Verse.
You beautiful creature.
My heart literally jumped when I read the name Lestat. I think you could say I'm very familiar with the Vampire Chronicles.

Though I am indeed a Brit.... I can't even imagine the sort of society where I'd care too much about the societal woes of youthful misendevours. I'm from a small mining town. I have no idea how to act/write much beyond working class unfortunately.

I do like the idea of victoriana/toxic friendship though. I feel as though there could be something interesting fluttering about in the recesses of that premise.

Did you just say hello Q?

No. I said "Ello".
I'd write something about tea, but that would just come across as far too quintisentially British.
So I'm back (no, not from out of space)
Life has been... a distraction.

But I'm very bored and need something to add my creative spark to which doesn't consist of making cards (birthday, anniversary etc. If you must know. No... Not the kind you play poker with).

I need somewhere to preferably be emo and torture the poor creatures/characters in my head.
Any indications as to which threads are open for input would be wonderful.
I'm pretty much open to anything; preferably something that doesn't require too many of my dwindling cerebral neurons.
I'm a little rusty and may need gentle prods as to correct paragraphite etiquette, but I'm here... for however long.

Please save me from night shifts. And provide a distraction from my essays...

I need a hug. Or a rant. Or a large vat of ice cream and someone to hold me while I go full on panic mode.

I am a student nurse in my third and last year of Uni before I head out into the real world of work.
A little bit of background info: I started my newest placement in November. I did this placement (working in hospitals full time for 'experience') for 6 weeks before the xmas break. I'm due back there this coming Monday for another 6 weeks.
When I first started my placement, I told my mentor (a registered nurse I'm meant to be shadowing) that I worked best if for the first few weeks she basically told me what to do.
Since then, I have had little to no input from her. I've worked things out for myself with no feedback. When I've needed help in an area which I had no experience of, I asked her and got no response, so I asked someone else. ALL the other staff are lovely and really helpful.
Just her!
We have these 'interviews' where we have a chat and log progress etc.
Before xmas, we had one of these interviews where she stated that she had been concerned about me because I hadn't been "autonomous enough" (basically doing things for myself, working independently without input or help) but that I had made massive improvements. She wanted me to return with the same attitude I'd had for the past couple of weeks (Doing my own thing and making learning opportunities for myself because she damned well wasn't going to help me do anything).
I left the placement for xmas break on what I thought was a positive note. I'd 'improved' in her eyes. She seems to have very high expectations of a third year with no experience of a very intensive mental health care ward.

There's a lot of things I don't agree with there, and I've told her so in confidence.
I also had a little time off where I was very very sick with a vitamin D deficiency. It was so bad I was being sick all the time, needing an excessive amount of sleep and had constant headaches. I told her this too, because she wanted an explanation for my "lack of presence".

Now: I have received an email from my personal tutor at Uni, requesting that we meet, with my mentor in order to discuss some 'concerns' she has about me. I have no idea what the hell these concerns are and why she felt the need to email my personal tutor regarding them.
Having spoken to a friend on the same course, she has jumped a few hurdles in regulation and these concerns should have been addressed with myself personally and an action plan been put into play in order to correct any 'slights' before she even thought about contacting Uni.
As far as I am aware, my mentor an I have spoken at length about the 'concerns' I knew she had with me, and I was not only working on improving those areas, but also she said NOTHING to me about them apart from that I was improving.
APART from that it had maybe taken me too long to adjust (which after no instruction or feedback from her in previous weeks, I believe is wholly understandable)

So basically, now... my bloody course is in jeopardy, I'm so worried I feel sick and feel like crying, and my personal tutor has no idea what 'concerns' my mentor has!

I need lots of hugs. Like a whole lot of them.

Roman was not surprised by the lack of a knee taken. Neither was he surprised by the lack of formal greeting. He knew Dagan well enough to know the family moto ‘A Valencia kneels to none’. He was not offended by it.

