A L A R I C + V O N + D E R + M A R C K
Alaric von der› The vampire couldn't eat. Nor could he drink. But he found himself in the pub by circumstance. It was a weeknight -- it was late. It wasn't busy. He'd been in the middle of the city and there'd been a parade of some description -- he hadn't hung around to find out what it was, or why, or for what reason. All he knew was that it was too loud. There were too many people. Too many phones, too many electronics. There were fireworks. It should have been fascinating. It should have been a glorious thing to behold. But his telepathy was a burden, much of the time; too many people with their minds open to the elements, too many signals flying through the air. And his mental walls were only so strong.
He'd taken refuge at the train station though it hadn't been much of a refuge. He'd jumped on the train not realising it was the wrong one; it took him in the wrong direction. He'd got off, thinking he ought to just get on the next one going in the other direction but instead decided he'd walk. Gullsborough was quieter than the middle of the city and some fresh air to clear his head would do him good.
He'd eventually ended up inside the quiet pub; there was a bartender and the music coming from the jukebox was unobtrusive. Otherwise there were only a couple of other people present. With his thick German accent he ordered a glass of red wine, which he would not drink. But he could not sit there without ordering. And then he took a seat -- not against the wall, but not in the middle of the pub, either. And there he sat, still as a statue. Quiet, staring into space.
E M B E R + M A R C H
Everyone had a vice, a secret, a skeleton in the closet or three. When one was clamoring their way up the proverbial ladder in the gritty underworld, it was prudent to put in the legwork to find out 'what' those things happened to be and how to exploit them for one's own benefit. It wasn't pretty. It wasn't easy, but someone had to do it? It might as well be Ember.
There was something about her, a certain vibrancy and Joie de vivre that resonated. She moved through the door like a whirlwind, never mind how she happened to get there. She was simply dressed in denim jeans paired with short-heeled boots.
She'd also chosen a black leather jacket she wears atop a designer tee which somewhat detracts from any 'tough-girl' persona she was attempting to project. Her bed-tousled curls were a little too perfect... as was the attention given to her makeup and accessories.
She makes her way to the bar and orders a shot of rum and a chaser of Diet Cola. It wouldn't pay to be inebriated when she'd prefer her senses sharp. She was a cunning conversationalist and a natural flirt.
Soon, she'd have the tender engaged in an intermittent conversation between serving his other patrons.
A L A R I C + V O N + D E R + M A R C K
The door opened and the chilled, outside air swirled and eddied amongst the warmth of the pub. Alaric's green eyes blinked; they were glassy, like gems. He had no need to blink them. His body didn't function like that of a human's; he could sit for hours in the same position and never blink, never move a limb. He never got cramps. He wasn't restless. It was constantly on his mind that he should move, just a little. Twitch, scratch itches that didn't exist. Just to fit in.
Humanity knew about vampires, now, but Alaric had been there the last time they'd found out. He was there when vampires were eradicated; he'd spent two centuries in the shadows of death because of it. He wasn't willing to shout it from the rooftops, what he was. He'd prefer to keep it secret.
The girl who'd caused the shift in atmosphere was like a breath of fresh air herself. She looked like ... he didn't even know what she looked like. He was curious, of course. Mental fingers reached out, his mind brushing against hers. Human. He could tell, even from the distance. She was human. She was... no. There was something else there, too. What was that? He dipped his finger into the glass of wine; now wet, the tip of said finger swirled around the glass's rim. A sonorous melody curled from the movement. Background noise, while Alaric stared.
E M B E R + M A R C H
There were many signal triggers that cause the response. Despite the adages and superstitions, it was simply a basic bodily reaction to emotional stimuli…
Some theorists might rationalize that being an unwitting victim to telepathic onslaught can bring about the phenomena in a similar manner as pheromones or fear. It was a sudden tingle along the spine... a brush of chill that had nothing to do with the current climate conditions.
It was that eerie feeling of someone 'walking over one's grave.' It caused gooseflesh to prickle on the back of Ember's neck as the rush of rum swept past her crimson-stained lips. The glass was lowered to the bar with a clink, slow and deliberate in calculated movement.
