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Post by Mother of Dragons on Feb 1, 2012 16:30:54 GMT -7
“You’re a God-damned monster… Van Helsing.”
Van Helsing… the name itself brought unprecedented hope and resounding terror into the minds of both good and evil around Europe.
The monster-hunter was used to this type of stereotypical identification; whether it was a vampire, werewolf, shape-shifter, Lycan, or nameless, Godless creature, he did what he was told; kill the target to protect Christ’s world and His church (not to mention humanity itself.) He’d been doing the job for as long as he could remember, traveling slowly and quietly throughout Europe and its neighboring countries, always leaving a trail of bloody murderers and terrifying stories.
“God-damned” seemed to be the correct term; after all, these monsters were people at one point in their lives, changed for whatever reason fate saw fit. In the eyes of the Vatican, he was a holy warrior, a hero of the church and its people. To the rest of the world…
Van Helsing would have responded to the vampire in front of him, but he didn’t see the point; he had hunted down the woman, captured her, tortured her for information, tied her to the cross-shaped stake she now hung limply on, three feet above the ground, and stood facing her now. Southern Transylvania was such a dreary, ugly, useless place; with so few villages and towns to be found, it was a breeding-ground for Godless creatures that defied the divine laws of Christ and murdered innocent people.
He wasn’t surprised she knew his name; his face and reputation preceded him for hundreds of miles in every direction, to both the living and the undead, but he still lowered his head when the word “monster” came out of her mouth. The brim of his hat shielded his eyes from the vampire for a moment. No, he did not want to ask her how she came to be this way; he had no curiosity past the questions the Vatican asked him to use. The rude retorts were normal; hell, if I was about to die, I’d be pissed enough to call names, and more. If only the damned sun would rise and come out from behind the cloud cover, I could be on my way back to Rome.
“This isn’t over,” the woman snapped at him when Van Helsing didn’t respond. Her extremely white skin was bruised and torn on her arms and legs where he’d bound her with holy water-drenched bonds. He continued to keep his gaze down, turning slightly so he could look up at the early morning sky and not maintain any eye contact with the vampire. Normally, he would have left by now, knowing that a weaker, basic creature like this woman would not escape before the sun came up. The Vatican, however, had ordered direct confirmation of this vampire’s death.
“Gabriel. Listen to me.”
Van Helsing blinked, slowly looking toward the woman. Where have I heard that name before? A dream… from my past? I have no idea where I came from before this life; the Catholic church saved me and gave me this job, my destiny. I am Van Helsing. Why, then, does the name Gabriel make me feel… incomplete?
“Burn in hell,” he muttered, returning his gaze to the sky. The sun was finally beginning to cast its light on this sad, condemned area of the world; blacks shifted to sickly greys with no sign of color in the sunrise. Van Helsing took a few steps away from the woman, not wanting to be around when she screamed her life away; he’d come back for the ashes in an hour or so for his… confirmation.
Think about your actions; this world is not so black and white. Do you not understand, Gabriel? You’re on the wrong side of this war. You are killing your own soul by following these mindless orders. Free yourself. Think. Find the others; the Brat Prince… the Night Class students… the Lost Frenchwoman... the Dunpeal Hunter… the Monk of Christ… the Italian Goddess… the Ancient Princess... the Queen of Glamours… find them and discover yourself.
Van Helsing had a small, sharp throwing knife again the woman’s throat in a third of a second. She flinched, causing the blade to cut a new, deep gash to the left of her windpipe. Usually the vampire hunter was much more protective of his mind, using the techniques the monks at the Vatican taught him over the years to prevent any of the monsters he hunted from infiltrating his mind. Is this why the church needed me to proceed with caution against such a basic vampire as this woman? Her voice in my mind was as clear as when she’d spoken “Gabriel” aloud. What’s more important, though, is what she… said in my mind. I don’t understand.
