Requiem: [Ava] A game of you.
“Tell me, Evangeline, as a survivor, is this how you intend to spend your eternity?”
Pause.
“--kneeling before your betters?”
Gadriel’s voice is quiet and matter of fact. Always. Instructive, with trace amounts of curiosity. She did not expect him to use the Lord’s voice on her, the shock of it so clearly emphasized by the patient tone. Her teeth clenched mildly even as stocking covered knees scrambled from the floor [..I hate you right now.] Those two toned colored eyes flashed daggers, behind the need to remain calm.
Her teeth bite hard into her lower lip. But the truth was by all accounts he was stronger than her, more than capable of leaving ash where she stands. She’s never seen it herself, but there are rumours. [..another convenient solution to the problem...] She is silent rage.
Gadriel watches her closely. His head inclining forward as if take take her temperature with his eyes."Well? Is kneeling how you will survive?" The words are snarled out, his hand shooting out and grabbing her by the throat while his other had slaps against the side of her face. Crudely, his thumb pushes up her lip, revealing her teeth. "Do you even have fangs?! Answer the fucking questions, tiny vampire!"
Evangeline is livid - and even then here another [liquid-nitrogen-on-tap] part calculates. That understands this vulgar attempt at incitement. Rigid fingers that could force her beast to roll over and play fetch, should she require it. It is not her anger he baits but cold curiosity […and what would happen If I let go? ] It is shock, as he reaches for her throat his fingers moving to her fangs, her feet barely on he ground. And she […of course, you’ll never know unless you--] looses it, pushing blood to her arms as she grabs him as well sinking those fangs into his fingers and biting down HARD. So that orphaned digits slide out of the sides of her mouth leaving only their mangled brothers clamped vice-like between her lips.
Only she doesn't stop, it is not controlled, and yes, even scholars can rage, can frenzy, can be filled with the urge to rip off your head to taste the sweet vitae below. And its always the quiet ones that bite the hardest. Gadriel growls but does not move his hand. Instead, a dagger seems to appear out nowhere and get driven up into her mouth under her chin-bone.
With a snarl he whispers, "Finally, there may be some fight in you afterall."
It.
Sees.
Red.
Over rooftops, across the unending chasms in her mind as the dagger is driven upward. through the flesh and cartilage as the bottom of her mouth, the sickening sound of ripping and slicing even as her head is pushed back. Gadriel's bloodied hand drips against the ivory colored silk of her blouse.
The muted roar vanishes into rhythmic words, as her blood co-mingles with his.
He knows the voodoisant don't play nice. Like any good Cajun boy, he knows blood and hoodoo women shouldn't mix - especially when its yours. So, when the first feathered stirrings of hunger appear, he might think its only due to the struggle. Due to the keening scenes of the beast, and its appetite for destruction. But then it grows…
This way leads to madness.
Gadriel rips the blade free sideways from her face, the blade dragging down, leaving a deep gouge on the inside of her jawbone as it tears free of her throat. His muscles flex and with his other hand he hefts her up from the ground, slamming her head against a wall.
He leans in close, showing his glistening fangs. "Is this what you want, tiny vampire? An ignoble death, devoured by your betters to reclaim the blood that was wasted on your sire?! Do you want me hungry so that I will sup upon your soul, or do you want to learn to have the strength to fight your own battles?"
Gadriel watches her for a moment, his jet black eyes darting strangely around, reflecting the blood seeping from her throat and he leans close. His fangs drag raggedly across her throat, pinching but not actually breaking the skin, until they brush against the poisonous wound.
Suddenly, he rears back and flings her across the room into the wall.
"Make your choice. Decide if you will be strong enough to deny the world, to put it to the sword, or if you will cower and kneel out of fear for your unlife."
He does not leave, but he turns his back to her, so that she could leave through the door without ever meeting his gaze. Quietly, he lights up a cigarette, taking a deep drag.
Petit.
The little one. That is what she was often called, even by those closest to her. It never bothered Evangeline to be the small one, it never seemed like an insult - until now. His word slice deeper than the dagger that carved a groove against the curve of her jawbone, and hit their mark each time--
Loathing bursts as glistening fangs leer toward her [Sweet sweet hunter smile.] But her eyes never rim red she watches the predator as if behind glass wondering if his emotion all of it contrived, knowing the hunger was not the hot red sizzle that glowed in the base of his belly and burned it way up toward the brain.
Now that - that hunger is real Gadriel.
[The rest is just strategy.]
The single satisfied thought in unaccompanied as she is flung across the room those shoes leaving the ground entirely. Crumples like paper in the act. Her reflexes [..Shadows are not slow.] allow her time enough to balance and brace, for the inevitable collision of limbs against the wall opposite. That sickening thud of a body's weight of force impacting with the wall and she slides downwards back to her feet.
Evangeline exhales her fingers played shakily across her face.
Her voice is quiet, "Gadriel?"
Her eyes stared at the floor, but both were well aware of everything occurring in that room. Ava's fingers pull at the blood now congealing against the cold skin of her neck. The wounds reknit themselves idly and she looks at the door and back to the other larger cajun.
[Creole] "I am tired of being afraid."
"Then stick with me and I'll show you how to navigate this field." Alex turns around, serious and seemingly oblivious to the blood smeared across his face.
