bleubcrries

[bleubcrries]

Hugo knew that his relationship to Temperance was tenuous at best; he reckoned she would soon grow tired of his mortality. Hugo was in his forties now, he appreciated how young and impenetrable she made him feel, but as he limped across the creaky wood floors of his house, each gnawing ache was an acerbic reminder of his impermanence. In truth, he had grown to know her soul, and he saw her virtuousness in each of her gentle actions-- even seeing her kill Silas and many before him had not sullied his feelings for her. Before her, Hugo's morals were grey at best, but even the most black-and-white things in his life had become nuanced in ways he'd never expected. As his sweet Temperance laid a kiss on his cheek, Hugo felt a few of his more tense muscles finally relax. They were home. Not just in their house, but alone together, and it was just what he needed. It was funny, after all this time, how seeing the blood on her mouth, her chin, her neck-- none of it phased him anymore. "Wait," Hugo uttered helplessly, just above a whisper, catching her dainty, frosty hand, and taking a wide step toward her. "You keep saving me. You keep... being so wonderful. And you, you have the world at your feet, you have all of the time to see all of the things. And New Orleans must feel so small, sometimes. It suffocates me, I can't imagine how you must feel." Hugo raises Temperance's hand, presses a warm kiss to her knuckles, caring not about any traces of blood-- they're irrelevant to him, now. "Let's--- let's go away. Let's take a vacation. We can go anywhere in the world you want. I... I owe you my life, Temp. And there's not much I can do to make up for it, but I have to try."

Temperance could still remember the first time she approached Hugo's house. Her intention was certainly nefarious. A large house, clearly one that would house a wealthy socialite. She would usually feed, steel what would not be traced back to her, then move on. But as soon as she laid eyes on Hugo through the double-hung windows of his large home, Temperance couldn't stop thinking of him. The idea that it was now also her home was still foreign. It had been so long since Temperance remained in one place long enough that she could consider placing down roots. Until Hugo, of course. Her only wish became that he chose a less dangerous line of work. It was unfamiliar and far too time consuming to be worrying about him.

With practiced subtlety, Temperance slipped her arm around Hugo and supported as much of his weight as possible without him noticing. She was again worried about his fragility. His body was constantly falling apart. Every moment he remained fully human was another that he flirted with death. "Thank you." She inclined her head as she entered his house. She still remembered the first time she crossed the doorway. That cold barrier dissolved upon his invitation but it still sent a shiver down her spine.

Temperance placed a hand on his cheek, her head tilted just slightly as she studied him. It was difficult to not force him into bed to relax after a day of stress but she knew he was still an independent and stubborn human. "Go and get your rum, my love. Let me get cleaned up." Even though she believed that Silas was entirely unwelcome in both life and death, his blood was still blood. The sooner she could wash it off herself the better. "You can come and join me shortly." She removed the mink from her around her shoulders and set it down on the couch. It would need to be cleaned, surely. Temperance kissed him on the cheek then carefully brushed off the transferred flakes of dried blood so he would remain clean. That was all that mattered to her anyway, his mental and physical safety. "Take a breath, Hugo. All is well here. We are safe." She squeezed his arm then retreated to their room and the grand bathroom within.

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"You're too good to me, my old friend." Diana places a gentle hand on Willow's arm as they walk, giving a gentle squeeze, hoping it conveys all that she can't say at the moment. Traveling so far, and so urgently, has taken such a toll on she and her party. She'd sent a more stately carriage ahead of her, one to follow behind, and hid herself and Rafael in a less extravagant carriage in between, hoping that it would throw off anyone trying to follow her to Willow's kingdom. Her nerves were shot, and her thoughts had had nothing to do but race on their endless travels, an incessant trial of every possible outcome. She'd always thanked the saints for her status as a dowager queen, but she couldn't help but wish someone stood beside her that could take some of this interminable weight off of her tired shoulders. Alas, she knew that no accompanying king could lessen that weight, as she'd learned from Willow. "Oh, lets not bother with that for now. Rafael will make his way to the kitchens eventually, if he hasn't yet. Should you get poisoned by our afternoon tea, I'd prefer to go down with you," Diana winks, a playful grin on her face, as she hopes Willow will appreciate the dark humor. As the two queens reached the library, Diana felt an unfamiliar sense of anticipation in her chest, like she'd been carrying a boulder for miles and miles and she would soon be allowed to finally set it down. It didn't hurt that the palace's library welcomed Diana with the warm hug of books, thousands of them, smelling deliciously of leather, parchment, and the sharpness of black ink. "This is perfect," Diana uttered quietly, taking a look around (out of fascination and habitual caution), and she found herself gravitating toward the warmth of the fireplace, that sense of anticipation rearing in her chest like an unbroken colt. Doing as her friend requested of her, Diana quickened her pace toward the fireplace, peeling the suede gloves off of her hands and dropping gingerly to her knees before the fireplace, careful to keep her dress away from the flames, putting her pale fingers close to the heat and allowing the warmth to thaw the long-frozen extremities. "My bones creak like an alehouse floor, these days. I always feel like that same little girl at my coronation, terrified and clueless and excited... but my bones, they don't let me forget that I'm getting older." Diana sighs, wistful and drained, before she decides that her fingers have thawed quite enough, and she picks herself up to sit in one of the overstuffed chairs, opposite her friend. She takes a long look at Willow, her brows knitting together with concern, the heavy silence of the room broken up by the crackling of the fire. Finally, Diana speaks, quietly, with nothing but love in her piercing blue eyes. "Are you okay? Really?"

