#rrp:starter

[aureliusshepherd]

winter flowers || open

It wasn’t intentional, really, but it occurred to Aurelius, as his boots crunched down snow gone off-white and compressed by the passage of countless feet, that he hadn’t been downtown in months. There simply wasn’t much to draw his attention there. The few locations that were open past sundown weren’t exactly competition for staying home. But Floriade, well, the festival was probably the only time of year when Aurelius could be counted on to make an appearance downtown with at least reasonable consistency. After all, he couldn’t count on Hadrian’s promises of dragging him along behind him being nothing but empty threats. He knew his brother. He’d do it.

As he crossed the nebulous line into the festival proper, a delineation marked only by the increasing level of lights and intricate floral decorations, interspersed with banners and streamers and all things festive, Aurelius took in the scene before him with care. It wasn’t that Aurelius didn’t like the festival- it was undeniably beautiful, and in the Accords it commemorated a thing he supported, but it also came with an inherent implication that he was supposed to talk to people. Which was somewhat unfortunate. 

A child with a bright smile and a crown of flowers offered him a purple flower from the bunch cradled in his arms, and Aurelius smiled down at him, his vague displeasure at being prodded out of the house vanishing in favor of something gentle as he accepted the stem. He twirled it idly between his fingers for a moment, letting the deep purple petals blur, before looking back to the boy, “An anemone... thank you.” 

And he moved on, continuing to let the ebb and flow of peoples’ movements pull him further along the street as he diverted his attention to tucking the stem into the button hole in his coat’s lapel. He was just straightening the flower when a person appearing on the edge of his periphery had him stopping abruptly to avoid walking into them, gaze flicking up sharply from the flower. 

[amorymordecai-blog]

Turtle Doves and Olive Branches | Open Starter

If there was a downside to the evening’s extravaganza, beyond the tightrope most appeared to be balancing, it was that the lights blocked out the stars overhead. There was a very brief time in her life where she couldn’t imagine being without the sun. Amory’s adolescence was spent in that glorious golden light, savoring every ray with the knowledge that, someday soon, the yellow glow would become a source of instinctual terror. 

After her transition into vampirism, Amory didn’t miss the sun as much as she expected she would. The moon and the stars were breathtaking, marvellous things, illuminating the night sky with a silvery iridescence that put daylight to shame. And, with a vampire’s eyesight, the visibility of each constellation was nearly blinding in its brilliance. 

The absence of those stars now was just shy of tragic. Amory sighed, her breath leaving her lips in a plume of opacity that curled for the black skies overhead. She’d stepped away from the festivities to steal a moment for herself. Keeping up appearances was taxing work, and she had grown dangerously bored of it. If she didn’t take a breather, the gods only knew what she might do to entertain herself. The corner of her mouth curled at the thought of her daughter, who had similar tendencies when it came to tedium. 

Another sigh and she shut her eyes to listen to the night, to the music, the voices, the crunching of snow. Amory didn’t bother to brace herself or to so much as crack an eye open. She held her position, relaxed and unconcerned, and waited for the incoming footfalls to stop. 

“There’ll be snow soon,” commented the vampire Elder, breathing in a lungful of the heavy winter air. There was always a specific scent that permeated the air as a snowstorm was about to settle, and she could catch whiffs of it now. “You didn’t come all this way simply to make sure I wouldn’t freeze to death--”

Amory half turned to finally look at her companion, a slow smirk cracked over her mouth, mischief in its curve. “Did you?”

[shivglacier-blog]

A Common Purpose // Shiv&Matthias

TW: graphic depictions of gore and trauma

Shivonne hadn’t been prepared for how uncomfortable she would be performing the familiar ritual in front of her coven, and the Conclave on top of that. Her hands felt dirty, grimy beneath the skin, like maggots crawling through her veins. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She’d performed that ritual more times than she could count, but even before Arlynn, before she’d had rules, it hadn’t been like this. 

Because she’d had the good fucking sense not to mess with murder victims. 

