ice and knives

Shiv Glacier. Heir Apparent. Ashvale Coven.

[shivglacier-blog]

A Common Purpose // Shiv&Matthias

TW: graphic depictions of gore and trauma

Shivonne hadn’t been prepared for how uncomfortable she would be performing the familiar ritual in front of her coven, and the Conclave on top of that. Her hands felt dirty, grimy beneath the skin, like maggots crawling through her veins. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She’d performed that ritual more times than she could count, but even before Arlynn, before she’d had rules, it hadn’t been like this. 

Because she’d had the good fucking sense not to mess with murder victims. 

She’d known it would be ugly, but she hadn’t expected the way the body—Malcolm—had convulsed, choked on a scream he had died before he could finish. His tongue had been charred, and his words were garbled, once they finally gotten him to stop screaming and—

She shivered, and tried to focus on anything else, but all she could think of was how Malcolm had gripped her wrist, and begged her to make it stop. 

They had all seen what she’d done to him. What she’d made him suffer. She knew it was different, that Arlynn had asked, but she’d seen the disgust in their faces, and her hands felt stained. 

By the time Shiv reached Matthias’ door, she’d dug dark red crescents into her palms, and it took her a few deep breaths to unclench her fists, and actually bring them up to his door to knock. She managed to push an imprint of her magic through the door so that Matthias would know it was her, and that it was urgent. The blank shock that had gotten her from her morgue to Matthias’ doorstep was fading, however, and horror was quickly taking its place. The door opened and for a moment, she didn’t know what to say. 

“It was Malcolm, Matthias. The body, it— It was Malcolm.”

@matthiasdenn

[huntborne]

Drinks and Distractions | Open

[shivglacier-blog]

niseecalderon‌:

Nisee hadn’t been able to stop shaking. Not since she’d heard about the body, about the two victims in the hospital. Torn apart, she’d heard. Every time she closed her eyes she saw a bedroom covered in blood, a child’s doll discarded on the floor. It was hard-so hard-to separate the incidents. She’d sat at her altar in Aria’s old room for a large part of the day, had closed the shop even though it was always open the day after the festival as people tended to be more interested in taking the flowers home with them.

She’d known Malcolm. She’d known Kristofer. A human and a witch, So far. and two others injured. Whatever was happening, her gut was telling her it wasn’t isolated. When she finally tired of sitting in solitude, she recast the wards around her home and store and tried to contain some of her stress. Cooking was out of the question with her mind as scattered as it was, so she gathered her purse and put on her coat.

She had known it was a bad idea even as she locked up and headed downtown, one eye on her surroundings. But she couldn’t sit inside anymore, couldn’t stand the solitude. Reasoning that many in town would likely feel as she did, she made her way to the Blue Heron. It was neutral ground, and she needed to not be by herself, even if it was just the background noise she truly sought. The Heron was buzzing when she arrived, but she had no trouble finding a place at the bar. She ordered her usual moscow mule and allowed her eyes to drift up to the large TV on the wall. It was human news, politics or something, so she wasn’t really interested in what was being said. 

It distracted her enough, however, that she jumped a bit when someone slid in to sit at the stool next to hers. Her drink sloshed a bit onto the bar, but thankfully missed the person next to her. She smiled sheepishly and said “Oh, I’m sorry, you startled me.” She grabbed some napkins and mopped up the few drops of liquid, then gestured at the TV. “I think it’s more fun when the captions aren’t on, you know? Trying to figure out what they’re talking about without any clue.”

The Blue Heron wasn’t Shiv’s first choice of bar, or second, probably not even third. It was too touristy, too ‘hipster chic’, too expensive. It was a place people went when they wanted to be seen, or to impress someone they didn’t really know well. None of this appealed to Shiv in the slightest, but what she did like, especially at a time like this, was the relative anonymity of the crowd here. The place was well-lit, fairly crowded. 

Nowhere for her nightmares to hide. 

She was no stranger to darkness, or death, and neither particularly scared her. She didn’t believe in hell, and was undecided about an afterlife in general. She knew death was quiet, because she had asked the dead. That wasn’t what she was afraid of, no. She was afraid of Arlynn, and how Arlynn’s hands had shaken as she asked Arlynn to reanimate the charred corpse. Shiv had known it would be bad; she had rules about necromancy for a reason—the only bodies she ever reanimated were people who had died peacefully, without trauma. Violent deaths were a gruesome matter, and no one wanted to wake up in what used to be their body, but now more closely resembled jerky, in Malcolm’s case. 

