Iâve been accused of being cold, arrogant and distant. However, those who know me very well, know Iâm nothing of the sort. In fact, Iâm quite the opposite; Iâm simply discreet and keep to myself.
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@harrydrummonds
Iâve been accused of being cold, arrogant and distant. However, those who know me very well, know Iâm nothing of the sort. In fact, Iâm quite the opposite; Iâm simply discreet and keep to myself.
Grace Kelly (via bonvivantx)

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cervideia
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.   Â
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. Â
dragging  him  in  the  other  direction  was  that  cursed  line,     ariadneâs  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. Â
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.
â  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.    Â
   â    nastyâŚ?    â    he  considered  it,    a  sharp  but  not  unfriendly  expression  occupying  delicate  features,    â    nay,     itâs  been  due  for  days  now,    â     hands  push  autumnal  locks,    plastered  to  his  forehead,    back,     â    i  wouldnât  want  to  ruin  your  car,     though,     are  you  certain?    â
âWell, in that case, they should hire you as Deadwoodâs new weatherman, seeing as the present incumbent didnât have a fucking clue.â Harry studied the man from top to bottom, he was strange, and more importantly -- he was soaked. That didnât 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. âYouâve got yourself 5 seconds until I change my mind, boy.â He starts counting while rolling up the window to prevent the rain from getting in, â1...2...âÂ
ofcherry
Cheri was out and about that day. The local news didnât show any reports of rain so she took it as an opportunity to get some house hold shopping done. Luckily she didnât 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 oneâs 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. âThank you Harry, youâre a life-saver.â
Harry gave her a thin-lipped smile as she settled into the car. âHave your personal guards abandoned you, dear Cheri?â Harry raises a brow, âWe must have them flogged for it.â He quips, shifting the carâs gear into drive and turning back onto the road, âNow, where may I take you?âÂ
A gust of wind blows a wet rouge newspaper onto the windshield. âYou know as much as I miss Scotland, I donât miss its wet piss-poor weather. And now, unfortunately, itâs followed me to South Dakota.â Harry remarks, as his carâs wipers do the work of getting it off.
Elyse had a terrible habit of wandering. Walking was great, an opportunity to see the outer wilds of Deadwood but she didnât often think about the fact that it had to be a round trip. No plans of where to stop for lunch or dinner, no water and dressed for no kind of adverse weather conditions. They were pilgrimages of sorts, sheâd just never been sure where she was trying to go, who or what she was heading towards; only ever hopeful that sheâd know it when she found it.
âOh I was just looking for directions.â Her bright grin unhampered by her sodden clothes and sopping hair. The rain had been entirely manageable until it wasnât, 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. âDo you know where I am?â
She smiled, which was a refreshing reaction for someone soaked top to bottom from the rain. âYouâre just east of Deadwood, which this that way.â Harry says, pointing straight on, â-- 20 minutes from the interstate, which is behind us.â 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. âAre you getting in, kid? Iâve got to get going.â
HEADCANON 001 - LEADERSHIP
Harry is considered a natural-born leader, even though he may not want to be a leader half the time. He has been thrusted into the responsibility. Harry has always ascended into leadership positions, not by way of democracy but inheritance. His first instance was gaining the status of cheiftan of the Drummond clan after the passing of his father, and the second being when the Comte de Saint-German willingly gave up his seat on the Dominion. He took to both positions well, especially as the 3rd Chairman, as under his influence and entreprenuership their revenue has increased tenfold. Heâs a calm and observant man, showcasing his wit and ruthlessness to anyone who challenges him or his ventures.

