" Are you lost, Daniel? " ((I had to)) // @vilestblood

The feel of warm rich velvet is familiar at his nape. Daniel clamps a swift hand over the point of contact as he turns to face that voice's source. Eyeline instinctively angled up. Knowing him before he's seen him.

"Mr. Cainhurst!" To his credit, he isn't forced to feign surprise at Antonin's approach. Unnaturally, there's been naught but a single crunch of grass beneath his boot to signify the man's sudden presence.

"Oh, I- didn't see you..." He takes a single, surreptitious glance behind Antonin, at sprawling unbroken fields. The forest treeline is some ways from them. So is the nearby manor house where he remembers having his audition. He should've seen him... "...approaching." And he should've heard him too, but that detail he spares, more deeply unsettled than he dares admit.

The recovery is swift, polite smile practiced to perfection. The touch of stiffness to it is his own unwitting improvisation. There's nothing in Antonin's features to denote displeasure, at least. But when is there ever. Danny's shoulders sag a touch, frame deflating. The smile smooths.

"No, no, I'm hardly lost. We woke up early and so it's been a rather long walk. Through town and then..." He gestures sidealong to where they are, just outside of the last urban neighbourhoods, concrete turning cobblestone. Not a soul for miles, besides the three of them. "I thought Bentley over there would like the fields." And there he is, off in the distance, a yellow ball of fur trotting his way back towards them leisurely. Even from afar the excited jiggle to his backside is evident.

Daniel turns back to face his unexpected companion then. Fussing over one coat button, suddenly more worried over how frumpy he might look this early in the morning than anything else. Oh and there's one more thing.

His hands wring around the folded dog leash.

"I'm so sorry, are we tresspassing on your grounds?"

new tag drop lads!

Holds Daniel's hand immediately ✅️❗️

Oh, it bears no thinking what the merest touch of Antonin's hand did to him once. Memories old but no less mortifying. He used to fumble and stutter over words and suffer undignified shades of red in the man's maddening presence, so often at a loss of what to make of it. He still does sometimes, and gladly, at private and deliberate behest. Not much has changed yet everything has. Some decades ago he would have spared him the scourge of clammy palms and himself the horrid humiliation. Now their fingers get laced together immediatelly.

Daniel scoots closer to press his side into Antonin's, bright grin on.

"Romantic application accepted, Mr Cainhurst. Would you like a spring or winter wedding?"

@vilestblood ,  ❛  would  you  have  done  any  different ? ❜

He tries to grip the champagne glass as elegantly as Antonin holds his wine and ponderously looks across the decadent formal hall. It's few minutes before a new year and here he is, thinking back. It's rather par for the course where Antonin is concerned. The man has a way of blunting even the sharpest of questions, yet never holds them back. And isn't this one something. Daniel, for his part, tries not to look like he's circumventing a loaded gun.

"I. don't think a thought like that would be very wise of me to have..." He's quiet, apologetic in tone and smile. Dreaming of alternatives isn't in his nature.

Looking back isn't either, unless it is through the lens of time and distance, at the skins he's shed along the path it took him to get here. He's someone else now. He knows if he were to read a book on his life he'd think the protagonist very stupid and sad, and that's as far as he's willing to go with the notion. The past is in third person. It's the present that's in question. The thought of giving it up for a chance of change.

His eyes lift in search of a most brilliant silver lining. There are the glittering chandeliers above and the silken crowd below and Antonin, who cuts a pale, commanding shape beside him, taking up the bulk of his view and attention. Yes - Daniel supposes, with a tenuous smile - he is very much silver.

"I'm content as I am." he says, all too aware how pregnant his silence has been, how telling his face, uncertain in its fondness. "That is to say: No. Not if it changes this. I rather like it here."

A great noise ripples through the crowd below, tickling at his fingertips and drawing his attention. He tunes back into the larger picture and straightens up, as if to compose himself, features settling into pleasant neutrality. Eyebrow crease smoothing.

"Fifteen minutes left." he turns to Antonin, edge of excitement to the tone. It isn't every year he celebrates with such big company and doesn't hate it. Perhaps it's because this feels more intimate; removed. An ambience that begs a question. He studies the man quietly. He understands why Antonin had asked.

"Would you?"

@sunrisemuses , ❛ i’m just saying, murder is an option. ❜ - Molly

"Molly... No." He walks stiffly by her side, tense like carbon string, senses lit by proximity to danger. They're out in the open to begin with; easily seen, though hopefully no longer recognizable. Happy little Charlie Riggs is a stranger by now, a relic extant in photos alone, and Molly has only been Molly for a few short years. They should be safe.