First, she sips the coke. Gut instinct. She'd long ago learned to trust it. It had saved her pretty neck more than once. Next, reaches into the pocket of her jacket and removes a compact and a tube of lipstick. Using the pretense of freshening her makeup, she angles the compact over her shoulder allowing her a better view of the other patrons. Alaric is studied, not so much because of what he is doing - but instead what he isn't. Her perusal is interrupted by the bartender who returns to continue their previous conversation, and she loses her concentration. She snaps the compact closed in time to offer a witty rejoinder and replaces both the lipstick and the mirror into her pocket.
A L A R I C + V O N + D E R + M A R C K
The vampire avoided mirrors when out in public. At home, there were no mirrors in his own living quarters but the rest of the family were human; mirrors could be found in the guest bedrooms, in their bedrooms, in one of the hallways. There were plenty of things Alaric had changed on the estate after he'd risen from the dead, but he hadn't changed everything. He hadn't demanded the removal of all mirrors. They all knew what he was. There was no reason to hide in his own home.
In public he stayed out of elevators, as they were mostly made of mirrors. He didn't like them anyway. He got claustrophobic. He stayed away from bars whose back walls were mirrors. He walked quickly past shop fronts whose glass windows were reflective. Not having a reflection was a bane, and the one thing that could give him away in an instant.
So when the girl plucked a mirror from her bag to fix her makeup -- a habit he was confused about, if he were honest, as he did not understand the concept of makeup generally -- he tensed. He froze in spot as if he would be seen, but of course he wouldn't be. But she wasn't paying him any mind. She'd not even looked at him when she'd come in, had she? Most humans these days did not pay attention to their surroundings. It would be fine. So he relaxed. He forced himself to relax; his finger had stopped its thrum around the rim of the glass. The melody resumed as Alaric pondered his options. Should he approach? Or should he stay put?
Get out more, they said. Meet people, they said. But he was far too out of practice.
E M B E R + M A R C H
A relatively easy-to-grasp-fact about being a Blood Thief... or... any sort of thief... really... was that it becomes so much easier if people just... give things of value to you thus eliminating a need to put forth an effort to steal it by some means of crookery. Ember certainly followed this precept in her personal dealings with Vampires. It generally worked incredibly well for her.
Oh, one couldn't exactly call it a 'gift.' More of an 'exchange' of services. Fortunately, she was willing to barter. The little minx was as slippery as they come, for all her doe-eyed machinations.
She knew exactly where she wanted to be in the scheme of things - on top. She'd yet to exhibit overt signs of ruthless behavior... but some people were capable of almost anything to get what they want. The girl was not one to be underestimated in her venery for predominance. The bartender steps away again, and Ember turns.
Alaric finds himself caught in her rapacious stare. She's smiling, and its dazzle is the product of orthodontic-assisted perfection meant to beguile its intended audience. With her gaze and the tilt of her chin, she offers an unspoken invitation. Oh, she has the proper maneuvers orchestrated with such finesse she ought to be on camera. Her milky teeth bite into the soft flesh of her dewy lower lip as she turns away and simply waits.
A L A R I C + V O N + D E R + M A R C K
When one had centuries under their belt, age became a confusing thing. When the girl turned to gift the elder with her alluring, gleaming smile, he found himself trying to guess at her age. In human years, how old was she? Did it even matter? In comparison to one such as him, she was surely still a child. Even an eighty year old... but humanity was surprising, in all its complexities. People could have old souls. They could be surprising, how worldly and experienced they seemed when they had only lived such a short time.
The vampire assumed that she would slip from her stool and come to him, but she didn't. No, this was a slippery one. This was a game, wasn't it? This was the kind of game men and women played, in this day and age. Relationships weren't set up. They didn't lead to marriage after only a few weeks of courtship. Men and women slept together without even being in a relationship and it was all very shocking to the elder. It was scandalous. But he could appreciate the freedom.
Was this that kind of game, though? He couldn't know. No one had ever played it with him; no one had ever invited him to join. The girl turned away and for a half a minute, Alaric remained where he was. Eventually he knew he should stand, and so he did. Quiet steps took him over to the bar -- he looked out of place in this quiet pub, with his black slacks, his pristine white button-up shirt and black jacket. Half of a suit. He preferred full suits, but he was told that to constantly walk around wearing formal suits was not a thing these days. Again, he had come around to enjoying the freedom.
He slipped onto the stool and cleared his throat. He'd left his glass of wine behind. He could feel the heat radiating from the woman's body. Woman, not girl. She clearly was not a girl. "Guten abend," he said, the German slipping out. He smiled.
