“ try me . ” eyes slit , standing justly between the bullpen & the other . what she lack in stature , ella mae made up in attitude , foolishly . “ i told you , they’re busy . ”
ivories clenched tight inside cheek , jaw squared. the tilting of a crown , the narrowing of lids —— ᴅᴀʀɪɴɢ. ❝ i don’t care who the hell is in there and frankly , I DON’T CARE who you are. ❞ agitation 𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 an otherwise cherubic visage / carbon copy of the unmoving silhouette before her. ❝ let me through. ❞
“ which is better … “ judith turned toward the person closest to her. “ tacos or chinese food ? i’m contemplating and i’m not sure which i want or … to just get both. “
digits against closed lids , a sigh from ʀᴀᴛᴛʟᴇᴅ ʀɪʙs. ❝ christ , why’s it matter though ? ❞ palm falling against profile , flesh dragging in the tribulation. ❝ both —— both i guess. ❞
The heavy base of the music pulsed through him, and he could feel the reverberations of the beat echoed in the motions of the dancers crowded together on the packed dance floor. It was a nice change from his office and the stack of papers he still had to grade. Drakken took a slow breath, feeling the heat, lust and adrenaline of the dancing crowd seep into his blood. It was amazing how similar the feel of lust for blood and lust for sex were. A shot glass slid towards him and he glanced up at the bartender before his fingers wrapped around the glass. He let his senses flare briefly over the crowd. He wasn’t concerned about what he might find. Just curious. Clubs like these attracted all kinds. It was always good to know who was here with him. All seemed normal until he picked up on one energy in particular. Shifting in his seat, Drakken’s eyes slid to his left and he made eye contact with them. “Well, this encounter should be interesting,” he muttered to himself.
skin stained something magenta , cerulean , under pulsing luminescence. the lick of painted lips , the 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 of ribs —— not sure if it’s the exhale of breath or tempo echoing through marrow. a silhouette alone at the bar painted in splintered violet lattices. coquettish simper blemished on her visage , tone GLACIAL AND BITING even at her own ears. ❝ really doesn’t seem like your kind of crowd , hm ? ❞ digits clasp an olive behind the counter , dancing , twirling , before it ruptures against a ᴡɪᴄᴋᴇᴅ ᴛᴏɴɢᴜᴇ. ❝ kind of figured you’d be out at bingo or the library or something. is it even in your nature to have fun ? ❞ challenge posed and she waits for some semblance of reaction.
“See something you like?” Alice mused, standing in the middle of the art gallery.
pinched brows , lip caught between pearls. ❝ it’s um . . . it’s something i guess. ❞ toe kicks at ɪᴅʟᴇ ɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅ and fist is pulled taut eclipsed by a denim pocket. ❝ say , what’s the price on shit like this ? ❞ manners and the 𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚢 of etiquette hide stationary behind some foggy part of his cranium.
associations : the billow of wind on a hot night. wild dogs running around a ghost town. filled bathtubs diluted with blood. the clink of a zippo lighter closing. motel rooms with the hum of air conditioning and static from a broken tv. abandoned wood architecture in flames. parking lots damp with the night’s condensation. telephone wires along a stretch of lonely road. trampled fields of crop. the sting of tears that refuse to be shed. burnt and broken holy cross necklaces.
1179 , ꜰʀᴀɴᴄᴇ
𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚖𝚎
memoir : idle worship , false prophets , and wicked tongues. a community that taught a love and fear of god above all else and considered more to be sinful than not. he planned to break free , he really did —— until he didn’t. to be young and in love : shame ! one purification ritual later and the village is dead , in flames , and he might as well be too. walking bones , the skeleton of a man that once lived. faithless and baptized in sacrilege.
birthdate : nov 26
hometown : southern region of france
current location : london , england
languages spoken : french , latin , english
distinguishing features : scars that never quite healed when he changed
physical ailments : n/a
neurological conditions : n/a
positive : iconoclastic , pragmatic
negative : perfidious , unscrupulous
fears : what people will justify in the name of god
aspirations : none really , life is just exhausting
likes : romanticisim art ( especially goya’s later works ) , cheap beer , feeling in control , thunderstorms
dislikes : questioning his own mortality , crowded spaces , having his picture taken , dark chocolate
2019 , ᴀꜰꜰɪʟɪᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ.
𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜
one : the long thought to be dead love of his life ! they were sneaking around in secret and planning to run away with their unborn child but then disaster strikes in the form of an abusive father who supposedly kills your muse and frames leo for the murder. they haven’t seen each other since and lived their lives assuming the other was dead.
two : kinda like titanic’s jack n rose where your muse is maybe of a high social class standing and leo befriends them and shows them the other side of the tracks. he drags them along to some places they definitely wouldn’t have gone to otherwise and shows them how to let loose n have fun !
three : my brain is fried please jus know i am open to anything n everything
associations : overflowing porcelain bathtubs. wilting roses. dried blood under fingernails. black and white grainy films. ruins still in smoke. withered pages of dante’s divine comedy. pomegranate juice between sticky fingers. burning citadels. dead moth collections. cloudy nights where the moon barely peeks through. thick dense forests. oversized suits. low hanging fog over a dead meadow.
memoir : born in a village where womanhood was defined by having a voyeuristic relationship with pain —— am i suffering beautifully ? is my agony lovable ? lived too long as a carefully constructed performance piece to those who saw themselves as supeior and immortality granted a ceasation of begging to be believed, recognized, acknowledged. she may have burned villages to the ground, drained men of their blood, and saw to the ruin of empires but she still thinks men to be the worst monster of all. centuries have not granted her control over her blood lust and greed for power. a stubborn refusal to be tamed.
birthdate : can’t remember , has long since stopped celebrating it
hometown : a village she can’t , nor does she ever want to , remember
current location : london , england
languages spoken : plenty
distinguishing features : an unassuming , innocent face
physical ailments : n/a
neurological conditions : n/a
positive : reticent , sibylline
negative : parlous , amoral
fears : completely losing their humanity
aspirations : to make a mark on the world where it counts
likes : milk baths with orange peels and flower petals , overcast skies , whiskey and coke , receiving gifts and praise
dislikes : sacrificing fashion for warmth , proving their worth to people who don’t matter , film adaptations of books , being underestimated
2019 , ᴀꜰꜰɪʟɪᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ.
𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜
one : a right hand, of sorts. maybe she turned them, maybe they’re a whole ‘nother species, who knows ! they have an uneasy relationship where your muse maybe feels taken for granted and to an extent, cressida does take advantage of their loyalty and pushes them to the edge a whole lot. in the end though they’re loyal and though cressida would never admit it, she feels forever thankful and in debt to them for all they do for her.
two : an enemy forged long ago in the early eleventh century. i’m thinking something like lucien and klaus in the originals where cressida just royally fucked them over and left them to essentially be tortured and maimed to the brink of death. now that time has passed they’ve come back to cressida posing as a friendly face with the intention of killing her. fun stuff !
three : not enough representation of women going feral and violent my dudes. would love cressida to have some gal pals who are unapologetically mad and ready to take back what’s theirs. where’s my medeas, ophelias, and calypsos !
associations : violet ringed eyes heavy with lethargy. the acute stillness before a thunderstorm. creaking hardwood floors. deer skulls in an equally dead forest. cheshire smiles a tad too wide to be benevolent. the clink of a signet ring against expensive glass. blackouts with missing time and bloodied hands. remorseless actions. the swift flow of a river at night.
memoir : a mother and father that drank too much and an older brother who knew too much. uttered threats meant the boy just had to go —— the bottom of the river welcomed his body nicely. when disease took the rest of the ryle clan he can’t say he felt too much grief but he was good at pretending and even better at disappearing when people talked too much. been here and there but never long enough to call any place home. his wickedness attracted the attention of somebody just as with the self serving idea of using him as a guard dog, of sorts. he obliged, though it’s not like he could’ve said no to begin with. all river water and ash.
birthdate : oct 27
hometown : nottingham , england
current location : london , england
languages spoken : english , french , italian
distinguishing features : fivehead a gentle smile during tragedy and chaos
physical ailments : n/a
neurological conditions : undioagnosed psychosis
positive : sycophantic , adamantine
negative : scelestic , choleric
fears : forever being a monster of his own making
aspirations : raise a family free from the cruelty of the world
likes : orange pulp ( eugh ... ) , 70s and 80s music , ice baths , static white noise
dislikes : religion , being threatened or challenged , sleeping with socks on , owing a debt
2019 , ᴀꜰꜰɪʟɪᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ.
𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜
one : the vampire that turned him. they saw his cruelty and sought to exploit it for their own gain. they lured him in with the appeal of power so long as he stood by their side. an unrequited romance perhaps with lucian tied around their finger and at their beck and call until maybe they found somebody else to string along and lucian was kicked to the curb. idk ! am ready to go buckwild regardless.
two : older brother who turns out wasn’t so dead afterall ? maybe the almost drowning damaged their memory and they have no recollection of lucian , maybe they spent the better part of their years plotting to kill lucian in return , who knows ! possibilities are endless !
three : a good moral compass to steer him away from his more darker impusles. probably the number one lucian apologist but it comes with the territory. lucian considers them the first real family he’s ever had and is fiercely protective of them swearing to kill anybody who even threatens to harm them.
