LOW LIFE * !

          amalgamation   of   humanity's   worst     ...        priv.      friends  only.

“         since   when   have   you   ever   liked   it   when   i   played   nice      ?         ”         traditional   romanticism   never   a   notion   he   entertained   when   it   comes   to   her.      dinner   dates      +      movie   nights   are   only   for   those   who   haven't   mastered   the   art   of   conversing   in   teeth      &      tongue.      actions   speak   much   louder   than   words      —      &      vulnerability,      the   only   luxury   he   can't   afford.      not   when   he's   found   himself   rather   attached   to   the   bite   of   her   venom,      annoyed   scoffs   turning   to   knowing   smiles.      familiarity   is   what   he   settles   it   to,      boiling   down   for   his   penchant   for   those   who   bite   back      :         helps   that   she   does   it   just   how   he   likes   it,      hard   enough   to   draw   red.         “         maybe   not   mine,         ”         blissed,      sporting   an   unfamiliar   calmness   in   gravelly   tone.      at   that   moment,      he   almost   seems   content.         “         called   in   sick   for   you.      i'll   pay   for   your   fucking   time,      just      ...         ”         the   word   catches   in   his   throat,      even   if   for   a   moment.      it's   still   one   of   the   hardest   four   letters   he's   ever   had   to   stay.         “         stay,         ”

the   last   thing   she   would   ever   do   is   betray   her   father         —         not   when   he's   trusted   her   with   so   much,      promised   her   the   world   that's   soon   to   be   made   her   own.      she's   controlling   the   narrative,      is   what   she   tells   herself         ;         ivy-league   education   coming   in   handy   when   it   comes   to   convincing   herself   in   the   mirror   of   how   meeting   her,      of   all   people,      would   limit   any   harm   done   to   the   family   name   she   holds   so   dear.      maybe   dad   would   even   be   proud.      “      you   know   you're   the   one   who   asked   me   to   come   here,      right      ?      you're   aware   of   that      ?         ”         brows   knit   together   as   the   greeting   is   only   met   with   an   incredulous   scoff,      constantine-ian   roll   of   cerulean   following.      restlessness   gnaws   at   her   skull   even   before   she   sits   on   the   chair,      choosing   the   farthest   seat   from   any   window         /         door   out   of   fear   of   being   seen.      what   would   any   of   her   uncles   say   if   they   spot   her   with   the   local   gossip   girl      ?      arms   crossing   over   the   table,      rose-tinted   brims   pursing.         “         spit   it   out,      then.      what   the   hell   are   you   doing   sniffing   around   my   family      ?         ”

filth   rolls   off   the   tongue   far   too   easily   for   someone   birthed   of   nobility      ...      foul   words   more   similar   to   those   uttered   by   a   pauper   rather   than   a   prince         ;         though   only   raffaello   can   still   make   it   sound   rather   polished.         “         not   a   threat.      just   a   suggestion,         ”         laced   with   empty   digs   of   creating   a   collection   of   his   counterpart's   body   parts   as   decoration   when   refusing   to   cooperate.      he   knows   a   thing         /      two   about   dealing   with   those   of   the   spoiled   variety.         (         hell,      he   even      '      raised      '      three   of   them.      failed   experiments   as   they   were.      should   have   just   let   the   ex-wife   have   a   dog         ).         papers   handed   over   with   a   grin   closer   to   a   tease,      rather   an   odd   choice   when   passing   a   threat      ...      but   when   have   they   ever   been   conventional      ?      something   more   than   friends   but   not   quite   lovers,      promises   kept   at   bay   until   the   dust   finally   settles.         “         i   recall   you   being   more   into   praise   than   anything   of   the      ...      degrading   variety,         ”         the   drag   of   torturous   syllables   promising   for   more   to   come.         “         catalina   really   did   a   number   on   you,      did   she      ?      made   you   bend   over   and   pulled   out   the   old      ...      wooden   stick   for   being   a   bad,      bad   boy      ?         ”         

