Sounds like a ball. The people, anyway. The other thing... well, needs must. [ Moderation is not her friend, but she's a survivor.
He heads to the bar and she guides herself to a seat, barely in time to save herself from swooning right to the floor as the scent of vetiver floods the room. No, not pure vetiver -- there's something foul on the tail end, terrible but alluring all the same, like gasoline or insect poison. The scent seems to whirl around her head and she is stricken with the realization that she has not fed in several weeks.
When he turns back around, she has the veneer of someone composed, but the details quickly give her away; her knuckles are white around the edge of her seat, she's bit her lip, and her pupils are blown out almost enough to eclipse her irises. Is this how Rudy and Natacha had felt? She can't imagine three months of this pain, let alone eighty years. The Countess is no longer even looking at Flagg's face, not while he holds that glass. ]
no subject
He heads to the bar and she guides herself to a seat, barely in time to save herself from swooning right to the floor as the scent of vetiver floods the room. No, not pure vetiver -- there's something foul on the tail end, terrible but alluring all the same, like gasoline or insect poison. The scent seems to whirl around her head and she is stricken with the realization that she has not fed in several weeks.
When he turns back around, she has the veneer of someone composed, but the details quickly give her away; her knuckles are white around the edge of her seat, she's bit her lip, and her pupils are blown out almost enough to eclipse her irises. Is this how Rudy and Natacha had felt? She can't imagine three months of this pain, let alone eighty years. The Countess is no longer even looking at Flagg's face, not while he holds that glass. ]
What do you want in exchange?