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Futuristic Bite Your Tongue [RP]
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User Total ditto 2 Threadmarks Reader mode
S k i p o n e - March 13
ditto
still kicking :)
19:09. May 14.
month two since the murders began. body number two-hundred-thousand-fifty-eight.
month two since the murders began. body number two-hundred-thousand-fifty-eight.
The sky was almost entirely dark tonight. The light pollution from all of the grand attractions around the small, dank alley ensured that it stayed that way. Even the moon seemed to be dimmer than usual tonight, and it had tucked itself almost shamefully behind a stream a thin clouds to hide itself.
The alley itself was wide, though much of the space was taken up by monstrous, steel, green dumpsters, pushed to the left side against a building of painted white brick. There were steps down from a large, heavy-looking door on the right side. A rusted railing was bolted both to the steps and to the crumbling red bricks of the building.
In the middle of these two buildings, amongst several dingy, molded cardboard boxes, something lay. To some who walked by it, it was a mannequin; to others, it was a plastic pair of display boots. However, neither of these were correct.
Ah, and perhaps I was slightly misleading with my description. I definitely should have said:
In the middle of these two buildings, amongst several dingy, molded cardboard boxes, someone lay.
It was a woman, though not a particularly attractive one. Not that it really mattered anymore.
Anyone could tell by the pallid color of her skin and the two deep marks on her neck that she was dead and had died in the same way as the other two-hundred-thousand-fifty-seven people found in the last two months.
This was the doings of what the police classified a vampire, no doubt. It was clear, however, that this woman had been feasted upon elsewhere and casually tossed here.
It was also clear that she had been dead for sometime now, though it was only this moment that the police had discovered her here.
The first people who were called were the loosely-organized group of “vampire hunters”, the Devoted. Though this group was a last minute, hardly thrown together effort to squash the vampire problems that had one again arisen, they had successfully exterminated twenty vampires so far, so it made sense why they were called first.
That crumbling, inconspicuous red building to the right, however, was a shop that was owned by a prominent vampire in the scene— though, naturally, he called himself a Justice— and inside that building, happening right as we speak, is a very, very important meeting of the devoted Justices.
Of course, there are also people gathering on the sidewalk to watch the Devoted and the police do their work…
Where shall we begin in this scene? Ah, there is so much to see, is there not?
queanbean
queen bean casserole
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screaming armadillo
AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
The nomadic existence of an immortal vampire had always required some degree of meticulous scheming; that is if one wanted to avoid humanity directing their ire at them. Such caution was ever-growing as the progression of technology slowly, inevitably, made painstaking thoroughness necessary. Old fangs often lamented how the olden days were a much simpler time, and they were right. With cameras at every corner and the internet an inescapable fact of life, it was quite the challenge to keep the wool over mankind’s eyes compared to when newspapers were the hot new item.
Of course having friends, or disposable acquaintances, in medium to high places can certainly be helpful; which Boruth, or Richard Bell as the United States government knows him, happened to have a few of. Richard Bell has become one of many long-term false identities required through the decades that said friends helped create while Boruth took great care to maintain. Naturally such a process was helped along by the all powerful dollar, something he also had enough of. Mostly old money from before the first vampire epidemic that had been hidden very well in the decades between then and now. The means which he acquired that money was not very clean, very dirty in fact, which is pretty much how he had always amassed wealth.
Even with all the money, contacts and centuries of practice living amongst humanity Boruth had he still felt more than a little uncertain this night. He knew, all vampires should know, that the lambs they have recently been slaughtering in mass are closing in on the truth. Just like they did all those decades ago before the wolves went in hiding. Bouncing around in their heads is all the elements of epiphany that many have already pieced together and the open-minded have accepted. In this dark period of such palpable fear and dreadful paranoia, even the sceptics will soon join the mob out of self-preservation.
Should the whole of humanity too soon unite in the singular cause of wiping out the vampiric race, Boruth does not believe even he could escape the stake.
His exhale would have been audible had passing sirens not drowned them out. The old vampire would eventually turn the same corner the emergency vehicle did but by then it is only distant wailing fading into the night. His car is parked behind what he assumes was once a grocery store that has long been deserted. On foot Boruth is familiarizing himself with a new city as he had done countless nights before.
Dying does not frighten an ancient monster like him, one that has long accepted its inevitability whether it be by stake or pathetically crumbling into dust. The latter prospect instantly conjures an image to the forefront of his mind, only the dust is dark as coal and the body is not his own. He forced that memory back to the bog of his mind, yet not quick enough to halt the unmistakable stench that always came with it. Inhaling deeply he tries to replace the distressing odor with the perfume of the city although he dislikes it immensely. With equal effort he focuses on what he came to do and he is thankful for an active night.
Pure chance brought him to the crime scene in one of the seedier parts of town, down the street from it to be more precise. For only a passing minute or so he watched the activity, trying to guage the distant expressions of onlookers and the more professionally involved yet finding nothing that troubled him deeply. That being said, the potential attention from the small crowd of people is too unnecessary a trouble and the old vampire thinks it wiser to simply avoid. So he moves away from the flashing lights, pausing across the street from Palmetti’s after a very short walk. First impression of the building is not good to say the least. Even still he considers trying to gain entry as it seems like a good spot to investigate the locals and dressed as he is, blue jeans with an unexceptional button up, he doesn't believe that he would stand out.
But how to get in? He crossed the street while thinking it over.
Of course having friends, or disposable acquaintances, in medium to high places can certainly be helpful; which Boruth, or Richard Bell as the United States government knows him, happened to have a few of. Richard Bell has become one of many long-term false identities required through the decades that said friends helped create while Boruth took great care to maintain. Naturally such a process was helped along by the all powerful dollar, something he also had enough of. Mostly old money from before the first vampire epidemic that had been hidden very well in the decades between then and now. The means which he acquired that money was not very clean, very dirty in fact, which is pretty much how he had always amassed wealth.
Even with all the money, contacts and centuries of practice living amongst humanity Boruth had he still felt more than a little uncertain this night. He knew, all vampires should know, that the lambs they have recently been slaughtering in mass are closing in on the truth. Just like they did all those decades ago before the wolves went in hiding. Bouncing around in their heads is all the elements of epiphany that many have already pieced together and the open-minded have accepted. In this dark period of such palpable fear and dreadful paranoia, even the sceptics will soon join the mob out of self-preservation.
Should the whole of humanity too soon unite in the singular cause of wiping out the vampiric race, Boruth does not believe even he could escape the stake.
His exhale would have been audible had passing sirens not drowned them out. The old vampire would eventually turn the same corner the emergency vehicle did but by then it is only distant wailing fading into the night. His car is parked behind what he assumes was once a grocery store that has long been deserted. On foot Boruth is familiarizing himself with a new city as he had done countless nights before.
Dying does not frighten an ancient monster like him, one that has long accepted its inevitability whether it be by stake or pathetically crumbling into dust. The latter prospect instantly conjures an image to the forefront of his mind, only the dust is dark as coal and the body is not his own. He forced that memory back to the bog of his mind, yet not quick enough to halt the unmistakable stench that always came with it. Inhaling deeply he tries to replace the distressing odor with the perfume of the city although he dislikes it immensely. With equal effort he focuses on what he came to do and he is thankful for an active night.
Pure chance brought him to the crime scene in one of the seedier parts of town, down the street from it to be more precise. For only a passing minute or so he watched the activity, trying to guage the distant expressions of onlookers and the more professionally involved yet finding nothing that troubled him deeply. That being said, the potential attention from the small crowd of people is too unnecessary a trouble and the old vampire thinks it wiser to simply avoid. So he moves away from the flashing lights, pausing across the street from Palmetti’s after a very short walk. First impression of the building is not good to say the least. Even still he considers trying to gain entry as it seems like a good spot to investigate the locals and dressed as he is, blue jeans with an unexceptional button up, he doesn't believe that he would stand out.
