lustrcnt

[lustrcnt]

★ ( Dorian + Zād 😔 )

Send me ★ + a name of another muse / character in my muse's canon and they'll talk about their relationship with them

A long sigh escapes their mouth at the mere mention of their former mentor. "Mortals are so..... impressionable. I was like the rest of them. No different, besides my natural inclination towards magic."

A faint smile grows on their lips as they reflect their past.

"Dorian was a god to me. You can give and give to your god all you want. Your wine, your riches, all of the love you possess in your heart. You can leave it all on the altar and watch it burn, all because your god ask it of you." Mehrzād shakes their head. "Those Judeo-Christians, they were on to something. You love God for long enough, eventually, you want God to love you back."

"But Dorian is not a god of love. He is a god of selfishness. Of stolen power. Of goddamn pigheadedness!" Mehrzād snickers. "Humanity as a whole would be better off if his entire essence was wiped clean off this earth."

[lustrcnt]

Smash or Pass - Cait, Gael, Andi, Jasper, Nico (give me drama zād!)

"Ah! What a fun little game! Let's see."

"Caitlin Siltshore - Siltshore, now it's tempting. However, I have my own little dove that comes from the Siltshore line. What would I do with another? Pass."

"Gael Fiori - Very handsome. He's picked up in his role as leader of Reardon (and Kali's pet) rather naturally. Does that mean I would bed him? Hm." Mehrzād thinks it over. "He's something of a dreamboat. A lover I'd rather take overlooking the countryside of Tuscany. I certainly would, if he was still human and I could pretend I was drinking the finest Italian wine out of his gorgeous plump veins." Mehrzād sighs. "Alas, he is not human, but unfortunately a vampire. If only I had found my way to Port Leiry sooner." He shakes his head. "Pass."

"Andromache Waneoft - Mouthful of a name, but perhaps, she can afford it." Mehrzād smiles. "She's beautiful. Effortlessly elegant in a way only fortune can buy. I think I'd like to fuck her hard, then drain her completely, just to see if her death suits her as much as life does." They laugh. "Smash.""

"Jasper Felix - What a ray of sunshine. I suppose I could do something with this one. Buy a leather collar. Invest in a good leash. I suppose it would sort of fun to walk him around like the dog he is." They smile. "Smash."

"Nicolás Serrano - Ugh!" Mehrzād physically recoils like they're trying to push down a gag. "Absolutely not!" Mehrzād shakes their head. "Never in my life would you see me bedded with a hunter. PASS."

[lustrcnt]

WHEN? 9:33p

WHERE? Sitlshore Mausoleoum

WHO? @ofgarnett

Diving into one's own past, what good would it do? He tried to reason with himself, dammit, he did! He tried to remind himself there was nothing new to see here. But curiosity grabbed ahold of his raven colored curls. Thoughts of the mausoleum gnawed at him like a ravenous street rat.

Mehrzād has fought off his temptations long enough.

He'd learn of the Siltshore Mausoleum upon arriving to Port Leiry. Time passes, but the Siltshores remain. It made perfect sense this line would nestle their way into this city. After all, Port Leiry is the epicenter of all things supernatural.

Siltshore, one single name carries the heaviest of weights. His first love, when he was mortal, when he was a witch, was of this lineage. Marceline. The name still stirs his dead heart in the way old flames do. How easy it is, to be fond of the dead.

Perhaps, Mehrzād has a warranted interest. Perhaps he has every right to wonder what has become of this lineage, what has become of the Siltshore name?

This particular evening, as the summer air blows in the wind, Mehrzād arrives to the mausoleum with hopes to meet with a Caitlin Siltshore. There's no appointment set, no phone call has been made, no one is expecting Mehrzād in the mausoleum tonight.

According to his findings, this Caitlin is the only Siltshore remaining. How can an entire lineage be nearly wiped out? He wonders something else about this ancient family. Have the Siltshores been cursed in the same way Mehrzād has been? Are they haunted by the same ghost?

Dusk has long rolled in, as Mehrzād has grown used to the night. When he pulls upon the large door, the one that leads to the lobby, Mehrzād is relieved to find it opens easily. No locks needed to be broken.

When he enters the lobby, there's not a soul to see. "Hello," Mehrzād calls loudly, his voice booms and travels amongst the hallways of the building. "Hello," he calls again, "Is anyone here?"

Silence hangs in the air, as Mehrzād tries to listen for signs of life. He hears a faint sound of a controlled heart beat, letting him know, something living, infact, does haunts the walls of this mausoleum tonight. Are these the heart beats of Miss Caitlin Siltshore, the last living Siltshore?

[lustrcnt]

♫ - Nisha & Mehrzād

Send me a ♫ + a character/ship and I’ll tell you three songs I’d put on their playlist.

La Foule - Édith Piaf

Emportés par la foule qui nous traîne Nous entraîne Écrasés l'un contre l'autre Nous ne formons qu'un seul corps Et le flot sans effort Nous pousse, enchaînés l'un et l'autre Et nous laisse tous deux Épanouis, enivrés et heureux

Entraînés par la foule qui s'élance Et qui danse Une folle farandole Nos deux mains restent soudées Et parfois soulevés Nos deux corps enlacés s'envolent Et retombent tous deux Épanouis, enivrés et heureux

Translation:

Carried away by the crowd that drags us along Dragging us along Crushed against each other We become one body And the effortless flow Pushes us along, chained to each other And leaves us both Flushed, intoxicated and happy Swept along by the crowd that dances And dancing A crazy dance Our two hands stay together And sometimes lifted Our two entwined bodies take flight And both fall Full, intoxicated and happy

The Hustle - Kiltro

I swore I’d never leave My love, I just don’t wanna be without All of your disregard I swear to God, it tears me all up Where you live, not a sound My love, I just don’t know where you are I felt our synergy Our faultless, dauntless, curious love

Little darling Say did you mean it All of your thoughts split apart at the seams, well I know why you run I felt it for real On the thoughts of the day You get it worse when you start

Sonata for Violin and Guitar in A minor, Op. 2, No. 6, MS 26 - Niccolò Paganini, Scott St. John, Simon Wynberg.

