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Post by Salted Squid on Dec 16, 2017 21:34:51 GMT -5
So I just had steak for dinner but now I can't stop laughing bc I can 100% imagine Skylar buying a package of raw steak from the local walmart and just sucking the blood from that
Like, the vampire version of a vegan
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Post by shades on Dec 16, 2017 22:01:41 GMT -5
[ 16 Marvel movies released so far, four more in 2018, two known in 2019. So 22 movies planned so far. Marvel is my passion! ]
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Dec 16, 2017 22:04:11 GMT -5
The New Year had flooded Hype with all manner of vampires. Nestled in the thickest, darkest tangle of Paradise City’s streets, the club thrummed with music and light. A line of patrons serpentined down the street, all jostling for a chance to step through the doors and into the fray of electric lights. The night air was cold, mottled with snowflakes that joined the dirty slush-piles collecting in the gutter. A buzz of excitement went up through the line as another person was allowed entrance, dying just as quickly upon realizing they would be the only one for another ten minutes.
Inside, Hype was a hive. Alive with neon and music like thunder, it swarmed with people. They crowded the dance floor━ some vying for space, others relishing the crush of bodies ━and spilled into the bar. Or, as much of the bar as they dared to occupy given its most prominent occupant.
Mickey was a domineering presence, he made sure of it. He reclined against the lacquered wood, heel-clad feet propped on the neighboring barstool. His outfit gave the impression of a warm summer evening as opposed to the snowy night beyond Hype’s doors: a hot pink crop top, black leather pants, and matching feather boa. Freshly manicured nails tapped a staccato beat against the counter, drumming along to a song no one else could hear. Hype’s other patrons gave Mickey a wide berth, too afraid to approach or already aware of the consequences.
He watched the throng of dancers, a brightly colored sea caught in an equally-brightly colored storm. Mickey caught the flash of fangs every now and then, not that he needed to see teeth to pick out the vampire guests. They moved differently than the humans, purposefully.
Where the humans jerked and jabbed, the vampires were graceful, fluid. It was even easier to pick out who was hunting. Gazes flicked and slid, scanning the crowd before settling on a target. The humans were content to party, without much purpose or goal. Whatever happened, happened. If the dance floor was a sea than the vampires were sharks.
Even if the humans couldn’t see the dorsal fins cutting through the waves, like Mickey could, they still felt it. It was strange to witness. Some long-neglected instinct in them still knew who the predators were. When a vampire went swimming past, the humans jerked out of the way, earning dagger-sharp glares. And when they were approached by one, fear glazed their eyes for a heartbeat before evaporating. Some instinct in them still thrashed and kicked when a vampire got too close. Told them to run, to flee. But they never did.
Mickey’s eyes glazed over as he stared through the crowd. It felt like staring at a buffet and none of it was appetizing.
Eyes jumped from one maybe-victim to the next, skimming the menu and liking it less and less. Nobody looked… Good. Nobody looked like any fun. He sipped his vodka, already bored, and sank deeper into his seat. On top of that, Mickey had no competition. Tonight was one of those nights when every vampire would go home well-fed. No fighting for a particularly delicious-looking little thing or clashing for just one bite when humans were scarce.
The cops would have a mess in the morning. And any victims that didn’t die would wake up dazed and in agony. But otherwise, everyone was happy.
There was no challenge.
“Mickey. Mickey!”
He blinked, meeting the irritated glare of the bartender. “What?”
“Move your feet,” the man said, nodding to the stool where Mickey had perched himself. Well, that wasn’t fair. He needed this space. This was his territory. He couldn’t have just anybody sitting next to him. There were very few who were worthy of such an honor.
Noticing Mickey’s hesitation, the bartender snapped, “You can’t have two seats. I have a business to run here.”
Offended, Mickey countered, “I’m your business!”
“You can drink your pink vodka without a footrest, Mickey. There are other people who want to sit at the bar.” The vampire snorted, but relented. With a dramatic flourish, he flung his feet off the bar stool, slamming them down on the ground.
