Insanity's Aftermath [open]

[Archon Krantz]

The dew of early morning glistened in the lush grass, scents of rain and new growth heavy in the air. In the distance, I could hear the laughter of children and the indistinguishable chatter of conversations, but I hardly noticed. My attention was much too caught up in my dog, watching as he padded through the moist grass next to me.

My dog.

It was odd, calling something mine. Nothing was ever mine before; it was always Mother’s or the Bergerons’. But I liked it, liked this whole concept of something being mine and only mine, so I said it again, aloud this time. “My dog.”

His ears swivelled forward, and he spared me a glance for a moment before he continued onward.

Yes. My dog.

We ambled forward, though the unmistakeable clamour of other people grew more distinct with each step, and my body seemed to tense in response. I didn’t like it. The people. But I wasn’t out here for me. I was here for my dog, and he liked it. Or at least, I thought so. He didn’t really talk much.

I watched as his eyes grew wide, and followed his gaze to find the source of all the noise. You could see them now—the children rampaging through the grass and the few trees scattered throughout the little park, along with the adults that shared idle conversation on benches nearby. I tensed further, my muscles clenching so tightly that it stopped my pace altogether. But then, my dog glanced at me, head cocked to one side, waiting expectantly.

I moved forward.

The children held something in their hands, something metal that glinted in the sunlight. I squinted, but was unable to make out the exact shape—something dark and oblong that seemed oddly familiar to me. So familiar, in fact, that my breathing intensified at the mere sight of it. I could even hear the exhales of my breath, air exiting my mouth at a rapid pace. But my dog was hardly fazed, calmly walking alongside me—sauntering, almost—and I fed desperately off his tranquil vibes, much like a parasite devouring blood. Such a selfish act made me feel guilty for a moment, and I apologized, but I do not think he heard me.

“PUEW!”

The sound was a high pitched squeal that rattled through my bones, causing my eyes to dart toward its source—a little boy with that metal in his grasp, and I then realized why it had seemed so familiar.

It was a gun. And he had it pointed at me.

I moved without thinking, reaching for the pistol strapped in my belt like a reflex response. It wasn’t my pistol, though. It was Mr. Bergeron’s. But once it was gripped in my hand, directed toward what I no longer saw as a little boy, but a symbol of everyone who had ever tormented me in the past, it didn’t matter whose gun it was. It didn’t matter because now he was my mother, my grandparents, my aunt, my uncles, my cousins, my schoolmates, the Bergerons—everyone. Everyone I had ever despised, and the sudden vehemence that flared within me was undeniable. The flickering flames of fury licked at my fingertips, my arms, my legs, my chest, spreading everywhere until my entire being was consumed by a violent rage. I screamed, “Put the gun down, you little bitch, or I’ll fucking shoot!”

The kid stared, a classic deer in the headlights look, but he did not do as I had asked. Nobody ever did what I asked. My finger trembled over the trigger, and before I could understand what was happening, a gunshot echoed in my ears, followed by an uncanny, deafening silence. I assumed I missed because there was no blood; only a mother dashing toward the child and clutching him tightly in her arms. But I didn’t have the time to curse for my inaccurate aim, since that was when the silence ended and the unbearable noise began. The noise of everyone shouting and yelling, everyone angry. Angry at me. Shouting at me. Yelling at me.

“…just playing a game!”

“…an innocent child…”

“…calling the police!”

My hands recoiled to my head. I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t fucking take it. Their words were daggers that split apart my psyche, causing memories spill out. The line between past and present blurred, and the voices of then and now melded together in a horrible mesh of resentment. I pressed my hands against my ears. The yelling was so loud… so fucking loud…

“You MONSTER.”

“…almost shot him!”

“Archon, how could you…”

No matter how much I dug my hands into my ears, they still managed to yell. Everyone, all of them, all I have ever known, yelling.

That is, all except for my dog. He just shook his head.

And now, here he was; Archon, in that exact same park with that exact same dog—even with that exact same baggy sweater and jeans. But now, everything was veiled in the hazy darkness of night, and only the whisper of the wind disturbed the quiet that had settled over that humble park. The leaves of trees would rustle occasionally, and the dog would emit a hushed whimper, but otherwise, complete silence enveloped the area.

But Archon preferred it that way. The lack of people. The quiet. The chance for him to reflect as he sat on that stiff metal bench with his dog at his side.

He patted the dog’s soft head. That day, he had been promptly arrested and court ordered to see a psychiatrist, and today was supposedly his first appointment. Those tired, nameless faces in the courtroom had told him that he was irrational and paranoid, that it took a mind eaten away by insanity (or stupidity) to mistake a little boy's toy gun for an actual one. They told him that he best see a psychiatrist, like a good crazy man. However, Archon would much rather enjoy the sensation of the light breeze caressing his face and the fur of his dog warming his hand. Nobody was telling him what to fucking do anymore—at least, not at this moment, because now… now he was free, if only for a few measly minutes. Free from the yelling voices of uniformed men telling him to drop the gun and put his hands behind his back. Free from the flashing lights and wailing noise of sirens, from the cold metal cuffs clapped around his wrists. Free from the equally loud yelling of Mr. Bergeron, his mother and everyone else he ever knew.

He and his dog—they were free. He and his scrawny, black dog—his overly large, black dog that was peppered in white and marked in a rust colour along his legs and face—like a Doberman, but yet, his fur was much too long for a Doberman, and his head much too wide, and his tail much too long. But still, Doberman or not, they were free for the first time in awhile.

It's too bad good things must come to an end.



OOC: Archon's 'dog' that is a bit too large to be a dog *cough* And before you ask about the post... LOL yeah, don't. He's just a bit insane, ok?

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[Kyon Girard]

Sirloin, rib eye, t-bone; every sort of steak that a hungry werewolf would love to dig their teeth into. Personally, Kyon was disgusted by this need to eat meat, but at the same time, it fascinated her, as she could never imagine needing anything besides blood to survive, which was clearly demonstrated by the near empty interior of her refrigerator; she wasn’t even sure why she had gotten a fridge in the first place. Though she was glad that she had it now as it kept the meat she bought for her new ‘pet’, Sage, rather fresh. And she could always enjoy some of the blood that the steaks still contained, even if it tasted stale and almost processed. At least she didn’t have to live off the stuff and she got plenty of jobs in assassinating humans that gave her a good week’s long –or more- boost in energy.

The vampire could go for a meal right now, her stomach growled a bit to remind her of that, yet she might be able to wait a few days so that she could pay attention to her ‘pet’ more than she had lately. The two had killed together before, but that had not been the best experience as their hunting methods were absolutely incompatible and they had to worry about infecting the victim’s blood and getting one or the other sick. Perhaps if they could hunt somewhere together where it was less populated, somewhere open, where the two could run after the poor human. A bit of a smirk played around the woman’s lips at this and she stopped to appreciate the stars above her for a while.

