth as he bit down nervously, "I am sorry," he whispered so quietly, feeling it necessary to add.
How strange it was how much those three solemn words acknowledged: years of bitterness and strife and treachery that now was finally falling peacefully to the ground like ash after the inferno. Alfons had so many times wished to end the man under his hand - end him for what he was stealing from him and what he posed. Krina had loved no one, but perhaps Remy had been the closest. If anything, she had nearly respected him. Nearly.
Alfons wondered if having loved her - truly loved her - until the end he delivered her made him as soulless as she had been.

"Do you feel like this has some sort of connection to the things that have been happening?" he then asked, taking his hand back but keeping his place behind the man at the piano. "You know I will lend you my help if you need it, Nott."
- -


yew || the flint estate || office

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Essy ze Ninja

 

[Essy ze Ninja]

That's why I slipped out the back before you knew I was there

And I know the way I left wasn't fair

I didn't want to be around just to bring you down

𝕽emington 𝕵agger 𝕹ott

She is gone, the words resonated back and forth in his mind, offering little less solace than the grace of Hell could ever offer. I made sure of it myself, and somehow, the truth gouged his heart and made it that much more numb, that much emptier than it’d been. What was he without his vengeance? Without his penchant for jealousy? Without his tricks and silken spun webs? Even now, he could almost taste her breaths rolling down his neck and feel those claws sunken into his spine.

And what do you expect to me to tell you Flint? He nearly scoffed at the thought. That my own family conspires against me? He growled low under his throat as he felt the fleeting grace of Alfons’ hand had fallen on his shoulder and only added to weight of the world crushing him. It couldn’t be William, he realized in his daunting silence, staring down at the white plastered keys where he could see the shadowy reflection of the Flint behind him. He was too noble, too law-abiding….. Too tame.

But to think his own nephew guilty of such a crime burnt a rotten hole in his throat. Had Krina gotten to him too?

He couldn’t bear the thought of it.

”I…. I don’t know, Alfons.

“I don’t know what I need.” He lied. He knew exactly what he needed, and as he shifted transfixed eyes of gold to those molten orbs, it was clear. He needed Alfons, he needed his expertise.

He needed veritaserum.

╔══════════════╗
39 years old ♛ 6’3” ♛ 194lbs
Location: Home
Home ♛ Office ♛ Island
╚══════════════╝

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Pale Mist

 

[Pale Mist]

alfons marcus flint
head potioneer of the most extraordinary society of potioneers




I came to gaze upon the stars, when they were yet unborn
And consequently, tear at my old scars, and the mask I had outworn
Grow me a garden of roses
Paint me the colors of sky and rain
but healing doesn't seem to happen when you hide away the
seed
And so I came across the medicine man, and he showed me what I'd forlorn
For if I'm stayed it happens by my own hand, and my own voice full of scorn
Teach me to speak with their voices
Show me the way and I'll try again


- -At these words, at this sudden defeat in the man's voice, Alfons' throat constricted and his muscles seized him into a lock. And he found himself smirking. Mirth dancing on his lips as he opened them to say, "I may not have known about the piano, but I know about your talent with lies. And that was piss poor." a chuckle on his words and his eyes darkened with the same mirth and sudden deep fascination for this newly unfamiliar man. "You always know."
With a closed sigh and a dramatic roll of his eyes away from Remy and his gold to the decorations of the walls, walking up to them and leaving the silence as heavy as the claim was incomplete. His molten eyes beginning to inspect the details that the younger Nott decided to surround himself with. Mind working as his ears stayed open for whatever the man now behind him may or may not say. Where the thoughts would or would not be carried off to next.
Soon his gaze on the things in front of him became blind and he began to imagine. Imagine the reaction and thoughts Remington was going through behind his back. Imagining the building in its destroyed state and the empty space the things stolen once occupied. Imagining where his daughter may be. Imagining what Remington needed. Imagining why in this great, wide, awful world he was in this loft.
The Notts had been the strangest relationship Alfons had ever managed to entangle himself in. The elder and head of the family his best friend of many years, but the man whose house he was now in one of his enemies for just as long a time. Their clashes coming from the simplest to the grandest thing, but very often Krina being the core of it all. Whereas William had stood at his side and encouraged and helped him in every endeavor he ever tried. Just as he attempted to do the same for him. Friends for countless years and in just the last three Alfons could not bring himself to pick up a pen to write a letter to the man.
His guilt had dried his ink and made his hand shaky in every attempt. What was he that qualified further connection with the esteemed William Nott, let alone his friendship? His lies, his depression, his brand of murder?

