the dhampir @clemxjohnson - Tumblr Blog

“Creatures such as these stand on a borderline, one foot in the mundane and the other in the supernatural. An abomination to some and a miracle to others, dhampirs have yet to find a home in any of the two worlds they inhabit, cursed to feel like the other, regardless of who or what they’ve surrounded themselves with. This lot can code-switch as much as they’d like, but they’ll never fit in. Not entirely.”

#{ something in the orange ;; muse }#mu:intro #graphic by nutoriousaesthetics

midnightunderground-npcs:

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The thought of a chance at anything hidden inside the Devlin mansion makes his skin tingle. Strange collectables have always been exciting, though a thrift store doesn’t lend itself as well to the really valuable things. Still, there are places to sell them, to bigger names and shops that are willing to pay more than what they paid. It’s all a part of the second hand business. Clementine could really set them up with something good with all that stuff inside a very big house. He wondered how many rooms just had something unknown and priceless hidden in them. Bonnie would lose her mind with excitement.

When she shakes his hand, Beauregard offers that gentle little smile again. Her hands are soft, the kind that haven’t ever really had to do a lot of pain and hard work, which is good. Not everyone deserves the scars and callouses he has.

“Okay so Legally Clementine Johnson. Is that your full name?” Beau teases, setting the box down so he can talk to her better without something between them. “It’s a good one. Unique. But who would I be to judge on that? I don’t think people have been named Beauregard and Bonnibel since the 1800s.”

“As far as the scary? I think it’s mostly because most people don’t really know what Dhampir can do. I know I sure don’t. You’re rare, unique. That’s not a bad thing though. Lots of the stuff in here is and people love it.”

~

Was she really making a friend so easily? Joking and laughing with a complete stranger; it felt foreign. But, Connor would be proud at least. It was his idea for her to put herself out there and make some new friends. He wanted her to find herself, and part of that was moving forward from the girl she had been before. That included expanded her Circle of friends from the ones she curated in High School.

“I like your names, for the record. But, you know, as unique as that would be, I’m fine with going by Clem,” She insists, “But, I was adopted. I didn’t grow up with the Devlin name, and I haven’t decided if I’ll be laying my claim on that part of my identity yet.” In a strange way, it would feel like a betrayal to the family that raised her. Even if they weren’t perfect, she still felt some sort of loyalty to them.”

Dahmpirs were their own kind of mystery to most. She was not so powerful as a Vampire, but was also not nearly as fragile either. It was an odd mix of things that didn’t make sense and, for all intents and purposes, shouldn’t exist successfully in the world. Some people wouldn’t believe her state unless they met one like her.

“Well, if you run into anyone else saying I’m scary, let them believe it. A little bit of intimidation is healthy, right? You can never be too careful.” She plays it off like a joke, though a part of her is serious about it, too. She was a danger if people believed that. No one needed to know she was a soft hearted pushover. That would be a recipe for disaster.

#{ i'm still on that tightrope ;; threads }#{ beau a. ;; 001 }

midnightunderground-npcs:

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Beauregard smiles as she blushes, feeling himself get a little lighter. It’s always nice to be regarded warmly, especially after the life he’s spent being thought of as nothing more than trailer trash, so when the pretty girl turns pink at his compliment he can’t help but feel a little proud. Boulder City has been good for both him and his sister. Bonnibel likes the quiet and he likes feeling like someone who matters.

“No judgement? Pretty weird to find in this world, don’t you think?” And he’s always been honest to a fault so when he says it, he means it. This world is anything but honest. It’s anything but kind. He’s had to do a lot to make sure him and his sister stay safe and happy and healthy. Enough to eat. A place to sleep. Necessities and comfort. And now that they have it, he isn’t keen on letting it go.

Still, the smile stays because if nothing else the girl seems nice. She easily confirms his suspicions. “I thought maybe. There’s a lot of buzz about that going on. I heard you threw one hell of a party. I have to say, I don’t mind taking things from the Devlin Estate and I’m sure my sister is going to lose her mind at the idea of these kind of old finds.”

Beau pauses and shakes his head. “Oh I didn’t even introduce myself, did I. Beauregard Abbott, owner of this find place. My sister is Bonnibel but she’s in the back working on sorting through some stuff. Crowd doesn’t really sit right with her. We’re nothing special, just two people who know a little bit too much, so we try to keep our heads down. And you’re Clementine Devlin. I figured I wouldn’t hold you up on all of that. It’s nice to meet the rumors in the flesh. You’re not half so scary as some people are saying.”

~

“Very weird,” She agrees, “I’ve been on the receiving end of enough of it, I like to try and break the cycle where I can.” Her entire world view was built around the scrutiny of others in her life. It was the one thing she was trying to shake herself free from, and yet it felt as if it followed her everywhere. Judgement on her species that she had been conditioned to pass on to herself despite the fact that she had been working so hard to unlearn all of that.

