ˈperəsəˌtizəm

How does a monster become a MONSTER? It starts with love, always love, and they ate it in greedy handfuls, back when they were WHOLE&BEAUTIFUL and the light waltzed on their skin like stars. It starts with sin, always sin, like fingerprints on the spine, like a devouring, like singing while Eden floods, like singing with fists in their mouths. Before a monster is a monster, it is swollen with love, it presses sin flush against the wall, it pretends that it knows what to do with its hands. And then the love VANISHES, it is plucked right out of their mouths, and the monster is desolate, and the monster is withering, and all that is left is sin and a gaping hole where the heart should be, OVERGROWN&ABANDONED, stars spilling out.

[dhorreurs]

And so it begins...

[parasit-ism]

dhorreurs:

Philippe smiled, pleased to have found such a dedicated witch. He grew more confident in Constantine’s capabilities every day. “Don’t neglect your body, I need you at your best,” he said, running his fingertips along the edge of the table. The carvings were beautiful, Philippe almost regretted giving it away to Constantine’s work. God knew what’d happen to it once magic got involved. “The unconscious mind can make connections you are too busy thinking to consider. Give it a chance.”

He was amused by the lightness of his tone. Constantine was unafraid, more than that, he seemed to be comfortable around him. Philippe wondered if he’d ever fought off a vampire and won. That’d explain his lack of caution. That and the notion that he would be of no use to him dead. “That you do,” Philippe said, allowing his sight to wander along his neck. He’d love to sink his teeth into him, but a quick bite would make him no happier than their treasure hunt. He’d rather not lose a valuable asset over something as fickle as a craving.

Dead languages. He loved the name they’d been given for they lived only through the dead. The old ones, the Ancients, they often knew what the world thought lost. And he felt the weight of his age when Constantine handed him the page. Philippe creased his forehead as his eyes traveled down the text. “How did I miss this?” He wondered out loud, turning to give Constantine another look. “Most people would’ve suspected Gothic, not Vandalic.” The witch never ceased to amaze him. 

“Impressive work, Constantin. My Vandalic is a little rusty, but I should be able to translate it. Just give me a minute,” he said, stepping away to grab a drink downstairs and some pen and paper on his way back. Philippe hoped the page would be useful, he did hate to waste his time. Settling into a seat, he started reading the page a second time, nursing a glass of blood that was still warm in one hand.

“Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind.” It was strange to get health advise from a vampire. Specially when he knew that said vampire wanted to eat him. Constantine wasn’t oblivious to the this fact and he wasn’t ignoring it either. He wasn’t so reckless as to come into a vampire’s home unprepared. He trusted that Philippe would respect his boundaries because he needed him, but at the same time he knew that vampires were not famous for being trustworthy. So he had a trick or two under his sleeve just in case Philippe decided he wanted to have a taste without asking or if he decided he didn’t need him anymore. Constantine enjoyed living on the edge though and being near someone so deadly was incredibly exhilarating. Why have a safe and comfortable life when he could be in constant danger, right? 

Philippe seemed impress with his knowledge of dead languages and it only fueled his ego and his desire to learn more about these mysterious artifacts. He did feel rather embarrassed that he wasn’t as versed with this particular language and that he needed someone else to translate but at the same time he was happy to give Philippe something useful to do other than pace around and stare at him. Not that he minded the company but this was helpful. He watched as the vampire drank from the glass, blood coating his lips. “May I ask you something?” He interrupted him, taking a seat on the nearby armchair. “What is it like? Being immortal?” 

[dhorreurs]

And so it begins...

[parasit-ism]

dhorreurs:

Philippe noticed the stacks of books that surrounded the witch, and the ever present frown on his forehead. He thought it might leave a mark, an observation he kept to himself for it was as random as it was useless. “You look tired,” he said instead, “I hope there is nothing wrong with your chambers. I was under the impression you enjoyed it.”

That was the problem with the living, even the strongest could be fragile. Philippe had grown to withstand a generous period of time without nourishment, but eventually he’d cave too, as vampires did — in a vicious manner. The living had more needs however, and that meant more weaknesses. It amused him that Constantine gave him permission to eat. “Are you offering?”

The witch finally turned his nose away from his books long enough to meet his gaze. Philippe offered him a satisfied smile. “And have you identified these languages? Because that I can help with. Turns out I’m not just a pretty face.”

