MEDEA STANDS ALONE, HERE YOU SEE THE SEA AND THE LANDS /
AND IRON AND FIRE AND GODS AND LIGHTNING.
𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ⋰ 𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐎𝐍 ⋰ 𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓
𝚂𝚄𝙼𝙼𝙰𝚁𝚈 ↷
➸ originally meera arya was born in 996 AD whilst humans started radically procreated to make up for numbers being lost during the last-ditch vamp attacks right before the infamous human-vampire accords;
➸ sagittarius-capricorn cusp, i apologise;
➸ youngest child out of 7 siblings — 6 brothers, 1 (second eldest) sister. grew up in super traditional (read: inherently sexist) society led by traditional gender roles. said fuck it, ran away, obsessed with vampires;
➸ journeyed to hokuei by pulling some wily shit, introduced themself as rina, because it’s about the symbolism, y’all~;
➸ traded blood for info whilst human in hokuei for a buncha years for information, but vamps can lie to overambitious, nosy human. some chose to be charmed, and one of them a lone-wolf vamp she befriended (calypso! NPC your must can know) & made family out of eventually;
➸ started coaxing to be turned around 26, they managed to convince callie around 28;
➸ an impure vamp at first, rina (who thrives on being the most type A boss bitch around) didn’t expect the bloodlust to hit so hard, but she kinda went on a killing spree & got bestie executed;
➸ rina had been taking spider lily venom throughout the human years in hokuei (because she is not an idiot, i swear) and had a natural tolerance to it and managed to survive the attack for long enough to escape to house of firefly;
➸ pledged allegiance, and let them study them as an anomaly who survived (technically, she was worse for wear & weak enough that she may as well have been dead) such a lethal dose of concentrated poison, for a couple of years until they had the moon decanter;
➸ there was a long time spent in the hospital being hooked up to machine till it was time for the ritual, & converted to pure blood vampire from moon decanter circa 1030 AD.
➸ decided to never be weak again, devoted themself to research & perfecting resurrection & unravelling the mysteries of vamp biology;
➸ is ok with being dying, immortality is overrated and she thinks she would get real fucking bored, but not okay with it happening until she outshines jade scholar’s legacy???;
➸ likes to intimidate and pretend she doesn’t have a heart, but she is super passionate & attentive & considerate but also a manipulate snake scientist. loves bitter blood in sweet wine, pretentious instrumental music, would rather suck your vamp blood than any dicks~ eternally down for an interesting conversation, but might steal your DNA to study. oops?
BLOOD BRAWL — Amidst the chaos of the second round HYUNGSIK awaits you in the DOME BAR to discuss an important matter. ╱ OPEN 0 / 2
THEY HEAR THE SOUND OF ILLICIT WHISPERING BEFORE they even sit down. The couple near him laughs, and he watches as they huddle around their drink as though it would shield their sloppiness from the rest of the world. Hyungsik says nothing until they request the presence of Daikokuten and slide a vial of red liquid over the bar.
“I wouldn’t do that so openly,” they’re blasé in their intonation, but they look the two vampires over with sharpness only a member of Cicada can possess, “Someone might be watching.”
They leave but Hyungsik is not satisfied. He flicks his hand up in a waving motion and two security guards follow the couple out. Their night will be ruined, but they shouldn’t have been in possession of the vial in the first place.
From a spider attendant, they order two drinks: one for themself and one for the person approaching their area. “Please, take a seat. I’ve been waiting for you,” they motion toward the plush red barstool next to them — it is an invitation, a dare.
“You understand why I’ve requested your presence, don’t you.”
THERE IS PLEASURE TO BE FOUND in the table’s flip that results in it being their eyes following the dark smudge of his corporeal presence whilst he moves. Sinking down, with opal eyes latched onto a new victim — and Rina does not staunch the feral baring of teeth over the scene that plays out before them, just as she suspects it will in the moments before. Hyungsik is getting predictable, no? The syllables do not drip the vainglory they ought.
