#Mists at Midnight|VTM verse

[brooklynislandgirl]

📝

Bits and Bobs || Accepting

Two glasses of wine deep and Mikhail has a new game. His fingertips glide back and forth across her wrist and maybe it’s distortion or the fact that everything is surrounded by a nice Sirrah glow but he feels far closer to her than he actually is and that the intensity of his dark eyes seem to block out everything else. Maybe it’s both and she doesn’t realise it yet, but she is very agreeable in this moment. She takes one last sip for the moment and sets her glass down on the coffee table before narrowing her eyes {inadvertently scrunching her nose while doing so} and tilting her head to one side, considering the first question carefully.

what color reminds your muse of mine?

“Oh, dat one easy,” she says as soon as it processes through her mind, distilled into its rawest essence. “Midnight blue. Now you’d t’ink I’d go black but you’re more subtle dan dat. You’ve got depths an’ shallows an remind me of a star strewn sky ovah Mount Ka’ala, highest point on O’ahu, part of Waiʻanae mountains. If ya nevah seen da view from dere, den ya nevah really live an’ it scare me jus’ a lil cause I no like da dark but I t’ink I’d brave it t’ show you. Like take you to see, not shoyu...uh..soy sauce.”

~*~

what song reminds your muse of mine?

“Bob Dylan’s Make You Feel My Love. F’I close my eyes, I could almost imagine ya sitting at our piano an’ singin’ it.” She gives a little blushing shrug and clears her throat. It’s a fraction of a key off, and without accompaniment it might sound a little rough.

“When the rain is blowing in your face...And the whole world is on your case...I could offer you a warm embrace...To make you feel my love...When the evening shadows and the stars appear..And there is no one there to dry your tears...I could hold you for a million years...To make you feel my love.”

~*~

what scent reminds your muse of mine?

“Dere’s dis library in Prague, da Klementinum, and is one of da most beautiful kine I’ve ever seen. An’ I know ya sit dere an say ‘but Beth, dat no smell...but it is. Subtle. Dream of a million books, paper, parchment, skin. Da binding of glue an’ leather an’ wood. You can smell da ink, too an’ alla bits used t’ make it. An’ dere’s a cleanness, a dustiness, an’ from people, dere’s a hint of colognes or perfumes, no kine quite distinct enough to linger. And of course dere’s always a lil bit coppery tang, a sharp but never cloying sorta aftertaste. And when I breath ya in, is...is like dat. Bes’ way I can describe it.” ~*~ what meme reminds your muse of mine? It’s the first time she’s pulled out her phone in hours. Unlike most people of the modern age, Beth isn’t so attached to the device that she needs to be on it every sparing second, and certainly when she is spending time with someone, they are her sole focus. Her little fingers fly over the screen on their search and is seemingly ignorant to being observed.  Moments like these are rare, when she doesn’t seem painfully aware of every detail in the world around her and the shy smile that blooms is unrestricted, uncultured, and a little crooked.  “Here, dis one.” She offers him the phone.

~*~

what sound reminds your muse of mine?

“Jus’ before one storm break, da air all but crackles wi’ ion particles dat ya can feel dance on ya skin. An’ den it get really hush, holdin’ it’s breath. The tide doesn’t roar so much as it hums, expectantly. Tentative kisses on da sand, an’ even da trees shake deir branches before goin’ all still. It’s a combination of all of doze...da loudness an’ da stillness...dat you remind me of. Only happens on ocean coasts, is nevah da same inna city, an’ pity dat.”

~*~

what setting reminds your muse of mine?

“Somewhere in da English or Scottish moors, when da sky all grey alla time, an’ every kine is misty an’ green, despite lack of sun. Some kind of dilapidated country estate li’dat Thrushcross Grange from Wutherin’ Heights. One of them white shirts and dark pants. Boots up to your knees. Lurking in half-glass windows. Mebbe is haunted, mebbe not. I can see you ridin’ horses too, for wha’evah is worth.”

She laughs. Takes her glass off the table and gestures at him with it before looking away. It’s too easy to picture him like that. And to come up with a dozen what ifs. It almost feels a little silly. She lifts the wine and takes a less than delicate drink.

~*~

what fashion style reminds your muse of mine?

“Dat one coat of yours. One with all dem buckles an’ and silver buttons? Or mebbe a cloak, long an’ dark an’ fluttery in da wind. ‘S nevah dat ya look bad in regular clothes, I mean you make any kine look good, really. Like should have been a model or somet’ing...but I dunno. I jus’ t’ink ya can pull off more historical kine wi’out making it look...cheesy. I t’ink it mebbe your cheekbones or jus’ how slinky you are.” ~*~ what feeling does your muse associate with mine?

This particular one saw the levity drained out of her and enshroud Beth in a sense of...confusion. Brows knit above her gaze and her eyes themselves darken not exactly with suspicion but something in the relative neighbourhood. She grows both quiet and nervous at once. She is silent for almost a full minute. 

She neither explains nor pads out her answer. “Longing.” ~*~

what animal does your muse associate with mine?

“Uhm...” It’s hard one-eighty degree turn from where she’d been to where she’s going with this and perhaps she’s more specific than she ought to be, but if experience has taught Mikhail anything is that Beth’s brain tends to latch onto ideas like lifelines. “Pallid Harrier. Circus macrourus. Is a migratory bird kinda like a hawk or falcon. Scientific name from ancient Greek, in reference to da way it circles its prey in flight, an’ possibly da long tail. Tends to breed an’ hunt in eastern Europe, an’ dere’s a rare kine variant dat live in Britain. Is a beautiful an’ deadly creature, preys on small vertebrates an’ sometimes fish. Doesn’t really belong in da world of man...well, people. Like putting an angel or a god on display an’ den aksin’ dem to treat it wi’ respect.”

~*~

what holiday does your muse associate with mine?

“Midwinter. Or Yule. Whatever ya wanna call it, is da winter solstice an’ da longest night of da year. Traditionally celebrated to appease da Wild Hunt, or out of fear of it. I dunno. But as wi’ mebbe all winter holiday, seems like da key to it is celebratin’ with a feast, drinkin’, an’ a sacrifice. Mos’ people now a days forget dat winter ‘til spring were once called da starvation months....an’ by giving up dat blood, dey were ensurin’ survival as well as da sun’s rebirth. But I mean dat in a good way, not nearly as gruesome as it sounds. Uhm...mebbe giving a couple days an’ I come up wi’ some kine mo’beddah an answer.” ~*~ what season does your muse associate with mine?

“Winter. Is my favourite... all da t’ick an’ warm clothes ya get t’ wear, an’ snow...which true story...nevah did see until I came t’ New York when I was sixteen. It was so weird an’ wonderful an’ I kinda fell in love with it. Like waddah-sky-glitter, too hard f’ explain. It’s cocoa an’ coffee, an’ it’s long nights inside with a fire in da hearth, and cuddling up, reading an’ stuff undah da blankets, an...too... Winter’s da best time to surf, da conditions are perfect for killah swells. But like me, I t’ink you prefer da quiet, dim, an’ jus’...intimate nature of a quiet winter night.”