amanformanyseasons-blog

[amanformanyseasons-blog]

White Knight in the Black Night || Blake & Lea

“You know,” he said, and there was a sigh in his voice that he did not mean to air, “You really do know how to work up one’s appetite.”

The vampire before him was perched atop a particularly sturdy tombstone, the remains of the coyote corpse it was feasting on dripping blood onto the soil beneath. The words were dry as they escaped his mouth, and Blake watched the creature with an interest but not a vested one, having seated himself at the base of another grave out of a certain feeling of ennui, the cold stone pressing into his back as his long legs jauntily laid ahead. The vampire looked up, affixed him with a beady gaze, and scooped out the liver to chew on with the same dumb look a cow gave while chewing cud, never dropping eye contact.

Wonderful. Blake shook his head in defeat, casting his eyes up to the sky to search for the first stars of late dusk. His most trusted and timeless companions, but they didn’t have anything more interesting to offer than the beast that served as the Terror of all Coyotes that was feasting before him. Getting up, he dusted himself off and gave one final glance around the cemetery, hoping in vain that he might finally see a ghost. But there was nobody – his quest to find someone to give insight into the Civil War, his latest topic of historical research, was going unanswered and he’d successfully wasted time, again, as he was oft to do as he still grew used to how to spend it. But he had enough of it.

A wind was beginning to pick up, shaking the leaves of trees nurtured by the dead. Between them, a low howl was building, a dreadful moan, and foolishly it somehow still made him nervous even after all this time. And there was no reason why, either; slayers no longer scared him, as he doubted in this era they would be so unskilled as to botch the job. There was nothing to fear aside from fear itself.

He was not the first to notice her, the blonde girl running, hair trailing behind her in the wind. He might not have even noticed her at all if it was not for the vampire darting past him, hell-bent on escaping from the cemetery to catch even better prey, vastly enjoyable to the malnourished snack it just had. It ground to a halt a few metres before Blake, perking up and sniffing the air, before scuttling its way down the hill to continue the hunt. Blake hesitated in his step, confused, until it hit him too – the wind gusted, the scent carried, and he knew at once what the vampire was after. Looking wildly around, it took him only a second to pinpoint it – her – and then he himself was running, boots pounding the ground with frenetic energy. He snatched the vampire, bracing his body as the pair of them skidded an inch in the mud, tightening the creature to him as it thrashed to escape – its chosen prey so achingly close. His own fangs elongated and red eyes flashed, a hiss cutting through the creatures own, turning desperately scrabbling claws limp in his grasp. He could see the girl properly now at the base of the hill passing by the gates, and uncertainty immediately grabbed his mind – if he simply left, there was zero doubt in his mind that the other vampire would attack. Grinding his teeth, he made his decision, pushing the vampire away from him like it was diseased – “Leave,” he snapped, jabbing a finger in the vampire’s direction before he turned on heel again for the entrance, but he knew that the creature would not obey to that extent. Stay was as much as he could hope for. As he walked, he could feel the creature’s eyes on his back like a renegade wolf split between listening to its alpha.

Making his way out of the cemetery, in fury he headed towards the girl – jogging as she was, her scent was as thick in the air as if it were already dripping from an open vein. In the recesses of his mind, he knew that if the vampire had attacked her, drawn blood, he stood too high a chance of turning on her himself. The knowledge clouded his judgement – he needed to be angry at himself not at her, but she had no escort and if he had not been here she would be dead, any escort would be dead, she would be ripped to pieces just like the coyote that lay shredded and abandoned, and…

“What on earth do you think you are doing out here?” he demanded, stalking the footpath to approach her until he was upon her, looming over her like a shadow made man with anger burning in his eyes, as if she, too, had the same clarity towards the situation as he did – that there were things waiting in the shadows to kill her, and he was more like them than he was like her. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? Do you have no escort?” His eyes flicked up and down, encapsulating her in a steeled look. “A child,” he said, as if it were an accusation. A child. A final comment that drifted off into the dusky air; there was more to that observation than she would ever know, and more than he could ever express.

[amanformanyseasons-blog]

djerinyes:

Yes, a garment, if you’re from the eighteen century. She’s actually hairless, so she needs something to keep her cozy, and to save me from being her oversized cat heater for the next ten years. Plus she likes being dressed up. Why do you call taking care of an animal’s health and comfort torture?

How curious. I have never before encountered such a beast; I only called it torture as I was not aware of the circumstance. Had she taken ill as a kit, or was she simply born that way?

