#v : 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐬 ‚ arc iii.

[wickedslip]

Grabs her chin, lifts her on her toes and mwuaaah!

❛ Why Damon, do you know that when you do that, you send me straight back to my pointe shoe wielding days? ❜ Nausi gleamed from violet eyes, painted signature nightmoth lips twisted into a grin for him. ❛ You don’t know this, and I don’t go around talking about it, but when I was younger I had dreams of being a prima ballerina assoluta in Paris. ❜ Placing her arms about his neck, inching closer to him and still on the tips of her skilled toes with ease. ❛ Your girl can keep up. ❜ She whispers, pressing her lips firmly against his own.

[ . . . ] Or perhaps he did know this, and he took it from her mind without so much a moment’s hesitation. There wasn’t much she would put past her vampire boyfriend.

[wickedslip]

“ i trust you.. but do you trust me?”

She stopped in mid-stride, the clacking from her patent leather shoe along the tile ceased to a halt and the sans of echo left it damn near deafening in the expansive yet empty ballroom that she hadn't quite decided on what she wanted to turn it into. The surface glowed in burnished beauty as the sun dappled the silhouettes of darkness, showing how dark the wood paneling was in its black walnut glory. Francesca, her head maid, looked after Rosethorns like a child that needed to be nurtured.

She would always reiterate to her: If you treat the house without care, the house could treat you without care. So it's best to just do the right thing in this case.

She trusted very few, and kept those few close to her under lock and key. She had enemies, and they would and could use this kind of thing against her if spoken out in the elements. Nobody was safe around the witch, and she often wondered if the trust she gave others would ever be breached.

❛ Trust is earned. You have to give something to get something, and from where I'm standing you owe me a personal effect. ❜ She smiled, slowly sauntering over to where Regulus stood. ❛ A blood vile will do. ❜

[wickedslip]

It had been a day from actual hell, or as close to it as she would have ever concocted. She had been minding her own business, pruning the herb garden to add more to the herbarium at the apothecary, and all she wanted was silence. Silence from the elements, from consumers, from everyone and everything around her. And that’s when she realized that her ears had somehow magically plugged, and she had gone deficit of hearing for the last three and a half days. Oh, by some grace of hell she had really outdone herself this time. The only comparison she could draw to was when she had received a nasty ailment of spring allergies the year prior. Somehow, this seemed worse. The voice that sounded in her mind, rather in her ears, and she nearly jumped out of her skin, for the way she hadn’t expected it.

❛ Magic does that. It wastes you away. Once it grips you by the ear, the real world gets quieter and quieter, until you can hardly hear it at all. ❜ @ashbalfour bestowed to her.

That was the first time she had ever heard anyone telepathically, or at least that was what appeared to have happened. She wasn’t hearing it from the outside; it had all come from within, and she wasn’t even sure if his lips had even moved. Slowly she concentrated on the drums of her ears and leftover residuum, practicing in a heighted notion to alleviate the blockage. She knew she had succeeded when she felt the satisfying pop, much like when you change elevation when flying at high altitude.

❛ Did you just say that, or did I do something strange? ❜ It was almost expected to be the latter mentioned, because knowing her, she one hundred percent had done this to herself. ❛ Magic only wastes you away if you take on too much power, and not have a balance for it. ❜ She slowly turned to him, walking in his direction. ❛ Are you a magic user, Asher? ❜

[wickedslip]

“ we’re not that different, you and i. ”

The sun could be like the moon, only taking on darker nuances when its hungry maw was full of eclipse. The magic-handler that stood before her, cloaked in ethereal sunlight, reminded her of an eclipse yet to be born. There was a notion about Zeev of something that loomed in the shadows, laying in wait. The warmth of his exterior gave it fewer places for it to hide. Yet it remained hidden, clandestine, nonetheless.

She might be the opposite of him, entirely of contrast to his outward appearance. Looks could always be deceptive, but they didn’t have to be. Not really. She had looked into the horrific face of death, had lost her brother along the way, and with everything she had been through, there was no greater threat, greater danger, than that.