Though he can't say he isn't tempted. He only knows the man through photos, archived staff records from Patricia's library. There's no unpleasant memory to stoke his fire, no direct blame as fuel, but Molly's offer says enough to lend at least a sympathetic ember and vindicate his fury. For now, he links his forearm round hers and keeps her close as they walk by Thomas Miller, former lab orderly, with bated breath. He softly pats her wrist after.

"Not in public."

The gate number at their back reads 15 Maple and he's just heard Miller shove a housekey into it.

"Not yet."

“   there’s  a  killer  storm  going  on  outside ,   so   unless  you  want  to  disappear  under  mysterious  circumstances ,   i  suggest  you  get  comfortable .   ” (Dean) // @sunrisemuses

Daniel watches the rain pressure wash all of outside, arranged like a particularly mopey mannequin in front of the diner's doorway, stiff and bewildered, mouth curled in picture perfect indignation, and feels profoundly cheated of his luck.

"But I have... things to do!" As if his upsets will turn the tide of a thunderstorm. A lightning bolt flickers the sky some blocks away, like a nasty cackle at his misery. He's going to be late for practice. O, the horror.

Determination permeates his stance. Has permeated it for ten minutes now, violin case tucked under his coat front and shoulders bent aslant, poised for a mad dash through the storm. Yet not a move has been made. He's at an impasse. Ruin his suit, get an earful about it later, make it to practice soaking wet and fashionably late and drip all over his tutor's carpets in lieu of missing a session...

"...I can run it."

...or get an earful about slacking off and escape with his life and lenins intact.

"No, I can't."

He turns to fix Dean with a most miserable look of resignation. Arms going slack at his sides.

"...Could I practice here... do you think?" Fine then. He can be some horrid circus diner attraction until he gets Vivaldi sounding right. Hopefully no one comes in until 3. "...I'll help you clean up?"

" kiss. " a moment , in which he looks away . " . . . please . " , @comicbookcreature

Hands at Michael's jaw, thumb on his cheekbone - he's cradled like a thing precious and fragile. Daniel looks at him all tender.

"Not like this." he mutters, haltingly, and then shifts them horizontal, reclining down slow and taking him along, onto a bed where the room had once contained none. He holds Mikey closer, face to face upon sheets that feel like soft grass. The temperature shifts, there is daylight outside the dark windows. Danny's eyes are no longer blue.

❞ 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬. ❝

The roof is no more. Walls gone. At once the dips of mattress become a sprawling meadow and the pillows hills, and Daniel's bare form dwarfs their size, stretched across river valleys. A colossus lain in rest. First Love held against his breast, hands within their hair, woven in with vines. Coaxing each fresh green buds into bloom. They kiss and the hills flower.

His voice a tender echo. All heart, all oath.

❞ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫. ❝

@sunrisemuses , ❛ you’re not a very convincing liar. ❜ (Dean)

"I did not lie."

And Dean always has to pick and prod where he shouldn't, doesn't he? As is his very nature. That awful, godforsaken 'concerned' sort of sidelean look and the pitying eyes whenever Daniel lets slip an immutable fact of his life, only to discover it odd to others; frightening. He's getting fiercely tired of it. He shoves his sleeve down over the fat, bruised varicose lump of burst vein on his forearm and tries to enjoy his monday morning coffee, wrestling the gut churn of shame. From failure and pain, both stamped on him like a humiliating mark. And aren't all scars temples erected in the name of his incompetence. Sunday's training day. He should've waited til Tuesday to visit; the bruise would have faded by then.

"I said it's no business of yours. And it isn't." He tries not to sound defensive but fails, eyes stubbornly downcast to his cup, quietly searching for a shield to hold, a sword to yield against Dean.

"You have no interest in taking control of your power. I do. None of what I am capable of was procured out of thin air, Dean. It's all well-earned. And how I earn it does not concern you."

What color is your aura?

Honey

friendship bracelets, beehives, school busses, children's books, flower petals, honeyed toast, polaroids. your essence is honey: you are devoted and endlessly enthusiastic. your friendships are your security; you shroud yourself with people who make you smile and feel lost at sea without them. often you are quick to dedicate yourself to whatever hand feeds you. you are the companion. you are the confidant. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of peach, marigold, yellow, and orange, who share your love of teamwork. you are also drawn to the streamlined souls terracotta and chiffon, who will help you grow and discover your own confidence. however, you may struggle to get along with the heedless personalities of orchid and chartreuse who seem like fair weather friends.

