#m.threads

[containatrocity]

"No. I'm fucking telling you, if we do it that way you're just begging it to come down with the next thunderstorm, much less a quake. Dig deeper, sink the post, it'll be shorter but we're working with shit all anyway." He rolls his eyes, as the other construction crew moves on to another project. "Fine. I'll dig the damn hole myself, fuckin' prick." He sets to doing just that, stomping the shovel head into the earth. "Shouldn't even have to do this shit..." He mutters- he doesn't seem to notice the other party for a long moment, placing a cigarette between his lips. "What. What do you fucking want?" He snaps. "Don't gawk at me like it's some performance, half these fucking idiots are gonna get us into another death-trap without help, I don't want to die."

There's something more to this, doing the work himself, dressed in simple cotton tee under a sheepskin denim jacket isn't... Mercy, after all. "You have anything important to say or are you just here to stare at me? Because I'm clearly busy- which you could be! Become a productive member of society. Or what-the-fuck-ever."

[containatrocity]

"Yes, you've made it clear that you're very upset about the news from sunday, but I fail to see how that's my responsibility, you old coot. You made the deal before they died, so you can either trade me what we agreed on, or I'm gonna leave your husband on that little shelf up there, and if I get bored, maybe I'll snort a line of him." Mercy deadpans, one brow arched high. "Crying doesn't work on me, it never has. So I don't know how you think this is gonna go, that family getting torn to ribbons by ghouls in a foul-play incident didn't accidentally trade off your husband's urn for supplies. Now you can get me the ration cards you owe me, or you can-" He snorts a laugh, as the woman lets out a short distraught sound and runs out of the shop- the bell over the door chiming once again as he lights up a cigarette, fire catching on black paper.

"Welcome to Auntie Em's, I'm Mercy, your most loved proprietor, can I interest you in this dead asshole, or a bunch of baseball cards? I ain't got a lot in the way of useful shit, baby." He sighs, smoke spilling from his nose. "What'cha here for, mein welpe?"

[containatrocity]

It's not like Mercy particularly enjoys engaging with the unwashed masses of Huntsville. All things considered, he likely would have stayed home today, if he hadn't been well aware there were very few opportunities for him to get to practice his circus-related skills- there weren't many places for a magician's talent set in a place that relied as heavily as this one on self-sufficiency. It made hustling hard, and being Mercy even harder, but with the prospect of people being willing to engage in the fiction of the fantasy medieval times the town's heads had laid out, there was always the prospect for his feats falling in amongst the folly. So he'd dressed up, dragged himself out, and was in the midst of a performance with a small crowd. "Ah, remember, ladies and gentlemen! I am a skilled professional, those without my specific talents will find themselves injured or dead in the face of attempting anything you've seen today!" He declares, leaping up onto the box in front of himself, blue eyes focused through his mask on the daggers he's juggling, joking and chattering with his crowd before catching each blade on the way down- throwing them sharply into a nearby board just behind them, each landing with a heavy 'thunk!' into the thick wood- whizzing past enraptured viewers. "And your risk here? Not exactly minimal! Best to tip your performers- a good meal means a steady hand, and all that." He grins- the action pulling the full-mask up his face slightly as the crowd begins to dissipate, depositing tickets into the violin case by his feet. He turns to a straggler, raising a brow under his mask. "You need something, dollface? you look a little bit like you could use a cheering up. Granted. I'm not that sort of Jester."

@lxvenderhxzehv

[containatrocity]

"Ash." Mercy sighs, adjusting his cup of coffee as he walks out of the cirque house. "What did I tell you about sitting on the stairs like this?" He manages to navigate around them smoothly enough, adjusting the strap of his backpack slightly as he checks the watch in his pocket- he's not going to be late, at the very least, and he looks... better, than he had, unkempt beard reigned in a bit further, dirty blonde hair once more purposefully messy instead of by neglect. "Hex and I will mind our step if you're in the way- Arkadeon can and will kick you in the head. If you're waiting around for someone, go inside." It's no secret Mercy's got a soft spot for Asher- she'd joined the menagerie before he got... cruel. He hates them for it, sometimes. The way they know a version of him better than this one.

