𝐂𝐔𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃'𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋 ,  followed by a groan to match.     she throws a huff into the mix , crossing her arms for good measure as she plops onto the  chaise.          ❝ it’s the  watusi ,  nandor.    not the waltz --- not  the bloody fucking swing-swing thing ,  the  watusi ! ❞          what’s so hard about standing with your feet shoulder length apart ,  bending your knees a little  &  pretending to be very bad at skiing ?     why wasn’t he getting this ?    he should be terribly skiing his way to the dance hall by now ,  especially since he had one of the world’s greatest dance instructors to teach him  ---   her.

circe smiled and reached forward, giving nadja’s hand a gentle squeeze. “why darling, i am a goddess,” she said. not much of one, but enough. enough to have a spark of the divine. and small enough that she did not terrify humans the way her golden and glorious father could. “i turned my vain and wicked cousin scylla from nymph to sea monster,” she said. “i could turn water into blood for you if you so wished it,” she reached up and touched her fingertips under nadja’s chin. “you are only limited by your own desires, darling.” she glanced back at the men again, and back at nadja. her desire and maybe her house mates. “the offer is an open one, my dear. you only have to wish for it, oh and to call me,” she said, jotting her number down on the same card.  

truth be told ,  she’s not sure if she really wants to   go   anywhere.      it shows in her eyes ,  their enchanting hazel hue shimmering with doubt.     that devious dipshit had maybe been just a little bit...   correct.     she’d grown complacent.    dulled down.     a ripple of the fearsome beast she used to be  &  she was okay with that for such a long time ,  she wasn’t sure she was ready to give up her comfort ,  as suffocating as it could be.     what she’d said mere seconds ago seemed like excuse enough for safety   ---  she hadn’t expected that kind of rebuttal ;  a statement delivered like a flash flood unto a dry riverbed.    

&   she’s  found solace , comfort ,    in talking to herself  .  who wouldn’t ?  hundreds  of  years  with  no  one  to  match ,  in  beauty ,  brains ,  brawn …      ❝      sean’s ——❞     beggars  can’t  be  choosers   (  never perfecting ,  the  jesk  surname .  )    but ,  she  does enjoy , the  ability to bitch   about the   stupid   husband … .      ❝    why yes ,   of  course ,  where  are  we  going  today ?      ❞      cradle  her ,  like  a  child ,  arms  beneath  her  little  legs .     

❝    want  to  visit  the  fruit  trees  ?   maybe   elvis  would  like  a   hello  –––––––––––- or   we   could  give   nandor   a  good  scare .   ❞    pig - shit roommate . 

this.      this is certainly a better existence   than her previous one ,  bemoaned &  wandering countrysides...  haunting village idiots...     what more could a poltergeist ask for than to be reunited with herself ,  her only  ( almost )   equal ?     perhaps for said  ( almost )  equal to have actually accomplished something more than a torrid affair with her gift of eternity ,  but..   she’ll digress.     doll parts creaking ,  she looks to the vampire.

Armand is struck in an instant by not only a flurry of shrieking vampire, but a seeming mirage of blinding lights and cameras and his face is a picture for it. It is fortunate that he is old enough to support her embrace even given his diminutive size as Nadja flings herself at him or she almost certainly would have gone barrelling straight down the porch. 

“Nadja…!” 

He blinks, stunned, as he is released and able to get a better view of the cameras as she fixes herself, staring with great discomfort directly into one, in what is sure to be a less-than-flattering shot as Nadja introduces him. 

“Ah… I see…” is all he manages as he’s herded in, giving her an uncertain look as he makes his way into the foyer with her. He stands stiffly looking almost comically self-conscious, his eyes roving between her and the cameras as he speaks with a small gesture towards the crew. “How… modern. You really have kicked things up a notch from our written confessionals. They thought that Lestat was bold, but this is very…” 

He trails off and clears his throat, evidently a little put on the spot but curious of the cameras all the same. “And this documentary that they are filming, it is going to air on television, is it?” 

she’s   beaming !      eyes alight ,  smiling wide --- the tips of her fangs pressing into the pale pink at the corners of her mouth.     she throws an excited glance to one of the cameras before her expression turns sour  &  her entire being animates ,  her hands turning to fists that would be white - knuckled if they could.          ❝ where the hell is ---    GIZMO !     GIZMO ,  WE HAVE A GUEST !  GI -- rrgh... ❞          an awkward grin replaces the disdain as she looks to armand with an apology in her eyes.      seriously ,  could pig shit nandor have chosen a worse familiar ?      this is embarrassing.   yes ,  he’s currently cleaning the fancy room....  but some familiar duties outweigh others in importance.  

comeback kid || accepting 

“ you can do whatever you want forever. ” – @hemovoria

her smile is soft and sad. immortals are all alike no matter where you find them. though unlike her these immortals can in fact die ( again ). they are not as immortal as gods, and so they live better, richer, more beautiful lives. … in their own ways. circe lifted her golden eyes to the two men at the back of the room. well … it was very much their own way. “immortality grows tiring after a while. it is an endless slog at times. i do have an island though,” she said, tugging a pen out of her purse. “if you ever feel you need some … peace and quiet. it’s empty save for animals. i always find returning there rejuvenating after dealing with …. you know ….” she glanced up towards the men again, “life.” 

“Archangel. Sixth and last,” Azrael breathes. 

She’s not hostile towards the vampire at all, as one might expect from a creature like Azrael, who is both sacrosanct and the vengeance of God personified. If anything, Azrael seems almost casual—probably the result of exhaustion combined with a few hours of opium smoking. That and no vampire could possibly measure up to the hellish filth she’s seen crawl out of hell before. 

“Before you panic, I’m not going to incinerate you or something…like that.” She says.  

❛  who put a picture of a ghost on my desk?  ❜  

                                    *  THE CASE OF:   @hemovoria​.