Michael had been in the middle of the large crowd. It wasn't one of his all nighters. He didn't realize Beryl had left, or at least not until it was far too late for him to brace himself out of the public eye. Without notice he seized, gasping for air. His hands immediately gripping the sides of his head. Blood ran from his nose, ears, and mouth. He was choking on it, unable to breathe. It was one of the only times he ever looked scared that anyone around would have seen. In a matter of seconds he was shaking on the floor, blood pooling around his head. Eventually he just stopped moving. For a time, his heart even stopped.
When he woke up, he was somewhere he didn't recognize. That wasn't exactly a new experience for him. He'd just have to piece it together as he always tried to do.
He had a one hell of a splitting headache. He started to push himself up into a sitting position. It took a moment, but he realized it was... it was quiet in his head. Really quiet. Deva or Beryl had to be around somewhere.... but this wasn't the club?
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Thomas grew up in a pack of the middle of nowhere, with only a handful of wolves regularly leaving pack land. And even then, it was for a job, for a purpose given to them by Caleb. Which meant, while they had developed some of their own customs or signs of respect when it came to the passing of a fellow wolf, they had no real concepts of religions or what life after death might be like - if it existed at all.
Thomas was very practical, very pragmatic, but he did believe that something existed after this life. He didn’t have a clue as to what that something might be, but Anna - in her own quiet way - had been full of life. He didn’t believe that just ceased to exist because her body did. And the same went for their child. A child he’d never met, that he didn’t even know if it was a boy or a girl, but was half Anna... They had to be with her, and so did his mom. He had to believe that in order to continue, he had to trust that he would be reunited with his mate once again.
Still, he was surprised that life after death could involve echoes of pain. Could include such overwhelming lethargy that he couldn’t even open his eyes. But he heard her name - he knew he heard her name, multiple times. Anna was there. She was waiting for him. That meant their child, his mom - they had to be waiting for him, too. He just had to wake up. He struggled with everything he had to wake up.
Finally, his eyes cooperated, and he opened them... only to find a woman he didn’t know sitting beside him, reading a book. His mouth was dry, and he had to cough before he was able to speak, his words quiet but urgent given how long he’d waited for this moment, “Can I please see Anna? Anna and Fiona Detten? And... I’m sorry, I don’t - I don’t know the name of... Anna and I, our child wasn’t born before they died...” He wasn’t sure if he was making sense, but he was disoriented. All of this was disorienting, how could it not be? Somehow he was dead, and yet his heart was slamming into his chest at the thought of being with his family again...
Cara had barely managed to get the three children out of the warehouse where they had been locked in cages for days when the ‘mother’ changeling attacked her. She had come to the fight as prepared as possible, flamethrower at the ready, but it was insanely strong.
The creature picked Cara up like she was a rag doll, throwing her into the row of cages, and she felt the familiar pain that came with cracked ribs. Before she even had the chance to get up, before she even had the chance to catch her breath, the changeling was picking her up again and throwing her into the opposite concrete wall.
Cara rolled sideways with a loud moan, crawling up onto her hands and knees in an attempt to get to her feet. But the creature grabbed her by the throat, walking her backwards until she was up against the wall, feet dangling in the air. Then it began to strangle her. She kicked and she bucked, all the while trying to reach for the ever-present lighter in her pocket, but between her ribs and...the run-in with the concrete wall... couldn’t get air in... couldn’t think straight... Black spots filled her vision, and the changeling moved to snap her neck.
Eric Byrd was a son-of a bitch. It wasn't an insult when it was true, was it? Spit up and chewed out by the Byrd family matriarch and heir Elyse Collins didn't exactly know if she should laugh or cry about the three years of her life that she had wasted on the arm of a man who still took orders from his mommy. She supposed their was a weird kind of psychology to it, seeing as his mother was merely a pawn in the grander scheme of things. It was his father, Claude who truly had a choke-hold on the city and apparently his wife. His tech company was more than meets the eye and the journalist knew far more than the people around her thought she did. She may have looked the part of air-head blonde accessory, but there was far more to her than that. Her intelligence and unwavering will threatened the simple minded Madeline and in turn Madeline had tried numerous times to undermine Elyse and Eric's relationship.
