"Rosalie Spellmeyer, at your service, sweetlings!"
Appearance: Rosalie is a short, thin, almost malnurished looking woman with short light blonde hair and red eyes. She often wears formal clothes, reds and blacks are her color palette of choice, but she often considers blue and white as her favorite colors to look at. She covers up often, but her body below her neck down is littered with puncture scars, knife wounds, thin scratches, and still healing bruises.
When did she get here: Rosalie arrived during episode 1 with a bruise on her face and a haunted look in her eyes, however she pushed down her emotions in favor of teasing Avid about vampires
Pronouns: She/They
Vampire or Human: Vampire
NSFW: No. Nope. Don't even try it.
Dark Topics: Of course! Be graphic with gore if you want, I don't care too much, but keep things to a minimum. The Dove is not dead.
RP Blogs Welcome!!! Non RP Blogs Welcome!!! Don't be a bigot, I will smite you.
Everything else is basically free game :)
-
OOC - @be-jargogled
🌀: Hello hello, welcome to my oc rp blog. This is my first ever one so let's hope I do this correctly. I have claimed the spiral emoji for OOC notes for asks and such <3 this blog will contain disturbing content.
Examples: S/A, Abuse, Stalking, depictions of violence, and more. This is your warning.
Tags:
the columbine to my harlequin - questions regarding Rosalie and her mysterious lover
the last day of bliss - questions regarding Rosalie's sire
the wandering performer - general rp with other rp blogs involving rosalie, rosalie rp starters
I wish to be jargogled - ooc questions and posts
oh how I miss my sweet columbine - in character diary entries, letters never sent
what have you done to my sweet rosalie - rosalie answers you 🫵, rosalie lore
Oc lore below!!! Holy yap, dark themes, ect, be warned.
Rosalie was a performer in a small tavern once upon a time, taking to the stage at the age of 16. She had a partner, both on and off stage, who was her other half. She swears up and down that without her "Columbine" she'd never have been on stage in the first place.
As she grew older alongside "Columbine," they officially became a couple and staged their marriage at the age of 20. They couldn't afford an actual marriage, nor was there a church in town due to an incident that led to the nearby nobles chasing them out, but that's what they would tell anyone who asked about her and "Columbine." Of course, the two's relationship remained open, even if they hadn't found romantic love outside each other, Rosalie and "Columbine" had many discussions about another person to love. Each time it felt like they were teenagers again, giggling and blushing about their fantasy of a perfect partner. It was perfect. It was everything.
Rosalie remembers the day everything went wrong like it was yesterday. There was a new face in the crowd, a nobleman who kept hitting on her and "Columbine" despite them being together and turning him down several times. He kept offering money, as if they were brothel workers (not that Rosalie disliked the brothel workers in the town, she praised them on their ability to deal with men like this everyday). Rosalie cursed that man out every time he showed up to proposition them.
Then the owner of the tavern died, and Rosalie wept alongside her love for fear that they would go jobless, that they would lose everything they had worked so hard for. Unfortunately, that was not the case.
The tavern was quickly bought up, and when Rosalie went to practically beg for the chance to continue performing, she paled at the sight before her. It was him. It was the nobleman she cursed out, the one who kept advancing on her and her wife.
That's when the nightmare started. Rosalie and "Columbine" kept working under that nobleman for another two years. Letting him take advantage of them under threat of their jobs. When "Columbine" was sobbing one day in their shared dressing room, the two had been called into work when the tavern was closed, Rosalie decided she'd had enough and promised her wife that she would tell the nobleman that they were quitting.
It's a shame that he overheard that. The nobleman threw open the door and locked it behind him. He grinned something sharp and predatory before he lunged for Rosalie's neck. Rosalie would've been bitten if it weren't for "Columbine" pushing her out of the way.
Instead, "Columbine" was turned, and a new golden collar was placed around their necks. It all got so much worse, as Rosalie was forced to play bloodbag to them both under threat of the man starving "Columbine."
Life went on. It went on for three more years. It was hell, but it went on. Rosalie was very good at wearing the mask. Until she wasn't. Until she lashed out at him for putting hands on "Columbine." He turned Rosalie as punishment, and when she begged for forgiveness, the nobleman, Sire, told her that she was not allowed to see "Columbine" again until she learned to behave.
Rosalie was sent to the ruins of Oakhurst after that to get a survey of the situation and to check in on the rumors of slumbering vampires there. Sire promised that if she played nice, if she behaved, then when she came back home she could see "Columbine" again.
She'll do whatever it takes to see her again. Even if it means giving into this godforsaken vampirisim, into the hunger, she would do it a hundred times over.
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It was inevitable, of course, but spirits, did it have to happen now? On a day of death and mourning, and what are they requesting their presence for? More death? Ha. What’s new?
How naivë they were to believe this town could grant them a chance to live with humility. That this cursed place could be home to love . . . never. Not with the beacons keeping everyone trapped. Not with these disagreements and personal vendettas. Not with them here.
The hollow tree whistled as the wind danced through it. The smell of ash still hung about in the air. It stained parts of the branch that they sat upon. The handwriting smiled back at them with a charming smile they wish they could forget. This letter had found them, and death had found the vampires. A wretched thing, the feeling of death. It seemed the only control anyone held now was what poison they chose from those in front of them.
And yet, a voice couldn’t help but whisper: you have a choice.
The offer is tempting. Go back into what they did for several years. Go back to the galas, the masquerades, the adventures, the madness. Go back to the unyielding safety that would never let its guard down around anyone . . . but that safety was cold, colder than the safety they had found here. Masquerades? There was one, before everyone lost their minds. Madness. Isn’t that what all this is?
While Oakhurst has made a home of itself, it was always a hollow shell wearing a facade. Same as its residents, some wearing mask after mask, one might question if they even existed with humility once upon a time.
This town and its residents, while charming at first, have fallen into the well and will never get out. They’ve been spoiled. So long as they continue as they are, they shall never be able to see the truth. If any is left.
If he could, he would help, but Allen has lived his years like this. The letter serves as a reminder of that.
All the jobs, all the cases. Priceless jewelry and secret plans. Lives at stake and lives to take. All for what? To be their pawn?
Rosalie was running, she knew of a spot where she could catch her breath. She needed to think. Needed to breathe. Could she even breathe anymore? Did he take that away too? It wasn't fair. They were supposed to be stuck here. They were meant to be finding a way out, not slaughtering their own kin. Would Rosalie be slaughtered as well? Was it even safe to stay in town if it were discovered that she was a vampire in of herself? Should she run? Wait everything out in some dingy cave? Gods above, and the note she found. She was going to be sick. He thought she must have run away, he was telling her that she left them. He must be.
She paused upon seeing Scathelocke there instead, she hoped she wasn't crying, but given the stinging in her eyes she didn't have very high hopes.
"Scathelocke? Is- Why you look paler than I do..."
She trailed off, pausing as she saw the letter he had.
{ He doesn’t even flinch. Was he paler? Spirits, why wouldn’t he be? Has he even eaten the past few days? He couldn’t recall. But then she saw the letter, and something inside him clawed }
‘’ I- What do you mean me as well? It should only be me . . . ‘’
"I'm assuming they have different things in them, but I doubt you came here just to get fresh air."
Rosalie rifles through her pockets, her hands shaking as she pulled her own letter out from them. The paper was crumpled, but there was a pristine wax seal with letters in a flowery font, the initials read P.H.
"It- I don't even know how it got here. It couldn't have been in my bags. Not to mention the chaos- I don't know what to do anymore Scathelocke. I want to be better, I do, but if I try then I won't be able to leave. I won't be able to save her."
She said, her voice small and wavering. She sat down next to Scathelocke, letting him look at the letter while she put her head in her hands.
"Why now? What gods did we anger to deserve this?"
It was inevitable, of course, but spirits, did it have to happen now? On a day of death and mourning, and what are they requesting their presence for? More death? Ha. What’s new?
How naivë they were to believe this town could grant them a chance to live with humility. That this cursed place could be home to love . . . never. Not with the beacons keeping everyone trapped. Not with these disagreements and personal vendettas. Not with them here.
The hollow tree whistled as the wind danced through it. The smell of ash still hung about in the air. It stained parts of the branch that they sat upon. The handwriting smiled back at them with a charming smile they wish they could forget. This letter had found them, and death had found the vampires. A wretched thing, the feeling of death. It seemed the only control anyone held now was what poison they chose from those in front of them.
And yet, a voice couldn’t help but whisper: you have a choice.
The offer is tempting. Go back into what they did for several years. Go back to the galas, the masquerades, the adventures, the madness. Go back to the unyielding safety that would never let its guard down around anyone . . . but that safety was cold, colder than the safety they had found here. Masquerades? There was one, before everyone lost their minds. Madness. Isn’t that what all this is?
While Oakhurst has made a home of itself, it was always a hollow shell wearing a facade. Same as its residents, some wearing mask after mask, one might question if they even existed with humility once upon a time.
This town and its residents, while charming at first, have fallen into the well and will never get out. They’ve been spoiled. So long as they continue as they are, they shall never be able to see the truth. If any is left.
If he could, he would help, but Allen has lived his years like this. The letter serves as a reminder of that.
All the jobs, all the cases. Priceless jewelry and secret plans. Lives at stake and lives to take. All for what? To be their pawn?
Rosalie was running, she knew of a spot where she could catch her breath. She needed to think. Needed to breathe. Could she even breathe anymore? Did he take that away too? It wasn't fair. They were supposed to be stuck here. They were meant to be finding a way out, not slaughtering their own kin. Would Rosalie be slaughtered as well? Was it even safe to stay in town if it were discovered that she was a vampire in of herself? Should she run? Wait everything out in some dingy cave? Gods above, and the note she found. She was going to be sick. He thought she must have run away, he was telling her that she left them. He must be.
She paused upon seeing Scathelocke there instead, she hoped she wasn't crying, but given the stinging in her eyes she didn't have very high hopes.
"Scathelocke? Is- Why you look paler than I do..."
She trailed off, pausing as she saw the letter he had.
— ★ " Pray for me 'cause I won't pray for you. " /lyr
Rp starter ; open for anyone ; ooo new header? Perhaps...
PRAY BY THE AMAZING DEVIL IN THE LOVE RUN ALBUM!
Loved ones, friends, and foes- your Entertainer!
WARNINGS - slight indication of harm to self (playing with an object that could kill oneself if not careful) & blood (ofc its vampires!)
Adventuring back from the crypts, Teagan spun a wooden stake in his hand, playing with the object that may harm him if he wasn't careful. At this point he didn't care, he was talking to himself like he was going absolutely MENTAL. The voices in his head passed through on rougher months like November. The month he killed half of his coven because they ratted him out as a vampire to the Royal Guardsmen.
"No! It'll be fine. I'll live, there's isn't anything bad going on! The hell are you worried about?"
He growled at the voice of caution that sounded a little to close to the pirate captain he once knew. He burried him years ago or so he thought, he couldn't remember. The stake stabbed through the man's hand making him hiss out in pain. Cursing in German that slurred into Irish when there wasn't enough, he pulled it out of his hand and put it in its holder.
He found a tree to rest by, just staring at his hand while studying it. It stung but Teagan didn't care as he just watched the blood fall from his hand like sand before licking it up like a dumbass and wrapping the wound up. The Doctor that he used to know would of taken the stake after him for doing that saying it wasn't safe, but whatever it happened anyway.
He was there for a while with a deep hum not paying attention to his surroundings, just enjoying watching the clouds pass over while he rested under the tree he settled next to.
Rosalie watched from a distance, wondering what she should do in this situation. She knew she should try to be better, should try to be nicer, more honest, but old habits die hard, do they not? What was she to do when she knew better than anyone the thoughts that could plague an actor during these months. Especially an actor who was hiding things as much as Teagan.
Eventually, she gave in to herself and walked over to the man, faux worry in her eyes as she approached.
"Teagan? You know it's dangerous to go out alone, especially with the coven about, are you alright?"
She asked, as if she didn't just see him stab himself.
Teagan jumped a bit and looked over to Rosalie, a small smile on his face like he hadn't just toss a damn stake into his hand a moment before. It was slightly giddy before being over turned with a sharp breath he didn't need before giggling awkwardly.
"Ah-! Right, I'm alright. Nothing to harsh, just a small poke breaking the skin."
He shrugged, it broke more than the skin but it technically broke skin anyway! He got up to face her more properly, giving her a small bow out of respect.
"Just out on a walk miss Rosalie, clearing my mind, you know? I wouldn't think the Coven would be recruiting anyone at this hour, love."
He stood up straight while his head slumped to the side out of curiosity causing him to push up his glasses,
"Didn't you come out here alone as well, Misss Rosalie? If you were its slightly hypocritical of you."
"I'll have you know I was looking for you, Mister Teagan. Don't try to distract me from that wound of yours"
She tsked at him, crossing her arms and dramatically puffing out her cheeks before she returned to a relaxed posture.
"Besides, I was hunting. I couldn't find Cleo to ask for their chickens, and the cows are already low enough in supply. A meal for me is one less for them, isn't that right? I hardly listen to what the militia is saying..."
Rosalie acted like she was trailing off, her eyes darting out to the edge of the forest before she frowned.
"Did you even clean that wound properly? I can't say I believe you when you claim it was just a poke, not with the amount of bandaging you have around that wound."
Should she bring up that she saw him licking the blood from his hand? She didn't want to spook him into attacking her, even if she could hold her own, she knew she wasn't quite as healthy or strong as the other vampires.
Teagan looked at her in surprised, great thing for having a scarf over ones face so a flustered smile can be hidden, "me-?" He squeaked to himself while pointing at himself.
"My wound is fine! I can take care of it when I get back to my cabin."
He protested with a scoff while playing with his sleeve, he opened his mouth then closed it trying to remember the last place he saw any food besides the lake.
"Ah- well there are fish in the lake- I can gather up some for you if you'd like me to, their blood isn't much but theres plenty of them."
He awkwardly offered up while rubbing his cheek out of embarrassment, she saw it didn't she? His flustered blush redded with awkwardness, he probably just made her disturbed by that moment of no thinking at all.
"Yes its clean, and technically- if you think about it it did break skin! I'm no wound professional but it did break skin."
