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#87975C || Outfit
#87975C || Outfit
Just as Dorian opened the door, there was John. He looked a little bit like a hot mess, and his right palm clutched something so tightly that blood pooled in his palm. It leaked onto the floor, and if Dorian would peek just a bit over the man's shoulder, he'd see a few droplets behind him. John pressed his other hand against his roomate's shoulder, moving him aside in the most gentle of manners.
"Let me shower and get dressed and I'll join you. I'm guessing you need a drink just as much as I do," he said after he dipped past him to do just that. He quickly stuffed something under his pillow; his rosary that was passed down to him from his father. There didn't seem to be a God attached to it at all - it was just an object now. It was just an object that he still clung to, and it would appear that he failed to find anything in it during the early hours of the morning.
He trusted Dorian not to pry, and even if the curiosity overwhelmed him, he trusted that he wouldn't flay him limb from limb because of it. So, John left for the shower taking the pristine ivory suit that hung up on the door of his closet with him. He spent quite a long time in the bathroom, and if Dorian would have just left him behind - he wouldn't have blamed him. After all, he had to take care of his hair, go from five o'clock shadow to perfectly shaved. He tugged on his attire, the steam from the shower having smoothed out certain wrinkles, and checked and rechecked himself.
What was going to happen once he signed his name? Would he still retain the person he was? He didn't want to change. Hell, he didn't like change all that much. He was content with himself as he was. For the most part anyhow. There were a lot of things he hated about himself. He loathed this - this lineage devoted to Lucifer and those damned practices that were darker than he could have ever imagined. He didn't like that he was here. It was almost an out of body experience - He, himself, devoted to God was watching some other husk of himself, one devoted to the Dark Father. He's not sure about which entity is actually him anymore - this one or that one. It was confusing. Does he sign the Book of the Beast or does he run far, far away from this place and never look back? What would happen to him if he did? What would happen to the people at this Academy that he's grown fond of? What would they even think of him if they knew the truth? Would that slithering snake of an empty shell murder him as soon as she could get her vicious claws on him?
There were just too many thoughts, and his mind swam with them to the point of drowning. A drink would help. God, it would help so much. Well, fuck... God isn't even listening to him anymore.
He moved out of the bathroom to check and see if Dorian was still around. When his eyes landed on the guy he just gave off a little nod while adjusting the cuffs of his white suit. Virginal, they said. John wasn't a rampant manwhore like Roman, but he wasn't exactly the epitome of virginal virtue, either. The attire looked good on him, so that was that.
John's dog was just downright lazy today. There was no way in Hell that it'd be part of the Dark Baptism, especially since he senses that hesitance from the Warlock. Maybe it was that apprehension that made Max incapable of rousing himself from his master's bed. The lack of enthusiasm was draining, and perhaps he also felt that the decision John would make tonight will also impact him somehow. Just as John doubted, as did Max. He snored away, and John just waved a hand dismissively at him.
"Let's get out of here," he said while he pushed open the door to set them on their way to the rest of their lives. He'd become relatively quiet for the majority of the walk; his eyes cast down to his feet and his thoughts obviously elsewhere. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his trousers. He hadn't even thought of his Baptismal name. He wasn't as prepared as others were because he still just wasn't sure if he could do it. But if God left him, then maybe... just maybe this was the last chance he had to find Faith again.
"Let me shower and get dressed and I'll join you. I'm guessing you need a drink just as much as I do," he said after he dipped past him to do just that. He quickly stuffed something under his pillow; his rosary that was passed down to him from his father. There didn't seem to be a God attached to it at all - it was just an object now. It was just an object that he still clung to, and it would appear that he failed to find anything in it during the early hours of the morning.
He trusted Dorian not to pry, and even if the curiosity overwhelmed him, he trusted that he wouldn't flay him limb from limb because of it. So, John left for the shower taking the pristine ivory suit that hung up on the door of his closet with him. He spent quite a long time in the bathroom, and if Dorian would have just left him behind - he wouldn't have blamed him. After all, he had to take care of his hair, go from five o'clock shadow to perfectly shaved. He tugged on his attire, the steam from the shower having smoothed out certain wrinkles, and checked and rechecked himself.
