#[so be warned] | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mileapo · 10 months ago

Text

'Apo-Nattawin' faith and belief that effort never betrays dreams.

Before the day, I had the opportunity to talk with Apo. We looked at his IG first. And then was struck by the cute and fun poses of the pictures and reels he took with Doraemon.

“Very cute. And then when I went to see the biography of the person who wrote Doraemon (Fujio Fujiko), it was really cool. With the fact that he wrote down each chapter from his travels abroad and photographed it. Before drawing it into various episodes in Doraemon, when I was a kid I liked Doraemon. And read a lot of comic books. Whether Naruto or Doctor Slum,” Apo talks about what he got from the futuristic cat robot and continues:

“As an ambitious child, there will be a feeling that everything can happen. And Doraemon makes us feel that everything can really happen. I like that the writer has imagination and is able to express that. What is his imagination? That means that belief or imagination can actually happen. And it inspired me.”

Do you remember the picture of yourself as a child? What was Apo like?

If you go back to Boy Apo, you can see pictures of him and the city of Hua Hin. He was there. In a tenement house, living with parents, siblings, and grandmother. The family atmosphere is Thai-Chinese, we are used to parents speaking Thai and talking to children in Thai. But I will speak Chinese with Grandma. My family is a big, warm family.

It feels like a Chinese child if our parents speak Chinese to Grandma and Grandpa. Can you hear it?

I can hear it when he curses (laughs). It's when Grandma and Grandpa secretly talk to their parents. Complaining about us in Chinese to our parents. And when he speaks often, we will remember that this word is a curse word. It's like he's finished talking to us. Then scolding us and our parents. That's about it.

I know that when I was a child, I loved to pray with my mother.

I may not remember all the moments from that time. But my mother always told me that when I was a child When I cried, my mother would lead me up to pray with her. Which is already my mother's daily routine, So she took me up to pray with her. Because when we pray, we become quiet and gradually absorb it.

That's a picture of one activity you often did as a child.

Yes, when I was a child I didn't go out and play like other kids. For example, on New Year's, other people go out to play, go to temple festivals, watch fireworks, but for me, my parents take me to the temple to pray and make merit. As a child, there are activities that I always do at the temple with my family. That was a religious activity. When I entered Mathayom 4, I had to transfer from Hua Hin Wittayalai School to study at Yothinburana School in Bangkok. And that was the first time I realized that what our parents really instilled in us.

How?

When I moved to live alone, at first I was happy, feeling like a child who was now free. I know I'm growing up. But I'm staying in Bangkok for a while until the New Year festival. Eh... Where should I go? Other people have plans to travel there and here. But I can't imagine. My childhood memories take me back again. That is, going to the temple. So I went to Wat Amphawan in Sing Buri Province. Take the train to celebrate the New Year with yourself there, that is, go pray.

You said you went alone. It shows that you are a person who likes to do things alone. Have you ever felt lonely?

Actually, I have an older sister and a younger brother. But we weren't very close when we were kids. My older sister is at an all-girls school. As for his younger brother, he is at a boarding school. My parents tend to give their children a lot of freedom. So I'm not sure if I'm lonely or not. Because I saw my parents working hard. With the belief that education is important. We cannot deny that education comes with expenses. He works and sends us to study to have knowledge. Our children's duty is to study, so we don't feel lonely even though our parents still work hard.

It's said that changing schools takes you out of your comfort zone.

It's like starting a new life. Like putting clothes in a bag (laughs) because I studied in Hua Hin at the same school from kindergarten until the end of Mathayom 3. Changing schools is already a big deal. But moving provinces, moving is like having to learn a new life. We are like fish out of water. Because when I came to study in Bangkok, I didn't have any friends yet. As for his friends at school, he has a group that he has studied with since childhood. It's called having to continually adapt.

Coming to a new life in Bangkok It's like a path that was drawn to work in the entertainment industry.

I started by working first. Then had the opportunity to get to know P'Bem. He was the one who brought me to cast a drama on Channel 3, which overlapped with the time I was entering Rangsit University. And it's a young age where we don't have to follow many rules anymore. I didn't have to cut it. We wear whatever clothes we want to wear. I didn't study from morning until evening. I feel like I've grown into an adult. In addition, he also came to act in his first drama.

Sod Revenge Saen Rak It's the first drama where you worked with a big actor. And this drama is very famous.

Yes, but the drama will focus on the timeline of the senior generation. As for me, I'm a new kid, I'm very new, so people don't know me a bit.

GQ: But many people know Apo's name precisely from the first drama. But after that, you disappeared from the industry.

I disappeared. It's just thinking that people only have one life. So what will we do in life? That day, I was 25 years old and had not yet made a final decision with myself about which direction to take. One day we were filming a drama. Then there are 2 dramas a year. They finish filming, go out to work, and then start filming a new drama. Life is just a loop. There isn't much variety. In fact, I want to work on something that is diverse. I've been acting in dramas since I was 19 years old, and doing modeling, but I've never tried any other careers. In addition to playing the role of a character That is to do the career of that character. So I asked myself, should I go find something to do first? Even though at that time I loved being an actor. But I want to try and find something to do to fight for my life. It's really life, of one man, how to fight. First of all, I decided to focus on finishing my studies first. Then gradually go to settle in a foreign country.

GQ: That's the United States.

Yes, I went to New York with the intention of becoming an actor. I wanted to try. I always thought, if I had to leave tomorrow. And I haven't fulfilled my dream yet, I will regret it. But if I did it today, whatever the result will be, whatever it is. We just stepped out. That's all it takes to be happy.

GQ: How did you start following your dreams?

I sell everything. Selling here and there privately. Then collect all the clothes you have in Thailand. I mean, I guess I won't come back. The time when we were slowly packing up our things and booking plane tickets. Manage everything It's like life is about to start over. At that time, it was like, oh... This is the feeling of a person who dares to make a decision or do something seriously. Because all this time, my work is just modeling and acting. To be honest, it's about earning money. Which for me may not be the answer. Because when there is a good script or character, that will only be forwarded into the channel's working system.

GQ: What was it like starting a new life there? And what do you clearly see of the people there?

Let's start with the culture of the people there. I will explain it like this. Can you imagine that? In New York, we just step out of the house. No one walked slowly. If you don't walk the dog or eat anything, no one walked slowly. Everyone walks quickly. Therefore, it means that everyone has goals for their daily life. which we are one of them. It makes me feel happy to be in a place where everyone has the same energy as me.

Later, my first goal was to enter acting school. which requires a lot of money It's like having to have extra money to back up for university. I want to attend the William Esper Studio acting school, which aside from costing a lot of money, Must apply for visa correctly. So I went to study the language first.

But because the cost of living there is very high. And my background is not any type of person. You can sleep any way you want. At least if we have to live somewhere. Or we can do something to get us to the place we choose. It's better than having to save everything. Or go to a place where we don't want to be. If so, I would like to use more energy to stay in a good environment and room. That means I have to work harder. To be in the Bedford Avenue area, I think energy here is us. Because I think the Manhattan side is not energy like us.

Cutting back to the room, the room only has this space. (He assembled it by hand.) There was no wardrobe. I use the method of placing the suitcases close together. On the other side is a bed and a desk. which I need to fold all the laundry Allocate it to all areas. And on top of the head is a heater that can hold a few things that don't look too dangerous . Well, when I'm in a situation like this, I'm... well, that's really cool. That we live in a place we like, but oh my, the living conditions are very difficult. But I try to remember that day and say, OK, if one day we grow up, we will never forget this day. We have tried doing something like this. And then I was very happy.

GQ: From a child who lives with a large family. There are parents to take care of. Then one day I had to go live abroad, which was like having to start a new life. Was there any event where you felt like you were truly out of your shell?

