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Elis Griffyn

“…and then I said…” Elis hold up a finger to ‘shhh’ the already silent table, and takes a deep breath in. “‘But officer, the chicken is a vampire!’”

The group at the table erupted with laughter, hands slapping the wooden surface, a half empty/half full glass of beer rolling off the edge. They applaud, they cheer, they demand more stories of the stranger and Elis waves a hand at them, finishing off his pint. “No can do, I’m afraid. I’ve things to see, people to do. You understand.”

They boo him, their banging on the table getting louder, finding a beat as they chant ‘more, more, more’ to the man who had joined their group some thirty minutes or so ago from seemingly nowhere. But still, Elis refuses. And as the barman starts to take note of the ruckus in the corner, Elis raises his finger once more for silence.

…and silence falls. Completely. Not just at the table but across the entire bar. Patrons near freeze in place, a glass collector allows himself to me smacked in the face by a swinging door as it comes back toward him and his body refuses to reach out.

Nobody moves. Nobody blinks. And Elis, retrieving his jacket from the back of a chair, turns on his heel and walks toward the exit.

It’s nearing the darkness of these cooler evenings. Happy Hour is coming to a close across the city. And as Elis Griffyn removes himself from the atmosphere of the bar, into the night, the building behind him simply resumes. Glasses are lifted, conversations continue, and all memory of the vampire and his stories of history seem to vanish. They no longer remember his face, nor his tales. They forget his age and his curse. And as if he was never there to begin with, he is nothing more than another body in the crowd that slowly made its way along 3rd Avenue.

Though cooler, the air still holds an odd clamminess. It lingers, coating his skin in a thin film of damp, sticking the his t-shirt to the dip of his back between his broad shoulders and thin waist. He shifts uncomfortably as he walks, looking to his watch to judge the time. He had no real plans for the evening other than to have a few drinks and clear his head a little. Given what he was, and how he tended to keep his condition to himself, even from those who could be considered vampire, Elis often found himself longing for conversation that stretched further than the few decades his physical appearance claimed him to be. Thousands of years worth of stories lived in his head, and so very few people were privy to them. So when the urge became too much, he’d find a bar full of mortals and let it all out, knowing he could simply remove the tales once more, leaving as if nothing had happened…though feeling lighter for it.

But now he found himself walking back toward the Air BnB apartment he was occupying yet felt the evening wasn’t done with him yet. He was still missing ‘something’, still feeling somewhat empty and anxious. With a few blocks under his belt, he turned into the next bar he came across and moved directly to the young barman cutting limes upon the countertop.

“A beer, your choosing. And a whiskey…that one.” he leant across the barter a little and smiled at the man as he pointed to a bottle on the top shelf behind him. The barman looked up at Elis and instantly caught the infection of his smile, beaming ear to ear in return.

Was he what Elis was missing? The vampire looked him over as he turned his back to the bar, reaching for the bottle. He tilted his head a little as he studied the way the mans t-shirt shifted to reveal skin as he reached upward and let out a sigh. Maybe?

“What time do you finish tonight?” Elis enquired as a shot of whiskey was placed before him.

‘We close at three.’ the man replied, beginning to pour a pint. Elis raised an eyebrow and waited for the… ‘OH. Oh…ummm…haha, me? Not the b…oh, ummm. I’ll be out about three thirty.’

Elis nodded, slipped his bank card across the bar to begin a tab and took his drinks, wandering off to a tall table in a corner.
September 21, 2017 10:49 pm

Gideon Abernathy

The scarecrow slumped over unceremoniously, looking much more dismal when it isn’t hanging from its pole. Frowning, he stoops down and stuffs the straw back into it. It’s replacement, while it wouldn’t last long, at least didn’t need restuffing. It’s the smell that could be incriminating. Luckily, he has a while before that should be a worry.

It’s stored in the shed, along with the rest of the tools, until it would be needed again. No one ever realized when he replaced the scarecrows; he’d scared the sh-t out of Ella, as they looked so realistic. More often than not, they were simple scarecrows. Every now and then, they were hyper-realistic, probably due to the fact that they were his victims. Even now, after months of doing it, he can’t be sure the exact reason. Getting rid of the bodies would probably be more ideal, but there’s something about putting them in plain site… That, and he gets to practice his embalming skills.