But how to get in? He crossed the street while thinking it over.
frogmilk
:^)
DIONE ROUX
location meeting / outfit dress
coded by frogmilk
In the back booth of a certain Palmetti’s Pub sat a young woman who didn’t quite look like she belonged there. She was wearing an elegant, black dress reaching to about her ankles with a pair of matching black heels. Perhaps not what the vampire would usually be found wearing, but today was not a usual occasion. With a drink in hand, she sat and observed the guests, surrounded by the noise of people chatting and the music, which played at a reasonable volume. Scattered around the bar were a couple of different groups, most of them seemed to be college students, and of course the occasional loner, who looked like they had already had a couple drinks too many. Some had cigarettes in their hand and others didn’t, none of them looked very content, though, and it made for a nice contrast to the laughing college students.
Nothing about this pub had any similarities to what the pubs and bars looked like a couple centuries ago, and yet, a sort of nostalgic feeling came over her as she watched the students drink and laugh. She remembered what it was like to be young and naïve. And almost as quickly, she was overcome with a feeling of guilt. Their way of life would cease to exist. They would cease to exist. Or, at least, if the Justices got their way they would. Dione wondered why it was that so many of her peers had such a lust for death. Surely some humans would have to be kept alive, if nothing else then for feeding purposes. She grimaced, in all honesty, the bare idea of it made her stomach twist. Despite her feelings of compassion for humans, she hoped she had chosen the right side of the revolution this time.
Police vehicles passed by the windows of the place and Dione found herself staring blankly at the windows. Of course, she already knew what the police were doing in this part of town. In fact, it was tied to what she herself was doing in this part of town. She would not hang around in such a neighborhood if it wasn’t for an important meeting, and the occasional snack, after all. Emptying her glass, the brunette grabbed her purse and stood up before making her way to the door. It would be time, soon. As she opened the door, she was met by the sight of a man approaching the building. “Are you going in?” she asked, holding the door open and inspecting the man in front of her. His attire fit in with the rest of the guests, yet he didn’t seem to be from around there.
Continuing on her way, the sound of heels hitting pavement echoed through the lonely street. There weren't a lot of people out on the streets, and most of those who were had gathered around the crime scene. Curiosity struck and she carefully approached the mass that had gathered. An air of desperation and anger lingered in the crowd as they tried to figure out who the victim was. Dione recognized that the people were angry, and it made her uncomfortable in the same way she had felt uncomfortable during the end of the 1700th century and then again in 1830. She could almost feel an uprising coming.
Taking a deep breath in the vampire left the worried crowd and approached the red and neglected hardware store. She looked over her shoulder before pushing the door open and hearing the little bell signalling there’s a new customer. The shop didn’t have much on display, Dione found most items to be rather useless. Not that she was very well versed in hardware, though. She strolled through the shop so as to make it less obvious why she was there. It wasn’t necessary, though, as the place was pretty much deserted. Walking up to the counter, she brushed her hair behind her shoulder and untucked the vial of blood that was hanging around her neck from underneath the neck of the dress.
As she was led through to the back, the run-down hardware store turned into what could only be described as a luxurious saloon decorated in true 1920’s fashion. A smile immediately spread across Dione’s lips. It was a beautiful space, with a big, round table in the middle. She made her way towards it and took a seat. “This is it, then.” she thought to herself.
Nothing about this pub had any similarities to what the pubs and bars looked like a couple centuries ago, and yet, a sort of nostalgic feeling came over her as she watched the students drink and laugh. She remembered what it was like to be young and naïve. And almost as quickly, she was overcome with a feeling of guilt. Their way of life would cease to exist. They would cease to exist. Or, at least, if the Justices got their way they would. Dione wondered why it was that so many of her peers had such a lust for death. Surely some humans would have to be kept alive, if nothing else then for feeding purposes. She grimaced, in all honesty, the bare idea of it made her stomach twist. Despite her feelings of compassion for humans, she hoped she had chosen the right side of the revolution this time.
Police vehicles passed by the windows of the place and Dione found herself staring blankly at the windows. Of course, she already knew what the police were doing in this part of town. In fact, it was tied to what she herself was doing in this part of town. She would not hang around in such a neighborhood if it wasn’t for an important meeting, and the occasional snack, after all. Emptying her glass, the brunette grabbed her purse and stood up before making her way to the door. It would be time, soon. As she opened the door, she was met by the sight of a man approaching the building. “Are you going in?” she asked, holding the door open and inspecting the man in front of her. His attire fit in with the rest of the guests, yet he didn’t seem to be from around there.
Continuing on her way, the sound of heels hitting pavement echoed through the lonely street. There weren't a lot of people out on the streets, and most of those who were had gathered around the crime scene. Curiosity struck and she carefully approached the mass that had gathered. An air of desperation and anger lingered in the crowd as they tried to figure out who the victim was. Dione recognized that the people were angry, and it made her uncomfortable in the same way she had felt uncomfortable during the end of the 1700th century and then again in 1830. She could almost feel an uprising coming.
Taking a deep breath in the vampire left the worried crowd and approached the red and neglected hardware store. She looked over her shoulder before pushing the door open and hearing the little bell signalling there’s a new customer. The shop didn’t have much on display, Dione found most items to be rather useless. Not that she was very well versed in hardware, though. She strolled through the shop so as to make it less obvious why she was there. It wasn’t necessary, though, as the place was pretty much deserted. Walking up to the counter, she brushed her hair behind her shoulder and untucked the vial of blood that was hanging around her neck from underneath the neck of the dress.
As she was led through to the back, the run-down hardware store turned into what could only be described as a luxurious saloon decorated in true 1920’s fashion. A smile immediately spread across Dione’s lips. It was a beautiful space, with a big, round table in the middle. She made her way towards it and took a seat. “This is it, then.” she thought to herself.
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ditto
still kicking :)
JACK "SILVER" LIGHTONN
TIME: 19:08
º•.•º•.•º•.•º•.•º•.•º•.•º
THE CHANDELIER OVERHEAD swayed slowly in time with the soft jazz coming from the neatly-shined, dark black baby grand piano in the back right corner of the room, and its candles' flames flickered teasingly, taunting that they could blow out if they truly wanted to. The pianist looked up every so often, gave a smile to a particularly dressed-up young Justice in a green dress, and went back to staring intently at his white-gloved hands that tickled the ivories in an almost hypnotic way.
To the left of the room, there was a large bar, and behind it, in glass cabinets, were stored many different-sized bottles labeled with hand-made labels. Their colors ranged from bright, saturated red to dark and nearly-maroon. Only the rightmost cabinet held anything that was distinguishable, for here were the hard liquors that were distinctly human-made.
To the right was a stage, though a small one, and upon it was a small podium. Yellow lights lined the front of the stage itself. Overhead were boxy stage lights, though they were currently turned off; the Justices who manned the lights had decided that it was better to reserve keeping them on for the nights when meetings weren't happening (after all, there was a reason that the place was styled like a speakeasy and was known by Justices).
In the centermost part of the room was a large, mahogany table. On it was no tablecloth, for the organizer of this event saw no reason to have such a thing. This table was only brought out for these such meetings, so it never got dirtied, and even if it did, it would take no more than a quick wipe to clear away what needed to be cleared.
Around the table were gathered many Justices of all shapes, sizes, and colors. There was one thing in common amongst many of them tonight, however: they all seemed to have about themselves a cheerful-- or at the least, amicable-- countenance. They chatted with one another, smoked cigarettes, and drank alcohols and the dark liquids from shotglasses. They acted as if they were truly, deeply friends.
That said, there were a few who did not, and Jack Lightonn-- yes, that one, the one who they called Silver who currently held a shotglass of something a dark red and was sitting at the head of the table-- was one of them.
