[/style][style=padding: 20; font-size: 12px; background-color: #E1E4E6; text-align: justify;]She pressed her back against the wall in the viscous darkness of the great, underground labyrinth. The pitch dark of the Ordo Dracul Complex was a haven for sleep, but now, she waited like a predator. Her great black curls fell around her like Medusa's snakes, and her vile, poisonous lips pressed together with disappointment. She could hear a barrage footsteps pounding on the concrete floor behind the old, oak door she now guarded. She closed her cunning eyes to listen.
The silence hung like static in the hair, perturbed with the brief flashes of noise like vivid color, shaping the situation. Their kind did not use alarms. Too loud. Too painful. But they new like a burrow of ants when someone had stomped on their mound, she could tell from the noises that echoed beneath the city. A shriek clawed through the stench of old, rusted iron and rats, but she waited.
Her back was pressed onto an old mosaic, some of the pieces fallen out, the grout that held them in place rough and chipped, but it would do. Her nails tapped the glass in anticipation as she listened to the fighting, her teeth feeling each other like nervous hands. Someone was approaching. She listened, clinging to tunnel wall. It was a ceremonial entrance that led to the treasure hall of the Dracul. All their horde had gathered lay within, items that could bestow incredible power when not in the hands of her Progenitor. She would not let anyone through, and lately, there was trouble with the new-found breed. She would not let any scum of an American touch their sanctuary.
She seemed to melt into the glass, like a black, velvety shadow, her eyes illuminating momentarily as diamonds caught in the light, but this faded too until nothing remained.
kol
Last Edit: Dec 16, 2012 23:54:26 GMT -5 by anja lior
Post by Kol Valerian on Dec 17, 2012 15:32:17 GMT -5
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[/style][style=padding: 20; font-size: 12px; background-color: #E1E4E6; text-align: justify;]He’d waited until the sounds of battle echoed back to him before he made his move. The youngest of them all thought that their newfound supernatural abilities made them invincible and indestructible. Sometimes even he thought it was true but not against beings over double his own age, let alone the young, headstrong men and women who’d lost their mortality what seemed like minutes ago. Rather than micromanage them—even if normally, he would beat them himself for even suggesting a direct assault on the Ordo Dracul—he decided to sit back and let them make their own choices, their own mistakes. He would let them fail.
The small group of overambitious vampires initiated their attack while Kol hung back from the action, waiting for the noise of the fight came back to him. That’s when he made his own move, slinking down another of the many corridors in the compound. He didn’t want to assault them directly; that was too obvious, too easy to fail. He wanted to hit them where it hurt, even if the victory was a small one. Kol wanted to infiltrate the complex, just to prove he could. Perhaps he would take some valuable trinket or two to prove his success.
Kol didn’t run. He took slow, measured steps, moving carefully so that the sounds of the fight could distract from and mask his activities. Underneath the smells of dirt and grime and filth of the city, there was something nearly intangible in the dingy air of the tunnel. A faint thread of a scent that drew him in one direction or another toward whatever hoards the Dracul had accumulated. As he grew closer, Kol became more cautious, attempted to be quieter, and tried to anticipate sudden action. The back of his mind screamed at him that he was walking into a trap, that the way to their cache wasn’t clear.
But nothing but silence greeted him in the tunnels.
[/style][style=padding: 20; font-size: 12px; background-color: #E1E4E6; text-align: justify;]She did not like the meditative pace of the footsteps, and their timed, thoughtful hesitance like a heartbeat. Fearful and frenzied thieves had the thinnest skin, so delicate to her teeth. Their struggles always made the biting easier but Anja would make do with the advantage the mosaic of mirror fragments provided. Her shadow curled into their cold, empty pools, tight like a snake, when the door opened, and the sounds entered.
She was the wall, one could say, disembodied from the natural world, possessing these broken shards of silver and waiting for the light to make them ripple with color. She was a nymph of this crystalline chamber, and though blind in the lack of light, the footsteps vibrated through her mind. She could sense little things about them. The way the heel down before the toes with such a graceful and confident lightness. This made her angry.
