Fantasy Demons...why demons? (a 1x1 rp)

[EclecticSpica]

❝ River Thompson ❞
“A dancer’s life is fleeting… but how long can one dance on broken strings?”​

---

LOCATION: Theater hallways
MOOD: scared/excited
​

---

River stared at herself in the mirror, barely registering her own reflection. The flurry of actors, actresses, and crew blurred together behind her, a smear of movement and faded colors. Her mind was dazed, struggling to focus on anything other than the sharp ache in her right wrist or the deep bruising beneath the corset her mother had forced her into that morning. She didn’t dare look down at her wrist—one glance at the costumer’s face earlier had been enough to tell her it wasn’t pretty. The fresh bandage wrapped around her thin wrist only made her stand out more among the nameless choir of ballerinas.

Each one of them was a near-perfect replica of the other, their hair tightly pinned in identical buns, their costumes seamless in design and texture. Their makeup—soft pinks and muted tones—was meant to make them blend into the backdrop. That was River’s role in the theater, to be unseen. But her mother despised it. Blending in meant fewer eyes on her, less money. Now, however, she stood out for all the wrong reasons. Her hair looked as brittle and fragile as the rest of her, her costume had to be taken in more and more each week, and now—now she had that damned bandage. The costumer had scolded her, demanding she cover it. So River waited in a loose dressing gown, arms folded around herself, waiting for her costume to arrive.

A sudden squeal of excitement broke through the hum of backstage preparations. A wave of sugary sweetness filled the air, followed by the distant chorus of voices singing Happy Birthday.

“Someone’s birthday,” she murmured, the words barely escaping her lips as reality snapped back into focus. Hunger clawed at her insides, twisting painfully. Gods, that smells amazing. Her tongue flicked out instinctively to wet her lips, only to be met with the waxy taste of lipstick instead of the soft, buttery sweetness of cake.

Drawn by the scent and the murmurs of celebration, River took a hesitant step toward the growing crowd. The dancers gathered in a semi-circle, their usual rigid postures softened by joy. She lingered at the edges, a faint smile tugging at her lips. Just for a moment, she could pretend she was like them—just another dancer in the troupe, not some forgotten, broken doll.

Then she noticed something else.

No one was watching the doors.

Normally, she wasn’t allowed within a foot of the exits, not even the ones leading to the front lobby. She was meant to stay within the theater walls, a ghost haunting the crimson-draped corridors and dimly lit dressing rooms. But today, everyone was too preoccupied with the birthday celebration. No one was looking at her.

Her next move wasn’t a decision—it was instinct.

River walked. Her heartbeat quickened, matching the rhythmic click of her pointe shoes against the wooden floor. Her gown, light and loose, was nowhere near appropriate for the outside world, but she didn’t care. She reached the door and clicked it open, only for her breath to hitch in disappointment. It led to another hallway, lined with doors and heavy curtains.

“Hells,” she whispered, her head snapping left, then right.

Then she started moving again, testing each door, hoping—praying—that one of them would lead her out.

---

𝄞 And so the music plays on... 𝄞​

 

[Gary Sue]

Armand lingered quietly in the backstage as did everyone else, all huddled together in order to celebrate another staff member's birthday. Seeing as that dreadful feeling had welled up in his chest once more though, he elected not to join them quite yet. No, he'd rather stay in his own dressing room for a moment longer, hoping that it would wash away with some deep breaths and the ever so slight time he got to meditate. Alas, it was rude to keep the others waiting. He knew people thought of him positively because of his attitude and cheerful mannerisms, so he had to go please the other audience too- his co-workers.

Everything in here had been, was and would always be a performance. From pretending that the audience they're pleasing with their shows weren't going to disappear for good, to the forced interactions between all of the troupe, as though they weren't all shackled to the same stage, the same profession... the same miserable conditions that a good bunch of them could hardly recall. Such was the case for him too, though it seemed to be trying to reach out to him with that horrible ache he felt.

"For crying out loud.", he snapped out of it with a hand reaching to his head, slicking some strands of his dark hair back with his hand as he fixed his smart vest over his shirt, making sure it was perfectly aligned. If they were celebrating, at the very least he had to look the part too, he'd feel guilty if he didn't. And now, the time to go back had come. He already left everyone waiting for long enough, and he was sure that one of them would come looking for him sooner rather than later at this rate.

Twirling on his heels to turn and face the door, he didn't even manage to walk right up to it before he heard it click. "I was on my way, no need to-"

He blinked at the sight of the frail woman that stood on the other side, locking up. His dressing room was in a rather odd position comparative to the rest of the theater, but granted the amounts of feeding he was required to do in order to sustain himself, there was no better spot but to store his room right next to the warehouse nobody was allowed entry too and the emergency exits that remained locked for however long he'd been there. And yet...

"... A straggler? I thought we were told we wouldn't have any incidents like this again- shit. If they've already seen-"

This was far from good. Though there was some visible fear and anxiety on the man's otherwise youthful features, he tried to mask them with a very practiced smile as he placed a hand on his hip and held the other one out to what he could only assume was an overenthusiastic viewer who wandered into the wrong hallway at the right time. "I... have a feeling you're a bit lost, aren't you? Let me take you back to the front stage and escort you out, Miss.", her face was unfamiliar after all, and she looked nothing like the rest of the dancers he'd always been so familiar of.

He took an inviting step forwards, closing his eyes slightly in what was otherwise a very warm expression everyone was so fond of. And yet... there was some intensity behind it. The stress, the knowledge he had to act... unlike everyone else, he had to take care of this one on his own. His blood curdled slightly at the thought, but perhaps it really had been all too long since he fed on someone like so. He was going to try not being forceful, just... inviting enough, and it'd be over before she had to suffer any. "I'm one of the actors, if you're worried. There's no need to be alarmed, but- pray tell, what did you think of the show earlier? You seem... rather thrilled, is it?"

---
Location: Armand's Backrooms -> Theater Hallways
Mood: Moody/Worked Up

 

[EclecticSpica]

❝ River Thompson ❞
“A dancer’s life is fleeting… but how long can one dance on broken strings?”​

---

LOCATION: Theater hallways
MOOD: nervous
​

---

River felt her blood run colder with each failed attempt, certain her skin was beginning to glisten with cold sweat. Every door she opened led to another dead end, another bitter reminder that escaping this way wasn’t going to work. Yet she kept going, her fingers trembling as she turned each handle, clinging to the same desperate hope—only to be met with crushing disappointment again and again.

Then, she opened a door and found someone inside.

Armand’s dressing room.

He was the first person she had seen since embarking on her impromptu escape, and the moment their eyes met, a sharp, unmistakable fear flickered across River’s face. She immediately averted her gaze, lowering her eyes to his shoulder, remembering—always remember—that it was improper to hold someone’s stare for too long. She could almost hear her mother’s reprimand, the ballet mistress’s cane snapping against the floor in warning.

The background does not have eyes.

River bowed her head instinctively and took a step back, her legs wobbling beneath her. But she didn’t stumble—her years of dance training wouldn’t allow her to trip over nothing.

“T-The front stage?” she echoed, her brows knitting together as she cast a quick glance toward the remaining doors. Then she hesitated, turning in the opposite direction, considering whether the front entrance might be a better option than the back. Would she be caught more easily that way?

“Wait, you’re one of the actors?” she asked suddenly, her focus snapping back to him as his words finally registered. Her gaze swept over his features, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her expression before her lips pressed into a thin, tense line. She knew the actors—every single one of them. She had watched them night after night, memorized their movements, their voices, their performances.

But him?

She couldn't recall seeing him do much beyond offering that charming, rehearsed smile—the same smile most actors wore before the bloodbath that followed on some nights.

“I… You—” River stumbled over her words, frustration tightening in her chest. Did he not recognize her either? Then again, maybe that was the point. She was supposed to blend in. Perhaps this was a compliment in its own way.

Shaking the thought from her mind, she lifted a hand to her lips, nervously nibbling at her nail. “The back entrance. I was looking for that,” she lied, forcing herself to meet his gaze again. “I wouldn’t want to impose or cause a scene.” That part, at least, was true. She didn’t want to cause a scene—but not for the reasons she could admit to him.

Still, if he was an actor like her, then he likely had no idea how to escape either… did he?

