petrifaction,

How Kang sees Lazlu.

"Beauty, elegance, iritation." - Kang

«You will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the sins you never had the courage to commit.»

His body already aches.

Everywhere, glimmering in a dazzling wash of colors, candles and swelled lanterns suffuse the night. The moon’s not yet full, but soon, it will be, and this festival so often would wait for its rising – for when he morphs into monster and prowls as a beast. So, be grateful, he thinks. Milk this for all it’s worth. It’s come early this year, his chance to glean its beauty... Yes, there’s joy past his rib cage and peace in his heart.

--But in his skull (howling, haunted) he catches something... Something terrible. Something menacing. Oh, he knows. Cường walks forward, shambling away from the city stalls, and in the sweet of the air with the smell of bánh tiêu, he imagines iron and rotting and something dead. Ghosts. He’s chasing a nasty ghost. He finds instead a lone man. He lifts his lantern, light shimmering. “You know, this night is special. It’s a night to remember,” he starts, struggling to see them clearly in the dark. Who are they? “Should be lighting up lanterns to float them down the waters. To guide lost ones, loved ones, ones we knew.” But here, so close to the water themselves, Cường wonders... “What? Do you want to float off with them?” Dead? (Already are.) It’s a joke, but grave-digger doesn’t laugh.

If the vampire embarked on the ocean in search of adventure, more than once he had ended up in Asia without realizing it, and that was what had happened this time. The sea brought him back. Vietnam greeted him with a clear night sky illuminated by lanterns. As if the living were bidding farewell to their dead and welcoming him back as the undead that he was. Ironic.

Lost in his thoughts and enchanted by the flying fire, Lazlu could still perceive the soul approaching him with slow steps, and along with it, a funny scent that he had not smelled for a long time. His eyes moved to the stranger when he spoke, and his words made little noise to the vampire until he understood the hidden meaning in them. Suspicion aroused. "I have no one to say goodbye to, my friend." His eyes glinted in the lights, and a couple of blinks kept the moisture from building up. "Everyone I loved in these lands left this plane long ago."

"I told you, it is not me! The only stupid one here is you" he huffs, but quickly can sense that Baldur's fear was escalating into panic. Whatever he said wasn't going to get through that fog. His logical mind had shut off from him and now all he desperately wanted was to react and feel safe. Though of course, increased flashes of panic were going to do the very opposite. The last thing Phobetor needed was for someone to barge into this bathroom and find Baldur near choked and out of breath with him looming close. No one then would believe he had nothing to do with it!

"Oh for goodness sake, it is not me. You are having a panic attack-" Phobetor huffs, but is quick to reach out. Not to grab him or push him, but instead to gently rest his fingertips against Baldur's temple and take a little fear from him. Lock it away, just enough to help the man's senses return as his other hand moves to take his arm, supporting his elbow.

While lost in his own dark thoughts, Baldur did not feel the other God in the room approaching. Phobetor had always been stealthy —or so the Nordic thought— and perhaps it was part of his nature, but this time Baldur did not even feel him when his fingers touched his temple.

All he could feel during those moments was the invisible hands pressing down on his throat and preventing him from breathing, slowly releasing. His heart calmed down, his heartbeat returning to normal. The eyes of the God of Light were closed as he only followed the velvety voice of Phobetor guiding him out of his fear and out of his waking nightmare, where the Greek was the villain but also the hero saving him from the abyss.

As his mind and heart found serenity, the public restroom's lights began to flicker, slowly relighting the dark walls and the faces of the two trapped Gods. Baldur opened his eyes, the lights stabilized along with him, and he could finally see the other in front of him, touching his skin and commanding calm.

Baldur swallowed the saliva that had accumulated in his mouth, but his heart skipped a beat, and the chill running through his body warned him. A different warning, his cheeks changed colour and took on a pink hue, all Baldur could react to was to take a step back, away from the tall presence of nightmares.

