forum Rp, anyone? // CLOSED // oxo

Started April 07, 2020 by @PaperHats business

tune

Sire strode through the alley, his sunken eyes fixed on the figure standing to the side. His coat whisked gracefully behind him as he walked, his hand already resting above his revolver.
The darkness of night cloaked him in a veil of shadows as he flew briskly down the cobblestone path, clutched between walls of closed buildings. It was too late for standard activity, but that wasn’t what Sire was looking for.
Before the figure interrupting Sire’s line of sight could take another drag of his cigar, Sire had cornered him against the wall, leaning questionably close with a cold look in his eyes. They lacked the moonlight’s shine, looking more like voids than usual colorful orbs.
“Where’s Lucanis?” he growled, his voice deep and threatening. The man just lowered his cigar, raising an eyebrow.
“Who’s asking?” the man spat.
“The same guy who’s going to be ripping out your tongue and wearing it like a necklace if you don’t answer the question,” Sire muttered, stepping closer.
“Questionable choice of jewelry,” he replied gruffly, adverting his eyes.
Sire didn’t take his gaze from the man as he mumbled, “Go off and tell Lucanis I was looking for him. If, for some ungodly reason, you don’t… then I have a pure silver bullet with your name on it.”
Sire shoved the man aside, continuing his stride down the alley. When he finally broke into the main road, he took a deep breath. He could hear the retreating footsteps of the man and shook his head, beginning to walk again. This time, more slow and calculated.
As he sauntered along the path lit just by the faint light of the city lamps, he noticed a building not to far with its lights still on. One of the very few places that were still open during this time of night.
Sire pushed the door open, met by a bar with a few straggling drunks left in it. By this hour, you were either already drunk or looking to get wasted. Sire was neither, just wanting a place to take a breather.
He sat down at the bar, guns clinking quietly in their holsters.
“Can I get you anything, sir?” a voice asked, drawing his jaded eyes up to a young man.
“Gin,” he replied, monotone.
“Yes, sir.”

_{(I was thinking that Lucanis was a vampire that maybe knows/knew of who killed Sire’s mother? If that works. Also don’t worry about the length of the passage, I just made this one long because it was a starter).}

(Alright, thank you! And that definitely works!- Also, what country is this in? I assumed Britain, though maybe you have a different view)

Clifford sat in his apartment, pouring over an antique book he had found in his late father’s collection. His apartment was small, dimly lit, and full of souvenirs from his and his father’s travels- mainly from Asia, though a few European trinkets lay here and there. A Persian rug, beautiful in its deep jewel tones of red and blue, hung on Clifford’s wall. An Iranian incense burner on the shelf. A Chinese guardian lion carved from jade right next to it. Venetian masks hung over his door, right above the hamsa. Walls plastered in newspaper clippings, ticket stubs, pages torn from books, pressed flowers, anything and everything that he deemed important.

His landlady, Mrs Etta Sapping, was a kind enough old woman. She rented the building out to anyone who could pay the first month’s rent, meaning the apartment building was almost a hotel; people cycling in and out at a moment’s notice. Clifford was one of her only tenants who had been there longer than a year.

_{(Britain works! Also, love the setting you described. Clifford’s rad)}

Sire caught the glass in a gloved hand as the bartender slid it down the counter. Sire flipped over a coin, passing back to the barkeep, who pocketed it and continued whatever he had been doing beforehand.
Sire took a swig, feeling the liquid fire seep down his throat. He furrowed his brow as he set the glass back down on the table. The alcohol was cheap, meaning not adequate quality. In this case, that was true.
He glared out the window, muttering to himself. He glanced over to the bartender, raising an eyebrow. He would need a place to stay tonight… and he didn’t necessarily have a place to go back to, unless…
Sire shook his head, adverting his eyes back out the window. He’d find someplace elsewhere, for he wasn’t particularly in the mood for charms. He was simply irritated, and hoping the gin would take off a bit of his edge.
Slowly he propped his head on one of his hands, his gloved fingers dancing across his cheek. He’d been searching the last two years for his mother’s killer, seeming to get further and further away each day. Lucanis was his first official lead, and even then he had no clue if it would work out.
What he needed was a partner, much to his dismay. He was a sucker for working alone. But he needed someone knowledgeable. Someone who knew of the unknown, so to speak.
He took another sip, feeling the heat douse him once again. His quest was officially changed. In the meantime, when that man was off telling Lucanis of Sire’s events, Sire would find someone worthy of accompanying him. It was settled.

