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Post by Grimm on Dec 6, 2018 4:44:40 GMT
Victor drudged to the upstairs master bedroom, letting the door swing closed behind him. But he hadn’t the strength to do it properly, so the door stopped short of closing. And Victor didn’t care. All he cared about was the bed, the comfortable wonderfully soft bed and blankets. Well, almost all he cared about. Victor pulled a black case from the nightstand and opened it. To the untrained eye it could simply be written off as doctor supplies, but the syringe, spoon, and vial were a disease all their own. Victor wasted no time preparing a dose and finding a comfortable position on the bed before injecting the drugs into fresh blood that was pumping through his veins. He let himself relax hoping that his comfortable bed would swallow him whole until he finally drifted off. He could probably sleep for days if left undisturbed.
Lucien would find most of the house in order. Food in the kitchen cabinets, a bar and a small harpsichord in the parlor, along with pool table and darts. The library was impressive, every bit of wall space was dedicated to housing books. A catwalk made for an easier time reaching books on the second floor. Currently, there was a mess of books scattered across the tables that stood in the centre of the room. The common subject matter was about Vampires, the lores and myths. One book was open to an illustration that kind of looked like Lucien along with stories of the deeds he had done. The Study housed paintings in various stages, some look like they hadn’t be touched in ages. The Sunroom had giant glass windows that scattered the light into a brilliant display of day into every corner of the room. There were canvases on easels and paint supplies everywhere, along with paintings of people, and places, many of them Victor considered to be nearly complete. He liked to see paintings in the sunroom, as it was the only place one could see them with all hour of sunlight on them. Plants that were once green that were tucked in various corners were now dead from neglect.
There was, of course, a door that was tucked away under the stairs. It was a small door that lead down a stone staircase into the earth. It opened up into a space that looked like a small cathedral. There were items in glass cases on the walls and more drawings. But these were different from the ones Victor kept in the world above. These were dark paintings, paintings of buildings in ruins, of pain, of suffering. Death and war, destruction and evil. Stuck to the walls were charcoal drawings of what could only be described as demons.
But this place had not been built for this. At the far end, hanging above the altar appeared to be a stone carving of giant white wings, as if flesh and feather had become rock and marble. They hung from metal hooks, the chains bounding them in it's eternal hover. There was a blanket at the base of the altar, along with dried blood. This had been the place Walter had turned Victor, the place the Vampire had stolen more than just his humanity.
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Post by Behax on Dec 7, 2018 23:10:52 GMT
It took a little while, and the peeking into a number of empty guest rooms, but eventually Lucien discovered the one which Walter had used. Going through the items the Vampire had left behind, there really wasn't much of consequence. Most of it clothing, Lucien could tell by looking that the style of fashion had begun to move on from a hundred years ago....Though that didn't stop him from thinking that Walter's taste was as gaudy as ever. The man had a flare for the dramatic, and it vexed Lucien greatly.
He found little else save a few trinkets. Though as he was putting some things back onto the dresser, something caught the corner of his eye. He turned, and found that it was familiar. A violin of more exquisite quality, with gold filigree delicately decorating the sides and the neck of the instrument. The bow was similarly intricately decorated. Lucien recognised it as his very own instrument. Walter must have stolen it from Garrett Lamine's home. The very thought nearly brought Lucien's rage back to the surface. However he took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. Letting the emotion pass him over. Opening his eyes again, he picked up the instrument and gave it's strings a couple of well thought plucks. It was in perfect tune. That kind of annoyed him too. Yet he had to wonder, had Walter deliberately left the instrument behind? Or simply grown bored of carrying around his trophy.
Which ever it was Lucien felt he was bound to find out eventually. He took the violin with him as he left the room, and resumed his exploration of the house. He returned to the downstairs, passing through the bar on his way to the library. He helped himself to an unopened bottle of brandy, having been left with the impression that Victor didn't much care for alcohol, and that he should just help himself to whatever the house had to offer. Though he didn't open it right away, merely carried it with him.
