#crimsonrobed

[lioncoeurts]

@crimsonrobed | “ you know you can’t come with me… “

They're leaving him again.

That is his first terrible thought, striking him as a blade in his heart. He hasn't asked for the specifics, and he fears doing so. Going, to where? Perhaps to Venice, to see the old romantic sprawl of the narrow waterways again, and the enduring palazzos that loom over the city of another age.

" Then don't go. "

Lestat frowns, and the set of his mouth worries with the effort to stop himself from saying something he cannot take back. Or breaking out into crying. Either are both distinct possibilities.

" Please, Marius. Not when everything has finally come together. This coven, this place... And what if something were to happen? "

[violeteyedvampiremolloy]

”Can I kiss you?”

For a moment Daniel was lost for words. An unusual occurrence for one so adept at articulating himself. Felt himself flush as he'd fed. "Yep for sure yeah." Trying to sound casual and failing. Smooth molloy. Can he hear this monologue.

[sangcreole]

@crimsonrobed liked (x)

Miami is so very different from the cities Louis has haunted throughout his meagre two centuries on this earth. The lights seem brighter, the music seems louder, and it all seems to move so quickly, blurring the senses until the cacophony of the thudding bass from the club, the shrieking laughter from the bar, the shouts and groans from the casino tables and even the crash of the waves on the shore beyond all blend together in one brilliant and blazing feast for the overripe vampiric senses. He understands why a blood drinker might choose to make a home in this tropical paradise of modern spectacle, how one might lose themselves amongst the endless throngs of mortals who never seem to sleep despite the exhaustion radiating from their sun-kissed skin.

Though Louis had long ago given up his somber approach to the act of the hunt, he will always find it difficult in places such as this. Aimless, he wanders the streets as he always does, lead not by some higher judgement, nor by the false righteousness that might drive another's more sophisticated ego, but by the base feeling of hunger that grips his veins and turns his world to a throbbing crimson dreamscape.

Without thought or pretense, Louis had wandered away from the favored spots of the cartel hunting grounds, away from the crooks and launderers and found himself drinking deeply from the first pretty young woman that stumbled into his path fresh from one of the many neon-studded dives. It hits him quickly, the rich salt of the blood made sharper by the sting of tequila. The art of the little drink is not one he has ever cared to master and so he drinks the only way he knows how— until the vibrant thud of the heart begins to fade, until the warmth rushes through his veins like fire.

By the time he wanders back to the complex, he's forgotten himself entirely. It's humiliating, the way his head spins, the way his cheeks flush despite the cool tropical breeze and he can feel himself veering to the left no matter how hard he concentrates to make it home in a straight line. All he needs to do is make it to his rooms unnoticed, lie down and rest in bed, guard his thoughts from the others and—

"Merde." He straightens his posture upon the sight of the great ancient Marius, staring back at him as soon as he's through the door.

[auburnandamberangel]

"You're beautiful."

He tried not to look up too sharply, or show the affect those words had on him. But he failed on both counts. "You still think so?" Voice slightly earnest. For balance he added. "Though you are quite the oil painting yourself." With a small smile.

[desanctii]

“Why would I do anything with you?”

"Because he was my concern just as he was yours." Santino gave back, willing his voice to stay soft and beseeching. It made no matter how his insides roiled, how his heart rent itself in two. There was work to be done.

"And because I am the only one who is willing to go." He added, sharply. The Veil that the miscreant brought back had already spread such horror. Young ones leapt towards the martyr's death in droves, and even Mael, old stubborn foolish Mael, had succumbed to its suicidal call. But Mael was old and Mael would live. Armand, however... Armand chose cinders. It was days later, upon his arrival, that the news had been broken to him. And Santino had felt the darkness of every night he'd ever seen descend upon his mind.

There was nothing to bury and nothing to cherish. The only duty left was to burn what remained. The overzealous dead had drawn their fair share of attention and someone had to clean up after them. Evidence needed to be destroyed, waiting in its trays and files to be categorized and labeled, slices apart beneath microscopes. It should never come to that.

"I must do this, Marius, and I will do it with your leave or without it."

[sonataforsybelle]

@crimsonrobed asked : [ sigh ] " what did you do ? "

Marius had a way of noticing when she was avoiding him. It was not an unusual occurrence for her to come home covered in blood, having fed messily. Her maker constantly advised against it, but contrarily to expectations Sybelle got reckless in her hunts and did not see the appeal of being civilized. They were killers, messy or not. Besides, there was nothing civilized about her victims, the kind who exploited women and girls and anyone vulnerable.

