[center [pic https://78.media.tumblr.com/ef6414be98c153ded5282b29489d9b30/tumblr_oxi9s2NifH1ty0m7so1_500.gif]]
Monsters have been in the wings of the world since its beginnings. Humans, in their endless wisdom, had decided of course that those things not understood and potentially of danger to your personal health and safety were to be hunted down, killed, and generally done away with throughout the ages. However, as many things are, the undead more specifically, have been more and more accepted as individuals that think and feel. To an extent.
Zombies are still bare semblances of what a human once was. Ghouls are animals; they hunt and kill and feed off of the flesh of whatever they find. Those are generally done away with with relative quickness, and relative prejudice due to their threat to general populaces. Vampires are incredibly dangerous. But also increasingly numerous. After the early 2000's, they became incredibly popular as a cult/counterculture type of existence, and became highly stylized in the media, nothing said about immortal souls, or a lack of care towards mortals. So, now with their numbers so large they in that sense are forced to be considered a sort of partway-human type of individual. And killing a vampire, without law sanctioned execution warrant, is illegal. Like murder of another person. Though with vampires, that gets real messy and they're still straightening that out legally.
Are you a Hunter, or a Seer who is about to get pulled into a world that you're incredibly not prepared for when a master vampire "asks" for your assistance in solving the murders of a handful of local master vampires. Or are you a civilian who is drawn into this sort of shadowy side-world with the wide eyes of a, but the desire for that pull of darkness, those beautiful faces, and gets swept up in the danger of the world of the vampire, or a vampire junkie. And you bear witness something you weren't supposed to.
I have a few characters I've an idea to play.
I write long-form fiction, so I'm somewhere around 1000+ words on a post, on average.
I don't believe in strict posting schedules, because I am a busy human, and I'm sure you are. This is for fun and leisure, after all. Come when you can and have the energy for it, and that's all I expect for you to respect for me as well. I try and post weekly, or every other just because I have work and band and a lot going on.
Do not be afraid of talk and chat! I can't use the realtime chat bar, but I use PMs, or if you're down we can do Discord. Please share ideas if you've got them, and if you need help, I haven't given enough for a post, whatever you need, and I'll do the same.
Romance for the story is an option, but it's not required. I do like some usually, so please tell me if you absolutely don't want that and I can for sure accommodate.
[center [+red Any questions, comments, or concerns, feel free to PM me! Send your favorite dessert in the subject bar!]
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Ilvana's body halted all quivering and shaking while the extended right hand began. As if all that motion had transferred from the body and into that hand, not stopping until even the fingers were affected in such a manner. This only happened due to the left arm wrapping the jacket closer round her body with the hand iron gripping it close, the warmth now better trapped nearer the chest area.
The legs still shaked for alcohol did nothing in helping the body keep warm. At least they weren't quivering so Ilvana didn't sway like a tree in the wind.
A smile dawned on her lips, amusement, which should've been kept hidden, at his sneer. No doubt her tackling had rubbed off on his vampiric sense of not being touched, especially by such a lowly form of life as a human being. The dawning smile rose to its zenith after hearing his first words. Ilvana had never mentioned or thought anything which related him to looking cute, quite the opposite since he'd attempted forcing himself on her in the dark.
More coward than cute, that's what he should've said.
His second phrase however only resounded with truth through and through. With her blood alcohol content Ilvana would've easily ejected the acidic mush onto the ground and whatever stood in front, how she hadn't yet was somewhat of a mystery. As to pickled food, not everyone enjoyed pickled food. Some enjoyed reaching for a pickle submerged under the pickle-juice depths and lifting it upwards for the teeth to crunch and tongue to taste, others looked at this form of enjoyment as an odd behavior.
His floating theatrics were mundane, especially after witnessing one after the next. But he had to maintain his dignity in one way or another, even going as far as calling her pickle girl. Now wasn't that all fine and dandy, being left with a drunk and pickled first impression instead of the vibrant bright red hair. But considering the dark atmosphere, no chance was given for the hair to show off its flair.
Now with no one else near only the sound of a creeping, chilling wind was heard. It was through this wind that Ilvana wandered back, a few near run-ins with inanimate objects before crashing into the door of her residence. A few groaning seconds passed to cover up the jingling of a blind search. Ilvana stood hunched over in the dark for a minute trying a few keys, sometimes using the same key, before finally the lock unlocked with a satisfied [i clack].
She didn't close the door, Ilvana slammed it with a resounding and thundering [i boom] and turning the lock before walking to the couch and dropping on and then into it. No time was lost in dropping into the depths of sleep.
[left [pic https://i.pinimg.com/564x/20/d5/ed/20d5edb93aa86a1b079a6cbfda113c01.jpg]] His pride was thoroughly wounded after being tackled by a [i human]. God, he was lucky they were alone or he would never live it down. He let himself get so high and mighty... he needed to pay better attention, he had a reputation to keep! Frustration at himself and how dirty he had become as a result of being tackled made the man's face hard when he looked at Ilvana, as she introduced herself.
