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insidelookingout

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Post: 49108891_1 created on Thu, 16 Apr 2009 01:44:28 +0000
Posted: Thu, 16 Apr 2009 01:44:28 +0000

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`★xxxx s xa xm xp xl xe xs xx • pg.1 only •

[to my roleplay schedule]

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Hi, I'm ilo, or Beth. Whatev's. Please don't post here, or you might find something unpleasant up your a**. c: <3
Here you can find samples of my post formats and roleplay style.
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Post: 49108891_2 created on Thu, 16 Apr 2009 01:47:25 +0000
Posted: Thu, 16 Apr 2009 01:47:25 +0000

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xxxxxxxx﹙ 面 ﹚xxMASUKU NAKAHARA

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xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxOR WHO WE WERE BEFORExxxOR WHO WE WERE BEFORExxxOR WHO WE WERE BEFORExxxOR WHO WE WERE BEFORE
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Death is not to be feared– it is an uncertainty. Life is more frightening. This much, Masuku knew.

Instilled in every being is the want to be. We exist to be alive, survive, to have children, make a living, and arguably most important, to have a future. But what about a fulfilled life, no matter how short? ...To live as though one were already dead?

Samurai have found freedom in that idea through generations. To exist for desperation and for the sake of existing is a life without bravery or honor. A cage. Rather, to live with a constant goal and drive, to find duty and discipline in every breath and to live without regret– that is the Way. It was the life that Masuku once lived, and in turn, he was to die with honor. But when the time came, he was not to be rewarded with such a dignified end upon the battlefield as he had once dreamed.

With mortal soul stripped away and twisted blood melded with his own, what became of Masuku was an improved creature, but broken. He did not know how or what he had become, but the disciplined existence that he had worked towards with every fiber of his being was now to be practiced through drastically different circumstances, and a foreign pair of eyes.

And yes, with this life came fear. He could no longer hear the world around him as before, nor enjoy the taste of food and drink. There was little fragrance in the world around him. People now distanced themselves from him, horror in their eyes as they met his own stilted pupils. He grew weary and anxiety-ridden without sleep, feeling vulnerable if he shut his all-seeing eyes without alert ears. And the woman. The sound of screaming and the deep cracks splitting her frozen form plagued his every thought. There was no control– not even a reflection for the half-daemon to look into and see what such power had done to him. Steadily, Masuku fell into the grip of depression as he discovered more and more how little life there was in this second, corrupt existence. Had he not found Rippana, the samurai might have ended it all, making sure there was no room for another unnatural return.

In the shelter of the safe house and with one other victim to relate to, he found a small amount of hope. Masuku was forced to backtrack and learn what it meant to feel comfortable in his own skin again and to value what life there was to be had. He found peace in the walls and was able to sleep enough to keep up his strength, putting such into countless hours in the dojo. The physical activity proved to be an effective distraction for the now dejected recluse, and as weeks passed, allowed Masuku to clear his head and understand his condition. The mask from his armor became more and more a part of him, and steadily, he found comfort and confidence socially, and slowly rediscovered the spirit of adventure he once had. It was some time before Masuku dared to even leave the house, but finally, with old curiosity surfaced, he began taking small walks around the grounds. The simple pleasures he had once enjoyed filled his mind again, and sensations, like soft snow packed under each footstep in the winter months, gave him happiness, joy, and more confidence to explore beyond the walls. It was hard realizing the many things he could no longer experience, but soon Masuku focused solely on what he could do, thinking only of the negatives when he devoted time to improving them.

Masuku reflected often on his transformation, so to speak. Although he would never be the same as the young samurai who went off to war, the true change was from the sad, broken man he had once been just a few years ago, if you could even call him a man. But despite the hurt, Masuku worked to learn and to live beyond the constraints– he was more than his flaws and he could live without shame once again. Unfortunately, it would be a seemingly never ending battle that would bleed far into the years ahead. The hardship was now a permanent part of his life– that was unquestionable.

Even the start of every day brought its challenges. Though eager to wake from the anxiety of slumber, Masuku began each morning with an incomplete reflection, filled only with the clothing wrapped across his body, his secured daishō and mask floating over it all. An intimidating, fanged creature stared back with holes for eyes that had been expertly sealed over, wide, grimacing mouth growling and exposing Masuku's own yawning one. He could do little more than comb his fingers through his hair and hope for the best before beginning early training for the day, the resulting disheveled locks surprisingly fetching.

He couldn't keep the smile off his lips today. With great effort, Masuku had stuck to his routine training throughout the initial festivities of Obon, but today he would take part and explore to his heart's content. His mind buzzed with the thought of the crowd, vendors, and the potential visitors from beyond.

Masuku would always find time to light a lantern for his parents, even as a young boy living in Edo. Someday he hoped to see them, even if just once. Perhaps this year would be the one.

After conditioning, a good stretch and a bit of freshening up, Masuku's stomach was growling, his anticipation at its peak. It seemed that Captain Takeshi had already gone to the Left Hand's surprise, and Toshinori was no where to be seen. It wasn't uncommon for the other samurai to be cooped up, and it seemed as if Obon brought out the worst of Toshi's tendencies to stay in his room, whether to sleep, avoid people, or perhaps both. Masuku liked to think that there was an amicable relationship between he and the others of the Rippana clan, but he couldn't deny that he was one to push buttons (with often the best of intentions in mind) here and there which brought out the best, or sometimes worst out of his comrades.

Thus, it wasn't surprising that as Masuku tidied up the common area to patiently kill time, his eyes fell upon a suspiciously sneaky Toshi making his way back to the confines of his room behind where the Left Hand worked. Seemingly unfazed, Masuku continued and allowed Toshi to get even closer to his goal before parting his lips with an authoritative, "Kuhabara." After the serious call and Toshi's more than unhappy look, Masuku turned to face the other, a silly smirk playing on his lips between the gaping fanged mouth of his mask. A more lighthearted character reached his voice. "We're going to the festival!" he said enthusiastically. "We."