What was going to happen once he signed his name? Would he still retain the person he was? He didn't want to change. Hell, he didn't like change all that much. He was content with himself as he was. For the most part anyhow. There were a lot of things he hated about himself. He loathed this - this lineage devoted to Lucifer and those damned practices that were darker than he could have ever imagined. He didn't like that he was here. It was almost an out of body experience - He, himself, devoted to God was watching some other husk of himself, one devoted to the Dark Father. He's not sure about which entity is actually him anymore - this one or that one. It was confusing. Does he sign the Book of the Beast or does he run far, far away from this place and never look back? What would happen to him if he did? What would happen to the people at this Academy that he's grown fond of? What would they even think of him if they knew the truth? Would that slithering snake of an empty shell murder him as soon as she could get her vicious claws on him?
There were just too many thoughts, and his mind swam with them to the point of drowning. A drink would help. God, it would help so much. Well, fuck... God isn't even listening to him anymore.
He moved out of the bathroom to check and see if Dorian was still around. When his eyes landed on the guy he just gave off a little nod while adjusting the cuffs of his white suit. Virginal, they said. John wasn't a rampant manwhore like Roman, but he wasn't exactly the epitome of virginal virtue, either. The attire looked good on him, so that was that.
John's dog was just downright lazy today. There was no way in Hell that it'd be part of the Dark Baptism, especially since he senses that hesitance from the Warlock. Maybe it was that apprehension that made Max incapable of rousing himself from his master's bed. The lack of enthusiasm was draining, and perhaps he also felt that the decision John would make tonight will also impact him somehow. Just as John doubted, as did Max. He snored away, and John just waved a hand dismissively at him.
"Let's get out of here," he said while he pushed open the door to set them on their way to the rest of their lives. He'd become relatively quiet for the majority of the walk; his eyes cast down to his feet and his thoughts obviously elsewhere. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his trousers. He hadn't even thought of his Baptismal name. He wasn't as prepared as others were because he still just wasn't sure if he could do it. But if God left him, then maybe... just maybe this was the last chance he had to find Faith again.
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t h e x s c o u r g e
#C48495 || Outfit
#C48495 || Outfit
The shower in her room was running, and it was overbearingly hot. The steam slipped through the cracks of the door, slithering along the floor until it simply vanished into thin air. Her soft flesh was reddening, but Dahlia was sort of out of it right now. She had placed a hand on the shower wall in front of her; curving her fingers inward as if grasping at the immovable tiles. That long, long hair clung to her wet body, even as she lowered her head and shut her eyes. She had been done washing long ago, but she was just here - waiting in the searing water to cleanse something. Something that couldn't be cleansed. This place, maybe. It didn't meet her needs. She wanted to go home, but she didn't have a home. The Dark Lord assured her that this would be her home.
Something slithered at her ankles, and it winded up her thigh until it coiled about her stomach and latched to her arm. Then it coiled there and slithered up to her neck. The brown serpent coiled some more, then constricts slightly - just enough to jerk her out of reality. It hissed in her ear. It was like a whisper that only she could understand, and she opened her eyes to turn her cheek toward it. "Presto caro," she assured, her words smoothly rolling along the Italian notes. "Ã tempo per il Battesimo oscuro." The serpentine creature nodded its head, and just as swiftly as it slithered in, it slithered away. By the time she reached up to turn off the shower, Velena was gone.
She had brought her outfit in with her so that Tamsin wouldn't manage to ruin it somehow. It was a long mermaid dress with a plunging neckline. Sure, she didn't have much breast to truly honor the outfit's purpose, but she was going to make do with it anyway. There were plenty of beautiful dresses in her closet, but this one she had yet to wear. It was a special occasion, after all, to witness those that would sign the Book of the Beast. Perhaps even catch a glimmer of the one he suspects heavily will not. It would feel good to finally be rid of his blasphemous presence - John was like a glaring light in these dark corridors. She has had her eyes on him, and she knows. She knows where he goes to wish for the False God's hand.
She spent time drying her hair first, of course, as to not dampen her attire. It took a while and the blowdryer thankfully tuned out the humdrum of whatever was going on outside of the door. It was good because while Roman and Winifred seduced each other in that not so subtle way, she wanted to rip the girl's throat out from her neck. Yes, that was jealousy reeling its ugly head. Not that she liked Roman in any way, shape or form, but that she had a rather strange attachment to him. So, she took her time so that she wouldn't tear the girl to shreds in front of him, and they could flirt away in seeming peace without her.
Yet, she still managed to slip into her dress and out the door before the pair were done. Luckily, just as they were trying to remove themselves from the room. She must have frightened poor Winifred, as she often does with her eccentric and quiet personality because a dash of red fled the room and that left only Roman; his back toward her and the door still propped open.
