gouttelette | pixie inbox;

[ on christmas day, claudia will find a cute cloak and oufit (though the dress is in a deep red-black). the inside has runes etched into it. these ones provide protection meaning, if it's worn, it should offer some limit of protection up to your (china's) ooc choice ]

[ Claudia will find an locket hanging from her doorknob, within containing a small vial of Armand's blood.

No context provided, no note or engraving of any kind, because one must always keep others guessing, although if she were to wear it, others would be able to sense the immense power within that blood, although who can say whether that would protect or endanger her more? Among their kind it would more usually be the former, but here... again, who can say?

And were she to drink it, well; there is enough there to heal her from that which might indeed harm even a vampire badly enough they'd otherwise need days or weeks to recover, but is it enough to strengthen her own blood, her own powers? Good question. She is certainly welcome to wonder. ]

[ A few hours after her gift arrived, a package was left outside of her door neatly wrapped in what looked like parchment, a wax seal holding a ribbon in place for the final detail.

Inside the small wrapped box resting on shredded paper was a lovely silver dagger. If it was real silver was debatable, but as decorative as it looked, it was solid. ]

Thank you for your wonderful gift. I do apologize that mine is late, but I hope it will be of service to you should you ever need it.

-Jonathan

[ The parcel comes with a letter. ]

Dear Claudia,

My sincerest thanks for the Christmas gifts you left me at the library today. The ribbon, in particular, is likely to be invaluable to my ritual practice in the future. Forgive me for my relatively paltry gift in return; I’ll admit, I was caught off-guard by your generosity. Enclosed, you will find a chalice candle (or at least, the closest to one I could produce with the materials I had at hand) and a vial of particular ink. The candle will produce a sweet scent and mild euphoria when burned; I would also like to note that its red color is due to botanical ingredients rather than those of the hematological variety.

The ink is a minor Ink of Containment. It may be used to write messages that may not be read under the sunlight and also puts off all manner of common vermin, both mundane and occult. I have heard that you are dealing with the presence of a disagreeable sort of associate in this realm. Perhaps take this ink as a symbol of my wish that you remain untroubled by this person.

I should also mention: the ink, though it does not contain any as an ingredient, smells quite pungently of feline effluence. [ That is, in facetiously fussy Librarian-speak: cat piss. ] Please use it wisely.

Merry Christmas,

Daniel

[ As promised, the parcel will indeed contain a hand-poured, crimson-colored candle and a small vial of clear, dark ink. ]

Edited (fixing subject line) 2025-12-26 09:15 (UTC)

Good day, Claudia. This is Daniel speaking. I hope the last few weeks have been kind to you.

If you're amenable, I'd like to request your help with a certain ritual. Rest assured, the danger will be minimal; neither of us will need to shed any blood, though we will each need to cut a lock of hair. I must also ask you: are you able to ingest non-hematological food and drink without becoming ill?

Do let me know if you are willing to participate. I will, of course, be happy to share whatever fruits may come of our collaboration.

[ What exactly those fruits me be, he's leaving unsaid. One never can be too careful when using these nosy little devices. ]

Hello, Daniel. Been better, been worse.

I can ingest the things you talked about that nobody else would ever say that way. Guess I ought to be happy you consider 'hematological food and drink' as valid food and drink? What'd you do, pick up some pamphlet tells you how to talk to your vampire friends without making 'em feel weird?

Gotta ask. How far down the list was I? You must know some smart magicians out here. If I was further down than number five, you oughtta say I was number five.

No pamphlet needed—it is simply my natural inclination to strive for verbal precision. [ He's poking fun at himself, just a bit. ] Anyway, I can't be sure that the vampires of your History don't ever make a blood pudding or sausage. I need a term that leaves open the possibility.

Would you believe me if I said you were the first to come to mind? You are already familiar with both myself and my rituals, and I believe you have a fitting disposition for this one. Prior expertise isn't necessary; I can instruct you on the particulars.

[there's a brief pause, where an area vampire who's never been a major priority for any grown man she's ever met contemplates this with skepticism. well, well. maybe the ritual is a minor priority. would make sense. novice in faerie that she is. and more importantly, she's curious.]

You're pretty good at talking to vampires, Mr. Owens. I'm not saying no. Hell, I'm saying 'yes.' But I've gotta ask.

What is my 'disposition?'

Hm. It's a bit odd to put into layman's terms. I mentioned "Principles" before, yes? They are, I suppose, the immaterial aspects of a person or thing, imbued by its environment, recurring behaviors, experiences, patterns of thought, and et cetera... For example, consider two blades of identical make. One is used by the assassin, the other by the fishmonger. Wash and sharpen them both and though they may still appear identical, the trained eye can discern which has taken lives and which has taken scales. Consequently, it is the former that would be the more potent of the two in a ritual of Edge.