Stirring a mug of hot herbal tea, the way he had been taking it at Rosethorns, gave way to a heavenly scent that was like sunlight in a mug and just the color of liquid amber. Passing the mug gently over to him, she nodded her raven head in acquiescence. ❛ One and the same. I like that about you, because there aren’t many of us out there. Plenty of frauds, but the real ones are harder to detect. ❜ She grinned, her height a good handspan shorter than him.

❛ Do you want to go out to the veranda? There’s an equal amount of sunshine and shade, depending on what your mood strikes for. ❜

[wickedslip]

She often wondered if Peter was triggered by her house as much as she was by it. It wasn’t often that Nausi was dually affected by something as significant as Rosethorns; both loving and loathing it with equal measure. Francesca has a way of making it nice and tidy for visitors and those that dwelled within its walls, but one couldn’t hide from the facts. It was a demon masking as an abode and no amount of polish and sparkle would ever change its true nature. Sometimes she felt like the demon was her, that she was the one that did all the haunting. That it had been her all along and she just wanted to unleash her feelings on anyone that she could strike fear into.

What she could count on was that Peter wasn’t afraid of anything, let alone her. That was what made them such good companions, was that they operated on a basis of mutual plausibility and respect. The house was more of a graveyard than it was a place fit for living, but she would always digress. She picked up on his thoughts regarding his mother, which ultimately gave way to her own. Demetria Black and Annie Graham should get together and go shopping in the bowels of hell. They felt like the same type of energy, equally loathsome and dreadful.

❛ You know I have an morbid fascination with bread. It’s almost a fetish at this point, ❜ she laughed despite herself and the house’s damn near virulent energy working against them. She didn’t care; Peter was the brightest thing in the house. If she had to play dirty, she would. She knew what was upsetting Peter----- it was likely that they were stitched from the same makeshift pattern, like two seeds sewn together into misshapen pods. Even if she didn’t know him, she’d likely have sensed the offness dwelling within. She picked up on his darkened aura instantly.   She could only give a slightly wry smile and a shake of her narrow shoulders, more-so smiling to herself than anything blatantly obvious. They knew each other by now that they didn’t have to make overt displays of interaction.   

Looking around, the shithole was a loving way to describe the gothic homestead. She knew she was stuck here until the day she would rot in the ground. Her luck is it would queue her in in the afterlife. An eternity of misery within its walls. The house always wins. Sure, that’s not what the expression means, but oh! How it rang true. She knew the house reminded him of his own home, but luckily the company was better for it than if he had been at his own house. She felt the energy shift, almost groaning with intent. Knowing that two witches were in its midst, like it was feeding time.

❛ The plants are new, the ones on the mantle. ❜ Maybe they should go on a walk, grab a coffee. It was a damn shame if the house decided it really was hungry and made good work out of them. Two Happy Meals to go, and it didn’t even have to work for it.

     the rosethorn estate reminds him very much of his own abode in a multitude of harrowing ways, with the impersonal temperature of its guests and the long winding corridors that feel more fit for ghosts that living people, but at least annie graham doesn't reside there. that's already an extra star on his ultimate review of the place.

     ❛ it's a dirty tactic. you can't say no to biscuits, ❜ peter replies quietly, though there's a hint of levity that wasn't there before. he feels like death, the quarrels with his mother always leave him feeling angry and then drained, but at the very least he isn't alone this time.  ❛ you owe me for agreeing to come to this shithole. ❜

     it's meant in the figurative sense; rosethorns is as clean as it is gothic. one could eat off of the floor if they felt like it ( though peter isn't sure why anyone would want to eat at one of the tables in that place, nevermind the floors ) but the energy— the atmosphere, so dogged and oppressive— feels dirty. toxic. like he's breathing in a demon's fumes directly. there're terrible secrets within the walls of that place— like some age-old family secret has been etched into every skirting board and its rotten potence has bled into the woodwork.

