#soil-from-slaghtaverty

[tooth--ache]

He pressed his hat onto his chest, blue eyes narrowing in the heat of the setting evening sun.

Inside the cottage, it was dark -- black as the night. Two dim lights stared upon him. Howard could not discern their expression. Indignant? Hateful? Jealous?

"Molly, if that is you indeed," Howard moved forward but did not cross the threshold. He could not.

The glowing eyes stepped back, deeper into the dark.

"Please. You are my only hope."

"I have nothing for you; I have no need of you. What you wish of me you cannot afford, even if you have all the gold in the world," came a hoarse voice from within. She was bitter.

Howard looked around. Isolated as it was, he could never be too careful who was looking too closely at a strange man begging in front of a door -- and if anyone had ever seen Molly before -- the door to a house of a beautiful young woman, no less.

Reassured that he saw and felt no pulsing veins nearby, he swallowed hard and tucked his hat into his jacket pocket. He straightened up. A hesitant finger lifted to the side of his cheek.

For a moment, he seemed to lose the courage to do what came next, but finally, the tips of his fingers dug into his mouth and pushed his lips up.

Rows of sharp fangs on display, glinting in the golden rays of the inevitable dusk.

"I am kin," he said, releasing his face. As the eyes grew nearer, Howard raised his hand again to stop her. "Please, stop. We're not of the same sire. Stay where you are."

She was standing much closer to him now, just at the edge of the sunlight cutting through the opening of the door. Something had shifted in the air, and as every moment passed and the sun dwindled on the horizon, Howard began to wonder if this was a good idea after all.

"Molly," his voice lowered, "I need -- I must speak to you and yours."

"And you chose to come by daylight? Have you no manners, kin?"

"The ride was long, and--"

"Head on down to the stables now, and you’ll wait there till the sun’s gone. Who’d want to talk to you? The night'll tell."

A better preposition than nothing at all. Howard took his hat out, shook it gently, and slipped it back onto his head.

"I shall." And the door was slammed shut in front of him.

Sat atop a bundle of hay, Howard sang quietly, waiting patiently for the sun to leave him to his business -- if the business would deign to speak to him, as Molly had warned there might be a chance it wouldn't.

A sea shanty, as was his wont:

"So I give you fair warning before we belay, don't ever take heed of what pretty girls say; A bonnie good mate and a captain too, A bonnie good ship and a bonnie good crew."

The last of the sunlight now trickled beneath long darkened shadows.

Howard had never felt so alone before.

"Blow the man down, bullies, blow the man down; blow the man down, bullies, pull him around; blow the man down, you darlings, lie down; blow the man down for fair London town."

@soil-from-slaghtaverty

[opxningtears]

" I should've known that it would bite me in the back, " Rapture's prodigal subject more or less murmured under his breath. Tone hoarse with towed exasperation tutted between clenched teeth and adamant frustration.

His brow ticked whilst eyes verted her way once he stood from his crouching observation toward the platforms below. A hand floated across the only weapon he currently carried tucked between the waistband of his trousers and concealed under the hem of tweed formed relevantly raggedly succumbed pullover. An outline which tracked in identifying the firearm; plausibly a revolver.

From Jack, of course. Wasn't able to send it anonymously : @the-chain-holden .

"Oh, please, don't bother."

Her voice was soft- but pointedly so. The way crushed velvet glided under the palm when smoothed, force causing it to bend under the will of guiding pressure.

"I'm not going to hurt you. If I wanted to, I would have already."

Her gaze lingered on him for a moment. Taking in the form, the look in his eyes. Was this what that bastard had been after all this time? A boy? Barely a man, really- there was this raging, burning feeling in his eyes that only youth could keep alive.

Oh, but that she already knew. "You have an awful lot of bad luck, don't you Jack?"

[slypsyche]

[ @soil-from-slaghtaverty Continued! ]

When he heard the voice his heart drops. Each fiber of his being told him to run but another told him there was no point. He was already dead. Dressed in farmer clothes the boy's brown hues were as wide as the moon above them. The blood covering his body made Gary feel both mesmerized and terrified all in one as he spoke with not a southern accent. But a city one. Smooth English as he tried to find the words to speak.

