hexrtsoffxre

Wendy Darling && Genevieve BennettThis is a 21+ dependent RP blog for MONSTROUSHQ

[hexrtsofxre]

for: open location: estella’s boarding house

Estella sighed heavily, eyes rolling as she stooped to collect the crumpled shirt discarded at the foot of the boarding house stairs. Her dark eyes turned stormy, temper flaring near-immediately as she silently cursed its owner within her own mind. Lifting the garment, she inhaled a quick breath, just enough for the stench of sweat with an undertone of mildew to flare within her nostrils. 

“Heavens!” Estella exclaimed, a light cough forming as the offensive smell tickled at the back of her throat. While operating a boarding house had never been the fate she might have chosen for herself, for the most part it was tolerable enough, and the money she garnered from her tenants each week was more than enough to provide for herself with a small bit to spare. A small bit which, through the years, had transformed itself into a fair bit. Still, there were moments in which she could not help but to wonder if the wages earned and saved were a fair enough trade for the duties which came along with them. 

Pinching the foul fabric between her thumb and forefinger, Estella debated within her own mind how to proceed with the situation before her. In truth, her first and most powerful instinct was to seek the owner of the garment, for no other purpose than to embarrass them thoroughly before God and her other tenants. Still, she was more self-aware than she had often been given credit for, and the understanding that such an act might very well have lost her a tenant managed to take precedent, above even the situation at hand. Before the ability to solidify a plan had come, she was torn from her thoughts by the chime of the bells hanging above her front door. 

Forcing her best smile to her lips, Estella made her way into the foyer, movements swift and body graceful as she tucked her unpleasant find into a hallways drawer along the way. “Good afternoon.” She greeted with a quick nod of her head, eyes scanning the person before her. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit today? Are you seeking a room, perhaps? Or, have you been told we offer hot meals to weary travelers some nights? I cannot imagine you have come to visit one of my...Illustrious tenants.” 

[hexrtsofxre]

MOODBOARD: WENDY DARLING- A STUDY OF SELF

[hexrtsofxre]

veronadracula :

The scent of blood from the most recent crime scene was still strong. Scotland Yard had the good sense to clear away the body quickly, of course, and Verona was rather sure the ridiculous Amateur Detective Society had been snooping around here, in search of clues, but even so, with all those humans scurrying about the place, she could still smell the metallic tang of blood. She inhaled sharply, and it stung her nostrils. It had clung to the walls and floor of his alley, hot and thick, for possibly hours. It was what had drawn her to this secluded section of alleyway, even days after the latest in this new string of murders.

She had been simply taking a walk, desiring time away from High Gate Cemetery, and her sister’s company. Though she felt as close to love as Verona was capable of feeling for her vampiric sisters, she did rather crave time in her own company, with her own thoughts. Marishka was still fiery and raging from the Count’s death at the hands of Van Helsing, and Aleera was too mercurial for Verona’s more controlled and calculated temperament. So, she had made her excuses, and found herself wandering near the Countess von Gratz’s manor, but she knew, from the newspapers she occasionally perused, that this was the sight of the latest murder. Besides the strong scent of blood, she could smell nothing telling beneath it. No musty smell of the undead, or even the scent of a human. All other scents had been overpowered by the aroma of blood. Verona studied the walls with cold curiosity, and, so caught up was she in her distant interest, that she did not hear someone approaching her from behind until they cleared their throat to get her attention.

Wendy’s adventure in Neverland had left many lasting effects upon her life. While some were those she considered to be quite positive, such as the sense of wonder about the world as it spun around her, many were those which she was unable to consider as anything other than negative. Even so, the years she’d been granted since taking her leave from the land of magic had brought with them many a lesson, and layers of maturity which her loved ones had once believed she might never obtain. One such lesson was that, despite the need to remain grounded in the reality of the world, a sense of wonder and a healthy curiosity were often excellent qualities to possess. And, it was an understanding of the very same which had pushed her to join the ADSF. 

At the evening’s earlier meeting, Wendy had readily volunteered herself for further investigation into the most recent scene. Though the lawmen, as well as several members of the ADSF, had made their way through near-immediately following the discovery of the victim, she couldn’t help but to think that perhaps applying a fresh set of eyes to the area might yield new results. Wendy’s eyes had fallen immediately upon the figure which stood frozen within the darkness, hear heartbeat seeming to cease before the organ made its way rapidly into her gut. The woman attempted to swallow, though in the moment her throat proved far too dry to accomplish such a feat. Why would anyone come here? She wondered, head cocking as she studied the person’s outline. Does this individual possess further information? Could this individual be the one responsible for these heinous crimes? Approaching, though cautiously, Wendy let out a relieved exhale, followed by a clearing of her throat. 

