Premise: List the first lines of your last 20 or so stories. See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 authors!
Thank you lovely @tc-doherty and @forthesanityofstorytellers for the tag! Tbh it’s kinda tradition/pattern to get loads of tags from you Sanity at the end of the year and I’m obsessed with that fact haha. 🤍 Also, I don't have 20 WIPs, but I had 17, which is crazy lol. It was def unexptected.
There are definitely some pattern here, also. Namely:
i like to start with death, blood or simply someone feeling terrified
i like to start with namedropping
i like to start with something punchy
i like to start with more introsprection rather than action
🤎 multiple kisses / kisses all over / kiss after kiss
For Lonel and Odena perhaps? I saw it and thought about them lol.
We Begin Again
Thank you so much sweetpea! I love that you love them so much. 💙 This was such a great brainrot, although I feel like I forgot how to write lol. But I still love them to bits, so here's the scene, and All Things End by Hozier that I listened to constantly.
Odena came home to the quiet sizzling of the television again. She gently clicked the door closed, making sure not to disturb the still, noise-littered silence. Fehn might have fallen asleep with Kaira again.
She sighed soundlessly, massaging her feet as she stepped out of her heels. Her purse slouched onto the floor, scattered shoes arranged in neat lines now; she didn’t find anything new. There was still no sign of Lonel.
Well.
She stretched her neck, trying to ease the tension in her muscles. A small nagging nibbled at the back of her mind. She had raised Kaira alone for almost a decade now, yet this was something else; this was different. His job pulled him away more than she found comfortable. Late nights stretched into days since she last saw him.
She understood it, but that didn’t make her like it.
Odena sighed again, prowling through the short, wallpapered hallway. After all, she knew what she agreed to when…
She stopped at the edge of the square little living room. An uncontrollable chuckle threatened to burst out of her throat, so she pushed her fingers to her painted lips. Kaira’s soft snoring accompanied the concluded broadcast’s frizzle, her small form comfortably weighing on Lonel’s chest. He sprawled on the couch, one booted leg up on the headrest, the other dangling from the armrest. None of his soles touched the textile. His ties were undone, making Odena smile even wider. Kaira must have pulled him away before he could take them off — as she often did whenever he arrived.
With a lightness in her chest, Odena walked over to the coffee table beside the well-loved couch and picked up the knocked-over glitter’s plastic holder. Various coloured and shaped stars sprinkled through half of the wood. The other half should have been on the carpet, and yes, some glinted under Odena’s feet. However, the rest twinkled in the dustpan crookedly propped next to the television.
She considered collecting Kaira’s numerous hair clips that were tossed there but decided otherwise.
Instead, she turned around, as silent as she could, and swallowed back a laughter. Tiny flower shapes in many hues, cartoonish wolf heads, and colourful bat stickers ornated the naked parts of Lonel’s face, in identical order to Kaira’s. Big patches of his beard gleamed from glitter, just like their little girl’s fingers that held onto Lonel’s checkered shirt.
Ever so gently, Odena swiped back Kaira’s cascading black hair from her face, though it was already sparkling like New Year’s night sky. None of them stirred to her proximity.
Still, she leaned down, planting a kiss on her daughter’s forehead, then carefully burying her fingers in Lonel’s beard to leave one at his chapped lips. He grunted quietly, clearly fully awake.
“Hello stranger,” Odena whispered, smiling into his slowly opening eyes.
“Hello yourself.”
His drowsy bariton resonated so strongly, that Kaira took a deeper breath, stopping her darling snoring. She fidgeted a little, snuggling closer to Lonel’s neck, then quietly whining when his beard poked her tender face.
“Give me a minute,” Lonel whispered then too, which fortunately did not cause any more disturbance. He carefully heaved himself up, although Kaira did not seem to weigh anything in his arms. There was not a hint of strain in his movements as he stood and after Odena gave another caress to her daughter’s lovely face, he put her in her bed.
Somewhere outside a muted, sweet melody started as if the slumbering city would just begin dreaming. While Lonel cared for Kaira, Odena cleared off the table and poured them some of the cold tea left on the stove. As she turned out of the kitchen, intending to roll right back into the living room, a hand grabbed her waist.
Lonel captured her in his hold, rough hands just right on her.
“I said give me a minute, not to start fussing about, Blossom.”
“Fussing about would be nagging you to take off those behemoths,” she countered, nodding towards the ground. Then, she turned out of his grasp. He scoffed quietly, diligently staying behind to lose his boots.
