Idgaf About Honor Or Tradition, If Some Other Vampire Tries To Square Up With Me I’m Not Fucking Around

Her boss sits at the table, staring across at another man. Well, she notes dryly in her head, not a man. Never a man, at least not again. He’s pale, same as her and her boss. 

To some, he would look almost like a corpse.

To a small, unlucky few, they would recognise him as one.

She busies herself with tasks, pouring drinks, keeping candles lit, and delegating to the other servants. She checks the oven, ensuring the temperature within is just right. Too low, and the meal would be cold and unpleasant. Too high, and it would be charred to death and boiled and ruined.

It wouldn’t do for her to ruin a meal. It would be so improper to serve anything less than perfection, so she’s become adept at cooking. She knows the tastes and preferences of her boss perhaps better than her own. She knows how to pick the right supplier for her meals. She knows how to prepare and present them with an absolute minimum of mess and panic.

In the kitchen, a timer rings, snapping her out of her routine.

The meal ought to be perfectly warm by now.

She takes them out of the oven, checks them over with a keen eye. All parts unnecessary for consumption have been skilfully removed by her hand, and it’s in the perfect state to be served up.

She moves the meal on top of a trolley, such that it can be more easily served. Even her new lifestyle hasn’t made her strong enough to carry the whole thing on a plate, and it’s not as if it can exactly walk anymore.

She rolls the trolley into the room, and slides the metal tray onto the table. She stands in the corner, behind her boss, and looks on politely.

They start on their meal.

As they lean forwards to drain the meal, it reacts. She wasn’t careless enough to kill it, after all. That would ruin the blood. Sealed lips quiver. Hollow eye sockets twitch, trying to focus eyes that no longer exist. Muscles, devoid of limbs to attach to, tense and lock up. Its breaths become short and shaky. 

It attempts to scream.

So rude.

It should remember it has no vocal cords.

After a while, it stills. The meal is over now.

She removes and disposes of the leftovers before returning to her room.

Upon a lonely road was a messenger from The Court, sent to parlay with a number of Decay-aligned knightly orders. Their actions would be of great consequence in the days to follow. Hundreds or even thousands of lives were banking on their ability to reach the camp within the night. However, their horse had…

{This is rather dull, is it not? Whether or not they make it, there will be a great deal of slaughter. This doesn’t matter a bit. Without consequences and results, how are things meant to be fun?}

[I agree with your sentiment, but for different reasons. They merely serve others. They should try to do something for themselves. I of all people know that fate is far from certain, so why would they not choose to forge their own?]

{I believe this is our first time talking. It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m The Princess.}

[...]

{And your name is?}

[I am called The Sacrifice. It fits well enough.]

{...}

[We are opposing forces, are we not? I have taken humanity and made it all I am. I have no body or mind and yet I remain human.]

{And I have rejected humanity. However, we are rather similar. We both chose to reject the Laws of this place, and decided to make ones of our own.}

[We do indeed share that, Miss Princess.]

{So, why are we both here, and what are we to discuss?}

[I am not quite sure. When I stood in front of the Mainspring and burnt away, I chose to exist. I did not, though, choose where and when I exist.]

{Excuse me if it is rude to ask, but are you dead?}

[I exist. I chose to. Therefore I do.]

{I expected such a cryptic answer.}

[Oh, but it is the truth. So, why are you here?]

{I thought these events would be entertaining, and it turns out they have been, though not for the reasons I expected.}

[I hate to interrupt, but I can feel myself drifting away. Far too many things call to me, and I cannot hope to answer them all. I must depart.]

{Well, it’s been lovely to meet you. I’ll head off too. I no longer care for that messenger or their horse or their meeting. As far as I am concerned, that story ends here.}

maid virtue names such as devotion, laundry, and able-to-carry-dishes-on-her-forearms

She so resents when they have to get help in. She so resents having to stay up so early. She so resents having to deal with someone who must be coddled and kept at arm’s length so they don’t run screaming to the police or worse.

All things considered, Ophelia Cooper is in a foul mood.

But this was her idea, after all. She is a caretaker, and if this will help to keep her boss and the house safe, she’ll suffer with a smile on her face, no matter how forced.

Her guest has arrived outside. There’s a van full of tools and mess and clutter sitting on the doorstep of a place she’s laboured to keep clean for years.

