baskervilleangel

[baskervilleangel]

Nativity, A Lovely Night

“There they stood — against all the great goods, the unholy evils, saints, devils, Fate, and the Gods themselves, they made their own choice and they won. They chose family above all else. They chose love and affection, over hatred and bitterness. With that choice, they also helped those who didn’t have a family or people to love them. Isn’t that really the entire point of life?” — The False Angel of Mercy

The night was cold, long, and exceptionally extreme for the two women. The last few hours of the night were spent getting to know one another in the comfort and safety of Jules’ hideout. In all manner of weird ways Vierabrït continuously changed her hairstyle, varying between quirky and eccentric, she was interested in trying something new.

While Vierabrït played around, Jules took the time to shower and clear her porcelain skin of the blood and dirt that clung to it. They were safe for now and gifted with small pleasantries which alleviated some of the tension of the world, a shower was simply one of those pleasantries. It took her just short of a half hour to tidy herself. When she emerged from the bathroom her appearance was softer, less of a dismayed survivor.

There was a sleek shine to her raven-black hair. It flowed in slight waves and contrasted perfectly with her glowing, ivory reminiscent skin. Her eyes, which were framed perfectly by long lashes, seemed to have been made in Heaven. They were light, silver-green in color, and adorned with the markings that painted her eyes. They moved and locked onto Vierabrït who was continuing her activities in an absent minded daze. The witch could not help but smile — and her smile was full of dynamite.

And while she watched Vierabrït, she started to laugh a hearty laugh at every new hairstyle the Lockwood thought was beautiful or perfect. After the fourth hairstyle, Jules took it upon herself to freshen up the mysterious enigma that had started to call “friend”.

“All right, come here, V.” Jules insisted and motioned for Vierabrït to sit in between her legs.

Vierabrït wasted no time and eagerly complied with her friend. With a balletic skip, Vierabrït moved and sat on the floor right in front of Jules. Unfortunately, she had sat facing Jules and had to be turned around. In a rather delightful way, Vierabrït hummed the tune of “Holy Diver”, it was yet another song on Jules’ mix tape that Vierabrït fell in love with.

“Hey, I think it’d be better if I moved your bangs out of your face. What do you think, V?” Jules questioned.

“Mhm!” Vierabrït looked back and flashed her signature smile, it was apparent that she agreed with the witch.

The witch wasted no time once she obtained the confirmation. She grabbed a tuft of Vierabrït’s silky periwinkle hair and moved it backwards. The light that now shined upon Vierabrït’s face forced her pupils to constrict in a moderate way. The dried dirt and blood that covered her face was now more apparent than ever. It highlighted not just a deceptive savagery, but also her willingness to survive and protect her new friend.

In the midst of her hair styling Vierabrït decided that now may be a good time to read the family bestiary. She rummaged through her satchel for a bit then pulled out her very own bestiary. It had a periwinkle color to it and was adorned with sapphire like gems that sat neatly into the leather like material. Gliding her bloodstained hand across the brittle pages of the book she opened up to a random page and began reading in a quiet whisper. With small patters Vierabrït drummed against the page with her long finger, almost as if she was waiting for something, anything, to happen.

Jules, who had peaked over the girl’s shoulder, observed the pages of the book with great curiosity. The language that was written upon the crumbling pages was entirely foreign, unique in design even. Upon first glance, some of the words and letters were similar to Romanian or Moldavian; with another glance it was similar to Russian or Ukrainian.

“What Language is that?” Jules questioned yet again.

“I… I don’t know,” Vierabrït responded with a hint of sadness in her voice. “It never had a name. For the first few centuries of my life it has been the only language I have ever known.”

Once again, Jules was reminded that Vierabrït had a rather secluded life devoid of contact or any major social interactions outside that of her family, of course. Vierabrït hadn’t even known what Music was until a few hours ago. Nearly immediately, sadness dissipated and was replaced with an intense determination. Vierabrït was filled with this feeling, eagered to close the gap between the two of them.

“Its talking about me if you were curious! Maica wrote it just for me!” Vierabrït erupted in a confident demeanor.

“Its about you? Can you read it out loud? I’ve been wondering what you are…” Jules voice became low, she wanted to understand and learn.

“I ams friend! I can show you what it says too!” Vierabrït exclaimed and pulled off one of the flower petals that were bound to the page by wax. “Since Maica is traveling the otherworld, and the real one, she attached these rose petals to some of the pages of our bestiaries. They’re covered with her blood and her power so that we can hear her read them to us. Don’t worry, friend, she speaks the english. There are lots of nice pictures too!” Vierabrït continued on to say and handed her one of the rose petals.

“So this Maica… who are they?”

“My parent! I haven’t met her, but I am told she is best!”

“You have two mothers? That is pretty cool.” Jules responded, simply enjoying her time learning about Vierabrït.

It took about ten minutes for Jules to finish styling Vierabrït’s hair. Her hair was now swept back and held together by three braids which mingled perfectly with her straight hair. Jules held up a mirror which made Vierabrït smile incredibly wide.

“Thank you!!!” Vierabrït shouted intensely and hugged Jules.

“Its fine, V, really!” Jules spoke trying to separate her face from Vierabrït’s.

Vierabrït had eventually pulled away from the witch and narcissistically stared at her brand new hairstyle. While Vierabrït admired her friend’s handiwork Jules stared intently at the blood stained rose petal that was placed inbetween her two fingers. A violent and malignant energy radiated off of it, much like the feeling that Vierabrït gave off, yet far darker.

Cruelty. Unreasonable sadism. It was a sensation that could only truthfully be described as “evil”. In all honesty, it frightened Jules. She cocked an eyebrow towards Vierabrït and stared from the corner of her painted eyes.

“V,” Jules called out to Vierabrït. The Lockwood’s head snapped to Jules with an exquisite flourish of her periwinkle hair. Round lavender eyes met with Jules’ jade like eyes. “What the hell are you?” Jules continued in a rather grim tone.

Vierabrït quickly shifted her attention to the rose petal then back up to Jules’ eyes. Widely Vierabrït grinned and quickly raised her eyebrows, urging the witch.

“Eat and you will see!” She twirled, once again flourishing her new hair style.

Jules was a woman who had not trusted easily; as such, she was exceptionally hesitant. Especially with this feeling of dread that lingered from both, her new friend, and this bloodstained flower petal. But against that — against all the warning signs and red flags, she felt a sense of trust from Vierabrït. A compulsion to believe and trust her friend, and so she had.