He listened to Meir speak. He was surprised by what he had said, but it did not show in his face. “To my knowledge, the spirit chained and bound remains so.” He replied. “I have no reason to believe otherwise.”
“Your father knows that he is welcome here”  which read as ‘your father can do as he damned well please here, and he knows it’.

“When you see him, please inform him that my loyalty remains as ever to a good friend. I am happy to know that you and your family are here, however I am as concerned as your father by what you speak of this spirit. I hope that your father knows me well enough to be aware that I would not dismiss such a serious matter, and had I been aware, I would have sent for his advice immediately.”

~

Rust growled. “We work for no vampire.” He would have spat if there had not been a vampire who could probably rip his throat out with a single thought present. “This is the Fourth Wall’s territory. Florentina simply requests that we send word to him of all of his kind who venture here. There is a harsh penalty, under agreements made between wolves and vampires in this region.” It had been a more than tense affair, from what Rust had heard. Many days of negotiations. “If it were not for your name, I would not be letting you pass.” Rust told Dagan honestly.

~

Alex smiled, a quirk of a smile with one side of his lips as she sat herself down, despite asking if she may. She wasn’t from around here. “Sure thing.” He nodded to the dealer, who happily dealt her a hand. “I’m Alex, this is Frank.” He pointed to the squat red head next to him. “And that’s Ogda.” He pointed to the stern, much older looking lady who still dressed as though she were living in the age of flapper dresses and gangsters.

The Barman was wary of her. She didn’t smell like a vampire, although she had been around vampires long enough to mask her natural scent, whatever that was. He pulled back, appearing to grab a glass to clean. “Oh about a decade or so, not long really.” He replied. It was difficult not to feel drawn to her.

The button which Meir had pressed made the intercom crackle into life. “Florentina Residences, Bastille speaking, how can I help you Sir?”

Bastille had been a butler in these residences for nearly as long as there had been a mansion built here. He knew all the protocols, and knew that the man at the gate was not one of their regular delivery men, nor was he a servant delivering a message from one of the wealthy families in the region, however, Bastille could see from the man’s attire and stance that he was not a man known for waiting around, he was a man of some importance.

A name was given, and Bastille’s eyes somewhat widened. “Right away sir.” Another button was pressed, and the gates opened, allowing Meir to make his way down the rather long driveway.

The doors were opened for him by a maid, who simply bowed and lead him into a sitting room. “Would Sir require anything to drink while he awaits our master?” she asked him timidly. It was clear the girl was quite new blood, having only lived a few years more than a human life.

~

“Who goes there?” The growl came. The area Daegan was walking in was not protected by vampires, it was protected by werewolves. A large, lone wolf with ginger fur made itself known, sniffing the air. “I am Rust of the Fourth Wall, what business do you have here?” A lone wolf was never truly alone, some of Rust’s pack were there, but hidden. Carefully hidden.

~

The bartender smiled at her, though his beard was so thick, it was a barely noticeable smile. “We trade in anything you got sweetheart.” He produced a machine that was hooked up to the till. “Just tell it how much you want an’ it’ll tell the till. The till will open once you’ve punched in your pin code. It can take a while, it’s a little old, do you want a drink while you wait? We have non-alcoholic beverages if either of you is driving.”

"What your eyes see when you look upon the world, is not all as it seems. Beyond the veil of the smog and gloom cast over many cities, beyond the streetlights and neon signs swinging and flashing, flickering with letters missing; there is more. The strangeness that goes on all around; that not many seem to notice, is the world of what many humans would consider just fairy tales. The world of ‘monsters’ and other ghoulish things; which were and still are told to many a child as ‘bedtime stories’, are actually… very real.

We exist. Our activities are subtle, the balance vital. The vampires have their own culture, their own hierarchy of class and rank, as well as social standing, among other things. In the world of the vampires, there are Kings and Queens, as well as the Hierarchy which goes along with monarchy…Lords, Ladies, Dukes, Duchesses… etcetera, etcetera. There is also large group of 'Elders', which span… pretty much the world.
They have all given themselves titles and rank. Those guys have been alive for as long as the earth has been round. They're the top of the food chain - so to speak, so they feel they deserve respect, some will go to great lengths to accomplish this… killing anyone who disagrees with them.

