#lovemeimdead

[morbidromanticblog]

Interview with the Theatre Kid

Denis had seen little of America, and liked it less. Claudia had meant well, he supposed, by bringing him here, but in his heart he knew he should have let himself moulder to nothing in the basement in Köln where she had found him. Instead, he was here, on the corner of Eddy and Jones Street, the night a noise around him, kids on the basketball court in Boeddeker Park, men trying to sell him fent, or sex, or buy an hour of his time in the Ambassador Hotel.

Why? Why here? Why was it Molloy of all people that he was waiting for? He'd imaging tearful reunions, cold dismissal, angry denial, blank unrecognition. Louis. Lestat. Any of them, in any combination. But never in his most despairing moment had he imagined he'd be waiting for Daniel fucking Molloy.

Well, I'm here. Stupid, he felt stupid, standing here waiting, half sure Molloy was half a continent away, laughing. If you can hear me, here I am.

__________________________________________________

Be there in a minute. Actually, gimme five.

Daniel sounded nonchalant, even in his head. Truthfully, he was not certain just what to expect but something about his talk with Denis before made him doubt that this would actually escalate into violence. Even if it did, he knew he was strong these days. He didn't think Denis would be able to end him all that easily.

So it was curiosity that drew him there, not anticipation of carnage, much as either one might have worked. He ended up walking around the corner to meet Denis, hands in his pocket. His clothes were casual, less expensive than what Armand liked to dress him in. A bit out of fashion but it was all coming back anyway, jeans jackets and faded band shirts. This one in particular could still be read, 'The Vampire Lestat' proudly on his chest.

"I wasn't sure you'd actually come," he said to Denis as he stopped to stand before him, looking him over with the same curiosity that had caused him to initiate any of this, "How do you like it so far, San Francisco? Been to the pier yet?"

[crypticcovenmom]

♕ = bowing down before them.

"... I did not mean to surprise you. Please rise, there's no need to be on the floor." She spoke after a moment of watching the youthful looking man press his face into the ground.

[silentmagiamoved]

@love-me-im-dead

Damn. A splatter of steaming blood gurgled up from Vincent’s throat as he fell against the ground. In a flash he reached for his blade, only to find his reach come to a sudden halt at the end of an axe. Fuck.  He heard a voice. Demon. He recoiled back. Another bite from snapping canine came to his leg along with a swift kick to his jaw. The boy laughed, the blood loss was getting to him. Barely lucid his gaze strayed up to greet the vision of the man whom challenged him. The attack came unexpected, probably a bastard friend of one of the dog pitting bastards he’d slit the throats of. He chuckled again. After all these years perhaps he was finally getting a name for himself.

His gaze peered up, any boyish innocence he might have had seemed to have slipped long ago from his feature. His body might have not been able to take on an adult but he was in no way easily defeated even if tonight he’d need to admit he was. “Is that your best?” He hissed defiantly, his words biting his tongue as he felt the final blow that would send so quickly into the darkness. They’d meet again. He’d need his god damn hand and blade back! There was no denying that vengeance would come, but for now he’d let the silence take him.

It was some time before Vincent awoke again. His chest felt heavy. He tried to gasp for air but only felt water fill his mouth? For a moment he couldn’t help but panic. Oh fuck where had he been thrown this time? He his arms wavered through the water, rising himself up towards the surface—or at least he hoped it was up.

He broke through the water. Coughing up violently the intake of water that had filled his lungs. A heavy breath of air filled him at a nauseating speed. His lips twitched, raising his arm out of the water to stare at the missing limb. Without the limb he would not be able to regenerate any lasting blood. He was a dead man walking, a corpse without the complications of decomposition.

His glossy eyes stirred outward, a wave lapped over the back of his head. His gaze peered up at the light of various cargo vessels docked around him. He was in Port of London. Typical. Well that was certainly better than the actual ocean. He paddled over to the dock, trying to reach over the planks to haul himself from the water with his one good hand. Long dark hair grasping his deathly, beaten up like he’d come straight out of a horror movie.

He didn’t want to attract attention to himself, he struggled trying to pull himself up, splashing around would certainly alarm someone, and yet someone seemed to be here. For a moment he thought he caught glimpse of someone in the near distance. Shit. He fell back down into the water.