With a sigh, and a quick motion, she ingested the Rose petal. In a single instant, shorter than the blink of an eye, darkness began to fall upon her. It was a temporary blindness that befell her, and with it came a fear that she had never known.

“Three vials of blood, manipulated by self righteous foolishness.” A menacing and feminine lilting voice spoke to Jules. It was an accent that the witch could place, yet it was different from Vierabrït’s. “Seven shillings tossed to the whims of fate. Five beasts born of blood and evil across endless millennia.”

While the voice spoke baleful visages stormed her mind and besieged her sight. She saw three vials of blood that were spilled against the ground. The seven shillings, which were marked by that very same blood, cutting through the air. Then finally, she saw them. Eyes emanating an iridescent glow from the darkness that was just out of her reach. Above those eyes, reaching into the clouds, was a woman dressed in red observing the witch beyond the napalm skies.

All of this faded in the same obscuring darkness that had initially drenched her, and once again her sight was robbed from her. Then, like before, vision returned to her; but it was not her own. She saw a place she had never been and moved about without her say so. This place, this home, was comprised of neglected wooden floors, and filled with glass bottles in odd shapes. Baubles that adorned the walls alongside tapestries and paintings of people she had never known. If she didn’t know better, she would assume them as witches things.

When she had reached the bathroom she realized that she was not in her own body. But someone entirely foreign, much like the dwelling she had been forced to explore. This woman stared at the mirror and back at Jules from the reflection of the mirror.

In attire this woman was highly similar to Jules. She wore a black long-sleeved henley which fit her form perfectly. The sleeves were somewhat long and covered the back of her hands. Jules could even make out the dirtied black Jeans the woman had wore. It wasn’t until the woman spoke that Jules discovered her identity.

“Vierabrït, the gentlest and kindest of my children, I hope you are well, my darling.” The woman crossed her arms and gave a smile without baring her white fangs. “I have a present for you, I’ll put it in your bestiary when I deliver it. I want you and your elder sister to put them on only in the most desperate of situations… I know I can’t be there with you and your mother right now. But, I’m going to answer a few questions; some that may have been plaguing you for quite some time. The first, and most important thing, is that you are what is called a “Tribrid”. Like me, you are part Lycian. Like your mother and I, you are Bloodborne — well, Ţânкомар to be exact. Then finally, when you come of age, you will awaken the third part of you. Maybe that part of you will be a Primera, or maybe a Sabaoth like your mother. Who knows, maybe you’ll even be a Paradigma like me. I want you to know that with your immortal life you can choose to walk the path I treaded upon, or even your mother — or you can make your own. You have so many choices and we’re no longer bound by a twisted fate. I want you to know something else…” She paused for a brief moment, and moved her hand to wipe away the tears that pooled in her eyes.

“I’ll be there soon, I promise you that. And no matter what choice you make — I will always love you. I cannot wait to see the woman you grew up to be.”

Despite the evil Jules has felt from these two, she could not help but feel sad for them. When Vierabrït’s mother, Viola, placed her two fingers upon her lips then the mirror Jules understood then. Vierabrït’s demeanor, her kindness and jubilation, was no act. She had not feigned any of this. In fact, she understood something far more important. The Lockwoods, Vierabrït’s family, were evil by nature, but chose a different path. They chose another way, and that was the most important thing.

The disheartening images dwindled back to the gloom they came from, and the world transitioned back to the one Jules had known — and loathed. Vierabrït hovered over Jules’ face, a bit to close for comfort even. Apparently, Jules had collapsed during her trip into Viola’s memories.

“Oh good! I thought I unalived you!” Vierabrït said cheerfully and lifted Jules off the ground and back onto her.

“I have more questions than answers but I think I understand you more, in some weird magical way.” Jules looked at Vierabrït for a moment, a bit tired from the psychological strain, then she did something incredibly out of character. Without warning, Jules pulled her friend into a hug and held her in a tight embrace.

“Thank you. For being my friend, and saving my life — twice.”

“Its okay, friend! You ams good friend.” Vierabrït wasn’t confused by the sudden change in Jules demeanor. In fact, she hugged the witch back as delicately as she could.

“I could just be tired, but I think I actually understood that.”

Jules yawned a bit and rubbed her eyes before she pulled away from Vierabrït. A moment later, Jules found herself lumbering back to her bass, staggering all the way. It didn’t take long for the witch to find her way back to the couch so she could relax and play her bass. When Jules yawned again five minutes later Vierabrït responded in a rather adorable way.

“You should assault the straw!” Vierabrït’s wide round eyes locked onto Jules’ as she spoke. Just as soon as Jules thought she had a decent understanding of Vierabrït’s vocabulary she quickly found herself confused once again.

“I should what?” Jules asked and glanced up at Vierabrït. The sound that emanated from her bass came to an immediate halt.

“You should assault the straw!” She repeated, believing that Jules hadn’t heard her. In all reality, Jules was asking for clarity instead of the same question. “You know? Sleep. As you mortals often do.” Vierabrït continued. When she had, Jules immediately understood what Vierabrït was trying to say.

“Hay.” Jules responded to correct the young Vierabrït’s vocabulary.

“Oh, hey!” Vierabrït responded excitedly, believing now that Jules was trying to greet her for some odd reason.

“The saying is “Hit the hay” not “Assault the straw”, V.” Jules sighed and chuckled a bit. Spending time with Vierabrït was actually something that she subtly enjoyed.

Before long, and quite unexpected, Jules had fallen asleep, a much needed reprieve from the endless adventure that awaited them just beyond the wooden doors. Vierabrït, who had not needed to sleep, stayed up and listened to Jules’ mixtape.

After an hour or two she began to wonder what sleep was like. She had never done it, but she knew she was capable of it. She had never dreamed, nor had a nightmare. So, she snuggled up next to Jules, who had instinctively embraced the Lockwood, and attempted to fall asleep.

There they laid, bidding farewell to the distorted stars, and waited for the break of dawn with new understanding of one another. For the first time ever, Vierabrït dreamed of something spectacular. A world without monsters, evil nor fear. Only her friend and her family, living their best lives.

[baskervilleangel]

Sorry for the delay on that Valentine’s special, I ended up adding extra details, and next thing you know I’m rewriting major parts of it then having to rewrite other parts of the story to coincide with these changes. I hope you all had a good holiday and were looking forward to this, but it’s coming dropping at 10EST for sure!

For some background detail on it, it’s taking place inbetween chapter 11 and 12 of route B. (If I haven’t said this before, Baskerville III is split into two stories, route A and Route B.) Its all about affection, friendship and love and is entirely a stand-alone, meaning you can read it without any prior context to the main story. It’s something for everyone to enjoy, and I hope you all do.