“Explain,” he snarled, his tone dangerous despite the fact that he was practically whispering. The vampire merely smiled at him, not bothering to shift her head away from his knife anymore; the sun was coming out and morning was approaching quickly… and she was beginning to sweat small, red-stained droplets on her forehead and upper lip. He let the girl go, sheathing the small blade on his belt after wiping the small amount of blood off on his leather boot’s side. The sun burst forward faster than he expected; suddenly, they were both bathed in bright, sweet, morning sunshine. Van Helsing only blinked, but the woman let out a shriek, shutting her eyes and lowering her chin to her chest to protect her face. The vampire hunter stepped back, watching as the woman’s skin began to char almost instantly in front of his eyes; her exposed arms, legs, and head combusted, launching flakes of burnt flesh, sections of flaming hair, and gouts of blood in every direction. Van Helsing grimaced only slightly and turned away, stepping yards away from the flaming vampire. Her other-worldly cries of agony only echoed in his ears for a few seconds; once the fire reached the vampire’s brain, the woman fell limp in her bonds, a putrid smoke now filling the air. He was used to scenes like this, and often said a prayer of gratitude afterward for how quickly the process seemed to be. This time, however, the woman’s words still clung to his mind as he pulled a phial out of his jacket pocket and stooped in front of the vampire’s body to collect ashes:
Free yourself. Think. Find the others; the Brat Prince… the Night Class students… the Lost Frenchwoman... the Monk of Christ… the Italian Goddess… the Ancient Princess... the Queen of Glamours… find them and discover yourself.
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“This world is a revolting place. All the people here are cynical, rude, selfish pricks that serve no real, higher purpose. Thank the devil or whoever that the planet has been gifted with an amazingly beautiful, intelligent, angelic creature such as myself!”
Lestat sat in his little apartment, speaking quietly to himself, a small, sweet smile on his face. He was used to being alone at this point, and just talking aloud was not really something he was even conscious of anymore. The main room of the loft he sat in was as exquisite as any of his homes in the last few hundred years: perfect, old-fashioned furnishing, gilded bedspreads, curtains, rugs, and all accessories such as glassware, candle-holders, and tables were polished to a blinding shine. Yes, the Brat Prince loved his things, beyond belief and normal mortal comprehension, and yes, it did make him feel wonderful. Wonderful? Yes. Complete? No.
His clothing was just as heart-stopping: the classic, flashy, French wardrobe that he donned despite the changes in fashion over the countless decades, still fit his character as if it were tailored specifically for him: his boots were made of the finest leather, tanned and died black with silver buckles running up either side. His skinny, fitted, dark navy pants met up with an embellished, golden belt behind which was tucked a flawless white tunic with laced sleeves and collar. The tunic was covered with one of his favorite vests, an old piece of French work that he treasured: a beautiful baby blue fabric trimmed in hand-sewn silver brocade accompanied with gold and navy embroidery along the front, sides, and back. Lestat wore little to no jewelry, though he owned more than enough. His hair stayed exactly as it had when he was Turned: white-blonde, waving, shining, shoulder-length locks that were as soft and luscious as they looked. His blue-grey eyes were focused on the fireplace in the wall across from him, and he let out a small sigh. The sound was soft, sensual, and nonchalant, just like the entire man himself.
“Oh, Louis,” he murmured, lowering his voice to a sweet, caramel-like tone. “How things have changed since we went our separate ways. Well, you… you wouldn’t know what I’m talking about, would you, love?”
Lestat looked down at the woman on the couch next to him. For someone about to die, her body language was extremely calm: she wasn’t restrained in any way, but the look of complete terror was clear on her face; her baby blue dress was not damaged in any way, the white lace sleeves, collar, and trimmed edges almost shining with their pureness and innocence in the candlelight. Her dark auburn hair was curled and pulled back in an intricate bun at the back of her head. Overall, the young woman looked ready for a fine evening party… except for the horrified expression on her face and in her eyes.
“Nothing to say, lovely?” Lestat prompted sweetly when the woman didn’t answer. He sighed, doubting she was able to. They were all the same nowadays; stunningly beautiful, amazingly dressed, extremely quiet, very, very... boring. Catching his prey was so simple; he used to have to bind, gag, and retrain them as they kicked and screamed and begged for life. He loved it; every damn minute of it, from their weeping tears to the amazingly soft, succulent taste of their skin in his mouth as his bit them. A shiver ran down Lestat’s spine as he thought about it.
