nostalgic-roslyn

[nostalgic-roslyn]

Roslyn’s expression didn’t change when the woman snatched up the cards, the sudden movements concerning her only mildly. The tight smile was recognized and she was prepared to continue on with her walk but then soft words were breathed out and she stayed put. There was still quite a distance between the two but Roslyn did not move closer.

“I suppose so, yes” Roslyn replied in a matching tone, eyes drifting around momentarily before settling back on the stranger. Her shadows were peaked, the faceless figures drifting towards the woman, seemingly interested in the cards in her possession. It was a curious thought, demons attracted to cards that sometimes sealed fates. “A bit chilly though...”

come one, come all / open

The temperature was cool, too cool to be out without a jacket and yet there Iris sat, staring at her cards with a furrow between her brows. She was finding that the spirits did not like her new home and sitting in the garden called them to her like an embrace. There were demons here, skeletons in closets, and she wanted to know everything the spirits had to offer. Iris worried the pad of an ivory thumb between her dulled teeth as she studied the most recent turn of the cards before heartbeats caught her attention and her head snapped up. 

She reached for the tarot cards quickly as if she was protecting them from unknown force–from the guileless girl and her dog companion. Iris managed a quick, tight smile as she put the cards back into the deck again. “Hello,” she said, nodding towards the girl, and then to the dog. “And hello to you too, handsome. It’s a nice night to be out, isn’t it?”

[nostalgic-roslyn]

bittenandbitter:

It didn’t help that he knew what was happening to him. It was useless information. His mind was in battle mode, anything and everything was a potential threat, and there was no kill switch, no big red button to cancel the apocalypse. He whimpered softly-

LOOK.

He froze, growling before his eyes had even processed what he was seeing, and shifted back, until his back bumped into the cot, his eyes fixed on the human woman. His heart was racing, and he backed up, still growling, cornering himself.

His whimper held desperation and it only further enticed the shadows lingering by her side. He backed away but she could only move closer, slender fingers wrapping around the cold bars. The growling did not concern her much, there were bars and over the years she had grown use to the sound.

“What is troubling your mind?”, she offered up in a light tone, head cocked to the side in curiosity.

Lunacy || Open

[nostalgic-roslyn]

ezra-hemlock:

His blood is her paint, his pain her muse as she envisions the death of Ezra. His heart had stopped, and what was resurrected was a dark shadow of a man that saw that beautiful, terrifying sunset. He was struggling to find a new balance after the increase of his mutated genes, it was insufferably hard to try and keep your nature kept in a cage. It’s safe to say, Ezra isn’t adjusting gracefully. 

The halfbreed doesn’t know of how vividly she sees the past, how her mind is a brush stroke that paints disaster, but he can see her gaze grow beyond him. “Apparently not,” he replies, assuming the vampire the hunters spoke of lived, since his house has remained. 

“I don’t know if I believe in ghosts,” Ezra murmurs, his voice holds the same ring as someone who is just beginning to question the existence of Santa Claus. Though there is a far stretch between a jolly fat man throwing himself down chimneys in the name of Christmas and hollow apparitions dragging themselves over their life’s long gone. “I met a vampire once that said he could see the dead. I fucking hate him.” His thoughts are somewhat scattered, a side effect to his exhaustion. “Enough died in this city to make it haunted, I guess. What died to make you haunted?”

To distant places she travels within the confines of her mind; the images are rich and new, monstrous but enticing all the same. Slowly her fingers begin to drift over the hardwood surface of the table at which they sat, slender digits outlining the crooks of his broken body.

It isn’t until the man speaks again that her attention is brought back to the present, blinking once before cocking her head at his statement. “Many do not believe in them, that doesn’t make them any less real.” Roslyn gave a small laugh at his next statement, mildly curious about who the infamous vampire was. “They walk in abundance in this city, the dead. It’s understandable, such a major point of destruction and helplessness draws in the lost souls and the demons that wish to devour them.” She spoke in a nonchalant manner, finding the topic one repeated often.

“Nothing at all. Some are just haunted from birth.”

Safe House | Roslyn + Ezra

[nostalgic-roslyn]

Through the dimly lit halls she strolled, roaming with no purpose at all. Slender fingers racked over the bars as she went, the cool metal bringing various flashing memories, her time within the walls quiet substantial. Why she visited often was unbeknownst to everyone and even herself. Now, the sound of ragged breathing caught her attention. It wasn’t an uncommon sound, in fact the most ordinary sounds were screams. Curiously she followed the sound, stumbling upon a man seemingly in distress. Truthfully there was nothing she could do, nor did she know the man so help was only optional. She did however crouch down by the bars, green eyes glossed over like glass as she watched. 