The sky was incredibly clear tonight and full of bright specks of light, distant stars with their own galaxies. Kyon found herself lost in the sight for a few minutes before slowly shaking her head and turning forward again so that she could begin walking again. She needed to get the meat into the cooler in her car before it started to go bad, otherwise it would be a waste of money and she was have to go back to the deli for another few pounds of steak, which she imagined could get a bit suspicious looking after a few more trips. They might think that she was raising some monstrous beast at home that required pounds of food everyday to survive. It was tempting to think of Sage as her beast, her guard dog. Just a better reason to get home faster!

Finally to her car, the vampire opened the trunk so that she could place all of the meat she had bought into the cooler there. Seeing as it was a fairly small container, it took a bit of creativity and time in pacing the steaks up, but once it was all done, Kyon was very satisfied, as the lid even shut all the way so that she didn’t have to worry about the vehicle jostling the cooler about and causing melted ice water to ruin the interior of the trunk. Humming softly to herself, the woman got into the driver’s side of the car and started the engine. It was a half-hour’s drive back to her apartment, but she didn’t feel like staying locked up inside some metal contraption for long, perhaps it would be wise to make a stop on the way just to stretch her legs. Sage would be fine without her until then, supposing that she didn’t have to use the bathroom.

While the woman drove, she constantly glanced out of her window, looking for a suitable place to rest, maybe somewhere that she could find some company, someone interesting to talk to. When she drove through Paternoster Square, she wasn’t immediately thinking that it would entertain her too much, but upon spotting one rather familiar building –where she had found a particularly fun meal- she quickly changed her mind. The people here might be poor in a way, but they were trusting and talked with any stranger. They were her kind of people.

After ten minutes of driving around, she stopped near a small-ish park, even though it looked completely deserted. She was sure someone was sulking around in the trees, and those kind of people were bound to be fun to speak to, if not chase. Hopefully, they just wouldn’t distract her for more than an hour; her werewolf was bound to get antsy. Humming once more, Kyon stepped out of her car –after turning off the engine of course- but did not bother locking it, being sure that no one was around to steal a thing, not that she had anything of value to be stolen. For a moment, the woman stood in place, partly appreciating the night time sounds and visuals, but also figuring which way to move through the park. After a while, she made up her mind, following a worn path that was sure to lead her to someone, not caring whether they be friend or foe.

Within minutes, she spotted two figures by one of the park benches, just as she had hoped. As she got closer, she could make out the beings scents; a werewolf and a dog. Now that, she thought, was very interesting. She’d love to speak to the wolf, seeing as they always yielded something entertaining whenever she encountered one, and she was also curious as to why they had a dog with them. The wolf didn’t own the dog, did they? That seemed the most likely, yet still seemed wrong some how. It was like if Kyon owned… Well, she couldn’t come up with any parallels, being as werewolves were so unique, and she only gave up on the thought when she had come within feet of the stranger.

“Mind if I take this seat?” she asked with a slight smile, gesturing at the empty space on the bench beside the man. The question was pointless though, as she sat down before the wolf even had time to respond. Now the vampire could get a good whiff of this man. He smelled sweaty, which added to his ‘weirdness’, seeing as he was so obviously calm and the fact that it was nearly chilly outside didn’t help. Perhaps he had some strange ramblings in his brain that would match his appearance; Kyon was keen on figuring this out. “It’s a bit late to be walking the dog, no?” she smirked softly as she said this, tilting her head a bit in her curiosity.

[Archon Krantz]

(rofl poor sweaty Archon).



The stars were bright that night. Archon knew because he found himself staring at them, watching them glow on that black velvet sky. They decorated the darkness like speckles of dandruff, and how he longed to be one of those speckles… so far away from it all. So out of reach. So free. Archon liked to pretend he was free, but he never really was. Even he knew that he was kidding himself because every time he thought he was free, something was always there to drag him back again, back to the confines of reality.

Something like the noise he heard just now, accompanied by a scent wafting in his nostrils—a very particular scent. The scent of a vampire.

Immediately this ripped him out of his daydream, pulled him back to reality just as he had predicted, and his head whipped around toward the source. In the darkness, he could faintly distinguish an approaching figure down the pathway. Such a sight sparked a flicker of anxiety within him, and he felt his dog move beside him on the pavement, just the slight turn of its head as it watched what Archon watched. It was uncanny, really, how they both observed the figure with the same intensity, Archon tensing further with each step she took while the dog remained calm, merely observing with an inert anticipation. They were two opposites, really, the dog and Archon…

Archon lifted his hand from his dog’s head and rested it on the bench rail, and by the time the figure had neared them, his hand gripped that railing as though it were the only thing keeping him attached to this earth. Gripped it as though letting go or even loosening his grasp would send him straight to oblivion. The figure was close enough to see the details now, close enough to observe the shine of her hair and the upward tilt of her lips as she smiled, but Archon knew that beyond those lips was a pair of fangs that he had grown to hate. But then again, Archon hated everything, and this vampire should not take it personally. Still, his hate was reflected in his expression, which was cold and vacant, his eyes like little green daggers.

“Mind if I take this seat?” she asked with that same smile—the one that Archon did not return. Instead, his jaw clenched, and he wondered just what she wanted with him because people don’t just ask to share seats with him unless they wanted something.

And apparently whether Archon minded or not was actually of no concern to her, as she sat before he had the chance to even give a mere shrug of his shoulders. Archon hardly cared, though, because he did not have the the means to argue over a vacant seat. After all, the gears in his mind turned much too slowly for him to shoot off an excuse for her not to sit there. An excuse like… “oh, my dog took a crap on the bench… I cleaned it up, but I still wouldn’t sit there…” would have sufficed, he was sure, so it’s too bad she had already sat down and was now making conversation.

“It’s a bit late to be walking the dog, no?” she announced, smirking now, and Archon turned to meet her gaze, then glanced at the dog at his side, who stared back at him. He then proceeded to reply, “It’s not walking. It’s sitting.”

Ah yes, leave it to Archon to miss the point entirely.

The sad thing was that there was nothing at all sarcastic about this statement he made. In fact, plenty of people believe that Archon does not even know the meaning of sarcasm. You see, Archon, being the social retard that he was, took everything quite literally, and he truly believed that this vampire was insulting his intelligence in saying that he was walking the dog when it was clearly sitting—sitting at an angle from Archon now with its head cocked to one side as it observed this newcomer with interest. Moreover, Archon's voice held the heavy raspy quality of someone who chain smoked the majority of their life and they were now left with a larynx that was shot all to hell. Of course, that was just Archon with that low, gruff tone of his, as he had never picked up a cigarette in his life. All in all, though, this, combined with the hefty stench of body odour that he was unaware of, made him out to be… well, not the most welcoming person out there, to say the least.

