Encounterlogs
Meridiths Odd Encounter Sr Kara 240420
Meridith's story begins in a serene, intricately described cabin, providing a stark contrast to the jarring experience she soon faces. Her initial moment of tranquility is shattered as she finds herself blindfolded, hands and feet bound, with the ominous scent of blood in the air, yet unharmed. Upon realizing her binds are superficial, crafted more for sensation than security, Meridith manages to free herself. She discovers her familiar cabin transformed into a shadow of its own reality, with bizarre alterations and a mechanical humming that fills the space with an uncanny presence. Alone and curious rather than frightened, she explores her surroundings, only to confront a surreal and threatening figure. This man, with eyes swirling with abnormal hues, attempts to subdue Meridith, claiming she will soon be assimilated and feel no pain. Resisting his chilling embrace, Meridith's panic transforms into aggression, and in a desperate effort to defend herself, she summons a sword and threatens her attacker.
Their confrontation escalates quickly; Meridith strikes the man with her sword, imbued with an otherworldly light, only for him to disintegrate into a murder of ravens, leaving only a pair of dead birds and a shattered window as evidence of the encounter. Shaken but defiant, Meridith vows aloud to any lurking predators that she is not prey but the predator, vowing retribution against those who dare to threaten her. Transitioning from this harrowing escape to another tense scenario, Viktorin finds himself cornered by a group of vampire hunters in a café. Their suspicion of him being a vampire based on his elusive demeanor unravels into a dialogue laced with philosophical musings and veiled threats, especially as Caelum, an actual vampire, intervenes with a menacing presence. The interplay between Viktorin's cryptic wisdom and Caelum's intimidating gestures forces the hunters into a reluctant conversation, revealing their intentions to Viktorin while under the looming threat of Caelum's barely restrained hunger for violence. Viktorin, claiming divinity rather than vampirism, offers the hunters a chance for redemption and a warning of the dangers they flirt with by hunting supernatural entities, positioning himself not as an adversary but as a potential guide away from their destructive path.
(Meridith's odd encounter(SRKara):SRKara)
[Fri Apr 19 2024]
In A Small Cabin
In this small but well-designed living space the walls are adorned with wooden panels, giving a sense of nature indoors. To your left, there's a black sofa with plush cushions, and warious throw pillows. The sofa is strategically placed near a large window that allows natural light to fill the room during the day. The window also provides picturesque views of the surrounding wilderness.
On the opposite side, there's a neatly arranged bed with green linens and various mix-matched pillows. The bed is framed by a wooden headboard, adding to the rustic feel of the cabin. Overhead, a warm and subtle lighting fixture casts a soft glow, creating a tranquil ambiance in the sleeping area.
Adjacent to the bed, a built-in closet is seamlessly integrated into the wooden wall. The closet features sliding or folding doors, maximizing space efficiency. Inside, there are shelves, drawers, and hanging rods for organizing clothes and personal items, keeping the cabin clutter-free.
Overall, this one-bedroom cabin combines the comforts of modern living with the tranquility of nature, providing a serene retreat for those seeking a peaceful escape.
It is afternoon, about 66F(18C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
Meridith has a brief encounter with the divine, or with deja vu. Whatever it is, her vision is now obscured with the checkered blindness one experiences when having a sack placed over there face. If Meridith moves, she can feel her wrists are bound with some manner of ligature, as well as her feet. There are no sounds around her, just the silence of whatever room she's found herself in. There is the coppery smell of the recently living, perhaps recently wounded. But, after a cursory self-check, as much as one can muster without vision, Meridith doesn't appear to be injured...for now.
Meridith shifts, pressing at her bonds, testing what movement she has, what she can feel what she can move. Her eyes blink, the darkness does not abate. She tries not to appear awake, all she does is subtlety test her bonds for the moment and try to pull herself into consciousness.
The bonds feel vaguely loose or recently undone, as there is is a little play, though they still feel somewhat taut. There is no tension around Meridith's neck or face, and it feels as though the sack or blindfold apparatus may have just been pulled over her head. Maybe her ears are playing tricks on her with her other senses dampened, but the room isn't exactly silent - there's the low drone of something mechanical that easily masquerades as background noise. Meridith can most certainly loose herself of the bonds, if she's dextrous enough. Or slip out of the mask, which doesn't feel to be secured, and if it is, it's amateurish at best.
Meridith does both, trying to slip the mask off her head, tipping her head a bit, then quickly trying to slip and pull her hands free of her bonds. She's moving with some urgency now that she's realized she's likely revealed her consciousness
With the mask slipped easily, and the silk ropes slipping away from limbs with, Meridith notes that the black silk ropes used to bind her appear to have been secured with circus knots - something a magician or a fetishist might use. They are meant more for optics and sensation than to actually hold anyone captive. There's no reason for Meridith's alarm, as she quickly realizes, eyes adjusting to surroundings, that she is in a vague facsimile of her own cabin. The walls are still the same old wood, but appear to have taken on a slightly ephemeral shimmer. The windows have all been riveted shut with rusted steel paneling. Her closet is similarly sealed. All the furniture appears to have been removed and replaced with an institutional-looking round table and chair, like something one might find in an interrogation room. The mechanical whirring sound is coming from above. There are some other features Meridith doesn't recognize, something marking the ground near the steel panel.
Meridith is alone.
Meridith takes a slow deep breath. Her cabin but not. She takes a moment and gazes up, left, right, and around her body. She doesn't force to her feet but instead takes it slow. The rips on her...the nature of them make her curious. The fear in her subsides left with a kind of strange curiosity. If she is no longer bound, she climbs up and begins to search around her some, the mockery of her cabin. The whirring sound, then, the steel panel.
The floor near Meridith throws a sheen, the same way the walls look, but up close it's something akin to a heat mirage, or the way soap makes a rainbow spill atop the surface of crystal clear water. The ropes and sack are gone, perhaps a figment of Meridith's imagination. Or did she actually feel them when she took them off?
Meridith is struck by that question and pivots, crouching to examine the ropes. "Illusory...?" She poses the air around her.
Meridith frowns. "Alright, enough of this, I don't like being toyed with!" She announces boldly to the air around her. "If you want to avoid an ass kicking, you should probably come out!"
The air itself seems to crack, and a vortex opens up where Meridith's bed should be, draining the myriad rainbow shimmers and illusions into itself, like the draining of a great lake near a dam. This, of course, is totally soundless, and Meridith's eyes flutter open, the illusion broken. She's broken the trance, but is held in the cold grasp of a man. Her hands and feet are free, but he holds Meridith by the bicep on one side, and her shoulder on the other. He appears to have her neck exposed. The man's face is Romanesque - he wears a shortly-trimmed beard, and sports the sickly pallor of life free of sunlight entirely. In his eyes still swirl the shimmering colors of the walls of Meridith's illusory apartment. He opens his mouth and ...
Meridith lets out a shout, panicked and confused. Her body reacts with violence, eager and she kicks out, throws her strength, her weight, a burst of telekinetic panicked strength. Her cry is immediate, fearful and furious. "G-get...get OFF!" she cries.
A rumble begins in the man's throat, and within it is the rattle of the dried branches of a centuries-old tree, or the grinding of gravel and glass beneath a great horse-drawn carriage. It is a nightmarish sound, and all of Meridith's angered speaking seems to draw the pitch higher and higher, and the voice speaks, "Don't move... it will be over soon."
Meridith cries out, a sobbing sound, but no less violent. She isn't cowed by the threat, she is as resolve and violent as ever. She marshals her terror even as her body fights against her. The slowing of her heart mixed with the mingling of her own panicked adrenaline makes her nearly faint, but still, she makes fists, she swings, she tries to pull away, tear herself free. "I-...I am not! Your food!" She insists.
The man doesn't appear to be all that physically strong, as Meridith pulls from his grasp fairly easily, though he is swift, and dodges the blow. His railish fingers already start to reach out for her again, the swirling, hypnotic colors still in his eyes. With some space between Meridith and her attacker, she can easily assess that he is very frail, looking pallid and sickly from this distance, and definitely not the overtly threatening monster one might envision...when forced to.