“Good evening, Miss Verona.” Wendy greeted with a small curtsy, heart returning to its appropriate position upon the discovery that the figure belonged to a quite intriguing woman she had come across at the Christmas markets. “I do hope I am not disturbing you.” Her eyes followed Verona’s gaze, allowing space for several curious glances in the wall’s direction. “Might I ask, Miss, what it is you are seeking?” 

[hexrtsofxre]

veronadracula·:

That the young girl was native was hardly a surprise – though London was a melting pot of different groups, as it had been when the Count had first taken she and Aleera here in the 16th century, it was still predominately made up of those born and bred here. But there was something wistful in the young woman’s expression, when she said those final four words, as if she were recalling somewhere else. It only lasted a moment, but it was long enough for Verona to feel a kind of pull where her heart had not beat for centuries, an ache for her home in the Carpathian Mountains; that dark stone many-turreted castle, with its high-ceilinged corridors full of portraits of the long-dead, and rich red rugs from the East. She had been happy enough to follow the Count here to England, permanently, but she still missed her homeland, in a distant and muted way.

“For the most part?” she inquired politely, tilting her head to the side a little. “Are you well travelled, then?” She did not take this opportunity to offer the fact that she herself was incredibly well travelled. She had been to Italy as the Sistine Chapel was nearing completion, she had walked through the newly-liberated streets of America after their revolution, and she had spent countless freezing nights sitting with the Count atop the roof of their majestic castle, listening to the music of the children of the night. But she did not share any of this with this young lady, instead, she merely smiled as the topic moved effortlessly on.

“Ah, I like that,” she said, exhaling with a smile. “The air coming alive. Yes, it does feel like that.” She paused before responding to the question of holiday celebrations and traditions. As a child and a young woman, growing up in Transylvania, they had sung colinde and eaten traditional Romanian foods that she’d long since forgotten, but since her immortal life had begun, she and the Count had obviously not partaken in human Christmas celebrations, partially because they were shunned by the very God those celebrations venerated, and partially because the thought of carrying out such human rituals was frankly ridiculous.

So, after a moment, Verona smiled a smile which did not quite reach her eyes. “As terribly modern as this sounds,” she replied. “My sisters and I are not altogether religious. As a child, I attended church, sung hymns, and so forth, but I have not done so for a long time now.” She had caught another curious thing the woman had said, and had to ask. “Forgive me, but you mentioned students. Are you a teacher, Miss…?” She allowed the sentence to trail off, hoping the woman would be kind enough to fill the gap with her name.

Wendy took in a breath, exhaling rapidly before emitting a short chuckle. Her eyebrows lifted as her smile widened, head dipping for a brief moment as she seemed to study her shoes, and the ground beneath her feet. “I...” Pausing, she considered how she might answer the question in both an evasive yet truthful manner. Her childhood experiences were not ones she often spoke about, for a plethora of reasons. While she hadn’t ever grown up in what any might have considered a poor situation, the strain her relationship with her father had garnered left many of her childhood memories tainted, even slightly so, with a foul bitterness which she’d worked so hard through the years to dissolve. Of course, it was one which her experiences in Neverland, along with her subsequent return, had begun to disintegrate. And, recent years had brought an air laden with more understanding than the two had ever had between them.  Though, that did not mean Wendy necessarily found herself agreeing with the adage of time healing all wounds- in fact, some days lead her to believe that despite the years, her relationship with her father had not managed to be healed at all. 

“I do not believe I could say I am well traveled, Miss. As I said, I am a London native- I began here, and as time goes by, I find myself convinced I shall meet my end here as well. Whenever that might be.” For a moment, her mouth hung slightly agape, lips parted as she breathed in the chilled air. “I have visited another land but once in my life, an experience which was as much a curse as it was a blessing. Though...” Her gaze was cast downward once more, a certain sadness fighting for dominance behind her otherwise carefree eyes. “...I cannot say I would be opposed to further travel. Experiencing the land and practices of others holds a sense of wonder, just as much as a sense of adventure. Both of which I find incredibly appealing. Perhaps that is why I enjoy literature so. They do say it is the cheapest form of travel.”

The smile returned to her lips at the woman’s next words, eyes brightening sightly once more. “I am pleased you do, Miss. I thought it quite an appropriate metaphor myself. It certainly does feel as such- appropriate, I mean. The excitement of others, the anticipation for the coming holidays, have added a sort of bozz to the air, one unique to this time of year. I find it to be both familiar and new, holding such an incredible amount of potential...My apologies, Miss. I beg you forgive my inability to hold my tongue.” Wendy’s lips tightened into a stiff smile, expression apologetic. 

