|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Wed Jun 18, 2025 11:24 am
Turned down again, though the process was becoming more expedient. With each new bar or club or speakeasy that Eles entered, he grew bolder with opening in sign language and inviting the owners or managers to excoriate him with their distaste for having a mute bartender. Strangely, though, this most recent rejection was for the clandestine position of being a stripper. Seems even the eye candy needed to be able to flirt with their words.
It was no loss to Eles. He shifted through the swarthy sea of bodies, finding it ever easier to lead by a shoulder or sidestep the Ouija walkers with their half-spilled beers and mixed up words. No one stepped on his toes this time. He didn't walk through spilled wine or broken glass. In through the false saloon doors and back out again in a record minute and a half. He spared not a glance at the young man who lay doubled over on the hitching post, spilling his guts into a perpetually empty feed trough. Sounded halfway out of his conscious mind, too.
He held a hand up as he walked away, as if greeting someone behind him in an offbeat manner, then his hand curled into a rude sign aimed at the establishment at his back. It was one more off the list and Eles didn't mind that.
Knockoff plastic Doc Martens crunched gravel underfoot as he stepped around the potholes that made for impromptu oily bird baths on a summer night. He caught the barest shiver of the moon in one, some waning, gibbous thing, best forgotten on his path to learn just a little more of the city. Tonight was a long walk back to Malory's place; he half-expected the moon to lay low by the time he returned, with the bars a couple hours past closing when he finally crawled into bed. For now, he had a mile walk between the New Moon Saloon and the next establishment on his list, with only the company of yawning, derelict buildings on either side of the street and nary a handful of working street lights.
On a night like tonight, there was no one milling about the mangled sidewalks and fallen stairwells. He was no stranger to the rumors, but Eles's unquenchable morbid curiosity to witness one of these purported monsters ever goaded him into these reckless little jaunts. Damned if there wasn't yet a cool confidence in how he carried himself, how he glanced to and fro as if he was the predator.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Jul 03, 2025 6:45 pm
Lena Roze Villiaumite had his jacket off and slung over his shoulder, allowing him to look more casual in the less savory part of town. Ako had told him her preferred way to drain people, to look for creeps and people who didnt know how to take no for an answer, to lure them away and drain them without a shred of remorse, and frankly that sounded easy. It was, however, less easy for a twinkish looking man in what appeared to be a military uniform-esque outfit. There was only so much he could do about his appearance, but he did find that losing the jacket did make him more approachable, so that was at least something. Running a gloved hand through his messy pink hair, he leaned against a wall and watched, waiting for what seemed to be a good target. He didn’t want to come back empty handed, didn’t want to disappoint anyone, especially not Fafnir and definitely not Ako, who would look at him with that tired pity in her eyes that she seemed to reserve explicitly for him. No, he needed to at least find one person, one lone individual, and drain them as much as he could without causing any real harm. That would make them pleased, he thought. Teal eyes landed on a figure passing close by and Villiaumite’s lips curled into a smile. The confidence with which he carried himself made Villi admittedly curious, and just enough so that he spoke, his voice carrying effortlessly to him. ”Not the best area to be walking around alone, you know. Haven’t you heard about the monsters that roam around here?” His plan was solid. Put a little thought into the back of his head, make him wary, make him jumpy, follow from the rooftops until he was alone, and then drain him. Solid vampire logic in his book. Right? Strickenized His steps faltered at the sound of a voice. Eles cast flame-orange attention toward the source of the sound, finding someone swathed in dark garb that had blended into shadow. Pretty thing, certainly; a different type of pretty than Malory, but maybe this one was cut from the same dubiously good samaritan cloth. Seemed to be warning him about the murmurs he'd caught around town.
Monsters. He expected they were just metaphors, but some fleeting giddiness in him was convinced they were quite literal.
Eles smiled, as if thanking the boy for the reminder. It wasn't lost on him that no names were dropped and no helpful advice offered. He beckoned then, inviting the boy along if he was so concerned about Eles traveling alone. Perhaps some company would make for a more interesting night. Lena Roze Aqua eyes lit up at the invitation and Villiaumite eased off the wall to walk beside the boy. Looking him over, he felt his heart do a stupid little thing at the striking orange of the boys eyes, and he almost felt guilty as he let his arm brush against his, siphoning little bits of energy here and there. Ako had taught him to be subtle if he could, and to incapacitate if subtlety wasn't an option. ”I take it you don't know the area too well?” His tone was light and cheerful as he spoke, arm continuing to brush against his here and there. Little bits, tiny little amounts, but it would add up, surely. ”What’s your name, if I might be so presumptuous?” Even if he was working, Villi still was Villi, and a cute boy was still a cute boy, after all. Strickenized He shook his head at the question. He knew the area about as well as he knew himself, which was to say, not in the slightest. Having company was both a guard against the untoward and a chance for information, just the same, so the tagalong was welcome enough.
