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There were brief moments where Jhude blacked out, and woke up in places that he knew how he got there (someone carrying him to where he came to) but it was never really all that comfortable to begin with. After wandering around with Aster at the Guild House, the evening went by as normal. And then he tucked into his bed and went to sleep, though there was a long moment where he closed his eyes, aware that just a few feet away in the next bed Aster was.

He could hear his very soft breathing, the soft in and out of huffed breath. He'd grown used to that sign that the other man was alive, that he was traveling with him. They had been through some stuff, hadn't they?

But now they were in Anaconda and they had a purpose.

Jhude was someone who needed a purpose, needed to be guided by something-- if only it was his innate sense of right and justice. The last mission had been personally fufilling on so many levels even if part of it had made his heart sink down into his stomach when he'd seen Aster fall on the battlefield.

There was nothing that would've kept him from the other guy's side in such a case.

Morning came, he was not a particularly heavy sleeper, nor was he comfortable sleeping in. So he climbed out of bed and made his way outside and to a clear grassy area so that he could perform his morning exercises. This was routine and also contributed to feeling 'centered'; he started the forms simply, first one foot on the ground, the other on his knee-- after a few moments he went through all of his forms so as to limber himself up for the day.

He did not necessarily think, he just moved. Exercises like these were designed to clear his thoughts, like a form of meditation. He thought too much throughout the day, though he had no problem dashing in when it mattered.. when it was something important.

zauberdecke

He'd been found just outside of the Temple of Time and Space, a figure unconscious and nearly naked.

Just as the Prophecy had foretold. The head Priest, Essek Thelyss-- the divine adjunct to the God Shadowhand took him in and placed him in one of the more luxurious suites of the Temple. He fit what was outlined in the words handed down from his God, that a man would come reincarnated from the ashes of the Fallen Fire God-- the lover to the Shadowhand. And that would be the first step in making everything right.

What the prophecy had not specified was that the man would be found quite casually outside the gates of the Temple; really a very fortuitous convenience that could not be turned up a nose at.

So the man would be taken to rest and recuperate while Essek convened with the God upon the next directions. Food was provided to the man, as well as clothing and amusements such as books and other things that were native to this realm; all unseen servants that had no greater purpose than to wait on the other man.

Though the man seemed to pretty far out of it, which was-- once again no real surprise. He would imagine that making through the Temporal Gates that had separated that world from this was quite the shock however after a few days he was notified that the man had awakened and he was to be prompt in meeting with him and explaining the situation.

And therefore bearing a tray of food, he knocked lightly on the door to give the other man some privacy. He was curious as well, considering that this was the man that he would act as a vassal of the god unto during the ritual. He'd been assured within the commune that he had been cultivated to fulfill this role which was the most important one that had been ever tasked to anyone underneath the Shadowhand's service

"Are you awake?" his voice came, soft but firm.

dunkindonot

Fable hadn't been in America long, but he'd started settling in quickly. It was easy enough to put together that the kindred on this side of the Atlantic weren't exactly as deeply historically organized as those in Europe and Asia. That was something he expected that he could use to his advantage.

The journey over by steamship had been, well, harrowing, to put it mildly. He'd basically shipped himself as cargo on one of the newly touted steamships that made the perilous voyage from Queensland to Boston. He'd spent the two weeks of the voyage in complete darkness, and by the time he was delivered to his final destination, he'd been entirely starving, barely retaining a fraction of his rational thought. He'd fed on the first unfortunate soul to cross his path, and from there well.

Things had gotten better.

He hadn't truly wanted to leave Ireland. Fuck, why would he? It was his home, all the places and people that he'd loved. The man he had loved, even if that love had to be a dearly kept secret.

But that had been the rub of it, hadn't it? Nathan was a smart man. Nathan knew that something had happened, and none of Fable's excuses and lies had satisfied his questions. He couldn't let Nathan find out what he was now, what he'd become. It was definitely better that Nathan remember him as he had been rather than discover him as a monster who fed on human beings, who would not age, who could not abide the sunlight, who couldn't even take his rest in the same place one night to the next for fear of the curse of his bloodline assailing him.

So, as one did in such circumstances, he'd faked his death. A tragic fire at his home where a charred body was found that just about fit his description -- one of his recent meals. Waste not. Want not. He'd taken his sire out in self-defense, which he was sure meant that the asshole's assets were rightly his. So he had money to work with.

