The Winner Takes It All
Disclaimer: This topic will contain topics on unhealthy romantic obsession, of being emotionally unstable. (Unsolicitated gestures, dramatic declarations and manipulative tones) This topic also consists of unreciprocated affection, implied possessiveness, contains blood (for use in writing a letter). Please be aware that this thread is not an indication of the author but rather a dramatization of Elmo's story.
Sarai,
I hope this letter finds you in the worst pain you can possibly muster. I hope worse. Meet me at the Viaducts, October 31 2025, at 4 in the morning. I’ll be there.
- Muppet
@Sarai ToussaintThe night before, he sent Sarai a letter. Not that Sarai asked for one, but Elmo would send it to her out of the kindness of his… poetically romantic soul. He hadn’t spoken to Sarai, no. But he would watch the owl fly out with a teensy bit of respect or indication of respect towards the Herbology Professor. She would come. She had to! He’d written it in ink mixed with crushed rose petals and.. with several drops of his own blood just to make his sentiment clear, hopefully not enough to alarm her.
Now, at 3:45 in the morning, he was laying out a large red blanket that quickly scrunched up upon its contact to the stone ground.
He set taper candles on the side, the flames flickering and dancing in the breeze as the soft wind brushed through. The wicker basket he brought along was arranged with care and delicacy, with cheese slices cut into perfect squares, crackers stacked like bricks, and bottles of wines that were quite modest but also obscene, all laid in the basket. At the very top, to avoid ruining the main platter, a plate of the pan-roasted lobster was cooked, kept warm, and set out next to him, in between where he hoped the beautiful Sarai would find herself sitting. One could only hope he had a chance with a woman of her grace and beauty.
He sat cross-legged, staring out to the horizon, staring at the moon setting. She’d see the effort, the care, the love.
Or he would go mad. He knew they were destined to be together the day he laid eyes on Sarai at the Professor Table, the day he walked by the greenhouses and saw her beautiful hair.
She had better not hurt him. Oh no.
You've gotta break some eggs to make an omlette, something something.
The Winner Takes It All
date. october 31st, 2025 ─ location. viaducts ─ hex. #5d6c47
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▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬Lured by the enigmatic, mutilated parchment from her darling husband, the Haitian woman could barely sleep a wink following the volatile evening with her eldest son.
Naturally, her nerves were alight with anticipation at the very prospect of a romantic escapade. Such a passionate gesture had left Sarai reminiscing back to a time when she and Fabian's relationship was not but a tinder flame—back to a time when adventure and spontanuity was common for the then-new and young couple. This wasn't to say that the Fleischer woman was displeased with their relationship as it was now after all this time; she adored being married to her bestfriend. Fabian and the family they cultivated together was quite easily the best thing that had happened to Sarai, yet the recent additions of Célienne and Dèlia occupied a lot of time that neither of their occupations had to offer; this attempt to recapture their youthful memories meant more to the woman than he'd ever know.
A fitted, full length silken gown would gracefully flow in the gentle morning breeze behind the woman with each of her confident footfalls—it was a favorite of Fabians due to its halter neckline, opened back, and copperish hue that he'd once said made the woman glow like a goddess. Her outing's ensemble woud only be completed after Sarai's ebony-colored locs were retwisted and styled in an elegant updo, then a quick touching-up of her makeup with a cosmetic puff.
Like a moth to a funeral pyre, Sarai's approach was signaled with a rhythmic clicking of her heels against the cobblestone pathway leading to the viaduct. There was a sway of her hips as Sarai neared the arranged meeting point, and each step from the Haitian woman was surefooted, proud, deliberate. Perhaps a twinge of giddiness rooted in her stomach upon seeing firelight dancing in the eerie darkness ahead as her footsteps quickened in pace—the former rhythmic clicking of her high heels now sounding akin to a countdown towards her doom. Was it?
Candleflame illuminated the darkness surrounding her husband's arrangement, and an elated smile found her lips, though it slowly waned upon the absence of said ruggedly handsome husband. In Fabian's place was... Elmo? A new colleague the Herbologist had yet to acquaint herself with.
Her joy quickly turned into carefully concealed disappointment.
"Elmo, what a surprise," Sarai teased lightheartedly, but underlain in her softspoken words was a lack of lilt in her delivery.
A slight smile camouflaged the nervousness of her demeanor, but the diligence of Elmo's setup curried interest within the Haitian woman. There was lobster, wine, hors d'oeuvres—more effort bestowed than any of her colleagues before. Despite the disappointment of what Sarai had thought to be a passionate morning with her husband, the woman was already here and surely it'd be rude to turn back. Only the gods would know how desperately Holticulturist needed a break from her boisterous son and the draining responsibilities of professor-life, and so the woman elegantly sat upon the candle-laden blanket at a subtle distance deemed safe.