"Yeah no thanks, I've tried eating them and I've nearly vomited each time. I've never been one for seafood, even if I rarely had a chance to try it. Why would their blood content matter? I think you're getting your wires crossed, dear."
She questioned, knowing fully well that Teagan probably suspected that she was a vampire given that he was as well. Maybe it was mean, but Rosalie did like messing with him, it would be funny to make him question if she was a vampire or not.
"If the wound broke skin then that's bad, sweetling. It doesn't matter if you're a medical professional or not, you should know at least that much. Have you never had to deal with stage accidents? Come here, let me have a look."
Rosalie ushered him over, putting herself in his space so that she could get a better look at the bandaging.
— ★ " Pray for me 'cause I won't pray for you. " /lyr
Rp starter ; open for anyone ; ooo new header? Perhaps...
PRAY BY THE AMAZING DEVIL IN THE LOVE RUN ALBUM!
Loved ones, friends, and foes- your Entertainer!
WARNINGS - slight indication of harm to self (playing with an object that could kill oneself if not careful) & blood (ofc its vampires!)
Adventuring back from the crypts, Teagan spun a wooden stake in his hand, playing with the object that may harm him if he wasn't careful. At this point he didn't care, he was talking to himself like he was going absolutely MENTAL. The voices in his head passed through on rougher months like November. The month he killed half of his coven because they ratted him out as a vampire to the Royal Guardsmen.
"No! It'll be fine. I'll live, there's isn't anything bad going on! The hell are you worried about?"
He growled at the voice of caution that sounded a little to close to the pirate captain he once knew. He burried him years ago or so he thought, he couldn't remember. The stake stabbed through the man's hand making him hiss out in pain. Cursing in German that slurred into Irish when there wasn't enough, he pulled it out of his hand and put it in its holder.
He found a tree to rest by, just staring at his hand while studying it. It stung but Teagan didn't care as he just watched the blood fall from his hand like sand before licking it up like a dumbass and wrapping the wound up. The Doctor that he used to know would of taken the stake after him for doing that saying it wasn't safe, but whatever it happened anyway.
He was there for a while with a deep hum not paying attention to his surroundings, just enjoying watching the clouds pass over while he rested under the tree he settled next to.
Rosalie watched from a distance, wondering what she should do in this situation. She knew she should try to be better, should try to be nicer, more honest, but old habits die hard, do they not? What was she to do when she knew better than anyone the thoughts that could plague an actor during these months. Especially an actor who was hiding things as much as Teagan.
Eventually, she gave in to herself and walked over to the man, faux worry in her eyes as she approached.
"Teagan? You know it's dangerous to go out alone, especially with the coven about, are you alright?"
She asked, as if she didn't just see him stab himself.
Teagan jumped a bit and looked over to Rosalie, a small smile on his face like he hadn't just toss a damn stake into his hand a moment before. It was slightly giddy before being over turned with a sharp breath he didn't need before giggling awkwardly.
"Ah-! Right, I'm alright. Nothing to harsh, just a small poke breaking the skin."
He shrugged, it broke more than the skin but it technically broke skin anyway! He got up to face her more properly, giving her a small bow out of respect.
"Just out on a walk miss Rosalie, clearing my mind, you know? I wouldn't think the Coven would be recruiting anyone at this hour, love."
He stood up straight while his head slumped to the side out of curiosity causing him to push up his glasses,
"Didn't you come out here alone as well, Misss Rosalie? If you were its slightly hypocritical of you."
"I'll have you know I was looking for you, Mister Teagan. Don't try to distract me from that wound of yours"
She tsked at him, crossing her arms and dramatically puffing out her cheeks before she returned to a relaxed posture.
"Besides, I was hunting. I couldn't find Cleo to ask for their chickens, and the cows are already low enough in supply. A meal for me is one less for them, isn't that right? I hardly listen to what the militia is saying..."
Rosalie acted like she was trailing off, her eyes darting out to the edge of the forest before she frowned.
"Did you even clean that wound properly? I can't say I believe you when you claim it was just a poke, not with the amount of bandaging you have around that wound."
Should she bring up that she saw him licking the blood from his hand? She didn't want to spook him into attacking her, even if she could hold her own, she knew she wasn't quite as healthy or strong as the other vampires.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
— ★ " Pray for me 'cause I won't pray for you. " /lyr
Rp starter ; open for anyone ; ooo new header? Perhaps...
PRAY BY THE AMAZING DEVIL IN THE LOVE RUN ALBUM!
Loved ones, friends, and foes- your Entertainer!
WARNINGS - slight indication of harm to self (playing with an object that could kill oneself if not careful) & blood (ofc its vampires!)
Adventuring back from the crypts, Teagan spun a wooden stake in his hand, playing with the object that may harm him if he wasn't careful. At this point he didn't care, he was talking to himself like he was going absolutely MENTAL. The voices in his head passed through on rougher months like November. The month he killed half of his coven because they ratted him out as a vampire to the Royal Guardsmen.
"No! It'll be fine. I'll live, there's isn't anything bad going on! The hell are you worried about?"
He growled at the voice of caution that sounded a little to close to the pirate captain he once knew. He burried him years ago or so he thought, he couldn't remember. The stake stabbed through the man's hand making him hiss out in pain. Cursing in German that slurred into Irish when there wasn't enough, he pulled it out of his hand and put it in its holder.
He found a tree to rest by, just staring at his hand while studying it. It stung but Teagan didn't care as he just watched the blood fall from his hand like sand before licking it up like a dumbass and wrapping the wound up. The Doctor that he used to know would of taken the stake after him for doing that saying it wasn't safe, but whatever it happened anyway.
He was there for a while with a deep hum not paying attention to his surroundings, just enjoying watching the clouds pass over while he rested under the tree he settled next to.
Rosalie watched from a distance, wondering what she should do in this situation. She knew she should try to be better, should try to be nicer, more honest, but old habits die hard, do they not? What was she to do when she knew better than anyone the thoughts that could plague an actor during these months. Especially an actor who was hiding things as much as Teagan.
Eventually, she gave in to herself and walked over to the man, faux worry in her eyes as she approached.
"Teagan? You know it's dangerous to go out alone, especially with the coven about, are you alright?"
She asked, as if she didn't just see him stab himself.
Trust. It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? Think you’ve found it once, and then the next moment, it’s gone. A shame how malleable - how easy to break - it is.
Unlike music. The road to the soul. The one string that can keep the humility of the living and the undead from disappearing.
Allen had been running. Again. After their fight with Aria, how could they not? And yet, they had left many precious things behind them, one being a song they wished they had burned.
The woods howled and rumbled, as if threatening to bury them beneath its twisting surface.
As much as he would leave, Allen didn’t know the way out. How could they? They had arrived only recently to the town. Nobody learns every road through the labyrinth in a few days, not even the most hardened of espions.
And so he rosined his bow, leaned his bass against himself and began to play simple chords, his voice transforming it into something hauntingly beautiful.
‘’ Tear it down, tear it down ‘round my head. I need you to bury this beneath my bed. The crows in the garden are laughing at my expense, drowning out all the lies that I might have told instead. My stone, my shield, my steady hand: hold your light to the darkness in my head. Put your ear to my heart or set your teeth against my throat. Give me something pretty to wear beneath my bloodstained clothes . . . ‘’
Rosalie hums to herself as she wanders town, pausing as she hears someone singing. It was filled with emotion, and yet she couldn't believe the voice she heard was the one to be singing it. She couldn't help but wander closer, observing from a distance with an amused grin.
Rosalie tilted her head, listening to the tune on silence for another minute or so.
"That song sounds like you're hurting something awful inside, if I'm being honest. Pretty, but tragic nonetheless, like a white lily atop a gravestone."
She says blatantly, not bothering to dress her words up. Rosalie knew it wasn't fair to mention something like that when she knew how she'd react if someone read her letters, but this was for her own survival. Plus, maybe talking would help them out too. She wasn't evil for trying to live, no matter how many wounds she'll tear open with her bare hands and honeyed words.
{ Isn’t his whole life a tragedy? From something human to something on a string to - now what? - a husk of sorrow and distrust withholding secrets to be buried? Ha }
‘’ Even the undead are holier than I am. They’re by far more human. Even if they hate it - even if they don’t realize it - the townsfolk would accept them if they knew everything about them. They would love them despite all their thirst for blood and those fallen in their arms. They would never do the same for me. Not if they knew everything . . . ‘’
"I have a feeling that your words aren't exactly true, now are they? Half the people they are accepting have killed someone if not thousands. Some of them do it for fun while claiming it is their right. I don't mean to throw doubt on your words of course, I just mean that I'm not sure if I understand them. I know that many of them have secrets, there's very little you could do that would result in everyone outcasting you, Mister Scathelocke"
Rosalie claims with ease, partially because she wants to become close to Scathelocke, but she refuses to admit that the reason she was saying it is because she wishes that it was true.
‘’ There’s little I could do that would cause them to outcast me because I wouldn’t have to do much at all. Simply be what I am and then I’m out. Again. ‘’
{ He pauses, laying his bow on the ground before tugging down the collar of the coat he wore, showing numerous scars along his neck }
‘’ These aren’t the only ones I have, but they’re the only visible ones that can tell my story. The wrongs I’ve committed and how many I have fell. At the very least half as many as Owen, I assure you. These scars are only half the price I pay for that. The other being the hole in my heart. ‘’
Rosalie, completely forgetting about personal space in this moment, moved closer to get a better look at his scars.
"At least half the town wouldn't care, I think, even if you did kill that many people. Probably more wouldn't care if you explained why you did it in the first place. I don't take you as a military type but..."
She trailed off, silently urging Scathelocke to continue talking.
{ On closer inspection, all the scars looked different. Some looked like that from a blunt weapon, others from something sharper. Some resembled burns and one resembled contaminated acid. But all of them told something, something that was causing Allen’s heartbeat to become all the more audible }
‘’ I am not someone of the military. Not like that forsaken doctor is. He’s braver than I could ever be, and far more noble. ‘’
{ They pause for a moment, as if bracing themself for something they can only see }
‘’ I worked for those who could pay me well. Nothing noble about that. Those I felled - it was either for money, or by simple accident. I backstabbed and carelessly threw myself into danger. These scars, and all the others I have, are from the noblest of people; the bravest. The people who I had stolen something from, or was about to. There are some days I just . . . wish they had better luck when they tried me. ‘’
"Then it was a job, or self-defense. I at least don't hold that against you. Plus, you clearly regret it. It's hard to see you as the monster you see yourself as, Mister Scathelocke. I think a lot of people have scars."
She said, sighing slightly before backing away as to let him calm down. Rosalie seemed to be in thought, as if she wasn't sure if she should add something else to the conversation. Scathelocke could see her hands picking at the end of her shirt, out of nerves or something deeper, it wasn't clear.
{ He sighs. Out of frustration or relief is unclear }
‘’ Yes, well, I’m afraid I may always believe I am the monster. There’s been nothing to prove me otherwise. The people I helped for my gain, and the people I fell. They’ve proven that to me. We all have scars, but I believe some are easier to forgive than others. ‘’
{ As she fidgets, he lays down his bass, walking over to her }
"Isn't that the truth? The life of a performer isn't quite as eventful as yours. It might not mean much, but I don't hold what you've done against you."
She hummed, her eyes distant for a moment as she stared up at the sky. Rosalie didn't move as he approached her.
Rosalie flinched slightly at the mention of her vampirisim, but she was quick to brush it off.
"Ah. Please refrain from telling others about it, I know that they probably wouldn't care, but I'd rather not reveal myself if I don't have to. If it's all the same to you, of course"
She figured that Scathelocke heard her talking aloud, it'd be hypocritical if she was upset over someone doing the same thing she does.
‘’ I wouldn’t dream of spilling it out. Especially when it simply doesn’t affect me. Although, on the topic of not spreading things to any prying listeners, let’s not spread lies about each other anymore, yes? That can be awfully cruel. Especially to do to a friend. ‘’
"Of course, of course, I meant nothing by it. I will refrain since it truly bothers you."
She moved to run her thumb over her wrist
"It's a bad habit, my... Boyfriend... Was an awful gossip. He'd press me and my wife on and on, it just became a habit to lie in order to get him off our backs. Don't take it to heart... Friend."
Her smile was strained as she mentioned her boyfriend, as if she wanted to use a different word, or rather didn't want to mention him at all.
Rosalie eased visibly at the mention of her wife, but Scathelocke could see the sadness when he said that she escaped.
"Where do I begin? She's... She's my everything. Everything was so horrid before she came along. We're stage partners, have been for nearly all our lives. She's much more cheerful than I am."
It's at this moment Rosalie takes Scathelocke's hand, squeezing it tightly as her eyes tear up for a second.
"Her eyes were the prettiest shade of blue, no ocean or diamond or even the sky could compare. Her hair was a light brown, she never cut it even when it was hard to manage. She kept me grounded. I... Hah, I haven't seen her. In a bit. My... My boyfriend and- ah, I- I'm getting ahead of myself. I shouldn't- You don't want to hear about this"
"Yeah, I... I'm worried for her. I m-mean, not that I believe our boyfriend will do anything wrong, it. He's just a lot? Yeah. That's the best way to put it. He... Really wants to marry one of us. I'm worried. That he'll have done something rash in my absence."
Or hurt her. Or worse. Wouldn't that be a punishment from a sire? Marrying Rosalie's wife while knowing that it was his fault they couldn't marry officially in the first place. Rosalie needed to get back soon. Needed to return to her, to get between them so that she wouldn't have to deal with him.
"Me and my wife were unable to get married officially, but we've been together for so long that it's easier to tell people that we're married. The day an ordained minister walks into our town, why, I don't know if I have the patience to wait and set up some big party."
"It comes with the stage performance, but in all honesty I feel as if I'm fighting against things that'll kill me anyways. I won't stop fighting of course, because dying anywhere other than at her side is unthinkable... Do you have someone like that?"
Rosalie asked, tilting her head and trying to move the topic from her.
Rosalie offered, wanting to show that this budding friendship was a two way street. She knew it was painful to be separated from a lover, and she didn't know what she would do if that separation was permanent.