Despite the emotion swirling within her, Wendy took stock of the woman’s smile. It did not escape her that, in the moment, the smile given was one which did not seem quite as full as it could or might have. “My apologies, I do hope I did not offend. Though, I thank you for your willingness to share such an intimate detail. Admittedly, while I am unable to empathize completely with such a sentiment, there are some ways in which I am capable of understanding. There is certainly a vast difference between my past beliefs and those which currently stand.” Wendy tipped her head back, realizing that along the course of their conversation she’d forgotten to formally introduce herself. “My sincerest apologies, Miss. On occasion, I become far too wrapped up in things to remember the manners my mother worked so hard to instill in me. It is Darling; my name is Wendy Darling. Might I have the honor of knowing yours as well?” Nodding, her smile simultaneously relaxed and widened. “I am, yes. A teacher, that is. A teacher of English. It is certainly not a profession I had long pictured mysef in, though it is one I have come to love and hold so dearly. What is it that you do, Miss?”

[hexrtsofxre]

veronadracula​:

When the young woman bowed her head in deference, Verona was not at all surprised. Throughout her life, even as a human, she had expected deference, first from the Transylvanian villagers she and her father passed on his travels, and then from the various servants the Count had kept about the castle, all bowing and scraping in the hopes that he would impart immortality on them, as he did so sparingly. Verona was used to a certain level of respect from those who were socially her inferior, so she did nothing to acknowledge the nod, save for smile her idiosyncratic crooked smile. “Ah, have you?” she asked, with a knowing look in her eye. She had not felt cravings for anything other than blood in hundreds of years, but she knew well the cravings that befell humans, especially with regards to sweets.

The young woman leaned closer, and Verona caught a whiff of her sharp blood as she blushed – it rushed to her cheeks and brightened them at once – and a much younger, less experienced, vampire might have reacted, but Verona remained completely calm and poised, still smiling. “I would imagine,” she said, “That the temptation is rather strong, being surrounded by so many lovely treats.” She glanced over at the cakes booth, and back to the  woman, smiling as if they were sharing a joke.

The question wasn’t a surprise – Verona had partially asked it in order to illicit curiosity. It was a trick the Count had often used when talking to humans, and one she had picked up over the years. He would throw in small quips and jokes that they could not possibly understand, simply to enjoy their confusion. Verona smiled. “I’m glad you asked,” she said, the lie ready on her lips. She felt no guilt in saying it, because it was based in truth, albeit an ancient one, from the time when she was still a human. “My family have their roots in Romania, and the customs there are rather different to those here. You might think it odd, but a lot of our dishes involve blood –  sângerete, for instance, which I think is rather like the blood sausage found in England.” She raised her eyebrows behind her sunglasses. “I know it seems rather morbid, but it is much more appealing that it sounds, I assure you.”

Having grown up on the outskirts of town, in a small home big enough only to house herself and her mother, Genevieve was accustomed to displaying additional manners to those appearing to be above her station. While they certainly were not poor, meals and warmth never lacking, she and her mother had never been remotely close to being classified as women of stature. Even with Genevieve’s growing name and popularity as it related her designs, she and her mother were not yet able to be classified as anything more than common women. 

There was something about the woman- something hidden, though visible to any who cared to look hard enough- which poked at the back of Genevieve’s senses, tickling her nerves persistently, despite her inability to pinpoint precisely what that something was. She seemed pleasant enough, their conversation progressing nicely compared to a handful of others she’d had that day. With a shake of her head, GiGi brushed the nagging away, assuring herself she must simply be tired from the day’s activities, or perhaps that she’d managed to ingest one too many of the very pies they spoke about currently. “It most certainly is, Miss. Usually, I do quite well at resisting temptation. Though I find that, like so many others, my resolve does tend to weaken near the holidays.” 

Listening as the woman before her spoke of her family’s traditions, Genevieve found her interests piqued. While she and her mother earned a decent living for themselves, they hadn’t ever made quite enough to travel, though doing so had long been a dream of Gen’s. Often, when she found herself unable to fall quickly into sleep, she dreamed of far away lands, those which lied beyond the shores of the only home she’d ever known. Along with her dreams of travel came a natural fascination with the customs of others, a topic she was always eager to explore when given the opportunity. “My, that does sound vastly different from the courses offered at most celebrations here. It sounds quite beautiful, Miss. I have sampled blood sausage on few occasions in my life, though frequently enough to draw an understanding of what you are referencing.” Her head shook rapidly at the final comment, eyes widening as she leaned forward once more. “No, not at all Miss. If I may speak freely, I believe the dish sounds quite interesting. I cannot say I would not relish the opportunity to taste it myself. How is it made, if my asking does not offend you?”

