What felt like loss was a victory [Isabel/Sylvia]

[welshchick1201]

You were carved out of the sea
Watermarked by your ancestry
In a tug of war between the tide and me
What felt like loss was a victory
Cause you were swept ashore like bottles holding prayers

"Watermark" – Sleeping at Last

--
Sorry I thought it'd be a funny pun to add in. you know, since Faith won Nate and Isabel's forever alone for now LOL))

The vampire had been in Game World no longer than a day and had already made more enemies than she had friends. But that was just how she worked, really. And, in truth, most of the people she had spoken to deserved most the things she said, but that wasn’t the point here. The point was that she planned on staying in the Game World but she had nowhere to stay as such. She knew no residence, no friends or family...Which left the peculiar red-eyed vampire wandering around Alegra in search of a place to stay, as suggested by the infamous bastard who goes by the name of Faith Flynn.

Speaking of that Faith Flynn –So insufferable. If it wasn’t for Nate, she’d asphyxiate him, yes. No longer than an hour with him and she threatened to kill him. Several times, in several different ways. But somewhere in the back of her mind she was adamant that she was still going to bite him, at least, regardless of Nate. It wouldn’t hurt, since she didn’t plan to Turn him. She was almost certain she couldn’t even if she wanted to, but that was a minor issue. Maybe then the idiot would learn to keep his mouth shut when needed, but she highly doubted it.

Running her hand through long blonde curls, she shook her head free of thoughts and took another glance of the town. It wasn’t all what she expected it to be. The vampire had heard many things about both Alegra and Kegan, how you could never be too careful while in Kegan and how you could never run out of things to do in Alegra, but those things hadn’t been strictly true (as far as Alegra was concerned anyway). The sky was ashen in colour, shrouded by clouds like every other day, much to her taste. Not only did it compliment her pale complexion (this was natural for her, even before becoming a vampire), it gave her a sense of relaxation, comfort... Like most expect from vampires, it wasn’t a surprise that the slender woman disliked the sunlight. It couldn’t affect her, oh no- she was wearing the Lapis Lazuli ring after all- but it was unpleasant to be in nevertheless.

The woman –Isabel, as she goes by- settled down on a nearby bench, head placed in her hands. She didn’t want to talk to anyone right now, didn’t want to think about Faith Flynn and especially didn’t want to carry on searching hopelessly for a place to stay. After all, she wasn’t even sure if she’d be living in Game World all that long, let alone permanently, so buying or renting a flat was out of the option. But where would she stay? Flynn, as she mentioned earlier, was insufferable, and Isabel didn’t want to see Nate any closer than arms length with the ghoul. Didn’t want to see them wrapped around each other night in, night out... So if she was to room with them, no matter how short the period, she may maul that twat Nate calls a boyfriend. Or kill him. Whichever she felt like at the time, so it was needless to say it wasn’t safe to live with Faith Flynn and Nate at one time.

So she stayed there, listening carelessly to the people walking by and the noises of life she no longer interacted with. In fact, she was waiting for a miracle, because at this rate she’d be forced to stay with Faith and Nate in that academy and the thought was enough to drive her to insanity. Did she like Faith Flynn? Well, that much should have been obvious by now.

But did Isabel really have a second option...?

[Meduzia]

Ahh the accuracy ahahha I like this one e v e
Oh dear don't bite Faith he'll prolly think she has the kink or something ahaha
He already things Nate doe- /shot
Oh well, here goes craziness Isabel's miracle u v u
Goodluckwithitahah
Also guess who got pissing sick and is now at home, laying down 24/7 //papming]]

