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Reflections // Grigori & Iris // Closed

#iris #th: reflections #closed

She grinned as he needlessly begged for criticism of his work before he’d even begun it. “Don’t you worry, I’ll be honest with you. I always am, aren’t I? But I’m sure I’ll love it just like I do all of your paintings. Especially since it’ll have all of those pretty colors in there, right?” She nudged him with her elbow playfully, hoping to bring back that smile that showed itself on his features not nearly often enough and stayed for so little time.

"I’m sure if you think about it long enough, you’ll remember something about Russia that makes you happy…" Her thought trailed off and was quickly drowned out by the noise of the crowd as they began to call for service and refills on their drinks. Iris made sure that Grigori was well-situated for the time being before she stood up and began making her rounds around the tavern, collecting empty mugs and distributing full ones. She tried to check in with her friend a few more times throughout the night, but the other patrons and Gage’s incessant orders kept her busy until a particular customer required a drink straight from the source, rendering the lively waitress indisposed for the rest of the night.

bloodygifs

#grigori #grigori: young #tw: blood

Grigori understood. He should stop drinking now because he had his fill and there was no need for additional blood to be spilled on behalf of his fledging greediness. He would survive tonight on the amount he had, and the next night he would feed again. It was simple because Catina told him so. It was simple because he was young and there was still hope to control the bloodlust that would remain never-ending. It was simple because he was, in a way, stronger then her, and different.

But he just wanted one more sip.

The Enemy of my Enemy is my Friend [Ellis + Grigori | FB -4]

Ellis was laughing, bloodied and amused, short, curved blade steaming in his hands, “Pretty good, eh? Thank’ee much. Yer no’ bad at bein’, well, bein’ yerself. Smashin’ things an’ whatnot.” He flashed a grin, lopsided, and turned his dark eyes on the angry warlock, who was chanting something the blacksmith didn’t want to see the end results of, his words somewhat nauseating enough as it was, “O’aye. Jus’ send me up there, s’fine. Ye better work quick. Magic an’ I aren’t friends on a good day, let alone on a bad one.”

With a roll of his narrow shoulders, the darkling sheathed his sword and began to roll up his sleeves, stepping over bodies as he made his way toward the casting warlock. He felt the fine auburn hairs on the back of his neck stand on edge, the hellfire in his veins writhing in the face of fae magic that was so alien to his existence. While it wasn’t quite the same recoiling feeling he’d experienced in the presence of angelic kind, nor was it at all like the pull of the tide he felt around his own kin, it was still a strange tug on his inhuman person. It was uncomfortable, and one he felt he should commit to memory lest he find himself in the presence of other warlocks or witches in the future. It required a bit more concentration to actually kindle flames to dance along his skin than it did to heat metal or sear someone else’s flesh against their will, but he managed to mimic the appearance of magic in front of the bandit leader, aware that there was little he could do to counter a spell should it be cast in his direction.

Instead, he simply hoped to distract and intimidate, to give the warlock a chance to second-guess what Ellis was, hands like torches ablaze, fire trailing like something alive over the skin of his wrists but far enough from his clothing to keep it from igniting as well. Only he was somewhat fireproof; the rest of his belongings were, unfortunately, not granted the same demonic gifts.

The warlock’s eyes did fall on the darkling as he approached, though he didn’t quite falter in his words, raising his own hands in motions that obviously were meant to augment whatever he was casting. There was still a crackling in the air like too much static electricity, like wool socks on a fine rug in the middle of winter. He smirked, making sure his hand motions were now directed at the blacksmith, which did not alleviate his sudden, sinking fear of the entire situation. Slicing his way through humans was a relatively simple matter, given he knew what to expect from someone who was not supernatural like himself. Someone with magic was unpredictable, given the varying nature of magic that was so far out of Ellis’ understanding he never cared to know enough about it other than how to avoid it at all costs.

Still, while he was alight, a narrow-shouldered human-shaped torch, the darkling crept closer to the warlock, close enough that his casting grated in his ears above the ringing of his excited, fiery pulse, setting his teeth on edge and causing him to struggle to concentrate on keeping from burning himself with his own flaming exercise, which was unfortunately a possibility should he be forced to shift his attentions elsewhere. It was like walking into a storm, breaking into the casting man’s personal space with a hiss, grin having twisted into something between a sneer and a grimace.

Whatever the vampire had planned, he hoped it happened before he was hit in the face with some horrible, electric sort of magic. Because that’s what he felt was about to happen.

