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 Posted: Tue Jul 28, 2026 9:27 pm
 I Once Fell Upon A Tibetan Monk. I Had Fangs And Unliving Power; He Had Words.... ______________________________________________________________________
[[[ New York, New York -- Metropolitan Museum of Art -- 10:44 PM ]]]
“C’mon we’re gonna be late!”
Laura half-laughed the words as she gently pulled Serah's hand and climbed the stone steps. Serah was all but Laura's passenger in her fervent attempt to both meet the deadline and provide a good time for her would-be paramour. Serah almost hadn’t believed Laura's story when she’d offered for her to join her. Apparently she’d won some radio contest. Been the ninth caller and landed herself a pair of tickets to some ritzy event at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Biggest museum in the whole damn city. As Laura explained it they were unveiling their newest exhibit and the ticket holders had the good fortune of getting to see it before anyone else in the city. Not a bad deal all in all.
Their approach came to a slow when they noticed a man standing at the center of the double doors into the museum. His hands folded in front of him at the waist. A black suit like something out of a mobster film. His head was shaved; and yet he had curiously handsome features. “Tickets please.” Laura let go of Serah’s hand to dig into her jacket. Within moments she pulled out the envelope that had arrived in her mailbox. Marked but not stamped, Serah might notice. Strange. Laura handed the envelope over; and the man in the black suit gently plucked it from her. He inspected it’s contents; and then smiled back up at them as he tucked the envelope into his own suit blazer.
“Please,” he began as he stepped aside for them, “enjoy.” Even Laura felt an odd unease about this man. But he was the bouncer. He’s supposed to be intimidating, right? Without another word Laura stepped forward to open the door for Serah. She smiled as Serah stepped inside; and Laura followed suit. The museum was strangely eerie with no one else in the main lobby. Such a massive and pristine room devoid of life felt more like a troubling scene. “Evening.” They both nearly jumped out of their skin as they turned around; and found a new individual standing behind them. Where had they even come from?
A woman. Japanese in descent. She looked young–in her twenties perhaps–and her skin was flawless. Dressed in a silky black dress that matched the deep dark shade of her long hair. Her slender acorn-shaped eyes motionless as her sakura-colored lips spread into a welcoming smile. “Right this way.” She stepped forward and then through the two of them. She smelled divine as she passed.
Laura swallowed, and then chuckled away her fear. “Big place, no people...creepy, right?” Laura said as if reassuring herself more than Serah. With that the pair of them followed after the Japanese woman. A member of the museum staff, perhaps?
They walked through halls and rooms both cordoned off and open wide. They walked for nearly five minutes with nothing but their own discomfort and the clicking heels of the woman who led them. Until she turned to lead them down a flight of stairs; and their unease would be somewhat lifted.
The room was a lovely artistic interpretation in and of itself. Concrete structures that weaved and warped up a few stories at least. At the bottom of the stairs was the main floor; and there was a ring of people mingling among themselves. On either side of the room were tables decorated with glasses of champagne, hors d'oeuvres, and various desserts. “Alriiight! This is more like it, right?” Laura said as her spirits lifted. In the center of the room was a black curtain raised in the shape of a cubicle tent. It was large enough to hide a couple of cars in. Undoubtedly the center of tonight’s event. It was almost eleven pm now…and the event would be starting soon.
The people mingling about the room were a mixture of both normal and not. Most were just your every day folks much as Laura or Serah might consider themselves to be. But here and there--sparsely littered throughout the crowd--Serah's unique pathology would pick up on the strangely attractive, strangely still, and strangely empty smiles of certain individuals littered throughout. Her momentary concern dashed away by Laura's arm hooking through her elbow; and walking her towards one of the buffet tables.
"Thank God, right? For a second there I thought we were in the s**t." She giggled as they stepped into line; and for a moment it felt exactly like that. A couple of people awkwardly shuffling down the buffet line at a soiree of varying strangers. Nothing they hadn't done before.
Right?
______________________________________________________________________
....By The Time He Was Finished Speaking, I Finally Understood Which Was More Powerful
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Posted: Tue Jul 28, 2026 10:20 pm
[[ I forgot I was a bad b***h, tragic... Breaking all the rules 'cause they were only habits... Cinderella's dead now, casket... ]]  
There were a lot of things in this world that Serah had patience for.
One of them was her coworkers.
But really, at this point, she felt like this one was on thin ******** ice. The night had been going easy. Well, as easy as it could be for a weeknight at a bar. But then, out of nowhere, Laura asked her how she felt about masquerades. Like Serah had ever thought about the idea in her life.
But somehow, before she headed out to enjoy a quiet weekend without work, she had been roped into going to one with Laura. But really, it was at a museum, for one. And two, she had won the tickets on the radio. The RADIO. Honestly, it seemed rather too hard to believe.
However, here she was a couple of days later, wearing a simple black dress that she had pulled out of the back of her closet, being led around by her arm like she was Laura's date. She supposed the girl was cute, in a way. But coworkers. It was a recipe for disaster if there ever was one she had heard in her life.
Then came the series of red flags that the evening seemed to come with. Or, slightly pink flags, she supposed, since she had been told a time or twelve that she was a suspicious person at heart.
First was the radio station contest. She could never believe in those.
Second, was that envelope in Laura's hand. No stamp. Just... delivered.
Third was the entire bouncer. Something about him was off.
Fourth was the inside of the place.
Fifth was the jumpscare of a greeter.
But Serah followed along with Laura, not wanting to make a scene. She followed while taking in the room around her, a smile finally drifting over her lips. Serah liked museums. They were peaceful. Grand. Something to be awestruck over. If it wasn't for the fact that the party was in a museum, she possibly would have chosen pajamas over the heels she wore. They clicked against the ground as she walked, and that was pleasing in a way.
But not as comfortable as pajamas by far.
They finally reach the main room and something inside of her both relaxes and tenses up all at once. Laura speaks, and Serah was glad that the woman was used to her quiet nature, because it occurred to her that she hadn't answered any of the girl's queries even once.
"Oh. Ah." She begins. Not a promising start to being a better friend. So, with a small clear of her throat, she speaks slowly. "Looks fancy."
Laura takes her arm and they head towards what seems like the buffet line. Which honestly was a promising start, all things considered.
After perusing the crowd, however, she decided that number six was absolutely whoever all these people were. She had a faint notion that the weird feeling in the room wasn't just because this was a little above her pay grade.
"You think... they'll have tiny cheese?" It was a terribly joke, and delivered in her dry tone of voice like she usually held her jokes. Looking to Laura, she quirks a smile, her blue eyes finally focusing on the woman, as if finally taking note that they were here together, and Serah wasn't just a prop that had been brought along.
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Posted: Tue Jul 28, 2026 11:13 pm
I Once Fell Upon A Tibetan Monk. I Had Fangs And Unliving Power; He Had Words.... ______________________________________________________________________
Laura made an awkward and almost pitiable smile at the tiny cheeses joke. It was rather quaint but then Serah had never been all that vocal with her. “Yeah, right? Maybe some–”
“Your attention, please.”
The voice of the Japanese woman echoing through the room was enough to command anyone’s attention. The dull throb of murmuring individuals came to a gradual quiet as the room turned to gather their eyes on her. She stood at the forefront of the black curtain which veiled tonight’s main event. She clasped her hands together in front of her midsection in the fashion any good attendant might; and began to speak. “Thank you for your attendance. The owner of tonight’s piece–regrettably–has been summoned away on business. However…they assured me that it would be their great honor to give the good people of New York an opportunity to enjoy it. Without further ado; the recently rediscovered sarcophagus of Menkaure.”
By some unseen mechanism the curtains parted at the middle; and slid apart along the metal rings lining the railing which held them. Unveiling in the center of the room a stone sarcophagus dating all the way back to the 4th dynasty. First discovered in the pyramids of Giza in 1837; and lost at sea only a year following in 1838. Thought to be long lost let alone salvageable. It’s weathered stone surface dotted with coral and mottled green. Ages and eras of wear clear across it’s surface.
The audience erupted into another series of impressionable acclaims and intrigued inquiries. Cameras flashed and cell phones snapped as they took their own impressions. For a few moments it seemed like this was actually it. An amazing artifact rediscovered and unveiled for people to enjoy. That is until–as always–the worst side of the world reared it’s ugly head.
“THIS is it!?” A man stepped forward from the ring of people; and one sight told you he was bad knews. Frayed and loose-hanging shoulder-length black hair. A nose with a bent bridge. A dark red leather jacket, and black jeans. A gold chain necklace, along with his fingers being laden with tacky golden rings of various shape and size. The bouncer didn’t stop this guy? “We waited all night for this bullshit!? Some empty box!? Stupid b–” The Japanese woman was clearly and immediately annoyed by this. Such was evident from the way she’d turned her head the moment he started talking, and nodded to a different section of the crowd.
