‘ i will not lie to you, your attempt was proficient. ‘ erik looks statuesque, surely, from where they lay: beneath the heel of his platformed boot, their throat squirming beneath the arch. ‘ but not good enough. ‘
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‘ i will not lie to you, your attempt was proficient. ‘ erik looks statuesque, surely, from where they lay: beneath the heel of his platformed boot, their throat squirming beneath the arch. ‘ but not good enough. ‘
open.
When had he last awoken from this deathless sleep? Weeks? Months? He couldn't remember, in fact he couldn't remember much. All he knew right now was he was released and, despite his previous intentions, his vampiric instinct to feed overwhelmed him.
A clawed hand reaches out from the sarcophagus, grabbing the side to help him sit up, then a deep hiss escapes the corpse of the altmer. He wasn't himself anymore, he was this feral thing. A feral, dangerous thing with a deep desire for blood. He inhales, then his head snaps towards the source of the adventurer who discovered his crypt. A snarl comes over his features revealing long, sharp teeth behind cracking lips.
He crawls out of the tomb, joints cracking as they move once more. ❝ Freed… me. ❞ he wheezes, ❝ You… freed… me. ❞ he takes his head in his hands and cracks his crooked neck back into place and rolls his shoulders ❝ You... are a fool. ❞
‘ SIT. ‘ its a simple command, and before it can be heeded or ignored, with a subtle twitch of the hand--as benign and mundane as signaling, perhaps, to a loyal dog--they sit, the chair scraping noisily and firmly knocking their knees out. ‘ you are very loud. ‘
‘ don’t cower behind corners. it’s unbecoming--i can feel you there anyhow. ‘ despite the nature of erik’s words, he sounds blissfully calm, without even a hair of hostility. he’s in thought, legs crossed over one another, his hands spread across his knees--and his form suspended a good three or four feet in the air.
‘ shana tova. ‘
‘ IF YOU DO NOT turn off your phone and pay attention, i will scramble it’s signal and--as the youths refer to it--brick the item. ‘
the finality of exhaustion propels erik from his feet to the floor, palms passing the arch of his brows to press idly into the depth of his eye sockets. his exhale is slow, deep, a note unsteady. behind him, the mass of his rage, destructive and ultimate: a collapsed high riser, a shell of metal molded into furious scribbles.
‘ leave me. ‘