#menandros: undetermined verse
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He knows: they are not human, he would have sensed their FILTH a miles away otherwise, his superiority- or maybe arrogance, fuels his dislike of them. This one though, dancing alluringly, leading their victims into their bait. He shouldnāt be affected too, should he?
āāOh! He is!
It is different to the rest of those who surround him, the consciousness is fighting to slip away as he watches men fall one after the other like dominos, his vision blurring by the second, THREATENING to disappear. It does eventually, the last image is of them standing afar, and then close, closer, too close, and then he is gone, slipping into darkness and unconsciousness.
@vulpesse | sc
#vulpesse#ic: menandros drakos#menandros: undetermined verse#[menandros is emrysās real name ~]#[but yesss here we go >:) !!#lemme know if i need to edit anything!!]
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Oh how he would love to tread into their mind again, to eavesdrop mischievously, but the current circumstances urge him not to succumb to his wishes, along with self-made rules not to use it so haphazardly. Their voiced thoughts almost bring a laugh to his chest; really? Then again, he wonāt fault them for they are ignorant to who and what he truly is, mystery has always stirred fear and caution into the human heart after all- that, and the fact their brain has been messed with not long ago at his own hands.
A chuckle as his hand hovers over his forehead, still lying on the ground. ā If I wanted you dead, donāt you think I would have taken a shorter path? No amount of money is worth oneās safety. ā Nothing is, except family and loved ones, of course; these, he would through himself in the face of danger so blindly if it meant saving them, if it meant they would not suffer no matter how little.
A sigh before a slight groan demonstrates little struggle to sit up, the dagger still stuck to the ground. ā Iād be heartbroken if you didnāt recognize me. ā Humorously, he admits previous encounters, isnāt that what lead him to interfere and save a human life and not the other? Playing a godās role even though he is not one to consider himself as such. ā The first encounter was a one to remember as I was accused of staring because you were too grumpy to think otherwise. ā There is no bite to his words, he is actually almost laughing at the memory; they were really in a hot mess, along with their rightful suspicion of others with the TICKING BOMB in their mind at the time, begging to break free. ā The second was when you- ā No, he knows itās not this one, not this voice. It was the gentler one, offering him what he actually did not need but appreciated the gesture behind nonetheless, even when his pride made it difficult, but he had to play the role too. ā -offered a sandwich. ā A DEBT in his eyes to be paid back, an act he has to return when the time and opportunity arrive. They did now. ā Now with this one, I paid the debt. ā
Careful yet casual is the way he pulls the dagger out as not to alarm them further, bringing it to his vision, gaze admiring, maybe a little nostalgic, but then he rotates it in his hand to slide it back where it belongs. ā Could have given you this in a message of peace, but you wouldnāt convince me to trade it even for the world. ā No one shall lay a hand to it without his uttermost trust and permission, which never comes easy. ā Not to stray from our topic of my suspicious behavior, couldāve finished you right after this one. Hell, couldāve let him finish the job then took all the credit along with his life; less work. ā He pokes with his boots. ā So, no. I did not, nor do I now, plan on making an enemy out of you. ā
AĀ disharmoniousĀ trailĀ ofĀ footstepsĀ someĀ softĀ someĀ heavyĀ ,Ā rhythmĀ aĀ swingingĀ pendulumĀ between.Ā ItĀ wasĀ tooĀ closeĀ forĀ suchĀ aĀ foleyĀ .Ā BulletĀ mereĀ secondsĀ awayĀ fromĀ themĀ andĀ theĀ jerksĀ soĀ outerĀ body.Ā HarveyĀ atonesĀ toĀ instinctĀ ,Ā TwoĀ FaceĀ knowsĀ itĀ wasĀ aĀ matterĀ ofĀ somethingĀ elseĀ .Ā SomethingĀ foreignĀ .Ā AnĀ invasiveĀ joltĀ fromĀ somewhereĀ else,Ā someoneĀ elseĀ .