He sat, legs crossed at the knee, leaned back against the seat. Between his lips was poised a cigarette, currently unlit. The grey suit that he wore was tailored to fit his body just-so, and there was not a single wrinkle to be seen upon it. His red tie, tucked into his grey vest, was clipped with the golden clip that he always wore. The chair that he was seated in was slightly larger than the others. It had armrests, unlike the others, and upon these armrests, he propped his elbows.
One could not tell from his general aura or his position at the table, but he was not, in fact, the proprietor of this “hardware store”, nor was he the organizer of this event-- nor was the woman who stood behind him as if she were a looming ghost.
A look of morbid amusement played in his eyes. "Being around one's despised enemies and smoking cigars with them, as if one was old friends with them...this scene is nearly quaint," he mumbled, drawing out a long sigh.
He withdrew the cigarette from his lips, and he perked up his left eyebrow as he heard sirens blaring outside of the building-- though they were barely audible above the loud speaking at all sides of the table.
He spoke to the woman behind him without looking at her. "Kate," he said in the quiet, calm voice that he always had when speaking to her, "it seems that the cochons insensés have discovered the body outside of our doors..."
Cochons insensés, foolish pigs. By that, he meant the police.
He lifted his eyes to the woman entering the speakeasy, and as she took her seat, he leaned forward and called, "Newest arrival."
He withdrew a lighter from his left breast pocket and lifted it to his cigarette. He waited for the paper to become alight, and he pocketed the cigarette again. He blew out a smoke ring, then set the cigarette between the first two fingers of his right hand.
His eyes fixated on the newest woman. None of the others seemed to care that he was even talking, so he spoke a bit louder with his next sentence. He did not recognize her, but he spoke to her as if they were familiar with one another-- though not in a friendly way, per se. "Would you explain what is going on out there? Did you happen to see anything when you were out there?"
To the left of the room, there was a large bar, and behind it, in glass cabinets, were stored many different-sized bottles labeled with hand-made labels. Their colors ranged from bright, saturated red to dark and nearly-maroon. Only the rightmost cabinet held anything that was distinguishable, for here were the hard liquors that were distinctly human-made.
To the right was a stage, though a small one, and upon it was a small podium. Yellow lights lined the front of the stage itself. Overhead were boxy stage lights, though they were currently turned off; the Justices who manned the lights had decided that it was better to reserve keeping them on for the nights when meetings weren't happening (after all, there was a reason that the place was styled like a speakeasy and was known by Justices).
In the centermost part of the room was a large, mahogany table. On it was no tablecloth, for the organizer of this event saw no reason to have such a thing. This table was only brought out for these such meetings, so it never got dirtied, and even if it did, it would take no more than a quick wipe to clear away what needed to be cleared.
Around the table were gathered many Justices of all shapes, sizes, and colors. There was one thing in common amongst many of them tonight, however: they all seemed to have about themselves a cheerful-- or at the least, amicable-- countenance. They chatted with one another, smoked cigarettes, and drank alcohols and the dark liquids from shotglasses. They acted as if they were truly, deeply friends.
That said, there were a few who did not, and Jack Lightonn-- yes, that one, the one who they called Silver who currently held a shotglass of something a dark red and was sitting at the head of the table-- was one of them.
He sat, legs crossed at the knee, leaned back against the seat. Between his lips was poised a cigarette, currently unlit. The grey suit that he wore was tailored to fit his body just-so, and there was not a single wrinkle to be seen upon it. His red tie, tucked into his grey vest, was clipped with the golden clip that he always wore. The chair that he was seated in was slightly larger than the others. It had armrests, unlike the others, and upon these armrests, he propped his elbows.
One could not tell from his general aura or his position at the table, but he was not, in fact, the proprietor of this “hardware store”, nor was he the organizer of this event-- nor was the woman who stood behind him as if she were a looming ghost.
A look of morbid amusement played in his eyes. "Being around one's despised enemies and smoking cigars with them, as if one was old friends with them...this scene is nearly quaint," he mumbled, drawing out a long sigh.
He withdrew the cigarette from his lips, and he perked up his left eyebrow as he heard sirens blaring outside of the building-- though they were barely audible above the loud speaking at all sides of the table.
He spoke to the woman behind him without looking at her. "Kate," he said in the quiet, calm voice that he always had when speaking to her, "it seems that the cochons insensés have discovered the body outside of our doors..."
Cochons insensés, foolish pigs. By that, he meant the police.
He lifted his eyes to the woman entering the speakeasy, and as she took her seat, he leaned forward and called, "Newest arrival."
He withdrew a lighter from his left breast pocket and lifted it to his cigarette. He waited for the paper to become alight, and he pocketed the cigarette again. He blew out a smoke ring, then set the cigarette between the first two fingers of his right hand.
His eyes fixated on the newest woman. None of the others seemed to care that he was even talking, so he spoke a bit louder with his next sentence. He did not recognize her, but he spoke to her as if they were familiar with one another-- though not in a friendly way, per se. "Would you explain what is going on out there? Did you happen to see anything when you were out there?"
ditto
still kicking :)
WALKER HERNÁNDEZ
• † • † • † • † • † •
He had been sitting in the corner of the Palm for a good seven hours by now. (No, it couldn’t’ve been seven…perhaps it was more like three… He had always been bad at gauging time, after all..) The corner where sat was particularly badly lit— moreso than the rundown rest of the place.
Why in the hell was he here? Well, he wondered the same thing. He wasn’t a slimy guy. He was, after all, one of the anti-vampire fleet— the Devoted or something like that, they were called, though that word slipped his mind often, so he was unsure if that was what they were even called. The point was, he wasn’t the Palm’s typical…clientele. He was on the mayor’s payroll, he was relatively well off, and he wasn’t a pervert.
But still, he was here. His heart had pulled him here. Well, that, and the mayor had notified him of some “suspicious activity” here. Not that that wasn’t a usual thing in this part of town. It was unlikely that he could even walk down the street without seeing someone soliciting or selling sketchy drugs, at this time of night. With less people and less funding, this part of this city was even more neglected than usual. It was easy for crime here. It was easy to be a criminal here.
As he hunkered over his drink in the corner of the bar, he spotted a familiar woman entering the bathroom. O…Owen? O…Olga? Something along those lines. He knew her from somewhere, and he somehow knew her name. He was about to ask himself what she was doing here, but then he remembered that he didn’t even really remember where he knew her from and that he may very well know her from here, so he watched the bathroom door for her to come out. Not in a creepy way, but in a curious way.
The flipphone in his pocket began to buzz, and then the annoying ringtone came on. He smiled as he pulled it out of his pocket. This thing was, quite literally, archaic— nearly a whole century old— and it made him smile just to look at it. He flipped it open and looked at the caller ID.
The Boss. He sighed softly, still smiling. So the mayor was right about sending him here. He clicked the green accept button on his keyboard, and he answered, in his usual, cheerful way, “Hello, Mayor Reynolds.”
“Mr. Hernández.” The stern voice of his boss was…well, just as it always was as well— short, very few formalities, and very little small talk, if any. “I have received a call from the Chief of Police. A body has been found in the alley between 294 and 297 West Paul Lane. White female, mid-twenties, signs of vampires.” He paused for a second to clear his throat, as if he was in no hurry. “More details will be provided on scene. I hope that you have your badge on you.”
The level of unprofessionalism did not faze Mr. Hernández. “Yes, sir.”
“Do you have your materials on you?”
Hernández tapped the large, heavy, leather satchel, which hung off his left shoulder as of now, as if the man on the other side of the phone could see him. “Yes, sir.”
“You are always my most prepared. I appreciate it.” Another pause. “Please hurry. Thank you. Goodbye.”
Hernández smiled. “Goodbye,” he said, standing, and sirens blared past.
He paused for a moment, waiting for the girl to come out of the bathroom. If she did so quickly, then he would, at least, bid her hello.
It was strange how…well, this death seemed little more than a side-quest in his life, when, in actuality, it was the end of anothers’.