Philippe had such a strong presence about him. An energy that was hard to ignore. The vampire really knew how to command a room. The interesting thing about him was that despite the reputation he had about being a monster, he was actually quiet the charmer. “My chambers are very comfortable, thank you. I’ve been to fascinated with this grimoire. Trying to take it apart. Sleep can come later.” He did notice the glint in his eye when he mentioned food and his question brought a hint of a smile to his face. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you stare at my neck.” He added with a little amusement in his tone. “It’s okay though, I do have a nice looking neck.” Constantine stood from the sitting position he was in, a few pages in his hand. There were others scattered across the room. “Dead languages, mostly. Akkadian, Sanskrit, Coptic and Aramiac. To name a few.” He looked at the vampire when he offered to help, handing him the paper he was carrying. “This one - looks like Vandolic but I’m not so sure.”

[dhorreurs]

And so it begins...

[parasit-ism]

dhorreurs:

Philippe didn’t sleep much, but anyone who caught him leaving his bed at ten in the morning would’ve thought otherwise. He spent long hours reading into the night, sometimes even writing his memoirs. The previous night wasn’t an exception. Philippe had come home too late, he realized, to find Constantine in the library. A pity, the man was entrancing, and not only for his magic. It was ten when he awoke a mere few hours later and the vampire put on a pair of trousers and washed up before making his way into the library.

There he was, focused in something. He tugged his lips into a crooked smile, appreciating the sight as he stepped closer to him. “I hope you didn’t skip breakfast. The first meal of the day is the most important one. I am famished.” He came to a stop before him, looking down at whatever he’d been working on. “I apologize for yesterday. I lost track of time. What did I miss?”

Constantine didn’t sleep at all. When he had a job to do it consumed him to a point where he forgot to do the most basic things like eat and sleep. He’d cast a spell on himself so that he didn’t need to. it didn’t last forever though so eventually he’d have to crash and find some real nourishment. He’d been sitting in the library surrounded by books and notebooks. He had been scribbling ideas and discoveries all over the place. Ancient languages that needed to be decipher. Words that he believed might mean something important. He wasn’t close to finding the source of the mystery but he was confident that he would be. 

He was in such concentration that he didn’t he Philippe walk in. He didn’t notice his presence until he was close to him and speaking. “I don’t eat all that much but - you can go ahead and eat something. It doesn’t bother me.” He had a feeling that most people, even witches, found the whole drinking blood thing distasteful. “Please, you don’t have to apologize. You’re a busy man. I understand.” He answered, finally pulling away from the book he was reading to meet the vampire’s eyes. “Nothing exciting. Most of the book is written in code. It’s not a language. It’s many.

[dhorreurs]

fine print

[dhorreurs]

parasit-ism:

One way to put it? Constantine could not deny that he wanted to know about the vampire standing in front of him. he never really had that kind of curiosity and fascination towards one of these creatures before but this one was - unique. Maybe because of his old age or because they seemed to share a common passion. He wondered how Philippe came to be so interested in collecting dark objects and learning more about magic. He could see it in his eyes when the candles were lit. How he marveled at the thought of having a witch around. Enchanted by the power that he possessed. “Well, that depends on whether you like surprises or not. I think - you’re someone who wants to be involved in the details. Know everything that goes on under your nose.” He walked closer to Philippe as he talked, slowly closing the gap between the two. “Since you’re the boss, I’m doing whatever you want me to do. I can work on my own and tell you when I get results or - you can stay and watch. I don’t get stage fright.”

Constantine didn’t jump to conclusions, he wasn’t easily swayed, and though Philippe usually revelled in such character faults, using them to manipulate those who surrounded him, he had to admit he found it attractive to have someone who was capable of thinking with their own head around him. “I wasn’t aware I was so transparent,” the vampire commented, but there was amusement on his tone. Philippe watched as the witch stepped closer to him with the confidence of a man who spoke to an equal. The warmth that radiated from him was pleasant, but he managed to keep his hands to himself. “I make an excellent audience. I should be back in a few hours, but please, do make yourself comfortable. I will join you when I can.” He offered Constantine a small smile before making his way outside, feeling more confident in the witch now than he had been earlier.

[parasit-ism]

THE END

[dhorreurs]

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[parasit-ism]

dhorreurs:

He switched his attention to Constantine when the man chuckled, watching him closely. The mention of cannibalism drew a soft laugh from his lips and the vampire shook his head. “That’s one way to put it,” he mused, falling into silence for a moment longer as his sight was drawn back to the painting. “There has always been a place in the world for us, man eating monsters,” Philippe said and smirked at him. “A comforting thought for me, not so much for you I’m afraid.”

Constantine looked like he was in his element in the library and he smiled when the witch lightened up the candles. “A little showmanship can’t hurt,” Philippe agreed, nearing the man. He liked the scent of him, and the strong, steady drum of his heart. Constantine looked positively appetizing, but he looked many things and the vampire focused on what mattered most: capable. “Here we are,” he announced, glancing between the witch and his grimoire. “Do you know what you’ll be starting with? Or are you going to surprise me?” Philippe was hoping he’d have a plan by now.

