NOTHING MATTERS, HAIL SATAN!

“They’re different kinds of businesses. I’m very particular, I’ve frequented a lot of places like Void over the years.” Invested in their aesthetic, their patrons. Stupid, he’d been stupid and what Ikaros had told him when he was first turned kept with him. Why would Thanatos give him anything while he was so devoted to Persephone? This had been his own damn fault and he was now out to make the most of it. Lucian’s eyes take in his current location and ultimately, the place does feel a bit like somewhere in New York, perhaps down in Soho. “I wished I’d have gone to places like this earlier on in life.”

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“So you’re subversive and edgy, we get it.” Mateo rolled his eyes, leaning back against the bar with his elbows. He cared little for the business story that Lucian had, whatever passions had driven the other man into creating Void was likely more meaningful and impressive than his own: he had seen the club was for sale and he, no master of impulse, had wanted it and purchased it. While things seemed to be going well, there had been no promise of it when he had initially taken over the Embassy, and as it was, Mateo was hopping from one hurdle to the next, simply trying to make the best of things. “Gay clubs?” He echoed, before letting out a laugh. “I was turned in the 80s in Berlin, this was– and still is, I guess, my entire life.”

     “Well, you’re not my type. You have something dangling between your legs I’m not interested in, but I will gladly cut it off.” Delia hissed, wondering why he would ever think that they had dated. It only further fueled her anger, and caused the tip of the stake to further into his skin. She wished she had met him when she was still a vampire so she had more of an actual chance to kill him, but she would still try her best. “Delia”, she corrected sharply, pushing at his chest with her free hand. “Is that all you have to say about it? You ruined my fucking life.”

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“Yikes,” Mateo commented, lifting a finger as he gestured towards the woman. “You know, that’s what they call in the biz, a really bad fuckin’ attitude.” The vampire wriggled, letting out a sharp breath as the tip of the stake drew a ruby droplet of blood from his skin— this would not do, and he wondered how much further he would entertain her fury before he acted out with either compulsion or his currently restrained strength. “Delia, yes. Beautiful name.” His shoulder rose. “Obviously not permanently or on purpose. Look at you, you’re all plucky and living now. How the fuck did that happen, by the way?”

It’s different this time, the way they sit together on the beach. They’re closer, sides pressed together as they look out at the water, the light from boardwalk yards behind them offering soft lighting. It’s beautiful, Mateo is beautiful, and Leighton thinks that there’s no way he can miss any signs now, not this time. He looks down to where their fingers are intertwined in the sand, actually leans just a little against the other vampire. It feels a bit like coming full circle now that he has a better idea of what they are to one another. Though he does wonder…

“Are we still just merely ‘interested’?” He asks, turning his head to look at Mateo and despite the slight smirk curling at the corners of his lips, he can’t help but feel a bit nervous. He doesn’t think either of them have shown signs of pulling away from the other. If anything, the fact that Mateo is willing to be with him knowing his baggage seems to show that he’s more than interested, that this is more of a long haul situation. It’s comforting, and yet, to hear the other’s thoughts on the matter would solidify a few things when his life felt a bit….He was trying his best to keep everything together again.

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One hand pressed into the sand, and he could feel the texture of the grains under his fingers— abrasive enough to make him feel tethered, as though such a thing was required when in Leighton’s presence. His cheek against the other’s shoulder made him feel like something that could easily float away, he was lighter, soothed by the stillness of the other’s chest and the rhythmic lap of waves against the shore. The question came without prompting and Mateo looked up through his lashes, catching blue eyes with his own hazel ones before his teeth sunk into the fullness of his lower lip, biting away a smile.

“I was never just interested,” the vampire admitted, and he tilted to press his chin against Leighton’s shoulder now, studying his features contentedly. “I like you,” he said easily, while the hand not coated in sand lifted to draw along the sharp angle of the other’s jaw. “But if you need to, I’ll wait for you.”

“Okay. If you say so. I’ll believe you.” Until she saw that look in his eyes that made her think otherwise. It was clear that he wasn’t going to tell her even if he wasn’t okay. His wellbeing mattered to her though. Mateo was her friend and, to be honest, they had been through a lot together by this point. Even if it was just one thing. But that one thing had been very traumatizing for both parties involved. Zara just wished she could get rid of that moment for both of them. “Well, I’m happy for you regardless. You deserve it. So what’s their name? Do I know them? When can we meet? Can I make them a little alien blanket?”

