ooc. I won't lie, I completely forgot that Santino didn't just glare back at Mael, he fully bared his teeth at him until Mael looked away. The beef was real and it was that serious.
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@thevampiremael
ooc. I won't lie, I completely forgot that Santino didn't just glare back at Mael, he fully bared his teeth at him until Mael looked away. The beef was real and it was that serious.
Cat coded.

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let the ancients speak (but only if they’re sexy)
Have you ever been bitten by a highly venomous snake? Like a black mamba. If you came across someone who'd been bitten, would you mercy kill them or give them your blood?
Not in my mortal years, but I have mistakenly disturbed a few adders in the grass at the home Jesse and I share.
Would a mercy killing be necessary if hospitals are equipped for that sort of thing? Unless of course we are discussing particularly remote areas.
But no, I would not offer blood.
Do you hunt whenever you are hungry then? Every night?
I don’t hunt every night, there is no need. I am quite comfortable for weeks and sometimes months before hunger makes itself known.
But yes, in short, I will hunt if hungry.
"How long can you go without blood before going feral and insane? I don't mean uncomfortable or irritating. I mean the kind of feral and insane where you're at risk of losing control and violently slaughtering people."
I’ve never tested this, and I have never been in a position where I would find the answer.
The older our kind get, the longer we can go without requiring the blood. If we go to ground we can survive centuries before the hunger would either deliver us into the hands of death, or bid us to hunt with this sort of ferocity.

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I’ll likely not get to threads tonight because I’m at work HOWEVER, I’m around for one liners, asks, general nonsense 😌♥️
my inner peace lasts about four minutes on a good day
If you see me online, please imagine me walking around in 19th century safari gear with a comically oversized butterfly net pspsps-ing at vc blogs.
No comment.

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The night had the decency to be quiet, which Mael appreciated greatly.
He stood near the edge of a narrow street, where the lamplight faltered and shadow took over without protest, watching the slow drift of the world as though it were a play he had long since memorised.
There was a certain comfort in that predictability, even among mortals who believed themselves endlessly surprising.
Still, the night was not without its diversions.
Mael shifted slightly, as if catching the faintest change in the air, and a small, knowing smile followed soon after.
“Armand,” he said, without turning at first, the name carrying an ease that suggested this meeting was less interruption and more inevitability.
Only then did he glance over his shoulder, expression touched with quiet amusement.
“You do have a talent for appearing precisely when things risk becoming dull. I was beginning to suspect the evening would pass without incident.”
He turned fully now, unhurried, hands loosely at his sides, as though greeting an old acquaintance rather than someone whose presence could so easily alter the mood of an entire room.
“I assume you haven’t come all this way merely to admire the scenery,” he added, a faint curve to his mouth. “Though I would understand if you had.”
A brief pause, his gaze sharpening just slightly with interest.
“Should I prepare for conversation, or trouble? Knowing you as we all do, both come hand in hand.”
{ @amadeo-in-flxmes }
Six years was nothing.
Six years was an eternity.
Mael had known spans of time that swallowed empires whole, had watched centuries crumble into dust without so much as a tremor in his being and yet this absence, this small, human measure of years, had carved itself into him with a persistence he had not anticipated.
He felt her before he saw her.
Not in the crude way of proximity, but in that quieter sense, like the echo of something once held close, something the world had not quite managed to erase. It drew his attention with a certainty that allowed no mistake.
“Jesse.”
Her name left him softly, almost as though he were testing its shape after too long without it.
He didn’t move. For a moment, he simply looked at her, as if confirming that time had not distorted her into something unrecognizable. And it hadn’t, though it had touched her.
There was something more settled in the way she held herself, something sharpened behind her eyes. Not lost. Never lost. But changed.
A faint, almost rueful smile ghosted across his expression.
“Seven years,” he said, quieter now, the words carrying more weight than he intended and leaving a heavy ache deep within his chest. “And still, you are precisely where my thoughts insisted you would be...”
Only then did he step closer, unhurried, though something in the movement betrayed a restraint carefully chosen rather than instinctive.
“I had wondered,” he continued, his gaze steady on hers, “if time would make strangers of us.”
A pause. Brief, but filled.
“It seems it has not been entirely successful.”
His head inclined slightly, not quite a bow, not quite anything so formal. Something more uncertain. Something more honest.
“Will you permit me to stand here as though those years were not quite so long? Or must I earn that place again?”
{ @teamreeves }
Replacing Daniel’s blood with helium so he can float like papa
Gabrielle gasped at the sight of him. Not many things took her breathe away. It was not only his presence, but his stunning looks "Mael, mon dieu! You're a stunning sight, even for immortal eyes"
“Ah, Gabrielle. You are too kind.” He had been described as a myriad of things in the past, from barbarian to unkempt. Stunning was a rather rare addition to the ensemble of adjectives. He gave a small bow in both respect and appreciation.
“You’ve been keeping well?”
Gabrielle nodded and smiled in acknowledgement of the gesture. "Very well, indeed. None worse for the wear, if you know what I mean" she said with a wink
Mael’s gaze lingered on her a moment longer than courtesy alone required, as though he were measuring not her words, but the quiet confidence beneath them. Then, slowly, a faint, knowing smile found its way to his lips, less restrained now, touched with a hint of amusement.
“A condition we all come to understand, sooner or later,” he said, his voice low and even. “Though I suspect some bear it with far more elegance than others and with considerably better humor.”
He inclined his head again, the gesture softer, more familiar than formal.
“I am glad to see that time has not diminished you, Gabrielle. If anything, it seems to have refined what was already formidable. There are many who endure the centuries, but very few who manage to do so without becoming terribly dull in the process.”
His eyes held hers with quiet warmth, a subtle glint of playfulness there now.
“I imagine you’ve had a hand in keeping things interesting for yourself, if not for everyone around you.”
A brief pause followed, lighter in tone.
“And tell me… have the years been kind to your spirit as well? Or have you simply learned how to make them behave?”
I feel forever too young in the blood to be considered ancient in the same way you are. Tell me, what truly makes an ancient a pillar?
I don’t think that age alone dictates such a station, but I’m afraid that I’m under-qualified to give you the answer that you are looking for.
I don’t consider myself a pillar, you would likely find a better teacher in Marius or Pandora.
I do not believe you are under-qualified, you are younger than my maker but older than myself. A middle ground to understand what truly makes those of us ancient.
Marius could not be my teacher, I fear Armand would not approve of be borrowing his maker much as I fear being seen as a replacement. Do you consider yourself that unimportant?
You give me more credit than I deserve.
It isn’t a matter of being under qualified per se, but of understanding what the title demands. Age, strength, even survival… those are only fragments. There are some older than I who will never be pillars, and a few younger who carry themselves as if they were born to it.
You speak of a middle ground but such a place does not always offer clarity. In truth, it often brings only doubt. You see both the reverence given to the ancients and the cracks beneath it. You begin to question what is earned and what is simply endured.
But I suppose that you are are wise to be cautious. Marius and Armand are not merely teachers; they shape those around them, whether they intend to or not. To learn from one is to risk becoming an echo of them.
But, you ask if I consider myself unimportant. My answer is no. But neither do I pretend to be something I am not.
A pillar does not question its place. It simply is, and the world bends around it. I have never felt the world bend. Have you?