They knock at the door - using the ornate door knocker and not crudely knocking on the door itself. The intercom activates, and before she can get a bad-tempered word out, they speak - they ask if they can come in. Not only this, but they ask ‘please’, and when Ophelia gives them their instructions, she says a short ‘thank you’. And they close the door behind themselves, keeping the dreaded sun out.

Her bad mood having suddenly evaporated, she descends to meet her guest.

Her guest stands in the hallway, not unsettled in the slightest by the flowers or books or furniture or ornaments that adorn the interior. She is oh so beautiful and oh so polite, and Ophelia feels something stir within her. It is not the artless whispers of romance that she gave up long ago, or the brutal covetousness she often feels - this is something else, something strange and rare and new and odd. She is utterly entranced by this woman, and hangs on her every word.

‘Where’d you need the hob installing?’

Back to work then. An electric hob is so much safer than a gas one, reducing the risk of random fires and avoids provoking The Beast since no flame is present. It took her a while to persuade her boss that this was a useful measure.

The two head into the kitchen, and names are exchanged, as is polite and proper.

‘Ophelia Cooper, it’s a pleasure to meet you.’

‘Elizabeth Smith, lovely to make your acquaintance’

There is something she felt once, back when her sire tore out her throat and turned her. It was an odd feeling, a certain emptiness in the stomach, and an uncertainty about whether or not to run screaming, no matter how rude it would be.

As she watches Elizabeth set about her work, proceeding tidily and methodically and leaving no mess and making polite conversation and always saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and using proper manner and etiquette, she feels it again.

When the work is finished, she knows what she should do. She should Dominate her, clouding her memory of these events and making her forget this house and these people forever, or drag her to her boss for him to do the same.

She is at war with her own mind here. She wishes to see them again. She wishes to know her better. She was so polite and well-mannered, in a way that reminded her of Maria, wherever she is now.

She comes to a conclusion that appeases her need to do her job, her need to be polite, and her need to preserve this lovely thing in front of her.

After leading Elizabeth into the hall and allowing her to leave, she goes to meet her boss.

Sure, he’ll be annoyed if she wakes him at this time of day, but he’ll trust her ideas, and maybe the sleepiness will make him acquiesce sooner.

They really should replace that gas oven, it presents such a risk. Oh, and the boiler, that’s also gas, and it’s not as though Kindred need the warmth. Oh, also work on the roof should be done to stop the sun getting in. And security systems could keep him safer.

And before he knows it, Elizabeth Smith may be as much a part of his household and maintenance team as Ophelia is.

And then Ophelia never has to stop looking at her. Never has to stop basking in her politeness and manners.

She could maybe introduce her to her sire’s boss, that ‘Dragon’. After all, how many havens could be refitted to reduce the risk of fire and sun and humans.

And if the Dragon finds her polite enough and good enough at her job, she could have Elizabeth Smith for eternity.

did you know you can actually just cock your head to the side and put your canine teeth on either side of her windpipe and not bite down but just hold gentle pressure while you're doing whatever you're doing to remind her that we are animals and with less force than it takes you to bite into a good apple you could tear out her pretty throat? you can do this any time and it's free and easy

scruffy puppygirl who you liked the vibe of so you invited her to hang with you then at the end of the day she didn’t have anywhere to go so she just kinda followed you home

she never picked out a name she liked and she hates her old name but her collar just reads “STRAY” so you can call her that if you want. she’s never had an owner before so she doesn’t really know how this works

she’s kinda hungry. no it’s fine, she’s not picky, she’ll eat whatever you want to have. yeah, she does like pizza, actually, thank you!

she feels bad for taking up space in your house, she knows it’s kinda small and you don’t have a spare bedroom but the couch is ok and- your bed?? really? are you sure? she doesn’t want to be a bother but if you insist

your bed is so comfortable, and your hands- no no keep petting her! if you don’t mind of course. it’s kinda nice… would it be ok if she kissed you? maybe just a lil cheek kiss? you’ve been so nice to her…

romance languages are actual hell on earth man. every sentence that comes out of your mouth demands that you gender yourself. no room for ambiguity or plausible deniability. no room for freedom. you must announce if you're a man or a woman. what an absolute shitshow

in times like these at least i have the character

House MD + text posts pt. ∞