Lethiferous.

About page: blog rules, about the mun & why I’m writing this muse

Muse page: brief biography of the muse

Tags:

Aesthetics: things that are evocative of Barok

Bailey Reaper: blog tag, I’m following this on the site

Correspondence: asks that have been answered

    The Grey Faces of London: anon tag

    Departure: my OOC tag

Dialogue: quotes that are evocative of Barok

Ephemera: memes I’ve reblogged

Gramophone: music that suits the blog

Jurisprudence: my notes re: the Victorian era / legal stuff

Nonsense: the crack tag

Reveries: headcanon tag

(cont.)“If you are real, than you will have no problem telling me all about your life. Like your hobbies, your childhood, your days at university. Though I know you won’t be able to come up with anything, since you are nothing more than a mere felt creation brought to ‘life’ only months ago by Iris.” Harelock said.

🐾 :: The sight of the keychain on Harelock's back was proof of something – mainly that the 'detective' was a mischievous fellow who enjoyed dramatics and behaving in a most theatrical manner. The barrage of assertions makes the cat grumble, as if saying: "Why should I disclose my life story to you? It seems to me that you are bored and up to no good, some of us have work to do."

Why did Klint have to be like this? Oh well. He couldn't begrudge his brother such things. If it made him happy, then Barok would quietly endure the nickname (even if he found it far from elegant).

"My best and worst qualities..." he mused upon the question for a moment, "I would say my best quality is most likely my aptitude for matters of law, and the manner in which I conduct myself as a prosecutor. As for my worst quality..." no doubt in the eyes of Londoners, his flaws were manifold...

"Perhaps the manner in which I will hold a grudge to such a deep-seated degree," the anger, pain and sadness he felt over losing Klint had created a hardened, jaded feeling in the pit of his stomach and he no longer knew how to control it. Such feelings threatened to consume him, despite him not wanting that, and he felt as though he were on the precipice of losing himself to hate.

The first thought that came to his mind was 'does this bottle contain acid?', for it was an unnerving shade of greenish-yellow. The fact it had the words 'Mountain Dew' emblazoned upon it in rather garish script was laughable. As if 'dew' ever had this hideous hue...

It doesn't sit well to see the young girl being exploited by that dubious archfiend, Magnus McGilded. Barok sighs, "... Demonic contract law is not my specialism, but I did study it a while back. You'll need to take the contract you signed with your demonic benefactor to the supernatural courts and apply for a 'Writ of Termination'."

He wouldn't bore her with the intricacies, such as the need to establish that the contract was entered into in 'bad faith' or that key, damning clauses were not clearly explained –– those were matters to be established by the court.

💀 [OOC] :: // Very curiously! He wouldn't be sure why, but he feels as if he ought to know this flying mammalian creature (perhaps it's the familiar scent...). Either way, he would try to be most gentlenyanly as he introducess himself and resist the urge to pounce should the bat start to flutter around.

He's not all together sure where this 'vampzieks' moniker has come from, nor does he think it's a particularly elegant way of addressing him, but he decides it's better to ignore it rather than take the point any further...

(cont.) “There you are, and you’re you again.” Wait. That sounded awkward. How would Barok respond to that? It would imply that Albert believed that at one point his friend was some entity other than human. Should he tell Barok about his weird dream? If it even was a dream. A part of him believed the events that took place ago were real. What should he do? What should he say? If he tells Barok what he saw and it turns out it was nothing more than a dream he won’t have anything to worry about.

If it was real, well what would follow would surely be an interesting conversation. His friend did promise to be upfront about the situation. “I had a weird dream where you were a talking bat. That’s what I meant when I said you were you again. In case you thought I meant something else.” That should clear things up. “Anyways what did you want to talk about?

Thankfully the curse had run its course, though Barok had no idea how or why. It seemed this afflictions were purely random and sometimes they ran for a few days, whilst others were a few hours. Still, at least he was no longer confined to his bat form; it had been a most welcomed circumstance to sleep in a coffin, rather than upside down on a perch.

He'd sensed Albert's approach long before the man appeared in his office, as he could hear his distinctive gait as the human made his way down the corridor, "Albert..." he said, acknowledging his friend and gesturing to a chair, "Sit down..." he had a feeling the scientist was going to need it.

🐾 :: The cat grumbles at the nonsensical 'logic' of the hare's notions of a 'proper greeting', but it would be pointless to try and educate him on his misguided ideas for Nyanzieks knew this one's head was full of rocks and thus had no room for any other pertinent information...

Naturally he is skeptical of the hare's claimed 'astonishing truth' and his reservations were not dispelled by the big reveal. Nyanzieks snorts, then meows indignantly as if to say: "Really? You believe we're fabric contrivances created by a 10 year old girl? Where's your proof of such a thing?"

"No, I have not made that connection and I cannot say I agree with your assessment of his coiffure."

The mere idea of likening his brother to an ant, in any regard, was disgracefully offensive to him –– Klint was nothing like such a lowly creature, and there was absolutely nothing out of order when it came to his hair.