Blackheart (AP) @theaccurscd-blog - Tumblr Blog

Hector’s new blog is over at http://discordiiae.tumblr.com/

Moved blogs; I will shortly follow you from my new blog.

A Note on DMTNT:

I will decide what I find canon in terms of DMTNT as and when I come to it. I do, however, agree with Carina as a character, and with her being Hector’s daughter. I will tolerate no hatred on this blog towards Carina. I, personally, like her a great deal.

Needless to say, nor will Hector, in character, tolerate anyone speaking ill of his only heir. An insult to his daughter is an insult to him. If I come to interact with any Carinas, the level of affection in their relationship, and whether they even know of their relation to each other at the start of play, may differ from whatever presents in canon, depending on what we as muns discuss. The one thing I will hold to is this: Carina is Hector’s treasure, and he would never harm her.

#{ ooc } out of apples #{ psa } codex

Keeping my theme as it is, as I like it too much :)

#{ ooc } out of apples

Probably going to change Hector’s theme and url as well.

#{ ooc } out of apples

Going to be doing a major blog revamp here. There is a core of seven or eight folks whom I know are still active and whose threads I am going to continue;

@trickstercaptain, @conquistadoradelmar, @lt-theodoregroves, @undauntedloyalty, (you two on all of your characters), @beautyxmarred (on yours where we have threads), @therapardalis, @laverginedegliangeli, @huntpirates, @ghostlyhunter,@puddingseeker, @acadiian, @qceenmother, @janebeckett, There may be one or two others that I have missed. Verses are being shuffled. Some verses are moving to skype/IM. Bio is being changed to reflect new movie, old bio & the backstory will remain in place for one or two specific, AU verses only. If I have an ask from you in my box, it is going to be answered, and this will happen at the weekend. It will most likely then go into queue. If you are not on the above list and you have a post you would like me to answer, I have lost it on the dash; please link me to the post in an ask or an IM and I will add it to my drafts and then continue it. If you have recently returned from hiatus and would like to plot something new, hit me up or send a meme. If you have never played with my Hector before, please feel free to hit me up or send a meme. :)

#{ ooc } out of apples

legendarymemes

Moana Lyric starters!

‘I’ve been staring at the edge of the water, long as I can remember, never really knowing why.’

‘I wish I could be the perfect daughter/son.’

‘Every road leads back to the place I know that I cannot go, where I long to be.’

‘I know everybody on this island has a role on this island, so maybe I can roll with mine.’

‘I can lead with pride, I can make us strong.’

‘What is wrong with me?’

‘I see what’s happening here. You’re face to face with greatness, and it’s strange.’

‘You don’t even know how to feel, it’s adorable.’

‘Well, it’s nice to see that humans never change.’

‘What can I say except ‘you’re welcome’?’

‘Kid, honestly, I could go on and on. I could explain every natural phenomenon.’

'I guess it’s just my way of being me.’

'There’s no need to pray, it’s okay, you’re welcome.’

'Look where I’ve been, I make everything happen.’

'I’m gonna need that boat.’

'Well ___ hasn’t always been this glam.’

'Now I know I can be happy as a clam, because I’m beautiful, baby.’

'Did your granny say, 'listen to your heart, be who you are on the inside’?’

'Your granny lied.’

'I just love free food.’

'I will sparkle like a wealthy woman’s neck.’

'Well, well, well. Little ___’s having trouble with his/her look.’

'What a terrible performance, get the hook.’

'I have to give you credit for my start.’

'I’ll never hide. I can’t, I’m too shiny.’

'Watch me dazzle like a diamond in the rough.’

'Send your armies but they’ll never be enough.’

'It’s time for me to take apart your aching heart.’

'You tried to be tough, but your armour’s just not hard enough.’

'Prepare your final plea, just for me.’

'She/He makes his/her whole family proud.’

'Sometimes the world seems against you.’

'The journey may leave a scar, but scars can heal and reveal just where you are.’

'The people you love will change you. The things you have learned will guide you.’

'Nothing can silence the quiet voice still inside you.’

’___, listen. Do you know who you are?’

'We are descended from voyagers who found their way across the world. They call me.’

'I’ve delivered us to where we are. I have journeyed farther.’

'I am everything I’ve learned and more.’

'I will carry you here in my heart, you’ll remind me that come what may, I know the way.’

'We sail the length of the seas on the ocean breeze.’

'At night we name every star, we know where we are. We know who we are.’

