highlander

a   breathy   moment   was   shared   between   the   shadow,      whose   body,      a   mix   of   wiry   shadow   and   ichor,      was   merely   a   catalyst   for   wanton   destruction   the   gods   could   not   commit   on   their   own,      and   the   long   expanses   of   road,      whose   sharp   gravel   ripped   at   his   exposed   toes   like   thorns.         steps   were   deliberate,         trekked   out   to   be   soaked   to   the   bone   in   the   fog,         the   weepy   gaze   of   the   clouds   as   they   kept   the   moon   in   a   stranglehold.      he   occupied   the   side   of   the   road   like   a   river,      draped   in   long   white   fabric   that   had   succumbed   to   the   rain,      revealing   the   hot,      gold   wrought   expanses   of   his   skin.      

his   anxiety   was   an   entity   of   its   own,         a   mangled   and   gasping   thing   that   walked   him   like   a   dog,      with   a   noose   of   barbed   wire   as   a   leash.            he   had   no   way   to   appease   it,         to   worship   it   at   its   alter   in   hopes   to   appease   it;         it   wanted   for   nothing   but   his   comfort,         his   ability   to   lay   on   the   warmth   of   the   earth   and   be   overcome   by   weeds,      bound   to   the   dirt   for   an   eternal   sleep.  

dragging   him   in   the   other   direction   was   that   cursed   line,         ariadne’s   thread   spreading   out   past   his   vision,      to   an   unmarked   maze   of   uncontrolled   magyck   that   held   a   feeble   creature   in   its   womb.         a   heartstring   left   unconsummated.  

caught   between   two   conflicting   forces;      unrest   and   uncertainty,         had   him   with   his   head   to   the   heavens,         breathing   in   the   soft   tears   of   the   sky,            with   mud   and   blood   that   he   could   not   identify   as   his   own   dripping   from   his   knees   to   his   bare   toes.      he   was   merely   a   beast   contained   within   pink   muscle   and   bones   that   cracked   when   he   stretched,         arms   wide   to   welcome   the   first   winter   storm   of   the   year.

–   a   voice   ripped   him   from   his   own   tempestuous   thoughts,      caused   his   golden   gaze   to   snap   to   the   speaker,         shaking   drips   from   his   long   hair,         limbs   immediately   curled   protectively   around   himself.        

     ‘      nasty…?      ‘      he   considered   it,      a   sharp   but   not   unfriendly   expression   occupying   delicate   features,      ‘      nay,         it’s   been   due   for   days   now,      ‘         hands   push   autumnal   locks,      plastered   to   his   forehead,      back,         ‘      i   wouldn’t   want   to   ruin   your   car,         though,         are   you   certain?      ‘

“Well, in that case, they should hire you as Deadwood’s new weatherman, seeing as the present incumbent didn’t have a fucking clue.”  Harry studied the man from top to bottom, he was strange, and more importantly -- he was soaked. That didn’t agree with the leather interior of the car, but out of the goodness in the very depths of his heart and his hunger, Harry agreed. “You’ve got yourself 5 seconds until I change my mind, boy.” He starts counting while rolling up the window to prevent the rain from getting in, “1...2...” 

Cheri was out and about that day. The local news didn’t show any reports of rain so she took it as an opportunity to get some house hold shopping done. Luckily she didn’t have any thing with her besides her purse. She had set it up so that the furniture was delivered to her manor instead of her hauling it over herself. Now here she was , stuck in the rain. Not that Cheri mind it one bit since the smell of rain reminds of her back then, before her vampyrism.

Normally her body guards would be the one’s picking her up but seeing as to she dismissed them for the rest of the day she had to fend for herself. Reach out a hand to flag down a taxi, she was surprise to see a luxury car pull to her side. Upon the male letting the window down Cheri gasp as she saw who it was. Giving a slight bow, She hurried up to the passenger side of the car. “Thank you Harry, you’re a life-saver.”

Harry gave her a thin-lipped smile as she settled into the car. “Have your personal guards abandoned you, dear Cheri?” Harry raises a brow, “We must have them flogged for it.” He quips, shifting the car’s gear into drive and turning back onto the road, “Now, where may I take you?” 

“Oh I was just looking for directions.” Her bright grin unhampered by her sodden clothes and sopping hair. The rain had been entirely manageable until it wasn’t, Elyse ending up turned around and not quite sure which way lead where. Phone dead, empty stomach and looking into the eyes of a savior. “Do you know where I am?”

She smiled, which was a refreshing reaction for someone soaked top to bottom from the rain. “You’re just east of Deadwood, which this that way.” Harry says, pointing straight on, “-- 20 minutes from the interstate, which is behind us.” The car window was just opened slightly, good enough for his voice to boom through the crack. Harry refused to roll his window down all the way, on the account of the water ruining his leather seats. “Are you getting in, kid? I’ve got to get going.”

HEADCANON 001 - LEADERSHIP

Outskirts of Deadwood

It had started with a drizzle and quickly grew into a storm. The lamp poles cast a kaleidoscope of light dancing across the puddles in the road, only to be disturbed by the wheels of a car. Harry drove fast, eager to return home after his gruelling week of meetings out-of-state on Dominion business. Harry cherished the comfort of his car, while bellowing winds blew rain and fallen leaves against his windshield. “What a glorious homecoming.” He mutters, utterly disappointed by the weather. He was a true-born Scotsman through and through, no stranger to the rain and wind-- but his years outside of his homeland had spoiled him with more clement weather. 