Win, win.

He makes his way along the lawn, away from the main house of Valar Morghulis. Having been awake for over thirty hours due to his extracurricular activities, he has every desire - every need, even - to go home and collapse into bed. Quinn would be missing him, though for once, she is in the loop on what is going on. He really shouldn’t leave her at the commune by herself, either. But his feet are already carrying him to his familiar haunt.

It’s slow, thankfully, which is why it’s familiar. Gideon doesn’t make a habit of putting himself into busy, bustling scenarios. It’s trying on the mind, especially for someone so specifically anti-social. With his mind clear again, his humanity returning, he resorts back to his usual behavior, so as not to cause any friction.

The barman recognizes him, but Gideon notices he seems a bit flustered. A smirk pulls at his lips, but he won’t press the man, mostly because he couldn’t be bothered. The joint could replace him tomorrow, and it would be no skin off the psychopath’s back. “Suntory tonight, please. A double, on the rocks.”

“You seem tired. Everything alright?”

“Oh yeah, long day. Just getting a pick-me-up. Or… rather a put-me-down.” He shrugs, smiling as he slid a twenty across the counter. “Mind if I smoke?” Gideon is aware of the laws, but the man never seemed to care what he did, which he only solidified with a shrug of his own. Not waiting for the change, he finds a table near the back, so as not to be bothered.

The table is next to one that occupies a single man, who seems to have the same idea. Seems to, as Gideon only offers him a sidelong glance. He pulls his pack from his pocket and slips a cigarette between his lips before fishing for his lighter. With a groan, he checks his other pocket, growing more and more irritated. Lovely; he’d dropped his only lighter.

Resigning himself to his fate, he leans over slightly to the man at the table next to him, donning his most charming expression. “Sorry to bother you, but do you have a lighter?”
September 22, 2017 01:34 pm

Elis Griffyn

Elis’ attention wavered between watching the man behind the bar and googling himself. The former allowed him to figure out what it was he seemed to be wanting from the man, be it him…or just his blood. The latter was a fairly regular ritual, just to make sure there wasn’t anything he needed to be aware of. The advances in technology - namely ‘The Internet’ - caused Elis to be somewhat paranoid at times. He’d spent his life moving about, able to keep his own identity and live a fairly normal, albeit often extravagant an times, life. But now the internet existed and with is, the ability to search for names and faces. And he was convinced that someone would one day dust off an old painting or record, and find him, back from the past.

But the night was on his side and nothing existed online other than that odd time someone decided to use his name and likeness for an online role play game.

He closed his phone and slipped it back into his pocket, taking the whiskey in hand to neck the contents in one shot.

‘…do you have a light?’

Elis blinked himself back to reality and looked up at the man, taking a moment to piece together the words and request.

“Oh, ummm, yes.”

He slipped a hand into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a Zippo. The casing was well worn and rusted in places, especially within the dips and lines of the words printed across one side. ‘Elis Griffyn’ was stamped across the lid of the lighter while ‘At Fault’ took up half of the body, with a scratched tally to the value of seven beneath it.

He took his lead from the man and removed a cigarette from his own pack, holding it between his lips as he awaited the return of his lighter. Flicking an eye to the barman, he noted the complete lack of care for their smoking and smiled to himself with a outward breath. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about controlling the room this time, and was grateful for the reprieve.

“It can be a little funky so give it a knock if it doesn’t light.”
September 22, 2017 07:18 pm

Gideon Abernathy

Gideon’s eyes search the man, out of habit, as he digs in his coat for what he’s looking for. Very well put together, he holds an air of having been around the block a few times, if not more. A young man, as far as Gideon can tell, yet somehow giving off the confidence of someone much older and much more experienced. Is it arrogance? Perhaps. Then again, Gideon can’t bring himself to really care either.

A hand extends to take the offered Zippo, and it feels heavy in his grasp. It’s been awhile since he’s used such an antique lighter, as he loses them too often to spend too much money on one. Flicking the top up, he drags his thumb down the gear, frowning when it doesn’t immediately take.

He isn’t kidding. The number of times Gideon attempts to get the lighter to ignite it is lost on him. It’s when he knocks it, gently as possible, against the table that he notices the words etched onto the side. At fault stands out to him as he brings the flame up to the tip of the cigarette. Unable to help himself, he’s forced to wonder what this man is at fault for, exactly.

