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[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.
He laid the boy down and pressed a hand, gentle, to his forehead, feeling that thrum of a pulse in the boy’s body. Alive. Still alive. Perhaps salvageable. Soft, blond hair underneath his fingers. And blood underneath his fingernails, in his teeth. Anxiety pushed against the backs of his eyes, fear. What of the conscience in this body? Suppressed or vanished?
Something occurred to Nathan then. He hesitated doing this in front of the Father but perhaps he would take it as prayer. With that thought Nathaniel bent his head toward the boy, inhaling softly, and testing his scent.
He stood slowly, taking his time turned away from Christopher to gather himself again.
The moon’s presence was a comfort to him when he looked out and saw its face in the sky. Darkness was safe for a man like him. Usually. Now, he held a bit of trepidation in it. He knew his nature came out a bit more during. And with how long and dangerous his day had been, he was beginning to struggle holding himself in check. He hadn’t eaten.
Nathaniel Crane stood facing Christopher, the moon slanted across his face and shining along his black hair. It had at one point been tied back but had in their panic come loose in soft locks about his ears and brow. His skin practically glowed in the moonlight. Compared to that darkness, the man was pale and his eyes so blue- bright, and had a limpidity to them during the day that now was guarded, cautious as he looked to the priest now.
His chest ached with fear as he realized how little Christopher actually saw of him during a service. His scar prickled as he thought on this fear, as if warning him like a new, hateful set of hackles. Sensitive in their torn, nerveless numb. How he was looking now, /seeing/ Nathan had to wonder what the man was guessing at. He didn’t know what he had revealed so he had little idea how to play it off, being seen like this.
Quiet talks between them on the sidelines during a memorial or ceilidh were rare as Christopher was often engaged by the bereaved and sought guidance from. A pillar of the community. Constant to them. And Nathan ever present, quiet in the background.
His job generally made him relatively nocturnal. Caring for the deceased he usually took to as soon as he had them in his care, that is after he took care of the living. Most of his job was handling grief among his duties laying to rest a loved one gently in their shrouds and coffins and powdering them softly to take away the jaundiced glisten of decay. He didn’t use chemicals. They were expensive and hard to come by this far out of the cities.
Nathan looked back up to Christopher, eyes finally pulling away from his fixation on the blood on the man’s hands. His palms pressed together, swallowing, and nodded. Good. The man was taken care of.
His relief showed in the sigh that escaped him, the slight slump of his shoulders. He still had comatose patients to look after, and Sister Nancy who has chosen to rest as Nathan had bid her. In hindsight he cursed himself for acting as he had. But he had felt panic, rushing and hot and seizing, at the cry for him. He wouldn’t be immobile when there was need of him. But he had done something dangerously obvious in how he subdued the nun.
Shock widened his eyes, and a startling, raw bloom of hope that ached deep in him at being wanted, laced in confusion. He was wanted. He was- wanted? Perhaps Father Merlot had seen less than he thought. Had assumed little, or had assumed something divinely offered of him in how he had acted- aided by the god Christopher Merlot believed in. He tried to keep these things from his face and cleared his throat, nodding. “I’m glad to be of help,” he rasped.
“There’s still work to be done,” he says softly. “We need to make sure the rooms don’t have anything the patients can harm themselves with.”
Follow Chris and scent Nancy- she’s a newly infected. Quick. See if her scent has the difference that Mrs. Cannes has.
[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]
Black Hope cemetery sat on the edge of a pond. The night of the full moon was clear and misty. So clear that the shapes of the trees were stark against the starry sky, and the mists crawling across the floor, and throwing shadows across the place, were illuminated by the moon.
The night was full of the sounds of the night creatures. It was a stinging song that filled the air with the tepid, clinging moisture that the floodlands the city slept on near the river was choked with.