“You mustn’t be so frightened, you know. It won’t be as awful as you think; you’re trembling, you’re covered in goose-bumps, your heart is racing… it’s so enticing. How could you not be happy right now?”
Lestat put a hand up to the girl’s arm, trailing the back of his fingers from the top of her shoulder down to her wrist. Through the silky fabric of her dress he could feel her muscles tighten like iron cords, but he knew his Gift would hold her still no matter how scared she was. A small, seductive smirk rose on Lestat’s face now, lifting one of the corners into an almost friendly grin. He turned his hand over, drifting his fingers back up her arm and to the back of her neck. His smirk rose further when she shut her eyes, seeming to enjoy the touch of his cold hands despite how terrified she was. Lestat worked his fingers slowly into the hair at the back of her neck, loosening her bun of curls just slightly.
“Do you want to know how I keep life so… exhilarating?” he whispered in her ear, softly blowing a loose curl off her cheek. The young woman still said nothing, completely limp on the sofa, her eyes closed, her brow furrowed with fear, dotted in sweat. “It’s as simple as enjoying the Dark Gift, love; despite what you may think I didn’t choose you for any reason. I kill indesciriminately, just like the “god” you people believe in. Only he doesn’t have the impeccable sense of style I do!” He paused to chuckle, the sound a sweet, smooth croon that would have made any sober, strong-headed man or woman smile along with the Brat Prince.
“I'm simply Gentleman Death…” he murmured, pulling his index and middle finger out of her hair, breaking apart her pinned bun.
“… in silk and lace…” Lestat continued, yanking free his remaining fingers more harshly, the young woman’s hair falling down around her shoulders. He exhaled on her neck, nuzzling the curls out of the way of her bare skin.
“… come to put out the candle,” he finished, barely in an audible voice, and carefully trailed the tips of his fangs along her neck, scratching her just enough to make her bleed. Lestat was frustrated even further when she gave no reaction to the pain at all. Rolling his eyes slightly, he sank his teeth completely into her skin, letting her blood flow like thick, liquid happiness down his throat. Every time, it never got old; the blood was like a glimpse of what life could have been if his path had stayed along the good, mortal trail. The world would have been less-harsh, his family would have been better off, so many wouldn’t have been harmed because of his hands and his foolishness...
But all those “would have’s…” don’t really matter.
He finished a moment later, exhaling and letting the girl fall limp and lifeless next to him on the sofa, slumped over, her pinned curls deflated and ruined. Lestat gently wiped the corners of his mouth with his thumb, slowly licking off the red a moment later.
“And to think,” he began, leaning back and nudging the girl’s body not-so-gently off the sofa with his boot’s toe till she hit the carpeted floor with a dull thump, “I wasn’t even that hungry.”
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Post by Armored Soul on Feb 2, 2012 15:04:40 GMT -7
"She's pretty, isn't she, Akatsuki?" Aidou mused over the woman in his arms. He had picked her out for the both of them himself, but Kain was refusing to take part in his cousin's antics. Aidou never liked how bland the taller vampire was when he ate. There was no ceremony to him at all, no fun. Aidou liked to admire his victims, especially the women; it was rare for him to go after men anyway. He already had the one man he wanted.
"You'd best hurry before the sun comes up," Kain chastised, his arms folded over his chest. As usual, his expression didn't show very much emotion. The confused and frightened look on the young woman's face was nothing new. Kain and Aidou had both seen it many, many times; and it didn't bother either anymore. In fact, Aidou kind of liked it.
But Kain was surprised that Aidou chose an outdoor setting for the night. Since he liked to flirt and take his time, Kain usually insisted they feed indoors. Despite having control of fire, Kain was no exception to the devastating power of the sun. He wouldn't take his cousin's fun away, but he would place them in a safer setting. So how had they ended up in this dank forest?
"Awww! Akatsukiii!" Aidou whined. He appreciated Kain's concern but it was still a downer on the mood. He wasn't done flirting yet; even if the woman wasn't paying attention to it. He was off his game tonight. Usually he'd have them swooning in his arms. But he wasn't exactly giving it his all either. The way Kain looked in the moonlight, all broody and such, was quite the distraction.