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You know what, I'm super excited about how many VC blogs are active and how many new ones are popping up. I'm like yes!!! Assemble!!!
"Do you remember me?"
"I remember you.
I remember you as you were in Venice; radiant, willful, alive in a way that even our Dark Gift could not diminish. You moved among them with that quiet authority, neither worshiping or fearing as the others did. You understood power, but you were never seduced by its cruelties. "
“We are much easier to read in our youth, before age and experience rewrite us and we learn the measure our capabilities.” He began with a light shrug of his shoulders and his palms open at his side.
“Though I confess that most of what I know was learned through Marius. But I had no reason to doubt him then, and no reason to doubt you now. Of course, you may challenge any opinion of yourself as you see fit. I will take no offence to it.”
Being easy to read was not something anyone had ever accused her of, even in Venice, when she was mortal, age and experience had rewritten her already.
"Marius was kind to me then in his account, I would rather leave his words standing" She looked at Mael with curiosity; he seemed kinder and better-mannered than she had expected "I learnt much of you through Marius, too. He told me stories of you and your maker, and himself in his youth. I'm finding reasons to doubt his words now, however"
Mael’s expression did not harden at the mention of Marius’s retelling, but it changed subtly all the same. There was no anger in it, nor even offense. Only a slow, deliberate withdrawal into thought, as though he were walking back through centuries with careful, measured steps.
“Marius,” he began, the vampire’s name lingering between them. He turned his eyes from her for a moment, as if consulting something older than even himself, deeper memory than mere words could hold. When he looked back to her, there rested a quiet gravity in him, something patient and enduring.
“He has always possessed a gift,” Mael said softly, “for shaping truth into something bearable. Even beautiful.” A faint smile touched his lips, though it carried no mockery. Only recognition. “It is not deception, not precisely. It is… curation. He tells what he can live with remembering.”
He stepped a fraction closer, his presence still calm, still rooted like an ancient oak that neither demands nor retreats.
“You must understand, Bianca… when he speaks of me, of my maker, of those distant nights, he speaks as both witness and survivor.” His voice lowered, threaded now with something older, something touched by the wildness that had once defined him. “And survival has its own version of truth.”
He paused, long enough for it to almost feel intentional.
“You may find reasons to doubt him.” Mael inclined his head, studying her with quiet interest. “But doubt is not an insult to him. It is, perhaps, the only honest response to a life such as his… or mine.”
There was no bitterness in the admission. Only acceptance.
“But tell me,” Mael continued, his tone gentler now, almost curious, “what is it you sense unraveling in his words? Is it falsehood or simply omission?”