:: Claude Faustus :: (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
jigokuspider) wrote2018-01-08 09:25 am
jigokuspider) wrote2018-01-08 09:25 am
Night makes a lonely hunter | Locked to singinghuntress
[OOC: Continuation of this thread and this thread!]
~
It was a quaint English house made in the old Victorian-Edwardian design, a type of flat that you find in an ordinary city of modern London down the street. It has a simple iron gate in the front, with a garden he grows in the frontyard and more in the backyard that is assessable through his kitchen. There is a light mist, a fog that covers the city. The narrow alleys, the empty classic double decker buses parked on the streets, it's the classic old Scotland yard.
As to where they are, Claude explained it's a type of dimension that existed in the human world and their world, but supernatural creatures can come and go between the veil as they are portals to other worlds and dimensions that only their kind know. Humans cannot sense this veil, as it serves as a barrier to protect both worlds from crossing over and lapped over each other.
Claude has lived alone for a very long, long time, and never expected company until she showed up one day as a wanderer and stray. It was a rough rain of sleet, nasty weather that night. He welcomes her in, showing hospitality to a guest, and allowed her to stay for as long as she likes, as she has nowhere else to go.
Afterward, the Huntress become his nightly companion, and she comes and goes as she pleased. Sometimes, she comes for sex, which he happily provided. Sometimes, she comes for a warm bed to stay. He doesn't hide the fact that he's a demon, and he's a spider type, and that what she sees of him isn't his true form, but rather a form that is most suitable and pleasing for the evenings they spend together.
Still, he was curious about her, she's an interesting mate. She is intelligent and cunning as he is, and they are every bit of predator types as they are. She was talking in her sleep again as she huddle beneath all of those blankets. Nightmare it seems. He caught a few names. He wondered what they mean to her. He doesn't know much about her, as he is not one to pry. Until she's ready to talk about it to him.
There is no set schedule for the evening. The night is as clear and pitch black calm. He opened the door, serving coffee on a silver tray as he usually does every night. He assured her that it's no issue, and he does so, because he likes to do it, being a gentleman, and perhaps a part of him is excited to have a mate that is compatible with him in most ways.
"This time, I got your coffee right." He said cheerfully, nudging the lump on his bed that is sleeping like the dead. "Black with a pinch of sugar and a drop of human blood." Nevermind as to how he acquired the latter, as the details are less important, but nothing like a visit to the blood bank could fix.
~
It was a quaint English house made in the old Victorian-Edwardian design, a type of flat that you find in an ordinary city of modern London down the street. It has a simple iron gate in the front, with a garden he grows in the frontyard and more in the backyard that is assessable through his kitchen. There is a light mist, a fog that covers the city. The narrow alleys, the empty classic double decker buses parked on the streets, it's the classic old Scotland yard.
As to where they are, Claude explained it's a type of dimension that existed in the human world and their world, but supernatural creatures can come and go between the veil as they are portals to other worlds and dimensions that only their kind know. Humans cannot sense this veil, as it serves as a barrier to protect both worlds from crossing over and lapped over each other.
Claude has lived alone for a very long, long time, and never expected company until she showed up one day as a wanderer and stray. It was a rough rain of sleet, nasty weather that night. He welcomes her in, showing hospitality to a guest, and allowed her to stay for as long as she likes, as she has nowhere else to go.
Afterward, the Huntress become his nightly companion, and she comes and goes as she pleased. Sometimes, she comes for sex, which he happily provided. Sometimes, she comes for a warm bed to stay. He doesn't hide the fact that he's a demon, and he's a spider type, and that what she sees of him isn't his true form, but rather a form that is most suitable and pleasing for the evenings they spend together.
Still, he was curious about her, she's an interesting mate. She is intelligent and cunning as he is, and they are every bit of predator types as they are. She was talking in her sleep again as she huddle beneath all of those blankets. Nightmare it seems. He caught a few names. He wondered what they mean to her. He doesn't know much about her, as he is not one to pry. Until she's ready to talk about it to him.
There is no set schedule for the evening. The night is as clear and pitch black calm. He opened the door, serving coffee on a silver tray as he usually does every night. He assured her that it's no issue, and he does so, because he likes to do it, being a gentleman, and perhaps a part of him is excited to have a mate that is compatible with him in most ways.
"This time, I got your coffee right." He said cheerfully, nudging the lump on his bed that is sleeping like the dead. "Black with a pinch of sugar and a drop of human blood." Nevermind as to how he acquired the latter, as the details are less important, but nothing like a visit to the blood bank could fix.