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Abigail Therese Hart ([info]lapislazuli) wrote in [info]haunted_roads,
@ 2008-02-01 11:39:00

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Entry tags:abigail, drystan

WEEK ONE - THURSDAY
WHO: ABIGAIL and DRYSTAN
WHERE: A few blocks from the Towers
WHAT: Abigail walks home alone, and contemplates whether or not she might be insane.
RATING: TBA


It had been late, when she'd woken up. If it hadn't have been for the suppressed giggles of other students, she might have continued to doze, drooling on her copy of Plato's Republic all night. She knew she'd been too tired to head to the library after her lecture finished. She was always too tired, these days. But an evening of pumping her small body full of caffeine and pouring over Ancient Greek philosophy had seemed preferable, to her, than another sleepless night (or worse: another sleepful night) in her apartment.

She hadn't dreamed, in the library. She didn't even really feel like she'd slept, at all - one moment she was reading, glanced at the clock - ten past seven - and the next she jolted awake, and it was eight thirty, and the kids were laughing at her. They stopped, when she snapped her head around to stare at them, expressionless, her eyes still cloudy with sleep. They pretended to be talking about Kafka. As if. Nobody talked about Kafka of their own free will. Certainly not students.

The bus jolted to a stop, pulling her out of her thoughts, for a moment, as she scrambled to find her bag. She thanked the driver, absently, not even sure if she'd made a sound, and stepped out in to the night.

Fuck, it was freezing. Two moments in the cold and already she felt as though her fingers might be turning blue. She wrapped the ends of her coat around them, like she used to do when she was a child, reminding herself for the thousandth time that she really ought to buy some mittens, and set off down the darkened sidewalk. It was probably wasn't safe to walk home alone. Not in a big city like this. But she found herself curiously ambivalent about it all...after all, what was the worst that could happen? Somehow, even the most gruesome scenarios didn't seem to bother her...though she knew that at the first sign of footsteps behind her she'd be wetting herself, praying to God that whoever it was walked on past, without a word.

Recklessness, her father would have called it. If he'd known. Or noticed. But she barely spoke to her Father. At least they both had an excuse for that, now that he was living in New York.

She shrugged her coat in closer to her body as a gust of wind found its way to her neck, sending a light shiver down her spine. Something about it...the feeling, or the way she'd moved, reminded her of last nights assault from her subconscious. She didn't remember it, entirely. She'd fallen asleep watching television, and woken up in a cold sweat, in her bed, confused and dazed. She'd been sleepwalking again, perhaps. She'd have to make an appointment with Doctor Clark, tomorrow - get another prescription. But it wasn't her change in location that bothered her. She shivered again, involuntarily, as she thought back to the dream. Flashes of red that made her throat tighten. A shadowy hand running white fingers down her chest.

Maybe she ought to have studied psychology, instead of philosophy. It bothered her that she was even entertaining the fact that these nightmares (if that's what you'd call them. She wondered, sometimes...because it was only after the fact that they perturbed her. She tried her best not to admit it to herself, but occasionally she almost...enjoyed them) might be caused by something other than her own damaged mind. Everyone had nightmares, surely? And the sleepwalking...well, that wasn't so peculiar, either.

She chewed on her bottom lip, absently, pouring over what she could remember of the dream. She couldn't help but feel that there was some important detail that she was forgetting. Something that was evading her. She rounded the corner, barely looking where she was going, lost inside the dark passageways of her own mind.

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[info]sinsofseven
2008-02-02 06:33 am UTC (link)
The thing about large cities, especially those confined to a limited amount of space as Seattle was... was the simple fact that things were all so very close together. Nothing like the older cities that Drystan had first made his way through centuries before, but those things unfortunately tended to burn to the ground or pass on various plagues. Neither of which were all that good of business for him.

Illness tended to leave a nasty taste to the blood, kind of like wine gone to vinegar. Definitely not worth his oh so precious time.

