| Adalae
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« 13 November 2010, 20:36:18 »
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Thanks! I dunno to begin, really, since I've got no one to interact with (yet). So I'll do my best.
Denise blinked bright sunlight from her eyes, her head throbbing dully and her heart pounding in her ears. She sat up slowly, glancing around the small, empty room. The window that let in buckets of late morning sunshine had been thrown open, an ocean breeze lifting the curtains. Denise shifted her weight and rolled forwards on the cot, rubbing the back of her head sensitively. A large bump was raised beneath her rich black hair. Biting her lip nervously, she stood on shaky feet and padded to the bathroom. Looking back in the mirror was a pale, tall girl with long black hair and bright green eyes that were blotchy and bloodshot. A deep purple bruise was blooming across her cheek bone and a nasty cut ran across her shoulder. Denise paced the cold bathroom floor, her mind racing. Was that all from last night?
This was bad. Really bad. If she was becoming this uncontrollable, it would have to be stopped. Or someone stopped it for her. Denise glanced at the gash in her skin and gulped. People were out to get her. For who she was. What she was. It was hard to come to grips for what creature she was sometimes, but she swallowed her self pity. No use groveling at the feet of mercy when she could be living her life. Or what was left of it. Her mother was dead, and both her fathers gone. One was most likely dead as well. Unable to take the shame of his family. No one would hire her, and she had no money to leave and start fresh.
For her whole life, she had to accept that she was different. Her mother never talked about it, just consoled her while she washed the blood out of her dresses and let her play in the garden when it got dark. Her father, on the other hand, never talked to her at all. Almost every day of her life, she was glared at like she was a piece of meat, a worthless animal stuffed into clothes. Not only did the village look at her this way, but her own father followed along. She never meant anything to him.
But with good reason. His wife, the love of his life, had found herself in bed with a tall handsome stranger from across the sea. She birthed a stranger's child, a stranger's bloodline. By the time he knew the truth, the man had been halfway around the world by then. And his daughter, his adopted daughter, was growing up to be exactly what her true father had been. A monster. Denise knew what she was, as she had figured it out not long after her eighth birthday.
It had been a cloudy evening, with fog rolling quickly over the sea. Her father had went out and bought her a pretty doll that morning, and for the whole day she had carried around in the pocket of her apron. She took it everywhere and never let it out of her sight. That evening, she had made her way down to the docks to go visit her father, just as he was finishing up work. He would let her play with the ropes of his small fishing boat, then he would spin her around and ruffle her hair. That had been before he learned of his wife's betrayal. His daughter's true identity.
The sun was sinking fast beneath the waves, and her father had much work to finish up, so he ushered little Denise on her way. Her mouth watering at the red velvet cake her mother had promised her, she headed up the dock. Suddenly, she had bumped into three older boys. They were tall and growing strong, and had an appetite for teasing her. They had blocked her way, pushing her around with their callused hands and tripping her so she fell onto the hard wood. Her father was working with the motor of his boat, and could not hear his daughter's cries.
When she had fallen, the small doll had fallen from her pocket. The boys, grinning like hyenas, scooped up the doll and tossed it casually from one to another. Fuming, Denise ran at them, punching them as hard as she could which, in all honesty, was not that hard. The group's leader, a lanky boy with freckles and sparkling blue eyes, snickered at her feeble attempts to hurt him, and threw the doll to his friend. The stuffed fabric slipped through his hands, and the pretty little doll had fallen with a gentle splash into the waves.
Denise felt the rage rip through her with anger and malice like she had never felt before. Just as the last of the sun had disappeared, the full moon pulled itself from behind a handful of fog. She felt the fur, the claws, the jaws. The muscle ripple with every movement she made. Soon she was tearing the boys up, one by one, covering herself in blood and snapping any bone she could reach. In seconds, the three boys had lay dead at her feet. And she blacked out.
When she came to, she knew exactly what had happened. Her mother had said nothing, but her father had had plenty to say. And that's when her life went spiraling out of control. Frequent attacks, even when the moon was out of sight. She would wake up with her memory and her father gone. Her mother stopped singing to her at night. None of the children every ventured near her, and eventually she stopped going to school. The monster that had been woven into her genes was finally rearing its ugly head.
Denise snapped her head back at the mirror, the color rushing back into her cheeks. The memory had been so strong, so real. She would never, ever forget. Carefully she tied back her hair and hurried into the kitchen. Last night was becoming clearer now, the hazy pieces pulling themselves together. As she lit the stove and shook the match, she weighed her options delicately. The dark hours had been her biggest kill of the month. The whole village had lent a hand to the family, beating her viciously. That explains the bump and the gash. But she had gotten her way, and her stomach was full with the blood and flesh of five sheep and a bucket of fish. She was surprised the village hadn't shot her then and there.
But they hadn't, and she was still here. Still killing. The fatality rate had gone down as she grew older, but on any particular night she could lose it, and wake up with human blood smeared across her face. This had to stop. Denise had considered suicide, even tried it after she killed her mother. But she found, with growing frustration, that it didn't work. She simply couldn't bring herself to do it, even with the lives she had taken weighing her down into a sea of merciless murder. No matter how hard she swam, the shimmering light of the surface was always out of reach.
Denise sipped the hot water she had heated up, not even steeping it with herbs. It was useless to try to eat and drink; she tasted nothing. Raw meat and blood was the only thing that offered any sense of satisfaction. Tossing the mug into the sink, she changed quickly out of the T-shirt and sweats she had crashed in. That she had killed in.
The village was teaming with life, but not here. Her great-grandfather had built the cottage on a crag over the sea, a rocky trail leading down the docks which connected to the main road into town. But Denise just made her way down to the beach, feeling the warm breeze on her skin and the cool wet sand sink through her toes. She shaded her eyes and looked out on the sea, just as she had every day. Perhaps her real father would return one day, hold her in his arms and promise to never leave her. Teach her to really be her, and maybe take her away to see the world, and help her become less of a monster and more of a girl.
But he never did.
Walking slowly along the beach, Denise could catch a glimpse of the docks, and the strong, shirtless men who worked there. Her attention, however, was on one young man in particular. Damien. He had grown up with her, and had sat with her at lunch during the last weeks that she spent at school. Even after he knew what she was, he treated her with kindness. But times had changed, and he had fallen in love with a pretty girl. A normal girl. He had a handsome little boy and a wife who loved him and a good job that kept him healthy. And a secret admirer, a slim wolf-girl who wandered to the beach every morning to watch him work and wish about what could've been.
Turning her head away, as if he could see, and even cared, that she cried, she flopped in the sand and closed her eyes. Why was this happening to her? Had her blood father really loved her mother? Had he really wanted a daughter? If so, why did he leave? Why did her step father not love her? Was she not good enough for him? Because he was not her sire, was she not worth his time? Or his love? Was it the monster inside that scared him away?
