REWRITE.

first meeting prompts // closed

@liferewrote​ asked: [ FAKE ] :  for  your  muse  to  pretend  to  know  my  muse  in  public  to  save  them  from  a  difficult  encounter – Victoria to Victor?

What an odd day, today was simply supposed to be about replacing the little things he has to call ‘food’ in his refrigerator that turned into him saving a young woman from a heated argument. Of course victor was just a passerby so he did not know the issue that had arisen  however, he was always one to meddle in others’ affairs at times so today was nothing short of a vict-ordinary situation. “Ah, you’ve found my patient. I can’t tell you how hard I’ve been looking for you all day.” Said the ‘mad’ scientist as he steps between them and with his stethoscope he begins monitoring her heartbeat as any ‘doctor’ would. 

“Oh it’s as I’ve feared. Sir I’m dreadfully sorry for the trouble my patient might have caused you. You see she has early stages of schizophrenia coupled with a weak heart. If I don’t get her back into my clinic to rest then I fear what would become of her.” Then Victor gently grabs the woman by the hand, quickly but yet calmly before giving her the signal with just his eyes to follow his lead. With that they left the area together, walking and walking until their steps eventually separated them from the once angry and now stupefied man.

Alone in another part of the town’s showing district he then lets go of her hand and smiles rather sheepishly. “You’ll have to forgive my forwardness, it was the only way I could think of to get you away from that man. Victor Frankenstein is my name, but my friends tend to call me Fran.”

Victoria’s certainly not one to need help-- well, she is, but they’d rather not admit it. They’re not very strong, just intelligent, but they could handle their fights just fine. Being pulled and tugged by somebody strange makes them a little more agitated, but there’s nothing he can really do. If it gets them away from whatever this other guy’s going on about, sure. Victoria will follow his lead, free hand falling over her heart to pretend like she might faint. 

Once they’re away, she stops. Victoria raises an eyebrow and crosses their arms over their chest, looking up at this new man with a slight amount of suspicion-- but he’s already clearly not much of a threat to her as the other one. They back down, running fingers through the mess of dark brown, wavy hair that’s pulled back from their head. 

“It’s fine. I could’ve taken him, though.” No, Victoria really couldn’t have. Her eyes widen as she hears the name, though-- there’s no way.

@liferewrote​ said: “"are you bleeding?“ From Vitale c:”

sticky | accepting

Combat and conflict are not things in which Apolo is well-versed at all.  Sure, they stole a little laser pistol before they left their home planet, but to say they know how to use it well is a bit of a stretch.  They figured that having it was better than not, that their keytar wouldn’t get them far in the event of a real emergency, even if it is their weapon of choice.

But when things did get messy, it ended up being Vitale who cleaned up shop.  Apolo had gotten a few shots off, but they had been too disoriented to tell if they properly hit anything, but they are guessing by the lack of burnt flesh smell that they didn’t.

They are still dazed when Vitale asks them a question, and he meets their characteristically blank expression for a moment while he registers what they said.  “No—” they start, but they don’t get to elaborate before they are cut off by an icy chill in their side.

They look down and see Laígia with her fingers in their oozing wound, their silvery blood trickling around her yellowish, boney fingers.  The expression on her face, her lips pulled back over her fangs in a manic and depraved grin instead of her usual sanguine smile, her eyes hungry, is unlike anything he has seen from him before.  “Oh, fuck!” he exclaims, tears welling up in their eyes while they take a giant step back from her dislodging her ghastly extremities from their side.  It doesn’t last, though, and she drifts towards them again, mouth twitching in discontent, smiling once more when she gets her fingers back inside.  The gash seems to gush around her this time, although how much of that is Apolo’s own panicked imagination is hard to say.

“Fuck, dude,” they whimper, now starting to sob quietly and helplessly.  They press their top two hands against the sides of their head, the fingers of their right curling into their hair.  Their lower left presses against the open cut, Laígia’s fingers phasing right through it, still intruding, still poking icily around their insides.

