With the capture of Verandi Farley and several high-ranking Trossach members, the British wizarding world has finally caught a break. The rate of rogue werewolf attacks have started dropping at a steady rate and, hopefully, things will stay that way. The Ministry is starting to loosen some restrictions, like not arresting werewolves standing on the street for loitering, however there’s still an obvious power imbalance between wizardfolk and werewolves.
The Cotswolds pack are continuing to advocate for the rights of werewolves and petitioning to change the legislation that has been set in motion by the current Minister for Magic, whilst the remaining Trossachs members are trying to stay out of the spotlight and keep a low profile… for now.
Whilst the British wizarding world seems to have calmed down, the same cannot be said for over in Northern Europe where a rebellion of magical creatures has risen. The state of things has gotten so bad that the European Ministry has enacted protocols to protect those under eighteen whilst their adult witches and wizards fight to keep control of their countries.
Students from Durmstrang have been sent to Hogwarts to keep them safe and those not old enough to attend school have been sent to live with relatives or designated British Ministry officials outside of Europe for the time being.
Will the low rates of werewolf attacks in Britain continue? How long will Durmstrang students stay at Hogwarts? Will the creatures usurp the wizardfolk in Northern Europe? Only time will tell.
SEPTEMBER 2019 It's been a very long, eventful summer in the wizarding world. A baby was stolen, several high ranking Trossach members were imprisoned, and werewolf attacks have drastically dropped as a result. What will happen now school has returned?
MAY 2019 An attempt to capture the beta of the Trossachs has been launched. Were the Aurors successful in their mission? Go read more here!
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He doesn't look a thing like Jesus | But he talks like a gentleman
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Post by IVAN KAREV on Apr 19, 2020 18:51:37 GMT
your golden hair
Weightlessness, no gravity
Were we somewhere in-between?
I'm a ghost of you, you're a ghost of me
Day after day, Ivan ran in the crazy squirrel wheel that was his work life. To be fair, he didn’t have much of a life outside of his work, so these days it was all he ever thought about. Get up in the morning, put on a dress shirt, have a cup of coffee and into the chimney he went, just to spend all day sorting through piles of paperwork. It had been the same way for years now, and he had resigned himself to being the workaholic of the department until he couldn’t hold a pen in his hand. And why would anything change? The Ministry was locked in its tug of war against the werewolves, and once that headache would be dealt with, in a violent way, no doubt, there would be something else. There was always something else for the bureaucratic machine to process through.
These were the thoughts going through Ivan’s head that early August evening as he sat in the kitchen of his family apartment, staring at the whirlpool his silver spoon made in the lake of green tea in his mug. The golden sun was shining through the small window a little bit to the right of him, illuminating little specks of dust that danced in groups through the room. The apartment was quiet, his daughters busy with one thing or the other in their rooms; his brother had taken the dog out for a walk. It would be almost idyllic, if Ivan didn’t feel so burdened by his everyday life.
The buzz of the doorbell didn’t even tear Ivan out of his thoughts. Almost mechanically, he got up from his seat at the kitchen table and walked towards the front door, the sun warming his back. It was most likely Nikolai, returning from his walk, and Daisy, who’d now grown way bigger, would happily pounce upon the older man, trying to give his hand a big, wet kiss.
The floorboards creaked underneath his feet, and he felt a slight tugging on his right foot - a thread had caught against the head of a nail that had been poking out, he’d have to hammer it back down later, so that there are less holes in everyone’s socks. He was still holding the hot mug of tea as his fingers fumbled over the locks on the door. He pulled it open…
The mug fell out of his hand, shattering in pieces, the scalding liquid spilling all over his feet.
After a few moments, his voice rang out through the apartment, loud and clear.
and i'm calling for my mother/as i pull the pillars down
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Post by NADEZHDA KAREVA on Apr 19, 2020 19:19:52 GMT
Nadya’s eyes flew open as the sound of shattering porcelain startled her out of her nap. After taking a deep breath to calm her racing heart, she squinted out the window, realizing she hadn’t remembered the sun being that low in the sky before, the streams of orange light falling onto the blanket that was only half-covering her. She must have been more tired than she realized. Taking her wand from her bedside table, she sat up, kicking off the blanket. The silence from outside the door would have seemed normal and comforting any other time, but after the noise--Nadya expected to hear the clear voices of one of her sisters floating through the hall, apologizing for whatever they’d broken this time. It was unsettling, it was wrong...