Basically, the Vampiric system is a huge fucking chaotic mess which no one really understands.

The werewolves keep the balance neutral, acting as a furry shield which protects the ‘wall’, the boundaries between the living and the dead. They're the warriors, the military. They don't exactly follow orders from the Vampires (because no wolf is taking orders from deadites) but they do take their job seriously. No one, no thing which isn't meant to go in or out of the world, the realm of the dead into the living and visa versa... well.. they stop it from happening. They have a duty. They have a cause, a reason to be, a reason to keep in line. Their system is simple, basic… and works… unlike our vampiric neighbors.

And it is that balance… which must remain.

It is that balance, which is so fragile… which must be maintained.

Because otherwise... our society, and that of the humans... is well and truly fucked.

And then of course, there’s the very few humans who can see beyond the veil; the hunters. I think the less we say about them the better… for now."

The Diary of Ashley Walker - Hunter

~

The ‘court’ was overly lavish. Decorated in splendor. Fine materials, the most expensive marble, real fireplaces, kept in perfect condition night and day, much like the rest of the mansion by the young vampire servants. It didn’t seem much like a modern world in the ‘court’; however, if one was to look outside, to step out onto one of the many balconies, or to ride out into the expansive grounds, one could see the view of the sky ripping city, just on the verge of the horizon.

This place seemed like a million miles from here, and for Alexander, it was. Alexander was ‘born’ to wealth, and it showed in his mannerisms, his clothing and the style in which he wore his hair. Long and sleek and naturally raven coloured, it clashed splendidly with ethereally blue eyes. With many vampires, there was always an unnatural quality in which their eyes gleamed, and a variety of colours, many which would not be seen in human kind.

Alexander was the seventh in line to the throne, and knew that there was absolutely nothing which meant he would ever grace the “seat of power”, nor wear a crown upon his brow, and that didn’t bother him at all. He enjoyed the relative freedom of roaming the palace as he liked and occasionally was allowed into the city itself to glance upon what his father considered “the unremarkable”. He had been shown a different life out there. One of many colours, but also, one of gloom.
He had seen the alcoholics, the drug addicts, the rough thieves and scum of the vampire underclass roaming the streets. He had been taught to sneer upon them, frown upon them. He was better than them; he had always been told so. None the less, this did not stop him from the occasional visit into the dregs of society in order to play pool, or darts, or poker. It did not stop him from acquiring acquaintances which he was well aware that if his father ever knew, he would not approve of.

He was not royalty on those days. He knew better than to flash his wealth around. Knew better than to speak formally, or act differently. He knew better than to even bare the royal crest upon his clothing or handkerchiefs.

Now-a-days, he was certain he spent more time in one of the many dive bars in the city than he did in the ridiculous mansion home his parents owned.

He had plans to go there that night, to the Slaughtered Lamb. He intended to win a good few hands at cards and enjoy the company of vampires who had no airs or graces. Tonight would be a good night.

Ah procrastination... my friend.

- Occasionally come hear and read threads. Old and new. Some I have no part in. I like to re-read old posts.
- Watch far too many tv series. Currently hooked on Orphan Black
- Make cups/pots of tea.
- Lush. It's an addiction which far exceeds the 'pay grade' of a student nurse.
- Read. Currently Wyrd Sisters and Wicked. (When I should be reading about nurse stuff)
- Give bad advice and 'gossip' with associates/friends.
- Write in order to appease the muses. They love getting carried away at work otherwise.
- Ask ridiculous questions of my other half. Debate topics.
-  Make cards for occasions such as birthdays etc.
- Ebay. Currently taking a break from being a seller, but it's a massive addiction. And when they get sent, I wrap them in bubble wrap and gift wrap before they go in their envelopes. I see it as practice for Christmas.

