Eliasdagood
Golden ball of bloody cuteness
Korvashta sits at her ‘escort’s’ side, refusing to look at him. The messenger has been sent to deliver her to a man she’s heard quite a lot about as of late. He’s been causing a bit of a stir. Some see him as useful, others as dangerous, others still as impudent. Her master subscribes to the former two beliefs, and as such, saw fit to offer her up as both a gift, and a preemptive peace offering. As for Korvashta herself, she sees Benton as the man who may well decide to dissect her and study what makes her tick.
She can see herself in the tinted glass of the car window, slit pupiled amber eyes staring back at her. She’s been cleaned up more than she’s been allowed in a while, her long black hair braided down her back to show the brand of her house on the side of her neck. No doubt Benton will want to add his own seal if he lets her live. Her pointed ears tilt back at the thought, long, pointed teeth bared in anger and frustration. She’s sick of having to wait moment to moment to see if her master of the time will decide she’s worthy of life. At least she’s good looking, for what she is. It isn’t hard to see the traits that mark her as the daughter of a nosferatu, possibly the lowest class of vampire. So not only is she a dhampir, but a low one at that.
She sighs, as the car stops, and the messenger moves around, carefully unlocks her car door, and grabs her arm immediately to pull her out. Does he want to get attacked? Because that’s how you get attacked. For now, Korvashta restrains herself, letting him lead her up to the door, and rap on it three times. She waits anxiously, hoping this won’t end in her having to fight her way out. Because she isn’t sure she can.
St. Boethius
She can see herself in the tinted glass of the car window, slit pupiled amber eyes staring back at her. She’s been cleaned up more than she’s been allowed in a while, her long black hair braided down her back to show the brand of her house on the side of her neck. No doubt Benton will want to add his own seal if he lets her live. Her pointed ears tilt back at the thought, long, pointed teeth bared in anger and frustration. She’s sick of having to wait moment to moment to see if her master of the time will decide she’s worthy of life. At least she’s good looking, for what she is. It isn’t hard to see the traits that mark her as the daughter of a nosferatu, possibly the lowest class of vampire. So not only is she a dhampir, but a low one at that.
She sighs, as the car stops, and the messenger moves around, carefully unlocks her car door, and grabs her arm immediately to pull her out. Does he want to get attacked? Because that’s how you get attacked. For now, Korvashta restrains herself, letting him lead her up to the door, and rap on it three times. She waits anxiously, hoping this won’t end in her having to fight her way out. Because she isn’t sure she can.
St. Boethius