#undertheviolentmoon

louis had had the strangest dream. it was hard to explain, something dark and deep that plagued the recesses of his mind. he’d woken to find that it was just that: a dream, but there were flashes from the dream that felt more like memories. it would drive him mad. a girl. small. blonde hair, curled to perfect. the piano. a haunting melody. lavish parties. then fire. and then... it was done. louis was mulling all of this over, sketching out the details in his journal (maybe he’d write a book -- ha! how insane of an idea), the pieces that he remembered. but they were fading, quickly, and in frustration, louis let out a noise and tossed his pen to the ground. it landed by someone’s feet and he composed himself with a, “forgive me. i don’t know what’s gotten into me. do you mind?” louis extended his hand for the pen, which had made it a decent few yards away.

Having sat down on the couch in her office, Ariel realized once the cup was lifted to her lips that she forgot to offer her opposite a cup. “It has already been a day, I’m so sorry. Would you care for a cup?”

@undertheviolentmoon

   " I don’t suppose you know where to find good scotch around here, do you ?? ” she questioned, strolling into the room without looking at who she’d been speaking to. a breathless sigh escaped from plumped lips, “ it’s never too early for a decent drink. ”

gabrielle, finally, was fed and content. she’d been, frankly, starved since she’d arrived in woodshore, and the random travel had only added to her distaste. it could, perhaps, account for her decent mood and lack of need to hunt; she was feeling quite altruistic. so when she noticed that an item had fallen from someone’s pocket, she barely recognized herself when she retrieved it, saying, “this is yours, i presume? keep a closer look on your things, darling.”

@undertheviolentmoon

“hey.” gale’s voice was clipped, though only through a lack of practice for niceties. usually, the man didn’t waste breath if his words didn’t mean something, but in this case... it was as simple as courtesy. “i think this is yours.” he scooped the item from the bar counter and held it out, nodding over his shoulder. “that guy had his eye on it.”