Does it ever bother you that Cass thinks you're a spoiled, privileged brat, who's had no troubles in life and gets whatever you want?
"In the last 24 hours I have seen my baby cousin trip down the stairs in his pajamas while protecting his galleon of ice cream instead of his highly breakable neck. I have also seen him fall off the couch while taking a nap. Also he can't dress, thats more of a general statement. So I think that I'm not too bothered by his opinion considering I also had to help him tie his shoes once upon a time. That time being like a week or two ago."
"Anyway - he doesn't know anything about certain parts of my life, so I'd really prefer he was kept unaware of...everything for the rest of our existence."
The real question is, how long do you think it will be before Shosh realises exactly what you are, and runs for the hills?
"I think it's quite humorous that I've curated such an image that you all must believe you actually know who or what I am. It's cute that you don't think I treat my pets with the utmost respect and care. What you perceive from the outside is hardly what is the reality of my relationships - especially with Shosh who is the creme of the crop. I only have the best and I assure you, when my jewel decides to leave my side she'll hardly be running, I expect it to be quite tearful and emotional. I tend to have that effect on my darling blood bags - it's cute."
"Questions, such dull questions doesn't anyone have any interesting to say anymore- my first "time" was with a very rich patron of mine, who loved not only my blood but my ability to recite book and film scenes from heart and perform for them. The vampire of course was vying to buy my contract and believed that if they "took my virginity" that I'd be more easily bound up to them. They were obsessed with how young I was - easily trained malleable prey" Verlie laughed waving a hand, "But I was hardly young by Redlocke standards, and I wasn't at all impressed by the vampire's prowess in bed. My cousins used to yammer about their vampire lovers, and I found it all so trivial being used like that." Verlie hummed and grinned, "Then when I Turned I ended up fucking their most recent bloodbag and left them blissed out and begging me to keep them without ever having bled them. I got the appeal of sex after that. So anyway, that's why I'm banned from the entire city of Montreal, and who I lost my virginity to - all in all a very boring question."
Was there anything you enjoyed from your time as a blood donor?
"The food. The jewelry. The money. The jettsetting." Verlie hummed, "There are plenty of upsides to being a blood donor; security and sexual appetites fulfilled, getting to taste the finest things in mortal life, the sheer amount of power you feel being on the arm of such a being as a vampire. My cousins were elated in this role. But for me, no amount of money or jewels or trips or a fucking plate of food was worth even a milisecond of being a Redlocke Blood Donor."
"I quite literally died to not be one any longer."
Your newest pet is cute. How long d'you reckon this one will last? Two weeks? A month tops?
"I think you'll find that my darling pet is going to be with me as long as she wants me around," Verlie drawled, "unlike some monsters among vampires, I would never run down my sweet bunny like they would - toss her about like a ball. They are all so crass and abusive, hardly my style, and frankly disgusting. Ask any vampire who knows of me, and they'll tell you I may run through my little blood bags, but they are well taken care of; I drop them because they are frankly uninteresting, uninspiring, and boring. You should take care that you don't imply I would run her ragged or, worse, boring, or you'll find yourself dead. That's not only a threat, but a promise."
Bunny. That word plucked Shoshana’s focus like a bowstring, luxuriating as it slid all the way up the long arch of her spine, the strum of a harp. Bunny; it was too specific to be a term of endearment that was carelessly thrown at everyone.
And indeed, Shosh’s heartbeat was thumping like skittering rabbit’s feet inside of her chest as Verlie traced her skin appraisingly. She swallowed down a shudder, struggling to keep her usual poise. She felt like a child again, presented to a room full of wealthy patrons of the arts, to emissaries and aristocrats and tastemakers to be hummed over and gawked at, and told to stand up straight and never tremble and act like you belong—be a perfect porcelain doll, a novelty to be treasured and displayed and made to perform on command, instead of the nobody that she actually was. The orphaned daughter of a seamstress, the charity case, the fraud.
Shosh could almost hear Herr Steiner barking at her, Remember your manners, girl! “Thank you…” she managed to say, gracious, demure. “…but I can’t take credit for the decor—this was all Henry. He had me over for tea in his study, when he interviewed me to be Cass’ donor…he could see I was quite taken by all of the old-world decadence, and he…well, truthfully, I believe he was rather fond of having someone with a taste for things that are sumptuous and old fashioned that he could spoil, since that’s certainly never been Cass…”
A cool finger traced a path into the hollow of her throat, and Shosh felt her pulse center there, her breath coming out in a staccato. She felt flushed all over, took note of the pearls of sweat beading on the back of her neck and in her cleavage, the stale taste of wine in her mouth. Shosh was hyperaware of every shameful imperfection she possessed as she was stood before such cool elegance and courtly prowess, and she hated it; hated how uncharacteristically flustered and unprepared she was, hated knowing that Verlie would surely find her to be noticeably unexceptional, and flawed, and human.