“Happy?”
“I’m never happy.” Battle won, the bartender made his way to the other end of the counter to ask a pair of women what they wanted.
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Dec 16, 2017 22:05:22 GMT -5
{ whew! done! now i'm hoping to get a starter done for alistair and then we can really get things rolling!
awesome fic! i'm gonna go have a look~ }
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Post by Salted Squid on Dec 16, 2017 22:13:34 GMT -5
Beautiful starter tbh. Mickey is a dear but I would never mess with him))
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Post by servalstrike on Dec 16, 2017 22:33:48 GMT -5
( I love Mickey so much
Wow! that's a lot of marvel movies!)
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Post by servalstrike on Dec 16, 2017 22:47:42 GMT -5
Like any creature ‘a the night Hawthorn rose with the moon. When the sky faded from dove to lavender, and then from indigo to deep, silent black.
Hawthorn still remained in her den of sorts, readying for the night ahead of her. Her apartment smelled like smoke an’ pine an’ didn’t look like it belonged in a city a bit.
She owned the top floor of a three-story building, the sloped ceiling ending on either side in walls made of worn out wood. The entire apartment consisted of one giant room: the faded oak floors were covered in equally worn carpets, furniture was scattered about as if she constantly moved it for whatever purpose. The only thing that had no choice but to remain stationary was the loft, where a plain canvas bedroll and a red horse blanket was folded at its base.
There was no kitchen—only a long table and a hearth burning hot enough to make the room near-stifling. No, her apartment didn’t belong in the city. It looked like it’d been transported from out of the middle of the mountains, a long ways away where bears lived and the coyotes and wolves sang songs long into the night. On her walls hung antlers, rifles, and a wagon wheel.
But what did Hawthorn care if her home was out of place? She didn’t. It was her home and she liked it. Every square inch. ‘Specially a little figure of a jackalope skeleton -mind you it weren’t real despite Hawthorn thinkin’ otherwise when she first spotted it- it’s skull had once been hollow but now homed one ‘a those succulent plants, it’s ribs too held those little plants. Pokes of green bright against the false bones. Life and death intertwined. Life feeding off death. Somethin’ poetic about it, but Hawthorn were never a poet and couldn’t put it to words if she tried. Still, it was a pretty site.
In her grand opinion it were the cutest thin’ she and she rightly named him Billbert. As she slipped on a leather jacket and fixed the red handkerchief tied around her neck she winked at Billbert and said, “Gonna be a good night, Billy my boy, feel in my bones sure as shine I do.” Billbert, the fake jackalope skeleton with succulents growing out of his ribs and head, of course had no response.
Hawthorn dinna mind though, Billbert was the quiet type and she could respect that. “Take care ‘a the place for me, would you little friend?” Again, no response. “Glad I canna count on ya!” She replied to his non-reply with a big ol’ grin. Helping a poncho over her head she plucked a black motorcycle helmet off the stand by her door and twirled it around her hand, admirin’ it’s shine against the firelight of her fireplace. Then just like that, quick as jackrabbit on burnin’ sand, she was out the door and striding out of the building like a cat into the night.
Calamity was beautiful. After years of use, a few dents and scrapes here and there albeit, she still rode like the day Hawthorn got her (more or less stole her from a biker bar while no one was watching). Hawthorn loved Calamity, even when she sputtered and groaned and it sounded like she was aiming to keel over.
With the helmet secured on her head, Hawthorn flew. Like a bat out of hell. The streetlamps reflected across the surface of her helmet and the chilled night air embraced her like an old friend. No one could see but underneath the visor she was grinning big and wide.
Weaving between cars and goin’ a whole lot faster than the good lord and the speed limit had intended she sped through the night darkened streets. Hawthorn felt like some kind of wraith when she rode her bike. The frozen air whipped at her, biting an’ snarling worse than a hungry dog. An’ it didn’t bother her on bit, ‘cause when somethin’ bit her Hawthorn bit back. She revved the engine and went faster. Could ‘a sworn she almost hit a guy.