Our families may not be very close. But I was taken care of by my parents, who could say that they made sure that even the littlest things, like assuming we were in Bangkok, Then he said he wanted a razor. He would buy it from Hua Hin and drive it to me. That is, he is a parent who loves his children and takes care of them that much. So that means I almost never have to fight on my own.

Until one day when I was in America, I went to buy oranges and remembered that 3 oranges cost 1.5 dollars. I thought "what if they were wrong?" So we I a picture. Okay, take 3 oranges and pay. It turned out that the employee was charging 1 coin per orange, making a total of 3 coins. That is, he was charging more than the promotional price at that time, so we, ah, got on with it (laughs). I took a picture for them to look at and said you were wrong. At that time, in my heart I was secretly afraid that he would scold me back. But as soon as he finished, what he replied was ' Ok fine! ' at that moment. It was the moment when I felt like, "Hey! You can do it here.

I walked out and stood in front of the store and held an orange and a receipt. Hey! He has given the wrong amount. He has given too much because of my love of justice. So I went back and told him again. I can remember the moment it came out. If it's a movie We were standing and the camera must have tracked in front of us. Then the camera panned up to the sky. Like the picture in the movie The Shawshank Redemption where Andy Dufresne gets out of prison . My feeling is like being free like that.

From the normal time of buying things I've never looked at what, how much, if it's the correct change. I've never looked at a receipt since I was born. Because someone takes care of us His parents will buy it for him. So I'm used to having my parents take care of me. But that day was the day I grew up! (smile)

GQ: Your life changed because of oranges.

Yes, it was one of the turning points because of Orange.

GQ: And another turning point that cannot be denied is that Kinn Porsche The Series has not made you known only in Thailand. But it goes far to the global level.

Speaking of that time, I still didn't understand anything. But when Be On Cloud came to do it, we knew right away that this was a turning point. He came and spread out the whole pattern, the script, the characters, everything. Okay, we started to see the picture. See the script being developed Until it started to get intense That's important because everyone believes the same thing. No one on the team said it was impossible. Everyone will believe that it is possible. Even I myself have never seen anything like Kinn Porsche have done before. The B on Cloud team and I did our very best and with every imagination we believed it would be possible.

Assuming 100 percent, it's possible 50-60 if you really work globally. It means their technology, their equipment, their creativity. Including various cultures Bring it together with us It should be able to create really cool work. Suppose you work with Christopher Nolan (Christopher Nolan), how many people in the world will there be? that can tell the story of the universe and we believe it really exists Or maybe he doesn't have him. But it can make us feel like we are part of it. How do you know what that era was like? Just a book with only drawings and letters. But he can make it out. If so, we want to try to carry out our intentions. Then mix it Or try to work with people at the global level who have cutting-edge equipment or thinking methods. I think it would be fun. At least I just want to do it. I'm very happy.

GQ: Do you think it's effort or ambition? What's more important?

We have to come together. If you're ambitious, then you don't try. It would be like asking for a blessing from a monk and then not getting the job done.

GQ: Nowadays, if you choose to do a piece of work, What do you think is basic?

I will consider that tomorrow we may not be on this planet anymore. Suppose we are not alive. Then we turned around and looked. What are we proud of? What have we done for anyone? As of today, this is one thing that we are very proud of. So it's a fan club. They are not just supporting us. But they intend to come and support us. Stay tuned for our work. Every time we have to do our best. We send happiness We send them our full love because it is give and take.

Therefore, we must intend to give. So what do we have? We may not have anything to offer. But we have eyes that can comfort you. We have words that can help heal your heart. We have positive energy to give her. We can exchange it. She definitely didn't come to waste. I feel that this is one thing that we are very proud of that we have done for the people who love us.

GQ: Do you think that the entertainment industry, if not including money, how has it changed you?

A lot has changed. Like just now, I thought that all the time I was working (Fashion shoot with GQ Thailand ) Seriously, money is the last item. Because I will choose the choice that if we are not here, have you done anything for anyone yet? OK, money has to be spent. But what has changed is that I want to create pride in what we have done for others.

GQ: How do you see the future of your acting career?

I still have dreams of working at the global level. Like many actors, for a person to become famous, he must be dedicated. This is what I like about New York: it's a melting pot and everything moves so fast. If you can't do it, you leave and let someone who is more skilled come in and do it. Because there are hundreds of people who can do better than you. But what should you do to be able to survive? Everyone is equally talented. Everyone might be better at it. I think this is the coolness. I want to study what he thinks, what he sees, how he lives his life. What are your plans in life? Because right now we don't just want money.

GQ: You have a goal and you have to reach it.

I believe there is no one on earth who says we have to be like this, have to do this, but I believe, I believe, I believe.

GQ: One day we will see what you want to do and be successful.

Thank you. At least I have to do what I want to do (smiles).

#apo nattawin #interview #gq thailand #gq magazine #translated by google #so be warned

23 notes · View notes

dyrewrites · 13 days ago

Text

Before Deluca -- Danse en rouge

Historians will be coming for my head with this, but bear in mind I had absolutely no idea where we were at almost any given moment. I rarely even stood on deck while we sailed because of how the crew groaned and, on especially disquieting mornings, chittered—this would change when we hired a living one, but that was some time from the event in question.

What I knew about the venue going in was an Englishman owned it, it was outside London, and Lucient had spent enough time there to know the entire layout better than he knew the Royal Moon. I have searched for the place since, but it appears it now serves as a museum to the era and, ironically, there are no records of what it was prior to that. As with most unusual occurrences in my centuries with Lucient, I am blaming this one on magic.

Pertinent to our tale is that we arrived in the evening, the night after he told me we were going, exactly at sundown. And Lucient had warnings as we left the impressive carriage that brought us from the docks.

There will be others like us here, he pressed, holding my gloved hand in his, our masks tied firm against our faces, speak this way as often as possible to keep yourself hidden.

As I had not met other vampires, his concerned tone confused me, and I said so, keeping to thoughts as instructed, why do you seem worried?

Moving his hand to hold my arm, he led me through a growing crowd of similarly dressed people and I marveled at their decadent attire and intricate masks—all gold and white, but most notable were the red shapes painted on their cheeks, like ours…but not all had them and not all were hearts.

As he explained, Predators, treasure, that is what we are. Perhaps not at the top of the food chain, but close to it, and though many of us find partners, even groups, to combat the ages of loneliness...by and large we are solitary. But they do enjoy testing the freshly made and have no issue attacking their own to get them.

So it is I my dream worries of? No eyes bothered us, none followed our closeness—and he held me so close—but I noticed theirs.

Men and women were partnered and attached to whomever they pleased, giggling loud and proud, there were even groups so closely entwined there could be no guess as to their intentions or relationship. The freedom of it sang to me, in a heady rhythm through the throng of them, and I couldn’t help the smile or the arm I wrapped around my own partner. He gasped at my tighter hold but leaned into it and I hated the cat face he wore for depriving me of his smile.

Yes, treasure, he continued, you are in danger so long as we’re here.

But we cannot die, I reminded with playful hope of a laugh, or some ease in his tense muscles.

I earned a chuckle, tight and short, we do not stay dead, there is a difference. Just keep close and try not to talk to anyone without me near.

Watching the crowds file into the immense building I was awed again, the size of it, the glow of it, all the chatter and mixed scent and heat from the sheer number of bodies around me. The parties I had gone to were never so luxurious, the crowds kept intimate, with many turned away. I had never been near so many people and I wondered then, plain for his mind to catch, how did you get us invited to this...ball?

That laugh was worse than the chuckle, cold, hollow it chilled me, it is an annual affair, lasting roughly three nights, and I have a standing invitation so long as I’m wearing this face.

So long as you’re ‘kitty’, too cute, too innocent a name for the implications that filled it, the muddled fear it shook me with, and he didn’t answer me with thoughts or speech. He laid his head on me instead, and allowed me to lead us the rest of the way to the door.