It's harder some days to keep that under wraps. "C'mon. Up. Outta the way. I'm not listening to our Ringmaster throw his fit about how he tripped over you and spilled his coffee."

@endlessreruns

[containatrocity]

"Oh- yeah sure." G's not exactly sure what's going on, as a hand settles on his upper chest, and Josie asks him to wait a moment- his eyes follow her through a throng of costumed townspeople to- the antique shop guy? He manages to find Cyan in the crowd, the man hard to miss, face painted and smoking when Josie shoves past him to get to Mercy in his Mask costume- Cyan looks to G for a moment- before half the town watches Josie cock back and smack the flirty smile off his face- albeit, momentarily.

"I mean hey, we got all night after curfew sugar, I can show you a good t-" It's not the first time his attention's been raised with a hey asshole! and it's not the first time, right after, that he's taken a stinging slap to the side of the face. It's the first time it's happened in Huntsville though- and as he snaps back into reality and fathoms exactly what happened- he scans the crowd- temper raising as he examines tens of sets of eyes on him. "You bitch." It's snarled, vitriol and anger as that careful, charismatic cover slips off for the first time in front of this many people. "Did the fucking parasite in your gut eat out your brain? I told you, I'm fucking sterile. No kids. Ever. Had the Doctor's appointment and the months of learning to live in the after to prove it. Just because you can't keep up with who you've banged doesn't make it my problem, or me your goddamn baby daddy." He levels a finger at her nose, blue eyes hot with anger. "You. Are endlessly lucky there are eyes on us right now, girl." It's hissed- it's deadly.

"Hey, dude- ease up- Josie, come on-" It's G, who after a feverish pantomime at Cyan managed to get the other man to break off from their friends- backup, if anything, because this is a new- and scary experience. "Look, dude, I'm sorry- Josie listen this is maybe not the place for this."

"Yeah, reign in your plaything, Schizo."

"Hey!- Watch your mouth, sideshow act, before I reorganize the contents of it." Cyan cuts in, before G can apologize again, the blue eyed young man now standing between Mercy on one side- and Josie and Cyan on the other. "Where do you get off, huh? Talk shit again-two of us, one of you, fuckhead."

"We can talk about this- please can we talk about this!?" He tries, a hand planted in Mercy's and Cyan's chests respectively- body placed between Josie and the scowling blonde. "Town's huge! We can all go to different sides of it! Far away from each other." His voice cracks, Cyan bristles- And Mercy puts his hands up- seemingly disengaging. "thank you."

It's after Cyan's parted, and G's relaxed somewhat, that he speaks again. "Josie. look, maybe this is like, the worst place to do this. Like, literally the worst place? Come on let's... go do something else." He offers- it's vague, but it's not exactly like he's built for conflict. "And uh... you and Mr. Wainwright can talk this out later?"

There is a two second reprieve, Mercy eyeing Josie with contempt, before his jaw sets. "If you accuse me of something this stupid again, darling. It will be your last mistake." He pats G's cheek sarcastically. "Good to know there's always going to be another patsy to fall for some nutty bitch. You two have a beautiful night."

G relaxes, swallowing tightly. "Uh. okay. next- next time you're gonna slap somebody... maybe- maybe we warn me! Ha. aha... fuck." He looks a little pale- like he's about to puke. "Are you okay?"