He sneered, watching the weak mortal pull herself together and let himself lazily drift on an immaterial breeze before he righted himself again. She didn't look afraid anymore, either, which was disappointing- and in and of itself frustrating.
The moon in the thinly clouded sky above them, as Ilvana looked up at the pale man, illuminated the contrast between dark eyes and clothes and his hair and face. His mouth pushed to the side in a frown as he looked her over, doing little to hide his repulsion to the sloppy drunk affect before him.
Oliver looked at the hand she offered him- slick with sweat and shaking. Hardly appealing if he was feeling humorous. His face gained a disbelieving sneer. "[+goldenrod I may be being cute, but I'm not being friendly.]" He turned over in the air, slowly, onto his back, looking upwards at her briefly.
"[+goldenrod You smell like you're about to burst at any moment and I'm not interested in seeing that. I don't like my food pickled,]" the vampire said, floating back away from her and alighting delicately on his feet again.
Putting his hands in his pockets, the vampire shrugged, shifting the tucked scarf at his throat, puffed like a jabot. He glanced over his shoulder, "[+goldenrod [i Au revoir], pickle girl.]"
The first contact surprised Ilvana. Yes she had made the decision to rush and shove him into the ground, but even then a part of Ilvana's mind doubted she'd be able to. Even though ΔT between the yelling and rushing was small, those few milliseconds would have been enough to prepare a defense against a bullrush. And considering that the guy in front of her, even though he hadn't confirmed it, most likely was a vampire which meant his reaction skills were through the roof.
Despite the surprise Ilvana smiled as she crashed down atop him, hoping to pin him to the ground. It was at this moment she knew she fucked up; Not pinning him fast enough led to another surprise, an unpleasant one this time.
As soon as the jolting vibration of hitting against the ground began its travel Ilvana loosely felt, due to inebriated senses, arms all around her. The chilly night air seemed to vanish from her chest, replaced with a warm cylindrical object, the arm, while another uneven blocky object pressed against her back. And faster than one could snap Ilvana saw stars, literal, shiny, blinking stars against the cloudless, charcoal black sky.
Seconds later Ilvana felt the pain. It wasn't your typical sharp, pointing pain, but more of slow spreading tender pain. Because the landing had happened across the entire back instead of a single area the pain wasn't as bad, the alcohol a helpful addition, but the impact caused muscles to tense. To the groaning added curling into the fetal position while rolling around onto her right side. Ilvana's sharp breathes, few seconds pause between each one, blasted white clouds into the night air, acknowledging she'd fucked up and had been tossed like a ragdoll.
Based on the snarling voice she'd managed to merely piss him off, which meant she had somehow surprised him. Ilvana's mind turned from thinking about the pain to attempting to answer the [i "but how?"] question. Ilvana already made up her mind that the person whom she was dealing with was a vampire, which meant that the super-heightened senses should've kicked in the moment she'd rushed in and not after the tackling. The only answer left was distraction, but why would a vampire be distracted by leaving?
Ilvana froze, her stomach quickly folding up into the chest. He had bent over, gazing deep into her eyes. She meekly nodded her head to his [+orange "Overcome?"], totally defenseless and open to being sucked dry. Helpless prey in front of the predator.
Another surprise, another good surprise. He made the choice of letting her walk home and take the time to sober up and think. Ilvana unclenched, drawing in a deep breath to make up for not breathing during the entire time.
She slowly uncurled, leaning part of the weight onto her hands while moving the feet into a position to stand up. The time taken to stand dragged out into two long minutes, complete with shivering, acid reflux burps, a few near tumblings, and a lot of groaning, but eventually Ilvana managed to stand up on her lightly shaking knees and brush herself off. Only now looking at him did she his reverently floating figure, evoking not surprise but a friendly, chuckling smile. Deciding to save as much honor as possible, [+purple "Not an ideal first impression.. My name is Ilvana by the way.."], her right hand trembling as she moved it slowly up and forwards, stopping it two feet away from him
[right [pic https://i.pinimg.com/564x/20/d5/ed/20d5edb93aa86a1b079a6cbfda113c01.jpg]] Oliver felt his soft grin slide wider, into a sneer as he saw her double over and get sick. But the feeling was tainted with the disgust that followed. Was she going to be [i sick]? That was certainly one of the things that he was certainly pleased that he didn't deal with anymore.
He stepped back again, slipping his hands back into his pockets, and gave a little 'hmph' of a laugh that was halfway out of his mouth when the woman in front of him screamed. And not a fearful, submissive sound; it was an angry noise that froze him for just a moment as she threw herself towards him.
