#vampatriarch

The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor provided a soothing backdrop in the operating room, calming the tense atmosphere after a whirlwind surgery. The calm was even more pronounced with two of the hospital's most renowned surgeons, Dr. Hannibal Lecter and Dr. Carlisle Cullen, working side by side. Their surgical masks concealed expressions, but their eyes were focused and intent as they meticulously stitched up the latest casualty of a highway collision. Their hands moved with precision, bypassing the nurses as they seamlessly passed instruments to each other, forming an alliance that left little room for interference. They were a powerhouse on the floor and nary a nurse intervened with their silent structure of getting the patient under control.

"Are you ignoring my invitation again, Dr. Cullen?" Hannibal quipped, his gaze fixed on the neat line he had just sutured. He set the surgical tools aside, ready for sterilization, and continued, "I fully understand schedules and how busy we are. However… I'm starting to suspect you are avoiding my outreach." His tone was light, his words accompanied by a subtle curve of his lips, devoid of any malice. The nurses cleaning up the area have one thing on their mind: who on earth would avoid Dr. Lecter? The same thought applies to Dr. Cullen.

Velvet soft on his skin, sweet breath in his face. Jasper blinks. The cherry bay comes into focus, much closer than before. Her nose is suddenly right in front of him. Whiskers tickle his chin and she lips at him gently. Grooming him back, his hunger addled mind supplies slowly. For a moment everything fades away. Nothing exists but him and this sweetheart of a horse who smells like home before home pulled out a rifle. They shouldn't be here anyway. Small towns are so nosy, wary, eyes everywhere that loathe outsiders.

He leans forward and exhales at mare's muzzle, lip quirking up when she puffs back. A goodbye now instead of greeting. Jasper doesn't want to go. He could spend hours scratching the patch of fur on new friend's forehead where it swirls out in a sort of cowlick. "Okay," he whispers instead, not dragging his feet like a child, letting Carlisle guide him away. His throat burns and he dreads the nausea of whatever prey they'll hunt later. The idea of forcing down something several hundred pounds is sickening. "There's-" a drunk thirty feet from them who he knows no one would miss "-longhorns...always stragglers during this time of year on the cattle drives."

❝ sorry, y'missed out on the meal. ❞ theo sighs out as fangs retract from the neck & his head falls back, letting the body hit the ground at his feet. tongue runs over fangs to savor the blood there. theo doesn't have to turn around to know somebody's been watching. his concerned thoughts are a little agitating too. he just made theo waste a perfect good body; the blood is sticky on his hands & he carelessly wipes it on his jeans as he turns to face @vampatriarch.

❝ y'could probably still take a bite or two. ❞ eyes flicker from him to the body & head cants, squinting in contemplation. he nudges it with his foot & there's no reaction. shoulders lift with a shrug. ❝ or are y'gonna lecture me 'bout the mess? 'cause 'm not real in the mood for it. ❞

He glances up from his book, perched in the corner of the room, a large window expanding behind him. He closes it firmly in one hand, tucking it away on the side table next to him. Since joining the Cullens, he has spent a large amount of his time stuck in his own leisure. There was respite in that, an ever-growing comfort in the quiet pursuit of knowledge. Useless things, interesting things. Mostly, he avoided Edward – not that he thought Edward was a bad person. They were merely oil and water, Will never finding it in him to feed the vanity of the mind-reader, nor wanting him to occupy every space in his head. Whatever he heard there, he didn’t share with Carlisle, and for that, he was grateful if nothing else, even if Edward’s disapproval and protectiveness of his father figure was evident.

Will did no harm to Carlisle, but there was plenty of harm in Will and those surrounding Will. So, he didn’t blame Edward for any ill will between them. Will would have hated him for the sole fact of his invasive gift. But they shared the commonality of wanting to make Carlisle happy.

He finds himself nodding, standing already. It’s been a little time since he’s last fed. And in truth, he could never fully shake it – he didn’t think any of them could, maybe Carlisle the most. But the reminders were always there as a foreboding shadow in the back of his mind, growing larger and larger as the days went by without blood. This existence was a curse, but there were some things to make it more bearable.

Carlisle wears no pretense. No silly, needless idealism. No simpering affectation of virtue. @vampatriarch stands bare, in the irony of his own existence. A predator who hides in plain sight, garbed in gentility. As a man who splayed his heart open wide for Hannibal's dissection—he happily digs into him.

Ashland is small, quiet. Everyone here has their place, their role. They've collectively agreed to not rock the boat— something Esme is happy to upkeep. As the newcomer to town, she's already done enough to gently tip it.

Not that it is entirely her doing. The school teacher retired and they happened to be looking for a replacement when Esme stepped off the train. Although, replacing the older woman was not the talk of the town. No, it was Esme's condition.

And so she lied. A lie she will keep until (and if) she needs to leave again. Her husband returned from war. Despite brief happiness, he suffered complications and passed away before he could meet his child. The wedding band she didn't pawn turned out to be her greatest asset. Accompanying her pregnancy, it serves her well in garnering sympathy. Of course people gossip, but no-one is suspicious of her story.

Or she hopes they aren't.

For the most part, she's fit in here like a missing puzzle piece. There is a small house for her to live in whilst serving as the town's school teacher, she loves the children and she's sure the children love her. Unlike with her cousin, this doesn't feel like a last resort. It finally feels as if her life is beginning at last.

She only finds herself at the hospital because of bouts of sickness that refuse to tame. It's not particularly easy suffering with it when trying to teach; she just desires something to help ease the symptoms.

The name of the doctor strikes her first. It's familiar, almost comforting, although she can't quite recall why. Vaguely she remembers the doctor who treated her as a girl having a name beginning with C, but so much has happened between then and now she can't remember exactly what it was. Perhaps part of her wishes if to be him. There was a sense of understanding and acceptance in his care, something she never found in her parents or with Charles.

Harmony shouldn't have glanced at the window while she descended — but she had used these stairs so many times that the distance from one to the other was practically muscle memory. She would curse herself for that distraction later, though ; it took only that brief moment for her catch her heel on the edge of the next step. Harmony inhaled sharply at the sudden pitch of her body downward. The railing was, of course, just out of reach.

She tumbled down those last few stairs with a soft yelp. Something popped, and she felt her right foot twist under her. The pain was immediate and ferocious. Harmony still tried to stand once her breath returned to her, if nothing else to salvage what was left of her pride to those who worked in the building after - hours, but the severity of her evident injury forced her back to the floor.