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I suppose your story is of interest in the fact that you are perhaps the only one of Lestat’s fledglings that books upon books have not mentioned..  That gives you a certain air of mystery that’s been stripped of the others, hm?

So, Antoine.  Why don’t you tell me your reasons for bringing your curiosity about past scars that run very personally deep to me to my plate so carelessly?

If you’re looking for a subject to greet me with an initiate conversation by? One might think to start with…say the weather if you lack subject matter…and build up a rapport from there, hm?  Before cutting to subjects that swing far below the belt.

Santino, I've always wondered. Did you ever ask for Marius' forgiveness?

That’s a bold question to ask me being that we barely know one another.

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Feeling the hand against his back, Santino made certain to shift his expression from a trepid contemplation to a more welcoming smile even though it was cast out at the ink black water in front of them.  Dark eyes did not budge from the reflection of silver against the waves and instead remained there.  He welcomed the touch, leaning back into it with a content sigh parting his lips. 

“Welcome back,” his voice was the familiar low whisper that it always was.  So soft that anyone passing by would swear he didn’t say a word.  Not that there was any chance of them being spotted where they stood.  For as long as they’d been there, they were alone.  Precisely the way Santino preferred things to be at all times.

The task of searching out the others laid out in front of them, and the ramifications of what accomplishing it might be, was a necessary evil.  If they were going to find Khayman and the others...who knew who they would cross paths with in the meantime.  Several were faces that Santino could live an eternity without and not give one damn if---

His thoughts were stopped abruptly by the press of Eric’s lips against his neck that sent a shiver down his spine so electric that it made all the nerve endings in his limbs spark to life.  Long, black eyelashes fell as his eyes shut and a quiet hum rolled out of his throat.  They could stay like this til the sun rose and he’d be content.  It wouldn’t get the job ahead of them done.  Though, Santino for one, would be hard pressed to give a damn.

“Yes, we should seek them out.  Getting answers to the question of Khayman’s absence would be impossible without doing so.  Trust me.  If there was any other way, I would take it.  Seeing him and the possibility of it is nearly as appealing as watching the sun rise on the sand to me but...”  Searching for Eric’s hands about his middle, Santino curled pale fingers around each of Eric’s wrists and squeezed tight.  “It should be done.  Sooner rather than later.  Before I change my mind..”

The Rumors of Our Deaths -- Eric/Santino

It was only after he had left Santino standing by the sea’s edge that Eric let himself feel the weight of his strained reserves dragging him down.  His eyes stared vacantly at the forest floor ahead of where he stood within the trees, white hand braced against a trunk to steady his figure.  The younger immortal probably knew the true state of his current weakness.  That didn’t mean Eric cared to cause any further worry in Santino if the Italian opted to fret.  He’d fix it shortly.

Scanning through the forest, it didn’t take long for him to find his target.  A sizable black bear, seeking a meal itself, found itself on a collision course with the vampire.  Eric stepped directly up to the creature when it rose on its legs, putting himself straight into the bear’s spreading arms, and the larger animal had no chance when he tucked his face in against the black fur of a throat to strike.  His fangs drove deep and the pressure of the creature’s claws against his clothes were merely a nuisance.  No matter, that.  Skin too hard for such a thing.

Eric sank when the bear did.  The size of it alone yielded a feast of blood, hot and thick and just what his body cried for.  He took everything it had to give until the beast finally went still with the white-skinned predator draped half above it.  Eric rose, wiping the backs of his fingers across his lips, but the hunger had not let even a single drop free to leave a mess.

As he stared down at the fresh corpse, Eric’s hands moved absently up to gather his hair together, pulling it all around to hang down one shoulder.  It wasn’t the satisfaction of human blood — not quite the flavor his body craved.  Blood it was nevertheless and he felt a thin veil of content already settling over him, quieting that disruptive voice.  He’d need to seek more, yes, and with luck he wouldn’t cause too much harm to the next throat he sought.