(Cheers, thank you! I find it’s my strong suit, lmao)

Clifford shut his book, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. He got off of his bed, taking his bed back to its spot on his desk. A desk littered with papers and ink stains and scratches and chips in the wood, but a good desk nonetheless. His honey eyes watched the rainy streets of the city below him, dimly lit with their gas lamps. Cool rain drizzled down from the sky, pooling in the recesses of the cobbled streets.

He was bored. Incredibly so. Clifford didn’t leave his apartment much unless he was going to work, and even then, that bookshop was only a few blocks away. His neighbors were a little too… bland for Clifford’s taste, to be put politely. There were open apartments, and Mrs Sapping was working diligently to get them filled, to the point where she’d rent them at a moment’s notice sometimes.

A feral cat slunk down the street, its scarred tail flicking this way and that was it skulked. Clifford ran a thin hand through his hair, which looked like it hadn’t been styled in a day or two. He tugged at the collar of his nightshirt, rolling it between his index finger and thumb while he continued to watch out of his window.

Sire bid farewell to his glass as he drained it, setting it back down on the counter and letting out a slight growl. He pushed himself from the stool, raising a hand in leave to the barkeep as he made way to the door.
He pushed it open, his coat following swiftly behind as he moved into the abandoned street. The cobblestone walkways on either side bored him, so he decided to walk in the middle of the road. It was potentially risk-free from carriages, seeing as it was late, and even the lamp lights seemed dim. He watched as drunkards slurred their words, falling over one another, while businessmen returned home from a late-night shift.
Sire didn’t necessarily have a plan on where he planned to stay. If he was lucky, he’d find an inn. If he wasn’t… well, it wouldn’t be the first time he slept in an alley.

As he walked down the street, he took his time, sauntering with grace. His hair was brushed up and four of his face— the only place that could show his pale skin, for the rest of his body was covered. The moonlight reflected off of his dark attire, pale complexion, and strong features. To an uninformed eye, he may have even been a vampire. But, alas, he wasn’t. Possibly the farthest thing from one. He hated the monsters with a burning passion.

Clifford rubbed his eyes with a wide yawn. The drunks on the street wobbled and teetered around like spinning tops, all whirling themselves somewhere or another. The pub where most of them had crawled out of was a cheap little place, nestled underneath another stack of apartments. A dark figure stalking through the night caught his curious eye. At first glance, Clifford only spotted his long coat that swayed behind him with every sauntering step.

And then he caught sight of the man’s sickly pale skin. A chill ran down his spine. Could he be- no, no, of course not! He covered his mouth with a hand, stepping away from the window. Clifford prayed that he wouldn’t be easily spotted from his place in the window, lest the strange figure in the street actually be some sort of infernal creature.

Sire let out a long, labored sigh, taking his hands from his pockets and brushing his hair aside once more. The hands were no longer gloved, showing just the slightest bit more of his pale complexion. However, when his hair fell back into his face, he didn’t bother with fixing it again.
Sire blinked his eyes up for a moment, catching a sight of a couple figures a few paces before him. All were cloaked in dark clothing, much like he.
Just to be safe, Sire wandered off to the side, propping himself up on the wall of a building.
At least here, he could think. From his pocket he drew a pure silver bullet, twirling it between his fingers.
At least now no unwanted company would bug him. He knew silver bullets were fatal to vampires, and even contact with skin— in the slightest— would be loads of pain.

Sire stood his post for a while, twirling the bullet and getting stuck within his own mind. He almost replayed the entirety of his past when a glint in a nearby window caught his attention. His hollow blue eyes gazed up, noting a man roughly his age framed perfectly by the moonlight illuminating the windowsill. Sire raised an eyebrow at the peculiar expression, but paid little to no mind. He simply went back to his twirling, clearing his throat and looking up to the glowing moon.

Clifford noted the figure-like shapes. From his view, they were simply dark smudges against an already dark background, like black paint on a wrought iron fence. Barely there.

He turned away from the window the moment he saw the strange man’s gaze fall directly onto him. Clifford rubbed his eyes again, drawing his curtains about halfway and sitting at his desk. His hands shook slightly, but that was nothing new. Clifford shuffled through his stack of newspaper, trying to find any reports of vampire-esque creatures within the past few months. Not a lot, only missing persons reports. Though sad, all too common in that city. Barely notable. Clifford dropped his newspapers underneath his desk, adding onto the growing pile. He’d been meaning to sort them out, put them on a shelf at least, but for now they were simply piled up on his floor.

