Set sometime after Natalie and Adrian's first dates, typist willing. Time is flexible at the Mansion, but typist would like to assume the two got quite comfortable with being in each other's presence-- hell, they should *zips up mouth*. In any case, delivering the promised dream!




Since their schedules don't really... match (understatement of the century, given that his day is her night and viceversa), Adrian has moments when he truly misses Natalie's company. And so, he makes appeal to his gift of sending dreams to people; dreams featuring him, of course, and any setting he might think of. On a self-explanatory note, anything is allowed in these dreams (>.>), and the other person involved can act perfectly natural. 

And so, if Natalie were sound asleep, she could suddenly find herself in the middle of an unknown city, typist willing. There would be a huge round square surrounded by insane traffic, and on one side, a gigantic set of monumental stairs going up to a dedicated monument (Piazza Venezia). The time would be late afternoon (another bonus for dreams-- Adrian can enjoy sunlight!), and a sharp wind blowing around them.

They're just a few hundreds of feet away from the Colosseum. Adrian's wearing sunglasses, a plane white shirt open at the collar, its sleeves rolled above his elbows, and a pair of fashionably worn out jeans. 

"Good afternoon, love. I thought you might like this."



* Typist would have used her own pictures of Rome, but she can't find them right now >.>

 Hi dad. Just in case this notepad is yours. 

So -- she said yes. She's staying. 

I am somewhere in between two states of deliberate happiness; quite uncommon. 

(Vodka. To celebrate. Though I'm looking at her sleeping, and I find myself willing for her never to leave.)

The room is indeed a bit stuffy, but not excessively so. Adrian steps in gingerly and goes straight to the French door, opening it widely.

"I'd ask you to come out on the balcony, but whereas it's not too cold for vampiric me, it might be a touch too cold for you."

He thinks for a second while he looks for his pack of cigarettes. "I know. We could do this."

Leaving the balcony door open, he simply sits on the floor -- the carpet is thick enough, and quite comfortable.

"Come here," he says, a wicked smile on his handsome face. 

This, I had to write.

(Papa, if this is your notepad, avert your gaze.)

Natalie happened. 

And it's so so so much something, and I bit of something else.

Might be falling in l --

 

Adrian would open the door of his room for Natalie, switching on the dim lights.

"You'll have to excuse the lack of -- er, better lighting," he says, partly bitter, partly amused. "My eyes couldn't really stand more."

[Taking over from here.]

Who: Wendla Bergmann, Zhane
What: Zhane and Wendla are cute together, once they've warmed up from their adventure in the storm.
When: In direct continuation of this thread the night of Ariel's storm, so Feb 27th, more or less.
Rating: General

( a gizmo about the size of a football and a bag of marshmallows )

And I'm done! Sorry about the multi-posting!

I found this old battered notepad on the bottom of my second suitcase -- the navy blue one. It looks odd. Several pages are missing; they've certainly been pulled out. I don't know to whom does it belong, though. By its look, it might have been my father's, but what is it doing in my luggage, I have no clue of. But since I'm here, at this 'Mansion', I thought I might as well occupy my spare time with something.

Writing my memoirs has always been a secret wish of mine, a wish I never share with anyone. It would be slightly embarassing for my reputation to have a coda added, saying that my secret wish is to be a published author. It would make me look sissy.

It's been a short while since I arrived here, yet there are already people who make me feel comfortable. There's Iggy, of course. This kid. My, my. He basically saved my life, offering himself as a temporary (one-time, I should hope!) feeder just when I was feeling completely drained. I feel drawn to him, I feel like he's been the odd one out for all his life -- just like me. Maybe this 'Mansion' will be a home for me as much as it might be for him. He promised to teach me how to cook. Me. Adrian Ivashkov. Cooking. Mother is probably turning in her grave.

Oh, he also took me flying.

That was even cooler, I might add. My name is Adrian and I can fly. Kudos to me.

Then there's that guy Tsuzuki (oops, I made a spelling error; no wonder; look, it's rectified!). He's -- something. He explained everything to me, but it's like I'd explain the principles of Spirit wielding to a five-year-old. I'm trying to understand the complex connections in his brain (and quite a brain he has!), but he's making me feel dense.

I almost got into a fight. Jeez. Reminded me of my confrontation with Christian back at the Academy, what with his suspicions concerning me and Lissa. Idiot. I miss him.

Surprisingly, I don't miss Rose. She was part of my life -- she took a huge chunk of it, actually -- but she isn't anymore. I am slowly adjusting to this. And then, there's Natalie. Natalie who's sweet and young and all kinds of adorable, and who makes me think of that song from 'Dirty Dancing' -- She's Like The Wind, do you know it? We, er, went on a date. We... we kissed. It was -- it was. It just was. I feel too hotheaded now to think straight about that. I think... I think I might like her. I have no idea what she thinks of me. Thankfully, this time my reputation didn't precede me. I can live freely here.

(As long as I find a regular feeder. I wonder if Nat...)

Oh, and then there's Niko. He's somewhat like that kickass Belikov, but this time we don't like the same girl. He knew what I was -- or nearly -- so I had to spill out part of my story. I hope he doesn't think I'd go on a killing spree and suck all the blood in this house. Because I won't. I never kill. We never do.

Natalie? 

Things have been happening too quickly, and Adrian was tired already without having so many new faces around, and without hearing so many new voices, and mostly, mostly, without feeling, smelling, sensing so many different natures in his vicinity. 

His sleep is fitful.

He'd look for Rose in her dreams, but he knows it would be meaningless.

When he wakes up, it's almost twilight. Good. He can actually go out on his balcony without being afraid he'd be fried. Moroi have a certain resistance to sunlight, but it's no excessive -- exposing himself to direct, full sunlight would mean torture and, most probably, death.

If a certain young friend with wings and an inclination for cooking (and food in general) wandered at any time out of wherever he is, he'd find Adrian sitting on a rocking chair, his sunglasses on, smoking one of his cigarettes and being miserable.