So it is with people. Different individuals have different Principles which predispose them to certain occult practice. As for your Principles: Grail is the most obvious, but I also sense a strong potential for Moth. It is the latter which I believe would confer an advantage in the ritual at hand.

Grail.

[her voice is thoughtful.]

Sounds fancy. 'Moth' ain't bad, either, as long as it's not gonna put holes in my new clothes. I like them how they are, and all the best ones are brand new.

Thought you were gonna use some words I understand, though. Like. 'Oh, Claudia de Pointe du Lac. Spitfire. Brilliant dissembler. Jokes for days.' How you describe a person's disposition, Daniel. At least, outside of your Principles.

[ A chuckle. ] My apologies. I thought you were asking about your disposition as it relates to occult practice. You know, I don't like trying to translate Principles into personality; they are only partially related, after all, and I much prefer to get to know people via conversation.

But let's see, if you insist on a more conventional description... [ He pauses, taking stock of his various interactions with her thus far. ] You are of an inquisitive and witty disposition, somewhat acerbic at times, with a knack for whimsical turns of language and an occasional impulsive streak. Does that sound about right? [ Nothing that will offend her, he hopes. He does strive for honesty. ] You are welcome to retort with your assessment of me if it evens things out.

...Oh, and you mentioned clothes! Yes, I should mention that for this ritual, you will need to bring an extra garment, of the sort that can be removed fairly easily. A scarf, for example, or a coat.

I can bring extra clothes. I love extra clothes. Just don't fuck up my extra clothes.

[she likes the description. witty, for sure. nosy as fuck, that'd be the black auntie in her. acerbic, that's true. when was she acerbic, though? what the fuck does that mean, daniel? was she not justified, telling him off back during the first encounter, when—oh, well maybe that would be the point. sure. she got a little. intense. defensive, even.]

You're rigid. Obsessive. Bit of a control freak. Paradoxical, 'cause you know better, but maybe that's just push and pull. Too forgiving. And you think you know when you should back down from a fight, but you don't.

I promise you no harm shall come to them.

[ He's shocked into silence for a moment by her forthright evaluation of him. Eventually, he grumbles: ] Come now, I at least gave you 'witty.' [ Not even one positive descriptor? Not one? He's going to upgrade you from "somewhat acerbic" to "very acerbic" at this rate, Claudia. ]

Well, if you now feel yourself suitably avenged yourself upon me, would you let me know when you're available? I don't think it should take very long, though we will need to venture a little ways into the wood. I can meet you on the northern side of the castle once you're ready.

I trust in your promises, Daniel.

['obsessive' is positive, in vampire language! but he's not wrong. she is 'very acerbic,' at least until she isn't.]

All right. I'll get dressed and be over there in ... well I move a little faster than you do. Stuff like mealtimes ain't a problem for me, either. When do you want to go? At your leisure.

[not always acerbic, at least.]

Give me perhaps half an hour to gather all the necessary materials together, and I shall meet you there.

[ Indeed, at the given time, Daniel will be just north of the castle waiting for Claudia. Shaded from the sunlight with his cane in one hand and a canvas satchel bag slung over the other shoulder, he looks more like a man prepared for a picnic than any sort of occult ceremony. ]

[she appears, abruptly. a blur of color, a haze pattern and whisper of fabric, her hair lifted by the impossible momentum of her own passage. and then, all at once, she condenses. the same small figure he saw, once, stalking through a library toward a different ritual. she's moving faster, but there's less animosity, somehow. more familiarity.

even if, maybe, yeah, she could have pulled some of those verbal punches over the leaf. to be fair, she doesn't know her own ... strength?] Hey, Daniel.

Love how you're not bleeding yet. [a reference to that initial meeting, obviously. is it 'strength,' though, when you really aren't trying to hurt anyone? she comes loping over the last short distance between them, her shoes jostling aside dead grass and crumbled leaf litter, all brown again, after that brief and unseasonal surge of summer.] Where we going?

[ As much as Claudia had already told him of her prodigious speed of movement, it is very much another thing seeing it in person. She is practically a blur as she approaches, a flash of color and texture that that all at once takes the form of the petite, not-really-teenage girl when she condenses by his side. He blinks, a bit startled by the display, though he recovers quickly. ]

A pleasure to see you, Claudia. I did say that today's ritual wouldn't require any bloodshed, yes? [ He understands that their first meeting may have quite irreversibly colored her perception of the Invisible Arts. He wonders if she'd believe that most of the rituals he performs don't require any degree of self-mutilation at all. ]

There's a spot I've passed through while foraging before, a bit of a clearing. I believe that should be a good spot for our purposes.