"Hello, Di bell'aspetto," she purred out that endearing name of hers for him. It sounds complex and exotic, but it was really just "Handsome". "Apologies for scaring date, but would you be kind to zip me?" After the question slipped from her lips, heavy in her accent, she turned to display to him her back. She'd move her hair so that it would be out of his way because there was a whole lot of it, and it covered her back and bottom in a way that would obstruct his task. She pulled it all over a shoulder and turned to look at him through a side gaze as he proceeded to zip her up.
"Are you ready?" Dahlia inquired, adjusting the sheer fabric that hugged her arms.
Once he was done with that, she turned around to face him. She had to crane her neck slightly to peer up at him, and they locked eyes for a moment. There was a slight tilt of her head and that familiar blank stare accompanied a practiced smile. She looked away and rose to the tips of her toes to smooth out a wrinkle that had formed on his shirt. No doubt from lounging about on Winifred's bed.
"It looks like she wanted to leave early, Roman. Come, I go with you." she insisted in her not so perfect English as she held out an arm for him to take. To accompany him was more of a dutiful thing - one witch to a warlock, as she was used to. They were not each other's keepers, but it would be rude for her to allow him to go on his own.
Something slithered at her ankles, and it winded up her thigh until it coiled about her stomach and latched to her arm. Then it coiled there and slithered up to her neck. The brown serpent coiled some more, then constricts slightly - just enough to jerk her out of reality. It hissed in her ear. It was like a whisper that only she could understand, and she opened her eyes to turn her cheek toward it. "Presto caro," she assured, her words smoothly rolling along the Italian notes. "Ã tempo per il Battesimo oscuro." The serpentine creature nodded its head, and just as swiftly as it slithered in, it slithered away. By the time she reached up to turn off the shower, Velena was gone.
She had brought her outfit in with her so that Tamsin wouldn't manage to ruin it somehow. It was a long mermaid dress with a plunging neckline. Sure, she didn't have much breast to truly honor the outfit's purpose, but she was going to make do with it anyway. There were plenty of beautiful dresses in her closet, but this one she had yet to wear. It was a special occasion, after all, to witness those that would sign the Book of the Beast. Perhaps even catch a glimmer of the one he suspects heavily will not. It would feel good to finally be rid of his blasphemous presence - John was like a glaring light in these dark corridors. She has had her eyes on him, and she knows. She knows where he goes to wish for the False God's hand.
She spent time drying her hair first, of course, as to not dampen her attire. It took a while and the blowdryer thankfully tuned out the humdrum of whatever was going on outside of the door. It was good because while Roman and Winifred seduced each other in that not so subtle way, she wanted to rip the girl's throat out from her neck. Yes, that was jealousy reeling its ugly head. Not that she liked Roman in any way, shape or form, but that she had a rather strange attachment to him. So, she took her time so that she wouldn't tear the girl to shreds in front of him, and they could flirt away in seeming peace without her.
Yet, she still managed to slip into her dress and out the door before the pair were done. Luckily, just as they were trying to remove themselves from the room. She must have frightened poor Winifred, as she often does with her eccentric and quiet personality because a dash of red fled the room and that left only Roman; his back toward her and the door still propped open.
"Hello, Di bell'aspetto," she purred out that endearing name of hers for him. It sounds complex and exotic, but it was really just "Handsome". "Apologies for scaring date, but would you be kind to zip me?" After the question slipped from her lips, heavy in her accent, she turned to display to him her back. She'd move her hair so that it would be out of his way because there was a whole lot of it, and it covered her back and bottom in a way that would obstruct his task. She pulled it all over a shoulder and turned to look at him through a side gaze as he proceeded to zip her up.
"Are you ready?" Dahlia inquired, adjusting the sheer fabric that hugged her arms.
Once he was done with that, she turned around to face him. She had to crane her neck slightly to peer up at him, and they locked eyes for a moment. There was a slight tilt of her head and that familiar blank stare accompanied a practiced smile. She looked away and rose to the tips of her toes to smooth out a wrinkle that had formed on his shirt. No doubt from lounging about on Winifred's bed.
"It looks like she wanted to leave early, Roman. Come, I go with you." she insisted in her not so perfect English as she held out an arm for him to take. To accompany him was more of a dutiful thing - one witch to a warlock, as she was used to. They were not each other's keepers, but it would be rude for her to allow him to go on his own.