He didn't seem to put up too much of a fight, and it was a good thing. There wasn't any way that this house was going to be occupied on a special night such as this, and Masuku would make sure of it. Sliding open the doors and taking in the remarkable sunset, the two of them made their way to the festivities, Masuku making small conversation to keep the mood light and to distract from the chill in the air. His insides turned with excitement as they neared the grounds, the loud sounds of attendees resonating faintly in his ears.

Once there, Masuku was off. Within seconds, he had a stick of skewered meat in is hand to munch on while drifting through the crowd and peering over the wares for sale. The grilled chicken had little flavor, but the taste of the sauce gave a small bit of savory delight to the samurai's hindered tastebuds. Regardless, he was filling up his stomach as he made his way down the various paths, happy to be within the buzz of the crowd. There were many people wearing masks and Masuku felt a sense of calm and comfort from it.

He had kept his eyes on Toshi for some time and had been scanning the festivities for the Captain simultaneously, but soon he found himself without either. Surprised by the odd case of losing his clanmates and about to turn back, Masuku was instead distracted by a group of street musicians. A man on the shakuhachi stood out in particular– he had mastered more than one type of the instrument, the bass one in his hands while a smaller, higher pitched version lay propped against a small stand. Admiring the craftsmanship of the bamboo culm, Masuku could have sworn it...moved. With another few twitches, the shakuhachi fell over onto the ground and rolled away from its master. Surprised to say the least, Masuku's eyes quickly shifted to the musician who seemed too occupied with performance to see the instrument abandon him. And so, turning back to follow the rolling flute, Masuku backtracked through the crowd, amazed by the thing's ability to avoid every busy foot on the ground below.

Was this some sort of trick? Masuku couldn't tell when he was finally able to catch up and secure one foot over the shakuhachi, pinning it to the ground. It didn't struggle underneath his foot as he had thought it would, and after lifting his sandal slightly from the bamboo, it didn't move.

With an exhale, Masuku took the moment to reach out, the samurai's eyes finding Toshi down the crowd and for a moment, he was relieved, all-seeing eyes still settled on the flute. But to his dismay, it wiggled to life again, this time raising off the ground to float above Masuku's foot with a tune of breathy toots. Before he could react, the bamboo culm slammed down as hard as it could on the samurai's big toe.

It's possessed.

With an annoyed and pained grunt, Masuku shook the instrument from his foot, and mid-gesture, forced his other down upon the shakuhachi, fracturing the bamboo culm into splinters with a hollow wooden crunch. Unfortunately, he had gained some attention at this point, the concerned festival attendees breaking up the crowd and staring at the frazzled warrior. With an embarrassed, forced smile from the samurai, they dispersed, and Masuku once again eyed the mangled flute in relative peace.

But it was short lived. With a tremble, the splinters reassembled into a floating, flute-like mass and let out a pitchless scream of eighth notes. After producing the false tones, it instantly broke apart into separate pieces once again, pointy ends hovering in Masuku's direction.

Wide eyed, the samurai ran towards poor Toshi, the swarm racing behind.

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THERE'LL BE NO END IN SIGHTxxxTHERE'LL BE NO END IN SIGHTxxx
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Post: 49108891_3 created on Thu, 16 Apr 2009 01:49:20 +0000
Posted: Thu, 16 Apr 2009 01:49:20 +0000

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x x x x x x❍ xxA Y A N O xT S U B A M Ex H I D E Y O S H I
x x x x x x x x x綾乃　燕x 秀吉xx↵

(◕〝◕)

Wake up, Ayano.

The wet-haired brunette stood in front of the mirror of his small bathroom, recently showered and still tired looking; faint dark circles under his eyes. His outfit was a simple one- a white v-neck t-shirt that fit his form snugly, a pair of gray-wash denim skinny jeans and a black leather belt as well as a studded belt that hung loosely on his hips from one of the belt loops of his jeans. A pair of simple, front lace boots were fitted across his feet and up his legs, stopping just below the knee. An array of necklaces were around his neck, one a simple link chain of silver, while another was more of a choker; a guitar pick fed through a chord of brown leather.

The twenty-year old simply stared back at his reflection for a moment, his right hand raising with a brush in hand, short nails varnished a matte black. Ayano pulled the brush through his hair a couple times, replacing it with a straightener after a moment and pulling the wet locks through until they were dry and pin-straight. He then began taking the ends of strands in between the two heated panels of the straightener, twisting into the lock of hair to make the layers flip outwards. He teased the strands with a comb here and there and continued flipping the hair with the straightener until he'd made an artful masterpiece upon his head. As a final touch, he lined the waterline of his eyes with a bit of chestnut brown eyeliner as well as the outer corner of his eyes, giving them a bit more depth. With a faint smirk turning one corner of his mouth, a small dimple appeared on that respective cheek, and Ayano adjusted his necklaces briefly before turning out of the bathroom and back into the living space of his dorm room single. He reached down with his left hand, taking a black and cream-colored messenger bag with a print that read DRESS CAMP from the hard wood floor and placing it over his head and to his opposite shoulder so that the strap went across his chest, the bag sitting comfortably but loosely on his hip.

