生き甲斐,

𝙞𝙣𝙙 . 𝙢𝙪𝙡𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙫𝙩𝙢 𝙤𝙘𝙨 , 𝙙𝙖𝙨𝙝 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 , 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙪𝙡𝙚𝙨

[ancientplot]

enterlilith‌:

   At  long  last,  Carmilla  has  no  choice  but  to  regard  the  old  twat  from  behind  her  sweeping  thick  lashes,  lifting  a  very  pale  scowl  from  the  pages,  long-suffering;  a  timeless  teller  of  one’s  capacity  to  deal  with  sheer  bullshit.  This  jaded  eye  contact  is  sustained  for  several  seconds,  then  half  a  minute,  dead  serious,  meant  to  generate  total  discomfort,  displacement.  Laid-back  as  usual,  she  picks  a  piece  of  something  from  the  gap  between  thighs,  positions  it  in  concordance  to  the  inner  spine  of  the  book  and  sets  her  reading  down  with  fondness,  sepia  pages  flush  against  the  wood.  Languid  like  she  carries  worse  weights  than  Atlas,  Carmilla  passes  an  arm  around  the  back  of  the  chair  to  use  it  as  support  for  the  elbow  while  she  casts  the  most  disdainful  glances  at  her  young  colleagues  in  the  back,  watching  the  scene  unfold  behind  the  dark  counter  like  mad  dogs.  Her  free  thumb  points  to  the  Tzimisce  as  she  addresses  these  someones  like  it  is  insurmountable  effort.      “ Y’all  shitting  your  damn  pants  over  mental  ‘ nasal  diablerie ’  geezer  here?  For  fuck’s  sake. ”      She  reprimands  all  world-weary  in  her  drawl,  shifting  to  informal  dialect  with  impressive  competence  and  propriety  against  the  husky  diction  displayed  before.  As  onerous-looking  as  the  first  time  around,  Carmilla  revolves  to  face  the  oldster  again,  except  her  elbow  stays  put,  now  comfortable  against  the  wood  rest.      “ Listen,  Tommy  Wiseau  of  the  Carpathians.  Dust  ye  olde  cogs  and  allow  yourself  the  pleasure  of  rationalizing  for  more  than  half  a  second. ”      She  engages  into  the  conversation,  her  smoky  voice  humming  like  the  longest  artificial  sigh  ever  produced.      “ It  has  been  20  years  since  Venice.  I  have  wandered  around  the  world  freely,  as  you  so  kindly  put  it,  for  20  years  now.  Blissfully  far  away  from  every  single  one  of  you  at  all  times.  Does  it  look  like  I  was  intending  to  change  that?  Do  I  look  like  I  am  planning  to  snatch  your  precious  little  snack  away  from  you? ”      Apathetic  at  best,  though  her  intonation  and  elocution  are  nothing  if  not  theatrical  in  the  purest  state  of  it.  The  Brujah  reaches  for  something  idle,  empty-looking,  atop  the  table;  a  small  and  slim  carton  without  label,  shiny  silver  like  painter’s  tape,  a  cold  vessel  with  a  simple  straw  pierced  through  the  would-be  lid.  She  mouths  the  open  end  of  the  straw  and  slurps  loud  with  full  intent  to  do  so,  until  the  last  ounces  of  the  dark  content  colored  the  whitish  plastic.      “ I  should  be  honored  but  instead  I  am  baffled  that  you  bothered  to  travel  overseas  to  assert  your  territory  to  a  teenage-looking  girl.  How  very  male  of  you. ”

              If previously there was any sign of good manners, things just turned darker.

—  “ Do  I  look  like  I  am  planning  to  snatch  your  precious  little  snack  away  from  you? ”

Snack... Snack... Snack... Snack...

— You . . . — Vlaha’s appearance starts twitching on its own. — What  did  you  just  call  Ester ? — Vlaha’s eyes, then, turn purple, showing their changeling heritage again, but in stronger shades. — WHAT  DID  YOU  JUST  CALL  ESTER?