#ellis #th: The Enemy of my Enemy #mind things

Grigori's speed was a beautiful gift, and in blinks of an eye he had ran around the warlock and behind him a ways. He stood behind a large tree and peaked around the trunk to see what the man was up to in forms of distracting. Grigori would not underestimate the magic of the warlock, though his experience in such gifts were less then few. He read about them in books and joined in conversations at Thirst with the burly vampires there about their adventures with the fae. In Brailston during festivals he watched as magicians tricked their audience and pretended to be fooling them in the art of illusion, when really it was the act of magic. He knew what they smelled like and how much danger they could put him in. And Grigori only knew of one crazed warlock named Takeshi in real life.

He was worried and it made him second-guess ever helping the man with the bandits in the first place. Rushing back to Night Haven was near impossible and Grigori would have to find shelter in the woods. What if the warlock was stronger then him? Older and more powerful? What if he had shields up to block out attacks on his mind? Did he just send this man to his doom?

The vampire focused on the warlock and reached inside of his mind, and as soon as he made contact with the first memory the warlock suddenly realized what was happening. His magic was strong and instantly he threw up a mental block, but Grigori had gotten inside first. Through seas of magic and memories the vampire swam, searching for something tangible to hold onto and use against the warlock before he obliterated the demon before him.

A thumping emerged against Grigori's temples as he further sunk into his mind, and he pressed his fingers against the skin there in an attempt to hold on.

Finally he found it and with a growl, Grigori yanked at the hidden memory and pulled it forward for the warlock to remember. It was disturbing and unfortunate, and it pained Grigori to use the death of the warlock's child against him in the heat of life and death. As the memory of holding the deceased baby clouded the vision of the warlock, his guard was let down. The magic around him simmered and flickered unsteadily.

"Now!" he yelled to the man, anxiously waiting for the warlock to be completely eliminated.

Worth the Risk || Shiloh // Grigori || FB2

"Good," he said in response to everything, offering a warm smile that brought out all the right features to his homid face. The Garou leaned back as well, but regretted it. Wanting to stay close to Grigori only because Shiloh and touch went hand and hand with trust. It wasn’t that his instincts wanted to believe all this vampire was telling him, but he did. Some draw that tethered the two hunters together for this one moment to share such an intimate conversation about their most primal needs gave way to a rare moment of lower guard to him. Shiloh needed this interaction and may have been craving it all his life.

How did he go about telling this creature that he was one of the few that he’s spoken too ever in his entire life? When all Shiloh could see is the racing forest, tall, skinny trunks of thousands of evergreens becoming their hunting grounds as they made chase to pull apart people who stepped foot into their lands. The constant thrum of the chase and the hunt was primal to his core. Shiloh was addicted to it. Needed it unleashed in the worse of ways, and it showed under those rays of his mother. Oh how she reminded him of the England wolf while blanketing his skin. Maybe that didn’t matter. This was again one of many constant reminders that he wasn’t in England and was in fact a Ronin wolf alone in the throws of Athoria. He never would have been able to talk to him in any other situation. Only the country of unwanted children gave the uratha this opportunity.

Shiloh sipped the whiskey given to him, knowing his skin was heated both from the drink and from his natural gifts. The core of his essence shifted his flesh and body like the molten earth carved the very ground they walked on in ways that brought profound connections to their mother. He wanted to shred this illusion right here in the tavern. Be exactly what Grigori could expect from their kind when the hatred was birthed so deeply in their very original creations. But he instead just looked at the vampire, eyes distant in their observation yet emotions speaking loudly as if he had screamed them.

"My pack were peaceful, though on alert and protected their lands as any family would. A group of your kind came and slaughtered them…almost the entire pack. The children. Women..the pups and livestock. His warriors littered his home alongside their enemies and they felt his anger when he arrived…but it was obvious he was too late to save them,"

Shiloh swallowed another gulp to finish the whiskey, the fire only adding to the fuel of his own internal flame. “My maker hated your kind even more after that. Never knowing the reason for the attack, but knowing that the same had happened to his Father before he was killed. Their attack made him vengeful and he made us want to destroy you. It was all I knew for hundreds of years…my instincts even now cry out to provoke you based off of hate and ignorance bred into me. To start a fight because you are— should be my enemy. But I believe your internal peace of what you are. What makes you different Grigori is such gift. I fucking envy it.”