“If you could just point me to the door, I can find my way,” she said through clenched teeth, biting harder on her nail. Then, as if remembering herself, she forced a smile—a strained, painful thing that barely reached her eyes.

---

𝄞 And so the music plays on... 𝄞​

 

[Gary Sue]

It was a bit jarring to see her not recognising him at all, then again... it wasn't like this theater could ever have repeat visitors, was it? So it only made sense. With a slight sigh at the realization she really was just lost, he nodded and placed a hand to the back of his neck to rub it. "Well, no scene would be caused through the front either.", he did say with a slight tiredness in his voice before he halted what would have been a racing heart in her chest.

"But- if you've come this way already, the back entrance will do as well.", Armand's voice warmed up a little as he waited for her to take a step back or two, walking right on out and closing the door of the dimly lit room right behind him. Stepping out into the corridor, the lighting caused his green eyes to glisten as he stood ever so slightly close to her. He stretched an arm right by her, allowing her to follow his pointed finger with her gaze to a set of doors further down the hallway, wooden and almost heavier than the rest. "See those doors right there?"

The angle was a bit awkward, so he was hoping she'd just... stretch that frail neck of hers. His own chest was thumping endlessly as his eyes trailed right to it, feeling his breathing sharpen. Before he'd start to get hesitant, he leaned forwards, closing his eyes and letting out a deep breath from his nostrils. She could almost hear a faint "I'm sorry, Miss." escape his lips before a pair of fangs pricked her skin, nestling right in her neck.

The hand that was pointing at the set of doors, which she could probably tell by now were locked with chains holding the two handles together, moved back to hold her firmly by the shoulder, so that he could keep her from struggling as much as possible. As adrenaline surged through his body and right out of hers with a weakening sensation settling into her body, he tried to grow as comfortable as his guilty conscience would allow, now that he'd grab one final feast in this gods forsaken place before he made his own grand exit. And to think that this girl was so close, if not for the exits kept under lock and key...

No more than a few seconds after he had begun his meal though and placed his other hand gently on her own to keep her as calm as he could, he heard a few almost furious steps headed their way and quickly pulled back. Though she'd definitely feel more tired than before, he hadn't the time to drink nearly enough blood to make her anything more than simply lightheaded. In her malnourished state too, it was almost certain. He kept his grip on her arm with one hand, turning behind him and seeing one of the other staff members heading right on over. "Armand, for crying out loud, you're going to be late-"

The practiced smile didn't return though, not this time. The woman was almost smiling, until she was met with the sight of the vampire holding one of the ballerinas still. "I was heading over before I found someone that managed to slip from the curtain call. I was about to take care-"

Safe to say, he was a bit starstruck when the dancer drew closer and slapped him across the cheek, almost furious. "That's River, you dolt! Did you seriously not recognise her?!"

He didn't think to turn his head right away. His heartrate had evened out again as he turned his eyes first and foremost, wide open to look at the frail girl all too apologetically. "R-River..? Another staff member?", his question was met with a much expected nod, causing a lump to form in his throat.

As soon as his hold on her loosened, the woman's expression softened and she cupped both of River's hands in her own, her eyes almost like she was looking at a wounded, abandoned puppy. "You shouldn't have gone to grab him on your own. Clearly he had different plans, by the look of things.", she practically hissed and took out a handkerchief to place it gently over the mark left on her neck from the bite, glaring daggers at the vampire. "Hey, I couldn't tell that-"

"Not another word! If anyone hears of this, you're in such- Ugh!", she pulled a hand back and placed it on her nose bridge, pinching it in frustration. "I'm going to pretend I saw nothing- for now. I can't believe you though."

If River turned her attention back to Armand, she'd quickly see an apologetic look on his face. No smiles, no fake looks, just... sadness, and almost disgust- not at her, but himself instead. He lowered his eyes and with furrowed brows let a frown place itself on his lips as he spoke lowly. "... I'm horribly sorry, River. I should have taken better care before I...", his words were cut short from a curt cough from their not-too-pleased colleague who was already swallowing her pride to turn a blind eye. "... I'll make it up to you. My sincerest apologies for my recklessness."

The way he apologised... it sounded almost like this wasn't the first time this had happened.

---
Location: Theater Hallways
Mood: Stressed Out

 

[EclecticSpica]

❝ River Thompson ❞
“A dancer’s life is fleeting… but how long can one dance on broken strings?”​

---

LOCATION: Theater hallways
MOOD: dazed/annoyed​

---

He believes me?

The thought barely had time to settle before Armand explained where the exit was. Relief surged through River so quickly that she couldn’t stop the glimmering smile that spread across her lips, effortlessly replacing the forced one from before. For the first time in what felt like forever, she almost looked alive. And then she felt it. A sharp prick—a sensation like a slap against her neck. Her smile faltered. Dropped. Her breath hitched as she became acutely aware of the thudding rhythm of her heartbeat, each pulse pushing what little blood remained in her body straight into his mouth.

This is supposed to hurt.

She had heard the screams before—victims of vampire feedings, their voices strangled by agony. It was supposed to be unbearable, excruciating. And yet…To her, it felt almost like a gentle embrace. Oh. This might be it. A light, almost drunken giggle bubbled from her lips as her body melted into his hold. The dizziness was intoxicating, the world around her blurring at the edges, dark and fuzzy like ink bleeding into paper. But wasn’t this what she wanted? An escape? He said he’d help her find the exit, and wasn’t this a form of exiting?

Then—he stopped. And River was certain she heard another voice. Another actor? A dancer? A stagehand? Who is stopping me from leaving?

No… no… please…

Her dazed, unfocused gaze locked onto the door—the firm locks, the chains glittering under the dim hallway lights. They shimmered like laughing faces, mocking her. Another pair of hands gripped her own, dragging her back into reality.

“Ouch.” The word tumbled from her lips more out of reflex than genuine pain as a cloth pressed against her neck. It didn’t hurt. Shouldn’t it? Her breath was shallow as she finally ripped her eyes away, blinking at the supposed ‘savior’ before shifting her gaze to Armand. Confusion twisted her features—why did their faces look so much blurrier than before?

“The exit,” she croaked, barely able to get the words out. She shook her head, reaching a hand out—only for it to slam into a nearby wall as her body wavered. Even speaking was draining her. “Hells,” she rasped, a weak cough shaking her frame. “I feel like I’m going to throw up.” A strange warmth radiated from her neck, trickling down her shoulders and chest, only to be cooled by the air against her wound. She shuddered, inhaling sharply. “I thought this hurt. It doesn’t hurt. It just—” Her breath caught, her fingers curling as frustration overtook the dazed acceptance in her expression. Her usual fear wavered, betrayed by the sharp glare she cast at Armand. “What did you do?” she demanded, voice unsteady yet firm. “Finish it.”

She didn’t care what that meant. Didn’t care if finishing it meant death.
Who cared?
An exit was an exit.

---

𝄞 And so the music plays on... 𝄞​

 

[Gary Sue]

At first, it felt like his heart skipped a beat at the demand. His eyes widened once more with shock and his mouth was left ever so slightly open as he lifted his head, looking at her in a state of pure confusion and little more. "E-Excuse me?", his confusion appeared to be more than mirrored on the other dancer's face as she glared right at Armand. "Did you charm her, Armand?"

"I've told you I cannot, no!", he hissed back in frustration at their colleague for the first time, though it wasn't targeted at her. It stemmed from his lack of understanding- why was she so keen on dying?

"I will wait for you two at the end of the corridor. If you do anything unwise... I'll have to speak up. Don't leave me waiting too long.", and so she began to walk away, leaving the vampire with the mortal whose life he almost snuffed moments ago. Though his heart was pulsing hard enough to thud and ring in his ears, the hallway's silence was occasionally broken up by nothing more than the sharp breaths of them both and the gradually furthering footsteps of the dancer.

"Finish it."​

"River.", that lump on his throat only grew larger and choked him further as he tried to think of a way to phrase this. "... Why were you looking for a back exit?", the frown took over his shocked expression once more as he raised a hand to wipe the two spots of blood from her neck again, softly brushing his finger over the mark he left as he winced at the touch. "You wanted me to continue feeding... that would kill you."