As we navigated a lavish garden path, lit with lamps that made no sense to me—they glowed but not with the scent of burning animal fat or oils I was accustomed to—I lost myself a bit. Those lamps swirled with warm yellow light, popping and soft enough not to bother my eyes when I leaned closer. And inside they sang, with gentle whizzing and tinkling—as tiny bells—they performed an impossible song.

I would learn later, of course, that it was wisplight, and not near as pleasant or inviting as its light suggested but in that moment it was novel and beautiful.

And Lucient had to urge me onward lest I make a fool of myself gawking.

He allowed me again to lead after, until we reached the door...when eyes did notice us, or rather, they noticed him. Then he stood protectively in front of me, hands perfectly cool in mine.

“There’s Kitty, but where’s Fox,” A lilting feminine voice asked as a woman in a wolf mask approached, with a young man in a pig mask on her arm—and a bright red heart on her cheek. Taller than Lucient, and near to me, her presence demanded obedience, fealty.

And Lucient gave it, shrinking in her gaze. But I would not. Tight against the man with her, possessive of him, the Wolf-masked woman wanted Lucient. She aimed a thin, gloved hand for his mask—his face—and he flinched but did not move to avoid it...so I moved him.

She scoffed, turning hot green eyes on me, “Kitty has a guard, does he?”

“He does,” I said, ignoring the pinch of Lucient’s hands on my arm, but he said nothing and I had no need to say more.

“My, my, aren’t we brazen. Perhaps I’ll find you later, Sir Bull, break in those horns of yours,” She all but purred the words and as she turned I caught the neck of the man who turned with her, and the bite mark just above his collar—colorless, scarred. I imagined then that hers hid beneath the gold ribbon around her neck.

One of ours, I asked Lucient, as the scar of my own itched against the soft silk breeches that hid it.

Retaking my arm, nuzzling close, Lucient’s too-smooth cat face stared at me as his voice puffed sweet and confused into my thoughts, yes, she is.

And the ‘fox’, there was no need to ask, but I had to, and I pulled him beside the door as I did—keeping us against the cool stone walls, hidden between decorative bushes as others laughed and cooed past us on their way inside.

He nodded, accepting my arms around him, my late Mistress.

Is that why she felt so hostile, assumption, of course, but a fair one—I knew nothing of vampire kind, it was possible they’d retaliate.

No, he assured my worry, laying his face on my chest as best he could with the mask, they don’t care about one another, treasure, as I said. Solitary, on the whole, they will only care for you—should they learn of you—as well as the same thing all the marked humans here will.

And what is that, my dream? Even in thought his voice was quiet, near a whisper, and it worried...driving my hand to his hair, to pet, to soothe.

Me, he answered, before that quiet drowned in chill, hollow anger, or what they were promised of me.

Holding him tighter, warming him as best I could through all my layers, I asked more than I should have, and what of you have they been promised? I knew the answer, somewhere I knew, in the mangled flashes of memories I’d caught from my time with him...but still, I needed to be told.

He sighed, chill breath ever-sweet to the burning in me, all of me there is to take.

Shaking my head, I took his hand and led him—smiling at the soft whimper he gave to parting—through the doors, certain to meet eyes with every face that watched.

How unfortunate for them, I told him, waiting until he looked up at me again before finishing the thought, as all of you is already taken.

He chuckled, nuzzling into me, but said nothing.

Bravado though I showed, tried my best to exude; I had no real idea why we were there and was quite honestly unsure I could live up to the confidence. He told me only that we were going, not that there was an agenda, and there had to be for how unsettled the mask made him—how small he felt in that grand building.

And while I do know, of course, what it was—as I’m writing this centuries off—I also know there was nothing I could have done to prevent it. I wouldn’t have wanted to either, not then and, if I’m honest—and this is the sort of story that demands such—not now...

If I noticed a few watching us in the entryway, I noticed everyone watching as we wandered deeper into the manor—mansion, perhaps, maybe even palace, it was enormous and I had no gauge. But I did not notice near as sharply as Lucient did, with how often he flinched in my arm.

How often they called to him.

“Look, it’s the pretty kitty,” they sang, too many of them, from too many shadows to match voices to masks.

“Where’s Fox, pretty kitty?”

“Who’s the bull, a new toy?”

“Don’t tire him out now, Mr. Bull...he’s mine tonight.”

Their thoughts sang worse, far worse, dripping with salacious intent as we passed each shadowed alcove they hid in. Why are we here, my dream, I asked, hoping if nothing else to distract him with my own thoughts, my concern, if these people are a danger, and expect so much of you, why come at all?

Eyes on the shadows, he didn’t answer me as something caught his attention that didn’t catch mine. Dropping the fearful demeanor, he dragged me down a cream-colored corridor lit too brightly with those same strange lights from the garden. Another corridor and another were rushed through before at last he stopped in front of a deep red door with a pouting cherub carved into the upper middle of it—heart-tipped arrow in hands, mourning its broken wings.

The sight of that cherub itched, just beneath my skin it itched, but I couldn’t understand why. It was an angelic thing, wasn’t it? Innocent and sweet, yet something in it sang of horror. The stench of tobacco smoke leaking from its base only served to mar it further.

“L,” I began to question but not another sound escaped his finger on my lips.

No names, you are Bull and I am Kitty, anything more and we will be known, and able to be found, He warned, but his eyes weren’t on me, they were on the door. There is a man in this room, Panther as his mask marks him, he told my confused thoughts, and I need him dead.

That’s why we’re here, I grabbed his hand as it made for the door handle and forced him to look at me, that’s why you’re enduring questi cazzoni, for revenge?

You and your filthy mouth, even with the cat mask stealing most of his face I could see his eyes narrow at me, Yes, I came for revenge; one longer in the making than what gave me the chance to take it. He took my other hand then, eyes looking up at me too cold, too hard. This place, the masks, why the witch spoke of me as he did, why I slip so quickly to touch...how I tamed you so easily, it was my turn to glare, but I said nothing and could see the smile in his eyes, which withered as he continued, all of it is because of those like the man behind that door; pathetic, keening cretins hiding behind masks like ours, masks marked by a predator far worse than the bloodthirsty things hiding among them. Many of them are here, now, weakened by their degenerate lusts and I intend to taste their final breaths before they see another sunrise.

Lifting his hands, I kissed each and, gloved as they were his chill pierced and I had to fight not to set them on my cheeks, to soothe us both. Then you will, my dream, I offered, wary of the way his thoughts popped in mine, ragged and sharp, and how it flared the burning in my veins. Though ready, willing, near to hungry with the rage of those thoughts…I would not open that door.

The movement behind it distracted me, heard too clearly in my ears, but not as clear as the voices behind us and farther ahead. I heard everyone when I stopped listening only for Lucient, and it was a cacophony of languages, with only handfuls I understood. But while he refocused on the door, vibrating in my hands with what he desired, I focused on a bell. A simple bell it was, it heralded a voice and an announcement that could not be ignored.

Though Lucient did anyway, pulling me closer, searching my eyes as eagerly as he searched my mind, will you embrace what you are, my treasure, stay with me and bleed my villains dry...or will you leave me to do it alone?

I wondered why he bothered asking—still do, honestly—but I answered, sogno mio, your wrath is mine, my teeth yours, how could I say anything else with the fear soaking every thought he shared, the pain and rage battling in those eyes—his claim of me. But now is not the time, I added, motioning behind us, you heard, didn’t you? Everyone is gathering. They would notice one missing, yes, especially one so popular as to catch every eye on the way in?

He hesitated before he tore his hands away, forcing fists to his side and growled, “Fine, we’ll play our parts a little longer...”

Glad for the sound of his voice, even in irritation, I smiled as I took his arm, leading him to the bell I’d heard—stepping quicker as the door creaked open behind us, “Maybe others will be there?”

“They always are,” he muttered.

~*~

In fact, by the time we reached the ballroom, it seemed everyone was there—but few bore our heart shapes on their masks.

