Post by Deleted on Jul 13, 2014 20:29:44 GMT -6
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Somewhere between the changing of stations, dodging between columns and evading people, Verdandi had shifted entirely into a persona she had not reverted in quite some time. If it wasn't for the earrings to be a constant reminder, Vidar pondered if he would be able to recall his original self. He noted that perhaps it was a side effect for living for so long. Did the Were members and vampires have these same problems? It didn't matter for the moment nor could he bring himself to care.
Every year, regardless of what was happening, appointments and other important obligations his current life may have taken up, Vidar returned to the outskirts of New York. And like every year, it was raining. Vidar wondered if some God knew about his sacred tradition, and caused the rain, but Vidar did not believe in Gods. Donned in a light raincoat, Vidar stepped into the rain after he paid the taxi driver. His leather shoes grip the worn sidewalk, dark pants soaking the filthy water, and his eyes stare straight ahead. The earrings he wore as Verdandi were pinned to either side of his dark button-up underneath the jacket. If anyone spotted them, they would think he was being silly for having rose earrings adore his clothing. Perhaps he was silly.
Vidar barely noted that everything in this area remained the same, and barely changed over the years. His left hand gripped the bouquet of stunning white roses arranged perfectly. To anyone observing the man, he or she thought he was off to propose to his girlfriend, but his stoic expression told otherwise. This man was off to visit a grave.
As Verdandi or any of his created personas, he expressed emotion because that was new, an experience, and an adventure all on its own. Each persona had their own history, string of never-lovers, and careers. But he, Vidar Haunt, once heir to a corporation of businesses that owned New York before the vampires touched it, did not. His time had passed, and perhaps ended too soon in the family manor that caught on fire. A Plus who had avoided the gaze of the Vampire Council for over two centuries, who should have died when he was meant to.
He had little trouble locating the cemetery. Vidar spotted no vehicles so he doubted any humans would be out here. Despite the rain spotting his vision, he knew this path quite well, and traveled along the worn cement sidewalk. What he sought was located in the very back due to its age. As he neared his mark, the rain slowly let up until it poured no more. His feet only stopped in front of the marked grave whose name should have melted with time like its companions.
In the very back of the cemetery along the edge of the rusted iron gate that did little to prevent people from trespassing, stood the grave of his beloved.
Sindri Black
Weeds had collected over the mound, and ivy danced along the stone. Vidar noted that the flowers he left last year had disappeared; most likely stolen or taken to pay respects to another dead lover. Kneeling down, he sliced open his index finger, and allowed his blood to drip into the puddles of water. A special ability allowing any blood mixed with a liquid state to be under his control whether it was his blood or someone else's. This tidbit knowledge helped him in the past. The wound close, and he manipulate the blood-water to destroy the weeds, ivy and anything else he deemed unworthy.
It took a few minutes before the task was completed. He laid the bouquet of roses on the sunken mound, and stare at the tombstone.
"It's been a while, my beloved," he whispered as though the wind could hear it, and take away his words.
Somewhere between the changing of stations, dodging between columns and evading people, Verdandi had shifted entirely into a persona she had not reverted in quite some time. If it wasn't for the earrings to be a constant reminder, Vidar pondered if he would be able to recall his original self. He noted that perhaps it was a side effect for living for so long. Did the Were members and vampires have these same problems? It didn't matter for the moment nor could he bring himself to care.
Every year, regardless of what was happening, appointments and other important obligations his current life may have taken up, Vidar returned to the outskirts of New York. And like every year, it was raining. Vidar wondered if some God knew about his sacred tradition, and caused the rain, but Vidar did not believe in Gods. Donned in a light raincoat, Vidar stepped into the rain after he paid the taxi driver. His leather shoes grip the worn sidewalk, dark pants soaking the filthy water, and his eyes stare straight ahead. The earrings he wore as Verdandi were pinned to either side of his dark button-up underneath the jacket. If anyone spotted them, they would think he was being silly for having rose earrings adore his clothing. Perhaps he was silly.
Vidar barely noted that everything in this area remained the same, and barely changed over the years. His left hand gripped the bouquet of stunning white roses arranged perfectly. To anyone observing the man, he or she thought he was off to propose to his girlfriend, but his stoic expression told otherwise. This man was off to visit a grave.
As Verdandi or any of his created personas, he expressed emotion because that was new, an experience, and an adventure all on its own. Each persona had their own history, string of never-lovers, and careers. But he, Vidar Haunt, once heir to a corporation of businesses that owned New York before the vampires touched it, did not. His time had passed, and perhaps ended too soon in the family manor that caught on fire. A Plus who had avoided the gaze of the Vampire Council for over two centuries, who should have died when he was meant to.
He had little trouble locating the cemetery. Vidar spotted no vehicles so he doubted any humans would be out here. Despite the rain spotting his vision, he knew this path quite well, and traveled along the worn cement sidewalk. What he sought was located in the very back due to its age. As he neared his mark, the rain slowly let up until it poured no more. His feet only stopped in front of the marked grave whose name should have melted with time like its companions.
In the very back of the cemetery along the edge of the rusted iron gate that did little to prevent people from trespassing, stood the grave of his beloved.
Sindri Black
Weeds had collected over the mound, and ivy danced along the stone. Vidar noted that the flowers he left last year had disappeared; most likely stolen or taken to pay respects to another dead lover. Kneeling down, he sliced open his index finger, and allowed his blood to drip into the puddles of water. A special ability allowing any blood mixed with a liquid state to be under his control whether it was his blood or someone else's. This tidbit knowledge helped him in the past. The wound close, and he manipulate the blood-water to destroy the weeds, ivy and anything else he deemed unworthy.
It took a few minutes before the task was completed. He laid the bouquet of roses on the sunken mound, and stare at the tombstone.
"It's been a while, my beloved," he whispered as though the wind could hear it, and take away his words.
