she laughs like god

          “I know….I know,” Dianna does not pertain to anger much in her life, she’s never found herself imbued with aggravation but it consumes her now in tandem with the hunger that resounds in her stomach, mixes with the grief in her heart and protrudes as a weapon. She’s unsure of who would be caught in the collateral of her grief but in the moment, swept up within it all, she’s not particularly concerned, only grounded as Amala’s forehead touches against hers in a rare display of softness from the Senator of Pluto. She doesn’t mean to crumble their relationship, it’s not like Dianna to fall apart, she’s kept it together for so long, but the mention of the marshal’s has her spiraling in a sad legato, “The marshal’s are already incapable! Amala, all of this, is too far out of our reach, we….” She shakes her head, then nods as though there’s this autonomous inner voice quelling her with reasoning, “We have to go,” she resonates Amala’s words, a deep sigh escaping her as she stands tall. “Please don’t stay this time,” it’s stated as is but translates to the matter that she can’t lose her too, she won’t.

Dianna is right. She was right and that is why they had to move. “There’s so many ways out of here.” It’s not right to ignore her plea, it’s really not. It’s been months and she can’t think about Halloween, butt especially not now when she knows those witches have to be around here somewhere. Amala wonders if they had a hand in this, too. If they’d slipped in and the leech had been with them the whole time. The thought makes her jaw set but the thought is there and gone when the blonde straightens up. “We’re going to have to split up, but listen to me, you will meet me at your doorstep later. I promise you that.” Forehead still to Dianna’s, her head tips and their mouths meet and there is nothing soft about it, it is desperate, it is a promise. “I have to look for something. I can’t leave without it. But the room that held the ceremony, there’s passages for the Pope to escape. You have to go.” She can’t just go, not withoutt first dealing with things herself, not without setting things right. She’ll never forgive herself if she doesn’t, no matter what it cost. “I won’t be too far behind.” 

          Dianna’s kindness was a weapon, her shield, the sentiment abandoned as the fervor of the evening clouded her senses. She’d always been a pragmatic woman, vampire, one who did not let the gluttony of vampirism consume her but to see Elmira’s listless body cracked and fragmented something with in her. She was addled further by the miasma of different blood, a vertiginous and unrelenting bout of fey, druid, vampire, witches; all their blood amalgamated into a potent enchantment. “The bride is dead,” her voice is faraway, saddled with grief but resounding so cold amidst the cacophony of screams and snarls. “It’s her wedding night and she’s dead,” it’d sounded so impersonal as though Elmira wasn’t a kindred spirit, a pillar of softness within a community so pigeonholed by savagery.

“Love, we have to go.” It hurts her to say it, to disregard the obvious pain the blonde is in. Amala didn’t know the queen consort personally, she knew that she was a pillar in the community, that she’d bought flowers from her for every party she threw. Way back when, she’d thought Venus vampires were predispositioned to be softer, kind, she thought that’s why they’d been the ones to befriend the fey. There’s tears in her eyes that she refuses to acknowledge as her hands move from Dianna’s face and go to the side of her neck, her shoulders. Because Dianna might not be of the Venus bloodline, but she was like that, she was softer, she was kind. And Amala had been declawed long ago, that’s what everyone whispered, that’s what she believed after the Palace of Pluto had fallen. She could not protect them from what had no doubt been the leech, not even with an itch at the back of her throat, in her fingers. She was fighting every instinct not to tear someone apart, to join the fray. Dianna first, she could save one person and it wasn’t going to be herself. “It could be any one of us next, we can’t stay.” In a last attempt at sweetness, a moment of grief for the fallen bride, the friend of someone important to her, her forehead nudges against the other woman’s gently as tears well up in her own eyes. Frustration, it’s not sadness, it’s not grief that drives her. It’s her lack of control on the situation, if the leech was dead, if the marshal’s had been able to find it, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. They’d be having a different conversation, perhaps shedding different tears. “If this escalates, the marshal’s won’t be able to contain it.”

