#its really stuble and the wrong colors but

[ask-the-swordsman]

//I redrew some Tegiri sprites w/ HCs!! I really like them ajjdnd

[darksunrising]

Sola Gratia (3/?)

Masterlist

Rating / Warnings : General Audiences, no warning.

Fandom : Bram Stoker’s Dracula, BBC’s Dracula, various Dracula and vampire lore.

Part 3/? (2262 words)

Author’s notes : Eris starts to explore, and starts to understand castle and Count both hold some mysteries she is not sure she wants to resolve.

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My eyes fluttered open, and it took me a second to make sense of my surroundings. Sitting up with some difficulty, the soft mattress seemingly trying to keep me in, I set the covers aside, and threw my legs over the edge of the bed. The room was bathed in a strange light, almost green, and if the rain had stopped, the sky was still low with bulging clouds, threatening to burst open at any moment. The fire in the hearth had died out, only leaving a few red coals to shimmer softly.

I changed back into my new outfit. My usual clothes might have dried out overnight, but I had to admit I really loved the skirt. It had pockets, for hell’s sake. I had no idea what time it was, the dark skies making it impossible to assess the position of the sun. I figured if I were going to do anything, I might as well go check on the damage in my bag, which I decided to forget about last night. I left the room, trying to find my way back to the main hall. After a few hesitations and turnbacks, I finally found the main stairs, and reached my bag, still sitting near the door. As I feared, most of everything was soaked, even the food I’d taken with me. Had to throw that out, at some point. I found my phone, that I had miraculously put in a waterproof case. Still working, though on concerningly low battery, and had no signal. I sighed, and set it to extreme batter saver mode, hoping it would last until I could get back to civilisation.

I grabbed my remaining clothes to have them dry with the rest, and went to the dining room. There, the fire was still going strong, with a couple of fresh logs. At the end of the large banquet table, I was surprised to see a steaming pot of tea, and a plate of something close to scones, I believe. It was accompanied by a sheet of thick, high quality paper, folded in half to stand on its own, marked with my name in a neat, graceful handwriting.

“Dear Eris, I expect you had a pleasant sleep. I have left for the most of the day, and will certainly not return before dark. Please enjoy some breakfast, as you must surely be famished. Feel free to explore should you wish it, as I have left the keys for you along with this letter. I hope you will forgive me for my absence, and trust you will find the means for distraction. Your devoted host, Count Vlad Balaur.”

As I read the letter in a half hushed voice, warmth spread across my chest as I finished on his name. A glance at the table confirmed the presence of said keys. If I had to fumble through all of them every time I wanted to open a door, exploring just might take the whole day after all. I slipped them, along with the letter, in my pocket, and poured me a cup of tea. It was a different blend, black, yet flowery and soft. Perfectly well infused. The scones seemed to be fresh out of the oven, which made me wonder if he baked them himself, or had staff. I didn’t see anyone last night, but then again, it was late. If he was as rich as his house suggested, he just might. I figured I would look out for them. If anything, I had to compliment the chef. I don’t know if it was because I hadn’t eaten since yesterday at lunch, but eating these scones felt somewhat close to a religious experience.

After I became physically unable to eat any more, I decided to follow the Count’s idea, and explore. The castle was old, that much I could tell. I wasn’t an expert on architecture, but I was more or less convinced that the most ancient phase of construction had to be around the 13th, 14th century. The village probably built itself around it, so that would make some sense. Obviously, it had been updated, rebuilt, but the main structure was still visible. A lot of the rooms seemed almost… Stuck in time. A bit messy, crowded, as if the people who last left could come back any moment. Even so, the thick layer of dust dulling the colors made it clear that wasn’t going to happen.

I couldn’t help but feel some nostalgia. 15-year-old me would have been thrilled exploring a place like this. Not that I wasn’t, but at that time, I was so into urban exploration that I almost got dragged to the station a couple of times for tresspassing. My parents never knew, and just thinking of their reaction if they ever had had to go bail me out of jail for being a bastard goblin made me go into hysterics. Couldn’t help but picture my father, stilted up into some sad brown corduroy suit, mouth pinched in a lip-less line, having to pick up a ratty kid who just could not, would not, keep her grubby hands out of dangerous, rat infested abandonned houses. Or shut down psych wards, that one time. Pretty anti-climatic, that was. 

