#edel veice

[ivanshatov]

🧛

[ivanshatov]

oh yeah, i totally have vampire ocs

[ivanshatov]

double date

wc: 3.1k

it’s 11pm post-superbowl sunday night and i finished writing this fun little oc oneshot so i’m gonna drop it here bc why not? anyways, what the hell gay vampires

The sun had just barely set, but Edel was busy working away at the theatre’s lobby; stringing up lights, watering the plants, lighting the candles, cleaning away the blood, the usual cleanup checklist. With all the ruckus coming from Edel’s radio of whistled showtunes and the sound of hurried housekeeping taking place, Mia appeared in the doorway. She was dressed modestly in a corset and skirt that dropped to her heels, her hair up and traces of blood beneath her lips. “What in the name of— are you doing?” she asked, rubbing her head with a yawn.

Edel beamed, fully dressed, with petticoat, makeup, and all. “Didn’t I remind you yesterday?” they asked, lifting the sides of their gown and prancing to Mia. “Sujani’s love is coming over today. She’s introducing him to me. Is that blood on your face? Make sure you clean it, you’ll scare the poor man.”

“Sujani’s love, huh?” Mia thumbed beneath her lip and raised an eyebrow. “Well, does he know?”

“Know what?” Edel looked up from their busywork, wide-eyed and oblivious. 

“Does he know about the—“ Mia gesticulated and threw up her hands. “The vampirism?”

“Oh! Oh. I’m not sure. Best not bring it up. Just to be safe,” Edel replied, twirling the broom she held and resisting the urge to strike some Fosse-esque pose. “You can come out if you’d like to say hi. Maral and Libera know too, but they’re off doing lines in the mezzanine.”

Mia tilted her head. “And the rest of the cast?”

“Laundry, props, helping Igor with the set, cleaning the apron, the like...” Edel replied, tending to a spiderweb in the corner. “I don’t want anyone eating him, so I’m trying to have them all occupied. Sujani made it very clear she will be very upset if her beau gets devoured. And then who will manage our stage if she is upset with me? This has to run very smoothly. You see? So, my dear, if some lost-looking breather is wandering through the halls, please redirect him here. No blood-sucking involved, preferably.”

“And no hypnotism, right?” 

Edel turned around, leaning the broom against the wall and wrapping their arms around Mia’s waist. “No hypnotism, promise.” The couple linked pinkies and Mia rested her head on Edel’s chest.

“Alright. Be safe, dear. Check for stakes, crucifixes, the like...” she sighed, pushing her hair behind her ear. “We don’t want any guest appearances.” Giving Edel a kiss on the cheek, she unlinked her hand and started down the hall. “I best get dressed, too. Perhaps I’ll show up when I’m prim and proper. Make it a double date, as they call it these days, hm?” 

Flashing a fanged grin, Edel nodded with excitement. “Oh, please do! Double date,” they repeated, eyes sparkling. “Please, you’ll look radiant. Love you,” Edel called as Mia vanished down the hallway. 

Alone and back in the grandiose lobby, Edel continued to tend to the dust bunnies around the lobby, humming some musical jingles underneath her breath. As she got stuck replaying the songs of Les Mis in her mind, her eyes flitted to the clock. Fifteen minutes until 8’o’clock! Oh goodness, darling Sujani would be arriving any moment. Gathering the cleaning supplies and taking one last look around the lobby, Edel hurried back to the stage to dispose of the swiped supplies. The door slammed behind them as they entered the backstage, and a few heads downstage were turned. 

“Eeeeedel!” Pasha called out, bouncing upstage and meeting Edel’s side. “Can I take those off your hands?” he asked, batting his childlike eyes. 

“Sure,” Edel muttered, smiling down at him. “Please remember. Don’t start wandering. Sujani is bringing a guest with her tonight.”

“Ooh, a guest!” Olga interjected, sticking her head up from the catwalk. “A guest of what sort? A prince? Duke, maybe? The President?”

“No, her boyfriend. And, and, please don’t drop those 2x4’s, Olga,” Edel shouted, waving their arms. 

Olga signaled a salute and nearly dropped the wooden planks, managing to narrowly avoid an accident with the flyweights. “I didn’t know Miss Sujani had a boyfriend,” Pasha said, saccharine. 

“No, you cannot eat him. No, you cannot play some childish prank on him. Whatever your next question is, the answer is no. Alright? I’ll give you a candy later, or something,” Edel mumbled, booping Pasha on the nose and ruffling his hair. 

“I can’t eat candy,” he maintained.

Edel exhaled, exasperated. “A book, then.”

“Books are boring!”

“One with illustrations,” she said with a wave of her hand, disappearing back in the direction of the lobby. 

As Edel reentered, briefly admiring their handiwork, a bell chimed at the box office and sent them peeling down the hallway.