The size of the library impressed Lucien, he'd seen few that commanded such a vast collection outside of national collections, and his own family library. He wasn't even sure that Garrett's library had been as vast. He took a glance at the books left scattered about the tables, noting their subject matter. He could only imagine the desperation and confusion of a newly turned vampire, finding themselves abandoned by their 'master'. It didn't take him much pursuing to notice the book which was about himself. Chronicling his life and deeds. He opened the bottle of brandy at this point, and took a swig before even beginning to read. Lucien flicked through the pages, finding much of it to be exaggerated, or that he had been given the credit that was rightly due another member of his family. Some things were almost grossly incorrect, and when he got to the section regarding his own apparent 'demise' he found himself taking a deep swig. He was sure his family were probably at least partially responsible for the story laying the blame of his 'death' at the feet of Garrett Lamine. Though that wasn't to say he couldn't understand why such a conclusion had been draw by the book's author. Still it vexed him, and he slammed the tome shut.
Lucien continued his exploration, admiring the sun room, and the paintings that had been left there. He could tell that Victor had a good eye, as well as great skill with a brush. He could understand why Walter would approach such a person for a portrait, the man was a complete narcissist...Though something else must have drawn Walter to the unfortunate Victor. Painfully however, Victor's skill with a brush, reminded him of Garrett. The man would paint for hours, while listening to Lucien play the violin.
The door under the stairs almost passed without notice, Lucien walked right by it, barely paying it any heed. However something made him back track. Some kind of feeling that told him it warranted further investigation. He opened the door, and followed the stairs, deep into the underbelly of the house. He noted the shift in the air as he passed underground. A whistle fell from his lips, as he marvelled at the space. Few lords actually had basements such as this.
He noticed how the art displayed down here had a dramatic shift from that which was displayed above. "Clearly Lord Dardariel is plagued by something other than his new life," Lucien commented to himself. He might have even described the art as 'tormented'. He noticed the blood on the altar, and as his eyes travelled up, noted the winged sculpture. He found that a little ironic given what he assumed had taken place here. Walter had done it here on purpose. "Tacky," Lucien said to himself, taking another swig from the bottle. It fitted Walter's aesthetics, and flare for the dramatic. It made the hunter's stomach churn.
Lucien turned his back on the scene, and only then did his eyes catch a particular painting. Something about what was displayed on its canvas called to him, and as he stepped closer a sense of familiarity grew. Depicted was the ruins of what one could assume was the grand foyer of a manor. A place destroyed by neglect and time, but violence as well. Lucien closed in on the painting until he was but an inch from its surface. Delicately he reached up, and ran his fingers over the dried paint, realisation slowly dawning. His eyes picked out small details, clues and hints to what this was. The colours used, the crest painted onto ruined drapery.
This was his home, the Bastista family home. How did Victor come to paint this? Did it depict the truth of what that place now looked like? Had Victor been there? By this point the alcohol was deep in Lucien's veins. He didn't have enough blood or food in his body to balance the poison out. It complicated his feelings. It brought his frustration, and recently buried rage and grief to the surface. He raised the bow of the violin he carried, and almost used it to slash Victor's painting. However he stopped just short, realising with only a second to spare, that such an act would not be fair to the painter.
Instead, Lucien placed the brandy down, and raised the violin to rest against his chin. Slowly, he sawed the bow over the perfectly tuned strings.
By the time Victor awoke, his house echoed with Lucien's grief and rage, played in a fine tune. The underground chamber amplifying the found, and making it reverberate throughout the empty house.
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Post by Grimm on Dec 13, 2018 3:32:06 GMT
Victor slowly woke from his sleep to the sound of a violin. At first he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming, having briefly forgotten about the trials he went through the last few days. He rolled over in his comfortable bed, pulling the cover with him as he went. The syringe and vials were on his nightstand, trying to solicit his attention just one more time. Just once more, it pressed on. But had it not been for the haunting moans of the violin, Victor might have indulged in another. He arose with the down feather comforter wrapped snuggly around him, the corner of the blanket perched over his head like a misshapen hood. His room was dark except for the last small threats from the sun peeking from behind the curtains. Victor was sure the sunset was beautiful.
