Sep 26, 2016
#I see you liking this too Claudia... thank you so much for your support.
De rien!
seen from Israel
seen from China
seen from Türkiye
seen from Türkiye
seen from Türkiye
seen from Bulgaria
seen from Germany
seen from Japan
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from Japan
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Bulgaria
seen from Australia
seen from Türkiye
seen from United Kingdom
#I see you liking this too Claudia... thank you so much for your support.
De rien!
Didn't know it was your birthday. Happy Birthday.
[Private]
It was indeed. Thank you, Crowley. (And apologies for my belated response.)
anthony-j-crowley replied to your post:<At long last.>.
Is this something ‘like’-able?
Hmmhmm.
@anthony-j-crowley
[text] Do you play chess? [text] If so, would you like to play some with me?
He didn’t bother wrapping it, instead opting to pack it carefully in a purple box so its contents would not be scratched. That’s more important than the presentation—white styrofoam protects the wooden box’s edges and when she uncovers it from it’s casing, it’s a dark mahogany, polished to shine in the light. When she opens it, it plays a very simple melody. The inside of the box is lined with a lilac velvet and contains three different removable layers. A small white card inside reads: “The perk is you’ll always hear when someone tries to open it. Hope you like it. - Crowley.”
She takes it out with unusual reference, holding it up to the light before placing it in her lap. Claudia runs her fingers over it, feeling them glide over the mahogany before she opens it. The vampire holds it there for a moment, just listening to the simple melody with a smile on her face.
After the music fades, she removes the layers one by one, examining them. She takes Crowley’s card and examines that too, before putting everything back together. There’s no mirror, she notes. Her smile widens as she closes the box, and then opens it once more, just to listen to the melody again.
orange roses | crowley & claudia
@anthony-j-crowley
It was flowers that she wanted this particular night.
She wanted the fragrance of them, filling up her rooms back at the house to drive out the stench of deat;, to watch them wither and drop their petals as they began to rot in their cores. Yes, flowers she wanted, and with dusk throwing its blanket over the land earlier and earlier as winter approached, it wasn’t that hard of a task to find one.
She had always been somewhat of an early riser. Not at first, and certainly not as early as Lestat, but over the decades she grew to wake up a fraction earlier each and every night. And unlike Louis, she left early on her hunt. Rather than wait for the thirst to build, Claudia preferred to satisfy it on the spot.
And thus she was the flushed little angel, with rose on her cheeks and golden curls framing her ethereal face. At this hour, many a head turned, worried about the little girl wandering the streets so late without a guide, but she ignored them all in favour of following the course she had set out.
The bell happily chimed away as she slipped inside the warmth of the flower shop. She took a moment to inhale the wave of scents washing over her, so poignant all here together to form one somewhat overwhelming new fragrance.
After a moment she strode forward to the counter with a natural kind of poise. Yet Claudia taking the hesitant steps of a shy child not quite sure what to do; a child ill at ease, sent on a task of sorts that it does not want to accomplish. Despite this, her eyes were almost sparkling, ill-fitting for such a youthful face.
“Excuse me?” she spoke up, voice ringing like a bell and yet oddly sweet, only a trace of an accent remaining. “Could you help me? I’m looking for flowers.”
Unpleasant side effects
Balthazar was fairly sure his bed wasn't made out of what felt like leather. He was also fairly sure his bed was far wider than...barely the width of his body. He carefully turned on his back, groaning at the splitting headache that caught him by surprise. On top of that headache, something flopped into his face. He tried to wipe it away.
Oh. It seemed to be his own wing. When had he manifested them? (The answer was overnight in some drunken dream of flying. It had been a nice dream, but it had slipped from him the moment the headache had manifested itself.)
He slowly tried opening one eye, but the twitching of muscles hurt his poor skull too much. He waited another minute, wondering what exactly had happened last night. He vaguely remembered a friend of his- oh, that would explain the headache. A hangover.
That still didn't resolve the questionwhereexactly he was. His couch was leather, but different. More bouncy. He opened and eye, staring at a white ceiling that didn't give him much answers. The bright light just worsened his headache. He closed his eye again, trying to ignore the headache and trying to fall asleep again. For now, it seemed to be working.
"angel of the lord" just appeared in my backseat. says his name is castiel. sound like something yours would do? - c
Don't turn your back on him. Make sure he stays in front of you. ~Balthazar.