Alaric von der› The vampire couldn't eat. Nor could he drink. But he found himself in the pub by circumstance. It was a weeknight -- it was late. It wasn't busy. He'd been in the middle of the city and there'd been a parade of some description -- he hadn't hung around to find out what it was, or why, or for what reason. All he knew was that it was too loud. There were too many people. Too many phones, too many electronics. There were fireworks. It should have been fascinating. It should have been a glorious thing to behold. But his telepathy was a burden, much of the time; too many people with their minds open to the elements, too many signals flying through the air. And his mental walls were only so strong.
He'd taken refuge at the train station though it hadn't been much of a refuge. He'd jumped on the train not realising it was the wrong one; it took him in the wrong direction. He'd got off, thinking he ought to just get on the next one going in the other direction but instead decided he'd walk. Gullsborough was quieter than the middle of the city and some fresh air to clear his head would do him good.
He'd eventually ended up inside the quiet pub; there was a bartender and the music coming from the jukebox was unobtrusive. Otherwise there were only a couple of other people present. With his thick German accent he ordered a glass of red wine, which he would not drink. But he could not sit there without ordering. And then he took a seat -- not against the wall, but not in the middle of the pub, either. And there he sat, still as a statue. Quiet, staring into space.
E M B E R + M A R C H
Everyone had a vice, a secret, a skeleton in the closet or three. When one was clamoring their way up the proverbial ladder in the gritty underworld, it was prudent to put in the legwork to find out 'what' those things happened to be and how to exploit them for one's own benefit. It wasn't pretty. It wasn't easy, but someone had to do it? It might as well be Ember.
There was something about her, a certain vibrancy and Joie de vivre that resonated. She moved through the door like a whirlwind, never mind how she happened to get there. She was simply dressed in denim jeans paired with short-heeled boots.
She'd also chosen a black leather jacket she wears atop a designer tee which somewhat detracts from any 'tough-girl' persona she was attempting to project. Her bed-tousled curls were a little too perfect... as was the attention given to her makeup and accessories.
She makes her way to the bar and orders a shot of rum and a chaser of Diet Cola. It wouldn't pay to be inebriated when she'd prefer her senses sharp. She was a cunning conversationalist and a natural flirt.
Soon, she'd have the tender engaged in an intermittent conversation between serving his other patrons.
A L A R I C + V O N + D E R + M A R C K
The door opened and the chilled, outside air swirled and eddied amongst the warmth of the pub. Alaric's green eyes blinked; they were glassy, like gems. He had no need to blink them. His body didn't function like that of a human's; he could sit for hours in the same position and never blink, never move a limb. He never got cramps. He wasn't restless. It was constantly on his mind that he should move, just a little. Twitch, scratch itches that didn't exist. Just to fit in.
Humanity knew about vampires, now, but Alaric had been there the last time they'd found out. He was there when vampires were eradicated; he'd spent two centuries in the shadows of death because of it. He wasn't willing to shout it from the rooftops, what he was. He'd prefer to keep it secret.
The girl who'd caused the shift in atmosphere was like a breath of fresh air herself. She looked like ... he didn't even know what she looked like. He was curious, of course. Mental fingers reached out, his mind brushing against hers. Human. He could tell, even from the distance. She was human. She was... no. There was something else there, too. What was that? He dipped his finger into the glass of wine; now wet, the tip of said finger swirled around the glass's rim. A sonorous melody curled from the movement. Background noise, while Alaric stared.
E M B E R + M A R C H
There were many signal triggers that cause the response. Despite the adages and superstitions, it was simply a basic bodily reaction to emotional stimuli…
Some theorists might rationalize that being an unwitting victim to telepathic onslaught can bring about the phenomena in a similar manner as pheromones or fear. It was a sudden tingle along the spine... a brush of chill that had nothing to do with the current climate conditions.
It was that eerie feeling of someone 'walking over one's grave.' It caused gooseflesh to prickle on the back of Ember's neck as the rush of rum swept past her crimson-stained lips. The glass was lowered to the bar with a clink, slow and deliberate in calculated movement.
