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Post by Mother of Dragons on Feb 4, 2013 19:20:53 GMT -7
Verona launched herself down at Van Helsing, taking one last swipe at the hunter before gliding up toward her sister, a ragged cloud of shrieking babies following her like a cloak of grey talons and claws. In her mind she was dreading the shameful retreat, but her black blood chilled further at the wrath they would face from their master in failure. At least the surviving children were the strong ones, the smarter ones, the ones whose bellies were hopefully full and not spilled across this evil town’s streets.
“Aleera!” she cried, not bothering to glance in the direction her sister’s prey at fled to. “We must return to the castle! Our spell over the sun will not last much longer.”
The other bride did not voice a response, her face livid as she turned and spun up into the black clouds in a flurry of wings. Verona followed, clear visions of her enemies in her mind.
Van Helsing was knocked back by the bride as she fled, but gained his footing again a moment later. As the brides retreated, the weather seemed to go with them, heavy clouds dispersing to make way for a few weak rays of sunlight. The days in Transylvania were always as gloomy and grey as the nights, making the place perfect for the monsters that dwelled there. These evil women seemed to thrive more in deeper darkness, and for some odd reason he found himself worrying a little for his companions. Shaking his head of the blasphemous concerns, the hunter turned his attention to the explosion of hay he’d seen not far from him: Carl was his first priority now that the threat was gone.
He made his way over to where he could see the monk struggling, his crossbow still ready in his hands. Van Helsing had not seen Carl’s companion transform nor fight, and to him, the young girl looked in as much distress as poor Carl, with torn clothes and disheveled hair.
“Carl,” Van Helsing began, going over to give the monk a hand at standing. “The danger has passed. Are you injured?”
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Lestat let out a disappointed croon, crossing his arms over his chest unhappily. “Oh, how sad; your friends were only able to put one of those flying whores in their place.” He sighed, a long exhale filled with longing that made Anne stare even further. The Frenchman stretched his arms over his head, lace-cuffed wrists rotating in smooth circles, glancing sideways at Anne in the process. The girl was standing straight, and from the look in her eyes, it seemed that she was just as upset that there wasn’t more to be done. Even more, though, was her calculative stare she kept giving him, as though he were an alien creature that she wasn’t quite happy about being saved by. The reaction was something he hadn’t experienced in a long time, but right now he understood; the young ones were always amazed at his prowess; the meaning of the word vampire changed so often each decade the Brat Prince often had trouble keeping up. Then, as usual, the questions started:
“Who are you, really? Where did you come from?”
Lestat turned to Anne and stared back, golden eyes fading back to a harsh yet pleasant grey. Her voice was quiet even though he doubted anyone else in the square around them was actually paying attention to their conversation. Despite her torn dress, healing skin, tired expression, and tangled mass of hair, the girl did not fear him; he admired that, the way she held his gaze without blinking, without flinching, as though she clearly and honestly deserved the answers she was demanding. The Brat Prince couldn’t help but laugh a little as he reached out and put a finger under her chin. She did blink at the physical connection, but still stared nonetheless, waiting.
“I’ve told you who I am, mon cherie,” Lestat replied playfully, turning his hand to run along her smooth jaw line. He rarely saw other vampires, let alone touch them, and as much as he admired himself, the way they were constructed always made him feel inexplicably elated; their perfect pale skin, their flawless complexions, infallible bodies, shining fingernails, luscious hair, prideful attitudes… it was a heaven within a hell.
“You know things,” Anne began quietly, not stepping away from his touch. She could not read minds, could not see or even guess at what anyone was thinking, but this man seemed to be admiring her for something she hadn’t even done, and that confused her. The way he spoke to the brides, though, and the way he walked, was enough to tell her that this arrogant French vampire could possibly answer more of her questions that even Jinx could. And she had plenty; it just seemed a matter of playing his game to make him talk… and she could do that well enough. “But I’m sure we can talk later, if want… when others aren’t watching.”
Lestat laughed again, louder and more theatrical this time. He dropped his hand away from Anne and took a step back, pulling his spotless gloves from his breast pocket and slipping his long white fingers into them. “But of course, darling! Your hunter friend has been giving me such a rude look all this time, and you have to introduce me to the others around here you so proudly fight with.”