"No, you don't!" - redheaded woman shrieked at the hand more of less growing out of the ground in her backyard (more like her own private graveyard, but people often got disturbed when she told them she had one in her home, so she just says that she eats what she grows in her back garden. Convenient.) Throwing a knife with a precision that would not be expected from woman such as Sylvia Ravensdale, she hit the target and the hand was detached from the arm. She'll have Faith deal with the creature sometime around. She would not risk getting attacked by a zombie or a new-born ghoul. Especially not a ghoul. Not many believed when she said that she has witnessed a ghoul rising from their grave after their death as a human. After all, when in that state, not many survive the attack of the said ghoul. Especially not her. Not Sylvia Ravensdale. Sure, she was well-known and respected. In ghoulish society, woman was worth more than a man, because woman was the one who gave birth, and that's how nature gifted them and even creatures as brute as ghouls could see that. But being respected didn't mean being strong. She was not. She was, when compared to other species. But not in ghoulish terms, in terms of the species that saw murdering with bear arms like human saw drinking water. No, killing, for her, was very much alike some sort of physical job, something that she didn't enjoy doing and it was a burden, but it kept her alive. Not to mention the mental barriers. Morals or no morals - strong accent on 'no', because Sylvia didn't really have them - it was not easy to take away one's life. Not because of their lives, obviously, or their families, no. It was because of her own. The mother of two and greatly older sister to the boy - because he was merely a boy to her - that she raised, she couldn't kill with ease. She couldn't justify herself, and that was her problem.

Of course, she had a completely different problem at hand right now. She had just spoken to the creature in her gra- backyard. Good job Sylvia, it's not like neighbours in your small suburban area are already freaked out by you. She needed to get out. To get out and find something... somebody. Living a life of a loner, it was never her thing. William left ages ago. He was married, he had this own children to take care of. It was understandable. He was two steps awayy from being 30 and it would be a shame if he lived with his mother of all people. Charles was a grown man now as well... When he did truly leave her? Two years ago, when she threw him out for attacking the man in the street? Four years ago, when he was promoted? Six years ago, when he finally learned how to deal with being a ghoul? Eight years ago, when he graduated? She didn't even try to decipher. He was a grown man, indeed. He could do whatever he wanted to do. And Alan... Alan is 17. Soon he would leave her as well. He would grow up, quickly, and Sylvia will be forced on spending the eternity alone, because she was just this unlucky when it came to love. They said third time was a charm. She had enough of these 'third times', she had hundreds... hundreds of them in past 16 years. But she had to go out, because beings... everybody, even an animal, they wanted, no, no, no, they needed company. And Sylvia, she was no different. She didn't want to be... she didn't want to be that woman, the woman everybody points finger at and says 'She lives alone in the haunted manor'. The thought, not matter how scary in reality, made her chuckle as she made her way to the centre of Alegra. Somewhere along the way she thought about how she forgot to lock the door, but it was OK. Nobody would enter anyway. Maybe a stray zombie or some other creature from her personal graveyard. Nothing she couldn't have for dinner, in most literal of ways. And what would she......

What is she doing? What was she going to do and why is she here? She... She forgot... Dear lord, it happened again and she forgot. What was she doing in the centre of Alegra? Nothing, she supposed. Just being... there. Who could she meet anyway? Her father was out of question. She would rather die all over again than listen to the man whining about how she stole his child away, because she did not. And if Charles was any worse of the man he should be, it was Richard's own fault, not her own. Her son didn't live in Game World, most of her friends were... tad busy or just distant. She did not want to be the burden. She sat at the bench, not even noticing the other occupant for a while before she actually paid attention to the woman. Blonde, pale, curly or at least wavy hair, from what she could deduce at first sight. She couldn't see her well, because the female had head in her hands. Perhaps for the first time in a while, Sylvia didn't view somebody based just on their looks, in a way that determined whether she was attracted to the person or not. No, this time she was judging the other woman based on her species.

She reeked of it. Every, every species had their own smell, something only those with very sensitive nose could catch on. Sylvia was one of those. To an untrained nose, Sylvia herself smelled like plumeria, a very nice scent, but those who had a little bit of sensitivity to smell could unmistakably feel the awful stench of rotten organs inside her body thanks to her weak regeneration skills, the smell of earth because she spent so much time in the graveyard. Those who were well-informed, in sense of knowledge, would know that plumeria was there on accident - in some cultures they were placed in graveyards and temples. Sylvia didn't care for minorities, no. She just liked the smell. Sylvia might been almost deaf and at danger of being mute because of this, but she certain had good eye and even better nose. This woman, she had undeniably good scent. But blood was there, at the sidelines, the silent indicator that it wasn't her own blood that was flowing through her veins.