With a light exhale, Ayano looked towards the door of his room, his second incisors poking a bit from his mouth and biting lightly on his lower, pierced lip. Thankfully the girls and boys were split when it came to dorms- annoyance would only get to him once he left the building. Grabbing his keys and a pair of large, round sunglasses, the brunette placed them over his eyes before slipping out of the door and locking it securely behind him. While he ambled through the hallways, he got a few stares from the boys, which was expected, but it was nothing compared to the horror that would probably be waiting outside the doors of the dorm building, as always. Today there was a group of eight girls as he approached the double doors, the brunette pushing one door open with his right hand and walking straight past them, continuing on his way. They'd follow him, of course, leaving a good ten feet distance between them as they giggled from afar. It was aggravating, to say the least, but it wasn't apparent on Ayano's face or in his step.

After a moment or two of walking across campus, the brunette reached his left hand into his bag, retrieving a iPod with a red skin, placing two white ear buds into his ears and hitting a couple buttons to start a playlist. He then slipped the music player into his back pocket, turning down a sidewalk to his right. His eyes, though covered by sunglasses were scouting out anyone familiar, and so far, he wasn't having much luck. The giggling group behind him was starting to resemble more of an army as more girls and a few boys joined their cause. Too bad for the girls- he wasn't interested in the least, and for the boys- well. A bunch of obsessing followers weren't the kind of people that he wanted to be around. None of them had a chance simply because of the way they acted.

After a couple more turns down the walkways of the campus, Ayano's gaze caught none other than three of his fellow PRINCE friends. His pace didn't quicken once he laid eyes on them- he continued forward at the same relaxed pace, the crowd of followers dispersing to the shade of trees or benches to continue to watch without appearing to linger. Ayano approached them, planting his feet on the sidewalk and leaving a comfortable foot between the other boys and himself.

"Kyuhyun, Daisuke, Kamui," He acknowledged them with a nod then shifted his weight a bit, standing with one knee slightly bent, his gaze shifting to Kamui for a moment and speaking a simple "Ohayou" before turning to the others. He removed his sunglasses smoothly, his half lidded eyes widening slightly with the sunlight hitting them, a liquid hazelnut. He licked his lips a bit for moisture while assessing the area without the tinted glasses, the black metal studs in his lower lip pushing slightly outwards and showing a bit of the bars that went through his lip, then back in their rightful place once his mouth was relaxed again. His face was rather emotionless except for his eyes gazing around the area that after a moment, fell on the three other members of PRINCE once again.

Ayano reached his right hand back to his other pocket, the one that did not hold his iPod, and pulled out a slip of paper. Unfolding it with ease, he held it out to the others. "Do we have any classes?" The question was simple and rather quiet, an average tone- not too high or low. On his schedule was Honors Environmental Science and Drawing II, among other things. The brunette had no problem with attending classes that his friends weren't taking, but he looked slightly hopeful, as if one might be taking a class that he had also signed up for. He slipped his other hand into his pocket while waiting, his index finger tampering with the volume of his MP3 player so that it would quiet a bit.

O N C E x( u p o n )x a xT I M E ///
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『 t h eGULLIBLEf o r e i g n e r 』

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Post: 49108891_4 created on Thu, 16 Apr 2009 01:50:21 +0000
Posted: Thu, 16 Apr 2009 01:50:21 +0000

x x xt x a x i x x x a x d x e x r x y x n x x x h x a x l x i x f x a x xx x x

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swallow

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残された僕より無になった君は • どれほど辛いだろうかx x x x x
まだ何も • まってないのに • まだ君にこの言葉伝えてないのにx x x x x
君が僕を求める度この心は剝がれていく. . . x x x x x
More than me, who was left behind • You, who've become nothingnessx x x x x
How painful is it, I wonder • Even though nothing has begun yet • Even though I've yet to tell you these wordsx x x x x
Every time you yearn for me my heart is stripped away . . . x x x x x

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Post: 49108891_6 created on Fri, 17 Apr 2009 02:19:32 +0000
Posted: Fri, 17 Apr 2009 02:19:32 +0000

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x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x xr xxa xxv xxi xxe xxnxxxxxh a l i f a x

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he incubus was rather unamused. Slightly narrowed, demonic eyes watched Zack laugh as long as he wanted. The creature simply rolled his eyes a bit in response, more of a raise upwards than a full circle of the orbs. It seems he had been stuck with the most immature student on campus. Perhaps not, but it was turning out to look that way for the time being. It was cute though, in a way, watching the boy chuckle his fill. Still, it didn't change the fact that being laughed at, even for something as stupid as his stomach growling, was aggravating. The demon ignored the annoyance-factor though, with a small bit of effort.

His eyes followed the angel when he walked over to his trunk, retrieving a bag of lollipops, from what he could tell. Ravien wasn't the biggest fan of sweets, but he'd eat pretty much anything to fill his stomach at the moment. Still though, he was cautious. Being in a gang most of one's life and seeing many people die by making the simple mistake of taking food from someone they'd hardly met before made the incubus a bit stand-offish when Zack suggested he take a lollipop. It could be poison. A little angel boy wouldn't poison a ******** lollipop. Ravien eyed the candy hungrily, continuing to battle with the gut feeling that told him not to take a thing from his new roommate. He didn't think for much longer though. With one clawed hand, he reached inside the bag offered and took one of the pops, quickly unwrapping it and placing it in his mouth before he could change his mind. It was only after that did a fruity flavor fill his mouth, and Ravien took a short-lived glance at the wrapper in his hand. Pineapple. It tasted alright, and he nodded in thanks, content that if the candy had been poison, he probably would have been dead by now.

The incubus moved the candy around in his mouth every moment or so, pondering a bit on where to start looking for the cafeteria. The metal through his tongue clicked against the candy a few times, and a thought of childhood crossed his mind. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had one of these. Surely before he'd gotten his tongue pierced- defiantly before any of this gang business had started. The incubus grew self-conscious for a moment about how he must have appeared with the candy in his mouth and paper stick between his lips, but brushed it off just as easily as he had with Zack's laughter. He was thankful for the lollipop, minus the aspect that he was pretty sure that it was making him even more hungry than he had been before. It was like licking food that you simply weren't allowed to eat, the lollipop. Almost like torture.