Lunacy || Open

Oh… no. No no no.

His spine prickled, as one of his processors ticked over, and reminded him of something which made his stomach turn, and his heart skip a beat, sickeningly, in his chest. 

“Full moon is in less than a week now.” 

He couldn’t do it caged. He’d beat himself bloody on the bars. He felt slightly dizzy, feeling his chest tighten, his hands shaking as he clasped them tighter together, his forearms resting on his knees, and tried to slow his breath down, nails digging into his palms in an attempt to ground himself, as his processors slowly went offline.

[nostalgic-roslyn]

If one looked close enough, they could possibly find beauty unbathed in destruction within the walls of Covaire. For example, the way the light from the street lamps bounced off the wet pavement was quite alluring, the phenomenon repeated countless times throughout the city. On that wet pavement Roslyn now walked, a stray German Shepard by her side. It was rare to find the woman out after dark, rules restrained her inside due to the “dangerous” things that lurked in the night. (However it was quite a peculiar thought, because in Covaire the same monsters out at dark also walked around during the day.) This night was a rare one and she would saver the night air she could obtain.

A slight scraping sound alerted her to another woman resting deep within the park. It was easy to make out that she held cards in her hands, but the type was unknown to Roslyn and her curiosity was peaked. However, she did not move forward, only continued to stare from afar, paused in her actions.

come one, come all / open

With her hands folded in her lap, her phone present between them, she sat in the cast of a street lamp within the city limits inside one of the many beautiful gardens the city boasted. She’d been there a week and had already acquired a residence with the fortune stolen from her slaughtered leaders. The others would never find her, for her secrets rested solely with her, within the cold cavity of her chest. It was chilly outside, approaching Halloween, but the temperature didn’t make much difference to her. She only noticed directly after she fed, and the meals around Covaire were frighteningly rare, she was learning, or came at such a great price that she was unable to afford them at the moment. Her financial adviser in New York assured her that the bonds she had cashed in as soon as she fled the city would be available soon, and she would be spending time in luxury.

Her own savings were tucked away deep in a vault somewhere in a no-name bank in South America. She wouldn’t touch them until she had established herself in Covaire and was comfortable. Iris slid the phone back into her pocketbook and picked up a worn deck of tarot cards. With her leg tucked under her, she shuffled them like playing cards and began to lay them out on the cement bench in front of her.

[nostalgic-roslyn]

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So many wondering and curious eyes. “Was there something you required from me?” 

[nostalgic-roslyn]

[nostalgic-roslyn]

It was forecasted to be one of the last semi-nice days of the year; the winter air would soon blow in and in the blink of an eye snow would be present once more. It had been days since she’d ventured outside and felt it would be a waste down the road to throw this finale day away.

She was swinging quietly now, surrounded by leaves barely clinging to the trees. Foot falls could be heard here and there but she ignored them all until one set fell particularly close.

“Hello”

[nostalgic-roslyn]

once-upon-an-englishman:

Tristan wasn’t really sure if this girl was looking for a particular answer, she seemed refined, a little like a mistress, maybe it was her tone or the facial expressions she used, but Tristan felt lower than her and he chewed at his bottom lip as she asked for his name -”T.. tristan Rathbourne, Miss.”

She gave a swift nod when he uttered his name, stored it in the back of her mind before she spoke her own. “Roslyn. You don’t have to call me Miss”, she spoke gently, holding up her wrist to show the silver bracelet that clung there.

[nostalgic-roslyn]

somehow i bloomed under the moon.

[nostalgic-roslyn]

He beings with a sunset and it materialized behind her eyes. The red of the sky and his blood blended together seamlessly, ground and sky now one. This is different, envisioning someone else’s memories, someone else’s pain. She needs more information, more details so she can walk through his memories clearly.

However, he keeps speaking and the vision changes. She sees this home, Darius’ home in flames and it pierces her chest, threatening to spread agony in its wake. A vampire? A smirk appears on her face then, the flames grow but now rally by her side, under her command. She envisions the invaders as the hunters and send the flames in their direction. “A vampire they will never kill.”

Now she sees the walls again, the strange man before her telling tales with water by his side. His feelings are not incorrect, though the home is not haunted by ghosts. It is instead infested with her own demons that run amok. They are both fictional and very real, threatening to crush the seems of reality and drag the city into the depths of hell where it belonged. “They haunt me, not the home... Unless there is something you know that I do not.”

