|  Author | Topic: Drunk on Shadows (Read 2,949 times) |
Vladimir Helsinki
Vampire
Speedmover & Agile in Motion
member is offline
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Joined: Jul 2006
Posts: 5
Karma: 0 |  | Drunk on Shadows
« Thread Started on Jul 2, 2006, 9:08pm » | ![[Quote]](http://s4.images.proboards.com/buttons/quote.gif) |
Alone. Alone was he in the dark abyssmal plane known as Earth, no one beside him, no one behind him or in front of him, it was just he, alone. For several hundred years Vladimir had roamed the world as an imposter to the reason of reality and mortality. Years of which he had spent numerous lifetimes within, as times changed, faces changed, the world in general changed and molded around him as yet, he stood still. Time had no effect on his outer being, yet, had every effect deep inside himself, his soul. Unlike most of his kind, Vladimir had what he would like to consider a heart, a soul, a way of being. He wasn’t your average, cut throat mindless vampire that one would see in a horror film, or come across upon all hallow’s eve. No, he still retained the humane qualities that the mortals had around him, every time he hunted his prey, the humans, and killed them, their faces of horror and shrieks of terror whizzed and whirled about in his head for years at a time, he hated himself for causing such catastrophes. Yet, he had to survive didn’t he? Well, he had tried more than once in his first few years as a fledging to take his life, only to realize it wasn’t his to take at all. There was nothing left inside him that one could grasp firmly, he was the living dead in a sense, yet, he was still warm to the touch, it still hurt if he cut himself, and it was fire when he hadn’t fed. His emotions ran rampant with anguish for lost victims who had died at his teeth, then anger towards those of his own kind who could do so, so.. ruthlessly without remorse or regret. For that, he had cast himself away from the vampire society and laws, he was a loner to his own race. Though, when he tried to re-enter the world of the living, he found that he couldn’t fit in any longer, well, it wasn’t like he had fit in properly in the first place, but at least… at least he belonged in that category. Other than the vampires, there were the lycans… werewolves, ah, now those were ones to avoid at all costs. Why did vampires and werewolves hate eachother so? He didn’t have anything against the furry beasts, if anything, envy. At least they could be humane when the moon left them at bay, vampires were 24/7 none stop. But that was neither here nor there, the lycans had seemingly vanished from sight for nearly 400 years, hardly a ripple in time for he, but definitely a lot for mortals.
Sitting in his corner behind a dumpster in an alley way, Vlad was lost in his own depressing thoughts, wallowing in his own misery. Though, all at once there was a jolt in his system, like something had hit him in the pit of his stomach and wretched it with a fiery poker.. ah, that feeling. Hunger. Biting his lower lip against the pain, he ignored the sensation of his own fangs piercing through his flesh, crimson trickles formed at the duo gashes and slid down his chin. Licking it away, he savored the tangy metallic sensation before lifting himself regretfully from the sedate position. The raven locks fell in his face below the black ski cap, as he peered at the ground before looking back up. It had taken years for him to adjust to the fact that as the years melted by in a blur that human fashion changed along with it, from velvet garments accented with lace and stockings, replaced to this point in time, with beat up denim, black leather jacket, worn white tee and the beloved skull cap he was so fond of. Stolen of course, with speed and stealth he had no issues with walking into a store and taking what he needed, nor worried about sleeping in the streets, any gang would tried to quarrel with him had second thoughts from a flash of crimson in the normally placid pools of ire. Sighing deeply, he hoisted his bodice up from the cobblestone alleyway and stalked into the nearby pub, run by vampires and humans alike, one could choose from liquor to blood, mayhap both. Indeed it was a night for a vodka and blood concoction. As soon as he crossed the threshold a wave of cigarette and cigar smoke hit him in the face, a pleasant feeling, homey. Casting a twisted grin to the bartender he allowed his order to be issued with deep baritones before settling on a barstool, receiving the drink, he grasped it firmly and drained it allowing some to trickle down his cheek without care.