He crept toward the sounds of the violin, anxiety starting to encroach with the cold and he pulled the large comforter more tightly around himself. The blanket trailed behind him as he went down the spiral stairs into the chamber, the sounds of Lucien playing reverberating on the walls, vibrating the emotions Victor had been numb as of late. The small amount of opium still in his system made him feel ensnared by melody and he felt the wanting to create again. But the swelling passion in his heart was quickly overshadowed by the depression he felt. Luminous green eyes looked around at the art that was chaotically on display in the chamber. He never liked this part in the house. And he certainly hated it more now since what had happened to him here. In fact, he hadn't been back down into the chamber since that day.
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Post by Behax on Dec 13, 2018 22:49:15 GMT
For hours Lucien played his haunting refrain, stopping when he sensed that he was no longer alone in this cursed chamber of the house. He had his back to Victor, but he knew the other man was there all the same.
"I suppose you must have been lured down here by my playing....Because I can't imagine you would have come down here willingly otherwise...." Lucien's eyes were on the dried blood on the floor. The evidence of the atrocity committed by Walter. "I used to play....While Garrett painted, he said he found it inspiring." He didn't really know why he was saying this, why he was giving this stranger who'd woken him, such a glimpse into his life. Perhaps it was the brandy still making its way through his system, or maybe...Because Lucien found himself with no other person to confide in. Garrett was dead, presumably killed by Walter, and Luca was missing, and his family? Long dead by the passing of time. Not that he would have been likely to turn to many of them, had they still been alive.
He was silent for a moment, before taking a deep breath.
"Perhaps you might explain....How you came to paint this particular piece?" Lucien asked pointing at the painting of his own ruined house with the bow of his violin. "You see I find myself....Very interested in it," he added finally turning around. He blinked for a moment as he realised that Victor was standing there wrapped in a blanket. In his current turbulent emotional state he didn't quite know what to make of that. Had he been in a better, more stable mood he might have laughed.
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Post by Grimm on Dec 17, 2018 5:10:31 GMT
Victor listened to Lucien speak, while he ignored the scene near the altar. When Lucien pointed to the painting he spoke of, Victor followed the bow with his eyes to the painting of the ruined home. He could feel the tension in the air and Victor pulled the blanket tighter around himself wishing he could just disappear into its’ warm folds completely. “I painted it 5 or 6 years ago,” Victor walked closer to his old painting. His memory of this one was in a blur, so possessed by the imagery he hadn’t even realized he had first painted it. However, it was one of many he had painted during a long session, including the one of his sisters drowning, which he had since burned - and one that was hidden under a sheet just behind the painting in question. But looking at the painting again with fresh eyes, he recognized the crest on the torn tapestry in the background of the painting.
“I suppose honesty is the best policy. I was always a skeptic myself until recently, so many discoveries lately in the fields of science and invention. I thought perhaps I had some kind of sickness of the mind. My mother knew the truth.” Victor didn’t feel comfortable talking about this. His mother nurtured the sights he saw; claiming that she only ever saw things in her dreams; small things that would come to pass. Walter had learned his secrete, Victor had poured his heart out to the man he though understood his torment, his affliction. Seduced by the promise of company in his lonely existence.
He had only brought this subject up a few times before with strangers, only to have them scoff at his claim. And why shouldn’t they? Had Victor been told that vampires, werewolves and the like existed last month, he too would have had the same attitude. “Some might call it a second-sight, my mother called it clairvoyance. She thought it was a gift from God, I feel like it’s more of a curse. Days on end I would lock myself down here painting, drawing, doing whatever it took to get madness to stop. Images that overwhelm me, halfway in shadow and halfway in light and the only way I can find peace is by putting them to canvas.” Victor studied the painting he had done all those years ago a frown, there was a reason why these paintings were down here - because they were usually upsetting to someone. “Sometimes I understand what it is I am seeing, other times - it’s like this one. A place I have never been to. I painted my sister drowned years before she did, and even mine.”
Victor reached over and pulled a sheet that covered another painting. It was the scene at the altar, the fresh blood splatter, the used and discarded blanket, candles burning low on their last inch of wick and barely lit figure laid in the throws of death. Victor now knew that this painting was of himself during his death or, perhaps more precisely his birth as a vampire. “8 years ago.”