And though it elicited more quiet growls from Lucient, the sight of the room we entered delighted me. As did the chandelier lighting everything in colors I did not know artificial light could create. They danced, those lights, and in spite of so many eyes latching onto us as our boots clicked across the hard floors...far more were focused on one another, on hands and feet whirling about the room.

“They’re dancing,” I whispered and the giddy tone of my voice teased Lucient’s eyes to mine, and I scoffed at them, “What, I like dancing.”

“Do you now,” he cooed, all his irritation melting to something too close to lust for so public a venue—granted, a glance around to those not dancing told me otherwise. Pulling away from me, he bowed, extending a hand and announced—just loud enough to be heard by everyone, “Eh bien, monsieur le taureau, puis-je avoir cette danse?”

“Sì, è possibile, signore gattino,” I answered, bowing in return and accepting his hand.

The question of why use our native tongues to ask if ‘mister bull’ and ‘mister kitty’ wanted to dance was asked, eventually. But neither of us had a reason beyond the flourish of it. Those watching certainly appreciated it, however, as did many others who hadn’t been but began to after.

And what are we dancing, sogno mio? I asked as we walked to the center of the dance floor, where many were gathered—though they allowed us room.

You’re the one that likes to dance, treasure, He winked beneath his mask and laughed when I released his hand and backed away, taking a position better left to bull-fighters than bulls.

“Give ‘em something jaunty, Lop!” A woman in an owl mask shouted, and the conductor—in a rabbit mask—nodded before signaling the band to switch from the dreary tune they had been playing to something jaunty.

I was unaccustomed to full bands as well and it took a moment of obvious staring before Lucient cleared his throat, causing a small wave of giggling through our ‘audience’.

Sighing, I turned back at him, gawking instead at the lithe curve of his pose too far away from my hands, well, my dream, it appears we’re to be the entertainment.

He bowed again before approaching, aren’t we always?

Strings chose our dance for us, though I doubt any in the room expected us to actually perform it—despite the debauchery occurring in the corners, most did not expect such an overt display on the dance floor.

I took his hand and he took mine and we stepped lively little steps side-by-side—closer than the dance required—to the beat of hand drums. Midway across the dance floor, the flute began the melody and I lifted him, turning with him held tight to my chest—his legs swinging—to the sounds of gasps and excited murmurs before returning his feet to the floor only to lift and turn him again in the other direction.

We pranced to the other side of the space cleared for us after another two lifts and turns, bowing to the sounds of all those giggles before doing it again back the other way; prance, lift, turn, prance, and bow. However, we earned a few extra gasps as we switched places on that second go. He lifted me—which was a decidedly more impressive feat to anyone unaware of his strength.

It took a great deal longer than one might expect, the back and forth, for jaunty as the music sang it was still quite slow and we did need to keep to its rhythm.

But on the third go, I earned a gasp from Lucient as well as the crowd, by catching him in my other arm when I lifted him. Cradling him close while he laughed, I twirled once around, did a simple left-right step and danced back to the entry before lifting my mask enough to feed his surprised smile my tongue.

We exited to the sounds of raucous laughter and a few drunken cheers.

They will be far too busy talking about that to look for you now, I told him, after hiding us behind an especially pale statue that stood far too tall for how naked it was.

Still in my arms, Lucient slipped his mask up and pulled close enough to lift mine before returning my taste of him. Soft that kiss, soft, sweet and painfully quick as footsteps forced our masks back down.

They were stuttered and mixed with slurred giggling.

��Did you see them,” a woman was telling another, “so pretty, and that dance, you think, you think,” she hiccuped and I shuffled to avoid them as they wobbled around the statue, “we could do that?”

“The dance,” the other woman asked, “or the pretty, because you’re already pretty, so pretty.”

Adorable, Lucient’s thoughts all but swooned, young, drunken love. We may want another place to hide, treasure, this tends to lead to masks and corsets on the floor.

He was proven right in mere seconds as masks hit the floor and the second woman’s lips latched to the first while drink-softened fingers attempted to remove the many layers of their gowns.

Swallowing my laughter, I ran with Lucient in my arms back to the room he had so ached to enter. When he noticed, he shook his head, he won’t be in there now, but if you’re willing...I saw one of the others sneak off during our performance.

“Or we could follow suit,” I nodded toward the corridor behind us, the statue beyond, which sang then with the moans of drunken love.

“Later,” he promised, hand teasing my mask, “my warm...perfect treasure.”

Those damnable eyes, shining in the dark holes of that too-innocent mask, eyes he knew I cherished, would follow into anything. Or he should have, but if he did, truly did, there wouldn’t have been a claim on me. It gnawed, that claim, but its teeth were dull with his use of it and so I set him down and took his hand, allowing him to lead me to life deserving of the rage he fed me.

~*~

We found that life on the second floor, dodging the giggling bodies of more drunken love as we followed something I could neither smell nor hear. But Lucient could, it drove him, whatever it was and the grip of his gloved hand grew tighter the closer to it we came.

Far from any laughter, or salacious whispers and coos from lovers, we stopped.

Broad the door, broad and red and embellished with intricate figures of cherubs. Far more than the last and in poses that made my stomach turn; too innocent those faces, those bodies, to be arranged so lewd. And all around them, framing them, were reliefs of simple shapes...one of which held my eyes, the same on my mask, on Lucient’s; a heart.

Lucient froze at that door, hand ever in mine, shaking as he too took in each tiny shape carved into it. While silent he remained, memories burst in his mind. Memories I could not help but hear, and see...and feel.

In cold, angry flashes they slammed into me.

Beginning with a smiling woman paying off a scowling one who had Lucient's honey hair and soft complexion.

Ain’t much use but as a sleeve, the scowling woman told the other, though she did so in French, in a dialect I didn’t recognize that felt grating and embarrassing through Lucient’s ears, makes a cute girl though, if you got funds to dress him right.

I will make do, the smiling woman promised and her voice stabbed; purring as it did it shook me through him.

That same smiling woman sat before him a flash later, presumably he was kneeling—for how else could she tower—but a glance up to a mirror in the ceiling said otherwise. His wide eyes were powder blue, honeyed curls fanning his face, but that pale complexion was pink with life and round with youth—like the cherubs in the door.

Come, kitten, she cooed to him, I hear you are eager to please whoever pets you. So show me, make me purr.

Too young his face for the intention in her words, the view she forced, the pull towards her spread knees. And the pain and revulsion in his stomach spoke of knowing, of experience, fanning the burn in my veins.

Mirrors were not found in the memories that chased it, that jittered after in jagged shapes, leaving me to guess his age among the adults that ravaged him. Those he was rented to, many masked but not all.

All their words were muddled by moaning, screaming lust. Yet I felt all as if it were my flesh taking it, tasting it.

Leather cut into the corners of sore, pleading lips. Too many hot tongues and hands licked and scraped along hotter skin as flesh was forced again and again into a choking throat. While worse, so much worse, was forced elsewhere.

He screamed and screamed in those memories, between instructions to coo instead, to purr as the pretty kitty they continued to call him. He rasped my own throat with the force of his agony—his shame—but it didn't stop it, any of it, it wouldn’t.

Worse than all of it, to his memory, to mine, after every horrid encounter waited the smiling woman. Dove, the memories spat, as they played her over and over again; hand on his head, brushing all his curls with tender care before turning him to face her and pulling him into her legs, cooing praise with hunger burning in amber eyes. Until at last it flashed to another and I watched, as he watched, money change hands—another purchase, another trade of his life, his flesh, his self.

The smiling woman warned, money in hand, if you want your mask to mean anything, he best keep his; every client retained or you’re out, left to tend to yourself.

The new woman was darker, in presence if not complexion, eyes black as pitch but there was hope in her sight—in what he saw of her. She didn’t speak in the memory, blotted as it became by the icy rage of the present.

Of the smiling woman, who waited then before him, before us.