'When it’s time to find home, we know the way.’

'We are explorers reading every sign.’

'We tell the stories of our elders in a never ending chain.’

'This tradition is our mission.’

'Don’t walk away, ___, stay on the ground now.’

'There comes a day when you’re gonna look around and realise happiness is where you are.’

'That’s right, we stay. We’re safe and we’re well-provided.’

'When we look to the future, there you are.’

'You’ll be okay, in time you’ll learn just as I did.’

'The water is mischievous, ha! I like how it misbehaves.’

'Once you know what you like, well, there you are.’

'You are your father’s son/daughter, stubbornness and pride. Mind what he says but remember, you may hear a voice inside.’

’___, that voice inside is who you are.’

'Here I’ll stay, my home, my people beside me.’

'I’ll lead the way. I’ll have my people to guide me. We’ll build our future together where we are.’

'I have crossed the horizons to find you. I know your name.’

'They have stolen the heart from inside you, but this does not define you.’

'This is not who you are. You know who you are…Who you truly are.’

#a whole bushel of apples (meme)

stylish-alastor:

“What? No. I … I wouldn’t ‘prefer’ anything like that. I just…” He huffed, and crossed his arms, more irritated at himself and his inability to word what he wanted to say, than anything. He shut his eyes and allowed himself to be silent. If he couldn’t speak, then he could devote his energy to listening instead, but when next he opened his eyes, his gaze was already downcast.

“There can’t be such thing as ‘too damaged’. Do you really think something like that could exist, even accounting for those you share your company with?”

“Maybe not for anyone else,” came the bitter half-laugh that drifted away into simple sadness, “but I ain’t like most. I spent years lyin’ an’ raidin’ an’ murderin’ an’ I didn’t care, because there was a goal at the end of it. I figured I couldn’t feel anythin’ positive, after so long o’ feelin’ -- an’ doin’-- only the negative.” Even if that wasn’t entirely true. Certainly, much of his actions had always been and had remained self-serving, for the most part, but there was also decency in him, and it did sometimes come out. Especially on this mission, this adventure. It had been coming out an awful lot, even if it still felt new to so willingly act upon it.

#v; afterthewinter #stylishalastor

trickstercaptain:

“I’m not easily intimidated by a man in a wig. Nor cowed by one, either.”

Glancing pointedly back at the wig now laying on the ground a few paces away, Jack’s expression had scarcely changed – though a measure of disgust had crept in at Barbossa’s offer of an explanation. Why should he care one whit for what Whitehall thought of him? Being a problem and causing a nuisance to the British Crown were part and parcel of being a pirate, particularly a famous one, and, unlike some, he wasn’t about to cozy up to a king just to avoid the consequences. That Barbossa had organised such a meeting was the result of only one motive, in Jack’s mind, no matter what his first mate said to the contrary: he needed Jack or, more specifically, the navigational charts in his possession, to find the Fountain of Youth. That was the short and long of it, make no mistake.

Still, even in the midst of his anger, he knew that his goading concerning the Cobra had been a low blow ( though that didn’t mean he wanted to take it back ). The intensity of his gaze remained, secretly glad that he’d managed to touch a nerve – and his satisfaction showed. “Craven or not, it’s still a weak man what has to take another man’s ship because he doesn’t have one.”

Something changed, however, as Barbossa pushed himself off the wall and begun to pace. Eyes tracking his movement like a hawk, a slow frown was quick to pull down his lip, brows drawing together as he waited for his answer. When his mutinous first mate finally did turn to look at him, Jack caught the characteristic flexing of his knuckles and, while his own expression remained as unreadable as ever, he vowed to listen, at the very least.

Never could it be said that Hector Barbossa didn’t know how to tell a story. Slowly, but surely, the deliberate blankness in Jack’s features eroded away, taken in by images that were conjured by nothing more than words ( a distant part of his mind cursed the fact that, after all these years, he still wasn’t bloody immune to it ). While he remained utterly still, one hand did absently drift to his sword hilt, lips parted ever so slightly as he took in everything that he was being told.

“Edward Teach.”

Jack shifted on his feet, trying to ignore the startling mental picture of his beloved Pearl as nothing more than a wreck and cast it to the very back of his mind. “I thought he’d bit the proverbial bullet off the coast of North Carolina years ago.” Seemed an ironic statement to make when the two of them had cheated such an obstacle themselves, but he couldn’t help showing some scepticism. Still, something in his tone had noticeably changed from before. Gone was the anger towards his former first mate; on the surface, certainly, he appeared calmer, his inner storm having retreated to just below the surface, manifesting itself only in the low, rough edge accompanying his next question. “Did anyone else make it out? That you know of?”

