⏝ི𓏶. ゜ 𝕶𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖇𝖔𝖗𝖓. A PRIVATE ﹠ MUTUAL EXCLUSIVE PORTRAYAL OF “ AUGUST WILSON ” AN ORIGINAL HORROR MUSE INSPIRED BY AUTOPSY OF JANE DOE. AS WRITTEN BY IVY, THIRTY. BLOG IS TWENTY - ONE PLUS.
HOW DESPERATELY YOU CALL FOR YOUR GOD. WHO DO YOU THINK CREATED ME?
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before interacting/following me: important information about august and my guidelines can be located on my carrd. please check them out beforehand.
triggering content ahead: psychological horror, dead dove, torture, gore, stalking, toxic relationships, s/uicide ideation, religious trauma, cannibalism and likely more will be present on this blog. I will cw any triggering content in my threads but please proceed with caution anyhow.
misc: i'm familiar with several fandoms but even if i'm not i'll still follow you with a hope and a prayer you base your portrayal off of your head canons!
I work full time and have mental health struggles, so I do prioritize my life offline. I love being here though, & connecting with people. If we're mutuals feel free to message me at anytime or ask for my discord.
I believe heavily in curating your own space, so if you soft block/unfollow me, no hard feelings!! I expect the same respect in return. I won't follow you again or question you.
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for the first time in centuries, armand hadn’t known what to expect. perhaps the hammer horror fantasies left behind from a life he has not lived for decades had suggested a moaning, staggering karloff-clone in a hundred sad and disjointed pieces, tinged slightly grave-green all over & itching to prise the rigid bolts from out of his temples. and he’d known better than that, of course, far better —— but the vampire’s mind raced and races still with raw fascination, frantically bulleting mental list upon mental list: of questions to ask him, of incisions to make, of hypotheses and theories.
the point remains, however, that august is august. he isn’t a toy, not like the others —— his eyes might very well be tragic & magnetic, his body a satisfying system of well-fitting, well-conditioned parts —— but he is not the sort of predictable castro hustler armand used to gorge himself on. he’s tried already to cast a light into the dead and darkened corners of august’s very-much-alive brain to no avail, and he’s come up empty-handed each time he wracks his own mind for just the perfect word (if only they could think of just one good word!) to precisely define whatever it is that afflicts him. to sum up in brief the thing that he is. armand can’t do it, not yet. he can’t be classified simply as a revenant; that word has taken on a specific meaning in this new age, referring to and only to another entirely distinct and foul bastardization of nature. august isn’t rotting, august isn’t slobbering.
armand turns on one lofty heel in the direction of the other’s voice, one brow just slightly lifted in innocuous curiosity as he tucks a few tentative phrases to the back of his mind: flesh-eating vampire-like entity, cross reference ‘ghūl’, ‘vrykolakas’.
little velvet laugh, suddenly. “you’re funny. the only reason i’d go up in flames to touch a bible is because i’m a recovering catholic convert, august —— not because i’m a vampire.”
ochre eyes glimmer in the harsh & sterile light, flitting over august’s pale hands (like a gossamer skeleton, armand thinks), and he finds he’s privately delighting in the pleasant contrast of that slick black rubber against his near translucent white flesh.
the memory sits as a discomfort in his chest, heavy & intrusive, carefully concealed behind his forced smiles. now would be the time to push into his mind, but he refuses to voice this to armand. his brow raises a little as the other laughs, & disingenuous smile transforms further with his tease: “ does it count as recovery if you’ve been undead longer than you were catholic? unless the house of god managed to convert you in the past fifty years, you should be recovered enough to own a bible. it’s just a book. ” a lie, he supposed. the words housed on delicate paper had been used against him –– that gave them power, didn’t it? others had attempted to use the words against him again, screaming out for their god to save them with hymns & passages they had memorized for their final moments. it had always struck him as curious when they would repeat the same passages to him. collected from films, perhaps: THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU. an exorcism of their own erupts at the end of their words then darkness. there was no afterlife for them, only nothingness.