A man wearing the same suit as the bouncer came stepping from within that mingling group; and started towards the loudmouth. The red-jacketed ruffian decided to make his own move first; and reached into his jacket to draw something from within it. As he did he shouted, “Nah! Nuh-uh, chromedome! One more step and I blast the broad!” Several screams erupted from the crowd as he leveled a double-barreled sawed-off shotgun on the Japanese woman. Whom quickly raised her hands and pressed her lips into a hard line of silence.
The bouncer stopped walking, and people were scrambling. They were rushing for the stairs. Rushing for different doors. “Oh SH–” Laura didn’t even finish. Serah wasn’t very sociable; but she wasn’t a fool. She had already started pulling Laura towards the nearest opening. A small hallway with two doors on one side. Bathrooms maybe? She’d worry about that when she got there.
The man holding the gun started to panic. His chin snapping left and right as he watched them flee. He didn’t want them escaping. Why? They’d soon find out. “Hell with it–SABBAT! PARTY’S ON!” Glass shattered around the large room as the windows were breached. Whooping and hollering echoed off the walls as more men and women dressed in red leather came descending alongside the shards of shattered glass. Their boots and shoes slapping strong against the marble.
Bang
The Japanese woman’s frail form went flying backwards the instant following the sound of the double-barrel going off. Her body smashing into the wall above the buffet table, and then collapsing unceremoniously onto the table. Lifeless and still. The bathroom doors they’d been rushing to burst open before they even got there; and from each door came more of these laughing terrorists. They brandished knives, baseball bats, pistols–bang--
–Serah’s body twisted back as the bullet ripped through the soft flesh of her shoulder; and shattered against the concrete behind her. “OHMYGOD, SER–” But Laura yet again was cut short by Serah’s quick thinking. She let the arm that had been hit hang at her side. But she kept moving. She twisted in place as these terrorists–Sabbat they’d said?--tore into the room. Slicing, shooting, and tearing their way through any so unfortunate as to get in their way.
Serah, Laura, and six other people managed to burst through the doors at the top of the stairs. Turning down the hallway and storming towards the entrance. Women throwing their heels over their shoulders and dropping their purses. Men holding the shoulders of their women in one hand, and frantically digging for their car keys with the other. Screams erupting once more as the doors they’d fled from burst open once more; and the sounds of whooping and hollering came echoing after.
The hunt was on.
______________________________________________________________________
....By The Time He Was Finished Speaking, I Finally Understood Which Was More Powerful
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Posted: Wed Jul 29, 2026 12:51 am
[[ I forgot I was a bad b***h, tragic... Breaking all the rules 'cause they were only habits... Cinderella's dead now, casket... ]]
Quick math was being done in Serah's mind. She had always been terrible at math. But leaving a room she didn't want to be in? That, she was a veritable professional. She was just a bartender. Bartenders did not participate in armed battles with psychopaths.
Or normal people, for that matter.
She compiled the things she knew as they moved.
One. The sarcophagus had been cool. A piece of history that she couldn't deny the impressive nature of.
Two. That angry man could have used someone telling him that his outfit was awful. The surprise he had unleashed however, was unexpected.
Three. She had been shot. It hurt like hell. But panic was a helluva thing. It dulled it to merely an aching roar that reminded her that bleeding was her least favorite activity to participate in--she had just found that particular fact out. Right next to parties where she had to wear terribly uncomfortable shoes, and scope exits like she was on a mission.
Four. Those guys in red leather weren't something to sniff at. She was pretty sure that her self-defense courses hadn't covered getting trapped in gang wars.
At least, she assumed it was some sort of gang war. There were a lot of weapons for a fancy party. A giggle escapes and she slaps her hand over her mouth. She was definitely losing too much blood. Laura said something and Serah holds up one hand, pausing briefly before grabbing her arm and yanking her into a side room.
Something about the night made her think that heading to the exit with the others they had come with was a bad idea. She pushes the door closed and leans against it, listening to the whoops and hollers. The gunfire and screams. The sickening sound of wounds being made.
Yet it wasn't enough to keep her fully conscious and with the moment. She knew that because all of a sudden she was across the room, and she was fighting against someone. Laura was screaming. Serah's shoes were gone.
They had been expensive shoes.
Luckily, the man she was fighting seemed to be alone. And he was only wielding a knife. Lucky for her, right? Though fighting seemed to be a rather generous word for what she was doing. Surviving, might have been the better phrase. Surviving badly, with one arm sort of useless.
Another blink and she is standing above the man. He was down. Somehow. But so was Laura. Was she breathing? Was Serah breathing? She shakes her head, trying to clear it. How was she missing so much time? Like she was losing too much blood to focus on remembering what she was doing. But it had been a single gunshot. Nothing that bad, right?
She looks down, feeling a heat in her midsection.
Oh.
That was it.
She had been stabbed. Stabbed and shot. It wasn't her night. The knife was missing. That's why she was losing time. Losing memories.
"Laura," she breathes the name, looking back at her coworker. Her friend? Were they friends? If they survived this, she was pretty damn sure that particular title was off the table. Honestly, Serah was pretty sure that she didn't even want to cover shifts for the pretty woman anymore.
They were acquaintances at best now. If she was feeling generous.
There was a lot of noise past the doorway. Screams. But not from the guests. The whooping and hollering had stopped. She watches as a figure tears through people that should have been winning. They had the numbers, after all.
Serah looks down again. But now, looking down seemed to be at the side wall. Was she laying down? That was weird. She had been pretty sure she had been standing up moments before. Her blue eyes flicker back to the doorway. The figure came closer. The screams were less.
Which was nice, because she was ******** tired. The black that had clouded her vision became complete, and she couldn't think after that. Hopefully, the figure coming through the darkness was a friend.
Serah could use one of those now.
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Posted: Wed Jul 29, 2026 1:07 am
I Once Fell Upon A Tibetan Monk. I Had Fangs And Unliving Power; He Had Words.... ______________________________________________________________________
[[[New York, New York – Metropolitan Museum of Art – 3:36 AM]]]
Serah was sleeping a dreamless sleep. Something as unsettling as it was refreshing. Her world undisturbed for a few hours as her body lie drifting through the limbo that was the precipice betwixt life and death. Then came the low hum of voices conversing nearby. A man and a woman. Her parents? No…come back, Serah. Her consciousness fought to piece itself together. Her eyes fluttering open. Her vision coming into focus from the blurred globules that made up the world of delirium. The voices became clearer as her vision did; and she turned her chin to find that she was lying upon a black bag. The length of her body. The only comfort so far being that she was atop it rather than inside it.
She pieced the room together bit-by-bit as she propped herself onto her elbows. The bodies were gone. The blood was gone. It was like nothing had ever happened here…if not for the few key items remaining. Such as that scumbag she’d stabbed in the chest sitting in the middle of the room. One of those buffet tables had been moved, cleared off; and the stabbed man was sitting in a chair in front of it. The piece of wood that Serah had shoved in him still sticking out of his chest. His chin resting against his chest, and his eyes closed. Serah would have scowled if she had the strength. Then she noticed what was next to her.
Beside her lay her coworker…and–to pang Serah’s heart–her coworker had not been so fortunate. Only her neck and head were unveiled. The rest of her pale and lifeless form already neatly zipped up inside an identical container. Her fatigue and her lack of coherence was so great that not even the grief or sense of loss could fully kick in. Instead she turned her focus to the voices she could hear; and laid eyes on the same sarcophagus that had caused this incident to begin.
“..eep it here? In the museum?” The man asking the question was a silver-haired and dapper old stallion. He stood at a muscular and commanding six feet two inches. His hands folded behind his back. His silver-gray hair tied back into a knot at the back of his head. He wore a dark sports jacket over a white t-shirt. Blue jeans, and black boots. His voice heavy with a thick Scottish accent. He would have been someone truly worth staring at for some time. If not for the woman who stood beside him; and answered with a voice that melted the most hardened of killers.
