IsabellaRose

Welcome back, Isabella! It’s me, the other Isabella.

Absolutely. She’s everything you’ve been told to fear in live, urban legend form right on stage.

Fuck, because I'm positive we could make each other scream.

Her face is concealed by a wet, bloody veil, so no, Edmund would not recognize her.

...and Challenge 48 is posted!

THE CHALLENGE It's a little late, so maybe making resolutions and New Year's parties are past us, but... what about trying to keep the resolution two weeks in? What about fallout from the party? the unintended kiss? the celebration that turned far more intimate than planned? For this challenge, write about a character dealing with something leftover from New Year's Eve. Perhaps they made a resolution they're having trouble keeping. Perhaps a kiss, promise, or dare took them somewhere they never thought they'd go and now they're weighing their plans vs. this new reality. Perhaps they made a bet and now they have to pay up. Limitless possibilities... Deadline Midnight (EST) Saturday 24 Jan, 2026 Limits 1 entry per person keep it around 2,000 words, no penalty for going a little over but remember, everyone has to read these to vote Prizes 1st Place: 4,000 EcchiCredits 2nd Place: 2,000 EcchiCredits 3rd Place: 1,000 EcchiCredits

The poll is up for Challenge 47!

I figured nothing gets all the PCs moving like a public, ghostly execution where there oughtn't be one. I wonder what everyone will do?

The hall exhaled as the gaslight softened and a hush fell over the crowd as Mr. Silas Ward took the stage, stepping into the limelight with an easy flourish, arms opening as if to embrace the room. “Ladies and gentlemen!” He called out, beaming, voice rich and ringing, and then continued. “Patrons of refinement, lovers of art, seekers of wonder... welcome! Tonight, you have gathered not merely for music, but for experience. For those rare moments when sound becomes story, and story becomes something that lingers long after the final note.” There was a ripple of approving murmurs. Mr. Ward paced, savoring them. “You know his name. You have whispered it, argued over it, heard rumors of the effects of his music. Tonight, Prospect Junction claims what the world already knows.” He lifted a hand, triumphant. “Prepare yourselves for the incomparable...” But before he could finish, the limelight popped with a sharp flash of white and went dead. Along the edge of the stage, the gaslights snuffed out one by one. A collective gasp rose from the crowd, then feet shuffled. Someone laughed nervously, then stopped. The darkness held for a long moment that dragged on for far too long. In it, a humming rose, quiet, eerie, and intimate, carried by the hall’s shape, threading through balconies and boxes alike. It was a faintly familiar melody, and the sound was not quite human. It crawled into ones ears. Then suddenly, the limelight flared back to life. A woman stood directly behind Mr. Ward. Her dress hung in ragged folds and a veil clung to her face, plastered there by wet red stains. She raised a knife, and before Ward was even aware of her, while he still had a hand raised to block the limelight from his eyes, before breath became sound, she slit his throat. Blood sprayed across the stage in a sudden, violent arc. Mr. Ward clutched at his neck, eyes wide, gurgling, stumbling, and then the limelight failed again. Screams tore through the dark and people suddenly ran blind, tripping and falling over seats. Panic spread like wildfire as the humming vanished in the chaos.

Guilty. We got them up so late we decided to just leave them up for a bit... I'll be glad when the house is back to normal, but I'll miss that cute "Santa's Helper" lingerie... The next person made a New Year's Resolution.

There really isn't a mechanic for that. We just decide if it's narratively interesting for Edmund to notice it or not. Do you want him to be distracted by something that his advanced automaton assistant has decided is not a threat, or would you rather have him enjoy time with those very accommodating ladies? You can write that he heard it or not; he'll have the same information that TIAL-V has. "the hum was soft, intimate, unmistakable. It seemed oddly familiar." You could even say it's like a dream half-remembered. It's up to you.