It would appear that the woman had finally worn down her son because he left Elyse. Or so she assumed. It had been three weeks with no contact, no voice message, email, text or direct message sent to him had been returned, or opened for that matter. The pin to his pent house had been changed, and his doorman switched. It was odd. All of it.
He wasn't dead though. No, far from it. His social media was full of stories of the young millionaire living it up at clubs they had once frequented together. Where she should have been stood a cheaper, tanner, and more Hollywood version of herself. She had been replaced.
Replaced.
It was a good thing that she had a life of her own outside of her socialite boyfriend and his insufferable family. While many speculated she had used Eric to gain a following the opposite had occurred. She had made a sad rich boy iconic and he repaid her by ghosting her. His message was received loud and clear. She was dead to him so she would do what ghosts did best; haunt the living.
The night of the founders gala had approached shortly after her breakup, if one could even call it that. The young woman had spent an extraordinary amount of time preparing for the event seeing as it would be her first event without Eric beside her. She wanted him to see her, to know that she wasn't crying or broken - if anything she was liberated.
Dressed to impress and feed the gossip columns the blonde appeared red carpet worthy. A scintillating red cocktail dress whose sheer bodice and slit up the side accentuated her figure was paired with tasteful gold jewelry. Her blonde curls were styled in a way that allowed a few ringlets to hang loose while her bangs tastefully framed her face. She kept the makeup simple, shimmery gold eyeshadow, a swipe or two of waterproof mascara and a bold lip. A small designer bag that she could use as a clutch and a comfortable pair of red bottoms rounded out her ensemble.
Arriving just as the gala was about to begin the blonde took a deep breath and hyped herself up. She had one goal that evening and that was to deliver a message, once that was done she could leave and carry on with life as if Eric didn’t exist. She lived a successful life before him and would continue to do so now that he wasn’t a part of it.
As soon as her heels hit the pavement adrenaline took over. There was a certain kind of excitement that accompanied being devious and the woman hadn’t known just how delicious a feeling that was until she was standing in line to be allowed entry into the event. As she grew closer to security she felt a tugging sensation somewhere deep within her mind, looking up her cerulean hues met the unnaturally colored ones of her ex-lover. Fuck Me. Keeping her head held high, Elyse wouldn’t let Eric’s ominous presence dissuade her. As her time came to check in she would smile at the staff member assigned to take roll. “Elyse Collins, my date has already checked in.”
Skimming the list the attendant would look from Elyse to the large security guard next to them and then back to her. “My sincerest apologies Miss Collins, it would appear that your reservation is no longer available. Mr. Byrd has brought another guest.” Blinking once, Elyse would look up at the attendant with veiled disbelief, “I’m sorry, I think I’m mishearing you. My spot has been taken by someone else? The donation I made to the founder’s foundation which grants me entry into this fundraiser, has been taken?” Panic was visible on the attendant’s face as they began scanning through the list to see if by chance they had made a mistake. Not wanting to cause a scene, she would calmly ask, “Is it possible to make another donation?” Was her ego and pride worth funneling more money into this event?
Extracting her revenge wasn’t exactly something she could do sitting at home on her couch eating a pint of ice-cream and asking the gods why they chose her to punish.
As she stood there, bewildered and betrayed she couldn’t help but feel those eyes on her again. Looking up the landing just past the security check in towards the open bar, Elyse would lock eyes with Eric and the woman who had replaced her. There was something wrong about them, but she couldn’t for the life of her place what that was.
Rome reached the edge of the treeline a little after midnight. The air had the weight of early autumn, cool enough to make him pull his hood tighter as he looked at the castle rising over the lake. The castle’s silhouette cut clean against the sky, tall and pale, its towers catching the dull shine of the moon. He stood there for a moment, letting the quiet settle around him. He always needed a breath before a job, even if he pretended otherwise.