Then it was her father’s voice she heard.
But what did he mean? Her eyebrows furrowed as she stood up, sliding her feet into slippers and padding over to the door to crack it open. She could only see Papa, standing by the kitchen table looking as if he’d seen a boggart, before the door across the hall opened and Vera headed for the kitchen, her face looking carefully neutral. Nadya followed her, moving as if in a dream, not even jumping when Lyuba’s door slammed open and then shut again with a bang behind her.
Carefully, Nadya peered into the entryway, not wanting to believe the words until she saw for certain--she had been napping. Perhaps it was all a dream. Perhaps her mind had simply turned some crash in the course of daily events into the teacup that she saw broken on the floor at the feet of…
“Mama?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but full of hope.
kasia's moon child // 5'10" // casually dating tobias turner // born in russia // lives in london // baby karev-turner due in march
a charming young woman... ...capable of being terrible
GRYFFINDOR
16
SIXTH YEAR
1/2 VEELA
we're not running when the world's on fire/we'll be dancing in the smoke
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Post by LYUBOV KAREVA on Apr 22, 2020 3:27:39 GMT
dancing in the smoke
The face of Alisa Kareva was one that Lyuba had been certain she would never see in person. It was one that was for photo albums only--and not photo albums that included Lyuba, something she knew bitterly. Because if Mama wasn't dead--and that's what Vera always said, when she was talking bitterly about it--then she definitely wasn't coming back. People didn't just turn up out of nowhere--alright, most of the time they didn't. There was Uncle Nikolai, but that had been unexpected, a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing. Besides, he'd had a good reason for disappearing. He didn't abandon his baby.
Standing just behind Nadya, blue eyes wide, Lyuba studied her mother, watched the way her eyes landed on each one of them, the expression soft, as if she had any right to look like that, to get that little smile when Nadya spoke, looking for all the world as if she was mocking them! Them and the nearly seventeen years--because in a few short months, Lyuba would be seventeen--that they had waited to have a mother back in their lives.
And Lyuba saw red.
"Mama," she said derisively, stepping forward, steel in her voice. "If that's what you are." Tears threatened to spring to her eyes, the anger in her feeling darker than it ever had before. "Because if you are, you'd be able to look at me and tell me which of your daughters I am. You would know."
Two pairs of matching blue eyes stared into each other, stared for longer than Lyuba could bear, the hesitation too obvious.
"Do you see this?" she cried, turning to the kitchen table, a finger pointing accusingly at Alisa. "Do you hear what I don't hear--"
"Lyubasha," Alisa said, pleading, but it was too late.
"You shouldn't have had to think!" Lyuba yelled, nostrils flaring. "But you did, because the last time you saw me, I still looked like a potato. I was a baby! Helpless!"
It was only the familiar feel of Vera's hand on her shoulder, pulling her back, that stopped her from saying any more. Vera wrapped her hand around Lyuba's arm, squeezing, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make her take notice.
"Breathe," Vera whispered. And then, louder, with ice in her voice, "Alisa. Why did you come here? Where have you been? I want to know."
"You're so grown up, Vera..."
"That isn't what I asked." Lyuba could hear the tension in her sister's voice, evident in how perfectly smooth and cold it was.
"I've been living with veelas," Alisa said, "with my people."
Lyuba snorted, but Vera's grip on her arm reminded her to say nothing.
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Post by IVAN KAREV on Apr 23, 2020 15:28:19 GMT
your golden hair
Weightlessness, no gravity
Were we somewhere in-between?
I'm a ghost of you, you're a ghost of me
His voice had been loud enough to get through all the doors and the walls and, possibly even headphones, that separated Ivan from his daughters, because all three doors were open almost instantly. You'd think Tchaikovsky's cannons had went off as one of them slammed -- Lyuba, no doubt.
He found himself slowly backing away, to give Alisa space to enter the apartment. He knew this wouldn't end without loud voices and the last thing he needed was the entire building hearing it, so she might as well come inside.
The man couldn't tear his eyes away from her. She'd aged like fine wine, there was no denying that, but... He didn't care for it one bit.
