Illusory

Barmeciide: Independent, private (mutuals only), and highly selective blog OC and canon multi-muse blog written  by Noise. My pronouns are he/him or they/them. I am 29, and I am an independent artist/own my own business. Activity is extremely low, and very sporadic. Replies will be posted on and off queue depending on my schedule.

This is not my primary or only blog on tumblr. My main blog is here. My secondary blog is here. 

LAW | MUSES | HEADCANON | PERMANENT STATER CALL |

ESTABLISHED: April 2021 (remade). 

UPDATED: October 2022

Additional OC Lore docs: Cyanide | Elysium Fields

Most active muses currently: Albedo, Ace, Kier, Landon, Elias, Lillie, Remus. 

Most agreeable/consistent muses: Robin, Kier, Ambrose, August, Remus.

* Rules, verses, and about pages are subject to be updated as needed.

Quick Breakdown (please read my rules in full):

18+ only. Minors will be blocked. 

Please read the information provided for the muse/s you’re interested in interacting with.

Please specify a muse when aiming starters/asks/memes at this blog.

Primarily novella and multi-paragraph threads.

Selective, but highly OC, multi-muse, and cross-over friendly.

Triggering content will be present, but will be tagged.

Muses are both single and multi-ship. For questions regarding specific muses, please feel free to ask. 

Replies are not done in order owed. I am extremely slow. Do not expect timely replies. I will vanish at random from time to time. 

Discord is available (selectively) upon request. OOC communication can be very slow at times. My reply speed is not a reflection of my interest, I’m just tired and anxious. 

AU, plotting, and pre-established non-romantic relationship friendly (but open to discussing ships/putting them on the table if all parties are interested). 

Replies owed: Mel & Herja.

Asks Owed: None.

Starters Owed: None.

* Will attempt to update this daily. If you do not see your thread/ask/starter listed within 24 hours, I did not see it. Please reach out to me! If you respond to an ask I sent, and I do not like it within 24-48 hours, I did not see it, please do link it to me! This blog does not get @ notifications, so if you @ me in something, and I do not like it within that same time period, please link it to me as I did not see it!

     Judging from it’s subsequent reactions to having it’s legs cut off, Herja could at least surmise it wouldn’t be able to attack innocent civilians anytime soon; still, she couldn’t bring herself to feel entirely relieved… not when they have yet to ascertain anything about the situation. Thankfully, though, Robin seemed to have an idea on how to proceed, and upon figuring she should let him take the reins for now, she’ll soon bring herself to nod.

    “…Very well. I shall leave it in your capable hands,” Herja acknowledges while taking a step back and watching him approach that blasted arachnid creature. Of course, seeing his hand shift into something resembling a dragon’s claw did happen to make her brows briefly shoot up in surprise, but considering Siegfried had turned into a dragon before, she supposes it wasn’t the most shocking thing to witness; regardless… she had to wonder who exactly was Robin.

    The moment he reveals the creature was indeed a human, however, a melancholic gloom would soon descend over her features.

     “…I see. So they were human once. How truly awful,” Herja comments, allowing her brows to gradually droop. Honestly, were it not for the fact the captain would likely disapprove of them killing it, she would have already delivered a merciful end to this creature by now. Even so, Herja begins to mull over her options, the longer she listens to him speak. Before she was about to tell him she’ll kill any who would stand in their way to minimize casualties, however, the sound of more than a few footsteps would approach them from behind, prompting her to finally turn… and there, standing at the ready, were her Iron Spear agents.

     Sure enough, Herja then proceeds to breathe a sigh of relief, for it was about time they had shown up.

     “Good heavens… there are more of these creatures?” one proceeds to exclaim with sheer, utter disbelief while another begins saluting her respectfully. “M’aam! We came as soon as we could! What are your next orders?” one calls out, and by that point, her expression grows stern.

     “Where in the skies were you all?” Herja questions incredulously. “But still, you have excellent timing… listen, these monsters were human once; therefore, could I ask that you try not to kill them while Robin-dono and I go searching for the spell caster responsible for their ghastly transformation? From what we have observed, it seems cutting off it’s legs or using magic should prove sufficient enough in stalling their movements,” she explains.

     “Yes, m’aam! We will try to hold back as much as possible.” A third agent then tells her, before the others followed suit in stating their compliance, and Herja turns to face her comrade once more. “Let’s go, Robin-dono! My men shall be taking it from here.”

   Robin's attention briefly shifts from Herja to her agents when he hears the clink of their boots against the earth. His nose wiggles slightly at the words that leave one of the agent's mouths. He suspected there were more--for all they knew just about everyone in this town could have already been forced to endure this transformation--but knowing, and actually having confirmation were two different things. His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth in growing agitation. Just how long has the spell-castor been allowed to run amuck in this village, and just how powerful were that they've been able to avoid capture or death by now? The more information they learned, the less desire he had to take part in this mission--not that his willingness to cooperate was terribly high to begin with.