Handing it back, he offers another smile that’s better described as a smirk. “I appreciate it, Mr... Griffyn, is it? I suppose that’s if the lighter belonged to you before those etchings were made.” This man has, strangely, piqued his interest, and it’s that fact alone that astonishes Gideon. He keeps himself out of the limelight as often as possible, not only to protect himself, but because it’s too much of a bother to strike up conversation with strangers. More often than not, he finds himself bored, and walking away in the middle of a sentence seems rather rude.

But he can’t help wondering…

“At fault… Is that you, or someone else?”
October 02, 2017 06:04 pm

Elis Griffyn

Elis feels his stomach knot as the stranger repeats his surname. And it’s only in the seconds later, as the inscription upon the lighter is noted, that he laughs to himself, shaking off the sudden panic that someone knew who he was…while he remained clueless.

“It’s mine”, he admits, taking it back to light his own cigarette. He palms it, feeling the weight and heat of the piece against his skin. The letters were stamped via professional means, smooth and precise, while the tally was etched using a blade or similar, pulling up fine, sharp edges that pressed ever so slightly against his skin. He moved to slip it back into his pocket when the man speaks again, as his response it to open his hand and study the words written upon it.

At fault.

‘Is that you, or someone else?’

Elis furrows his brow, before shrugging. The filter of the cigarette remains between his lips as he speaks once more, the Zippo now safely returned to his inner pocket.

“Aren’t we all?”

With the whiskey gone, he’s forced to take hold of he beer, swallowing back a mouthful, instantly regretting his choice in beverage. Beer was more recreational that he was used to and he preferred harder spirits when he was drinking for a purpose. He looked into the glass before returning it to the table, and reached instead for the empty rock glass, tapping the base once, then twice, against the table top. The barman looked up and Elis gestured with it. The response was a nod, a smile and a return to the whiskey bottles along the back wall.

“You know my name so hell, why not share yours? And my table if you fancy it?” He knocked the glass again and when his gesture was acknowledged, he help up two fingers with a wink.
October 02, 2017 06:16 pm

Gideon Abernathy

Aren’t we all?

A truer statement can’t have been spoken, yet his only response is a snort and a nod. Turning his attention back to the whiskey in front of him, his mind wanders to his own faults. If he can consider them such at all. Perhaps if he was a better person…

Their exchange having been completed, at least in his eyes, he retracts his focus on the man before him and instead commits to draining the whiskey. The warmth spreads through his body, leaving him much more relaxed than before. He is gathering his bearings and just getting up to leave when the man makes a proposition.

He freezes; there is a clear moment of deliberation.

On the one hand, accepting the invitation could get him into a situation that might prove uncomfortable. There is also his name to consider, and not wanting to give it out to just anyone. Being born in a cult that was off the grid, he is not a documented citizen. He has no records, no birth certificate, he might as well not exist. It is for this reason that he opts out of such interactions.

On the opposing hand, there is an undeniable curiosity that lingers around this man, and the fact that he has no idea why is what makes it more alluring. There is nothing in Gideon’s hardwiring that makes him want to go out and meet new people, except if it’s to later kill them. With that knowledge of himself, he comes to a dawning realization. Could it be that his fun isn’t over?

Might as well find out.

The deliberation having lasted only a few seconds, he finally nods and plasters a winning smile on his lips. As he takes his seat, he holds out his hand to shake the man’s, hoping that he didn’t just make a mistake. “Gideon Abernathy. Let’s hope this meeting is a pleasure, yes?” A low chuckle punctuates the introduction, and it’s clear he truly means it.

“Mind if I ask what warrants a fault, to be marked on a Zippo?”
October 02, 2017 07:04 pm

Elis Griffyn

The name is offered and Elis receives it, locking it away with the memory of Gideon’s face, and the subtle nuances in his manner of speech. Everything is filed away in the mind of Elis Griffyn - years upon years of introductions and relationships. He remembers them all, and the very thought along of such information is often was draws his to drink, and the random outbursts such as that of the bar he’d recently frequented.

The barman approaches, two whiskeys in hand, and places them upon the table. He stops, his gaze fixed on Elis until the vampire notices and shakes his head. He leaves them be, returning to glass cleaning behind the empty bar.