Finally, Calamity groaned and roared as she came to a halt in front of Hype. A club that throbbed with music and life. Especially busy on New Year’s as always. Paradise City seemed to sigh with relief as she dismounted her bike. Any who touched her would be in a whole heap ‘a trouble an’ would hafta answer to Hawthorn on the hunt. Leaving behind her poncho and helmet with the bike, Hawthorn took one look at the line of anxious and cold patrons all waiting to soak up the next spot ahead of them, and joined the fray. Last time she took the back entrance to the club she got a scolding somethin’ fierce. Hawthorn offered a big fanged grin to anyone who glanced at her. The humans backed away from her, likely ‘cause her presence stirred something deep in their guts that made ‘em a little skittish. The vampires gave a polite smile back and that’s when she struck up a conversation with them. About nothing in particular, anything that crossed her pretty mind, and every time they came up with some excuse to drop the conversation altogether. Leaving Hawthorn to find a new victim, which she did again and again until she made her way to the front of the line and was granted entrance into the hive of sound and electricity that was Hype.
Her gaze swiftly swept the club until she plucked out the most vibrant of the crowd, he was never hard to find even if he was in a sea of colors. Hawthorn skimmed through the crowd, vampires and human alike, and strode toward her target. Each step was assured and steady, graceful, and...grounded. Merry but alert. Someone who didn’t need weapons- or at least bother to sheath them at her side (which she did anyway).
“Mickey, my friend!” She greeted him, though she did not dare sit at the newly vacant seat at her side. While she was outgoing she was far from stupid. “Enjoying yer drink, Mickey? Make any new friends tonight, Mickey?” She chirped, her full lips parting in a dazzling smile as her hazel eyes fixed on him.
Leaning back on the counter beside him, she rested her elbows up and kicked one boot clad foot over the other as she surveyed the dancefloor. “Lots ‘a new fish in the sea, huh, Mickey?”
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Dec 16, 2017 23:15:56 GMT -5
After four hundred and twenty-five of them, years felt like pennies to Alistair. Even numbering in the hundreds they were worthless, meagerly amounting to dollars at best. And yet humans thought them to be precious, hoarding them with voracious gluttony and celebrating them with extravagant parties. Much like the one he was currently attending. He’d grown used to the excitable nature of humans━ bored by it, really. It was only to be expected that humans would treasure years the way they did. Like a contest, whoever gets the most wins. Tallying in the triple digits was commendable even if those last twelve months were spent in wrinkled, lonely misery.
The New Year’s party thrived around him, bubbly and dizzying as the champagne the guests paraded around in fragile flutes. The Stoker manor buzzed with chatter, swarmed with glittering guests adorned in taffeta and pearls.
It was insulting.
The Morgenstern Coven was above this nonsense, this degradation. The whole alliance was bullsh-t. Disgraceful bullsh-t. To stoop so low as to align themselves with humans━ hunters, no less ━left a taste in his mouth so bitter he feared it would corrode his teeth down to nothing. They could slaughter them. They should slaughter them. His coven should have been drinking their blood, not sipping champagne. A fact, it seemed, the hunters hadn’t forgotten.
Alistair watched the darting glances with hooded eyes. Wary stares lingered on the vampiric guests━ always cut short by some prey instinct, he was sure. The vampire sank deeper into the stiff maroon cushions of the chair he had claimed early in the evening, languidly eyeing the party-goers with a cross between disgust and disinterest as they milled between the adjoined living and dining rooms.
Despite Alistair’s utter contempt for the event, he was willing to admit the manor was decent enough. Furnished in a Victorian style to match its architecture, the living room was especially pleasant with its looming oil-paint portraits, heavy velvet curtains, and an imposing stone hearth to tie it all together. Though it paled in comparison to the Morgenstern’s castle abode━ how unfortunate that no one had lived there for centuries.
