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[iscorruptions-blog]

honeycrafts:

    she likes her magic to be calm and productive, but she gets a certain satisfaction from throwing a deadly spell with the intention of slicing down ivy. she turns to the witch with her, smiling over her shoulder and says,  ❝ can you try that one? we should be able to get the greenhouse clear in an hour or so with two.❞

      ★    @iscorruptions  ★

her magic was a mix of both; the calm, the deadly. she’d tried to come into contact with every kind of magic, the ones she could get her hands on, and learn the ways of both the kinds she liked, and those she didn’t. she met eyes with agatha. a serene looked sat on her face; contentment, she thought. she was around other witches often, but generally as a teacher. her place in the world shifted, here. she couldn’t help but be a little greedy for that kind of peace. “i think so. how long do we have?”

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nightinghoul:

          ❝ Performing live jus’ ain’t practical in this weather. You wanna come hear my ass sing get yo’ behind on Youtube and pray!❞

“anything a girl can do the change your mind? we pay real good. top notch entertainment system and all that in the club.”

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setting the scene, that previously mentioned god awful place that our technopath friend magda was running away from? it welcomes dee williams with open arms. magda had not a lick of evil in her, even with the unnatural amount of greed. it doesn’t look sinister from the mainland, nor from the bridge that gives access, but it takes one to know one. no doubt coming in, dee knows the smell of it, even just a little.

and she likes clubs, and milana knows she likes clubs, so when she comes she’s ushered into a place that will feel familiar, a scene she knows back and forth. valentine’s is not the mockingbird. valentine’s is not the iscariot. in fact, for somewhere, the island we mean, as evil and devouring as the place is, valentine’s is quite mellow. no sacrifice. no cults. the mayor is worshiped across the land so that’s nothing special. it’s run by a ghost, conveniently named valentine, a good friend of the mayor’s, who has been stuck within it’s walls for the past five years, since the war. it’s a nice place, it’s cozy.

their booth is near the bar. it’s midday, and almost completely empty, just the way milana likes it. valentine hovers behind the bar. something comes by to their drink orders. the mayor looks wistfully at her guest. “it’s all on me, do as you please.” it’s all on her. everything is on her. / @monsterchime

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monsterchime:

no, she doesn’t think he could have been. gabriel was never the most receptive. he was a protective older brother in his own way. di almost doubts she’ll ever see him again. it’s a funny thought given their actual proximity. a shake of her head.  “   more than you know,   “  diosa doesn’t kill vampires. at least, not the ones she likes. she’s got a reputation – just like her dead father , just like her ragged brother . ramoses can pick and choose who to kill. diosa disappears as she leans to open a counter. she rifles. she holds no surprise at the inhuman creatures that do make a home in vegas. she’s one of them . not human – not a wolf , not a vampire . not a ghost . her own unpleasant and grisly realm. she smiles as she draws back up to her full height . her smile is all teeth and all white , glistening as she leans over him. di brings a hand up to his face, taps.  “   be careful.   “  a sigh more than a scold. he’s a witch. he can hold his own. he clearly did. her hands press down on his shoulders for a moment and then push his jacket down. it’s gotta come off.

oh well then, there’s no loss on his side! “hm.” he doesn’t like that. his mothers had taught him to respect all kinds of creatures, under the assumption at the time that their son knew what empathy and proper respect were, and for the most part he could fake it well enough not to get himself into trouble. the law firm? they did good protection work but that doesn’t mean declan’s heart was exactly in it. it was a good practice. it was good money, better money he could get in any direction from any human clients. but he didn’t like that. their names were known well enough in those circles to not have targets on their backs. he was a sucker for revenge. the vampire was dead, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t nurse his wound. he lets her pull his jacket off, and does so with a groan --- pain. he was still in pain all the same. “i know,” he said. at least, he knew now. anger rolled off of him, silently. she no doubt knew the look. he wasn’t a hunter, but he’d picked up a few tricks of the trade from his talented and beautiful wife. the fact he kept weapons of all kinds in his office with him, all for the hunting of the supernatural, was an insurance policy that turned out.

