Exhumed [Open to Dragomir]

[Skuld]

OOC note: Backdated to mid-April. Open to all Dragomir, whether Skuld has met them or not.

A light flickered, dancing beneath her eyelids as she lay nestled deep in the earth, surrounded by a posse of dead and rotting creatures - a puppy, a cat, the last girl she'd killed before sleep, rodents. The wraith-like blonde's dirt-encrusted brow wrinkled at the intrusion and she turned her head lightly as if trying to escape it. There was no light in her grave - the phenomena was likely nothing more than neurons firing off in her blood-starved brain in last ditch efforts to convince the necromancer she needed to feed. Her veins were burning, nearing on empty, her heart dried like a husk. Skuld Dragomir had been asleep for more than a year.

The light would not cease and so she was forced to dig slowly, lethargic, her fingernails gathering such great amounts of dirt beneath them that they splintered under the pressure. Skuld had no blood left otherwise she'd bleed from those fingertips, the pain ignored, her state leaving her in a blissful numb state. Soft and haunting goodbyes were uttered to those she was leaving behind, leaving them to an eternal rest she could never have. Eventually the tightly packed dirt grew looser, falling away at her clawing until she felt the damp - condensation trapped beneath the Dragomir Temple. Fingers continued to claw and soon scraped the bottom of the bedroom tile - she'd been gone so long someone had forgotten and redone the floor over her resting place.

Weakly she pushed at it, snarling with white teeth gleaming against the rest of her dirt-caked face. Her hands curled into fists and punched straight upward, splintering the tile so she could push it aside with split knuckles and finally unearth herself. Skuld pulled up, crawling up from the grave and standing barefoot in the room she once shared with Xadrian. It seemed he was long gone, his scent having faded completely from the room. With a sneer the Dragomir walked out of it, away from his memory, through the halls and up the stairs to the church. Her feet left muddy, small footprints in her wake as she exited the Temple and stepped out into the night. The air was cool on her skin in contrast to the earth she'd nestled herself in, and she decided she didn't like it. Still, she was too hungry to turn back.

Humans seemed to be everywhere, either somehow still unknowing of the vampire presence in the city or too brazen to care. It took moments for Skuld to find one alone and unsuspecting, to corner him and grab hold of the back of his neck. The sight of her - half naked in a rotting and tattered dress, barefoot, dirt in her hair and all over her face - scared him even before he caught a brief flash of the fangs that were soon dipping into his throat. His blood flowed into her mouth, down her throat, into her veins which throbbed and filled with the vitae instantly. Her hunger spiked and once she'd taken enough from him she moved on, again and again, one lone human and then the next, a couple, a few others. The blood filled her and she felt a coursing surge of energy she'd not experienced in months.

A gangster passed her by as she walked through Gullsborough, and she took his life out of boredom and a need to expend some of the adrenaline more than any need to. She fed on a rabbit to bring her right to the brim of satisfaction, and then spotted a spirit. It floated, glowing brilliantly before her but while she'd typically gather it to her and feed off its energy, she had no real use for more. The blonde glanced around her, glanced up to the night sky, felt a pang of longing for the earth again and then...thought of her sire.

Nikolae. Azraeth. Azariel. Would they still be awake? Xadrian was gone, but the other dragons could still roam this place and she was intent to find them. With that purpose in mind she turned back for the Temple to find them, or track whatever scents she could manage to gather. A shower would likely be forced upon her at some point (likely by Azraeth), though she would fight it as was her nature. Stinking of death and dirt the girl padded back into the Temple and closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of her family.

"I'm awake."

[Nikolae]

Nikolae had been busy of late. The Dragon within him had woken again, and demanded to propagate. And so, half a dozen new Dragons roamed the streets. And more still were waking up. It was wonderful. He was perched on a tree at the moment, carving away at a little trinket for Cordelia, his beloved grandchilde by way of Azraeth's tempestuous fangs. He was slowly getting to know the wicked girl that she was, and as such she'd already claimed a piece of his black Shadow heart. Much like Enzo, and Yvette, and the young Victoria had most recently. If anyone needed to guess what Nikolae Dragomir's weakness was, it would be simple to discover: his Dragons. He cursed as he nicked himself with the sharp blade, a bit of black blood welling. He rubbed it into the wood, hoping some might stain the grain before it evaporated completely. Odd thing, Shadow blood.

His thoughts drifted back to the last time so much activity had happened in the Dragon halls. The first nights of this twisted evil city. They'd all huddled together away from the madness that was Mad Bad Chad and his lunatic progeny. Half of the Worthington second generation - creatures Nikolae did not claim for one moment as 'siblings' in any way shape or form - were insane before Chad had slaughtered them. Immortality hadn't done them any favors. And so Nikolae's own brood had been caught in the crossfires for a time, a very short time, before Nikolae had declared his lot a separate venture altogether. The Dragomir. A proud moment. They'd all been hopeful. The eerie eyes that his black blood had created of their own staring back at him and up with fond thoughts of a future world where vampires might do something great. Be something better.

Fat lot of good that had done. As the responsibilities of leadership outside his lineage had weighed him down, Nikolae Dragomir had lost hope himself. And somehow, that had withered at the branches of his own blooded children. He'd watched with silent misery as some had stormed off in anger at Mad Chad's latest shenanigans, and some had simply vanished never to be seen again. Others had buried themselves. Literally. He flinched at those memories and finally set the tiny wooden carving down. A beautiful dragon with wings spread high. He would plant tiny purple stones for its eyes, he decided. Purple seemed to suit young Cordelia. He couldn't say why. For now he carefully placed the thing back in a box, folded his carving knife away, and put both in a cargo pant pocket.

The Dragon leapt from the high tree limb, landing gracefully on the ground, and padded barefoot back to his beloved Temple. His fingers grazed the pews as he passed, and noted those remaining inside for the day light hours. He offered a smile, then descended down the stairs to the private abode below.

Something was different. His spidey senses were ringing. His gun was in his hand before he even knew he'd drawn it, and he paced silently toward where the intruder must be. Then he stilled in surprise. It had been months since he'd seen her last, looking much the same she did now. He lowered his gun, holstered it again, and then approached the dirty girl with a welcoming smile.

"Hello again, sweet Trickster. How was your nap?"