#blednoir

"Jesus feckin' Christ, I didn't think there'd be this many people,"

Was she having doubts? Maybe. But in Íde's defence, she'd been in Portum for a month and in this band for a quarter of that time. Enough time for a couple of rehearsals, but not enough time to settle on an actual, proper band name. Enough time for a setlist, but not enough time for a warm up gig at the old haunt, or something, with their newest member.

They were on in five minutes, and it really seemed like that time was going to be filled with nothing but explicative and nervous Irish rambling from the pacing medium. Perhaps later she'll laugh about it, about why and how she'd ended up agreeing to the one situation that was going to make her lose her cool in public.

"What if my ma's in the audience? Or worse, what if she starts having ideas? Or if we're absolute shite and can't go out in public again?"

[ 🎱 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat kind of future do they crave, and who’s in it ?

Immortality can be lonely. Cyrus craves nothing more than to be loved! He wants to be seen and adored and he wants to serenade his soulmate with music and poetry under the sun until his last day. But most importantly, he wants a lover who accepts all his darkness. He doesn't believe such a person exists, but he still tries. The who remains unknown.

[ 💭 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they believe they’re worthy of being loved ?

Angelus has a complicated relationship with "love" as people define it, but to summarize—no, he does not. His narcissism is very much a mask to cover his insecurities, which are plenty. Why would anyone love him? He thinks he's pretty, fun, and enjoyable, but there is no value to him other than that. He'll use the word love frequently to convey his feelings, but really can't differentiate between love, infatuation, and affection. He has been manipulating people for his own benefit for so long, he doesn't remember his human feelings on love anymore. He doesn't remember loving anything, or being loved, other than by his own maker, and that turned out... not so great, so nowadays he sticks to toying with people's emotions instead, hurting them for sport.

To him, sex and physical attraction have been the closest thing he's had to love, so that's what he chases. If not that, then he'll take hatred, he'll take anything from the people he's interested in but indifference. Indifference is the only thing that truly wounds him. As far as his own affections, he has as much love for the people he claims to love as a dog does for its new chew toy. He'll play with you until he's satisfied, and then the "love" will wear off. The king of love bombing. The thought of a selfless love is a very alien idea to him. Why would anyone love without wanting something back?

It was rough, living out of your car. Sure, she'd saved loads of money on bills (well, they all got sent to daddy's house back in Wicklow). And it was more comfortable than you'd expect, with space for a roll-out mattress and all her belongings. She'd been to the gym each morning and evening to freshen up. Not so good, however, for food storage. Or, well, a lot of other things. None of this would've been a problem if life took her to where she intended to go next (to a room she'd already booked) but instead, Portum. Hopefully the current arrangement would only last a few days and she'd find herself somewhere better.

What did any of this have to do with why she was at the Sweetest Tooth on a Monday morning? Because she was craving a croissant.

But the woman behind the counter caught her eye, and Íde's demeanour changed in an instant, before she could even order her pastry. Curious, in a way that out weighed a lot of the cynicism she wore around town. Curious, and concerned.

"You're a ghost, aren't you? I can always tell, even though it's all gone a bit arseways since I got here,"

Portum, of course. Certain spirits don't seem to follow her around anymore.

"You know, you're wasting your time here, right? Feckin' ghosts, all the same, working all these jobs you can't even do no more. No offence, actually. I'm trying to play nice,"

Normally a preordained lunch out with a friend is something pleasant. But Perdita wasn't sure they were actually friends, for starters. Maybe they were, maybe they weren't, but there was one thing she was absolutely certain of: their decision to meet today of all days was a mutual response to the latest trauma being thrown in the town's direction. At least there was a sense of safety in familiarity in it, in a dynamic that outdated Portum and wasn't as achingly familial as the one she had with her sister. Or, with several of the other gorgons, for that matter.

Perri sat at the booth seat and tapped away at one of the top of one of the diner's salt shakers, just to keep her hands occupied as she always did.

But Perdita greeted her fellow gorgon with a smile, intentionally warm and reserved. Despite the darkness both of them knew the other possessed, they weren't unpleasant people, and Perri had made a point to be her best safe within the sanctuary of Portum.

Well... 'sanctuary' as it seemed to be these days.