I stifled a laughter, and shut the door behind me. Most of the rooms were boudoirs, spare bedrooms and such. There was one large room, covered in hunting trophies and animal skeletons. This one interested me the most. Inside, I noticed it was close to a cabinet of curiosities. Glass and wood shelves hosted a variety of skeletons, egg and sea shells, fossils, even some weirdly misshapen baby animals, floating in yellowed jars. The taxidermied animals seemed almost real, and at any moment, I expected them to start moving around. One shelf, built along the whole length of a wall, was dedicated to various skulls, ranging from standard game, elks, boars and whatnot, to more exotic things. One in particular caught my eye. At first glance, I thought it might be human, but I was very quick to change my mind.

The skull seemed fine, strong jaw still attached to the cranium, even a bit of mummifies tissue still attached in some spaces. However, the teeth… The teeth made no sense. Too many, too sharp, like they had been filed into curved, pointy shapes you only see in great apes, or carnivorous animals. Reviewing every strange cultural rite that could explain such a bizarre thing, I started to feel more and more uneasy. I almost felt like it was staring at me from the shadows, behind the hollow eye sockets. Not necessarily wanting to linger any more, I slipped out of the room, and locked the door after a few tries. Just to be sure, you know.

I had visited most of the rooms, but still one was pinching my curiosity. If I understood right, I could see its windows from those of the corridor leading to the dining room. Tall windows, almost church-like. I passed its door a few times, but was never able to find the key that unlocked it. The mind works like it works, and by the thrid time, I was almost ready to find a way to pick the lock, or break it down. Frustrated as ever, I gave a kick to the frame, that made me repress a cry of pain.

“Well now, what has that poor door done to deserve this ?”

I nearly jumped at the sound of the Count’s voice. He was standing behind me, a manner which seemed to have become a habit on his part.

“It was resisting my best attempts to pierce it’s secrets, which is a grave offense in my book”, I replied.

“Ah, I am afraid it was entirely my fault”, he admitted, and produced a key from his pocket, twisting it between his long, slender fingers.

A mischievous smile playing on his lips, he unlocked the double doors, and pushed them open, dramatically turning back to face me, his coat flaring around him, arms open.

“Welcome to my library.”

The room was filled with the last rays of the sun, setting on the mountain ridge, under the clouds. It caught the dust the Count must have raised as he entered in golden specs, floating up all around him. Everywhere, bookshelves stretched out up to the high ceilings, accessible by ladders and small bridgeways. The floor was covered in richly woven carpets, and at every comfortable corner sat armchairs and reading tables, agremented with chandeliers. There had to be a lifetime’s worth of reading within these four walls, and for a moment, I was unable to even walk in.

As I finally regained control of my limbs, I stubled inside, jogging to the nearest shelf. Leather-bound books, stacks of rolled parchment, gilted, worn, intricate, small, large, I didn’t even know where to look first. There were so many different languages, I couldn’t even recognize half. I let my fingers trail along the backs of the volumes, deciding on which to pick first.

“Do you like it ?”, the Count softly asked, as if not to disturb my frantic search.

I turned towards him, unable to stop smiling. He looked almost surprised, almost moved. The sun caught his eyes, revealing their deep blue color. I noticed his hair was now dark as night, cascading on his shoulders. Not a single gray hair in sight. He looked almost exactly like his portrait in the dining room, now that I thought about it. He must have noticed my internal trouble.

“Is there something wrong ?”, he asked, stepping closer to me.

“Nothing”, I replied, shaking my head. “You seem to be… Well, for lack of better terms, younger than yesterday.”

“Ah, a bruise to my ego !”, he exclaimed as he carried a hand to his heart. “I know I have left my younger days behind, but I have yet to be an old man.”

It had been a dark, stormy night, and I figured that by candlelight, my mind could have played tricks on me. Maybe I had been expecting a lonely old man so much, that he appeared that way, in my slightly frostbitten mind. I decidedly turned my attention to the shelves, and picked a volume. A bit worn, but the dark green of the leather, and the tiny golden patterns still vivid on the spine. As I read the title, it had me laughing to myself. Ὀδύσσεια, Homer’s Odyssey, in the “original” speech.

“Do you read ancient greek ?”, the Count asked, now looking over my shoulder.

“I have had the misfortune of learning it. Since then, I fell out of practice, I think.”