He bought a house in the city by the waterfront, began to establish himself as a business man. He'd learned that the clan of his own bloodline wasn't a welcome one, and that playing at another clan was an easier acceptance. He'd settled on Ventrue, and was stepping into the shoes of a shipping company, his ties back across the pond coming in handy.

Of course, he'd also had to set up a few other options for his daily refuge. A storehouse here. A factor there. A crypt in a cemetery or three. It would do for now.

He did what he could to keep himself busy, to not let regret and longing and regret drag him down. He had a long eternity to face down, and he needed to figure out how he was going to do that. On his own.

blackradley

He'd worked so very hard for this moment.

Taken on as a squire by the Palace Knights, the young Ya'shel had been seen around the training fields, knowing for his quiet fortitude, his patience and his unfailing dedication-- he had been a favorite amongst all of the knights. He never had contact with the royal family, but they likely had seen him at many a joust or festivals where he trailed along after the knight he had been assigned to, bearing waters and armor.

Swords were not even his forte though he could wield one well enough, his true love was the bow and arrow but because he was a knight, swordplay was still drilled into him (he wasn't the best at it, but he was okay) and so he managed to pass lessons, though not without little whispered tips and tricks from the other knights.

And so he had been very proud when finally he had been knighted, he'd been clapped on the back by all his mentors and then they had taken him out to the tavern to get him nice and drunk over a job well done.

That meant that when he received his assignment, he'd been sporting quite the throbbing headache that no amount of egg-based concoctions could dissipate. And the growing horror when he realized that he was going to be safeguarding the life of the youngest of the Princes, Seregil-- who was actually older than him?

How was he even equipped to safeguard someone of noble rank?

He was told by the Knight Captain that he would be moving into the palace, into the spare room that had been occupied by the last knight who had been sent to guard him and no matter what questions he asked about what happened, there was given a 'tell you when you're older' type vibe thad had him quietly indignant. So he gathered his things and made his way to Prince Seregil's chambers, arguably he didn't have much except for his armor, his simple bow and arrow, and a few well worn books, and some casual clothing.

The Knights would take care of transporting the armor but everything else was up to him.

rhimineecat

((a continuation from here))

It was a building fire, sparks to kindling, the start of flames that only grew. But there was no pain of burning in it, only the warmth and comfort of a hearthfire, a beacon to follow home. Warmth or not though, he still shivered with the thrill of the first brush of Alec's tongue to his, the first taste of his mouth, the sure start of an addiction that would take him thoroughly.

It was sweet and slow, a learning of one another. Seregil wanted to learn all of him, know the other in his entirety in his heart and body and soul.

Seregil found himself leaning closer, closer still, and then it wasn't close enough. He didn't remember moving exactly, but somehow he found himself straddling Alec's lap, still lost in kissing him. He had been ready for slumber himself, and the soft silk robe that was all he wore had started to slip from one shoulder as he wound his arms around Alec's shoulders.

He broke from Alec's lips enough to speak, close enough still that words were likely felt as much as heard. "Tell me you love me?"

blackradley

Alec i Amasa had grown up in the brothel; he'd been dropped off there as a young child and so his memory was not so encompassing to remember a life before that-- he had no idea why he was left there and just that he was. He had been taken in by the maids and cooks in the brothel and learned to do such tasks but as he grew older, his ya'shiel beauty became far more apparent even if he himself did not know of his own origins.

No one really did, and maybe that was due to his half-blood.

And now he had been given the choice and here he was, set on his own decision. It had been an easy decision as he had wanted to pay the Brothel Master for taking him in but he was still uncertain and a little bit shy with these things and so he had been permitted to attend one of the evenings saloons.

Dressed in a simple and yet by no means unflattering outfit: soft velvet trousers, a linen tunic embroidered with leaves, and with the laces slightly undone, his long honey blonde hair braided with a few locks to fall against his high cheekbones-- he had been checked by all the other whores and had been deemed good enough to go out there and at the very least watch the others ply their charms.

And because the Brothel Owner was a kind man, perhaps he was watching for a particular sort of person to be Alec's first; since it would be a courting of sorts. And one would have to be vetted completely, because he had been with this house for a while, not in the forefront until now but.. the Houses on the Streets of Lights generally took care of their own.