One way to put it? Constantine could not deny that he wanted to know about the vampire standing in front of him. he never really had that kind of curiosity and fascination towards one of these creatures before but this one was - unique. Maybe because of his old age or because they seemed to share a common passion. He wondered how Philippe came to be so interested in collecting dark objects and learning more about magic. He could see it in his eyes when the candles were lit. How he marveled at the thought of having a witch around. Enchanted by the power that he possessed. “Well, that depends on whether you like surprises or not. I think - you’re someone who wants to be involved in the details. Know everything that goes on under your nose.” He walked closer to Philippe as he talked, slowly closing the gap between the two. “Since you’re the boss, I’m doing whatever you want me to do. I can work on my own and tell you when I get results or - you can stay and watch. I don’t get stage fright.”

[dhorreurs]

fine print

[parasit-ism]

dhorreurs:

Philippe smiled at the witch when he gave him his word. They meant nothing to him, of course, but it did mean something that he offered them to him. “I believe you, Constantin, after all that’s why you’re here. I didn’t choose you for the pretty face,” he said with a pointed look, pulling his lips into a lopsided smile. The man’s gratitude was unexpected, and it softened his smile just for a moment. “Well, you’d be of no use to me if you starved.”

The walk to his chambers was quiet, but quick. Philippe watched Constantine as he took in the bedroom, and when the witch questioned him, he chuckled. “My friendship comes with many perks, but this is just the way of civilized men. What good would it do to toss you into a dungeon?” He motioned to the room. “You’ll be able to focus on your work if you are happy — if you’re not distracted by mundane worries. Like finding the time to do groceries.”

He turned to look at the Goya, and marvel in its gruesome beauty. “I take it wherever I go. Saturn devouring his son. I find it soothing.”

Constantine didn’t even flinch when he approached him, but then again he didn’t expect him to. He seemed to fear no one, perhaps due to his confidence in his own abilities. He’d faced near death at least twice in the past few years and he still found the notion that a creature could harm him fairly exciting. “Follow me,” Philippe said, stepping outside the room to head into the library. It was on the same floor as the bedroom, a wide room with large windows. The walls were lined with shelves full of books, and there was a long table in the center. The grimoire had been left there, as was the key and every other item from Constantine’s list. “This should do.”

Surely he wasn’t expecting to be treated like a prisoner, but he also was not expecting for Philippe to give him the royal treatment. Buttering him up. That’s what he was doing. True that it was stroking his ego. He said his name again, and Constantine could not help but notice the way he was pronouncing it. It was something he’d never heard before but he knew that this was not some mistake on his part. That Philippe was choosing to articulate it differently. He wanted to ask why he had decided to do that but it didn’t bother him enough to question it. Anything was better than the name his mother had given him. Michael. It means, who is like God. It seemed as though his mother had plans for him. As if she expected greatness from him. And she wasn’t wrong. He became great but by his own making. Hannah did nothing for him and therefore he was not going to honor the name she had casted upon him. His eyes were glued to the painting, chuckling lightly when Philippe described it as soothing. Most people would look at something as macabre as this and think of it as horrifying. “Interesting. You find cannibalism soothing.” Of course he would. He was a cannibal in his own right. 

He smiled and followed him into the hallway. A few more steps and they were inside the library. Another vast room that seemed endless. The windows were large but they were blinded by heavy curtains. Again, his eyes scanned the area. He made his way towards the grimoire, reaching to touch it with his fingers. The power he felt just by being in the same rom with it. He could not wait to discover the dark secrets it kept. He looked around. Everything he had asked had been brought here. Even the candles had been placed around the room in specified locations. “Yes, you’ve been very helpful.” With a light wave of his hand, the candles came to life, brightening up the place. “Much better. Makes it seem a little more - magical, don’t you think?”

[boysinfire]

[dhorreurs]

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“Well, I do have an eye for talent,” he said with a smile, though what he meant by talent was ambition above everything else. Curiosity. A desire for more. Knowledge. Power. Magic. It was what truly caught his eye, and Constantine seemed to have plenty of it. He’d learn whether his instincts were right soon enough.  