Clementine does her best to absorb the emotional blow that hits her at the mention of her party. One she would rather forget if she’s honest, but that’s not a story she wants to disclose to a perfect stranger, even if he is aware of who she is and what she is. It’s far from a point of pride. “I’m sure there will be plenty more where this comes from, honestly. Good to know I have a go to shop to bring stuff to now.”

So they are Aware. That’s something. And, for all intents and purposes, he seems friendly and charming. Harmless, really. She takes his outstretched hand and shakes it herself, heart skipping a beat at the sound of Devlin paired with her name. It’s nothing she can quite pinpoint emotionally, but it stirs a reaction in her all the same.

“It’s nice to meet you. My friends call me Clem, if you’d rather. And, uh, it’s Johnson. Clementine Johnson. At least from a legal standpoint.” Unless she decided to change that, though it seemed easier not to in some regard. “Although, I have to admit, I’m curious who thinks I’m scary. Anyone who’s ever known me would know that’s so ridiculous it’s comical.” She could barely hurt a fly. Perhaps it just came with the Devlin reputation, but she wasn’t sure how to cope with that just yet.

#{ i'm still on that tightrope ;; threads }#{ beau a. ;; 001 }

camkiskadden:

That - looked familiar. Cam blinked, taking the paper Clementine slid his way. Poisoned by turncoats. He glanced up, at that, then squinted back down at all the spidery cursive unwinding across the pages she was prepared to share with him. Straightening up, Cam dug his glasses out of his coat pocket, focused. Frowning, as he read. Too bad; he’d almost hoped this might make less sense. That it’d be easier to decide that Moira’s last, unexpected words to him had been the bitter, wild accusations of a vampire at the end of her unraveling immortal rope. Instead of the awfully real warning they seemed to be.

He’d almost hoped. But… whatever their differences, Cam couldn’t say he’d ever doubted Moira before. Not when it came to what the Underground meant to her. Their safety. Their future. Be nice if she was here, herself, to fight for it. They’d all lost a goddamn champion. And Clementine had lost a hell of a lot more.

Refolding the letter, he sat back, sliding his glasses up and off as Clem spoke, so softly, and apologized. Again. The frown had sanded right off his brow, that worry stripped down to a worn-out smile. “You haven’t wasted anything, Clementine. I do understand. Enough, at least.” Being left a legacy, with all its debts and secrets - yeah, he’d hazard he understood a little of this. Not everything. But, yeah. Enough. “I’m sorry, too. For your mother. For how much things have changed on you, so fast. Far as I can see, you’re bearing up with grace.” A kind that’d make Moira proud, he’d think. To himself, though. Because - it was hard to gauge what the mother she’d never known, and her pride, meant to Clementine.

Which was about as simple a question as what, exactly, Clementine could do, what either of them could, with… this. “I did have a thought,” Cam began, carefully. “Just, a way we might be able to learn more about what your mother was trying to tell the both of us. But, before we get to that,” he folded those glasses away and loose-laced his hands together, scarred and scuffed from the forge, the fighting. “Think it’s clear enough that whatever Moira’s unfinished business might be, this is the kind of story that unravels all the hell over the second you start pulling threads. If you’d rather take some time to find your feet, here, in the Underground, before getting tangled up in a thing like that - I wouldn’t blame you. Not at all.” He was watching her, but with sincerity, rather than scrutiny. “I’ll be digging into things, anyhow. As far as I’m able. And if you want to stay out of that, for now, then… you’ll hear as much as you want to, from me. Until you’re ready to decide what your part in this’ll look like.” Or until the Underground took that choice from her, too. At least he could try and let her have it. For now.

~

Cam, for all intents and purposes, was much nicer than Clem gave him credit for. She never thought of him as someone in line with the likes of Damian Harker, but she also knew him to be stoic and secretive. That, on top of the fact that his family was well known to hunt her kind, made any conversation she held with him automatically twice as intimidating as it was meant to be.

But, then Cam would go on about how much grace she had surrounding this entire situation, or offer that Dad like smile that was well worn and didn’t meet his eyes anymore, no matter how genuine it was, and she wondered how anyone could ever be intimidated by such a man? It made sense to her why Connor insisted that Clem could trust him. Had she not believed it, she would have kept the letter close to her chest, especially with the knowledge of the Original Debt laid out so plainly on the page.

“You might be giving me too much credit, Cam. Grace and poise are easy to feign when you can fall apart behind closed doors. I’m trying my best, but I don’t think I’ll ever live up to being a Devlin.” And, there was the ever present question of: Did she even want to? There was a weight that was carried in a name like Devlin, and not a friendly one at that. One that possessed a lot more power and fortitude than Clementine was convinced she could ever have.

