Remington's Private Island

[Essy ze Ninja]

Remington Nott
Lough Erne, Northern Ireland, UK

Located on the northern inlet of Lough Erne, Remington's whitewashed six-bedroom private island home sits at the summit of a 2,000-square-foot granite islet. Balconies encircle the entirety of the three floors to gaze out at the jestful waves slapping against the rocks. A dock stretches out across the deep blue sea to accomodate to any sort of ship that might seek to harbor. A number of protection spells and barriers have been cast around the island making it impossible to apparate or floo into, including the caterwauling charm, disillusionment charm, imperturbable charm, impervius charm (for fire, and blasts, mainly) protego totalum charm, muggle repeling charm, stealth sensoring charm, an undetectable extension charm, and a colloportus charmed door.

The only access is by sea, or flight.

 

[Essy ze Ninja]

NPC Residents:

Ghost, Evangeline Faith Nott, often found haunting the master bathroom where she had been slain.

House elf, Shay, often found tending to the gardens

 

[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

If this fiendish woman had even the slightest shred of concern towards him, Remington didn’t notice, not like he tried, it was an aspect of the human ways that he hadn’t learned because it meant little to him. In his youth, he had such an animalistic rage within him that it could not be quelled, no matter how many fights he was defeated, no matter how many women he lost. Even now, Remington knew nothing more than the cold embrace of wretched agony. That wasn’t always so, but as fate should have it, he was meant to live a cursed life; he was sure of it.

That fact alone had never bothered him, but when faced with quiet retribution, it was impossible to deny. Still, the sheer void within had never been a concern before, so why was it now? Remington couldn’t seem to help himself; Murdoch had some clever innate capability to crawl under his skin like paranoia in his brain. Her very presence sent him reeling; the intoxication of spiced plum ensnared his every thought with chilling fingertips tearing out his spine and then left nothing more than a prominence of lust. He couldn’t seem to help himself, he didn’t want to help it, and Remington chose to dive as far deep into cerulean pools as would be allowed except this time an enraptured passion swirled within gold and green never denying the very power struggle that pierced the otherwise calming ambiance. But had she noticed how quickly he began to loose himself?

No.

And it was decided, at least, in his mind. The prominent man couldn’t deny for a moment that every aspect of his life had been meticulously planned out from the day he attended Hogwarts, even to now. It went without saying that it was rare to catch him off of his guard- and maybe that was why he had so madly fallen into rapture. She caught him off guard. Yes, yes, he decided, that had to be it. Why else would he bother to waste so much effort on thoughts of her, instead of, well, other matters of importance!

All of these thoughts permeated any true recognition of her, yes of course, he watched her- and very closely at that. The subtlest gestures sparked fireworks, but his mere conscience seemed so far off in another world, he couldn’t respond properly. She meandered now, gliding her hips left and right until she inevitably grazed past him to stalk into the lead. Golden hues reflected Murdoch off of the surface, could not be penetrated because he wasn’t truly there, but somewhere off in a distant land where everything was as it seemed. Until he suddenly slammed down upon reality when soft flesh had endearingly captured his face, trapped him. Had he not done the very same to someone only several hours ago….?

But who...

If anything, the slightest flash of surprise exposed a certain truth and that he was not to be caught off of his guard without consequence. His lips had parted, he realized, relaxed at her embrace, as did the rest of the muscles that lined his pointed features. He didn’t dare break the connection, but his eyes had narrowed to slight degrees. Was that a glimpse of reprisal? Or maybe a challenge?

And just like that, she fled, as unattainable as a wisp of smoke forever drifting. Brain kicked to the side, instinct suddenly steered his ship as he hungrily pursued his prey. Serpentine, Remington attacked her in her spot. One hand had articulately slid in under the depths of gently flowing curls, red as bright as his lust, and then entangled to restrain her where she stood. A brick wall met her, thrust into her back, and constrained her from further movement and suddenly, the sultry heat from his breath slithered down her neck. ”Me too.”

His left hand, his free hand, had to restrain ulterior motives as he produced the thirteen inch walnut wand to cast a series of silent spells upon the ship before finally able to direct every ounce of his ill-willed efforts upon her. ”Shall we?” The low emanated growl of his voice haunted over her flesh and contained a darkly amused mockery of a joke. He knew she couldn’t move, not unless she fought him, or unless he permitted so. With his free hand now coddling at her hip, Remington pressed forward bidding her to move up the walkway and to the whitewashed villa.

╔══════════════╗
Location: Private Island with Murdoch
Desires: Dominance
╚══════════════╝

I'm not a hero but don't think I didn't care

 

[Pathological Kisser]

Charlize Murdoch
Owner of Blood Murdoch's: House of Dueling
Cloak | Thoughts: Suddenly the trip to the house looks so long. This dock looks sturdy enough… | Owl

The heat between them was building again. The nearness of their destination fueling the anxiety to reach it. She could still feel the warmth of his cheek and the roughness of his stubble against her palm. It had been a tender caress, and how she yearned to grab his face and kiss him deeply, biting at his lips and feeling his hands ravage her body. The mere thought of such a thing nearly made her gait falter. But instantly there was support behind her.

His hand ran up her back under her hair to grab a fistful close to her scalp and pull her backward against him, illicting a gasp of surprise which melded into a soft moan of pleasure. Murdoch preferred it this way, rough and hot. Like his breath on her bare neck. The moment he drew his wand a thrill shot through her body, as if he had a cold blade running down her skin. But he secured the boat with the wand, all the while holding her firmly by the hair against his body. She shifted in faux restless struggle, twisting her hips back against him, whimpering in a way that begged for more rather than protested. As his wand disappeared, his hand rested on her hip.

He challenged her to go on, while she was clearly restrained, making a hollow laugh echo from her arched throat, craned back towards his chest where he held her. Rather than step forward immediately, she bent her knees to drop a few inches lower before pushing back against him as she stood. Cooing as she teased him with her much clothed flesh. He guided her forward and she made sure to take small steps, causing him to step into her each time before she would step forward by inches. The motion mocking the one that she hoped to be making soon enough. Small sighs and soft whispered moans slipping past her lips as one hand slid down to cover his hand that held her hip, her cool fingers slipping in between his thick manly digits, and running down his fingers to her hip and back up his hand. Her nails skimming the surface of his skin.

It was good that he supported her because her legs were starting to feel weak. The passion that he stirred deep inside her was something that she hadn’t felt in…had she ever felt like this? Had a man ever had such an effect on her? Her brain argued that it was merely the newness of their acquaintance and the mystery of her lover that made it so exciting. And she left it at that.