“Oh, fuck… oh, shit… no, no… stop it, please stop it.”

While combat and conflict may not be Apolo’s thing-- it is Vitale’s. Though it seems they’ve caused much more of a mess; she’s covered in blood, herself, staining their normal blue with red. There’s nothing really left of the ones who attacked the pair, and even if there was; most would contribute it to an animal attack. The gore and blood doesn’t bother Vitale at all. Blank expression never changed; she just did it. Did what’s expected of them; what’s always been expected of them, though they don’t remember the why or how that’s the case. 

She freezes and takes a few steps away when Apolo starts acting as strange as he does. For a moment, they think there’s another threat; claws outstretched and ears alert, and maybe there is, but Vitale can not see Laígia. The defensiveness melts, hearing them cry. She’s unsure of what to do; how to help, and does the only thing she can think to do. If they can’t see a threat, they can try to stop it in other ways, right?

“... I can’t see you, but Apolo is my friend. Leave them alone,” their usual, soft tone isn’t there, nor is the trouble actually speaking-- replaced with something far more growly; feral. Expression never changes; emoting is so much energy, even as they start towards Apolo. Even if it doesn’t work; it’s the only thing they can think to do.

Vitale puts themself in front of their companion, shielding them. It’s a bad idea, maybe-- if it’s invisible, it can more than likely just go right through them, too. But they don’t want to see Apolo suffering alone. 

@liferewrote​ said: “Sheild – sarv protects Ruv from danger !”

wordless | accepting

Ruv knows how to fight, of course, and sometimes he likes to, although how much of that is genuine enjoyment anymore is hard to say.  Some days, it feels good to smash a face into the pavement, especially if its owner is the kind of shitbag who deserves it.  And other times, it feels more like an obligation, a chore, a habit.  Somewhere in the back of his mind, he is aware that it doesn’t feel good this time around, that he is meeting it with a certain heaviness in his arms, a want to get it over with.  But he pushes that exhaustion at fighting, always fighting down because he has to.

Unfortunately, when you leave a blood trail as long as he has, it eventually snakes back up to you.  Miles away from the motherland, but that hardly matters when someone is determined enough to track you down.  He had killed some of their old gang members back when he was doing that kind of thing for justice, knowing that they had law enforcement in their back pocket and that if he didn’t do something, then nobody would.  But they never forgot him, and they certainly never forgave him, and while he’s gotten tougher since then, so have they.

He pulls himself back to his knees at least, using the dumpster beside him for leverage, and spits some of his blood on the ground.  At least, they had the courtesy to come after him out here and didn’t follow him all the way back to the church.  It’s him that they want, so even if he dies here, at least, if nothing else, he will have kept them away from—

“Sarv.”

When he looks up, he sees their familiar silhouette—well, not so familiar, wings outstretched behind them, horns curling towards the sky.  What is she doing here?  Why did she follow him?  Heart pounding in his chest, he doubles his efforts to stand up and finally manages to drag himself back to his feet, still leaning against the dumpster for support.

He reaches out and grabs them by the elbow.  “Sarv,” he says, speaking through heavy pants that might be exhaustion just as well as they might be fear.  “Get down.”  It’s his fight.  It’s his fight.

He had wondered why the other gangsters stopped encroaching on him, why they even let him get as far as onto his knees, and now he knows.  All of them had their eyes trained on Sarvente, stunned at this new development, but now it seems as though they have recovered, and they start advancing on the pair again.

He knows that she can handle herself, that she is in possession of power beyond his comprehension, but he swore that he would always protect them, and it’s his fight.  “Please,” he hisses through red-stained teeth, tightening his grip on their arm, wanting nothing more than to throw her to the ground behind the dumpster while he finishes this, whatever the result ends up being.  “Sarv.  Please.”