______________________________________________________________________
....By The Time He Was Finished Speaking, I Finally Understood Which Was More Powerful
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Posted: Wed Jul 29, 2026 1:12 am
 I Once Fell Upon A Tibetan Monk. I Had Fangs And Unliving Power; He Had Words.... ______________________________________________________________________ Tzimisce - Philosopher - Musician
“I spent centuries in here….Dhis was my temple for a time, Grigori.” Her accent was just as mysterious as she was. Old English? Oriental? Arabic? Inflections and nuances of all and yet more still dancing with every word. “...my church…deconsecrated by dhe spilling of an angel’s blood.” The woman’s long, slender fingers reached out to brush against the cheek of the Japanese woman who’d been shot and killed outright. The Japanese woman’s corpse had been covered with the white tablecloth that had once been covering the buffet table. “Donate it. I never want to see it again.” The woman brushed a strand of hair from the Japanese woman’s lifeless face; and spoke one last time to her compatriot.
“Take her. Make dhe arrangements personally. I want it done properly.” The man–Grigori–didn’t say a word. He reached his arms out, and–with the tenderness of lifting a butterfly–he picked the woman’s lifeless corpse up from the surface of the sarcophagus. He turned around and began walking out of the room. His footsteps barely making a sound as he passed the table where the scumbag sat in paralyzed silence. The woman before the sarcophagus had turned around; and somehow the very sight of her seemed to lift Serah’s mind into action. Her synaptic activity firing off as her muddled thoughts began to clear.
She wore an infinitely stylish loose-hanging ensemble of catwalk-grade clothing. A black coat that perfectly fit her slender frame and hung all the way down to the back of her knees. Her sleeves rolled up to the elbows; and a white office shirt that was only half-tucked beneath her high-rise jeans. Jeans which snugly fit to a gorgeous pair of long, firm legs. Her exotic pronounced cheekbones cast subtle crescent shades across her cheeks; and her sharp defined jaw gave the image that she was a marble sculpture–a masterpiece–come to life. Her platinum-silver hair shimmered in the streaks of pale moonlight breaking through the shattered windows…and her eyes. From this distance Serah couldn’t quite tell but it was almost like…almost like something was dancing in her eyes.
Platform heels were set on the ground beside her bare feet; and the woman made nary a sound as she left them to step across the room. Approaching the table wherein the scumbag sat in a basic office chair likely stolen from the lobby desk. She came to stop inches before the edge of the table opposite the man; and raised her chin. Her eyes looking down her nose. Watching him? No. Loathing him. As though she were allowing the hate she felt to not only ferment; but boil in her very gaze. A few seconds later and the woman reached one of her pale-skinned hands forward to grip the stake in his chest. Serah was too tired to object–and it was too late. The stake was ripped from his chest; and the man sprung to life.
“ACK! HU–” He coughed and hacked for a few moments. Shaking his hair out and snapping his chin all around the room. Like a crackhead or a junkie who’d just woken up in a holding cell. He started rising to his feet simultaneously with his immediate objections. “The Fu–”
“Sit down. Be quiet.”
It was like one of those old Looney Toons stunts. Where the man had a metal plate in his a**, and the chair had giant magnet underneath it. The chair almost buckled from the force and swiftness with which he returned to his seat. His mouth snapping shut. Serah herself felt something too. Like the moment the words left the woman’s lips she wanted to sit down. Was she already laying down on her back and elbows? Yes. Was she fully aware of that fact? Yes. Yet still something in her brain was asking “why aren’t you sitting down right now?” Like the animal instincts ground out by ages of civilization were suddenly firing back up in her brain. If not for the fact that she were already laying there quietly she would have felt quite a bit more. Well that and the fact that she was still losing quite a bit of blood; and wouldn’t last much longer.
“...My reputation…is my currency.”[/color=black] She began in a tone so breathy, so calm, and so quiet…that it rattled the man to his very core. “Did you know dhat two thousand years ago, a man could walk the face of the known world without fear of harassment nor molestation?” She asked rhetorically. Knowing the man was no better educated than a carrot, or a stone. “He could walk dhis world unafraid. Cloaked only in dhe protection of dhe words, ‘Civis Romanus’...I, am a Roman citizen.” The woman began around the table quietly; and started to approach the man as he sweat bullets in his chair.
“So great was the retribution of Rome universally understood as certain should any harm come to even one of it’s citizens.” The woman gripped the back of the man’s chair; and began wheeling him around the table. Maneuvering him towards the side of the table opposite Serah’s broken form. “Dhe woman you blew away was under my protection; and that you killed her tells me…you don’t know who I am.” She stopped. Her back turned to Serah. She swiveled the man in his chair; and Serah could see his bulging eyes beginning to tear.
The woman folded her hands in front of herself; and shook her head with a sense of pity. “Dhat’s a shame; and a surprising one at dhat. Most everyone knows about me. I’m in dhe world’s most popular book.” The woman unfolded her hands; and reached out to place one hand on the back of the man’s chair. The other she placed on the arm of his chair; and she leaned in closer to his face. Her eyes locked into his. Serah was lying on the floor wounded; and still curious enough to strain her ears to listen.
“‘and I heard–as it were–the noise of Thunder. One of dhe four beasts saying; come and see. And I saw…and behold;’” The high-pitched ‘meeeep’ that came from behind the man’s sealed lips would have been comical; if not for what came next.
“A Pale Dragon.” The sound that filled the room next–it couldn’t be described. To even come close…like a thousand mice screaming their last desperate scream in harmonious accord. Dozens of nails all at once being dragged across the surface of a chalkboard. The man’s legs kicking furiously at the air in front of him. His hands clawing at the woman’s shoulders, and biceps. To no avail. The sound of bones snapping–cartiladge crunching–and chewing flesh preluded by that most horrifying screech.
It was over in seconds. The chair rattled against the floor as it fell to one side. The man’s lifeless body hit the ground; and Serah would see that he no longer had any kind of face. Nor even the vestiges of what even could be called leftovers. Before Serah’s eyes the man’s body burst into embered ashes; and then into dust. The woman who’d…eaten…him. By the time Serah’s eyes returned to the woman…she was standing inches away f on her. As still as an oubliette. It was too much. The fear. The adrenaline. It caused her heart to race; which only pumped more blood from her wounds. Her rattled breathing picking up both in speed and need as she started to slump down onto her back again. The woman standing over her–the monster–began to kneel. Her once clean clothes and pristine face now utterly soaked with the dark blood of the man she’d just chewed apart. The only saving grace being that Serah had been spared seeing what sort of horror the woman’s face must have been to do such a thing.
The woman reached forward; and Serah tightened up. But she did not whimper. “I’m sorry,” she began as she gently weaved her fingers into the back of Serah’s hair; and lifted the woman’s head from the ground as if she weighed nothing at all. “but we’ve all gotta start somewhere.” What? The hell does that mean? Serah watched as the woman raised her own wrist to her mouth; and then…bit into it? The woman then offered her wrist to Serah; and Serah grimaced at the very sight. The woman’s blood wasn’t red. It wasn’t dark red. It wasn’t even black.
It was silver. Like thick mercury running out of an old thermostat. Serah shook her head. Maybe death was the better option. “Either you drink it now or I feed it to you after you pass out. Dhe choice is yours.” The woman said flatly. As if she were Serah’s mother scolding her about her vegetables. As opposed to some kind of monster covered in blood and offering her more. Serah pinched her lips; but realized she was in for the long haul at this point. She allowed the woman to bring the wrist to her lips; and tentatively sipped.
Serah’s eyes popped open wide for the first time in…who knows how many years? Not even the horrid luck of a terrorist attack had really thrown her off her game of being a general social leper. But this taste that hit her tongue? It wasn’t even just taste. It was delicious–no–it was divine. But that’s not all it was. It sent lightning through the nerves in her tongue. Bolts that reaced across her gums, down her throat, and into her body. There was no way to describe it. “Remember my name–Elizabetta–and remember this;” The tentative sip turned into hungry slurps as she grabbed the woman’s wrist herself; and clung to it with both hands.
Serah was listening–she swears she was–but she couldn’t stop. She drank…and drank…and drank…and–finally–the woman managed to shake herself free from Serah’s momentarily powerful grip.
Her mind raced. Her heart beat faster than it ever had before. She felt like she was on top of the world...and her head couldn’t handle it. The world was spinning. She was…passing out…
“No matter where I am–no matter what I’m doing–if you call for me…I will come.”
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Posted: Wed Jul 29, 2026 2:47 pm
[[ I forgot I was a bad b***h, tragic... Breaking all the rules 'cause they were only habits... Cinderella's dead now, casket... ]]
There was something to be said about the way that your mind can block things out given just any opportunity to do so.
When Serah woke up in her own bed, the first thing she felt was massive confusion. Lifting slowly up from her pillow, she rubs her face, scrubbing the base of her palm against her icy blue eyes. A groan escapes, and feeling rumpled by sleep, she grimaces as her alarm goes off.