It amused him that the first question the man asked was about his company. “I love a good party and, as you might have noticed, I enjoy the company of witches, though I haven’t been feeling extremely social as of late. These were bought this morning, for you and the occasional visit.” Philippe smiled again when the witch asked about his quarters. Bold, that one, though he had thought about it himself. He didn’t expect a witch who didn’t know him all too well to trust him around their unconscious, delicious throats, but he still had a room prepared for him just in case. Constantine didn’t wait for a question to be asked, did he? He quite liked that he wasn’t afraid of him, though it was admittedly an unusual sensation to him at this point in his very long life. “It’s this way,” Philippe said, leading the way back to the staircase in the foyer. It ended in a hallway and he took the right, taking the witch to the very end of the corridor and pushing a door open for him. The room was spacious, decorated much like the rest of the house, with a large bed, loveseat, desk, walk in closet and ensuite bathroom. There was a small bookcase too, filled with books. He’d left his Goya in the room for inspiration. “I hope you’ll find it comfortable.” He turned to face Constantine. “I’m at the other end of the hallway, in case you’re wondering.” Smiling, Philippe stepped closer to the witch. “Shall we take a look at your work station next?”

“Lucky me.” He could not deny that it was a boost to his ego. The fact that Philippe had chosen him over every other witch he knew. The fascination he had with his kind was obvious and he knew that the vampire owned several places that employed witches to create spells, decipher grimoires, etc. Out of all of them, he had decided that he was the one he needed. “Well, I won’t disappoint you. You have my word.” And his word was his bond, was it not? True that it might seem a little too arrogant of him to say he could do something that has never been done before. Constantine didn’t see barriers or obstacles though. He just saw opportunities. He found the trill in the challenge and he knew that when he got to the finish line it would be extremely satisfying. “Thank you. That was very thoughtful of you.” He could see it in his eyes. Part surprise and part amusement. How he never asked if it was in the plan for him to say but simply set the cards on the table. Philippe had a good hand too and so he led him to his chambers.

There were thick curtains, a king sized bed in the center, an expensive rug, paintings, a bookcase. “Are you this hospitable to all of your guests?” He added, taking a few steps towards the walls to inspect the paintings. Yes, he noticed the Goya hanging there and he took a few moments to look at it. “Is this the original?” Of course it was. “I’ll come find you if I ever need your assistance.” Philippe was being an exceptional host and he wondered if this was just because he was trying to butter him up. Get him on his good side so he could get what he wanted from him. Constantine wasn’t foolish to trust the vampire, specially knowing how vulnerable he could be in the middle of the night while he slept. And Philippe? He wasn’t foolish either and he knew better than to trust a witch. And yet, here they were. The vampire closed the gap between them but even though his presence was intimidating, Constantine didn’t flinch. “I don’t think the tour would be complete without it. After you.”

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[parasit-ism]

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Constantine had been indifferent to him right up to the moment he made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. Now he smiled, and Philippe had to admit it looked good on him. “Well, I could do with a little horseback riding as well,” he teased with a playful look, then he laced his hands together behind his back. “I hope you are as good as you are confident,” the vampire said and smiled, allowing himself to roam his figure again. He presented himself as a competent man, and he found him entertaining. At least his work didn’t bore him like others had. He was his best bet for competence and entertainment. It’d be terrible to have to resort to a dull witch. Hopefully Constantine would do. “I would love to.” He stretched a hand to the side. “Please, follow me.”

Philippe lead him into the living room where light poured in from the large windows. Paintings decorated the walls, rugs covered the floors. There was a loverseat under the center window, framed by heavy curtains. The whole place looked like one could find in an english home many decades ago and he liked it that way. “You’ll be spending a lot of time in here,” the vampire said, turning his head to face Constantine. “Let me know if you need a radio.” He smiled at him again, pleased with himself. “The kitchen is over here,” Philippe said, crossing the room to reach the door at the back. A window on the wall offered a glimpse of the kitchen. “I don’t eat so help yourself to whatever you like.”

“I’m sure you could.” He could see that. Philippe mounting a horse, all cavalier. “I’m confident because I’m good. Isn’t that why you asked for me?” There was nothing more pathetic to him than those who thought of themselves as having greatness without the talent to back it up. Constantine wasn’t a natural witch, mostly because his power only came from one side of the family. The fact that he was never taught anything growing up made him far less likely to match the knowledge of his peers. However, he managed to best ever other witch he met by pure force of will and determination. Once he saw something he wanted, he never stopped until he got it. This deal with the vampire was a great opportunity for him. Not only would it allow him access to more power but it would provide him with a strong ally. Philippe turned and led him around the house. The place was vast and it reminder Constantine of a museum. Why would anyone need this much space? Then again, he always dreamt of having it, didn’t he? Specially when he was reminded of that claustrophobic flat in London. 