She felt bile rise in her throat, and had to set down her glass and breathe through the nausea. It hadn’t gone well, and when Malcolm had woken up, the remnants of his last scream in his throat—

Her hand jerked, and the drink tipped over  and Shiv couldn’t do much more than just stare at the mess. Even her magic was acting up. Finally, she mopped up the table and headed to the bar for another. Drinking was probably a horrible idea, but she didn’t know what else to do. 

Nisee was a surprise, and maybe an unwelcome one, if Shiv thought about it too much. Everyone knew what she had done, they knew, but Nisee was still talking to her, so she had that at least. She hadn’t been cast out, not yet. 

“Glad I’m not the only jumpy witch around,” Shiv said, trying to joke, but it really wasn’t funny, was it? Her coven was grieving, and terrified, and all she had to offer was some Left Hand magic that had wounded them all. 

[dichenlachmandaily]

Dichen Lachman photographed by Mark Champion for Modern Luxury San Diego

[shivglacier-blog]

Winter Without Madness | Open

[shivglacier-blog]

lillianenoch‌:

“Ouch. Ye’d ‘urt a strand o’ this pretty red ‘air?” Lillian asked ruefully, pressing her free hand to her chest as though affronted. “An’ ‘ere I thought I was on yer no-kill list. The Bonnie t’ yer Clyde.” There was some truth to it beyond her teasing. She fancied the thought that their friendship was mutual, even though she wasn’t entirely sure that it was. It was Lillian who intruded on Shiv’s mortuary ninety percent of the time, she who pushed herself constantly into the other woman’s life. She couldn’t help it though. It wasn’t often that she met a person whom she a) Didn’t want to screw, b) Didn’t want to screw over, c) Didn’t tire of, and thus wanted to keep in her life on a more permanent basis. 

“Face it, ye need me, Shiv. Who else is gonna ‘elp ye bury the bodies?” The doctor pointed out with a twinkle in her eye. “An’ I ‘ad to come out. I’ve gotten bored of my regular ‘aunts. That’s the shitty thing ‘bout Roseville, ye know. Really should’ve left when I ‘ad the chance.” The last part came as more of a mutter under her breath.

“No, the hair I’d keep in tact. Maybe make a wig of it,” she mused. “What’s under it?” She clucked her tongue and shook her head. Fact of the matter was she’d do a lot more than kill to protect this woman if it came down to it, but that knowledge would only make Lillian’s insufferably gorgeous head inflate to a dangerous degree. Threats of scalping and murder were much more their speed. “More like I’m the Jekyll to your Hyde,” she retorts with a snort. 

Still, she’s got what could be mistaken for a smile—if the lighting was poor—on her face for the first time in a good while, and it’s all this damned Irishwoman’s fault. 

“Nicholas,” she says, without missing a beat. ‘Course, Nicholas was as like as not to rat on her. Shiv had yet to get a solid read on him. “You know if you tried to leave this godforsaken town, I’d just find you and drag you back, right? Not a bad idea, actually. I could keep you locked up in the morgue, force you to provide me company on demand. And my mother said I wasn’t capable of healthy relationships,” Shivonne mused sweetly. 

[shivglacier-blog]

Winter Without Madness | Open

[shivglacier-blog]

amorymordecai‌:

It was her conversation with Arran that had drawn her back toward the flowers. Year after year she was impressed with the witches, with Nisee specifically, in regards to how they got such a diverse array to bloom out of season. Massachusetts winters were bitter, unforgiving things. A destructive force that natures sturdiest creations had struggled to adapt to. Some going so far as to sleep through the worst of it. 

Yet here the flowers bloomed, breathtaking and stubborn, a perfect representation of what The Accords had meant to Roseville. Hope where the was none. Life where there’d been only death. As she took a flower into her hand, thumbing the petals softness, Amory wondered mildly if this was the last Floriade that Roseville would know.. Fifty years was a drop in the bucket in a vampires lifetime, yet a part of her was impressed that the peace had lasted even this long.

