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What you’ll see me in before the performance. After? Well, that’s a secret. 

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Preparation

tTime: 5:00 pm

Location: Les maison des danseurs de brume

Status: open to all

“Lys,” Gilgamesh said, raising her hand towards Atlas, a worried expression on his face, her dark brows furrowing together. “You have to--” “I know Gilly,” He said, a snarl climbing on his lips, his bare and bandaged torso tingling with the cold air of the airconditioning filling the room. The night would make the air freezing, maybe even form mist on the grounds, but it kept Malia’s flaming throat cool for the night. Her fire dancing was exceptionally beautiful but absolutely deadly. “If I didn’t have the capacity to walk I wouldn’t be sitting in a wheelchair. Also, everyone wouldn’t have heard me screaming my head off last night. I have dealt with much worse.”  “How could anyone fall asleep?” She chuckled as he rubbed her eyes, dark bags printed on her skin from last night. “You made Tilia cry last night.” He motioned her hand to the girl with the sapphire blue hair and pale skin doing vocal warm-ups with Persephone, An actual Siren, sitting in her own wicker-made wheelchair, her fishtail covered by a quilt and a container of water melded onto the back of her seat. She laughed and Atlas lifted his head from his hunched over posture, a sequenced dress in his hands, made for Gilgamesh for her finale scene, laced with gold. Atlas ran his hand down the seams and knicked at fibers.

He huffed at her before, gently placing the delicate dress down with the other costumes taking the loose shirt he left unchecked over a chair and placed it over his head. “Are the lights checked?”

“Yes.” “The performers?” “Nervous...and excited.” “And you?” He asked, tone flat. He shifted his shoulders slowly, rolling them forward and back, the tingling sensation running up and down his spine like 

She lowered her hand to her stomach, then lifted her chin to Atlas. “I am severely hungry.”

Atlas chuckled and took her hand, his fingertips shaking as he felt the coolness of her olive skin against his own pale white flesh. He felt like a Desdemona, no foresight other than the world a few centimeters from his person, his vision was clear like something had scrubbed his eyes clean with turpentine. It was a weird feeling. He felt the weight of Gilgamesh on his arm but to his perception she, and nobody else was there. It was like a fog, he was walking on glass and his footsteps echoed into the world further. He wanted to touch his back, rub the butt of his palm across his shoulder blades, he felt something to folding beneath his muscles, bulking them up. It made him feel more unnatural than he already was. The bandage wrapped around his chest didn’t help him. It lifted weight in weird places and made him feel, breathless. As a human would say it, he didn’t need too much air. He carried himself weighted in confidence, like stones. “Boss,” Cerberus ducked under the door arch and his three heads gave him a dog smile. Ludden, Orcos, and Henry nodded and shoved their hands into their pockets, their black slacks covering his human legs like a glove. “You’re up,” Henry said, his ears twitching as sounds clicked their attention. “You shouldn’t be up, Boss, you should be asleep.. .or something low maintenance,” Ludden said, his head bowing low. 

“Why haven’t you three split up yet?” Atlas let Gilgamesh’s hand slip from his elbow. “You’ll scare the humans away. I don’t want to have sales back down.”  Ludden perked his head immediately, his brown irises turning into a mesh of gold and amber, Orcos growled, barring his pearly white fangs. His breath smelled like mint and Henry just barked. He jerked back and held their right hand over his mouth, surprised by himself. They looked at each other, golden eyes meeting black and sterling ones. The Cerberus triplets removed their overcoat and unbuttoned their cuffs.

Then, the floor beneath them erupted into blue pentagram, designed with symbols. It was beautiful, yet it beckoned more than anything, power from hell.

Skin gave away to muscle as a flurry of blue, maroon and green smoke trailed across their body. The skin between their heads ripped, cleaving away as if cut by a blade. They snarled, snapping their jaws and foaming at the mouth as their dog features melted away. Then they split, missing appendages forming in place of missing ones. It was ugly, to say the least. Their inner workings were bare. A heart once shared cut itself in, it’s parts still beating. “Does it hurt?” Gilgamesh asked. 

“Not exactly,” Ludden said, a half-formed smile stretching across his muscle wrapped skull. 

“It’s like split hair,” Henry explained, shaking his head and folding his hands behind him.

“Makes us cranky.” Orcos winced as his ear reformed, brown skin already starting to layer across his bare chest. 

As the brother’s reformed, smoke erupted from their feet, circling them like a column. They all tilted their heads up.