“Did you-?” Ezekiel doesn’t know how to ask this, he ignored her question entirely along with her explanation. That wasn’t what he meant and there’s a part of him that suspects that she knows this. The vampire had started to put two and two together but what Ezekiel didn’t understand was why. Why would she have done this to him? He remembered who killed him, or rather, who left him for dead… What he remembered next was the sound of footprints. Tsking. Was this her way of saving him, or cursing him? “Why did you do it?” The vampire asked instead, blue eyes searching unknowable irises for any indication of the truth. She’d broken the law when she hasn’t stayed by his side. He killed someone because of her. Was this just some sort of game?

-

She could make up an excuse, she could turn around and leave, it was a wedding, she was a senator, she had mingling to do. But Amala owed him, and she’d been fooling herself to think that she could just walk away from a progeny. “You’re so young.” And she doesn’t walk away from him then and there, looks to him with genuine sincerity in her voice. “And you were one of them.” An Amaranthus witch, part of the coven that was practically archaic in practice. It’d crossed her mind to free him from that and instead make him something she thought was better and if he didn’t think she’d bestowed a gift upon him, she’d at least give him another shot at life. “I couldn’t let you die there. But if I came out as your sire it’d looked planned. Things are already so tense with the witches. I knew you were in good hands. I thought one day we’d talk.” Rhia had taken care of him because of course she had, the woman was one of her oldest friends and one of the fiercest vampires she’d come to know. “But I also didn’t want you to have to be the progeny of a senator.” Held to a high standard, perhaps watched too closely, scrutinized for any decision he made and it’d all come back to her. It wouldn’t be fair for a fledgling, it wasn’t fair for a young man who’d been given another shot. 

augustcavaliere·:

The whole thing was very entertaining, August, to no one’s surprise, was really enjoying himself. Vampires were easier to manipulate when they were in a frenzy and there was nothing quite so soothing as watching a harpy blow someone’s head up with a scream, or seeing a lion shred someone to pieces. The Asphodel had had their fun, crashed the wedding that in the end didn’t even need them to make it exciting, the vampires were poised to do that all by themselves. 

“Me.” 

August said dramatically, gasping as his hand clutched his chest, the vampire was a senator. Worth killing. Worth humiliating. Worth reminding that no matter what they did, the Asphodel were going to crush the senate underneath their boot. “I mean, you’re welcome to try: a walking corpse cornering a necromancer, you clearly thought this one through.” The witch observed, blood ran down from her teeth but she wasn’t like the others, no, she was hateful and vengeful. The senator was only using this frenzy as a cover. That was something August could appreciate. With a gesture he used destruction to fling her against the wall, with a few curt words he transmuted the church’s gilding to entwine around the vampire’s limbs like golden snakes, fixing her in place as they turned solid and bound her there. 

“So many dramatics, you really know how to throw a killer fucking party.” August was so funny, he was sure she’d appreciate that one. “Lucretia!” The witch called out, knowing full well how the chimera would feel if he left her out of this. “Come watch me turn this senator into a terror!” When he was done Amala wouldn’t be able to harm him, she’d have her life again, but she wouldn’t be a vampire. His sense of humor knew no bounds. 

@lulucretias·

The vampires were losing their minds, but that didn’t much matter to Lucretia. Her reasoning for being at this wedding in the first place was chaotic in nature. She liked to cause problems. Plus, August had technically invited her to this thing. When he had suggested matching, she had immediately taken it into consideration and then threw it right into the metaphorical garbage can. Hence why she was wearing green and had somewhat suggested that Bebe do the same even though the demon was not at all allowed into the Vatican. But it was amusing to see the look on the witch’s face when she had showed up not matching with him. He had a boyfriend. They could enjoy their own little matching moment together with August’s stupid little crown.

Nevertheless, the vampires. They were indeed thirsty and she was not letting herself get bitten. If they tried, they would be in for a rude awakening when she did one little simple scream. No matter how out of control they were, she was not going to excuse them. They should have been more prepared for a situation such as this. That was their own fault they were all so feral. She was just swerving out of the way of one when she heard her name getting called. There was her dear August finally involving her in something she could enjoy. It was probably just to get on her good side after the slight, but she would take it.