She’d been aware of the witch’s presence the moment she approached the flowers. Had simply chosen to ignore her for the sake of some contemplative quiet. Contemplative quiet that quickly turned contrivance as she stepped away from the fragrant flower to walk a circle around the other blooms, more stalking than admiring, gauging, anticipating…

The quiet, if such a thing could even exist during an event as rancorous as Floriade, was broken by a familiar voice. A voice so frigid that it made the biting wind seem mild. Amory slid her attention onto Shivonne Glacier and the subtle smirk that eased across her lips was nothing short of feline. Sharp blue eyes inspected the Heir Apparent, appraising her. The corner of her mouth curled some more. 

“And yet you seem to invite conversation upon yourself, witchling,” returned Amory on a purr. She started to round the column that Shivonne had tucked herself into while hoping to avoid human –ha– interaction, her steps that of a cat sizing up what might be potential prey. If Shivonne made the first move, of course. Though she doubted things would get that exciting. 

Without looking up at Shivonne, but ever aware of her every breath and movement, Amory fingered the silken petal of a flower as she passed it by, commenting, “Besides, I’ve been around far too long to be even remotely intimidated by your ‘resting bitch face,’ impressive though it may be.”

She finally glanced back up at Shivonne, smile broadening with a taunt. “One has to wonder if you’ve any other expressions in your arsenal.” Amory stopped her circling to face off with the witch, head tilting with her continued inspection. “Enjoying the festivities, Ms. Glacier?”

This? This was why Shivonne hated these stupid things. It was also why she was here at all, but that only made it more worthy of her vitriol. The old bat herself. “Pre-empt it,” she corrects. There were plenty of hidden alcoves like this for the Consul to hide herself away in, if that was what she truly wanted. Presumably, since she chose this one, Shiv was going to have to talk sooner or later, better to make it on her own terms. 

Oh, Amory was in a mood to play, today, wasn’t she? Shivonne was aware she was rather small potatoes from where Amory was sitting, but still, her words were just shy of antagonizing. Risky business, these days. Shiv smiled, the kind of smile that left a mark behind it. “Rest assured, I do not. All bitch, all the time. I’ve been told it’s an asset.” When dealing with leeches like you. 

Don’t say it, Glacier, don’t say it. “Well, I was. Company leaves something to be desired, though. Do the flowers hold up to your scrutiny? Shall I lodge a complaint on your behalf?” She drawled, as if she was bored. Not smart, Shivonne. Not smart at all. Some people just brought out the worst in her though. 

[onceuponamusing]

“Only the savage regard the endurance of pain as the measure of worth.”

— Alice: Madness Returns

[shivglacier-blog]

Winter Without Madness | Open

[shivglacier-blog]

arlynnxmercer‌:

“Would you like me to leave?” She gave her friend a teasing smile, taking a bite of the crepe she’d picked up from a vendor along the way. Arlynn didn’t mind events like this, she enjoyed them actually but recent events had made it harder to get into the spirit of Floriade. Still, as a leader and high priestess, she put on a smile that eventually sunk in and was actually felt by the witch. “Have you eaten anything yet?” She proffered her crepe to the other witch, offering it to her if she wanted to try it, “it’s actually pretty good. I mean not Paris good but, you know, solid enough.” 

Arlynn glanced around them, at the eb and flow of people before returning her gaze to her fellow coven member, “or maybe a drink? Could help ease up the RBF.” Another smile, tone light as she poked fun at her friend. “C’mon, Shiv, enjoy it for an hour at least before heading home. If you do, I’ll even help you make a quick exit.” She knew this wasn’t her friend’s preference but was glad she showed up nonetheless. 

“If I said yes, would you actually listen?” Shiv retorted, but she didn’t really mean it. Arlynn Mercer was one of the very very few people in Shiv’s life whose company she didn’t only tolerate, but actively sought. Shiv didn’t need to put in any kind of effort to be around Arlynn, the value of which she wasn’t sure the high priestess could ever truly understand. 

Shiv took a bite of the proffered crepe and hummed. She was right; not Paris good, but solid enough. “Not bad for Roseville.” She wiped the corner of her mouth. “If I say I want one, will you let me duplicate yours, or are you gonna make me pay for it?” She asked wryly, already knowing the answer. Besides, duplicating it would be free, but she’d only get half a crepe, and and not even a warm one at that, since Arlynn had already started eating hers. 

