#;; 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖆𝖑𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖒𝖎𝖘𝖙 — (para)

[valentinstjohn]

Valentin cast a glance toward her as she said the books laid out were for him and returned his gaze to them as she continued speaking, reading the titles as he could see them from here. He would have gone closer, would have picked up each book and trailed his fingers across them to fully appreciate the thoughtfulness she had exhibited in their collection for him but instead her fingers occupied his hand and that was far more important for him to keep hold of. Instead of his fingers appreciating the books there, his fingers appreciated hers, sliding cold digits along the smooth planes of her own, into the divots and bends of her fingers, along the creases of her palms, along the tips and crevices of her hard fingernails, a light and traveling touch of meandering affection.

The title of the book she claimed to have attempted to read brought a tilt of amusement to his lip, "The author is an interesting necromancer," he said interesting because the author themselves was unique and naturally someone that Valentin had the acquaintance of.

"If those texts are of interest to you, then I would be pleased to share them with you. If you'd do me the honor of reading to me," Valentin replied to her playfulness with a touch of his own, more muted and tempered but it was there, visible in a subtle glint of his pale blue eyes that met her smile. Any previous unsettled feelings he might have had began to fall away the longer they remained in their presence and the more assured he felt that she truly did not harbor any resentment for him. He had none for her and could only now feel a relief with their mutual declarations revealed.

"I've a particular interest in this Paladin's Handkerchief," continued Valentin, drawing his fingers back into the center of her palm before extending them again out to each digit, "A novel whose sole purpose is to detail a normally uninteresting item must be intriguing. Have you only brought books for me and none for yourself? How have you been occupying your time without The Paladin's Handkerchief?" For him, his time had been wholly occupied with traveling here, but she had been waiting this whole time. He was curious to know what she'd been doing. Valentin moved closer to the bedding and the books, his hand still in hers if she decided to maintain the contact, with him leading her closer. "Will you sit with me? And tell me all that you've done?" There was so much to know, so much to learn and catch up on.

The wolves remained in place as he took her words in, their calmness in part a representation of Bella's ease and in part their own exhaustion. Perhaps if they'd come across him alone they'd have been more reactionary to what he was, but even being in the city as often as they had with Bella they had become more accustomed to the surroundings of various species that were more inclined to the actions of a predator. Certainly Bella attempted to drag them everywhere with her, for protection in many ways, but often they remained by the docks, or ventured to the woods without her. They knew their way home.

Bella's eyes lifted as he said the sun was some time away. She could sense it but had, as she said, readily lost focus on it with him so close, only now consciously placing it's distance from them as being further away. In the past few days that distance had felt endless and only now did it seem as though it might rush up on her. Like there was not enough time to do and say everything she needed with him. Hopefully that would fade.

For now it did not, certainly not as Valentin, for the first time since their joining established some distance between them literally, her own matched need to be near causing her steps to move without conscious decision, keeping by his side as he looked at what had been left there. "They are for you," she answered, the titles of the bound books, some cheaper without formalised binding, while others were properly bound and clearly printed. Most titles were quite formalised and not all of them were in the common tongue, most were but a few were in languages distinct to the courts. "I know you do not need sleep half as much as me, and I, over time, have made possession of things that made me think of you." Her fingers slipped within his own as she stood by him, a soft attempt at rekindled touch, unsure of how much to act on her desire to be near him. In her mind, even in fantasies of his arrival where he did care for her as he had confirmed, she did not fathom the volume of his affection. It seemed impossible.

"I did attempt to read them as something to do while I waited for your arrival but I am not sure 'An Alchemical Study on Degradation Comparative to Amelioration of the Heart and Venous System Across the Undead' was ever going to make much sense to me. Even the title was tenuous of my understanding," she noted, not necessarily to insult herself but for clarification that her understanding of his work had not improved with his absence. "Typically if I read anything it is of the trade I acquired on arrival, or fictitious novels of romance and death. I did not think Stitches for Foundational Garment Structure across the Continent or The Paladin's Handkerchief would amuse you much while I slept," she smiled to him, a pulling to one side and amusement in her gaze. It was a sort of excitement that filled them, a readiness to be soft with him, even if there were still other matters she knew she needed to tend to. Of the man she had been writing letters with.

"If I am wrong though I will remedy that as soon as I am capable," she continued to smile, a playfulness he surely remembered returning to her actions, not wholly dramatic and longing.

[valentinstjohn]

appearing to be 38, this 541 year old true vampire is a well educated alchemist and scholar. he is the founder and head of a private invitation only club of vampires called the caliburn club, whose mission statement is for the betterment of vampires. he strives to create a viable substitute for blood so that vampires are no longer restricted in their diet and can walk through daylight unharmed.

​🇵​​🇪​​🇳​​🇳​​🇪​​🇩​ ​🇧​​🇾​ ​🇰​​🇮​​🇲​ . . ​🇵​​🇸​​🇹​ . .

       𝓫 𝓲 𝓸 … 

TW: War, Non-Sexual Non-Consent, Fire, Body Mutilation.

The life he had as a human is but a distant memory for Valentin, whose only claim to it remains in the form the name he was given at his birth, Fionnan Malone, which he has long since stopped using. His becoming a vampire was a result of the 40 Seasons War that raged between the different kingdoms and while he does not recall most of his life as a human, the way in which he became a vampire is a memory he can’t forget, nor the way he had been unable to stave off the ravenous hunger for blood. It made him flee his once human life, too afraid to inadvertently kill any he had once cared for. 

He didn’t know his sire well, mostly knowing them as a voice in his head issuing demands and various tasks that he couldn’t deny. For years he’d been ravaging towns, preying on innocents, a shadow in the dark that stole lives and was hunted for it simply because he needed to feed in order to survive and for years he’d let himself believe that it needed to remain as such, but no more. 

Valentin turned to science, to educating himself on the anatomy of his fellow vampires, learning everything that he could about their species and their unique abilities and conducting experiments. He discovered his own innate powers, if well fed he could control and manipulate his own blood, change its properties, alter its cell structure to make it dense and hard like crystal or steel or turn it to vapor. The vampire who had turned him now made her grand reappearance into his life, perhaps she believed she could use his abilities to her advantage. She turned him into a true vampire with the belief his powers might grow and once he was freed of her influence, he never again followed a single one of her commands. Upset with the loss of a potentially great ally, she left, spiteful. With his age, he was no longer burdened by his thirst for blood and could manage his abilities and emotions masterfully as an artist and precise as a surgeon. 