TheyĀ shouldĀ fleeĀ ,Ā theĀ assassināsĀ deathĀ unbeknownstĀ toĀ themĀ ,Ā theyĀ knowĀ toĀ lingerĀ longĀ wouldĀ beĀ faultĀ .Ā StillĀ theyĀ remainĀ .Ā TwoĀ FaceĀ isĀ riledĀ upĀ fromĀ multipleĀ provocations.Ā SomeoneĀ almostĀ outĀ thisĀ conjoinedĀ monstrosityĀ outĀ ofĀ hisĀ miseryĀ ,Ā someoneĀ elseĀ reachedĀ intoĀ theĀ twistedĀ cavernsĀ ofĀ theirĀ mindsĀ .Ā AndĀ wasĀ liableĀ toĀ doĀ soĀ againĀ .Ā HADĀ doneĀ soĀ beforeĀ evenĀ .Ā HeĀ knewĀ itĀ somehowĀ .Ā LikeĀ aĀ obnoxiousĀ tuneĀ inĀ theirĀ headĀ ,Ā heĀ wouldĀ alwaysĀ senseĀ aĀ breachĀ inĀ theirĀ cerebral.
InĀ theĀ shroudedĀ darknessĀ ofĀ theĀ crevicesĀ hereĀ ofĀ nightĀ silenceĀ lendsĀ themĀ noĀ answersĀ .Ā SoĀ heĀ mustĀ make the incisionĀ Ā hisĀ wayĀ throughĀ theĀ thickĀ airĀ ofĀ suspenseĀ likeĀ aĀ scalpelĀ andĀ findĀ theĀ corruptingĀ parasiticĀ neuroneĀ orĀ theĀ ruthlessĀ handĀ thatĀ attemptedĀ toĀ endĀ theĀ secondĀ lifeĀ ofĀ aĀ manĀ turnedĀ duplicitousĀ monsterĀ .
ItĀ comesĀ toĀ anĀ unexpectedĀ fruitionĀ .Ā ManifestingĀ inĀ oneĀ ,Ā theĀ hunterĀ orĀ theĀ encroacherĀ whichĀ isĀ whichĀ isĀ hardĀ toĀ decipherĀ thoughĀ oneĀ thingĀ isĀ forĀ certainĀ ;Ā oneĀ issueĀ ofĀ themĀ hasĀ eliminatedĀ theĀ otherĀ .Ā
āĀ Ā Ā Ā seemsĀ weĀ gotsĀ companyĀ .Ā IādĀ -ah-Ā thankĀ youĀ butĀ IāmĀ notĀ sureĀ whatĀ toĀ makeĀ ofĀ itĀ .Ā AnāĀ IāmĀ wonderināĀ ifĀ yerĀ lookināĀ prettyĀ familiarĀ rightĀ nowĀ .Ā LottaĀ peopleĀ wantĀ usĀ deadĀ .Ā WhoĀ knowsĀ maybeĀ yerĀ bothĀ hadĀ theĀ sameĀ ideaĀ jusāĀ figuredĀ yourĀ werenātĀ sharinā.Ā ā
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It is never dull to play tricks on humans, the tougher they are, the better. What else is he to do to entertain himself with through CENTURIES of age? A soul gets tired and bored, does it not? Even an unbreakable one like his. Theirs seems to be too, almost. Surviving through millions of hells, scarred, yes, but breathing still, despite every try life has thrown at them, not that he knows their stories, not yet, but the way they carry themself, the weight of their aura and soul, it says it all with no words.
They have noticed hisā talent with magic, or so they put it. Now, he has to get an S to pass this test in the disguise of an interview. Saving humans, he doesnāt consider himself above it even if he makes it seem like it to the outsider eyes who know of his true identity, of the species he belongs to. Besides, it fills up his time, no harm in having fun while painting the perfect image of himself in the ignorant eyes. His blood is another subject, a sensitive one indeed; he has always drank an elixir of his own making to fool those who have demanded a test of it for them to think it human, an extra measure since his original is close enough for he is born of death that is not his own, unlike every other living vampire. Still, he doesnāt make it too easy for them, raising his own argument in the matter. ā Yeah, sure, you wanna make sure Iām not another alien in the shape of a human, you wanna trust me. ā There is an apparent ābutā in his pause, eyebrows rising a little. ā I need to trust you, too. ā Time shall prove them worthy or not, maybe even with the truth, his gut is neutral for now.