@AsBloodTurnsEverCold Backstage, Just Before the Curtain The low murmur of the hall could be heard behind the curtain, and a few of the musicians exchanged excited glances as Kojo finished his preparation. One of them, a fiddler with rosin-stained fingers, let out a quiet breath and said, half in awe, half in nerves, “It feels like they're already listening.” Another nodded, adjusting a strap, eyes flicking toward the stage door. “They’re leaning in already, boss man.” Mr. Ward lingered just a moment longer than strictly necessary, hands clasped, watching Kojo with open admiration that bordered on reverence. “Extraordinary,” he said softly, glancing toward the curtain where the glow of the hall pressed through. “You can feel them tonight. So much anticipation...” He gestured vaguely, toward the floor seats and the boxes beyond. “You’ve done that, Mr. Amankona. Before a single note has bene played.” His smile widened, pleased, proprietary, and utterly convinced that this marvel belonged to the Hall by right of association. Then the professional mask slid fully back into place. Ward straightened his cuffs and nodded crisply to Kojo. “We shouldn't keep them waiting any longer. Enjoy the moment. This is where anticipation does half the work.” With that, he turned and slipped back toward the curtain as he prepared to step into the light and introduce the evening’s performance. @MagnificentBastard Edmund Blackwood's Private Box, Awaiting the Start of the Show "It shall be done, Sir," said TIAL-V in response to Edmunds' dual orders to inform anyone that he Edmund would receive visitors during intermission and to ensure he was not disturbed. TIAL-V made sure that the light in the box did not shine upon Edmund himself; no one who might be able to see in needed a direct view of his master, and then lined up several fresh glasses on the small bar at the back of the Blackwood box. Meanwhile, the women attending Edmund Blackwood seemed to be tuned to him exclusively. After the kiss, Vivienne knelt before him, her doting gaze turned to him. The curve of her neck was a graceful arch, and Helena's fingertips traced the line of it as if she couldn't wait to be told to do more to the redhead. They were good girls, quick to adapt to whatever he wished, and never the type to argue with the man who paid the bills. They leaned in when he spoke, laughed softly when he smiled, both of their hands finding excuses to rest each upon one of his knees before retreating at the faintest shift of his attention. Neither asked what he wanted; they knew he would issue commands. Instead, they both knelt facing each other, anticipating what might come next, and in that anticipation they found purpose. TIAL-V was behind them, motionless and immaculate. Everything proceeded within expected parameters until.. movement. The box door eased open the barest fraction, but it was enough for TIAL-V to register a presence, perhaps someone peering in. There was a sound, like a song, a humming just barely audible to TIAL-V's sensory array. TIAL-V registered the anomaly instantly and moved, swift and silent. He crossed the space and pulled the door open fully to reveal... Nothing. The corridor beyond was empty. No footsteps retreated. there was no whisper of fabric, no sign that anyone had been there at all. There was only the faintest hum, lingering like an afterimage, threading through the air and settling somewhere deep in the subconscious. TIAL-V paused, optics sweeping the hall, then turned back. “A momentary disturbance, Sir,” he said calmly. “Resolved.” But the hum had registered, soft, intimate, unmistakable. He replayed it in his memory, trying to identify it. It seemed oddly familiar. @WickedCadrach The Montgomery Box, Just Before the Lights Dim Adelaide Montgomery’s pleasant expression tightened almost imperceptibly as she tilted her head, listening. “Do you hear that?” she asked, rising halfway from her seat. “That humming... just outside the door.” Without waiting for an answer, she moved to the box entrance and opened it, peering into the corridor with a frown. The passage was empty. Only silence met her where she expected to find the sound. Adelaide exhaled, displeased. “Strange,” she said, then gathered herself and swept off with purpose. “I’ll find an usher. These halls should be better managed on a night like this.” The moment her mother’s footsteps faded, Jane visibly relaxed. She leaned closer to Missy, eyes bright, cheeks flushed, voice dropping to an eager whisper. “Honestly,” she said, biting her lip as she glanced toward the stage, then giggling softly, emboldened by privacy. “Do you think that’s his only talent... singing? Because if he performs anything else the way he sings...” Jane trailed off, fanning herself with her program, breathless and unabashed. “I don’t know how a girl would survive a night with someone like that.” Her tone made it clear that she very much wanted to know. @StarlitSiren @Chiyako The Front Row, As the Lights Begin to Dim Willis didn't answer Millie's question, at least not immediately. He kept his hand half-raised as if he might take the velvet bundle back, then thought better of it and let it fall to his side instead. His eyes were moving too much. He scanned the nearest exits, then the balconies, craning his neck until his gaze snagged briefly on Edmund Blackwood’s box. He swallowed, jaw tightening, and looked away as if the effort itself has cost him something. “It’s nothing,” he said at last, too quickly, voice pitched low. “Truly. If it were something, I wouldn’t have brought it here, would I?” He forced a smile that didn't quite settle, then flicked another glance upward before his attention snapped sharply to the main floor. Joshua Thane stood there like a nail driven into the room, and Willis’s eyes lingered just long enough to register the danger before sliding away again. “Just... hold onto it,” he added, softer now, almost pleading despite himself. “You don’t have to understand it. I just need you to pay attention, that’s all.” The lights began to dim, the crowd’s murmur shifted in pitch, and Willis leaned back in his seat as if distance alone might insulate him. “Afterward,” he promised, “we’ll talk afterward.” When Alicia greeted Millie, it seemed to be the first time Willis registered her presence. "Miss von Vulf," he said, surprise, fear, and something else in his tone and eyes. He looked at Millie, then at Alicia, then back at Millie. "I'll leave you two to get acquainted," he said, his fear of Alicia obvious as he slowly stood and backed down the aisle, his eyes never leaving her as if he expected her to pounce at any moment.