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monsterchime:

she notices and she knows. ira doubts it’s something she’ll come to unlearn. bound to be an eternal push and pull, she doesn’t think on it too much. ira is fine without a father. fine without a mother. she has her siblings. her siblings are the ones that matter the most. tristan understands their plight, ira knows that, as well. tristan is intuitive and vulnerable to emotion. he finds it to be a strength, rather than an outright weakness. emotion and lack thereof is a powerful tool . good for business.  “   ah ?  “  ira wiggles and draws her sister into her arms, giggling as she lets a hand drift over indra’s stomach. she’s excited to be an aunt. she knows she’ll like that better than being a mother. she doesn’t think she can be a mother.  “    absolutely. i miss it.   “   she still thinks about going back there. it’s an impossibility. she has her family back. it was the death of her brother that brought her to the surface. a flickering switch, the water is always a medium somehow.   “   paga is always up for an adventure, “  a soft smile.  “   no,   “  the smile tapers off. she sees him everyday. they live under the same roof but she can’t talk to him the way she used to. it’s only transactional phrases. 

all indra’s ever wanted was to be a mother. not all, maybe, but when the want hit it came hard and crashing. she didn’t think she could have children. not with someone who wasn’t a kraken, and her options were limited down to her brothers. when she and tristian married she had no hope that their dna would mix properly and that their child would be anything other than an atrocity. she supposed that was still possible. but all was well. she was coming into the last stages. her child would likely be born in the same month she was. a capricorn, a good omen. “we can bring dinner with us. eat on the beach.” not needed, really, because the lot of them would find plenty more to eat than whatever garrett was cooking up but. she was eating for multiple. she was starving. “a shame, but.” she shrugs. almost a year had passed. luka still brought his girlfriend around, sometimes. indra did her best not to be unkind to her, when ira wished it. her sister’s unhappiness still haunted her. she could go better than all this.

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monsterchime:

aris can hear. he registers the soft hum of voices ; the different timbres and the exquisite sound of music pouring from within the house. the same house, manor, where his children reside . las vegas rumblings made their way to him. he might come as a surprise to them . perhaps not . aris runs in the same criminal circles and has been dealing the same kind of deals . chips off the old block, that’s what his children are . 

he blinks, brings his gaze up to tali’s face . he doesn’t process him as a threat but rather , as an opposite . someone composed of the sea rather than the sand . though , the two do have to join at some point . aris did see some of them leave ; three women . two , exceptionally tall, one a bit more than the other . exceptionally beautiful . one with a rounded belly , expecting . the other , a faraway look in her eyes . the third , shorter and innocently stunning . he thinks she might’ve looked at him . the women were sisters , he was sure , despite the differences in appearances . appearances. just as he knows the man in front of him has to be linked somehow . 

“  they’ll come back, yeah ? invite an old man in for a drink.  “ 

he knows nothing of the carmine’s origins, not really, and far less than his sisters do. he’s been with them a year, on land and in sea, and he’s not asked; he’s learned, but he hasn’t asked. he supposes in many ways their story is not his to take ownership of, and what does it matter, really? it hurts him that his own origins have forsaken him so much. death does that, but even before. it hurts him the same way it hurts his sister; their hearts are both large and easily touched. he was a king before, yes. maybe he still is. some cults out there remember him, and ira, and indra, as they do his father. but death made him soft. softer.

naphtali nods, his body language mirroring that of the other man. he put an arm out, a motion for the other one to enter the house again before him. it wasn’t naphtali’s home, not technically. he’d been welcomed back from the dead there with open arms. “yes, my sisters. they’ve gone out to the water. it will be late, but they’ll return. follow me.” he continues into the house. “who are you?” he can feel aris’s presence is that of land; hot sand sticking to his skin, the sun blazing down upon him. it had become a comfort, from his time with the carmines. yet, the sun and heat would never been his choice.