Countless nights had been spent thinking of this moment, imagining how elated he would be to see her once more, to know that she's safe and alive... And yet all he felt at this moment was dread that made his stomach knot. Why was she here? Now? After all this time? Why not sooner? Why didn't she tell them she was alive? Why? Why? Why?
He had backed away all the way to the kitchen table, and his daughters were standing in front of him. She had the softest look on her face, like she'd looked at Vera when their daughter had been a mere toddler.
But then the back of Lyuba's head was obscuring the view, as their youngest demanded to know how sincere she was -- and whatever hope for a happy end was still in Ivan's heart came crashing down as Lyuba's head snapped toward him, tears running down her cheeks.
Her anger was so raw, so strong that Ivan felt like she was a giant bonfire and he was about to get burned to ash. And he was frozen, barely even blinking in response.
Then Vera stepped in, and her voice... It was cold as ice, sending goosebumps all over.
I've been living with veelas. With my people.
There was a painful lump in Ivan's throat as his pale blue eyes focused on Nadya. Nadya, who'd wanted this her whole life. Nadya, who, if allowed, would run of to the forest without looking back. Nadya, who'd barely said a word.
You could cut the tension in the room with a knife. It took all of Ivan's self control to speak up, and he found that his voice was unnaturally calm, as if he was explaining something utterly mundane to his daughters.
"Why did you leave?" Those were the only words that left his lips. That was the only question he had for her after all this time.
and i'm calling for my mother/as i pull the pillars down
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Post by NADEZHDA KAREVA on Apr 25, 2020 3:21:47 GMT
in the woods somewhere
With my people.
Mine too, whined a little voice in the back of Nadya's mind, the voice that had been dreaming of this day for ages, the day when she'd meet with the lost side of her heritage again. Mine too. Why did Lyuba have to go and yell? She could have ruined everything, Nadya thought, seeing the pain and frustration written on her mother's face.
There was pain in Papa's face, too, though, and in his words even as they came so calmly, and Nadya's heart felt torn. She wanted to reach out to him, to remind him that she was always here for him, and at the same time she yearned to run over to Mama, to hug her tight as if she was a little child once more.
She couldn't remember ever doing that--she'd been so young--but she knew it must have happened.
"I was--after Lyubov was born, everything felt so wrong," Mama said, her voice pleading. "It's hard to live in a city like Moscow, as a forest creature, and it got worse and worse until I felt like--like I couldn't feel anything at all. I was afraid I was going to do something awful."
It was a sentiment Nadya could understand, even if she couldn't imagine leaving like that. She had been too young to understand, then, and now there were answers. Painful ones, but answers nonetheless.
"And all this time I had thought you were dead," Vera said, her so-steady voice beginning to shake.
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Post by IVAN KAREV on Apr 25, 2020 6:38:59 GMT
your golden hair
Weightlessness, no gravity
Were we somewhere in-between?
I'm a ghost of you, you're a ghost of me
It all felt wrong. Ivan felt like he could throw up right then and there. She was telling him that she was feeling depressed -- a horrible thing, but a thing that could have been remedied.
He bit his lip, nostrils flaring up as he tried not to let the tears gain an upper hand, and he leaned against the kitchen table behind him, digging his fingers into the bottom of it, trying to find something to ground him.
"And instead of talking to me, your loving husband," he continued, trying his best to keep his voice steady, "you thought it was a good idea to leave your children. Especially Lyuba, barely born, right when she needs her mother the most."
"We could have moved to the countryside. We could have figured it out, if you would have just spoken to me. It didn't have to go this far."
There Vera's words to consider, too. He'd never been explicit about it, not having the guts to tell his daughters that their mother wasn't just gone from their life, but that she was gone from the earth too. He hadn't wanted to believe it himself either, but now, faced with all of this... It would have been better if she'd just died in an accident.
"If you would have taken some time off and then came back and explained, we could have fixed things. But..." he cast his eyes downwards, looking at the ring on his right hand. It was far too late now to fix things. Far, far too late.
His fingers toyed with the golden wedding band, trying to get himself to remove it. His fingers were swollen, as they often did in the summer, but there was some kind of mental block present too. He just... Couldn't. It had been there so long. This last step, he couldn't do it.