Anne opened her mouth to protest that she barely knew Van Helsing and Jinx, and had no clue who Carl or his companion were, but shut it a second later, knowing it was no good to explain. After all, she wanted to know what was wrong with this poor little town as much as the hunter himself did, and with the comments Lestat made, he may be the key to solving her own mysteries.
Instead of speaking, she nodded her head and held out a gentle hand for the elegant blonde vampire to take, which he did, immediately draping it over the crook of his elbow. Before he could, she took the lead and made the first step forward, in the direction of Jinx, hoping she would know what to say or do next.
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Post by Princess Of Hearts on Feb 4, 2013 20:19:35 GMT -7
Jinx quickly dropped her transparent glamour and replaced it with her usual one, grinning widely at Anne as she walked towards her. “That was amazing! One minute you’re fighting the queen of all angry mothers and the next you’ve got a handsome, if underdressed, gentleman on your arm. Anne, I underestimated you.” She teased Anne a little but mostly wanted to see the blonde vampire react to being called ‘under dressed’. He seemed so prim and proper, even while saving Anne in a bloody battle. And why not? Vanity ran in their type. Under her wide glamoured grin and light mocking there was a suspicious frown lingering. He still smelled familiar. Plus, after seeing him in action and getting a better look at his fashion sense, she knew this was no pretty boy youngling. He gave off the kind of presence she’d have avoided not a week ago. But whatever had moved her to stand up and interact with the hunter and then befriend the young Anne had her smiling and taunting the Frenchman. Since the fight with Van Helsing’s werewolves she’d been vain and teasing and light hearted and it had kept any real worries or self-inspection at bay. But now fear crept back in and that nagging voice, oh that voice! Was back again. “You should run. You always run.” It niggled and wiggled. “Run run run run….” She didn’t realize that she was rocking side to side a little to the beat of that word. Her eyes slide past the couple in front of her to the hunter and the monk and the other vampire. Something was wrong with them all. This kind of group of people was wrong. Carl let the hunter help him up and scrambled to be farther from Anya, “Am I? Danger—passed? I-you can’t be--.” Came the impressive display of a calm, eloquent man. After a few moments of gaping at the man he’d been sent to meet words reappeared in Carl’s repertoire and seemed to flood out of his mouth. “Did you bloody see that?!” He boomed, as best a Carl can boom, with the closest to real swearing he’d done for a long time. “Is no body in this town a human!? Lord in heaven help us, they’re all monsters!” he declared, too shaken up to care which side they’d been fighting for. Even Anya saving his life by physically acting as a shield between him and the pink bride didn’t yet sway the friar’s mind. Van Helsing might be working with his own conscious and opinions and prophesies that let him leave at least Anne and Jinx alive so far but the little Catholic man didn’t have those ideas in his head. He saw a town full of hell bound killers that lied and played innocent until wings and fangs and talons appeared to rip people apart. “This is your job, Van Helsing!” he sputtered. “What are you doing?” The robed man still clutched at his invention
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dushasoul
Making a name for themselves.
Posts: 71
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Post by dushasoul on Feb 4, 2013 21:31:05 GMT -7
Anya was careful not to approach the distressed monk, even when Van Helsing had helped him to stand. She was very aware how frightened of her he had become. It was something she knew would happen given her natural self. Though she had to admit, she didn't quite expect him to be so...loud about it. She rubbed at her shoulder, still sore from it's previous wound and touched pale, nearly healed flesh. She shivered slightly and realized her back was mostly bared now. She felt slightly self-conscious and backed towards the wall, her head turned down. She pushed her long, raven hair back over her shoulder hoping to cover the few scars that remained on her body. She closed her eyes a moment focusing on healing completely as well as trying to keep past memories from returning. She took in a long and deep breath before speaking in a quiet tone. "If I could trouble someone for a covering? My blouse has been torn apart and I'm feeling...exposed." Anya didn't try to meet Carl's eyes when she spoke. At the moment she thought it best to do everything she could to appear non-threatening. She chewed on the inside of her lip absently then slowly looked up after not hearing a response for a short while. Her gaze first caught the large rugged man between her and the monk. His long over coat covered in dust and a few scrapes. A slight bit of blood rimmed a tear but didn't phase her. She dared a chance to look towards Carl. She comforted herself that he was safe and seemingly unharmed. Even a small, relieved smile touched her lips. Dirt and other things covered her face, twigs and dirt, along with her own blood had began drying in her hair, leaving it a tangled mess. "If...you don't mind?" Anya said again looking between the two of them, her back remained against the wall hiding her past and exposed skin.