She stood at the door—opened, sometime during the mad flashes we shared—crookedly with her hip out and arm on the frame, her sheer gown demanding attention neither of us would give. The long cigarette in one of her hands, however, did attract with its smoke spiraling too wispy and whimsical for the horrors she wrought. Human, by the scent of her, the heat, the soft rhythm of her heart, she did not hold herself as one. Nor did her thoughts flood my own, they remained locked and silent.

Tossing hair back, which matched the eyes under her dainty dove mask too closely, she smiled with blood red lips—that same proud smile.

Shorter than either of us, there was power in her, a confidence and certainty that she were in no danger. That, if there were prey present, it was us.

Dove, Dove, all Lucient’s mind screamed was, Dove.

“You come to me without your owner and a stranger on your arm,” She drawled, the slime of her gaze coating me, “You know he’s not as fresh as that sweet little face suggests,” receiving only narrow eyes from me, she set that slime on Lucient and smiled, “One of yours, I’m guessing. A monster like the one that bought you, like she made you. Awfully big though, isn’t he...but not so big you can’t bend him, right, kitten?”

“You're not allowed to speak anymore,” he managed, the words trembling with his steps forward, “Only scream.”

Fool as she was, she laughed at his rage, even as she turned her back and sauntered to the bed—the same her smile welcomed him to so many times before, “Mm, bring those fangs over here then, kitten, and make me scream.”

Not a hint of fear colored her voice or stuttered her steps, weak as any human she was no less a predator. But Lucient was no human, nor the helpless child she’d broken…

You are new to this, treasure, his thoughts rushed through mine, shaking with the rage in his limbs, unaccustomed to taking life, and that is fine, you don’t have to, not yet, not this one…but I ask you not stop me, this woman—

“Has earned it,” I said aloud, eyes on the ambers that smoldered at me, despite how she tried to force my view elsewhere—reclining on the bed, hand exploring herself beneath the sheer gown she wore.

Lucient turned to gape up at me, “Quoi?”

Your memories, my dream, too bright and sharp in mine, I explained, in a manner she couldn’t hear before backing up, eyes still on hers, making certain she heard the rest, “Bleed her dry.”

She laughed, at him, at me, but Lucient removed his mask and smiled. Wide and sharp he smiled at me before turning on her and, as I left the room, he made her scream.

Now, I understand that those reading this tale might wish to know just how she died. After all I shared of her you may yearn for all the gory details. A fair desire, for who in that situation was the monster; the one renting a child out to depraved aristocrats, or the one come to bite out her throat for it? But I didn’t see her death, or the aftermath, and so I cannot relay it. Her life, deserving as it was, did not meet with my teeth that night. Her last breath was Lucient’s to take and, while I can say now that all the rest were his too, in the heady rage of those memories...it felt shared.

I yearned to see each and every face that tormented him bloodied and screaming. I hungered for the taste of their life, their ragged, choking breaths dying on my tongue. And I would taste them. Before the night ended, before those with life yet to live shuffled out of that manor, I would taste all of them.

~*~

Not a drop of blood followed Lucient out of that unsettling door, no more than what he licked from his lips. But he was smiling, just beneath the mask he’d refitted I could see a wide grin—and eyes a bit too hungry.

“Merci, mon tresor, merci,” he whispered into the collar of my jacket, wrapping his arms around me in a hug that burned with the life he’d devoured.

“Prego, sogno mio,” I whispered back, hugging him as tight, aching for his chill.

Door closed, and no sign anything was amiss, we stayed outside it for what felt more than it likely was. I longed to stay there, or end it there and return to the comfort of the ship...but she was only one, the most important surely, but only one.

While Lucient had a list, and I’d agreed to follow him through it.

“Where to now,” I asked his hair, marveling again at how clean he was, wondering more than a little how the deed was done—her screams too loud, too ragged to have been from bite alone. But he would never tell, and I would never ask, or dig.

Pulling from me slowly, allowing my arms to slide off him, he paused to pet my chest, lids heavy, stance crooked, hip out—in a way he did not stand. Then he sniffed the air and, with the confidence of one certain they were the most terrifying thing in the room, he announced, “This way.”

Down the hall I was led, thoughts racing too fast for me to parse of the odd manner he took. If she had done something to him before he could end her. I heard screaming, but all from her, so assumed it something else, something troubling him.

I’m just perfect, treasure, he whispered into my worries, blood-drunk is all.

It soothed nothing, but I tried to keep the worry quiet.

When at last he stopped it was in front of massive white and gold curtains. Glass doors waited behind them, open and spilling soft moans and whispers reminiscent of our own private moments. But while I smiled with them, enjoying the heady sounds of pleasure...Lucient growled. Audible, his growl, clear and sharp in my ears and I reached for him before he stepped through the doors.

Another target of your revenge, my dream, I asked those growls.

And they settled with my touch, with my thoughts, Lucient turning to me as he answered, yes, treasure, he may be hidden from view but he’s there...the Panther.

Judging by the sounds, I doubt we’ll need to be subtle in our approach, I suggested, smiling as he shook his head at me, but maybe we don’t go in biting?

Your suggestion then, he asked, and there was a hopeful quality in it, a tinge of pride even.

A peek first, I returned, slipping ahead of him and through the wide doors, out into crisp night and the scent of...well, acrid tobacco smoke mostly, but there were sweet roses in there somewhere and a hint of saltwater from that stretch of blue the balcony offered us a breathtaking view of. A view only I noticed, as Lucient scoffed the moment we were free of the hot interior air.

He had a reason, though to me it felt like intruding on a private moment. A broad man—more so than I—in a panther mask with a small red heart on its cheek, and as tall as me from what I could see of him, was reclining on the railing with arms spread. He clutched the stone with a burning pipe held loose between his fingers. And, just in front of him, on his knees with his back to us, was a far smaller man wearing a leopard mask—with a diamond on its cheek—pushed back on his head. A head rather animated, busy drawing heady sounds from the other.

Intruding, as I said.

Lucient thought differently, the one on his knees is no one to me but what was your plan, treasure, before I shove the putain he’s sucking on off the balcony?

A thought occurred with the realization Lucient was angry enough to be crass, and neither man noticed us, what of that trick you do, with your voice, do I have that?

He caught my meaning quick and nodded, you should, and I adore where you're heading, but you need practice before something like this. So let me.

Not moving from his spot, Lucient whispered to the man in the leopard mask, and he was terribly unkind about it—showing more ability than I knew that voice capable, “Choke, choke and flee.”

The man in the leopard mask began coughing, worrying the one he was attached to, a worry that swelled to confused shouting as coughing turned to choking and he was left alone against the railing. Fleeing, with his head down, choking still the leopard ran by us—without once catching sight of more than our jackets.

But the man in the panther mask saw far more, “I was prepared to yell at whatever little shit interrupted,” he said as he walked toward us—leaving his pants low enough that it took effort not to laugh at his wiggling approach, until he kicked them off. “But seeing as I was just stalling until my pretty Kitty showed, you can just pick up where he left off.”

Towering over Lucient, ignoring me entirely, the man’s half-mask did nothing to hide the grin as he held himself in one hand and reached for Lucient with the other.

I caught the hand as Lucient spoke, “No, I will not. Not ever again.”

“That so,” the Panther asked, turning his salacious smile on me, “and this the one s’posed to stop me if I decide to make you?”

My growl spread his disgusting smile, but it did nothing to stop the chuckle that chased it, even as I tightened my grip—relishing the easy give of his wrist.

There’s no one around, treasure, Lucient kept his steps subtle as he moved closer to the doors, quieter still as he closed them, if you want this one.

Eyes firm on the man, aware he could see the hint of my teeth beneath the wide nose and dangling ring of my mask, I spoke to Lucient alone, Are you sure, my dream, after this stronzo asked so nicely for you teeth?

