#verse; rubata

[thebeladimitrescu]

Absence || Closed RP

@the-dimitrescu-seamstress

The day had been spent in the subterranean levels and the afternoon washing off traces of her endeavors there. It had a way of becoming messy on a typical day, but today had been far from typical.

In general, the eldest did not enjoy such pursuits for the sake of them. No, no. The human had to run afoul of her and her sensibilities first; to somehow offend. Persistent loafing despite Bela’s frequent warnings - reminders that often employed whatever she could crack across their back-, course talk centered around her sisters or mother, and, of course, trespassing were all crimes that could be met with an agonizing- though entirely practical- stay in the subterranean levels of the castle. What could have otherwise been the snuffing of candlelight turned into an ordeal one could only beg release from. -All with Mama’s permission, naturally.

Today had been a different matter entirely. Not merely a grievous slight, no. Beyond even that. It was a clean-up job of sorts that fell upon the cusp of brutal betrayal, a squashing of a bird that made hints at singing and another that had the misfortune to hear the intro to said song. The latter was taken care of quicker than the former. She had been due for a trip downstairs next week anyways. Bela would need to fabricate a reason for her primary target. If Mama even asked.   

Only once she was absolutely certain that she was thoroughly scrubbed clean of any viscera and her breath did not reek of blood did the eldest Dimitrescu daughter take a deep grounding breath. One- forget about how close Csenge came to spoiling everything, two - don’t dwell on just how delicious it was to prevent that, three -don’t think about the lingering threat that continues to, well, linger.

Hold. Hold. Hold.

Exhale; one- blood is unappetizing, a lie that could only be held as her hunger was more than sated,  two - release, at least on a superficial level- the idea that humans are stupid transitory beings whose lives hold no meaning beyond service, three- “There was no possibility of taking a walk that day.” “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife” “Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way��- how glad Mama would have been I'm knowing that line snuck in, or perhaps not- 

The immortal being rolled the tension out of her shoulders before she reached for the unstained, ash grey dress upon her bed and proceeded to pull it over her head. Make-up, hair and the like came next- all tasks falling to her, of course. Bela had asked Mama once about acquiring a lady’s maid as the noblewomen of the novels she enjoyed all seemed to have them. One would think she had asked to go flying through the woods during a blizzard with how abruptly her mother’s refusal sliced between them. Mama had a strong distaste for maids, certainly, but this…. -It had only been a passing thought, Bela was more than capable of doing such things without assistance.

The flight from her room to the opera hall had been a daily journey for the past few weeks as the vampiric woman had clearly taken a renewed interest in playing the piano daily- or so it would seem to the casual observer who did not take note of how a brief detour to the seamstress’s workshop preceded her playing. Bela would not knock more than four times upon the door before waiting, waiting, and giving up with a vague sense of wounded pride. If it were not for the fact that she could hear Magda’s subtle movements from within the room, Bela would have worried that her conversation with Mama had turned lethal.

No, she was choosing to ignore her.

 As the days stretched she felt progressively more foolish for knocking, but she figured she would give her time to sort out….. Whatever it was that was going on within her mortal head, before she would choose to move onward and focus upon more pressing matters, more practical concerns.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Her gloved knuckles lifted from the surface of the wooden door, drifted downward and rested at her side.

[thebeladimitrescu]

