C L A I R V O Y A N T

[clcirvoycnt-blog]

mindsmade / Ethan Chandler.

             Ethan waits patiently once the door shuts behind him, weight braced against the wall along his back. It’s the only way of making sure no one’s there to stab him in it –––– and even that’s a stretch these days. The walls have proven capable of housing enemies, too. Not so odd, then, that going out and onto the streets ( during daytime ) feels safer than being here. Now that he thinks of it, it’s not much unlike hiding in plain sight, he’d reckon.

             Vanessa’s voice, though not … quite as clear as most women’s, carves clean through the walls once raised enough. He pushes off the wall without delay and makes his return as beckoned to. The door remains open behind him. He hopes it doesn’t come across all strange that he’s paralysed by his own smile at the sight of her.

          ❛  Well, look at you …  ❜  With a certain slowness, Ethan regards her once more, this time from top to toe. He beams in a fashion comparable to a proud husband, he deems, but the idea of that’s only gaining in allure now that he thinks about it. It’s a PREMATURE consideration nonetheless, so he squashes it under his heel, straightens himself and brushes over the front of his vest with the palms of his hands.  ❛  Now that I’m seein’ you like this, I can’t help but feel I’m lookin’ awfully plain in comparison. Think I should go ahead and change as well?  ❜

        Without paying the slightest bit of attention to whatever it was that Ethan was wearing, she responds with the palm of her sarcoline hand placed over the back of his. “Not at all,” her lips freely exclaim. This is not to say that Vanessa has absolutely no preference to whichever garments he chooses to wear; however, wandering eyes along the cobblestone streets of London are less likely to judge a man’s attire than they are a woman’s. While it being an absurd notion that one is to be judged on their wardrobe as opposed to the quality of their character, it is a truthful consequence of the times. 

        And, of course, anyone within earshot of their conversation will likely take a more lenient position knowing that her male counterpart is an American. 

        The light press on his hand transforms to a gentle clasp, enveloping his touch in hers. “Come along, Mister Chandler ––– the city is right before us, and London waits for no one.” Her statement is paired with a coy smile, though in reality they have all of the day with one another. It is only at night when they are subjected to feeling utterly secluded and under siege. 

[clcirvoycnt-blog]

mindsmade | Ethan Chandler.

              ❛  I’ll have to thank Sembene, then,  ❜  he quips, smiling that impish smile of his and unabashedly so, at that. With his hat in hand, he then tips his head forward in response to her acknowledgement of his observation –––––– unusually astute as it was, indeed. He has an eye for detail around ( and for ) the right people. So he’s come to learn ever since meeting the aforementioned ‘right people’ on this side of the Atlantic. They’ve laid bare a whole new side of him and against all odds, he likes it.

                 Ethan nods then, bringing down the visibility of his amusement and slowly steps back toward the door.  ❛  Luncheon? Sounds good to me.  ❜  But then, few things don’t when it includes her. Even the roughest patches of life he’s experienced here were at least easier to bear in her company. He wonders if it’s too much to hope for no interference from the threat they’re constantly under in the coming few hours. It probably is, he reasons soon enough, but they either face that risk or confine themselves to Sir Malcolm’s mansion. That, to him, seems even more dismal.  

              ❛  I’ll be just outside. Take your time.  ❜  With that said, he opens the door, showing his still persisting smile to her one last time, and steps on through. He won’t stray far — just in case Vanessa needs anything in the meantime.

        The click of the door being shut into place reminds her now that she is alone - truly alone - in her chamber. Such noises are resounding in her bleak and barren room. The echos fleetingly travel from corner to corner. It seems silly, CHILDISH even, to have a small fear of looking for what may be trailing her closely. Vanessa has stared down the horrors of the devil himself; her agency was stripped away from her long ago, and yet just the smallest of noises can catch her off her guard. She is not delicate, but she is far from unbreakable. 

        Lithe finger pads go through the ritual of draping soft fabric over even softer skin. The branding on her back presents a rough patch for such delicate movements. Pondering just how her life seems to be destined for endless nightmares and fantasies beyond the imagination of perturbed adults, her mind distracts from the act of dressing. She vaguely recalls the beginning of her entire morning until this very moment, but like a wisp of smoke, it disappears. By the time she realises that her attention has diverged far from the act of dressing, her limbs have done all of the work for her. A few small adjustments in front of the mirror, and Vanessa is seemingly dressed for the occasion. 