With the questions racing around in her head, she crawled into a small dip in the sand beneath the windswept rocks, where the waves could not reach. She wrapped her arms around her knees and buried her head against her jeans, wishing everything might end right there. Right then.
« Last Edit: 13 November 2010, 20:52:38 » |
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| Jasper Addison
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The question was not what had she done to him. It was what had he done to her.
He had gotten her pregnant, and that was what had changed everything. Sure, the argument could be made that she had been a consenting party in the matter and that she was just as responsible as he was, but Jasper didn’t see things that way. He was stabbed with guilt every time he looked at her and saw that she was suffering from the side effects of the pregnancy. It was his fault that she was here right now; she was in pain because of him. Because he had been too driven by desire to control himself.
When one looked at the situation objectively, it was easy to see who was suffering the most in this relationship. Not only was Alex burdened with the physical process of having a baby (though, gestation was much shorter in pixies than in humans) but she was also giving up so much more than her petite figure. It was no secret that she really wanted to finish school in order to make something of her life. Moreover, she was giving up her parents and the rest of her life in order to live here with him.
What was Jasper giving up? Not nearly as much.
It was true that he was giving up a certain degree of his freedom in becoming a father, but what was that compared to what Alex was losing? He had always been a very vain, independent kind of vampire, but perhaps it would be for the better if he was able to move past that part of himself. Having this child was perhaps one of the best opportunities for personal growth that Jasper had ever encountered. Too bad it was coming with a hefty price tag for his beloved Alex.
Yet, that didn’t mean that he realized that he would become a better person if he gave up on being so concerned with his image. Alex was right in thinking that he would have found some way to terminate the pregnancy if the mother of the child had been anyone but Alex. That’s how terrified he was of becoming a parent. This child, and the uncertainty surrounding it, scared him more than a vampire should ever be scared in his life. This was the first time that he had to take responsibility for anything in his life, and he didn’t like it one bit. Truth be told, had it been anyone but Alex, Jasper probably wouldn’t have stopped at killing them both: mother and child.
But that in itself was an interesting statement. Alex had explained to him before that pixies were extremely fertile. Therefore, it was very likely that, had it been anyone but Alex, he wouldn’t be in this situation at all.
All these thoughts were dancing around in his head while she was talking… and then he smelled the blood.
Of course, as a vampire, he was hypersensitive to such things. He hated himself for it, but he couldn’t stop his entire body from stiffening at the mere smell it. Even after spending so much time with her, he still had a very large weakness for her pixie blood, perhaps inherited from his vampire sire and foster father, Mark Addison. It smelled so sweet, and the thought of tasting it was so enticing that he nearly lost his mind every time he was confronted with it.
“Alex,” he breathed, “what is happening? What’s wrong?”
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| Stryver
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« 14 November 2010, 14:13:45 »
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Hoth woke up in his bedroom in the Unseelie King’s mansion. His room was shared by three other faerie boys who had come into the favor of the court; their beds were lined neatly up against a wall covered in Victorian wallpaper that flaked charmingly against the aging plaster. Neat rows of beds that were made messily, in the way that young men tended to make them when they were trying to be polite to their host but knew that nobody would be checking on them. Three faeries, relatively pure in lineage but mixed somewhere along their lines with human or pixie or vampire or brownie or whatever other strange hodgepodge of blood and rank. That was what the Unseelie Court was for, for those who were not quite complete in their faerie-ness. Not entirely supernatural, not entirely human. Of course, there were pure types interspersed amongst the ranks of the dark court as well. Pure, mixed, even some humans were scattered amongst the ancient tribe, but it was the role of the Unseelies to accept all who were worthy. The lost, the forbidden, the taboo, the perfect, the flawed. The eyes of the King saw only power and uselessness. That was what Hoth liked about him.
He pulled on a tee shirt and jeans, some things that may have been his and may have not have been. It didn’t matter because the size and shape of faerie teens tended to run along the same lines and his brothers’ clothing fit him like his own. Once dressed, he meandered down the creaky wooden staircase into the main dining room, where a breakfast of faerie fruit and breads was laid out for the court to enjoy. He picked up an apple and slathered a slice of bread in clove honey before taking his breakfast into the great room, where a few assembled court fey were sitting by the large windows and chatting amicably. A woman with eyes like a cat’s nodded to him as he entered. A pack of Wisps, one of whom may have been the beauty he’d collected last night, fluttered around his head in greeting- he laughed when he felt their spidery hands digging into his hair, undoubtedly tying it in more wicked little knots for him to work out later. The atmosphere in the room was convivial and sophisticated, with an added unnamable heaviness that denoted the presence of the king. Hoth felt a disturbance of the air in front of him and bowed his head.
“Good morning, Seldom.”
“Good morning, Mister Rye.”
He took a bite of his honeyed bread and marveled at the sticky sweetness of it. That had been one of the signs that the good people of Myfanwy had taken to be a signal of Hoth’s fey nature. He plowed his way through sweets and positively rejected any food that had been processed or doctored with artificial ingredients. Crisps and chips were rendered unpalatable, and it was only an unfortunate coincidence that the church wafers had produced the same effect. As the Unseelies had explained, he was a child of the earth. A pure being that could easily be poisoned by the introduction of manmade atrocities like high fructose corn syrup and pesticides. Iron, steel, and other melted metals were equally dangerous, as was the pollution and smog of a large city. Of course, there were charms to be placed that could counteract almost all of the effects but Hoth found it easier to simply avoid the things that bothered him. There were hardly any iron objects in the house and all of the food served was as natural as the first of its kind. He was told that the school they intended to send him to, some sort of finishing academy for all the beautiful freaks of the world, was similarly minded.
“Tell me about Delecroix again.” He finished his bread and sucked the last of the honey from his fingers. The pixie next to him grabbed his apple and took a bite before she answered his question. Faeries were odd like that, they were hell-bent on the idea of reciprocity. It was rooted in some old belief that no Faerie could give anything for free or something silly like that. Another old legend that was probably false, like the one that stated that no Faerie should ever tell anyone their full name or else they could be controlled indefinitely. That was silly, a stupid little guess that humans came up with. Still, it was a careful habit of the Unseelie’s not to divulge their names- this was the reason why Hoth still went by Hoth and not Blaidd Drwg. Only Seldom knew, and that was because he helped Hoth discover it.
“It’s not exactly a fairground, but you learn good stuff there. How to glamour yourself, for one. How to control your power, how to find your name, all kinds of neat tricks. Makes it easier to live amongst the Ironsiders, that’s for sure.”
“What if I’m not interested in living with Ironsiders?”
Two humans, twins that had been exchanged for changelings just as Hoth had, laughed. “You don’t have a problem living with us now, do you?”
Hoth shrugged smugly. “Maybe I do, maybe I dun’”
“Mister Rye, walk in the gardens with me. I wish to speak to you.”
Hoth furrowed his brow and stood up, leaving the rest of his apple to the Pixie girl. Unsure of what had warranted this attention, he followed the smell of the Faerie king out of the great room and back towards the formidable hedge garden.