Oliver, for all intents and purposes, was so shocked that he actually felt her bodyweight slam against him for a moment and take him to the ground. But once he was there, as [i soon] as he smelt that sickly, acrid breath tinged legitimately with stomach acid now, he flipped. Rather, he flipped her. One arm braced against her, his forearm against her torso, fingers closing in her shirt front. Oliver, with preternatural strength behind it, he flipped her off of him; depositing her with a finality on her back next to him on the ground with a disgusted grunt, disposing of her nearby on her side or back. There, his hand released her immediately, wringing it.
The man sat himself up, brushing off his leather and velvet coat. It was a [i nice] coat. Expensive. He sneered, teeth bared. He had no time to hide them behind a cleverly slanted smile, no mind to keep them away.
"[+goldenrod Ugh, puh-[i leaze] don't tell me you just tried to tackle me,]" he snarled, adjusting his coat on himself with a huff.
With that he let himself get light. To Oliver, that was the feeling, controlling himself beyond what gravity did, letting the air feel as if thick, buoyant water. His body left the ground as if picked up by strings and he floated- yes, floated, levitated. He let himself float upright, brushing his coat down and tugging it properly down at his hips.
He brought himself over Ilvana, bending almost upside down* with a mean sneer on his face.
"[+goldenrod Overcome?]" he teased. "[+goldenrod I know. I have that effect on people.]"
"[+goldenrod Go home. Sober up. Think about this. I'll be in your dreams, won't I?]" he let his voice fall, scraping the bottom of his register with a self-satisfied look.
"[+goldenrod [i Ooooh~]]" he wiggled his fingers a bit, chuckling.
[right [size10 *like, if you've seen Adventure Time, or like seen art of the character Marcelline or Marshall Lee they just kinda lazily float around
Books and movies, they were practically the same thing. Yes movies included things such as sounds and a beautiful visual, but those were the only differences. Movies never created original content, they merely reflected a book. It did not matter the book, the book could be the first bible for all she cared, which meant that any movie including vampires inevitably 'stole' from a book.
No doubt this argument was a minor one given the current situation, but an intoxicated state literally skewed everything.
His words, like himself, prayed on her, him physically attempting while the words mentally and slowly sucked all hope. This whole situation, not a single drop of normalcy. Only the unnatural pumped through the veins and arteries of the current events, a feeling which Ilvana was unprepared for. On the one hand he was correct. How could she be sure of anything given her intoxicated state, how could she tell the indeed from the not-indeed while all her senses were skewed?
Ilvana's upper half lurched, her extended hand automatically forming into a cup while moving up to cover her mouth. A beer flavored acidic tinge filled her mouth for a while, the stress causing an attempt by the stomach to eject its contents. The first few times getting intoxicated Ilvana had let her stomach ejects its contents out her mouth, but after awhile she learned to control these rebellious acts of her stomach. Not only did that aid in preventing a mess, but it also preventing splashing some bystander by accident like in this situation.
Excuse him to where? His words began to build a fiery fury inside her, he wasn't helping at all unless making the situation more confusing counted as help. But then Ilvana noticed his facial expression, arched brows with a curling, teasing smile. He truly thought all of this was amusing, maybe for him but completely the opposite for her.
And then the walls holding back the fury burned down. Ilvana yelled a guttural shrieking sound, bull rushing him in an attempt to pin him to the ground and get some grounded answers from him.
[right [pic https://i.pinimg.com/564x/20/d5/ed/20d5edb93aa86a1b079a6cbfda113c01.jpg]] Oliver's mouth was twisted down, pressed hard as if it would keep the scent away from him better. He backed up as she approached him.
She cut their proximity with a pointed finger, the vampire's hands inching towards raising out of habit, noting the focus it took to keep her wavering hand directed at him. Sighing, the side of his hand dismissed it away from him, lowering his hands.
Thos ehands ultimately ended up in his pockets as the woman went about trying to piece together the science behind a vampire. He did have to smirk at that, letting his head tip to the side.
"[+goldenrod I don't do explanations, I'm afraid.]" he said with a smile carefully crafted to hide any fang. It was something you learned, how to curl your lips just so that it wasn't obvious. Smoothed over many situations.
"[+goldenrod And movies,]" he corrected with a nod to her, one hand slipping out of his pocket to gesture, pointing back at her briefly. His smile was gone, but not departed. In his eyes, amusement danced. Oliver had dark eyes, for as light as his hair was. Brown.
"[+goldenrod Beyond that,]" the man said, nodding to the side and stepping closer to the foul-breath, trying to stay clear of it as best he could, but only partially successful. "[+goldenrod How are you so sure of what you saw?]"
No one could hold polite conversation and save themselves from bad breath. That was a part of the pretense of socializing, wasn't it? Intimate closeness. Mercifully for him, however, his subject hadn't thrown up at all tonight. At least not yet. The ugly sweetness of stomach acid and alcohol wasn't something he was keen on experiencing. And the longer he lingered, he knew, the better his chances of experiencing it.
