Astarion Ancunin

[scrapdraught]

omg she's a reporter

it's Interview with a Vampire

Comments

WEEK 0: Monday

[scrapdraught]

[The church offers little in the way of comfort, but it is a closed door. That's all Camille needs.

The glowing words died down the second she entered, as though sensing they would be thwarted. Her breathing slows. She leans against the door with both hands, regaining her calm.

Then she turns and finds a whole ass man is there.]

...Hey.

[haematocritical]

[ sometimes it really is about the mental comfort, not the literal safety.



but yes hello. here he is. he's somewhere over by where the bible is or isn't depending on who had sticky fingers recently, but his hands are rather firmly behind his back. ]

Hello.

WEEK 1: Monday

[scrapdraught]

[Breaking and entering!!! Does he need an invitation to enter the animal crossing houses

Camille strolls in with only minimal caution. She plucks a picture off a dresser, then sets it face down.]

Hm. More goats. [Terrible. Even if these ones are much cuter than the one in the church.] Seems like whoever lived here has split. Smells a bit stale.

[haematocritical]

[ lmao nope. she probably burst in the door he was checking to see if he needed to break the lock on. ]

What’s with the whole goat religion thing anyway? Someone a little too obsessed with their favourite animal?

w1, wednesday post mini event

[haematocritical]

[ hi kabby, i'm forcing you into a pc. ]

Alright my dear, what was all that about?

[scrapdraught]

[Nursing the surely bruised back of her head.]

I have no fucking clue. [Wincing, feeling the parameter of the bruise.] Did you both have to go in that hard?

w1, friday

[haematocritical]

[ THE DOG??? ]

[scrapdraught]

[THE DOG

Camille is just sort of gaping at these posters, fingers tracing the edge of one.]

Who the hell would kill the dog?

[Or Ichiban. Karma.....

That's another story.]

WEEK 1: Saturday

[scrapdraught]

[She is, shockingly, at the beach. Boots off and toes in the sand, letting her feet sink.

Her head turns when she hears footsteps, squinting up to spy the nighttime stroller.]

Guess I'm not the only morbid insomniac around here.

[perhaps they will find the pickles parts if they look hard enough.]

[haematocritical]

[ beach girl saturday! beach girl saturday! ]

Sleeping? With all this excitement? Hardly.

[ not the puppy. he got RAPTURED… all dogs go to heaven… ]

WEEK 1: Sunday ((cw for self harm))

[scrapdraught]

[The theatre is empty. Who wants to visit a place where death hit twice?

It's a fact Camille is counting on as she runs her fingers over the broken planks of the stage. There — a sturdy splinter. Three inches long with an unforgiving point, sturdy base.

She pries it loose and scoots to the edge of the stage, breathing thin. She pulls her sleeve back and finds a word to trace. Just trace. It's fine to follow the lines.

Babydoll. Cherry. Ripe. Fix. Senseless and feminine picks. Or there's the longer and crueler ones, like duplicitous, or wicked. More fitting words for the situation are carved in less accessible places. She shouldn't remove her jeans to rewrite wretched along the back of her thigh, and she'd need a mirror for useless, which curved under her left shoulder blade.

Worrisome. That works. Along the forearm, easy to see and cover. Smaller text swarms it on every side, coming up to the wrist, but that one had been cut in when she had more space to spare.

Camille is dragging the splinter along the second R when the door opens.]

[haematocritical]

[ wow, awkward.

although, to be fair, it's not as though he can clearly see what she's doing from all the way by the door. especially when it's something small on somewhere as general as the forearm. ]

...

[ but there's an Energy that feels off, so it's easy enough for him to say: ]

Am I interrupting? [ what? he doesn't know. ]

w2, monday

[haematocritical]

[ me, yesterday, like a fool: haha this is funny but you won't know if i don't survive until memshare.
mods: PSYCHE.


anyway, we dive right in. enjoy ]

8( 8( 8( sonion...

[scrapdraught]

[She careens out of the memory like she's dropped out of a moving train. Camille's knees hit the ground like his had hit the stone. She's on all fours, gasping, feeling the slick of blood and the blister where the knife handle rubbed against her palm. Gone now, of course. Yet the effort and the pain of killing stings her nerves in the long minute after she's fallen out of the vision.

How about that? She's got her confirmation. Fire off the confetti cannons.