“I didn’t mean it.” He said reflexively, once they were out of earshot of most of the court (although the werewolves were definitely still listening with their bloody dog ears). “I dun ‘ave a problem with the humans ‘ere, it was only a joke”
“I know. I wanted to talk to you about something else.”
Hoth visibly relaxed. They had set their pace to the beginning of the hedge maze, and if Hoth felt strange talking to what appeared to be the open air, he didn’t let on. There were stranger things in the world than an invisible monarch. The Unseelie Garden was astonishingly lovely, no doubt its strength was fortified by the presence of the dryads and nymphs that had come to Seldom for help, choking on dirty soil and bad water as their homes were destroyed by the encroaching expansion of the Ironsiders. Big, fat blooming bushes of hydrangeas and lilies burst forth in gaps in the tall hedges, and around every corner there was some beauty of a tree or faerie fountain to surprise the unsuspecting wanderer.
“You know that we have been at war with the Seelies for thousands of years. Their presence in America is strong and the key to our survival is the integration of the solitary fey into our ranks.”
Hoth nodded. He had gotten the gist of the struggle when he was first admitted to the court. He had learned that one, the Seelie court was all that had existed. Solitary fey were unaffiliated with either court and Trooping fey were all united under the common banner of the Seelie queen. A son of the Seelie queen was alleged to have fallen in love with a human woman, and their son was the first half-fey to be acknowledged in the court. When the Seelie queen died, there was a war of succession between those who supported the half-human grandson of the queen and a distant cousin, a pure pretender to the throne whose only claim lay in his pure blood. The pure faerie won and cast out the supporters of the half-blood prince (oh lord, did I really just type that?), but the supporters were numerous. They regained their strength by enlisting the help of all feykind, even the ones that would never have had a place at the Seelie court like vampires. Since then, there had been a struggle for the world’s remaining territory, a struggle that had gotten even more desperate as the natural places, the forests and rivers that faeries lay claim to, shrunk in the expansion of Ironside.
This was why little courts were set up all over the world, with hundreds of thousands of Unseelie Kings and Seelie Queens- they all rule over their little portion of land and they defend it quite seriously against the other court. The protected land surrounding the suburbs of Philly were one sort of territory, most of which was controlled by Seldom and his vassals. Some of which was owned by the nearby Seelies. Seeing that Philadelphia was a mecca for feykind on the east coast of the United States, it was imperative that Seldom regain that land so he could settle the tired, wandering outcasts on it and give them a home.
“The more unaffiliated fey we have in this city, the higher the chance that some of them will be seduced by the Seelie court. They’ll tell them they’re special because their blood is pure. They’ll promise them forests to live in, a life filled with brass and honey.”
“Or cast them out to die.” Hoth couldn’t help but be a little bitter. The Welsh Seelies hadn’t even let him enter their halls; they sensed the taint of Unseelie in him and knew that his classification of faerie was pure but wholly undesirable. Not good enough.
“There is a pair of fey in our neighborhood. The affiliations of the parents are unknown at the moment, but the woman, a pixie, is pregnant. The father is a vampire.” Seldom produced two fairths, unbreakable glass plates with the images of the couple impressed on them, from his invisible jacket. They floated in the air until Hoth took them for himself. The pixie was pretty and had more than the telltale baby bump going on in the abdominal area. The vampire was more than pretty, a gorgeous, slender specimen with all the classic fairy-tale features of a seductive bloodsucker.
“There is no precedent for a child of such a union. It’s a miracle that the vampire remained virile after all of this time- he must be very young. We don’t even know if the child can be carried to term but whomever it may grow into is….of interest.”
Hoth put the fairths into his pocket and smirked. “So, what you’re saying is we dunno what the ‘ell is going to come out of that pixie, but we’re almost certain that whatever it is…is going to be really, really awesome?”
Seldom laughed. “In short, yes. We’re counting on you.”
~*~
Later on, Hoth found himself walking around in the wealthy neighborhood that served as the boundary between Ironside and the contested faerie grounds to the west. He had the address to his target’s house crumpled on a piece of paper in his pocket but preferred to rely on his sense of smell. Once he knew what he was looking for- the dank, hot salty scent of a vampire somehow intermingled with the bright, sweet, tangy smell of Pixie caught within the walls of the same house. He was an unassuming figure as he walked down the human-occupied streets; he had cut his hair into a short, trendy style that was subtly influenced by the vampire he has about to meet. It would grow back within hours, but he didn’t want to attract any attention by having waist-length tresses in an area where tennis cuts and blowouts were more common.
He found the house after fifteen minutes and one awkward trial-and error experience where he mistook the smell of a vampire with a housewife making beef burgundy. The windows were mostly dark save a few on the first floor; Hoth walked up and unlocked the door with brass lockpicking set. He was going to try to sneak in and do some recon but the sounds of distress caught his attention first:
“Alex, what is happening? What’s wrong?”
Hoth rushed in from the entry hall and saw the ailing pixie girl clutching her stomach. The vampire, more handsome in person, was worrying over her. The smell of blood was strong, and Hoth didn’t need to look at the floor to reassure himself that something was wrong.
“Stop! Stop, don’t get near her! One whiff of that blood and your judgment will go out the window, back away or put this on your top lip-” he took a bottle of peppermint oil out of his pocket and rolled it across the floor to the vampire. It was something he found useful when he was caught Ironside and was about to pass out from the stench of it. This wasn’t going how he expected, but he may as well help while he was here.
« Last Edit: 14 November 2010, 16:57:54 » |
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would you believe me if i told you...
I'm surfacing for just one thieving moment?
to.steal.your.heart?
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| Adalae
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« 16 November 2010, 01:30:51 »
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Denise finally urged herself to move before the tide rolled in. Though drowning would be welcome, it was not preferred. She wanted to die without a trace, as if she had never been here at all. Drowning would just leave her body to rot on the beach. For the village to find. For Damien to find. But what would it matter? They would probably enjoy burning her, or perhaps tossing her over the edge of the docks just like her doll that had disappeared all those years ago. Deep, dark images of the fear splattered across the boys' faces like blood along the walls plastered themselves into her mind. She took a deep breath and blew wisps of black hair away from her eyes. Time to get moving.
Crawling out from underneath the low overhang, she made her way back down the beach towards the trail that led home. The trail felt steep and rocks constantly stumbled from beneath her feet and swallowed by the sea far below. Waves crashed up against the cliffs, white foam and angry blue swells thumping along the rock like the heartbeat of a stalking predator. The ocean had always intrigued her, the way the tide moved on its own accord. It consoled her when she was trying to drown at the screams that banged against her eardrums, refusing to leave her memories. Yes, the ocean had always been there for her when it was needed.
It was possibly the only thing that had.