“Sujani! Sujani, darling! I’m so glad you’ve come!” Edel announced, bursting in through the threshhold with a wide grin and open arms.  Sujani, relaxed and smiling, was dressed in her usual fare— a simple green sweater, a long skirt, Oxfords. Her hair was nice and curled and Edel noted the use of false eyelashes, something Sujani seldom indulged in. Her eyeliner was nonetheless bold. As Edel’s eyes met her guest, however, the color (or lack thereof) drained from her face. “I know you,” Edel mumbled, enthusiasm dying. Her eyes trailed back to Sujani, and she glared. “Luca Betschen? The Luca Betschen, of all men in this city crawling with them?”

Luca Betschen, standing opposite Sujani, with her hand around his waist and his around hers, was a short and plucky little man. His hair was curly and brown, and he had the most lovely, enticing young eyes, and was ruggedly handsome despite his unfortunate smallness. And Edel knew his face very, very well.

The Theatre has a strange relationship with the Press. The Theatre can function just fine independent of the Press, but their relationship is reciprocal. The Press is a necessary predator in the ecosystem in the fine arts, regulating the bad and safeguarding the good. But as hundreds of years pass by, between the un-dead and the living, tastes tend to change, and perceptions of otherwise fine Theatre may appeared skewed. A six-hundred year disparity, as one could imagine, would intensify these critical differences. Luca Betschen, a fresh-faced journalist at some irrelevant, wretched, Winterthur newspaper, embodies it. One ruthless review two years ago on Edel’s production of The Seagull has left them burning ever since. “Contrary to the beliefs of archaic director Edelgard Veice,” Betschen wrote, “Chekov’s works are better left boring and lifeless, not thrown into a kitschy, unexplainably Tudor delirium of color and light.”

She spotted his face in the audience opening night a year ago, received another scathing review, and has been plotting her revenge over her production. And now, that wretched man stands in front of her, alongside her darling Sujani, of all people! Sujani has no time to respond before Edel, seething, retreats back into the lobby. “I am retracting my gracious invitation!”

“Miss Edel—”

“Get him out of here!” Edel roared, stomping down the hallway in her one-inch heels. 

Two humans stand in the box office of a vampire nest, hands linked. It’s a hot summer evening in one of Europe’s most beautiful cities, tourists bustling on the streets and the stars shining above. “Shall we just... go?” Luca asked, clearing his throat. “I hope I haven’t upset her. That was certainly not my intention.”

Sujani shrugged her shoulders and peeked down the hall into the lobby, and then at the door marked Employees Only that led to the backstage. “Edel... tends to hold grudges for a long time. She’ll warm up to you eventually,” she insisted with another lukewarm shrug. “Hopefully.”

***

The sound of Edel’s heels clicking on the theatre floor echoed loud and clear disapproval through the walls of the theatre. She stormed past the auditorium, stomping with irate force, and up to the dressing rooms, up another flight of stairs, to where Mia should be. And, without a hint of hesitation, she slammed her fist down on the door, knocking the ancient oak with unrelenting fury. Mia swung the door open, doing up her corset, eyes wide as Edel stumbled back. “What’s wrong? Shouldn’t you be with Sujani? And her… human love-friend?”

Edel slammed the door behind them and dropped down in one of Mia’s empty seat, bristling with rage and chewing on her lip. 

“Edel…?”

“Do you remember,” Edel began, heated, “when that pathetic little Winterthur paper smeared my good name? That 2.5 star review? You must remember.”

“Uh, was that The Seagull, or Romeo and Juliet, or Anything Goes?”

Edel was silent. 

“No, Anything Goes was one star,” Mia murmured, returning to the ribbons on her corset. When she looked up, Edel’s face was hidden in their hands. “Oh, dear.”

“She’s dating that bloody critic! That wretched critic! And they will marry and reproduce and my darling Sujani will bear wretched little critic children. Oh, Mia, I don’t know what to do! My reputation as a host will turn more repugnant than my critical reviews if I turn him away, and I will break my darling Sujani’s heart, but I can’t stand the thought of inviting him into this sacred place! This sacred place he’s desecrated!” Edel burst back into tears, taking a bloody handkerchief from Mia’s desk and blotting her running makeup.

“Don’t use that hanky…” Mia scratched her head and placed her hands on Edel’s shoulders, then leaned forward and placed her head in the nape of their neck. “My dear dead thespian. You are a wonderful host, a wonderful director, a theatrical icon, with wonderful ideas, productions… Why are you letting some breather spit on you? He’s just a breather.  And you are an immortal being capable of flight, shapeshifting, and hypnosis who could suck all of the blood out of him instantly. Just some critic. And nobody cares about Winterthur, anyways. Screw Winterthur.” Mia lifted her hands off of Edel’s shoulders, working her first layer of ballgown up the crinoline hoopskirt. “Show him who’s boss. Show him those lovely host skills of yours. You worked so hard on that setup. And I saw you baking those cookies last night. See, you’re thoughtful, clever, and much better than he could ever be. No review will ever determine that.” 

