severed wrist bleeds ink

mixed bag of sentence starters/dialogue prompts. taken from reedsy.

“i love you.”

“do i know you?”

“do you remember?”

“this section is off limits.”

“we’re closing in ten minutes.”

“this isn’t what i signed up for.”

“this is all my fault.”

“that’s not what i meant.”

“have we met before?”

“are you real?”

“i didn’t mean that.”

“i’ve said too much.”

“i didn’t see that one coming.”

“is nobody going to say it?”

“i wish we could stay here forever.”

“it’s all fun and games.”

“i can’t say it.”

“you can’t run forever.”

“we have all the time in the world.”

“you’ve got this.”

“that shouldn’t be there.”

“i think someone’s listening.”

“i think someone’s watching.”

“we’re not alone.”

“i’m free!”

“maybe in another life.”

“rome wasn’t built in a day.”

“it’s the thought that counts.”

“i feel alive.”

“speak now.”

“so, what’s the catch?”

“it’s mine, and you can’t have it!”

“houston, we have a problem.”

“let’s go for a walk.”

“thank you for that.”

“i’ve got a plan.”

“move aside.”

“i’m here to investigate a crime.”

“you didn’t come to the funeral. why?”

“oh my god. don’t say that!”

“quick! act surprised!”

“are you absolutely sure that your plan is foolproof?”

“come here.”

“truth or dare.”

“tell me something i don’t know.”

“is that… is that blood all over you?”

“right, i’m leaving now.”

“when has listening to you EVER worked out well for me?”

“don’t do that.”

“no, you can’t have my number.”

“i’d rather you just tell me.”

“did you also hear a knock on the door?”

“you’re not looking your best today. what happened?”

“[he/she/they] did it first.”

“well, don’t just stand there! do something!”

“run! run now!”

“hey. someone’s on the phone for you.”

“you’ll never know unless you try.”

“thank you, god. thanks an awful lot.”

“this is my worst nightmare.”

Botanical No. 23

"Do you want to die too?" A curious question, one that's snippy leaving her lips but also not above a whisper because there's a part of her that thinks her voice can move mountains. Armand is unpredictable and spacey, and despite Rachelle's intrigue for such people, it takes moments of grounding when it came to the illusions he feeds.

The city blinks and fades into view for her just as easily, a feeling of emptiness left when it leaves as she sucks in a breath when the wind curls and loops against her face. "Is that why we're out here?" She followed him. It was her mistake, and she's letting him burrow and gnaw at any sense of urgency she didn't have exposed before. Letting him, because Rachelle is skating a fine line between being murdered by the ocean and murdered by Armand's hand.

There was no favoritism or yearning in his eyes. Rachelle knows he'd let her fall and leave her to be one with the waves and not look back. Even standing there it's not a fair competition, but she can't get her feet to move. Not even a little bit as she feels closer and closer to her death. It doesn't take her long to hear the rumbling again, and she closes her eyes to let the sounds soothe her instead of press worry into the meat of tan flesh. The pockets of her parka becomes her method of warmth, digging her hands in and keeping them curled, her nails almost in the position to dig into her own hand.

"What a silly superstition." Armand replied flatly. He imagined a bringer of death to be punished by the taste of his own medicine. Vampires did not share similar sentiment. For Armand, this was only a game. An afterthought. The city he uncoiled from his illusion flickered from the strong wind marching between the skyscrapers. Illusions of the ancient mind gained strength. Armand possessed a skill to simply will the ink of his mirage to spill into a crystalline bowl of Rachelle's mind, or any mind for that matter. The pier jolted, either by a will of one or the unseen. Armand hardly moved from where he stood. The piled snow was a cherry on top.

"No." Armand's shadows pulled away from her. A bundle of carnivorous flora peered at Rachelle from beneath the heap of snow behind her. The plants' tiny mouths opened and closed as if to assess if they had the strength to eat her whole. The illusion persisted in subtle ways now: blurring horizon of the ocean in the night, a boat returned into view only to get swallowed by the fog again, and odd holes in the snow around them. He wasn't fucking with her. He was just altering her perception. How Rachelle reacted to receiving Armand's gifts depended largely on her. The ancient vampire didn't take the blame. "You are not going to die unless you plunge yourself." Now suddenly bored, Armand felt the chill of the railing by leaning against it fully. His spine relaxed as the vertical tubed dug into the wool of his coat. Despite her exclamation, even a blind man would know Rachelle wasn't leaving.

