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[right [pic https://i.pinimg.com/564x/3b/7d/b9/3b7db9c9a43102431f4e12268eb3adc1.jpg]] [font "Times" [size15 [B Devil’s Kiss]
• you wouldn’t be the first O 0 response to social media. Mental note about the kinda gross alt version of a fuckboy. At least you’d be legit.
• smiles, comforted, laughing. He’s easy to listen to, talk to. She can only imagine what his silver tongue when he [i tries] is like.
• pleasure at getting it halfway there. It worked. Experiment sort of success. Ask what kinds of sacrifices, ask if she can just say his name or if he needs the whole shebang
• bit of discomfort at the idea of having known whereabouts all the time. Great now she’s a glorified familiar/henchman, it seems.
• ask what hellhounds look like. [i real] hellhounds
Nathan edged out of the study and closed the door behind him, taking his time to make it quiet.
He stood there, staring into the emptiness of the house's entrance hall, at the carpeting.
"[i I have a vampire in my home,]" he murmured to himself, glancing around as if he would be overheard. "[i A vampire I scraped off of the street for some dubious purpose.]"
"[i What am I going to do with it? Him?]"
The next morning, Liya would awaken to find a large, off-white morning shirt and a pair of pants. Too tall for the thin vampire, but able to be cuffed, and with a set of suspenders that can be adjusted for the height of the preternatural invalid.
[B Another Horrible Situation]
With the bird in her ear, Winnie had to snatch at the creature's face. "[B Nat- stop. Quiet now,]" she instructed it, pinching its beak. It fluttered a bit in potest, and then grew still, one bright, blue eye on the man before it.
The being behind Winifred, standing stolidly as if it had tangible mass in the center of the gathering of constables- at a distance because of the raven, but encircling her a bit nonetheless- filled the space. She shivered a bit as Decay's hands laid on her shoulders/ To Eugene, the haunt behind the woman's edges flared over and around her possessively. Long fingers curled over her arms. The raven was ruffled again, calling out and shifting on her shoulder.
Winifred felt the beginnings of a bit of a tired smile at that, as Eugene slid into very employment-oriented listings of his skills. It was... charming, in its way. He was, in his way. Ah, such a shame. Something odd about him was making her smile a bit.
[i Alright, alright, that's enough,] one constable said, advancing toward Eugene.
Winifred put a hand out, stopping one from advancing on him. "[B No, give him some credit. He's a man begging for his life, and he's actually being quite elegant about it compared to others I've seen.]" Winnie nodded to the distraught man before her, something about his tears giving her something. And Cay behind her gave a sort of hollow, echoing rumble of approval.
[B Love Reincarnated]
Maven's head snapped back to Lestat, her face heating at his clear chastising. He sounded almost angry with her, which made it worse; turning it into a confusing mix of wounded pride and actual fear for a moment. He seemed like he was about [i done] with her right now. So much for a good impression on one of your idols. Maven swallowed the disgusting feeling that shame handed her.
Quick, her hand snapped out and grabbed his arm as he turned, soundlessly on his heel.
"[B Wait!]" He stopped, Maven releasing him, especially with the look he gave her, ducking her head a bit. Her mouth pursed, feeling a flush come over her as she pushed a hand into her coat pocket, violin case down on the sidewalk. Nope, not there. Inner pocket. Yes!
A receipt pulled out of the inside of her coat, her other hand dipping into her purse and coming back with a pen, turning it over in her hand to put the writing side down. Opening her palm, she wrote the name of two bands down on the receipt.
"[B Here.]" When she was finished, she clicked the pen closed again, pushing it into her pocket and handed him the slightly crumpled paper. "[B Some bands to begin with. First one is Swe- uh, Scandinavian of some sort. She merges Swedish folk music with black metal, and another I like. Just- if you want. It's cool.]" She gave him a crooked, hesitant smile.
Now, with all that awkward, anxiety muddled mush out of the way, she let him go with a nod and a raised hand, stepping back and into the cab.
But before she did so, she heard his voice from afar just as she was about to duck into the car. It made her snap to attention, looking after him. But her eyes had lost him.