"Y..yeah..there's....you.." he struggled to admit it but he was looking at one. He's seen stuff. All sorts of people in the city before he was forced to move in with his cousins to help out on the farms in the country due to bad behavior. But this was beyond what he was looking for. He was expecting boring work and no rewards for his punishment. But death and carnage of his family on a outing? He was the only survivor so far as Gary looked the man in his eyes.

Red. Like gems. He was in awe from the blood coating him. His cousins were older than him. His aunt and uncle were newly Wed. And so on so forth. The camping trip was more of a hunting trip for the sake of feeding them for the next few months till the attack. To think having to use the restroom saved his life for the time being.

Till his legs buckled. His body quivered but he started to move. Shoving the man back he took off running into the forest. His legs burning as he breathed heavily through his mouth as if desprate to find air that was already entering his lungs. Hyperventilating beyond belief as his foot finally snagged on a root that was sticking out of the ground. Falling face first into the dirt. Who knew his eighteenth birthday would be coated in blood. It was already past midnight. The boy was no longer a boy but a man at this point. One who still felt the inner twinge of a terrified child.

"Get up!" He told himself. Struggling to get to his feet he sneered. Digging his fingers into the ground. Only to stop. Something was off. It was quieter. Far too quiet for his liking. The sounds of the crickets were gone like magic. His brown hues looked around. Horrified. Mortified from what he saw back there." I want to go home now..."

[oceancaged]

" -- details can be distractin. Som'times, a simple solution be best. " Irish lilt thickened, submerged to a unified court of ancestral trace coexisting in the space between them. The man who smelt of decay and death in plunder, simply canted his head at nothing in particular. Cerulean hues not quite providing her the amount of attention, but simply musing for himself at the court of their disposition. An impish grin swept tiers in upturn complexity, one that seemed plagued upon press along the deep dividing sorrow rooting it's birth.

source. | accepting.

"and what pray tell what is the simple solution?" Her jawline set, her clenched teeth biting back confusion forming in her throat not letting it escape from her.

"would it involve you takin' a bath?" a dry joke left her lips, chestnut colored eyes kept a watchful disposition. He may have lasting scents of home, lingering in the air around them, but he was the farthest from home.

[sylfane]

✷ @soil-from-slaghtaverty, remmick spoke up!

" I   know   what   y'ah   want. "

Atlas lets the bold words hang a beat, the corners of his mouth quirking like he's trying not to smile - all performance, an alerted sharpness lingering in his eyes as they slide over Remmick beside him. The small campfire that's been built in front of Atlas's barn crackles, filling the charged silence. "Is that right?" Atlas says, finally, interrupting a cricket, leaning back on his palms where he's sat on an overturned water trough to regard Remmick with the full weight of his attention. The fire pops, a log cracking at the middle under the flame's pressure, sending sparks whirling up into the night sky.

When he asks himself, in the dead quiet of night when he's alone in body, but not in mind, what do you want, Frank? There's a different answer, always a different answer held in opposition to when he asks himself, what do you want, Atlas? Perpetually of two natures these days - through only fault of his own - and surely this vulnerability would never be admitted aloud. And here, a stranger claims, to know any extent of his wants - not his needs, those are clear - but his wants - a far more intimate sum of knowledge. Are you always this forward - this foolish? The question lingers on the tip of his tongue and tastes like cold iron, but he minds his manners, the instinctual bristle kept internal, only reflecting external in loosened shoulders and a tilt of his head in playful flirtation, mock-innocent intrigue.

"And what's that s'posed to mean, Remmick - truly? Enlighten me, by all means."

[sweetbitterbitten]

" I like tha way y'ah say m' name. Say it aga'n." Smitten whir tritoned and gutturally inclined amid muffled pitch, whilst he exposed a single canine that drug across his lower lip. Hues partially glazed over the thought which appealed by their tonality tamed to his name alone.

the words wrap themselves solidly, as gloved hand to collarbone; slowly striving the soul of her back - until it seems shoulder blades meet upright wooden slats. her head buzzes a muted manhandling; half imagined - but of substance enough to imitate a creak like that of a cemetery gate - crawled over nightwashed, ginsoaked skin. before she hazards a dustmites’ breath, and bandies lightly back:

“anyone ever tell ya you got a voice like a double bowed-bass, demosthenes?”

another sip, another swig as one eye winks with collision course accuracy. she knows better than to play by the rules of twos and threes when she is six sheets to the southern breeze.

she pays no nevermind to the teeth.