the powdered glove squeaks in his hand as he opens & closes his fist a few times. when it opens a final time he drops nitrile into the waste basket, considering it used now as a half - assed stress ball. if it pleases. optimism isn’t something familiar to august, but it’s there. he doesn’t want to be underneath knife time & time again, but he would give into it for the chance to fill in gaps of what he was. he’d dumped his research onto the table some time before. what he believed he wasn’t, but could still be with quiet encouragement for armand to checkover his work in case he had missed something. only, most creatures lives could be ended. august felt as though he was stuck in a cycle; lost when death came upon him, then pulled back into consciousness when his body mended itself enough. where was he in those in between moments? torturous still.
grey eyes lift to the others, studying the abnormal gleam they often had. it was far from human, & what had confirmed to august that the man was not mortal. aesthetically, august could admit that armand was pleasing to look at. “ why? are you afraid i’ll try to eat you if you cut into me now? i might. ”
august hadn’t eaten in front of the vampire yet. it felt intimate to do, as if tearing away the final mask & presenting the monster underneath. although there had been an understanding between them that armand would provide for august, he wasn’t in an entirely weakened state and he could use the fresh air. “ i’ll eat. ” then he took his discarded shirt and pulled it over his head as he stepped towards the door to exit. it was only when he didn’t hear the vampire’s immediate steps that he looked over his shoulder. “ come with me. ” something told him that armand would follow steps behind without an invite, concealed in the dark rather than witness it front row. “ you can eat too if you want. ”
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ㅤㅤThe creature’s mind is a mess, a tempestuous wave of bewilderment and agitation in place which makes preternatural capabilities difficult to discern what is and isn’t cogent, the other’s reaction to his surroundings and very being an obstacle within ruin and self-making, the vampire’s brow creasing a touch in subdued frustration. Impatient as he could be, Lestat would allow the other a chance to settle for a moment before attempting to probe again, still fascinated by this little spectacle of the macabre. Some would find the unravelling process of anatomical correction tied with revivification to be grotesque, but there’s an odd charm to it, one which laughs in the face of all that is supposedly sanctimonious ( Dieu n’a pas sa place ici ). There is still no offer to help as struggling form grapples with the soil, the sight of the other on bended knees garnering the slow curl of a smile about youthful features, a poeticism to the sight which only brings Lestat to slowly lean forwards.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“ Mm, no formal introductions. No comments on the weather. Straight to business, very direct. ” A heavy thread of humour weaves into the devil-may-care response, the consideration to spin a little fanciful game monetarily entertained but set aside, this fellow’s predicament creating a scant means of sympathy ( mais seulement un peu ). A palm creates an all-encompassing vertical line before the blond’s bearing with a flourish. “ A beholder of the Dark Gift. ” A pause, noting the deliberate grandiosity of such a comment, subsequently providing necessary clarification. “ A vampire. ” There’s a small hum of malcontent as the other being withholds the desired information, the foot tapping in the air drawing to a halt, the blond nimbly rising to stand atop the splayed surface of the granite book. Lestat isn’t particularly keen on taking his eyes off of this creature, instead canting his head to one side with line of vision promptly narrowing, a waver to the violet hue as pupils dilate, silently picking up on the presence of a small cluster of mortals, all with figurative bad blood between them ( parfait ).
ㅤㅤA smirk playing upon lips as Lestat peers into the middle distance, it’s with a graceful hop that he eases himself down from the headstone, the tilt of the head beckoning the other to follow. “ Tell me, what are your thoughts on biker gangs? ”
his mind is threatening to track itself into one purpose again: FLOURISH. the new world is a sweet siren to a man who had faded into almost nothing. a tombstone had been placed above him, even, to declare him as JOHN DOE: a puzzle from a long forgotten crime scene. there hadn't been enough to heal himself from the amount of damage that had been done to his body by the last people to have found him. a gangle of teenagers who’s nightmares had come to life. they had called him a vampire then, hadn’t they? or was it upiór. he couldn’t remember what they had done, only the final moments standing among them with blood soaked clothes & satiated hunger. their efforts had been for nothing: they were dead, & he remained. it had been an unconscious effort to feed from the living that visited departed family members—their sadness making him whole. perhaps he even fed from lestat before he had surfaced: THE FINAL MEAL BEFORE THE SHOW. still, hunger wrecks his body now, known in every ache from his slow movements. grandiosity is observed through tired eyes, slow blinking but remaining on the blond’s every movement.
