Fantasy ••• ℬяιтαηηιcα ℒσsт ••• | [O/A]

[nighteyes]

Esther Asturias

SHERWOOD

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WHERE: City Park
WITH: A Phantom
DOING: Conversing
CREDIT: W.J. Neatby

Her hands returned to her lap, and her gaze soon followed suit. Eyeing her gloves, she turned over one wrist and ran her fingers thoughtfully down a twice-mended seam. Then she puffed out a sigh of resignation. These gloves fit like a second skin and she was fond of them, but they were too worse for wear. She wasn't looking forward to breaking in new pairs, but there was nothing for it. Her streetclothes weren't faring any better, either. Truth be known, Esther did not want to go to the trouble of turning out her wardrobe, but she could not put it off any longer. She knew what the going rate was for a bolt of Zhejiang silk but the latest fashions were a mystery. Daunting as it felt, she was fortunate enough to be acquainted with individuals who were handy with a needle and thread.

The songs of birds and insects all around began to cease. She, in turn, grew very still.

One bit of wisdom she had taken away from her wandering years, and arguably the most important, was to pay heed to the shifts in her environment. Her eyes were downcast but stared at nothing at all, into the middle distance; her attention was thoroughly focused on her surroundings as she attempted to discern what, exactly, had brought about this change. Animal, or man? Straining her ears into that quiet, she tuned out the distant stirrings of the city that seemed a world away in the thick of the park. There - was that movement in the undergrowth, or merely the wind?

The press of eyes was upon her. Esther waited. For what, she could not say. Then the quiet was broken by a voice from the brush. Her head turned toward it by the slightest fraction. If her senses were not as keen as they were, she might not have noticed him at all until he'd spoken. To encounter one with a step that was perhaps even lighter than hers was not only uncommon, she would go so far as to say it was a rare occurrence. She was accustomed to being an observer. To become the observed was a little bracing. She would not dismiss a reminder to never rest on her laurels, even when it came in the form of a stranger with unknown designs.

Esther lifted her gaze with deliberation. When the quality of the light was just right, her eyes carried a very faint, luminous sheen not unlike that of creatures suited for seeing in the night hours. She reckoned that would be the case now when she fixed her stare upon this newcomer, with the mingling fey light of moon and star peering through the branches to dapple her figure in the gloom. If nothing else marked her true nature, she trusted that would.

There was a figure a little ways off the footpath, enrobed in shadow. Even to her eyes his features were well obscured, and she discerned very little of him beyond an outline and the gilded incisors he now bared in a grin. Not animal, nor man, but something else altogether.

Esther looked upon this newcomer with unveiled curiosity, for the most part, and a little wariness, but there was no hidden fear in her face, for she had none.

She was a woman who walked alone at night. There were fears she carried with her wherever she went, but had endured too much to still tremble at the dark or things that hide within it; least of all in the shade of the trees, which may as well have been the shadow of her mother's skirts.

This man was kin to her, yet his voice was not a familiar one. That came as no surprise. She could not claim to be acquainted with many of her own kind, and she did not spend much time in their company.

"Bold words from a stranger," she remarked. "I take my freedom where I can find it. Twilight is fleeting and I cannot hope to see this place in the light of day. If I shied from the night, then where would I be?" Her tone was polite; she could have been making conversation about the weather. When she spoke, there was not even a faint gleam of metal in her mouth; her teeth remained as her maker had designed them.

"And you, sir? What brings you? Loneliness, affliction, or both?" Esther ventured. Like recognized like, as the saying went. The metaphorical ball had been struck back into his court. He struck her as more invested in the asking than the receiving of answers, his words not so much a question as they were an observation, and she had opted to give him near to nothing in the way of a response. But she had not put forth any argument, either, and he was free to draw his own conclusions from that.

 

[AntarcticRomantic]

René Troxler

Ephemera

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WHERE: Paradise Bunk
WITH: Cain
DOING: Showering
CREDIT: len-yan
PLAYLIST: ☀

He was silent while he stared at the Russian, he couldn’t bring himself to speak for fear of what the response would be. There were too many stories, too many rumors circulating around the ships about this particular Legionnaire. Something would slip. He wasn’t simply rough around the edges in appearances but in attitude and behavior. Before the other man could speak, before there was an utterance in his direction, the blond backed away and made off in the opposite direction.

With his belongings still in tow, René traversed Paradise. The ship was massive, but not nearly as remarkable as Eden. The layout was similar in design, therefore easy to navigate. After asking for the whereabouts of Gabriel, he made for the bridge as he was certain she could correct the glaring error on the bureaucracy’s part. There was little she incapable of. He settled his trunk outside of the bridge. Ephemera adjusted his robe, pulled at his sleeves and took a deep breath before making his approach. He struggled to keep the anxiety he felt hidden from his superior officer, but the pinch between his eyebrows would not cooperate. He spoke with a calm that was not present behind his soft, amber eyes. “General, with all due respect, I believe there’s been a grave mistake. According to the assignment, I’m bunking with a Legionnaire.”

With all of the gentleness of a beloved elder sister, she steered him away from the ongoings on the bridge so they could speak. She confessed that he’d been added to the mission at the last momemnt, and because she and the Overseer were bound to their orders, they had to put him where there was room on the poorly named ship.

He nodded while she spoke, but not without reluctantly accepting he was a last-minute addition. Holly was right, Paradise was a substandard ship by comparison to Eden. Their home base was a beautiful machine of superior craftsmanship, no detail was out of place or unconsidered. Paradise was an afterthought built in the image of Eden. It was probably the best the Order could offer at the time, and there was no helping the situation. However, surely, there could be an adjustment made somewhere. “Do you know whom they’ve assigned me with?” he inquired, though the question was rhetorical.

He combed a hand through his thick golden hair, fighting to not act like a prudent child. The engineer couldn’t look her in the eye as he spoke, his voice dropping to just above a whisper. “I was a last-minute addition, and I was assigned to sleep in the same room as a man who has the worst reputation of his lot that has been known to give me hell.” The blond met his gaze with his superior’s, fear present in his eyes. “They have me bunked with the one they codenamed ‘Cain’, the first murderer. What am I to expect during my time in there?”

His hand held in hers, René was led from the helm to the hallway. A few of the crewmen watched, but neither paid their stares any attention. Their brainless banter wasn’t worth the wasted time to worry over it. They exited into the hallway and stood near his abandoned trunk. The brilliant-haired war hero stood tall, looking every bit as magnificent as the Archangel she was named after. She brushed the hair from his eyes with her surprisingly delicate fingers and spoke to him with what he recognized as affection. She fought for me. She wanted me to be inducted as a Sister… but they won’t do it, he thought dejectedly while he leaned his back against the wall. He bit at his thumbnail while Holly spoke— not to bite it off, but rather to focus and keep his self-doubt at bay. The more she explained, the more it made sense how it had come to this particular bunking assignment. Her soft, sisterly aura eased over him while she admitted how she managed to get him on this mission, spoke to Cain’s benefit and to his own. René looked at her from the corner of his eye and nodded silently. “He was just as lost as I was when I saw him in front of that room, Holly. If he doesn’t have orders not to harm or kill me, I cannot trust whatever agreement the Overseer has made with you. I trust you alone,” he sighed, before standing again. “I won’t take up any more of your time. I apologize for taking you away from your responsibilities, and will see to my own.” He gave her an informal salute with two fingers to his forehead before flicking his wrist to turn them away, collected his trunk with his biogear arm, and left to return to the hole in the wall he would share with the grungiest of rats on the ship.

The engineer would not get far. Her hand wrapped around his wrist which brought his attention back to the intense turquoise gaze of the General. "Remember this, Cain won't do anything that will cost him more time in our ranks.”

------ ------ ------​

Turning the handle to the room he was not thrilled to share, René muttered a curse and followed it with a prayer to the Holy Mother. Then, with force he often did not use outside of the Engineering Lab, he opened the door. His eyes scanned the small room taking in every dismal detail of the unfortunate space. It was empty, but the top bunk had been claimed by the duffel bag his ‘bunkmate’ had tossed up there. “Praise be to the Lord,” he sobbed, relieved at finding the room vacant. He was certain Cain had also left to handle whatever matters he had.

Feeling relaxed and unburdened, he took a few steps in, quietly closed the door behind him, and just as he was about to pass the washroom door, it opened. Fuck me. The internal groan rolled through his head unimpeded when he realized he wasn’t alone in the room after all. However, it quickly faded into an internal shout of surprise. In the doorway stood Cain, quite relaxed and nude, fresh from a shower. René briskly averted his gaze, mortified, and his hair fell back into his eyes. He walked towards the bunk beds to settle his trunk at the foot of it. Decidedly, he considered sleeping in the Lab if this is what the next few days would bring.

Cain spoke, inquiring after any available rooms, and reflexively the blond went on defense, his muscles tensed beneath the layers of the robe. He wouldn’t let the other man see it though, he’d hide behind that well-built façade of apathy in the face of mockery. Unlocking the trunk, he moved his things around leisurely and pulled a few articles out. “Afraid not, mate,” he responded after a quiet moment. With loud “thunks” he locked the trunk and stood again. René turned and cautiously met his roommate’s gaze. “Looks like we’re stuck here.”

He wanted to walk around him, avoid him the same way magnets did when the matching polarities repelled one another, spacial tension around them as they were forced together. However, Cain didn’t look like the type that would allow it. None of the 84th looked to be the kind to avoid a fight, nor did they, even in their own ranks. An altercation was likely; René made peace with that ember of truth. ]

He held the bundle of clothing to his chest and looked towards the bathroom while to avoid meeting Cain’s gaze. “Any hot water, or is it as cold as the rest of the ship?”

His question was ignored, but he suspected it would be. It was easy to be targeted, and easy to be pushed aside. One or the other was bound to happen, and given the man before him and his shameless display, Ephemera was not surprised he would push the boundaries. Cain made his approach, but he stood firm. "Let's get one thing crystal clear: you do what I tell you to do, and I won't have you sent back to Eden. Got it?” With his chin was caught in the other’s grasp, it made his decision easier, but the undesired touch to his scarred lip paired with the salacious look in Cain’s eyes lit the fire in his own gaze.

Pulling a golden hilted Pugio from the bundle, René brought the elegant long-bladed dagger to Cain’s throat and pressed until it drew a small bead of blood. “Let’s get one thing straight, Legionnaire. Your time of service is nearly done, and unless you want more added to your sentence, you will leave me the fuck alone.” He pulled his chin out the other’s grasp, and took a half step to the side, adjusting the blade as he did so. “Got it?”

For one shining moment he thought he would make it out of this alright. Certainly not unscathed as his mind was already assaulted by the nude man, but now he questioned how likely it would be he would earn another scar.

It was prideful to think a mild threat with a blade and promise of reporting any misdeed would put a man like Cain off from tormenting him. Instead, it boiled into the altercation he hoped to avoid. Like a shot, he had his arm wrapped against his back. The side of his face banged with a resounding bang against the frigid metal wall, and that nude bastard was on top of him, pushing him further against it. René grunted, frustrated that he hadn’t considered this in the moment his instincts told him to be prepared.

Cain leaned in, his breath hot on the blond’s ear, and for that lingering second René was afraid all the stories he’d heard up to this point would be joined with another. His heart was pounding, but just when he thought his fears would be made a reality, he was eased into release. "Whatever you say, Princess."

The blade had been lost, tossed aside. Not that it mattered. The engineer was never without a weapon. Shifting so his back was to the wall, he eyed his bunkmate cautiously while he backed away. “Go fuck yourself, Cain,” the engineer muttered as he pushed off the wall, and picked up the bundle of clothes from the floor before eagerly moving around the naked Russian to escape into the bathroom.