But, as he prepared to depart, Oliver arched his brows to her. How [i did] she know? A smile curled at his lips again, teasing. "[+goldenrod Now, if you'll excuse me...]" He stepped back.
The silver cross itself contained no conscious entity within, it had naught a care whether its wearer lived or had their mortal coil snipped. Even if the cross had a conscious, why would it care if the bearer became a sneaky, late midnight snack for vampires. The vampires would dare not touch it, they dared not risk a slow, corroding torture, even for a millisecond.
Unlike the cross, despite the intoxicated state, Ilvana still was a conscious entity who for the moment desired to leave without a scratch. Maybe [i without a bite] was more case specific, despite the intentional bad pun it would make, but Ilvana still hadn't accepted that these masculine beings were indeed vampires.
Now if this had been a joke there soon would be a punchline, a bloodsucking punchline but a punchline nonetheless following Ilvana's asinine defensive posture.
But the biting, neck tearing punchline never lunged forth, instead it was purposefully misdirected. The cross' whistling incrementally quieted into nothingness as the guys turned their attention in the opposite direction. Ilvana attempted following their gaze, curious as to what brought this distraction. Was that shadowy figure reality or a figment of an alcoholic imagination? Even the words, which steadily flew like a fog over a lake, were hard to understand, both the meaning and their source of origin.
Too late, much too late for sneaking off. Only when the moment of lateness suddenly appeared did Ilvana even think of using this god-sending distraction for sneaking off. Only when she felt the strong and sturdy yet soft embrace of a practiced dancer swinging her off of her feet was their even a minute motion to sneak away.
Now, a curious thing about reality perception and the speed of the intoxicated person. This was an inverse relationship; as the speed of the intoxicated person increases reality seems to slow down, and vice-versa where the speed of an intoxicated person decreases reality seems to slow down. It all had to do with alcohol slowing down a person's reaction due to it being a depressant, the slower something moved the more time one had to react to it with the vice-versa holding true as well.
The run turned into a linear blur, the surrounding environment melding into an orb which slowly changed colours except the darkness of the night, the blackness of a raven the only constant in this change. While the eyes gave a beholding feast to the brain, the rest of the body offered not even a minute complaint. Only did the stomach detect something, a slight motion of its acidic liquid sloshing around but not enough to send the brain a complaint ticket.
And as quickly as she had been picked, no that wouldn't work. Being put back down, at least the perception of it, definitely had to be faster. Not only was her body swung back vertically to firmly stand on her two somewhat unsteady legs, Ilvana found her right arm, the one grasping the silver cross, forced away from both their bodies while completely straightened out. And to top it all of the feeling of an uneven rough surface crumpling her clothes to press against her spinal chord.
Stuck in this awkward position, Ilvana could only helplessly watch as her ex-savior 'saviored' his prey. Her breath haggared, more irregular and spreading the unsavory alcoholic smell faster. Solely because of the intoxication did this guy push her into the tree, causing a small jolt of discomfort from the bark knuckling the spinal chord, and then complaining his food being not up to par.
Ilvana pushed herself away from the tree, the arm holding the cross going down to the tree and using it as a crutch for her unstable stance. Raising her other hand and pointing it at him her slurred voice came out. [+purple "Wait, you do you have some uuhh explaining to do."] This guy had to be like the others, which meant that he also was a vampire. [+purple "Vampires can't physically exist..."] In all this craziness, Ilvana's mind raced down the chemistry knowledge highway, speedily searching for some mental solace. [+purple "Wait"], dropping her pointed hand and then raising it to her aching head, [+purple "skin paleness. Explanation, exists one. Erythropoietic protoporphyria. That, it that causes pale skin with a very severe extreme case of skin being burned alive. So, yeah...."]
For Ilvana it made partial sense, she managed to scientifically explain one of the vampire's identifiers. But the fangs, speed, she couldn't explain that. [+purple "Impossible though, vampires only exist in books...."], more to herself in a mumbled breath. But as she thought about her own words, vampires had existed in various mythologies. But still, those were books on mythology, mythology wasn't science.
[left [pic https://i.pinimg.com/564x/20/d5/ed/20d5edb93aa86a1b079a6cbfda113c01.jpg]] Watching, soon, grew tiresome. Especially as the sluggish pace of a heart inundated with a depressant such as alcohol sped now with fear. Physically speaking, when it did that, it almost became a blush of phantom taste in the mouth, he had found. Likely some hungry anticipatory response, like any food would once have done for him.
The issue here with asserting himself was numbers. He was older than these vampires, but was he quicker? Was he smarter? He certainly liked to think so, but self-image versus actual skill was always was in something of a dissonance, it seemed.
It didn't seem wise. It didn't seem sound. But they seemed to be simply playing with her, and Oliver was out to hunt. That was the plan. They were fooling around with touching her and teasing, and he wanted to eat. He wanted to eat her.