I turned over the pages, the familiar words coming back to mind without having to really read them. It was with this story, and the Illiad, that my parents taught me. I knew them almost by heart at that point. His tall silhouette, behind me, felt almost protective. I was nearly tempted to let myself lean back against his chest. I could feel soft strands of hair brushing past my shoulder, making a shiver run down my spine.

“Are you cold ?”, he asked. “I am afraid these walls tend to not hold the heat very well. I could have a fire lit here, if you want.”

His tone was almost tender, concerned. I had no time to answer, before I heard the rustling of fabric, and felt the weight of his coat placed over my shoulders. His hands lightly slid down my arms, flattening the soft, tightly woven wool over me. The sudden warmth did nothing for my shivering, and I nervously turned another page. My finger slipped on the edge, which cut right through the soft skin.

I cursed under my breath, watching red bead at the cut, and run toward my palm. The hands of the Count, still over my shoulders, suddenly gripped them tight, almost enough to hurt me. I could swear I heard a growl from deep inside his chest. He took my hand in his, examining the wound. A slow stream of red came trickling down his own fingers. He was leaning closer to me, so much that I could feel his breathing on the nape of my neck, heavy, trembling.

“You should be more careful”, he told me, his voice barely more than a whisper, deep, and dark.

I turned back, freeing myself of his grip, and tried to step away. My back hit the shelves, my injured hand held up to my chest, the other still holding the book so tight my knuckles went white. He once again took my hand, this time holding a cloth to the cut, red slowly seeping into the white cotton. He kept his eyes riveted to the makeshift band-aid. They didn’t seem so blue anymore. He took a deep breath, which sounded almost like a snarl as he let it out. He whispered something in romanian I couldn’t make out, let go, and suddenly, he was gone. Leaving me breathless, confused, holding the now mostly red cotton square to my hand. The edges of the shelf dug into my back. I inhaled sharply, as if I’d been holding my breath the entire time, which could easily have been the case.

I closed the book, and slipped it back onto the shelf. The library was silent, if it weren’t for the faint sound of a crackling fire, in the hearth.

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Taglist : @carydorse @angelicdestieldemon @bloodhon3yx @thewondernanazombie @battocar @moony691 @mjlock

[lorrainecparker]

Filmmaker Friday featuring Filmmaker Kenny McMillan

With hundreds of careers and opportunities, the filmmaking industry can be a unique experience for a filmmaker. Options include pitching an idea, or a commission through screenwriting, casting, shooting, editing, and screening your project. Filmtools decided to take a deeper look into the world of a Filmmaker. This week, we had the opportunity to speak to Filmmaker Kenny McMillan about his work. This is what he said:

What inspires you?

Kenny McMillan:  Excellence. By that I mean I get fired up by seeing other artists (of any form) hit that flow state, pushing their art and effectively utilizing what I call “the invisible prod” by making the audience feel/think what the artist intended, not necessarily what the piece would initially have you feel/think. That feeling you get when you watch, say, a musician “speak” to you live through their guitar and not necessarily the lyrics, or identify with a character in a film in a way that wasn’t overtly presented. Seeing or hearing something that hits your body before it hits your brain, ya know what I mean? That, and theoretical physics.

What is your role on set?

Kenny McMillan:  Director/Cinematographer. Less officially I often find myself being the coach or therapist, haha. I’m happy doing anything though, I love the process.

Whats the first thing you do on set?

Kenny McMillan: Meet everyone, see how they’re doing/if they need anything/address any early thoughts, find crafty, start going through whatever checklists I have for the day and mentally “walk” myself through that day’s motions, visualizing where there might be hangups or where I can save time or combine shots or ideas and so forth. Speed on a film set is everything so I try to come up with backup plan after backup plan for when those little sticking points eventually do crop up so we can move on without too much trouble. Having a plan is one thing, communicating that plan (and changes to it) is a completely different thing so it’s important that everyone on set is in a shared mental place, which is centered around trust, honesty, problem solving/critical thinking, and knowing the end goal. Getting to know everyone, making sure their voices are heard, and making sure they understand your communication style is key. When you’re working as a team, like any sport, there’s no time for ego or BS (which are two hallmarks of a film set unfortunately) so the sooner you get everyone on the same page the better. Plus it relieves a lot of undue stress.

Why did you choose this field?