He couldn't deny the rousing suspicion in his gut for how close the boy walked, however. Not a flirtatious thing, not purposeless, either. Strikingly familiar, though he couldn't point to specifics and explain why.
E-L-E-S, he shared freely — a small investment. Bait for some sort of trade, though he didn't yet know what he would accept for it. I can't talk, he mouthed as he signed with one hand. He let one last bump of the arms go before he reached down and clutched the other boy's hand.
He stopped, then. Turned, looked the taller boy in the eyes.
I think I know what you're doing. Lena Roze ”Villiaumite.” He gave the boy a broad, vibrant grin. ”Villi works fine though.”He nodded as he was signed to. Understanding it was easy, but actually signing it himself was a different story. ”No worries. I understand sign language for the most part. Suck at actually signing myself, but I can understand it.”And then his hand was grabbed and his heart stopped for a second. Arching a brow, he looked down at Eles curiously. ”Oh? And what, prey tell, would that be other than making sure a cute boy didn't get eaten by monsters?” Was he aware he was draining him little by little? s**t. That could be a problem. s**t. Ako was going to kill him later if that was the case. Strickenized Villaumite sounded more like a rock than a person. And a rock sounded like a codename. Tricky.
Trickier still that he knew enough sign language to comprehend what Eles relayed to him. Wasn't that something? A whole city full of people, and Eles was lucky enough to keep finding these tucked-away gems who could understand him without need for a pen and paper. It felt like a blessing, every bit as much s it felt suspicious. Like there were traces of him woven all throughout the city, circumstantial evidences of him, of the last him, of whichever him, but all of it remained just beyond his grasp. Like he couldn't tell if it was real or if it was his own self-centric take on a phenomenon so easily misunderstood.
Eles's grip on the boy's hand grew tighter. He looked this boy — Villaumite — in the eyes. Taller than him, but not so tall as to be unreachable.
But that question —
Frustrated, Eles's mild half-smile fell away. Felt like his instincts were just out of focus, like the lurching form of comprehension ever darted beyond him. Sometimes tantalizingly close, sometimes so distant as to desolate him. Jaw tightened, he stared at this boy, his head just slightly cocked.
I don't know, he admitted with his free hand. I can't explain it.
Then he reached for the boy's neck. What came next were words so rough and sorely out of use as to be nearly unrecognizable:
"So. Tell. Me." Juliette06 For the first time, Blarney was following a tug at his radar - as he had begun to think of it - that did not feel distinctly friendly. He was apprehensive about it, but he had a scrap of paper tucked away, already addressed to Aruna, in case he found something bigger than what he could tussle safely with, only needing his signet ring stamp to go disappear off to her, wherever she was. Magic was neat. But he'd only call for her if he needed her. It was important that he be able to handle this himself, especially if a civilian was in danger. So over the rooftops he leapt, trying his best to muffle his landings and leaps, in case stealth was required, following the feeling of a rock in his shoe, but in his stomach or mind or something - the radar guided him, and he just followed. Soon, he came to - or rather, came over - what looked, sounded, sounded, and smelled like a club of some kind; the music was loud and pulsating, and Blarney wrinkled his nose at it. So classless. He scanned the people below, milling around near the entrance, approaching or leaving the club. The tug gave no indication that any of these people were the people he was looking for, but he was definitely getting closer. He followed the tug to the far edge of the roof, peering down at the people below, until his eyes settled on a shadowy pair; impossible to distinguish gender from this distance, but the tug in his chest gave an insistent pull in their direction. One of these guys was not just what they appeared to be. If not for the tug, Blarney would've breezed right over them - they looked like they could've been in the middle of an intimate moment, and he couldn't imagine anything more embarrassing that busting a moment like that up between two people who were decidedly unmagical, dressed as he was. But his radar hadn't proved him wrong yet, so he steeled himself, took a deep breath, and leapt from the roof to the ground, no longer trying to be stealthy. It was the one with the pink hair, he realized, as soon as he was on the same level as the two figures. Both boys, or boy-shaped, anyway. Couldn't be much older than Blarney himself - so he straightened up, put some bass in his voice, and did his level best to sound commanding, and not like the kid sidekick someone had left behind by mistake. “Leave him alone,” Blarney said, holding his stick up slightly - hoping it looked more like a warning or a threat than like a stick he'd picked up off the ground on his way over. “This doesn't have to get violent, just get out of here and we'll call it good.” Lena Roze The hand on Villiaumite’s neck caught him off guard, as did the quiet voice. His brows knit together and he opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted. Villi had felt the annoying prickle of Order before he saw or heard him, though it didn't register until the voice broke through the night. Letting out a long suffering sigh, he gave Eles an almost apologetic smile before his hand moved to rest on his neck in return. “Sorry about this. You're not gonna enjoy this next bit.” It was the only warning he gave before draining as much as he could, as fast as he could. Maybe if he could get enough before the obnoxious do-gooder actually intervened, it would be worth it. Strickenized Eles hadn't planned for interruption. Out here, so far away from the few open bars and raucous stress relief, there would be no reason for anyone to come out their way. When he'd heard the other voice, he expected some bouncer sort — big muscles, didn't fit well into any mass-produced shirt, been looking for a reason to beat someone into a stain on the floor — but what he saw must have been the opposite of that.