Oh, he’s asked for more than that, but you need to break yours in, and you clearly want to, Lucient remained by the doors, and though we had kept so quiet, the man only stared at me—smiling—as Lucient continued in my mind, and I would so like to watch...

Tilting my head slowly, smiling wider at how his eyes grew with the motion, as images of Lucient bent before him filled his thoughts, I did want that neck in my teeth. Wanted to feel his sickly white skin crunch, hear the gasp of it, perhaps the scream, before all that burned in him—all that kept him warm, and wet and breathing—became mine.

As you wish, my dream, I told Lucient, adding with a salacious lick of my lips, I will devour this filth...for you.

“You going to answer me, asshole,” The ‘Panther’ asked, wriggling his hand with my silence, my hunger, and faster as he realized he couldn’t pull it free, “Or are you going to let me walk over there and take what I’m owed out of my kitty’s pretty mouth?”

Clicking my tongue and shaking my head, I yet held my voice as I took his other wrist, chuckling with his gasp before pinning his wrists to his sides and walking him back to the railing.

And he began to panic through his salacious tone, “H—hey, big guy, if, if you wanted to take his place, all you had to do was say so.”

Still smiling, and not speaking, I lifted and set his hands on the railing before stomping my feet onto his. Savoring the crackle of those thin bones, the ragged yelp of his pain, I kept him pinned.

“You can’t do this to me,” He demanded, shouting, “Do you know who I am?”

Jerking my head up to shift my mask, I offered a view of all the teeth yearning for his neck, and nearly swooned as he gasped again.

I spoke after, leaning in to whisper, “You’re dinner.”

His mouth opened, perhaps to speak—I hoped to scream—but no sound escaped beyond the gurgling of his life pouring into my throat.

It was different, from Lucient’s, from the witch’s; not as icy sweet or intoxicating. Yet heady, dizzying in its heat, salt-licked and strangely bitter his blood sparked inside me, pounding through me as theirs did. And with swelling desire it sang in me. I wanted more, not only more of the blood but touch, taste, sound, sensations all, more.

He jerked his hands in mine, tried to free his wrists and I snapped them. With swift, mirrored motion I twisted until they fell limp in my grasp. Coughed his cries, deliciously ragged through my bite before he sunk into numbing agonies, into the ecstasy of my teeth. Releasing those wrists to hang I hugged him tight to force more of his neck, more of his life into me—bitter as it spoiled on my tongue.

Even as he choked, as spasms took him, vibrating us both against the stones I drank and I drank. His body relaxed—limp, dead—and still I kept on him...drawing all I could, starving for more. As it spiked, as that heady throb turned to violent raking through my veins I drank.

Against the railing we appeared to anyone behind us—or below—as two lovers enjoying the night. But Lucient knew better.

Aware of what I’d fallen to he rushed to me, cold hands holding my cheeks. “Treasure,” he whispered, pleading, “the dead have only agony to offer. You must stop.”

He had to yank my shoulders, my arms, but I pulled back, hot blood dripping from my lips, still pounding, still singing.

“Mm,” voice wet as my throat, my lips, my chin; words refused to form.

Lucient held me, trapping my arms as they twitched to grab the panther again, allowing him to slip further onto the railing than I’d left him...to fall. But there were none down there to notice, so I was led back into the mansion without any consideration given to the thud of him on the grass below.

“You were beautiful,” Lucient told me in the hall, licking all the blood from my lips before yanking me closer to take more from my tongue.

The death did not worry me—nor did the giggles rushing by us—nothing bothered as much as the bottomless hunger growling in my veins, and I aimed to devour the tongue exploring my mouth as I asked its owner, why do I want more, everything?

Everyone’s blood is different, he explained, pulling me tighter, hands grabbing for the back of my head and shoving my mask high with his to keep his lips on me, his tongue drenched in the blood on mine, we taste all they are, all they desire, and it seems he was a glutton.

It pounded still, the blood, driving my hands to Lucient’s back, lower, shoving harder into his lips, his face, as I lifted him up. And he hopped with it, wrapping his legs around me, gasping into me as I slammed him into a wall.

I want you, obvious the thought, but it came anyway, now, here.

He did pull from me then, with lips if not all else, gasping between kisses on my neck, “It’s the blood, you took so much. All his desires swim in you. But you can’t give in, not now, and not here, anywhere but here.”

Fighting the strange pulse of that blood, the hunger in it, the desire without end, I bit my lip not to bite him...but it didn’t help. He pushed at my chest and the flash of fear in his eyes burned me hotter. Snatching his arms I shoved tighter against him to pin them above his head and set my lips too rough on his neck.

“Please, not here,” he breathed but I pressed in tighter, devouring the sweet gasp he gave me before he begged, “Stop...”

“Make me,” I cooed in his ear, aware he could, hoping he would, unable to stop on my own. All of me ached to tear his clothes off, to force what I knew he didn’t want, to take and take until he had nothing but pain left to give. I knew he wouldn’t be able to stop me if I tried—that I enjoyed the thought frightened me most.

But he didn’t do it. Lucient could hear my want, I know he could, how desperately I fought a losing battle with ravenous blood and still he didn’t do it. He stared, eyes frozen wide as his legs fell from my side, heels clicking against the wall, dangling just above the floor without will to move them—to kick, to shove.

Lips never leaving his neck, I held him by his wrists in one hand, keeping him pinned as I slipped my other hand under his jacket, tugging at the breeches beneath.

Stop me, I pleaded, with a voice easier to control, you see what I want, what I’ll do, my dream...Lucient. Please. Stop me.

My hand was in that silk fabric, tight around what I wanted, before Lucient pulled one of his own free. Holding my face, his chill sweetly distracting through those thin gloves, I swooned with the touch but my hand kept in those silks, gripping and rubbing him as I leaned in to force a kiss.

“Stop,” he said, mournful, echoed, and I froze before I reached his lips, “let me go,” he continued, and I did as told, “breathe, calm and hear only me.”

Slow, steady breaths calmed me, slowed the pounding of the blood in my veins, the horrible want that filled it. And the rush of it in me, the heady lull of its pulse, faded. All else faded with, until only Lucient’s breaths were heard.

He waited, and waited, breathing in steady rhythm. I wanted him still, but it was the usual amount...not an obsessive desire to take—no, that drowned in shame. But I struggled, in the quiet, with realization of the claim he had on me, the leash he held. Its power, how much of me it could twist, force—as I forced through strength alone.

“I,” I had no words to offer, and he would feel my shame anyhow, but I wanted—needed—to, so I tried, “am a weak, wretched man to have fallen so easily to—”

“It wasn’t you, it was the blood,” He said simply, but there was more chill to him than usual, and a sorrow I didn’t care to see in his eyes, “But don’t ask me to do that again,” he added, “never ask me to do that again.”

“Why make the claim on me if not to control?” A terrible question, that, one I still wish I hadn’t asked.

He answered it though, with a tight voice and jittering eyes, “I have no desire to control you, only keep you.”

“Earlier then, making me forget?” Full of questions I was, and all the worst—I could blame the blood, the shame, the confusion of it all, but those would be lies, as I honestly had no clue why I pressed then.

Still he answered, quick, sharp, “You forgot nothing. That was a suggestion, not a command, to soften you, to assure you’d stay. And if you’re looking for an apology, you won’t find one; I will never regret keeping you with me. But this, what you asked of me, this was control. This was damage, this was pain, yet still temporary, which means that desire you fear, that terrible lust you couldn’t fight will be back,” he turned from me, facing down the hall, “You’ll need someone else in your veins to get rid of it. That is, if you intend to stay...”

You may notice, dear reader, not once, from the moment the blood overtook my will, did he refer to me by the endearing name he so often did.

So did I.

There weren’t enough words to properly describe all of the emotions I felt, not to him then and not you now.

So why bother.

I grabbed him, turned him, lifted that awful little mask he wore and kissed him.

And I won’t lie that the shock in his eyes wasn’t delicious.

