DEVOURER

      JUST  PASSING  THROUGH.   THE  words  are  like  music  in  her  ears,   but  bella  can’t  help  the  tension  that  still  courses  through  her  body,   the  way  her  eyes narrow  as  she  gives  the  woman  a  once-over.   james  and  victoria  were  just  passing  through  at  first,   too.   and  bella  could  never  be  too  careful  –  she  really  was  a  magnet  for  danger…   she’s  sure  the  cullens  will  want  to  know  about  her,   will  want  to  interact  with  her  before  allowing  the  woman  to  remain  in  the  area.   she  taps  her  pen  on  the  counter  in  front  of  her,   gnaws  on  the  inside  of  her  lip  as  she  tries  to  think  of  possible  replies  to  the  woman.   the  woman’s  words  echo  through  her  mind  as  she  tries  to  assess  the  level  of  danger  that  forks  is  in,   and  the  mention  of  the  woman  being  in  seattle  makes  bella  arch  an  eyebrow.   she  hadn’t  heard  of  any  recent  disappearances  from  charlie,   of  any  mysterious  animal  attacks  in  the  middle  of  a  goddamn  city.

      ❝ —  i  don’t  have  any  recommendations,   but  maybe  you  can  ask  our  resident  coven,   the  cullens.   of  course,   nobody  knows  the  truth  about  them,   but  i’m  sure  they’d  be  happy  to  help… ❞

“the  CULLENS?”  she  echos,  brow  furrowing  for  a  moment,  “i  have  never  had  the  PLEASURE  of  meeting  them,  though  the  name  does  ring  a  bell!”  something  murmured  in  passing,  or  maybe  she  had  met  one  a  millennia  ago  and  has  merely  forgotten  the  name  in  the  interim.  either  way  -  constance  is  now  CURIOUS!  “they  aren’t  the  TERRITORIAL  sort,  are  they?  some  people  -  i  swear!  so  inconsiderate.  i  was  RUN  OUT  OF  TOWN  once  by  some  silly  little  coven  for  merely  stepping  a  foot  -  ONE  FOOT!  -  over  some  invisible  boundary!”  tongue  clicks  and  she  shakes  her  head,  ashamed  -  with  no  mention  that  it  had  certainly  been  more  than  a  foot  over  a  line.  that  was  BEFORE  she  began  being  a  touch  more  discreet.

@maneatr​ liked for a demetri starter ! 

CRIMSON MEETS CRIMSON as demetri makes eye contact with the fair stranger, within the walls of the volturi castle. there’s intriguement on his end whenever the tracker meets an unfamiliar immortal. “ are you a guest of aro’s ? ”

      HER  EYES  WIDEN  FOR  a  moment  –  bella  can’t  really  help  it  –  and  then  she  frowns.   this  woman   ( this  vampire )   plans  on  remaining  in  town  for  a  while :   long  enough  for  her  to  need  a  place  to  stay.   she  wishes  the  cullens  were  here,   were  able  to  peacefully  diffuse  the  situation  and  peacefully  tell  this  woman  no.   but  then  again,   bella  has  been  fighting  her  own  battles  for  years  –  she  doesn’t  need  to  hide  behind  jake,   or  the  cullens.   no  matter  how  much  she  wants  to,   bella  refuses  to  hide  behind  anyone  else :   even  if  it  gets  herself  killed.   she  clenches  her  fists  behind  her  back,   stance  defensive  as  she  arches  an  eyebrow.

      ❝ —  no  bed  and  breakfast  in  town  serves  blood,   i  hate  to  say.   but  seattle  isn’t  far  away  –  you  could  try  there. ❞

      her  tone  is  snarky,   despite  the  fear   ( and  adrenaline )   rushing  through  her  veins.

oh,  GOODNESS!  how  fiesty.  constance  TITTERS,  raising  a  hand  encased  in  white  leather  glove  to  hide  the  flash  of  pearly  fangs  behind  red  lips  as  she  giggles.  “WELL!  it’s  a  GOOD  THING  i  came  well  supplied!”  BLOOD  BAGS  taste  stale  and  aren’t  half  so  fun  as  feeling  the  frightened  beat - beat - beat  of  a  heart,  but  constance  isn’t  STUPID  enough  to  leave  a  trail  behind  her!  giggles  finally  subside  and  she  lowers  her  hand  and  idly  spins  the  parasol  above  her  head.  “i’ve  already  BEEN  to  seattle  -  i  THOUGHT  i  had  a  beau  there,  but  the  horrible  little  man  was  already  ENGAGED  and  lying  to  me  about  it  all  along.  a  pity,  really,  he  was  DREADFULLY  wealthy,”  constance  pulls  a  face  and  pouts  before  smiling  once  more.