Once inside, he searched for a lock on the door but was dismayed to find that there wasn’t one. While he placed his clothes down, his free hand absently moved to his mouth, scratching at his lip in an attempt to assuage the horror he’d have to actually learn to trust this man. Rene stepped away from the door. He pulled his robe off, exposing the sleeveless undershirt beneath and slacks. The hand that was still flesh and bone his rubbed against the cool, smooth steel of his biogear arm while he turned the faucet with the nimble metal digits. He drew his arm into his chest then pressed a release within the twisted steel. From his wrist out popped a barrel to a hidden single-action revolver. It was an addition most didn’t know he had and hadn’t included in the schematics of the mod. The switch had to be manipulated just right to expose it, but it was easier than the muscles he’d have to engage to release the firearm, then shoot. Slowly, from the corner of his eye, Ephemera stared at the door handle. He was going to drive himself mad at this rate. What was he thinking? Shooting the Overseer’s golden boy in self-defense if he was attacked? He’d be flayed alive.

The hot water ran over his hair and skin, opening his pores and relaxing his muscles after he’d finally entered the shower. It was a dark conclusion he came to that it was all a futile exercise to wash away the deliberate, desperate thoughts clouding his mind.

 

[Crazy Trey-n]

Virgil Bedeau

Fantôme

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WHERE: City Park
DOING: Conversing
WITH: A Wanderer
CREDIT: WIP

It was his turn to grow even more still than he already was. As still as the trees hovering above them, frozen in time, the mute spectators of their discreet exchange.

Virgil’s eyes had darted over her during the brief quiet between their words. They’d flickered to and fro, too quickly to be followed, yet too slow to be considered idle observation. He was studying everything about her with uninhibited scrutiny, from the knowingly simple attire she wore to her posture upon the bench she’d chosen to seat herself. Surely it wasn’t the first time. He couldn’t help but wonder if it would be the last.

She was different in her own way, aside from being a patron of the shadows like himself. That much he believed to be certain.

There were subtle signs as she spoke. The tilting of his head to one side, his teeth being obscured from view, the very mild relaxation of his stance. They foretold his inclination to listen, but his gaze had now settled on her own intently; after the last word left her lips, it held onto the silence that ensued as easily as the night, yet promised his attention as surely as the day that’d succeed it.

“Is it truly freedom, if you are a slave to the night?”

Each word spoken was accompanied by a silent step that refused to disturb the Earth. His emergence was reserved, like a shadow afraid to leave its refuge, but even the spectral glow was enough to shed light onto his features once he’d set foot on the path between them. The grin hadn’t disappeared in its entirety; a ghost of it remained in the form a thin, close-lipped line etched across his face, with one corner quirked upwards to betray his amusement and interest. Whether the interest was in her, the conversation, or something else entirely was something only a prophet could answer. Like most things, the answer lay deep within his mind.

Before he could answer her question, the abrupt howls of beasts cut across the sky. The park showed some life, then, when the birds took to the sky from their roosts and quick-footed creatures flitted across the ground into their dens. Ever present onlookers stirred from the monotony of their simple lives. Two voices trailed through the park somewhere close, giggling and whispering in clandestine fashion before fading away.

Still his gaze persisted on hers. Irrevocable. Unwavering.

“Necessity,” was his answer. There was no edge to his tone; he adopted hers, formal and polite. While he saw no need to lie, simplicity still had its place here. “However, I am certainly no ‘sir’. Perhaps in a past life, but that one very well may have never been.”

The ebb and flow of the conversation was slowly advancing into the unknown. It was difficult to judge based solely on appearances when it came to vampires, but this woman seemed far wiser than certain others of their kind.

She seemed kind-hearted, though not without caution. As delicate as a rose, though he knew all too well of the thorns they bear.

“Like the moon and the stars, hope always finds its rise,
so we listen to the land, and accompany it as it cries...”​

The warmth of a droplet fell upon his hand. Virgil didn’t need to raise his head to know it wasn’t the oncoming of a storm. It was a dew drop, late coming in the day.

“What do you hope for?” The question was vague, but still held implications. His curiosity urged him to ask the same question twice so that this time it wouldn’t be marred by his own interjection. The next question was one he faltered with, visibly so, as though it was unfamiliar to being uttered by his tongue.

“What… is your name?”

 

[Luxura]

Alexei Pavlovsky

alias: CAIN

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WHERE: Engineering Lab
WITH: Alone
DOING: Tinkering
CREDIT: maria_lahaine
PLAYLIST:

​

While any other conundrum would have easily set ablaze the inferno within his pureblood heart, Alexei already knew the end result. He had a part in constructing Eden, and while the Russians were not involved in the creation of this abomination, Paradise was to be a replicated tribute to the floating monstrosity. The architects would have had to cut corners where they could. Designing the sleeping quarters the size of a butler’s pantry was an acceptable place to start when the well-being of the troops mattered little in comparison to the size of the on-board Chapel.

“Pardon,”

Alexei all but rolled his eyes, expecting to see one of the officers writing him a citation for coarse language. Instead, his heart was given a start; the slight engineer from earlier meandered about, perplexed by the issue of the room just as much as he was.

Alexei ignored him. In truth, he had half expected to see him here already. He already knew about the bunk arrangement. Anything that the Overseer was privy to, despite all confidentiality measures, the Russian usually knew as well. There were few secrets Alexei couldn’t divulge, or hear, through unconventional means. Not that he cared that Troxler was his bunkmate. The man was highly resourceful and intelligent. That meant he was valuable; something Alexei knew all too well about…
Chucking his bag up on the higher bunk, he found himself just inside the door, noting the petite bathroom in the corner. He’d been battling back continued nausea for several hours, and seeing it now made him think perhaps a hot shower wouldn’t do him any harm. If anything at all, it would help ease his mind and prepare his body for the desperately needed sleep.
He turned slightly as the engineer found himself back where he started, but as their eyes met the other was gone, hauling his belongings in tow.
This time, Alexei did roll his eyes, slamming the iron door closed behind him.

Under the gentle spattering of water, it was blissful to feel his coiled muscles begin to loosen with the heat. His thoughts melted into the droplets of water that trailed like rivers down the landscape of his body. He could feel the gravity beneath him sucking his grief down the drain. Sometimes his only respite from it all was a hot shower and his own silence. He wouldn’t move for several minutes, just allowing the weight of the world to become seduced by the rhythm of rain, to be shaken loose and the two become one.
Here, in these moments, he could reflect, hear his own mind without all the other rabble. Alexei could let down his guard and truly allow himself to feel. In years past it was a blessing, even within incarceration; but since he signed the Devil’s deal he had become a different man. Their world had begun to twist him, mould him. Not in faith, never in faith… but in the image of their sins. And the skin fit him so well, sung so sweetly in his ear, it became too difficult to ignore. Before long, in these moments, it was all he could do to let himself rest, a cool and empty silence in his heart and mind.

Stepping out of the shower stall, he spent a few long moments reviewing his own reflection in the mirror. He pulled back his gums, reviewed over his body. The plug implants within him each swelled with the abuse they had endured over the last few days. He brushed his fingertips over the implant above his left pectoral, sitting within the fleshy cavity under the clavicle. The skin surrounding had begun to turn from pink to yellow, the first visible bruising he’d ever experienced with the suit in some time. The darkness lining his bright eyes spoke volumes at his fatigue. He was ready to sleep, finally... The cocktail of alchemy in his blood had finally run its course, but even still another round of emesis could make him feel better. He thought better of it, hearing a shuffling beyond the door.
Tossing the towel around his shoulders, Alexei entered into the room, unsurprised to see Troxler returned, and defeated. The pair met eyes, and he snickered softly as his counterpart quickly looked away, trying to find anywhere to stare at but at the naked form before him.
Alexei approached him, slow, deliberate,

"Welcome back." his accent seeping through the cracks of his acquired English, "No solo rooms, I take it?"
The blonde looked up, staring him down with caution cloaked in apathy. Considering Alexei’s reputation, it was to be expected that the young man fain bravery. While he had never, to his own recollection, done harm to the other man, Alexei was well aware of the 84th’s sadistic entry requirements.

René’s features blended together in effeminate ways, yet still sharp with masculine kisses spattered in the details. Troxler was a beautiful, queer creature of humanity. But there was something about Ephemera that Cain couldn’t put his finger on. Something ethereal, beyond the surface.
Alexei could feel his blood run hotter, his breath heavy as he followed the curvature of his bunkmate’s neck. A deviousness had twisted his smirk into something far more sinister. A small step closer, pushing into the other's personal space,
"Fine," his shrug nonchalant.
Like a viper, he reached out and snapped René's chin, "Let's get one thing crystal clear," his voice lowering, "You do what I tell you to do, and I won't have you sent back to Eden." his thumb tracing the scar along the man's upper lip, a ravenousness drawing him even closer, his chest nearly touching the other, "Got it?"

What he had not expected was for his prey to have a little gumption. Just as well, he should have. The 84th hadn't been kind to the pretty boy.
Alexei was quick, but not stupid. He held his place as the blade found his throat, cool and welcoming. The sting from the sliver-thin cut along his jugular erupted his skin in goosebumps. It was a very fine piece of equipment, likely costing as much as a cask of Château Mouton Rothschild.

The smile dropped for only a second of surprise but came back a full, hearty laugh.

As René set the distance between them, Alexei shook his head, "You've got some fight left in you, that's good."
His hand snapped up with reflexes faster than René would have developed in his years as a technician. He gripped the wrist, twisting and pulling it behind the man's back until he submitted and the blade started to slip from his grip. The Russian pushed him forward, up against the wall, making sure he felt the weight of his body on top of him,
"Whatever you say, Princess." his breath a hot purr against his ear.

He held him for a second longer, tempted to push his luck. Instead, he plucked the blade and released his prey, tossing the weapon onto the lower bunk. He'd had enough, Alexei thought. Watching the man face him, back against the wall, he could almost hear his heart pounding. The fear that had been in those brown eyes metamorphosed into anger, hot like pokers as he stabbed him venomously. A flicker of a feral beast that seemed to reflect the same chaotic energy as Alexei, himself; so tempting to lure out and see what kind of man he really was inside.
It was unlike him to not have gone further, but fatigue was ruling the victor this time.
With his thumb, he lapped up the blood from the surface cut he'd received, and placed it along his tongue, savouring the thick metallic tang,
“Go fuck yourself, Cain,”
"Gladly." he agreed with a smirk, hearing the door to the bathroom latch shut.
His head hit the firm pillow, body immediately melting. Listening to the water start, the gentle pattering beginning again to pull him into a sense of calm. His eyes closed, but a smile still pulled at the corner of his lips, unable to sate his desire to pleasure himself into sleep. Ephemera would find him comatose by the time he finished.

​

The morning came faster than anticipated. It was a slumber wherein one would slip into darkness with little reality of time, only to awaken as if it was merely a moment ago that sleep took hold. Dreamless, without rest.

Despite all the fatigue gnawing at his bones, Alexei awakened with purpose on his mind. The incessant demands of his suit assaulted his thoughts to the point of restlessness. Even in exhaustion, he was too focused. All thoughts were of the components, how to shift the polarity, how to make a less vile potion… Endlessly overtaken by the fact that it was incomplete, imperfect.

The doors to the Lab opened, lights flickering to life from the generator. It was one of the larger spaces Paradise offered its crew. The room expanded several yards in either direction, generator stations mounted in each of the four corners with a large common working area in the center.

His footfalls echoed off the shadows, announcing his loneliness to no one but himself. The Legionnaire planted himself a home on the far corner, creating a work station where he could lay his combat suit if desired, but generally always mounted for entry. As Alexei hoisted the heavy metal skin upon the mount he could already taste the bile building up in the pit of his stomach. The thought of plugging in was, for once, a chore. From his trouser pocket, he flicked open the lid of his flask, bringing it up to his lips. It was going to be rough morning, he could feel it.

Rubbing at his face, a heavy sigh followed. Working up the courage, he pulled off his undershirt to expose himself to the crip interior air. He slipped inside his shell, latching together and closing the helm.