Denise finally scrambled over the ledge and into the front garden of the little cottage. A windswept building with pastel yellow paint and dusty windows. Ivy had begun to work its way around the house, and high weeds sprouted between her mother's once-prized azaleas and nightshades. The pink and purples hues that fluttered in the breeze reminded her of the sunrise that used to turned her father's fishing boat into a ghostly silhouette in the morning fog. Without being able to stand staring at the delicate flowers that almost screamed her mother's name, she disappeared into the house, slamming the heavy door behind her.
Inside was a simple sitting room with a small fireplace along the right wall, and two thin bright red armchairs and a plush Persian carpet her father had paid an arm and a leg to buy for her mother. Big windows gave a pretty view of the ocean, but they were raely opened and even more rarely cleaned. The coals lay dead and untouched, and her father's favorite carpet lay dirty and wrinkled. Leading off from the sitting room was a tiny kitchen with windows over the sink with the same breath-taking view of the front room. A few cupboards were stuffed with herbs and salts, but Denise never used those. They just sat in the dark, waiting to be tossed into her mother's stew or strewn over her father's latest catch. A lump rose in her throat, and she slipped from the kitchen.
Down the hall was a bathroom to her left, her parent's bedroom to her right, and her own bedroom at the end. She entered, pushing back the door and grimacing at the white-washed walls with delicate ocean swells painted along the crown molding. Besides a desk pushed up against the window and a cot stuffed into a corner, the room was bare. Denise wandered over to the mattress and lay back, gazing up at the empty ceiling. She did not know how much longer she could live here, letting her past haunt her every waking moment she was around.
Rolling on her side, she closed her eyes for blessed sleep. But something mysteriously crinkled beneath her pillow. Curious, she lifted up the fluffed fabric and stared with mouth open at what lay underneath. A neatly written letter in incredible cursive, an envelope labeled Funding, and a plane ticket with a departing date and time from her small international airport nearly two hour's drive from here. The arriving airport was underlined in Sharpie. Philadelphia International Airport, Pennsylvania.
Denise's eyes widened to the size of the full moon as she picked up the letter in shaking hands.
Dear Ms. Giovanni, it read.
We are pleased to announce that you have been accepted into Delacroix Academy. This school will help you interact with others of your kind and learn to control your skills and yourself as a whole. We have included funds for a residence and groceries until term begins in December. Please consider this, as it this not easily decided and will only be offered once. We hope you have safe travels and hope to see you when term starts.
Sincerely,
Delacroix Academy Staff
Denise dropped the letter and ripped open the envelope eagerly. Bills spilled across the sheets like leaves in the fall. She calculated around two thousand U.S dollars.
$2,000.
Her first thought erupted into her head before she could stop it. I'm rich. But then reality set in. The plane ticket was paid for, but the academy spoke of residence and groceries until December! That was almost a month away! Between rent and everyday meals, would she last before term began? She was confused, lost. But there was nothing to do but take the risk. Denise squared her jaw and stood, pocketing the letter, the cash, and the plane ticket, and lifted the mattress to reveal a few pair of clean clothes. She ran into the sitting room and scooped up her old backpack with had enough room for the clothes plus a few bottles of water and some gum she dug up from the fridge and the drawer beneath the sink. With on last long look at the house, she burst out the front door and never looked back.
She sprinted down the trail, tripping and scraping her hands along the rocks constantly. She made it to the beach and raced across the sand, ignoring the glares and shouts she received as she weaved through crowds along the docks. She ran up the main road, dodging quite a few whacks to the head with whatever the women seemed to be holding in their hands at the time. Finally she made it out of the village and quickly hailed a taxi. She spoke in rapid Italian, promising the driver his exact fare as soon as they got into the city, where she could change out the U.S bills for enough euros to pay him. He grudgingly agreed, but Denice was true to her word, and slipped him a few extra coins before sliding into the crowd of travelers.
The airport was loud, noisy, and reeked. The constant flow of people jostled her to the point where she hopped from the hallway and onto a small leather bench. She finally gathered herself together, slung the pack over her shoulder, and dove back into the stream of people. In what seemed like hours, she was seated in a huge aircraft at the back in a plush blue seat with a view of the runway. And after a quite exhilarating takeoff, exhaustion took hold and she crashed, head lolled on the window.
The plane landed ten hours after it left the grounds of Italy. Ten hours after she had left the only place she had known. Home. Scrambling for her bag, she burst from the plane and hurried outside into the warm, American air. And realized, with a sinking feeling of horror, that she had no idea where to go.
Denise was truly and utterly lost.
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| Jasper Addison
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What the hell?
Jasper, ever consumed by his love and worry for Alex, had been too preoccupied wondering what on earth was going on now to even register the sounds that reached his ears when the intruder broke into the house. Likewise, the smell of blood—sweet, delicious pixie blood—was so strong and enticing that he didn’t even notice the second scent in the room when it wafted in from outside.
But all the love in the world couldn’t change the fact that Jasper was a natural hunter, constantly aware of his surroundings. As soon as the stranger spoke, every muscle in his body tensed instinctively. Slowly, ominously, he removed his hands from Alex and turned to face whatever foolish being had dared to enter his domain. Jasper straightened, rising to his full height, and faced the stranger. His white fangs flashed in the dim lighting, and his piercing blue eyes narrowed like a cat’s.
For a moment, all he could see was Mark… his ancient foster father standing there in the foyer. His skin was as white as snow, his black hair narrowed to a distinctive widow’s peak in the center of his forehead. His bloodstained lips twisted into a vicious, malicious smile. All of a sudden, Jasper was catapulted back to that fateful day only a couple of months before… He’d gone out hunting, and Mark had used his absence as the opportunity he needed to go after Alex. When Jasper returned, the fight was unavoidable.
But Mark had been much stronger due to his age, and, for a few moments, it seemed like Jasper wouldn’t survive. He remembered the gaping wound in his skull that would have meant certain death for any other creature but from which he had managed to heal due to his being a vampire. In the end, it was Alex who enabled him to emerge victorious. When all the dust had cleared, Jasper had been standing at the top of the grand staircase with Mark’s head in his hands.
So why did he see the dead thing standing before him now? Were things as he’d feared? Had this demon come back to haunt him until the end of his days?
Then something hit his foot, a can of some substance Jasper wasn’t familiar with. He blinked, and everything came into focus. The young man in front of him was not Mark. Mark was dead, dead and gone. This stranger was no vampire… but he also was no human. Jasper sniffed the air, trying to focus on the new scent instead of the irresistible smell of Alex’s blood. He smelled vaguely like Alex, but it was something that he couldn’t quite place.
Then his words registered, and Jasper felt a low growl rising in the back of his throat. The nerve of this creature! To suggest that he would ever be the one to harm Alex! Alex, whom he had so recently devoted his life to protecting! Yes, Jasper knew what pixie blood was—he regularly drank it from the magic cup Alex had given him. The sad thing was that this fellow was right… his judgment did go out the window. However, now there was something more pressing on his mind. What was more important? Gorging himself on that magical drug? Or protecting his territory and, by extension, Alex?