[baskervilleangel]

OKAY. Got a Valentine special dropping soon focused on everyone’s favorite dynamic duo, Vierabrït and Jules.

I legitimately spent most of my time today writing it in my car, jamming to my favorite tunes, and I hope you guys really like it. Its going to be sweet, amazing, and above all else, totally bitchin’!

P.S: Someone should make me a writing mixtape and I promise you, I’ll listen to it everytime I write.

[baskervilleangel]

January Recap

Okay so I’m sort of, kind of, being forced to do this so here I am. Frankly I’m in favor of drinking my problems away, which isn’t really healthy — but it works. In all truth, however, this month has been so sporadically up and down, its not even funny.

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How to describe, January… well it started off pretty good. Really good actually. It all went to shit on the 10th. The weird 3-way relationship I was in fell apart because it came out that one of them cheated multiple times and used me. The person I wanted to be with the most, felt horrible to shit because she convinced me to do it and ended up breaking up with me out of guilt and grief. Didn’t know what to do besides relapse kind of hard, was easily going through one of, if not the worst moments in my life. Even now, to this day, losing a 14 year friendship because of one fucking person is… I don’t even know.

Anyway, at the same time, I was dealing with this other toxic girl’s problem. Me and her was always stuck in a cycle where I would put my problems aside to deal with her problems and give her advice then she would never fucking take it or do the exact opposite or what I’d say. Yeah, well, it came full circle and bit her in the ass anyway so whatever. Right after that she had a breakdown or something along those lines and pushed everyone away so that became that. Then her stubby goblin friend has the audacity to call me a selfish and emotionally stunted individual after nearly a year of this toxic bloody cycle. Even as I was in the fastest downward spiral of my life I still tried, you know?

After about a week or so, my friend group and this other guy’s friend group started to merge together. I guess since we were all kind of involved with the situation above it made us friendlier. It actually is pretty great, no drama, no toxicity and our friend group keeps growing so that’s definitely pleasant. I also reconnected with an old friend. I really do enjoy talking to her, feels like its been so long since I interacted with a female that I actually like.

The stag party. That’s all I’ll say. Honestly, I’ve never experienced so much love and friendship in one night. It really reminded me where I’ve came from and who my family are.

Last, but certainly least, I’ve had a falling out with my biological father. I don’t care too much for this one but I still have to throw it in.

P.S. - Forgot to say that I spent a day or two handcuffed to a table. Don’t ask.

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That’s January summarized pretty well. Luckily, I haven’t thought about any of the bad since most of those situations resolved themselves. (Well its more like I haven’t thought of them until I was convinced to do this.)

Anyway, that’s that. Probably going to delete this in like 24 hours or a week. Going to get some rest since I seem to be able to sleep peacefully nowadays.

[baskervilleangel]

Didn’t expect Jules to be everyone’s favorite, but she is and that makes me pretty damn happy. So I’m working on something special for the Jules lover. Be a bit patient, trust me its worth it.

[baskervilleangel]

Crimson Cloud - Gone with the Wolves

“Don’t you scream when all the wolves come find you, underneath this bleeding moon.”

Every man in every army was trained and taught to follow orders above all else. Regardless the deed, if a soldier was ordered to do something they would comply. They were ordered to push forward against any and all opposition, but they were not prepared for the Lockwoods; most people solemnly are. Veronika saw these soldiers, humanity as a whole, at a base value. They were no less man than tools. Toxic and destructive things that would push forward against any, and all, opposition.

No matter what they had done it would never be enough.

Their own superiors hadn’t gave a damn about their well being or consciousness. Their opinions meant nothing to their own kind, why should it mean anything to her? Should they survive this, they would be left with scarring PTSD. They would be left as drunkards, broken men who could only find escape from her family’s horror at the bottom of a bottle. What she was about to do was a mercy.

“After you, Trice” Vierabrït spoke, giving her older sister the honor of beginning.

Veronika, more often than not, was the one to begin, and end, any battle. With a nod to the young Vierabrït Veronika began her pursuit. A step forward was all that was needed to incite uncertainty amongst the soldiers. They gulped, still struggling to reload their guns and draw their knives.

With a slow stride, Veronika had given them the omen of a slower death. As her hunger grew, so did the agitation and anticipation. Sudden life found itself in her stride. Before she knew it she had started running in fury. The time for combat had arrived and she could wait no longer.

Bullets barreled towards her body, roaring with the intent to kill. Quietly she whispered.

“[Owner of a Lonely Heart.]”

Time seemed to slow to a crawl, mere moments before a bullet tore through her her hazel eye. Grasped in foul magics, the metallic hail of death no longer held any threat to the Lockwood. Continuing her pursuit, she moved past the bullets and collided straight into the soldiers who seemed locked in time. The footsteps she had taken since she had spoken those lingered. The bloody puddles remained in their splashing motion, their droplets slowly cascading to the ground.

Just like that, like the snapping of fingers or the blinking of an eye, time resumed appropriately; and she was surely upon them. Slow in their reaction her presence wasn’t known until several soldiers laid upon the cold mud with lifeless eyes.

Slashing with weapons of steel and swinging with fists, the soldiers attempted to fight back. Each move, each step was heavily telegraphed to her. Every single attack was met with either quick evasion, a deftly parry or a swift counter attack. On some occasions she even got some soldiers to shoot and attack one another. Their cries and pleas meant nothing to her, they were all in vain. Like the song of a siren — she was entirely lethal.

Though at times some of the soldiers landed precise blows that made her body recline from the force. Each one that had was brutally taken down with unconfined aggression. She could feel their ribs and skulls shatter on the other side of her fist, something that gave her a twisted sense of satisfaction. Despite her savagery they kept coming, completely dedicated to their mission. But her hunger erupted and the allure of sin was too much for her to contain. So when she had grabbed that one misguided soldier she couldn’t help but take a bite, and large was her bite.

“Back to the pit.” She spoke when she dropped his broken body.

Self righteously she stood at the rest of the soldiers who had started backing away. Arms outstretched to them, beckoning them to come into her arms. Blood still masked her mouth and the veins that crawled beneath the freckles that adorned her cheek protruded in a quick flash. A low growl escaped from her throat, and there she waited with her gnawing animosity — that is until Vierabrït joined.

———————————————————

Veronika Beatrice Lockwood

Warrior, Executioner, Princess, Edgy.

“You cannot kill me… I am not human…”

The eldest and strongest of the Children of Widow and Viola, she is the one child who possesses an overwhelming understanding of her Tribrid nature. Even early in her life, she was said to be a fighter by both of her parents.