First, she sips the coke. Gut instinct. She'd long ago learned to trust it. It had saved her pretty neck more than once. Next, reaches into the pocket of her jacket and removes a compact and a tube of lipstick. Using the pretense of freshening her makeup, she angles the compact over her shoulder allowing her a better view of the other patrons. Alaric is studied, not so much because of what he is doing - but instead what he isn't. Her perusal is interrupted by the bartender who returns to continue their previous conversation, and she loses her concentration. She snaps the compact closed in time to offer a witty rejoinder and replaces both the lipstick and the mirror into her pocket.
A L A R I C + V O N + D E R + M A R C K
The vampire avoided mirrors when out in public. At home, there were no mirrors in his own living quarters but the rest of the family were human; mirrors could be found in the guest bedrooms, in their bedrooms, in one of the hallways. There were plenty of things Alaric had changed on the estate after he'd risen from the dead, but he hadn't changed everything. He hadn't demanded the removal of all mirrors. They all knew what he was. There was no reason to hide in his own home.
In public he stayed out of elevators, as they were mostly made of mirrors. He didn't like them anyway. He got claustrophobic. He stayed away from bars whose back walls were mirrors. He walked quickly past shop fronts whose glass windows were reflective. Not having a reflection was a bane, and the one thing that could give him away in an instant.
So when the girl plucked a mirror from her bag to fix her makeup -- a habit he was confused about, if he were honest, as he did not understand the concept of makeup generally -- he tensed. He froze in spot as if he would be seen, but of course he wouldn't be. But she wasn't paying him any mind. She'd not even looked at him when she'd come in, had she? Most humans these days did not pay attention to their surroundings. It would be fine. So he relaxed. He forced himself to relax; his finger had stopped its thrum around the rim of the glass. The melody resumed as Alaric pondered his options. Should he approach? Or should he stay put?
Get out more, they said. Meet people, they said. But he was far too out of practice.
E M B E R + M A R C H
A relatively easy-to-grasp-fact about being a Blood Thief... or... any sort of thief... really... was that it becomes so much easier if people just... give things of value to you thus eliminating a need to put forth an effort to steal it by some means of crookery. Ember certainly followed this precept in her personal dealings with Vampires. It generally worked incredibly well for her.
Oh, one couldn't exactly call it a 'gift.' More of an 'exchange' of services. Fortunately, she was willing to barter. The little minx was as slippery as they come, for all her doe-eyed machinations.
She knew exactly where she wanted to be in the scheme of things - on top. She'd yet to exhibit overt signs of ruthless behavior... but some people were capable of almost anything to get what they want. The girl was not one to be underestimated in her venery for predominance. The bartender steps away again, and Ember turns.
Alaric finds himself caught in her rapacious stare. She's smiling, and its dazzle is the product of orthodontic-assisted perfection meant to beguile its intended audience. With her gaze and the tilt of her chin, she offers an unspoken invitation. Oh, she has the proper maneuvers orchestrated with such finesse she ought to be on camera. Her milky teeth bite into the soft flesh of her dewy lower lip as she turns away and simply waits.
A L A R I C + V O N + D E R + M A R C K
When one had centuries under their belt, age became a confusing thing. When the girl turned to gift the elder with her alluring, gleaming smile, he found himself trying to guess at her age. In human years, how old was she? Did it even matter? In comparison to one such as him, she was surely still a child. Even an eighty year old... but humanity was surprising, in all its complexities. People could have old souls. They could be surprising, how worldly and experienced they seemed when they had only lived such a short time.
The vampire assumed that she would slip from her stool and come to him, but she didn't. No, this was a slippery one. This was a game, wasn't it? This was the kind of game men and women played, in this day and age. Relationships weren't set up. They didn't lead to marriage after only a few weeks of courtship. Men and women slept together without even being in a relationship and it was all very shocking to the elder. It was scandalous. But he could appreciate the freedom.
Was this that kind of game, though? He couldn't know. No one had ever played it with him; no one had ever invited him to join. The girl turned away and for a half a minute, Alaric remained where he was. Eventually he knew he should stand, and so he did. Quiet steps took him over to the bar -- he looked out of place in this quiet pub, with his black slacks, his pristine white button-up shirt and black jacket. Half of a suit. He preferred full suits, but he was told that to constantly walk around wearing formal suits was not a thing these days. Again, he had come around to enjoying the freedom.
He slipped onto the stool and cleared his throat. He'd left his glass of wine behind. He could feel the heat radiating from the woman's body. Woman, not girl. She clearly was not a girl. "Guten abend," he said, the German slipping out. He smiled.