The Thane-Cash Rebirth Hall settles into that charged, breath-held quiet that only comes just before a performance. Gaslight glows warm against polished wood and silver inlay, throwing flattering shadows across a packed main floor where townsfolk in their finest stand shoulder to shoulder, eyes fixed forward. Above them, the private boxes form a ring of velvet and gilt: Missy sits close beside Jane Montgomery in the Montgomery family box as Jane’s attention never leaves the stage. Adelaide Montgomery reclines beside them, silk and jewels catching the light. Edmund occupies his own box, partially veiled by curtains, a glass in hand and the room laid out beneath him like a chessboard, TIAL-V by his side. Alicia has taken a seat in the front row, close enough to the stage to see the musicians’ hands when they emerge Millie is in the crowd looking for a place to sit, Willis Sloan’s earlier insistence still hanging heavy in her mind. Kojo Amankona stands backstage with the musicians, adjusting, centering, breathing through the low murmur of the hall as if listening for something only he can hear. Elsewhere in the building: Kirsa Autenrieth watches from a discreet balcony seat, posture perfect and expression mild; Willis Sloan pushes off from a column on the floor, heading toward Millie; Clayton Cash moves among patrons near the floor with practiced charm; Joshua Thane looms at the edge of the crowd, badge visible and gaze challenging; and Aldert Helsink stands half-shadowed with a clear view of stage and doors. The musicians are moments from being announced. The air hums with conversation. - - - - @AsBloodTurnsEverCold Mr. Silas Ward makes his way through the hall with the easy confidence of a man who believes the evening belongs to him. He glides past the front rows, offers a practiced smile toward anyone whose eyes catch him, then steps onto the stage. He does not linger. Instead, he slips around the curtain’s edge and into the warm, crowded hush backstage, the sounds of the hall muffling into a distant, expectant thrum. Up close, the polish cracks just a little: his smile is tight, his eyes too alert. "Mr. Amankona," he says brightly, adjusting his gloves as he approaches Kojo. "A full house, and eager. Exactly the right audience for you tonight." He glances briefly at the musicians, then back to Kojo, all smiles and obsequiousness. For just a moment there’s a faint, almost imperceptible hum in the metal fixtures nearby, nothing Ward seems to notice, but close enough for Kojo to feel it in his chest rather than hear it. - - - - @MagnificentBastard TIAL-V stands just behind and to the right of his master, posture perfect, hands folded, optics quietly adjusting to the shifting light of the hall. Edmund Blackwood’s companions occupy the velvet seating with practiced ease, both women attractive, both carefully chosen, neither under the illusion that they're irreplaceable. From TIAL-V’s perspective, they are variables already trending toward obsolescence. His internal assessment runs on a continuous loop, updating itself constantly. Subject One: Designation: Social Asset Vivienne Locke Height: 5’6” | Weight: 123 lbs | Measurements: Within preferred tolerances Presentation: Fashion-forward, responsive, laughter slightly too loud Primary Motive: Continued access to Blackwood patronage | Secondary Motive: Social elevation Leverage: outstanding debts assumed by Blackwood interests, a family indiscretion buried with purchased silence. Performance expectations: Anticipated to provide attentive engagement, affirmation, and sexual compliance consistent with previous encounters. No indicators of resistance or dissatisfaction detected. Probability Edmund Will Desire Repeat Engagement: 0.72 | Probability of continued loyalty: high. Contingency: Gradual reduction of access, Financial obligations quietly reassigned, strategic reputational cooling should she attempt to monetize familiarity. Subject Two: Designation: Strategic Associate Helena Cross Height: 5’9” | Weight: 135 lbs | Measurements: Acceptable; not optimized Presentation: Composed, observant, ambition poorly disguised as poise. Primary Motive: Proximity to power | Secondary Motive: Long-term influence Leverage: a private correspondence archive and one ill-advised contract signature that could be construed uncharitably. Performance expectations: Anticipated to provide intellectual and oral stimulation. Further engagement likely conditional rather than instinctive. Requires affirmation of status to maintain effectiveness. Probability Edmund Will Desire Repeat Engagement: 0.54 | Probability of continued loyalty: moderate. Contingency: Archive of correspondence prepared. Contractual missteps flagged for reminder. Removal executed through polite exclusion. Both women are performing within acceptable parameters. Neither merits further concern. TIAL-V's security assessment updates continuously as well. The box is structurally sound, sightlines clear, exits unobstructed. The crowd below registers elevated emotional indicators consistent with anticipation rather than threat. Joshua Thane’s presence increases volatility on the main floor; Aldert Helsink’s positioning suggests professional vigilance rather than intent. No immediate danger to Edmund Blackwood