              The table suddenly collapse at the open-hand thud of Vlaha’s hands. Now fully transformed into their zulo form due to anger, the Maeghar Tzimisce moves swiftly to one-inch of distance from Carmilla, grabbing her by the neck with both hands. The rest of the anarchs in the room make even more silence than before, this is the perfect enviroment for whatever creature that feeds on fear. Reading Carmilla’s mind once again, a furious Vlaha speaks once again.

—  I  don’t  care  who  taught  you  about  our  world,  I  don’t  care  how  many  abusive  pseudo-sires  you  had,  I  don’t  care about  your  moral  compass ! Talk  about  my  wife  as  if  she  is  food  once  again  and  I  will  make  sure  to  feed  you  LITERALLY  with  every  LAURA  you  fall  in  love  with !

              Suddenly, Vlaha lets Carmilla go. Their face is of a scared rabbit. It is obvious they just entered frenzy, possibly the only thing in the world that could drawn their beast back after reaching nearly-impossible levels on the Via Humanitas. Shame is visible in Vlaha.

—  I . . .  Am  so  sorry . . .   —  They know they just sounded like Carmilla’s previous bosses.  —  No . . .  I  don’t  think  of  you  as  a  threat . . .   I  came  here  to  know  you  better  and  offer  you  what  no  other  pseudo-sire  or  even  the  anarchs  can’t.  Home.  Family.  Protection.  I’m . . .  So  sorry . . .  I’ll  understand  if  you  just  decide  to  run  away  again . I  would . . . 

              Vlaha’s eyes suddenly produces real tears. They know they may have just screwed up the chance of protecting someone in need and to get a valuable ally. The Maeghar just stands up and get out of the bar. They don’t leave immediately. They stare at the sky from outside the bar and contemplate the fact they have been taken by the beast once again after more than a hundred years.

[ancientplot]

for about 10 years, noah had a corgi named nikko. after his bar was burnt down he was so devastated that he disappeared from the city, leaving nikko with his former employee larz. after some time, larz gave nikko to madeline haugen, a fellow malkavian from noah’s former cotterie. nikko has been happy ever since and, of course, resents his former owner noah. a curiosity, though, every malkavian with the discipline animalism will hear the actor christopher lambert as nikko’s voice, while other clans (and mages with mind sphere) will hear his voice as if spoken by gary oldman.

[ancientplot]

vlaha's older sister, cassandra, spent almost 800 years trapped in a freehold linked to their home (now, vlaha's fortress) where she avoided being killed by vlaha's diseased sire. she didn't get out of it until she was sure the cainite presence she was sensing (which unknowingly for her was an amnesiac turned-cainite vlaha themself) disappeared from the fortress. this, however, preserved her appearance, changeling heritage and age, but not her sanity, which slowly decent into a void of emotion. vlaha and cassandra only reunited almost 30 years after she escaped, after vlaha was remembered of her sister's existence by spirit of their past.

[ancientplot]

enterlilith‌:

   Carmilla  looks  far  less  than  impressed,  less  than  impacted,  pale  stare  as  immobile  as  before,  dead  set  into  the  monotonous  reading.  The  inked  flyaways  of  her  hair  display  more  compliance  to  the  rules  of  physics  conforming  to  the  forceful  disturbance  in  the  air  around  them,  sucked  by  the  vacuum  created  by  those  hurled  burly  bodies;  Carmilla,  however,  remains  the  same  lax  and  unmoved  in  the  repose  of  her  cheap  chair.      “ Oh,  dear.  All  of  a  sudden,  I  feel  the  emotion-ridden  urge  to  share  every  single  detail  of  my  very  cursed  unlife  with  you.  Where  should  I  begin?  By  my  insecurities?  The  existentialist  dread?  Perhaps  with  a  good  sob  story  about  my  relationship  with  my  Sire? ”      The  Brujah  answers  too  dull,  every  intonation  an  intentional  effort  to  convey  the  depths  of  her  personal  boredom  and  disdain  for  that  sort  of  ridiculous  approach.  Unreal  from  senselessness,  beneath  anyone’s  faculties,  let  alone  hers.      “ Let  us  all  set  our  facts  straight,  regardless…  You  do  realize  that  by  the  time  Baudelaire  was  born  I  was  well  into  my  second  century,  do  you  not? ”      The  crowning  act  of  her  bit,  Carmilla  lifts  her  feet  clad  in  boots  above  the  horizon  of  the  table,  setting  them  atop  the  board  with  an  emphatic  thud.  Then,  she  crosses  ankles  for  good  measure,  neat.