Clifford leaned back in his seat, wrists pushed against his head and head tipped backwards. He couldn’t get that image out of his mind, though. That vampiric man stepping with a noticeable grace through the streets. Why hadn’t Clifford heard of him before? He gritted his teeth, thin fingers pushing his uncombed hair out of his face and backwards.

Sire gaze flicked back to the man, slightly curious as he watched his figure slink back into the shadows of his home. Or, apartment, moreover. He was curious, now.
Do I really look that threatening? he asked himself, slipping the bullet back in his pocket. He shook his head, stifling a crooked smile at the irony of the question.
His eyes drifted down to the entrance of the apartments. There were multiple written signs about open housing, Sire noting how desperate they were just through the phrasing.
Might not be a bad idea, he thought, rubbing a finger under his chin. I need a place… for a while, at least.

Making up his mind, Sire slunk from the shadows and into the road, walking with authority to the other side. He turned, making his way to the entrance. Slowly, he raised a hand. His eyes wandered to the signs one last time before a knock echoed on the gate. He slipped his hands behind his back, clasping them together and tapping a foot, waiting for whoever would greet him. If anyone. He wouldn’t be surprised if he got no response at this time.
His eyes strayed to the multiple doors across the buildings, littered with fire escapes and windows. The cold air ruffled his hair slightly, and he took a deep breath. He didn’t really care about placement or convenience of the apartment he got— hell, he’d pick whatever was cheapest. He wasn’t planning on spending much time in it. Just the nights, perhaps. Being a wanderer was tiring from time to time.

Clifford stared up at his ceiling for a fair few minutes. The plaster was peeling in select spots, flaking and occasionally falling off in thin slices whenever an upstairs neighbor would turn on their water for too long.

As the for rent! signs written in neat cursive and placed in the downstairs windows would very succinctly describe, the apartments were cheap. It only solidified the place’s reputation as an unofficial hotel, but it made enough money.

Clifford nearly leapt out of his skin when he heard the knocking on the grate. It travelled well enough up to his apartment, especially with the window cracked as it was. Being her longest tenant, Mrs Sapping entrusted Clifford with, if the situation arose, meeting potential clients during the night while she slept. Lord knew he didn’t. He snatched his dressing gown from the back of his desk chair, slipping it on and tying it around his waist before making sure he looked quasi-presentable and headed down the numerous flights of stairs.

He opened the front door to the building, swallowing the lump in his throat. He didn’t move out of the way to allow Sire in. Not yet. “Ehm- good evening- or night, rather. Can I help you?” His voice was smooth like honey as he spoke, but a touch nervous. He hoped it didn’t show.

Sire kept his eyes plastered to the signs, having them wander down and note every notch and crack in the vintage wood. He gave a nod, slowly bring his eyes back to meet the man who had opened the door.
Much to Sire’s surprise, it was the man from before. The man that had looked terrified when Sire met his eyes. He narrowed his own slightly, taking the reaction now as sort of an insult. He kept his hands clasped tightly behind his back, his eyes silently wandering over the man’s figure. Not necessarily in a flirtatious way, just taking note of who he was dealing with. Although, with Sire, it could have been taken either way.
“Yes, sir,” he said, his voice surprisingly melodic for his emotionless face. “I’m interested in a room. Of course, if you’re renting at this hour.”

Sire glanced past the man into the room behind him for just a moment, then quickly back to his eyes. They were quite pretty, he would admit. Although he was just here for a room. A post, so to speak. He’d be gone the first thing in the morning.
He brought his attention back to the man, not bothering to give even a fake smile. He was just tired and impatient, but not enough to realize that the person before him was still a bit nervous. Sire gave no sign that he knew.
He slowly took his hands from behind his back and shoved them in his pockets, letting out a slight sigh in the cold air. His breath coiled, the white rising through the air, then disappearing. He looked inquisitively at the man, awaiting his answer.

Clifford took note of the man’a sizing him up. How was he even supposed to take that? A threat? Flirting? Neither? Both? If Clifford looked threatening to anyone, he’d consider getting their eyes checked. Lean, a few inches shorter than the other man- Clifford looked birdlike, from his thin stature to his pronounced cheekbones. He raked his thin fingers through his hair. “We’re renting at any hour, sir. Take what business you can get in these times.” He laughed slightly. “Er- shall I fetch the landlady, then? Get some papers drawn up?”