Though her eyes flicked up to the stairs ahead. Negotiating them would be interesting. Though she instantly had thoughts of him throwing her down on them and ravishing her there. Stairs might not be so bad.

Her voice was breathy and low and full of tease, “You’d better keep a firm hold if you’d like to make it all of the way to your house.”  

[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

Like a marionette on her strings, Murdoch was subdued easily enough. The hot patch of breath was sent to demand an army of chills to creep along her flesh, and even with her back to his chest, he could feel the impending race of their hearts fluttering to the harmony of their rough embrace. He didn’t deny himself the pleasure of a smile as it carved along his skin and pushed past the cloud of red hair that shielded his vision from anything other than her. That laughter, the brusque tips of his fingers couldn’t help but to quiver under the melody, it haunted him in a way that begged for more. And he was quick to comply.

At the sign of struggle, Remington’s hand snaked all the way around her hips enveloping her in his arms like a doll. She was teasing him, he knew it, with the way she bucked her hips against his own only to be met by an impending force quickly growing in prestige. Her whimpered bouts of plea did nothing but add fuel to the fire, and then at the coy nature of her words, Remington huffed. That adamant tendon that had snaked around her waist suddenly vanished, and then the force of the muscle suddenly swept around her back and down to her thighs as he lifted her in the air, both arms now supporting the cradled woman while leaving a tingled memory within her hair. ”Oh, we’ll make it.” He decreed, so very sure of himself.

Now, it was only his long sweeping strides that separated the two opposing forces up along his walkway and then inside his villa. Under the doorway, a welcomed greeting sign depicting “The Nott Home” hung in attendance above the front door which flew open by the demand of his unvoiced magic, and inside, the villa seemed dead. Every room, and every hallway was bare of pictures or any personal attachments, the entirety of the house was established with a polished cherry wood, or black leather. Oddly, the living room and dining room that they had glided past hadn’t seemed to have been used in years, and withheld the same lack of cozy warmth that entailed the rest of the house. Odder still, the grand double doors to what could have presumed to have been the master bedroom was closed as they passed it by to enter another room. Scarcely decorated with nothing more than a four poster bed and dresser, Remington lacked any caution as he dropped her onto the covers, and just as quickly, pounced on top. Little breath had been wasted while eyes full of want, gold and hungry, devoured every bit of her.

When the dominance of the sun had peaked its reached within the bedroom, glided hands of glowing fire down to emit a brilliance of light and color into the otherwise dreadfully bare room, though every piece of furniture itself seemed to cost more than the house itself, it didn’t sway the opinion of a barren wasteland. Only the necessities would be found within, and nothing more. A thin film of dust had collected along the surface of everything, but it only seemed to amplify the closer one reached the master bedroom, the door of which had cracked open by an inconspicuous force. But outside, a garden flourished with petunias, roses, and calla lilies, leading the way down the dock that restrained the quaint yacht from being used by anyone but its owner. All the while, Remington lied under the black silk sheets deep in slumber, and unaffected by the whimsical welcome of the dawning sun.

╔══════════════╗
Location: Private Island with Murdoch
Desires: Sleep
╚══════════════╝

I'm not a hero but don't think I didn't care

 

[Pathological Kisser]

Charlize Murdoch
Owner of Blood Murdoch's: House of Dueling
Cloak | Thoughts: Gah, morning… | Owl

((picture coming))
The bed was their night and they filled it with their passion like the stars crowded the sky. Murdoch breathed her desire into her lover and he exhaled ecstasy back into her, together drowning in their own pleasure. His raw masculinity and ravenous love making style was everything that Murdoch had hoped for and more. She gave back as good as she got, using him, his body, for her pleasure. And what pleasure. How many times had she had him before they both collapsed, limbs intertwined and, happily sated, passed out? Countless.

The familiar rays of the early sun woke her to see the sky painted in oranges, pinks and purples on the horizon while the rest of the sky was still asleep, wrapped in velvet blue slumber. Even the moon rested in the west, preparing to try his hardest to outlast the sun, as he did every morning. Murdoch stared to move but winced, her body sore and tender. Which in turn brought back thoughts of the night before which had her smirking as she slipped out of bed and padded silently to the bathroom.

The cold water refreshed her and brought her slowly to wakefulness. A cursory glance in the mirror had her touching the purpled marks on her skin, evidence of the passion that was far from forgotten. Brushing out her long red hair, she watched herself idly in the mirror as her hands worked on her tresses in autopilot. Murdoch was not a morning person, truth be told. If given the opportunity, she would gladly awake in her own bed much closer to noon than dawn every day. But she was not in her own bed.

Whenever she was with a man, she never took him to her home. It was his place, dingy room at an inn, between the rows of books shelves in the library, but never her home. There was more than one reason for that. But regardless, when she slept in other beds, with her previous evening’s interest, she always slept lightly, woke early and left without a word. After all, this was all either of them was looking for. And now that they had quenched that thirst, they were done.

There had been moments though last night, when he carried her in his arms, the way his eyes would fix on her at times when they were making love that just seemed….”No.” she commanded herself firmly, bringing the hairbrush down like a hammer on the countertop. The ‘clap’ loud, she shuddered at her impulsive mistake and leaned back to look out the crack in the door to the bed. But the stranger’s back still moved up and down in slow rhythmic breaths so she turned back to the mirror with a small sigh of relief. Not that she cared if she woke him for his comfort, but she didn’t want to deal with the early morning awkwardness of dealing with an intimate stranger.

Because that’s all they were, strangers. The intimacy was done and now she could go. Gathering up her clothes in her arms with only her lingerie covering her skin, she set to Apparate into her father’s house where she had been staying. But suddenly the sensation much like running into a brick wall knocked her back, almost off of her feet. Grabbing the counter to steady herself as she stood in the center of the clothes that she dropped, she frowned deeply. Of course, no Apparations in or out.

Pulling her dress on hastily, and holding her shoes and cloak, she tiptoed through the bedroom and out the door like the quietest mouse. As quickly as possible, she dashed down the hallways and stairways and byways to get back to the dock, her flight instinct kicking into high gear. Last night, the idea of being taken away and handled roughly by a man that she didn’t know had been intoxicatingly exciting. However, this morning with the light of common sense beginning to dawn on her, she wondered how she was going to get home. Waiting for him to decide to take her was out of the question, Murdoch didn’t do morning-after’s, deep talks about feelings or attempting to pretend that this had been anything more than what it was, a fling.