                 If Vlaha wasn’t really that old, they would probably have lost composure in their face expressions and burst into laughter. Carmilla amuses them. In fact, if someone would share the same kind of sense of humour, that person would be themself.

—  Well , well , well ! Look  at  that !  Someone  really  held  a  grudge  over  Baudelaire  for  all  these  centuries ! How  does  it  feel  knowing  a  simple  human , way  younger  than  you , could  really  write  and  express  himself  in  a  way  you  could  only  dream  of ? How  does  it  feel  to  have  to  dress  up  like  a  poser  punk  to  impress  people  when  all  Baudelaire  had  to  do  is  write ?  —  Vlaha was enjoying themself. Being mean only feels fun for them when they do it with someone who is exactly like them.

                Vlaha stops the mockery for a moment and quickly analyses everything Carmilla said in her previous defiance.

—  Sure , right , let  me , then , share  details  of  my  existence .  I  am  a  being  who  can  easily  be  mocked  by  that  really  badly  written  “vampire”  book  called  Twilight , as  I  am ,  in  fact , a  vampire  who  was  kind  of  a  fairy . I  don’t  glow  under  the  sunlight , though , I  would  turn  into  dust  just  like  you , but  obviously  you  would  still  leave  your  bones  behind , while  I  am  old  enough  to  simply  become  all  dust . Maybe  you  even  have  some  friends  who  would  love  to  sniff  me  like  cocaine .  Would  that  be  considered  nasal  diablerie , I wonder ?  —  Vlaha starts making less sense, but using all they can to sound way less intimidating and rude, even smirking friendly for time to time. Their social skills surely deteriorated with time.

                Anyhow, all Vlaha said was true, even the cocaine-inspired diablerie question. They might have spent some (or too much) time dealing with the Malkavian fellow from their old cotterie with their adopted childe, Fiamma Bentivegna. Regardless, they restarted their line of thought.

—  The  fact  is . Since  your  former  boss  threatened  my  little  mage , I wouldn’t  let  you  just  wander  around  the  world  freely , without  checking  upon  you . And  if  you  mean  any  harm  to  her , to  me  or  to  any  and every  thing  we  protect , I  would  not  hesitate  in  killing  you , I  bet  you  understand  the  protective  feeling , don’t  you?  —  Vlaha suddenly hints having read part of Carmilla’s mind with their advanced Auspex skills.  —  So  here  I  am  .  And  there  you  are .  I  can  offer  you  some  choices ,  but  first  I want  to  hear  from  the  boutique  goth  herself . What  is  that  which  you  are  looking  for ? Or  better , running  away  from ?