He fell back with my kiss, held up by my arm alone until I steadied him, but though I ended it, I didn’t let go, I waited until he saw me before I said, “No matter what you’ve done, or what you intend to; you are my dream, and I never want to wake.”

A terribly cheesy line, but he found it amusing, and so I stand by it.

Laughing into my chest, he hugged me and teased, “Imbécile.”

It was heaven to hear him laugh, to feel all of him loose and comfortable in my arms—not tense, not shaking, not coolly limp—and I breathed easier with him.

“So, who’s next on the menu,” I asked, attempting as best I could to make light of a situation that should have been horrifying. Not only what I had done, but what we had, and planned to do more of.

It should have been frightening.

And it was, in a way. I was afraid through most of it, but only just. Beyond the issue of a soul, which he had insisted did not exist, there were mortal worries to cling to—to scream into me of all I did. Yet, so long as he was with me, so long as there was a reason for what we did...it felt righteous.

I stand by that too, in case you’re curious.

All we did I stand by, even the worse things we would do, while he was on his mission of vengeance we had purpose. I had purpose, and I didn’t have that before him. I didn’t have much before him, in fact. Content in mediocrity, I knew nothing of the world outside Calabria, let alone Italy but with him I would see it all.

So, in the grand scheme of things, it might serve you to know I regret nothing. What you think of me by the end of this tale because of that confession...well, it doesn’t much matter to me now, does it? I don’t know you.

Unless your name is Oriana Beaumont, in which case you shouldn’t be reading this. Put this book down immediately, young lady and go to your room; you are grounded for a month.

~*~

We had remained unstained through our first two encounters, relying primarily on our teeth as we had, but it took one—perhaps two—to fill us. So the next we devoured were necessary only to wash out that gluttonous blood.

They were behind one of those horrid doors. Three cherubs adorned it, crouched over a bird with vicious grins carved in their sweet faces.

The door alone filled Lucient’s mind with memories of chains, burning flesh, gaping wounds and goblets overflowing with his life. Laughing women held him, purred in his ears and cooed of all the pieces they would take and take and take. Stronger as he became after his death, teeth long and sharp, skin cold and thick, harder to split; the women still did not fear him. They took more, and more, flaying skin from muscle and delighting as his wounds closed. More so in how much warmer he burned after an angry bite of their flesh, a bite they begged for again and again—forced with strange words and throaty chants—even as they tore into him with sharp knives and sharper smiles.

Yet, much to my confused elation, while violent and horrid all...none of what they did was sexual. It was, perhaps, wrong of me to take comfort in that.

I went into the room first, certain to hold him behind me, and found all three on a large bed, entirely naked—which created more confusion. They held daggers, with blades and skin covered in red. All three were identical in every way I could see and all three set fiery eyes on me as I entered. And the scent of that room, of them, it sang familiar...sparking with the same mesmerizing stench as the Sea Witch.

But there would be no time to ask of it, as they addressed me.

“Wrong room, oaf,” The one sitting in the center of their half circle growled, eyes shining through her bat mask.

Beside her sat one in a mouse mask, tilting her head left and right, studying me as she spoke, “You are too big to play with us.”

The last wore a rat mask, and only giggled into her blood-soaked hands.

Hearts were painted on their cheeks, clear even through the messes they’d made of them, and by then I’d figured what those meant. They marked Lucient’s clients, and it dawned on me that if it were an annual affair and they all attended…

Yes, treasure, he confirmed my mulling, I tended to the desires of all of them, throughout the weekend this party lasts, every year.

I, I don’t, and I really didn’t, understand, that is. I never did finish the thought, however, as he hugged me from behind.

Don’t try, he asked, nuzzling his head into my back, please.

But these women, the horrors in your mind, screaming even now into mine, I held his hands, keeping them tight around me, that is nothing like the others, I don’t understand why—

They aren’t human, they’re witches, he explained, but only just, as too quiet in my mind his voice pleaded, and please, treasure, don’t search in those memories. There are no answers you want. Just get the bat, she’s the real threat, I’ll take the others and you must carve out their hearts after you drain them...or they will return.

Before I could ask, could question the chill in his tone, he had the mouse in his teeth and her dagger at the rat’s throat.

“Kitty,” the bat tittered, without a hint of emotion for what I imagined were her sisters, “you came back. Are you here to sing for us again?” I had her then, moving far quicker than I expected to—we had not run through the halls, I didn’t know my own speed—and took her dagger as she twisted it at me. “And you brought a friend,” she sneered.

Lucient dropped the mouse, limp and spasming as she was, but kept her dagger on the rat, “Partner, dear.” The rat swiped with her dagger and Lucient smiled, that sharp mesmerizing smile I hadn’t seen all night, “Now, now, precious, you know better than that.” He twisted the dagger out of her hand, and still she kept silent, “It’s not even silver, what were you hoping to accomplish?”

“Kitty’s in a mood,” the bat cooed, wriggling with my hands on her wrists, “We do so love when Kitty gets mad. You going to hurt us, Kitty, bite us and drink us dry? We ache for your teeth.”

He laughed, chill, humorless as he spoke to me, “Do you hear that, treasure? They want to be bled. Isn’t it delicious?”

While no genuine emotion came through in his voice, his mind popped and jittered with chaotic rage; red, red, red, all of them, redder than they were already, gasping and screaming under his teeth and nails.

I had no time to address it, however, as the bat gaped at me, her brown eyes yet tinted orange by the light of the room, “You’re a dead thing too?” She elicited another cold, mirthless laugh from Lucient before she begged, “Then bite me, dead thing. Drink me, empty me of all this hot, wretched life. I want to see it smeared thick and red all over you.”

I stared at her, then at Lucient, and my confusion burst a bit more aggressively than intended, “Chi è questa puttana pazza?”

“The crazy bitch is dessert, treasure,” Lucient repeated my aggression through his cold smile and, shaking his head at another attempt of the rat’s to swipe at him, he took her by the hair and bit into her throat. She swooned, but it didn’t last, and the glint in his eyes when he stopped, when he eyed the dagger, smiled at it…

I would like to take a moment to say that I was filled with many emotions at that moment, terribly conflicting emotions, so when I tell you that his murderous grin excited me...I just want you to have proper context.

But it did excite, as did her gurgling cries as Lucient set to carving her heart out.

The bat giggled, hysterically she giggled, eyes and lips pulled far too wide at the sight of her sister’s demise. But her giggles snapped to gasps as I gave her the gift she begged for.

“Yes,” she swooned beneath my teeth, “oh, and hot you are, dead thing...so hot that bite...burning, burning all inside me. More, yes, take more! Take it all!”

Her blood screamed. Brutal and ravenous, thick as syrup without a hint of sweetness but still it sparked as the sea witch’s sparked—a taste I would forever associate with magic. But it was sour fruit on my tongue, burning acid down my throat, and she moaned louder the more I drank it, all but screaming her lust for the agony of my teeth—the death they promised. Were it not for my hands on her wrist, I am certain she’d have held me through it, pulled me closer.

It swelled in me, her blood, with fresh desires no less monstrous than the last. I wanted to hurt, to cut, to watch something living suffer and bleed. Not for sustenance, not for a primal need, but for pleasure. It wasn’t difficult to take the dagger to her after, to stab and slice and dig.

The crack of her ribs delighted, as delicious on my blood-soaked fingers as their sweet melody was to my ears...

Yet I caught myself, with her heart in my hand—pumping, however slight—and gaped at Lucient, “My dream...I—I’m not sure this blood is any better than that fottuta pantera.”

With a giddy, blood-soaked grin, he presented the heart he’d cut and it occurred to me that, perhaps, we should have been more careful about who we ate.

I cut the mouse’s heart out next. Fighting bubbling giggles, I sawed through muscles and snapped ribs with Lucient leaning on my back, not fighting the glee that spilled from his lips.