@bruz3r plotted starter
#bruz3r#menandros: undetermined verse#[there we goooo!]#[the gift is in ur hands broose donāt lose it š]
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This would have been the perfect itās me not you situation, but he refrains from utilizing it. Amber eyes watch as they get into their other form, the curious inquiry bringing a faint smile to his features; he definitely does not look it, perfectly blending with the humans, his powers hidden and quiet unless he decides to make them loud enough. ā The eyes. ā He gestures with his head, taking another bite of the apple in hand.
@catfcng cont from š©ø
#catfcng#menandros: undetermined verse#[weād love it for the kitty ! ]#[emrys: *appeara human to most*#actually emrys: *is a force feared even by the gods* ]
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Pfft. Why is there a comparison to begin with? Humans are INFERIOR to them. They are inferior to HIM. He doesnāt voice his opinion though. ā Everyone takes pride in having what others donāt, I guess. ā His words hold some truth in them, and he doesnāt make it sound like a persistent argument to their statement, only an opinion. ā Thatās because you made a choice to be humble. ā They should not assume everyone else would do the same; humans are competitive and envious by nature, unless they make the effort not to be. His observation, at least.
A brow quirks up at his comment, a light roll of her gaze given in response. "Well, doesn't help that some act like because they got immortality, they're better than everyone else." a huff of a breath, hand rising to ruffle through her own dark tresses. "Hell, you don't see me going around acting like I'm better than any other hunter in existence."
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Their reaction only makes it worse, getting out more laughter. Then they mention the SUN being an enemy of theirs, and he lets his face rest, not alarming them though. Sometimes, he forgets not every vampire can walk in daylight like him. Sad. ā It would be on your very sound judgement. ā The sarcasm is coated by humor; they would choose to burn instead of ripping the fabric to break free? Tsk tsk tsk. Regardless of their answer, he reaches for the stuck part of their cape, freeing it in a swift movement. ā There you go. ā
Nandor could have tried to yank it out of the hinges, but he didn't want to accidentally rip it, not was only this his best cape, but it was at least a couple of hundred years old. -- "You want me to be nice, maybe you should stop laughing, because you wouldn't be laughing if you were in my situation, plus, it's also very rude." He pulled on the cape again, but nothing. "What if the sun comes out and I'm stuck here, you want my death to be on you?"
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It is only natural for someone who has lived as long as he did to carry such a sentiment towards a youngling that thinks are already past being called as such. A sigh; he has to play the part anyway, so they are right. ā Yeah, yeah. The most alarming stage of their upbringing. ā He throws humorously, waving a little as if to dismiss their words. ā A mango flavor wrapped in a rainbow roll-up? ā His first teen-appropriate suggestion, or so he thinks. ā Or a baskin robbinās banana-split? ā These donāt sound too bad even for their ageā right?
āšā ( @stainedpast saidĀ ć
ā can i get her ice cream? ā -emrys (heās respectful of the fatherhood like that)
"She's-" an amorous little chuckle escapes him at the sentiment, demeanor softening in appreciation in spite of the complete miss.
"She's one of those teens, you know, she might think you're babying her." he warns Emrys, shrugging thereafter to tack on, however, that: "you sure can try, though. Cassie appreciates a good scoop or two."
#aston1sh1ng#menandros: undetermined verse#[he just mightttt ~]#[also i thought she was still a baby girl when i sent it wtfrgffv ]#[my brain malfunctioning n being like WHICH ARC IS THIS FOR THRM BITH AGAIN??]