"Ugh. I hate when I wake up seconds before you go off." She muttered the words darkly as she slaps at her phone, silencing the annoying sound.
Her mouth tasted like absolute garbage. Pushing out of bed she pads to her bathroom, turning on the water and leaning over the sink. She looks at her reflection for a moment.
How the ******** had she gotten home?
The thought drifts through and she blinks at her own reflection, her forehead wrinkling. The rich person's wet dream party.
Laura.
Wincing, she rubs her eyes with the tips of her fingers, bending and splashing water on her face. She used it to wipe the exhaustion from her features, and grabs her toothbrush, water dripping slowly from her jaw and nose. She cleans her teeth slowly, letting her mind mull over the night that she had experienced.
It came in flashes.
The unsettling guests. The sarcophagus. The man with the shotgun.
Her motions pause, her mouth open as she meets her eyes in the mirror. Pulling the toothbrush from her teeth, she blinks slowly, staring at herself, trying to make sense of the images that flew through her mind.
The shouted words. The red leather. She had been shot. She had been stabbed.
She turns off the water, setting her toothbrush down on the counter. It was weird that she wasn't panicking, right? That was weird. The settled down feeling she had. Like the memories that didn't feel like hers. Her hands fly to her torso, feeling the spots where she had been hurt.
Serah had been hurt, right?
Her gaze meets her own again and she blinks.
"What the ********> the murmur was soft, and she leans forward, turning the water on and rinsing her mouth. She followed that by rinsing her toothbrush, and turned off the water before turning on her heel. She went to her closet and slammed it open.
The dress.
Then, her alarm started going off again. A slow blink occurred and she looks to her phone, her eyes narrowing. Work. She had opening shift at the bar. A groan echoes and she rubs her hand over her face.
Distracted from the thoughts that didn't make sense, she combines it all in a little box in her mind and shutters it straight into the 'later Serah problems' area. Rather, she would get dressed and try her hardest not to be late.
Black jeans slid over her legs, her feet stuffing into black sneakers with bright green laces. A duo of tank tops was her choice tonight, green peeking out from under the black. A black button up shirt went over the top, which she rolled the sleeves up to her elbow on.
A multitude of rings adorned her fingers, and a stack of bracelets around her wrists. Necklaces were looped around her neck, and a wide tooth comb was dragged through red curls. Securing them in a messy sort of half bun, she grabs her phone and her keys, heading towards the door.
Her wallet was an afterthought that was shoved into her front pocket, and she wanders out of her shitty loft apartment and into the streets. The walk to work didn't take long, and she stopped along the way at some food cart, getting a kebab and eating it along the way.
Serah, underneath all of the stoic coldness, was a rather hot mess. Her life was not something that could be called in order. Standing in that place between adulthood and figuring her life the ******** out, she lived day to day with a sort of nonchalance for her own well being.
As evidence by her job at a dive bar, and her living situation with a sliding door that barely locked, and windows that looked into a sketchy alleyway where drunks threw up, and desperate couples hooked up sometimes.
But it was her life, and she was okay with most of it. Mostly because what else would she do? Get it together and become a functional human?
That seemed like more work than it was worth.
Walking into her workplace, she greets a few of the other people who worked there with half-hearted waves as she heads to the back. Her phone was relegated to her back pocket, and her keys were dropped into a bowl on a table in the break room. She grabs the half apron that she used daily, tying it around her hips and checking the pockets for a pen, the pad of paper she used, and the random pieces of bar supplies that she needed to get through the night.
Not to mention a pack of gum.
Popping a piece into her mouth, she chews it, letting the spearmint flavor distract her from the thoughts that had threatened a return in the quiet of the break room.
"Did you hear? Laura never showed up for first shift," the voice sweeps in through the open door, and Serah freezes.
"Are you kidding? The ********? She's always here early making those annoying ******** quips about early birds and s**t."
The response solidified it in her mind. Laura was missing. Laura had died last night. Serah remembered that. The woman. That strange woman. She ate someone's face. Hands shaking, she runs one hand over her hair, breathing slowly in through her nose and out through her mouth.
She was distracted from her light panic by her keys zooming out of the bowl and skidding across the table a few inches. Blinking at the sight, she tilts her head to the side. Her fingers pick up her keys carefully, and she stares at them. "What...the fu--"
"Serah. For ******** sake. Get your a** to the bar. Regulars are coming in hot with the restaurant closing early." The voice breaks through her question and she tosses her keys back to the bowl before turning on her heel and following the rather rude demands of her coworker. Brian, she thought his name was. She wasn't sure. He was usually day shift.
Heading for the bar, she lost herself in serving drinks and squinting at customers as they tried to flirt with her. The fact that she was pretty but quiet seemed to spark something in all of them. Like they wanted to see her squirm. Each man thought they would be the one to break her cold exterior, and every woman seemed to only want to make her laugh. To crack her facade and see what was beneath.
It was casually annoying. But also made her good tips. The annoying was only made worse by the fact that Laura wasn't there to take over some of the more frustrating customers. The ones that couldn't take no for an answer. And it wasn't like her replacement for the night, Dani, would be any better.
Girl was too new, and an absolute wreck at making drinks.
The shift was over soon enough, and she put her apron back on the hook before getting her keys and heading back to her home. Once she was inside, the sliding warehouse door barely latching behind her, she walks to the windows, opening them and slipping out onto the fire escape, climbing up to the roof just above her studio.
She stands on the edge of it, letting the memories wash over her. "Elizabetta..." the name came out as a soft murmur, like a prayer she wasn't sure she should be making right then. But somehow... she knew the answers she was looking for lay in the woman who said that she would come if Serah just called.
And somehow... she didn't think that the woman had meant a phone call.
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Posted: Thu Jul 30, 2026 10:03 pm
I Once Fell Upon A Tibetan Monk. I Had Fangs And Unliving Power; He Had Words.... ______________________________________________________________________ Tzimisce - Philosopher - Musician
“I am…a violent person.”
The words echoed around the small concrete room that Elizabetta shared with her attendant, and a badly-beaten police officer; Officer Harting. The officer’s blue uniform shirt dappled with splotches of his own dried blood. His pants removed and tossed onto the floor besides his iconic blue cap. His boxers yellowed with urine, and reddened with blood. A veritable compendium of bruises, small lacerations, burns, and missing flesh patchworked across his body. A cloth gag wrapped around his head to silence his mouth.
Grigorii stood beside this officer. The quiet bodyguard’s knuckles were still slick with Harting’s blood. Harting’s chin lifted up from his chest so he could level the one eye that still worked on his captor; on the visage of the pale-skinned silver-haired woman who sat in the dingy metal folding chair before him.
“I’d like to believe I’m better. I wish I could tell you dhat I hadn’t chosen a life which all but requires violence…but if I hadn’t–” she began as she leaned forward in her chair; and interlaced her fingers in front of herself. “--I ask myself…’would I still be violent?’”
She asked no one in particular as her eyes drifted to an empty patch of floor besides Harting’s chair. “and despite all that…in my heart–I know–the answer…is Yes.” She said as her eyes flicked back upwards. Locking onto the gaze of the officer which sat across from her. “To know dhat men like you walk dhe world. Preying on dhe helpless with no cause nor claim. Oppressing. Taking. Killing. Knowing--” Her tone becoming a bit more severe as she stood from her chair. As she took a single step forward to gently lay her hands atop either of his shoulders; and lean in close to him.
“Dhat every day you are still alive gives you another opportunity to take. To ruin. To destroy. As if there are no children waiting for their turn at the wheel. As if you aren’t condemning them to a future of struggle. As if you truly believe that your life is more than their potential. I walk this earth every day; and every morning I have to choke down dhe urge to kill and eat every single one of you.” A pitiable whimper escaped Harting as he trembled beneath the woman.
She stared him down for a good long while…and then spoke again. Slowly pulling back from his as she did. “In three days’ time you will be given the privilege of being promoted to deputy chief. You’re going to accept; and you’re going to answer to Me. You will live dhe rest of your life as an exemplary, upstanding, and model representative of the law.” Elizabetta removed her hands from his shoulders; and slipped them into her pockets. Her tone getting about a hundred shades brighter as she maneuvered the tactics of the interrogation. Negotiation? Orders. They were orders.
“Do this for me; and you will enjoy far more privilege than the meager pension the state offers you. You’ll be working a blue-collar job and raking in the money of white-collar crime.” She said with an almost friendly and approachable chuckle. The smile on her face held for a moment. Then a moment more…before it started to fade just as quickly as she’d put it on. “If you don’t?” She asked with a cant of her head.