We each took a dagger with us when we left the room, soaked in all the thick red life those witches sprayed. Our eyes and ears kept alert for any notice of their screams—pleasurable as they were—but none hunted, none chased. We again went unnoticed, and I didn’t have time to wonder before Lucient answered it.

Spelled, all the pretty rooms are spelled, even his thoughts were drenched in giggling glee.

Giggling together we went for the others on his list.

Ones we took less care to remain subtle with, playing with the shiny daggers we’d stolen until their gurgling whimpers grew too sweet not to bite them away. It became far too easy to see pulsing life as a meal instead of a person and, thanks to influence of those murderous witches, I delighted in far more than the meal.

More than the blood on my tongue. I wanted to bathe in it.

I cut, I tore, I rent limbs from sockets and heads from necks, with Lucient praising me all the while—his blood as tainted.

We ran full speed through the halls, a blur to all but others like us—and none of them seemed to know, or care, what we were doing. Reveling in the freedom of bubbling glee as a salve to the torturous memories each new target inflicted, we drained no others after the sisters. A bite alone, Lucient insisted.

To make it clear something with fangs was responsible.

~*~

By the time we found the last we’d take that evening, our glee was running out. All we’d done swirling hot and sharp in our shared minds, all of what they’d done blending to sour what joy we’d scraped and clawed and bitten.

Yet we weren’t done with our task, and the past wasn’t done with Lucient.

We found them in a broad, empty hall, tucked away in a corner that offered meager privacy for what they were engaged in, lined as it was with tall windows—a sight for any outside to see were it not for the curtains.

There were three in all; a man of generous height and build in a gorilla mask, a man of meager height and build in a pigeon mask, and a tall rubenesque woman attached to each and squished between them in a bear mask.

The hearts on their cheeks unnerved more than the shape they’d arranged themselves in, and the grunting song they sang—though both were certainly unnerving.

Watching them mesmerized, the three in perfect sync, so fit in rhythm I could not imagine them in any other configuration.

But Lucient, of course, could.

He was part of their set and through sharp flashes of moaning, sweat-soaked memory I saw precisely how he fit into their lustful puzzle. The heat of their hands, the wet of their tongues, the cruelty of the devices they employed to torment him in every flash ignited me.

I was ravenous for their death and with murderous blood yet popping, my thoughts giggled with all the ways I could inflict it.

Lucient shook beside me, stepping away from the sight of them, the memories, and flattened against a wall. Breathing too quickly, too short, I would not touch him—much as my fingers begged—or soothe with kisses as my lips ached to. Familiar that breath, his fear, and I knelt before it, before him, and laid my head on his stomach.

Unusual the gesture perhaps, but one my mother once employed for me after an especially harrowing encounter at one of her parties—resulting in a socialite banned from future soirees as well as our business. It surprised me, my mother's face, but not in fear and I had grasped for her hair, for something soft and safe.

Just as Lucient did then.

After the initial shock and flinch, he touched my hair, petting it—blood-soaked as it was—until his breathing steadied. With his touch, he steadied mine, the red thinner in my thoughts, cooling as he sunk drying fingers down to my scalp.

“My treasure,”he breathed, quiet but clear,“I fear I don't deserve you…”

I stood, lifting his mask and smoothing bloody curls from his cheeks, to hold his face and lay my forehead on his, whispering, “Then you clearly have no sense.”

I hoped for a smile, but he only sniffled as the memories throbbed, joining all others he’d suffered that evening in tangled flashes. “Perhaps,” he whispered back, looking down, trying to keep wet eyes from me, “I lost it in all their flesh.”

Wiping his tears, smearing all the red coating him, I kissed a perfect pout and smiled, “Well, we should go dig it out then, shouldn't we?”

He managed to keep the giggle quiet as he replaced his mask and returned to the corner, their song yet playing loud enough not to worry of detection.

We took the men first, quick as we’d become—connected so thoroughly through thought—it was instant. Teeth in neck, dagger in chest, they choked and oozed bright and red but we didn’t dawdle, didn’t play as we had been.

The woman, however, we drained, shared. Catching her as she fell—without the men to keep her stable—we took the space of her lovers, if not their positions. Our arms wrapped so close around her, to keep her trapped should she run, I couldn’t stop her lips from stealing my fingers, or the face Lucient made as he tried not to laugh at me. But with how caught in her lusts she was...our teeth digging into her neck and shoulder hardly registered beyond louder moans.

And her blood. Oh, her blood. As heady syrup it flowed; sweet, decadent, warm as fresh pastries it was—it was home.

I was a child again in that bite, indulging in home-baked sweets. Dough crunched, ever so, in my teeth, jelly coated my tongue in warm fruity sweetness. Lucient swayed with me, with her, lost to the same sensation, the same memories but I knew—from enough small peeks—he’d never had it in truth. But with all that blood filling me, washing away the lust for death and destruction, I wanted to give it to him.

Yes, in the midst of our killing spree I was thinking about where I could find my dream a warm, freshly baked pastry. That was the power of the blood, why it mattered who one ate—and how much of them. Because a taste wouldn’t do much, but we weren’t tasting, we were devouring and that bear was a meal.

Leaving her, and her paramours, seated by the window we went after the next target with contented grins, filled with a warm, numbing bliss. Both concluding, in said bliss, that aside from her blood being positively scrumptious, the woman in the bear mask had been drunk out of her mind.

The final targets on Lucient’s list—and worst, I would learn later—were outside, in the back of the manor, sitting by a poorly lit fountain.

We were happy when we found them. A warm, fuzzy happy. The sort which steals ones inhibitions and sense. Had anyone seen us they would have, correctly, assumed we were inebriated. But there weren’t any others in the garden. Nor anywhere near the fountain, which I found strange, but it did seem all of Lucient’s targets were removed from other partygoers.

And, before he could hear how loud I was wondering, I asked, My dream?

“Yes, treasure,” he slurred, giggled, right, no talking, they might hear...

Why are they alone? I kept to my point, and to thought—mostly because I couldn’t feel my tongue.

Tiger and Dog, He asked, leaning on me as I leaned on a wall, both of us hiding beneath a balcony—and I giggled with the thought of what I’d see had we been in the front of the manor.

All of them, I tried to focus, but it was growing more and more difficult, on your list. All we’ve...eated? Aten? Divorato. They were all alone.

My...clients...are special, His thoughts were slowing, his weight heavier on me, Ones no one else would take, no matter what they paid; the dangerous and, uh, dégénérer.

I mostri, he had referred to them as ‘degenerates’, but I named them monsters and realized none of the memories I’d seen of his showed his fangs save those with the witches, so I had to ask, because you’re a vampire?

He giggled, slapping at my chest, No, silly treasure, I’ve only been this for a couple years.

I grabbed his shoulders and stared at him until he looked at me—wobbling as he was, narrow his eyes—and said, “What?”

His eyes widened and he checked the couple by the fountain, but they weren’t there, so he sighed and looked back at me, “We’re done here, treasure. I can’t...do like this. I’ll get them at their home. Later.”

“This does not answer my question of ‘what’?” I held him steady, the swooning blood fading in the revelation of how recent his fangs were.

“I know,” he patted me again, “but I’m pretty sure I just heard a scream, a scared scream,” he giggled, shook his head and tried to speak clearly, “I will explain whatever you want later. Now...ship.”

→Before Deluca Taglist<-

// feel free to ask to be added or removed ^.- //

@watermeezer @starbuds-and-rosedust @thespacelizard

@your-absent-father @mr-orion @cowboybrunch @olliexwrites

@rowanmgrey-author @the-golden-comet @wyked-ao3 @leahnardo-da-veggie

@lychhiker-writes @aziz-reads @mthollowell-writes

#writeblr #before deluca #novel #chapter #vampire romance #tw: blood #oh so much blood #there is a massacre in this #tw: sa #it is a big topic this chapter #so be warned

4 notes · View notes