She’d known it would be ugly, but she hadn’t expected the way the body—Malcolm—had convulsed, choked on a scream he had died before he could finish. His tongue had been charred, and his words were garbled, once they finally gotten him to stop screaming and—

She shivered, and tried to focus on anything else, but all she could think of was how Malcolm had gripped her wrist, and begged her to make it stop. 

They had all seen what she’d done to him. What she’d made him suffer. She knew it was different, that Arlynn had asked, but she’d seen the disgust in their faces, and her hands felt stained. 

By the time Shiv reached Matthias’ door, she’d dug dark red crescents into her palms, and it took her a few deep breaths to unclench her fists, and actually bring them up to his door to knock. She managed to push an imprint of her magic through the door so that Matthias would know it was her, and that it was urgent. The blank shock that had gotten her from her morgue to Matthias’ doorstep was fading, however, and horror was quickly taking its place. The door opened and for a moment, she didn’t know what to say. 

“It was Malcolm, Matthias. The body, it— It was Malcolm.”

@matthiasdenn

[vttivlt-blog]

restless. → open

Boredom. Absolute complete and utter b o r e d o m. Usually, this wouldn’t bother Atticus much. He’d be holed up behind the counter with a book in hand, perusing his way through some interesting fact or another. But not today. He’s feeling a little restless, uneasy on his feet and in his head. Even without the hint of Arran to pester in some way, the vampire could feel himself going a little stir crazy.

Perhaps, even a little jealous of those wandering outside, in the streets and in the snow, joking and laughing with their friends and family. Imbeciles. He’d never admit it out loud, though. Those thoughts remained tightly locked and tucked away in a compartment in his head he would rather not touch at the moment. Something verging on ‘feelings territory.’ Absolute and utter bullshit.

There’s a bit of mumbling to himself as he goes about closing up shop, tossing on the thick woolen peacoat - all the better to keep up appearances - and propping up the collar against the wind as he steps outside, locking the door to the shop behind him. 

His steps are light as he heads out into the snow, meandering through the crowd, without a real destination or thought in his head as to where his destination will be. He’d just had enough of tapping his fingers against the desk and heavy sighing for one day. Reaching up and plucking the cigarette out from behind his ear, Atticus makes a big deal out of lighting it and taking a few much-needed drags before finding himself a perfectly suitable building to lean on, allowing himself a quiet place to observe the passersby without much notice. Yeah, this wasn’t much better than sitting at the shop, but it’ll do. For now.

[shivglacier-blog]

Winter Without Madness | Open

She despises events like these, and usually even goes so far as to lock herself in her mortuary to avoid Arlynn when she inevitably comes a-calling to demand (re: gently cajole) Shivonne’s attendance. But, though she intends to take this knowledge to the grave with her, she knows how hard Nisee had worked putting everything together, and had even been coerced into helping here and there. Right now, she’s avoiding the masses in favor of Nisee’s flowers, giving them the close inspection they deserve, and which she doubts anyone besides her coven will give them.

Alyssum. A delicate, dainty flower, from the Greek for ‘against madness.’ Also known by its common name healbite, for its use to heal against rabid animal bites.

If only they should be so lucky, Shivonne thinks to herself. The wolves abound tonight and they’ll be lucky if they make it through the night without any rabid animal bites, though it seems there are even more leeches than dogs out. She’d love to make it through this evening without being tempted to murder someone, but left to her own devices, it’s anyone’s guess how this will go. Craning her head, she looks around surreptitiously for any of her coven members, or Arlynn, who really owes Shiv her company just for showing up, anyone to keep her sane. She’d take Nicholas at this point. 

Even pressed back into the columns of flowers as she is, it’s still not enough to completely avoid detection. A simple spell would’ve sufficed, but if she had intended to remain undetected, she would’ve just stayed with her corpses. She doesn’t acknowledge her newfound companion. If she ignores them, maybe they’ll go away. Like a gnat. 

“You know, I’m told my resting bitch face doesn’t invite conversation, and yet...” She finally says.