Hi guys.
So, I just finished all my essays and exams for this year.
I have a few voluntary gigs to go play with, but otherwise, I need something to occupy me so I won't get cabin fever.

Anyone want a summer writing buddy?

BTW, I literally have no ideas for plots etc, but.... I'm sure we'll figure something out.  :)

They were both cut up pretty bad on their hands, and Rik would have offered to help her push the bike if she didn’t look so damned determined. Hell, he knew how she felt about the bike. He felt the same way about his car. No one drove her but him; though saying that, he’d never met anyone who had wanted to.  No one liked the Twi-hard vibe it gave off.  He had briefly chuckled at her response about riding bitch.

There were no problems on the way out of the house and the short journey to the car was committed in silence, but Rik didn’t mind and apparently neither did Morgan; if she did, she didn’t say anything anyway, apart from to tell the bike to be good. It seemed she was as comfortable with silence as he was.

They reached the car and he opened the boot as she dropped the kick stand on the car.

He dug out the ‘first aid kit’. In fairness, there wasn’t much good left in it. It needed topping up, but he had kept putting it off and putting it off; procrastinating on the task. “I know it’s not much, but it’s all we got.” He offered with a small smile.

Hello, and welcome to our humble abode.
We hope you find it comfortable, friendly and most of us don't bite. :)

Enjoy. It's addictive.

The gun was picked up and holstered on his way out of the room. He made the careful climb up the stairs, he was sure he had heard smashing coming from up there.

He checked the smaller bedroom, before hearing Morgan speak. There was another voice too. He panicked immediately and headed that way.

The ghosty and Morgan appeared to be facing off. Casper’s evil aunt had hold of the gun, and of Morgan. Rik’s eyes were probably wide at this point. How the hell did the spook become solid? He knew he couldn’t get rid of her with the salt gun.

He remained quiet, drawing out the silver bullet gun. Better than nothing right?

He looked at the mirror on the ceiling. Did he shoot that or the ghost first? He was worried about hitting Morgan with the bullet should he aim at the ghost now though, and the mirror ritual needed to end.
He closed his eyes, hoping Morgan could see what he was doing without him having to say anything. Hoping that the ghost was unaware of his presence.

He fired the gun at the ceiling. The poor mirror shattered and he twisted his face away from the raining shards for the second it took for them to fall to the floor.

Had they broken all the mirrors yet?

Gods he wished he knew for certain what was going on here. It felt like they’d been at this damned thing for hours.  He turned his eyes back on the scene. He had a choice if the ghost was still around… silver bullet gun or his ever faithful dagger. And that was IF Morgan wasn’t capable of splicing the ghoul herself.

Apparently they had more work to do downstairs before they could tackle the wonderful ceiling looking glass.
Had this not been ghost related, he might have thought that thing was a cool idea for the future. However, now he was totally off put by the very idea of mirrors on the ceiling, despite the kink factor.

He sighed, shaking his head and heading off again to another room in the house.

The ghost was not happy at all about them being here. He was sure he could hear her growling behind him, the air around him growing chill and making his the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

He shivered as he smashed a mirror, then another, then… his body smashed into the third one, the ghost flinging him into it. He’d gone backwards and dropped to the ground face first, luckily the ghost hadn’t damaged his looks by smashing him face first into a mirror. ‘Cos that would have been a total travesty… ‘Chicks dig scars though’ He managed to think as he pushed himself up again.

The gun and the crowbar had both been knocked out of reach. He moved to grab them and they skid away, the gun turning on him, as though the ghost was wielding it. He chuckled. “Salt doesn’t hurt the living sweet cheeks.”

There was a scream of what sounded like rage and back against the wall he flew, dropping again. He was gonna have bruises for weeks.

He only just rolled out of the way of an onslaught of mirror shards aimed his way, using his boot to smash another mirror as he moved.

Sure… floor was good. He could stay on the floor a while… he could forget how much his ribs were starting to hurt on the floor.

