L’appel du vide

Simone Artois | Vampire | 27/650+

[sassydw]

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"Pomegranate," which, if cut deep down the middle, shows a heart within blood-tinctured of a veined humanity.

- Elizabeth Barrett Browning

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[skaodi]

Elie Saab Pre Fall 2016.

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Dead of Night

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damienxhunt:

Boredom took hold of Damien every few centuries and the vampire resolved by pushing boundaries; the depraved were all over and those who wanted to cause pain can be called upon to inflict it. But he was immortal and it was cheating but never did he feel tired enough to want to die.

Simone looked up at him and he wanted to tell her that they were both cowards; he lived because he refused to die, because he was afraid to find out if hell actually existed, if his soul had long since been damned and he wasn’t himself anymore but mere fragments of who he really was– it felt like that sometimes. But the sensation of her wet mouth against his skin made him pause and Damien’s body relaxed before being assaulted by her question.

“No, I don’t think you’re wasting your time,“ he assured her, reaching out to caress her cheek, “There’s so much to live for.” And he believed it to be the truth. More than eight hundred years of existence and the world continued to leave him in wonder, there was no room for disappointment for he never took mere mortals in high regard which left him pleasantly surprised from time to time.

The idea of immortality was more enchanting than the reality of it. To live forever sounded beautiful, wonderful, fulfilling -- but the sorrow that came with the relentlessness of time was glorified, the horrors that were not just heard about but lived, the tragedy of being a character of history in the present. It wore down on Simone like the effects of wind on stone, slowly sanding away, until she was returned to her raw form. 

His words gave her little reassurance, though she smiled up towards him anyway, appreciating his response. The woman leaned into his touch, an almost stabbing pain stretching across her chest for a moment, as she realized that their story was like a greek tragedy, that he would never be hers and yet she would always be his. The pain simmered, and she felt as though her heart would leap from her chest in protest, but the small smile remained on her lips, sad in its faint presence. “I love you,” She whispered, shifting slightly to press a kiss against his palm, “I know you aren’t going to say it back... But I love you, Damien.” She closed her eyes, allowing her face to rest against his hand. 

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profanidad:

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Desmond had gone to the bar to grab another drink. He was buzzed, but his alcohol tolerance was quite high (for a human) and albeit more at ease, he still was in control of his faculties, which was great considering half the people in that club weren’t human and he was very much powerless. He wrinkled his nose at the thought, bringing his blue motorcycle drink to his lips for a sip. He didn’t want to think about his predicament that night, it had haunted him every night since he’d lost his magic, for once he’d like to feel anything other than helplessness.

He caught sight of a familiar face from the corner of his eye and, without giving it much thought, he made his way over to the woman. Simone Artois was not someone he expected to find at a strip club, even if there wasn’t much stripping happening that night, but then again nor was he. “Enjoying yourself tonight?” Desmond asked and his accent was only slightly more prominent under the influence of alcohol. 

Simone’s eyes raked the crowd, a smile on her lips as she tipped her head back and downed the contents of her shot glass. It was not often that she indulged so freely in the revelries of mortals, but Halloween was a day to not be yourself, and the woman was doing just that. She set the glass upside down on the bar top, tapping her foot lightly to the beat of the music as she leaned against the bar. Her eyes were bright with the pull of alcohol, and she envied the breathlessness of the mortals around her, the activity of their dancing leaving them with an enviable glow. 

Simone turned at the familiar voice, a smile breaking across her features as her gaze landed on Desmond, “Hello!” She greeted moving towards him so she didn’t have to talk so loudly over the music, “I most definitely am, how about you, Des -- Can I call you that? I know I’m your boss and yada yada but it rolls off the tongue better.”

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Dead of Night

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A breath of laughter accompanied smoke at his words, thinking of the wives he had disposed of over the centuries. It was an odd practice, one that was very uniquely him, and a faint smile lingered on her face at the thought. She had only met one, and she had yet to become his wife – the pretty blonde thing. She was vivacious and enchanting in her confidence, unapologetically different than the crowd of victorian women around her. She remembered that pretty face, the ring that sat daintily on her left hand, and then she remembered Damien kissing her neck in front of the fire, unlacing her dress as she tipped her head to allow him more access, pressing back into his touch…. And the smile on her face lingered for a moment longer. 

Simone allowed herself to be lifted from the tub, feeling as light as a feather as he carried her away from the tub and into the bedroom. She caught sight of the book again, but quickly turned her gaze back to Damien, not wanting to dwell on such things as what could have been. His words held a truth that she could not deny, and though the optimism of her youth would forever be buried with her mortal self, the romanticism of her heart lived on. She was not a fool to believe in fairytales, but if there was not happiness to be found anymore, than death would be sure to follow. 