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monsterchime:

aris isn’t stuck. quite the opposite. free reeling. free falling. he can go wherever he pleases and that’s just what he’d done. traveled the world. sampled what it had to offer. forgot the scorching sand he’d been borne of. the world gave him another thing to sample: fatherhood, or so he supposes . aris does not know his children well, nor does he know if he will find his children worthy. no child of his will fail to meet his standards. he needs people who know what they’re doing. 

not much of an impression has been made on him. he’s come face to face with dante. tall and imposing, rather stoic, aris thinks. dante has the strides of a leader. 

las vegas does not sleep. it doesn’t need to. it gets all it needs from its inhabitants, inhuman or otherwise. if someone needs help, someone of worth that is, aris is a good person to come to. he knows what he’s doing. “  mhm ? “ 

magda doesn’t know him, either by face or by time; she was recommended by reputable sources. people who knew what they were about, knew their concepts, and knew what she was looking for. something to drag her out of her native land by her hand like the angels that pulled lot and his family from sodom before the destruction. the truth was, magda was tired. she had never expected herself to get up the gall to run from that place; she was hardened, calculated, and aggressive when she needed to be. but she, for years, had dealt with something that belonged on a plain of existence she didn’t dare go to. she hadn’t belonged there. it was far beyond her. she wasn’t being paid enough.

enough of that, though: the core of her reasons for coming had something to do with an alliance. that was a nice word for it, but what she wanted was a job. her job? she had been manipulating wall street for almost ten years. and not by natural means, mind you. on the surface, and the surface wasn’t all that good, she was a propagandist. made things that were very bad look very, very good to those that needed to be sold. magda had worked for governments. she’d worked for rebels, right or not. she’d worked for supernatural organizations, criminal and otherwise. and most recently, what she was running away from, she’d worked for a particular brand of eldritch evil she wasn’t interested in getting involved in again. and now she was in front of aris carmine. the help he could provide? listen to her. she had a whole lot to offer. she continued, “out of the blue, I realize, but I’ve been given good word that your organization might benefit from my services.” she doesn’t move, she thinks, and a manipulated and unreal computer screen unfolds in front of them, coming into existance as easily as any thought. technopath tricks. magda waves a hand. “references.”

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he hadn’t gone along with them to the waters. he could have, and in part he wanted to, but something drew him back into the house. music played softly from the kitchen where garrett was. he could hear dante’s voice, and olga’s a pitch higher, across the house.

and then, where he stood in the back garden, the desert garden, something else. tali had been a king at one point, a god. he knew. he knew.

“your timing is-inconvenient,” he said. “many of us are gone.”

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to be fair, vegas was as similar to the place she had come from as it was different. vegas had a tourist flare that her city, ransom - not her native city but the one she’d be stuck to, ball and chain, for as long as she could remember - ever could imagine to be. vegas welcomed tourists, whereas ransom pushed people away, although the fact was once you’d put your blood or your money into the city there was no coming out of it. magda had found herself in that situation. so many others had as well.

but that wasn’t what was important at the time. the fact she’d gotten out, a miracle, no less, was something she’d have time to muse over later. she was a businesswoman, and she was in a bit of a bind. she pushed her dark hair from over her eye to behind her ear. there was something to be said about the las vegas inhuman folks. she’d heard whispers about different things, she didn’t know what was true. all in all: she needed a little help. / @monsterchime

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monsterchime:

gabriel wasn’t someone to love. it makes sense the person who came to love him was just as destructive as him. diosa still talks with her mother. her beautiful mother. her innocent mother. her mother, the sole gentle touch from her upbringing. diosa doesn’t understand how her mother ever came to marry a man like her father. — she notices. blood, familiar and heady. brown eyes flicker to the food on the table and then to the blood plinking onto the ground. familiar. she tracks blood in a decent amount of time. she isn’t finished with hunting and it isn’t finished with her. people don’t get out of it. they die. “  hm, my ass. what’d you get into,  “  di’s on the move. doing her wifely duties. she knows how to mend.

he could have been better about it when her brother was around. declan, of all people, knew the meaning and the power of family. he knew. but it was neither here nor there, and there was a chance, a good chance if declan’s predictions landed correctly, they wouldn’t be seeing di’s brother for quite some time. declan didn’t care either way. he leaned back in the chair, farther than it seemed able to go, and closed his eyes, his arm out, rested across the table. blood pooled under there, too. it wasn’t all his, of course, and it had a specific tang of inhumanness. he grit his teeth. the jacket he had on had been a gift from his mother, suppose to last him through the apocalypse. It’s leather. “vampires in las vegas?” he asks. it might seem odd, it did to him at first, but realistically, there are other creatures that aren’t keen on the vegas heat making the city their home so - where’s the surprise. he just didn’t know about them. declan laughed. he was suppose to be an advocate for these kinds of things. not a victim.

