#` ✞ moriarty. ⁞ welcome to the family jewels‚ coal to diamond‚ sold to fools.

[sunlessea]

MR SHROUDS & ELIAS MORIARTY

with all the money in the world, you could never buy this man! should i go dutch? this will be tough! / art . @londonfallen

[sunlessea]

angel. what a joke. he watches it with waning vigor, legs thrown over the railing so he can let his hands fall overtop the handles. it's the closest he can get to lounging like this, now with his magician's cape half draped over one shoulder. he crosses his legs, frowning. it won't be leaving any time soon, he has the inclination of believing, and that's a real pity. he'd love to go back to just being alone, closed off in his house, never having to talk to anyone again. it's pathetic, but his chest is starting to hurt. this is why he'd closed himself away from london's populace. he's just... so tired of talking, and dealing with other people. he's almost frustrated enough to cry, and the only reason he doesn't is because it would take too much effort, being what he is now. he misses being kine. not that his humanity hadn't been stolen from him young.

"yeah. that's one way of putting it. but you people always do. the giovanni are nothing if not theatric assholes. i'd know." he wants to jump off the bannister and disappear. he can't, but he thinks about it. if he were so eager to die, he'd have just killed himself instead of coming to london. no matter how exhausting this all is. "my blood begins and ends with you. my entire life and worth has revolved around the gift you imparted upon me, against my will, and now i will spend all of eternity mourning how fucked 'you and yours' have left me. london will hide me forever, one way or another, whether i'm in its streets or buried under it. i'm not a giovanni anymore, i'm a caitiff. i'd rather be nothing than be yours, and i'd rather kill myself than go back to scotland. do you understand?"

he knows there's some truth to its ramble, and lies to his own. but knowing doesn't mean he'll admit it. if london is to be his grave, so be it. he watches it as it ascends the stairs to come towards him, expressionless and tense. he could run again, there's nothing stopping him. but he doesn't have a choice but to see where this goes. it's in his home. where else could he even hide?

"how long..." he stares at it, brow perking in poorly contained annoyance at its picking apart of his demeanor, but he only flinches when it grabs him. he stops himself before reaching up to hit it, if only because he isn't stupid enough to raise hand to a master of the bazaar ... but if it had been anyone else! he glares at it, yanking his arms still from its grasp before it can drop them proper. what a rude bat! "small? i'm a professional gymnast, you dick. i was doing handsprings when i was an eight year old boy." he crosses his arms even as it still holds him, huffing. all he can really do is kick his legs and pout, but that's a bit too childish for him, so he settles for looking away and staring at some far off speck of gold on a wall in the distance. "and i'm thirty-two. i was embraced about a year ago. a little over." he glares a bit longer then gestures 'tween them. "i cannot stress enough that i left the night after they turned me. but i thought you knew that about me? didn't you come here because you know about me?"

of course, he doesn't answer in regards to its questions on his hunting, letting it trail off into silence for favor of keeping what secrets he evidently can. he doesn't want to talk about it, anyways. instead, he focuses harder on the wall, feeling his mind drift where its hands take his own. he could be stone, how uncomfortable he feels in its embrace. he's never sat straighter, hands balled into fists, focusing unnaturally hard on anything but its weight against his back. they aren't related, he reminds himself. this isn't his family.

"you haven't been on the surface for over two thousand years?" he breaks his daze finally to turn and look at it, half in shock and half in disgust. the roman empire... it's got to be fucking kidding him. he could cry. what the hell have all the giovanni been doing all this time?! "it's nineteen-fifty up there now! we're driving cars and flying airplanes now and you haven't visited the surface since the age of rome? christ!" it releases its hold just in time for him to jump up, crouching onto the bannister for a moment so he could throw himself around to face it. and when he does, his desperation breaks.

"i'm so glad for you! how wonderful the giovanni of your time must have been! unfortunately, i was born in the modern era and i had to grow up in the gaping hell that your bloodline made of itself! do you know what it's like to be born into the giovanni bloodline, mr shrouds? the things i grew up enduring, being coerced into ... thirty years of my life spent being betrayed by the only people who could have protected me. you're right. you don't know what they did to me! if i needed protection, it was then. it's not now. no one has ever shielded me from the cruelties of this world, aside from myself." his throat and chest do burn. he doesn't want blood on his face, though, so he swallows, hard, though it does little for a man who isn't alive. "you masters collect love stories, yes? stick to that. i am not a heart for your collection. mine is already broken." he inhales, deeply, then turns on his heels and continues up the stairs, dramatically attempting to shake off his trembling hands. he has an inkling, even now, that it will follow. were it so easy to truly turn invisible and disappear. quothe, to its credit, follows from the ground at least, and flies above him as he walks. "some days i wish i'd given up. it just never ends ... all i've ever wanted was to be free, and now here you are. what do you want from me? i'm just a fledgling, mr shrouds. whatever you're hoping for from the giovanni, it won't be from me. i'm a nobody, less than. i'm just trying to live before the family catches up with me, and i have suffered enough to deserve that much."

