shadyinfo

She knew they normally went out for their dates, so the change of pace to do something at home was definitely different enough to be special for Valentine's Day. Not to mention, it would be the mark of one year since they officially started dating too.

When Alex arrived after his shift, Reanne had just finished setting the table for them to eat, her cooking apron still on as she led him to her spruced up cheap dining table. The table was covered with a red and white checked tablecloth and in the middle sat two cheap plastic candle lights. The plates on each side of the table held a delicious and decadent surf and turf entrée consisting of a filet mignon and shrimp with sides of mashed potatoes and green beans. Honestly, a home cooked meal was nothing like the intended homemade chocolate, but hopefully her feelings would still be conveyed.

❝ I'm glad you made it, ❞ she said, pulling out a chair for him to sit at, ❝ I've been looking forward to this all day! ❞

The girl couldn't help but let her smile stick on her face. After all, she never tired of seeing her boyfriend when she had the chance. Even if it was one of her least favored holidays, she could never have her mood ruined if she had the opportunity to see him and whip up a nice meal for once. Cooking for herself was one thing, but cooking for Alex had her all excited to show him what she was made of. She wanted to know what he thought of her cooking, as he was a guy keen on cooking himself.

❝ I know this isn't chocolate and I know you prefer to be the one cooking all these things, but I wanted to show my stuff too, ❞ Reanne went on to explain with a bit of a sheepish twirl of the ends of her shortened hair, ❝ that and I actually suck at making chocolate. I'm not much of a baker. ❞

Moving around the table, she turned on the mini candle lights that she set at the center, ❝ Happy Valentine's Day, Alex. ❞

Left work early? Done. Pretty packaging? Check. Clothes all changed and free of any flour? Check, check, check. This had to be Alex's greatest feat of the year, and it had only been the second month of the year so far. The fact that he had managed to finish this painstakingly long task on time was a miracle in itself, and he still looked good enough for the rest of the evening. Maybe there is a slight tinge of smoke on his shoulders, but the scent of strawberries should mask the disaster that threatened to be born from his oven. Everything was fine, and that poker face smile on his features wouldn't give away his little weakness with baking. Reanne didn't have to know the details that took place before he arrived, not one bit.

He certainly would not have minded a night-in with her. Of course, it was Valentine's Day and Alex would be an absolute idiot if he grew complacent like he had in recent months. A machine can always have improvements, and the man swore to deliver. Then again, Reanne did beat him to the punch before he could even think to bring her out for the holiday. As if that would stop him from getting her a new fresh batch of sunflowers, even amidst the cold transition from winter to spring. Eyeing her apron as he slipped off his shoes to the side, Alex swallowed as the scent finally registered into his sense.

He blinks with surprise, almost caught off guard by the gesture. Hadn't he been the chef in this relationship? Swallowing the sudden build up of saliva between his teeth, he attempts to hide the flustered blush on his face with his hand that held the bouquet. "Am I at the wrong place? I'm supposed to be at my girlfriend's place, not a restaurant." He wonders if she hears his nervous stammer, but there is no doubt she could see the grin he had been fighting to conceal as he sees the set-up. It's cheesy, but in a good way that makes him giddy on the inside. His hands grow sweaty as he sets the flowers down nearby in sight, and quickly, he spirits himself behind her.

His arms twitch with this urge to engulf her in an embrace, but Alex hesitates before he could. A clenched fist behind his back, he only hovers and allows his warmth to radiate behind her in a complex translation of want and a need for closeness. Too close, he thinks to himself in a gesture of restraint. He could have moved away to give her some space, and he does pull away— but not too far, only enough for him to set that pretty box on an empty space on the table.

"I ain't that much of a baker either, but that's never stopped me from trying. I hope you still like fruit tarts, sweetheart." Lips curled into a slight smile, he sets down the carefully boxed tarts onto the table. He remembers that conversation from ages ago when they had barely known one another. Reanne had not explicitly given him a preference on the sweets she had liked, other than mentioning she enjoyed a lot of it. He couldn't have been anymore grateful for his strong memory, practically having memorized what she had listed down on the things she would have liked.