He finally lowered his eyes, the tavern was doubling in places but he cared not for the danger he was placing himself in. If the Garou phased into his wolven form he would burn through this buzz as an all consuming forest fire and emerge the beast with a clear head and a fierce hunger. Shiloh just wanted to believe he could relax his guard enough to not be exhausted like a caught animal in the corner, forever looking every which way because there was not a soul he could trust. Everyone always seemed to be after him, not that it was true but paranoia of a ronin wolf was seeded very real to those illusions.

“You do give me hope that there is a chance for me to see the world differently, maybe not so black and white. Are you heading home before sunrise? You have a few hours still, could probably make it if you didn’t take the main road. I could run with you to the edge of Night Haven if you wanted. I am familiar with the area, have a trail I run that can get me their swiftly as one of my best friends lives there and she would want to see me well—alive. If you wanted, I can show you the run, though Ill probably slow you down in the grand scheme of things, I am sure you could make it either way.”

#shiloh #th: worth the risk #closed for me #closed

It was an odd thing to hear Shiloh say, this thing about hope. Vampires were a nasty immortal creature, not nearly as fluid and connected to the earth as werewolves and surely not as powerful given the disadvantage of the sun. For Grigori to have another think of him as something different was strange. He didn't know if he cared for it or if his instinct was the one not allowing him to. Never did Grigori care for the differences in beasts that roamed the earth decade after decade into an immortal bliss. If Shiloh could see some good on Grigori then maybe, if just for tonight, it would give them both peace of mind.

Shiloh's pack sounded extremely dramatic, though he assumed that's what happened when worlds were torn apart in the blink of an eye. Situations such as war and torture changed people, and Grigori knew of that feeling well. Although Catina sought revenge more so then the brother, Grigori had his own way of coping with such intense change in his life. He sulked and hid from the world instead of tearing out every throat he could get his hands on. Maybe that was why he would never be a true leader; his difference was his weakness.

"A run would be pleasant though I am not going tonight. I have a place fixed up for me at Midnight Run for the day," he said. "I will be in town for a couple days, actually. Rarely do I leave the comfort of Night Haven so I am told to enjoy my outing as much as possible. If you're sticking around then maybe I'll see you again,"

Grigori pulled out his small coin purse and placed enough to cover Shiloh's beverages on the table. "It's on me, for listening to me ramble all night. Look, I'm not saying that this changes anything...the war between species is ever-growing and I trust that in the future, it's only going to get worse...but you need to be careful with who you talk to about these things. You're a good guy Shiloh. Just because I didn't take advantage of you doesn't mean another vampire won't. Be careful, that's all. Not all vampires are different like me,"

Worth the Risk || Shiloh // Grigori || FB2

Grigori could talk to him the rest of the night if he wanted and for once the overly talkative ronin acquitted himself to a quiet form though never left the conversation. Sharing knowing glances that swirled a warmness to his hazel eyes. Everything about them as predators could be so close to true if you eliminated the primal need for vampires to consume human blood. If the species came together verses being stifled by the thousands of years of a rooted hate that never left most Elder beings than they could be something so much more frightening than counterparts to a balanced scale.

The words spoken on phantoms up-ticked his heart rate. Only women phantoms created this chase in him. Shiloh can’t help himself. It’s something about their womanly body, long hair undone and not proper. Skin marked up in dirt, and grime buried under nails until they are black and cracked in blunt edges. Their scent of fear in a human vessel was intoxicating, stirring further want to be the cause of it. His craved domination rolled out in waves of frightening snaps of jaws while chasing invisable forms, or dodging levitated objects projected his way. It’s always a chase, and fight back that created a yearning to taste their blood while they screamed. Watching the flush erase from their flesh while fright enveloped them into panting cries and begged redemption. But he could imagine the flavor to a vampire who needed their life source as pure necessity being anything but satisfying. It was the hunt that burned excited for Shiloh with that species over the flavor of their flesh. Though he enjoyed it all the same.

Shiloh’s eyes closed briefly to reel in his own hunting urges that the alcohol was drawing out easier with their conversation on such a subject, and his form shifted minutely in an expansion of his muscles under his clothes to stretch them a fraction taunter. He opened them again to catch the wide smile on Grigori’s face in expected want to feel his emotions about what he had just said. But Shiloh only grinned back at the spoken truth of his blood being this choice of drug, and he leaned forward a bit never one to be afraid of such declarations when they were spoken so in line with things he understood. Another whiskey slipped onto the table and he took it with a small thank you, fingers wrapped tight around the glass.