oh, dear ... it really has its work cut out for it—suppose it would, given how prolonged its absence; that isn't what has it pouting, fangs catching the inside of its puffed out cheeks, nor is it fault of one rather unruly childe. rather, its the subtle ache that thrums just behind its ribs : what would be its heart, it figures, were it possible for it to beat beyond their dark magick—the strikingly gentle tug 'gainst its metaphorical heartstrings, or heartache, or pity ... it feels all three so sparingly, that easy is it to confuse one for the other, and now it can't seem to tell which is which when it has to glance up to look at him proper. ( even that, is slight. its form is hard to miss, and harder still is it to avoid it entirely, but it does not have the energy to join in on fledgling games, and so it indulges unwillingly where it returns its arms to cross, propping its head 'gainst its palm, finger tapping idly against its cheek. )

" i am not trying to scare you, angel. " what more can it do, but soften its voice, where its edges are too sharp to bear? its ears are drooping, truly a pitiable sight the two of them make : then is it a mercy that he is the only one that would ever see it, this particular manifestation of its misery. it almost seems hesitant, the way it pauses 'tween false-breaths drawn in, breathed out, moving to chew on its own lip in frustration. " perhaps i have come off eh ... too strong? " it only shifts the hand at its cheek to gesture, waving circles mid-air 'fore it returns to its place, restless. " if that is the case, you have my sincerest apologies. " its complicated, all of this. where it shines is in written word, prose, legal jargon that'd bore the average neathizen half to death, it struggles so with sincerity. perhaps, in what little hope it can find, the way its expression contorts to something almost anxious is enough to prove that it is trying. ugly might it look, with its features all scrunched up. " we have done nothing of the sort to harm you and yours, assured is your safety even without my aid. to whatever extent our city can provide, but london cannot hide you forever. "

it's had enough playing this game. if only it could sigh any louder, alas, all it can muster is brushing its hair free from its eyes, ear flicking irritably as it draws closer, climbing to retake the distance between them. cat and weasel. " thus, i am here. you need my help, little lamb, whether you know it or not. how long have you been afflicted so? you look ... " it is 'cross him in no time, arms encircling him from behind where it raises his arms and drops them again in favor of prodding at his sides, lips pursed in curiosity. " ...small. fresh. but that could be anywhere yet from a hundred to your first thousand. are you eating well? how do you hunt? " he at least appears to have a healthy sort of pallor ... and clearly he is managing well in terms of energy, it cannot see any odd-color in his eyes, however long he allows it steal a glance.

" cherub, you must understand, i do not mean to lead you astray, like your elders and theirs have done you. i have not set foot 'pon surface soil in ... ah, we were not even giovanni. we were some other name, it has been so long, i hardly even remember. " from anguish to outright sorrow, it could only look more distressed if it cried to match the way each word quivers. but it has not lit a candle, and it is pointless to stain its good suit—it just has to will its hands not to shake, where it reaches for his own where it settles 'gainst his back, cheek pressed against the square of it as it starts to reminiscence with a hum. " rome? yes, we were in rome. an emperor rose from the ashes of some great war, i believe we were still seeking negotiations ... ah—i am getting off topic... " just how long could that have been, it wonders; certainly a few cities worth, but it finds the memory hazy at its best, much to its own frustration where it finally releases its hold on him, gesturing wildly as it tries to collect its thoughts. from question to accusation, its sullen demeanor gives 'way entirely for something more frantic, desperate, something ... afraid? " none of my childer were anything like your prince suggests! they were certainly not from the same brood, and their childe were not either. so i have not the faintest idea where or what or who suggested the idea! "

it is of no question, its sure, that it looks every bit insane as he claims their lot to be. with how its mood shifts from wrathful to gloomy to desperate, as it stands now, it must be. but that fact doesn't seem to bother it, where its hands clasp in front of it in mock prayer, head bowed in plea. " please. i do not know what they have done to you. but i am not a part of them. " tighter, its hands clench, where it finally opens one eye to peek out towards him. however it is meant to show its sincerity, it doesn't know, but god willing—it is trying. " please—let me help you. i do not wish to beg, but i will if needs must. "

[sunlessea]

know my deliverance will come soon. " - morishrouds

he wants an ending to his suffering : or at least a satisfying resolution. all of it started with the very bat who now seeks his hand, whether through its own intentions or not. the very blood that runs through his veins had become a waking nightmare, and though it is not a member of the family that had harmed him, it is its creator. he looks at it without remorse, or guilt for how he's distanced himself. leaned back in his chair, he drags long enough on his cigarette to nearly make himself cough even through dead lungs. his legs raise, cross over one-another, and as he leans back far enough to blow smoke all the way up to the ceiling, he wonders if he's the very image of the man his loving family had wanted him to be. he wonders, if beneath all the scorn and pain, he had ironically become exactly what they'd envisioned for him.

he deserves more than deliverance from the hands of the giovanni master. but gods aren't real, so this is really all he's going to get.