They stepped inside the living room and Constantine’s eye roamed across the space. He could see himself at home here, even with the vampire breathing down his neck - literally. “Do you keep a lot of company?” He asked, wondering why he would have a kitchen stock with food if he only fed on blood. He smiled, turning around to notice the little details before turning back to face Philippe. “And - where will I be sleeping?” Not that the vampire had offered him a place to spend his nights but he figured it would make more sense to reside here temporarily than to move back and forth from here to his apartment. 

[dhorreurs]

fine print

Philippe had prepared a room for the witch with everything he’d asked him for. He’d chosen the library for it, it had the right feeling for the kind of work they’d be up to. The room was wide and the french windows allowed the sun to shower it with light. Philippe watched the garden through the glass, and he was washed over with nostalgia, though his property in Marseilles had a much larger backyard.

He’d sent the car for Constantine a while ago, but it felt like ages. The vampire was excited about the work. He’d left the grimoire on display over the long table at the center of the room, while he rolled the key between his fingers. Philippe wished he was a witch, then he wouldn’t need others to do this kind of work for him. Or maybe he wouldn’t need dark objects at all, there was no telling where his life would’ve gone if he hadn’t been human. 

The car parked in front of the house and he smiled to himself, putting the key down next to the grimoire and making his way to the door. The sight of Constantine was a pleasant one. “Punctual. I like that. How was the drive? I loathe those things,” he said, motioning towards the car, “hopefully it wasn’t as torturous for you as it is for me.” Philippe smiled at him. “Did you get everything you need?”

[parasit-ism]

Constantine’s green eyes were wide as he splashed water over his face, causing an unpleasant sting to consume his pupils as the liquid washed between his eyelids. The whites of his eyes were puffy and bloodshot as he caught sight of them in the bathroom mirror, causing the man to blink once – twice – before he pressed his eyelids tightly together. It had been a good several nights since he had gotten more than a few hours of sleep. Work consumed him. Years spent this way had made it so that the witch had grown accustomed to spending his nights reading about dark magic and working on spells. His body had, in time, learned to accept the fact that he did not sleep much and therefore functioned reasonably well without any rest at all, running normally on perhaps less than five hours.  He kept his eyes closed, needing the small breath of relaxation. He muttered a few words and it was not long before his body started to feel a lot more energized. That was the good thing about being a witch. Being able to push your body to the breaking point and then bring it back to its perfect condition with pure force of will and a few enchantments. When his eyes fluttered open, he felt as good as new. And he needed to be at his best, specially today. He was meeting Philippe again and if there was something Constantine liked doing was make an impression. Not only a first impression but a constant parade of them.

He said nothing during the ride to Philippe’s chateau. When he saw the magnitude of where he lived Constantine was impressed and overwhelmed in the best way possible. He never had much of anything and what he had now was because he had worked his ass off to get it. He wondered what his life could be like if he had centuries to gather wealth and power. Philippe waited for him and Constantine gave him a soft smile in return. “The car ride? It was alright. Not as long as I expected.” He stepped into the foyer, eyes scanning the place. “Let me guess, you enjoy walking? And if you had to choose, you’d walk everywhere?” Even though he didn’t know exactly how old Philippe was, he could tell by his posture, dialect, mannerisms, that he didn’t belong in modern society. “I brought a few things. But - between you and me, I’m really all I need.” He knew he was usually overconfident, but he also knew that he was able to back it up. “Nice place you have here. Mind giving me the tour?”

[dhorreurs]

the Tradescant project

[dhorreurs]

parasit-ism:

There was something strangely alluring about the vampire before him. Not only the fact that he was old and powerful, but different from every other vampire Constantine has come across with. The majority of blood suckers were just that. Just leeches focused on feeding their inner demon. There was no depth to them whatsoever. They had no drive or purpose. Made Constantine wonder if Philippe was the exception to the rule or if he had simply surrounded himself with a certain type of vampire. He had to admit that he was relieved to know that there was someone out there with his knowledge and passion. He figured he could learn a lot from him. Things he couldn’t read in book. “It’s settled then.” Constantine rose to his feet, offering his hand for Philippe to shake. A way to seal the deal. “It was nice to finally meet you, Philippe Ballard. I’m looking forward to our future endeavors.”

Philippe was almost disappointed to see him get back on his feet, though the excitement for their new project outweighted it. The witch stretched a hand toward him and his sight fell on his palm, then up to the patch of skin that disappeared into his sleeve, where he could almost see his blood pulsing through his veins. “Please,” the vampire said, catching his hand to shake it, “call me Philippe.” His touch was warm and he could feel his pulse under his skin, luring him closer. He loved that feeling, it was life itself calling for him. He had to force himself to let go, then he smiled at the man as if he hadn’t just thought about how his blood would taste like. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Constantin.”