(Classical Instrumental)

@nishaxeleazar

[lustrcnt]

“Decades are nothing but a blink to you and I!”

His loud, angry voice echoes throughout the auditorium. Something of a yell, but what it truly is, is the frustrated cries of the weary. How many times will she try to make a fool out of him? She's trying to unravel her unreasonable actions, as if she spins the thread through and through, somehow reason will magically appear. It won't. Excuse after excuse. How tiresome. How boring. Frankly, how untrue.

A tale as old as time, the people you love are bound to disappoint you.

Muscle memory must've taken hold of her tongue, but not her eyes too? Why don't they look at him with adoration anymore? Compassion? Love? Where is her love?

It's absolutely heart wrenching.

"Distracting yourself?" Mehrzād repeats, a concoction of both disbelief and bitter drizzled on his tone. A thin scoff flares out of his nostrils. “Putain, mais bien sûr. Tell me, sweet Nisha, how have you been distracting yourself? Hm? I'm dying to know, in what ways you have dried the tears you've cried for me?" They gesture to the entire theater. "This theater can't be the only thing you've built in my memory, is it?"

Humorlessly, drenched in sourness, a laugh lunges from his throat.

"My God, Nisha, all of these centuries and yet, you are still a fool!" He shakes his head and his black curls bounce with it. "What modern nonsense is that? Moving on?" His brown eyes narrow at her as he lets her nonsensical sentiment linger in the air. "There is no moving on, not when you and I are of concern. We are fucking eternal."

Muscle memory catches up with his own body, with one swift motion, he lunges his arm in her direction and captures her throat with his hand.

"Believe me when I say," Mehrzād continues, not easing his grip by a centimeter, "There is no me without you, no you without me. I would have been happier to hear word of you digging a wooden stake into your heart rather than witnessing you moving on. If you believed me to be dead, then dead you should have been too!"

As his desperate shouts echo back to them, there's a moment of silence. In this silence, against the shaky breaths of the tormented soul that is Mehrzād, he has a sinister thought.

"Perhaps," he begins once more, "I haven't asked the right question. Is it not what is drying your tears..." His grip tightens around her neck. Should I ask, who has been drying your tears instead?” His voice is softer now. "Tell me Nisha, is there someone else?"

As he continued to play with strands of her hair, Nisha fully expected his fingers to drift further upwards, finding her roots and gripping her hair tightly. Her imagination creating a scene in front of her where he gripped her scalp so tightly that he pulled out chunks of her hair as he forced her to kneel in front of him. Her eyes glazed over for a moment, lost in the potential situation he might put her in. The situation that she'd caused herself for not going back and checking to see if he was actually dead.

His voice -- both soothing her mind and causing an itch underneath her skin -- brought her back to the present. His question evoked an immediate answer: "Of course I did. How could you even ask that?" Her eyebrows furrowed at him, a half truth. Half lie. She'd missed parts of him; the times that were good. She missed some of the attention that he'd give her, the devotion. "It took decades for me to feel something other than sadness." Other than fear.

Nisha doesn't even relax as he releases her hair and takes several steps away from her. She's trying to figure out this game -- his next steps. His plans for her. She hadn't expected him to let go of her and walk away. "I was able to distract myself." She corrected him. Move on, well, she'd done that too. It didn't mean that he had to know that part, though. She wasn't going to admit to it. Not now.

"You're assuming, Mehrzād." Her voice hardened as she met his gaze with her own glare. "You've been gone for so long that you have manifested truths that aren't even real about me. About us." She refused to admit that yes, she had a plan. That if the hunters hadn't attacked them at that time, within the week, she would have tried to drive a stake through his heart. "It's been a century. I watched you die. At least, I thought I did. You can't expect me to not be shocked by your presence. To not have... tried to move on." Her voice was raised now, showing her frustration. "If it were me, if the situation had been turned around and it were me who died, I would have wanted you to try to move on. To try to create some life without me."

Nisha ran her free hand over her face as she let out a sigh. She couldn't believe that this was happening. That the life she'd created for herself was crashing down around her, all because she'd assumed that her sire had fucking died. And now, he was there, standing in front of the stage, expecting... her. The old her. The obedient her. Her eyes drifted towards the flowers, her lips dipping downwards. "We've both changed over the years, Mehrzād." It was an assumption, really. She had no idea if he was the same person as before. "I'm glad you made it out alive." For Julieta, at the very least. "But I've been a widow for a century and I don't know where that puts us, currently. What, exactly, do you want from me?"

[lustrcnt]

[lustrcnt]

⚡️ Do you regret becoming a vampire?

"The circumstances were not ideal, however, they seldom are for this type of transformation. Unfortunately, I'm hardly an outlier." Mehrzād offers a sad smile. "To keep things simple and short, no, I do not regret becoming a vampire, because if I hadn't, I would never have met my lovely Nisha, nor would I have found my gorgeous daughter, Julieta. I would have been dead for centuries by the time they were born to this earth!" They sigh. "Yet, I cannot help but notice the beauty of natural death. To die and stay dead, dull as it is, sounds utterly peaceful. Does it not?"

[lustrcnt]

⚡️what would you do if you found out about Nisha and Reid?