Could Lyuba be pacified? Could Vera warm up to her? Could Nadya finally discover the world that she so yearned for? His eyes bounced from one daughter to the other. Could this be fixed?
a charming young woman... ...capable of being terrible
GRYFFINDOR
16
SIXTH YEAR
1/2 VEELA
we're not running when the world's on fire/we'll be dancing in the smoke
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Post by LYUBOV KAREVA on Apr 25, 2020 19:33:38 GMT
dancing in the smoke
Lyuba did not remember what it was like to be a baby, and so she remembered nothing of her mother. But she remembered clearly a lifetime of wondering about her, wondering just why she could be so easily abandoned like that.
Tears started trailing down Alisa's face as Ivan spoke, and Lyuba had more to wonder--to wonder what that meant. Was there any hint of real remorse? Or were those crocodile tears? Because Lyuba couldn't imagine striding back into their life so confidently if she felt so truly awful about what she'd done.
"I should have told you. I know I should have. But my mind was not right," Alisa said.
"And you didn't think to say anything until you had three young children?" asked Vera. The eldest Kareva's voice cracked on the last word, and Lyuba knew that her sister was likely the next to burst into tears.
"Звездочка*," Alisa said, her eyes turning to Vera, "please understand when I say that I've missed you very much--I've missed you all."
"Why would you call me that?" Vera said, and then it was her crying, letting go of Lyuba's arm to wipe at her eyes.
"I missed you too," came Nadya's voice, from the side of the room, nearly a whisper.
And Lyuba could not simply watch it happen.
"You did not," she said, her voice beginning to rise to a yell again. "If you missed us, you would have done something. Said something. Sent one single owl."
Alisa looked as if she was about to start shouting back, but Lyuba watched as her mother forced her expression back to something softer.
"And I missed you, too, Vanya," she told Ivan, taking a step forward. "I never forgot--I dreamed of you, often."
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Post by IVAN KAREV on Apr 26, 2020 19:39:39 GMT
your golden hair
Weightlessness, no gravity
Were we somewhere in-between?
I'm a ghost of you, you're a ghost of me
The sun was setting ever so slowly, the angle of its rays moving, and just for a second the orange light reflected in Alisa's teardrops, highlighting them. It sent another wave of indistinguishable emotion through Ivan, and he lost his composure.
He stood there, feeling cold tears roll down his cheeks. Cold, reluctant tears. He didn't want to be crying. He wanted to be the bastion of strength he'd been for his girls all these years, but now he was cowering behind them, crying, when they needed their father the most.
Vera and Lyuba were very vocal about their feelings, their pain, all the hurt Alisa had brought them by abadoning all of them without a single trace. But Nadya? He didn't miss the way she tried to catch her mother's attention -- countless nights he'd spent cradling his little Nadya in his arms, trying to console her as she wished for her mother to come back. And now...She didn't even react to the one person in the room who didn't wish to see her vanish into thin air?
What poor excuse for a mother was she.
Lyuba's voice tore him out of his thoughts and his eyes darted back to Alisa--
I missed you, Vanya.
Ivan felt his knees become weak for a moment, causing him to lean against the table. There she was, walking toward him, eyes so blue it couldn't be the truth, hair somewhere between precious gold and cold silver, and he could feel warmth coming from her even though there was half a room between them--
Her outstretched hand, he yearned to take it, like it was 20 years ago, by the stream that bubbled like it was telling him of all the joys of the world at once--
a charming young woman... ...capable of being terrible
GRYFFINDOR
16
SIXTH YEAR
1/2 VEELA
we're not running when the world's on fire/we'll be dancing in the smoke
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Post by LYUBOV KAREVA on Apr 27, 2020 4:04:34 GMT
dancing in the smoke
Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. In one moment Lyuba was yelling, in the next moment she was turning to watch her mother's hand reaching out for her father's, and her own eyes widened as she saw the expression in Papa's. It was the same one she'd seen directed toward her sometimes--the glazed-over look that usually ended up sending uncomfortable shivers crawling down her spine, because it so often came from men who had no right to stare at her like that.
"No!" she cried, leaping forward, the crack of a hand against skin echoing out in the room as she seized Alisa's arm and yanked it, forcing her mother to look at her instead. There was fire blazing in her now, enough to overcome any offended look that Alisa was giving the place where Lyuba's hand was still on her arm. Lyuba pulled her hand back just as quickly as she had reached out, but raised it again, this time with a warning finger held between their faces.