An assorted set of six small fruit tarts, and he would keep an eye on what flavors she seemed to gravitate towards for future reference. Not that he would ever get better with baking, but for her, he would try. His exes would throw a fit if they knew he had been reduced to this.

There was no other way to hide the way his jaw falls slack when he studies the plating. She even bothered to make the presentation look so fancy. "Filet... mignon? This stuff is what you see in those expensive restaurants. Even the butcher don't give cuts like these for cheap. You didn't have to, darling." His heart is accelerating at the thought of a homemade meal that was not done by his hand. Was he sweating? Shit, he was. Dark blue eyes were trained onto Reanne, flickering down to the cut of meat already on the fork. Why would he not have a bite now? He could barely contain his nerves as he bites, then takes another of the shrimp, then the potatoes without another word.

All manners were thrown out the window now, his tongue too eager to express his immediate thoughts after sampling her cooking. "I really liked what you did with the searing of the meat. How long did you have it on the pan for? It's so soft inside too..." He manages to say in-between chews. Alex does not devour the dish entirely, taking his time to savor the flavors rather than vacuum the entire thing like he does when at home. Everything is taken much more slower with Reanne, not that he minded at all. It was his way of prolonging his time with her, especially after his periods of absence.

After a slight gulp of water, Alex sighed and smirked at the girl in concession. "I think you had me beat with the shrimp. I honestly think you'd do better than me in the seafood department." He sings the praise so easily as he bites down onto another piece of shrimp, gesturing for her to join him in eating. "Have you tried it yourself? I'll have you try out my version of the dish so you can see just how well-done your seasonings were. What's the secret?" The man teased, itching to wipe the plate clean. The thought saddens him though, knowing that there could only be so much bites for him to savor and burn to memory.

Then he paused for a moment, digging into the pocket of his jacket to pull out a much more smaller box. "There's also this," His voice was much more quieter now, uncertain as he slides the item to her across the table. Careful to not knock down the candlelights, he pulls back his arm and glances away. He did not think himself to be the best when it came to gift giving, compared to doing favors and making things happen with sheer determination and luck. Within the box, a set of small hair clips with the likeness of small sunflowers. He imagined they'd look nice on the crown of her head where she would do her pigtails, but the technicalities of hair accessories were very much lost on him.

Alex could not bring himself to look her in the eye and gauge her reaction. "Don't hair clips make your scalp itch? I tried them once out of curiosity and I thought they were going to grow roots on my head." He had known that Reanne liked her hair accessories, often donning ribbons early on in their friendship. He hasn't seen them in a while, now that he thought of it. He swallows to himself, wiping his lips on a napkin before clearing his throat to salvage his diminishing courage.

"I kept seeing those at a windowsill. Thought about you every time I passed by. I mean, I think about you all the time I see sunflowers." The confession is quiet. A part of him wants to go die in a hole for how cringe he sounds, but he keeps rambling anyways. "They're so bright, and you're the brightest thing I see all the time. Prettiest girl in the world, but so bright it puts my headlights to shame." God, I sound so stupid. A dreamy-like sigh leaves him as he loses himself in thought. "I sound like an idiot, but that's what effect you have on me. I can't articulate how weak my knees get when I see you happy."

But she hated the idea of not doing anything. She hated the thought of leaving Alex alone for Christmas. She didn't want to look like she was getting payback or anything either. So, her compromise was to give him the present she had carefully selected after intense deliberation early. From all their conversations in their early days of running into each other, Reanne could tell Alex might have a thing for cooking. It was funny since she only realized this recently despite having known him for a good, long while.