"Are you a bloody vampire?" - she asked in accent so exaggerated that those bold ones would dare and tell it was fake. It was not, but perhaps it was the word 'vampire' that made it seem so. The way it rolled off the Sylvia's tongue, like some sort of shameful word, a taboo, humiliation. Like this woman could be judged solely on her species, like the redheaded Ravensdale did more than she would be reluctant to admit. She did not care if the other got offended. She did not care what the other would think. It was no secret that she all but hated vampires. She did not, before. Before the accident in Kegan, some years ago. Kegan was not a nice city, not to vampires, not to werewolves, not to snow woman (oh dear, ESPECIALLY not to snow women...), but selected few were able to gain respect. And if you were not among those selected few, you get eaten. Sylvia was never the one to eat them, metaphorically speaking, not before she got attacked first. And perhaps... It would've been different, had she been alone. But she wasn't, she wasn't and now she couldn't pretend, act as if it didn't happen. And this woman, she smelled so much like that rogue vampire. Not in sense of family, no, far from it. But just... in the sense that made her... let's say she left a lot to be desired. She smelled of old and wild and young and calm at the same time and of... blood. Of all the blood and Sylvia did not mind the blood one bit - she drank it too. But she did mind the confusion this woman caused and basically she knew nothing of her (not that she was expected to, after all they didn't even know each other).

For a moment, however, she thought how she... how maybe she didn't act the best. It was offending to ask the woman her species. She knows she wouldn't like it one bit. So she turned her back to the golden-haired maiden and no doubt questioning eyes. Were they red? She didn't know, she didn't have the chance to see. But surely they were? Were they red, like her hair, and deeper, almost black, diluted in bloodlust, craving of flesh? Or were they bright, almost pinkish white, like that friend of hers has when she is not hungry, and when she looked at the redheaded ghoul questioningly, like Sylvia was silently accusing her of acts that she had not done. She didn't know and suddenly, she itched to find out, but she wouldn't. There were vampires... the rouge ones, those she hates the most. Was she afraid that she would get attacked from her back? No. No. Showing her back was not a weakness (ok, lies, maybe to another ghoul it was. Those would literally stab you in the back). In time, Sylvia has learned that people are scared, sometimes even impressed with people who are confident enough to show their back. It was not a weakness. If she did get attacked, well...

For an older sibling, she was sort of spoiled.
She had her brother to sort things out for her.

[welshchick1201]

You spammed me, so I return the favour //heplz
Enjoy the random crap ohoho~))

Isabel had always been the type of girl to look beautiful, regardless of the situation. Covered in blood, in snow or dirt or flowers or rain and ash; good or bad, it didn’t matter. Rarely you find vampires who were beautiful before they were Turned. Pretty, or good looking, yes, but beautiful? No. They had once called her lithesome, elegant in every way. And she still was, but appreciated less nowadays. All vampires commonly act this way, almost naturally. There was a time when men would adore her for more than her looks; fellow friends aspire to be that of what she held, to act even a fragment like her. Her figure, slender and pale porcelain and seemingly as fragile, also looked to be light as a feather. Lips full and luscious, eyes framed thick with lashes long as northern winter, yet eyes casting off stardust and smouldering like embers of a fire. Her complexion perfect if you excuse small beauty spots dotted along her skin like the footsteps of stars along sky. She was as perfect as a lady could be. Everything was as perfect as it needed to be.

Everything changed soon enough. That’s just how it is, vampirism - It has the ability to ruin a person, to break them no matter how seemingly perfect to begin. She no longer held that vivacious look she did in her humanity, no. Vampirism, it...It was a disease, a curse. Cold exterior, as well as in it seemed. After all, as a vampire, you’re given the opportunity to just—switch it all off whenever you feel like. No more pain, no more guilt, no more grief or sadness or -- anything. You can make it all go away. And that’s exactly what Isabel did. She just couldn’t take it any more. She couldn’t take seeing those people –her former kind- screaming in pain, in fear of her. The people who once loved her now hated her so much, and she started to act accordingly. And had she wept, the whole world would want to comfort her. Now they were the ones to make her weep.