        “I am in a state of decency, if you wish to rejoin me,” she teases endearingly. With only a few more moments to compose herself with hair and makeup, they would be ready to depart. 

[sirgawin]

favourite characters: Victor Frankenstein (Penny Dreadful)

You seek to threaten me with death? If you seek to threaten me, threaten me with life.

[clcirvoycnt-blog]

mindsmade / Ethan Chandler.

           He smiles warmly, more so to calm her nerves than to signal to any sense of amusement whatsoever. She’s frayed around the edges ––––– not surprising at all, given the events that led her to her daily predicament. Well, in manner it’s his predicament, too, now. He has his responsibilities toward her, most of all and to him, those include nurturing her sanity amidst all of this … if possible. That’s another question entirely as time drags on, he reckons.

           He offers no words in response to the timeframe of personal horror; it was what it was, and he’d do it all again if the need arose. But today isn’t meant to be centred around that, so he casts his eyes toward her dresses as per her prompt. An eyebrow arches and before long, he does find himself amused –––––– mildly, at least. His smile morphs into its toothy equivalent for just a split second as he gestures toward the gowns.  ❛  No blacks?  ❜

            His face distorts into something attesting to the pleasant surprise that strikes him as, finger loosely pointing at the two items in the meantime. Ethan then steps nearer to take a closer look at the two. He actually takes his time to study the two dresses before at length settling on one and turning her way once more.  ❛  I say go with the blue. It’ll complement your eyes, don’t you think?  ❜

        A slight twinge of her lips reveals a rather coy expression at his jest. No, there were no blacks in her selection of attire; change was in the air. It was absolutely necessary for her to move on with her life. The horrors of possession had painted a rather bleak picture of her life and what lay in store for her. Her entire existence appeared before her in such lucid times between being utterly incapacitated; she cannot recall all of what had happened, but it was enough for there to be a foul taste on her lips. An anathema of sorts –––

        “I am afraid not; all of the darker colours are with Sembene to be washed.” 

        Without being shrouded in black, the sun’s rays are free to glisten and reflect upon her pale skin. Her head bows ever so slightly upon her approach to the dresses and hovers over the royal blue. The detailing of the guipure lace glisters between her fingertips. Being the only one of her family left, such indulgences are enabled. But while her accommodations are commodious, the circumstances are far from the ideal. Still, she does her best to adapt, hence their outing for the day. 

        “Very observant of you, Mister Chandler.” She sighs as her smile slowly grows. 

        “Shall you step out of the room for a moment while I dress? Perhaps then we can finally embark on our outing... Tell me, what do you think of a luncheon? Just the two of us.”

[clcirvoycnt-blog]

mindsmade / Ethan Chandler.

               At first he stands still in the doorway, pinned beneath the archway by the sight of Vanessa ––––– or rather, the state she’s still in. ‘Be ready by ten,’ he’d told her. She’d agreed –– and considering it’s almost a quarter after the aforementioned ten, here Ethan thought he was running late. He harbours no disgruntlement, however. He’s caught unexpectedly by a feeling of endearment instead. Sufficiently so, in fact, to relieve him of his impromptu rigidity and spur him onwards.

                Ethan stops at the end of her bed, resting a hand on the knob at its leftmost post. Finally, then, he reacts with a smile befitting his sympathy.  ❛  Doesn’t it always get the better of people?  ❜  SLEEP, that is ––––––– at least when one can find it. He’s fairly sure he’s not the only one suffering an increasing number of sleepless nights, so at length he shakes his head.  ❛  Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you got some rest.  ❜

                She meets him by the foot of the bed, compelling him to angle his chin down and — for the first time since entering — look her in the eye. His smile persists, now even at a steeper angle than before. Despite the grim circumstances by which they are imprisoned these days, he’d have her smile before the day starts.  ❛  Then you’ve gotten to know me pretty well, Miss Ives.     Can I do anythin’ to help you get ready?  ❜

        She knows it is not characteristic of her to be off schedule; it is even more unusual for her to keep someone she deeply respects waiting. Vanessa Ives, though subjected to many precarious situations, is nothing if not stubbornly attached to her habits. While the rich timbre of his voice soothes her uneasiness, her breath evens to a more calm and acceptable depth. As fingers fold delicately in front of her to keep her idle hands at bay, she considers his query. 