[dulcetbloodmercy]

♡ ⸻ ˚ ❛ Closed starter for @soil-from-slaghtaverty❛ ˚ ⸻ ♡

The night of Halloween always did strange things to her.

Mercy had known that long before she ever picked up any wooden stake, but tonight, especially tonight it pressed down on her, like the air itself was alive. The veil was thin, restless and almost whispering. And her prophetic dreams, those half-formed, strange fragments of warnings, had been tormenting her for days. They never had been clear enough to be useful… just enough to make her wary.

And she was.

It didn’t help that All Souls and All Saints were approaching, a tradition her mother’s side held close. Normally, her lola would be the one preparing the candles, the food and the saying the prayers. This year… she was the one being honored. A fresh ghost among the remembered. A wound that hadn’t even begun to heal, as there had been not even one moment of Mercy not thinking about it. About her.

So, Mercy had forced herself to stop at the cemetery first, white flowers in her hands as she set them on her grandmother’s stone. She hated graveyards, hated the way the earth always felt like it was breathing underneath her feet, like at any given moment something could come up and drag her into the ground, but tonight, being near her lola felt like a strange kind of comfort.

Until the scream split the air.

It wasn’t a distant party shriek or drunken joke. No, this was real and it dragged her straight out of her grief.

She stood, fake halo tilting slightly as she moved. Yeah… the outfit. Even tonight she couldn’t resist dressing up. Halloween was practically a holiday crafted for a Slayer who loved fashion. White feathered wings, glittery white dress, a modern angel, sweet, almost innocent. Perfect camouflage. No one suspected the stake hiding in her handbag.

She followed the scream.

The graveyard grew quieter, darker, heavier around her. And when she finally reached the source, there was… nothing. Nobody. Just blood. A lot of blood. Thick streaks of it across cracked stone, a trail smeared across the ground like something had been dragged.

She grimaced.

Someone had been snacking.

She followed the trail, at first bold and obvious, then thinning into little drops, then disappearing altogether like it had vanished into the night. She exhaled, frustrated, scanning the rows of mausoleums.

Empty and abandoned.

There was nothing here…

That’s when she heard it, faint music from the shady bar a few blocks away.

 Humanity. Noise. Witnesses. Logic said to head toward it.

But her instincts were at an all time high, as she couldn’t shake the sense of being watched. The veil was thin tonight, meaning that energies were chaotic, spirits restless. But this felt different…

Something shattered behind her.

Mercy spun around, stake already half-drawn.

Silence…

Then…

A breath later, laughter, childish laughter. Two small figures moved between the gravestones and vanished into the dark.

Her frown deepened.

‘What kind of parent let kids wander in a cemetery on Halloween night?’

Her pace quickened.

 The music grew louder.

 But then…

A chill went straight through her spine, the kind that indicated something was nearby.

She reached into her purse, fingers brushing against the familiar wood, and pulled out her stake.

“Hello?”

No answer.

Only the hum of streetlights, the electric noise of neon signs in the distance, music sounding faintly through the city blocks.

[fifthdimensicn]

›        FIRST   LINE   PROMPTS     : Sammie. [ ;) ]

" Y'ah  ain't  like  tha others, lil bird " Southern drawl paired with it's foreignity could unmask the lie for anyone with an ear for it. A recessive deep lilt in tow off conforming vowels. He seemed pleased with himself when concerning this opportunity to be face to face with the voice that drew him in like a moth to it's flame. Despite the threshold which held him a mere inch at bay.

@soil-from-slaghtaverty

Sammie's dark eyes narrowed and peered up from behind a skeptical frown. His arms crossed. (It was damn weird getting called something like that by a total stranger.) The evening breeze, a welcome reprieve from the hot Mississippi sun by day, drifted in through the doorway and into the building. "I ain't like 'em how?"

They like the blues, but not the people who make it. Delta's words echoed through his mind. He didn't like this, not one bit. Something about it stank like bad fish.