[hexrtsofxre]

xrevitalized·:

When the man approached Marishka and asked for her company, the brunette had been under the impression he wanted to be alone with her, accepting the request and readily separating from Verona. She thought he’d take her somewhere secluded, a place where flirtatious words and intimate touches could be exchanged without the risk of being interrupted. Marishka thought an eager lamb had thrown themselves right into the jaws of the wolf, that she’d be able to have a snack before she and her sisters sought out their dinner later in the evening.

However, the man, who she had already forgotten the name of; seemed genuinely interested in showing Marishka around the market, trying to impress her with his knowledge of what each stall was selling and some story the brunette had long ago stopped listening to. Something about his father’s company? Or was it his company now? It didn’t matter. He was a prude and a bore, the vampire deciding he wasn’t worth the trouble.

Hidden behind circular sunglasses, brown eyes briskly searched their surroundings. Considering her mood was not completely soured, she decided to search for a way to distract the man and eventually lose him in the crowd, instead of blowing him off and potentially make a scene. Marishka noticed the long queue for the lemon pies, interrupting the dull conversation and insisting they had to get one each. Once they were in line, Marishka faked remembering she needed to get vegetables for dinner, promising she’d go to a vendor nearby and come right back.

With the man’s gaze following her, Marishka did as she promised, inspecting what the young woman had to offer as she waited for her opportunity to slip away. “Blessed indeed,” she complimented, a small smile accompanying her charming voice. “Whoever tended to them is clearly gifted with a green thumb.” Marishka glanced at the pie stall, focusing on the young brunette again as the man’s attention was still on her. “I must admit I don’t know where to start; I’m not much of a cook.” Her head tilted slightly. “What would you recommend to accompany lamb?”

Genevieve beamed as another potential customer approached, admiring the gorgeous embellishments laying upon her dress. The compliment came, and she bowed her head in thanks, smile widening as she brought her eyes back to attention. “Many thanks, Miss, for those incredibly kind words. For the most part, it is my mother who most tends to our crops, although I do certainly lend a hand when it is called for.” Pausing, she allowed a small moment of silence before continuing. “I do possess a small green thumb, though not one nearly matching her talents. If I were on my own, I most certainly would not have the ability to maintain such crops during the winter months.”

As the woman’s gaze fell upon the nearby pie stand, Genevieve followed with her own eyes, spotting the man returning her customer’s gaze from afar. “My, he is quite striking.” She complimented. “And, I am safely able to relay that the pies he appears to be seeking are quite delicious. Are you married?” She inquired, searching briefl for a band of some kind upon the woman’s left hand, yet finding none. “My apologies, I am aware the question is quite intrusive. Occasionally my mouth gets the better of me. I do hope you take no offense, for none was intended.” A blush crept furiously to her cheeks, her mind turning on her instantly as she kicked herself for her words. 

The question came, and GiGi brightened once more, happy to have the distraction from her previous blunder. “That is quite alright Miss, not everyone is. Nor is everyone meant to be, I believe. If we all possessed the same talents, the world would surely be an incredibly boring place. Rather, that is the belief I hold.” Her eyes fell to the table before them, considering the best pieces of advice to give. “Lamb is such a fickle meat, at least in my experience. However, when tenderized appropriately and adorned as it should be, it does make an excellent dish. To begin, I would suggest carrots. The carrot is such a versatile vegetable, it pairs well with nearly everything, and is thought to have incredible value to the body when consumed. They take seasoning well, and their texture is able to be shifted with various methods of cooking. I might also suggest peas as well, especially so if you are considering making a dish in which the vegetables are combined and cooked with the lamb. What sort of dish are you thinking of creating?”

[hexrtsofxre]

rozerun·:

         were  the  murders  horrible  ?  yes.  was  it  horrific  that  women  were  being  mutilated  and  left  behind  in  cold  alleyway’s  ?  of  course.  but  Alice  couldn’t  help  but  be  utterly  fascinated  by  it.  and  the  creation  of  the  amateur  detective  society  for  females  wasn’t  helping  her  NEW  fixation  at  all.  if  anything  it  gave  her  something  else  to  channel  her  excessive  energy  into.  spending  more  time  at  the  Watson’s  home  than  her  own  was  proof  that  the  mystery  behind  the  murders  held  them  hostage. notebook  always  held  close  to  their  person  ,  eyes  and  ears  open  for  anything  unusual  ,  she  would  solve  this  !

         leaving  her  older  sister  behind  did  Alice  decide  to  use  the  fair  as  a  way  to  perhaps  gather  information.  behind  every  jovial  greeting  could  hide  a  MONSTER  ,  behind  every  smile  a  DEVIL  :  if  there  was  one  thing  the  murders  proved  was  that  anyone  could  be  a  killer  (  and  something  entirely  inhuman  ).  ignoring  the  jeering  ,  the  unsubtle  way  some  stall  owners  tried  to  sell  their  ware  ,  Alice  slowed  their  pace  ;  a  moment  to  catch  their  breath.  