“Mmm. I love you.” Edel said, rising to her feet and kissing Mia on the lips, cupping her hands around her face and touching their foreheads together. Stretching out a gloved hand, she smiled and pushed the door back open. “Come with me to the breather guests?”

“Certainly.”

***

The humans had, perhaps unwisely, let themselves into the theatre. Sujani kept glancing around the many hallways, praying to catch a possible vampire before it could catch blissfully unaware Luca. He was stuffing his face with a few of the store-bought human luxuries that Edel had purchased. “Are you alright? You seem uneasy.”

Sujani shook her head and smiled. “Not exactly your idea of a date night. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I feel underdressed, seeing Miss Veice in that ballgown. That’s gorgeous. Where did she get it?” he mused. “Anyhow, I didn't really notice how beautiful this theatre is. I don’t really have the time to sit around and enjoy it when I’m here, but the architecture’s lovely.” Sheepishly, he looked down one of the halls. “May I see the auditorium?”

Sujani briefly considered a future where a mob of hungry vampires sicked themselves on her helpless boyfriend, and shook her head. “Probably not a good idea.”

“Why not?”

It was a fair question. “Technical things…” she started. 

“Without a director or a stage manager?” Luca asked, confused.

“Uh…” 

Fortunately, the sound of four heels clicking on the ground interrupted the conversation, and Edel and Mia appeared in the doorway. Edel smoothed her ballgown and grinned weakly as Sujani got to her feet. “My darling Sujani,” Edel began, wrapping Sujani in a tight hug and then turning her attention to Luca. She looked him up and down, and stuck out a hand. He took it, smiling shyly. “Mr. Betschen,” she said, tilting her head. “I must love you, and suit to know you better.”

“King Lear,” he correctly identified. “I shall study deserving.”

Edel eyed Sujani with reluctant approval, and patted Luca on the shoulder. She waved Mia over, who stretched out her hand to Luca. “Mia Kleinmann, my producer and my lover.” 

“Mr. Betschen,” Mia said, taking his hand. “Sujani,” she greeted with a nod.

“I apologize,” Edel said, “for the rough opening. I’m happy to have you in the Theatre with me, Mr. Betschen, and I’m happy to finally meet you.”

“Please, call me Luca,” he said, taking a seat back in his chair. “I adore your ballgown. It’s so classic! It looks like a true regency classic. Yours too, Miss Kleinnman! I feel a bit underdressed, I must admit. Oh, thank you for inviting us. Sujani was dying for me to meet you.”

“Really?” Edel asked, eyeing Sujani as she forked a burnt tea cake in her mouth.

“Mhm,” she confirmed, mouth full. “Thought I’d try and ease the waters a bit, no?”

“I suppose. Nonetheless,” Edel said, drawing the curtains shut. “Pleased to have you with us, Luca. You seem a proper young man for my darling Sujani. Well-read on theatre…” She sighed and took a seat beside Mia, linking their hands together. “You know your stuff. Now, did you know I’m a playwright myself?”

“Oh? Tell me more,” Luca said, popping another tea cake in his mouth and handing one to Edel. They politely declined with a wave.

“Well—” Sujani interjected. “You know, I wanted to bring this up to you earlier, Miss Edel, but did you know Luca and I actually met after The Seagull?” She linked her hand with Luca, who grinned.

Edel raised her eyebrows and shook her head and Sujani continued, twirling her hair. “Opening night cast party. Met him in this very lobby and he took me for a drink down the street. Couldn’t change his mind on the production, though,” she said, elbowing him. 

“The wheel is come full circle… Also King Lear,” he noted.

“Sujani’s third production with me,” Edel mused. “And now her eighth! Stage managing, set construction, lighting design. A real wünderkind.”

“And a wonderful costumier,” Mia added.

“You’re one lucky gentleman,” said Edel.

“Treat her right!” Mia chirped.

Sujani grinned and rocked Luca back and forth. “Oh, he’s just a gentleman. So very polite. And I love a man who loves the Theatre.”

“I live for the Theatre. Oh, I’m just some lousy critic. I hope one day I can go on the stage again,” he said, taking Sujani’s hand.

“Again, you say?” Edel asked, fiddling with her necklace.

He smiled sheepishly. “I was in some productions in grade school, and college. Mostly Shakespeare-related. I suppose I’m more techie-inclined, though, like Sujani.”

Edel brightened. “Well, you simply must try out for one of our Shakespeare productions! After my original play is staged, though. I try to cast unknowns, and broaden the scope of my casting, and—”

“Maybe not, though,” Mia said quickly.

“Yeah, maybe not,” Sujani continued, tilting her head towards a confused Luca. “Just because Edel has been thinking of staging more original plays as of late!”