Swallowing, he felt his gaze focus a bit on her and pulled them away, keeping mindful of the others surrounding her. But. Alas. The energy one vampire emitted was almost like a scent. Others noticed. Prey at times noticed, that whole survival instinct deep down hard wired into a creature. And it snapped like static in the air.
Oliver noticed one pair of eyes catching him standing just out of the reach of the sodium light, watching. He nudged another with his elbow, low voices and 'hey, dude-' followed by a gesture.
To outside eyes, namely to anyone in that field with a normal amount of night vision, not a vampire's; he was little more than a tall figure in a long coat with pale hair and glimmering eyes. Like an animal's, simply reflecting the light.
[right [pic https://i.pinimg.com/564x/05/85/93/0585931c287629a8db9137671173f3e0.jpg]] He recognized attention was on him and swallowed, stepping forward once. His throat felt like it was trembling, but it was in that almost nauseous, starved way. He could feel his mouth watering.
His eyes kept flickering back to the redhead, sliding his gaze back over the others.
"[+goldenrod Are you going to just play with her?]" he swept his gaze again; wary. He wanted to see them move before they got too close. "[+goldenrod Or are you going to go pack hunt something else?]"
They started to turn more fully towards him when Oliver realized something. [i He didn't have to win this with brute force.] His thoughts had been all on numbers and fighting and... he really didn't need to. An internal sigh at his brutishness, and as that occurred to him, he felt a rush of adrenaline, of 'eureka'.
And so, in the blink of a human eye, a very inebriated human eye, he was before her and then his weight came against her, sweeping her from her wide stance in the middle of the pack of vampires. Ilvana was seized around the middle with long-fingered hands and strong arms and whisked away somewhere else.
His hold was firm, not painful, but when the line of his body initially came in contact with her the strength behind those undead limbs was hinted at. In the way a cat's claws flex softly into you and then retract when they're perched on your lap, for that moment you can feel just the verge of what could turn into painful, and then it's gone. His hold was arresting for a moment, but he didn't intend on squishing her. Oliver wanted things intact. Wanted her intact.
And suddenly they were somewhere dark, but smelled of grass and trees and breeze. It sang through the canopy over them as a breath huffed out of the chest of the man who had picked her up like she was nothing. And it wasn't like he had flown, no, she recalled the sensation of motion, of a lot of motion of- and it all suddenly occurred to her stomach that it had been jostled a bit, catching up slower like her mind did. She didn't need to know that Oliver let her- forget his sort of mad dash away from the newly dead that included a scramble over a fence. Easy enough mind trick, if taxing.
Oliver's breath hissed, feeling the impending temperature of the silver nearing his skin. Even through his coat he could feel it. Grabbing the arm that she clumsily had that stupid cross in, he pushed it away from him. He placed his hand just below the bend in her elbow so that the arm straightened and she couldn't move it toward him.
The hunger felt like it was tangible now, like it was something reaching out of him. He inhaled softly through his parted lips and teeth, and nose. One of those full breaths, relieved, taking the air. But he was smelling her aliveness so close to him.
"[+goldenrod Goodness you're sauced,]" he breathed on the exhale as eyes, drowning deep, made a pass over her. It was a croon. Soft, teasing, his eyes reached for hers to see how glazed they were. He held her gently against the tree trunk she could feel against her back. He wanted to take a look at what he was eating first. At who.
He caught the scent of a rotten, haggard pant from the woman, the specific tang of tequila on her breath. And it brought with it a very human feeling. Revulsion. That bodily reminder of when you almost died drinking that much, when you are anywhere near that alcohol, or the scent of a food you had that gave you poisoning. A bodily, dry heaving response. Even now.
Oliver pushed her away with a sound of disgust, "[+goldenrod Good god, are you serious? Ugh.]" he pushed his fingers over his mouth, the web of his thumb settling over his mouth, the other on his hip. "[+goldenrod You know what, never mind. I'll find something else.]" Rotten luck. And after he went to all this effort for an easy meal, he supposed it was only fair.
Despite the three week hiatus in swigging down pints of random alcoholic beverages as if they were plastic cups of sodas at parties, Ilvana still could hold in the alcohol in a decent manner. That didn't mean she had 20/20 vision or smooth motions, on the contrary her vision blurred the world into a single suspension of colours while her motions would give any [https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=coppers copper] a clear excuse to book and charge her for public drunkenness. What it did mean, it meant the mind remained intact enough to think clearly in non-stressful situations. Key word being non-stressful, important to keep in mind.
'Twere only a few minutes walk to the nearest interception where Ilvana stumbled to a stop, leaning against a post which held hostage the buttons and signals necessary to cross the street either way without having a car ram into you at 35-40 miles per hour. Leaning against the post at an acute 15 degree angle, Ilvana forced deep in-and-out breaths as she attempted to read the bright, white block letters against the emerald coloured background in an attempt to decode the dancing letters. Her eyes narrowed as she squinted, leaning her forwards and switching between the two street name signs every few seconds.