"[B Lestat...?]" came the little mewl out of her mouth before she realized it. Her face flushed now, or it felt like it did. She glanced around, trying to see if she just missed him. Reviving the band?? His- wait- [i new music?!]
A raw, young part of her thrilled endlessly at that, even as her stomach dropped a bit because she lost sight. She couldn't verify if he was just- teasing, right? Or if he actually- no. She sat, blankly, mechanically into the seat of the cab.
Presently the driver asked her if they were going anywhere, lady. She swallowed her shock and reached for her wallet, closing the door.
Maven frowned a bit as she settled into her cab, hugging her violing case to her. She rested her face against it. Lestat the Vampire. Maybe he wasn't teasing. He totally would pull some shit like that, especially after his interview via a wall of televisions. Always for drama.
"[B Oh my gosh...]" she whispered, eyes blank, open with wonder. What if it was him?
Little Musician. He called her little musician. It was almost like a pet name. She pressed her head back against the seat with an ashamed, girlish shake of her head. Stop that. He probably calls all his fans 'little' something, cuz he's a confident, flirting motherfucker like that. Don't get all star struck, he could still be a poseur!
This was all a wonderful distraction from the pit in her stomach that was the space left by ebbed adrenaline. Like any drug, she was feeling weak after it. It was a sobering experience, tonight. Maven's hands tightened on the case, sucking her lips inside her mouth, thoroughly reminded of her vulnerability. So may years, so much traveling and she was generally not bothered with. Maven was pretty tall for a woman, and she dressed alternatively, and stood up straight. She wasn't conventionally attractive, small, cute, stuff like that. She was opinionated, loud, and generally more ready to fight someone if they made some aggression towards her. But she froze up. She froze up [i bad] and almost got assaulted. And in some weird turn of events he had just happened to show up and be a good person.
And her impression on him... Ick, ugh, no she didn't even want to think about what he could be thinking of her. But isn't that always the way with your idols, or with any celebrity? He seemed shocked she recognized him, so she at least gave him that. Half of her reasoned that with what happened, she had been pretty graceful after being nearly assaulted. But. You know.
Was that Lestat the Vampire? She was still thinking it as she got out in front of the hotel, glad to see its bright, gaudy entryway and the doorman in front of it. She smiled and gratefully went inside where it was warm.
The receipt in Lestat's hand was a bit crumpled after its brief existence in a pocket. Two bands in a slanted, pointed hand, halfway between printing and cursive if it was more angled, along with its characteristic lilting melt. But it wasn't a soft writing. It detailed her order. And the café's name; the Rue de Plâtre.
[center [pic https://i.pinimg.com/564x/7d/4f/cc/7d4fcc935b1455e54f7ec0184a551fc7.jpg]]
[font "Times" [size15 He didn't respond, noticing how Father Merlot drew away from him. He let him, knowing it was from one of innumerable reasons for the priest to. It brought him flashes of the look on his face when he spotted his bag, the looks he gave him in the forest. He kept his hands to himself when the man separated them.
"[#00CCFF I'll be able to keep up better if I don't have to get called back here to respond to a report that you aren't taking care of yourself,]" the doctor said, holding eye contact. "[#00CCFF You look exhausted, I can tell you are.]"
He kept his voice low, between them alone. "[#00CCFF I need your help with this, I can't have you joining the sick for sheer exhaustion, because that leaves you open to infection- both spiritually and physically.]" The doctor swallowed, glancing away again. "[#00CCFF I would know. It happened to me.]"
The man swallowed, his eyes moving away. His voice dropped, nearly to a whisper. "[#00CCFF I- avoid the church, generally.]" His eyes avoided the man before him for a time.
"[#00CCFF I remember a disturbance,]" Nathan said, finally bringing his eyes back to Christopher. "[#00CCFF A boy, who had rows with the prior priest and with Sister Nancy, on occasion. There has been no news, and I haven't seen him since then.]" He offered a bit of a shrug, helpless beyond that.