Something felt wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong; so much so it had taken Sarvente out of her work for the church and leave, fast, giving no time to give explanation to the other nuns or clergy of where she was going or why. Maybe it is his fight, but she refuses to let him resign himself to a fight that, just maybe, he might finally lose. They’d never change form in the church-- but out here? And to protect him? Fuck the church.

Sarvente’s wings are massive, blocking the gangsters’ sights of Ruv to allow him to recover, casting shadows over them all. Her horns easily make her taller than she already is tall and spiraling upwards, and combined with her hovering off the ground, legs and arms covered in a pitch black liquid that drips onto the ground beneath them-- it’s horrifying. Usually such a positive face is twisted into a cold, dead stare; they’re not making it out alive, if Sarvente has anything to say about it. 

They glance back at Ruv as he grabs their arm. She knows he doesn’t want her here; doesn’t want her involved. But the choice to stay with him is hers, and hers alone; regardless of what they get involved in. Sarvente smiles reassuringly at him, flashing rows and rows of shark-like teeth. 

“Rest, Ruv. These men deserve to rot,” her voice is distorted; it’s clear now just how angry she is, radiating off of her. And as one of them lunges for Sarv, he’s stopped immediately by her free hand around his throat. He struggles; tries to fight her off, kicking and yelling, but none of it phases her at all. That smile she gave Ruv turns dark; twisted.

The black liquid crawls up her arm, pouring into his body as she squeezes hard enough to break a bone. It fills his veins, turning them all pitch black and draining all the color from his skin and body. Another sickening, loud crack of another bone breaking, and he can’t even scream as the black starts dripping from his mouth. It all retreats back into Sarvente’s arm, and on the third crack-- the gangster’s head pops clean off, dropping on the ground, and Sarvente throws the decapitated body at the others. 

He realizes that they are going to drink all of the wine that they brought if he lets them, and he cannot have that.  He knows that if he wants something, then he needs to just take it, so instead of whining about it or demanding that they slow down, he kicks back the rest of his glass and then rises from his chair and comes around the side of the desk to grab a bottle of his own out of their bag.  Returning to his seat, he doesn’t drink it straight out of the bottle like she does, instead pouring himself another glass.  Technically, they can grab it and drink out of it if they want, but he hopes that they will respect its proximity to him, thereby making it his.  An argument could be made that she is entitled to drink as much of it as she wants, having been the one to buy it, but he would say that it is the other way around, since they were her gifts to him as a business partner.

“I can’t say that I completely blame them,” he says and chuckles while he trails a finger around the rim of his glass.  “There’s nothing quite like a good power grab.  If we were any less equal, I might be inclined to try it.”  If there is one thing the Onceler enjoys having, it’s power.  Thankfully, the nature of his own position means that he doesn’t have a lot of people trying to usurp him.  While almost everyone wants a promotion, or ta least more pay, they have more or less resigned themselves to the fact that they will never be as high up on the corporate ladder as he is.

But if they did trying it, they would be quickly dealt with.  One thing he and Bianca do have in common, despite the differences in their positions and professions, is a willingness to force people back into line.

“It goes back to it being difficult to find good help these days, doesn’t it—even there.  I doubt you will, but if you ever do find yourself in need of one, I have a list of ones that have never done me wrong.  Astronomical prices on them, but I know you’re good for it.”

Thankfully, Bianca’s respectful of the proximity of the wine bottle towards him. If he’s that worried about it, though, they can just buy more-- they have money to just throw around. She shifts a bit in her chair, raising an eyebrow at him when he mentions he might like to try. It’s a “if you did, you wouldn’t last five seconds” sort of stare she gives him. Even they’re not fully aware of the power they hold as Lucifer, but she’s the only one that seems to have handled it so well-- according to her advisors, anyways. Dumping your own parents in the Venice rivers must do something to somebody.

“I would be far more concerned if they would be willing to pay the price of putting up with me,” Bianca jokes. “I am very specific, as you are aware, no? It drives a lot of... legal types insane.” Most of the time, anything under legal constraints-- she does herself, like everything else, from jewelry design to planning store locations to whose on the list of souls they need to collect.