While the book she had picked out was probably generic, she had tried to find something with home-y and cozy style, easy dishes that could be whipped up in a short amount of time after a long day of work. She knew Alex had a busy schedule and she wanted to give him something that could be helpful in that regard while also catering to what he liked to cook (except she didn't know the slightest thing about what he liked to cook, and all she could hope for was that the style of cooking was up his alley).

Similar to how he always showed up at her apartment, Reanne had decided to surprise him as he got off of work. He probably didn't expect her to be waiting out in the rain, but at least she had an umbrella over her head this time, actual long pants that covered her legs, and a zipped up puffer jacket to keep her warm.

The moment she saw Alex exit the premises, her eyes lit up and she bounded over to him as if too excited to contain herself, the gift tucked under her arm as she joined him under the awning. Her face slightly red from the cold, the girl greeting him with a bright smile, her heart swelling at the mere sight of him. Ah, she really, really wanted to see him. It was still surreal to see him so soon after last time.

With a bit of hesitation and fidgeting back and forth on her toes, Reanne revealed her gift and held it out to him, ❝ It's a bit early but... merry Christmas. ❞ She gave him a bit of a wry smile afterwards, almost apologetic as she explained why she was delivering it early, ❝ I unfortunately work Christmas and I didn't want to leave you alone on that day, so... maybe see this and think of me? ❞ Well, a cook book wouldn't really do that, but hey—she wasn't the best at this sort of thing.

It was almost a mystery how Ophelia found herself at a park with Reanne. For someone who didn't want to be found, the dark haired girl made no move to run when the other entered the space. Between entering the underground ring and getting out, it was getting hard to remember if they've ever crossed paths in between. Maybe once in the academic advisor's lounge, but since Ophelia had dropped out completely from university altogether, her whereabouts had grown too obscure. With all the beatings she had taken to the head, there was no damn way that her cognition was still intact. She couldn't possibly survive an education now, and all she had now was her strength. Even that, she found to be a curse when her hands seemed to break more things than fix. That energetic girl that Reanne had crossed paths with time to time was not there anymore, just a coward that was pulling at her dearest friend's heartstrings.

This time, the lights are on in her home tonight. By some miracle, he managed to catch her on a night where she came home early from a feed. The sounds coming from within are as quiet as she had been, but the slight flapping of wings indicates some livelihood compared to the quiet stirs of her lounging on a couch. A faint metallic scent lingered slightly; not her own, an odd implication of what she had been doing moments before midnight. Long hair had obscured the view of her missing lower half as she washed her hands by the sink, cleansing herself of whatever nasty deed she had committed to fill her stomach. Anything to stave the hunger, a temporary fix to keep her from transforming into something far more animalistic than she already was. Folklore dictated that she craved some unlucky newlywed or newborn child, but Analyn wasn't too far gone yet. At the very least, she had some sense to only take what she needed before anyone suspected a demonic presence in their homes.

He, too, used to think that these monsters only lived in paper and lips that spoke of fable and myth. It would have been the kind of stories that human mothers would tell to misbehaving children, not that Mikel would have known nor remembered at this point. A part of him wonders if his human mother told him these silly myths, if he ever cowered at the thought of being eaten alive by shapeshifting wolves or walking corpses. No one really remembered who he was when he was boy, and that was for the best.

And yet, all that remains are the traces of his human weaknesses. Though his fangs had sharpened, skin paled and wickedness had long consumed him, flesh still breaks so easily. No amount of naturalization will ever change the fact he was made, not born of the same blood as his kin, the ones that took him in and made him into something remarkable.