Vague || Closed RP

@the-dimitrescu-seamstress   “The answer was evasive. I should have liked something clearer; but Mrs. Fairfax either could not, or would not, give me more explicit information of the origin and nature of Mr. Rochester’s trials. She averred they were a mystery to herself, and that what she knew was chiefly from conjecture. It was evident, indeed, that she wished me to drop the subject, which I did accordingly.” Bela shut the novel gently within her hands at the close of the thirteenth chapter, as tempting as it was to continue onward in the reading. If only they did not run through maids as often as they did, a part of her wondered if she would have been contented leading a small group of them into becoming more cultured, educated creatures. When they died so soon there was little point in bringing them above being dull as cattle. Most of them were only that, but there were a few exceptions. After placing the book gingerly aside, Bela removed her gloves. She never did so before reading from the book. It was a seventh edition, but even so Jane Eyre was on the list of nearly sacred texts. Not literally, of course, and she certainly wouldn’t make such a statement out loud. That was heresy.  “I wonder why she was being so vague....” She said of the novel, despite the fact that she absolutely knew why the household staff was refusing to reveal certain aspects of his background. Despite having read it so many times discovering the secret that Jane’s new employer kept was surprising and scandalous each time.  Certainly, it was less shocking than what occurred regularly in the castle dungeons and cellars. Other people’s skeletons in the closet- or attic, as it were- always seemed worse than one’s own. Though it could not be said that the Dimitrescus were exactly hiding any skeletons- be it figurative or literal. Bela observed Magda at work. When the seamstress had invited her to recite poetry in her workshop the witch had been thrilled. It was the chance to behave like a proper lady. Have poetry readings and a cup of ordinary tea. The tea she would merely touch her lips to and make a pantomime of drinking, of course. If there was blood it would be more agreeable to her, but it would ruin everything. There was was more fun in this rare façade of humanity.  Over the months, the poetry inevitably evolved into this. Hell would freeze over before she let any.... companion of hers pass through life without having read her favorite novel. Companion was an interesting word, would friend be better? Was that too....- Favourite? No. Bela would think more on it later. “What are you currently working on?”

[thebeladimitrescu]

❝ is there something you’re not telling me? come on, talk to me. ❞

Bela's eyes remained on the book in her hands and silence stretched onwards to the degree that it seemed as though she might not answer her youngest sister. The book was gently closed, however, and the eldest of the Dimitrescu daughters looked to Daniela. "....Are you ever lonely, Dani?" Perhaps, she would understand the feeling. As Bela saw it, her youngest sister was the most likely to. She could be wrong.

[thebeladimitrescu]

A Request II Closed RP

@the-dimitrescu-seamstress Continued from here. The door shut softly behind her. It was unlikely that her sisters would be so bored after a sanctioned hunt that they'd nose their way into her personal business, however, she would not risk it seeing as it had taken a solid three hours to make herself presentable enough to speak with any member of staff. Despite being older she was less practiced at avoiding the gore that tended to come with what was a messy necessity. If they had the proper equipment to do so the eldest would have suggested drawing the blood from kept donors. Alas, they did not and so the mess. Needs must when the devil drives, or so they say. She doubted that her sisters would have allowed her to rely upon such things anyways. Sanctioned hunts were one of the few things they could draw her out with during her episodes of intensively reclusive study. The rare brooding melancholy was nigh impossible to coax her out of and that was the state she had been in the months prior to this one. Time alone would provide her with renewed joie de vivre, at least when it came to her sisters. Bela never could keep track of what precisely accomplished it each time. "Thank you." She said with a sweet, subtle smile. There was no harm in being the 'nicer' one when her sisters and mother had everyone on their toes. It was not a difficult feat either comparatively. As she made her way to the offered chair, Bela let her eyes roam over the other woman's workshop. It was tidy, well-organized, like how she wished she could keep the research section of her rooms. A scattered mess did not make it easy for prying eyes to find what they were looking for. Despite how well kept it was, the workspace obviously belonged to someone who rarely ever stopped working. Did Magda ever have a moment's rest? Bela recognized the humor in the thought. If she stopped reading and quietly researching no one would send her to the dungeons, however. Upon taking her seat, the eldest began to delicately leaf through the pages of the dated magazine. It was decades old and had seen better days. She did not know who it had belonged to-and she would have if she had met them. Outsiders intrigued her. They had put a man on the moon, last she had heard. Or at least, last that she was certain. The most recent outsider she had spoken with was a man who had laughed at her when she had asked about lightsabers. Any book she came across labeled science fiction was staunchly avoided after that. "Here," she stopped and pointed at a page she had turned back to multiple times. "It is different... I know, but I like it." The pearlescent buttons that fastened the high ruffled collar of the open peignoir had reminded her of a dress she had worn once to the park while she was still....not what she was now. The puffed sleeves were akin to something she had seen within a picture book, the long nightgown beneath was the same shade of pale moon grey as the peignoir. The whole ensemble was impractical for anything but sleeping- if even that. "It is something I would wear if I was resting," Bela qualified. "Obviously I wouldn't wear it out, it would not be appropriate." -Or wise if she did not want her sisters to tease her. Something so very... not utilitarian was unlike her. Carefully she handed the open magazine over in Magda's direction, her pale eyes moved from the picture up to her. "Would you be able to do it?"