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![[image]](http://myspace-750.vo.llnwd.net/00798/05/78/798628750_l.jpg)
I am called Vladimir, i have walked this path for 313 years as a vampire though bitten at year 21.
My locks are of ebon, eyes contrast viridian as skin be pallor and height 6'. |
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Moulin Rouge
Vampiress
Elemental Goddessa & Essa of Flight
member is offline
Joined: Jul 2006
Posts: 6
Karma: 0 | | Re: Drunk on Shadows
« Reply #1 on Jul 3, 2006, 8:44pm » | |
Her luminescent figure emerged from the rippling liquid, the aqua gliding down her skin in smooth ribbons, steam rising from behind. A delicate hymn exited her venomous lips, fingers tracing intricate designs atop the cool water. Silken locks lay in a cascade of chocolate threads along her collarbone. The liquid parted along her thighs, water rising with her fingers in a type of court. She gazed upon the swirling whips of water, azure optics growing with a glow of peace. She was in her element, playing with the objects of usual discard. She was a toying maiden. Looming branches reached out to her nude flesh, as if to beckon her closer, closer to whom she controlled. Her true dubbance was Elise, a goddess of the elements yet cursed to a miserable fate. But now she was known as Moulin, Moulin Rouge. Her will to the water, liquid. Betray me again. Misery needs company. She could not love; the urn to kill now grew beneath her radiant epidermis. Knees bent into stride, her velvet hymn changing pitch with the dancing winds. A dainty ankle surfaced the substance, a foot following. Her motions were unseen, short, yet oh so meaningful spread a simple path through the foliage for the woman of lands. Vinals of emerald slithered forward from the underbrush, entangling themselves along her unclothes body. They weaved and twisted, the young girls chin rising as she waited. The stalks glazed her flesh, the two acting as old friends. Access uproots age disenigrated, the crusts gone. Wind whispered tiny secrets through her whisking strands of tones, a lovely song for the she.
A faint murmur reached her lobes, had someone spied on her through her dance of the elements? Someone quiet, delicious perhaps? Maybe, she would soon find her suitor. The web had been strung, fall. One by one, picked off. She continued to ponder, grains of loam moving in waves beneath her ligaments as she strode forward. Tiny Rosen blossoms whisked about her curvature, the scents a joy for her. How she wished to become…well real again. To endure the laughs and loves of life, to love again. A sad thought, so utterly alone. Cure the bastard, who stole her life, curse them all. I have a cure for you baby, one day you will be found. My hunt stopped, the horrid gash you drove allowed to heal. I loved you.
Her mind danced off to a time she envied, when the milky cover of she was warm and vibrant, when the love of her life still, well loved her. He told her he loved her that each star in the dark sky could not reach the infinite feelings he possessed. He would run his fingers through her hair, she smiling as she returned the gesture. Their lips would force together, searching for acceptance. Something was wrong. The lips she once knew so well hurtt. They stung. Tearing two little holes in the delicate flesh of the lips, her own venom seeping into the mouth if he. Her eyes snapped open, feeling the horrid prick beneath her breastbone. Rouge stained her blouse, the same aspiring at the corner of her lip. His glare, wicked smile. It was all a horrid game. He leaned in, tilting her head to the side. The bite. It was over so she thought. Her memories of all their shared times, moments. The last words uttered were of the same, I though I loved you. Pain grew in his eyes, it was all a game. He said eternity. She did not want this eternity. All that was sain was draiend with each reposition of the horrid fangs, he mind set shifting. Finger nails began to dig into the fore arms, horrid pain growing in the back of Elise. Leathered winds, sharp points finding the ends. It was all a blurr, rouge slashed blur. A new name was taken. Moulin Rouge.So she had been veiwed as useless, tossed away like garbage. She would strike her revenge, one day soon. Against those who helped plan this horrid act, it was over.