"The iron maiden, truly not the worst nickname to have." Willow smiled sadly. She had a vague knowledge of what her subjects thought of her. Or, perhaps, what the members of her court believed. From all the feedback she obtained, Willow was a popular ruler. Her main goal was to make life better for the people she grew up with anyway. Spending the formative years of her life as part of the working class was truly working to her favor. Unfortunately, that same focus on benefiting the people she came from was detrimental when conversing with the ruling class. Her husband supported her pursuit to make equity an indelible right in their kingdom but not all were so favorable. That was one of the possible reasons why she had been targeted.

"Well I am here to promise you that your feet and everything connected are as beautiful as ever." Willow smiled. Despite the overwhelming emotions that brought tears to her eyes at the very presence of her dearest friend, Willow could still see the beauty of the moment. They were together again. Reminiscing on all of the time they lost or the circumstances that brought them together would do nothing but cause heartache. They both had enough of that. "Close, eh?" She repeated with a growing smile. A thought occurred to her, not entirely unwanted. Diana was someone she trusted with her entire heart. The time and distance that separated them was not enough to disrupt that. Perhaps she could finally rid herself of the burden that concerned Oscar and her son. But that was days away. They had so much to catch up on.

"If you would prefer, we can wait until this Rafael has thoroughly investigated the kitchens and request that he provide us with tea. I have not found reason to be concerned with my staff but I do not mind, whichever way you prefer." As soon as they reached the library, Willow opened the door for her friend then stepped inside. She took a deep breath, her sinuses flooding with the gorgeous smell of old parchment and stiffened leather. There were many comfortable seats scattered around the room as well as a half played chess board and a piano. She guided Diana over to a pair of plush chairs sitting against the fireplace which was already roaring. "Please, warm yourself first then we can talk."

[bleubcrries]

Jack nodded a bit too eagerly, welcoming the opportunity to collect himself. Stop acting like a damn fool, he cursed himself internally, losing himself for a moment in the swirling wood grain of the immaculate bar top as he strained to lift his walls back into place. He'd be lying through his teeth if he'd said that he hadn't been thinking about Wolf for weeks, now, ever since he found out he would be returning, and those thoughts only intensified as he drove that big moving truck over county lines, as he pulled up to his grandmother's big, old house. That big front porch, where they used to sit too-close on the porch swing, and pretend they weren't trying not to stare at each other... The peripheral movement of Wolf back to his end of the bar snapped Jack out of his maladaptive daydreaming and back into the cumbrous reality before him. His dark eyes were owlishly wide as he looked at the boy-- man before him. "I- uh- I'll take any vodka you have, on the rocks. Uh- please, thank you." Jack winced at his stuttering, a habit that he had spent years in London trying to kick, a habit that came screaming back to him the second he tiptoed back into his past. "Jeez, I haven't thought about Harley in a long time," Jack rested his nervous hands on the bar, picking at a loose thread on his watchband as he spoke, "He still going steady with Anika? They were attached at the hip back in high school.." Jack realized he was painting himself in a difficult light-- the boy who moved to the big city and came back acting like he had thought of their old pal Harley more than twice in the past 9 years? He was cringing at himself. In front of anyone else, Jack was as cool as a fresh stream, smooth and inviting, a charming smile and adorable dimples. But Wolf, his startling blue eyes, his pink, too-familiar lips, and those god damn curls... Jack wanted to scream. "How, uhm, how have you been doing? You look really great." Great. Word vomit.

There was a strange impulse to walk out of the bar. Also to just light it on fire. Considering that it was his life, the irrational desire was certainly something to ignore. Wolf reached forward and steadied himself on the bar-top he so lovingly shined. He didn't want to be dealing with this. He didn't want to be going through an emotional roller coaster when it was meant to be a calm night before the nightmare of the game that weekend. Taking a deep breath, Wolf set his jaw and straightened up. This was just another customer. He couldn't let himself get distracted by the overwhelming need to moonwalk out of there. As long as the bar was between them, he would be fine.

"What can I get you? First one is on the house." That stuttering, it was so endearing. But there was still a rock of hurt lodged in his gut that wouldn't be ignored. "Grab a seat, I'll be right back." Someone else had stepped up to the bar and Wolf took the opportunity to take a deep breath. Just staring at Jack would drive him mad. Trying to match the funhouse mirror image of the boy he knew with the man that was standing in front of him now. The cheekbones, the jawline carved out of nothing, it was throwing him off. Taking the steps to make the old fashioned calmed him enough so that when he stepped back to Jack, his heart wasn't going to burst out of his chest. "Sorry, Harley needed the night off so I have to cover." He could hear how his voice was off. Just slightly too peppy, that tone he took when working the front desk at his mom's hotel. "I uh, wow. It's been a while."