At the dock, her bundle still in her arms and the mist in the sea breeze prickling the skin of her bare arms, she drew her wand to attempt to summon the bridge to the boat. She was sure that once it reached the other shore she could just send it back here to wait for him. Or sod him, leave the boat on the shore and he could handle it himself. Murdoch was feeling a little wary and rankled at the idea of being kept, penned up, caged. Which only got worse as the bridge did not appear no matter what she tried. In fact, the only thing that happened was the spray of a particularly large wave wetting her feet and putting her already poor morning demeanor into a decidedly darker state.

Her light blue gaze swung back to the boat and damn if it wasn’t the only way back to shore, she would have blown it to bits for ignoring her. Trudging back up the stairs from the dock, she slipped her shoes on at the top as her feet were beginning to freeze. Since it appeared that she wasn’t going anywhere yet it felt strange to just walk back into the house again, she turned and decided to mull her options over in the gardens. So, it seemed that she was stuck here on this gorgeous island with this luxurious house and this beautiful man, and Murdoch had never wanted to leave a place more. Beautiful things were dangerous.

Watching the sun rise as she sat at a beautiful wrought iron patio set in the gardens, she put all her energy into not thinking about the night before. This was why lingering was back. A clean break is the best. So instead, to occupy her brain with other things, she ran through what she would need to organize a dueling tournament at her shop in Hogsmeade. After too short a time she had plotted out all of the details and even decided on a good day to host it. The warmth of the early sun tingled across her skin and warmed her still slightly sodden feet. Her eyes drifted around the plants, the landscaping, the view, the exterior of the house, until impatience over took her.

Standing, she made her way back into the house, though at a slow leisurely pace. If he wasn’t awake, there was no sense rushing. But if he was awake to find her gone without even a note, then she was in for a potentially embarrassing conversation over her failed early morning escape. Her footsteps lingered in the air for a little longer each step as she approached the room where he was slumbering. But, as she made her way down the hall that he carried her down the night before, she noticed a large set of doors. Clearly these must have been the master bedroom and the stranger called this ‘his’ house. She couldn’t help but wonder why he would not take her in there. Not that it mattered, one bed served the same function as another. But still, curiosity called her.

Veering slightly from her path to the other bedroom, she neared the door that was cracked open slightly and peeked inside.  

[Essy ze Ninja]

As if a beckoned welcome had granted Charlie entrance to the master bedroom, any and all of the protective spells guarding the room had suddenly been lost on her, and the door swept open with ease, glowing, like an enchanted fairytale dream. The entirety of the room was a stark contrast to the house, and clearly it did not belong, but it vibrated with white stark colors dancing all around, and trinkets and souvenirs decorated the peaceful ambiance of the room from top to bottom. The majority of the belongings, elderly clothing, jewelry, candles and shoes had been neatly packaged into unmarked boxes, but it seemed as though not an object had been moved for a decade. Dust thicker than what had enveloped the house left this room in a gray lull, and the portraits that hung on the walls had almost been too smeared to even comprehend.

Many of the portraits in question were already stacked against one another within a cardboard box, but the few that were left held the iconic photos of both Remington and William, their identities made clear in a particular Christmas Eve photo with the two sheepish children donning sweaters with their names, and a grin to match the season. Every photo demonstrated a brotherly love, though at times displaced, it was always a present factor in their youth. One woman could be noted in each of the photos, their grandmother, Evangeline.

Travelling deeper, beyond the dust coated cabinets, and past the bay window, had led to an alcove with a white grand piano shining pristinely. Beyond the instrument of a heavenly pearl, a cluster of photographs hung on the walls and many of them featured the grandmother with William and his son, Tay, as an infant. In these photographs, however, Remington seemed to have fallen distant, and in each progressing photo, he seemingly shrank into the background as a glowering ghoul until finally, he wasn’t there at all. On a dresser behind the piano, where a plethora of music sheets were contained, featured an array of Remington and his nephew. Though the photos here were taken around the same time as those on the wall, they featured the same nostalgic sorrow Remington encompassed, and not one had featured his brother. Clearly, an event near Tay’s birth had led the two astray. But it seemed as though his nephew was the only one in any of these mobile pictures to ever stir a sort of smile on his face.

One framed photograph in particular would only be noticed at the crunch of glass under Charlie’s shoes, a beautiful baby boy hovered in the arms of Remington some ten years ago. This baby didn’t have the same rounded cheeks and auburn hair that his nephew owned, but instead, dark chestnut hair, and features sharp and pointed. The picture frame seemed to have been forgotten on the floor hundreds of years ago, and not another could be found containing the young child in Remington’s arms. Slipping the photo free from its tainted confines, the shroud of doubt would be cast aside, the child resembled the sinister man much too eerily. On the back, the articulation of a woman’s print could be read under a date that stretched ten years back: ‘My baby grandson and his father.’  

[Pathological Kisser]

Charlize Murdoch
Owner of Blood Murdoch's: House of Dueling
Cloak | Thoughts: Must leave now… | Owl

Her whole life, Murdoch had been adventurous. The first time she saw the Shrieking Shack she hopped the fence and kicked out a board on the window to sneak inside. It was like the house had challenged her, dared her. And Murdoch had always had an unquenchable urge to prove herself. The Forbidden Forest, Filch’s desk, and generally anywhere that she was told NOT to go. She might not have been forbidden from entering this room, but it was pretty clear that her host did not want her in here. One part of her realized that this was his home and he might have a good reason to keep this room secret. But the larger part of her was still irritated that she couldn’t leave and feeling cagey and penned up. So in flaunting her own independence, he might have her stuck here, but she would go anywhere that she damned well liked.

Beyond that, she felt drawn to this room. Almost as if someone wanted her to see what was in here. Pushing open the door, she took pause in slight shock. She felt like she was stepping into a different house, or a different realm, through this door. It was so very different from the rest of the house, but something in the air told her that this was more the original state of the house. The rest must have been renovated, but this room was kept original as a homage or a tribute or a….”a shrine…” came her hushed voice. Or else it was avoided entirely. Out of fear, or overwhelming sorrow or regret.

But there had been happiness in this room, there was a beautiful sadness to it. Like the last straining chords of a heart wrenching sonata. Each small item seemed selected and placed with love and care. Somewhere between the elaborate carvings and delicate lace and general knicknackiness of it told her that this was an older woman’s room. Perhaps her host’s mother? Having just lost her father, Murdoch could understand how she would feel if she found some stranger going through his things. Murderous rage bubbled just at the thought of it. She would have left if not for the warm sensation that she felt, like she was being beckoned here. She stood a moment, arguing with herself as to whether she should take another step forward or run out and kick her new acquaintance out of bed.