@liferewrote​ | continued from here

Victoria’s research sounded insane when Viktor first read about it, but he knows well that discoveries do not get made by playing it safe, and it all sounded just crazy enough to have some real merit.  It filled him with an indescribable hope when he heard that they had succeeded in bringing someone back… more or less, anyway.  He was working on perfecting it, Viktor heard, as most scientists are, relentless in their pursuits of brighter futures, so the second attempt makes perfect sense.  Viktor wanted to be involved, sure that his own research in the medical sceince field could be of use to Victoria and fueled somewhat—more than somewhat—by desperation.

Viktor is not really interested in necromancy, or whatever other more scientific word one is supposed to use for this endeavor.  Ideally, he would like to find some way to save his own life before his disease claims him, and that’s really why he’s here: he is hoping that some of these same principles might be applied to those who are not yet corpses.  However, there is a measure of comfort to be had in the fact that he may be able to be brought back if he does expire before what he feels is his time.

He is a bit dazed by their mutual success, so while she talks excitedly, he can only stare dumbfounded at the reanimated man in an almost trance-like state.  He also hasn’t been sleeping well, determined to stay up with them and pull his own weight around here.  He is only pulled from it when Victoria grabs his arm and shakes him violently, and when he releases him, Viktor grabs onto his cane with both hands in an effort to reclaim his balance.  “We’ve done it,” he says finally, a bit breathlessly and much more grave about it than his partner.  Those three words hold so much weight.  Oh, gods, they’ve done it…

“Be careful with him,” Viktor says while he takes an unsteady step forward, still maneuvering his cane with both hands.  “We have to test him for cognizance.”  After all, there is hardly a point in bringing someone back if their mind doesn’t function the same.  Viktor wants all of him to be intact if he ever needs to get brought back.  If he can’t continue his scientific pursuits, then he may as well stay dead.  “And you might scare him if you say too much too fast.  He has to readjust to existing again, remember—and it’s not a fast process.”

Viktor’s right. Victoria takes a few steps back, taking some time to compose herself. He runs his fingers through the long, wavy, absolute mess of dark brown hair atop his head, emerald green eyes filled with something that can only be described as wild still trained on the man slowly regaining consciousness on the table. 

It’s bringing... something, back. The feeling of terror from the first time they played God-- what they’d thought would be the only time-- is bubbling in their stomach, but they know better than to run. They’re determined to force it down, keep themself as calm and clear-minded as they can be. The guilt Victoria’s been dealing with for centuries now begins to slowly claw at them, too, and had they been alone-- it all would be too much. Viktor’s presence keeps them grounded in the reality, though, and not their mind. He’s helped her with this; his own research was a significant boost to Victoria’s. They partially owe him for this success, but they’re so unsure how to actually repay him other than helping with his own research.

“He should wake up fully in another few minutes, after his organs finish adjusting to their new body. I’m not sure how much of the past memories he will have from the original brain’s owner-- that’s still a kink I need to work out-- but he should at least have fully similar intelligence, if not moreso. Adam was capable of learning the basics of a foreign language in just under two weeks, if that’s anything to go off of.”

Victoria begins running some simple diagnostics-- watching for heart rate, blood sugars, brain activity on the screens nearby. Any oddities need to be addressed as soon as possible, and technology has, thankfully, come a long way since the 1700s and provides her the ability to actually solve them. There’s one thing that’s eating her, though, that he didn’t realize both of them forgot about.

wordless prompts // accepting! 

The snow always excites Sarvente, but it also always seems to bring about a feeling of melancholy with them around. Maybe it’s because Hell, at some point, does become colder the further down you go, or maybe it’s because it means it’s winter-- and her being colder often means her energy being increasingly more zapped. She doesn’t stray much from the church during the winter months for that reason.

