#genrcsavvy

@genrcsavvy

“My instincts aren’t usually worth shit around here.” Though she doesn’t specify where here is. It’s the world at large, really. Her instincts come from such a specific environment that has never really existed once leaving it, and it has left Rain… aimless. Her instincts save her in a fight to the death, but no one is doing that out here.

mm. hard heads did tend to make for soft asses. color him kind of impressed.

the miswak remained lodged between his teeth, its woody bitterness occupying his mouth while camille hissed and reddened beneath the offense. otherwise, he might have worried the remark until that deep complexion of hers grew darker with blood. he could have removed it and said as much. he chose not to. watching irritation gather across her round face gave him more pleasure than explaining the joke ever would.

instead, blade released a low snort through his nose. amusement burned plain in the gold of his eyes, nightmarishly sharp enough to survive the antagonistic darkness around them.

her heel came down across his boot.

he looked toward the point of impact. then back at her.

one boot followed the other as he struck his forefoot against the dirt, shedding what little evidence her sole had left behind. they were old enough to have suffered worse indignities. vampire teeth had scored the leather. bone splinters had buried themselves inside the tread. blood from nocturnal creatures had dried over the natural oils until the black surface carried a dull, carrion shine.

those boots had crossed grave soil while hard rain beat whole cities into mud. they had endured collapsed tunnels, slaughterhouse runoff, and terrain vicious enough to split lesser footwear from heel to tongue. the repeated soaking had cracked the leather around the seams, though neither age nor abuse had weakened their footing.

camille’s temper scarcely qualified as damage.

he could replace them tomorrow. foot locker. military surplus. whichever fancied him in the morning.

the grin beginning to curl across his mouth held more danger than offense. if she wished to pursue the ugly arithmetic of mutual disrespect, he saw no reason to discourage the lesson.

@genrcsavvy

“Do you think they’d want my kidneys? I’ve had… I’ve had a lot of salt. Is that what your kidneys do?” Though, thinking about it for too long has them thinking about the fact that they could be an endless source of organs and… Well, they don’t really want to think about that for much longer.

" now— now, hold on a minute! " mark really shouldn't complain— after all, if he didn't want to be picked up, he shouldn't have been taking the piss. it's only natural for eisen to put his money where his mouth is and to pick mark up like he's nothing more than a little kitten.

there's something to be addressed about the fact that mark enjoys being carried over eisen's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. mark doesn't want to think about it right now (thinking only leads him down some dark paths). instead, he's focusing on the metallic scent that wafts from eisen's hair. it's nice.

The smell of the blood makes him sick. Actually sick. As in throwing up. The sight would have done that anyways, actually, as well as the source of it. All of it is a little too much for him, and overwhelming in just about every sense.

@genrcsavvy

Bear is slow to process things. Sometimes this is just because it’s the way his brain works, but sometimes it’s because he just can’t quite figure out what someone is trying to say to him. It happens often enough, a combination of words that he could maybe understand separately. But together?

They won't lie: that one had hurt their feelings a bit! They'd snorted and said whatever little jokey statement to brush it off, but they'd done it to seem on-form. Is it their fault that the last few parties they'd been to (and, really, 'parties' was stretching the label. They were lures for blood with emotionally unavailable old people who all look like they are aspiring librarians. Camille is maybe the exception) they'd wound up explaining attachment theory to an old-as-fuck vamp who started crying tears of blood. They'd probably overshared about their father, too. They can't remember, but they know they do that.

When, hours later, the party indeed is rapt and quiet and listening to Sam detail a system for communal green living among vampires and their harems or "blood brood", Sam has a sudden moment of self-awareness. "Does anyone else have an economic system for living?" They ask, mid-thought, trying to be casual. There's some pale Romanian lady with a hat and a short girlfriend who seems particularly prissy, who answers that yes, she liked to rule. Sam nods, as if there's anything in the world they could say to make this conversation normal again. "Yeah, that's cool. I'm very open to alternate lifestyles."