"If you think you have any right," she said, her teeth gritted, "any right at all to use magic to get your way, after everything you've done, then I can kick you out of here just as fast."
Behind her, Vera had taken Ivan's hand, holding it gently even as she was pulling the ring off of his finger with force. Lyuba heard the kitchen window open and shut behind her, heard Nadya gasp, watched more tears fall from Alisa's eyes.
"That's what we think of your excuses," Lyuba said. "I didn't wait for my entire life just to hear you say there was no good reason at all."
And he was back in their kitchen, the flames of the sun engulfing the room as it had all evening. Vera was standing right in front of him, quietly telling him, Papa, look at me, only at me, as she tugged on his fingers. The sight of her steel blue eyes reddened from the tears she'd spilled -- Ivan couldn't bare it for long. It was my fault it had gone this far, wasn't it?
He cast his eyes down at where she was tugging on his fingers, trying to pull the golden wedding band off of his right hand, struggling on the account of the swelling.
Just an hour ago he wouldn't have let her even think of removing it from his hand, but now... Now he was muttering a quiet 'thank you' as the ring was pulled off his finger. He didn't watch what happened next, preoccupying himself with rubbing the sore spot on his hand.
The familiar clicking of the window handle filled the silence in his mind and... The ring was gone, thrown out the 5th floor window, right out in the street, for the magpies to take it and fly far away from here.
She'd tried to seduce him, to wrap him in the cobwebs of her magic, to keep him trapped under her spell... What kind of loving wife does that? All her words about regret, if he'd believed them for a second, now proved to be blatant lies. Ivan didn't understand what kind of game she was playing at. She could seduce him, but never their daughters. His daughters.
"Vera, come here," he said to the eldest daughter who had been standing right next to him. He wrapped his right arm around her waist, and she proceeded to hide her face in his shoulder, trying to stifle her cries.
"Lyuba, you too, come to me," he continued, reaching out for her hand and gently tugging on it. He didn't want their fight to go any further than this. They didn't need bruises and burns.
And then he looked at Nadya, Nadya who hadn't picked a side during this entire drama. Ivan smiled at her. It was a smile full of bittersweet sorrow -- he understood her hesitation, and he didn't blame her one bit, but he feared that the next few minutes could divide his family beyond repair.
The girls had stood guard over him. Now Ivan had to, at last, step up and act like the father that he had always striven to be.
"Alisa," he started, his voice firm and steady, "It's over. Any goodwill I still had toward you," God knows there was plenty, " That went out the window with the ring. Neither Vera, nor Lyuba, nor I want anything to do with you. You are not welcome in our house or our lives."
"Nadya," he continued, his tone softening, "I love you, and whatever you choose, I won't love you any less. You're still my daughter and this is still your home. If you want her in your life, I won't mind. I promise. And so won't your sisters. We're family." That last one was meant more for Lyuba, as she was prone to quick and harsh judgement. Now all Ivan could do was pray in silence.
and i'm calling for my mother/as i pull the pillars down
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Post by NADEZHDA KAREVA on Apr 28, 2020 2:55:35 GMT
in the woods somewhere
Lyuba had only made contact with her arm, but Mama looked as if she had been slapped directly across the face. Nadya took a tiny step forward, torn between throwing her arms around Vera and Papa or between Lyuba and Mama. Her chest felt hollow, as if her heart had dropped into her stomach, as if she could not breathe quite enough air to survive.
"I'll go," said Mama finally, still crying. Nadya wanted to cry out, to beg her to stay, not to leave her like she had before, not when she had just returned. But the deep anger that came off of her sisters in waves made her hold her tongue.
Instead, the apartment door clicked shut. She was gone. And Nadya was left with her own tears, the emotions rolling over her, too strong to stop.
"I'm going to look for her," she whispered roughly, staring at the place where Mama had been. Walking over to the table, she took Papa's hand, the one that was hugging Vera, squeezing it, looking right into his eyes. "I'll be back. I promise. Later tonight. But I have to go--I have to find her." There was hope in her heart, no matter how fractured the argument had made it feel.
With one last look back at them, she slipped out the door, running down the stairs out into the golden evening, out to the streets of London, in search of the one figure out there who looked so much like herself.