Meridith feels emboldened, as the someone falters against her strength she swings out only to find him duck it. She springs back as well, but as the eyes catch hers she shivers, mouth hanging for a moment as she catches sight of impossible shades of octarine. She tries to pull back, reaching out to pull her sword to her from her possessions and tilts it towards the man. "S-stop! Or I'll cut you down!" she promises.
Meridith feels emboldened, as the man falters against her strength she swings out only to find him duck it. She springs back as well, but as the eyes catch hers she shivers, mouth hanging for a moment as she catches sight of impossible shades of octarine. She tries to pull back, reaching out to pull her sword to her from her possessions and tilts it towards the man. "S-stop! Or I'll cut you down!" she promises.
Meridith is easily able to draw her sword, as the man's tentative reaching is slow and cumbersome. He appears to rely heavily on this illusory arsenal. His footsteps are slow, as though a great invisible encumbrance weighs him down. As he approaches, Meridith can see that he doesn't even pick his feet up to travel the distance to her. They are just sliding, sliding, sliding along the floor. The creaking branches and crush of gravel begins again, and his mouth opens, "...come child, you will feel no pain, and we will be as one...just sleep, sleep now..."
Meridith hesitates but a moment, her blade tilts up, poised towards his left breast. Her eyes focus, sharp, a hunters eyes, a killers desire lurking within them. She feels a sudden calm wash over her...and then she moves. One step, gliding like him but a push of her muscles accompanied by a burst of telekinetic might and grace. The blood within her surges with the glorious promise of battle, and then she lunges. Her blade moves with an experts grace, a gift of supernatural insight, and she strikes out.
And her swing is glorious! The light of day seems to gather upon her blade, and cleaves through the air with the same prismatic exuberance as the energy that flowed from the man's eyes...and the swing is also true! As she draws a broad arc, the swing cleaves into the man, and as soon she feels her muscles tense - the great reflex of all blade warriors, muscles tensing the moment your body knows you will hit bone and receive a shock, the sword keeps going. There is a great cacophony of squawks and croaks, and the man has burst into an array of ravens - or replaced himself with them? The window above Meridith's sofa bursts into sinister broken shards as the ravens throw themselves against it. Most escape, but a pair of ravens falls to the floor in Meridith's house, life force running out of them in crimson rivulets. They lay dying in the broken glass. Meridith's ears are ringing, her muscles confused at the strike. But, there is no evidence of the man.
Meridith exhales as her blade strikes true, tearing through him, but...birds? She hesitates and she exhales sharp stumbling back, her body runs a tremor and she stares at the dead raven? Another illusion? Her mind reals with confusion and uncertainty, she moves to examine the dead bird...then further outside
The dead ravens are no illusion but the man is gone. Meridith is at home, in her cabin - the window is broken and stained with blood. The hoarse cry of ravens echoes through the forest near her home, then goes absolutely silent for a spell. A forest that is never silent. As she passes through her door to look outside, there is the unusual swaying of trees as though something much larger than a raven has just swished its wings through there. Meridith gets the pang of fear in her heart that perhaps the man would be back, and she should have finished the job. But, he's nowhere to be seen. Blood drips from the tip of Meridith's sword to the ground below her feet. Maybe she shouldn't have chosen to live in the woods.
Meridith exhales harsh and lets out a bellow. "Return to my home and die!" She calls out to the retreating flock. She feels a quiet resolution with her anger. She is not the prey, she is the predator. And with each person who failed to take her, she hopes to make the lesson stick, even as her heart pounds and her fear rises, she feels this deep in her bones. It's the things that dwell in the night which should fear her.
(Your target has been cornered by a group of vampire hunters who are convinced they are a vampire. They need to either prove their innocence, submit to the hunters, or escape.)
Viktorin finishes speaking to someone, glancing down towards his phone. Firing off a few bursts of texts, he frowns, sighing. His brow doesn't go neglected for long, rubbed, pinched. "Fuck. I'm tired." There's a glance aside at the woman working the counter. And then at the menu. But the Czech doesn't order, instead it seems that he's not ordered the entire time he's been here. The space in front of him is neglected, empty.
Viktorin finishes speaking to Kayly, glancing down towards his phone. Firing off a few bursts of texts, he frowns, sighing. His brow doesn't go neglected for long, rubbed, pinched. "Fuck. I'm tired." There's a glance aside at the woman working the counter. And then at the menu. But the Czech doesn't order, instead it seems that he's not ordered the entire time he's been here. The space in front of him is neglected, empty.
In the quaint confines of the cafe nestled within the bookstore, Viktorin appears to be somewhat lonely at that table that is not too far from well stocked bookshelves and has the gentle murmur of soft conversations nearby, but none of them with him currently. The delicate clink of cups and the gentle rustle of turning pages filled the air with an almost sacral tranquility, but then... his solitary musings seem to draw a few men forward. Or perhaps it is the fact that Kayly has left, and they now feel confident in their approach. Three patrons, all male, approach Viktorin at his table after a few furtive glances amongst themselves and a couple of whispers, having strategised quietly. "Mind if we join you?" asks one of the men who is dressed in a jacket, a casual shirt, and some blue jeans with some average trainers. In a practiced nonchalance, not waiting for an answer. He pulls out a chair, and takes a seat across from Viktorin.
"I don't mind no-" Viktorin starts to say. His words fall flat though, as the primary among the trio begins to seat themself. "Well... uh. Don't think we've met before. Name's Viktorin. You can call me Vik though." A friendly greeting, accompanied by a small, weak smile.
The other two men show a barely concealed urgency, and they, too, take a seat at Viktorin's table, really trying to make this look like a friendly interaction. Their leader is in his mid-twenties, but he has a stern face and eyes that are scrutinizing for truths as they search over Viktorin's face. Once they are all settled, introductions continue. "Vik? I'm Michael. Good to meet you. This is Kyle and Thomas," he says, gesturing to the two other men who are of similar age. Michael's posture relaxes and he leans in a little, resting elbows on the tabletop. "We were having coffee over there and saw you looked..." He pauses, nodding at Viktorin before stating, "Tired? You okay?"
"I'm quite fine. Just troubles with work," Viktorin states to the man, mulling over his words. And then, he tells him, with full honesty, "Sometimes I feel this world we're living in, has no justice what-so-ever. Do you ever feel the same? It's heart-breaking, truly."
Sitting attentively at the table with Viktorin, three men -- Michael, Kyle, and Thomas -- all have their interest piqued by the candid manner that Viktorin interacts with them about the state of his world and discontents. The leader, Michael, takes this opportunity to delve deeper, trying to probe the man's psyche and uncover some clues to his nature. As the primary conversationalist, Michael nods sympathetically, replying, "It's tough out there, isn't it?" He speaks softly and in a manner that is inviting the stranger across from him to share more. "We all feel a little overwhelmed sometimes. You mentioned 'justice' and I wonder if you mind if I ask what has been troubling you? It sounds like you carry a pretty heavy burden." Kyle, the observant one, takes note of Caelum's entrance into the cafe area of the bookstore, offering a nod.
It's quiet, how Caelum enters the book store. His usual hiding place, really, unaware entirely of what may be transpiring inside. The yawn he delivers while closing the door in his wake, right to the back of his hand, veiling poorly, lazily, just about every fang in his mouth is almost wakeful. Like the evening hours have really brought him out of the daytime stupor he endured, endures, perpetually, and he's pleased for it. Keener in the green of his eyes, their venomous hue that turns ahead, the vitriolic, perpetual glint when they catch the light. He doesn't speak yet, doesn't seem like he intended to in his approach towards the counter until he heard Viktorin, and that has him pause - not the nod from Kyle that he's missed.
Attention cast, he watches, stares at him, at trio he's talking to without any sign of recognition, and while he reaches the aim of his destination, gives his back to it with arms drawn up to rest, he makes a simple gesture. One that tries to catch Viktorin's eye, jab a thumb aside as if pointing at his company, with an expression of a raised brow wordlessly questioning a simple: 'What's up?'