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Elowyn
word weaver
Katerina
code by Stardust Galaxy
queanbean
queen bean casserole
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frogmilk
:^)
DIONE ROUX
location meeting / outfit dress
coded by frogmilk
At home. The men and women around her at the table were all seemingly getting along, drinking and smoking and pretending. They were all speaking as if friends, but she knew just as well as the rest of them that they all had ulterior motives. It made her feel at ease. Never mind that the environment was cold and disingenuous, Dione found it to be quite interesting and to be frank she liked the simplicity of the rules; don’t trust anyone. She had been raised at court, after all, the intrigues of kings and noblemen fascinated her. Her attention was quickly shifted to the man who sat beside her. As he lit his cigarette, Dione nonchalantly raised her hand to call for a waiter. Her eyes shifted back to him, inspecting him. There was seemingly not a single flaw on him that she could pick apart; his moves were calm and confident, the suit fitted perfectly and apparently ironed out to perfection.
“I’ll have a martini, thank you.” The waiter nodded and she offered him a smile before he took off. Her attention returned to the blonde beside her, and the woman standing behind him. Dione was delighted with the dress the woman was wearing, though she seemed bored out of her mind. “Would you explain what is going on out there? Did you happen to see anything when you were out there?” Dione met the man’s gaze as he spoke before she could answer him the waiter put down her drink in front of her. She nodded thanks.
“Hm, it would appear the police has found another body.” She paused and put the toothpick with the olive between her thumb and index finger. “I do wonder who might have put it there.” Amusement played in the of her mouth as she ate the olive. Dione never believed in coincidences and found it hard to believe a woman had just happened to have been preyed upon and then found on the same location as the meeting and on top of that, on the same night. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?” She raised the glass to her lips and took a sip.
The uneasy feeling the crowd had given her back there still lingered, though she felt more confident in her choice of allies as she looked around the table. This was no place to bring it up anyways, besides she could only imagine the reaction she would be met with. Still, Dione could not shake the feeling. It was not that she was scared, she had little to fear, but as most who had lived as long as her, she knew the power the people could have by just organizing themselves. Revolutions weren’t necessarily a thing of the past. Though, to revolt, they would need to know what they were revolting against, which she assumed few knew.
“I’ll have a martini, thank you.” The waiter nodded and she offered him a smile before he took off. Her attention returned to the blonde beside her, and the woman standing behind him. Dione was delighted with the dress the woman was wearing, though she seemed bored out of her mind. “Would you explain what is going on out there? Did you happen to see anything when you were out there?” Dione met the man’s gaze as he spoke before she could answer him the waiter put down her drink in front of her. She nodded thanks.
“Hm, it would appear the police has found another body.” She paused and put the toothpick with the olive between her thumb and index finger. “I do wonder who might have put it there.” Amusement played in the of her mouth as she ate the olive. Dione never believed in coincidences and found it hard to believe a woman had just happened to have been preyed upon and then found on the same location as the meeting and on top of that, on the same night. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?” She raised the glass to her lips and took a sip.
The uneasy feeling the crowd had given her back there still lingered, though she felt more confident in her choice of allies as she looked around the table. This was no place to bring it up anyways, besides she could only imagine the reaction she would be met with. Still, Dione could not shake the feeling. It was not that she was scared, she had little to fear, but as most who had lived as long as her, she knew the power the people could have by just organizing themselves. Revolutions weren’t necessarily a thing of the past. Though, to revolt, they would need to know what they were revolting against, which she assumed few knew.
ditto
still kicking :)
JACK "SILVER" LIGHTONN
TIME: 19:10
º•.•º•.•º•.•º•.•º•.•º•.•º
THE WOMAN THAT HE HAD SPOKEN TO nearly seemed to be accusing Jack of something. His brow quirked up, and the left side of his mouth played that it might tilt up to a smile.
Staring the woman beside him dead in her eyes, he answered Katerina. "There is no need, Kate, dearest," he said in his calm voice. "If you did and you got caught, even if you insist that you shan't, then it'll mean the death of both of us, shan't it?" He put the shotglass to his lips and glanced down at it. "Bah, it's starting to coagulate...what a shame..."
He sat the glass down on the table and looked the woman in the eyes again. "I do understand what you are implying, chérie, and I'd advise to not do such a thing as that around me." He put his cigarette to his lips and blew out a neat ring, his eyes never leaving hers. "Nay, I do not know a thing about what is happening outside beyond our doors right now." He may very well have been lying, but the only person who knew if he was for certain was that woman standing behind him.
Jack looked at the shotglass on the table and spoke to Katerina once more. "Kate, dearest." He spoke in a low voice. "I do believe that the Justice who placed the body there is the very same one who organized this event. Would you kindly explain to this..." He met the eyes of the woman beside him once again. "...new guest?"
After the final word left his lips, he studied her face, and then her body, and he looked at the shotglass once again. He spoke louder this time. "You're new here, yes? I've yet to see you. Regardless, I have some advice for you."
He lifted his shotglass and threw the liquid down, his face hardly showing any new emotion as he swallowed, and he looked in the woman's eyes again. "Choose your words wisely." His lips played at a smile again. "If you do not, then I worry that we may soon lose another Justice to the vicious lips of the silver bullet."
In a swift motion, he drew a silver revolver from his pocket, and he brandished it so that she could see. "I should introduce myself. Call me Silver," he said. His eyes read amusement, as if he enjoyed trying to scare her. "As for why people call me that..."
He spun the cylinder, and when it came out of its spot, he pulled a bullet from its position and laid it on the table beside his empty shot glass. "...you can simply look at what I keep in my gun."
These words were the very same that he used each time he introduced himself to a new person, and the very same words that he had used when he had introduced himself to Katerina.
Ah yes...when he had introduced himself to Katerina...had it been three years now?
When she had come to him-- rather, when she had come to in his main office-- he had been sitting in his fine leather chair behind his wide oak desk, staring at the black screens of the turned-off televisions on the wall before him. When he spoke, he neither looked at her nor talked any louder than if she were in the place of the televisions. "Let you go?" His tone was cold and unfeeling, and the chair offered no sign of what his facial expression was. "Now, why would I do that, especially after I went through all of the effort to get you here, chérie?"
He stood from his seat, and when he turned around and let his face be seen, his blue-grey eyes read the same amusement that they did now; they wore the same taunting, arrogant how quaint kind of look. He wore no suit jacket, and the sleeves of his white undershirt were rolled up, but his red tie and grey vest still said his status, and his aura read no less professional than if he had been in his full three-piece.
He walked to the chess table in the center of his large room, his polished shoes making clack/s as their wooden soles hit the dark cherry floors. His feet showed no inkling of hurry, and his stride was no faster than it may have been any other time. He pulled his chair out, and then say himself in it in a graceful manner.
He scooted up to the table and looked at her, facial expression almost entirely unreadable except for his eyes. "I have heard rumors about you, Justice." His voice was the same level as it had been when he was at his table, and just as even. "I am sorry that I had to use such an...underhanded tactic to get you here. I am sure that you are reasonable and understand, though, do you not?"
He, in a very swift motion-- so swift a motion that she'd have missed it if she had blinked-- withdrew a silver revolver from his pocket, and he held it at ready. "I should introduce myself. Call me Silver. As for why people call me that..." Metallic sounds and he spun the chamber and withdrew a bullet, and a soft chink as he placed it on the table beside the black-and-white, fully set-up chessboard. "...you can simply look at what I keep in my gun."
He looked her dead in the eyes. "Perhaps my reputation proceeds me, and perhaps you know me better by my other name: Jack Lightonn." A smile teased at his lips.
He had uttered one more sentence, the same sentence as he did now:
"With that...chérie, it is rude to withhold your name from those who have said theirs to you. What is yours, so that I may address you accordingly?"