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He is preoccupied with something else when they apologize, dragging his attention to them. Oh, the coffee, he almost forgot about it. He doesnāt make it obvious when his gaze studies them, not getting into their thoughts yet, but he could already guess it is a hungover. Humans, always downing liquor and drugs like they need it more than water and air all for the sake of a temporary numbness or euphoria. ā Yeah, thatās the name~ ā He taps on the counter as he confirms, taking the cup into hand before bringing closer to his nose, letting the aroma settle in, a habit if anything. ā Donāt worry about it, kiddo, but do be careful next time; you donāt know which temper youāre gonna run into. ā A wink before he takes the first sip of his coffee, satisfaction displayed in an agreeing hum.
@stainedpast ( issac / emrys )
"sorry, i think this is your coffee." it's almost a miracle that issac could keep track of whose drink was whose given how hungover he was, making him more eager to get his coffee so it could hopefully put his head at ease so he could get some work done. not for his job, but his own personal work that was stored on the laptop that he had in a bag that he carried on his shoulder. "emrys, right?" he asked, checking the name before looking at the other man whom he thought to be just a regular guy like him without knowing the full truth., "i didn't drink from it or anything. i just saw it wasn't mine."
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Oh little did they know their fears are in place; he is LISTENING to their internal conflict, the voice in their head, a one that seems more fit to live in a world as this, in a city like this. Maybe it has spurred in a coping mechanism in the darkness of this place, of who knows what life they have had. He will fill in the blanks later, oh there is plenty of time for him, hopefully they will survive long enough as well.
For now, he listens. The urge to JOIN that conversation is a threatening one, but he ties his tongue and mind. He could join outrageously, speaking loud and clear in the human words, or he could creep into their mind, whisper into it, converse with WHOEVER in there, but there is the chance they might not take it, MELTING the flesh at worst or the fragile mind at best. He will be patient, for now.
He has a point, Harv~ I see right through the millions of masks you are wearing, I have already breached into your barricaded mind, and I have found him: Big Bad Harv
Donāt voice it, not yet.
Despite the laughter in his own mind, the JOY at their suffering, he is an Oscar-winner in the way he doesnāt let it reflect onto his features, his body language. Hands thrown into the air in fake surrender; they sure can try to have quite the night, he on the other hand, is actually having one so far. ā Sure, yeah. ā Hard jobs? Pfft. They might have one, but any job for him is not too hard anyway. Well, except when he has to LOWER himself to the humansā level at times, how atrocious, humiliating.
He will let them be, for now; it supports his lies anyway when he acts uninterested as if he wasnāt really staring right into their SOUL a few moments ago.
OfĀ courseĀ heĀ hadĀ noticedĀ .Ā ParanoidĀ thatĀ theĀ staringĀ wasĀ causedĀ byĀ theirĀ internalĀ conversationĀ someĀ howĀ slippingĀ throughĀ theĀ diastemaĀ ofĀ theirĀ teethĀ .Ā TheyĀ didn'tĀ likeĀ anyoneĀ eavesdroppingĀ onĀ theirĀ conversationsĀ .Ā That'sĀ whyĀ theyĀ triedĀ toĀ keepĀ themĀ inĀ theirĀ headĀ . Likewise Harvey didn't want anyone to know the beloved Apollo of Gotham had rot inside of him . A secret he's kept out of the public eye , thank God . He worked so hard to do so . Lately he's been having trouble with HIM again .
PerhapsĀ thisĀ guysĀ justĀ gotĀ someĀ kindĀ ofĀ staringĀ problemĀ ,Ā heĀ knowsĀ theyĀ areĀ gruesomeĀ andĀ forĀ thatĀ theyĀ stickĀ outĀ asĀ anĀ eyesoreĀ amongĀ theĀ crowdĀ .
WhyĀ worried he sees right through ya , Harv ?
HarveyĀ merelyĀ scornsĀ ,Ā ableĀ toĀ ignoreĀ theĀ nigglingĀ voiceĀ atĀ theĀ backĀ ofĀ hisĀ headĀ forĀ nowĀ .Ā
āĀ Ā YeahĀ ,Ā wellĀ ,Ā I'mĀ justĀ tryingĀ toĀ haveĀ aĀ quietĀ nightĀ forĀ onceĀ .Ā āĀ YeahĀ ,Ā realĀ quietĀ inĀ hereĀ .Ā āĀ Ā FuckĀ upĀ .Ā āĀ
Ā DamnĀ you .Ā SeeĀ whatĀ IĀ meanĀ . You always try'na hide from people , Harv , it's gettin' real sad why keep this up ?
