to my sweet medorah

Carrd | Follows back from @velvet500

"How often are Nosferatu anything else? Respectfully, of course. Nothing in the Camarilla, hardly anything in the Anarchs, and yet your Clan plays such an important role in our quaint little society. Without you guys, there'd be no good gossip for my sister and I to be wicked about in the parlor." Carolina turned her sewing scissors in her hands.

"All around the butt of the joke quite frequently. At least you're not Giovanni! I'd take your curse any day of the week over their home situation." Carolina's painted lips curled into a devious sneer.

"You know, I've had several clients come to me begging for me to make them monstrous. Would you let me sketch your likeness for reference?" The question was sincere. "There's a distinct organic nature to Nosferatu and I just can't seem to get that effect. I've tried."

Carolina's fine, painted brow raised. Frigid eyes look the Duskborn over; up and down, up and down, ultimately unimpressed. She bore her serpentine fangs and hissed back. "See how little effort it takes to stand there and hiss? Now observe how I'm still standing right here? I've met peachicks more intimidating."

"No, you're far too pink in the cheeks still." The Tzimisce continued to appraise them. "Even for somebody so young. I bet you must fight for your dinner more often than not. You're going to have to do much more than stand there and hiss like a stray. Any half- decent Kindred will always read it as fear, regardless if you're scared or not, and what could they love more then your terror?"

She braced herself. "Come on. Run at me. Lunge at me."

'To my lovely Medorah. You've weighed heavily on my mind and heart. I—' And this was as far as she read.

Taking a red pen from the cup on her desk, she scrawled in the margin. "Do you still make that revolting face when you cry?" This would be returned to the sender.

"It was a parting gift. All I receive are parting gifts."