Vampire prompt coming your way: First night, first bite, in water. (Can be any water, a bathtub, a lake etc.) 🧛💧
Ahhhh, Mina, you know me too well! I feel like this is cheating because I write bath scenes into literally everything.
No firsts here I'm afraid, but biting, water, and @songsofloke sent another prompt about body heat/warmth, and I had already written it into my opening lines
So, here's a drabble of Rickard, my morose, vagrant vampire with the girl he loves frequents most
tw: blood
The bath was searing, as always. Steam glazed the oily surface, warming him down to his bones. Serving as a distant memory - perhaps an imagined one, having been so long - of inhabiting a living body. Enveloped in the heat, up to his chest, the humidity swelled within his lungs like breath, moisture rolling from cropped dark hair to the pink-lacquered toe nudging at his sallow cheek.
With her feet propped lazily upon his shoulders, Pearl watched with unblinking eyes, amber lanterns in the candlelight. Long hair billowed in slick waves across her chest, skin and hair the milky colours of moonlight. Unlike his own sickly flesh, perpetually mottled white, hers blushed beneath the steaming waters.
She glowered in the grim light of her sanctum, silvery beams dancing across her soft, rosy features. Ripples of subdued sunlight bled in from the glass ceiling above, filtered and smothered by the gloomy sea.
Leaning into the crook of her ankle, he caught her scent, the menthe of her favourite liqueur, the swirl of citrus and lavender oils, disguising something raw and salty.
Her knowing smile broke the water at last. "If you are going to taste, it will cost you extra," she mused, giving her toes another toying wiggle.
Rickard grumbled, a wordless, deep thrum of agreement. It would empty the wallet, though the wallet wasn't his own. Having killed and stolen from one arriving at the brothel this time, rather than hunting those he found leaving it, the nag of hunger was already roiling within him.
Brushing the jut of her ankle bone with a kiss, he glanced up for a cue, a nod of permission.
"There will do just fine," Pearl assured softly, reaching out to run her nails through the short tuft of his hair. "I am performing in the scallop tonight, no one will see."
Her lower half would be hidden from the audience, with the wounds he loathed - and longed - to inflict upon her.
Pearl sucked in sharply at the lightest touch of his fingers, partially warmed by the bath-water, but otherwise frigid and dead.
"Go on. You surprised me, is all."
Whatever dried husk of a heart he had left, mummified in the cavity of his chest, deflated and ashen like a pressed flower, it crumbled away at her kindness, the velvet of her voice.
It was a wicked thing he brought to Pearl's chambers, a monsterous, depraved, endless yearning. And yet, no matter how he transformed into something terrifying, ravenous, corrupted, no matter the state she witnessed, Pearl received him, always, with gentleness, and had kept his terrible secret.
Rickard craved both her nature and blood in equal, insatiable, measure. He was sick with it. For every part of him hating the thought of causing her pain, there was another side that wished for the agony to be hers, and hers alone.
Swiftly drawing her inward and without further ceremony, he bit down. A sigh rattled in his throat at the squelch of his fangs, piercing soft, oiled flesh. At the sudden gush of her blood filling his mouth. Salt, sweetness, something else. Her blood - her flavour - was like no other. It bloomed in him, the rush overflowing. An exquisite, deep satisfaction, edging arousal and climax combined. He arched, twisting to the side, kneading roughly her calf, to meet another rush of blood pouring from his open lips.
Pearl's knuckle blanched, gripping the lip of the tin tub, the other fist clenched tightly against his scalp. A river of red ran down from the open wounds at her ankle, to marble amidst the oily water. The ends of her white hair stained pinkish.
"Ah!"
When she winced he did not, could not, stop. Burying his teeth, he drank deeper still. Each mouthful flooded, more lovely than the last. Hot, sweet, sharp and tangy, like mulled wine, it rolled over his tongue and warmed his belly. His muscles rigid, locked in a death grip, a predator hunched over the limp morsel of prey.
There came no thrashing, no fighting, when he fed from Pearl, no snapping of wiry limbs, no gashes or grievous wounds opened in the throes of savagery. Pearl was something to be savoured instead, suspended in a slow, quiet suffering.
"Shh, relax," she managed, a strained whisper, pressing her lips to his furrowed brow.
He groaned, blood and guilt clogging his throat. Rickard would have taken her then, to dull her ravaged senses, to distract her from the tearing flesh and claret rivers running toward her trembling thighs. Have their meeting be made out of love instead of this other crippling, cursed desire. But he could not afford her again so soon.
Without the proper light of a shining sun around, each day Esredes woke up to his alarm only to see red peer back at him from the window.
Even with the red skies, Thavnair was still beautiful to a foreigner like himself. All the color was a stark contrast from Ishgard, and the people seemed friendlier even in the midst of the apocalypse. Elouan woke up alongside him at the same time, as per usual- the two had been rooming together since Garlemald.