[thebeladimitrescu]

Flower || Closed RP

Continued from here @donnabeneviento-doll When the veil shifted Bela felt as if she had accidentally violated the other woman’s privacy by even glimpsing that small amount of her face- as comely as what little she could see was. Thankfully she did not look away or react, as far as she knew, in any way that would indicate having seen anything. The witch did not know why Signora Beneviento hid her face. She had never asked. It was none of her affair and to pry would be unseemly. If one day the witch unintentionally overheard the answer in conversation, well, that was neither here nor there. 

The corners of her mouth tipped upwards slightly. “That sounds interesting.” Bella was mostly sincere. It certainly was not an activity they engaged in at the castle so such a thing would be novel for a time. Still, the witch had her doubts that the villagers were interesting outside of their rare moments. The ones that had been brought to the castle were often uncultured, insipid cattle. How interesting could conversations concerning things horribly common and dull be? With that said, it might make it easier to know who was worth having. Not that she would dare to outright ask mother for anyone specific to be brought. It would have to be an extraordinary circumstance and even then there would likely be nothing for her in it. Daniela and Cassandra broke everything they touched regardless of its value- especially if it interested her it seemed. She loved them, but they were also insufferable at times.  “We certainly do not have a radio at the castle.” Or at least as far as I am aware. Mama might... “There is an entire world of information I am missing out on.” It was a pity she had to tread so lightly when it came to associating with Heisenberg. He was clever and could likely build her a radio. Such a skilled machinist likely could provide her with a wealth of knowledge that could not be found within the castle library. All of the lords had some talent or insight to offer, but instead they engaged in frequent bouts of infighting. Well, mostly Mama and Heisenberg did- with poor Moreau eternally on the outs. Signora Beneviento... to be honest, Bela did not hear that much about her except- well, nothing that the witch put much weight on. Sometimes, perhaps, Mama could be a bit snobbish. Not by much. Slightly. “That sounds sweet though, about what showing people what they miss.” Bela’s smile was gentle, a shadow, but she wondered if the illusions were truly born of sweetness or were they a means to another end. What did Signora Beneviento eat? Did she eat people? Children? Not that Bela was judging her for it if she did. The witch worked primarily with the test subjects in the dungeons and the slowly exsanguinating maidens in the cellar. 

[thebeladimitrescu]

To the Muse, tell us about yourself. Who are you as the oldest of three sisters living in a gothic castle as a vampire?

“Like any eldest sister.” In life, she had been the youngest of her family, but that was a far-off memory. “I am often in charge of cleaning up my sisters’ messes whether that be tending to livestock in the dungeons or delivering a final blow to a maid who is beyond saving.” There was one once who was just barely holding her insides in place, dragging herself along the foyer. It was a mess and completely unnecessary. Over the years Bela had become quite adept at clean decapitations. Bela rolled a shoulder that began to knot at the memory. “I have been called a kill-joy before, which I will take if it means that I am being responsible.”  Her lips pressed together in thought before she continued. “Generally I prefer the subterranean levels of the castle. There I can read, research, experiment, and play my violin in peace... Lately, I have been most interested in playing Chopin’s Nocturne in C-sharp minor, No. 20.”  

[thebeladimitrescu]

Closed RP Starter call answered for @thehead-servant Bela had been dead- well, undead, if that was her true state- to the world for three months. It was not her longest period of isolation by far though certainly not her shortest. She had read Jane Eyre again for the.... -She didn't really keep track as to how many times she had read it previously, but it was indeed many. What she did know for certain was that this was the third time she had made a handwritten copy for fear of the original being destroyed by time and use. The goings-on in Thornfield Hall, Bela could easily cite by chapter- but her own home... It could be argued that she was operating on rather dated information. Food would be a necessity and she did promise her sisters that she would participate in a hunt. Despite being the eldest, Bela was also terrible at avoiding getting hit with blood spray and so any interactions with the staff needed to be done now or after a thorough bath. Humans did not seem keen on interacting when the reminder of the predator and prey relationship was all over you- imagine that. Besides, she preferred being thought of as the more civilized and considerate one to those who did not rightfully earn her rare, more feral impulses.