[parasit-ism]

Le Fin!

[stefansredporsche]

[dhorreurs]

the Tradescant project

[parasit-ism]

dhorreurs:

Philippe found the man almost as curious as the task at hand. Out of all witches he’d walked past earlier that day, his was the only heart that didn’t quicken in his presence. Not so easily scared, was he? No, he was very composed, very under control it seemed. “That is very true.” He did like a challenge, it held his interest for much longer than whatever came easy. “Well, if it was a distraction, then I suppose we’ll find out what it meant to distract us from.” Either way, there was something to uncover and he’d stop at nothing until he found out whatever it was. “I’m not above pampering a valuable witch, you know,” he commented, but didn’t insist. It did please him to hear the witch suggest he’d be of use, there was nothing he coveted more than magic. “Get me that list and I’ll have everything ready by noon tomorrow. I’ll send a car to pick you up here.”

There was something strangely alluring about the vampire before him. Not only the fact that he was old and powerful, but different from every other vampire Constantine has come across with. The majority of blood suckers were just that. Just leeches focused on feeding their inner demon. There was no depth to them whatsoever. They had no drive or purpose. Made Constantine wonder if Philippe was the exception to the rule or if he had simply surrounded himself with a certain type of vampire. He had to admit that he was relieved to know that there was someone out there with his knowledge and passion. He figured he could learn a lot from him. Things he couldn’t read in book. “It’s settled then.” Constantine rose to his feet, offering his hand for Philippe to shake. A way to seal the deal. “It was nice to finally meet you, Philippe Ballard. I’m looking forward to our future endeavors.”

[dhorreurs]

the Tradescant project

[parasit-ism]

dhorreurs:

He could see it in his eyes, that spark of interest. The delicious trace of temptation. Philippe found the moment someone’s soul was bared beautiful, even if for a second; if it was just a glimpse. It was alluring, he found himself attracted to that passion. A counterproposal took him by surprise and his brows shot up as he listened carefully to what he had to offer. Then he smiled back at him. Philippe pointed a finger at him. “I knew you were the right man for the job.” He didn’t, really, it was more of a gut feeling, and while it might’ve been fueled by the wrong reasons, he’d learned to trust his instincts. Or maybe he simply couldn’t help himself.

The vampire reached for another glass, pouring him a drink. “I don’t expect this to be easy, but I’m sure it’ll be very rewarding. If someone went to great lengths to hide — whatever this opens, then it must be something important.” He slid the glass over to him, leaning back into the table. “I think it’d be best that you didn’t work on this at the lab. I have a place in the city, just let me know what you’ll need and I’ll arrange it for you.” It was both out of distrust and selfishness that he wanted to be around the witch while he worked on their little mystery. “I can’t imagine I’ll be of much use to you, but whatever I can do, I will.”

It was rare for him to come out and surround himself with people. He worked too much, and lived to little. He knew that. Knew it too well, actually. But why should that even matter to him? If there was one thing Constantine prided himself in, it was ignoring what he should be feeling. Wasn’t that the point of this whole life, anyway? He was the guy who never felt anything, never even thought about it. Nothing was supposed to bother him. He shouldn’t care either way if he was happy or not. His essential role in life was supposed to be the closest humane form possible to becoming a robot. Artificial intelligence lacking the emotions programming. Austrian torturers and German dictators, those sort. Just less evil. But there were things in life that did bring him some semblance of joy and it usually have to do with magic. Unbeknownst to himself, Philippe had provided Constantine the one thing that drove his passion. The thing he constantly searched for. He’d encountered many puzzles and mysteries before but they were all easily solved. Part of the reason why he started creating dark objects was because it challenged him as a witch and it made him a rather valuable asset. Most people were afraid of their own shadow let alone wanted to be responsible for bringing such evil creations into the world. But this particular with always wanted more. More power. More secrets to uncover. 

Philippe wasn’t as bad as people painted him to be. Or, perhaps it was all an act to make him lower his guard. Whatever it was, Constantine wasn’t afraid but he wasn’t foolish to think that the vampire had no power over him. Even as a witch, one slip and he could finding himself in between the other’s fangs. And that, right there, was a thrill. “If it were easy, I’m quite positive you would have done it already. And it wouldn’t hold such - interest.” He took another look at the book and then reached for the key, holding it between his fingers. “Witches are very crafty. It’s either something of great value or absolutely nothing. Could be a distraction. Or trickery. Make it seem like it’s something important when in reality - it’s inconsequential.” He stares at the key, giving it a closer look. “Doesn’t feel like nothing though.” Philippe hands him his drink and he takes it. “The city, huh? I’ll give you a list. Nothing much. I’m not high maintenance.” Another drink and he smiles once again. “Then - perhaps you need to work on your imagination. I’m sure you’ll be ver helpful. When do we start?”