It’s surprising that Cam takes her up on the offer. Because, well, she’s not exactly the kind of person that runs head first into adventure. She’s not brave like Connor, wise like Lilith, or scrappy like Chloe. She’s... just Clementine. Which was fine in a lot of ways, but for digging into secrets hidden by her estranged mother in the Underground? Well, she didn’t know if it was obligation or ease of access that had Cam legitimately offering to let her into the fold of all of this. “I’d like to be as involved as I can if that’s alright with you. I get the feeling some of what you’re looking for will give me answers to the questions I have for myself as well. Besides, I know my status or whatever might change, but I have been in the Underground since I was a kid. Being a pivotal member will be the real challenge.”

#{ i'm still on that tightrope ;; threads }#{ cam k. ;; 002 }

midnightunderground-npcs:

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Beau tilted his head as he looked a little harder at her. Lots of people came through here, Unaware and more, so he did his best to access the situation before he said anything that might sound inherently suspicious. But the way she carried herself he knew she was something a bit bigger than either him or Bonnie were. Well not Bonnie, no. No one was bigger than Bonnibel.

No bite marks on her body so she was likely born or really good with makeup. The box was overflowing with heavy things so werewolf wouldn’t be too bad a call she just…well she didn’t quite look like a wolf. They weren’t so delicate in demeanor.

So he does what he does best and he smiles, soft and kind, gentle and honest. He picks the first thing off the stack and whistles. “What estate did you raid to get finds like this? I’m not half as good at dating as my sister is but they’re old enough to mean something. And you went and brought them here. I appreciate it.”

There’s something familiar in her eyes that he can’t quiet place the way he wants to. He looks a little harder at the face shapes as they start to morph into the late Orator. Ah, Moira Devlin. The Daughter of the Devil. His interest is immediately peaked though more so for the valuable art in front of him than the pile of old clothes and antiques.

“Yeah, I mean, we buy all kinds of stuff. The known and the lesser known, if you catch my drift. I think you do, at least. Either that or I’m looking like an idiot in front of a pretty girl again.”

~

Clementine laughs off his comment, tucking the loose hair around her face back behind her ears in a halfhearted effort to break eye contact over the compliment. It was stupid to be so flattered, but something about the way he delivered the line, the way it seemed to just roll of his tongue without pause or effort, made it that much more charming in the way it sunk into her skin, leaving a blush behind.

It’s only after the initial words seep in that Clem clocks exactly what he’s saying. Clearly, like much of her life, she had managed to stumble into another faction of their weird little world without intention. At least this seemed to be friendly.

“No, I know what you’re saying,” Clem insists, pulling down another frame from off the pile, as he inspects the one he initially pulled free, “It’s pretty hard to look like an idiot in front of me, anyway. I try not to be the judgemental type if I can help it.”

She taps gently on the top of one of the frames, “To answer your other question, the Devlin estate. Don’t worry, nothing is stolen or anything.” It wasn’t exactly a decent secret anymore just who Clementine was. Not after the Times put her party on blast. Plus, with the impending will reading coming up somewhere between the other pockets of chaos the Underground was facing, it wasn’t going to be a secret for much longer.

#{ i'm still on that tightrope ;; threads }#{ beau a. ;; 001 }

theoptia

Susan Sontag, from As Consciousness is Harnessed to Flesh: Journals and Notebooks, 1964-1980; February 17th, 1970

Text ID: I’m chasing myself (I have been for years).

#{ something in the orange ;; muse }

bastian-of-peace:

Admittedly, he didn’t know Clem well. For a long while, he only knew her as Emmett’s little sister, one that he stated was his reason for wishing to become a hunter in the first place. It was a noble reason, though after knowing Clem for as long as he has, it was a fruitless one. The dhampir was incredibly capable, even more so than her brother in certain ways. Though he wondered if she knew that about herself sometimes.

“Exactly! As long as the kids enjoy it, it’s going its job.” It was a little crazier than normal at the diner though. Maybe if things got too out of hand, he would put on an apron himself and help out. It’s been a long time since he’s done shifts there, but he was sure it still worked the same given his uncle’s preference for tradition.

Bash laughed a little and nodded. “Yeah I should’ve known it was Kel. I could see the familiar stitch work.” He had enough sweaters from him from over the years as proof. “There’s a few good ones that I like. Susan looks like she’s trying to cheat again, but I’ll give the poor kid a different prize so he’s not too disappointed for being disqualified.”

~

Emmett’s one saving grace in recent years had been introducing Bash into Clem’s life. She loved her brother dearly, but he had a bit of a Hero’s complex, and not in the way Connor did— there was not nearly as much genuine heart in his reasons. He wanted to feel powerful. That was all he ever wanted in life, and becoming part of the Hunters was just a way for him to do that.

Clem was adorned in her own holiday getup, though Bash’s still seemed to be the most festive if only by the life still behind his eyes. Clem felt like she was going to find a way to live in the walk in freezer at this point if only so she could hide out for as long as possible. Of course, Kel wouldn’t stand for that, but hell if she wouldn’t want to try.

