#mimupyr

[nxctiphany]

@mimupyr​ (plotted starter)

     Lips part as a yawn rattles against his chest and slips from his tongue. He tries, fruitlessly and with little effort, to stifle it by lifting his hand to cover his mouth, but it still vibrates within his throat and can be heard both loud and clear in the steamy, morning air of the largely quiet, not yet opened for the day, bathhouse. His fangs tap against his palm from the pitiful attempt and his nose wiggles slightly at the sensation before he gives up and his hand drops back down to his side while his glossy, distant eyes wandered downward to the crinkled paper clutched between his slender fingers. Upon is was a set of instructions written in cursive with dark ink that had clearly been allowed to settle between each stroke given the fact that there wasn’t a single smudge on it - neat, crisp, and to the point (as Ingram’s rules always tended to be). And, still, he found the entire ordeal to be nothing but a bother. Ingram was the one who said she could stay, so why wasn’t he the one training her? How did he get dragged into this? Somehow, it feels like a punishment. It probably is. 

       “All right, so...” His voice trails off again as yet another yawn interrupts him as he walks - eyes still glued to the piece of paper rather than watching where he was going or paying attention to his surroundings. But it was evident by the fact that he could still dodge around various walls, chairs, supplies, and the baths themselves that he had the layout of the building more or less memorized. It may have been impressive if not for the fact that he was spending most of his time throughout this tour rubbing the back of his neck or swallowing a yawn that still, somehow, managed to slip past him regardless. He carries on with the tour mere moments as if the yawn subsides, as if nothing had happened - as if he wasn’t almost falling asleep where he stood. “There are three public baths and six, smaller, private ones.” His deep voice drags as he speaks. Slow, lazy, and deliberate.

     The bathhouse was enormous, if he were being honest. It was easy to get lost in its winding halls and the fact that there were three other buildings that branched off of it made it all the easier to get tangled up in its endless maze. It didn’t help that they changed the layout every so often just to ‘spice’ things up again and were constantly expanding to make room for their every growing list of clients (he supposed centuries in a business really did do wonders). He hated spice. He hated anything that made his life more difficult than it needed to be. It didn’t help the fact that the bathhouse itself could house hundreds of clients at a time. And they didn’t have only the baths to worry about - there were various other rooms as well that specialized in skincare, nail care, massages, you name it he was pretty sure they had it but couldn’t be bothered to check.                

       “Oh, but it says here you probably don’t have to worry about those right now.” He could, at least, pretend he wasn’t reading directly from a piece of a paper, but he couldn’t even manage that much. Well, she did need to worry about the baths, but also not really. Not in the way most of the other employees here had to. “Looks like you’ll be helping me out while you get used to this place. After that, Ingram says if you hate cleaning you can apply for a different position...he didn’t give me that option.” He mumbles the last part to himself, but it’s still loud enough that she could have easily overheard it. He wasn’t exactly trying to be subtle. 

       “It’s not too hard. Just clean the baths out every morning and night and between each person for the private ones. Gotta mop the floors, you know, take out the trash, clean the massage beds, you know - basically anything like that. Oh - uh - I guess it would be better if I showed you, right? I think that[’s the point of shadowing someone...” He only points this out because ‘show her how to clean the baths’ is written in big, bold, red letters directly after what he had been reading. So, he shoves upon the door to one the private baths and meanders in, propping the door open behind him for her.       

[larvainferus]

@mimupyr​

Big curious eyes follow Uta’s own dark ones, and he clucks his tongue almost fondly at the little young girl. Another one of Maiko’s strays, he can’t help but allow himself to smile at the sight of her watching him, and with a careless ease, he rips the arm off of the deceased ghoul at his feet.

He disliked the act of killing, that much was certainly true, though now, as his hands were stained with gore, he couldn’t help but feel amused, tongue darting out of his mouth not unlike a snake to lap  c a r e l e s s l y  at the warm blood that flecked the corner of his mouth. 

What was her name?

Maiko had mentioned it.

Ah yes. Mari.

Mari stood near the edge of the alley. Uta’d since learned that it was easier to communicate with the younger ghouls if he was eye level with them, and she was not an exception.  Uta kneels down on his haunches, beckoning the girl over to his side with a barely veiled amusement, crooking his finger in a come hither motion.

