|
Post by lily tomlinson on Aug 7, 2008 14:59:13 GMT -8
Liam continued to stare at Damon and the witchlet from the Black Iris. Stupid Italian vampire always hoarding the womens. He entertained the thought of breaking up their little party. It would just be so fun.
"He's just someone fun to tease," he said in response to Laurel's questions. "Quite fun, really."
~
A certain pest seemed to make a crawling motion along his spine. An irritation. And Damon's eyes narrowed, darkened and grew their coldest. Leaning forward even more, he murmured a quick, "Hold that thought," to Beatrix before rising from the table.
He was all grace and refined movements. A hunter, predator, a death women ran willingly to with open arms. A death he would gladly dish out to one Liam Black if not for the threat of Seth that loomed over that action. But he could still take action in his fashion, and look damn good doing it too.
There were no words, and the smirk he had was quite distracting from his real intentions toward Liam.
"Ah, Angelc-"
But Liam was cut off with a swift right hook to his jaw, which only sent him flying back through the door into the street beyond it.
And Damon, just to put even more salt into the wound, turned to Laurel with an short, apologetic bow. "Pardon the intrusion, bella," he said, taking her hand and placing a soft kiss to her knuckles. He rested his dark eyes on her face and gave one of his legendary charming smiles. Te type that seemed to brighten up the darkness that shrouded him. "Old business. He doesn't seem like the sort you should be accompanying." His smile said exactly who she should choose instead, but Damon was ever the suave one and did not say it aloud.
No, he turned back to Liam, smiling, but his eyes were as cold as ever. "Either leave, or spend your night on the far side of the restaurant. If I catch you disrupting or eavesdropping on my acquantaince, there will be consequences. Don't say I didn't warn you."
And then with a nod at Laurel, he was swiftly heading back to his table, back to his conversation with Bea. "Now, as you were saying?"
|
|
|
Post by shinigami on Aug 8, 2008 23:14:14 GMT -8
Damon returns to the table to find a few things different.
For one, Beatrix is now in his seat. For some reason, the young witch-maid didn't choose to have her back to the fighting vampires, even if that meant she was no longer in the darkest corner. Also, the wine is almost gone. Now seems like a great time to get tipsy. Beatrix has a hand over her mouth and her lovely, wide eyes are on the door through which Liam oh-so-recently flew. During the little altercation, she'd given Laurel -- hey, I know you -- a wide-eyed look, and now? Well, now the door was getting it.
Damon says, as you were saying?
And Beatrix's gaze flicks back to the Italian vampire. Darkens, even, with some unnamed passion. Even exhausted Beatrix isn't always an easy read. It's easy to read her uneasiness amid everything else, however. Liam'll probably attack all weapon-flingy and so much for the waiter bringing breadsticks any time soon and what if she got hit, huh? Thoughtless.
"Why did you do that?"
|
|
|
Post by doreyg on Aug 9, 2008 5:17:53 GMT -8
Laurel mutters something, something which may vaguely sound like "because he's my soulmate, I can't get away from him" or may just be "Um, hi, wow, hi" or may even be "eep."
There are a lot of options.
But Laurel is a nice girl, and Liam is her soulmate after all... And it's usually kind of impossible to be indifferent to your soulmate getting punched through a door by somebody who isn't you... So the moment that Damon goes back to his table Laurel hurries over to Liam's side "you didn't land on a stake or anything did you?"
|
|
|
Post by lily tomlinson on Aug 18, 2008 7:47:17 GMT -8
Liam grunted, sitting up. The look on his face was nothing less than crazed, murderous. "It was actually a knife, thank you," he hissed, reaching behind him to pull out a silver knife from his back. He was just lucky not to have landed on one of the wooden ones. As it was, the wound was already healing.
"Do me a favor, doll, and stay here," Liam continued, narrowing his eyes as Damon leaned against the table, obviously smug. It was at this point that he slowly rose to his feet, graceful and every part the sadistic killer. Though Liam could be quite the... dweeb in comparison to Damon, when his anger rose, they were quite evenly matched.
Grabbing the knife, he passed back through the door of the restaurant. Took no hesitation in throwing the knife at Damon. Put quite a bit of strength behind the throw and watched as it flew end over end at a speed faster than human could follow.
But Damon wasn't human. He saw it, and calmly stepped out of the way before it could hit. But then realized Bea was just behind him in the path of the knife. So then was forced to grab it midair, stop it about an inch from her face. Pity he'd misjudged the throw, for instead of grabbing the hilt, he'd caught on to the blade. Damon really hated it when he was made to bleed.
|
|
|
Post by shinigami on Sept 1, 2008 11:54:34 GMT -8
Her heart skips a beat. Not right away. It takes a second to process. Liam and Damon are just that quick. But then it all becomes clear. The thrown knife, the smooth step, the saving catch; the inch of air between her nose and the cold silver metal and Damon's bloodied fingers and just how close (inch. singular.) she'd come to. That's when her heart skips a beat. And. Oh no. And. That's when it all goes to hell.
