GODFREY.

                      what do you want? nothing. olivia. unfinished business looms over upir and vampire kin, only to be met with a rival of olivia’s foul moods and eye for things sharp and metal. he’s impressed—don’t let that slip past. amused. ( it flickers in his eyes and he takes a step toward her. ) the blood is a swathe; there’s a trickle that meanders across hardwood, dips at the toe of his boot and pulses against a ridged sole. cute. 

                                           ‘ olivia already invited me in. ’   his fangs are clicked back into his gums—control the hunger. feed later.   arms fold across his chest, and a calculated stride is taken toward her.   

                    ‘ well, aren’t you special. now i see what all the fuss is about. ’  olivia’s fuss, to be more exact—it’s been an obsession from day one.   ‘ and don’t be mean.  you’ll hurt my feelings. ’  a bored nod couples the arrogant smirk that twitches on his lips, as he encroaches on her personal space.

          chin raised; brow cocked. this guy was an asshole if she’s ever met one. granted, roman deemed most men asshole’s. blame olivia for that bit of mothering. setting down the axe, nose wrinkling in great disdain as the grotesque coppery decay finally reaches her nose. tempting. the space between them is being encroached upon. disgust expressed in vehement-- she was not her mother, despite the obvious similarities. cruelty.

                      now that’s a sight to behold. ( and perhaps if eric felt any more than he did, he’d be in love. ) the arrays of red are vibrant—thick—they cough from a mutilated form—now passed out, if not dead beneath the grip of an axe and a chick that’s all legs. ( and no, he can’t help himself. his fangs bare at the sight, curving beneath a grin., and he steps toward the corpse. ) there’s a lot of rage inside this one— and she’s not human. upir. it’s like they’re almost cousins. and she smells olivia. of course. upirs are less common—they’re secretive, and they hide. not so much this one.

                                                 ‘ you’ve made quite a mess. ’   but he’s amused. she’s young, and it shows. ( why use an axe on someone so… unworthy of it? ) he draws closer to her. ( if you look closely, he’s still unfazed by the bloodshed. )

            roman watches the pallid male step towards her mess of heroism-- crimson violence staining every inch of her designer frame. for a few moments she just stands there, ire dripping just as the sanguine did. pouring with copper scented rot; fucking disgusting. however, as soon as tall dark and nosy’s fangs click from their sheath of his gums roman’s nose wrinkles. oh, this is fucking rich. where is peter?   fucking peter.  ‘  okay ya vampire freak, you stay the fuck where you are. alright?  ’  it felt like she gave the guy an equivalent to a vampire boner. gross.

          Not often SHE’S the one to offer a helping hand, not often she feels the need to, really. The tone is no threat to her advance, doesn’t stop her from still trying at some thread of providing aid, ebony brows furrowing. “—It doesn’t SEEM like it. Ease up.”