#thevampiremael

Nolwenn stumbled down the dark street of Ravenna. Moving sent stabs of sharp burning pain through her but she couldn't stop and rest. She had to keep going. She didn't know where, but she couldn't just stay here alone in the streets. She was sick, exhausted, starving, and injured but if she let herself rest in an alley or park, she was sure someone would snatch her and kill her. Ever since she'd been set on fire she had only managed to get a few hours of sleep, just enough to keep her from collapsing.

The clothes she wore concealed most of her injuries. The burns on her face were still visible though. She wore a dark blue long-sleeved linen shirt, a long multi-layered black skirt, and black combat boots. Her original clothes had been burned when the vampire had set her on fire but luckily her bag was only singed and its contents weren't damaged.

Her entire body hurt. Still-healing second-degree burns covered most of her body. It felt like the heat was trapped inside her skin. Blisters covered her red, itching, swollen skin. Both fresh and dried blood and pus covered her skin and clothes.

Pain, fear, and stress radiated from her in thick waves. Tears ran down her face and stung her burned skin. She couldn't stop crying. Her body violently trembled from fear and pain. She felt terrified and hopeless and didn't know what to do. She fantasized about slipping out of her body like it was a heavy coat, leaving behind the sack of meat and bones and letting her soul go wherever it was meant to go.

The burns were only six days old but looked older --- the pricolici and strigoi blood in her body had helped accelerate the healing process but they were still there and still sensitive. The feeling of cloth touching them was unbearable. She fantasized about drinking the healing blood and her burns fading away. She wished she hadn't drunk the bottles of blood so quickly.

I'll go back to Gwenhael. He can heal me. I'll let him give me enough of his blood to change me into a pricolici, she thought to herself. If she hadn't run from him, none of this would've happened. She wouldn't have been attacked by a strigoi who had violently torn her throat out and had only saved her from dying because he'd seen Gwenhael in her memories. She wouldn't have been almost kidnapped by two torturer-rapists. She wouldn't have been lit on fire by a vampire who'd wanted to kill her because she'd known about vampires.

Nolwenn chewed on her lip as she continued walking. If she hadn't been attacked by those two men, she wouldn't have killed them. If she hadn't killed them, they would've continued to torture and kill more people. They'd already done so five times before. Hell, they'd already had a 15 year old girl locked in their house when they'd tried to kidnap her. After she killed them, she went to the house to rescue the girl; thankfully, nothing bad happened to the girl yet when she got there. At least one good thing had come from her running from Gwenhael --- she'd prevented someone from being raped and tortured.

“There you are.” Santino announced himself with a brief knock against the door frame, and then he was already standing in the room. His hair was hastily tied back, allowing for single strands to fall in front of his eyes and annoy him every other minute. In his hand was a thin stack of paper, filled with fine print.

He was certain that his heart had almost stopped completely in his chest when her lips planted such a tender gesture against his face. When he’d turned to  face her properly and he was met with that beautiful red hair and fierce eyes, he was certain that it most definitely had stopped. Forgetting himself was one thing, but forgetting someone like her? How was that possible or even permitted?

“I… Hello…” he was a little flustered, he’d not been expecting this sort of wake up and not involving a beautiful woman. Perhaps it wasn’t all bad. But the guilt crept in as he searched desperately for a name that didn’t come. “Forgive me, but I don’t know who you are. But you… Obviously know me.”

A small confused laugh escaped Jesse’s lips, an unconscious reaction as her brain completely failed to process this information. “Uh, I should hope so. Cmon, babe, we’ve got that talk you wanted to go to at eight, remember?” 

Where had they gone? She was hoping to meet Santino about her plans to begin doing a civil service to mortals. It was a difficult to come to terms with her desire on this particular subject. It still had such a blasphemous feel, despite the modern age. Talking it over with Santino would have made her feel better about it but she couldn’t seem to even find Eric. If only she hadn’t broken that phone charger.

It was on the road to Santino’s house from the city that she felt an ancient presence. Her first reaction was anxious, unsure if it was friend or foe. Though she had been led to believe that unfriendly blood drinkers were not aware of where Santino was. Still, she ought to be careful.

(Hello! I want to give you a good answer, but can you give me a little more info?

Maybe:

about what you love about him? 

casting ideas for him?

are you looking for headcanons? 

or canon stuff about him? Quotes?

I had typed up a few responses, but I deleted them, bc I was afraid of striking the wrong tone)

I will tell you there were two active Mael RPers in the fandom:  @thevampiremael, and @maelgallia, you might reach out to them, or browse their archives for Mael stuff!

“I was beginning to think that there would not be an Avicus left to look.”

Had he been looking for him? His words had made it seem as though he had… But after this long? Surely he had given up on such a venture. Surely, whatever companion he had at his side would not be be all too pleased if the Ancient had been actively seeking Mael. But if not then, where was Zenobia? The thought of it earned a light scowl, but it was quickly dismissed as he brought himself back into the moment.

He was almost shaking where he stood, his arms tight against his sides as though he fought to contain himself and whatever rage and bitterness had taken up residence. In an instant it was nothing more than arms around the ancient’s shoulders, cheeks pressed together as Mael embraced the other.

“I’m pleased to have been proven wrong, this time.”

Avicus would have to lie if he were to say that he hadn’t expected some kind of outburst from his fledgling. He had expected him to shout and fly at him with clenched fists, uselessly pounding against his chest, or perhaps to strike him across the face in blind fury. Or, and this would have been far worse, to have Mael turn away in icy silence, the same silence that had grown between them all those centuries ago. His heart would have broken and splintered in his very chest if Mael had chosen to deny him. 

The elder opened his mouth to speak but then Mael was with him, chest to chest, his arms wrapped around Avicus in a tight grip, and his face pressed to him as if he sought the warmth of a living pulse. A tremble sat at the base of his throat when he felt the familiar form pressing against him. At once Avicus enveloped Mael in his embrace, near swallowing the smaller man up in his arms. He held him tightly, perhaps too much, as if in fear he’d change his mind. His Mael, his beloved Mael. How good it felt to have him close, feel the strength in his body, the age in his heartbeat.