“ so they do exist. ”
the attempt he makes to stand is a futile effort. he stumbles, his hand coming out only just in time to catch himself, then he attempts it again. the stench isn’t lost on him. august’s nose crinkles at it, his gaze flickering down to the funeral garb somebody had cared enough to put him in, assuming that he was a victim too. the years that passed had been unkind to it & his excavation had only ruined it further. the information that the vampire provided was stored away until he had enough energy to revisit it. they stood in front of each other, august’s attention following each movement. a graceful hop, & tilt of his head was all that it took for august to turn his head as well, following the general direction of mortals. rather than answer lestat’s inquiry, he grunts. although clunky, he manages to quicken his pace a bit more, stumbling over his feet a few times.
the first invasion is quick. a man stumbles back into his bike, screaming as he looks at the empty space in front of him, desperate to get away from whatever he sees. the other men stare at him in confusion at the outburst, attention so focused that they don’t see the two undead approaching. this isn’t the way he likes to do things, but it’s the way he must. august doesn’t have enough energy to invade the minds of them all & this is a quick fix. he’s locked onto the man screaming, gaze falling to the weapon that the man pulls from a hidden harness. the other’s begin to yell at him to stop DON’T DO THIS. but the man is only focused on eliminating what he sees in place of his friends, & he has impeccable aim.
then the night is silent aside from horror struck man and his victims.
august rolls his head from side to side, stretching as new energy pulsates through his system. he hasn’t retreated from the man’s mind yet, keeping him still while he finishes the final stretch, & picks a man who was still dying, rather than dead like his companions. he crouches in front of him, leaning down until his mouth met flesh & tore meat away. artery sprayed across august’s features as he chewed, unbothered by the warmth that mixed with dirt. for a moment it was as though he had forgotten the vampire but then he looked at lestat through sharpening eyes, & lifted his chin towards the trembling man, indicating that he had left the murderer for the vampire to have. the sweetest of the bunch. “ take him, or don’t. ” the death wouldn’t be tied to august but to lestat. that was the unfortunate part about this curse; he was incapable of taking the soul of somebody he didn’t have influence in killing.
he returned to the man he had initially torn into. left to his own devices, he tore open the man's chest cavity then sat back after plucking what he wanted from it, his legs splayed in front of him as he eats a heart as though it was nothing but an apple. finally he was relaxed. “ you're the vampire ⸺ ? i was a bit preoccupied to ask. ”
★・・・・・to the other undead's response, Lestat offers a grin. It's a signature one, two pearl roads of glistening teeth that sometimes, when the dark hour calls of it, unveil fangs most terrifying. The rockstar plays the boogeyman when the concert comes to a close, and the final song requests the vampire to demonstrate the worst of him. That and when he is deep in the clubs, asking for what cocaine tastes like while sinking his teeth into the gorgeous inner thighs of women he does not recall by dawn. This is just a regular occurrence. To be in the presence of another monstrous being that doesn't badmouth the celebrity because of his art is a rarity these days. And so, reclining in his chair, Lestat stretches out.
"I don't make friends with ugly people, only enemies." A witty lie is delivered with a dismissive wave of his hand. "You're somewhere in between." The vampire adds, running his hands over the leather seams of his jeans. The night is young, and his patience is plentiful. For once, the rockstar doesn't have another party to run off to. His band gets the night off, pending the holidays, to find each other in the snowy heaps of mortal values and sleep under a roof that rejects them during the other eleven months. Such is the life of a punk.
He flicks his gaze to the pessimist next to him, tries to assess how long immortality has bothered him. Without finding an answer on the surface of the passing smoke, Lestat shrugs. "When it gets old, the world changes, and we are forced to change with it. One thing remains constant: us, but we do not have the power to change all of this shit." He indicates with a wide gesture aimed to encompass the world altogether. This is bigger than the balcony they share. This is bigger than this city. This country. The fucking universe. Lestat hasn't accepted his eternal struggle with this reality, and quite frankly, he is still catching up on the fifty years he spent in the ground before he was revived and forced into dealing with multiple scandals ignited on his behalf against his will. Vengeful exes, jealous friends, his own demons. The past likes Lestat. And Lestat likes adventures without repercussions. He wants love, and relishes it with resentment. The usual suspect.
