#// the title on the doc is 'metzli FINALLY gets lucky'

[braindeacl]

World Turned Rainbow | Eilidh & Metzli

SETTING: Crest Works Art TIMING: Last night. PARTIES: @deathisanartmetzli & @braindeacl SUMMARY: Eilidh and Metzli have some fun in the gallery.  WARNINGS: Drug use

Approaching people had been particularly daunting the past few days. Most of the wounds had finally healed, but Metzli still appeared a little worse for wear. Even sporting their favorite suits, they hid away. Keeping to their office, they worked on the new budget they acquired thanks to Bex. Who they had drank blood from, twice now. With a groan, they pushed aside the pestering thoughts and the even more pestering paperwork to talk a walk in the gallery. Today they would greet their patrons as they usually did, today they would start anew. 

Hair lively bounced with each clack on the tile floor, welcoming every person they saw in the gallery. There was a new rotation of works, so the place was filled with more people than usual. Some were the artists themselves, and some were intrinsic minds that delved into the art world, seeking to gawk at works they could not create. Maybe even seeking a small escape into the images depicted on canvas and stone alike. 

As Metzli made their way to the back of the main gallery, a fair woman caught their eye. She was studying their painting, possibly even admiring it. Their smile grew, making their rounds until they reached her, saving her for last. “Good afternoon,” They greeted her with a smooth and gentle voice, trying to make a good first impression. “I see you’re enjoying my masterpiece. I have another just down that way, but this one is much more special.” 

Those walls still pressed against her skin. Clung to Eilidh like a lover’s embrace. But love was not returned. Instead, it was stolen from her; left her hollow. Determined to render her a copy of that underground prison. Or to fill its own cavity. But it was endless and she was finite and could only give up so much before she was nothing. And that nothingness knocked on her door. So, she ran from it. All across town. Filling her mind, her soul, with all it could offer. So the knocking was harder to hear. So the cavern had other things to steal. Mindless wandering led her to the gallery. A first encounter. Not that she wasn’t interested in the arts. She just preferred the creations of nature than to canvas. But it was new. And she needed new. And these walls didn’t cling to her.

And luckily the creations of nature weren’t far. Imitated upon the canvas. From a distance, some could be mistaken for windows. Stuck in time. But close inspections always revealed those telling brushstrokes. Eilidh passed by these frozen windows—peering into days long gone. A stroll through time and space. Until an outlier arose. Less of a window to the world, more like a window to the mind. Though she did wonder the truth of its depiction. A living raven didn’t seem interested in suits, but a decayed one might. Was there one right now, somewhere, enjoying a three-piece? Ponderings stopped with a voice. Like a cool stream after a hot summer’s day. Eyes followed its trajectory—found a matching visage. Peppered with signs of distress, but a delightful visage to look at, all the same. Attention took turns with the creator and the creation, noting how both sported a dashing ensemble. “Oh? ‘Cause you two match?” A chuckle tickled her lips.

“I was going to say it was because you were looking at it, but that response is a thousand times better,” Metzli replied delightedly, their smile growing wider at Eilidh’s witticism. It wasn’t often that someone caught them off guard like that—in such a positive way at least. Upon further inspection of the woman, she was almost certainly a whole foot shorter, but they did have a soft spot for those too small to reach their head. “Beauty and wit, I like that. I’m Metzli Bernal, creator of that painting, and owner of this gallery.” They adjusted the cuffs of their sleeves before clasping their hands behind their back. 

“Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?” They asked, leaning in slightly with an aura of not only attention, but intention. Regardless of whether or not Metzli would strike out once again—because somehow everyone they flirted with was taken—they didn’t care. Finding solace in simple connection and idle prattle was becoming a frequent thing. Something they could get used to, especially if the people of White Crest were all this funny and intriguing. 

Beauty and wit! They were certainly obvious in their intentions. It was charming and refreshing, the forthrightness of it all. Burst of a chuckle shot from Eilidh’s mouth, exposing her gapped tooth smile. “Ah, owner! Flirtin’ a common tactic for business reasons? Or’s this personal?” Despite the implied accusation, her tone remained light. A soft jab if assumptions were true, or an open door for following coquetry. The name held a ring of familiarity, though she could not place its source. Not uncommon, this was a small town after all. Metzli grew closer—a slight adjustment in posture, but height resulted in them nearly hovering above. Eilidh leaned in turn, fitting in that space below their head. Keeping those eyes locked upon their own. Held it there, before a finger pressed on their abdomen. “Got a button loose.” When they fell for her trick, that pressing finger switched from abdomen to nose, flicking it. “Bloop.” Something rumbled in her chest, it sounded amused. “Call me Macleod.” 