Esredes got himself ready as the barracks were coming to life with activity, slipped into the Thavnairian outfit he had purchased in order to blend in more with the local attire, and passed through the barracks area into the colorful consortium that had been set up as their base of operations. Between going out there into the hell of the apocalypse, Esredes had come to enjoy this place for every little inch of color and vibrance and life it still contained.
In but a couple weeks, Esredes had faced down numerous foes that were once people, been burned multiple times, had flesh-eating scarabs all over him, and then nearly killed someone, only to find a surprisingly smooth reconciliation with the victim later, no charges being pressed, and a newly forged understanding, however limited it was. Yet despite going through all of that, this was one of the days in which he woke up oddly happy.
The world could very well be slowly ending, and if it was, that happiness wasn't going to last. But Esredes wasn't at that point yet- he still had a firm belief this would only be temporary, and they'd figure a way out of it, and in the meantime, even if everything were to crash and burn, at least he spent the last of reality together with fellow soldiers fighting to the last in a new and unique place he never thought he'd see, and no longer had to worry about the long term effects of the Dragonsong or his people if it all went down together.
Perhaps he was a bit crazy. Perhaps he was insane. Some people definitely looked at him that way when he didn't want to leave Garlemald. But what could he say? Being a soldier and not a real person had its benefits sometimes, and perhaps this was one of them.
As he made his way through the halls and up the stairs to the mess hall, Esredes said hello to several of his fellow Alliance members as he passed them, with a wave here and there. Aster had that big smile on his face Esredes was used to, Nostrada smiled back with a wave and replied that Kotaide also said hello from back home, Rae greeted him in his usual formal tone, followed immediately by Sona who held his hand out for a fist bump. Esredes couldn't help but smile and complete the gesture towards the tiny Ala Mhigan before moving on.
The mess hall food probably wasn't the best thing ever if you were Thavnairian, but Esredes was very much not, and so to him each new or unfamiliar dish mixed with the familiar was new, and exciting, and such a contrast to Coerthan faire. There was so much more spice in Thavnair, and unlike most of his fellow Ishgardians, Esredes loved spice. He had not yet figured out how high his spice tolerance was, as nothing he ate in Eorzea ever hit it- but maybe, just maybe, he'd figure it out in Thavnair. He didn't have a mission immediately today, and still had about an hour before deployment, so he took a bit of his time with eating and taking in the sights of the mess hall. He saw both Vallienne and Elias leaning against a wall near each other, but paid them both no more than a glance. His history with both of the Dragoons was awkward, to say the least, with the former having slaughtered his people and the latter nearly slaughtering him on an extremely dangerous mission in Garlemald, and he silently thanked the gods he didn't worship he didn't have a mission with either today. Even with both of them apologizing, it didn't quite change the weight in his heart.
Once he was done in the mess hall, Esredes made his way back towards the barracks. He found a few more people in the halls to say hi to- Lakaera was her usual jolly self, Ema had a big smile on her face as she said hello back, and even Vilette stopped him for a couple moments to have a brief chat before departing for duties.
Back at his bed in the barracks, he opened his bag and pulled out the mail he picked up from his Ishgardian home and office mailbox yesterday, before returning by aetheryte after a brief chat with a young squire woman he had befriended shortly after coming back from Garlemald. It was unopened, and now was a good a time as any to open it.
There were quite a few letters here, the natural result of having your linkpearl open to only emergencies for long stretches of time. Maylis had sent a loving letter filled with questions about if he was doing all right and enjoying Thavnair, along with one of her usual doodles at the edge of the paper. She told him that Xavierre also sent his regards, and she had a new girlfriend, and there was someone else she wanted him to meet when he was back from Thavnair. That was great news from her to keep his mind occupied with positive things when he went back outside. Next, Quincy had written him a very long letter... and Esredes put it aside for later. He loved that little young man, but he needed to devote his own session to reading anything from him. Quincy never wrote short.
Of all people, Yvesoix had written a letter, adding in regards from Victor. It was his usual badly spelt writing, and didn't take long to read. He folded it back up to put aside. His feelings on the man were complicated, but he still found appreciation in the gesture.
The next letter was lengthy, but still short enough he could read it. It was from Vette. She was writing in detail with more questions towards him and sending regards on from Dione, Luken, and even Minami. Then Esredes found a single yellow flower with a note attached that simply said good luck, signed from Evianne. Exactly what he'd come to expect from her style. Ah, those two really needed to catch up...
Marie wrote a short but sweet letter. Ferrant had a letter keeping him updated but also being proud of him, and stuck with it was Heilyn's letter, in his usual tone of being a shithead but well meaning and telling him to keep an eye on Alastor. He decided he wouldn't write back telling him the last time he saw him he was about to stick an alchemy vial in his mouth. Divah had a letter too, also proud of him, and written in such a motherly tone Esredes could almost believe his own mother wrote it, if not for the fact she didn't write like that. Armel also wrote, which surprised him a little, hoping he was doing well and that his daughter was okay.
