#behold the most discreet ship (only at dawn and dusk)

[bluepallilworld]

Day 2 of dark cream ship week: Mountbatten Pink

the ship is sailing

Dark cream ship week by @zu-is-here

[vcsecretgifts]

Altın Mağaralar

From: @amelthebravennian

To: @cygnaut

// @cygnaut​ thank you so much for this occasion to work over this rare pairing! I hope you’ll like it <3 I wish you a very Merry Christmas, and a lot of happiness!

…

The night was particularly clear, the sheepish twinkle of stars adorned the sky like celestial jewelry, after the last shades of dusk had burned out. It was a mild night, and the air transported, with its soft murmurs, the scents of warm topsoil, horses, and human food coming from a village nearby. The arid floor hadn’t seen any rain for so long, that the booted feet seemed to hover above the crackled dirt ground, lifting light veils of dust at their following. It must have been quite a show to behold, under the golden rays of midday, when heat and sun would have made of the whole land a desert splendor of gold and topaz.

Villages had been carved directly through the rock into underground places, the fast moving silhouette had heard. Moving along the shadows as a shadow itself, the shape thought about Derinkuyu and the buried houses they explored the night before, until dawn had plunged them in a deep slumber, that they had only left about an hour after the sunset. Beside the evident beauty of the place, the history and mysteries shrouding the wide expanses of valleys and hills, something else attracted the androgynous creature endowed with long braided blonde hair and cold blue eyes, deeper and deeper into Cappadocia. Feet seemed to know their path in that unknown territory, as if led by an imperious conscience through the broken curves of dunes and secrets caverns.

But if the direction seemed clear, the goal wasn’t, and there was still in this wide world some mysteries the shade wasn’t in a hurry to unveil. They had heard about ancients, about beings so powerful their heartbeats would rumble akin to a thunderstorm drumming to any immortal ear. About elders whose age was unknown, just as the limit of their potency and blood thirst. Armand had told about one of those elders. He had mourned after Marius, and the shape had learned along its journey that Marius wasn’t the only Child of the Millennia that had once walked around the Earth. They were no fool. The blood coursing through their veins, their son, and maker’s veins had to come from somewhere. They had read about legends in hidden libraries, and forgotten scrolls. Even if refusing to believe most of them, some worrisome elements couldn’t be denied.

The silent call running through Gabrielle’s body was most likely a trap, one on which they would agree to ensnare themselves merely because their instinct encouraged them to. They had learned about listening to it since the Blood -the Dark Gift- had first chanted within their supernatural heart. It wasn’t the first time they experienced the imperative push, after all. It had all began some years ago, not so long after they parted from Lestat.

It had been just a light pressure on the back of their neck, like a kiss posed by a secretive lover, an insisting glance weighting on their shoulders, a glare given by the darkness itself and delivering their fill of bothersome shivers. They had been in Italy then, visiting the remnants of a past mortal life of which they were the only living legacy. For a while, the immortal had believed that remaining hidden underground for days and nights would have made it fade and finally vanish, but they only found thirst and pain instead of peace. and so Gabrielle had left the security of the ground to get back to their wandering. Surely, the impression would disappear as they ignored it. And it did, for months, and months, until it seemed merely a foreign dream. They couldn’t even tell how many time passed before the disagreeable feeling came back.

It had been muffled steps they had heard following them to Malta then, too light to belong to any human being, too discreet for a fledgling chasing them. The sound had stopped only when they had boarded a ship sailing to Athens, and for a while Gabrielle had believed to be finally left alone. It took five nights, or perhaps six, for the ethereal push to come back again, lighter this time, but nonetheless present. It became then, as usual to feel it as the presence of a dear friend taking a walk through time and space with them.

They almost forgot about it, classified it in a part of their brain as an information not yet useful. Nights and days passed by, and their steps, led by the inner call,then left Greece and headed to Turkey. Eventually, it vanished along the road, taking years to come back as Gabrielle was digging themselves deeper in the Turkish lands. Through deserts and wide plains -indeed- the vampire had been guided, and it was with a slight indecision that they were now staring a succession of sinuous cliffs topping a narrow rocky valley. The reason of their presence in such a place was still as unknown as the next step to take. Oh, the beauty of the place was enough to fulfill any of their expectations. The real inquiring was about the ones of the presence, that seemed to make its way closer to them, just as in Malta. 