People in the underworld liked to call him Nightstep. They said it like a story told to make themselves feel sharper, but it always landed in the same place. Someone who moved through places he shouldn’t, someone who left no trace. Romulus never argued with it. He liked the way it sounded, simple and light on its feet, even if the truth was less elegant.
He checked the description in his mind again.
Gold. A violet stone. Nothing more.
The client hadn’t given a name, a room, or a reason.
He only knew it was hidden somewhere inside a castle that wasn’t as empty as it looked.
He moved toward the outer wall with a steady pace. The hoodie was dark and worn, thin enough not to catch on anything. His pants held only what he needed, the quiet weight of tools he trusted. A small flashlight, a folding knife, two picks, and the compact device tucked into the harness under his clothes. Nothing fancy. Nothing that screamed he knew exactly what he was walking into. The backwards cap sat low on his head, familiar and grounding. It always helped him focus, even if it made him look younger than he was.
A service window sat behind a nest of autumn vines, brittle from the cold. He brushed them aside with the back of his hand and tested the latch. Old metal. It clicked open with a tired sound, like the castle sighing. Then, he slipped inside.
The room met him with dust, cool stone, and a faint sweetness in the air. It smelled like herbs left to dry somewhere nearby. He paused, letting his eyes adjust. Castles carried noise differently. Sounds traveled in long, thin lines, down corridors and up stairwells, so even the smallest movement felt sharper than it should.
He stepped forward, slow and measured. His clothes made almost no noise against the stone, though he knew silence would only help him so much in a place like this. The castle wasn’t dead at night. He could already hear soft movement somewhere deeper in the halls. Feet passing, voices low and tired. Women’s voices, mostly. No male voices at all.
That detail caught him for a second.
Strange, but he let it pass.
Autumn seeped through the walls. The air shifted from warm to cold without warning as he moved, the kind of uneven temperature that came from old architecture and older habits. Some windows must have been opened earlier in the day. He pictured laundry airing, floors swept, repairs being made before sunset. He didn’t know that at night the men were gone, completely gone, and that Helene’s wing would be more alive now than it ever was in daylight.
He only knew the staff here didn’t sleep much.
Rome adjusted his cap, breathed out once, and pushed deeper into the corridor. He kept close to the wall, careful with every step, unaware of how many people in this place knew its sounds by heart.
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send me a ➹ and a fc ;; i'll create a character on the spot !!! (Vinnie Hacker)
@writtenindarkness
This is probably cheating because I've written this muse before, but Vinnie would make a fantastic updated faceclaim for Cory DeMarco, younger brother to my current muse, Mattie. Matt basically raised them both, before and after their homophobic dad put him in the hospital. Cory's a subby little people pleaser who has trouble thinking for himself but, like, usually means well?? Just tell him what to do, please.
🩶 “Be still, pretty boy. I didn’t say you could move.”
@writtenindarkness
Ethan growled, his yellow eyes burning in the darkness. "Who are you callin' boy?" he snarled. Of course, the two sides of himself were at war again. On the one hand, he was used to being treated like a boytoy, and he admittedly loved the attention. However, he knew he was going against his alpha nature...
There was some sort of look of recognition on his face when the siren song in his head had quite suddenly stopped. He wasn't sure why there was such a sudden silence after years of so much noise. It was enough to distract him from the fact that his wings were quite suddenly on display.
Nevertheless, he was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He had to keep singing if he wanted this gig. He was just about to start his last song when what he assumed had to be the most important people in the room walked in... or at least they looked it to him.
He quickly made a slight adjustment of his guitar before he started playing again. He decided to go with Leave the lights on. He felt that one showed off how well he could work a crowd- or in this case the two people he would need to impress most.
Oh, he worked it all right. His body language was all flirt and sex appeal, but in carefully measured amounts. Admittedly he'd pander a little more to whoever seemed the most interested. He hoped they'd be his ticket in.
