#sacredvein

[desanctii]

alright just fuck each other already and get it out of your system

"Oh, suddenly the peanut gallery has something to say! Remind me, Laurent. How is my system a concern of yours?"

[symphonyofmalice]

Matthew 13:42

@sacredvein

Nicolas had taken to staying out late. The gaudy apartment Lestat had provided only made him miserable. Better to stay out at the theater, or drinking, and come back only long enough to collapse into bed and see as little of the ostentatious rooms as possible. The theater wasn’t much of a refuge these days either, though, with everyone talking about their generous new patron. 

This night Nicolas feels particularly uneasy. A growing, sourceless unease spoils his appetite at one tavern, and does not abate as he tries the next. Not nearly drunk enough to be hungover the next morning, he gives up. Even on the walk to the apartment he swears he can feel eyes watching him, but the shadows are empty. Inside, Nicolas takes off his shoes, puts out the lights- in the pure darkness he can pretend not to know all the paintings and fine draperies are there- and collapses into bed, clothes and all. 

He is awoken suddenly, by a swarm of grasping hands. “Lestat!” is the first word that comes to mind, and all he manages to cry out before a cold hand clamps over his mouth. Nicolas struggles and writhes, but it is like tumbling down a gravel road. He can’t see the faces of his captors in the dark, but he feels as they lift and begin to carry him away. 

For a moment, he thinks of Lestat- his helpless cry of Nicki! in the night, his sudden disappearance. Did these take him, too? Whatever had happened to Lestat, would it happen to him, now? The crowd of figures around him hiss, enraged, their grip tightens painfully. Nicolas can hear cries of “Blasphemer!” and “Sinner!” chorusing around him. 

[everarddelanden]

Theology Schmeology

Everard was both relieved and frustrated by the fact that, after a million hours long meeting with the headmaster, a generous donation to the school from his parents and ample of reprimanding, he was back in school again. It had certainly lifted the stress of the past few weeks, in which his parents had not known about him dropping out and at least Rhoshamandes was returning his calls again.

The biggest downside, however, apart from his parents cutting his spending money in half, was his parents taking the keys to his apartment and obligating him to come straight home after school, with Rhoshamandes’ place as only exception to that rule. Everard was only allowed to go out on Saturdays, but had to sleep at home. 

These new rules were frustrating and it almost completely stripped him from any privacy and uprooted his whole routine to the most minute detail. It had a tendency of putting him in a bad mood, but that was hardly allowed at home, so he just sucked it up and would behave accordingly, just so he could proof he was not a total waste of money, so he could finally get his stuff and his life back.

He had wanted something easy for his minor and so he had picked up on a semester of Theology. How hard could it be with his Catholic background? It would be an easy, extra grade. He had gotten paired with Laurent de Mantes, a French exchange student who lived in campus. He had to make a compromise there. Everard knew himself too well to know studying in the library would only distract him and he in no way wanted to study in some dngy campus room, on someone else’s three week old bed with some mouth-breather roommate constantly staring at them, so he had to invite the first year to his parents home.

When the doorbell rang, Everard tossed his phone onto his bed and lazily came down the stairs as the housemaid just opened the door for Laurent.

“Hey.“ he said, feeling this whole situation was kind of awkward as he suddenly realised he never had anyone else over apart from Rhoshamandes. had he thought on it too much, he might have realised he did not really have any other friends but his best friend. 

He stepped down the stairs -on his socks-, for the obligatory meet-the-parents moment he was raised to conduct, although he waited patiently for Laurent to hand over his coat to Macy. @sacredvein

[therelentless]

this procession of many well-meaning and bewildered people trying to threaten, cajole, and otherwise convince Nandor to do his own laundry and to all be equally rebuffed is the highlight of my evening.

{ @sacredvein ;;

ooc;; it’s just never going to happen. Nandor? doing his own laundry? NEVER! not in a thousand years! and not even after that lol 

i love it! 😎

[mael-gallia]

A:AFFECTION

AFFECTION.   how does your muse show affection?

//Mael shows affection by being nice to you. Take it or leave it. HAHA! No, but seriously, he is not a very sensual or sexual being. He needs to trust someone 200%.The rare occasions in which he was truly intimate with someone in his immortal life (aka Avicus. The list is that short.), it’s very ritualistic. It will be slow and we’re talking about hours here, before even some garments would come off. No talking. No haste or heated passion. The other needs to be on the same wavelength as he is, where every touch and/or move is completely, spiritually guided.

[fortunebuoyed]

@sacredvein liked for YELIZAVETA MOLYBOGA.

There’s a desolation in such terrain, stars strung together in a dazzling procession over an unbroken horizon. The longer she stares, the darker the night becomes until she seems the last living thing in all the world. She might have missed her own death on such a night, left to wander alone through purgatory til all the blood washed out. Yet as she closes her eyes, other sounds trickle in, the careful steps of prey in the brush, the rush of birds beating their wings against the current, and yes, the sounds of the only people for miles. The rest of the troupe are making camp, and Vieta proves herself an ungracious friend, standing at the steps of her own caravan and brooding over the night.