AĀ smallĀ gaspĀ ofĀ airĀ andĀ aĀ grimaceĀ notĀ meantĀ forĀ EmrysĀ .Ā He'sĀ aĀ messĀ heĀ can'tĀ keepĀ tabsĀ onĀ whatĀ areĀ thoughtsĀ orĀ spokenĀ wordsĀ andĀ feelingĀ exposedĀ eitherĀ wayĀ . āĀ Ā Lets just say you were daydreaming and move on with our lives , alright ? Sure we both work hard enough jobs , this was a ... misunderstanding . Ā āĀ And with that he tries to tail himself out of there discomfort of the situation , entirely .
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Everything is calculated with him, huh? The trespassing of their home, too? Who knows. He treads lightly, not very intentionally stealthy, but it is a second nature to him by now, like a PREDATOR hunting for food. He feigns surprise by their reaction and the gun pointed at him, hands thrown in the air in surrender and peace offering instantly. ā Sorry! Didnāt know it was occupied! ā He is looking for shelter too, homeless. His situation though is a one by choice, an act in the theater that is this WORLD.
@stainedpast ( lyra / emrys )
she had just gotten back from scavenging to her makeshift home that was really just an abandoned house that she fixed up herself to be secure enough for her to live in. it worked for the most part except for the rare times when she'd have to chase someone away and make it clear that this wasn't an available home. all was thankfully quiet as she pulled her jacket off and tossed her bag onto the table, setting her gun down before hearing the floorboards creak which made her turn with the gun now pointed at a man who somehow got inside. "what are you doing here?"
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Why do humans have to be so DRAMATIC? Ugh. Maybe it is just his dislike of them that makes him so JUDGMENTAL at times. ā Canāt help any when youāre knocked out, but if you say so. ā A shrug of his shoulders and a momentarily throw of his hands in the air in a fake surrender are displayed.
a brow quirks up at his words, her own heavy breath escaping her at finding truth behind his words. Rest was important for anyone within any occupation, but sometimes obtaining such rest was simply stated than it was to obtain. A hand rises to rake through her own dark tresses, emerald gaze shifting to properly rest on him. "As correct as you are, there's not exactly any rest for everyone - can't help the most when I'm sleeping."
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There is something to them, something ANCIENT, powerful despite the calm reflective on their demeanor. They are not pure, yet they donāt lack light, unlike him, a harvester of NOIR. There is an aura of magic around them, and with his current state, he doesnāt seem capable of intruding on their thoughts. Who are they? What are they? Questions will be answered, oh they definitely will, but for now, he will quietly observe.
Despite the BLOOD splattered on the ground, his primary source of energy and satisfaction for hunger, he smells theirs, deep within their vessels, he smells them: sweet, floral, yet ravenous, bloody. Despite every other presence, let it be alive or soulless, he feels theirs: alluring, soft, yet dangerous and alarming. Oh how long since he has felt something as POWERFUL as this? The allure of the idea is DANGER in itself; oh how tempting, pulling that is.
Their question is ignored along the rest of their words, lost to his own DEMAND of knowledge; his curiosity must be fed. ā Who are you? ā What are they? The dagger is slowly slid back into place as he stands, a gesture of peace and understanding of their lack of harmful intentions for now. ā Youāre holding back! ā A less humiliating way of admitting their prowess, their ability to have inflected more damage upon him. ā Why? ā Too many questions, but he wants them, he needs them.