Deep breath in...

He flicked the switch under the breastplate, a blinding pearlescent glow humming, illuminating from the solar core within. The venous system activating in coexistence triggered the implant connectors; thick but short needles jamming into his body in twelve different places. Always painful, his skin paled and eyes cinched closed as he hissed. It was only seconds for the morphine to explode into his veins, and the tension left him, head lolling back with a shudder of bliss.

Now, it was time to get to work.

 

[Leola_Asarai]

Kenna Mac Amery

Incendiu

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WHERE: The Streets
WITH: Bjorn Thorburn
DOING: Looking for an escape
CREDIT: Olivier Ponsonnet
PLAYLIST: Coming Soon

The young wolf was ready to walk away and leave the situation as it was, just an unfortunate run-in. Kenna was hoping to escape any further altercation with the man by just walking away, about to quicken her pace in case he came after her again if what she had said displeased him. The laughter that erupted from him was unexpected and made her stop in her tracks for a moment as she turned to glare back at him. If he wanted fire, he would damn well get it. However, Kenna really should have just kept her feet moving because before she knew it, he had a heavy-set arm draped over her shoulders.

Kenna squirmed under the strength of his hold. “I don’t care if I impress you or not, you aren’t important enough for me to want to,” she said as she, trying to wrench herself from his grasp. He was bigger than her, a hell of a lot stronger, and was being an asshole by making it very clear that he was in charge of the situation. It didn’t escape her that he was trying to get information from her. He was not so subtle in his questioning of her motives.

A slightly defeated sigh escaped her as she paused, no longer struggling under the weight of his arm and just giving in to him pushing her along the street. “You really want to know why I was on the roof?” she asked, her tone quiet and almost dejected. “Too bad,” she snarked harshly, “It’s none of your damn business what I’m up to.” Kenna quickly tried to resume prying herself from his hold, but it seemed it was almost useless.

Kenna’s eyes scanned the area, making sure to keep vigilant about for the direction they were heading. The last thing she wanted was for them to be going somewhere she was completely unfamiliar with. The group that had attacked her in the past had a little bit more tact about them than this brute, so she expected they weren’t working together, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t also dangerous. “You are so annoying, I hope you know that,” she muttered. From what she could tell, they were merely heading the direction they had come, but that didn’t make her any less nervous about the destination.

“Would you let go of me, asshole,” she huffed, “you are so pushy!” She hated being pushed around, especially not knowing where they were going. She pulled her arm out enough to jab her elbow into his side. Kenna winced at the pain that shot up her arm and hoped that he had felt it just as much as she had, though she had little hope that it had made a dent in him.

The question of what he wanted with her circled in Kenna’s mind. He had chased her down the streets in a rage over what she had done. Yet, he now led them back down the road in an almost civilised manner. As much as she wanted to make her struggle against him visible, she also didn’t want the unnecessary attention her way. Other people were just useless in these situations, and she would instead like to merely slip away and return to the shadows of being alone. The whole situation was making her uncomfortable.

As they drew closer to main streets with crowds of people, whatever disruption their running chase had caused before had dissipated with the movement of the night. She made her struggle less obvious, but her annoyance at the situation was still evident. “What makes you think I want to go anywhere with you?” she muttered, her eyes continuing to glance for an easy getaway. “Where the hell are you trying to take me anyway?”

 

[Luxura]

Holly Wilshire

alias: GABRIEL

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WHERE: Paradise - Observation Gallery
WITH: Overseer
DOING: Morning Tea
CREDIT: AdrianDadich
PLAYLIST:

​

It was abnormal for the Overseer to miss such a monumental session. Holly knew he was proud of the accomplishments and advances in American conversion, so it made little sense that he would intentionally miss the briefing. Additionally, this mission was important to them both. Jonah had been itching to head over the ocean for months, after the first confirmed sighting.
The Key, a creature of fate, and power divine. She knew little of his purpose, but only that his return was prioritized over all other missions. Holly had never experienced such a creature. Truth be told, she had chosen to ignore most of the experimentations of the 8th Deck. Screams of agony and sorrow echoed the halls of that place, souls of the damned retributed into the hands of the Lord. She felt her resolve was not prepared for the horrors of that place, and she envied those that worked in those conditions.
How the subject had escaped remained a mystery. Records of the incident indicated that upon awakening from rebirth, he was stronger than anyone could have predicted. He tore his way out, hands making carnage like a craft.

Holly shuddered at the image and blinked back to the moment. She knocked firmly on Jonah’s quarters once more, but not a scuffle beyond the door. Pursing her lips, the Sister shook her head. At a steady clip, she made her way back to her own wing to prepare for Paradise.

​

Holly's eyes flickered over the crewmen, various stations being worked diligently with soft conversation between them. Everything was prepared, now to just get this damn thing off the ground.
Paradise, much like its predecessor, was prone to issues. So far the steam turbines weren’t firing as they should, and without that, they weren’t getting a foot out the door. Inexperienced, but hopping with enthusiasm, the bright-eyed warrior was eager to lend a hand where able. She’d been on the bridge for the last hour, providing soothing words of encouragement to the men as they brainstormed ideas.

She heard footsteps approaching, "Captain? Are we ready to-” As she turned she was greeted with a much younger face, “Oh! René, my apologies. I've been expecting someone else."

A hand upon the small of his back, she led the man away from the commotion, listening to his concerns. She softened, but her features were apologetic,
"It was not a choice I could make, nor is it an assignment I can change," her hand resting on his arm as a sign of affection, "You were a last-minute addition to this mission, and as such, we had to put you where there was room... As you can tell, Paradise isn't all it's cracked up to be." she smiled, "Additionally, I am bound by orders just like the Overseer. Men and Women are still to bed separately. There was no other option."
Holly's jaw tightened, but not out of anger. Her words had not meant to be taken in a belittling fashion but as a matter of fact. Poor judgement on her part. The fatigue of the day was beginning to dissolve her aura of leadership,
“I was a last-minute addition, and I was assigned to sleep in the same room as a man who has the worst reputation of his lot that has been known to give me hell.”
Taking the blond by the hand, Holly led him out of the Helm altogether and into the hallway, where quiet and some privacy could ease the tension. As the door shut, she met his gaze, brushing back his sun-kissed hair gingerly,
"I fought for you," she sighed, pursing her lips, "I've wanted you indicted as a Sister for a long time, but the Order won't hear of it. I did all in my power to have your skills recognized... but needless to say there is a lot of bureaucracy at play."

She leaned her shoulder into the wall, crossing her arms protectively across her chest, a rarity to see the woman so casual in conversation, "They don't know I put you on the manifest... And the Overseer has... agreed not to say anything, so long as you work with the 84th as well as us."
Holly hoped that her honesty would ease his mind. She had been training Troxler for years, having seen such promise in his courage and strength in his resolve. When Hwarang passed, it barely crossed her that she was finding comfort in his contemporary. Even still, she denied that anyone could replace the brilliant pupil… Yet she found herself at Ephemera’s side all the same.

Now, to the heart of the matter.

She took a long breath, choosing her next words carefully, "Cain... is the best at what he does. He is a good soldier, diligent in his work, and loyal to his orders," she slowly met his eyes, finding it hard to look past the fear, "You are stronger than you give yourself credit for, René. I know what you're made of."
“-I cannot trust whatever agreement the Overseer has made with you. I trust you alone,”
She nodded, apologies written along her face, unspoken. As he turned to leave, she grabbed his wrist, "Remember this," she leaned in, her voice quiet only for him, "Cain won't do anything that will cost him more time in our ranks. His freedom is the only thing he desires."
She held his eyes for a long moment before releasing him, worry on her brow as she slipped back into the personae of a woman in power, leaving her protégé for the Helm without a second glance. If there was one thing she knew about Troxler, it was that he was resourceful.

​

Flying over the endless waters, the sun-kissed the horizon where sea blended into the sky. Soft arrays of pinks and yellows washed like a painting with the dawn, casting a warmth of light cascading gentle pools about the Observation Gallery. Gabriel, having awakened only a short time before, wore a sleeping tunic, perching herself on the arm of a stately leather wingback. Cupped within her metal hands was a rather fragile teacup, soft tendrils of steam protruding and then into evanescence.

A soft click of a heal at her six, and she turned her head but an inch, “I was beginning to believe I had perturbed you in some fashion,” she spoke softly to the man who approached, tall and grey of hair, “I trust the first night aboard was sufficient?”
Holly looked to Jonah fully then, moving her platinum bright hair behind her ear with a gentle smile, unmoved from her place upon the chair,
“So, comrade, where have you been?”

 

[Luxura]

Harrison Van Doren

Dutch

health bar

WHERE: The Brass Canine
WITH: Maeve Donovan
DOING: Doing Business
CREDIT: Exile0403
PLAYLIST:

She made it look like an exotic art. A connoisseur of disorderly elixirs. The tilt of her wrist as the poison swirled the glass, the perfume that ensnared their senses. Dutch almost felt a blush across his chest as her lips cupped the rim.
The beast smirked, chuckling softly at Maeve’s remark,

“Well, I thought you’d say that, so I wanted to start you off slow,” he turned back to the bartender, “Overholt, stirred.”

As the drink was placed before him, he took a small sip of it himself, watching the woman from over the rim of the glass with eyes as amber as the liquid on his tongue.
With a sigh of delight, he slid the glass to her, “A personal favourite.” he shrugged, taking a long drag from his cigar, “Not America’s best, but… that’s hard to come by.”

Somehow, through the smoke came a vision, a woman leering from the shadows with eyes like his own. Dutch looked past the blonde’s shoulder, far back into the hazy shadows of the room, trying to find the face he’d seen. The moment the blonde spoke he returned to her, trying to forget the strange sensation he knew those eyes from somewhere before.

Maeve laughed, genuine and soft; pretty, “I’ll have to assume I need no introduction. Loose lips have done the work for me… but what about you?”

Dutch nodded, smiling, “No, none at all.”

She was a maven of sex appeal, and she knew as much. The tell was in her eyes, dragging over every inch of him like the young man was a prize to be won. The playfulness of her features exposed her flirt, and Dutch didn’t mind exasperbating the moment.
Removing his hat, he shuffled a little closer, fingers sliding through the honeyed locks. He braved the waters and made every effort not to look too long in any one place. She certainly cared little if anyone did so, but he was trying to make a first impression.
Her body was lean but curvaceous, the type men savored out of the need to procreate. Maeve was a woman of taste, and practicality. Each piece was tailored just for her, snug and fitted along her long limbs. The golden silk that weaved in think waves around her shoulders brought a glow to her milky skin. He’d wager they were as soft as a hare’s pelt. The ruby cupid’s bow was the most difficult to ignore, soft, supple lips that was sure to be velvet to the touch.

He pulled the cigar from his lips, resting it on the counter, “Dutch.” he replied to her query, meeting her gaze with a smirk and glint in his eye. A hint of deviousness, shadowed by a wall of secrets, leaving his intentions undetermined,

“You’re hardly out of the den, aren’t you, Pup?”

Dutch blinked back a laugh, half out of embarrassment, the other out of seeming egotistical. The smile had begun to slide, the pleasantries slipping into business, “I wouldn’t be so disrespectful. Not to any woman, nor to you, darlin’,” he picked up his vice, gently flicking away the ash, “Aye, I don’t offer much in the way of experience, but I do the best I can. I’m lookin’ for work, thought you might know where someone with a keen shot might be able to find something… under the radar? I’m hopin’ to stay awhile.” the liquor and conversation had finally loosened up his tongue, the soft lazy accent flourishing.

He could feel her, the woman in the dark. The very sense of being watched-- no, hunted. Stalked. If there weren’t so many other matters at play, he could have maybe caught her scent in the air. As he leered deep into the looming inky pit of shadows the eyes were gone, replaced with a sense of loss. Who was she? Was it merely a figment of the mind?

