the last thing birdie remembers, before she woke up here, is the night lorelai went banshee. the screaming, the bodies, putting a stake in her sire's heart to make it stop because she couldn't bring herself to give her the final death. knowing it was only a matter of time until the prince called for a blood hunt for the both of them--
she remembers getting lorelai's corpse, stuck in torpor, to her haven just before dawn, and the usual compulsion to sleep.
waking up again after sunset was... a different place. not denver, not even any town or city she can remember visiting in all her years. small, but populated, a place that feels older than it looks. it's only been a night awake, a day asleep, keeping to herself as much as she could. there was no assurance this wasn't a trick, some new camarilla punishment, but when she'd fed the person had tasted different.
turning a corner and seeing someone standing on the sidewalk in brightly painted armor is not really helping her figure anything else out. ]
You don't belong here either, do you?
[ honestly? to hell with the masquerade at this point, and a low profile. this is too weird for even the camarilla. (which doesn't mean it isn't still kindred. the sabbat can be especially terrible, but this doesn't have the same panache for blood and cults that they style themselves with.) ]
idk but we'll make it work somehow
the last thing birdie remembers, before she woke up here, is the night lorelai went banshee. the screaming, the bodies, putting a stake in her sire's heart to make it stop because she couldn't bring herself to give her the final death. knowing it was only a matter of time until the prince called for a blood hunt for the both of them--
she remembers getting lorelai's corpse, stuck in torpor, to her haven just before dawn, and the usual compulsion to sleep.
waking up again after sunset was... a different place. not denver, not even any town or city she can remember visiting in all her years. small, but populated, a place that feels older than it looks. it's only been a night awake, a day asleep, keeping to herself as much as she could. there was no assurance this wasn't a trick, some new camarilla punishment, but when she'd fed the person had tasted different.
turning a corner and seeing someone standing on the sidewalk in brightly painted armor is not really helping her figure anything else out. ]
You don't belong here either, do you?
[ honestly? to hell with the masquerade at this point, and a low profile. this is too weird for even the camarilla. (which doesn't mean it isn't still kindred. the sabbat can be especially terrible, but this doesn't have the same panache for blood and cults that they style themselves with.) ]