SEND “⚡️” AND A QUESTION AND MY MUSE WILL BE FORCED TO ANSWER HONESTLY

Mehrzād cocks his head to side. "Nisha and who?"

@nishaxeleazar @reidhalstead

[lustrcnt]

⚡️ - Are you sure you are in love with Nisha?

SEND “⚡️” AND A QUESTION AND MY MUSE WILL BE FORCED TO ANSWER HONESTLY

"Do the birds sing during the early dawn? Do the leaves fall to the ground in the autumn season? Is the sky blue?" Mehrzād shakes his head. "What a ridiculous question.

@nishaxeleazar

[lustrcnt]

A heavy sigh exhales out of his dead, cobwebbed, lungs. What she says is true. Most things Julieta says are, she's a woman clothed in wisdom long before her years. Even in mortality, her eyes carried a sense of knowing. "I suppose so," Mehrzād agrees. He hums in thought for a moment. "I'm no saint, daughter, you know this." The father grins, like he's sharing a cheeky joke. "I have a terrible habit of seeing the potential of those around me. I see what they could be instead of what they are." Another sigh. "It leads to no one else's heart break but my own."

Mehrzād finds himself standing in the living room mirror, rustling his hair to give it just the right amount of tamed vs untamed. Mehrzād hears the sound of tire tracks from miles away. He knows its Nisha's car, he has a sense about these things. "She'll be here soon," he explains to her. Julieta will have to forgive Nisha for selfish endeavors.Mehrzād found his peace against Nisha through violence, it was the only way to kill the elephant in the room. Julieta will have to spear hers in the way she feels fit in order to forgive Nisha.

The car approaches outside, Mehrzād hears the engine shut off and a pair of heels hit the gravel. He claps his hands together. "She's here! She's here!" Mehrzād announces to the entire room.

Mehrzād greets Nisha at the door, takes her hand and places a kiss on it. Then another. He places a trail of kisses that lead up her arm. "My love," he muses something of a whisper, as if the only two would be able to hear what he says. He scoops her face into his hands. "Don't be so hard on our beautiful Julieta. She's... dealing the best she can." Mehrzād swipes his finger against her cheek, an attempt to comfort the wonderful motherr.

A sheepish smile sprouts on his lips as he sets Nisha's face free. "Ah, Nisha, you brute! Why would I kill them when I can make good use out of them." He laughs. "The husband is the poorest piano player on the planet, but the wife puts elbow grease into the way she mops the floor like nothing I've seen. She's magnificent! I don't have it in my heart to let her go...." Not yet anyways.

They're dancing on the surface. Mehrzād turns around and reaches for Julieta. "Darling," he calls to her, "Come say hello to your mother."

@julietaisms

She’s definitely not pouting. She’s far too old for that. But she’s certainly not as thrilled as her father is for the upcoming evening. Julieta’s too old to pout, but not too old to no longer remember the ache of rejection when she tried to gain her mother’s favor. And there is this far fresher wound, pulsing like a phantom heartbeat, of how easy she was to leave behind. Her father is being far too forgiving, but he does not ask her and she does not offer this opinion.

Instead, she seduces the neighbor – a gorgeous woman with dark eyes and sinful curves who reminds her of someone she thought she might have loved in Chile in ’72. Julieta makes the husband watch as she drains her completely, then compels the man into believing he’s the one who killed his wife. Julieta steps out into the rain to the sound of desperate wailing, then a gunshot – smug satisfaction radiating off her in waves as she strolls through the neighborhood oh a chaotic afternoon, casually licking the last bit of blood from her nail.

“Father? Did you finally kill him?” Julieta muses, stepping through the kitchen door and grabbing a hand towel to dry off. “Hours of practice can only take one so far if the natural musicality is lacking.” She speaks of violence so casually, nothing more than the creature they created. Julieta makes her way into the sitting room, and leans against the door frame, towel drying her hair as she watches with elegant disinterest as the woman desperately scrubs the floor. “When will she be here?” She can’t yet bring herself to say the word mother, and a tiny scowl flashes across her face, brows puckering in a way that Nisha had once scolded her for, warning of early wrinkles. “I need to change.”

[lustrcnt]

The words sound lovely on her tongue, even so, there's a sense of sadness flickering inside of his eyes. This sadness, it doesn't stray his gaze, or even stop himself from combing through her hairs. His suspicions of her cowardice isn't new. Yet, the confirmation from his own tongue sickens him to his stomach. How he has failed as a sire. Mehrzād did not realize, that during his and Nisha's time together, someone had come in the night and cut her spine out of her body.

Of course, those hunters did not exist. She'd be looking for figments of her imagination in the physical world. Strangers would've pegged her as confused, then finally mad, if she pressed on it. Then mad she should've been. She should've been absolutely bathshit over the loss of him. She should've relived that night every night in her mind. She should have regrets. Right now, she should pulled out the list of what she could've done better, what she could've done to save him the middle of the forest. She should be groveling, kissing his feet, reading Mehrzād this list of her shames.

She does none of this. She stands, a little proudly, a little too chummy, for his liking. He was mistaken what he said earlier, perhaps drunk on hope because the reunion with Nisha, Mehrzād had spoke complete nonsense into the air. Her punishments could wait. It's clear to him now, they cannot. It wouldn't be fair to him, but it wouldn't be fair to his Nisha either. A wall is built between them, and if he moves his feet just right, he could see her clearly. Yet, each word she says, she might as well position herself in direct view of the rock. Why dance around the wall? They should hack it to smithereens! That way no hard feelings linger in his chest. Forgiveness can grow him a new heart.