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“His name’s Leighton,” he divulged, wrapping an arm around Zara’s shoulders as he navigated the pair of them around. A strange sight to those who knew what they were, he was a vampire and she was a witch, but he was indubitably fond of this one, with her wide eyes and fantastical nature. “I’m not sure if you know him, but it might be too early to start dragging him in front of everyone I know. He’s kind of, old fashioned with things, we’re taking it slow.” Mateo paused, “You can make me a little alien blanket though.”

closed starter for @mateoaguilars​

It had been a few hours and absolutely no time to process what had just happened to him. How was he supposed to deal with this when there seemed to be a never-ending burning within his throat? Surely Lestat wasn’t actually real, right? It had simply been a joke, but no. Here he was. He looked around the room he was in now and then his eyes went to his maker. “Perhaps I should know your actual name now.”

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It was his old room— the one that he had stayed in all of those months before he had moved up to the master, falling easily into the role of owner of the home. Mateo had now set it up for Prinze, removing all the personal effects so that his newest progeny could turn it into something of his own. His hip leaned against the door frame and he filled the space there easily, canting his head to study the pretty curve of the other vampire’s full lip. “If you get tired of Daddy,” he teased, “Mateo’s fine.” He gestured to the room. “You can stay here, as long as you want. If you’re hungry, we can go out together. I’ve got to show you Void.” Despite his running friendly competition with Lucian, it was admittedly, a very safe place for a fresh vampire- especially one who had not yet gotten a hold of his hunger.

“That I do.” Emre answered candidly, “You going to be able to keep the new one clean?” The reaper asked, an easy smirk on his lips as it seemed a wasted effort to have something replaced if it was just going to get ruined again. “Maybe you should dedicate a wing of the house to uh - debauchery so you don’t ruin the next one.” Mateo’s words felt oddly sentimental but truthfully Emre could relate, he wasn’t as old as Mateo but ever since the reaper left home he’d avoided staying in one place for too long. Corinth, Haljesta, Turkey - nowhere was right forever. But here he was in Greece again, looking at places. “It suits you.” Emre commented after a beat, “This place, this city. You do well here I think.”

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“Probably not, but once I know where I can get them replaced why would I ever bother worrying about them being ruined?” He snorted, “I can’t have a living room with no rug, it’ll ruin the feng shui or whatever it is that makes people get fountains in the middle of their kitchens.” Emre’s words made him pause, tapping a finger against the swell of his lower lip— it was rubied and his tongue darted out to taste copper along it. “You’re a contractor, right? Or at least, you know how power tools work. Maybe you can help me,” the vampire gestured, “Party-proof a section.” Mateo mulled over the words, before hazel eyes cast over in Emre’s direction. “Sometimes I get homesick for a place that barely remembers me, maybe it’s time to let the past go and start a new life.” He rubbed at his jaw. “I’m happy here, what about you?”

    Kiera was unable to put into words just how relieved she was when Maven suddenly stood in the kitchen of Kiki’s. She was still unable to talk, but her hand was ripped from the water that had just started boiling. It was not yet enough to hurt her, but the pain had started to set in. She cradled her hand to her chest and hid behind Maven. As much as she wanted to be the strong and independent woman, right now she was none of those things. She pressed herself against the genasi’s back, unapologetically using her as a shield in that moment. Kiera’s gaze met Mateo’s and her lips opened as if they had been sealed together before. “She is my girlfriend.” Her voice sounded hollow and she was still incredibly scared. “How do you know each other?” Her eyes searched Maven’s and she tried to say “He—“ is the one who tortured me. But those words still could not escape her because of prior compulsion. ( @mavenlockwood​ )