ćć š¢š§ šš”š šš¢š¦š„š² š„š¢š ššØš¦ššØš«š šØš šš”š š§šØš° šš¦š©šš² š«šØšØš¦, ššØš³šš§š¬ šØš š¬ššš§ššš ššš§šš„šš¬ ššØš§šš¢š§š®š ššØ šš®š«š§ š°š¢šš” š®š§ššš„ššš«š¢š§š šš«ššØš« ; šš”šš¢š« š©šš«šš®š¦šš¬ šš«š š©š®š§š šš§š š²šš š šš§šš„š, š°š¢šš” š š”š¢š§š šØš š¬šš§ššš„š°šØšØš šš§š ššš«šš”š² š¬š©š¢ššš¬, š ššš«šš¬š¬ ššØš« ššØšØ š¤ššš§ š¬šš§š¬šš¬. soon enough, however, it becomes obvious that not even their soothing fragrances may be capable of easing the thunderous tempest that rages within his ribcage: it takes him but a moment to enlarge the distance between them, rewarding the oh so tender touches of her soft finger pads with the glimpse of a dagger ( if he only knew ! that nature never yields to the threats of steel and bone ) .
and thus ahri leans back against her own cushions, doll - like lineaments mold into an expressionism hewn out of dulcet mischief and blithe amusement. is it not foolish, to believe that she would have patiently waited for him to eventually rouse from his deep and intimate dreams, had her heart been ravenous for blood and carnage ? a girlish titter bubbles forth. ā nice reflexes ! i'm surprised. ā the she - fox does not exorcise the ghost of impish laughter from her vocalization: between one soft syllable and the other, is the shameless echo of taunting purrs. ā did you have pleasant dreams ? ā
#vulpesse#menandros: undetermined verse#queue: worth the wait ey?#[I DO KNOW YES ! I DO !!!#my own doing ajshshsh lol]#[feed his hunger for knowledge !!! but also if u give him enoughā you know what will happen >:) ]
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Their internal conflict is not known to him for he is already out of their territory, their mind free of his grasp; no further need, they can drag their feet and run, he has bought them enough time, he supposes. The confusion is shared with the sniper; they canāt fathom any reasoning as to why their PREY would be able to dodge the bullet, how would one be able to foresee its track as it proceeds forward with such tremendous speed? Even if they happen to have blown the cover long ago, why the theatrics, and how would they manage the timing? Impossible!
Almost nothing is when he is involved.
It is a failed mission, the sniper will have to either find a new spot, tail them or abandon the mission and try again later, their bosses wonāt be happy with this. He, on the other hand, doesnāt get to complete the victory nor celebrate it when the ache in his head hits, the ringing in his ears feels like an IMMINENT EXPLOSION, blood seeps from his nostril, slow at first but heavy in a moment. A finger reaches for the maroon liquid, sampling it under his blurry vision for a moment: epistaxis? Really now? ā Fuck! ā He is interrupted with another attack of pressure and agony in his head, he almost falls to his knees but manages to drag his body to an alley, thatās when his body succumbs to the ground below, torn apart from the inside. Maybe he shouldnāt have forced it like that. Nah, he will manage, he always does. He allows himself to rest, his back slides against the wall behind, knees bent and arms resting atop them, but then they disturb his already short-lived peace. Of all the other places, why would they choose his spot? The childish reasoning kicks in his mind, and before he is able to allow any of it out, his peripheral vision catches a glimpse of a dark cloak: the sniper, right on top of them, of him too. He seizes the chance for an excuse to get rid of the threat, to help them without blowing the false facade of not doing so, masked by helping himself. Invisible to the outsidersā eyes is the way he pulls his dagger out, swiftly throwing it at the danger above. He purposefully lets it be coated with imperfection(not a hard job with the current state of his body), the weapon buries deep into their chest, forcing their arm to change the direction their aim was at and so of the bulletās, penetrating the wall instead, again. It all happens so quickly, their rifle is the first to fall before their body does too, losing their balance is their demise, their consciousness a following consequence, they were ALIVE as they descended to the ground. The likelihood of their survival is minimal at best, yet he inspects the body, checks for signs of life: none. His hand reaches for the dagger now embedded further into their chest, he plucks it out. ā Thanks for returning this. ā The blade is cleaned of their blood when he wipes it twice each side against their garments. Cruel, he might seem, but so were their attacker.
It hits again.
The balance is lost, but he manages to stab the blade into the ground to prevent his fall, BLOOD is splattered on the ground below his face, his muscles threatening to give up and make his features submerge in his own blood.