Odena turned off the television, only then noticing how the air already smelled of tar and aftershave. A welcome change, one that made this little apartment more like home.
She placed the mugs on the table and did not sit as she heard socks craping at the carpet. “All done.”
“Good,” she murmured, turning as she felt him close. The melody kept playing outside, drowning out every other subtle noise of the apartment complex. She could not erase her smile as she closed the distance between them, touching the wolf sticker under his tired eyes. “She’s grown so fond of these.”
“Mhm. She even named them.”
Odena chuckled, leaning against his frame as he caressed her arm, and held her side. Evenly, without a thought, they began swaying to the calm rhythms coming through the window cracks. “Of course she did.”
“This one’s Blossom,” Lonel started, placing her finger over the white flower sticker. “This is Sel and My Sweet.” He positioned her finger over the two bats, one smaller than the other. “And this one’s Giggles.” The wolf head, eventually. Odena glided her fingertips over the pretty little thing, then through his dry, sparkling skin. “Her wolf is called Nel.”
“Makes sense.”
“Does it, though?” He left a kiss over her fingertip when she drew it over his lips absently.
“Sure. You kept telling her she has a wolf’s spirit, and kids don’t take these things lightly. Plus, she claims to have two daddies now, so she must be like you. Naturally.”
“Naturally,” he chuckled, too.
The melody took over the living room, leaving them in a peaceful crack in-between time. Carefully moving not to make a sound, they swayed to the music, tangled and calm. Being there, finally with him, Odena felt her muscles relax if only for tonight.
Lonel leaned closer after a while, breaking the reassuring silence. “Sorry for the mess,” He left a kiss on her brow. “For the boots.” On the cheek. “And for disappearing on you.” Then, in the corner of her lips. “I’ve made sure not to do that again.”
He kissed her, soft and full, and she smiled into it.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Mostly that I quit.”
Odena’s fingers stopped playing with his hair, as she leaned back a little. “What?”
“I left the forensic team. It ate up my life, which is why I chose it in the first place. But that’s no game anymore.” Lonel let their hands fall as he stopped with Odena. He did not let go of her hand, however. “So I joined a band.”
“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”
A swirl of emotions attacked her heart. Relief, surprise, worry, joy. She did not feel this intensely, nor this chaotically since… well, since Kaira was born. Not to mention the confusion, given how she told him since their teenage years that he should make music his profession. Something he actively brushed away in the past.
Sometimes she thought Lonel could sense her inner turmoils. Because just like that, he glided them to the couch, gentle but serious. “It’s a blues band, in contract with some bars around the city, so they always have gigs, and they get a fair cut. I knew one of the guys in it, we went to the same group therapy. And he tried to recruit me for a while. So I said yes.”
Odena searched his dark gaze and found no deception or jest. He was telling the truth. He was earnest.
A siren cut through the melody outside, the sharp sound tramping all over the lovely rhythms.
“Congratulations, then?” she asked and did not correct herself. She stayed close to him, their legs pushed into each other, their bodies mere inches away. But she needed to keep his eyes for a little while. “I mean, that’s really great to hear. We missed you. It’s just… can you please consult me next time before you do something life-altering?”
Lonel’s expression pulled into a barely perceptible surprise, then morphed into a serious understanding. He looked down on their intertwined fingers, then back into Odena’s steeled eyes.
“Of course, you’re right. Sorry, Blossom.” She knew when he meant his words, and in that moment, she could see that same devotion. That cold, hard look turned his words into vows. She understood because they both lived without another person for a long time. Yet, that changed, and with that, they needed to morph as well.
She looked over all the little girl glitter and stickers on his brusque face again and noticed a tiny heart-shaped pin in his hair only then, neatly tucked beside the root of his ear. A reassuring sign that even if not easily, but this could work.
Odena smiled then, leaning onto his lips again, and curling under his arm. He draped his around her shoulders, comfortably sprawling on the couch yet again. An uncharacteristically relieved sigh left his mouth as she sneaked a hand between his slightly unbuttoned shirt, drawing circles through his chesthair. “So group therapy, huh?”
He scoffed at her overly seductive tone. “Yeah.”
She chuckled at the casualty of his voice, the utter lack of care or caging.
“Well, that does fit a new beginning.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” Lonel smiled, the rare, wide one he only let out when feelings conquered his gloom. The one that she saw more and more.