After the end of the war, he spent the better part of the next two centuries conducting various experiments and formulating a club of other elite vampires with  shared interests as his own. His research and acclaim brought him to the various kingdoms and courts across the continent where he was ever in search for more scientific and alchemical advancements. Test subjects were easy enough to come by, often they would seek him out once his reputation reached their ears, for the promise of further enhanced abilities drew out the power hungry, and existing vampires seeking respite from the daylight or their bloodlust brought the desperate to his doors. Most were unremarkable and then one day, an aasimar approached him with an offer and she was remarkable. Something about the components of her blood and the way in which he had turned her had worked. She was the first vampire he’d spawned through his experiments who didn’t face insatiable bloodlust in her new life. This was a breakthrough, however, the promise of turning her had come with a stipulation, to find a way to restore the once aasimar now turned vampire with her wings which had been tainted. 

This was a scientific mystery to the vampire and he spent countless days locked in his lab running test after test, trying to find a way to restore the wings to their once radiant celestial glory and more importantly, allow the woman to not be poisoned or killed by the transplant. She was his first major success and his first major defeat at once and she found a way into his heart in a way he could not have anticipated. Out of everything he had created or done, she would always and forever be, his masterpiece. Even when she, in her emotional despair at seeing him experimenting on her wings – something which he had tried to prevent her from witnessing for he had seen the desperation in her eyes when she spoke of the restoration of her wings and knew without a shadow of a doubt she could not tolerate the sight of them being experimented on – destroyed his work and his lab and his estate, he did not fault her for it, nor did he hold any resentment. 

The fire she had started nearly destroyed everything but he had managed to save a few key notebooks that held some of his more important calculations and also her wings. He did not, however, come out unscathed. Despite his regenerative powers, a mixture of various chemicals and elements exploded in his face during the fire and he forever lost his left eye. The scientist in him only upset that he did not know the exact mixture of this solution that had rendered his regenerative powers unable to restore his lost eye, but this also only incited his interest to recreate it and noted this down as a future experiment to perform on another. A replacement of his eye came from a fae and provided him with a new form of sight, now able to see through fae glamour and other secrets. 

The loss of his estate not great for he had many residences across the continent and he needed only remove himself to the next one but the loss of his more recent work set him back a few decades and he needed to regain what he had lost. He attempted to seek her out but found that something magical was blocking him, this however did not prevent him from continuing to try and restore her wings, nor did he stop seeking her out. 

       𝓼 𝓽 𝓪 𝓽 𝓼 …

NAME: valentin st john AGE: 541 GENDER: male PRONOUNS: he/him SPECIES: true vampire FACE CLAIM: cillian murphy

HEIGHT: 5'10" HAIR COLOR: brown EYE COLOR: blue (right), black (left) WEAKNESSES: direct sunlight, blood lust, needs to be invited into private and holy residences, pure silver, his grave dirt STRENGTHS: immortality, regeneration, enhanced senses, can control and manipulate his own blood, can see through fae glamour or secrets with his left eye PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: he has fangs which he can retract and descend at will, otherwise he has a generally average looking build and features save for his left eye which the iris is black in color as opposed to his natural blue. it is the eye of a faerie which he plucked out and made his own. ADDITIONAL INFO: his ability to see through fae glamour is linked exclusively to his left eye, if removed this is no longer an ability he has. he smokes a tobacco blend of his own making that is infused with crushed fae bones which allows him to glamour his left eye so that it can appear to match his natural color. he gets many of his volunteers for his experiments through making a deal, fulfilling their desires in exchange for their becoming a test subject for his latest alchemical or scientific interest.

[valentinstjohn]

"It is a cypher," replied Valentin, once again in a brief manner but despite his brief responses and otherwise indifferent expression and behavior, he generally commended and welcomed a curious person. It meant they wanted to expand their intelligence in some way and that was always beneficial and a trait that Valentin regarded as positive. However, a curiosity in this, his own specific cypher for his own secrets which he did not want known publicly, was not welcome and so he replied simply and did not care to elaborate.

"I was," the vampire confirmed once more, "and now I am not," as evidenced by the fact that he had now put the notebook and his blood drawing pen away. "You have supplied me with my next experiment and then no longer held my interest. It is as you say, behavior typical to a spawn. Your sire tells you eating food for mortals will make you ill and so it does. A trick of the mind. If it had been ogre saliva that would have been more interesting, which I will delve further into with a future experiment to determine whether or not it would be possible and if so, how much ogre saliva would be needed to induce ailment and which species would be affected. Perhaps, if you are willing, you can participate. Let's say we begin small. What would you say to imbibing a pint of ogre spittle?"

"Well then what is it?" he asked. Alex had been alive awhile, aged beyond what his appearance would suggest, but there were few things about him that never seemed to leave him, despite everything. The desire for mischief, the fact that he never seemed to stop talking, and a childish wonder and curiosity about the world around him. Alex was always prone to daydreaming and wandering, and now his attention was fixated on the writing across from him, seeing if he could decipher it despite clearly not being fluent in it and it being upside down to him.

He frowned and looked down below at his tavern meal. "Yes," he nodded, and took another bite for certainty. "I think I know why, though. My master used to make a point to say that I could never eat mortal food, that it would make me sick, and I never questioned it because blood was pretty good. But he's an ass, and probably didn't want me eating anything but what he made me... I think it's a spawn thing, cause I never saw him even look interested in anything else." Alex paused, only to take a sip of his drink. "Are you taking notes on me or something?"

[valentinstjohn]

Valentin was not a great man, nor did he even consider himself to be a rather notable one, but he was, if anything, not constrained to the usual passage of time and so what would be but a moment for him might feel like much longer to anyone else. In due time though, an introduction came from the man who approached him. A squire was the claim and it took only for a moment for Valentin to register the untruths that came so readily from the young man's mouth. He did not particularly care to being lied to but he also didn't care too much for the truth, all earth roaming beings with cognizance and the intelligence to lie tended to do so even for the most minute reasons, so the why didn't matter to much to him at all either. The most important part and the reasons he did anything at all were based on whether or not it would be fruitful for him.

The offered item now held before him drew his gaze away from the squire. Pale blue eyes scrutinized it carefully from his vantage point, not once giving way any emotion or indication of interest but he did ask, "What do you want?" He did recognize the feather, he knew what creature it originated from. He could smell it. "Or do you offer it to me freely as a gift?"

Ah. The wait. It was far from unfamiliar; Tig had been waiting on men grander than him since... well, always. A miller's son was, after all, not terribly grand. And a poorborn squire? Even less so, it had seemed. A pauper knight? That had raised an eyebrow, perhaps two. But, by then, he'd been well-practiced enough to amuse himself as the time stretched on. He'd hardly been bothered by the casual disregard of monied, titled, landed types by the day he rode out from the keep on his knighted own, at last. They always had terribly interesting things to look at. Glorious libraries and tapestries woven full of stories, and so forth.

Unfortunately, tonight, the most readily available distraction was shrieking as that host of starving rats gnawed out his guts. And, he was in something of a rush, besides. Always, now, fighting the sliding sands of that hunger. A cold prickle of sweat found his clenched palms and his guts twisted, knotted, ached like they might fray thin enough to snap. Then, the vampire deigned to reply.