But at what price to wipe all these feelings -these nightmares- away? Her humanity of course. Just because you have fangs, that you feed off the blood of others, it doesn’t stop your human morals or emotions. You still think the same, but yet Isabel didn’t want that. She wanted to silence the screams replayed in her mind, shed her former human life like it were a skin. Because pretending to be human only hurt more when you performed such inhumane tasks. But some things never change, no matter how hard you try. Isabel’s new attitude was one she accepted as being irreversible now. That story was not one to tell right now, however.

Wrinkling her nose in distaste, she contemplated turning to the other to see just who dared test her patience today. Then again, how was this poor person meant to know she was ready to skin the first person she saw? Well… They weren’t. Not that Isabel would be skinning this woman alive, however, because that distinctive smell of a rotting corpse lingered meaning there was no chance of successfully killing her. Or, well, she could always still try, even if this poor soul doesn’t die resultantly.

“And what if I am? Are you going to eat me, ghoul?” – She asked in a smoky voice, infected by an accent that mimicked that of the woman beside her. Where it is true she spent the majority of her life travelling, she had always kept the British accent, though maybe not as much as she herself would have liked. Her question spilled accusation, because she had been accused of something by the other moments before. This was equality at its best. Nevertheless, she didn’t remove the hands from her face. There was no need to show curtsy to someone she didn’t know, let alone care about.

But curiosity got the better of her, like usual it seemed... Isabel sighed heavily, enough to let the other know she was not in a pleasant mood, so perhaps this was her way of apologising in advance? After all, the vampire seldom apologised for anything these days, and who could blame her? 428 was a long time, long enough to teach her to only used manners when needed or deserved. Those words like ‘thank you’ and ‘sorry’ had become a bore to the slender woman, had become meaningless to her. After all, when did a person ever truly mean those words? Nathaniel had said them so frequently in merely a year period to make up for a decade. A century, if you disregarded the ones that weren’t taunts or jokes.

Isabel was well aware of the fright her own eyes gave most, but didn’t really make any attempt to put them at ease by averting her gaze like she was well aware most did in her situation. Whenever her eyes met those of another they held within them an eerily knowing look. Not that she herself knew what colour eye she was wearing today. It changed frequently, so much so that she never quite manages to keep up, though the vampire vaguely remembers them resembling rouge for the majority of the time. Or was it maroon? No, no, more like the colour of this strange woman’s hair. But what difference did it make? Today it could be sangria, a sign of ‘mercy' as they called it. Restraint and compassion towards living creatures and blood (though this was never true, as other vampires in their given society would frown upon it, calling it ‘weaknesses’. Isabel hated being called weak, especially from such a trivial thing). Tomorrow it could be alizarin crimson, or coral red, a sign of murder and cold heartedness (She did also not like being called those things either, so she was stuck in a purgatory of the two). There was a time when they were once blue, like the surface of a lake in winter. The kind of lake that was wrapped in a thin layer of snow, alluring, calm, myserious...When finally disregarding her pondering thoughts on what eye colour she had on today (or any other before), she raised her eyes to meet ones all too familiar for her own liking.

Faith Flynn. She almost, almost hissed, but managed to hold it back. After all, she knew this was a woman, so it couldn’t possibly be Faith Flynn, no. He may look like more of a girl than she did, but, well, now wasn’t the time to insult Flynn further. Where it is true her eyes held a startling resemblance, and she was a ghoul, this was not the same insufferable prat she had met hours before. The prat who gave no help to her in finding a place to stay (not that she asked him to in the first place) and most likely didn’t care what happened to her anyway (she was assuming, of course, but judging from the earlier conversa—argument, he would give no such help even if she wasn’t stubborn and left before he could get another word in).