May 14 Sasin: 0 | Lonel: 380 | Reach for the stars by @the-wip-project
Busy, busy day, so only got to write on my way to work and to home, which means smut time. It’s very funny though. Haven’t even gotten to the sexy time yet, but it’s already very fun.
No Context Spoiler Snip aka The Funniest (for me):
“You ought to step ahead of them and mark your territory.”
Lonel clenched his jaw, eyes set on her and the gathering.
“Sure, I should just piss her around and call it a day. I’m not a fucking dog, hellspawn. And she’s no territory.”
May 13 Sasin: 0 | Lonel: 722 | Reach for the stars by @the-wip-project
Lmao, yeah I didn’t have time to nor brain capacity for Sasin, but I did have time for some smut. As one does. Always a nice break from the big picture stuff, although I only started writing that because a group project and because it’s a nice way to let out some steam at work. Yes, I’m writing at work on breaks and/or when the ideas hit me. No, I don’t reacommend anyone who would like to focus on their job, lol. Either way, I really enjoy this scenario now, and especially obsessed with the song I’m writing it to.
To not have too much of a spoiler for my partners in crime, here’s the first paragraph:
Lonel prowled through the darkness of the Phobia’s open corridor. In the obscurity of the massive, velvet-covered pillars no reflector light touched him, seemingly offering a private moment from the tumult. The guests all indulged in the dim spotlights, seduced into willingly draping their demise’s noose around their own neck. Lonel watched them laugh, kiss and dance with more than two dozens bloodsuckers throughout the evening, every one having at least two mortal clinging to their presence.
May 16 Sasin: 0 | Lonel: 2,370 | Reach for the stars by @the-wip-project
Insanity, I tell you. Insanity. Why do all my smuts end up around 4k? Man. But at least it’s done, and now my mind can rewire itself back to WIP mode. I already miss my lil guys, and Fang who’s POV gonna come next, ah.
Smut Snip:
“Hard to forget,” he said, training his eyes on her form swaying back to the statue. “But there’s a difference this time, they’re no mortals.”
As if inviting him to a dance, Odena turned back to him, smoke twirling out of her lips, while she walked before the statue.
“Nor are you,” she added.
Yep, supernatural (werewolf) nasty, because I like being weird.
51 for the spotty ask game! @bloodlessheirbyjacques <3
Okay, this one is a bit different, because I realised that this piece I once wrote (and you already read, love) to @the-wip-project's #60daysshortstory challange was inspired by this song. I logged my progress, but never posted the finished piece because it needs polishing. But, you know what? Here it is anyway.
SHORT STORY | TW: GORE | HORROR | WC: 1,417
Flesh was never meant for worship. Belief could not live in one meant to rot and wither — or simply change. Everything that was born foul has been conceived in change. Shifting darkness, deforming forms, corrupted souls. The dead of the night brought the most viles alive, Amity knew it well from all the tales in town. Still, she questioned whether all change was meant to be from the Devil.
Nightfall hung heavy from the horizon over the main street.
Blackened blue sky waved above Amity, no stars spotting it at all. She turned around, making sure nothing and no one was following. A flower crown hugged her head, one dear Meredith made her as a token of their friendship. She said it would bring her luck on the hunt for a partner.
Amity held her basket tighter.
The Moonrise Festival never meant as much to her as it did to her friend and mother. However, what they treasured, she did too. They needed it to soothe their worries, letting them dream at night without terrors seeping inside. It was the only change that was celebrated in her community.
And celebrate they did, filling the street with booths full of fruity sweets, charm-sellers and drumming melodies. The wind tapped the lanterns hanging on every house, gently swinging them before carved wooden wolf masks over the entrances.
Amity walked behind a reeking cart, staying at the perimeter of the forest and the Festival. She listened to the people talking, thumping their feet to the ground around the bonfire nearby, sharing candid apples and decorating themselves with charms. The symbols that kept away the spawns of night, creatures that stole children and roamed to destroy without control or satisfaction. She knew the stories, but Meredith feared them. As did most of the folk.
She clutched her basket, following a familiar chestnut hair in the crowd. Amity wasn’t too eager to celebrate anything — it was her first time attending such an event. The townsfolk had never been a bad lot, but they could be much. Therefore, with so many people around she stayed in the forest’s solidarity just a little longer.
The house’s wall she was ducked behind was cold under her touch, her eyes carefully watching Meredith laughing with a girl from church. She leaned back a little to keep herself in the shadows, and her hand found paper along the damp plank’s surface. Tattered edges — as if age would have already been feasting on it — embraced a drawing made of charcoal, depicting a missing child. A little girl, barely old enough to count properly.