It seemed though like her intentions had been seen through quite clearly, and Armand was not one to give in to her demands of granting her a swift, painless death. "This theater has rules, and those rules do not allow me to claim lives unless absolutely necessary. If you're staff, I'm forbidden from acting. And even if you weren't... I don't think I could do it either way.", he pulled the hand back from her neck and quietly looked at the blood smeared on his finger, feeling his mouth water before he let his gaze glide over to meet her own again. "... those same rules don't allow me, or you, to leave."

There it was. Though what would usually follow would be blackmail or some sort of threat in order to remain quiet, they were both in a horrible predicament right now. If she was anything like Diane, then surely she'd be upset enough to speak up. He teased her with a death she wanted granted so, only to never deliver it. Was she... also tired, then? She wanted a way out, no matter what. And as the adrenaline died down in him, the ringing of his heartbeat began to dull, his eyes fixed on her bite mark. "... I've gone and done it now too, haven't I? I marked her."

His eyelids grew heavier for a brief moment, leading to him closing his eyes for a moment of just... thinking things through. No matter what, now he was in a very precarious position as far as his safety was concerned. Stuck between a rock and a hard place... he really was in the same boat as her, with very little to lose. "... Wait until the next play. Then- let's make a run for it together."

As his whisper finished he extended a hand to her, much like before and yet, not as theatrically. His gesture felt genuine and though he was clearly scared, judging by the tense look on his face, his voice remained steady. "Does that sound fair, River? This is my apology... for not being able to do what you asked of me."

---

Location: Theater Hallways
Mood: Tense

 

[EclecticSpica]

❝ River Thompson ❞
“A dancer’s life is fleeting… but how long can one dance on broken strings?”​

---

LOCATION: Theater hallways
MOOD: hungry/annoyed​

---

River groaned, her head thumping against the back of the velvet walls. The carefully pinned bun that had once sat so neatly atop her head now lay flat, small tendrils of curled hair escaping in disarray. “I know the damned rules,” she muttered, her voice laced with frustration. Her usual stoic, prim demeanor cracked, revealing a side of her that could only be described as the petulant pout of a child.

Her vision was returning, though the dizziness still lingered like a faint haze. She sighed, hand rising to swat him from her neck with more force than she felt she had left.

The motion, however, seemed to sting her as much as it did him—if he even noticed. Her strength had long since drained, leaving her empty, hollow. A familiar, gnawing hunger stirred in her stomach, and at the thought of food, it growled loudly in protest. She winced.

“Why does everyone scream so much? This is hardly painful.” Her voice held a grumble, a sharp edge to it as her fingers brushed the bite mark, the cool skin where his fangs had pierced her. Her eyes narrowed as she examined the blood on her fingers with a mixture of curiosity and distaste.

“I’m not going to start craving blood now, am I?” she asked him, her tone accusatory, unashamed. It didn’t matter if it was rude. He was rude first, who doesn’t recognize a fellow prisoner?

Then she felt it—a stillness in her chest, like the beat of her heart had faltered. His whisper slid through the crack of her questions, and her blue eyes locked onto his. Hesitation, confusion, then realization flickered in her gaze.

“You… have a plan,” she whispered, the understanding crashing over her like a wave.

Unable to stop herself, she snorted a laugh, folding her arms across her chest as she leaned into his space. A smug look curled her lips, though it was short-lived, replaced by the pitiful twist of her expression as another growl from her stomach cut through the tension.

“The ever-charming, perfect little Armand isn’t so charming and perfect, is he?” she teased, the words sharp with both mockery and a strange sense of camaraderie. But as her stomach rumbled again, she let out a low grumble and relented. “Fine, whatever. I’ll wait.” With a sigh, she twisted the bandage around her wrist, revealing a dark purple bruise on her pale skin, and began to wrap it around her neck instead. Her fingers trembled, and she urged him to help her.

“I won’t inform anyone,” she said, her voice low but resolute, “so stop looking at me like I’m about to announce your downfall.” Her arms shook, her body ached with the faintest of movements. The weight of exhaustion threatened to pull her down, but she steadied herself, eyes searching the shadows of the hallway.

‘Food is far more important at this point’ she thought to herself.

“Nobody trusts anything I say here anyway,” she explained, her mind elsewhere, “and I’m often covered in strange bites, marks, and bruises. Your bite will be nothing unusual. If anything, it’ll just be another thing the costumer will nag me about tonight.”

---

𝄞 And so the music plays on... 𝄞​

 

[Gary Sue]

Slapping his hand away took him by surprise, but... he understood her. He deserved as much after all of this, though it seemed he placed the blame on a much different reason than she did. "I tried to not make it hurt.", he tried to intercept her questions one by one but quickly found himself lagging behind as he watched her pitiful situation unfold before his eyes. From that scared, frail girl, all of a sudden she started to almost bark at him with an unexpected bravado, only to be shut down by her protesting, weakened body. And worst of all, he'd actively played a part in all of this, this time.

“The ever-charming, perfect little Armand isn’t so charming and perfect, is he?”

"... Nothing shocking about that, is there? You're also more-", he almost sneaked into that playful demeanor he put on whenever he was around others, but cut himself short. He didn't quite have the right to do that after what had happened. "... I'll get you out of here safe and sound.", he repeated under his breath, a promise that he could say but not necessarily guarantee. He was resolved enough to give it his damndest or die trying though. After he marked her, he had already begun to feel a sense of responsibility welling up in his chest, as if the guilt weighing down on his conscience wasn't enough.

"If you come back here again after the celebration, I can offer you a meal. Someone confused the rooms at some point and never came back to claim the dinner they brought me in place of someone else... best not left wasted if you're in that situation, right?", a small smile emerged for the first time on his face, though it was one of sympathy rather than pity or a forced, fake one. "... and no, you won't 'turn'. But... it'd be best if we stuck closer to one another. I...", he was trying to remember anything about her, but... in how much she didn't fit in, she had blended just perfectly for nothing to come in mind, no matter how badly he tried.

"Those marks- are they from in here?", Armand stepped forwards and raised a hand almost to inspect her injuries before he seemed to freeze up, not wanting to cross any boundaries like he had with touching her mark. "How do I not-... have we never met before?", he let out a deep sigh, shaking his head in disapproval as he crossed his own arms rather uncomfortably, looking at her with a thoughtful, ever so slightly somber look. "You've been here a while if Diane knew you, but... I don't think I've run into you before. Have we not been in the same plays as one another?"

---

Location: Theater Hallways
Mood: Troubled

 

[EclecticSpica]

❝ River Thompson ❞
“A dancer’s life is fleeting… but how long can one dance on broken strings?”​

---

LOCATION: Theater hallways -> Armand's dressing room
MOOD: dazed/annoyed​

---

“What is that? Some weird pickup line?” River grumbled, hands reaching up to fix her bun, tucking the loose strands back into place. She rolled her eyes as she mimicked his voice with exaggerated mockery, “Have we never met before?” Arching an eyebrow, she shrugged. “We’ve been in the same plays. I’m in the choir—of sorts. I don’t sing or act, I just dance,” she explained, lifting her foot and wiggling it to draw attention to the satin-covered pointe shoe. “I’m not exactly supposed to be known. Honestly, I didn’t even know Diane knew who I was.” The admission came without hesitation, her tone blunt. If he didn’t like her lack of courtesy, that was his problem. He was seeing her at her lowest point—what else was there to hide?

As she finished adjusting her bun, his other questions lingered in her mind. Lowering her hands, she frowned, eyes settling on her wrist. The bruises had deepened into a shade so dark it almost looked unnatural. Her mother’s wrath truly knew no bounds.

“The marks are… sort of from here,” she admitted, hesitating as she searched for the best way to explain it. She winced. “I get them while I’m here. My mother and the ballet mistress don’t always approve of me.” Her lips pressed into a thin line, her words clipped as if that alone could make the truth less bitter. “I just bruise easily.” The lie tasted stale, even to her. A bruise this dark wasn’t something that came from simply bruising easily. “…Or at least, that’s what I’m expected to say,” she muttered, shifting uncomfortably as she clutched her own wrist in a feeble attempt to shield it from view.

But then his words resurfaced in her mind, cutting through her sluggish thoughts.

“Wait, you said you had a meal?”

Her head snapped up, the hunger clawing at her insides sending her thoughts scattering in all directions. A mortal meal—for a vampire? What sort of madness was that? Without waiting for an answer, River pushed past him, yanking open the door to his dressing room. Squinting, she scanned the room. “I have no plans to join in any celebration,” she muttered, sniffing the air in search of the so-called food he claimed to have. “I’d just be a hindrance if I did.” Her fingers hovered near the doorframe as she willed herself to stay upright.