Rolling again, the fourth and fifth mirrors in his room were smashed consecutively. The gun dropped to the ground and he slowly got to his feet. No more mirrors here.

Next room.

He groaned and headed off to find another room to demolish. He was getting bored of this now. This bitch needed to pass over and quick.

This ghost was really starting to piss Rik off.

More shards shot at him. He reacted just in time to dodge again, but not without a couple of shards slicing into his hand, making him drop the crow bar momentarily.

He dropped and picked it up, returning to trying to kick and barge the door open. Morgan had said she was fine, but she hadn’t said anything else. She’d just said that she would find him.

Great, all he needed right now was for her to go solo. This ghost was not something either of them needed to be messing with alone.

He rattled the door handle, looping and rotating between kicks to the door and its frame, barging the door with his shoulder and tugging and pulling at it.

There weren’t really windows of a good enough size for him to escape through in a flash, so that wasn’t an option.

Suddenly though, the door gave way and he tumbled through it.

He picked himself up quickly, reaching for his gun with a hiss as he caught his hand on the material of his jacket.

He raced through the house, trying each room finding her in the living room.

The ghost had seemingly materialised. He looked at the remaining mirror in there. “Cover.” He yelled the command, rushing to smash the mirror with the crow bar, like he had with the others. The ghost was too concentrated on Morgan to pay him any mind, even after him speaking his singular word.

He turned his face away as the mirror shattered and fired the gun in the ghost's direction.

More small cuts to his face, but he wasn't paying attention. "Up?" He asked, pointing as though they should head upstairs, offering her a handful of bloodied rock salt.

Yeah, $50 said it was the mirrors. If they broke all the freaking mirrors, he would bet that the one that was most haunted… or whatever was that frigging thing on the ceiling; the one that they’d both find difficult to smash without step ladders.

She got back on the bike, and finally he got his wish to follow behind her in the car. A content smile on his face the entire way… until she sped up.

He cussed as the car beeped at him about the gas he’d forgotten to fill it with. It would just about make it to a point just down the street from the house. Fuck it, he would have to leave Bess where she was. He could fill her up with the gas they’d not used at the graveyard later.

His car may have been a Swedish make which he got stick for, cos of that stupid tween emo mush that was Twilight, but it was built like a tank, it was easy to find parts for and to fix up himself when required… plus… he was pretty sure the boot could hide a body, possibly two if he really needed it to.

“Sorry baby.” He apologised to the car as he locked her up and left her at one side of the road, jogging to catch up to Morgan. It was just down the street a few yards. She’d be ok.

If she wasn’t… he was sure his good favour with Kenny would be pretty much extinct. “Shit.” There was way more riding on having a partner in crime than he had initially thought.

She told him it was a tombstone and for that he was secretly thankful. He really didn’t like mausoleums; like basements, they were dark, dank and a little too confined for his liking. He’d never thought about it much but now that he did, it seemed silly for a hunter to be ever so slightly claustrophobic. He couldn’t even remember when it had started.

He hated looking for tombs too; especially in this type of place. It reminded him of those old Dracula movies that his granddad was so fond of watching; despite talking all the way through each and every one of them about how the lore wasn’t right, and shouting at the television set when the group decided to split up… again.

He shook his head. Damn he missed his Pops.

That man was everything to him. Fucking vamps had finally gotten the best of him… in the end.
Rik was just glad it wasn’t raining. It would make the dig that bit easier.

They found the grave easy enough with two sets of eyes. “Yahtzee.” He smiled, a slight chuckle in the word.
Then without another word, he started digging where it was necessary, the second gas canister placed on the ground near the tombstone before he began.

For a while it was just the sound of breathing and metal against dirt as they worked together to uncover the coffin.

The sound of the shovel hitting the wood brought another smile to his lips “And bingo was her name-o”

And yet, opening the box revealed…

They had come all this way here, put in all this effort… and the body had already been burned and salted. “What the fuck?”

What now?