- If the half-demon were in his right mind, he'd be blushing up a storm at the insinuation that him and Larkin are married, but at the moment he's bit too distracted. LeMarc gags with the stranger putting a bit too much pressure on his body, and it takes all his willpower not to just start spewing fire. The last thing this attic needs is to go up in flames. "He...Is...Let me...Get off!" He rasps, pushing away the weapon with an extra touch of telekinetics. The force of his power combined with an exceptional amount of kicking and struggling is enough for LeMarc to wriggle himself out from under his attacker and crawl backwards, hastily retreating from the man and eyeing the steam with twitching, glowing eyes. It's undignified and cowardly, but he gets as much space between himself and the large man as swiftly as possible. His body heaves with every inhale, even as he struggles to his feet, shoulders hunched and legs weak.
"It's none of your businessssss..." He hisses, shaking hands pulling at his suit cuffs and wiping away ash and dust, "But Dr. Stoker is very...Sick..." Each pause is surrounded by a pant that let's off smoke form his lungs in great puffs. There's a sharp click as LeMarc grits his teeth and does his best to pull back his exposure, the pain grounding him just enough. "Last time we...He got to a guest...We..." He hisses again, finding this whole situation most unpleasant.
With great effort, LeMarc brushes away more dust and cobwebs from his suit with more than enough necessary force, molten hands slowly dimming. A slow inhale of breath. A sigh. An admittance. "The guest did not survive."
Resident Scholar|Franz Joseph|Attic Hermit|Vampire|Tagged: Lark
- The insane vampire is too gone to walk, so he crawls and pulls himself along the floor, skittering towards the smell of his prey. That smell...so warm...So fresh. He feels so alive. So hungry...Then he feels so in pain as his body collides with a shut door. No no no, the smell it was...They prey was behind the door! How how ho- Franz decides the best course of action is to ram his body against the door, causing the wood to protest and rattle, but stay strong.
Lady of the Lake|Eadgyd|Edith|Homeless|Kelpie|Tagged: 'some stupid northerner', 'stolen prey'
- The creature stealing her bog was most definitely some sort of...Northerner. Huldrakarl or one of them bleedin' nixe or nekker or whatever those bearded fellows used to call them. She's not an expert and she doesn't really care. No, Eadgyd just wants him out so she can go back to benefiting from being the sole occupant of this lake. But the creature is touching the prey and...Hmmm...How to approach this...
Crawling carefully along the branches of her willow tree, the kelpie pulls more leaves aside, letting her eyes pierce through so she can watch the stupid git more closely. What do northerners even do, anyways? She always assumed they just ate herring and killed sheep or something. Was he even a northman, then? He certainly wasn't a brag, since those ugly donkeys were easy to spot; they were basically knock offs of Kelpies like herself! And certainly this wasn't one of those river hags like the Peg Powlers. Unless this is a particularly odd looking old woman...Perhaps a grindylow? They were typically small, ugly, and vicious and only targeted children, but...Well, special cases exist, right? No no, that was stupid. He had an instrument, for gods sake!
Ugh, perhaps she'd just watch for now. Watch and wait and judge...If blood stains her swamp, then she'll step in and behead the both of them. For now...She waits.
