Things you See in a Graveyard

[Storyteller]

Shivamet licks lips quietly, stealing the last bit of human blood off of the pale white of them. He was still hungry but power coursed through him here. Every corpse whispered at him, from the ivory bones swathed in dark loamy soil to the soiled rags of long tattered clothing and the disintegrated skin wrapping the quiet bodies they all echoed with that connection to the Fade. Each one was a portal, a doorway to some long forgotten memory or sound or cry. It comforted him and he knew if he drew on his power he could restore the blood he craved out of the blood they'd once had coursing through their veins.

Grayson Wyatt
To look at him, one would not have thought that Grayson was dead, that he spent his nights in a tomb, that he regularly indulged in the drinking of blood. He was one of those people with the natural warmth of life glowing just beneath his skin, hair like gold. In some ways, he might have been considered too perfect. And he was chasing down a lead. Fashion required severity, in his opinion, and what was more severe than a graveyard. He was on the hunt for a vampire he'd only recently been in contact with some few days before, discussing a potential design position. Thus, he entered the scene drinking iced coffee, trailing through the graves like a spot of sunishine in the night.

Shivamet takes note of the intruder, mostly because the cool atmosphere that lingered over every headstone with the damp kiss of death's chill was interrupted by the...casual appearance and attitude of the newcomer. He stepped further into the shadow of the tree he was under, hidden behind a rather beautiful headstone. Weeds made the ground heave around his feet, dead vines reaching delicate fingers through the soil underneath him like insects writhing through an anthill's many openings. His nose scrunched just slightly in distaste but he tasted no allure of true 'life' on the air so he stayed where he was.

Grayson Wyatt
Anybody who said that the dead could not appreciate caffeine was, as far as Grayson was concerned, dead wrong. Pun intended. He found himself pausing, only to glance around. Okay. So he wasn't entirely sure what he'd been expecting, but when his contact had mentioned meeting in the graveyard, he'd maybe anticipated...someone. Anyone. Setting his drink on one of the headstones, he leaned against another, so he could drag his phone out and first shoot of a text to Mar (because he needed to complain), and then another text to the guy he was meant to be meeting.

Grayson Wyatt
Wearing: https://static.tumblr.com/d200eab260bcc ... c__640.jpg []

Shivamet didn't think he was going to regain the peace and quiet he'd been enjoying before the other had shown up. That was alright though, he had afterall already hunted successfully a few times. Even as he stood there he heard the soft rush of breath behind him, the familiar gust of wind not something that even got him to look over. The ghost had risen up out of the grave he was standing next to, likely tired of waiting for him to touch the headstone lovingly. He let his eyes divert to the perfect light blue apparition. It hovered there, missing anything below the waist, everything higher the bare haze of what had once been healthy muscle and a compact frame. The human body had been far too fragile. He didn't address the spirit, he didn't feel like it, not today. Instead he ignored it.

Shivamet instead he stepped away from the tree and the shadows and the gravestone and out into the open.

Grayson Wyatt
Movement. He glanced up from his mobile device, his gaze moving about the graveyard again. His eyes were the shade of blue most commonly seen as a halo of light around the full moon, a deep blue. At first, he thought perhaps this was the guy who had been looking into getting a job from him with Wait Fable - the fashion house he had been working tirelessly on putting together. Except something did not quite seem right. Hand lifting to push through his own hair in thought, he pulled away from the gravestone, hands slipping into his jacket pockets. "You're not..." He struggled a moment to remember the name he'd been given. "Ducky Wentworth, are you?" he questioned. Ducky, he assumed, was some sort of nickname, but he hadn't asked, for fear of offending.

Shivamet
Being addressed was not something he was particularly used to. Now, being avoided, that was absolutely something he was familiar with. His pale eyes tracked over to Grayson, they seemed overtaken with cataracts, a pure blind milky white that somehow was not blind at all. He merely stopped, the soft brown stems of the weeds underfoot a dried out trail back to where he'd been standing and now they twined around his boots as he stood there.

Shivamet
"No."

Grayson Wyatt
'No' seemed like the obvious answer, which was why he hadn't assumed. Though as he got a better look at who he was dealing with, he got the impression they were the same type of vampire as his sire. Most certainly a vampire. Their aura was strange and dark, and the other man looked like death. Or at the least, he had the pallid nature of someone who had been sick an exceedingly long time. If there was any indication Gray should have picked up and fled in a hurry, he didn't pick up on it. Like at all. Instead, he slipped his hand free of his pocket to offer it up. "Hi. I'm Grayson. Hunt these parts regularly?" Was that what dead people said to each other? He was really only used to talking to Adley and Mari. Possibly Kaspar. He was totally overthinking it.