Anja's shadow crept up the wall of the rounded tunnel until she hung just above the intruder. She could not make out a single feature, but she could smell him through the perfect darkness. It was a cologne, a man's, sharp and rich. Her hair slipped out of the ceilling first, dripping fat curls as a dark face followed, an arm raised to keep her up as her gargoyle's torso emerged silently. Anja's back arched like a trapeze artist's to keep her balance as her other gloved hand dropped down, fingers wriggling like a spider. At precisely the right moment, this hand snatched over his mouth like a muzzle, her fingers digging mercilessly into his cheeks, keeping the fiend's jaw shut.
In a swoop-like motion, she let herself go from the ceiling and alighted on his back. The shadows of her long black dress dropped down in a tangle, her body and costume falling like a blanket over a fox. She quickly pulled his ear to her mouth, wrenching his neck, her fangs tickling his skin. She spoke with caramel words, in a tone of sweet and calm reassurances. At last, the switch blade flicked out. Its chill pressed against the dead skin of his neck.
"Who dares enter-" she sung, only to gasp sharply at the overwhelming memory of his scent, and she faltered with the knife. Her nonchalant eyes shot wide open, flashing in the darkness with confused hesitance, and her fangs recoiled from his skin. Nicholas?? Her fangs pulled away an inch, but it might be enough for him.
kol
Last Edit: Dec 18, 2012 5:49:54 GMT -5 by anja lior
Post by Kol Valerian on Dec 19, 2012 23:35:38 GMT -5
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[/style][style=padding: 20; font-size: 12px; background-color: #E1E4E6; text-align: justify;]He was struck with the overpowering and cloying scent of something decidedly sweet and floral just before she struck. Kol wasn’t at all shocked that someone had found him or that there was someone in the corridor; he would be a fool to not expect something like this. He could certainly hope, but the back of his mind screamed at him that it was as the saying goes: too quiet. That forethought, however, didn’t prevent an angered growl from escaping his throat when the woman's hand latched onto his jaw, her claw-like nails tearing at the skin of his face. In a matter of seconds, she’d dropped from the ceiling and onto his back. Her canines and breath against the skin of his neck, not to mention the cold steel that touched his throat shocked him out of his moment of paralysis and his hands gripped her forearm even as he tried to shake her grip on his mouth.
“Who dares enter—“
Kol was almost as shocked as his assailant that they crossed paths again. Anja was supposed to be in a crypt in Europe somewhere, not in the heart of New York City, New York. The younger vampire figured that this encounter would go one of two ways: either she would harbor the same feelings toward him as she had before her injury—or at least the feelings he thought she had or that she tried to manipulate him into seeing—or she would kill him for abandoning her. Considering his own conflicted thoughts about the woman, Kol decided he had at least a few minutes to take advantage of some shock that she felt before she turned murderous.
He felt her hesitation even as he heard it in the way she inhaled. Her grip on him loosened enough that he managed to peel her knife-wielding hand away from his throat and rip her other hand away from his face—leaving angry red lines across his cheeks. Once free, Kol twisted her arm behind her back and pressed her against the wall of the corridor. It was his turn to speak directly into her ear.
“I dare. Though I think you already knew that I would be so brazen as to venture into Dracul territory.” The ease with which his voice suddenly slipped back to his British accent surprised him since he hadn’t spoken with it since he’d immersed himself in the Americanized version of his native language.
[/style][style=padding: 20; font-size: 12px; background-color: #E1E4E6; text-align: justify;]He was here?? It was really him? The wind was knocked out of her as her stomach slammed the wall. Her veins were frozen in the blue of uncertainty, his touch as familiar as it was queer and unsettling. It perturbed her. She had presumed him dead, and perhaps, he'd deserved that favor.
Anja struggled, attempting to wrench her arm free from his vice grip as her cheek pressed onto the gritty wall. She looked at him viciously from the corner of her eye, though she could make out nothing. His hand was already tangled in the mass of her soft hair as it pressed her back. Her angry eye viciously darted to make out his outline.
She would have laughed in his face if he had ever told her he was capable of caging her as he had now. The mocking scorn usually in her voice melted into a growl. Nicholas. His aroma, of iron, cologne, and something new, engulfed her. He smelled like a businessman.