"i want a revelation. if you go through with this, and you find my family, make sure they know it was me who sent you." he leans his hand over and knocks ashes into its floor. rude! he doesn't care, his mind only half present as he watches the dim light of flames dancing 'cross the shadows of its spire. "i wouldn't want mom and dad thinking i died in a ditch somewhere. but you better make sure they never come back. if they somehow crawl their way down here, i'll kill you before they kill me. i'm not leaving this shit ass world unless i take you down with me, as penance for everything you caused."

[sunlessea]

what a commotion! among wines' revel in full force, partygoers and sinners alike are caught squealing and swooning among one-another as his shadow rushes past them. he weaves through the crowd with such little effort one would almost think him the illusion, but no, no, every avid reader of sherlock's tales knows exactly what has mr stones screeching in abject FURY as it tears through silk and cotton and flesh looking for what has so dearly been taken right from its claws—!

dastardly little phantom thief he is, but though a master's anger brings fear to the general populace, a great many more are entranced by storybook brought to life, his fingers dipping his hat down to excited onlookers as he readies himself to disappear ... until!

"oh my—" he catches its eye right as he whips his cloak around to jump from the spire, and freezes in place. even 'neath his mask, he's sure it can recognize him, where he beams, highly amused. well, fancy meeting it here. "mr shrouds!" he flicks the diamond he'd stolen from stones into the air with his thumb, then catches it as he situates himself on the edge of the spire's rails. crouching down, he ignores the bodyguards 'round it, brutish neddies reaching for gun and knife alike, but they won't shoot him. the diamond turns into a card, and with a flick of the wrist, that card disappears, and the guns they'd been reaching for are ... flowers?

"now here's a fun twist. why don't you let me steal you away, mr shrouds?" his hand reaches out from where he's perched, expectant. "i'm a real good dancer, i promise."

@londonfallen / mr shrouds HERE I TOLD U I'D DO IT

[sunlessea]

How are you ruined? ft the "too human" squad

adrien / ruined by trauma

you cannot get over the past. you are constantly remembering, never forgetting. you cant live in the moment because the moment is not what brought you here. you are birthed, raised, and killed in the past. you will never get over what was done to you, be it big or be it small. you cannot escape what you refuse to confront.

winter / ruined by apathy

you cant bring yourself to care. you hate that you cant feel what you used to be able to feel. you hate that you cant be happy. you hate that you cant bring yourself to actually hate. your apathy has swallowed you and immersed you in a well of nothingness. you cant feel what you cant forget. you cant see what you close your eyes to. you choose to feel nothing, and you have lost everything because of it.

elysium / ruined by loneliness

you are so lonely. you are miserable in your solitude. you hate that you cannot bring yourself to reach out, to ask for help. you will be forgotten by all who never knew you. your biggest fear is that you will die alone, and you know this fear will be seen to fruition. you refuse to extend yourself beyond the box that others put you in. and it is a box that no one dare come near. you are lonely because you are afraid of yourself.

lucius / ruined by fear

you live on the edge of your seat, but it is not a good thing. youre constantly looking over your shoulder, unsure of what will hurt you next. you have been hurt so much, but you refuse to adapt to your pain. instead, you avoid what you cannot control. you are so afraid of making a mistake, of being brought closer to your doom. but, despite this, you cannot articulate what you fear. you are just afraid. only afraid. and you will be afraid until you are brought to what you fear.

moriarty / ruined by fury

you are angry. you are angry and everyone knows it. the fire within you will not die, cannot die. for if it dies, you wont have a reason to burn. your rage simmers close to your chest, it boils near something you wont touch. you are angry because it is easier than anything else. you are angry because you choose it over pain. you are ruined because you cannot feel anything but your own ire.

[sunlessea]

testy! he doesn't blame her, though. as much as he seems like he might be, london doesn't exactly bring out the best in people. for all she knew, he was about to stab her : and no one would even bat an eye if he did! weird ass city.

"well, you're in luck, then. i am a thief when i'm working, but i'm mostly interested in stealing money, so we're in a good spot, right?" he raises his brow, then lets his hands fall to his side. bit laissez-faire for him to just outright admit that, but it's not like he had to hide it around some stranger.

he's lying, too, of course ... not that he'd say that part aloud. whatever she'd hidden away was far out of reach for now, though. oh well! play nice.