   He makes no effort to address her agents, nor acknowledge them. He had nothing to do with them or the actions they might take, after all. At the very least, they seem enthusiastic about following their commander's orders. And, sure enough, she chooses to hunt down the castor rather than to kill these pitiful creatures. With a silent sigh, he flexes his hand beneath the hem of his long sleeve. The scales still littering his skin crack slightly with the movement. He knows he's not from this world, but, for a moment, he wonders how similar his own situation is to these horrid creatures'. He's not unlike them, after all, a monster that appears human. But he harbors enough knowledge about spells to know the beast dwelling within his own body isn't the same as the spiders controlling these humans. Still, perhaps hunting down the spell-castor will give him some insight to his own situation, or so he can hope despite not being the type to entertain the idea of a wild goose chase.

  "Just make sure they keep their guard up," he warns, relaxing his fingers once more. "I can't say for certain, yet, wether or not this spell can take shape in outsiders, and how long it might take for it do so." He also can't say what type of people it tends to target, but if the elderly woman was anything to go off of, he would hazard a guess that it was easier for the week to succumb to its effects. Or so, he prays that's the case as it would make Herja and her men unlikely targets. As for himself, well, there are benefits to already having one monster inside of you--especially one as greedy and violent as his.

   "Very well." He casts his glance upwards, towards the hill beyond the village, and the terribly uninviting forest, because of course it would--why would anyone pick a nice, not bizarre place to slink off to. "It's faint, but I can sense traces of magic coming from the forest." A forest he's not too keen on venturing into when the plant-like looked suspiciously worse for wear.

   "And be careful. There's something off about everything here. If you feel or sense anything strange, tell me, and we'll stop immediately." There's likely a price the castor has to pay to use such a powerful spell, and he has a feeling the life contained within that forest very well could have been it.  

    As much as Herja may have wanted to aid the poor man that was the victim of this creature’s brazen, nonsensical attack, she had to prioritize putting a stop it, now that it began scuttling off to who knows where. Why, if nothing else, she wasn’t stupid, for she knows that by just letting it roam free, there would be no telling what rampage or destruction it would cause in her absence; therefore, she’ll soon hasten forward with adrenaline pulsing through her veins.

   Skies… talk about bad timing! Not only were her men stationed outside of the town in case monsters would approach, this creature had a ridiculous number of legs, even she struggled to keep up. Still, slight relief would seep through her features when Robin tells her he did indeed know how to immobilize it, because at the very least, it made her job a bit more easier. “…Very well. Since we have yet to gain any valuable information… I’ll simply do as you say and incapacitate it,” she’ll finally nod before continuing her pursuit.

   Of course, it’s only once Robin’s attack lands, does she lunge forward with a loud battle cry before slashing her blade across a long, hairy leg. Considering her swing was so intense, however, the leg would immediately become severed with blood spraying out of it’s stump as it lands further off beside her… and the creature, as if noticing it lost a limb, would cease squirming around to release a garbled roar before whipping another one of it’s legs at her. Still, with Herja being a trained mercenary possessing years of training underneath her boot,, she was able to effortlessly dodge, making it only miss her shoulder by two inches as she darts over to the right.

    Soon after, she then wastes no time, mercilessly hacking off the the second limb that had tried attacking her, causing it’s other legs to immediately give out to the point where it would subsequently collapse beneath the weight of Robin’s magic accompanied by yet another pained roar. Sure enough, Herja then pauses, panting heavily with sword still drawn at the ready in case the spider-like beast would get up again or begin regenerating. “Will… this suffice, Robin-dono? Or should I injure it some more?” she’ll then question at long last. Honestly enough, Herja wanted to render it completely limbless, but at the same time, they needed it alive, so maybe that would be unnecessary on her part.

   While he's less than thrilled to be on this mission, he can give Herja credit for being efficient. Even if he does, involuntarily, sneer at the unsightly, disturbingly hairy spider leg that falls beside him after its been severed from the beast's body. And, frankly, he's aware he's the last person who has any right to think the monster...ugly, for lack of a better word, when he's covered in thorny scales carefully tucked beneath his clothes, and unsightly scars and bumps littered across his entire body, but he, at least, would like to believe he's slightly less hideous than that thing. Even if he can feel the heat and rage that boils within his blood burning hotter and hotter with each second that passes while he uses the spell to restrain the creature. Though not difficult, it stirs the beast he knows resides within him, and makes its bloodlust all the more apparent.