[bleubcrries]

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾　time skip　☽༓･˚⁺‧͙ *french accent* a few hours latér 𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

Tonight was exactly the reason Hugo hired exclusively convicts, criminals & fugitives, and paid them well. They would never rat him out, not when they could work under the radar, under the table, for a trunkload of money, just for cleaning up his messes, no matter what they be. But this situation called for his most trustworthy, his most dangerous. Luckily, the incident happened right by the back door-- being near the exit gave Hugo peace of mind-- and they were able to get Silas's body out of the door before anyone saw the blood, and by the time anyone came asking questions, they blamed it on a fighting brawl. It may have been an unrealistic excuse, but it was too dark and they were too drunk to notice. Finally, they had made it home, once Hugo had made sure the club was squared away. His-- their-- home was the polar opposite of the club. It was away from the hustle and bustle of downtown New Orleans, in a gorgeous, big white house, with a big front porch, surrounded by trees flanked by a giant flower & vegetable garden. Feeling the years-old injury in his right knee flare up from the stress of the night, Hugo tried to hide the slight limp in his step as he wrapped an arm around Temperance's shoulders, shielding her from the cold breeze, though he knew that it couldn't possibly bother her. "I think I could do with a positively giant glass of rum," he mutters tiredly, hurrying ahead of her to the door to open it for her, feeling relief settle over him like a warm blanket once he stepped through the door himself. "What can I do for you, hm? I could run you a bath? Get you that silk robe you like?" Hugo held her shoulders gently, his eyes full of worry and sympathy. He didn't know how she felt when she took a life in such a way, not really. It couldn't have been enjoyable. But there was a part of him, too mortal & too troubled for his own good, that made him want to comfort her, as if it would comfort him in turn.

She ignored his words and instead did an inventory of his being. She could not smell his blood so she was sure he hadn't been injured. His panic was still evident though and her concern shifted to his heart. She was reminded every moment of how fragile he was. Maybe they needed to have the discussion. While he was not in mortal peril, she would not act without his permission. But all it would take is for her to drain him, bite her wrist, and nurse him through the change. It would be easy. Then she would never have to be alone again.

Temperance blinked at his laughter. It was a normal reaction but still not one she was expecting. She never opened up enough to people to even be considered funny and it always caught her off guard. It showed he was actually ok though. Temperance wanted to kiss him again, to calm him and care for him. She would never with gore covering her. The idea of leaving him so quickly after he was almost murdered caused a growl to rise from her throat. She knew he trusted his people but would they really sacrifice themselves for him? Would they do what was necessary?

Still, she knew he needed to feel in charge. That control was important even if he was just so delicate. "If you take longer than five minutes, I'll come back inside." Temperance said after a long moment of internal debate. She tugged the coat tighter around her even though the cold did not affect her. It was not the best look to be seen completely covered in blood even when so few people actually cared. She looked back at him from the doorway then exited, using his handkerchief to blot at her eyes as though she was crying. Just in case someone was looking.

[bleubcrries]

"Iron," Dianna laughs, one big, charming HA! as she thinks back to her nickname amongst her less-loyal constituents, "There's a reason they call me the iron maiden, and it's not because of my emotional strength." Despite being the most merciful queen in Rusalka history, Diana was, never the less, the first ever queen of Rusalka to rule without a man by her side, and her decisiveness had been ruffling feathers for over a decade, now. This is why she cherished every second that she had with Rafael, and even more so with Willow-- the only two people outside of her daughters who had ever seen her walls come down. "Oh you are such an angel, I don't think I've felt my feet in over a week. The only reason I know they're still there is because I'm still a head taller than everyone in this country." Diana laughs at her own jest, exchanging a glance with her head footman, a sweet older gentleman who had just stepped through the door as she began to leave the room alongside Willow. "Anatoly, I'm going for tea with her majesty, see to it that Rafael doesn't think I've gone missing, yes?" She doesn't stop walking as she makes sure the man understands her request before she refocuses back on her friend. Diana locked an arm with Willow, feeling the need to stay physically connected to the woman, lest she suddenly de-materialize. "Oh, pish posh. You have endured arduous, cosmic tribulations in this past year, and you have done so with the grace of a swan. I'd be concerned if you didn't cry." Diana had warmth prickling in her own steel blue eyes, but she refused to let the damn break before she and Willow were rested and acquainted. She wanted, first and foremost, to be there for her friend, and to discuss the necessary collaborations of their two great kingdoms, lest the war ravish their countries as it has many others. "I fear there is too much to tell, darling, I'll probably forget to relay the half of it. I'll have to introduce you to my amazing chef Rafael, he is simply too good to have left behind. Especially with all those threats of poison, I.... I find I can't eat anything he doesn't make." Diana's poised exterior cracked for the first time since she arrived, but she didn't let the blemish grow, not yet. "Besides, he and I have grown very.... close." The queen smirked, her eyebrows wiggling in a suggestive manner as she looked at her friend with a girlish smile, "I'll have to tell you about him when we're alone. Can't have these fine gentlemen knowing all my secrets."

"I would never pinch you. I fully believe that you are made of iron with strength like this." Willow sighed happily. There really was nothing better than the hug of a friend who loved one unconditionally. She never felt judged by Diana for where she came from, not like some of the royals she met long ago. Before the wars tore their world apart. It had been far too long since she had a friend close. "Please come and make yourself comfortable, I can't imagine how hard the traveling was for you. I have requested refreshments for us in the library. The fire is roaring and it will be warm and private."

It took a moment for Willow to identify why she was crying. It was partly the relief at having Diana safely in her arms. Maybe the fact that she wasn't alone in the large and cold castle. "I apologize for being so emotional." There was no reason to apologize other than the fact that she had spent almost all of her time with near strangers. Showing any display of emotion was legitimately a risk to her life. It just felt good to take a break from pretending to be eternally strong. She wiped at her face before taking Diana's hand and leading her through the castle. "We have so much to catch up on. I must hear about everything." Including who the very handsome chef that Diana brought.

