haldor-tow
LET'S KILL TONIGHT,
Bienvenue. Welcome to my page! I'm so happy to make your acquaintance. My name is Haldor Ackerly. Hal is fine, or Haldor, preferably. I'm a freelancer, of sorts. Very enthusiastic about the arts. I look forward to seeing you around. Please follow my...
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#long post#bertie is now a thing#yes I'm going with James Frain as a secondary claim#and his name is Albert#or Bertie.
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Poor Refractions.
January the 25th, 2015.
“I require one of your products.”
Haldor glanced up from his filing, mildly surprised. The beanpole of a man in a dark green suit before him should not have been in his shop. It wasn’t time for him, not yet. Or rather, his time wasn’t up yet. Or some aspect of time had fallen out of syntax and landed out of reach, and as a result, events were happening all out of order.
Time not being Haldor’s forte, however, the astravi simply closed his books with a shy smile and straightened upright, a good head shorter than the looming and glooming vision in hunter hues.
“Certainly, mine guud sir,” purred the spectre with teeth set in a wide and pointy smile. Nimble fingers drummed a tuneless thumping across his tabletop, the astral vampire slithered more into sight, tugging his shapeless black top into place over his bony shoulders. Looking down at him, the expressionless, yet earnest coordinator for the museum twitched a brow. Haldor sheepishly wiped the red ink from his cheek, resulting in a neon smear across his jaw. Close enough, he wagered. He was far from presentable, but then again, few souls dared to drift into his gallery when the weather was this frightful.
“Vhat es et, exactly, zhat I could be helping vith?” Quinton Rutherford glanced around the room with care before responding, unused to being surrounded by glistening, mostly-empty panes of glass [though a few of them reflected extraordinary things--a tie floating in midair, for example, or a detached pair of vivid green eyes].
“...I require a backup, of sorts.” Haldor crinkled his nose, mildly confused.
“Should sir not be going to a--a--” he snapped his fingers impatiently, smearing more ink. “Computer store?” Satisfied with this, the astravi folded his hands behind his back and smiled sweetly. Quinton looked unimpressed, however, forcing the mirror-maker to droop with considerable dismay.
“This is not,” Quinn said, pacing from mirror to mirror with a squint at each reflective surface. “A technical issue, I am afraid, but rather, one of personal and physical importance.” Haldor trailed after the man, more smoke and shadow and thought than actual being. Quinn halted before a hexagonally-framed mirror trimmed in black lace, the center of which was framed like a small window holding an agate stone.
What looked back at him, briefly, was a face like his own, with a few apparent differences--black spectacles, for example, and a broader jaw that reminisced someone else entirely. Quinn blinked, however, and the visage had vanished, replaced only by empty glass.
“...Hyou vish for an assistant,” Haldor said softly, the recognition of Quinton’s request kicking in slow. The astravi thinned his lips, absently rubbing his knuckles behind his back as Quinn continued to stare into the vacant mirror. “I’m sorry,” Haldor murmured, pacing around him to begin sorting items elsewhere on the shelves, feigning nonchalance. “I’m afraid ve don’t--offer zhat service anymore.” Fire flickered in his ruby eyes as he shifted shards of glass around, keeping his hands busy. “Not anymore.”
There was a registered silence and stillness, enough to make Haldor think the vampire had left. He glanced around in time to see Quinton reach for his wallet, however, as quiet and reserved as a well-maintained grave.
“Very well,” said Quinton, nodding to the hexagonal window which wavered on its tether, spinning to catch the dying afternoon’s light. “How much for this, then?”
Haldor’s lips stretched into a vaguely snide smile. The curator was not, shockingly, as stupid as he looked.
Though, all research considered, he ought to have believed that from the get-go.
“For hyou? Priceless. An investment vorth making, even as a vampire.” Quinn shot Haldor a dry look. The astravi performed a practiced bow of courtly apology. “I vill sell it to hyou. Five hundred pounds.”
“...Done,” Quinn murmured, looking back into the glass. The face was there again.
Together, at least one of the reflections smiled.
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beck-tow replied to your post:u know what it time 4
Shiv: :|
this actually ties in nicely 2 Shiv
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u know what it time 4
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demeter-tow replied to your post:demeter-tow replied to your post:demeter-tow...
:( sorry you’re not feeling so great. Is it your flu? -gently feeds tomato soup- I’m okaaayyyyy my advisor told me today essentially to stuff the stats and that I can just use all my data which means AALL THE MAPS \o/
x x alittle bit but I think I might be on the mend. -curls up with soup. awyiss.- ‘m glad you have a wee shortcut that way.
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demeter-tow replied to your post:demeter-tow replied to your post:demeter-tow...
Well I didn’t get to the part where the dashing geography student proves it and saves everyone from drought. BUT. For srs. How’s you?
....now u have my attention.
provided I don’t have to move from this bed for the next hundred thousand years I will be swell. =^= mostly I’m just a glum chum today. But glad to see you, I promise. <3
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demeter-tow replied to your post:demeter-tow replied to your post:.I’m in the...
Um. Once upon a time the Pacific Ocean got super hot in the middle which caused air to rise and flow west, and then it sank over India and caused drought, maybe. The end.
....7/10 -A-
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demeter-tow replied to your post:.
I’m in the library!
read me a story, francesca =^=
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.
#kinda here#kinda not#I'mma curl up in my blankets and listen to the rain#I might write eventually I just#Idk for who yet#also where is everyone ; ;#/ooc
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have you ever wondered what is the right aesthetic for u...
I’m still feelin quite ill
so I’mma hop off.
my only recommendation is to run through your lists of characters and generate an aesthetic for each one.
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Beats antique - Roustabouts (BASSNECTAR remix
Album: Collide
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This is what I brought you.
It was incredibly easy, this process. To funnel fear into a person and then let it build; permeate, marinate, refine with age. Like wine or something darker. Something saltier, more bittersweet.
The astravi walked from memory to memory; crept along corridors of thought and swam the sinuous rivers of recollection like an unholy salmon. Like a shark; swimming. If he stopped swimming, he'd die. Somewhere in the vampire's subconscious, swallowed by the sentience of somebody else, but he had to keep going...
Those were his orders.
He owed Nikola that much.
Mackenzie was ripe with fear, just as he was rife with hope. In certain places, joy blazed glorious upon a hearth built by love and prosperity and family. It made the stark shadows of bruises and soundless horrors so much more contrasting. They contorted in his head when he slept through the day, conjuring low ceilings of fear that compressed and pressed him down. Squashed him like a grape, until he ran red like wine.
Or something darker.
Saltier.
More bittersweet.
Little by little, Haldor siphoned the terror away. Inserted a morphine drip into Mackenie's mind that made guilt become bliss, and memories softer. Haldor slipped into the nonexistent skin of someone called Julian, to laugh with Kenzie and to tell him stories and remind him of the good old days before fires and Hell took them both...
Little by little, Haldor adjusted Mackenzie's position until he was faced and poised to see Julian again. He ate up all of Mackenzie Moore's fears because Tesla told him to.
And when the time was right, Haldor told him to go to Julian.
What's the worst thing that could happen, Mackenzie...?
Blood and fire, but he didn't say that.
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