Tagged by: @chromatiica 💖

Tagging: @comicbookcreature @gareththegreat @sunrisemuses @chivalrites

@vihilum , ❛ did you hurt yourself? ❜ for nancy wheeler.

he  almost  feels  affront  at  the  question  on  automatic.  had  she  asked  it  first  he'd  have  no  qualms,  but  as  it  stands  she's  sixth  and  everyone  previous  has  set  an  awful,  unfair  precedent  so  far.  journalists  sure  are  one  goddamn  rotten  lot...  yet  her  voice  is  kind  and  searching,  and  he  holds  no  grudges  against  friends so all she gets is a horribly tired smile.  she  just wants  to  know,  no  holds  barred,  as  she  always  does.

and  while  the  answer  would  be  'not  quite',  he  can't  articulate  as  much  with  a  tube  stuck  through  his  neck,  so  he  just  shakes  his  head.  gingerly;  mindful  of  all  the  cables  criss-crossed  around  his  hospital  bed.  the  expectation  that  she'd  believe  him  is  frail;  he  wouldn't  blame  her  if  she  didn't.

he  looks  mostly  unharmed  on  the  outside,  after  all.  no  signs  of  foul  play.  his  cheekbone  stings  from  an  unfortunate  meeting  with  hard  concrete  but  he  knows  there's  no  bruise.  there  never  is.  it's  always  made  lying  that  much  easier  for  patricia  when  there's  no  proof  of  the  contrary,  and  he's  in  no  mood  to  try  and  convince  anyone  otherwise.  the  hawkins'  post  has  swung  round  already,  looking  for  a  very  clear-cut  headline.  'teenager  tears  his  own  throat  open,  more  on  page  3'.

he  gives  her  a  surreptitious  glance  -  room  empty,  habit  unshakeable  -  and  reaches  out  one  unsteady  hand  to  her  bag.  a  small  gesture  makes  the  intent  clear  -  pen  and  paper.

@serpentxprince , said "Pay little mind to a certain injured vampire that has somehow managed to wrap himself up enough in a tarp and sleeping bag to keep from burning in the morning sun just long enough to find where Dan is living to hide from the daylight, barely being able to say hello and pull some curtains closed before collapsing into Torpor, just a literal corpse until sundown."

he  receives  the  unsteady  tarp-wrapped  vampire  bundle  at  the  doorway  and  sort  of  swings  it  inside  one-handed  with  the  fervor  of  a  man  half-panicked  out  of  his  mind.  he  hasn't  even  had  time  to  process  the  insanity,  the  sheer  impossibility  of  the  situation  -  this  is  a  werewolf  household  forsythe's  dragged  himself  to  -  before  he's  forced  to  act,  very  quickly  and  acutely  aware  of  his  friend  in  even  bigger  danger  on  the  other  side  of  that  door.  some  of  the  terror  bleeds  out  of  him  once  he's  got  a  hold  of  a  very  much  unharmed  vampire  and  he  realizes,  with  no  small  amount  of  discomfort,  that  he'd  half-expected  to  be  met  with  a  charred  corpse...

with  an  armful  of  Forsythe  and  a  new  record  for  undoing  all  of  the  front  door's  six  locks  under  his  belt  he  moves  them  inside,  minding  the  foyer's  big  bright  windows.  it's  a  large,  white  house,  near-impossible  to  accomodate  a  vampire,  but  danny  tries  his  best;  throws  the  opaque  curtains  closed,  then  sets  the  sleeping  bag  down  to  get  a  better  look  at  its  contents.

❝ what.  were  you.  thinking?! ❝  his  voice  is  a  low,  frightful  hiss  as  he  wrestles  with  the  string  of  the  tarp,  intent  on  lecturing  the  vampire  to  his  face.  he's  screwed  them  both  over,  daniel's  sure  this'll  bite  him  in  the  ass.  orchestrating  asylum  for  a  vampire  in  this  house?  is  going  to  be  a  nightmare.  the  stench  of  wyrm  is  impossible  to  rid  of,  he's  heard,  and  he  would  be  at  a  loss  for  reference  even  if  he  were  to  try  covering  their  tracks.  his  mother's  sure  to  sniff  it  out.  that  train  of  thought's  cut  quite  short  when  forsythe's  bloody  face  lolls  out  of  the  tarp's  confines.