But what was worth his time apparently was skulking between those narrow alleys between buildings. Not that he did this every night, after all he was a rather, oh look how modest he could be, businessman and more often than not he was seated in his theater with a pretty lady or two on his knee watching the show at hand. But if there was one thing that Drystan did not do, was boredom and while everything was brought to him on a silver platter if he asked, the same ol' same ol' did have that.... ring of boredom to it. Perhaps he should visit Chloe, he was so close to the Towers.

So he was out. Suit he wore still neatly tailored to his trim form. A cigarette, hand rolled as he certainly wasn't so worried about whatever protections a filter might offer, was idly rolled between two fingers as he stepped over a puddle that remained in the darkened alley. Though that step left no sound.

Unfortunately for this young woman who might... what was it wet herself (oh American's and their cute little phrases) if she heard someone walk up behind her, there would be little of those tell tale sounds of someone approaching. A few hundred years gave him a silent approach if he chose to employ it. Which he did because it did always please him so to startle others.

Probably that rapid heartbeat that always came with it. Adorable.

He heard her coming what seemed like a mile away. The cigarette was put to his lips once before it was snuffed out under the leather sole of his shoe. She passed. Didn't even need the full scent. Oh so human. And young. Hmmm possibly entertaining. Only one way to find out and Drystan rarely denied himself. As she passed by he fell into step behind her. Silent as the wind that whipped through her coat that she struggled to hold close to her. One quick slide of his hand and some book that had been near the top of her back was in his hand. If he was into petty theft he'd have quite the career. Only then did he make his footsteps heard, gave them a rapid feel as it looked as though he were trying to catch up with her.

"Oh miss..." he drawled out, "do you treat all your possessions so recklessly?" The book patted against one hand. "I've been following you for blocks, I was about to give up." he added, almost as an afterthought.

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[info]lapislazuli
2008-02-02 08:19 am UTC (link)
The illusion worked splendidly on Abigail. She didn't hear, nor did she feel, a thing until the sudden approach of rapid foot-falls caused her to turn around, blinking, taking a few startled steps back.

She was fully expecting to see...she wasn't sure. Someone who looked threatening. A bum, perhaps...toothless and dribbling and reeking of cheap booze. Or some shadowy figure, grinning maliciously with his hands behind his back, concealing some kind of sharpened metal object designed for God knows what.

The man drawing to a stop just a few steps ahead of her seemed rather tame, really. Well-dressed, business-like...rather attractive, actually. She caught herself gawking a little, and blushed furiously.

"Oh, I...oh..." she mumbled, a little lamely, embarrassed again when she realised her back was pressed against a wrought iron fence. Her fight or flight response must have sent her straight in to it, backing her in to a corner, expecting to be raped, or murdered, or something like that.

"Thanks..." she finished, eventually, offering a weak (nervous) but genuine smile. "The library would have hit the roof if I hadn't returned that one...it's a first edition..." she put her hand out for it, expectantly.

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[info]sinsofseven
2008-02-04 03:19 am UTC (link)
Toothless and smelling of cheap beer... never. Not even in his time as a human had he been like that. Well he had been toothless, unfortunate condition of babies apparently. Not that Drystan had any knowledge of the spewing dirty little things. Thank god. Instead he was, dressed almost to the nines, maybe the eights? or sevens? However you wanted to put that phrase, he was dressed as he always. Neat and fashionably. Luckily for his overly picky fashion sense, he had to give little deference to the weather.

Though he did hate the rain. Did horrible things to his hair.

A slow smile crept at the corners of Drystan's mouth, not malicious as it so often could be. Amused would be a better term. Wasn't quite able to get a grasp on her words was she. Did he have that effect? Terrible, just terrible. He let her walk herself into that fence, didn't even have to push her there with a few more advancing steps. Oh it was almost too easy. And speaking of too easy, he couldn't let it be that simple.