Aidou's electric blue eyes blazed a bright red as his cared-for fangs sunk into the woman's wrist. She cried out and tried to twist away, but Aidou wasn't about to let go. He released her wrist and looked into her eyes, delicately licking the blood from his lips. A concealed shiver passed through his lithe frame. He couldn't get enough of that taste.
"Wh-why?" The disoriented woman couldn't get the question out without stuttering.
"Because," Aidou grinned and kissed her neck before licking the spot. "I'm a vampire."
Kain sighed, watching Aidou drain the woman. He never was any less irritated each time Aidou made that proclamation. Neither cared much of their human lives, but Aidou was much more open about his joy of being a vampire. He wasn't monstrous about it though; Aidou always had that aristocratic air to him, even if he was a complete goof most of the time. Kain somehow liked the way Aidou was gentle with the dead woman as he lay her against a tree and fixed her hair and dress. Aidou pressed his hand against the blood on the woman's neck and the sauntered over to Kain.
"Oops!" The blonde grinned as he held out his hand. This was his favorite part. "I got dirty. Clean it for me?"
"Don't be so careless," Kain sighed softly and took his cousin's small hand and raised it to his lips, flicking his tongue along the fingertips. He smirked at the way Aidou's eyes snapped back to blue. He licked the slightly tensed palm and didn't let up until it was completely clean of blood.
"Thank you," Aidou cooed and bounced away. "Let's find somewhere to sleep!"
Kain licked his lips and followed, his expression back to blank. If he was lucky, Aidou would find somewhere nice. Perhaps with only one bed.
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"Hey, Akatsuki," Aidou began, sitting on the bed of the free room he'd gotten the two of them at a nice inn by "chatting" with the inn's owner.
"What is it?" Kain shut the window and covered it. He pulled the bed, with Aidou on it, futher away from the window.
"You never answered my question earlier," Aidou pat the space on the bed next to him. He really was curious to know what went on in Kain's head. Aidou was no good at reading expressions and he didn't have Kain's gift of feeling emotions. So the two had learned to be very open with each other. They had no secrets of any kind.
"I didn't find her to be pretty," Kain answered. He watched Aidou's smile grow and nearly smiled himself from the overwhelming feeling of happiness coming from the blonde. Aidou was very easy to please. And, likewise, very difficult to displease. It was rare when Kain would see Aidou frown of act upset. He gave in and sat next to Aidou on the bed. "Her hair was too blonde."
"My hair's blonde," Aidou objected, flopping on his back.
"Don't you ever want a coffin?" Kain had to ask. It may have seemed to come from nowhere, but Kain still gave thought to the idea of them sharing a coffin. Aidou had always refused one. He had been spoiled as an aristocrat, and he still loved large, soft beds.
"Noooo," Aidou rejected the idea for the hundredth time. "This is so much better."
Kain laid down and pulled his cousin close, unable to not feel what it was Aidou wanted. "I'll make you try it one day. We'll be even closer than this." His eyes closed as the sun rose. Twelve hours from now, it would be gone again. Aidou would most likely sleep all twelve unless Kain woke him. And Kain would only nap, spending the rest of the time watching Aidou.
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Post by Princess Of Hearts on Feb 2, 2012 16:47:15 GMT -7
Jinx slammed her cup down upside down on the bar, indicating she’d emptied another shot. Her sly grin portrayed only a hint of the alcohol she’d consumed in the past evening. The man she was in a contest with, on the other hand, fell right over and landed unconscious on the floor.
“Aha! Pay up.” She demanded in a slightly slurred town. She wobbled on her seat but kept her balance long enough to take the local bar members’ money. Then she nearly toppled, was caught in someone’s arms and slowly released. “Ooh, why thank you.” She cheekily winked at the man who had caught her. Her hands brushed his chest and maybe the liquor was really starting to get to her: she let her glamour drop just enough so he felt the striking cold of her fingers. She saw the shiver run over his body and knew what he was thinking: She feels like a corpse. She sobered a little at this and smiled again only to push away from the man and make her way to her room. He might even follow and give her a good meal if he still believed what she’d spent all night pretending.