He imagined about all these things.
- -


yew || the flint estate || office

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Essy ze Ninja

 

[Essy ze Ninja]

That's why I slipped out the back before you knew I was there

And I know the way I left wasn't fair

I didn't want to be around just to bring you down

𝕽emington 𝕵agger 𝕹ott

An air of mischief and misery tainted the heavy aura that clung to his mangled soul. Nefarious lips slithered into a slow creeping smile as he lowered his head and rose his eyes, gold shrouded by creeping shadows sparking static daggers in his back. Airways constricted, it was like her painted nails were coiled around the strings of his throat, digging deep until the blood began to pour. He fought it, fought her, to find his voice as he rose from his defeated seat behind the grand piano he was succumbing to. ”I need not tell you how many enemies I have Alfons…. I’m sure you know them well, and I’m sure you consorted with them a time or two,” he danced around the truth; walking on fire.

”You see…” he began with a musical cord, one so often used with the rhythm of the sphinx. ”I have my suspicions, my ravens, my spiders, my snakes,

“They hear and they see and they smell, yes,” his whispering voice deepening as he meandered behind his old archenemy. ”So sad to say, however, wizengamot courts would scoff their upturned noses, to be true…

“And…. I need proof.” He wagered with the simple roll of dice, an airy and impassive thing, one that affected him not. But that was all a lie too, because if it was his nephew, then what would that mean?

Idly… He recalled the day, so very long ago, that the man from the plastered wanted posters appeared unto them. The man, Justin Phelps, and all that he’d promised them. He remembered his nephew in those years too, young and eager and impressionable….. He remembered how his dearest nephew had told him that that nefarious man had come to visit, but he never thought it nothing more. He also thought that boy, that friend of his, was nothing more, and he was wrong then, too, wasn’t he?

╔══════════════╗
39 years old ♛ 6’3” ♛ 194lbs
Location: Home
Home ♛ Office ♛ Island
╚══════════════╝

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Pale Mist

 

[Pale Mist]

alfons marcus flint
head potioneer of the most extraordinary society of potioneers




I came to gaze upon the stars, when they were yet unborn
And consequently, tear at my old scars, and the mask I had outworn
Grow me a garden of roses
Paint me the colors of sky and rain
but healing doesn't seem to happen when you hide away the
seed
And so I came across the medicine man, and he showed me what I'd forlorn
For if I'm stayed it happens by my own hand, and my own voice full of scorn
Teach me to speak with their voices
Show me the way and I'll try again


- -Afons' lips pressed tightly into themselves, making his face grim and more than dark. He felt chills and hauntings grasp his spine, their breath as cold as the ivory of the piano. A shadow dancing on his face as he angled himself with the lights of the room and peered from the corner of his molten eyes at the man. Proof, proof, proof.
Dangerous words to a man like Alfons Flint. A man whose wrists stirred death in his iron cauldron, whose nose knew every detail that was correct and even more that were incorrect. He brewed suffering and corpses and rot of a soul just as easily as he did euphoria and addictions everyone had and denied. Proof could mean so many things to each wizard but to Flint it meant a very small, very dangerous vial of crystalline liquid. Proof, proof, proof.
Every time the words pasted lips in his presence, any time it entered a mind or a thought, it meant corruption. It meant problems it mean faults it mean gaping cracks in a system that so desperately tried to keep hidden that it was Hell-bound.
He did not have enough hands to count how many people - aurors, politicians, bankers, statesmen, executioners - had come with him with that same brand of proof on their lips.

When it was this sort that they needed, more was said in their asking for it than was ever received by their using it. It meant they were imagining a truth in a place unimaginable. It meant their ropes and witts were slipping through their burned hands and they needed a new instruction on grip.
For Nott it meant he knew who it was that had wronged him, and he would find out.
For Flint it meant he needed the word that as was much an ingredient in the cauldron as everything else for the liquid curse.
"What sort of proof?" he asked,


Proof, proof, proof.