Kenny McMillan: I tend to have a one track mind in many cases and film happens to be one of those tracks. I’ve got footage from when I was 6 or so recreating infomercials and the like on my parents VHS-C camera, quickly getting into theater (and 16mm/Hi-8) in High School and then cinematography (miniDV) in College. I’ve always been dramatically minded so it was never really a question of “if” and more a feeling of “where will this take me?” As it stands, it’s taken me to Directing but these days you’re less locked in to one job or the other so I’ve been working on the “Fincherian” idea of knowing every job on set as well as those you’ve hired and that’s been very educational and challenging. I’m finding a lot of joy in audio and prop creation right now.

How does Filmtools help you?

Kenny McMillan: Filmtools is great because the store is just up the street from me and I can physically go in and handle whatever it is I’m looking for; I’ve got insane anxiety so buying something sight-unseen is a pretty large no-no. It’s nice to be able to walk into a place where everyone knows what they’re talking about and I can sit there for a while and actually evaluate, say, gels or the size/utility of a case or piece of equipment or something. I prefer getting physically involved with things over trusting what the listing online says. Online is great for research but you can never “know” something without actually getting your hands on it, even with experience. Plus it’s nice to casually walk through the expendables aisles and grab things you forgot you needed.

What’s the coolest project you’ve worked on before?

Kenny McMillan: I was a photographer for Red Bull in Arizona for a few years, which was probably the greatest series of projects I’ve ever worked on in terms of “coolness” but one time as an intern I was randomly roped into the art department during pre-production on the Criminal Minds spinoff “Suspect Behavior” for a couple weeks before ABC caught wind of what I was doing and called me back to the office hahaha. Learned a lot in that short amount of time. Change your Xacto blades after every cut, people!

What project is close to your heart?

Kenny McMillan: I’ve made it difficult on myself to describe adequately, but OWL BOT Season One is a sort of variety series I started at the beginning of the year that’s gone through a lot of changes and continues to change as time goes on. I’ve got a vision for the series over the next 3 or 4 years but as it stands right now I’m getting into the groove of creating non-stop and trying to one-up myself as well as getting others involved. Soon I hope for it all to be scripted but right now it’s heavy on the variety. We’re “exploring the space.”

Do you have a piece of essential gear that you don’t leave without?

Kenny McMillan: Knowing that speed is key, I’ve worked a lot on figuring out how to get the smallest amount of gear to make the greatest impact and right now that centers around the Redrock Micro Ultracage with the Powerpack attachment. Adds just enough weight to the rig to give handheld movement a little more “authority” and there’s tons of mounting points on it as well as a place for top-rails, so you can attach whatever you need right to it. The Powerpack makes it so you can power the entire rig (camera, monitor, focus motor, etc) off of one battery (shout out to Filmtools for that slick 2 battery+charger IDX package deal a few months back that I was able to take advantage of) and even if I’m not attaching a handle, the cage itself can act as a holding point opposite my Canon’s side handle. On the other hand, the Odyssey 7Q+ has been a huge help as well with its 10bit recording and false color (which is like a turbocharged spot meter). I actually made Episode Four (OB01x04) about the rig I use and the theory behind it if anyone is interested in hearing (or reading) me drone on and on about gear stuff. I love the idea proposed by Josh Homme of “using the wrong thing right”. Keeps things funky.

What advice would you give to people interested in this industry?

Kenny McMillan: “It is one thing to study war and another to live the warrior’s life.” ― Telamon of Arcadia

Do you have a dream location that you would love to shoot on? If yes, where is it and why?

Kenny McMillan: I would be ecstatic to shoot on a set that was painstakingly and lovingly created by talented people who left no detail unexplored. Not unlike holding a well made and properly weathered prop, being surrounded by someone’s storytelling like that gives me the fizzies.

Where can people follow you on social?

Kenny McMillan: I’m trying to get better on Twitter but my heart is with Instagram for the time being. We’ve also got Vimeo and YouTube obviously, if you’re trying to actually SEE the work, but I hope to have the OWL BOT website be a one-stop-shop for everything we’re getting into now and in the future where you won’t have to go around the net piecing everything together as it’ll all be right there. The OWL BLOG (ha) is more of a playground of art and ideas, and I hope to get more people involved there as well. People are welcome to play along if what we’re doing speaks to them. Shoot me an email.

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