"i was trying to warn you." he adapts quickly, takes a step towards her... but only to gesture to the streets around them. they were ... shifting. the streets were shifting! right before their eyes, in a way that's near psychedelic. "there's a reason the streets are empty, everyone's inside. the bazaar ... overnight." he looks back to her. "we shouldn't be outside."

@sunlessea cont. 🎶

After his gesture, Alice swiftly recoiled from him, though not too far. She isn't moving from her spot in any way, listening to the stranger quite attentively. He sounded offended, and she is inclined to believe him, though not fully yet. Perhaps she might jump to a conclusion too fast, but there's a justified reason for her behavior: she's still feeling nervous in this city when she can't distinguish enemies from friends.

«I don't even have any money, but there are indeed some valuable things I don't want to lose.»

Those things are hidden away very well underneath layers of clothes, and it's not that easy to rob her of them. But Alice did worry about the possibility of it, after all --- if they don't have much value, they are very important to her personally, especially her weapon.

«And if you weren't going to rob me, why did you try to grab me then?»

Even if she felt a bit guilty for being oversuspicious, she wasn't going to admit it, still watching the stranger's movements attentively. Crossing her hands, she shows the doubt she has about all the information he just gave.

[sunlessea]

🎁68 morishrouds <33

he feels like he can't breathe. the way its claws brush over his jaw, and down the expanse of his neck : this is romantic, isn't it? he can't imagine what else it could be, the way his breath hitches in his throat, his wariness to look it in the eye stemming from something a little too meek to be just simple nerves. he watches it as it takes to kneel in front of him, where its hands trail along the curves of his body to settle its arms around his waist, rather than just grabbing. it's an embracing, shrouds' head leaning forward to rest against his abdomen, hold loose.

"estera—" his arms are still at his sides, save the space he'd allowed for it to hold him. when it tugs him closer, he lets it. "you don't have to..." be so wary, he wants to say, but he knows why it is. sometimes he's frustrated with how gently it treats him. but still... he brings his hands up, and gently pushes its hair from its eyes... "you have never, ever scared me."

@londonfallen / spotify starters, u'll never guess what they got

[sunlessea]

what ... the hell is it wearing? catch him man standing in the doorway, unimpressed at worst and befuddled otherwise. he can tell from the aesthetics it's supposed to be some kind of ... christmas getup, he supposes, but do they do that down here?

"are you dressed up as santa claus right now?" the neath is so... strange. "you're not supposed to come down my chimney until tonight, then. a bit old to still believe in that, though..."

@londonfallen / mr shrouds lmao

[sunlessea]

" ... sorry." he would be so very thrilled to throw himself off his own rooftop right now. he's not the slightest clue how it had found him up here, but it'd have to start its chase again if he ran off at this rate. his legs are dangling off the side of it. he could jump. he'd either escape or die. either is preferable to the slow uncurling of his hand from its, where he'd reached to grab it in quite a tizzy once it had leaned to kiss his cheek, as it oft tended. he can't even keep its gaze as he hastily turns back around, rigid and flustered. thank god he can't blush. "thought i was going to... fall for a second." ... or something.

@londonfallen / mr shrouds.

[sunlessea]

[ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 ] + [ 𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫 ] - morishrouds :)

in which i try rly hard to participate with sunday memes / [ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 ] : sender is asking if they can touch receiver sexually. + [ 𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫 ] : sender and receiver are having sex half-clothed. / @londonfallen

there are plenty ways to leave blossoming, pleasant bruises 'pon ones neck and body, he's come to learn, than just the kindred act of feeding from them. he should feel humiliated, and he is, but not nearly enough for how tightly his fingers dig into the well polished wood of the foyer railings as its teeth trail in agonizing line along the pulse of his throat. were it not for its arms looped 'round his waist and how tightly it holds him, he thinks this'd probably be enough to get him weak in the knees, so unaccustomed to intimacy is his body, his own physical reactions far too animated for someone his age. he swallows them down as best he can, refuses to make a sound, but that comes with the caveat of how tense he is, where its claws work deftly at the buckle of his belt... when they aren't busy palming at his bulge, hardening 'neath the fabric.

"you broke into my house for this," he murmurs in something that would have been a chide were he not on the verge of moaning for it. he wouldn't! not like this! "are you proud of yourself?" its hand sliding under his shirt is enough answer once it's untucked, but it leaves him swallowing where the one remaining at his waist teases its fingertips under unbuttoned slacks and more besides. instead of answering him, it laughs, sultry for what it is — and instead murmurs against his shoulder. an ask, so very polite is the enviable mr shrouds. it wants his attention, and most importantly, his consent. he pushes back another groan where its lips seek a spot of skin yet unbruised by its tongue and mouth, tightening his hold even further on the bannister. similarly, the hand it'd trailed up his shirt stops at his chest, pressing fingertip against one of his hardening nipples. fucking hell.