[dhorreurs]

the Tradescant project

[parasit-ism]

dhorreurs:

Philippe watched the man as he studied the book, wondering what it was like to see as he did. The vampire would never know what it felt like to be connected to the world through magic, though he supposed there was magic in his existence too. His blood would heal any wound, and it could change man’s nature itself — powerful magic ran in his veins, but it was not his to wield. He could only marvel at it, and at witchcraft, but never truly experience its power. That was not true, was it? He’d experienced it once, in death. 

“Oh, it was here, centuries ago, from a well traveled witch, who knows where he found it.” Philippe reached a hand into his pocket to pull an iron key from inside it, placing it on the page next to its matching illustration. “But last night I found this in the Ashmolean, and I’d very much like to know what it opens.” He turned to regard the young man. “I have a proposition for you, Constantin, if you’d be interested in a more hands on approach to your work.” He motioned toward the grimoire. “Help me with this and you’ll have unlimited access to the biggest collection of dark objects you’ve ever seen. Mine. Yours to study, if you like.” Philippe tilted his head, allowing a smile to tug at his lips. “Work in the field is much more fun and I’ll pay handsomely, of course. How does that sound?” 

He was growing more curious by the minute. There was something about dark magic that always made him feel a twisted form of attraction. Growing up, his mother failed to teach him about who he was and the things he was capable of. She thought it was all evil and impure. That it came from his father and not from her side of the family. When she wasn’t high on drugs, she was quoting the bible to him and doing things to try and cleanse the demons away.  He was drowning when he first questioned his belief in god. It was a Friday, and his mother had gripped his collarbone and pressed him down to the bottom of a tub made of copper-streaked linoleum. Five hours earlier, he had trudged home from school with no jacket in the London snow. His mother’s hands were warm. When she held him, he closed his eyes as water washed inside of them, then his mouth, which had been open only to cry out. water splashed through his open lips, scalding down his throat, and he had sputtered and coughed, exhaling precious air. Constantine thought of dying, of pain, and of loneliness. He thought of friendship, of bread, of god. He had learned by then that calling for him meant nothing. He had considered the possibility of nothingness - blackness and what it meant.He gasped for air and began to fall into blackness and as he lost consciousness, he realized that he was scared of nothing at all. And that was the first time he felt it. The magic inside him. How he shattered that bathtub as if it were made of paper. He would never forget the terrified look in his mother’s eyes. He never touched him again. Now here he was. In some way he knew that everything that happened had brought him here. Who knows what would have become of him if he had grown up spoiled. He’d be as pitiful as Oscar. 

Philippe spoke with so much confidence that it was difficult not to hang on to every word. Obviously, they shared a passion for these sort of thing. Soon, the vampire placed his cards on the table and Constantine raised his brown like the curious animal he was. “Dark objects?” So he had his own private collection? “That sounds - very tempting.” His fingers brushed against the key, filling its ridges. There was something about it that made him nervous. Not in a mad way. It was the excitement of it. Something new to discover. A mystery. “Tell you what, I will help you find out what this opens. Not because of your offer, although I have to say it is in fact very enticing. But because, I enjoy a good mystery. If I do this, I want to see how it ends.” He smiled, for the first time since he stepped foot in this office. “I would very much like that drink now. If you don’t mind.”

[dhorreurs]

the Tradescant project

[parasit-ism]

dhorreurs:

He was an awfully quiet man, wasn’t him? Philippe offered the witch a simple smile when he finally answered. “I suppose it’s only natural that you wouldn’t find them fascinating as a witch, after all you are capable of the same results yourself. Since I am not, I’m quite fascinated myself.” There was a short pause, then he widened his smile. “Maybe a little more than fascinated given this place.” Obsessed was the word he’d heard most often, and he wouldn’t deny it. There were worse things to be obsessed with. “Since you work here, I’m going to take a guess and say you are an educated man. Take a guess, Constantin, where is my accent from?”

Philippe allowed him some time to think it over, taking another drink from his blood. “I’m just messing with you, love, my mother language is dead, and I’m really from nowhere. But I am old. Still,” he pushed the book towards him, a grimoire. “The language this is written in, is no human language. Not one I’ve ever come across, nor any language ever studied by man. I thought it might be an old faerie language, or perhaps mermish, something you can’t really find in our world. But then it occurred me.” He rose from his seat to near the witch, flipping the book open on the marked page. The language it was written on was unrecognizable, and there was the drawing of an iron key on the yellowed page to accompany it. Philippe leaned closer to the man. “You witches are very secretive, and very resourceful. If I was to write something important, I would make it so no one but I could read it.” He motioned towards the page. “What’s your professional opinion? Is it spelled?”