Maeve’s cold shoulder caught his attention, and the young man sighed, wringing his hands together out of agitation,

“I’d appreciate any assistance you’d give me, Ma’am.”

 

[ashwynne]

Nascha

Black Sun

health | bar

WHERE: The Brass Canine
WITH: No one
DOING: Slipping out
CREDIT: @peritwinkle
PLAYLIST:

Shadows were meant to consume. They swallowed you whole, possessively hiding their prize from the sight of others. Nascha had always loved them, always enjoyed embracing them with welcoming arms. Her inner beast loved them too, and together they had grown good at creating shadows wherever they went. Into this perceived inkiness she could slip at will. But there was a catch; those who adjusted their vision to the gloom could pierce through shadows.
She felt it. Even as her eyes worked against her will to seek out the beast she had saved, he was looking for her too. That, more than anything else, made her question any thought of staying. If she was doomed to a confrontation with him, Nascha would insist on it being on her terms. Not in the claustrophobic din of a jazz club.
Fortunately, the beast did not seem to have pinpointed her yet. All the better, it gave her a chance to slip away… only her own eyes had found him. It was brief, but enough.
Gone was the half-dead creature she had worked hard to save. Now he leaned against the counter; healthy, handsome, and entirely too lively. Worse, he seemed to be scrying through the dark. Looking for her. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Nascha did not like being seen. She might have wanted to look longer—curiosity getting the better of her—but the risk of discovery outweighed that, so she pulled her gaze away.

It was not that she was afraid. Not exactly. Nascha was adept and strong enough to protect herself from trouble, time had proven that. But the ones she healed were not meant to find her again. It was an unspoken rule she had made with herself long ago. Gratitude was aggravating. She held their lives in her hands. She chose to save those she wished and usher onward to death those that she did not. Holding that power was more than enough reward for her in and of itself. Besides… it simply tended to be awkward. If she could avoid it, she would.
Of course, that was not the biggest problem. It was the damn fool’s scent. She did not even know his name and yet despite the room full of stinking bodies he might as well have been the only one there. It was maddening. Infuriating even. Eavesdropping on the supposed ‘Queen of Beasts’ had been her plan for the evening, but plans could change.

She pushed up from the table, meeting no ones eyes. The curtain of thick black hair hid the fine sculpt of her face and darkness of her eyes. Loose-fitting clothes disguised her shape. All of it designed to give nothing for eyes to linger on. Nascha only hoped it continued to work.
With an uneasy, unremarkable, stride she made her way back towards the doors. The increased tempo of her heart would be lost in the cacophony of other sounds, so she did not fear discovery on that front. Nearly had she reached them when a second scent distracted her, and she froze. It was neither vampire nor beast, certainly not human. It was some strange mix…

For a moment her need to escape was forgotten. A ravenous curiosity made her fingertips itch instead. Through the smoke, through the medley of drink and sweat and appetite, she traced it until she found its bearer. He sat at a different part of the bar. A male companion beside him. They seemed to be partaking in food and drink together. In another situation, her mouth might have watered at the sumptuous scent of what they had feasted on, but she was wholly occupied by something else.
Her feet angled from the door and towards the bar, toes pointed in the direction of this new object of fascination. But prudence was quick to reinsert itself alongside bitter disappointment. There were too many eyes. The man’s companion was making a show of their meal and—impressive as it was—this meant that even being in their vicinity was a danger she couldn’t afford. If the canid beast she had saved had not found her yet, he certainly would if she lingered there.

A low curse escaped her lips and the werebeast inhaled deeply once more of this stranger’s scent—committing it to memory—before her slender fingers met the rough wood of the doors leading out of the club. She gave them a firm push. As they swung open, cool air rushed over her and Nascha took in a shuddering inhale.
The sky stretched inky indigo above her, dotted by innumerable stars that winked down at her. In jest or commiseration, she did not know. Cicada song echoed all around on the humid air, mixing with the lingering strains of jazz as she sought to catch her breath. Wisdom dictated that she should leave the vicinity of The Brass Canine. Frustrated curiosity rooted her to the spot. “Damn it all,” she hissed softly to no one.

 

[nighteyes]

Esther Asturias

SHERWOOD

health bar

WHERE: City Park
WITH: A Phantom
DOING: Conversing
CREDIT: W.J. Neatby

New Londontown, England

Two years ago ​

Morning found Esther walking the length of the riverside, bundled in cloak and shawl against the chill. A fine sheen of mist had settled upon her. Blinking particles of moisture from her lashes, she looked out across the dark and depthless waters of the Thames, to the thicket of ship masts that reached to the sky from a closed dockyard.

She could picture her father here as a young man. What had the men and women of England first made of him, a foreigner of new fortunes? Her voice did not give it away, for the Queen's English was her first tongue and held sway. Her countrymen were not always kind regarding such matters, but for her part, when she glimpsed something of her father still living in the looking glass, she was comforted.

Her eyes followed the pale outline of a half-raised sail. She was reminded of the many occasions she had sequestered herself between window and curtain to eavesdrop on meetings of business in her father's study. In girlhood, she was very much in awe of his livelihood. Not one to miss a trick, her father had quickly caught on to the presence of a stowaway in his midst.

It had been on the heels of a discussion concerning shipment schedules–late in the afternoon, to the best of her memory–and the visitors had taken their leave, when there came a knock just outside her hiding place. “May I join you?” her father asked, peering inside. He had slipped into Castilian, the language they shared. “I did not know you were tucked away here, quiet as a dormouse.”

Abashed at having been found out, she merely nodded. He sat opposite her on the windowseat and struggled somewhat with folding his legs beneath him; his body was not so young as his spirit anymore. “What is it today?” he asked brightly of the book cradled in her lap, “Ivanhoe?”

“One of yours.”

His brows lifted, and he extended a hand. “May I?” Esther passed the book to him with some reluctance, and recognition lit his features. "Goodness, it's been years since I've looked through this," he remarked. It was a journal that chronicled his early travels and business ventures, pulled from his personal shelves. When he began to leaf through the yellowing pages, she watched as though he held her very life in his hands. “Mija,” he said at length, “Is this the only occasion you've sat in on a meeting of mine?”

She could not lie to him. “No.”

Her father nodded in an absent way, unsurprised by this news. He said nothing more for several beats. “This isle of a kingdom boasts one of the greatest ports the world over, you know. Its influence has been cast across the globe, for good and ill,” he said. “Further, I've long had a love of travel. Down to the marrow, you might say, like my father before me. Perhaps you have it too.”

Esther plucked up the courage to look at him and did not find even a shred of reproach in his face. On the contrary, he seemed positively delighted, and she understood his meaning, that there was a naturalness to her interest. Her father glimpsed in her the selfsame spark that had driven him to merchantry, and he could have snuffed it out with but a word. If he were another man, he might have done, but Abram Asturias would have sooner given up his hands before clipping his daughter's wings.

“Would you care to learn more? I've no objection to you sitting in on my meetings.”

“Could I really?” she breathed. Her heart seemed to be in her throat.

“Why shouldn't you? And if you like, I can take you to see the warehouses and shipping vessels, and... mija? Mija, what's the matter?”

She frowned, twisting the hem of her frock through her fingers. “Papa, the doctor said I must always take care,” she confessed. “What is more, I don't think there are very many lady merchants. I read of wives who assisted their husbands, and widows who inherited... but I am not either of those things, and–and I...,”

Decidedly conspiratorial, her father passed the journal back into her hands with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. “So what?” he countered, and then she saw he had turned to the very end of his writings, to the pages that remained unmarred and waiting.

“–help, miss?”

Her father's study fell away. Drawn back into the present with a start, she turned to the voice. “Pardon?”

Two men were seated outside a tavern, engaged in a game of cards. One had looked up from his hand to address her. “I asked if you needed help, miss,” he said. “You had a lost look about you. If you've come to pull your husband out of a pint and you need someone to box his ears, look no further.”

“Oh, no, I...,” she gestured with a wave of the hand. “I was admiring that ship. That one there, across the water.”

“Only that one?” He chuckled. “The port's got a great many ships. I should know, I reckon I've broken a sweat on most of them. But that one there, the object of your fancy, she returned from her maiden voyage almost a month ago. Isn't that right?” He turned to his companion, whose attention had not once left his cards. The man grunted in the affirmative. “Right,” the first continued with a nod. “Come all the way from the Orient, and we've only just finished unloading the cargo. Her little sister the clipper is due any day now from up north.”

Esther drew her shawl closer about herself. “In years passed, I could never bring myself to venture very far from my–” She stopped with abruptness, holding back the words that had leapt into her throat. “From England.”

“The fellow who owns that ship,” remarked the less talkative of the pair as he laid down a card, “Company owner. Little odd, wouldn't you say?”

“So long's the pay's good, who gives two shits?” retorted the first man, and then he touched his cap with a bashful glance in Esther's direction. “Beg your pardon, miss, that's too coarse a way to speak within a lady's hearing.”

“The fellow you spoke of–what is odd about him?” Esther had turned to the pair with keen and sudden interest. The hint of a smile grazed her mouth, and barely restrained mirth danced in her eyes.

“Ah, well... not much, really, only that no one's ever laid eyes on the man himself, but I hear tell he visits now and again,” answered the first man. “As far as rumor goes, he takes sick often and lives in the country. City air doesn't agree with him, I suppose.” He paused to think. “Asquith, that's his name. Abram Asquith.”

Regarding that distant mast again, Esther's thoughts had drifted far and away. In memory she strived to preserve her father as his truest self, the person he was before grief took hold. He had given his whole being to searching, and then, when that was fruitless, to his work, to ensure that the family that remained to him would want for nothing. After her mother found him collapsed on the floor of his office he had spent the remaining year of his life relegated to a chair, crippled on one side and closed off to the world. The only thing that could rouse him was a child with red hair; he would smile, and call her by the name of the daughter he lost.

In this place where he once walked and dreamed, she wondered if the dead could see the living. Could he see her? If his shade could stand with her now in this very moment, what would he say?

A shape loomed in the distance, the telltale outline of that Templar stronghold. Brought back to her purpose, Esther thanked the men for the conversation and took her leave.

❧​

The shadows that hung heavy beneath the moss-laced canopy did not readily relinquish him. The man conjured from their depths moved as soundlessly as a spirit might, and when he set foot upon the earthen footpath, the light streaming through the trees threw his features into relief. He gazed at her, and she at him.

Had she been a woman of thinner skin, Esther would have bristled at his choices in phrasing. She, thoroughly unbothered, registered the word slave and then let it go like releasing a dandelion seed to the wind.

He had raised a point worth pondering. Was this freedom, truly? In her view, it was now as it ever had been. Checked as it was, Esther thought herself freer now than a little girl in London bound to the house at all hours.

A smile, faint and sad, played at her mouth, and her eyes briefly flickered away. “Of a kind.” One could make the argument that mortals were chained to the day, despite the advances in technological innovation. The deep of night was feared, and with good reason. Fell deeds were done in the dark and fell things walked under the moon.

Howls tore the stillness and then, for but a moment, the brush around them was astir with the flight of startled wildlife. Voices lightened by laughter floated on the warm evening air, receding into the distance. She was reminded that the world still turned, even here, and was grateful for it. There were things that needed tending before the night was done.

His response to her inquiry, wrapped in a tone as conversational as her own, was enough meet the bare minimum for an answer but no more than that; just vague enough to give her pause. “I see,” she said, lightly. Necessity could have brought him here to this far flung corner of the park for any number of reasons, but he did not elaborate. She, in turn, did not press him to.

The inquiries that followed were simple, but she took a moment to think on how she would answer. One had formed on his lips the way a foreign language might. That hesitation snagged her notice, but she did not know what to make of it - or, by extension, of the man. Sitting with her laced hands folded casually around her knees, Esther considered this curious stranger with a smooth brow and a canted head.

