Don't fret precious I'm here, step away from the -blocked- Go back to sleep. Lay your head down child. I won't let the boogeyman come. Counting bodies like sheep to the rhythm of the war drums Pay no mind to the rabble. Pay no mind to the rabble. Head down, go to sleep to the rhythm of the war drums. Pay no mind what other voices say they don't care about you, like I do, like I do. Safe from pain and truth and choice and other poison devils, see, they don't give a f- about you, like I do. Just stay with me, safe and ignorant, go back to sleep, go back to sleep. Lay your head down child. I won't let the boogeyman come. Count the bodies like sheep to the rhythm of the war drums. Pay no mind to the rabble. Pay no mind to the rabble. Head down, go to sleep to the rhythm of the war drums. I'll be the one to protect you from your enemies and all your demons. I'll be the one to protect you from a will to survive and a voice of reason. I'll be the one to protect you from your enemies and your choices, son. They're one in the same. I must isolate you, isolate and save you from yourself. Swayin to the rhythm of the new world order and count the bodies like sheep to the rhythm of the war drums. The boogeymen are coming! The boogeymen are coming! Keep your head down, go to sleep, to the rhythm of a war drums. Stay with me. Safe and ignorant. Just stay with me. Hold you and protect you from the other ones, the evil ones don't love you, son.
Go back to sleep!

Metaphor for a missing moment

Pull me into your perfect circle

Name! Julian Iscariot
Alias! Jules, Opiate
Gender! Male
Status! Single
Prefrence! Straight
Occupation! No formal occupation
Age! Roughly 500 (appears in his late twenties, early thirties)
Species! Vampire (canine)
Brush! Cloud
Eyes! Cerulean
Hair! Mo-hawk style. Dark brown.
Pelt! Short, coarse. Shades of maroon, the lighter in lines down his back and limbs. Off-tan underbelly with bullseye layers moving outwards towards the rest of his body -- centered in his chest. Cropped tail. Long, slightly curled ears. Mo-hawk extends off his forehead. Bat-like nose. Golden spine and back of neck, covered in lighter clouds.
Build! Athletic, sickly
Born! In Naples, Italy. 1489.
Persona! Easily scared, suffers from several phobias, noble, easily manipulated, vicarious, awkward
Family! Ronxw (adoptive son)
Friends! Qizak, Aiiouz, Kekrye
Mood! Fearful


.&. Julian, or Opiate, was born Julianno Zamporelli to an Italian family of high social standing. He was the second son and thus was never expected to inherit his father's title and lands.
.&. Julian grew up his mother's confidant and his sisters' keeper. He was not a very social figure and kept to his own household more often than not.
.&. A foreign woman by the name of Victoire Louisse persued him after leaving France for Italy. She wasn't a noble or an Italian and his parents disliked her immencely. Julian didn't disagree with his parents and denied her advances. However, Victoire was a vampire not keen on regection.
.&. Julian was attacked, killed and changed into a vampire just before his twenty-nineth birthday.
.&. Bound to Victoire, Julian fled his home and was disgraced by his family.
.&. Julian shares a mental and emotional bond with Victoire (now Qizak) that he is desperate to severe. She has managed to take control of his mind and make him fall in love with her in the past. He is currently seperate and free from her. If only for a little while.
.&. Julian starves himself. He believes deeply that murder is wrong.
.&. Julian suffers from:
Claustrophobia- Fear of small, inclosed spaces.
Achluophobia- Fear of darkness.
Dementophobia- Fear of insanity.
Hematophobia- Fear of blood.
Theophobia- Fear of gods or religion.
Gynophobia- Fear of women.
Francophobia- Fear of France or French culture.
Mastigophobia- Fear of punishment.
Philophobia- Fear of falling in love or being in love.

