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Tag yourself See original { @aussiekirkland }

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crew-from-capuletâ:
Kay considered what he was saying, his lips pressed into a thin line as he continued peeling. No, he honestly hated the sound of either. Something growing and dropping off him as another fullâŚperson? Sounded really fucked up. Still, he supposed Alexander had a point, at least you didnât have to have anything to do with it after that point? Maybe?
A smirk tugged slightly at the corner of his mouth. âI dunno, I guess soâŚâ Itâs not like heâd know about either anyway, it was a very uninformed opinion on his part. He finished peeling and washed the potatoes again and cleaned up the area heâd been using.
âNever met a zombie before?â he teased, but he didnât mean it, he hadnât either. âSure, how much do you want?â Was it funny that blood and living dead skeeved him out far less than the previous topic? He grabbed a knife and set it down next to the cutting board with the potatoes before moving to get a glass. The shifter liked to keep busy and Alexander seemed to know how to keep him moving.
I donât know either, Alexander shrugs. Itâs not like I have a basis for comparison. But itâs quite the thought. Isnât it wonderful, the diversity in this world? Apparently, new vampires are made by the transmission of a virus that is present only in our saliva and, get this, must be sent right into the bloodstream. The second part is more for Kayâs benefit. Alexander canât have him worrying about accidentally turning into a vampire after a particularly intense make out session.
Anywhere else, he continues, and it canât survive. According to Victor, anyway. But heâs everyoneâs doctor, so I suppose he knows what heâs talking about. Thereâs some more complexity to all that, but Alexander doesnât remember. He concerns himself with bodies purely on business and pleasure standpoints. Howâs that for reproduction?
His legs swing back and forth, heels occasionally hitting the cabinets behind them. Thatâs enough. He smiles, nodding his thanks when Kay hands him the glass. Perhaps itâs not sustainable for zombies to exist. He sets the glass to the side after a sip and hops back off the counter, chopping the potatoes that Kay had left for him in quick, practiced movements. Frankly, I donât think an outbreak could gain traction. Theyâd be massacred before they had a chance.
(    đ¨đŠđđ§ đđ¨ đŚđŽđđŽđđĽđŹ Â Â Â )
ââ  they didnât  slaughter  themselves.  ââ           sorine  cringed  as  she crept  closer to the  đ˛đ°đđ˝đ°đśđ´,    her  nose wrinkled,    lips pressed  into  a  thin  line.    the hunter  was  no   đđđđ°đ˝đśđ´đ  to  sights  like these,   but  this    -   this  caravan,    with their bodies torn  to shreds,    half  consumed,   left to  đđžđ    -   it  was disgusting.   the stench  of  decay bore  đˇđ´đ°đ đ   on her  senses,   stopping  her  in her tracks,    forcing her to  turn her  back on  the scene    &&   impatiently  wait  for  the air  to return  to  her lungs.    words  formed slowly,   almost cautiously,    as she spared a  glance in the other's direction,   eyes too busy to settle  on one point for  long,           ââ  - - -    so  what do you think?   werewolf attack?  ââ
The slaughter occurred only short distance away from the cemetery, and the ongoing violence had sent the ghouls into a frenzy. After the violence ended theyâd calmed considerably, too stupid to really hold their attention on anything for long, and once Cyrus ensured that they were wandering about aimlessly and harmlessly among the gravestones he slipped out of the cemetery and made his way to the scene of the murders. He got there as soon as this lady--whoever she is--arrived.
Not sure, he admits, pulling his mask away from his nose to sniff the air, revealing the upper lids of his third and fourth eye and the jagged edges of the corners of his mouth. Smells like were. But Iâve smelled other things that smell like were. He pulls the mask back over his face. Is that what you think? Couldâve been a manticore. Look, theyâre chewed up in some places. Or maybe itâs a ghoul who doesnât understand how things work around here.
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ofstrangevarietyâ:
Grey eyes shifted to the side to watch the smaller blonde with thinned lips. âYouâre about to receive my touch if you arenât careful, my dear.â Gemina said with a quick snatch to his cane, gripping it tightly in her fist before shoving it back towards him with a bitter smile. Heâd touched on the one frustration that she couldnât seem to get over; her inability to make up for her failures.Â
Youâll do yourself the favor of not doing that, I hope. He canât be held responsible for how heâll react to it. He yanks the cane back, but the shove makes him stumble back, though he quickly regains his balance after that. His face softens. Darling, Iâm playing. No rush. As far as we know, we have eternity. A smile, another gentle nudge.Though Iâll have some complaints if weâre still not liberated by the end of the millennium. Year 3000-- the reign of the vampire. His eyes widen in a theatric gasp, as if a lightbulb went off over his head. Now that would be an excellent film! Oh, I should make my directorial debut with something like that. The foreshadowing! The drama!