detected. Probability of social complication: moderate. Immediate Physical Threat to Edmund: low. Event destabilization risk: low but rising. TIAL-V inclines his head a precise fraction toward his master, voice modulated for privacy. "Sir, would you care for me to extend an invitation to any patrons who may be receptive to a more... exclusive engagement this evening? Alternatively, arrangements at the casino may be prepared should you wish the night to continue under more controlled conditions. Unless, of course, your two companions will provide satisfactory enough entertainment." - - - - @WickedCadrach Jane lights up the moment she sees Missy, surging to her feet and catching her hands with unrestrained delight. "You made it! Oh, Missy, I hoped you would,” she breathes, squeezing tight before leaning in closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I can’t believe we’re finally hearing him tonight. Carlo, I mean. His voice... it’s like it gets inside you, doesn’t it? And those eyes..." She bites her lip, glancing reflexively toward the stage before whispering, "I swear, when he sings, it’s like he’s looking straight at you and you're bare as the day you were born. It’s positively indecent." She laughs softly, giddy and entirely sincere, before remembering herself and darting a look toward her mother. Adelaide Montgomery greets Missy more smoothly, rising just enough to offer a warm, measured smile. "Miss Fisher. We’re so pleased you could join us," she says, tone cultured and approving. "Your effect on our Jane is refreshing. We do love to see her so... inspired." Her gaze is appraising but kind, the look of a woman who recognizes value when she sees it. Missy is very much in favor here. It’s only as Missy settles in that she feels it, that prickle between the shoulder blades. Her eyes drift downward to the floor, where Joshua Thane stands among the crowd, arms loose at his sides, badge catching the light. He isn’t staring openly, but he doesn’t have to. When their eyes meet, his expression is unmistakable: possession, challenge, and something colder beneath it all. He knows something, and sooner rather than later, whatever he knows is coming for her. He smiles, cold and uncomfortable. - - - - @Chiyako Alicia feels it before she fully hears it, the subtle widening of space around her seat, the way conversations falter and then resume at a lower volume when people realize who they’re sitting near. Snatches drift past her like smoke: "...that’s her..." "...they say she drinks blood..." "...she don't sleep... it's unnatural..." None of it is spoken loudly enough to challenge, but none of it is meant to be kind. Coats brush less often and knees angle away. Even the excited energy of the crowd seems to bend around her, leaving a pocket of wary quiet where she sits. From the aisle, Clayton Cash catches her eye. He flashes a grin, too charming to be accidental, but he’s trapped, pinned in place by an expansive patron who has seized him by the elbow and shows no intention of letting go. Clayton mouths something Alicia can’t quite read... perhaps "sorry", before being swallowed again by forced laughter and polite endurance. Then there’s Aldert Helsink. He doesn’t pretend not to stare. His gaze meets Alicia’s directly, steady and assessing, and after a beat he makes the smallest possible tilt of his head, barely a gesture at all. Alicia is certain it’s a signal. Somewhere just beyond her peripheral vision, where the light doesn’t quite reach, his men shift... probably. She can’t see them clearly, but she knows they must be there, and she feels as if she’s being watched, not as a curiosity, but as a potential event waiting to happen. - - - - @StarlitSiren Willis Sloan waits until the noise of the hall swells just enough to give them cover, then takes Millie by the arm, stepping into her space with a familiarity that assumes consent rather than asking for it. He presses something small into her hand, weighty for its size, wrapped carefully in dark velvet. "Easy," he says, already downplaying it, already smiling as if this is nothing at all. "It ain't dangerous. Not really. I just need you to look at it, Millie. That’s all." The fabric parts enough for her to glimpse a dull, irregular fragment of metal, neither polished nor raw, its surface catching the light in a way that feels... off. Willis leans closer, voice low, intent. "Just pay attention to it when the music starts. You don’t gotta do nothing. If it warms up, or... or..." he hesitates, searching for a word that's probably not in his vocabulary, "...if it does anything weird, let me know. Anything. If it... well, you know. Reacts. Just tell me what happens." His smile tightens, eyes flicking briefly toward the stage where Kojo is about to play, before returning to Millie. "See? It weren't nothing at all. Just this thing, that’s all I’m asking." He sits quickly, nervously, and pulls her down into a seat beside him, an oddly empty seat right in the front row. It's only after she's sitting that she realizes it's empty because other patrons made a clearing around Alicia. She's sitting directly between the rumored vampire and a nervous wanna-be crime boss holding a strange piece of unidentified metal that might react to the music...