And Tig's dead heart sank. If it could.

Before lurching back, very nearly, to life. "Cian ul Cavann. A squire of Withermore." The lies tumbled out of him, eager to be believed. "I don't intend to waste your time," he insisted, and that much was true. Tucking his long fingers up into his sleeve, Tig drew out... a feather. The very same reddish-blonde as his own hair, soft-edged, barred in dark grey. Just a downy little thing, easily concealed from prying eyes in the cup of his palm as he held it over for St. John to - recognize, hopefully. Sluagh parts were as rare as the beasts themselves, and the rare tended to have a certain value to the curious, didn't they? And every tale of Valentin St. John did tell of his curiosity, his scholarly pursuits, the boundaries he was prepared to transgress. But if he didn't know a sluagh when he saw bits of one... well, what use could he be, to Tig's troubles? Less than he'd been hoping, certainly. "I can fetch you more. And other... elements, perhaps. If we're able to come to an agreement." A rather big, unlikely if.

[valentinstjohn]

Valentin was indeed studying her just as she was studying him though he tended to study silently. Only another with keen eyes would note the way his own pale blue eyes took in the expressions and mannerisms of the one he scrutinized without giving way to the rest of his facial features, he'd mastered the subtle art of unaffected observation and could do so quickly. In a glance and through this brief interaction he had already surmised a great deal of the witch woman.

He looked at her with his languid eyes and neutral expression as she unpotted a small container and she made a show of smelling the contents. From here, he could smell the blood within, though a small amount, any trace of blood would be easily detected by him who had made a study of blood in particular. He had no need for such an item for he was always well fed and so there were no times when he did not eat for long periods unless it was due to his own experiment in which case any altering of his physique would defeat the purpose of chronicling any symptoms of the effect.

Though, it did pique his interest ever so slightly for a different reason. "Why?"

Tutoring || Valentin&Zaya

"I know you are dead," Zaya asserted to the gentlemen who had stepped into the establishment, not an ounce of her was given to delicacy. Perhaps an endearing trait, and perhaps not. It did mean she wasn't overly hard to read, no doubt the man could tell she was studying him, bold brown eyes taking in certain aspects of his physicality, the way he presented himself, and other hints at his habits. She picked up on a few things, or she believed she did. He smoked, she could smell it on his clothes. He did not smile much or even frown, she could tell because despite the aged nature of his skin it did not have many creases to it. He was well to do, she could tell by his clothing. To know he was dead though...that was all his aura, how close it sat to his skin, not much to gift it volume. "I have things for the dead."

Though surrounded by flowers, implication being that was probably what he had come in for, Zaya instead moved to grab a small bottle with parchment stuck to it's exterior, hand written label in a language not of the continent. He probably wouldn't have been able to smell it over the flowers within the establishment, for someone of heightened senses the whole place probably smelt a positive mess of scents. But to a vampire one smell could easily supersede the rest and when Zaya opened the lid to check how fresh it was blood was obviously within the container.

It was not human blood however. Not even close. For an alchemist with the nose of a vampire perhaps he could have been able to tell what sort of blood it was quickly. Octopi blood. "Won't make you younger but should help prevent all that nasty hard dry skin you get when you don't eat for too long, such ugliness," she insisted.

@valentinstjohn

[valentinstjohn]

Valentin had long since adapted his body to be able to sustain itself on little rest so that he could devote more hours of his eternal life to study and experimentation which often required countless hours of observation, a task he did not often entrust to others for their priorities were not as astute as his own. It was why he also often did things himself when he had the time for it despite having the capacity and staff to do menial tasks such as go to the store to pick up an order he had placed for a specific ingredient he needed, but this was something he wanted to do himself because he wanted to inspect the product beforehand to ensure the quality was as good as it had been promised. The only issue he encountered was this shops operating hours which were exclusively during the day, troublesome for a vampire such as himself to be out in sunlight, but it was something he could deal with with a shaded carriage and the use of an umbrella and once inside, the sun would no longer pose an issue, as long as he avoided any rays of light that would filter through the dingy window.

"Have you under estimated my eyesight?" Spoke the vampire, his tone flat and his gaze lazy as he looked at the shop owner from across the counter. Between them laid across the table on a velvet scrap of fabric were a few gleaming white bones. "Or have I overestimated your ability to procure the items I've requested?" The shop owner floundered, their mouth flailing open with the beginning of some undoubtedly lame excuse but all that came out were various sounds before they sputtered uselessly, unable to come up with a retort to save themself.

"Pardon me," the vampire turned his attention now to the other customer in the store, a brunette witch, as far as he could determine, "It seems I am in need of a second opinion," Valentin made a gesture to the table where the bones laid. "If you would please, tell me what you see."

Should they choose to inspect the bones on the table, even if they could not determine what animal the bones might belong to, it was evident there was some glitter dust across them that had been added. The effect being a very crude and shoddy display of fake 'pixie' bones.

Starter Type: open Location: a shop within the Trade District

Corvina typically tried to avoid lingering in town when she didn't need to work, preferring to get anything they needed from the forest surrounding her home or from the Laras, Asharran, or Rocheilles districts. But on this occasion, there was a shop in the Trade district that did have something that they needed. A type of seed that when crushed would make the material she was working with more supple.

As she looked through the various tinctures, they felt a pair of eyes on them. The shadow witch was accustomed to eyes on her, having heard a tale or two of their exploits through the decades told in dark corners whilst none were the wiser to her presence. But they elected to ignore it, figuring it was some other customer or the owner themselves. She knew better than to speak when not spoken to.

[valentinstjohn]

Valentin would not have desired their hands to part so readily followed close to her while maintaining their touch, long absent and so dearly missed. He listened as she introduced the wolves one by one. Named aptly and uniquely in a way that only he would have felt she was capable. "Then I will not," he replied at the suggestion he could pat either of the wolves. Most animals did not seem to enjoy his presence, perhaps keen senses of smell were disturbed at the heavy odor of death that clung to him over the course of his long life, or they simply found him uneasy to be around. It was typically the more simple minded creatures that seemed to tolerate him the best, but he also wasn't keen on having creatures as companions as she was. This did not mean it was not unwelcomed, he would certainly give the wolves their pats in due time, but for the moment, his time was hers and so walked with her to the tent's opening.

"It is some time away," he commented on the sun, the ever constant threat of sunlight a forever burden which their kind must endure, a failing he was also keen to correct. If they as a species could overcome their dependency to blood and the restriction of sunlight, they would become a superior species.

Upon entering the tent, the first thing which drew his attention was the bed laid upon the floor and the second were the books. As she would know, he had a rather extensive library of books, a majority of which were on various subjections of mathematics and chemistry, theoretical formulations and reports from other alchemists and their studies and took great joy in reading as often as he could. As he drew closer to inspect their titles, he inquired, "What have you been reading?"