However, even as he voiced it, he wasn’t sure that he wanted to know the answer. Finally breaking Barbossa’s gaze, Jack turned away for the first time, letting his dark, kohl-rimmed eyes wander around the narrow alleyway as he sought to reconcile everything he’d heard. The moment stretched on – and even when Jack did speak again, he still had his back to him.

“Revenge, then. That’s what this is. What this really is.” The note of resignation in his voice wasn’t intentional, but it lingered all the same. Another few seconds passed in silence before Jack finally turned to look at him. “But there’s something I’m still not getting here. What does a revenge mission have to do with the Fountain of Youth? Or privateers… or wigs?” It was certainly curious. “I mean, sure, the Fountain could prolong your vengeance indefinitely, but it doesn’t get you any closer to Blackbeard, does it? Do you even know where the Queen Anne’s Revenge will be?”

“So did we all,” came the hiss, “but turns out one o’ Blackbeard’s many foul talents be the art o’ necromancy.” Hector had a great distrust of mages in general, even if he had interest in equal measure. Witches, wise women, wizards, warlocks, whatever they might call themselves, had a gift that brought him both anxiety and curiosity, for the sheer heights that human intelligence could reach, not held back by the earthly bounds. There was a certain degree of envy in there, too. How much he longed to be the master of his fate in all ways; to be able with a will and a matter of focus to right a wrong or start a war or even hold off the passage of time or approach of death... He had caught himself wondering of what it might be like, to have that sort of power. He had asked Tia Dalma once, as he lay half-lifeless on her swamp-home bed, how did it feel to have the ability to reshuffle the cards, and she had merely smiled in a way which had been both sweet and eerie. She had not answered.

He imagined that Teach thought of himself as a God. “I dunno, Jack.” Now his discomfort was thick in his throat, and something that might well have been grief was visible in his eyes. “I was out cold almost as soon as I be hittin’ the water. I ain’t seen anyone since, but I’ve been in London. Maybe someone...found their way ashore.” He had cared for his men. He had liked them. Rascals and ruffians as many of them were, they were nonetheless decent sorts, and they had followed him bravely into many dangers. They had not deserved their fates, and to even think of his little Jack, worst of all losses...! Two ships, two crews, two monkeys, sunken without provocation by someone who had decided not to follow the Code; enough. It was enough.

Hector was tired of fighting. Tired of living and failing and losing and just not dying. He could care less about a Fountain of Youth, or wars between Spain and England, or the ambition of fat old kings. He could care less about his legend, even, anymore. He wanted his vengeance, he wanted the pleasure of being the one to take Blackbeard down. He wanted the fear in his eyes as the life slowly, oh-so-slowly, slipped from his veins, ground soaked in his blood. He wanted the fear, for how frightened his crew had been, trapped like rats and unable to escape. Everything else was a means to an end. “I care not for blessed waters,” he said, “nor for legends that might give hope for eternal life or chance of a healed limb. I care not for George nor for England nor for Protestant idiocy. Nor for wigs.” Snarled and vicious, and there was something feral there. There was that hurricane, finally. There was the lion. “But Blackbeard does. He feels his time be short. He cannot resist the lure o’ it. Now do ye understand? He’ll be off his ship. His power comes from the water, Jack....away from it, he is just a man, and all men can die.”

#trickstercaptain #v; on stranger tides (ost AU)

therapardalis:

She had heard of Mercer - by all accounts an ‘interesting’ man, and possibly the true survivor’s cunning behind Beckett’s rise. From the sound of it he’d make a decent fight, at the very least. But for now … crouched beside Barbossa in the shadow of the crates, she looked over their choice in targets and gave a nod.

“Rudder chain, if we can get it. Perhaps make a mess in the chart room, or toss their powder overboard?” She thought about something more substantial, like lighting the damn powder or shooting out the hull with a cannon, but in this case ‘substantial’ equated to ‘loud’; and she wasn’t sure her heart could take doing too much unfixable damage to beautiful ships. Just taking them out of the upcoming battle would be enough.

His comment about the Royal Navy gave her pause, a frown creasing between her brows. She knew a few lads of that service, knew them to be good, honest men - Beckett really did corrupt anything he touched, and she offered a quick, hopeful prayer that those men she knew wouldn’t be here tonight. “So …” She looked over what was coming aboard, jaw shifting in thought. “See anything that could be bound for on officer’s cabin?”