"You!" she said, holding back a snarl from her pretty voice. He was her slave, her pet, the little worm wrapped around her finger, but here he was, no worm at all. Vampires free to revel in each other's most sincere kisses?
No, she did not trust him. He held her so that Anja could not escape. The bars were removed, and she, the lion-tamer suddenly without a whip. But she still had a bark that would make him listen. His beastly frame pressed against hers, and perhaps the most familiar scent of all was that of his teeth. Though they had once consumated similar carnivorous frivolities on moonlite nights centuries ago (what felt like only decades to Anja), she could not fail to sense the redicule in his voice.
She gulped, and then, she began to laugh coyly against the wall, her curls cascading over her eyes and her lips. Her chin pressed into her shoulder as she turned her face to look up at where his ought to be.
"You? Brazen? You were always such a fool, silly man, and I am surprised you are still alive," she said, feeling the words with her rich, aristocratic Bosnian accent. Anja gave another useless jerk of her arm to reclaim herself, but he truly had her at his mercy. She pulled together the last of her dignity, beaten by her child.
"Now let me go, Nicolas," she commanded in a tight whisper, stiff and afraid beneath his touch, hiding behind her voice and the ink of shadow.
kol
Last Edit: Dec 20, 2012 11:30:41 GMT -5 by anja lior
Post by Kol Valerian on Dec 20, 2012 15:27:25 GMT -5
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[/style][style=padding: 20; font-size: 12px; background-color: #E1E4E6; text-align: justify;]The woman struggled against his grip, but he hardly noticed; Kol just pressed her harder against the wall. He hadn’t expected to see her after leaving her in the crypt, but he couldn’t say that he was going to waste the opportunity. The vampire took pleasure in the frustrated growl that replaced her usual patronizing confidence. He could practically taste the mixture of tangy fear and bitter anger in the air between them. There was another layer buried beneath the adverse feelings that they each exuded, but that dizzying smell was not one that he felt the inclination to analyze.
“You!” He could hear her throat work as she swallowed hard, trying to bury whatever anxiety she felt, then masked it further with coquettish laughter, but she wasn’t fooling him. The air reeked of her apprehension. “You? Brazen? You were always such a fool, silly man, and I am surprised you are still alive.” She tried once more to wrench herself free of his grip. “Now let me go, Nicholas.”
It was his turn to chuckle. “Let you go? Such brave words for someone in your position.” His teeth parted and his canines grazed against the tender flesh of her neck, though he wasn’t sure if it was his way of threatening or the display of something less violent. “Nicholas may have yielded to your every whim but the Nicholas you knew is dead.” The hand that wasn’t gripping her arm brushed hair away from her face and over one shoulder. “I go by Kol now.” He placed a light, teasing kiss on her shoulder, a complete contradiction to the ruthless grasp he had on her forearm and the way he trapped her against the wall.
“Now the real question is: What to do with you, Anja Lior?” His smooth, calm tone took a turn for the angry, resentful, and malicious. “You used me, manipulated me. What is to stop me from doing the same to you? Hm?”
anja
Last Edit: Dec 20, 2012 18:44:43 GMT -5 by Kol Valerian
[/style][style=padding: 20; font-size: 12px; background-color: #E1E4E6; text-align: justify;]Anja's breath hitched as she felt his lips and the pointed touch of his teeth. The fists of her held arms clenched, her own slim muscles taught against his. A wince nearly escaped her mouth at the delicate touch to her neck, but she choked her intimidation down. He was testing her pride, and like hell she would let him have that satisfaction. She could feel it in the way his voice stretched her so thin. Her skin tingled on the surface of the mirror she was pressed into. She could not escape into it so long as he held her. Anja bit her lip - she wanted to return the pinches of his teeth with a feral, unsophisticated hunger.
As he brushed her hair aside for that second, they were back in England in his apartment. The antique nutcrackers and maps hung on the wall, heirlooms of his family, watched them laugh and fornicate. she thought of how tender he would take her, though, her standards were set by others of her kind. Who knew how many Nicholas had taken since she, or how much more he had become like her.