   His gaze narrows slightly as the second limb is hacked off, and the monster falls to the ground--unable to muster up the strength to stand with his magic pushing down upon it, and while missing two of its precious limbs. He waits a moment, watching it squirm against his grasp as blood oozes from its fresh wounds, before he moves to stand beside Herja. His sharp eyes observe the beast for a moment, searching for any signs of magic, or trickery before he sighs, and lowers his arm a bit. Though he doesn't release the spell, he uses less force than he had been a moment ago. It appears the creature is heavily reliant upon its legs, and though it still has six in-tact, its feeble brain struggles to come up with a way to continue the assault without the two it had lost.

   "For now, this will suffice. We can always cut off the remaining legs if it doesn't feel like cooperating with us." The words are spoken casually, as if torture comes naturally to him. "I'm going to search it, stay on your guard," he warns as he slowly approaches with withering mass, pacing around it a few times before actually stepping close enough to touch it. This was his forte, after all, or, at the very least, cruelty came naturally to him. His free hand extends, his nails elongating and growing into a sharp point that resembles a dragon's claws more than a human being's hand. Those sharp, hard claws trace along its hairy body, sensing; searching, until he stops near its head. Instinct almost drives him to plunge those claws deep into its skull, but he stops himself, withdrawing his hand, and forcing it into a more natural state despite the hunger and madness that lingers in the back of his mind.

Mel wished she could claim to have even an ounce of intelligence rattling around in her brain, but she knew the truth. It was why she didn’t know the place she called home had been raising her for slaughter all those years, the stupidity came naturally. And unfortunately the person who did rattle in her brain who was smart was not answering right now. She needed information, she needed to know what the fuck Uriel was up to, but all she could do was stare blankly has her last brain cell she possessed abandoned ship.

Something about him had changed, she couldn’t pinpoint what and Mel couldn’t shake the uneasiness she felt in the bathhouse, but what truly through her off was how obsessed he was with her birthmark. “I uh.. was born with it,” she answered lamely looking at him in a way she imagined showed how empty her head was right now. It was way too early for her to deal with this. “A lot of people say it looks like a burn though,” she rambled sinking further into despair at her own thoughts. Maybe those fuckers marked her when she was a baby or something so people knew that she would one day get stabbed brutally in the heart. The memory wasn’t pleasant and she rubbed at her chest subconsciously,  the pain still fresh in her mind. It was moments like these where she wished she could just become a thoughtless puppet for a moment again, but that was only in emergencies. Though she would call this one.

It was a relief at least that she didn’t owe Uriel any money, she might just cry if that was the case. Though him asking her out on another date nearly had the same affect. Calmly taking another sip of coffee she placed the mug down, hands tightening around it for warmth. Then she cracked, her already slipping facade ruined by this one pretty man.

“Why me? No offense but have you seen us? You’re hot and charming and look like you’re straight off a romance cover with that fucking billowing shirt. And I’m homeless, a mess, and barely comprehending this conversation because I’m not attractive or interesting and talking too much again, but like I’ll go on that date,” she replied before groaning and placing her head into her arm

“Honestly if you’re a serial killer killing me would be a mercy right now, I won’t fight back,” she muffled out of her makeshift cocoon. I leave you for a couple hours and you try to die again? Of course he would come back now. He had a sense of when she was begging for the sweet embrace of death.

   He's not exactly sure what he was expecting when he asked after her 'birthmark', but he had to inwardly sallow the groan that was threatening to slip from his lips as he gingerly massaged his temples in an attempt to soothe his thoughts. Even the faintest hint of a life she didn't recall would have been, at the very least, vaguely promising, but it appeared she didn't even have that much going for her. He wasn't surprised, per-say. Disappointed, perhaps, but it had been so many centuries since he had last felt such a thing that it's difficult for him to grasp what emotion is actually rattling around in his lifeless chest at the moment. Still, if she had no recollection of their former life together whatsoever, he's not obligated to play nice with her--or so the more jaded part of him would like to argue, but he can't deny the fact that, despite the years that have passed, he does still love her just as much as he had back then. Obligation or otherwise, he still feels a strong desire to keep her out of Orpheus's hands.

   He lowers his hand from his forehead. "Right, of course," he sighs breathlessly. His tone is a bit more curt than he had been with her previously--just a hint of his actual personality slipping through rather than the playboy persona he had been clinging to for the past few centuries. Briefly he glances out of the window. Out at the wondrous and terrifying abode Orpheus has created--at the night sky and the stars that shimmer above, always. In this realm, Orpheus may as well have been God. But that bitterness fades quickly enough, and that iconic smile slips back onto his lips with a trained ease. He's worked with the man for long enough that he understand what makes their lord and 'savior' tick. Or rather, he's confident he can make a safe guess as to what the other's trying to accomplish by having him toy around with his reincarnated lover.