[bleubcrries]

Few people offered Diana comfort these days, and even fewer would ever see her without her ever-present mask. She was a queen, one without a king nonetheless, and with that circumstance, she was restrained from certain aspects of humanity. A queen should be brave, decisive; kind enough to give mercy but strong enough to deliver justice, and she was more than capable of these things, but the latest events had unearthed old, fermented wounds, that had left her with wobbly knees and shaky hands. And Diana knew that her fears must've been shared by Willow, attempts on one's life doesn't exactly inspire confidence, but that didn't stop Diana from seeing her oldest friend as a pillar of strength and solidity. The first thing Diana saw when her eyes adjusted to the dim castle light was a sleek mess of red hair, and it took nothing more to bring warmth to the queen's eyes, relief causing muscles to release that had been clenched for months. "Oh, my Willow," Diana nearly collided with her friend, her strong arms wrapping as tightly around the woman as they could, as the reality of this moment washed over her. Willow was truly Diana's first soulmate, the person who made her the merciful and kind queen she is today. Smiling ear to ear, Diana embraced her hugs with Willow, memorizing the feelings, saving them for hard times. "My girl, this feels like a fever dream. I am positively numb from the cold, you'll have to pinch me so I know it's real." She pulls away finally, looking down at Willow and giving her a quick kiss on the cheek and taking a good, hard look at the other woman. "My god, you couldn't have aged a little bit? Maybe lost a tooth or something? I swear you must've stopped aging twenty years ago. Impossible, you."

Her world had been shrinking by each day: Oscar's temporary reassignment when she needed him the most, the attempts on her life, her husband taking her son (their son, although never admitted to anyone) to fight despite her pleading. She began to fold herself into smaller and smaller corners, wandering around the castle with the reduced staff and no one she could consider a friend. Life was shifting into shades of grey. The only bright spot left was Diana's impending visit. Guilt and excitement constantly battled within her. What if something should happen while on the road, arguably the most dangerous situation possible? It would be her responsibility.

Willow truly felt alive for the first time in a long while when the guards alerted her of an approaching carriage. She was a flash of red hair as she hurried from her quarters to the grand entrance. There was the possibility it was someone else of course, but Willow hadn't lost hope. Just as she descended down the stairs, the most imposing woman to ever grace her with love entered. The footmen scattered once they opened the doors and it was just Willow, Diana, and her faceless security. Without a moment of hesitation, Willow embraced Diana, letting her eyes shut as the peace of the moment slightly eased the overwhelming tension in her body. There were tears in her eyes when she pulled back. "I cannot begin to express how wonderful it is to see you. Oh Diana." Willow hugged her again as she began to cry. It was overwhelming to finally have a friend in her home again.

[bleubcrries]

By the time Hugo picked himself up from having jumped out of the way of the speeding bullet, Temperance was pouncing onto Silas, and Hugo didn't need to keep watching to know what would happen next. But if so, why couldn't he tear his eyes away? What was probably 20 seconds of time felt like minutes as Hugo watched Temperance sink her teeth into Silas's neck, causing a searing cold jealousy to run it's finger down the back of his throat, but he tossed that feeling aside, instead focusing on the power that he felt, being the only one who had felt Temperance's teeth sink into his neck, seen the golden hue of her hungry eyes, and never felt a second of fear. All that Hugo could hear over his heart in his eards was the struggled cries of Silas and the booming sound of Le Fric playing over the loud speakers, each verse punctuating the bloody death of Silas Wilson. When Temperance finished the job and rushed to Hugo's side, it took him a moment to break free from the frenzied state of shock he was in, the adrenaline making his pupils swell into big, black moons. "I-I'm fine, really," he managed to say on autopilot as he was finally able to drag his eyes from the large pool of blood to Temperance's face. Maybe it was the shock, maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the lingering effects of the cocaine he'd done three hours ago, but Temperance's remark caused Hugo to burst into laughter, his shoulders shaking incredulously. "Yah. Yah that... is going to be a bitch to replace," he agreed through a wide smile, his large hand resting atop Temperance's as she caressed his face. His smile slowly fell as he registered the blood on Temperance's face, her dress, her everything. He longed to clean it from her until the evidence was gone, until this night could be locked into a chest with all of the other bloody nights. "Let's get you back to the house. Here," Hugo handed her the silk hanky from his pocket and turned to find his long mink coat, an heirloom from his gather, happy to see that it was free of blood and glass, and he draped it around her slender shoulders. "Meet me in the car. I'll get Jonathan and Red to take care of this."

The domesticity she entered into to align with Hugo's life had its perks. She could be relatively sure of his safety at any given point and could spend much of her time with him. He was the most delicate of humans despite all of the posturing he did to prove otherwise. Temperance wanted to protect him from the world. And also devour him. Hugo was an obsession for her, her most prized possession, but also a companion. A piece of humanity she thought that she lost forever.

She could hear the blood of both men in the room. Hugo's rising panic was obvious, as was the anger in the stranger. Temperance shifted just slightly, ensuring that even when the gun was leveled at her forehead, Hugo would be as covered as possible. She almost smiled at the threat of violence. The problem was that while the wound wouldn't kill her, it would incapacitate her and possibly leave Hugo open to an injury. That was unacceptable. Just as she was about to move, Temperance heard Hugo. Almost in slow motion, Silas pulled the trigger and Temperance felt the bullet speed past her. The shattering of the mirror echoed the crack of the gun and Temperance launched herself forward.

When hunting, she was certainly more of a play with her food type. The increased fear just tasted better. She would draw it out, savoring each moment that her prey realized its proper place int he food chain. This was different. Her goal was to inflict as much pain as possible. Hazel eyes were rimmed with gold as her teeth grew. She tackled him and pulled his back to her chest, wrapping her legs around his torso and plunging her fangs directly into his neck. Her razor incisors were not used to drink this time but simply to rip. Warmth spilled over both of them as Silas weakly beat at her legs. It didn't take long before he stopped moving.