Not that anyone would have to know that he was built from human flesh, far from the the dark his soul was meant to be composed of. Mikel can lie for another thousand years if it meant no one will have to know his human heart and flesh. He will lie until the world believed it, until he, himself, cannot recite his own falsities without fail. At least with Randel, there was no questioning the legitimacy of his being. Poor stab-happy man hadn't the slightest clue of the monsters in this region of the world, not to mention he seemed to reject the idea of the existence of Nosferatu's children. It irked the redhead, a bit too much for his liking. This man had the rarest opportunity to interact with, let alone befriend a cutthroat vampire like Mikel. He would not stand for this ignorance to go on for another evening longer. Crossing his arms in utter disbelief, Mikel let out a whiny groan of frustration. Textbooks and old scriptures are sprawled out all over his desk. His little coffin is opened and unhinged at the back of the room, followed by empty chalices all over the floor. The vampire sits across the table from the reaper, attempting to fight the headache that is Randel.

“I did not drag out centuries worth of ancient vampiric history for you to tell me that my kind does not exist!” It isn’t so much an offence, but pure disbelief that the evidence isn’t enough to prove the existence of vampires. Mikel ran a hand though his hair before dramatically pulling at his own face. Then he points at the mirror which had seemingly only reflected furnitures rather than the vampire nearby.

“And this isn’t enough to convince you?! How behind are you with the times?!”

Mikel cannot even drain a poor soul in time record. Anyone can drink another person’s blood, not necessarily a vampire! He was not from a higher clan either that had fool-proof ways to prove their lineage. It didn’t help either that his cursed human-born body would only tan in the presence of the sun for a few hours instead of burning up entirely like the original demons would.

He really would have baked himself in the daylight just to prove that was right at this point.

Huffing to himself, Mikel threw his hands up in the air with defeat. “Fine, you win today! I give up! I surrender!” He drawls dramatically before collapsing onto his couch. “I’ve had it with your obliviousness. Whatever god resides above or below, no miracle can possibly drill this into your thickheaded skull!"

Before Mikel could even bother to question him as to the occasion, Randel put a hand to his mouth, covering it before a word could slip out from it. In the span of a few short moments, he had pressed a kiss to the back of his own hand as he pinned Mikel where he was, almost as if the act could be felt by the person he intended to receive it.

Of course, he wouldn't let any stretch of time pass for the duke to grasp what even happened. Almost lingering too long, Randel forced himself away, drawing back and removing his hand. He didn't dare look back as he made his way toward the window, sliding it open and escaping into the night. There was no way he'd stay long enough for Mikel to drag answers out of him for this one.

That lingering flavour on his tongue was driving him mad. Even after draining a line of offerings, both human and inhuman, it was incredibly difficult to drive his mind away from that reaper’s pungent scent. It was absolute absurdity that Randel would just bait him and disappear for days on end when Mikel admittedly wanted his company the most.

Well, it wouldn’t necessarily be his company. Only another opportunity to get a taste of that bitterness that was associated with that death collector.

How Mikel hated this. Only an unlucky few had ever seemed to have a grip on his tastebuds, and all of them either ended up dead or were simply far beyond his reach. Not Randel, no. Randel will reappear, one way or another, or so help the reaper that Mikel would not find him himself. The redhead contemplates on an accidental cut, just a small sliver lest he, too, falls to gluttony and kills the only other one that seems to tolerate him most.

If only Mikel had the same ability to tolerate his own hunger, just as the progenitor starves herself to remain the presence of her charge. Masochistic thing, he thinks to himself with such disdain. Such hunger is so unbearable, and yet she can tolerate it for weeks and weeks at a time. Mikel had already fed from an entire line of human bloodbags until they could no longer tolerate it, and he was still very much hungry. He felt it in his core, felt it in the back of his mind, and now, his hunger is evident in the way he had snapped towards the doorway of his quarters.

Pity, he left the curtains open this time, especially for the reaper.

Everything was lost the moment when flesh his lips, a cruel tantalizing taunt. Had Mikel gained his wits in time, he would’ve mercilessly dug his teeth in like the beast he really was. But that scent— that scent! Eyes wide and pupils shrunken, they are trained onto that lilac shade that seems to taunt him.