Crack! The protective seals, hidden by the witch proprietess in and about the kitchens, shatter under pressure. They weren't weak seals, either. Cre-eak! The building whines, echoes, pops like joints and snaps like bones. These new world buildings just aren't used to raw (uncontrolled, unloosed) Power.
"You - " Beatrix scrambles to her feet. Splish! of adrenaline + exhaustion + shock + wine gives her a dreaming sort of grace-that-isn't and she grabs Damon's hand. "You just - how - I'm taking this - " Her fingers come away with just enough blood. The thing is this: Liam had Beatrix firmly on his side a moment ago. He was the underdog. Damon was the bully. But now? Now. He almost killed her. Accidentally. And anger grew like ecstasy. "YOU ALMOST - "
"AND - "
The dark is a lovely thing, and so are shadows; they hide as much as they reveal. Beatrix -- completely hysterical, and not ha, ha that was hilarous hysterical -- scribes a rune on her wrist. The shadows rise up; the light dies.
Liam: Maybe slammed into the wall; maybe slammed onto the ground; if he's not standing in a patch of light, the ground doesn't feel as tenuous as it should; it feels shadow-tenuous, actually, whereas the shadows are much more solid, although nothing any instinct he has would tell him to step into right now. What she's trying to do is drag him up to the ceiling and hold him there. Why? Beatrix isn't thinking at the moment. It's just passion. It's just reaction.
"YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE TO BREATHE THE SAME AIR. JUST SHARE. JUST - "
And Damon shouldn't feel too smug. He's in a similar situation, although what she's trying to do (hah, try; as if she were conscious of any of this, being in shock) is slam him against the wall and hold him there. The dark reacts just the same beneath his feet, though, and those triangles of light and little pools of glow from the candleflames are quickly disappearing, but he didn't actually, so.
Then! Beatrix was already exhausted; this entire display is far beyond her current stamina. She's just not strong enough to control it. She's just not strong enough to contain it. As the kneejerk reaction fades, "No, no, no," and her head is light, and her body reacts as if it were starved for air, just one gigantic cramp, and the pain is enough that she stumbles, falters, goes to her knees, elbow slams onto the table, crushes a wine-glass, look at it shatter, break, cuts her arm up, but she doesn't notice. She doesn't care to notice. "Stupid - mortal shell - stupid - weak - NO." Beatrix grips her head, fingers disappearing in the still-unbelievably luminous cloud of hair, and then?
Then she passes out. The pressure eases. Humans'll explain it as a freak electrical storm -- or a case of mass hysteria, since the occupants buildings on either side of the Italian restaurant were gripped by a terror so profound that they'll never, ever be the same for it. Bad things happened.
As they no doubt will continue to happen inside the restaurant.
|
|
|
Post by doreyg on Sept 1, 2008 12:25:11 GMT -8
Laurel was watching through the door, and the moment that Liam threw the knife she was getting ready to leap forward and yell at him or something and then Beatrix went all crazy... And Laurel was suddenly not in the restaurant anymore.
Oh her body was, all faintly swaying but her mind was... Watching a unpolluted sky, throwing a spear firmly, laughing alongside a girl that looked and felt a lot like Lily
Yes, her mind was... On a dusty road, Laughing in the face of a stressed looking lady that looked just like Cassie, dancing madly in woodland.
And then her mind was back in her body and she really wished that it wasn't, she felt sick and tired and old all of a sudden and it was... Liam, where was Liam, was Liam alright?
She leans back outside for a moment, takes several great big breaths of air and then staggers into the restaurant and right over to her soulmate, her heart pounding and that feeling of being far too old still on her shoulders "Liam?"
She sounds tired too, and there's a slightly odd twist to her accent that wasn't there before... Well it was but a couple of millennia before anyway.
|
|
|
Post by lily tomlinson on Sept 20, 2008 21:55:48 GMT -8
Liam is all astonishment and finely-reigned fury. He's tempted to kill the little witch for attacking him. It was just a little knife! Not like it actually hit her. Just a little blood was shed, and not even hers!
He's tempted to kidnap her too. Lock her up in a cell that nullified magic and pay her back. But no-oo. The moment he and that bloody Italian were dropped, Damon was crouched in front of Bea in a defensive stance. Fangs bared, all ruffled elegance, the man was possibly angrier than Liam was. Damned Salvatore, always ruining his fun.
He could take him, of course, but right now, there were just too many witnesses. Too many variables, and too much anger. An angry Damon would be tougher, too much of a challenge to face Seth's wrath when he got back to base. Ugh. Why was it always him?!
