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emberdance) wrote2026-01-13 03:42 pm
emberdance) wrote2026-01-13 03:42 pmopen post
OPEN POST
pm for plotting β¦Β info / permissions Β
emberdance) wrote2026-01-13 03:42 pm
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When Crow arrives, he is still awake, having availed himself to one of his tomes for the evening - after a little night wandering, of course - and deflecting the flirting with well-placed ripostes and warnings, though none of them overly sharp or barbed. Simply little warnings that could likely be taken as invitations for the overly flirtatious man dancing through every "where thou shalt fear to tread" as if it were some sort of invitation to danger. Once the shiny-finder has departed, the scholar moves to find slumber, solace from the sun.
Clothing is changed - a lightweight kurta and churidar pants, comfortable and practical for the purpose - before he slips into the furniture offered to him for this purpose. Before long, the red gaze flickers under heavy lids. It is dreamless. As it always is. Torpor, though short, is never pleasant. Simply darkness. A passage of time as the sun moves through the sky. While Crow spins his tales and form through the market, the elder lies silent and still in his bed, mind full of nothing and thoughts a void.
The rise of the moon heralds the end of his rest, a hand brought to his forehead as he sorts through the memories of the day prior. Yes, he is to entertain the flitty bird this evening; and good timing, too. The hunger is rising within.
Alas, he has no time to switch to something more formal - his magicked clothing, something with a bit more flair even - before the door is gently rapped upon. Crow will instead receive the vampire with slightly mussed hair and wrinkled bedwear.
"You are early, too efficient for your own good," the Balkan intones as the door slides open, midnight strands loose around his face, the darkness around his face and the earthen tones of his clothing a stark difference to the milky, pallid hue of his skin.
"I have not yet changed. I hope that will not be a problem. You may go inside. I will handle the delivery." The door creaks open all the way, the figure within moving aside to allow Crow entry first before he himself moves outside. With relative ease - as if the chests were nothing but straw - he lifts and carries them within, depositing each somewhere they will be out of the way before the door thuds shut behind him.
"Thank you. If you will wait a moment, I will wash up and change."
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Crow had had Phyre pegged as a man of impeccable demeanour. A man who took great pains to present to the world exactly the picture that he wanted to painstakingly paint, and not a single bit less. But here he is, sleep-rumpled and mussed.
It's an unexpectedly endearing sight. Like watching a wolf waking up, soft and blinking sleepily in the moments before it turns back into a creature of the wild.
"I'd say you hardly need to go to the effort on my account, but if you insist," Crow hums, moving into the apartment. He carries in the dinner that had been delivered minutes before, once perched neatly atop a delivered crate of materials, now in Crow's hands as he carries it to the table and chairs within, set near the expansive (and currently curtain-covered) windows. Crow's tempted to brush the heavy drapes aside, but he has no idea the extent of Phyre's enmity with the sun βΈ» as the last dregs of it are still in the sky, he'll let Phyre decide when the curtains open.
Besides, it looks like dinner is actually a breakfast spread βΈ» the twins have also caught on to Phyre's different schedule βΈ» so he'll occupy himself with brewing some coffee and tea.
He moves to the kitchen, familiar with the layout of these apartments, and finds both teapot and coffee press. As Phyre washes up, Crow calls, "I hope you have an appetite, because by the looks of the breakfast provided, they think they're feeding an army."
no subject
While busying himself, he takes the time to change into his preferred attire - a warlock's frock coat and brocade embroidered pants, both emblazoned in black, red, and adorned with a hint of gold embroidery - before stepping back out into the apartment proper, adjusting the buttons at his collar. His sleeves have been neatly adjusted, his hair fixed into proper place. Order established and deliberate where all should be.
It is then that his red, hellish gaze falls upon the table and its bounty and he pauses where he stands. One cannot deny the spread is generous: bread still warm, soft cheeses, honey, figs split open like garnets, spiced eggs, roasted meats. The scent of it hangs rich in the air, tempting to any who could stomach it. For a moment - perhaps too long - he says nothing, his expression carefully blank.
"I am afraid their generosity will be wasted," comes his even, almost deadpan reply. It is not discourteous, but simply a matter of observation. Taking another step forward, he approaches the table but neglects to take a seat. Those dark, unrelenting eyes trace the fare without hunger, absent of desire or need. Simple calculation, as one would study a still-life.
"My condition prevents me from eating such fare. It does not agree with me."
It is a truth, but a softened one. Should he attempt to eat, even to humor his benefactor, it would be as ash upon his tongue. And only moments later he would eject it from his body, perhaps causing more concern than anything.
"But do not let my failings prevent you from enjoying it. It would be improper to let Anuket and Akhem's efforts go unappreciated." Continuing his pace past the table, he pauses just alongside Crow in the kitchen, glancing at him out of the corners of his eyes.
"As for appetite," he begins, voice heavy in the quiet stillness; the dark red gaze is steady and unblinking. "I can assure you that I have one. It is simply selective."