“People don’t exactly like seeing a bruised doll while trying to celebrate their birthdays,” she added bitterly, taking another step before dizziness hit her like a crashing wave. She froze, inhaling sharply as the room spun around her. “Hells, I hope you enjoyed your meal, at least,” she sighed, squeezing her eyes shut as a hand moved to rub her temple. “I feel like I’m walking through some dream.” Her voice was quieter now, as if acknowledging the exhaustion made it settle deeper into her bones. She could only hope the world would stop spinning long enough for her to find whatever scrap of food he had.

---

𝄞 And so the music plays on... 𝄞​

 

[Gary Sue]

Seeing his marked would-be meal speak of herself like that... the fact he himself hadn't acknowledged her presence until now... it was all a punch right to the gut. Just the fact he'd formed a bond with her when he intended to snuff her life moments ago was heart-wrenching as was, but... he couldn't help but be upset at the words she spoke. "I just bruise easy" was nonsense. It soured him as much as it soured her to say- but his discomfort left with a relieved exhale when she showed she didn't believe it either. His mouth opened to apologise for his own ignorance of her presence, but her mind quickly snapped to the meal mentioned beforehand.

"... Huh? Yeah, I said-", seeing her enter the room so willingly made him worry a little as he raised a hand and tried to stop her, but it was too late. She was already inside the relatively standard looking dressing room, bar the extension to its side that was cut off by some curtains, emanating a somewhat unpleasant, strong scent. "Please don't go looking around, for your sake, River. I don't want you to pass out in your current state.", he asked of her as he followed right behind, closing the door ever so slightly so that they could still hear Diane if she called out to them.

As he made his way to the counter where most of the makeup lied alongside the mirror that was relatively pointless, given his race... he scratched the back of his head and tried to remember where... ah, right. He crouched and reached into one of the drawers under it, finding the meal bundled as best as he could with the few handkerchiefs it'd come with. It wasn't fine dining or anything, but even the simple combination of bread with some greens and a small serving of porridge in a bowl should be better than nothing. Looking at it made him feel sick to his stomach, knowing fully well how fast his body would reject it, but he was growing grateful he hadn't returned this to whomever handed it to him in the first place.

"Do you need help getting here?", Armand placed the meal on the counter, fixing his clothes on himself and making his way over as he held out a hand, all too willing to help. And yet that sympathetic look never left his face, looking down at her with emotions that could easily be confused with pity for someone going through a situation as rough as hers. "You're an absolute mess, you know that?", though that would usually be a playful jab, it came off as a very matter-of-factly observation as he sighed and even in all of this situation, he tried to find something positive to help lighten the mood.

"At the very least... you're comfortable enough for that sass to come out with me. Doesn't happen very often if you think you're some bruised doll noone cares for, does it?", his tone almost made it sound like he was entirely disapproving of the way she talked about herself, but hells if she even cared what he thought right now. That hungered look she was giving the room from before had betrayed where her focus laid- was there even a point in waiting for her to accept help right now?

He took the initiative knowing just how stubborn she'd otherwise be and gently but firmly, grabbed her wrist and allowed her to place some of her weight onto him so that he could help her across the room and to the small stool before the counter. Once she sat down and managed to get a bite, surely some of her energy would come back. "Your blood was a bit sour, but... it'll be better over time. It's the first I've ever marked someone and not finished the job, let alone fed on someone in a while."

---

Location: Theater Hallways -> Armand's Dressing Room
Mood: Calm/Concerned

 

[EclecticSpica]

❝ River Thompson ❞
“A dancer’s life is fleeting… but how long can one dance on broken strings?”​

---

LOCATION: Armand's Dressing Room
MOOD: annoyed​

---

River didn’t have the energy to swat his help away—not now, not when she could catch the faint scent of bread.
How long has it been since my last meal? Two days? More?

She sank down into the chair with little grace, tearing off a slow bite of the bread. Stale. Crispy. Clearly left out too long. But even that tiny mouthful sent a shiver through her, jolting her back to life. Her jaw worked sluggishly, chewing through the dryness as her gaze flicked toward Armand, trying to focus on his words. “You’ve already learned my darkest secret—that I want to escape and die—so why should I bother being polite?” she muttered, her voice muffled by the food in her mouth. “Besides, you’re the one who doesn’t even recognize his fellow cast members.” She huffed, letting the sound of her chewing fill the silence before she swallowed.

“I… was sour?” she echoed, tilting her head slightly. Her right cheek puffed out with food as she crammed another bite into her mouth. Then, suddenly, she let out a snorting laugh, the sound crinkling her nose. “Well, I suppose that’s fitting.” She shrugged, stuffing more bread in as if the hunger might let up if she didn’t give it time to settle. “I’m choosing to take it as a compliment.” Still, the thought lingered. Could she change the taste of her blood? If she had been allowed to eat properly, if she had been happy for once, would she have tasted sweeter?

The momentary amusement faded into a frown.

“Wait… you said mark?”

The word finally settled in her, the food doing wonders to pull her mind back to the present. Armand’s form became sharper, no longer a blur of shifting shapes and distant starbursts of light.

“What does that mean?” she pressed, the last remnants of dizziness lifting. “Marked me?” For once, she fell silent—if only long enough to shove another bite into her mouth. Then she gestured vaguely at him, a mix of impatience and curiosity flaring in her blue eyes. “I’m assuming this isn’t some ordinary bite situation, then?” She swallowed hard, the dryness of the bread making her throat ache. “Because if you’ve done something permanent to me, I think I have a right to know.” She leaned back in her seat, wrapping her arms around herself as if bracing for whatever answer he had.

---

𝄞 And so the music plays on... 𝄞​

 

[Gary Sue]

Well, that honesty was... "... I- you have a point, I suppose.", he said before the sting of her next burn settled in, hissing as he winced physically from the embarrassment. She was completely right that the blame lied on him, as he huffed and rubbed the back of his neck. As for her takin a compliment at her blood's flavor... no, he couldn't be bothered enough to think anything of it, granted she was stuffing her mouth with food like she hadn't eaten in ages. The low rumble he could feel in his own body echoed a very similar sentiment, though then again... Armand did give a cursory glance to the curtains cutting off the extended side of the room where the nasty smell came from. "... As if I could dig into that in its state."

“Because if you’ve done something permanent to me, I think I have a right to know.”

The vampire was brought right back to reality at hearing her voice so impatient, so... troubled. The way she vulnerably hugged herself too... Standing by her and knowing how uncomfortable she was with touch too, he hesitantly placed a hand on her shoulder and let out a deep, drawn out sigh. "... Normally biting someone kills them, because vampires don't stop feeding.", he explained once more rather matter-of-factly, looking up at the ceiling for a second before lowering his head to look at her again instead. "So I suppose-... Well. I-It's a vampire thing."

... that didn't answer anything. A frustrated sigh came from him as he raised another hand to pinch his nose's bridge, squeezing it between his fingertips and grumbling lowly. "No other vampires will target you. In my clan, when we bite someone and leave them alive, it means-"

"Armand, please. Come over already..."
​

A voice more disenchanted than ever sounded from the hallway, faintly through the open door. It caused the vampire to hiss as he bowed curtly and made his way on over, peeking out and glaring across the corridor. "Give me a moment first!", whatever he saw after saying that, it was safe to say he disapproved of. "I did not! I'm talking to her!", he mouthed with a silent, frustrated whisper as he raised a hand for her to just... wait, and stepped back inside.

"It means you can only be fed on by me. And I have an obligation to keep you safe.", he blurted out all too tired in his frustration, frowning as he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall by the door. "It's a tradition to take care of the mortals you mark. Slaves, servants, lovers or otherwise. And no- don't even.", it was perhaps best to shut down any attempts at running into conclusions while it's early.

"You're going to be out of here soon. But you are not dying. Not on my watch. Once you're out of here, you'll be better, a lot better. I've seen what this place does to people, what happens to every new cast member and backstage staff that comes on. We'll figure it out. Alright?", for his silent and usually cooperative demeanor, if she'd paid attention to how he conducted himself at least, this was quite the change in gears for him. There had been a few incidents where he clashed with colleagues and still never stood his ground, even when he should have. But the flare in his eyes burnt with nothing short of confidence. He'd been planning this for quite some time, and he was not backing out or budging his position in the slightest.