She decided to humor her friend, sensing that her smile wasn’t quite as genuine as Arlynn wanted it to be. Shiv knew that the current tension and Dumornay’s death were weighing heavily on Arlynn’s shoulders. Nobody wanted to return to war, but Shiv suspected Arlynn would take it harder than most. “Fine. You’ve got yourself a deal. I’m at your mercy for one hour. Better make it count, Mercer.”

[shivglacier-blog]

Winter Without Madness | Open

[shivglacier-blog]

freyjaxbeaumont‌:

“But I don’t think it’s true.” Freyja told the woman. She couldn’t understand why the woman would think that of herself. She guessed that it might be from her experiences but Freyja couldn’t know for sure. “I think that whoever made you believe that about yourself should apologize. They obviously don’t know what they are talking about.”

“I am. Or I try to be.” Freyja found herself shrugging her shoulders. She was always determined to be nice and genuine towards people. It was who she was as a person. She felt like no matter who they were, or what kind of species they were, they all deserved kindness. Freyja wanted to give that to everyone she came in contact with.

Freyja raised her eyebrows. She wasn’t really used to taking the lead in conversations but of course, this would be good practice. “Um… okay?” Freyja chewed on the inside of her cheek as she glanced away from the woman. “Well, first of, I’m Freyja.” She offered a smile and then held out her hand towards the woman. “And it’s very nice to meet you.” 

She couldn’t remember ever meeting the woman before. Then again, Freyja hadn’t met that many people outside of those in her coven. Although, now that she had met this woman, she wouldn’t forget her. For, once she knew her name, it would go straight into Freyja’s journal. Possibly with a rough sketch of the woman’s face. Freyja always wrote down her days in her journal and this festival would definitely fill up many pages. 

“Do you have a favorite part when it comes to this festival?” Freyja asked with a smile. “Mine is just the togetherness of everyone. The gathering of every type of person we have here in Roseville.” She beamed as she observed everyone around her. And of course, she loved being able to leave the Estate for a night. “I feel like we should do this more than just once a year, you know?”

This girl was like a care bear on crack. How was she even real? Shiv abruptly wished for some very, very hard liquor to help her get through this. “Shivonne Glacier,” Shiv said, giving the girl’s hand one downward shake before releasing it like it would burn her. “It’s... also nice to meet you.” Probably not her most convincing. Do better, Shivonne, converse like the fate of your coven relies on it. The problem was the fate of her coven probably did rely on her conversation skills. They were doomed. 

On second thought, maybe it was better she didn’t have that drink, because she had no doubt she would’ve choked on it when the girl—Freyja—continued to speak. The togetherness of everyone? Oh god. Actual care bear. It took everything she had not to burst out with ‘when it ends’ as her reply, but she was an adult. She could manage a single conversation. “I suppose I like the flowers? A...friend of mine did them.” And if anyone from her coven ever heard her refer to them as a friend, the world would probably stop turning. “I’m not sure there are enough flowers in Massachusetts for this to occur more than once a year.” Thank the Goddess. Not that that would be a problem for Nisee, but Funshine Bear over here didn’t need to know that. 

[shivglacier-blog]

Winter Without Madness | Open

[shivglacier-blog]

vttivlt‌:

These sort of events weren’t usually Atticus’ thing… he would much prefer to be underground, doing his work for the coven, or holed up in the shop, even doing inventory, for god’s sake. Yet, he’s prowling the streets of Roseville, hating himself and the people around him for it even more. Keeping up appearances was a joke, everything was a joke, even the lightly falling snow (which he couldn’t even feel) was a joke.

Might be why he had stopped to bother this poor woman, who doesn’t seem to invite any sort of innocent bystander. The good news is – Atticus isn’t just some sort of innocent bystander. Bystander, sure. Innocent? Hell no. And really, when he was just pausing in the street to pat down his pockets for the carton of cigarettes that he k n o w s he left in there, he didn’t expect to get such a haughty response.

One that matches his own, perhaps, the flicker of a smile on his lips before it disappears, matching her own disdainful look, though there’s a hint of playfulness in his own. “Resting bitch face? That’s a new term.” He says, drawling the words out before finally finding that godforsaken carton and pulling one out, offering the pack to her soon after.

“Might have to steal that one from ‘ya, actually. Been told the same for myself.” He speaks around the butt of his cigarette, lighting it in a moment with a practiced flick of a lighter and a few drags, only for the snow to dampen the flame as soon as it takes. “Fuck this snow, right?”