The waves of grain began to climb the form of Moulin, bodice soon wrapped in a black snugly fitting outfit. Cut off at the thighs the leather material wrapped around the flawless stomach and across the breasts. The shouldesr remained bare, straight coco locks hanging in straight layers. Leathers began to peel through the back as the scent of rouge teased with the sensitive passages of Moulin, occuli growing to a piercing blue. The signature click clack, ebon heels snapping to the wood as she entered the housing. Moving to the bar easily a sly whisper was given to the bar tender, an exchange of giggles sounding. Her usual was passed quickly, the cool liquid finding her lips quickly. Strength beating through her veins once more, a glance was shot to the older one at her left.
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M O U L I N
the insiders - Moulin . 5.7" . Vampire. 212 rotations. flirtatious . winged . controls the elements
the appearence - Brunette : azure eyes .
the dead- alone . loves no one.
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Vladimir Helsinki
Vampire
Speedmover & Agile in Motion
member is offline
Joined: Jul 2006
Posts: 5
Karma: 0 | | Re: Drunk on Shadows
« Reply #2 on Jul 4, 2006, 6:22pm » | |
Wiping the crimson rouge from his porcelain cheek with a swift flick of the wrist the lanky vampire observed his surroundings with a nonchalant gaze as a blade of raven settled to his façade. Playing absentmindedly with crystalline mug in his hands thoughts traveled to numerous topics, none of which could be solved, though it wasn’t like he couldn’t give it a shot, right? Right.. A deep sigh soothed softly from within as he resorted to reaching into the distressed leather jacket he had “kindly borrowed” from one of his victims. Pulling out a pack of camel menthols, Vlad gingerly smoothed one out of its casing, placing it to his rouge lips, he gathered the stainless steel zippo lighter from the same source, it wasn’t like the owner had any use of it now.. Allowing the caramel hued flame to lick the tip of his cigarette Vlad inhaled deeply, encouraging the smoky essence to bathe his lungs with nicotine. Though he may indeed be a vampire, but the mortal habit of smoking had clung tightly to he, for it was one of the few memories he had of his old life, before being turned. The nicotine still had effect on his ‘dead’ but alive corpse, and was one of the few pleasures left. Vampirism seemed almost like a virus to Vlad, he had had countless hours to contemplate why he had been turned, and if it was destiny, any belief of a god or higher being had fled his life, for if there was indeed a god, he was being punished right now, and he chose not to think such dismal thoughts.
After taking the final drag off of the cigarette, he venomously opened his palm and stubbed the life from the cig on his own bare flesh, gritting his pearled whites against the pain he peered at the 3rd degree burn left in his flesh, only moments later to see it heal over as if it had never been inflicted. Bitterly he scowled to himself and turned to face the rest of the pub, empty except for a band playing soft, mellow tones. All of which who played were vampires, one on the cello, another on the sax and other varied instruments, not that he could care less really. Drumming his fingers on the smooth, mahogany bar, smooth, and worn over time, he drifted off into a world that comforted him, one of the past. Familiar faces full of joy danced in formal wear, swept across the sleek ballroom floor, it was the 1800’s, a time before the world became worthless, he was dressed as well, in a fine tuxedo, twas midnight and all was well. He, the son of a wealthy Lord, at age 21 he was expected to take a bride that night, and there was a room full of woman dying to tie the knot with he. Vlad could remember rolling the platinum engagement ring studded with a glorious diamond around in his sweaty palm. Tonight was the night… he remembered himself pondering. Dancing the night away until the clock tolled midnight, he paused the orchestra to announce the bride he was to take, the woman he had kept his eye on since they were but children, Scarlet, a beautiful brunette with warm brown eyes had stolen his heart and tonight was the night he was to give it to her forever, and take hers for he. All went well, after proposing to she, Scarlet accepted at a second’s leeway, and made him the happiest man alive, but just as he left the mansion he had begun to call home[for it was Scarlet’s given to her as a wedding present from he], Vladimir made a foolish mistake. Rather than taking the cabby back to his father’s estate, he chose to walk home, and marvel at the brilliant stars above. Halfway home, he thought he heard footsteps pattering in rhythm to his own, turning more than once he was left unnerved, finding the path vacant. Stepping into an unlit stretch, for the lamp had burnt out, he was gruffly grabbed and thrust against a brick wall, knocking the wind out of his lungs, and leaving he breathless. The last thing he remembered from that night was the crimson eyes staring hungrily at he, as white fangs pierced his flesh, and he fainted. Awakening only to find himself in Scarlet’s room, how he got there was a mystery, but the blood strewn across the floor, and covering himself was no guess to the cause. There in the corner lay Scarlet, covered in blood, her body mangled, dress tattered, drawing conclusions he felt his teeth pierce his own lip for the first time, and he knew what had happened. And hated himself for it.