“It’s incredible how fast they put it together, honestly. That on top of theirs and Noa’s, I’m not sure the last time Kel’s slept,” Clem jokes scanning the restaurant for them, only interrupting the scan to pick Susan and her kid out of the crowd. “You’d think she’d give up cheating on a kid’s gingerbread house contest after the first year, but here she is again.”

#{ i'm still on that tightrope ;; threads }#{ bash h. ;; 001 }

magic-by-nora:

Born, not made. Dhampirs were rare among the Underground and to think that she had gone to high school with one. The strongest wizard in the area and one of the rarest beings in the world and they both went to the same school. She really shouldn’t be surprised, but if anyone had told her that the kind, bubbly girl in school survived on blood, she wouldn’t have believed them.

“Yeah, it’s probably not as interesting as the rumors that flew around.” Nora couldn’t lie, it was nice to hear that someone cared about her disappearance. She always assumed that no one would have even thought about her after she quit and yet Clem did.

“It’s really good to see you too. And that you seem to be doing well. You are doing well right?” Would she tell her even if she wasn’t? They weren’t that close, even back then, but Nora felt she had to ask. No, Leti needed to ask.

~

It was strange to talk to someone from High School again. At least, not in the way she was used to talking with Jo and Noa. The two of them had remained her friends for years prior and years after. Nora had fallen out of touch, and disappeared from Clementine’s radar in due time only to suddenly reappear as a Wizard at a casual friend’s Bachelorette Party for a shotgun... shotmagic wedding.

“Oh, I never listened to those. People were a little too imaginative.” Between jail time and moving out of the country, Clem figured speculation was the least useful thing that they could do. Besides, Clementine was all too aware of a secret. Digging into someone’s seemed wrong.

Frankly, she was as good as she could be seeing as she was the secret child of the dead Orator, and still grappling with being such a solid member of the Night Circle on top of everything else. “I’m not too bad, I’ve been doing well. Jo and I live together, and are as inseparable as ever. I don’t have much to complain about at this point.”

#{ i'm still on that tightrope ;; threads }#{ nora l. ;; 001 }

midnightunderground-npcs:

Beauregard Abbott has never had it easy. Neither him or his twin sister Bonnibel have. Born in Pahrump to parents that didn’t want them, a father who ended up in prison, a mother who was so high or drunk she never paid attention to them. He was always smaller than most of the other kids in school and by virtue of that, by virtue of being easy pickings, he was the one being pushed down onto the ground with ripped up knees and bloody noses. Bonnie had always done her best to take care of him and she got good at chasing away the monsters and men who put her hands on her brother.

But he got bigger and he got more handsome and soon those dangerous hands from classmates shifted into curious giggles. And now he uses that to his advantage more than anything else. After escaping their small town, and exchanging it for a better one, they’ve found success out in Boulder City. Antique and thrift shops are incredibly popular and they’ve found a curious little collection of things. Beau’s always liked collecting and there are so many curious things.

The bell over the door of Light in the Attic Thrifts rings that pretty tune and he turns towards the sound. A young looking girl comes in but when your eyes are wide open, it’s easier to tell when someone is a little bit more than human.

“Hey welcome in,” Beau says with a charming grins, setting the box he’s sorting through on the counter. People bring in lots of things and not all of them are worth much. He’s more than willing to sort out the donations when he knows what people need. Growing up asking for things makes it an easier job, truthfully. “Did you need help with anything today? Or looking for something specific?”

They’ve got their more expensive finds, the antiques, at the front register near where him and Bonnie typically sit. She doesn’t like the socialization aspect of their business half as much as he does, but he loves her for it all the time. His sister has saved his life more than once. It doesn’t hurt him to save her from the agonizing experience of customer service. She’s probably dealing with their stock in the basement anyhow.

“We’ve got all sorts of odds and ends,” he laughs.

@clemxjohnson

~

It had been a few days since Clementine had been home by herself, a constant stream of music and podcasts playing in the background nearly all the time in an effort to fill the hollow, lonely void the house seemed to carry in it with no Jo present. Clem had taken to many cleaning tasks to try and siphon away the ever growing pit in her chest every passing moment she rounded the corner to another empty room, ending the night on the couch with crook of her shoulder empty where Jo would have once curled up to talk about their days.

Clem knows she could go back to Connor’s house. He’d welcome her with open arms and a place to sleep with no questions. But, she didn’t want to. As much as she loved Connor and all her friends, she fell into old habits around them. She was the very martyr Jo accused her of being around all of them, unable to separate herself from the person she saw looking back at her in the mirror. By falling into that safety net, she was only digging herself deeper into the grave she had created as a teenage beauty queen with a people pleaser complex.

Instead, she’d throw herself into reinventing her self perception, starting with her new home. Which included cleaning out clothes she’d never wear and artwork that made her skin crawl.