The fur of the bear was beautiful.  When he was alive, leaving such a bounty behind was unthinkable.  The fur alone was valuable in that primitive time.  All this available meat would have been a feast to get through an entire season before it went too rancid for use.  A temptation rose in him to tear the fur off at least.  Return it to Santino as an offering to protect the Italian for any other flight they needed to take.  He imagined how lovely the vampire would look bundled in the shining fur, almost as inviting to the touch as that dark angel’s mane of black that Santino favored keeping his style.

He didn’t.  There wasn’t time.  Eric needed to finish sating his hunger and return to the one he had left waiting on the shore.

When he did make it back he found Santino exactly as he’d left him.  That figure in black silhouetted by stars, by black velvet sky.  Eric moved soundlessly up behind him through the sands until he could touch his hand upon the Italian’s spine.  He had promised an embrace.  His arms enfolded that other body from behind, clasping their lengths across Santino’s torso to pull him back to his body.  When Eric bowed his face down into the juncture of a throat he found himself able to kiss that skin without that same drive to rend it open.

"I tried to cast my net out for any sign of the others.  There are immortals within this city strong enough to block me out.  I felt their power rippling out over me with mighty energy, just like these waves crashing here.  Ancients are amongst our known ones, beloved.  Ancients older than myself.  Perhaps as old as Khayman or very close."

"Do we take the risk of seeking them out?  Share your wisdom with me on this.  I will try to protect you against any dangers that arise if you feel that we must find our friends.  Tell me what your will is."

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Santino, I've always wondered. Did you ever ask for Marius' forgiveness?

That’s a bold question to ask me being that we barely know one another.

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I’m sick of getting dropped or ignored by some blogs just because my muse isn’t jumping and crawling all over them. There are things called enemies/platonic or just friends or whatever… And i’m annoyed… So if you could just reblog this so that I can have a bit of reassurance about this… It’d be very appreciated.

If your muse isn't just hunting for the D and V , please reblog

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ಠ_ಠ

Send me ಠ_ಠ to know an inappropriate thought my muse has had about yours.

The depths of you are a place that I could become lost in, thumb through the leaves of your soul like a favourite book grown familiar with time. I could run my fingers through each leaf and watch the centre of you lap and pool around them like the surface of water, darkness capturing starlight. The sound of your voice, deep enough to strike trembling notes at the base of my spine, a string being plucked that resonates a nameless sound outward. The beauty of you is in the complexity of your mind and the focus that drives you, in what you choose to hide and what you choose to reveal.

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Once released from Armand's grip, Santino stood still barely moving an inch as he gave his once pupil a curious but cautious eye.  He should have been prepared for the words that were flung in his direction as Armand argued back to prove his point.  He should have expected that the comparison between his situation, as well as Armand's own, would have been cited as a reason they should do this almost automatically.  Perhaps he was.  Considering himself a fool was one thing he hadn't done in centuries.  If he hadn't heard the exact words that Armand said, then he might have been surprised, too.  

But he wasn't prepared for the cold that sank deep into every limb and bone buried underneath his flesh.  Splinters of ice that ran through his veins and froze him to the core.  The memories that were drawn out from Armand's plea for him to understand were an instant onslaught of emotion that he'd long since prided himself on keeping internalized and in control.  

He was the master of himself, after all.  Not a creature that showed what he knew was written all over his features.  In the gaping mouth that he quickly bit the corner of to make it stay shut.  Or that his fingers that were once hanging limp at his sides were balled into tight fists and shoved into his pockets to keep their shaking out of sight.  He appeared lost in his thoughts.  Dark eyes fogged over.  And he felt it, knew it was there.  Even if he couldn't see himself, he loathed the man who he knew Armand was now looking at.