Staring the woman beside him dead in her eyes, he answered Katerina. "There is no need, Kate, dearest," he said in his calm voice. "If you did and you got caught, even if you insist that you shan't, then it'll mean the death of both of us, shan't it?" He put the shotglass to his lips and glanced down at it. "Bah, it's starting to coagulate...what a shame..."
He sat the glass down on the table and looked the woman in the eyes again. "I do understand what you are implying, chérie, and I'd advise to not do such a thing as that around me." He put his cigarette to his lips and blew out a neat ring, his eyes never leaving hers. "Nay, I do not know a thing about what is happening outside beyond our doors right now." He may very well have been lying, but the only person who knew if he was for certain was that woman standing behind him.
Jack looked at the shotglass on the table and spoke to Katerina once more. "Kate, dearest." He spoke in a low voice. "I do believe that the Justice who placed the body there is the very same one who organized this event. Would you kindly explain to this..." He met the eyes of the woman beside him once again. "...new guest?"
After the final word left his lips, he studied her face, and then her body, and he looked at the shotglass once again. He spoke louder this time. "You're new here, yes? I've yet to see you. Regardless, I have some advice for you."
He lifted his shotglass and threw the liquid down, his face hardly showing any new emotion as he swallowed, and he looked in the woman's eyes again. "Choose your words wisely." His lips played at a smile again. "If you do not, then I worry that we may soon lose another Justice to the vicious lips of the silver bullet."
In a swift motion, he drew a silver revolver from his pocket, and he brandished it so that she could see. "I should introduce myself. Call me Silver," he said. His eyes read amusement, as if he enjoyed trying to scare her. "As for why people call me that..."
He spun the cylinder, and when it came out of its spot, he pulled a bullet from its position and laid it on the table beside his empty shot glass. "...you can simply look at what I keep in my gun."
These words were the very same that he used each time he introduced himself to a new person, and the very same words that he had used when he had introduced himself to Katerina.
Ah yes...when he had introduced himself to Katerina...had it been three years now?
When she had come to him-- rather, when she had come to in his main office-- he had been sitting in his fine leather chair behind his wide oak desk, staring at the black screens of the turned-off televisions on the wall before him. When he spoke, he neither looked at her nor talked any louder than if she were in the place of the televisions. "Let you go?" His tone was cold and unfeeling, and the chair offered no sign of what his facial expression was. "Now, why would I do that, especially after I went through all of the effort to get you here, chérie?"
He stood from his seat, and when he turned around and let his face be seen, his blue-grey eyes read the same amusement that they did now; they wore the same taunting, arrogant how quaint kind of look. He wore no suit jacket, and the sleeves of his white undershirt were rolled up, but his red tie and grey vest still said his status, and his aura read no less professional than if he had been in his full three-piece.
He walked to the chess table in the center of his large room, his polished shoes making clack/s as their wooden soles hit the dark cherry floors. His feet showed no inkling of hurry, and his stride was no faster than it may have been any other time. He pulled his chair out, and then say himself in it in a graceful manner.
He scooted up to the table and looked at her, facial expression almost entirely unreadable except for his eyes. "I have heard rumors about you, Justice." His voice was the same level as it had been when he was at his table, and just as even. "I am sorry that I had to use such an...underhanded tactic to get you here. I am sure that you are reasonable and understand, though, do you not?"
He, in a very swift motion-- so swift a motion that she'd have missed it if she had blinked-- withdrew a silver revolver from his pocket, and he held it at ready. "I should introduce myself. Call me Silver. As for why people call me that..." Metallic sounds and he spun the chamber and withdrew a bullet, and a soft chink as he placed it on the table beside the black-and-white, fully set-up chessboard. "...you can simply look at what I keep in my gun."
He looked her dead in the eyes. "Perhaps my reputation proceeds me, and perhaps you know me better by my other name: Jack Lightonn." A smile teased at his lips.
He had uttered one more sentence, the same sentence as he did now:
"With that...chérie, it is rude to withhold your name from those who have said theirs to you. What is yours, so that I may address you accordingly?"
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queanbean
queen bean casserole
frogmilk
:^)
DIONE ROUX
location meeting / outfit dress
coded by frogmilk
Dione could tell by the sheer energy surrounding the man that he was not to be messed with, yet that had never stopped her from a little teasing in the past. The soft jazz music playing in the background and smoke from both cigars and cigarettes was a familiar scenery for her, yet most of her experiences had still been amongst humans. She made a note to perhaps tread a little more carefully through the jungle of intrigues and empty niceties.
Her eyes left his to look at the woman beside him as he spoke to her, she was surprised by the warmth in his voice. The pair seemed to have a curious relationship, though to Dione it seemed clear they were far from equals. Her eyes wandered on to the glass of red liquid in his hand. The implementation of French tickled her curiosity, though she made sure not to show it. A small sigh left her as she leaned forward, clasping her hands together above the table and letting her chin rest upon them.
“Oh my, I beg your pardon. There should be no need for an explanation, I simply meant that it is hardly a coincidence, don’t you agree?” The blonde in front of her seemed a bit defensive about the whole thing and, while she did her best, it caught her a little off guard. She could tell he was studying her and, while definitely a charming fellow, was not sure how to feel about it. Her smile fell from her lips and she raised her eyebrows, amusement draining from her eyes; advice? Perhaps it had been hasty of her to make such an accusation but despite his powerful aura, Dione wouldn’t be taking anybody’s advice.
Her eyes followed his movements and landed upon a shiny revolver, and later on the bullet that he produced from it. A silver revolver carrying silver ammunition? Impressive. It suddenly hit Dione that she knew him. Or, more accurately put, knew of him. One did not run in Justice circles without having heard of the Count of the White Castle. The corners of her mouth perked up again and she lifted her chin from her hands, delicately running her right middle finger along the lip of her martini. Her eyes looked back up to his and after a brief moment of silence she spoke up.
“Well, now, that is certainly an impressive piece of weaponry, Jack. I wouldn’t worry myself too much, though, mon chéri.” She leaned forward a little and lowered her voice, a smile now apparent on her face; “But do make sure you aim right.” She leaned back and raised her drink to her lips once more, without breaking eye contact. Not for a second did she doubt how serious he was, but she also hadn’t had any fun in a good while.
“Enchenté, you may call me Dione.” She said, the amusement back in her eyes.
Elowyn
word weaver
Katerina
code by Stardust Galaxy
Kryptic
The Boy Savior
Crimson King | The Silent One
Ronin Valniper
Ronin walked into the building looking around. His face was tense. He hadn’t hat a particularly good day. For some reason people kept annoying him. He spotted the bar. He looked at the two people there and walked up. He sat down one chair away. He didn’t want to talk but if he had to he would. He ordered a water to start off with. He would have to go through a few more “meetings” before he would be comfortable drinking with these people. That might of been his non-justice side talking but he didn’t trust anyone yet. He took a sip of his water. He looked around the room again this time with a more scanning eye. He looked at each persons face. He would try to remember their faces if anything. He decided he didn’t want to be outcasted if he ended up liking this group, so he decided to scoot one chair over now sitting next to one of the people at the table. “Hello.” Starting the soon to be conversation off with a hello Is always the right move. He didn’t want to come off as creepy by sharing his name and asking hers off the rip and he didn’t want to seem distant by waiting for her to speak. Balance right in the middle of those two options. He looked the girl up and down before maintaining eye contact with her.
Interactions:
queanbean
Ronin Valniper
Ronin walked into the building looking around. His face was tense. He hadn’t hat a particularly good day. For some reason people kept annoying him. He spotted the bar. He looked at the two people there and walked up. He sat down one chair away. He didn’t want to talk but if he had to he would. He ordered a water to start off with. He would have to go through a few more “meetings” before he would be comfortable drinking with these people. That might of been his non-justice side talking but he didn’t trust anyone yet. He took a sip of his water. He looked around the room again this time with a more scanning eye. He looked at each persons face. He would try to remember their faces if anything. He decided he didn’t want to be outcasted if he ended up liking this group, so he decided to scoot one chair over now sitting next to one of the people at the table. “Hello.” Starting the soon to be conversation off with a hello Is always the right move. He didn’t want to come off as creepy by sharing his name and asking hers off the rip and he didn’t want to seem distant by waiting for her to speak. Balance right in the middle of those two options. He looked the girl up and down before maintaining eye contact with her.