“Sure, if a decade counts as ‘new’,” Shiv quips. Then again, to some, it did. The Goddess knows that the last decade has passed in a blink for her, and she isn’t even that old according to some. “The millennials might have a bone to pick with you, but by all means, I’ll take credit.” 

She helps herself to a smoke, and wishes she wasn’t in the middle of the gods damned city talking to a stranger, because it would’ve been a lot easier to light the cig with a snap of her fingers than have get him to light it for her. Still, it doesn’t take more than a couple puffs for the warmth of the smoke swirling in her lungs to make her feel warmer. Another downside to this stupid festival, no convenient immediate proximity warming spell. Humans are such a drag. 

“Not a fan of snow, you’ve come to the wrong state, pal. If we’re not getting it from the West, we’re getting it off the sea. Or even better, when they both come at us at the same time. Might as well ski to work in that case,” she advises. 

[shivglacier-blog]

Winter Without Madness | Open

[shivglacier-blog]

wrovght‌:

Much like her namesake, Cat had the ability to weave in and out of crowds nigh-undetected, and she preferred it that way. It left her in a sort of anonymity as far as the bustling crowds that were now meandering around and prodding all the beautiful – so delicate, so fragile, but so miraculous – flowers that had been set on display.

Unlike herself, the flowers seemed to revel in the attention, and part of her mind had wandered to the thought that maybe they thrive so well in winter because of the attention they garner; drawing heat and love from the bodies that ooh and aah over them. Equally they seemed wholly fine to be left alone and settle in their cold silence, but it wasn’t a thing that was allowed when there were people so full of life around… so satiated or not with their isolation, they got their day in the proverbial sun.

She envied them that, being able to be both loved and left alone and feel content, but the thought was thrown from her head in a moment and she rounded herself through another row of flowers and stumbled upon someone else she’d likely rather not face in that moment.

Shivonne was beautiful, no doubt, but in the same way that some poisonous and venomous flowers were; beautiful to look at, but better from a distance and never EVER to be touched.

Never one to back down from a conflict – whether stated or not – Cat stood there, watching the witch with the penchant for death and cold revel in her own sort of anonymity, but refusing herself to back out from her own path. Which would break first? It was hard to tell, but as hard as Shivonne was choosing to ignore Cat, so too was her intense stare both rapt and dismissive.

Like the world’s most ridiculous staring contest.

As Shivonne’s voice cut through the silence, so too did Cat’s respond in kind, “We have that in common then, don’t we.”

The human approached, heedless of Shiv’s off-putting demeanor, but then, Catalina Vasquez wasn’t one Shivonne could imagine being easily intimidated. They had crossed paths in Cat’s bar a time or two, though it wasn’t one of Shivonne’s usual haunts. She liked the atmosphere and the low lighting, the way she could nurse a pint without being harassed by overamorous drunk fools. The bartender was quick and made a good whiskey sour, and didn’t stand for anybody’s shit. Shiv could respect that. She was right about the resting bitch face, too, then again, it was never something Shivonne minded. If a woman wanted to look like she was thinking about torching the world, power to her. Hell, if she asked nicely, Shiv would light the match for her.

She wouldn’t trust Catalina too much either; Shiv didn’t know for certain that the woman knew anything about the supernatural, but she had seen enough hunters in Vasquez’ bar to raise Shiv’s metaphorical hackles. There was no harm done for now, and with the situation in Roseville being what it was, Shivonne couldn’t really afford to start something. It was better to be cordial at the least (at the very most honestly, even Arlynn was lucky to get more than cordial out of her) for now, and see where they ended up. So all she did was raise an eyebrow, and let her lips hint at a smirk. “Seems we do. I never trust people who smile too much though, so it’s working in your favor this time,” Shiv said wryly. “That, and you make a damn good mixed drink.”

[aureliusshepherd]

winter flowers || open

[shivglacier-blog]

aureliusshepherd‌:

Aurelius had always tried to keep tabs on the goings on in Roseville. As much as he supported the Accords there was no sense in acting as though they would last forever, and those early years of his life, decades spent in war, had taught him the power of information- vital in diplomacy, even more crucial in battle. He’d rather the town not turn into a battlefield, but if it did, he’d do everything he could to keep his family safe. And so he knew Shivonne Glacier, just as he knew as many ties and allegiances and interests of as many residents of Roseville as he’d managed to pick up on over the years. 