Amity raised her fingers to the wooden claw pendant she kept around her neck, the same as Meredith’s or the girl’s. It should have meant protection from night creatures and bad omens.
She walked the half-lit, half-shadowed grassland that lay parallel to the street her friend was taking. Would Meredith like her gift? She enjoyed surprises, that much Amity knew. Yet, her basket hung awkwardly between her fingers.
The moon’s silver shine barely flickered between two clouds as they were still some hours before midnight.
Amity should have joined them. All the preparations, Meredith’s luring, her mother’s encouraging talks. It would all be for nothing if she would decide not to show. Yet, her ears trembled from the windchimes over the porches, and her heart drummed in the embrace of her ribcage. Every hollow-eyed wooden mask watched her movements from the houses.
The forest was oddly quiet as she walked. The celebration probably sent the animals away, every deeply booming drumbeat coming from the bonfire echoing through the blackness of the woods.
Amity’s mother appeared beside Meredith and the girl. They greeted each other warmly, clearly whispering a prayer at the end. Their smiles hid their fear. Amity knew. One knew well there was no greater threat to a lurking devil than a celebration of their divinity, yet it never came without risk. They left the threshold of change; staying out after dusk, marching towards the true transformation with the deepening night.
Nothing could be as powerful as the fullest of the Moon.
Amity cocked her head, slipping over to a barber shop’s porch. The church girl’s hair billowed in the lantern’s light as her mother caressed her head. Meredith’s eyes shone at them softly, and her sunflower scent reached even Amity too. They stopped to admire the wooden figurines in a shop, sour-smelling bouquets and dried fruit decorations adorning a stand beside them.
Amity smelled blood.
The music pounded around her like a beating heart, crackling fire changing the air. Ash danced towards the starless black sky, twirling and spinning as the singing bunch. It grew louder and louder, perfect unison empowering the rhythm. Amity took a step closer towards Meredith. She awaited her, just like her mother. Their heart would never change, as change was from the Devil.
They would never change, would they?
A foul stench circulated in the air. Burned meat, sweet meat, sour blood, a never-worshipped flesh totem — a body. Many bodies. Amity heard the laughter. Amity heard the screams.
Screams.
Screams?
She faced Meredith, wide-eyed, looking right into her face. She enjoyed surprises, yet she didn’t glance at her gift from Amity. Why didn’t she?
Amity glared at her basket that was full of flowers for Meredith’s crown. Her basket that was full of blood, severed limbs and guts.
She dropped it so hard that everything spilt onto the porch’s wood. Strong-scented, ironic blood seeped inside the cracks, dripping to the earth below.
What was happening?
Amity choked on a growing lump in her throat, when Meredith fell to her knees with her mother and the girl. A terrible claw mark opened up her friend’s belly to spill out her insides, right beside the girl’s severed head. Amity’s mother didn’t stay recognisable.
Nightfall hung heavy from the horizon over the main street.
Blackened blue sky waved above Amity as she ran. She turned around, making sure no one was following, yet she knew there was someone. A blood-soaked, half-flower crown hugged her head, bone chips dangling before her eyes. Her panting drummed in her chest just like the drums sometimes ago. Wetness soaked her face, tears streaking down on stained cheeks.
She ran and ran. There was no escape from the unchanging Moon, and the slowly brightening landscape littered with horribly butchered corpses. The wooden wolf masks growled and snarled at Amity, the wind chiming along with their voices.
Loud sobbing erupted from her throat as she panted.
A noise that was identical to the wolf masks’.
Her legs nearly gave up, sore and dragged through the pooling bloodriver around her. She screamed as she recoiled from something rock solid with a grumbling bang. Skin peeling from knees, she crawled to the wall. The wall, that wasn’t wood or stone. Her nails scraped at it, popping from her fingers like rust from iron. So smooth and white it was, Amity whimpered. It was just like a skull.
Then, her hand found a hole. Quaking, and rumbling. Screaming and splashing crimson. She glanced back at the too-quickly changing — falling into ruin town. She couldn’t watch it anymore, so she turned to the hole and looked inside.
The charcoal child looked back.
A scraped-up black mass, that was snatched away from a home in the middle of the night. A little body, that bore the Devil’s work — changing every night when the Moon bloated to the fullest on the sky. Amity watched the charcoal figure distort into a terrible wolf, one that stalked a similar girl like her, and a woman with no children. Fire crackled and feet tumped at the drum beats. The creature prowled around the houses, watching them while snatching and devouring everything around them one by one. Meredith and mother. Those were the names it gave them.