At Laurel's prompting, he tilts his head slightly, not taking his eyes off Damon for a moment. "Don't flip out," he said, before grabbing a hold of her shoulders and proceeding to spin them in an inhumanly fast way. Fast enough that Damon won't be able to keep an eye on who's who as he pulls out his special talent. The talent that really got him to be Seth's right hand man, and not just his torture skills.
Call it a form of telepathy if you will. A form that digs into the optical nerves and twists the view around, shapes and molds his appearance until he is a duplicate of someone else. He's even pretty good at twisting the auditory senses around, so that the voices are the same. And now? Why, he's a second Laurel.
Which one is which? Which one could Damon strike out at? To take a risk and hurt an innocent girl, Liam knew was not a risk Damon was willing to take.
Smiling an evil smile, one that looked completely out of place on Laurel's face, but not too unbecoming, he tossed Laurel over his shoulder and ran for it. He wasn't stupid enough to fight Angelcakes just yet.
And once he was gone, Damon's fury led him to throw a table against a wall, shattering it into wooden splinters. No helping it. Couldn't kill the little British bastard just yet. Damn him.
His main concern now was an unconscious Bea on the ground. The display of power had been mildly astonishing. He'd known she wasn't just an ordinary witch, but what she truly was, he didn't know. But he was determined to find out soon. Devils help him, he was a curious man, even after all these years. The dangers was merely a lure to him.
So it was with this determination in mind that he hoisted her up into his arms and carried her out of the restaurant. A quick browse through the surface of her mind told him where she lived, only to wind up unable to enter the threshold without invitation. Of course. Such plebeian enchantments set upon all living homes against vampires. Le sigh.
He was tempted to leave her on the doorstep. It wasn't so chilly outside, but he wouldn't be Damon if he didn't cause a ruckus. He could sense her brother inside, and he had yet to forget about the Black Iris incident. So he knocked on the front door, readjusting Bea in his arms as she'd slipped a bit in his inattention.
|
|
|
Post by shinigami on Sept 21, 2008 22:12:03 GMT -8
Val opens the door. His hair is even messier than usual and he's in a pair of sweats, loose around lean hips; a crummy old band t-shirt. The expression in his gray eyes was quizzical, but sort of dawn-breaking warm; his head was tilted. He had a smile, one that -- also, breaking-dawn like -- was just beginning to touch those eyes, and he had a hello ready to be said. That snapped away like a fan, though, once he'd looked down at the shorter "man" who was carrying -- "Beatrix!" Yep. Instant!worry. Take little sister. Add danger. Mix well. Guaranteed to make the heart stronger. Or kill. "Give her here. What happened?" He wasn't even registering Damon so much at the moment. And yes, he was asking, but he was demanding to know.
Beatrix stayed unconscious. As she would continue to do. It wasn't sleepy curl up and snuggle unconsciousness, either. She didn't murmur anything in her sleep or otherwise cosy up to Damon. She was dead weight, completely malleable and pale as milk. Indeed, if Beatrix only knew that Damon'd brought her straight home after she'd been so clearly up to something, she'd have tried to stay unconscious in order to skip out on the lecture she'd be sure to get. As it is, she didn't have to try. Yay ?
|
|
|
Post by lily tomlinson on Sept 21, 2008 22:18:29 GMT -8
A faint smirk ghosted across Damon's face as he held Beatrix just out of her brother's reach. He was still quite angry with Liam. And Damon, well, he was a bastard normally, but if he was angry, that only made him even more of a bastard. And a taunting one at that.
"Scussi," he said, pulling on his Italian. He was waiting for recognition, and the reactions that would come. He wasn't just going to let that slide, was he? "She had a bit too much... excitement, shall we say?"
|
|
|
Post by shinigami on Sept 23, 2008 22:41:27 GMT -8
He'd reached out to take Beatrix from Damon when he'd said give her here; when Damon keeps Beatrix out of his reach, there's a moment's hesitation; hands, arms, empty when they shouldn't be; then Val's arms drop and he bumps the front door further open. He's puzzled, angry, at a loss.
"More details." The words are hard. "Bring her in. What kind of excitement? What's that on her wrist? Is that blood? How long has she been out? Were you drinking? Where was this?"
Then something, some intuition, draws his gaze away from his inspection of little sister to Damon himself. Val's lovely silvery eyes narrow. Unlike his sister, he looks neither sleepy or dreamy; he actually looks grimly formidable; keen; sharp. Yes, he remembers seeing Damon at the Black Iris that night. Bad enough. He's also getting that subtle 'predator' vibe. Which could be a fluke. Maybe Damon was a shapeshifter. Yes. The good ol' black foxglove. Except, Val is actually a political creature. He knows who's who in the Night World; he can recognize who's who. That's how he knew who Liam was. Ain't like Val and Liam have tea parties and braid each others hair.