"You said you are ‘different than most of your kin’,” Shiloh said carefully, speaking in a whiskey induced deeper, gruff voice that he aided with another sip of the drink. Amber floated around the hazel in his eyes with dark rings to accentuate around the blackness of his pupil as they continued to shared this space. Wanting nothing more than to tear through the homid illusion of tanned freckled skin and morph his face into parts of his beast that felt so natural to him. To show Grigori exactly what they could do to one another made his smile grow.

"You have preference, that is quite normal. Please don’t take that the wrong way…but Grigori," he said with a wetting of his lips, muscles twitching ever so slightly as instincts prepared his body for a fight if he had been marked a target for tonight no matter the trill of a chanced battle always sparked something dangerous and hungry in Shiloh from his warrior days in England. He was preferring this conversation over launching into something rabid, and dare he admit fun, but his excitement was obviously shared between with their smiles. Of course Grigori’s threatened to distract him, continuing to feel enthralled by his presence.

"There must be something more that sets you apart than your meals. Though it seems unique to crave something so heated as the animal blood of a Garou, but you are more than ordinary am I right? Something sets you apart beyond food in comparison I would think. Though the image you just painted for me is alluring if I can admit it. You see the hunt is everything to a Garou, the find…the chase…the fright…the first bite…their screams…their resignation to your dominations…The kill.” Shiloh’s chest heaved slightly, working himself up while wanting to hear more that the vampire did that he thought honestly made him so different.

Maybe he teased them with smiles, or couldn’t contain his lust and found himself tangled between their legs before he buried his fangs into their neck. He wondered if he was messy at times of lost control, red staining his skin and clothes until he shredded them from his body because they clung wet and nasty to his chest. The obvious clean kill he had earlier was still scented between every word that was shared between them. But now he had a visual of who he took before he found Shiloh and he wondered if it was some stray, or did he settle for a beautiful woman instead.

"Do you hunt to kill Grigori?" he asked around a sip of whiskey, genuinely curious, and finding it harder by the second to want to leave his presence no matter what that could mean for both of them.

#shiloh #th: worth the risk #storytime with grigori

"No,"

His response came out quicker then expected. Maybe it was the atmosphere settling between the two monsters at that table or maybe it was the emotions resonating from Shiloh like the brightest stars in the midnight sky. Grigori was not opposed to having such an in-depth conversation about oppressing specie needs and wants, but this one was different. He couldn't remember the last time he spoke more than three words at a time to a single soul, having to mostly force himself to interact and make eye contact, let alone share close proximity with the one animal that Grigori craved most. Shiloh seemed to bring something out in the vampire and Grigori was falling easily into its entrancement.

Instincts deep within him shouted in fear, clouding Grigori's mind with thoughts of a whiskey-induced werewolf on the prowl for vampyric blood; that maybe it was all some sort of stupid trick to catch Grigori off-guard in his weakness. If they were to fight then he imagined everyone in that tavern would fall to their deaths after being caught between a drunk, raving werewolf and a fully fed vampire.

A decision had to be made, to either continue the conversation about his weakness and subtle nature compared to those bloodsuckers that murdered for fun and games, or to end the interaction where it stood and send Shiloh on his merry way.

Grigori leaned back in escape of Shiloh's closeness across the table and pressed his back into the wood of the booth. He watched him with careful eyes, picking at the subtle changes in his irises and the flexing of muscle.

"I am different, and I will tell you why. But I will warn you that I am not weak, and you are quite drunk. And if you think that my differences make me any less stronger then you are unfortunately mistaken. Every part of me is screaming not to even have this conversation with you, but here we are," Grigori said, head tilting slightly to the left as he watched the amber swirl inside of Shiloh's eyes.

"I had a maker growing up and still to this day, which gives me an added advantage of experience, do you understand that part of the vampire world? Without a maker a vampire emerges into an entirely different realm of supernatural expectations, but with one you are never alone. And my maker, though she was young, had been ruthless. I was told when to stop drinking, when it was okay to kill, when it wasn't okay to kill. I grew up in Night Haven and I had no reason to be like my maker; she is fiery and purposefully out of control. My instinct tells me to feed because I am enslaved to the blood, but my instinct does not tell me to drink to kill...only to take what I need and be done with it. Who knows, maybe one day I will change my ways and spend the next three centuries jumping from country to country in a blind murderous rage like so many of my fellow kin experience fresh from their rebirth. I don't know if that will ever happen. But I will tell you that in the two-hundred years I've been walking around Athoria, I have not needed to slaughter villages to feed my bloodlust, to rape women in glamour infested comas, to attack defenseless citizens in the dead of night while they slumbered, to start wars with proclaimed enemies that have nothing to do with me, to join an army of vampires under the rule of a Queen delegating our every move...and that is what my kindred is about, that is what my kindred feeds on in addition to the innocent blood they spill. And that is why I am different,"