Harting shook his head as if to say ‘I would never’ but Elizabetta rolled right past him. “I’ll take your hands. I’ll take your feet. I’ll take your tongue. I’ll take your eyes…and leave you alive. Then it’ll be the next guy’s chance to be rich.” Harting swallowed hard. Elizabetta didn’t have any interest in whether he showed that he agreed. That much would become plain from his actions in the next few days. But she would need to run him down the communication systems. “Now–” Elizabetta stopped talking. Even Grigori looked up from Harting to check the woman out. “Boss?”
Elizabetta’s hand almost flew off her wrist she was so quick to raise her index finger and silence them. “Sh.” She commanded curtly. Elizabetta took a single step towards the only door in the room. Her head tilting gradually. As if she were straining herself to hear something beyond the door. Or perhaps further even than that. Elizabetta turned again to face Grigori. “I’ve something to attend to. I trust I can leave this with you?” Grigori nodded without a word. “Good.” Without a word Elizabetta left the room; and began down the hallway of the dilapidated warehouse. She made it to the double doors which led outside; and pushed them open.
The sounds of crunching bones. Tearing flesh. Rending sinew. Soon enough–the beat of great wings.
—---------
Serah would be standing near the ledge when she–too–heard the same sound. Her head turning left to see where such large-sounding wings could be. Only to hear a voice pull her attention back towards the right. “In ancient times,” Serah almost gave herself whiplash with how quickly she turned to face Elizabetta. It was clear from the way she didn’t lose balance that she must spend a lot of time up here. Interesting.
"People would smoke a mixture of tobacco and black hellebore. It was said to..." Elizabetta seemed to almost drift away as she found the words, her amusing hand-language as active as her unusual mind as she waved about in the air, eyes squinting and chin canting as she sought the words from her vast memory. "To fend off Demons, and induce Visions."
She sucked her tongue a couple of times when she finished speaking--a habit--and then shrugged her shoulders. "If you're going to jump I -must- insist you smoke a bit before you go, it'll make the trip down a -rollercoaster.-"
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Posted: Thu Jul 30, 2026 10:39 pm
[[ I forgot I was a bad b***h, tragic... Breaking all the rules 'cause they were only habits... Cinderella's dead now, casket... ]]
It was long enough since she had said the name that she started having her first doubts of the rationality of her thoughts. Maybe it was all in her head. Maybe Laura was just out sick, and Serah was suffering from some food truck induced crazy hallucination that she just needed to purge in the bathroom and pray that it was a one off that wouldn't strike a second time.
Maybe she just needed some very deep and intricate therapy sessions with someone very qualified to figure out just what was going on in her head sometimes.
Then, the noise.
It was a noise that she was pretty sure only existed in horror movies. Her head turns to see if she could figure out what the sound was, praying desperately that it wasn't some horrific monster that she would need to scrub out of her mind with more alcohol than she could possibly consume in one sitting.
And then the voice.
Serah could feel her soul leave her body. The jumpscare from that moment alone was nearly enough to send her into convulsions at this point. Turning rapidly towards said voice, she grabs her chest, heaving out a long breath as she sees it's just the woman.
Yanno. The woman that ate faces.
Her jewelry dug into her fingers as she tightens her grip on her tank tops for a moment. There was another memory tingling at the edge of her periphery, but she couldn't focus on that at the moment, as she was rather needing to pay attention to whatever the ******** the woman was saying.
Serah, heart pounding in her throat, stares the woman down with unblinking eyes for a moment. That pale blue stare of hers that generally unsettled most people because humans rather needed to blink, and Serah seemed to be a human who forgot that particular fact sometimes. Though, she was pretty sure this woman was not going to be unsettled by something like that.
She also seemed like the type to not blink.
Then, the words sank into her mind and she straightens her spine slightly, hand falling to her side as she considers. Jumping, huh... She muses on that for a moment, the silence stretching for an awkward pause.
Serah wasn't the best at responding to things right away. It's as if she had to weigh every word for what it was worth before releasing it into existence. She wasn't even sure why. Maybe it was just that she had more thoughts than she knew how to put into words. Maybe she was just built to stare and be generally off-putting.
However, then Serah finally answers. "I'm not jumping." A pause as she considers, then speaks bluntly. "Just felt weird to be summoning strangers who eat faces into my apartment." Her tone was dry, the inflection holding almost a faint amusement about the whole ordeal.
Like it was normal to be summoning people by their names said into the void.
Serah swallows lightly, stuffing her hands deep into her pockets. She could feel her wallet there still. A remnant of her night at work. She supposed that her phone was still in her back pocket. Her keys had been left somewhere between her shitty door and the fire escape.
Hopefully before the actual fire escape, however.
Replacing keys was an expense she really didn't want to suffer through.
Then, her eyes focus once more on the woman who had appeared--Elizabetta. At least, she assumed that was her name, and not just some weird summoning ritual thing that she doesn't understand. "Not that I expected the Bloody Mary approach to be successful," she mutters darkly.
Her gaze slides slowly away, focusing on the rooftops and the buildings across the alley from them. Looking into the alley, she decided, was always a bad plan. And her timer for staring at the woman had expired about the time when she had made her stupid Bloody Mary quip.
Hindsight had a rather funny saying that people liked throwing around that seemed rather appropriate at that moment.
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Posted: Fri Jul 31, 2026 1:35 am
I Once Fell Upon A Tibetan Monk. I Had Fangs And Unliving Power; He Had Words.... ______________________________________________________________________ Tzimisce - Philosopher - Musician
Serah Harper.
That was the name Grigori had pulled from her identification. The black dress she’d been wearing the previous evening did indeed do her every favor. Her skin was cream-colored; and still pale enough to be striking beneath her fire-red hair. Her clothing was conventional but not unsuitable for her. Elizabetta couldn’t help the small tug at the corner of her lips when her gaze momentarily passed over the bright green shoelaces. A nice touch.
The accessories she wore, and the naturally gloomy look of an insomniac who did their best to care for themselves. Despite whatever echoed across the oubliettes of the mind to keep them awake every night.
Once…Elizabetta had killed a band of Hunters who’d outright ambushed her on the island of Ko Ri; but the encounter had left her unconscious. A certain death for a Kindred on such a small island. Yet she survived! Dead but for the kindness of a Waukegan sea gypsy who found her among the foliage. The goodly woman had intended to nurse Elizabetta back to health. As you might imagine she soon discovered why her medicines had ill-effect. Instead of leaving Elizabetta out to burn under the eye of Sol? The Moken woman took Elizabetta back to her hut; and allowed her to rest.
When Elizabetta finally came to she found the Moken woman there. Kneeling over her. A beam of moonlight streaming in through the window. The room awash with the lavender glow of Luna; and the faint green sparks of fireflies. The Moken women–without a word–leaned herself down and planted a gentle kiss on Elizabetta’s cheek. Even half-dazed that memory will never fade from her mind. Despite being well over a hundred years old now. It was the first time in…millennia...that she felt like she could feel sunlight on her face.
Standing here watching Serah process–a beauty clad in modern charms–Elizabetta felt a breath of warmth dancing across her cheek.
Elizabetta did not pop her eyebrows as if to say ‘well?’ Elizabetta did not cross her arms as if to imply she were getting impatient. Elizabetta did not cant her head, nor roll her eyes, nor sigh through her nose, nor any of the many things that humans loved to do in order to express their preference of hurrying over beautiful things. No. The thing that stood before Serah–stolid smile as welcoming as it was practised–had always been this way. It saw no need to rush or demand or be self-important. It was something else altogether.
She did–however–nod her head with a smirk that was almost triumphant in response to Serah’s declaration of not jumping. It was for the best. Elizabetta would really prefer to keep her cards as close to the chest as possible with this one. Dragging her under the surface too quickly would only make her drown. She had to learn how to tread water before she could learn to swim. It was to be expected.
When Serah made the remark about inviting face-eating strangers inside, Elizabetta chuckled and shrugged one shoulder. “I’ve seen worse from strangers who don’t.” Returning her wit with an equal dryness, and a touch of dark. Who didn’t like a little chemical ex now and again?
Serah tucked her hands into her pockets; and seemed to be once again processing some information. Necessities? Escape routes? Where she stashed her bugout bag? It could likely be any and all of these things. Elizabetta didn’t pressure her, and didn’t make any moves to reassure her. Not yet. If there was one thing Elizabetta believed in–above all other things–was that we are all the captains of our own vessels. To be led or misled by others is to give in to the current; and deny yourself the obligation of agency. This…she could not do.