This fellow's cards were held close to his chest. Quite close. His purpose was as of yet still unknown to her, or if in fact he had any at all. Eyes alight and inquisitive, brimming with questions yet reluctant to give anything away in return. In that regard, he was not a far cry from herself. She had ample cause to maintain a certain amount of secrecy in her life; how could she find fault in others for doing the same?

She roused herself from the bench, standing without a word. The silence drew on. Her skirt fluttered about her when wind as warm as a breath threaded through the park. She swept a stray strand of hair from her face and said, “I am known as Sherwood by some, and the things I hope for are fragile at best.”

There were several names she could have given him and all would have held a grain of truth. Pseudonyms were as cloaks, and it was not often that she heard her name - her true name - put to voice. As much a part of her as her limbs, that which was received from her mother and father remained fiercely guarded. Before sharing it with Jack Fletcher on a train they had taken from New England, she had not heard her name spoken in years.

The name of Sherwood was not given so freely, either; it carried weight among certain circles, though for many, the bearer remained a faceless and wraithlike figure. Years ago, upon first setting foot in London, she had taken stock of the skills to hand. Her relief was beyond measure, for she would find that a father's tutelage to his daughter, though atrophied like a muscle, had endured. She began as a mere runner of black market goods. When the loom of her network was strung and she had garnered a reputation in the criminal underworld, she used the inheritance from Thomas to firmly establish her enterprise on either side of the city's trade, above and below.

Esther leveled her eyes with the fellow's face, though her body was angled away, indicating her intention to depart. “I have a bit of business in the city, so I'm afraid I must take my leave,” she continued. “Do you mean to stay here? If not, might we walk together awhile?”

 

[CosmicDusk]

Cecile Bellerose

Ember

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WHERE: La Lune
WITH: Cassandra Caldecott
DOING: Conversing
CREDIT: Milica Jevtic
PLAYLIST:

Cecile removed her hand from the stained cloth. Her gaze smelted in hues of sapphires and half-lidded as she returned to the kitchen. It happened rarely, but there was no denying there were a few vampires who were not so keen on the position Cecile claimed. Not that there was ever a vote to it, but luckily the main families knew of Cecile and her loyalty to their last king. Their support, along with many of Kestrel's followers', made the transition easy and provided her all the resources she needed to set her plans into motion. She was not entirely keen on executing those of her own kind, but with all she had done over the years to support the faction. The thought alone exasperated her. Rebels much like the trio only made matters difficult for her when there were far more pressing issues to address.

The Templars, for one.

A plate of sweet pastry settled in her hand. Strawberry and wine mingled, dancing in her nostrils with fervor. A violent shudder ran through her, teeth severing a plump bite from the inside of her cheek, restraining the sound of content from escaping her throat. There was no denying her love for confectioneries. It was not often she indulged herself, so she savoured every treat that came her way. Shoulders clamoured in relaxation, gradually softening their hold with each bite. A song threatened to hum, as cream and jam smoothly coated her throat. Slender fingers curled around the steel fork. It was a remedy she hadn't realized she needed. Alas, short-lived.

"Another guest wishes to see you, Mistress."

She sighed, "Who is it this time?"

"She gave no name, but claims to be an old friend of yours."

An old friend? Cecile rarely made any relationships beyond that of an acquaintance due to her connection with Kestrel. It offered less chances of someone in the inner court to harm him. It was likely there was someone on such terms with either Kestrel or her, but very rarely. Little tickled her memory. Not that they weren't memorable; Cecile possessed an excellent memory. It wasn't often someone kept their relation to Cecile since discovering her connection to Kestrel. A past lover? No, even less likely. They were left dead in bed. If anything, most of her own comrades over the years either perished in ashes already or have gone their separate ways. The intrigue gradually rose, faces blurring in her head as steps took her back to the main hall once again. As much as interest there was in unearthing this mystery, she much preferred returning to her forge. The latest commission was an old design, but being by the fire was comforting. Plus, she never turned down the opportunity for work, or that of coin. She caught a whiff of smoke and oak in the air, a sense of nostalgia as she entered the main hall. There stood a genteel figure, her scent more familiar.

"And here I thought we would never see each other again!" She exclaimed, rushing to the other woman's side. "My, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Cecile exchanged kisses on her cheeks. Ocean eyes took in the sheen of her friend's skirt and how it flowed about her waist. It had been some time since they last saw each other, probably some decades before her employment under Kestrel. Cassandra was more of a bird than Cecile, surely she had some stories to share. It hadn't been long since Cecile returned to the joy of traveling, but it did certainly warm her to encounter a past comrade who shared the same sentiment.

The blacksmith guided her through the building, offering her a drink when they passed through the kitchen. Songs to be sung, stories to be heard. Excitement thrilled on her lips, wanting to hear what recent travels her comrade took upon. She could detect unashamed curiosity tingle her spine. Cecile had several of her own, vivid memories rushed from the back of her mind. They waited to be shared, to be exposed to others so they could bask in the presence of more onlookers. It would be a pity not to share locations and their offers.

The well-padded soles of her heels kept her movements smooth while navigating the labyrinth called La Lune. Stealth was made obsolete not just from the shoes alone, but from the rustle and feathers of her dress and her company's outfit. The intermittent chime of a clock hummed through the vast building alongside their chatter, its grand body almost ghost-like by hollowed echoes.

"You must be exhausted from your travels. Make yourself comfortable here while you're in town."

Cecile was determined to rid any thoughts that dictate manners of 'fate,' just as it had been 'fate' she met Kestrel. Yet, she would not be one to ignore it. Cassandra possessed talents that could prove useful, but only if she offered them. The vampress held the title 'queen' of her kind, but the sentiment of giving orders was still foreign no matter how many she already gave out in the past few years. As much as she was satisfied and relieved to gain a larger support than she originally anticipated, she couldn't help but prefer to have escaped it all and simply returned to just being a blacksmith with no affinity. Life was… fascinating in some sense.

"Pray tell, what brought you to New Orleans?"

For the time being, she would enjoy the company of a friend.

 

[CosmicDusk]

Jonah Lancaster

The Overseer

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WHERE: Paradise - Observation Gallery
WITH: Holly Wilshire
DOING: Conversing
CREDIT: Ástor Alexander
PLAYLIST: ♱

A brief respite from one briefing to another led to merely staring out a window, looking down on the men and women scurrying about. News from American soil quickly spread, and with ants in their pants deployment preparations were set into motion. The excitement, the fear, it populated Eden, and not a moment of peace was in sight. Absorbent gauze and mind silently archived movements and future possibilities. A gloved appendage gripped the iron railing. While it had been some time since their last sighting, there was no guarantee this would also end as a fluke. By no means did it mean he was not ready to execute the appropriate plans, but he did not particularly enjoy an incomplete mission.

The sound of another's steps stole him from his thoughts, his only reaction a grunt. He waved the young boy away. The soot-haired man then removed himself from his position, the cane tapping with each click of his heel. Traversing through the halls, his attire half-forgotten. The cape he donned listlessly flailed behind him, his shirt unbuttoned a few. He had no recollection when he had done it but it mattered little. A messenger sent word his presence was needed but he knew it was not necessary; at least not since the leader of the Blood Sisters would brief them. He returned to the archives room instead.

♱​

The Patriarch escaped as many people as he could whenever they crossed his paths. Luckily enough, he wore a grimace that hindered many from approaching him. When it came time to those embarking Paradise, he retreated to his own quarters. There was no need for him to prepare. He had already done so the prior day, after receiving notice of the Key. He utilized what time he could, for he knew he would be surrounded by others like a flame to moths; of which had been happening all morning. Even in his own private quarters, men still appeared at his door. He was thankful none remarked on their sleeping arrangements, knowing he would not lend an ear to a single complaint from any of them.

When he could, Jonah retreated to a book.

♱​

Reports landed on his desk since their departure. He gave no response except a grunt, then his pen flew over the parchment.

♱​

Paradise was tranquil. Many of its passengers asleep, from the journey itself, if not from illness that accompanied them over the seas. Jonah rested for some time, reminding himself to do so despite all that came into his hands. The scent of smoke clung to his clothes, the muted clangs hummed under the heavy overcoat with each body movement. Engines sung under his feet, a soothing lullaby to elevate the tight space. As the dawn caressed his mane of grey and white, he was glad everyone was tucked away in their chambers.

Or almost everyone, a flock of platinum blonde whisked in the air; a cry for his attention.

His cane rested against steel, his weight shifted over it as he peered at his female counterpart. He briefly nodded his head in her direction, accessing the expression she wore. It was not often for Templars to rest, but each relaxed wrinkle and smile was evident that these metal-clad fighters were still human. He never worried about sufficient rest, but many complain to him about comfort. Folly. When did one find comfort when the natural balance of life was threatened so long as there were unnatural beings that roamed it? There would be plenty of rest when the work was completed.

"There were paperwork that required my counsel." Jonah's voice was made debonair by the undertow of a British accent.

Not the entire truth, as there was little documents that needed to be reviewed. He always kept up with menial tasks, though his attention was more on the soldiers they gathered. Which reminded him, if his own best man was abroad. He should be; there was not an inkling of a change he would allow Cain out of his sight. The sentiment could easily be shared with Gabriel, especially with the latest approval of allowing Ephemera on the mission. The arrangements could be said otherwise. Gabriel gave no complaint, likewise he did not, if to keep matters simple.

"I am certain I did not miss much. They have been in my ears all day." He spoke dismissively.

The rustle of expensive French fabric announced the shift of his body, now overlooking the ocean view with a disheveled head and a flat expression. Long fingers kept their hold over the golden cane. Talk continued, even after they have boarded the Paradise and currently en route across the oceans. While he could have taken a moment to bask in the ocean breeze, he was never left alone to his own leisure. He fathomed the expectations in obtaining the Key, the need to rush for capture. Unlike those who say behind desks and parchment, Jonah understood such critical missions require the utmost preparation, but above all the patience. It may be a test against time, but there was no rush.

"Have you rested well, Holly? It appears many of our Brothers and Sisters have succumbed to the waves."

He gathered she did, given her attire. Locks of silvern fluttered, almost white under the scarlet sky. Holly was one of an alluring presence; it escaped many how genteel her figure was, especially on one solemn morn as this. Some may have even witnessed a caring side of her, a vision one will never find on Jonah. Sometimes he pondered over the aspect how she managed both personas. Their occupation didn't quite proclaim… parents. By no means did he undermined her capacity to feel compassion or even that of sympathy. They were uncharted territory to the cold-hearted Patriarch.

Jonah wanted to share his observations, but the words escaped him. Instead, he returned his silvern gaze to the horizon. Centuries without the sun, yet it held a nostalgic piece to his heart even if he had never associated himself with a scarlet dawn.

 

[Crazy Trey-n]

Virgil Bedeau

Fantôme

health bar

WHERE: La Lune
DOING: Investigating
WITH: Queen & Quarry
CREDIT: WIP

Silence was serenity, so Virgil paid discretion to it with reverence. Every time it came as brief lapses of eternity between their private trade of words. Deafening, in spite of the quiet.

It seemed as though she was unwilling to surrender more information than she needed to in a manner quite similar to his own. Virgil found himself wondering: Why? The question wavered on the tip of his tongue, yet never left it, out of both understanding and a rare, voiceless gesture of courtesy. He wished to know more, of course - the source of the sadness in her smile, the truth of her presence in the park, the reasons why she was able to converse with a stranger in the dark without so much as batting an eye. Hers was a secrecy he wanted to divulge in.

And yet, he didn't, so silence reigned until each time she spoke again.

As she stood, his eyes followed. While it would have seemed as though she'd been the shepherd of his gaze, unknowingly staking a temporary claim upon her, it was truly the curiosity he had in who she really was. He peered into her instead of at her, though he still saw her; statuesque amidst the trees and mild moonlight, subtle and soft-spoken.

Sherwood...