Josie was talking to a friend when she heard her name being called. She turned glancing back through the crowd seeing him she felt a bright smile pull at her lips. She told her friend goodbye and was met with his blue eyes giving him her full attention "Its alright! you're here now that's all the matters right?" She looked down at her own costume "thanks! but I think you got me beat!" she looked up at his make up. "The makeup looks incredible!" She narrowed her eyes at him just taking it in. Her stomach fluttered as he took her hand. Noticing that his confidence growing since the last time they had seen each other. "Clearly you're strong enough or else they wouldn't have asked" She said with a giggle when he flexed. She felt her cheeks flush at his kisses. this was so new to her but she was enjoying it. G was good for her. She was confident in that. "Fair, I think it's good I'm wearing some at least a bit less showy this year..." She said with a soft laugh. At least Lach wouldn't have to worry about her this Halloween like in previous years. She was about to answer his question with she saw something in the corner of her eye. Mercy. She hadn't seen him since the fair, since they had hooked up, she had never felt this way before. this was....a rage even she wasn't used to. What made it worse he was charming some other woman. She placed her hand on G's chest. "Hold that thought..." she said softly and before he could stop her she stomped her away through the crown pushing through and past people she went rightup to Mercy "HEY! Asshole!" she yelled. She didn't even give him a chance to Respond. The moment they locked eyes. She raised her hand up and slapped him, hard across the face "That's for lying getting me Knocked up you fucking bastard!!"

[containatrocity]

"Who does that little bitch think she is? A scene like that? In front of the whole fucking town? I'll- I'm going to-" He's seething, rubbing his jaw as Hex watches him pace from her perch on top of a stack of wooden boxes. She doesn't seem particularly invested in his great betrayal, smoking and watching Mercy swear. She nudges him with the toe of her boot a moment later, nodding at a still lingering set of eyes, A subtle suggestion that her friend get his shit together. He sighs, straightens his costume, the bright yellow suit no worse for wear despite the sting in his jaw- and levels the other man with an arched brow. "You need somethin', handsome, or are you just admirin' the view?"

@ghostsbrokenbyfairytales

[containatrocity]

"Welcome to Auntie whatever's blah blah blah and oddities... Shit's over there, I'm not Auntie whatever, but finding a sign maker who isn't dead is a task and a half." Mercy doesn't look up from his work, a cigarette dwindling in the corner of his mouth, blue eyes slightly narrowed at a stack of old electronics, stripping wires and solder from the back and tossing the contents into a box on the table beside him, a rotary phone sitting in pieces nearby just the same. "If you need help with anything, don't need help with anything, I'm clearly busy." With what is unclear, but he glances up from his work anyway, looses a slight whistle.

"Damn, you're a big boy, aren't you? Didn't know they built boys that size." dark brows crease slightly. "Oh wait, you're the... cowboy, fellow. Mm. The statement stands, if you need something. Don't need something. Unless that something is company on a lonely night."

@darkestxdreams

[containatrocity]

"Ah yes, of course, take all the time you want, it's not like some of us have employment to get to..." it's muttered, as he adjusts on his feet, empty to-go cup held in one hand and the exhaustion that could surely only come from a party the night before and an early shift at the antique store could provide painted on his face. The line's not even that long, the person in front of him at the diner simply taking slightly longer than he'd like. He turns, slightly, to the person behind him. "Can you believe it? Acting like the same shit hasn't been on the menu since we got trapped in this fucking shithole... It's not changed in a decade and some change- I've known my order since I watched my father get eaten by ghouls."

@violenttempest

[containatrocity]

"Would it be weird? We're in a town with a strict 'sundown' curfew and yet somehow people here still find it in them to be overdramatic with their acts of revenge." He scowls, at the suitcases at his feet, as Nashra insists they're clearly heavy. "Yes. 45-ish pounds of sodden clothing tend to be. Of course, I did the hard part already, having dove into the lake in the woods to fish them up." His fingers itch and his jaw clenches, he'll have Hex's head for this one- sure, he'd earned it, turnabout was fair play, and he'd sold her up the river for chore duty at the cirque by pinning their shared destruction of the house on her entirely. Sure, his favorite clothes hucked in the lake and the fish touching him while he hauled them back out was likely well deserved.