That wasn’t to say he knew her well. Aurelius knowing someone well was an exception to the rule, after all. And so, when the witch approached, and spoke, Aurelius let his fingers drop from his lapel and shoved his hands in his pockets, the movements idle, unconcerned, but deliberately so. 

Charming. Aurelius huffed out a quiet laugh on an exhale, his breath fogging white in the cold air. “Understandable. Flower language is interesting, but I’m not as well-versed in it as I should be, either.” The vampire’s head cocked slightly, pausing in thought for a moment before speaking again, “I do know that the word anemone comes from the Greek for wind- wind flowers. I believe it was Ovid who wrote that the wind flowers first bloomed over the body of Adonis, grown from the tears of his lover, Venus.” It was an interesting story, actually. Now that he was thinking about it, Aurelius remembered yet another account of the same tale he’d read once in a library in France, centuries ago. 

“If its accepted meaning draws from that myth I’d imagine it’s not particularly cheerful.”  

Shivonne couldn’t imagine living as long as a vampire did; witches already lived long enough, in her opinion. Perhaps too long. Sometimes she thought humans had the right of it. How much pain and heartbreak could one person take? Surely seventy years of it was more than enough, but two hundred? However long it was that a vampire lived? Unfathomable. 

Not that Shivonne had much experience with heartbreak. She didn’t have a heart, and thus, had sidestepped the whole issue, naturally. A little voice inside, which she went to great pains to ignore whispered it’s not that simple, but she paid it no mind. You couldn’t have a broken heart if you kept it under lock and key, and it was a ridiculous metaphor anyway. Emotions were not housed in the vena cavae. It was blood and oxygen, nothing more. 

Still, if she had as much time as a vampire did, she’d at least take the time to learn about nature. What else was there to do?

“Huh,” she said, looking at the dainty little flower. “How ominous. Wonder what Nisee might have been thinking when she chose that one.” It wasn’t much of a guess honestly. They were all struggling to find even footing after Dumornay’s death. Shiv had the morbid thought that all these thousands of flowers were nothing more than one great funeral bouquet for the leader of the human faction. Perhaps for the death of the future of this town. Whispers had already begun pointing fingers, casting blame on this faction or that species. She wondered how long the kettle could bubble before it boiled over. 

“Let’s hope this wind flower helps this whole business to blow over,” she mused, though she didn’t have much hope. “And how are yours handling the news, hm?” 

[shivglacier-blog]

Winter Without Madness | Open

[shivglacier-blog]

harlowxkhatri‌:

Harlow offered a tight lipped smile at the woman in front of her, “Good thing I’m not afraid of a little conflict. But, who would want to start that on a night like this?” she said, gesturing to the scene around them. It was a rhetorical question, but also a slight warning. The alpha looked down at the bright red dress gathering at her feet in the snow. Her choice to wear this color was not by accident, she chose it to portray the blood that had been shed, even though this festival was about peace. Peace alone can only go so far, and it has to be maintained somehow. 

She tilted her head slightly, continuing, “If you wanted to be left alone so badly, why come?” Harlow knew there were plenty of people who hated coming to this festival, she seemed to have found one. She knew the witch because she gave Nicholas a job. She was very protective over her pack, but Nicholas especially. She cleaned him up and brought him back to his feet after his pack turned on him. Harlow didn’t hate the witch, she was just extremely cautious around her, as she was with almost everyone. But, she knew Nicholas could handle himself, so she wasn’t as worried as she might have been had he been younger and more impressionable. 

Yes, who would want a conflict on a night like this? A night supposed to represent the hard-won peace that Roseville had fought for. And yet, there was no peace on the streets of Roseville tonight. Sure, as far as she was aware, no one had died yet, but the building tension hummed in the air like strings pulled taut. Who knew how close they were to snapping?

Still, Harlow Khatri was not a woman Shivonne wanted to antagonize. The Alpha wolf meant business and Shiv remembered how fierce the woman was when war still ravaged the city. It showed in her wardrobe choices, an elegant blood red dress, which, Shivonne noted, wouldn’t hamper her in the slightest should she need to fight. Grudgingly, Shiv had to admit this woman had earned her respect many years ago, and apparently, had it still. 