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{ open thread to anyone }
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. âWhat a glorious homecoming.â 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.Â
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, âWell it is dinner-time.â He jokes to himself. Harryâs car slows as he approaches, âNasty storm out here. Need a lift?â
when: november 12th, 11:30pm where: heavenâs tavern, deadwood who: open
She probably should have known better, especially considering it was one of the sorority rules she had drilled into the pledges heads over and over again. But Amara was stubborn and too impatient to wait for 15 minutes for a cab for a journey that was only a 30 minute walk, maybe 25 if she was speed walking. It also wasnât as if it was a route she wasnât familiar with and taken at least a hundred times but she had never walked alone, in the dark and on a full moon. She had never noticed how badly lit the street was until now. The only source of light, other than the phone screen illuminating the dark every now and again, was the moon above. As chilling as it was, it was also strangely peaceful.Â
Until she heard the soft echos of anotherâs footsteps, suspiciously close to hers. The sound of her blood pounding in her ears was overwhelming and made it difficult for her to listen out to the new footsteps. Without trying to draw too much attention to herself, she fumbled in her bag for her key and placed it in between her fingers, ready to attack if needed be. Wait, she wasnât even sure if this person had ulterior motives. They could just be a normal person, out for a walk like she was and didnât have any sinister ideas but just to be sure, she decided to test out her theory and quicken her pace. As on cue, their footsteps matched her pace, but did not approach any closer, nor get further away.Â
Everything was going to be fine. She could start to see the beginning of the row of street lamps and Amara could have not been more grateful. She definitely wasnât taking anymore shortcuts through terribly lit streets during nightfall, especially when alone. Her brisk walk transitioned into a slow jog as Heavenâs Tavern came into view. Without hesitation, she pushed open the door and ran to the first person she spotted. âHey, so I think Iâm being followed so can you just pretend that Iâm with you or something? Iâll be forever indebted to you for potentially saving my life,â she whispered quickly, threading her arm with the person she had approached, trying to act as though they were closer than they actually were, before sneaking a quick glance behind her to see whether she was followed in or not.Â
The clock strikes quarter to 12 as Harry downs the last swig of his scotch. The chairman puts on his coat, and made his way to the tavernâs door when a frantic girl attached herself to his arm, very suddenly. âEasy, lass.â He says in an effort to calm her, âSaving your life? Iâm sure itâs not that dire of a situation. Settle down, we'll have this sorted.â Harry scans the crowd and the front door for any suspicious activity. âI think youâre in the clear, miss. Go on,â He nudges her towards the bar, â-- and get yourself a drink to fix your nerves...â The vampire looks at her from top to bottom, trying to determine her age, â... if youâre old enough, that is.âÂ
shxttered-to-shiver
the hunter was in his hour, moving in the darkness between grounds and houses. he didnât move with the silence that he normally adopted, he wasnât 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 wasnât 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. âonly if youâre a sharing mood?â the hunter answered aloud, nodding his head to the cigarette between the otherâs fingers.
"Ah, itâs you,â Harry mutters under his breath as a familiar face emerges from the shadows. He shifts into the light, âGood heavens, man--â He chuckles, raising a brow at the blades sheathed in his back, â-- arenât you dressed to kill.â
âThereâs plenty to go around,â Harry says, handing Atticus the box of cigarettes in exchange for the lighter. âSo, what brings you to my neck of the woods at this ungodly hour?â Harry asks, readjusting his robe.
welcoming as ever -
shxttered-to-shiver
âsomething like thatâ atticus chuckles dryly, draining the bottle in hand. the smell of smoke hitting him, makes him craves one as well. he digs his own packet out from under the bar and places the white stick between his lips and sets it alight with the lighter in palm. âfuck all wrong with this placeâ the man mutters around the cancer stick. thought that was bullshit, because the place required a shit tone of work on it. atticus leans forwards and taps of the ash from his own into the glass dish. âso unless youâre willing to do something other than burn my bar down, keep the comments to yourself.â
âAh, fine, donât tell me.â He says, leaning back into his seat and taking another swig of his whisky. Harry glances around the joint, âI wonât lie, Atticus.â He purses his lips, âThe proposition of a bonfire is very tempting, especially with this current decor.â Harry stubs his cigarette into the bowl, and finishes his drink. He smirks, and raises his glass towards Atticus, âNow, you wouldnât perchance happen to have some good olâ fashioned O-Negative on tap? Or is that too much to ask.â
welcoming as ever -
shxttered-to-shiver
atticusâ could finally like the man over something it seemed. âand here i thought i would never find anything good about a vampire.â atticus answered setting the short glass down in front of the man. âsmoke away, just donât burn the place down.â the brunette answers, grabbing a dish from under the bar, one that he occasionally uses to stub out his own misgivings. he stepped back, leaving the bottle on the bar and stepping back to lean against the counter on the other side, watching the man as he took another swig from the beer.