The names she gave them.
Amity watched her claws rip a priest apart on the main street. Her lungs blazed from the scream-like howl that escaped her ears and crawled into her throat. However she trashed and clawed at the skull’s bone, she couldn’t stop herself. There was nothing she could do. The wolf was out, and feasting like the townsfolk always feared. The one they were terrified of, yet revered just like the Moon.
But flesh was never meant for worship. Belief could not live in one meant to rot and wither — or simply change. Everything that was born foul has been conceived in change.
One of my favourite songs from NBT, so thank you for the number!❤️ It also helped me finish a piece I started a hundred years ago. This was originally written to this drabble challenge, and it was a nice little time with Lonel and the crew. Plus, I got to explore some of the Phobia too, so it's a winner for sure.
Small Context: Lonel, Selys and Odena go to the Phobia to gather information on vampire activites, after Odena found out about vampirism and werewolves and was adamant on going with the boys.
DYNAMIC AND ENVIRONEMNT EXPLORATION | NON-CANON | WC: 2,278
“Is this some kind of sick joke?”
Odena held back a smile as she squeezed on Lonel’s forearm. They stopped at the entrance of the ballroom—the biggest room the Phobia held within. Curving concrete twisted into silky fabrics hanging loosely on the walls, and red lightning painted everything into a sensual mystery of the night. The dark, sparkling decoration brought a sinister touch to the environment.
Wicked shadows chased the lights on every idling, masked person’s face.
“The best disguise is standing in plain sight, is it not?” Selys asked, still holding out the wolf mask to Lonel. He ignored the other’s subtle snarling, keeping an oblivious smile on his lips. “Besides, it suits you, wolf. You can rip my head off if it doesn’t work.”
“Don’t tempt me, hellspawn.”
“As much as I enjoy watching bickering men tearing at each other, we should start mingling, don’t we, gentlemen?” Odena offered, putting up her own mask: a beautifully crafted hummingbird with feathers that felt too real to the touch, and a small, gilded beak adorned with gemstones. It was a masterpiece of a true craftsman, just like every other one that VIP attendants handed out to guests.
“The lady is right, of course.” Selys mimicked her, placing the horned, hardened paper over his face. Its red matched with the lightning, and the colours of the Phobia. “Shall we then?”
He gestured with his hand, eyes creased deeply from his now-hidden smile. Lonel huffed, snatching the wolf mask away, and putting up with a disapproving grunt. The creation did fit him, actually. Detailed to the sharp point of the carved fangs, it was no less a sight to the laical eye.
Odena hooked back her arm into Lonel’s as they walked deeper into the enemy’s den.
They earned — very proficiently disguised — glances with their pause, but none of the people seemed to think too much into it. Staying alert, however, never hurt anyone. Therefore Odena pulled out her filigrane cigarettes gifted by Selys and offered one to Lonel as well.
“Thanks,” he said, distaste evident in his tone.
Her smoke slipped through her teeth as she smiled at him, the nearly translucent, forming and disappearing shapes crawling to the thin cloud that occupied the rest of the ceiling.
“And how should we know which one is your kind?”
Lonel emphasised the last words with syrupy venom in his throat. He might have accepted Selys, but not the other… vampires.
Odena found it still odd to name such creatures with certainty.
“You’ll know. This way,” Selys led them to a table packed with bite-sized tasters and tarts. Overwhelming perfume and incense clouds lingered in the air since they stepped into the club, yet here the scent of food finally overruled it. One could nearly taste the salmon salt and lemon sour, champagne sweet and absinthe bitter with every breath. She was glad for that humble dinner they ate before coming so her focus wouldn’t falter. Selys began filling up his plate. “They’re preying, and outnumber the warmbloods. I’m positive you both can spot predators on a hunt.”
Odena ran her gaze over the crowd, careful not to make eye contact with anyone longer than a few seconds. She felt Lonel’s biceps tense a little under her palm, so she gave it a reassuring squeeze. Not that he would need it, she knew him too well to believe it could calm him. But it was something, and it helped her ignore the name Sleys addressed them with.
She took a plate, and packed some fruit and cheese at it, letting Lonel handle the drinks. Orange and red reflectors rushed to embrace them, then slid onward without a goodbye. The sensual, quiet music played relentlessly somewhere above. Odena could barely see the food in the dimness of the room, so she did her best to follow Lonel’s forever advice and let her nose guide her.