"Shit-" was all that came out of his mouth, not because Phobetor was hurting him, but because now what the God of Fears was making him feel was a different sensation, one that Baldur was not used to. "I mean- what I'm trying to say is... the light is back." He stumbled, his feet and his words stumbled over themselves.

He more so hears the sullen tone in Lazlu’s voice than sees it. His questioning replies are ones full of offense and Kang can’t help but to lightly smirk.   

“Yes, yes. Shame on Goryeo, and shame on me who is a product thereof,” he agrees dismissively. 

Despite the other’s tantrum, Kang is well aware of the hand that creeps closer and closer toward the pin. He allows it to, welcomes it even, like the female spider beckons to her smaller suitor. Their fingers weave together, long, elegant, and dangerous, and Kang closes their hands to further ensnare both Lazlu and the prize he covets. His other hand still lingers at the top of the other’s spine, equally audacious. Rather than repeat the trek down that lovely spine, Kang’s hand slips among long tresses to rest on the back of Lazlu’s neck. The grip is light but deftly present, and he turns his cheek to rest against that sable, silken mane. Lazlu smells of ancient woods at midnight and the shadows that creep at their edges, of fresh flowing river water kissed by moonbeams and starlight hidden behind dark clouds. More potent still is the sultry scents that bind them: stolen blood and undeath. They are vicious and beautiful creatures; this is undeniable. 

As Lazlu’s dazzling amethyst eyes turn to him, Kang meets them; a pair of golden suns peering into a dark galaxy of purple and shadow. He can think of any number of fair, trivial things to exchange for the trinket he gifts Lazlu. He finds the most suitable almost immediately. 

Lazlu could see Kang's golden eyes settle on his lips, he could see his desire, but what he saw was greed, not gluttony. Kang did not want to eat the dew of his blood from his mouth to calm his hunger. Not at all. His desire came from wanting to possess what his blood meant, power. No longer hungry as the leftovers of his meal lay in the river, but a vampire's blood gave what mortals could not.

Laz had been a vampire long enough to have already encountered those who, like Kang, sought to feed their power at a faster rate by drinking cursed blood. Or so Lazlu thought, for he had yet to meet one who wanted to drink such blood without the purpose of power. Perhaps his friend was the exception, but Lazlu did not pretend to find the answer. His curiosity did not go that far.

His touch was to distract. Now Lazlu could tell. Pushing Kang away when he was trying to deceive him and his neck —or lips— were in danger might have been the smart thing to do, but Lazlu stayed. He did not feel like a prey trapped in Kang's arms but a serpent coiled around the taller's frame. They were the same.

"What makes you believe your hairpin is worth my crimson?" The vampire showed one of his fangs by biting his lower lip as if he wanted to entertain the desire of the other for a little longer. "For my blood is an expensive one. No jade or gold would be enough to obtain it." Lazlu moved even closer, their faces so close they could have been one. Velvety lips brushed against Kang's salivating hunger, and Lazlu waited, waited for a moment longer to open his mouth again and let words form.

"No... not that's not true" he whispers, because he can feel that the vampire is trying to trick him, and he's trying to fight it, but even his voice sounded silky and comforting. How was that even possible? Nixus knew what a dangerous creature he was! ... and yet.

Usually, blaming it on his ancestors would be more than enough, but this creature in front of him knew better. It had been a while since Lazlu had met someone whose wish was to hunt him when for the most part Lazlu was the hunter, not the prey.

"How come you are so sure, my child?" Lazlu asked, with the intention to take a step closer, however, he knew the other might move further away, and even if Lazlu enjoyed dancing, he would let it pass. He stood in the same spot, his feet did not move, but his presence could envelop the warm-blooded human. It was like a cold breeze wrapping its arms around the scared mouse.

"Not only are you implying I am a liar, but you have not had the decorum to introduce yourself. You stand there threatening me with a knife, when for what we all know, I am the victim in this encounter." Lazlu used his wounded tone of voice, bringing a hand to cover his mouth as if he truly was in despair.