Then something caught her eye, photographs in beautiful frames lined the walls further in. Her first step was hesitant, looking over her shoulder at the empty doorway before walking forward to inspect the first picture. Her features, usually serious, angry or aroused, now softened into something else entirely. Unguarded affection bloomed on her face as she looked at the two young boys in their Christmas jumpers, even a soft chuckle escaping. But the more she looked at the soft childlike features, she recognized a familiar set of cheekbones, mischievous arch in the eyebrows of one happy boy, the name on his shirt read ‘Remington’.

Murdoch bit her lip. I should leave. I don’t belong here. I don’t want to feel like this. But she couldn’t help herself. Something in her was interested in what made this happy, sweet boy into the man that he was today. Not that she expected to find that answer here. Looking around at the boxes packed around the room, Murdoch was sure that there was a lot here to discover. She wasn’t about to or interested in ripping this sacred room apart for answers about a man that she never planned on seeing again. After all, the desire was sated, the night was passed, it was time to move on. That’s how Murdoch had always lived.

But, these pictures were right there, hanging in the open…of a closed up room that she had entered without permission, but regardless.. Seeing the boy in him, after stripping the man bare, fired her curious nature deeply. Murdoch made a habit of satisfying her temptations.

Stepping down the wall, smiling as she found the boys splashing in the water, riding ponies or fishing in the Loch, Murdoch continued spotting a third figure. Not in every picture, and sometimes just in the background or at the side, there was an older woman. Too old to be their mother and with too much love and pride to merely be a nanny. Their grandmother. Just the three of them, no pictures with their parents and always appeared to be here even at various stages of their youth.

So this is his family home? Raised by their grandmother? Possibly. They could have just visited a lot.

More and more, Murdoch found herself trying to unravel the mystery behind this man. Realizing what she was doing, she halted her stride, scowling at herself. Making a disgusted growl she spun on her heel to turn for the door, but a picture on the back wall caught her attention. A child. Murdoch paused, half turned, her eyes on the young boy. There was more to all of this..

The boy’s face drew Murdoch in. Who was this? The man pictured with him was clearly the other boy from the first group of pictures, apparently Remington’s brother. Looking from child to man, it was clear that this was his son. Even as a tot, the resemblance was evident. The more she looked, the more she noticed how Remington faded from these pictures. If he was there, he was to be found in the background and she certainly recognized the scowl and dark gaze that had been missing from his childhood photos. Now he was a nearly non existant figure in the background of the lives of others.

Following the wall, she noticed the dresser behind the piano. These photos, kept separate from the others, had Remington holding his nephew. A soft smile floated back onto Charlie’s lips as she picked up one of the pictures. Remington was holding the boy, the two staring at each other and the harsh exterior of the enigmatic man was dropped as he smiled at his little nephew. But it wasn’t the same as the broad joyous smiles of his youth. This smile was loving but also full of sadness. His eyes seemed brimming with emotion.

Setting the picture down carefully in place, she decided that she had seen more than enough, too much in fact. Stepping back she heard a crunch and gasped as she jumped away. Oh balls, I broke something. Good job, Murdoch. You blithering idiot. In this room, this frozen chamber of remembrance to someone long past, she was sure that she had picked the worst room to break something in. But, looking at the dust coating the picture frame on the floor, she realized that this had already broken, the fault wasn’t hers. The layers of dust, cracks and crumbled glass made it hard to see the picture that had been in the frame. Bending down, she lifted it from the ground, knocking the broken bits aside.

Remington was in this picture, holding a small child cradled in his arms. The look on his face didn’t show the sadness that she had seen when he looked at his nephew. But this was not his nephew. This was a different child. The features, even rounded by youth, were undeniably handed down by the man holding him. But things weren’t adding up. She couldn’t be right. Reaching into the frame, she plucked the photograph out, turning it over slowly, a slight tremble shaking the picture.

‘My baby grandson and his father.’

Murdoch felt numb. The empty frame had dropped from her other hand and clattered to the floor, unnoticed by her as she read and reread the words. Turning the picture over slowly again, as if she was worried that turning it quickly might upset the baby, she looked again at the picture. Where is the baby now? What happened to him? Was he…

Murdoch halted that line of thought as she realized that her empty hand was now resting on her stomach. Grimacing painfully as her blue eyes winced shut and glittered with tears as she dropped her hand away. Murdoch had been a girl when it happened. One of her early duels. She had been challenged by a brooding oaf two steps out of the cave where his kind spawned. Her opponent was not particularly skilled, fast or well practiced. But he fought dirty. Charlize was still new to competing herself, she was well practiced, had wonderful technical skill and execution. But her years of participating with the dueling club at school had ingrained the art, form and propriety of the duel in her, despite her wild behavior. This man had no clue what propriety and art even were. Her father had cautioned her against dueling him, worried for his then eighteen year old daughter.. Perhaps the last time that he ever was.

The man was ruthless. His spells quickly overpowering the young novice. He didn’t let up. He continued on, even after she was thrown back to the ground. The disgusting film of superiority settling over him. This was what he had wanted, this lovely young stuck up girl put in her place. Showing her that the dueling range was a man’s place. She didn’t belong here. He cursed her until she was battered and bleeding. The men in the crowed jeered and cheered. They were all mirthful to see the girl fail. Corrected by a man. Her father had tears rolling down his cheeks but he stayed on the sidelines, she had demanded that she didn’t want interference.

When she finally slipped into unconsciousness, the man relented. Turning to his adoring fans he headed for the bar for another round of whatever imbibement it was that he stunk with. Her father had moved forward, crying, scooped up his daughter and Apparated away to St. Mungo’s. The healing wizards worked on her diligently. They were able to mend her wounds. But there was damage that couldn’t be reversed. Charlize, this beautiful young girl lying in the hospital bed with her whole life in front of her, would never have children.

They said that her internal damage was extensive. They did what they could, but there was only so much to do. There were limits to their abilities. And her systems were ravaged. Concieving and carrying a child to term seemed far beyond the scarred organs. Sitting next to his unconscious daughter’s bed, Franklin held his head in his hands and sobbed. He had done this. He had involved his precious child in this gritty, unforgiving world. Not even proper dueling competitions, but those held in the backs of pubs and old warehouses. He had encouraged her pride and confidence, building her up. Praising her brash and loud behavior. That wasn’t how he should have raised her. He should have stayed home, raised her like a little lady. Protected her.

Charlie stirred, a tear slipping down her cheek from her clenched eyes as she gasped from the effort of trying to sit up. He shushed her, quieted her. She asked what had happened. As he reminded her of the duel, the abuse that she had taken, Charlie grew more and more quiet and still. He paused and she waited, her blue eyes dry and solemn as she laided her expectant gaze on him. Finally, he managed to choke out her prognosis. He readied himself to hold her, comfort sobs of pain, loss and confusion. But she did none of those things. Her face was still, her gaze steady. Throwing back the covers, she made to leap up from the bed but instantly fell back in a tearless gasp of pain. He rushed to move her back to the pillows, shush her.