❝ good  god... ❝  for  a  creature  already  beyond  the  mortal  coil  and  therefore  immune  to  its  unpleasantries,  forsythe  sure  has  a  way  of  looking  disconcertingly,  horrifically  human  at  times.  even  paler  than  usual,  with  great  red  splotches  juxtaposed  against  his  skin,  eyes  glazed  and  unfocused,  he's  got  the  look  of  a  dying  man.  it's  enough  to  scare  daniel  right  out  of  his  anger.   ❝ Forsythe ...  who  did  this? ❝

@s4ints , “   i  never  should  have  let  you  talk  me  into  this .   ”

❝  oh,  heaven  forbid  you  have  some  fun.  ❝  yes,  fine,  he's  being  a  huge,  giant  hypocrite,  but  it's  rather  important,  as  a  good  host,  to  source  entertainment  for  a  visiting  guest.  especially  one  who  so  effortlessly  gives  him  the  distant  impression  that  it's  very  much  the  other  way  around.  he  occasionally  forgets  Todd  is  something  else  and  becomes  struck  with  the  notion  again  at   a  horribly  inopportune  time,  usually  in  the  very  middle  of  inane,  silly  things.  he  takes  a  bundle  of  park  tickets  from  the  vendor.  they  have  little  ghosts  on  them.

❝  provided  heaven  exists...  ❝  he  figures  he  could  push  for  it  later.  they  have  a  halloween  themed  amusement  park  to  explore.  ❝  alright.  haunted  house  first?  or  rollercoaster?  ❝  he's   only  a  little   nervous.  they've  seen  at  least  three  attendees  with  scythes  so  far.

Tag 9 People To Get To Know Better!

Tagged by @sunrisemuses 💖

Favorite color(s): Never picked a solid one to like consistently. Currently fond of purples and sunflower yellow.

Currently reading/listening to: Reading Under The Dome by Steven King. Listening to The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde. Also some history podcasts.

Last Series: LMAO, a Twilight Zone rewatch.

Last Movie: Nope by Jordan Peele

Currently working on: Repainting my apt and some uni projects.

Tagging: @s4ints @serpentxprince @punkavior & 👊 you 👊 fr if we're moots I wanna peek into youe brain, steal it please & tag me

❛  you  &  me, we’re not the same.  ❜ // @vanishinq

"...I can see that."

He tries not to look as perplexed as he feels. A gentleman's mark is courtesy, after all. And there he is, all tailored suit and silk tie, arranged primly on the jute lounge - knees politely together and hands atop them nursing the long cold vestiges of his third espresso - desperately keeping his eye level well-away from his companion's plunging neckline.

In his defense it's distractingly outlined with glitter... The best descriptor Daniel can come up with, in his confusion, is 'eccentric'. It's also the most polite. Alex Stanwick is an amalgam of bright, gaudy little details he can't quite piece together into a whole picture. His current focus are the set of long, ring-adorned fingers on the café table.

He offers the man a stiff, baffled smile.

"I uh... I hope the rave? ... went well?"

@comicbookcreature, x

The head tilt Michael receives for his troubles is hypercritical. He's an awful liar, because Daniel hasn't known him long yet he can still tell, by the way he tries so desperately to sound fine, that he isn't. He has no sense of smell either, yet he's sensed his unrest. It's an assumption he's made, yet he finds he's right. He doesn't tell Michael that.

"How long have you let this go on for?" Tone even, unaccusatory, concerned around the edges - Daniel watches him while shedding his jacket and formally rolling up a sleeve. All business. Contrary to popular belief he finds little satisfaction in this. Just distress. Michael is an ally and his impulsivity is dangerous to both of them. That, and Danny doesn't like his sad, morose eyes for reasons he refuses to dwell on.

But there is no chastising this time. No lecture. Until Michael makes for the proffered arm, fangs poised for the wrist, and a set of long fingers grips his chin before he could reach target.

"Careless." Daniel scolds fretfully.

"Rule number one, you do not drink from another creature without making sure it's safe first. Asking, at the very least. ...This one instance I can forgive.. because you know I would never hurt you." His tone dips lower, softer. Hard blue eyes pin Michael commandingly. "But my blood is poisonous to your kind. Thankfully, only as much as to inebriate you, at best. Or make you feel a little unwell, depending. Still. I'm to be consumed in moderation."

@comicbookcreature , " I can't leave you for one minute, can i?"

Hands unwind from around Michael's neck, brace against his chest; the mood sours. Trust him to be smug about being missed. Daniel goes from a hug to a glower whiplash-fast, with half a mind to close his window on the vampire's fingers and strand him out to dry.

"Oh, a minute, is it?"

He pushes him a fraction and stands back arms-crossed, chin high, in front of his window sill. Sphinx at an impregnable temple.

"It's almost been a week. Explain or you're not coming in."