It didn't make his anger any less present. "Look, I simply cannot be certain you weren't paid off by a particular blue haired gremlin to take these cases back to where I retrieved them from, so I have to be-" a pause, to scoot the suitcase again. "Mindful." He scrutinizes them, for a moment. "Though I suppose if you've any alliance to Hex, I've not seen you around the house..." He frowns, then sighs. "Fine. take that one." It's got things he cares about less in. If this is a trick, he supposes he can let that one float for a day.

they watch as the suitcases drop to the ground, the audible thunk causing even them to jolt back in response. "i just got off of work, actually. i don't just head out of my home looking for ways to be a good person. i mean, god, that'd just be weird." typically she wouldn't be out this late, but certain mishaps at the salon led to them having to stay a little later than they would have liked to clean up some messes that she didn't feel the rest of the staff should have to deal with. that and, truthfully, they knew the job would be done if they got to do it. "very unfortunate that you dropped your, uh, delicate things though. as someone who clearly knows how dire of a situation it would be to be out so late, i can't imagine that you would want to turn away any help -- especially considering that those things look heavy."

[containatrocity]

"And, do come again- there's no harm in a peek beyond the veil after all- or in funding your charming guide's next drink." He calls after a departing group of faire-goers, the hard porcelain of his mask- a Jester grinning and frozen- hiding the scowl beneath as he counts his funds from the last performance. He sighs, tucks meager tickets into his pocket, and pulls his mask from his face, sitting it aside on a nearby picnic table and scratching absently at the black paint on his cheek, a second more flexible grin marked into pale skin. "I swear, you spend 11 years trapped in a shitty little town and you forget how to tip apparently." He mutters, picking up his violin and beginning to tune up. He's dead to the world for a long moment, the violin case on the ground by his feet closed to indicate he's not performing at the moment. But he catches eyes on him- or perhaps eyes on the forest just over his shoulder- and shifts his own glance to be eye to eye with the source- He's seen her around before- looking troubled, more often than not. "I've not got another performance for a while, love, I'd hate for you to linger around and get the wrong impression of me as an artist." He insists. "... Odette, yes?" He questions, one dark brow arching. "Do you always look as if you're a deer about to meet the vicious front end of an 18 wheeler?"

@odette-abbott

[containatrocity]

THE REAPER: MERCY WAINWRIGHT

Hello lovely, I'm corruption- I just noticed that you seemed a little down. Just sign right here on this line and I can change your life This is a blind shot in the dark, I don't think what you need is love- Take that off we're gonna make you a star!!!

"Have Mercy baby! Merc Wainwright, but you can call me daddy. The better half of the Sidon Brothers, 30 years young. Freakshow barker performing feats of human strength, firebreathing, human blockhead, coal walking, ever seen a man put a hook through his face? you want to? But I'm outta the game, as seven years ago my idiot brother took a wrong turn with our circus and landed us here, in Huntsville. I've recently taken ownership of the oddities shop in town and trade in useless shit nobody wants anymore. Me and the commune don't fuck with each other, really, guess I spend too much time sniffing around it for tail and not enough time 'participating' in their whole gig. I'm a hedon, who doesn't believe in vices, but if I had to pick one, I've been known to get myself involved in the affairs of those married, taken, and otherwise off the market."

Name: Roewan "Mercy Wainwright" Sidon

Aliases: Merc, Mercy, RoRo, The Marvelous Mr. Wainwright

Age: 30 (October 13th)

Sexuality/Gender: Pansexual Cis Male

Personality: Mercy's a showman, and that much is clear moments into knowing him. Loud and demanding of attention, he commands a room when he enters it, and isn't one to shy away from conflict. a true hedonist, Mercy's only goals in life appear to be his own pleasure and receiving the affections and accolades of others, quick to assume something is wrong with them if they don't like him, or find him attractive. Vain to a fault, he continues to defy his surface-level behavior by being a loyal friend, protective and willing to die for those who mean the world to him, if push comes to shove. A con-artist and gambler who loves to rig the game in his favor, Mercy's tendencies to challenge people to bets they 'surely can't lose' only to rinse them for their belongings is well known- a man skilled in sleight of hand and misdirection thanks to a background in the circus- not everyone in the Menagerie is a conman, but Mercy certainly took on the role early into his life.

Occupation: Former sideshow performer and 'freakshow' announcer, current owner of Auntie Em's Antiques and Oddities.