I think we'll just go with it, then!

We haven't named it yet. I'm open to suggestions. My placeholder name right now is "Prospect Junction"

Once StarlitSiren posts, I'll probably do a few posts (or one big post with sections for each NPC) as people react to the arrival of the PCs, give you all a chance to react/chat/have some rp fun, then I'll have the Master of Ceremonies (a respectable and quite likeable chap named Mr. Silas Ward) step on stage for introductions so we can get to the show!

Well I'll be hog-tied! (don't get any ideas) You're right. For some reason I have him as Jack Bennett on EVERY sheet lol. I must have read it wrong or gone all Pride and Prejudice in my mind... I'll have to change that everywhere. Jane is also a resource. Sigh. I forgot that you actually moved her when I gave everyone the option to keep them as relationships or drop them to resources. I'll get those changes made. Thanks for noticing!

It's been a year since I wrote this, and just over 5 years since we got together, and despite my inability to make any relationship work in a positive manner, we're still going strong. This is now officially my longest relationship ever and I can't believe how happy I am.

I know, the first post is the most difficult. As I was laying in bed last night I was thinking that I should have left a prompt for each PC to get everyone going. I might go back and add a couple, which can be ignored or used as desired.

I guess I got going faster than I thought! The first post is up! It's time for your replies!

The Thane-Cash Rebirth Hall had been built to be admired from a distance and to be felt once inside. From the street, its polished facade and high arched windows suggested restraint, history, respectability. From within, restraint fell away. Gaslight spilled warm and honeyed from wall sconces shaped like laurel wreaths. Ivory trim caught the light and threw it back softened, flattering every face. The scent of beeswax polish, expensive perfume, and fresh-cut wood hung thick in the air. The main floor was packed shoulder to shoulder. Townsfolk in their best coats and dresses, pressed wool, borrowed finery, carefully mended lace, stood craning their necks toward the stage. They murmured with the collective, restrained excitement of people who did not often allow themselves wonder but had decided, tonight, to indulge. Boots were polished, hats removed and hair slicked back with pomade, hands folded or clenched around cheap programs printed with an elegant serif announcing the evening’s performance. Above them, the balconies told a different story. Private boxes lined the walls like watchful eyes, each one curtained in velvet and trimmed in gold. From there, the wealthy looked down, some openly, some behind half-drawn drapes, glasses of amber liquor catching the light as often as their jewelry did. Conversations in the boxes were quieter, sharper, weighted with implication. Deals were being hinted at. Affairs were being negotiated. Judgments were being made. In the Montgomery family box, silk cushions and polished brass railings framed a carefully curated display of propriety. Jane Montgomery, pale and anxious beneath the finery, leaned forward with expectation, fingers knotted in her lap. Adelaide Montgomery reclined beside her as though the hall had been built for her comfort alone. She was a study in opulence: rich fabrics, gleaming jewelry, a faintly distracted expression that suggested her thoughts were elsewhere entirely. A hand fan lay idle in her lap. Several