That was how Alec came to be sitting down on one of the settees, away from most of the crowd though watching the bards and whores that he considered friends, he was not a social person so he did not think he could just waltz there and put himself in the forefront.

blackradley

Time was a weird soup, and honestly Alec hadn't been entirely sure how long he'd been without his father, no real track of time for him especially in the rougher parts or Rhiminee where he used most of his wits to survive and he did have survival skills of a sort enough to make it; he relied on things like youth hostels and other such things to get by though he never really stayed in one place. And during the warmer months he'd been taken to sleeping tucked away in parks.

What he knew was tracking, and so when the weather was of a season, he'd find work further afield and away from Rhiminee, helping to tend the animals on farms and occasionally accompanying rich people on hunting expedition and showing them how to hold a crossbow, a rifle or anything else. More often then not he was paid as well to clean up those kills as needed.

Any bit of money he got, he stored a portion away for those months when it was cold and work seemed almost impossible, maybe it had been two years? At this point Alec did not know-- but since him and his father had a nomad's lifestyle, going from town to town, he had the necessary skills with which to make do, and to be frugal.

It was winter now, and cold.

And now he was biding his time until the spring, cooling his heels.

He took a few odd jobs here and there, most people did need delivery people and he was good at directions; and he did not precisely beg for work just he happened by the florist and then the one who knew him would grab him and give him some flowers to deliver and then he'd get tipped. It firstly, kept him warm and secondly it gave him a little bit for some indulgence in terms of maybe a nice hot coffee on the colder mornings.

He walked into the coffee shop, his hoodie which had seen better days and gloves that were made of thick wool picked up from a thrift store, going over to order his usual. Just a no frills coffee, largest they got and then stepped back to wait patiently for them to make it for him; this was just another morning for him.

blackradley

It was truth that Alec was not as restless as Seregil was; their little place on Half Moon Street was well lived in, though the treads in the carpet were not from Alec, not even remotely. Alec could be content to just sit in a wing chair and read, in dreaming-- in moving through books and ideas all of the ways that the world had not opened up for him before his first meeting with Seregil.

Though he did miss Seregil's presence, the chaos in the other side of the room; in all of his soliloquys and ramblings, his plotting and scheming.

The rain pattered outside, and Ruetha had found a good thing in his calmness. Her goal of comfort was to spend days in Alec's lap, and then cuddle in with Seregil at night and he supposed, as he scritched just behind her ears, that it must be a very sweet deal indeed. Thankfully she allowed him just enough time to turn the page before he returned back to his ministrations.

A lock of blonde hair fell in his eyes, those blue eyes that managed to convey so many emotions-- both wonder as well as stubbornness; but this time calm. Occasionally he would have to let out a cough which he covered with his hand-- not precisely noticing the petal that disguised itself within his palm before it fell casually and wedged within the couch cushions where one would find a veritable sea of them hidden underneath.

He thought about getting up to go search Seregil out, though he thought perhaps the other man did not want to be disturbed. Tried not to think about if Seregil was at the Avenue of Lights, perhaps in the arms of his green eyed boy. No, best not to think about that, he'd only be setting himself up for a long train of thought that he was not prepared to board.

So he sat there, whiling away the moments.

unputdownable

Some nameless Inn, some nameless town.

This is an origin story if ever there was one, for all great partnerships have a definite and decided beginning and this is one such.

Jhude had been on the trail of a nobleman who had been hellbent on marrying his daughter to a highly abusive peer; it was a coaching inn on the way to one of the three major metropolis; now he'd read reports that the man on the gifted end of the bride stick had been a widower thrice times over which.. to Jhude, was a bit suspicious.

It had taken quite a bit of researcher, and he wasn't a born researcher by any stretch-- but it did not take an idiot to put two and two together and he was not an idiot; it also meant that the ladies life was hanging on a knife's point. Not now, but perhaps later-- and Jhude was enough of a bleeding heart that he could not countenance this whatsoever.

No one deserved it.

So he was in the posting house, keeping to the shadows, watching the lady and her father in question. Oh, but she looked miserable, and he looked smug. Tonight was the perfect time to act, the posting house was crowded and if there was anything that he could do, it was to perhaps sneak her out, give her a bag of gold to settle comfortably, give her the name of someone within the church who could provide her aid if needed and she'd have freedom to live her life and perhaps marry someone of her choosing.

He was sitting at a table with his hood pulled over his head, nursing a tankard of ale as he watched and listened; ever so close to the table so that he could pick up their words, their routine. Any sort of information that would make this entire process easier.

absolution

It was the first time that Riley had been on the field, he'd trained hard for this. Very hard, all around him the area of people watched from their stands and seats. His armor gleamed pristine, the visor over his head, the jousting javelin tucked firmly underneath his arm.