------------------------------
This thread was submitted via a live roleplay chat in the Harper Rock Graveyard area. Participants and rewards were: Shivamet earned 694 RPP. Grayson Wyatt earned 807 RPP.

[Shivamet]

For a moment he simply eyed the outstretched hand as though he didn't recognize the social gesture at all and had no idea what it meant. Then he turned more Grayson's way and stepped towards him after a moment of hesitation. His skin was cool to the touch, his strength normal for an undead, his grip firm.

What really made an impact was...the weeds that tried to feel their way up Grayson's shoes.

Given Grayson was already dead he didn't feel the soul impacting weakening at Shivamet's touch, but that didn't stop the cringe worthy scent of fresh grave soil from washing over him or the very texture of Shiva's hand from seeming wholly corpse like.

"Shivamet."

Giving out his name was not something he was used to, the admission confused him almost as much as the handshake. "I come here to sleep sometimes..." Which wasn't exactly what he figured he should be saying to Grayson but then what harm could it really do. "Also a family member is buried here, so I pay respects..." Which seemed normal enough really. "And I connect to the Fade easier here..."

[Grayson Wyatt]

Flesh had a certain quality to it where, when it was pressed, it resumed its original shape. Though it may have briefly turned a lighter shade as the blood beneath it was forced away, it always returned to a natural healthy and pink tone. Shivamet’s hand did not have this quality. Rather than softness, the grip was notably stiff. Had he any less tact, Gray might have turned over the palm in his hand to look for pooling of blood. Corpses did that. The blood all rushed to the lowest point on a dead body and then blackened the skin there, rigidly and darkly engorging it in the least appealing way.

Of course, vampires were probably different right? Because they were in motion, and not entirely dead. Not really. They had the whole...magic thing going on.

That was about the time he took note of the plants creeping up over his white shoes. A gaze narrowed upon the offending flora, which brought with it gravesoil and the potential for green and brown stains. Grayson held up a lone finger as if to say ‘hey, one sec’, before he dropped into a crouch so he could delicately pry the weeds away from his garments, coaxing them to grow in a different direction.

“I think my graveyard is older.” He commented offhand. “The one in Cherrydale. I live in one of those crypts. You know, they’re surprisingly accommodating. We even got it wired for electricity.” It did not occur to Grayson, it seemed, that he could potentially sleep in a place that at least seemed more human.

“And that’s awfully sweet of you.” And after a pause. “The Fade?” He had heard of it, but didn’t really know any concrete details.

[Shivamet]

Normally he wore gloves, the soft material swathing the unnatural feel of his skin all the way up to his arms. But he was not wearing any today, today he was ill prepared for social interaction. He stared at the other, waiting for revulsion and finding none. His fingers falling away from the handshake as he watched Grayson signal for a moment and then crouch to coax the plants by his feet off in a different direction. The weeds tumbled away from his fingers, weaving back into the grave soil and returning to burst up towards Shiva's feet even if they did not lay claim to his shoes.

He stared down at them and then even as the brown killers twined he let his influence out, the weeds changing from dead to green, grass regrowing in soft fragile green. Flowers bloomed, little blue petals unfurling as the weeds blossomed and stilled. He'd freed them from their tortured struggle to not be consumed by death, the blind need they'd had to be noticed something that was appeased by the decision he'd made to bring them to life. Such was the struggle of the dead until he touched them though.

Plants were simply pure enough, primal enough, to show this struggle.

His gaze returned to Grayson as the other man spoke. The age of the other's graveyard was something he was interested in, the older the graveyard the more perfect its connection to the Fade was. The more unique and powerful the souls buried there were. "I will have to visit...maybe you could show me. " The dead deserved to be remembered, deserved to be reached for. He was surprised that Grayson was not more familiar with the Fade. "The place souls go to wander when we die...the Fade...one day I will be able to journey there and back myself. It is all I dream of. Every soul I touch I ask how it is, what it is like, I learn how long they have wandered."

[Grayson Wyatt]

There was something distinctly beautiful about watching the way that browed and dying plants suddenly came to life, turning green, growing stronger, rising. Rising much the way that Grayson did from his crouched position as his eyes like moonstone focused on what was happening at their feet. Ever since he’d been turned, this had been the case. Whenever he came across something that caught his eye, it seemed to hold his attention with an indefinite sort of power. As if the very nature of the artistic perspective had a grip on his chest and could pin him in place. He imagined, as he watched the blossoming of flowers, what it would look like to find a way to translate that visual into a garment in some way. What could possibly be a more powerful metaphor for Harper Rock?

