No jokes about who let out the dogs, please. [CLOSED]
Who; Elena and an immense dog
What; Don't go inviting him into your home
Where; Housing district
When; When all events are said and done
Rating; Creepy...rating?
Status; Ongoing; closed
The amount of incessant whining that the human species did never failed to cause Vlad some grief.
And not for his own lost humanity, or for the lost comforts of proper emotions, or the want for his full death. Not for the shriveled muscle that no longer beat, and definitely not for his soul, black as night and deeper than an abyss in the recurring nightmares of any individual's imagination. No, there was no mourning that. But there was mourning for a dog who, public opinion would have seem to have, adopted. A dog born from every paranoid delusion and fear a seaman could ever express or have. The dog aboard the Demeter, the last vestige of life upon a ship lost to the wiles of mysticism and the sea. The ship's captain, hailed a hero, the dog to be found, hopefully, before starvation could claim him. A dog to be treated with kindness and respect, given choice meats and proper water.
A dog that was once a man. A human being, like the majority of people stuck in the land of the dead. But still, not a man. Nosferatu was putting it nicely.
So many vampires. So many failures. So many reasons to return home, and then to return to Romania, and then to take eternal life from his brides. Hundreds? No, no. That could not be. Vlad had never intended to leave his homeland and populate the world with his kind. Then what would he be? And if his brides, those he had blessed, were already defiant and perverse against his wish, what would more of his breed do? Kill him. Hunt him down with fire, with pitchfork, with murderous intent and religious zeal, to his home, to end his life.
No. He did not wish that.
Here, he still needed that sweet, sweet life source. That sweet blood of the twisted innocents-dear Lucy, so wanton in her dreams and fantasies, as pure as driven snow against his touch...whichever it was that he was that was touching him.
Indeed, a white figure had shone between cracks of cloud and moon, fitfully reclining on a bench that smelled of old men and fine women, a dark figure leaned against it.
No sky to be found. No tumultuous weather. Not a moon, a sun, or a star. How very freeing this place was, if only in that regard.
Not a lot of wildlife either.
But there was a strange dog to be found.
Simply sitting, his tail occasionally tump tump tump-ing against the earth underneath the earth of the living, the earth of the dead. The world beneath the world, ah. Vlad could go on.
Oddly enough, Number One would most likely be the first to find him. It wasn't like he was interested in many others, and simply thinking them to not notice him wasn't at all a very taxing thing to do.
There was a dog.
Waiting for her.
Right there, right where that man who was not a man-
...right where the devil in the flesh had told her she would find such a dog.
What; Don't go inviting him into your home
Where; Housing district
When; When all events are said and done
Rating; Creepy...rating?
Status; Ongoing; closed
The amount of incessant whining that the human species did never failed to cause Vlad some grief.
And not for his own lost humanity, or for the lost comforts of proper emotions, or the want for his full death. Not for the shriveled muscle that no longer beat, and definitely not for his soul, black as night and deeper than an abyss in the recurring nightmares of any individual's imagination. No, there was no mourning that. But there was mourning for a dog who, public opinion would have seem to have, adopted. A dog born from every paranoid delusion and fear a seaman could ever express or have. The dog aboard the Demeter, the last vestige of life upon a ship lost to the wiles of mysticism and the sea. The ship's captain, hailed a hero, the dog to be found, hopefully, before starvation could claim him. A dog to be treated with kindness and respect, given choice meats and proper water.
A dog that was once a man. A human being, like the majority of people stuck in the land of the dead. But still, not a man. Nosferatu was putting it nicely.
So many vampires. So many failures. So many reasons to return home, and then to return to Romania, and then to take eternal life from his brides. Hundreds? No, no. That could not be. Vlad had never intended to leave his homeland and populate the world with his kind. Then what would he be? And if his brides, those he had blessed, were already defiant and perverse against his wish, what would more of his breed do? Kill him. Hunt him down with fire, with pitchfork, with murderous intent and religious zeal, to his home, to end his life.
No. He did not wish that.
Here, he still needed that sweet, sweet life source. That sweet blood of the twisted innocents-dear Lucy, so wanton in her dreams and fantasies, as pure as driven snow against his touch...whichever it was that he was that was touching him.
Indeed, a white figure had shone between cracks of cloud and moon, fitfully reclining on a bench that smelled of old men and fine women, a dark figure leaned against it.
No sky to be found. No tumultuous weather. Not a moon, a sun, or a star. How very freeing this place was, if only in that regard.
Not a lot of wildlife either.
But there was a strange dog to be found.
Simply sitting, his tail occasionally tump tump tump-ing against the earth underneath the earth of the living, the earth of the dead. The world beneath the world, ah. Vlad could go on.
Oddly enough, Number One would most likely be the first to find him. It wasn't like he was interested in many others, and simply thinking them to not notice him wasn't at all a very taxing thing to do.
There was a dog.
Waiting for her.
Right there, right where that man who was not a man-
...right where the devil in the flesh had told her she would find such a dog.