Riding astride on his stallion, he galloped toward the ready line as the Games Crier spoke out his name. "Sir Cyril of House Valiase and his opponent Sir Germaine Moreau, please take your positions." and then Riley was in place, his heart thundering in his ears even while all around him the stadium turned as silent save for a few coughs here and there. The horn was blown and then he dug his heels in, pressed himself forward and started.

Grounding himself into the saddle, his eyes never leaving his opponent. Pounding hoofs the only thing to break the silence. That moment of fear, the way his stomach hit his throat and made him choke, so close so close. Held Breath. And then the sound of armor where he prepared for anything. No thinking, nothing-- head empty.

A clatter behind him as he charged forth. He had expected weightlessness, pain, but nothing as he made it to the end and he turned his horse around to see the attendants on the field rushing to Sir Germaine's side to help him from where he had stopped. Already they were assisting him off his horse, medics and his page. And then the crier called out.

"The Winner, Sir Cyril of House Valiase!" and the crowd went almost wild. Somewhere in the stands, he knew that his father was smiling approvingly, but his eyes did not search for his father. But a pair of eyes that he knew quite well, sitting in the royal box. There he could see them there, clapping along with the crowds-- his father not too far away from King Etienne itself.

A polite smile at his father and his King. And then his eyes searched out his best friend Guillaume with a far more shy smile; he was handed a rose by his page and there was a moment where he tried to figure out what to do with it.. he knew what to do, give it to a young lady of the court as was the proper procedure. A look at best friend, fleeting before he cantered his horse up to one of the young ladies of the Court and he handed her the rose.

--

Parties were like this, the celebrations were massive and with no expense spared. Now Riley could have found much more useful things to spend money on than a fountain of champagne and one of matching chocolate side by side-- but he did not make the rules nor did he hold the purse strings, so he held a glass of wine and watched the dancing.

He'd already done the required dancing with the young lady he'd given the rose to, also had been grilled on his mother on if she would make a suitable 'wife' for him. He did not care either way, if they arranged it then they did, it was not uncommon for parents to arrange matches for their children though he'd heard Guillaume state that his father the King was attempting to change that, to make Olympia more accepting. Trying to bridge the gap between Sylvia and Olympia, attempting to give women more rights.. everything that most Lords balked at (including Riley's father).

It felt like a fairy tale that was told, a fairy tale where magic existed and where women could be knights, where a marriage was only dictated by love. it was such a beautiful fairy tale, but Riley heard his father speak in contempt of such things, and Riley was not sure of the country was ready for that yet.

dangernerd

So, come to find out.. Calypse had been none too amused by the entire shenanigans that had happened at the Graduation Ceremony. This was standard behavior for the Kirkland siblings-- they could fight like cats and dogs, but they had been quite united on this front and had been waiting for this exact moment to sneak into the Lunar Caverns and attempt to find King Eadrick Kirkland's dagger, the one that Nicholas had lost in there on his own Graduation ceremony.

It had been a point of honour for the both of them to find it and whatever strange magic that had taken the dagger and bring it back to it's rightful place.

And right now Nicholas was sitting on one of the benches at Queensglaive Park, lightly twirling it between his fingertips and staring intently at it. He'd used it to cut Calypse out of the Dark Energy when they had been pitted against each other, it had been the start of a relationship.

Now? It was the end.

The words went through his mind, of course they did. There had been a lot that had been said in hurt and anger, including the fact that Calypse could not be with someone who did not respect his position more, their position more; and he'd let Calypse go because the thing was that Nicholas did not. He knew this, being Prince meant little to him in the grand scheme of things; the sword had been more 'bringing back a keepsake' then doing something for the good of the crown. They were different people and they wanted different things, Calypse wanted to climb his ambitions and Nicholas? He had ambitions but they were as far apart as possible from bloodlines and crowns.

And now he was stuck in Valdora and unable to go to Lethe to attend the Festival of the Winds (per directive of the Pentacles, and he'd been dumped. He'd closed up Shadowspires for a few days and the first day he'd laid there on the couch and stared up at the ceiling with his blue eyes slightly glazed, almost tempted to burn everything that was a culmulation of the past five years.

Instead he'd just messaged Trick, asking him to meet him in the park.

ausgebrannt

'Will you meet me at the dance hall this evening? After your classes are concluded?'