rows down from the Montgomerys, half-shadowed and deliberately unremarkable, Kirsa Autenrieth sat with perfect posture and an expression of mild, polite interest. Her dress was expensive but restrained, her jewelry minimal. She looked like a patron, not a handler. Only those who knew what to look for might notice how often her gaze returned to the stage and how rarely it lingered anywhere else. On the main floor, near the edge of the crowd but never truly part of it, Clayton Cash stood smiling a little too broadly, greeting patrons as they passed. He wore a tailored coat in a tasteful shade of charcoal, his prosperity meant to look earned rather than inherited. He laughed easily, but his eyes flicked often toward the stage, toward the balconies, toward the exits, counting, always counting. It was possibly the best crowd the hall had ever seen, and it was all thanks to the newest performer in town. Not far from him, Willis Sloan lingered with the casual stillness of a man who preferred walls to people. His coat was practical rather than fashionable, his boots scuffed but well cared for. He appeared to be watching the crowd, but anyone who knew him would recognize that he was listening to fragments of conversation, to tone, to what people did not say. At the edge of the floor, near a column that provided both a clear sightline and a quick escape, Aldert Helsink stood with the quiet confidence of a man accustomed to being dangerous without advertising it. His clothes were well made, his bearing disciplined. He watched the hall not with delight, but with assessment, eyes moving over every seat, counting exits, measuring the distance between threats and targets. Near the side aisle, stiff-backed and unmistakable, Joshua Thane made no effort to hide his presence. His coat was dark, severe, his posture confrontational. His gaze drifted over the crowd as if daring someone to meet it. The badge was visible. It always was. Somewhere behind the curtain across the stage Kojo Amankona waited.

I'm making sure I have good notes for everyone and their agendas and desires, then the first post should go up sometime between Jan 1 - Jan 4!

Joshua Thane is completed! Here's a peek... Values: Glory is knowing that everyone who opposed me is broken, dead, or beneath my heel. Relationships: Kojo Amankona’s music makes people forget who’s in charge and I hate him for it. Missy Fisher keeps trying to buy safety, and I enjoy raising the price. Alicia von Vulf is wrong, and wrong things need to be buried. Distinctions: Gunfighter: You’re quick and deadly with pistols, rifles, or shotguns. Roll when shooting or intimidating with firearms. Resources: Sheriff's Office (weapons, deputies)

I just finished Jack Bennett, and here are some teasers from his sheet: Value: Honor “I keep my word, even when breaking it would be safer.” Justice “The law protects the powerful; justice protects everyone else.” Relationships: Alicia von Vulf sees something in me that could either save me or damn me forever. Missy Fisher and I know exactly how dangerous each other are, and we keep each other anyway. Joshua Thane is proof that the law is just another predator with a badge. Distinction: Fixer: You’re called in to “fix” a problem when no other solution can be found. Through a mix of know-how and contacts you can make things happen in just the right way. Roll the Distinction’s die when trying to leverage an opportunity in the black market, secure an illicit transaction, or deal with the sorts of people who hire people like you.