‘’ He- I knew him by the name of Robin. We met at a masquerade. We had a lot in common - both fencers, both owned horses and came from noble blood. And yet, the thing that separated us was our jobs. No matter that they were the same, when we were strictly on opposing sides. ‘’
{ There’s a slight squeeze from Allen’s hand before he continues }
‘’ He . . . tried and failed to fell me with a kiss. I barely survived, but I did. It’s still part of me, it torments my body like the rest of my scars. And yet, I can’t bring myself to hate him for it. We both had our reasons. I just— I wish I could’ve met with him. Changed his mind before his bosses had their way with him. ‘’
// @the-gilded-mask - wasn’t sure if you were notified since there wasn’t a notification on another rp I’m doing ^^’ //
"Oh, Oh. I'm so sorry. I... I understand that feeling, although it hasn't happened in a romantic sense with me. I do understand being unable to hate someone who's hurt you.... If- if you don't mind me overstepping, how have you dealt with such a thing? I tend to write letters, even if I never send them"
Rosalie was the one to squeeze back this time, trying to keep Scathelocke grounded.
‘’ I— I haven’t ever had the chance to deal with it. The job was always so demanding and it wasn’t long after his passing that— that I got caught. I almost met the same fate as him. ‘’
"You could write songs, or find some way to process it. Or not. Either way, I don't know if you want to forget him. It doesn't seem like it, to me at least... Writing letters and burning them could help, or even just finding a quiet place to scream about it"
Rosalie offered her thumb now rubbing circles into his hand, offering more contact to comfort him. She knew how bad she got whenever she thought about her situation, so she wanted to keep Scathelocke from disassociating.
‘’ I’ve been writing songs. I’m always thinking of him and singing them in his name. I just— I don’t know. Maybe I’ll go find a place to scream . . . ‘’
{ Though he doesn’t show it, he deeply appreciates the actions that Rosalie takes. It’s grounding, to some extent }
"It's hard, accepting that you need to work on yourself, but it's even harder to do it. Especially when you think you deserve it. Sometimes I wonder if... If I hadn't started that fi- argument with my boyfriend, then I would be home with my wife by now. And him. I'd be home with them."
She muttered, trying to ground herself as much as she was grounding him.
Rosalie squeezed back, happy to let her mask drop, if only for a little while. Maybe she won't need it in the future, but until then, she was surprisingly content with being vulnerable. It was nice to have a friend.
(🌀- This feels like the ending to the scene, I'll tag you whenever I eventually make an opener, but I'm also good to continue from here if you want ^^)
Trust. It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? Think you’ve found it once, and then the next moment, it’s gone. A shame how malleable - how easy to break - it is.
Unlike music. The road to the soul. The one string that can keep the humility of the living and the undead from disappearing.
Allen had been running. Again. After their fight with Aria, how could they not? And yet, they had left many precious things behind them, one being a song they wished they had burned.
The woods howled and rumbled, as if threatening to bury them beneath its twisting surface.
As much as he would leave, Allen didn’t know the way out. How could they? They had arrived only recently to the town. Nobody learns every road through the labyrinth in a few days, not even the most hardened of espions.
And so he rosined his bow, leaned his bass against himself and began to play simple chords, his voice transforming it into something hauntingly beautiful.
‘’ Tear it down, tear it down ‘round my head. I need you to bury this beneath my bed. The crows in the garden are laughing at my expense, drowning out all the lies that I might have told instead. My stone, my shield, my steady hand: hold your light to the darkness in my head. Put your ear to my heart or set your teeth against my throat. Give me something pretty to wear beneath my bloodstained clothes . . . ‘’
Rosalie hums to herself as she wanders town, pausing as she hears someone singing. It was filled with emotion, and yet she couldn't believe the voice she heard was the one to be singing it. She couldn't help but wander closer, observing from a distance with an amused grin.
Rosalie tilted her head, listening to the tune on silence for another minute or so.
"That song sounds like you're hurting something awful inside, if I'm being honest. Pretty, but tragic nonetheless, like a white lily atop a gravestone."
She says blatantly, not bothering to dress her words up. Rosalie knew it wasn't fair to mention something like that when she knew how she'd react if someone read her letters, but this was for her own survival. Plus, maybe talking would help them out too. She wasn't evil for trying to live, no matter how many wounds she'll tear open with her bare hands and honeyed words.
{ Isn’t his whole life a tragedy? From something human to something on a string to - now what? - a husk of sorrow and distrust withholding secrets to be buried? Ha }
‘’ Even the undead are holier than I am. They’re by far more human. Even if they hate it - even if they don’t realize it - the townsfolk would accept them if they knew everything about them. They would love them despite all their thirst for blood and those fallen in their arms. They would never do the same for me. Not if they knew everything . . . ‘’
"I have a feeling that your words aren't exactly true, now are they? Half the people they are accepting have killed someone if not thousands. Some of them do it for fun while claiming it is their right. I don't mean to throw doubt on your words of course, I just mean that I'm not sure if I understand them. I know that many of them have secrets, there's very little you could do that would result in everyone outcasting you, Mister Scathelocke"
Rosalie claims with ease, partially because she wants to become close to Scathelocke, but she refuses to admit that the reason she was saying it is because she wishes that it was true.
‘’ There’s little I could do that would cause them to outcast me because I wouldn’t have to do much at all. Simply be what I am and then I’m out. Again. ‘’
{ He pauses, laying his bow on the ground before tugging down the collar of the coat he wore, showing numerous scars along his neck }
‘’ These aren’t the only ones I have, but they’re the only visible ones that can tell my story. The wrongs I’ve committed and how many I have fell. At the very least half as many as Owen, I assure you. These scars are only half the price I pay for that. The other being the hole in my heart. ‘’
Rosalie, completely forgetting about personal space in this moment, moved closer to get a better look at his scars.
"At least half the town wouldn't care, I think, even if you did kill that many people. Probably more wouldn't care if you explained why you did it in the first place. I don't take you as a military type but..."
She trailed off, silently urging Scathelocke to continue talking.
{ On closer inspection, all the scars looked different. Some looked like that from a blunt weapon, others from something sharper. Some resembled burns and one resembled contaminated acid. But all of them told something, something that was causing Allen’s heartbeat to become all the more audible }
‘’ I am not someone of the military. Not like that forsaken doctor is. He’s braver than I could ever be, and far more noble. ‘’
{ They pause for a moment, as if bracing themself for something they can only see }
‘’ I worked for those who could pay me well. Nothing noble about that. Those I felled - it was either for money, or by simple accident. I backstabbed and carelessly threw myself into danger. These scars, and all the others I have, are from the noblest of people; the bravest. The people who I had stolen something from, or was about to. There are some days I just . . . wish they had better luck when they tried me. ‘’
"Then it was a job, or self-defense. I at least don't hold that against you. Plus, you clearly regret it. It's hard to see you as the monster you see yourself as, Mister Scathelocke. I think a lot of people have scars."
She said, sighing slightly before backing away as to let him calm down. Rosalie seemed to be in thought, as if she wasn't sure if she should add something else to the conversation. Scathelocke could see her hands picking at the end of her shirt, out of nerves or something deeper, it wasn't clear.
{ He sighs. Out of frustration or relief is unclear }
‘’ Yes, well, I’m afraid I may always believe I am the monster. There’s been nothing to prove me otherwise. The people I helped for my gain, and the people I fell. They’ve proven that to me. We all have scars, but I believe some are easier to forgive than others. ‘’
{ As she fidgets, he lays down his bass, walking over to her }
"Isn't that the truth? The life of a performer isn't quite as eventful as yours. It might not mean much, but I don't hold what you've done against you."
She hummed, her eyes distant for a moment as she stared up at the sky. Rosalie didn't move as he approached her.
Rosalie flinched slightly at the mention of her vampirisim, but she was quick to brush it off.
"Ah. Please refrain from telling others about it, I know that they probably wouldn't care, but I'd rather not reveal myself if I don't have to. If it's all the same to you, of course"
She figured that Scathelocke heard her talking aloud, it'd be hypocritical if she was upset over someone doing the same thing she does.
‘’ I wouldn’t dream of spilling it out. Especially when it simply doesn’t affect me. Although, on the topic of not spreading things to any prying listeners, let’s not spread lies about each other anymore, yes? That can be awfully cruel. Especially to do to a friend. ‘’
"Of course, of course, I meant nothing by it. I will refrain since it truly bothers you."
She moved to run her thumb over her wrist
"It's a bad habit, my... Boyfriend... Was an awful gossip. He'd press me and my wife on and on, it just became a habit to lie in order to get him off our backs. Don't take it to heart... Friend."
Her smile was strained as she mentioned her boyfriend, as if she wanted to use a different word, or rather didn't want to mention him at all.
Rosalie eased visibly at the mention of her wife, but Scathelocke could see the sadness when he said that she escaped.
"Where do I begin? She's... She's my everything. Everything was so horrid before she came along. We're stage partners, have been for nearly all our lives. She's much more cheerful than I am."
It's at this moment Rosalie takes Scathelocke's hand, squeezing it tightly as her eyes tear up for a second.
"Her eyes were the prettiest shade of blue, no ocean or diamond or even the sky could compare. Her hair was a light brown, she never cut it even when it was hard to manage. She kept me grounded. I... Hah, I haven't seen her. In a bit. My... My boyfriend and- ah, I- I'm getting ahead of myself. I shouldn't- You don't want to hear about this"
"Yeah, I... I'm worried for her. I m-mean, not that I believe our boyfriend will do anything wrong, it. He's just a lot? Yeah. That's the best way to put it. He... Really wants to marry one of us. I'm worried. That he'll have done something rash in my absence."
Or hurt her. Or worse. Wouldn't that be a punishment from a sire? Marrying Rosalie's wife while knowing that it was his fault they couldn't marry officially in the first place. Rosalie needed to get back soon. Needed to return to her, to get between them so that she wouldn't have to deal with him.
"Me and my wife were unable to get married officially, but we've been together for so long that it's easier to tell people that we're married. The day an ordained minister walks into our town, why, I don't know if I have the patience to wait and set up some big party."
"It comes with the stage performance, but in all honesty I feel as if I'm fighting against things that'll kill me anyways. I won't stop fighting of course, because dying anywhere other than at her side is unthinkable... Do you have someone like that?"
Rosalie asked, tilting her head and trying to move the topic from her.
Rosalie offered, wanting to show that this budding friendship was a two way street. She knew it was painful to be separated from a lover, and she didn't know what she would do if that separation was permanent.
‘’ He- I knew him by the name of Robin. We met at a masquerade. We had a lot in common - both fencers, both owned horses and came from noble blood. And yet, the thing that separated us was our jobs. No matter that they were the same, when we were strictly on opposing sides. ‘’
{ There’s a slight squeeze from Allen’s hand before he continues }
‘’ He . . . tried and failed to fell me with a kiss. I barely survived, but I did. It’s still part of me, it torments my body like the rest of my scars. And yet, I can’t bring myself to hate him for it. We both had our reasons. I just— I wish I could’ve met with him. Changed his mind before his bosses had their way with him. ‘’
// @the-gilded-mask - wasn’t sure if you were notified since there wasn’t a notification on another rp I’m doing ^^’ //
"Oh, Oh. I'm so sorry. I... I understand that feeling, although it hasn't happened in a romantic sense with me. I do understand being unable to hate someone who's hurt you.... If- if you don't mind me overstepping, how have you dealt with such a thing? I tend to write letters, even if I never send them"
Rosalie was the one to squeeze back this time, trying to keep Scathelocke grounded.
‘’ I— I haven’t ever had the chance to deal with it. The job was always so demanding and it wasn’t long after his passing that— that I got caught. I almost met the same fate as him. ‘’
"You could write songs, or find some way to process it. Or not. Either way, I don't know if you want to forget him. It doesn't seem like it, to me at least... Writing letters and burning them could help, or even just finding a quiet place to scream about it"
Rosalie offered her thumb now rubbing circles into his hand, offering more contact to comfort him. She knew how bad she got whenever she thought about her situation, so she wanted to keep Scathelocke from disassociating.
‘’ I’ve been writing songs. I’m always thinking of him and singing them in his name. I just— I don’t know. Maybe I’ll go find a place to scream . . . ‘’
{ Though he doesn’t show it, he deeply appreciates the actions that Rosalie takes. It’s grounding, to some extent }
"It's hard, accepting that you need to work on yourself, but it's even harder to do it. Especially when you think you deserve it. Sometimes I wonder if... If I hadn't started that fi- argument with my boyfriend, then I would be home with my wife by now. And him. I'd be home with them."
She muttered, trying to ground herself as much as she was grounding him.
Trust. It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? Think you’ve found it once, and then the next moment, it’s gone. A shame how malleable - how easy to break - it is.
Unlike music. The road to the soul. The one string that can keep the humility of the living and the undead from disappearing.
Allen had been running. Again. After their fight with Aria, how could they not? And yet, they had left many precious things behind them, one being a song they wished they had burned.
The woods howled and rumbled, as if threatening to bury them beneath its twisting surface.
As much as he would leave, Allen didn’t know the way out. How could they? They had arrived only recently to the town. Nobody learns every road through the labyrinth in a few days, not even the most hardened of espions.
And so he rosined his bow, leaned his bass against himself and began to play simple chords, his voice transforming it into something hauntingly beautiful.
‘’ Tear it down, tear it down ‘round my head. I need you to bury this beneath my bed. The crows in the garden are laughing at my expense, drowning out all the lies that I might have told instead. My stone, my shield, my steady hand: hold your light to the darkness in my head. Put your ear to my heart or set your teeth against my throat. Give me something pretty to wear beneath my bloodstained clothes . . . ‘’
Rosalie hums to herself as she wanders town, pausing as she hears someone singing. It was filled with emotion, and yet she couldn't believe the voice she heard was the one to be singing it. She couldn't help but wander closer, observing from a distance with an amused grin.
Rosalie tilted her head, listening to the tune on silence for another minute or so.
"That song sounds like you're hurting something awful inside, if I'm being honest. Pretty, but tragic nonetheless, like a white lily atop a gravestone."
She says blatantly, not bothering to dress her words up. Rosalie knew it wasn't fair to mention something like that when she knew how she'd react if someone read her letters, but this was for her own survival. Plus, maybe talking would help them out too. She wasn't evil for trying to live, no matter how many wounds she'll tear open with her bare hands and honeyed words.