She ran over to where he was to stand near him. Then she looked over at said senator and tilted her head. “Oh no, she’s hot.” Her arms folded over her chest. “I think the terror thing might suit her. Please do continue. Can’t just make empty threats.”

It’d been a mistake to give them time to speak at all. Witches were entitled, dramatic, could he not be smug enough already? Had they not taken enough from her? Amala thrashes against the metal, cursing herself for not just going for them when she’d had the chance. The years had made her softer, dulled the claws that used to defend her home. She knew what people called her, the snide whisperings of ‘sellout’, that she’d once had so much promise, so much fight in her. Maybe she deserved this after all, not death but becoming something far worse than what she was now. “You’re going to wish you killed me!” She hisses, eyes narrowed and going back and forth between both Asphodel coven members. That’d been their mistake the first time, leaving her in the broken ruins of her home, giving her time to seethe, to unravel. “I will come back worse.”  It was a promise, not just to them, but to herself. She’d done it once, she’d do it again, and again, and again, until she finally felt satisfied, until she could finally protect what was hers. 

This old world sounded nice, though the fact that there was no wifi or indoor plumbing was kind of a turnoff for him. As it was he did what he wanted when he wanted: Ezekiel wasn’t as stupid as everyone thought he was, at least not dumb enough to think that this life didn’t come with an expiry date. Rome would run its course and he’d move onto the next place, then the next, but immortality? Forever? What was the point in having all this strength if he didn’t take full advantage, it would all come crashing down when it all came crashing down. “But did they have Gucci slides? Doubts.”

Rhiannon was a marshal, for vampires Ezekiel had always thought that was some kind of brass ring. He’d wanted it, once, when he was a witch. “I used to imagine the day that The Crown would tap me to make me a marshal, then a watcher. That I’d do enough to impress them and they’d make me-” feel something, doesn’t come out. The truth was Ezekiel wasn’t sure why he was being so honest, maybe because something in the other was inspiring as much from him. She seemed more vulnerable than Ezekiel remembered Amala being at the party, like something within her had quietly worn away that night. It only occurred to him then that she’d watched the home that she was so proud of get levelled by a few witches on a power trip - the Asphodel - they were everything that Ezekiel had been raised to hate. Even now that the Amaranthus was behind him their dogma about blood magic was firmly rooted into his core, he couldn’t just shake it. “the point is… it’s stupid, all of it. I don’t care about that shit anymore. So don’t worry, you won’t be seeing my resume anytime soon.” 

Gucci slides, she was talking about how she lowkey wanted to tear people to pieces and he was bringing up absurdities. Though he did have a fair point, she’d admit that. She loved her little luxuries the current century had to offer her and there’s this little pang in her chest despite the light laugh that escapes her. “They didn’t have Donatella Versace either, they all must have looked terrible.” It’s not a quip she’d make to somebody who wasn’t close to her normally, but Ezekiel was closer to her than he knew. The laughter, her smile, it falls away as he speaks of his time in the Amaranthus, about the Crown. Amala owes it to him to listen about the life she’d taken from him. “Good. You’ve got centuries ahead of you, do something you’ve always wanted to do. Travel, fall in love with a person or two. The world’s yours.” It’s something she wished her sire, the little group of women all the way back in Delhi, would have told her. Maybe with the palace being reconstructed, she’d take a moment to listen to her own advice. “And I’m here to help, technically. The whole Pluto bloodline, I’d like to think we try to take care of our own.” It won’t fix anything for him, it doesn’t absolve her of what she’s done, but she couldn’t bring herself to be cruel enough to outright abandon him. “You know where to find me.” And maybe one day he would need her and she’d come running.

Amala Singh

“Or what, you’re going to call the marshals on me? Last I checked you guys had bigger problems.” It was a low blow considering the attack had taken place in Amala’s home, the place that the younger of the two vampires hadn’t returned to since that night. It wasn’t because of the massacre, it was the looks the others had given him - he didn’t belong there. Ezekiel had felt it in the disapproving and judgemental looks that were oh so similar to the way the witches of the Amaranthus had once looked at him. Except maybe for Hazal. Amala was no different, she was a creature that looked at all the world like it was beneath her - in a way she reminded him of a defanged version of Rhiannon. Ezekiel supposed that’s why people called the pluto senator a sellout when she was out of earshot.