         ❝  huh  ?  ❞  confused  does  she  turn  towards  the  stall  owner  ,  brows  furrowing  before  realizing  that  it  was  them  the  other  was  talking  to.  they  turn ,  hands  soon  enough  lowering  to  straighten  the  folds  in  their  dress  before  they  walk  closer  towards  the  stall  and  peer  at  the  produce.  not  entirely  interested  in  what  she  was  selling.  no  :  Alice  was  certain  that  she’d  seen  the  girl  before.

        ❝   if  i  have  to  be  honest  i  don’t  think  i  can  call  vegetables  beautiful  ?  anyway , do forget that  !  i  am  sure  your  produce  is  lovely  but  what’s  more  pressing  is  … where  have  i  seen  you  before  ,  miss  ?  ❞  nose  is  wrinkled  ,  eyes  squinting  ;  in  deep  thought  before  she  let  out  a  gasp  and  came  forward  to  lean  upon  the  wooden  table.  ❝  dresses  !  are  you  not  a  seamstress  ?  i  am  sure  you’ve  fitted  me  a  dress  before.  i  am  sure.  ❞ 

Understanding the effects the murders had left in their wake was integral for any who wished to turn a prophet at this year’s Christmas Market; ensuring their wares remained as fascinating and needed as possible, while maintaining a balance of understanding the general air of mistrust surrounding the place was a crucial tactic. And, one which Genevieve believed she had mastered beautifully. Charm was something she’d been gifted, a speech she’d heard from her mother more times than she could count, and one she certainly called upon during her time in the markets this day. 

She’d seen the woman making her way nearby, recognizing her immediately as the relation of one of her most loyal clients, and someone she’d been commissioned to fashion dresses for on more than one special occasion in the girl’s life. However, the quizzical expression which greeted her displayed the fact that Alice most assuredly did not recall her as easily. Something about the realization irked GiGi, though not enough to show the emotion outwardly, nor to comment on it. And, in fact, she was certain the ordeal would be forgotten within her own mind as soon as the day’s closing procedures were upon her. After all, her garments were meant to take center stage in all situations, a fact she was comfortable within and accepting of. 

When Alice approached Gen’s own brow furrowed slightly, her comment regarding the vegetables taking her aback momentarily. “Oh my. Well, each is certainly entitled to their own opinion, though in this particular instance I must disagree. These vegetables hold just as much beauty as the roses being peddled down the way. Beauty is not a generic term, in fact I believe it to be completely subjective, the qualifications for which are ever-changing and rapidly-evolving, depending upon the beholder. Perhaps that explains the origin of the most famous quote on the same topic. Though, again, that is simply my own opinion, Miss.” Genevieve’s head ducked slightly, realizing she may have spoken out of turn, silently cursing herself as she refocused herself. “Yes, Miss, you are quite right. My name is Genevieve Bennett, and while I often find myself assigned to tending the stall-” she paused, gesturing at the table before her. “-My profession is that of seamstress. I have fitted your mother for many a gown, and yourself on one or two occasions as well.” Concerned that she’d managed to upset the other in some way, Gen added hurriedly, “Though I hold no fault against you, of course. Meeting in such a vastly different environment surely creates an additional burden upon recollection. At any rate, are you looking forward to your holiday, Miss?”

[hexrtsofxre]

veronadracula·:

Though she had not needed sustenance from the earth, or animals, for over four hundred years, Verona still enjoyed the sights and scents of human food – the succulent turkeys around this time of year, the brightly coloured vegetables and lavish desserts. And at an event such as this, with smoke pouring from cauldrons of freshly-made soup and the scent of herbs and spices and chocolate floating through the air, the enticement of food was incredibly tantalising. Verona wandered through the crowds, cutting a clear path for herself as if through water, as commoners moved aside for her, her finely-cut dress, deep purple gloves, and well-honed grace speaking for themselves.