Temperance pushed the body away from her with disgust before looking to Hugo. There it was, that alien feeling tightening her chest: fear. What if he somehow got hurt? She stood and walked to him. Her silk dress was stained and the leg that was exposed by the long slit was covered in slowly drying blood. "Are you all right?" She asked, kneeling in front of him. They hadn't discussed it but Temperance knew her decision. If anything happened to him, she would turn him. She couldn't live without him. "I told you the mirrored wall was not a good aesthetic." With a gentle hand, Temperance caressed his face.

[bleubcrries]

@grapefruitey

Traveling during wartimes was a bold decision on Diana's part, but with the multiple attempts on she and Willow's lives, as well as Willow's brush with death, had awoken a fierce streak within her, a motivation to become unpredictable, a moving target of sorts. Ever since Rafael had come to her with evidence of food tampering, she wouldn't eat anything that didn't come from his hands alone, if she ate at all. She'd lost almost 2 stones the past few months, the stress literally eating away at her resolve. But finally, after two weeks of nonstop travel, through heavy snow and rain, Diana could finally smell the familiar heavy smoke on the air, alerting her to the forges of Willow's kingdom, no doubt hard at work creating weapons and shields to send off to their soldiers. Diana wasted no time pulling her scarf back over her face and opening the front curtain of the carriage to look up at her driver. "Straight to the front gates, please, Anatoly. There is no more time to waste." She ordered gently, her eyes pleading with tired urgency. "Da, mem," Anatoly nodded, shaking off his exhaustion and slapping the horses' reigns, urging them to go faster. Diana settled back into her seat, rubbing her cold hands around one another in efforts to create some heat. Her eyes settled on Rafael's rugged face and the bear that had grown along their journey, as he slept peacefully on the other carriage's bench. Tears settled in her eyes as she mulled over everything he'd done for her in recent times, to make her feel safer. But there was no more time for tears, for Diana could feel the carriage slowing to an abrupt stop, and the sound of armed guards aggressively questioning her driver. She couldn't blame them, in light of the attempts on their queen's life, but Diana couldn't waste anymore time, and so she dabbed her undereyes with the soft velvet of her cloak, and lifted the fur-lined hood over her head, before stepping confidently out of the carriage. "Enough, gentleman," she said, ignoring the wobbliness of her knees from her time in the carriage, "I have business with her majesty, and neither of us have time to spare." Diana watched the realization fall over the guards' faces, and the gates were creaking open in no time. "My men will bring the carriages in. I'll see myself in." And with that, Diana began walking towards the grand entrance, her tall figure making long strides and quickly crossing the courtyard to the front steps. She would find Willow herself, if she had to. There was much to discuss, on all fronts, but first, she desperately needed the warm embrace of her oldest and truest friend.

[bleubcrries]

Hugo's instinct to protect Temperance was one of love. He hesitated strongly to think of her as a weapon or a shield. Though he'd seen her wounds heal in seconds, seen her tear through their enemies with ease, felt the clean and easy force with which her teeth sank into his neck to feed; love blinded him to those things, and all he could focus on in these moments was that she was the most precious thing in his world. This is why he struggled to hold himself back when Temperance stepped forward, a velvety ease in her voice as she faced Silas, covering the view of the cavernous barrel of his too-big gun. His hands lowered slightly, staying slightly visible in the air so as not to cause Silas to make any sudden movements. Of course, Silas didn't like this. His brain was as simple as they come, and he struggled to compute most concepts, let alone being talked down to by a woman half a head shorter than him. And as always, Hugo had mixed feelings about Temperance's confidence. Knowing who she was, what she could do, he had every credence that she could take care of herself, and him for that matter. But Hugo was perilously human, and mortal to a fault. He always felt fragile, hence his previous penchant for remaining unattached to life itself, and he couldn't help but project that onto Temperance. If he and everything else in his life were so fragile, he was sure that Temperance's existence were no different. Her words, however, struck an unfamiliar chord within him, a feeling that tasted metallic on his tongue, and got his blood pumping the way he did when Temperance rolled her hips on his lap. Bloodlust, perhaps? "What's it to you, bitch?" Silas snapped at Temperance, looking her up and down, measuring her. Hugo could tell that he was restrained by his curiosity of Temperance's confidence-- he was sure that Silas was the kind of man who had beaten that conviction out of every woman in his own life. That said, Hugo was biting a hole in his cheek trying not to snap at Silas for using that language, and if Silas weren't so cowardly as to point a gun right to a woman's forehead, he would've already. Silas lowered his gun, level with the height of Temperance's face, his thumb slowly reaching up to cock the gun. Hugo's blood pumped loudly in his ears, panic turning his face beet red. "Get the fucking money, or the broad gets it." Silas demanded one last time, looking defiantly at Temperance. Hugo felt like he was frozen in limbo, wracking his brain for any way to get the gun out of Temperance's face. He couldn't just stand there, every nerve in his body was buzzing to act. So, as quickly as he could, he jumped two feet to the left, and reached toward his back for a gun that didn't exist. It was more than enough to cause Silas to panic, and panic he did, moving the gun with Hugo and pulling the trigger, sending a bullet wizzing past Hugo's head and into a large mirrored panel on the wall. Well, you've done it, now, Hugo thought to himself as he ducked, bracing himself for the wrath to come.