The whispered words stilled her expression, like she had perhaps imagined them and the reality of the world would soon catch up and he would insist upon a need for his work to be drawn down beneath the soil with them so he might not abandon his work entirely. It did not though, rather soft lips tinted with blood continued to leave kisses of purposeful affection at her cheek. The world kept moving and soft elements of his nature she had only gleaned in their time together started to show a greater depth.

Each action of his lips momentarily distracted Bellamy from his mental engagement with her still, and she had to choose to focus on the words he said because so much of her was simply ready to curl up against him and sink into the soil as she had suggested prior. In her experience he was patient however, Bella able to leave breath him in, to leave a kiss of her own against the edge of his jawline as she reheard his words in her mind.

Pressing her lower stomach and hips against him, so he knew she was content to be within the hold of his palm, she nodded, licking blood off her lips. "I cannot communicate with them like I might have were I still aasimar but I've found it is hard to forget how to put them at ease," she answered, her own free hand coming up to brush the dark length of her hair over her shoulder with the back of her fingers, strands falling against her back as the wind laid it against her. "They protected me when I left," she informed him, not releasing his fingers from hers as if stepped forwards the wolves, trying to remain close enough to him that either hand would not abandon their hold on her.

"I have called them Silk," she spoke of the one still resting peacefully, stoic with her dark fur sleek and shining beneath the light of the moon and the flickering of flames. "And Quilt," she continued of the one that had sneezed, the coarse brown wolf wriggling his nose as he tried to get himself back to sleep but the piece of grass was still moving against it. "They can be protective, but they sense why we came," she assured him as Quilt began to tear at the grass that was tickling his nose with the nails on his paws, frustration until he had made a small hole in the dirt and immediately attempted resting his head again. "You might pat them if you desire, though they may not settle again if you do," Bella smiled, speaking both from how she knew the wolves to be and how Val's affections were affecting herself. She would not settle for hours.

"I can summon them to rest inside with us," she offered, her own steps suggesting leading them closer to the opening of the tent. "I would not enjoy the sun rising because I had become so lost in you."

[valentinstjohn]

When Alex commented that it had been his first time consuming the food of the living since his turning, the scrawling pen tip paused mid-stroke as if considering this new addition before continuing onward. The rest of the note was finished quickly as the other inquired after the language in which he wrote. "It is not a language," he replied simply, fingers pressing gently against the textured pages as he waited momentarily for the ink which was made of his blood to dry before he closed the notebook to return it and the pen back to his breast pocket. Not because he wanted to conceal his notes for they were well concealed already due to his cyphered writing, but simply because he had concluded and determined that Alex's upset after eating food had simply been due to the fact that he hadn't had it since his turning just as he had said, it was a common occasion that the dead could not stomach the food of the living. He could only consume typical food if it were raw and fresh and full of blood. Still, the concept of the saliva was interesting and would feature in his next experiment.

"Have you tried eating anything since then?" Valentin questioned casually, drawing the finger he had pricked to his tongue for a quick lick as if he were simply wetting the surface before turning the page of a book. The skin had already closed and healed, all that remained was a small droplet of his blood which held no nutritional value to himself as it was his own and tasted of cold metal.

"Oh, at least, he says!" Alex remarked, amused at the cavalier attitude to the question. It shouldn't shock him - his own master was pushing two-hundred for certain. He wasn't sure if he himself wanted to stick around for that long, but time would tell. That was assuming he was smart enough to stay alive for that long, and the odds weren't in his favor if that was the case. He hadn't said anything about the man pricking his finger to write with his own blood - his mouth had opened, then shut. It was self explanatory, in a way, but that didn't mean it didn't surprise him to see.

"I guess a little," he said. "Well... maybe not. It was one of the first times I had eaten real food instead of blood in fifteen years, so it could have just been that?" His voice raised, as if pondering the question alongside the other. Alex still wasn't totally sure the extent of what had changed - there was so much he hadn't been able to do since he'd been turned, and eating many of his favorite foods had been one of them. That's not to mention any powers he didn't know about, either.

He was too nosy, and he peered up and over the glasses at what the other was writing. "What language is that?"

[valentinstjohn]

With every kiss came the welcome taste of blood, a mixture of their own combining as tongues slid together and sharp teeth unable to prevent harm from the encouragement of passion. The cuts made were shallow, superficial, just enough to tease the taste of blood but not enough to be an overwhelming flow but still he swallowed the taste of her until the passage of time was meaningless. He would have disregarded the interruption that came in the form of one of the wolves sneezing but allowed their lips to part, his own glistening with the hint of saliva, the pale of his eyes locked to hers and the smile that now graced them.

Her lips pressed to his cheek and his eyes shut to relish in the tender affection, their fingers still entwined together and bodies still close. If he could manage to bring their bodies even closer he would do so, turning his face at an incline to mirror a kiss to her cheek as well as he replied in a whispered tone beside the shell of her ear, "It would be time well spent." He would not mind centuries buried with her beneath the earth, away from the rest of the world, perhaps centuries undistracted with her would be enough to quell some of the feelings he had stored within.

"I am pleased that your connection with the wilds has remained strong," Valentin uttered, still supplanting soft kisses along the side of her cheek, slow and gentle he took his time to press his lips to her skin fully before raising them to another piece of flesh that did not yet know his touch. The hand which did not have fingers entwined with hers wrapped around her now, pressing against the small of her back, "Who are your companions?" Another soft press of his lips, to the corner of her eyes, to the space between her brows. "Introduce me."

Just as he was not sure when his affection had grown, Bella was not sure when she had noticed it. For a time her sorrow had consumed her, and for a time beyond that she had simply sought purpose, he had allowed her to explore both while he studied her, and, though perhaps for the simple sake of his experiment, had aided her process. When expressions like the mere hint of a smile on his lips finally did feel common place she couldn't have placed their origins, only appreciated that they were there, as she did now.

Truly she appreciated all conscious and unconscious actions he made for, or in reaction to, her. Valentin's slow gesture to move her fingers away from his lips, his audible sigh despite the fact she almost never saw him breath, and finally his kiss. Tender. Bella had never been kissed tenderly, never felt intimate affection like it surpassed the stained fruit between the creases in her lips and grazed whatever blood vessels were within them that found their way directly to her heart. It ached with affection, heart filling and expanding metaphorically in her chest as his cool lips sought purpose around her upper lip.

For a moment she did not move, so focused on how generous his actions were, but when she felt his fingers entwine with her own just as softly, absorbing what such gentleness could be, she finally allowed herself not to just be kissed but to kiss, the feeling of her cupid's bow shifting as she tasted his plush lower lip in turn, fingers curling around his. When he did part his lips she was ready to meet the gesture, the staining on her lips pushing across the pallid skin above his lip and staining his flesh red, something he was no doubt accustomed to by other means.