That being said, when Zack left the room, the incubus was more than compelled to follow. Taking one, neutral glance at the angel again, he moved out of the doorway and chose to retrace his steps and get out of the dorms to the outside. His steps were relaxed but fluid, so if Zack might have had trouble keeping up due to their height difference, he would do just fine because of the speed that the incubus traveled. The angel would most defiantly get a good taste of that aura, now that they were walking so close. A warm, almost hot feeling radiated off of the incubus, inviting. One would like to think that it was comfortable, but the heat was close to unbearable at points- instilling that feeling of want, but unwant. Certainly though, paired with the redolent, sweet-but-spicy scent that clung to his skin, hair and breath- warm, demonic gaze and built figure, Ravien was the embodiment of pleasure in the minds of many people. His very presence was evocative and moving in itself. It was enough to put any passer-by on edge, and put a dirty thought or two in the mind of anyone near.

Ravien breathed steadily as they moved a bit across campus before the dark-haired-twenty-year-old found a pair of double doors to another building that he randomly chose. Sniffing in the air, he could identify the faint aroma of cooked food coming from here, but he couldn't place it exactly. Once in the hallway after those doors, he turned right and went down that hallway. He followed the smell and his tummy threatened to complain again.

As they went further and further down the new, unknown hallway, the incubus slowed slightly. The walls, unlike the ones in the dorm were painted beautifully- depicting times of day in glorious colors and shades. Some of the paint seemed a bit fresh, as his nose took note of. With a short inhale, his normally narrowed eyes widened a bit, giving him a rather normal glance that was rather uncharacteristic. Returning to their narrowed state close to instantly though, Ravien continued forward, almost curiously now. They passed a few classrooms, dark except for the sunlight that filled them, but still empty with a dim environment, until they came upon one that had a few lights on, the door closed. Stopping abruptly and turning to look into the wood and glass door, Ravien took another breath in, confirming the scents he had identified before. Turpentine and oil paints . . . and was it dirt? They lingered in the air, and he could see someone working with the same materials inside, minus the soil, on the walls of the classroom, which was turning into a colorful display due to paint, similar to the walls of the hallway. In fact, when he looked around more, the room was covered in art materials too- more than one could really dream of. Ravien bit his lip and had to work to keep his eyes from lighting up in amazement, his right, clawed hand moving absently up to the glass of the door, palm down, like an entranced child, looking at fish in a tank for the first time. Taking one glance at the angel boy, he parted his lips slightly. "You . . . can go on ahead, if you want," he said, looking through the glass again. Placing the hand that had pressed itself to the door on the doorknob instead, he turned it slowly and quietly, opening the entryway and ambling inside. He left the door open, in case Zack decided to follow.

Bins of charcoal and different granite pencils, quality papers and canvases . . . it was like a toy store for this particular incubus. His lips couldn't help but part ever-so-slightly in complete awe. There were even a few complete pieces of art, some incomplete, put on the walls on display or still on easels. The incubus sauntered towards them, eyes raising to examine them closely. He'd never seen any good artwork- at least not in person. These particular things were really good. One canvas held the beginnings of a painting, with green, brown, tan and aqua tones, as if a cliff near an exotic beach was beginning to form. It was still in very rough stages, but Ravien could imagine what it could be, one day. Finally realizing that he'd invaded a classroom and ignored the teacher while taking in the things that he saw and adored instead, the incubus spun around a bit too quickly for his liking, his head lowering slightly. Despite his evident strength and height over most of the student body, Ravien was shy meeting new people. He looked towards the wall of colors that the teacher had been working on before his eyes fell on the teacher himself. He walked forward a bit.

"I'm Ravien Halifax." He said it a bit too quietly for his liking, a giveaway of his timidness, at the moment. "Are you Professor Saville?" The incubus pressed his lips together. He was especially curious now. A few weeks ago, he'd received a letter in the mail, informing him that he'd been granted a rather hefty scholarship thanks to a man with such a name, labeled as the art professor here at the academy. He wondered now, if this man was that man, and if he knew who the incubus was. He was a special case- given the opportunity to take Drawing I and II, simply because of his gift for art as well as his educational limitations when it came to other classes. This way, he could spend more time on projects that involved art, rather than math equations.

Ravien was hardly thinking about his empty stomach anymore. Now he just had a terrible itch to create art with close to everything in the room. He was already convinced he could stay here all day and just create. Not to mention, if this man, was indeed, him, he had some thanking to do.

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Post: 49108891_8 created on Wed, 29 Apr 2009 05:23:29 +0000
Posted: Wed, 29 Apr 2009 05:23:29 +0000

✶ ` X deverell zandrostrin X

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FATE CHANGES FASTER THAN THE DEATH OF LIGHTxxxxx.FATE CHANGES FASTER THAN THE DEATH OF LIGHTxxxxx.FATE CHANGES FASTER THAN THE DEATH OF LIGHT
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..✶

Glass in hand, Deverell gave it a gentle swirl, eyeing the crimson inside. As the unsightly, half-congealed blood clung to the walls of the clear vessel, he settled on downing it with haste. Though he was thirsty, there was little to savor in the vitae of animals. There was an unpleasant, gamey aftertaste that caused the vampire’s lips to curve with displeasure as he placed the glass down after a couple gulps. The stiffened blood that slid down his throat was colder than room temperature and anything but comforting. Most of the good that had come from the veins of the creature killed for the liquid meal had wasted away while exposed to the air. He didn’t want to think about for how long that might have been.