“But we’ll give you a call when the Bard shows his face around here again,” Mia said with a wave. “I love producing Shakespeare. So classic.” 

“Yes, so classic.” Sujani said, popping two cookies in her mouth and letting out a relieved sigh.

“Right,” Luca commented. “I’d love to be in a show again. Get a taste of your direction style from the inside. Because it’s truly unique, and very interesting,” he said, shooting a nod at Edel.

Edel cleared their throat and nodded. “Well, it’s been great,”

“Um, what?”

“It’s been great, Luca. But, erm, I think Sujani and I have some blocking to look over!” Edel said, getting to her feet. “May I walk you out?”

“I’m his ride, Edel…” Sujani said, rubbing her forehead.

“Then l will go over the blocking and you’ll look over it tomorrow! Go! Get some sleep! You hu— busy people!” Edel waved her hands and started to the door, ballgown bouncing behind them.

“Alright? Well, thank you,” Luca said, a bit startled as he hurried out, hand linked with Sujani. 

“Why don’t you two visit that bar you went to? After The Seagull. Take a quick trip down memory lane! Oh, my darling Sujani,” Edel said, taking Sujani’s free hand. “May I have a word?”

Sujani looked back at Luca who shifted his weight and gestured back to the box office. Edel pulled Sujani inside and Mia appeared in the door. Luca hid his hands behind his back and stared at the pavement. 

“You haven’t told him?” Edel asked. 

“No?” Sujani replied, sticking her hands in her pockets. “I’m not trying to scare him off with mad ravings of vampires and the undead. I’m not doing that with him.”

“You best tell him soon,” Mia commented. “Before he figures it out. Is he into the supernatural, by any chance?”

“Not that I know of,” Sujani said. “Look, I don’t know. I’ve kept it from him this long. Well, we only started dating recently. After Anything Goes.”

“Anything Goes? Jesus. That was one star, I thought,” Mia muttered.

“Yeah, couldn’t change his mind on it. Trust me, I tried.”

Edel crossed their arms and huffed indignantly. “Well, please do tell him. Sooner, rather than later. Or just let him find out on his own. Just make sure he doesn’t have any stakes lying around. Or homemade crucifixes.”

“He’s Jewish,” Sujani replied.

“Well, still.” Edel uncrossed her arms. “Take care of it. And see me about the blocking tomorrow. Okay? I’ll see you around, my darling Sujani.”

The vampires disappeared into the lobby and Sujani exited the theatre, taking Luca’s hand. He kissed her on the cheek and tilted his head to the marquee. “They’re kinda odd, aren’t they?”

“I never noticed it.”

He pointed at the lights on the marquee, dazzling and untouched since their installation in the 1970s. “You should tell Miss Edel to turn that off. That must be a sizable electricity bill.”

“Nothing we can’t handle, I’m sure,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder and kissing him on top of his head. “Thanks for putting up with me, Theatre Kid. Want a drink?”

“For sure,” he said, kissing her back on the cheek. Taking each others‘ hands, they started down the street, the lights of the theatre behind them.

[ivanshatov]

trespasser

wc: 2.7k

i wrote this in january so it’s kinda bad and stilted and a bit ooc for the character development i’ve done </3 but it also comes slightly after the fic i just posted and i feel brave so i’m posting both xoxo gossip girl

Sujani knew the theatre like the back of her hand. After all, it had been her home for the last few years, and she’d grown accustomed to Edel’s labyrinths and corridors littered throughout the seemingly endless building. She knew every exit, entrance, nook, cranny, and section, the patterns and details burned into her mind. Just proper for a stage manager, even moreso for a familiar. Through her familiarity with the theatre, however, she had been acquainted with their newest trespasser rather quickly. It was Mia who had first spotted him lurking around the grounds in the weeks prior, just as dusk settled in. “Friend of yours? Friend of Luca’s?” she asked, masking the last hours of daylight with a paper fan.

“Certainly not,” Sujani insisted, peering out through the intricate windowpane at the suspicious figure. “I’ve never seen that man in my life.”

“Engländer,” Mia muttered. “A Briton. It must be. Donning his tourist fare and all. See?”

That was the first incident with the trespasser, until he became one frequent arrival on the security cameras and outer sidewalks. He had evaded interaction with Sujani, keeping his distance from the realm of the theatre, and she kept his lingering presence to the back of her mind.

During the daylight hours, Sujani took the liberty of drawing the curtains, allowing brilliant sunlight to enter through the theatre’s majestic windows. Edel often griped over open curtains and loosened blinds, but as Sujani was busy tending to the theatre’s auditorium and proscenium, the extra light was of use to her. It was also much more useful in exposing any pesky breathers trying to enter where they were not invited. The stray tourist or pedestrian could be turned away easily and handed a pamphlet with a gleeful smile, but it was seldom a breather entered the theatre with bad intent. After all, the theatre’s always been a place to relax and unwind. The new trespasser was certainly not a theatregoer, though, as his ruckus could be heard from the lighting booth where Sujani sat.