[ Is it particularly wise, walking into the woods with a known blood-drinker by his side? Not more than a year ago, perhaps Daniel would have felt rather unnerved by the thought. Yet in the past many months, he's become acquainted and even friendly with enough vampiric sorts that he doesn't feel quite as foolish spending time alone in one's company.

Plus, if Claudia was the ravenous sort, she would have had plenty enough opportunity to slake her thirst when he'd been actively bleeding onto the library floor. Clearly, she is no maddened alukite.

Thus, he'll walk with her quite comfortably past the treeline, the contents of his bag clinking softly as they go. ]

Well, I'm very sensitive. [claudia is not sensitive. she is a bloodthirsty monster who killed to eat almost every night for decades and regretted little that there was near no moral framework to who she chose.] Overwhelmed by that first image, see? But don't worry. Got the rest.

[to illustrate, she darts ahead one, wolf-like stride, if wolves could skip with the mischievious bounce and grace of a fourteen-year-old girl. landing on the ball of her foot, she gives a twirl. the plaid red cape around her spins like an umbrella, revealing the black scarf tucked in underneath. once shown off, she's an easy companion. and, notably, makes pointed effort not to outpace daniel. it's subtle, the pretext. as if her legs are too short for her to overtake him.

small talk goes on the way. comments like:] I used to burn up in the sun. Honest. If this was rural France, I'd be ash, flaking up your shoes right now. [not sensitive. at one point, she stops at his side, eyeing the bag. turns up a palm, offering to carry. not insensitive, either.]

And what was it you were foraging for?

Of course, [ Daniel responds wryly. ] I forget about your delicate sensibilities.

[ It is odd, seeing her frolic about as she does, knowing what she is. The rigors and sacrifices necessary to become Long in his own world meant that someone like Claudia existing would be a virtual impossibility. She rather upends his preconceived notions about what immortals are "like," even more so than the others he's met here. ]

Truly? A quality of your History's alukites, I wonder, or a quality of its sun...

[ In his own world, alukites had been repelled by Mansus-light. But then, the sun had been a rather changeable thing, and there are accounts of a time when it was gentler, even to mortals. It's not so much of a stretch to imagine that a sun could be decidedly unkinder, if pushed that way... ]

Flowers, herbs, feathers, certain kinds of wood—alchemical and ritual ingredients, generally. Do you remember the candle I made you for Christmas? I mentioned it was made with certain botanicals. [ He'd felt the need to specify, given their striking crimson hue. ] Anyway. It gets me out of the castle.

[ At her offer to take the bag, he hesitates for just a moment, not out of fear, but rather embarrassment. It makes him feel rather old, having this seemingly much younger person offer to help with his things—he has to remind himself that Claudia is no doubt older still. ]

Thank you, [ he says, handing it over. ] Careful—there's glass inside.

[ Perhaps that would explain the clinking. As Claudia takes it, she might also notice the sound of crinkling paper. ]

[despite her tendency to flex and play when opportunity presents itself, she is careful enough with the bag. her fingers close around the strap, shift it onto her shoulder. obvious enough, that the satchel weighs next to nothing to her. barely a dip to her shoulder, and what there is, is clearly to compensate for the weight bellying inside the fabric. paper and glass. not a problem.]

You don't worry, that Faerie's influence seeps into your magic? [a sidelong glance, brow curling high.] You using the local flora. Bits and leavings grown by them.

One of us—vampire alukite—he said the sun ain't 'real,' you know. [she toes through a little pile of leaves, sending up fragments of orange and brown like confetti. all without rousing even the slightest clink from the items inside his luggage. the litter falls again, eddying in the air.] Probably means the flowers, the water, rest of this isn't, either. In the essence.

Not criticizing. [a glance up, her red eyes studying him sidelong.] Know you've got to make do. Just figure a wizard's thinking about it. Even if he's cardigans over robes.

No more than I worry about the Fae's influence seeping into the food I eat, the water I drink, or the room where I lay my head. Which is to say: I do worry about it, but there's not much to be done. I must simply use what is available to me and hope for the best. At least the outcomes have mostly been as expected—except for with some of the books.

[ He looks over at her now, smiling slightly. ] Which is, incidentally, what you'll be helping me with today. In Hush House, it was quite often that I had to strip the protections of a book so that it could be read and catalogued, but the Fae use different sorts of enchantments than the ones I'm used to. In many cases, I can't dispel them alone. I need someone a little less... hmm... habituated to my own world's way of doing things. Though, there are still a few preparations we need to make.

Namely: do you mind if I tell you a story?

[she's listening as he speaks. footfalls tramping along on a steady, ground-eating rhythm. not endlessly tireless, but close enough, compared to a human being with their normal biological limits. claudia is good at making people feel normal around her. better than most vampires, she thinks. but daniel owens doesn't seem the type to be perturbed by much of anything.]