Jinx wasn’t really affected by alcohol, or at least not very much. But after a night of winning drinking contests it would seem very out of place to walk out sober. And out of place was the one thing Jinx never was; she could easily blend into any persona or crowd she wanted thanks to her skill with her Dark Gift. Last night the crowd she’d blended into was a bunch of drunks. But now the morning sun was rising and the crowd was heading for home. She could only hope the man who’d caught her would follow her cute “drunk” tooshie upstairs so she could get an easy meal before moving on the next evening.
Moving on was the other skill Jinx possessed. She didn’t stick around anywhere for anyone—not that anyone had asked. And it was time to move on again. To a town or city or farm or ditch. Where wasn’t important. She just had to keep moving. Keep moving…
“What are you moving from? Or is it towards? Are you looking for something? Or running away?” This question was one Jinx tried not to ask herself. She just kept moving, kept hiding, and—
A knock came at her rented room’s door. She could already smell the alcohol, sweat, lust, and other male human scents through the door. The man had indeed followed and what a treat he would be!------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Carl snored carelessly at his work station. He was a monk and he spent a good deal of his time studying and a lot more of his time inventing. He built weapons and traps and devices of the most intricate and explosive nature. Why would a monk be interested in such objects? Well for one, it meant he had more to do than those muttering guys who just read their books and never looked up. But more importantly he was helping in the war against the monsters and demons who threatened the holy way of life. These inventions of his were to be used against those creatures from hell that weren’t affected by plain old bullets and arrows. He invented cross bows with enough force to pull off a werewolf’s leg, bombs that fired silver shrapnel and sprayed holy water, smoke bombs that hid the scent and heat of the human behind it. He used the growing knowledge of these creatures to create weapons against them so that the guys in the field could kill them easily and effectively.
He did all this… when he wasn’t sleeping. But he’d been up for hours researching and brainstorming. So now he was snoring on his books and tools, dreaming of being in the field himself. It wasn’t exactly a happy dream. He was a monk after all; made for inventing and reading… not for fighting hell bound creatures of the night.
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Post by Mother of Dragons on Feb 2, 2012 20:06:02 GMT -7
Van Helsing found that walking back to the small, secluded village he’d set off from just after midnight took a lot longer than before. Yes, he’d spoken to the creatures he killed for a living, but never had they known something about him. It’s no shock I could be well-known in their world, but details about my past? A prediction of the future? I’ve never heard of vampires being prophets.
He sighed, walking up to the inn’s front door as the sun outside finally reached its peak in the sky. Had it really taken him that long to return here, so caught up in his thoughts, oddly enough, memorizing the words the vampire had said before she’d turned painfully to dust? Either way, he shook off the ideas; all Van Helsing needed to do was sit down, rest, and report back to the Vatican if new orders hadn’t already arrived for him.
Entering the inn, the hunter looked around and found a table with a single chair in the back corner. Anyone near him instantly moved away, whispering in frightened tones to each other. He barely noticed. Sitting in the chair, Van Helsing tilted his hat forward, covering his eyes and the top of his nose. He kicked his feet up on the table, stretching back and removing his throwing knife from his belt, Van Helsing commenced to properly clean the blade. His holy water-infused cleaning cloth wiped away any stain of vampiric blood, but the woman’s words still stuck with him: The Brat Prince… is that a man from a royal family? The Night Class students… kids? From a religious group, maybe? The Dunpeal Hunter… another hunter, huh? I’ll have to ask the monks what “Dunpeal” means… The Death Dealer… that doesn’t sound like someone I’d want as my enemy. The Hemophage… another new word for me. The Monk of Christ… a monk that goes out into the field? I don’t think so. The Italian Goddess… nor do I want to fight with a woman, Italian or not… The Queen of Glamours… seems to imply witchcraft or something, which I know nothing about…
“Dammit,” Van Helsing swore under his breath, jamming the tip of his knife into the tabletop, the sound extremely loud in the quiet inn. Upstairs, he heard the faint sound of a door being knocked on. Suddenly, he saw a pair of dirty, worn boots in front of him. Van Helsing slowly turned his gaze upward toward the bartender, standing at a good distance from him.