Viktorin lifts his gaze slightly over the lead's shoulders, eyes pointed subtly towards Caelum. And a shrug, answering both the lead and the vampire who's just entered. "The world is tough, for that is the world we created through our own choices. Oft, we have had the right answer in front of us, but oft, we neglect what that answer is, because it is difficult. And further into the darkness, we travel. And through this, we not only damn ourselves, but the world around us." It was cryptic, perhaps, but that doesn't stop the dusky Czech from continuing his strange soliloquy, eyeing the window outside. "To brave the dark outside with steel fang and a torch, to stave off the dark for a little while longer... Isn't that something sacred?"
What a cryptic narrative Viktorin is providing the trio at the table, and when he uses the term 'steel fang' it causes Michael's shoulders to tense some. The atmosphere at the table suddenly shifts, but Michael and Tomas are listening intently, parsing those words for hidden meanings and feeling that their suspicions are already being confirmed. "And sometimes," Michael is replying, "it's the wooden stake we need to carry," in a soft quip. "To ensure, of course, that the darkness doesn't get too close. Definitely sacred -- to keep the night at bay." Kyle is still the observant one, and he doesn't look away from Caelum once that yawn is had. His attention does not flicker away until it is clear that Caelum and Viktorin know each other, and so Kyle's gaze sharpens as he tries to piece together potential implications. "You have friends familiar with the night?" he asks Viktorin.
It's totally sketchy, no matter how Caelum looks at it - but he doesn't press the issue at the subtle shrug from Viktorin. The actual vampire in the room has his back to the counter, arms hanging over it on either side - but he does make an idle gesture behind it to order a cup of coffee. Something that immediately strikes him as a frequent regular here - with how much actual coffee they put in it, to the point its possibly undrinkable, but smells extremely of that rich bean.
For his part, there is no sign that he may be entertaining the conversation they're having. When that coffee eventually finds its way into his hand, piping hot in a mug, it stops in its ascent up to his lips - eyes peering into his own reflection in it stay exactly there - the reason is evidently clear. It's the mention of a stake. For whatever reason, he smiles, like he's enjoying the scent that wafts off of his drink to a beatific degree. It is subtle, very much so, but it is also a taunt in equal measure when his gaze lifts behind the mug he brings to his lips, pinned on that observant one, with just a hint of a flash in fang that clinks against the ceramic in the midst of a sip.
"A wooden stake?" Viktorin asks, quizzically raising an eyebrow. "For what reason would you need a wooden stake, of all things?" A glance is thrown towards Kyle however. That cock eyebrow slowly fades, and he asks, "I have many friends, of the day and of the night, I suppose. Such a conversation, one like that, however, are best held in privacy, and best held with those who are tempered to hear the answers." There's something amused that spreads across the dusky thing's face. "The darkness is within the heart of man itself. For the greatest evil, in the world, is not born of the devil. It is born from the actions of your fellow brothers. For humanity is quite skilled with creating evil that creates infinite evil. A deadly machine that strives naught to lighten the load of mankind, but instead, to bury mankind beneath the weight of their own sins."
The demigod ignores Caelum for a moment as he brings his poetry to light at the table, or philosophy. Really, it could be considered both and neither. Instead, he gibbers away at the trio, attempting to provoke further thought among the group.
And so Viktorin's poetic and philosophical musings flood the cafe, and each member of this vampire hunting group reacts in a manner aligned with their individual personalities. Michael is maintaining his leadership role, and processes the query about the wooden stake with more than just a hint of amusement, but his response is measured and caution mingles in his probing yet prudent tone, "Oh you know. Figure of speech, really. Old tales -- an allusion to them, where darkness was quite literal and the stakes, pun -intended-, were quite high. But let's just say it's always a good idea to be prepared." The rest of what Viktorin says looks like it is melting his brain or something. Kyle is still looking between Caelum and Viktorin, and he tells the man he's seated near at the table as eyes flit over back to the vampire at the counter, "Privacy is respected. I'm interested in what you have to say about the whole framing of darkness within humanity. Maybe we could have a discussion about it away from public ears?" Then, there is Thomas, moved by Viktorin's reflections. Perhaps he has found a kindred spirit. "Darkness and weight of sins with a poet's grace," he responds. "It actually reminds me of the old literary debates on the nature of man. Whether we are inherently light and corrupted by darkness, or if the shadow is a fundamental part of our being. That's a topic I could talk all night about."
While that happens, Caelum meets Kyle's eyess flitting his way. There is something to the way he stares when the cup is brought low again, and he remains exactly as he was. That piping hot liquid is held with his fingers around the rim, hanging off the edge along with his arms. The bare bit of coffee at the corner of his lips is licked clean in a more brazen display, and Kyle bears the full brunt of his attention for daring to spare him any of his own. Like a serpent, observing, a viper that hovers just out of reach, distracting his prey to stillness with sight alone within vitriolic eyes of green. For all of his silence, he seems incredibly amused.
The dusky demigod seems fairly nonplussed by Michael's words, brushing aside that strange bit with a mere wave of his hand. "Stakes are part of a myth on vampires, or burning witches, or the classic terrible punishment for ancient heretics, heathens, the like. You'll hardly find the darkness halted by death. You'll find it spread by such instead. For terror breeds terror, violence breeds violence. An endless cycle that doesn't falter. But war comes regardless, I suppose, so it's oft best to be prepared. Prepared to protect your own, and viciously too. You know, there is a difference between protecting your friends and family... and seeking to eliminate that which you hate? Or contorting justice into vengeance or revenge."
Towards the one called Thomas, Viktorin smiles gently, "The nature of man... there's an argument to be had there. I always adored the stoics, even if I couldn't truly follow their teachings. I'm far, far too emotional and prideful for such. However, I don't believe they got the nature of man correct. Even if it is something one should adhere to, for the betterment of themselves and society." A finger is lifted, however, to suggest to the man something else. "If there ever were any light within man, it has always been snuffed out at the loss of innocence. But an innocent man is nothing against the world. Even a man who isn't innocent is helpless against the world. For if you fight the world, the world always wins. No matter what."
"How would you know that?" Michael asks Viktorin in regards to the claim that stakes are part of a myth. His gaze is somewhat accusatory, but he does his best to remain cool and collected. "Preparedness... it's a philosophy in itself, isn't it? Preparing for the worst all while hoping for the best, but never quite escaping the nature of the beast within." He glances briefly at his two companions, trying to ensure that they are still engaged without losing sight of their broader intentions here in the bookstore's cafe area. It isn't difficult for Michael to see that Kyle is having some sort of dilemma, as the most observant one is caught in the stare of Caelum. Kyle feels a chill of recognition mixed with wariness, and the silent, distanced interaction is subtle but intense, making him desire to communicate his suspicions to Michael and Thomas. The establishment is far too public, though, so he subtly shifts his position, pretending to adjust his seat, and lightly taps his foot against Michaels under the table. Maybe he's playing footsie, or perhaps it is a pre-arranged signal indicating an alert. Michael's gaze shifts from Viktorin to Kyle, and then his head ever so slowly turns to view Caelum. He's expressionless, and then tries to look right past the vampire as if he wasn't just checking out the guy he was being warned about. Meanwhile, Thomas is enthralled -- absolutely captivated by the philosophical dialogue. The mention of stoicism sparks his curiosity even more. "Ah! The Stoics had their views, yeah!" he muses excitedly. "But they also struggled with the dichotomy of control because it's the... the... the whole what we can change and what we can endure concepts. Vik, you are refreshingly candid." Michael is trying not to roll his eyes whilst trying to get Thomas to pay attention to the fact there are possibly two vampires in this room, and since he's failing, Michael gives a light kick to Thomas' shin -- which in turn has Thomas sobering up. "Right, right. Mind if we step outside and you can tell me about how you reconcile the ideals of everyday life when there is so much darkness around in society itself, Vik?"
As more and more awareness bleeds into each hunter, its as if more and more amusement bleeds into Caelum. That look is ever mirthful, the smile at the edge of his lips, growing now, is far too sharp. When he takes another sip from his cup, that clink upon ceramic is far more pronounced in his mouth, of inadvertant fangs brushing, scratching. Yet it is barely a sip. It's as if he's never really drunk from the mug when he sets it aside on the counter without looking. Cold, like all the heat from it was sapped with a frigid grasp.