And then as razor sharp white teeth

rip out our necks I saw you there

Vampirism.
I don't remember much... the pain was like a thick mist I couldn't see through. I was only aware of the blood trickling down over my throat and a single thought that I was too terrified to shake. 'I'm going to die.' I had never thought about it before. You know, dying. I guess I had thought it was so far away that I didn't have to bother with it. But now that it was staring me in the face, now that I could feel my fingers and toes growing cold, it was all that I could think about. Is it shameful that my parents, my sisters, my friends didn't come to mind? Are we all this selfish when we know there is nothing we can do for ourselves other than mourn? I don't remember wondering if I would meet my Maker. Perhaps that was the first step toward my fear of Him.
Some might say the fact that I opened my eyes afterward was a blessing. I'm thankful, I guess. I'm not strong enough to face death. I'm so scared of it. So scared that I continue to subject myself to this disease that kept me alive. If alive is the word to use. During my era, in Italy, Vampires were myths brought along from Western Europe. The word itself was used more so for an unfair merchant who was 'bleeding the populace' with his high prices. I wish we weren't so nonchalant. Maybe if I had at least listened to the stories I might have been able to identify her. Or at least specutale. Maybe it would have saved my life.
The myths of the past weren't far off, I realized once I began my research in Romania. Of course, Count Dracula started it all with his total war. I don't know if he was a vampire or was just immitating us, but whatever it was he did it well. His brutallity gave us our reputation, I guess, which eventually brought out our characteristics as well. Vampires are kept alive by blood and by darkness. Simple. In death we stop producing our own blood because our bone marrow starts to decay. However, the 'Vampire Virus' that kills us also inserts DNA into our cells that allows us to consume the blood of others and use those blood cells as our own. We feed because the new blood flows through our veins and gets our hearts to beat again. Drinking simulates living. It also allows the oxygen we breathe to travel through us again. Without blood our brains slow down and we become sluggish. Even Vampires such as myself -- those of us who fear ourselves more than we fear hunger -- who refuse to eat lose enough consciousness over time to where our instincts kick in an we are forced to kill and to drink.
As for the dark, it is only necessary because our skin is not strong enough to withstand the sun. Though vampires have regenerative abilities, the UV rays cause us to burn so quickly that, unless we get to the shade quickly, we may never recover and die. It is no slow, glorious process. Not like recent stories say. We do now glow with a dazzling light. We crust, we smoke, we scream, we smell. Our insides start to evaporate and our eyes melt. If the process meets its end, we turn to a pile of ash with a skull and a rib cage. It isn't pretty. Nothing about us is.
More coming!

Someone get me to the doctor,

someone get me to a church!

Qizak.

Just can't look you in the eyes,

so lets dim the lights. Get a case out, pack up your pride!

Matchmaking Entry!

Name! Demetria Vinallti
Alias! Demi
Occupation! ER Nurse
Age! 35 years
Eyes! Brown
Hair! Long, often braided to the side. Very dark brown, nearly black.
Skin! Stereotypical Italian -- even, bronze tan. Smooth, minimal calluses around fingers.
Build! Rather short, lean,
Born! First generation American, born to two Italian immigrants in Trenton, NJ.
Persona! Infectiously confident with a modestly high self-esteem. She went to college for medicine more so for the challenge of the material rather than the chance to help people in a hospital. She is unbelieveably driven, to the point that a task can occupy her thoughts and routines for several days. She believes whole heartedly in herself and those around her, striving to be a source of positive feedback and judgeless support. Accustomed to only getting what she wants through hard work and determination, Demi is rather put off by those born with a silver spoon in their mouths and is shamefully a classist.
An idealist and a bit naive, she is one to ignore certain faults of herself and others. Hardly confrontational, Demi will tend to let something go rather than address it and fix the problem if it means that fewer people are hurt. Not one to believe in authority, Demi makes her own way in the world. Friends are replaceable. She clings almost selfishly to the "reliables" in her life -- family, hard work, art, and music. An accomplished cellist, Demetria plays solo concerts for cancer patients, schools and other free-outlets. She is a watercolour painter, though honestly is not very good.
Opiate! Demetria works as nurse at a hospital in the middle of nowhere (a.k.a. New Egypt, New Jersey), were she manages the blood bank when not assisting doctors in the ER. Late one night mid-winter, she unlocked the door to the bank to find a refrigerator open and a man huddled over it on the floor. Julian had broken into the room, desperate for any blood that didn't mean killing someone over. Watching a man bite into the plastic bag of donated blood and pour it into his mouth like it was cheap alcohol was curious, if not absolutely terrifying. Unable to scream, she fainted. Hours later, she awoke on an old sofa in a hotel room, Julian standing over her with a water-soaked towel pressed to her forehead. After a rather violent tussle, Julian managed to explain through a stutter that he carried her to a motel so she could recover. Through this, Demi learned that Julian was a modern nomad with a few "unfortunate needs" and that he was terribly sorry for disturbing her the night before. They met up again when Julian was rushed into the emergency room after a police officer found him knocked-out on a street corner. He'd been hit by a car. Afterwards, they constantly saw each other and eventually, against Julian's better judgement, began seeing each other -- she learned about his "condition" and stuck with him. If only for the challenge.