Well. His definition of okay probably wasn't Armel's or Mumune's, considering the last he saw her she was on a bear with her axe slaying blasphemies left and right. Sure. She was doing just fine.
Elodie was as motherly and worried yet blunt as all hells in her letter, as he expected. And there was a box, with a little cake inside. Yup. Elodie never changed. Was it his fault for refusing to tell her his nameday? Perhaps absolutely, but he wasn't going to admit it.
The final letter pricked his finger as he tried to open it, and that immediately cued him in to its writer as he raised an eyebrow. Enisla had written, once more requesting information from him even though the Inquisitor woman who once saved him from being captured surely knew he had almost nothing to give here in Thavnair. Lovely. His reply could be shorter than this whole letter- she had decided to write all about an incident in Ishgard the other day, where she and her companion Inspector Rickard, with the help of Temple Coroner Gio, were dealing with some necromancer activity before handing someone off to another Inquisitor with mismatched eyes. Esredes recognized none of these peoples' names, and so his eyes mostly glazed over the text. Whoever they were, good for them, he supposed. He kept away from members of law enforcement, and was content to keep it that way. He had seen a man with mismatched eyes recently himself, funnily enough, writing in a notebook to tell him to stay away from those he knew at the same knight appreciation event he met the squire at. Well, it might be a rare condition, but even Ishgard had to have its fair share of it.
With all the letters opened and a quiet smile on his face, he put them aside back in the bag, and rose to change into his armor. They were going to call for him at the top of the consortium soon, and he wanted to be there and ready beforehand. So Esredes strapped his sword sheath to his belt, made sure the obsidian blades and potions were in place, and walked back out over the bridge up to the consortium and towards the planning room. He thought he saw a couple people he recognized out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned back, no one was there. Hm. Maybe he was imagining things. Bellona wouldn't have wanted to say hello, anyhow, and that was probably another green Roegadyn with red hair he mistook for Rusty. Rusty was Rusty, and no one else looked like him, hair short or long.
Soon, everyone filed into the planning room not long after Esredes. Azarah arrived first in her signature mage robes- the repaired ones, anyhow, since she had destroyed them in part pressing them to his wound after the chimera bit him. She greeted him with her usual variants of a hello with asking him how he was, and he replied that he was doing quite well today, actually. Avalaine came next, still in that black tank top she had been wearing all the time since they came to Thavnair, as if somewhere in there she had stopped caring about her appearance. Esredes quite liked seeing her and being on missions with her- the machinist woman was pleasant company who took comfort in his presence and guidance inside and outside of therapy, and she had been helpful when he was distressed over the incident with the conjurer. Vallerin joined next, and him and Esredes shared smiles, but nothing more than hellos. His presence was a small comfort to Esredes, awkward as it was for them to be together like this. He was his first therapy client that he didn't already know once upon a time, after all, the patient zero, and he was once used to him in a blue top with glasses. Seeing him now after finishing therapy in his knight's armor and doing missions together was... well. It was a good thing they finished therapy.
Finally, Knight Commander Ser Kainen came in, wearing that standard issue coat he was almost always in. The soft-looking Hyur man was always a welcomed sight to Esredes, even with his perpetually hard to read, set expression that rarely varied. Still, even though he felt like more of an equal officer to Esredes, he was not as long as they were in official Alliance duties, and so Esredes clasped his hands behind his back to listen at attention for the briefing.
They were in Thavnair together, once again allies in the conflict. Whether he would take Kainen's offer to be allies in war and peace after this, still remained to be seen. If the world was to see blue skies again, and there would be a world to live in after this...
Kainen had a way of talking in briefs that struck a nice balance by Esredes' standards. He was to the point, but thorough enough that it felt everything got covered quickly. And the mission was just as to be expected- go to a village to help, evacuate, dispatch blasphemies. A large one had been sighted in the area to keep out for.
No one had any questions, so the group was going out the door not long after he finished. Whatever they faced, they'd start to turn and see things from stress, and Esredes knew that. It wasn't going to be fun, not in the slightest.
And yet, still, something felt light inside him as he left with his companions, facing the red sky outside in all of its fiery glory as each step drew them into the streets of Radz-at-Han and towards the entrance.
A sound broke through the skies, and suddenly wings of green broke through the horizon, flying towards the center of the city. While Vallerin and Avalaine winced and looked away, Esredes watched on with wide eyes of awe as the creature disappeared behind tall reaching buildings, and his mouth even opened.
There was exactly one dragon in Thavnair, as everyone had recently learned. The true Satrap himself. And seeing even a glimpse of the must be distressed dragon felt like a good omen for the day ahead. While Vallerin and Avalaine recollected themselves, Esredes just smiled.
Unity in Thavnair, and unity among the Alliance- what a journey it had been indeed, from Carteneau to Garlemald to here. And Esredes could feel in his heart it was still not over.
"Let's be off," he told the rest of the party as he turned back to face the endless red sky, and took a deep breath. Calm, collected, ready.
And together with his party, Esredes walked on towards the end.