Finding her pocketknife and hiding it drawn behind her back, she crawled over the pit and glided over the stage, skirt bouncing behind as she pulled back the curtains. She hummed a light tune, scanning the dark area of the wings and backstage for any movement. Drawing her eyes from the fly weights to theq leftover debris from the last season’s closer, she at last spotted the trespasser.

He was staring at the portrait of Edel. Her symmetrical face, round cheeks, hypnotic stare. His hands were folded behind his back, crucifix held loose in one. It reminded Sujani of her own personal souvenir, and she unsheathed her pocketknife. Then, taking a silent step closer, she cleared her throat. “Excuse me.”

The trespasser flinched, remaining in his position for a fleeting moment before turning to meet Sujani’s eyes, crucifix raised. “I-It’s daytime.” 

Despite hiding behind sunglasses and heavy clothes in the peak of summertime, like a true coward would, Sujani recognized the trespasser. Mia’s Engländer, the one on the cameras, the one with the hat. He had evaded capture those last two times, narrowly escaping a meeting with Sujani as she observed the security cameras from her vantage point in the mezzanine. But, at last, she had caught him red-handed, in the midst of his favorite and only activity. She smiled, eyes shimmering with irony. “You’re mistaken.” This was no theatregoer and certainly no tourist, if the sharpened crucifix and silver rosaries told her anything. 

Sujani held her forced smile. Keeping one hand behind her back, she drew a hand up to her face, pulled back her lips, revealing two sets of straight and dull human teeth. “See?”

The trespasser didn’t relent, keeping his grip on his homemade crucifix. “A daywalker.”

“You amuse me, but no. I’m a breather like you. After all...” Sujani began, stretching out a hand to the crucifix and clutching the intersection. She released her hand, holding it up with a growing smile. “You see? No injury in sight. Not the smell of smoke, either. Proof enough for you? Good. Now.” Sujani waved a hand, waiting for him to lower his arm, and then continued. “I know who you are. You’ve been sniffing around for the past week. Not very subtly, might I add. If you don’t want to give away your penchant to destroy all vampirekind, perhaps don’t carry around wooden stakes and crucifixes everywhere. It alienates the locals, no?” she tilted her head to the crux.

“You are American,” he said, in a tone somewhere in between a question and a statement. His expression had not trembled or changed once, and he kept the look of utter disinterest firm, exacerbated by his shaded eyes. Yes, Sujani thought, this man is certainly suspicious. Undoubtedly up to no good.

“Yes, yes, I am. And you must be from some obscure bit of the United Kingdom nobody’s ever heard of. Rest assured, I do not care from where you hail. Rather, I’m graciously extending you the offer to leave, you know, before my boss flies down and shreds you to utter pieces,” Sujani continued, pausing to observe her nails. “I know what you are here to do. I don’t know your reasons, but I’ll politely ask you to leave under threat you may become drained of your blood and left a cold corpse in the bottom of this theatre.”

The trespasser— no, the Engländer, the Englishman— let out a sullen sigh. “A familiar,” he said in that deadpan tone.

“Yes, that is I. Now, will you accept my other? Kindly leave us alone? Return to whence you came from, and never disgrace us with your presence yet again?” She gestured to the door to the balcony, still ajar and weighted by a flyweight.

The Englishman glanced at the floor, then back at the portrait. Edel, in their ballgown, cheeks red with dye and falsified life. He turned back to Sujani and said, “I can’t do that.”

She scoffed. “Sure you can. What’s your name, young man? Don’t you have a life? A family? People you care for in this world? You’ve really chosen to resign your life to the slaughtering of beings you know nothing of?” She frowned, shifting her weight and waiting for another deadpan response from the trespasser.

“I know much of vampires,” he replied before turning his back once again, scanning the portrait. “My name is none of your business. If you allow me to do mine, you can be free from her bidding,” he declared, lifting a finger to the portrait.

“I am not looking to be freed by the likes of you,” Sujani snapped, running a finger over the blade of the knife. “I quite like my life, and my overseer.” He lowered his gaze, but did not turn to look at her. “You must go,” she pleaded. “For your own safety. You are still young. Why are you out here, concerning yourself with affairs of other people?”

“You are not people,” he snarled, whipping around with the crucifix in hand. “You’re the farthest thing from a person.”

Sujani stared at his cold expression and heaved another exasperated sigh, then pointed the pocketknife. “I suppose I’m going to have to force you to leave, then? You wouldn’t dare hurt another human being, now, would you? A breathing, bleeding, living human being.” She stepped forward, attempting to look menacing as she could in her frilly shirt and buckled shoes, knife drawn and eyes narrowed. “Much like yourself, young man.”