Reflections // Grigori & Iris

She just grinned at him when he tried to brush off her compliment. He always was a modest one and she thought it was a refreshing change from the other of his kind that often acted so superior to everyone, even one another. “Well, maybe they are a bit dark and dreary for my taste, but that’s why I asked for something just for me and not one of these, incredible though they are.” She wondered what some of his works might look like if his subjects weren’t always shrouded in darkness and shadow, no more than a candle or flickering fire to illuminate them whilst he captured them on canvas. Did he never paint from memory of when the sun would be high in the sky? Did he even remember what the sun looked like?

Iris shifted in her seat and an excited smile pulled at her lips when he opened the box of paints for her to choose from. The ingredients used to make the different shades of his colors were not much different than those of the dyestuffs she bought for her hair and occasional sewing experiments. Although it was a small supply, suitable for travel, there were quite a few more shades within it than just the usual colors of the rainbow. Just imagining how many more shades could be made by mixing what he had in different combinations made her head swim. “My goodness, Gig! You have all these beautiful colors, and some of them look like you haven’t even broken the seal on them! For shame!” Her fingers gently tilted the bottles this way and that to see each one and she was quickly accumulating quite a list of shades for him to use in her painting. Finally, she just sat back and gave a mock sigh of defeat. “That’s it. I can’t choose just a few. They’re all too pretty. So how about you just use any color you like except for black, brown, or gray? And the brighter the better.”

She bit her lip as she considered the second part of her request for just a moment longer before she just came out with it. “And… it’s not too much to ask, would you paint me something of your home? I’ve never heard you or Catina talk about it, but I know you’re not from Athoria and you’re not from England.” She shrugged one shoulder as she hoped she hadn’t crossed a line by asking such a thing. “I guess I’d just like to see something pretty from a land that I know I’ll never get to visit.” Iris could hear others in the room calling to her for refills, but she waited to hear his reply before she would tend to them.

Iris could always call him out on things relating to his personality, even if it was something as small as not having broken the seals of more vibrant colors in his pack. It was a true accusation and it proved that she knew him well. He rarely used a pretty pallet but what better time to start then now? If he could somehow get over his strange phobia of enjoying the light and more appealing art in this life then maybe he could even sell some of his work. It was a creative thought and one that Grigori had placed on the side throughout his life...maybe Iris could help him improve in his talents.

It would be nice to see at least one of his skills used for something other then tearing out throats or glamouring people into submission. Iris was an inspiration. He would never tell her so.

Grigori nodded and stole a glance at her quickly, hoping not to linger his eyes engulfed in hers for too long. The last thing he needed was for Iris to think him even more strange amongst a haven of vampires that were all so different from him. What would Catina say if she knew his future inspiration came from a human? Whether it was Iris or not, he doubted she would approve of such mockery.

He hesitated in his response about his homeland, resulting in a few mumbles and additional shrugs. He closed the box of paints and fumbled to put them back into his satchel.

"Of Russia? There is nothing beautiful there, at least not when I was there...maybe a few nice looking trees..." Grigori's memories of Russia fluctuated from intensely awful to playful summers spent with Catina as humans, running in fields of flowers. But when he thought of Russia today, flashbacks of his time in captivity were vivid. "I'm sure I can think of something. I'll try, at least. Okay? I'll work on it and if you don't like it you can just tell me and I promise I won't be upset,"

#iris #th: reflections

chriservans

#hc: grigori #personality #Facial Expressions

Grigori // Personality // Facial Expressions 06

The Enemy of my Enemy is my Friend [Ellis + Grigori | FB -4]

Ellis was scrambling to his feet by the time the extra handful of bandits descended upon his location, glancing down to note the tip of the arrow that was now dominating his senses was at least visible. As far as he could tell, the archer had missed anything important, but it was certainly uncomfortable and would limit his mobility until he could solve the problem. Blade still steaming in his grip as it took very little concentration to keep the metal so hot after so many years of practice, he looked up and found himself staring at the back of one of his attackers. Grimacing to take his weapon in both hands, he was more than happy to rush forward and slice a hot, horrible arc from the unsuspecting thief’s shoulder down through his spine, the kind of heat he’d induced in the metal of his hand-crafted sword sputtering through leather, flesh, and muscle in a spray of blood and steam. The man gurgled in surprised agony and fell at Grigori’s feet, not entirely dead but well on his way, clawing at his feet and groaning.