Light in the Attic had always been in Clementine’s radar. It wasn’t a shop she frequented, but she knew of it and heard the name passed amongst the Underground. It made the most sense to her to bring her things there. Lugging the awkwardly packed box through the front door, Clementine catches the sound of a voice across the way, and offers a smile over the stack in her arms.

“I’m actually hoping to get rid of some stuff today. Well, I mean, ideally I’ll be getting rid of some stuff. I’ve come into a bit of an inheritance, and I just... do not need all of this stuff.” She sets the box down, placing a steadying hand on top of the pile. “I’d heard of your shop, and was hoping that some stuff would interest you.”

#{ i'm still on that tightrope ;; threads }#{ beau a. ;; 001 }

camkiskadden:

Even if it hadn’t been owned by one of the oldest vampires around, one of the oldest vampires he’d ever heard of, beyond stories that hardly sounded true - the Devlin Mansion still wouldn’t be a place Cam could entirely make sense of. It’d struck him, years ago, in the midst of one of Moira’s parties - the kind he’d never have imagined being at, growing up on the lot, being who and what he was. Or who and what he’d figured he was, then. But, he’d wondered, whispering to the Talbot on his arm. The hell is all this house for, anyway? Besides whoever was dusting the damn chandeliers, Moira seemed to be the only living (or unliving, to split hairs) resident. So many closed rooms, so many echoing halls. Kenny’s smile had curled into a smirk, those crow’s feet crinkling all the deeper. And he’d shrugged. Lady like that, bet even her ghosts brought baggage. There’d been ghosts, of course; and in his time, at Moira’s own request, Cam had seen them out. As gently as possible.

Fourteen years gone by, he felt damn sure there’d be more of them. The mansion was just that sort of place.

He’d just hope Clementine was seeing herself in gently. What a house, what a story, what a name, to inherit. And here he was, passing that neat scroll across the utterly spotless kitchen table - over place settings and coffee cups too bright and warm to have ever come out of Moira’s coolly elegant cabinets - throwing what felt like gasoline on the flash-fire that’d eaten up life as Clem knew it. Devlin’s letter had been unsettling enough for him to read. For Clementine? He couldn’t begin to guess. But he wouldn’t keep it from her, either. Not when those were her mother’s words, her mother’s accusations against the world Clem was fast revealing herself to, and her mother’s dire warnings for the future they all shared. Clementine Devlin should know. In case Moira’s past came around to haunt her. Well - when.

“Take your time,” Cam insisted, softly, before sitting back, shifting that slung arm. The letter was in her hands, now. To keep, if she wanted; he’d made his copies, for Lili, for safekeeping. The original, with Moira’s wavering cursive cut into the paper - as sleek and expensive as all her things - could be Clementine’s. With how little she seemed to know of her mother, even a shred like this might have meaning to it. “If you wind up wondering anything, I’ll try to answer. If I can.” If.

@clemxjohnson

~

Settling into a mansion from a friendly, homey apartment was... a challenge. Clementine had grown up in nice neighborhoods going to nice schools, but there was something some entirely different from that and living in the Devlin mansion. It’s halls tall, dark, and oozing with the macabre oddities that only Moira Devlin could curate, Clementine often wondered if she was living in a home or the antique parlor at the start of a scary movie.

Now that Jo and Clem were further settled, Clementine had been working on bringing her own touch to the home, pastel coffee mugs indented with white polka dots, and flowers adorning the freshly dusted kitchen table, dark and wooden. It felt like a visual reminder of how disconnected Clem was from the world she was destined to be a part of in many ways. Especially as she sat across the table from Cam, tendrils of the warmth off their drinks billowing past the brim of each mug as she read over the letter. She felt out of place. Like, maybe, he was meant to be sitting across from Moira right now, and she was nothing but a sad consolation prize.

But to let the mask of calm confidence in her choices slip would be a mistake.

Connor insisted she could trust Cameron, and according to this letter, Moira felt the same. But softness was as good as weakness in a place like this, and Cam would recognize that. So, she stoically reads over the letter, clearing her throat as she passes it back across the table towards him, and pulls her notebook towards her.

“I, um— well, I may have wasted your time in coming here, Cam, I’m sorry.” Pulling forth her own letter, creases fluid from her constant rereads of the letter in the dead of night as she tried to anchor herself to the feeling of love and closeness it provided. Gingerly, she pushes it towards Cam. “This is the letter she sent me. She told me she had been poisoned by turncoats.”

“I would have told you what was in it sooner, but there’s... sensitive information in there, and Connor says I can trust you, but you’ll understand if I’m wary of who I share this bit of information with for the time being.” She glances at her hands then, a small flash of guilt burning hot through her body at that statement. “I’m sorry to hear about your family. If there’s anything that helps you in that letter or anything around here you think could help you, know I’ll do what I can.”