She’s glad Ruv’s around to help. They watch him work on fixing the heater, sitting on one of the larger toolboxes. Occasionally, she’ll hand him a wrench or a wire; whatever he needs. Whatever he wants, too. She’d give him the whole world if she could; Hell, too, if he really wanted it. Heaven next. Everything.

“Contracts aren’t easy to break,” the Onceler argues, “or at least, they’re not supposed to be.  People just have no respect.”  Now he is getting huffy on Bianca’s behalf, imagining his own employees blatantly ignoring a contract in similar ways.  He always makes sure to craft them so carefully so that there is not any confusion about what the rules are supposed to be.

Unfortunately, Bianca’s contracts work quite a bit differently than his own, and it makes since that they are able to keep the jewelers in line, as opposed to the others.  People who do all of the stuff within the realm of legality are usually a little easier to keep a handle on.

He leans over his desk and rests a chin on his hand, and then he says, “It’s too bad that you have to resort to such measures.  If and when people break contracts of mine, I’m able to get lawyers involved, but I know that’s not a viable option for you.”

“They are not even that hard to follow. They are just trying to grasp an opportunity for power,” Bianca rolls her eyes, grabbing one of her bottles of wine and popping the top off to drink it straight from the bottle. 

They’re incredibly different-- after all, most of the time, her contracts involve selling your soul. But people will do anything for money or dates or power-- anything their heart desires, Bianca can give them for that price. 

“Now that is something I hadn’t considered, but it does make sense. We do grade animals based on the lean and fatty contents, don’t we? Where the animals are raised, diets,” Her wrist rolls as she continues. “All of that wonderful quantifying data that leads us to have exorbitant price tags on a slice of meat barely enough for one person’s meal.” 

Thankfully, Bianca seems to have a lot more knowledge surrounding the subject, and the spices that they name get Agnes thinking as well. “Coat in a mix of flour, spices, and eggs,” She says, nodding sagely. “Throw them into a deep frier. The options for consumption become just as expansive as the normal market then.” 

“I do not even like meat that much, to be honest with you. I just like the possibilities, no?” Bianca’s preference is actually fish-- which is even more expensive sometimes than steak. “But I agree. It is a bit of a scam.”

@liferewrote || continued from HERE.

     HE HAS never cared for the ways of the Eye, but he looks at the papers on Martin’s desk with genuine curiosity, clearly interested in finding out what his… well, assistant (pawn, Elias would call him; and he’d be right) is searching for. However, his gaze shoots up at the younger man the moment he hears his questions, and the smile parting his beard feels friendly enough but unsettling still, the same way his voice never sounds warm enough, as if the cold constantly seeping from his body took a hold over his vocal chords as well.

     “Oh, he might. It’s really hard to catch one of the Eye completely off guard, especially in the one place you can consider his territory,” he replies matter-of-factly, crossing his arms and leaning slightly against the wall. Despite his words, confidence exudes out of his every pore, as if he already knew all the answers to Martin’s questions and were yet waiting to hand them all to him (and he does know; and he won’t hand them, at least not anytime soon). “But even for him it isn’t easy to keep an eye on everything all of the time. I’m sure all the current events are keeping him busy enough for us to do our work in peace.”

     He leans forward, his head hovering over Martin’s shoulder. “That looks like a lot of papers. Anything worth of interest, though?”

Martin’s still so unsettled, but he can’t forget why he’s even doing this in the first place. He wants to keep his friends safe; Jon, safe. He returns the smile in that awkward, shy fashion of his, doing his best to make sure it’s not present that Peter still scares him. 

“I guess so. I just-- this is all still quite much, admittingly.” He’s going to do it though, even if it kills him (and at this point, he’s fully aware it very well might) , ruffling through the papers. He has an inkling Peter’s not telling him everything, but anything he can get out of him is something-- he’s thinking a little like Jon. It’s a bit scary. What’s scarier is that slowly, he’s finding himself wanting to be more and more alone; figuring this out.