Atlas closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He heaved a sigh as the light, the smoke, and the colorful loss themselves to the air. Fully clad in a fashionable style, the Cerberus brothers smiled at Atlas, fangs tipping at their cheeks. 

“How do we look?” Henry asked, fixing his striped shirt and suit coat. “I think we perfectly look human.”

“I think we look chipper,” Ludden said as he twirled a lock of his braided hair. 

“Hmph,” Orcos said and walked away. “I don’t prefer this. I don’t prefer this at all.”

Atlas straightened, looking back to Gilgamesh. He pursed his lip. “Keep preparations for tonight. I want everything to be better than fine.” 

“Yes, sir.” The remaining triplets saluted then went in separate directions. 

“I understand.” 

As he watched Gilgamesh leave, he couldn’t help but think about the tiny heartbeats that pattered against his ears. Turning around, he felt like he was walking in circles around the place, checking every little thing that perked his sense of spatial reasoning. He sighed again, flaring his nostrils as motivation dripped from his orifesces like water. 

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↞    BOOK I. CHAPTER II , PAGE 33.   ↠

↞    The Siren’s Den is opening it’s doors   ↠

Their red curtains will rise and the convention of spectaculars are ready to make jaws drop. The theme of tonight’s show case is the CONSORTS OF LOSS && THE LATE NIGHT CABAREY featuring ORPHEUS, JANUS, HADES, PATROCLUS && PERSEPHONE. To tell an intricate stories of deaths and betrayals among a band of pub performers. They will bring fire and tears to the beholders as they wrap you around their fingers. 

All specie are invited but be wary, the Authority’s Guards will be posted among the shadows and they will be always ready to bite so keep a good behavior ( Please, do not eat staff ).  The night will feel young as you explore the L A   M A I S O N   D A N S E U R S   D E   B R U M E, entertainment and the feast will be exquisite, brought from the far reaches of the world and beyond.  

The Red Room will be open for any customer that lusts behind the folds of red silk and hides behind the smell of Ecstasy, there is no shame. We in the Den are welcoming those who kiss like imps, and we will would be happy to serve and entertain you. Drinks will be served at the bar by ACHILES, the bull of a bartender wrapped in jealously and gossip. He will entice but do not fret, he means you no harm.

As do the curtains beckon tales of wonderment, so does murder come into the halls uninvited and unprecedented… 

Keep reading

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Vampire: The Masquerade - Bloodlines

Santa Monica_2

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What I should have had during the Great Fire.  God bless Soundcloud. 

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Rome, Italy. 2016 I am the blaze on the trail. 

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“Friends. Old dead friends.” Atlas smiled as he remembered them. Though, what came to him had more blood on the walls than happy memories of drinks and slaps on the back. “Though I suppose accumulating wealth since the fifteenth century helped as well.” 

He was wheeled out in a wheelchair, a soft velvet padding placed down with strips of electrical tape. Furiosa, her hands pressed on the handles, her own wings unlike his which were braced by a weird wired contraption that held positioned half stretched. (Thanks Asklepios) Furiosa’s wings were held taut, brown and black feathers beautifully kept clean of dirt and grime. Her eyes were placed upon Billie, traveling down her face to her neck. “Better not scratch those.” She warned, a sneering starting to appear on her face. One of her hands eased on her ax handle.

“Shh, Furiosa,” Atlas said and tilted his head up at her, “As much as I dislike people barging into our home,” Then he suddenly sneered at her, fangs ready to take a bite or if he had no strength to, to blast a collum of fire down her gullet. He would have Mysander clean up afterward, though the thought of erupting more fire from his chest would make his stomach curl with frustration. Eyes glowing with murderous intent, he asked her, in a venomous yet arbitrary tone. “No matter how...infuriated I am, who are you dear?”

Tapping his fingers eagerly onto the armrest as he combed over her for a moment, taking in Billie. He knew, by the faint scent of blood and the perfection of her face that she was like him a vampire, but not one he had seen so far. She was certainly not one of the authority. No commanding air around her, a messenger perhaps. He did not like the options of who sent her in his head.  “And how the fuck did you get into my theater?” His eyes switched from her to the doors. Had Cerberus taken one of their agonizingly long breaks or had they just suddenly not cared about what Atlas would do to them when he was out of the dumb chair the couple Asklepios and Furiosa kept him imprisoned in until he could fly again. 