Serah muttered the line about Bloody Mary; and Elizabetta didn’t move for a moment. After that second of silence she took a very deliberate and graceful step forward. Making sure not to be too sudden or too menacing in her gait. A much more difficult endeavour than it sounds for someone like her.
“In fifteen fifty-eight…Queen Mary of England was crowned. In dhe five years that she reigned? She burned 280 Protestants at dhe stake. Earning her dhe name ‘Bloody Mary.’ I’m not religious; though I can be a bit of a zealot.” Elizabetta arrived about a foot in front of the ledge by which Serah stood; and raised her arm. Offering a smooth, ice-pale hand for Serah to take. When she was ready.
Once Serah accepted…she would begin to feel it much more acutely. The bond between Sire and Ghoul. A bond layered in blood, magic, conscious, subconscious, and even genetics. A feeling. No…no more than that. It was like…off-putting as it may sound…it was like Serah was holding her mother’s hand again. Not in the sense that she felt loved or known, no…but in the sense that she felt…safe. Safe? With this thing?
Yet the very reason Elizabetta had chosen this young woman is because she was special. She was unique. The effects would not overpower her and make her a slobbing subservient thrall. They would simply help her to acclimate.
As Elizabetta led Serah towards the fire escape she continued to ramble on. “Then it was dhe second Bloody Mary. Mary Worth. For a time…there were stories of her. Dhe rumor was she stole children for their youth. While dhe crime did indeed occur, and it was for dhe purpose of stealing youth…Mary Worth never existed. Though she did serve as a convenient lie. For dhe ones who did commit dhe deed.” Releasing Serah’s hand at the top of each flight. Climbing down; then stopping at the bottom of each flight to reach out; and take Serah’s hand once more.
They arrived upon the window which led back into Serah’s home; and Elizabetta stepped aside to let Serah go first. Serah approached the window–all the while keeping a careful eye on Elizabetta–and Elizabetta took that opportunity to finish that bit of the parable. “I am very, very real, Ms. Harper; and I don’t shy from my crimes.” Elizabetta waited for Serah to get back into her apartment. Once she was back inside she would turn around half-expecting Elizabetta to have pulled another Batman on her. But no.
No. The first time had been for a damn good reason. Beyond that? Elizabetta wanted to make this as smooth as possible for Serah. There was a tremendous amount of potential here. Talent can’t be forced to play. So Elizabetta climbed into the apartment effortlessly; and closed the window behind her. Mostly. Leaving it a bit cracked so she could listen to the world outside.
“Finally,” Elizabetta said as she put one hand on the back of Serah’s shoulder, and started leading her towards the nearest setting where they could sit together.
“there was Elizabeth Bathory. Dhe last Bloody Mary. An innocent woman to dhe tragic end. Dhe very same band of creatures which stole those children? Utilized a means of making human beings into mindless servants. Brainwashed dhe poor girl into ignoring dhe screams of dhe women and children brought back to her estate. Slaughtered en masse in her basement. By dhe time people realized where dhe missing ended up? It was too late. Dhe monsters had fled…and Elizabeth Bathory–to this day–suffers under unjust accusation. An innocent woman in dhe wrong place at dhe wrong time.” Elizabetta offered Serah a seat in her own apartment; and then took the one nearest her.
She got herself comfortable; and then settled in. She took a deep breath in; and exhaled slowly. Allowing a moment of silence to pass before ending her little explanation.
“I’m sorry…about your friend. Laura.” Elizabetta’s voice had taken a breathy, yet somehow gravelly, and quiet tone. A tone that echoed peace and olive branches.
“I’m equally sorry that you yourself were swept up in a horror you had…no way of anticipating.” That stolid smile once again broke across Elizabetta’s face; and she seemed to drift away for a moment. Before returning back to the matter at hand. Providing at least this once clear and factual statement of direct explanation.
“Yes, Ms. Harper. I am dhe very real Monster who saved your life.” She said clearly. “You may call me Elizabetta. May I call you Serah?” Once permission was given, she continued.
“I saved your life by allowing you to drink some of my vitae–my blood–and this restored your body. There are other effects–both positive as well as negative–but you won’t begin to feel those for another day or so. Now. For dhe evening’s main event. Thank you for humoring me–I do love to hear myself talk–”
In a fluid–almost singular–motion Elizabetta raised her open hands in front of Serah. Revealing that her sleeves were rolled up and she held nothing in her hands. She lifted those hands up to cup them over her face; and when she pulled them back down? There was a small, ornate, and intricately-carved smoking pipe in her hands. She twirled it on her finger like a gunslinger in an old Western; and caught the tip between her teeth with a ‘clack.’ She reached into her black blazer–much less ceremonial–and pulled from it a small black cylinder. Almost like a narrow pill bottle. Elizabetta tapped the contents into her smoking pipe, drew a lighter, and started puffing on what was inside.
Whether this was a smoking apartment was clearly none of her concern.
“--you called. What can I do for you?”
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Posted: Fri Jul 31, 2026 3:33 pm
[[ I forgot I was a bad b***h, tragic... Breaking all the rules 'cause they were only habits... Cinderella's dead now, casket... ]]
The woman spoke and Serah squints lightly. That narrowing of the eyes that indicated a sort of listening rather than suspicion. Though there was plenty of that to go around, the girl decided. Like a bug caught in a spider's web, she felt incredibly out of her depth. Like the world was opening up in a way she hadn't ever imagined possible, but she was already wondering if she could just step back into the dark and not know things.
There were an awful lot of things that Serah really didn't want to know at this point.
However, the hand was extended, and her pale eyes landed on it, contemplation flickering across her expression. Light surprise lifted her eyebrows, and she makes a small twitch of the corner of her mouth before taking the hand offered.
The feeling that lifted through her felt... strange. The safety was unsettling in the depths of her, and she wasn't sure she liked that feeling coursing through her. After all, safety was often an illusion, and she had long since lost her trust in those illusions. Though, there it was anyways. Lingering. As if it was only natural for it to be there, softening her skin, and making her doubts less by comparison.
The woman--Elizabetta--continued talking. Serah had to remind herself of the name in her mind. After all, it felt as if she should. It wasn't like those friendships that she held herself aloof from. There was something else underneath it.
And she was going to puzzle through that if it made her crazy with the effort.
Focusing on her words, and barely on her steps, she made her way down the fire escape with her. The constant release and grasping of hands was perplexing to her, but somehow, she was unhesitating every time it occurred. Elizabetta continued talking about the Bloody Mary legend.
Serah listened, even though she already knew most of it.
Her eyes narrowed once more as they reached the window, and she climbs in first, hopping down from the step stool she kept just beneath the window specifically for such things. Her turn to watch the woman was laden with a soft suspicion, but she came in so normally that it felt almost weird.
Like Serah was the weird one for expecting some crazy trick rather than just the simple climb in, get off the step stool, and partially close the window.
They moved to the folding table that Serah called a kitchen table, sitting in the chairs that were too nice for the surface they lingered by. She had found them at a yard sale. Beautiful soft brown wood with painted flowers over the intricate scrollwork back, and woven seats that embraced a person when they sat in them.
They reach the table and Serah pulls her phone out of her back pocket, dropping it on the table. This was followed by her wallet from her front pocket. Surprisingly, her keys were already on the table, which gave her some relief.
She sat down carefully with Elizabetta's guidance, which felt quite interesting given that they were in Serah's home to begin with. But she didn't linger on those thoughts.
No.
Instead she listened to the end of the Bloody Mary legend.
Leaning down, she takes off her sneakers, sliding them just under her chair as she brings one leg up onto the seat with her, resting it against her chest. Her arms loop around it, her chin resting on her knee as she keeps her pale gaze on the woman speaking.
Getting comfortable in a space was something Serah excelled at.
She stayed in silence a moment as the tale ended, and she considers it for a moment. Then, the woman speaks again and Serah looks at her with light surprise on her face. The apology for Laura. Followed by an apology for the horrors.
She was in the process of digesting that particular curiosity when the woman continued, introducing herself for sure, and also asking if she could call her Serah. She made a small noise of acknowledgement, a nod of her head solidifying it into life. Answering out loud seemed... complicated still.
Luckily, the woman didn't seem to mind, and she continued.
She verified the murky memories that lingered in Serah's mind, answering a few questions all in one pull. There was even a magic trick involved that Serah had a really hard time not just squinting at. So when she asked why Serah called her... well she had to think real hard about it a minute.
Why had she called the woman? What had possessed her? Was it just to know that it was all real? Had she been so concerned about her mental health that she needed to lean into the supernatural idea so heavily that the weight would be lifted?