A man walked beside her, reaching for another glass of drink.
“Good evening,” he said, clear intention in his voice. Odena turned to him, alongside Lonel and Selys. The man wore a black tuxedo over his wine-red shirt and vest. Chest covered with frizzled cotton, corn blond hair freely flowing onto his shoulders. He looked as if he had stepped out of one of Selys paintings in his manor. “Who are your lovely guests Dumwermere?”
“Mr and Mrs Morninger. A pleasure to meet you, sir,” Odena initiated, offering her hand which the man took with clear amusement. It was the coldest kiss ever planted on her skin.
“The pleasure is all mine.”
Lonel’s arm tensed again, pulling it out from her grip and rather resting a hand on her waist. He did not offer a handshake to the man, but after a hidden poke in his side, he nodded as a greeting. The skin creased softly around one of the man’s eyes underneath the gilded fox mask, gaze steady on Lonel’s face. He kept staring with a smile as if he mused about a secret irony.
Selys continued, polite, yet distant. “They’re old workmates of mine. Mr and Mrs Morninger, this is Silvenus Galhart, the Phobia’s event manager. The praise you’ve showered me about the interior Mrs Morninger, they all shall go to him.”
“Oh, marvellous job, Mr Galhart. I’m thoroughly impressed.” Odena mimicked a smile sweet enough. She hoped for an opportunity to pry, but Silvenus simply bowed his head a touch, sipping from his drink.
“You flatter me, my lady. But it’s still early. I should only get a hold of my musicians so the evening could bloom into its full form.”
Odena caught a peek of the moderate stage in the belly of the club. A varnished guitar body and cymbals glinted around the three figures shuffling around the pedestal. The blackness of the stage was lost in the shadowed corner they were put into, making the people above glide on nothing but pure, thick darkness. Lonel joined her gaze for a second.
“Aren’t they out there?” he asked.
Silvenus inclined his brow in what seemed like well-contained irritation. “Only half of them. Our frontman and lead guitarist vanished into thin air, and we’re about to start in ten minutes.”
His tight tone told Odena that it wasn’t exactly the first time they might have done this. Silvenus, also, was surprisingly talkative. She assumed he might be rather ashamed of difficulties concerning the event, yet he didn’t give any indication of that. He simply looked as someone who had had enough.
“That’s tough. Are they playing tributes or originals?”
Lonel’s continuing question earned a subtle look from both Selys and Odena. His body was still tense as ever, yet he sounded nothing short of calm. There was the slightest hint of his distaste from earlier, but that was barely perceptible too. She took a drag from her cigarette, trying to figure out where he was heading — and why. Silvenus, on the other hand, had rearranged his face into the amused expression from before.
“Triubtes for tonight. Some of our guests might not be familiar with their work otherwise, given the large number of new faces,” he said, creasing his brows over his mask, and offering a darkly curious stare. “Forgive me, if I’m frank, but I feel like you have a proposition for me, Mr. Morninger.”
Odena did have the exact same feeling.
The music overhead began to quiet ever so slowly. A sign that the start was near, perhaps. Silvenus glanced up when the lights began to dim, then brighten again.
Lonel put out his smoke on the closest glass ashtray, and his hand pulled Odena a touch closer with a gentle tug.
“If you need people, I can get around a guitar, and she was the lead singer back at home in our school band. We’re also familiar with all the big hits of the last decade, so we could fill in for the time being.”
“A musical couple, I see,” Silvenus purred in a suddenly deeply intrigued manner. He conjured a wide, yet somehow sharp smile on his face. “It must have been fate that brought us together tonight then. It would be much help, if you could do that, Mr. and Mrs. Morninger. Alongside a fair compensation for your trouble, of course.”
Surprise would have been an understatement to what Odena was struck with. She kept her face friendly, nodding along, but she moulded into Lonel’s side sharp as a sign to elaborate on his train of thought immediately when the opportunity arose.
“Well, I wouldn’t have thought what a turn this event would take,” Selys commented, his words edged with jest for the public ear. “Although I had the pleasure of hearing them both in their respective roles separately, and I must say, they are definitely great candidates, Silvenus.”
Lonel spared a sharp glance at Selys, but only for a moment.
Silvenus put his palms together when the next dimming and brightening danced through the room, glancing towards the stage this time. “Excellent, wonderful. I’d like to ask for a minute then, to talk to the present members. Just a minute.” And with that, he slipped into the shadows of the half-lit ballroom.