What Counts as a Playground | Billie & Atlas

La Maison des Danseurs de Brume. Roughly translated to House of the Mist Dancers. Very roughly, mind, her French was limited to the little bit of patter she had learned years ago to gossip with a Parisian vampire she was trying to woo. Regardless most people called it by its nickname, the Sirens Den. Billie hadn’t had much chance to visit it, though she’d rushed in to catch a show one night, again an attempt to romance a young lass.

Still, she knows the venues owner. Atlas. Her boss’ chosen arm candy for opening night at the club, a member of the Authority. She thought it was far past time for her to get better acquainted with the place. She’d actually only arrived in town the day of the club opening, and with the chaos of that night there had not yet been much time for an ambling exploration of her current home, so she was making up for that now.

The days show had just ended, and Billie employed her grace and speed to slip through the leaving crowd, pushing against the direction they pulled, finding herself in a theatre without bother. It was an opulent place, with eye catching fixtures and elaborate carvings in the walls. She wanted to climb about the place like a monkey, but resisted the urge for now. That was probably a sure fire way to end up on Atlas’ bad side, and normally she wouldn’t give two shits about that sort of thing but Billie had a vested interest in making nice with the man.

He could control an element, after all. She’d already learned a lot from Astarte, but there was only so much the intangible air could teach you about the solid earth. Granted fire was elusive too, but at least a little more grounded.

Ideally, Billie wanted to talk to someone else who controlled the earth like she did, but no luck so far. Whatever. She meandered the aisles, dragging her fingertips across plush seating and approaching the stage. Her plan had been to slip backstage and find the man himself, but he found her first.

“Before you say anything, I have to ask… What exactly would I have to offer you in order to get permission to use this place as an absurdly fancy climbing wall?”

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Vine of Vernacular

Location: Les maison des danseurs de brume Time: 14:52 a.m  Status: open to all

What harbored in Atlas’ soul was a mix of fury, pain, resentment and the tingling and lingering touches of the poison that had grasped his nerves. His head and fingers jerked, a set of spasms erupting and spreading like viscous syrup. It was like having your nerves dull and your muscles tighten. Fatigued had seized him by the eyes, he staggered, still wearing his suit, blood left dried and browning on his skin, Atlas, for once felt gross. Sweat had meddled, sticking cloth to flesh and hair, God his hair, was far from the crowning glory he had always set it to be. 

What had unfolded next was a blur, he had staggered through the early hours, wings dragging painfully behind his steps, they caught on almost everything that laid on the road. And those pulls, the moments of tension made him fall to his knees and bite his lip hard enough to draw rivulets of blood. He felt crippled, his senses were dulled, a haze of white noise clouded his hearing and his mind, an endless replay of what happened, the sickening crack, the horrible tremor that told him something had gone, something had lost connection. 

“My wings,” He remembers him mumbling from the late night. Atlas was silent now, he had been silent since he recognized the old-fashioned street lamps that dotted the performing arts street he had strolled back in the nineteenth-hundreds, cane, purely for show, clacked across the cold streets. The sweetest times, the growing stage of his empire. He had 

Hand trailing the walls, nails dulled from him chewing incessantly, Atlas’ touch had become so sensitive, bumps of uneven stone or plaster made his skin feel cold and flushed. What was in his mind? In his heart? Something that bled out into his lungs. It felt like oil, it gnawed at him, eating away at his awareness. His vision was blurring again, would he pass out again in the street? People would see him, stare, use their mobile devices to capture him in digital history. He hated cell phones. Blatantly comparing them to the modern day narcotics. Like mary jane and moonshine. It was one of the things he wished he missed in man’s history. People in urban cities have lost touch with themselves, finding a fake solace. He didn’t want that, he never wanted to be a part of that. But then another thought slid through his dwindling consciousness: he never asked to be a vampire either. Sneering at the thought, solving unearthed issues didn’t seem appropriate at the time, reluctantly, Atlas rubbed his eyes.

Stumbling into the lobby, the first to realize it was him was Cerberus, the triplets. The three-dog-headed humanoid, if that was the correct term, he called his most trusted affiliate and at some point in their relationship after two hundred years, a friend. Clad in a bathrobe, a nightcap for each Doberman head in red, white and blue and some furry pink slippers that, as far as Atlas could recall insisted they were slippers, looked more like booties by the way it was custom made and hiked up their canine limbs. “Ah, shit boss.” The head, farthest to the right, Ludden, said. “What happened to you?”