Intead of lingering on, he begins to pace. Step by step -- until he's right beside and behind Viktorin's main interrogator, Thomas, who's so absorbed in communicating even while the other two may be getting caught up, now. His hands find the table, reaching from either side of the man he's standing by, effectivelly trap him, aas he regards them all, now. Even with his low tone, it can't veil his genuine cheer. "Now, guys. Don't leave so soon. I'm enjoying my time here, you're all putting a very good argument to this guy." A faux attempt to deny knowing Viktorin His next words are quieter, just enough to be heard only within the table. Words a hiss, baleful threat, domineering, beckoning trepidation to fear. "Drink your coffee, have your little chat. If any one of you so much as leaves here with ill intent by the end of tonight..."
That part is left unsaid, but one of his hands rise, seeking out Thomas' neck from behind. Not to hold, but to hover close by, like at any point he could just do something past that simple brush against the man's neck should he not avoid his touch. All that it really does is show that where his hand was, a second ago, now bears a distinct, hand-shaped imprint upon the wood of the table. Crushed within a vice grip without even a sound, pressed like sawdust. "Please. Give me a reason."
Viktorin admits to Caelum, "They don't seem very aware, do they?" Perhaps not following along with the vampire's attempt at denying association. Or not caring. Within a second, he focuses upon Michael, informing them, "I would know that, because I am not a layman to a world that you seem not to understand." Then, his voice floats like silk, strung together with power. There was no need to lock eyes, none of that, it's just the voice that seeks to coax something. Something from the man sitting across from the dusky demigod (Psychic Persuasion). "Now. Tell me. Why did you approach me? Why're you here?"
Suspicion, perhaps grown from the fact that the men had tensed, that one seems to be staring at the local vampire, that they're cajoling the dusky Czech to follow them outside. "Quite frankly, you're the worst muggers I've ever met. Generally, if you're going to mug someone, you should ambush them at night, in an alley. Not approach them in a bookshop."
Thomas is startled when Caelum comes up behind him, but he really does try to mask his rising panic and forces a placating smile. "Let's all just take a moment," he tries to more than suggest in a strained voice. "We're just having a friendly chat, and I could get some air. No need for drastic measures." The tiny hairs at the back of his neck prickle and his breath shudders out. Caelum's domineering presence is hard to miss, and Kyle, who sensed the danger posed by Caelum before the close proximity and a barely veiled threat, is reaching into his jacket. His calloused fingers brush against the cool surface of a concealed silver dagger. The small weapon is gripped by the handle firmly, but he keeps it hidden as he attempts to calculate the best moment to use it, if need be. Michael is now fully aware of the precariousness of their situation, and the man musters all of his composure to handle the crisis at hand. His gaze locks with Viktorin's, and the psychic persuasion has him answering honestly, but in a quieted tone so that the rest of the cafe does not overhear him. "This isn't a mugging. We are here because we're curious about certain anomalies that seem to surround you. We approached you because... you've got that emo vibe... Robert Pattinson vibes with less glitter. We're hunting for vampires, and a walk outside would give us all some air and a better environment to clear up any misunderstandings." He attempts to not provoke further aggression from Caelum. At this point, Kyle is losing his cool, and his spastic nature is coming through. Out comes that silver dagger, held down at his lap, waiting to strike, but obviously wanting to choose violence.
Caelum isn't much for words. There isn't anything else that he says - beyond an amused tilt of his head that replies Viktorin's words with a half-smirk. It's obvious he shares his sentiment about their level of awareness, though of what, they may differ. Whereas Viktorin may not be susceptible to such hunts, he, being a vampire, is often too vary of pests like these. With that comes a level of preparedness, an interest to surroundings, to the way someone dresses and carries themselves. And all of these three, they subtly scream 'hunter'.
Up until the man's explanation ends his attention sways to Michael - all that he's saying only replied to in a low chuckle, though now he does something else. The hand hanging near Thomas' throat lifts atop his head, rests there palm down, curls in to catch his hair and squeeze only enough to be bearable. If only that attitude lasted; but Kyle has other plans. While Viktorin gets his explanation from the leader, and while Kyle draws his blade, he runs into the misfortune that is the vampire before him. A simple, singular look is all ti takes.
The vitriolic green of his gaze almost swirls, captivating, mesmerizing, freezing the very blood in his veins; for now. In the constricting look meeting their eyes, there is every bit the allure and threat of a beautiful monster. How could something so magnificent possibly harm anything? He is /perfect/... even if only to Kyle, frozen solid.
Lowering his voice to a murmur, one that could only be heard by those seated around the table, Viktorin begins to explain to Michael, "I'm afraid to disappoint you, but I'm no vampire. However, I am quite interested on why you're hunting for vampires in society." The sable-locked Czech seems less inclined to verify the existence of vampires, but he does entertain the idea in front of the three hunters. One of course, who isn't exactly going to pay attention, sooner or later. Leaning back into his chair, the dusky thing reaches into his sleeve, and suddenly unsheathes his own dagger, a steel thing. He's not exactly hiding it either, tapping his index finger on the point. "Violence breeds violence. So, we can chat, peacefully, here. Or we can go outside, I can break your legs, and then let you off with a warning."
The situation now teeters on the brink of chaos as the vampire hunters grapple with the reality of Caelum being a vampire, and Viktorin being... Well, they are not quite sure yet. Michael certainly seems to realise the volatility, and with Caelum's intimidating gestures and Viktorin's bold declarations, the vampire hunter knows he needs to de-escalate as quickly as possible. His eyes narrow slightly as he processes Viktorin's assurance of his non-vampiric nature. "A peaceful chat here sounds preferable," gets said after noticing that Kyle is influenced heavily by Caelum at the moment. Yes, Kyle is caught under that spellbinding gaze, thoughts muddled, and the grip on his silver weapon loosening. There is awe in his expression that makes it impossible to focus on his original intent to strike. Thomas feels the vampire's hand upon his head, and fear and resignation follows. "We're all just talking, right? No leg breaking." A pleading look is given towards Michael, signaling for help without making any sudden moves that might provoke Caelum. In turn, Michael takes in a deep breath and then says to Viktorin, "I prefer my discussions to be without any broken bones. Tends to put a damper on the dialogue." Then Michael asks, "Do you know this one?" with a tilt of his head towards Caelum.
That tilt of Michael's head is interrupted. The fingers latched onto his haair squeeze, and Caelum directs their gaze low at once. An unbridled, unforgiving gesture that leads their eyes low to point at the table with metal-bending power simply contained in that bit of power. And as if he had inflicted none of that malaise of his sight upon Kyle, he looks away from them. Smiles, all too sweetly, all too sinfully while his head dips behind he other side of Michael's head to whisper to them all. "I am your worst nightmare."
It is obvious, that only their choice of an amiable conversation now to bow to Viktorin's whim is what kept them safe, because just like their own companion, this creature of the night is also more leant upon violence. Whereas he is oft genuinely easy-going, there is that unhindred streak of brutality in him, and it becomes him. Down to the fangs he brazenly displays to them in the half-smirk marring the perfect stretch of his lips. "I'm a very, very hungry thing that's only kept in check, because you're so far playing nice." Then, he regards Viktorin. It's as as if all that trepidation to war fades at once with the smile he offers to him. Far too different compared to the one he gave to the hunters, now hunted. "Let me know as soon as you're bored with them. /I'll/ go out back in your place, show them what they're really here for." And in that, somehow, even with the sanctity of the venetian laws, even with the assurance of a sanctuary, there is a hint that what would transpire then would make any leg-breaking or warning from Viktorin pale in comparison.
"Ah yes, for starters, to bring you up to date, I am not a vampire, no, I am a demigod. Divine. You may bow your heads at this. Go on," Viktorin states simply, his voice still kept at a low murmur. Dryly, he mutters, "I'm joking, you need not bow. However, let me choose to enlighten you all to abandon any thoughts of slaying vampires or any of ilk. You're not going to go very far. The world your deciding to stick your toes in, is one that will end up crushing your soul, or worse, leaving you without any life whatsoever." Pausing, the glance afforded towards Caelum is one of curiosity and mild amusement. "Please don't hurt them too badly. I would prefer to give them an option of redemption. However, if they intend to stay their path, I won't intervene in matters of self-defense, beyond making sure they aren't slain in some way."