"You're ever so welcome," Drystan replied, his voice not holding any true accent anymore, he'd washed all that away years ago. Unless a lazy sort of drawl was truly considered an accent. And not that hideous southern thing. No no no. Drystan glanced down at the book that was in his hand. He had seen more than a few first editions in his time, though at the time they weren't called first editions they'd simply been THE edition. "Can't have you being the cause of death of any poor little librarians can we?"

Her hand was out, though his didn't move quite yet to return the book. "A first edition you say? What have you taken such an interest in to search out such a valuable edition?" Drystan opened the book to thumb through the pages.

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[info]lapislazuli
2008-02-04 09:33 am UTC (link)
Was it her imagination, or was his turn of phrase a little bit dated? Who the hell said 'ever so' these days? It was like something out of an Enid Blyton novel.

Not that this guy looked anything like an Enid Blyton character. Now that she had gotten over her initial alarm and embarrassment, she allowed herself to take a better look at him (as subtly as possible, which wasn't very subtle at all...but she gave it her best shot). There was something vaguely unsettling about him, but she couldn't put her finger on it. He just wasn't the kind of person you generally bumped in to, on the street. Uncommonly attractive. Perhaps that was the way to describe it. Though why that should be unsettling, she wasn't sure.

Perhaps the unsettling part was the fact that, instead of handing the book back to her and letting her go on her merry way, he seemed intent on striking up a conversation. She swallowed, heavily, withdrawing her hand so as not to look too incredibly ridiculous, standing there too long with her palm open, waiting for the book.

"I..." she grappled for a reasonable answer, but found that, in the end, she really didn't have one. God, this was going to sound stupid - but it was already out before she could think up a likely (and far more cool-sounding) lie. "Well, I like the way they...smell." she laughed at herself, softly "...and feel, too. Like you're holding a piece of history. Something old. It just...it's a different experience, to reading a newer copy. Why does anybody want to own a first edition? And I tend to find they have some interesting material that is often omitted from later publications." she hoped she didn't sound too stupid, or too pompous. But it was true.

Why the hell was she having this conversation with a stranger on the corner of a street in Seattle in the middle of the night, anyway? She must be mad. She pushed off the fence, taking a few steps forward, hoping that would be enough to encourage him to return the book.

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[info]sinsofseven
2008-02-04 10:43 pm UTC (link)
Dated... please. Drystan preferred to think of it as cultured. Though in reality it probably was dated. He wasn't a particular fan of slang. Made people sound like uneducated idiots. While Drystan was often lazy and cruel he wasn't necessarily uneducated. Hard to be when you had to kill 400+ years with some sort of activity. So perhaps in that respect, his speech was a bit dated. He after all was a bit on the old side of things. Though I wouldn't say that to his face.

He watched her through his light colored eyes that easily fit with the pale skin that he'd had his entire life and always would have. He had an uncanny ability to tell when people were... as the saying went, checking him out. Possibly because he did that to just about everyone he met. This particular little human had just that sort of soft creamy skin and full sort of cheeks that spoke directly to the health of blood that flowed right underneath the skin. He did so love to notice that sort of thing.

Not set on doing anything the simple or concise way, Drystan did hold onto the book, leafing through the pages as she pulled her hands back. Smart little girl. He waited with patience that he didn't always have for her mind to wrap itself around an answer and... quite the answer it was. His eyebrow perked as she spoke. He looked from her face to the book and lifted the pages to take a scent of them. Not that he needed to get quite so close but he had a flair for the dramatic. "Do you enjoy imagining who before you might have handled the book?" He questioned further, intrigued. She'd given actually the most interesting answer she could have. Most would have just said the value of the thing. Boring greed.

If she was concerned about having a conversation in the middle of the night, Drystan most certainly wasn't concerned. What better time was there to have a conversation? Instead of giving the book back right away, he started walking as well. No problem here.

