#vamytas

It took her a while to study the interior from afar, decide a place she could withdraw and observe, she wasn’t sure whether to find there more than few drinks - perhaps new things to learn. Perhaps, even ask about things once she encouraged herself enough. She didn’t belong there, it was for sure - in her mind, that was. The people were of different and she felt like a mother searching for a lost daughter - In a way she felt like breaking some kind of a code as she stepped towards the counter, to see what there was to offer. As she waited for an order, her gaze locked at someone. || @vamytas​

[ 📩  — Alex 🌹 ] : i gotta tell this if u dont mind [ 📩  — Alex 🌹 ] : handcuffs F00CKING HURT man

@vamytas   ♚   starter   !

    The starlet giggles as she points to his tattoos. ❝I like them! They’re like, really neat. Makes me wanna get one tbh.❞

         the second blood passes down the unknown creatures throat, ell is present.    he stands before the stranger clad in casual wear. his form is just as mundane. that pretence is pulled away at as the essence of its power makes its way through its new companions odd system. it’s a flicker at first. a tug of its skin, as if if hidden hands pushed and jabbed from underneath its flesh, lasting seconds.                     “you aren’t like the others.”  when it opens its mouth its voice is accompanied by others, overlapping its words at various pitches. the movement of its jaw gives way to another ripple in its disguise - flesh of its lower jaw dissipates, an insects mandibles peeking through  ( oversized, an endless mass of shifting chitin and flesh hidden further beneath it, bulging out of its neck). the voices overlapping its own did not stop when its mouth closed, instead increasing to an ear-splitting series of screeches. the gap in its disguise cut off at the same time as the noise, both halting as quickly as they’d appeared. this time when it opened its mouth, it spoke with a single voice.                       “  - what  are you?” 

    jane understands that pouring her heart out to her tattoo artist is probably a little unorthodox, but for the most part she’s so isolated that when she gets the chance to talk to somebody, she will. and these nightmares lately... they’re eating at her, so badly, and she just needs to know that they’re normal. “and... sometimes i see flames, and-- sometimes i see people that i love dying,” she finishes, eyes fixed on the piece he’s etching onto her thigh so that she doesn’t have to make eye contact. “is that-- is it bad?”

  THERE’S   A   TEMPORARY   SENSE   OF   UNEASE   in   her   typically   poised   posture  .   Muscles   twitch,   jaws   clenched   as   bells   chime   upon   entry  .   A   flash   of   CRIMSON   splashes   flayed   porcelain  .   She   pushes   those   hellish   memories   aside   in   order   to   form   a   NEW   one  .   A   reminder   she   survived   the   impossible  .   An   inked   stamp   of   victory   she   hopes   will   permanently   CLOSE   a   chapter   in   her   life   she’d   rather   forget  .      ❝     .  .  .   You   Alex   Earnshaw?   ❞   Fingers   slide   into   the   tight   pockets   of   her   jeans   as   a   gentle   smile   graces   full   lips,   amber   eyes   glancing   around   his   parlor  .      ❝   Nice   place,   man  .   ❞

“Are you dead serious?” Perhaps as a way of matching this said cynism, the nonchalance of that inopportune joke is made present on that rather disdainful shrug. “It’s not like we necessarily need resort to... This to make a good use of what we got.” Optimistic or not, his view on immortality has never affected his main premise of living. Still...  “Not that I’m entirely disconsidering your suggestion though.”