#ᴸᵉᵗ ᵐᵉ ᵇᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒᶰᶫʸ ᵒᶰᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵏᵉᵉᵖ ʸᵒᵘ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᶫᵈ ▓ Sanguine Stained ▓

[replicantdeviancy]

    @thethreefaes​ > ˢᵘᵇʳᵒᵘᵗᶦᶰᵉ ᴵᶰᶦᵗᶦᵃᶫᶦᶻᵃᵗᶦᵒᶰ // Starter // ᴱˣᵉᶜᵘᵗᵉ

──── ⌈ ∞ ⌋ ─────                    The green isle was not what he had envisioned from stories written in old dusty tomes. Historical accounts gave only a vague description of what lie beyond the channel that divided the land of Britain & Ireland. Most told of battles fought long ago, or what may had seemed so in days gone by, when he was young & naive. Tales of barbaric locals & witches, wars fought, battles won yet the spoils ultimately lost. It was a wild place, untamed by the fiery brood that called it home.

                    The truth was far stranger than fiction, not for the understated accounts of Britain’s failed claims to this enchanted isle through damnedable witchery, but because Ireland was so… similar to home. There were no droves of blood hungry men or ravenous creatures of which lay in waiting to attack & pick their bones clean. Those encountered were wholly NORMAL, utterly mundane.

                    Xander was almost disappointed in the reality of the case. Connor was not. The elder Arkeit wasn’t fond of confrontation. He preferred exploration over all else. What better avocation of which to partake in than the pursuit of knowledge when one was forced to forever wander?

                    & wander they did, traveling from town to town, village to village in the name of exploration. Better to call it so than admit to their true intent. How monstrous these two innocents with visages of angels. Beautiful things of the night which smiled warmly in good company & preyed on humanity like livestock by moonlight. All to alleviate an insatiable hunger.

                    It was that hunger that drove them into the forest. Far from any town by which they could come across an easy meal, the brothers opted for an unsuspecting animal. It wasn’t uncommon these days to take what was necessary from the creatures that roamed this wild land, for settlements along the roads which cut through the greenery were few & far between. Different than home, less industrialized as it made it’s way boldly into the 18th century.

                    It was for this reason that they had chosen to leave, for the nature of death had had it’s mysteries exposed through the work of surgeons staking their claim in society. The corpses they left were DIFFERENT, damaged & drained. It was only a matter of time before word of similar incidents throughout the country were reported, panic soon to follow.

                    No, this land was a new opportunity. A chance to begin again. Xander had promised such, but in that moment Connor wasn’t inclined to believe him. They were five days unfed, two days since the last town. The nights here were colder. The slightly shorter male hugged himself for warmth as they walked, eyes searching for prey in the darkness. It would be dawn soon. Another morning of which they would lay buried in the wet dirt beneath the shadow of a tree.

                    That truth troubled the elder more than the ache of thirst in his belly.

[replicantdeviancy]

──── ⌈ ∞ ⌋ ─────                    All was quiet in the little cabin near the woods, barely a hint of movement within as the hour was late. Supper was long since served & the kitchen tidied, though the scent of seasoned meat still lingered in the air, teasing the senses. The fire burned low in the hearth, what was left of the logs once stacked in a sizable pile lay smoldering, burnt through with a glowing red that offered a cozy atmosphere to the small space of the living area.

                   Connor sat comfortably in the large chair by the hearth, a book in hand & a fur blanket in his lap. A chair which had been designated as Hank’s when they both first established a sense of cohabitation some weeks ago, though the rule seemed to have gone by the wayside at a point neither could recall. The boy wasn’t bothering anything so the old man never said a word. Connor liked to think it was a show of affection.