Would it be here, at the confines of the world, that Gabrielle would find the answers their son had sought for? A sigh left their parted lips, interrupted in the middle by a sound they had prayed to never hear. Echoes of a low, deep drum hesitantly lost their way to the immortal’s ear. An Elder was coming by, each new heart beat heavier than the last, loudly annunciating the end of what had seemed to be a several years’ track down. It was vain to run away, thought the young vampire. If the Elder had succeeded to follow them across seas and lands, there would be no place on Earth to escape. They waited in silence, composing themselves in their attempt to spot from where the Elder would appear. 

As the heartbeat came closer, a shape split the darkness from behind a boulders alike the moon piercing through dark clouds. Physical steps led the powerful vampire closer, unveiling a feminine shape moving with grace and seemingly devoid of any mischief. Long blonde hair cascaded on her back as silver reflection, displayed by the moon, conferred a ghostly presence to the Elder. Her fair skin was as pure and white as marble, and somewhere, it reminded Gabrielle the story of Armand, and how he had described Marius. Was it how they would all end up too, as ages would succeed one to the other? Like a living statue, as horrid as beautiful, so cold that even blood wouldn’t play the trick of humanity? 

One would have assumed her glance to be as icy as the apparently frozen but graceful features of her face, but the tender blue of her hues seemed as welcoming as the hearth of a fire back home. It baffled the younger vampire to behold such a contrast. Such emotions seemed to transpire from her eyes, when her body language was terrifically neutral, that it was impossible not to understand her supernatural nature. And even if Gabrielle’s muscles tensed, ready to push them out of reach if only they had the time to foresee an attack, they remained on appearance perfectly stoic.

The only truly threatening thing about this newcomer seemed to be their powerful and low heartbeat, her dazzling and charming face now filled with vitality as she smiled. Her steps stopped at one arm length from Gabrielle, blue eyes wandering to old dusty boots to the large hat underneath which they had kept their braided hair hidden. Though not judgmental, the glance seemed to pass through the manlike frowzy attires, as if directly seeing Gabrielle’s soul. It was unsettling. To say the least. And before the woman’s lips parted to let a melodious, veiled voice cover the monstrous heart beats, a tremendous silence had seemed to quiet all the surroundings in a terrible wait.

“Don’t be afraid. It is curiosity that had led me on your path, and a sheer desire for friendship that made me follow your tracks. My name is Sevraine,” the Elder greeted, jovial from her voice to the bright glance she had fixed on Gabrielle. 

They watched Sevraine quietly, all senses dedicated to the presence as if able to gauge the potential danger they represented at that very moment. Then, almost reluctantly, they took off their hat, and pressed it against their chest as they bowed gallantly.

“Gabriele is mine,” they said in Italian, just as they had once introduced themselves to their husband to be. A name often mistaken for a French feminine one. Well, it never truthfully irritated them, anyway. 

Another silence settled itself between the two immortals, and the wind seemed to murmur harder in an attempt to break it. Bringing in its whirling the fresher scent of a dew that would never reach the floor, and the far murmurs of little birds. Dawn was coming close. Gabrielle could feel it underneath their skin, in an hour or so, the deadly sunbeams would flood the valley in gold. They would need to find a place to dig themselves under the ground before it happened, or else their blood would boil in their veins and their skin would dry before sticking to their bones and burn. 

“I have a shelter, hidden deep in secret caverns,” Sevraine spoke again, sensing probably even better than Gabrielle the urge of regaining the darkness before sunrise. “Please, allow me to invite you in. There is much to hear from you, and I promise in return to answer your questions.” 

The elegant Child of the Millenia opened an arm in a graceful gesture, pointing at the high reliefs of rocks and dust. With vigilant eyes, Gabrielle glanced the flawless hand, and a little further, the direction years of roaming had let to. They wondered a moment if following an Ancient on their diurnal lair was the wisest decision to make. Somewhere in their mind, Lestat’s voice arised, reminding them of his ardent seek for knowledge, for the story of their origins. The memories of Armand and his horrid coven mixed, and a thrill of warning went down their spine. But how could they refuse anything to such a powerful creature, that the even world seemed to appease itself in order to allow her supernatural heart to beat so loudly? Slowly, they nodded, placing their large hat back on their head.

