#clairaudievt

[mcnecter]

@clairaudievt | from x.

( moonlit dea had stalked stumbling youth since his escape from almost OFFENSIVELY boisterous pub crowds. it had taken nearly two centuries before WIDOWED bride felt enough at ease to enter country whose shores &. men had been death knell to husband &. sisters - &. even then vampyr remained CAUTIOUS. cloaked in familiar SHADOW, pretense of setting up london office for antiquities business had preoccupied warbride from tension, fear, GRIEF. still call of new scents, new tastes drew strigoi to sample - to FEAST. )

( scent had turned aquiline features first, inky waves shifting beneath electric streetlight. different, but not in ways julia had previously SAVORED bergamot &. petrichor yet enough to catch attention. following was almost too SIMPLE will all noise EMITTING from him - scraping of shoes, flick of lighter, crackle of embers GRATING against siren's call of heartbeat. )

( she approaches with CRAWLING fingers of fog over crumbling headstones, &. just as cold. only GHOSTLY dead bear witness to hesperid's flinted gaze amongst oppressive quiet, heightened shadow. not usual PREY, but there is enough DISTINCTION in scent to warrant intrigue - certainly more than crowds of CONVENIENT meals bride would have weaved through to find herself inhaling gravedirt &. damp. )

( distraction as he stumbles, SINKS into freshly turned soil as only BOVINE mortals could. not of own making, but enough to REVEAL oneself. emerging from darkness like shaft of SILVERY moonlight vampyr observes his panic smiling, savoring before distance between is CUT with preternatural speed. hand - pale, tapered, perfect - grasps at his bicep, SEIZING with strength of icy steel to hoist prey back to his feet. )

' ah - careful! a dark omen, if you had fallen into your grave before your time ... '

( melodic, stilted cadence forever trapped in cage of ARCHAIC accent. what his eyes will discover with closer INSPECTION would be beauty akin to charcoal sketches, starless nights, growling wolves; lactic complexion offset by thick onyx curls, eyes of gleaming black, full lips closed over PEARLY fangs in scarlet smirk. )

' ... &. at such a time of night, boy - tsk, tsk, tsk. the dead would gladly have you. '

[blooddue]

“ you know, people used to drink this shit poisoned. ” wood, char and smoke. a decade of waiting. and the liquid swirls in a lowball glass, catching the light. there is nothing exceptional about this specific batch, just your typical high-end office crap. the talamasca special. still, jasper savours the taste, tongue tracing each biting note as if he’s sampling blood. “ rotgut. industrial booze with a paint job. real gourmet stuff. ”

olive’s intel checked out; the boy threw himself on their doorstep as soon as the sun went down. a convincing narrative in his back pocket, too. and the vampire leans back in his chair, riveted not by this visit, but by each brazen attempt to reach his mind.

( a rattle of breaths and a drumming heart; unripe, unprepared. just a mouse caught in a trap. )

“ most of them didn’t even know what the fuck they were swallowing, and honestly? even if they did, i don’t think they would’ve cared. ” a beat. a smile. “kinda fucked up, don’t you think?” for my guy / @clairaudievt

[mcnecter]

@lostsovl ( @clairaudievt. ) | 'a kiss to distract them from stitching a wound' (from Guy 👼) kiss &. tell. | accepting

( he had come in typical INELEGANCE for - of all things - her aid. perhaps boy knew in his strange way vampyr found him too AMUSING to kill outright, even though very scent of him was enough to DISTRACT. or somehow he knew a truth julia had yet to name - EMBERS kindled within centuries-hardened heart. even if born of sheer FASCINATION of his mortal mysteries or simmering BLOODLUST for taste strigoi could not forget finding in him capacity for FEELING, though knife's edge between empathy &. HUNGER continued to blur. it is why when he stumbled - frightened &. bloodied - door opened to him in SILENT welcome. )

( warbride has seen more of battlefield wounds than any MORTAL physician &. could still stitch even after half a millennia, even after own injuries never necessitated such CRUDE medicine again. experience can be seen in tension between drawn brows, firm line of CRIMSON lips; with enough strength slender digits could crush his bones but they instead SUTURED with feather-light touch. occasionally aquiline visage grimaces - sweet scent so PALPABLE it surrounds in thick, inescapable fog. )