"Art never gets old. You sound like someone who'd rather toss himself into an incinerator." Lestat laughs, tossing his cigarette over the edge of the balcony. "Whatever, man. Nothing fucking matters anyway." He swings his legs up and rests the thick soles of his leather boots against the railing, showing off to the world the famous 'Hate Me' soles.
"If it is all the same to you, then change it. And I don't mean start a hobby. I mean, kill someone."
“ you’re not my type either. ” he states, grin accompanying his look. the particulars escape him most days: he fucks because he likes to fuck & has no qualms beyond baseline attraction. august, above most, can afford to be particular but he doesn’t. it would require more than the lingering look in the dark of a nightclub. mortals had dampened their compulsion at the sign of their instincts setting in. instead, they had the tendency to move towards it, mistaking their rapid hearts for attraction. in their minds, dangers were caged & far from them, while those who weren’t caged lived only in their true crime podcasts [ HOMICIDE DETECTIVES HAVE LINKED THIS CASE TO ONE IN NINETEEN NINETY FIVE. i want to give my usual disclaimer that i mean absolutely no disrespect to anybody i talk about. ] would they be sick to know that the same body that brought them pleasure was the same that feasted on thousands before them. that they alone were only as safe as this moment; come across august twice, & it would likely be the end.
the dark nightclubs was how he found lestat. there had been a woman who had taken a liking to august & begged him to meet with her again, insistent that he accompany her to watch the artist of the music that the club had been repeating. THE VAMPIRE LESTAT. the words had been glittering above the stage, a bold advertisement of what the immortal was. august is the only of his kind ( he believes this, at least ) he shares no rules of other immortals. lestat’s grand advertisement of what he was in front of thousands was no bother to him. the woman–who’s name escapes him now if he had ever learned it in the first place–had been abandoned once the show had ended. august had been purposeful in placing himself in the vicinity of the vampire; he’d grown close to a crew member until he was left to his own devices back stage. at first he had only watched lestat, but one moment tumbled into the next, & this was their moment now. in a cafe, behaving as though the cold air didn’t bother them as they shared cigarette after cigarette.
august considers the words. we don’t have the power to change it. we are forced to change with it. he wants to ask how many times lestat has been forced to change & who he had been at the beginning of his immortality, but he holds his tongue to allow the other grandeur behaviour. he tilts his head, watching as the blonds body relaxes further in the chair, feet swung onto the railing. his smile lingers, gaze dropping from lestat to the lighter he had tossed only a few moments earlier then he reaches for it. nothing fucking matters anyways. he leans back, mirroring lestat as the soles of his shoes press against the railing, his knees bent. it occurs to him then that the vampire is probably as clueless as himself, & he laughs. an amusement that lingers as the flame sparks to life again, “ you’re full of shit. ” august looks at him then continues, “ you’re acting philosophical about everything, but you haven’t got a fucking clue either, do you? which means i was right. nothing ever changes. not at the core. the world changes, so fucking what? the world always changes & that’s when it becomes the same. ” a cycle that remains. it makes sense to august but he rarely has opportunities to voice his thoughts outwardly. “ i’ve already killed. you’ve killed. that’s the same, too. ”
he’s more entertained than aggravated. lestat was a beacon of hope, he supposed. an opportunity to consult another immortal to learn IS THAT ALL THERE IS? he settles, the lighter’s flame still swaying in the cool wind as august stared at it. he snorts, “ you got an incinerator i can jump into? or is that frowned upon installing into tour buses? we can even hold hands and jump in together. ”
the metallic rattle of the coins tumbling over one another in the bucket the man is holding sort of tears through the voices swimming all around him and brings him back into reality. this time ezekiel can make out his words, although still a little muffled. he takes in the figure before him, studies his face. with rehearsed expressions he seems kind of robotic at times, but ezekiel tries to focus back on his words rather than questioning his expression.