When his tongue finally sought her own Bella felt the sharpness of her teeth graze the edges of hers, sluggish blood flow illuminating her taste buds. She had not kissed anyone as a vampire and the momentary sharp pain was unexpected, however logical it should have been. It did not slow her actions, truthfully it helped steady them, keeping her mind in the now with sensations unaccustomed to her. Pleasant ones that made Bella's tongue caress his own and though gestures repeated, the movement of their lips, the touching of their tongues, none of it seemed to waiver in enjoyment for the youthful vampiress.

She was truly not sure how long such actions continued, time so different for the pair. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours. All that ended up drawing her from him being the sneeze from one of her wolves as grass flicked at Quilt's nose, the huff as they readjusted themselves to sleep, while Bella's lips withdrew, smile pulled into her cheeks as it always had when she had been gifted time where he let his focus become whatever joy she desired to share with him, sure his mind was still working in the background. "I should bury us deep within the Earth and do that for centuries," she complimented, lips kissing his cheek softly and quickly, excited to freely gift him expressions of her heart.

[valentinstjohn]

Her gentle plea paired with the soft encouraging touch of her finger to the edge of his lip caused the corner she touched to uplift ever so slightly, the vaguest sense of a reaction pulled taut into a half smirk that only she may be able to notice in her proximity, the muscle moving in such a miniscule way that it would seem like a phantom to anyone else whose eyes were not so adept at reading his features. Exactly when he had begun to develop warm feelings towards her he could not recall for they had come on so slowly that even he had not noticed it until the next time he spent time in her presence and observed her as she went about her daily life's routine and felt himself do a similar sort of smile, small and just for her. Before he would have never dared to cross this boundary, erected for her care and consideration but now she welcomed it, invited him in with a kiss and Valentin was all too ready to accept this invitation.

What little gap remained between them diminished to nothing as he both stepped in closer and pulled her in, brushing their hands away as his lips sought hers and finally, finally, with a sigh, landed on her own. Tender and long he wanted to kiss her, to feel the plush softness of her cold lips against his own after memorizing their shape with his eyes he could now do so with the touch of his own, learning the taste of her cupid's bow. His hand that had held hers loosely now moved to entwine their fingers while the other hand at the side of her neck pushed his thumb in a gentle caress along the underside of her chin. Affectionate, the kiss would begin, until gradually growing more with devotion as his lips parted, seeking tongue and teeth.

Gentle movements between them felt like their bond wrapped around their touch, like cashmere thread followed his fingers entwining with her own and softly guided her touch to his lips where she felt only a graze of a kiss alongside his revelation. ‘I had not dared to hope.’ Her heart ached as her large eyes watched his tender affections. It did not ache at what she had missed for years, that pain had existed in a part of her for so long now, but at what she had caused him to miss hiding away.

The soul was not up for debate for Bellamy. The woman had seen those without souls, how you could see the emptiness inside of them, feel it on their skin like they were hollow. He was not hollow. Her eyes unable to depart from his gaze, both cool and warm like a summer evenings breeze - slowly becoming more cognizant that one had suffered - and his touch drawing her in until she felt her hips against his own and her throat caught whatever mortal intention of a breath she hadn't needed, chest stilling. She had thought of the ways he might touch her, her own hands seeking flesh in moments hidden away in her coffin that were far more crass than this, and yet the intimacy was unrivalled because it was not her own touch imitating want, it was him. At last.

Beyond soul, to Valentin, however, she knew that mind mattered more than the rest. His mind was him, all other parts of him secondary, accessories to it or ways to utilize it. His mind was what drew her in, his words and actions always chosen rather than spilled or rushed. This nature of his having a way of allowing her own to slow down as well at times. To be more thoughtful. It would have been easy to insist he shouldn't have, that the gesture was too much, but in truth she wanted it, and why pretend as though she didn't? It was the very action that had caused her heart to shift in her time with him. Valentin wanted something for himself, worked constantly for his purpose and still he had chosen her wings, delayed his own want to save a part of her. Delayed it further to leave where ever he had been to come to her. Stood wastefully in the forest as he had wasted time wandering the gardens of his Withermore estate with her.

"Kiss me," Bella requested, her index finger on the hand he held caressing the edge of his lips, thinking of their shape and how it might feel against her own. "Please." A word not to beg, not even for politeness sake, but to add context. Bella had never wanted any physical advances that had been laid on her but in this moment she did, from him. Just as the word could denote her own autonomy it hopefully also contextualised an understanding for his. It was not a demand. If he were not ready her heart would not ache.

[valentinstjohn]

Valentin listened as Alex described the sensation though he may not appear to be listening, his eyes unfocused and looking casually elsewhere in a seemingly distracted manner, and it wasn't until he moved to withdraw the cigarette that his gaze trailed back to the vampire spawn before him. "When I was younger, perhaps, after eating someone unsavoury," precise specifics he could not recall. A long life did not automatically mean his memory was infallible. It was interesting, however, to note that saliva or spittle could cause such an upset stomach. Valentin shifted to produce a small leather bound notebook from his breast pocket and a pen of his own making which worked not with ink, but with his own blood. In this way, he did not need to bring with him an ink pot and could instead simply prick the tip of his finger with the sharp end of the pen until a small bead of blood was produced to fill the carved tip with 'ink' so that he could jot down this note. Something he would attempt to recreate in his personal experiments and expand upon.

He was unphased by the question of his age, it was only natural to wonder at the age of one like him who had existed in this world for so long. "At least five centuries," he replied while he wrote, the pen tip scrawling in a seemingly foreign script. As with all of his notes, Valentin did not write in the common tongue. He prized the secrecy of his notes and had devised a unique cypher known only to himself in which to write all of his notes and alchemical formulae so that if someone ever stole them for their own use, the papers would be useless and refuse to give up their secrets.

"Was the taste of your food altered?" He questioned for more specifics, for there was a possibility that it hadn't been spit and had instead been some sort of poison that couldn't kill a vampire but could make them feel unwell.

Alex shrugged. "Just felt like a bad stomach ache, is all," he said, not-so-fondly remembering how walking home that evening felt like something was churning in his guts like it shouldn't have been. He didn't remember feeling feverish or anything like that, but like there was something in his system that should not have been there. That wasn't something he'd felt since he'd been human, and that was quite awhile ago now. "When you're about to be sick, but the purge never actually happens. Like that. It's not like I get hungover anymore, so surely it wasn't that."

Though in his afterlife, he could think of more than a few times he had pissed somebody off and could have left himself open to any potential anti-vampire retaliation. "Nothing like that ever happened to you? How long have you been alive? Sorry, I feel like there's no impolite way to ask that question sometimes."