And yet—that low drawl was near hypnotic, and despite her fixation on her own shortcomings Shosh still found herself moving at Verlie’s command, like an orchestral player awaiting the wave of her conductor’s baton. She flushed as she teetered backward and hit the unflinching wood of the piano bench with a not-entirely-unpleasant whop to the backs of her thighs. She had to squeeze her legs together again, and found the pressure did little to relieve the pulsing want that was thrumming to life at each new suggestion from Verlie.
It occurred to Shosh then that this was all likely part of the Redlocke vampire’s Hunt, toying with her the way a cat would a mouse. “Are you…making fun of me?” she asked, straining to hold onto the last wire-thin thread of her pride. She sniffed, holding up her chin. “It’s alright, if you are, I just…I’d rather know about it, if I’m intended to be a punchline amongst your undead social circle at parties. I can take it. I’m well aware that it’s in my nature to…romanticize, to get carried away with quixotic fantasy, to be somewhat…extra, you might say.”
It had happened often, since Shosh had been drawn into the secretive world of vampires and their blood donors—that her sensational and outlandish reveries gleaned from the pages of gothic fairy tales would misalign with the reality of this world. And it wasn’t that Shosh was disappointed by any of it, by any means, it’s just…she had learned not to expect that anyone, even vampires, would ever be quite as extra as she was, that all those beautiful and violent delights were best kept to fantasy, and that it was foolish to want to be wanted in such superlative terms—body and soul, down to her marrow.
It was just what Shosh needed to center herself, to remind her meandering fancy not to take anything too seriously, because that wouldn’t be cool would it?
She smiled, confidence returning to her as she tossed her long brown hair over her shoulder and said with brazen cheek, “If it’s all the same to you, O Mysterious Mistress, I’d like to earn my keep—I promised to delight you with marvels of musicianship, and I intend to keep that promise. So I propose that I play you a tune, of my choice, and if what I play and how I play it is to your liking, then…you may reward me for my efforts however you see fit.” She smoothed her fingers over the glossy ivories thoughtfully, and then stilled her hands as she added belatedly, “Oh, and just so we’re clear—I consent wholeheartedly to be your willing prey, to be played with and pleasured, punished or praised—whatever you please.”
Shosh returned her focus to the keys. She drew in a breath, and held the silence for a few moments of tantalizing, teasing anticipation—the seasoned performer within her shining through. Then she threw herself into the sweeping opening chords of the very first song that came to mind—a dynamic rendition of the iconic cinematic medley, designed to steal the hearts of all the cursed and the mercurial and the stubbornly lonely.
...
Verlie giggled, “Certainly not Cass at all; my boy has always misliked the old-world decadence that comes with vampirism.” It was one of the few things that Verlie enjoyed about her time as a bejeweled Redlocke donor. The gifts were divine; she was dressed to the nines in exclusive clothing brands and rare jewelry, perfumes, and shoes. Her closet was worth a medium-sized fortune; even if Verlie was cut off by the Redlocke's, selling her clothes would be enough to sustain her until she could make more money. Verlie had sold the pieces she disliked or were from Feeders who were less than stellar, but many she had kept, worn and cared for.
Verlie laughed as Shosh's mouth fell open a bit, the vampire lifted her fingers from Shosh's breastbone to trace the outline of her lips.
"You worry far too much for such a pretty creature." Verlie hummed, "But rest assured I am not mocking you or making you the butt of my joke. I would never be so crass as to make you a punchline," Verlie dragged her fingers down Shosh's neck a second time, grinning as the young woman arched again into the sharp prick of her nails. "Trust me, whoever laughs at you while in my company will find their throat torn out." The threat hung in the air and Verlie crowded closer to the trembling bunny under her hands. "I am a vicious thing. It my nature to take what I want." Verlie stated, "But I am not cruel. I would not allow anyone to disrespect you, I would not allow anyone to treat you less than." Verlie grinned, "That's my job, bunny."
The vampire stepped back, letting Shosh breath in sharply as if her lungs had been hanging off her words. The vampire smiled fondly down at Shosh and grinned wildly as she found a space beside the human pet. "Believe me, you are more than going to earn your keep as my pet," Verlie whispered as she sat down beside Shosh, "and you will get your... rewards and punishments by my will." Verlie traced her nails over Shosh's leg, trailing up her thigh, and grinned at the tremble of her body.
Verlie pulled her hands back, unwilling to sully Shosh's performance, and as the first note rang out she sighed happily.
"I love Studio Ghibli," the vampire whispered, "I've been Japan for the last few years," the truth bubbled past her lips, and slipped into the tune, she kept her voice low, "and I used to attend orchestras where they played nothing but Hisashi's music..." Verlie sunk happily into the music, but kept her hands to herself. It washed over her. Shosh looked so sunk into the piano that Verlie wanted nothing more than to ruin that stupor, with a grin Verlie grabbed Shosh's throat, pulling her into a demanding kiss as the mortals hands stuttered over the keys. With a flash of vampire strength she lifted Shosh and placed her on her lap.