   But any resemblance of a plan of action is hurled from his mind the second Mel opens her mouth to speak once more, and his sharp, scarlet eyes fall on the woman once again. Staring. Perhaps a bit disbelieving. Perhaps a bit shocked. It's hard to tell when the mask he wears is so deeply ingrained into his muscles that his lips only twitch slightly as he processes her words. "You believe I'm a serial killer?" The faintest hint of amusement and surprise slips into his velvety voice. And then, he laughs. A deep, hearty laugh, and he has to support his head with his hand as his chest heaves with every breath he takes.

   A lowly serial killer. If he were one, he'd be a pretty awful one for not murdering by now with all of the chances he'd been afforded. Killing, though he was more than capable of it, wasn't really his job anyway, though he supposes one could call him a serial killer if he took into account the lives he took in the name of revenge for his former wife's first death. But that wasn't relevant here, in his humble opinion.

   Swallowing his laugh, he gets up from his seat to lean across the table and reach out to trace along her jaw with his hand. His touch soft, but cold as ice. "A serial killer?" He hums, his voice deep as it vibrates within his throat. "I've been called many things in my life, but I think that's the first time anyone was believed me to be a serial killer." He reacts his hand, sitting back down. His earlier concerns feel a world away. She always had been a rather imaginative individual.

Tag Masterlist #6: Canon Muses

     Honestly, the sole reason she even kept her voice hushed to begin with was because she didn’t want the old woman to actually overhear them discussing her. Granted, whether or not she could was rather… debatable, but Herja preferred not to let her guard down in case her ears actually worked, despite the fact no light seemingly passed through her eyes. Thankfully, though, Robin seemed to agree; only, it’s concerning how little he actually cared - then again, she supposes not everyone from the crew had to be a kind Samaritan as long as they were simply able to do their job.

    “I’m… relieved my suspicions are not unfounded and that we both share the desire to uncover more information about her. Still, it leaves you to wonder… what could possibly be ailing this woman? No matter how you look at it, the way she acts is simply not normal,” she comments. Were Herja to be particularly honest, she somehow had a really bad feeling about the whole situation. Why, her mercenary’s instincts were telling her they should be on guard, yet before she could even warn Robin, he soon began veering around her to approach the old townswoman, causing her almond brown eyes to immediately widen

     “…Robin-dono!” she’d finally hiss while hurrying after him. “Please have some more tact…” Herja then begs her companion once she reaches him before proceeding to initiate an apologetic half bow towards the old woman he so boldly approached. “Forgive my partner’s rudeness, madam. We were just hoping you might-…” she began, only to suddenly be interrupted by hoarse cackling emerging past her wrinkled throat.

    By that point, Herja blinks. What in the skies…? Then the next thing she knows,  purple miasma begins appearing out of thin air, wafting around the old woman and enveloping her form like a tornado before vanishing to reveal a tall, spider-like creature towering over them, prompting her to immediately whip out her sword as a cold sweat drips down her neck. This creepy arachnid thing… could it be a monster that was masquerading as a human all along? Either way, the nears-by townspeople would soon run, screaming with fear as it turns, kicking a leg out to send a poor, unsuspecting man flying off towards a nearby building. Sure enough, it then began scurrying forward, and Herja wastes no time, chasing after it as she calls out to her comrade from behind.

          “Robin-dono! Do you have any magic spells that could mobilize it?”

    In his humble opinion, he had offered the elderly woman more tact than he normally would have. Had he been alone, he would have outright called her suspicious, and begin questioning her immediately rather than asking (though, truth be told, most would say he had demanded). So, he rolls his eyes at Herja's quick apology, if anything she should be grateful he wasn't more forceful or fowl in his approach. Though never allows his attention to stray from the strange woman. His mind might be incapable of recalling what he's endured, but his muscles and bones have never ceased remembering the countless battles he knows he's fought despite being unable to name them.

   "How unnecessary," he hisses under his breath, but the words have barely escaped from his lips before a hoarse cackle tears from the woman's wretched throat, and spills out into the open air around them. Miasma gushes out into the wind, and begins to whirl violently about the woman, sheltering her in a thick smog of purple and black. But it vanishes just as quickly as it had come on, an, in the woman's place, a massive spider-like creature stands. It's form engulfs the buildings around them, and obscures the dreary clouds from view.

   A sigh brushes past Robin's chapped lips. He seems terribly unsurprised. Perhaps a tad disgusted, but that's about the extent of his feelings on the matter. He can't claim this had come as a shock. Everything about this village seemed off, and he still wasn't keen on trusting any of the people who called it home. This woman gave him even more of a reason to begin suspecting the others, though he sincerely doubts all of them are monsters given the fact that most of them had taken off screaming the second she had transformed, he's also aware of the possibility that there could be more like it lurking about in this town. And this why he doesn't stick his neck into the affairs of others--nothing good ever comes from it. He barely even tilts his head to acknowledge the man the creature strikes, and hurls into a building. Cruel, perhaps, but the odds of an untrained civilian surviving an attack like that were slim. In other words, there was no point in wasting time on a dead man.

