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

Needle's easier. But some dislike them.

[He waves her towards an armchair, his movements curious; mostly graceful but occasionally stuttering with a held-back tension that makes him distracted and twitchy.]

I'd be more concerned about a strange man coming at me with a knife, personally. But I guess phobias don't make sense.

[ She sits, watching as he moves; preparing things, she assumes. Speaking of strange men- ]

It's Ariadne, by the way.

[He laughs, just a short breath catching in his throat. It's fair. He prepares deftly, obviously well-practiced; cooling the sterilised needle, washing his hands, readying the tubing and the bottle.]

How practical you are.

The Brucolac. Could you roll up your sleeve?

It helps that I don't have a needle phobia.

[ Still, she preens a little at the praise, even as she rolls up her sleeve. The marks on the inside of her wrist from the needles attached to the PASIV have faded, at least to her eyes; it's been months now, after all. ]

[He gives another humming, scratchy breath of laughter as he crouches down by her side, swabbing delicately at the inner crease of her elbow and knotting a tourniquet just above it. He moves with all the practiced calm of a medical professional.]

Keep talking, do.

[Distract him.

When the needle slides in, a bead of blood swells at the entry point. There's just time for his expression to visibly change, lips parting, brow creasing, eyes shuttering closed—and then he's abruptly gone from where he was, and visible now a few meters away, looking much more calm and collected. He offers Ariadne a slightly self-deprecating grin, knotting his hands behind his back to disguise his twitching fingers.]

You know vampir, then?

[ It's certainly more professional than men in dress shirts in an old warehouse. Ariadne watches, doesn't flinch when the needle slides in -- but does flinch when she realizes he's suddenly across the room, that expression that had been there for but a moment gone.

Still. He's got control. She gives him a slight smile back. ]

I met one my first day here -- another Shardbearer. He disappeared within the month, but he was an ass, so it wasn't exactly an enormous loss. I do remember that despite needing blood to live, he still drank alcohol.

[ It's why she'd talked to him in the first place; she'd needed a stiff drink after arriving in the Drabwurld. It had simply turned out that the man she'd approached had been more predator than every troll and orc in the room. ]

[He laughs quietly, eyebrows moving up.]

Strange. The vampir I know, those like me, would sicken at the very idea. I once drank from someone with a hangover... [He shook his head with a sigh and shot her a meaningful look: never again.

He's very, very conscious of the slow-filling vacuum bottle, but he's careful not to look at it, and actually feels better every moment he stays on top of himself. It's nice to have proof that the habit of control is still well-ingrained in him.]

Most of us are rude bastards, though. It seems to be a common denominator.

[ 'Never again' indeed. Even the thought makes her nose wrinkle. ]

I can't imagine that was good for you or the person with the hangover. Especially if the alcohol was cheap.

[ She's a college student; while Ariadne is a very dedicated student, she does have fun and, more than that, she's observant. People in college are not overly concerned with keeping their drinking habits a secret. ]

Back home -- where we don't have magic or vampires or werewolves or anything -- there have been an awful lot of vampire romance novels, lately. But I guess there's less of a market for rude bastard vampire books.

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

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;