"I am honored at your invitation," she mused while curiously scoping the wine's vintage with coffin-shaped nails—the Fleischer woman could use a glass... or three. "Admittedly, a little surprised too. I apologize that I haven't yet formally introduced myself since you arrived," Sarai added cautiously.
Naturally, her nerves were alight with anticipation at the very prospect of a romantic escapade. Such a passionate gesture had left Sarai reminiscing back to a time when she and Fabian's relationship was not but a tinder flame—back to a time when adventure and spontanuity was common for the then-new and young couple. This wasn't to say that the Fleischer woman was displeased with their relationship as it was now after all this time; she adored being married to her bestfriend. Fabian and the family they cultivated together was quite easily the best thing that had happened to Sarai, yet the recent additions of Célienne and Dèlia occupied a lot of time that neither of their occupations had to offer; this attempt to recapture their youthful memories meant more to the woman than he'd ever know.
A fitted, full length silken gown would gracefully flow in the gentle morning breeze behind the woman with each of her confident footfalls—it was a favorite of Fabians due to its halter neckline, opened back, and copperish hue that he'd once said made the woman glow like a goddess. Her outing's ensemble woud only be completed after Sarai's ebony-colored locs were retwisted and styled in an elegant updo, then a quick touching-up of her makeup with a cosmetic puff.
Like a moth to a funeral pyre, Sarai's approach was signaled with a rhythmic clicking of her heels against the cobblestone pathway leading to the viaduct. There was a sway of her hips as Sarai neared the arranged meeting point, and each step from the Haitian woman was surefooted, proud, deliberate. Perhaps a twinge of giddiness rooted in her stomach upon seeing firelight dancing in the eerie darkness ahead as her footsteps quickened in pace—the former rhythmic clicking of her high heels now sounding akin to a countdown towards her doom. Was it?
Candleflame illuminated the darkness surrounding her husband's arrangement, and an elated smile found her lips, though it slowly waned upon the absence of said ruggedly handsome husband. In Fabian's place was... Elmo? A new colleague the Herbologist had yet to acquaint herself with.
Her joy quickly turned into carefully concealed disappointment.
"Elmo, what a surprise," Sarai teased lightheartedly, but underlain in her softspoken words was a lack of lilt in her delivery.
A slight smile camouflaged the nervousness of her demeanor, but the diligence of Elmo's setup curried interest within the Haitian woman. There was lobster, wine, hors d'oeuvres—more effort bestowed than any of her colleagues before. Despite the disappointment of what Sarai had thought to be a passionate morning with her husband, the woman was already here and surely it'd be rude to turn back. Only the gods would know how desperately Holticulturist needed a break from her boisterous son and the draining responsibilities of professor-life, and so the woman elegantly sat upon the candle-laden blanket at a subtle distance deemed safe.
"I am honored at your invitation," she mused while curiously scoping the wine's vintage with coffin-shaped nails—the Fleischer woman could use a glass... or three. "Admittedly, a little surprised too. I apologize that I haven't yet formally introduced myself since you arrived," Sarai added cautiously.
——mentions. @Fabian Toussaint-Fleischer, @Elmo Break
——notes. and so it begins...
I always knew the wind would blow you back to me one day.
The Winner Takes It All
@Sarai ToussaintHe heard footsteps on the stones and turned to look at such a beautiful, stunning woman in a dress that elevated her to beauty to something that was potentially considered ethereal, or godly. It was almost as if her skin radiated in the moonlight, like she really was a divine being.
And to think Elmo gets to shoot his shot. Oh, pretty women. They made him feel good inside when he saw them. Sarai was perhaps the most drop-dead gorgeous of them all. She should be on the cover of every issue of Vogue and beauty magazines. She defined what it was like to be exquisite, alluring and dazzling.
He extended out his hand, looking her dress over. "My, you did not have to dress up tonight." He shot her a smile, his facial expressions soft but his teeth glistened like the blade of a knife in the summer sun.
"Don't tell me I'm interfering with your life! I was hoping you were single, but oh. How wrong I am. That ring on your hand? Beautiful. It's almost too good to be true!" He said, a tone of disappointment in your voice. "Wine?" He asked, grabbing the neck of the glass. "I dare say I need a glass or two of something stronger! I have been hurt. How could someone so beautiful as you be stolen? Taken by the stars! I thought we were meant to be together. That fate had us aligned." Elmo sighed wearily.
He poured himself a glass and then Sarai.
He stared at the sky and wondered if he had to take drastic steps just to get her. He had to. Someone else claimed her before him, and that wasn't how the story was supposed to go. Not to Elmo. Everything had to be in his favor.
"Cheese? Lobster? I've been up for a while making you something as delectable as lobster, I thought it'd be fantastic for a little first date, a blind date if you will. I was thinking of also, later, going to Hogsmeade. I might just hop onto my motorcycle and annoy the Hogs Head Inn residents. If you want to join me, that is." The not-muppet continued to stare at the sky pretending that he was so hurt by someone who totally (did not) lead him on.