                   Engrossed in the words printed upon the yellowing pages before him, the silent night creature did pause at times only momentarily, allowed his hand holding the book to slowly come to rest in his lap as he stared out the window nearest him & let his mind wander. It had begun to snow yesterday & would likely continue for days. Winter had come to Michigan once again & the boy felt a sense of gratitude knowing he would not be spending another one outdoors. Often in the past he would remain closer to the nearby native tribe of which he had found companionship with through mutual understanding, but they were far more resilient than he, having grown & lived in such a frigid environment all their lives.

                   Connor desperately missed the feeling of simple warmth during those months. He was thankful for the shelter as well as the company.

                   Hank had long since drifted off to the bedroom, leaving his housemate to enjoy his library while he slept the night away, as any normal person should. All the while the strange boy he held company with would read until dawn to be found by mornings light drowsing on the couch. He would sleep well into the day, only to be disturbed into wakefulness some time in the early evening by the sounds of movement & the promise of food. Then the cycle would begin anew.

                   Such was the way of things during these lazy days without another bounty to track or law to be upheld. Perhaps later today Hank would wake him to help with chores, put him to work chopping firewood or mending something he had managed to tear in his clumsiness like his trousers last week. Perhaps he would take him into the woods to go hunting again with Sumo. He rather liked that. The stillness of it, the waiting as they listened diligently to the sounds of nature all around them, eye fixed upon the prize. He liked sharing those moments with Hank, like it connected them on a deeper level.

                   As it was, the marshal was the only person in all of Detroit that knew what he was, in every sense of it. At the time of the discovery Hank had flinched, but he had not faltered, having chosen to spare the gentle young monster whom had inadvertently become his partner. Maybe it was his kindness & reliability that had spared him a bullet at his most vulnerable, or could it have been sentiment? Regardless of the reason, Connor found himself better for it. How perfectly beautiful it was when someone understood, was accepting of him & his nature. Hank was a steadfast kind of man. His partner could appreciate that.

                   As the snow began falling just a little bit harder the distinct sound of booted footsteps on the wooden porch caught his attention. A moment later a knock sounded from the door, loud & very insistent. The jarring noise woke Sumo from his slumber & he lumbered to his feet from his bed in the corner of the room to bark at the sudden intruder. Connor’s full attention was on the door as he set his book to the side & stood, crawling out from under the blanket. Disappointed for having the warmth escape yet his curiosity mounted when the knock came again, more insistent this time. A call was heard from beyond the door.

                    ❝ Hank! You in there? It’s Ben. ❞   Ben? What could Mr. Collins be needing so urgently that he had trekked to the edges of town at such an hour? Connor’s eyes narrowed with interest, head tilted faintly to the side. As he made his way to the door he made certain that his clothing was firmly in place, the collar of his shirt buttoned to his throat. Only when he deemed himself presentable did he open the door. The surprise on the robust man’s face was immediately apparent.

                    ❝ Mr. Collins? ❞   he questioned, door cracked only just enough to greet their impromptu guest without letting too much of the winter cold in.  ❝ Quite the late hour to be calling on Marshal Anderson, isn’t it? ❞

                   The shorter man practically floundered in his confusion.  ❝ Connor? ❞

                    ❝ Yes, sir? ❞   He blinked once, rather innocently, his thin form leaning against the door frame. Ben looked the boy up & down once, attempting to gather himself from the surprise of seeing such an unexpected figure in his old friend’s cabin. Hank hadn’t suddenly become the type of man to pick up strays, had he?

                    ❝ What the hell are you doing here? ❞

                   Another blink.  ❝ I live here. ❞   Ben released a breath he hadn’t known he had been holding. Apparently Hank had indeed become that type of man. Who would have thought?

                    ❝ Is Hank here? ❞   he queried, hopeful.  ❝ It’s a matter of some urgency. ❞   The dark haired boy nodded once, unfazed as always.

                    ❝ Yes, sir. ❞   A short pause. Connor continued to stare him down. Ben shifted his weight from one foot to the other, growing uncomfortable under that gaze. No matter how warm & seemingly innocent the youth appeared, he always felt as though he were being looked at through the eyes of a predator when Connor fixed a firm stare his way. He gestured, impatient.