- -


yew || the flint estate || office

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Essy ze Ninja

 

[Essy ze Ninja]

That's why I slipped out the back before you knew I was there

And I know the way I left wasn't fair

I didn't want to be around just to bring you down

𝕽emington 𝕵agger 𝕹ott

What sort of proof? Remington repeated to himself, lost in the black hole where the depth of his soul had succumbed to after all of these years. Where not even the silver silken strings of a spiders web would helix around his limbs, tight enough to mangle through the flesh but not adamant enough to pull him free from the darkness. The glint of silver cast over him like strings of a marionette; was he doomed to live this life? The life pulled by someone else’s hands?

He shook the thought away, grave and deep as it was embedded into his black heart, where even the scarcest light was frightful when found. Haunting, a humming melody sifted past his forked tongue, hissing deceit as honest as the sun rose west and set in the east in its autumn tint of gold.

His fingers were practiced in the arts of history, in the divine magic lost to the ancients as the separation of wizard and man alike had come to fruition. So many spells, so many, all lost to the catacombs of a world where they’d lived once in harmony—before the muggles had stolen the magic right out from under everyone’s noses. No, Remington did not believe that, that fairytale mothers and fathers tell their little lordling children that they were better because they were the purest of blood.

No…. Remington knew better than that. All the same, he was still a man of grandeur, of titles, and respect, and only the purebloodists were still akin to that fashion of nobility and propriety.

Flickering hues of a mossy gold stole closer and closer towards the man that’d been forsaken by his own family, for reasons even, that he did not know. He curled close, hissing tongue breathing frigid whispers in his ears. ”Golden proof,” it was a potioneer’s humor that he spoke with. If the potion was completed incorrectly, it was the most golden color of wonder—but every true potioneer knew that the potion, is in fact, crystal clear. Wherever the rumor had sprouted that gold would instigate truths, was horribly, horribly wrong.

╔══════════════╗
39 years old ♛ 6’3” ♛ 194lbs
Location: Home
Home ♛ Office ♛ Island
╚══════════════╝

show spoilerhide spoiler

Pale Mist

 

[Pale Mist]

alfons marcus flint
head potioneer of the most extraordinary society of potioneers




I came to gaze upon the stars, when they were yet unborn
And consequently, tear at my old scars, and the mask I had outworn
Grow me a garden of roses
Paint me the colors of sky and rain
but healing doesn't seem to happen when you hide away the
seed
And so I came across the medicine man, and he showed me what I'd forlorn
For if I'm stayed it happens by my own hand, and my own voice full of scorn
Teach me to speak with their voices
Show me the way and I'll try again


- -He nodded at the Nott's words before he could even think any further, one question only remaining between them: "How much?"
One question between the snake in the wheat and the medicine man, but countless for the plague doctor himself.
Ones declaring this outrageous, bellowing the dangers of the task. Political, legal and moral. Codes and oaths strangling him as he tried to ignore them, reasoning. Others already mapping out where the ingredients were, how much he still possessed, what he would need to buy, what he would need to take. Most beginning to swirl with their dark grins and dim eyes with imagination of who would be receiving. Whose tongue would be the one to taste the clear brew that Alfons had always been curious over; who would be spilling their soul onto the cold tile like bile and bones, acid burning more than just the cleaned shoes. All gates forcefully unlocked and the waves beating so hard there were sometimes tears behind the truths.
Would it be William, the strong dog at the top of the hill? Beaming in his glory and light too bright for any who were flawed in anyway.
Perhaps the spider, lurking in the shadows just beyond the Spiny Serpent, screaming her howls and them unwinding so something comprehensible?
Perhaps the competition for the whispers of the earth and the shadows?
A worker, a laborer with too many glares thrown Remington's way?
Servants in the castle?
Perhaps though not with blood on their sleeves, like their hearts, but beating through their veins?