Armand exhaled a huff of air that formed a haunted chuckle.

"Look over the edge."

𝗚𝗢𝗢𝗗 𝗙𝗨𝗖𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗗𝗢𝗚. 𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗧𝗛𝗬 𝗔𝗡𝗜𝗠𝗔𝗟. 𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗪 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗖𝗘. 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗞 𝗔𝗕𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗜𝗧 𝗢𝗡𝗘 𝗠𝗢𝗥𝗘 𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗘, 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗬𝗢𝗨'𝗟𝗟 𝗙𝗨𝗖𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗥𝗘𝗚𝗥𝗘𝗧 𝗜𝗧.

The dark leash tightened around Howard and pulled him taut to the edge of his tolerance. 𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗡 𝗖𝗢𝗠𝗣𝗟𝗜𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘. One more yank and he would surely fall to his knees. This is his one and final warning.

Howard reached for his left eye, rubbing just over his eyelid as a piercing feeling began to tear into his skull. He felt lightheaded from how suddenly it attacked him, and thought it must be time for sustenance again.

"Yes, obligations," he murmured. "I will do what I'm told, but I'm not sure that extends to you without an agreement. You'll have to negotiate the terms with someone else, I'm afraid." Howard's hand gestured in the air vaguely, as he saw stars pricking his eyesights when he removed his hand from his eye. "Not me."

"The easiest person to contact would be Samuel, as you say. Warin's somewhat of a free man; he'll be more than happy to come over and work here, if you let him bring his tools and resources. He's good. Yeah." His answer was beginning to sound clipped and distracted. Something ink-black passed over his eyes for a split second and disappeared.

"I don't bring jobs to Samuel; that's out of turn. Seven, ten, twenty paintings, it doesn't matter. I'll do it if and only if he gives me the okay. That's my licence to faff around and do whatever you want me to do," he explained further, still opting to remain subtle even though the stranger had spelled it out. CHAINED -- and if he wanted the lead, he'd have to sort that out with his masters. "Otherwise, I've got things to pack and deliver for others in the coven that needs my urgent attention, that's my obligation."

"I'll get out of your hair until then, would that be amenable to you? I don't want to waste your time, and far be it for me to want to piss you off by dallying, but plainly and simply put, I don't have a say whether I am up for a job or otherwise." Howard nursed his temple. This headache was beginning to ebb away, thankfully.

His phone began to buzz. Samuel.

"You still there?" "Yeah." "He there?" "Yep." "Hand it over to him."

Howard offered his phone to the stranger. "Samuel," he said.

The body in the refrigerator twitched. Armand blinked and canted his head at Howard when the name was offered again. Samuel. Warin. Howard. These names did not compete for important. Frankly, all were hueless names. Armand's expression wore deceitful cluelessness as he cupped his left elbow with a gentle palm when his arms crossed. His eyes narrowed subtly, easily mistaken for a blink in the artificial light pouring from the outside. The conceived gallery was minutely recognizable for its purpose. Still, it was a restaurant in great disrepair with a fully functional kitchen to store corpses for unspecified research. In this unclean chaos, Armand thrived by maintaining his motionlessness.

A phone was handed to the vampire before he could respond to the dog's excuses. He squeezed the cellular device at its sides and pressed on the speaker button to overhear Samuel's grating voice through a tiny hive carved into the bottom edge. He observed Howard as Samuel inquired for feedback. The line was quiet for a minute longer. Finally, the ancient vampire forcefully tore his penetrating gape from his taller counterpart to regard the dim screen of the phone cradled in his hand.