   Herja doesn't waste a second pursing the arachnid when it begins scuttling forward. Robin's own take on the situation is significantly less eager as he turns around to trail after them. "I do; however, before that, unless necessary, try to avoid killing it right away." His pupils sharpen, turning almost serpent-like as his gazes fixes on the spider. He lifts up his right palm, the long sleeve of his robe covering his arm save for the very tips of his fingers where claw-like nails, and a speckle of dark scales poke out from beyond the hem. A purple light forms against the cloudy sky, and swirls seamlessly into a circle. "It's possible we might be able to gather information from it. And, if it's incapable of offering us any insight on its own, I'll simply have to dissect it." Dead or alive.

    In the end, she’ll eye him with suspicion… not because she doubted he was fine, but because she somehow got the sense there was something Robin wasn’t telling her. What that might be, however, was entirely lost on Herja, because as observant as she could be, even she couldn’t read minds. Why, every time she studied him, she had more questions than answers; then again, now was not the time to really question him, because for the sake of this mission, she had to stay focused!

    “Alright. But the moment you start feeling under the weather, Robin-dono, do not hesitate to tell me,” Herja finally brings herself to nod before furrowing her brows at his next remark with lips pursed into a firm, solemn line.

     So he noticed it too, huh? If nothing else, she’s glad it wasn’t just her who felt something was amiss. “Yes, I’m aware. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it as to why that was, however…” Herja admits before settling her gaze on an older looking woman further up ahead of them. Honestly, at first glance, she seemed normal, but something appeared… off about her. It could be that her eyes had this blank, glassy look to them or the smile along her wrinkled mouth was just a bit unsettling, yet regardless, she’ll soon hold out a single arm to signal for him to stop walking while ceasing to an eventual halt herself.

    Little by little, she’ll then bring a gauntleted hand up to her lips while leaning over towards him. “Speaking of the townspeople, Robin-dono… do you get the sense this woman isn’t entirely there as well? While it may simply be my imagination, I can’t quite shake off the feeling we shouldn’t be leaving her alone.”

   "Very well," he agrees with a curt nod, though he lacked any intention of following through with those words if he did end up feeling under the weather at some point. He had managed on his own until now, and he would continue to do so. After all, if push came to shove, and he was forced to betray the crew that had temporarily taken him in, he would prefer the bridges he burns to catch fire with ease. For now; however, the mission was his priority. Any information he could gather--regardless of whether or not it would bring him closer to returning home--was valuable. While he might not be too thrilled with his current situation, he wasn't one to overlook obtaining additional knowledge either.

    Naturally, when Herja trails off, his own gaze shifts to the older woman that's caught her attention. His piercing eyes linger on her for a moment, observing her movements, or rather, lack thereof. She appeared listless, paying them almost no heed as she stood there. Her eyes were glazed and unfocused--as if she wasn't looking at anything at all, or even as if she hadn't a single thought clogging up her mind. Her smile was oddly unnatural as well. It made her wrinkles crease, but not in a way that suited her. She seemed hollow, and lifeless. Even the color of her skin looked a bit sickly to him. Not that he had any right to claim that when his own looked rather dull.

   He paused when Herja held out her arm, turning his gaze away from the woman while forcing himself not to lean away from his companion when she drew closer to whisper to him. His slightly pointed ears twitched slightly at the closeness of her voice, but he shoved down the urge to sneer. "She certainly seems unwell." His voice is low; careful. "I can't claim I'm concerned for her well-being. However, I am interested in knowing what's befallen her."

     Naturally, when told she was to be accompanied by another crew member for the monster dispatching mission, Herja had raised no objections; still… the moment she begins observing her newfound companion, she had admittedly found it odd he wasn’t much for ide chatter. Still, it didn’t seem as if Robin’s silence resulted from shyness; then again, she had no way of really knowing what went through his mind as they continued walking side by side together.

     Was he bored? Annoyed? Or perhaps dissatisfied? If nothing else, all that really remained apparent was that despite not outwardly appearing exhausted, he wasn’t the most physically fit, to the point where she had to walk a bit slower in order to ensure she didn’t accidentally leave him behind. Even so, his next words gave her slight pause. Had Robin almost been about to call that merchant obnoxious? Well, regardless, her brows would twitch a little upon noting his tone lacked much enthusiasm; then again, as long as he didn’t attempt to slack off, Herja supposed she wouldn’t mind letting it be… for now, that is.