Due to her tribrid nature she has always been unnaturally fast. Coupled with her Soul Drive, Owner of a Lonely Heart, which doubles her speed, she can quickly run circles around anybody before anything can be done to stop her. Its much like the ability of her Past-Future equivalent.

As she is the eldest child of Viola she is the next Alpha of the Baskerville pack, something which she has no care for as she spent little time with Viola. But despite what she cares for and what she wants, her siblings always look up to her and hang on her each and every one of her words for that reason.

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Age – 1992

Height – 162.5cm (5’4’’)

Weight – 52.6kg (116lbs)

Arcana – Strength

Species – Natural Tribrid (Lycan, Tantar, Soul Host)

Soul Drive – “Owner of a Lonely Heart”

Occupation – Warrior, Guardian, Princess.

Gender – Female

Nationality – Wosmarian

Hair – Platinum Blonde (Shifts to Black when using her full power.)

Eyes – Light hazel (Right eye turns to a “blood amber” color when using her full power.)

Likes – Her Family, Violence, Strength, Music, Painting.

Dislikes – Humanity, Weakness, Fish.

—

Strength – SS+

Speed – SSS+

Defense – D

Technique – B

Cooperation – C

For the better part of nearly two millennia Veronika has focused on her strength more than anything. Through excessive predation and overwhelming training methods the young Lockwood acquired newfound strength in her body and innate abilities, but lacks any defensive skills outside of “Just protect the face.”

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Personality

Among all of the children Widow has Veronika is the most docile and quiet of the four siblings, completely opposite of her past-future self. Like the rest of her family, she holds family ties in high regard and will go to great lengths to assist them in whatever they need.

Seemingly gentle upon a glance, Veronika has inherited much from Widow, including her mother’s overwhelming disdain for mankind and their ills. When angered, Veronika quickly becomes the most ruthless and frightening amongst all the children of Widow and Viola. Unmoved by enemies’ cries for mercy she hunts down and demolishes all she deems as opposition. As pointed out by her younger sister, Veronika simply despises humans for existing. As long as they are alive she believes them to be a threat to herself and her family.

No one knows when this personality developed as she was exceptionally warm and kind hearted in her early years of life. At some point she stopped her attempts at connecting with travelers she met in the Otherworld. She became deeply unbalanced and became obsessed with binge-eating.

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Personal Note

So far I am loving Veronika. Absolutely adoring her character. I’ve always fancied characters who are withdrawn and quiet.

Veronika’s entire sense of self is “Strength”. She is obsessed with the idea of strength. In her mind she wants to become like Viola and sees strength as the way to do it. Might controls everything for her. The meaning behind this is all exceptionally tragic to me.

Not to put too fine a point on it, Veronika wants to protect her family more than anything. Strength means so much to her. The strength to protect her family so that Vierabrït does not need to fight, the strength to live up to what she perceives Viola would have wanted her to be, the strength to kill anyone who is stronger than herself or as strong as her, and the strength to ascertain her own existence.

Like I said before, strength is her entire sense of self. Not because she wants power for the sake of power. But because in her mind, strength controls everything. In order to protect the things she loves she needs to be the strongest.

I find it all very tragic, but very beautiful.

[baskervilleangel]

Crimson Cloud - Queen Hemophage, True Hemorrhage

In the brilliant silver light of the moon blood ruptured from their bodies in violent jets of red. It glinted in the light which filled Widow with determination and jubilation, she could hardly contain her laughter while her opposition cried out in agony. With the clenching of her fist, the blood stopped in midair and swirled into a large spike. She held her other hand outward towards the hunter before her and seized control of his body. Completely paralyzed by her power all he could do was watch and wait for the end. The fear in his eyes was so clear to see, and despite her newfound motherly duties this was something that Widow needed, something she craved.

Fear. Sin. Blood.

With a flick of her hand the spike was upon him, penetrating his torso and lifting him a bit off the ground. This was a trick the Draculina learned from her maker. Her sire developed a nasty habit of impaling his enemies and putting them on display to ward off his enemies, this she was taught — and this she had done. The man before her, the hunter, was not the first to end up like this. He was not even the hundredth. In fact, he wasn’t even the hundredth on that day. She moved over over to examine her work of art and raised her hand upwards, adding his own blood to the spike, forcing it to grow taller and taller. Once it was done, the blood hardened like a magnificent crystal. The soft skin of her hand gently wrapped around it, caressing it lovingly, then she had stuck it deep into the ground. Backpedaling and glancing away, she took in the sight of hundreds behind her form that looked just like the man she had just impaled. The look on her face was horrifying. It could only be explained in these two words.

Mad Love.

This fight, this war of theirs, even life itself, was simply a game of chess to Widow; and upon the board of life… she was the queen.

———————————————————

Widow Lockwood

Queen, Mother, Predator, Horror.”

"You became a monster, because you couldn't cry anymore right? Children cry. It's what they do. But when those tears dry up and their heart turns empty, there is nothing left, but a monster who clings to the life they could have had. So we'll make that life a reality, my dear wife." - Widow to Viola Lockwood

Returning once again from beyond the veil, Widow Black is back as the mother of Veronika, Dante, Virgil, Vierabrït Lockwood and the wife of Viola S. Lockwood. Resigning from her old occupation of “unstoppable binge-eater” Widow takes a new, motherly, role in this part of the series by focusing on training and teaching the new generation.

Although time has turned her into a passive person, she protects her family vehemently; striking down all threats with extreme prejudice. Her skill and power is only matched by her love — and bloodlust.

Prior to the legendary conflict known as “the War of Future-Past” she went under her alias “Olive” and was frequently referred to by her epithets, “Binge-Eater” or “Glutton Roamer”. These epithets were of course linked to the fact that she excessively and compulsively fed to cope with a plethora of issues, both mental and physical, as well as the fact that she would consume entire bodies as opposed to simply drinking their blood.

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Statistics

Age – 4.5bil +.

Height – 172cm (5’8’’)

Arcana – Death

Species – Unnatural Tribrid ( Ţânţar, Soul Host, Passenger)

Soul Drive – Gospel of the Throttle (Formerly)

Occupation – Mother, Old Blood

Gender – Female

Nationality – Wallachian

Hair – Black

Eyes – Light Green

Talents - All of the talents of her children.

Likes – The Cacophony of a Massacre, Caring for her family, Feeding, Pain, Her Family, Art.

Dislikes – Witches, Humanity, Abominations, Gods, basically anything she predates.