"You are earning nothing but rewards my darling bunny," Verlie murmured as she pulled away, "now keep on playing pet," her fingers trailing up her neck, leaving red streaks, then down her arms, fingers twitching, "I like the way you play for me, don't mess up now..." Shoshs fingers twitched as she missed a note, "I think for every missed key it's gonna be... hmmm... five smacks? No, that seems a little mean," Shosh gasped, "unless you want me to be mean? God you really are perfect for me aren't you bunny? Now, that's three missed notes, let's say... nine smacks then, now I'm hoping you'll mess up a bit more but go on, play for me, my angel of music."
Verlie slid onto the bench beside her before she could even blink, and Shosh drew in a breath; a fresh wave of heat thrummed through her, the vampire’s words of praise and flattery ringing in her ears along with her own embarrassingly thunderous pulse. Shosh squeezed her thighs together, straining to focus her attention that was being drawn into the heady orbit of the vampire beside her instead on the very funny mental image of Cass as a kid obsessed with Japanese trading cards. “Pokemon?” Shosh teased wryly.
Shosh could think of nothing in the entire world she wanted less than for Verlie Redlocke to leave the room. “I…” she said, grasping for something smooth and impressive to say, but Cass was already ushering them up and out of the music room before Shosh could even fully process the implications of what was happening, here. It was strange, being in the presence of two supernatural Beings that knew each other so well, they could have a whole conversation in the span of Shoshana forming a single thought; like Shosh was in a bubble where time lagged just a little bit slower, just trying to keep up as things played out on the other side. She got up and followed Cass and Verlie out like she was walking through a dreamscape.
And she didn’t really snap-to until they were stood outside in the hall, and Cass was saying something to her. Shosh blinked at him for a moment, then shook her head, yanking herself out of the daze enough to smile at her friend, reach out and take him by the hands before he could slink off into whatever dark corner her was clearly already fantasizing about retreating into. “I’d love that, seriously. I’ll talk to Rhett.”
Cass nodded, and made to pull away, but Shosh held on firmly until he begrudgingly met her gaze again. “And, hey—are you okay, with me, like…hanging out with her? Because I really don’t want to fuck things up with us again, Cass, and if I’m breaking some sort of rule or code or something here you have to tell me—"
He squirmed in clear discomfort at being put on the spot, averting his gaze and shrugging as he mumbled, “S’fine Shosh, you should do what you want…”
Shosh let go of his hands, and waited for him to say more, but he didn’t; he gave her one last look that was sort of apologetic and also annoyed, and then he nodded at Verlie, and then he left.
So Shosh steeled herself, biting down on her lip before she turned to once again face Verlie Redlocke.
She was slightly more prepared, this time, to take in the sight of the vampire standing before her; but even so, Verlie’s otherworldly beauty was staggering, enough to knock Shosh’s heart to life inside her chest. It thumped a steady metronome beat and she took a step forward and said with all the temerity she could muster, “I’d still be glad to play for you, if you want? Henry’s old piano is in the—in my room…”
Shosh led the vampire down the familiar path to the room Henry had designed just for her, not realizing until they were stood in front of the door just how deeply she’d longed to be back in it. She swallowed, and tapped the ancient door handle with her wand, after which the door swung open. She stepped inside and had to blink a few times, all fluttering lashes, to keep tears from pooling in her eyes; the room was entirely untouched, exactly the way Shosh had left it. It even still faintly smelled of the rosewater that Shosh used to draw her baths.
She turned to face Verlie expectantly and was confused to see the vampire still waiting on the hall-side of the open door frame. “Oh, sorry, are you—are you not able to come in?” A fresh swell of affection rose up within Shoshana as it dawned on her that it wasn’t because of some obligatory sense of respect or mourning or proprietary donor-switching etiquette that no one had come into this room since she’d left; it was because Henry had, somehow, put the room in Shosh’s name, given her real ownership of this space within his magnificent, historic home.
Which meant that no vampire could enter this room without Shosh’s invitation.
Nerves fluttering, but still full of resolve, Shosh sauntered back toward the door and said in a voice that was rich like the thrum of a cello, “Verlie Redlocke…would you like to come into my room?”
@verlie-redlocke
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Verlie felt a little twinge of bad feeling at Cass’s face, had she mucked things up. Shosh certainty worried about it. She hated worrying pretty pets and impertinant cousins. But Cass seemed to have calmed, his eyes meeting hers, and waved them off. So Verlie relaxed, she trusted Cass would tell her if there was really a problem with her taking Shosh for herself in this way, and she trusted herself to stop the moment he asked if it was a true feeling. She loved him too much to break it over a gorgeous creature... but as she watched Shosh open the door and realize that indeed Halestorm had handed over property rights over these four corners and lavatory to her she was struck by the utterly human reaction in her eyes, the lightest of tremble in her fingers, the soft pool of tears beneath brown eyes that were as comforting as the chocolate Verlie grew up being unable to have to keep her figure.
Verlie was struck by the sudden urge to cup Shosh’s face, to wipe away those tears and impart soothing coos and soft assurances. It made her insides squirm in a way they never had as a human - disgusting. Verlie shoved those soft insistencies away, and focused instead on the doorway she was scant but a few inches from, unable to cross. Unwilling to press her charm onto Shosh. She’d walk away right now if Shosh changed her mind. See her for breakfast in the morning and be normal, act as if she hadn’t Hunted her the night before, commented on the radio and yelled as Cass to wash his hair. Verlie, for all her garish tenencies and proclivity for taking what she pleased, would never stoop so low as to force someone to let her have them. Not like they did to her. No, Verlie needed Shosh enthusiasm and willing.