It subsides, like a switch flicked on and off. He rolls onto his back, hand still gripping the dagger as he breathes out into ease, the fabric of his attire soiled with his own blood, remnants of it on the lower part of his face. ā That was close. ā A statement carrying multiple meanings to him, but probably singular to them.
ā@stainedpast /ššššššĀ he never forgets an act of kindness, selflessness, whether it be by his self-appointed nemesis: the humans, or his own kind. he might have not needed their gesture at the time, but it showed him the kind of person they are. he might act all hateful and despising of their species, but he is the one to make his kind able to blend in with them, to look like a human, think like one, act like it; he could be humanityās demise and destroyer, but he can also be their savior, their aid and voice to the other party, his own. today is not his day; most of his powers lie dormant deep within him. it seems this day is not theirs either; his gaze catches the reflection of a sniperās rifle, its aim is quickly determined: their head. there is no time to warn or reach them for a push, too risky anyway, and so he locks his eyes with theirs since the alternative of practicing this on the sniper has less chances of success, he puts everything in him during this disadvantageous state so he could control their mind(s), forcing them to move away from the route of the bullet, exposing the sniper and the failure of their assassination orders. āemrys @ whoever u want
ā - unprompted / ACCEPTING.Ā Ā å½”
PeopleĀ wantĀ themĀ deadĀ .Ā AlwaysĀ haveĀ ,Ā alwaysĀ willĀ .Ā DentĀ forĀ hisĀ ground-breakingĀ sweepĀ inĀ gettingĀ Gotham'sĀ leastĀ desirableĀ individualsĀ locked-upĀ .Ā TheĀ longĀ yearĀ whenĀ heĀ becameĀ aĀ suspectĀ toĀ murderĀ .Ā AndĀ nowĀ ,Ā aĀ crimeĀ bossĀ inĀ ofĀ themselfĀ .Ā EveryoneĀ hadĀ piecesĀ ofĀ thisĀ JanusĀ theyĀ wantedĀ toĀ chipĀ awayĀ .Ā StillĀ theyĀ didn'tĀ seeĀ theĀ sniper'sĀ pelletĀ shotĀ upĀ towardsĀ themĀ .Ā SomebodyĀ must'veĀ becauseĀ whileĀ theĀ dominantĀ twoĀ personalitiesĀ remainedĀ unbeknownstĀ theirĀ bodyĀ jerksĀ outĀ ofĀ theĀ wayĀ ,Ā onlyĀ seeingĀ theĀ slugĀ hitĀ aĀ crateĀ behindĀ themĀ onĀ theĀ mainlineĀ dockĀ mereĀ secondsĀ afterĀ theĀ involuntaryĀ response.
TheĀ bodyĀ flailsĀ inĀ aĀ matterĀ ofĀ regainingĀ theĀ feelingĀ inĀ theirĀ limbsĀ ,Ā theyĀ swerveĀ aroundĀ theĀ cornerĀ ,Ā creatingĀ distanceĀ betweenĀ themĀ andĀ theĀ hitmanĀ ,Ā noĀ longerĀ inĀ theĀ sightsĀ ofĀ theĀ rifleĀ setĀ onĀ themĀ .Ā ThereĀ longĀ coatĀ isĀ theĀ lastĀ thingĀ toĀ soarĀ en-suitĀ ofĀ themĀ .Ā TheyĀ haveĀ onlyĀ aĀ matterĀ ofĀ secondsĀ toĀ accessĀ theĀ situationĀ beforeĀ theyĀ wouldĀ needĀ toĀ moveĀ onĀ .Ā GetĀ theĀ hellĀ outĀ ofĀ hereĀ .
WhoĀ wuzĀ thatĀ ?Ā !Ā SureĀ asĀ fuckĀ wasn'tĀ meĀ orĀ HarvĀ soĀ I'mĀ wonderin'Ā whoĀ elseĀ isĀ inĀ thisĀ headĀ ?Ā JudgeĀ ?Ā HahĀ ,Ā nahĀ .Ā I'dĀ knowĀ ifĀ heĀ cranedĀ hisĀ faceĀ inĀ 'ereĀ .