Without much else to say on the matter, but longing for some form of conversation (though she’d never admit to this) Isabel carried on talking. Not that she was any good at conversations, at the best of time, but it was worth a try. Maybe this could be a trying point? Well, there was always hope.

“What brings you here?” – The question wasn’t very clear, but Isabel really wasn’t in the mood for rephrasing sentences today. She had begun twisting the lapis lazuli ring back and forth around her finger, but keeping her eyes on peculiar looking other. – “ From no more than an hour in this Hell you call a town I’ve discovered vampires are thought of as a sort of scum, if not treated like second-class citizens. I didn’t think you’d want to associate yourself with me.” – She noted the word ‘try’ again because that was an… Awful attempt. Just awful.

Nevertheless, now she had asked her pointless question, she could scan (who was an admitted stunning) woman without being distracted or interrupted. This woman...Strange. So so strange, and not just in appearance... Not necessarily a bad thing, no, but it was the only word that sprang to mind. There were tattoos along both arms, something Isabel herself had never liked but found intriguing nonetheless. After all, how committed –or stupid- would you need to be to have something so permanent placed under your skin? Shrugging the thought away, she decided that wasn’t a prior thought right now and continued the admittedly one-sided conversation swiftly.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to act so rude. I’m just in a very foul mood with a lot on my mind right now.” – Everything was true, except maybe the honesty of the apology. But overall a very genuine statement. –“I think it might be easier if you introduce yourself first. This is my first time visiting Kegan, after all, so you’ll hardly know me even if I did give my name.”

She had continued with her terrible excuses to cover up the fact she was a very untrusting of others. Never ever under any circumstances did she like giving her name before the other. Trust had always been an issue to the vampire, but even more so nowadays. You could never be too safe, especially when the only person looking out for you...Is you.

[Meduzia]

Sylvia swallowed, her throat dry and she was sure that, had she been human, she would have suffocated. Had she been human, things would be different. She wouldn't approach this woman at all. So she thought vampires were bad? Humans were even worse. Class wasn't something you are born with in Game World. Ivan Von Dracul was respected vampire - each and every of his five daughters were treated like filth for the things they did. Sylvia still couldn't forgive Charlie completely for bringing one in their home without her knowledge. She didn't care if it was friends get-together, that's how things started. Of course, back then, she didn't know... She supposed she wasn't best of person, when she first came back to life. Perhaps, at some points, she was too strict. Perhaps she forced too much on him and he held secrets for long time. He told her he didn't want her to worry - bollocks. Maybe he was scared of her too. Maybe there were creatures that didn't like the cold touch, the chilling embrace. The weird eating habits, extracting blood from the dead in order to drink it. Maybe there were humans who feared for their life. And he had every right to, after what she almost did to their father, but he understood and Sylvia didn't know what was the problem. Humans, vampires, zombies. Snow women. That was the problem. Never her. Never, never her.

"I wouldn't." - she responded in the end, to the woman who was undeniably beautiful. Ghoulish women were not. Most of them were not. Sylvia, perhaps average-looking in body, was ugly in some other. The way she thinking, behaving. Her body worked as if on the autopilot and she could never tell a decent lie. Truth hurt, she knew, but as long as it didn't hurt her, she didn't care, she couldn't care less - "It would be such a waste if I did. Too bothersome killing somebody as quick-minded as you are." - would she really? Would she eat her? Sure she would. Morals were no problem. Dear Silas, her former husband, he would be turning in his grave, if he only had a body to turn. But no, ghouls held to the tradition. Eat your dead. That is your only food. Enjoy in human goods, sweets, sugar, salt and whatever fits your taste but it will never be enough. It won't ever be anywhere near enough, nothing alike the flesh and blood and the things that normal people thought of as nasty. But ghouls were not normal people. Most of ghouls were impared in some way, usually mentally. Illnesses, violence issues. Charlie had been spared. Sure, he lacks a heart, he had speaking issues until he was able to regenerate to level of getting himself new vocal cords from the slashed throat, but he was good. He was healthy, strong. He was what a male ghoul should be. He was normal. Sylvia was too, she was too... She kept repeating that to herself, at one point hearing only her own voice.

