#daemxnium

She’s trying to be polite, but somehow there’s an insistence for her to take from the tray of proffered biscuits (despite thinking that vampires simply do not eat biscuits), and she reaches for one if only to appease the biscuit pusher. You never know who you’ll meet has been an important edict to live by and why should a little weather event prevent that from being true? A whine from the dog she’s seen running around catches her attention and she excuses herself from the circle from biscuit hell and joins the dog by the window that looks out into the brewing storm, a delicate hand reaching out to scratch him behind the ears. “And who do you belong to, hm?”

“No invitation for me?” It’s easy to lapse into their usual banter, he realises as he takes a sip from the drink before he promptly pulls a face. “God, Dimi, what is this? Clearly your taste buds haven’t improved; this tastes like Satan’s asshole.”

He can’t quite put a finger on it but there’s something of a familiarity as he glances at the woman at the bar. Has he slept with her and forgotten? Come on, old boy, figure it out, he wills himself, but the face doesn’t jog more than just that irritating feeling of something that they share. Perhaps she had served him at a store? The nagging feeling in the back of his mind doesn’t disperse, and he moves towards her, wondering for a moment if he’s drunk and then quickly discards the thought because he hasn’t been properly drunk in decades, and settles into the bar stool beside her. “Here,” he pushes a card out towards the bartender who’s just placed a drink before her and waits for him to take the card and leave to add, “An event without an open bar is just tacky, don’t you think?” 

Through no fault of her own, she always seems to find herself with a crowd, especially when all she wants to do is turn the entire charade off for a few moments and sink into the background and observe. But if it isn’t an important council member here, it’s an important official looking person there, who all have their own power to wield in their little world. But she’s been through it before, countless events just like this one, where it’s an endless parade of people who buy drinks and network, some of those events even coming off the backs of social disasters and political insurgencies, and this is no different. Spotting a familiar face beside the dance floor, she excuses herself from the crowd and makes her way towards Mateo. “You’ve not asked me to dance. Improper,” she clicks her tongue by way of chastising but he knows there’s no real malice. The boy has become part of their little family by way of his friendship with her youngest Vasili, but she sees him almost as an adoptive child now. She holds out her hand with as gentle of smile that she can muster. “Come on, I know you like a waltz, and you need to fill me in on all the gossip.”

Two.

{ sent txt; 1:37 p.m. } pancake i'm pretty sure you're a hazard to everyone. i asked some people what happened last night and they said you tried convincing everyone that swallowing a knife would make them magicians. apparently, you weren't as convincing as you thought and when they disagreed, you responded by throwing them in the pool..