Game of Thrones Daily
No title available
No title available
KIROKAZE
No title available
Fai_Ryy
★
tannertan36
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Noah Kahan
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
🪼
Love Begins
Claire Keane
almost home
Kiana Khansmith
untitled
Cosimo Galluzzi
seen from Italy
seen from Germany
seen from Türkiye
seen from Germany
seen from Russia
seen from Chile
seen from Belarus
seen from Malaysia
seen from Indonesia
seen from Germany
seen from Italy
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from Mexico
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from United States
@chaney-farren-blog
“Whoa, hey! I’m just trying to help.”
“Back off,” Chaney snarls as she wipes the blood trickling down her chin with the back of her hand. She feels like a newborn, unable to quell this hunger in her to something manageable. It’s too late for her victim, stored away in a dumpster in the alley behind her. And she doesn’t need the help the man offers. The blood isn’t hers.
Thunder Only Happens...
Chaney’s avoidance of the question is understandable— no monster would ever want another person to know their strengths and weaknesses. Truthfully, Demetrius wouldn’t give out his own species to a stranger; the only person that knew was Danny, but that was a revealing situation they endured.
There wasn’t a definite way he could figure her out. While Chaney had the posture of a vampire, looks were deceiving, and she could easily be a wolf. It was a fifty-fifty chance, not that it mattered either way.
“Ah, no. I’m not interested in being turned.” He answered simply, hands waving off the idea. Demetrius had no desire to even tamper with the unstable combination of demonic and vampire or werewolf blood. There was a possibility that he’d be kicked out of his host, or perhaps undergo some irreversible transformation.
“But back to the matter at hand, you fall under either category, and that’s all I need I suppose.” He started, following up quickly before she got the wrong idea. “There’s been some hunters running amok and they’ve been causing a few problems.”
Dem doesn’t continue to press on what she is, what kind of monster her maker has made of her. And if there should be gratitude in that, there’s also curiosity. Most beings wouldn’t just let that go. They’d see the threat, understand how real their own mortality is. They’d be afraid. Perhaps his understanding is simple. Maybe he’d been raised in the world of the occult and supernatural. He could be a witch and her eyes scan him for metallic trinkets meant to ward of spirit and protect their host. Or he could’ve been raised in a family of hunters.
He mentions them even, the hunters. Surprise isn’t anything that springs to life in her chest. Fear keeps at bay as well. Chaney doesn’t know if she’s even capable of fright anymore. But with so many monsters running about this town, hunters aren’t so uncommon. It’d be a fun training grounds for them. And she isn’t afraid of being caught in the crosshairs, not when she’s accustomed to playing with her food before she eats it.
“Hunters always do,” she replies coolly, but she senses Dem tells her because he wants her to do something about the rapid growth of hunters in the sleepy little town, “What kind of problems?”
“I’ve killed? The word doesn’t bother me? Please don’t… Well, make generalizations like this about me. I’d rather you asked with the intention of… getting to know me rather than as an attack.”
“You’re the one bothered by the word ‘hunt’.” Chaney laughs cruelly. “You’re sweet,” she states as the chuckling dies down, “Change that before you get yourself killed. You’re a monster now. You hunt, you kill, you eat.”
“A war?”
“Sounds kinda pointless, doesn’t it? Aren’t there enough people who wanna get rid of us as it is?”
“You cannot lock every monster in a cage and expect them all to play nice. When you return to that prison, all you’ll find is blood.”
Thunder Only Happens...
“You flatter me.” He joked, hand on his heart and tone airy. “Well, let’s narrow it down.” He started, feet pacing while his fingers were pulled down after every wrong assumption. “I don’t think you’re a witch— I don’t think they can grant themselves that much stamina.” He walked a few more steps, head jerking at her for dramatic flair.
“Those cannibals have no ability to leap that high, and sirens have no hope to do anything of that sort.” With two fingers left, he smiled at the woman, head cocked as if he had the entire world in his hand. “You’re either a vampire or a werewolf.”