"Now, please, do tell me why you intend to hunt vampires. Is this some sort of misguided matter of revenge? Or do you fancy yourselves heroes of some sort?" Viktorin asks quietly, driving home his desire to learn of the current captivated audience. Captured is probably the more apt term here, as they can't leave now.
Their confrontation escalates quickly; Meridith strikes the man with her sword, imbued with an otherworldly light, only for him to disintegrate into a murder of ravens, leaving only a pair of dead birds and a shattered window as evidence of the encounter. Shaken but defiant, Meridith vows aloud to any lurking predators that she is not prey but the predator, vowing retribution against those who dare to threaten her. Transitioning from this harrowing escape to another tense scenario, Viktorin finds himself cornered by a group of vampire hunters in a café. Their suspicion of him being a vampire based on his elusive demeanor unravels into a dialogue laced with philosophical musings and veiled threats, especially as Caelum, an actual vampire, intervenes with a menacing presence. The interplay between Viktorin's cryptic wisdom and Caelum's intimidating gestures forces the hunters into a reluctant conversation, revealing their intentions to Viktorin while under the looming threat of Caelum's barely restrained hunger for violence. Viktorin, claiming divinity rather than vampirism, offers the hunters a chance for redemption and a warning of the dangers they flirt with by hunting supernatural entities, positioning himself not as an adversary but as a potential guide away from their destructive path.
(Meridith's odd encounter(SRKara):SRKara)
[Fri Apr 19 2024]
In A Small Cabin
In this small but well-designed living space the walls are adorned with wooden panels, giving a sense of nature indoors. To your left, there's a black sofa with plush cushions, and warious throw pillows. The sofa is strategically placed near a large window that allows natural light to fill the room during the day. The window also provides picturesque views of the surrounding wilderness.
On the opposite side, there's a neatly arranged bed with green linens and various mix-matched pillows. The bed is framed by a wooden headboard, adding to the rustic feel of the cabin. Overhead, a warm and subtle lighting fixture casts a soft glow, creating a tranquil ambiance in the sleeping area.
Adjacent to the bed, a built-in closet is seamlessly integrated into the wooden wall. The closet features sliding or folding doors, maximizing space efficiency. Inside, there are shelves, drawers, and hanging rods for organizing clothes and personal items, keeping the cabin clutter-free.
Overall, this one-bedroom cabin combines the comforts of modern living with the tranquility of nature, providing a serene retreat for those seeking a peaceful escape.
It is afternoon, about 66F(18C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
Meridith has a brief encounter with the divine, or with deja vu. Whatever it is, her vision is now obscured with the checkered blindness one experiences when having a sack placed over there face. If Meridith moves, she can feel her wrists are bound with some manner of ligature, as well as her feet. There are no sounds around her, just the silence of whatever room she's found herself in. There is the coppery smell of the recently living, perhaps recently wounded. But, after a cursory self-check, as much as one can muster without vision, Meridith doesn't appear to be injured...for now.
Meridith shifts, pressing at her bonds, testing what movement she has, what she can feel what she can move. Her eyes blink, the darkness does not abate. She tries not to appear awake, all she does is subtlety test her bonds for the moment and try to pull herself into consciousness.
The bonds feel vaguely loose or recently undone, as there is is a little play, though they still feel somewhat taut. There is no tension around Meridith's neck or face, and it feels as though the sack or blindfold apparatus may have just been pulled over her head. Maybe her ears are playing tricks on her with her other senses dampened, but the room isn't exactly silent - there's the low drone of something mechanical that easily masquerades as background noise. Meridith can most certainly loose herself of the bonds, if she's dextrous enough. Or slip out of the mask, which doesn't feel to be secured, and if it is, it's amateurish at best.
Meridith does both, trying to slip the mask off her head, tipping her head a bit, then quickly trying to slip and pull her hands free of her bonds. She's moving with some urgency now that she's realized she's likely revealed her consciousness
With the mask slipped easily, and the silk ropes slipping away from limbs with, Meridith notes that the black silk ropes used to bind her appear to have been secured with circus knots - something a magician or a fetishist might use. They are meant more for optics and sensation than to actually hold anyone captive. There's no reason for Meridith's alarm, as she quickly realizes, eyes adjusting to surroundings, that she is in a vague facsimile of her own cabin. The walls are still the same old wood, but appear to have taken on a slightly ephemeral shimmer. The windows have all been riveted shut with rusted steel paneling. Her closet is similarly sealed. All the furniture appears to have been removed and replaced with an institutional-looking round table and chair, like something one might find in an interrogation room. The mechanical whirring sound is coming from above. There are some other features Meridith doesn't recognize, something marking the ground near the steel panel.
Meridith is alone.
Meridith takes a slow deep breath. Her cabin but not. She takes a moment and gazes up, left, right, and around her body. She doesn't force to her feet but instead takes it slow. The rips on her...the nature of them make her curious. The fear in her subsides left with a kind of strange curiosity. If she is no longer bound, she climbs up and begins to search around her some, the mockery of her cabin. The whirring sound, then, the steel panel.
The floor near Meridith throws a sheen, the same way the walls look, but up close it's something akin to a heat mirage, or the way soap makes a rainbow spill atop the surface of crystal clear water. The ropes and sack are gone, perhaps a figment of Meridith's imagination. Or did she actually feel them when she took them off?
Meridith is struck by that question and pivots, crouching to examine the ropes. "Illusory...?" She poses the air around her.
Meridith frowns. "Alright, enough of this, I don't like being toyed with!" She announces boldly to the air around her. "If you want to avoid an ass kicking, you should probably come out!"
The air itself seems to crack, and a vortex opens up where Meridith's bed should be, draining the myriad rainbow shimmers and illusions into itself, like the draining of a great lake near a dam. This, of course, is totally soundless, and Meridith's eyes flutter open, the illusion broken. She's broken the trance, but is held in the cold grasp of a man. Her hands and feet are free, but he holds Meridith by the bicep on one side, and her shoulder on the other. He appears to have her neck exposed. The man's face is Romanesque - he wears a shortly-trimmed beard, and sports the sickly pallor of life free of sunlight entirely. In his eyes still swirl the shimmering colors of the walls of Meridith's illusory apartment. He opens his mouth and ...
Meridith lets out a shout, panicked and confused. Her body reacts with violence, eager and she kicks out, throws her strength, her weight, a burst of telekinetic panicked strength. Her cry is immediate, fearful and furious. "G-get...get OFF!" she cries.
A rumble begins in the man's throat, and within it is the rattle of the dried branches of a centuries-old tree, or the grinding of gravel and glass beneath a great horse-drawn carriage. It is a nightmarish sound, and all of Meridith's angered speaking seems to draw the pitch higher and higher, and the voice speaks, "Don't move... it will be over soon."
Meridith cries out, a sobbing sound, but no less violent. She isn't cowed by the threat, she is as resolve and violent as ever. She marshals her terror even as her body fights against her. The slowing of her heart mixed with the mingling of her own panicked adrenaline makes her nearly faint, but still, she makes fists, she swings, she tries to pull away, tear herself free. "I-...I am not! Your food!" She insists.
The man doesn't appear to be all that physically strong, as Meridith pulls from his grasp fairly easily, though he is swift, and dodges the blow. His railish fingers already start to reach out for her again, the swirling, hypnotic colors still in his eyes. With some space between Meridith and her attacker, she can easily assess that he is very frail, looking pallid and sickly from this distance, and definitely not the overtly threatening monster one might envision...when forced to.
Meridith feels emboldened, as the someone falters against her strength she swings out only to find him duck it. She springs back as well, but as the eyes catch hers she shivers, mouth hanging for a moment as she catches sight of impossible shades of octarine. She tries to pull back, reaching out to pull her sword to her from her possessions and tilts it towards the man. "S-stop! Or I'll cut you down!" she promises.