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Post by Behax on Dec 25, 2018 10:22:47 GMT
He blinked again when Victor told him the painting was 5 or 6 years old. His eyes narrowed slightly when Victor said that honesty was the best policy. What the newly turned vampire said next might very well determine what Lucien ultimately decided to do with him. He was quite as Victor revealed his hidden ability, this second sight. He retained a serious look as Victor spoke, at no point scoffing at his claim.
"No wonder Walter was drawn to you....." This made Lucien weary that Walter had left, he couldn't imagine that the old vampire was done with this young man just yet. Not when he had such a gift. It was hardly a common gift, half of those who claimed to be seers, weren't. However the evidence here was absolute. "He probably hoped you'd be the one to find me......If you survived long enough."
He sighed. What a mess he'd been woken up to. Why couldn't Walter just damn well leave him alone. He picked up the sheet Victor had just pulled from the painting of himself, and covered it back up. He didn't need to be told that it was an upsetting thing for the young man to see and speak of.
"Lets speak further upstairs, but here," he spoke, picking up the almost empty brandy, and handing it along with his violin to Victor to carry. Lucien then helped himself to the painting of his own ruined home. He wanted to examine it somewhere better. "I'm bringing this though," he said before carrying it up the stairs first.
He headed to the library he'd passed through earlier.
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Post by Grimm on Dec 27, 2018 1:25:12 GMT
Victor followed Lucien back up to the library, carefully carrying the items he was given while silmtanously keeping the blanket wrapped around him, it was a feat he carried out with a certain grace. “This chamber was once above ground. It was church then owned by my ancestors. It’s been sinking ever since those stone wings were hoisted into place above the altar. And as it sinks, the library grows.” It was evident now emerging from the door that the library’s main floor was indeed sunken and mimicked the size of the chamber below.
Being an ill child his mother had ran out of bedtime stories and had often repeated the story of the DarDariel’s original sin. Hunters so greedy for power they trapped an angel to use as a weapon, what remained of the angel was turned to stone, those remains beautiful wings. Victor now had to wonder if that story was true as well. As an Artist he had often admired the detail of the white stone wings, wondering how the feat had been accomplished by the maker. Mother had always said they were real, she had always been a true believer and he had always thought her a sweet misguided fool.
There was a bit of melancholy that hung around the vampire, placing the violin and the near empty bottle of booze down on the table. It reminded him of his own devices and Victor quickly uncovered a medical kit just like he had near his bed. He took it and his blanket to a near by couch, stepping on to it and sitting down admits the feather downing folds, the kit in his lap.
There was no need to be shy about it, it had first been prescribed and was still supplied to him by his doctor. But they had started trying to outlaw opium, something Victor’s doctor assured him wouldn’t affect his supply. He administered a dose much higher than he usually would have, he had found out that it took more to effect him as a vampire and now there was no worry of dying from an overdose. “So the things in the shadows are real…..what about the other side of things? Angels and the like?”
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Post by Behax on Dec 29, 2018 17:03:34 GMT
Lucien found a good place to rest the painting, and afterwards traced a simple fire rune in the air, using it to light sconces around the room. Sure he and Victor could see in the dark, but having light was still better. He listened to what Victor was saying but offered no immediate comment. Instead he started collecting together the books littered around by Victor's previous search. Mostly he was just tidying the area up, he had little use for most of these tomes. He was going to need a space to work in after all, planning already
He cocked a brow when he finally turned his attention back to the young vampire. He wasn't particularly familiar with opium, particularly when it came to its popularity. That was something which had developed after his induced slumber.
"I don't know. I don't blindly believe in things I haven't seen.....I haven't seen an angel and I haven't seen God. But I have seen monsters....As well as Humans who are worse than them." He explained a little solemnly. Lucien didn't consider Vampires or Werewolves to be things that needed to be eradicated, because he knew that not all of them were evil, and that some people were worse than the most hideous monster.
"More importantly, our more immediate concern is securing a good source of blood for both myself and for you, is there any live stock on your land?"
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Post by Grimm on Dec 31, 2018 21:57:21 GMT
The light bothered his eyes for a moment and he looked away in a sober mood. Surely had he not been so preoccupied with his current state he would have found wonder in Lucien’s use of magic, but now these new things just kept like one more punch in the gut. And to realize the hunter was a sceptic of the divine mythical creatures. He let out a sigh as the weight of the drug lapped over him the gentle warm waves, a warm bath would feel so good and for now, he settled for the warmth of his security blanket. The mention of livestock swung his attention back around to his guest. “A few pigs, a dairy cow, chickens and I guess horse could also be on the menu…” Victor tended to get a bit dark humour when he was depressed.
