Sanguine Orders

[Malkavia]

As Yuri walked, she sketched her gloomy, sinister surroundings into a notebook. Despite the advertising, describing the squat, dark castle as gothic would not have been quite accurate. Gothic art pursued the medieval Platonists' obsession with light, bathing their interiors with the sun's radiance through rose windows, glass arches, and spear-like lancets.

But the walls of this forbidding keep were thick, pierced only by windows a little larger than Yuri's head. The necessity of defense and shelter against the cruel world of the Roman collapse dictated a simple and dour style in the late Romanesque castle.

However, beyond its foundation-deep weight, there was more than merely historic darkness to this place. As Yuri outlined the small, even claustrophobic arc of her stone hallway, she thought she could hear screams from somewhere deep within the fortress. She quickened her pace, crossing herself as she walked. The chapel was ahead, and the idea of spiritual succor helped her to breathe deep and settle the growing sense of dread.

But when she entered the chapel, she stopped and turned deeply pale — for at the far end of the once-holy shrine, atop the consecrated altar, a priest lie on his back, his vestments torn asunder, a long, black dagger protruding from his chest.

Goodness gracious but that looked real.

Yuri's heart fluttered as she glanced around the room. Empty, but for her and...the other props. A sword hung on the wall behind the altar, its hilt inlaid with violet gems; the pipe organ in the corner hummed and heaved and thundered as some invisible spirit played at its keys. For now, she was the only living thing in the room. Such were the benefits of arriving at the exhibition early.

Yuri sat in one of the pews and scribbled furiously inside her journal. Her brow knit and she bit her tongue, glancing up at the world, then back at her journal. The sound of her pen racing over paper filled the prop chapel in the prop castle. It made her feel exposed, and she felt a sudden need to be invisible.

But alas—she was but kine and had no access to the disciplines that might have made such possible.

[DSX93]

Daeva Asphodel

Oh, the poor lamb. Separated from her flock and left so vulnerable. Learned in combat, but not enough to defend herself even from her own kind. Prey that was easily caught and even more easily broken. Ineffectual in battle, with or without the advantage of numbers. Kind. Merciful. But to the point of self-endangerment.

And most pertinent now, with eyes and ears that failed to warn her that she was being chased by a flower. A white flower that had been stripped of its radiance, but granted a boon: It would never wilt, so long as it was watered with the crimson elixir that ran through the lamb's veins. Painted black as shadow, having none to obscure her presence.

So amused was she by this, she made a little game of it. For how long could she follow behind before the lamb does become aware?

Through a hall of stone and into a tainted place of worship, sullied by the once holy man simply being there. Miserable wretch. Daeva would close in and...sit in the pew behind who was still the only living thing in the room, with a practiced grace that made no sound, but casted a shadow that would surely extend into her periphery, but it seems the notebook had her focus.

In the world that Daeva hails from now, there would be many who would ask, "Why her?" Let her walk into the wrong domain, and she would be dead within the hour.

It was because of something that would, were she placed in a horror film, keep her from being the first to die. Perhaps letting her be among the last, maybe even live to see the credits: Her apparent interest in the occult, shown most prominently in the Halloween contest against Kanon Fujiwara. Daeva knew not of the depths of the secrets that Yuri knows -- or thinks she knows -- but that she'd delved into them was enough to catch her eye. She herself was always attracted to the unconventional. That attraction would lead her to the man who made her one of the undead, and later to the woman who's the reason why she now shares a body that isn't her own.

Two peas in a pod, were Daeva Asphodel and Yuri Yoshika, truly.

The game was at its end. All there was left to do now was see how long it would be before she was finally noticed.

[Malkavia]

The longer Yuri traced her pencil across her journal, the more her mind slipped into an intense focus that slowly pushed out her ever-throbbing anxiety. Her hand scrawled across the page, sketching the outline of the windows, capturing the gloom and darkness with deep, dark marks that she shaded with her thum. As she worked, sometimes she grunted or muttered to herself, as snippets of her internal monologue slipped unconsciously out into the empty room.

"Darker for the blood I think...Mm. Wet, of course. Reflective, but..."

She was so absorbed in her world that she didn't become aware of the newcomer for a long several minutes. It was only as the borders of her canvas expanded to encompass a more panoramic view of the chapel that she caught sight of the purple highlights and deathly skin and—

"...!"

Fright bit into Yuri like a stray cat, even if the ways she showed it were subtle. She froze, hunched over, sucked in a quick breath between her teeth. Her sketching stopped.

Crap.

It would have been better if it had been a bouquet of visitors. A pair of two, perhaps, chatting idly as part of the scene. But one—and so close to her. It would be perceived as rude not to talk to her, would it not? But then again, perhaps the opposite was true. Perhaps it would be seen as strange, even rude to strike up conversation with a stranger.

Yuri studiedly did NOT make eye contact. Though. She wasn't quite sure where to look instead. The silence dragged on and on until Yuri could hear her heart beating in her ears.

"...Um. H-hel..." As Yuri looked up, she blinked.

Oh.

What a...curious looking person.

She swallowed.

"...Hello."

[DSX93]

The minutes stretched on, but the pale woman's patience did not diminish. The Kindred held an appreciation for art and those who produce it. As did the actress, who was quite frankly worthless at drawing a picture unless one wanted it done with the right combinations of words acting as the brush. Yuri's degree of engrossment in her work built intrigue, allowed her to feel more like the supernatural predator she was portraying, and when it went on for long enough, it started being kind of funny.

The prankster in Emilia wanted to do something. Scream. Lay a hand on her shoulder. Something. But she didn't want to risk messing up that drawing. She's been there: So inspired for a project and so on fire that the rest of the world becomes nothing.

She's scared a lot of people over the years. The maids. Mrs. Florentina. Eveline. Jaclyn. She's even gotten her father a couple times. And after becoming a part of The Coterie, she's gotten everybody at least once. Only once in Phoebe's case: She popped out of that box, ducked back inside when a foot came speeding at her head out of reflex, and that was that. She's learned how to mask her footsteps. Find the best places to hide. Figure the best times to pop out.

Yuri had a curious reaction to her presence. The fright was so evident, yet so subtle. She barely moved. But for several seconds, she couldn't look her in the eye. Hers darted around, looking for a place to settle before she finally decided on...up. Daeva had an apologetic smile ready when their eyes finally met.

"My apologies. I didn't mean to frighten you, but you were so engrossed in your work that I couldn't bring myself to say anything, lest I be responsible for its ruination. I've found that the best works are produced when the artist is in such a state." She opened her mouth, as though she had examples to give, but she caught herself and turned to a more proper direction. "Oh, where are my manners?" She patted her skirt, beginning a search of its pockets that was done for the sake of humor. To produce something that would do some damage to the ice, hopefully. "There they are!"

She extended her hand to the Doki, flashing a friendly smile that would expose her fangs. She saw no need to hide them; they were visible enough when she spoke, she was certain. "Daeva Asphodel."