“Politics, I’d imagine. Something about staying in touch with the community, and representing the coven,” Shivonne intoned, waving her hand vaguely. Arlynn would not be pleased by the less than enthusiastic response, but it was true, and Shiv had never been one to mince words. “How is Shinko settling in?” She asked abruptly. She didn’t particularly care one way or the other, as long as he kept doing his job well, but it was something to talk about, and ‘bridged the gaps between the species’ as she was supposed to try to do. 

[onceuponamusing]

                                     BEWARE  THOSE  BEASTS  IN  HUMAN  SKIN.

                                     BEWARE  THOSE  WHO  CAN’T  LET  YOU  IN.

                                       BECAUSE  IF  THEY  DO,  IF  THEY  DID  —

                                        YOU  WOULD  NEVER  BE  SEEN  AGAIN.

[shivglacier-blog]

Texts, Lillian ⇄ Shivonne

[Texts, Lillian ⇄ Shivonne]: Please tell me you do this.

[Texts, Shivonne ⇄ Lillian]: Well I fucking do now. Poor bastards won't stand a chance

[shivglacier-blog]

Winter Without Madness | Open

[shivglacier-blog]

lillianenoch‌:

“ — An’ yet yer gifted with my presence nonetheless… Then people say that Christmas miracles aren’t real…” Lillian tuts, sliding up to Shivonne with a playful grin. Her coworker is one of the few people that Lillian willingly indulges outside of office-hours. Truth is, most of the time it’s the other way around; with the mortician tolerating interruptions in the basement that often occur remorselessly and without any signs of stopping. 

“Normally, I’d ask what crawled up yer arse an’ died there to make ye so cranky, but today I’m thinkin’ it’s the lack of corpses that’s doin’ the trick.” Her eyes travel over the array of flowers that are at the peak of their bloom, despite the chill in the air. Flowers never interested her much, they always seemed more work than they were worth. Still, they’re pleasing to the eye so long as she isn’t the one tending to them, and the sight is enough to put her in decent spirits. Of course, the drink in her hands helps as well. 

“This is where I remind ye that I am not above injectin’ a few old ladies with a hypotensive agent if you want to make pretend for half-an-hour. ‘Course it’s just a fainting spell, but if they’re old enough maybe you’ll get lucky an’ they won’t recover.”

Oh joy. Lillian is here to save the day, which means she doesn’t have to deal with anyone else. But, it also means she has to deal with Lillian. Which is a trial every time, and absolutely not enjoyable, at all. Her lips quirk in spite of herself. 

“I can think of a quick solution to that, Lillian,” Shivonne retorts, turning to her (least) favorite Irishwoman. “Traditional burial or cremation? Gotta make sure your last wishes are honored.” If she’s being honest with herself (which she really tries to avoid at all costs), 

Lillian is one of the few people who doesn’t scorn her fondness for cadavers, who is equally comfortable amongst the dead and has a wit that can match Shiv’s stab for stab. She’ll absolutely never admit it out loud, but Shivonne liked Lillian Enoch. And then she goes and offers to make Shiv some more dead bodies, and nothing puts stars in Shivonne’s eyes faster than a fresh corpse.

For the goddess’ sake.

“You spoil me, Enoch,” she drawls, but she can’t hide the amusement in her voice. “What better way to ring in the Christmas spirit than a corpse under the tree, eh? What are you doing out here anyway? Figured I’d find you doing a jig at the bottom of a bottle before I found you out gallivanting.”

[shivglacier-blog]

Winter Without Madness | Open

[shivglacier-blog]

freyjaxbeaumont‌:

It had taken Freyja a while to adjust to the weather but now that she had, she was enjoying herself. She had already eaten a huge slice of pizza and she was still hungry. But she was trying to pace herself because she didn’t want to get full too fast. If she was full, she might feel sick and wouldn’t enjoy herself as much. No, Freyja wanted to have as much fun as possible. 

This festival was always her favorite day out of the year. Since she barely left her own home, Blackdell Estate, because of who she was, she was excited to finally be outside the confines of the gates. Although, she knew she was still being watched no matter what she did. She pushed those thoughts to the side and continued down into the festival.

Freyja pounced towards the flowers, always drawn to them. In fact, she had already created a flower halo that now sat atop of her head. She took a long, deep breath to take in the fragrance of the flowers. She noticed someone next to her and offered them a smile. “Aren’t these flowers wonderful?”

