vampi!

in the meantime, look at her childhood as an androgynous gremlin:

She followed so close behind, hands quickly finding her pockets. “It’s less a matter of looking in the wrong places, and.. well. Politics, I suppose.” It was on her for getting her hopes up, she supposed. Roxxy really should learn to find some solace in the community he had built for herself, rather than coveting the past. She had an awful habit of living there more often than necessary

“Maybe my senses aren’t as sharp as they once were..” Or maybe the curse is limiting her more than she thought.

“I get that,” she tells her, heels clicking upon the pavement. The rare car that passes at this time of night seems to slow to rubberneck at the both of them, then speed away. “We all get stuck places.”

“I know of a big community of,” she waves wildly, not to cause offense with the phrasing, “people like you. It’s all the way in Georgia, though -- and what the hell is in Georgia, am I right? I don’t doubt there are more out there, but you know. These types stay hidden for a reason.”

Though the party at large cared not for the host’s drinking preferences, Susan couldn’t help but twitch an instinctive brow at the sight of Vampi’s bloody mixer. A blink, casting away any genuine judgement. After all, she would hardly do the same to Michael Morbius. She had seen stranger. No need to cause a fuss. 

She twirled her glass, shooting a narrow grin. A lukewarm apology for any offense that may or may not have been given.

“Moving?” sip “You mean, to space? I’m familiar with spending long stretches of time up there; or in the time-stream; or the Negative Zone. It’s not as if I couldn’t…”

An idle rhythm, tapped against the glass by one thoughtless finger. Her ring gently clicking in time with each beat.

“Of course, I hardly have myself to consider. I wouldn’t want to rob my children of anything resembling a normal upbringing. It’s hard enough moving to a new town, when you’re at my daughter’s age, let alone a new world. Plus, I suppose there’s still a part of me that does wonder if I could have a normal life, of a kind. It seems ridiculous, standing here, surrounded by so many varied and marvelous people, not to mention yourself. Maybe I’ll always be chasing some suburban fantasy. Hm.”

She swirled her glass. 

“How about you? You seem more than comfortable in space. The way you talk about it, you must be intimately familiar with passing through worlds not your own…”

As Susan speaks, she keeps her lips sealed over the edge of her glass, perpetually taking in a slow sip of room temperature blood.

She’s thinking: Phew, the married woman I’ve clearly been thirsting over didn’t seem to notice. Then, she thinks: But she’s too clever not to be able to tell, right? Then: I shouldn’t have repeated the word ‘husband’. You’re so obvious it’s disgusting, Vampi.

“Uhuh,” she says after parting her lips with her glass, nodding absently before she’s reminded of the conversation she’s actually in and the requirement not to just stand there. “I can’t imagine your kids to be robbed of anything -- loving parents and adventures? Anything else sounds boring from that point.”

A bit of heat floods to her face at that. It’s an overstep, verbalizing opinions on how one should or shouldn’t raise one’s children... especially considering she herself has none.

She’s quick to move on from the subject, anyway.

“Mm, I actually love Earth. It’s the first planet I visited other than my home-world of Drakulon.” No wistfulness here; she waves a hand. “Don’t visit. It’s had a drought for over half a century and everyone would just want to eat you, anyway.”

Many summoners share the same last words; those of a summoning ritual. It was a failure of hubris, that assumption that ones summoned creature can be controlled. Klarion, at least, had the witches knowledge of binding and banishment. He could contain whatever he brought to himself, which was properly demonstrated as the creature futilely struck at him.

“You are being rude. Teekl, next time we do this, remind me to put a chain lightning spell in the circle. Ma’am, if you could calm your humors, we can discuss the terms of your release and conditions of service.“

This could only end in tears.

Vampi was so cozy. She was going to bed in thirty minutes, for Christ’s sake. Now, she takes off a fuzzy slipper and throws it in his direction, letting lose a groan of exasperation when it bounces off the invisible wall.

“Humors? I’m sorry, did you drag me into a different century, too?”

Little possibly-Victorian dickhead.

Vampi’s hands flap wildly at her sides, in the midst of a very reasonable tantrum.

“Let me ooouuut!”

Mid-Netflix binge with a popsicle of frozen blood and her cat in her lap, and suddenly she’s in the middle of a circle in her pajamas and feeling super uncomfy.

This is actually the first time she’s been summoned. She never even knew she could be summoned; it’s sort of the things that one assumes one can only do to demons or eldritch horrors, or whatever. She’s just a normal alien!

She tries to kick and punch her way out of it, really, but every time a limb sweeps too close to its confines there’s an awful sensation pulsing through her body; she just can’t step out. So instead, she just shoots daggers at the teenager who brought her here.

It was a dark and stormy night.

No, really. There’s an unsettling fog and/or smog hanging low on the city, draping Vought tower in a cloud amidst the downpour, and crackling lightening. Thunder booms ominously overhead.

Well, shit.

“No! No,no- I was just..” How to say this? “It’s been a while since I;ve seen someone like.. me.”

