{ meme } | accepting ;••••; @deromanum asked▬
👔 (why not!!)
From ruins, to market streets that were crowded all hours of the day and night, from walking the rim of Mount Vesuvius – that is how Dracula spent his time with the most amiable companion, Marius. He had not stayed so long in this land, nor intended to, upon visiting, but it wasn’t the ruins, the Baroque art and architecture that had kept him this long. No, it was the oldest of their breed that he had ever encountered. In his life, Dracula had known Italy well enough, he knew the history, the streets that wound this way and that, the location of landmarks, but what he wished to know more was the seemingly humble and wise guide, few of words, but vastly profound. What better way was there, really? To watch the gestures and the pleasant curve of Marius’s mouth instead of looking at or to where was the reason for them being out.
This particular night started off with light discussion of the constellations that now hung above them out in the fair-weathered night. The stories of how they came to be, their role in prophecies, the natural and supernatural phenomena tied to them. Both shared the balcony of Dracula’s apartment, marveling at the flecks of distant light. Once the innumerable heavens were exhausted, Dracula, with a casual air took the day’s paper and saw a favorable review column of a theater performance. The night was young after all, wasn’t it? Dracula announced he wished to go, but he would need to be in more proper attire, leaving no space for an answer from Marius as he disappeared to change.
He reemerged into the lavish parlor, lit by the fire and kerosene lamps, all ready save for the waistcoat and jacket—all black, of course. Everything black from his night-stained hair to the shine of his shoes, save for the gold cuff links and earrings that never left their place.
Dracula was always meticulous about his appearance, but, a button of his black linen shirt must have undone itself, from moment upon reappearing in the parlor, the white marble fingers of Marius materialized at Dracula’s chest, adjusting the button which lie just beneath his collarbone.
Stony stillness was a commonality in these beings, but oh, Dracula was possibly the stillest he had ever been. A small and sharp a breath drew into his useless lungs. If it was not bid to be silenced for all time, his heart surely would have hammered violently, forcing torrential currents of blood into every vein, a pounding tightness would rise in his temples. This was perhaps the closest they had been. Oh, certainly the friendly pat on the back or assuring grip of the shoulder had become routine, but this had Dracula rendered completely incapable of reacting. His hands hung at his sides, unemployed, if he had at least hung on to the waistcoat or something else it would have offered him something to grasp, given him something to do rather than just stand dumbfounded. But, even if he wanted to move, he couldn’t will himself to. He could not look away to distract himself from the sudden attention. This gesture had him utterly frozen, except for his gaze. Rather, as he did every night when they kept each other as company, he studied the line of Marius’s jaw, the golden wisp of lashes, the bleached brows, the inexplicable color of his eyes, the shape of his prominent nose – the closeness and Marius’s diverted attention allowed, or rather, forced Dracula to look upon him.
The only indication that he had not become inanimate was the icy breath that passed over parted lips shakily and slowly, the thick swallow that moved visibly down his throat for his mouth had dried, the quick wetting of his lips.
A sound, a twisted thing that was an airy half-laugh, sigh and whimper in one escaped him. His eyes flitted at first from Marius to the sumptuous wallpaper that shimmered in the light. “Ah—erm,” he cleared his throat while a dim grin alighted his mouth, his head dipped low and finally he held the elder’s gaze for a solid moment, “missed one, did I?”