[amanformanyseasons-blog]

Fascination || Blake & Addy

Radios were curious things.

All else he regarded with quiet distaste, the kind that stiffened bones and strangled synapses, rooting itself deeply in the valves of the heart. Borne of eternal misunderstanding and boundless frustration, reducing one to something like a child; no, worse than a child, children knew how to learn whereas he did not – could not. Was too fearful to. It was a pain to experience, and so he turned his back to all of it as best he could, but it was an impossible task. You couldn’t turn your back on the world, no matter how hard you tried – one would have about as much luck as trying to block the sun in the middle of the desert.

But the world had not yet entirely turned its back to him. Like a wraith crawling from its tomb, unseen and existing without sense yet existing all the same, music poured from metal mesh.

And for once, he had heard it all before.

In the five blissful years of family, when he had finally found others of his kind, they had imparted the world upon him. He had been so simple before – in life, his friends and family had been insular beyond compare; he’d known nothing else, had gone nowhere further than the bounds of Salem. He’d never known culture, history was treated with sterility – Ashkent Creek had been like seeing the light for the first time. The other vampires were not just from the colonies; they were worldly. They talked fluently in art, had seen the ruins of Rome and claimed to have met kings and queens of another era. They took him for a week to Boston where he heard renditions of Vivaldi played, and although he couldn’t even remember the titles of what he’d heard he remembered the sounds themselves, the music as free-flowing and rich as the blood they indulged in.

Customers were few and far in-between at the hours he maintained, so he busied himself with other tasks amidst the music. Ran blades between rags laden with polish, tested weapons meant for the taste of flesh for sharpness – some things were the same as they always had been, and they comforted him. He was sweeping the floor as the music washed over him, when the bell chimed to finally usher someone in for the night, and when he looked up it was a woman who walked through the door – unaccompanied, but she was not the first and he doubted she’d be the last. A long time ago, any woman that walked the night in Ashkent Creek did so with a death sentence hanging over her head. Old friends had made sure of that.

He inclined his head to her out of politeness, then cast his eyes back immediately to the task at hand, turning his back on her as the broom was clutched tighter in hand. To bother her would be a sore misstep of manners, and so he’d remain the recluse unless prompted to be otherwise. He didn’t know whether he preferred that or not. He never talked to anyone these days.

As she headed deeper inside, however, his senses were accosted and he straightened in surprise – the unmistakably scent of death hung thick in the air, emanating from the woman like it was her burial shroud. He blinked, grip slackening, and with confusion riddled across his face he flicked a glance back over to her. Animal blood being what it was, his senses were not as keen as his peers, but there was no doubt – something pervaded through the common scent of human, and it was sickening, an aroma of rotting death. It meant that she was no slayer, was doubtfully a hunter – she was like him, she had to be. Not a vampire, but something forced into the shadows like one – an outcast, just as he was. He didn’t even register that he was staring at her now, that the broom had gone from tight grip to slack grip to what was now a vice grip in his hand.

What was she?

[amanformanyseasons-blog]

blancheharlow:

Because you sound like you’re the bad guy in some vintage romantic novel. 

You think me a villain? Just what have I

From the bottom of my heart, that is not at all my intention - words cannot even express how much it is not. It is merely a concern I voice for the fairer sex; what would you rather, that I prefer to see a woman corrupted?

[amanformanyseasons-blog]

[amanformanyseasons-blog]

addyhallewell:

Lettuce.

End goal or result, desired outcome… Ulterior motive works too. Pass, if I can’t form my own ideas and opinions and learn, it’s not worth listening to.

[user snorts] Mr. Prescott Yeah, right What, do you want me to call you Daddy and Sir too?

Lettuce?

Nevermind

All that I can say has already been said. But I hope one day you understand my piety, and yet I also hope that you are right, even if I do not believe it to be so. I cannot speak for God. It would be easier if you were.

No, I do not. Please, can you all not cease this? If you cannot do even that, then at least call me Blake. Have you a name for yourself, so that I may dignify you more than you have me?

[amanformanyseasons-blog]

reedhan:

I saw the conversation you had with another user… Figured I get your insight on local hot singles near you. 

Should I have known your name first before asking other questions?

What conversation? I can think of none that relate.

I simply cannot see why one would be so bothered with me over a conversation I apparently had, whilst not even having knowledge of who they speak to. And I admit do know of what you speak; I only have no interest in its discussion. Does that suffice?

[amanformanyseasons-blog]

cassidydanvers:

Wow, you’re really not kidding with the whole …Yeah, coins, notes, you know, money? 