#{ i'm still on that tightrope ;; threads }#{ cam k. ;; 002 }

midnightunderground-npcs:

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Marcia listens gently, nodding her head as Clementine speaks, stroking back the hairs that have flown out of her styling. It’s a story she feels like she’s heard a million times over. Josefina had never known when to tell someone to stop. Perhaps that was her fault in the end - a failure as a mother. The woman Liza had nearly killed her.

“Well then it was a mistake. On all accounts. You didn’t think you two would be able to make it through the rest of your lives without an argument?” she laughs without malice. “A silly thought. Everyone fights. Boris and I fought often and loud. Jose and I quietly and hidden. Fighting, arguments, they’re part of relationships. The question is how do you move forward. What step do you take? Or do you run because it is too hard? I won’t judge if it’s the last you choose, you know. Running sometimes shows strength. I wish I’d had it.”

In the end there, Jose and her had fought more often than they didn’t. Their relationship was never filled with love. They used each other like pawns, like thralls would use each other. Greedy. Prideful. And what had they made together?

Marcia is growing tired though, exhausted from keeping herself corporeal for so long. “Think about what I’ve said yes? And this is your home now, I apologize for haunting it. You can stop by and say hello. I’ll be here. Perhaps forever more.”

~

“I... was hopeful.” They had gotten plenty far in life without a real serious one. Without one like this. She knew there was a chance that the day would come where they could have some big, blowout fight, but Clementine never imagined it would feel so irreparable.

Clementine sniffles, staring at the door to the room. It would be so easy to forgive and forget, adn to run back down the hallway and apologize. But, there was still something holding her back from doing so. Fear? Anger? She couldn’t place it, but there was just some voice telling her that it wasn’t right to do it now. That this wasn’t the time. Maybe she was wrong, and that was just the same voice in her head that told her she was bad and wrong, but it was the voice that seemed to be speaking the loudest this evening.

“I don’t mind you being here,” Clementine’s quick to say, eyes darting from the door back onto Marcia, “It’s my home now, but it was just as much your home then.” The deed would be in her name, she’d be responsible for it now, but Moira... her Mother saw fit to give enough of it to Marcia that she felt that was the place she wanted her soul to be, and that meant something special. “And, Marcia, thank you. I’m glad to see you again.”

#{ i'm still on that tightrope ;; threads }#{ marcia c. ;; 001 }

hunttokel:

Every year. every fucking year. Sharon and Little Goddamn Timmy come every year and it’s somehow always worse than the last. But it’s okay! It only takes a little bit of prep… and a two minute break every hour on the good years. The walk-in freezer is a sanctuary for kitchen breakdowns year-round, but never more than the gingerbread jamboree. Only a couple minutes in the cold with either screaming or crying and a little snack is all it takes to find their inner peace again. Be zen.

It’s after the first of those breaks that Kel opens the door to find Clem holding a clump of frosted hair. They smile wanly at her and shrug, “Honestly, first come first serve. Trying to organize in this madness is madness itself and none of us have the energy to spare. I don’t know if you were here a few years ago when we tried - the things that actually happened didn’t line up with the rotation so we ditched halfway through.”

The grimace fades quickly with the cool of the freezer still lingering and they gesture at her hair. “You want help with that, or do you want me to cover your tables for a bit? There’s some cleaner rags that came back from laundry that haven’t been dunked in sanitizer yet for the prep area that should get most of it!”

-

“I can’t imagine a rotation ever working, I can’t blame you for ditching it.” How was anyone supposed to know when they were going to get frosting squirted in their hair? Clementine sure didn’t see that one coming. That, on top of unruly parents, she had almost stumbled her way into the walk in to scream into the frozen peas three times already.

Holding her hair up to inspect the damage, she lets out some exasperated sigh. “Can you help? I think I made it worse, and it’s already starting to get all dry and crusty. Shoulder length hair is not the vibe I’m going for this holiday season, especially if I have to give myself the haircut back here with kitchen shears.” That would be the icing on top of the cake... pun intended.

“What if, instead of a Gingerbread House competition next year,” Clem muses as she goes on the hunt for those clean rags Kel had spoken of, “We have quiet corner time, where we make everyone sit in silence for four hours. Naps optional.”

#{ i'm still on that tightrope ;; threads }#{ kel t. ;; 001 }

lilieths:

『 ☢ 』

She’d been in this mansion a few times, never allowed behind the velvet rope but coming close enough. The first time had been twenty years ago, a rare moment of eclecticism in that sea of melancholy and gloom she’d been floating in since her husband left. It’d been Moira’s forty-seventh— six hundred and forty seventh. Artemis, she’d gotten so drunk that night, woke up in one of the upstairs bathrooms and tripped over herself trying to sneak out. Lili had locked eyes with the vampire, raising a hand in the air before the woman could even think to speak and begged for mercy, ‘please don’t ask…I’m out of your hair as soon as I walk through the door.’