Safe House | Roslyn + Ezra

[nostalgic-roslyn]

once-upon-an-englishman:

Tristan smiled at her as she said the joy showed, though she didn’t really seem as happy about that as he was. He grinned as she asked if he found the city suitable and though he honestly wasn’t sure if those were the right words, he nodded to her -”Y.. yes, I think.” he nodded -”I manage, and I d.. don’t really think I’d m.. manage out of the city anyway.”

It was particularly difficult to ask others if they actually liked the city, because did anyone truly like it? Some tolerate it, others completely loath it, and for some it’s surprisingly the only place they’d survive. After so long within its gates, it becomes impossible to return to normal life. Something morphed within you until the old parts of you were obsolete. “Likewise... What is your name?”

[nostalgic-roslyn]

Slowly she had began to recover; the sharp curves of her ribs were no longer visible, and a healthy color flooded back into her skin. She stood now, naked in his presence and completely comfortable. When there was nothing but the two occupying a space, lust, warmth, or clarity could be found between them. Now it was a combination of the three.

Easily she takes the can of paint from his hands, more focused on him than the deep blue liquid. He walks away slowly and her eyes never falter, watching him in both an artistic and lustful way. It is rare that she ever finds it in herself to paint people, but her fingers ache to attempt to capture his majestic state with her brush.

With an exhale she begins, her brush dipped and blue and dragged downward when the breath escaped her lungs. It is tranquil, simply painting the room calms whatever unrisen nerves or anxiety that lay buried. She is careful but works at a diligent pace, the repeated motions almost putting her in a trance like state. Maybe it was possible for their old relationships and her former self to rise from the ashes just like this home did.

Black to Blue | Darius and Roslyn

[nostalgic-roslyn]

There was a sort of boyish charm that radiated off of this particular stranger; his smile was genuine when he spoke of his hobby and it was a surprising and refreshing thing. “The joy shows”, she responds coolly, eyes still darting around the shop and its objects. “Useful, yes... You find the city suitable for yourself? Sustainable?”

Tristan looked around the shop as she did, smiling at her question, his hands moving in to his trouser pockets as he rocked back on his heels with a nod -”Y.. yes Miss.” he was always happy in his work, it was the only thing that had made him smile for a long time after his master left. -”I enjoy t.. taking them apart and p.. putting them back together. N.. not to mention doing s.. something useful for the city.”

[nostalgic-roslyn]

[nostalgic-roslyn]

covaireking:

His divine artist, her work had fooled the century old eyes that came to look at the walls inside his home, mistaking them for pieces collected ages ago. Unfortunately now, most of those works were gone, ruined by the invasion. It bothered him only little, she is in his care once more and he does not doubt new works will take their place in time.

“Excellent,” the vampire grins as she enters, a small gentle smile forming on her lips and she consents to aiding him with the room, he hands her the paintbrush. It’s preferred, had she rejected him he’d of demanded her hands all the same—determined to draw her back to subjects he knew she once held interest for. However, he spare his clothing, all of it. The lifeless gray shirt pulled from his frame, the pants and his underwear following soon after, folded and places aside. He stands bare in the empty room, “could you pass me the can of paint, my dear.”

His grin causes her to pause instantly, the faint smile on her face frozen as gears turned in her mind. He had been carved from ice since her return, but his smile melted it all. Hopefully with time they would be molded back into their comfortable roles, the warm aura of the space between them returning in full force.

She blinks and can see the royal blue coating the walls, a much better option than white. She blinks again and his clothes have vanished; his arctic skin was exposed to the air and body on display for her lingering eyes. A smirk replaced Roslyn’s smile as she handed over the fresh can of paint. The brush was twirling between her fingers, eyes not ashamed to still be fixated on his body. Soon enough she followed his lead, shorts discarded along with her underwear until they were both bare in the newly renovated space. Now came the fun.

Black to Blue | Darius and Roslyn

[nostalgic-roslyn]

covairealpha:

“Are they made of flesh or shadows?” he asked evenly, she doesn’t bore him, so he’ll talk with her longer.

The is a brief moment of doubt before she answers, wit reminding her that the truth is what got her locked away. However, he is the Alpha, and everyone here is already locked away. “Mostly shadows, lurking and instigating; but sometimes there are those that come to life, those that everyone can view, and their burden no longer solely rests on me.”

{Roslyn Gossard} Private