08-20-2018, 05:14 AM
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Rialto didn't make it a habit to navel-gaze often, but he also didn't make it a point to revolt against those in positions of power. Not even internally, unlike Oriole. Rialto just didn't bother thinking about it. (Well, he means, maybe he had at some point in his early life, but now he was different. He could handle Marko yelling down at him, if only because if he didn't yell from his perch most people wouldn't be able to hear him. He could take Alex looking down their nose at him snootily. He was Grown.) Power was something you just grabbed, and normally that grabbing wasn't civil, which largely constituted why he didn't think all too highly of people in those positions, but. Well. Fighting back was a pain, truly. If one was going to rebel, why not run away entirely? That's what the cool kids did. In adult life, forgetting your problems was immediate gratification.
In the midst of forgetting these problems even more than he already had, the slouching vampire was strolling through town. Any day now he was going to have to wander somewhere beyond; unmotivated he may be, anyone got sick of seeing the same dilapidated scenery once enough time lapsed. It was hard to get any less vigilant than he seemed at least on the surface, but what else was the world's greatest Lazy Smirk [trademark] for. That was when he found Pip - someone else that, maybe surprisingly (though not incorrectly), didn't particularly find the town's few utilities and hotspots enchanting - and only half a second after, the duo he was addressing.
"Oh, that's a good doggie," Rialto said, eyes zooming onto the wolf with what was almost respect. Huge doggie. Big wolf. He fished about in his bathrobe pocket, because some vampires just didn't know propriety, and after a whole lot of fumbling only managed to extract a few blood-infused gummies, which he frowned at. No, dogs couldn't eat it.
Could they? He didn't know. Some vampires were just a tad academically lacking. He'd offer the gummies if they wanted it, though.
People had two images of vampires. One was the baron, with billowing capes full of secrets and a propensity to turn into bats, and then the other one was a glittering pop culture punching bag that didn't nearly deserve all the fuss it got. Comparably, Rialto was something nearer to the first if only for the fact that too much vitamin D made him start cracking like clay left... in the sun, and he wasn't even the one that did propagate that vampire stereotype. Marko, surprisingly, was more like it than Rialto was. Chaotic and all. Rialto was a douche to mortals in his heyday, yes, but his time had come and gone for him to be actively searching for someone to bully. He was actually, just a little bit, you know, worried that Marko was getting up to something these days. The young blood had been having a little something in his eyes that didn't bode well. Rialto knew that look.
Anyway. Business smile. Friendly: on.
"We don't charge rent," he replied, then to Oriole, sweeping an arm casually towards the rest of the town. "Make yourself at home. I did. I'm Rialto." Rialto's eyes drifted back down to the wolf in a fine exhibition of poor self-restraint, and he couldn't help asking, "Does Cookie like being petted?"
In the midst of forgetting these problems even more than he already had, the slouching vampire was strolling through town. Any day now he was going to have to wander somewhere beyond; unmotivated he may be, anyone got sick of seeing the same dilapidated scenery once enough time lapsed. It was hard to get any less vigilant than he seemed at least on the surface, but what else was the world's greatest Lazy Smirk [trademark] for. That was when he found Pip - someone else that, maybe surprisingly (though not incorrectly), didn't particularly find the town's few utilities and hotspots enchanting - and only half a second after, the duo he was addressing.
"Oh, that's a good doggie," Rialto said, eyes zooming onto the wolf with what was almost respect. Huge doggie. Big wolf. He fished about in his bathrobe pocket, because some vampires just didn't know propriety, and after a whole lot of fumbling only managed to extract a few blood-infused gummies, which he frowned at. No, dogs couldn't eat it.
Could they? He didn't know. Some vampires were just a tad academically lacking. He'd offer the gummies if they wanted it, though.
People had two images of vampires. One was the baron, with billowing capes full of secrets and a propensity to turn into bats, and then the other one was a glittering pop culture punching bag that didn't nearly deserve all the fuss it got. Comparably, Rialto was something nearer to the first if only for the fact that too much vitamin D made him start cracking like clay left... in the sun, and he wasn't even the one that did propagate that vampire stereotype. Marko, surprisingly, was more like it than Rialto was. Chaotic and all. Rialto was a douche to mortals in his heyday, yes, but his time had come and gone for him to be actively searching for someone to bully. He was actually, just a little bit, you know, worried that Marko was getting up to something these days. The young blood had been having a little something in his eyes that didn't bode well. Rialto knew that look.
Anyway. Business smile. Friendly: on.
"We don't charge rent," he replied, then to Oriole, sweeping an arm casually towards the rest of the town. "Make yourself at home. I did. I'm Rialto." Rialto's eyes drifted back down to the wolf in a fine exhibition of poor self-restraint, and he couldn't help asking, "Does Cookie like being petted?"
© MADI
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