Meridith feels emboldened, as the man falters against her strength she swings out only to find him duck it. She springs back as well, but as the eyes catch hers she shivers, mouth hanging for a moment as she catches sight of impossible shades of octarine. She tries to pull back, reaching out to pull her sword to her from her possessions and tilts it towards the man. "S-stop! Or I'll cut you down!" she promises.
Meridith is easily able to draw her sword, as the man's tentative reaching is slow and cumbersome. He appears to rely heavily on this illusory arsenal. His footsteps are slow, as though a great invisible encumbrance weighs him down. As he approaches, Meridith can see that he doesn't even pick his feet up to travel the distance to her. They are just sliding, sliding, sliding along the floor. The creaking branches and crush of gravel begins again, and his mouth opens, "...come child, you will feel no pain, and we will be as one...just sleep, sleep now..."
Meridith hesitates but a moment, her blade tilts up, poised towards his left breast. Her eyes focus, sharp, a hunters eyes, a killers desire lurking within them. She feels a sudden calm wash over her...and then she moves. One step, gliding like him but a push of her muscles accompanied by a burst of telekinetic might and grace. The blood within her surges with the glorious promise of battle, and then she lunges. Her blade moves with an experts grace, a gift of supernatural insight, and she strikes out.
And her swing is glorious! The light of day seems to gather upon her blade, and cleaves through the air with the same prismatic exuberance as the energy that flowed from the man's eyes...and the swing is also true! As she draws a broad arc, the swing cleaves into the man, and as soon she feels her muscles tense - the great reflex of all blade warriors, muscles tensing the moment your body knows you will hit bone and receive a shock, the sword keeps going. There is a great cacophony of squawks and croaks, and the man has burst into an array of ravens - or replaced himself with them? The window above Meridith's sofa bursts into sinister broken shards as the ravens throw themselves against it. Most escape, but a pair of ravens falls to the floor in Meridith's house, life force running out of them in crimson rivulets. They lay dying in the broken glass. Meridith's ears are ringing, her muscles confused at the strike. But, there is no evidence of the man.
Meridith exhales as her blade strikes true, tearing through him, but...birds? She hesitates and she exhales sharp stumbling back, her body runs a tremor and she stares at the dead raven? Another illusion? Her mind reals with confusion and uncertainty, she moves to examine the dead bird...then further outside
The dead ravens are no illusion but the man is gone. Meridith is at home, in her cabin - the window is broken and stained with blood. The hoarse cry of ravens echoes through the forest near her home, then goes absolutely silent for a spell. A forest that is never silent. As she passes through her door to look outside, there is the unusual swaying of trees as though something much larger than a raven has just swished its wings through there. Meridith gets the pang of fear in her heart that perhaps the man would be back, and she should have finished the job. But, he's nowhere to be seen. Blood drips from the tip of Meridith's sword to the ground below her feet. Maybe she shouldn't have chosen to live in the woods.
Meridith exhales harsh and lets out a bellow. "Return to my home and die!" She calls out to the retreating flock. She feels a quiet resolution with her anger. She is not the prey, she is the predator. And with each person who failed to take her, she hopes to make the lesson stick, even as her heart pounds and her fear rises, she feels this deep in her bones. It's the things that dwell in the night which should fear her.
(Your target has been cornered by a group of vampire hunters who are convinced they are a vampire. They need to either prove their innocence, submit to the hunters, or escape.)
Viktorin finishes speaking to someone, glancing down towards his phone. Firing off a few bursts of texts, he frowns, sighing. His brow doesn't go neglected for long, rubbed, pinched. "Fuck. I'm tired." There's a glance aside at the woman working the counter. And then at the menu. But the Czech doesn't order, instead it seems that he's not ordered the entire time he's been here. The space in front of him is neglected, empty.
Viktorin finishes speaking to Kayly, glancing down towards his phone. Firing off a few bursts of texts, he frowns, sighing. His brow doesn't go neglected for long, rubbed, pinched. "Fuck. I'm tired." There's a glance aside at the woman working the counter. And then at the menu. But the Czech doesn't order, instead it seems that he's not ordered the entire time he's been here. The space in front of him is neglected, empty.
In the quaint confines of the cafe nestled within the bookstore, Viktorin appears to be somewhat lonely at that table that is not too far from well stocked bookshelves and has the gentle murmur of soft conversations nearby, but none of them with him currently. The delicate clink of cups and the gentle rustle of turning pages filled the air with an almost sacral tranquility, but then... his solitary musings seem to draw a few men forward. Or perhaps it is the fact that Kayly has left, and they now feel confident in their approach. Three patrons, all male, approach Viktorin at his table after a few furtive glances amongst themselves and a couple of whispers, having strategised quietly. "Mind if we join you?" asks one of the men who is dressed in a jacket, a casual shirt, and some blue jeans with some average trainers. In a practiced nonchalance, not waiting for an answer. He pulls out a chair, and takes a seat across from Viktorin.
"I don't mind no-" Viktorin starts to say. His words fall flat though, as the primary among the trio begins to seat themself. "Well... uh. Don't think we've met before. Name's Viktorin. You can call me Vik though." A friendly greeting, accompanied by a small, weak smile.
The other two men show a barely concealed urgency, and they, too, take a seat at Viktorin's table, really trying to make this look like a friendly interaction. Their leader is in his mid-twenties, but he has a stern face and eyes that are scrutinizing for truths as they search over Viktorin's face. Once they are all settled, introductions continue. "Vik? I'm Michael. Good to meet you. This is Kyle and Thomas," he says, gesturing to the two other men who are of similar age. Michael's posture relaxes and he leans in a little, resting elbows on the tabletop. "We were having coffee over there and saw you looked..." He pauses, nodding at Viktorin before stating, "Tired? You okay?"
"I'm quite fine. Just troubles with work," Viktorin states to the man, mulling over his words. And then, he tells him, with full honesty, "Sometimes I feel this world we're living in, has no justice what-so-ever. Do you ever feel the same? It's heart-breaking, truly."
Sitting attentively at the table with Viktorin, three men -- Michael, Kyle, and Thomas -- all have their interest piqued by the candid manner that Viktorin interacts with them about the state of his world and discontents. The leader, Michael, takes this opportunity to delve deeper, trying to probe the man's psyche and uncover some clues to his nature. As the primary conversationalist, Michael nods sympathetically, replying, "It's tough out there, isn't it?" He speaks softly and in a manner that is inviting the stranger across from him to share more. "We all feel a little overwhelmed sometimes. You mentioned 'justice' and I wonder if you mind if I ask what has been troubling you? It sounds like you carry a pretty heavy burden." Kyle, the observant one, takes note of Caelum's entrance into the cafe area of the bookstore, offering a nod.
It's quiet, how Caelum enters the book store. His usual hiding place, really, unaware entirely of what may be transpiring inside. The yawn he delivers while closing the door in his wake, right to the back of his hand, veiling poorly, lazily, just about every fang in his mouth is almost wakeful. Like the evening hours have really brought him out of the daytime stupor he endured, endures, perpetually, and he's pleased for it. Keener in the green of his eyes, their venomous hue that turns ahead, the vitriolic, perpetual glint when they catch the light. He doesn't speak yet, doesn't seem like he intended to in his approach towards the counter until he heard Viktorin, and that has him pause - not the nod from Kyle that he's missed.
Attention cast, he watches, stares at him, at trio he's talking to without any sign of recognition, and while he reaches the aim of his destination, gives his back to it with arms drawn up to rest, he makes a simple gesture. One that tries to catch Viktorin's eye, jab a thumb aside as if pointing at his company, with an expression of a raised brow wordlessly questioning a simple: 'What's up?'
Viktorin lifts his gaze slightly over the lead's shoulders, eyes pointed subtly towards Caelum. And a shrug, answering both the lead and the vampire who's just entered. "The world is tough, for that is the world we created through our own choices. Oft, we have had the right answer in front of us, but oft, we neglect what that answer is, because it is difficult. And further into the darkness, we travel. And through this, we not only damn ourselves, but the world around us." It was cryptic, perhaps, but that doesn't stop the dusky Czech from continuing his strange soliloquy, eyeing the window outside. "To brave the dark outside with steel fang and a torch, to stave off the dark for a little while longer... Isn't that something sacred?"