"The reason I continue to live." Temperance confirmed, beginning to move her hips against his while her lips remained secured to his neck. Nothing explicitly inappropriate but still enough for him to remember she was interested. God, more than interested. Obsessed perhaps. She was entirely obsessed with him. Hugo was the other piece of her that was always missing. Even when roaming around the cold and drafty castled of the early A.D.s, Temperance did not feel as connected as when she was with Hugo. No one else understood her. There was no one else that mattered.

Maybe at one time she still had impulse control. Surely there was a little voice in her head that screamed for a pause to the violence and bloodshed. Something that would stop her leap forward into violence. But that time was mostly buried or forgotten. If there was a version of her that could manage the pure spikes of raw emotion into something that was not simply based on impulse, Temperance forgot it. Her whole life was entwined around Hugo. She couldn't imagine another moment without him, even in the subservient and delicate position she was relegated to.

Temperance allowed Hugo to move her to the side, even allowed him to move in front. She was always amused by his antiquated ideals but the energy in the room was too violent to allow for even a moment of humor. Hugo did deserve the moment of superiority though. As soon as something happened, she would start to move. Human time was significantly slower. Nothing could happen to Hugo, that was the rule. Even if this Silas wanted some semblance of power, he was entering the room of a superior predator. Hugo didn't get to see the entirety of her violent side but it was there. More dangerous than a pride of lions separated from their children. As soon as the gun was pulled, Temperance rose to her feet.

She stepped forward, putting herself between Silas and Hugo. "Come on baby, you know he's not really in charge." She said with a small smile, moving as much of her body as possible in front of Hugo. "Don't you want to talk with the boss? Or even someone more entertaining? Come on, baby." A gun couldn't do anything to stop her but without Hugo's restraint, this skinny drug addict was bound to be ripped apart in moments.

[bleubcrries]

Being someone who had grown up in the city, sampling every drug thrown his way at least once, Hugo could confidently state that being with Temperance and being fed on by Temperance was a euphoria that had yet to be bottled-- and he's not sure that anything would ever match up. And though he was always chasing the high of that connection, he couldn't deny the butterflies in his stomach when he saw her, or the way his heart stuttered when he heard her sweet, steady voice. Something about her felt so unreal; ancient in the best way, like he had worshipped at her alter long enough for her to step into his realm and ravish him. "Oh, your livelihood, is it?" Hugo chuckled, his chest rising and falling with his deep, labored breaths-- he always felt like he'd run a mile after feedings. In truth, he'd never felt so.... loved by anyone before Temperance came along. Even his own mother couldn't have cared less if he had been dehydrated, hurt, or even dead in a ditch. And even though it was in his nature to be suspicious; somewhere deep down, he knew that she cared for him beyond the feedings. Almost nothing could've distracted Hugo from staring at Temperance with literal stars in his glossy eyes, but that something was walking up to his private room right that moment. Unprecedented, the curtain was ripped open with such fervor that a few of the rings popped off of the ceiling rod, and who should walk in but Hugo's number one customer: Silas. Though he stood only 5 foot 8 inches, Silas carried a pistol on one hip, and a fishing knife on the other, and was always coked up enough to take down a gorilla. And though Hugo knew that Temperance could protect herself (and then some), he habitually moved her onto the velvet couch beside him, and stood in front of her, reaching for the knife on his hip. Almost incoherently, Silas began shouting about how the batch he bought was shit and how Hugo needed to give him the money back. "You're fucking dreaming, Silas, get the fuck out of my club!" Hugo shouted, keeping one hand firmly around the hilt of his knife. He could see the redness and anger in the other man's eyes, he knew it wasn't going to be an easy fight, but he also wasn't going to back down and let the man start bullying him, especially not out of over three-thousand dollars. It was then that Silas pulled his gun, far sooner than Hugo anticipated, and he resolutely put his hands in the air, feeling the anger cause him to sweat profusely. "I'll give you the money tomorrow, man, I don't have it with me. You can't be doing this in my club, Silas, just come back tomorrow-- please-- someones going to get seriously hurt." Hugo pleaded, thinking of no one but Temperance. "That's the plan," Silas slurred, sweat beading down his red, pudgy face as he cocked his gun.

"However you would like." She was always the loosest after a feeding. Significantly more when it was from him. Regular people provided a bouquet of neutral flavors. Not unpleasant, but varying in levels of satisfaction. Hugo was everything. He overwhelmed her but in the best way possible. After she transitioned from humanity to the undead, Temperance was sure nothing would ever make her feel alive again. But Hugo would breathe and she needed to be right there with him. As he moved her hips against his, Temperance brushed her teeth against his neck. The fangs were not fully retracted but she didn't break the skin again. He should have been a ruler in her time. The king dominating over continents with a bloodthirsty army lead by her on horseback. Instead he was the king of a dark and loud club. One that replaced bacchanal brothels with loud music and velvet booths. She would serve him anywhere.

"Not a matter of worrying. It is simply taking care of my livelihood." Although that wasn't it. Surely they both knew it. She wanted to claim that she held on to her individuality as long as she could but the truth was that he was the piece missing in her afterlife. Her life before finding Hugo was filled with bloodshed but it was always unexciting. There was no passion. One hand moved up to toy with the buttons on his shirt, already half unbuttoned but not enough for what she had in mind. "You have had six and the scotch negates the water." Temperance added. She wanted to kiss him, to press against him until she was safely absorbed into his world. "Better." She kissed his thumb, both out of affection and for the remnants of nourishment. "How are you feeling? Do I need to get you something to eat?" Despite what he said, she would make him eat and drink something healthy by human standards. Losing Hugo to something as insignificant as lack of vitamins was unacceptable. Although that would mean that she could be with him for eternity.