Elis takes a glass, using it to push the other toward Gideon, and smiles, pulling himself to sit upright in his seat. He smiles to the first question and, as the second makes its way to him, he takes a large sip from the glass and places it back upon the table surface.

“In the Vietnam war, American soldiers would often etch names, quotes or simple ‘ f*ck you’s’ into the casing of their lighters. They would write upon their helmets, ‘accessorise’ their uniforms. They’d do all they could to mark their individuality during a time when they were merely seen as a speck within a greater force, fighting against an enemy they knew nothing about. An enemy who posed no immediate threaten upon them or their families.”

He removed the Zippo from his pocket once more, placing it back on the table so that the lettering faced upward. He then reached into his back pocket and produced his wallet. From within the battered leather pocket sewn into the inner lining, he produced a small, fabric-bound ribbon bar - a clasp with a silver rosette pinned to it. He placed it next to the lighter.

“In the Second World War, soldiers took great pride in what they wore, in how they composed themselves. They were brothers at arms and they were fighting for the freedoms of their villages, of their loved ones, of their homes. If they’d had Zippo lights, you could be sure that each and every one of them would have kept it in the best possible condition - no etchings, no foul language.”

He took another sip, focusing first on the glass and then back to Gideon, producing a smile. Let him have his moment, let him share his story. And when the night was through, he’d take it back and keep it as his own once more.

“But my war outdates both…I have no medals, no trinkets to remind me of the pain and suffering. I just have the weight of loss on my shoulders and the fault in my heart. But tell me, Gideon, what are you at fault for?”
October 03, 2017 05:18 am

Gideon Abernathy

As the man speaks, Gideon’s face remains locked into an expression of interest, while his mind is elsewhere. Somehow, in his mere thirty-three years of life, he’d mastered the ability to process someone’s words while focusing on his own train of thought simultaneously. In his mind, he is astounded; is this guy seriously offering him a history lesson? All he’d wanted to know was what had possessed him to make his own etchings. He isn’t a fool, afterall, and he’d studied the intricacies of the wars of this country, just as most others had.

Yet, as he continues to listen, he notes the tone of Elis’ voice. It’s almost as if he speaks from experience. A quirked brow indicates his interest, a desire to see where this story would lead. A hand brings his own drink up to his lips, the fiery liquid flooding his tastebuds.

But my war outdates both…

He can’t help it; the snort that emanates from his throat spills part of the cup’s contents down the front of him. Wiping at himself with a napkin, he offers Elis an incredulous look, as if to gauge whether or not he’s kidding. The expression on his companion’s face, however, doesn’t change, and Gideon simply shakes his head and waves a hand in the air, choosing to play along.

“Uhhh…” Truthfully, there isn’t much in Gideon’s life that he considers a fault, per se. His views on such things would probably differ immensely from that of a normal person, as loose of a term as that is. “Oh, okay.” The sudden dawning comprehension is a rather comical expression on his face, and before he continues, he takes a large swig of his drink.

“I should start at the beginning, yeah? When my sister was born, my mother tried to escape the cult we were in with her and I, and I gave us away, resulting in the death of my ma.” The matter-of-fact way in which he spoke is probably disconcerting, but he can hardly be bothered by such things. “When I was six, my sister would have been two...she died in a barn fire that I started. At fourteen, I ran away with my girlfriend, we got caught, and I killed her. That’s three before I was even an adult. Should I continue? Or are we doing a tit-for-tat type deal? Showed you mine, now show me yours?” The grin that splits his visage indicates his amusement, and part of him wonders if this man would even believe him.
October 13, 2017 08:37 pm

Elis Griffyn

Gideon begins to round up his story and Elis simply smiles, his fingers slipping about the lighter upon the table. As the man had spoken, Elis had replaced the clasp safely back into his wallet, but he’d left the Zippo in place, partly due to the nearing end of his cigarette and the coming need to light another.

‘Showed you mine…’ Elis raises an eyebrow, the new cigarette between his lips. ‘Now show me yours?’

He remains silent for a moment, inhaling deeply as the smoke fills his lungs and leaks out from the gaps aside the filter. He doesn’t remove it, instead leaving it in place as he holds up the Zippo between the two men.