Caleb had been only slightly surprised by the invitation from Essek. It wasn't rare for one or the other of them to propose some outing or another -- dates, they were dates, because in this unlikely but treasured domesticity that they'd carved out for themselves, they could go on dates and other purposefully romantic activities -- though when it came to dancing, he was more often the one to offer that idea. Still, there wasn't even a shadow of a chance that he would have said no or otherwise demurred. An excuse to have the drow, in disguise as Cobalt Soul librarian or otherwise, in his arms? Caleb was in favor.

So perhaps he'd made a point of dressing for the evening, of tying ginger hair back at the nape of his neck with a satin ribbon in a very particular shade of lavender. Perhaps more than one of his students had commented on the fact that Professor Widogast looked more dressed up than usual, something that he demurred on and shifted topic pointedly to the lessons.

When classes were done, and the last of his work wrapped up well enough, he slipped his coat on -- spared a moment to unfasten the buttons at the collar of his shirt just enough so the slightest bit of chest hair was juuuuust visible, given that by now he had come to understand that Essek was fond of that particular feature. With that he made his way to the dance hall.

Inside the door, he let his gaze sweep the crowd looking for the familiar visage of his partner. But then, he was perhaps a bit earlier than Essek may have expected, given the poorly disguised eagerness to get here. But this was also fine. Caleb would abide, settling himself by the bar and ordering a drink while he waited.

"Bren?"

Caleb stood straighter in surprise at the familiar voice, turning to find himself face to face with not only one equally familiar face, but two. He half started to gently correct the Bren piece, but decided it was not worth it in the end. "Wulf, Astrid." A small smile in greeting at his former lovers-in-arms. "What a surprise to see you here." For Caleb anyway.

faetrothed

[ Time passed and the seasons changed, as it was wont to do.

The City of Andavari had small town vibes, while still being a sprawling agricultural mecca of commerce and culture. All along the outskirts of the city lay fields upon fields of orchards and farmland tended by people who loved the land and loved their country, while inside the city there were marketplaces, inns and taverns. Providing rest and entertainment for those who passed through.

Andavari's claim to fame was the Bardic College that lay at it's centerpiece, a beautiful sprawling campus full of vibrant music as well as art and poetry. For most higher institutions of learning, breaks were often taken ideally in the summer; however this college was far different in that it had 4 distinct terms within the school year as bards were always in season and always traveling.

Breaks were taken alongside 'assignments'. But there were also assignments divided through the year all across Elessari, and in this Collegium there was an acceptance all who wished to learn; and as a bard college-- it was considered 'neutral' territory, in which case students from all over were accepted regardless of race or country affiliation.

The summer sessions had just started, and there were many bards who were set off to Lethe, some to Trinity. There were also bards at the college who would eventually be sent off to their own destinations when the leaves started to turn into a symphony of reds and golds.

For Noah Giovanni, it felt like he was always here. He really had to be because of the fact that he was one of the Maestros of the Hygge Collegium therefore he was always busy, always tied invariably to this place; his roots were in deep. He had little complaints if for the fact that he did miss his days of travel, of seeing the world, of writing and of telling stories. He was a bard, but a writer-- and because of his penchant, his mother had determined that he was the most suitable to stay at the acadamy.

His younger brother Erik, who served alongside him, was normally in charge of taking the students out on excursions, field trips and practical trips all across Sylvia. One to stay and one to go, as was tradition within the college.

A few blocks away from the College, a bell rang as the door opened into a fragrant tea shop. There entered Noah and a rather lovely young woman. This was a very normal sight to see.. Noah Giovanni and his dear friend Violetta Durante coming in for a very light lunch, the two of them moving their cloaks and taking seats at a table near one of the windows. Noah pulling out a chair for the young woman before taking his own-- cloaks were removed and they made themselves comfortable for their daily chat. ]

hexualhealing

It was nearing Prince Viktor's 26th birthday.

There were many conflicting feelings from Viktor regarding this, considering that it had been stated in the prophecy that he would not live to see his 27th birthday. It meant that there was three hundred and seventy odd days in which could be his last day. The younger he had been, the easier it had been to ignore. After all he had been born with the weight of the world on his shoulders but there had been scattered light that had been refracted within his own life.

He had tutors who had taught him the joy of books and reading when he'd been too sick to get out of bed, and Fate had gifted him a best friend in the form of a young boy who had been the son of his mother's favorite Lady-in-Waiting who had kept him company.