"I'm going to need you to trust me, and keep in touch. Visit my dressing room from time to time and if anything happens or you hear gods know what, you'll tell me. Okay?"

 

[EclecticSpica]

❝ River Thompson ❞
“A dancer’s life is fleeting… but how long can one dance on broken strings?”​

---

LOCATION: Armand's Dressing Room
MOOD: bitter/annoyed​

---

River finished the bread, shoving the rest of the mysterious greens into her mouth despite the way her nose scrunched in disgust. The texture was wrong—slimy, bitter, a sharp contrast to the dry, stale bread. If she were in a better mood, she might have complained, might have pushed it away with a dramatic grimace.

But hunger had long since humbled her.

So instead, she stuffed her mouth fuller, each bite treated like a gift from the gods themselves. Her body, long used to deprivation, accepted the offering eagerly, no matter how unappealing it tasted.

She arched a brow as Armand hesitated, his silence in response to her question more telling than any answer could have been.

Well, that clearly isn’t good.

Her teeth crunched down, finishing the last of the food until the plate was cleaned. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. The gnawing ache in her stomach lessened to a dull pebble, years of starvation training her to feel full on scraps.

River let out a content sigh, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as Armand left the room for a moment. The second he was gone, her curiosity got the better of her, and she let herself really look around.

Dressing rooms were a luxury not often given. He has his own? She, on the other hand, had only ever been granted a mirror in the shared dressing room. Not that it was a bad mirror. In fact, it was the only one that always had working lights, the only one that was never cracked—small, pristine, like an island of perfection amidst the chaos.

Her gaze flickered to Armand’s mirror, and she took a step closer, tilting her head as she caught her own reflection. The bandage around her neck was a stark contrast against her skin, hiding the evidence of what had happened. At least it wasn’t bleeding through. But her face… her cheeks were sunken, the thick layers of stage makeup doing nothing to mask the hollow look in her eyes. If anything, it made her look worse—like a broken doll, dressed up to play pretend, to put on a performance and mask the disaster that was her life.

Her stomach twisted.

She flinched when Armand reentered the room, tearing her gaze away from the mirror to focus on him. His words filled the space between them, answering her question at last. But when he spoke of protecting her, River couldn’t stop the laugh that burst from her lips—a short, sharp snort that quickly turned into something more unhinged. “I’ve become a slave while already being a slave. A slave’s slave,” she muttered, the words spilling out between delirious chuckles. When the laughter faded, the room was left in stunned silence.

River groaned as she pushed herself to her feet, only to pause when the blood rushed to her head, making the world tilt dangerously. She sucked in a slow breath through her nose, steadying herself. “You assume I’ll be allowed to explore alone again,” she whispered, her tone laced with bitter amusement. "If I can even make my way back, I'd be more than willing, but the darling actor might just have to grace the poor choir if he wishes to check in on his new pet" she snapped out agitation clear on her face. River began to walk towards the door, arching an eyebrow up at Diane who still waited outside and twisted her head back around to meet Armand's gaze. "Are you not going?" she asked him then stepped back out, her hands folding behind her back, taking the time to look around her, committing the sight of the halls more to memory now that she wasn't so...lost and starved feeling.

---

𝄞 And so the music plays on... 𝄞​

 

[Gary Sue]

Despite his best efforts to not allow her enough room to call herself a slave, pet or otherwise, he had to remember; where there's a will, there's a way. All of trying to channel whatever good he had left in him didn't appear to be working too much, as he raised a hand to his head and rubbed his temple momentarily under the soft pressure of his fingers. The way she was talking to him passive-aggressively like so, the lack of understanding or the tiniest hint of gratefulness in her voice when he was just trying to help... gods, this was exhaustng.

Hearing her practically shoo him out of his own dressing room and resting place and into the 'poor choir' to celebrate with everyone else, though the birthday wishes were surely all over by now, it made a part of him snap as well as he took a step closer and whispered, still in the cover of the room. "I've had enough on my own plate too, however much of a 'darling actor' you think I am- if you'd rather I leave you to your mother and ballet mistress to bruise you to their heart's desire, so be it! Just say the word and I'll turn a blind eye to your self pitying spiral, but you're already going through enough as is. So cooperate and stop wasting yourself by lingering here longer than you have to!"

He wasn't referring to the rooms and location in the hallway, as much as he was referring to the two's hellish prison to begin with. His pale skin had almost livened up from the furious whispers hissed her way, with a hint of red adorning his cheeks and face all around as he could feel even his own nigh immortal blood bubbling under his skin, boiling from a sense of annoyance turning to anger. But he wouldn't lost his cool like that, not right now. That'd just give room to more questions.

Armand closed his eyes, lowered both of his arms and let his shoulders hang for a moment, allowing his head to fall back and letting out a deep exhale. Breath in... breath out. This repeated for a few moments before he opened his eyes to a much more calm and composed version of himself that she hadn't seen bar the public gatherings when he mingled with the others. He followed right on out and closed the door behind him, looking at the dancer and gesturing towards Diane with his head. "You're coming with, aren't you? There might be some cake for you, they almost always cut some for me and they know damn well I can't have it."

It was almost like he sounded bitter at the complaint, as much of a first-world issue as it sounded like. It was like an unwanted jab at his ego and race, more than anything. Diane raised her hands in an exasperated motion, earning a groan from Armand who started to walk towards her with calm steps. "Oh stop, we're coming. Keep the act up and people might think you're my mate."

"... You wish, fiend."
​

"Do I?", a tired remark that was only with a glare, leading to him defensively raising his hands in the air. "Don't dare slap me again, I'm not in the mood.", as they arrived to the corner, regardless of whether or not River had followed up to that point, he turned to glance back and the hallway with an expectant look in his eyes. Although he asked whether or not she was coming along... he knew as well as she did what would follow if she lingered where she shouldn't be and someone caught her. Right now, right here- it was not a choice to do as she pleased.

---

Location: Armand's Dressing Room -> Theater Hallways
Mood: Tired/Miffed

 

[EclecticSpica]

❝ River Thompson ❞
“A dancer’s life is fleeting… but how long can one dance on broken strings?”​

---

LOCATION: Theater hallways
MOOD: concerned​

---

River bit the inside of her cheek, holding back any more snarky remarks. The sharpness in Armand’s voice had made her flinch against her will—a reaction she despised. Any harsh whisper, deserved or not, sent a shudder through her, and the faint pink on her cheeks made it clear she was ashamed of her body’s betrayal. Still, she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her waist, pressing in as if she could will herself smaller, as if flattening her stomach would erase the evidence that she had eaten. If someone noticed, there would be hell to pay. More than usual.

She also didn’t want Armand to get in trouble. Now that her mind was clearing from the haze of hunger, she realized that simply becoming another nameless body to wither away here wasn’t exactly on her wishlist—not truly. But the thought of being indebted to him, tied to him in any way, was just as irritating. Especially when he looked just as exhausted as she felt. With a quiet huff, she muttered under her breath, “I’m not allowed food right now. They won’t even let me have a piece of cake.”

River worried at her bottom lip, debating whether she should try to mask her breath. It didn’t smell of food, but if someone noticed— No. No, it was fine. Nothing bad would happen. Her steps remained light and careful as she followed along, eyes fixed on the ground, willing herself to stay composed. But when she caught mention of a slap, her head snapped up, gaze locking onto Armand’s. She tilted her head, confused, before attempting a scowl—one that barely lasted a second before she dropped her eyes again.

“Why are you expected to go to this party?” she asked suddenly, stepping a little closer, peeking up at Armand and Diane. “And why do they cut cake for you? Is it rude not to give you some? Wouldn’t it just be a waste of food?” Her voice softened as she met Diane’s curious stare, and without thinking, she edged a little closer to Armand. Just because she had dared to speak candidly in private didn’t mean she was ready to do the same in public. Not yet.

She hesitated, but curiosity got the better of her. “Do you actually like the parties?” she asked, voice quieter, her gaze flicking to his expression, searching for any hint of distaste or enjoyment. “I mean, I can’t imagine you actually want to be there.” She wasn’t sure why she cared. Maybe it was just the strangeness of it all—him, standing here, offering her food, talking about helping her, when moments ago she had been certain she was nothing more than a forgotten ghost in this place.