She slowed a little to admire the beautiful display of fresh produce atop one of the stalls – carrots, beetroots, and onions, all hearty vegetables perfect for the season. It was remarkable, this new world of transport and international trade which brought all manner of food and drink together. A woman called to her from a stall, and Verona turned to look at her. She knew a sales speech if ever she heard one. As a young girl, centuries ago, she and her father (a man who grew fainter and fainter in her memories with every passing day) had often been accosted by street vendors in the various voivode-controlled districts of Transylvania to which they had travelled, desperate to press their wares into the hands of such an esteemed man. But those memories, like all of her recollections from her human life, were blurred at the edges, and dim to recall.

“They are indeed beautiful,” she replied to the woman. “But I’m sure I will be able to resist their draw. I have remarkable willpower.” This was a joke that only her sisters would have appreciated, but she made it for her own sake nonetheless, and smiled to herself. “You have quite an impressive selection, Ma'am. But my family and I don’t often partake in the usual Christmas feast.” And there it was again – another private joke for her own benefit.

Circumstance had called for Genevieve to become and partake in many things which she might not have been otherwise. Without a father figure, someone to secure the family name and prosperity as so many others depended on during their time, her mother had ensured she acquired and honed skill sets which many might have found arbitrary- one of which, was her ability to sell. Understanding the necessity of solidifying a steady stream of income, outside of that which her mother had been receiving from some unknown source for years, was imperative to ensuring the survival of them both. Even still, with her ability to sell and produce results, the one characteristic Genevieve had never managed to fully nor seamlessly acquire was the final push, the small, additional bit of convincing it occasionally took to convince potential patrons to cross the line to becoming such. That was to say, when told ‘no’, Gen tended to accept the answer at face-value, the only fault in her pitch which often held her back in one regard or another. 

Chuckling, GiGi bowed her head slightly, both to show respect for the woman’s obvious station, as well as to indicate her understanding. “Willpower is a fine attribute to possess, Miss.” She nodded. “It is one which, between you and I, I have found myself lacking on occasion. Most especially so when there are sweets involved, such as those surrounding us.” Leaning forward a bit, Genevieve closed some of the distance between them, voice lowering to a hushed tone. “In fact, the likelihood that I have already made two visits to the nearby cakes booth is quite high.” Giggling, she blushed slightly, righting herself in her position behind the table. “You are too gracious, Miss, and your kindness is appreciated. Though I must admit, you have piqued my curiosity. Though it is a quality some might find unbecoming, I cannot resist the urge to ask- what sort of feast do you partake in, if not the traditional or usual?”

[hexrtsofxre]

veronadracula·:

The young woman greeted her in such a cheerful manner that Verona was almost startled, so unused was she to such a pleasant greeting. Since the Count’s death, she and her sisters had been rather withdrawn, and even prior to his passing, Verona was a woman of few words – blunt and to the point. Centuries ago, her father had called her cel tăcut, the silent one. But where her silence used to be mistaken for meekness, now, Verona’s poise, expensive dress, and knowing smile all implied good breeding and status. The Count had always ensured that their foursome gave off such an aura.

“Since childhood?” she asked, politely curious. “You are a born and bred Londoner, then?” Despite mostly speaking to her sisters and the Count over the past several hundred years, the Count had entertained a few vampiric noble guests at his castle, and Verona’s ability for pleasing small talk was second to none. She looked around at the hustle and bustle of the crowds, the smoke from various food stalls and lights strung up over the whole affair, and smiled. “I’m finding my afternoon very pleasant, thank you,” she replied. “There is nothing quite like the build up to this time of year.” Though the constant mentions of Jesus and the Church prickled her unholy skin, she did rather enjoy the festivities.

Much to her father’s chagrin, Wendy had always been somewhat over-friendly. No matter the setting, she seemed to possess the distinct capability to make a friend wherever she went, while strangers seemed a figment of someone else’s imagination. The childlike wonder with which she seemed to view the world was beautiful in some respects, though a habit her father feared  might land her in more trouble than any of them might have known what to do with. Despite her maturation over the years, Wendy could not fully rid herself of her core characteristics, the very things which made her who she was. So, she carried on as she always had, though a tad bit wiser and with a little more of an aged point of view, though neither were anything anyone might have noticed. Most especially, a stranger. 

Nodding excitedly, Wendy’s smile widened. “Oh, yes Miss! I have been lucky in such a regard, to have spent my life here...For the most part.” For a moment, the woman’s expression became distant, as if remembering another time, another life, now nothing more than a far-off memory. With a shake of her head, she returned fully to the conversation, smile softening though remaining present nonetheless. “Wonderful. You are quite right, I must agree. The air itself does seem to come alive during this time of year, I could not agree more.” Wendy paused, eyes scanning the crowd once more. “Will you be partaking in any holiday celebrations or traditions of your own this year? I know not everyone does, despite the indication otherwise.” She gestured to the decorations around them, giving a small laugh. “Admittedly, I tend to forget such a fact, it is so ingrained within me to prioritize my own rituals and tradition. Though, as one of my students most recently reminded me, it is important that I expand my own horizons, to both remember and celebrate the differences of others.”