Odena leaned towards Lonel’s shoulder, half turning to Selys too. “Would you please let in on us, too?”
She let her voice drip with a hint of her awakening frustration. She didn’t mind trying something with more risk, but she was never for improvisation. Not this kind, anyway.
Selys drew up a brow in support of her question.
“He must have been one of him.” Lonel scratched at his short beard, a habit Odena knew to be a nervous movement since he could grow it out. “And he seemed the type who could get us to the rest of them. If not, then the attention will.”
“Always an advantage to make the enemy owe you,” Selys smiled in impressed agreement.
On the far end, Silvenus’s faint figure seemed to finish talking to the assembled band members. His mask gleamed wickedly in the light while he turned to them, gesturing something Odean couldn’t see, but interpreted as an inviting motion. Her skin prickled from the possibility that he might see them clearly even through the shadowed distance.
“If they’re not trapping us first.” Her words met with a half-lidded, waiting set of eyes from Lonel. “Keep the possibility that he realised what and who we are. Just to stay alert.”
A small smile — barely but a smirk, really, found Lonel’s lips. “Look at you preaching caution, after dragging us here in the first place.”
They made their way to the stage, leaving Selys behind, and pushing through bodies at some points. It didn’t go unnoticed how Lonel made way to her with his hands, paying attention to that none of them touched her if it wasn’t necessary.
“I’ve had a great mentor to learn from,” she said, matching his casually accusatory tone nonetheless. It should have been evident that none of them were to sit around and wait until Selys alone figured something out. Not with all at stake.
They climbed backstage, joining the figures waiting in the ominous darkness of the curtains. Silvenus wore a dark smile, but a welcoming posture.
“Band, they would be your mates for the next forty-five minutes, the least. Go easy on them.” He then turned to Lonel and Odena. “Thank you for your offer, again. I’ll make sure our people are here until you finish, and after that, your food, drink and entertainment will be on the Phobia.”
“That is most generous of you, Mr Galhart.”
Odena reciprocated his smile, seeking a hold in Lonel’s warm touch on her back. Her mind clouded just a touch, yet it cleared as soon as it came. So, the cigarette truly neutralised mindreading from the vampires, just as Selys claimed. That, at least, was a relief.
However, it also confirmed Lonel’s previous statement about Silvenus.
“Alright, warm up to each other as much as possible before we start, and make the evening shine,” was the last thing Silvenus said, before he departed to the front.
The three members eyed them with a united gaze that bordered on curiosity and disdain. Two men and a woman, dressed in what seemed a fusion of blackened leather and dark satin. The harsh, expressive make-up on their faces only sharpened their look.
The woman stepped forth first, a gum livid between her teeth.
“Which one of you sings?” she asked in a rather soft voice. It did not go much with the look.
Odena stepped forward, extending a hand. “Livia Morninger, nice to meet you.”
“A delight.” She looked down at her hand, then back at her face. “Sing for me.”
“Excuse me?”
“Sing for me. We need to check if you match with tonight’s tone. If not, that gruff should do behind you.”
Odena retreated her tongue from her cheeks which she pushed into, and met the woman’s nonchalant eyes. If they wanted to get rid of her, then they should do better than that. She inhaled softly and began a song she couldn’t get out of her head when she first started to wonder about joining the school band. Her voice came out rusty and in clear need of oiling. But, it wasn’t half bad. She sang the lyrics, hitting most of the notes clearly, and the others a touch twisted, yet not breaking the harmony. She added her own flair to many parts, even those that she experimented with the family during holidays.
In the end, the two men stepped beside the woman too.
Odena’s throat dried out, not used to such a use anymore. She felt Lonel’s presence beside her, close and ready.
The woman shrugged, nodding towards the water bottles on a little stool, while the shorter of the men handed Lonel an electronic guitar. “Good enough. I’m Marcelin, this is Jerico,” she gestured to the tall, lanky man. Then towards the shorter, bulkier one. “And that is Bichtra. Here’s the setlist. Study it, while we tune in, and follow our lead outside. That goes to you too, wolfman.”
Lonel grunted, plucking some strings and visibly cracking the arrogant demeanour on all the members for a moment, as if to wordlessly say he didn't have faith in his skill in vain, after all. Odena crossed her arms at the fact he had a more well-maintained skillset.