Thrust back to reality by the patter of another’s steps, he looked next to he only to see a vampress. Nodding to her politely he thought to introduce himself, though he hated his own kind, she seemed lonely in a sense, perhaps he could do some good tonight. Mayhap.
Hello, I go by Vladimir, may I buy you a drink…?
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I am called Vladimir, i have walked this path for 313 years as a vampire though bitten at year 21.
My locks are of ebon, eyes contrast viridian as skin be pallor and height 6'. |
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Moulin Rouge
Vampiress
Elemental Goddessa & Essa of Flight
member is offline
Joined: Jul 2006
Posts: 6
Karma: 0 | | Re: Drunk on Shadows
« Reply #3 on Jul 5, 2006, 6:01pm » | |
Don't be shy
Its like the train wreck not one could help but watch. The shifting times of the human population, ever updated with "trends" and "fads". She remembered these changes like it was yesterday, she once loved change and all of its added events. A soft sigh exited the partaly open maw of dear Moulin, azure optics returning from their blank stare into space. Daydreaming. Slender fingers bagan to curl around the skinny neck of the crystal martini glass. To the almost brim a seering mix of both O negitive and positive rouge stood, little ripples forming as the glass was turned slowly on the wooden bar. Long ebon eye lashes brush against the cheek for only a moment, the curtians drawn upon the optics. A deep inhail of oxygen circulated through the many branches found in the lungs, the gas darting to muscels and organs the flesh and bone contained. Each bitter yet welcoming scent, hybrids and those of pure blood. Scents rolling and tumbling through the tender passage ways of the nares. Tendons of the wrist began to contract, the cup brought to the lips as she sipped gingerly. Seering liquid dripping down the throat in a passive mannor. Aqua gaze visable once more, the chilling tones of another washing over the dazed banch. Vladimir was the name? The basin was set down against the wood once more, the substance it once held now gone. A coating of rouge remained, the only evidence of what once belonged. Tones began to spill, lifting into the array of current tones.
"Hello, Vladimir."
Curvature turned slightly, the swivleing stool allowing such an action. Silver charms hung from the delicate wrist of Moulin, a little trinket from the human population. She viewed it as pretty, a little item of social status. A symbol of wealth in their eyes, a symbol of a job well done in hers. It once belonged to a little girl, clinging to the hand of her dear father. Such a shame. This is where karma kicks in. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Traveling down a damp alley, long coats tapping the tips of their shoes as the hurried walk carried them through the walkway. Splish splash, they took a bath. One doused in rouge, the water marred. Now her wrist is empty, no pretty little trinket dangeling. Moulin began to speak once more, ivory dripping glimmering as the rouge had been licked away.
"Yes, you may. The name is Moulin"
The scents began to curl in the nares of Moulin, the tart yet sweet scent of humanity. It rested upon the Jacket of Vlad, a coy look crossing the facet of she.
I'm here to stay
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M O U L I N
the insiders - Moulin . 5.7" . Vampire. 212 rotations. flirtatious . winged . controls the elements
the appearence - Brunette : azure eyes .
the dead- alone . loves no one.
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