Interactions:
queanbean
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ditto
still kicking :)
JACK "SILVER" LIGHTONN
TIME: 19:11
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"Dione..."
Jack had said the word as if it were a flavor that he was tasting, a wine that he was sampling, or a strange word that he was testing out, and after he said it, he gave a long pause.
"Goddess," he muttered, "I believe." He lifted his cigarette to his lips, and he blew out another perfect ring. "That is an interesting name, though I am yet unsure how well its meaning applies to you, chérie."
He looked at Katerina, bidding her a nod, a sign that he appreciated her warning and her willingness to give it. "Katerina..." He said her name in much the same way, then looked at Dione, his lips once again playing at a smile as he stared her dead in the eyes, and he picked the silver bullet up and placed it in his gun once again. "Pure..."
He placed the gun back where it had come from (though its exact location was obscured by the table), and he said, in his low voice, "Jack means 'God is gracious', if you can believe it..." He paused again to draw in and puff out another ring of smoke. "I am of the sincere belief that names have a bearing on our fates and our futures..." He gave another look to Katerina, though he spoke mostly to Dione. "Perhaps it is the fact that I am what humans call supernatural that I am quick to believe in other such supernatural things, mm...?"
He looked at his empty shotglass and muttered, "Oh, but I do get a sense of melancholy when I think of such things...humans, that is." He stared at it for a long while and lifted his cigarette to his lips without drawing in any smoke.
He looked back up at Kate, speaking directly to her this time. "If I am feeling such a sense of sympathy for humans at the moment, then perhaps I should feel the same for la déesse, and perhaps you should as well..." He stared at Kate for a long while, his eyes reading thoughtfulness.
Staring at her for so long, as if she were a piece of art in an exhibit, took him back to that day, too-- the day that he had met her, that is.
"You are hardly in the position to be making demands," he'd said, loading his bullet back into his chamber, giving it a spin, and setting it beside the chessboard. "You do have quite the tongue on you, chérie. I do not trust that, if I unlock you, you will not bring harm upon me, though, so I shall suffice, I suppose, with calling you what I have thus far."
His eyes slid over to the gun, and then back up to the woman's eyes. "You are young, roughly half my age. I have never heard your name, but your reputation proceeds you: you have a Gift that binds you to contracts, do you not?"
He didn't wait for an answer before he picked up the white chess king, which was shined so well that he could see his distorted reflection in it, and his eyes lost the amusement in them and went cold. "Well, then, I have a proposition."
He drifted back into the current moment, and he looked back at Dione. "Forgive me. Occasionally my bones get...sentimental. What brings you here? I have yet to see you, and I would assume that, if you had ever cared about Justice matters, I would know you very well. Are you here because you have a sudden interest, or are you here to keep up appearances?" His lip quirked up for a moment, and his eyes said that his next sentence was a joke. "Or perhaps you're just here because you missed the other invitations or took a wrong turn last time. Which is the truth, or are none of these options correct and were you forced to be here?"
Jack had said the word as if it were a flavor that he was tasting, a wine that he was sampling, or a strange word that he was testing out, and after he said it, he gave a long pause.
"Goddess," he muttered, "I believe." He lifted his cigarette to his lips, and he blew out another perfect ring. "That is an interesting name, though I am yet unsure how well its meaning applies to you, chérie."
He looked at Katerina, bidding her a nod, a sign that he appreciated her warning and her willingness to give it. "Katerina..." He said her name in much the same way, then looked at Dione, his lips once again playing at a smile as he stared her dead in the eyes, and he picked the silver bullet up and placed it in his gun once again. "Pure..."
He placed the gun back where it had come from (though its exact location was obscured by the table), and he said, in his low voice, "Jack means 'God is gracious', if you can believe it..." He paused again to draw in and puff out another ring of smoke. "I am of the sincere belief that names have a bearing on our fates and our futures..." He gave another look to Katerina, though he spoke mostly to Dione. "Perhaps it is the fact that I am what humans call supernatural that I am quick to believe in other such supernatural things, mm...?"
He looked at his empty shotglass and muttered, "Oh, but I do get a sense of melancholy when I think of such things...humans, that is." He stared at it for a long while and lifted his cigarette to his lips without drawing in any smoke.
He looked back up at Kate, speaking directly to her this time. "If I am feeling such a sense of sympathy for humans at the moment, then perhaps I should feel the same for la déesse, and perhaps you should as well..." He stared at Kate for a long while, his eyes reading thoughtfulness.
Staring at her for so long, as if she were a piece of art in an exhibit, took him back to that day, too-- the day that he had met her, that is.
"You are hardly in the position to be making demands," he'd said, loading his bullet back into his chamber, giving it a spin, and setting it beside the chessboard. "You do have quite the tongue on you, chérie. I do not trust that, if I unlock you, you will not bring harm upon me, though, so I shall suffice, I suppose, with calling you what I have thus far."
His eyes slid over to the gun, and then back up to the woman's eyes. "You are young, roughly half my age. I have never heard your name, but your reputation proceeds you: you have a Gift that binds you to contracts, do you not?"
He didn't wait for an answer before he picked up the white chess king, which was shined so well that he could see his distorted reflection in it, and his eyes lost the amusement in them and went cold. "Well, then, I have a proposition."
He drifted back into the current moment, and he looked back at Dione. "Forgive me. Occasionally my bones get...sentimental. What brings you here? I have yet to see you, and I would assume that, if you had ever cared about Justice matters, I would know you very well. Are you here because you have a sudden interest, or are you here to keep up appearances?" His lip quirked up for a moment, and his eyes said that his next sentence was a joke. "Or perhaps you're just here because you missed the other invitations or took a wrong turn last time. Which is the truth, or are none of these options correct and were you forced to be here?"
Elowyn
word weaver
Katerina
code by Stardust Galaxy
queanbean
queen bean casserole
Kryptic
The Boy Savior
Mason Lorenzo
“Ace”
The sound of running water rang loud in Mason’s ears as he washed the dishes. He was almost done. He dried off the last white plate until is was shining. A beam of light from the ceiling bulb reflected off of the plat and shot into the wall making a little blob. “This distraction I can handle.” He made it move around playing with it for a bit before stopping and putting the dish up. He took off his apron and walked out of the kitchen in his Waiters outfit. He walked up to the table and noticed a stranger sitting down. He walked up and the man smiled at him ordering a water before scooting over time talk with a girl a few seats over. Mason grabbed a glass and filled it with a few ice cubes and put some water in it. He sat it infront of the before walking out of the bar area to see if anyone needed help with anything. He walked from table to table refilling drinks and such. He was hoping for a tip but they didn’t come often. He would stay optimistic though. He circled the place looking for others to serve. He wondered what Ronin was doing right about know. He shrugged and continued working. He already had a distraction today, he couldn't afford another one literally.
Interactions: Open
“Ace”
The sound of running water rang loud in Mason’s ears as he washed the dishes. He was almost done. He dried off the last white plate until is was shining. A beam of light from the ceiling bulb reflected off of the plat and shot into the wall making a little blob. “This distraction I can handle.” He made it move around playing with it for a bit before stopping and putting the dish up. He took off his apron and walked out of the kitchen in his Waiters outfit. He walked up to the table and noticed a stranger sitting down. He walked up and the man smiled at him ordering a water before scooting over time talk with a girl a few seats over. Mason grabbed a glass and filled it with a few ice cubes and put some water in it. He sat it infront of the before walking out of the bar area to see if anyone needed help with anything. He walked from table to table refilling drinks and such. He was hoping for a tip but they didn’t come often. He would stay optimistic though. He circled the place looking for others to serve. He wondered what Ronin was doing right about know. He shrugged and continued working. He already had a distraction today, he couldn't afford another one literally.
