#You mentioned that Aurora was interested in seeing a small reminder of certain facets of Tristan so...

[lordofthestrix]

“Control is an illusion, something to make us feel grounded and in charge of our destinies.”

Old. Older than most by how well he took the sudden push forcing him away from her. Older than Tristan's people, even. It was no wonder the portly figure managed to surprise Aurora long enough to constrict his hand around her neck for a moment. They were no longer accustomed to strangers matching their might. Ancient vampires were an endangered species. In another world, under a different sky, Tristan could have been amused, even slightly curious about the bald-headed, leather-cladded gang leader and his entourage of bikers. One seemingly almost as primeval as them. In this world, under this sky, all he burned with was the scorching image of his hand squeezing his sister's neck as he began spouting some trite poison about his territory. Ancient vampires would be more of an endangered species by morning. The man had the good sense to reassess. Quick glimpses at the two of them. Thinking for a fraction of a moment before opening his mouth again. Be it to withdraw or double down. His hand closing against her neck. The motorcyclist spat out blood with inexpressive pain. Tristan struck against his throat before he could offer a word. Mercilessly. He wasn't feeling in the mood to talk. "Let me." He managed to the only other person with the right to survive the occasion. It had been a while, yes. A while since bones that refused to instantly shatter and hits capable of harming him. A while since any fight unleashed for anything other than sport that wasn't a mere execution. The fever raised as strikes were exchanged. The flames of the image consuming him. Growing overwhelmed, the man zealously hide on the defensive. Still rabid enough to protect the path to his heart with feral wildness. Quite the annoyance. And it was only a matter of time before his pride gave in and he unleashed that increasingly nervous swam of mosquitoes to aid his no doubt until then undefeated leader. Fine...Defend yourself. His hand promising her pain. Tristan struck against his eyes. It wasn't clean. The claws of a malefic creature capturing its prey. Pushing with vengeful ardor. Until his eyes exploded. Until his eye-sockets bled black. And Tristan pushed still. Remembering his threatening insolence against Aurora all the while the still fractured voice screeched. Tristan pushed. Finally, the skull violently shattered out of him. His breath wasn't quite recuperated when one of the men left behind by his failure pleadingly tried. "...I swear! we don't wan-" The hand of the dead man. Almost hurting Aurora. Tristan de Martel roared. Bending the room to its knees. Viciously. Dark veins tainted demonic eyes and the fangs of a monster visited his visage. Another uncommon event. It had been a while since Tristan last showed his real face to anyone who wasn't dinner. They were not a challenge without their ringmaster. They were carnage in motion. Fleeing. Battling. Begging. It was all the same. Vivid, giant stains of red on a suit that had once been blue. Strangest of it all perhaps, was the terrible sincerity and ceaseless fondness the ruthless beast was capable of effortlessly changing into once the affront found justice and it was her he was addressing. "Are you okay, darling?"

@ladamedemartel