He pulled out a knife and grabbed a lobster. "So, a Lobster for you, fine lady?"
You've gotta break some eggs to make an omlette, something something.
The Winner Takes It All
date. october 31st, 2025 ─ location. viaducts ─ hex. #5d6c47
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬An internal recoiling and nausea tumulted within the Haitian parselmouth at the ghastly sight of Elmo's toothy grin—his fangs bared and salivating like a hound starved at her arrival.
His blackened beady gaze roved over her as though Sarai were scraps on a platter, and it made the Caribbean witch on edge; a sentiment she had no hesitation in conveying with a narrowed, judging gaze. Suddenly, the woman had longed for a shawl or some sort of garment to cover with—yet no such protection would be available at the expense of her hasty judgments. Without a single inkling of what the correspondence said after her eldest son shredded it, the woman couldn't resist feeling like a damned fool for expecting the familiar company of her husband. It was far too late to turn back now, nor would Sarai bother to explain the earlier misunderstanding that alluded to her attendance.
Her only fallback this evening would be her witty, venomous tongue and a prayer to the lwa that Elmo would swiftly lose interest.
Swallowing back a bout of bile after Elmo's words digested within the deep recesses of her mind, the polite smile once plastered across the woman's smooth visage turned demoralizing, and Sarai dipped her head in gratitude to appear courteous upon her host's smooth delivery.
"Oh, but first impressions are so important, no?" the Caribbean woman responded while arching a single eyebrow, "I hoped you'd have the same... philosophy. I stand corrected."
A gale of wind swept by the candlelit spread, and the Haitian witch exaggerated a shiver down her spine in reaction. Amid her shudder, a mutter slipped through thinly parted lips; a Kreyol proverb of love—camouflaging as a complaint regarding the brisk breeze in her native tongue—to activate the binding mark concealed beneath the copperish-hued silk gown adorning her skin.
Usually addressing her beloved husband with terms of endearment when the binding mark was in use, the telepathic words would instead be spoken with a sense of dread and urgency—
'Fabian, are you awake?' No answer. It was 4 AM, after all, and surely her beloved husband was resting every little bit the twins allotted. 'Fabian..' Radio silence.
Her words were underlain with the faintest edge of amusement, automatically adding, "Although this little setup is quite nice. Perhaps I can be forgiving, but you're about nine years too late."
Nodding in genuine appreciation for wine—gods only knew the woman needed this reprieve—Sarai couldn't resist rolling her gunmetal blue eyes at the sight of Elmo serving himself before her. Actions spoke louder than words, so the age old saying goes—shouldn't the lady always be served first? Apparently romance had died outside the bounds of her 9-year relationship with the Fleischer man; thank the lwa that the Haitian witch married a gentleman in every regard, unlike the poser seated before her who attempted to woo.
Though this outing was not a real date—the farthest thing from it—Sarai couldn't resist scrutinizing every little detail and action, and Elmo was failing miserably. He had been correct at one thing though: she, too, needed a glass of something stronger.
His willingness to continue these pathetic, romantic advances despite identifying her moss-agate wedding ring only made the Parselmouth slither further in dubiety; "And yet you're still trying. Are you brave or foolish?" Her grey-blue gaze lingered on him with an enigmatic smile as though a viper coiling to strike, while nonchalantly swishing the crimson liquid in her hand. Sarai resisted the wine's pull, waiting for Elmo to drink first and deem it safe before bringing the ornate crystal glass to her lips. It was a tasty yet bitter vintage; it seemed the man knew proper selections.
Mindful of how much indulgement of red wine Sarai partook in, her stomach could no longer resist the appeal of the meal Elmo had prepared. Both the sight and scent filled her nose like a siren's call, and the woman recognized it unwise to drink on an empty stomach—not on a weekday anyway.
"Very well," the woman mused solemnly as she accepted a plate of freshly prepared lobster. It was poorly seasoned, but sustenance was sustenance. A singular bite would be savored while heeding Elmo's words with equal parts disdain and subtle curiosity. Motorcycles?—Elmo owned a motorcycle too? How ironic.
"My husband's motorcycle is quite satisfactory, and he and I have actually made plans with it this Hallow's Eve," she drawled while dabbing her lips gracefully with a napkin, dry amusement and challenge in her tone, "but your offer is generous."
His blackened beady gaze roved over her as though Sarai were scraps on a platter, and it made the Caribbean witch on edge; a sentiment she had no hesitation in conveying with a narrowed, judging gaze. Suddenly, the woman had longed for a shawl or some sort of garment to cover with—yet no such protection would be available at the expense of her hasty judgments. Without a single inkling of what the correspondence said after her eldest son shredded it, the woman couldn't resist feeling like a damned fool for expecting the familiar company of her husband. It was far too late to turn back now, nor would Sarai bother to explain the earlier misunderstanding that alluded to her attendance.