Alfons' mind whirled in these speeds that would snap any neck and all so quickly a sigh only had time to build in his throat, not even be born. His index and thumb rubbing red irritation as he contemplated the potion, the proof. Reasoning with only his shadow as an advisory. He wondered how burned he already was by Hell and how much more a little more could hurt. Eyes scarred the most; peering into souls and exhibiting pain with every glance. Letting cruelties unfold before them without even raising a finger - turning himself into ice and stone by will. Targeting his spells, his curses and reading the instructions for death. It was no wonder they were born with so much fire and brimstone smoldering in them, growing only in the years. It wasn't a courageous fire, it was an anger. It was a singeing torture that was meant for no one, even if it looked directed: it lives within him and burned only him. It was a wrath.

Perhaps burning in the Hellfire some more would do nothing at this point: sometimes it is nice to feel something, anything, even if it was regret.
Remembrance can be a sentence, but it comes with a second chance in tow.

And he was brewing only truth, not death.
Not his own at least.
Not this time.
- -


yew || the flint estate || office

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Essy ze Ninja

 

[Essy ze Ninja]

That's why I slipped out the back before you knew I was there

And I know the way I left wasn't fair

I didn't want to be around just to bring you down

𝕽emington 𝕵agger 𝕹ott

”One,” he breathed so simply, so relentlessly, as if he wasn’t sentencing a man to shackle and chains, to fire and brimstone. ”I only need enough for one, just once.” It’s all he’ll need. A glowering ghoul of a man waded in a pit of shadows, the glossy black surface a reflection of the truth and lies wrapped around his flesh like boiled armor. Carved out in stone, his fate was collapsing in on itself, each and every day. It changed, it all changed.

He’d never known a feeling so powerful, so possessive, so unbreakable, as that as fatherhood. It was a hard burden to endure, never knowing just how many he’d abandoned in his fight through the wheat grass plains. He took a step back, musing himself in the childish laughter rolling in soft evanescent waves across the walls.

He couldn’t imagine the grind of cogs churning in the potioneer’s mind; he couldn’t begin to perceive the vicarious methods utilized to make the strongest men cry and the bravest man cower. Serpents weaved like worms under his flesh and swam in a sea in his veins, hissing secrets of an ancient past inside of him that had been all he’d ever known. And now he questioned it too, and all he’d ever done since. That regality he’d flourished with a crown of shadows on his head had been with him since birth, since life and death. It was poisonous thoughts not all unlike these that had stolen the sanity from the rusty eyed man across from him. It had stolen the flesh from his bones and the light from his life, these decisions, and these regrets.

He couldn’t let her fall victim to every crime threatened against her. He had to know who had stolen from him, and why. He had to protect her, and that laughter singing harmoniously in the distance.

”That’s all I ask of you, I promise.” He faded into the background, just a spider weaving its web.

”I’m sure this isn’t the intent for your visit; what can be said? Old habits die hard. Tell me Al, what brings you here instead of my dear brother’s?”

╔══════════════╗
39 years old ♛ 6’3” ♛ 194lbs
Location: Home
Home ♛ Office ♛ Island
╚══════════════╝

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Pale Mist

 

[Pale Mist]

alfons marcus flint
head potioneer of the most extraordinary society of potioneers




I came to gaze upon the stars, when they were yet unborn
And consequently, tear at my old scars, and the mask I had outworn
Grow me a garden of roses
Paint me the colors of sky and rain
but healing doesn't seem to happen when you hide away the
seed
And so I came across the medicine man, and he showed me what I'd forlorn
For if I'm stayed it happens by my own hand, and my own voice full of scorn
Teach me to speak with their voices
Show me the way and I'll try again