When the woman spoke, Freyja nodded her head as she listened. “Resting… bitch face?” Her eyebrows furrowed slightly. “Why on earth would anyone tell you that?” Freyja asked the woman. Whoever had told the woman that was definitely being rude. Freyja hoped that that person would apologize to this woman. 

“Well I’ll have you know that you are delightfully beautiful and I’d love to have a conversation with you.” Freyja said with a wide smile. “Unless… unless you don’t want to?” Her head cocked to the side as she was trying to read the woman’s expression. 

She...flounced. That was all Shivonne could think for a moment. People actually did that, apparently. Wasn’t this the vampire principessa? Oh god, and she was sweet. Shivonne looked around, hoping to find anyone that could come to her rescue. No fucking luck. But Arlynn was constantly encouraging Shivonne to ‘work on her diplomacy.’ No time like the present.

“Probably because it’s true,” Shivonne replied without a hint of the sardonicism she felt. She was confident anyone who had ever met her, ever, would be stunned. Still, she doubted it would be enough to keep the girl around (hopefully it would be enough to keep the girl from sticking around). But no, the little ray of sunshine just kept going. Shiv honestly found herself speechless.

“Um. Okay... thank you? I guess?” For fuck’s sake, the girl looked like she’d shatter if Shivonne so much as sneezed. “You are very—” Keep it civil, Shiv. Don’t stab the vampire princess with your amazingly cutting wit. 

“—earnest, aren’t you? Alright, well... you’re clearly more of a natural at conversing than me, why don’t you, uh, take the lead, and I will—” Will what, Shivonne? Watch? Stand guard? “Listen. Avidly. I’ve been told I’m a good listener.” By the corpses which she lets do the talking for her. Promising. 

[aureliusshepherd]

winter flowers || open

[shivglacier-blog]

aureliusshepherd‌:

It wasn’t intentional, really, but it occurred to Aurelius, as his boots crunched down snow gone off-white and compressed by the passage of countless feet, that he hadn’t been downtown in months. There simply wasn’t much to draw his attention there. The few locations that were open past sundown weren’t exactly competition for staying home. But Floriade, well, the festival was probably the only time of year when Aurelius could be counted on to make an appearance downtown with at least reasonable consistency. After all, he couldn’t count on Hadrian’s promises of dragging him along behind him being nothing but empty threats. He knew his brother. He’d do it.

As he crossed the nebulous line into the festival proper, a delineation marked only by the increasing level of lights and intricate floral decorations, interspersed with banners and streamers and all things festive, Aurelius took in the scene before him with care. It wasn’t that Aurelius didn’t like the festival- it was undeniably beautiful, and in the Accords it commemorated a thing he supported, but it also came with an inherent implication that he was supposed to talk to people. Which was somewhat unfortunate. 

A child with a bright smile and a crown of flowers offered him a purple flower from the bunch cradled in his arms, and Aurelius smiled down at him, his vague displeasure at being prodded out of the house vanishing in favor of something gentle as he accepted the stem. He twirled it idly between his fingers for a moment, letting the deep purple petals blur, before looking back to the boy, “An anemone… thank you.” 

And he moved on, continuing to let the ebb and flow of peoples’ movements pull him further along the street as he diverted his attention to tucking the stem into the button hole in his coat’s lapel. He was just straightening the flower when a person appearing on the edge of his periphery had him stopping abruptly to avoid walking into them, gaze flicking up sharply from the flower. 

Shivonne watched the vampire meander his way through the crowd with narrowed eyes. Shepherd was an anomaly. Every other vampire Shiv has met is an arrogant hedonist, more likely than not to be a sadist and a glutton on top of that, not that there was anything wrong with that, she supposed. Shepherd, though, he was one of the oldest vampires in Roseville, and yet he had an air of quietness to him. Solitude.

Shivonne didn’t trust it. 

She watched as a child approached him with an ease which struck her as ironic; she repelled children without even trying, and yet, this vampire, an undead ancient relic, drew children to him like Saint Nick himself. Humans had no sense of self-preservation. 

He made her curious though, because she didn’t understand him. She tried to picture Aurelius being behind Dumornay’s murder, and couldn’t. And that, that right there? That was exactly what made him dangerous.

“Charming,” Shivonne said dryly as she approached the man. “You know, Nisee always chooses her flowers deliberately. Do you know what that one means? She’s tried teaching me, but they don’t always stick.”