Regarded largely as a place of death, and crime, and monsters, the city in which he lived did not have a good reputation with the rest of the world. First there had been the revelation about vampires. Then zombies had begun to spill out of the Quarantine Zone. There were soldiers in the streets, trying to put down the undead. There were check points. There was a trigger-happy militia to help with the overworked army and police force. And yet, from death could come such beautiful things. That was perhaps the curse and the blessing of living in Harper Rock. It was a place where magic was real, and with that magic came dark and unspeakable things, but with it also came mystery, power, and just a little taste of hope.

It was what made up those plants which Grayson needed to bottle and sell. The idea that there was more to, what many considered a little slice of Hell, than met the eye.

He was obviously distracted, and realizing he was probably being rude because he didn’t glance up and didn’t respond to the other man’s words for several moments. “You’re fascinated by death then?” he asked finally as his gaze slowly lifted and he blinked a couple of times. Where had he left his coffee? Rather than respond to the comment about the Oldtown Graveyard, he instead nabbed his drink from the tombstone, and began towards the gated exit, motioning with one hand. Perhaps Adley would be there, and Grayson could introduce them. “When you go, you will need to tell me what it’s like there. What it looks like...smells like...feels like.” It didn’t even occur to him to ask how it would be possible for Shivamet to get there. Such was the open-mind of the newly turned. He just assumed it was something new to be mastered.

[Shivamet]

Grayson seemed wholly caught by what he did to the plants. The greenery folding gracefully away from him to settle against the ground. The spread of life through the graveyard stood out just as much as the trailing of weeds had. It didn't stop at his feet, it followed all the way back the way he had walked to tangle up around the base of the tree he had been behind. The flowers and the thickening grass and the perfect shade of life that grew into place gave the cold emptiness around them some sort of something more than it had held before.

That Grayson appreciated it the same way he did made Grayson a kindred spirit, even if they could not have been more different appearance wise. He was grotesque, in an awe inspiring way. His confidence in no way tied into his appearance and image. His very presence enough to send humans cowering or shooting. Grayson on the other hand seemed angelic, perfect. Beauty shone from his eyes and hair and skin just like death wrote over Shiva's body.

"I am."

When Grayson moved towards the exit he followed, he had other business to take care of after all. It did not seem like he would find anyone else aside from the charismatic vampire he'd stumbled over. "I will, I'm surprised you're interested to know. Most don't concern themselves with such things unless they are forced to face them."

[Grayson Wyatt]

Harper Rock was just like any city at night - there was enough light pollution that it was impossible to make out the stars through the strain on the eyes which came from the ambient visual noise. Harper Rock was not at all like any other city at night, because there were soldiers on patrol looking for zombies, cops out responding to any number of supernatural muggings and homicides. There were more crimes that went on in a few square blocks in the city of monsters, than went on in hundreds of miles of the rest of the country. It occured to Grayson that his new friend might draw the wrong sort of attention. But he supposed, if that happened, the Allurist might be able to talk them out of any harmful situation. Maybe.

“Well I’ve already died the one time. I wouldn’t necessarily want to repeat that, but I’m happier now than I was beforehand.” He said, though he was just sort of rambling out loud. He got the impression that Shiva was not the sort of man who talked a lot, and it seemed Gray was more than happy to fill any voids with his own idle chatter. “I guess I want to experience everything at least once. I used to have the wanderlust. That’s what my mom called it. The need to see new things, try new experiences.” By that point, he had made it to the military checkpoint leading out of the Quarantine Zone. Though it wasn’t necessarily a Quarantine Zone anymore.

There were a couple of soldiers behind ballistic glass who controlled who got in and out. One of them pointed to Shivamet, and the other reached for a gun. Grayson snapped his fingers to get their attention. “Hey! Hey guys. Hey. None of that, okay? He’s with me. Zero brain-eaty tendencies. Promise.” And they seemed to believe him, albeit hesitantly. There was something about Gray that made humans trust him very easily. He wasn’t honestly sure exactly what it was, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“As you can imagine.” He continued once they’d made it past the check point. “I can’t really go traveling much because of the vampire thing. I still eventually want to road trip somewhere. Maybe visit other countries. My family used to own this ship, and I loved sailing the Mediterranean. I think that’d be what I want to do. My first big purchase once things start to really go my way.” At which point he realized he wasn’t giving the other man much of an opportunity to talk at all, so he cleared his throat and shot his new friend a bit of a sheepish look.

“Tell me more about it.”