That they repeated the same exchange a few times over the years, was never anybody’s business. But Lilith has to wonder if there’s still that dent on the fifth step from when she’d tripped that handsy kelpie.

It hadn’t changed much since then, if she was being honest with herself, but at the same time it had? In the same way her own home had, forever altered by the loss of an otherwise perennial fixture. Moira Devlin had walked down these halls for years and then she hadn’t. Abernathy Talbot had slept beside her for thirty years and then he hadn’t. And she, well, all those years spent in the family estate and then that was lost to her.

Tonight wasn’t for any of that though, they’d be celebrating a plethora of things— before the world potentially went to shit, of course, but…Lilith was ever the optimist.

Pulling away from Clementine, she takes in the image before her; the end of the night isn’t certain but she knows she’s proud of this little dhampir and all she’s decided to do.

“Nope, I don’t wanna hear a single thank you…listen, you could ask me to party with you on Mt. Vesuvius and I would, no questions asked, and just look at you! This dress is gorgeous, you’re gorgeous and you and this stuffed bat match, which, insane.” She may have done a bit much as far as gifts went, but a love language is a love language. “Everyone being supportive is good though, yeah…that surreal feeling might stick around, but it shouldn’t be too bad?”

~

“Come on, you think I’m capable of not showing you appreciation for being here?” It was not in Clementine’s nature to be anything less than the hostess, kind hearted, well mannered little lady she had been trained to be.

All traits that very well could become a detriment to her.

She may have looked it, but she was no fool. Clem was aware she was soft, kind, and easy to take advantage of. Anyone who knew of her could be quick to label her as spineless or even fearful, and those were things that would not serve her well when she came out as a Devlin for everyone else to speculate on as well.

Clem knew she would need to learn to be much stronger and more assertive. Hell, maybe even a little colder than she was now if she was going to survive. Everyone always told her there were people who would look after her and protect her. But this was still the Midnight Underground. There would come a day where no one would be able to take care of issues for her. She’d need to be able to take care of it herself, and she was determined to be able to do just that.

But, that’s not tonight. Tonight, she’ll be Clementine Johnson. Not Devlin.

“It’s perfect, it’s like you knew! Did you recruit Chloe or something,” Clem teases, holding the bat up to her side against the red and black tinged dress that was just as over the top as she felt.

“Well, we’ll see how the will reading goes. And, everything that comes after that. This... is kind of a soft launch, and is being done among friends. The surreal feeling after everyone knows might be a different breed. But, it’s okay, I’m expecting it. It was my decision, I know what I’m signing up for. I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t think I was ready.”

#{ i'm still on that tightrope ;; threads }#{ lilith g. ;; 001 }

connortalbot:

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Of course he did. Of course. He gives you these favors and then holds it over you. I know it’s a debt. I get it. I was born and raised in this debt system and I got my first one at fifteen, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t the shittiest fucking thing in the world sometimes. Especially with people like him around. Do you have anymore?” Connor asks softly. If he’s going to help protect her, he wants to make sure he understands the beginning and end of it. “Once you get rid of the ones you have, try and stay away. Once the Moira Devlin’s Long Lost Daughter thing comes out in earnest, you’ll have people trying to cash in things they don’t own. Make sure Carmen gives you a list of specifics. Or Esme.”

He worries what will happen when it all comes out. The idea is good, the execution certainly befitting of the Underground, but part of him worries what people will do once they know. Everyone in this town is a soul sucking monster and he doesn’t want her involved in that. Not if he can help her keep her head above water anyhow.

“Sometimes it’s about balancing evils. If you don’t want to vote for him, we’ll see what we can do. Maybe offering him something eventually. But right now, it’s not important. How about we focus on getting you through this work shift, yeah?”

~

The thought had crossed her mind already, long before Connor had even thought of it. She knew what that would look like, the debts Moira owed would now be hers to repay, but vice versa. Those on top of her own. It was a list she most certainly needed to get, and one she had every intention to ask for. But, like most people the Original Debt was one of the only things on her mind when speaking to Carmen the first time. She had kept decent track of her own debts at least. “I have a couple of small ones. Made between friends like Noa or Jo, though.” Safe debts, as she liked to think of them.

The good news is being a Devlin was one of the first things that really made Clem standout in the Underground. Sure, being a Dhampir helped, but it was nothing in comparison to being a Devlin. Especially when, as a Dhampir, she didn’t have much to offer with an improper diet anyway.

Glancing back at Connor, she blinks a couple of times, bringing herself back to reality; the here and now. She nods then, knowing he’s right. There’s no solving this here and now, what really matters is making sure she doesn’t get fired by Kel in a fit of rage of the cheater at table seven. Stupid Susan. “Yeah, no, you’re right. I should probably get back to rounds before they disqualify you for helping.”