For a second, Verlie thought Shosh changed her mind, and readied herself to gracefully bow out.
“Verlie Redlocke…would you like to come into my room?”
That was all the assurance the vampire needed, the chains before the door unlocking, barrier ceasing to exist as Verlie stepped into the room, and closer to Shosh, her heels clicking on the floor as she reached a hand out to drag a single nail over the apple of her cheek.
“Oh my bunny, you invited a hunter inside?” she tsked gently, cracking a tiny joking smile, let her knuckle continue to sooth her soft skin. “It’s lovely in here, really.” With a wave of her hand, and a focused slit between her brows the door shut - slowly - with the last dredges of her magic retained from her mortality. Vampire magic not quite making itself known or useful to Verlie in the early stages of the eternal.
“Do you want to play for me, or with me?” Verlie let her finger drag over the dip in her chin, then down to her neck where the girl’s breath was stuttering. Such a pretty neck, so slim, Verlie could see gold around that neck, see it glittering with diamonds or studded with emeralds or rubies, no slim bands of leather and silly iron heart - no a pet this divine deserved to be dripping in diamonds and splayed out on silk. “We can do either, or both, or neither or something else entirely. Anything you want my pet and I’ll give it to you.” She had the funds, and the resources. “Did you want me to nibble your throat, sink my teeth in and suck a little while you sit on my lap? You can play piano, I’ll sit right next to you and if you play nice enough I’ll slip a hand beneath your cute little skirt, I’d be so gentle... and sweet...” Verlie walked forward, and Shosh moved back until her knees hit the piano bench, and Verlie with a single finger on her throat pushed her to sit. “I can play rough too pet... or you can play me a song and I’ll go to bed. Whatever you want I’ll provide, if you just tell me and say yes. I’d like to hear it outloud.”
Shosh, who was not blessed with superhuman senses, didn’t hear the front door open. She frowned when Cass suddenly stopped playing, and was about to ask what was wrong when an unfamiliar voice rang out from downstairs.
She didn’t have time to question that, either, before the music room door was flung open and Shosh was staring up into the eyes of what was, quite possibly, the single most resplendently beautiful creature she had ever seen.
The woman, the stranger, knocked all the breath out of Shoshana and she was so absolutely transfixed on watching the vampire as she glided across the room toward Shosh that she didn’t follow the rapid exchange between her and Cass, didn’t really register the comment about being hunted—though even if she had, would Shosh have cared?
The woman bowed before Shosh like a fucking Jane Austen suitor asking her to dance, and Shosh’s insides coiled. A glow of warm pink tint climbed up her chest, her neck, tickling her ears and washing over her cheeks like spilled rose bathwater. Shosh couldn’t seem to draw her eyes away from the woman’s mouth as it pressed a kiss to the back of Shosh’s hand, her pulse thumping heavily at her wrist. ‘Pretty pet…’—the words knotted around her consciousness like a sheet of fine silk.
She released Shosh’s hand and it floated back to rest on her lap. An artist, yes, Shosh was an artist; why was she finding it so impossible to say that? Shosh shook her head, dragging herself out of the very embarrassing haze—like she didn’t spend basically all her time around vampires and really had no excuse for acting this way, god—enough to say, “Don’t…be rude, Cass. Your cousin, or—whatever, is—more than welcome to stay…” She looked back at the vampire—Verlie—and said, “I’m Shoshana…Edelman. I’m…” She glanced down at her hands, fidgeting them together, and then finished with an impulsive flourish of boldness, “…I’m a pianist. And I can assure you that I am the finest.”
@verlie-redlocke·
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If Verlie were human then she might’ve blushed, might’ve shown on her face that she had become starstruck. Pesky human emotions, terribly human moments flashed into her brain - she’d seen her. Seen this precious pet a thousand years ago in a different body, in a different time, had focused on her music and hands and the stage while floating between extreme euphoria and constant pain.
“Shoshana Edelman,” Verlie whispered, the name rolling off her tongue like she might’ve uttered an angel’s, and took her hand again - such lovely talented hands. She had never committed the act of worship in her life, higher beings didn’t care or know about their possible creations on Earth and Verlie never had a need to pray. Especially once she granted herself autonomy. But, in her previous existence, Verlie knew Shoshana as a glimmer of heavenly light between blooded nights and blissed out moments in bed. “I know you only as the finest to have set forth on ivory keys,” Verlie pointedly ignored Cass, her eyes burning as she hovered over the young woman, “I’d be honored to sit in your presence while you play.”