♥ check in on, and ask Sister Nancy about what she wanted to say earlier about Father Thymeus
[B Tweedy Magic]
The way to Liseth Camberg's house wended in a general direction towards the Fisherman's Village. It was a thick cluster of homes frothing with plantlife and gardens and trees and voices and wood elves, dotted with inlets of water, bridges and wooden walkways over the fragrant, fresh seawater. Trees were still in the streets- laden with unlit or flickering candles, and lamps on the corners of different glass and substance throwing light across the reaching shadows. The canals were clustered with boats, and the buildings bursting with light and sound and activity. And the static of magic was thick in the air, energizing, as they walked past charms and sigils and little offerings on streetside or central shrines to this or that entity or spirit.
Business owners, fishers and denizens all knew where the witchery woman lived and would point them in the direction they needed to go.
The way to her house started taking them deeper into that wooded area. Where the rest of the village was small, bare and clustered, the houses grew apart again, in between sprawling, elderly oaks whose canopies spread shade over the weedy earth. Their branches were laden with hanging mosses, and flickering lanterns or bare candles were hovering with insects. Singular huts and old, peeling homes earning a grandeur in their weathered, steady walls. Light seeped from behind their shutters along with voices, laughter, and language. Elven, with a distinct accent, cobbled together with Common wafted in the spiced air. It smelt of incense and smoke and food wafting, thick in the evening air about them. Crickets and frogs were loud in the shadows.
And sat in what looked like the back of a low, once gated yard sat a house. The spreading porch in front of the home was dark, its back to the late evening light, but illuminated by the glass bottles in the trees, flickering, and the clusters of candles on the railing, in an empty bird cage suspended in the corner of the porch. And on a low, cushioned couch lounged a woman in a dress.
Her hair was thick with braiding, woven feathers, charms and beads. Her face was that heart shape, with the high, full cheekbones, and broad, smooth nose that spoke of her wood elf heritage even as the tips of her ears did- glimmering with rings and little, rough cut jewels. She was smoking a pipe, sweet curls of scent chasing the clean air around. She smiled- some of her teeth capped with iron or gold.
"[+maroon Well, well, what brings a trio to the door of the mother of the wood elves?]" she asked, her words laced with the curling, deep lilt of her accent, edged just so by her smoking habit.
[B Ah, There He Is]
The creature's face, for what Nova could see, in amusement curled what 'flesh' was still around the mouth and teeth into something of a smile. It was uncertain if it was flesh, or bone with how it seemed to be the same color and texture as the tissue elsewhere.
A low chuckle came from the creature, shifting back a bit with hands folding in front of it.
"[B How mercenary of you,]" it said,
[B Shadow Phantom Cometh]
"[B You will refer to me as lieutenant, or not at all, if you wish.]" she responded, arching a brow a bit. In all honesty, she wasn't expecting this correspondence to oultast the night. But to placate the American, she would relegate herself to conversation until they could split company.
Considering that, her eyes moved to the device that was supposedly saving their hard drive.
The Lieutenant's face remained unmoved, outwardly. A thought, an occurrence, moved behind her eyes, in the twitch of a brow. But amusement was in the shadows of her face, in how it moved just so. The functioning corner of her mouth turning up just so in something of a smirk.
This Kade woman made it sound rather mean, like she was going out of her way to simply put down a budding hero just because, out of pure nastiness. That wasn't, generally, her MO. At least, not anymore, that is. If she were honest, the Lieutenant could attest to a great many specific, spiteful killings. Hell, she had been a paid mercenary for a time while she was transitioning between puppet and supervillain officially. Favors owed, and cashed in.
Her objective here could be anything from gauging a threat, to
The Lieutenant's lips turned in a bit of a wry smile. 'Greater good' was something she had heard in so many guises, so many people telling her about what they were doing or why. It would be nice to actually believe in someone for once when they said that.
"[B What leads you to this conclusion?]" she prompted, nodding to the technician in front of her. This woman was an American, and likely knew more than she did about the current events in this country. The Lieutenant had only heard of the death of Nestro because that had made world news. Perhaps there was something she had missed here.
Nestro had emigrated from his native England and settled in North America for decades, that was where most of his exploits had occurred. And as he had aged, he had been relegated to a wheelchair. He was an elderly man, by the time this fight with the Shadow Phantom had occurred. Where his body had deteriorated, his mind remained as sharp as ever, and had in fact continued to evolve and change, and he was using more and more technology to support himself, and more henchmen to do physically what he could no longer.