Hector cast his glance around the oncoming luggage, and a sly smile formed on his wide lips as he pointed to a very elegant and well-formed chest, large enough to bear clothes-- or documents. “Hazardin’ a guess that’s for the Captain himself, let alone any other officer.” Hector had a trunk exactly like it in his own cabin, or had before Sparrow had ‘taken over’ again; who knew whether it was still there? It was stolen, of course. He had pinched it off of a French captain while he was still First Mate on the Pearl, and used it to carry his various log-books and records. Not just for the chest itself did he hope Sparrow had seen fit to keep it... He made a mental note to hunt for it once he was safely back on the ship, alongside many other things of his that Sparrow had hopefully just moved and not sold or worse, lost.

“Should’ve brought Jack on this mission. If there be one pirate most apt at makin’ a mess...” A little uncalled for, and Hector knew it. It was hardly Jack’s fault, after all, that the Kraken had come after him and thus also the Pearl, but Hector was sour enough from the sheer fact that they had to now share a cabin and was not feeling much need to be kinder. He rolled his eyes, and inched out of his position as soon as it was safe, creeping forward to hide behind a rock, closer to the ship. He had, however, half-meant that Jack’s presence would have been a help. “He’d’ve been good at wreakin’ havoc, at least. I have my tricks, but Jack be better at almost all o’ them.” A grudging admittance, perhaps, but a genuine one, said even with the slightest hint of admiration.

Before that was firmly gone again, back behind Hector’s unmoveable and focused facade. “I can deal with the chart room, an’ the chain. I be sure ye can find yerself ways to cause a suitable amount o’ chaos in terms o’ the arsenal -- an’ anythin’ else that be takin’ yer fancy.”

#v; very old friends #in the time of AWE #therapardalis

stylish-alastor:

“Well, I got the Lady a stuffed little chinchilla plush with a laurel around its head. I think she’ll find it adorable. And as for the other guy, it’s a peacock. I think that’s a very fitting animal for someone so vain.”

He climbed onto the bed and got himself comfortable. Being on a bed and not under it was always the proper way of doing things.

“I’m glad you like the bear as much as I loved making that irresistible pun.”

A chuckle passed his lips, he found that he couldn’t help it. “I am sure the Lady will be thrilled with her chinchilla, an’ I be in agreement, a peacock for William is a thoughtful an’ fittin’ gift.” Heaven knew the man preened like one, and seemed to commit many of his actions as if he were showing off his colours, enjoying the attention of those who might be present to admire him. Hector didn’t get people like that -- although he’d concede that Will could be useful. Such as with this spider bite business.

Of the Lady, there was another pressing thought on Hector’s mind. “She’s a princess. A bloody elvish princess. Didn’t see that one comin’.” He should have really, he thought to himself. She had always had a presence, a sense of majesty, but he had thought that had just been her beauty or her magic or the way she seemed to light up a room as though she brought the very morning. “An’ first in line to the bloody throne.” He flopped back on the bed, with a heavy sigh passing his lips. “Throws it all into perspective, don’t it? Nothin’s as it seems, in this place. It’s gonna change all o’ us.”

#v; afterthewinter #stylishalastor

stylish-alastor:

« Chance? » What business did chance have with the Spirit of Lightning? If something wasn’t, he’d make it so. It was as simple as that.

« Lightning is no worry. I will handle it. »

He waited until Hector found adequate shelter beneath the trees before he let loose with the storm. Torrents of rain poured down on the island as if they’d never had before, and by his estimate, it would be a few minutes before the flask got full.

As he said, the lightning was no worry. As the bolts descended from the clouds, they were diverted by his presence and made to strike him instead, and all that did was cause his sword to glow and crackle with the added energy.

From his improvised shelter, Hector couldn’t help but watch the storm -- and the actions of the Spirit of Lightning -- with curious eyes, and beyond that oh-so-very-human curiosity there was a distinct layer of wonder, and of awe, and of excitement. He found the light-show thrilling, the display of Alastor’s unveiled power so pure and without parallel. He could have watched it, quite happily, for hours. Always he had loved thunderstorms, and luckily he had found himself a being who was the master of them. The rain soothed his burned and aching skin, and cooled his overly heated body. Content, he closed his eyes and leaned back, facing the sky, so that he could enjoy the storm-shower better. “Thank ye. Bein’ marooned with ye won’t be so bad, clearly.”