Somewhere, a small animal meets its end, talons piercing the flesh, and no one mourns. She hears the noise and tastes the blood on the air, and she turns away from the wilds to follow the path before her. Her first thought comes as pure pragmatism: Hunting is a challenge so far from others, but she hopes. 

That her employer has found a potential partner for her act bodes well for some civilization nearby. The rasp of the owner’s voice cuts through the bustle, followed by a stranger’s, followed by her own bare feet propelling her through the throng of everyone settling in for the evening. The boy sent to rouse her had been honest. There’s fresh blood in the company, after all. The beautiful beast is already tying her dark curls back when she approaches the boss’ makeshift office.

She wishes she hadn’t left her neck exposed the moment she reaches the door.

It’s an old cliché, she’s walking in, he’s walking out. God help her, he’s as beautiful as the others were, as she is becoming. His blood is not so fresh as she had assumed. The breath catches in her throat, slowed heartbeat remembering its human patter the longer she stands there. She should be so lucky as to have met a ghost, this cold, colorless young man with his boy’s beauty and unimposing height. Still, she withers in his shadow, a flower battered down by the frost.

“I--” Steady on, girl. His hands are not curled into fists, his eyes do not carry the heat that precedes the agony. Curling her fingers against the pendant against her chest, she decides there is no retreat. Hunting is a challenge so far from others. That means her companions must not be left alone.  If she can straighten her form without trembling, she might be able to champion them.

“And where did you come from?”

[perladivenezia]

What do they feel is the nature of the species? Is it inherently evil? Inherently selfish? Neither good nor evil? Are they above, equal, or below humans in your characters’ eyes, or just different? How has their perception of humanity changed?

She believes “nature” in itself is neutral. Life on earth has no predisposition and just like animals or plants or the weather aren’t subjected to criteria of good and evil she sees no reason why humans or vampires should be considered differently. 

In her eyes, humans are equally capable of “evil” just as vampires are. They are equally capable of atrocious acts and appalling selfishness and they too hunt and kill other species to sustain their lives. In this sense vampires and humans are equals. However, she considers vampires’ lives more valuable than humans lives, not even because she believes vampires are inherently “better” but simply because vampires are her people and she believes is natural to care for and prioritize those of your own over strangers.

As for her perception of humanity, given that Bianca was made a murderer even before being given the blood, she had already desensitized and detached herself from other humans, the change in her condition only reinforced this. 

She tends to like humans more in the particular than in masses. She isn’t enamoured of humanity as many others are. She believes there are some mortals who are exceptional, remarkable and truly extraordinary, but of course, all these adjectives highlights that they are the exception, no the rule. Most mortals are simply dull and disposable in her eyes. 

Lastly, I will say that she recognises the bias in her judgement. Even if she doesn't believe all lives to be equally valuable, she would admit that the value of any given life is a matter of perception or circumstances. One particular person that means nothing to her, might be the entire world for someone else. Then again, to her they mean nothing.

[armazeilor]

‘Wretched weather! It’s flooding out there, for heaven’s sake.’

A veritable downpour, rapping at the wooden building as if with resolute intention to wear the thing down to a splinter, the wrath of coal-black skies rumbling on like a giant. It had gone on roaring just the same since the early evening hours, tireless, gloomy as the day before it and the one before that still. Would it be redundant, to wonder what had brought along the rivers foaming now over the roads, the highways? Someone must have quite upset him.

He was there, surely; as surely as the woods itself, the very forests he’d been haunting in his pursuit of an elusive thing slick as a critter, a most frustrating creature he’d been meaning to drive out of his lands for good be it by means of the blade or by the sheer, unrelenting harassment of the hails and rains themselves.

No luck, no—or so he’d thought until just recently, ticked beyond words by the fact it was refusing to come out and let him truly get his hands on it, some mindless vampire like the dozens he’d already slain before, he was certain. And soaked he was when he entered the nearest refuge; a feral thing in peasant’s clothes, scarcely noticed by the gathering of strangers at this stranded little inn with all their eyes turned to the broadcast, to the beers and meals upon their tables. A stark blue glow of the faintly buzzing, flickering old television perched up in its corner, droning on about forecasts and flooding right in this very area, clips of people two or three villages over either worried, frustrated, cracking jokes of how they might get out back to the cities aboard a trusty helicopter.

He’d taken off his wizard’s cloak quite wisely before he ever came here, wrapped it inconspicuously around the falx blade which he carried in one of his hands as if it were merely ornamental. A prop, perhaps; it didn’t matter. He made his way rather unheeded towards the fireplace off to one side, slowed only his pace and lifted at last his gaze when the strangest, prickling feeling beckoned feebly from somewhere in the crowd.

A visitor.

@sacredvein