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Post by Mother of Dragons on Feb 6, 2013 11:21:02 GMT -7
Van Helsing looked between Carl and the girl that failed to introduced herself. He looked away from the dark-haired, child-like woman, embarrassed by her attitude and attire. The monk looked as though he’d seen a ghost, or worse, but the hunter didn’t know why. After all, he was much too busy focusing on himself in the battle to pay attention to what had happened to Carl up to this point. Did the brides manage to injure this girl, and leave Carl almost unscathed? And if that was the case, why was the monk almost as desperate to stay away from the nameless girl as she was him? Once again, the hunter found himself unable decipher the actions of women, immortal or not.
Grumbling uncomfortably under his breath, Van Helsing lightly tossed his crossbow at Carl to free his hands, then shrugged his large, broad shoulders till his heavy coat fell off them. He shook out the long, stained garment several times before handing it to the girl, respectfully looking at her feet.
“My name is Master Gabriel Van Helsing,” he began, mostly to fill the awkward silence. “Brother Carl is my associate, but you seem to know him already. It seems that, for the moment, the danger has left us.” With that said, as if the introductions were enough to calm down anyone and everyone’s fears, the hunter turned slightly to Carl and added, “I’d like to talk to you indoors. Now.”
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Anne surprised herself when she let out a laugh, the tone a little shaky as her body continued to recover. She opened her mouth to say something, to explain she hadn’t fought as well as she wanted to, but Lestat’s overly-dramatic scoff of disbelief at Jinx’s blasphemous comment stopped any other hope of conversation.
“Je suis désolé, mon cherie,” Lestat began in a smooth flurry of French, spinning himself away from Anne and directly in front of Jinx, ending the rotation in a perfect bow. He kept his head up, tilted to stare with sharp, grey eyes at the vampire woman. To him, her plain complexion and outfit was nothing to be proud of, nor flaunt in front of someone so classically stylish as himself. He knew this one’s tricks already, the shades and illusions and masks to hide behind for whatever purpose; the Brat Prince did not like those that could not be happy with themselves as they were and nothing more. He was an actor, a musician, an artist of many forms himself, but never did he hide what he was unless his life was threatened. Lestat adored intrigue, however, and this one would be fun to play with.
He righted himself slowly from his bow, straightening his embroidered sleeves in the process. “I doubt that such an innocent, lovely darling such as yourself has never been to France, so I can understand your lack of respect and appreciation for fashion.” He paused to take another moment to look the girl over, her pale face, her long, dark hair, her long top and skirt, leaving too much to the imagination. Drab. Dull. Boring. He practically yawned as he looked, but stifled the display of his superiority. “Hundreds of years ago, in the remote, quaint countryside of Auxerre, there lived a tailor that hand-spun all of his materials from silk worms his family had raised for five generations-”
“Monsieur Lestat… this is Jinx, and-” Anne tried to interject, but the Brat Prince wouldn’t hear of it.
“This French gentleman only made a certain number of garments each year, and, despite your ignorance, you are lucky enough to see here an entire ensemble arranged and coordinated by yours truly.” He took a measured back step with one foot, then rotated slowly, giving Jinx a confident smirk when he finished the circle, brushing his long, curly hair from his eyes. "As you can clearly see, mon petit, 'under-dressed' is as far from the truth as possible."
Anne cleared her throat, unable to stop herself from admiring the beautiful man displaying himself for all to see. He reminded her, for one, brief, sharp moment, of Henry in their young days, when they would stroll the midnight streets of rich cities, playing the part withe the humans till they got one or two alone... in the heartbeat of the memory, during that small second as Lestat made his turn, Anne almost saw her lover standing in front of her: his clothing was much darker than the Frenchman's, always preferring rich purples, warm bronzes, and black velvets to the silky, brightness that was now displayed in front of her. Anne shook her head, the painful twinge in her chest more than she could take at the moment.