Wouldn'tĀ beĀ theĀ firstĀ timeĀ andĀ won'tĀ beĀ theĀ lastĀ someoneĀ wantedĀ toĀ getĀ inĀ hereĀ .Ā WhoeverĀ itĀ wasĀ theyĀ savedĀ usĀ .Ā GodĀ onlyĀ knowsĀ whyĀ .
NoĀ timeĀ forĀ yerĀ pitifulĀ lamentĀ ,Ā DentĀ ,Ā moveĀ yerĀ assĀ orĀ theĀ nextĀ slugs'Ā ain'tĀ gonnaĀ missĀ .
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Dancing with death. How ironic for to many, he is DEATH in a conning veil. Maybe it is why their magical allure does not work on him the way it does on the rest, aside from being superior to humans and the like. It is a rarity to be caught so helpless, lying down at the MERCY of his captorās decision whether to rid the world of him -or at least try to- or keep observing. Lucky enough, he is spared for their curiosity wins the battle.
In his dream, he is lying on the grass, his head resting against the comfort of his wifeās lap, lids draped down and a small smile tugged on his features. Above him is the face of the most beautiful woman to ever exist, their bright, soft smile gracing their features. He can see it without even opening his eyes.
But then he does, and oh he wishes he never did. His lids flutter a little, bringing him back to the reality his unconsciousness has stole him from, getting a better image of the face aboveā- itās not them! Itās not Areti! Thatās when heās reminded of reality, of the present. Quick and tactful, he rolls away before immediately turning on his legs, a hand further supporting his balance, the other getting his dagger out, ready to attack or defend. Had they wanted to kill him, they would have attempted already, he knows, but he canāt be too careful in such a scenario, can he?
ćšš”š ššš®š š”ššš« šØš šš”š š°šØšØšš¬ š”šš¬ šš„š°šš²š¬ ššš§ššš š°š¢šš” ššššš”, š¢š§ š š°šš„šš³ šš”šš š¬šØš„šš„š² ššØš„š„šØš°š¬ šš”š ššš¦š©šØ šØš š”šš« šØš°š§ š”š®š§š š«š² š”ššš«š - šššš, šš§ šš§šš¢šš§š š«š¢šš®šš„ š¢š§ š°š”š¢šš” š¬š”š š¢š¬ š¬šš¢š§ššš¬š¬ šš§š ššš¦šØš§šš¬š¬ šš šš”š š¬šš¦š šš¢š¦š. it has never been arduous to bend the will of pathetic men to her desires, their souls naught but an alluring feast 'pon which to greedily gorge herself: a flutter of lashes, a sway of curvaceous hips, a glimpse of porcelain - white skin [ ... ] and they all forget about the gods revered through wooden crosses and 'pon altars of marble. he, however, is a special case ā¬ā¬ he does not surrender to his desires and instead, fights against his urges with such a stubborn fervor that his consciousness soon leaves him.
almost a whole hour has passed. the room is now quiet, the other dancers have left with their respective clients already and only they remain, seated amidst cushions of velvet and half - drunk bottles of exquisite red wine. his head is resting 'pon her lap, a claw - tipped hand brushes his hair back once he begins to stir. 'pon the plushness of heart - shaped tiers, is a mischievous albeit dulcet smile. ā it took you quite a long time to awaken, sleeping beauty. ā
#vulpesse#menandros: undetermined verse#[oMG IM SO EXCITEDDDDDDDD!!!!!#theyāre gonna annoy each other from now on!!!#also have a lil sad ;u; ]
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ā Come on, you canāt deny itās amusing. ā He lets another chuckle to punctuate his words before he stands by it, an armās length to reach but doesnāt release it. ā Maybe if you ask nicely? ā He is a fellow vampire, not a soldier.
{ @stainedpast ;; sc. ā³ emrys
"Why are you laughing? this is a very serious situation." He said as he tried to pull his cape from the hinges where it had gotten stuck. "Well, help then! don't just stand there."
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