—

Strength - S

Speed - SSS

Defense - A

Technique - SSS+

Cooperation - Hard F- (S when paired with family)

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Personality

“Upon the land of this world, which my wife fought so dearly for, a malignant god now descends with unholy creatures born from rotten flesh. Its as if they deem us inferior to them… as if they can own what they take. I – No… WE, will be the ones standing when all is said and done.”

Wise and knowledgeable, Widow acts as an historian to all who know her. Through the ages she had become kind, well mannered, caring and motherly — but only towards her children and the allies of her wife, Viola. She is also exceptionally confident and vain about her abilities, a trait which she passed on to Veronika and Dante. After spending a few centuries with Viola Widow had adopted her wife’s sense of humor, making jokes at inappropriate times as well as taunting and demeaning one-liners; another trait she passed onto Veronika.

Beneath this newfound personality, she still retains her cruel and sadistic personality, viewing the troubles of humanity and mortal creatures as superficial. She consistently sees all other living life forms as food, mere sustenance to sustain her family. At times she will even erupt into verbal assaults, and very rarely, physical violence when a human states that she is wrong about something. However, even though she has an intense hatred of all living creatures, she will only feast on the worst of their species; Identifying them through her ability to smell ones sins.

This dichotomy of her mind is a result from the years of trauma and abuse she had suffered before becoming the creature that she is today.

Where Viola is concerned Widow feels nothing but love, admiration and loyalty towards her wife. Viola had deeply impacted Widow’s psyche, as she was Widow’s first true friend. Despite being Viola’s sire, Widow found herself hanging onto Viola’s every word. Viola had even ignited Widow’s unsettling appreciation of art. Morbidly, her interest in art became more of a macabre nightmare, which heavily distincted from Viola’s more easy going artwork. Widow’s art, even now, is a horrifying reflection of self. Sculptures and paintings are her forte, all of which depict her victims in their final moments. Her art is always the same theme which always highlights her rejection of death, making her exceptionally prideful and at times snobbish.

———————————————————

Personal Note

Widow is one of my favorite characters of all time. Writing her in part III, experiencing her dichotomy first hand is one of my best experiences ever.

When Widow initially became part of the Baskerville world her main role was as a devil on Viola’s shoulder. Her main motivation was power which she would go to obscenely high lengths to achieve (such as excessive predation). Despite her cruelty and lust for power she retains this child like sense of the world. In fact, that’s more or less the entire reason why she sought more power. On the inside she’s just a kid who couldn’t cry anymore. Seeing her change from a bloodthirsty monster into a kind hearted mother is by far one of my favorite metamorphoses. I am absolutely bewitched by all of her flaws, and the person she became.

To touch on Widow’s obscene work of art, its more than simply a statement of “I live forever and you don’t!” What she believes she captures in her horrifying sculptures is the moment a person is freed by death. Their final moments are no longer theirs, but hers. No matter how much she has changed, she is a special kind of monster and her artwork reflects that.

As a small unrelated trivia fact, “Maman” is the term used by her children to refer to Widow. There are multiple reasons why this word was chosen, but the major two is for this reason:

Maman is the french word for “mum” and is used instead of “mother” as a way to distinct between Widow and Viola.

The second is due to the steel, bronze and marble sculpture of the same name created by Louise Bourgeois. When imagining the spider like limbs of blood that occasionally escape her back I immediately draw a parallel to this magnificent sculpture.

When I read the way that Bourgeois connected the sculpture to her mother I immediately drew a parallel to how I imagined Widow in this new part of the series. Perhaps its best for you to read her words and draw the connection yourself.

“The Spider is an ode to my mother. She was my best friend. Like a spider, my mother was a weaver. My family was in the business of tapestry restoration, and my mother was in charge of the workshop. Like spiders, my mother was very clever. Spiders are friendly presences that eat mosquitoes. We know that mosquitoes spread diseases and are therefore unwanted. So, spiders are helpful and protective, just like my mother.” – Louise Bourgeois

[baskervilleangel]

Crimson Cloud - Meet the Family

"We were born in blood. All of our existences are driven by the pulse of blood. Each beat of our pulsing sanctum brings us closer to something evil."

Under the shroud of night, deep red spider like limbs were the first to break through the darkness. The light of the outside reflected off distinct glasses masking the sinister red glow behind them. The Soldiers before the entity trembled under its baleful visage.

"No further." Its feminine voice echoed throughout the ranks that had amassed before itself.

"It's only one abomination, we can take it and push forward to our target!” A soldier shouted, naturally one would assume he was the commander in charge.

Soft laughter came from the darkness. Unsettling in its delivery, the noise rattled the soldiers even further, not because it was frightening or sinister, but because it was motherly. It was much like a parent entertaining a child's antics. With it, came another spider like limb, making three in total that have emerged from the darkness.

"Maman is not an abomination, nor is she alone!”A lilting childlike voice came from the gloom. A small, glowing, circle appeared behind the ominous entity that watched these hunters. It moved from the darkness and entered the light of the silver moon that had peaked beyond the drifting clouds.

The glow that emanated from the darkness moments prior was her eye. In color it was akin to the look of red amber. Surprisingly, she had stuck her tongue out and pointed to her would be opposition.

“My maman said no further!” Playfully, and tauntingly, she remarked and was met with a bullet for her trouble. With a quick reaction her hands shot up to her head clutched it tightly. Loudly she cried in pain, annoyance and frustration.

“Go around her! Through the crimson cloud! Move, move!” The commander yelled again, and the soldiers moved to follow, but was prevented by the appearance of two men that had waited in expectance of this tactic.

The first folded his hands in his palm and had them placed in front of his pelvis. His hair was styled in a neat pompadour and his face was clean shaven. The hunters were met with a cold stare from his sea green eyes. They looked him over, gauging his threat. In attire, and demeanor, he was classy. Dressed in a button up dress shirt and tight jeans.

The second man that had barred their path leaned his arm against a tree and whistled to grabbed their attention. He was more rugged, wearing a leather jacket and a distinct gray henley that had rather noticeable red blotches on its collar. Even his hair was styled in a messier pompadour than the other man, they were entirely opposites. Despite this, however, they sported the same brooding face. But that’s because they were twins.

“So you ignore our mother and shoot our sister in the face.” The rugged one spoke in a foreign language and took a step towards them. “Not cool. Not cool at all.”

“English, brother. They don’t understand.” The classier one spoke and took a step in front of his brother. “I believe what my brother is trying to say is… you offended two members of our family. I recommend that you turn around and cease this crusade of yours before my mother loses her temper and my older sister arrives. Are you all right, Vierabrït?” He looked through the gaps of the soldiers at watched as his sister finally managed to pull the bullet from her skull.