Minutely, their dark brow furrows to unseemly softness, before she cures the ailing itch with remembrance that the effort put into the cacoethes of Rina’s inevitable labefaction typically has more back put into its pursuing, at least. Many a mortal soul might shudder to think of the end any of Hyungsik’s guards sent after them would result in – for the guards, that is. Her gaze gleams darkly at the possibility that hangs in the purgatory between present and future, palpable as a wisp of acrid, lingering smoke when she approaches him.
She humours him, sinking into their seat. A hand sweeping the drink in front of Hyungsik instead of the one fractionally by the wayside, presumptuous enough that it was wont to meet only one end all along. Rina dispenses with unnecessary pleasantries. She will not squander time.
“To thrill me with the gall it takes to summon me,” she states — and it is no more a question than it is a true answer. If anything, it is mere prompting. Interest already cants the slant of their jaw, letting the bar’s lights play with the golden undertones of bronze flesh, awaiting admiration with the patience of a masterpiece.
Monsters are always hungry, darling, and they’re only a few steps behind you, finding the flaw, the poor weld, the place where we weren’t stitched up quite right, the place they could almost slip right into through if the skin wasn’t trying to keep them out
Richard Siken, Snow and Dirty Rain
(via kxowledge)
anxiety looks strange on you; flighty, carefree thing with wings you clipped yourself, a cavernous mouth, a cavernous heart; byproduct of your own hunger, your own chaos. nothing should bother you now, but here you are. nervous.
sending yena into the brawl was not a good idea.
lips are nearly bitten through with their worrying, fingers tangling and untangling. they follow rina almost unthinkingly, trailing behind her and trying not to think of how to put back together a friend again.
“hm?” they look up to meet rina’s eyes, takes a moment to registered her request. simple, really. needed, even. as familiar as a childhood blanket and kisa pulls it closer to him, pulling blades tucked into belts out and pressing it onto skin. there is a warmth to the ice-cold blade next to veins; nostalgic.
“can you do it for me?” voice small, a child afraid of the dark and standing at your doorway. “i’m not scared, i just — i want someone else to. i want you to.”
TW: self-harm, blood, body horror / gore
their dark gaze upon him rests tender as a cloak swathed around a darling’s shoulders in the bitterest of winter chills. it is apparent to them, that she has lured him from an acrid stupor at first inflexion — though, it is hardly a rare occurrence, least of all one that fazes them. blank-faced, she does not acknowledge it. she accepts. she need not question that which she is certain he would elucidate to their insatiable mind. selectively insatiable as it is.
to rina, kisa need not elaborate; there is no pulling of teeth, no wrangling. he spills what she bids: be it truths or blood. the serpentine cant of head is all she offers, before their grasp curls possessively around the offering. she twirls it between their fingers, like a little girl with her favourite ribbon; silver slivers of marionette strings, slipped over and under and betwixt limber fingers. quick as a magic trick before she is already slicing a vertical slash across porcelain expanse, forgoing their preference for precision to cater to kisa’s desires, no matter their own opinions upon the ineffectualness of his chosen site.
crimson mingles with burgundy, drops disintegrating to swirls and hazes, when she tips his appendage to drip into the chalice she holds beneath it. yet it is still the inside of his wrist that the flat of her tongue laps at first, undeterred by the flesh’s healing, immortality suturing quicker than their needles do. their smile bares no teeth. a serene, pillow-soft curvature to rest his agonies & apathies alike atop.
she presses stained mouth to saliva-slick flesh, kiss placed with a gingerness too contradictory to the blade she tucks back into his belt. “thank you,” rina purrs. “you’re delicious. what do you thirst for?” the question carries many within itself.
𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 — THE DOME BAR
𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 — @hctaru
𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 — ROUND ONE: nara vs. yena
THEIR VIOLENT DELIGHTS DID, INDEED, PROPHESIZE VIOLENT ENDS. None of them can feign an unknowing. They have been alive too long, living more as the undead than they might’ve ever done as half-alive human beings — though, there remains more than a fair share, Rina is aware, of those who squander it. Is there so little left for entertainment? she muses, weaving through the throng thick with the crimson velveteen of their waging murmurings, complimentary besides the accoutrements courtesy of the House of Spiders. An idle, hypocritical ponderance when she skirts their way to the Dome Bar, hanging off of Kisa’s arm as though it weren’t he who is their accessory.