Retribution must be paid so her sins can disintegrate. They should get it all out on the table, in this case the stage, and leave it there, so they can enjoy eternity hand in hand

"Did you miss me?" His voice is velvet and its as if the sadness from his eyes made way to his tongue. "Being away from you was pure agony. As if someone was holding my head underwater for years. As if a hot branding iron was placed on my chest, of every day, of every second, for an entire century."

Mehrzād releases her locks of hair and begins to step away. He walks downstage, as if he's getting a closer look of the entire auditorium and deeply sighs. "It looks like you were able to move on," he notices, his voice lower now. He turns his back to his beloved Nisha. Beloved. He wonders if the feeling is mutual. He wonders if it ever was.

"You are embedded into my skin like a injury that will never heal. You're scar tissue, melted in my soul for as long as I haunt this earth." His eyes hover with darkness. "In order to heal from me, you put on the smallest of bandages. Moved on before you could blink." His head cocks to the side. "When we were together, before the hunters whisked me away, did you pray for my downfall? When we slept next to each other, husband and wife, did you have dreams of wedging a stake into my cold, dead, heart?"

And how did you mourn for me, love? His words cut through her like knives, shredding into her skin, causing her to bleed. That was the thing, wasn't it? She hadn't mourned for him. Not in the fucking slightest. Not even for their daughter, Julieta. Nisha had been freed that night, one hundred years ago, when she thought she'd witnessed his death. She had fled and never looked back.

"Painfully." She answered, finally. She'd like to believe that him dying wasn't painful for her, but she had missed some comforts that he'd provided her. The lavish lifestyle, the good attention, the amazing sex. But that had come with the manipulation, the isolation, and the expectations.

Nisha was tempted to lie. To tell him that she did, in fact, go after the people that she thought killed him. But she also felt like it was a trick question of sorts. If he hadn't died -- and it was clear to her now that he hadn't -- then the Zād she knew would have killed them himself. She chose a different lie, instead. "I thought about it. But... I was afraid. I didn't want to die."

She nodded at his words, aware of what he would have done if someone had tried to kill her, or even take her away from him. He'd have massacred them. Ensured that they wouldn't be able to touch her ever again. He'd done it before and she'd witnessed it. Nisha had even been turned on by it, at one point. "Well, I wasn't as strong as you, at the time." She said, her voice soft as she spoke to him. "Now, though. I think I would have." Another lie, easily rolled off the tongue.

"Like we used to." Nisha furrowed her eyebrows slightly, searching her mind for the memories that she'd buried years ago. The ones that would help her move on from the life that she had once lived, in search for a new and better one. "Oh. Yes." She nodded again, his words tugging at a string of memories, dragging them towards the forefront of her mind. Going out together, dancing the night away, killing and slaying and satiating themselves with blood and their own bodies. Yes. She remembered now. It was something she had hoped to experience with Reid, at some point.

Maybe they were never meant to have that chance.

She swallowed hard as his fingers brushed her hair out of her face as he confirmed a fear of hers. Him still believing that they were together. That she was his wife and he was her husband. "I haven't been a wife in some time, Mehrzād." She stated, as if reminding him that she'd lived a different life after him. "It might take some time for me to... adjust."

[lustrcnt]

WHEN? 3:33p

WHERE? The Very Large House Merhzād and Julieta are "renting" from a very nice human couple.

WHO? @julietaisms & @nishaxeleazar

Outside, the rain beats against the roof of the old white Victorian home. Truly, it's a beautiful house, these humans who own it have magnificent taste. Elegant flooring, lovely, furniture, and a beautiful, grand piano that doesn't get enough use. Mehrzād can tell by the way the human husband, owner of the home, plays. Since arriving, Mehrzād has encouraged him to play. Right now, the husband plays a terrible rendition of Beethoven's Für Elise. Day and night, the human has been compelled to practice his musical skills, only breaking so the human can get a good night's rest so he can do it all again. Mehrzād isn't cruel. Perhaps, he should be, because regardless of that practice, the human still hasn't mastered one of Mehrzād's favorites. It's pitiful, really. He plays awfully clunky and terribly off key. Definitely not good enough to play in the presence of the entire Yazdani family.

Today must go perfectly. This family reunion is overdue. Decades overdue. Though, Mehrzād could handle the dreary weather caused by a Pacific Ocean hurricane (what are the odds), he could not deal with a shabby piano player.

He's had enough, the irritation is too much to bear. With impeccable speed, Mehrzād picks themselves off of the fine leather couch and to the homeowner playing the piano. "If you're not going to play it right," he chides with eyes wide. "Why have any fingers at all?!" In flash, he grabs the man's left hand, and with great strength pulls off not one, not two, but three fingers off of the man's hand. They break as easily as snapping a stick of a carrot. The bones crunch, the man screams, and blood sprays all over the gorgeous hardware floor and vintage rug.

The annoyance in Mehrzād grows. "Now, look what you've done," Mehrzād barks. "You've ruined the rug!" Rubbing his face in his hand, the vampire gives the human his next command. "Go to the hospital and get that taken care of."

While the husband picks up his discarded fingers off the floor and begins to leave for the hospital, the wife enters the room. She'd been busy preparing her lovely home for Mehrzād's and Julieta's most esteemed guest but the vampire had one final task for her. Once she heard the screaming, she knew to prepare a bucket of hot soapy water and a cloth to scrub out her husband's blood out of their expensive rug. By now, she knows the drill.

After a deep sigh, Mehrzād falls back into the leather seat, picks up the novel he had once read until his ears were violated by the terrible tune. His eyes flash upon the grandfather clock in the corner. Nisha would be here soon. And where is Julieta? Nowhere to be found. He supposes she has her own feelings about the whole ordeal. Mehrzād had lost his wife. His truest love. His everything. Julieta had lost her mother and supposedly, that meant something too.

