#suntuusita

He followed the tour group from a distance, carefully planning out his approach. There were so many passages through the castle, all of which he knew by heart, the possibilities were endless. As they entered the castle, the guide spotted him and recognized him immediately. It was an annual venture, after all, at this point all the guides knew his face without a doubt. He merely rolled his eyes lightly and continued on, the history of Bran rolling off his tongue as natural as it would a historian of his caliber.

Seeing the guide didn't outright object, Vlad continued to trail behind the group, doing his best to hide his mischievous grin. As the group moved on through the route, he noticed one was lagging behind a bit, pushing him even further away from the group due to his careful distance. She seemed... familiar, but hard to place given her face largely hidden by the castle pamphlet. Despite it, though, it didn't take long for it to click. Oh this is going to be fun~!

Vlad slipped away down a corridor off the tour route and took a couple more turns to where it would realign again with the group. From there he watched carefully until the moment was right, as the guide was going into some history about the Impaler during the war, and then...

Somehow, in the long transit out east, the invitation had gotten lost. Lost, found, lost again, until finally it arrived in his mailbox at his flat in Bucharest.

While Vlad was never one to turn down a party—and it had been some time since his last masquerade, he quite enjoyed those— he frowned at the required attire. Black tie... makes sense, but one's finest? He could hear her giggling, knowing how lacking his wardrobe was. The finest clothes he owned were at least 50 years old, kept under a layer of dust, and likely suffering from the chew marks of moths. He knew very well if he showed up in those... or in anything he owned... he'd hear something about it.

unreal earth sentence starters

Fannar knew that feeling all too well.

He turned his eyes to the sea, bright and glistening, with birdsong through the breeze enough to make anyone feel hopeful. Fannar was used to rougher seas – darker waters and starker sounds, but there he was on the warm sands of Monaco. So far from home, but water was always the same.

WHY DON'T WE ROLEPLAY?

again pls save me from a long haul flight | accepting

There's a quiet on the other end of the line, a kind of awkward, cautious silence that suggests he's almost afraid to speak; it's late, his flight had come in late and - well - things had happened. Four drunk Icelanders on a flight had dragged him out into the town among themselves and, long story short, Fannar is currently standing on a random streetcorner in an unfamiliar place, with six pizzas in hand and a sparkly pink hairband in his hair. He didn't pay for any of the pizzas, and he's just praying that someone else in the group did, lest he be arrested by Interpol. He didn't even order anything! He's only had three beers!

'Chouchou! Ah, it has been a while, hasn't it?' Claude at least had the foresight to come bearing gifts: a small basket filled with farmers market goods and, of course, his favourite violet candies.

Vlad couldn't sleep the entire flight. Not that it was a bad flight, no. Or that he was in a bad mood. It was quite the opposite, actually. He was beside himself with excitement, and nerves. He'd been off the grid for months, no contact or anything, and felt extremely bad he had missed calls— and the package. That poor thing was sitting collecting dust, and it was a really nice pen. Almost too nice, he hadn't owned a good pen like that in decades almost centuries. He just hoped he didn't lose this one, too.