She pushed him back firmly, laying back quietly. She didn’t speak the rest of the night. She just stared out the window and sat quietly. He slept in the chair next to her bed. She was there for the next week. The care and treatment from the doctor’s had her getting better in no time. One night, he stirred and opened his eyes to find her bed empty. They checked all over. But she was gone. Suddenly Franklin froze. Without a word to the doctors he Apparated away, back to the pub where she had been hurt. He was too late. The crowd was huddled around a body at the end of the dueling lane.

But as Franklin closed in, it was not his daughters small feet that protruded from beyond the mass of bodies looking in. These were the feet of a man. Franklin pushed the back, murmurs stirring as they saw him. The crowed parted and Franklin stepped back. The man would have been totally undistinguishable if he hadn’t known who to expect. The same oaf that had destroyed Charlie. He was disfigured beyond believe, blood pooling around him. The others where nervous, angry as they watched Franklin.

“That little witch of yours is to blame! You tell her to stay away! She comes back here we will finish her like Clurg should have the last time!” The voices were angry, but he heard something else. Fear.

“Where is she?”

“How should we know? You just tell her to stay away!”

Franklin smirked as he Apparated away, this time back to their house. He ran through the house, calling out for his little girl. But the house was empty, as where her dresser drawers. She had been here. There was no note, no trace of where she had gone. He looked for her for weeks, unsuccessfully. Occassionally he would go to a pub hosting a duel only to here that she had been there the week before and dominated the competition. Not just winning but punishing her opponent with a vicious style. No one came away from a duel with her without being bloody. The men were starting to call her ‘Blood’ Murdoch.

Franklin couldn’t help but feel as proud of her as he was worried. It was a few months before he found her. He went to another dirty pub, hidden from the Muggle world, hosting a dueling competition. And there she was. She didn’t look like his little girl that he remembered. She had always been a bit of a tomboy, preferring trousers or breeches over dresses.

But he had never seen this side of her. Charlie was sitting on the lap of a strange, handsome young man. His hands resting on her thighs while she was leaning back kissing him deeply, her hands in his hair. Her own hair was loose in wild red curls. Her legs were covered in skin tight black breeches and knee high black boots. Instead of a proper dueling shirt, tunic style, she wore only a tight black corset that showcased curves that he hadn’t known that his daughter possessed. Sitting up, she spotted him and only smiled.

Leaving her plaything without a backward glance, she walked up to her father. “It should be a good night. LeTroust is in town. Remember that match that you two had a few year ago at that sanctioned match. Hope I’ll get a go at him tonight.”

And just like that, they never spoke of the incident. Never mentioned her injuries. He never asked her about the change in her demeanor. They just went back to traveling together like always. She came home sometimes, other times she stayed away for a while. But she and her father were as close as ever. He couldn’t believe the change in her style. She still used all of the proper techniques, and her execution was skilled and well-rehearsed. But she was vicious. She exploited every weakness in each opponent. She went for the harshest spells and made sure to get in every shot that she could, never letting up until the referee called her off. The look in her blue eyes was wild and aggressive.

But every once in a while, when they were walking through town, he would see a glimmer as she looked at a mother and young child or a pregnant woman. Sadness, pain, longing. But like a cloud passing over the sun, it was quickly gone and her mask of confidence and self assurance back in place. And that was that.

Murdoch looked at the picture of her host and his son again. Slowly, she set it down on the piano and backed away. Slipping out of the room quickly, her brain was awash with thoughts, memories and emotions. Her footsteps slower and slower as she approached the door that she had left at dawn. Pushing the door open, she peered inside and smirked as she saw his back still rising and falling peacefully. The sight of his naked skin raising the heat in her body and cheering her troubled mind with images of untold passion.

She moved with slow, silent step to the bedside. She looked to the window, there was a wide sill. She could sit there and wait for him to wake up. Or throw him out of bed and demand to be taken back now. The second sounded more fun. But instead she found herself slipping her silver dress back off of her shoulders. Sliding into the bed, she stayed on the far side away from this man. She watched him sleep. Even unconscious, he seemed to have a lot on his mind. What burdens had he beared? Had he lost a child? To death or merely had the mother taken it far away? Her own pain was hard to ignore though of how she could understand the sort of pain that he felt.

But no, she would not do this. She would not feel anything for this man. He was as damaged as she and neither was suited for the silly sentimentalities that many clung to, she assured herself. And even if she was wrong about him, she knew that she was right about herself. Turning her face away, she studied the wall and forced herself to not wonder any further. But one question still nagged at her mind. Why had she come back to this room? Why didn’t she wait downstairs? Why climb back into bed next to this stranger?

Perhaps to take advantage of him again once he woke? She decided that was a fair answer and refused to think any more deeply. Turning back to the sexual beast sharing the bed, she crawled closer to him. Nuzzling the side of his neck, she purred into his ear, “Hey…Good morning…Wake up stranger, if you keep me here any longer I will demand your body again. So unless you are prepared to shackle me in a dungeoun, let’s get a move on.”

That’s right. Move on. Get out of the house. Away from the white room. Away from this man. Away from his sensual face. Her eyes flicked over his features again. Remington. Merlin help her.  

[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

”You’ll never be the same,” the haunted whisper tickled down his spine, ensnared him viciously and left only a chilling taunt in its wake. That voice, her melody, it sung so sweetly, but a poison had laced each syllable with such manipulation- he hadn’t ever even noticed it. She tormented him, his dreams, his desires; she ravaged him until there was nothing left but a hollow soul, breathless and barren. Emilia hadn’t been able to quell the misery that that horrid witch had left behind- and even now- she tortured him in his dreams.

“Kill him,” she urged, hot breath trickling down his ear, the ghost of her had all but surrounded him. She was everywhere- beyond the darkness her eyes trained on him- through the abyss her straight feisty hair breathed out a waterfall around him- her freckles twinkled like stars above him as he circled in his spot, around and around until there she stood with that smile on her face. “Kill him,” she had dared.

She was taunting him, Remington realized only a little too late. Suddenly, the ground lost its solidity and the darkness melted around him and seeped him in, trapped by a thick viscosity.

“Ha ha ha ha ha!”

Her voice- that laughter- it was the last thing he heard as an obscurity blanketed his worries, comforted him with its silence, but not for long, no, never for long. She would find him, she always did. And as he sifted somewhere in the realm of in between, she did find him.