The young prince had been pragmatic enough to understand that he would never run and play like other boys did, and he held what was considered a wise soul underneath those child-like eyes. But the friendship had been forged as Jayce had been allowed to take lessons with him and be his personal friend through it all, had been a boon that he had perhaps taken for granted.

Even as that boy turned into a man, went into Knight Training, had gone from his friend to his personal Knight. Still forever remaining his best friend.

Even known as his mother and father were pressuring him to take a wife as soon as possible, to potentially father a child as soon as possible and he did not want to think of why all these pressures rained down upon him and made the circlet atop his head far more heavy than it should've been. It was because his time was finite, it it was unclear when it would happen after his 26th birthday.. but it was looming, from the 1st day after to the 365th-- one of those days.

One of those days.

The carriage came to a stop in front of the royal palace and he waited there for Knight Talis to open the door for him, to help him out of it. The seat beside him was laden with boxes from his tailor, he'd insisted on going outside to get fitted even though it would've been likely easier for him to stay inside and let the tailor come to him; it was something stubborn inside of him that resisted the urge to fold or give up.

But he was a bit cranky because his leg was starting to hurt, as well as his back and shoulders. ]

faetrothed

The door chime over The Tea Bog chimed, and as both Riley and Liam walked out-- a very familar and tall form walked in; a portent of continued good fortune it seemed on Declan's part. Extremely worn leather satchel slung over his shoulder, and for all intents and purposes looking as if he required a stiff cup of coffee.

And maybe a muffin.

Noah Giovanni made his way to his usual spot, a corner nook and took a seat on a chair that could not quite contain his long legs, and which usually had him hunched a little bit when he had his laptop and books open. It was the week just before midterms and so he normally came in with piles of papers to grade. The atmosphere within the coffee shop was far more warm and inviting than his own cracked ikea-furnished apartment.

So he spent quite a bit of time here.

He was already removing books, papers-- the laptop (which he was not fond of, technology tended to frazzle when he was around it, he considered it a curse of his own 'not quite fitting into the modern world' setting that he was perpetually stuck at. The laptop was fairly new and had already suffered a few power blips.. he tended to open the laptop only when necessity dictated it. (and even then he had to usually get some of the more tech savvy people in the coffee shop to make it work with proper stroking of creatures who were much more at home with electronics.)

Once everything was set up, he headed toward the counter to get his coffee for the long haul.

hexualhealing

[ Forehead to forehead, and an explosion of light that fell around them in a symphony of time and space while the words reverberated within his mind, 'you are perfect the way that you are'. Their souls fused, in every timeline and every possibility there could only be them. Divine clarity, that was what it certainly was. Viktor was full of it, of the breath of Jayce's breath against his own and the certainty that they would find each other.

But gods, they could not be allowed to repeat their mistakes.

So many mistakes that could've been avoided if they had only known.

Wherever they went, whatever possibility they faced-- Viktor prayed that he would know, that he would be able to guide them away from the hubris of their own machinations, and the machinations of others. Especially for the man who braved hell so that he could be here at the end with him-- Jayce full of idealism and hope, who despite choices made could push all of it aside for the two of them, to give grace to the same man who could not understand that his own choices had been just as full of error.

Perhaps they could meet in the middle?

Underwater, Viktor had been underwater. He woke up in a start with the sun just peeking just above the horizon, trailing through his window with the first glimmers of morning. A deep breath like he had never breathed before in his entire life while air filled his gasping and aching lungs-- and that ache spread throughout his entire body.

Somewhere out there, Jayce was out there.

Waiting for him. "Every timeline, every possibility" he breathed as if it was a mantra.

There were memories of a life before this moment of wake-up, but it was coupled with the sudden infusion of life before, another era and another universe. Viktor had been given a second chance, and he would not squander it-- that is if he could find Jayce. Gods, Piltover was so big, and he was but one man; countless lives on the freeway of these souls, but he needed to find the exact one. Gods, what a challenge and with the limitations of his own body which he felt keenly.

But not weakness, never weakness as he forced himself out of bed and his body to cooperate with his own fragility. His cane was reached for and then he set about to go about his daily routine which came just as effortlessly as the time before all of this. ]

aristopire

The evening was bitter and cold outside, however inside the lights sparkled and the people danced in revelry to music as if to fend off the Prague winters which were at it's core the stuff which superstition was made of. Inside the rather large and sumptuous townhome of Count Melichar there was a celebration of sorts; the Russians were known to be quite lively during the winter when all was cold, and the ambassadorship to the Austrian city did not curtail that in the slightest.