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[info]lapislazuli
2008-02-05 02:49 am UTC (link)
She couldn't be sure if it was just her ego getting in the way, or if he really was checking her out now. She knew she was fairly attractive by most people's standards, if a little 'unusual' looking...but generally the only kind of 'checking out' she got was people shooting sidelong glances at her, warily, as if wondering whether or not she might suddenly do something unexpected (or possibly violent). It was a reputation, she felt, that was largely undeserved. She'd never so much as yelled at anyone, before, let alone produced a switchblade and held it to anyone's throat. Something about the way she dressed, maybe? She was willing to admit that she was a bit out of the ordinary.

He still wasn't making any moves to hand the book back to her. In fact, he was smelling it. Well, fair enough. She had brought up the subject, after all. She still felt a little uneasy in his presence, but it was waning slowly as the moments went by. Perhaps because he hadn't yet tried to mug her, rape her or stab her.

She bit her bottom lip, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "I suppose I do, yes. Sometimes. I mean, that one..." she cast a brief glance at the book in his hands "...is at least two hundred years old. It's amazing, isn't it?" her blue eyes shone slightly, for a moment, as she contemplated the infinite possibilities. "Imagining whose hands it might have fallen in to."

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[info]sinsofseven
2008-02-09 07:50 am UTC (link)
Of course he was giving her a nice solid once over. And not by any side long means. A man like Drystan didn't bother to hide any actions. Male or female he had a bit of a habit of checking the goods at, after all he did have his standards to uphold even if it was just something as simple as conversation. She was proving to be interesting, that much was always a boon. He was just determining how far that interest went.

That could be a bad thing for her... all in ones perspective. And clearly not of his concern.

The book was still held securely in his hand. Not by any oversight of Drystans, he wasn't particularly forgetful. No, he held it with the explicit purpose of keeping her where he wanted her. Was far better than other methods he could think of. Well better for her.

It took a bite of his tongue to not say 'only two hundred years..' instead a small smirk just worked its way over his features. "Amazing no doubt. Maybe even dear little Napoleon's hands. Quite a priceless gem." Drystan mused, he did remember those years quite well. War was good business. He glanced up as if just noticing that he was in fact keeping her from somewhere. "Ah, my apologizes. I've been keeping you haven't I. Though I think returning such a priceless work gives me a bit of leeway, no?" With that he started walking. In the direction of the towers, a good guess, he hoped.

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[info]lapislazuli
2008-02-11 01:50 am UTC (link)
Once again, Abigail was conscious of a strange feeing of safety. She knew, logically (although her brain was doing its best to suppress the fact) that chatting away to a stranger, on a dark street, was an incredibly stupid idea, and not in the least bit 'safe', no matter how clean-cut he might appear. And yet, now that her initial reservations were gone, she did feel secure...calm, even. It was rather bizarre.

It reminded her of something. She bit her lip, for a moment, eyes furrowing as she tried to remember what manner of deja vu this feeling was bringing up.

He snapped her out of it, momentarily, as he began to speak again. She looked up at him, catching his eye, the corners of her mouth twitching up in a wry smile.

"Napoleon? Ugh, hope not. As far as I know, he wasn't really such a fan of literature..." she looked pointedly at the book in question "...and certainly not that particular volume. The Marquis de Sade and Napoleon didn't really get along, apparently. Mind you, I don't think the Marquis de Sade really got along with anybody, socially."

She had fallen in to step beside him, heading towards the towers, without even really realising it (nor, in fact, questioning how he knew she was heading that way). It was then that it hit her...that feeling, and what it reminded her of. She tensed a little at an image from her dreams flashed, razor sharp, in her head. Shadows and smiling teeth, and an overwhelming feeling of calm. Before the blood. She always felt calm, just before.

She shook her head, nervously, trying to get the image away...get it gone, and erase it from her damn life. It was stupid, dwelling on the things you saw in your sleep.