[valentinstjohn]

An educated risk, reassuring words that he did not need to complete his end of the bargain, but what man would he be if he did not at the very least devote a good attempt. At what point was enough considered enough before failure could be accepted and defeat acknowledged? If he applied the same thought process to his own work which provided countless failures one after the other after endless decades of failed experiments and setbacks, then he would have put an end to his work a century ago. No, he could no more stop working on the mystery of her wings than he could his own passion and the benefit of his vampirism would be that he had the whole of eternity to do so. Even if fate should rip her from him prematurely and the necessity of fulfilling his promise to her no longer applied because her body decayed in the earth or because she no longer wished to be near him, he would still continue to find a way to restore her wings.

He had been a moment away from telling her the same, that he was determined to restore her wings and he had managed to save them from the fire so that he could continue to do so, coming to the determination that keeping such information from her as he had done in the past was no longer the best course of action when her words came first and halted the ones that had yet to form.

She did not restore the bond between them, allowing him to find her in this wood, because of her wings.

Her confession came softly and Valentin, so unused to being caught off guard, was sundered by her declaration, understanding enough of the foreign tongue to know her meaning. Once again, the woman who had always seemed to find new ways to surprise the vampire managed to do so once more. Cold fingertips trailed down the side of her arm, letting the dark strands of her hair fall away from his fingers so that he could instead take up her hand that curled around the crest of his earlobe. "Belle," a hushed whisper that mirrored the gentleness of the breeze which whipped the tent's opening and rustled dry leaves above them, "I had not dared to hope," a quiet admission of his internal feelings being now laid bare. Fingers slid between her own until slender digits could intwine and he could guide her hand up to his lips where the soft divot of his cupid's bow could brush affectionately across the backs of her knuckles. He kept his warm and cool gaze on her, unblinking, "I am yours, body, heart, and mind," the traditional declaration being body, heart and soul, but as a vampire, the soul part was up for debate and for Valentin, his mind was worth more than whatever fractured remnants of his soul remained. With his mind, he would think on her always.

He was simple and clumsy in the art of romance, a finesse he had not felt he had enough practice with despite his long life and did not have long winded poetic declarations and sonnets that he could now provide to her to express his feelings for her. He had always been a man of action rather than a man of words and so, in his way, the best way he knew how to express his feelings for her had been in his continued efforts to restore her wings to her and now given the opportunity, he revealed, with his lips still chastely pressed against the back of her knuckles, and his other hand now moved to caress gently the side of her neck, thumb beneath her jawline, applying soft pressure to lull her in closer, "I know, as you say, I do not owe you this but I preserved your wings from the flames," for him, this was as good as a declaration of affection, for he had chosen to save her wings over a majority of his own work.

Much as he had remained silent while she spoke, Bella offered him the same. It was strange sometimes. So much physically about them could rush, and they utilised it for the most part, Bella aware Valentin could finish any of the books she had left in the cabin before the sun rose, but life itself...experiencing it, seemed like there was no need to hurry. There was no desire as she stood before him on the soft soil to rush upon a response in case he left before she could give it. She could listen, and even if his words tugged at her soul with answers she didn't so much as part her lips.

'In that state.' With the words Bella knew she should have waited for an explanation, even if she also knew that perhaps she had not been in the mind set for it yet she could still recognise that there was one, a reasonable one, one she had oddly not considered. Much as he had not thought of the emotional reaction to her wings being connected to other elements of her past, Bella had not considered Valentin might still hold some obligation to their initial contract with one another. As her eyes lingered with tears she felt some for him, for the fact he had likely not only been hurt when she ran from him, but when she violently reacted to his efforts to give her what he had promised.

The fingers she had against his chest scratched softly, the sound of tree branches scraping against one another exaggerating the tender gesture. "You don't owe me my wings," Bella whispered back, nails softly moving down and then up again. The light green to her eyes somewhat subdued in the night likely still touched with their cool tone in the eyes of the vampire male's she observed fully with her damp gaze. Bella wanted those wings, desperately, even now she felt the strength in her shoulder blades ready to carry them, but she had never felt he had mislead her for his own ends. "I took an educated risk," she shared of her understanding of the arrangement that had been made.

Beyond the contractual agreement they'd had however, she felt his intentions. "Thank you, for wanting to protect me," she answered of his apology, not going to refute it because it seemed dismissive to the rarity in which he offered them to insist he should not. "To protect my heart," Bella uttered as the tent's opening flapped in the slow wind, lightly moving over him once more, and herself, showing the way her lips parted as she considered her words.

It would have been safe, to ask him in that moment if he had wanted to protect her heart because he wished to be in it, to ask him first how he felt and hide how she did were the answer one that showed he simply cared for her as a successful spawn and comfortable companion, not as a romantic desire. So many years she had spent refusing to move forward, and she did not desire that any longer, to avoid hurt at all costs.

Her fingers flattened once more against him, slowly pushing up fabric until the prints of her fingers touched the side of his neck. The woman's nerves already devouring her, every sound around them heightened as instinct in her form desired to protect itself, listening to the rustling of leaves as insects moved across tree roots, the heavy breaths of her wolves creating puffs of smoke in the cool night air and the scent of his cologne, so familiar, filling her lungs as she breathed him in.

"I didn't reconnect our bond for my wings," she told him, her index finger behind his ear, softly shifting as she had done on his chest, so he could feel the edge of it beneath his earlobe. "I broke how i had been shielding myself because I wanted you. As I wanted you then but could not bring my body, muscles made of haunting memories, to act on." It did hold shame, to learn she was ready was to learn by wanting another, but while she would share those details with him, they were not pertinent to her confession. "To dance with you brought me more joy than I had ever felt, to learn in your home gave me purpose gifted solely to myself, I felt your care for my heart each day, and I cannot change I was not ready for any of it then but I am now. I want your heart and form entangled with mine, mon âmes seuors, pour l'aéternum."

[valentinstjohn]

Space diminished as she took those extra steps closer, her feet dainty and positioned between his and with his hand still lifted to the side of her arm where the dark of her hair slipped over his fingers it seemed almost as if they were about to begin a dance. All they needed was music and the motion but instead all they had were the chirp of insects in the undergrowth of the wood and the stillness of their long dead bodies. He remained quiet as she spoke, allowing her the time and the patience to say everything she felt needed to be said, his gaze remaining on her though it was not piercing and uncomfortable, at least he made an effort not to have it appear so.

He had presumed it was partly fear that kept her away, fear of her actions and the repercussions, but it was also that fear that had given him pause. For what reasons had he given to make her fear him?

She continued on, pausing and he remained still, only looking at her softly as she had her eyes averted and shame flooded her iris. An owl shrieked in the distance, filling the silence briefly before the calm muted sounds of the wood fell between them once more. Then came her words, the revelation of hear fear and feelings. Something he hadn't considered. He'd presumed she would feel strongly at seeing her wings being experimented with, which was why he had withheld it from her in the first place, but naturally he hadn't anticipated the strength of her reaction nor the emotional cause behind it, his thoughts traditionally more linear and rational rather than being based on the heart.