The human attendees granted their vampiric counterparts a wide berth, a precaution that amused Alistair. Hunters who prided themselves on their bravery and fearlessness in the face of century-old monsters were still unnerved by being stuffed into the same room as them. Or maybe it was the supposed “friendly” nature of the event that flustered them. On that, Alistair could at least agree. Hundreds of years of animosity wasn’t a taste easily washed away by fizzy alcohol and idle conversation. Even less so by forced cooperation.
The Morgenstern Coven didn’t need the help of humans, this was a matter they should be settling of their own accord. Even more humiliating was the partnerships. Apparently, the hunters rarely worked alone and now the Morgenstern’s were forced to do the same. They didn’t need partners, especially not human ones.
The vampire rose from his seat, too agitated to remain still. The crowd parted before him, scattering out of his path like roaches.
He envied everyone that had been chosen for patrol tonight. Paradise City would be crawling with vampires in the midst of the New Years excitement. Opportunists. Lowly cowards lured out by the spectrum of parties dappling the streets. Alistair wanted to be out there, if not to escape the Stoker’s party, then to at least show those bitten creatures how a real vampire hunted.
Unfortunately, he was stuck here. While others were picking off the bitten scum wherever they dared to lurk, Alistair was expected to remain at the Stoker manor, surrounded by humans. The vampire strode through the living room and mowed a similar path through the adjoined dining room until he found himself stepping out into the night air.
Out here, the wind bit at his ears and snowflakes caught in his hair like tiny stars.
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Dec 16, 2017 23:17:05 GMT -5
{ mickey is so much fun to write for you have no idea }
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Bisexual
Lea
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Follow me to Sawgrassclan
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Post by Lea on Dec 16, 2017 23:18:52 GMT -5
HYPE.
The party scene was something she was not a common visitor of, yet the New Year brought those new and old, human and vampire, to the one place in Paradise City where they could be fun and free, or in the case of the vampires: well-fed.
The New Year was Petra's favorite time of the year, every year, for the past however many years she had been on this planet. As years passed, traditions changed, and one moment your surrounded by people who don't care to celebrate the new year and the next year you're surrounded by racing hearts, loose morals, and crazy adventures. It was exhilarating.
This was one of the rare occasions that the youngest Morgenstern was out without one of her brothers attached at her hip. Well, more recently she had been granted much more independence, which she reveled. It also helped that an event between the Stoker's and Morgenstern's was taking place this evening and hiding at Hype was her best bet to avoid talk of the treaty - hopefully. Atop this freedom, her long, wavy hair was not up in a tight pony tail, but rather flowing freely. She wanted to be crowd stopping tonight, after all it would soon be a new year.
Petra pulled up about a block away from the club, wanting to take a stroll down the streets and scout out the competition arriving about the same time as her. Her heavy jacket surrounded her, looking like it was unbelievable cozy, any regular human would definitely be jealous. The cozy jacket was a bright bubble gum pink, accompanied by tight black leggings and knee high boots. If it weren't for the snow on the group, her steps would be followed by the clicking of her heels.
She slid her hands into her pockets to remove her ID from her pocket, her manicured fingers curling around her wallet as she flashed her license at the bouncer who hardly paid any attention to it, rather he watched as she slowly removed her coat as she passed him, holding her wallet with her license proudly being flaunted, the coat was falling down her arms, revealing a holographic-designed, low-cut t-shirt with a matching choker. She flashed her fangs at the bouncer, but his eyes were too focused on her chest. She snorted as she passed him, leaving her coat on a hook, not caring if it would still be there when she returned.
Petra dropped her wallet into her purse, slinging the shiny strap over her shoulder and strutting toward the bar. She slid into a seat, licking her lips as she eyed the bartender, then she called out, "Bar keep? Could I get a beer?" some more specifications came out of her mouth and when the bartender turned to her, she flashed her wallet again, sliding it across to him "Yes, I'm legal, my friend."