River shifted, hesitant but pressing forward anyway. “And if you’ve marked me, does that mean you have to follow me everywhere?” The thought made her frown, but there was something else buried beneath it—something almost amused. “Even to the dressing rooms? Or the bathroom?” She smirked, the expression small but real. “I hope you enjoy standing outside doors, then.” she paused and glanced to Diane who seemed to give Armand more glaring and accusatory stares. Perhaps there was a bit of fun to be had. River flicked her gaze over to Armand and blinked innocently at him. It was easier to joke than to admit the worry creeping in her stomach.

---

𝄞 And so the music plays on... 𝄞​

 

[Gary Sue]

That mutter of hers didn't go unnoticed, but it was left unanswered all the same. As the three of them walked together, Armand couldn't help but give a few curious glances at River. The question caught him off guard as he blanked out trying to even think about how to answer it, grumbling a little and scratching the back of his neck with one hand before he huffed. Diane seemed to want to fill in for him though in a tone that's all too non-chalant. "Who wouldn't want Armand around? That smile of his definitely has some dancers swooning."

"I can do without the sarcasm, thank you Diane.", he hissed back as he narrowed a stare at her, huffing and shaking his head in disapproval. "... I usually take the more... questionable roles in the plays I'm involved in. Antagonistic or otherwise. It seems the idea is that if I'm still present during celebrations, no animosity will spark up from people too immersed in their roles.", it was almost like a jab sent Diane's way as he coughed to clear his throat, hearing her humming and almost moving her hands to her own melody before she giggled. "Were you saying something?"

"... Nothing at all, by all means continue.", if not for his slight smile, it would be very easy to confuse his playful tone for one of the most passive-aggressive displays he'd be caught putting on.

That same smile did falter though when she asked if he enjoyed the parties. Her guess was spot on, but- "Of course I do. It's nice to get to know everyone, but... some can't help their sense of humor, it seems."

"For the record, you have never had cake before, so how are we meant to know you're not lying?"
​

That smile turned into a frown as he considered just what manner of harsh to go with. Should he mock her by asking if she'd like to be fed blood, or just question her attitude that turned from accusatory to teasing on a whim? Though, when she knew his secret and River's... perhaps it was best to not get on her bad side. Actually, that did bring an idea to mind, as that frown was replaced with a provocative smile. "Have I been found, then? You're absolutely right, I might just take the slice to my dressing room this time and save it for a rainy day."

"Huh?", the dancer stopped in her tracks and turned to look around, cocking a brow as she crossed her arms. "You can't be serious, right?", her dumbfounded expression turned into one of amusement as she clapped her hands and couldn't help but laugh. "You have to let me know if you try it, goodness. I need to see that for myself-"

"You will- sod off a bit, will you? I'll have enough of you at the celebration as is.", he promptly cut her off, seeing River inching closer and managing to finally get some space for the two of them, but not without hearing a comment along the lines of 'do as you please, lovebirds' from the humming performer. A light blush painted the vampire's cheeks as he let out an exasperated sigh, perking his ears for River's next question.

Perhaps... in the midst of her concern moments earlier, he expected her to be truly curious about something of substance. She had found his weak spot, it seemed, and in the presence of the theater's dirtiest prude at that. "A-Absolutely not, you're free to do as you please, thank you very much!", he quickly tried to turn down the very odd offer that caught him off guard, not without their colleague's head snapping to look at them as she stopped once more and glaring at Armand. "Can you take it slow at the very least?"

"Just what do you think I am trying to get out of this?!", he almost barked at Diane like a child being accused wrongly, looking at River as he opened his mouth to speak and shift blame, but... that stare of hers- Diane noticed too and coughed at the vampire. "I better hear that you're behaving, Armand."

"When have I ever not?!", another deflective question as the dancer rolled her eyes and continued down her merry way, the voices of everyone celebrating their fellow prisoner's birthday starting to come into ear's reach. Before they were too close to not be freely able to talk to each other, the green-eyed actor turned to River and tried to give her a harsh stare that quickly faded at the sight of her slight smile. "... You are an absolute menace, you know that? D-Don't phrase things like that, you're free to do as you please and go wherever. Just don't get lost you git, or else I can't guarantee anything."

...

"Tell me a thing or two about you while you can. Who are you close to here, who do you hang around usually?"

---

Location: Theater Hallways -> Backstage Hallway
Mood: Amused/Composed

 

[EclecticSpica]

❝ River Thompson ❞
“A dancer’s life is fleeting… but how long can one dance on broken strings?”​

---

LOCATION: Theater hallways
MOOD: amused / nervous ​

---

"His smile is forced and practiced," River commented toward Diane, squinting as she studied Armand’s lips. Now that she was focusing on them, she tried to recall each time she had seen them smiling or chattering away from a distance. How many of those smiles had been genuine? If any?
“I’d rather have someone scowl at me than force enjoyment around me,” she added, tilting her head as if weighing the thought. Then, with a teasing grin, she nodded toward Armand. “Just because of that, I don’t think I’d invite you to any of my parties.” The smile on her lips shifted, losing its usual edge and growing more genuine. It was small, but real. As she listened to the two of them bicker, the amusement settled deeper in her chest, warming something that had long been cold. She couldn't help it—her lips curled higher, the corners twisting with something dangerously close to delight. It had been so long since she had felt true laughter, years maybe. But this—this casual, normal interaction—was doing wonders to lift her mood. River quickly cleared her throat, catching herself before any laughter could escape. She reminded herself of her place, of the expectations she was meant to meet. And just as she did, that damned singing bounced off the walls again, dragging her back down.

Perhaps it would be worth sneaking into his dressing room more often, if only for the silence it gives, she mused, her thoughts drifting so far that she nearly missed his reprimand.

When she did catch it, all attempts to suppress her amusement vanished. Her eyes flickered to life, alight with mischief, as she realized she had somehow embarrassed him. A small giggle slipped past her lips—soft and bell-like, yet rough with disuse, a sound so unfamiliar even to her own ears that it almost seemed broken. Fitting.

“I’ve never been called a menace before,” she mused between quiet, fractured laughter, her cheeks cracking the layers of makeup forced upon her. She cleared her throat, trying and failing to recompose herself. “Disgrace, disappointment, waste of space—” she rattled off each recent insult thrown her way, but instead of dampening her amusement, her grin only widened. Small dimples pushed through the cracked makeup, proof that she had smiled so little that even her face struggled to contain it. “Never menace, though. I think I quite like that one,” she admitted with a shrug, sighing softly as her fingers brushed against her cheeks. When she pulled them away, she frowned at the smudges of foundation left behind.

That’ll be another reprimand, she thought, already hearing the costumer’s nagging voice in her head.

She was about to lose herself in that worry when Armand’s question pulled her back. River blinked at him, tilting her head in confusion before realization sank in. A smirk twitched at her lips, though there was little humor in it. “You truly have no clue about anyone if it doesn’t involve you, do you?” she accused, rolling her eyes as a booming, obnoxious laugh echoed down the hall. Her nose scrunched, already catching the phantom scent of the actor before he had even stepped into view. Ogre of a man.

“I am close to nobody,” she continued, her voice quieter now. Her gaze dropped to the floor as the voices grew louder around them. Without thinking, her shoulders caved inward, her arms tightening protectively around her waist. “I am not allowed to know anyone. If I had to say, the only person I’m close to is the costumer. But that’s only because they speak more than a few words to me. Most are too scared, most likely.”

She let out a small, breathy laugh, one without warmth.

“Mother always says that only fools befriend those below them,” River recited, her voice distant, as if the words weren’t truly hers but something ingrained in her mind, a mantra she had been forced to memorize. As the words settled in the air, her lips twisted in annoyance. “So, if I am expected not to eat, I do not eat. If I am expected to not have friends, I do not have friends. If I am expected to sign my soul away to some mysterious building, then I sign my soul away.” Her tone was flat, but there was an edge to it—resentment buried deep beneath the surface.

She exhaled sharply, her brows knitting together as she thought for a moment. “If you’re asking for less depressing things…” She hesitated, then shrugged. “I think I used to like the color green.” It was an odd admission, one that felt distant even as she said it. Like something from another life. She glanced up at him, arching a brow. “Is that enough information for you?”