Centuries of self-control earned first out of deprivation of self and awareness of his surroundings given a blind ignorance so that he could cling to the only thing he knew and was left with in denial from the one person he sought out to confirm what he'd always felt but knew better to ever voice were the only Bible his fingers were able to clutch and hang onto when all was or could be lost.  Asking otherwise, he was given nothing to doubt that the ridiculousness of his belief was real and not an illusion of a mortal mentality struggling to comprehend being born not from God but from Satan in a blood bath of renewal into darkness.  Even then, he pushed forward in silence.  Not showing the belief he hid from all those around them...himself, too...that he knew it was all so wrong.  

Gone with the mention of death.  Gone with the comparison of himself tied to that netherworld which waited them upon suffering their end.  Which was no end.  Only a gateway into the darkness that he once feared would swallow him whole.  And it did!  Every piece of him was gobbled down into it's bloody teeth that gnashed together hungrily, waiting his demise as the flames devoured him and he heard himself scream wicked, vicious screams of agony and fear.  Then..  Dark...  The real torment had only just begun.  

Knowing Armand had seen that place?  Shook Santino wholly once he'd experienced the same.  It nearly made it impossible to meet Armand's gaze for months until the creature would not be denied that contact and pushed him to accept his presence upon his, Eric's, Maharet's and Khayman's island hiding place that was where he'd been brought back to this plane from the nightmarish one he'd been tossed into.  To think that Khayman was lost there?  A gentle creature who only deserved the peace and happiness that he embodied more than any of their kind could ever be possible of no matter how hard they tried?  It was a travesty.  A horrible mockery of what could be done to someone so gentile, so humane.  

He heard Armand continue.  Somewhere deep inside his thoughts, he registered the other was still talking.  Apologizing if he'd brought up memories that harmed Santino.  That they should check.  If nothing else.  What did they have to lose?  Yes, he heard what Armand was saying.  Reacting to it was a different story.  Desperation filled him and he quickly began to claw his way out of his own thoughts.  Scrambling for an exit out of the shadows he'd fallen into.  Digging out felt like an eternity but was summed up in a few blinks and the clenching of his back teeth together tight and hard causing his jaw muscles to flinch.  A handful of seconds that were their small forever and he was able to pull together enough to mutter a few words.   Armand's hand was captured by a set of long, pale fingers. "No.  No apologies.  There's no need.  Let's go.  Now?"  They could speak more once they decided when to leave.

The Road to Hell ... || Vampire-Santino

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That is exactly what I was trying to say..

Your 'condition', if you can call it that seeing as how I seem to benefit very much should I agree to it, is one I gladly accept.  Don't keep me waiting for very long.  I already have the perfect shirt.  I've even thrown a tie in just to make things more difficult and deliciously taunting for us both.  Two can play at that game, Eric.  And you know I am very good at it..  If you didn't make the rewards so good whether I "win" or "lose", I might not be.  Ahh, who am I kidding?  That would be punishing the both of us.

What you’re trying to say is that you wish to make a feast of mortal blood to sate your thirst, and then you wish for me to make a feast of you for the remainder of the night?  I’m not going to turn down that offer.

I will go with you on one condition:  Wear a high collar tonight.  That way I can let my hunger for you build right up to the moment that I rip it aside to take what I want from that exquisitely elegant throat of yours.

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Armand..

If you disappointed anyone it is their issue.  Not yours.  

The Maker and fledgling relationship seems to revolve around a constant circle of happiness, anger, disappointment, and indifference to one another.  I suppose, in that way, I am fortunate enough to have never known mind.  Bottom feeding parasite that he was.  Living life not knowing if he is alive or dead and being free from that torment has been nothing short of a blessing.  Especially, when I look at so many pairings of Maker/fledgling and see what torment they can put one another through endlessly.  Almost as if it is out of their control.

Yet there are some that are unique in the fact that they only know love, patience and kindness.  Though few and far between.  Perhaps it is something to serve as a reminder that there is hope should both parties fight to break the bonds of inevitable hatred we feel must exist and strive towards a more neutral, if not loving, ground?