And to that end, Roxxy truly was a bit anxious. Pointed ears twitched like a cat’s, flicked outward from the nerves. “Or at least I think- you, are an Undead right? It would be really, really awkward if you weren’t-”

There’s a moment where Vampi just stares at her, internal gears and cogs working. It’s way too late for this kind of thing, she really ought to hit the hay.

Eventually:

“Haha. Oh. No.”

“I know I usually smell like blood, but I don’t think I also --” she tries to discretely lift her arm up to sniff, which obviously is not, and then wrinkles her nose. “Hmm. Shower.”

Anyway, she does turn to her with a bit more of a kind gaze. She flits over her figure: Absorbing the ink, the look, her shape. It’s definitely an aesthetic.

“Consider me a distant relative,” she says, with a shrug. “It sounds like you’ve been looking in the wrong places. Wanna go for a walk? It’s nice out, if you can’t tell.”

Who knows what the undead feel?

        ‘ CUT THE ACT ’           he squirms away , heels digging into the ground and sliding himself away . FEAR IS MASKED          ‘ i put this down for a   s e c o n d   and you’ll be at my throat again . ’          he had plenty of experience with double crossing and turning a blind eye … he wasn’t letting her get off so quickly . not after trying to kill him OR WORSE .           ‘ you got some explaining to do before i even THINK about letting you go . ’

You know what Vampi needs? ‘Sorry for trying to eat you’ little business cards. This is way too frequent of an occurrence nowadays.

( Did everyone in this city start carrying all at once? )

“I promise I won’t. Pinkie promise,” she tells him, smiling nervously, as she lifts it in his direction. Then puts it down because that’s just silly. “What’s to say? I mistook you for this other guy with an eyepatch and long hair. There’s like, a million of you out there. Hey, want to get a drink? It’s on me!”

@sucksit asked: 💥

starter call ,     feel  free  to  combine  multiple  prompts ! ( selectively ) accepting  

💥  for  an  argumentative  starter .

“Why do you keep coming here?” 

He looks over his shoulder, glaring. 

Tonight, Kurt wishes he just could disappear. What’s the fucking point of doing this, all of this? Is there really a God? Or is this just another man made aberration to take everything from the innocent and the most vulnerable? 

Kurt slams the bible shut and lifts it from the podium, walks toward her until he is almost in her face. 

“Are you going to kill me? Tell me! I’m tired of playing games!” 

Vampirella came here happy.

She did. She walked in here thinking about how great Kurt is and what a delight he is to hang around, and this is how he repays her. Yelling at her, from behind his podium.

Unbelievable.

When he approaches, she grabs him by the sleeve of his vestments -- the other arm coming up to grasp him firmly on his bicep.

“Kurt! Kurt. What’s gotten --?!” Her own voice comes out shrill and sharp, aggressive, and she closes her mouth to bring it down. “I’m here because I like you and want you, and I am not going to kill you! Jesus Christ!”

Sorry, guy on the cross.

verse reveal!

🧸 / starter call —— @sucksit​

Vought is disinterested in the finer facets of his life – Noir is disinterested in others. His relationship with Vampirella borders on acquaintanceship, in terms of knowing. He doesn’t ask, she doesn’t pry. They know a lot while knowing very little. It’s that attachment that brings him a steady comfort. ( Blood spots like Braille on the sidewalk, leading into a darkened area. ) Though, she seems to grab him a lot. Look at him with warm eyes that are pointed like her teeth ; trying to communicate something she sees in him. Noir passes it off as a quirk. Everyone has those. ( He recognises her through elegance and dark hair. Is that someone … passed out at her feet? ) Maybe it was in front of him the entire time … Vampirella. It didn’t occur to him for the name to be more than an appearance.

Oh, yeah. The blood sucking? That’s just a fetish.

Well, sort of. It started out as a little gimmick. Vampires are sexier than bats -- she didn’t want to be called Chiroptera or Bat-Slut or whatever, so Vampirella it is.

It takes enough jokes of her sucking and a big enough stack of bills that she actually does it, one day. Comes into some ugly big shot’s bedroom (a Vought man) and sinks her oh-so-sharp teeth into his neck as he jerks off.

( No, he didn’t come. He like, died immediately; it’s almost as if taking a chunk out of someone’s arteries is a bit of a violent way to go. )

So. She likes it, now. Sells it as a personality trait -- oh, I don’t drink... vine.

The cute twenty-something she’s managed to groom away from her supportive little group of besties is now a red-smeared heap at her feet, sparkly little dress askew. And she’s just been sitting, above her, letting the bliss wash over her.

Mm. That hit the spot.

The sound of footsteps through the alleyway alerts her somewhat, makes her straighten up. This is something she’s learned she can get away with; charm people into thinking this is just something she needs, rather than the blue rare steaks she always used to order.

Then, she sees who it is.

“Oh.”

She straightens up, and shuffles guiltily towards him. She really likes him, she does, and it’s not just because he won’t die if she drinks from him.

“Noir, I -- I didn’t want you to see me like this, I --”

Her arms lift, then smack down to her side in exasperation. She is, after all, the victim here.