Maven plants herself protectively in front of Kiera, a withering glare set against her sharp features that she levels at Mateo. She doesn’t know all the information of what’s happened here, but context makes it pretty clear, regardless. “Yeah, shit happens.” She’s in no mood to discuss the road to how she went from vampire to genasi, least of all right now when it’s clear that Mateo has been tormenting her girlfriend. “You’re a fuckin’ psychopath,” the words come out nearly a growl, furious and ugly as her temper burns through the genasi. She doesn’t even notice the way the room around them similarly increases in heat, too focused on her anger directed towards Mateo. “We were friends. Used to be,” Maven answers, only willing to reply to Kiera’s questions. There had been a time when she had been rather fond of Mateo, for all his boyish stupidity, and the fun they could have messing around together. But all of that’s evaporated now in the moment, and all she can see is the person that was trying to hurt her girlfriend. ( @mateoaguilars​ )

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Mateo looked between the two of them, both tiny women, one who seemed as soft as flour and the other who looked at him with her flinty gaze. “Last time I checked,” he volleyed back darkly. “This used to be fun and games and you,” he gestured towards Maven now, “Used to enjoy them just as much as I did.” Perhaps not to this extent, but his wickedness was to be no surprise to the former vampire. He had little shame when it came to his exploits, despite how the little witch behind her seemed to cower. “Used to be?” His brows drew in and his hazel eyes grew dark and sharp as they looked at his chosen victim. “I didn’t even know who she is.” The vampire looked now at Kiera, “Perhaps you’re not as special as you think you are, if she didn’t bother mentioning you were off-limits.” He lifted up his hands, stepping back towards the exit of the kitchen. “Fine, enjoy your vanilla afternoon. Leave me out of it.” ( @kieratandanu​ )

They’re in a very public space intertwined in such a way that suggests intimacy, and yet, it’s Mateo’s establishment and he’d let him set the boundaries there. He’s not quite prepared for the question and he finds his fingers coming up to cup the back of the other vampire’s neck, ildy playing with the curls there. He’s not sure what has been done can even be fixed, it’s not on him. He’s said his piece, it is up to Emma to come to him if she’d like to do so.

“Emma. I doubt she kept my last name.” There was the chance she could be using Marie’s maiden name, but a lot of time had passed. “I’d like to fix it, if I could. I just don’t see it being all that feasible.” Leighton’s voice is still quiet over all the noise and he shifts his weight from one foot to another, rests his chin atop Mateo’s head. “Do you want to get out of here?”

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“Emma,” he tested it on his tongue. For a moment, he wondered if he would ever meet her— and if she would like him; as he was, someone involved with her father. It was his experience that most people either enjoyed his company or vehemently disliked it, there was no neutrality when it came to a vampire as obnoxious as he was. “You’ll figure it out,” Mateo promised, pressing another kiss to Leighton’s forearm as he reached for him. “If it matters, you’ll figure it out. Family is important, you know?”

He curved into Leighton’s grip, caring little for the attention it drew from staff and patrons. His own set was over and the rest knew well enough what to do when it was time to close up, there was nothing binding him to the Embassy now. “You like asking that, huh?” A crooked grin tugged at Mateo’s lips. “Yeah, let’s go. Somewhere quieter, maybe.”

kieratandanu​

     Kiera wanted to pull away at his touch, because it seemingly burnt her skin, but her body would not move. She wanted to cry or scream or preferably both, but her body wouldn’t let her have either of those things. Instead she stood still, staring at the man as if willing him to die from a mere look out of her eyes. But instead he kept saying words, and Kiera watched in horror as her own hands filled a pot with water and put it on the stove, turning it to the highest setting. Whatever willpower she had, she was trying desperately to stop herself from putting her hand into the water. But she was useless against compulsion, and so her hand dipped into the water. Kiera wished for someone to walk into the kitchen, but she doubted any of the few customers outside would miss her before her skin was literally falling off her bones.