Luana had been exactly who she had been searching for and so when she spotted them in the hallway Bela allowed her scattered cloud of insects to reconvene into her own tall form. They would know everything that she had missed when it came to any changes in staff. "Good evening, Luana," she began, making the effort to smile, "Have there been any arrivals worthy of note?" Anyone scholarly, foreign, or at least literate? The smile diminished to a degree Bela felt appropriate for the question that she quickly followed it with. "Any I might know who have departed while I was away?" Has anyone relevant died while I was in my rooms? Hopefully, the answer would be yes and none, in that exact order. It was rare for her to bother remembering the names of the staff, but when she did they mattered. When they mattered it sorely wounded her to hear that they passed, particularly if it was in the dungeons at the hands of either of her sisters. With her being away, the staff member would likely not have received the same caliber of medical care. There were few that she would have delivered a mercy kill to instead.

[thebeladimitrescu]

Her lips pressed together in an effort to keep herself from smiling at the other woman's concern for her. If only I could simply bundle myself up and walk into the distant cold night. Perhaps she could, but it was not a test she cared to subject herself to. The thralls, weak as they were in comparison to herself and her sisters, seemed impervious to the elements- within reason. They could not be her lab rats in this instance. Even so, it was an offer Bela would keep in mind. Regardless of what happened to Magda at the end of it all, a finely sewn coat would last a century at least if taken care of. Which it would be. All things sad and sentimental had a place within the darker recesses of her bed chambers. When Magda returned to her reading, Bela's gaze sat mostly in the empty gaps upon each page, when not sliding over to peer at her. Sonnet 29: When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,

I all alone beweep my outcast state,

And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,

And look upon myself and curse my fate, Eyes are upon those hands again, those of an artist, a skilled craftswoman. Beautiful, yet not wasted by idleness. Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,

Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,

Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,

With what I most enjoy contented least; Magda's skin was bright and lively, but not in the fleshy raw ignorance of youth. Would that she could reach that appearance herself, that brief window that this insipid vile world sees women as both desirable and to be taken seriously. Bela mapped the gentle geography of that hand; its shadows, the subtle outline of bone and vein. Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,

Haply I think on thee, and then my state,

(Like to the lark at break of day arising

From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate;

For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings

That then I scorn to change my state with kings. The page would turn: she would once again be focusing upon the blank and beige before stealing another clandestine glance or simply processing why it was that she spent her time doing this instead of checking up on her test subjects in the basement again. Magda sighed, tugging Bela from the page. Did she not fancy "Pearl"? Against her first impulse, Bela did not ask the seamstress what exactly had caused her to sigh in frustration. Was it the style of poetry? Did she prefer poems that were more free and contemporary? One of her own recent favorites was composed in the early 1900s century... "I do not know your taste in poetry, but if you should like I could share one of my favorites with you?" The movement from sitting to standing was swift and her eyes undoubtedly betrayed her eagerness.

the-dimitrescu-seamstress​:

thebeladimitrescu​:

If her resting expression was not typically cut into a slight frown Bela would have done so at both the seamstress’s panic upon seeing her and the volume at which she spoke. More so the former than the latter bothered her, considering who it was, though they were in a library. Were Bela a bolder person she might have pressed a finger to Magda’s lips and reminded her of where they were, but the gesture was far too intimate for her to even consider. Touching someone’s lips was nearly tantamount to kissing them.

In the nervousness there was a bit of charm, however, if she could pretend that it had nothing to do with her inhuman nature. That it was merely a matter of status. She was a member of the staff and Bela was the eldest “daughter” of a Countess. The worst that could happen would be a sharp reprimand, or a slap if she was of slightly crueler stock. If her sickle had been fastened to her hip the feel of it bumping against her thigh as she moved towards Magda would have made the fantasy harder to hold onto.  When she looked downward at the brunette, Bela almost smiled. She’s so small. They all were in comparison to her, but in this moment it was charming instead of bothersome that she was more than a full head shorter. The newer staff had a way of sometimes dashing underfoot.  “No no, don’t stop for me.” Even at a whisper, Bela tried to soften her tone as she continued, concerned that her statement might have come across a bit dry, “Sit back down. This is the best part.” The pads of her fingers pressed momentarily, gently into the front of Magda’s shoulder before the witch herself took a seat upon the ornate sofa. “It is your day off, isn’t it? I will make sure no one bothers you- aside from Mother, of course.” There was not much she could do about Mama if she came calling, but the others could deal with any clothing related consequences of their actions for the moment at least. She was cross with them for the time being anyhow.