Small talk doesn’t exactly get him going but there’s something about the other that keeps him rooted instead of just brushing past the matriarch of the bloodline, maybe for now he’d chalk it up to his mommy issues and leave it at that. “Probably for the best,” the vampire said with a sigh from dead lungs, “he’ll probably be dead soon anyways. Never tastes the same once the heart stops pumping.” Ezekiel said simply, “Only the ones that I want to.” Ezekiel said with something of a rueful smile, control wasn’t something he’d mastered, but mostly because the vampire had no real desire to master it. He had a good nose for blood, Ezekiel had learned that much at least.

-

This is not the same fool she’d dealt with the evening of Halloween and while the barb does sting, Amala’s brows raise in surprise. And then her lips curl into a smile that’s sickly sweet. Maybe she’d chosen correctly after all, maybe this could be something. The Amaranthus had surely seen potential in him and she did too, more so now than before. It would be stupid to discard him and even if he was useless, she didn’t entirely think she could just let him go on his merry way without some involvement.  “It used to be much easier.” There’s a cheery kind of coldness to her voice, her smile reaches all the way up to her eyes. It’s genuine, it’s too happy of a thought to wax on about without feeling some kind of elation. “For our kind to be in this world. It is a shame neither of us got to see it that way. We did not need meetings with witches or wolves to make decisions. Even when I was a fledgling, I feel like we were more likely to look away.” And now they meddled. Now witches invaded her home. Her home that she’d defended with dull claws and teeth in comparison to how sharp they’d once been. “Do us both a favor, don’t become a marshal. Enjoy this for yourself.” It’s what she wants for him, freedom to be able to do what he wants. Maybe deep down that’s why she’d done it, not to be petty towards the Amaranthus witches, but she’d wanted to liberate something if she couldn’t free herself. “I’m surprised you’ve stuck to Rome.” 

          “That is exactly what I’ve been dying to hear from you,” Dianna teased with a grin of her own, one that hinted at a rare penchant for mischief. They had endured enough under the thumb of the Senate and yet in the same breath Dianna was considering nominating herself as one of the Pluto marshals, as if it was possible for the two of them together to clean up the mess that had been made of its rankings. Dianna always toed the line of what was morally acceptable, she was as lawfully neutral as one could be, but with the Pluto house destroyed and a heedless nemesis on the horizon, it paid to slack off a bit and enjoy what time they’d have left of each other if things were to turn awry. She never liked to imagine the worst happening to them but they’d come much too close to such possibility and if her heart could beat it’d likely be skipping along in her chest in a splintering crescendo. “If you wanted to get really crazy we could always skip out of here to that fey party, but I’m imaging you to be a bit of a chicken,” she mercilessly winked as if the Pluto Senator would balk at such idea.

It’s not like she hadn’t heard about it, the party the fey were hosting in their little forest. Before Titania’s masquerade, she’d been curious about the queen, a woman who had sat on a throne for years and years. People told stories of her, it was hard not to admire such a woman, one with the wisdom and power to rule. And yet she’d hurt them, or in actuality, they’d been too blinded by the Otherworld to really pay attention to what was happening around them. The forest wasn’t going to be like that and she knows that thinking their kind and the fey could be friends was a Venus thing, but with Dianna like this.... “We should go.” Amala says and she leans towards the blonde as if she’s telling her a secret, as if she wasn’t supposed to want to go. “At the masquerade, I saw a room full of snow, it was beautiful. If it’s anything like that, I’d like to see it.” She’d stood there in the room where snow fell on stone while the realm was thrown into chaos. Something about it had been so serene. Being with Dianna was like being in that room, somehow calm and beautiful despite everything falling apart around her. “But I do have a single request.” They’re still so close, probably too close to just be before the market, so out in the open, but nothing else matters in the moment. 