They really don’t make them how they used to. That way they can get you to buy more.

  Looks like that’s the plan.  Next thing you know we’re going to start reading books and going to college, getting careers and thinking. Crazy stuff.

You move here from somewhere?

It would seem ‘they’ know not how to make anything like they used to. It seems there is little craft in anything in this time day, and I do not know how it has been allowed to happen.

Have I offended you in some manner? Of course I do not think reading nor thinking are at all unbelievable; women are not without brain nor without capacity for complex thought. I was simply stating opinion.

I hail from Salem, but I would not hesitate to say that I have resided in Ashkent Creek longer than yourself even with that fact. Yet I do not see how this is pertinent - why do you ask?

[amanformanyseasons-blog]

addyhallewell:

Great. It’s best not to get too involved in these online debacles anyway but it’s still concerning that you think we should deprive ourselves of knowledge for him.

You’re definitely a dedicated believer. Okay…are you trying to convert me? What is your endgame here, buddy boy?

And it is still concerning that you believe all that you do, but let us agree t

Then let us agree to disagree.

Whatever do you mean? ‘Endgame’? I do not understand, but if you mean to ask me whether I have designs, then I have no ulterior motive. I only speak in the hope that you may listen.

And you may call me Mr. Prescott, or nothing at all. I am not a child, and have not been for a very long time. Would you allow me that courtesy, at least?

[amanformanyseasons-blog]

reedhan:

amanformanyseasons:

Can you not read?

Why is this of any matter to you? Who are you?

I’m Reed and I’m curious. Nice to meet you.

Who are you?

Then you may take your curiosity elsewhere. I am still awaiting response as to why this is any business of yours.

My name is Blake Prescott. You ask me these inane questions, and yet you do not even know my name. How intriguing.

[amanformanyseasons-blog]

cecebishop:

Well it is the internet. I didn’t expect any shortage of psychos. I’m sure you will all get along nicely in the sanitarium. 

I have no idea who, or what you are. For all I know you’re a lamp.

I think not. I can only imagine they would be the death of me, and that is quite the feat to accomplish.

And yet I am sure you know that I am not. Tell me: do you find much humour in yourself? Allow me to assume you, you would be the only one.

[amanformanyseasons-blog]

djerinyes:

I seem to have acquired a goblin cat. 

I need to knit something to keep her warm, so if anyone knows of some good, stylish cat sweater patterns, please share them.

A garment, I take it? I believe the animal to be already covered with fur - it seems an unnecessary measure to torture it with clothing.

[amanformanyseasons-blog]

blancheharlow:

amanformanyseasons:

No, I do not believe I am. And what other prospects has she? A woman is free to be a spinster if she so chooses, but it seems a lonely path.

Dude what year do you think it is?

And what does the year matter?

[amanformanyseasons-blog]

addyhallewell:

Don’t say what? That your god fails us and is fit to stand trial and pay his dues like the rest of us? Oops, I said it again. Sorry not sorry.

No, no, no, why would you abstain from enjoying what life has to offer you just because some asshole in the sky told you not to? That’s selfish, unfair and cruel and wrong. Especially knowledge. The more someone knows compared to someone else, the more power they have. Do you not see a problem with that? Because I definitely do. 

Whatever happens, happens. I’m not gonna get bent out of shape over what happens when I die. 

He is not my God - he is our God, whatever you may thi

And for some the only enjoyment life offers is death, destruc

Of course you are a damned woman to be so wrong

[user hastily deletes all of this]

Fine. If that if how you feel, then you have the right to feel it. It seems I cannot stop you, nor sway you.

[user sends another message again a few minutes later]

Perhaps I grow over-zealous. I am still but a man, to whom centuries have taught nothi  But I ask you not to be foolish. You do not know just how much you can regret those words.

[amanformanyseasons-blog]

reedhan:

amanformanyseasons:

Oh.

Not for some ti I do not know what you are speaking of. Goodbye.

[hours later]

Hello, it’s me, again, 

What do you think I’m speaking of?

Can you not read?

Why is this of any matter to you? Who are you?

[amanformanyseasons-blog]

reedhan replied to your post: [d: I am so sorry but I also [d: need] [d: have]...

You haven’t seen any of the advertisements?

Oh.

Not for some ti I do not know what you are speaking of. Goodbye.

[amanformanyseasons-blog]

[d: I am so sorry but I also [d: need] [d: have] want to know] What is your opinion on hot singles being near you?

I haven’t an opinion, for I do not know of that which you speak. My apologies...?