#ruerot

the nerves of absolute pleasure have never been laid more bare. the infusion of a slaked need & loose musculature arouse a peace that's only been felt in the throes of childhood. an indomitable silence has long since grown warm and welcoming, a tranquility that clings to the preacher like the drying blood freckling his mouth. the teeth are no longer attached to flesh but there are threads in his teeth that connect him to armand; gristle that they share now, sanctioned by their own whims or no. he is here, curled over the man's flattened body. the grooves in the wood where his fingers dug in are covered with his palms now but the monstrosity is still there, whether or not he hides it. past convergences dictate him to lower his eyes out of shame.

they were alone. fantastically, divinely; he watches armand reach for him, his rosy, blood-dusted claws pushing past the veil of their separation. solipsized by touch alone, brought to a quickened heart again by mere touch, he flinches upon a second convergence. rodrick's mouth opens at the meeting of flesh against flesh, the bloodied with the bloodied.

 ❛  — y'okay? ❛ he whispers, cognizant of his full, warm belly and just how he got here. whose blood is building him up from the feet to the heart, bestowing upon the holy man a vigor that only startles him into gentleness further.

it's when armand runs his fingers across his mouth, pushing the blood from his lips, that rodrick understands. he'd hoped - maybe, maybe; a touch without sense. a touch for touches sake. but no. there is a reason, there is sense. and it brings forth the feelings from before. a human feeling, the kind that tightens the binds of his own armor.

Though she has been attempting to keep a low profile, she suspected it was only a matter of time before her awakening got back to Aro. She had been tracking his coven from a distance as carefully as she could, planning her next move. But her eldest brother had spent longer here, and expanded his empire to the point of being near untouchable. "I suspect he has also told you not to believe a word I say." A sad, yet determined look is shot the strangers way. She'd always had a way with others that her brother hadn't. Perhaps she could still spin this in her favour. "Tell me, what do you believe?"

this  dingy,  musty  bar  in  the  middle  of  nowhere  is  a  blessing  in  disguise.  the  jukebox  in  the  corner  is  long  out  of  order,  holds  none  of  her  music  and  what  plays  over  the  stereo  are  records  of  yesteryear.  it's  all  ...  oddly  comforting,  to  say  the  least.  discomfort  only  finds  eliza  in  the  form  of  a  rock  in  her  throat  as  she  feels  the  presence  of  other  vampires  approaching  quickly  -  this,  she  had  not  anticipated.

she  watches  and  listens  carefully  as  they  all  come  in  hot  -  youthful  compositions  and  desires  swirling  around  their  seats.  she  remains  calm  and  composed,  even  as  they  begin  to  take  an  interest  in  her.  irritation  is  not  at  the  forefront  of  her  mind  as  eliza's  nose  turns  toward  the  voice  that  speaks  up  beside  her;  instead,  she  is  overcome  with  an  instantaneous  wave  of  grief.  true  age  be  damned,  that  is  the  face  and  body  of  a  child  frozen  in  time.  impulsive,  irrational  -  intrinsically  similar  characteristics  that  hit  a  little  too  close  to  home.  no  matter  the  circumstance,  it  hurts  to  see  -  makes  eliza's  heart  ache  something  fierce.

she's  with  the  others.  there's  a  handful  of  them  -  all  degenerate-looking  messes,  scrounged  up  seemingly  with  no  qualms  against  the  chaos  that  they  leave  in  their  midst.  eliza,  on  the  other  hand,  makes  herself  as  inexplicable  and  unrecognizable  as  possible;  a  stark  contrast  to  the  loud,  unabashed  child  that  she  finally  replies  to.

