Victoria Black (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mutevictory) wrote2014-08-08 09:37 pm
mutevictory) wrote2014-08-08 09:37 pm
PSL with freetobe In Balthazar's den
It wasn't SanFrancisco anymore. The rolling streets, the ruined bridge. The city died a long time ago. But it wasn't without life of it's own. Sure there were 8-balls scuttling through the streets, but there were also people. Hiding. Protected.
It was no Helena, nor any Vega but it was home for them.
The Sanctuary had been put together by a neutral power in the war against angels, Balthazar, gold haired and charismatic to a fault. He'd taken what survivors he could and offered them a home on the collective grounds of a few old Mansions, they'd built the walls, dug bunkers under the earth for safety, farmed the land. Did what they needed to survive, hard work but simple enough when most had been living historians before the war.
Over the years, some had left, some had died, but thirty or so remained. A few families with young children that played in the sunlight, some older folks that turned their hands to teaching, passing down memories and skills, and of course, the artists. Ever a patron to creators of beauty, Balthazar had opened his home to those that would remember and continue to make things anew. There was music, there was dance, paintings, whatever they could do to create.
Over 25 years, they'd survived. Not bad for a bunch of humans, an angel and one single vampire.
Friend, guardian and guest of Balthazar's Victoria lived with the angel in his house, one of the smaller but far more ridiculous houses that stood on the property. Unchanged since the day she was killed and turned into what she was now, she was trusted to keep an eye on the Sanctuary whenever he or another of his fellows left for whatever business they had. It was a job she took to with absolute ferocity, tearing apart would be attackers, 8-balls or other less kind survivors alike.
When Castiel arrives at Balthazar's home, it's her vinyl that plays on an old turntable, her music that fills the halls and her, perched on table while she painted. Her dark hair had been braided and her long pale legs dangled and swayed while she applied paint to canvas, the vampire dressed only in black shorts and a loose top. Hardly intimidating or out of the ordinary at first glance.
It was no Helena, nor any Vega but it was home for them.
The Sanctuary had been put together by a neutral power in the war against angels, Balthazar, gold haired and charismatic to a fault. He'd taken what survivors he could and offered them a home on the collective grounds of a few old Mansions, they'd built the walls, dug bunkers under the earth for safety, farmed the land. Did what they needed to survive, hard work but simple enough when most had been living historians before the war.
Over the years, some had left, some had died, but thirty or so remained. A few families with young children that played in the sunlight, some older folks that turned their hands to teaching, passing down memories and skills, and of course, the artists. Ever a patron to creators of beauty, Balthazar had opened his home to those that would remember and continue to make things anew. There was music, there was dance, paintings, whatever they could do to create.
Over 25 years, they'd survived. Not bad for a bunch of humans, an angel and one single vampire.
Friend, guardian and guest of Balthazar's Victoria lived with the angel in his house, one of the smaller but far more ridiculous houses that stood on the property. Unchanged since the day she was killed and turned into what she was now, she was trusted to keep an eye on the Sanctuary whenever he or another of his fellows left for whatever business they had. It was a job she took to with absolute ferocity, tearing apart would be attackers, 8-balls or other less kind survivors alike.
When Castiel arrives at Balthazar's home, it's her vinyl that plays on an old turntable, her music that fills the halls and her, perched on table while she painted. Her dark hair had been braided and her long pale legs dangled and swayed while she applied paint to canvas, the vampire dressed only in black shorts and a loose top. Hardly intimidating or out of the ordinary at first glance.