And, as if he hadn’t already embarrassed himself enough, Archon continued. “Besides…” He glanced at the animal near his feet, who stared back at him with those sad, brown eyes. “It’s not just any dog.” His gaze shifted to her now, yet he seemed apt to avoid eye contact, the only sign that the arrogance he was about to portray was feigned—well, that, and the overall tension of his body. “It’s my dog.” He said this as though he were speaking to the scum of the earth, even though it really should be the other way around. This vampire was simply being polite in even attempting to initiate a conversation with smelly ol'hateful-looking Archon. But alas, it seems that he is destined to push everyone away, like the socially inept retard that he is.

If there truly is a God, he would most likely have his face in his palm right now, sighing in exasperation, and thinking how badly he fucked this time.



(Geh alright, I added more now, but SADFACE it wasn't much. I'M SORRY).

[Kyon Girard]

(( God face palming made me giggle… x3 ))

Kyon got the sense that this stranger did not want to have anything to do with her. Call her crazy –which actually would be fitting- but most people did not scowl or sit so defensively beside someone that they wanted to carry on a pleasant conversation with. Ah, she would force her company on him anyway; she was bored and he didn’t seem to be inclined to turn tail and run away from her or to sic his dog upon her. And it was always fun to annoy people, even when they started to get violent, because she was sick in the head and violence was the very thing she craved.

“It’s not walking. It’s sitting.”

An appreciative little giggle escaped the woman and she turned her body a bit so that she could rest an arm on the back of the bench, the hand of which she leaned her chin on. “Fair enough,” she said, staring intently at his eyes, though they stayed shifted away from hers. She was rather used to that however, so it didn’t bother her. People these days were just too mistrusting, yet rightfully so, and kept from looking into other’s eyes afraid that they would reveal some sort of weakness in themselves that would let a stranger mess with their head. This particular man didn’t seem like he needed anyone messing with his mind more than it already was, therefore it was wise of him not to give anything away in his gaze.

“Besides…”

At this his stare moved down to the dog at his heels, regarding it with some sort of pride, and the animal looked right back up, as if it understood the meaning in the look that the man gave it.

“It’s not just any dog. It’s my dog.”

Kyon lifted a thin eyebrow at this, noting the vehemence with which he spoke. Clearly the anger wasn’t directed toward her, as she’d just met him and made no threatening sort of advances toward him. No, it had to be toward the rest of the world because someone had wronged him in the past and fucked up his sense of entitlement to property and self worth and all sorts of shit. This woman was far from a psychologist, but even she could tell all of this, it was the same story with most people. You get screwed over early in life then take it out on the rest of the world. Sure, the vampire was guilty of this herself, yet at least she made a profit with it. “Of course he’s your dog,” she grinned softly and turned her eyes away from the wolf to his pet. It would have been more characteristic of Kyon to add some snide comment about dogs being too stupid to own themselves, but she didn’t want to drive this stranger away, seeing how possessive he was and not wanting to insult his ‘things’. And besides finding him to be interesting mentally unstable, she enjoyed his voice, which was very different from most she’d heard before. He sounded as if he’d been abusing tobacco for too long, rotting out his throat, yet it was in a way too natural to be caused by that.

“What’s your dog’s name?” the woman asked, making sure that she put as much emphasis on ‘your’ without being too obvious. She didn’t believe that he would take offense to her ‘pandering’, instead he might see it as being clear in her words.

(( Kinda short… Mm… >.> ))

[Archon Krantz]

(HOORAY me too. It's funny 'cause I'm basically Archon's 'God' and I facepalm aaaall the time hurhurhur).


It was odd, participating in an actual conversation. Typically he could only contribute with a muttered, “But—” or “Sir, I—” before being interrupted by infuriated yelling. It was a pleasant change, he supposed, being able to complete a few sentences, but a change nonetheless—a change that his mind had not yet fully moulded to, a change that he still tensed at the thought of. After all, the mere mention of socialization caused his body to grow rigid, and he could only wonder if there would ever be a point in his life where he could partake in a casual conversation without it rendering him into ‘attack mode,’ and without his ‘attack mode’ driving out all those polite strangers he came across, like he was surely about to do with this vampire here. Already he had taken an abrasive tone, and surely she would react to it in the same manner the others have before her—yell, leave, flip the bird, or perhaps even a slap in the face. Ah yes, he could see it all now… her look of anger and repulsion, her harsh words… her… laugh?

Confusion festered in Archon’s mind as he glanced at the woman next to him, wondering if his ears had, for once, mistaken him. But no, there she was, resting her chin on her hand and giggling ever so slightly. Such a reaction was so unexpected that Archon himself could not help but smile, albeit uncertainly, as she said, “Fair enough.”

Archon sat back on the bench. What was this feeling that flickered within him, that caused the slight upward tilt of his lips? He had never purposely made another person laugh before. Could it be that what he was experiencing now was the feeling he had constantly feigned? Was this what pride really felt like? He could only suppose so.

But then, the smile faded as quickly as it came once he realized that he actually had no idea what the exact source of her laugh was. According to his paranoia, it could be a laugh of ridicule or of pity, though he had heard both so many times, he thought deciphering one from the other would come second-naturedly to him, but perhaps not. Perhaps it was some secret joke she was in on concerning his poor dog who merely sat there innocently. Or worse—perhaps it was some secret joke about him.

His face darkened once more.

“Of course he’s your dog,” she said now, agreeing, and he eyed her with a look so commonly seen on his face—suspicion. However, as he eyed her, he did not see the malicious glint in her eye that he was expecting, but instead a warm expression composed of a slight smile. He eyed her further, and his paranoia flared once more, filling his mind with a deadly concoction of what ifs and hidden motives and maybes. This flurry of thoughts sent him into the depths of confusion for a moment, but eventually Archon did, in fact, speak, more so to silence the thoughts rampaging through his mind than anything else. “How do you know?” he said, as if accusing her of some horrendous felony. “I could’ve stole it.” This suggestion was only trumped by the fact that the dog wore no collar, but that was only because Archon was under the assumption that collars were cruel torture mechanisms, not useful tools used to relay the dog’s identity. Besides, his dog didn’t even need such a thing because its only identity was that it was Archon’s dog, and Archon’s dog wouldn’t run off and abandon him, so what was the point?