{ Isn’t his whole life a tragedy? From something human to something on a string to - now what? - a husk of sorrow and distrust withholding secrets to be buried? Ha }
‘’ Even the undead are holier than I am. They’re by far more human. Even if they hate it - even if they don’t realize it - the townsfolk would accept them if they knew everything about them. They would love them despite all their thirst for blood and those fallen in their arms. They would never do the same for me. Not if they knew everything . . . ‘’
"I have a feeling that your words aren't exactly true, now are they? Half the people they are accepting have killed someone if not thousands. Some of them do it for fun while claiming it is their right. I don't mean to throw doubt on your words of course, I just mean that I'm not sure if I understand them. I know that many of them have secrets, there's very little you could do that would result in everyone outcasting you, Mister Scathelocke"
Rosalie claims with ease, partially because she wants to become close to Scathelocke, but she refuses to admit that the reason she was saying it is because she wishes that it was true.
‘’ There’s little I could do that would cause them to outcast me because I wouldn’t have to do much at all. Simply be what I am and then I’m out. Again. ‘’
{ He pauses, laying his bow on the ground before tugging down the collar of the coat he wore, showing numerous scars along his neck }
‘’ These aren’t the only ones I have, but they’re the only visible ones that can tell my story. The wrongs I’ve committed and how many I have fell. At the very least half as many as Owen, I assure you. These scars are only half the price I pay for that. The other being the hole in my heart. ‘’
Rosalie, completely forgetting about personal space in this moment, moved closer to get a better look at his scars.
"At least half the town wouldn't care, I think, even if you did kill that many people. Probably more wouldn't care if you explained why you did it in the first place. I don't take you as a military type but..."
She trailed off, silently urging Scathelocke to continue talking.
{ On closer inspection, all the scars looked different. Some looked like that from a blunt weapon, others from something sharper. Some resembled burns and one resembled contaminated acid. But all of them told something, something that was causing Allen’s heartbeat to become all the more audible }
‘’ I am not someone of the military. Not like that forsaken doctor is. He’s braver than I could ever be, and far more noble. ‘’
{ They pause for a moment, as if bracing themself for something they can only see }
‘’ I worked for those who could pay me well. Nothing noble about that. Those I felled - it was either for money, or by simple accident. I backstabbed and carelessly threw myself into danger. These scars, and all the others I have, are from the noblest of people; the bravest. The people who I had stolen something from, or was about to. There are some days I just . . . wish they had better luck when they tried me. ‘’
"Then it was a job, or self-defense. I at least don't hold that against you. Plus, you clearly regret it. It's hard to see you as the monster you see yourself as, Mister Scathelocke. I think a lot of people have scars."
She said, sighing slightly before backing away as to let him calm down. Rosalie seemed to be in thought, as if she wasn't sure if she should add something else to the conversation. Scathelocke could see her hands picking at the end of her shirt, out of nerves or something deeper, it wasn't clear.
{ He sighs. Out of frustration or relief is unclear }
‘’ Yes, well, I’m afraid I may always believe I am the monster. There’s been nothing to prove me otherwise. The people I helped for my gain, and the people I fell. They’ve proven that to me. We all have scars, but I believe some are easier to forgive than others. ‘’
{ As she fidgets, he lays down his bass, walking over to her }
"Isn't that the truth? The life of a performer isn't quite as eventful as yours. It might not mean much, but I don't hold what you've done against you."
She hummed, her eyes distant for a moment as she stared up at the sky. Rosalie didn't move as he approached her.
Rosalie flinched slightly at the mention of her vampirisim, but she was quick to brush it off.
"Ah. Please refrain from telling others about it, I know that they probably wouldn't care, but I'd rather not reveal myself if I don't have to. If it's all the same to you, of course"
She figured that Scathelocke heard her talking aloud, it'd be hypocritical if she was upset over someone doing the same thing she does.
‘’ I wouldn’t dream of spilling it out. Especially when it simply doesn’t affect me. Although, on the topic of not spreading things to any prying listeners, let’s not spread lies about each other anymore, yes? That can be awfully cruel. Especially to do to a friend. ‘’
"Of course, of course, I meant nothing by it. I will refrain since it truly bothers you."
She moved to run her thumb over her wrist
"It's a bad habit, my... Boyfriend... Was an awful gossip. He'd press me and my wife on and on, it just became a habit to lie in order to get him off our backs. Don't take it to heart... Friend."
Her smile was strained as she mentioned her boyfriend, as if she wanted to use a different word, or rather didn't want to mention him at all.
Rosalie eased visibly at the mention of her wife, but Scathelocke could see the sadness when he said that she escaped.
"Where do I begin? She's... She's my everything. Everything was so horrid before she came along. We're stage partners, have been for nearly all our lives. She's much more cheerful than I am."
It's at this moment Rosalie takes Scathelocke's hand, squeezing it tightly as her eyes tear up for a second.
"Her eyes were the prettiest shade of blue, no ocean or diamond or even the sky could compare. Her hair was a light brown, she never cut it even when it was hard to manage. She kept me grounded. I... Hah, I haven't seen her. In a bit. My... My boyfriend and- ah, I- I'm getting ahead of myself. I shouldn't- You don't want to hear about this"
"Yeah, I... I'm worried for her. I m-mean, not that I believe our boyfriend will do anything wrong, it. He's just a lot? Yeah. That's the best way to put it. He... Really wants to marry one of us. I'm worried. That he'll have done something rash in my absence."
Or hurt her. Or worse. Wouldn't that be a punishment from a sire? Marrying Rosalie's wife while knowing that it was his fault they couldn't marry officially in the first place. Rosalie needed to get back soon. Needed to return to her, to get between them so that she wouldn't have to deal with him.
"Me and my wife were unable to get married officially, but we've been together for so long that it's easier to tell people that we're married. The day an ordained minister walks into our town, why, I don't know if I have the patience to wait and set up some big party."
"It comes with the stage performance, but in all honesty I feel as if I'm fighting against things that'll kill me anyways. I won't stop fighting of course, because dying anywhere other than at her side is unthinkable... Do you have someone like that?"
Rosalie asked, tilting her head and trying to move the topic from her.
Rosalie offered, wanting to show that this budding friendship was a two way street. She knew it was painful to be separated from a lover, and she didn't know what she would do if that separation was permanent.
‘’ He- I knew him by the name of Robin. We met at a masquerade. We had a lot in common - both fencers, both owned horses and came from noble blood. And yet, the thing that separated us was our jobs. No matter that they were the same, when we were strictly on opposing sides. ‘’
{ There’s a slight squeeze from Allen’s hand before he continues }
‘’ He . . . tried and failed to fell me with a kiss. I barely survived, but I did. It’s still part of me, it torments my body like the rest of my scars. And yet, I can’t bring myself to hate him for it. We both had our reasons. I just— I wish I could’ve met with him. Changed his mind before his bosses had their way with him. ‘’
// @the-gilded-mask - wasn’t sure if you were notified since there wasn’t a notification on another rp I’m doing ^^’ //
"Oh, Oh. I'm so sorry. I... I understand that feeling, although it hasn't happened in a romantic sense with me. I do understand being unable to hate someone who's hurt you.... If- if you don't mind me overstepping, how have you dealt with such a thing? I tend to write letters, even if I never send them"
Rosalie was the one to squeeze back this time, trying to keep Scathelocke grounded.
‘’ I— I haven’t ever had the chance to deal with it. The job was always so demanding and it wasn’t long after his passing that— that I got caught. I almost met the same fate as him. ‘’
"You could write songs, or find some way to process it. Or not. Either way, I don't know if you want to forget him. It doesn't seem like it, to me at least... Writing letters and burning them could help, or even just finding a quiet place to scream about it"
Rosalie offered her thumb now rubbing circles into his hand, offering more contact to comfort him. She knew how bad she got whenever she thought about her situation, so she wanted to keep Scathelocke from disassociating.
‘’ I’ve been writing songs. I’m always thinking of him and singing them in his name. I just— I don’t know. Maybe I’ll go find a place to scream . . . ‘’
{ Though he doesn’t show it, he deeply appreciates the actions that Rosalie takes. It’s grounding, to some extent }
"It's hard, accepting that you need to work on yourself, but it's even harder to do it. Especially when you think you deserve it. Sometimes I wonder if... If I hadn't started that fi- argument with my boyfriend, then I would be home with my wife by now. And him. I'd be home with them."
She muttered, trying to ground herself as much as she was grounding him.
Trust. It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? Think you’ve found it once, and then the next moment, it’s gone. A shame how malleable - how easy to break - it is.
Unlike music. The road to the soul. The one string that can keep the humility of the living and the undead from disappearing.
Allen had been running. Again. After their fight with Aria, how could they not? And yet, they had left many precious things behind them, one being a song they wished they had burned.
The woods howled and rumbled, as if threatening to bury them beneath its twisting surface.
As much as he would leave, Allen didn’t know the way out. How could they? They had arrived only recently to the town. Nobody learns every road through the labyrinth in a few days, not even the most hardened of espions.
And so he rosined his bow, leaned his bass against himself and began to play simple chords, his voice transforming it into something hauntingly beautiful.
‘’ Tear it down, tear it down ‘round my head. I need you to bury this beneath my bed. The crows in the garden are laughing at my expense, drowning out all the lies that I might have told instead. My stone, my shield, my steady hand: hold your light to the darkness in my head. Put your ear to my heart or set your teeth against my throat. Give me something pretty to wear beneath my bloodstained clothes . . . ‘’
Rosalie hums to herself as she wanders town, pausing as she hears someone singing. It was filled with emotion, and yet she couldn't believe the voice she heard was the one to be singing it. She couldn't help but wander closer, observing from a distance with an amused grin.
Rosalie tilted her head, listening to the tune on silence for another minute or so.
"That song sounds like you're hurting something awful inside, if I'm being honest. Pretty, but tragic nonetheless, like a white lily atop a gravestone."
She says blatantly, not bothering to dress her words up. Rosalie knew it wasn't fair to mention something like that when she knew how she'd react if someone read her letters, but this was for her own survival. Plus, maybe talking would help them out too. She wasn't evil for trying to live, no matter how many wounds she'll tear open with her bare hands and honeyed words.
{ Isn’t his whole life a tragedy? From something human to something on a string to - now what? - a husk of sorrow and distrust withholding secrets to be buried? Ha }
‘’ Even the undead are holier than I am. They’re by far more human. Even if they hate it - even if they don’t realize it - the townsfolk would accept them if they knew everything about them. They would love them despite all their thirst for blood and those fallen in their arms. They would never do the same for me. Not if they knew everything . . . ‘’
"I have a feeling that your words aren't exactly true, now are they? Half the people they are accepting have killed someone if not thousands. Some of them do it for fun while claiming it is their right. I don't mean to throw doubt on your words of course, I just mean that I'm not sure if I understand them. I know that many of them have secrets, there's very little you could do that would result in everyone outcasting you, Mister Scathelocke"
Rosalie claims with ease, partially because she wants to become close to Scathelocke, but she refuses to admit that the reason she was saying it is because she wishes that it was true.
‘’ There’s little I could do that would cause them to outcast me because I wouldn’t have to do much at all. Simply be what I am and then I’m out. Again. ‘’
{ He pauses, laying his bow on the ground before tugging down the collar of the coat he wore, showing numerous scars along his neck }
‘’ These aren’t the only ones I have, but they’re the only visible ones that can tell my story. The wrongs I’ve committed and how many I have fell. At the very least half as many as Owen, I assure you. These scars are only half the price I pay for that. The other being the hole in my heart. ‘’
Rosalie, completely forgetting about personal space in this moment, moved closer to get a better look at his scars.
"At least half the town wouldn't care, I think, even if you did kill that many people. Probably more wouldn't care if you explained why you did it in the first place. I don't take you as a military type but..."
She trailed off, silently urging Scathelocke to continue talking.
{ On closer inspection, all the scars looked different. Some looked like that from a blunt weapon, others from something sharper. Some resembled burns and one resembled contaminated acid. But all of them told something, something that was causing Allen’s heartbeat to become all the more audible }
‘’ I am not someone of the military. Not like that forsaken doctor is. He’s braver than I could ever be, and far more noble. ‘’
{ They pause for a moment, as if bracing themself for something they can only see }
‘’ I worked for those who could pay me well. Nothing noble about that. Those I felled - it was either for money, or by simple accident. I backstabbed and carelessly threw myself into danger. These scars, and all the others I have, are from the noblest of people; the bravest. The people who I had stolen something from, or was about to. There are some days I just . . . wish they had better luck when they tried me. ‘’
"Then it was a job, or self-defense. I at least don't hold that against you. Plus, you clearly regret it. It's hard to see you as the monster you see yourself as, Mister Scathelocke. I think a lot of people have scars."
She said, sighing slightly before backing away as to let him calm down. Rosalie seemed to be in thought, as if she wasn't sure if she should add something else to the conversation. Scathelocke could see her hands picking at the end of her shirt, out of nerves or something deeper, it wasn't clear.
{ He sighs. Out of frustration or relief is unclear }
‘’ Yes, well, I’m afraid I may always believe I am the monster. There’s been nothing to prove me otherwise. The people I helped for my gain, and the people I fell. They’ve proven that to me. We all have scars, but I believe some are easier to forgive than others. ‘’
{ As she fidgets, he lays down his bass, walking over to her }
"Isn't that the truth? The life of a performer isn't quite as eventful as yours. It might not mean much, but I don't hold what you've done against you."
She hummed, her eyes distant for a moment as she stared up at the sky. Rosalie didn't move as he approached her.
Rosalie flinched slightly at the mention of her vampirisim, but she was quick to brush it off.
"Ah. Please refrain from telling others about it, I know that they probably wouldn't care, but I'd rather not reveal myself if I don't have to. If it's all the same to you, of course"
She figured that Scathelocke heard her talking aloud, it'd be hypocritical if she was upset over someone doing the same thing she does.
‘’ I wouldn’t dream of spilling it out. Especially when it simply doesn’t affect me. Although, on the topic of not spreading things to any prying listeners, let’s not spread lies about each other anymore, yes? That can be awfully cruel. Especially to do to a friend. ‘’
"Of course, of course, I meant nothing by it. I will refrain since it truly bothers you."
She moved to run her thumb over her wrist
"It's a bad habit, my... Boyfriend... Was an awful gossip. He'd press me and my wife on and on, it just became a habit to lie in order to get him off our backs. Don't take it to heart... Friend."