                    ❝ Well, will you get him? ❞

                    ❝ What’s happened? ❞   The boy sniffed the air lightly, brows furrowing lightly in vexation. He could smell blood on the man, residual & cleaned some time ago but blood nevertheless. Ben frowned at the question.

                    ❝ It’s official police business, Connor, ❞   he retorted.   ❝ Be a good boy & get the marshal for me. ❞   Dejected but not entirely without understanding, Connor retreated back into the house with a soft   ❝ Of course ❞  leaving the door open should the man feel so inclined to venture indoors. Connor stopped at the door to the bedroom, knocked softly as he called out to him, informing the man that his friend was there. Strange kid, so archaic in his politeness. But then again, Hank would have protested had he simply barged into his room unannounced. Maybe the boy was onto something.

@lieutenantgivesnoshits​

[replicantdeviancy]

caffeihated said: His thumbs brush across the leather, manipulated and painted to resemble the face of a fox while covering enough skin to maintain anonymity. From his curiosity of holding it against his face, Gavin already knows it allows him to see clearly, and the muzzle is long enough to hide his scar but is hollow on the underside so he can still dine if needed. It’s padded with soft felt as well, especially around the temples where the silken ribbon will pull tight and rub with each movement. Xander was thoughtful as always, frighteningly so. But still, the colours are dull: mud brown and greys mixing together for the illusion of fur, and blending into the black highlights. It’s nothing like the striking display of monotone feathers he’s seen for Xander’s own. He’s /boring/: meant to blend in while on the arm of a guy who never fails to catch people’s attention. It makes his teeth grind together. “Why bother with all this? ‘S not like anyone knows either of us.” Excuses, and an anxious need for answers fuels the question, and Gavin has more of it to come.

──── ⌈ ∞ ⌋ ─────                    Nimble fingers fixed the last of the buttons of his ornate jacket. It was black in color, etched in silver like the rest of his outfit, the sparse jewelry he wore. This evening the two of them were to socialize at a party being held at a venue within the city; a masquerade. It had been many years since the night creature had participated in such a thing, not since the days in which their family home was lively & the halls echoed with the cheerful voices of his kin. But this evening was not to be a stroll down the road of nostalgia. His was a darker purpose, but one of necessity. His pet had a lesson to learn, one of the consequences of naive wanting.

                   He regarded the human as he ventured towards the bed, gathered the cloak that lay draped across it. He took it in hand & in one motion & with a flutter of fabric he brought it over himself & tucked it neatly over his shoulders.  ❝ That is rather the point: we are anonymous to the party-goers, ❞  Xander informed, hands knotting the chord of the cloak at his throat.   ❝ We are to be phantoms, invisible in plain sight. ❞  Those hands smoothed down his slim, powerful form, straightening the thick layers of fine fabric there.

                   Tonight was to be a test as much as it was an evening of pleasures. Xander was not an especially social creature, but he was a clever one. He knew just how to seek out his prey, how to draw them into his waiting grasp effortlessly. An avid hunter who used any means available to him & this evening he would use Gavin as his bait. His beloved was an especially alluring creature, muscled & fiery with the loveliest eyes. Behind his mask their stunning grey hues would surely stand out, brightness piercing through the utterly unremarkable nature of the costume.

                   Gavin didn’t understand it yet, nor did his vampiric lover expect him to. It mattered little, inconsequential. Monotony was key as he was a target meant to earn contempt, jealousy over the man who escorted him so proudly. Jealousy would fuel desire & thus he was sure to be approached. After that------------ Well, Gavin would soon see.