Looking past Villaumite's shoulder, he saw some jailbait twink dressed in a tunic and hose, like he'd gotten lost on his way to the local Renaissance faire. And was that a ******** belt on his head full of flowers? Eles's brows furrowed. That this ******** thought he was going to break up a fight with someone's yard trash —
His attention returned to the other boy. He sounded sincere, but —
Eles lacked the time to finish the thought. His grip slackened on the boy's hand and neck, then his eyes glassed over as he collapsed to the ground in an unconscious pile of limbs and confusion. Juliette06 Blarney yelped and just - reacted. The kid went down. The pink-haired kid had obviously done some sort of Vulcan death grip on him or something, definitely evil, very bad, and Blarney didn’t know how or why he’d done it. All he knew was that he couldn’t be allowed to do it again - to the kid or to Blarney himself. So he just reacted, which in this case, meant swinging his stick, hard, sending it crashing into the pink-haired boy’s temple. “I told you this didn’t have to get violent!” Blarney shouted, almost whining - like, c’mon, man, you couldn’t have just been cool? He had never actually used his stick on a human before; sure, it had dusted youma, but that was with the advantage of velocity when he jumped from a tall building’s roof. And youma were not people - people couldn’t be dusted, but they could bleed, or be stunned, or otherwise not enjoy getting a stick to the face. He didn’t stick around ( haha) to find out what, if any, damage his stick had done to the pink-haired boy’s face. He just whacked, knelt to pick up the collapsed boy princess-style, and leapt away from the scene, back onto the nearest roof from whence he came. His heart was hammering in his throat as he ran, pure adrenaline coursing through him. The guy in his arms hadn’t woken up, not even with all the jostling, but Blarney couldn’t stop to check for a pulse; not when the pink-haired boy might still be on his tail. He lost track of how many building-tops he leapt over, zig-zagging across the city, hoping to lose any tail he might have picked up along the way. It felt like a year before Blarney stopped running and jumping from roof to roof, but it couldn’t have been more than an hour. It was probably far less than that, but the burning in Blarney’s lungs made him think it had been longer. He finally stopped running, took a long look around, scanning with his eyes and with his weird little internal radar. Nothing. Blarney looked back at the boy in his arms. He knelt him down, took off his glove to press two fingers against his throat, desperately searching for–oh, thank God. A pulse. Blarney went slack from relief, not sure how he would’ve coped with having carried around a corpse from roof to roof. He was alive. …For now. He was alive for now, Blarney corrected. He might not stay that way, and Blarney had no idea how to help him get better–he had no healing magic or innate ability, and as far as he knew, none of his friends, magical or otherwise, did either. That left only one option. Blarney looked around, triangulating his position in the city. That was one benefit to having been born here - he always knew where he was, and how to get where he wanted to go. The hospital seemed like it was a million years away, but he couldn’t just leave this guy to die on a rooftop, not after he’d gone through all the trouble of saving him. So Blarney put his glove back on, gathered the boy back up, and began hop-hop-hopping across the rooftops, now with a destination in mind. He got there sooner than he thought he would, jumping delicately down to the nearest shadowy alley, and let the magic fade, turning him back from Blarney into plain old Mason. Mason did not have super-strength or agility, and he was tired, but he could no more leave this kid in the alley than he could leave him on the rooftop, so once again he hefted him in his arms and staggered across the parking lot to the Emergency Room dropoff entrance. “Hello?” Mason called. “Hello! I–I found this kid, he needs–he needs help, please–” A swarm of nurses surrounded him and took the guy from his arms. Some of them tried to pepper him with questions, but he just shook his head and slipped away as quickly and as quietly as he could. His foot caught on something, and he looked down - a crimson StarCharm, nearly crushed beneath his boot. It must have fallen out of the boy’s pocket during Mason’s frantic stumble into the hospital; he half-turned, but the doctors and nurses had already hurried the stranger away. He’d have to return it to him…later. Somehow. Mason hurried out of the hospital then, hoping that the people at the regular, human doctor and nurses could save the stranger from the decidedly un-regular, inhuman problem that had knocked him out cold.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
