Chapter Text
About 1 week ago
<Holy_Ball> guess who's dieing their hair for 500!
What is Holy_Ball <Shubble>
<Holy_Ball> Dying*
<Zomb13> Dieing
<Kuna1> dieing
<AbRdefG> dieing
<ClamChowder> deing
<Lnflnlte_> what color?
<ClamChowder> wait no fuck
I bet its blue! <Shubble>
<Holy_Ball> I wont tell! You'll just have to find out at Oakhurst!
Aw cmon thats no fair <Shubble>
<WetCat> yeah come on
<ClamChowder> diying
<ClamChowder> wait no fjck
fjck <Shubble>
<Holy_Ball> fjck
<Zomb13> fjck
<ClamChowder> dieing
Present Day (2006)
“-dn't dare!” Scott jolted awake, slamming his head on something he couldn't make out. It hurt. It shouldn't have hurt. He hasn't hurt since the last time he was…
No.
Scott Goldsmith, after recovering, couldn't see. It was dark. It hasn't been dark since…
It was odd, being so deprived of sense. No wonderful night vision, no enhanced hearing, no enticing smells, no blood upon his tongue.
But god was it cold.
He hated it. He felt vulnerable. Weak.
Human.
Scott quickly patted himself down, finding that he, in his current predicament could still do that, thankfully.
Clothes; silky and smooth, thank the stars.
Hair; soft as ever.
Fangs; still there. Scott released a heavy and completely unnecessary sigh as he realized that he'd not been killed nor ‘cured’ as those raving hooligans had suggested.
Sure that the essentials were still there, Scott felt out his surroundings, finding cold stone entombing him. He applied pressure to the top of the box of andesite he'd slept in for—the number 600 subconsciously revealed itself—years. It gave way, surely heavy enough that not 5 humans combined could seal or unseal it; reassuring yet again his vampirism was simply reset instead of stripped.
As ambient light from old torches hung upon walls flooded into the tomb, Scott half expected to wake up in perhaps a curator's collection or a museum, hoping for a quick snack upon emerging.
He sat up again, finding considerably less resistance, and the familiar walls of the family tomb. Scott smiled, reaching out through his numerous bonds to let his coven know their‐
Nothing.
Not even ‘grandbonds’ between generations of sire-fledgling bonds remained.
Scott Goldsmith was well and truly alone. The only vampire left in his domain.
Scott stood up fully, brushing off his pants. His entire outfit was different from when he was last conscious, but at least whoever'd dressed him had a sense of style and foresight. The coat, and cravat he wore matched his blue hair much more. His regular red and black would have been a color palette disaster with his current complexion.
Out of his tomb and down the hall the vampire roamed, recognizing old friends and lovers he never really liked enough to offer eternal life, though it seemed everyone he graced with that gift was gone.
Scott reached the staircase out of his crypt, standing in the center, looking up at the sun. It'd been so long since he'd really taken it in. He stared up at the sun and wondered if it'd somehow changed in 600 years. It was a long time, now that Scott was pondering it. He'd lived for about 900 before being put to sleep, and in that time he’d seen religions form and fall, kingdoms and empires rise and burn, and couldn't help but wonder how all that had changed since he'd been forced to stop sticking his fingers into those pies.
“Well,” he said to himself, “No time like the present… except for 600 years ago, I guess.” He hopped up the spiral staircase, 2 at a time. “I hope the commoners still speak English.”
Drift and Shelby pulled into a parking lot off the main road, reaching their final stop. Oakhurst sat but a mile hike away. The two got out, surveying the other cars pulled into the Oakhurst Trailhead. Owen had picked this place at Louis’ suggestion. The general town vibe and nearby castle ruins along with the trails that lead to a nice lake and a big open river made the spot perfect for some impromptu improv/camping.
Shelby packed her regular outfits, as they sorta fit the feeling she was going for, but Drift had changed outfits completely. She now wore a big brown trenchcoat and a monocle. Cleo and Ren pulled up not too long after, having stopped at a gas station a couple miles back to change there. Cleo wore an emerald dress and sturdy boots, striking a great balance between looks and practicality, and Ren had shed his red tee for a button-up that exposed his upper chest and donned suspenders.
“For basically no coordination,” Cleo said, “it's a miracle that all of our outfits seem to be from the same-ish time period.”
“It just means it was meant to be, Ms. Cleo, doncha'know.” Ren spoke out in an odd accent.
“Oh my god, Ren, you said you'd stop!”
“It's growin’ on me. It fits loike a glove-”
“Don't you say i-”
“-doncha'know.”
Cleo groaned a defeated sigh.
Shelby flung her head back in a laughing fit at Ren's ridiculous accent. The two would hold a conversation delving deeper into each other's character's lore on the hike into Oakhurst. The path quickly wound through the mountains and into a valley covered in fog. If you didn't know your way out, it seemed like it'd be hard to find it. As the travelling group walked to Oakhurst, the fog lifted a bit, revealing wooded hills and green grass, untouched by the modern era. It was a miracle Louis was able to find this place. It was perfect for vampire rp.
As the town became clear on the horizons, Shelby got thinking about her role. Kuna1's girlfriend, RedFlame, had reached out to everyone, assigning them a ‘role’ for their outing. Shelby was just human. She looked around at the group she was walking with, and suddenly realized, maybe she'd already met the vampire. She stared holes into Cleo's skull, trying to figure out through microexpressions what they were thinking, and—unfortunately for her—was not staring at the path. Shelby tripped on a branch and fell face first into the dirt.
“Shelby! You ok?” Drift shot out hands as Shelby fell, but wasn't quick enough to catch her.
Shelby remained on the ground for a moment, not moving out of embarrassment mostly. “Yeah, I'll be fine. You guys go on ahead, I gotta dust myself off.”
“Alright, Ms. Shelby, we'll be seein ye’ in town, doncha’know.”
“Thanks Ren.”
Shelby stepped off the path and the other 3 meandered down towards Oakhurst yet again. Shelby ruffled through her backpack to make sure nothing got ruined, though it was mostly pens, paper, and notebooks she figured it wouldn't hurt to check. After assuring herself that all of her backpack's contents were fine, she slung it back over her shoulder and patted down her sweater vest.
“That was quite a tumble you took.” An unfamiliar voice commented.
Shelby swung around to meet the origin of the remark, though she found no one there. She turned back around and there, directly in front of her stood someone she didn't recognise.
“Are you alright?”
Shelby took in the man that stood in front of her. He was about a head taller than her, and wore these crazy time accurate noble's clothes that matched his dyed blue hair. His… dyed hair.
“Oh. Em. Gee!!! Holy_Ball?! It's me Shubble-” Shelby launched herself at him, bringing him into a hug, she looked up to smile at him, but his face was somewhere between disturbed and confused. Shelby quickly released him and backed up before reassessing his character and offering a simple handshake, “-ahem, I mean. Hi, Holy_Ball. We've not met in person, but I'm Shelby.”
He returned with a disarming smile, and shook her hand. “Holy balls, huh? Some have certainly held that opinion. I'm Scott.”