Maven’s sort of formed a habit, of stopping by Kiki’s whenever she has the opportunity. With everything that’s happened around her recently, the last thing she wants is for her girlfriend to receive the blowback for her own actions, and so maybe she’s developing a little bit of a… hovering tendency. Walking into the restaurant is easy, dipping past the customers enjoying their meals to slip into the kitchen without a bother — the regulars have seen her here enough already, and the other staff knows better than to try and stop her. But Maven’s feet halt in their tracks as the scene unfolds in front of her; her girlfriend, standing terrified by the stove with a vampire looming over her. But not just any vampire, because this one is one the genasi recognizes, and perhaps that makes it worse. Because at one time, she would’ve considered him to be a friend. At once, Maven summons a fireball into her hand, hurling it towards Mateo — it won’t hurt, not really, but it’s meant more as an attention-getter anyways. “What the hell is going on here?!” her voice rings out loudly, filling the space of the kitchen as Maven rushes forward. She bodily places herself in between Kiera and Mateo, yanking the witch’s hand out of the pot of water that sits on the stove before the full force of her glare is leveled at Mateo. “What the fuck is wrong with you!?!”

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Mateo paused as someone stepped into the kitchen, moving to fix his gaze upon them with compulsion when instead he was met with a ball of fire in the chest. He winced, batting it away from his clothes, sputtering in confusion. “Maven?” Her name fell from his lips as he finally put out the flame; his shirt was blackened and stank, but he remained unhurt. How long had it been since he had seen her last; the vampire wasn’t entirely sure, but enough days had spanned that she was very much a different person— with one recognizable difference: she was alive again. “What the fuck happened to you?” He tossed back, wild-eyed and shocked, ignoring the witch and the boiling pot completely for the genasi who wore the face of a friend. “How—?” They were both supposed to be navigating being a vampire together, traversing down new and old paths, but it seemed as though Maven had decided to abandon that completely for a second shot at life. Mateo turned his attention to the witch behind her shoulder, lifting his chin up. “You can speak.” He gestured between the two women. “Do you two know each other?” ( @kieratandanu​ )

The man seemed to drink it in, completely in his element of reverence. All angular features countered by soft hues and loose fabric, Armando was loathe not to give it to him, especially considering the cubi’s feeding depended on it. There were many methods of extracting pleasure that they were versed in, many without touch. For the vain, the biggest hit of endorphins came from a proverbial stroke of their ego, and a fair amount of self-minded people passed through Armando’s business. Soon, the cubi expected the air would be saturated with gratification - if their subject proved to be of corruptible spirit. Armando caught Mateo’s movement earnestly, smudging out the stiffness and and drawing a sloping line in pursuit of the motion. They did not correct posture. Adonis, in the process of unraveling.

“Many artists - poets describe what is known as ‘timeless beauty,’ if you’re familiar,” Armando said. “People who are gifted such a thing are untouchably beautiful, regardless of how the world around them changes its preferences. As if a marble statue were to step off its pedestal and walk among the living.” The artist rambled, hardly leaving enough air to ignore the implication. Deft hands carved the shadow of a cheekbone, stone-like, into malleable canvas. Paints now in hand, Armando lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I find that most of them are insufferable company.”

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Mateo tipped his chin up, hoping to catch the light on his cheekbone, for the hollow underneath to carve it out sharply— however this painting turned out, though he did not doubt the talent of the artist, he wished for it to be something awe-inspiring, worthy of spending more than a few weeks in a private home before making its way back to the gallery like an unwanted pup to a shelter. His likeness was too good for such, his eyes carried the earth: brown flecked with the verdant shades of foliage, his lips were too shapely, his nose had the perfect slope, a fine point that was inherited from his father. He was beautiful, as it was whispered by his ear so often by those who had spilled into his bed and tangled in his sheets; and he wondered briefly if the artist would make him look cruel and cold as a result of it.

All beauty was terrible, he’d read that somewhere. “A pretty way to put an insult,” the vampire mused, laughing lowly. He didn’t care much for the wideness of his humour, his face would never crease in lines, he would never be marked as a result of too much enjoyment. Youth was the privilege of the undead, and he imagined that he held his like a weapon. “I find most artists and poets to be insufferable,” Mateo volleyed back, before lifting a brow. “To suffer the burden of a creative mind, I’d weep for them if they did not often remind the rest of us of what they have to offer.” His expression smoothed, becoming a clean curve. “The beautiful— their services are free, and they’re mute. No one has ever accused a statue of being rude. Still,” he gestured towards Armando. “Where do you fit in with all that? You’re both, a creative and beautiful. Lucky you.”