        “I should hope not, Mister Chandler, for the last time you assisted me in dressing myself I was rather undone. However –––” 

        It is a gross understatement of the events that had unfolded in this very house. While some moments remain a mystery, and truth be told she was incapacitated for quite some time, Sir Malcolm had taken the time to tell her the details of her episode. Rethinking such times fills her with shame, but she does not wish for that to spoil her plans. Such things were and are beyond her control; it is a reminder that must be given to her at least once a day. 

        “... ––– Perhaps you can sway my indecisiveness in favour of one of the two dresses for our outing today,” she suggests with a nimble hand faintly indicated the two gowns on hangers. Shockingly, neither of them are black. Evergreen and a deep, royal blue are his choices. She is testing his taste, though he does not know it.      

[clcirvoycnt-blog]

@mindsmade

        “Mister Chandler,” she pauses. There is no need to turn around and meet his gaze. “I fear that I am not as prepared to leave the house as I had initially thought. Sleep, it seems, has gotten the best of me.”

        His scent is FAMILIAR ––– almost part of the house in which she resides. In everything that Vanessa does in this home, there are traces of him and all those who have served as protectors. Her eyes lift from the callouses and faint lines along her fingers only to stop short of the desk in which she has spent eons at, writing letters to her lost loves. It was her just to her dear Mina at first... and as the years pass, the number of recipients grow. 

        With raven hair cascading down the side of her shoulder and breast, the chill of her bath from earlier dampens her robe. Softly at first, but uncomfortable all the same, the cold sets into her very bones. A shiver transgresses her exhale before getting to her feet and turning to meet him at the foot of her bed. 

        “I would offer my sincere apologies, but you are not the sort to demand them of me...”

[gutyou-deactivated20171218]

’ HEAR HIM! DID YOU EVER SEE THE LADS PLAY KNIFE? MACFARLANE WOULD LIKE TO DO THAT ALL OVER MY BODY. ’   / ‘ OH, WE MEDICALS HAVE A BETTER WAY. WHEN WE DISLIKE A DEAD FRIEND OF OURS, WE DISSECT HIM. ’

independent & selective DR. WOLFE MACFARLANE, of robert louis stevenson’s ‘the body snatcher.’   /   est. june 2017.   /   mun and muse 20+.   /   written by kyra.   /   mature themes present.

[art-and-things-of-beauty]

James Ward (1769-1859) - Human skeletons,  graphite, brown ink, brown and gray wash.

[occasionalrpmemes]

RPers, please reblog this if you’re ok with para responses that don’t include dialogue.

        Often it seems like an expectation that dialogue will be exchanged in every para response, but sometimes characters are nonverbal, or don’t have anything to say, or are in a situation that would make talking impractical. If the writer puts enough attention into describing their actions, though, there’s still plenty to respond to even without dialogue.         Non-dialogue responses are not “going nowhere.” Non-dialogue responses are not “filler.” Non-dialogue responses are not non-responses.

[nesuferat-deactivated20190716]

        he’ll burn you down like wax if you let him. you’ll think it’s love, while he dines on your heart. and maybe it will be. but he’s so hungry, he’ll eat you all in one sitting, and you’ll be in his belly, and what will you do then?

[nesuferat-deactivated20190716]

penny dreadful, “ebb tide” gustav klimt, the kiss

[susanivanovas]

true friendship is willfully making someone’s emotional devastation over fictional characters worse

[clcirvoycnt-blog]

me: opens up account and takes a look at vanessa and drafts

also me: i do not kno her

[clcirvoycnt-blog]

lucifer.

          Lucifer notes her words, begins thinking of where first to take her. There were a great many options and so many places she hasn’t been. Rome should be first for he’d love to see how her eyes lit up at the artwork. The opera! And he’d get her a fine gown and wear a matching tie so that all might know that they are two halves of a whole. All will be well. In Rome. It would all be normal once more. 