Interactions: Open
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screaming armadillo
AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Being closer to Palmetti’s did it no favors, as a cursory glance showed that the building’s exterior was not any less…weathered from this side of the street. With a glint of enjoyment Boruth traced his memories to a time that for him was not so long ago. No more than a century. He had been to a number of bars that were not too dissimilar than here. Occasionally he even found himself having a good time. The clientele were never part of the upper echelons, a perk, and were for the most part upstanding people. Neon Budweiser signs were fan favorites, slot machines would be spinning, an old jukebox that maybe worked had discs so faded that a note with crude handwriting listed the options. Bathrooms had some rather interesting or appalling offers, and of course cheap booze flowed like water.
What did they call these types of bars once upon a time?
He had just begun studying that question when somebody exited Palmetti’s, noticed him, and asked if he was going inside. “Depends. Is it safe to?” Was his reply. Which was a joke, mostly. Not a very good joke he immediately realized. As Boruth gave his thanks before entering the Palm a minor detail garnered his attention. The one who so kindly held the door seemed more than a little out of place around this side of town. At least in the sense that she was overdressed. It was noteworthy and the obvious question ran through his mind, but the intrigue was just as quick to fade as it was to appear.
The inside did not disappoint. Poor lighting, shabby décor, a jukebox that gave Boruth an odd satisfaction that not even he could explain. He had the sudden desire to play darts and was pleased to see they had a board, though he had little doubt it would be in poor order. There was a heavy scent of cigarette smoke that he was oddly fine with. Patrons were as to be expected and he gave them at best a glance, and thanks to bad timing one such glance almost caused him some very minor trouble.
Once upon a time Boruth was considered a tall man. Back in the days when five and a half feet was about average for a man in central Europe. Now he was not so tall, below average in most modern western nations in fact. So when he turned and was greeted by a young man nearly face planting into his chin and lips it caught him off guard. His eyes widened and he side stepped similarly to the younger man as they luckily avoided the dreaded ‘You go left I go right’ routine. The busboy’s apology was matched as the vampire in his soft, polished baritone replied, “Please excuse me young sir.” He gave a nod and would have carried on his way had the younger man not been so amusingly clumsy. It was worth a quick chuckle though only when Boruth had turned his back to the probably embarrassed man.
From there he continued to the bar, deciding on paying for a drink there and sitting elsewhere. Easier to read a room while facing it. Then he may try to grab a game of 501 from somebody, perhaps the silly busboy if he can. At the bar he greeted and asked from the patron nursing a glass, “Good evening. Is anybody sitting here?” With his left hand he gave a courtly gesture to the seat two away from him and three away from the pair of vampires. When the man answered with a curtly no Boruth gave his best disarming smile, “May I?” He may and he did. The chair softly protested under him as the old vampire began tracing over the available bottles, matching whatever seemed decent enough with a drink. It occurred to him that the proper, if such a term could be applied to something so informal, was a dive bar. He found another piece of pleasure from that little ‘Aha!’ moment.
What did they call these types of bars once upon a time?
He had just begun studying that question when somebody exited Palmetti’s, noticed him, and asked if he was going inside. “Depends. Is it safe to?” Was his reply. Which was a joke, mostly. Not a very good joke he immediately realized. As Boruth gave his thanks before entering the Palm a minor detail garnered his attention. The one who so kindly held the door seemed more than a little out of place around this side of town. At least in the sense that she was overdressed. It was noteworthy and the obvious question ran through his mind, but the intrigue was just as quick to fade as it was to appear.
The inside did not disappoint. Poor lighting, shabby décor, a jukebox that gave Boruth an odd satisfaction that not even he could explain. He had the sudden desire to play darts and was pleased to see they had a board, though he had little doubt it would be in poor order. There was a heavy scent of cigarette smoke that he was oddly fine with. Patrons were as to be expected and he gave them at best a glance, and thanks to bad timing one such glance almost caused him some very minor trouble.
Once upon a time Boruth was considered a tall man. Back in the days when five and a half feet was about average for a man in central Europe. Now he was not so tall, below average in most modern western nations in fact. So when he turned and was greeted by a young man nearly face planting into his chin and lips it caught him off guard. His eyes widened and he side stepped similarly to the younger man as they luckily avoided the dreaded ‘You go left I go right’ routine. The busboy’s apology was matched as the vampire in his soft, polished baritone replied, “Please excuse me young sir.” He gave a nod and would have carried on his way had the younger man not been so amusingly clumsy. It was worth a quick chuckle though only when Boruth had turned his back to the probably embarrassed man.
From there he continued to the bar, deciding on paying for a drink there and sitting elsewhere. Easier to read a room while facing it. Then he may try to grab a game of 501 from somebody, perhaps the silly busboy if he can. At the bar he greeted and asked from the patron nursing a glass, “Good evening. Is anybody sitting here?” With his left hand he gave a courtly gesture to the seat two away from him and three away from the pair of vampires. When the man answered with a curtly no Boruth gave his best disarming smile, “May I?” He may and he did. The chair softly protested under him as the old vampire began tracing over the available bottles, matching whatever seemed decent enough with a drink. It occurred to him that the proper, if such a term could be applied to something so informal, was a dive bar. He found another piece of pleasure from that little ‘Aha!’ moment.
Interactions:
queanbean
queanbean
queanbean
queen bean casserole
frogmilk
:^)
DIONE ROUX
location meeting / outfit dress
coded by frogmilk
Dione took note of the reaction the woman beside him had had. Katerina, was it? Nonetheless, after nearly three and a half centuries, of which the majority had been spent socializing and swimming with sharks, Dione didn’t feel the need to heed their advice. Nor did she appreciate being threatened very much, though it was amusing. None of her abilities were anything special, but she knew her way around staying out of harm’s way.
Her gaze returned to Jack as he repeated her name, her finger leaving the glass and instead resting her hands at the base of it. “You’ll have to wait and see, then, won’t you?” she said, well aware of the flirty tone with which she had said it. Being quite literary inclined herself, the irony of his name had not escaped her. God is gracious…She gave out a nostalgic sigh; her relationship with God had changed drastically since… well, since she stepped away from her humanity. Snapping back to reality, the vampire thought it best not to open that door right now. While her gaze had lingered on Jack, the subtle tension that arose when he spoke to Katerina was something to be noted.
She listened carefully to what the male had to say, or rather, what he had to ask. Dione chuckled at his joke before looking down at her glass for a moment. Why was she here? While not necessarily having run in justice circles, Dione had plenty of friends who were. She had never wanted to get involved, though, what with her not being a born vampire and, well, not really sharing the fundamental value of wanting to exterminate humans. And yet, here she was. Happy to be here, even. The brunette contemplated how honest she should be, not wanting to give away her position just yet.
“I don’t know.” She answered, little emotion in her voice. Then, she looked up again, though this time directly in front of her instead of at him and paused. “Call it a… hunch. The climate is changing, I would say. Time to show where I stand, or something to that effect.” Her eyes fell back to the table again and she sighed quietly, smiling as if remembering a fond memory. “Oh, now you’ve got me sentimental too, Jack.” Resuming eye contact, Dione finished the last of her drink.