#stylishalastor #v; thegoldenage

t h a t t r a i l e r

LATE.

But yes, THAT TRAILER.

oh boy, I’m still buzzing tbh. although my heart is also broken.

#{ ooc } out of apples #Anonymous

*snuggles against*

“Missy,” Hector murmured, a smile coming to his face as he drew the Spanish captain close against his chest. “What be drawin’ ye into here? Did ye sleep well?” @conquistadoradelmar

#conquistadoradelmar #v; when in spain...

trickstercaptain:

This time, Jack couldn’t help but roll his eyes. ‟ It is what it is, mate. ” As far as he was concerned, he got off lightly. He might well have been branded, he might well have been forced to watch as his ship was set on fire in front of him, he may well have nearly burned alive trying to save her, and sacrificed his very soul in order to raise her from the depths ( and save himself )… but, after it all, he still had his life – thirteen years of it, anyway. He had his freedom. He had so many liberties that he had seen wantonly taken away from others, innocent men and women forced from their homes in Africa and shackled together like animals on ships bound for the West Indies. It was enough for him to resolve never to take what he now had for granted.

As for Beckett, he’d find the opportune moment to get back at him someday but, for now, simply knowing that his actions in liberating that shipment of ‘cargo’ had robbed the man of a chance at a peerage was all the consolation he needed. The man wanted to acquire wealth and power – well, he’d have to try a little harder to get it in future. Finally moving to take his seat in front of his desk, his first mate’s elicited a small smile, one which quickly morphed into a smirk.

‟ Careful, Hector. That almost sounded like you missed me during those five years. ”

There was a tease in his tone as he turned his attention to the paper and charts and equipment scattered across the table’s surface ( Jack Sparrow could hardly be said to be the most organised of captains ), although his expression quickly sobered. The last thing he wanted to do was believe that the last five years of his life were completely in vain ( he had, after all, gained his captaincy in that time. and he felt more comfortable in his own skin now than he could ever remember being ), but it was difficult not to grimace as he thought of the stupid mistake that had led to his exile from Shipwreck Cove. The silence stretched on for a little longer before he spoke again. ‟ I thought I could fit there. I really did. I knew I had no choice after what happened with Christophe… but a part of me did want it to work out. ” A faint smile flitted across his face, but there was a hard, ironic edge to it. ‟ I was just fooling meself, in the end. ”

“Pah,” he declared with a sharp shake of his head, “I never miss anyone.” Never had words further from the truth passed Hector Barbossa’s lips. Always so careful as he might have been to be untouchable, to be the one always firmly on the outside, in truth even he still enjoyed companionship with others, although he might not trust most as far as he could throw them. Jack Sparrow was perhaps one of the few exceptions there. Fellow pirate he might well have been, and a most infernal trickster at that, but he had an honest streak that was as clear as day, ingrained somewhere deep inside that no darkness, perhaps, would ever be able to reach. Lucky stars and anything holy was thanked, inwardly, that that honest streak had prevailed at all despite the circumstances.

Limping steps drifted after the young captain over to the table where the charts were scattered, and Hector could not help the eye-roll which followed. “One thing I weren’t missin’ was yer proclivity for mess.” Himself a habitual neat-freak, or as much of one as had ever been fostered within the damp and drafty decks of a pirate vessel, Hector liked everything to be organised in an understandable system, and despaired of things ending up where they were not supposed to be. A scattered table pointed to a scattered mind, in his view, and he was determined to appear anything but scattered. Weathered hands automatically began folding and ordering any papers which were not, in the present moment, needed.

Still, he was listening. Waiting for that barrier to come down -- and sure enough, it did. “Ye’re better off out o’ it.” Partially because, if legality and the life of a respectable gentleman came with losing one's own freedom, and living in, supporting (even if indirectly and with reluctance), a society that took freedom away from others, then Hector did not want to be legal nor respectable.

Yet, he could certainly understand Jack’s losses. He had forged for himself a career and dared to believe that he might have found a home, and both of those things were immensely powerful, and important, things which were immeasurably hard to lose when they were taken away. Thus he reached out, and his hand caught Jack’s arm, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer. “Not all o’ us gave up on ye, lad. Not all o’ us thought ye’d sold us out, nor blamed ye for it. Christophe...held a certain draw for ye; that I saw. As did Beckett, I suppose, if in a different way. We can all be fools, when someone be steppin’ into our life an’ offerin’ us the world, an’ we can all be blinded. We just rebuild, an’ we learn. We learn.”