❝ ah . . . ! ❞ he exclaims, a little give away of him just now understanding what the guy actually wanted from ezekiel. instead of looking for a piece of paper, he simply says: ❝ don’t worry about it, i can do it. ❞ he looks for a pen and a piece of paper while still registering the rest of guy's words.
although he is a bit confused by the request to play together, especially since they don’t know one another, he decides that there have been costumers much more odd (and unpleasant) than him. what’s the harm in getting to know people ? at least from a safe distance. he looks behind him in search for his coworker, to let him know he'll be gone for a bit. it's late and most people coming in here know their way around enough that there shouldn't be any big trouble. ❝ i’m more a tekken kinda guy to be honest, ❞ he says as he’s scribbling 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚎 on a piece of paper to stick to the machine. he steps around the register, signing for the stranger to lead the way, ❝ but we can play a round or two, stranger. ❞
“ that one’s alright, ” he replies, stepping away from the desk. “ do you guys have that here? ” the coins still rattle in his cup as he walked slowly towards the game he had destroyed less than ten minutes before. when ezekiel called him stranger, he provided, “ august. ” he wore a sheepish grin as his hand raised to scratch the side of his face when he looked away, tongue wetting his lips as he continued, “ like the month. ” the statement was natural—as if august had spent the entirety of his life answering questions about the origins of his name & why his parents would give him that. when they arrived to the machine he gestured to it, & watched as paper immediately attracted tot eh staticky surface of the machine. the tape probably wasn’t that needed. “ what’s yours? ”
the only clear thought that surfaced from ezekiel’s mind was his name. a small breakthrough, but one nonetheless. the rest of his thoughts remained inextinguishable & wrapped into layers that august couldn’t untangle. he wanted to ask outright what was wrong with the man–why nothing seemed clear when august invaded his mind, but he knew that it could frighten him. the fragility of the human mind was one thing he needed to consider; he could scare ezekiel. for once, that wasn’t his goal.
“ c’mon, ” he urged, taking a step backwards. “ you don’t get like, special privileges, do you? or do i gotta pay for your rounds? ”
the city reeks of death concealed underneath revelry. august had come & gone from this city for decades unbound, more often than not finding victims where death was not meant to lurk. the sticky heat was an irritant, and with time he would leave again, but she had garnered his attention most nights. only nights. he had delved too quickly into mind to decipher what she was & disadvantages of this subspecies of human. human? wasn’t she still, even with immortality coursing through her veins, or had the title been stripped away with each passing night? if he turned himself in circles enough he could proclaim himself as such still. human. if he were to ask a victim they would be equivalent monsters. “ so you’re a vessel that translates their despair into reality. ” his eyes are sharp as he looks to gabrielle, studying without expectation. they simply exist in this space together. “ or the monster they spend their lives looking under their beds for? ” he smiled a bit. perhaps he didn't understand her entirely, nor would ever but he made some effort. “ philosophical. does it tire you to speak about the world as though you do understand it? ”
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15 Q's to get to know your mutuals better !answer those applicable, then tag a handful of mutuals to pass it on !
I deleted a few so you can get the original from here.
1 ) a television series i recently enjoyed is ... i don’t watch tv that much 🙂↕️ to rly highlight my lack of tv watching…the last tv series i watched in full was s2 of iwtv.
2 ) a meal or food that brings me the most comfort is ... the 2005 chinese buffet my grandparents used to bring me to.
3 ) 1 - 3 songs i've had on repeat lately are ... it’s not a fashion statement it’s a deathwish, um …. others (i don’t have my ipod w me and can’t think of anything else)
4 ) my favorite go - to hobbies or pastimes are ... colouring! & reading.
5 ) the pets i have at home ( if applicable ) are ... caaats.
6 ) the app on my phone with the most screentime is ... tumblr at a whopping 1 hour. call me beep me if u gotta reach me.
7 ) something that always gives me heavy nostalgia is ... the christmas season
8 ) the earliest fandom i can remember joining was ... jonas brothers. i’m hot ur cold.
10 ) the last book i finished reading was ... the hero of ages.
12 ) my opinions on ghosts & hauntings are ... honestly based on my culture/religion which believes heavily in spirits and communication with them, so y’know! present.