“Lead the way,” they said, easing some of the tension that had built in their shoulders. After all, hadn’t she already led the game of cat and mouse all along? Sevraine gave a nod at her turn, but it was unclear whether she was agreeing with Gabrielle’s words or with their thoughts.

She led them down the valley, until a deep cave appeared half revealed by the moon’s glimmer. Gabrielle had some difficulties to find safe grips, their vampiric vision and strength tested at each new step, so much that it was more by instinct than anything else, that they found their way after Sevraine. Then, it was through a succession of tunnels physically testing to walk in that they dug deeper into darkness, finding their guide to wait after them at each tricky corner. Gladly, for it would have been a difficult thing for the younger vampire to find their way out, or in, without her. 

“We are almost there,” she said quietly, as if answering a silent inquiring caught up in Gabrielle’s mind. And at the very difference of Armand’s intrusions, it didn’t feel bothersome. To be fully honest, they didn’t feel a thing, which was probably even more concerning.

Though, they found out pretty fast that Sevraine had spoken the truth, now discerning in the far depth of a larger cave, the glow of salving torchlight burning bright. So much ostentatious gold had been decorating what seemed to be an entry further into the shelter, that the light reflected on each stalactite, each cavity, each sharp rock was like the sun itself. 

Gabrielle needed a short moment to ease their view, shortly stunned by the dazzlinness of the place, and its master. It was at that very moment, that the sneaky realisation of the situation caught them up. Once posed a foot further in the Golden caves, there would be no turning back. The Elder seemed to understand their hesitation, remaining for a silent moment as contemplative on the bright shapes as Gabrielle. They gave a nod, and walked further. Damned might they be if they didn’t take that chance to understand more about their nature and origins. 

Entering Sevraine’s lair felt like walking in a Sanctuary, pompous from the wall to the ceiling covered in gold and ancient painting, to the severe faces of statues kept as everlasting guardians of the souls entering the cave. Candles cleverly placed here and there, rendered the whole place strangely welcoming and bright, the soft scent of melted wax and burning wick mixing with fresh draught smelling like dew. But the more baffling was yet to come, for at the very moment Gabrielle walked in a larger cave, their usual phlegm cracked in parted lips, opened on a silent expression of awe. 

It was certainly the most wonderful cavern they had set foot in, outrageously wide, splendidly adorned with colored jewels and rocks, lightened by thousands of candles shining like stars all around. They wondered a moment how the flowers could be so vivid, so deep undergrounds, and whom were the figures she could catch here and there in small alcoves carved directly through the rock. Their eyes were drawn everywhere by discreet twinkles or colorful patterns, by trompe l’oeil paintings, movements of leaves dancing at the soft blows of wind… Beautiful, but unnecessary. 

Down and down did Sevraine lead Gabrielle, their silent feet barely touching the steps that brought them both in a large marble court. There were others heart beats near, more discreet than the Elder’s one, more akin to the ones Gabrielle had perceived once in Armand’s catacombs. To whomever could they belong, not a face showed up yet, probably allowing the younger vampire to familiarise themselves with the place. Or perhaps it was because of the far call for slumber the coming sunrise chanted, the one they could very well feel weightening their breath and slowing their reflexes. 

“Come, allow me to show you your room,” said Sevraine with her everlasting friendly soft voice. 

Rooms. Many tunnels joined the principal ground, as it seemed, reminding again the hidden splendors of Derinkuyu. Gabrielle gave a nod, and followed as they did until then, through the labyrinthic succession of tunnels, opened places, and closed houses. 

They entered one of them, dotted by a grand painting representing a window opened to the forest, and many more alcoves filled with burning candles. Sevraine gestured for them to enter first, and so they did, standing right in the middle of the unique room, breathing in the soft scents of green leaves falling as a cascade against a whole part of one wall, and the little nocturnal blooming flowers adorning them. A large bedding had been carved directly through the rock, many pillows and pelts giving to it an illusion of comfort, just as useless for Gabrielle, as the few apples they found on a table. 

“This home is your home for as long as you wish,” Sevraine uttered softly, now sitting on the edge of the bed. 

“Why?” Gabrielle couldn’t much restrain that sudden spark of curiosity, knowingly aware that nothing was truthfully free.