So, Italian. Appearance looks like it checks out. Lapis in sight? Vampire. Maybe vampire. Probably vampire. Sigh. Vampire. COULD be. Except -- no. Val knows that Bea is reckless, but she wouldn't be so reckless that she'd hang around a LEGENDARY killer/womanizer. She wouldn't. She...
Fuck. Val has gone a little pale.
[He was going to lock her in a convent until she was 78. No more night clubs. No more strip. Nope; he'd make sure she hung out in nice, safe places like the library. The irony of that thought will become apparent in a couple of weeks.]
"And who are you? Look," and he holds his arms out again, snapping his fingers in a hurry this up sort of way, sucks in a breath and says, "I can take her."
|
|
|
Post by lily tomlinson on Sept 23, 2008 22:54:05 GMT -8
Damon smiles, sidestepping Val's arms. It's a predator's smile. Slow. Easy. All womanizer and killing instinct rolled into one. "Pity you don't know your higher ups," he murmured. With a slight incline of his head, a mocking motion if there ever was one, and he stepped into the household. "Thank you for the invitation, by the way. Care to introduce me to the family, perhaps, while I explain your... details. I'm quite fond of pairs. Mothers, daughters. You know what I mean."
He was of course merely kidding. Normally, he wouldn't be, but for this family, he was only interested in one member, and unfortunately she was unconscious.
|
|
|
Post by shinigami on Sept 24, 2008 0:58:30 GMT -8
Ha, ha. What a great joke. No. Valentine is effectively robbed of the ability of speech. The only reason he doesn't strike Damon--and, see, his hand actually comes up, already a fist--is that the dark-haired vampire is still (intolerably) holding Beatrix. The look Val gives Damon isn't one of unadulterated hatred -- it's plenty adulterated by concern, by horror, by anxiety -- but still. It is a Look.
Then he looks at his fist, forces it open and runs his fingers through his hair (crazily!) instead. He clears his throat. Must. Speak!
|
|
|
Post by lily tomlinson on Sept 29, 2008 21:03:22 GMT -8
Damon raises a mocking eyebrow at Val's raised fist, watches it unclench and run through the kid's hair as if he hadn't been planning on hitting him. Watches the hatred, amused.
The corner of him mouth even quirks a bit, as if he might laugh, but he manages to keep an air of cool superiority. Indifference. Elegance. Centuries of refined nature, finely honed even back when he was still a human.
"And just what did you plan to do with that?" he asks in reference to the fist. "Fist-a-cuffs with a vampire? Really?"
He chuckles shortly, chiding Val in his own home. He's got some nerve, but Damon's all about nerve. All about making people he instinctively dislikes uncomfortable. Nothing against ol' Val, but he was just too much like his brother. There's a feel about their minds. All righteousness and good. It was disgusting.
"They don't make male witches as smart as they used to," he murmured as he moved to the stairs. Moved as if he owned the place, like he wasn't out of his element at all. He was even planning on walking right into Bea's room and setting her in there, without permission, just because he felt like it.
|
|
|
Post by shinigami on Sept 29, 2008 21:42:55 GMT -8
He's pale. No flush; no blush. Just pale. That's how Damon can know that the witch man is still furious, but at the same time? That fury is leashed so tightly it transforms into a kind of calm. "Are you going to explain?" Beat. "What is your point in being here?" Beat. Then, he sighs -- lopes, all lanky-ease, onto the stairs in front of Damon, the better to block his way. "And where do you think you're going? If she's hurt," an awkward pause. He doesn't want to say take her into the kitchen -- doesn't want to give Damon any ideas. Then agan, Valentine is truly trying to figure out Damon's angle, here. Not that vampires usually needed an angle besides hurting people, just for the sick joy of it...
|
|
|
Post by lily tomlinson on Sept 29, 2008 21:50:31 GMT -8
"If she's hurt, it's only her own doing," Damon said with ease, leaning against the railing. He could do this all night, after all. The weight in his arms was nothing to someone who could toss a semi. "And why, no. I'm not going to explain. Here, catch."
And with those final words, he tossed Bea at her brother, not really caring if she was caught since it wasn't that far of a drop. As she was thrown in Val's direction, he took the moment of distraction to head calmly for the door.
"Have fun! Tell your sister she makes for an entertaining meal," he said this meaning that the dinner he'd taken her to, and the entertainment that had arisen, but it would most likely sound like he'd tried to eat her instead.
But before there was any chance to retaliate on him, he was out the door in crow form. Sometimes it really was lovely being a vampire. Made for great exits.
|
|