Archon did not know why he would suggest such a thing, anyway, because he had done no such thing. He had not stolen it, but instead merely discovered it on the busy city streets one day, and it seemed pleasant enough, so he brought it home with him. If it had some previous owner, clearly they did not mind too much, or else they would not have allowed it onto the streets by its lonesome. So, Archon took it upon himself to make this poor dog his responsibility. And it was not like Archon was a bad owner, surprisingly enough—he usually fed it his leftover meat, or sometimes the entire meal itself if he could not scrounge enough food for the both of them that particular day. So why would Archon even want to suggest stealing it? He wasn’t too sure himself. Perhaps it was to add to that ‘badass’ façade he tirelessly attempted to portray, mostly used to intimidate those around him into backing off (and it typically succeeds in doing just that, with the exception of today). Or perhaps it was something entirely different. How was he to know? He was never one for picking apart the depths of his psyche—or anyone’s, for that matter.

For instance, why this woman would want to carry on a conversation with him was completely beyond Archon’s grasp, so this immediately drew him to the assumption that she wanted something from him, the same way a little parasite wanted the nutrients, the blood, the what have you from its host, and Archon had already given so much to those little parasites.

He didn’t want to give anymore.

But he did not want to make a bigger fool of himself than necessary, either, and so far, the conversation seemed pleasant enough. Perhaps there was nothing she wanted. Perhaps Archon was merely holding onto that foolish hope that maybe—just maybe—it would all work itself out for once because God knew that Archon was in desperate need for something to work in his pathetic little life.

But oh, how naïve he was.

The vampire glanced at the dog now, while Archon continued to eye her carefully, and asked, “What’s your dog’s name?”

At this, Archon faltered. “Name?” he repeated, as if it were the most absurd thing he has ever heard. Truth be told, though, dubbing the dog with a name had never even entered his mind. After all, it was his dog and nothing else. It should be nothing else. So he answered, in a tone that made it sound as though he were repulsed by the very thought, “It doesn’t have a name.”

The subject of their conversation was laying on the pavement now, forepaws outstretched and head resting between them as it stared at nothing with those sad brown eyes. But Archon did not seem to notice, and he continued, knowing that he needed to explain himself—not only to her, but also to himself. “It’s… just a dog.” He had attempted to sound demeaning with these words, but seemed to have some uncertainty as he spoke them, as if it wasn’t just a dog, and it was cruel of him to even imply such a thing. To Archon, the animal was so much more than that. It was a purpose. A reason to get up every morning. A reason to give a shit.

A purpose. That’s all anybody really needs, right?

Or at least, that’s what Archon liked to think.



(Neh, that's alright. Partly my fault *shifts eyes* Was still a good post anyway).

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[Kyon Girard]

(( It’s always your fault, Dodes… *shakes head* But I still love you. ^_^ ))

Suspicion was creeping into this wolf’s mind, Kyon could almost smell it. This didn’t surprise her in the least though, as she had that sort of effect on people. She was always one to put on a warm, welcoming, if not sometimes good humouredly sarcastic front, that attracted strangers to her, yet once they got to talking, for some reason, her true colors showed through, no matter how hard she tried not to act she was compelled to, which would be to whip out her knife and threaten said stranger’s life. She was however a fair enough actress that the people that did walk away from her seemed concerned more so with their own minds that they should be paranoid around such a pretty, innocent looking girl. That was an idea she enjoyed, that she was slowly turning those around her just as insane as she. Soon, everyone in London would be walking around on egg shells, trying not to provoke one and another to attack, already like so many others were already doing.

If the woman could let this mistrust grow in this man’s mind, would he lash out at her, to get her to perhaps let him in on her cruel little joke that he imagined? Or would he run to simply be rid of her? If it was indeed that latter, then she would not go after him, having more pressing matters to attend to back at the apartment –as well as not wanting to get caught in the sun, she still hadn’t really fully recovered from last getting burnt, at least not mentally. Be it the former, however, and she would welcome the challenge, seeing that it didn’t drag on too long. She always relished the chance for a little hand-on-hand combat and this wolf was definitely younger than her, which meant that she already had the advantage, despite his obvious physical strength, she could bet that hers might be greater.

Fighting might not even be too long off as the tone in his voice suggested that he had taken offence to her reaffirming that the canine at his feet was indeed his. “How do you know?” Kyon lifted an eyebrow at this, though she still smiled sweetly over at him, finding the harshness in his voice not overly rough on her ears. “I could’ve stole it.”

“Oh, but you don’t seem like that sort of person, darling.” the woman half chuckled, glancing down at the dog to see if it had a leash; it didn’t. The poor thing didn’t even look like it had belonged to nice, or merely not-so-nice, home before then, it was a bit scrawny and its fur was tangled and matted in places and smelled rather strongly; it just needed a bath, and it would look wonderful. It was a strong animal though, you could tell even through the hair that stuck up oddly in most places on its body. Owner and pet did resemble each other to quite an extent, she could imagine that if the dog barked, it would be in some low, husky vocalization to compliment the wolf’s own growling speech. On this thought, it would nice to be able to refer to both of these strangers as more than that, but apparently, names weren’t so important to this man.

“Name?” He spoke as if this word were foreign upon his lips. With that sort of tone, Kyon expected the next thing out of his mouth to be something along to lines of, “I have no use for names! I can feel the dog with my mind, it doesn’t need something so primitive as a name to be saddled upon it.” Now that would make for good conversation. However, he replied with a much more sane reply –unfortunately, perhaps. “It doesn’t have a name.” So maybe the thought just hadn’t occurred to the werewolf, that maybe someday, the dog would get itself in trouble and need to be called back, or stop being so loyal, as it clearly had been incredibly loyal to him so far. Sweet animal really, it deserved a name.

“It’s… just a dog.”

The she-vampire glanced down at the dog, obviously bored with their chattering and just staring at the dark nothingness that surrounded them. He lied, this was not just a dog, he loved this dog. Maybe a name would cheapen what he had here…? Oh, she had no idea why not give it a name, that would make it more of a ‘human’, she supposed, give a higher status than just some dirty mutt that got taken off the street. Every proper member of society had a name, she was sure even this sociopath had one, otherwise he’d be even more fucked in the head than he was already, being a nobody without a title.

“He,” Kyon was just going out on a limb guessing the dog’s gender here, and she was ready to be berated if she was wrong, “looks like a Jasper.” She only suggested this to keep the conversation light and not delve into why he thought a name was not needed, it might even plant the idea of giving the dog an actual name in his head, he could even get the animal a collar. To the woman, collars were the same as wallets were for people, a form of identification and a sort of safety net, if you had someone who knew you and cared about you at least. That’s why she had given Sage a collar, regardless, it was a flea collar to keep the pests away from her, but it still had her name and would soon sport Kyon’s address in case the animal got lost, not that it was too big of a concern; she was a smart wolf.