He had to wonder what all the different blood tasted like, the meat certain tasted different why wouldn’t the taste of the blood. The only other blood he had to compare it to was Lucien's and Masters. Damn that title again, why couldn’t he say the devil's name.
“I don’t know how to live like this.” Victor got up from the couch and walked toward Lucien, his blanket dragging behind him like a regal cape. For whatever reason, he picked up the nearly empty bottle and gave it to the man and turned his attention to the painting that Lucien had found so interesting. “So where is this? Assuming by the crest, your home?” Victor was eyeing his guest, feeling an odd sensation in his body as if he wanted to seduce Lucien.
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Post by Behax on Jan 13, 2019 15:27:28 GMT
Magic was not particularly common, especially among the human masses. There were many, even inside of Lucien's own family who had disproved of his learning of the art, but to the half-vampire he considered it an invaluable tool. As Victor answered his question, Lucien regarded him with some caution. His demeanour had clearly shifted, and his answer had been a bit.....Glib for his liking. Though his answer wasn't completely useless.
The hunter watched as the man stood and approached. He didn't consider Victor a threat, but his instincts told him to be cautious regardless. He took the bottle with a curious expression, and placed it on the table. Alcohol might have been his poison of choice, but he knew when he was better calling it quits....And he'd already drunk quite a lot, on an empty stomach no less.
At Victor's probing he turned his own attention back to the terrible painting. It gave him a sort of dread. "Yes. This.....Is the grand entrance hall of the Bastista ancestral home....Though it didn't look like this when I left it a centenary ago." Lucien had wanted to run from his family, from its responsibilities and expectations. He wanted to return in a time where the name Bastista meant nothing....Yet this depiction of a ruined home....It filled him with a grief he couldn't place. A grief he didn't expect to have.
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Post by Grimm on Jan 14, 2019 5:47:29 GMT
Victor pulled the blanket tightly around him, his body was swimming with the sensation of warmth; but it was as if he was always having to chase it. Like the addiction to the peace that the drugs brung to his vision plagued mind. There was something else plaguing him now and he didn’t quite understand what it was. So he paced the library at a leisurely rate, pulling the blanket even tighter around him if it was even possible.
“One hundred years…yes, I suppose flesh falls and wood rots, nature’s again exposed-“ Victor paused in his influenced speech as he pictured what he had visioned when he had painted that piece. “a beautiful decline.” He had felt the melancholy when he painted it, a despondency with many of his paintings. The visions he painted were rarely ever joyous occasions. When he had completed his circuit, he was once again next to Lucien. “For weeks it felt like I haunted this place, like some cursed soul unable to leave the confines of it’s painted edge.” Victor was off on another round of pacing, chasing the warmth and security in his blanket. The more he tried to remember, the more he felt entrapped in the painting once again. The unnatural green incandescence of his eyes only intensified until they practically glowed when he was using his second-sight, not that he knew it.
“Slowly, gently it falls apart until the world is right.” As Victor walked, each step was if he was in this phantom world. “Ensnared by dust and dirt,” He paused looking around the dreamscape. “all but the things in the chair.” If Lucien searched for the chair in the painting he would find it and indeed the objects in the chair seemed in remarkably good condition in comparison to the things in the rest of the grand entrance hall, and there was a jacket folded across the arm rest that was relatively new.
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Post by Behax on Jan 16, 2019 17:46:45 GMT
Lucien gave the other man a curious expression as he began to speak again. It didn't take him long to realise it wasn't quite Victor who was speaking....It was whatever he became when drugs mixed with his abilities. Victor wouldn't be the first or last person who used drugs to either quiet or enhance what abilities they had. He paid attention to the words spilling from Victor's mouth, occasionally turning his attention back to the painting, while remaining ever aware of where the other man was currently pacing around the room.
His eyes scanned the painting for the chair Victor mentioned. His eyes widened a little when he saw that jacket. He recognised it, saw it practically every day. It was Luca's, and the object sitting upon the chair was a book, a thick leather bound tome.