"[B Do you recognize this man?]" she continued, bringing up her cellphone and displaying a frozen frame of the henchman.
[B Hunt Or Be Hunted]
Oliver departed quickly from the woman, fearing that she would demand he escort her home. He was feeling the heat of anxiety and repulsion at the prospect of dealing with her just losing everything all over the sidewalk. Beyond that, he was a terror, a hunter and didn't have to deal with such paltry human things anymore.
He ended the night by ending another paltry, human thing. He had been walking with a woman that he was grabbing near him, closer, closer, rougher. It left him vulnerable, ignorant of Oliver's presence. It was easy to separate them, with the woman running, sprinting away into the darkness just as the man had grabbed her. The vampire left the aggressor's body in the park.
The next evening was much the same. Though this night was warmer. He watched the humans around him and saw lighter layers, shedding his own overcoat and allowing his button up and waistcoat breathe. He didn't feel any chill, not like humans did, and so he had to make an effort to blend.
With an untouched drink in his hand, he began to mingle. He recognized a few of his kind across the bar, a favored haunt.
[https://i.pinimg.com/564x/0d/03/5d/0d035d08be1fb487b17cf57b8d00493e.jpg Alvie ref pic]
Alvér looked at her, confusion in the tension on his face, in how his eyes searched her. She had told him he had to be highly aware of where he was and in how he was touching her. His fingers flexed on the bundle of his own flesh that he held.
"[B I don't understand,]" he said out of the silence, eyes glancing over her. He held back, away from her still. He had been touching her legs, too, which was where the initial issue came from. What had he misunderstood, then? Were there certain situations where she was alright with his touch? Certainly, she was being allowed to touch him in this case, applying her salve and wrapping the bandages.
He looked away from her then, shaking his head. "[B You surface elves astound me with your contradictions.]"
With that, Alvér glanced down at the meager space between them, considering releasing his hold on himself, but seemed to think better of it. He stood, crossing to the bookshelf and replacing the one he had had in its place above the fire. There he released the tangle of tendrils that either fell to the floor like so many shiny, alien skirts, or clung to his arm.
“[B There is strong magic upon you,]” he said. He turned partway back to her, wounded arm coming up as evidence. He spread his fingers, considering the arm it seemed
He crossed back over to her, kneeling fluidly in front of the woman, lips parting to speak. His hands came up, as if they were going to lay near or on, but stopped. He took them back, rising again and giving distance once more.
Only, for just a moment, his index fingertip pressed on her brow before he took it back, quickly. “[B Someone or something definitely doesn’t want those memories known.]” If how it swallowed up his magic was anything to judge by, whatever cast that was a formidable thing. His eyes held on Alenia’s cranium with a bit of thoughtful reserve.
[B With Tweedy]
[center [pic https://i-h1.pinimg.com/564x/25/ae/78/25ae78ea56837016095abfbe9d37133c.jpg?b=t]]
Alaric was roused by the gruff announcement that there was someone here 'for the necromancy and such'. The elf frowned softly, confused, and felt a trickle of fear run down his shoulders. Who was seeking them? He hoped it wasn't a desperate woman who was begging for their husband or son back. The last time he had managed that one, they were hardly pleased with the results of him resurrecting the fellow. Certainly, with control, it could do the work, but the emotional stress was a lot for most people.
He closed his book. Moving towards the entrance, the priest had been left outside, the high elf poked his head out, glancing over the man.
[right [pic https://i.pinimg.com/564x/21/cf/db/21cfdbef1cc828c07e46616c99ef8306.jpg]] [u [B Blythe Masters]]
A young, caffeinated adult and recent college graduate in folklore, funerals and just enough film classes to give her an idea of production without actually earning a degree, [i and] looking for a roommate, and a collateral partner in shenanigans. So long as you can handle her cat and her menagerie of plants, aren't rude, and have a job, you're a shoe-in. Currently working as a handyman type for all manner of magical and supernatural. The neighborhoods within the neighborhoods, basically. She knows where all the troll markets, the fey areas you avoid like they're radioactive, and where all the raddest supernatural pubs are at, which includes on that list the ones you definitely shouldn't go to.