Despite the apparent lack of care to what he consumed, or perhaps lack of preparatory knowledge, what he was given always served its purpose. It gave him enough strength to function. Still, eating– something that had once given Deverell joy in life and death– was much like a chore now. Here in the castle, many things were.

On the contrary, his time with the Empress had been some of the most genuine interaction he had shared with a mortal in years. While many in the castle relied on scripted manners around Leif and Deverell for the sake of being polite, Deverell’s presence in the salon last week had seemed untroubling. Her Imperial Highness was kind and sincere. Furthermore, she seemed to live without the arrogance that those in power often adopted. There wasn’t a need to hide what he was, either. In fact, their conversation had steered towards topics regarding his nature without any feeling of shame attached. Deverell was momentarily hesitant though, after realizing how quick he had been to share a bit of his past. Ultimately, there was something about the Empress that made him comfortable enough to say more.

He told Veronica that he had grown up in Tnemeia. Had Deverell no supernatural ability to remember things past, it would have been too long ago for him to recall the last who had heard those words. The vampire had worked hard in that moment to preserve the lightness in his expression– much of it was feigned as he thought of the place and people he had left behind. The guilt birthed from that decision, buried deeply, was heavy nonetheless.

There had been a philosophy to life in the village where he had been raised that was lost now; a simplicity that he missed. But the thought that it had once existed made his scarred features brighten fully again. He told her that it had been a beautiful land ruled by good people. He described that his home had been somewhat near the shore and recalled the fragrance of the sea mixed with the pine of the neighboring woodland. He told her of his family’s best crop, sweet potatoes, which sometimes grew to be the size of the ears of corn that the adjacent farm grew. They were best served with fresh butter.

And the whole time, he didn’t bring another ill thought into it. Deverell only spoke of the good. But now that he was alone in his room, staring at the stain of red that remained of his meal, he thought of the bad. He reached towards a phantom pain that caused the scars upon his neck to ache.

Deverell didn’t give his mind time to wander deeper, however. He wasn’t going to sit around brooding all night. Instead, he exhaled a slow sigh to get his mind thinking towards the night’s potential plans. The vampire had only just begun to rise from his desk when a few light knocks drew him to the door of his chambers. “Sir,” the guard greeted with a small bow. “I’m here to provide escort.” Deverell, momentarily confused and speechless, blinked a few times. “To the church,” the guard elaborated. Deverell quickly replied with a smile. “Yes, of course. One moment, please,” he said and closed the door. Cursing quietly under his breath, Deverell sped around the room, gathering a stack of bound parchment and a tome into his bag. He had completely forgotten that he was supposed to meet the young woman from the library tonight at the church. The blue-haired girl. Yes, named...

The vampire rolled his eyes in frustration as he hastily tidied up his braided hair. The selective nature of the mortal mind was cruel. He was glad to be rid of it for however long he would be allowed to roam without the spirit stone, but it still wouldn’t help his case with what he could not remember from his time wearing it. There was one saving grace– hurriedly, Deverell retrieved their letter correspondence from the other paperwork littering his desk. “Sophia,” he read aloud. He wouldn’t forget again.

Finally, Deverell and the guard were on their way to the Grand Cathedral. A short, wrap-style cloak of suede and fur helped keep the chill of the wind away– otherwise, the vampire’s garbs were nothing out of the ordinary: A tunic, forest green in hue and a pair of simple breeches to match the cloak. His boots were also earthy in tone, lacing up to below the knees.

Approaching the western entrance, Deverell slowed before the impressive structure. He wasn’t sure exactly where Sophia would be, but the narthex was always open, making it a good place to start. Pushing open the right of the ancient double doors, he stepped inside.

✶

r e f o r m e dxx c h r o n i c l e r
LOCATION: belruth, ranford, grand cathedralxxCOMPANY: nonexxMENTIONS: leif, vera, sophia

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Post: 49108891_9 created on Tue, 05 May 2009 01:28:06 +0000
Posted: Tue, 05 May 2009 01:28:06 +0000

[ _k a i t o_ ••_ t y r_ ••_ n e m n i a s _]

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________

"I'm sorry. Much more than you will ever know."

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Post: 49108891_11 created on Mon, 07 Sep 2009 21:00:29 +0000
Posted: Mon, 07 Sep 2009 21:00:29 +0000

x
xxxxxxx User Image

xxxx

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x xk xxa xxy xxn xxe xxxxxm xa xx xw xe xl xl

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xxxxx

very thing was crashing down.

Kayne Wyatt Maxwell was an easy person to get along with, as long as he had what he wanted. Like a drunk pleased with a fifth of alcohol between his lips, Kayne would have been happy, perhaps, if the only thing he desired in this world was with him at this very moment. But it wasn't. The only flame that burned was the one lit inside of him- the kindling anger that licked through his mind and fueled that very fire.

Flames were something that Kayne had been fascinated with- had longed for, since his childhood. Hell, he'd set stuffed animals on fire just for a bigger pyre. But all his parents did was hide the matches, dispose of the candles- they even decided that anything flammable just couldn't be allowed in the house. They didn't understand. Kayne never sought to cause destruction- he just wanted to be near that heat, near that danger that was such a comfort for him. Every day, this unexplainable tension would build inside of him, heightening, growing . . . a flame was the only thing that could cure the discomfort. In the presence of a fire he felt well. He felt right.

So naturally, euphoria was the only word that could describe the feeling when such engulfed his parent's home. It had started as a mistake at first- a simple candle, bought with his own funds that he'd knocked over onto the carpet of the second floor common room. Soon though, it grew out of hand, and Kayne had done nothing about it. 911 would have taken the fire away, and he couldn't allow that . . . not with the beauty of oranges, yellows and blues as well that swept through, igniting everything it touched. The ginger remembered, after minutes of awe, stumbling down the staircase, a faint smile on his lips and a soft moan breathing from his lips as the fire crackled, consuming the walls and wood furniture upstairs. It was getting hot.