      ❛ ... the fireplace is pretty nice, though. ❜

[wickedslip]

“ i am infatuated with the private life, and with anonymity; perhaps even invisibility. ” wesboro

Nausicaä could understand about privacy and about anonymity. Hell, she might as well have become a ghost after the occurrence.   The disastrous events that she had almost been able to smudge out of her memory, or at least a great deal of what had happened; that was the only way she would be able to cope to a degree of being able to propel herself forward. She isolated herself from the painful obstruction of emotions she couldn’t endure. Nikolai Thorn had been her world and refuge, the anchor from the raging tempest of failed parentage provided by their mother and father.

For the longest time, she was an island unto herself, and didn’t want anyone’s help, acknowledgment or be their burden. She found it was easier to just rely on her own two feet, her own shoulders to bear the internal war raging in her mind. She had graduated with honors from Crescent Harbor Prep, after burning New Salem High School down to the ground. Her emotions had been long in disrepair, with the smallest thing, even so much as a look in the wrong way, enraged her.

Narcissa had almost been scorched alive, irritating her until she had had the last straw. Narci had been her best friend, and at times she would even have been ashamed to admit that she had seen her as her very own soulmate. But that had changed. When the rug had been pulled out from her Aquazzura leather ankle boots, leaving her upended like a slighted witch hanging from the gallows, that was what had ended their close-knit friendship, and nearly their lives as she downward spiraled. Working in the very coven that was perfectly fine sacrificing the only thing that mattered to her. No, there was no remedy for that kind of betrayal. So yes, she understood about wanting to be nonexistent. Better than most.

❛ You’ll pull through it. I’m not saying one situation overrides another, but if I can get through the fire without it devouring me, I think you can too. ❜

[wickedslip]

The box is thing and delicate, a deep purple color that looks bruised. The thin silver ribbon wrapped around it shines under the chandeliers light, and Alice can’t help but smile at Nausicaa warmly. Shes pulled strings and made a couple calls here and there, hushed whispers for this little surprise. It’s not often common you can find someone willing to professionally dye a vintage night slip; let alone do it so well it looked original. A pink nail taps the box as she lifts her delicate shoulders, “ Don’t think anything of it, I simply saw it and knew you needed it. “ of course she did, a vintage night slip turned from its delicate white form to a deep bright plum. It simply screamed for ownership and Alice thought who better to wear the piece than the girl before her.

For once, the ominous witch was spellbound by the vampiric seer, and dazed was the only prophetic culmination that she could have possibly been in that moment. Only moments before, the box had been placed in her adroit hands, the long, sensitive fingers on either side of the presentation box. As violet-tinged as a lingering contusion, shifting them into the dusk of an endless night. Lifting her index finger to run along the intricate silver ribbon that was no more than a hairsbreadth transverse, its gleam caught her eye like the serrated edge of a finely-honed blade. Peering up at the petite goddess in cool crystalline-like flesh, she flashed a grin of her own, nothing ominous or sinister about it. Only unabridged affection.

❛ You brought me a gift. Anything from you cannot merely be nothing. ❜ she interjected. A loving play about her lips as she twisted them into a delightful conjecture of mirth. ❛ Need. What is it that I need, Alice? ❜ She smiled and couldn’t help but to carve her sharp nail into the silver, watching it come away in wisps.

Nestled deep inside of the box, lay the most insubstantial, flimsy material that she had ever seen— and equally the loveliest night slip she had ever witnessed. It was… as though it had been crafted by hand by some unseen god, and she didn’t have a thing in her wardrobe to compare it to.

❛ You’ve outdone yourself. The color, the weight of the material, the silky seduction of it all. ❜ Twisting in her chair, she didn’t quite remember moving, but she was immediately within Alice’s arms, hugging her slight form to her. A genuine draping of herself.

[wickedslip]

so, you got a boyfriend or… something like that? / is he being sincere or is he making a wise crack about the demon in her bathroom? you decide LMAO

❛ Welp! These days I have a WHOLE LOT OF TROUBLE. ❜ Nausicaä swiftly turns around, straight eyebrows knit together in unison, clearly worried that he found another one. The problem with this stupid house is they liked to appear out of the woodwork these days, and she just didn't have a good handle on the lot of them.