[bleubcrries]

Much of Hugo's way of life stemmed from his fear of feeling fragile, and dealing drugs was, unfortunately, one of those ways. He found an unscrupulous gratification in being the only sober one in a room full of people who filled his pockets to the brim for their own inebriety. And he remained that way; sober and rich, until he met Temperance. It'd been amusing from the beginning, to Hugo, that temperance was about moderation, and there hadn't been a moment since meeting her that he had taken her in moderation. There was no dosing of Temperance for him; he wanted every kiss, every touch, every smile, every drop of whatever she would give him: and it turned out that what she could give him was control. It was that control that gave him the freedom to be fully enveloped by Temperance, and begin using the very drugs that paid for his lavish life. He was careful, still wary of losing control, but with Temperance by his side... he felt indulgent, and unstoppable. A throaty laugh bubbled lazily from Hugo's chest, and he gave a cheeky grin as he gripped Temperance's hips and easily lifted her up to pull her closer against his hips, smiling up at her with a glint of mischief in his eye. "We can give them a show if you want to but I quite like keeping you all to myself." Feeling Temperance's soft, blood-dampened lips against his feeding-scarred neck, Hugo suppressed a throaty groan, habitually grabbing a fistful of his lover's dress, searching for any sort of purchase to keep himself from getting too horny in his place of business-- despite the many times that he and Temperance have run each other ragged in this establishment. "Oh, you worry too much," Hugo teased, giving a playful shrug and a scoff. "There's water in a scotch and soda. And I've had, what, five of those?" Hugo raised a thumb and wiped a smear of blood from Temperance's bottom lip, feeling his insides flutter at the sight. "How are you, uh, feeling?"

She was centuries old and never before was there something as simple as a voice that could stop her. Especially when the hunger was overwhelming her diminishing human side. That was until Hugo. At the surface, he was just average. A normal human, albeit an attractive one. But the moment she smelled him it was all over. She was addicted. She craved him every moment, even enough to reveal what she really was. The risk of death was worth it to just spend one more moment with him. Temperance forced herself to calm as she felt the gentle touch at her hip. "They would enjoy it." Temperance breathed after a few moments, still straddling his lap. But he was right. This was too much for his body especially with the delicious substances he injected. She leaned in to his neck again but instead of her sharp teeth, she traced her lips along his humming artery. "You're dehydrated, Hugo." Temperance murmured. "Alcohol is not equal to water." If only moving away from him wasn't so difficult. He was too fragile and too mortal.

[bleubcrries]

Hugo knew that no one ever remembered what happened at these parties; the people who frequented his club had a tendency to arrive with enough drugs in their system to take down a rhino. It was the perfect hunting ground, both for his business ventures and for Temperance's.... appetite. However, this evening, even in the smoky corner of his club, mostly hidden by dark red drapes of mesh and silk, Hugo worried that someone would stumble in at any second now, see the blood that was no-doubt dripping from Temperance's lips, matching the cluster of patterned bite marks on the nape of his neck. Though the drugs in his system and the euphoria of being fed upon and mostly dulled his senses, Hugo found it somewhere within himself to settle his large, warm hand on Temperance's arm, and weakly, desperate utter her name. "Enough for now, dove." Hugo had one hand resting idly at his lover's waist, and he squeezed at the skin of her hip and tilted his head back against the velvet couch, to look up at her enchanting face through a blurred haze. "Someone... someone could burst in at any moment," he told her, lifting his hand from her arm to the nape of her neck, brushing her soft brunette hair from her face, "wouldn't want to cause a scene in our own club, would we?"

open to all ; based on the second bullet point in this

Temperance stopped. The restraint was almost complete except for the flexing of her fingers with their dangerously sharp nails. She let out a long breath. Their voice cut through the noise in her head. Her fangs were still extended and desperate to sink in, to tear through skin and drink until she was filled. But not with their hand on her arm and their smell beginning to overwhelm her.

[bleubcrries]

i need distractions that aren't work :|

[bleubcrries]

@grapefruitey

Eudora's family had been a part of Whidbey Island since long before anyone named Whidbey ever came along. They'd farmed in these hills, fished in these waters, hunted in these forests, built homes made of this stone and fed their fire with these trees. And yet here Eudora was, hundreds of years later, praying that her rusted old buick didn't crap out on one of these winding Whidbey back roads before she could get her lyft passenger into town. The radio had stopped working the day before after a particularly cavernous pothole, and the only sound in the car was the irregular clanging of her exhaust pipe being held on by a wire hanger and a prayer. So, Eudora took a chance and cleared her throat, preparing to strike up some sort of conversation that would hopefully get her more than two stars. "So, what brings you to Whidbey?" she asked, trying her best to take this winding turn with as much grace as possible, "We don't get much tourism this time of year, what with the storms and such. You visiting family?"

[bleubcrries]

Life in London had been such a stark difference to this old island of his. Where London had Oxford, Whidbey Island had Laguna Bear University. Where London had Palaces and Stonehenge, Whidbey had 200 year old chapels and ghosts. One of those ghosts-- for Jack, anyway-- was Wolf. For years, Wolf was all that Jack could think about. He still had a box hidden deep in the depths of his moving truck that contained old polaroids of London, and letters about all of the places he would take Wolf in the city. Letters that he meant to send, and ones that he knew he would never, ever send. However, those letters were like the curse-bound books in the back of the Whidbey Public Library; never to be opened, never to be read.