"Everything is in order." Armand answered with flat disinterest. "In fact," he ignored the degrading words with great patience. To Armand, a demeaning remark was a sign of inferior intelligence. "I would like to hire him full time. The service I seek is a commitment, I am afraid. The next painting is," the vampire paused to look up. "Time sensitive." Then, Armand's lips slowly spread into a tight-lipped smile. His voice remained a cashmere threat. By the edge of Howard's shoe, a small Venus flytrap popped from the ground like a springing tulip. It opened its maw and offered a crimson sight to the black ceiling. It swayed and hit its weightless stem against Howard's shoe.

"I think," Armand's lips parted as he relished the pause. "This is where we negotiate."

a collection of roleplay / writing prompts , lifting quotes from " the sounds of nightmares " podcast based in the little nightmares universe .

" the look on your face says there's more on your mind . "

" would you like to talk about it ? "

" how are you feeling today ? "

" do you remember your nightmares ? "

" i remember ... everything . "

" i'm not sure that's true . "

" i woke up somewhere i didn't belong . "

" i don't quite follow . "

" can you try to explain ? "

" you can't understand . not unless you were there . "

" hey ! where are we ?! "

" they aren't children . not at all . "

" my mind was divided , and that's not fair to you . "

" everything is going to get worse from here . "

" help me ! please help me ! "

" who brought me here ? "

" i'll do everything i can to help you . "

" there's nothing bad inside you . nothing . "

" we're in this together . "

" take your pick . "

" sweets for my sweet . "

" do you know a way out of here ? "

" what are you working on ? "

" we're friends . friends tell each other things . "

" i'll play with you . "

" don't overdo it . "

" you were right there ! don't tell me you did nothing ! "

" you're upset with me , aren't you ? "

" are you going to leave ? like all the others ? "

" whatever you desire , it's yours . "

" everyone needs someone . "

" don't leave me alone ! "

" are you still angry with me ? "

" i'll protect you . "

" i hate being alone . "

" i understand more than you think . "

" you mean to escape , don't you ? "

" you're being unfair . "

" i can't help you if you hide things from me . "

" why did you bring me here ? "

" what do you want ? "

" why didn't you tell me ? "

" you promised me . "

" i don't feel like talking . "

" you never listen . "

" we can face these monsters together . "

" i need you . "

" i have nothing more to give . "

" take my hand again . "

" you abandoned me . "

This was not his home and yet...

And yet Clark was just a insistent on the cleanliness of it. He had only really started to somewhat live in the rented apartment for the sake of Ishaan. Or, rather, Clark's own sake. Best to satiate the man for the time being until the cambion could truly figure out what he wanted to figure out.

He still went home-home and did so without hesitation. Frankly speaking, Armand could stand there and watch him do it and wouldn't be able to conclude anything from it other than the fact Clark Thompson could simply will himself away.

Meeting the man there at the doorstep wasn't jarring or surprising at this point. If anything, Clark was sure he'd take more notice if the apartment's welcome mat was devoid of its usual visitor.

The man regarded Ishaan, regarded how soaked the man was. Hilarious in a way how pathetic being soaked to the bone could make anyone-— if you dumped a bucket of water of god, would he have looked just as small?

He arrived in the middle of a storm, determined to eventually catch him.

The moisture nipped at the vampire skin. Each wet talon raked over his spine, yet Ishaan ignored it once he attention shifted onto Clark. He smiled politely and drummed the edge of his shoe against the doormat to rid of excess. He shrugged off his glistening coat and hooked it by the door, shifting the mat over to catch any stray droplets. The command stopped him from advancing into the next step to free himself from his soaked shoes. Ishaan glanced up at the towel offered to him by the man. He nodded and reached out for it, immediately draping the soft fabric over his head to soak up the rain from his dark curls.

"Please," he agreed, peering at Clark over the towel while patting his face dry. "It would be rude to trail dirt into your home." Armand smirked, emphasizing that Clark's presence somewhat surprised him. The vampire expected to be welcomed by staling trails of Thompson left behind. The man's presence here was not incidental and a change of clothes? It felt political. The thought boiled amusement in Ishaan's chest and he chuckled while prying each shoe off his foot. The relentlessness of the storm soaked him right through, but what was a cold to a dead man? He hardly noticed it until Clark brought it up.