“That really hurt! I didn’t know bullets actually hurt!” She called out from behind. Quietly, the hole that was in her head slowly closed, leaving no wound or sign that it was there - besides the lingering blood anyway.

Visible confusion rippled through the soldiers. Whispers filled their ranks as they spoke about the monsters that gathered around them. These monstrous creatures had bantered like children in the middle of a bloody mist surrounded by bodies.

“O-our mission is still the same! Press forward no matter who gets in our way!” The commander shouted yet again.

The soldiers steeled themselves to press forward. The eyes of these creatures grew sharp and their conversing stopped. Not because of the hunters. They stopped because of something far worse.

The sound of the mud squishing broke the newly acquired silence that lingered in the air. The mother of the creatures, the one who hid in the darkness, finally graced the field along with that of her eldest child, Veronika. Their mother’s patience had run out. The spider like limbs that protruded from her back quickly receded and for a brief moment there was a quick blur that moved past her form. To the children, who knew their sister, what happened next was as clear as day.

“Lieutenant?” A soldier’s voice broke the mold of silence.

Veronika had walked sluggishly past her mother, dragging behind her a body that spewed blood from its torn out throat. Gurgling escaped from the mouth of her victim, he struggled to mesh together words. Of course, the torn out throat did him no favors.

“I… no understand.” Veronika crouched down, face to face with the man. Blood covered her mouth, and her eyes were exceptionally cold. She twisted her head and tilted at odd angles in an attempt to understand his gurgles. To her it was just some “strange language.” She started searching his jacket and found his pistol, a silver colt m1911.

“It’s not a language, my dear. I see you got yourself a new weapon.” Her mother moved her frigid hands through the platinum blonde braids that adorned her daughter’s head and spoke to her in their language. To the others it sounded like a mix of Russian and Romanian. Veronika somewhat pushed her head into her mother’s hand, like a cat nuzzling up to its owner.

“These hunters… they use such interesting weapons.” Veronika responded in that same language and stared down the barrel of the gun. All it took was a finger twitch and the barrel flashed with a loud deafening bang. The bullet that was discharged pierced through her skull but she had not flinched. If anything she was as confused as the soldiers were.

“My name is Widow, Widow Lockwood. These are my children — Veronika,” She pointed to the woman next to her who fiddled with the gun, slapping it against her opposite hand to make it fire again. “Dante and Virgil,” She pointed to the rugged twin first, then the well dressed one. “and Vierabrït. We are—” She paused when a sudden and repeating noise “spoke” over her. The two twins turned to look at one another, the looks on their faces screamed “I told you so.”

Veronika was slamming the gun into the dying man’s face. Bludgeoning him to death before he could bleed to death. The bullet that was lodged in her skull had forced itself out and the wound closed unnaturally fast, much like her younger sister’s. Widow sighed and moved herself to her daughter’s hand. Then, with her own hand, she twisted the gun around and fit it snuggly in her daughter’s, guiding it towards his already broken skull. Her body crouched down and placed her chin in the palm of her hand.

“Now pull the trigger.” Widow smiled reassuringly, then came another loud shot which forced Veronika to cover her ears. She smiled in enjoyment at the fact that she actually managed to use the weapon. “To finish what I was saying before. We are the Lockwoods.” From the corner of her eyes she stared at the commander of the hunters inparticular. It was as if she marked him and only him.

Once the horror of the unknown set in the soldiers open fired upon all of the Lockwood family. In a flash, the spider like limbs erupted from her back and swirled in a blur of red. Ricocheting bullets fired back from the limbs that deflected them. Vierabrït replicated this with her own insect like limbs while her brothers took cover behind trees.

Widow hummed a tune and simple watched the soldiers waste their efforts but continued to stare at their leader. Jets of their blood shot outward, adding to the crimson cloud that surrounded them. The deep red sclera of her eyes and her glowing irises flashed as each of the limbs briefly obscured her vision.

It didn’t take long for the soldiers to cease fire when most of their bodies fell into the mud. The veins that crawled along Widow’s face and protruded beneath her skin slowly faded; and with it went all the blood that they had pumped into the sclera of her eye. Her Irises returned to their green color and her crimson limbs changed their form, flowing whimsically behind her crouched body. They were more like fox tails now as opposed to their hardy, spider like appearance.

At first there was just pants of fear that emanated from the soldiers, but then something strange had begun to happen. The Lockwood children had begun sniffing the air. Their signature face veins started to show beneath their cheeks and slither towards their eyes, much like her mother’s had done a few moments before hand. Their canines elongated and their sclera slowly began turning to their deep red color.

“Oh dear...” Widow slowly stood up and placed her hands behind her back. The rest of her children moved to join her. “If you lot retreated when you had the chance, we never would have smelled your sin. We can smell it now though, all of it. For us, its like the smell of incredibly good food — of course that’s what you are now… food. You see, once you commit atrocities against your fellow man you rescind the right to call yourself “human”. Rapists, murderers, thieves, zealots, pure fanatics... the lot of you. You are supposed to be saviors of mankind, yet you inflict worse atrocities upon them.”

Widow’s veins appeared yet again while the soldiers struggled to reload their weapons. They fumbled their magazines, some even dropping their guns entirely. Vierabrït clapped her hands together, a large centipede like limb emerged from her back in a fashion much like her mother’s.

“You know the rules, boys. Your sisters eat first.” Widow rocked her hips back and forth ever so slightly, taking pleasure in the beginning of her massacre.

[baskervilleangel]

The Third Birth

"This thing, that I have christened The Third Birth, is a being of pure mystery and wonder. I cannot see it, nor can I hear it, but I always feel when this monster is looking down upon me. Like a malevolent deity, or a mad devil, it's power outstretches all around Utero, touching me with its vile embrace. Although, it does not seem exceptionally dangerous by itself. Well... Not until you are caught and killed by one of its clueless protectors." - ???

Ancient, powerful, incomprehensible. The Third Birth is a godlike anomaly which exists in between the physical plane and The Veil. It is the vile creator of both, the Otherworld and Utero.

Not much is known about The Third Birth, and it is rarely seen or heard, except when it is claiming the soul of its protector's victims. It is known that the Third Birth infects children in the womb of their mother with its malicious energy, turning them into relentless and lifeless champions. To eat, the creature reaches out into the hearts of its champions and corrupts them into performing hideous acts. After it's champions commit a gruesome murder the Third Birth enters the real world, for but a moment, to claim the soul of its champion's victims.