“You certainly have a name though,” the woman smiled softly, switching her eyes finally from the dog to this stranger, “and what might that be?” This last part was added in case her prompting hadn’t been clear enough as she noted that he had a very literal mind that didn’t pick up on most nuances of speech. “I’m Kyon, by the way,” she said before he could give his own name, and she held out a slim hand, offering it for him to shake.

[Archon Krantz]

(YAAAAAY. Then hopefully you will still love me after taking ALMOST TWO DAYS GASP with this not-so-great post. DAMN IT ARCHON. TALK MORE <-<)


Like in all social situations, Archon swelled with a paranoid anxiety. He could feel it bind against his bones whenever the slightest movement or sound caught his attention, could feel it rise within his gut whenever he spoke, could feel it there, always, ready to engulf him completely. To override all logical inhibitions in a consuming rage, a blinding frenzy that could rob him of control, his muscles and tendons at its full mercy. Archon knew this because it happened on multiple occasions, and he has grown an overwhelming abhorrence toward it. After all, it was not the anxiety or the rage that had to deal with the aftermath—it was Archon, and considering that the entire ordeal was not his fault, he did not see why he was the one who had to pick up the pieces, and often never did. Instead, he would allow the broken fragments to fester and rot. The way he saw it was well, if they didn’t affect him, then they weren’t his problem.

So, would this encounter be just another shard to add to his collection?

So far, it hardly seemed to be. Other than his sudden bouts of nervousness concealed by harsh irritation, it was nothing too severe—at least, not when compared to Archon’s ‘frenzies’. However, this could easily change. After all, Archon was far from stable. All it could take is the wrong choice of words or an offensive tone to set him off—like now, for instance. “Oh, but you don’t seem like that sort of person, darling,” the woman next to him said with amusement. Now, the normal person would not take offence to this, since they were not striving to seem like a badass outlaw like Archon was, but Archon clearly was not in the definition of a normal person and now that Archon’s ‘badass outlaw’ façade had failed him, irritation fuelled his next words; a few more of comments similar to those from her, and Archon’s fury may just send him into auto-pilot.

“The hell’s that s’pose to mean?” he replied, wondering just what ‘sort of person’ he was to her, but yet afraid of the answer at the same time. Could she see everything he was desperately attempting to hide? Could she look past his guise and see the vulnerable core within? Because if so, he would show her just how much of a ‘badass outlaw’ he really was—one who would beat up strange women, at that, and then leave them battered on the street. Certainly wouldn’t be the first time such a thing has happened, though it would be the first vampire for Archon. Typically, he would avoid those at all costs—then again, he tended to avoid everyone at all costs—but ah well. Like he heard someone say, there can be a first for everything.

Like, for instance, someone referring to him as darling was certainly a first, and when it had initially fell on his ears, he couldn’t help but fumble in his abrasive demeanour for a moment or two, lost in his own confusion. He had only heard the term used as a show of affection between husband and wife, but… they weren’t husband and wife were they?

…No, certainly not, so that begged the question of what the hell she had meant by the comment. Unable to uncover a plausible answer, Archon turned to his paranoia, which immediately pegged it as that secret joke she was in on, and that amused tone of hers hardly denied that, both of which only greatening Archon’s anger as he made that guarded reply.

And now, as she eyed his dog, he only became more guarded, his body tensing in preparation, ready to protect the animal if need be. After all, Archon may not sacrifice an arm and leg for it, but he was completely willing to defend it since, well, if there is anything he’s good at, it’s hand-to-hand combat. True, he was more comfortable with teeth-to-teeth combat in his wolf form, but really, what was the difference? As his adoptive ‘father’ has said, he still must be vigilant, watch the opponent, and attack accordingly…

“He looks like a Jasper,” she said, to Archon’s complete surprise as he had been preparing himself for confrontation only seconds earlier. He eased a bit, then took a moment to consider her words, but all he could do is wonder what the hell a Jasper was, which soon resulted in the heated reply, “He looks like a dog.”

Again, the sad part was that there was absolutely no sarcasm in his words, though oddly enough, by the irritated way he shot them out of his mouth, it almost seemed like it. Of course, Archon could only wish it so, though that did not mean it was true. He was still the explosive social retard that he always was, to his complete misfortune—unlike his dog, who did not even have to socialize. How Archon envied it as it sat there with a calm gaze that was transfixed onto the woman’s. It had raised its head from the ground, but otherwise remained motionless as they shared a silent staring contest with each other.

The woman broke the silence, however, carrying on about the conversation on names. “You certainly have a name though,” she continued now, apparently taking a sudden interest in stating the obvious. “And what might that be?”

He paused for a moment, watching as she glanced at him instead of the dog and offered that slight smile again. He merely stared at that smile and wondered if that it was suppose to make him more willing to answer. Oddly, Archon felt uncomfortable simply serving up such personal information. Right now, he was just a face to her. A nobody. But then, if he gave her his name, he would be Archon.

And did he really want to be Archon?

“I’m Kyon, by the way,” she said, extending a hand, and the fact that she had offered her own identity ebbed a bit of Archon’s reluctance, but… what if she was lying? Should he lie too? Could he pass off as one of those more glamorous people he constantly saw on the cover of magazines? After all, they did seem more popular among the people. Once he had read an article about Elvis Presley, and no one had any bad things to say about him…

But there was one slight flaw in that idea—Elvis hadn’t been a werewolf. And he was dead.

So, sighing quietly, Archon finally settled with saying, “Archon—not darling,” and by this, he meant her previous reference, the one that had confused him so, and to completely snuff out all confusion, he decided to state it loud and clear. He then proceeded to shake her hand, like he had seen businessmen do when they closed deals—I’ll trust you with my name if you’ll trust me with yours; that was their deal. His shake was firm and rapid, perhaps harshly so, considering that this was most likely his first handshake, and he knew from observation that anything less than firm was associated with weakness, and Archon certainly didn’t want to portray himself as that. However, bone-crushing was also probably not looked highly upon, but this did not seem to hinder Archon as he took his large, rough and calloused hand into her much more petite and probably softer one.

His first handshake. Huh. Wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, and it would perhaps be his last. After all, if others saw him as rude for ignoring their handshakes, then perhaps they would stay away from him. However, he had not done this with hers because not only did he despise socialization, but he also despised strained silences in which one person was awkwardly left hanging by the other, and since they were currently sharing a bench… well, Archon preferred to simply skip that awkwardness altogether. Or at least, he hoped he had. Who knows how this woman, Kyon, would react to Archon’s uncomfortable handshake.