Five minutes, five long minutes. But they flew by for Ilvana for her attention was fixed on decoding the signs. The five minutes were also the the amount of minutes it took for Ilvana to decode one of the street names; Finlay Street. Knowing the name of one street helped out for though drunk Ilvana still had the map layout memorized in her brain, the name of the intersecting street was Stuart Street.
At this intersection an important decision needed making: Which way to take to go home. Now there were several ways to make her way back to her dorm, each one having a mixture of speed and safety. First choice would be to continue down Stuart Street. Out of the other options, explained later, this was the safest for the whole way she’d be walking under lit streets through one of the safer parts of town. The problem with going down Stuart Street mostly was the distance, it would take a good 40-50 minutes to get back while also providing a good opportunity to flop drunk to the ground. The other two options both concerned Finlay Street. One of them Ilvana automatically excluded since despite being the shortest route it also ran into one of the more unsafe and unsavory parts of tone. She’d take no chances with her being drunk, which left the remaining option. This remaining option first ran through a well lit area before taking a turn into a chain linked fence with a weak, lonely light. Even though the dark was frightening, no one usually hung around there after dark.
Ilvana decided to walk the last option. With no cars barreling down the road, only a few seconds after pressing the crosswalk button Ilvana crossed Stuart Street to proceed along Finlay Street.
Now, even though usually no one hung around the chain linked field, that did not mean that no one ever hung around that field. This is brought up because Ilvana stepping foot on the grass was accosted by several individuals some steps later. The initial comments harmless at most, asking how she was or comments on her beauty, she replied to both comments which made this group of guys seem more interested in her.
If they had peeled away after asking these questions then everything would’ve been fine. But they did not peel away, instead incrementally surrounding her while giving keener looks. Ilvana noticed a few weird sharp looking things in the mouths of those sporting big grins which by itself want frightening. Coupled along with the thought that they weren’t looking where guys usually looked, at the chest or ass, but at her throat was what made all of this uncomfortable.
Even though Ilvana did feel uncomfortable with sharp looking object in the mouths of looking at her throat, real vampires did not exist. They were probably some of those pranksters, each university had their stereotypes and the one Ilvana attended had a few of the stereotypes, that enjoyed scaring people when they were vulnerable and having a good laugh about it after.
Somehow she felt the cold metal of the chain fence pressing into her back and the group of guys surrounding her to her front. Now she felt stressful, she couldn’t think straight. Ilvana pressed into the fence, the metal slightly biting into the skin through the clothes in a useless attempt to increase the distance between her and the group of guys. Her action only seemed to cause more lip licking and more grins which revealed even more sharp objects in the mouth.
Now the silver cross attached to the silver chain on her necklace would be like tits on armor, no practical use. But Ilvana reached for it anyways, pulling it out and muttering a small prayer with closed eyes.
A single footstep, the presence of a shadow falling across as a hand touched hers, probing her cold white skin before slipping down to the bottom part of the cross sticking out from her palm. The hand flew away as a voice cursed and jumped around, bringing out laughter from the rest and the comment, [+green “I told you it was silver you dolt, why’d you have to burn yourself”].
Ilvana stared in confusion. Even if a person had severe allergies with silver, or a cross for that matter, a person would not burn themselves upon touching silver. Instead of burning there would be rashes and hives where the silver had touched the skin. But that one guy had stated [i ‘burn yourself’] and nothing to do with allergies. If these people burned themselves on silver while also having sharp objects in their mouth, no it couldn’t be.
Ilvana gasped hard. She had read the myths and legends surrounding supernatural creatures, never believing of their existence on the planet Earth. But the proof popping up right in front of her completely contradicted her long held and strong beliefs. Supernatural creatures shouldn’t be existing, yet she had witnessed someone being burned by touching a silver cross. How could this be possible? How could mere myths and legends be true all of a sudden.
The stress slowly corroded away at whatever shred of clear thinking remained. Her pulse and blood pressure rose as the heart pumped faster and harder, the continuous thumping playing a symphony in her head. If Ilvana had been sober, her body would have already collapsed into shock because of the heavily mixed signals. But instead of sober she was drunk, and instead of going into shock Ilvana prepared for an impromptu attempt to break out.
To be honest, anyone seeing her would comment at the craziness and laughable attempt. A lone female holding a chain with a cross at the end slowly swinging it through the air with a sharp whistle whilst standing in an unsteady defensive pose. Even the group of guys in front would agree as they were laughing their asses of.
[left [pic https://i.pinimg.com/564x/20/d5/ed/20d5edb93aa86a1b079a6cbfda113c01.jpg]] 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. 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.
