✗ Demon & Disciple

[Geryon Crowley]

“Then he will say to those on his left, depart from me, you cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the Devil and his angels.”

the original monster

A creature full of contrast. Wingtips reaching from the strongest light and into the deepest darkness.

With unwithering detemination he taught himself the arts of animagi. With the greatest passion he saught the knowledge of Magizoology. With curiostiy he travelled the vast world. With confidence he taught the young minds of Salem, and guided them as head of Bishop society. With eager he opened his shop in Knockturn Alley. With knowledge he taught the students of Hogwarts in both Transfiguration and Care of Magical Creatures. With numbness he tortured and experimented on people for the corrupt Ministry to save his own skin. With defiance he kept going against his father and duties as the family heir. With horror he survived torment in Azkaban, twice. With determination he fought in the frontlines of the Resistance against the Hexenreich. With his all he protects the sanctuary that he's created for himself and all the other outcasts within – including the one he cares about the most.

Crow has become a man of myth and mystery. To most his name is assosciated with what the papers have painted him out to be. Reckless. Dangerous. Death and destruction. In Hogwarts they talk about the professor who tortured students, and to seek him out in his shop has become somewhat a dare. All the things he has done – gruesome to extraordinary, is now mixed up with what he has not. Few can really tell. No one knows for sure.

A handful of things however, will be forever certain. Geryon Crowley will never be a hero. The pale man does not navigate through life following a well tuned moral compass. He will follow his own interest ahead of all and everything. He does not understand how or why most people feel, nor does he care. The few friends he have does actually matter to him, and for them he would go to any length. Evelyn in particular has become as essential to his existance as air. You would not want to harm her.

Cats are evil. Don't touch the hat. Leave the jars alone.

the specter scylla

A stray  with a stolen name. Haunted by the four horsemen, and eternally attuned to misfortune. Once a shadow, now a force, she has used her cursed blood to forge herself into something sharp—a semblance of an identity.

(War)

The one time she’d been a daughter she’d been abandoned in a foreign land, with the only memory of her parents in the name on her shoe. That too, had been taken as she had been to a shack by the sea. A simplistic childhood of cats and a man who knew of a world beyond the water, and gravestones, and the anguish of a little girl. A childhood interrupted by magic that she loved—

(Death)

-and hated, as it took her across the continent. It muddled her identity further. Further still as the bombs dropped and that man went missing. Still as she was abandoned to a foreign land again. (For a brief while, she flourished, like some sort of desert flower obsessed with making something out of the parched circumstance.) Then thrice, she was abandoned. The man (neglected by his government, an afterthought.) Her family (only a cat, as that was all she had, all she had wanted.) Her boyfriend, (although he slipped between the cracks in the world too). Death was indiscriminate, in that regard.

(Famine)

An anguished dropout, Eves took to paths she soon forgot. Survival found her, by the bare bones. By sheer necessity. Yet, by misstep, misfortune, and all the luck that had evaded her, she ended up in Crow’s shop. (And never left.) Like an odd puzzle she fit for the first time among the outcasts, and re-learned the nature of magic, slowly, with unfaltering patience. (Usually.)

(Conquest)

As the years pass, the sanctuary has become her home, and although Crow’s reputation and the moral questionability of all that occurs within the walls of the shop are ever-present shadows, Eves will tirelessly defend it. Still kind despite all the wrongs that have happened to her, she lives for all the strange creatures lurking in the floorboards and for Crow, who she believes in. (Somehow). Back to Hogwarts for Care of Magical Creatures, in the lairs of dragons and worse, and in the streets robbing the purebloods she hates, she keeps the blackbird on her shoulder. Her heart does not extend to strangers easily and over the years the fragments of a broken girl have become a woman sharp as a blade. On her lips are lies, schemes, and blackmail. In her hands are the rumors, re-written. No one can speak a word against Crow any longer without a cold vengeance.

(Cats are better than birds. Touch the hat. See what happens! Throw a coin if he bothers you, and always duck.)