( it happens when onyx hues shift to meet gaze, pupils flashing RUBY with every iota caging beast against unavoidable AROMA of doe. full lips part to speak, INTERRUPTED by prey closing short distance between; warm lips ENVELOP those of cool marble with sudden passion &. predator is swiftly UNCAGED. )

( taste of his lips is where bride finds tantalizing preview of what she had been CHASING - life. DULCET warmth, greenery of youth, very pulse of him so keenly felt against her lips; sunlight, cigarette smoke, honey-sweet VITALITY flavors nosferatu had almost forgotten entirely. nevermind instant CRAVING for touch julia had not felt in so many decades, quiet moan in back of throat revealing HUNGER far better than any carefully-worded machinations. )

( for once it is vampyr's turn to be graceless. pale hands which had removed themselves moment lips CRASHED to hers suddenly reach with PRETERNATURAL speed, winding possessively into boyish curls &. pushing them against surface behind him table, she thinks. returned FERVOR carries with it intensity for his blood, his sunlight, fangs SLICING into thin skin of his lips before bride can remember to RESTRAIN animal. pulling away with unearthly HISS, great teeth stained vermillion gnashing, before human veneer returns with PURRING murmur &. crooked grin. )

' you play a very dangerous game, boy ... '

[mcnecter]

well did she make you cry? make you break down?

SHATTER YOUR ILLUSIONS OF LOVE?

julia codrina + guy anatole ( @clairaudievt. )

[gabriehle]

starter   for   @clairaudievt!

the   salon   presses   in   on   her,       a   sweltering   amount   of   tension   and   faux   smiles.   heat,       powder,       laughter.   candles   dance   endlessly.   her   stomach   has   a   brief   pulse   of   an   ache.   ideally,       she   is   not   pregnant   again.   she   thought   herself   too   stressed,       and   to   be   honest,       the   marquis   too   useless.   regardless,     it   will   happen.   gabriella   has   positioned   herself   where   the   light   is   the   dimmest   and   the   crowd   strays   away   from.   her   hair   is   gathered   low   with   a   red   ribbon.   (   odd   for   a   woman   of   her   stature   and   time   )   the   length   of   her   hair   reaches   her   lower   back,       curling   ever   so   slightly   at   the   end,       stray   strands   wisp   around   her   face.   a   robe   à   la   française   adorns   her   petite   frame.   a   rich,       yet   subdued   shade   of   red   complimenting   her   pale   skin.   she   sheds   the   excessive   pannier   width   to   create   a   narrower   frame.   her   bodice   is   structured   enough   to   blend   well   enough   with   the   other   women,       pared   back   enough   to   breathe.   no   excess.   the   color   alone   is   provocation   enough.   red   is   meant   to   be   worn   this   way,     in   her   opinion.   leave   the   pastels   behind   for   now.

she   steadies   herself.   the   ache   passes,       leaving   behind   a   familiar   irritation    ——    at   her   body   and   circumstance.   the   marquis   will   busy   himself   elsewhere   soon   enough.   she   has   learned   to   move   through   rooms   without   him,       even   when   he   is   technically   at   her   side.   conversation   floats   around.   people   glance,       register   her   difference,   then   move   on.   a   woman   not   performing   is   unsettling.   a   woman   who   refuses   excess   is   worse.

gabriella   lets   her   gaze   travel.   ministers’   wives   laugh   too   brightly.   young   men   posture,     already   rehearsing   their   future   cruelties.   somewhere   near   the   musicians,       a   girl   barely   out   of   girlhood   fingers   her   fan   like   a   talisman.   a   man   stands   close   enough   to   speak   without   raising   his   voice.   her   fingers   tighten   briefly   around   the   stem   of   her   glass.   the   red   ribbon   at   the   nape   of   her   neck   lies   flat   against   her   skin,       an   unspoken   refusal.   at   last,       she   turns   her   head,       eyes   lifting   with   appraisal,       “   yes   ?   ”