perhaps      ...      they   should   have   heeded   colette's   forewarnings   with   a   little   more   than   just   a   laugh.      how   bad   can   a   party   of   bloodsucks   really   be      ?      at   least   there   would   be   free-flowing   alcohol   far   older   than   twice   of   her   lifetime,      not   to   mention   networking   with   the   characteristically   scornful   bunch   often   fitting   the   guestlist   of   las   vegas'   most   infamous.      money   makes   the   world   go   'round,      as   well   as   pay   for   their   frequent   flights   to   meet   a   certain   someone.      small   talk   wears   at   social   battery   far   quicker   than   it   should   at   that   particular   night,      the   assassin   finding   themself   hiding   with   their   phone   in   hand   as   they   await   said   bumbling,      walking   scarecrow.         “         did   you   get   my   dr-      what      ?         ”         azurian   lifts      +      lands   at   man      ...      nay,      boy,      who   looks   closer   to   a   kid   playing   dress   up   in   his   father's   tailored   suits      —      laughter   breaks   out   as   tati   sports   the   first   smile   of   the   night.      maybe   they   misjudged   the   night   afterall.         “         which   one      ?      the   guy   sucking   face   with   a   girl   who   looks   young   enough   to   be   his   grandkid      ?         ”         a   scoff   wedges.         “         or   was   it   the   bad   edward   cullen   cosplay   with   the   weird   trench   coat      ?         ”

tangled   sheets      +      the   remnants   of   the   last   summer   sunset,      record   player   thrumming   the   beat   to   la   vie   en   rose      ;      the   most   romantic   love   song   of   the   last   century   even   unmatched   when   pitted   against   the   look   of   love   shared   between   the   two.      home   is   found   in   the   most   unlikely   of   places.      fitting   perfectly   when   embraced   in   the   arms   of   her   beloved,      snort   accompanying   an   amused   eyeroll.         “         oh,      yeah,      jack   the   ripper      ?         ”         with   any   other   companion,      fear   would   have   struck      &      sent   her   running.      a   fawn   finding   comfort   in   the   embrace   of   a   predator      —      sunken   marks   on   the   nape   of   her   neck   a   testament   to   just   how   easily   the   demise   of   a   poor   soul   will   be   at   his   hands      &      yet,      she's   nothing   but   all   smiles.      she's   starting   to   get   used   to   the   bite   of   the   nip,      finding   euphoria   in   letting   go.      anything   for   him.      propping   bird   bones   up   on   elbow,      lips   nearing   his   as   a   smirk   mimics   the   one   he   often   sports.      she's   picked   up   a   few   habits.         “         what   are   you   waiting   for      ?         maybe   i'd   be   a   good   sookie   to   your   eric,         ”         lacquered   digits   trace   his   burgundy-soaked   lips,      pearly   whites   nipping   into   her   own.         “         or   d'you   just   fancy   me   as   your   good   little   bloodbag      ?         ”

there's   never   a   second   where   he   handles   her   with   fragility,      always   teasing   at   the   border   of   going   too   far      —         only   because   he   knows   she   can   take   it,      as   if   she   was   birthed   close   to   twenty-six   years   ago   just   to   be   an   instrument   to   his   most   vile   of   fantasies.      always   takes   countermeasures,      hoever      :      he   knows   himself   better   than   anyone   else.      carelessness   a   regularity   in   how   he   manhandles,      never   forgetting   to   trickle   his   own   lifeline   upon   her   lips   as   they   meet   his.      same   red   almost   matching   painted   lipstick.         “            you   won't   do   it   again      ?      what,      am   i   supposed   to   just      ...      take   your   word   for   it      ?         ”         it   would   only   take   a   snap,      a   twist   of   nimble   flair   to   break   her      ...         she   would   be   gone      +      reborn   into   something   undeniably   his.      when   it   all   comes   down   to   it         ;         he's   nothing   but   an   addict   at   heart.      nothing   stopping   him   from   owning   every   party   of   her,      devouring   her   until   there's   nothing   but   a   shell   of   her   former   self   to   be   made   into   his   own.      her   blood   just   faintly   powers   over   everything   else,      the   only   thin   line   hindering   him   from   complete   possession.         “         you're   so   messed   up.      what   would   your   friends   say   if   they   saw   you   like   this,      hm      ?         ”         skin   traces   along   remnants   of   him   he's   already   made   on   her   skin,      a   silent   reminder   of   what   could   come   next.         “         damaged,      fucked   little   thing,      aren't   you      ?      ...      made   just   for   me.      i   don't   know   what's   easier      ;      getting   you   to   open   your   legs   or      ...         ”         blues   follow   the   stretch   of   her   neck      &      power   takes   over   principle   as   canines   sink   into   flesh      ...      there's   really   no   high   quite   like   this.