His gaze then flashes upon the speaker in the corner. Though nothing beats live music, when properly executed, this is a decent enough back up.

"Hey Alexa," the vampire orders the modern contraption, "Play Für Elise by Ludwig Beethoven."

[lustrcnt]

The mind is a funny thing. It's very easy to trick, manipulate, and mold, if you know what you're doing. Some, like Mehrzād, use their tongue to do this. Others, also like Mehrzād, are inclined to the use of violence for these results. However, there's a few that use the gift of magic to play with someone's mind like a fiddle.

Whatever Nisha had seen on that treacherous night wasn't real. It had been a decent attempt at good theatrics. Simply put, it was make believe. It was a tall tale, a fervorous lie, someone conjured up to make her believe Mehrzād was done for, so she wouldn't come looking. And by God, did she eat it up! She couldn't scarf down the lie fast enough!

Her questioning, her pining for truth, melts away his friendly demeanor. Mehrzād and that temper. He's trying to be good for her. Oh, he really is. But each question is a harsh reminder, she did not come looking for him. She did not seek revenge on his part. Did she even care he was gone? Did she shed one single tear for him?

"And how did you mourn for me, love?" Poisonous softness coats his words. You catch more bees with honey, but his curiosity is genuine. Being without her was agony. For an entire century he had lived with an open, hollow chest cavity, bleeding and oozing sorrow, because his heart had been ripped out of his body.

"Did you go searching for these hunters? These ones you say that killed me?" Mehrzād cocks his head to the side. "Did you try to avenge me?" His eyes scan her face, trying to find any lie that may hide in her expression. "I know if anyone had stolen you from me......" his voice trails off. It'd be redundant to finish that thought. They both know what would become of those who dared to hurt Nisha. Cities would've burned. Family lines would've gone extinct. If one Brotherhood hunter had hurt a single strand of black hair on her perfect little head, the Brotherhood would cease to exist. Hell, anyone with a tacky tattoo would've been mangled to pieces, just by Mehrzād's sight of them.

It's supposed to be a good night. A grand night! Nisha does this to Mehrzād, she makes him crazy. One moment its pure chaos, the next its pure bliss. Ah, but isn't that how love is supposed to make you feel?

His lips stretch into a smile. "I was hoping we could celebrate like we used to," Mehrzād muses. "This town is no Paris, but perhaps, we can find a nightclub with good wine and good music. Dance all night. Make a feast out of the fellow patrons. Fuck on the floor with their blood smeared on us." Gently, he swipes a piece of hair out of her face. "The things husbands and wives do."

Before she could even guess at what he'd do, Mehrzād was in front of her. Nisha's body flinched, involuntarily. She was usually much more skilled at keeping her composure. Usually, it was her that was causing someone else to jerk backwards. But this wasn't just anyone next to her. It was her sire. The sire that she could have sworn had died.

Nisha did her best to remain still as he circled her. A lion and it's prey. Her jaw clenched as she stared out at the hundreds of empty seats. "No. Of course not. Not a mirage." A pause. "A ghost... Perhaps. But--" Her whole body tensed as his fingers grazed her backside. There'd been a time when she craved his touch. When she'd lean into it, beg for it. And as much as she hated to admit it, part of her still wanted that attention. The other part, however, knew that it came with rules that she no longer wanted to abide by. For her to be a woman that she had broken free from a century ago.

"I don't understand." She said as she turned until they were facing each other. She didn't feel comfortable with him behind her, where she couldn't see him and what he was doing. Nisha forced herself to meet his gaze, to not shy away from it. "I thought you were dead, Zād." Nisha insisted, spinning the story that she'd had in her head for so long. "I watched them drive a stake through your chest. I watched you fall. How was I supposed to know that it was not real? How was I supposed to know that you had actually lived?" Her voice was desperate and much more emotional than she'd allowed it to be in a long time.

Your consequences can wait. Her stomach twisted as he thrusted the flowers out towards her. He wanted her to take them from him. He wanted her to thank him. Appreciate what he'd done for her. So she took them, carefully wrapping her fingers around the stems and pulling them from his grasp without even grazing his skin with hers. "Thank you, my love."

"And I'm glad to hear that our darling Julieta is safe and sound with you." A doting mother. A loving mother. A loving wife. "But yes. Tonight is about me. Us." She agreed, as much as she didn't want to. "We have much more to celebrate than just my birthday." She offered him a smile. "Is it safe for me to assume that you've already planned something for us tonight?"

[lustrcnt]

Fear is in the air. Her sweet, scared pheromones fill the space between them, Mehrzād could suffocate on it if he'd let himself. This smell is familiar, home, something he's longed for over a century. Her eyes, a beautiful shade of brown and so bewildered, shine beautifully against the stage lights. Does she like it? This twist he's written for them, for her.

Before she can blink, Mehrzād appears on the stage with her. Now, they are the stars of their own little show. "So what am I then?" he wonders, questioning what she thinks is true as he steadily paces around her, only stopping when he stands behind her. So close, his breath could be felt on her delicate skin. Close enough to touch, how badly he wants to. Just a little touch. "A mirage? A ghost?"

Fingers so gently trail against her collarbone. "A ghost couldn't do this," Mehrzād murmurs. A touch so simple but how intoxicating it is for him to feel Nisha,herself, is real. She's not a mirage. She's not a ghost. Once again, the lovers have found themselves together.

"I have my ways," Mehrzād answers smoothly. Why bore her with the gritty details? Tales of his torture? Bleh! Uninteresting. He was more interested what Nisha had made of herself in his absence. Who is this new woman that stands before him? Who is Nisha Eleazar?

Is she with you?