Affiliations: The Menagerie Circus, the Town of Huntsville, Arkadeon Sidon, Hex Sif-Sidon

Scent Profile: Heady notes of sugar and honey under something more bitter, like warm coffee, petrichor and blood. Lanolin from violin bows, a scent and a talent he shares with Hex, the dusty scent of old, well loved books and furniture, and the herbal notes of marijuana cigarettes smoked out of black paper rolls.

Aesthetic: A clean, well pressed vest and perfect white dress shirt ruffled by hands reaching to run down covered chest. The glint of a dagger, juggled, swallowed, or tucked along the hem of someone else's smallclothes. Rosy colored glasses hiding the aces tucked up your sleeves, blood on your tongue but the pain's always been a pleasure, so you share it, copper between lips, steel hidden away. A brother wearing a crown, your hunger for power insatiable and only asleep, not quelled by the platitudes you were offered. Black-painted nails and several rings streaked sanguine. Your suit is still impeccable, somehow.

Hello darling, Names seduction- Why don't you find something comfortable? Let me take your coat.... Don't be reluctant. Nothing you want can phase me, I'm all ice inside baby! Let's fix that addiction, You're sick'n I've got the remedy.

CHAPTER ONE: LIFE IN HUNTSVILLE POST ARRIVAL

The hedonistic, self-serving younger of the Sidon siblings, Mercy has made himself a rather unpopular member of the Menagerie in the time since his arrival with a substantial number of people. His tendency to serve only the interests of himself at the end of the day prove him to be rather impossible to get along with, and only those who have successfully appeased the selfish, lavish man first have come to know him as a loyal, well-meaning friend. As the now owner of Auntie Em's (as of mere months ago) He takes in the relative 'junk' that people can't find uses for- or things that townsfolk who meet an... untimely end, leave behind. He functions similarly as a fence, with a no-questions-asked policy for buying and selling, no matter the item. An eclectic, an artist, and an inventor of his own regard, he has a tendency to tinker, taking apart the junk and oddities in his shop to create something new- though it's typically something sharp or naughty, all things considered.

His pleasure-seeking ways aren't completely, and uniquely self serving, of course, as he's become rather well known for his 'get togethers' held overnight in houses no longer occupied, cheekily touted as the 'chance to get to know your neighbor' but decidedly leaning into the carnal. While it's an open secret- and something Mercy himself tends to hand out invites to like candy, It's still something he plays dumb about- especially to the police and government around Huntsville- generally distrusting of them at large. He doesn't seem to be bothered, by the fact he's trapped here, the looming threat of death embraced like a dagger held in his teeth- a living dead boy with no fear of death since his childhood, Mercy Wainwright has no want or need to get attached- and dead bodies piling up around him are par for the course. Calamity made flesh, chaos in flesh and bone- Mercy's seen the world before he could even drink- and now he's found himself bored of what it has to offer. He can only climb higher and higher- but Huntsville may yet melt the wax holding together inky black wings.

[containatrocity]

"You know, I thought I hated the 'Artemis that's over sleeping with me' thing that was going on." Mercy's voice rings out as he makes his way to the party- fashionably late, as usual. "But I think, actually, I hate the whole... miserable sadbitch thing you're doing now way more." He declares, pulling his cigarette from his lips as he comes to a stop alongside Artemis, slinging one broad arm around her shoulders. "You know, I don't do that whole... 'feeling and sharing' bullshit thing, but like. You look. Miserable, baby. And typically I don't give a shit, be as...." He motions with a hand- middle finger in a splint and quickly tucked back into his pocket. "This. as you want, but something about your vibe is harshing mine."

He exhales smoke from his nose, head tipped up and away for a moment. "Anything that stuffing a piece of paper in somebody's deadbolt at night or no-strings quickies in the ranger station bathroom can fix, or is this like, a therapy situation, Cherry Bomb?"