They remembered again of the damned coven composed of livid terrific creatures wearing black gaunt clothes and staining their hair with soil. They remembered how their covenmaster had begged for companionship in exchange of precious information, among others, the name of Those-Who-Must-Be-Kept that didn’t have any meaning to anyone of them. 

“You heard about the Parents…” Sevraine seemed thoughtful, catching against Gabrielle’s will new spark of memories and secretive thoughts. “And you sought for more answers.” 

“It is nothing more than legends told by a child.” they said, for that was what Armand had been : a cruel child, whose only beauty was his cherubic face and deep brown eyes. He had been rotten from the inside by his need for salvation. It wasn’t such a surprise, that the boy had believed such tattletales, just as an orphan would believe in the existence of loving parents somewhere in the world, ready to adopt them.

“I’ve met them.” The dreamy voice brought Gabrielle back from their remembrances, icy blue eyes now scrutinizing the friendly physiognomy of the Elder. 

They couldn’t believe such words, of course, and even less coming from a creature seemingly that old. But soon, images intruded their brain, and in a split second, the room had disappeared to show a large golden throne chamber. They gasped, and made a step back, then another, colliding against an invisible table. Around them, the thick walls had become painted columns, the candles were now large indecent braseros aligned on each sides of a long and large nef. Human beings were all around on their knees, venerating what they seemed to take as their deities. Incense was probably burning somewhere, the warm and perfumed ambient air whirled by heavy feathered fans.

“It was a long time ago. A time of Queens and Pharaohs,” Sevraine continued along the shifting images.

On the very end of the nef, few steps led to two golden round thrones, on which two wonderful creatures of marble, onyx, silk and gold sat. The light reflected on their eyes on that very unnatural way vampiric eyes did, both of them wearing delicate lines of khol and gold. For a moment, Gabrielle stared at them with a sense of awe they rarely allowed themselves to experience. The man seemed peaceful, silent and immobile as another vampire murmured to his ear. His black hair made of pure ebony wearing a crown of linen and papyrus gave his handsome face a severe expression, and “the strength that emanated from him was enough to reduce anyone into sheer reverence.

“Enkil was the King of Kemet then. The Great King, already seen as Osiris by his loyal servants, and treated now as the personification of the God itself.”

But as much the handsome face of the man could spark admiration in one, it was nothing compared to the woman’s beauty. Her face was as delicate as porcelain dolls, her pale olivaceous skin covered with gold dust and heavy jewelry. Her long dark braided hair looked like snakes falling on her shoulders as Medusa’s tresses, and the tender pink of her lips seemed as delicate as rose petals, until they moved to form words in a dialect Gabrielle had never heard before, and showed in flash the tip of two deadly fangs. She had a certain look in her eyes which perplexed them the most. Just a little twinkle of rage, burning deep, deep into onyx. A shiver shook them, at the horrid realisation that the woman’s glance seemed barely human-like. 

“She was Enkil’s Queen, and the very First of our kind. Akasha, bearer of the Sacred Core, Great Mother of all Vampires, calling herself Isis’s personification and demanding in exchange of her magical blood a blind servitude. And I, with my throat still filled with the liquid ecstasy of her Blood", would become her very first Priestess.”

Akasha… Enkil… The names rolled within Gabrielle’s mind as the vision vanished. Thus they were the very first ones of their species, walking among human beings as living Gods of Night and Blood. Where were they now? What would they look like? As shared between perfect immobility and lively moves? If being adored like Gods had been so important for them, why were there no tracks of them anywhere?

 “What became of them?” they finally asked, daring to come closer to their Elder and sit by their side. Dawn was closer than ever, and yet, Gabrielle refused to let it show of their features. Trying to fool such an old creature was probably even more foolish, but they had learned soon enough to keep any show of weakness hidden.  

“I promise you’ll have the answers to all of your questions as soon as dusk will rise. For now, we should part for the day to come and gather back later,” Sevraine softly stated, and Gabrielle could only nod gratefully, as they would pass out in an instant or another, even if she stayed there. She rose in a very elegant way, moving her aerial shape to the door from which she gave a light glance back. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Gabrielle.” She bowed lightly, and disappeared in the shadows of the tunnel. 

A small, sheepish smile twitched Gabrielle’s lips, as they peered through the door a moment, before laying on the bedding. Face covered with their hat and body now numbed by the forced slumber, they allowed the very last events to haunt their mind. Well, this seemed promising.