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[info]sinsofseven
2008-02-11 06:01 am UTC (link)
Oh little girl, and one of his age could safely say that not to mention her petite stature, she really should listen to that smart little brain of hers. Nothing about Drystan was safe. One just really needed to look past that sweet face he had and see the lack of a soul that was in his light blue eyes. He was far from that particular term and he did enjoy that fact. More than was good for anyone involved.

But mores the pity for her and nothing more than a boon for Drystan. Was always interesting when someone didn't respond as they probably ought to to a given situation, made Drstyan want to pick apart their brain. Sometimes literally... Though not yet in this instance.

"Not a fan of small in stature megalomaniacs?" Drystan asked with a quirk of her lips. Napoleon had been a little bitch of a man, Drystan couldn't really argue with that. Though he had his moments as a tactician. Not that Drystan gave much credit to human methods for war. Such a lack of finesse. "You'd... You might be surprised at who the Marquis got along with. Perhaps he was just misunderstood." Drystan retorted, laughter following something not always heard from him. Or not always wanted to be heard.

The book was shifted from hand to hand as he began to walk, long smooth strides that almost seemed to float along side of her. He had used a hundred years or so to prefect that particular walk. It might have showed, but he was a cocky son of a bitch in that regard. The Towers loomed not that far head, the building appearing ahead. A slight glance down towards her made him hide the smile that wanted to appear. "Have I made you uncomfortable?" He asked, his head once again facing forward as if he hadn't even looked at her.

"I was perhaps a bit presumptuous to think you were headed toward the towers. I was on my way there to visit a friend actually."

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[info]lapislazuli
2008-02-11 02:32 pm UTC (link)
It took several seconds for Abigail to recover herself. The images whirled in her brain like some sort of demented, macabre carousel, making her dizzy and a little nauseous. It seemed to take an age for her to recover herself, her mind floundering, as it was overtaken - or rather, assaulted - by the dream images. Shadows, silk rope, white sheets, and all that blood...

And then, as soon as it had begun, it seemed to be over. She found herself in step beside the stranger - and he was still talking to her, apparently not having noticed anything was wrong. Good. That would have been terribly embarrassing. She didn't want him to think her a complete basket-case - though why his opinion mattered, she wasn't sure. She didn't even know his name, after all.

"No..." she caught the thread of the conversation once more "...actually, I like my megalomaniacs a little taller. And I don't doubt the Marquis 'got along' with the vast majority of Paris...however I don't think he made many friends, especially in positions of authority." she smiled, half to herself, amused. She enjoyed this sort of conversation - and it wasn't often she got to indulge in it, outside of the classroom.

She raised her eyes from the pavement a moment, and saw the Towers, not two blocks away. Evidently they'd been walking for longer than she'd realised.

"Uncomfortable?" she echoed, her eyes focusing on his for a split second, before dropping to the pavement again, embarrassed. Oh, shit. He had noticed something wrong with her, after all. Brilliant. You're retarded. "No, no. I just...I'm just a bit out of it. I fell asleep at the library, you see...disoriented, I guess. I don't sleep well, usually. Insomnia bites, you know?"

She blushed, again, realising how much she was babbling, and (no doubt) how little he cared. "You're right, though. About where I was headed. Not such a stretch, I suppose. It's the only apartment building in the neighborhood."

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[info]sinsofseven
2008-02-11 08:33 pm UTC (link)
He had manners. When he decided that they were worth his time. What he did not have however was an ability to read minds and see exactly what was going on through her mind. That may have tightened the proverbial noose around her neck a little bit tighter. Blood and silk were a fabulous combination. Throw a little holy taint in and he'd call it an evening. What Drystan could discern however was the way her pulse sped up just that fraction while she... experienced whatever it was she had. Noted for later, but not spoken of. Those manners and all. For now.