His hair resembled a thick forest after it was scorched by a raging fire: his curls stuck out in layered chaos, glistening from a damp hint of what the outside looked like. Ishaan wore a knitted sweater under his coat, paired with a black button-up tucked neatly into brown trousers. He did not fly or use transportation. He walked the entire way.

"Have you been here long?" He inquired to sway conversation away from a scratching feeling of chill rolling over Ishaan's joints.

Clark let his brows continue to furrow, staring over at Ishaan with something not quite as intent as to be called a glare or glower. A focused look, a look that conveyed the gears were turning and he was not entirely pleased with the output so far.

It occurred to the man that both their questions appeased only one of them at a time. To know the man's intentions satisfied Clark but meant little to Armand. To confess to why he wanted to be rid of the man would satisfy Armand but would solve little for the cambion. The realization made him glance away again, suck gently at his teeth.

❝ -— You hold an object in your possession that only you have seen and others only know of its existence, nothing more. You know this object to be blue, you know this object to have no other interesting or appealing features despite being only in your possession alone. It is just blue. ❞ He began, with little context as to where he was taking it.

❝ Strangers come along and grow interested in this object, one after the other. You tell each and every one that it is blue and nothing more. Most move on as it was only ever the novelty of this unseen item that aroused their curiosity. Some linger. You paint the item, show them pictures, let them see it, let them hold it. And yet they still insist that this item must be more, surely there must be more to it. ❞

Clark made a vague gesture as he finished off his analogy. ❝ Your curiosity does not offend, no. But it is unwarranted and wasted and I insist on knowing what I must do or say in order for you to see me as I am and how I wish to be seen-— ordinary and boring and not worth such scrutiny and pursuit. ❞

Ishaan's head slowly moved from side to side to indicate his refusal. He understood what the business man was getting to, but the meaning hardly pertained to the wide-mouthed Venus flytrap. The tiny predator waited for the blue beetle to crawl inside a sticky bedding. A single twitch and the trap snapped closed. Innards fled down the stem.

He patiently waited for Clark to finish his honorable attempt to convince Ishaan's curiosity to otherwise attend elsewhere. The ancient vampire moved from eyes downward to observe Clark's lips. They shaped certain letters differently to create an unforgettable sounds. Fixated, Ishan did not blink. He solidified in place with a silent hope that his counterpart would abandon his theory of blues. It was better for Clark to realize that the vampire was not going anywhere. Did Clark bleed blue? He did not act that way. When the man assigned himself an insulting title of boredom, Armand snapped his eyes up and burrowed as deep into Clark's sockets as he could.

"You think me shallow?" Ishaan cocked his eyebrow; it was the first time he moved since Clark's retort. "Do you believe yourself to be worthless that a shared conversation is a waste?" I am certainly not here to cure the illness others contract from you. The vampire sighed. "I don't think so." He itched to reach out a pluck a tiny spec of link from Clark's lapel. He stared at it hatefully as if glare alone had the ability to scorch it without dealing further damage. Next to it, Armand conjured a head of the Venus flytrap. It bounced once and landed like a pin of tiny honor.

"I see you as you are before me. You show me how you wish to be seen, and I perceive. If you look away from me, I will watch the back of your head. I will not imagine your hair to be blue, unless you make it so." Ishaan's lips hinted at a smile. "Mister Thompson." The man inclined his head and bathed in the motion of life again. His shoulders relaxed and fingers twitched to shed another impulse. He imagined lifting a flap of Clark's skin similarly to peering underneath the fold of his suit's collar. Where was this ordinary and boring he spoke of?

"I looked for you. I found you." Ishaan pressed on. "Others could try to pry the blue item away from my hands, but I am not so keen on sharing." He paused and scoffed. "What the unnamed have done to you concerns me only as an obstacle. Will you continue to punish me for the treatment of others? There is no need for your riddles, Mister Thompson. If you wish to be left alone, just say so. I am as capable to watch you from afar as up close." Ishaan side stepped Clark and a shadow behind him shuddered and collapsed back into its natural slant.