There was something in Bela’s expression, Magda could have sworn. Normally, she was always serious or somber looking, but as Magda spoke, she thought she saw the smallest and briefest flash of possibly something else. Amusement? Delight? A smile even? Did she like seeing her flustered or was Magda simply seeing things when nothing was there?

All of her movement stopped as soon as she felt Bela’s fingertips upon her shoulder. It wasn’t out of fear, but rather precaution. She was well aware of Alcina’s strength, having been it before briefly, but the daughters? She didn’t fully know their limits, so it was wise to take precautionary steps. But the touch remained gentle, and then a more surprising action happened; Bela sat down beside her. That made her relax and smile, and it wasn’t one of her usual polite and cordial smiles. This one was a smile brought on by both relief and confusion, and it was purely Magda. Not Magdalena Petran, the Seamstress, but Magda, the woman behind that title.

She nodded a little sheepishly and, following Bela’s lead, made sure to speak in a quieter voice. “Yes, it’s my day off. Sundays… and I’m trying for a half day on Saturdays… slowly weaning my way into asking for that,” she shrugs. “Maybe. It all depends on the workload, I guess. Thank you for ensuring I’m not bothered today. I saw you and I thought ‘oh no, she’s been calling for me and I didn’t hear it or I hid too well, so she sent The first of her daughters to find me’,” she chuckled, trying to make light of the situation. In truth, she never wanted to be in that sort of trouble. It’d likely be the end of her career, and life, if that happened.

“You’ve read this then?” she asked, holding up the book. What a stupid question. Of course Bela had read this book. She had probably read every book in this library multiple times by now. She could probably quote everything by heart. “I’m not much of a reader, but this is beautiful. It’s probably silly to say, since it is a poem and this likely won’t make sense… but this is poetry, in the best sense of the word.”  Oh, Magda hoped she was making sense, but knowing her luck, Bela probably grew up with the original author and thought him to be a talentless hack.

Magda’s smile was adorable and seemingly genuine. It was not the sort one put on for fear of their life. Bela would know, as someone who at one time had crafted such expression of her own. She supposed her sisters did too, if they were less gone than they appeared. The idea that she could be responsible for such a true smile in a place such as this, in someone at a disadvantage such as Magda’s- well, it was not something that she took lightly. It was noted that when Magda continued to speak that it was at a volume more appropriate for a library. While Bela was too distracted to think to reprimand her earlier, even if she was not, the eldest sister felt a growing bias in favor of the seamstress. Anyone else would have been met with the rapid staccato of heels and at least a series of hushed yet sharp rhetorical questions that would have driven the lesson home. With her sisters having the reputations that they did there was little need for violence on Bela’s part over such a simple lapse.

Bela allowed herself a reserved, closed lipped grin of amusement at both what was being said and the way it was being said. A half day on Saturdays too? Would Mama consent to that? Bela wondered. Magda was a skilled craftswoman, so perhaps. Finding a replacement seamstress would be difficult, thankfully. That skill and her wit was likely what kept her alive this long. Bela had not been so wise when she had first arrived. “I have.” The witch had read everything within the library at least once. “It is lovely translation and I am glad to hear that you feel the same,” she pulled at the black glove on her right hand, removing it completely, “though perhaps it is more so once read in its entirity.” Her bare fingers slipped gingerly between the pages of the book and opened it. Internally thanking whatever it was that looked after beings such as herself that her pale fingers and nails were clean. 