"Doesn't everyone. I'd imagine that it must be quite difficult for the vertically challenged men of the world." Luckily Drystan was not among that number. Not that he was exceedingly tall, but just enough. Of course he tended to think that everything about him was 'just right'. "Public faces are ever so irritating. One is usually surprised by what straight laced members of society enjoy..." Drystan leaned down toward Abigail as if he were imparting some state secret. "They are usually the... what's the word kinkiest of us all? Though I don't know what that says about those that don't hide their... predilections."

Now what did that say about him right now? Hmmm...

He watched with almost amusement floating over his features as she obviously hadn't enjoyed his noticing the change in her behavior. He was a curious man though, to a fault. For all of his reserve, he was unable to keep the bite of laughter that escaped his lips when she spoke of insomnia. Oh it certainly could... bite. "Perhaps you just need to surround yourself with the smell of old... things" he chose the world carefully instead of books, "and you'll sleep like a baby? Or maybe sleep is just a waste of time." That was Drystan's personal opinion, but then again he didn't have that pressing need like she did for it.

Oh how Drystan loved a blush. Particularly enjoyed the way it brought that rush of blood to the surface of the skin. He had half a mind to help that flow of blood with his own abilities... but he resisted for the moment. Drystan just nodded his head in agreement. "It is, always found that a bit odd. They really ought to make the bus stop a bit closer for safety's sake. Never know what can be in the neighborhood. I'm sure you've heard that before being a pretty young woman."

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[info]lapislazuli
2008-02-12 08:57 am UTC (link)
Abby shivered a little as another gust of wind caught her hair and whipped it back from her neck, sending chills down her spine. At least, she assumed it was the wind that did it. There was no denying that, although she felt remarkably comfortable and oddly calm about it, the conversation she was having was a little bit strange.

And there it was again...the way the stranger spoke. Something about his tone, or his phrasing...it made it seem like he was from another time, almost. Who talked about 'public faces' and 'straight laced members of society' these days? Certainly nobody she knew. But that was a stupid thought. She'd been reading too many of her mother's old story books, again. Browsing too many questionable websites.

Did he just say 'kinky'?

She flushed again, ducking her head and pretending to be particularly entranced by the pavement. "Mm...I imagine so..." she managed to agree, wondering privately whether she was someone who hid her 'predilections', or not. She probably was. Hard to tell, when she didn't really have too many friends or acquaintances with whom she talked about these things. Or any things. She was fairly honest with herself about what she liked...although she tried her best to deny that she liked anything to do with those dreams...it was a strange thing, to be dually terrified and excited by something.

They were almost at the towers, now, and she was surprised to find herself a little disappointed. Apart from anything else (apart, that is, for the fact that he was incredibly attractive), this was the best conversation (or, really, the only conversation) she'd had in awhile, and she didn't fancy being alone, again, with her own thoughts and the bad sit-coms on television.

"Old things?" she looked up at him, grinning "...didn't think of that. Mind you, the apartment is pretty old, so by that logic I should already be sleeping blissfully...sleep probably is a waste of time, but...I don't know. Necessary, I guess." she paused "...and I like to dream, anyway." a small, secretive smile stole across her face, then vanished, replaced by an odd sort of echo of...something. Fear? Not quite. Nervousness, perhaps. Something in her eyes.

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[info]sinsofseven
2008-02-16 05:18 am UTC (link)
There were some days Drystan truly wished that his sire had given him a far... more useful ability than the one he had. Though it had it's own benefits. He did enjoy toying with that telling pulse of humans and if given the right provocation it became quite the weapon... but he had to admit a certain jealousy of those that could read the thoughts of others. Damned inconvenient to figure it out on ones own... hence the fact that he rarely cared.

Though if he could hear her now, he would be utterly amused. She really should learn to listen to that part of her brain that was raising all those concerns. They were far too right. Drystan had just never bothered to care if he didn't quite fit in. He somehow managed all on his own.

And there she went with that blush again. Oh, it was almost too easy. Would her little head explode if he oh... divulged his own actions of the past few nights. Probably. It was tempting.

