augustine vampire

that definitely takes her aback. she smiles, at first, even laughs, like he's joking. isn't he? "what? what do you mean, you can't 'vamp out'?" but the longer she looks, the more serious he seems. she steps closer—then even closer, drawn in by something she can't consciously name. "did something happen? does it have anything to do with..." she's tongue-tied, always at a loss to bring up the sick experiments of her father's past.

🩸 — "dr. maxfield?" he finished for her, one of the many options to her eluding. "i don't know. i don't.. believe that to be the case. if he could have muted my powers like this, he would have done so years ago." it wouldn't have taken a genius to tell enzo was bothered by this. he didn't like being kept in the dark, nor did he enjoy feeling vulnerable, exposed, like this — without rhyme nor reason. pulled out of his thoughts, he looked back at her. she seems interested, peculiarly so. something about the way her eyes lied on him. "it feels as if i'm human again."

🩸 — "Could have what?" he pushed. He knew she was holding back. It wasn't that he was unappreciative of that fact, but some context would have been lovely. "Oh, right—that." Enzo shrugged it off, as if it was merely a detail he had glossed over. "And I'm human. What's your point?" He was playing dirty, he knew that.

"you're one of the very few." and she's trying not to be too flattered about it. they're going to be at this all day, aren't they? elena clears her parched throat, waves a hand at herself. "maybe we're both sick. i've just ... had a pretty bad headache. sore throat. and i'm drinking nonstop water like i can't get enough of it." she presses the back of her hand against her own forehead. and there it is again, the sound of a steady pulse in her ears, too loud. "you?"

🩸 — "hardly." but he wasn't planning on arguing any further than that. elena was.. special. she had something about her that, from what he's noticed, draws people in. he relaxed, watching her describe her symptoms and play it off. "me? i'm trouble getting it up." pause for effect. "i can't seem to vamp out."

🩸 — he wasn't irritated, but it was hard not to react to her scolding with something that resembled it. "it was dead. forgive me for being a little distracted," he offered as a halfhearted apology, trying to placate her. but her questions did pique his interest, eyes narrowed at her. "what do you mean—what's going on with elena?"

she's not sure if she should be annoyed with him or with herself for the change in subject, the way it revolves too easily right back around to how elena's doing. "just sick, i think." it feels too simple in their world, but she waves a dismissive hand, works her eyebrows up with intent. "don't you ever get sick and tired of playing the let's talk about elena game? what's going on with you? just tell me."

🩸 — he took not of her annoyance, finding it partially amusing as well as telling. it left him ready to not accept whatever excuse she gave, which is exactly what she chose to do. but she lays it on thick, so he tries to humor her. "i'm trying to figure it out," he explained, still eyeing her. "and no, i don't get tired of that game."

“One, I am very f a s t. Two, I am very s t r o n g. Three? Very r i c h. Ok, you wanna hear me say it, fine. I am a v a m p i r e.”

something's wrong. she knows it in this parched, sore feeling in her throat, the way everything seems much too loud. whatever she's coming down with—it's intense. "what is it?" elena wraps her arms around herself, does her best to focus on him. "are you okay?"

🩸 — he was more than ready to elaborate, or at least try, but when she spoke the second time... it pulled him away from his own mind long enough to notice something was also wrong with elena. "are you?" he asked, as if it was the payoff. if he wasn't caught up in the moment, he would have connected the two immediately. instead, his focus was on her trying to hide that something was wrong.

✨ → "you know, i never liked this place, but now? now i hate it."

🩸 — he looked over to her. "strong word."

🔮 → after millennia, many things became subjective, not the least of which was misery. having spent her entire existence tied to magic, it became a second skin, and now, without it, she felt totally exposed - powerless... useless. it was a horrible feeling, one that made her briefly consider if this was how amara had felt when the dagger she'd shoved in the witches back had been returned ten fold, but she doesn't dwell on it... instead trying to understand what happened, how it happened, and how to fix it with no real results. "rough day for you too?"

🩸 — "the night's still young." enzo didn't know how to react to the night's events. it was a conflicted kind of feeling, having the identity you've lived with, suffered with, is ripped away with so much as a whisper. "i'm holding out for a breakthrough, or better yet—i wake up from this fever dream."

🏹 → arms crossed, john gilbert was trying to walk off the unavoidable. rolling the gilbert ring between his finger tips his mind raced. an attempt is made to feel something other than the foreboding sensation that lingered as he was reminded of the failed attempt to take a shot of vervain earlier in the evening but it fails miserably until he hears the familiar voice pipe up. "that would be my guess as i sure as fuck didn't ingest vampire blood - what happened to you?"

🩸 — he didn't like seeing how nervous john was. it was up in the air if it was personal concern, or some sort of sentiment—the truth being, if the confident john gilbert was worried about something, then it was as serious a problem as enzo feared. "the opposite, i'm afraid." he took a few steps closer. "you've joined the fang gang, then?" it was hard not to look sort of amused.

💰 → Carol Lockwood had been blissfully ignorant one moment, living with the cards dealt with her, and the next... something had changed. There was no apt way to describe it, but she scarcely had time to dwell on it, not when the sound of every year beat echoed in her head, and not when she was forced to remember everything she'd had ripped away from her. It was if twenty years had been stolen from her, a different life ripped away in an instant. Every choice that led her here fundamentally tainted by a few words of a stranger on her father's command. It was stifling, overwhelming, and when she saw the object of the memories, she couldn't help but ask "- Were you ever going to tell me about the past? About us?"

🩸 — "No." It came with only the briefest of hesitations. The time he took was only to process what was happening now. He would have been able to see it with her face alone, the way her eyes spoke to him. It was a look he knew all too well. He'd dreamt of it many a night, when he needed something a little stronger to hold on to. But Enzo knew no relief—no joy in knowing the veil had been pulled from her eyes. After all, her leaving... it was a blessing in disguise. It was what, he believed, was best for her. "I was going to let you live your life, like you were always meant to. Unburdened by me."