He watched as the tears flooded her eyes and her breathing hitched, his expression softened. "You need not apologize to me," his voice only above a low whisper, "You were never meant to see your wings in that state. It is my fault that you did and so any reaction you had afterward is not your fault but mine. You must allow me to instead, apologize to you." It was not often that Valentin made an apology but even he knew that he was not infallible, long life did not make one so. "I kept it secret from you because I believed it would only make your melancholy worse," he wasn't sure if things would have turned out differently if he had given her a warning. "I wished only to spare your feelings and in doing so caused you greater harm."

"I am sorry that I failed at safe guarding your heart," after the information she had given to him, the last thing he had wanted to be was one of those inflictors of pain. " I am sorry that I am yet unable to fulfil my promise to you," it hadn't been a long length of time that she'd been turned into a vampire when one considered there was eternity of life yet to live, but she'd been able to fulfill her end of the bargain by allowing him to study her and he had yet to fulfill his, the disappointment for his own failings was felt strongly. "I am still determined to keep it." Despite the damage the fire had caused and the loss of his more recent work, Valentin was not the type to allow a setback to hold him back.

A piercing sensation struck her heart at his words, like she could feel a needle go right through it. Bella had worried on the guilt that would come were her initial fears of anger and vengeance to be unfounded, but it was not half the same as hearing the tenderness of his words.

Bella was unsure of when he had adopted that sort of softness around her. When they had met he was not malicious, not to her at least, the sounds of malice ones she had heard on familial tongues her whole life. Rather he had been direct and professional from what she could recall. Perhaps when he saw how much the loss of her wings had devastated her, and yet how she remained true to the promise she had made him, to allow him to study the repercussions of what he had done. Or maybe when she had tried to cheer herself, and insisted on drawing him into that. Bella couldn't quite be sure, and yet she knew it was unlike his nature.

And though her words had been practiced in her mind time and time again over the years she hesitated, feeling his touch subtly against the edge of her arm while his fingers touched at the length of her hair. A touch slowly secondary as she realised what she had first thought was shadow hiding the haunting blue his eyes had always been was not that but rather simply it's shade now. The colour swallowed up by blackness. Toe to toe was not enough and one of her feet stepped between his own, as close as when they would dance together.

"I was afraid, after what I did," she responded, aware he likely knew that much, an easy assumption based solely on the fact she had run. "It was your life's work." Not all of it, hopefully, but important pieces she knew. "I just kept reacting, instead of stopping to think, and by the time I was hidden and everything was calm I - I didn't think I could take any of it back." And so she had chained herself to her choices, because each decision it felt had made the last one worse until she was swallowed up by them.

Her gaze shifted down, the shame she felt like poison wrapping around her needle of guilt. "I knew you were different from the people at court," she whispered, yet to reach for him herself, even with how close they were. "But it didn't feel it when I saw you with my wings. It felt like -" It had felt like her mother grabbing her and dragging her somewhere she did not wish to go, it felt like her father's hand across her face, it felt like the weight of a body she did not wish on top of hers, it felt like the countless ways she had not had control of herself when she was an aasimar. The one protection she had always had - her wings - was being used as it felt the rest of her had always been, and the pain had felt unfathomable because she had thought him different. It was, as she recalled the feeling, a strong one, her lower lash line filling with tears yet to fall. Yet she tried to remind herself he knew all of these things, she had told him, initially as it pertained to the experiment, and then perhaps as an explanation at times for her hesitance at touch, even when parts of her wished she wasn't. There were a myriad of reasons he had done what he did and left her in the dark.

"It felt like being hurt again."

The arm he touched came up, laying her hand against the fabric he wore, and her eyes followed, back to his contrasting gaze, her own tears lingering, still yet to fall. "I wish I'd stopped, asked to understand. I'm not sure, with how raw life still felt, I could have." Bella hoped, as she looked at him, that he understood she knew none of it explained away her actions, but that as a man of facts it helped make sense of the moves she had taken. They were reactionary emotions, but emotions were chemical reactions to stimuli, and Bella had gone months feeling safe to suddenly feeling violated once more. She, after all this time, did not want him to think she had remained hidden because she hated him for it.

Her nails softly dragging down the fabric he wore, an unnecessary breath falling from her chest that he likely noticed had lessened since he first turned her, where her chest would rise and fall as though she were still living. "I am sorry, Valentin." All encompassing. For him. As himself. Not as her sire. Not as a scientist. An apology given to someone she cared for and hurt.

[valentinstjohn]

Valentin now stood before her in this small clearing in the woods, tall trees absorbed the moonlight and starlight so only thin streaks of silver light were cast down the filtered treetops, contrasting the warm glow of candlelight that offered its meager trailing light out through the billowing tent's entrance.

She looked as she always did, beautiful, with her dark hair flowing and her dress ornately sewn, it looked as if it were made for her, not just tailor measured to her body but made exactly for her and she wore it naturally and well. With the time and distance that had once separated them the only visible change between them would be found in him, in the black iris of his left eye which gazed at her, an endlessly dark abyss that swallowed all light, not a pairing to his right eye which was the same light blue that she'd have been familiar with. The smoking blend of fae bone and tobacco he usually used to glamour the striking appearance of his left eye had long since gone and was deemed unnecessary. He did not need to hide himself before her, not because he wanted her to bare witness to the injury she'd unknowingly inflicted on him, but simply because he did not desire to conceal parts of himself from her.

He was quiet for a little while before he responded to her words with, "I looked for you." There was no malice in his voice which came out with a softness reserved for her and a quiet uncertainty. Of everything he knew of in this world, she'd always been a curiosity to him, a source of unease that made his long still heart flutter. He couldn't help it that now he stood before her, he took the last few steps up that remained between them so they were nearly toe to toe and lifted a hand so that he could grasp lightly between his fingers some of her trailing dark hair that fell down to the side of her arms.

Each day she felt the tether shorten. Bella had not anticipated that. They'd always been so close to one another when she had been turned, not touching, but in his home she could wander as she had pleased and had almost forgotten how easy it had been to find him within it when she needed to. The days she had thought would feel endless, fearful of the unknown, became quite easy as she felt him drawing near, for whatever reason he held. The young vampire lounging on the small mattress reading the books she had purchased for him, or making small adjustments to the clothing within the chest, wandering the woods with her wolves.

It was those wolves that saw him first, resting by the opening of the dark draped fabric. The larger of the two, with his coarse fur, yawning widely before resting his chin against the back of the other wolf's neck. Neither seemed concerned with his arrival.

Entirely unlike the vampiric woman whose chest had been rising and falling with each step he took though the woods, like she could feel his movements. The nature of that, of feeling him so close after all this time, was what delayed her a moment. Bella had known she was ready but as slippered feet stood within the tent she realised being ready was not the same as being prepared. She had not been prepared for the physicality of it, intensity in the past perhaps forgotten, or in the grief of losing her wings subdued by sorrow. Now it was electric and it stilled her when she knew he was there. For just a second, flames of surrounding candles flickering at her skin before he said her name and in a blink - a mortal blink - she was in front of him. Not a summoning, not through the bond, but a call to her heart that had not forgotten how thoughtful his voice always seemed.

