Garden Party
She could hear the plants, the capillary action of water and nutrient flowing up from roots to leaves, storing, waiting for the dawn, as she wrapped her arms around the bishop. So lost. So grown into the delusions of others. Not enough to be what you are, no, you have to think that God made you extra special. Has to have a holy meaning. Can't just be the consequence of your sire's choice.
She could hear them moving as they spoke, the shifts that belied their reactions. The wanna be bad-boy Acolyte, whose posing revealed how cool he thought he was. Clearly the sort of loser who thought that animal sacrifice and fucking anything with or without a pulse made him hot stuff. The hierophant sitting silently, watching foolishness drip out of his mouth like bloody vomit. In any other city, he'd be planting the seeds of his own tribulation. Here, he was tolerated.
The movement of shadows, and she spotted the bat in the garden. She could feel the beast off of it, and she paused, listening to the roar of the beast inside of her, the pounding of the monster in her soul. After what she had gone through in Chicago for a subtler offense... she was ready to kill the gangrel then and there. An example. She rode it for four seconds... no, five. Then she pushed it away. She'd give Malapek a chance to make him suffer for it, before she took it into her own hands. Courtesy to her covenant-mate.
The overwhelming perfume of the roses, the sound of steel cutting through the night. The scent of blood waiting behind an open wound washing through the roses... she enjoyed it, watching them dance, until Elliot forced Caster to yield. She rose and smiled, "May I challenge the winner?" The feel of her conciousness deep in her body, the slight weight of the rapier in her hand. He was a master, but she would give him a run for his money, at least for a while. One evasion after another, her style was taken bit by bit from her teachers, creating a uniquely Carthian blend. She lasted as long as Caster had.
Sensing a moment for risk, she allowed them into her haven to change, and in Caster's case, shower to get the blood off. She could do no less, seeing the desperately uncomfortable look on the other woman's face. She found it ironic that with these two, there was briefly no need for pretense at all.
She could hear them moving as they spoke, the shifts that belied their reactions. The wanna be bad-boy Acolyte, whose posing revealed how cool he thought he was. Clearly the sort of loser who thought that animal sacrifice and fucking anything with or without a pulse made him hot stuff. The hierophant sitting silently, watching foolishness drip out of his mouth like bloody vomit. In any other city, he'd be planting the seeds of his own tribulation. Here, he was tolerated.
The movement of shadows, and she spotted the bat in the garden. She could feel the beast off of it, and she paused, listening to the roar of the beast inside of her, the pounding of the monster in her soul. After what she had gone through in Chicago for a subtler offense... she was ready to kill the gangrel then and there. An example. She rode it for four seconds... no, five. Then she pushed it away. She'd give Malapek a chance to make him suffer for it, before she took it into her own hands. Courtesy to her covenant-mate.
The overwhelming perfume of the roses, the sound of steel cutting through the night. The scent of blood waiting behind an open wound washing through the roses... she enjoyed it, watching them dance, until Elliot forced Caster to yield. She rose and smiled, "May I challenge the winner?" The feel of her conciousness deep in her body, the slight weight of the rapier in her hand. He was a master, but she would give him a run for his money, at least for a while. One evasion after another, her style was taken bit by bit from her teachers, creating a uniquely Carthian blend. She lasted as long as Caster had.
Sensing a moment for risk, she allowed them into her haven to change, and in Caster's case, shower to get the blood off. She could do no less, seeing the desperately uncomfortable look on the other woman's face. She found it ironic that with these two, there was briefly no need for pretense at all.