🧛 ✨ Vampire AU ✨🧛‍♀️

Jewel: (Witch/Alchemist MC)

The dense woodland enveloping the peripheries is a place normal people avoid at all costs, and for the right reason. Among the local flora - the lush foliage embathed in the shades of powder greens and violets - whose beauty is oftentimes deceptive, resident fauna is responsible for the majority of demises within the downtown-adjoined area. In the last year alone, more citizens died as a result of animal attacks than in motor-vehicle crashes.

Ferocious hybrid-species inhabiting the reservoir aren’t sufficient to scare away the brave and stupid of the population - you’re here practically every week, after all. Your scavenger hunt isn’t a drunken dare nor a sight-seeing attempt. Medicinal and poisonous plants are abundant here, and the list of remedies you need to prepare never wanes.

It's honest work and it pays well. The company isn’t lacking either. Even without your powers, it’d be hard to feel frightened when a certain presence follows you around, not unlike a shadow coating the pavement on a late winter afternoon.

From afar you can’t identify her expression, but you feel her vermilion eyes on you all the same; a solid weight of her gaze, a palpable anchor. Her mussed hair is like a splotch of blood against the green-grey landscape.

It gave you quite the fright the first time you spotted her three years ago - a sturdy hand outstretched leaning over the sinkhole you were trapped in - but the fact that she saved your life was enough of an enticement to give her your trust over the periodic visits you paid the reservoir.

Back then and now as well, despite the chilly night, Jewel has donned a short-sleeved uniform, with a bronze park ranger badge glimmering on her chest. “Don’t tell me you’re lost again.” Her tone when she addresses you is light, colored by mirth. It’s her own ‘I told you so’, a jest at your expense.

“What gave you that idea?”

Yes, you ventured deeper today, into a place you hadn’t visited yet. Maybe you were looking for her, maybe you were curious if she’d find you on her own. Whichever it was, you got what you came here for, along with a bundle of plants for your trouble.

Jewel doesn’t react in any way to the sleek leaves slapping her bare skin as she treads through the bushes and into the clearing where she pauses a few steps away from you. “The city’s in the opposite direction.”

“I am here on business actually.”

“Mhm. Illegal harvest of endangered species?”

“All common weeds. Scout’s honor.”

“Let me guess. You’ve never been a scout?” Your lips stretch into an answering grin almost of their own volition. Jewel puffs out a laugh of her own. “Well, carry on,” she says, ending your short exchange, throwing in some parting words of advice. “And be careful to not fall into any ditches.”

“If I do, will you help me out?” You call after her, assured that even if she won’t turn around, she’ll respond.

“Don’t get sweet.”

“I knew you liked me.”

Her reaction is lost under a blaze of wind. So is her silhouette between one blink and the other. If there’s one thing you can bet on, it’s that she’s lingering close by - of that you have no doubt.

Reed (Werewolf/Shapeshifter MC):

The largest and most popular nightclub around is... a headache-inducing mess at best. With the thousands of lanterns placed on every surface and waves of man-made fog, the place is illuminated from each side. A deadly combination of sweat, alcohol and the vapor of cigarettes permeates the air and your lungs both, building up an unpleasant aftertaste.

People spend an equivalent of a month’s rent to book an invitation a year in advance. You’d have to be paid twice as much to return here willingly. Knowing your contact, however, it’s likely that you’ll have to suffer through the ordeal again.

Speaking of which - Marco is late, as always. Too scared to meet up one on one after his latest stunt, he invites you to overcrowded locations, secretly gleeful to watch you nurse nausea. Today as well, you count the time that passes since your rendezvous was supposed to begin.

Sitting in a booth with your back to the wall, you scan the crowd for a familiar face, finding none. The lack of Marco’s scent doesn't mean much seeing as you can barely smell anything in the vicinity. You can’t pick up much of anything either, as the beat of techno pierces your eardrums. Because of that, you completely miss the clink of a crystal glass colliding with the counter in front of you.

“Lookin’ for me?” More than hear, you see the movement of Reed’s lips. In his hands, he’s balancing another drink - a tall one, the red liquid inside made neon in the sharp light.

“What gives you that impression?” You mutter, fully aware that he doesn’t share your impairment. Even so, he doesn’t respond, instead dropping onto the nearest chair, prompting you to add, “The seat’s taken.”

“It sure is now.”

“I’m not here to amuse you, Reed.”

“No? Shame.” Completely unconcerned, Reed places his drink next to yours, untouched. “You could switch sides, you know,” he starts apropos of nothing. “We could pay you better.”

Not this again. “I don’t want your money.” It’s not so much his, as handled by him... details. You don’t need his favors.

“Awww. Then how about a tip?”

“On?” Your ears perk up instantly. You can’t help it. Out of all the socialites in the city, Reed’s info is the freshest and most sought-after. He also rarely shares. For free, that is.