Her smile was strained as she mentioned her boyfriend, as if she wanted to use a different word, or rather didn't want to mention him at all.
Rosalie eased visibly at the mention of her wife, but Scathelocke could see the sadness when he said that she escaped.
"Where do I begin? She's... She's my everything. Everything was so horrid before she came along. We're stage partners, have been for nearly all our lives. She's much more cheerful than I am."
It's at this moment Rosalie takes Scathelocke's hand, squeezing it tightly as her eyes tear up for a second.
"Her eyes were the prettiest shade of blue, no ocean or diamond or even the sky could compare. Her hair was a light brown, she never cut it even when it was hard to manage. She kept me grounded. I... Hah, I haven't seen her. In a bit. My... My boyfriend and- ah, I- I'm getting ahead of myself. I shouldn't- You don't want to hear about this"
"Yeah, I... I'm worried for her. I m-mean, not that I believe our boyfriend will do anything wrong, it. He's just a lot? Yeah. That's the best way to put it. He... Really wants to marry one of us. I'm worried. That he'll have done something rash in my absence."
Or hurt her. Or worse. Wouldn't that be a punishment from a sire? Marrying Rosalie's wife while knowing that it was his fault they couldn't marry officially in the first place. Rosalie needed to get back soon. Needed to return to her, to get between them so that she wouldn't have to deal with him.
"Me and my wife were unable to get married officially, but we've been together for so long that it's easier to tell people that we're married. The day an ordained minister walks into our town, why, I don't know if I have the patience to wait and set up some big party."
"It comes with the stage performance, but in all honesty I feel as if I'm fighting against things that'll kill me anyways. I won't stop fighting of course, because dying anywhere other than at her side is unthinkable... Do you have someone like that?"
Rosalie asked, tilting her head and trying to move the topic from her.
Rosalie offered, wanting to show that this budding friendship was a two way street. She knew it was painful to be separated from a lover, and she didn't know what she would do if that separation was permanent.
‘’ He- I knew him by the name of Robin. We met at a masquerade. We had a lot in common - both fencers, both owned horses and came from noble blood. And yet, the thing that separated us was our jobs. No matter that they were the same, when we were strictly on opposing sides. ‘’
{ There’s a slight squeeze from Allen’s hand before he continues }
‘’ He . . . tried and failed to fell me with a kiss. I barely survived, but I did. It’s still part of me, it torments my body like the rest of my scars. And yet, I can’t bring myself to hate him for it. We both had our reasons. I just— I wish I could’ve met with him. Changed his mind before his bosses had their way with him. ‘’
// @the-gilded-mask - wasn’t sure if you were notified since there wasn’t a notification on another rp I’m doing ^^’ //
"Oh, Oh. I'm so sorry. I... I understand that feeling, although it hasn't happened in a romantic sense with me. I do understand being unable to hate someone who's hurt you.... If- if you don't mind me overstepping, how have you dealt with such a thing? I tend to write letters, even if I never send them"
Rosalie was the one to squeeze back this time, trying to keep Scathelocke grounded.
‘’ I— I haven’t ever had the chance to deal with it. The job was always so demanding and it wasn’t long after his passing that— that I got caught. I almost met the same fate as him. ‘’
"You could write songs, or find some way to process it. Or not. Either way, I don't know if you want to forget him. It doesn't seem like it, to me at least... Writing letters and burning them could help, or even just finding a quiet place to scream about it"
Rosalie offered her thumb now rubbing circles into his hand, offering more contact to comfort him. She knew how bad she got whenever she thought about her situation, so she wanted to keep Scathelocke from disassociating.
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Trust. It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? Think you’ve found it once, and then the next moment, it’s gone. A shame how malleable - how easy to break - it is.
Unlike music. The road to the soul. The one string that can keep the humility of the living and the undead from disappearing.
Allen had been running. Again. After their fight with Aria, how could they not? And yet, they had left many precious things behind them, one being a song they wished they had burned.
The woods howled and rumbled, as if threatening to bury them beneath its twisting surface.
As much as he would leave, Allen didn’t know the way out. How could they? They had arrived only recently to the town. Nobody learns every road through the labyrinth in a few days, not even the most hardened of espions.
And so he rosined his bow, leaned his bass against himself and began to play simple chords, his voice transforming it into something hauntingly beautiful.
‘’ Tear it down, tear it down ‘round my head. I need you to bury this beneath my bed. The crows in the garden are laughing at my expense, drowning out all the lies that I might have told instead. My stone, my shield, my steady hand: hold your light to the darkness in my head. Put your ear to my heart or set your teeth against my throat. Give me something pretty to wear beneath my bloodstained clothes . . . ‘’
Rosalie hums to herself as she wanders town, pausing as she hears someone singing. It was filled with emotion, and yet she couldn't believe the voice she heard was the one to be singing it. She couldn't help but wander closer, observing from a distance with an amused grin.
Rosalie tilted her head, listening to the tune on silence for another minute or so.
"That song sounds like you're hurting something awful inside, if I'm being honest. Pretty, but tragic nonetheless, like a white lily atop a gravestone."
She says blatantly, not bothering to dress her words up. Rosalie knew it wasn't fair to mention something like that when she knew how she'd react if someone read her letters, but this was for her own survival. Plus, maybe talking would help them out too. She wasn't evil for trying to live, no matter how many wounds she'll tear open with her bare hands and honeyed words.
{ Isn’t his whole life a tragedy? From something human to something on a string to - now what? - a husk of sorrow and distrust withholding secrets to be buried? Ha }
‘’ Even the undead are holier than I am. They’re by far more human. Even if they hate it - even if they don’t realize it - the townsfolk would accept them if they knew everything about them. They would love them despite all their thirst for blood and those fallen in their arms. They would never do the same for me. Not if they knew everything . . . ‘’
"I have a feeling that your words aren't exactly true, now are they? Half the people they are accepting have killed someone if not thousands. Some of them do it for fun while claiming it is their right. I don't mean to throw doubt on your words of course, I just mean that I'm not sure if I understand them. I know that many of them have secrets, there's very little you could do that would result in everyone outcasting you, Mister Scathelocke"
Rosalie claims with ease, partially because she wants to become close to Scathelocke, but she refuses to admit that the reason she was saying it is because she wishes that it was true.
‘’ There’s little I could do that would cause them to outcast me because I wouldn’t have to do much at all. Simply be what I am and then I’m out. Again. ‘’
{ He pauses, laying his bow on the ground before tugging down the collar of the coat he wore, showing numerous scars along his neck }
‘’ These aren’t the only ones I have, but they’re the only visible ones that can tell my story. The wrongs I’ve committed and how many I have fell. At the very least half as many as Owen, I assure you. These scars are only half the price I pay for that. The other being the hole in my heart. ‘’
Rosalie, completely forgetting about personal space in this moment, moved closer to get a better look at his scars.
"At least half the town wouldn't care, I think, even if you did kill that many people. Probably more wouldn't care if you explained why you did it in the first place. I don't take you as a military type but..."
She trailed off, silently urging Scathelocke to continue talking.
{ On closer inspection, all the scars looked different. Some looked like that from a blunt weapon, others from something sharper. Some resembled burns and one resembled contaminated acid. But all of them told something, something that was causing Allen’s heartbeat to become all the more audible }
‘’ I am not someone of the military. Not like that forsaken doctor is. He’s braver than I could ever be, and far more noble. ‘’
{ They pause for a moment, as if bracing themself for something they can only see }
‘’ I worked for those who could pay me well. Nothing noble about that. Those I felled - it was either for money, or by simple accident. I backstabbed and carelessly threw myself into danger. These scars, and all the others I have, are from the noblest of people; the bravest. The people who I had stolen something from, or was about to. There are some days I just . . . wish they had better luck when they tried me. ‘’
"Then it was a job, or self-defense. I at least don't hold that against you. Plus, you clearly regret it. It's hard to see you as the monster you see yourself as, Mister Scathelocke. I think a lot of people have scars."
She said, sighing slightly before backing away as to let him calm down. Rosalie seemed to be in thought, as if she wasn't sure if she should add something else to the conversation. Scathelocke could see her hands picking at the end of her shirt, out of nerves or something deeper, it wasn't clear.
{ He sighs. Out of frustration or relief is unclear }
‘’ Yes, well, I’m afraid I may always believe I am the monster. There’s been nothing to prove me otherwise. The people I helped for my gain, and the people I fell. They’ve proven that to me. We all have scars, but I believe some are easier to forgive than others. ‘’
{ As she fidgets, he lays down his bass, walking over to her }
"Isn't that the truth? The life of a performer isn't quite as eventful as yours. It might not mean much, but I don't hold what you've done against you."
She hummed, her eyes distant for a moment as she stared up at the sky. Rosalie didn't move as he approached her.
Rosalie flinched slightly at the mention of her vampirisim, but she was quick to brush it off.
"Ah. Please refrain from telling others about it, I know that they probably wouldn't care, but I'd rather not reveal myself if I don't have to. If it's all the same to you, of course"
She figured that Scathelocke heard her talking aloud, it'd be hypocritical if she was upset over someone doing the same thing she does.
‘’ I wouldn’t dream of spilling it out. Especially when it simply doesn’t affect me. Although, on the topic of not spreading things to any prying listeners, let’s not spread lies about each other anymore, yes? That can be awfully cruel. Especially to do to a friend. ‘’
"Of course, of course, I meant nothing by it. I will refrain since it truly bothers you."
She moved to run her thumb over her wrist
"It's a bad habit, my... Boyfriend... Was an awful gossip. He'd press me and my wife on and on, it just became a habit to lie in order to get him off our backs. Don't take it to heart... Friend."
Her smile was strained as she mentioned her boyfriend, as if she wanted to use a different word, or rather didn't want to mention him at all.
Rosalie eased visibly at the mention of her wife, but Scathelocke could see the sadness when he said that she escaped.
"Where do I begin? She's... She's my everything. Everything was so horrid before she came along. We're stage partners, have been for nearly all our lives. She's much more cheerful than I am."
It's at this moment Rosalie takes Scathelocke's hand, squeezing it tightly as her eyes tear up for a second.
"Her eyes were the prettiest shade of blue, no ocean or diamond or even the sky could compare. Her hair was a light brown, she never cut it even when it was hard to manage. She kept me grounded. I... Hah, I haven't seen her. In a bit. My... My boyfriend and- ah, I- I'm getting ahead of myself. I shouldn't- You don't want to hear about this"
"Yeah, I... I'm worried for her. I m-mean, not that I believe our boyfriend will do anything wrong, it. He's just a lot? Yeah. That's the best way to put it. He... Really wants to marry one of us. I'm worried. That he'll have done something rash in my absence."
Or hurt her. Or worse. Wouldn't that be a punishment from a sire? Marrying Rosalie's wife while knowing that it was his fault they couldn't marry officially in the first place. Rosalie needed to get back soon. Needed to return to her, to get between them so that she wouldn't have to deal with him.
"Me and my wife were unable to get married officially, but we've been together for so long that it's easier to tell people that we're married. The day an ordained minister walks into our town, why, I don't know if I have the patience to wait and set up some big party."
"It comes with the stage performance, but in all honesty I feel as if I'm fighting against things that'll kill me anyways. I won't stop fighting of course, because dying anywhere other than at her side is unthinkable... Do you have someone like that?"
Rosalie asked, tilting her head and trying to move the topic from her.
Rosalie offered, wanting to show that this budding friendship was a two way street. She knew it was painful to be separated from a lover, and she didn't know what she would do if that separation was permanent.
‘’ He- I knew him by the name of Robin. We met at a masquerade. We had a lot in common - both fencers, both owned horses and came from noble blood. And yet, the thing that separated us was our jobs. No matter that they were the same, when we were strictly on opposing sides. ‘’
{ There’s a slight squeeze from Allen’s hand before he continues }
‘’ He . . . tried and failed to fell me with a kiss. I barely survived, but I did. It’s still part of me, it torments my body like the rest of my scars. And yet, I can’t bring myself to hate him for it. We both had our reasons. I just— I wish I could’ve met with him. Changed his mind before his bosses had their way with him. ‘’
// @the-gilded-mask - wasn’t sure if you were notified since there wasn’t a notification on another rp I’m doing ^^’ //
"Oh, Oh. I'm so sorry. I... I understand that feeling, although it hasn't happened in a romantic sense with me. I do understand being unable to hate someone who's hurt you.... If- if you don't mind me overstepping, how have you dealt with such a thing? I tend to write letters, even if I never send them"
Rosalie was the one to squeeze back this time, trying to keep Scathelocke grounded.
Trust. It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? Think you’ve found it once, and then the next moment, it’s gone. A shame how malleable - how easy to break - it is.
Unlike music. The road to the soul. The one string that can keep the humility of the living and the undead from disappearing.
Allen had been running. Again. After their fight with Aria, how could they not? And yet, they had left many precious things behind them, one being a song they wished they had burned.
The woods howled and rumbled, as if threatening to bury them beneath its twisting surface.
As much as he would leave, Allen didn’t know the way out. How could they? They had arrived only recently to the town. Nobody learns every road through the labyrinth in a few days, not even the most hardened of espions.
And so he rosined his bow, leaned his bass against himself and began to play simple chords, his voice transforming it into something hauntingly beautiful.
‘’ Tear it down, tear it down ‘round my head. I need you to bury this beneath my bed. The crows in the garden are laughing at my expense, drowning out all the lies that I might have told instead. My stone, my shield, my steady hand: hold your light to the darkness in my head. Put your ear to my heart or set your teeth against my throat. Give me something pretty to wear beneath my bloodstained clothes . . . ‘’
Rosalie hums to herself as she wanders town, pausing as she hears someone singing. It was filled with emotion, and yet she couldn't believe the voice she heard was the one to be singing it. She couldn't help but wander closer, observing from a distance with an amused grin.
Rosalie tilted her head, listening to the tune on silence for another minute or so.
"That song sounds like you're hurting something awful inside, if I'm being honest. Pretty, but tragic nonetheless, like a white lily atop a gravestone."
She says blatantly, not bothering to dress her words up. Rosalie knew it wasn't fair to mention something like that when she knew how she'd react if someone read her letters, but this was for her own survival. Plus, maybe talking would help them out too. She wasn't evil for trying to live, no matter how many wounds she'll tear open with her bare hands and honeyed words.