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voxvulgiâ:
Cass was unfazed by Alexander calling him âyoung manâ even though they looked to be the same age. He was more concerned by the fact that Alexander noticed his high adrenaline levels (though surely the âI could hear your heart poundingâ statement was an exaggeration, but still!). Actually, maybe Cass was just all too thrilled that Alexander Reed was noticing him at all. He couldnât keep the smile off his face even as he fiddled with the insider fabric of his pocket.
âAlrightâ Alexander. People call me Cass. Sorry Iâm so fidgetyâ I justâ woah.â Professionalism? Out the window, and it wasnât even Cristinaâs fault. That would be a lie at this point. âI canâ I can show it to you now! Itâs right in⌠One secâŚâ He unshouldered his backpack and began scavenging for his lyric notebook inside it. His guitar case was perched against the wall behind him, and his violin case rested by his feet. He had some music sheets figured out, too, but that would come after the lyrics. âThere is it! I had an idea for three stages of the movie because I only got an overview and they said theyâd email me more relevant script details over the weekend. But I have this song for the exposition, this one for the crisis, and this one for the endââ He pointed to the titles in question, guiding Alexander through the mess that was his handwriting. Damn; he shoudl have made it more presentable.
Alexander steps around to stand by Casperâs side, peeking politely over his shoulder as he flips through the notebook. He glimpses some interesting lines here and there, but he wonât ask about them, and pretends he didnât see anything. He straightens when Casper finds the page he was looking for. Wonderful. He smiles his thanks when Casper hands him the notebook, but waits to read it.
Oh, this is so exciting, isnât it? I love the lead-up to the production of a new film! Tucking the notebook into the crook of his bent elbow, he starts reading the pages, but squints a few seconds into it. Excuse me--does that say âafraidâ or âaskewâ? Oh--what key signature is this in? I think itâd be lovely in A minor.
crew-from-capuletâ:
He nodded a bit, accepting the apology without further comment. Heâd overstepped bounds first, it was really how own fault if he got hurt.
âSure,â he smiled a bit and stepped a bit closer to him, not close enough to touch or anything, but back into a more socially acceptable distance for chatting. He also put his hands in his pockets both as a reminder to keep his hands to himself and hopefully so he wouldnât squick Alexander out.
âYeah, Iâd come visit you,â he smiled a bit more.
Good! Wonderful, in fact, I do like company! Heâs still shaking, but in front of their eyes his hands stop trembling through the sheer force of his will. Self control--it may not seem so, but Alexander is all about self control. The openness of every movement is calculated, though he has more quivering in him yet. Maybe later. Maybe heâll have forgotten about it by then, whenever âlaterâ is. Iâm sure youâve been in a hospital. Donât you find theyâre lonely places? Oh, dear, if you do come see me Iâll have to give you a pass. My manager is quite adamant about not letting me get into trouble when Iâm supposed to be resting. Bless her soul, Cristina is certainly protective, but sometimes Alexander thinks she takes it too far.
skymadeâ:
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âHey.â Willowâs good at opening â but not openers. Which means, of course, sheâs good at being the one to approach a stranger and start speaking â but not the best at knowing where or how to, uh, start. âOr, uh! Hello. Hiya. Whatâs theâ dâyou know whatâs the most, like, good to say? I donât. But hi! Are you, uh⌠okay?â Not that she could really help if he werenât. âYou donât look â I mean, well â uh â just â yeah, that. Are you okay?âÂ
Oh hey! Rumor accompanies the greeting with a little wave, then jazz hands. Hello, hello, hi! Youâre doing great, babe! Great good thing to say! Two thumbs up! That was an excellent good thing to say. Iâm doing fine!! Not great, but fine!!! Tryinâ to decide if I like the purple-blue or the pink-blue more! As she speaks, her hair shifts into the examples--at âpurple-blue,â it takes on a deep eggplant purple at the tips, blending into an indigo and then into a dark, rich blue at the roots. At âpink-blue,â her roots turn a pretty pastel pink that blends into a sky-blue at the tips. Whaddaya think? Unconcerned about the transformation--after all, she can tell when sheâs talking to a person.
Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena

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crew-from-capuletâ:
ââŚHuhâŚâ was all he managed for a few moments, his brows furrowing as he turned his gaze to his current task of peeling potatoes while he listened to Alexander chatter, considering his questions.
âSounds gross,â he snorted with a laugh. âLike, childbirth seems pretty gross but justâŚplopping out anotherâŚthing seems worse somehow.â
âDonât they likeâŚeat corpsesâŚ?â Was he remembering that right? âIsnât that what makes it a ghoul? I feel like theyâre lumped with vampires and zombies a lot but maybe thatâs why? The blood thing and theâŚflesh eating thing but I donât think theyâre the same as either.â
I can confirm childbirth was horrid. The words are accompanied by a knowing smile as he pushes the sides of the rack into the pan and washes his hands. I canât imagine that budding is painful, though. A little uncomfortable, Iâm sure, especially as it gets bigger and sort of-- he pushes himself onto one foot, tipping his body to an almost precarious point before catching his balance again--topples you over, but then thatâs over! You can move on.
He drops the rag heâs using to dry his hands, turns the oven, and then hoists himself to sit on the counter with a little hop, twisting around to face Kay and letting his legs dangle to wait for the oven to preheat.
I believe itâs corpses, yes. Though I didnât ask about that. I suppose zombies are different because they eat living flesh, but we wonât know until there is an apocalypse, hm? I think Iâll stick to blood-- do you mind pouring me a glass? Oh, and if youâre done with the potatoes I can chop them.
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crew-from-capuletâ:
A happy little smile touched his lips and he turned to follow Alexander into the kitchen, going to the drawer that he had indicated, then the one next to it to pull out the peeler. He was pretty close, at least he didnât have to go hunting for it.
He pulled out a few potatoes to start rinsing them off as Alexander asked him about ghouls. âUhâŚIâve never met one before, so no thoughtsâŚOther than I thought they were zombies-so wait, theyâre not? How are they made then?â
Apparently they sort of spawn when they get too big. Like plants! When they bud off the parent . . . I mean, thatâs what he said. But I canât picture that. Theyâd have to be gooey, I think, for another ghoul to just . . . he cups his shoulder and makes the gesture of something growing out of it. But he was solid-- you know, maybe he wasnât a ghoul at all. Never mind. I wonder how ghouls are classified. Any thoughts on that? What makes a ghoul?
A beat, as he pulls the marinated pork rack out of the fridge. Can you imagine? He continues as he sets it in a glass pan. Getting so big that another version of you just pops right off?
crew-from-capuletâ:
The shifter released him without a fuss, tucking his thumbs in his pockets. âIâll believe that when I see it, heâs only got eyes for you,â he chuckled softly, glancing over at Napoleon as well before turning his attention back to Alexander.
âSounds delicious.â The both of them could put away quite a bit of food. âJust tell me what you want me to do.â Kay didnât have a chefy bone in his body, but took orders just fine.
Wonderful. This time he takes the initiative to kiss Kayâs cheek before padding around him to the kitchen. You could start by peeling the potatoes! I think i tossed the peeler into-- he points to a drawer across the kitchen-- that drawer. Honestly, itâs a wonder the cutlery even has its own designated drawer. The fact that Alexander even has an idea of where he put the potato peeler is nothing short of a miracle. Rinse them before and after, please. Oh, and-- what are your thoughts on ghouls? I met one the other day. Oddly articulate. And far too many arms for his tastes. I thought theyâd be . . . I donât know, zombie-like.

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theyâre right and they should say itÂ
crew-from-capuletâ:
His brows lifted as if surprised. âWell, thatâs high praise. I guess Iâm a keeper, huh?â he joked, turning his head to press his lips gently to Alexanderâs temple. He was pretty pleased with himself for making him laugh. Kay was a little insecure. Not specifically in response to Alexander, or anything heâd done, just sometimes he required a little patience and reassurance himself.
You are, Alexander confirms, finally stepping out of Kayâs arms and sweeping his hair over his shoulder. Any day now heâll come screaming at you for attention. Just wait for it. Over Kayâs shoulder, Alexander watched Napoleon stalk off. Clearly he wasnât impressed by that prediction. Now then! Dinner. I was thinking a pork rack . . . ? Roast potatoes . . . what do you think?