What a cryptic narrative Viktorin is providing the trio at the table, and when he uses the term 'steel fang' it causes Michael's shoulders to tense some. The atmosphere at the table suddenly shifts, but Michael and Tomas are listening intently, parsing those words for hidden meanings and feeling that their suspicions are already being confirmed. "And sometimes," Michael is replying, "it's the wooden stake we need to carry," in a soft quip. "To ensure, of course, that the darkness doesn't get too close. Definitely sacred -- to keep the night at bay." Kyle is still the observant one, and he doesn't look away from Caelum once that yawn is had. His attention does not flicker away until it is clear that Caelum and Viktorin know each other, and so Kyle's gaze sharpens as he tries to piece together potential implications. "You have friends familiar with the night?" he asks Viktorin.
It's totally sketchy, no matter how Caelum looks at it - but he doesn't press the issue at the subtle shrug from Viktorin. The actual vampire in the room has his back to the counter, arms hanging over it on either side - but he does make an idle gesture behind it to order a cup of coffee. Something that immediately strikes him as a frequent regular here - with how much actual coffee they put in it, to the point its possibly undrinkable, but smells extremely of that rich bean.
For his part, there is no sign that he may be entertaining the conversation they're having. When that coffee eventually finds its way into his hand, piping hot in a mug, it stops in its ascent up to his lips - eyes peering into his own reflection in it stay exactly there - the reason is evidently clear. It's the mention of a stake. For whatever reason, he smiles, like he's enjoying the scent that wafts off of his drink to a beatific degree. It is subtle, very much so, but it is also a taunt in equal measure when his gaze lifts behind the mug he brings to his lips, pinned on that observant one, with just a hint of a flash in fang that clinks against the ceramic in the midst of a sip.
"A wooden stake?" Viktorin asks, quizzically raising an eyebrow. "For what reason would you need a wooden stake, of all things?" A glance is thrown towards Kyle however. That cock eyebrow slowly fades, and he asks, "I have many friends, of the day and of the night, I suppose. Such a conversation, one like that, however, are best held in privacy, and best held with those who are tempered to hear the answers." There's something amused that spreads across the dusky thing's face. "The darkness is within the heart of man itself. For the greatest evil, in the world, is not born of the devil. It is born from the actions of your fellow brothers. For humanity is quite skilled with creating evil that creates infinite evil. A deadly machine that strives naught to lighten the load of mankind, but instead, to bury mankind beneath the weight of their own sins."
The demigod ignores Caelum for a moment as he brings his poetry to light at the table, or philosophy. Really, it could be considered both and neither. Instead, he gibbers away at the trio, attempting to provoke further thought among the group.
And so Viktorin's poetic and philosophical musings flood the cafe, and each member of this vampire hunting group reacts in a manner aligned with their individual personalities. Michael is maintaining his leadership role, and processes the query about the wooden stake with more than just a hint of amusement, but his response is measured and caution mingles in his probing yet prudent tone, "Oh you know. Figure of speech, really. Old tales -- an allusion to them, where darkness was quite literal and the stakes, pun -intended-, were quite high. But let's just say it's always a good idea to be prepared." The rest of what Viktorin says looks like it is melting his brain or something. Kyle is still looking between Caelum and Viktorin, and he tells the man he's seated near at the table as eyes flit over back to the vampire at the counter, "Privacy is respected. I'm interested in what you have to say about the whole framing of darkness within humanity. Maybe we could have a discussion about it away from public ears?" Then, there is Thomas, moved by Viktorin's reflections. Perhaps he has found a kindred spirit. "Darkness and weight of sins with a poet's grace," he responds. "It actually reminds me of the old literary debates on the nature of man. Whether we are inherently light and corrupted by darkness, or if the shadow is a fundamental part of our being. That's a topic I could talk all night about."
While that happens, Caelum meets Kyle's eyess flitting his way. There is something to the way he stares when the cup is brought low again, and he remains exactly as he was. That piping hot liquid is held with his fingers around the rim, hanging off the edge along with his arms. The bare bit of coffee at the corner of his lips is licked clean in a more brazen display, and Kyle bears the full brunt of his attention for daring to spare him any of his own. Like a serpent, observing, a viper that hovers just out of reach, distracting his prey to stillness with sight alone within vitriolic eyes of green. For all of his silence, he seems incredibly amused.
The dusky demigod seems fairly nonplussed by Michael's words, brushing aside that strange bit with a mere wave of his hand. "Stakes are part of a myth on vampires, or burning witches, or the classic terrible punishment for ancient heretics, heathens, the like. You'll hardly find the darkness halted by death. You'll find it spread by such instead. For terror breeds terror, violence breeds violence. An endless cycle that doesn't falter. But war comes regardless, I suppose, so it's oft best to be prepared. Prepared to protect your own, and viciously too. You know, there is a difference between protecting your friends and family... and seeking to eliminate that which you hate? Or contorting justice into vengeance or revenge."
Towards the one called Thomas, Viktorin smiles gently, "The nature of man... there's an argument to be had there. I always adored the stoics, even if I couldn't truly follow their teachings. I'm far, far too emotional and prideful for such. However, I don't believe they got the nature of man correct. Even if it is something one should adhere to, for the betterment of themselves and society." A finger is lifted, however, to suggest to the man something else. "If there ever were any light within man, it has always been snuffed out at the loss of innocence. But an innocent man is nothing against the world. Even a man who isn't innocent is helpless against the world. For if you fight the world, the world always wins. No matter what."
"How would you know that?" Michael asks Viktorin in regards to the claim that stakes are part of a myth. His gaze is somewhat accusatory, but he does his best to remain cool and collected. "Preparedness... it's a philosophy in itself, isn't it? Preparing for the worst all while hoping for the best, but never quite escaping the nature of the beast within." He glances briefly at his two companions, trying to ensure that they are still engaged without losing sight of their broader intentions here in the bookstore's cafe area. It isn't difficult for Michael to see that Kyle is having some sort of dilemma, as the most observant one is caught in the stare of Caelum. Kyle feels a chill of recognition mixed with wariness, and the silent, distanced interaction is subtle but intense, making him desire to communicate his suspicions to Michael and Thomas. The establishment is far too public, though, so he subtly shifts his position, pretending to adjust his seat, and lightly taps his foot against Michaels under the table. Maybe he's playing footsie, or perhaps it is a pre-arranged signal indicating an alert. Michael's gaze shifts from Viktorin to Kyle, and then his head ever so slowly turns to view Caelum. He's expressionless, and then tries to look right past the vampire as if he wasn't just checking out the guy he was being warned about. Meanwhile, Thomas is enthralled -- absolutely captivated by the philosophical dialogue. The mention of stoicism sparks his curiosity even more. "Ah! The Stoics had their views, yeah!" he muses excitedly. "But they also struggled with the dichotomy of control because it's the... the... the whole what we can change and what we can endure concepts. Vik, you are refreshingly candid." Michael is trying not to roll his eyes whilst trying to get Thomas to pay attention to the fact there are possibly two vampires in this room, and since he's failing, Michael gives a light kick to Thomas' shin -- which in turn has Thomas sobering up. "Right, right. Mind if we step outside and you can tell me about how you reconcile the ideals of everyday life when there is so much darkness around in society itself, Vik?"
As more and more awareness bleeds into each hunter, its as if more and more amusement bleeds into Caelum. That look is ever mirthful, the smile at the edge of his lips, growing now, is far too sharp. When he takes another sip from his cup, that clink upon ceramic is far more pronounced in his mouth, of inadvertant fangs brushing, scratching. Yet it is barely a sip. It's as if he's never really drunk from the mug when he sets it aside on the counter without looking. Cold, like all the heat from it was sapped with a frigid grasp.
Intead of lingering on, he begins to pace. Step by step -- until he's right beside and behind Viktorin's main interrogator, Thomas, who's so absorbed in communicating even while the other two may be getting caught up, now. His hands find the table, reaching from either side of the man he's standing by, effectivelly trap him, aas he regards them all, now. Even with his low tone, it can't veil his genuine cheer. "Now, guys. Don't leave so soon. I'm enjoying my time here, you're all putting a very good argument to this guy." A faux attempt to deny knowing Viktorin His next words are quieter, just enough to be heard only within the table. Words a hiss, baleful threat, domineering, beckoning trepidation to fear. "Drink your coffee, have your little chat. If any one of you so much as leaves here with ill intent by the end of tonight..."