"yeah... k—keep goin—haa..." his voice is meek, shy, and no competition for the eagerness with which it slips its hand under his clothes once given the okay and wraps its fingers 'round what is quickly becoming his growing erection. that makes him moan, much to his own chagrin, and now he's all red in the face, because it had forced him to buy candles. "estera—" he sighs without thinking, one hand shakily releasing from the rail to reach back and tug it closer against his back by its suit collar. it's the feeling of its thumb brushing over the tip of his cock that makes him lean back into its shoulder, and in doing so, he's almost certain he can feel its own bulge pressing into his back, too. it's already ... so hard.

he huffs, closing his eyes for a moment as he fights back making any further noise when it starts to stroke him, slow, goading his dick out of his pants, but not pulling them off. christ, its hands are so... so hot. "you're shameless," he murmurs, complaining only shallowly where he lets go of its jacket, and instead, lets his palm fall, too, over the swell in its own slacks. he teases it like that, letting his fingers massage along it, where he can savor the feeling, he supposes, of having it lust over him. geez, it isn't subtle. "a—aa..."

[sunlessea]

❛ i’m not afraid of you. ❜(Moriarty pls-)

interaction prompt / @innocence-impulse

yeah, he'll bet. what kine don't know won't kill them, even if it's about the monsters that walk among them, creatures of the night most of all. he's not entirely sure he believes her, or if she's just trying to puff up and look brave in front of him. like he's a bear. if only vampires were so easy to deter. he frowns, unimpressed.

"yeah, well, you should be." he picks at loose strands on the gloves he wears, turning his attention down instead of towards her. if there's one thing his bloodline deserves, it's being feared. no matter how far he tries to distance from them, he'll always be what they made him. not that he can delve into vampire politics with her! she doesn't even know! "i'm not a nice guy."

[sunlessea]

“ name what you want. if it's in my power to grant, i'll give it and ask for nothing. ” - shrouds, to mori or elysium

dune : part one / @londonfallen

it has an unimaginable amount of audacity, but it always has, from the moment it'd broken into his home and all but demanded that the two of them become intwined with one-another, whether he wanted anything to do with it or not. and he didn't, hadn't, still doesn't! he doesn't know what he wants or how to handle mr shrouds. he thought he'd finally be free of the giovanni, but he supposes they'd been right about one thing... you can never leave the bloodline. not really. no matter how hard he's tried to escape this curse.

"i want retribution." he's angry! at his family, at shrouds, at this world, at their blood, at what it had forced on him, that it had broken its promise to never bite him ... just like the clan it'd cultivated, it had used him as a means to an end. he's sick of shrouds and its giovanni rot. "you saw every single one of their faces, didn't you? the people who raised me, each one that betrayed or touched me? i'd do anything for my own memories to fade away, but snuffing them out is the next best thing. if you were going to force me to relive what i suffered, the least you could do is make something out of all those years they tortured me and use those memories to find them."

he thinks he's pretty straightforward. whatever progress they'd made in their relationship is at a standstill, whether that be permanent or temporary completely up in the air : he can't trust it anymore, and the only way he's willing to is if it kills the family. well, it is a master of the bazaar, isn't it? heartfelt purveyor of love stories and all. such grand romantic gestures should be well within its abilities, then.

it wants forgiveness ... but he wants revelation. he'd rip out his own veins and fill them with different blood, if he could. he's done praying to deities, trusting in bats. if shrouds wanted his lowly caitiff heart, it could grovel at his feet for it, but that wouldn't be enough to vindicate him, because he isn't a god it can pretend to piously worship, he's just a wretched.

"i will never be yours for as long as the family is alive."

[sunlessea]

“Don’t touch me.”(Moriarty pls c:)

interaction prompt / @innocence-impulse

he startles at the demand, if only because he hadn't expected it, though perhaps he should've. no one down here in london seemed to peachy about interacting with one-another, at least not when it came to acts of good will. he stares at her, lips parted in confusion, hand frozen in the air between them ... and slowly turns his palms towards her, holding his hands up in a sign of defeat. if she didn't want help, far be it from him to offer it.

"fine, fine. you don't have to glare at me like that." this is why he doesn't interact with london's public, seriously. everyone's so damn moody. he almost misses the surface, sometimes. the atmosphere, anyways. "not like i was going to mug you or something. i wouldn't announce myself if i were."

he's a bit huffy, but he lets his hands fall back to his sides, tucked away safely in his pockets. "one too many street urchins nab your coin purse or what?"