The Celebration was the birthday of his son, Valegny. And per usual, Valegny did not know what precisely to do with a celebration and normally he was able to fob off his father. He'd managed to forstall a party for various trips across the continent which his father readily allowed.

For someone as jovial as Count Melichar, he was almost at lost with how to deal with his quiet and somewhat austere son who prefereed culture and learning to parties and revelry; though at the very least he did understand fashion and dressed accordingly though there were many points in which the Count did not understand his son.

But to be perfectly honest, it was also to introduce his son to some of the eligible young Austrian ladies of good blood and lineage.

Perhaps Valegny did pick up the inner nuance, he was not thick of brain like his father was (which he blamed on the copious amounts of drinking that his father did at any given moment, but could be forgiven for because his father was not a violent drunk, more such a theatric one. Therefore, he nursed his own glass of wine as he moved about the room and made the rounds like a dutiful son who was merely pretending to enjoy himself. There had been a pause in the dancing as the musical guest had arrived and was expected to take to the stage any moment-- in the interim, the people were milling about, refilling glasses and nibbling from the large long table filled with delicacies of both Austrian and the Mother Country-- alongside the fair of a hired French Patisserie (since his father had heard french cuisine was all the rage, and the Count was a trend setter.)

Valegny was surrounded by girls, all of them giggling and simpering, and likely all with an eye on his eligibility, and a taste in their mouths for being a Countess. He was polite however, and managed to engage with them on the latest fashions and not just hunting (which was not to his taste, unlike his father who was quite renowned), girls tended to like his biting and witty remarks that were the hallmark of a learned noble.

Little did Valegny Kojac Melichar know that very soon his life would forever change.

aristopire

Valerian Ostell's life was fairly busy all things considered.

It was filled with meetings upon meetings, midnight brunches and forays with his best friend Cassandra into the Boston social scene, the world passed by in a whirl for him; was it how he expected his life to have gone? In some situations yes, he had expected he would always go to Harvard Business School, he had always expected he would take over the family business-- that he would take a wife for appearances, and a lover to his own preferences.

What he had not expected was being turned into a vampire at the age of 26, poised forever on the edge.

So some of those things came true, others did not. They were never mutually exclusive, he supposed.

Upon the death of his mother and father, some horrific accident that had been spread throughout the papers (it did not affect him, he had not been to terribly attached to them in the first place. They were largely neglectful as he did not require constant supervision to do what he needed to do, and that was get top grades and make it so his reputation was beyond reproach. No scandal in high school and none whatsoever in college, he was without blemish-- if a bit ruthless.

Ruthlessness was not necessarily a fault when it came to being rich, it was just part of the landscape.

Being a vampire and being a rich boy seemed like a fairly good combination, he knew how to invest his money to watch it grow throughout the adges; he'd cut his teeth on the Dow Jones and had a Swiss Bank account for as long as he could remember. He approached all of his with a calm efficiency that was in keeping with his core personality. Boston was his home turf but there was a part of him that called to Saintsmourn, it was perhaps memories-- he was still human enough where there was that lingering shadow of sentimentality within him.

It did not help that he sat on the Board of Directors for the Prepratory School and University, as his father had before him-- an inherited piece of baggage; ironic due to his vampiric nature though he could walk in churches as he had never been completely catholic in nature-- only catholic insofar as much as it figured that he would turn out gay in a all boy's school.

That was an exceedingly catholic thing to do.

He did enjoy the arts, for all of his practicalities. He had season tickets to the Met, to Broadway, he usually took off for New York Fashion week to cavort with Cassandra, and he sank down money into patronizing the arts in whatever form or fashion it took. If his eyes lingered a bit to long on a certain violinist in the Broadway orchestra, he made no true indication of his preference.

But it was true that Saintsmourn had one of the best choirs in Massachusetts, and he found himself drawn to them. Even as he sat there on the balcony watching the performance, he remembered one who had sung the most enchanting of all of the choir members, who would sneak out to play his violin in the empty gardens at midnight-- perhaps that had truly instilled the love of music within him, of all things beautiful in a world dominated by numbers and analytics.

