#csejtetigress

[devourtheimpolite]

Dîner et un Spectacle | la-comtesse-sanglante

Hannibal Lecter wasn’t one to break promises, whether it was a big promise or a small one. He was usually a man of his word, and this was one promise he was certainly not going to break.

While he wasn’t usually one to get involved with patients in any aspect of their life outside of his office, Elizabeth Bathory had happened to be an exception. So when she had invited him to a concert that she so happened to be performing in, he felt that there was no other choice but to happily accept. Being the gentleman he was, he had even invited her back to his home for dinner afterwards, as though a congratulations on a job well done.

He had to admit that she was quite a beautiful pianist. Hannibal had quite an ear for music, and he could easily say that Elizabeth’s playing was more than enjoyable. In fact, when she had finished, he had even felt the need to stand and clap for her.

Hannibal took a mental note to himself as to congratulate Elizabeth when he saw her next. After all, a job well done deserved an equal amount of praise.

[puttinghimdown-archive-blog]

The Broken Ones | csejte-tigress

There was one woman she would always pass on her way to her car. She had established that this other woman was a patient of Doctor Lecter’s, as she always went into the building moments after she left – her appointment was probably scheduled right after her own. She didn’t often think about the woman, but she had no choice but to do so every week when they passed one another.

Margot saw her every week, and they always gave each other distasteful looks. She didn’t even know the woman’s name, but there was something dislikeable about her. Maybe it was the way she presented herself, the way that she glared at Margot as Margot did the same to her. They hadn’t said a single word to one another, yet there had been an instant connection of hatred.

That day Margot was sitting in her car after her appointment with Doctor Lecter, pondering. She was pondering the words that had been tossed back and forth between herself and Doctor Lecter, pondering about what would happen when she went home. Margot wasn’t scared – she was way past frightened of her brother, even if his actions continued to be unsavoury. Perhaps it wasn’t her that should be afraid of him, if only he knew that her last attempt wouldn’t be the last.

She looked out the window some time later, noticing the woman that she had seen before, that one that she felt such a strange hatred for. Margot checked the time, realising that she had been pondering for an hour, much longer than she had meant to.

She sighed and started the car, though had it idle in its place for a little longer.

[goldenxeyed-archive]

So wow, I've reached 200 of you lovely duckies, and it's almost been a year since I first started out. Honestly, I thought that no one in their right mind would thread anything with me because LSODM came out and everyone was reeling over the whole Chapter 51 deal, but damn, I've come a long way since I had no idea what I was doing in the first place.

So cheers, love. And here we go: Role-call!

Dead Men: (The people who mean a lot to both mun and muse. But damn. You guys rock my socks.) 

detective-cxin * pesterthenecromancer * csejte-tigress * the-lovely-dark-spirit * of-mad-angels-and-cruel-demons * valkyriexcain * the-governments-daughter

Roarhaven: (Those whom I love to interact with)

that-skeleton-detective * tanithlxw * lyingismygame  * ask-skulduggery * littlestarmaiden * txnith * mynameistanithlow * skulduggeryxpleasant * grandmagesorrows * sanctuarydetective * worldxbreaker * raisingcaiin * chxnasorrows * sara-the-boldsoul

Sorcerers : (People I admire from afar)

puttinghimdown / castelum * terriiify * hellblxzer * astrifer-ous * moranument * finiis * sheismrsjones * eternallygrinning * mythkillers * skxlduggery * slxnderman * nxymria * viewtokill * spookbriel

If you don't see your name on this list, I probably forgot, but I still love you. 

[montanaparker]

Trial By Fire || Monty/Elizabeth

Nobody wanted to go up against the rumors. The talk was an awful lot to swallow but that's just what people do. When the murders were happening, it was all the talking that led them to her door. The talking made it real for them. They often believe in what they want to believe in. But when they witnessed the torture firsthand not even death and decay could make it all real. Because it couldn't be real. What kind of monster was she? And why did she kill? They had her punished for the crimes she committed. But now the talk was more alive than ever before. Wild claims of seeing the Countess here then there. Firsthand witness accounts in the form of scattered bones yet turned to dust. She was killing again -- or so they thought. And now "They" were sending him in. Just to clean up the mess that they'd left behind. Couldn't take any chances, they said, even if the rumors proved fanciful and ridiculous. She couldn't possibly have faked her death. The people would have known the ways she'd done it. Or they liked to think that they were smarter than her, at least. Monty didn't know a damned thing other than what they told him. And what he knew of her from word of mouth. The rumors led him to her door. Trepidation rose in his heart and, for a brief moment, he believed he felt that once vivid heart stop inside the cage of his chest. That was fear in its purest form and it had come to steal away any courage he thought he had. But they paid him well and he knew what had to be done. He didn't bother with a traditional knock at the gate. He'd found his way past it to get to the door of her castle. It was vacant, he believed, so he went inside. A thick darkness settled on his skin and he felt more alone than ever before. The people didn't want to take their chances with the Countess. Only he could -- but now he was regretting the decision he'd made in pride and arrogance.