{ Isn’t his whole life a tragedy? From something human to something on a string to - now what? - a husk of sorrow and distrust withholding secrets to be buried? Ha }
‘’ Even the undead are holier than I am. They’re by far more human. Even if they hate it - even if they don’t realize it - the townsfolk would accept them if they knew everything about them. They would love them despite all their thirst for blood and those fallen in their arms. They would never do the same for me. Not if they knew everything . . . ‘’
"I have a feeling that your words aren't exactly true, now are they? Half the people they are accepting have killed someone if not thousands. Some of them do it for fun while claiming it is their right. I don't mean to throw doubt on your words of course, I just mean that I'm not sure if I understand them. I know that many of them have secrets, there's very little you could do that would result in everyone outcasting you, Mister Scathelocke"
Rosalie claims with ease, partially because she wants to become close to Scathelocke, but she refuses to admit that the reason she was saying it is because she wishes that it was true.
‘’ There’s little I could do that would cause them to outcast me because I wouldn’t have to do much at all. Simply be what I am and then I’m out. Again. ‘’
{ He pauses, laying his bow on the ground before tugging down the collar of the coat he wore, showing numerous scars along his neck }
‘’ These aren’t the only ones I have, but they’re the only visible ones that can tell my story. The wrongs I’ve committed and how many I have fell. At the very least half as many as Owen, I assure you. These scars are only half the price I pay for that. The other being the hole in my heart. ‘’
Rosalie, completely forgetting about personal space in this moment, moved closer to get a better look at his scars.
"At least half the town wouldn't care, I think, even if you did kill that many people. Probably more wouldn't care if you explained why you did it in the first place. I don't take you as a military type but..."
She trailed off, silently urging Scathelocke to continue talking.
{ On closer inspection, all the scars looked different. Some looked like that from a blunt weapon, others from something sharper. Some resembled burns and one resembled contaminated acid. But all of them told something, something that was causing Allen’s heartbeat to become all the more audible }
‘’ I am not someone of the military. Not like that forsaken doctor is. He’s braver than I could ever be, and far more noble. ‘’
{ They pause for a moment, as if bracing themself for something they can only see }
‘’ I worked for those who could pay me well. Nothing noble about that. Those I felled - it was either for money, or by simple accident. I backstabbed and carelessly threw myself into danger. These scars, and all the others I have, are from the noblest of people; the bravest. The people who I had stolen something from, or was about to. There are some days I just . . . wish they had better luck when they tried me. ‘’
"Then it was a job, or self-defense. I at least don't hold that against you. Plus, you clearly regret it. It's hard to see you as the monster you see yourself as, Mister Scathelocke. I think a lot of people have scars."
She said, sighing slightly before backing away as to let him calm down. Rosalie seemed to be in thought, as if she wasn't sure if she should add something else to the conversation. Scathelocke could see her hands picking at the end of her shirt, out of nerves or something deeper, it wasn't clear.
{ He sighs. Out of frustration or relief is unclear }
‘’ Yes, well, I’m afraid I may always believe I am the monster. There’s been nothing to prove me otherwise. The people I helped for my gain, and the people I fell. They’ve proven that to me. We all have scars, but I believe some are easier to forgive than others. ‘’
{ As she fidgets, he lays down his bass, walking over to her }
"Isn't that the truth? The life of a performer isn't quite as eventful as yours. It might not mean much, but I don't hold what you've done against you."
She hummed, her eyes distant for a moment as she stared up at the sky. Rosalie didn't move as he approached her.
Rosalie flinched slightly at the mention of her vampirisim, but she was quick to brush it off.
"Ah. Please refrain from telling others about it, I know that they probably wouldn't care, but I'd rather not reveal myself if I don't have to. If it's all the same to you, of course"
She figured that Scathelocke heard her talking aloud, it'd be hypocritical if she was upset over someone doing the same thing she does.
‘’ I wouldn’t dream of spilling it out. Especially when it simply doesn’t affect me. Although, on the topic of not spreading things to any prying listeners, let’s not spread lies about each other anymore, yes? That can be awfully cruel. Especially to do to a friend. ‘’
"Of course, of course, I meant nothing by it. I will refrain since it truly bothers you."
She moved to run her thumb over her wrist
"It's a bad habit, my... Boyfriend... Was an awful gossip. He'd press me and my wife on and on, it just became a habit to lie in order to get him off our backs. Don't take it to heart... Friend."
Her smile was strained as she mentioned her boyfriend, as if she wanted to use a different word, or rather didn't want to mention him at all.
Rosalie eased visibly at the mention of her wife, but Scathelocke could see the sadness when he said that she escaped.
"Where do I begin? She's... She's my everything. Everything was so horrid before she came along. We're stage partners, have been for nearly all our lives. She's much more cheerful than I am."
It's at this moment Rosalie takes Scathelocke's hand, squeezing it tightly as her eyes tear up for a second.
"Her eyes were the prettiest shade of blue, no ocean or diamond or even the sky could compare. Her hair was a light brown, she never cut it even when it was hard to manage. She kept me grounded. I... Hah, I haven't seen her. In a bit. My... My boyfriend and- ah, I- I'm getting ahead of myself. I shouldn't- You don't want to hear about this"
"Yeah, I... I'm worried for her. I m-mean, not that I believe our boyfriend will do anything wrong, it. He's just a lot? Yeah. That's the best way to put it. He... Really wants to marry one of us. I'm worried. That he'll have done something rash in my absence."
Or hurt her. Or worse. Wouldn't that be a punishment from a sire? Marrying Rosalie's wife while knowing that it was his fault they couldn't marry officially in the first place. Rosalie needed to get back soon. Needed to return to her, to get between them so that she wouldn't have to deal with him.
"Me and my wife were unable to get married officially, but we've been together for so long that it's easier to tell people that we're married. The day an ordained minister walks into our town, why, I don't know if I have the patience to wait and set up some big party."
"It comes with the stage performance, but in all honesty I feel as if I'm fighting against things that'll kill me anyways. I won't stop fighting of course, because dying anywhere other than at her side is unthinkable... Do you have someone like that?"
Rosalie asked, tilting her head and trying to move the topic from her.
Rosalie offered, wanting to show that this budding friendship was a two way street. She knew it was painful to be separated from a lover, and she didn't know what she would do if that separation was permanent.
Trust. It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? Think you’ve found it once, and then the next moment, it’s gone. A shame how malleable - how easy to break - it is.
Unlike music. The road to the soul. The one string that can keep the humility of the living and the undead from disappearing.
Allen had been running. Again. After their fight with Aria, how could they not? And yet, they had left many precious things behind them, one being a song they wished they had burned.
The woods howled and rumbled, as if threatening to bury them beneath its twisting surface.
As much as he would leave, Allen didn’t know the way out. How could they? They had arrived only recently to the town. Nobody learns every road through the labyrinth in a few days, not even the most hardened of espions.
And so he rosined his bow, leaned his bass against himself and began to play simple chords, his voice transforming it into something hauntingly beautiful.
‘’ Tear it down, tear it down ‘round my head. I need you to bury this beneath my bed. The crows in the garden are laughing at my expense, drowning out all the lies that I might have told instead. My stone, my shield, my steady hand: hold your light to the darkness in my head. Put your ear to my heart or set your teeth against my throat. Give me something pretty to wear beneath my bloodstained clothes . . . ‘’
Rosalie hums to herself as she wanders town, pausing as she hears someone singing. It was filled with emotion, and yet she couldn't believe the voice she heard was the one to be singing it. She couldn't help but wander closer, observing from a distance with an amused grin.
Rosalie tilted her head, listening to the tune on silence for another minute or so.
"That song sounds like you're hurting something awful inside, if I'm being honest. Pretty, but tragic nonetheless, like a white lily atop a gravestone."
She says blatantly, not bothering to dress her words up. Rosalie knew it wasn't fair to mention something like that when she knew how she'd react if someone read her letters, but this was for her own survival. Plus, maybe talking would help them out too. She wasn't evil for trying to live, no matter how many wounds she'll tear open with her bare hands and honeyed words.
{ Isn’t his whole life a tragedy? From something human to something on a string to - now what? - a husk of sorrow and distrust withholding secrets to be buried? Ha }
‘’ Even the undead are holier than I am. They’re by far more human. Even if they hate it - even if they don’t realize it - the townsfolk would accept them if they knew everything about them. They would love them despite all their thirst for blood and those fallen in their arms. They would never do the same for me. Not if they knew everything . . . ‘’
"I have a feeling that your words aren't exactly true, now are they? Half the people they are accepting have killed someone if not thousands. Some of them do it for fun while claiming it is their right. I don't mean to throw doubt on your words of course, I just mean that I'm not sure if I understand them. I know that many of them have secrets, there's very little you could do that would result in everyone outcasting you, Mister Scathelocke"
Rosalie claims with ease, partially because she wants to become close to Scathelocke, but she refuses to admit that the reason she was saying it is because she wishes that it was true.
‘’ There’s little I could do that would cause them to outcast me because I wouldn’t have to do much at all. Simply be what I am and then I’m out. Again. ‘’
{ He pauses, laying his bow on the ground before tugging down the collar of the coat he wore, showing numerous scars along his neck }
‘’ These aren’t the only ones I have, but they’re the only visible ones that can tell my story. The wrongs I’ve committed and how many I have fell. At the very least half as many as Owen, I assure you. These scars are only half the price I pay for that. The other being the hole in my heart. ‘’
Rosalie, completely forgetting about personal space in this moment, moved closer to get a better look at his scars.
"At least half the town wouldn't care, I think, even if you did kill that many people. Probably more wouldn't care if you explained why you did it in the first place. I don't take you as a military type but..."
She trailed off, silently urging Scathelocke to continue talking.
{ On closer inspection, all the scars looked different. Some looked like that from a blunt weapon, others from something sharper. Some resembled burns and one resembled contaminated acid. But all of them told something, something that was causing Allen’s heartbeat to become all the more audible }
‘’ I am not someone of the military. Not like that forsaken doctor is. He’s braver than I could ever be, and far more noble. ‘’
{ They pause for a moment, as if bracing themself for something they can only see }
‘’ I worked for those who could pay me well. Nothing noble about that. Those I felled - it was either for money, or by simple accident. I backstabbed and carelessly threw myself into danger. These scars, and all the others I have, are from the noblest of people; the bravest. The people who I had stolen something from, or was about to. There are some days I just . . . wish they had better luck when they tried me. ‘’
"Then it was a job, or self-defense. I at least don't hold that against you. Plus, you clearly regret it. It's hard to see you as the monster you see yourself as, Mister Scathelocke. I think a lot of people have scars."
She said, sighing slightly before backing away as to let him calm down. Rosalie seemed to be in thought, as if she wasn't sure if she should add something else to the conversation. Scathelocke could see her hands picking at the end of her shirt, out of nerves or something deeper, it wasn't clear.
{ He sighs. Out of frustration or relief is unclear }
‘’ Yes, well, I’m afraid I may always believe I am the monster. There’s been nothing to prove me otherwise. The people I helped for my gain, and the people I fell. They’ve proven that to me. We all have scars, but I believe some are easier to forgive than others. ‘’
{ As she fidgets, he lays down his bass, walking over to her }
"Isn't that the truth? The life of a performer isn't quite as eventful as yours. It might not mean much, but I don't hold what you've done against you."
She hummed, her eyes distant for a moment as she stared up at the sky. Rosalie didn't move as he approached her.
Rosalie flinched slightly at the mention of her vampirisim, but she was quick to brush it off.
"Ah. Please refrain from telling others about it, I know that they probably wouldn't care, but I'd rather not reveal myself if I don't have to. If it's all the same to you, of course"
She figured that Scathelocke heard her talking aloud, it'd be hypocritical if she was upset over someone doing the same thing she does.
‘’ I wouldn’t dream of spilling it out. Especially when it simply doesn’t affect me. Although, on the topic of not spreading things to any prying listeners, let’s not spread lies about each other anymore, yes? That can be awfully cruel. Especially to do to a friend. ‘’
"Of course, of course, I meant nothing by it. I will refrain since it truly bothers you."
She moved to run her thumb over her wrist
"It's a bad habit, my... Boyfriend... Was an awful gossip. He'd press me and my wife on and on, it just became a habit to lie in order to get him off our backs. Don't take it to heart... Friend."
Her smile was strained as she mentioned her boyfriend, as if she wanted to use a different word, or rather didn't want to mention him at all.
Rosalie eased visibly at the mention of her wife, but Scathelocke could see the sadness when he said that she escaped.
"Where do I begin? She's... She's my everything. Everything was so horrid before she came along. We're stage partners, have been for nearly all our lives. She's much more cheerful than I am."
It's at this moment Rosalie takes Scathelocke's hand, squeezing it tightly as her eyes tear up for a second.
"Her eyes were the prettiest shade of blue, no ocean or diamond or even the sky could compare. Her hair was a light brown, she never cut it even when it was hard to manage. She kept me grounded. I... Hah, I haven't seen her. In a bit. My... My boyfriend and- ah, I- I'm getting ahead of myself. I shouldn't- You don't want to hear about this"
"Yeah, I... I'm worried for her. I m-mean, not that I believe our boyfriend will do anything wrong, it. He's just a lot? Yeah. That's the best way to put it. He... Really wants to marry one of us. I'm worried. That he'll have done something rash in my absence."
Or hurt her. Or worse. Wouldn't that be a punishment from a sire? Marrying Rosalie's wife while knowing that it was his fault they couldn't marry officially in the first place. Rosalie needed to get back soon. Needed to return to her, to get between them so that she wouldn't have to deal with him.
"Me and my wife were unable to get married officially, but we've been together for so long that it's easier to tell people that we're married. The day an ordained minister walks into our town, why, I don't know if I have the patience to wait and set up some big party."
"It comes with the stage performance, but in all honesty I feel as if I'm fighting against things that'll kill me anyways. I won't stop fighting of course, because dying anywhere other than at her side is unthinkable... Do you have someone like that?"
Rosalie asked, tilting her head and trying to move the topic from her.
Trust. It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? Think you’ve found it once, and then the next moment, it’s gone. A shame how malleable - how easy to break - it is.
Unlike music. The road to the soul. The one string that can keep the humility of the living and the undead from disappearing.
Allen had been running. Again. After their fight with Aria, how could they not? And yet, they had left many precious things behind them, one being a song they wished they had burned.