The Venus pin on the man's suit jacket vanished. The plants in the sink festered and tripled in numbers. They spilled over the sink's edge and crawled over the counter. Ishaan scrutinized the apartment again. It possessed an uninhabitable simplicity. It was unnerving and it scratched a pleasant itch in the back of Armand's head. He turned to Clark again with his hands clasped behind him.

"The painting needn't define itself to its audience. An observant eye will know its intended message without inquiry. A blind one will glance and selfishly assign it one." Ishaan's lips spread wider. "I think we should continue this elsewhere."

She blamed him for something that appeared to be handled. The vampire's eyes flicked to Rachelle's lips, guessing the damage afflicted upon another. While the situation unearthed itself before Armand now, the lack of context hardly bothered him. He tilted his head an inch when she pointed at him. A smile ghosted his lips. "You are very much alive." He considered her wholly without roaming his gaze over her silhouette. Armand blinked and fished out his phone to press his thumb over an army of notifications. She implied he was somehow involved in a confrontation he did not know about. Considering that, Armand decided to withhold his judgement and reaction. With a swipe of a thumb, the notification were cleared, and Armand dropped his cellular device back into his pocket.

The vines suspended around them took on the color of burgundy. Armand knew the vines answered to her thoughts, and he was curious, but the vampire chose not to access them. He did not need to spy on her thoughts when they were written so clearly on her face. Her expression underlined a theatrical caricature of someone who plotted a doom. Armand narrowed his gaze when she took another step. The woman advanced like a searching pawn on a chessboard while the motionless bishop stood far away, waiting for the pawn to cross a diagonal threshold. A moth knocked on a flytrap's door, demanding to crawl into its stomach.

"I believe I was here the whole time." Armand gestured at his gallery currently under his care and meticulous construction. "If you plan to blame me for any future fighting, just know my phone is on the Do not Disturb feature at all times." And it will stay that way even when your head is severed and your limbs are crushed. His smile was evident this time as he turned to face the back of the former restaurant.

"Are you going to tell me what trouble you got yourself into, or am I going to guess?" Armand's eyes flicked above Rachelle's head as he watched her over his shoulder, indicating that if she was stubborn, he planned to invade her mind and pluck at her memory.

When given a task that involved very little participation of morality and legality, Howard spends very little time ruminating. He loves tasks he could switch his mind off for, where hundreds of years of trial and error had taught him his own methodologies, especially when it comes down to hands-on procurement.

[ TXT ] Nice to meet you, Mr Armand.

Dressed to the nines: sharp collars, suit and tie; he sauntered into the auction room with a cold gaze that swept over every face and every heartbeat. Howard smiled blandly, returning curious and audacious eyes looking over him, counting the minutes by the ticking of a Patek Philippe of one patron, and the slow, sluggish pulse of another. The room grew cold as Howard took his seat, crossing his legs as he browsed through his emails and text messages. Fingers tapping on thermostats -- it's seventy-four degrees, why is it so cold? -- shoulders shrugging on coats, but the show must go on.

Two auction hands brought out a radiant heater. The room remained chilly.

[ TXT ] Unexpected estate auction on your piece before I could negotiate the price with the previous (dead) owner. Greedy kids, think it'll go for a bigger number than I'd offered.

Howard tilted his head to the side. A woman was staring daggers at him.

[ TXT ] I never understood what they call 'finer things in life', you know. Gold. Fame. Paintings. Stuff.

He raised his paddle, rolled his eyes. Half a million British pounds.

[ TXT ] Plants though? Plants are lovely. I love gardening, I have a green thumb if you'd believe me. But like everything else in life, the most valuable thing is time. Time, among other things, I don't own.

One point two million. Howard sighed audibly. Another raise of his paddle. Two million.

[ TXT ] A lifespan of less than a hundred years spent on a painting double that in age. And then they die. Sell it on to the next bloke who'd die of a deep vein thrombosis in two weeks. comedy writes itsel

"Sir, you can't use your phone when the auction is --"

Howard glanced at the attendant, raised his paddle, then gestured with indignance.

Twenty-three point five million.