And who really knows how she would react to this next string of events. Firstly, a mosquito had taken root onto Archon’s hand, which had now returned to the park bench railing after the shake. He felt something tickle his skin, and upon seeing a bug feasting upon his blood, he shouted, “Motherfucker! Damn mosquito,” as he squished it into oblivion. Of course, he had done all this whilst forgetting the company he had, and his dog jolted in response to his owner’s cursings, spared him a glance for a moment, then seemed to shake its head ever so slightly as it settled back down and eyed the vampire. And the vampire herself? Who knows how she responded, but it was most likely nothing good, and Archon dared not steal a glance from her, instead distracting himself with the damage done to his hand. Blood and bug guts were all that remained there now, along with a red sore beneath it where an itching mosquito bite formed. He quickly and carelessly wiped it across his jeans, and more than once, using the rough fabric to take the edge of the itch off, but instead only making it more persistent. His larger concern was the blood, however, and his random outburst… After all, he all too aware of how vampires could get around blood, which was why he was quick to wipe it clean. And the outburst… well, that was just plain embarrassing. But after only a moment’s falter, he pretended that it was meant to happen, attempting to be smug about it. He did have a compulsive swearing problem that she was bound to find out about soon enough anyway…

Just another one of Archon's social dysfunctions, I suppose.



(Geh, just added the mosquito thing 'cause it didn't seem like he did much otherwise. HOW there can be nearly 2000 words without him doing much, I DON'T KNOW. DODO BAD *newspaper smackith*)

[Kyon Girard]

(( I suppose you just like to talk, Dodes… ^_^ I still love you though. ))

Kyon felt like she had hit the jackpot with this man, jesus, he was more dysfunctional than she was! She could act her way out of being abnormal, but this wolf, he just didn’t have any sort of filter and had no knowledge of the subtle nuances of a normal ‘human’ interaction. He was like a computer program that had only been written to target the untrustworthy and put up a front that would deter them and make them walk away, though, just like that brain-without-a-body, he could do very little to act on his intimidation, at least that’s how it was with Kyon. She felt that it would be easy enough to just break his neck if she got both of her hands around it, well some ways around it, because he did have a rather sturdy support for his head. And it would be especially hard as the muscles in his neck were incredibly taught. He was an odd fella, being insulted so much by the term ‘darling’. Kyon only used such familiarities with people because it always elicited very different responses. Some would take great offense to it, as this wolf had, while others took it as an invitation to get more… comfortable with her. Both of these scenarios satisfied the woman, though she admitted that the latter was a bit more enjoyable.

Ah, a shame that he relaxed at the mention of his dog looking like a Jasper. “He looks like a dog.”

“That he does,” Kyon chuckled, glancing down at the animal by the man’s feet and shooting it an appreciative smile, “I mean to say that he looked like his name should be Jasper.” She supposed she’d have to be more aware of what she was saying now, as he really didn’t understand any sort of implication in one’s words. What you said, to him, was exactly what you meant. She would bet that if you told him to break a leg, he’d grab a hammer and do just that. The vampire would try this out, but that was a little too cruel, even for her.

Would she tell him his name though, now that she had asked? Surely, she had been clear enough that he wouldn’t misconstrue her words as an offer to tango or make an omelet. “Archon—not darling,” Good, he did understand and he even returned the handshake, which was surprisingly strong. Kyon returned just as strong of a grip, though her own hand was so very different from his, dwarfed by his own larger palm and much softer, his own fingers hard with calluses. Secretly, she relished in the feeling of that rough skin against her own, so it disappointed her the slightest bit it lasted only a second. Such burley –harsh- men were hard to find, even if they were a bit insane; she was sick of all those with soft skinned, fat ridden man that she met so often, it was wonderful to have a change. Suddenly, she wondered how he would react if she leaned in to kiss him… No, that was a bit absurd, though still tempting. Though, a bit less so considering what happened next.

Kyon had been watching Archon steadily the entire time, but she was at first confused as to why he so suddenly and violently swatted at his hand, damn near shouting: “Motherfucker! Damn mosquito,” Most people, the vampire thought, would have been appalled by this and be tempted to leave as to not be exposed to anymore vulgarity, yet she was not most people and let out a high pitched laugh, arching her back against the bench in her amusement. “Mosquitoes are little bastards, aren’t they?” she grinned, looking up to the wolf as she relaxed into her seat. What other kind of quirks might this sociopath have? There was already his complete lack of social graces and now his random cursing, which could mean that he could have turrets, though that seemed a little unlikely. It would be fun to test him, see how uncomfortable she could make him.

Before moving an inch, the woman turned her eyes down to the man’s dog, yet he was as calm as ever, so she looked back to Archon. “You know how vampires and werewolves get sick if they drink each other’s blood?” she asked, sliding a bit closer to the wolf on the bench, “Well, watch this.” Quickly, she reached out and grabbed up his hand, the one that had been bit, and squeezed it hard enough so that the blood from the small wound flowed a little better before pulling it up to her lips and running her tongue over his skin to catch up the few drops of blood that had come forth. Whether his hand left her grip because he yanked away or because she suddenly felt sick to her stomach and dropped him, Kyon wasn’t sure of, but she was now again grinning ay him. “I’ve seen vamps drop dead doing that,” she informed him, smiling widely, teeth showing, though her gut had formed a very uncomfortable knot in it as sickness started to set in. She wouldn’t let him see this illness though, that made her feel far too weak...

You are a sick, sick woman, she informed herself, only to reply with a gleeful, Oh, I know! That made her think of how immensely crazy she would have seemed if she’d had this short conversation with herself out loud. Of course, the woman would still be far less crazy than Archon –she wasn’t sure that there was anyone ho could top him on the crazy scale-, but they would have been close to insanity. However, Kyon was good at hiding her insanity, very good at it, and most people didn’t notice it until it was too late, meaning that she had her dagger at their throat. She didn’t believe that this was how the night was going to end with this man, so she could keep secret the entire range of her instabilities from him, as to not scare him off.

(( Oh, Kyon's such a flirt. x3 ))

[Archon Krantz]

(rofl damn. Everybody in the Internet world says that!! Also, sorry for the wait on this. Geh. YOU STILL LOVE ME RIGHT?)



