#reumbra

[thefixeraa]

... starter call , @reumbra : accepting .

raindrops fall hard against the metal frame that makes up this nameless van . out in the cold climate of the city , cars pass by this unsuspecting ( yet somewhat suspicious van , ) but hey it's new york . PEOPLE TEND TO IGNORE THE DANGERS HERE . why ? because most new yorkers want to get home , or maybe they have to head to work for a graveyard shift . it is the case for the fixer , who is keeping the vehicle warm and acting as back up . nox was in the high rise mansion at about ... the eighty fifth floor penthouse ? the invitation said it was for the hosts birthday party ( the princess polly of a girlfriend is the one who organized the damn thing . all the way down to the penthouse that she was renting , and naturally ... by her renting it , IT WAS REALLY THE RICH BOYFRIEND . )

mia was talking on a different line to one of her workers , her tech support who was guiding her through the different devices she had planted earlier in the day . they were also working as one of the waiter's , BEING HER PAIR OF EYES WHERE SHE COULDN'T BE . " tell me again why i'm the one pretending to be a waiter ? " samira's voice sounds from within mia's earpiece . a calm and soft voice , though there was a undercurrent tone of annoyance . " because if it were me , my cover would get blown and petra is still in france dealing with other business . besides ... it ain't like you're alone . "

it was nice to get to work with nox again , as it has been a while and things have changed . well , at least the way the fixer works is sorta different , considering she's got a small team at her disposal now . it takes a second to switch over to the line she shared with them , " hey , so samira is still working the main room . she's going to keep an eye out , just in case things start to go south . you're free to get as close to keith as possible to find out about those plans . "

[saintvampe]

—   𝐌.   |  THIS GAME IS ALWAYS FAMILIAR, always expected when ghoul - customers enter her atmosphere. when her storefront is open, she slides into a familiar flesh. her sainthood is turned inside out, more appropriate for business: she does not speak to her normal parishioners, but rather a prideful group of heretics, loud with their ghoulishness and eager with their pockets. they are a greedy crowd, bellies rumbling from their desires, bellies empty and hollow. the door opens and the Saint prepares for an onslaught of bodies; her hands work the shelves she stands before, last - second tidying and restocking completed just as the Ding! from the door's bell rings through. within a moment, she is back behind her counter, manicured nails tapping a steady beat against the glass; she prepares her greeting, the smile against her face... a sole body moves through the doorway, shadows licking at the tile floor, at the strung viscera, and her smile falters.

❝ are you here to buy, or just stink up my floor with your... ❞ the voice falters as she glances up at them, a vague unsureness in what to say, the mouth assuming a slant. With you, with you.... there is a pause before she speaks again. her hands become busy once more, the case of her counter opened and its insides straightened, jellied fingers lined up neat alongside the counter's shelves. she looks back up at Them, a breathy sigh leaving her mouth. ❝ i have something for you, actually... some scraps, but i kept them for you. ❞

the shadows press themselves against her store as if to consume the place. this body in her store [ @reumbra ] gives a grin, cocks their jaw towards the Saint's backroom storage. ❛ don’t feed me — i will come back. ❜ and the woman behind the counter can only laugh something short and thin.

SHE MOVES SWIFTLY FROM THE COUNTER, a manicured hand flat against the door behind her. the smile she gives them is swift in its appearance, dual fangs studded with rubies and gold. ❝ oh, but darling, that's the point of this little friendship of ours: i give, and you keep lurking around my windows... come back here, we've got a bit of time before the regulars begin coming through the market. ❞

[martyroshka]

witch,  woman,  widow.    all comparative sins of the time.  milk flesh curdled to them as the sun’s arc shortens over her diminished gardens.  she does not wear her mourning,  anymore.  flesh prickled,   wine-skin in the cold  &  clamouring at the pinched flesh of her corset.   

we toil in frenzied somatic being,   syncopate flesh that can only find sparing closure with the crescendo of the other to an amber husk.  an inch,  a separation by skin makes despair of us all.   who could love you,  as i do?    we find each other again  &  again   (fools,  destiny;  synonyms of both).   what is this,  if not belonging?     i cannot hide from you.   it has gone on too long.   we will always know of you   &   i.   the proof will be your body  &  my hands the shade of a savage harvest.   