This left the darkling almost face-to-face for a heartbeat or two with the vampire, dark eyes narrowed as he brought his weapon back up with a pained hiss, ready for more fighting. At least, Ellis assumed he wasn’t human. He was pale, out alone at night, and wandering the road. This certainly pointed to either a crazy person or a vampire, given that he’d met a few in his time and counted a few among his friends. However, this other man wasn’t dressed like he’d charged out of the woods like the others, so it gave him pause. He was close enough to his unasked for but appreciated reinforcement that the other man could surely feel the heat not only from the sword in his hands but from his own skin. It was true, the blacksmith was a few inches under average height and hardly looked the part, but he was happy to flash the other man a wide, bloody-faced grin, free hand straying to the arrow head and shaft that protruded from his shoulder, fingers wrapping around what he could grip,

“Thank’ee. Y’gonna stay? There’s a few more. Fuckin’ bandits. Look out for that damn archer. I should—hang on—” He winked, then tugged with a groan, yanking the arrow all the way through his own shoulder, bloodied fletching and all. Ellis choked back a long string of expletives, rolling his injured arm and ignoring the bleeding he’d invited, “—get back to ‘em.”

The darkling mimed tipping an invisible hat with his dirty free hand, turning away from Grigori with a cackle of a laugh and shouldering his way into the next wave of bandits that had scrambled over the embankment, apparently ready to take them all on with or without assistance. There were four more of them, well-armed and lightly armored. While it was the darkling and his wares they were after, now that the vampire stood among them, they weren’t about to ignore him. Ellis engaged the first without even his weapon, reaching out with his injured arm to snatch the thief’s collar, pulling him close with his unexpected strength, and greedily capturing his gaze with his dark eyes, sucking his lifeforce dry with a satisfied sneer, much to the horror of his other three companions. The man didn’t even whimper, crumpling in the darkling’s tight grip, used for a few heartbeats as a shield against the wild swings of the other bandits.

“That’s better.” He growled in pained satisfaction, shaking his head to clear the nausea that always followed the use of his darkest of demon-born abilities, feeling the fiery burn of his flesh knitting itself back together at an accelerated pace. He shoved the dead bandit’s body out of the way, brandishing his sword again in his hot hands. He’d managed to hold the attention of one more bandit, the other two having quickly slipped by to charge at Grigori, ignorantly hoping him an easier score than the narrow-shouldered creature they’d originally targeted.

What neither of them saw was the last bandit, their leader, as he was on the opposite side of the road, emerging from the woods with one more protector. A crackling filled the humid night air even as both darkling and vampire were forced to engage their current opponents, making everyone’s hair stand on end.

Their leader was apparently a warlock, and he was very unhappy to be losing.

#ellis #th: The Enemy of my Enemy

There were parts of him that wanted to offer the small lad a sip from his wrist in order to heal the protrusion from the arrow. Grigori's vampire blood would aid in the quick healing. Though, the moment the man easily sucked the soul right out from that bandits body in a matter of seconds, the vampire shrugged. There was much going on in the middle of that road and the senses of each individual clashed together in an unhelpful manner. Seeing what his partner could possibly be, Grigori inhaled deeply in order to retrieve the true scent of this supernatural. Smoke and the fumes of slithering ash invaded his lungs, combining with the heat extracted from his hands. It was quite a sight to see from the demon-child, and Grigori was impressed.

Unfortunately there was not time for formal introductions. Grigori nodded at the man before he, too, was ambushed by the next round of bandits.

Grigori predicted their movements easily, using his own sneaky methods to trick them and appearing behind them before they noticed. He took their heads and smashed them together, so loud that the crack of shattering skull exploded with a gushing sound of bloody waterfalls from the impact. The vampire greedily dipped his finger in the pool of blood and licked the contents off of it with another casual shrug.