[replicantdeviancy]

                                       @caffeihated​  > ˢᵘᵇʳᵒᵘᵗᶦᶰᵉ ᴵᶰᶦᵗᶦᵃᶫᶦᶻᵃᵗᶦᵒᶰ // Requested Starter // ᴱˣᵉᶜᵘᵗᵉ

──── ⌈ ∞ ⌋ ─────                    Finding prey was no simple task within Detroit. It held too many residents, each and every one a potential threat. Thus, hunting within city limits carried risks, as a single accidental passerby could spell disaster. Humans were fretful things - he recalled well, having once been one - but their curiosity was insatiable as his own needs. Wandering eyes and foolish interest kept his meanderings to the shadows, past the lights of streetlamps. Into the alleyways the tall figure ventured, unbothered by the light rain pouring from the heavens down on him.

                   Eyes of steely grey gleamed with hints of tapetum lucidum as they sought out that which the figure sought; the prize of a warm body. A hunter with a mission, one of self-preservation.

                   It was rare even at this hour to find anyone wandering the back streets of the city, and as such the presence of a drunken wastrel half laying against a wall near a tavern practically brimming with festive luster was seen as a gift. Lips of pale pink twitched, one corner quirking upwards with DELIGHT at this prize practically laid out like an offering.

                   It was a young man, one of pretty age whom had seen rough times. His flesh was a delicate olive and he bore a scar over the bridge of his nose, which appeared to have been broken more than once in his lifetime. It had mended crooked, though minutely; a uniquely pleasing trait. What was more pleasing to the silent night creature was how utterly out of his head the man seemed. Even as he neared, knelt at his side, the man did not take notice of him. Not until he reached out, until he touched, the tips of pale fingers pressing a chill into his ruddy cheek.

[replicantdeviancy]

                                              @maccaillte​  > ˢᵘᵇʳᵒᵘᵗᶦᶰᵉ ᴵᶰᶦᵗᶦᵃᶫᶦᶻᵃᵗᶦᵒᶰ // Starter // ᴱˣᵉᶜᵘᵗᵉ

──── ⌈ ∞ ⌋ ─────                    The artist had been remarkably kind to him the duration of his stay within his home, yet Connor could not help but feel a sense of FOREBODING which lingered when in his presence. Something which begged investigation for it played upon his mind constantly, in the hours when he was alone in this castle of a house. Kamski was an enigmatic man, one of wealth and prestige never before experienced by the beautiful youth. He was charming, ambitious yet secretive, and it was this secretiveness which compelled Connor in his musings.

                   The strange foreigner did not fear him; a curiosity in of itself. He kept the boy’s nature hidden, kept him fed without question, and asked nothing in return save the privilege of his company and the chance to capture his beauty in stone. Kamski claimed to be an artist, and Connor had readily accepted his bargain. After all, where else did he have to go that would prove as safe as this home?

                   Yet there was a shadow looming over the place, one not of his own creation. Connor felt it’s chill emanating from the cellar, behind a door usually kept locked up tight. Kamski never mentioned the chamber, never divulge what lay beyond the door. It became an object of intrigue, and deep rumination. Thus, when the opportunity arose Connor knew he must chance it.

                   The cellar door had been mistakenly left unlocked, much to the boy’s delight. Yet as he slipped past the old barrier of thick oak he could not but feel a sense of dread. This feeling only increased in magnitude the further forward he traveled. Here there were no hunks of marble, no fine chisels and tools of artistry. Here there was clockwork and metal, fragments and pieces which resembled dismembered forms of life sized dolls.

                   Or of corpses.

                   It caused a shiver and instinctively, Connor wrapped his arms around his slender form. He suddenly wished very much to leave the place, yet was compelled onward for curiosity's sake. He wished to know the meaning of all this, the patchwork creations of metal and porcelain throughout this place.

                   A foolish errand. Connor was never one for common sense where questions lay unanswered.