For such an obviously territorial creature, the answer was obvious.
“I don’t know who you think you are,” Jasper hissed, kicking the can of peppermint oil carelessly aside, “but you had better get the hell out of my house right now.”
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| Alexandra Winters
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« 17 November 2010, 23:37:38 »
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Sorry for the late post guys - it's exam season  On the steps, Alex sat trying her best to keep herself from biting her lip open from the sheer pain she was enduring at the moment. Jasper's cool arms around her were soothing beyond belief, but it could not excuse nor relieve the feeling she was experiencing.
In hindsight, it didn't matter whose fault it really was for the pickle they were in. Essentially they both consented, and it meant they were in this together. Though she did know, that despite any blame she would have put on herself, Jasper not even for a second would let her think that. He was far more protective and supportive than she could have ever hoped to imagine, and it made her worry a little less for feeling so dependent upon him. He was her supporting pillar.
It was only as the blood dripped off her leg and landed in a splat on the mahogany staircase that she realised the effect the blood would have on Jasper. Another layer of stress and concern clenched inside of her, and matched the expression on his face. How could she turn to him and say "Hey dear, I haven't the foggiest what's going on because this half-half child growing inside of me hasn't really been documented and is having the time of its life ripping my womb?". It wasn't something that could be easily passed off in conversation that's for sure.
In the moment that she was reaching for Jasper's hand to gain the strength to stand up and make it to the top of the stairs, she was greatly disturbed by the sound of their front door being swung open. Footsteps that did not sound the least bit familiar came toward the grand staircase where she caught a glimpse, however faint, of someone who was looking straight up at them.
Clearly, this thing that was standing in front of them knew more than the average joe who does b&e's in swanky neighbourhoods. He mentioned her blood, and the danger that would come from his sensing it. Whoever he was, he knew that she was a pixie, and Jasper was a vampire. To say this alarmed her was beyond an understatement. This was more like two innocent civilia walking around Hiroshima and Nagasaki approimately 5 seconds before the bombs. Who the hell was this person? How did he find out about the both of them, where they lived? Jasper and Alex had been inhabiting the manor for little over a month, half of which was spent under the company of Jasper's "late" foster parents. Was he from Delacroix? What did he want from them? Whatever he was after, his allegiance was visibly shown toward her. Obviously this thing that was at the bottom of the stairs had no idea that Jasper and Alex were madly in love and expecting a child. Or that the two of them knew how to handle his issues with her blood.
This just frightened her even more. With fury, she gripped the banister yet again and forced herself up, noticing only as she stood that in addition to blood, her water had broke. Jasper The words barely escaped her lips. She wanted to yell her head off and scare this bugger away, but she barely could bring herself to her feet. And while she wanted Jasper to act all strong, there were more pressing things right now. She quite literally was left without words, his name being a reflex, and in effect the only thing she could say.
She slowly wobbled one step down, the pain within her reaching new heights. A tear slipped down her cheek yet again, painting the pain across her face in a way her lungs would not share. Look, I don't know who you are, and I don't know why you're here, but clearly you know something. This is really a bad time. Unless you have something important, and I mean, really important, I'm not really in the mood for.... Alex could no longer contain herself, she yelped out in frustration, the pain bringing her yet again to her knees. My god, labour was even worse than described. She wanted to scowl at Jasper for ever consenting to this sexual madness, but she knew that once the baby was delivered she would think otherwise. At the moment, she wanted his head on a plate, and this god forsaken mad man out of her house.Jasper, get the car. NOW.
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| Stryver
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« 18 November 2010, 11:28:24 »
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Hoth felt the world slow down around him as his sense of scent overwhelmed his others. He could smell the vampire’s territorial apprehension, the pixie’s fear and pain. The hot blood on the floor, the initial wash of birth pooling and splashing down the stairs. Among this there was something new, so close to the surface but hidden under the miasma of smell that swirled around him like a tangible mist- the child. In congruence with Hoth’s absolutely stellar timing, the pixie was going into labor. The smell didn’t bother him, unlike the obviously struggling vampire boy at the top of the stairs, but it was distracting enough to warrant him desiring a dab of that oil. Of course, the vial was kicked across the room, having been refused by the wildly irresponsible vampire who was now snarling at Hoth like a rapid dog. Oh, stupid, stupid, stupid. Vapid Americana at its best. In Wales, you didn’t ask questions when you were in a crisis. That was the point of a crisis. You’re supposed to be focused on that which is causing the bloody crisis.
Hoth held his hands up to show he wasn’t armed. “I was sent ‘ere,” he said truthfully. “There are fey folk in the area that wanna ‘elp. They sensed that a pixie was going into labor and sent me to offer our services. W-we have doctors, good ones. Doctors like us, who know what both of ya are. You dun’ really think that the OBGYN at Hahnemann General knows what to do with ya, do ya?” Hoth lied easily but pleaded with his eyes. He didn’t want to lose out on this collection, didn’t want to disappoint Seldom, yes- but it was more important that the pixie lady was safe. Safe from her idiot boyfriend who looked as if he might start licking the blood off the stairs at any moment, safe from the whateverthehell that was cruising to come out of her body at some point in the next thirty-six hours, safe from the human doctors who would take one look at a half-undead, potentially bloodthirsty magical infant and call in every sicko researcher in Philly to examine her child…
“Consider me the faerie EMT- ‘ere” Hoth pulled a charm out of his pocket and tossed it up the stairs. His name carved into a piece of red glass, imprinted with the Unseelie King’s seal and denoting his affiliation with the court. Credentials. “That’s me. I’m Hoth Rye.” He slowly lowered his hands and approached the couple slowly. “Get the car, we live in the black ‘ouse just down the street, I can tell ya where to drive. There’s already a room set up for ya. We just want ya to be okay, Alex-” and he used the name Seldom had given him to convey come modicum of confidence- “We just want ya to ‘ave a safe delivery and to make sure the baby’s okay, ay op? That sound kosher to you, Jasper?” he looked up at the vampire, arms still up to convey absolute submission to the alpha-vamp. “We’re on the same side, ‘ere.”
would you believe me if i told you...
I'm surfacing for just one thieving moment?
to.steal.your.heart?
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| Alexandra Winters
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« 18 November 2010, 12:25:27 »
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He knows my name. Like the noon bell being rung throughout a city, that was the only thing that rang and ricocheted in her mind. Ding He knew Jasper's name. Ding He knew what the both of them were. DingHe knew beforehand she was pregnant and due at any moment.
Dong He knew this very second her contractions turned into labour.
Despite this "Hoth Rye's" pleading eyes, if that was his real name, how on earth did he expect to garner her full trust under such circumstances? Wouldn't it have made more sense to have introduced himself prior to this crisis so that she may better acquaint herself with the idea that someone aside from her parents hung around this neighbourhood.