Mind? [a quirk of her mouth, up in the corner. at least, in this way, she is easy enough.] Don't just read non-fiction, Mr. Owens. Big fan of all kinds of stories. All kinds of truth.

[she gives her little brown hand a little roll and wiggle in the air, as if setting a stage for someone. specifically, for him. the floor is his. in lieu of a spotlight, the warm winter sun, newly released back unto the world, just in time for his walk-and-talk performance.]

Wonderful. [ Daniel's smile broadens. ] I will preface by saying that this account contains both truth and rumors; in all, it is difficult to classify definitively as fiction or non-fiction.

I'll start with what is known to be true: long ago, in Bronze Age Greece, there lived an order of Long known as the House of Lethe. These were Long who, rather than serving the Hours, chose instead to live in self-imposed exile, rejecting both their past and future. Rather than seeking glory, they lived lives of obscurity and restraint, and their rules were many. However, there was one rule that was observed with a particular sort of severity and dread, a rule so great that even the Hours themselves live in fear of it: that no immortal may bring forth children.

The House of Lethe was considered radical, for even flirtation between members of the opposite sex could be met with corporal punishment or disfigurement. Indeed, potentially procreative copulation was punished with death.

Yet, there were whispers that those of the House in Damascus were even more zealous. Male initiates, it was said, were required to undergo castration, while female initiates were required to pay an still more grievous price: to strangle any of their children who still lived.

[ As Claudia listens, she may become aware of something within her reacting to the story, something simultaneously repulsed and captivated by it—a part that balks at the prospect of such rigidity and stricture, yet longs, too, to shed the past like too-tight skin. ]

In the end, the House of Lethe in Damascus shook itself to pieces with schisms and strife, yet it was said that some of the Long among them became wandering healers and exorcists under the auspices of the Sisterhood of the Triple Knot. Still, if any remain of their number, none have come forward to claim their history, and thus it remains a matter of speculation and rumor.

[ Daniel turns his head to look at Claudia, observing her carefully. ] It's not a particularly happy story, I'm afraid. But perhaps it is of interest to you, to know the history of some of the Long in my own world or at least their tales.

Edited 2026-02-07 09:38 (UTC)

[as there are phases of the moon, claudia's expression passes through emotions in unmistakable succession. easy curiosity to start. she does understand he's telling her about his world's equivalent of her people, and that's reason enough for curiosity. but then dicks start coming off, kids start getting strangled, and—it's not visceral disgust or anything, because she did her share of dismemberment back in the day.

but movement lofts through her brows, genuinely surprised. her irises showing in full ruby circles as she studies daniel. quite a story to tell. technically, she knew that the librarian sees her as a full adult; he's never actually treated her like anything else, up to and including that initial telling off. the glint of her teeth is gradual, like something hatching through a crack in her face. a moment or three until she's smiling at him, wry, almost mirthless.]

Some vampires in my world took oaths more or less like that. Nothing to do with genitals, though. [a sigh.] All of them said I was a mistake. For obvious reasons. [a vague gesture of her hand toward herself, her short frame, its clear immaturity. her incapacity to age. sure, she can haul his stuff like it's nothing, tear a door off its hinges, kill a horse with one hand. but surviving in society, independently—impossible. her gaze shifts ahead.] Could say they succeeded, right?

A coven that's sworn off procreation has sworn to destroy itself.

[ Histories often rhyme; perhaps it should come as no surprise that the immortals of her world had abided by similar rules. Still, it is with a small shock of sympathy that he hears her admission. His own mentors had been too kind to call him a mistake outright, but it was clear enough in their laws—people like Daniel were not supposed to exist. Had they had the option, they would have killed his parents for even risking his conception. Knowing what he does, Daniel can't say he disagrees with such severity. ]

The House of Lethe saw their oaths as an act of kindness. I'm sure the Damascene branch felt the same, much as we may judge them for their brutality today. I don't think it was ever about ensuring their perpetuity—as individuals or as a group.

[ For a few moments, it seems like that's all he's going to say. But then, abruptly, he adds: ] Unless I'm misunderstanding how one is turned into a vampire, I don't see how it could be your mistake. It would belong to... what was it you called him? Your vile dog of a maker. Am I being naive, hoping they at least assigned blame correctly?

[ The Obliviates had had the sense to make that clear to him from the very beginning. Perhaps if it offered little solace and less protection, but the sin had belonged to his progenitors—not to him. ]

pixie inbox;

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xmas 2025;

xmas 2025

a paper-wrapped parcel delivered to Claudia’s doorstep on Christmas evening;

audio | un: d.owens

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audio -> action

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cw: mentions of castration, infanticide

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