a living hell is, after all, still living.

“Oh, no, go ahead.” She gives a motion of her hand. “I used to smoke but I quit… kind of.” Her lips purse in an attempt to stop her from smiling. “I’m aaa… what do they call it? A social smoker?”

With a brief pause, she’s looking around the room again – noting the different art pieces, the décor choices. Not a speck of dust anywhere that she can see. It was almost like the space wasn’t even lived in – like it was just for show.

“So, um, what days does your current housekeeper work?” Her eyes return to him as she reminds herself to smile and stop looking so damn awkward. “I have, um…” Reaching into the bag she’d brought with her, she pulls out a little calendar that’s been meticulously done – no scribbles, no notes on it; kept clean and perfectly organized. “…my current schedule, if you’d like to look at it.” Hesitantly, she holds it out in his direction.

he smirks as she speaks, plucking out a hand-rolled european cigarette from the selection and tucking it between his lips before he extends the case to her, a simple raise of his eyebrow posing the question.

he accepts her answer nonverbally and tucks the case away, lighting up with an equally ornate zippo.

he leans in to look over the calendar she showcases, peering over it attentively, deep in thought as he inhales for an impressive length of time.

It's in moments like these when Augustine genuinely MISSES some of the earlier content they made together without a tv crew. Just them, their equipment, shitty cameras, and a creepy, supposedly haunted location. " You've got a hell of a lot of talent in my eyes, mate. " He laughs a little behind the camera at the expression he makes from the flash being on him so suddenly, zooming out as he reaches out to gently pinch one of Nemo's cheeks. " There's that smile. " Augustine soon lets out a groan of defeat however as the camera is snatched away from him. He'd probably never wind up seeing that footage, but that's fine, he knows Nemo is much more comfortable filming than he was on camera. It was something he understood and RESPECTED, but it didn't mean he wasn't above some playful teasing.

Augustine gives a few CLAPS of his hands, glancing over his shoulder at the windows behind him. " Eugh, yeah that's...lovely. Perfect way to open back up though. If you saw a spider trying to divebomb me you'd warn me, right? "

nemo balances the lighting using a few lightweight key and fill lights he's had hawks carting around all night, checking the sound set-up and glancing up past augustine to see if he can catch a glimpse of their colleague before he starts using their equipment.

if you want to feel the same ... well, swing on by .

he wraps an arm around her waist as if they were steady partners instead of a one night stand and leads her out front with undue pride, his hand slipping down to her hip to grip it as she speaks. "you're fucking hot," he purrs in her ear.

( He's swept the floor, folded that bin of laundry he'd been putting off, hole-punched and filed away some errant research notes, reorganized his surgical supplies... )

The cold is naturally repulsive to insects ; it's that which burrows through Noland's skin, seeps into his joints, lulls the cold-blooded like him to a sound sleep, only to wake up once the world heats up again. And so, on a night like tonight, he's shoved off any fieldwork -- and instead he basks within the comforting warmth of his space heater, the idly radiating heat of his heat lamp that hangs above the operating table in the centre of his cabin. He basks, hunched over a stove-top with a canning pot of bubbling, boiling water. Eyes lined with crows feet stare in focus at a pair of small mason jars being sterilized, a little pair of tongs held loosely in the same hand whose wrist is freshly bandaged.

Crystalline wings so gently, so lazily flutter in the added humidity the steam has brought to the space, and those chitinous plates that run along his upper back certainly appreciate the extra moisture in the air -- while his auxiliary hands lay crossed over his stomach, the right hand idly pulling at the skin of his left elbow.

( The window above the kitchen sink lay cracked, just the tiniest amount, to help vent some of the steam -- his antennae picking up the subtle airflow. The sounds of heavy rainfall against the roof, against the leaves and branches and forest floor outside, soothe something within Noland's brain... )

There's a knock on the door -- and Noland JOLTS from the idle thoughts he'd been distracting himself with, he's always caught off guard by unexpected guests! Those tongs are set down on a folded tea towel, his footsteps falling heavy against the hardwood floor as a hand reaches for his heavy cloak by the door. Throws it over his shoulders, tucks those insectoid wings down beneath -- fingers incessantly run through his hairline to try and brush those twin antennae back, but there's no hiding those pesky feelers!

With his lowest arms folded behind his back, out of sight beneath heavy fabric, the door slooowly creaks open -- his body blocking the view into the cabin beyond, his unnaturally aged gaze falling down onto a young person stood just beyond the threshold. A park ranger.

( In a dirty, soaked uniform -- and his sensitive eyes can make out the movement of something, of an insect on the young fellow's collar. A little hitchhiker sharing the cover of that umbrella, perhaps unbeknownst to the ranger himself? )

A smile does spread over his face -- but it's a tense one, clearly marked by a tad bit of annoyance that peers through. You're interrupting my personal time!

instead of hesitating or investigating, he takes in a deep breath and raises his voice above the howling of the wind. "hey! sorry to bother you," finding himself oddly breathless, they chug through their next thought much faster. "i didn't realize this was private property."

And what harm could it do, to let him taste her? They'll both get what they want - in more ways than one, if she can coax him into bed.

(His overbearing, cold nature from before is forgotten, now that he's worked out how to play her a bit better).

@soulscaptured asked: you're so handsome when i'm all over your mouth. ( bug @ rebel )

Wet crimson paints Rebel's mouth like the maw of some sort of carnivore who just consumed its fresh kill. He HUNGERED, always hungered when it came to Bug to the point of it being a needy ache deep in his guts and bones. Lately it was making him undoubtedly sick to eat flesh however, so he's been opting for the next best thing in leaving gnarly bites that drew blood from the other. The metallic taste of it was enough to settle his cravings down, as if here were a vampire rather than a human being. While his consumption of people was done strictly out of habit and tradition prior to meeting Bug, it had quickly snowballed into an outright OBSESSION with his partner specifically. No one else compared and he's sure on his life that no one ever would again.

" You wanna taste? " Rebel mumbles as he draws back from Bug's shoulder, gulping down a mix of saliva and blood before flashing them a red-stained grin. Fingers LINGER against his partner's jaw and he leans in to close the gap between their mouths, kissing him with a steady tenderness, as if he didn't just get done making them bleed. " Mm, looks like I got ya good this time. Lemme grab the first-aid kit. You just stay there lookin' pretty, alright? " Maybe he should consider buying a second one for occasions like these that lead them into the bedroom so he didn't have to leave their side.

selfishly, he misses it, being consumed so totally by his lover, having patches of fresh, untouched skin, spending long periods of time in recovery, being drugged up and unconditionally attended to; it was perfect.

these vampire bites weren't the same. ( it staved them both off, but it wasn't satisfying. deep down, they think they both know that. )

still, he kisses rebel back with deep passion and adoration, letting the blood transfer to his own mouth before he licks his lips to taste the familiar iron.

he moans lowly in response to the flavor then whimpers softly as his partner pulls away from them. "mmm, okay." he hums distractedly.

(Mostly, though, she just lacks resolve).

those words, "the guys", splash into harrison's stomach and wash up the back of his throat like acid reflux; he could be sick.

she looks up at him from her cutesy position on his chest and he knows he won't be able to deny her this request without facing significant repercussions in their future.