Van Helsing looked at the man, waiting for him to speak. Instead, the bartender quickly held out a battered brown package wrapped in twine. The hunter took it, turned the package over, and immediately saw the wax seal of the church.
“Must be an important thing,” the bartender spoke quickly, not looking at Van Helsing. “The man who brought it gave me quite an unholy amount of gold to make sure you got that little thing.”
Van Helsing gave the man a hard look, and the bartender scurried away. He opened the package slowly, finding a small, crisp white envelope inside. Within that was a folded sheet of thick paper wrapped in a blood-red ribbon.
“Over-kill,” he muttered, tearing the ribbon off and opening the letter. The church sure makes a big deal about nothing. This first paper is a notice… about me receiving new equipment. But it’s being brought here to me since my next mission is very close my current one? What the hell is this? A monk will soon be notified of this and sent my way? How odd. They must have something new.
He didn’t open the second part of the letter, though; Van Helsing knew it was his next mission, and right now, he wasn’t ready to open it or read it. Instead, his mind reverted back to thinking on the vampire’s words.
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Lestat awoke from his sated daze a few hours later; after discarding the woman on the floor, he’d curled up on his large, deep, velvet-cushioned sofa like a golden, sleepy cat, falling into a dream-like state as he let his mind wander back centuries to one of his favorite moments in his immortal and mortal life so far:
The night I met Louis was so perfect; I was a wanderer back then, moving from place to place, vaguely keeping in touch with another immortal, and… all of a sudden, there he was. A brilliant angel of sorrow, somehow lighting up my bleak, blackened soul.
I was on a balcony above him, situated carelessly among the stinking, drinking mortals on the second level of some shithouse of an inn. I could feel his anger, his agony, practically warm, liquid honey all over my mouth. He made me want him, adore him, hate him, and love him before we even made eye contact. I needed to know why he was so… suicidal; does he really want death that badly?
The Brat Prince stretched dramatically, arching his arms behind his head and rolling his neck. He rose and walked to the opposite side of the room, opening the curtains and stepping out onto his little alcove. Below him, still inside the main building, was an open seating area with a bar at one end with tables and chairs covering most of the floor. The place was only half full now, however, mostly people getting a head-start on their evening drinking and villagers trying to stay out of the hot midday sun. Lestat lazily rested his chin in his right palm, gazing over the individuals below him.
His nose twitched a moment later when his gaze drifted over the back of a young woman’s head, covered in short, layered, dark hair. He focused curiously on her, waiting for the lady to turn around. From the way she’s sitting, shifting her legs slightly, tension in her hands and shoulders… she’s not from here, nor is she comfortable. Now why would—
He cut off his own thought when the girl finally turned her head around, obviously checking if anyone was watching her. Even though she wasn't looking at him, didn't even know he was there, he could still feel something familiar in her, almost like that night in France so many years ago... The coincidence of the situation can’t be denied: she’s a baby. Interesting… Yet I can feel her vengeance a mile away... such a strong tendency toward death, and turned at such a lovely time in life... She’s a young one judging by the fact that she doesn’t have a very good sleep schedule, being so near the hot, burning sun in the middle of the day… but where is her maker? Is she… alone?
Lestat smirked against his own palm, slightly amused by his own thoughts. The poor thing… I wonder, though… He sat up a little, focusing on the girl:
Hey there, beautiful. Watch how close you lean your pretty arm toward that patch of sunlight; I’d hate to see you burn up so soon.
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Post by Armored Soul on Feb 2, 2012 21:08:26 GMT -7
Astrid hung her tan cloak over her arm, frustrated at the heat of the day. She'd picked a bad place to take a break from her travels. There was almost no shade for her to walk around in. She hated this. But even after being burned several times, she still tried to be in the sunlight. She missed the feeling very much. She took a look over her shoulder to be sure no one was staring at her and then casually, or what she thought to be casually, leaned her shoulder near the sunlight. Instantly, she flinched away with a soft, angry hiss and put her coat over her shoulder to hide the burnt skin.