It might have been because of some things she'd witnessed among the higher ups as a young piano prodigy, but she had been developing a taste for the rich ones. Although not completely against the rules, that was ill advised, and she knew it.

Thus, she had been stalking a kill for several nights. While not on top of the country, the man had been rich and the owner of a company. It had started one night upon hearing thoughts from a young girl much like her own once, a lifetime ago. She had followed her and found her father, a merciless patriarch who put on a good face to the outside world and was a violent, abusive monster behind close doors. Her elders' council, suddenly, when seeing that, it all had been forgotten. The obsession, the bloodlust, the rage had taken the full space inside her mind, all reason obliterated.

Still, she had waited for the right moment, even taking a risk by starving herself for a night or two with how busy she was observing his every gesture, listening to the daughter's crying late at night as her resolve and bloodlust strengthened. So what if this was dangerous ? The girl needed saving. Hadn't she wished time and time again that she had killed Fox herself in the end ? (maybe, just maybe, her acts were not as selfless as she wanted to think.)

She had killed discreetly, although messily. Enjoyed the swoon even more than she had ever enjoyed it, indulged in it.

The thing was, with the body taken care of and hidden, her reason had come back. She was aware now that she'd misbehaved, even if she believed herself right.

If Sybelle blundered sometimes, she never lied. Especially not to her maker. Marius had immediately smelled the guilt on her, if it could be even called that - she was more akin to a child caught stealing sweets, trying to hide from a disapproving parent. She froze in front of him, deer in the headlights.

"I killed someone that isn't... forgettable ?"

Pleading eyes -- she was not bad, she was not, but she was still terribly afraid of disappointing.

"I-- he was really evil. He needed to die, but I know-- I got obsessed, I got so obsessed, and I took care of the body really well ! But I am sorry !'

[lioncoeurts]

@crimsonrobed | cont'd.

Amazed and buoyant in the wake of Marius' candid divulgence, Lestat wants to move to his feet and embrace him, to press a congenial kiss to the side of his face, and thank him in soft whispers for his guidance and loyalty despite everything he'd done to betray it. For his unswerving strength of mind, and every encouraging touch of a hand upon his shoulder when he'd needed it most of all.

His faithful compass on the Devil's Road, regardless of his broken promises, or Marius' once cruel silence.

Lestat's face flushes deeply, the preternaturally pallid gleam of his skin taking on the whisper of near-human rosiness. He looks like a bashful youth, his cheeks hot and his eyes still glistening with astonishment, as his gaze lowers to the table; Still something of an juvenile in the blood despite his notoriety, when held in contrast to the power and age of his stately advisor, whose eyes had creased so warmly, offsetting slightly the appearance of living marble. How splendid Marius looks, when Lestat's eyes flit upward again.

" ---I do know, " A soft smile across the stretch of space between them, in the private comfort of the old library. " And I'm not at all sorry. Not for all of it, anyhow. " We are what we are, aren't we, he thinks, reminded of Marius' words of recent past. You cannot make angels of us, Lestat.

[lioncoeurts]

@crimsonrobed | cont'd.

The lash of leather sounds out in a resounding crack. It rings through Lestat's ears, much like the thunderous pounding of his heart, and he fails to stifle a pleased cry as the second crack of the crop quickly follows, bringing another burning stripe across the lovely swell of his buttocks. And though the old blood in him would soon work its dark magic to undo the masterpiece Marius has created, he remains arranged over the surface of his desk like a carnal offering, exposed. Is this the same fine work he'd once made of Armand, in the old century?

Lestat had presented a hollow vow, and his insolence had earned him a just reward. An enduring creature of impulse, he'd never took too kindly to the prospect of bending to another's will, and when he had, he certainly hadn't made it easy.

To be Prince is not without its benefits. It means getting anything you want. Mostly.

His head was suddenly ushered from the desk, chin craned upward by the insistent prod of the crop, a forceful vision in red before him. Lestat gazes up with a thin air of feigned innocence through his golden lashes, softly panting, like a reprimanded youth. Yes, it would be such a pleasure to come apart under Marius' hands.

" ---No, Maestro. "