"Your pretty good with that sword," he said to the boy, stepping over the pile of dead and shredded bandits. Any other time he would extend his hand for a good shake, but one look at the flaming embers he produced from his hands made the vampire easily decline. "I'm Grigori. And don't look now but it seems we have more company,"

The stench of fae blood enveloped the space around them, compliments of the warlock now making himself known. Whatever a warlock would be doing with humans as cheap pets Grigori did not know. He had heard brief rumors about gifted folk gathering in the woods on the occasion to cast spells and hexes on those they loathed, mostly to celebrate the fall season, but to use such magic to steal from passers-by on the road? It did not make any sense and seemed like a waste of time. But like any sort of organization in Athoria, all leaders had their reasons for delegating the way they did. Grigori was not interested in finding out. If he could help eliminate this threat to the people of Athoria on these well-traveled roads, then he would gladly aid in the removal of this pompous warlock.

He tapped his companion on the arm then nodded in the direction that the warlock was heading. "Try to distract him, keep him focused on you. If he pays me little mind then I might be able to get into his head, knock him off-balance. Then make your move,"

paulwesleysdaily

#hc: grigori #personality #Facial Expressions

Grigori // Personality // Facial Expressions 05

Grigori // Appearance // Attire

#hc: grigori #hc: appearance #attire

Worth the Risk || Shiloh // Grigori || FB2

Shiloh’s laugh barked out into a huffing fit that he quickly quelled with a hand over mouth from Grigori’s comment. He hadn’t laughed like that in a long time, and it actually surprised him. It did all sound silly, but Shiloh also had a very different perspective on life. One he leveled to agree on with Dru only because of defining reasons from his own human life. He listened to Grigori speak his mind, enjoying the softest hints of his accent in certain syllables. Mapping to himself all the places the vampire could have been in however much time he’s been a creature of the night.

"Yes, I agree a little with that," he said quietly, not diverting his appreciation for the beauty their creatures always held. Never having enough time to actually see them, always fighting at supernatural speeds. The bloodshed, the taunting. Shiloh remembered a vampire who carried almost the same color eyes. Having been all he could look at as she broke his ribs, and he buried his fangs into her neck to sever her head. It haunted him at times of meeting one like Grigori how many of those they hunted in England really deserved the wrath of RADULFR. The wrath of him.

"Though I don’t see a separation. Even in your case, a monster you call yourself in association to being a vampire? It’s not my beast that drives the ability to kill, to hunt in a way that can stand by your side and slaughter everyone here. It’s because we are predators, it’s instinctive, and as a human I was just as much one. I could make a kill then as easily as now. We conform to this word humanity as an excuse to be good, its not the reason. We don’t do that because of it, we do it because our instincts know its not right. That people are out there that can punish us for it. No matter the beast inside, or the shape of species it forms, even the humans contain the means to show a face. But we all have an order to follow, there is always someone there to be sure there is balance.”

Shiloh tipped the last of his drink back, shivering from the bit of the whiskey, and finally leaned back. He was tired. It was a nice feeling, having usually needed to work himself until he physically passed out, the conversation between them was pleasant. Curious as to what else he thought on the world around them. “Do your instincts crave a certain prey? Just curious,” he added and grinned, making further inquiry and stealing the chance to ask such things. Being constantly around humans was what kept him from doing exactly what Grigori painted before. But it was if he dared thought, fun, to talk about hunting so casually. Hunting was the fuel in his veins.

#shiloh #th: worth the risk #i dont think ill write grigori talking this much with anyone else #granted he is all hopped up on blood right now

Grigori let a silence settle between them, but only to further decide on his next choice of words. He ran his hand through his hair to stick it up at the top, made eye contact with a pretty women making eyes at him from the bar. By now the crowd had become more rowdy, the affect of alcohol clearly fueling the overall demeanor of the tavern life. The laughter was almost intoxicating, and Grigori soaked in the empathetic feelings with more integrity then normal. Shiloh was speaking of instinct, and his own was like a rabid drum against the inside of his skull.

The vampire flagged down the nearest waitress and motioned to refill Shiloh's drink. The smell of whiskey was comfortable and reminded him of better days in Russia sitting on his fathers lap after supper.

"My instincts," he started, speaking as though they were an old friend. "are...different than most of my kin,"

He was different. There was no hiding the fact that Grigori had a less murderous side to him then most vampires his age. He grew up with a maker and he was not alone, having found a place within Night Haven quite well. Whatever he needed he received with open arms, if only Grigori had the courage to ask that night. Killing was his nature, but Grigori rarely did.

