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Post by reed on Jul 19, 2011 22:36:23 GMT -5
 
Oh, the things you could see with a new pair of eyes. Not quite, could Reed get used to them yet. Oh, no yet.
He examined the sick beggared, slumped against the side of a casual street as he walked past it towards the neighborhood houses. He focused in on the guy’s beard, crumbed with bead and God-knows-what else, sticking to the threads of his mane like tape to a wall. Reed continued forward, even as the man eyed him curiously, looking him over like a magazine cover. He eyed him back, giving him the spits. Cool it, Clyde, he almost wanted to remark, but he kept his words to himself. He had to at least act normal until he hit the lamp-lit sidewalks, and then he could sprint home. Or, not sprint. Walk? Or was it running? It, well, it felt like walking. . .
Reed shook his head and rubbed his temple. I don’t dig this shindig at all. . . he mumbled inwardly, reaching a hand into his loafers to pick out a rock. He flung it away with the effort of a fly and hit the gracious sign that let him know he was in the parameters. He acknowledged it. First, made sure it was the correct address. Knowing him, he could have goofed it. But he doublechecked and pushed forward into the neighborhood, throwing the piece of paper into the flowerbed below the sign.
It felt like seconds. Going this far into the neighborhood, it could have easily taken five minutes to find the house. But for the New Improved Reed? Three seconds. Hip. . . Reed thought with a smile, reaching the door of the complex. It seemed. . . large. Much larger than what he knew to be large. It was substantial. He took a couple of steps back, eyeing the top of it. It was high up there. Man. . . could he jump up there now?
His inner child toyed with him. Try it, Clyde, he thought to himself. A feisty grin caught his lips. Yeah, try it, it urged. He wanted to go up, but something held him down, a certain sense. What was it? It alerted him, he knew that much. It tugged at his ears and nose. He heard footsteps, pitter patters of feet. He heart air move around inside. But did that necessarily mean that someone was inside? He knew it meant ‘food’ whenever he was scouting someone to kill, but this wasn’t food. This was that Will kid he had met a month ago. How could he tell the difference?
He suddenly felt disorganized. He stood at the door, before he heard something approach. He stiffened, putting his hands in his pockets.
- tag : Wilhem Schwartz (Sloan?)
- notes : say what?
- words : how many?
- music :All of Me - Michael Buble
- outfit : Stuck in a Time Machine
- credit : template brought to you by the actress !. lyrics from in the mourning by paramore !
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Post by tomi on Jul 20, 2011 4:14:17 GMT -5
Billa shook his head, running his fingers though his hair as his boots strutted around the closet in his bedroom. He reached over on to one of the hangers and and plucked a belt off the wall before pulling it through the loops of his jeans, nimbling clasping it together with thin pale fingers. Stepping out of the small space, he ran his fingers over the top of the nightstand before picking up the necklace and ring he had discarded a few hours before before putting them on. His eyes flickered over to the wall mirror that hung on the opposite wall as he took in his own reflection, his pensive, khol-lined eyes running over his outfit critually before he picked up a jacket that was carelessly tossed on the bed and pulled it on, stepping out of the doorway as he did so.
As always, his footfalls were silent, it was rare, unless there was a fight between his vampire friends, that there were any noise from his apartment since he had moved it- had he not met Rachel, that may have been another story. But he had always been away since he had brought the place, it was only a storage hold for his clothes- god (if there was one) knows that he never goes anywhere without them. The more metal and chokers the better- and that was adding to his habit of buying expensive things for really no reason other then to show it off. His home was far from giving off the air of 'homey' there was no comfort in his house, perhapes due to the funiture being for 'looks' rather then 'comfortability'; or it could be that the design was completely white- rather then warm colors. It was like stepping into a furniture store when one entered Bill's house, it wasn't a home. He didn't really mind it- it was a place to stay- it was good enough.