"I can do whatever I bloody fucking want, love."

Going once.

"Now will you please leave me alone?"

Going twice. Funny numbers. None of this is real.

"I'm sorry, sir."

Twenty-six million from the Patek wearing patron. Howard drew a breath, smiled. His victim had just secured themselves tonight.

Once, twice, and sold. He got up, straightened his suit, and left the building.

"… horrific accident involving a truck and two SUVs… victim is a businessman and philanthropist Jonathan Holmes… returning from an auction…"

✦✦✦ ─────── HOWARD LEANED AGAINST his car outside the restaurant, licking the edge of the rolling paper and neatly finishing his cigarette. It was left pursed on his lip unlit, just at the edge of a speck of blood at the corner of his mouth.

Armand sauntered to the door of his gallery and retrieved a key from the abyss of his coat pocket. He turned it twice to the right and let himself inside. The lights flickered on and offered a sight of a sage and tangerine-colored ambience. The existing paintings greeted Armand with their crafted shadows and the ancient vampire bowed at them. He spent a prolonged time enjoying his collection each night. The gallery was approaching its grand opening. In just a few months, the mysterious corner of an unassuming alleyway was planned to light up with a neon sign and invite strangers inside.

With another ping, the vampire tore his eyes away from one of the paintings, now fully entranced by his mobile screen. Howard supplied him with information that touched topics unrelated to the painting. Armand felt his lips stretch into a smile and hurried to school his expression when the digging sensation in his cheek became too overstimulating. He answered:

[ to Howard ]: That is something that people like to categorize to separate themselves from the rest. Gold is beautiful and fluctuates in value enough to keep their interest. It defines their worth if they can afford it.

A sound distracted the vampire for a moment. He looked up to piercing the stillness with a bright gaze. The gallery was empty. The exhibits remained untouched. The spider in the corner of the window stuck her tiny head inside of the centipede's husk to drown in greed. Armand looked down at the phone and continued.

[ to Howard ]: We do not own anything in life, Howard. Temporarily, we are granted a privilege of using a gift that takes form of necessity and pleasure.

Another creak. Armand ignored it.

[ to Howard ]: Everyone dies. The painting carries a collection of souls that have touched it. Eventually, it ends up in the hands of someone who can appreciate it beyond the threshold. A hundred years is nothing for Art.

A voice suddenly hovered over Armand to deliver a message through a jade-hued vine. It spoke of a desire to rob with a holstered gun, five bullets, and a spent needle tucked inside a rotting vein. A thought lasted but a moment and someone barged inside of the restaurant. Armand looked up to greet a stranger dressed in stolen layers: a man a foot taller than the gallery's host, black hair, and sad, brown eyes. The mortal man held a gun inside his left pocket and a cigarette pinched in his right. He greeted the vampire with a nod at his exhibits. Armand cocked his head while retaining a neutral expression, but deep inside something twisted in his stomach, dying every fiber of his being into unyielding disgust. He reached out to place his phone on top of the remade counter and advanced toward the man with a single purpose.

The spider was gone. The husk of the centipede was abandoned in the web. Armand exited the gallery bundled in a brown cardigan he dragged from the rack of a neighboring thrift store. His eyes reflected the night with a satisfied glow as he studied Howard. The courier was pleasing to the eyes when he cleaned up. It was inevitable that the ancient vampire would notice the blood.

"No, you are just on time." The mans lips bloomed with a smile as he peered at the car. He did not hide his electric anticipation. It was contagious enough to charge the air around them. He approached Howard close enough to inspect his face with a sweep. Armand said nothing as he reached out to pinch the stained corner of Howard's collar between the soft pad of his middle finger and thumb. He applied enough pressure to squeeze out a damp smear across his skin which he then brought to his lips. Drawing his fingers against his mouth, Armand brushed his tongue across the spots for a taste. It was a fresh kill.

He glanced up at Howard.

"You should destroy that shirt. It's ruined now." He nodded at the car. "Bring it inside. I have something to show you." Shortly after, he returned to the gallery to turn on a spotlight for a vacant frame where he expected the painting to hang.