The name drew forth impressions of familiarity the moment she said it. Smuggling was a dark trade and while he didn't doubt any possibility in their world of chance, he thought that perhaps the name was coincidental. Sherwood was one of many faces while at the same time bearing none. If any surprise lurked within his mind, he did not make it clear to her, though he knew the name would linger.

For a moment, he relieved her of his solemn stare to examine the stars instead, searching for something only he could see. The same gentle breeze brushed by the two of them once again to sing another melancholy tune to the sky. A walk with a stranger into the unknown and based solely on a whim wasn't something he'd done in a very long time, but now idly considered as though it were an everyday occurrence. She'd called him bold earlier, but was it not a bold question she proposed now? This woman had managed to remind him of the things he wished he was, but wasn't, and the things he wished could be, but never could.

He was not a man of idle desires that should be fulfilled - necessity, he had told her.

Necessity, indeed.

When his attention returned to her, mischief quirked his features once again. The mask he wore now was one he slipped into as easily as another might enter the arms of a loved one, though this mask was adorned with a grin that pledged no sincerity or loyalty to the words that passed through it. Unbeknownst to the man, Virgil's eyes betrayed him. They blazed bright with unspoken thoughts and an insatiable need to unravel the mystery that was her, and of what would come to be if he took to the path by her side, if only for a time.

"I'm afraid that matters of business require my attention, as well." The words were said in the same manner of speech that they'd been upholding all along, curt and quaint. Falling out of step wasn't a mistake he'd make so easily; he'd flow with the choreography of their verbal dance as long as she. "I do appreciate you tolerating my presence, as brief as it was. I'll not keep you." He offered her a polite, brief bow in place of a name to remember him by, and was prompt with a turn of his heel to lead him back into the underbrush. Fate was fickle and there was no telling whether or not they'd end up in the same place again, but their night was young and there would be many nights that'd follow. They always did.

Before he was concealed by the gloom beneath the trees, he cast one last look at her, no longer wearing the grin.

"Please hold fast to your hopes, Miss Sherwood," he murmured lowly, as though the words were meant for her ears only despite them being alone together. "Especially if they are as delicate as yourself."

- - -

La Lune. Virgil stared up at its walls... expressionless, patient.

Kestrel's court had been a place he'd never visited. Not out of bitterness, or due to being shunned, or even a resentment to the cause; no, he merely didn't envy their yearning to flock together like sheep, ultimately to the slaughter.

Here they were again. Only time would tell if things would be different a second time.

Cecile Bellerose's name was one he'd heard more times than he could count since his arrival in New Orleans. The opinions were a mixed bag of undecided factors, as some wished to see her head apart from its shoulders, and others sang praises of her like an exalted queen of old. Opinions were just that, however: opinions. Virgil wanted to see for himself who the throne had gone to, especially if he was to offer any services he might have at hand.

Assuming he'd pick a side. An amused grunt might have left him then and there, had he not been keeping to the darkened corner of a nearby alleyway and shrouded in stifled sound.

An opportunity was quick to rise when two ruffled, frantic young men bolted from the entrance of the building. Either out of pure ignorance or simply blinded in their haste, they didn't seem to notice Virgil as they fled through the alley that hid him. It was almost entertaining the way that one of the boys rebounded off of his chest when he stood to block their path; he'd surely have toppled against the concrete had Virgil not gripped the fabric of his shirt in a loosely clenched fist. Instead of falling backwards, the boy found himself brought forwards instead, until he was on the tips of his toes and eye level with a man much, much older than himself, wearing the grin that he always wore.

"You're in quite the hurry," Virgil spoke at a leisurely drawl. It would have been easy to release him to whatever fate lay beyond the alley, especially after the one not in his grasp scurried away without an inkling of remorse or concern for his friend. An uncharacteristic urge to simply let the boy go free was strengthened by a whimper and the loosening of his posture, but then the kid decided to talk.

"She's insane... she killed him so easily," the boy muttered out between faltering breaths. "Please don't hurt me. I swear I won't come back and you can tell our queen that. Just, please, let me go!"

Operating on presumptions alone, he guessed that the boy must have thought he was working for Cecile. He was released from the man's grip without another word and, intelligently, sprinting through the alleyway as fast as his feet would carry him.

The lone vampire glared pensively at the entrance to the hall, where a woman was making her way inside at the greeting of the guards. Beyond, just before the doors closed behind her, she met with a woman that greeted her with kisses to either side of the face. Traditional French fashion, if memory served. He knew them both - one had taken something from him long ago that he wanted back, and the other was the object of his attention, for now.

"Your queen," he said to a boy who'd already disappeared into the streets of New Orleans. "Not mine."

- - -

Virgil had never before seen a man flee from a room so quickly without his clothing.

Getting into La Lune without use of the main hall had been tricky business. The rooftops had granted him access to an abundant choice of windows, yet most were occupied, either by those locked in carnal embrace as their choice of recreation for the night, or by those who preferred lighthearted conversation as a diversion to the rest of the world. It had taken him longer than he'd hoped, but eventually he found an unoccupied room and made it his personal place of entrance after prying the handles from their sheaths.

He'd entered quietly and the room had been empty, until it wasn't.

A stray butler - or someone of a similar caliber - managed to find his way into the room just as Virgil had set foot inside, as innocent as a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar. Neither of them had waited for introductions. The man lunged with incredible speed towards him, but wasn't quite fast enough; Virgil was as strong as he was quick, seizing the man's wrists in a hold and using the momentum of the lunge to twist, then push the butler up against the wall. A moment later, one hand had the man's wrists bound in a hold just above his head, while the other's fingers lay splayed out against his chest.

"Right where your heart should be, yes?" Virgil had whispered, roguishly. "I do hope that they are compensating you well for your services here. A butler taking on the duties of a guard? I insist you ask for double the pay." His face remained lowered and to the side so that the butler wouldn't be able to see him clearly. Time was of the essence, now. "Your clothing, if you will."

"Pardon, wha-?"

"Your clothes." Virgil's tone was just as quiet, though it'd taken on a formal, straightforward edge. "I need them, so you'll be taking them off." As encouragement, he'd applied a bit of pressure with all five fingertips digging into the man's frock coat. He had no intentions of killing him, but the bait had worked. The butler had relinquished his clothing and hadn't turned back after leaving the room.

The halls of the vampire manor were more complicated than he thought they'd be. Dressed in the garb of a butler, he didn't stand out and wasn't questioned as he skulked about in search of an elusive duo. The fitting wasn't perfect - the butler had been slightly shorter and stockier than him, but he'd endured far more than a bit of discomfort to achieve lesser goals.

Whispers guided him. There was talk behind closed doors and among crowded throngs of gossiping vampires that the queen had been seen meeting with an old acquaintance. Virgil followed the clues, weaving his way past closed doors that barred secrets, beneath light that flickered and strained to ward off the dark. When he found them, it wasn't a ceremonious meeting. They strolled past him seemingly without a shred of recognition or hesitation on their way out of the kitchens.

Perfect.

The easy part had arrived. The women paved the path, now, and all he had to do was follow. He kept his ears honed in and attempted to keep his own intentions obscure as he trailed them from a distance, being sure to not lose them through the maze of La Lune.

 

[Luxura]

Jack Fletcher

alias: LAZARUS

health bar

WHERE: Brass Canine
WITH: Seiko
DOING: Having Fun
CREDIT: LainValentine
PLAYLIST:

​

The Mephisto had little idea of the ordeal he was about to become witness to. Jack was a rather solitary man. While himself and Bernardo were often seen together at gatherings, large or small, the romance of Italy, and his particular tailor, had never been enough just cause to pull the introvert out of himself. Dancing and parties were extraordinary events.
Quite contrary to his own desires, Jack did love them, but not for the act of participation. It was the art of observation that he mastered in such moments.
One such memory crossed his vision; Bernardo and himself slipping out onto the veranda overlooking the flickering candlelit city of Venice. Within the small bohemian apartment, song and dance of many artists spilled through the window panes, cascading into the twilight sky. Bernardo’s memory, sneaking a kiss along his jaw as they shared the shadows in quiet seclusion.

But such memories were frivolous. Jack shook it off at once, feeling the sting along his skin where the kiss would have been; like a ghost.

Together, Jack and Seiko made themselves comfortable at the bar. It hadn’t been any trouble seeing Maeve the moment they stepped within the establishment, but to Jack’s fortune, she had been occupied. In time, she would know he was here, so he made little fuss to announce his presence.

The warrior made himself comfortable, making it rather clear that he was, in some case, ‘home’. Jack knew in his mind what he wanted, his palate craving the burning kick of the Phoenix's favourite Irish blend. But before he could even slip into the stool his comrade had already ordered for them. Jack’s eyes narrowed slightly in annoyance, but some inkling in his mind told him it wasn’t worth the bother.

From their position, he could just see his buxom blonde friend, never out of sight, never out of mind. He watched as she spoke with another beast, young and handsome. Something like a twitch pulled at the corner of his mouth, from his chest a soft hum of approval. He returned his attention to his new friend, drinks placed before them.
His umber orbs flickered over the drink, a tilt of his head as his curiosity flickered. He brought the glass to his lips, listening over the murmurs of the room as Seiko spoke of his heritage, and his bestial blood,
“I, myself, have only been in the city for no more than a week,” he mused, pleased with the taste of the drink chosen for him. Bitey, but not offensive. He nodded approvingly, “I travelled with a friend, down the eastern coasts from Boston over the last several months.”

Jack continued on, weaving a story of how it had been his first time traversing American soil and how he had never once in his hundred years of life experienced riding on a steam engine. All the while, his stories were vague, loosely traversing around himself and his true purpose in a foreign land. A saviour this Seiko may have been, but to trust someone with his identity in such a public place… the man couldn’t afford it.

He hadn’t expected to eat. To be frank, he didn’t need to. Jack had experienced little hunger for anything since his revival. Blood on the rare occasion, liquor-- always. But food was a strange concept. For decades as a vampire, he did not require anything but that crimson life force. He’d forgotten what true food tasted like in that century, eating only when he felt inclined, and drinking more when he felt the desire to do so.
As the dishes were placed before them, he couldn’t believe the spread. He swore the softest pang of hunger pulled his stomach forward, but in truth it was envy. The scents and sounds that overcame him from the sizzling platter bubbled up a terrible desire to taste, to feel. Those old hang-ups about humanity that he’d never forgiven, only forgotten. Jack missed life.
The real showmanship of his companion flared as bright as the fire on his plate. Jack watched the spectacle with curious amusement, and he was not surprised to see most of the patrons around them were as well. Between conversation and crackling fire, murmurs and awe fluttered about them, eyes catching in the shadows like fireflies.
Flames flickering between them, a smirk managed to pull tight along his lips. He felt rather strange, like deja vu. Was this what Bernardo witnessed when he watched Jack all those years ago? An entertainer of the beautiful, a poet of the world? Jack knew he had impressed him then, but he’d never recollect those memories.
Bernardo’s body seemed to tune in where Jack would have rolled his eyes; every moment he was learning about the form he inherited. So, without restraint, he let himself become entranced to this strange foreigner’s methods and artistic flares. The brunet listened to as the warrior spoke humbly of his love of cuisine, his history, and his tutelage of seafood

He had barely finished the first drink and the beast was ordering bottles,
"You... know how to drink, don't you?"

Now, this was getting truly interesting. The Mephisto’s eyes swirled in a sudden vortex of mischievousness, narrowing over the rim of his glass. The dark poison within slid slowly, but plentifully, through his lips until the glass ran empty. Inhaling deeply the scent of it, Jack welcomed the concept of a challenge.
The glass in his palm set gently on the countertop, he captured the last lingering traces of brandy from his tongue,
“It is my opinion that most problems of the world are due to the fact that everyone is a few drinks behind." he mused with a wink.

