Now and at the Hour of Our Death (open)

[ceudes]

((OOC: I was really dying to write a little more of Colette's history, so... voila! Er, no pun intended. ))

Colette cursed mildly under her breath as it started to rain. It was only a light mist, but it was enough to make her short hair stick to her head-- enough to make her clothes feel heavy. It forced her to be aware of her body, and that was something she didn't want right now.

She lightly ran her fingers over the cool stone of the markers she passed, her brow furrowed above eyes so blue they practically glowed. For once, there was no life behind them-- no secret smile. There was a rumbling in the sky and the moisture added an almost unbearable chill to the air, yet it whistled through Colette like a cavern, like a hollow thing with no heart of its own. She had had no choice but to come to the graveyard tonight; she was utterly lost.

And this was where she belonged.

Colette's breath left her in a whoosh as she stopped dead in front of a life-sized statue of the Virgin Mary. Once painted, it was now faded and chipped-- several of the fingers were missing from the long, open arms that seemed almost to embrace the mortal who slept beneath the Mother's compassionate gaze. A battered garden of flower-offerings lay wasted at her feet, decaying as surely as the body below.

Áve María, grátia pléna, Dóminus técum.

Unlike so many statues of the Blessed Virgin, this one had long, meticulously crafted hair that cascaded out from below her head covering, falling in beautiful waves. Colette's face softened as she ran her fingers over the rock, entranced.

She once had hair like this... her whole life, until the very moment she had died. It was the quality she'd been most proud of. Silky, luminous chestnut locks that had spilled down her back, past her tiny corseted waist right down to her hips. It was heavenly to touch, and how many lovers had tangled themselves in it Colette could not say.

How Thomas had hated it! She could remember the night he turned her like it was only moments ago-- the frighteningly brutal strength he'd used to capture her after one of her shows, the speed with which he'd carried her to a far off chapel. It had been winter, and the wind stung her eyes.

Benedícta tu in muliéribus, et benedíctus frúctus véntris túi, Iésus.

He'd taken her inside and thrown her down in front of the shrine to the Virgin, twisting his fist into her hair and forcing her eyes up toward the statue and the crucifix above. On the cross was a grizzly, bleeding thing with eyes that burned her with their hollow stare.

"Pray!" he'd hissed. "I give you this one chance to beg for your soul." His face was ghastly and pale, and he still wore the tattered, decaying garments he'd died in. Even the powdered wig, now grey and matted with filth still sat crookedly atop his head. His red gaze bore down on her like the heat of the sun.

"I will never humble myself before a God that does not exist!" Colette seethed through grit teeth, shivering on the freezing stone floor in only her undergarments.

Thomas yanked on her hair and Colette yelped, immediately hating herself for it.

"I am a cleric of Satan! I am the devil's child! Yield to Christ while you still have a chance for his mercy, or I will drag you into the abyss!"

Colette was shaking, crying because she was powerless to act on the rage that filled her. She spat in his face.

Sáncta María, Máter Déi,

He gave a furious snarl and took a knife from his belt. Colette heard a miserable scream as he sawed of her beautiful tresses in big, ugly chunks. Only once it was finished did she realize that the scream was coming from her. Thomas held her by the neck then, and even though she could not see it Colette knew that she was naked-- that the halo of shimmering hair had been completely discarded and she was bare, like a beautiful androgynous boy.

óra pro nóbis peccatóribus,

And then death came to her, and as she fell backwards into the bliss and the rush of blood, as the darkness swept down upon her, she had gazed up at the Virgin. Smiling, compassionate, beaming down at Colette and telling her that it was okay, that she was forgiven, and that God was enfolding her in his embrace even now... as she approached the very gates of heaven.

The blood had filled her mouth just then and she gagged on it in repulsion, tried to spit it out, cried to God over and over again in her head. But the ecstasy won out, and she drank and drank with increasing jubilation until the concept of mortal joy was like a distant dream.

She died. And the hair had never grown back.

nunc et in hóra mórtis nóstrae. Ámen.

It was practically reflexive-- Colette didn't realize that her hands were on the statue until it was too late. She twisted off the head with a great crack! and then stared down at it as she cradled it like an infant. Her brow furrowed and she began to press with her palms, harder and harder until with a final cry the stone exploded in a shower of gravel.

Colette was still for a long time.

Then, still staring at the decapitated statue, she burst out laughing even as the tears streamed down her face. She paused, looked again and laughed some more.

At length she sat casually upon an adjacent headstone and took out a silver flask. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

"Are you well, Madame? You seem a bit light-headed," Colette asked the statue seriously before breaking into another fit of warm laughter. "Ah well. Here's to you, Marie... and your ravishing new 'do."

And with that, Colette took an enthusiastic swig of her whiskey.

[ranger]

The night was cold, his over sensitive ears could hear the pitter patter of the rain atop his tomb, the stone was cold beneath him, as he lay on his pallet of marble, waking to the sound of the falling droplets. His dark eyes snapped open, dilating immediately, so that the darkness of his pupil seemed to fill the whole of his eye, a black tunnel of malice, of death. He unfolded his muscular arms, leaping off his pallet with the grace of a panther. He heard the sounds of someone moving about outside, in the graveyard. He paused, listening with interest. The scuffling and muttering paused and then a deep, resounding crack! snapped through his ears. The muttering began again.

