#salemsbane

INQUISITION PARTY BANTER 

IS THIS REALLY HOW YOU SEE YOURSELF? she'd asked that, sat like a starch-collared sore thumb in agatha's cluttered office, one arm slung across the couch like she belongs there nevertheless. & SINCE THEN, she's been toeing the line between what they're saying & what they aren't. the undercurrents are there: a shorthand abandoned long enough ago that engaging with it now is a CHOICE with each word that comes out of her mouth ; a familiarity that feels like slipping into a favorite sweater.

BOTH THINGS CAN BE TRUE.

a half-gruntled huff chucks free under a breath she puts upon like this skin, this prettied death mask. dark, crepuscular humor rolls up from her throat, the bitter cocktail of wanting & knowing too much to ignore after so many centuries between them.

"Agatha," Billy admitted. "I'm ... I'm tired."

Maybe she was right. The crash had been worse, the effects still lingering even now. The Road had been hell, and that was his fault. This? Maybe he was just tired. All the red that was spilling out of him made him tired. "Maybe a nap is nice."

your heart is made to love. to give. not to take. / @salemsbane

SHE DOESN'T REMEMBER HER CREATION. she doesn't remember if she was born with a heart, or the ability to feel. for millennia, she went about her work, ruling over the dead and feeling nothing for the bodies she took. if you ask her now, she won't be able to tell you whether or not her ability to love has ever existed, or if agatha is the one who made it possible. all she knows is that it's there, and there is no ability for her to deny it. agatha has all of her, and she can crush her heart or hold it tenderly. she has complete control.

she considers herself fortunate that it's the latter right now. human-like items have never interested here, but there's something beautiful about the onions and bread sitting on the counter of their little cottage, human food she's come to appreciate the taste of. the blanket around them is a hand-knit, warm thing, her unnaturally cold body temperature evened out slightly by the weight of it.

agatha speaks to her own insecurities. it's in her very nature, her very existence, to take. someday, when agatha's time comes, she will be forced to take her, as well. it's all she's made for. and yet, this one singular human -- this beautiful, powerful, stubborn human -- sees beyond that. she sees that, perhaps there is a heart in there, one that's hand-made, and might as well be beating.

"is it?" she asks, fumbling under the blanket to grab agatha's warm, soft hand. she places it over her own chest, trying to make her human form present her with a heartbeat. her face lingers closer, nuzzling her nose against agatha's, slowly breathing her in. "my heart is made for you." this is all for you.

@salemsbane sent Agatha to mentor Vivi: “ okay, alright, look at me. you looking? do it exactly like i’m doing it. ”

“ I'm looking, Agatha, I'M LOOKING! ” Vivi whined in anticipation. Unwilling to even blink she watched the older witch demonstrate her magic, leaving her with mouth open, staring at the place the purple had already disappeared. “ That's the coolest shit I've seen.. can you do it bigger? ”

@salemsbane sent: must you always make things so complicated?

"Oh yeah? Like what?" Billy asked, tilting his head towards Agatha. "What'd you learn in its stead?"

「BITE 」 : for sender to bite the receiver ( on her pulsepoint ) @salemsbane

HER BLOOD IS A COLD, DEAD THING. her veins are still and unmoving. she is cold to the touch, yet her skin somehow runs hot, heated by the human touch against it. agatha's hands are in her hair, on the side of her neck, and her old, dreary lungs heave with the effort of keeping her breathing even. she's already failed at self control -- if the mangled edges of agatha's desk are any indication of her iron grip -- but in this, she holds back. her human, so mortal and sensitive to the touch of a creature such as her, holds all of the control she pretends she has. in all her centuries, there are very few to make her feel like this. she thinks her eyes just might be glazing over.

agatha tilts her head, her lips to the skin of her neck. her own heart is a pulse that barely beats, yet the teeth on her neck make her feel so impossibly alive. there's a rush through her, strong enough to feel like her blood just might be functioning as it had when she was human, and her hands tear away from the desk to grab agatha's hips instead. a huff of air paired with a moan, and it hinges on the edge of a growl, her nails digging into the material of agatha's pants. it's unfair how she can't just rip them to shreds, but they are technically in agatha's office and the last thing she wants is for agatha to get mad and pull away from her. she is, however, without her own shirt, good thing the blinds are closed.

it's purposeful, when she tilts her head back, giving the other woman unrestricted access to her throat. agatha is not hunter but it is still a show of vulnerability, she rarely exposes her neck to anyone, not like this. "you can bite me harder," she invites, her hands finally letting go of agatha so she can try and drag her face back to her neck. she would have to be pried from agatha at this point, she isn't going to stop until she has to. "come on, baby. no one can hear us, right?" she tries to encourage, she's not above begging.