barmeciide:.
Swirling his cup lazily in his fingers, a lone brow arches as he watches her greedily sip at the coffee he offered her. If he had to guess, he would argue that she barely even heard anything he said. Apparently the coffee was more enticing than he was. If he were in a better mood, he would have chuckled at the thought, but the ghosts of yesterday still nip at his heels, and he can’t rid himself of the dreadful sensation bubbling up within the pit of his stomach when he tries to consider Orpheus’s reason for ordering him to keep an eye on her. Or, even, Alice’s intentions for that matter. He resists the urge to rub at his temples as the steam licks at his palm. For a vampire, he feels awfully tired this morning despite the fact that the realm this area of the bathhouse exists in always harbors a night sky for the sake of making their lives both easier and more comfortable.
He chases down his growing unease with a long sip from his cup, allowing the piping hot coffee to burn the back of his throat on the way down. But that meager sting wasn’t enough to soothe the turmoil of his mind. It wasn’t like him to be so rattled–to care so much. He had spent the last few hundred years comfortably obeying orders, and toying with the hearts of those he seduced. It had never bothered him in the slightest, but that was largely because he thought she was dead. Long gone by now. Whatever had been left her after the fire had turned to dust by now. He thought her nothing more than a nightmare or a bad memory. But, here she was, with a face so similar to the one he had loved, and the personality to match–not to mention the birthmark. He couldn’t deny who she was, even if he was desperate to convince himself this was some elaborate prank just to rid himself of the guilt creeping in that he hadn’t felt in centuries.
His eyes darken at her comment, and he feels himself grip his mug harder, but eases the tension in his hand when he can feel the meek porcelain begin to give out against his grasp. And that, too, bothers him. He’s always been fully in control of his emotions, as well as his abilities. Where other newly turned vampires struggled to resist their hunger or didn’t understand the depths of their own strength, he had always harbored an impressive amount of self-control. Even when he had murdered the villagers who had killed her, he hadn’t done so in a fit of rage or hysteria–he had been fully in control of his actions that day. He had done it for the sake of revenge. For the sake of making them suffer as she had.
He leans his arm over the back of his chair, and crosses his ankle over his knee. His expression isn’t as warm as it had been before, despite his efforts to maintain an air of openness. “Oh, is that so?” He forces out. His voice is an octave deeper than intended, and he grimaces slightly as a result. He knows it’s better to keep up this act than to reveal himself, but it feels impossible when it’s been centuries since he believed her dead, and his frigid, un-beating heart still somehow remembers the warmth of her love all these years later. But Orpheus will surely take her life if he displays even an ounce of hesitation or weakness. “Truly, that would be shame. I found it rather attractive. I would love to know if there’s a story behind it,” he says instead of what’s actually on his mind. If Orpheus wants to play games with him, he’s perfectly capable of doing just that back.
But the tension in his voice dissipates when she speaks up once more, and he feels his muscles relax as he lets out a faint chuckle. Ah, that really does sound like something she would ask. He can only imagine what kind of scenario her mind has conjured up when he thinks back to all of the tales she had told him when they had both been human, and all of the wild stories she managed to come up with. “Of course not. I was the one who invited you, after all. I’m afraid I’m not in the business of swindling beautiful women. Especially a beautiful woman who’s managed to capture my heart.” His still, very much not alive heart, but well, when has he ever been one for specifics. “Perhaps you would be willing to humor this unworthy soul with a proper date?”
Mel wished she could claim to have even an ounce of intelligence rattling around in her brain, but she knew the truth. It was why she didn't know the place she called home had been raising her for slaughter all those years, the stupidity came naturally. And unfortunately the person who did rattle in her brain who was smart was not answering right now. She needed information, she needed to know what the fuck Uriel was up to, but all she could do was stare blankly has her last brain cell she possessed abandoned ship.
Something about him had changed, she couldn't pinpoint what and Mel couldn't shake the uneasiness she felt in the bathhouse, but what truly through her off was how obsessed he was with her birthmark. “I uh.. was born with it,” she answered lamely looking at him in a way she imagined showed how empty her head was right now. It was way too early for her to deal with this. “A lot of people say it looks like a burn though,” she rambled sinking further into despair at her own thoughts. Maybe those fuckers marked her when she was a baby or something so people knew that she would one day get stabbed brutally in the heart. The memory wasn't pleasant and she rubbed at her chest subconsciously, the pain still fresh in her mind. It was moments like these where she wished she could just become a thoughtless puppet for a moment again, but that was only in emergencies. Though she would call this one.
It was a relief at least that she didn't owe Uriel any money, she might just cry if that was the case. Though him asking her out on another date nearly had the same affect. Calmly taking another sip of coffee she placed the mug down, hands tightening around it for warmth. Then she cracked, her already slipping facade ruined by this one pretty man.
“Why me? No offense but have you seen us? You're hot and charming and look like you're straight off a romance cover with that fucking billowing shirt. And I'm homeless, a mess, and barely comprehending this conversation because I'm not attractive or interesting and talking too much again, but like I'll go on that date,” she replied before groaning and placing her head into her arm
“Honestly if you're a serial killer killing me would be a mercy right now, I won't fight back,” she muffled out of her makeshift cocoon. I leave you for a couple hours and you try to die again? Of course he would come back now. He had a sense of when she was begging for the sweet embrace of death.