That part is left unsaid, but one of his hands rise, seeking out Thomas' neck from behind. Not to hold, but to hover close by, like at any point he could just do something past that simple brush against the man's neck should he not avoid his touch. All that it really does is show that where his hand was, a second ago, now bears a distinct, hand-shaped imprint upon the wood of the table. Crushed within a vice grip without even a sound, pressed like sawdust. "Please. Give me a reason."
Viktorin admits to Caelum, "They don't seem very aware, do they?" Perhaps not following along with the vampire's attempt at denying association. Or not caring. Within a second, he focuses upon Michael, informing them, "I would know that, because I am not a layman to a world that you seem not to understand." Then, his voice floats like silk, strung together with power. There was no need to lock eyes, none of that, it's just the voice that seeks to coax something. Something from the man sitting across from the dusky demigod (Psychic Persuasion). "Now. Tell me. Why did you approach me? Why're you here?"
Suspicion, perhaps grown from the fact that the men had tensed, that one seems to be staring at the local vampire, that they're cajoling the dusky Czech to follow them outside. "Quite frankly, you're the worst muggers I've ever met. Generally, if you're going to mug someone, you should ambush them at night, in an alley. Not approach them in a bookshop."
Thomas is startled when Caelum comes up behind him, but he really does try to mask his rising panic and forces a placating smile. "Let's all just take a moment," he tries to more than suggest in a strained voice. "We're just having a friendly chat, and I could get some air. No need for drastic measures." The tiny hairs at the back of his neck prickle and his breath shudders out. Caelum's domineering presence is hard to miss, and Kyle, who sensed the danger posed by Caelum before the close proximity and a barely veiled threat, is reaching into his jacket. His calloused fingers brush against the cool surface of a concealed silver dagger. The small weapon is gripped by the handle firmly, but he keeps it hidden as he attempts to calculate the best moment to use it, if need be. Michael is now fully aware of the precariousness of their situation, and the man musters all of his composure to handle the crisis at hand. His gaze locks with Viktorin's, and the psychic persuasion has him answering honestly, but in a quieted tone so that the rest of the cafe does not overhear him. "This isn't a mugging. We are here because we're curious about certain anomalies that seem to surround you. We approached you because... you've got that emo vibe... Robert Pattinson vibes with less glitter. We're hunting for vampires, and a walk outside would give us all some air and a better environment to clear up any misunderstandings." He attempts to not provoke further aggression from Caelum. At this point, Kyle is losing his cool, and his spastic nature is coming through. Out comes that silver dagger, held down at his lap, waiting to strike, but obviously wanting to choose violence.
Caelum isn't much for words. There isn't anything else that he says - beyond an amused tilt of his head that replies Viktorin's words with a half-smirk. It's obvious he shares his sentiment about their level of awareness, though of what, they may differ. Whereas Viktorin may not be susceptible to such hunts, he, being a vampire, is often too vary of pests like these. With that comes a level of preparedness, an interest to surroundings, to the way someone dresses and carries themselves. And all of these three, they subtly scream 'hunter'.
Up until the man's explanation ends his attention sways to Michael - all that he's saying only replied to in a low chuckle, though now he does something else. The hand hanging near Thomas' throat lifts atop his head, rests there palm down, curls in to catch his hair and squeeze only enough to be bearable. If only that attitude lasted; but Kyle has other plans. While Viktorin gets his explanation from the leader, and while Kyle draws his blade, he runs into the misfortune that is the vampire before him. A simple, singular look is all ti takes.
The vitriolic green of his gaze almost swirls, captivating, mesmerizing, freezing the very blood in his veins; for now. In the constricting look meeting their eyes, there is every bit the allure and threat of a beautiful monster. How could something so magnificent possibly harm anything? He is /perfect/... even if only to Kyle, frozen solid.
Lowering his voice to a murmur, one that could only be heard by those seated around the table, Viktorin begins to explain to Michael, "I'm afraid to disappoint you, but I'm no vampire. However, I am quite interested on why you're hunting for vampires in society." The sable-locked Czech seems less inclined to verify the existence of vampires, but he does entertain the idea in front of the three hunters. One of course, who isn't exactly going to pay attention, sooner or later. Leaning back into his chair, the dusky thing reaches into his sleeve, and suddenly unsheathes his own dagger, a steel thing. He's not exactly hiding it either, tapping his index finger on the point. "Violence breeds violence. So, we can chat, peacefully, here. Or we can go outside, I can break your legs, and then let you off with a warning."
The situation now teeters on the brink of chaos as the vampire hunters grapple with the reality of Caelum being a vampire, and Viktorin being... Well, they are not quite sure yet. Michael certainly seems to realise the volatility, and with Caelum's intimidating gestures and Viktorin's bold declarations, the vampire hunter knows he needs to de-escalate as quickly as possible. His eyes narrow slightly as he processes Viktorin's assurance of his non-vampiric nature. "A peaceful chat here sounds preferable," gets said after noticing that Kyle is influenced heavily by Caelum at the moment. Yes, Kyle is caught under that spellbinding gaze, thoughts muddled, and the grip on his silver weapon loosening. There is awe in his expression that makes it impossible to focus on his original intent to strike. Thomas feels the vampire's hand upon his head, and fear and resignation follows. "We're all just talking, right? No leg breaking." A pleading look is given towards Michael, signaling for help without making any sudden moves that might provoke Caelum. In turn, Michael takes in a deep breath and then says to Viktorin, "I prefer my discussions to be without any broken bones. Tends to put a damper on the dialogue." Then Michael asks, "Do you know this one?" with a tilt of his head towards Caelum.
That tilt of Michael's head is interrupted. The fingers latched onto his haair squeeze, and Caelum directs their gaze low at once. An unbridled, unforgiving gesture that leads their eyes low to point at the table with metal-bending power simply contained in that bit of power. And as if he had inflicted none of that malaise of his sight upon Kyle, he looks away from them. Smiles, all too sweetly, all too sinfully while his head dips behind he other side of Michael's head to whisper to them all. "I am your worst nightmare."
It is obvious, that only their choice of an amiable conversation now to bow to Viktorin's whim is what kept them safe, because just like their own companion, this creature of the night is also more leant upon violence. Whereas he is oft genuinely easy-going, there is that unhindred streak of brutality in him, and it becomes him. Down to the fangs he brazenly displays to them in the half-smirk marring the perfect stretch of his lips. "I'm a very, very hungry thing that's only kept in check, because you're so far playing nice." Then, he regards Viktorin. It's as as if all that trepidation to war fades at once with the smile he offers to him. Far too different compared to the one he gave to the hunters, now hunted. "Let me know as soon as you're bored with them. /I'll/ go out back in your place, show them what they're really here for." And in that, somehow, even with the sanctity of the venetian laws, even with the assurance of a sanctuary, there is a hint that what would transpire then would make any leg-breaking or warning from Viktorin pale in comparison.
"Ah yes, for starters, to bring you up to date, I am not a vampire, no, I am a demigod. Divine. You may bow your heads at this. Go on," Viktorin states simply, his voice still kept at a low murmur. Dryly, he mutters, "I'm joking, you need not bow. However, let me choose to enlighten you all to abandon any thoughts of slaying vampires or any of ilk. You're not going to go very far. The world your deciding to stick your toes in, is one that will end up crushing your soul, or worse, leaving you without any life whatsoever." Pausing, the glance afforded towards Caelum is one of curiosity and mild amusement. "Please don't hurt them too badly. I would prefer to give them an option of redemption. However, if they intend to stay their path, I won't intervene in matters of self-defense, beyond making sure they aren't slain in some way."
"Now, please, do tell me why you intend to hunt vampires. Is this some sort of misguided matter of revenge? Or do you fancy yourselves heroes of some sort?" Viktorin asks quietly, driving home his desire to learn of the current captivated audience. Captured is probably the more apt term here, as they can't leave now.