- -Alfons nodded sternly when the quantity was offered. One suddenly became the complicated; a number unidentifiable. There were not measurements coherent to numbers when discussing this golden truths; there was only a length of time for which you wanted to take away their will, their strength and their mortal fortification. How long did you want them experience a fear that had no parallel to saying everything and anything you never wanted to say? For how long did you want to be aggressively pulling at the string holding their words from their throat, making them gag.
Alfons supposed he would give Nott the very least he could, which the man always knew proved to be too much.
"No, I did not in fact arrive at your door today so unexpectedly with only the hopes of having my expertise borrowed, surprising though I know it is," he teased, immediately hoping to lighten the air surrounding them. The business was done for now, the weight of it had no more right to crush them underneath itself. Now they could tease just before crawling underneath another stress.
"I was hoping to ask if you could possibly procure a pensive for me," the molten-eyed man stated with light voice as he looked into the Nott's golden irises, "Nasty business, I know, and I am sorry for it, but the heir-loomed Flint one has been...misplaced. Krina did have a talent for touching things that were not her's, didn't she?" he hinted with a vaguely bittersweet smile, thinking of the rumor he knew to be fact about Remington's lost merchandise a few years earlier. The smile was so much sweeter than bitter, strangely on lips that very often knew nothing besides bitterness. "So I find myself in need of a new one."
Not truly he, he hoped quietly. He hoped and prayer with every fiber of his damned person that it wouldn't be him finding a reflection in those waters that laughed at him, telling him he was losing himself for this woman again. No, it would be Phinelia's project. And he he hoped that her clever and clear eyes had seen enough of his demons hidden in shadows and muted fears that she would keep this project her own and keep him at miles' length from the memories she now possessed. He wouldn't be lost again. Not so soon after being freed.
"I will make sure you get everything you earn for the cost of searching and finding one to replace the irreplaceable," he chuckled to himself under his breath, his eyes falling away from Remington and into the flame of candles and reflections. Oh how his father would have cursed and let fury fly over this. Its relative insignificance would only fuel his redness and he would drown in his own heated blood over the loss of a bird fountain that had almost forgotten how to show anything besides dust - much less memories. Oh the fool of an old man.
And suddenly a thought occurred that broke through the repression he had been trying to withhold since stepping into the loft.

"There is something else, though, Remy," he started slowly, eyes returning back, "She was much more your's than she ever was mine, I suppose, and I think it makes some semblance of sense for you to decide what to do with her." his eyes again roamed those golden depths, hoping beyond more hope not to find fear there again once he continued, "With Krina; do you want to bury her?"
- -


yew || the flint estate || office

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Essy ze Ninja

 

[Essy ze Ninja]

That's why I slipped out the back before you knew I was there

And I know the way I left wasn't fair

I didn't want to be around just to bring you down

𝕽emington 𝕵agger 𝕹ott

One, just one; he knew the puzzle just as well as any, however, he had a feeling that this, this prospect of pure gold, would lead him to folly. He was almost sure of it, but he’d never know if he didn’t try, pity that. He lingered in the trenches, his mind scaling walls as he feverishly climbed through possibilities, so many endless wonders. Agile fingers teased the scruff of his chin as he lingered somewhere far from here and in between, where the worlds collided. ”I can only hope,” he whole heartedly agreed, scarcely lending more than a serpentine smile to the man across from him. He lingered idly within the room, most of his weight balanced upon the hand that held him firm against the black piano shining under the high chandelier.

Mossy gold flickered like a pebble in the pond, refracting light to bend to his whim as he studied the meticulous man and the lines of weary patience that had carved into his flesh from years long past. The procuration of a pensieve would be a tricky feat, there were rarely any that had manufactured such due to the high driving price and low demand, considering most any older families had one particularly for their family, and those that did not, knew those that did. He could of course, rob someone, but then there was the sticky situation if it’d ever be found within the home of his dear old friend. And, maybe once upon a time ago that would have been a gamble he was willing to take, considering he’d have the chance to one day sit back and watch it all come back to Flint. ”You know I always love a challenge,” he divulged with utter simplicity. Feigning that regal austerity and ignoring any semblance of her. ”I’ll have it within the fortnight.” He nodded with words weighted as good as gold. ”Knowing her, she’d have destroyed it when it was of no use any longer.” The disdainful taste of copper pooled in his tongue while bones pushed teeth to tear the muscle.

A caustic collision had even the Gods on their toes, waiting and peering down from their clouds while Remington split the world with volcanic might and spewed death and destruction like ash and dust. He swallowed that lump of blood, hard, and forced it down his throat. ”She was much more yours than she ever was mine,” Alfons’ words coiled in his ears, and somehow, he wondered how manipulated they both had really been all this time…

Not a wavering emotion shadowed upon him. Statuesque, he barely moved as he spoke, but a dark determination burned bright in eyes of shining gold. ”Yes.” He would bury her…. But he wouldn’t leave her for dead.

”…I do.”

╔══════════════╗
39 years old ♛ 6’3” ♛ 194lbs
Location: Home
Home ♛ Office ♛ Island
╚══════════════╝

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Pale Mist