Perhaps it was that mortal tenderness that had fascinated her, though it was part of her spell as she leeched him. A parasite that induced love - it is why vampires are so successful. Nicholas was a man so set on becoming a monster of the flesh, but Anja still found him such a little boy. Even now, there was an immaturity in the way he teased her neck and pinned her to the wall, but she could not dismiss him like a child either. She regretted her surprise, and she frowned. Her hair fell back over her face, as she breathed the air he'd spoken. She could hear him smell her, and she quietly judged him to have grown more into, perhaps, his true self.
"I used you? You knew who you were associating with. If you are regretting what happened, well, it is not my fault, your highness. Did you not ask for my blood? Did you not put your mouth to my wrist?" she asked, chuckling mildly to herself in a mad way. "If it makes you feel better, I'll admit, it was fun while it lasted." She let her body relax as her lightheartedness returned.
"Yes, you will always be Nicholas to me. Still such a brute," and she tried her arm again, a bitter strain in her voice at last.
note. if you want to make her drink his blood, or he drink hers or whatever, go for it, haha.
kol
Last Edit: Dec 21, 2012 6:14:17 GMT -5 by anja lior
Post by Kol Valerian on Dec 22, 2012 19:55:51 GMT -5
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[/style][style=padding: 20; font-size: 12px; background-color: #E1E4E6; text-align: justify;]Her minute reactions made this dangerous game so much more… fun. Each little gasp or the stuttering of her pulse meant that, beneath her attempts at bravado, she was still susceptible to his actions. He was getting a subtle rise out of her and that was what mattered. It didn’t matter that he was in the heart of the enemy’s hive toying with one of its members. In that moment, the consequences for playing with one of the Order’s vampires—and one who was nearly three times his own age—didn’t matter. He didn’t even care about his initial intention in infiltrating the nearly endless tunnels. All the resentful feelings that he’d been nursing since the fading of the Sire bond flooded to the surface and everyone else in the underground sanctuary could all run along and abuse themselves for all Kol cared.
How much of their relationship—if you could call it that—was real? How much of it had been the Sire bond drawing him to her or the allure of power before he turned? Kol didn’t know where the manipulations ended and the actual allure that she represented to him and vice versa began. She had been the puppeteer and him the mindless doll whose strings she’d pulled. He’d saved her life because of the brain-washing effects of the bond. He’d nearly died of starvation because he could hardly leave the site of her crypt all because of that damned bond.
Right?
But then again, he’d sought her company before his transformation. That had definitely been for the conquest at first, and then the lust for power. Had it become something more before he turned? Had the bond corrupted those memories to manipulate his feelings just as she had?
It was all so complicated even before the passage of time gave the seeds of doubt time to sprout and grow strong.
“I used you? You knew who you were associating with. If you are regretting what happened, well, it’s not my fault, your highness. Did you not ask for my blood? Did you not put your mouth to my wrist? If it makes you feel better, I’ll admit, it was fun while it lasted.”
“I wanted to be a vampire, not your little slave,” he shot back, anger lacing his words.
She tried one last futile time to shake free of him. “Yes, you will always be Nicholas to me. Still such a brute.”
A humorless laugh escaped him. He liked to think that he had more cunning than a “brute,” at least since the bond ceased clouding his judgment. Kol’s lips parted again, his fangs barely scratching the surface of her skin before barely pricking her neck enough to draw two tiny drops of blood. It was enough for him to taste.
His eyes suddenly dilated with at least lust for more than just those two drops of her blood. On impulse and before he could stop himself, his knifelike fangs punctured her neck to access the crimson liquid hidden there. Kol’s eyes drifted shut and his grip on her arm softened as he consumed her blood, reveling in the taste that was so clear and familiar in his mind, it was as though the last time he’d enjoyed it was days rather than centuries ago. One arm drifted around her abdomen and he held her as he used to rather than as a scorned lover, lost as he was in the desire that the taste of her blood elicited.