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monsterchime:

ira’s observed how garrett has taken up cooking. she finds it fascinating and she likes to watch him, sometimes. she likes to perch herself on a wide, granite counter and flick water at him as he cooks. ira blinks at indra’s touch but it is welcome, so welcome. she misses her sister, even when she’s there. tristan is around. if the sound is something to judge, he’s in the bowels of the house with dante and paga. he loves paga like one of his own siblings, damned as they were. even luka.  “  you smell nice, “ a joke between krakens, perhaps. indra smells a little different though. rose-scented and happy. ira can’t wait to be an aunt ! 

he appreciates her attention as he’s always appreciated her attention. she has to notice that his hands shake, even then. even after all this time, when she looks at him like that. he remembers something, and then he lets it go. indra had come back from athens only a few days before, roping tristian into taking her while she was inclined to leave the country still. she went looking for their father, for their mother; she didn’t find them, yet again. it left a bad taste in her mouth, for all of the family, found and connected by blood, to be together like that, and for them to behind at the depths of the sea. she told him that, and he had been empathetic to her. but they were back. olga had bought her a new scent as a gift. olga looked happier, too; indra wondered what she had dante had been up to. she’d ask at a better time. “it’s not me, it’s olga this time,” she shrugged. indra wrapped an arm around her sister’s waist and hugged her some more. “you wanna drive out to the water with me after all this is over with?” a hand motioned towards the sound, and the smell of food. “i’m feelin’ a little achey for home. we can rope paga into it too, i bet.” she was round bellied and had been craving the water more often. a symptom. “are you,” she waved a hand, “speaking to luka?”

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declan didn’t think about her brother. he never had, even when he was only a stone’s throw away. call him heartless, uncaring, it didn’t make a difference. di was the only one from that family line had any reason to be in association with --- and for good reason. he moved - slowly. almost pained. did she notice his wound? her husband didn’t get into fights, scuffs, until he did. he came out victorious, but that didn’t mean he didn’t come away with scars. the ones he sported on his chest, neck, arms, they would heal. they would heal, on him. but they were still there. “hm.” he sunk into a chair. their place was immaculate, but for the blood that seeped down his leg and onto the white tile. he was suppose to have met her for lunch an hour ago. the food on their kitchen table was cold.

things aren’t easier. diosa doesn’t think of gabriel. sometimes, she can see the shadow of her lithe brother – angered and bloodied, hears him howl at the moon. she only thinks of him when she sees the moon, swollen. their separation might as well be a prophecy , he , the prodigal son. she , the othered daughter . di runs her hand through her hair and her fingers snag on knots, “   you’re late.  “  / @iscorruptions.

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monsterchime:

home means something. and she is home. it is good to be among her siblings, those back from the dead and thought dead. ira can hear paga’s distinct peals of laughter that verge on screams. she thinks dante might be unleashing his rare spot of humor. ira smiles, deep and the lines that come to her face give only a blush of her age. ha !  / @iscorruptions.

across the house, garret was in the kitchen cooking. he’d come into the hobby like a fish in water, no pun intended, and had become a better person in doing so. as better as he could be. indra spent her time with him, watching him work, but the smell became a little too much for her sense after a while and she excused herself into the other room - family, all of them, were spread out across the mansion. it was late afternoon. she didn’t see her husband, but it was alright. she leaned into where ira was, her head pressed upon her sister’s shoulder. “hi there.” she felt like she hadn’t seen her in ages. she hadn’t.

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