[replicantdeviancy]

fallsekings said:   “Your worry isn’t necessary. No, don’t look at me like that when I say that…” ~Hank

──── ⌈ ∞ ⌋ ─────                    Though the dim candlelight of the room the boy stared a long moment at the man in his presence, a silent rebellion as he refused to lower his gaze. His captain had not been well in some time, his complaints of aches & fatigue extending far beyond those of a man of his advanced years. Joints sore at each movement from waking til slumber, head in a fog - these symptoms were not limited to Hank alone. Many aboard the ship had been struck with this affliction, some left bedridden when their duties were not to be seen to.

                   Connor knew only out of curiosity, of course. Clever, sneaky thing he was, he crept into the lower decks at night on a whim, observed the whispered conversations of men upon the ship. Eyes always seeking, desire for knowledge insatiable. Much like the eyes that watched Hank now, the needy longing within mirrored by the concern worn against that heavenly visage. Those soft, dark gems would be the death of him, surely. That is, if Connor’s nature did not end him first.

                   “ You’ll have to pardon my saying that I don’t believe you. ”  The boy’s voice was calm, soft & dusky. Always so warm in spite of the bitter cold of the night air. Weight upon the bed shifted as the boy neared, leaned closer so as to brush a lock of lengthy grey waves from cerulean eyes. There was instance in Connor’s gaze, one made of deep devotion he did not share with any save for this man.  “ I know you have been suffering, Hank. I can see it in you even when you try so hard to hide it. ”  No one knew this man like Connor did. Hank who showed no weakness, who was a great mountain of a man. All fortitude, all strength, his softness only reserved for private moments such as these.

                   Connor saw past his boisterous comments, his grizzly persona. Hank was hurting. Connor wanted to make it better.

                   Yet unbeknownst to the captain, his men had further complaints than pain & malnutrition. A strange kind of sickness had been slowly spreading through the ship, leaving those afflicted with delirium & weakness beyond all reason. It was quiet, like a thief in the night. None had yet perished from the sickness, though that did not mean none were to eventually succumb. The only clue as to this ailment differing from that which the crew had thusly faced were odd remnants of markings upon their flesh, almost as if one had been bitten by something.

[replicantdeviancy]

                                               @unfeelingandroid​​  > ˢᵘᵇʳᵒᵘᵗᶦᶰᵉ ᴵᶰᶦᵗᶦᵃᶫᶦᶻᵃᵗᶦᵒᶰ // Starter // ᴱˣᵉᶜᵘᵗᵉ

──── ⌈ ∞ ⌋ ─────                    The roads leading towards Lake St. Clair were dangerous at night. The youth had traveled them many times before on his own, unafraid of the night creatures and bandits which called the woods home. One such as he had little to fear of the dark, having left the light behind so long ago. But he was cautious as he went, senses ever vigilant as he was vulnerable traveling by foot. Animals were not the only beasts which roamed these woods.

[replicantdeviancy]

Main Story:

Connor meets Hank Anderson, a US Marshal and enigmatic man in his own right, as a series of murders has been plaguing the budding mecca of Detroit , Michigan. Due to the mysterious nature of these murders, Connor takes a keen interest in aiding this determined man in his search. He suspects the perpetrator is a skinwalker, a creature he learned of by the native locals, and knows the Lieutenant is completely out of his league. He follows him and makes contact with a proposition to offer his assistance,but on his own terms.

Connor: 

His birth name was Constance Arkeit, born 1612 in Essex, England. His family was of money and their roots lay in French-English breeding.

Transgender by modern terms, he was considered a cross-dresser or even mentally perverted in his own time. Due to the very religious nature of the time period, Connor was forced to keep his feminine appearance, only able to express his true self in secret.

His attack was seen as little more than attempted murder from a madman, and his subsequent sickness was feared to be a reemergence of plague. However, it developed into something not unlike consumption or rabies. Blood was the only thing to cure him.

He was betrothed to a man since childhood; a kind soul named Henry Vogel. Henry accepted his strangeness and treated him kindly. He also helped Connor lead a double life, as he dressed him in boys clothing when they would play together and spend time away, often retreating to the wooded country surrounding Henry’s estate.