He'd been so distracted by the ecstasy of it all that Kayne had completely forgotten about his eleven-year-old brother asleep in his bedroom- helpless and unknowing. Smoke and heat had more than likely stirred him from his slumber, but far too late. Kayne collapsed at the foot of the stairs, eyes rolling back and his smile growing. He drowned in the pleasure of it all, oblivious to the screams upstairs. Smoke filled his lungs each time he breathed, and somehow, despite the pain, the happiness never left his lips.

The only sensation he felt through that euphoria were strong hands around his biceps, seemingly hours later, pulling him from the floor and dragging him from the house. He hadn't even heard the sirens of the firetruck, nor heard it pull up. The breeze of the outdoors graced his skin, and all he could hear were the struggled, hoarse wheezes and yells that left his lips, protesting against the firemen. Against all the smoke tainting his lungs, he breathed in the faint scent of water. He struggled more. Oxygen- he didn't want it, but the mask was forced over his nose and mouth. The stretcher's bindings were tight and uncomfortable as he was strapped on. But more importantly, they kept him from the beauty that now fizzled under the water that attacked it. "No," he protested weakly. With whatever strength he had left, he writhed, trying to break free so he could be amongst the flames again- happy and untroubled. He wasn't the murderer. They were.

That was seven years ago, and Kayne had long since served jail time. With all the racket he'd caused though, what with being addicted to cigarettes and denied those along with the absence of fire, he'd won himself a place in a psycho ward instead. Lovely. Kayne was just thrilled with the idea, not. Half of him felt that perhaps other people with ailments of the mind would make suitable friends, but on the other hand, a loony bin was just another cage- another building of restriction. Kayne would be happier with a box of matches.

The vehicle taking him to the asylum rose slightly as it ran over an inconsistent part in the pavement, and Kayne gritted his teeth. "Give it to me," he uttered. "What?" the driver replied, keeping his eyes on the road. The ginger scoffed slightly. "Your lighter," he said, from the back seat. "I saw you fiddling with it when we left." The driver let out a small line of chuckles, the woman in the passenger seat sporting a wry smile as she found amusement as well. "Oh this?" the driver said, pulling the smooth stainless steel lighter out of his pocket. "No, you can't have it. But you wouldn't mind if we had a smoke, would you?"

Kayne's eyes darkened as he watched the woman take out a pack of the drugs, putting one cigarette between the driver's lips and taking the lighter from him to light it herself. Kayne's hands tensed and slowly pulled, succeeding less in ridding himself of the bindings locked to his wrists and working more to dig the metal into his flesh. He bit into his lower lip as a puff of smoke filled the vehicle, and as Kayne's breathing grew more deep with frustration and anger, the scent of the cigarette graced his senses, causing the addiction that he'd long grown out of in jail to half-return. That aspect was of little importance compared to the more important one in the vehicle, though. It was the sight of the flame that sparked from the lighter and the soft glow that reoccurred every time the driver took a hit from the drug that put the pyromaniac over the edge.

Judging him to be less insane than most, the ward had made the mistake of sending a normal vehicle to fetch Kayne up, leaving nothing between him and the two people in front of him but the cuffs that restrained his hands and arms. And so, lifting his knees in preparation, the ginger put all his strength into his feet, swiftly kicking the driver's seat as hard as he could. Failing to wear a seatbelt, the driver shot forward, forehead striking the wheel with enough force to knock him out cold. The van lurched forward as dead weight floored the gas petal, and mixed with the woman's screaming was the skidding of wheels as the driver's upper half pressed against the steering wheel, causing the vehicle to make a sharp right and off the road completely.

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Post: 49108891_15 created on Mon, 19 Oct 2009 00:37:00 +0000
Posted: Mon, 19 Oct 2009 00:37:00 +0000

x
_______"Ŋicholas."

The vampire shifted slightly in his chair, gaze raising from his book to meet the eyes of the one who spoke. "Yes?" he replied.

"Come. There is something I wish to show you."

It was winter in St. Petersburg, Russia, and the snowstorms were thick and relentless, pushed by turbulent winds. Wool coats did their best to keep the cold out, but the chill in the air crept into everything. Too many minutes of exposure, and one found ice in their hair and frostbite on their fingertips. This year was a cold year. The year was 1107.

Thankfully, the city's orphanage was just across the street from where Nathaniel and Nicholas lived. It was stone and vast...the workers always begged for donations because money spent to warm the place left little for the children in their care. It was no place for innocent minds.

With a swift knock, one of the women of the orphanage opened the door quickly for the two vampires, beckoning them inside before too much heat from the fires escaped. She was then quick to bow in the presence of the two of them. They were, after all, some of the more wealthy individuals in town. She held a broom in one hand and a fussing toddler in the other, dull colored skirt of a brown hue stained and raggedy, hair a bit disheveled from being pulled by the tiny hands. "What can I do for you two this evening?" she managed between hushes towards the child.

"We came to see the other orphans. Where are they?" Nathaniel asked. "In the dining room," she said, leaning the broom against the wall and taking the toddler into both arms. "They just got their dinner." As the child's sounds of discomfort formed into sobs, she began bouncing him around. "'Tis a loud, sneaky bunch, Sir. Keep your things close."

Nicholas politely bowed to the woman and followed Nathaniel who had already started his way across the rickety floorboards and into the other rooms. His brow was lightly creased in confusion, but he had a good idea what Nathaniel was going to show him. There were few things in this world that caught his shrewd, forest-green gaze. Very few.