"--But first I need to go feed."
~~
Pause.
“--kneeling before your betters?”
Gadriel’s voice is quiet and matter of fact. Always. Instructive, with trace amounts of curiosity. She did not expect him to use the Lord’s voice on her, the shock of it so clearly emphasized by the patient tone. Her teeth clenched mildly even as stocking covered knees scrambled from the floor [..I hate you right now.] Those two toned colored eyes flashed daggers, behind the need to remain calm.
Her teeth bite hard into her lower lip. But the truth was by all accounts he was stronger than her, more than capable of leaving ash where she stands. She’s never seen it herself, but there are rumours. [..another convenient solution to the problem...] She is silent rage.
Gadriel watches her closely. His head inclining forward as if take take her temperature with his eyes."Well? Is kneeling how you will survive?" The words are snarled out, his hand shooting out and grabbing her by the throat while his other had slaps against the side of her face. Crudely, his thumb pushes up her lip, revealing her teeth. "Do you even have fangs?! Answer the fucking questions, tiny vampire!"
Evangeline is livid - and even then here another [liquid-nitrogen-on-tap] part calculates. That understands this vulgar attempt at incitement. Rigid fingers that could force her beast to roll over and play fetch, should she require it. It is not her anger he baits but cold curiosity […and what would happen If I let go? ] It is shock, as he reaches for her throat his fingers moving to her fangs, her feet barely on he ground. And she […of course, you’ll never know unless you--] looses it, pushing blood to her arms as she grabs him as well sinking those fangs into his fingers and biting down HARD. So that orphaned digits slide out of the sides of her mouth leaving only their mangled brothers clamped vice-like between her lips.
Only she doesn't stop, it is not controlled, and yes, even scholars can rage, can frenzy, can be filled with the urge to rip off your head to taste the sweet vitae below. And its always the quiet ones that bite the hardest. Gadriel growls but does not move his hand. Instead, a dagger seems to appear out nowhere and get driven up into her mouth under her chin-bone.
With a snarl he whispers, "Finally, there may be some fight in you afterall."
It.
Sees.
Red.
Over rooftops, across the unending chasms in her mind as the dagger is driven upward. through the flesh and cartilage as the bottom of her mouth, the sickening sound of ripping and slicing even as her head is pushed back. Gadriel's bloodied hand drips against the ivory colored silk of her blouse.
The muted roar vanishes into rhythmic words, as her blood co-mingles with his.
He knows the voodoisant don't play nice. Like any good Cajun boy, he knows blood and hoodoo women shouldn't mix - especially when its yours. So, when the first feathered stirrings of hunger appear, he might think its only due to the struggle. Due to the keening scenes of the beast, and its appetite for destruction. But then it grows…
This way leads to madness.
Gadriel rips the blade free sideways from her face, the blade dragging down, leaving a deep gouge on the inside of her jawbone as it tears free of her throat. His muscles flex and with his other hand he hefts her up from the ground, slamming her head against a wall.
He leans in close, showing his glistening fangs. "Is this what you want, tiny vampire? An ignoble death, devoured by your betters to reclaim the blood that was wasted on your sire?! Do you want me hungry so that I will sup upon your soul, or do you want to learn to have the strength to fight your own battles?"
Gadriel watches her for a moment, his jet black eyes darting strangely around, reflecting the blood seeping from her throat and he leans close. His fangs drag raggedly across her throat, pinching but not actually breaking the skin, until they brush against the poisonous wound.
Suddenly, he rears back and flings her across the room into the wall.
"Make your choice. Decide if you will be strong enough to deny the world, to put it to the sword, or if you will cower and kneel out of fear for your unlife."
He does not leave, but he turns his back to her, so that she could leave through the door without ever meeting his gaze. Quietly, he lights up a cigarette, taking a deep drag.
Petit.
The little one. That is what she was often called, even by those closest to her. It never bothered Evangeline to be the small one, it never seemed like an insult - until now. His word slice deeper than the dagger that carved a groove against the curve of her jawbone, and hit their mark each time--
Loathing bursts as glistening fangs leer toward her [Sweet sweet hunter smile.] But her eyes never rim red she watches the predator as if behind glass wondering if his emotion all of it contrived, knowing the hunger was not the hot red sizzle that glowed in the base of his belly and burned it way up toward the brain.
Now that - that hunger is real Gadriel.
[The rest is just strategy.]
The single satisfied thought in unaccompanied as she is flung across the room those shoes leaving the ground entirely. Crumples like paper in the act. Her reflexes [..Shadows are not slow.] allow her time enough to balance and brace, for the inevitable collision of limbs against the wall opposite. That sickening thud of a body's weight of force impacting with the wall and she slides downwards back to her feet.
Evangeline exhales her fingers played shakily across her face.
Her voice is quiet, "Gadriel?"
Her eyes stared at the floor, but both were well aware of everything occurring in that room. Ava's fingers pull at the blood now congealing against the cold skin of her neck. The wounds reknit themselves idly and she looks at the door and back to the other larger cajun.
[Creole] "I am tired of being afraid."
"Then stick with me and I'll show you how to navigate this field." Alex turns around, serious and seemingly oblivious to the blood smeared across his face.
"--But first I need to go feed."
~~