The woods howled and rumbled, as if threatening to bury them beneath its twisting surface.
As much as he would leave, Allen didn’t know the way out. How could they? They had arrived only recently to the town. Nobody learns every road through the labyrinth in a few days, not even the most hardened of espions.
And so he rosined his bow, leaned his bass against himself and began to play simple chords, his voice transforming it into something hauntingly beautiful.
‘’ Tear it down, tear it down ‘round my head. I need you to bury this beneath my bed. The crows in the garden are laughing at my expense, drowning out all the lies that I might have told instead. My stone, my shield, my steady hand: hold your light to the darkness in my head. Put your ear to my heart or set your teeth against my throat. Give me something pretty to wear beneath my bloodstained clothes . . . ‘’
Rosalie hums to herself as she wanders town, pausing as she hears someone singing. It was filled with emotion, and yet she couldn't believe the voice she heard was the one to be singing it. She couldn't help but wander closer, observing from a distance with an amused grin.
Rosalie tilted her head, listening to the tune on silence for another minute or so.
"That song sounds like you're hurting something awful inside, if I'm being honest. Pretty, but tragic nonetheless, like a white lily atop a gravestone."
She says blatantly, not bothering to dress her words up. Rosalie knew it wasn't fair to mention something like that when she knew how she'd react if someone read her letters, but this was for her own survival. Plus, maybe talking would help them out too. She wasn't evil for trying to live, no matter how many wounds she'll tear open with her bare hands and honeyed words.
{ Isn’t his whole life a tragedy? From something human to something on a string to - now what? - a husk of sorrow and distrust withholding secrets to be buried? Ha }
‘’ Even the undead are holier than I am. They’re by far more human. Even if they hate it - even if they don’t realize it - the townsfolk would accept them if they knew everything about them. They would love them despite all their thirst for blood and those fallen in their arms. They would never do the same for me. Not if they knew everything . . . ‘’
"I have a feeling that your words aren't exactly true, now are they? Half the people they are accepting have killed someone if not thousands. Some of them do it for fun while claiming it is their right. I don't mean to throw doubt on your words of course, I just mean that I'm not sure if I understand them. I know that many of them have secrets, there's very little you could do that would result in everyone outcasting you, Mister Scathelocke"
Rosalie claims with ease, partially because she wants to become close to Scathelocke, but she refuses to admit that the reason she was saying it is because she wishes that it was true.
‘’ There’s little I could do that would cause them to outcast me because I wouldn’t have to do much at all. Simply be what I am and then I’m out. Again. ‘’
{ He pauses, laying his bow on the ground before tugging down the collar of the coat he wore, showing numerous scars along his neck }
‘’ These aren’t the only ones I have, but they’re the only visible ones that can tell my story. The wrongs I’ve committed and how many I have fell. At the very least half as many as Owen, I assure you. These scars are only half the price I pay for that. The other being the hole in my heart. ‘’
Rosalie, completely forgetting about personal space in this moment, moved closer to get a better look at his scars.
"At least half the town wouldn't care, I think, even if you did kill that many people. Probably more wouldn't care if you explained why you did it in the first place. I don't take you as a military type but..."
She trailed off, silently urging Scathelocke to continue talking.
{ On closer inspection, all the scars looked different. Some looked like that from a blunt weapon, others from something sharper. Some resembled burns and one resembled contaminated acid. But all of them told something, something that was causing Allen’s heartbeat to become all the more audible }
‘’ I am not someone of the military. Not like that forsaken doctor is. He’s braver than I could ever be, and far more noble. ‘’
{ They pause for a moment, as if bracing themself for something they can only see }
‘’ I worked for those who could pay me well. Nothing noble about that. Those I felled - it was either for money, or by simple accident. I backstabbed and carelessly threw myself into danger. These scars, and all the others I have, are from the noblest of people; the bravest. The people who I had stolen something from, or was about to. There are some days I just . . . wish they had better luck when they tried me. ‘’
"Then it was a job, or self-defense. I at least don't hold that against you. Plus, you clearly regret it. It's hard to see you as the monster you see yourself as, Mister Scathelocke. I think a lot of people have scars."
She said, sighing slightly before backing away as to let him calm down. Rosalie seemed to be in thought, as if she wasn't sure if she should add something else to the conversation. Scathelocke could see her hands picking at the end of her shirt, out of nerves or something deeper, it wasn't clear.
{ He sighs. Out of frustration or relief is unclear }
‘’ Yes, well, I’m afraid I may always believe I am the monster. There’s been nothing to prove me otherwise. The people I helped for my gain, and the people I fell. They’ve proven that to me. We all have scars, but I believe some are easier to forgive than others. ‘’
{ As she fidgets, he lays down his bass, walking over to her }
"Isn't that the truth? The life of a performer isn't quite as eventful as yours. It might not mean much, but I don't hold what you've done against you."
She hummed, her eyes distant for a moment as she stared up at the sky. Rosalie didn't move as he approached her.
Rosalie flinched slightly at the mention of her vampirisim, but she was quick to brush it off.
"Ah. Please refrain from telling others about it, I know that they probably wouldn't care, but I'd rather not reveal myself if I don't have to. If it's all the same to you, of course"
She figured that Scathelocke heard her talking aloud, it'd be hypocritical if she was upset over someone doing the same thing she does.
‘’ I wouldn’t dream of spilling it out. Especially when it simply doesn’t affect me. Although, on the topic of not spreading things to any prying listeners, let’s not spread lies about each other anymore, yes? That can be awfully cruel. Especially to do to a friend. ‘’
"Of course, of course, I meant nothing by it. I will refrain since it truly bothers you."
She moved to run her thumb over her wrist
"It's a bad habit, my... Boyfriend... Was an awful gossip. He'd press me and my wife on and on, it just became a habit to lie in order to get him off our backs. Don't take it to heart... Friend."
Her smile was strained as she mentioned her boyfriend, as if she wanted to use a different word, or rather didn't want to mention him at all.
Rosalie eased visibly at the mention of her wife, but Scathelocke could see the sadness when he said that she escaped.
"Where do I begin? She's... She's my everything. Everything was so horrid before she came along. We're stage partners, have been for nearly all our lives. She's much more cheerful than I am."
It's at this moment Rosalie takes Scathelocke's hand, squeezing it tightly as her eyes tear up for a second.
"Her eyes were the prettiest shade of blue, no ocean or diamond or even the sky could compare. Her hair was a light brown, she never cut it even when it was hard to manage. She kept me grounded. I... Hah, I haven't seen her. In a bit. My... My boyfriend and- ah, I- I'm getting ahead of myself. I shouldn't- You don't want to hear about this"
"Yeah, I... I'm worried for her. I m-mean, not that I believe our boyfriend will do anything wrong, it. He's just a lot? Yeah. That's the best way to put it. He... Really wants to marry one of us. I'm worried. That he'll have done something rash in my absence."
Or hurt her. Or worse. Wouldn't that be a punishment from a sire? Marrying Rosalie's wife while knowing that it was his fault they couldn't marry officially in the first place. Rosalie needed to get back soon. Needed to return to her, to get between them so that she wouldn't have to deal with him.
"Me and my wife were unable to get married officially, but we've been together for so long that it's easier to tell people that we're married. The day an ordained minister walks into our town, why, I don't know if I have the patience to wait and set up some big party."
Trust. It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? Think you’ve found it once, and then the next moment, it’s gone. A shame how malleable - how easy to break - it is.
Unlike music. The road to the soul. The one string that can keep the humility of the living and the undead from disappearing.
Allen had been running. Again. After their fight with Aria, how could they not? And yet, they had left many precious things behind them, one being a song they wished they had burned.
The woods howled and rumbled, as if threatening to bury them beneath its twisting surface.
As much as he would leave, Allen didn’t know the way out. How could they? They had arrived only recently to the town. Nobody learns every road through the labyrinth in a few days, not even the most hardened of espions.
And so he rosined his bow, leaned his bass against himself and began to play simple chords, his voice transforming it into something hauntingly beautiful.
‘’ Tear it down, tear it down ‘round my head. I need you to bury this beneath my bed. The crows in the garden are laughing at my expense, drowning out all the lies that I might have told instead. My stone, my shield, my steady hand: hold your light to the darkness in my head. Put your ear to my heart or set your teeth against my throat. Give me something pretty to wear beneath my bloodstained clothes . . . ‘’
Rosalie hums to herself as she wanders town, pausing as she hears someone singing. It was filled with emotion, and yet she couldn't believe the voice she heard was the one to be singing it. She couldn't help but wander closer, observing from a distance with an amused grin.
Rosalie tilted her head, listening to the tune on silence for another minute or so.
"That song sounds like you're hurting something awful inside, if I'm being honest. Pretty, but tragic nonetheless, like a white lily atop a gravestone."
She says blatantly, not bothering to dress her words up. Rosalie knew it wasn't fair to mention something like that when she knew how she'd react if someone read her letters, but this was for her own survival. Plus, maybe talking would help them out too. She wasn't evil for trying to live, no matter how many wounds she'll tear open with her bare hands and honeyed words.
{ Isn’t his whole life a tragedy? From something human to something on a string to - now what? - a husk of sorrow and distrust withholding secrets to be buried? Ha }
‘’ Even the undead are holier than I am. They’re by far more human. Even if they hate it - even if they don’t realize it - the townsfolk would accept them if they knew everything about them. They would love them despite all their thirst for blood and those fallen in their arms. They would never do the same for me. Not if they knew everything . . . ‘’
"I have a feeling that your words aren't exactly true, now are they? Half the people they are accepting have killed someone if not thousands. Some of them do it for fun while claiming it is their right. I don't mean to throw doubt on your words of course, I just mean that I'm not sure if I understand them. I know that many of them have secrets, there's very little you could do that would result in everyone outcasting you, Mister Scathelocke"
Rosalie claims with ease, partially because she wants to become close to Scathelocke, but she refuses to admit that the reason she was saying it is because she wishes that it was true.
‘’ There’s little I could do that would cause them to outcast me because I wouldn’t have to do much at all. Simply be what I am and then I’m out. Again. ‘’
{ He pauses, laying his bow on the ground before tugging down the collar of the coat he wore, showing numerous scars along his neck }
‘’ These aren’t the only ones I have, but they’re the only visible ones that can tell my story. The wrongs I’ve committed and how many I have fell. At the very least half as many as Owen, I assure you. These scars are only half the price I pay for that. The other being the hole in my heart. ‘’
Rosalie, completely forgetting about personal space in this moment, moved closer to get a better look at his scars.
"At least half the town wouldn't care, I think, even if you did kill that many people. Probably more wouldn't care if you explained why you did it in the first place. I don't take you as a military type but..."
She trailed off, silently urging Scathelocke to continue talking.
{ On closer inspection, all the scars looked different. Some looked like that from a blunt weapon, others from something sharper. Some resembled burns and one resembled contaminated acid. But all of them told something, something that was causing Allen’s heartbeat to become all the more audible }
‘’ I am not someone of the military. Not like that forsaken doctor is. He’s braver than I could ever be, and far more noble. ‘’
{ They pause for a moment, as if bracing themself for something they can only see }
‘’ I worked for those who could pay me well. Nothing noble about that. Those I felled - it was either for money, or by simple accident. I backstabbed and carelessly threw myself into danger. These scars, and all the others I have, are from the noblest of people; the bravest. The people who I had stolen something from, or was about to. There are some days I just . . . wish they had better luck when they tried me. ‘’
"Then it was a job, or self-defense. I at least don't hold that against you. Plus, you clearly regret it. It's hard to see you as the monster you see yourself as, Mister Scathelocke. I think a lot of people have scars."
She said, sighing slightly before backing away as to let him calm down. Rosalie seemed to be in thought, as if she wasn't sure if she should add something else to the conversation. Scathelocke could see her hands picking at the end of her shirt, out of nerves or something deeper, it wasn't clear.
{ He sighs. Out of frustration or relief is unclear }
‘’ Yes, well, I’m afraid I may always believe I am the monster. There’s been nothing to prove me otherwise. The people I helped for my gain, and the people I fell. They’ve proven that to me. We all have scars, but I believe some are easier to forgive than others. ‘’
{ As she fidgets, he lays down his bass, walking over to her }
"Isn't that the truth? The life of a performer isn't quite as eventful as yours. It might not mean much, but I don't hold what you've done against you."
She hummed, her eyes distant for a moment as she stared up at the sky. Rosalie didn't move as he approached her.
Rosalie flinched slightly at the mention of her vampirisim, but she was quick to brush it off.
"Ah. Please refrain from telling others about it, I know that they probably wouldn't care, but I'd rather not reveal myself if I don't have to. If it's all the same to you, of course"
She figured that Scathelocke heard her talking aloud, it'd be hypocritical if she was upset over someone doing the same thing she does.
‘’ I wouldn’t dream of spilling it out. Especially when it simply doesn’t affect me. Although, on the topic of not spreading things to any prying listeners, let’s not spread lies about each other anymore, yes? That can be awfully cruel. Especially to do to a friend. ‘’
"Of course, of course, I meant nothing by it. I will refrain since it truly bothers you."
She moved to run her thumb over her wrist
"It's a bad habit, my... Boyfriend... Was an awful gossip. He'd press me and my wife on and on, it just became a habit to lie in order to get him off our backs. Don't take it to heart... Friend."
Her smile was strained as she mentioned her boyfriend, as if she wanted to use a different word, or rather didn't want to mention him at all.
Rosalie eased visibly at the mention of her wife, but Scathelocke could see the sadness when he said that she escaped.
"Where do I begin? She's... She's my everything. Everything was so horrid before she came along. We're stage partners, have been for nearly all our lives. She's much more cheerful than I am."
It's at this moment Rosalie takes Scathelocke's hand, squeezing it tightly as her eyes tear up for a second.
"Her eyes were the prettiest shade of blue, no ocean or diamond or even the sky could compare. Her hair was a light brown, she never cut it even when it was hard to manage. She kept me grounded. I... Hah, I haven't seen her. In a bit. My... My boyfriend and- ah, I- I'm getting ahead of myself. I shouldn't- You don't want to hear about this"
"Yeah, I... I'm worried for her. I m-mean, not that I believe our boyfriend will do anything wrong, it. He's just a lot? Yeah. That's the best way to put it. He... Really wants to marry one of us. I'm worried. That he'll have done something rash in my absence."