#v; two sides of a coin ( pre mutiny)#trickstercaptain

therapardalis:

… And someone else outside the door? Dear Golden Goddess, what more had she actually missed? There would be some serious self-discipline in her future to wake her complacent self the fuck up.

Well, she had had enough of this. Ignoring the fact that she was wearing only the t-shirt and panties she’d gone to bed in (and thank goodness she hadn’t decided to sleep nude), she stiff-armed Hector bodily out of her way and took the single long stride she needed for line of sight on the other man. Then she reached out and, with a clench of her fist, yanked all the air straight out of his lungs.

The whoop of it echoed through the room as he clutched at his chest, his mouth gaped open by the exiting gust. Thera stepped forward, grabbed him by the coat and flung him into the room, not caring in the least if he hit Barbossa on the way.

“You and I, sir, are going to have a little chat.”

Knocked back by her arm, and then having to rapidly - and painfully - sidestep to avoid the flying body of the would-be assassin colliding with him, Hector was nonetheless relieved that she had it so much in hand, as it were. He had hoped that she would get his message, and they would be able to handle this situation together, but it seemed that she would have spectacularly bloody revenge of her own accord. That was good, and it was right, and it was just, but it did cause him worry that perhaps this mess -- and there was no other word for it -- had irreparably damaged their friendship.

There was, however, more pressing issues than his concerns. The assassin was hunched, gasping, in the corner he had landed in, a heap of tangled limbs and fear. Rubbing his throat as he tried to recover, he was shaking so hard that Hector half-thought he might keel right over just from terror. Probably his first time seeing magic. Or gifts. Or whatever other word for it there was. “He’s been tailin’ me for days, an’ then --” Incredibly embarrassing for Hector, really; he had been taken. “They want ye dead, an’ me too. Somethin’ about wantin’ to wipe out immortals.” There was more to it than that of course, but he would reveal the rest later. When they had a moment. Nothing was ever simple, was it?

#v; very old friends #the swingin' 60s #therapardalis

therapardalis:

The man would not be fed to his beasts, at least not where anyone might see. Humans, hungry themselves for explanation or revenge, would be too keen to point the title ‘man-eater’, and make much of it - if only to make public a placebo, something other than the notion of blood drinkers roaming the streets.

Or a pair of ruthless, personally motivated murderers, such as Hector and herself. ‘Vigilantes’ was perhaps a nicer word, with more a touch of heroism in the sound - but murder, however justified it might be, was still what they did. “I need to change my clothes.” And mull over further the steps to be taken along the way. “If something goes awry, I’m not much use in frills and fluff.”

She turned as she spoke, heading for the stairs leading to the upper floor and her room. “I doubt we’ll convince our ‘volunteer’ to accompany us of his own will. Perhaps we can lure him with false pretenses instead?” And then cosh him over the head. As one did.

“Ye’d be useful in anythin’ ye wore,” the once-Captain muttered, “but I be seein’ yer point. Dunno how ye women can stand those ruffles and lace and them bloody corsets. It be havin’ to make the act o’ fightin’ more difficult than it needs to be.” In the meantime, while she changed, he would be quite happy to lurk as it were, leaning as he was now against a side table, his arms folded and his expression thoughtful, brow furrowed and lips pursed. How would they handle a vampire stalking London? Or at least, how on earth would they keep the sheer fact that there was a vampire stalking London from becoming more widely known, when clearly that outcome would not be favourable for any of them...

If the newspapers or worse, parliament became aware that things such as Vampires were prevalent in the city, undoubtedly life would get a lot more difficult for ANY immortal who was unfortunate enough to be discovered. Witch Hunts had never really gone away, not fully. The lingering presence of them in history could still be felt, long after they had ceased, for anyone like him who was trying -- and often failing -- to fit in with ordinary, human, people.

He was also giving thought, and much of it, as to how indeed to convince the ‘gentleman’ to join them and provide his not-so-willing sacrifice. “False pretences it may well have to be,” he mused, “but what bait will be on the hook, be the question. I know nothin’ of the man, other than his apparent likin’ for curatin’ o’ curiosities an’ exotic beasts. I know nothin’ o’ what drives him. Unless we convinced him that we had in our possession a rare and marvellous creature, perhaps...”

#therapardalis #v; very old friends #London; 1880s

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