"eliza,"    she  answers  simply,  removing  her  hands  from  the  bar  to  rest  them  over  her  lap.  she  turns  to  face  her  company  head  on,  searching  her  mind  and  presence  for  any  other  outward  information  that  she  can  easily  gleam.    "you  seem  pretty  adapted  all  by  yourself,  jenks,"    she  commends  the  younger  creature,  still  healthily  suspicious  of  the  random  encounter,    "what're  you  an'  your  friends  doing  in  this  bar,  hm?"

seriously?  depressing talk on vacation?  red props herself on her elbows and almost loses balance on the inflatable  ,  sunglasses precariously leaning on her nose.  “ change my fate would mean marrying some guy i NEVER met  ,  birth four or five kids and do nothing all day. ”  beat  ,  and she purposefully leaves ou pleasing her parents.  “ all things considered this fate i’ve got is NOT so bad. ”  hand reaches for her drink as red nods to cris.  “ would you? ”

still doe-eyed and naive  to the world they had built, carlisle’s presence in the castle of volterra was a flagrant change. his diet, so curious to aro that the elder had summoned him to join them. his aspirations for humanity so peculiar that were it not aro’s will, it would be an insult. but he had arrived with the hope to change, to do some good; if not by his father’s methods of fire and blood, then by his own.

@ruerot​ liked for a starter.

‘     how’d you escape them?     ’       a simple question to break the silence.    she hated the quiet.     how often in her own captivity was she left alone in the recesses of her   own mind?    there was little loyalty she felt to that man who sat in the forest,     who kept her locked away,     afraid of the thing she would become.                                       and there would be   no remorse   for his death.    merely a satisfaction in wiping him off the earth once and for all.

what has become of the man that he had known?

     upon first meeting,       how akin caius had been to adámastos ares !      the man was all sharp angles and smug remarks as he inspected the former priest who quaked on bended knees.     marcus was uncertain of what outcome he was favoring;      of what to do with the lightning that seemed to be gathering beneath his paling skin that did not have a name.      this somethingness felt as if he had gone out during a heavy storm and snatched one of zeus’s thunderbolts for his own.     he wanted answers to that,     but he dare not open his mouth when his fate was being decided.      the pair spoke at length,      with intermittent interjections from the women who stood beside the crimson eyed olympians.     he did not hear a word they spoke.      he wondered if they could smell the fear on him as aro came near to grip his chin and hold his face upwards to the moonlight.     when caius spoke,      it was with cold sureness.      you will survive.

    a thousand nights merged into one.      from the ruins of his mandir,      his brothers crafted a throne for him to sit upon beside their own.      he was asked to serve as their equal.       and he did,     but there was an uncertainty that tainted his words,     his actions,      and even,      his thoughts.      what did it mean to be equal to men like this?     would he too have to find that savagery in him?      the kind that seem to lurk beneath every action his brother’s performed?     they could coo and dote;      they could slaughter and maim.      this duality was not coming to him,      but caius shouldered the burden with him.     caius assured him that it would come in time.

    neither could have predicted that it would be now that it did.     a rage burned like a fire within the pit of his cavernous chest,     but his body did not move even a fraction of an inch upon his throne.      didyme had done nothing to deserve to be spoken so ill of.      she had been their euphrosyne;     the one who brought light to their darkened halls,     the one who spoke gentle words,      the one who brought joy when none could be found.      there was an illness within his brother,       the alloprosallus ares.     something grotesque was festering within him,      and he was in terrible need of being cleansed of it.      yet, caius was one to thrive on wrath and pain,      the type that would welcome the sharp edge of a knife digging within his flesh,      the kind that would laugh when threatened.      marcus was no fool,      and he would not give in to this taunting so easily.

    rather,      he allowed himself to feel the rage that bubbled within his chest.     he tended to the feeling until it simmered down and made way for the ache that was hidden beneath it all.      it was the grief that he carried,      grief that attempted to coexist with every useless breath that he took.      he closed his eyes and let that feeling wash through him.     the loss of didyme;      the loss of caius.     when phantom tears begin to burn along his lower lashes,      he blinked them away and looked to his brother with a look of practiced pity.      “ i truly feel sorry for athenodora.      should she meet her true death too,     she may not find a mourner in you.     i can see you now crawling along the floor on your belly like the snake that you are for corrin to take away the pain you rightfully should feel.     she deserves better than that.     she deserves better than you. ”