redivivus woman  &  xyresic from the mouth;    she envelopes herself in the shawl,  shivering in the threnetic air of the wilderness beset them both.  the woman’s raw hands grasp at her forearms as she shudders its price,   full-bodied   &   still,  her bones let-out.   i will be palatable,  she thought,   as no poultice of her psyche.   should she be made that way?   or retain her acrimony as sloe fruits in season come  &  tower-crowned mother of the rotten grain   (humoured by demeter  &  the avenging dead),  the silent lemures;  in fear with dripping ambrosial fingers.  she salivates at the thought. 

cerise tresses unkempt of her curled plait  &  remake her jaw an espalier.   dew -  stained seraphim,    in orchids abloom  &  ascian as being,   oblation - like as the scent of starlit roses.    she smiles.      “   i don’t think i’ve seen you around,  before.   i’d like to introduce myself,   “    with the cloying rasp,   the sun invited into them, the backdrop of sycamores, calyx  &  white chapel pinnacles of apricity.    “   i’m lydia martin.    &  you are?   ”

[pyshcic]

⤳   @reumbra​​​,    𝘯𝘰𝘹,   asked:     ‹ i’m placing my trust in you. ›

“ now, now .... ” her steps are so delicate, leading her towards the living room window, that she nearly appears to float –– an apparition who lifts her gentle fingers to draw the curtains, actions supernaturally precise, dreamily graceful, frightfully fast. with a smile she turns to her guest, clearing the bulk of the room to return by their side in the blink of an eye. “ flattery's fickle! and still overwhelmingly successful, on me. i'll be certain to make your funeral procession dazzling if i'm wrong. ” she offers a widespread grin, an optimist's shine glinting off the whites of her teeth in preemptively triumphant display.

she typically dissuades confidence in her schemes, if only to make the point that even apollonian foresight is still reliant on the fates and their whims. however many strings she can see stretched thin between destinies and outcomes, there is always a chance she finds herself blind. for nox's sake, however, she finds herself overcompensating ––  to let down so darling a freckle-faced creature? absolute blasphemy; she'd play the part of infallible to offer them at least some sense of ease. “ smooth sailing, i assure you. quiet night, easy daybreak, everything you could want in a temporary hideout. i told you i have remarkable contacts everywhere, i'm always well-equipped to find a spot to lay low. ”

[frederickjones]

  ❛     𝓦ᴴᴀ̼𝘛     𝙏hᴱ̼   —  !!       ❜       his  flashlight  falls  and  bounces on  the  floor,  the   light  flickering   on  the  other's  form.  he  catches  his  breath .   n͟o͟t͟e͟ t͟o͟ s͟e͟l͟f͟      —     buddying  up  helps  with  the  nerves ! if  it's  not  broke  —  do not fix it.    ❛     you  really  got  me  there ... !  i'm  sorry,  i  thought  we  were  alone  in  here.      ❜      

⋆      ˚  〜 ₊   ✿      ˖             @reumbra           ♡

[witchwretch]

☽    "why are you here ?"

darkness  seduces  darkness.    do  they  know  what  they  have  beckoned?    do  they  know  who  they  draw  near?    it  isn’t  truly  their  fault  because  libby  seeks  out  shadows  in  the  blinding  sun,  so  desperate  is  she  for  the  only  comfort  she  has  known  (  i  was  left  to  the  void,  abandoned  where  smoke  makes  berth  and  thrives,  so  this  is  the  home  where  i  find  rest  ).    nox  did  not  ask,  but  then  they  never  had  to.    libby  would  find  a  way  with  bare  clawed  grip  through  the  trenches,  digging  and  digging  until  the  mark.

in  the  receding  corner  of  this  alley,  only  the  red  outline  of  a  burning  cigarette  shines  through  to  the  human  eye.    @reumbra​  might  make  out  libby’s  hooded  gaze,  the  green  of  her  eyes  peeking  just  enough  that  they  might  spot  the  other.    stain  meets  stain.    ❝    smokin’s  banned  inside  most  stores  nowadays.    ❞  it  does  not  answer  their  question,  not  the  truth  of  it,  but  that  had  been  the  intention.    libby  smiles  and  it  is  visible  in  the  dark,  too.    ❝    want  one?    ❞

[saintvampe]