13 ) a few of my all-time favorite films are ... goodfellas…LMAO. the mummy 1 & 2.
14 ) if i could cast an actor to play myself, it would be ... i dunno! somebody ethereal so people can manic pixie dream girl me instead of thinking i’m just weird.
15 ) i'm currently obsessed with ... watching sad edits.
tagged by: @pulitzer0rtwo
tagging: anybody!! i’ve seen most people do this on my dash. just tag me in it so i can stare in through ur window like a creeper.
I’VE BEEN HERE BEFORE … cold fluorescent washing over pale skin, the back of his lids dancing with colour. he tries not to think of the pain blooming in his body, warm ﹠ spreading throughout his limbs. his body, despite all theory, is alive. blood has dripped from the wound where armand had gone too deep, staining the table underneath august a darkening rouge; tang of copper heavy on his tongue. then a new scent. the world is blurred through half-opened eyes, focusing on the blood that bubbles to the surface then smeared across his open wound. as it closes, so do his lids. he’s listening⸺he is. table groans underneath a shift of his weight. both knees bend as he remains laying there even after a tap on his other shoulder to indicate the other was done.
august had adapted acknowledgements in the form of soft hums. he does it now as his body shifts once more, sinking into the table a little more as the pain dissipates.
PERHAPS THE PERSON WHO MADE YOU THIS WAY IS LONG DEAD. ( I’VE BEEN HERE BEFORE. )
a panic rips up his throat, tongue pressed against teeth to stop the feeling from spilling. when he sits up it’s quickly with his arms draping over his knees. faux comfort, eyes open. any sign of the memory that tried to come forth ceased. he watches armand as he throws the nitrile glove into the waste, ﹠ considers the words for a moment.
“ they’re dead. ” he’s known more than he’s let on but it’s difficult to pull information from him unless the correct questions are asked, ﹠ for once, he’s giving it up before armand can piece something together: “ I know who did it to me. ” a quick swing of legs, body swivelling and feet planting on the ground as he stands, rolling his shoulders as he plays nonchalant. a smile forced and he continues, “ do you have a bible, or do you burst into flames when you touch one? ” then his grin is genuine, dulled eyes meeting the vampires, “ if I have to vacuum you up I’ll bury the canister under a tree and visit you every year. ”
the night is still young. there’s more than what armand has uncovered⸺more inked into peeled back skin that he’s yet to come face to face with. august picks up a single new glove, the material squeaking as he squishes it in his fist.
the smile is dropping a little. undead but he still feels pain. “ my torso is next? ”
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❝ i've never met a person who didn't. ❞ both brows lift in a moment of satisfaction. bonnie hasn't engaged in petty banter like this since the last time she saw damon. ( WHEN WAS THAT ... TWO ? MAYBE THREE MONTHS AGO ? — ❝ besides, you do it all the time, and you seem to be well-adjusted, no ? ❞ a carefree shrug of the shoulder. the silence that falls over the room is deafening; the squelching of blood causes bonnie to grow slightly squeamish. it was fascinating, really, the way august seemed to knock bonnie off her pedestal. she thought she had seen it all; every type of species and behavior. yet, august takes things to a new extreme—or, a new low. perhaps, she was too naive. she had seen stefan, damon, and klaus at their lows, but ... she never believed they were this grotesque. then again, maybe bonnie only saw what she wanted ( which is entirely possible given how much shit she had on her plate at any given moment ). and given what she's seen ... why was she still around ? what was it about him that made her want to stay ? the last time bonnie allowed herself to stay, to linger by someone's side, was with enzo. AND WE KNOW HOW THAT ENDED. the idea of experiencing something like that again ... it terrified her ! but she was jumping the gun. august's very existence went against the balance of nature. he shouldn't exist and it was only a matter of time before bonnie figured out how to remove any trace of his mere existence.