Archon hated people. They were always the same, looking at him with those eyes, eyes that trapped him within their gaze and bored holes into his very being. They were full of mystery, those eyes, with only the owner aware of what truly lurked beneath them. And that’s why he hated them, because he never really knew, which left his mind, diseased with paranoia, to conjure up only the most grotesque motives and inner thoughts more akin to those of a serial rapist than to your average person. This Kyon was no different. As he sat under her perceptive gaze, a fresh bout of paranoia ruptured within his psyche, further staining his contaminated mind. It buzzed with a flurried concoction of what ifs and could bes. The very fact that she did not seem malicious only amplified the chaos just barely contained within his head, his thoughts flitting with confusion, transitioning from one possible motive to the next, unable to firmly grasp any of them because of her lack of… well, everything. She held no ounce of malevolence, no sense of hatred in her demeanour, yet Archon was determined to uncover such things, even if that meant imagining it himself.

“That he does,” Kyon said now, and the chuckle that followed caused Archon to internally grimace, immediately pinning the laugh as part of her private ridicule. Despite the turmoil that ensued just beneath the surface, however, Archon merely appeared as he always did—inexplicably angry with the world and everything in it. He has had far too many battles with his paranoia, and has long since been able to seem calm in spite of it—that is, if a body racked with tension can be considered calm, but at least he was not fleeing from the area or tearing his hair out in frustration like his mind commanded him. “I mean to say that he looked like his name should be Jasper,” she continued, clarifying for the sake of Archon’s literal-tracked mind, though of course, Archon hardly perceived it as such. Instead, he merely scoffed, snorting as if he were being insulted, and said, “Well you look like your name should be Blood Sucking Leech, but you don’t hear me advertising it.”

Again, we can always count on good ol’Archon to deliver a snide remark without the slightest provocation. However, he was all too aware of his socially awkward tendencies, and subconsciously, he used his erratic outbursts as a tool to sever all ties between himself and Kyon—or rather, Blood Sucking Leech—even before they formed, simply because he feared becoming anything more than an acquaintance to another person, feared that they would realize how socially inept he truly was. However, his most recent insult was most likely not as impudent as Archon initially believed; leech was a common phrase used toward vampires, and surely she was accustomed to such derogatory terms, as was Archon accustomed to the term Flea Ridden Bastard.

However, Archon could be dubbed more than just that after his latest stunt, which was to bellow reflex vulgarities while being bitten by a simple, little mosquito. Who knew that an insignificant creature could spark such an explosive reaction, but then again, who really knew with Archon? A gust of wind hitting him the wrong way could set him off, truth be told. However, Kyon once again surprised Archon, and instead of labelling him a potty-mouth or threatening to wash his mouth with soap, she merely responded with a bubbling laughter that rippled through the silence and knotted Archon’s stomach. “Mosquitoes are little bastards, aren’t they?” she replied, and for once Archon faltered, completely unsure of how to respond. Never before has someone replied so calmly to one of Archon’s crude eruptions, so of course, confusion was an expected reaction.

Granted, this hardly lasted, and before long, Archon had returned to glaring, now more irritated than before. But based on his curt reply, it was evident that confusion still hindered Archon’s ‘tough guy’ façade, no matter how fierce his tone was. “I guess,” he replied harshly, turning away from her in his annoyance and sparing his dog a glance. Its head was raised now, alert and expectant as it watched the two with quiet observation, and Archon couldn’t help but wonder if petting the creature would provide him just a smidge of that carefree demeanour the dog so often possessed. But Archon refrained from doing so, reminded of Kyon’s presence once her voice scraped across his eardrum once more. “You know how vampires and werewolves get sick if they drink each other’s blood?” she said, and as she shimmied closer, causing what little space there was between them to disappear, and also causing Archon to lean away. Of course, he knew all too well of the sickness Kyon spoke of—the sickness gained from consuming blood from the opposite species. He knew from experience, and as his eyes darted toward the speck of blood still staining the flesh of his hand, he could not quell the sudden nausea that swelled within his stomach. “Well, watch this,” she continued, grasping his bug bitten hand in a quick motion while Archon snarled, a sound foreign to his human mouth, but all too familiar with his canine half. The gnarled noise echoed in his skull, extending to each and every crevice of his psyche before settling in the left side of his head and rupturing another small part of his mind, exposing the memories that lay trapped within…

“Give me your hand, darling.”

The air stank with a wretched concoction of rotting garbage, alcohol and urine—a horrid combination in the opinion of many, but young Archon had long since grown accustomed to it. Not many smells could faze him anymore—not even the overly fragrant stench reeking from this wrinkled woman that reached a hand out toward him. The frail limb shook with the mere effort of doing so, though Archon was unable to discern the rest of her figure from the shadows casted by the desolate alleyway.

“I can’t…” he mumbled, glancing over his shoulder toward the crowd ahead of him, where the younger women he was following disappeared, dissolved by the swarm. “Mommy’s—”

The figure woozily stumbled from the darkness, revealing gritty, chapped lips pulled into a grotesque smile. “It will only take a minute.” She drew closer. “Mommy can wait, can’t she?”

“No, I—”

“Just give me the goddamn hand,” she snapped, nearly tearing the limb from his side with her icy fingers. Archon trembled within her grasp, eyes wide with fear as he struggled to break free, but her grip remained firm, nearly strangling the life from his wrist. She then forced his hand palm up and pulled it out of its fist, the hideous smile returning to her face.

“There we are,” she said, tracing the lines across his palm with her unnaturally long fingernails. “Just let me tell you your future, darling.”

Archon had long since been frightened into silence.

“Oh my,” she continued, stabbing his palm with a gangly fingernail. “You see this here? You’ll have much… how do you say… misery in life.”

She spared him a glance, but Archon just looked at her with that blank, wide-eyed stare, and she shook her head.

“And this here—?”

“Archon, what are you doing?”

Once again, his hand was harshly snatched, this time by his mother cold, angry grasp. She sounded exasperated, and Archon desperately wanted to explain, to tell his mother that he was not at fault for his disobedience, to tell her that he had tried to be the good little boy he never seemed to be, but was curtly cut off. “Mother, she—”

“You were supposed to follow me.” His mother’s tone was detached and without feeling, and Archon absently fiddled with his torn shirt cuffs, staring at the pavement beneath him.

“I’m sorry. She—”

Once again, he found himself unable to finish, this time because his mother had began moving forward and Archon found himself talking to the empty air she left in her wake. All he could do was sigh and hastily follow in order to prevent further reprimand. But he could not forbid himself a tentative glance over his shoulder toward where he had once stood, only to hear the strange wrinkled lady screech, “Hey, you owe me £20!”

…But it was not these words that now occupied his thoughts; it was the wretched, leering smile, that smile of rotting teeth and a rotting soul, that smile which uttered such misfortune with an amused malevolence. ‘You’ll have much misery in life,’ it said, and Archon couldn’t help but wonder if this was what misery was—this fear that always gripped his heart and this terror that constantly filled his marrow and this anger that usually tore at his vocal cords.