[hexrtsofxre]

for: open  location: holiday markets

The energy flowing through the city had nearly soured with the continuation of the murders happening. With no suspects in sight, and what seemed to be no leads, the fear that had begun to grip the city was nearly tangible, thickening the very air surrounding the once lively place. Though they came every year, the holidays truly could not have made an appearance at a better time. The allowance to focus on something other than the vile mystery seemed to have breathed a new life into things, people smiling, daring to laugh for what felt like the first time in a long while. 

The winter crops were hardly easy and rarely kind, though the Earth had provided as she always did, allowing Genevieve and her mother a harvest which would carry them through the most difficult of months. Atop the table before her sat a spread of winter vegetables- beets, cabbage, carrots, onions, and peas shone beautifully against the wood of the tabletop, flanked on their sides by sealed glass jars containing canned asparagus, beans, peppers, and okra, an array that was sure to draw a multitude of customers. 

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Genevieve called to a passerby, one she’d noticed had slowed slightly to take in the produce. “Winter is never a friend in a business such as this, though we have remained blessed with a gorgeous harvest this season.” A small smile played upon her lips. “There are many lovely dishes one can elevate with such additions. If you have yet to complete your shopping for your holiday dishes, you have certainly come to the right place. Even if you have, I am certain we can provide something you shall enjoy. After all, who can resist the draw of succulent summer okra, most especially during this cold and bitter winter?” 

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veronadracula·:

Though Verona had visited London before in her long life, her visits had never coincided with Christmas. She found the season uncharacteristically tolerable – the frigid air and thick snow reminded her of home, and that humans were more inclined to partake in wine and beer made their blood all the more sweet.

And so, as unusual as it was for her to leave Highgate Cemetery before the late afternoon, she found herself standing beside a stall selling hot apple cider, the tangy scent of it wafting pleasantly through the air. In her gloved hand, she held an empty glass, for appearance’s sake, and her small sunglasses remained perched on the bridge of her nose, as always when she went outside on bright days. Despite the merriment of the occasion, she could not shake memories of the Count, as if he were standing right beside her, as he had done for centuries.

So long was she in thought that she barely noticed someone standing nearby. She blinked, and smiled, her melancholic expression fading instantly. “Good afternoon,” she called in a seamless Estuary English accent, indistinguishable from that of a native English speaker, honed from centuries of practise. “How are you enjoying the festivities?”

The markets themselves had always held a certain kind of wonder for Wendy. The chatter of patrons and vendors, the smells of various baked goods and sweet treats, the kaleidoscope of colors painted onto various fabrics swaying lazily with the breeze- all had always come together to bring the perfect bit of magic to the woman’s life. The market at the holidays held a special sort of feeling, the added decorations seemed to provide an unmatched sense of amazement. 

The impending holiday left the market’s usual bustle amplified, and with the promise of the New Year lingering upon the horizon, it seemed that each visitor were seeking the last wares of the year, tokens and trinkets to perfect their celebration, and carry them into the next phases of their lives. 

After browsing for what seemed like hours, Wendy had chosen to take a small break, settling herself in a small, out-of-the-way spot along the path after purchasing her own cup of cider. She’d been sipping it slowly, savoring the spicy-sweet taste as she observed those moving around her. A nearby voice broke through her thoughts, bringing her attention to the woman beside her. “Good afternoon!” Wendy greeted brightly. “I am, very much so! I have always found the markets to be incredibly exciting, since childhood this has been one of my most favorite places. And now, with the holidays forthcoming, things seem even more beautiful. And yourself? How are you finding your afternoon?”

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Genevieve Bennett tag dump

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Wendy Darling tag dump 

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GENEVIEVE BENNETT

Name: Genevieve Maricella Bennett Nicknames: GiGi, Gen, Gig Age: 31 Birthday: May 22 Zodiac Sign: Gemini Relationship Status: Single Occupation: Seamstress Member of ADSF?: No Positive Traits: Understanding, Compassionate, Friendly, Charming, Organized Negative Traits: People-Pleasing, Indecisive, Soft Spoken, Timid

BIO:

-Genevieve Maricella Bennett was born May 22 to single mother Adelaide Bennett. Her mother, a hard working woman who had come from next to nothing, was a housekeeper in the home of a well-known and wealthy noble. She had become entangled with her boss’ son, a man who had made her believe he would be with her forever, that he would give her the fairy tale she’d longed for all her life. 