❝ if i lived a life like yours, i'd agree. ❞ an offhanded remark. suddenly, she was no longer interested in banter. instead, purple, doe-eyes are more concerned with the face on the bloodied id that she holds by the beds of her fingers. bonnie sighs. he looks about her age, with a warm smile and kind eyes. likely important to those in his life. [at least that's the story she's going with] a quick shove of the card back into august's hand occurs, ❝ oh wow, lucky me, ❞ sarcastic tone is accompanied by a roll of the eye. the young witch carefully crosses back to the front door, twisting on the bottom of her bloodied heels to face the other. ❝ the last time i was on my knees for a man, i almost drove a stake through his chest, so i would tread carefully. ❞ she tosses him a quick glare for good measure. ❝ hurry up and clean yourself off. i have a grimoire that i need to pick up, which may, ❞ she pauses as she gives him a once over. ❝ ... help me understand just exactly what you are. ❞
𝑮𝑶𝑫 / 𝑫𝑬𝑽𝑰𝑳. I am the closest thing to either this pathetic world has. omniscient being, at least [ a forgotten trait to fulfil this role pushed to the back of his mind: what are you? not all knowing. ] what difference does it make to him what he’s interpreted as? GOD HELP ME. GOD SAVE ME. GOD, GOD, GOD. & he answers their prayers. “ mhmm. ” identification slides from his fingers once it’s shoved back into his possession, crimson flooding around the edges, pulling it underneath the rapidly cooling substance on the ground. august has no interest in who the man was, or his story. it’s easier when they’re nothing but cattle. the towel stains as he buries his smile into it, peering over the fabric at her as she walks away from him. she’s upset with him, he notes. or with herself? the playfulness that had undermined the gruesome scene had come to a halt, ﹠ august was left with the final laugh. one step over the body on the ground and this man was forgotten for good. ( A SUSPECTED HOMICIDE UNDER INVESTIGATION TONIGHT, POLICE HAVE TAPED OFF THIS SMALL TOWN HOME. NEIGHBOURS SAYING THAT THIS IS A NIGHTMARE. MORE AT NINE. ) he runs the towel down his arm as he grins, “ oh yeah? i’m not some cheap fuck, y’know. at least buy me a drink before you get me on my back. ” ammunition loaded, dampened by her next words.
WELCOME ! ( a detective’s voice will ring through the scene: photograph this ﹠ get this to forensics ) august steps onto the footprint she leaves on the mat, flooding the material. IT’S THE LEAST HE CAN DO TO PROTECT HER. “ alright. ” he tries not to look eager as he turns to pull the door shut behind them, lock clicking into place underneath his raised hand. august doesn’t care for his deoxyribonucleic acid left behind; he’s already a prolific serial killer ﹠ on the third generation of copy cat. his steps follow hers until nothing is left behind. when he falls into line next to her, he’s bends awkwardly, staring at the side of her face as though trying to decipher whether she’s on the right track or not. “ you’re sure this one isn’t a waste of time? ” bonnie's life was so short. to waste it on a dead end? he straightens at the thought ﹠ pushes it away. as unorthodox as their relationship began, he’s growing fond of her. a scoff leaves him. “ and where do you find this shit, anyways? i must’ve missed the section between interested in cucking ﹠ looking for somebody to make me into a soup on craigslist. ”
They should have rotted away with time. Either way forgotten.
The filter dampens between lips, hung and the end unlit. He’s been holding the lighter, rolling the wheel underneath his thumb as he listened to Lestat speak. The cigarette shifts when August smiles a bit. This time he applies pressure to the wheel, flame sparking to life as he lifts both hands–one to shield the flame from the cool wind, and the other to light the end. The plastic lighter bounces when he tosses it onto the table, body relaxing against the metal cafe seat as smoke exits parted lips, his head shaking as he tells the other, “ I did. ”
His eyes drop, thumb against the end of the filter as he considers how much he wants to reveal about himself to the man. But how often does August have the opportunity to talk to somebody? How lonely an existence. He raises his brows, amusement reflecting in his eyes as they meet the vampire’s. “ Touching that you don’t find I’m ugly. ”
The next words stop short in his throat. Careful, he reminds himself. To upset another immortal so quickly would be self-defeating. Smoke fills charred lungs once more, tongue darting out to wet lips as chair groans underneath his adjustment, “ it’s so boring. The same shit day in, day out. I guess not the same shit for you, huh? How long before it gets old too? ”