—   𝐌.    |   THIS WORK IS ALWAYS GRUELING,    ALWAYS THE DEFINITION OF HARD AND DIFFICULT.      she opens earlier than the others,   pulls the garage door from the front of her store and clicks the red  OPEN!  sign,  secured behind front - window glass,    to its bright and slow blinking glory.    deep nighttime casts itself overhead;    across the street comes another brightness of neon,   a werewolf opening her pet store.    inside is a different work,   the preparation of product,   of viscera cleaned and quartered.      on the left of the glass are fresh cuts of flesh   (  slices of finger and lungs,  whole.  today’s special.  )   and on the right are golden - crusted patties,    still warm from the early morning bake.      by the time she is finished setting up,   the market has come halfway living,   customers already walking through the alley street;    she is leisurely to prop her door open and drop down the sheer doorway curtain,   leisurely to assume her position behind her counter.      the nighttime air comes in cool past the curtain,   and her first customer arrives.

she watches them carefully,   finding herself unable to recognize their face.      the conclusion is made swiftly:    they are new here,   as she knows and has seen everyone.      her body shifts,   fingers interlacing above the glass counter,    eyes narrowing as they glance into the case.         ❝   people usually aren’t the first to walk in so early,   ❞    casual and sweet,    friendly conversation against night time wind.       ❝    you usually wait until a ghoul or two come in grumblin’ and leave with grins on their faces,   packages in their arms.   ❞

the other’s  [ @reumbra​ ] response makes her mouth curl upwards,    grin red as the blood she sells.      ❝    i’m not really anything like a person.   ❞    and their eyes  (  hollow,   hollow  )  find hers.     she tries so terribly hard to place them.

❝    is that so ?    in that case...   ❞      anticipation covers the entirety of her mouth within seconds.      a finger presses to the corner of the glass,    above a white tray of cubes.        ❝   rosemary spleen,   cubed for easy popping.   ❞    for a moment she admires her handiwork,   then drags her finger away from the case,    delivers a smile that’s all tooth and mouth and tooth.       ❝    that’s what i would recommend,   anyways,   if you’re lookin’ to buy somethin’ ?   ❞

[martyroshka]

@reumbra​:   DO YOU KNOW THAT I LOVE YOU?

how could you?   i could not rest your soul.  in these selfish hands, they expired  &  i denied you freedom.  i denied you death.   it feels like a liars redemption.  the words you say,   they feel so real  &  yet i know you,  i know these details are what my mind has made  &  not reality,  at all.  i know you seamless,   as you are before me;   the details are airbrushed  &  haze-enveloped.    

i made you a shadow.  i brought something back   (not the same).  i brought you back  (not the same).   the tenderness i touch you with does not feel like my own,   absent  &  teething of sore gums that swill the metallic taste on my tongue.   you hate me.  i wouldn’t blame you.  but here,  i can touch you  &  i can hold you without this guilt,   so i will steal it  (steal you).

nose touching into theirs,  she inhales  (vacuous) in the steal  &  fear that will necrotize in trying not to need you.    we are consumption,  lover.   if i am to feel anything,  at all,  why not make it hurt? don’t call me baby.  it riddles familiarity.  look at this forsaken mess you’ve  (i’ve)  made of me.   i am reminded again;   i’ll be anything you want.   in the way that i was once a hole in the ground,  i am now a hole in myself;   to be righteously full of you as if this is passive,  this is love  &  to be loved.  

“   I LOVE YOU.    ”     ubiquitous to the hollow of you.     &  there it goes.   away it goes.     as the fever broke,   so did i.   it’s a question that stills in me;   would i have been so empty without you?     the answer is yes.  it was always yes. 

[pyshcic]

          It is much too bright here,  even under cover of a misty night sky  ––  clouds prove to diffuse the fog of city light all too well,  splaying it about in a sloppy cast which covers even the dimly lit alley in which she now stands.  Arms crossed,  staring at a streetlamp standing solitary on the opposite corner,  within its rhythmic flicker a reminder of the plague she’d most recently been battling in the small hours of night . . .   A  BURNING  SORT  OF  DARKNESS  ––   𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚕𝚜 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐  &  𝚠𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚜,    𝚊𝚗 𝚞𝚗𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚓𝚊𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚜 𝚞𝚙 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚟𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚊𝚝,  not so unlike her own,   𝚊 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚝:     the disjointed nature of the visions Alice has been having since coming to town is beginning to give her a perpetual migraine,  her eyes straining to find the connection between them,  to sort out the meaning…    a folly in and of itself,  but one which wouldn’t stop her from investigating the fragments of future presented to her.