“You look like a piece of shit boss.” Orcos, the middle head said. “Like we chewed you up then spat you out.” “Orcus, you’re not helping,” Henry said as he moved their arms to snatch up Atlas, supporting his torso, pressing against his ribs. They smelled like kibble, probably a midnight snack. Grumbling under his breath, Atlas shook his head at them, a furious glare into their three pairs of wholly black eyes. “Get me Asklepios and Furiosa.” He ordered, he hissed as he unconsciously moved his wings. “I’ll be in the--” He heaved as he found what little strength left to stay upright. “ Chapel.”

“The Chapel boss?” They all turned their head to him, muzzles almost pressing his cheek, “Don’t you want your bed boss?”  “Did I fucking stutter? The Chapel.” He said, lips parched and throat ready to burst into an erratic frenzy of thirst. “Bring Hesoid too.” 

In the dorms, the rooftop apartment was his, Asklepios had slapped him, hands flying in a graceful yet soul ripping fury. But then he grumbled, uttering words below his breath that placed Atlas on the lowest of the man’s standards. Furiosa on the other hand, the stoic Valkyrie, crossed her arms over her chest. Cerberus and his three heads watch on, talking amongst themselves, whines and growl repetitive as their eyes darted from one point to the other. 

“YOU THINK?” Asklepios yelled as he examined his wings, Atlas, stomach flat against a fully spread out recliner in front of a hearth, it’s domed funnel sticking in and out the glass window. “HOW ARE YOU NOT SURE?”  “I told you,” Atlas heaved and hissed as he felt the fleeting and smooth touch of his fingers against his scale and leather textured wings, “I don’t know. It was all a blur.”  “Asi,” Furiosa cooed at her lover, her knuckle grazing his cheek for comfort and calling onto his calm, her wings shifted, tucking tighter together. Atlas blinked opened his mouth to talk yet Furiosa’s eyes, alight with commanding force to be silent made him relent. Pressing his cheek into the cold leather he watched as Furiosa rubbed Asklepios back, running down from his nape to his lower back, porcelain white hands looking warm in the firelight. She leaned forward to his ear, “We don’t want our debt Lysander to bleed to death, do we? You cannot pay your depth sweet thing.” 

Then he perked up, through the pain of his back and the branding stare of his healer, Atlas mimicked the attitude of a meerkat, eyes wide and ears open to the rhythmic clack of shoes. 

“Someone’s in the house.”  He said and he saw Cerberus turn to the door and Furiosa reach down her back to reveal a tomahawk. 

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The Categories of the Siren’s Den 

Bands are tattooed onto a crew’s skin, it can be obvious or not. 

Saint’s the plain. Those who side with the moral code of righteousness, bands of strong leather. 

Muses, lovely and delicate, hold the thinnest strings, hearts made of either gold or coal. Demented, people of infamous deceit. Might as well be crowned with thorns. 

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“Get on the yacht, wicked friends. Vampires aren’t meant to be afraid of water.”

Toni Mahfud

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What have you, friend?

I wait for it, eyes unblinking.

Do you crave it?

Eternally as you do.

Modern Deities:  H A D E S — God of the underworld

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Medusa darling, how good of you to come to us in such a grievous time. I’m sorry I called you here on such short circumstances, but we are all happy to meet you. Oh. . . . hissss hiss hiissssssssssssss hiiiiiiiis. 

greek mythology: medusa

“the copper taste of betrayal.”

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I have no race prejudices, and I think I have no color prejudices or caste prejudices nor creed prejudices. Indeed I know it. I can stand any society. All that I care to know is that a man is a human being-that is enough for me; he can’t be any worse.

Mark Twain (via wordsnquotes)

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My mouth is a fire escape. The words coming out don’t care that they are naked. There is something burning in there.

Andrea Gibson, “I Sing The Body Electric, Especially When My Power’s Out,” The Madness Vase (via wordsnquotes)

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BOOK ONE, CHAPTER TWO ➳ ❝  I SING THE BODY ELECTRIC  ❞

Brakebills’ one and only strip club. Don’t forget your wallets at home, ladies & gentlemen !! Come if you are seeking to indulge your greatest desires. Housed and concealed over the Armana nighclub, it’s owned by an extravagant yet private woman. The owner has somehow been able to keep her identity completely hidden from the public - even her landlord. This is so her employees who are extraordinary won’t fear of being exposed. 

                              main | story| map | citizens

         ACCEPTING EVERY MON. WED. & SAT.

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What i sing is the lore of my people, the hymn of the forgotten. How dare you think I sing of crazy

Atlas Diem, September 23, 1941 to Sergeant Louis Schneider of the 14th Platoon of the German Natzi Army