Her pale gaze travels around her studio as she thinks. It was all one big room, minus the bathroom that was off the kitchen. A counter lined the west wall, with a fridge, a sink, and a small stove that wasn't too good for cooking, but did the job. The south wall was shelves overloaded with books, her front door, and a television that she had found at an estate sale. An ugly couch rested in front of it, along with a rug she had made herself one winter. Her bed rested against the east wall, with a partition so it felt like less exposed of a space.
Everything in a small space, including the table they sat at somewhere in the center. Sniffing lightly, she focuses again on the woman who was lingering in her space, looking more out of place than anything else she had thrifted into the room.
Something far too smooth and polished to belong in her mix and match lifestyle.
Then, finally, she answers. "I had questions." Her eyes slide from the pipe, to the smoke, and then the woman's face once more. "You answered most of them." She seemed to mull it over for a moment. "I guess... the question of 'what the ********' sounds a little less... appropriate... without the other questions landing before it."
Serah blinks then, her eyes moving to the table in front of them as she drums her fingers on her leg, considering. "And Laura... was barely my friend." A wrinkle of her nose. "I mean, we worked together. She wanted... a lot..." It all sounded horrible once it started coming out so she stops, just leaning back in her seat, her gaze returning to the woman.
"If you saved me hoping for some trust fund kid in a bad situation... I'm not what you think. I don't think I belonged at that party..." Again, without the precluding questions, that particular statement seemed out of place. But Elizabetta had already answered that she did, in fact, save Serah.
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Posted: Wed Aug 05, 2026 11:46 pm
I Once Fell Upon A Tibetan Monk. I Had Fangs And Unliving Power; He Had Words.... ______________________________________________________________________ Tzimisce - Philosopher - Musician
Serah had taken a moment to look about the room; and Elizabetta’s eyes had never wavered from her face. But in that narrow minute wherein Serah took time to process why she’d called on this pale woman…Elizabetta allowed herself to once more take in her features. Now in this small room so close together it was effortless to inhale all of her scent.
It wasn’t the subtle scent of incense. It wasn’t the traces of sandalwood or lavender. It was…it was something else. Something in her very musk. It was…hmm. Curious.
A narrow curtain of gray smoke poured from her lips. Rolling over one side of her face and fading into the gentle current of air pulling towards the cracked window. She couldn’t help but be fascinated by the answers she was being given. The questions bit was to be expected. What Kine wouldn’t want to know more about her world? But the rest of it…the rest of it was surprising.
Many would have leaped upon the opportunity to parade their mournful selves over the dead. Even when they were strangers. Yet she was as blunt as she could be about having little to no kindred with the deceased Laura. An innocent woman all the same. But spilled blood can’t be put back in the vein. So what mattered now was how this woman was processing.
Elizabetta couldn’t help the smile that nearly curled up her lips when Serah remarked ‘she wanted a lot.’ “I imagine she did.” Her smile settling back into it’s stolid signature. Serah began off to a new line of reasoning; and Elizabetta’s smile seemed to lessen a bit. About how Serah didn’t belong there; and why Elizabetta had chosen to save her. Elizabetta’s pipe lowered down to the table; and sat upright despite it’s unique structure. It was not the ancient horror’s turn to look away from her partner. To gaze out at the endless sea that was her immortal memory.
They sat in silence like that for a time. Perhaps a full two minutes. Before Elizabetta finally brought herself to speak. “I was..” She looked down towards the floor. Pursing her lips and shaking her head. Disappointed in…all of it. “..called away.”
She said the words like she’d committed a heinous crime. Some evil deed beyond forgiveness. “An urgent matter which…turned out to be nothing.” Nothing at all. Another case of fool’s gold. Another empty crypt and another set of hieroglyphics that did nothing to help her achieve her ends. She lifted her chin to once more gaze into the nothing beyond that room.
“When my people found it…dhe damned box.” She said with a near-growl escaping her throat. “I knew she’d love it. She’s worked at dhe museum for a decade now….ha,” Her face seemed to lighten up as she recalled something. Turning to look at Serah like they were old friends sitting at the bar. Half-laughing the first words that escaped her breathless lungs. “Never took so much as a lollipop in bribes from me–and not for my lack of trying!”
Her smile remained for a few moments. Then it began to fade again as she returned to the cold terrors of this moment. This reality. “Twenty years ago…when I found her…she was a whore. Branded. Burned. Abandoned. Cuffed to dhe headboard of a ratty mattress in dhe slums of Kyushu. A child.” Elizabetta’s breath seemed to tremble in that moment; and she herself acknowledged as much by reaching back to the table. Picking up her pipe.
Serah was a quick one. Kyushu? Japan? Japanese…the Japanese woman. The one the bodyguard-type had carried off that night. The only woman to still be in the room besides Serah, Laura, the bodyguard, and the monster sitting at her table. Elizabetta hadn’t been there to find Serah or stop the Sabbat…she had come for Yume.
“Do you know what she said to me? When she very first laid eyes on me in that squalid brothel?” Elizabetta asked rhetorically. Serah being so invested in listening–so compassionate–that she paid the courtesy of shaking her head ‘no.’ Elizabetta’s lower lip trembled for a moment; and she spoke.
“Nigero. Tsukamaru na.” Without missing a beat she translated her flawlessly nuanced Japanese. “‘Run. Don’t let them catch you.’” Elizabetta looked away from Serah again. “A child.” She repeated. The words falling with even more finality than they had the first time.
Elizabetta took a deep breath inward; and exhaled as she straightened herself out. Physically, anyway. “I left dhe other children to dhe local authorities but…I brought her home. Made sure no one in that brothel would ever do business again. Not one of them. But it would seem I never did quite make sure she was safe.” Elizabetta sighed through her nose as she recalled the sight. Finding Yume there. Unceremoniously spread among the dishes of the buffet like she was…….the thought was too much. Not here.
She brought herself back yet again. Taking a deep breath. “She insisted. Twelve years of college, ten years of working in that damn museum. When I told her that my people had discovered my old sarcophagus, she insisted. She–” Elizabetta raised one of her hands and made the Italian-fingers in front of her face to emphasize how serious Yume had been.
“--insistied! That we unveil it dhe night it came in. I told her I had affairs to tend to. Business to address. She wouldn’t hear it. ‘One security guard posts a pic and we lose all dhe element of surprise,’ she’d told me.” Elizabetta shook her head. It might fall off at this point.
“I thought by forcing her to make it a quiet, small function and keeping dhe invitations random…no high-society spies, no Kindred, just people…which cost me a sizeable donation. For what? Huh…I never wanna set foot in that place again.” Elizabetta rose from her seat. Too much running through her vitae to settle in one spot right now. Which was not a normal thing for her. She walked towards the window they’d climbed into; and blew smoke towards the crack. Looking out at the bustle of the city evening.
“She was kind. She was intelligent. Yume was………
Splendid. Ethereal. Beautiful. None of them…none of them even came close. Miraculous was an insult. Elizabetta’s eyes began to shine brighter for a moment. Not in the ethereal or supernatural glowing sense of brighter. But in the sense that–in the reflection of the window she faced–Serah swore it looked as though she were about to start tearing up. But the creature blinked away whatever had been coming. Turning back to face Serah; and somehow portraying that stolid smile yet again.
“dhe kind of person who would never...Ever–” She said with a sharp wave of her hand cutting the space in front of herself. “--leave an innocent woman…to die.” Elizabetta found the composure to once again return to her seat. Exhaling from habit rather than physiological need. Glancing with a somber smile towards Serah.
“She would have never forgiven me if I’d left you there. Yume was far more dhe angel that night than I was…or many of us will ever be.” With that she allowed silence to fall over the room once again. Wondering if she’d ever see her dear friend again.
To hear her laugh across a cafe. To see her smile on a stranger’s face.
It was a once-in-a-millennia sight to see a Monster pray for anything.
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Posted: Thu Aug 06, 2026 1:13 am
[[ I forgot I was a bad b***h, tragic... Breaking all the rules 'cause they were only habits... Cinderella's dead now, casket... ]]
The quiet that spread after her statement was strange. Not tense, as Serah would have expected. But thoughtful. Soft. Almost sad, in a way. She watches the woman before her, blue eyes unblinking again. After all, when she wasn't paying attention to her habits, she forgot about them. Probably why she went through so many eye drops.
Then, Elizabetta finally begins to answer.
It wasn't a cold answer. In fact, it lived and breathed with an intensity that made Serah curious about quite a few things. After everything she had seen, it would be all too easy to cry out 'monster' and leave it at that. Dive into her bed and pretend away everything until it was a distant memory. Spend the next hundred paychecks on therapy to work through all of it and maybe come out the other side some feature of 'normal.'