 ❝Hungry?❞ he asks, extending the appendage towards the girl. ❝Relax, I’m a friend of Maiko-chan’s after all.❞

[nxctiphany]

@mimupyr​

✿ !! darius or orpheus , i don’t mind !! pls smooch the mime

Send ✿ for a random kiss  / 41. Goofy Kiss

                                               ★ ☆ ✮ ✯ ―☽ ―★ ☆ ✮ ✯    

     Steam from recently refilled baths rolls into the air, fogging up gleaming windows that are nestled high in the looming walls of the bathhouse and sticking to delicate, flowery patterns etched upon ivory walls. Crystalline waters swaying gently against porcelain tubs as the scent of lavender and rose tickles his nose - a favorite among Ingram’s to cover the distinct, coppery stench of blood that clings to al of them to varying degrees. Marble floors are still slick and moist where the soft bristles of the mop had already been dragged, but the yawn that escapes his throat implies he’s been taking his sweet time cleaning up this room. Pale fingers folded lazily on the end of the mop where he leans on its weak frame - a bucket of soapy water resting beside his boot, still half full to reflect the amount of floor he still has left to clean despite the fact that it is devoid of grime and dust. Not even spec out of place and he’s like to think if it were possible for any building to be entirely immaculate, it would be their own. Ingram’s standards were extreme and nearly impossible to maintain, or, they would have been, had the coven not been as large as it is.    

      He feels a bit bad for Marianna, having been dragged into helping him clean the bathhouse, even if the task is slightly more entertaining and made, at the very least, almost passable, with her around. Still, it’s difficult not to groan at the amount of time it takes for the water to fill the tubs or the hours it takes to scrub floors that were already stainless spotless. And he, often, gets distracted by his own thoughts as the marble shimmers beneath the lights - reflecting his exhausted features perfectly upon their almost translucent surface; thick bags beneath startlingly bright eyes, silky ebony locks, elongated white fangs just barely peeking out beneath pale lips, and all. Messy hair pulled back into an equally sloppy tie. He looked like he belonged in bed rather than mopping a floor in the middle of the afternoon. Frankly, if the choice had been offered to him, he would much rather be tucked beneath thin layers of sheets in the comfort of his own room - plunged into a deep darkness and blissfully unaware of his surroundings instead of leaning on the pole of a mop gazing hopelessly at the amount of square titles that were still bone dry. 

      A breathless sigh manages to escape his lips as he swallows another yawn at the sight. Boring. Dreadfully boring. Straightening himself up, he slides his hands down the mop to take hold of it when he spots Marianna return to the room to help him. Guess they better finish this then, is the thought that crosses his mind as he takes hold of the worn wood, and begins to make his way over to her - promptly forgetting that he had already mopped this section of the floor and, therefore, it was still dripping wet. His boot skids across the slick surface and he’s sent flying - mop torn from his hands and spiraling into the air as he grabbles for balance only for flailing fingers to grasp onto Marianna’s shirt and, promptly, yanks her down with him. Limbs tangled into a heap as sharp fangs knock together with a soft ‘thud’ lips slipping off of one another in what had to have been one of the least attractive kisses he’s ever had (unintentional or otherwise) as they land, ungracefully, on the damp floor only for the mop to come swirling back down and landing with a ‘splat’ into the bucket of water - drenching both of them.   

     A groan of mild pain is exhaled into the air between them as useless hands press against smooth marble and he pushes himself off from where he’s landed on top of her; head upon her shoulders and legs pinned against hers, but he can’t get his bearings back and simply rolls to fall onto his back beside her - head smacking against the ground beside fizzling bubbles of soap and thick pools of water. “Uhh...sorry I didn’t mean to.” Kiss her? Grab her? Land on top of her? Drench her in dirty, soapy water? All of the above? But, the apology only lingers in the air for a moment before the absurdity of the situation hits him and his hand comes up to cover his mouth as his body begins to tremble with the faint kiss of laughter that slowly begins to echo against the walls when he can no longer swallow his amusement and it comes out, barely even muffled by his palm, with enough force to rattle his entire chest.   