@exmcrtis

[containatrocity]

He's not dressed the way he usually is when he turns up at the video store, a loose tee shirt over swim trunks, a towel flung over one shoulder, it's clear enough what he's coming back from- or headed out to, perhaps. "I told you, we need to pick up whatever the hell we're watching tonight first, or else we're gonna be stuck watching the Lion King again, and if I have to hear I Just Can't Wait to Be King again I'm gonna-" He lifts a hand, placing two fingers to his temple, thumb sticking up- a 'bang' mouthed back toward the door. "Morning." He greets as he passes Poppy at the counter, stopping at the 'new releases' rack as if it might have something new on it. "Hey, human centipede part 2- Ow-" the woman with Mercy smacks his arm, rolling her eyes. "What, you can't party down with this in the background? Shame."

He puts the DVD back down, whistling sharply to catch Poppy's attention. "Hey, has whoever rented Contagion and Paranormal Activity 3 brought them back yet?" He rolls his eyes as his companion insists he find something that isn't scary. "None of us are gonna be watching it, Candy, christ almighty- My question remains the same, you got the stupid outbreak movie or the stupid ghost movie?"

@causingaracquet

[deathsdogma]

"You certainly must understand how this looks to me." There is little kindness in Malas for those who might bring undue harm to his staff. It isn't that they're unwilling to feed those who visit- those of the lust demon persuasion were some of his most regular visitors after all, but there were rules in place to protect those who worked at The Chapel, rules that this young spawn had, even if not intentionally, managed to break. "You were caught loitering in the dark around my business, where the people under my employ are promised a safe place to do their work- where I ensure, on no uncertain terms, that they are kept from anyone who might make a meal of them without doing them the simple courtesy of at least asking permission and paying for their time out of work. People who do tend to act... quite a bit like you, my hungry young friend."

Malas Pitch had not earned his reputation lightly- he was capably threatening when he had to be, and sitting here in something that was resolutely under the banner of his metaphorical kingdom, the reaper was well aware he cut an intimidating figure. "Your want to feed on someone and your intent are, and will likely remain, decidedly at war- I would appreciate if you took that struggle from my doorstep to somewhere more sympathetic to your plight, because you'll find none here, not with me." The spawn apologizes, but it falls on deaf ears. "Hold your apologies for someone who might actually care to hear them." He hisses, wings pressing into the wound leather and chains holding them in place as they attempt to unfurl in agitation.

And then, as if someone has talked him down, he sighs. "Name." it's simple. Flat. "What is your name?" There's no fear in him at the sight of fangs- he has no vested attachment to the blood and flesh that wraps around his twisted bones, after all. "And do not lie to me. I will know if you try, one way or another. Tell me the truth and I will see about arranging for something for you to eat, and getting you out of those restraints."

No, he was not lurking around the brothel because he wanted entertainment, nor a job, nor to rob anyone.  It was no one’s fault it was near the docks.

Of course, staying hidden in the shadows was easier said than done, and he didn’t know that there would be a group of these… bodyguards watching over the women and clientele that came in and out.  In hindsight, he could see where the concern lied.  Alex had been hiding about near some barrels, and found himself staring at a woman who was walking towards the building.  She happened to see him, with his reddened eyes and fangs, and obviously sounded the alarm - how could he blame her?

He’d already explained this all, but a lackey went to go and get his boss and now Alex was sitting face to standing face with an intimidating man, strapped to a chair with the veins in and under his eyes popped out, his teeth sharper and thicker.  “I was trying to go fishing, that’s it!” he insisted, before the other even had a chance to speak.  “I don’t want to feed on people, I have no self control, hence why I was staring - which, as I’ve said, I am sorry.”

@deathsdogma

[deathsdogma]

Malas allowed the word 'friend' to do a lot of heavy lifting. It applied simply enough to a lot of people, in a number of different use cases, but even then, calling Ivy a friend was perhaps not quite fitting; Many had known him before he was The Pitch Black Man, before he'd established himself as someone who knew things that were worth trading coin or favors for- she'd met him then, prior to the mythology, the strange urban legend not yet set in the minds of those who called the docks of Destarin home. Yes, when they'd met he'd been much like many before him, a con artist- spending the last of his money on a nice suit to lend credence to his honeyed words and silver-forked tongue- and Ivy had been what he'd hoped was an easy mark.