Gesturing at the horde behind his back, without even looking he points dead-straight at Marco who’s doing his best to blend in with the crowd, waiting for Reed to get away from your table. Reed, for his part, isn’t in a hurry to accommodate him. “Your business partner.”

“What about him?” Your grumble seems to amuse Reed, as does your frown. He can excuse you for being skeptical. If he’s not teasing and indeed plans on giving you intel free of charge, you’ll eat your hat.

Sliding his finger over the edge of the glass to gather the melting ice shards, Reed ostentatiously fights with his thoughts as to whether he should divulge them or not. “He's double-crossin’ you.” You expected more of a show, so when Reed spoke again, the short and to-the-point comment throws you for a loop.

“Oh.” That’s not- well, you’d be lying if you said you’re not surprised. “What do you-”

Reed laughs. He doesn’t let you finish, but it’s clear he’s been hoping for that reaction. “Find me later.” Laying out a black envelope, he waits for you to pick it up. It’s an invitation printed on dyed paper with neat golden lettering that spells out the name of the club and an acronym VIP. “There's more where that came from.”

“Why are you doing this?”

He shrugs, not meeting your eyes. His grin wavers momentarily, but it might as well have been a trick of the light - it’s bright and sharp enough to mislead. “I’d hate for my favorite entertainment to be killed.”

With that he raises to his feet, paying his glass no mind. When he enters the swarm, you catch him brush against Marco - none too gently - before disappearing into the colorful haze, leaving you as he often does: befuddled.

Laurent (Human MC):

To think you used to say that being a field agent was a pain in the ass. Clearly, it’s the bureaucracy that’s going to be the end of you. Well paperwork and espionage, the latter of which should be described as ‘endlessly waiting around’.

The large mansion you are forced to occupy for the time being has more twists and turns than the decrepit overgrown maze adorning the courtyard. Both are rumored to be haunted - then again, most old buildings are. You’re yet to encounter any supernatural beings, be it specters or White Ladies, though you’ve seen your share of life-sized portraits disguised between tall mirrors that decorate the abundant hallways.

Sliding on the tiled flooring that’s as elegant as it is over-the-top, you have to keep yourself from running despite your hurry, having greatly underestimated the distance from your temporary quarters to the day room where your partner was undoubtedly waiting long since the sun began to descend.

You once assumed him to be a sucker for the rules; the countless rumors you’ve heard about him - none of them positive - at the station before you were paired up, didn’t help the matter. Now you realize that he’s only diligent and work-focused, so much so that in the month you’ve been delegated here you've yet to catch him napping or letting loose.

Which is why you felt guilty for forgetting your optional documents, and decided to extend your route by half, rushing to retrieve them as soon as you noticed you’re approaching the salon empty-handed.

Four floors and close to forty identical corridors later, at last, you reach your original destination.

By the lack of light, you can only assume that the sole occupant of the room had either given up on you or long since left. You’re wrong. Straining your eyes you can discern a man half-bathed in the shadows, resting on the L-shaped couch that though it appears luxurious, is as stiff and uncomfortable as a board.

You’re about to make a joke about that, but a harsh cough interrupts you before you can even open your mouth. Strangely, Laurent’s yet to be aware of your presence, something that has became common in the last days.

Since you moved to the mansion, his naturally light complexion slowly turned anemia-pale. Now it’s nearly sheet-white, creating a canvas for the thin trickle of carmine that runs down his upper lip. A sizable splotch of the same shade mars the surface of a handkerchief grasped tightly in both shaky hands.

“Laurent!”

Foregoing his rank, you find yourself kneeling by his side within seconds, pulse racing in panic, and the first thing he says to you is, “You’ll get blood on your clothes.” As if the state of your outfit is the most important consideration. Then he takes an unsteady breath and starts hacking into the fabric that quickly turns more red than white.

“What’s wrong?! Did you forget your medication?” It wouldn’t be the first time. One thing you have to say about him is that he tends to put his well-being second and work first. Although that quirk of his never had such serious consequences before.

When the only reply you can count on is his breath hitching, you grasp his wrist to check the pulse for lack of any other ideas. When your fingertips edge under the cuff of his shirt, you feel his body break into shivers. It’s late autumn and the electricity is completely turned off in the edifice: your skin has to be understandably cold. His, though, is like ice.

“I’ll call a doctor.”

“No.” Laurent gasps, momentarily catching your retreating hand. When he lets it fall to your side, he swallows, croaking out, “It happens.”

With no other explanations, he excuses himself and heads towards the bathroom, making sure not to stain anything in his path. When the echo of his footsteps fades, you let yourself drop, resting your back against the vacated seat. Though it should retain some of Laurent’s warmth, it is colder than the floor.

Your thoughts don’t settle on that fact, they have no time to. A buzzing right by your ear has you twisting your head so hard you nearly get a whiplash.

On the upholstery lies Laurent’s cell phone, screen-up. You don’t mean to peek, but the device is right there. When it flashes green, the message that pops up twists your stomach into knots.

‘You have to eat, Laurent.’ Sender: unknown.