“It certainly can be,” Metzli replied, shrugging and snickering softly. Her gapped smile was endearing, leaving them with a buzzing in their stomach. How strange, they thought to themselves. “But this approach is for personal enrichment. It’s not often that I get a patron with your charm.” It was true. Eilidh’s lightsome approach and attractive features had a pull that was like a moth to a flame. 

Falling for the juvenile trick, Metzli returned the laughter and enjoyed Eilidh’s in return. It was only then, when listening to her entertained reaction, that they heard a lack of something. A lack of a heartbeat. The pull grew even stronger, prompting them to continue, “It is an absolute pleasure, Macleod...” Metzli motioned for a handshake, pulling in her death-ridden hand to plant a small kiss to the back of it. “Wait a minute. Macleod. Why does that sound familiar?” They asked, a look of recognition painted on their face. Her name sounded so familiar, but they’d never seen her face before. Wouldn’t be hard to remember. “Have we met?”

A brow quirked in amusement. The charm was thick and loud, and Eilidh let herself be washed up in it. A wonderful distraction. And perhaps a bit of fun for later. “And I don’t often meet someone so blunt.” Especially in this town, a place of many secrets hushed on the wind. She understood the need; took part as well. But it often bled into the personal. This person seemed untouched by it all. Easy to read. At least, that's what she told herself. And she liked what she was reading.  Her hand did not feel their lips press—too soft to combat the numbness. But eyes saw the motion, replicated a warmth on the back of her hand when Metzli met it. When head returned upright, she saw that flash of recognition play out in their eyes. Mirrored in her own mind moments prior. “Likely. Small town. Hard to avoid anyone. Got any one-nighters you can’t place a face to?” Spoken in jest, though that exact situation had occurred to her in the past. Blink. Something stirred in the back of her mind. A something that would solve the puzzle, and she knew it would, and it knew it would. But it stayed just out of reach, on the tip of her tongue. Then it finally fell to the back of her throat. Her head cocked curiously. “Mushrooms?” Tone implying the word may as well had been a nickname for an old friend. 

“I don’t think I’d be able to forget a face like yours,” Metzli said cooly, smiling as bright as a summer’s day in July. “Besides that, I’ve managed to strike out consistently due to everyone being in a damn relationship. No one likes to have fun anymore.” A mocked frown plastered itself on their face, rolling eyes that settled once more on Macleod. 

Their brow arched, “Mushrooms!” This time excitement tethered itself to their voice. Macleod was the woman they grew an innate interest in over something as simple as the internet. “Ah! Yes,” Metzli hands clasped together and gestured in victory upon finding the answer. “I was greatly disappointed that we never got the chance to meet. This’ll do though.”

Space was subtly decreasing between the two, unbeknownst to Metzli, they were leaning in further. They were so much taller, so they naturally had to do so in order to be as close as they wanted to be. Well, as close as was socially appropriate. “You wouldn’t happen to have any on ya?” They asked, narrowing their eyes with playful curiosity. “We could have a little fun right here.” Their left eye winked, with a grin that knew how stupid they were being. It was all for Eilidh’s amusement, just so they could see that smile. 

Another trait of small towns—committed relationships were frequent. Or there was someone else on the mind, yet to be entwined. Eilidh didn’t mind the potential baggage the latter brought. She rarely stayed anywhere long enough for it to cause issue. “Everybody does know everybody. Just gotta know where to look.” She winked. “New in town?” Ding, ding, ding—assumption confirmed. There was the beginnings of another smile at the connection. Seems fate intended them to meet. All obstacles be damned. Like that night. “Right…” Mind flashed to the tree, to the darkness, to the nothing, to the…

…… 

Air grew tight, walls closed in. Eyes tried to focus back—saw the walls were made of fabric instead of dirt. Instincts pricked and snarled. Head struck forward under its thrall, thumping onto the other’s chest. When the two pair of eyes met again, old spark had returned in Eilidh’s. “Like how you think.” Spoken as if the previous action hadn’t transpired. And mind so cloudy, part wondered if it actually had. Her hand dug into a pocket, fishing out the drug of choice. Bits here and there, remnants of a larger pile recently reduced. Another distraction. Bag wiggled, as did her brow. “Got enough for a hit.” Unknowing it may be of use, in those moments alone, her stake was left back at her trailer. But she always carried a blade, strapped securely to a thigh. And knew it well, if the need arose. Until then, she’d enjoy the fun this Metzli could provide. They seemed to be full of it. 