An exquisite adornment Rina lures towards the bar-top, never so plebian a creature who’d surrender all weight to elbows atop the tainted, germ-ridden surface, though she orders and accepts the rich, altered chalice of Sauvignon, waving their hand at any additions. She saves the verbal response for the coy moue that enquires from Kisa: “A dash of your life’s blood nectar for the wine mixer.” It isn’t quite an order, and it isn’t quite a question. An instruction, perhaps. She is his teacher, is she not?
Her heavy hair was full of the perfume of roses and sandalwood. Beneath the languor of her heavy lids slept passionate violence. She was almost terrifyingly beautiful.
Renée Vivien, tr. by Jeanette H. Foster, from “A Woman Appeared To Me,”
(via pairedaeza)
The burden of the Blood Brawl hangs heavy over all of them, but on Tybalt it has a particular weight he’s struggling to shed. There are many things he could say about it: it goes against his one occupational goal as a doctor, it seems futile without the presence of the Moon Decanter, provoking pointless injury for the sake of bloodthirst without killing one’s opponent is as egotistical as saying you’re close to God – and so on. He doesn’t think to mention the concern that has been tapping him on the shoulder constantly, the reminder that it will be Yena alongside him, who graciously volunteered, and who Tybalt pities for it.
He seeks Rina out with a bone to pick. Not particularly sizeable, mind you, just a thought sitting in the back of his head alongside the other countless concerns he needs to worry about right now. So he calls her to his office within the hospital. It’s the natural thing to do, he thinks: they need to have a conversation about this sooner rather than later. She might rub him the wrong way sometimes ( most of the time, a part of him admits ) but she’s still his second in command. When she enters the room, he’s polite as ever, standing to meet her and usher her into a comfortable chair, smile present but maybe a little strained. “It’s good to see you. How goes your current projects?” (They see each other almost every day. He keeps very close tabs on her projects.)
Pragmatism-ruled, Rina is not unaware of this: she ought not to take being summoned so personally. Then again, through the trickle of the sands of time, she must also admit that what she ought and, as such, oughtn’t has dulled to the murky, ambiguous grey of the subjective. It only blurs to fog on the windows when it comes to Tybalt: condensation — or condescension, if one were craving some wordplay — clung to icy glass barrier. When he summons them, he belittles them. It is a reminder, is it not? That he is the one in charge. The number one. The leader. The Daddy he tries to be to the lot of them.
Their lip is already curling in a sneer before she ever turns into his hallway. Composure is a veil Rina dons more whimsically than one might believe upon a first glance at their severe disposition, and it is translucent at best when it comes to their irksome Head of House. She wishes for her ornate displeasure to be no secret when she tosses open his door with an air of thorny insouciance. Their tenor, nevertheless, wafts sweet as the perfume of a rose, when they sink into a seat of their choosing, one leg arranged over the next. “You mean, since the eternity that has passed since you saw me last night, Ty?” Rina spurs. “Yes, I spent my night yearning for you as well. I could hardly get any work done on my projects.” Is it to his credit, or their own, that she emphasises the word? Rina shall let him decide.
She glows. Her heavy strands of black hair slide / Like serpents over somber, blood-red plush. / She stands there as a rose within the night. / The dark-red rose so deep within the night.
Gertrud Kolmar, from Dark Soliloquy: The Selected Poems; “Rose in the Night,” (via 89words)
okay im back, thanks for waiting, i just had to commit an act of senseless violence to satisfy a primal urge in me that i do not understand and cannot resist, what were you saying before?
jbbartram-illu
vaporwave
prguitarman
ellievsbear
blakekathryn
annaxmalina
germansingergirl
janainaart