He pulled away from the painting and the table, he went riffling through the library's shelves, scatting bits of parchment and ancient scrolls as he did until he found what he was looking for. He rolled it out onto the table. It was a map of the area. He didn't know how recent it was, but he recognised some town names. He also realised this map was at least more recent than his memory of the area, as much of what was now attributed to the Dardariel's had once been the Bastista's. Looking at it he worked out the fastest route from where they were to the Bastista estate. It should have occurred to him a little earlier that he should look there at least for signs of Walter.
However he knew he couldn't just rush off there, he hadn't eaten....He wouldn't be able to hold up if something happened, he'd have no strength. A meal was still first priority.
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Post by Grimm on Jan 17, 2019 4:44:13 GMT
Victor stayed on the edge of the vision as it melted away, the grand hallway flowing like sand through the cracks of the library floor. When he arrived back at the couch, he sat himself down watching Lucien riffle through the library shelves. The faint sound of a heartbeat whispering into his ears. He could almost see the heat pulsing through Lucien veins, it looked so inviting. Like the warmth he sought in the folds of his blanket, the arms of his drugs.
Before he knew how he got there, Victor was standing behind Lucien uncomfortably close, his blanket collapsing into the couch. It startled the young vampire enough to snap him out of the trance he found himself under, but it wasn’t enough for him to retreat very far. Instead he rocked backwards on his heel and took a step back feeling a little guilty at the desire he felt for the living Lucien.
“Sorry.” He wasn’t entirely sure what he was apologizing for. Without the security of his blanket Victor felt exposed to the cold nipping at his ivory skin. His porcelain complexion a result of his former life, time outdoors had never agreed with the painter and so he rarely saw it unless siting in the comfort of the sun room. But that too was gone. Disheveled pants hung loosely to his sylphlike frame, his shirt barely clinging to his slender shoulders.
“Why does Master have such an obsession with you?” Again he couldn’t say Walter’s name and it annoyed him to no end, it was even hard to think the name without master being inserted into it’s place. The expression on Victor’s face was numb hiding the anxiety of his behavior by deadening his response to it. It’s how he dealt with tragedies in his life, at some point you become desensitized to the anguish. Had he even cried at his sister’s funeral? He couldn’t remember.
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Post by Behax on Jan 20, 2019 21:57:41 GMT
Lucien hand been leaning over the table looking at the map when he felt Victor's presence suddenly behind him. He stood straight in an instant. Lucien regarded the young vampire with weariness. Perhaps he needed to consider Victor more of a threat than he had been? Hunger could make vampire's in general volatile in unpredictable ways...Particularly newlings. ...He'd left his blades somewhere else....Not that he wanted to use them against Victor. He was after all a victim in this.
"It's....fine," Lucien said turning his attention to Victor. He wore a baggy white shirt, with an open V-neck and wide collar, tucked into high waisted trousers. The mark from where Victor had previously bitten him was still there, plain as day on his neck. He looked thoughtful at Victor's question and thought best how to answer it.
"Putting it simply he's a collector with a curious mind. I think at first he was merely interested because of what I am. Dhampires aren't common, and most that there are end up the pets or meals of older, stronger Vampires. The more I eluded or thwarted Walter the more obsessed he seemed to grow," Lucien explained.
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Post by Grimm on Feb 1, 2019 4:57:53 GMT
Victor had wanted to understand more about Walter, especially when the time came to face the Vampire Master. The young man wasn’t exactly the scheming type, but he was smart and resourceful when he needed to be; there was no way he could go toe to toe with someone like Walter or even with Lucien. The vampire wasn’t aware he was looking at Lucien with a dead stare like a hungry cat does to a concerned mouse. He could hear it pumping through his veins, that warm fresh delicious blood. He was so hungry again, it was growing in intensity.
An innocent step forward and another, Victor had once again invaded Lucien’s personal space, the painter so close he could smell the alcohol on the dhampire’s breath. “Am I part of his collection now?” Bright green eyes had not enough craft to color the distress he felt inside, even if the mask he wore said otherwise. Not quite understanding what his body was doing, he leaned forward his lips seeking out those of Lucien’s if he would accept him.
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