When Nova had been asking for directions to the place, it became clear to him that it was known as a wood elf burial site. In that there weren't stone markers in the sense that he knew, at least not all of them. Grave markers and caskets and vaults were here but in between other things. There were mounds. Everywhere. With tiny doorways in them. Nestled against trees, that trees grew out of, all lit with candles, some in elaborate, standing candelabras nestled in everything from the trees themselves, hiding against the stones that were all lit by someone, surely.
There was something in the air that smelled like magic. And Nova knew that corpses slumbered underneath all of these mounds.
He was drawn by the light of the moon to the edge of the pond, where he stood with the paper out, and likely announced himself to the empty air about him. or.
[B Shadow Phantom Cometh]
A sneer pulled, crookedly at the working side of her face. With the slice of light, the woman shifted and it fell over her face for a moment, clear, and showed the heavy scarring on the one side of her face, dragging down the corner of her mouth that twitches a bit, but doesn't complete the smile.
"[B I don't think this face could resemble anyone else, Mädchen,]" she said. And sure enough, the face in the HUD was smooth, unblemished. But so similar structurally. Her hair in the harsh, orange sodium light through the window showed how white her hair was. Bone white.
"[B I highly doubt it,]" the woman responded. "[b What is it you're all so fond of-? 'This isn't in your juridiction.']" Her face hardened, voice going low, scraping the bottom of her register. "[B But you can trust that I will put an end to this.]"
But it was pleasing to her that someone had the gumption to make this leap of logic. Perhaps she would humor her with an anonymous 'gift' after they had combed through everything.
Blythe scritched her fingers through her hair, humming as she people-watched, listening to Millie. She figured trying to make eye contact would be making the anxiety worse, so she didn't try right now. "[+purple I'm sure you didn't mean it,]" she said, brushing her thumb underneath her lower lip. A motion of thought.
She nodded in understanding as she explained. "[+purple Well, I don't really feel super comfortable just letting someone stay at my place without knowing them.]"
[B Hunt Or Be Hunted]
Finlay Street was one of those streets that was really cute and fun and bright during the day, but being this close to a college, and this in-between places populated with people, the storefronts shuttered for the evening and all of the outdoor furniture pulled inside to prevent pilfering, it gained this ominous, liminal feeling. You knew you weren't supposed to be here. There was only one apartment that existed above one of the storefronts that never had lights in it, and thus no witnesses. Only those who filled in the cracks.
Potentially harmless, but intimidating looking men sitting against concrete planter edges or building alleyways with their Huffy bikes and flat brims, looking like they were waiting for trouble or ready to start it. Wandering few homeless, in this transitory street, looking to either kill time or to scavenge what they could here and there. That was the sort of feel the street had after dark. [i Potentially] dangerous. Close to campus, so it should be fine. But possibly very dangerous. College towns as a whole had that feeling. A transitory, liminal, potentially dangerous feeling. Many people either broke, lost, or stuck here during or after school dumps them into the real world. It was a volatile place to be.
[https://i.pinimg.com/564x/0d/03/5d/0d035d08be1fb487b17cf57b8d00493e.jpg Alvie ref pic]
Alvér glanced back at her, noting how her eyes would flicker back away from him again each time.
"[B It's the first real meal I've had in a little while,]" he admitted, letting the plate down in his lap as he turned to look to her. "[B I thank you.]"
[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.
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.
[B Shallow Depth]
[center [pic https://i.pinimg.com/564x/ed/09/0c/ed090cc48a198a0fdfaaedec255bd924.jpg]]
The candle went out almost as soon as the woman's knuckles made contact with the door. The silence was heavier now, [i heard] as she entered. The house awaited her with bated breath- whether shocked at the entrance or knowing as well as she was that this was trespassing.
[https://i.pinimg.com/564x/ac/a9/98/aca998c1f3d6b3a6830b502eb9a2905b.jpg PICTURE POTENTIAL FOR LAURENT'S MORE BEASTLY JOTNAR FORM]
[B Wander the Woods]
[left [pic https://i.pinimg.com/564x/db/65/83/db658323ce7abf02bbeba575bcb6f9a1.jpg]]
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