[Petrichor. Trevor had been trying -- and failing -- for the past quarter-hour to settle upon a name for the catacombs' odor. Musty didn't quite fit the bill, not rot or stench; it was neither dry nor entirely unpleasant, and it only seemed to bloom into sweetness the deeper he delved underground. Earthy was a closer term, damp, yes-- If he could only place its familiarity, he was certain it would yield some clue as to his quarry, their whereabouts, some damn thing...
Fresh, wet earth. There it was. There was the fixation sated, only to be joined by an entirely new obsession, because the catacombs are all bone and stone, for God's sake. And they're hardly water-tight, but dirt simply wasn't a thing he expected to sniff out this far beneath ground. At least, not so consistently. So, if he followed the scent (which was out of place), then it stood to reason that he would find something else out of place as well.
...out of place, like the very distinct perfume that soon joined the petrichor. It was faint, but Trevor knew it well; gladly surrounded himself with it as well and often as possible. They must have just missed each other, but Adrian was nearby. And so, Trevor waited; five, maybe ten minutes more, until Adrian mumbles his way around the corner were Trevor now stands, arms crossed and leaning against a bit of crumbling stone outcropping.
As always, his smirk is maddening.]
And here I've been, convinced that vampires could fly, while my lover chooses to eschew the more batly modes of transport for lowly foot travel. The fool I've been.
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Fresh, wet earth. There it was. There was the fixation sated, only to be joined by an entirely new obsession, because the catacombs are all bone and stone, for God's sake. And they're hardly water-tight, but dirt simply wasn't a thing he expected to sniff out this far beneath ground. At least, not so consistently. So, if he followed the scent (which was out of place), then it stood to reason that he would find something else out of place as well.
...out of place, like the very distinct perfume that soon joined the petrichor. It was faint, but Trevor knew it well; gladly surrounded himself with it as well and often as possible. They must have just missed each other, but Adrian was nearby. And so, Trevor waited; five, maybe ten minutes more, until Adrian mumbles his way around the corner were Trevor now stands, arms crossed and leaning against a bit of crumbling stone outcropping.
As always, his smirk is maddening.]
And here I've been, convinced that vampires could fly, while my lover chooses to eschew the more batly modes of transport for lowly foot travel. The fool I've been.