❛ Why? What'd you see? ❜

[wickedslip]

her dress beautiful. it suited her, after all he arranges the best silk for his now wife. her skin exposed. fingertips brushing along the pulsing vein “ Nausicaä, I’m hungry and your neck is too …clean.”

Venetian silk. That was the only way she could describe it. She flattened the coarse yet sturdy fabric over her narrow midsection, and admired with awe as the skirt flowed out and around her, cleanly over the lovely brocade heels that made the most un-delicate click-clacking down the long hallway of mirrors. She wondered if he gave women this dream often, or if it had been reserved only for her?

She could feel the mere brushing of fingertips, and her body was almost too warm, too languorous-- positively ethereal. But then she remembered that the talon of a bird of prey could be searching for the prey long before it pierced the veins of its conquest. She remembered that the hunt, the chase, was the better half of the fun. But then came the devouring.

Boy, he was gonna bloody that damn dress up, and she had just gotten it.

Before her thoughts began to flurry like the scurrying field mice from the predatory bird taking flight, hovering just above, her eyes slowly traced up his body. From white linen dress shirt, tucked pristinely in breeches from a bygone era. A cravat. The jacket. And finally his throat and clenched jaw-- oh, but he was a ravenous sight!

And then came his eyes that were midnight dark and black with desire. Or hunger. Or both. So what was the quote?

Is that all you want to be? Liked? Wouldn’t you rather be passionately and voraciously desired?

Yes. Just yes, to all of it. The sharp piercing of his fangs would be looming now, inching closer. She should be running, running so he wouldn't drain her of her precious life force. But here they were anyway, basking like the sinners they were. Do it then. Make it messy, or make it pretty. Both can be done just the same.

❛ Is that all my neck is? Just [ . . . ] clean? ❜ she finally said, looking at him smugly with lips twisted in amusement.

[wickedslip]

❝  i think i just need to be quiet for a little bit.  ❞

Nausicaa pivoted toward him, and pulled out her ear buds, one at a time. She could understand about the need for quiet, for the deafening silence that was almost impossible to come by in such a fast-paced environment. But she found the more quiet it got, the more resolute she became in her resolve, and it was harder to dig herself up from the surface of the ground if she sank so far into it.

❛ If you look hard enough for it, the world can be quiet. ⸻ Even if it's seething with its voracious appetite and snapping teeth, just waiting to take its first bite. ❜

Sometimes quiet was the calm before the storm, and she felt one brewing through the onslaught of trees that all but bent to her sway.

[wickedslip]

Valerie just casually offering her wrist for the other

Nausicaä circled the slender wrist with thumb and forefinger; her rich violet oculars bordering on a shade akin to that of pure lapis lazuli that never roamed from hers, eye contact resolute. She traces the joining from her soft, quavering hand to the rest of her sylphlike arm, thumbing circles there with the matte, bone-hued tapered stiletto nail, gently curving to the wrist but not piercing her soft flesh. She wasn't a vampire. But she was keen in the notion that it didn't take just teeth to pierce a vein. ❛ If I draw blood, it's going into my vial. You know what you're giving up to me, right? ❜

[wickedslip]

continued from here + feat. this song for @siphvnr

A sense of foreboding that she did not cause slithered down the nape of her neck like an invisible serpent, palpable to every sense of the word. Her teeth slowly began to grit when he hit paydirt, and the ominous presence only became that much more lucid. Kai was a mess— clothing the most disheveled that she had ever seen on him. She didn’t want to further imagine how the palms of his hands were sporting callouses and the like. Looking beyond him, at the freshly unearthed grave, she crossed her arms over her chest and homed in on the pinpricks of his eyes that could be seen in the since-gathered dusk. She thought he looked even more unhinged than usual.

❛ Yes, you. Definitely had it right the first time, and absolutely nothing to be redacted from my statement. ❜ Her eyes were sporting some rather deranged qualities themselves, and she did not know what had possessed her to agree with this little stunt of his. Honestly, it hadn’t taken much. She had been cold, and contemptible, and most of all— nothing exciting had stirred up the rich soil of New Salem in a while. If anyone were going to do that, it would be the unlikely duo, themselves.