A momentary billowing of dark brown hair fell away as she went from motion to being purely still before him, gently waved strands falling over the hand sewn black lace fit exactly to her, if looked at closely it was sewn to be a swarm of bats, like she stood in their chaos. Stood with the calmness of her peridotite eyes that were immediately on his own, hopeful he had not glamoured the one he often hid. Time was so different for them, Bella unsure how long she looked at him in silence, absorbing the feeling of the tether between them no longer feeling pulled to the brink of it's length, now slack and calming. Only when the night wind caught the fabric of the tent's opening, shifting the candle light escaping from it so yellow light touched both of their cheeks did she finally speak.

"I missed you."

[valentinstjohn]

Valentin didn't appear to be listening to a single word that was leaving the other man's mouth, his expression unaffected and neutral, if anything, with the way his lids rested lazily over his eyes, he appeared to be exceptionally bored. His response to the man's question which then followed would also come with a delay, a few long languid blinks in his unfocused gaze that seemed to look through the man rather than directly at him preceded his slow movements that now followed. Every action seemed to take time, there was no hurried nature, there was no need when time didn't move for him, so he always took his time even with the most minute actions like removing an iron tin from his breast pocket. This tin housed a few sheets of thin rolling paper and dried tobacco leaves that carried with them a unique scent, an astute nose would likely discover this was no normal tobacco. There was something uniquely altered about it.

The vampire proceeded to sprinkle a few dried leaves within a cupped roll of paper, deftly and easily rolled it up tightly and with a lick of his tongue, sealed it shut. One end was then brought between his lips and a match box then produced where he struck the end to ignite so he could bring the freshly rolled cigarette to light and exhale a plume of light grey smoke into the air. As the smoke wafted through the air, it seemed to shimmer.

"You say you felt unwell," the vampire finally spoke, lips moving around the cigarette perched there, little flecks of ash trickled down from the opposite end and onto the scuffed table surface. "Odd for a vampire," even only a spawn, "to be unwell. Tell me your symptoms," his voice had a soft gritty hoarseness to it and while he had looked like he hadn't been listening, clearly he had been though he blatantly ignored the question which had been posed to him for the simple reason being that it was a boring question that he saw no point in answering for it would yield uninteresting conversation. Might as well skip it and go straight to what interested him. As slowly as the vampire tended to move and as thoughtful as he tended to be, when it came to conversation and social interactions, Valentin was often bored. It was easy to become so when you'd lived for so many centuries and already went through the same unoriginal and uninteresting conversations.

"--so there I was, about sixty seconds away from getting my ass kicked, an ogre was not too keen on me being in this bar, but all I wanted was a quick drink and a bite to eat while I was on the road. And I even tried to explain that, as so politely as I always obviously am, because it was the middle of nowhere, and it's not like they had a sign anywhere that told me I wasn't allowed. Only to be saved by a guy with wings, who flew in from a hole in the ceiling. Called himself some sort of peacemaker. Anyway, long story short, I think they still ended up spitting in my food or even worse, because I was not feeling well for days after that."

Alex cleared his throat then, swallowing down the snack he had gotten, eating at a high table near the window. On his break from work, he couldn't help but chatter - that's what he was oftentimes best known for. Some bread and porridge, a mug of frosty ale (a little on the reddish side, but that was well hidden enough), and a view to people watch the bustle of the street outside. And, now this esteemed company. "But anyway, why'd you sit here again?"

[valentinstjohn]

The atmosphere of Scourge House wasn't entirely to his liking, it was, at times, quite loud but it was also someplace he found himself enjoying his time and was capable of ignoring most of the diverting sounds to be able to focus on whatever work or performance was on display. A lot of it was surprising even for him, a level of unique ingenuity that offered the vampire some ideas for his own personal experiments, wanting to try his hand at recreating them and so often would take notes on his observations. Despite his outward busy appearance, scrawling neat but gibberish looking notes -- appearing to be gibberish for as ever he wrote in his own secret cypher of his own making -- someone still deigned it appropriate to approach him.

Valentin did not pause his writing, nor did he look up at the nervous sounding individual, it would appear almost as if Valentin had either not heard a word the man had said or was actively choosing to ignore his words and the awkward bow of his greeting. The reality being that Valentin heard and saw everything and simply chose to respond and react at his own leisure and so it would be a few moments of silence from him, still writing down the train of thought before he finally, still writing, spoke up, "I don't take proposals from strangers," his pen tip continued to squeak against the paper of his notebook, ink blood red and it was only now that the pen tip had run dry did the vampire look up at the being who had approached. Quick was the survey of his pale blue eyes, taking in all the little details he needed to based off the other's appearance and the way he carried himself, the line of his shoulders and the way his expression sat. "Introduce yourself," Valentin stated flatly.

He was used to this, people finding him out, seeking his aid for one reason or another, usually something boring and it was the boring ones who usually ended up dead. The ones who had something actually interesting to the vampire could be put to use. He'd gotten fairly good over the centuries at determining at a glance which ones were boring and which ones were useful. Valentin reclined more comfortably in his seat, not blinking, not breathing, simple mortal actions he had long since abandoned.

Of all the godsless places Tig had heard or read of, Scourge House was, perhaps, the fairest in terms of advertising; lived up to its name, certainly. Best he didn't stay long, for so very many reasons. First among them being the thick coat of blood on the air. Fresh and old alike - it made little difference to the cursed thing in him. The wails and whimpers that were welling up as the "show" went on didn't help. His stomach churned; so did his monster's. After hours of being well-satisfied by a breakfast caught wild in the woods, it was itching at the back of his skull again, raising gooseflesh. Or sluaghflesh, as the case may be.

Just a little longer, though. It could wait. It would have to; he may, at last, have found who he was looking for. If this vampire, like his entertainment of choice, was everything Tig had been promised.

Promised by rumours caught in the back-alleys and undead-dens of Destarin, yes, but. Desperate as he was, it'd do, as leads went. Anything would.

"Ah - Valentin St. John? I believe?" Tig began, with the most decorum he could manage. And a bow, somewhat belated, perhaps too slight. From onstage, a wail, and the frenzied skittering of rats. Hundreds of them. Standing stiffly at the alchemist's table, back to all that, he licked his lips and started again. "I'm very sorry to intrude upon your - peace. But I was hoping you and I could... discuss some business. That we might have. To mutual benefit. If you would be pleased to hear such a proposal." Is that what it was? More like begging, but. A vampire out to unfetter his kind from their awful appetites seemed, perhaps, the type to appreciate a veneer of normalcy. Two men talking business, rather than two monsters talking questionable alchemy.

@valentinstjohn