            His cup is too full. Lost in thought he spills over and has to lift the glass to his lips in order to lick off the excess. After this he turns to face her question. “I simply thought it customary to take one’s-…..Vanessa…..- into town on occasion. As an outing of sorts. Is that not done?” What would he call her? Who is she really? They’d been so intimate upon their first meeting but after that it had all just stopped. He’d stopped. It had been so much so soon and for a being who hadn’t had any sort of affection, physical or otherwise, in millions of years- it was a shock to the system. Getting back into the groove of who they could be was more difficult then he had previously imagined. “If you should like to go alone of course I shall stay behind. Hold down the fort and all that” brandy is handed over. 

              After taking a large swig for himself he slowly starts to feel the room quiet. He lived on far too many planes of existence. At times the nightmares were happening during the day and they never stopped. He had to relive the worst points of his existence over again until something got him out of it. Usually that something was Vanessa. Her dreams woke him up from his nightmares. How funny that he had pushed her towards insanity while she drew him out of his. 

                                  “Going into town, for me, does hold risk- however.” 

        There is risk of exposure, of utter chaos, and the plains of the mortal world unfolding into nothing more than a desert of ash. Yet he claims it to be no more than holding ‘risk’... to which Vanessa looks at him with alarm. They are nothing like the same sorts of couples that roam the pathways about town, or the streets of London. She and he do not hold hands in ways that express joy or simplicity of romance; they are dangerous and were capable of many great and terrible things. Were it not for the delicate nature of their circumstances, she may as well snort at his proposal and cautionary tone. 

        Eyes shut as a proper response is pieced together in their moment of silence. He is trying, she gives him that much. The rim of the glass is enveloped by sipping lips and a slow burn trickles down the back of her throat and spreads throughout her chest. It is a rather generous glass that he has poured her; she makes no point in chastising him for it, however. There is no use in denying her pleasure in enjoying what small mortal vices she has left. Soon, the world will amount to nothing, and her body but a pale shadow of a memory. A highly unconventional reunion, but one that will seal the fate of them all. So, in hindsight, a strong drink or two is really the least of her concerns for the time being. 

        She sees the way his mind begins to wander. Even in the silence, there is a thunderous storm raging on within him. All she can do is try and bring him back to reality... her reality. A hand slithers to meet his, and drags it around to circle her waist. He is real; they are real. 

        “It is you who knows your own strength best. I do not ask for you to accompany me, though if we are to continue, we must be more familiar being around one another.”

[clcirvoycnt-blog]

@lupusdci

        The aftermath of the chaos and ruin caused by Dracula is nothing more than a coward fleeing into the night sky. Vanessa hisses the moment he slips from her grasp ––– how can one possibly grab hold of mist that disappears in the passing of a moment? Her eyes draw to a close and her body paints out the defeat so plainly felt by the rest of her companions. She is grateful for them, all of them, to have come to her rescue. It does not change, however, the sinking feeling of disappointment in herself. 

        In accepting her true nature, Vanessa is forever changed. It is only with the Father of Beasts’ demise that she can find peace in her realm of normalcy. Suddenly, her skin feels too pale, her fangs too sharp, and the self-consciousness devours her entirely. Her body shrinks into itself, but further leans in to Ethan’s figure. He is her protector, always. The rest of her companions give them space... and at long last, they are alone. 

        “I am a monster,” she speaks, barely above a hushed whisper.

[clcirvoycnt-blog]

lucifer.

          Perhaps she could not conjure food on her own but he could. Had he wanted to eat it would have been done. How else had he stayed out here alone for so long? Rumors that this place was haunted kept visitors at bay and that was just how Lucifer wanted it kept. “You come back” he is still quite surprised by this fact “each time you leave you return” there isn’t a question in it. Just a somewhat astonished statement. He forgets the times and the sensibilities that go along with it. Most in this time do not speak their mind as Lucifer does. There is supposed to be glass in front of all conversations and perhaps that’s how he is with others. But not Vanessa. 

       “Would you like to live closer in town? Perhaps go back to London?” He continues to look at her- as he did in the dreams when his gaze had no chance of creating lasting harm as it had once done. Shoulders roll back as wings shift in their cosmic shroud yet still he keeps that part of himself hidden from her gaze. He couldn’t bare to be looked at as she had once looked at him. Lucifer must prove that he is not a monster, spending the better part of his days writing down every wicked thought that comes to mind in a book so as not to act on it. He’s killed and brought back ever herb, flower, and animal in an 100 foot radius around the cabin. 