A social media videographer of the strange and the how-to. Most normies think it's a character act, but some of it is legit; the magic and the folklore lessons and the how-to-human content. Look her up!
Often seen with her cat Valerie, a Definitely not cursed, absolute unit of a black shorthair cat, this goth pretty easy to spot on the street.
[left [pic https://i.pinimg.com/564x/d5/b0/3c/d5b03c132ffd3815974d00f99e886ce5.jpg?b=t]] [u [B Oleander Hargreaves]]
Resident vaguely gentlemanly, pouty boy who enjoys lurking, skulking and enjoying his immortality however he chooses, and probably snuck into college lectures on the nearby campus. He likes volunteering at the animal shelter, and includes "wasting time", exploring, movies, people-watching, looking around for a paying job, and stealing people's rings at a party while they're distracted because he can entertainment. He may eventually feel bad and return it in some little secretive way, that is, if he doesn't like it enough to keep it and remember you by. He likes jewelry, striking clothing, dogs, and wandering at night and unsettling people. It's easy to get away with because he's white, and he is fully aware of this.
[right [pic https://i.pinimg.com/564x/20/d5/ed/20d5edb93aa86a1b079a6cbfda113c01.jpg]] He doesn't particularly care to talk about what the eighties/nineties/etc. were like, or how old he is, nothing particularly like that, unhelped by a bad memory. Or is he just lying? It's hard to tell sometimes. He misses his sister, will do most things if dared or if you pay him $20, and he likes to suck on pieces of dark chocolate or ice cubes.
[left [pic https://i.pinimg.com/564x/14/29/ed/1429edc31607b4ff00f072cc0334ca2b.jpg]] [u [B Mavis Seersucker]]
A folklore and forensic/funeral sciences major with a focus study in witchcraft as a historical, textual context for medicine and for culture. Possible practicing witch.
Well, let me lay out the options I have right now. My original character I had for the idea to be the boss who gets assigned this new secretary is a woman called Gweniviere Nitzsche.
She's what I call an old school supervillain who came from and lives in Germany, so she's here seasonally, but we can bring your character along if you want him to go across borders. She's a tall, white haired woman with gold eyes and a lot of scars on her face and neck, very tall, and very built. She's pretty civil, sarcastic and a bit biting sometimes, and has an accent I will mention but won't like write into the dialogue itself. Pretty military/superspy aesthetic here.
Another option is Dr. Felix Arndt, an Austrian-American who wears a glass mask, kind of in the vein of daft punk if you're familiar. He's more your sort of scientist villain, a little more mob style, he is.
There's another one, his name is Oliver Alexovich. He's a bit of an enigma, for plot reasons. He's a white-haired, young man with bright blue eyes. He's abnormally tall with wide shoulders, almost no hips, and dresses in a sort of slick, gothic, antique style now and again. If you comment on his 'vampire aesthetic' it'll just make him smile, all pleased. He's a sort of more supernatural/nighttime criminal jewel thief and museum whore. There's old stuffs he wants to find and get his hands on.
And, all these characters can be in the same story. By choosing, or liking one, you don't have to lose the rest, cuz for instance Dr. Arndt and Gweniviere come together cuz they are in the same sort of villain spheres. And Oliver can be there too
[B World of Deaca]
[center [pic https://i.pinimg.com/564x/c9/1f/06/c91f06c67cedfce885ad941ff8da1fb3.jpg]]
"[+crimson Ah, fuck me, Judath,]" Brilla was groaning. "[+crimson What is it about you- making me- so irresponsible?]"
"[+crimson I promise I can survive better than this usually...]"
[B Castle of Secrets and Shadows, Notes for post]
He glanced at her as they glanced around the quiet street to cross towards his door. "[#00CCFF Weakness comes and goes,]" he responded, eyes on their direction across the street. "[#00CCFF It's situational. And- you made sure to box my ears if I treated you a way you didn't like. I'm a quick study.]" He aimed a little smile towards her at that.
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