Over her shoulder, however, she heard the hunter speaking and knew it was only a matter of time before he, Carl, and whoever else made their way over and many other questions were sure to start flying that were much more important than the origins of this vampire’s silks and brocade. She gave Jinx a quiet, meaningful smile, unsure how to respond to Lestat’s words.
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dushasoul
Making a name for themselves.
Posts: 71
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Post by dushasoul on Feb 6, 2013 12:04:43 GMT -7
Anya watched the larger man take off his outer coat and shake it. The dust from the stable floor stirred into the air at the movement causing a small sneeze to escape her seemingly frail body. She tensed just slightly when he approached her and held out the garment. "Thank you ah...Mr. Van Helsing. I appreciate it." Anya bowed her head politely as she took the coat. She could feel the weight of it in her hand but it didn't bother her own strength. She slipped one small arm inside then the other having to push the sleeves up to find her hands. She sneezed again and pulled the heavy material around her holding it closed. She felt as though she might drown in the fabric but the man's generosity made up for it. She blinked a moment then looked up at him, his back slightly turned towards the monk. "Anya Resnikova." The woman replied. When she didn't have a direct response she added, "My name...Anya Resnikova, sir." Satisfied that he'd heard her, Anya stepped lightly passed, both he and Carl, towards the open door. The long, worn coat dragged a bit behind her as it was obviously not made for a person as small as she was. She frowned a little and tried to pick it up a bit more as she walked out into the grayish light. She felt the last of her wounds close up leaving nothing but fresh skin in it's place. She felt a bit relieved at that, letting her tense shoulders drop. Anya sucked in a deep breath and smiled slightly, her eyes falling upon the group of vampires. She slowed slightly, her smile disappearing. Instinctively, she put up mental barriers,thankfully taught to her by Mihael, to prevent wandering minds then stepped again towards them. They may know I'm a vampire but they don't know everything yet. I have to keep certain things hidden from all of them. Otherwise I, myself, could fall into even more danger, or they at my expense. Anya thought to herself as she slowly closed the distance. She wasn't sure how to approach this group as they seemed to have already introduced one another. Or at the least, the two women knew each other. The other, insufferable, vampire, seemed overly confident in himself, further causing Anya to have a small distrust of him. However she knew that starting off on the wrong foot with any vampire was dangerous. Vampires tended to hold grudges for long periods of time. Why not? Most had the entirety of time.
Anya slowed to a stop several feet away from the group, dropping the 'train', of her temporary clothing on the ground. She didn't say anything but looked at them through disheveled bangs, which she then tried to comb out with her slender, pale fingers.
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Post by Princess Of Hearts on Feb 8, 2013 22:18:28 GMT -7
Jinx was brought out of her worries by Lestat’s upset voice. She instantly stopped her stupid swaying and listened to his upset defense of his lovely clothes with and neutral expression, letting him get it all out. When he’d finally finished educating her on French fashion she swept her hands down and took hold of his in an intimate, friendly fashion. While now holding the French man’s manicured hands she laughed pleasantly. “Je suis désolé, I am so sorry. I forgot the French have no sense of humor. I was only teasing you. Of course,” she looked him up and down, “You look lovely! You must forgive me…Monsieur Lestat, was it? As Anne was attempting to say while you were yelling, I’m Jinx.” She smiled widely while squeezing his fingers lightly. Over the man’s shoulder Jinx caught sight of Anya in Van Helsing’s coat and an involuntary shiver ran through her. The voice in her head started to get louder until it was nearly screaming; her attempts to suppress it doing nothing but making her grip on Lestat’s hands tighten painfully and her glamours layer heavier. Although Jinx was not using a very complicated glamour—one that merely imitated some basic human features and gave her that dull look Lestat disliked—the heavier they were, the safer she felt. A light glamour might work for humans and animals, but a heavy one would hold against better eyes and ears and noses. It might just keep that smile believable to those around her. Carl gaped at Van Helsing and Anya, barely keeping the crossbow and his new weapon from falling to the floor. The poor man was shaking with something in between shock from the whole ordeal and the first tastes of anger. The friar was not used to being truly upset so the rage tasted bitter on his tongue but he couldn’t stop it. The woman, if you could call her that, was acting like… like… like some kind of little innocent lady! He’d already fallen for it but how was the hunter following his footsteps? As the man had already stated, this was Van Helsing’s job. One that, in the monk’s opinion, he was falling far short of doing. He shook himself enough to answer Van Helsing’s order. “Fool." he muttered before frowning but nodding to the man. "Fine, lead the way.” He said, clutching the tools he had made for this man and still shaking with tumbling emotions.