Though no one knows why the mad god kills, it is most likely because the only way for it to manifest itself in the real world is through acts of extreme violence usually ending in death. Once the violent act is completed and the victim has been claimed by The Third Birth, it will gain a foothold in the real world. These weak spots in reality caused by its foothold are called World Mirrors. These World Mirrors pull in other humans who wander too close to them.

The Third Birth seems to build a reflection of the real world in its construct to confuse the victims who wander in (Hence the term World Mirrors). Though the deity is unable to really understand the true nature of the world it touches, it tries to replicate it as best it can, although it never quite gets it right. As a result of its lacking knowledge, the world it has made is an ever-changing nightmarish fusion of familiar and strange elements as the deity desperately makes up what it cannot comprehend, which is ironic in its own right.

For this reason, In Utero and The Otherworld, the world is very contorted yet familiar to the victims within. There are designated safe zones within The Otherworld that is meant to give the victims a false sense of hope". The more hope a person feels increases the more power the Third Birth gains when they are killed.

The most menacing and cruel thing about The Otherworld is that the victims that are taken there by the Third Birth cannot die. Every time a victim dies in the Otherworld a small piece of them is taken and absorbed into the Third Birth. Eventually, as all hope evaporates, the victim becomes less and less useful to the mad god, slowly devolving into a cold and emotionless shell.

The lost victims, whose hope has long since left them, eventually become what they once feared so much — the very abominations that hunted them, permanently binding them to The Otherworld. These abominations, these killers, are very different from the protectors they unknowingly work with. These killers are contorted and vile monsters which patrol the otherworld for lost victims, just like themselves, in the hope of appeasing this mad god.

[baskervilleangel]

PRIMER

Before you descent into the intuitive madness of the Baskerville universe, I implore you to read this short primer to ready yourself for the first few chapters of Part III. This new part in the series will be split into two distinctive stories which will occasionally intersect. While some readers will be familiar with this arc’s predecessors and refresh their mind with a trip down memory lane, newcomers to the series will greatly benefit from reading these introductions to the world of Baskerville and noteworthy characters — both old and new.

Julia “Jules” Occhipinti - The Lady with the Painted Eyes

[baskervilleangel]

I know I’m supposed to be writing, but I think I hit my first major writers block since 2015. Kind of sad so I’m sad drinking and eating ice cream, which is a bad mix. So one of these is coming up before the night is over.

[baskervilleangel]

Baskerville III.b Opening Prologue

A loud and distinct cry shattered the silence of the fog. Upon the cracking obsidian ground Indra Lee’s signature lance banged and clamored, which was shortly followed by her tumbling body. There was a soft moan that escaped her lips as she struggled to raise herself, but to no avail. After just a brief moment there was another quick shout of pain. A Winchester rifle flew from the hands of Widow Black then she followed after Indra Lee.

“Why have you come to me with eyes so beautiful — and so strong?” The child with fair hair spoke from her throne of blood and bone. Ellie was the last one to be repulsed. She had latched onto a strange and foreign limb that protected the child from her weapon, the legendary wicked heart.

In the midst of twirling through the air the legendary knife shattered from the force of the child’s attack. It’s shards faded away into a crimson dust and she too had struck the ground. In the reflection of her eye was the visage of The HeLa, the monstrous titan. In its abdomen was the very throne the fair child had sat upon. Its rib cage hung over her, ready to protect the child once more. It was as if she were its very heart.

“Find them — The children I bore with my wife…” Widow struggled to speak, holding her hand out to the only one still standing, a teenage girl with raven black hair.

“HeLa. I would like to play with my new toys.” The Child spoke, looking upwards to the giant’s face, which was obscured by long, shaggy, hair.

The last opposition to the enormous abomination, the teenager, scurried and leapt from the top of the spire. The beast shuffled and with its massive hands it had wrapped its grip around Ellie and Widow. The sounds of their bloodcurdling cries and the cracking of their bones rang in the teenager’s ears, even as the rushing air created from her descent masked next to all other sources of sound. The child watched her go, but had not gave it a second thought.

“If that girl was your hope. You should know by know that we feed on hope. I will show you how it will all end.” The child held her hand out to Indra Lee and imbued her with fragmented visions and words from the future.

“You can’t help, you’re just dead weight!”

“I’m sorry mom! Maman, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“This is a bad call! Fall back!”

“We can’t win, we can’t do this!”

And with one final image, she saw them. Her nieces lifelessly stacked upon one another, large wooden spikes impaled their bodies. But for some odd reason Indra Lee smiled.

“You don’t get it, do you? You can’t. Just like my sister, their mother, they will struggle against fate and win. We always—” Overwhelming pain stopped her in the middle of her sentence. Spectral lances had pierced her back and pinned her into the obsidian like floor.

“You are boring. I can make you laugh,” the child’s face progressively became worse with each word.

“Its not about the pain, its about the time. They all laugh in due time.”

[baskervilleangel]

“Oh... Lord Viola Lockwood, last of your species, final hope for all, all alone in this cruel world... No one to grieve for you should you fall in this foreign land...

Is that why you fight constantly? Face extinction with each mortal wound? Why you challenge and combat devils and gods?

Is that why you want to die like she did?”

— Widow Black to Viola S. Lockwood

[baskervilleangel]

Baskerville III.b Excerpt,

“G H O U L x”

Jules’ movements came to a halt as she scurried behind one of the derelict couches. Both of her own hands pressed against her mouth in an attempt to keep quiet.

“What the fuck… what is that thing?” She questioned herself relentlessly.

The creature that stalked her, though human in appearance, was probably the worst thing she had ever seen. The memories of it cannibalizing other abominations was enough to drive fear into the center of her heart. Before she knew it she was surrounded by a thick fog that seemed to infiltrate the building from the cracks of the floorboard beneath it.

“I move… through the… veil,” Its hoarse and strained voice echoed out throughout the abandoned structure. “The miiiist… it stays… hiding me. I wait … will wait for you… in my sight… I see it… help me…”

Its shambling was in hearing range now. It grew close, and as it drew closer the fear that Jules had felt intensified exponentially. With a quick and stifled movement Jules drew her combat knife and her gun.

“Okay… I planned ahead. Vierabrït should be here any moment. I just need to hold out, I can do that… probably.” She spoke, recomposing herself.

“Hiding. Must hide… in her lair here. Smell blood… everywhere. Its here… coming its… coming… mayday, mayday… I’m going to die here… no… stay away… run Jules… find twins…” The creatures voice split and distorted as its heads snapped around with loud, distinct, cracks.