And then the most bluntly obvious notion came to her. How can any of the surrounding pixie's know I'm pregnant when my parents haven't even come to see me in over three months? If this "fey folk" you speak of truly exist, wouldn't it make sense that my parents would have come for me, rather than send such an alarming stranger when I'm about to give birth to their grandchild?
Now here was the kicker. In this Rye's rebuttal (what kind of a name was that anyways? It sounded more like a celtic drink than a name), would he refer to Georg and Josephine, her adopted parents from Connecticut? Or would he bring up her actual pixie parents who lived in the forest of the Winter's estate? He already knew so much, but she wanted to see where the lies would begin to fabricate. Even in her semi-sane state, she could sense within her that he was parading around in a mask that would paint himself trustworthy. Something, she could not yet buy. Cold sweats danced down her neck and it was becoming increasingly difficult to stay sane throughout all this madness. She didn't trust this man for one second, but she was so desperate for medical relief that she was almost willing to trust him for a fraction of a moment.
She clutched her stomach in agony yet again, afraid to take another step down after the mess she had made on the staircase. If she fell, that would be the end of both her and the child, and so she tried to bend over to take off her shoes. Her insides screamed like nails down a chalkboard and realised that she was pretty much stationary at the moment. She wanted to cry, wanted to be the vulnerable mess that is a soon-to-be mother in labour, but she had to perform this act of strength in front of this complete stranger. She didn't want to be territorial or maternal in this sense until after the baby had been born.
She had no choice. Jasper. His name softly escaped her lips in a pleading whisper. She needed his strength right now more than anything. If only to get down these stairs and to help.
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| Jasper Addison
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This was the problem with Jasper. He was quite a young vampire not used to thinking about anyone other than himself.
Since he was such a new vampire, he still had more trouble than he was willing to admit when it came to controlling his instincts and emotions. And right now? It was a very emotional moment. There was pixie blood on the floor, for one, meaning that all of his vampire senses were on high alert. He’d already gotten a whiff of the stuff, and the longer that he was exposed to the scent, the harder it became to maintain his hold on control and reality. In fact, it probably didn’t help that he had already come to associate the smell of her blood with a meal… as that was exactly the liquid that her magic Goblet of Necessity kept supplying him with whenever he needed a fix.
Secondly, there was a strange man in his house. Well, not a man. All Jasper needed was one sniff to figure out that this Rye character wasn’t human. He still wasn’t sure what kind of magical being he was, but if he was working for some kind of fairy court it was probably safe to assume that he was some kind of fairy or something closely related to the fairies. Jasper had never been good was strangers, and he’d become an extremely territorial vampire when Christine had convinced Mark to spare his life and give him a second chance those three long years ago. The fact that there was an intruder in his house set off even more bells in his already frazzled mind than Alex’s blood did.
Moreover, he was very, very reluctant to believe a single word of what this man was saying. He was not a very trusting being by nature. Hell, it was all he could do to keep himself from attacking Hoth Rye—if that was his real name. Truth be told, there was no much going on at the moment to stimulate his vampire instincts that he practically frozen by indecision. It was a wonder that his brain hadn’t overloaded yet.
The third, and most important, thing going on in the foyer right then was Alex. She was going in labor.
There she was… the love of his life, the first person that Jasper had managed to feel anything for since becoming a vampire… and she was in so much pain. Because of him. She was in all of this agony because of him. He loved her so much, and there was next to nothing that he could do to help her. He couldn’t take her to a hospital… the strange had a point there. What the hell would they do?
And he had to act quickly… he hated seeing Alex like this. He knew that he had to do something, and he had to figure out what he was going to do as soon as possible. Standing out staring down this stranger wasn’t going to help anything. No matter how much it went against his instincts, he had no choice but to trust the intruder.
“The black Mercedes,” he growled, gesturing to the keys sitting on the end table by the door and inviting him to take them. He would trust this idiot with his car, which was easily replaceable, more than he would trust him with Alex. Even though trusting him at all went against all of his screaming instincts. At the same time, he turned and gathered Alex into his arms. “It’s going to be all right,” he purred into her ear, trying to really believe it himself.
Truth be told, he was scared out of his mind.
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| Stryver
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« 27 November 2010, 13:24:23 »
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Hoth looked up at Alex and feigned patience as she went through some kind of pregnant-logic spiel about her parents and the pixies. He shook his head imperceptibly, a subconscious tic he had come to develop when he had absolutely no idea what someone was talking about- and he had enjoyed quite a few of those awkward moments in the months since joining the Unseelies. What was she talking about- her parents hadn’t come to see her? What did that have to do with anything? Hoth tried to keep himself calm but he had always been more than a little bit short when it came to other people. Call it a learned behavior from living for so many years amongst the bog-stupid Ironsider citizenry of Myfanwy.
“Your parents ‘ave nothing to do with this. ‘ow am I supposed to know why they ‘aven’t stopped by to drop off a bloody bassinet? There’s a group of us, we stick together, and we’ve been keeping an eye on you two because you’ve practically been living in our backyard and we knew that when the time came, you were going to need our ‘elp,” he snapped and made for the keys on the table. Oh snap. American cars and American roads. Now was probably not the best time to mention to Jasper or anyone present that he’d never driven of the silly right-roady, left-wheelie contraptions the USA called a car. What was wrong with the nice, normal Welsh cars with their easy riding and the left side of the road?
“Carry her down the stairs,” Hoth gently instructed Jasper, who looked like he was having a bit of a rough time comporting himself. “And try to stay quiet, Alex, talking wastes energy,” he added, partly because he knew what the Welsh midwives used to gag their clients when push came to shove (literally) and partly because he wanted the pixie to shut up and focus on the pain. The more consumed she was by her impending motherhood, the less she’d actually think about what was happening. Stupid smart pixies. Lucky Jasper was simple or desperate enough to stop doubting what Hoth was saying and just go with it. It’s not like Hoth was even lying about everything, though. There were Unseelie faeries that could deliver the baby without a hitch. If Alex and Jasper came with him, everything would (probably) be just fine. Of course the idea of saving the pixie baby’s life and therefore indebting the family to the Unseelie Court was highly desirable, but for the moment it was secondary.
Hoth wasn’t sure where Jasper kept the car, but he pressed the lock button on the keys to see if he could tell from the beep. There- he bolted outside to the driveway and promptly got into the passenger’s seat. Cursing himself and his habits, Hoth wriggled over to the driver’s side and started the car before getting out and opening the back door for Jasper and Alex. Seldom’s manor-keep was a five minute drive away, or so he had calculated in his head. “Oi, you…” Hoth called out into the night air. “If anyone’s there, tell Seldom we’re on our way. All of us.” He was relatively certain that somewhere around the old mansion there would be at least a Wisp keeping an eye on the pair. Seldom wouldn’t have been able to get those fairths or the intelligence on Alex and Jasper if there weren’t. Sure enough, a little yellow light bobbed into existence a few inches away from Hoth’s face and bounced around in what was probably accordance before shooting down the darkened street like a comet hurtling several hundred light years too close to the earth’s surface.
would you believe me if i told you...