"I guess I should explain. My instincts crave what any vampire craves...blood, human blood. We crave it because it is our rebirth. Like air to a human body, it is our substance, it reshapes us, it keeps us surviving. Naturally this is what we seek," Grigori spun in his seat now, fully facing the werewolf on the other side of the booth and seeking out the green in his eyes to make sure he had his attention. He talked with his hands and a small, barely noticeable smirk on his lips, enough to try to keep the conversation casual when clearly it was much, much more important. "My crave for that of the fae is like craving something so sweet it makes you cringe, like you can only have so much before it just becomes distasteful, sour. But see, most vampires will search for that, they'll search for a witch or warlock and suck them dry because not only does their body sink into a rejuvenation the sweetness is like a treat. I don't agree,"

Grigori continued, "My instinct when it comes to phantoms is non-existent. In fact, the body of a phantom is so grossly tender that their blood taste like...like a chicken you didn't cook all the way through. Stringy. It's disgusting. But now the wolves..." Grigori grinned fully now, "I could suck them dry all night,"

The vampire tapped his fingers against the table, watching Shiloh's expression out of intrigue. "My instinct searches for the perfect prey, and if I can't find it then I settle. What is that prey you ask me? A beautiful woman with lips as red as her blood, a woman so entranced that her screams could be mistaken for arousal, as if she's enjoying it truly, like I brought out her own monster inside of her if only for a few moments. Give me that woman, soak her insides with the forbidden blood of a mutt, and my instinct and hunger is satisfied,"

Tavern Life || Grigori & Caden

caden-atlas

"Ah, I’m sorry. I didn’t know any artists growing up. Do you only work in charcoal?" Caden didn’t know much about art and so he was endlessly curious about it and the artistic vampire. But, he didn’t dare peek at the work again. It only seemed to frustrate and upset the vampire.

"He needed an expert. I was asked to teach him what I knew. Unfortunately I cannot tell you anything else. I don’t divulge information about jobs I’ve worked."

Caden began to eat the bread. He was acutely aware of how many other vampires were staring at him. The tavern may be a safe spot but as soon as he stepped outside he would be in danger. He wasn’t sure about his safety with this other vampire. A wrong word and he might just end up as dinner.

#caden #th: tavern life #he is about to glamour you #just a heads up

Grigori raised his eyebrows at the man, surprised that Michael would need the help of someone of his nature. He actually disapproved of his promise not to speak of such things, and thought it to be quite rude to bring it up in the first place if he was not obligated to share. This warlock had the mannerisms of someone in the Slums, with an almost more awkward social skill than that of the two-hundred year old vampire. Whatever it was that Michael needed could be completed without the aid of this man.

"Oh really?" Grigori said with an inkling of pretended fear, as if whatever passed through the plains of Caden's lips would put him further in disbelief. "You forget where you are, what you are speaking with,"

The vampire watched as he chewed his food in disgust, particles of the bread crumbling on the table and dotting the corners of his mouth. Grigori cringed, cursing the fact that he had ever needed substance such as water and bread to survive. He could drain someone without spilling a drop nor with crimson dribbling down his chin. How was it that humans were so dissociated in that sense?

"You are nothing but a mortal with extracurricular abilities, may I remind you. When I ask what you are doing with Michael, you tell me. Or do I need to give you a lesson in a vampires abilities? Should we start with the mind-reading? The glamour? The empathy? Either way I will find out, so you might as well start talking,"

therippah

#hc: grigori #personality #Facial Expressions #his hair

Grigori // Personality // Facial Expressions 04

depalmado-blog

As the Autumn Comes... Location Headcanon | Thirst

With the chilly mountain air constantly blowing through Night Haven, Thirst is a welcoming place to settle down and warm up. Though, most of the patrons pay the weather no mind. If only because they can’t entirely feel it beneath their dead skin.

#hc: thirst #hc: location

Tavern Life || Grigori & Caden

caden-atlas

Caden sat down at the vampire’s words and looked over the artist. He wondered how the man got into art. They weren’t on good terms, but they were on better terms than he would be with compared to everyone else in the bar. He nodded at the words.

"Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you nervous." He remembered how disgusted by food Dru had seemed. Perhaps this vampire was the same way. Caden tore the bread into small pieces, the two sitting quietly for several moments.

"May I ask how you became an artist?" He was curious, but part of him didn’t expect an answer. The artist seemed sullen and not one for conversation. Perhaps he was just weary of strangers. Caden couldn’t be sure.