     “‘Several’, you say? That’s admittedly concerning…” she brings herself to comment before allowing the corners of her lips to deepen into a frown. “If those who fled happened to be my agents, I would have whipped them into better shape! How incompetent must they be to not even able to defend a single town from monsters?” Maybe she was being a bit too harsh on them, but as someone who had frequently trained and took her mercenary duties seriously, it was appalling to her that most either succumbed to monsters or retreated; nevertheless, she’ll slowly nod at his next suggestion.

     “Yes, you have the right of it, Robin-dono… however, before we proceed, do you wish to rest a little? My agents and I could always do the questioning ourselves while you recuperate you strength for nightfall.” 

   For some reason, her comment makes him pause for a moment. Ordinarily he could care less how she treats the mercenaries in her own company, but it makes the slightest pang of familiarity flare up within his mind, and he feels a sharp pain surge through his head. He inhales sharply, and draws his bottom lip inward to bite down on his chapped skin. The ache isn't overly apparent on his face, but it's still evident that something is troubling him. But rather than the pain agonizing him, it's the utter lack of anything else that frustrates him the most. Despite the brief flash of, well, something, his mind spits nothing but darkness back at him. It's the same cycle he's grown used to over the meager few months he can actually remember after waking up in a field on his own, but that doesn't stop it from aggravating him, especially when he can't let go of the something that there's something he should be doing right now. Something other than what he's actually doing.

   Releasing his lip with a sigh, he lifts up a hand to casually massage his temple. "If that's how you feel, this should be an easy mission to carry out." He suspected there was more to this 'little' monster invasion than just a random group of beasts harassing the townsfolk, but those were merely his own deductions, and he had no concrete proof something more nefarious was happening behind the scenes. Whether that wicked plot came from the monsters or from the townspeople themselves, something certainly didn't seem right. But there was no point in bringing that up now, even if he had echoed those concerns to this crew's Captain, they would have been sent anyway. Their leader had a bleeding heart, and it clawed at his nervous. If only because that, too, seemed dreadfully familiar to him.

   He stops when she gives her suggestion, a brow rising every so slightly. He's not one to mull over trivial matters that concern himself, or rather, his well-being. There's been a constant, nagging pain throughout his entire body since awoke, and his mind is constantly swirling with thoughts that aren't entirely his own, but he's learned to brush it aside for the most part, at least until it flares up more intensely. "No, that's not necessary. I'll be fine." He can't afford to miss information that could be key to conforming or denying his suspicions.

Mel woke up with a start, unceremoniously flopping around as she tried to figure out where she was. There was a disapproving hum in her mind that she tried to ignore as she gracelessly plopped onto the floor bare ass first.

“Ow…” she mumbled, blinking at the red room and trying to remember what she was doing to be naked in the first place. Unfortunately the previous night’s memories started trickling in and she groaned trying to hide her face again. If only Uriel had the mercy to actually kill her in her sleep so she wouldn’t have to deal with this embarrassment. Mel didn’t even remember falling asleep but laying on an extremely soft bed for the first time in… months probably had something to do with it.

Praying that somehow nobody would be around, she started collecting her clothes. As much as she wanted to just hide in the room all day and never come out, she figured the bathhouse would eventually want to use it again. Her god graciously kept quiet though the judgment was radiating in the corner of her mind. Usually he respected the fact that she was not a morning person and she didn’t want to hear whatever he was holding back.

Finally clothed she stood by the door for a long moment before getting the courage to flee. Hopefully the one guy who told her Uriel was good with his tongue was far away, and well if she ran into Lillie she just might cry to him about how she failed and he’ll never see her again. Surely she should flee the country for this, perhaps that’s what all of Uriel’s ex’s did. 

Luck was not on her side as usual and once she came downstairs Uriel was waiting for her, shirt still unbuttoned. Was he allergic to wearing it properly? More importantly he had coffee he was offering her and her mind went blank as she sat down abruptly, greedily drinking the cup offered. Mel barely registered the words he was saying to her, and honestly it was way too early to feel anything but groggy and shame as she stared at him blankly. 

“I doubt that, I’m starting to think maybe I should see a doctor about my birthmark,” she admitted but it’s not like she could. Mel was basically held together by duct tape which was her gods celestial powers or whatever. She didn’t need to be called a freak by humanity again. “Wait… I don’t have to pay for accidentally falling asleep do I? Or this coffee?” Was this how they got people into their trap? Give them a free massage only to leave them hanging and owe them money. Work off her debts forever in this bathhouse. That seemed dramatic but she honestly had no idea what Uriel was doing with her especially after last night.

    Swirling his cup lazily in his fingers, a lone brow arches as he watches her greedily sip at the coffee he offered her. If he had to guess, he would argue that she barely even heard anything he said. Apparently the coffee was more enticing than he was. If he were in a better mood, he would have chuckled at the thought, but the ghosts of yesterday still nip at his heels, and he can’t rid himself of the dreadful sensation bubbling up within the pit of his stomach when he tries to consider Orpheus’s reason for ordering him to keep an eye on her. Or, even, Alice’s intentions for that matter. He resists the urge to rub at his temples as the steam licks at his palm. For a vampire, he feels awfully tired this morning despite the fact that the realm this area of the bathhouse exists in always harbors a night sky for the sake of making their lives both easier and more comfortable. 