Verlie sat beside the her, and glared at her cousin, “So what if I’m hungry, my date was a total addict no way was I going to put my mouth on that!” Verlie huffed, and cracked her neck. “God you’re a pain. Forget bloodsucker you’re a funsucker.” Verlie stuck a tongue out at him, a play at a childishness she’d never had. “See, she said I can stay. Besides why are you acting like I’m not going to Hunt this marvelous creature beside me! I have a proclivity for beauty, you know this. I will not apologize for my nature cousin, nor will I be reduced to ‘family friend’. I’ve known you since you were a baby, you slept on my lap, cuddled in my bed, had me play Pokemon with you. We’re blood in everyway that matters Cassius.”
But, her cousin did have a point. She was hunting Shosh, she was starving, and she was being far too desperate to have this girl in her lap and sucking her dry. The vampire, in her short undead life, had always chosen honesty with her potential meals and bloodbags, a courtesy she’d never been given as she was spun from one hungry mouth to another starving mouth. Verlie a carousel fixture to be ridden for galleons and sickles.
So, Verlie turned to Shosh, “He’s right, I am Hunting you pet. But say the word and I’ll be out this room. I understand how... difficult a position I have thrust you into. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, or feel that you must entertain me.”
A doe-eyed bloodbag turned predator its a gamble which side of her you’ll get – the hedonistic and indulgent Vampire or the charming and suave Socialite?
Name: Verlie Redlocke
Birth: March 10th, 1996 in Cardiff, Wales
Nationality: British
Species: Vampire (turned; former pureblood witch)
Gender: Cis woman
Pronouns: She/her
Disciplines: Vampiric Abilities, Illusion Magic
Faceclaim: Natalia Dyer
Currently
Residence: Redlocke Townhouse, London, England
Occupation: Redlocke Publicist; Freelance Photographer
Affiliations: Redlocke Fine Blood Wine & Liquor
Connections: Cassius Halestorm (adopted cousin), Sascha Holbein (ally on the Central European Vampire Council)
Having Shosh in his music room, after so long without her, felt sacrilegious. It wasn’t like they hadn’t spent hours upon hours together in there, before, but now it was just… Strange. Not bad, just strange.
He tried to warm his muscles up to the idea by running his fingers over the base of each guitar hanging on his wall, before settling on a dark wood, classical acoustic guitar. Good for finger picking. As Cass fit the strap on his shoulder, and tuned up, he bobbed his head to Shosh’s arrangement, turning to watch her with a half-smile. Finally, he pulled up a chair for himself, then sat, dusting his fingers over the strings.
And for once, Cass was at a loss with what to play. He frowned, sliding his hand up and down the neck of the guitar, before eventually dropping his head to watch his own fingers work: Plucking the melody to the same song that Shosh had been playing. He had no other ideas. It was nothing flashy, nothing he’d spent hours working on. He just played for lack of a more compelling option.
When he got to the chorus, he sighed, leaning down to scrape up a capo from the floor. Cass clamped it to the top of his guitar and then rested his chin in his palm, elbow pressed into its body. “… It just hasn’t been the same without you and Rhett. Playing, y’know? When Roz showed me what you’d played, I was so fucking jealous. ‘Cause you just picked up right where we left off.”
Vlad, he really was drunk. Unable to hold the seriousness for a second longer, his hands drifted back to their spaces on his instrument, going back to plucking away at the song.
.
Verlie was hungry, lip licking, stomach growling, craving salt on her monthlies hungry. The date hadn’t gone well, the girl that had been a potential donor wasn’t.... enough. Didn’t taste right, didn’t move right, her moans and cries were the type of pornographic that grated on Verlie’s ears. She was limp and weak and everything that reminded Verlie of herself when she did her work.
Her bloogbag cousin had recommended the girl, with her wheat hair and sunken cheeks. Already the type of gone that Verlie knew would make her fragile and weak, unwilling to participate and frankly the few sips she’d taken was enough to have the girl a babbling mess and not in a cute way.
She’d left her back at the girl’s apartment, with a brochure for rehabilitation donor programs fisted in her palm. Verlie had watched the girl cry when she exited the apartment, which sealed the deal. Not for her. Back to the hunt. The vampire hovered around the bars and clubs, not allowing anyone to touch her, hair sticking up on the back of her neck. The air was electric, and dragging her down roads and into bars, before finally, standing in an alleyway while some deadeyed girl rutted against her leg, Verlie sighed, shoved the girl away, and left alone.
The manor was quiet, and Verlie took the time to call out to Cass. There wasn’t a sound, except for a waft of music reaching down, curling around Verlie’s ears.
“Cassie? Are you up there playing like a melancholy wench moaning in the moors?” She took the stairs with the speed of her immortality, opening the music door open with a grin pulling up on her lips. “Playing the tortured artist instead of coming to the bars with me--” but Verlie stopped at the girl within the room, all smooth skin and round cheeks. Perfect for a bite. Narrow long fingers that Verlie already imagine spreading and knotting rope around her wrists. Her eyes glazed a bit, laser focusing on the flush growing up the woman’s neck, listening for the rapid pulse in her neck, and Verlie took a step forward.
