[ by the time zelda spellman makes her way in any direction, her anger has spiked to infernal levels. she has spent the last fifteen minutes making her way through ankle deep snow in heels and a pencil skirt and the wind has ruined her perfectly coiffed hair.

she is displaced, arms folded around her. her magic feels weaker here, that link clinging thread-thin. still even now, zelda is a spellman. now and always and that means, she will claw her way out of anything that she's been thrown into.

it's harder to cast spells when there is so little to draw from. she is about to keep walking when a shadow dashes across her path and she stops. was that a shadow? her hand is outstretched in front of her quickly, as something shimmers across it. ] Hello? [ when/if there is no answer, she will start gathering dried branches.

Should anyone come across her at this stage, they will find her drawing a sigil in the snow with charred wood, smoke starting to slowly coil from the writing in the snow, her hair a golden mess of a halo over her shoulders. As soon as she hears a creak, she'll snap her head up, eyes sharp. ] Who is there? [ somehow she manages to make it sound like a command rather than question. ]

[ a bookstore seemed to be as much of a good place to start as any in this drab, lifeless and confusing place. especially when she catches movement, and a flash of light, somewhere beyond in the stacks and the hazy windows.

she strides there with purpose, a sharp click of her heels on the snow-dusted road. even cold, and frazzled and flushed, she still manages to cling to a modicum of composure and the door swings open with a flick of her wrist before she strolls inside, to a very empty bookstore.

she's incredibly unimpressed, flipping through a dusty old book, before proceeding into further exploration. ] Terrible what passes for literature these days.

[ zelda stands at the bulletin board, overlooking the jumble of notes with a passive sort of interest, a cigarette alight in a delicate holder. she stops to note john constantine's name, and she cannot help the scoff. exorcist, demonologist, dark arts specialist. really.

she only stops at the smudged map, smeared red with dried blood. ] Satan in hell. Is everything here steeped in melodramatics?

[ seriously, anything goes! if you want anything specific, hit me up on berezka or in any other preferred way!! ]