I don't know.  I have no experience other than what I have seen between Eric and Maharet.  Or what I have with you.  Actual blood aside.  I am not your Maker.  We know this.  But you matter to me as if I was.  You always have.  And you being a disappointment in my eyes?  Impossible.

Disappointing your Maker is a rite of passage, isn’t it?  The question is how soon and how often does the pattern repeat itself.

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Ha!  Champion for your honor?  But of course, Eric.  I am your valiant knight come to defend you at a moment's notice with the threat to trample out whatever villain or monster that seeks to harm you or your honor.

On a serious note..  You will always have me.  This you know.

I am hungry.  I propose we start with hunting down the---....

What I meant to ask was if you would care to join me tonight, beloved?  It is still very early.  We could make a night of it..and finish it off..  Well..I will spare your dignity and say that I can think of several suggestions right now that would be a lovely way to wind down the night..

You are ever a champion of my honor, Santino.  Really, their words do not not bother me.  I have your love and even if I should lose everything else I will still have that.  You are my soul.

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This person is an ignorant fool. One looking foolishly to harm you without having a clue to what they speak of.  Ignore them, my beloved.  Her love for you never faltered.  Not once.  And you are certainly far from a let down to anyone.  It would be impossible for you to become such a thing.

You let Maharet down. You failed her as a child.

I believe I did my best for her.  There is no right or wrong way to be.  I certainly never sought to harm her or mistreat her with any deliberation.  Across the centuries, things happen.  Hurts form and collect.  If we start measuring these instead of letting them go then there will never be happiness for us in eternity.

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Catching Santino off guard was a rather hard thing to do.  Some night even call it impossible.  There were a few times that it happened.  One of them was his greatest folly in putting trust and faith into someone who might not have intended for his demise to happen but had spurned the whole thing into motion simply by opening his mouth or putting pen to paper.  Yet..it happened just then.  As Enkil mentioned that it was him protecting Maharet from Akasha, Santino no doubt showed a momentary look of surprise on his face.  A brief widening of his eyes and a tilt of his head to the side and then the look passed, caught and snuffed out.  Protecting her?  My Maharet.  Our Maharet..  His thoughts veiled behind a wall of cemetery plaster and tree roots dug so deep into their cracks that they became one with each other.  

"You must let that guilt go," Santino approached him and came to stand directly in front of the other vampire.  "You are doing everything in your power to save yourself when there is no reason for you to seek redemption in the first place.  I appreciate you keeping her safe.  You caring and feeling for each and every one of us. But I told you this once, my friend.  Our sins, our lives.  What we have done or been through?  They are not of your doing.  They are from our own choices, our own circumstances built on our own experiences.  They are not your weight to bear."

"Well?" He asked, as if testing the words. "I have been protecting Maharet from Akasha. She’s understandably furious at the both of us, but I refuse to let her mania interrupt anyone else’s lives." The Pharaoh said matter-of-factly.

"I understand that my apologies are not expected. However, as I rather embarrassingly explained to you, I hold tremendous guilt for all of you. I am no longer your King, Santino. I am no better than any one of you. And I am adjusting according as well as I can."

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An eyebrow rose on Santino's forehead as he watched the other, framing Enkil's face with a set of dark eyes that glinted with curiosity at the words. "There is no reason to apologize to me for your absence.  We all have matters that take up our time.  I understand."  The elder vampire was given a patient smile.  Santino would not press into his personal matters.  Enkil would have to be the one to decide what and what not to divulge to him past what information he'd already given the Italian.  "I hope you are well in spite of them," he asked quietly.

"How have you been, my Son?"

Well enough.  How have you been, Enkil?  It’s been a while since I last heard from you.

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"How have you been, my Son?"

Well enough.  How have you been, Enkil?  It’s been a while since I last heard from you.

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Pandora