[unconventionalpsychiatrist-blog]

De Destin | csejte-tigress

She couldn’t believe what had come to pass. It had left her breathless, speechless, terrified for her own life. To think that somebody in her own kingdom would attempt to do something so foul was beyond her. It had now happened once, though, and she knew that it would most definitely happen again.

She couldn’t sleep that night, or for many nights that had passed since the attempt on her life. She was too busy weighing up what could happen to her as she slept, and she thought of what she could possibly do. Surely she couldn’t stay around forever, awaiting the next attempt upon her life. She thought to the woman who was down in the cellars, awaiting something of a fair trial, as fair as they came, and thought of how she couldn’t possibly wish to harm the woman that was above her, even if it was for the title of the throne.

Queen Bedelia Du Maurier of Aelburn, unlike her predecessors, had no offspring or close family to give the throne to once she had passed. What she did know, however, was that she had a distant relative that was willing to look after the kingdom once her time had come. Although she had been yet to tell the Countess, who was aware of their distant relation, of such news, Bedelia knew that she wouldn’t possibly wish such a thing upon her Queen.

Bedelia neatly pulled away the covers of her bed and stood and, still in her nightwear, quietly descended into the dungeon. She didn’t wish to be of any trouble to the guards or anybody else that may be wandering around at that time of night.

She grabbed the nearby key and opened the dungeon door. It was loud, but there was nothing she could do about that.

“Elizabeth,” Bedelia spoke quietly, not wishing to awaken the Countess if she were to be sleeping.

[dapperfvck-arc]

con’t from { x }

@csejte-tigress

    “So -- ‘m sure we can come t’some kinda agreement. Y’really don’t need t’get y’knickers in a twist over a bit of pilfered pottery.”

[devourtheimpolite]

Premier Cours | la-comtesse-sanglante {AU}

It hadn’t been difficult to find his prey. Then again, it never was. What had been one psychiatric sessions turned into two, which soon became three and four. Being better acquainted, he felt as though it could be seen as proper to ask her around for dinner. Of course, nobody dared refuse the doctor’s offers. He was obviously a civilised man, and anybody with mutual acquaintances would have heard about the wonderful meals that he served.

But that night he had no intentions of feeding his guest.

Where he would usually be busy in the kitchen, he was sitting in the lounge area, waiting patiently for his guest. Anybody that saw him would have thought that he had simply finished preparing the meals, and his guest was running late – a trait he deemed unworthy in others. However, that wasn’t the case this time, and his intentions were completely different to what they usually were.

A ring of the doorbell placed a quaint smirk upon his face. He stood from where he had been sitting, making his way towards the door. He wiped the smirk from his face, replacing it with his usual expression, as so he wasn’t expected of anything.

He opened the door, making sure that the person that had rang had been the one he had been expecting. “Good evening, Miss Bathory,” Hannibal greeted once it had been confirmed, standing aside for the guest. “Please, come in.” The usual politeness he would give anybody, of course. The doctor wouldn’t dare treat his guests any other way until he needed to.

Which would certainly be soon enough.

[puttinghimdown-archive-blog]

ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴘɪᴇʀᴄᴇᴅ ᴀʀᴍᴏᴜʀ | ᴄsᴇᴊᴛᴇ-ᴛɪɢʀᴇss

She didn’t keep pleasant company, but she saw little other choice.

     Margot Verger didn’t manage to keep many friends. That wasn’t to say that she had poor social skills; she had excellent social skills, just as she had been taught to have when she had been growing up. It was her brother, in fact, that stopped her from keeping too much company in the fear that she would have something other than him, to think that she might have any kind of independence away from him, or at least dependence upon anybody else. He was the reason why she was making the hour drive to Baltimore in the rain. Perhaps she didn’t keep company that she particularly wanted, but any company was better than him.

     She hadn’t time to put a coat on in her hurry to get away. The brunette found herself regretting that when she got out of her car and she could almost feel goose-bumps upon her skin, beneath the all of a sudden not so warm jacket she wore. Her way to the door was as much of a rush as she could manage (which wasn’t much, given her current state), and ringing the doorbell was enough for her to feel like she was safe, if anything. Even if the occupant wasn’t home (and she knew they were, less she liked to keep her lights on when she wasn’t about), it was at least something. She was away from Muskrat Farm, from the grasp that she had come to loathe.

     While she loathed the person she was visiting, she didn’t loathe her as much as him.

[goldenxeyed-archive]

Espionage ||

The plane was a private one, sleek and black, blending in against the night sky, and the pilot was disposable, a lower-ranking Sanctuary agent whom no one would miss once he was gone.

For almost a month they had been planning this little excursion of theirs, locked up in his office, calling upon contact after contact to supply them with much needed information, sometimes almost forgetting to sleep, so engrossed in what they were about to embark on.

He paced up and down the aisle, impatiently waiting for them to fly over their destination, hands clasped behind his back. All that needed to be done was to obliterate some records from the Japanese Sanctuary, throwing the country into confusion, stripping them of all power plays so that they could be brought into the cause. 

Easier said than done. 

In the recent wake of events, in the beginning of the new era war, every Sanctuary around the world had been reinforcing their defenses, and no doubt there would be some minor roadblocks. To top it all, this was an unofficial mission, something strictly between him and Elizabeth, the only other passenger in this plane.