The towers were rapidly approaching but as far as Drystan was concerned it was little reason to think to end any sort of... conversation. Though conversation didn't often stay simple conversation for Drystan. Though he was quite adept at interpreting various sorts of screams and groans? Did that count?

"Yes old things..." A smile, this time edged slightly with the danger that his grins often held, crossed over his face. "You do have a point, you'd think with my own appreciation for old things... I'd have finally made the move here too. Maybe I should start rethinking that decision." Drystan led them both up to the front entrance to the towers, pulling open the door and holding it ajar. From where he stood he watched her face as she spoke of enjoying dreams. Oh really now?

"You know dreams are just a few steps from reality, if one wishes them to be."

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[info]lapislazuli
2008-02-16 08:01 am UTC (link)
"It's a good place to live..." Abigail felt oddly compelled to sell the apartment building to the stranger, although she had no idea why. "...I mean, there are issues which come with every old building, you know? Noisy pipes, bit drafty...supposedly it's haunted." she rolled her eyes at him, as she stepped through the door he held open for her. She wasn't sure why she did that, either. She believed, after all. Well, she had a healthy interest, anyway (though she liked to think she remained relatively skeptical). It didn't really do to go mouthing off about the supernatural to everyone you met, though.

She walked a little way in to the well-lit, marble floored lobby, allowing him room to get through the door himself.

Her mouth twitched up in to a wry smile when he mentioned dreams.

"Not these ones." she responded, her tone a mix of amusement and frustration "...believe me."

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[info]sinsofseven
2008-02-16 08:39 am UTC (link)
A good place to live... Oh Drystan was well aware of this fact. He was personally acquainted with the Baptiste's after all. It was just more a case of... could he stand to live among so many other people and could he ever really part with the place he had set up for himself. Then again, he did hate to stay in one place for too long. He could see the benefit to moving to the towers.

Decisions, decisions, decisions. He didn't always make them rashly. Just most of the time.

Eyes trailed her as she moved through the open doorway. "I take it you don't believe in the rumors then?" He asked curiously before he stepped through behind her. "You know you're liable to anger them talking like they don't exist..." He had to add with that smirk that didn't seem to disappear still on his face.

They approached the elevator banks. Drystan reached out with one long finger and pressed the up arrow. "Try me... I'm not one for believing things without just cause."

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[info]lapislazuli
2008-02-17 03:00 am UTC (link)
"Oh, well..." his response stopped her in her tracks, somewhat, and she turned towards him, blinking. Was he pulling her leg, or was he serious? Did he seriously believe in things like that?

Regardless, he definitely knew about them.

"...it's not that I don't believe." she admitted, after a moments pause, her voice dropping to an almost whisper, though she wasn't sure why she felt the need to be secretive about it. "And trust me, the last thing I'd want is to anger anything." she shivered again, though the lobby was warm, bathed in a golden glow from the chandelier lamps overhead. Nothing creepy here, surely? She just needed to pull herself together.

She hoisted her back up a little higher on her shoulder, trying her best to swat her fringe out of her eyes with her other hand as she stepped in to the elevator.

"Who did you say you were visiting?" she inquired, hoping the question wasn't too nosy, before she began to answer him.

"The dreams..." she began, slowly, her mouth seeming to form the words of its own accord. There was no way in hell she'd ever usually volunteer this information - every rational part of her mind was telling her to back off the subject, now, and talk instead about kittens, or puppies, or moonbeans...or something like that. And yet she went on, despite herself "...it's hard to explain. But I don't believe they're...well, it's stupid, isn't it?" she laughed softly, beginning to chew nervously on her lower lip "...dreams are just dreams, really. Just my subconscious. I've obviously been watching too many horror movies." she took a deep breath, adding (more to herself, than to him, now - and in a soft whisper) "...all that blood."

