eachdraidh | iii. video. open, then unseelie-locked. backdated to the end of september, ~29-30th

[UNLOCKED: VISIBLE TO ALL.]

[Candlelight laps at the dim image of the Brucolac's face, showing up mottled scars along his cheeks. His expression is tired. Whether it's the light or exhaustion, his olive skin looks faintly greenish.]

Alyosha of Redgate is dead by the hand of Reynard the Fox.

[It's not a lie. She is exactly as deceased as he is. He sighs out a breath, tches faintly, and moves on, his hoarse, scratchy voice impassive.]

Unrelatedly, I require information on the thief who stole the feathers of the birdking. He wasn't found? Did anyone pick up a trail?

[He knows he wasn't found. Hence (partly) the current sticky situation he's in.]

[LOCKED TO UNSEELIE.]

I'm at Caer Scima.

[He hisses through his teeth, rubs his forehead; his head is pounding, thick knots of tension twisting in his temples, pain shooting down his neck, bursting behind his eyes, tightening his jaw. Bone-dry and grimly humourous, he says:]

If anyone, preferably human, feels they have a surplus of blood.

[That sentence is left unfinished, the conclusion—in his mind, at least—obvious.]

[LOCKED TO ALICE & BERSERKER.]

[Flatly:]

What the fuck happened.

- - - -

[ooc: I realised too late that dating it this way means it went up a few days before new arrivals, damn it! but PLEASE feel free to have any newbies reply a few days late, if you so wish. c: ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[effy is v e r y suspicious of that weird question.]

Why do you want to know how much blood someone has?

I'm conducting a survey.

I am trying to fix myself dinner.

[she actually leans back from the locket a bit, alarmed.]

What are you?

[things effy never thought she would ask, ever.]

Vampir. [Snappishly.] What are you?

[her brows furrow,]

You were brought here?

[she knows there are things here, strange creatures that lurk in the dark, and she had an inkling that wizards and the like were brought here, too, but ... not vampires. it's like they were out of the question, for her.]

Human.

[Her confusion isn't quite expected; it jars him out of his irritation somewhat. Still, he's heard a lot of myths about his own kind (don't invite them in, their long long tongues can lick out your brains through your ears, the infection can be spread through a touch, a breath).]

I was brought here.

Why is that a surprise? [While blunt, his inquiry sounds more interested than snappish this time.]

Dunno. [she seems perplexed, herself.] Just another fairy tale.

[or horror story, depending on preference.]

Does it hurt?

Edited (whoops icons) 2014-10-05 23:10 (UTC)

[He opens his mouth like he's going to respond to the fairy tale comment, then just shrugs: fair.]

Does what hurt?

Whatever you do to get blood.

[she's honestly curious- and he hasn't given her (much) reason to be afraid. there are far worse things out in the drabwurld, she's sure.]

Only a little. Are you afraid of needles?

[the corner of her lips twitch up. the last time she used a needle, she passed out, and that was the last of using those types of drugs.]

No.

[her lips form a slightly larger smile,]

Haven't you got, fangs, or whatever?

[He can't help but laugh; he likes that she's willing to ask. The laugh exposes the answer to her question, but for the sake of showing off, he peels his lips back from his teeth and opens his mouth wider. His fangs curve backwards like a snake's, and—also like a snake's—his tongue is long and forked, lolling out as he opens his lips.]

Fangs, or whatever, by all means. Regrettably, I'm venomous.

[she lets out a small gasp, brows raising. it's a little gross, she's got to admit, but she'll keep that bit to herself.]

Oh my god.

[what is he, some kind of snake hybrid?]

One bite, and boom?

[Tongue's his best feature, if you ask him. He flicks it merrily and then whips it back inside his mouth, grinning faintly. He likes her curiosity, even if the conversation is a little close to home.]

Something like that.

[And there's the risk of turning, but he doesn't want to talk turning just now, not when he so rudely (cruelly) woke Alyosha from her deathbed.]

What are the fairy tales about vampir, then, where you come from?

[she can't help a small crooked smile of her own when he grins. she's scared, but not scared enough. he's fascinating.]

Men and women who suck directly from the veins. Some people think it's kinky. Think that's why it's gone on for so long.

[a shrug,]

They've got hypnotic powers, speed, shapeshifting. Dracula's a big one.

Ah, yes, the fetishists. [He shoots her a heavy look—playing for his audience, yes, so sue him, he's a melodramatic old monster. He's rolling his Rs and hissing his Ses, what's more.] Baring their necks for any leech that passes and trying to make sex out of supper.

Dracula?

People want to have their cake and eat it, too.

[she gives a curt nod, surprised a vampire doesn't know some of the origins. but, maybe it had to do with that whole different-world-bullshit.]

Wasn't really into vampires. [she prefers greek mythology.] He was the one who was supposed to start it all. Lived in a great big castle and had women fall in love with him. Threw a lot of parties. Then Van Helsing came along to chop his head off.

Sounds like he deserved it.

It's fucking embarrassing, that sort of thing.

[she lets out a breathy laugh,]

Not into parties?

They lost their appeal when I was in my early hundreds. No, I—find it tiresome when my fellow vampir aspire to be lords, kings, queens, by virtue of nothing more than their sharp teeth and unusual hungers. But I can't deny it them.

[that's fair.]

How old are you, then?

Nearing my four-hundreth year.

You?

Old man.

[it's a playful remark.]

Sixteen.

I know. Still. Moon's tits, sixteen. Yet here you are—

[Thoughtfully. He's not trying to patronise. Quite the opposite.]

How does it feel, to be sixteen years old? I've forgotten.

[moon's tits? that's a new one, and she's heard a lot of strange things. still, his question makes her pause, uncertain of how to answer. she just shrugs, giving a small shake of her head.]

Dunno. Haven't given it much thought.

[except, she has. barely, but she has. she spends too much time distracting herself to really dwell on how it feels to be herself, because that would be too much.]

Sorry.

video. private.

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