As soon as her drink was placed in front of her, she brought it to her lips and turned in her seat, looking around the room at all the sweaty bodies. From the way of their dancing, she could tell who was of her kind and she grinned, happy that they would be well fed. Suddenly, from her right she began to make out the beginning of a conversation. She turned her seat slightly to get a better look. From where she sat, she saw two covenless vampires. She fought the urge to bare her fangs, her distaste for covenless vampires was something she was trying to gain a hold of, if only for tonight, since she was trying to have fun.
When she recognized Mickey, she relaxed only slightly; she didn't trust the vampire, but he was one of the few covenless she didn't want to tear apart, probably because she wasn't sure whether he were an enemy or not and because of that she chose to make him neutral, at least in her mind. Because hey, he was pretty, "Hello covenless," she said, referring to their lack of affiliation, "I adore your outfit Mickey! And um, vampire girl I do not know....hi?" She was smiling, amusement in her eyes, but there was also a hint of condescension
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Post by shades on Dec 16, 2017 23:24:10 GMT -5
[ aha. i'm in love. also, i made gabriel. he's a blessing. ]
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Dec 16, 2017 23:37:36 GMT -5
{ aw petra <3 what a cutie
also i'm so ready for gabriel i still need to decide on a partner for him..... }
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Dec 16, 2017 23:45:19 GMT -5
{ bitten vamps have the bite mark on their neck so she could probably cover that up? }
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Post by shades on Dec 16, 2017 23:48:25 GMT -5
[ yes. we all are ready for gabriel. he's...gabby. just gabby. ]
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Post by servalstrike on Dec 17, 2017 0:10:18 GMT -5
( petra is so cute <3 oooh gabby is an adorable nickname! )
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Post by shades on Dec 17, 2017 0:32:26 GMT -5
[ so my cat is essentially telling me to go to bed (he keeps climbing on my chest and laptop) so i'ma post Nathanael real quick and head out! ]
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ℊℓоω
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ɴᴏ ᴀᴅᴍɪᴛᴛᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴇxᴄᴇᴘᴛ ᴏɴ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ ʙᴜsɪɴᴇss
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Post by ℊℓоω on Dec 17, 2017 0:35:45 GMT -5
.G W . Her fingers pressed lightly against the pale canvas of her neck. In the mirror, the skin was smooth and free of marks. The pad of her index finger drifted from below her jaw and along the line of her throat. Gemma dared not touch the right side of her neck. She knew the smooth exterior was a mere mirage, a trick of the eye. A moistened towel or an inadvertent brush might reveal what lingered beneath. Twin scars, barely noticeable to the ignorant human eye. They would be a dead giveaway in a party of hunters and born vampires alike. Thankfully she was aware of the company she kept, which was why she had patted her skin with foundation a mere hour before. Still, the smallest desire to provoke the wrath of fate urged her to wipe her finger across the skin. Would they even notice if she was right under their noses? Would they bother to check the throat of a supposed friend?
Never mind, despite her ongoing love affair with danger, even she knew better than to play fire. Being in the Stroker residence was risk enough. A risk no other bitten vampire would dare take.
She rinsed her hands off in the sink, then reached for the towel beside the mirror. Before she exited, she gave her reflection another quick glance. Her disguise went beyond a dabbing of makeup. Her chocolate brown locks were pinned to her head, tucked into a platinum bob wig. Her lips were painted a deep berry purple, shades from her typical red. But she was not completely unrecognizable. Anyone who had knew the female vampire was likely to recognize her if they looked hard enough. Because as fun as it was to wear a disguise, she wished to wear no one's skin but her own. Besides, anyone who recognized her would be hard pressed to contradict her story: New to Paradise City, from an extension of the Morgenstern coven in Northern England. They wouldn't accuse one of their own of being such a vile thing as a bitten vampire. Not without the scars to prove it. She gave herself a knowing smile in the mirror, then strode toward the door.