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[info]sinsofseven
2008-02-17 06:12 am UTC (link)
The smirk on his face broadened as his words seemed to still her right in her tracks. What? So perhaps he did believe in the things that went bump in the night. Actually he tended to believe in the things that hid in dark corners and had every intention of making you a snack.

Ah the moment of truth, pulling forth that little bit of belief in her. Of course it was all some sort of game, almost everything Drystan did was. Toying with a body, toying with a mind. It all had it's fun and often they ended up coming together. Always a good day.

"If it's not that you don't believe, it's just that you're worried about how it seems if you admit in such a belief?" He asked back, playing right to her need for secrecy by leaning down and speaking in his own hushed tone. "You'd be surprised by what some people believe exists." An expert at covering his own tell-tale sign at difference, there was a small flash of his bone white fangs... too close to her ear to be seen though. Tempting as it was.

And like it had never happened he was standing up at his full height again and moving directly into the elevator. He waited for her to choose the floor needed, a fact remembered of course, before he replied. "I didn't say." Drystan replied with smile. He waited a moment before moving to make his own choice, giving that moment where one might think he'd had no reason to come to the towers except for following the young lady next to him. "A dear friend. Chloe Baptiste." He finally answered as he pushed the button for the penthouse.

One shoulder leaned against the elevator wall before it began it's assent, One hand tucking into the pocket of his perfectly tailored trousers. One brow arched up as she spoke and he watched the myriad of emotions flicker across her face. "Dreams can be a great many things. Some might argue you don't even entirely have control of them." Especially if you had someone taking a little walk through them but he doubted that it was the case here. His head canted to the side as he looked over at her. "Are you relieving some repressed childhood trauma? Or maybe... just on the path to being a serial killer, have you skinned any cats lately?" Drystan said, almost teasingly. "Or maybe it's something else entirely. I myself have dreamed of far worse things, and I think I've turned out alright." Oh how many things were wrong with that statement.

The book was handed over towards her, his card tucked into the front cover like a bookmark. "I really wouldn't worry about what you dream, ma petite. I'm sure it'll all make sense in the end."

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[info]lapislazuli
2008-02-20 10:00 am UTC (link)
The intimacy of the whisper sent yet another shiver down Abigail's spine. He was close enough to her that she could smell him - a sort of clean, warm, masculine smell that she hadn't experienced for awhile. Well, more than awhile. God, how the hell long had it been since she'd gotten laid, anyway?

She swallowed heavily, trying to push that thought out of her mind. Awkward. She didn't want to turn in to a beetroot yet again - she'd been embarrassed quite enough for one evening.

"I suppose." she agreed, shooting him a sidelong glance (and unconsciously batting her eyelashes) as she followed him in to the elevator. "It's just not a very logical belief to hold. People already think I'm fairly bizarre...not that I try to hide it, but I suppose sometimes I just don't want to scare people off, you know?" she was babbling, now. She bit her tongue, literally, and looked away as she pushed the button for the fifth floor.

She was relieved, at least, that they didn't lapse in to awkward silence once the elevator began its slow descent upwards. The damn thing always seemed to move ludicrously slow, for an elevator. It was old, she supposed. Like everything else in the damn building.

"Repressed childhood trauma?" she echoed, considering it seriously for a moment "...possible. Don't recall too many massacres in my childhood, though." she smiled again, her eyes, for a second, glinting in the flickering elevator light. "And no, no cats. Puppies, on the other hand..." she laughed "...I'm making this coat, you see. Dalmation fur..."

She blinked as the elevator finally drew to a stop, the bell dinging to herald the arrival of floor five. "Thanks..." she took back her book, almost having forgotten that was how this bizarre conversation started in the first place. "Can't promise I won't worry, however. And I sincerely doubt any of it will ever make any sense at all." with that, she stepped out of the sliding doors, looking back over her shoulder once, surprising herself by doing the unthinkable and actually winking at him.

God she reprimanded herself, as she made her way hurriedly towards her apartment you're really not very good at this, are you?

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