[/style][style=padding: 20; font-size: 12px; background-color: #E1E4E6; text-align: justify;]As his fangs came down and pricked her neck, she shifted anxiously. Her lips fell open, and her breaths shook at the wave of pain and heat aroused in her veins a calling. His hair rubbed against her cheeks as she felt him warmly lick the trickle of blood. She could hear his heartbeat now. It sung to her. She gritted her teeth as she tried to look at him. Anja wanted to see his face. What was he thinking? And in mirror of this thought, it escaped her-
"What are you doing?" she asked in bewilderment, a shaken nerve in her voice similar to a plucked violin out of tune. Was he mad? What had happened to him throughout these years of separation? And what had brought him to the treasure chamber of the Ordo Dracul? He was, evidently, a dog in the end.
"Nicholas?"
But a delirium hit her like a truck as he bit down hard into neck, wiping away her thoughts. His fangs tore into her, his lips wrapping over the wound in mockery of a kiss. She lost herself to it, her eyes rolling up into the color red, her mouth dropping slightly open, and mass of black curls tipping backward. A carnival of pleasure consumed her mind like the fires of hell. Her pretty face flickered into a feral growl, her own fangs displayed like a cobra's.
She squirmed for her arm, and she won it back. The smell of him enveloping her took on a new, overwhelming strength, and her own pupils dilated. She could feel the beating of her heart press into his mouth.
With her free hand, she found the arm curled around her waist. Her fingers interlocking between the spaces of his fingers, and she guided his hand upward with a pressing tenacity. Anja let him savor the journey from her hip to her neck to her mouth. The scent of his skin under her nose killed her with desire, and like an animal, she bit into the bouquet of his wrist.
It was the first time she had tasted his blood. This inexplicable urge confused her, and she was tangled in a million sensations. His teeth pressing into her did not feel as they used to, a new magic gnawing into her. Maybe it was the fading of her Sire bond that pulled this new craving out of her? Maybe it was the way he took her blood without her blessing that made her want to take his in return? The hot liquid burst into her mouth, and she breathed it in like a drowning man for air.
Post by Kol Valerian on Dec 24, 2012 9:26:37 GMT -5
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[/style][style=padding: 20; font-size: 12px; background-color: #E1E4E6; text-align: justify;]Rather than fight her to keep his grip on her arm, as soon as she’d wriggled her limb free, his arm joined the one around her waist. Part of him vaguely registered surprise that she wasn’t struggling against him, but that revelation barely broke through the fog that the narcotic effects of her blood ignited in him. A deep growl rumbled in his chest as she drew his hand slowly over her curves.
Again, she surprised him by piercing the flesh of his wrist. The sudden shock of pain was the first thing to truly penetrate his euphoric state and garner enough of his attention to pull him momentarily away from the punctures he’d created. His breath escaped him in an airy hiss at the burst of pain but the sting faded into a sensation just as gratifying as drinking blood.
The pure bloodlust faded gradually from his mind, though his nearly pleasure-drunk state did not. His mouth returned to her neck and he used his tongue and lips to soothe the bite he’d inflicted and to capture as much of the blood that had oozed down her porcelain skin while he was distracted as possible.
Kol wasn’t certain whether he loved or hated her—that was for damn sure—but in that moment, hate was the farthest thing from his mind. This was the same Anja who had given him his unnaturally extended life and by whom he had been captivated for nearly a century. Maybe it had been a product of her manipulation of him, but he did recall some form of contentment during their stint together. Even if she had been manipulating him, she hadn’t harmed him; she had made him happy. Maybe she even cared about him on some level.
Such had been his internal struggle for centuries. One minute, he wanted her dead and the next he was justifying her actions for her while the two of them shared blood.
[/style][style=padding: 20; font-size: 12px; background-color: #E1E4E6; text-align: justify;]It couldn't have lasted long, even though they were reveling in the heavens of each other's essence. Boots collided against the concrete floor outside the treasure chamber's door. A flower of blood dripped from where he had torn open her neck, and Anja, caught in her wild greed, did consume every drop that flowed from the gush of his wrist. The scent of red paint made a powerful smell that filled up the dark chamber and drifted out into the tight alleys of the catacombs....
She broke free first, her eyes glistening with a new red light. Her conscious had forced her to relinquish the pleasure because she smelled Annyshe, one of the coven, on his way, which had awakened her. He was wandering in the neighborhood, perhaps trying to find the source of the scent of blood. As the glow in her eyes faded, anxiety overcame her.