[ancientplot]

enterlilith‌:

   From  behind  the  brown  hardcover  of  her  old  book  to  the  tip  of  the  worn  boots  lounging  lazy  by  the  ankle  atop  one  of  the  many  cheap  tables  in  the  establishment,  Carmilla  is  a  name  for  foul  mood,  dark  pout  of  lips,  brooding  in  the  corner  like  the  interrupted  adolescent,  restrained  from  maturing,  that  she  is.      This  drab  attitude,  this  baby-sized  leather  jacket  and  the  ink-like  wayward  flyaways  springing  from  her  idle  ponytail,  these  details  build  around  the  Brujah  like  her  own  pale  aura  but  to  the  naked  eye,  the  very  image  of  sullen  exhaustion.  Despite  the  languid  symptoms  of  her  own  internal  conflicts  and  mental  sloppiness,  Carmilla  bats  her  eyelashes  only  once  to  identify  and  label  the  newcomer  that  stepped  into  the  watering  hole.  The  Czech  Tzimisce.      Sculptural  face,  saintly  eastern  features,  old  manners  from  an  old  country.      The  consort  of  the  Jewish  mage,  the  one  whose  bucolic  imagery  blends  so  well  into  what  she  recalls  of  Laura,  particularly  when  she  least  desires  to  see  it.  Carmilla  lifts  half  a  dead  look  to  regard  them  for  fleeting  seconds,  detached,  then  she  lowers  it  again  to  keep  her  dainty  nose  stuck  into  the  aged  pages  of  her  reading.      “ Heiliger  Strohsack, ”      Lackluster,  brutal  sarcasm  drips  from  the  curves  of  her  small  mouth,  like  apathy  taking  upon  itself  to  utter  something  that  is  supposed  to  ring  like  the  announcement  of  an  epiphany.      “ Cunning  fellow,  aren’t  we?  Unparalleled  observation  skills,  indeed. ”      Unconcerned,  this  is  spoken,  drawled  smoky  as  usual.  Without  twitches  of  tendons  and  muscles,  Carmilla  flips  the  page  taking  advantage  of  a  lethargic  movement.

              Not really known for face expressions, Vlaha just walks to Carmilla’s table, grabbing a chair and sitting on it with its back to their chest. —  Cute , but  cut  the  crap , Baudelaire  wannabe .

              Vlaha wasn’t kidding anymore, also sending into flight against the walls three anarchs, who went angrily in their direction when noticing their change in tone of voice.  

—  You  know  why  I  am  here , boutique  goth-ish  punk . Running  away , I  presume ,  but  why  here ? Why  them ? I  know  your  former  boss  was  a  massive  ass  of  a  hag ,  but  you  seemed  desperate  to  keep  yourself  under  her  nasty  spider  claws.  So , open  up  and  cut  the  bullshit . 

              Vlaha’s changeling-reminiscent eyes glow in a rather terrifying shade of purple, while they rest their chin in their hands.

              The anarchs on the walls are finally let go, running away from the scene, while the rest of the anarch bunch on the bar simply stayed put. No one was eager to take Carmilla’s side anymore into this shit.

[ancientplot]

               It has been a while now that Vlaha is keeping in touch with anarch groups around the world, due to their long time friendship with the corax Chloe Stevens - an anarch, in the pure sense of the word, herself. As protector of a node, alongside their wife, Ester, Vlaha needs all allies they can have to keep it away from the likes of the Sabbat, the Camarilla, the Technocracy, Pentex and others. They don't care if the anarchs they are dealing with are humans, ghouls, mages, cainites or fera, their only cause is the protection of the node. It was in a night of June or July, Vlaha wasn't really paying attention to time, when their Corax friend sent them word that an old frenemy of theirs joined the anarch ranks.

—  Oh ,  so  she  finally  managed  to  run  away  from  the  old  albino  hag . —  They thought to themself.

              Knowing this had the potential to ruin all efforts from Vlaha's personal reasons as well as the anarchs goals, Vlaha decided to leave their fortress in search of said frenemy, warning Ester this could be a week-long journey or so. Now, they just arrived in Seattle, USA, after days travelling by night. They know where to look at. Chloe sent a very detailed description of where this specific anarch cell does business. A backalley bar, no less.

—  Well ,  here  I  am . And  here  you  are .  —   Said Vlaha. Carmilla has finally been spotted.

Recipient: @enterlilith