Xander: 

Third of the triplets, he was not betrothed as little was expected of him to carry the family line. He had his trysts, yet he remained dutiful to his siblings. he was especially protective of Connor and his secrets.

When Connor was attacked he was the first to see to him. After Connor attacked Colin as he was administering a treatment of bloodletting for his sickness, and was thus infected with this same illness, Xander purposely infected himself in order to stay with his brother.

As the siblings slowly drifted apart, he and Connor remained together. On occasion Connor would wander off of his own accord, only to eventually return to him. Xander was a pillar of strength in his life sorely needed after the losses he had endured.

After the two made their way to the new world in the mid 1700′s, Connor once again ran off. This time he did not return. Xander, hurt but ever resolute, carried on with life as usual and took this opportunity to explore the colonies as he saw fit.

Caine:

Youngest sister of the Arkeit’s, born Eva. She did not take on her more biblical name until she stole Connor’s blood and infected herself. Her reasons were not as noble as Xanders. She merely wanted to enjoy this sickness as a new game.

Like Colin, her tastes in partners was not conventional, nor seen as acceptable by the church. As she broke away from the sibling group early on, she delved into a far more debauched and carefree life. She had her lovers, and her prey. She feels no remorse for murder, unlike the eldest.

She was the last to come to the new world, satisfied with terrorizing England in her own cat and mouse games. 

Vampirism:

The infected are not dead, but rather plagued by a virus of the blood. It consumes the proteins of the blood and thus forces the host to drink blood to replenish themselves, lest the disease ravage their organs and kill them painfully. It takes hold of the natural processes of the body, forming new teeth which push out the old; an excruciating and horrific adaptation to the body’s new needs. The infected enjoy heightened senses of hearing, sight and enhanced strength. They can see in darkness and smell spilled blood within half a mile.

Sunlight feels overly warm on the skin and exposure can be draining on their energy. It hurts their eyes, and prolonged exposure can have severe adverse affects, of which the only cure is a total lack of sunlight and potentially a feeding. Injuries mend fast and leave little trace. However, blood is required for spilt blood.

This is a progressive disease, one which will eventually consume the victim regardless of their routine feeding. As time passes the victim will require more and more to sustain themselves, until blood is no longer enough and the disease will feast on their bodies. In the final stages, their blood is little more than a gelatinous black soup and they will become ravenous, crazed beasts which will kill mercilessly. If they are not killed by unnatural means, their final fate will be to succumb to organ failure as the body cannibalizes itself.

Warnings and disclaimers:

This verse is heavily based off of historical and mythological resources, as well as biology and scientific premises. Ideas of religion and gender, sex and personal identity in that time are far different from modern ideologies. Pronounds and terms used to describe Connor will be masculine, however there will potentially be misgendering and incorrect terms used to express story naritived in regards to his gender identity. While his identity is to be preserved and respected, uses of dead names and feminine expressions may be used in themes throughout, as well as mentions of identity through the eyes of religion and 1600′s terminology and ideology. If this offends you, or triggers you, do not participate in this verse.

The use of female body parts and dead names is NOT meant as a form of disrespect, but of respect to the time period. If you are unfamiliar with historical knowledge of gender and religion in this time period, please educate yourself. Any hate will be deleted and reported. Anon abuse will be reported. Thank you.

[replicantdeviancy]

❛ Well, you’re going the wrong way. ❜

                                                                 Askbox || The Last Unicorn Starters

──── ⌈ ∞ ⌋ ─────                    “…Oh.” Well, that did put a damper on things. Footsteps slowed to a stop and he turned to look over his shoulder at the woman, the rest of his slim form following in one drawn out fluid motion. Facing her now, his weight shifted from one foot to the other. A little anxious - he needed to get somewhere shaded, out of the sunlight. Connor looked to the woman with mild anticipation, questioning in his gaze. “Would you be so kind as to give me directions, then?” he called. “I’m headed towards Detroit, though I seem to have gotten myself turned around by mistake.”