No noise from background. How does that happen, in lively Alegra? How does the noise stop. Her hand instinctively reached up to her ear and she tapped at the shell. Nothing. The blonde woman seemed to be saying something else entirely already but Sylvia saw only the movement of the full lips and could only guess the words with well-practiced lip reading. In her head, she could already imagine the other woman's tone based on her previous sentence even though she knew sometimes it is not enough. It is like judging the weapon by the snapping sound it makes. As a weaponsmith, Sylvia always had to assume the weapon was impaired in some way, sometimes even broken beyond repair. By one's singing you couldn't judge on the voice, once simple sentence was too scarce, but the redheaded woman couldn't stop imagining that voice nonetheless, because that's what Sylvia Ravensdale did.

"I have--" - she started, hearing still nonexistent and she could only hope that her voice sounded normal - "I have recently endured lesson on tolerance. About how everybody should be given a chance. I was merely curious, but that could serve as a good excuse. People seem to fall for pathetic quotes and sayings." - and she had, that was true. 'Endure' was the right word, though perhaps 'sit' and 'almost sleep' would suffice because the woman spent hours listening to Charles and his attempt to befriend her with his newest accessory (not that this one seemed like a fling, mind you. He seemed very serious and that made matter only worse). If her brother thought he would be speaking to her after... Oh, no. After kissing that thing he would have to wash his mouth five times before speaking to her, and if he didn't, Sylvia herself would make sure. Some rules applied. It was her home - her rules. Charles had to understand that the haunted house was not shared.

The explosion of sound make her blink and almost, just almost sway unsteadily, but she was able to keep her posture and even her facial expression looked only slightly uneasy. It took her a while to make out what the vampiressa was saying, that melodic and yet so sharp voice ringing out in her head clearly. Sylvia, too involved in job that included drawing, calculating, working with weapons and listening to the sounds same ones made repetitively, she was... obsessed was not it. She was just... too well informed. And she could already compare this woman's voice to several weapons, those that came fast, unseen and left sharp, sudden pain. When you least expected it. Not that the blonde herself was like that - that was just her voice. Voice did not make a person. Like her own, hushed one and at times too loud. Like Charles, raspy one, that at times seemed like he couldn't speak because his throat was too dry. Or Alan's, that sounded very melodic, almost feminine. Voice doesn't make a person. Then, why would a species? She didn't dwell on this.

"Sylvia Ravensdale." - redhead extended her arm out, unwillingly, but she decided that she would not flinch away if the other decided to touch her. Maybe if it was somebody other, they would request a name. It was a silent, unwritten rule - don't ask for a name if you aren't ready to give your own. But Sylvia couldn't bright herself to care, anymore. Probably she was younger than vampire - new, young vampires, ew. The elder ones knew way of behaving, could fit in better because it is just how they were - adaptable. And the new ones... she'd already be attacked by now. She remembered how briefly she had her back to the other woman. Sylvia wouldn't admit it, ever, but she already felt a little bit of respect (or perhaps less of hatred, she was far from respect) only because she didn't attack her. Because she wasn't coward, at least at first glance.

"If this is your first time visiting, then you won't know me either, I'm afraid." - figures and figures of speech. She didn't care, let alone was afraid, but this was not the time to have random thoughts about it. Was this for good or better, that she was anonymous to this woman? Sylvia didn't know. Lower than vampires, were humans. Yet her human father made his way into the high society. Class wasn't something you were born with, she repeated, and Sylvia was higher than her father, solely because she wasn't a human. This woman wouldn't know that. Sylvia's name didn't mean anything to her.

"And who would be this... lovely vampiressa?" - she asked, sounding sincere, but accent was on 'lovely', clearly stating that she didn't mind Isabel's rudeness - but she could be in foul mood, Sylvia wouldn't be putting up with it. She would for a while, but game gets boring and the child moves on to the next, more interesting one.