---

𝄞 And so the music plays on... 𝄞​

 

[Gary Sue]

Being called out by River like that, Armand felt a slight sting on the back of his neck as he looked at her and frowned some. But at the mention of not inviting him to any of her own parties, unlikely as she was to even have one given her current state... that did earn a low sigh of relief from him. The insults she listed one after the other tugged at his heart strings more and more, one after the other, but at least she was still cheeky enough to appreciate his new title assigned to her.

The accusation hurt. Be it his social view of himself that bruised his ego or the confrontational hiss it came with, he wasn't the happiest about it. But the blow's impact quickly lightened as she explained her situation, furrowing his brows. Though she complained about his reactions all being made-up and fake, this was probably the most genuine anyone had ever seen of him in a long time, if not forever.

"No friends, noone to talk to, hardly any acquaintances... no wonder I couldn't recognise her. She's practically a ghost already.",

And there was the boogieman rearing her ugly head once more- 'Mother'. Knowing that a good chunk of the bruises adorning the woman's body was from that person was enough to dislike her as is. But just how much of a direct authority she was... not even the damned devil running this slaughterhouse made requests like that. That resentment in his voice, he couldn't do anything about. But there was some sense of irony in him at the fact it wouldn't be a worry of hers for too much longer, assuming Diane didn't run her mouth about their run-in to anyone and get them in trouble or worse.

In the end, her almost childish admission was a start though. Even if it was not much he could effectively work with... it would suffice for now. Offering a nod as the trio approached the rest of the group that was now well in sight, he tried to think. For once, he had to be a bit deliberate with what he'd say, given time was fleeting by the second and if he stuck around her for too long, then it'd start raising suspicion one way or another.

"... I expect you to eat and try to make friends then.", it was a simple statement, as he nodded away at the dancer and gestured with his head to the crowd. His tone didn't carry a lot of demand behind it, it was more akin to worry than anything. "Or at the very least try.", asking her alone wasn't going to magically make her life easier, even if it sounded like she'd do anything to meet people's demands from the way she spoke.

He had been so absorbed in trying to figure out the right words to leave her off with, that he was almost surprised to raise his head and turn to the rest of the theater staff just to see them holding out a plate with a piece of cake on it, offering it to him. And there it came out again, the practiced smile as he tried to force a chuckle out of himself. Ignoring the vein that almost popped on the side of his head or the clenching of his teeth, that was good old Armand as they knew him, taking the very tasteful joke Diane had asked of the group once more in stride.

"Don't dig in too hard love. And behave."

A cursory glance of acknowledgment went to River briefly, before all the pleasantries began. And just as disgusting as it was for her to watch, it was no easier on the stomach to play pretend for everyone else- at least for himself. "I can't be the only one getting served all of this special treatment, can I? Fill me in on what all I missed out, you lot."

Plays on the stage, acting out roles... all of it was just an excuse to keep going about his day as he always did. What different was this, either way?

With the celebration moving about as smoothly as it could with little out of the usual happening as far as Armand was concerned- he was too swamped with people and concerns over his newfound human to protect to pay much attention to his surroundings-, it took just under an hour and served as an extended break for the rehearsal. Of course, he couldn't keep sticking it out in his dressing room as though he were sick now that he'd crept out of it to join in, could he?

So asking one of the fellow actors they had who was aware of his room's rather unsavory condition, his slice of cake was shuffled on over while he remained and tried to get in gear. A sloppy read through of an already practiced enough script, a check of any changes in the cast, and... well, looking at the participating members, he even saw River's name on there. It stunned him for a brief moment as he gave a quick glance around him to see whether she was nearby, but- argh, he'd see her during the rehearsal anyway.

The coordinator's hands clapped loudly as he gathered everyone to the stage's entrances, announcing that they were about to get started with the first act. Though he didn't have any part in it, he usually lingered nearby to make a swift and timely entry once the scene change happened in the next one. That, and he usually remembered some of the other actors' words when it came to scenes he was involved in, so it wasn't rare for people to turn and sneak a peek during practice.

If he had nothing to do for the time being though, then...

Huffing, Armand began to flip through the copy handed to him as he wanted to check whether or not the dancers were involved here, something he'd never done before. But now not only did he want to keep an eye on the rather menacing Diane, but more importantly, he wanted to see whether or not River would be lingering anywhere nearby or not too.

---

Location: Backstage Hallway -> Stage's Side Entrance
Mood: Hasty/Composed

 

[EclecticSpica]

❝ River Thompson ❞
“A dancer’s life is fleeting… but how long can one dance on broken strings?”​

---

LOCATION: Main Stage
MOOD: concerned/ fearful ​

---

River rolled her eyes at Armand’s insistence that she eat and make friends. “Yes, Mother,” she whispered dryly before slipping off to the side. She had no intention of obeying—she had already made a fool of herself once attempting to befriend others, and she knew too well the consequences of eating when she was not supposed to. There was no request, no threat Armand could make that would sway her. Still, she remained polite enough, lingering at the edge of the gathering, leaning against the wall as she listened to the hum of conversation.

Her brief moment of pretending to belong didn’t last. A sharp tug on her arm sent her stumbling, and before she could protest, she was being dragged off to the side. The costumer had found her. Damn. River let out a quiet sigh as the old woman’s nagging filled her ears.

She spent the remainder of the party as the costumer fussed over her costume, pinning and adjusting with exasperated huffs. The fabric had to be taken in yet again, lace trims added to hide the bruises on her wrists, and a choker fastened tightly around her throat to conceal the mark on her neck. When the costumer had noticed it and asked, River merely shrugged. That was the end of that conversation.

Dressed in the revised costume—a trial run for the final performance—River returned to the main stage. On her way, she crunched a bit of chalk beneath her shoes, a habit she barely registered. Around her, the theater hummed with preparation: the director barking last-minute reminders, a musician plucking through warm-ups, the sharp crack of the ballet mistress’s cane striking the floor in perfect time to the count. River shuddered, memories of that cane snapping against her legs and hips surfacing before she could push them away.

She took her place among the dancing chorus, her fingers fidgeting as she waited for the cue. And then— It was as if she had become someone else. Her expression softened, practiced, serene. Ethereal. Each movement was light, fluid, as though she were drifting through silk. Her leaps and turns effortless, her form rising and falling with such ease that she might have been an illusion, a trick of the light. She blended into the ensemble so seamlessly that one might not notice her at all—if they didn’t look too closely. But then, something changed. A dark mist slithered at the edges of her shadow, creeping along the stage. The lights flickered. And in the next instant—

Boom.

The impact shattered the air.

River froze, her breath caught in her throat. The dancer who always stood in front of her—who had always blocked her from view, just as her mother insisted—now lay crumpled beneath a fallen stage light, her body twitching, her throat choking on panicked gasps. Chaos erupted around them, dancers scrambling, voices shouting, but River only clutched her hands to her heart, a sharp ringing drowning everything else out. And then her gaze lifted. Where the light had fallen, something else remained—a black mist, shifting, coiling, unnatural. A shape without form, an absence where something should be. River stood still, trapped in silent terror.
Demon.

---

𝄞 And so the music plays on... 𝄞​

 

[Gary Sue]

He barely had the time to even flip through enough pages to see what was up next on the act before the ensemble began to shy out from the stage's entrances, bringing a small smile to his face. Armand's eyes flickered from one woman to the next, all so that he could track the one he was interested in- they glossed over another all too familiar face with much disdain, despite the expectant stare that she was trying to shoot his way. The changes and adjustments in her costume made it a bit hard to track, but he did glow up a little and let out a sigh of relief when he finally saw River.

Watching her at work once the chorus got started was breathtaking.

The changes in her movements, her expression which turned at what almost looked like the flick of a switch, the gentle movements through the stage... was that his mark speaking, or was she sticking out where she least understood it..? And yet, she was put all the way in the back of the chorus, hiding her from the audience. At best, she'd be a proper afterimage or shadow for one of her fellow dancers, and that tugged at his heartstrings. He held onto that thought with a frown, though it was softened with every second he got to watch her dance to her heart's desire... at least she seemed passionate about it.

"So when did the dance stop?"

It was in the blink of an eye that he could see something emerging from her shadow, and even though it had been years since he last had the sight, every hair on his body stood at attention. It's not that they were short of other 'unnatural' creatures around the cast, but knowing that Armand was among the most 'powerful' and yet he couldn't help but stay alert whenever it showed its damn face...