Clifford rocked on his heels. He had a right to be wary. It was the dead of night, no earlier than 2 AM, and he knew the town’s missing persons reports like the back of his hand. Strange men arriving at your doorstep was nearly always trouble, no matter how handsome. And this man was handsome, at least to Clifford. Not enough to blind him to his subtleties, however. His narrowed eyes. His cold gaze. Nothing that seemed to bode well for Clifford.

As the man spoke, Sire let his eyes wander once more. Once up to the moon, then down to its reflection on the wet ground. Thankfully he was under the cover of the overhang enough to escape the douse of rain drizzling from above. But fresh running water was nothing of fear to him. If anything, it was refreshing. He’d read enough folklore to know, possibly, those wretched vampiric beasts weren’t fans of the concept of rain. But then again, Sire’s folklore and monster knowledge was nowhere near acceptable. He simply just had his poorly informed theories and intimidation.

Sire looked back to meet the man’s peer. “Yes, thank you. That would be much appreciated.”
He stood a couple paces from the doorway, and still held his ground even when the man before him eased his speech. He stood still, not rocking on his feet nor tapping a finger. Like he had acknowledged before, he was tired.
If his demeanor didn’t show it well enough, he stifled a yawn, bringing his hand up to shield it. As it subsided, he brushed the hand through his untamed hair, only for it to fall back across his forehead as the hand returned to its pocket. All of this just added to his tired eyes, accompanied by the dark circles beneath them. Though the characteristics more prominent now, they were more or less always present.

Clifford sucked in a breath. “Right.” He glanced behind him, back towards the tall stairwell that spiraled up the whole building. “Well, then. I won’t be long.” He was certainly wary of this man. He wasn’t sure if he should invite him inside or not, though Mrs Sapping would surely crucify him if Clifford left the man out in the rain. “Would you like to- er- would you like to come in while you wait?”

He opened the door further, stepping out of the way so that Sire could come in. The ground floor was mainly a sitting room, as evidenced by the few sofas positioned around the fireplace (which was black with layers of soot, desperately crying out for a cleaning). “I shouldn’t be more than ten minutes, if that.” He began to hike up the wooden stairs, stained dark with varnish and darker in the light. Clifford paused, turning back to look at the strange man. “What’s your name, then?”

Sire stepped in, giving a quick nod to Clifford in thanks. Though, once he entered the room, he ceased from sitting. He just stood, relaxed, thankful for the given shelter. It was sure warmer in here, and he took another deep breath.
His eyes wandered over the new surrounding, but they kept finding their way back to the man. Multiple scenarios played over in his head, but he shook them all off, passing them all as just effects of the exhaustion.

He watched as Clifford ascended the wooden steps, and was quite surprised when he stopped to ask for a name. He didn’t know people necessarily cared, especially from a business standpoint.
“Sire, sir,” he said melodically. “Sire McLinnen.”
He paused for a moment, shifting his weight from one foot to the next.
“And you?” he asked curiously. By this time, he was genuinely wondering.

Clifford nodded. He repeated the name back back, both to make sure he heard correctly and he could remember it. “Sire McLinnen. Scottish?” He inquired with a slightly raised eyebrow, but jolted slightly at the question. “Ah- me? Clifford Fallow, sir.” The melodiousness of Sire’s voice was strange. It certainly didn’t match his appearance- not in Clifford’s opinion, at least. “And the landlady here is Mrs. Etta Sapping. I’ll fetch her for you.” He quickly turned back to the staircase, ascending with a practiced speed.

Mrs. Sapping’s own flat was only on the second floor, chosen for both its size and the fact that she was getting older, and couldn't go up stairs as easily anymore. Clifford rapped on her mahogany door, praying that she wasn’t too deep asleep to hear.
“Mrs. Sapping?” He called, leaning up against her apartment door. “There’s someone here who’d like to inquire about a flat, I think!”

No response. “Mrs. Sapping!” He repeated, a little louder this time, accompanied by another hard knock.

“I’m comin’!” Mrs. Sapping barked, and the sounds of her crawling out of bed to open her door were audible from where Clifford stood. She swung the door open without warning, nearly sending Clifford (who was still leaning on it) toppling over himself in the process. “You said there’s a man downstairs?”