Mehrzād snaps his neck towards Nisha giving her a nasty look. A glare. Is he not enough? How dare she not be satisfied. The undead comes back to life and her mind is clouded of thoughts with Julieta. Nisha didn't watch Julieta die; No, she abandoned the fatherless child as soon as she believed him to be dead. Now, suddenly she concerns herself if Julieta lives or dies?

"Of course, she is," Mehrzād snarls at Nisha. "Darling Julieta knows a thing or two about loyalty. It's something she did not learn from her mother, that is for damn sure," he continues on, bitterly, turning his back on her.

His temper, it's always been such a terrible thing. Mehrzād slaughtered cities just from a particularly foul conversation with Nisha. He doesn't want anger to consume him, not tonight. It's a special evening. It's her birthday for God's sake!

"I..." Mehrzād faces her again, "I don't want to fight with you. Not tonight. It's your birthday, my love. We're back together again. I'll shelve my anger for the evening, I can do it. Your consequences can wait!" He pushes the bouquet of flowers into her direction. They're her favorite kind. "Tonight is about you and I, my love." Hasn't it always been? Hadn't the stars written it? Hadn't Mehrzād himself?

Dread seeps into her veins as her eyes catch sight of the roses, then on his face. His face, which hadn't changed in a century. His voice, which still caused both excitement and anger to fill her chest. But this wasn't real. It couldn't be real. She'd witnessed him die, by the hands of Hunters. Watched as they buried a stake deep within his chest cavity.

And yet, Mehrzād was standing just twenty feet away from her, speaking to her as if none of that had happened.

The confident and independent woman that she'd built herself up to be was slowly receding in his presence; being replaced by a subservient and dutiful wife that knew her place. Nisha found herself shaking her head back and forth without even thinking, pushing away centuries old emotions that threatened to resurface.

"You're dead." Nisha insisted. "You're dead. I saw you die." She replayed the memory in her head, over and over again. There had been so much blood and the stake had sunken so deep within his body. "How..." Her eyes darted past him, the memory of their child coming to the forefront. Nisha expected Julieta to, somehow, crawl out from underneath one of the theatre seats. To latch herself onto her father and to smile up at her.

The two of them had always had a close bond. One that Nisha never quite managed with Julieta. "Is she with you?" Nisha asked, desperately trying to remain on somewhat safe conversations.

For years, Nisha had been able to anticipate what her sire had wanted from her. What he wanted her to say and do. How she was supposed to behave. But this was the first time in her life that she had no idea what she was supposed to do or what was expected of her.

She ignored his words. Not intentionally. Not really. Nisha just couldn't get over the fact that he was standing in her theatre with roses, no less. "How did you survive?"

I should have stayed. I should have finished the fucking job. If she had, though, she might have died and Nisha couldn't allow that.

[lustrcnt]

They are smart enough to realize coincidence could only be to blame for the timing of his arrival to Port Leiry and the date of the lavish event, but they had also been around long enough to know, there is no such thing as a coincidence. Blame it on God, the universe, divine timing, but this evening rolled out the way it did for a reason. What that reason is? Oh, it's still being written in the stars. It will reveal itself in good time, Mehrzād is sure of it.

In the meantime, Mehrzād will drink the liquor. When he's ready, he will drink from the veins of whoever he deems fit. He will mingle with the crowd. Have a reunion or two (So many familiar faces in Port Leiry!). He will scan the crowd. He will watch her dance her little heart out without a single care in the world. He will admire her beauty, in both face and body, because he is not blind.

She's a witch. He likes to think he's keen on these kinds of things, which in a sense, is true. The dead giveaway is the blood trickling in her veins. Though they stand a good few feet away, they can smell it on her. The whole room is etched in it, the smell of magical blood fills the entire party. Yet, when he focuses on her, the way her body moves, the way droplets of sweat trickles down her chest, its like the sweet nectar smell of her blood is the only one that exists.

When the vampire's eyes meets the witch's, a small smirk rises upon his lips. Mehrzād raises a hand and a wave trickles off of his finger tips.

Where: Khàos Grand Opening

When: 10:23

Playing: When I’m Small by Phantogram

Thera was no stranger to clubbing alone. It was a good way to connect with clients her grandmother had always said, and, despite what AJ always intimated, the Wendell’s’ had wealth that in other circumstances could’ve afforded Thera the socialite lifestyle. But letting lose was dangerous, being herself was inviting peril.

But this mocktail was intoxicating. Lemon and thyme, Fates did AJ know how to put together a drink. And then the subtle tones of one of her favorite songs started emanating over the speakers. Thera, while a sober party girl, had always enjoyed the dancing at clubs most. As Thera stood and entered the dance floor she was aware of the way her dress road up on her person. She took her place in the middle of the relatively crowded dance floor and proceeded to sway her hips and dance to the Phantogram song she had constantly requested at clubs all over the world. The slow electronic pace left sweat trickling down the side of her neck and trailing between her décolletage. As the rhythm neared an end Thera tilted her head to the song, lifting hooded eyes her eyes met another’s. Trance broken, Thera returned to the world still moving around her.

[lustrcnt]

Open mouths get fed and so do keen ears. Mehrzād, a connoisseur of secrets, listens for the latest gossip that the supernatural world has to offer. There's something particularly interesting that roars out of the mouths of his fellow creatures of the night. Daylight rings. Now, that's a juicy rumor. Mehrzād's been a slave to the moon much longer than he hasn't. An infinite amount of times longer. Color him curious, where is the hurt in checking it out? What's wrong in conducting an investigation of his own? What would be the worst case scenario? Things don't pan out just the way he had hoped? Oh, Mehrzād is familiar with being disappointed. If the rumors about the daylight rings were only rumors, he would survive. He's dealt with higher heartbreak. It wouldn't even make his list.