Dammit, She cursed sightly, stood, and placed her coat on properly. At this point, going back the path of shadows she came on seemed like the best idea. But that wasn't where she wanted to go. And she lived by no rules, so she should do whatever she wanted. And she wanted to go directly across the way to the bar. She wanted to have a drink, dammit, and the sun was in the way. Supposedly, she could just wait until nighttime to have her first drink, but she'd grown curious and simply couldn't find a sufficient distraction to keep her occupied. But now she was just frustrated.
Astrid paced where she was, gripping her coat tighter to her and glaring at the ground. Finally, she gave up and turned on her heel, walking out of the town to find something to do until nightfall when she could wander wherever she pleased. She silently cursed the sun again as she blew a strand of her layered, tousled hair out of her face. On her way, she eyed a man who seemed to be alone. Then she shook her head and bit her lip, forcing herself to walk faster.[/size]
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Post by Mother of Dragons on Feb 3, 2012 10:36:21 GMT -7
Van Helsing reached into his trench coat to pull out a flask. Unscrewing the cap slowly, he took several long drinks before putting it away again. He had a lot of thinking to do; he figured later on during the day, probably in the evening, he would open the package that contained the details of his next mission. If it was close by, he could take his time. This stuff wears me out sometimes... plus, I have a feeling that the vampire woman spoke to me hear and now not because I had hunted her down and destroyed her, but because... the people in her prophecy are close by as well. Maybe... just maybe... I can convince this monk coming with my new equipment to tell me anything he knows about... Dunpeals or Hemophages.
He gazed around the small barroom, still seeing no one of interest. Van Helsing decided to wait until the sun began to set before going out and pursuing his insane idea of actually listening to the dead vampire's suggestions. Would these other people know more about his past, too... somehow? He didn't know, but going out and blinding searching for deadly, nonhuman creatures in dangerous back-country in the night did give him a little thrill.- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - Lestat tried not to laugh aloud at the young vampire; at the same time, she makes me want to cry... how odd. Is she just stupid... or that desperate to move during the day? Is someone hunting her, I wonder? Damn it, Louis... now I'm all curious. You'd tell me to let her go, that I'm not everyone's savior.
"Because everyone I try to save dies," he muttered aloud against his palm. "But!" he added to himself, standing and twisting a piece of his hair between his slender, long fingers. "She may know who I am; the Brat Prince is famous among the younger ones these days, right? Everyone has to at least heard of me!"
Lestat was ready to dash out of his apartment, down the stairs, and out into the blazing sun in a few seconds, but stopped himself at the door, pausing in front of his mirror. He flashed himself a grin, biting his lower lip with the tips of his fangs, enjoying the little bit of red that rose at the pressure; if he hadn't just fed, he'd still be white as a ghost.
"Not a ghost," he corrected himself, straightening his lace ruffle at his throat and the soft leather collar that held the kerchief in place, secured with a dark sapphire cased in gold. "A prince... a deathly prince in silk and lace..."
Once he was satisfied with his reflection, Lestat blended through the people on the staircase, in the main room downstairs, and out into the street, not particularly enjoying the sun, but tolerating it.
Time for a little fun, he thought happily, spotting the girl's coat after a few minutes down the road. She was giving day-travel a valiant effort, he couldn't deny that; despite the lack of shadows in the late afternoon, she was still managing to skirt her way through the streets. Persistent child, isn't she? he mused as he easily closed the distance between them. Now... what to say first?
Deciding to be as casual as possible, he strode up just behind her left shoulder and reached out his arm, lightly touching her coat. "Good afternoon, my dear," he whispered politely. "You don't look so well... feeling ill?"[/size]
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Post by Armored Soul on Feb 3, 2012 11:18:09 GMT -7
Astrid had been making good progress, or she at least thought she was. And she almost had her mind off the great irritation of traveling in the sun when someone touched her shoulder. She instantly tensed and whipped around to see who it was that had frightened her. She narrowed her eyes and looked over the man. There was his first offense. She took a step back but hit sunlight and was forced to return to her previous stance. The man's second offense: starting a conversation with her. Being a traveler, she didn't care what people thought of her, or if the man thought she was crazy for looking at him the way she was. Her guard was up; she needed a way out.