Fear erupted when Jules heard her name. Then came a revelation, one so horrifying that it froze her cold. Memories came to her mind like a flood. Julius and Samuel’s last words before this monster killed them. She dropped her guard, hands going limp at her side.

“Get out of here, regroup with your friends! Run Jules!”

“Hey, go help them. I got this. Find the twins.”

“It’s repeating their last words… its repeating its victim’s last words.” Her mind raced, thinking back to everything it said. All the pleas, all the people who tried to hide from this monster. Each thought progressively getting worse but then, it stopped. The sound of scrunching upon the couch broke her out of her thoughts.

It was upon her, masked by dim gloom and despair, but, she saw it clearly. It peered over the couch she his behind, watching her with an intense stare. Feminine in appearance, its glowing blue eyes had a distinct glow that was occasionally masked by the blowing blonde locks that adorned its head. Sharp features, and distinct dark eyebrows that could be seen as an attractive visage. It even had freckles that added to its attractiveness. It groaned and let off a long exhale which was putrid and smelled of death.

By reflex, Jules drove her knife into the beast’s skull then sprung up, pointing her gun at its form. Fear was immediately replaced by desperation. When it was stabbed, It’s head recoiled back making it stare at the ceiling, and there it stayed. Unblinking, unmoving, and unresponsive, It’s entire body was limp.

“Did… did I just kill it? That was easier than I—” Despondency interrupted her as it moved its hands to grip the knife. Then, slowly, it pulled the the weapon out of its pale skin. No blood fell from the wound, and oddly enough the wound slowly closed. Abominations healed fast, but never that fast. It was as if Jules’ attack was entirely superficial. When it dropped the knife, it clattered against the dirty carpet and bounced over to the exposed wood.

She unloaded into the monster. After the first few bullets hit it a series of hands and arms, bound by barbed wire, emerged from beneath the cloak that covered its body. They circled it, protecting the macabre entity from any further harm. Jules kept firing however, pressing the trigger rapidly until the magazine emptied.

The grotesque limbs that escaped its form receded back into the shadows of her attire with a disgusting sound. With a sudden snap, its head turned to face her. Once again it was accompanied by a sickening crack that rattled Jules ever so slightly. It started to move towards Jules in a slow creep, staring at her with curious eyes.

“What the fuck are you…?” Jules questioned.

“G…gh…oooo…uuul,” It struggled when it came to words of its own it seemed. “Hu…nnt…” it continued in a cold whisper.

“Hunt? Yeah you hunt all right. You don’t deserve to fucking live!” Jules exclaimed in disgust, thinking back to all the people the creature had hunted before it met her.

“Hun…ter…,” It pointed at Jules’s chest, specifically the dog tags that hung in front of her chest then at itself. Its hands contorted and snapped suddenly, moving with slow dime stops as it reached into the darkness of its cloak.

“H…unt…er tooooooo…” It spoke then held out a pair of black dog tags that seemed to glisten in the light that penetrated the small cracks of the wooden abode they were in. With wide eyes, and a cautious approach, Jules reached out to the dog tags. She examined them for a moment then quickly snapped her eyes back to the creature.

“Holy shit… you’re a hunter. Not just any hunter too,” she paused for a moment, taking in the new revelation.

“You’re an old blood.”

[baskervilleangel]

Julia “Jules” Occhipinti

Mysterious and alluring, Jules is a witch with an otherworldly connection to the Lockwood family. Using the power of witchcraft Jules has the biggest arsenal among any of the characters shown thus far. Armed with Jinxes, charms, spells and curses she serves as a versatile ally and a devastating enemy.

Should she decide to help on the frontlines of battle she’ll use her trusty artifacts of power — The Ouija 9 and the Black Cat; a powerful enchanted pistol that could put down the strongest of enemies and a black hunting knife used to dissuade those who can’t keep their hands to themselves.

Age - 23

Height - 167.6 cm (5’6’’)

Weight - 55.3kg (122lbs)

Arcana - The Chariot

Species - Carnivora Witch

Soul Drive - ???

Occupation - Hunter/Witch

Gender - Female

Nationality - American

Hair - Black

Eyes - Dark Green

Talents - Avid Bass Player, Exceptional make-up application, uncanny motorcycle control.

Likes - Metal Music, Motorcycles, Make-Up, Fist fighting awful human beings.

Dislikes - Disgusting human beings.

[baskervilleangel]

Baskerville III.b Excerpt

Within their Archives, which has remained hidden, and shielded underneath the eldritch wood of what was the Lockwood estate, the young offspring of the old blood found themselves seeking any lettered word about their origins and the origin of the species. There was only so much time which they could remain there as their would be enemies grew in the world of man. But, as always, the siblings often got… distracted.

The eldest, Veronika Beatrice Lockwood, found herself utterly ensnared in the journal of a predominant and quite legendary Bloodborne. Her mind concentrated on each of the words she struggled to read. With a slight twitch her ears perked up as she could hear the snickering of Dante and Vierabrït. She saw no harm in listening in to her younger siblings, and so she brushed back her hair a tad to open up her ears and listen into the conversation between the two.

“Dante, you can’t be serious!” Vierbrït cried out.

“Oh, he’s quite serious, sister.” Virgil chimed in from across the archives.

“Keep quiet, the lot of you,” Dante’s response was immediate and sharp. “I was busy following Maman’s instructions and learning the art of combat. Besides, I can’t read these… these chicken scratches! So what I never learned to read this… archaic language! The only ones who can read this anyway is Virgil and you, Viera!” He grumbled and shoved his hands in his pockets. Vierabrït’s innocent face made him even more frustrated.

“And Trice!” She chimed in.

“And every other Lockwood.” Virgil called out once more.

Veronika chuckled quietly from behind the safety of the pulsating wooden shelves. She often struggled reading english as well, let alone speaking it, but she always made the effort to try. Less than a moment later, shorter than the blink of an eye, a book was removed from the shelf to reveal the cold stare of Dante on the other side of it. His icy blue eyes locked onto her as she struggled to read.

“Eavesdropping, Trice?”

“If I may, brother, your Romanian can use some work as well.” Veronika responded with a sly remark.

[baskervilleangel]

The Wolf Queen’s Guard

“That look in your eye,” Gabriela paused, simply staring at her opposition with psychotic focus. The change in Indra Lee was small yet dramatic at the same time. Her once cheery eyes were now sharp and concentrated upon the task at hand.

“I don’t think I like it.” Gabriela continued, furrowing her brows.