He almost barks with laughter. Now that was too bold. “Chérie, you cannot be serious. At least allow me to amend your lost hunt tonight.” He steps gracefully over the corpse, extending his hand with a slight bow from the waist. “Laurent de Paris. I regret depriving you of your due prey.” Oh, yes, he regrets it now - the quivering fury almost preferable to the cunning that now flashed behind her eyes.

      whatever deity you, reader, pray to — if any — start the process.   it’s going to be a long night.   head dips back with a roll of lidded eyes.   huff, in response, ill-mannered out of impatience.   with a swing of her arm, she’s looped constance to a stance mimicking attachment at the hips.   if the two were to talk malicious intents, they might as well do so under the cloak of unassuming femininity & grace.   never harming a fly.   well, aside from with harsh words spat from behind feather fans towards fellow females; ones deemed beautiful as ugly ducklings.

      “ to the feinting couch.   if we gossip near the other dames, we, too, can crouch, & collect unlisted names. ”   of course leota made a list beforehand; however, she can only gain so much access on her own.   hard-working, going the extra mile if only to keep a steady pace ahead of the black widow bride — until the latter threatens a beheading fate if the former doesn’t slow down & match steps again.

      collapsing, but with grace.   akin to how aphrodite would drape herself lovingly across a mortal’s lap, seeking sustenance for her immortal soul & to feel her blood boil & churn in ecstasy.   content sigh leaves painted lips, before a knowing grin plasters itself between rosy cheeks.

      “ with us, tonight, a duke.   yes, one is here, & his status mighty.   but sheath those claws of yours, my dear.   lest he sees them too soon — & thus, gets flighty. ”

arms  settles  in  the  crook  of  leota’s  elbow  and  constance  SMILES  prettily  as  they  swan  across  the  room  fluidly;  a  well - practiced  dance,  steps  falling  in  synch  as  they  snake  away  from  the  other  women  and  their  sharp  ears.  constance  knows  how  quick  gossip  grows  in  the  corners  of  these  lovely  rooms,  well  decorated  nooks  designed  with  private  snatches  of  time  to  whisper  among  small  groups  in  mind.  “i’m  TOUCHED  you  do  not  share  your  information  with  the  others.”

leota  melts  upon  the  couch  like  a  cat  sunning  herself  on  a  porch  in  high  july  sun.  constance  moves  carefully,  gracefully,  perching  herself  beside  leota  and  fanning  wan  face  with  a  languid  roll  of  the  wrist.  a  DUKE!  how  delightful!  being  a  DUCHESS  would  be  lovely  -  how  constance  loves  titles.  perhaps  she  would  let  a  duke  as  a  husband  live  a  little  LONGER  than  his  contemporaries.  what  fine  parties  a  duke  must  be  invited  to,  what  fine  parties  she  could  attend  on  his  arm  in  lovely  new  dresses!  a  DUKE!  the  giddy  hunger  in  her  grin  must  be  evident,  especially  to  one  so  well  acquainted  with  constance’s  TASTES  as  leota.

      ‘fairy-like’ wasn’t exactly how leota would describe present company.   better than attending alone, like a monkey with a tiny hat which dances to a worn-out music box.   party tricks.   ha !   rich men, fat as the happiest kings, would only be so lucky to witness such extravagance.   a ball will have to suffice, if only to pass time & to distance herself from her former residence.   finding customers elsewhere wasn’t hard.   coming naturally, like bees to flowers — only constance was a venus fly trap with every intention of snatching another fly tonight.

      someone ought to snip that woman’s stem.   but, not out of cruel sadism.   see, leota holds no grudge; she does, though, hold caution.   hatchaway is a true menace in silk.   the medium should only be so lucky to predict havoc before it’s wreaked & they’re both run off the grounds.   well-behaved upon arrival, the serial wedder seemed — though the carriage ride was nothing short of a gossip circle.

      “ reminds me, too, of fairytales — something so bright.   we can only hope you’ll find your next target by the end of the night. ”

      as gray a shade leota paints her own morals, it’s better to get on constance’s good side & do one’s best to stay there.   for better or worse — & till death do us party.