People had different perceptions of you. Each person saw you through a different camera lense, and Constantine often wondered what people saw in him. What made them trust him. Was it the way he smiled or the way he delivered his lines. So perfectly. He was fully aware of his morals, and what he would and wouldn’t do. Influence was non-existent to him these days, as was peer pressure. Perhaps his mentors had trained him a little too well. Seeing, as now, he had ice flowing through his veins – nerves of steel, never cracked under pressure. Whatever you wanted to call it, that is what he was. With a new-found confident as well, Constantine had no problem calling people on their bullshit, and starting heated arguments with his superiors. He liked to challenge authority, and rarely did give into people unless there was something in it for him in the end. That is what this job was. A means to an end. He got to do something he enjoyed and get paid really well for it. That was the dream, was it not? Philippe had a history too, he knew it because of his age. Old as fuck. And the accent. Sounded, could be from anywhere. A cocktail of dialects. He was old, so that meant well traveled.

Philippe didn’t give him the chance to actually answer before he was speaking again. The subject was an interesting one, he had to admit. The book in question was unlike anything he had ever laid eyes on. And the language looked like jibberish from where he was sitting. Philipe moved from his position, bringing the book closer to him. Now inside his personal bubble, the vampire opened the book and pointed to one of the pages. The drawing caught his attention. So - there it was. The reason for this meeting. He should feel flattered. After all, there were other witches that worked in the premises and some of them were far more proficient in dead and weird languages. His eyes scanned the words written on the page. Nothing was jumping at him. He had stumbled across strange dialects before but this - this was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. “Where did you find this?”

[dhorreurs]

the Tradescant project

[parasit-ism]

dhorreurs:

It was a matter of moments before the witch came back with Vogler, leading the man into the meeting room. Philippe watched the two, allowing his sight to roam Vogler’s figure. He’d never paid much attention to him before, and now he wondered why that had been the case. Amazing how a different point of view changes reality. “Thank you, Oscar. You may go now,” he said, unceremoniously dismissing the unneeded witch. “Please,” he pointed out the empty seat across from him, “take a seat. Can I get you something to drink? I’m aware you’re not supposed to drink in the premises, but this is a special occasion and Oscar brought out an excellent bourbon. He doesn’t seem to share my fondness for wine, unfortunately. It’d be a shame to let it go to waste.” 

Philippe took a sip from his drink before setting the glass on the table, unbothered by whether or not the consumption of blood would make the witch uncomfortable. He assumed those who worked at the place were not the squeamish type. “Oscar told me a little about your work, but who better to speak about it than yourself? Dark objects, right?” He lifted a book from his lap to plant it on the tabletop, large and heavy. It’s battered cover seemed to have been stitched back onto the broken spine, and some of its yellowed pages were loose. It was at least a few centuries old, and it pulsed with magic like a beating heart. “Do you study them? Create them? I’m just wondering what you find so fascinating about them.”

Oscar didn’t seem happy to be dismissed so casually but had no other choice but to obey. They exchanged looks briefly before the other witch left the room and closed the door behind him. Constantine’s attention then turned on the vampire before him. He’d heard stories about Philippe Ballard but never had the pleasure of meeting him face to face. Seen him a few times when he’d show up for his inspections but he had never shown any interest in actually introducing himself to him. However, he knew that the vampire was not someone who did things lightly and therefore had the slight suspicion that this new interest of him was either very good or very bad. There was a short silence in the room before Philippe parted his lips to speak. Green eyes moved from his face to the empty seat across from him. Part of him wanted to refuse. Tell him that in fact, he wanted to remain on his feet. He did not think the meeting between them would take long but the fact that the vampire had offered him a seat proved otherwise. He said nothing as he sat down. He just - observed. Listened to Philippe’s words as he described this gathering as a special occasion. 

The blood didn’t bother him. He’d been around vampires before so it didn’t unsettle him, even when it should. Philippe proceeded to talk about his work, placing a thick book on the table. The heaviness of it making the table shake momentarily. Constantine gazed towards it, noticing the scriptures on the cover and the way it was so carelessly put together. The stained pages poking out in different directions. The magic coming from it was - dark, powerful. Constantine could feel it in his veins like an electric shock. A buzzing in his ears that almost numbed every other sound in the room. He almost missed the question presented to him. “Both.” He finally broke the silence, eyes still consumed by the sight of the grimoire. “I wouldn’t go as far as to say that I find them fascinating. I think useful is a more appropriate term.”