He scoffed and began to walk backwards, crucifix still dangling from the tips of his fingers. Sujani continued forward, knife drawn as he lifted his free hand, searching in the darkness for an exit into the corridors of the theatre. Between them, in the silence of the backstage, she could hear only the frantic pounding of her heart in her ears and the short  breathing of the trespasser as he searched for an egress.

Above them, a catwalk creaked, and then, descending from the second floor of the stage, still tying her corset, appeared Edel. “Do we have a trespasser on our hands?”

The Englishman stumbled forward, crucifix outstretched, before Sujani grabbed his arm, pulling him backwards, further into the darkness of the theatre’s left wing.

“You should be sleeping, Ms. Veice!” Sujani exclaimed, surprise evident. The Englishman’s glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose to reveal two olive eyes filled with dread.

Edel’s haughty laughter filled the stage, and she appeared above Sujani’s head, red eyes piercing the darkness of the wings. “Nonsense. He’s been bothering you, hasn’t he? No longer. Come on, now, I could use a midday snack.”

It only took a few words and a swift movement to break him from his trance. Sujani grabbed both his arms, slamming him against a door leading to one of the many corridors of the theatre, and it swung open. “Left, right, first door to your left. Run,” Sujani hissed, releasing him and watching as he stumbled out into the darkness. Edel landed on her feet and streaked past Sujani down the corridor, leaving behind a homemade crucifix clattering on the floor. The sound of panicked footsteps continued down the hall, and Sujani followed, leaving the door to the wings ajar. As she stepped across the resistant hardwood, she heard the familiar sound of a creaking door swinging open, followed by a light hiss and a fearful set of feet exiting down a fire escape. Edel appeared back in the hall, glum and undoing their corset as they floated above the floorboards. 

“Well, you just scared the living daylights out of the man,” Sujani commented, hiding the homemade crucifix behind her back. 

“That was but the intention, my darling Sujani.” Edel rolled their eyes, returning to the floor and picking up the edges of their petticoat as their corset went slack. “I gave him quite a fright! He won’t be coming back for a while now. That’s the one, is it not?”

Sujani peered over Edel’s shoulder, as if he would appear again in the hall as they talked, stake drawn. She blinked, averting her gaze back to a gloomy Edel. “Yes. Yes, I believe so. But, I must say, I do have a feeling we will not be seeing the last of him for quite some time.”

Edel bobbed her head and then raised a delicate hand to mask her yawn. “Why say you such things?”

“Suspicion,” she replied, offering a placid smile. “Do not worry, he will get nowhere near you, nor any of the others, let me say,” Sujani insisted, allowing the crucifix to clatter to the ground as she took Edel’s hand. “You must head back now. I wouldn’t want you to grow weak. Why were you out anyways? It’s unsafe these hours, especially in...”

With a wave of her hand, Edel cut Sujani off. “No need. I had a feeling. This theatre is but an extension of myself, my darling Sujani, and I know when there is something afoot.” They relaxed their shoulders, pressing their hands to their chest with a sigh. “And you must dispose of that, my darling, before someone is to be harmed.” Edel’s eyes touched the crucifix, burdened with nostalgia, before she lifted a hand to her face. “I do feel rather weakened by the light. I don’t suppose you will escort me back, and then do draw those curtains in the auditorium?” Edel folded their hands, turning their nose up as they continued. “I would rather my entire cast not be incinerated by sunlight.”

Sujani pursed her lips and held out her hand to Edel, kicking the crucifix to the side. “Certainly, Ms. Veice. I’ll attend to that right away.” 

Leading Edel through the dimly lit halls, then down the staircase to the hideaway, Sujani’s rising anxiety melted away and the corridors and patterns returned to her mind. “Goodnight, my darling Sujani,” Edel said as they disappeared into the shadows of the room, a faint candlelight outlining the cover of their coffin.

“Goodnight, Ms. Veice.”

The crucifix remained where Sujani had left it, right beside the open door back to the stage. Sujani sucked in a breath as she lifted it up, twirled it in her hands, and smashed it upon the floor. The wood buckled and split as she slammed it again, again, and once more for good measure, until her palms were streaked red and she had received a splinter in her index. Splintered pieces of wood now decorated the floor, and nobody on would ever be aware there was a crucifix to begin with, Sujani thought, as she swept away the pieces. Crossing the stage to the disposal and feeling the warmth of the summer light on her face, Sujani watched as it disappeared among the broken sets and discarded scripts.

[ivanshatov]

*attacks*

wc: 1.8k

pasha makes a new friend. posting my poor oc writing here can be fun, actually.

He knew it was a risk to enter the nest at dusk. He did it anyway.