     He chases down his growing unease with a long sip from his cup, allowing the piping hot coffee to burn the back of his throat on the way down. But that meager sting wasn’t enough to soothe the turmoil of his mind. It wasn’t like him to be so rattled--to care so much. He had spent the last few hundred years comfortably obeying orders, and toying with the hearts of those he seduced. It had never bothered him in the slightest, but that was largely because he thought she was dead. Long gone by now. Whatever had been left her after the fire had turned to dust by now. He thought her nothing more than a nightmare or a bad memory. But, here she was, with a face so similar to the one he had loved, and the personality to match--not to mention the birthmark. He couldn’t deny who she was, even if he was desperate to convince himself this was some elaborate prank just to rid himself of the guilt creeping in that he hadn’t felt in centuries. 

      His eyes darken at her comment, and he feels himself grip his mug harder, but eases the tension in his hand when he can feel the meek porcelain begin to give out against his grasp. And that, too, bothers him. He’s always been fully in control of his emotions, as well as his abilities. Where other newly turned vampires struggled to resist their hunger or didn’t understand the depths of their own strength, he had always harbored an impressive amount of self-control. Even when he had murdered the villagers who had killed her, he hadn’t done so in a fit of rage or hysteria--he had been fully in control of his actions that day. He had done it for the sake of revenge. For the sake of making them suffer as she had.   

      He leans his arm over the back of his chair, and crosses his ankle over his knee. His expression isn’t as warm as it had been before, despite his efforts to maintain an air of openness. “Oh, is that so?” He forces out. His voice is an octave deeper than intended, and he grimaces slightly as a result. He knows it’s better to keep up this act than to reveal himself, but it feels impossible when it’s been centuries since he believed her dead, and his frigid, un-beating heart still somehow remembers the warmth of her love all these years later. But Orpheus will surely take her life if he displays even an ounce of hesitation or weakness. “Truly, that would be shame. I found it rather attractive. I would love to know if there’s a story behind it,” he says instead of what’s actually on his mind. If Orpheus wants to play games with him, he’s perfectly capable of doing just that back.      

   There’s something oddly familiar about the way the various members of the crew he’s been (mostly forced) dragged into interacts with one another, though he can’t quite place the how or why when he’s aware he’s never met these people prior to a few months ago when they had picked him up after a run-in with a handful of monsters had caused them to cross paths with one another. He finds their conversations and laughter grating--their willingness to assist anyone who asks absurd, and their general passion draining. But, within all of that, it claws at the darkness that looms in the back of his mind. Though he harbors enough awareness to know he’s not from this world, nor does he belong in it, and there’s a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that urges him to rush back to his supposed home despite the fact that he doesn’t remember why he’s so desperate to do so. And he intends to do so--regardless of how he has to make that happen. So, for the time being, he’s chosen to play nice--or rather as nice as he can, there’s nothing that can be done for a sour attitude and sharp tongue--with this ragtag crew in order to obtain more knowledge about this world, and to find a way back to his own. 

     But he most certainly had no interest in playing hero with them, and the thought of doing so was enough to make him click his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he disembarked from the ship that had offered him a roof over his head for the two months since he had found himself in this place. How the other members of the crew chose to act was of no concern to him, but he had no desire to lend them a helping hand in any capacity. What happened to them or the people who resided in this world was of no consequence to him. Yet, here he was, appeasing the Captain’s request to assist a town that was being ravished by monsters. His reasons were selfish, of course--the lives of the people and the wallet of the crew mattered not to him. But, supposedly, the so-called other-worldly beings that plagued this godsforsaken town could provide him with insight for how to return. Or so they better--it’s not against his moral compass to betray the crew should they prove themselves useless.   

   The acidic aroma of coffee fills his nostrils as he stands in the largely empty kitchen on the first floor of the inn. His dull eyes lifelessly watch the piping hot liquid pour quietly into the pair of cups he has set out in front of him. The plip-plop of the liquid sounds dreadfully loud to his keen ears, and tired mind. There’s barely a thought that crosses through his head as he sets about the mundane routine. Not once does he glance out one of the windows or spare a look towards the spotless sink or untouched refrigerator. He pays no heed to Ingram, the only other one lingering in the area, as he chugs the third cup of coffee Uriel’s spotted him drink out of the corner of his eyes since he came downstairs. Even when the coffee overflows from the cup and spills out onto his deathly pale hand, he offers it little reaction beyond a frown as he sets it down upright, and grabs a towel hanging over the edge of the marble countertop to quickly wipe it away. The lingering pain of the burn that heals too quickly on his skin feels like nothing more than a pinprick to him. 

