In the dark shadows of the night, there's a noise. It's low and guttural, and the words nonsensical, or another language perhaps, slurred to indistinction. It's definitely a woman's voice. There are obvious suspects for the noise. Gangs of teenagers hanging out, waiting to mug anyone who goes by of their valuables. Prostitutes. Addicts. Cut throats, waiting to murder. Worse people even than that. Tonight though, the lure isn't from any.
"Shit." Eponine wipes her bloody mouth quickly with one hand, moving to pinch the wound in the man's neck from which she had been drinking. She hadn't expected the blood to spurt quite ferociously, and now her pale top sports a rather large stain. Blood's spattered in her hair, on her pale cheeks, and drips from nose and chin to chest and jeans. If someone sees her, there's no explaining this one as anything less than murder. Pinching though, isn't working, and with a reluctant sigh of satisfaction, she bends her head once more to the beggar's neck, and begins to drink as quickly as she can.
It seems to take forever for the flow to stop coming quite so quickly, but when it happens, she lifts her face once more, tipping her head back in satisfaction to look at the moon above. Full.
A noise - a footstep? - startles her though, and she stands quickly. She can't be found here. She begins to run.
Drinks on you
Should she be here? Eponine doesn't know anybody in London, let alone a full nest of vampires. But the idea of being so close to others of her kind is just too appealing. It's fairly obvious that she's just eaten. Her clothes are stained red and blood spatters, smudged now from where she's tried to wipe them, decorate her cheeks. She tries to slip into the party unnoticed, and hovers at the back of the gathering, watching from the shadows. Her eyes flick from the party goers to the door, the windows. Escape routes, should she need them. Who knows if her Papa has made good on his threat and warned all of their kind not to take her in.
Eponine - Les Mis - Vampire
In the dark shadows of the night, there's a noise. It's low and guttural, and the words nonsensical, or another language perhaps, slurred to indistinction. It's definitely a woman's voice.
There are obvious suspects for the noise. Gangs of teenagers hanging out, waiting to mug anyone who goes by of their valuables. Prostitutes. Addicts. Cut throats, waiting to murder. Worse people even than that.
Tonight though, the lure isn't from any.
"Shit." Eponine wipes her bloody mouth quickly with one hand, moving to pinch the wound in the man's neck from which she had been drinking. She hadn't expected the blood to spurt quite ferociously, and now her pale top sports a rather large stain. Blood's spattered in her hair, on her pale cheeks, and drips from nose and chin to chest and jeans. If someone sees her, there's no explaining this one as anything less than murder. Pinching though, isn't working, and with a reluctant sigh of satisfaction, she bends her head once more to the beggar's neck, and begins to drink as quickly as she can.
It seems to take forever for the flow to stop coming quite so quickly, but when it happens, she lifts her face once more, tipping her head back in satisfaction to look at the moon above. Full.
A noise - a footstep? - startles her though, and she stands quickly. She can't be found here. She begins to run.
Drinks on you
Should she be here? Eponine doesn't know anybody in London, let alone a full nest of vampires. But the idea of being so close to others of her kind is just too appealing.
It's fairly obvious that she's just eaten. Her clothes are stained red and blood spatters, smudged now from where she's tried to wipe them, decorate her cheeks.
She tries to slip into the party unnoticed, and hovers at the back of the gathering, watching from the shadows. Her eyes flick from the party goers to the door, the windows. Escape routes, should she need them. Who knows if her Papa has made good on his threat and warned all of their kind not to take her in.
Choose your own!