“Remington,” she had whispered, and his lips visibly quiver under the melody of her embrace. “Oh, Remington,” she cooed. A ghost of a hand, so demure, caressed the stubble of his cheek with an iced burn. “Don’t you see?”

Such sweet words, Remington couldn’t help but melt into her. The sparkle in her eyes was enough to send him back, reeling, into a time where they had once been together, where she had once been his pride and joy. Emilia couldn’t make him feel the way that she made him. Emilia, at best, was humble, and at worst, she was torrid, but her ? She could crawl under his skin, sift past through his defenses as sure as day, but impossible to catch- a breath in the wind. She knew just how to pull his strings, and it was because of her that he was who he is now today.

“Don’t you see?” She chimed, pulled him close and he was floating, floating so gently within the abyss that she created, that void of her. “You should be king,” her tempt had teased him, left a wanton burn in his core that only she had been able to fill. She swept into him, disappeared like a breeze in the wind, and he was alone.

But not for long, he hoped, she had never left him astray for so long. No, she knows he could never have enough of her, she knows. After the web of deceit, after the fog of illusions, after the maze of mirrors, he was still so willing to trust her. So willing…

“You should be king,” and there she was again. Her voice tore through his being, ribbons of scarlet seared through his flesh, incisions bore down on him, all from her. Numb, he was lost. A chaos spun him, the black faded to red, and then there she was- behind him. Nails cold as ice ripped into his skin, a vice grip restrained his shoulder and she glided faithfully behind him, so endearing, the fruit of her flower teasingly flashed against his back. “Hey… Good morning…

“Wake up stranger,” the lull of a woman called to him. “...I will demand your body again…”

A smirk fought its way to the surface of his lips as the stranger, Remington, floated diligently somewhere in between consciousness. Hair of a dark chestnut was in disarray, teased with the promise of the night before hand, and eyes of tormented gold swirled with lustful green blinked to an open to focus. Although the delicate flesh of his features hadn’t donned a freckle on the sharply keen structure of his bones, the lightly brazen flesh of his forearm, heavy with a thick and lean tendon, embellished millions of freckles. The light kisses of angels dotted his skin over his arms and the top of his back, lightly grazing down over the definition of his chest under the generous scruff of hair that sat pronounced along his broad torso, while the rest of him lay hidden under silk sheets.

A light sweat shone on his brow, and although the rhythm of his breaths alone would not have been enough to discern that he been aroused from a nightmare, the trouble laced within his gaze had hinted at the truth. He tried to shake it away. ”You mean I didn’t break you last night?

“…Good.” That smirk flashed upon his lips as surely as it rang across his tongue. But only when the rest of her sentence had struck him did he feel the urge to strike, a monstrous hand engulfed her waist as he set forth to pull her close, but at the touch of fabric he paused.

”Thought you were going to escape, did you?” A sinister humor flashed within him dangerously, as if asking for every reason to tear her down beside him. ”I suppose it hadn’t occurred to you to call for a house-elf either, did it?” And that smirk grew wider because he knew he had to be right. He had to be; how else could it be that she had awakened before him? And then realization had rained down upon him heavily. He had her, and every intoxicating bit of her.

The gentle sting of bite marks lined his neck, and a passionate burn lulled against his back from the vengeful caress of her nails. A wild passion erupted, neither could deny it, and it even brought a smile to play at his lips. She had teased him, and in time, he tantalized her. Remington had no patience with feral impulse, he had his way with her, mounted her like the beast he was and tortured her until they were both writhing under the sheets drunken off of each other’s delight. The carnal memories begged for more.

╔══════════════╗
Location: Private Island with Murdoch
Desires: Amusement
╚══════════════╝

I'm not a hero but don't think I didn't care

 

[Pathological Kisser]

Charlize Murdoch
Owner of Blood Murdoch's: House of Dueling
Cloak | Thoughts: Confusion… | Owl

Murdoch raised her eyebrow while her lips curved upward at his suggestion that he might have worn her out. It had been rough, for sure. But that was how Murdoch liked it. What was pleasure without a little pain. Her blue eyes skimmed down to his neck and shoulders, seeing the evidence of her passion was printed on his skin. She knew that she bore her own marks from him, from his mouth biting and sucking at her skin and his fingers gripping her tightly.

It seemed that he had a rough night, but not as a result of what she had done to him. When she had been rousing him, she noticed his breath was labored, his face contorted in consternation and even now a light sheen of sweat not earned through exertion lined his brow. So he should thank her for waking him from his troubles and take her back across the lake.

“Indeed. I’m not used to cages….Mmmm..” She groaned softly with delight as his hands slid over her body and pulled her down to him. It was almost enough to distract her from wanting to leave. Almost. But being up waiting for him to wake had made her anxious. The white room had made it worse. She had gotten more than she bargained for here and her instinct to run away was howling.

She could have smacked herself when he mentioned the house elf. It hadn’t even occurred to her. Chuckling darkly she shrugged, “Well, I had your house elf busy polishing my jewels so I figured I could manage my way off an island by myself.” She wasn’t used to just opulence and luxury. Being around it, sure. Commanding it for herself, not hardly. Unless you counted the men themselves, those she commanded plenty.

Dropping her face she nuzzled against the warm skin of his neck, lips pressing insistently and tongue skimming over his throat, before nipping lightly at the tender skin. A small moan of enjoyment escaped her as she pulled back. But she pulled back none the less, to the limit that his arms would allow her. Her spirit scrambled, it was too much. Trapped on the island. Trapped in his arms. Trapped in a dangerous frame of mind. But Murdoch was a fighter. She liked her life just as it was. She wasn’t going to become weak in this man’s arms after just one amazing night. Women had drowned in desire in though arms, she was sure.

She wouldn’t let that be her.

A coy smile over her lips, she gazed down into those enrapturing green-gold depths. “Come come, tiger. Some of us have things to do today.”

Lie.

Alright, not a total lie. She did still have rooms upon rooms to sort out in her father’s house and she had two lessons to give at her shop today and she wanted to update her books. Though none of that was calling for her attention until much later in the day. Right now, it was only her own fight to get away. One more reason why she hated these mornings, the urge to lay in your lovers arms beyond the lull of exhausted sleep brought warm feelings of comfort and affection. Gateway emotions to deeper feelings. A path best left untrod.

She continued playfully, “And I’m sure you have something, or someone, waiting for your attentions.”  

[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

That bestial monster roared to life, loud as thunder, summoned by the enchanting harmony of the breath of her exhilaration at his touch, and that alone was enough to drive away the ghost of his horrors from sight. But Remington had been so busy transitioning from his warped reality to his life on Earth with Murdoch, he hadn’t noticed the subtle implications of aversion, that, or he just didn’t care to see it. Regardless, he had managed to don a powerful leer, as if he had read between the lines and thus, surely he knew what she was hiding. Remington had never been more clueless. ”Ah, so that’s why the scoundrel isn’t here with my breakfast…” The causality of his growled murmur had been laced with the bittersweet demise of honesty; a challenge provoked.