Port Leiry was a cute little thing. Bustling. Moody. Wet. Much too dreary for his liking. How ironic would it be if Mehrzād said he preferred the sunshine? Caught in a cold corpse for the last one thousand years, perhaps he wished for the sun to kiss his flesh for only a second. Just for a moment. Isn't that who Mehrzād is? A multitude of ironies that take the shape of a person? He prefers the one thing that would burn him. The one thing that would set him a flame. The one thing that would leave him dead.

Doesn't it make sense he would fall for someone like Nisha?

The closer Julieta and Mehrzād got to Port Leiry, the more and more he felt her. It's a sire's lucky trick. She could go to the ends of the earth, but still, he could tug her like an animal on a tight leash. He could feel her still alive. Alive is a bitter word. He could feel her existing, somewhere on this little earth. Would he guess she landed in a town of Port Leiry, no, he would not. Though, he also wouldn't have guessed she'd abandon him in a time of need. He wouldn't have guessed she abandoned their beloved daughter either. He wouldn't have guessed she uproot the lives they created together and start anew. Nisha, it turns out, is full of surprises.

What beautiful Nisha forgets is, she belongs to him. In a way, she always has and she always will.

Keen ears learn the info, but open mouths have to ask the right questions. When the father and daughter settle into town, Mehrzād gets to work. People in this town like to talk. They speak highly of the small local theater. Owned by a pretty woman. What is her name, they ask. Nisha, the townspeople tell them, Nisha Something. A little more digging, he learns she's adopted a new last name. Nisha Eleazar. Ugh. It doesn't roll of the tongue like Yazdani does. Her name tied to his fits her much better. A little more digging, he finds an address. Cute house. Adorable little couch. Comfy bed. Though, she might sleep better if she kept a space for Mehrzād.

On this particular evening, on this special night, Mehrzād finds himself at the Titan theatre, with a bouquet of roses in hand. The door is locked, but in this town, you must invest in quality steel. It's really easy for him to break, all he does is have to flick his wrist, put just the slightest bit of pressure, and it opens for him. He steps into the lobby, no lights on, but he sees her everywhere. Traces of Nisha fill the theater. The style. The artwork. The posters of past shows are her favorites. She's in the fucking molecules he breathes into his cold, dead lungs. Nisha is here, right now. He feels her. He hears her. Quite literally, Mehrzād can almost taste her.

It's so hard to sneak up on a vampire. Sneaking up isn't what they wish to do. It's too short of notice to throw a surprise party, so this is what he must do. . Surprise Nisha, I'm in town! Surprise Nisha, I'm alive! Surprise Nisha, you can never escape me! Though the later shouldn't be much of a shock, should it?

When he walks into the theater, a single body amongst an empty auditorium, Mehrzād looks at her with awe. Let the curtain close, the show is over. The horrible tale of their separation has ended and now their happily ever after can begin. There's a few minor details to address. Her cowardness, followed with outright abandonment. Her dismissal of Julieta. However, these are so tiny compared to the forever they get the resume with one another. Mehrzād and Nisha are reunited, this is what matters now.

A series of slow claps echo from his hands. "Darling," Mehrzād calls from where he stands. "This is where you belong. This is where you are perfect." On a stage. Where she says the lines he wants her to, where she follows the blocks he's enacted. Where Mehrzād can make her anything he wants her to be.

closed starter for @lustrcnt

It was her birthday. A day that she used to celebrate. A day that she no longer celebrated. One that she didn't care to remember, and yet, every year, there was always something that caused it to surface in her mind. This year, it had been a book. It wasn't the book, though, that shoved the memory of her sire to the forefront of her mind. It was what the book held.

A necklace.

As Nisha stared down at the gold jewelry, her skin prickled from memories that she'd never been able to forget. His smile. His lips on her hers. His hand, an iron grip around her wist. His voice. You're mine and you'll be mine forever. Don't ever fucking forget that. Nisha slammed the book shut and shoved it behind several books on the book shelf in her office. She let out a breath, ran her hands over her face and then rubbed at her temples.

I'm not his. She reminded herself as she made her way out of the office and towards the theatre stage. It had been around a hundred years since she'd last seen him. Since she watched him die at the hands of hunters. If he was still alive, Nisha was positive that he'd have tracked her down already. Especially considering the fact that they were bonded to one another.

And yet... she couldn't help but feel, as of late, that she was being watched.

"No. No." She shook her head, shoving away the paranoia. It was familiar, having felt that way for the first twenty years of her existence away from Mehrzād. She'd moved around too many times to count, afraid that he would somehow come back from the dead and find her again. And if he did, maybe he'd have locked her away for good. In a room, or in a coffin. Nisha had come up with so many horrific scenarios that she'd almost drove herself crazy. That was when she had learned how to fully turn off her emotions. To flip the switch and just... be.

Nothing mattered, after that. Or, well, nothing about him had mattered. Her life before then was exactly that -- the past. She couldn't change it but she could choose to be something different. Someone different. Someone that could not be forced into submission or controlled. Someone that would figure out what she wanted and work towards obtaining it. This mindset had been what led her to Port Leiry. And then... Reid.

But now -- lately -- it felt as if she no longer had a purpose. Reid was doing his own thing and as much as she hated to do so, Nisha was giving him space. He needed that. Though, it caused a loneliness that she hadn't felt in decades to creep back into her mind and body. And no matter how many times she tried to squash it, all it did was come back. So she was trying to throw herself back into work. To focus on something other than her fledgling. To be proud of what she'd built on her own. The theatre was hers and no one else's.