[sunlessea]

he doesn't expect it to keep its promises, no matter how it begs and prays on its knees in front of him the times he's still allowed it cross his path. the distance 'tween them has reopened like an old wound, since the eve it had taken his wrist to its fangs. and oh, his memories had made it weep, to experience something so grotesque in as close to human empathy as it could crawl. he'd known it a terror to witness, but to see even a master of the bazaar, one of the clan elders, brought low on his behalf is religious. he doesn't believe in gods anymore, but if he did, this would be some form of awakening. divine retribution finally promised to him, after thirty long years of suffering.

even if it does carry out its promise, he realizes, deep in his still heart, that it will not be enough. their deaths could not erase what has been done, or what would be done. he'd never be recouped his youth, his innocence, the love he should have received, and the demented obsession he'd suffered in its place. all for the sake of power between men. he thinks kindred clans may be the true evil, among these monsters.

"my family in scotland is a personal request. i'd save your gospel for giovanni himself ... if he's still alive, and if you can find him. the dunsirns won't have answers for you in that regard. you'll have to go straight to the vatican for that." and he wishes it all the luck in that, truly! to infiltrate the vatican is giovanni's biggest accomplishment. even he, the greatest of this world's phantom thieves, would never dare try his luck among them. then again, he's no master of the bazaar, is it? he almost smiles at the bitterness of the thought, still watching smoke drift up towards its ceiling. he's leaning so far back in the chair now, it's a miracle it doesn't collapse. perfect balance, even now. "their deaths would be freeing, nonetheless. i'd ask you to spare my sister, but..." his eyes narrow, insignificant frown 'pon his lips as he remembers her. if things had been different, he'd have saved her, he likes to think. that's all he can do, though. what ifs. "she's exactly what they wanted her to be. just don't torture her. she's suffered enough, even if she doesn't realize it. maybe it's even for the best that she never did."

he wouldn't wish his clarity on anyone, he supposes. his life would have been far simpler, had he been brainwashed and broken. alas! the curse of wanting a better life. he finally turns his head to look at it, red hair spilling over his face. not quite enough to obscure it, but enough to almost hide his glare. if he would forgive it, it would not be any time soon. he doesn't quite look at it with hatred now, though, not anymore. just disappointment, and hurt. he's not sure if that's worse or not. "if you use my name to summon them, they will come. with a cluster of laymen meant to kill me, of course. but an invitation signed by my hand is enough." he pauses for a moment afterwards, then leans up to snub his cigarette 'gainst its wooden table. "i don't care what you say to them during it all. vindicate me from them. for the sake of your reputation, i suggest you also renounce them. that's all."

there is naught but terrible irony between them, because of him. it doesn't give voice to the thought, not anymore at least, but moriarty had made for nothing less than the most admirable figure for clan giovanni. even sitting across from it, rather afront it, how it kneels amid both plea and promise, his cold yet steady expression carries so much power. impressive enough, in a kindred as young as he was, not even a century of experience among their own, but far more because of the circumstances he survived. it broke its own heart : when it found out what had become of its name and the blood it shared, as much as it ached when he confessed to it, in no short or easy word, all the terrors its blood had inflicted. vengeance is only a fraction of what he's deserving, yet it is all it can think to provide, save sanctuary in the hollows of its own heart—and even those softer confessions had not come easily. still do not.

it struggles to fathom the depths of the atrocities its line had created. they may not even remember its name, or its face : and maybe that's all for the better—if its childer too no longer walked where they had parted ways, the final death would be a mercy when compared with what had come after. still, their blood was as much on its hands as were the victims of their own childe. a thousand lifetimes, for the sins of its unwitting complacency to be cleansed.

" as with the rest, they will meet a reckoning the likes of which their gospel could never prepare them for— " it hisses between its teeth, jaw clenched tight even with its lip curling into a rather brutal scowl, every one of its features contorted in its disgust. it's been given plenty time to sit with its feelings ; and the more it lingers on the thought of what has become of the gifts it wished bestowed, the more its fury bleeds through. never with him, oh, no, never—he was too perfect an example of everything it had admired with its own childe individually : a force to be reckoned with, certainly. but its claws dig into its palms, nestled quite neatly in its lap despite the circumstances, and continues, " the sins of the father, the son, and its spirit can and only will be purged when there is nothing left but their putrid blood spilling beneath their rot. "

for as much as its chest aches, it isn't as if it could fault him ... it is its fault, in some capacity—but the other masters too had left their kin, and they had not turned out so horrifically! no matter how deep its scowl, how much it flashes its fangs or furrows its brow, its ears droop heavy 'gainst its head, shoulders slumping just enough for shame. at least its too sulky to care for the ashes scattered 'cross its floor. better still it takes it as something symbolic, instead. " how would you have me tell them? an invitation to secret slaughter, or regards with the stake to their hearts? regardless, they will be the first to pay for disgracing the name giovanni. "

[sunlessea]

the silent stand off between the two of them when it does little but shake its hideous sack again and stare at him dumbfounded is perhaps the dumbest rendition of romeo and juliet's balcony that has ever passed between two people in deadlock. oh, shrouds would love this to be rife with romantic tension : the two of them staring dazed at each other. instead, they just look like fucking idiots. he almost snaps at it before it realizes he has no fucking idea what the hell it's talking about.

its explanation doesn't do much to help, though.