Abruptly, his thoughts had flashed away in the blink of an eye by the tender sensation that had inspired a race of chills to trail over his flesh until his hair stood on end. The sultry sway of lips against the sensitively receptive flesh of his neck inspired the mist of a smile to creep at the corner of his smirk. But when absence of comfort had greeted him (and at an alarming rate,) he spun his face to veer in her direction the instance she had withdrawn. Something had breathed fire into him, it couldn’t be explained- like denying a child their toy for the first time, or, denying a man his truths for the last time. It seared within, fringed the speckles of gold and green as the freckle dotted muscles hoisted himself upright, releasing his hold on her in the process. If anything decent could be said about the man, it was that he needn’t be told twice….

Even if the second time around usually consisted of a much more devious approach to the scheme…

The hypnotic drawl of her voice caused him to cast the shadow of his gaze upon her once more, this time, the burning essence had flared with amusement- he knew when he was getting ridded of. An odd euphoria had hushed his patience, quieted his troubles, and blanketed his dreams though; he had to admit he was almost sad to see her away. The fact that she had business to attend to meant that he surely had the same; the sudden realization brought a somber sigh to escape his lips. He hadn’t ever wanted this to end. Thick, calloused digits surfed through the lust-beaten ripples of chestnut hair; Remington had actually contemplated tying her down right then. ”Sweetling,” the kiss of poison whispered dangers profound, ”-If I was a tiger, I wouldn’t be so willing to let you escape.” Was that another implication of a promise hidden just under the surface?

With the thought that she was dressed, whereas, he was not, Remington slid from the bed and wrapped the silken sheet around his waist with one fell swoop. Practice had made perfection, he found. But when her very last statement had danced into the open air, it made him hesitate. Mary…

He had forgotten all about Mary.

Would she even still be there? He had been adamant in his instructions, she wasn’t to roam the castle; but she could apparate. His chances likely meant that she vanished well into the night as realization struck her that he would not return to her, not tonight. Perhaps it had been a bit selfish of him to try and keep her too, but what did it matter? She, to any degree, was not his nor would she ever be his responsibility. In a sick way, he enjoyed the torment he pushed her into; it was the same dreadful spiral he had succumbed to at the will of that guileful witch, Krina. When his silence had stretched for too long, Remington waved a notion of patience as he stepped away and into the closet of the room with the trail of the sheets at his heels. His silhouette was visible as his shield fell around his feet and he slithered quickly to replace them with a pair of silken boxers, even those were embroidered with the sigil of his family. When he returned, he waved for her to follow as he swiped his wand from his robes without a word.

The entire descent down to the dock had been in silence, Remington clearly disregarding any formalities of the accustomed awkward farewell during mornings like these. On most cases, he would have sent the house-elf to finish it for him, today he was feeling generous, or so he supposed. But before he would allow her the freedom of victory, Remington gyrated in his spot to face her. The distance had been separated at once as he advanced on her, cornered the small of her back against the wooden railing of the dock with the firm solidity of his chest pinning her. All at once, his left hand swept a handful of hair tight into his fingers, and the edge of his wand gently teased the flesh of her neck, trailing down. A spray of mist crashed upwards from the rocks below and showered the two with cold awareness seeping into their skin. He burned again, and it centered at his core blazing down in between his thighs. The presence of her embodiment was all too predominating in his mind, and he was quick to circle the tip of his wand against the thin fabric of her dress, to torture her into staying for one last game. His wanton desires plummeted as he pressed himself against her completely, not a breath of space had separated him from her as his lips tickled the lobe of her ear. ”Do come back and visit me,” he mumbled with dark passion, the tension in her hair suddenly free as his hand snaked down her form, his fingers slithering the hem of her dress up high against her thigh, higher and higher still, until the top most of his fingers had reached the fantasy hidden above her thighs, begging to be played with.

He had never taken his eyes off of her.

╔══════════════╗
Location: Private Island with Murdoch
Desires: Her
╚══════════════╝

I'm not a hero but don't think I didn't care

 

[Pathological Kisser]

Charlize Murdoch
Owner of Blood Murdoch's: House of Dueling
Theme of the Moment | Thoughts: My God, I hate him. He makes me never want to leave… | Owl

There were many ways to deal with awkward silences; try to fill them with idle chatter, go to make physical contact with the person to coddle them into a more conversational mood, or ignore it completely. Murdoch chose the latter. She stood by the window as he readied himself looking out on the beautiful island morning. Though once she did treat herself to leaning back and muttering quick spell to open the closet door a little further to get a peek that brought a wide smile to her lips. But otherwise, she waited patiently, followed dutifully and was about to board the boat without a backward glance when he turned on her.

The railing was hard at the back and he was harder at the front. An indomitable wall of man. His tight hold in her hair was enough to drive her hot by itself, but his body against her and his wand at her throat made her eyes sparkle with arousal. Her hands had flown up to grab at his arms out of instinct. But now she found herself using that hold to steady herself as he took control of her senses and drove her straight into deep arousal once more. Her slender fingers gripping into the muscle of his thick forearms, her lips parted in a light gasp of surprise and stimulation.

Her eyes were locked on his as he drew the point of his wand in circles over the thin layers of clothes that she instantly wished weren’t there. Soft whimpers of pleasure escaped her, her hands running up his arms to dig her nails into his bare shoulders as he pressed every inch of himself against her. He growled at her with feral hunger.

“Do come back and visit.”

Her own voice was a needy purr, totally debasing the words themselves. “You might have to make me.” Because it was more than clear as she let her head drop back against the arm nestled in her hair and moaned that she was lost in his ministrations. Happily so. She had many lovers in her life, some skilled and others definitely not. But this man might very well have been the best. Only a few had this kind of command over her body. Who were the other ones? Hell if she knew right now.

It was just him.

She might be her own woman, but in that moment his hands owned her body. His mouth and his body possessed her fully. Her nails ran down his back as she remembered the night before, and thought of the suggestion that he was making now, not so subtly. Her head coming forward, eyes hazy with need as she glared into his pompous stare. He knew that he had her. That he could play her.

He might have caught her off guard but she was quick to catch up. Her hands ran up into his hair as she smashed her own body against his. Raising herself to her toes she captured his mouth, her kisses soft but demanding as her tongue ran across his bottom lip. Pulling back, her hands still in his hair, one set of fingers closing to clench a handful of his hair tightly.

