#mirabilixcreuit

[draconigena440-archive]

Living with Crohn's disease was a daily battle and living with Crohn's disease in the middle of Kenya running a United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees or UNHCR camp was an even bigger battle for Vladimir Bohdan Florescu Dracula II. Between his regular duties as a doctor he also had to play the politician, bookkeeper, and peacekeeper and it all added up to too little sleep, almost no time to himself and little chance to take care of himself (not that taking care of himself was ever on his list of priorities, to begin with).

It was in stressful chaos the former Sarmatian/Celt knight felt the most comfortable and the most in his element considering he had close to sixteen hundred years as a slave, assassin, conscript, prince and a king. He, his brother with the help of a handful of knights built what was now England, Scotland, and Wales, inspired legends and sired the royal families of countless countries but the man that was the historical root to Arthurian Legend's Lancelot found himself happiest sitting outside his tent lighting a cigarette while a visiting many-times great-grandson/nephew was inside making tea to try settling his stomach and ease the pain that was just about everywhere.

"For the love of my Gods and your God." Vladimir said over his shoulder for what seemed like the hundredth time before freeing his mid-back length curls from the elastic band that had been holding it up all day, "You do not have to do this."

"Shut up." The former knight's grandson/nephew said as he came out of the tent and handed over one of the cups of tea he was holding before sitting down next to him. He was an actor who had been filming in Namibia and had snuck up to visit Vladimir and his team. "It's the least I can do considering you're letting me hide out here for a few days on top of hosting a missionary group. If I had known they were here I wouldn't have come."

"Now it is your turn to shut up as you so eloquently put it." The older man replied before glancing over at a man that could have been his older brother's twin as he took a sip of the tea. "You know that any of my or my siblings' broods are always welcome when it is safe."

Vladimir's grandson/nephew frowned slightly at the way his grandfather/uncle was speaking considering the former knight knew how to use modern contractions and only reverted back to the way he grew up speaking when he was about to drop from exhaustion and/or pain. He was about to gently suggest that Vladimir get some rest while it was quiet and in the middle of the night when all of a sudden someone started screaming in absolute agony in the missionary group's part of the camp causing both men to look in that direction.

[musaxpersonat]

(( @mirabilixcreuit   ❤ ‘d for  buffy ))

        “ You’re not here to wreak horrible  v e n g e a n c e   or otherwise raise some scary and big, bad evil out of the ground, are you? ‘Cause I already had to thwart ONE apocalypse tonight, so it’d be a little RUDE of you to start another... just saying. “

[byebyecroft]

“ How would you like the luxury of escaping your late-evening duties by accompanying me home and having a look at my newly hatched pachliopta jophon? ”

[mahiaemerga-blog]

{{ @mirabilixcreuit ---  🌟 }}

          “ Pardon me, sir. Do you... do you, perhaps, know if there is a stream or pond of some sort nearby? I am sorry to disturb you, it is just that I have looked and... well, I cannot find one? “    The young Delphonian was quite ready to wash the dirt and grime from her face, hands, arms... all of her, honestly. Grass and small twigs clung to her hair, her jacket. All were proof of the unexpected, nerve-wracking, and overall rather unpleasant, fall she had recently taken down a muddied hill. 

[therapardalis]

“Taken? All of them?”

The Concierge tipped his head in a nod, shoulders moving in a very professional rendition of ‘what did I just say?’. Thera sighed, glancing briefly toward the doors leading to the stairs, then back toward him. “I see. Thank you.”

It might have crossed her mind to be angry, but that wouldn’t have served much purpose. The disappointment was her own fault for just turning up and hoping, but the expectation that there’d be at least a few seats available in the Dress Circle hadn’t seemed so far out of line. Her eyes drifted toward the lower doors, both shying away from the notion of sitting in the Stalls and smirking at her own aversion to the same; it wasn’t that she was too good to sit in the cheap seats, she’d just meant to treat herself tonight.

And besides, she was all dressed up. Plonking herself down there in her silks and bows would just distract everyone around her. “Thank you.” She murmured again, though the Concierge had already moved on to the next questioning customer, and turned away, seeking a quiet corner to decide what to do next ...

[britishnation-archive]

@mirabilixcreuit​

            The room is buzzing with the low hum of pleasantries exchanged alongside with gossip and smithereens of half-truths, gowns and suits are pressed and arranged with fastidious care, hair smartened, champagne glasses filled with the sparkling request to lower the general inhibitions - though not to the point of indecorousness ...               ... and the PM is lurking just around the corner. { Bugger. } Mycroft quickens his stride. He feels the ominous presence looming behind him - approaching with merciless determination - out of an instinct born from long years of dutiful avoidance. He picks up his pace. Not today. As his gaze roams the nearby figures in passing, he tries desperately to make out a favourable face that might present itself willingly as an escape route, but the guests are entirely too well-known to him - mendacious, idiotic, perfunctory, corrupt, overbearing, gullible, immature, melodramatic, greedy, witless -, ah, here, finally. Before the man in question has entirely understood the nature of the assault, Mycroft has latched on to him with wolfish efficiency, effortlessly easing his way into the conversation as if it was a daily occurrence between them. All in all, bonhomie is not the worst character trait with which to surround himself, though by far not his favourite. 

            “ Ah, Mr Wilberforce. ” He can feel the prime minister’s eyes boring into his spine. “ I am glad to have met you. I am afraid that Her Majesty’s armed forces seem to have fallen into disfavour with the general public after the latest incident in Bahrain. I suggest we counter the expressions of disapproval by putting a more prominent focus on government-funded humanitarian projects. May I rely on your assistance in the matter? ”

[abxaquilone-archive-blog]

“Things, humanity has made in the name of God make me believe that he either never existed or died right after Creation or doesn’t give a damn, or, in the words of Mr. Fry, he’s a maniac.“

@mirabilixcreuit

[bahzozo]

             @mirabilixcreuit​    /  sc (X)

                   TRESPASSING. A regular thing for him. WHY he was trespassing in this poor man's home in particular...? Well. No reason at all, actually.                     Boredom, if anything.      A sigh simultaneously passes his lips as Wilbur enters the room, & he HUMS, “The woman in your photos,” pale hues flicker to meet the owner, “-- she's beautiful, you know. Mmn.. Y es .. Yes. I hope she remains in good health...”     & then, a terrible, horrible, cruel smile stretches over his stolen face.