[thebeladimitrescu]

Closed RP - starter for @benevidoll Celebrations, ceremonies.... after attending them Bela wanted nothing more than to retreat to the dungeons of the castle and experiment upon some hapless Thrall. Alas, she could not slip away. In fact, her mother had forbidden her from doing that very thing before the gathering had even begun. She would have known better even without the warning but being told made it even less of an option if that were possible. The vampiric woman inhaled thinly through her nose as she observed her sisters mingling with ease and her mother, whom she otherwise would have shadowed fairly closely, trying to subtly curry favor with Mother Miranda. "Uncle" Karl was nearby, not so subtly thwarting her maneuvers. From where she stood at the perimeter of the room Bela carefully looked for Moreau and his entourage- hoping to avoid conversation with the henchman that attempted to speak with her last time. She did not want to listen politely to someone talk about algae for two hours. Algae! As scholarly as Bela could be, even she had her limits.

[thebeladimitrescu]

About the Muse

- Appears 22-23 years old, is much older.

- Quiet, mostly solitary, brooding, lost in research, intrigued by the novelty of humanity and what her life might have been had she not lost it

- In the Rubata verse she retains sparse memories of her former life and documents them in code.

- In conjunction with assisting her mother in her experiments, Bela is quietly running her own tests.  - Aside from her periods of isolation and conducting her own tests, Bela does everything she can to remain in “Mama’s” (as referred to in Rubata verse) or mother’s favor. 

- She absolutely adores classic literature, particularly from the late 1800s, and poetry. - The muse respects “Uncle’s” genius, from a relative distance and quietly- given how things are between mother and him. - She loves her sisters even though they irritate her beyond measure at times. Despite what faults she finds in them, the muse does not truly blame them for their more spirited behavior. The infection manifested in them differently. - The muse is obsessed with the arts and sciences.  - The muse has a few undesirable traits brooding, judgmental and at times unyielding. As much as she cares for her sisters, she is quick to suspect them when it comes to any mishaps involving the staff or her personal belongings. - Her internal relationship with mother is slightly more complicated than the muse lets on. Bela’s feelings are not as clear cut as they may appear. - Despite having a reputation as the more level-headed sister among the staff, the muse (when not in her rooms or taking a book from the library) can be found working within the horrific subterranean levels. She does only what she feels is necessary, but it is worthy of note that she is someone that spends a great deal of time in such places.  “And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.” -  Freidrich Nietzsce (FC art created on Art Breeder <3 ) 

[thebeladimitrescu]

Verses

Verse: Fiică

Unlike in the Rubata verse, Bela was born into the family in this one. Having been a part of the family since birth her relationship with her mother is less complicated. In this verse, she is more inclined to cruelty than in Rubata but not in excess (as she sees it). Her hobbies remain much the same in both verses, but in this one she withdraws less often and for much shorter durations. Finding a treatment for the infection is still a clandestine goal of hers though she feels less driven in its pursuit and it is more so with the desire to be able to eat a greater variety of food. Having the same thing over and over gets dull. Verse: Rubata

Bela, the bastard of a lesser Italian nobleman, was a vampiric candidate that passed the maiden trial. Her relationship with her vampiric mother is complicated for while she has developed a sense of love and loyalty to her, the reality of her situation still remains as an eternally frozen chip of ice on her shoulder. The love she holds for her infected sisters is absolute and any feral natures that they possess she attributes to the condition "mother" imparted upon them. Finding a cure is something she secretly pursues, but if not that then at least something to help vary their diets as she thinks theirs is far too specialized for extinction not to be a concern. Additional verses to be added. At this time "Rubata" will be my default, but if you are more interested in interacting with her in "Fiică" let me know. <3

[thebeladimitrescu]

What am I doing here?

What a question to ask. A solid one, considering that the seamstress had been brushing her off ever since she had revealed her feelings in the courtyard. She looked over the other woman carefully; taking note of the shadowing under her eyes, the overall state of her. It did not take much to ascertain what might have had her so occupied.

How strange it was that Mama might task her was such a …. secretive sewing project. Bela could not even be certain what sort of clothing or whatever it was that she had Magda working on that would be so important and so covert.

"It is 3 o' clock." Bela answered smoothly enough, her hurt and annoyance mostly smoothed over by reason before it could manifest within her voice.

Mostly.

 "Was Mother expecting something?"

Absence || Closed RP

@the-dimitrescu-seamstress

The day had been spent in the subterranean levels and the afternoon washing off traces of her endeavors there. It had a way of becoming messy on a typical day, but today had been far from typical.