For the last week, he’d been slipping in through a door in the far back. It led directly to the stage, but it seemed rather unused by the inhabitants. Dust and cobwebs layered the hall connecting the outside to the interior, and it bothered him so much that he attempted to swat the cobwebs away the first few times. Keeping quiet in the wings of the stage was also an issue, with flyweights, debris, and tools littering the floor. It was a challenge not to trip, especially in the pitch darkness that was only cut through by the ghost light. 

His escapades to the stage were often brief and short-lived. He was either unable to work up the courage to investigate or was chased off by the plucky stage manager with a penchant for green. Today, however, he had come after the summer sun started to slip behind the mountains, an oversight he hoped wouldn’t result in disaster. He entered through the back yet again, slipped into the left wing, and immediately collided with a plank of wood that hadn’t been there the day before. 

Collapsing to the floor, he scrambled into a corner, narrowly avoiding the toppled wood. Then, hearing voices, he hurried into a shadowy corner, kneeling and groping in the darkness for his single stake. Feeling its absence on his side, he stifled a gasp when he realized it had rolled across the floor, far out of his reach. The voices grew coherent.

“Pasha, go check what that noise was, please.”

“Yes, Miss Veice.” Footsteps, and then:

“Crap. I’ve forgotten the pens. I’ll be right back. Stay here, alright? And don’t touch anything. Good boy.” The voice and footsteps faded into the distance.

Hoping that the other set of footsteps wouldn’t catch sight of him, he cowered in the corner, hiding underneath some old table. Somebody sniffed the air, stepped forward, flicked on a light, and noticed a stake. They walked over to survey it, eyes wide with childlike fear and fascination, and then caught the scent again.

He tried not to make a sound, but of course, the heightened senses of an Un-Dead always get you at the worst time. Bending over to pick up the stake, and stepping forward with total caution, was a vampire. It had every marking of one— the red eyes, pale skin, pointed ears— but this one wasn’t like those picture books full of capes, stakes, and bloodstains.

No, it was a child. A child dressed in all black, with huge circles of black makeup underneath its eyes. With stockings, shorts, and a blazer, it looked like a schoolboy he would see at the bus stop by his flat.  

“Who are you?” 

Christ, it even sounded like a child.

“You shouldn’t play with stakes, wee one,” he said, keeping his voice a hushed whisper. “Hand it over.”

The vampire sensed a game afoot, and smirked. “Why should I?” he asked, grinning and revealing a set of tiny fangs. “And you didn’t answer my first question, stranger.”

“I don’t have to answer to you.” He pulled his hand away from his face. “You should hand it over, because I’d rather you not get injured, hm?”

“I won’t get injured by some breather’s pathetic stake. I’m a powerful vampire.” The vampire stepped over the wooden plank and did a squat, staring at the trespasser with his wide-eyed gaze. “Are you English?”

He narrowed his eyes and turned away. Always avoid a vampire’s gaze; they have skills of hypnotism. “Why?” 

The vampire continued to stare at him, and juggled the stake. “I’ve never met a real-life Englishman.” When he didn’t reply, the vampire continued with purposeful childhood naïveté. “I’m Ukrainian.”

Now that the vampire had mentioned it, he had heard the traces of an Eastern accent. Shifting his position to a more comfortable one, he continued to avoid meeting the vampire’s gaze, but replied. “That’s nice.”

The vampire went quiet, eyeing the stake in their hands and then peering at the crucifixes the Englishman adorned. He was hungry, for sure. He hadn’t eaten since two nights before, and was a bit sick and dizzy as a result, weakened and absent of that juvenile swagger.  But he also knew what Miss Veice and Miss Kleinnman had told him about folks with stakes and crucifixes, and relented with a sigh. “I’m not going to eat you, don’t worry.” Then, as the Englishman fumbled with his wooden crucifix: “It’s not worth it.”

The Englishman still didn’t speak as he tossed the crucifix over his shoulder. The vampire’s shoulders dropped and he sat on the floor, legs splayed. “But you should leave before Miss Veice sees you. She will snap you up--” He snapped his fingers in demonstration. “Like that.”

“So I’ve heard.” 

The vampire puffed out his cheeks and held up the sharpened stake. He held it to his face, dangerously close, observing it through squinted eyes. Then, bothered by the narrow window of vampire child murder that presented itself to him, the Englishman leaned forward and wrestled it away from him, scrambling to his feet. “Don’t play with that.”

“I wasn’t. I was looking at it,” the vampire retorted, arms crossed in indignation. “I’ve never met a real vampire hunter before.” Then, eyes glowing: “Will you kill me?”

The Englishman tried to make it seem as if he debated that question, although he’d already come to his answer. “No. As long as you don’t rat me out to Miss Veice.”

“I don’t like making compromises with breathers,” the vampire said, placing his hands on his hips. “But I suppose if you don’t murder me, then it’s a fair trade.”

With a cocked eyebrow and a disbelieving scoff, the Englishman held out the sharpened tip of the stake. “What’s your name, wee one?”