The gesture is not lost on Mikel when Randel leans onto the back of his own hand. The vampire is frozen by his own volition, restraining himself as that urge to destroy Randel and himself started to fester. His hands are itching to dig in somewhere, fangs aching so painfully.

Before he could even act on those baser instincts, Randel is already gone.

The world spins and all Mikel could hear was the pounding in his ears, followed by a shaky hand creeping nearer and nearer to his lips.

A gesture of affection. A display of power. Imbalance. Madness.

Something wicked in Mikel calls out to the fleeing shadow. That monstrous thing caged inside human flesh calls to the hunt, the chase.

There is nothing elegant about the way Mikel staggers to the open window, his back hunched over as he climbs over the windowsill. The breeze harshly combs through his hair, silencing the flare of his nostrils trying to track down that scent. Hunger clouds his mind, and channels itself into his eager feet. No longer is the charismatic egocentric man that enjoys ruining plans with little to no effort.

At the end of the day, he would be no different from the other beasts in this coven.

“Did you really think you can outrun me?” He hisses, wondering if the wind can carry that threat. A glance to the moon tells him that the night is still young. “Did you really think you can do that to me and just do as you please?” It’s a maddened grin on his face, almost painted with a sense of amusement and rage. A shuddered breath leaves Mikel’s lungs as the memory flashes behind his eyes, a sort of yearning bubbling underneath that blood thirst.

With an impulsive leap, the hunt for the reaper begins.

Carefully taking hold of her hand, the corpse gently ran his thumb over her knuckles, slowly bringing her hand closer to his lips. He was so tempted to be cheesy intimate, but he better ask first. His gaze moving towards the woman sitting beside him, he put his intentions in words, casually requesting permission, ❝ Is it alright if I kiss your hand? ❞

There was a certain thrill that came with the modernity of dating. Courting had been what she was used to and even then, she had only been courted for a very short time before her first death. Quite a waste of potential, now that she thought of it. Given that was already several decades old, only giving the apperance of a mature yet oddly youthful woman, she could only imagine of the many other opportunities she would have had if she never had that cursed wedding.

None of it would matter now, though. Dating seems to be all the rave in this place, not to mention that the age of courting had long since passed. It wasn’t so much that she had clung onto traditions so stubbornly. Rather, she embraced this strangeness. After all, her seemingly long life was still short compared to what eternity can bring. One might as well enjoy the fruits of what life decided to give them, even after life had forced her to deal a poor hand. It was just one bad card after another, but none of it really seemed to amount to much when she finds herself brushing knees with that handsome corpse.

“It’s warm.” The irony is not lost on her when she feels the cold radiate off from her skin. At least, he didn’t seem to mind the alarming gap in her midsection obscured by dirtied sheets, or the way her leathered wings seemed to twitch ever so often. Analyn’s expression is frozen as always, save for the slight subtle glances to her partner’s face whenever she thought he wasn’t looking.

She never really knew how to give affection through touch. Such an opportunity was never given to her before, even when she was being set up for marriage. Now that she thought of it, she cannot really recall the man she was promised to. Memories she had once clung onto in all of her grief were beginning to fade into rust, replaced by the comforting scent of preservative chemicals and minerals. Another dead man with a foot in the grave, while she reached at him from the burial site. It was a rather tragic circumstance that they were both due to erode away soon, but one of them would sooner than the other.

Still, it is so easy to forget about that horrid fact. Too easy to fall into normalcy when he looks at her with such adoration. With a slight hitch of her breath, Analyn couldn’t control the smile from reaching her cheeks. In an attempt to conceal herself, however, her free hand poorly covers the lower half of her face.

“And why would I refuse such a gentleman like you?” The warmth of her voice weighs more than the dead glassy look in her eyes that even sparkles with light when she looks his way. “You may do as you please,” she adds, her fingers brushing against the skin of his hand, tethering between shyness and that urge return the gesture tenfold. She knew better than to pour too much of herself in, not when she didn’t even know how much that man can take.