[for_chaos][/for_chaos]
“Now, why did you have to go and take all of my fun, Ghoul?”
With a sigh, the lithe necromancer lifted herself from her crouch, pale gaze sweeping across the downed figured – and those that remained – with a sardonic smile. “Perhaps not all of the fu—” A low growl cut off the last of her sentence, causing the amusement to dim from her eyes as she spun on her heel in time to catch sight of a massive mutt barreling into the fray. It hadn’t mattered to the young vampire that the soldiers – at least what was left of them – had been readying for another attack, but apparently, it had been enough to anger the mongrel that had one clenched between his sharp teeth. She made no movement to intervene, and instead, chose to watch with her head tilted as crimson splashed across the pavement, the final cries of the soldiers ending in soft, wet gurgling that caused her to giggle like a deranged school-girl as she clapped her hands together.
“Wonderful! Wonderful, just wonderful,” she cooed, before her entire demeanor shifted. It was as if a switched had been flipped. The childlike wonder was eradicated, and in its place a cold, detached monster who merely lifted a brow and crossed her arms over her chest. “I suppose that is leaving quite the mess. Should I call Mr. Schell?” The question was directed to her sister as she wiped the blood from her blade across her thigh, attention drifting lazily to the door when it flew open. Elizabeth’s scent struck her before the woman herself did – she often smelled of sunshine and daffodils to the necromancer – and Athena merely scoffed at the statement that left the elder vampire’s lips in a worried haste.
Girls, get inside.
The statement didn’t sit well with the woman, but it was far from Elizabeth’s fault. Having another worry over her – or demand something of her – was nearly unheard of in her life. Instead of speaking on it, she stepped over one of the fallen soldiers and stretched up on her tiptoes to swipe a pale fingertip across the bullet wound in her sister’s shoulder, bringing the blood to her lips with a blank expression. “Yes. You are injured. You are slow. Is it age? It must be age. Shameful, Ghoul. Run along to mommy now,” she sang, balancing back on her heels before spinning to face Elizabeth as she ignored the toxic burn the blood had left on her tongue.
“I do not pray. Will I burn?”
“Now, why did you have to go and take all of my fun, Ghoul?”
With a sigh, the lithe necromancer lifted herself from her crouch, pale gaze sweeping across the downed figured – and those that remained – with a sardonic smile. “Perhaps not all of the fu—” A low growl cut off the last of her sentence, causing the amusement to dim from her eyes as she spun on her heel in time to catch sight of a massive mutt barreling into the fray. It hadn’t mattered to the young vampire that the soldiers – at least what was left of them – had been readying for another attack, but apparently, it had been enough to anger the mongrel that had one clenched between his sharp teeth. She made no movement to intervene, and instead, chose to watch with her head tilted as crimson splashed across the pavement, the final cries of the soldiers ending in soft, wet gurgling that caused her to giggle like a deranged school-girl as she clapped her hands together.
“Wonderful! Wonderful, just wonderful,” she cooed, before her entire demeanor shifted. It was as if a switched had been flipped. The childlike wonder was eradicated, and in its place a cold, detached monster who merely lifted a brow and crossed her arms over her chest. “I suppose that is leaving quite the mess. Should I call Mr. Schell?” The question was directed to her sister as she wiped the blood from her blade across her thigh, attention drifting lazily to the door when it flew open. Elizabeth’s scent struck her before the woman herself did – she often smelled of sunshine and daffodils to the necromancer – and Athena merely scoffed at the statement that left the elder vampire’s lips in a worried haste.
Girls, get inside.
The statement didn’t sit well with the woman, but it was far from Elizabeth’s fault. Having another worry over her – or demand something of her – was nearly unheard of in her life. Instead of speaking on it, she stepped over one of the fallen soldiers and stretched up on her tiptoes to swipe a pale fingertip across the bullet wound in her sister’s shoulder, bringing the blood to her lips with a blank expression. “Yes. You are injured. You are slow. Is it age? It must be age. Shameful, Ghoul. Run along to mommy now,” she sang, balancing back on her heels before spinning to face Elizabeth as she ignored the toxic burn the blood had left on her tongue.
“I do not pray. Will I burn?”