Camille's gut lurches. She dry heaves. Sits back on her heels, sweating, looking to the sky.

Killer. It's in her blood. In his.]

w2, saturday

[haematocritical]

[ anyway you have no say in this it's pc time is she in her little naughty baby jail or is she roaming the village, totally fine? (no) ]

[scrapdraught]

[She is in a little veil next to Aqua! Separate but together.]

[Also she is pacing on a pair of stick-thin, preteen legs. She looks equal parts bored and irritated.

This girl takes one look at Astarion and huffs, derisive.]

Ew.

WEEK 3: Monday

[scrapdraught]

[It's late at night. Wherever Astarion is staying (hopefully alone) there will be a sudden knock at his door.]

[haematocritical]

[ i'm rng-ing a location and voiding it because he ain't in the mortuary and my brain cells won't think.

but eventually the door will open, although astarion is clearly cautious of someone knocking on doors late at night. he does look a little less fight or flight primed when he sees it's camille though. ]

Yes?

w3, wednesday

[haematocritical]

[ he is all debated out and has found a corner of the academy library to hide away in. for now. ]

I never want to think about the ocean that much ever again.

[scrapdraught]

[YELLS I'm sorry I was too 3D last night to come back to this]

Sounds like a fun time. [She skipped it. Not feeling particularly keen on getting heated about things in public. Still she smiles, folding her arms and leaning over the table (assigns them sitting), eager to listen.]

What were your arguments? Run it by me before you dash the ocean from your mind forever.

Promise I won't debate you on it.

w4, tuesday

[haematocritical]

[ me sitting on a response for the other thread and you CAME BACK TO LIFE AAAA HI KABBY. where'd she at did she get another ice cream at least. ]

Welcome back is in order, I see.

[scrapdraught]

[She doesn't want ice cream she wants oblivion]

Jesus. It's like I came back from vacation and not the dead.

[Running a hand through her hair, clearly shaken and trying to pretend otherwise.]

Though maybe that's not something so strange for most people here.

w4, sunday

[haematocritical]

[ i genuinely had to sit here like



welp. typing in week 4.

anyway. astarion's probably somewhere outside. did camille get her eye sorted? ]

[scrapdraught]

[I cannot tell you how much I hate that it is week 4.

Anyway yeah she did. She can be out wandering post-swamp, shoos away kindly characters who wished to babysit her. There's a bandage over her right eye socket, though her still drying hair falls over it often enough to hide. She'll slow when she sees Astarion.]

...Hey.

WEEK 5: Monday

[scrapdraught]

[Godmodding the other thread to end well and allowing hugpocalypse to commence

They're in the shopping district, looking for food? Clothes? Books? Everything and anything? Unbidden, her arm winds into his.

She pauses.]

I'm ready for this curse to fucking die.

[haematocritical]

[ :amen:


ANYTHING. IT'S RETAIL THERAPY TIME. ]

Ugggh. Someone's probably having a good laugh about it.

WEEK 5: Thursday

[scrapdraught]

[He's one in a million....

Where is Astarion Camille will look for him, exhausted but extremely concerned. Arms folded and looking down at his beleaguered self.]

Well?

[haematocritical]

[ he's just sprawled out somewhere. he's not bleeding at least! not anymore. ]

Hello, my dear.

w6, wednesday

[haematocritical]

[ he’s looking at this cake like




hm. ]

They did their best, I suppose.

[scrapdraught]

I have a sneaking suspicion they may have paid for this.

[She knows a grocery sheet cake when she sees one.]

WEEK 7: Thursday

[scrapdraught]

[Puts them at the Lakeside Amusement Park. The scenery does little to alleviate the low-lying apprehension thrumming off her, as well as the constant pit of depression. Fun times for anyone who wanders too close.]

I heard the people here can influence what shows up here. Did they miss the other theme park that much?

[Her gaze has not so subtly lingered on the ferris wheel. :weary:]

[haematocritical]

[ good old ferris wheel (tired) ]

Good question. If it showed up after Rondo and Karlach arrived, it might've been influenced by them. Or people watching the trial where we caught Karlach.

w7, saturday

[haematocritical]

[ get them out of here aaaa ]

So. How does it feel to have defeated an admittedly rather miserable god?

[scrapdraught]

Like I need a shower.

[WHAT EVEN WAS THAT.]

I don't want anything to moan when I hit it unless we laid out ground rules first.