The party was less interesting than she had hoped. The novelty of going undercover had worn off nearly as soon as she arrived, and already she was contemplating seeking a more interesting venue in the city. She wandered around the lavishly handsome house, emerald eyes scanning the high ceilings and glittering decorations. Nearby was the vampire who had let her inside, one she judged to be a Morgenstern. He had the necessary dark hair and icy eyes. Younger, perhaps than the only Morgenstern she had encountered before.
"Would you like some wine, miss?" asked a human servant, a young man with curling red hair.
"Thank you, darling," she purred. She plucked a glass from the tray and took a small sip before meeting the boy's gaze. "Aren't you delicious," she added in a slightly lower, more predatory voice.
"Uh thank you," he replied somewhat timidly before veering off into the crowd. She could see color had risen in his cheeks as he disappeared into the silhouettes of freshly pressed suits and dresses. Prey had an instinct for deadly predators. In the back of her mind, she likened the server to a grazing deer trotting for the safety of the woods. Finding a meal would require a bit more precision, but she would save that for later. The night was still young and she had not yet built up an appetite.
She wandered in the direction of the living room, where she hoped to stir up at least a little bit more trouble. She would cast out her hook a couple more times before abandoning her masquerade. Soon she planned to join her friends and lovers in the more lively events. Surely Rhysand would be missing her downtown. She hadn't told him what the New Years Eve entailed for her; he wouldn't have approved of it. Already she could imagine the tightening of his lips in an expression of deep disapproval and annoyance. Hopefully she would earn such a look when she told him about her adventure later that night.
It was when she spotted Alistair Morgenstern across the room that the first splinter of fear shot through her chest. He was not a vampire she could claim to know well but through myth. Old, vicious, and driven, she knew better than to attract his attention. She quickly turned her cheek, hoping she hadn't been spotted as she pretended to join a small circle of conversation. She joined in as a laughter rippled through the group. Someone must have told a joke. She sipped her wine, tasting the numbing warm on her tongue. Finally, a bit of Adrenalin coursed through her veins.
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Post by shades on Dec 17, 2017 0:39:38 GMT -5
Nathanael has always been somewhat of a mystery to the Stoker Society.
His reserved, calculative, quick, and honest personality is so introverted.
He’s slightly uncomfortable, his tittering muffled behind a glass of some beverage. He draws his hair back, and his cheeks are all red. He’s looking out over the crowd. Precise and efficient and good with calculating where each person seemed to be. It was a skill; like how he can somehow memorise street names and road maps almost eidetically, that he always seems to know where he is in the city and where someone else is through a brief description.
He looks hesitant for a while, like he’s considering something, but eventually recoils as someone (a vampire) walks past him with a brush of their shoulders.
His thoughts catches up to him seconds later, while everyone is sitting around at a party. It’s evening, and dark outside, but the room was well lit in yellows, and everyone was dressed head-to-toe in formal attire. Nathanael’s own suit wasn’t even enough to protect from vampires, much less offer protection from the harsh winter chill; eyes downcast towards the floor.
Nathanael had offered to patrol tonight, however, with his purple bags under usually gleaming eyes the matriarch had given him a quiet frown and told him to spend the night indoors; he and his partner had made a kill the night before, they deserve a break from the hunt to relax. He had looked more confused than intrigued in this notion, however, now he was bored—bored enough to feel his brain melting from his ears—as he cast the party a weary look and almost desired to go to bed.
However, thriving for the night air; standing up abruptly earned a few odd looks at the already odd DeMorrison, he wander meticulously for the outdoor area, setting his glass down at a random point. Stepping into the light snow with a muffled crunch, his shoulders tensed as he watched the other occupied individual on the patio knowing they both were prepared for unneeded (at the moment) action.
