#desanctii

[ourbotticelliangel]

desanctii and perladivenezia's roleplay is starting to make me wonder which characters have master the art of driving.

Apparently not Bianca that's for damn sure.

[crypticcovenmom]

"... You do look best in that position."

[perladivenezia]

∗ o2﹕ a  text  asking  for  advice .

[text]Have you ever crashed a car? Is it worth waiting for the tow truck or should I just leave?

[everarddelanden]

ooc; I was discussing Everard's desire for a role model with the fam and Ivette. How he had sought it in Rhoshamandes, (véry briefly in) Allesandra and eventually Santino. And after going through what exactly he wanted out of that, and listing 'someone with the patience to handle him' and 'someone to answer to' as requirements, Ivette said something along the lines:

"That's not a role model. Boy, you want a coven leader who likes you."

And that hit hard because I never even realised that myself and it blew my mind. And it got me back to thinking that he actually still sticks to some of the Children's base rules (for practical reasons) and how this revelation belongs in that category of Everard never truly recovering from what went on down there. Still unconsciously longing for things that don't even fit his life nor personality anymore. It's just that, because he never had it, he is still looking for it, because he believes he 'deserves better'. While all he should be thinking about is letting it go.

[angelustheancient]

• Five years. Has it really been five years?

“Santino!” Joy spread across his features. “I do believe it may have been a little longer than five years, my friend. How are you?”

[angelotnoir]

❛  there  is  an  unspoken  truth  between  us .  ❜

“Mm,” he concedes, amber eyes staring at the other’s countenance through copper lashes. “What remains unspoken between us stretches far beyond that, I dare say.” There is some faint humor interwoven in his words; subtle, yes, but audible enough to Santino’s ears, without a doubt. “… You were thought of. I am certain you know, but it is worth saying all the same.”

[morbidromanticblog]

On Death's Door

Ever since waking up that evening, Daniel had felt thirsty. He had stopped by a fountain and drunken eagerly and when he'd walked away, somehow he was more parched than before. The bottle of liquor he purchased somehow ended up empty and abandoned. It hadn't done a thing to sate him either.

This thirst, it was eclipsing everything else. He felt it burning in his throat, down to his stomach. Overtaking every thought.

When he was next able to regain awareness, his unwashed hair was matted to his forehead and his fingers ached from how tightly they were tangled up in the chain he wore around his neck, holding on to the vial of Blood. The only tangible proof he was left with at times like these, when he'd long lost track of his wallet and any other belongings and even the clothes he wore were far removed from anything that had been bought for him specifically.

Might as well be lost entirely. Perhaps he was. Daniel felt the roughness of the brick, his hands touching the wall he'd been leaning against. He got to his feet, unsure when he'd sat down, and he staggered away.

Did he have any coins left? Could he find a phone box and place the call? Did he want to?

Prolonging the game knowing that his hand hadn't been swapped. Still losing. Might as well fold already.

In the end, he stopped near a phone box. A car honked several times and finally lightly nudged him, accompanied by the driver's angry cursing. He took a few steps forward, only enough to get off the road and to then lean against the wall closest to the phone box.

Why bother? All this pain only ever got worse.

[lioncoeurts]

@desanctii | cont'd.

Habitually, he gives a small easy-mannered laugh, devoid of unkindness or any sort of malice.

The deep chilly gaze of the elder one has shaken some good sense back into him, the expression crossing his face a little reticent, however curious. The great power of this one is near tangible, much like that of the age-hardened Children of the Millennia. Even with the proliferated strength afforded him by the blood of the First Brood, Lestat seems a mere fledgling by comparison; a child of that aforementioned bygone age when the cities had fallen to chaos, and the revolt had darkened this very same threshold, taking the lives of his brothers.

Yes, he remembers Santino well enough, from the annals of Marius's memoir and the brief weeks spent secluded at the old Night Island; He'd played quiet congenial games of chess with Armand in those precious nights. On the night of Akasha's demise, Lestat had seen the abject horror on his face as she'd cruelly recounted all account of his misdeeds. He'd suffered a great loss in his dear companion Eric, hadn't he? Suffered far more, just as greatly. What despair, to endure such pain.

Forgive me, I'm being a perfect fool. The thought comes suddenly, and he does not know if the other has heard it.

"The Ancien Regime is just that, my friend. What has been built here is made new, and the rules have been rewritten," he offers, extending his hand to Santino in a gesture of goodwill. "Let us keep the peace. There's only love amongst us."