But no matter how wrapped in twine and sealed with wax those old memories were, it took all of two very long seconds for them to come roaring back and smacking Jack right in the face. Wolf looked so different, so grown, his entire face had changed, his body; stronger, he was even taller, now, matching his own height, it seemed. But there were still little ghosts of the old Wolf in the man standing before him, those same piercing eyes that Jack still sometimes saw in his dreams, and the ability to make Jack-- a man who talked for a living-- lose all of his speech abilities.

"Wolf," Jack repeated, as if saying it three times would wake him up from this strange dream he had somehow entered. After a few moments, he remembered himself, and straightened up, blinking hard a few times before the blood returned to his brain and he became human again. "I-- I'm sorry, I just-- I can't believe it's really you. I-I mean, I can, because I'm the one that left, and, like, this is your town-- I mean, it's not your town, I didn't know if you'd left or not, I-I just, I guess I meant that I didn't know I'd see you right away--" Jack came to a grinding halt, reaching beneath the bar to quietly pinch himself for blabbering so incessantly. "I- I just mean... hi. Hello. It's-it's really good to see you, again."

Wolf did think he would leave. For years, that was all he wanted. The freedom to walk down the street and not be greeted with someone who knew him when he was a toddler. He wanted adventure and freedom and a break from being Little Raine or Tiny Wolf. But it turned out that Wolf just needed to return on his own terms. The world just wasn't what he wanted. So he came back, put all of his meager savings into buying the majority of the bar and moved back in with his mom until he could afford his own place. After a few years, he could confidently consider his bar was successful. The walls were decorated either with murals he did or with art he and his mom thrifted. They had cocktails, local beers, and pretty fair menu of non-alcoholic options. It was a good place and Wolf was happy.

"You want to open up a tab or pay as you go?" Wolf was already turning around to pick a glass out of the freezer when he turned back around to the newcomer. It took a few moments. So many people passed through the bar that he only bothered to remember the regulars. But that was a face that was familiar. "Jack?" One syllable but it carried so much weight. He looked down at the bar, the gorgeous red wood that he polished every other month to make sure that it always looked more beautiful than when he walked in as a young teenager to get served illegally. "Uh, hey. Hi." The glass was so cold it was sticking to his hand but he couldn't move. Was this a trap or a trick? Wolf was just lucky he hadn't already started pouring the beer or it would be puddling on the floor. "Welcome back man."

[bleubcrries]

for @grapefruitey (as are all good things in this world)

How could the air still smell the exact same after ten years? The same old smells of decadently buttery croissants from suzie's bakery, freshly printed ink from the Independent's offices, and a touch of cigar smoke from the old veterans playing cards around the corner; they all smacked Jack in the face with a familiarity he was heretofore unprepared for. He had become an entirely different person, everything about him had changed and evolved, for better or for worse, and he thought that he would be strong enough to cross city lines and return home without such violent stirs of old feelings; but here he was, staring at that same old gazebo, feeling like his entire past had finally washed ashore to be dissected after disappearing for a decade. And that was his limit, reached all too quickly; he wasn't going to be able to do this sober. Luckily, everything in this tiny town was always a stone's throw away, so his feet went on autopilot and carried him to the doors of the local bar. Inside, Jack immediately recognized old faces sitting at booths and tables; school friends and old teachers, family friends, and even a plumber who'd briefly dated his mother. But none of them recognized him. He'd like to blame the test of time having weathered away all of his boyish features, but truthfully: he was trying to remain as invisible as possible, and it was working. Jack pulled his baseball cap a little lower, and his canvas jacket a little tighter, and sat at the bar, distracting himself idly with the beer list on the bartop. He felt the presence of the bartender before him, and he offered a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes, still (poorly) pretending to read the beer list, despite knowing he was going to order what he always ordered. "I'll have a Guinness on draft, please," Jack uttered quietly with a polite nod, before he finally dragged his tired, red eyes up from the card stock and found himself momentarily breathless at the sight. "W-Wolf?"

[bleubcrries]

Arturo had never been one for the open water, despite spending nearly every summer of his life on the coast of Yucatan. He'd always been partial to the swamps, where he would climb out onto the thickest mangrove roots he could find, stay as quiet as a mouse, and wait for a crocodile to swim by, or an ocelot to slink up to the bank to drink some water. Out here, though, he felt like he'd shrunk to the size of thimble, and that the sea could swallow him whole whenever it so chose. He supposed he was safer with Rosalie, sure, she seemed so comfortable on the ocean that he half expected her to sprout gills and a tale and join the waves herself. Hell, she might swim back to shore anyway when he tells her what he's dragged her out here for. "Well, when I tell you why, Miss Rosalie, I'm going to have to beg that you just trust me." Arturo takes his hat off, blinking the harsh sun spots out of his eyes as he rests the hat onto the bench beside him. "Four ships, now, have gone missing near these coordinates. Only one survivor has surfaced, but he was so freaked out that he was just muttering nonsense, and the hospital had him admitted into a psychiatric wing. He talked of 40-foot tentacles, and a ship that appeared seemingly from nowhere, so large that it swallowed their fishing boat whole. And, as a woman of science yourself, I was hoping you could help me investigate these waters and... hopefully give this man some peace. I think perhaps he was caught in a bad storm, or maybe witnessed a humpback whale breaching out of the water. It's very unlikely we will come upon a 10-ton monster squid or a mammoth ghost ship."

open to all 30+; your muse contracted out her oceanography services. could go horror, could just be fun ?

Rosalie set the destination in the ship’s computer after manually steering them out of the harbor. Her equipment was safely stored in waterproof containers but she still didn’t have any idea what she was there for. “So mysterious destination is set. Now will you tell me why you hired me?”