Age at Death: 21
Born in 1160 in the Kingdom of Jerusalem, I was a slave to a merchant and caught in the cross fire during the Crusade. I nearly died, but an mysterious stranger saved me by giving me the Dark Gift. I had traveled throughout Europe since than. Currently reside in London as a modiste.
(NSFW. This is an independent rp account, I am not Nijah, nor Alexandra Daddario)
Nijah sat before the vertical loom, her first one set up after moving into the Marquis and the Countess’ house, and inspected the half complete weaving with a frown. It was initially situated in her room for her to work on some smaller scale commissions without returning to the workshop at Whitechapel, or as a calming past time when her thoughts were all over the place. After returning from Canada, she decided to move it to a small corner at the cellar, where she could work on her creation in peace. The one she was currently working on was made of Arachne’s silk. It took her sometime to figure out how to strengthen and gathered them into yarns, and longer to work out how to wrap them on the loom before she even started to do anything with them. But now it was almost half way, and she could see the beautiful patterns began to form. Once this was done, all she needed was to find a style suitable for her ladyship to move onto the next step.
“Her ladyship will be pleased,” She murmured to herself as she picked up the shuttle and inserted it in between the interweaving shaft. The sound of the small wooden stick, soft and smooth due to the years of using, passed through the stretch yarns and the music from the small radio she had placed in one of the empty slot of the wine shelf nearby formed a perfect harmony. She took a deep breath and allowed her lips curled into a small smile.
Arachne, who had been watching her work from the bean overhead clicked her pincers in alarm. The large spider was due in any day now. Soon another batch of hatchlings will be out and about on the street of London. The vampire scratched her head, taking a mental note to ask the arachnid about keeping some in the household as part of the assistance to the guards.
Quelqu’un vient? She asked her friend through Mind Gift. One of her hand caught the zooming shuttle as she half turned over her shoulders to see who’s approaching.
Nijah sat on the slightly dusty floor and tilted her head up, watching the giant female spider slowly emerged from the shadows. A small smile curled at the corner of her lips. The mother arachnid is increasing again, which made her very territorial. Surprisingly the creature still let her being this close and not attack her on sight.
The crawler clicked her pincers as greetings, before ascending down from the low wooden beam and came toward her. Her smile deepened, reached out her hand and stroked the head of the female.
Arachné, votre nom est maintenant Arachné. Le tisserand plus cadeau dans la mythologie grecque, qui a même fait Athena jaloux.
Arachne tilted her head and stared at Nijah for a few minutes before clicking her pincers again to agree.
The vampire chuckled and ran her hand through its head again.
She heard footsteps coming down from the steep steps. Someone was approaching. The spider became agitated, sending out warning hisses and began to back toward the wall.
Non, Arachné, c’est très bien. Il est sûr. Voyons voir qui il est? The vampire tried to calm her with her Mind Gift while looking over her shoulders, curious who would find her here.
It was definitely not one of the finer streets in Paris.
Nijah gingerly dodged aside a pile of dog poo and shook her head. The cobblestones we old and cracked, streaked with refuse; the lane itself was narrow and dark, closed-packed with old buildings that faced the world with barred doors and broken, shuttered windows, with walls of peeling, brimy stucco. From behind those walls she could hear the shriek of drunken and foxed laughter, the crashed of glasses, the two barely distinguishable from each other. The smell of rotting vegetables, vomits, and urine hung heavy in the still night air. It was after midnight, but she knew it would be little different midday.
The street was far from Champs-Élysées, or even from the apartment Armand owned. This was another world entirely, one kept far from the tourists, the wealthy. Yet this was the only place where she could find what she was after.
She smirked and paused, her dark Khaki long coat blending with the shadows as she studied the dwelling opposite. It appeared to be deserted, a dilapidated structure, yet it had to be one she sought tonight. The thoughts she sensed from within had indicated so.
She moved across the lane and made his way around the house to its back door. It faced on to an alleyway even narrower than the front street, barely wide enough for one person to walk down. More junk was piled in the doorway, but as she had suspected, it was not locked.
The old vampire chuckled.
Oh, yes. What a nice night tonight.