"Marceline Lyra Salden, at your service."
"Spencer Reid," he says, "Detective Spencer Reid, actually. At yours."
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
+Spencer Reid X OC
A weary detective strides into the dimly lit bar, his sharp eyes scanning the faces of the patrons...
The fog from under the door dissipates, changes. Looks more like dust particles now, swirling in still air. Around, around, in hypnotic patterns. Slowly gathering.
It's so curious, despite the imminent danger and the panic, the people in the room stop to watch as the dust forms a tall silhouette.
Marceline looked on mesmerized, it was nothing like she had ever seen before. Actually, she hadn't seen anything outside of London if not for Spencer. She collects herself, still keeping guard and pointing her dagger at the stranger.
Spencer stutters. His hair is all on his face, not having held through the action, half defenseless.
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"M... Marcie, will you. Um." He shakes his head. "Lucy. Berry."
She cleared her throat," Right, yes." Moving out from in front of him, Marceline can't seem to keep her eyes off the tall creature. It was as if everything had slowed down, she could feel her top lash collide with her bottom. Every sweaty pore on her face, the blood in her veins.
"What... what the fuck are you?" She thought she had said it to herself but it was loud enough for a mouse to hear.
Finally, the swirls coalesce into the true shape of a man. Dust to skin. But can something that looks like that really be skin?
He has raven hair, and a close-trim beard save for the goatee, all of shot through with white. He wears fine, dark clothes. Bony, angular, imposing-- there's a curl to his fingers, a point to his fingernails. To his teeth. Handsome in the strangest, most repellent way.
But his eyes. Oh, his eyes: they hold in them the ghost of dust whorls, irises red as blood. Underneath, pure hate. Eyes that are an impenetrable, dark maw.
"Ooh!" Lucy trills. "This is my friend; the Count."
Marceline quickly looks at Lucy confused but continues to aim her dagger. She backs up slowly, nearly bumping over a small table. She loses her footing.
"I didn't say who..." Her breath was shaking, it was hard to formulate any sort of words without fear under its tone. "I said what the fuck is that. How...how can he just..." Her hands reached around for Spencer, but instead, Marceline found the wall she backed into.
The terrible eyes nail themselves on Marceline. In them, something new: interest. Like an entomologist looking to pin a new bug.
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