“I didn’t- never mind. But yes, ma’am, I think he’s interested in renting.”

“Right, then. Did you invite him inside, at least?” The older lady began her walk down the spiraling staircase, clutching onto the banister for dear life. Clifford began to help her down more easily, his honeyed eyes watching the stairs carefully.

“Of course I did.”

Sire watched as Clifford disappeared, his eyes leaving the retreating man and going back to gazing over the room. It looked about as a standard waiting room would, with somehow a cozy feel to it.
Sire nodded even after Clifford had left, repeating the name in his head. The man had been right about Sire’s somewhat Scottish background, but due to his accent alone, anyone would have said otherwise. Father from Inverness, mother from Bristol, made for some interesting dialect choices. However, everyone uninformed just identified him as thoroughly English.

Sire could hear the muffled voices of the boy echoing through the thin walls, and soon another voice joined him. It sounded much older, and feminine, for that matter. Sire watched as the figures came into view, structures he could finally tie the voices to. He gave a quick smile to the woman, although it seemed a slight bit crooked as if he didn’t really know how. To either of the others, that might as well have been factual.

Sire stepped slightly closer to the stairway, not sure whether him offering a hand or not would be helpful. He shook aside the doubt, taking a hand from his pocket and lifting it in the air so the woman could take it if she pleased.

“Salutations, ma’am,” he greeted formally, his smile already fading.

Mrs. Sapping returned his smile, hers much less awkward and more natural than his. Clearly she knew how to smile. “You’re a strapping lad, aren’t you?” She took his hand, finally getting off of the stairs. She was much shorter than Sire, probably by just under half a meter. Looked to be in her mid to late seventies. “Clifford said you’d like to rent, yes?”

Clifford leaned on the ornately carved banister, watching the exchange. He didn’t need to, but it wasn’t like he would be sleeping anytime soon. That, and Sire was an odd mix of threatening and incredibly interesting. Strange. Mrs. Sapping continued to try and sell the apartments in her creaky old voice, repeatedly mentioning how affordable they were multiple times in her pitch.

Sire listened to her ongoing speech, waiting his turn to explain what he was there for. He glanced from her to Clifford, almost like a kid looking for confirmation to what he could buy with his threepenny. He shook the demeanor quickly, however, finding a pause in her ramble to explain himself.

“Just your least expensive, ma’am,” he informed, taking an arm from his pocket and holding it against his stomach as to keep his coat from swaying when he stepped aside. “I’m not sure on how long I would be staying, but I’m banking on at least two weeks. Longer, if needed, but that would be acknowledged at the later date.”

Clifford watched the exchange with a slightly amused smile, though it was more of an upturning of a corner of his mouth than anything. Hardly noticeable. “Mrs. Sapping, I believe the apartment next to mine is still vacant. Cheapest one that’s still empty, too.” He still stood on the steps, leaning on the banister.

“Ah! So it is, so it is.” She crowed happily. “Just a pound and a half per month for that flat. One of the cheapest in the city.” Mrs. Sapping seemed to be almost boasting about it, conveniently refraining from telling Sire about the cracks in the walls and the water damage. “I won’t be charging you for a whole month, of course. How does £1 sound?” Her offer was cheap when compared to hotels or inns, and she knew it.

“Sounds perfect, ma’am,” Sire replied, already beginning to take the coin from his pocket. He was surprised with the amount, even despite his guesses. He might just have to stay there even longer at that deal. Though he wasn’t sure about it being right next to Clifford’s residence. If his neighbor was apparently secretly threatened of his presence, he wasn’t sure how well that would bode for him.

“I’ll take it,” he said plainly. He took the golden sovereign from his pocket and rolled it swiftly down his fingers, holding it out for the woman. Sire wasn’t really “made of money,” but this place was more than affordable.

Mrs. Sapping plucked the coin from Sire’s fingers. “Thank you kindly, sir. We’ll get the papers drawn up tomorrow. May I inquire a name?” She slipped the pound into the pocket of her dressing gown.

Clifford began to turn and go back up the stairs, but Mrs. Sapping snatched his arm and tugged him back. “Clifford, I’ll need you to show this young lad to his flat, dearie. I’m going back to bed.” She let go of his arm.

Clifford cleared his throat. “Right. Well, then, Mr McLinnen- if you’d just follow me, please?” He ascended two or three steps, waiting for Sire to follow.