      @maneatr​​​ said   :   ❝ oh, isn’t this room just like a fairyland? ❞

“oh,  i  do  PLAN  to!”  that  is  what  balls  are  for,  after  all  -  that  and  FLAUNTING  the  lovely  gown  of  silk  and  lace,  the  long  gloves  that  cover  fair  arms,  the  way  her  hair  is  curled  just  so  and  pearl  strands  loop  her  throat.  constance  is  an  ARTIST  when  it  comes  to  dressing  up.  a  line  of  dead  men  and  their  wills  have  financed  her  pretty  clothes  and  the  rouge  that  brings  false - color  to  her  cheeks  for  generations  now.  head  tips  at  leota  and  she  smiles  prettily,  the  sort  that  does  not  SHOW  sharp  canines.

there  is  a  certain  way  to  DO  THIS.  it’s  second  nature  to  her  now.  seek  out  a  man  dressed  WELL,  but  not  FLASHY  -  the  nouveau  riche  are  more  likely  to  spend  their  money  on  the  sort  of  things  she  has  no  interest  in,  if  they  have  not  already  gambled  it  all  away  on  some  silly  venture  like  horses  or  charitable  works.  NO,  what  constance  prefers  is  OLD  MONEY.  heirloom  jewelry  money.  great,  grand  estates  on  great,  grand  parcels  of  land  with  great,  grand  titles  tacked  onto  the  front  of  their  names  money.  an  oil  baron  or  lawyer  will  do  in  a  PINCH,  but  tonight  she  is  seeking  a  RICHER  MEAL  than  that.

    ❝     It’s us or them. I don’t know about you, but I’m all about us surviving.     ❞    

'I miss you' texts long nights full of yearning and fantasies... intimate secrets you'd be embarrassed to say out loud... passionately reuniting once again... you want a love that is desperate and passionate, you want someone that will make you feel like you’re living a romance novel. you want to feel the fire burning in your chest when you see them. you want every touch to feel like fireworks, and to discover something new about them every day. while this addicting fire can be fun to chase, try not to drop every lover once the flame seems to have died down. sometimes the most intense burn comes from the fire you continue to kindle, and it is worth it to settle in front of a hearth.

Tagged by: @sacredvein

@maneatr​ asked : “ maybe it’s time to show them what a mistake they’ve made. “ [ … ]

           He’s not the calculated type. There isn’t any method to his carnage, no tact, no thought behind the stragglers he grabs off the street and sinks his teeth into. The only purpose his actions serve is to satiate his own hunger. He doesn’t desire his victims material items or riches. He certainly doesn’t think much about them after he’s washed their blood from his mouth and hands.

So something crosses his usually stoic face when Constance presents him with this. An ever so slight arch of an eyebrow, the corner of his lips barely quirking upwards. R’s not really the vengeful type, either. Out of sight, out of mind. But…

“What did you have in mind??”

“WELL,”  something  terrible  and  gleeful  fills  glittering  eyes  as  head  cocks  to  one  side,  cascading  carefully  styled  ringlets  over  a  shoulder.  revenge  is  a  speciality  of  hers!  perhaps  not  a  GOOD  thing  for  a  creature  so  easily  slighted,  constance  has  always  -  even  as  a  wimpy  little  human  -  had  quite  the  appetite  for  seeing  others  suffer  for  their  varying  infractions  against  her.  thank  GOODNESS  no  one  that  is  her  match  has  ever  set  similar  sights  on  her,  “the  PUNISHMENT  must  fit  the  CRIME,  of  course.”

His lip curls. “It seems you left him marinate too long. Otherwise you ought to try branding your man next time before setting him loose from the corral. What do you expect me to do?” He asks, archly. 

Were Laurent not so chagrined by what an ordeal this whole messy business turned to be, he might have admired the art of the hunt. As it was, he found it entirely too inconvenient.

WHAT  DOES  SHE  EXPECT  HIM  TO  DO?  a  fair  enough  questions,  constance  supposes.  perhaps  she  should  have  thought  about  what  she  WANTS  now  before  storming  in  on  the  sordid  scene  before  her.  the  smell  of  iron  in  the  air  is  tempting.  constance  can  only  think  of  what  a  FINE  MEAL  her  near  husband  must  have  been.