DeadnotSleeping
Nervous Wreck
Ichabod almost laughed as he spoke, instead of his enchanted son. His voice was surprisingly warm and calm now.
“Really sorry. Even if he would realize you were offering that to him, he couldn’t take it… but thank you, nonetheless. I really appreciate your kindness. Eat it all up, and don’t worry. I made sure that Amos already had his fill before we left…”
Then, even Ichabod’s attention was firmly grabbed by the wonderful performance, too, and all three vampires kept silence, just staring at the stage. Even though they were not mortals anymore, they were also absorbed by the supreme acting.
Amos was practically vibrating from excitement, embracing Ganyemedes tight, watching the play with twinkling eyes. Sometimes, he formed the words too, silently, taken entirely with Prospero…
Tibor somehow acted easier towards the end of the play. Like his lover calmed down… or felt more taken with him than with his fear. Whatever it was caused by. It became increasingly less difficult to focus on the role. Even with this, the Toreador performed well, still acting from his heart, taking souls and hearts from the enchanted audience. He even felt the hateful glare soften, then disappear, only true amazement and satisfaction remained.
He succeeded. He was sure he succeeded.
Tibor finished the play with all of his heart, still overshadowing every single other person on the stage. No one seemed to mind, and even them cheered for the vampire as he bowed before the curtains. The actor was soaking in the love of the audience, and felt it strengthened him, truly injecting life into his veins. He was smiling, sure that Ganyemedes felt the same, too, trying to pour some of his happiness into his lover’s heart.
He stood, straight and proud, as people started to toss flowers to the stage, in the middle of the rose rain, sincerely elated himself…
Then, a slither of danger. A looming advance.
Tibor moved quick, but still not inhumanly, gracefully catching and grabbing at the golden projectile, aimed at him. He had to muffle back the scream as the sharp end of the rose pierced his palm; the actor just closed his injured left around the stalk, staring at the best lodge for a moment. He was sure the Prince threw this, the inhuman strength and precise aim told him as much… and when he looked down on the rose, he shivered.
It was a beautifully crafted, pure gold rose. The blossoms crushed around the single, red ruby in the pistil. Even the stalk was bent, and not by the force it was thrown with…
Tibor froze up from the inside, even as he bowed deeply, to hide his frightened expression, turn it into one of thanksgiving.
This wasn’t a gift of honour.
This was a warning…
“Really sorry. Even if he would realize you were offering that to him, he couldn’t take it… but thank you, nonetheless. I really appreciate your kindness. Eat it all up, and don’t worry. I made sure that Amos already had his fill before we left…”
Then, even Ichabod’s attention was firmly grabbed by the wonderful performance, too, and all three vampires kept silence, just staring at the stage. Even though they were not mortals anymore, they were also absorbed by the supreme acting.
Amos was practically vibrating from excitement, embracing Ganyemedes tight, watching the play with twinkling eyes. Sometimes, he formed the words too, silently, taken entirely with Prospero…
Tibor somehow acted easier towards the end of the play. Like his lover calmed down… or felt more taken with him than with his fear. Whatever it was caused by. It became increasingly less difficult to focus on the role. Even with this, the Toreador performed well, still acting from his heart, taking souls and hearts from the enchanted audience. He even felt the hateful glare soften, then disappear, only true amazement and satisfaction remained.
He succeeded. He was sure he succeeded.
Tibor finished the play with all of his heart, still overshadowing every single other person on the stage. No one seemed to mind, and even them cheered for the vampire as he bowed before the curtains. The actor was soaking in the love of the audience, and felt it strengthened him, truly injecting life into his veins. He was smiling, sure that Ganyemedes felt the same, too, trying to pour some of his happiness into his lover’s heart.
He stood, straight and proud, as people started to toss flowers to the stage, in the middle of the rose rain, sincerely elated himself…
Then, a slither of danger. A looming advance.
Tibor moved quick, but still not inhumanly, gracefully catching and grabbing at the golden projectile, aimed at him. He had to muffle back the scream as the sharp end of the rose pierced his palm; the actor just closed his injured left around the stalk, staring at the best lodge for a moment. He was sure the Prince threw this, the inhuman strength and precise aim told him as much… and when he looked down on the rose, he shivered.
It was a beautifully crafted, pure gold rose. The blossoms crushed around the single, red ruby in the pistil. Even the stalk was bent, and not by the force it was thrown with…
Tibor froze up from the inside, even as he bowed deeply, to hide his frightened expression, turn it into one of thanksgiving.
This wasn’t a gift of honour.
This was a warning…