Underneath his Dior shades, his eyes were closed as if he was feeling the music. His fingers tapping against the armrest lightly-- it was a spot that was reserved specifically for him, a little pocket which was a kickback to the board of directors but which only he untilized for attending a simple choir recital. Most thought it beneath them, but he did not.

But he would never willingly admit that he took time out of his schedule; no-- he was merely in the area.

dangernerd

Nicholas Kirkland (Nicky to those who he considered friends) was at this moment finishing up the last of his reading for his college classes. In the little dorm-room that himself and Patrick shared, it was a muddle of books and random objects that they'd collected. Not only that but also bits and bobs of their friendship tied into neat little nostalgic notes.

The last rays of the sun was streaming in through the window and he was poised, feet crossed on desk and balancing barely on the back two legs-- precarious yes, and honestly he knew that he should not really be doing this. Coordination be damned, he'd never worried about it before despite the bumps and bruises he regularly got because he was perennially distracted.

It was almost time for Patrick to come home from his late evening classes and then they'd start their foraging for dinner.

After that, well the evening was still young and there was trouble to be had. All of which he looked forward to, after all Patrick had for as long as he remembered, been his favorite partner in crime.. they had grown up together and they had a special bond.

As close as brothers, except not quite-- and honestly? Nicholas was glad for that.

giveanything

"Bless me father, for I have sinned," the words tumbled past his lips, ingrained in the well worn pathways of his memory from the years he'd spent in catechism and as an altar boy. Not that Liam was devout anymore -- how could he be, given what he'd become, given what he did and continued to do. The confessional booth was small and dark, light filtering in only dimly through the door and its screen that kept him hidden from the sanctuary beyond and from the priest he assumed would be on the other side.

"It has been... a very long time since my last confession."

What was he doing here? This was ridiculous. He couldn't possibly expect forgiveness and absolution. There had to be true repentance for that, real contrition, and Liam knew he couldn't manage either. He hated what he did, despised every moment of it, but he wouldn't stop. He couldn't stop. The price for disobeying was far too severe, and he would not be the one to pay it. The price for his disobedience and his failure would be paid by his brother, and he couldn't live with that.

So William had made his choice, made it again and again, putting that one life ahead of so many others. And oh he was good at what he did, talented at ruining people, in shattering whatever it was in a human being that kept their souls in place, until they were ready to throw it away. His watcher commended him for it, in a sick and sadistic sort of amusement.

Today's lost soul had been... fuck. It had been hard. She was young, barely nineteen, and her road had already been a hard one. He'd played the game with her for the past few weeks, insinuating darkness and doubt into the cracks of that already-battered soul. Today. Today she'd shattered, and there would be no recovering from it. Another soul for the demon who owned him.

He could feel the panic rising up in his chest, cold and hard and threatening to freeze his lungs so he couldn't draw in enough breath. In the dimness and silence of the confessional, all the carefully constructed walls and facades trembled and fell away. Gone were the easy smiles and quite literal devil-may-care attitude, all the charisma and charm that he relied on in his cursed excuse for a job. It was him and his breathing and the silence and the faceless priest in the chamber beside him. Liam wondered if he could hear the panic in his breathing.

"I... sorry. This was a mistake. I should go. I'm sorry, Father, for wasting your time."

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: Nia and Daisy's Musebox :

August 2026

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Page Summary

unputdownable - : At the Guild House :
zauberdecke - : IN THE SERVICE OF OUR GODS : for ausgebrannt
dunkindonot - Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end (Nathan & Fable)
blackradley - : A Green Knight : (Prince/Knight AU)
rhimineecat - TFLN Overflow
blackradley - : Street of Lights AU :
blackradley - : Modern AU Nightrunners :
blackradley - : Hanahaki - Guess I'll Just Die :
unputdownable - : Luck in the Shadows :
absolution - :: The Joust of Riley's 17th Year ::
dangernerd - :: NICKY & TRICK - Valdora ::
ausgebrannt - Give your heart and soul to charity, cause the rest of you, the best of you, honey, belongs to me
faetrothed - : Andavari - The Tea Bog :
hexualhealing - : Dragon!Viktor and Knight/Jayce AU :
faetrothed - : One Good turn for Good Fortune :
hexualhealing - : Every Timeline Every Possibility :
aristopire - : December 1797, Prauge :
aristopire - :Saintsmourn - Valerian & Anton :
dangernerd - : Saintsmourn - Nicholas & Patrick :
giveanything - Saintsmourn

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