[nxctiphany]

it says anonymous but i said no !! honestly you’re so ?? talent ?? in your writing && character creation , everything about your muses && world is so unique i adore it. you’re so kind as an admin as well omg i’m so glad i pestered you when you first followed me , bc i love writing with you on both my blogs. such a talented sweetie , i always look forward to your replies && seeing you pop up on my dash ✨

anonymously tell me your honest opinion about me. i can’t reply/comment, just publish.

[nxctiphany]

@mimupyr​ WORD PROMPTS - Always accepting (feel free to turn into threads) [ cover ] for your muse to cover mine with a blanket or a jacket // for darius uwu

                                                       ★ ☆ ✮ ✯ ―☽ ―★ ☆ ✮ ✯

       Ah, he hates summer. Hated it when he was human, and hates it more now that he’s a vampire and has an excuse other than the blistering heat to despise the sun’s constant and sorely unwelcome presence. It always made him sluggish and unwell, or rather, about as unwell as an undead creature could feel. It didn’t seem to affect the other vampires, with the exception of the younger vampires - Felicity and his brother included in that group, though Lorcan was a master at simply putting up with it, in the same way as it did him. He supposed it was a curse for being one of the weaker vampires in the coven - generally uninterested in exploring his abilities outside of those that could benefit his research and having little interest in becoming stronger as a whole. He’d like to fancy himself a scientist rather than a fighter. A medic rather than a warrior, and there were more than enough battle-hardened members to protect the coven without him needing to step up to do so. And, frankly, with his habit of falling asleep on the job, no one really trusted him to do much other than tend to any who managed to get wounded in the handful of scuffles that did happen. A blessing, truly, especially when he felt like his frigid skin might melt at any second, even when he’s nestled in the common area of their dorms, he supposed one could call their home, where the windows are boarded off, the air is on, and Orpheus has actively cooled the realm around them. 

        At this point, he feels like he’s complaining about nothing as he leans over the back of his chair - ebony locks falling out of the usual ponytail that they were often pulled back in to keep them out of his face. A groan leaves his throat, but it’s muffled by a yawn. He’s more tired than he usually is, and he finds himself longing for the sweet, cold embrace of winter as the clock ticks softly by above him. Heavy eyelids flutter shut against the wooden walls - softening the dark creases beneath his bright irises just ever so slightly. But it feels like a fruitless gesture when their rooms are often dark - there’s little need for a light switch or lamps when they can all see clearly in even the deepest of darkness. Sometimes they’re on. Sometimes they’re not. It’s just a matter of if anyone even bothers with the extra effort. He never does. It’s too much work. Just like, right now, with how dragging himself back to his room to take a nap is far too much effort and he cannot be bothered to expend that much energy at the moment. No, he’ll just slump over in this creaky chair - head leaning against the wall to keep himself from toppling over into a heap upon the ground and try to fall asleep here instead. 

     Assuming he could even fall asleep when he could hear his brother pestering the others while they paced about, minding their own business and tending to their own affairs. Another groan. It was really his own fault for trying to fall asleep in the common area. But he was nothing if not lazy and endlessly stubborn, so he’ll simply toss his arm over his already closed eyes and ignore them. Yet, it seems no one is content to let him pass out in the middle of the room, or that was what the sound of footsteps upon the floorboards implied - their volume increasing with every step they took. Light and almost soundless, but his keen hearing hearing insured he could make them out without issues. A curse really, others might have found it useful, but it made falling asleep so terribly difficult. But he isn’t greeted by a loud shout or endless poking as he had expected, assuming those footsteps had belonged to Lorcan, but instead the soft fabric of a blanket being placed upon his slumped form.  

    Peeling heavy lids back open against the murky darkness, crimson irises rolled over to glance beside him - curiosity briefly fluttering onto his tired features as he spots Marianna standing beside him; fingers still holding up the hem of the blanket. He sits up - the legs of his chair slamming against the floor with the motion and nearly throwing him out of his seat in the process. He blinks slowly as he looks up at her - oh, maybe he made her worry, passing out in the middle of the room like this or, well, everything else that had happened today, from falling onto one of the baths to just outright laying down in the middle of the bathhouse...yeah, she really had the right to think there was something wrong with him, didn’t she? “Oh, I’m fine,” he sounds less than convincing, he knows. “Just can’t stand the summer, but thanks, if you were worried about me.”