I'm surfacing for just one thieving moment?
to.steal.your.heart?
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| Jasper Addison
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The black Mercedes… was actually the bad car. It was Mark’s old car, the vehicle in which the vampire undertaker had driven to and from work in every day. For that reason it was also the car that Jasper just didn’t care about, which was also why it was parked in the driveway where anyone could see it or scratch it or do whatever they wanted to it.
Maybe Freud would have something to say about that… Was Jasper projecting his feelings of hate and scorn for deceased foster father onto the car that he’d driven every day, even though the car now technically belonged to Jasper just as much as the house did? Perhaps there was some symbolism in it… leaving Mark’s car out in the cold and almost hoping that it would get ruined in some way. That was why he’d given the keys, which were also just left lying around, to this unproven stranger so that he might drive him and Alex, about to have a baby, to wherever it was he was going to take them. If there was a mess in the backseat when everything was said and done? Oh well, Jasper didn’t care about the Mercedes.
Perhaps one will remember the sleek black convertible that Jasper had had at Delacroix, the vain, shining vehicle that he’d used to bring Alex back to his house for the first time, when Mark tried to kill her. That car was safely locked in the garage because Jasper probably wouldn’t be able to take it if anything happened to mar the perfection of his ride. Yes, it was right next to the black motorcycle that he’d been given for Christmas one year. Both the convertible and the bike were symbols of his pride and vanity.
In the meantime, however, Jasper wasn’t even sure that he realized that leaving Mark’s hated car within easy reach at all times was finally paying off. His mind was racing so fast that he could barely make sense of anything. Part of him was still preoccupied with the smell of Alex’s blood, though that part was slowly receding into the back of his thoughts. A second part remained on high alert, stimulated by the presence of such a strange stranger. (After all, it wasn’t everyday that some random magic being broke into his house at the same moment that his girlfriend went into labor.) The third part, which also happened to be the largest, was completely focused on Alex.
Seeing her like this, afraid and in pain, was just what he hated the most. More than giving in to a compromise, more than admitting that he needed help and was incapable of doing something on his own. Ever since he killed Mark, his first mission in life had been to protect her and make sure that she was all right. Now he was faced with his worst nightmare: she was in agony and, not only could he do nothing about it, but he was also responsible.
Even paler than usual, Jasper gathered Alex’s small body in his arms and lifted her off the stairs. Maybe it was due to his vampire strength, but he was always shocked by how little she weighed. Even pregnant, she barely seemed heavier than a feather floating in his arms. He closed his mouth, concealing his fangs, and grit his teeth as he stepped out of the house and into the sunlight. Instantly, he felt his strength fade and his resolve falter. He was able to walk in the sun, unlike many vampires of myth, but the heat and light of day robbed him of much of his energy.
Carefully, Jasper set Alex down on the backseat of the car and then slid in himself, closing the door behind him. Another good thing about Mark’s car? The elder vampire had invested in tinted windows.
“If you are deceiving us I swear that I will personally insure that you suffer a terrible death,” he hissed at Hoth, reaching out to reassure Alex even as he made threats.
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| Ariane Leroux
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Denise Giovanni, seventeen-year-old werewolf from some obscure fishing town on the cost of Italy would be arriving any minute now.
Ariane Leroux, originally from Montreal, was there to greet her.
Miss Leroux was not a student at Delacroix Academy, but one of her uncles on her mother’s side happened to be the school’s current headmaster, one of the many Mr. Delacroixs to grace the school’s halls since it’s inception many years ago. Miss Leroux was the only child of Yvette Delacroix and Paul Leroux, though it had been ages and ages since she’d seen either one of her parents. Her father was a mortal, a human being; her mother… well, her mother was not. In fact, not even Ariane herself knew what exactly her mother was. A witch, perhaps? The dark kind that performed spells of black magic and lured children into their homes for questionable purposes.
And Ariane? Her birth had not been normal, and that was probably an understatement. To put things bluntly, Ariane had been an experiment. Yvette Delacroix had stumbled across an ancient book of spells while she was pregnant with Ariane, and the woman had been eager to try some of them out as soon as possible. To make a long story short, instead of being born a half-witch—as nature had intended—Ariane was born as something else, though her mother couldn’t be sure of just what. Upon learning of his wife’s experimentation on their unborn child, Paul Leroux took the baby and ran, returning to his hometown of Quebec, where he hoped that Yvette would not find them.
Mortals aren’t exactly the brightest.
Though, the two of them did live there for quite some time, almost a full eighteen years, before the former Miss Delacroix managed to find them.
For the first fifteen or so years of her life, neither Ariane nor her father knew what she was. She showed signs of being a telepath, but the ability to read certain people’s minds slowly dissolved and then disappeared completely by the time of her thirteenth birthday. Then other symptoms began to appear… lack of appetite, fatigue, severe headaches, low blood pressure, fainting spells… Both Ariane and her father were stumped… until the fifteen-year-old Ariane was assaulted and raped one night while walking home from a friend’s house. Ariane was immediately invigorated, while her assailant fell over dead.
Unable to tell her human father the truth of her identity as a succubus, a cursed demon created from the experiments of a crazed witch, Ariane kept it a secret. When she was sixteen, she met Jasper Addison and he fell in love with her. His suicide happened just several months before her mother appeared and tried to claim the result of that long-ago experiment. Paul Leroux was kill in the struggle and Ariane ran away, still a young girl just shy of eighteen.
Now, on the cusp of twenty-one, Ariane Leroux was waiting for a werewolf at the Philadelphia International Airport. She knew of Denise because of her uncle, though she preferred not to stay in contact with him for very long lest her mother find her again. Ariane was by no means her uncle’s messenger, though she would lead this young girl to believe that she was because it suited her own purpose. Ariane had caught wind of her old boyfriend, Jasper Addison. Believe it or not, the boy hadn’t killed himself after all; he had become a vampire instead, and he was living in Philadelphia. Ariane planned to seek him out, and Denise was going to help her.
So she stood there with a neat little sign on which the girl’s name was printed. Her brown eyes appeared warm and welcoming, and, dressed conservatively in jeans, boots and a pea coat, Ariane certainly didn’t look like the demon she was. Her soft brown hair fell in loose curls around her face and over her shoulders, and she smiled invitingly as she searched the crowd of travelers for her Denise.
Let the games begin.Ariane Leroux was born in Montreal but was quickly relocated to Quebec, where she lived most of her life. A product of one of the spells of her witch of a mother, Ariane is a succubus—a seductive demon who draws her strength from the life forces of her lovers. Her father is dead, and her mother is insane, so Ariane has spent the past three years living a life of sin and debauchery. She is, however, the infamous girlfriend whom our dear Jasper Addison tried to kill himself over three years ago. Now, Ariane’s picked up his trail and is preparing to confront him again. Is it possible that she really loved him too? Or maybe there is something else that she wants…
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| Adalae
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« 28 November 2010, 21:47:25 »
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Denise hung her messenger bag over her shoulder and walked up and down along the concrete, attracting strange looks from the other passengers that all bustled past her, and they all seemed to be going one direction. After a minute of thought, Denise followed them.