          The shadow beside her breaks her concentration,  their words cutting through the stupor:

@reumbra     asked,         ❝  what have they done to you?  ❞

          The state she displays must come across horrendously rattled,  despite her best efforts at maintaining a sense of poise.  A devil within the details, her dishevelment:    a few strands of black choppy hair hanging loose by her forehead,  an uncharacteristic fidgeting of her fingers,  a wandering gaze where typically she’d insist on giving a conversational partner her full  &  complete attention… and then, most obviously, most disgustingly:     ❝ Well,   I’ve been made to wear jeans. ❞    Sentiment behind the words is nearing jokerly,  but she speaks them so sincerely and straight-faced that it might be interpreted as the greatest tragedy Alice had ever experienced in her long time on Earth.

          Lithe, dancerly form returns, stilling the rhythmic (read: anxious) tapping of her fingers as she moved her hand to brush her hair back into place.   ❝ Hm, ❞    she hums,  features softening to her classic,  unbothered  &  dazzling demeanor.  An admittedly needless and deep breath allows a wash of calm to overtake her and she brings her gaze to Nox.    ❝ Don’t waste any worry for my sake,   I have a tendency to get ahead of whatever plans are in the works against my favor.  Save,  apparently,  for overstaying my welcome. ❞   Eyes peer down towards her own outfit before returning yet again to meet their gaze.    ❝ If running out of clothing is some form of purposeful attack,  it’s remarkably well-suited  &  completely genius. ❞   

         Sights wander again,  a milky stare boring towards that same streetlamp as before;  red strings tangle behind her pupils,  threads of fate extending in every direction,  a legion of outcomes commingled.  The flickering of the light seems to have lost its rhythm,  staccato flashes now coming at random intervals,  and getting darker with each turn before snuffing out altogether. 

        ❝ Unfortunately,   I get much too stubborn when I’m intrigued.  So I’ll be staying. ❞   A smile crawls across her stony countenance,  a little too pleased with herself.    ❝ A shopping trip is in order. ❞

[saintvampe]

—   𝐌.   |  SHE HAS FALLEN INTO THIS LITTLE HABIT, despite the wrenching within her heartstrings.        this play at humanity, that skin that never seems to sit right when she wants it to. she tells them not to bring anything, that dinner is on her, as it almost always is, You just have to show up... and almost every time, her doorbell rings five minutes after six, and her apartment is overcast in [ this time, ] welcome shadows. tonight: she has invited them for a full course meal, her idea of catching up with an old friend. the hours pass slow as ants marching in a line, dinner served on silver platters and placed in the middle of the table. a watchful eye is thrown towards her guest, hands as empty as she would like, their body still close to the entryway wall.

❝ what's wrong, darling ? we've done this dance before --- don't tell me you're wimping out now... i made your favorite, after all. ❞ the Saint ( ! ) speaks with a purr against her words, the form stepping away from its casual nature and becoming rigid. her hands fold before her, the mouth frozen in a half - upwards curve. on the table, a steaming cast iron of seared liver, something snagged from her own reserve of produce, a taste - test of what is to come. ❝ it would be quite rude to back out now. ❞

her guest's movements are, to her eyes, lacking in fullness. they move in long gestures, arms and legs too long and loose for the being within the body but controlled all the same. one stride is taken forwards, big. there seems to be a moment before they [ @reumbra ] speak, eyes shifting from the vampire - woman to the table, then back.  “ i think my life is losing momentum. ”

the Saint's reaction is swift, disapproving and ( for a flash ! ) disappointed. HER MOUTH SHIFTS AWAY FROM ITS UPWARD CURVE, EYES NARROWING AS IF SUDDENLY SUSPICIOUS. she takes a step forwards, meets the shadows where they touch, reaches forwards to pick at their shoulder: a piece of lint is removed from their clothes and allowed to fall to the floor. ❝ oh, but you're so young. ❞ the words hang against the air as thick as smog, and she catches their gaze once more before taking a step back. a warning hides here, a silent demand for this human - hood. ❝ if you want to talk about whatever is ailing you, let's talk about it over dinner ( silence.... a moment of closure... ) i made a favorite, after all. ❞