icy   hues   dart   down   to   dishevelled   lover,      searching   for   any   hesitance      ...      tracing   every   inch   of   her   to   seek   for   any   hints   malfeasance,      particularly   ones   hinting   at   betrayal.      hand   reaching   to   grasp   her   chin,      fingers   resting   on   her   cheek   to   beckon   her   gaze   to   him   with   nowhere   else   to   seek   refuge.      it's   a   familiar   sight,      though   this   one   holding   an   undeniable   tension      —      this   time,      not   necessarily   the   pleasant   kind.      he's   all   too   used   to   have   daggers   pressed   to   his   back,      though   not   once   has   it   been   at   the   hands   of   a   human,      of   all   beings.      let   alone   one   he's   been   so   open   with,      some   would   argue   even   borderlining   on   vulnerable      :      parading   open   wounds   to   her   as   if   they   were   honoured   medals.         “         you   like   looking   at   those   pictures      ?         seeing   who   i   am,      what   i   can   do,      how   good   i   fuck   you         ?      you're   'kinda   fucking   special,      you   know.      being   there   in   the   middle   of   all   that,      tits   out   and   all,         ”         thumb   teases   at   smudged   lips,      dragging   painted   petals   across   callouses   with   an   eerie   softness      ...      calm   before   the   storm.         “         i   like   you,      cassandra.      it'd   be   a   real   fucking   shame   if   you   keep   disappointing   me   like   this      ...      even   though,      something   tells   me   that   it   gets   you   off   knowing   that   i   can   fuck   you   or   kill   you   whenever   i   want,         ”         he's   done   it   once,      he'll   do   it   again         ...         &      no   one   would   ever   know.      tone   dips   an   octave,      features   unmoving   from   its   usual   brand   of   controlled   madness         —         stoicism   hosting   an   anger   spanning   centuries,      remain   unmoving   until   digits   travel   south,      resting   carefully   on   her   neck.      a   pause   before   talons   sink   into   the   skin   of   flesh,      nearly   hitting   vein      ...      never   a   good   enough   time   for   a   snack      /      snap   at   her   neck.                  “         so   what'll   it   be   this   time      ?      you've   been   real   nice   lately,      i'll   even   let   you   choose,         ”

bloodshot   eyes   meet   ones   that   almost   fall   tear-stained.      a   regularity   which   should   never   come   to   be,      especially   when   facing   whom   they   are   blood-bound.      another   day   slotted   out   just   for   the   patriatch   just   to   be   missed,      another   promise   broken      ...      another   disappointment.      yet   there   she   is,      early   as   always      —      first   one   to   come      &      always   the   last   one   to   leave,      only   to   be   greeted   faster   by   an   older   brother   who   is   in   no   shape   to   be   meeting   someone   who   would   chew   him   out   just   for   looking   at   him   wrong.      alexandre   carries   a   weight   far   too   heavy   for   one   person   to   bear,      she   just   wishes   that   he   would   let   her   share   it.      even   if   fractured   beyond   repair,      at   the   end   of   the   day      ...      what   are   siblings   for      ?         “         yeah,      um      ...      i've   been   waiting   for   a   bit,         ”         two   hours,      the   clock   says.         “         says   it's   important      ?      something   about   people   targeting   him,      looking   to   put   him   away.      maybe   he's   ready   to   call   us   in.      show   us   the   ropes.      who   knows,      right      ?         ”         if   kendall   can't   be   strong   for   herself,      the   least   she   can   be   is   strong   for   him.         “         when   was   the   last   time   you   saw   him      ?         ”