          “For me? Wonderful,” tDianna pauses, imbued with mirth and keen to illicit a certain trepidation in Amala over her decision. Dianna was forced into a path of self discovery in addition to being a newly transformed vampire when initially turned. She had spent the entirety of her mortal life within the confines of a nun commune and hadn’t ever really lived, never dared to venture outside the comfort zone which had been allotted to her. There was a myth, or maybe it was a fact, Dianna wasn’t entirely sure; that provoked the idea that vampires were meant to be soulless entities. Something went wrong in the exchange, maybe, but no matter the deciphered facts; it was quite clear that Dianna’s vigor hadn’t waned even as years rallied on. Her soul was a sun, vivid and incandescent, a reminder of hope that had been squashed for plenty upon their route to vampirism. She had only allowed such change to embolden her life and supply it with everything she had been absent of before it all. It was funny, how death had granted all of her wishes and desires. Death now cradled her cheeks and never had the embodiment of a plague been so captivating, a drunken laugh escaping Dianna again. “For you? A very dangerous game that has been started.”

“Public appearances be dammed, I want to be drunk.” There’s just a little bit of a playful lilt to her tone but she means it. She’s ancient by her own standards, she knows what it’s going to take to get her there. On the public appearance front, could anyone blame her? Amala had been on her best behavior considering her home had been destroyed and every evening she went back to it’s ruins. It had taken everything in her not to march to the “House of Asphodel” and simply just eliminate the witches that’d wreaked havoc. Dianna had been a reason not to do just that, if she hadn’t seen her at the end of that fateful evening, things might have taken a different turn. Justice would be served, it wasn’t the kind she wanted, but something would happen inevitably. For now she could focus on the woman before her, focus on giving her a good holiday. “I don’t usually drink anything harder than wine, but I’m open to new experiences.” Her forehead presses to Dianna’s and her voice lowers, like it’s some kind of secret. Because this thing between them was that, something that she hadn’t quite….It wasn’t supposed to happen and yet she wasn’t particularly bothered that it had. It’d been a pleasant surprise, one that she didn’t quite want to share with other people.

      “It’s actually much too crafty for a pirate,” a grin encompasses the entirety of flaxen visage, “That bastard Columbus only wishes he could have been so creative with all the spices he stole.” Perhaps she’d peddled too much wine into her own system, but she was a vampire and it took a lot for her tolerance to delve into the span pure of inebriation. She’s giggling almost akin to a school girl and it’s been much too long in her life, a tender absence in which frivolous and mindless joy had not been found and Dianna leans into the taste in spite of the obsidian darkness which spatters itself amongst their lives akin to dandelion seeds in the wind. She knows a thief will come and snatch their happiness soon and she wants to be drunk off this fleeting feeling forever, no matter how brief the sensation. “Here, we’ll have to go get you some,” she paused, a coy expression replacing the mirth that dazzled her complexion previously, “Unless you’d fancy a hot chocolate. ‘Tis the season.” She squeezes Amala’s hand in finality, adoration and vigor seeping from every pore and the mindless humanity they now garnered. How wonderful it was to entrench themselves in the festivities, to pretend they weren’t facing an enemy who could destroy each and every street of Rome, leaving no crevice unturned.

There is nothing more that Amala wants than to curl up in some dark corner of her renovated bedroom and just sulk away the holidays. Normally the season is an excuse to get dressed up and mingle and normally she even enjoys that, she loves a jewel tone, she loves an event. But after Halloween she finds it harder and harder to be strong, to care about aesthetics and outfits. They are both old and immortal creatures, acting is something they have to do to keep up appearances amongst the public, it’s something their kind is good at. She doesn’t entirely have to do it for Dianna though, it takes some effort, but it’s far easier to fake happy with her than one of her attendants. Fingers squeeze her own and she’s drawn out of her thoughts and the smile that spreads across her lips is genuine, soft even. Gently her hands touch either side of the blonde’s face and she lets out a light laugh as she looks to how she can see all the lights reflected in her eyes. Christmas trees did not need stars, they could simply put a photograph of Dianna’s smile and it’d be just as bright, she was sure of it. Her thumbs trace high cheekbones and then she’s tilting her head to brush their foreheads together, her nose crinkling. “I will drink anything you put in front of me, how does that sound?” It’s playful and all of her despair aside, it’s genuine.