And leaving Finlay St, there was the dark expanse of a nighttime schoolyard. One of those yards that had the playground structures huddled next to the building, and the empty, blank grass that seemed to stretch for miles, edged in a chain link fence. It was this long, empty space that Ilvana had to pass through, or around, to get home.
And it was that space that as a young woman walking home, alone, a few of those individuals approached her. Asking where she was going. Saying she looked good, huh? Very good. Agreement. Hungry eyes. Licked lips. But it wasn't the assumed form of coercion that they were after. Their eyes were on her throat, the backs of those eyes reflecting the light. Fangs, young vampires, shown in big grins. Being able to smile without showing fang was something the older ones learned. These ones wore snapbacks, big sweatshirts, and crooked grins. They could see in the dark. Could she? They circled her like so many buzzards.
[right [pic https://i.pinimg.com/564x/05/85/93/0585931c287629a8db9137671173f3e0.jpg]] Oliver Hargreaves was one of the individuals on that street. However, he was one who was standing straight, eyes straight- though wandering around with curiosity, languidly walking with his hands in his pockets. Long, dark coat swishing about his calves, he swept through the grass, semi-long, and looked up as he heard the commotion. He drew closer to the single sodium light on the field.
His pale hair glinted, coming into focus from the edge, one long earring charm on a chain glinting in the light.
The presence of so many made the air thicken, almost. Half of vampiric communication wasn't audible, not palpable. His presence made the air almost cottony with static, like the moments when a thunderstorm cell was hovering, the air cold, but dry, charged. Before everything let loose.
For now he simply watched, looking at the human woman they had cornered.
In one testing tube you had a liquid containing a student of a never quitting caliber when it came to school, the second testing contained a liquid of an important assignment in the form of a term paper which decided whether or not students would advance to begin their PhD's. The first liquid had no appearance of having a volatile state, while the second appeared to fizz and pop and bubble with an evaporating smell.
Let's stop and make a hypothesis here: If one mixes the nonvolatile and volatile liquid together, then the resulting reaction would create a potable and potent yet unstable concoction that quickly evaporates leaving behind a solid residue.
Results in the form of observations:
The term paper, a 20 page long blood sucker, had been issued to Ilvana's class just short of three weeks ago.
Now, the first week there had been no working on the actual paper itself for a lab required to be finished first before any of the writing - or its modern counterpart, typing - could begin. For Ilvana laboratory experiments had the feeling of a second skin. No stumbling, merely flying fast, without errors, from one part to the next.
But the paper itself. She always encountered a grinding, slow uphill fight. The process of mixing grammar, sentences, everything in her lab notebook, various punctuation, proper citations including in-text citations and spelling into a perfect elixir of an essay never came easy to Ilvana; no help came from the fact about the fate of failure waiting to smash the still forming elixir into oblivion.
As the minutes diluted to hours, and to days, a change occurred in Ilvana. It occurred gradually but nevertheless her friends noticed it right away. When one of your friends who's outgoing and happy begins to closet themselves in their room and in a constant state of an information hangover with just a touch of irateness and frustration. Ilvana even quit hanging out with her friends at places they'd almost always hang out with
This change had the same noticeability given to a clear liquid turning into a shade of violet after the addition of an unknown substance.
Conclusion: If one mixes the nonvolatile and volatile liquid together, then the resulting reaction would create a potable and potent yet unstable concoction that quickly evaporates leaving behind a solid residue. Before the beginning of the term paper Ilvana had maintained her friendships without any trouble. However, as time crept forwards Ilvana had slowly distanced herself from her friends until completely stopping attending the hangout sessions and occasionally spitting out irate rants.
A Friday evening, a nice refreshing evening to end another week before the weekends dawned over the horizon. Three weeks had passed since the term paper's assignment, and its due date slowly loomed in one-in-a-half weeks. As it concerned finishing in time, Ilvana's worries were literally zilch. But the quality of it, the worries far outnumbered the entropy of a single cup of water at one degree centigrade.
Inside the dorm she shared with her musical degree inclined roommate, Ilvana sat all alone in the pitch black of the living room. The only light illumination came from the blaring and glaring white screen of her laptop. Curled up on the couch, Ilvana's attention focused on the screen, more specifically the black pixels against the backdrop of white pixels of an open word document.
Two noticeable sounds could be noticed:
The first one would be a quiet, soothing sound of music coming from a Bluetooth speaker whose lone blue light winked every now and again. The music style had the style of classical era of music of the likes of Beethoven or Haydn, the only reason Ilvana knew this was listening to her musically inclined roommate, but with more of an electronic feel to it. It helped create a less stressful atmosphere, complemented with the leaf-brewed green tea whose rising steam could be seen when the blue light winked.