[replicantdeviancy]

“ i hope you find what you’re looking for. ” 

                                                               Askbox || Poetry Sentence Starters

──── ⌈ ∞ ⌋ ─────                    “I’m not even entirely certain what I’m looking for.” It was as much an admission as it was a passive statement. Connor had no idea of what he was looking for, in life or in general. He was like a ghost, flitting about night by night, wandering aimless and without purpose. He needed a purpose, some reason to live. As it was, he merely EXISTED. “I don’t know what I want…or if I do even want.” He was capable, surely, but he had forgotten the feeling of desire long ago.

[replicantdeviancy]

 "your fingers are so cold  &  bruised,  but you’re still slamming your fists again the barricade as if it makes a difference. "

                                                               Event Askbox || Grave Suggestions

──── ⌈ ∞ ⌋ ─────                     Brown eyes lowered thoughtfully in response, a soft, barely there frown falling over his pale visage. Connor seemed to almost…recoil from the statement, yet as he mused over it’s meaning a quiet remorse found it’s way into those eyes. “Not everyone has the luxury of escaping their past… Still, I feel that if nothing else I can atone for it.” His gaze rose slowly to regard the young woman and with it his lips did tip gently upwards. The smile was kind, if not placating. There was no warmth to it. The expression did not reach his eyes. “So I will keep brazenly striking against that barrier which surrounds me until I’ve made amends.”

                   Until he was worthy of what lay beyond the borders of his heart, enough to trust. Enough to let someone in.

[replicantdeviancy]

                                                                   ╘ Continuation…. @theveryfirst​

──── ⌈ ∞ ⌋ ─────                    Struck bashfully speechless by her boldness, Connor chuckled as he was forced from his insipidly mournful reverie. Much as it felt undeniably normal as of late, the boy had to admit he was in a precariously downtrodden mood. Perpetual, though Chloe expressed in no small way how that didn’t have to be the case. She could still be vibrant when her perfectly blue eyes told of loss. Connor was not alone in being a mournful creature - she needn’t say a word of how this state came to be. It was enough that the boy was aware of it.

                   He had always been the sort to read others effortlessly. He was intuitive as he was curious; a habit from childhood which he had never grown away from.

                   Soft laughter faded into thoughtful silence, yet the barely there smile remained. Something poignant and bittersweet, but no less lovely. He was a pretty thing - too pretty. He offered the woman a passive expression, almost casual. There was a hesitance, but it did not translate to his pale visage. It was in his eyes. Warm and soft and scared to trust. One had to wonder what kind of story he had to tell. Only a person with an intriguing story hard eyes like those. “Do you have regrets, Miss Chloe? Things you wish you could take back?”

[replicantdeviancy]

❛  Well, just look at you !  ❜ [Connor]

                                                                   Askbox || The Last Unicorn Starters

──── ⌈ ∞ ⌋ ─────                    It was a familiar voice which called to him from the shadows, one he had not heard in many years. A voice so similar to his own, almost perfect in inflection and pitch, or rather what he had trained his voice to be with years of careful practice, manipulation of vocal chords. But in seeing the figure emerge into the light Connor felt suddenly conflicted. For a brief instance he had let himself believe Xander had found him again, and a sense of dread had clenched in his gut, almost repelling him. But then, unexpectedly, another revealed himself to the eldest child of the ill fated family and Connor felt his breath hitch in his throat.

                   “Colin…” he breathed, the tiniest hint of tremble laced within. The shock of seeing the middle triplet was enough to steal his breath from him and Connor realized as he stared at this vision that he had not imagined he would ever see Colin again after they had parted ways. Surely his eyes deceived him.