         It’s making him antsy. Standing up, fingers extending and cracking and curling into his palm, Lucifer takes the brandy from the shelf and pours himself a glass- then holds it out to see if he should pour another. “In a minute- Vanessa- I shall even…… I shall go with you. After a brandy. Or two.” 

        There is a trace of dismay across pale features. She believes that he still does not trust her, not entirely. With every return, the same remark leaves his lips with that painted emotion of surprise and near gratitude. It is deeply disturbing for her to believe that the simplest notions of her accompanying him give way to his sorely lack of attachment to anyone or anything. He misses her, and that is something that she has not known for quite some time. Unless it is out of necessity or obligation, Vanessa does not know many ( or any ) people that truly enjoy her company. She still remains reserved about Sir Malcolm and others that claim to be part of her ‘family.’ 

        “No. London is best suited for another chapter in my life. But you, above all others, know that I wish to see more of the world...” Before it is we who destroy it, she means to add.

        Her glance is now over her shoulder, listening to the cluttering of glass and brandy from across the open space. Perhaps it could break the tension or ease the thickness of the air between them. She ponders for a moment before nodding, silently giving him the approval of the gesture he extends. The notion of him accompanying her is rather risky. London is an entirely different situation, but even the smaller towns can prove to be hostile to any sign of deviance from the norm. She feels tense in her spine, thinking of all the possibilities of how things could go wrong. Once the herbs have been put aside, she crosses the distance between him and her, wrapping both hands around the small serving of liquor. 

        “And you believe that to be wise? Do you think this is my way of abandoning you?” she asks softly. Vanessa does not reach out to him to touch. She simply asks out of curiosity.

[clcirvoycnt-blog]

lucifer.

       Lucifer has spent so long in silence he has very nearly become it. There is slight anxiety where words are concerned. They can mean so very much and so he weighs each one precisely so as not to mean the wrong thing. Vanessa has taught him that. When he allows his tongue to wag with too passionate a tone he scares her off and so he must- pace- himself. “Not at all” how does one do casual? Papers are looked at. Then out the window. Then back to Vanessa. Always he looks confused which hasn’t been his usual facade at all when they’d usually meet. Less sure. It’s an oddity for him. 

       “I quite like witches as I’m sure you know” though the ones he had secured were hateful and awful and he actually liked Vanessa’s Mistress quite a bit better. The good, the stubborn pride, ones who do not bow so easily- if Lucifer hates anything it’s an easy target. He’s much too old for that. “Their methods involve nature which I am also quite fond of- so no, my darling- not at all primitive.” And he can not look at her any longer lest he burst into flame or explode like shattered ice. What an odd reversal for usually it is those that look at him that feel this way. 

          Yet he wagers it has nothing to do with the power she holds and more to do with this fleshy prison he resides in. That was all. Just the borrowed meat suit wanting to connect and it can easily be ignored. How oddly confusing. How strange. It feels like an itch, this desire to reach out, the longer he refrains the more it grows. Yet he understands these things- of course he does- and knows that itches go away after a time.  

        This shy nature he exudes is so different from the confidence he had and the fear he could instil in others. Part of her wishes that it is all a ruse and that his power, and personality, soon return with it. But how could she possibly know his true nature? They have been separated and at odds with each other for so long. So many things have changed since she had banished him back into the shadows. His visit in her dreams was only just the beginning of what was to come. 

        Ah, yes. Lucifer had a fondness for witches, yet they were far more wicked creatures that a mere mortal could imagine. They stalk the dreams and waking lives of so many, that it makes life simply unbearable. Their destruction is both haunting, beautiful, and petrifying. Vanessa is no longer at their mercy. She is the one, now, who holds control of the Father of Lost Souls. His dominion is hers now, and together, once she embraces true power, they rule tarnish this Earth in its entirety. While they are now upon the brink of being forever joined, it is her soul alone that will never forgive him for the slaughtering of Joan Clayton. Despite what he might say about admiration, her life should have been spared. And yet, she was treated as a disposable. 

        Her boots remain on her feet ––– the air in their makeshift home is rather chilly ––– and she crosses over to store away various herbs and hands certain items to dry out. “You have not eaten,” she casually states with her back to him. “Though, that is to be expected. I will need to make a trip into the town for a few extra items. One does not simply conjure food, as I am sure you are aware.” Parts of it, yes. But there is something satisfactory about providing for oneself.