"I'm well; thank you, sir," Astrid's answer flowed as politely as possible, and she put on a smile, using her sweet-girl voice. Her French accent seeped into the words, revealing only the smallest detail of her past. "I'm sorry, but you'll have to excuse me. There's somewhere I need to be; I'm afraid I've kept a friend waiting for me."
She didn't like the look of the man, the way he approached so kindly, the way he seemed to be interested in her answer to his question, or the way he held himself like he was some goddamn piece of royalty. A frown overtook her attempted smile. No, she just didn't like this man. He reminded her too much of the bastard from three years ago. But he was not him and Astrid therefore had no business with him. Unless he could block out the sun so she could do what she wanted to. Unlikely though; so she tightened her grip on her coat and flicked her eyes to the moving shadows, waiting for her expected response of "Sorry to bother you; have a nice day" or something like that.[/size]
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Post by Mother of Dragons on Feb 3, 2012 14:07:42 GMT -7
Lestat grinned, tossing his hair back and laughing; he just couldn't help it; she was hilarious! "Thank you, sir"? "Fine"? "A friend"? How cute.
"Trust me, mon cherie," he replied smoothly, letting the French honorific fall in on purpose, "you must have a fever; you're burning up."
Without giving the girl a chance to breathe, Lestat took a small step forward, and, in the blink of an eye, ripped her coat back from her left hand and wrist, exposing them. He felt bad when her skin began to smolder and smoke before both of their eyes, but only his remorse only ran so deep: and this is why I prefer men: they are so much less argumentative and tempermental... sometimes...
"It looks like your young French skin isn't partial to this afternoon's heat... wouldn't you agree?" Lestat moved decisively into her path of travel, waiting patiently to see what this girl would do next.
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Post by Armored Soul on Feb 3, 2012 15:01:17 GMT -7
Fear. Fear was her first reaction. Astrid yanked her hand back from the sun, turned, and ran. She didn't care where she was going at this point. Her nerves had been right. But why? Why did he do that? Does he hunt vampires? She bolted behind the shade of a building, touching her burning cheek. Will he follow? Who was he?!
Astrid leaned against the wall and banged the back of her hand on the building. Not good. If he follows, what do I do? I can't fight. And he obviously knows what he's doing. She lowered her right hand from her cheek and looked at her left. It wasn't the most pleasant sight, and the pain was still there. But she made herself watch as it healed; it was just another reminder of what she was. Okay, she took a deep breath. I can handle this. Just gotta run. If he's human, I can outrun him. He won't be able to keep up with me for long.[/size]
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Post by Mother of Dragons on Feb 3, 2012 16:52:35 GMT -7
Lestat swallowed his smile and put his right hand into his pocket, pulling out a small, lace-trimmed kerchief. The initials embroidered into the corner of the piece were unclear; after carrying this around for a few hundred years, I guess it's worn down.... He sighed and stepped forward, walking slowly after the girl, nodding with a sweet smile at any passersby that happened to glance at him. Frankly, I had expected a more fiery reaction; maybe a slap or a rude retort... something to make my tingle with anticipation. She looks like so much fun, but I just seem to have scared her.
He wandered after the girl, taking his time to reach the building she'd run around a few moments ago. The kerchief danced around in his hand, going from a ball in his palm to a wrap around his ringer finger in several fluid motions. Lestat was, in fact, a little disappointed that the young vampire hadn't recognized him in the least bit. Hmm... maybe she's not as interesting as I thought she was. I am a French Lord, after all; where's my respect? Well... even that was a while ago...
Lestat took care with his new idea; he didn't want to frighten the girl away completely. Mind-speech was his first acknowledged and adored Dark Gift, and he used it on rare occasion. Taking a deep breath and slowing his step to stay physically away from her, the Brat Prince reached out to the girl's mind and spoke calmly:
For a French girl you seem to have no spine, my dear. Don't worry; I'm not about to harm a fellow countrymen... woman. I'm the Brat Prince Lestat! Don't you know me? The famous one, with the blonde hair and the grey eyes, and the insatiable desire for visibility and fame? You must have heard of me, little one.
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