"so you're robbing me." its excitement is met with deadpanned disgust, and his eyes rolling into the back of his goddamn skull seconds later. there isn't enough typography in english, romanian or its made-up delusion of the italian language to put his exasperation into words. the masters truly are perfect marks for theft. they deserved it. "if you're going to twist surface traditions from a million different cultures into an excuse to steal more shit from your citizens, you could be more fun about it. you don't even have christmas lights. christmas lights! where the hell are the reindeer? santa inflatables? god, the neath is so sad baby beige. green? greige."

he's not even going to delve into the vast ways this holiday season separates in tradition for those of religious faiths. he doesn't even think shrouds knows what a religion is, for all its feigning of catholic aesthetic.

far be it from him to hope his rambling would annoy a master of the bazaar enough to leave. it probably would've, if it'd been anyone else.

silence stretches between them again before he lulls his head back, annoyed, and slams the door in its face. there's angry scottish man rustling and stomping behind the door for a while until he reopens it and throws a spotted red-and-purple furby into the sack.

"merry holidays. go away."

it feels like common sense. should a dear friend and ally come knocking with a bag full of trinkets dressed in surface garb, the first thing one would do would either be to inquire after gifts in tow, the second to invite them in to share in their treasures, the third to add to their collection. it all felt quite simple, really.

" ... eh? " perhaps it has spent a good too many hundred years too close to the irrigo caves, how dazed and definitively confused it looks. its smile is indeed brilliantly stupid, the edges only slightly drooping where he moves nary an inch away from his doorway. it doesn't understand.

head cocked and ear flicking in curiosity and anticipation alike, it gives a gentle shake to the sack held in front of it again. second time's the charm. " your gift, agnellino? as is customary. " the crease 'tween its own brow is of note enough, for however little it lasts : there is a moment in time where both of them stare at each other in complete and utter confusion. but as if it'd been struck by force stronger than itself, it suddenly shoots upright, clutching its bag tighter where it cannot clasp both its hands together to clap as it often does, enlightened. " ah! that's right, you wouldn't know ... sweet little lambs such as yourself give up an offering of sorts. well wishes are the most frequent, but we each have our favorite. "

how could it have forgotten? it'd already had to explain to him the intricacies of their previous festivities, it thinks it must have gotten hopeful for once he'd find interest in their city's history enough to not require such in depth teachings. no matter, it explains without complaint, voice caught in nearly musical lilt where it sways on its heels. " for twelve days, we play our part. and for each gift you are rewarded. if you give what we desire, the rewards are greater. 'tis the season of giving, yes? now! your gift. " a third shake. whatever it is it holds in its sack, the contents thud 'gainst his porchstep. metal, perhaps...? the clanking of tins and their contents rattling inside. it's getting careless, alongside impatient.

[sunlessea]

he doesn't believe it, necessarily : but he also can't imagine why a master of the fucking bazaar would waste its time lying to him. in comparison, much as he'd like to stroke his ego raw, he is quite unimportant. nothing more than a rat among bats, so to speak ... yet what is he supposed to do, stood there in a stupor, eyes wide and aghast at what must be penance for some heinous crime he's committed. sure he'd stolen from the masters, but they very well deserved it, hardly pinnacles of morality. surely he isn't being punished for robbing them? he doesn't even believe in karma.

"look, i have no idea what you want with me, but i seriously don't want anything to do with you. i met the italian branch of the giovanni family exactly two times and i'm fine literally never having to interact with any of you again. and for the record, i don't speak italian. thank god, too, because then i'd have had to go meet the giovanni's in italy more often." he rambles when he's nervous. his heart can't actually race, but the frantic pacing of his voice as he struggles to speak is close enough to the vibe of it. he wishes he were anywhere else. he should be surprised hearing it go on and on about this, but the shock that has him stolen aside, he thinks he's angry. he was supposed to be free of interacting with these pompous freaks ... where the hell else could he go if not london? out to zee? was the the only way to escape this cursed bloodline?