The impact to Metzli’s chest made them exclaim in surprise, “Oof! Ow!” The wounds from the eventful night with Milo made themselves known, making the space grow as they stepped back and gathered themselves. Before doing so, Macleod looked a little frazzled herself, but there wasn’t enough time to dwell on that or their wounds when she pulled out her bag. “Yeah I’m definitely pretty fresh. I’ve only been here eight months.” Eyes darted about the gallery. There were too many people to do anything privately, but they were feeling pretty lively today.  Shoulders rose and fell in a shrug, settling on a decision. 

“You wanna do it now, cariña?” Metzli began to tease, their lips curling into a mischievous grin. Their accent binded to their words, embarrassment showing on their face for mere moments. “We can give these paying customers a real show. A performance piece.” A cold hand brushed against the wall near their painting, leaning sultrily, no longer imposing on Eilidh’s space. 

Eilidh’s mind travelled back to the woods, to that destined spot. But eyes perceived the crowd, the bodies swarming the walls. Mind’s premonition would be left unfulfilled—own body deciding to remain amongst the others. The others so unexpecting of what was running between the two’s thoughts. Of the fun that would be had, a few paces away. Fun for them, at least. Another amused rumbling formed at the idea—compelled her to stay. To let them lose themselves, right then and there. What would be unlocked, in those frozen windows covering every surface? She was excited to know, to see. “Hope you got insurance.” Voice light and playful, but there was a steadiness to her gaze. Implying a hint of truth. Hands worked swiftly to reveal the mushrooms to the stale air. Brittle lilac wanting to break, and it did so gladly as she separated a chunk into two. “Fuck the customers. Just focus on me.” Her piece slipped passed her lips, down throat. Other half remained in her hand. But she offered it to Metzli, almost pressing it on their lips. 

Eyes widened, shock and surprise from Eilidh’s excitement and subsequent approval covered their expression. Her tenacity was unlike anything Metzli had seen before. With no regard for her surroundings, their lips curled into a smile, watching Macleod take her piece. They were really going to do this. Perhaps their impulsivity and lack of thought on the matter was going to rear its ugly head at them later, but they didn’t care. At least, a part of them didn’t. The other, more responsible half that adored the gallery cared a lot. Insurance was something they definitely had, but they couldn’t imagine what damage could be done right now. Not when Macleod was offering their piece to them. 

Silencing that irksome voice, Metzli leaned forward, “The customers aren’t the ones I want to fuck. So I’ll gladly focus on you.” Their voice was low, raspy, and wanting as they ushered the mushroom in Macleod’s fingers to their lips, using their teeth to take it and then standing erect to chew and swallow.

Maybe this would be disastrous, maybe this would be detrimental to their gallery; or maybe, just maybe it was the fun they needed to unwind and feel free for a while. Finally relaxing into the decision, a hand slid up Eilidh’s arm, “You want to give them a show? Bet we can scare them into leaving.” The hand slid back down and brushed away to rest back at their side. A chuckle escaped the confines of their throat, and they pushed away from the wall to stand closer and wait as the mushrooms took effect. 

Brows rose and fell in unison. “Good. Glad we’re on the same page.” Despite attention being placed on that surrounding congregation, eyes did not leave Metzli. Short, airy laugh rushed through. Disturbed a bit of fabric on their suit. “Seems bad for business. But, since you don’t mind.” In the dwindling window of normalcy, Eilidh took a fleeting moment to refamiliarize herself with those glimpses in time. Gaze returned to one that piqued the most interest. And grew irate when others had fallen to its thrall. Hand brushed against Metzli’s arm—as theirs had done to hers. Almost tickling against the skin. But it ended with a hold—teeth flashing—and she led the two of them over to her favored painting. As distance grew short, teeth flashed again. But their intentions were different for these other onlookers—snapping and cracking in a threat. Murmuring amongst themselves, they hurried over to another section of the gallery. Clearly satisfied, she beamed back at Metzli. “Let’s start here.” The smile remained, strong and firm, as a warm trickled down her head. Fell down into her eyes, melting the colors of Metzli’s suit together. 

