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[rivcrlethe-blog]

viclentdeliqhts

DEATH took a sip from her wine glass as she glanced over her shoulder at a young, dark haired man playing darts in the corner of the smoky bar. She watched as he landed the dart on the bullseye and cheered, kissing his wife in celebration. Poor bastard, she thought. He had no idea what was coming. His name was Frankie Zellwig and he was going to die tonight. Upon leaving the bar, Frankie and his wife would be hit head on by a drunk driver on the corner of Broadway and 6th. He would leave behind his wife, Sarah, and their daughter Ella. One of Moria’s reapers would come to collect his soul and bring it to her by morning. Frankie’s fate was sealed and the only thing left to do was wait. Moria sensed eyes on her and turned in their direction. With a sly smile she leaned forward, “It’s rude to stare, but if you are going to do it anyway you might as well buy us both another round. It’s going to be a long night.”

        His eyes drifted as he fell into deep thought, the considerations of why he came to the hotel and why the glass in his hand was emptied barely a minute after his skin made contact. Silas couldn’t place his thoughts or regrets for the years he recorded them, why did he think he could find them in the bottom of a glass in a hotel bar? But the woman’s voice helped him find focus to present at least, his lips starting and making silent mutters over explanations and apologies that never made it into existence. A pause and he smiled, nodding to her in agreement and short reply, “Of course.” After catching the barkeep and ordering more for the both of them he smile to her again. “I suppose eyes fall on you often to have a line like that prepared, even if they’re absent glances.”

[rivcrlethe-blog]

ritziens

         Into the den of lions. She felt much akin to the biblical tale of Daniel, sealed into a cave with hungry, circling lions. It was a matter of time before these particular lions pounced and attempted to tear into her. The last thing she would do was let them bring such harm onto her vessel … but here she was. Reprieve was found in the moments where she could retreat into her hotel room, despite where it was, and take a break from the throng even if it was just for a few hours.

Though she was stopped before the elevator, eyeing the sign that discerned it as out of service. Shoulder dropped slightly, eyes nearly rolling. “It’s down,” she murmured more to herself than anyone around her. After a moment Violet turned to the body beside her, lips pursed. “Drat.”

          His head lifted from the novel in his hands, the realization that he had forgotten he was waiting for the elevator to come and impatiently buried his nose back into the folds of the story. “Well, that’s embarrassing,” he admitted, sheepishly closing the pages while maintaining a finger within to hold his page. He offered a small smile to her and sighed, “I thought it had been severely busy... and I wasn’t paying attention which is more the truth.” He glanced to the numbers above the metal frame as if they had betrayed him while his cheeks burned softly as his gaze drifted down to the sign declaring his ignorance. 

“That will be quite the walk. How far you do have to tread up,” he asked, feet starting their trudge toward the stairs. 

[rivcrlethe-blog]

iraxvehementi

         Fingers drummed along the counter top, a soft but purposeful rhythm only Wrath knew too well within his head. The duties of a night manager were about as interesting as watching the grass outside grow, but Alistair knew there was something brewing within the bowels of the hotel. There was a reason that Lucifer had dredged so many minions upward and handed them shiny positions within the establishment. With the influx of angels, among other creatures, it made sense that war was on the tip of the tongue. But for now … for now Alistair polished his best smile and stood tall (always tall, Malachi would be proud) for the approaching body, “Welcome to the Drake.”

        And it was the pattern of the man’s fingers that made him lose focus, a rhythm that his mind attempted to connected to a nonexistent memory, even captivating his gaze although Silas knew he hadn’t heard another like it before. “Oh, um...” Snapping back to took more effort than anticipated, more effort than should have been needed as he focused on the other’s bright features, causing the witch to clear his throat in the silence as he collecting his bearings. “Thank you. Sorry,” he added, and cleared his throat once more to settle his tone. “I’m probably bothering the wrong person, but could you, or anyone, help me with luggage? I couldn’t find a trolley else I’d do it myself.” Naturally he thumbed behind him to the stack of three chests and suitcase behind him.

[rivcrlethe-blog]

Was that HUGH DANCY checking into the Drake Hotel? Oh no, it’s SILAS HALE. They are a 37/UNKNOWN year old WITCH who is staying as a guest. They define themselves as a HETEROSEXUAL CIS MALE and we heard they can be very RESOURCEFUL and VISCERAL. Watch out, though! On their bad days they can be very FRIGID and LOST.

while silas is old witch who’s been around for a while, he does age. it’s slow, though even he hasn’t figured out the ratio of how slow/fast it is. 

but he has been cheating death for a while. he knows how, he just doesn’t know for how long.

part of it’s due to that he’s forgetful, hence his blog title, but it’s forgetful in a very particular way.

he’s not fond of demons, never has been, so it’s almost safe to say his magic and extended life are not results of conspiring with them, though that’s still up for debate.

but with rumors around the hotel and its various inhabitants, it seemed like an interesting find and an opportunity he couldn’t pass up.

i actually know his story very well but i’d like to slowly fill out the facts as they are revealed in conversation/writing. love me, plot with me xD