-When his parents were made aware of the situation, her father determined the family and his status simply couldn’t take the embarrassment of their only son falling for and having children with a servant. Therefore, he made an agreement with Adelaide. He would purchase a small home for her and her child, one in the countryside, away from their home (and name) so that she might live in peace. He would send monthly stipends, enough to ensure the two would be taken care of and could have food upon their table, in exchange for her silence and quiet removal from their home and life. 

-Understanding the stereotypes that came with being a young and unwed mother at the time, Adelaide was aware that she had next to no choice. Making the decision that she believed would be the best for her child, she agreed. 

-Genevieve grew up in a home with only her mother, one that suited her just fine, allowing the two of them to cultivate a strong and close relationship, one she cherishes to this day. 

-She does not know who her biological father is, as her mother has always refused to speak of him. However, to save them both the embarrassment and judgement she knew would come to pass, Adelaide has always instructed GiGi to tell others that her father passed away, leaving her mother far too brokenhearted to take another husband. 

-To supplement the stipend sent by her former employer, Gen’s mother began tending a small vegetable garden, a hobby which took off and soon became a second source of income as she would take the vegetables to sell at the local markets, often employing Genevieve to help sell and harvest her wares. 

-Due to their meager living and earnings, Genevieve’s mother took to hand-sewing dresses for her daughter, to help her fit in with the other children. Through this, Genevieve developed a love of designing and sewing, and soon began making her own garments, which blossomed into her making garments for her friends. 

-From there, GiGi’s passion became more of a business, and she began making pieces on commission for women around town. Her gowns and garments are known for being gorgeous and original, and she has been able to elevate her family’s status through the work she has done, becoming fairly known and popular within the city. 

-News of the murders has been wide spread, and while Genevieve is concerned for her safety, as well as the safety of her mother, she has made no move to further investigate. 

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WENDY DARLING

Name: Wendy Moira Angela Darling  Nicknames: None Age: 28 Birthday: February 13 Zodiac Sign: Aquarius Relationship Status: Single Occupation: Teacher (English) Member of ADSF?: Yes Positive Traits: Nurturing, Kind, Patient, Intelligent, Creative, Maternal Negative Traits: Temperamental, Moody, Indecisive, Jealous BIO: 

-Wendy Moira Angela Darling was born February 13 in London, England to George Darling, a banker, and Mary Darling, a homemaker.

-Growing up in an upper-middle class home afforded Wendy many privileges and luxuries that not everyone might have received growing up. She lived in a comfortable home, filled (for the most part) with love and laughter. Her needs were met, her stomach full, and her bed comfortable and warm. 

-Wendy was born the eldest of three Darling children, followed in age by her brothers John and Michael. Wendy was John’s elder by 5 years, and Michael’s elder by 8 years. 

-While Wendy loved and cherished her family, her relationship with her father was always marked with a bit of strife. Her father, a stern and very nearly severe man, held high standards and even higher expectations. During her younger years, Wendy rarely managed to succeed in meeting them, cultivating feelings of inadequacy within herself. Having always been a dreamer, George Darling held firm to the idea that her head and feet should have been more firmly planted on the ground. 

-Wendy’s adventures in Neverland, with the Lost Boys and their leader Peter Pan left her with many lessons, the biggest of which being that, while she would always be a dreamer, rooting herself more firmly in the life and world she lived in was more suited for her than the life the boys offered in Neverland. While Wendy once yearned to remain young for eternity, the realization that growing up was a necessary part of life, one that should not have been avoided, came to her swiftly. 

-Following her return from Neverland, Wendy’s relationship with her father began to improve as she found herself stepping further into the world he’d been working to help her understand. She began to focus more on cultivating a ‘real life’, becoming more serious about her studies and activities in London. 

-Wendy completed her basic studies and chose to pursue a career in teaching, attending a Teacher’s College. While she’d matured more than many ever thought possible, she held firm to her imagination, her love of literature ensuring she was able to do so. Her focus during college was English and Literature, and upon completing her studies, she took a job at a secondary school, teaching just that. 

-Though her adventures in Neverland taught her a lot, they left Wendy with a large sense of wonder, and an understanding that there truly was  more out there than meets the eye. When the murders in London began happening, she couldn’t stifle her own curiosity. Understanding that local law enforcement were having difficulties apprehending or even pinpointing a suspect, Wendy decided to join the ADSF, hoping to be able to lend her mind and expertise in whatever way appropriate.