“Huh.” Jerico didn’t add more, but he did pluck at his own guitar. Soon enough, the two men began a routine of some kind, harmonising, and what seemed to practicing some passages. Bichtra joined them with his drums here and there. Odena, in the meantime, earned a little from Marcelin’s grace. Turned out, she was the keyboardist and one of a kind at that. She could help Odena work out some of the kinks before a staff member arrived to tell them it was time.
Odena felt at her neck. It was a long time ago since she stepped onto the stage, let alone was expected to rule it. She wouldn’t have been nervous for the crowd if she had known there weren’t people — creatures among them that actively feasted on her kind. Yet there she was, about to entertain them.
The things she didn’t do to gather information.
Lonel’s palm touched the small of her back, the soft fabric of her dress thin enough so she could feel the calluses on his skin. She turned to him, finding his overly calm, almost bored expression close. “Ready?”
“Hardly.”
He scoffed a half-joking sound. “Just like old times, then.”
“Just like old times,” she huffed out a short laugh, walking close beside Lonel. The bustling outside began to quiet, people’s chattering softening into a barely audible buzz. “It better work, Nel, or I’m going to rip your head off.”
They took their places at the edge of the stage. Even in this situation, a kind of nostalgia found her. Lonel, wrinkled and hardened with age, seemed to morph back into their teenage years as well. And he truly did, as he leaned over to her ear and whispered like he did back then.
“If it doesn’t, you are more than welcome to. But you wanted to come, and you wanted information. So, it’s time to sing for your supper, Blossom.”
Aight, first off, thank you lovely @aalinaaaaaa for the numbers! 🩶 I'll do this one separately, because the two others are Sasin songs, however Redeemer is a full on Lonel one. I spent much less time with this story recently, but boy I missed it. The song made me think of exploring the time when Lonel loses his mother because of the vampires who want to erease their kind comletely.
CHARACTER EXPLORATION | TW: HINT OF DEATH | WC: 529
Lonel’s burning lungs brought tears to his eyes.
He scrambled through the ground, running on feet that barely held his weight, let alone his mother’s. Dust swirled around him, bone aching under his changing skin. There was no time to keep it hidden — there was no care in him to try it. Lonel fell on all fours in his rush, coughing and screaming, fur bursting through pores, hands retreating into paws. His face tugged forward into a snout, teeth piercing flesh to draw blood in his mouth. His small child back extended into a wolf cub’s, big enough to carry his mother’s body.
Thick, silver blood drops whirled with the kicked-up dirt.
Lonel growled, tears dripping from his now-rounded eyes. He didn’t care if he was seen, he didn’t care if he lost control. Perhaps since the first time he transformed, he wished to lose it.
He ran as if chased, wind prickling his too-sensitive skin like needles poking him all over. He couldn’t focus, the forest blurring from the edge to the centre, steady in its pace. Lonel barked from the lump in his throat, biting on thin air.
The animals around him squirred away. The world turned from a paralysing quiet to a crashing vortex of sounds.
Crunching leaves, little tapping legs, scurries and hoots. Lonel heard the tapping of fine shoes, smelled luxurious perfumes, and saw sinister smiles.
He ran and ran, and ran.
The soft swish of skin on skin in applause. His mother, snarling without a whine.
Lonel cut his paws, closed his yellow eyes and ran.
He huffed and trashed his head. The sounds followed as if to leave a trail just to make him never forget where it happened. Where he saw silver blood spilt the first time. Where they — those wretched pale monsters in men's skin fulfilled a promise from long ago. Where he hid and couldn’t do a thing. Where his mother tortured herself to defy them from doing so. Where she told him to go, not to look back.
Lonel’s paws felt concrete as he reached the city’s edge, and he stumbled, howling as he crashed to the ground, his mother’s body coming along. He coughed hard enough to make his throat flame with pain as if he could have spit the hurt out. His legs trembled, and the rain started to drizzle. The urge nudged him to get up, to go, to either kill or getaway. But his limbs didn’t move. Only his chest heaves in a crazed rhythm, his eyes frozen on his mother’s body — on her corpse. Silver blood oozed out the wounds, the stench of decay thick in the air.
Lonel whined as the lump ballooned in his throat, the crowd, the hunt, the girl plaguing his mind. A flash of fangs, of teeth, and spilt blood, both blackened red and silver. He howled, desperate, not being able to keep any sound inside. He ran to get away from the slaughter, and the cold dead reality that lay before him now bare and inescapable.
That he, after all, became the very last of his kind.