     With both cups in hand, he slowly makes his way to a table near the back of the dinning area, and flops down in quite possibly the most unceremonious manner he can. His loose, button-up shirt is still undone, and it sways softly against his bare chest with the motion. “Alice...” he hisses from the depths of his throat as he glares into the dark liquid. It’s the first sign of life he’s had since last night. Not that it means much for a vampire, nor has Uriel ever been terribly expressive. Miserably, he comes a hand through his hair and buries his forehead into his palm. The sight of that damn birthmark is still fresh in mind. After all, he could never possibly forget it.       

@barmeciide

Nights and days began to blend together. Silence consumed him for many days. The only exercise his jaw was given was the meager scrap of food he found leftover by humans here or there. Losing track of time always seemed a consistent matter for him whenever he lost touch with society. The only strings that he had recently had all but vanished—disappeared as if it had never happened. Numerous odd missions he had dabbled in months ago with a supposed ghost… for what reason? It all swept away with the breeze the next morning, and the next, and eventually it became weeks upon weeks of mornings since he had last seen him. There had been days he would talk to the empty air, as if the nothingness might respond. A foolish thing it became and eventually he merely cursed at the wind. But those foolish acts became lessened as the season began to change and there had yet to be any sign of the spirit; Kier. Today was no different from yesterday, he didn’t bother peering around in places that seemed a supernatural happening may be likely. He had slipped back to his normal routines—which weren’t routine at all. He was opportunistic, watching as duo left their home and sneaking in through the back door. With his duffle bag on his shoulder, he swiftly gathered a new set of clothes and a few fresh items from their kitchen. Even if it was tempting to stay, he knew better than to risk it and took his stolen goods to a secluded spot on the edge of the suburbs. It was a quiet park, isolated from the livelihood of most people’s ongoings. With a cloud day overhead, he was able to relax on a bench and rummage through his things. It wasn’t the most IDEAL place for him to be considering it was open and he wasn’t exactly hidden from those who were searching for his whereabouts but he had been exceptionally mobile the past few weeks. It was the first day he hadn’t immediately sought for a place to hide away and he figured he had time to spare. Pulling out an apple, he tossed it up once in the air excited to have a taste of some fresh fruit unbothered.

  The grass is damp beneath his shoes from the morning dew, and the wind is a mixture of hot and cool against his skin as he inhales the scent of pollen and soil with the onset of bring - or so he might have at one point, according to the weather report he had caught on the radio in the cluttered office before leaving. He could mimic the motion of breathing if he really felt like it, but he doesn’t have a set of lungs to fill with oxygen or a heart to pump blood out through veins he also lacks. His senses are limited at bit - sharper when pertaining to the supernatural and occult, but duller when it came to more human sensations like taste or smell. After all, he was dead, there were perks and downsides to his situation. On one hand, he couldn’t eat food much less taste it. On the other, he was technically immortal - he had died centuries ago, there wasn’t anything left of him but the feelings of anger that had been trapped in this miserable world for more years than he really cared to count. He’d gotten used to the setbacks fairly easily. How could he miss the taste of wine or steak when he had long forgotten it? How could he miss the smell of daises or long for his body to ache when he’d forgotten those things as well? And there, he supposes, was the problem: he didn’t have anything left to lose, except, possibly, the revenge he’s come so close to getting, and yet it continues to slip through his fingers time and time again. It’s what he gets, he figures - the Gods are laughing at him, as if he ever had a chance to get what he desires. It made frustration build up within him.

      Since when he had become a saint? That frustration fizzles out; however, when his gaze falls on his target, and he shakes his head - long hair licking at the bandage around his neck that hid the lingering scar from his execution what felt like eons ago. Right now, it itched to Hell and back again like a warning alarm going off a thousand times over because he was being a certified moron for making the wrong choice. He would know, he’s been living in a sort of Hell for the Gods’ know how many decades now, and he’s been making wrong choices since well before that. What’s another one to add to the list? So, he crosses over the largely empty park - not a single soul catching his eyes - to them, he was likely little more than a frigid breeze, if they were lucky. His shoes don’t make a sound as he moves, and the grass doesn’t cave in beneath his feet. The wind doesn’t carry his scent because he hasn’t had one in just as long. And, so, his lips curve upwards into a smirk as he carefully makes his way towards his target, staying out of his line of sight until he can extend his hand above him, and catch the apple in his hand before it tumbles back down into Oslyeus’s grasp - his fingers wrapping about it, and he can feel its smooth texture against his skin, though just barely. One of the benefits of being the presence of another supernatural creature of someone who happens to believe in ghosts.