arachnid's vessel

Moira Dupont. 20. Sister of all tiny, eight legged creatures. OC affiliated with Citta Alveare. (Be aware-- there will be many, many mentions of spiders. If this is a concern to you, it is best not to follow. ) ALL character art assets used are drawn by this blog's creator unless stated otherwise.

[dawningvanguard]

Huh. That.. was one pale lookin’ young lady. Normally in a beach setting like this, he’d expect most people yelling or running around the sands.. or even if they were under a parasol they’d still be doing something. She seemed more.. entranced by something. Kind of odd because of how she stood out like that. 

“ The water ain’t goin’ anywhere if you wanna check it out, you know. “

arachnidsvessel​

[arachnidsvessel]

Moira hadn’t noticed the sound of approaching footsteps-- the sand tended to muffle them, and after all, this was her first time in such a setting. She tucked her short, wavy hair behind an ear and gingerly stuck a hand outside the umbrella, the warm sun bathing her delicately pale fingers. 

“Oh, I don’t... think it wise for me to go anywhere near the water,” she murmured, giving a soft smile though her eyes never met his. “Besides, I’m not very used to sunlight this warm. I’ve never been to a place like this before.”

[impalerofblack-blog]

Terror Unseen

[arachnidsvessel]

impalerofblack:

arachnidsvessel

Cruelty existed in many different forms, no matter the time or the place. A human on a diet could find their sibling gorging themselves on sweets and junk food to be cruel. One with a more worldly eye could see the travesties to nature that were exacted by humans and see them as cruel. For Vlad Tepes, the fact that he was a man of and for his people, yet repulse anyone by his very presence, was cruel.

Even as he walked upon the streets, his expression a kind smile, the citizens would scatter from him, as though they had seen a ghoul or a monster. Unfortunately, the man’s very reputation of being a blood-thirsty demon of the night, brought upon by those who slandered his legend, became his very presence; one of great foreboding and ominous terror to a lesser mortal who would look upon him. It was a distressing note of the life he lead as a servant, an existence that embellished upon all those harsh notes in his history, accurate or not. He would never deny that he did monstrous things, but such was war.

His lonesome reverie was broken by a gentle prod upon his leg, causing his gaze to immediately turn to the source. A young woman, carrying what he would assume to be a walking stick passed him by. There was a moment of confusion; could she withstand his presence enough to be able to stand walking past him? All others immediately found a different route once they saw him. Intrigued, he allowed his interest to lead the way to an encounter.

“Are you lost, child?”

Lost...?

Moira often did not realize that she intruded upon others’ personal space when she moved-- she was still highly unaccustomed to busy cities and often struck people on accident with the ornate walking stick she carried. Having been addressed by a male to her right, seemingly concerned for her whereabouts, she swiveled around in her best attempts to face him.

“Oh! Um, I’m not... lost, per say-- simply strolling,” she remarked, her face turned to the direction the voice had come from. 

For some reason, she found herself more embarrassed and reluctant to admit that she had nothing better to do than roam the streets. Features apologetic, Moira did her best to turn her dark, unseeing eyes to the man’s general direction. Oh, how difficult it had been since she had lost contact with her allies.

“I’m sorry. Did I strike you...? It does happen sometimes when I’m not being careful. I apologize.”

[arachnidsvessel]

The city was overwhelming. 

As someone who’d grown up in an incredibly tiny and rural town, Moira had little experience in dealing with such bustling environments, especially being alone. So quickly had she been herded from the place she woke up, and even after having a slight amount of time to adjust to her predicament, moving around had become... well, difficult was a mild way to put it.

Senses lost to her, she struggled to find her way. On this particular evening, she shuffled awkwardly at an intersection, tapping her engraved walking stick against the ground in front of her in attempts to judge the distance between herself and the nearest obstacle. The taps were light and deliberate-- tentative almost, for even cheerful people became afraid sometimes. One, two th-- the tip of the stick connected with something not concrete or metal. It was soft, but still firm. She gave it a few more taps before realizing, far too slowly,  that she had probably been prodding at the leg of someone in front of her. 

“Oh-- oh, I...” She fumbled,  dropping the stick in her immediate shock.

Moira was not used to being so heavily incapacitated, for her powers were so... terribly limited here. Dark, unseeing eyes darted frantically about as the small female dropped to her knees, pale fingers searching the pavement below for the article she had dropped in surprise. All the while, she apologized profusely to whoever it was she had prodded. 

“Oh no, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean anything by that, I didn’t realize you were so close! Not that it’s your fault!”

[arachnidsvessel]

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