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Post by Mother of Dragons on Feb 9, 2013 20:21:13 GMT -7
Van Helsing gave Anya a respectful, curt nod before turning to walk with Carl, making sure he kept himself a step or two ahead of the girl. Lowering his voice, even though he was sure she could still hear them, he spoke quietly, “I am sorry we met under such stressful circumstances; I know you are not a field man, but sometimes the Lord gives us tasks that we don’t understand at first. We just need to trust in Him. This town is ill, under some sort of curse or control, I’m not sure yet. But those with me have the same goals as us. Do not fear.”
The tiny town did not look too worse for wear beyond the central point around the church the brides had focused on. As they walked, Van Helsing observed no one was outdoors, all window shades were drawn, no streetlamps were lit. If he didn’t know better, the hunter would have thought that the entire town was empty. Despite the fact that it was only just after noon, the sky was still overcast, grey, and cold. Maybe these folk were used to such weather, but their inactivity during the day was odd… wrong.
He knew the Inn by site and lead Carl and his quiet friend toward it, opening the door, not surprised to find the place completely empty. At least the fireplace in here was stoked and roaring, much to the hunter’s relief; he wanted a drink and some food in his stomach before trying to decipher whatever his new, unusual companions would say.
As they all entered, the weak door slamming shut continually behind them, there came a bustling of noise from upstairs. The innkeep stumbled down the narrow, uneven staircase a moment later, one pudgy hand clutching the splintering railing. He was out a breath, his large belly heaving as he wiped his sweaty palms on his yellowing apron. The old man looked over their group with mistrustful eyes, but decided to settle his gaze on the hunter.
“I had received word ahead of time of your arrival, Master Van Helsing,” the innkeep began, though there was not a tone of respect in the title. “Though it was mentioned you would bring such a large group of… companions with you.”
Van Helsing stared at the man, eyebrows narrowed. “Where were you just this last hour? When the spawn of the devil was attempting to destroy your home and all its innocent people?”
The old man blinked several times, his jaw dropping, several more chins appearing under his wobbly jaw line. “I… tend to stay indoors… when the monsters come…”
“Cowering under your bed, no doubt,” the hunter returned, keeping his strict, hard stare on the man. “I know you back-country, mountain-folk are hard people who don’t speak to strangers, but if you intend to serve the Vatican in the future and still receive its gold, you will show more respect to those here to assist you. Am I clear?”
“Well, I never…” the innkeep stuttered, hastily brushing dust and cobwebs from his shoulders and the top of his head. “Right. Your rooms are ready. I’ve no staff willing to work, so food will be a moment.” Without bothering to look at anyone or wait for another reply, the man wobbled away to the back of the Inn, carefully navigating his bulk behind the bar and out of sight.
Sighing, Van Helsing removed his hat and rubbed a hand through his dark, dirty hair. He looked to those around him, wanting to ask each and every one many questions, but felt that doing so would make himself look weak and fearful. If he was going to associate with those he was meant to destroy on sight, he would have to uphold his reputation’s demeanor to a certain extent… and let them talk first.
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“Oh, so you do have manners!” Lestat exclaimed happily, turning one of Jinx’s hands to kiss it lightly. “Perhaps there is hope for you after all, mon cherie.” He looked to their left, almost laughing at the sight of the little vampire girl walking behind the most feared hunter in Europe and a frightened monk; what was he supposed to think of such an odd situation? Right now, all the Brat Prince could think to do was laugh.
“It seems like your friends want to retreat indoors and recover. If you ladies would follow me, I suppose…?” He took a step back, gave a small bow, and indicated that Anne and Jinx follow him back toward the Inn. Once inside, he took a moment to look around, then decided to sit away from the others on top of the bar, examining his outfit to see if indeed each thread was still in its proper place.
Anne stayed silent, her breath still returning to normal. She found herself suddenly very hungry, but didn’t think that the hunter nor his loyal companion would approve of her even speaking about such a thing in front of them. Now that she thought about it, how would this actually work? She wasn’t about to stop taking what she needed to live, but at the same time she knew that she needed this man’s help. Anne looked to Lestat, realizing that he seemed very calm about… everything. There must be a trick to it, something he does to make it so this awful, immortal life isn’t so lonely and guilt-inducing. I said I wanted to speak to him alone later, and I meant it.