Jack wasn’t a well-travelled individual. Learned through experience and literature, the man hadn’t travelled until the latter years of his life. Much of the world was still left to explore.
As his counterpart produced a fine emerald bottle, his attention and body shifted forward, watching this ceremonious exhibit with intention. All of it for show, of course, but he was interested to know if it was a custom or just a flick of the wrist to impress. Many of the patrons around them had gathered in a crowd around them, including the bartender who would do well to learn a few of Seiko’s skills.
The ale arrived, and with it came his ally’s finale. An eager spray of liquor soured the crowd into jeers and laughter, while Jack found himself laughing for the first time in months, enthusiasm bubbling within him as frantically as the foam of the drinks before them.

Jack met Seiko’s eyes, nodding as he explained the process of elimination. His hand met the glass without hesitation-- Maybe this, right at this moment, was the ‘life’ Jack had been missing. Mortal life was all well and good, but in a world of the fantastical, if this was to be the best he could get he would make peace with what could be forgotten.

Glass raised and met, Jack grinned, “Cheers.”

Thankfully, Seiko had been generous in his conversation, and indeed kind to step around Jack’s silent boundaries. Though the more drink he consumed the more he would relinquish unto his companion.
Jack told tales of his time in New Londontown, of his upbringing and becoming of age. He explored with him the times in which he fought and travelled with Maeve in the war. In exchange, he learned how the harpy lady had befriended the samurai in the city. He made certain to avoid the telling of Venice, far too sensitive a topic to discuss on a first date.

While Seiko eagerly offered Jack to join him in feasting, the Mephisto politely declined. The stag-beast was none so hurt by the aversion, of course-- More for him! But Jack appreciated the sentiment of dining together; an activity rarely enjoyed, or with such rapturous company.

He sipped idly on a glass of sherry, a rare import that the man found to be in great desire of; so much so that he had bought the bottle outright from the bartender. From its deep vermillion legs, the flavours brought to mind many lovely evenings in the sweet warmth of the Venice nights. A part of him wished to savour it, but the glutton of his happiness over the course of the evening knew it would likely be finished by the time he was laying in his bed.
He had thoroughly been enjoying the rich, milky sake and was delighted when Seiko had told him he would find him a bottle for his own. Jack hadn’t ever tasted something like it and was enchanted to know that there was a difference to a hot version as well.

Glass in hand, Jack lounged comfortably. The night stole away from him by such a charming, albeit curious, individual,
"You know, you said something earlier, about killing on your behalf and it not being worth the effort? While I can't change the way you see yourself, know that your journey was not meant to end tonight,"
Jack looked away slightly, the smile that had been plastered upon him all evening faded for but a moment as he let those words sink in, "It's things like that encounter, this conversation, and meeting you that make living less of a burden. Tonight has made me feel quite alive, so I should be thanking you if anything."
“Seiko,” his eyes found the other’s, and his smile returned, reserved but kind, “Before tonight, I wouldn’t have believed you. Fate and I have fought for a century but, for once, perhaps I was the one at fault,” he pursed his lips thoughtfully, “You’ve… done a lot for me, tonight.” he admitted, a blush spreading across his face humbly,
“And, if it were of no trouble to you, I’d like to continue this, for as long as you’ll have me.”

“So, there I was, dangling! Twenty--No, thirty-- FIFTY feet! Flames kissing my ass!”

Standing on the bartop, bottles surrounded his feet. Jacket and vest had been shed from the warmth of the liquor in his blood, sleeves cuffed around his biceps and collar undone, the man had fallen into disarray in his intoxication, as all poetic hearts do.
The bar had become alive with patron and song, ruckus and laughter sprawling into the floor above them,

“If I let go, I die. If I take her hand, I drop the sword. What choice had I? I cut the rope!” He pressed his hands to his chest as a laugh bellowed out of him, “Swinging, into the crowd we go,”
His stance lowered, eyes becoming alight, “I searched for her, combing the bodies, until there!” he pointed, bottles crashing to the floor.
Jack stood tall and reenacted the fight, a pantomime of inherent tomfoolery at the hands of intoxication. One bottle of sherry, one bottle of sake, a pair of tankards of ale, four glasses of wine, and a single glass of brandy later, Jack had become as unruly as the rest of them. A rarity, as the man often drank alone, to forget and numb himself from day to day.
The beast before him on the stool sat watching him, drink in hand,
“She grabbed me and threw me into the ring, but I had her,” he kicked the glasses aside, bursting into pieces as they hit the bar-rail.
He recalled the fight with his sister like it were textbook;

He breathed deeply and came up to meet her in another clash, ringing echoing before becoming lost to the sounds of the crowds. Jack swung high as Amelia blocked and came in low. He jumped and came down from above, and she pushed him aside and attacked in a spirt of multiple thrusts. Jack blocked as she pushed him back in retreat, but a solid footing stopped him and Amelia stumbled back at his defence. Now it was his turn to be on the aggressive, mirroring her attack until she stumbled over her own feet and crashed down to the floor. Jack knelt down on her chest and heaved his breath over her with a sickening grin of triumph. The crowd roared and heckled dangerously as their Hero was about to be stricken down before them. Jack could not help but laugh and shake his head as Amelia snarled beneath him, writhing to get free.

“I held my ground, and when she stumbled-” he knelt, grinning, hands clasped above him, “Right in her fucking heart!” he roared, pounding his fist down upon the bartop. Chest heaving from the exhilaration of it he sat back on his heels, “T’was the greatest victory of my life.” he lied.

He looked down at Seiko, hoping to have impressed him with his tales of debauchery. Between drink and stories, the pair had become so engulfed in sharing highlights of their travels.

But the moment was short-lived as a voice from behind him levelled the expectations of his false reality,
“That’s not how I remember it.”
Jack looked over his shoulder, grinning from ear to ear at his beautiful, bountiful, bonny blonde,
“Maeve!” he announced with drunkenly overzealous vigour. Excitedly he jumped to his feet, but as he did so his heels slipped on the slick countertop, sending him falling back behind the bar in a tangle of glass and limbs.

 

[AntarcticRomantic]

Maeve Donovan

Phoenix

health bar

WHERE: The Brass Canine
WITH: So many people
DOING: Dealing with drunk Jack
CREDIT: peritwinkle
PLAYLIST: ♔

There it was. If she wasn’t useful for a romp between bed sheets she was good for a connection. It came with the territory she supposed. The platinum blonde was adept at networking and developing relationships that others would have otherwise snubbed. It was a skill she prided herself on having, and it was a necessary evil. If she had her way she’d jump into the bottle of bourbon and lounge in there until there was nothing left to drink.

“I’d appreciate any assistance you’d give me, Ma’am.”

His hands tightened around themselves, agitation flourishing after a few drinks with the Raven; he was having trouble keeping his self-control. A wry smile caressed the corners of her lips and she shot him a look. “It’s assistance you want? Very well then: go find whatever has been distracting you.”

Maeve was not in the mood to entertain the young Beast after picking up the way he’d kept looking past her but was less so when she saw her own attention was slipping. A friend had entered and now her sights were on him while he dined with a new acquaintance. While the youth started to pull away, she stopped him by extending her crossed-leg out. Catching his whiskey-colored irises she nodded. “You’ll have a job when I have one to give. I don’t trust enough people in this city to offer one of our kin into their clutches. It’ll take a while.

“As a side note, Pup, learn to keep your composure well intact. Anyone else who would’ve seen that would’ve called a bluff or ignored you altogether.”

Her leg settled back down and she let him pass to go handle whatever it was he needed to attend to, her eyes following as he exited outside. She clicked her tongue, a mark of irritation she’d developed after being shacked up with Bjorn for so long. Even if it was an act he put on for her benefit, it was satisfying to know that when he was really annoyed with her a small noise would bother him. The thought of pestering him put a genuine grin on her lips. He hadn’t shown up yet, so surely it meant that he was off her scent. After so long in the city, she’d finally given him the slip.

The Ravenwoman turned back towards the bar and grabbed a half-filled bottle from behind the counter while the bartender was distracted by Seiko’s dinner show. She poured out a refill to her drink and cheered no one in particular. “To freedom,” she muttered before taking the drink.

---​

It had been weeks since they first embarked to sea. Maeve was certain this time she’d develop an aversion to being on a ship. It reminded her of the first Great Exodus from New Londontown after the Templars had seen fit to attack the supernatural races for the first time.

There had been gunfire and bombs then, too. But the level of destruction had not been so great. Behind her eyes, one could see the roar of a city caught in an inferno, the flames reaching skyward, towering above the rampage of the Templars and their Holy War. The General relived those moments over and over again.

Her hand graced the rail of the ship, staring out into the inky abyss and remembering how London and its fires blared against the immortal night. It made her sick, seeing it as they left. Her face was void of emotion, a mask for everyone else to see, but beneath her corset, she could feel the weight of despair. The sight had reminded the blonde of sunset. How the sun’s rays would lick the sky with beams of light, creating a patchwork of color against the darkening backdrop. The stars she saw so clearly against the Heavens would just begin to twinkle, dotting the clear sky with magic and wonder. That was before the Darkening, before the sun had died.

The sea wind caused a shift in her thoughts, a common scent on the air she knew too well now. She flicked her emerald gaze to the Hunter as he joined her side, standing just as guarded as she. He didn’t speak, he just stared out into nothingness as she had. What lamplight there was bathed him in a warmth she was not ready to feel for him. He’d saved her from herself that day, he’d drug her on to the ship all but kicking and screaming. She was prepared to die for the cause, to save their kin from their destruction, to rescue anyone who didn’t want to stay and meet their end.

“Is something wrong?” she inquired, the words dripping with poison she didn’t truly feel.

He looked over at her, his green eyes dark and expressionless. Bjorn shook his head gruffly, turned away, and muttered “no”.

Maeve was prepared to give him a verbal lashing, anything to make him go away, anything so she could wallow in peace. A feeling struck her, a lightning bolt to her consciousness that made her eyes dilate painfully and knocked the wind from her chest. She coughed in an attempt to reclaim her breath, but she was shaking so violently it made it near impossible to breathe. She’d felt this once before, nearly a decade ago. When the Midnight Jackal had cried out in anguish for the fallen Leech King, the first sign that the two were Bonded.

In spite of the Leech King’s miraculous return, the Matebond still held them within its coils, and when one died the other would soon follow.

Maeve was certain it would happen eventually, however, it had been well over a month now. She remembered how her father had lasted beyond her mother’s death. The need to see his only daughter survive until adulthood sustaining his will and drive to live for a few more years. It was this memory that gave her cause to believe the Queen would live until she found whatever it was she was searching for, supposedly the key to winning the war, and returned to her people with it. Something to live for for an ironclad will.

Confusion and resentment built in the Ravenwoman’s eyes. “I’ve failed her…. The Queen is dead.”

She broke. Having no one else for solace the Raven reached out for Bjorn and held him close. He hesitated to respond. In time, his arms encircled her, and his head rested on top of her blonde locks, letting her weep into his shoulder. She mourned heartily for the fall of the Queen and mourned for the people who lacked guidance that desperately needed it. In her quiet sobbing she wondered where Mercia had been when she’d left the world, what had she been doing, who had she been with? Who would lead the Werebeast masses now?

It mattered so little, but the uncertainty left a gash on the former General’s heart. Maeve was a General to no one, a leader of none.

Her tears stopped in minutes, the occasional shudder subsided, and instead, she was left in the arms of the Hunter, holding on to the peace he offered her as long as she rested in his grasp. He was silent through her sobbing, steady while she mourned, and his physical warmth let her body ease into quiet grief. The blonde knew she’d have to let go, sooner or later, and when she did she’d have to put the mask of dignified resilience back on. It wasn’t a mantle she liked to endure, but she carried its burden all the same.

Who else would?

Hours later, it was dim on the horizon, but seeing it made the blonde nervous with anticipation. She stood from the table she sat beside and looked over the rail of the ship. The bombs were following them, Eden was on their trail. Again, Bjorn joined her side, his gaze following hers to the horizon line.