The crowd wove its way around the airport where a dozen of chauffeurs raised little white signs with surnames written across in large black letters and called them out to the crowd. Buses of all different sizes putted their engines along the curb, and cars pulling up behind them honked loudly and beckoned for their friends and family through open windows. Denise was now just as lost as ever.
She spun wildly around, growing more and more frightened, which was really quite stupid because she knew panicking never solved anything. But there she stood, blood draining from her face, pleading at anyone who would listen in rapid Italian, then practiced her well-rehearsed English. People barely spared her second glances, let alone a response. When she asked about Delacroix Academy, no one seemed to hear her. One man even spat in her direction.
Finally, Denise found a small stone bench away from the steady stream of passengers, and dropped her bag at her feet. What was she going to do now? She had been left only with American money that she had no idea how to work out, a letter from a school that supposedly no one knew about, and a bag of clothes that would last her a week, if best.
What if the letter had been a fraud? Now that Denise had begun to think things over, this was becoming more and more obvious. Many people, if not the whole village, were dying to get rid of her. Just send her some crack-pot letter about a magic school and send her on her way. But who in that tiny fishing village who put bread on the table by selling fish to traders, would have enough money to buy an international plane ticket and still leave 2oo American dollars within the envelope? Barely anyone in the village knew much about anywhere except Italy, anyway. Who would be able to convert such a large amount of cash?
It could've been someone already in the U.S, of course. But that was ridiculous. She didn't know anyone who lived here. Both the parents that raised her were dead, and her real sire was long gone. He had disappeared the minute she was born. The man wouldn't bother sending her a letter in the form of an acceptance letter to a magical school and thousands of dollars of extra money? Preposterous.
Suddenly, she spotted a clean white sign that a girl, perhaps her age, maybe older, was holding up, bearing her name. Denise blinked several times and rubbed her eyes against her white t-shirt, but the girl and the sign remained. Feeling uncertain, she lifted her bag and swam her way across the pavement, finally pulling up beside her. Guessing the girl spoke English as her first language, Denise wracked her brain for a descent question. But nothing came.
"Er...is that sign for me?" she asked hesitantly, feeling more and more stupid by the second. Suppose this girl was waiting for someone else? Suppose the girl knew another Denise Giovanni? But how many people were named that? And getting off this exact flight? The odds were slim, but Denise felt the blood rise to her cheeks even after she spoke.
Looking around, with a deep sigh, Denise realized this was her only option.
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| Ariane Leroux
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“Are you Denise Giovanni?”
But Ariane already knew that this timid, dark haired, Italian child was in fact the dangerous werewolf whom she had come to look for. After all, such a nervous and hesitant girl probably wouldn’t have been able to work up the courage to talk to a stranger with a sign if she was not absolutely positive that the name on said sign was her own. Ariane wasn’t a mindreader or anything but any means, but she knew that she could read people well enough for a demon of her type. This poor girl was by no means unreadable.
And her timidity was extended to her speech… Ariane guessed that the brokenness of her address wasn’t due solely to her nervousness and shyness. By the way that she talked, poor Denise probably didn’t speak English very well. Italian would be her first language; perhaps she was lucky to even know any English at all. Ariane sighed internally, as she didn’t speak a word of Italian aside from ciao. Having grown up in French Canada, the demon spoke French and English equally well. She knew that French and Italian were similar languages, but she doubted that that would be of much help. It was true that Ariane had anticipated a language barrier, but she had hoped nonetheless that she would find herself mistaken.
No matter, however. Her plan was a good one, and the language issue was only a small speed bump. Really, it was barely something to be acknowledged. In the end, she would have what she wanted, and there would be nothing that anyone could do to stop her. Especially not some flaky blonde fairy girl.
Oh yes. Miss Leroux knew all about her ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend. She also happened to know that the girl in question was pregnant. She had smiled wryly to herself at the thought… It seemed that dear, little Jasper had grown up a bit since she’d last seen him. According to her intelligence, the new couple had only been together for several months and the short pixie’s pregnancy was almost up. Ariane and Jasper had been together for more than a year before he started pressuring her for sex. Of course, she’d never given in. Otherwise, he might not have survived to tell the tale.
Had he not interrupted them, his brother certainly would not have.
At present, she focused her falsely sweet and welcoming gaze on the lost and confused little animal in front of her. In a way, she pitied Denise. As things were, Ariane knew what it was like to be a monster alone in the world. She’d been living that life for three years now. However, Miss Leroux seemed to be a little more capable when it came to keeping herself together all on her own.
She set the sign aside and extended a hand for her protégé to shake. “My name is Ariane Leroux,” she introduced herself warmly. “My uncle is Delacroix Academy’s current headmaster. He asked me to take care of you until the second term begins.”
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| Adalae
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« 01 December 2010, 19:25:15 »
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Denice smiled weakly. "Yes, that's me," she murmured, and listened obediently as Miss Leroux introduced herself and held out her hand to shake. After a split second of hesitation, Denice took it within her own and shook it. Relief spread through her as Ariane told her she herself would be taking care of Denice until second term.
Second term.
So everything had been real. The letter, and the $2,000 of American money sitting at the bottom of her duffel. The village hadn't gotten rid of her after all, though she was certain they would've tried if given the chance. It's not like they hadn't tried before, she thought savagely to herself, thinking of the nasty bruise along her collar bone. Denice rubbed it tenderly, her mind running backwards.
Had it really been only a day ago that she had attacked that farm? Torn those poor, wooly animals apart and sunken her teeth into their flesh as if they were nothing more than peaches in season? The sheep hadn't stood a chance. But it wasn't her latest feast that had wormed its way into the back of her mind. Just as she had been fleeing the farm, sustaining plenty of blows from the men of the village, bearing shovels and splintered bits of wood, she had been stopped in her tracks by none other than Elisa, Damien's young and pretty wife. She had had a pan poised menacingly in her hand, fresh off the fire, and her little son, Eric, was clutching her jeans with big brown eyes wide with fear.
Those had been Damien's eyes.
Rage had ripped through her that night, nothing like anything she had felt before. She had ripped Elisa Mossoti apart, right in front of her son's eyes. She had been surprised Damien hadn't taken a shotgun to her wolf head right then and there and blasted her to bits. He had only just stood there, the blunt kitchen knife he had refused to use, fallen from his hand and laid in the grass at his feet. His face reflected such hurt, such betrayal, that Denice would've given up her life to bring back Elisa and make him smile again.
But she couldn't.
And now here she stood, wishing with all her heart that she wasn't. Wishing she was dead, wishing that could've been her ripped apart by the werewolf, with her husband huddling over her bleeding body and her son weeping quietly into his father's shoulder.
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I don't need an rp sample from you, I know you 
