#-- xavier

[gcbbyrcmcs]

@xavicrmorgan​ location: outside Styx nightclub

Gabriella had surmised, a long time ago, that she didn’t enjoy the taste of alcohol at all, no matter how diluted it might have been beneath the potent smell of cranberry juice. It left her far more sober than her friends, the guy she’d been flirting with through text for the last month of their photography class together, clearly not understanding that as he slung an arm across her shoulder and pulled her in close as they met the street outside. The clubs patrons spilling out into the crisp night air as the night came to a close. “It’s Luca’s shout for food this time, he said so himself.” Her laughter light beneath her mild intoxication as she steered him back to the footpath after he’d stumbled a little too far towards the road. “Anyone got his wallet?” Asked as he sought to pat down the pockets of his pants to no avail, her intention to offer to pay instead met with him dragging her backwards as he maneuvered back towards security, berating them in some effort to get back inside and find it.  Twisting in his hold, she ducked beneath his arm and righted herself, rocking a little on her heels, the cobblestones beneath not offering the most stable place to gain her balance. Yet, when she had, hues searching the throng of people in the street for the rest of her friends, her spine stiffened. Her only thought the countless times she’d tried calling, unable to see beyond the blur of agonizing tears, a cracked phone screen and the untimely shake of her own hands the night she’d lost her mother. A warm hand found hers, Luca, almost childlike claiming he’d found..-- found something, his wallet, she assumed but couldn’t confirm as he fell short, letting go of her hand to take a step back, hands raised as if in surrender. Unbeknownst to her, that even while the werewolf had a flat out intolerance for Morgan hunters, the intensity of her silence gave him far more reason to leave under the pretense that he simply didn’t want to get involved with drama. “-- I didn’t even touch her, she’s all yours...”  The scoff that lifted in her slender neck undeniably filled with disbelief as Xavier still seemed to be meddling, without ever trying. Just her luck. “Do you make a habit out of showing up when you’re not wanted and..--- avoiding moments where you might be?” Her sharpened tongue clicking against her teeth, her mood plummeting instantly, “It’s a little toxic, Xavier.”

[gcbbyrcmcs]

👀 xavier, ara or angel

“We’ve just skipped right on over specifics, huh? I think I’d like to photograph Angel if he ever let me, Ara is the best person to have a movie marathon with and Xavier .. well, he always made the late night walk home a little less cold. So, there. I’ve chosen - all of them get their own specific scenario in which I’d choose them.” @aramayer @xavicrmorgan @reapersoriano

[gcbbyrcmcs]

👀 how do you feel about Xavier being here?

“How do I feel about it? I hate it, more than anything. How do you look at someone who was the comfort you wanted when you needed it most, but they weren’t there? It’s like boiling water on a freezing cold day --- the steam makes it seem welcoming, draws you in a little bit, but you’re always bound to get burned. I don’t know, it just hurts, the kind of hurt that you’re pretty sure can only be cured by the person that hurt you in the first place. It’s confusing, I’m confused and I hate it.” @xavicrmorgan

[hcdsn]

@xavicrmorgan​ location: Temple of Apollo - 2.47 am

The precipice of the coming full moon set the air alight, something that Hudson simply couldn’t look beyond under any circumstances. Especially those such circumstances that saw the death of Scylla and the plague of Eidolons that followed. Truly, there was perhaps, no better time as the power and energy that seemed to hide within every cobbled stone of the city grew so heavy it was near palpable to someone such as he. Just within reach, a mere fool would seek to look past it. Though he wasn’t lacking the understand of where such power manifested from anymore, it did nothing to steer him away. Luck, had forever been on Hudson Redgrave’s side and for as long as that continued, he’d not rest until he held what he wanted within the palm of his hand. All he needed, was an echo. Shattered and broken stone cracked deftly against the woman’s body. Rendered paralyzed as he held tightly the spell that left her so vulnerable to his every whim, dragging her through the remnants of the once magnificent temple. The dead of night carried careless footsteps heavily, a deathly figure with little else beyond countless possibilities pressing the inlet of his palms as he worked. Scribing, long forgotten runes in his husbands blood and the crushed bones of a reptile shifter, thick on the broken pillars surrounding the altar of Apollo himself. The woman, an elder of the coven, staring up at him with a certain defiance in her eyes that Hudson intended to snap right out of her, left him to carry the eerily quiet laughter in his chest. It’d been far too long since he’d had someone fight him right ‘till the end and the mere idea of what he could take from her made him giddy. 

Effortless, his every move, calculated and meticulous, moving between the glow of the moon and the shadows as if he might have been born a son of night all along, the sharp twist of his wrist clawed the woman from the stone floor. Her neck twisted at an odd angle and her mouth fell open in a scream that fell to nothing but silence while she hung so limply. A ragdoll, a puppet that Hudson regarded with an air of amusement as he toyed with her there until she dropped. The sickening snap of her spine, ricocheting from marble and stone as she hit the alter top and blood that flowed freely from her skull turned to ash and dust, soon rising in a thick black smoke that moved in tangled wisps towards the runes he’d left. Mottled blood painted runes turned to shadow flame with the incantation that spilled quietly from his lips, the once golden amber of his hues slating over obsidian until the glint of light from the moon above disappeared, as if someone had simply, switched off a light. It lasted but a moment, silence hanging limp as if time no longer held the constraints it should, the echo of the witch screaming breaking through only when the harrowing light came back. The dancing, smoke like shadows seeking out, and prying the dried, stained blood of the mother shifter from between every stone and crack the temple held. The molecular build damaged in it’s state, Hudson knew it still held what he wanted within and all he had to do was find one menial, barely there hint of water to manipulate it to his own will. To immitate what it once was and use it.  It’s the draw of footsteps that causes blackened hues to flicker towards the sound. What he felt shift within the space of his own power was that of what lay within his new found company. Morgan. That certainly made things interesting. The corner of his lip curls upwards and there’s no missing the sudden spike of hedonistic adrenaline for what might follow. Still, he doesn’t move, doesn’t let the woman go and he doesn’t call back his magic - there’s no need, he has what he wants. For what he’s taken, is everything within the dead shifter - and everything left behind from whoever killed her. The entrance of a hunter only offers up a fight to keep it; to which, Hudson is more than happy to oblige, “What a night to land yourself on the graveyard patrol, Officer. Full moon and all...” He spoke, the sliver of effortless charm that exudes Hudson at all times clinging to the corner of his smile. “You must have pissed someone off.”