Shrugging, his eyes scanned for a piece of jewelry— wondering which, if any, were the item that granted the woman the power to exist in sunlight. “So, would you please enlighten me with the correct answer, Chaney?”
The young man gives his list, the blonde nodding along with every deduction he makes. It’s all logical. She isn’t a witch; she’s just threatened many for the trinkets on her fingers and around her neck. She enjoy the taste of mankind but not like the creatures he speaks of, and no one would ever call her alluring like a siren, unless she planted that idea in their mind for them. The smirk stays on her lips but there is a soft crinkling of her nose at the mention of a werewolf. She’s much more graceful than those mutts.
But he still wants an answer, and she’d never spell out the truth for him. But he’s well versed in the supernatural creatures ruling his world. Maybe he’s one of them but she can sense a handful of she doesn’t catch the horrid scent of a wolf.
“Are you hoping I’d turn you?” she asks simply, steering away from the answer of yes or no, never giving the correct response to his question. But there’s a mischievous glint in the boy’s eye that suggests he’s already aware of what she is. It matters less when they’re truly all the same. Just monsters.
It’s pointless to think she couldn’t go far, because none of them really could. Including him, for all the years and the violence he carried on his shoulders. There’s still something smug in the curve of his lips when Chaney comes storming back in, that bond between them pulling tight once again until she’s back at his side. It’s always been that way, likely always will be, until one of them tries to sever it completely. “Or else what?” he asks with a smile. “Ya gonna beat ‘em out of me?”
“I’d prefer it,” Chaney admits honestly, because there’s nothing she’d like more than to beat Alistair senseless until he’s unrecognizable and she can watch his face slowly heal until he resembles her maker, the man who abandoned her. “But I’ll be kind and ask nicely first.” But her tone suggest she won’t be nice, and that’s she never been truly kind. The customer won’t miss him, and her lithe fingers curls nimbly around his wrist as she tugs him off into the backroom. There’s little effort in the movement. She knows he’ll follow her. He’d be too amused not to. She doesn’t bother to flick the switch of the lights, because she can still see him in the darkness. “I asked you why you didn’t leave and you told me it would answer itself. And if you tell me now you can’t leave, this is going to be a long night until I get the fucking truth from you,” she demands, a following thought that maybe she’ll drag a chair from the pub back here and see just how long he’ll allow her to press small shards of wood under his nails or beat his face bloody until he breaks free.
“Assumptions and generalizations based off… off what? It’s a bit… I don’t see the correlation here, to be honest. To take this one view of mine and apply it other things?”
“You don’t like the word ‘hunt’,” Chaney muses with a smirk, arms crossed over her chest but it couldn’t hide her smug demeanor, “Because it’s ‘vulgar’. The word ‘kill’ must really bother you then. Do you not kill your prey?”
“Guessing you want out?”
“If we can’t leave, what the hell are we supposed to do?” He’s not the only rugaru– she’s not the only vampire, and the population is only so big.
“Not yet,” she tells the kid, “Still have work to do.” But the boy brings up a good point. If none of them can leave, what will happen? She’s collided with a mutt. And now there’s a rugaru. There’s probably more of all of them lurking in this town. Chaney shrugs nonchalantly. “Then we’ll have a war.”
Alistair didn’t give her any answers when she had asked. Of course, she shouldn’t have expected anything from him at all. But one question, he had said, would answer itself. Perhaps now it had, thanks to another citizen. Chaney storms into the pub, fury on her heels that might blacken the wood floor with fire. She doesn’t care about where her place is in the bar, she ducks under the counter gingerly to be beside Alistair as he serves a lonely patron. “You’re going to give me answers,” she hisses lowly, “And you’re going to give me them now.”
“Not a bad ass, admittedly.” Another biter. He almost wants to roll his eyes—but he reminds himself again that one less wolf means one less Guarneri wolf. Besides; better to be on the good side of a vampire than the business end of her teeth. “Might’ve picked a different color, but…that’s just my admittedly uneducated opinion.”