In general, the eldest did not enjoy such pursuits for the sake of them. No, no. The human had to run afoul of her and her sensibilities first; to somehow offend. Persistent loafing despite Bela’s frequent warnings - reminders that often employed whatever she could crack across their back-, course talk centered around her sisters or mother, and, of course, trespassing were all crimes that could be met with an agonizing- though entirely practical- stay in the subterranean levels of the castle. What could have otherwise been the snuffing of candlelight turned into an ordeal one could only beg release from. -All with Mama’s permission, naturally.

Today had been a different matter entirely. Not merely a grievous slight, no. Beyond even that. It was a clean-up job of sorts that fell upon the cusp of brutal betrayal, a squashing of a bird that made hints at singing and another that had the misfortune to hear the intro to said song. The latter was taken care of quicker than the former. She had been due for a trip downstairs next week anyways. Bela would need to fabricate a reason for her primary target. If Mama even asked.   

Only once she was absolutely certain that she was thoroughly scrubbed clean of any viscera and her breath did not reek of blood did the eldest Dimitrescu daughter take a deep grounding breath. One- forget about how close Csenge came to spoiling everything, two - don’t dwell on just how delicious it was to prevent that, three -don’t think about the lingering threat that continues to, well, linger.

Hold. Hold. Hold.

Exhale; one- blood is unappetizing, a lie that could only be held as her hunger was more than sated,  two - release, at least on a superficial level- the idea that humans are stupid transitory beings whose lives hold no meaning beyond service, three- “There was no possibility of taking a walk that day.” “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife” “Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way”- how glad Mama would have been I’m knowing that line snuck in, or perhaps not- 

The immortal being rolled the tension out of her shoulders before she reached for the unstained, ash grey dress upon her bed and proceeded to pull it over her head. Make-up, hair and the like came next- all tasks falling to her, of course. Bela had asked Mama once about acquiring a lady’s maid as the noblewomen of the novels she enjoyed all seemed to have them. One would think she had asked to go flying through the woods during a blizzard with how abruptly her mother’s refusal sliced between them. Mama had a strong distaste for maids, certainly, but this…. -It had only been a passing thought, Bela was more than capable of doing such things without assistance.

The flight from her room to the opera hall had been a daily journey for the past few weeks as the vampiric woman had clearly taken a renewed interest in playing the piano daily- or so it would seem to the casual observer who did not take note of how a brief detour to the seamstress’s workshop preceded her playing. Bela would not knock more than four times upon the door before waiting, waiting, and giving up with a vague sense of wounded pride. If it were not for the fact that she could hear Magda’s subtle movements from within the room, Bela would have worried that her conversation with Mama had turned lethal.

No, she was choosing to ignore her.

As the days stretched she felt progressively more foolish for knocking, but she figured she would give her time to sort out….. Whatever it was that was going on within her mortal head, before she would choose to move onward and focus upon more pressing matters, more practical concerns.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Her gloved knuckles lifted from the surface of the wooden door, drifted downward and rested at her side.

[thebeladimitrescu]

Bela smiled fondly, almost sadly before schooling her expression into neutrality.  “I would never want to suggest that family isn’t enough. I love you, Cassandra and Mother.” The latter in her own, complicated way. “It’s just....” The witch trailed off as her eyes roamed about the space, searching for a maid that might have gone unnoticed. Mother had not been in the library when Bela had entered and they surely would have heard her approach. There would be no mistaking the heavy click of her heels across the floor. Once satisfied that they were indeed alone, Bela continued- quieter than before and leaning in slightly closer.  “Sometimes I feel like I want a different sort of company.” 

❝ is there something you’re not telling me? come on, talk to me. ❞

Bela's eyes remained on the book in her hands and silence stretched onwards to the degree that it seemed as though she might not answer her youngest sister. The book was gently closed, however, and the eldest of the Dimitrescu daughters looked to Daniela. "....Are you ever lonely, Dani?" Perhaps, she would understand the feeling. As Bela saw it, her youngest sister was the most likely to. She could be wrong.