"the present state of your lineage? you've got to be joking. you birthed this bloodline! i may not have known who the masters were before coming down here, but i know now. and you started it, right? all of you, one for each clan. the surface says it originated with dracula, but you..." he almost jabs a finger at it, but he doesn't. he's emotional, but not stupid. even though he glares, his voice shakes, too. "you did this to me. us! my family, the family. you have a lot of nerve walking in here to, what, preach to me? i would rather you just kill me. anything, anything to get this curse out of my veins. the things your bloodline represents, the things those people did to me—"

he wishes winter did know. but he'd run so far, he can't really just die now. not after all these years planning. he glares at mr shrouds so hard, he thinks he could burn a hole in its chest, never mind how stiff he is when it takes his hands in its own. he'd rip them back, if he weren't wary its claws would catch him.

"i—! what! what the hell do you expect me to do here, exactly?! LIE to you? anyone else in london, sure, but do you think i'm that daft? yeah, sure, i'm a goddamn brujah. what i would give to be anything other than a giovanni. i've wielded my tongue more than i would ever have liked to in this life. let go of me." if he could scowl any deeper he thinks he'd start bawling, however ironically. watching it kiss his knuckles almost makes him throw up. "i don't want guidance, or help, or protection, if it's all the same to you." he does rip his hand away now, and with a flourish, whips his cloak around him like magic trick. he disappears from that spot, then seconds later, reappears as the cloak falls around him again. he's sitting atop the foyer bannister now. a good, nice distance between them.

"in case you didn't notice, i was... i was fine before you showed up. no one in london even knows i exist. and no offense, but you masters are the last people anyone in this city is going to trust. you lot are out of your minds, you're insane. so with all due respect," notably something people say when they really mean kiss my ass, "screw you and screw the giovanni. your blood is a poison. you and me, we are a poison. i risked everything to escape scotland to get away from the family, so you don't scare me."

may god bless him, true—he would be needing more blessings than just the one, from how he looks at it, with what it takes to be more than just apprehension. it's fear, it thinks, it looks upon, leaving its hands to linger with fingers twitching in the space between them where it fights the urge to take hold of him again. there is a myriad of emotions it finds rushing through it, more that display 'pon its features where it wants to bury them, feeling how its brows knit and worry and how much effort it takes to stand tall again, bring trembling hands to its chin in mock thought, but blatant confusion. he is quite young then, for a kindred—to not even be aware of their elders and just how far beyond they stretched. it has its work cut out for it.

" the camarilla? your ... family? oh, no ... no, no, no, no—! " with how it contests him, one would imagine the question he'd asked was of some terrible offense, the rapid pitch to its voice, how its expression sours, and how it waves its hands in front of it before bringing them back to cross over its chest. " my affairs have nothing to award their ilk, theirs and their petty princes. " this much is true, information it could convey without thought for the consequences; everyone knew its clan had no part in kindred politics, but it is subject to them here, much as it objects them, and as much as it works against them, marching to a beat all its own. it didn't care for the prince of london, but that didn't mean the wrinkle 'twixt its brow wouldn't see itself permanently etched into its features worrying over his threats. " —but yours, mio bellissimo angioletto , yours are everything. i am here of my own accord, for you. " careful of its claws, it shoves a fingertip square in the center of his chest. it means no ill will of its own, but it is not unaware to how its ramblings might come off like one. its gaze drifts down as it ruminates, still quite unsure of what to do with itself, but unwilling to allow him exit.

" mm ... who, indeed? certainly not the camarilla, and certainly not kin. i have not bore witness to nary a single one of my childe in centuries. a millennium? many more. you are the first. " it shrugs, as if the fact alone isn't revelation. there is a time and place for regret, it figures, and neither of which are here. " in truth, i had been informed by one of irons kin about the ... " ah, there it is! its fangs bared in scowl, disgust blatant for a moment all too brief before it settles again, waving its hands as it speaks. " ... present state of my lineage. tch, you leave them to their own for a few hundred years—! " it rolls its eyes, but not with any pause—and beyond that, not without drawing closer, stealing back the space between them where it reaches out for his hands again, clasping both of his wrists in just one of its own hands. " he told me only of my blood, mind, not of you. no, i heard of you from another. and that is why i am here. "

it jumps from one point to another, all loosely tied with a singular thread : the matter of moriarty himself; it is not his place in london that bothers it, and not even himself that makes it wary ; it is the risk of consequences, to him, and to it. so when its tone falls stern and nearly-accusatory as it increases its hold on him, it is with desperation, not authority that it does. " you! you give in to question too easily. a giovanni who cannot even wield their tongue as both weapon and shield is hardly giovanni at all. amore, i need you to lie. " up, it pulls his hands—to its lips, as it bows its head forward, its voice falling far more gentle once it's certain it has his full attention. " i am here to guide you, to help you. and most importantly, to protect you. that prince of yours will kill you if he catches wind of you, and i would much prefer you alive. " it presses its lips into a thin line, and sighs, all a moment before pressing a light kiss against his knuckles. " or ... well, you understand. yes? alive, undead, it is all the same. i want to protect what is mine, that is all. "