Ears picking up footsteps in the lobby, Nisha paused her hands that had just been about to close the curtains for the night. The performers were done practicing and the space was no longer being used. "We're closed." She said, extending her voice towards the doors that had opened at the back of the room. "Auditions concluded last week and there will not be a performance for another two months." Nisha explained as she tugged the curtains closed and then turned towards the intruder. "I will only ask you once to leave. If you do not--"

Her voice was practically taken from her as she realized exactly who had just walked into her theatre. And if she were human, her heart would have been beating at least a hundred and fifty beats per minute. Her mind fought with itself, wanting to both sink to her knees at his feet and ask for forgiveness and lash out, showing him exactly who she'd become in the last century.

Happy fucking birthday to me.

[lustrcnt]

( arian moayed / non binary / he/they ) — MEHRZĀD YAZDANI has been living in Port Leiry for THREE DAYS . They currently work as a PLAYWRIGHT, and are 1,000+ years old. No one is sure if they’re actually a VAMPIRE or if they’re connected to REARDON. They tend to be quite INTENSE and POSSESSIVE, but can also be THEATRICAL and DAZZLING.— ( l / mst / she/her / 27 / na)

Name: Mehrzād Yahdanzi.

Occupation: Playwright.

Age: 42 / 1000+.

Sexuality: Pansexual.

Species: Vampire.

Clan/Pack/Coven?:  Reardon.

Hometown: Ancient Persia.

Relationship Status: Widowed.

Personality Traits: Intense, possessive, theatrical, and dazzling.

TLDR: Mehrzād is a vampire that's way too damn old. Loves a little chaos, loves a little drama, except when it's at his expense. In his mortal life, he was a witch and the mentee of a witch by the name of Dorian. His betrayal of Dorian has been haunting Mehrzād ever since. When his mortal love died, Marceline, Mehrzād went berserk. Has desperately tried to recreate whatever he had with Nisha and that has been a shit storm of itself for the last seven centuries. Father to Julieta who he loves very very dearly. After an especially shitty century, Mehrzād and Julieta come to PL looking for daylight rings.

001. Your beginnings are so far gone, you barely remember them. You had a mother and a father, powerful people with wondrous riches. You were spoon fed the finest things life had to offer. Your people were witches, among your community you were seen as something godlike. Something to be worshipped. When whispers of a powerful witch are uttered throughout your village, your father's ears perk right up. The details of how it all came together are fuzzy, all you know is it did. As a young adult , you were sent from your home in ancient Persia to Europe to study under the great witch who went by the name of Dorian.

002. When you thought you knew everything about magic, Dorian taught you more. He indoctrinates you into his coven. Soon this foreign place becomes home, this foreign person becomes home too. Love isn’t the right word to describe the way you felt towards him. Loyal and devoted are better terms. Another witch by the name of Marceline wins your heart. Whatever feelings you have for Dorian pales in comparison towards Marceline. She’s everything.

003. No one doubts Dorian’s power among the coven, but his ambition worries a few. Marceline being one of them. She worries what the cost of Dorian’s greed is. When things get out of hand, there’s a choice you have to make. Dorian or Marceline. The choice is easy. It’s her, it’s always going to be her. Dorian dies and you mourn of the loss who used to be your mentor.

004. Marceline looks different. The way she speaks. The way she stands. The twinkle in her eye. It doesn’t take long for you to realize that death is not an ultimatum for Dorian. He finds his way back through Marceline. She’s in there too. One body two souls. She fights him as much as she can, but how long can she do this? You can’t bear this for long. You find answers in another witch. She has a suggestion for you two. If Marceline dies with Dorian, he will die too. However, if she dies and becomes a vampire, Dorian will die but he won’t come back with her. You won’t let Marceline do this alone. You agree to become a vampire. When it happens, it successful. You and Marceline will be together all of eternity. It's all you ever wanted.

005. Dorian comes back in a new form. Waiting for you is the body of your Marceline with a stake in her heart. You realize this isn’t over between you and Dorian. You wonder if it ever will be.

006. You disappear into eternity. Running for a while. Settling when you think it’s safe. You mourn Marceline, but a piece of her is always with you. Somewhere among the centuries, you decide to track down the descendants of Marceline. You track down the line. Soon enough, you find one who resembles her so effortlessly. Nisha. You love her before you know her. You infiltrate yourself into her life. Her husband causes problems, but you deal with that swiftly. You worry about death stealing her away from you, so you take care of that as well. You turn her and she becomes yours. Forever and ever.

007. Your life with Nisha is a dream. She’s yours and only yours. You shower her with love and adoration. Riches and diamonds. Your passion for each other is fiery. When there are threats, you take care of them quickly. When she feels trapped, you remind her that she isn’t. You remind her what it’s to feel truly be trapped. You do things to try to make her happy. You bring her a little human baby girl, one you picked out yourself, hoping she will finally make your Nisha happy, that she will make your Nisha behave. It doesn’t work.

008. You two, then you three, exist like this for centuries. You are a family. Unconventional, unorthodox, but a family nonetheless. One night, you and your beloved Nisha go out for a stroll after a night at the theater. It’s during this time you are ambushed by a group of hunters. Nisha gets away, but she doesn’t come back to save you. You are left with the hunters. You are left again with Dorian. You’re not sure how he orchestrates it, the hunters, your capture, but you serve as his captor for half a century. . Eventually you find your way out of his grasps and you feel like you’ve been running ever since.

009. You find your way back to your darling daughter, Julieta, and your family is half way to being reunited. You cannot shake the scorn you feel towards Nisha for abandoning you, to leave you dead by the hunters. Did she ever come looking for you? Did she ever care? You wrestle with these thoughts for an entire century. Father and daughter hear whispers of daylight rings in the coast town of Port Leiry and decide to take a visit. Little do you know what truly waits for you in this city.