“Uh.” Nathanael spoke gracelessly, air is clear and crisp with only muted scents of the city. But not particularly cold until the wind whips in his face at a bitter speed. “Is this space...taken?” He asked, vaguely recognizing the back of the vampire as a Morgenstern the Stoker Society had aligned with on a thinly stitched thread; his eyes dashing back in forth in a flicker before landing on the man again.
___________________________________________________
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Post by 𝓑𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫 ♥ on Dec 17, 2017 0:52:28 GMT -5
(Hey guys! I’ll actually probably have characters up tonight. I swear ]
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Dec 17, 2017 0:54:17 GMT -5
{ ooohohoho! this is gonna be fun! i'm gonna reply tomorrow. it's bed time for now~ i'm excited to see where this goes
edit: take your time briar as you can see, we've started but there's still plenty of room to jump in }
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Post by 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 on Dec 17, 2017 2:40:17 GMT -5
( hey Gemma has Rhysand to protect her xD )
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Post by 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 on Dec 17, 2017 2:42:36 GMT -5
( he’s gonna turn up to the party in a tizzy because of Gemma xD )
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Post by Salted Squid on Dec 17, 2017 8:46:48 GMT -5
So I have work this morning but I'll get to work on something when I get home!))
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Dec 17, 2017 11:40:40 GMT -5
{ don't worry about it aviva~
alright! i'm gonna get to work on some replies! here we go! }
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Dec 17, 2017 12:30:07 GMT -5
Mickey’s mood deflated flat as paper at the sound of━
“Mickey, my friend!”
She filled his non-reply with a stream of noise. It grated on his ears, agonizing as nails on chalkboard. It was only when Mickey whipped around did he realize the nightmare was only just beginning.
“What are you wearing?” He snarled, taking in the hideous handkerchief strangling her.
“Did you get lost on your way to the square dance?” The girl was a walking crime scene; the closer he looked, the worse she became. Whatever the case, a girl like her did not belong in a place like Hype. On top of that, she did not belong within ten feet of Mickey. Just breathing the same air as her was as good as helping himself to a lungful of carbon monoxide.
“Listen, Cowgirl Betty, you have exactly two minutes to vacate the premises or I swear to god I will call the hunters myself.” Mickey took another mouthful of vodka, hoping to wash away the bitter taste that ugly neck-thing had left in his mouth. He didn’t stop to think about who this vampire was or what she wanted from him. They always wanted something from him. Too bad all Mickey had to offer was his charming personality and radiant good-looks.
Moments after he spoke, another bold character came gliding over. Mickey quirked a bemused eyebrow at her, realizing seconds later who she was. The vampire reeled back, baring fangs at the newcomer: Petra Morgenstern.
“I know. These clothes aren’t cheap, you know, I’d rather not have you washing them in my own blood for tonight. Especially not these pants, they're dry-clean only.” His nerves were lightning-fried by the sight of the youngest Morgenstern. Every vampire with a head on their shoulders knew the Morgensterns, if not by face, then by name. Knowing them was a matter of survival, a testament to their blood-soaked brutality as opposed to their notoriety. And now the clan’s sole daughter was trying to make small talk with him (in knee-high boots, no less).
A slow, knife-sharp smile spread like ink over Mickey’s features, “How about I buy you a drink, Petra Verity Morgenstern?”
He patted the vacant seat at his side, side-eyeing a glare at Calamity Jane in the process. “Don’t worry about Dixie Cup, she was just about to take her leave. Right, Cowboy Bebop?”
“Bartender! Bring us some of that purple vodka! The sparkly stuff!” If rolling your eyes was a sport, the bartender could have been an Olympic athlete.
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Post by Salted Squid on Dec 17, 2017 13:07:14 GMT -5
Cowgirl Betty. Dixie Cup. Cowboy Bebop. Man, I love Mickey))
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Dec 17, 2017 13:13:57 GMT -5
{ mickey is a national treasure but the real question is: will he ever get the chance to meet skylar? }
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