“It’s not exactly that I want to die,” She said slowly, her eyes flickering shut as Damien dried her hair, “It’s just that I times I feel like I’m ready. Like I’ve lived for so long and I’m tired.” She had not spoken the words that tumbled through her mind to anyone before now, and it almost felt like a relief to have Damien listen as he was now. His fingers over her spin sent goosebumps running over her flesh, and Simone turned so that she sat perched at the end of the bed, her head tilted back to meet his gaze. 

“You’re far braver than I ever was,” Simone said with honesty, “I ran when you did not.” Pressing a kiss against his abdomen, the woman slowly moved her mouth down towards his hip. Unhooking his towel, she roamed lower until she finally paused. “Just tell me one thing, Damien. Am I wasting my time?”

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Dead of Night

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There were no words, no actions, or excuses to wash away the pain that her choices had brought to both of them. And of course she knew that, the woman had long ago left naivety in the past, yet she felt the need to say them, for Damien to at least know of the regret she felt when it came to him, to them. But regret too was something she did not want to dwell on. It was like a poison, a acid that ate away at the happiness she had found in their time together, and Simone found that it was easy to lose control of it, for the feeling to become overwhelming. So the regret, and the guilt, and the heartache was tucked away out of sight, only to find itself making an appearance when she could not fight it away. 

“Well, thats depressing,” She countered, her eyebrows knitting though she kept her head resting against the head of the tub, as she raised her hands to curl around the porcelain. She disagreed with the man on happiness, though Simone made no effort to argue the point. If he wished to believe that it was but an illusion, then so be it. For her it was something that was very much tangible, if only out of reach from time to time. 

They fell into a comfortable silence, Simone’s thoughts drifting away as she relaxed into the warmth of the water. She did not need it, and yet sleep continued to tug at her, beckoning her into the sweet embrace of a dreamless sleep. It fluctuated throughout history, whether or not her slumber was plagued with dreams, shifting through the centuries. As of late it was nothing but darkness until her eyes blinked in the morning sunshine, and she longed now for Damien’s slow and gentle touch before she fell asleep. The smell of tobacco reached her senses, and Simone felt the familiar itch of wanting the cigarette between her lips and smoke filling her lungs. 

The water was sent in waves up against the bathtub as Damien got out, spilling onto the floor and lapping up against the woman’s chest. She opened her eyes, watching the man’s form as he reached for a towel. He placed the cigarette between her lips, and she breathed in deeply, feeling the satisfaction of a craving. His words allowed a small smile to reach her lips as she blew the smoke upwards. “I suppose I’m still a romantic at heart,” She said, breathing in the smoke once more before continued, “Its just buried beneath all the cold hard stone that accumulated over the centuries.” Her words were meant in jest, but there was truth to them, and licked her lips before finally pulling her gaze away from Damien. 

Sitting up, the woman examined the burning cigarette perched between her fingers before she continued, the smile gone from her voice now. “You could do it, y’know,” Simone said, turning her head slightly so that he could see her profile, “Make me forget all of this… Or kill me. Might be doing us both a favor. We both know you can…”

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barsilaj:

his brow raised gently at the question. he let his voice inch forward under the guise of a soft hum that swirled into a laughter, gathering beneath his words, “unspeakable things,” he offered softly, bearing the misfortunes of being completely and utterly entranced by her on a seemingly constant basis. this woman was enchanting. she was like the darkness from a fairytale, all the more alluring for the mystery that she held. and the fear– he could never deny its presence, lurking beneath the motions, afraid of what would come on the day that she acknowledged her strength and the lethal nature he knew all to well, of vampires to have. one fight, maybe, turned aggressive in words and he would find her mouth at his throat and her strength, overpowering even when considering his own size, to pin him down. “unspeakable, but amazing,” he assured her as he pressed against her touch. 

he lifted his hand to his shoulder, gathering her fingers in his palm and giving them an affectionate squeeze, “but… we should get going. we don’t want to miss the overture,” he insisted, trying hard to keep them on track. the little time they had spent together was solitary and wonderful. they were left to the finer tastes of wine and conversation, but he needed to socialize in more ways than one. she was his opportunity to shake his sullen demeanor, for a few hours at a time, and welcome life without being a cynic. she was as dangerous as she was liberating. she brought him fear and with it, a desire to live, newly revived in him like a dying fire fed fresh kindling. he gave the back of her hand a kiss before he moved past her, opening the door to the hotel room for her to exit first, “after you,” he smiled, making no attempts to hide the way his eyes scanned her body, desperate to see the curtain of velvet, smoothly running over her form beneath. 

Simone’s eyebrows rose at his response, her fingers playing with his hair as she wrapped an arm up and around his neck to pull him closer. It seemed as though that was what she always wanted  -- for Barsilaj to be closer, for him to share his warmth and the gentle yet unyielding strength of someone far more human than herself. She pressed her mouth softly to his cheek, sure not to leave the stain of the deep red that colored her lips. “Well now you have me tempted,” She whispered, her words laced with laughter. She wanted him, she always wanted him, and yet it had been so long since she had gone to the ballet, and the show was only in town for a few nights of the year, traveling on to more important places like Montreal. 