“If you don’t please me now, I swear you’ll never have me again.”

Empty words? Perhaps. But in the moment she felt them strongly. Her need was great and direct result of his manipulation. It was only fair.And if he denied her? Murdoch didn’t want to think about that. She was not a woman that liked hearing ‘no’.  

[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

”Oh?” Remington had dared at the instance of her rebuttal, her words lacking any ferocity that could have been there, because he had her. All of her. From the curl of her fingers raking into his skin, to the wistful drop of her of her head in his massive hand that had restricted her in the most carnal of ways. She gasped, and he grinned, he couldn’t help it, the influx of power that he had over women was intoxicating in itself, but when it danced in tune with the melody of Murdoch…

Well, it was a dance he never wanted to end.

”I thought you were busy; did you lie to me?” He had interrogated, and that grin grew more lecherous. If he might have at all been inflicted by the blaringly obvious feign shred of truth, then it would have to wait. He was enjoying himself far too much. A callous glint flared to life in his eyes, flickering with the hopes and dreams of lovers past, rekindling their wonder of magic, and igniting the demons within. The danger of their eyes connected, combined, and manipulated a storm for disaster in this game of wanton desires. Her breathy voice haunted him; chills raced to the end of the line just to get one more breath out of her.

He didn’t waste his time to answer her, to mock her very shallow bite of an insult because he was much too busy prying her fingers away to spin her around, and then rip the feeble shred of fabric apart that had so devilishly denied him what he wanted.

Sometime later, Remington laughed on the cushioned seats of his yacht, a glass of elven wine in his hand, its twin encompassed by Murdoch. A blanket had been conjured to shield their bodies from the world around them, and the only thing left for this woman to even wear would be her cloak (which hadn’t needed to be torn off with how easily it slid from her shoulders.) ”I wonder how the world would suffice if I decided to keep you away here in my dungeons.

“But, I probably shouldn’t keep you any longer, should I?” Another whimsical laugh escaped his lips with a haunting melody, one that enraptured the mind and enslaved the body. Grasping his discarded wand from the floor, a robe ha beend conjured on his lap and in one swift motion he stood to wrap its silk around his shoulder; he’s always been a fan of silk. He stole one last glance of the feisty red-head before he slithered across the bridge and towards the dock, wand in hand.

”Until next time?” That farewell had been more of a promise than a question as he swirled on his heel to see her go.

╔══════════════╗
Location: Private Island with Murdoch
Desires: Just one more night...
╚══════════════╝

I'm not a hero but don't think I didn't care

 

[Pathological Kisser]

Charlize Murdoch
Owner of Blood Murdoch's: House of Dueling
Theme Song | Thoughts: If only… | Owl

The way that he handled her, took control and used her roughly, it was everything that Murdoch wanted and needed. She had rocked back against him with equal fervor and took just as much enjoyment from him as he got from her. As they collapsed in sated exhausting, his hard chest on her back, thick arms encircling her, his whole body laying against her like a predatory cat curled around the caribou that it had just claimed.

She stretched out sinuously against him now, cradling the glass of wine and simply floating on the euphoria that had built up over the last twelve hours or so that they had spent together. The blanket that he had conjured was wrapped up, just covering her a** as she turned to lay on her stomach, setting the glass on a side table. Her back was stretched long and pale and totally bare as she lay face down, her head resting on her folded arms as one eye peeked over her arms to watch him. Smirking at his suggestion that he keep her locked up, she merely raised an eyebrow mischeviously. “I don’t think you could keep me contained even if you tried.”

Then as he conjured a robe and stepped out of bed and into the silk, Murdoch had to chuckle. That sort of ease of motion seemed like it had been well practiced. Clearly he had plenty of experience exiting more than a few beds. Raising herself up onto her elbows, her crossed arms resting on the padded seat just barely concealing her breasts, she watched him leave. His parting words echoing around her as the boat pulled away from the dock.

With a giddy laugh, Murdoch fell back, rolling over to stare at the ceiling of the cabin without seeing anything. Her mind replaying the events of the previous evening, and this morning. Remington was certainly not a disappointment. But his final words haunted her. She turned them over and over again, her face growing serious. She stayed in deep contemplation until she heard the boat reach the dock and the clatter of the bridge from the deck being assembled. Dropping the blanket and picking up her robe in slow, absentminded motions, she walked up on dock without donning the length of satin and brocade.

Walking over the small enchanted bridge, she stood on the dock as she heard it tear apart again to keep access to the boat private as she looked in the dark waters of the loch. What lay under the surface? There she stood. A vision of beauty, her slim, curvaceous body bared to nature as her long red curls fell down her back and her bright blue eyes turned back to the direction of the hidden island.

“No.” She whispered to the empty expanse of lake, somewhere on the other side of which was her lover. Her voice laced with firmness and a hint of regret as the harsh early morning sunlight reflected off the lake waters and made her eyes sparkle as she looked through the dazzle, as if looking for the dark man that she had just left. “No, I don’t think there will be a next time…” and just like that she was gone. A flash of light and the faint smell of her left behind, she left the place of her magical evening without even leaving a glass slipper behind. After all, this wasn’t a story destined for a happy ending. This was the ending. Murdoch was sure of it.  

[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

Flapping wings trapped in a bird cage, Remington stood out along the crisp late summer wild flowers in bloom that dotted the cascading steep ridges of the island, each landing descended down several meters making the sanctuary impregnable by ordinary means, and even so, the number of charms and illusions he had cast upon the island would ensure that no one would find him unless they had already been here before, and so far, that left only two people; Alfons Flint, and Charlize Murdoch. Truly, that bout of feisty hair shouldn’t have gathered in his haze of thoughts.

But she had.

Now he was left to differentiate the differences between each redhead as they clouded his mind, each ravaged thoughts with talons of diamond and steel, cold and heartless, using him as he used them. But what had he ever really used, they hadn’t been offered?

He didn’t know.

But his thoughts couldn’t dwell on her, not now, it was the spider that was shrouded in the forefront of his mind, hidden there, ever-creeping with omnipotent eyes unseen. It was she who demanded his attention, commanded every ounce of focus, and then decipher the symbolic sphinx of doubt left behind. A medicine man, a secret, and the ghoul? What was he to do with that? The calamity built in his being, decayed the root of his core, and even now, as the billowing wisps of clouds sifted serene and the crashing waves of the sea eased the scene, it did nothing to sooth the torrid canvas at war.

╔══════════════╗
Location: Private Island Home
Desires: Sanctuary
╚══════════════╝

I'm not a hero but don't think I didn't care

[OOC: Post reserved from last "summer," a continuation of the Nettlepot Murder Case]