Sensual lips curled into a smile, revealing white teeth, glinting in the moonlight, shining through the hole in his tombs roof. He stepped forward, with the gracefulness and ease of a hunter, tight, knotted muscles contracting and loosening fluidly. He was beautiful, impossibly beautiful for a human, which was good..because he was not. He had silky black hair, reflecting pale lights from the moon, his locks brushed the tips of his sharply defined cheekbones, and his lips, a sculptors dream. His eyes were amazing...but terrible. It looked as if he had no colour in them at all, just full of souless black. And they were full of knowledge, as if he had seen the rise and fall of centuries...And that was just his face. His lean body had the grace and strength of a hunter, his muscles tight and knotted. He wore black...just one colour. His leather jacket was black, italian made, his shirt was black, his jeans were black, he wore no shoes, why bother? He felt no cold.

He carried on approaching the door of his tomb, the heavy chunk of stone that used to block the entrance now on its side against the wall of his tomb. He stepped outward, immediately feeling the rain settle on him, covering him with small droplets. He carried on with ease, his walk fluid and calm. His sharpened sight caught and held the figure of a women, sitting upon a headstone, muttering to herself and swigging generously from a whisky flask. He watched her silently from behind, making no sound as he stepped forward, nostrils flaring as he captured her scent, so she was a vampire.

He stepped closer, pausing as he came into hearing range, usually he would have been able to hear her from his tomb, but the rain made it difficult. He raised a brow as he realised she was talking to the statue, its head no longer on its body, he glanced down to the vampire's feet, spotting the glow of gravel, his eyes travelled back upward to the women, he glided forward, until he was only a metre away, Does it ever talk back? he asked smoothly.

[ceudes]

(OOC: I love your signature! Criss Angel is my favorite magician everrrrr. XD)

Colette had heard the other vampire approaching, which usually would have been her cue to leave. But tonight... well, a little company didn't sound so bad. She turned and shot the stranger a crooked grin.

"Oh, she talks back all right. It's getting her to shut up that's the problem," Colette said dryly.

Her eyes flickered briefly over the other vampire. He was old-- there was no doubt about that. For some reason it didn't ruffle Colette's feathers the way elders usually did. Perhaps it was because she was tired and hadn't fed yet, or it was the rain, or the fact that she was emotionally destitute at the moment.

And he knew how to dress himself, which Colette inwardly applauded. He got her stamp of approval.

"I'm Colette. Would you like a drink?" She held out her flask, giving it an enticing little shake.

[kitsuneth]

Estella was sitting in the lap of a stone-carved angel, animal hide in hand, in the middle of making a dream-catcher. She hummed her lullaby very softly to herself as she worked. Her slim body draped itself across the statue, her short wavy hair flowing in the slight breeze. Her deep, ageless green eyes gazed into the distance as her hands were steady in their work.

Estella's black dress was starting to be torn along the bottom, and the murky green ribbon she wore around her neck was beginning to show signs of wear. As she weaved the dream-catcher, she thought to herself how she needed to buy a new dress and find a ribbon that suited her tastes more. Perhaps a lavender one next time.

Today was the anniversary of her death, and therefore the anniversary of the death of her sister, Louisa. Estella always came to the graveyard on this day, to remind herself how she survived the vampire's attack, and how her beloved twin was slain in the process. She could never forgive herself for that.

Presently she heard a something not so far off in the depths of the graveyard. If she were an animal, her ears would have perked in interest. A human to feed on, perhaps? She thought to herself. She paused and waited for her exceptional sixth sense to pick up. No... there seem to be two beings here. One is most definitely not human... I believe the other isn't either... but I can't be sure...

Crestfallen, Estella kept working, this time in utter silence as to keep herself hidden from these other beings. She felt the one farther away from her jump from one surface to another, ever so lightly. She could tell from the vibrations in the ground. It started moving... closer. But not by much.

It may be time to see who is intruding into my time. Estella told herself. So she put the unused materials for the dream-catcher in her little bag, and, with the unfinished dream-catcher in hand, she stepped down from the statue and to grass. In a few, gracefully fluid movements, she crept closer to where these two new beings were gathering, being very careful to keep just out of sight. She did not want to cause a disturbance if the others wanted to keep their peace.

[ranger]

ooc; thanks, same here!

Devins dark orbs watched as the female turned, shooting him a crooked grin that made the corners of his own mouth twitch in return, a rare effect. Her reply to his question caused another flicker of amusement, lighting up his eyes briefly, but strangely, as if humor wasnt something often found in their depths. He stepped closer, placing himself gracefully against a large tombstone.

He lounged against the cold stone, examining the women before him, drinking her in. His eyes travelled, a swift flick across her frame, pleasing as it was, he politely returned his gaze to her eyes, though he would have loved to take another look. His lips curled into a cool smile as she offered forward her flask, he cocked his head briefly, then accepted the flask. As his hands curled around the cold metal, he played with the surface, running a finger across the top, performing curving movements, small swirls and intricate patterns.

He glanced up from the flask, eyes flashing, and took a mouthful of burning liquid, tossing it around his mouth briefly before swallowing. He smiled again, fangs glittering, Keep drinking this and you'll have a splitting headache by morning.

Then he tensed, nostrils flaring as a faint scent brushed against them, he stood, smiling lazily. Come out, come out, wherever you are... his eyes searched the darkness, catching the hem of a fluttering dress, he leaned backward again, handing the flask back to the female gently, I promise I wont bite. He waited for the other creature to make itself present, watching the female before him, Whats your name? a simple question, but one he wanted the answer to.