                   Had Colin truly come to the new world? Or was this merely a cruel hallucination come to him from unattended hunger? Somehow, he feared the former more than the latter. It was obvious enough in his stance, how he seemed almost submissive as he was cautious. On edge, ready to flee a fight he expected to ensue.

                   Those large hazelnut eyes remained trained on the other, waiting to see what he would do. “What are you doing here?” He attempted to keep things FRIENDLY, his tone as jovial as he could manage. In times past, Connor would have thrown himself into his waiting brother’s arms, kissed his cheek and asked of his travels. But now… “I hadn’t heard that you had left our homeland.”

[replicantdeviancy]

❛  Shut up you pretentious kneecap !  ❜ [Xander]

                                                                       Askbox || The Last Unicorn Starters

──── ⌈ ∞ ⌋ ─────                    The look the younger one squared with Colin was one of minute disbelief melded perfectly with that of incredulousness. Of all the silly things– “Very clever, brother dear,” he retorted with no small hint of sarcasm. Were he so inclined, Xander would have rolled his eyes at the absurdity of Colins attempts at offense. As it was, he could only claim a feeling of secondhand embarrassment; another feeling in no short supply. “‘Pretentious’ I’ll take, but you really have to work on your insults if you want to offend me.”

[replicantdeviancy]

❛  You have no regrets as I do ?  ❜ [to Caine]

                                                                    Askbox || The Last Unicorn Starters

──── ⌈ ∞ ⌋ ─────                    The girl looked up from her idle work, hands set to braiding the thick blonde of her mane loosely over one shoulder. Bored eyes, searching always for new amusements of which to wet her appetite. The appearance of her brother at her door had provided momentary distraction, and the creature formerly known as Eva, youngest and most beloved daughter of the Arkeit family, lapped it up like a delectable treat to be savored.

                   A half-smirk drew her lips taught, revealing a hint of pearl far too sharp to be considered human. “What need have I for regrets, Colin?” she retorted with a tone as unfulfilled as her desire for entertainment. Wanting, yet uninterested all at once. She was a stubborn paradox. “I wanted this. And in a way, I think you wanted it too.”

[replicantdeviancy]

“ i know this isn’t going to end well but i don’t think it matters ” hank @ connor

                                                                            Askbox || Poetry Prompts

──── ⌈ ∞ ⌋ ─────                    A long silence persisted between them, broken only by the quiet rustling of night breeze through the treetops above and the crackle of the their campfire. Firelight reflected in Connor’s thoughtful eyes, upon the snowy expanse of his skin, exposed down to the collar of his shirt, creating the illusion of a marble statue. His cravat was missing, collar unbuttoned at his throat, offering a hint of clavicle. It was as casual as he would allow his state of dress to become. The deceptively aged being was a shy one, undoubtedly strange. An old fashioned oddity in this wild, barely tamed land of the new world.

                   He was still a long time, unnaturally so. At times it was as if the night creature had no need of breath, though the Lieutenant knew well enough that this notion was false. Connor breathed, he LIVED; he was just different. That was the kindest way to put it.

                   The statuesque illusion dissipated as Connor turned his head to look at his traveling companion. In this light, unbeknownst to him, with darkness surrounding and the campfire their only true source of illumination, those eyes shone at the edges of hazelnut depths with tapetum lucidum. A small reminder of just what he was, as if Hank Anderson could forget.

                   Connor smiled for him, just a little. It was a tired sort of smile - he was weary, his body bogged down by his exhausted emotional state, by dark need flowing through him, unfulfilled. He would need to be fed soon. That in itself could become concerning. The boy would need his strength if he were to prove his usefulness in this hunt.

                   “Based on my research,” he began, his voice reflecting that weariness in it’s almost lulled tone, “this is the best course of action. Being hunted in it’s own territory will be an unexpected circumstance for the creature.” However, this didn’t diminish the possibility that the whole thing could go wrong if the hunters suddenly became the hunted. They were in unfamiliar territory, and while they knew the lay of the land, these woods belonged to the beast they sought.