He'd learned to the contrary rather quickly when she managed to actually get a hand on him as he made his retreat through an alley alongside the bar, pockets heavier with her coin than she would have liked, and wicked claw making a particularly good argument as to why he preferred his jackets with a high collar these days. He could still recall the moment of silent tension, black-stained skin open to muscle, two sets of eyes boring into each other- waiting for some kind of fight, perhaps, something to crack that sent them into a frenzy of violence-

They'd laughed, instead. Every bit of tension gone in no more than a moment, and a promise to make good on what he'd charmed her out of, someday. He's pretty sure he's already made good on that promise by now, as for the last eighty years, he's often greeted her at the door of The Chapel, in anger, in joy, in many things between, and his repayment for her company was certainly the honesty he rarely afforded others- for better or worse. No, 'friend' did not exactly sum up what they'd ended up in that time, it was a comfort in the constant, things that didn't up and die on those who shirked mortality were worth cherishing, but in absence of a better word that didn't sound stupid, 'friend' had served them well.

The sex? Well. That was simply a perk they'd both agreed had been worth the 80 years of tolerating each other.

"Ah, if it wasn't stressing me out it wouldn't be The Chapel." Comes his answer, the reaper appearing from the adjoining bathroom in an open black shirt and loose pants- One shadowed hand already wrapped around the neck of a bottle of wine. He takes a long pull, examining his reflection in the mirror for a moment as he makes his way to the bed. "But of course, it's nothing exciting, unless you find yourself turned on by talk of my finances and rowdy clientele?" He offers her the bottle as he himself spills into the sheets, his pipe retrieved from the bedside table and a green flame at his fingertips quickly igniting the contents, he takes a smooth drag, turning to examine the book in her grasp.

"Mm, anything worth adding to my ever-growing list of things to pick up in my clearly existent free time?" He tended to fill his free time with things more in line with what they'd been doing before Ivy started reading, but he could pretend he was eventually going to tackle his backlog.

Ivy had spent a long time in the fair city of Destarin, and luckily, there were many other faces that had done just the same. It was comforting, knowing others in the neighborhood for so long without the threat of age or mortal ailments coming between (Ivy wasn’t one who conspired with too many mortals, admittedly. Most of her family and tastes in friends were on the supernatural side). Ivy didn’t always like change, and didn’t have to face it so often given her species and how she spent her time.

Malas was one of those people. They had arrived in the city under far different circumstances - Ivy moving after her father had passed away to be with her mother’s side of the family, a culture shock given where she had come from. She had often liked to take long walks in the city, at night preferably, and was never all that concerned about anything happening to her. One harsh scratch, to draw blood, and her venom would paralyze the recipient. That happened to occur with Malas, a striking conversation with a striking man in a tavern by the docks. A simple wager she had lost - and while she was fine with losing back then, what she wasn’t fine with was seeing how more of her coin was taken out from under her nose before she even realized. Chastising herself for being naive came later, but she quickly followed him out from the bar and with one clawed slice… he didn’t go down.

Expecting some kind of resistance - her one saving grace - and seeing none, there was a still moment where he now had a deep cut in the back of his neck and they both were face to face. They ended up having a good laugh about it and after seeing his living conditions, didn’t even argue over the stolen coin. She appreciated his tenacity, though, and through that a friendship had blossomed over the years. Ivy would darken his doorstep and vice versa in boredom, in excitement, in frustration, and she found he was a good confidant - there was an honesty about him she felt she didn’t get from many others.

Ivy was reading a book she had checked out of a library earlier, nude under his covers while he was off in another room, perhaps getting redressed. Neither of them got much sleep, so while it was the dead of night for others, she was still wide awake. “How’s the brothel?” she called. “I feel like I should ask how your life is going every so often, I haven’t for awhile.”

@deathsdogma