She saw that the hunter and his monk had settled at a large table by the fire, and decided to sit a few chairs over, ignoring the damage to her clothing that must seem inappropriate to others.
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dushasoul
Making a name for themselves.
Posts: 71
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Post by dushasoul on Feb 10, 2013 18:00:51 GMT -7
Anya picked up the long coat and started to follow after Van Helsing once again. She looked about and was able to sense Jinx's apprehension and Lestat's amusement. She frowned at the latter as she neared the Inn. A bright flash caught a stray beam of light, drawing Anya's attention. Her frown changed immediately as she recognized her discarded luggage bag laying, slightly beaten, on the ground. She sighed in relief as she hurried to retrieve it, grateful that it hadn't been attached to the poor, departed donkey.
Anya grunted when she picked it up, finding it difficult to maneuver with both the thick coat and luggage case. A few moments later she was finally hauled herself into the Inn. The door banged loudly behind her, causing her to wince. She sucked on her bottom lip and looked at everyone in the room before she found a quick escape up the stars. She had to move around the tables and chairs, avoiding the Frenchman who had perched himself atop the counter. For the most part it seemed that the others didn't have much interest in her and Anya was perfectly content with that assumption.
The petite vampire woman reached the stairs and set foot on first the bottom stair, then the next when the heavy coat fell fro her hand, forming a barrier to the next stair. anya growled under her breath, set the bag on the step in front of her with a bang, then jerked the heavy fabric behind her. She a huffed, a bit embarrassed, then picked up the front of her skit and her traveling bag, and moved up the stairs, the coat dragging a step and half behind her. By the time she reached the top, her pale cheeks had been tinged pink. She looked for ay open room and quickly went inside it, closing the door behind her. Anya sighed again and leaned against the door."Oh dear." She said to herself under her breath. Anya looked about the room glad to have found one void of another person for the time being. She pushed herself away from the door and swung her bag onto the bed. She shrugged her shoulders once to let the coat fall from he small frame to the floor with a slight thud. Her slim fingers found the brass latch and sprung it open. Anya instantly dug into the bag and found a dress which she pulled out with a flourish.
The dress was thin and lightweight much like what those brides wore. Yet it fell in long seeps down to a few inches below her knees in the front, and to her ankles in the back. The deep maroon color along with it's black lace collar and sleeves, accentuated the star paleness to Anya's skin. She reached up with one hand and tore the remnants of her blouse from her body then removed her boots and skirt. She didn't need a mirror to see her wounds had healed to smooth skin, nor that her hair was a complete mess. "This isn't home for sure." Anya sighed pulling the dress on over her hips, then slid her arms into the lace sleeves. Nimble fingers worked at the buttons at the base of her back. She twisted her arms up slightly but even with her abilities as a vampire, she was unable to fasten all of them. Two buttons in the middle of her back remained open, yet hidden by her long, tangled hair. Quickly, Anya stuffed her clothing and boots in to the bag, slipped on thin, black shoes, then picked up the long coat. She folded the garment carefully over her arm twice, satisfied that it wouldn't threaten to trip her up. She picked up her bag and left the room to rejoin the others only then realizing the new attire may seem wildly out of context in comparison to the others. However, the Frenchman still seemed to have chosen a much more delicate attire than she. The thought comforted her worry only slightly as she left the room.