He spots a figure in the distance, stood against the side of the road with an arm outstretched. The car in front of him paid no heed and drove right past the stranded stranger. He sighs, “Well it is dinner-time.” He jokes to himself. Harry’s car slows as he approaches, “Nasty storm out here. Need a lift?”

the hunter was in his hour, moving in the darkness between grounds and houses. he didn’t move with the silence that he normally adopted, he wasn’t hunting and he was in the mood for the drama that came when he appeared out of no where and scared the shit out of someone. he wasn’t too sure where he was in honesty, he had been walking for a while now and that was easier than paying attention to the shit he was in.

he heard the faint flutter of something up ahead, his head lifting and scanning the ahead. he saw nothing and his steps slowed, but kept moving. his hand moving to the blades shethed at his back. when a man stepped out of the shadows, atticus recognised him as the a patron of the bar, also a vampire. atticus mumbled something incoherently under his breath as he rummaged into his pockets pulling a light from the depths. “only if you’re a sharing mood?” the hunter answered aloud, nodding his head to the cigarette between the other’s fingers.

"Ah, it’s you,” Harry mutters under his breath as a familiar face emerges from the shadows. He shifts into the light, “Good heavens, man--” He chuckles, raising a brow at the blades sheathed in his back, “-- aren’t you dressed to kill.”

she watches how he takes the cigarette and flicks the plastic trigger; a plume of weightless smoke filling the space between them — leaving eshe to happily inhale the excess, filling her lungs with the matter before exhaling through her nose.

eshe had no boundaries and was never a follower to rules, so she abandons her run and takes the cigarette greedily - black, chipped fingernails cupping the filter before placing it between venom lips, mirroring his action as before as the yellow flame lights her face — exposing small scars along her chin and fresh wound from playing with her master’s ceremonial knives.

“شكرا جزيلا — thank you,” gasping at the release, her body full with a distorted vision of happiness from the nicotine, eshe allows herself to stare and watch, taking her time in reading the lines and contoured skin along his skull. “i’m eshe…” 

"Eshe. Colourful.” He remarks, studying her from top to bottom. Her attire suggested she was out at this hour to do something entirely different than standing here with him, but he was happy enough to indulge her. 

“Harry Drummond.” The chairman’s arm twitches slightly -- a firm handshake became a habit with an introduction. A reflex so ingrained, it could be provoked simply by name. But considering the demeanour of his company, Harry refrained from the formality. “So, what brings you here -- to the fringes of Deadwood -- at this hour.”

As he takes another drag, the streetlight above flickers, casting both of them into darkness. “Fucks sake.” 

Harry Drummond for Shiver | The Solider's Minute

trigger warning: blood & violence.

This video is Harry having a series of flashbacks during a conversation with a peer, where he parts his wisdom on the importance of the ‘one minute’ to a soldier and how it puts life into perspective. Harry returns to his ‘turning’ as a result of the battle of Glenlivet, and the aftermath: a vicious cycle of blood-lust, violence, and guilt. the sequence highlights Harry’s struggle with his new identity as a vampyr - for how could a pious man such as he, become this abomination?

the only thing to warm her frozen lungs was to run through the streets till she flet something beat inside of her. to be a familiar with a master long-gone was close to being an orphan trapped in an un-loving foster home. she mewed and wailed, sometimes finding herself binging as a human would do till she forgot what she was trying to forget. it was one of THOSE nights when she came across him; and how he stood from the shadows like a memory from hell itself. eshe blinks a few times to make sure it wasn’t a demon before her eyes before she groans and searches the pockets of her torn hoodie for a lighter. luckily for him, she liked to run her skin through the inner flame to smell the comfort of burning flesh within the safety of her own rooms.

“here, and give it back or i’ll have to fight you-”

a stern accent is soon replaced by a grin which held such malicious intent, her brows furrowing with her arm extended to pass the small speck of technology. “i always preferred matches…”

Harry smiled, amused at her statement, "Much obliged, madame.” 

As the lighter sparks a flame, a reflection of joy dances in his eyes. Finally. He takes a deep drag and exhales upwards. Harry nods, “Matches - aye, they used to more reliable than these plastic buggers. But convenience always takes hold, it’s the way of the world.” 

He returns the lighter. “Here you go. Back to you all safe and sound.” Harry pulls out a second cigarette from the pack and offers it to his new company, “Go on--” he urges, “-- it’s the least I could do.”

Drummond Estate - back alley, 4:37 AM.

Sleep never came easy to him after the war. He often wrestled in his sheets, sweating, and waking with a start. Harry rubbed his eyes, sitting on the edge of his mattress. He reached for his dark silk robe to drape over his naked chest, grabbed a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, before stepping out the back door of his estate and into a poorly-lit alley that runs along the edge of his property. Harry pinches a cigarette with his lips and turns the wheel on his lighter. Spark. Spark. Nothing. Harry grumbles, rummaging through his pockets hoping for a miracle.

The sound of footsteps approaching echoes from the distance, growing louder with each second. Harry stays still in the shadows for a moment, then appears into the light. “I don’t mean to startle you, especially at this hour.” He says, raising the cigarette nestled between his hands, “But, you wouldn’t, perchance, have a lighter on you-- would you?”