He stopped pacing, abruptly, turning to face her. "Are you sure about this?" 

[samtrapani]

The Murder Squad  

Solomon Wreath - The Necromancer

Elizabeth Bathory - The Manipulator

Erskine Ravel - The Elemental

[castelum]

csejte-tigress

     "Who are the flowers for, if you do not mind me inquiring?"

[solomxn-archived]

* csejte-tigress // continued from [ x ]

  “ I think I can comfortably say that not many people confuse shyness with decency.          And last night was … odd. I blame the full moon. ”

Truthfully, he doesn’t care much if she removes her clothes or not. It’s more a matter of getting the corpse situated that concerns him. She could run around naked if she really felt the need.

oh he wouldn’t object to that at all

  “ I know it is. ”   A grunt of effort, rough clothes rustling as literal dead weight shifts into a suitable position to carry. Solomon rises with the man cradled in his arms, and with it goes a splash of blood that dribbles down his soaked front and puddles at his feet.

He smiles, in spite of it.

  “ Considering that I just saved you from this gentleman, I think you owe me.       So, either you willingly pay for my suit’s cleaning, or I just take it myself. Your choice. ”

[captainchidieprie]

csejte-tigress

the-alana-bloom

estrellaxperdida

"That'd be easier if y' tried doin' it a different way." She couldn't help but to take some pity on them - they really looked like they were struggling.

[impaling-prince-blog]

A meeting of predators || Starter for Csejte-tigress

It was always the same, extravagant décor, fine food and yet, everyone seemed to lack the warmth and intellect that he had come to enjoy. The maroon of his eyes gleamed sharply from the candle lit light, the count of Transylvania, he supposed that one of his station should expect invitations to events and dinners such as this one. He had always found them to be lacking, after but a few minutes, the soft tendrils of boredom would hook themselves into his psyche and remove what little interest he held for the host and their guests.

This evening had proven to be no different, he had been greeted by false smiles and fictitious interest. As always he had excused himself from eating, and partook only in the ‘wine’ he himself had brought. Some considered it eccentric, but no more than the other nobles of this gathering. He politely entertained the host’s inquisitive questions, skillfully deflecting them before imitating the frail interest they all seemed to have. He had found that the best defense against their unrelenting questions was to simply ask them something in return, as they seemed to love nothing more than to speak of themselves.

Soon the bottled wine began to bore him and his interest was turned towards the crowds in search of a suitable companion for the night. However, rather than finding an unsuspecting maiden or drunken nobleman, the delicate scent of vitae appeared in the air. The smell was entrancing, fresh, pure, everything he sought out in his hunt. With subtle use of his occult knowledge, he was able to pass through the swarming cretins without being harassed with introductions to strangers who wanted nothing more than to pose more inane questions. It did not take long for him to find the source of the sweet aroma, for there was only one person in the entire hall that caught his eye. A young woman, whose fingers still clutched the faintest remnants of blood.

Joined by their host, the count made his way to make his introduction, knowing only that the night had just begun. 

[devourtheimpolite]

Grįžti | la-comtesse-sanglante

It had been some time since their last appointment together. It wasn’t that any had been skipped, but the events that had taken place between the two of them – or, for all his patient knew, could have happened between the two of them. He was quite aware that she wasn’t entirely sure as to whether or not the doctor had taken one of her organs. In fact, for all she was aware, he hadn’t taken any of her organs. It would be, for the time being, a simple secret that he kept all to himself.

Hannibal was glad that Elizabeth had decided to take him back as her psychiatrist. It would be much easier to keep a track of her, and to make sure she wasn’t attempting to spread the ‘rumour’ that Hannibal Lecter had taken one of her organs, when there was barely a scar in the place of the organ that he had supposedly taken.

He checked the time. Only half a minute before Elizabeth’s appointment. Hannibal stood from his desk, making his way to the door which separated his office from the waiting room and opened it.

“Good afternoon, Miss Bathory.”

[goldenxeyed-archive]

✄

{{Send Me A ✄ For My Character’s Reaction To Yours Walking In On Them In The Middle Of Killing Someone.}}

There was a body and there was a knife, dripping blood. That was all in the room, and pretty soon he’d have to flee, pasting the blame on someone else’s face. 

Erskine Ravel shook his head at the dead Sanctuary agent, mouth puckered disapprovingly. “You just couldn’t shut up, could you? You just couldn’t shut up.”

The bastard had gotten wind of his plans, had tried to tell someone. But Madam Mist redirected him to the Grand Mage himself, and things got a little messy.

Wiping the bloodied knife on the underside of his robe, before sighing. He’d have to get that dry-cleaned, then.

Reaching down, he buried his knife into the agent’s throat, slitting it again and again, letting the blood pour onto the ground, splash his shoes, stain his hands a lovely crimson.

Footsteps. Suddenly, blooming out of the emptiness of the Sanctuary corridor, and Ravel looked at the doorway, freezing.

Automatically,  a smile came to his lips.

"Ah. Elizabeth. It seems you’ve caught me in a rather compromising position."