Past rooms crammed with bunk beds, the shouting voices of children filled the stale air, and soon, Nathaniel stopped at the threshold of the dining room, leaning observantly against the door frame. A group of five children or so ran around the wooden tables, tossing around a doll crafted from a few small flour sacks. It had dried corn husk for hair and two different buttons for eyes, but suited their play just fine, as conveyed by the smiles on their faces. Others were eating silently, some tossed spoonfuls of boiled oatmeal at one another. Pewter plates were used as shields or thrown as frisbees. It was quite the scene. Children from the age of three years lived here, to adolescents of fifteen...even older - all of them thin and willowy with eyes that held a similar longing and sadness.

"What are we doing here Nathaniel," Nicholas sighed. Just the mood of this place was dampening his spirits. In response, Nathaniel only nodded towards the far right of the room. Nicholas followed where the other's eyes settled with his own.

There was a boy, maybe of sixteen or seventeen, who sat by himself at the edge of a table next to one of the windows. His platinum hair stuck out among the other children who possessed locks of more muted tones or wore dull-colored hats, much like the woman's skirt from before. Such was a bit unkempt and wild but not like the hair of a lunatic. Eyes, a smoky, dark brown settled upon nothing in particular - glassy, unfocused, and uncommonly foreign. His thin and frail hands were folded over one another. Every few seconds or so, one of his nails would scratch at the surface, rather short from the result of an apparent bad habit. The upper half of his feet, bound by fresh bandages, shifted every so often, covered toes curling inwards as if uncomfortable. Nicholas guessed that was why a single crutch leaned against the wall next to him.

"Throw one more plate and I'll paddle you to sleep!" the woman scolded, who in Nicholas' observational state, had stopped in the doorway as well. Half the children laughed and a muffled huff left her lips. She was still rocking the child in her arms, who had now drifted into dreams. With a quick stare at the two nobles, she looked in the direction they did, her brow creasing. "Oh, that one," she said quietly. "Got him just weeks ago, we did. Collapsed on our steps in the snow. Muttering to himself..."

Paying attention, Nicholas did see the boy's lips move very faintly, as if whispering. "Would have left him - times are tough, but he doesn't seem too right up here," she said, tapping her forehead once with her free hand. "Wouldn't have made it."

"Snow got to his toes, it did. Had to chop most of 'em off."

Nicholas squinted.

"Strange one, he is. Not even peeped a name. Boys call him Alex." With that, the woman shuffled into the room, grabbing the plates away from the boys and scolding them again.

Finally, Nathaniel averted his gaze back to Nicholas. "Well, Nicholas." A smile crept onto the vampire's lips and his eyes turned back to settle on the boy. "Why don't we take little Alex home?"

_______"Λlexander, what are you doing up at this hour?"

The young-looking, twenty-six year old was standing idly in one of the many dimly lit hallways of the mansion the three of them shared. His feet were bare against the hardwood floor, bandaged at the toes to hide their mangled form. Shivering and huddled in two blankets, a duo of pajamas that should have served as further warmth did not. The blonde would have never willingly gotten up while he knew the vampires of the house were awake, but the chill in the air was too cold to ignore. "A-Another, blanket?" he managed quietly between shudders. "Please..."

Nicholas sighed sadly, walking up to the other. "You aren't feeling much better, are you," he uttered. Alexander hadn't felt well for a few days now. He'd been coughing, sneezing, and had taken to sleeping for the majority of the day. His symptoms were making Nicholas anxious, to say the least. Truthfully, he was the closest a vampire could come to 'worried sick'.

When Alexander said nothing, the vampire took action instead. "Of course. Wait here," Nicholas said. He turned down the hallway, and in less than a minute, he was back with another thick blanket of wool. In an attempt to comfort the other, Nicholas wrapped it around him gingerly, afterwards placing his hands on the blankets where they covered the mortal's shoulders. Alexander, despite being ill, shook off Nicholas' touch with a hushed but irritated huff, causing Nicholas to drop his hands back to his sides and release another sigh. He was always patient with Alexander. He knew that the boy didn't hate him nearly to the degree that he hated Nicholas, but he was still a murdering demon in the mortal's eyes. Nicholas didn't exactly...deny such, but when he had attempted to enlighten Alexander a bit more on why his kind killed, he had failed. Changing the human's mind and even more so reading him as a person had proved to be more difficult than either of the vampires had ever imagined. Nicholas never blamed Alex, though. Nathaniel was deceitful, cruel, and killed whenever he pleased, among other things. That wickedness was burned into Alexander's mind as an image of all vampires.

As neither of them spoke, Alexander finally turned back down the hallway towards his room, only halting once again when Nicholas expressed concern. "It is an especially cold night," he said, unsure if his words had been heard. Nicholas took a step towards the other as Alexander's swaying form pivoted to look towards the voice behind him. "Yes..." he whispered, gaze lowering. Sweat beaded on his brow and began to drip down his temples - another set of shivers causing his body to twitch. There was little sense of balance to the man's form, causing the blankets to slip off his shoulders and to the floor. As Alexander's vision unfocused and weak frame threatened to drop, Nicholas, in less than one of the mortal's quickened heartbeats, jolted to his side, catching him in his arms before he could fall completely.

A gasp of utter surprise left his lips, as the body in his care was blisteringly hot rather than cold. Groaning softly, Alexander whispered something unintelligible through his fever, pushing Nicholas to move swiftly towards the front doors of the mansion with the other in his arms. Hastily unlocking and shoving them open, they were outside.

Nicholas was nervous. The body in his arms was still burning up even as the winter air chilled his breath. There was no snowstorm tonight, but the white thickly covered the ground from the last one that had passed through. Quickly, but still with care, Nicholas placed Alexander down on the powdery bed and smoothed one cold hand over the other's forehead. He was far too hot, especially after being cold just moments go. Russia's winter hadn't helped.