"Enough," she whispered, turning around in his hold putting her hand over his mouth, her own fangs retracting with fear of being discovered like this.
Post by Kol Valerian on Jan 4, 2013 11:12:33 GMT -5
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[/style][style=padding: 20; font-size: 12px; background-color: #E1E4E6; text-align: justify;]If he had to describe what he felt in that moment, the best parallel he could draw to what he felt for Anja was that he was like some addict who’d quit his habit cold only to be locked in a room with that same vice. The part of him that escaped the addiction begged for him to resist, to destroy the narcotic, but the other part, the part that never really let go of the habit to begin with battered his self-control until he had no choice but to succumb once more. All it took was that one drop of blood and he was effectively booted from his own brand of AA.
Now it was the addicted side of him that held the reigns, not the side that wanted her obliterated. She was alive, their paths crossed, and she was his… well, he didn’t know what she was to him exactly beyond a very simple definition: She was his. Did he own her? Well, if history was any indication, then no, he didn’t. History told him that she had been the wearer of the crown in their relationship but that all changed as soon as the sire bond ceased to be. Whether their roles were reversed or simply more complicated was yet to be seen but one thing was absolute: She did not own him. At least—not in the same way she had centuries ago.
His fingertips drifted lightly across her midriff, though his arm never relinquished control of her body back to her. His hold was no longer harsh, but that did not mean that she could have escaped without a fight from him. His focus was on her blood, the single substance throughout his centuries as a vampire that enthralled him the way it did. Her blood, the kind that burned his throat like liquid fire as he swallowed as though it were the finest of cognacs, was the only substance he found that he truly craved with unfathomable desire.
A dark scowl crossed his expression and a deep rumble vibrated in his chest when she shifted the bloody wound away from him and gently placed her hand over his mouth to prevent him from inflicting another wound on her. It was a weak gesture since hands bleed as well but he refrained from sinking his fangs into her again just for the hell of it. It was not obedience that stayed his hand, rather, his tunnel vision regarding her fading and the slow recognition that someone—something—else lurked in the corridors with them.
He pried her hand away from his mouth before leaning in close to her, his cheek barely brushing against her own until his mouth was near her ear. “It seems my time here has reached its end, my Anja,” he said softly and with nonchalance as though he couldn’t smell the fear radiating from her. Slowly—reluctantly—he withdrew from her, inhaling deeply to get one more hit of her scent before he began to leave the Order’s compound.
[/style][style=padding: 20; font-size: 12px; background-color: #E1E4E6; text-align: justify;]Her hand lifted to to her wet, warm neck. Her fingers moved back to her mouth, shaking, and she whipped her cheeks and stuck her fingers in her mouth like a child discovering sugar.
Her eyes flicked into the darkness Kol had disappeared into when the passage door opened again and the light fell on the mirrors across from her.
To show another vampire blood is a sign of weakness. To offer yourself as such prey is a terrible embarrassment among the Ordo Dracul, a disgusting temptation among kin. She gasp and shrank into the silver lake behind her.
"At least, he didn't pass by me," she growled, mopping her hand over neck. That had might have been the end of her so long as the Progenitor was concerned. Putting her tongue to her thumb one last time,as her essence melted into the mirror and then came out in another room a half a mile away. It was a dusty chamber, a coffin in the center wreathed in dried roses. She turned around and looked at her reflection. She narrowed her eyes, inspecting the cut he had given her. Light came in from a half-open doorway to a moonlit courtyard. A damp cloth was set in a silver bowl filled with water for her hygiene. She looked at it sorrowfully. He really was alive, then.
What had she done. He tasted like pine trees, mint, and something greater, something so filling she couldn't even taste it until now when she had just her memory to miss it.
"Kol," she winced, pulling her hair to the side and pressing the wet towel to her neck. A tender mixture of pain, loneliness, and an awakened hunger moistened her eyes. "You are an idiot."
kol
Last Edit: Jan 28, 2013 18:40:59 GMT -5 by anja lior
HIDDEN in plain sight is a modern-day supernatural noir game set in New York City and sprawling the rest of America. Magic is real, and so are angels, ghosts, gods, vampires, and witches. It doesn't matter if you believe in them, because they're coming for you either way.
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