trust   is   a   funny   thing.      the   notion   never   usually   entertained   by   a   man   who   only   lives   for   himself.      there's   only   a   handful   number   of   people   he   trusts   throughout   his   half   a   millennium   walking   the   earth      :         all   of   which   are   employed   under   him,      at   least   associated   in   some   way.      when   he   let   her   into   his   life,      slowly   opening   the   metaphorical      +      quite   often   enough   physical   doors   into   his   den   of   rancid   atrocities      ...      he   never   thought   it   would   go   past   anything   than   relieving   stress   through   indulging   vices.      cassandra   quinn   has   become   something   of   a   bad   habit.      never   thought   he   would   actually   start   to   trust   @depravae​,      nor   even   entertain   the   thought.      it   was   supposed   to   be   a   test   of   some   sort,      one   of   his   eccentricies   that   no   one   but   him   truly   understands      —      twenty   minutes.      the   time   it   would   take   for   him   to   get   a   quick   shower,      phone   left   on   his   bedside   table      ...      no   intention   of   hiding,      the   ocassional   notification   illuminated   within   a   picture   of   her   taken   in   the   background.      that   enough   should   be   a   warning   sign,      a   hindrance,      even      ;      yet   humans   always   seem   to   disappoint.         “         your   parents   ever   told   you   it's   not   polite   to   snoop   around      ?         ”         steps   lighter   than   usual,      no   booming   echo   announcing   his   path   yet   broken   only   with   gravelly   inquiry.      arms   crossed   adjacent   to   the   doorway,      brow   raising   in   her   direction.         “         care   to   tell   me      ...      why   the   fuck   are   you   looking   through   my   phone,      cassandra      ?         ”

don't   only   make   friends   in   high   places,      make   them   in   the   right   places      :      words   to   live   by   from   their   parents.      while   they   might   not   be   the   most   stellar   examples   of   parenting      (      no   saint   should   be   allowed   to   raise   a   child,      especially   one   groomed   to   kill   instead   of   live   to   be   their   own   person.      autonomy   has   never   been   a   concept   the   bloodsuckers   undersood         )         ...      they've   taught   her   more   about   the   real   world   beyond   what   books   could   tell.      titles   fade,      yet   true   power   emerges   from   those   who   lurk   patiently   before   going   in   for   the   kill      +      make   their   moves   according   to   reason,      not   passion.         “         if   he's   so   distracted,      why   not   go   for   it   now      ?      if   he   doesn't   say   it,      make   him.      i   know   you   saints   have   literal   eternity   at   your   disposal   but   who   wants   to   wait   that   long      ?         ”         everything   they   know   about   the   boss   was   through   passing   whispers      +      the   limited   hours   he   spends   briefing,      most   of   which   were   left   to   be   done   by   anyone   else   but   the   man   who   knows   most.      from   what   they   gathered      ;      how   hard   can   it   really   be   to   put   a   stake   through   his   heart   ala   amy   dunne      ?         “         you   can   turn   it   around.      push   the   organisation   into   how   it   should   be   rather   than   how   it   is.      take   control   of   the   city   while   the   government   is   weak      ...      make   it   yours,         ”         more   sincerity   was   spoken   in   the   two   seconds   they   spoke   than   in   the   past   two   months.         “         slayers   are   coming   in   dozens,      you   know.      it's   now   or   never,         ”

ignorance   is   a   blessing   bestowed   upon   he   who   has   done   little   to   no   wrong   in   his   life.      compared   to   them,      anyway      ;      he's   almost   biblical,      halo   atop   unruly   curls   with   a   smile   megawatts   above   storming   thunder.      no   matter   how   many   times   they've   met   like   this,      hands   roaming   familiar   planes   they've   kissed      +      bruised         —         even   if   his   stature   towers   over   theirs,      the   innocence   of   boyhood   never   truly   left   him.      corrupted   hands   dance      &      taint,      yet   he   remains   pure      ...      almost   immune   to   the   horrors   of   the   world   beyond   his   four   walls.      divine   protection   must   be   presented   for   him   somehow,      someway.      how   else   can   they   explain   how   much   he   draws   them   in      ?      it   can't,      it   musn't   be   that   simple.         “         do   you   want   me   to   come   with   you,      sólnce      ?      why   can't   you   say   it,      afraid   i'll   say   no      ?         ”         can't   even   ask   a   simple   question      :      really,      it   boggles   the   mind   why   they've   come   again      &      again.      utterly   spineless,      ready   to   bend   himself   broken   for   even   the   most   minuscule   affirmations   of   how   he's   under   their   thumb,      just   another   scared   little   boy   thinking   he's   worth   something   just   because   he   was   raised   with   a   silver   spoon.         “         if   only   those   people   know   who   you   really   are.      getting   off   on   being   told   how   sick   you   are,      how   you   much   you   need   someone   to   tell   you   how   worthless   you   are   without   your   cock,         ”