As to the second sound, that concerned the keyboard. Ilvana's fingers made it steadily click and clack like a [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ClAQ6k--jnw Maxim Machine Gun] as the 19th page slowly was mowed down to completion with each firing of the next word. Occasionally there'd be a break in the click-and-clack suppressive fire before there'd be a few short bursts. But sometimes, there'd be a huge break before the fast firing of words like a [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1BPNEFyWeBs minigun] would drown the music before coming to an abrupt halt as the ammunition depleted quickly. Curses flew out with ever increasing anger, followed by frustrated sighs and groans that accompanied the heavy and depressing clack of the backspace being hit, eliminating one character at a time with the fearful precision of a [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rmz717Q2RHQ 50 caliber sniper rifle].
Slamming down on the control key quickly followed by the S key, Ilvana let the computer process the save command before quickly exiting out of the accursed word document. Closing the laptop and setting it aside on the table in front of her, Ilvana closed her eyes and basked in the darkness. Curling up cat-like, she cupped her arms against her chest breathing slowly and deeply. Finally, finally she'd been able to finish the first draft of essay. Over 40,000 characters arranged into over 6000 words space out over to an odd 50 paragraphs on 20 pages, only counting the essay itself and not the 21st [i Works Cited] page and all the links oozing into the 23rd page. As to editing the draft, the editing could bugger off and leave her.
Reaching into the pocket of her blue jeans, Ilvana pulled up her phone as the screen came to life as a warm orange of a sunset. The phone silently unlocked as she touched a yellow with white ghost tiled app, opening her Snapchat. Browsing through various stories, there came a series of her friends. A bitter smile formed itself on her lips seeing her friends having fun at a bar, a time existed where she'd enjoy those sort of moments with them. Wait a minute, what was stopping her now? The essay basically done and tomorrow the weekends, she could get drunk to the point of waking up with a hangover tomorrow and still be fine.
Standing up, Ilvana's face screwed up into a bit of pain as the muscles in the legs complained loudly from the sudden stretching after being in a compressed state for two hours nonstop. Trailing an arm along the wall, Ilvana blindly walked while feeling for the small bump somewhere in the wall indicating the presence of the light switch.
Flipping the switch with a sharp flick of the wrist, the four lightbulbs just as sharply illuminated the room in a dazzling smooth, white color. Ilvana closed her eyes right away, the eyes hurting from such a sudden transition from dark to light. It took a few forceful blinks before the spots disappeared.
Looking herself over, deciding whether what she be wearing could be suitable enough. A blue pair of jeans with no hole, a simple oak brown belt snaking its way through the loops in the jeans, a charcoal black t-shirt with a dark green Celtic snake design on it. The jeans appeared fine, and though the t-shirt be slightly ruffled it was still wearable.
As she meandered over to the entrance/exit, for every entrance there's an exit, of the dorm room, Ilvana gently pressed the right palm of her hand against her left shoulder. The stretch felt present as the left shoulder finally eased its complaints. The arm did complain a little as part of a metallic chain and a silver Celtic cross indented into the back of the right arm through the t-shirt.
Ilvana personally viewed religion as an agnostic, even though her parents were Catholics. But this religious necklace had less of a religious meaning and more of a token of memory for her father had made it himself. The Celtic Cross around her neck over the years had imbued itself with the many excellent family memories.
Picking out a pair of inconspicuous grey sneakers, Ilvana slipped them on, the laces left tied from the previous time she had worn them, over the short, ocean blue socks on her feet. She nodded as she donned a faded, forest green jacket, realizing the floor had felt so smooth had been because of the socks.
After finally slinging her small, taupe black duffel bag over her right shoulder, Ilvana stepped out into the chilly night. Every breath made her feel that more alive as the night air chilled her respiratory system, for so long the only air she had breathed was the stale, stereotypical dorm smell which one made feel dead after spending too long inside. Much time had passed since feeling this free.
Walking into the bar, her friends spotted their illusive toxicologist wannabe friend before she could spot them. They waved their arms around, and the obvious commotion caught Ilvana's attention as she recognized her friends.
Making a beeline to the corner they had occupied, her friends quickly made room for the illusive friend.
The musical degree roommate, Hope, started off the joyful reunion with a quip, [+red "So, how much has the paper contaminated you, you've been somewhat toxic"]. If Hope had been using a serious tone then Ilvana would have ended up feeling insulted, but since it said in that joking and teasing tone everyone broke out chuckling; chuckling and laughing and friends, something she hadn't done in what seemed forever. [+purple "I've been quite contaminated, but don't worry. I don't think I'll be toxic for long, the paper is done and this night and you guys should be the perfect antidote to help cure me."]
The night at the bar went on longer than usual, for Ilvana had curiosity around her friends' doings while locking herself away. Over the pints of stout and ale and a few hours of time, slowly they caught up with each other while getting progressively drunk.
Nearing the closing time of the bar, their small six strong group was the last one to leave. Ilvana stayed behind for a bit, washing her face with icy cold water in the bathroom to wake up from the partial stupor caused by the alcohol before beginning her journey back to the dorms.
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