“My apologies, I didn’t realize you had company Cassius, it’s very rude of me to barge in unannounced...” Verlie moved forward, her heels clicking on the wooden floors, as she took the girl’s hand with a flourished bow, “I am Verlie Redlocke my sweetness, Cassius’ most handsome cousin, and you’re a vision. I hope I did not alarm you. I would never want to scare a guest, it’s quite unbecoming of me.” She pressed a kiss to the girl’s hand, and stood back, flicking hair over her shoulder.
“Cass, where were you hiding such a pretty pet?” Her scent was divine, and Cassius needed to leave unless he wanted to watch a Feeding.
“I’m hurt that you’d keep her from me, you know I love an artist. With these hands, she must be the finest.”
[ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐊 ] ― CASS recognises VERLIE at a masquerade party
It was Bram Stoker's birthday, and the centuries-old vampire had decided to celebrate the day with a masquerade ball. Cass, who was nine years old and bored out of his mind, could not wait to go home. He spent most of the evening tucked by his father's side, as usual.
He was looking at the ground, considering the strange way his feet looked through his feathered mask, when he heard the telltale pitter-patter of a human walking into the room. Not yet fully able to maintain the decorum of his undead seniors, Cass turned around fully to see a set of Redlockes entering the ballroom.
Excited, Cass turned back to his Dad, tugging on his sleeve, "Dad-"
Henry cast him a glance but ignored him, continuing his conversation with another stuffy-looking vampire.
"Dad-" Cass pestered again.
"Cassius." His name being said was enough of a warning, Henry casting a longer gaze at his son.
Cass whined, tugging his sleeve once more, "Dad, Verlie's here, can I-"
Henry sighed, turning fully to the boy, "Go, then. But don't interrupt her if she's working." Cass didn't need to be told twice, grinning and practically tripping over himself to scurry over to her. Normally, Henry would never dare to let Cass out of his sight- but Verlie was safe. And where would he be safer than in a room full of elder vampires?
It was easy to pick her out, after all the time they spent together. And even if he hadn't spotted her, Verlie's scent was so familiar and comforting to Cass that he could've picked her a mile away. Today, Verlie was wearing a white gown, with a matching white mask. Beaming ear to ear, Cass stopped just short of her, and smiled up at her. "Hey, Verlie!"
Verlie flitted a nervous glance to the adult who was with her. The man nodded in assent, and then she seemed to visibly relax, turning back to Cass. "Hey, Cass. I like your mask."
Cass reached up to prod at the feathers, wrinkling his nose, "It's scratchy," He said, then bounced on his toes, "Do you wanna play Pokemon? I can be the Pokemon and you can be the trainer- or we can both be trainers, and the Pokemon can be imaginary. We pretend that it's there. But if I have to be the Pokemon I wanna be Wigglytuff, and you can pretend I'm blown up really, really big. But if we're both trainers then I wanna be my own trainer, his name is Rex and he's really cool, the best of all the trainers- if you're a trainer too, you can't be better than me."
Cass and Verlie chattered away about Pokemon for the rest of the evening, spending so long debating who would do what, that they ran out of time to actually play together.
tw: reluctant teenage vampire donors, general ick surrounding teenagers being fed upon, & blood.
spring before Cass goes to Hogwarts, Verlie (16) Cass (10)
Verlie laid herself down beside Cass, careful not to pant into his ear even as her limbs shook and quaked under her weight. The girl let herself settle into the blankets, curling up tight around herself, breathing out through her nose in order to stop her head from spinning.
The party had been raging, and Verlie had lost track of the laps she'd been transferred to, the arms wound around her, the tune's she'd been swayed to.
Worse still there was blood drying on her neck, soaking into the thin collar of her dress, flaking off the back of her ear, and dribbling from punctures in her cheeks.
The teenager sighed, willing the world to halt for just a moment. She wasn't entirely sure how she'd ended up at the Halestorms, only that she'd been deposited outside of Cass's door and been pushed inside. The ten-year-old was fast asleep, curled around a blanket and snoring.
Verliad lay awake, the adrenaline of the Feeding still thrumming through her used body, watching the sun slowly rise in the sliver of the blackout curtains when Cass began to wake, blinking blearily at her, rubbing away the sleep from his eyes.
He was taller, growing every week they were apart. No longer just the little boy who toddled after her and licked the blood from her forever-healing puncture wounds.
"V?" Cass's voice had the cadence of a child, and the teenager roped an arm around him, tucking his head against her neck. He could smell the blood, feel the thin dress she'd laid down in, his little fingers finding the holes and ripping, the edges stained in brown blood. It'd be thrown away by afternoon, a new one presented, a blood-replenishing potion poured down her throat as she was sent away for bathing and pampering before that night's event.
But at this moment Verlie hummed, sliding her fingers through Cass's dense curls. She didn't want to think about the party tonight, or the waltzes she'd do, the hands on her neck and opening her veins for a little taste.
She let her fingers strum notes on Cass's skull, dancing between the curls and locks, lulling him into a state of half-sleep.
"Want me to play you a song? It's too early for you to be awake." Cass nodded, still mute in the grey morning and Verlie rose from the bed, leaving stains behind as if she'd gotten her monthlies. Her bags were left outside the door, the wooden case holding a violin she'd been told to use that night though she preferred her cello or the piano.