“Who says I killed them?” he finally replies, bending his head to study the lighters surface as he draws it closer to his body.

He may as well have killed them, he thinks. For their love for him, and his insistence, had been their end.

‘I love you’, his wife had screamed at him as the first of the posts was hammered hard into his hands, biting deep into the damp earth beneath his body. ‘I love you’, she’d repeated through tears. She couldn’t hold back the tears, he knew. She rarely cried - too strong a spirit to let such a weakness consume her. But when she did cry, you knew it to simply too strong for her to control. And now she weeped, an anger in her eyes toward herself that her tears would be a reward for her captures. And a tremble of her lips as voice left her and her continued affirmation of her love for him became nothing more than the soundless mouthing toward his face.

“You reel off your sorrow as if it’s some sort of accomplishment”, he continues, placing the lighter back upon the table next to his glass. “I killed this loved one, then that loved one, then another…” his words were muffled as the cigarette filter hung between his lips. He finally reached to remove it, flicking ash to the flow in lieu of an ashtray, and shifted to sit more upright upon his stool. “Is that how you show your love? Through death?”

Elis felt he already knew the response. And if not mistaken, he was sure that it would be in a similar vein to his own reasons for letting his family die. But unlike Gideon, Elis didn’t feel the need to tell his tale so matter-of-factly. Allowing a loved one to die, especially when taking their life yourself, shouldn’t be considered a badge of honour. However whole Elis had once felt, he was now missing parts. Parts that were taken from him all those many years ago. Parts that had never grown back - for there were simply some things an immortal body couldn’t repair - heartbreaking taking gold.

“You boast as if I should be impressed. Do you find your murderous admissions usually get the ladies wet for you?” he takes another pull on the cigarette, smirking a little as the smoke falls from his nose and lips. “Forget Prince Charming, it’s the dragon the woman are craving…or, well maybe the men. Whatever floats your fancy.”
October 14, 2017 10:16 am

Gideon Abernathy

“No one’s accusing you of anything, I assure you.” He offers his companion a smirk before using the butt of his still-lit cigarette to light the next.

Elis seems to lose himself in a thought, and Gideon takes the opportunity to drain his glass. He is sure the telling of his own tale, as dismissive and lacking as it was, would seem unsettling to most. Then again, he usually comes off as unsettling, himself. It takes a great amount of effort on his part to come off as anything other than cold and uncaring, but when he does, it’s a deep-seated emotion. Admittedly, there are only three people that have garnered that from him; one is dead, one, he married, and the other would probably never know.

You reel off your sorrow as if it’s some sort of accomplishment…

A frown pulls at his features. Sometimes, his own coldness catches him off guard. It isn’t as if he’s proud per se; he just doesn’t feel much of anything when he thinks about his past in such a way.

Is that how you show your love? Through death?

The frown relaxes into a neutral expression as his eyes fall to Elis once more. Truthfully, it’s a comical question. Good guys would always try to paint the ones they deem bad as such. But the jury is still out on whether Elis is one of those fabled good guys.

A smile once more pulls at his features as the bartender brings him a refill. “Why, Mr. Griffyn, it’s almost like you’re admitting your own arousal. Trust me, I had no need to regale the women I slept with, I won them over with my dashing good looks and my charming smile.” At this, he offers a wink before taking a long drag of the cigarette.

“Your tone is so judgmental. Not that I blame you, by any means. It’s natural, once people hear what I’ve done in my past, for them to think me a monster. And maybe I am, I won’t deny that. But, if I recall, you asked about my faults. It’s not in my hard-wiring to look at them as if I’m ashamed. Are you ashamed of your own?”

He won’t allow him to answer the question just yet; instead, he presses onward. “As for whether I show love through death, yes, in some circumstances, no, in others. I was young when my mother died, at the hands of my father. Our relationship was strained, and I couldn’t trust her. It was only after her death, and once I had grown and learned more of the world that surrounded me that I learned to forgive her and enjoy the memories we had. My sister, well...I offered her a fate better than what was in store for her in life, so I will not feel sorrow for an accident of a six-year old tormented child. As for the childhood hand was forced. But it was better me than anyone else in that situation. I was young, it was my first ritual. I made it quick. Does that answer your question?”
November 11, 2017 09:25 am
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