But the feelings in this particular answer, in this story... They were there for her to reach out and grasp. To turn over in her mind and relate that to the puzzle of the woman before her. Someone who grieved for a young girl she knew too well.
When it connected in her mind that she was talking about the Japanese woman from the museum, more pieces of the puzzle seemed to fall into place. The night played through her mind, and parts of started making more sense. Parts of it started to become clearer in her hindsight perspective.
And that was a terribly odd thing to be digesting while sitting at her old folding table.
The shake of her head was easily done. After all, every piece of her attention was locked onto Elizabetta's face, and the emotions that lived there. Nigero.... Tsukamaru na.... She repeats those words in her head, committing them to memory. After all, that seemed rather important. Like something that someone should remember, and hold close to the light once in a while so it wasn't forgotten.
A small smile twitches at the corner of her lips when she thinks about how the girl-- Yume, must have been so excited to show off the sarcophagus. After all, it was an incredible find for a museum. And she was right. One photo leaked, and all the surprise would have gone out of it.
It was just bad luck that the wrong person had been invited.
Elizabetta stands, and Serah tracks her progress to the window. As if looking away from the woman had never occurred to her. Not while the pain was written in the air between them so clearly.
Surprise lifts her eyebrows as the reason for the story was revealed. She had been saved because this girl she didn't know would never have let her die. That was... impressive, she decided. Something that lingered right in the soul of the matter.
Eyes linger for a moment longer on Elizabetta's face before Serah figures out the words to say. "The world... is less without her then."
She had learned a long time ago that apologizing for someone dying was a rather empty effort, especially when you didn't know the person yourself. But, it was something that needed to be expressed somehow.
In the best way Serah knew how.
A small chuckle, and she rubs the back of her neck, finally moving her gaze from the strange woman who was such a large presence in her little studio. It instead locked on the small pile that her wallet, keys, and phone made.
Then, a small tilt of her head, and she blinks finally, her dry eyes making their regular complaint about the delayed movement. "I know... stuff like that can stay in your heart for a long time. The anger overshadows the pain for a while."
She swallows, then lifts and drops her shoulders in a soft shrug. "I am not very great at comforting people, but I do make a really good drink if you want one."
Her eyes flicker to the woman, and she finishes the statement while watching her. "You know... to remember her for just a moment, if you need."
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Posted: Sun Aug 09, 2026 12:18 am
I Once Fell Upon A Tibetan Monk. I Had Fangs And Unliving Power; He Had Words.... ______________________________________________________________________ Tzimisce - Philosopher - Musician
“Mm.” Elizabetta sounded back as she took a drag from her pipe, then drawing it from her lips. “Yes it is.” She agreed with a nod of her head. Looking into the burning embers within her pipe as if they held some last-minute answer she could unearth from beneath their burn. There was a small silence between them. But then Serah chuckled; and made mention of the lingering pain. The anger. Elizabetta sighed through her nose at that. “I can only hope that is so, Serah.” She responded coolly.
“That it is a long, long time before…all my memories of her…start to fade.” With that she stood from her seat and made her way to the window. Reaching the pipe through the crack; and tapping it against the brick outside. Feeling the contents loosen and blow out into the night. She turned about to reach into her jacket, and remove that same canister. Packing another. Seems she was staying for longer than she’d anticipated.
Serah shrugged, and offered to make a drink. Elizabetta couldn’t help the bemused smile that jumped to her lips. “You would serve me, Serah?” Elizabetta asked as she sat back down at the table. “Knowing I am not human?” She couldn’t help the next question biting at her tongue. “Many would have fled for dhe door long ago. Why not you?”
Serah would blink slowly, as if it took a minute for the questions to sink in. "I serve assholes at the bar who seem much less human than you do," she ventures, a small frown lingering. "You've already saved my life, and then you sat at my shitty table and told me about your friend...." She pauses a moment, considering. "I guess... You just seem like you could use kindness. And running... Never really occurred to me."
Serah went on to open up her cabinet; and glanced over her shoulder at Elizabetta with a waiting eye. “Vodka. Ice and lime.” The firm ‘W’ with which she pronounced the word vodka had perhaps been the most revealing thing she’d done tonight.
“Dhe Japanese…the loss of a loved one–the resulting heart break–they treat as a medical condition.” Elizabetta explained. Lighting her pipe once more, and taking a small puff from it. “They measure dhe electrical waves of human hearts in grief…and discovered a *surge* is caused when one is…bereft.” For lack of a better word. “It causes dhe heart’s chambers to contort. Twist and collapse. Yet I find dhe idea of mortal death to be so…beautiful.
To lie there on dhe soft earth. To be welcomed by nature; and all it’s splendor…to be at peace…” She trailed off for a moment. Shaking her head as she watched the cloud of smoke dissipate into the air in the room. “I would welcome that…were I still mortal.” She took another drag from her pipe; and then sat forward. Yume wouldn’t approve of this. Sulking until the sun came up.
“Very well–Serah–” she began onto brighter topics, “you were kind. You were cordial. You were courageous. I will share a drink with you; and I will answer three questions.” Elizabetta raised her hand. Her thumb sticking out, her index finger, and her middle finger. A very non-Western way to show three.
“I will answer anything that is within my power to answer. But only three.” Elizabetta said, and took the drink Serah offered as she approached once again. “To your health.” Elizabetta said as she raised the glass.
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Posted: Sun Aug 09, 2026 11:59 am
[[ I forgot I was a bad b***h, tragic... Breaking all the rules 'cause they were only habits... Cinderella's dead now, casket... ]]
There was something terribly calming about making a drink. Like the tension in her shoulders left, and all that was remaining was just something she could do with her eyes closed. Cupboard opened, and she felt that settling in her system. Even looking back to the woman--Elizabetta, didn't dispel it.
She put in her order. Vodka with ice and lime. A simple drink. Direct.
Something that Serah didn't get to make too often.
So she took down the vodka, closing the cupboard on the rest of the bottles within. And then, getting two glasses from another closed door, she listens. That was something she was terribly good at. Listening.
Broken-heart syndrome, her brain provided, unbidden. The ailment that kept on giving, she decided. Some things lingered in the system, and some cultures cared about it far more than others.
Her steps took her to the fridge, and she got that glass mason jar she kept of sliced key limes. Sweeter than regular limes. But lasted longer. They were better for cocktails anyway. Serah had always been one to have at least one cocktail at the end of a long day. Something sweet and lingering to remind herself she was alive while she sat on the fire escape and refused to hear the people down below, doing what people in the latest hours of the night do in alleys.
The idea that death was beautiful... That it was anything to be treasured. An interesting thought. Serah had worked pretty hard not to think too often about dying. Something about it made her uncomfortable right down to her core. Like looking down into a casket and having that unsettling realization that though the person looked like they could wake up at any moment, they never would. It lingered in her.
Taking the limes to her counter, she continues listening as she builds the drink. First, ice from the machine on the counter. Into the glasses. Swirled to get rid of the warm of the room. Vodka poured over the top. Measured by time rather than a shot glass. She had been at this long enough that she could blind pour a shot with her eyes closed, using nothing but feeling. This situation seemed like a two shot moment. Then, a squeeze of lime over the top, a fresh one dropped in the top like a bright splash against the clear.
She made two.
Walking over, she holds one of them out, keeping the other to herself. A tilt of her head as the woman offers her three questions. Her pale gaze slips to the fingers held up, then back to Elizabetta's face. Considering.
To your health. Serah couldn't help the rather amused smile that twitched across her lips, making her eyebrow quirk up on her forehead like laughter that she couldn't hide. She brings her glass up automatically, clinking it gently against the edge of the other glass before taking a sip. The vodka burned, as if often did, barely softened by the sweet tartness of the key lime. Not her favorite sensation.
But somehow, the day seemed to require something like this.
Serah doesn't answer the offer. The three questions burned through her mind. What would you even ask a creature that had come into your home after a night of witnessing horrors unfold in front of you on a night that you were supposed to be having fun with a coworker you could barely understand?
She sits back down in her chair. Her leg comes back up to her chest. A comfort of sorts. And Serah takes a long breath before taking another sip of the vodka, acknowledging that the burn was less, the cold chasing it seeming much deeper.
Then, finally, she speaks. The words were slow. Measured. As if she wasn't used to talking as much as she already had. "Do I... have to ask them all tonight...?" Sure, that was a question. But she was pretty sure that it wouldn't count in the long and short of things.
After all. Clarification was less of a question, and more of a pause requiring a question, right?
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