"I went to a muggle theater last week," Verlie whispered, "and they were playing this wonderful cartoon from Japan," she settled on the edge of Cass's bed, the boy sitting up, tucking his scrawny knees to his chest, "it was about this girl who was spirited away to another world and her adventures working as an indentured slave."
The boy's eyes were wide like galleons, sparkling as she lifted the violin to her neck, testing the strings with a slide of her bow.
"I spent hours trying to find this song on that blasted Interwebs the Muggles used... but I loved the tune..." lifting the violin to her neck Verlie closed her eyes, "I think you'd love the film, Cass, there was even a train there, like the one that takes you to Hogwarts."
It'd been all he was talking about, week in and week out, Hogwarts-Hogwarts-Hogwarts. So close and yet so far, it was probably going to be the last Spring she spent with Cass
"Don't make fun of me, okay, I've only played it twice..." Verlie set her fingers on the frets and began to play.
autumn 2020
Verlie looked over the piano, it stood grand in the manor, covered in a light layer of dust. Unplayed though, as Verlie peeked into the insides, not out of tune. Verlie settled herself onto the velvet seat and opened up the keyboard, letting her fingers dance over the keys, but not touching them.
"You auditioning for the band?" Cass lounged over the edge of the stairs, swathed in a silk robe Verlie had brought him from Japan, all cherry blossoms and swirling leaves.
"As if I'd join your subpar teen bitchfest," Verlie retorted, but let her fingertips stroke the ivories, had she been human a sneeze would build in her nose. But an impermanent death meant a lack of bodily functions like breathing, though thankfully arousal still existed, the evidence of such lying a floor above her head swaddled in silk and velvet, snoozing the night away. Verlie had left the girl with bites and rope burns, but kissed away each hurt and slathered them with healing lotions, tucking her safety to bed and with assurances of her good work.
Verlie couldn't admit to loving, but she took care of her pets, and the one above her head deserved a diamond collar and nothing less than her weight in platinum.
Cass sat beside her, the arch of his back so lovely a painter might've asked for a posing shot. Each of his curls sticking out of place, his skin beset with acne from a previous binge of ice cream, but it didn't do much but highlight the excellent bone structure and how pretty his skin would be once he used the face creams she'd brought him from Paris.
"What are you going to play?" he ventured, tilting her head to her fingers still ghost dancing over the keys.
"I don't play much piano anymore."
"Doesn't mean you should not play, you sat here didn't you?"
Verlie did, and with a breath she tapped on a set of keys, the tone clear and high, ringing through the room. Carefully she picked her way through the song, the musical notes playing like a record in the back of her head, she let her eyes close, touching the ivory keys with a gentleness she'd forgotten she was able to give.
Cass let out a punch of air from his chest.
"I know this song--" Verlie shushed him, but he persisted, "You played me this, with a violin, when I was still a kid..."
So long ago, when the days blurred and time nonexistent. Verlie played through, keeping her eyes closed. The song used to play during the Feedings and dances, through the opened doors and closed blackout curtains, it sang in her brain as she was laid out on couches opening herself open with a little knife. It had rung when Cass left for Hogwarts, on a train far away, and Verlie while he'd been getting sorted was at a mixer, sitting on a stool auctioning away a bottle of her finest red, finally mature, made 5 years previously.
"It's from a film," Verlie said, "it's the Disney of Japan," she opened her eyes as the last of the notes fell off her fingertips, "I watched it a dozen times when I stayed in Tokyo, maybe a hundred." She let out a rattled breath, still instinct. "We should watch it, make it a double date?" She offered Cass a grin who stood disgusted and shaking his mane of curls.
"Oh fuck off about a date--”
Verlie snapped, "We treat our Doners well Cass, that's what makes us better. So we’ll take them on a movie date, it’s cliche, but they deserve it a bit don’t they?" Didn’t they deserve it, a touch of softness, a shred of something beyond base primal instinct to rut, orgasm and lie gasping. Beyond their own sustenance. Verlie closed the piano, dust flying up, "Go check movie times for Spirited Away, I'll charter us a jet if I have to." That bottle she'd sold at 16 cemented her promise as luxury donor, and the payouts still came, if reluctantly from the Redlocke's accounts into her own. Her blood by the barrelful, poured all over the world, the gold lining her pockets, made even more expensive by her permenant removal from the Redlocke rotation.
"I'll wake my pet, go wake your toy, we're going out."
The morning sun peaked through the windows, and Verlie tugged the blackout curtains closed with a snap.
The woman’s flawless French accent was like music to Emi’s ears, and she felt a sparkly, anticipatory feeling pop its way lightly down her poised, slightly arch-curved spine like tiny little bubbles of champagne. Oh, but this was a delightful reprieve from her boredom.
“T’as raison…” Emi agreed, the rounded corners of soft pink lips quirking up. She watched squiggly indentations form in the porcelain skin that bridged the other’s nose and it was familiar to the Veela; a conspiratorial secret held between them like a feather-light kiss whispered between girls in powder-blue nightgowns in a darkened Beauxbatons dorm room. This woman was not faking her status, Emi was pleased to discover, nor did she flaunt it; she was commanding but not cruel. People who were truly well off didn’t need to be gaudy about it, no. Class was just a way you carried yourself.