[desanctii]

@love-me-im-dead

Tunis had not been his ideal destination. That was certainly not because he considered it an inhospitable place. Far from it. It was a city awash in nightly bustle, French and Arabic snapping through the warm air like unloading tension. There was something to be said about the way the two worlds, European and African, pressed up against each other in the alleyways and tea houses, in the corner booths of the markets and in the newly constructed harbor. There seemed an urgency to its climate, an upward climb with uncertain outcome. This city felt the way a pot of money felt when you were bluffing with a measly pair of threes. 

Santino had checked into his hotel two nights ago and had spent most of his time getting used to his surroundings. The last time he had set foot in Tunis, the Ottomans had still been considered the strongest empire in the world. No one was really speaking of them anymore. He had fed upon arrival, to buy himself some downtime. It was never a fine way to start a visit, with a death. It had something foreboding. But he didn’t much listen to this more superstitious side of himself. 

Maharet’s errand had been a minor but inconveniencing one: pick up my package at the embassy, do not open it, take it back with you to New York. So there. Santino patted the small parcel that was buried in the depths of his coat’s pocket. As he was about to turn the corner to head for the channel, there was the presence again. A twitch in the back of his mind, a drop of water on the hot stone, sizzling out of existence.

The old vampire didn’t slow his steps but he certainly realigned them. He had suspected that there was at least one other blood drinker nearby but up until now he had never noticed them creeping quite so close. Young, by the scent of it, blundering, almost, to his honed senses. It wasn’t too clear whether the fledgling was stalking him, or merely trying to go about their business without drawing attention. Either way, Santino decided to cut that wire.

You can come out. He modulated his message into a soft inviting key, cloaking the more harrowing aspects of his age. Is this your city? I don’t mean to stay long. 

[dark-eyed-elegance]

∯

{ confessions; -- }

“I never wanted you to be what he made you. I never planned on giving it to you. I planned on leaving before you knew the answer.” 

[sacredvein]

- Talk about someone you know. It can be someone you either like or dislike.

Interview the muse

I previously mentioned Alessandra, and feel I should elaborate further. 

You must understand how old she once felt to me - not by way of her appearance, for she was never truly homely beneath the dust and the grime of funereal filth.  She felt ancient. Older than Armand, and that terrified me. She seemed a kind of magic, a witch of Macbeth, more sorceress than vampire. She felt another creature entirely, and she held me at first in fear of her, of which she was most certainly aware. Over time, my fear diminished, and I occupied myself more with the laws of the Children of Satan once I knew them well.

If I were to speak for her, I would assume she found me shallow-minded, a boy playing with black shrouds and reciting grand rites to feel self-important. Of the latter, there may be some truth. Perhaps it was foolish, too, to believe without question, but such is the nature of faith as it was in my time. 

We all knew the old ones went mad, as we had assumed happened long ago with Magnus in his tower. We all felt her death a given, inevitable with her moods and her strange, knowing laughter. In my more uncharitable moments, I sometimes wished she would get on with it and spare me her horrible, endless doomsayings and criticisms. I had called her mad, and time’s martyr, and a vagrant Cassandra corrupt by too long a vigil on this earth. 

Alessandra eventually chastised me before all the coven, before Lestat and his mother, and even our dear mortal Nicolas.  She had said for a hundred years that our way was dying, and she was right. The irony of my having called her Cassandra. Nevertheless, in those moments, I despised her.

And yet she was also our sister, our mother, and I loved her, too. Despite my resentments, it was a shock to me that she finally did throw herself into the fire. A shock that she had done it, that she was gone. And of course, as only Cassandra might, she heralded the greater doom to come. It is no exaggeration to say that there are none like her.

[ourbotticelliangel]

“Come here. You’re shivering.”

Stepping closer the proposal of ridding his body of the biting cold was tempting enough to not command question. “You must be cold as well.” Wrapping his arms around the male figure Armand drew him close.

[claudiaindarkness]

6. If you had to take one positive thing away from your muse, what would you take away?

@love-me-im-dead

//Okay this has been sitting in my inbox for a while, I’m sorry, it’s just a difficult question.

I think I would choose, perhaps, her determination. Although it’s good to be determined and work towards what you believe in, Claudia would be very different without it. She would be just as much of an interesting character without it, kind of more damsel in distress, which would be interesting to see. Most of how I play Claudia is built around her determination and stubbornness.