Or hurt her. Or worse. Wouldn't that be a punishment from a sire? Marrying Rosalie's wife while knowing that it was his fault they couldn't marry officially in the first place. Rosalie needed to get back soon. Needed to return to her, to get between them so that she wouldn't have to deal with him.
"Me and my wife were unable to get married officially, but we've been together for so long that it's easier to tell people that we're married. The day an ordained minister walks into our town, why, I don't know if I have the patience to wait and set up some big party."
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Trust. It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? Think you’ve found it once, and then the next moment, it’s gone. A shame how malleable - how easy to break - it is.
Unlike music. The road to the soul. The one string that can keep the humility of the living and the undead from disappearing.
Allen had been running. Again. After their fight with Aria, how could they not? And yet, they had left many precious things behind them, one being a song they wished they had burned.
The woods howled and rumbled, as if threatening to bury them beneath its twisting surface.
As much as he would leave, Allen didn’t know the way out. How could they? They had arrived only recently to the town. Nobody learns every road through the labyrinth in a few days, not even the most hardened of espions.
And so he rosined his bow, leaned his bass against himself and began to play simple chords, his voice transforming it into something hauntingly beautiful.
‘’ Tear it down, tear it down ‘round my head. I need you to bury this beneath my bed. The crows in the garden are laughing at my expense, drowning out all the lies that I might have told instead. My stone, my shield, my steady hand: hold your light to the darkness in my head. Put your ear to my heart or set your teeth against my throat. Give me something pretty to wear beneath my bloodstained clothes . . . ‘’
Rosalie hums to herself as she wanders town, pausing as she hears someone singing. It was filled with emotion, and yet she couldn't believe the voice she heard was the one to be singing it. She couldn't help but wander closer, observing from a distance with an amused grin.
Rosalie tilted her head, listening to the tune on silence for another minute or so.
"That song sounds like you're hurting something awful inside, if I'm being honest. Pretty, but tragic nonetheless, like a white lily atop a gravestone."
She says blatantly, not bothering to dress her words up. Rosalie knew it wasn't fair to mention something like that when she knew how she'd react if someone read her letters, but this was for her own survival. Plus, maybe talking would help them out too. She wasn't evil for trying to live, no matter how many wounds she'll tear open with her bare hands and honeyed words.
{ Isn’t his whole life a tragedy? From something human to something on a string to - now what? - a husk of sorrow and distrust withholding secrets to be buried? Ha }
‘’ Even the undead are holier than I am. They’re by far more human. Even if they hate it - even if they don’t realize it - the townsfolk would accept them if they knew everything about them. They would love them despite all their thirst for blood and those fallen in their arms. They would never do the same for me. Not if they knew everything . . . ‘’
"I have a feeling that your words aren't exactly true, now are they? Half the people they are accepting have killed someone if not thousands. Some of them do it for fun while claiming it is their right. I don't mean to throw doubt on your words of course, I just mean that I'm not sure if I understand them. I know that many of them have secrets, there's very little you could do that would result in everyone outcasting you, Mister Scathelocke"
Rosalie claims with ease, partially because she wants to become close to Scathelocke, but she refuses to admit that the reason she was saying it is because she wishes that it was true.
‘’ There’s little I could do that would cause them to outcast me because I wouldn’t have to do much at all. Simply be what I am and then I’m out. Again. ‘’
{ He pauses, laying his bow on the ground before tugging down the collar of the coat he wore, showing numerous scars along his neck }
‘’ These aren’t the only ones I have, but they’re the only visible ones that can tell my story. The wrongs I’ve committed and how many I have fell. At the very least half as many as Owen, I assure you. These scars are only half the price I pay for that. The other being the hole in my heart. ‘’
Rosalie, completely forgetting about personal space in this moment, moved closer to get a better look at his scars.
"At least half the town wouldn't care, I think, even if you did kill that many people. Probably more wouldn't care if you explained why you did it in the first place. I don't take you as a military type but..."
She trailed off, silently urging Scathelocke to continue talking.
{ On closer inspection, all the scars looked different. Some looked like that from a blunt weapon, others from something sharper. Some resembled burns and one resembled contaminated acid. But all of them told something, something that was causing Allen’s heartbeat to become all the more audible }
‘’ I am not someone of the military. Not like that forsaken doctor is. He’s braver than I could ever be, and far more noble. ‘’
{ They pause for a moment, as if bracing themself for something they can only see }
‘’ I worked for those who could pay me well. Nothing noble about that. Those I felled - it was either for money, or by simple accident. I backstabbed and carelessly threw myself into danger. These scars, and all the others I have, are from the noblest of people; the bravest. The people who I had stolen something from, or was about to. There are some days I just . . . wish they had better luck when they tried me. ‘’
"Then it was a job, or self-defense. I at least don't hold that against you. Plus, you clearly regret it. It's hard to see you as the monster you see yourself as, Mister Scathelocke. I think a lot of people have scars."
She said, sighing slightly before backing away as to let him calm down. Rosalie seemed to be in thought, as if she wasn't sure if she should add something else to the conversation. Scathelocke could see her hands picking at the end of her shirt, out of nerves or something deeper, it wasn't clear.
{ He sighs. Out of frustration or relief is unclear }
‘’ Yes, well, I’m afraid I may always believe I am the monster. There’s been nothing to prove me otherwise. The people I helped for my gain, and the people I fell. They’ve proven that to me. We all have scars, but I believe some are easier to forgive than others. ‘’
{ As she fidgets, he lays down his bass, walking over to her }
"Isn't that the truth? The life of a performer isn't quite as eventful as yours. It might not mean much, but I don't hold what you've done against you."
She hummed, her eyes distant for a moment as she stared up at the sky. Rosalie didn't move as he approached her.
Rosalie flinched slightly at the mention of her vampirisim, but she was quick to brush it off.
"Ah. Please refrain from telling others about it, I know that they probably wouldn't care, but I'd rather not reveal myself if I don't have to. If it's all the same to you, of course"
She figured that Scathelocke heard her talking aloud, it'd be hypocritical if she was upset over someone doing the same thing she does.
‘’ I wouldn’t dream of spilling it out. Especially when it simply doesn’t affect me. Although, on the topic of not spreading things to any prying listeners, let’s not spread lies about each other anymore, yes? That can be awfully cruel. Especially to do to a friend. ‘’
"Of course, of course, I meant nothing by it. I will refrain since it truly bothers you."
She moved to run her thumb over her wrist
"It's a bad habit, my... Boyfriend... Was an awful gossip. He'd press me and my wife on and on, it just became a habit to lie in order to get him off our backs. Don't take it to heart... Friend."
Her smile was strained as she mentioned her boyfriend, as if she wanted to use a different word, or rather didn't want to mention him at all.
Rosalie eased visibly at the mention of her wife, but Scathelocke could see the sadness when he said that she escaped.
"Where do I begin? She's... She's my everything. Everything was so horrid before she came along. We're stage partners, have been for nearly all our lives. She's much more cheerful than I am."
It's at this moment Rosalie takes Scathelocke's hand, squeezing it tightly as her eyes tear up for a second.
"Her eyes were the prettiest shade of blue, no ocean or diamond or even the sky could compare. Her hair was a light brown, she never cut it even when it was hard to manage. She kept me grounded. I... Hah, I haven't seen her. In a bit. My... My boyfriend and- ah, I- I'm getting ahead of myself. I shouldn't- You don't want to hear about this"
Trust. It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? Think you’ve found it once, and then the next moment, it’s gone. A shame how malleable - how easy to break - it is.
Unlike music. The road to the soul. The one string that can keep the humility of the living and the undead from disappearing.
Allen had been running. Again. After their fight with Aria, how could they not? And yet, they had left many precious things behind them, one being a song they wished they had burned.
The woods howled and rumbled, as if threatening to bury them beneath its twisting surface.
As much as he would leave, Allen didn’t know the way out. How could they? They had arrived only recently to the town. Nobody learns every road through the labyrinth in a few days, not even the most hardened of espions.
And so he rosined his bow, leaned his bass against himself and began to play simple chords, his voice transforming it into something hauntingly beautiful.
‘’ Tear it down, tear it down ‘round my head. I need you to bury this beneath my bed. The crows in the garden are laughing at my expense, drowning out all the lies that I might have told instead. My stone, my shield, my steady hand: hold your light to the darkness in my head. Put your ear to my heart or set your teeth against my throat. Give me something pretty to wear beneath my bloodstained clothes . . . ‘’
Rosalie hums to herself as she wanders town, pausing as she hears someone singing. It was filled with emotion, and yet she couldn't believe the voice she heard was the one to be singing it. She couldn't help but wander closer, observing from a distance with an amused grin.
Rosalie tilted her head, listening to the tune on silence for another minute or so.
"That song sounds like you're hurting something awful inside, if I'm being honest. Pretty, but tragic nonetheless, like a white lily atop a gravestone."
She says blatantly, not bothering to dress her words up. Rosalie knew it wasn't fair to mention something like that when she knew how she'd react if someone read her letters, but this was for her own survival. Plus, maybe talking would help them out too. She wasn't evil for trying to live, no matter how many wounds she'll tear open with her bare hands and honeyed words.
{ Isn’t his whole life a tragedy? From something human to something on a string to - now what? - a husk of sorrow and distrust withholding secrets to be buried? Ha }
‘’ Even the undead are holier than I am. They’re by far more human. Even if they hate it - even if they don’t realize it - the townsfolk would accept them if they knew everything about them. They would love them despite all their thirst for blood and those fallen in their arms. They would never do the same for me. Not if they knew everything . . . ‘’
"I have a feeling that your words aren't exactly true, now are they? Half the people they are accepting have killed someone if not thousands. Some of them do it for fun while claiming it is their right. I don't mean to throw doubt on your words of course, I just mean that I'm not sure if I understand them. I know that many of them have secrets, there's very little you could do that would result in everyone outcasting you, Mister Scathelocke"
Rosalie claims with ease, partially because she wants to become close to Scathelocke, but she refuses to admit that the reason she was saying it is because she wishes that it was true.
‘’ There’s little I could do that would cause them to outcast me because I wouldn’t have to do much at all. Simply be what I am and then I’m out. Again. ‘’
{ He pauses, laying his bow on the ground before tugging down the collar of the coat he wore, showing numerous scars along his neck }
‘’ These aren’t the only ones I have, but they’re the only visible ones that can tell my story. The wrongs I’ve committed and how many I have fell. At the very least half as many as Owen, I assure you. These scars are only half the price I pay for that. The other being the hole in my heart. ‘’
Rosalie, completely forgetting about personal space in this moment, moved closer to get a better look at his scars.
"At least half the town wouldn't care, I think, even if you did kill that many people. Probably more wouldn't care if you explained why you did it in the first place. I don't take you as a military type but..."
She trailed off, silently urging Scathelocke to continue talking.
{ On closer inspection, all the scars looked different. Some looked like that from a blunt weapon, others from something sharper. Some resembled burns and one resembled contaminated acid. But all of them told something, something that was causing Allen’s heartbeat to become all the more audible }
‘’ I am not someone of the military. Not like that forsaken doctor is. He’s braver than I could ever be, and far more noble. ‘’
{ They pause for a moment, as if bracing themself for something they can only see }
‘’ I worked for those who could pay me well. Nothing noble about that. Those I felled - it was either for money, or by simple accident. I backstabbed and carelessly threw myself into danger. These scars, and all the others I have, are from the noblest of people; the bravest. The people who I had stolen something from, or was about to. There are some days I just . . . wish they had better luck when they tried me. ‘’
"Then it was a job, or self-defense. I at least don't hold that against you. Plus, you clearly regret it. It's hard to see you as the monster you see yourself as, Mister Scathelocke. I think a lot of people have scars."
She said, sighing slightly before backing away as to let him calm down. Rosalie seemed to be in thought, as if she wasn't sure if she should add something else to the conversation. Scathelocke could see her hands picking at the end of her shirt, out of nerves or something deeper, it wasn't clear.
{ He sighs. Out of frustration or relief is unclear }
‘’ Yes, well, I’m afraid I may always believe I am the monster. There’s been nothing to prove me otherwise. The people I helped for my gain, and the people I fell. They’ve proven that to me. We all have scars, but I believe some are easier to forgive than others. ‘’
{ As she fidgets, he lays down his bass, walking over to her }
"Isn't that the truth? The life of a performer isn't quite as eventful as yours. It might not mean much, but I don't hold what you've done against you."
She hummed, her eyes distant for a moment as she stared up at the sky. Rosalie didn't move as he approached her.
Rosalie flinched slightly at the mention of her vampirisim, but she was quick to brush it off.
"Ah. Please refrain from telling others about it, I know that they probably wouldn't care, but I'd rather not reveal myself if I don't have to. If it's all the same to you, of course"
She figured that Scathelocke heard her talking aloud, it'd be hypocritical if she was upset over someone doing the same thing she does.
‘’ I wouldn’t dream of spilling it out. Especially when it simply doesn’t affect me. Although, on the topic of not spreading things to any prying listeners, let’s not spread lies about each other anymore, yes? That can be awfully cruel. Especially to do to a friend. ‘’
"Of course, of course, I meant nothing by it. I will refrain since it truly bothers you."
She moved to run her thumb over her wrist
"It's a bad habit, my... Boyfriend... Was an awful gossip. He'd press me and my wife on and on, it just became a habit to lie in order to get him off our backs. Don't take it to heart... Friend."
Her smile was strained as she mentioned her boyfriend, as if she wanted to use a different word, or rather didn't want to mention him at all.
Rosalie eased visibly at the mention of her wife, but Scathelocke could see the sadness when he said that she escaped.
"Where do I begin? She's... She's my everything. Everything was so horrid before she came along. We're stage partners, have been for nearly all our lives. She's much more cheerful than I am."
It's at this moment Rosalie takes Scathelocke's hand, squeezing it tightly as her eyes tear up for a second.
"Her eyes were the prettiest shade of blue, no ocean or diamond or even the sky could compare. Her hair was a light brown, she never cut it even when it was hard to manage. She kept me grounded. I... Hah, I haven't seen her. In a bit. My... My boyfriend and- ah, I- I'm getting ahead of myself. I shouldn't- You don't want to hear about this"