Soon though, signs of improvement appeared. Nicholas could not help but smile lightly as Alexander's face returned to a more healthy color after it had reddened dangerously from the fever. The both of them shared a deep sigh of relief. Alexander took little time before he leaned up and shook a bit of the snow from his pajamas, frowning at their dampness. However, he made no verbal complaint and slowly got to his feet. A quick glance over at the vampire showed him a concerned but physically comfortable individual, despite the elements. And no breath left his lips. It was unsettling.

Derailing his thoughts, Alexander sneezed and nearly fell for the second time. Nicholas attempted to help but the blonde would not allow it, and almost as soon as they had left the mansion, they returned.

Reentering his bedroom, Alexander sighed in frustration as he looked over his shoulder to see that, unfortunately, the vampire was still following behind. Nicholas ignored him and stepped in, watching the blonde sit down on the edge of his bed. "Alexander, if you feel worse-" Nicholas' voice drifted as Alexander shot him an awful glare, one that clearly disapproved of any concern the vampire had to offer. Nicholas pursed his lips, watching in thought as the other slipped underneath the blankets.

The vampire left smoothly and for but a moment, returning with the blankets Alexander had wrapped around himself earlier. He folded two of them, placing them on the chest at the foot of the blonde's bed, afterwards spreading the third over the covers that already hid Alexander's form. The human attempted to grumble in annoyance but ended up sneezing halfway through instead. Sniffling, he leaned up in bed, setting off a series of coughs and covering his mouth. As they became more violent, Nicholas' expression of worry returned. Through the motions, moisture welled faintly in the human's eyes, narrowed as they were, and with his other hand, Alexander rubbed his chest to try and soothe the discomfort there. Clearly the man was in much more pain than he would ever admit. Every time Nicholas sensed that the coughing fit was over, he would part his lips to speak, only to bite his tongue as Alexander would start again, and worse.

It was only a matter of time before the two of them froze. Nicholas smelled the familiar scent before the blonde's breath deepened. As he lifted his hand away, speckles of blood riddled the skin of his palm, further red collecting on his lips. Alexander made his best attempt not to panic but it was in vain. His hands shook, eyes widened, and more tears fell. Almost instantly though, that shock was replaced by caution. He shot a glare at the vampire defensively, who was fixated on the hand that held blood. Tempted, yes, but there were worse things. Nicholas stared because he knew this was the end for Alexander.

Concern still furrowing his brow, Nicholas watched Alexander recoil. He shook his head. "I'm not going to hurt you, Alexander," he said, voice sincere yet somber. As he took a step forward, the human squeezed himself further back against the headboard. Nicholas didn't dare move closer again. "Don't panic, alright?" he said, watching Alexander's form continue to shake, his eyes as horrified as his normally chiseled features could muster. "I'll be back with some water."

Nicholas then left the room, navigating the hallways of the mansion with anger in his step. Once he was downstairs and to the kitchen, he quickly retrieved a glass from one of the many cabinets. His motions slowed as his thoughts took over, struggling to understand how this had happened. Alexander never left the mansion.

He hesitated over the basin of water on the middle table as realization gripped him. Fury darkened his gaze, and with his unoccupied hand, the vampire struck the metal container, sending it and the liquid flying to the floor. He breathed quick breaths of rage, his gaze lowered. The hand that held the cup clenched, shattering the glass easily. Bloodied shards dropped to the floor. Teeth clenched, Nicholas brought the hand up into his vision, thumb brushing off some pieces that had sliced his skin. Seconds passed and the small cuts knit themselves back together. His eyes now looked upon flesh, perfected, as if nothing had touched it.

"Nicholas." The vampire jumped at the sound of Nathaniel's voice, but did not turn. "Are you really going to tear apart our home because of a human?" he said wryly, a snicker leaving his lips and carrying across the room. His steps crunched down slowly on glass, halting before the other vampire and the mess at his feet. Nathaniel then bent down, wrapping the fingertips of his right hand around a bloody shard, straightening and then grabbing Nicholas' jacket. He forced him to spin and face him. He then wrenched his fingers underneath the young vampire's collar and pulled him close - close enough to exhale across the other's skin. In the darkness of the room, Nicholas looked upon a face that was no longer amused.

Nathaniel brought the piece of glass between them, parting his lips to slide his tongue across the surface and lick Nicholas' blood away. He then slowly placed the shard against the other's jawline, pressing it down his neck just hard enough to scratch against the skin but not break it.

To move meant to be overpowered in an instant, the younger one knew. He could do little but stand there in his sire's stone-like grip, frozen, staring horrified into the soulless, black eyes before him. Nathaniel chuckled. "I want him to die and you..." His voice darkened when he chose to speak once again.

"...want to help him."

Nicholas winced as his master pressed the glass deeper, piercing his throat. Nathaniel spoke quietly now through his teeth, fangs gleaming. "What a bad childe you are."

He smiled a bit as Nicholas choked. "Care for him again, my fledgling, and I will bleed you slowly of every drop of blood I have given you." Nicholas' level of anger bent his expression further, but he said nothing. Everything about Nathaniel was cold but his personality was frigid. As much as Nicholas itched to strike, it would be of no use. Nathaniel wouldn't hesitate to plunge the shard into his childe's chest to humor himself.

Nathaniel kept the glass at the other's jugular, leaning in to brush his lips on the opposite side of Nicholas' jawline, kissing there once softly before pulling back. Gazes locked for a moment, Nicholas dropped his hand and pivoted. As he began a smooth amble towards the door of the kitchen, he once more lifted the hand with the shard. Clenching his fist, it was pulverized into a fine powder that drifted between his unharmed fingers.

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