Word Count: 497

She was playing the cello again, he realized as he walked through the door. Nothing classical, he knew. She wasn't really into Bach or Mozart. He gingerly placed the plasic bags of groceries on the shabby counter in the kitchen of the flat they shared, listening as the horse hairs of her bow pulled against the strings of her instrument. Her strokes were strong and the notes that resinated from them familiar. Julian rubbed at the bristly facial hair along his cheeks as he slowly walked through the short hall towards the living room, easily placing the tune as he drew closer. Gripping the open doorway, the man peered through the frame. She had her back toward him, sitting in a simple wooden chair as she faced the large windows of the wall infront of her.
She had her hair up, tied in a simple bun to keep it from hanging down between her shoulder blades. She wore a tanktop to free her arms and his only pair of sweatpants. As the tune repeated, Julian stepped into the room and placed his hands on the back of her chair. Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice in the church where a wedding has been, he hummed, his deep voice a slightly rough, though pleasant, tone. He felt her back press gently against his knuckles and grinned as he heard the cello soften.
When he did not immediately continue, the woman prompted him stubbornly. Lives in a dream, she said quietly, turning her head to look at him.
Waits at the window, wearing the face that she keeps in the jar by the door, he relented, though leaned forward and gripped the neck of the cello before taking it from her willing arms and placing it carefully on the floor. He stepped around it as she put the bow down as well, taking her hand and leading her off the chair. His other hand pressed gently against the small of her back, pulling her flush against his chest. Her skin was warm against his own, her fingers a much higher temperature than his palm.
Why'd you stop? she asked as he pressed his lips to her forehead. Julian smiled into her hairline.
It's a sad song, he answered slowly.
Sing a different one, then, she persisted, tightening her grip around him slightly. Julian let out a breath of air, knowing he wasn't going to win.
The Beatles?
Not necessarily. Julian paused for a moment as he thought of a song, swaying on the spot with a beautiful, human woman clinging to his chest.
My love, leave yourself behind. Beat inside me, leave you blind, he began, feeling her smile into his collar bone. He smiled too. My love, you have found peace. You were searching for relief. You gave it all, gave into the call. You took a chance and you took a fall for us It was easy to sing to her, even if he wasn't an artist and didn't have much of a voice. He adored her, loved her. At first it had horrified him, but it soon came so easily that he no longer feared it. He embraced it.
You came thoughtfully, loved me faithfully. You taught me honor, you did it for me. Another sad song, he realized, though she contently rocked back and forth with him.
He stopped for a long time, simply standing in the middle of the room with her arms wrapped around his shoulders. I love you, he murmured, finally, into her dark hair.
Another smile against his chest. I love you too.

Word Count 599!

Along came a spider

he was creepy like Dracula

Little toy soldiers whisper stories of war !
- Don't copy/trace the lineart.
- Don't color them yourself.
- Take only the design meant for you.
- Requests are never open unless you find me on the forums with an adoptable board.

Trades only

To do-
- xx

Downstroke

Suna

Fortonce