His body, to a human seemed to be popping in and out from one place to another as he moved at a speed only a vampire could match. He moved through the room to make sure it was neat and clean before sitting down on the couch, crossing his legs and leaning back. He had recieved a message- a vampire he had met not too long ago was arrive. Poor reckless fool- someone living in the fifties- he was an utter disaster accord to Bill's eyes. He was still at the stage where time was moving to fast for him to go along with- the era have long since passed, but he's had the swag of a man fresh off the time machine. He shook his head, writers, he recalled, tend to keep to themselves, one could see why Reed had managed to stay so unnnoticed for all those years. Reclusive he must be.
Turning his head to the side in the slightest he heard the younger vampire approach. His browns knitted together before he swiftly stood and opened the door. His red eyes meet the eyes of the vampire before he opened the door wider and let the man inside. 'Reed,' he purred smoothly as he observed the other man- compared to a human, he was flawless, smooth steps, perfect features and an aurora that everyone wanted- to a vampire, he was awkward, he didn't fit in. Bill wondered how he had even gotten here without suspicion.
... Maybe he was exaggerating, just a little.
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Post by reed on Jul 31, 2011 22:19:15 GMT -5
At the sound of someone opening the door – and even before that, the sound of steps approaching it – Reed looked like a deer in the headlights when Bill answered it. He took a moment to register the blunt beauty of another intelligent lifeform that he was just now meeting formally. He took an unnecessary breath of air, before realizing. . . that was pointless. But he didn’t want to seem like a fool. He just wasn’t sure of how to approach another fellow being that was like his own. It felt like meeting your distant cousins that you never talked to. You knew you were related, yet. . . you didn’t know a stitch about each other to the bone.
”Wil. . . helm?,” he awkwardly sputtered out, unsure of just how to pronounce his name. What was that, German? It had to be. Cultural sparks purred in his mind, but he pushed World War II out of his head. Old habits die hard, he was reminded, but that was only because his father had an issue with the war. Reed was born after it. He didn’t give a shit. Only a stitch of Irish lilt came to his tone like a dancing song, playing and elongating his vowels as he spoke. His hands seemed perfectly placed within his pockets. ”I said it right, right? Wilhelm?”
He toyed with his lip, biting it lightly, aware of his canines but doing the human gesture habitually. He wouldn’t have been so nervous, had it of been any one else, but. . . this was different. He was a vampire. And clearly. He had the black clothes, makeup, everything. . . He looked straight out of the story book, if you asked him. He looked him over, his eyes shifting as quick as a blink, darting quickly back to Bill’s eyes.
”You got a nickname, Clyde?” he suggested, never losing one inch of his 50s culture.
- tag : Wilhem Schwartz (Sloan?)
- notes : :>
- words : 323
- music :All of Me - Michael Buble
- outfit : Stuck in a Time Machine
- credit : template brought to you by the actress !. lyrics from in the mourning by paramore !
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Post by tomi on Aug 5, 2011 6:08:27 GMT -5
Stepping forward, Bill arched a brow as he opened the door, revealing the ginger. Hearing his name, he tilted his head forward as a sign of acknowledgement to the other, but instead of saying anything, he merely inspected the being before him. A awkward vampire, doing human things without thinking- that Irish voice, he wasn't from around her- but neither was Bill. However, it was the words that the voice formed that made him want to visibly cringe. Clyde? It was clear that he didn't belong in the twenty first century if he was planning on using words like that. But it was a stage some vampires will experience,the inability to take control of time and follow along with the trends of the current, human population. It took a lot of work to break Bill's own habits and manner of speech, and yet sometimes it still was stuck with him. Rachel knew that well, despite the modern look- there was a side of him that was cultured back in the eighteen hundreds.
He arched a cool, thin brow at the other man. 'As close as you can get,' he uttered smoothly, taking a step back and letting the man in. 'Call me Bill,' he added a moment later in response to the question. Waiting until the younger vampire stepped through, the door closed with a soft click as the older vampire flourished a hand. 'Make yourself comfortable, Reed,' he purred as he sat down on one of the seats that was next to the couch. 'You were changed during the fifties, I assumed?' he questioned, more or less just to be polite, it was painfully obvious.
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NOTES:[/b._.