for insufficientjewel.
A man's footfalls, light for his size, and coming closer. Were she not dazed with hunger, this would be her sign to flee, to become once more one with the night, gone half a mile before he has so much as a chance at rounding this corner. This hunger is a frightening one, though, it cuts deep and for the first time since she herself was turned, Celeste fears what might come after. If she does not feed, what madness might befall her? If she is so close to losing her senses in the presence of her victim now, what will happen if she flees, if she means to last through another day, to hunt another night? Few are out past curfew these days, and fewer are inclined to invite strangers into their homes past sundown. The woman before her is her safest wager.
And not only because she has already fallen under her spell, having forgotten those pleas for aid and mercy she'd uttered at the first sight of her attacker's fangs. The woman is still now, stiff as a board, and though there is sentience yet flickering behind her eyes, she cannot fight a vampire's might. She almost pities her: it is not, she recalls, a pleasant feeling.
The steps come closer, though, and there is no time to search for humanity in her unbeating heart. Even in life, she would not have chosen it. This may no longer be a question of life and death, but she is seeing double, hearing echoes, and she cannot wait another night, cannot last another scalding day, if she does not do as her nature commands.
She leans forward, then, presses her victim bodily against the wall, buries her fangs in her neck and smells a man's scent so close as though –
She is grabbed, drawn back, and though her strength by far outdoes that of her opponent, her dazed state is enough to stop her. "This does not concern you," she murmurs, eyes half shut as she means to keep her victim under her control. The woman slides to the ground, rattled by the pain of the bite, and it is more difficult to keep her hypnotised when facing away from her. "Leave this place, good sir, or find yourself in trouble beyond your reckoning."
And not only because she has already fallen under her spell, having forgotten those pleas for aid and mercy she'd uttered at the first sight of her attacker's fangs. The woman is still now, stiff as a board, and though there is sentience yet flickering behind her eyes, she cannot fight a vampire's might. She almost pities her: it is not, she recalls, a pleasant feeling.
The steps come closer, though, and there is no time to search for humanity in her unbeating heart. Even in life, she would not have chosen it. This may no longer be a question of life and death, but she is seeing double, hearing echoes, and she cannot wait another night, cannot last another scalding day, if she does not do as her nature commands.
She leans forward, then, presses her victim bodily against the wall, buries her fangs in her neck and smells a man's scent so close as though –
She is grabbed, drawn back, and though her strength by far outdoes that of her opponent, her dazed state is enough to stop her. "This does not concern you," she murmurs, eyes half shut as she means to keep her victim under her control. The woman slides to the ground, rattled by the pain of the bite, and it is more difficult to keep her hypnotised when facing away from her. "Leave this place, good sir, or find yourself in trouble beyond your reckoning."

no subject
Still, she tilts her head to the side, watching him. "How odd. By the looks of you, I took you for a nobleman's son." The sort of man who never had to worry about upsetting a landlady, someone who only rented to have a space away from a nagging wife or other troublesome relation. A space not to live in, but to use and discard, away from the sort of prying eyes a manor might attract.
no subject
"Hardly. I am no-one's son at all." A fact whose sting has long since faded into the background, after some thirty years of orphaned life. He wonders, of course, about his parents and what fate brought him to the sisters' doors; there will always be times when, in quiet moments, he finds himself in melancholy search of clues in the scattered remnants of his earliest memories; but in the end, he has come this far with no father but the Heavenly one, and no family but those who took him in. He lengthens his stride a little, but his tone is easy enough. "I hate to disappoint you, but I cannot offer noble blood to slake your thirst. You must settle for a poor clerk's, or else call an end to our agreement."