And with the loud clunk of metal falling onto one of the staff members, Armand's eyes had widened where they were otherwise narrowing. The vampire ran right onto the stage in hopes of helping the injured dancer, his instinct kicking in to protect his human who had been right behind her this whole time, her body locked up as she stared in terror. While everyone else seemed intent on getting out of the stage, he didn't even manage to get close enough to help before that hideous, wretched mist began to rise up from the injured dancer. "River, stand back!", he barked out as beads of cold sweat began to form on his temples, leaving behind cold streaks of water as they made their way down his face.

Despite his booming entrance onto the stage in a rush to help, as the mist unfurled further and further, he couldn't help but feel all of the blood in his body rushing maniacally, his veins throbbing and much like the human besides him, his body locking up. Its presence... though it wouldn't do anything to either of them, as far as he knew, it wasn't usual and it was far from pleasant either.

"Is this a vague threat? Or is it happenstance?"
---

Location: Stage's Side Entrance -> Main Stage
Mood: Anxious/Scared

 

[EclecticSpica]

❝ River Thompson ❞
“A dancer’s life is fleeting… but how long can one dance on broken strings?”​

---

LOCATION: Main Stage
MOOD: concerned/ fearful ​

---

River could only stare, watching as the mist wavered and fizzled high above, drifting aimlessly yet with an eerie sense of purpose. It felt as though it were staring back, observing her with rapt interest. A strange certainty settled in her chest—this was her fault, and yet, at the same time, it wasn’t. Then, Armand’s voice cut through the haze. Her head snapped toward him, blinking at the concern etched into his features.

Why is he worried? she wondered. She was fine—another light wasn’t going to come crashing down on her. Still, something tugged at her chest, urging her to listen. This person had been kind to her, had given her no reason to push him away. So, she took a step back. That was when she saw it. Her gaze dropped to the stage, where deep, jagged cracks stretched outward—splintering, growing—each one pooling with the blood of the fallen dancer.

River flinched. The sight wrenched her back into herself, yanking her free from the slow pull of fear. Her feet moved, first carefully, then faster, until she reached Armand. Without hesitation, she grabbed his arm, dragging him with her into the wings. “Demon,” she panted, gripping his sleeve tightly as she pointed toward the catwalk. But her hand faltered. The mist was gone.

“W-what?” The word croaked from her throat as her eyes darted frantically across the rafters. It had vanished—swiftly, silently—as if it had never been there at all. But she had seen it. It had a purpose. And now, it was finished. Her gaze dropped back to the stage—to the dancer’s broken body.

The mist was there now, curling and slithering around the crushed figure. River sucked in a sharp breath, her body locking up. The dark tendrils coiled around the fallen girl, shifting, pulsing. Devouring.

A squeak of terror escaped her lips as she ducked behind Armand’s back, shuffling further away. “What the hell is that?” she whispered, shuddering. The mist moved like a living thing, like it was feeding. Like it was cleaning up the evidence.

---

𝄞 And so the music plays on... 𝄞​

 

[Gary Sue]

Armand's body was frozen, and yet his eyes were keeping track of every single thing happening before him. From the dancer who was bleeding out, had death not already released her from this hellscape, to the panicked movements of River. In a few moments she had already rushed on over to him and grabbed his arm, dragging him along with her to the side as she began to pant and whispered a word all too familiar to him. He looked where she tried to point, knowing all too well what she was trying to get to, and- it was gone.

Even if he wasn't gasping for air like her in a state of fear, it did appear he was panting almost like he just finished the hardest workout he's had in a long time. Adrenaline coursed throughout his body as it screamed for him to do anything, and the voices in the back of his head begging him to feed on the blood adorning the floor wasn't helping either as they became louder, and louder, and louder yet.

Instead of continuing to look towards where all the blood laid as he could feel more and more of his veins straining, struggling to hold his impulses back if not for the fear etched into him by their captor's presence, he focused his gaze right on River instead, who seemed to be searching all around instead. That didn't last for long when with a meek noise she hid behind him, urging him to glance towards the body to see the mist trying to cover the body, keeping it out of sight and slowly making it vanish from everyone's view.

A look of disgust appeared on his face as he heard the choked whisper from behind him, his muscles finally easing up as he realised that the sorry and all too alluring for him sight wouldn't last, thanks to the demon. "... That's the fiend running this place.", he finally spoke up again, his brows furrowed in a half glare as he watched the tendrils get to work, tightening and coiling around the girl's limbs, squeezing until her body gave way and just... disappeared. Crushed in their grip without any noise or residue to speak of. No different than lines on paper being erased to nothingness.

"I've only ever seen it do this once before, when somebody constantly went against its rules.", as the sour memories of their latest encounter resurfaced, he could recall just how close he was to the 'accident' that happened that one time. Granted, when the victim's body is twisted again and again like dough ready to be made into a pastry, it's impossible to believe in a 'harsh fall'. It was never meant to look like one though, was it? "It was more brutal than here. Perhaps a lot less theatrical though. It wanted to warn us about what would happen if we stepped out of line next, back then."

In his many years, he understood a lot of things, but... this demon was far from one of them. With his head turning to glance at River over his shoulder, he shook his head. "This was too tame to be that- she must have done something to displease it. This felt more... 'carnal'.", at least, that's what his racing vampire heart was telling him. And to an extent he understood the demon. From being underfed with blood belonging to dead humans, to craving life that he could only take from others himself... but not like this. A deal was a deal, so why? If only they understood it a bit better, then maybe...

"We just saw what happens, and I still can't stop thinking about escaping.", he almost scoffed at himself with intent of putting that idea to shame, before that self-pitying smile that began to form was shut down. "No way in hells I'm keeping me or her- especially not her- in this shithole to die like that."

Turning fully to River, he gave a slow nod and gestured with his head towards the backstage where they had been moments ago, holding the woman by the shoulders gently. "Let's go recuperate with everyone else. I don't think we're doing any more rehearsals for now- everyone's too shaken up. And- watching won't help either. I got nightmares for a good while after my first."

---

Location: Main Stage
Mood: Nervous/Worried

 

[EclecticSpica]

❝ River Thompson ❞
“A dancer’s life is fleeting… but how long can one dance on broken strings?”​

---

LOCATION: Backstage
MOOD: concerned/ fearful ​

---

“How awful,” River croaked, her body shuddering as she mulled over the demon’s intent. Was that a warning? She had disobeyed her mother’s orders—orders she could only assume aligned with the demon’s. Maybe this was punishment for daring to escape. Or for eating without permission. Or for speaking to Armand.
Her fingers curled tighter against his back, brows knitting in conflict. But why kill someone else to warn me? She couldn’t make sense of it. The weight of guilt pressed into her stomach, heavy and unwelcome. It isn’t my fault. The thought barely had time to settle before Armand shifted. She flinched at the movement, but when he said they should leave, she only nodded. Her hands fell away from him, curling against her waist as she turned toward the backstage.

“It’s ironic,” she murmured as they walked. “Seeing that only makes me want to escape more—not stay.” A brittle laugh left her lips, one she quickly smothered with a shake of her head. The crunch of bone, the weight of unseen eyes, the silent threat still clung to her like a second skin. Reaching for the backstage door, River twisted the knob and stepped inside, only to be met with hushed debates. The cast and crew murmured their own theories, the older ones siding with Armand while the younger ones argued the meaning of what they had witnessed.

River pressed herself against the wall, arms crossed tightly as the noise grated against her ears. She didn’t want to hear their debates. The scene replayed over and over in her mind—the sound of bones snapping, the dark silhouette watching her with something akin to interest. “I could have sworn it was looking right at me,” she whispered, sighing out. Then a wail shattered through the tension. River flinched, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. I hate this.

The murmurs shifted—became something darker. A few vampires whispered among themselves, their voices dipping into something sickeningly eager. Hunger. Her blood had stirred something in them. The scent of it had reignited their appetite, some even musing that it was meant to prepare them for the next slaughter. River stiffened. Her gaze snapped to Armand, sharp and accusing. “Are you hungry too?” she asked, voice cautious. Her feet shifted instinctively, a slow, wary step backward. She had barely managed to eat today—no way in hell was she about to become someone else’s meal.

---

𝄞 And so the music plays on... 𝄞​