Her only fallback this evening would be her witty, venomous tongue and a prayer to the lwa that Elmo would swiftly lose interest.
Swallowing back a bout of bile after Elmo's words digested within the deep recesses of her mind, the polite smile once plastered across the woman's smooth visage turned demoralizing, and Sarai dipped her head in gratitude to appear courteous upon her host's smooth delivery.
"Oh, but first impressions are so important, no?" the Caribbean woman responded while arching a single eyebrow, "I hoped you'd have the same... philosophy. I stand corrected."
A gale of wind swept by the candlelit spread, and the Haitian witch exaggerated a shiver down her spine in reaction. Amid her shudder, a mutter slipped through thinly parted lips; a Kreyol proverb of love—camouflaging as a complaint regarding the brisk breeze in her native tongue—to activate the binding mark concealed beneath the copperish-hued silk gown adorning her skin.
Usually addressing her beloved husband with terms of endearment when the binding mark was in use, the telepathic words would instead be spoken with a sense of dread and urgency—
'Fabian, are you awake?' No answer. It was 4 AM, after all, and surely her beloved husband was resting every little bit the twins allotted. 'Fabian..' Radio silence.
Her words were underlain with the faintest edge of amusement, automatically adding, "Although this little setup is quite nice. Perhaps I can be forgiving, but you're about nine years too late."
Nodding in genuine appreciation for wine—gods only knew the woman needed this reprieve—Sarai couldn't resist rolling her gunmetal blue eyes at the sight of Elmo serving himself before her. Actions spoke louder than words, so the age old saying goes—shouldn't the lady always be served first? Apparently romance had died outside the bounds of her 9-year relationship with the Fleischer man; thank the lwa that the Haitian witch married a gentleman in every regard, unlike the poser seated before her who attempted to woo.
Though this outing was not a real date—the farthest thing from it—Sarai couldn't resist scrutinizing every little detail and action, and Elmo was failing miserably. He had been correct at one thing though: she, too, needed a glass of something stronger.
His willingness to continue these pathetic, romantic advances despite identifying her moss-agate wedding ring only made the Parselmouth slither further in dubiety; "And yet you're still trying. Are you brave or foolish?" Her grey-blue gaze lingered on him with an enigmatic smile as though a viper coiling to strike, while nonchalantly swishing the crimson liquid in her hand. Sarai resisted the wine's pull, waiting for Elmo to drink first and deem it safe before bringing the ornate crystal glass to her lips. It was a tasty yet bitter vintage; it seemed the man knew proper selections.
Mindful of how much indulgement of red wine Sarai partook in, her stomach could no longer resist the appeal of the meal Elmo had prepared. Both the sight and scent filled her nose like a siren's call, and the woman recognized it unwise to drink on an empty stomach—not on a weekday anyway.
"Very well," the woman mused solemnly as she accepted a plate of freshly prepared lobster. It was poorly seasoned, but sustenance was sustenance. A singular bite would be savored while heeding Elmo's words with equal parts disdain and subtle curiosity. Motorcycles?—Elmo owned a motorcycle too? How ironic.
"My husband's motorcycle is quite satisfactory, and he and I have actually made plans with it this Hallow's Eve," she drawled while dabbing her lips gracefully with a napkin, dry amusement and challenge in her tone, "but your offer is generous."
——mentions. @Fabian Toussaint-Fleischer, @Elmo Break
——notes. ----
I always knew the wind would blow you back to me one day.
The Winner Takes It All
@Sarai Toussaint-FleischerElmo watched the beautiful, super elegant woman sip the wine, her lips brushing the rim. He sighed happily at her words and eyes. Oh what a goddess. Even her rejection felt poetic to Elmo. And Elmo's heart couldn't help but thud, not with despair but rather with resolve.
He clutched his chest as if he were wounded by Sarai's personal Cupid's misfired arrow. "Oh Sarai.. nine years too late? Perhaps. But what is time to a man possessed by love? I would rewrite history itself if it meant a chance to stand besides you." He leaned forward, his eyes glinting with some form of a manic hope. "You say I'm foolish. I say I'm devoted. But.. only because your beauty demands bravery." Elmo extended his arms out, not to hug but to grab her hand softly. To hold it. "You deserve a man who would duel for you. Who would protect you from random creeps that hit you up out of nowhere."
He sliced another piece of lobster with an exaggerated flair, and placed it directly and delicately on her plate. "I know I'm not your husband, I see the ring. I don't care about him. Today is just about you and me. Let me be your man for the day." He withdrew his hands and grabbed his wine glass, holding it up as if a toast. "To stolen moments. To true love."
You've gotta break some eggs to make an omlette, something something.