âOh dear,â Harry smirks at his comment, â-- are my fangs showing?â He lights his cigarette and takes a deep drag before puffing the smoke out. âNo promises.â He quips, taking a look around the pub. âAlthough, you could do with a little remodelling.â Harry taps the cigarette on the rim of the makeshift ashtray, and reaches for his drink. âWouldnât hurt.â He adds, before taking another swig.Â

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thctemptress
she watches how he takes the cigarette and flicks the plastic trigger; a plume of weightless smoke filling the space between them â 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 â exposing small scars along her chin and fresh wound from playing with her masterâs ceremonial knives.
âŘ´Ůعا ؏زŮŮا â thank you,â 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. âiâm esheâŚâÂ
"Eshe. Colourful.â 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.Â
âHarry Drummond.â The chairmanâs 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. âSo, what brings you here -- to the fringes of Deadwood -- at this hour.â
As he takes another drag, the streetlight above flickers, casting both of them into darkness. âFucks sake.âÂ
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 âone minuteâ to a soldier and how it puts life into perspective. Harry returns to his âturningâ as a result of the battle of Glenlivet, and the aftermath: a vicious cycle of blood-lust, violence, and guilt. the sequence highlights Harryâs struggle with his new identity as a vampyr - for how could a pious man such as he, become this abomination?
To learn more about Harry Drummond click here.
thctemptress
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 wasnât 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.
âhere, and give it back or iâll have to fight you-â
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. âi always preferred matchesâŚâ
Harry smiled, amused at her statement, "Much obliged, madame.âÂ
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, âMatches - aye, they used to more reliable than these plastic buggers. But convenience always takes hold, itâs the way of the world.âÂ
He returns the lighter. âHere you go. Back to you all safe and sound.â Harry pulls out a second cigarette from the pack and offers it to his new company, âGo on--â he urges, â-- itâs the least I could do.â
welcoming as ever -
shxttered-to-shiver
Atticus outstretched his arms with a flourish. âI like a returning customer.â The man commented dryly as he rolled off the bar top leaving the other room to sit. Atticus made the assumption the man wouldnât drink anything other than his most expensive, something about the attire and the general immortal stink he gave off. He took the glass and poured a double into it, turning and setting it down in front of him.
âScotch, Iâm assuming you have more taste than to have it with ice?â The Hunter asked his fingers still wrapped around the glass ready to take it back and maybe consider throwing the stench out. âSo?â
A look of disgust washes over his porcelain features. âIce?â  He scoffed. âYou might as well piss in it, mate. Thatâs offensive to us Scots.â Harry picks a cigarette out of the pack and pinches it in his mouth as he reaches for his lighter. âYou've been a gracious host so far-- you wouldnât mind if I smoked, now would you?â
{ open thread/starter }
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. âI donât mean to startle you, especially at this hour.â He says, raising the cigarette nestled between his hands, âBut, you wouldnât, perchance, have a lighter on you-- would you?â

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welcoming as ever -
where: nocturnal tavern // who: whoeverÂ
atticus laid across the bar, his body taking up a good half of the top that was used to served the drinks upon. it had been a slow afternoon and would be the same this evening, if it didnât pick up. he really needed to find himself some bar staff, because at the moment everything was falling on his head and he was really getting sick of being here when no one else was. he would much rather pay someone to do that. âunless youâve come to drink, maybe suck my cock - fuck offâ which was the mature and welcoming way to invite customers into his bar. yet, his mood always had got the better of him.Â
âMy, my -- American hospitality at itâs finest.â He proclaimed, albeit sarcastically. Harry was no stranger to the bars of South Dakota, but this particular establishment wasnât one he had frequented at all, but this instance would leave a lasting first impression. âScotch.â He says, reaching into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes. âIf you have it.â