“Do you have any French Champagne? A vintage would be superb, if you have it,” Emi told the server with a tone that was sweet like Chantilly lace—knowing an order like hers would be costly, and trusting her patron to be agreeable to that fact. When they were alone once more, she turned her eyes back to the dark-haired woman opposite and hummed curiously.
“‘Redlocke’…” Emi repeated the name, her accent caressing around the vowels like warm honey. “…why does that sound familiar? Have we met before?”
.
Verlie swept some stray curls away from her forehead, she didn’t want to block the view of the blonde woman in front of her. Eyes dragging down the planes of her face and neck, even her hands were lovely with fingers that Verlie wanted to see clenching onto silk sheets in the Redlocke quarters in London. Even better with droplets of blood for her to suck and lick clean. If she were still human her heart would skip a beat, a pulse would beat a banner across her face and down her neck, flushing her idiotic and red. But immortality suited her like a bespoke dress.
“They’ll have what you want,” Verlie hummed, “I’ll pay them handsomely enough to Floo in in special if they don’t.” Verlie knew that some people had problems with money, but for all her issues the gold gleam of a galleon was more familiar than her Mother’s arms. Verlie tilted her head to the side, then back to the other, squinting at the woman across from her.
“It’s possible,” she drawled, “but somehow I don’t think I could forget a face like yours, unless of course I was blitzed out drunk, in which case. Forgive me.” She put on a pleading face and soft smile.
“But my family name you’ve probably heard, we’re a bit of a deal for the magical liquor sales.” Among other types of sales. “You’ve probably seen our labels on spirits and wines internationally, which makes the name famous even if I’m not.” The Redlocke brood didn’t grace Witch Weekly, they didn’t attend Hogwarts and stayed far from the traditional limelight of rich magical elites. But their name carried weight for those in the right circles. Verlie hoped that Emi wasn’t in the right circles.
Emilie Ayers sat alone at a wobbly Leaky Cauldron table, bobbing a heeled maryjane up and down over crossed thighs as she sipped a blood red Libertine, missing Paris. Paris was alive and teeming with colorful, vivacious magic—right out in the open, if you knew what you were looking at. Nothing like this dismal country, where magical folk hid themselves away in dark alleys and dingy, glorified cauldron cupboards masquerading as pubs. Like this lovely establishment.
Emi sighed prettily; she was also just fucking bored, to be honest. Her cousin was away on holiday with Piper’s girlfriend, and with the Supreme Mugwump election looming, Sven and Emi’s father were tied up in delegation business day in and day out. Amidst the dullness of it all, Emi had even been momentarily deranged enough to consider returning to that abominable squatter bar that Xiomara had taken her to. Quelle horreur.
Then Emi heard a voice from the corner booth that perked her interest; a woman’s voice, enticing and delicate but overlaying sharpness, like a fingertip circling the rim of a crystal glass. This voice was delectably dangerous, tout à fait. This voice could draw blood.
Intrigued, Emi turned and watched the woman savagely dismiss her would-be suitor, and Emi smirked. Impressed, she raised her thin-stemmed martini glass between French-manicured fingers in a toast of appreciation, then slunk off her barstool to acquiesce the other’s request to join her. She sat down and primly smoothed her tight tailored skirt, her eyes coy and alluring as only a Veela’s could be. “Well…my lucky day, n’est-ce pas? And what is it exactly I’ve been deemed worthy of a chance at?”
.
Verlie poured herself another glass, watching the curve of the woman’s hip and how the fabric of her skirt clung to the tops of her thighs as she sat down. The young vampire smiled, a delicate turn of her lips. The sort of smile that earned her galleons and weekends away in hunting lodges and castles. Had she been of lower class or perhaps more desperate would have licked her lips in anticipation. But Verlie had been many things in her short breathing life, and none of them were desperate so she saw no reason to play the part of a hound dog in her immortal death.
“C'est ton jour de chance, la chance c'est moi.” The ground was sticky beneath her heels and Verlie scoffed, “Though perhaps it is unlucky that we are at this bar. Hardly a fit establishment for creatures as delicate as us.” She wrinkled her nose and waved down a worker, who likely wasn’t a waiter but Verlie was hardly going to stand to get her own drink. Absurd.
The worker was at her side, face flushed, his eyes darting between Verlie and the woman seated with her. He was a young pimply thing, likely closer to the age she was frozen in, he didn’t quite know who to look at so Verlie snapped her fingers, once, then twice, the sound loud even in the dull pitching roar of a messy London bar. She needed his attention on her, not their tits, the mongrel.
“Another bottle for me, and whatever the lady wants. Oh, and buy the kitchen a round on me.” Verlie pulled from her pocket an empty check and signed her name to the bottom, leaving the numbers blank “Don’t worry about a limit, charge it to the Redlocke account at Gringotts. Fill it in when we leave.” If her family intended to drag her back to England by her throat she was going to make them pay through the nose every night she was stuck here.