Under any other circumstances, Leighton might have basked in the attention he was being shown. It was still new, it was still exciting and it was something he was honestly a bit eager about. But even Mateo’s touch couldn’t really draw him out of his funk, the matter weighed too heavy. Though he’s still relieved that the other man isn’t bothered, but it feels…He has spent so much time brooding, he has already agonized over the loss of his family for well over a century. The shock of her alive, or well, undead before him had sort of robbed him of the joy of being in her presence again. She was there, she was there and he loved her and she was rightfully furious at him. “I didn’t know. She was maybe seven when I last saw her.”

He turns his head to press his lips to Mateo’s temple, eyes on the shelf of liquor behind the bar. “I don’t know if I can fix it. She has a right to be mad at me.” It’s not up to him, ultimately. The ball is in her court, he figures if he goes searching for her, he’s only going to make everything worse. “I wanted you to know though. I should have told you that day.” The words are practically mumbled against Mateo’s forehead, they’re still so close together.

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This was bothering Leighton, he wasn’t too dense to realize that— but Mateo failed to see what it was that the problem was, until he voiced that his daughter was upset with him. While he didn’t understand the intricacies of parenthood, that much he knew intimately: what it was like when someone you cared for dearly could not stand to be near you, that hurt did not easily get a comparison to anything else. Still, he clung to the other vampire, unsure of how to comfort him, curving under his chin.

Later, he suspected that Tobias would have questions and that a smirk would settle upon Emory’s mouth for catching his boss that way, but he didn’t mind it too much, not when they were twined together under the lights like this. “If it counts for anything,” Mateo said, lifting hazel eyes to study the sharp line of Leighton’s jaw and the way that it tensed under stress, “I hope that she forgives you soon, if that’s what you want.” It made him think of his own parents, more than anything: if his mother waited for him to return to see her, if she thought that she had done something wrong to keep her only son from visiting. “What’s her name?”

     “Oh, you do?” Delia had half expected him to not even recognize her face, but her words were spoken like sharp pieces of glass as they cut through the air. She figured someone like him didn’t care much about his victims, whether they died or became vampires. Otherwise he might have tried to give her some pointers on how to deal with this whole thing. “And where do you remember me from? Do you remember what you did to me?” The stake pierced his skin ever so lightly as she put pressure on it, barely able to contain the anger rushing through her body. She had waited forever for this moment, to face the man who had taken her life. “Someone had to fix the mistake you made.”

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Mateo made a face, but he didn’t reach for the stake yet to yank it away. Amusement still ribboned through him at the thought that a human believed she had the ability to end his life so easily, so blatantly, as if his was an existence that would come to conclusion in a heap in a filthy alleyway. He pressed his lips together, still toying. “Did we date? You seem like my type. Obviously it didn’t work out, but if it’s any comfort,” the words were slick, offered with a low curve. “We can say it was me, and definitely not you.” It was her words that struck recognition and he squinted, realizing that this was someone who had become a vampire at his hand, Delilah, or something. “Oh fuck.” He let out a low whistle. “If it’s any consolation, you haven’t aged a day, darling.”

“Fuck do I know about stain removal?” He figured if you had to ask, then probably, yes. The carpet practically squished with how much blood had soaked into it. The place looked as though it had been turned on its head, the true vampire frat house from any cliche novelty horror franchise. “Sounds awful.” Marriage, his only example of a couple that was still married had been his parents and they were hardly something to aspire to. A vampire and a phoenix, one of those two either had to be a magnificent liar while the other had to be painfully naive for that to even work. “Hopefully that buys you a few centuries anyways. Vampiric honeymoons and all that.” 

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“Guess that means I’ll have to throw the whole damn thing away.” Mateo sighed, leaning dramatically in the high backed chair. “Do you know where to get new rugs then, at least?” He already had half a mind to order a cleaning service to give the place a thorough cleaning— the floorboards could use a hearty coating of bleach to rid them of whatever DNA clung in the wood fibres, and he had no aspirations to scrub them out himself. He’d seen CSI, even the most thorough of jobs didn’t seem to hide every sin. “I’ve never stayed in one place that long,” he admitted, though that had to be attributed to his youth as well. “But I like this house, or you know, just having a house– it feel permanent. Maybe she’ll just give it to me in the end.”