Chaney smirks despite the presence of a wolf. Another one. That’s too many for her liking, but she doesn’t view them as a threat. Especially when she’s with a lone pup. Still, there’s little desire to start a fight. She’s disinterested. “Black is always classier than neon orange,” she confesses in her dry tone before taking a long drag on her smoke, the white mist rising past her grin as she chuckles to herself, “But hey, probably means she’s easy. You could broaden your thong horizons.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t generalize what everyone does. It never quite matches up, don’t you think?”
“Oh. Well, thank you.”
Chaney scoffs out a laugh. The girl is sweet, nothing a vampire should be in her own opinion. “Are you going to say you don’t kill either?”
“Not like it’s for sure, or anything.”
“Do you think it is?”
“Not everyone who is here wants to stay here. There should be a mass exodus of this hell hole.”
“Yeah, I saw it too. Awkward.”
People watching has become a pastime for Chaney now. But, god, how she hates it. She blows the plume of white smoke from between her lips, tapping ashes from the cigarette between her fingers as she stares at the drunk girl kneeling on the sidewalk, face smashed against the concrete and skirt doing little to help cover up her assets. “Yeah well, at least she wore a nice thong.”
Thunder Only Happens...
“Ouch, hit me where it hurts, why don’t you?” He mused, taking the hint and deciding his pranks would need to be beyond something so trivial. She released him, and landing with the practiced grace he was known for, he massaged his host’s throat before moving a bit closer to her. He wants to ask her what she is, but the answer is so obvious it’s practically tattooed on her forehead. He figures it wouldn’t hurt.
“So, Chaney, what are you?” He flashed those pearly whites, grin smug as if he just landed the juiciest knowledge. The demon paced, needing to do something with his limbs as he teased her. “I have a few guesses, but I’d prefer to hear it from the source.”
There was something about seeing the sun leave Mistmoore. Night began to creep over the world, and the minimal nightlife of the town wandered out in their drinking attire.
He’s annoying, perhaps. But entertaining. And if Chaney enjoys the feeling of warm, thick blood coating the inside of her throat, she’s a survivalist. She feeds when she needs to, because the rumor mill in this small town is probably constantly whirling, which would mean little if Alistair hadn’t decided to set up shop here. That gives her something to protect, because she thinks that’s the purpose to her life. She’s an extra body to throw in the way of anyone who tries to take him out. If she kills the target, so much the better. If they kill her, at least she served her purpose. She’s under no false pretenses that her use to Alistair is anything beyond a human shield.
Perhaps the irony is he doesn’t need one.
Turning to face the boy, Chaney crosses her arms over her chest, a smirk balancing carefully on her lips. She doesn’t doubt he has his assumptions, and perhaps one of them is right. She’s met enough creatures in this town to suspect Dem’s met a few others like her.
“And miss out on your guesses?” she questions with little inflection in her tone beside her usual blunt boredom and sarcasm. “Oh no. I want to hear this.”
“Maybe for you, right? We all hunt in different ways. But duly noted…I never did like the word hunt. It’s so… vulgar. But good words are so difficult to find nowadays.” She cocks her head to the side in a childish that clearly reflects that age. “I am. You can tell? How old are you, can I ask? May I, I mean. I’ve met such a strange mix of ages; it’s so… interesting.”
“What do you call what we do? Stalking? Torture?” Chaney smirks. The girls is right. Methods of hunting could be different, but their outcome is always the same. And she even finds some strange amusement in the woman’s disdain for the word ‘hunt’. It might be the blonde’s favorite word in the dictionary. “I was born in 1837. You do the math.”
“Probably nothing.”
“Some rumors have just been going around– about why everybody feels like leaving here’s so hard to get around to. Why?”
“You don’t think that’s weird? No one’s leaving?”
“Oh. Yeah. Not into stale meat.”
“Wasn’t sure if you meant the weird shit that’s been going around with people having issues leaving.”
She might return to ignore the presence of another if he hadn’t offered curious information. Her brow might soften but there’s never any kindness in her eyes as she turns to face the young kid, taking a few steps as though he’s imparting a secret upon her. “What do you mean?”