Watching Macleod snap like a madwoman at the patrons, a breathy giggle surfaced, one that Metzli had never made before. It was unrestricted and high, echoing in their ears as amorphous colors blurred past them. When they came to a halt, the world tilted and a hand grabbed firmly onto Eilidh’s shoulder to keep balance. Another giggle brushed their throat, the sensation a buzz that sent a chill down their spine. 

With their faltering focus back on the Eilidh, the colors on her clothes melded together and hummed so powerfully that it reached the surface of Metzli’s skin. It made their suit jacket and tie grow in weight, a weight they wanted to remove, so they did. Their jacket and tie fell to a heap on the floor and the outside onlookers continued to murmur, furrowing their brows in confusion. Undeterred, their dress shirt became halfway unbuttoned. “Your wish is my command, Macleod.” Fangs greeted her as their mouth formed a toothy grin, eyes glowing red as the excitement peaked. Only Eilidh could see, Metzli’s back faced the patrons. 

Cold lips suddenly pressed against those matching in temperature. Arms wrapped around in a firm embrace. The voices surrounding the two grew louder and more disturbed, followed by one of their employees asking Metzli what they were doing. Breaking away, they said, “New performance piece. Don’t mind too much.”

Her eyes remained transfixed on the painting. Watched as stagnant waters became rapids. As a sudden wind breathed life into dead trees. Fronds turned fingers—reaching out to Eilidh. Passed the frame, into the air. Entwined around her arms, gripping her down into the fixed window. Bursts of colors; bursts of sounds. Drenched in rainbow and symphony. Crash of cymbals carried a familiarity. When she followed that déjà vu, found the source was her own throat. Overcome with giggles—harmonizing into an ensemble. Her hands danced to this music, fluttering by her face. Other hands found her, different from the ones before. Pulled her out instead of in—into an embrace. Mouth found a partner and those giggles reverberated down both throats. Tongue soon followed, over two sets of teeth. Finding its own match, intent on staying.

Until a familiar click.

Mouth and teeth snapped shut, barely missing snapping Metzli’s lip in turn. A sizable crowd had formed, but Eilidh’s eyes easily found the perpetrator. Betrayed by the sheen of camera’s lens. Every spectacle had its memorabilia. Her lips peeled back. Teeth shook under the snarl stampeding out. All things heightened, even anger. One swift step, and she was close enough to grip the camera. One swift tense, and it cracked and snapped under her fingers. Clattering to the floor in unrecognizable bits. 

“Everyone out! Get everyone out, Richard. And go home. Everyone goes home. This is a private performance.” Metzli commanded, seeing how Macleod responded to her picture being taken. It was hard to focus, colors and shapes melding together harmoniously, making their skin vibrate. The customers and employees only saw their side profile, a method they were using to hide their vampiric features. Everything continued to shift in their line of sight. They felt like they were floating, forgetting the small interruption already and pulling Eilidh back into them. Everyone was shuffling out already, fear halting any other captures from being taken. 

Macleod’s features seemed to jitter, a comfortable sight, even bordering on satisfying. “Forget them. The gallery is ours now.” Metzli pulled her face to lock eyes with her, gently taking her chin and guiding her face. The dance of hums increased, all the paintings joining in on the ensemble to create a euphonious experience.

While Metzli stood obscured, the crowd could not even attempt to ignore Eilidh. Teeth still bared—exposed to air that forced salivation. Dripped down her chin. Mouth turned waterfall, and when she looked down a river had formed at her feet. It gushed out, lapping at the departing crowd. As eyes returned to them—bodies weaving in and out—she threw the remaining chunk of camera in her hand. It meddled with those bodies, lost to that flow. Brought the giggle back to her lips, despite the reasoning lost on her. The sound felt good on her ears, and they hardly noticed when departing footfalls stopped. Alone.

Attentions turned from the emptiness to the beauty beside, gentle touch instructing. But the wild still claimed Eilidh. Gentleness was not returned; she leapt onto Metzli with a hunger. Mouth met them, as mouth did when hungry. But it was with lips instead of teeth. And the world was rainbow again.