Staring down the stake with a mix of elation and terror, the vampire gaped. “The Well-Born Pavel Ossipovich Udovenko, Baron of Pridestnovie.” Then, seeing as the Englishman seemed utterly mystified by that string of letters, he continued. “But known to all as Pasha Ossipovich. What’s your name, sir? What’s your purpose here?” Pasha lifted a finger to touch the tip of the stake, then instantly pulled it away, blowing on his finger in a panic. “That hurt, actually!” “Holy water,” the Englishman mumbled, shoving the stake back into his belt. “I told you not to play with it. Sorry.”

“In my day, you would have your head chopped off for that,” Pasha snapped, gazing at the scar that had formed on his fingertip. “But this is modern times, so I suppose I won’t call for your execution.” 

The Englishman pushed up his sunglasses. “How old are you?” “Are you playing a game?” Pasha asked, getting to his feet with a groan. 

“Only if you want to. Fancy a game of 20 questions?” 

“I’m not a fan of boring games like that. I was thinking more along the lines of checkers. Or chess. Or tag. Or Twister.” Pasha stuck his injured finger in his mouth and peered at the Englishman. “If playing your stupid, boring, dumb game gets you to leave, though, I’ll play.” 

“Fine. I’ll begin,” the Englishman said. “How old are you?” “That’s not how 20 questions is played, idiot.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Fine. This is a game of small-talk, then.” “I’ve never heard of it.” “That’s because I just invented it. How old are you, wee one?” “I am 117 years old,” Pasha announced proudly. 

“Good. Now, you ask me a question,” the Englishman directed, placing his hands on his hips and offering the faintest of smiles.

“Hmm…” Pasha tapped his chin and gazed at the ceiling in deep thought. “How old are you?”

“I’m 32 years old.”

“Wow, you’re tiny! I’m older than your grandparents,” the vampire jeered.

“Certainly. Alright, what was your age when you were turned?”

“Seventeen,” Pasha said, squeezing his round cheeks, still plump and unchanged with permanent youth. “But you could have guessed that already. How… who… Why are you here?”

“You’re not allowed to ask me that.” Indignant, Pasha threw up his arms. “That’s not fair!”

The Englishman shrugged. “Another one.”

“What’s your name?” the vampire demanded, growing frustrated with the guest. “And, do you have any titles? Own any land? Are you a nobleman of your homeland?”

With a sigh, the Englishman crouched to Pasha’s height. “My name’s unimportant. My title is Student Physician, and I am no nobleman.” 

“Student Physician Englishman,” Pasha declared. “You know, it doesn’t roll off the tongue so well.”

“Neither does Pavel-Ossipovich-Udenvanko-Baron-Ukraine-Whatever,” he snapped back.

“How dare you! Now, your head would be really severed from your body,” Pasha hissed, sticking a scornful finger in the Englishman’s face. “You should treat your higher-ups, and your elders, with much more respect, young breather. I tire of you. Begone!” he declared with a flick of the hand.

The Englishman did not begone himself. He stood there in relative indifference. Pasha hissed in frustration and waved his hand. “Begone, breather! Ugh! This usually works,” he mumbled, glaring at the Englishman. 

“Guess I’m much too powerful for your juvenile skills,” he replied smugly.

“How dare you?” Florid with rage, Pasha’s eyes flashed and he took a step back, screaming at the top of his lungs. “Miss Veice!” he shouted. “Miss Veice, come quick!” 

“Shit, shit, shit. Stupid kid!” The Englishman scrambled from his hiding spot as a pair of hurried heels clicked into the wing, dropping their pens as they realized who was trespassing. 

“You again!” Edel snarled, levitating off the ground in a rush. “Pasha, get out of here, before I eat this gentleman alive.” Turning to the Englishman with bared teeth, Edel took a threatening step forward. “Darling Sujani won’t save you this time.” 

The Englishman streaked towards the door, fumbling with the knob and struggling for his wooden crucifix simultaneously. As Edel approached him, arms outstretched, he tore the crucifix off his neck and held it up to her face as a few beads clattered to the ground. “Get away!”

Edel recoiled as he shot down the hall, flinging the stage door opening and scrambling out of the alleyway in a panic. Tittering down the hall, Edel watched as he vanished around the corner and shrugged her shoulders. “Stupid breathers.”

Pasha stood in the doorway, wearing a pout. Edel frowned and cupped his face, bending to Pasha’s height. “Did the mean man hurt you, dear?”

“A little,” Pasha said, holding up his scarred finger.

“Mmph. Sorry, darling,” Edel mumbled, giving Pasha a kiss on the finger. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t come back next time.”

“Thank you, Miss Veice,” Pasha replied innocently, bending to pick over some of the pens she had dropped. 

She ruffled his hair and set the scripts down on the table. “Now that there’s no present threat, let’s start character work, hm?”