“I take it you’re a regular here, then?” It was a little strange to find someone who was not the organizer of the event to sit in such a powerful seat. It suited him, though. In fact, Dione found it hard to imagine him sitting anywhere else. Her thoughts wandered to the lady beside him. What was the deal with her? He spoke fondly to her, yet she didn’t even have a seat at the table. If she was his servant of some sort, then why did he have such warmth in his voice for her? The whole thing intrigued her, and she wanted to know more about it.
ditto
still kicking :)
JACK "SILVER" LIGHTONN
TIME: 19:14
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Jack lifted his cigarette to his lips and held it there for much longer than needed, seeming to care less that the woman had asked him a question and was waiting for an answer. When he finally exhaled, his eyes were cold, and the amusement had left them. "You certainly speak to me as if I am your equal," he murmured. "It would be nearly amusing if I weren't so uptight, and it would be nearly offensive if I were."
He leaned forward in his seat. It seemed that, somewhere in her speech, she had struck a nerve, and now his tone was cold, and his face betrayed none of his emotions. His blue-grey eyes were nearly unreadable. His lips no longer teased at amusement. He didn't look necessarily displeased, but he certainly looked far from pleased. "A regular here, then?" he echoed, though not in a mocking way, and he murmured, "La femme insensée porte la naïveté. Je peux difficilement dire que je suis surpris."
He looked over at Katerina reflectively, and in staring at her, his face grew softer, and his tone returned to the barely-below-lukewarm tone of before, his eyes regaining their amusement.
Wasn't it odd, how this encounter mirrored, especially in his actions, his first meeting with Katerina?
He had paused a long time between his saying that he had a proposition, and he had stared into her eyes. The coldness in her eyes almost seemed to be probing the look within hers, and he sat back and mumbled, without a bit of amusement in his voice, "La femme insensée porte la naïveté. Je peux difficilement dire que je suis surpris." He paused, and he sat the king back down on its spot. "Your eyes betray you. Why do you harbor hate for me, when you have hardly met me? Certainly, we can get along."
He drew out a long break, not breaking eye contact, and his lips broke into playing at a smile again. "I must say, that curiosity and near-fear in your eyes invigorates me, ever so slightly. It is quaint, nearly..."
He paused for another long while to study her hair, her face, and what body of hers that he could see. He was like a predator sizing up its prey, silently.
Finally, he spoke again. "The proposition is before you," he said, and he gestured to the chessboard. "I play white, you play black. If you win, I shall let you free and allow you that human that you have been longing for. However, if I win..."
He picked up the gun and pointed it at her, and in an instant, his face broke out into a charming smile, his eyes alight with a wicked competitiveness. "I shall make you mine."
Jack's gaze pulled itself away from Katerina and back to Dione. "I would hardly say that I am a regular here. I come here for business and business alone. It is not quite unpleasant when I do visit, however, unless you count those here speaking as if they are old friends with men and women who they fight to control the ranks of and topple outside of here." He let out something near a chuckle.
His eyes went back to Katerina. "Kate, however, is more acquainted with this place, if on my behalf. I am certain that she could tell you how such a thing feels." He looked at Dione once more. "I am not so inclined."
Jack drew in another breath of his cigarette and exhaled it in a ring. He paused a long while, looking at his recently filled shotglass, and he picked it up and held it in his free hand. He stared at its rim, as if he were looking for something to clean off of it. "Forgive me," he said after a long moment, "if we have gotten off on the wrong foot. My answers may seem a bit queer. I am sure that a reasonable woman like you understands."
He met Dione's eyes and his eyes went eerily cold once more. "Even if you are vampire's kin with no master."
It became apparent all at once why he had turned so cold: he had detected that she was an ex-human.
He leaned forward in his seat. It seemed that, somewhere in her speech, she had struck a nerve, and now his tone was cold, and his face betrayed none of his emotions. His blue-grey eyes were nearly unreadable. His lips no longer teased at amusement. He didn't look necessarily displeased, but he certainly looked far from pleased. "A regular here, then?" he echoed, though not in a mocking way, and he murmured, "La femme insensée porte la naïveté. Je peux difficilement dire que je suis surpris."
He looked over at Katerina reflectively, and in staring at her, his face grew softer, and his tone returned to the barely-below-lukewarm tone of before, his eyes regaining their amusement.
Wasn't it odd, how this encounter mirrored, especially in his actions, his first meeting with Katerina?
He had paused a long time between his saying that he had a proposition, and he had stared into her eyes. The coldness in her eyes almost seemed to be probing the look within hers, and he sat back and mumbled, without a bit of amusement in his voice, "La femme insensée porte la naïveté. Je peux difficilement dire que je suis surpris." He paused, and he sat the king back down on its spot. "Your eyes betray you. Why do you harbor hate for me, when you have hardly met me? Certainly, we can get along."
He drew out a long break, not breaking eye contact, and his lips broke into playing at a smile again. "I must say, that curiosity and near-fear in your eyes invigorates me, ever so slightly. It is quaint, nearly..."
He paused for another long while to study her hair, her face, and what body of hers that he could see. He was like a predator sizing up its prey, silently.
Finally, he spoke again. "The proposition is before you," he said, and he gestured to the chessboard. "I play white, you play black. If you win, I shall let you free and allow you that human that you have been longing for. However, if I win..."
He picked up the gun and pointed it at her, and in an instant, his face broke out into a charming smile, his eyes alight with a wicked competitiveness. "I shall make you mine."
Jack's gaze pulled itself away from Katerina and back to Dione. "I would hardly say that I am a regular here. I come here for business and business alone. It is not quite unpleasant when I do visit, however, unless you count those here speaking as if they are old friends with men and women who they fight to control the ranks of and topple outside of here." He let out something near a chuckle.
His eyes went back to Katerina. "Kate, however, is more acquainted with this place, if on my behalf. I am certain that she could tell you how such a thing feels." He looked at Dione once more. "I am not so inclined."
Jack drew in another breath of his cigarette and exhaled it in a ring. He paused a long while, looking at his recently filled shotglass, and he picked it up and held it in his free hand. He stared at its rim, as if he were looking for something to clean off of it. "Forgive me," he said after a long moment, "if we have gotten off on the wrong foot. My answers may seem a bit queer. I am sure that a reasonable woman like you understands."
He met Dione's eyes and his eyes went eerily cold once more. "Even if you are vampire's kin with no master."
It became apparent all at once why he had turned so cold: he had detected that she was an ex-human.
Kryptic
The Boy Savior
Crimson King | The Silent One
Ronin Valpier
He smiled though the smile could be seen through easily. ”What’s your poison? Also sorry about my clumsy worker.” Her voice was soft. Though he could tell that’s the only thing soft about her. She said she knew Mason. Interesting...I’ll see if I can trust her. He thought to himself before answering. “What’s my poision? And yes I am friends with Mason. How do you know him?” Dont lead with too many questions but dont be shy to ask either. He had to calculate every move around another vampire. He was getting lost in his thoughts causing his eyes to flicker from their normal Hazel to Green. He noticed and stopped on the spot. He looked over. He hoped she didn’t notice. He sat back up straight though He was still bored. He called over a waiter. If he remembered correctly his name was Kel. “Hey, Kel do you mind getting me some vodka? On the rocks please.“ He needed something strong he didn’t know why though he just felt like it. He shrugged and focused his attention back on the girl Owlen.
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queanbean
Ronin Valpier
He smiled though the smile could be seen through easily. ”What’s your poison? Also sorry about my clumsy worker.” Her voice was soft. Though he could tell that’s the only thing soft about her. She said she knew Mason. Interesting...I’ll see if I can trust her. He thought to himself before answering. “What’s my poision? And yes I am friends with Mason. How do you know him?” Dont lead with too many questions but dont be shy to ask either. He had to calculate every move around another vampire. He was getting lost in his thoughts causing his eyes to flicker from their normal Hazel to Green. He noticed and stopped on the spot. He looked over. He hoped she didn’t notice. He sat back up straight though He was still bored. He called over a waiter. If he remembered correctly his name was Kel. “Hey, Kel do you mind getting me some vodka? On the rocks please.“ He needed something strong he didn’t know why though he just felt like it. He shrugged and focused his attention back on the girl Owlen.
Interactions:
queanbean