❛ Revelations, huh? How very appropriate. Except the only revelations I want you to adhere to are those that are steeped rich in prophecy. ❜ If he truly had lost what was left of his mind, it was for the best that she kept her eye on him, lest he finds a grave that he can’t dig himself out of, for once. Unless— that was the aim. ❛ You are right, I did. Because I need to know that what is down in there… isn’t a figment of my imagination. Or it’s going to take a lot more than biblical jests from the Almighty Malachai Parker to keep my thinly frayed insanity in check. ❜

She had a feeling he was in it for his own damn purposes, just more of his 555-Hiya-Kai bullshit that he fed most, but she could see right through him. Right. Through. Him. ❛ Since when is anything we’ve ever done normal? From the day I met you we were breaking into your old family homestead, stained with the blood of your youth, ❜ she jested one of her own. ❛ It’s at the very least alive but barely breathing. Because you know that clock is tick tick ticking and any second now, someone could be— ❜ blurring closer to him, she clapped her hand over his mouth and held up an index finger to her lips. And then came the streaking of flashlights just beyond their silhouettes. ❛ Shh— let’s get the hell out of here before you get us behind fucking bars. ❜

[wickedslip]

❝  i'm okay. i just can't sleep.  ❞

She could understand about the lack of sleep, as insomnia was never far from her. Especially between running the shop and her mediumship, assignments piling up from Harvard and keeping up with not becoming a recluse unto herself. ❛ Why don't you come with me to the kitchen, and I can make us an herbal tea if you like that kind of thing, ❜ she offered, sauntering into the cavernous room in which there were still herbs laid out on the lengthy wooden table, still in their drying phase. ❛ I only use fresh herbs, none of that store-bought stuff. It makes the tea more... magical. ❜ She smiled, turning to him.

[wickedslip]

our game ends here.

❛ Oh Patrick, did it ever actually begin? ❜ Nausicaä simpers, unable to help her good fortune of a quip. She knew that this kind of tomfoolery was going to end her up in a room filled with blood, but that wasn't really something she was ever concerned about.

[wickedslip]

Did he know that she’d move the earth for him if it even dignified a semblance of ease for him? If anyone had their red door swinging wide open, it was his brother for daggering him to the eternal abode of slumber that he should have never been dealt to begin with. She wouldn’t bring it up, she held no qualms against the rest of the Mikaelson family, but she would always prioritize Kol’s happiness because he had simply deserved better. She was growing soft for him, she knew that. Was it embedded in her DNA, this resolute sway that she was subscribing to? Perhaps not, but it didn’t matter in the end.

If anyone could pull off flannel and make it look like he was dressed to the nines in couture, it was Kol. She could feel the thoughts resonating within him through their wavelength, and while chaotic and feral, she felt a righteous smirk move her to an accord, biting the lower plumpness of her crimson lip.

You can eat me instead. Just remember that if I die in your arms, you have to make it up to me by figuring out that whole necromancy bit for me.

nausi was a dream on this earth. he knew that speaking out loud could make someone come to the meeting point right away. not that he was embarrassed to wear the same thing as stefan salvatore, he knew he would wear this outfit like a charm, it was the fact that he was sharing a dinner with his girlfriend, his brothers' ex and his brothers' little puppet. although, now, stefan rose in his esteem; the power he had had over klaus, one he shared with him, was something he would like to see again and again. he wanted to take his mind off things.

i'll wait patiently. although, i might eat the person who drops off the mail. remember to take some paper so i can look like something after my little lunch.

[wickedslip]

He remains shrouded in the shadows, the light of his violet purple eyes are the only thing that can be seen but if she looks closely she will see be is in fox form. His fur is jet black and he is about the size of a large dog with multiple tails.

She could pick up the shade and connotation of him through the gloom of shroud, and found an inner peace at the fact that they were like two halves of the same whole; the violet eyes were not lost on her, and if she wasn't her, she would have earned the right to gasp. The beast hovering near, she knelt down to coax him closer.

❛ Come here, it's okay. ❜