Usually.

One would expect Archon to be filling the void with his enraged snarls, and he himself was surprised by the fact that he was not. Instead, all that managed to escape his lips was a muttered, “The hell are you doing?” And even this was only brought forth with a slight irritation, and, oddly enough, his usual anger was silent, snuffed away to make room for more intense emotions coursing through his veins—emotions that told him to flee, yet paralysed him and bound him to this bench at the very same instance. Emotions that commanded him to rip his hand away, yet allowed the vampire to lick the blood from his flesh, Archon himself stunned into silence. Emotions that shivered just beneath his skin and caused goose bumps to ripple across his covered arms, yet he burned with his own internal heat.

“I’ve seen vamps drop dead doing that,” she announced, lifting her head away from him with a smirk, just as the wrinkled old lady had all those years ago, yet her lips pulled away to reveal a pair of fangs, not a rotting set of teeth and a rotting soul.

Immediately Archon tore his hand away and returned it to the comfort of his lap. His recent blast from the past left him both scorned and confused, distracted from his surroundings by the inner thoughts floating within his head. However, he did manage to half-heartedly note that his dog was no longer resting on his stomach, and was instead sitting upon its haunches, perhaps spooked by Archon’s earlier snarl, but now it just seemed to raise an eyebrow at him. Archon did not know how to respond to the gesture; again he was at a loss for words, but eventually found himself saying to Kyon, “You, like, a masochist or what?” This was spoken more to fill the void between them than anything, and his words were stripped of tone, leaving his lips in a detached curiosity. Oddly, not even irritation leaked into his voice—perhaps he had such an emotional overload that they all short circuited. However, he still did wonder what could have possibly triggered her latest stunt. In Archon’s mind, she either relished in pain or she was some sort of supervampire and therefore, did not feel the effects of the sickness.

Truth be told, Archon found the former much more comforting.



(lololol a flirt... oh poor Archon).

[Kyon Girard]

(( If I didn’t love you, I’d be a hypocrite. =D ))

“Well you look like your name should be Blood Sucking Leech, but you don’t hear me advertising it.”

The snort of Archon’s that had preceded this was almost exactly replicated by Kyon once he was done speaking, only hers had had an undertone of mirth in it, while his had been indignation. She’d heard that ‘leech’ comment so many times that she sometimes found herself using it to refer to her own kind. With the way it was used, it was easily as bad as any other derogatory race word, but somehow it didn’t bother because frankly it was rather true. Some vampires would have been dismayed at this sort of view on the race, but this woman relished in such a comparison. She enjoyed that fear that others emitted when they knew you were after their blood and the paranoia that so many carried with them at not knowing who those blood suckers were, they were just like leeches hiding in a swamp, except they hid in plain sight in their human-looking exteriors. It was a fun game, she thought, to goad people into suspecting as to what she was, and then prove them right, or sometimes wrong, about it, to her this was just like a good ole game of cat and mouse.

Mosquito might have worked as well, Kyon thought briefly as one landed upon the wolf’s skin. That was a less fitting association though, as mosquitoes where less than quiet; you could hear them coming from a few feet away, even as tiny as they were. Vampires, at least the skillful ones, were silent when they wanted to get at their prey. While it was fun to chase after people, if you cornered someone in an alleyway, it was not in the best sense to get them making a racket and alerting everyone on the street to what was going on. There wouldn’t even be enough time to drain half a liter of blood out of a victim before the police arrived, and then you’d be left with an infected human, who die a boring death in the hospital or turn vampire and run around London searching for the one that had turned them. The woman herself had turned one or two people, but none had ever come looking for her. It was possible that they didn’t care to or that the search was too difficult. The latter settled better in her mind and so it was the one she hung onto.

Vampires also couldn’t be squashed so easily, not in just one hit. Though that blood that it had brought from Archon’s hand was tempting, and Kyon had to weird about it. Obviously, the wolf thought she was being odd as well, as he let out a lame few words of protest. “The hell are you doing?” With her lips currently pressed to the man’s skin, she couldn’t reply and even her words once she pulled away did nothing to respond to his question. Not that she wanted to alleviate that confusion that she now found scrawled all over his face, it rather amused her how dumbfounded he seemed by her actions.

“You, like, a masochist or what?” His tone fell so flat on Kyon’s ears that her smirk fell to a soft sort of smile, finding it a little disconcerting. The man’s attitude had changed rather quickly in only a few minutes and he no longer acted so defensive, his personality had just drained since then. Perhaps he was just tired of putting on that badass front, and that was understandable, though it hadn’t been terribly convincing as he had a sort of nervousness about him that was at all intimidating. The vampire hoped this wouldn’t make his any less interesting to speak to. While it would be good for her to get home soon and tend to Sage, she was enjoying being out in the open air and actually having some company that wouldn’t only bark at you in response to human words.

“I suppose I am, in a way,” Kyon finally replied, shrugging softly before turning her head to spit onto the sidewalk, wanting to get a bit of that disgusting taste of wolf blood off of her tongue. This attracted the attention of Archon’s dog, Jasper as she would call him now, no matter what the wolf thought, and he looked up to the woman, ears swiveling toward her. She winked softly at the animal before her attention was back on the man. “And wolf blood always reminds me of my dear old mummy and daddy.” A almost malicious grin lit her face at this. “Well, at least one pair of them.” Truth be told, she had absolutely despised her foster werewolf parents, they’d been complete bastards to her, but at least they’d been there, unlike her real mother. Nowadays, she didn’t care so much that her mother had abandoned her and it certainly relieved her that she didn’t have to deal with her retard brother, that would have been murder. Ha, murder, lovely play on words.

“Besides,” she added after a short pause, intentionally stretching her arms behind her so that her bosom was pressed before her, “how are you supposed to relish the pain of others if you have no gauge of pain yourself?” Sighing, Kyon let her arms fall limply onto the back of the bench, head now resting on one shoulder as she continued to eye the wolf. “Why are you such a mess?” she asked quietly, more to herself than anything as she didn’t expect him to answer. Her eyebrows came down in a soft V as she stared at him, trying to figure out the source of his unkempt appearance. Didn’t badasses usually try to keep themselves looking put together and capable? No one was going to be frightened of you the way you wanted them to if you looked like a homeless man. Now, Archon wasn’t quite at that stage, but it few more days of neglecting his image, and he’d exactly resemble some poor vagrant. Again, not so impressive. The vampire herself made sure that she always looked her best. Even tonight she was dressed nicely, in dark wash jeans, dark tank top, a few nice necklaces, hell she even had heels on.

(( Archon is fun to bother ^_^ ))