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Post by Princess Of Hearts on Feb 18, 2013 18:49:37 GMT -7
As the small crowd all settled into the room Jinx kept herself standing. Usually she would have found a comfy stop to perch like Lestat, but despite the easy smile she had glamoured on her face, she was very aware of the situation they were all in. This was not a group of ally’s or friends; this was a group of people who believed in wildly different things for varying reasons. Their ages differed in extremes and, obviously, they were all in danger of each other. Where with the hunter she’d felt she’d been taking on little challenge, one she could run from if he turned nasty, now she knew she wasn’t on even ground. This wasn’t the place to relax anymore, or play as much. This was a place to hide behind her magic and perhaps make a swift retreat. That need to run was back, but she found herself standing still. In fact the standing felt like a compromise. A half-way point between disappearing from these people and joining in with them as she’d joined Van Helsing in killing the werewolves. To soothe her nerves she glamoured a thin rod into her hand and twirled what felt quite solid between her fingers. Back and forth, back and forth. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the small vampire come out of a room and she nearly snorted with laughter. The woman was going to get her sleeve caught on a corner or something. She smirked, reminding herself how wonderful it was to have clothes—even if they were drab—made of magic. Carl followed the hunter and Anya into the inn, fuming at the other man for his calm deminier and oblivious words. Once inside he chose a spot far away from these creatures. He hadn’t noticed the woman who standing near the counter before, but then again he had been pretty wrapped up in the women attacking and transforming into monsters around him. So he sat down hard and held the weaponry to his chest, silently praying for guidance. He didn’t want to be angry and afraid. He wanted to be a good friar and do good here. A day ago that meant helping this hunter to rid the world of these creatures, but he must have missed the memo that they were now having meetings with them!
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Post by Mother of Dragons on Mar 6, 2013 9:38:10 GMT -7
Van Helsing ignored the fact that all his new, peculiar companions had situated themselves in respective positions around the room; this meant that he needed to say what was on his mind, a process that the hunter found more daunting than the deadliest monster. However, it was a necessity to the survival of everyone in the town’s inn, so some things had to be said.
“Right,” he started in the silence, already unhappy with the way his low, dark voice sounded inside the four walls. He cleared his throat, only looking up and making eye contact with Carl for a brief second. Then he continued: “I’m sure that everyone here has questions, and before we make another move, or our enemy makes one of their own, there are some things we should discuss.”
“Bloody hell, is this parliament?” Lestat exclaimed dramatically from atop the bar, eyebrows raised all the way up into the perfect blonde curls that rested gently on his smooth forehead. “Well, my Lord, dear Master, respected enemy, I daresay… I will not sit and listen to one such as you lecture me on morals and theology.”
“Yet you assisted my company and I against one just as evil as yourself,” Van Helsing snapped, during to glare at the colorful vampire. Lestat waved off the sentence, blushing as if it were a compliment. “That is what I’d like to speak to everyone about, not different views of right and wrong.”
Lestat shrugged, letting out a loud sigh through pursed lips. He gestured with one gloved hand for the hunter to continue.
“Brother Carl needs to know that these women, first of all,” Van Helsing spoke clearly, nodding at Anne, Jinx, and Anya, “are different than those they are normally grouped with. If I am correct in assuming, they do not support the monster Lord Dracula and his creatures. I have found that… through conversation and several fights, they can be trusted. I understand that you may not feel comfortable with such ideals, but you must remember, Carl, that Christ himself worked with his enemies at times to achieve holy ends.”
“A change of heart?” Anne spoke up, glancing at Van Helsing from a few chairs over. One quick look at the monk’s face showed her trust could not be found there. “That is something that falls rather quickly for a man that has been slowly burning girls like me for all time.”
“Hear, hear,” Lestat echoed from the bar, nodding his head. He smiled at Anne, flashing sharp, white fangs. “I think it is safe to say there is more to this hunter’s decision than he is letting on, no?”
“My reasons are, in fact, my own,” Van Helsing countered smoothly. “I have told you the basic feeling of the arrangement, and you should be happy with as much. Notice I did not include you in my list of allies.”
“Yet here I sit!” Lestat laughed. “Very well, then: you’ve made it clear you’d like assistance with your vampire Lord, as well as whatever is plaguing the spirit of this poor place. It seems as though Mademoiselle Anne is happy to help… though I cannot speak for others present.”
Anne nodded at Lestat’s words; she wanted to prove that she wasn’t a beast, an uncontrollable creature that darted from innocent human to human murdering for the pleasure and satisfaction of it. She wanted to find her Henry, and Lestat knew how to do that. If the Brat Prince was keeping company with Van Helsing in defiance of this Dracula in the meantime, she saw no other option but to prove herself useful and discover her own ends in the process.
“What does the monk have to say?” she asked, looking back to Carl, who was extremely pale. “Until he and the others give their opinion on this whole thing, I’m not comfortable sleeping next to a man with a stake strapped to his back and holy water in his pockets.”
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