#{ i'm still on that tightrope ;; threads }#{ connor t. ;; 002 }

feral-ballad

Trista Mateer, from Aphrodite Made Me Do It

[Text ID: “You have to let something / go. You carry too much in your heart. / There’s no room for anything else.”]

#{ something in the orange ;; muse }

midnightunderground-npcs:

◇ ◆ ◇

Marcia’s relationship with her daughter was complicated at the best of times. Hostile at the worst. She had agreed, bended at her husbands will, to use their daughter like a pawn in the game known as the Midnight Underground. Regret lingers at the edges of her less than corporeal form.

A week before she died, Josefina had stormed into her room, hot temper flaring, demanding to know why her mother hadn’t had Moira cut the thrall bond. Marcia had been too scared to tell her the truth then. What would happen if her and Clementine followed down the same steps of their mothers? And now? They were stumbling into them blind instead of being led. Her heart aches as she remembers the last words her daughter ever spoke to her.

When you die, I won’t come to your funeral.

Not that there had been much of a funeral to attend. Jose made sure of that. Even Boris hadn’t been allowed to see her one last time.

“Ah, she does not wish to see me I don’t think,” Marcia tries to laugh it off. “We’re not very happy with each other at the moment. When were we ever though, hm? You liked me best. And Noa liked Boris best, I’m sure. As for this home, well, your mother and I were very much in love. And I suppose that love tethered me here. Now tell me what you are doing here instead of enjoying your very fancy party.”

~

Clem had been there, the day that Jo had gotten the news her Mother passed. She had sat up on the phone in a three way call with Jo and Noa, listening as Jo cried herself to sleep. And, a part of her wants to tell Marcia all of this. But, it’s not her place. Not right now, at least. Now, she’s alienated herself from Jo at the very least, possibly Noa, too, because Guide forbid she make her friend pick a side in all of this. It was a mess they had created, Noa shouldn’t be suffering the consequences.

And, as much as she wants to argue, Jo did get her stubbornness from somewhere. It was a losing battle, and likely a waste of time. She knew what specters were, but she didn’t know how long they could stay visible.

“I mean... you were basically my third parent.” More like her only parent. Without Marica, Guide and Cicerone were the only ones who would know where she would have ended up in life. She sniffles again, propping herself up a bit more. “If we had known you were here, we would have asked first, I swear.”

But her mood is quick to fall as she launches into an explanation she’d rather not give. “I’m finally drinking human blood,” Something she was sure Marcia would be proud of, “And... I bit Jo. With permission, but I went overboard, I think. And... I panicked. And said horrible things. I... I don’t know if she could ever forgive me for it. I’m scared that I’ve ruined everything.”

#{ i'm still on that tightrope ;; threads }#{ marcia c. ;; 001 }

connortalbot:

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“He made you owe him for placing you somewhere when your mother did that?” Connor is appalled at the idea. Damian Harker is a known monster among the supernatural creatures of the Midnight Underground, but to hear he was so blatantly causing problems without much cause was another thing. The man had always claimed wanting to work with their kind, but this news proves to him that it wasn’t the true intention. “Artemis above that man is un-fucking-believable. Like I need anymore reason to want to kick his teeth in.”

It’s unfortunate that it isn’t that surprising. Connor’s family had never trusted the Mortalis Circle’s candidate. Though after Cam had left and his family had been found dead, they never really trusted anyone outside of their own circle - outside of their own pack. It has Bash that had helped him mostly. Toby needed a safe space. He had to have it. He deserved it after a stray bite had ruined his life.

“And he hasn’t collected yet?” he drums his fingers against the table, gingerbread long forgotten. “Fingers crossed he’s just looking to cash in at the election. It feels like voter fraud, but some of them use debts to swing them. It probably is voter fraud but we don’t really have rules against it.”

~

It was the first time she had seen Mr. Harker as more than an aloof guardian, when he forced that debt. It was clear to her then that his intentions were not pure, nor had they ever been. “It wasn’t totally random. My Parents wouldn’t tell me about Moira, so I went to Damian because I knew he had placed me. He accused me of being ungrateful for all the work that he had put into protecting me. He told me if I was so displeased with how I was living, then I could owe him for all the years he spent making sure I stayed happy and healthy despite my disrespect. Something along those lines.”

It wasn’t something she particularly enjoyed having held over her head, even if he wasn’t actively reminding her, she could always feel it. Especially when she was in the same room as him like today. Keeping her head down and out of the way had served her well for the past decade, but with the fact that she would be coming out as as a Devlin in a matter of days, Clem had to wonder what that would do in turn with her debt to him.

“Not yet, no. I would hate to vote for him, but I guess that would be the best case for him to collect on.” She was more than happy to vote for Miss Whitlock in the upcoming election. What a waste it would be to have to vote for a man she hated because of a ten year old debt he made with her as a child.

#{ i'm still on that tightrope ;; threads }#{ connor t. ;; 002 }

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