[thebeladimitrescu]

A small smile tugged at her lips at the compliment, before hiding away into a more pleasantly neutral expression. "I am delighted to hear." She was. Absolutely- especially when it came to the secrecy. Generally speaking, she preferred to keep her curiosity with humanity relatively quiet. It was known of, certainly, but it was not something to shout from the foyer balcony. If idle curiosity was interpreted as fascination it might draw attention to more so unknown activities. "As it is in the image." Bela didn't want it adultered by the life and perspective that she had here. It would lose its authenticity, its exoticism. "I like the color as well, but if you absolutely can't match it then perhaps pale gold?" Gold would suit her eyes, she supposed, but the mist morning grey in the image was both ethereal and otherwordly in a manner that intrigued her. It did not matter if it matched her eyes or not, only that she fancied it. The butterfly specimens in her rooms would not judge. She set the magazine carefully aside and watched as the smaller, brunette woman retrieved her measuring tape. How long had she been with them again? Bela wished that they kept small portraits of the ones that lasted. The vampiric woman had sketchbooks full of notes and illustrations documenting the growth of her specimens, but they had nothing of these people who grew, aged, and died. To be fair though, they did not often die natural deaths. "I apologize," A word she would not have uttered in front of her sisters to a member of staff, "the years melt together to the degree that I can hardly tell the last year from last decade... how long have you been with us, Magda?" Surely the woman had been around for some time. Bela made an effort not to learn their names when they first started. It was harder to see them merely as "livestock" to be tended to otherwise. There was a preternatural power in names. If they were stolen or forgotten, the person ceased to be and all manner of horror could be justified.

A Request II Closed RP

@the-dimitrescu-seamstress Continued from here. The door shut softly behind her. It was unlikely that her sisters would be so bored after a sanctioned hunt that they'd nose their way into her personal business, however, she would not risk it seeing as it had taken a solid three hours to make herself presentable enough to speak with any member of staff. Despite being older she was less practiced at avoiding the gore that tended to come with what was a messy necessity. If they had the proper equipment to do so the eldest would have suggested drawing the blood from kept donors. Alas, they did not and so the mess. Needs must when the devil drives, or so they say. She doubted that her sisters would have allowed her to rely upon such things anyways. Sanctioned hunts were one of the few things they could draw her out with during her episodes of intensively reclusive study. The rare brooding melancholy was nigh impossible to coax her out of and that was the state she had been in the months prior to this one. Time alone would provide her with renewed joie de vivre, at least when it came to her sisters. Bela never could keep track of what precisely accomplished it each time. "Thank you." She said with a sweet, subtle smile. There was no harm in being the 'nicer' one when her sisters and mother had everyone on their toes. It was not a difficult feat either comparatively. As she made her way to the offered chair, Bela let her eyes roam over the other woman's workshop. It was tidy, well-organized, like how she wished she could keep the research section of her rooms. A scattered mess did not make it easy for prying eyes to find what they were looking for. Despite how well kept it was, the workspace obviously belonged to someone who rarely ever stopped working. Did Magda ever have a moment's rest? Bela recognized the humor in the thought. If she stopped reading and quietly researching no one would send her to the dungeons, however. Upon taking her seat, the eldest began to delicately leaf through the pages of the dated magazine. It was decades old and had seen better days. She did not know who it had belonged to-and she would have if she had met them. Outsiders intrigued her. They had put a man on the moon, last she had heard. Or at least, last that she was certain. The most recent outsider she had spoken with was a man who had laughed at her when she had asked about lightsabers. Any book she came across labeled science fiction was staunchly avoided after that. "Here," she stopped and pointed at a page she had turned back to multiple times. "It is different... I know, but I like it." The pearlescent buttons that fastened the high ruffled collar of the open peignoir had reminded her of a dress she had worn once to the park while she was still....not what she was now. The puffed sleeves were akin to something she had seen within a picture book, the long nightgown beneath was the same shade of pale moon grey as the peignoir. The whole ensemble was impractical for anything but sleeping- if even that. "It is something I would wear if I was resting," Bela qualified. "Obviously I wouldn't wear it out, it would not be appropriate." -Or wise if she did not want her sisters to tease her. Something so very... not utilitarian was unlike her. Carefully she handed the open magazine over in Magda's direction, her pale eyes moved from the picture up to her. "Would you be able to do it?"