She relented, allowing him to put some space between them with a nod of agreement. The man’s words had sent a wave of excitement through her, and a smile brightened her features as he pressed her lips against his hand. Most who had come across Simone in her long life would not refer to the woman as talkative. She knew how to hold a conversation well, and was more than happy to engage with others, but she only spoke when there was a point to be made or it was appropriate to give her opinion and contribute to an argument or conversation. But there was a certain point, a certain cusp that was not often crossed that opened up entirely different side of the vampire. Suddenly she could talk an ear off, or go on and on about a topic either important, or otherwise. And as the two walked from their hotel room, and into the hall Simone tugged on Barsilaj’s arm in excitement. “So I was doing some research and the National Ballet of Canada was only founded recently -- I believe it was 1951, and...” She kept talking as they walked down the corridor, waited for the elevator, and descended down to the lobby. She talked about the stylistic choices the company made, and how she interested to see how such a relatively young foundation performed. The words just kept coming, leaving the man room for little more than a word or two before they had reached the street, the cold Autumn breeze sending the loose strands of her hair dancing across her face, and still she came to a halt on the side of the street with a smile. 

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Dead of Night

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damienxhunt:

A frown briefly appeared on Damien’s face at the mention of her encounter with his brother, his hand reached for her under the water when she moved away from him to lean to the other side and he gave her ankle a gentle squeeze. It was fortunate that Simone was immortal, had Kai gotten to her during a time she possessed a heart, Damien was certain she would not have survived his games.

“He likes to play these games,“ he offered as explanation; Kai preyed on women as much as he did but the boy was chaotic, not caring to put any distinction on whether that someone was a friend or not. Damien had spared lives, one way or another, whether it was Mercedes becoming friends with Matilda or him growing too fond of Violet Blair, the vampire had maintained some form of decorum. Much like how he spared Simone that afternoon. “I was too lenient on him.“

Nine hundred years of letting his younger brother run amok, their latest squabble seemed to indicate a shift; Damien wasn’t going to let him do as he pleased, not anymore. He was brought back to the present when Simone spoke again, this time to address what had been left hanging the first time they saw each other.

“What use do you possibly have?“ Damien responded with a question, letting go of her ankle and letting his arms rest on the sides of the tub; there was mild annoyance in his tone though he eventually paced himself with a sigh. 

“I didn’t offer you marriage because it was useful,“ he stared at her now, blue eyes devoid of the usual coldness they held, “I offered you marriage because I wanted to, because for a brief moment I thought that maybe, I could be with someone whom I could devote myself to, because I loved you, or I thought I did, I’m really not sure at this point. The lying makes it all confusing.“ 

Her lies remain to be a sore topic for the vampire and it was what made him second guess everything: his feelings, the things they shared; she stayed by his side to spite him, to make him feel remorse over something he had no control over and now she was very much like Isabeau.

Simone allowed a small smile as Damien reassured her with a gentle squeeze against her ankle. It was a small gesture, but one that made her feel wholesomely safe and comfortable as they sat there in his quiet home, the only sound being the water moving with their every shift and their voices bouncing off of the smooth walls. It was a feeling Simone knew would never come with anyone else. It was impossible. No one knew her like he did, watched her grow from a girl into a woman and shared memories as they did. She could and had loved others, but none quite like Damien. None like Damien at all. 

Simone waved away his words with a flick of her wrist, not wanting to talk about his brother, who she found quite detestable with his lack of class and self respect. She also found his weakness entirely disgusting. But again, she did not want to think or discuss Kai, so she allowed it to rest. She thought briefly how Damien seemed to hold the entire responsibility of his siblings on his shoulders, having not forgot his confessions about the fourth, lost, Hunt. “It isn’t your fault, Damien,” She said simply with a shake of her head, “You don’t need to hold all of the responsibility. Kai is an adult, he makes his own decisions.” 

She had not expected him to answer, not in full at least, and his response gave her both a rush of joy and a pang of regretful guilt. The hint of a smile that had lingered on her face slowly disappeared as the woman stared back at him, feeling as though his gaze was wrapping itself around her heart and squeezing. She took a deep breath, leaning her head back to rest against the tub as her eyes fell shut. “And I ruined it,” She said quietly, not bothering to conceal the emotion in her voice. “I fucked it all up, and I’m sorry for that. And I’m sorry for lying to you, and I’m sorry for coming back.” She spoke, the shuddering of her dormant heart but an illusion. “It was cruel... and perhaps a touch mad of me to do so. And I apologize... You do deserve happiness though, Damien, don’t convince yourself otherwise. Even the dark parts of you. The violent, sadistic shadows deserve to be loved along with everything else.” Simone did not look back to him, but stayed there -- eyes closed, head tipped back to rest against the edge.