Black gave way to navy. Navy to indigo. Indigo faded into a soft, deep violet as the light continued to spread, creating a distinguishable cut between sky and sea. Her eyes misted over as she watched the shifting of color, her heart wrenched and twisted with the hope she hadn’t let herself experience. The light kept spreading across the sky, and it attracted others to the side of the ship to watch.

Pinks and oranges shifted in and out around the early beams, the color of the ocean reflected the highlights of the coming dawn, but its boundless waves contrasted in dark azure. Maeve was leaning forward in anticipation, searching for the first break of the purity of light, the first she’d seen in six centuries. It pierced the horizon, a bolt from which her fear melted. She’d failed the Queen, but she succeeded in seeing the dawn again.

Awe-struck she stared, no matter how it pained her to watch, but she heard a clattering beside her, and shrieks broke her attention. She turned and was shocked by the scent of burning flesh. Vampires were rendered to ash. Some lay on the deck their skin bubbling and charred, the smell pungent rancorous.

Her hand reached for Bjorn’s and she pulled him away. “We need to get them into the hull. Get them to the darkness!” She grabbed the nearest one still living, screaming in pain and carried him below deck, hearing as feet above deck moved rapidly to help other vampires. The screaming did the work for her. Beasts awoke and saw the dying vampire and scrambled to follow the blonde’s example, leading the vampires deeper into the ship.

Bjorn came down with a few scorched vampires and settled beside the one she’d brought. Ripping into her wrist, she shoved her bleeding appendage to the vampire's mouth, but the damage was done. He shriveled before her eyes, his withered body breaking into ash. Maeve fought back tears and turned to the next vampire, offering her blood to help.

“Aerial beasts, to me,” she said her voice dangerously close to breaking. As a few stepped forward she heaved a sharp intake of breath through her nose. “To the other two ships. Tell them what to do; the oldest Beasts can help the vampires that have been burned. The sun has returned, and comes with danger.”

---​

The bottled had been empty for several long minutes, but the bartender was far too busy listening to the conversation on the other end to notice. Every time she thought she’d get his attention, he turned away. She was a second away from throwing the bottle at him but thought better of it. Instead, she slapped down what was owed and nothing more. The blonde strutted around the counter, steadily moving closer to the animated drunk Mephisto retelling the story of his performance with his late sister at the circus.

“She grabbed me and threw me into the ring, but I had her,” he was saying, kicking bottles into the bar-rail. The shrapnel of which she didn’t bother to avoid. The superficial cuts along her bare skin healed in seconds. Jack was silent for a moment, lost in the memory.

No one outside of the circle around them noticed her approach.

“I held my ground, and when she stumbled... right in her fucking heart!”

She chuckled, knowing how the story actually ended. Bernardo had been the one to tell her all of the woes Jack endured at Amelia’s hand that night, and all the pain he also suffered because of the then-vampire’s half-sibling. However, at the moment she was taken in by the liveliness and excitement by which he told his story to the Japanese beast and the other bystanders. It hurt her heart to know if it were Jack in his own body, the spectacle would make all the more sense to her, but in Bernardo’s, it seemed like a caricature of the man he was. He was slim and elegant when he trained with the Russian Wolf all those years ago. It was the most spirited she’d ever seen him, but now it was Jack standing there, literally in his shoes.

“T’was the greatest victory of my life.”

“That’s not how I remember it,” Maeve interrupted, catching the glazed over stare of her house guest as his head shot back behind him.

He shouted her name and made to approach her. Instead, Jack slipped and stumbled back, falling behind the bar counter. The blonde rushed the wooden counter, lifted herself over to see him lying in a pile of glass, booze, and blood. Exactly the way she would have wanted to end the night if it had been any other time. Lucky bastard.

“Seiko, could do me the kindness of getting Mr. Fletcher off of the floor. Perhaps clean him up of the broken glass. It's time we went home,” she asked the Stag with a wilting gaze. It was a moment later she realized her part-time retainer was also intoxicated and would unlikely be able to assist in carrying the drunken tower of a man back to her home on the other side of town. “I’ll be back with some assistance.”

Turning on her heel sharply, she followed the scent of the fading scent of Pup. Dutch. That was his name. Cigar smoke and gunpowder wasn’t distinguishable without the gentle scent of something canine to lead her between an alley a few buildings over. She halted, perplexed, as she was met with the sight of him with another woman, particularly one dressed as this stranger she was. Her eyes adjusted and realized this woman was one of the many thousands of Native tribes in the Americas. Another scent was on the breeze… feline? Her gaze shifted from one to the other at the awkwardness of the meeting.

Ignoring decorum, Maeve continued. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but that job you wanted just came up.”

She looked to the woman beside him, taking in her beautiful features and wondering just where exactly she came from and what her bestial form was. Felines, to the Raven, were still new and unfamiliar knowledge, as were the Native American people. Another fascinating beast found in New Orleans. “To be honest, I could use all the help I can get.”

 

[AntarcticRomantic]

René Troxler

Ephemera

health bar

WHERE: Paradise Engineering Lab
WITH: Cain, Technicians, Engineers, etc.
DOING: His job
CREDIT: len-yan
PLAYLIST: ☀

His sleep was dreamless and dark, just as well when the man in the bunk above could cause him nightmares. When he awoke, his eyes were tired and sore, and he felt heavy from the lack of deep sleep he’d grown accustomed to in a bunk with someone he trusted. This was hell already, not even a full day into the arrangement. Groaning, he stretched in the bed and turned over to crawl out. He stood with a curse on his tongue and took the few steps forward the space allowed. From the corner of his eye, he checked the top bunk to find it empty. Thank God for small miracles.

After preparing for the day he grudgingly made his way to the mess hall to break his fast, doing his best to ignore the tension in his shoulders and jaw. It took no time at all to get the full array they were offering: a British breakfast of fried eggs, two links of sausage, two strips of bacon, grilled tomatoes, and mushrooms, and toast bread. Collecting a hot cup of Earl Grey with lemon, René sat near the Sisters. He made the sign of the cross and diligently said his morning prayer over his meal, taking a moment to truly ask for the strength to make it through this mission, and to not be caught on the wrong end of Cain’s ire again.

He needed to breathe, needed to relax. The engineer’s job was difficult and taxing in a way a foot soldier’s was not, but it didn’t come with the mental tax of the potential of death, albeit in specific scenarios and situations. He could find the peace of mind he needed in working on upgrades for a few of the Sisters augmentations before they reached their destination. It gave him hope for the day, and he gave thanks for it.

Retiring from the hall, he followed the hallways to the Engineering Lab, giving quick morning greetings and soft, earnest smiles to the people he recognized as friendly, and ignoring all others with disciplined apathy. He entered, continuing to greet other engineers and technicians he passed as he looked for the table he’d been assigned. It was one of the largest, likely because of his role, and was situated in the furthermost corner of the room.

At the workbench beside his, blocked off by a half-wall partition, sat the topmost half of a Seraphim suit. His eyes rolled. Of course, they’d place a Legionnaire next to him. He’d be spending his days repairing and upgrading their gear and his nights doing his damnedest to not be assaulted by another. These last two years of avoiding them had been met with only the occasional crossing, but the backing of the Sisters had protected him. However, Paradise would not afford him the luxuries Eden had, including the safety net.

He passed over his station, opening containers left for him to unpack and organize his space. The blond undid the top two buttons of the high-collared, long-sleeved shirt he wore and set to work. He moved towards the shelf near the suit and organized the tools of his trade along the surface, ignoring the horrific contraption. There was movement from the corner of his eye and René stopped to check. He looked over the divide between stations, expecting a mouse, but saw nothing. Shaking his head, he turned back to his chore.

It was a few more minutes and his space was slowly coming together. More tools were organized on the shelf with delicate precision of the order they’d need to be used for specific jobs. His concentration was so focused that when he saw the suit move again, he jumped back, a deep, guttural shriek caught the back of his throat. His lower back slammed into the corner of the table and he cussed in pain. Staring wide-eyed at the suit, terror awash on his face, he couldn’t care less that people in the room were staring.

Then… he heard the laughter inside the suit. Dark and venomous, and so horribly wretched.

The helmet came off, revealing the shaved head and bright, cat-like eyes of his bunkmate. They were glistening with amusement, taking in the scene of the frightened engineer.

Grabbing the nearest thing, he was tempted to throw the wrench at Cain. If it hit the target of the 84th’s Golden Boy, he’d be reprimanded and given a citation. If it didn’t, he’d be reprimanded and given a citation. Golden eyes flickered to the rest of the room, and he pursed his lips in a tight line before straightening himself. “Enough. You’ve had your fun,” he told them, before setting his glare back on the Legionnaire.

“Oh, it’s just so funny. ‘Ha, ha’,” he mocked back, spitting venom at the other the only way he could, and tossing the wrench back on the table irritably. They could have placed him next to anyone. Anyone, and it wouldn’t have been such an offense. What sin had he committed that was so great they were going to punish him with this torture?

Reaching for a crowbar, he popped open the single largest crate that had been delivered to his station and returned to ignoring the man behind him. He was hellbent to pretend he wasn’t there. Instead, he focused on taking out the massive pieces of augmentations- ones that had failed and were scrap, and ones that were in need of upgrades he’d been working on diligently for the Sisters.

Sweat covered his brow when the task was finished, the muscles in his arm ached, but it was worthwhile. He’d be able to set to work immediately. With time and luck, he could probably finish them before they reached New Orleans.

He wasn’t able to completely ignore the man beside him, working tirelessly on his suit, adjusting wires and connections. The focus on his expression was a surprise to Ephemera, but he had to remind himself of the praise given on Holly’s behalf. Taking a work towel from the workbench, he wiped the sweat from his face, and watched, curious about the changes he was making.

Every now and then, he’d stop to check the glove of the suit, move wires from the solar core through the arm, to the hands, to the digits…

Running around the desk, before another wire could be shifted René grabbed his wrist locked into the mechanics of the Seraphim suit and wrenched it away from the hand that would do the damage.
“Are you fucking insane?” he shouted, authentically catching the other off guard. “You can’t send out electric bolts, you daft bastard. What you’re hoping to do would kill you. On top of that, if that's the solar core I think it is, it may kill us, too. Are you aware that the electrical current wouldn’t extend past the glove? It would rebound, electrocute you, and because there isn’t any way to ground it would continue through the metal of the ship.”

Ripping the wires out of the hand of the glove, he capped them with rubber ends and threw the hand back at Cain. “Take the suit off,” he hissed, irritated that he’d be spending the day fixing the connections the Legionnaire had ruined. “I’ll be damned if I let you follow through with your death wish.”

 

[Leola_Asarai]

Cassandra Caldecott

Little Sparrow

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WHERE: La Lune
WITH: Cecile
DOING: Catching Up
CREDIT: Wendy Ng
PLAYLIST: Coming Soon

Wandering idly around the expansive main hall, heels clicking upon the wooden flooring as she removed her hat all the whilst making sure there wasn’t a hair out of place. Cassandra was able to get a better look around, taking in the wonderfully decorated space. It was utterly Cecile, the intricate designs that held a lovely simplicity held just that of what Cecile emitted. Familiarising herself with new areas as her eyes wandered the layout, had become a habit. Although she trusted Cecile more than most, the young vampire always sought out exit strategies, to be safe. She could never be too careful, even among friends.

As she waited, it had not escaped her attention, the one that was cleaning the floor, though she did not need to stare or let her eyes linger on the matter. Cassandra could plainly see without being gaudy about it, that she had not been the only guest to grace these halls this evening. It was apparent that for them however, the meeting did not end in their favour. Woe for them and their evident arrogance. I would have been a sight to see, and Cassandra was sorry that she had missed it.

Cassandra was not left to her own devices for very long before she was graced with Cecile’s presence. The blacksmith had always had a certain aura about her, charm and grace fortified by a strong will. The woman looked, well, gorgeous as usual. There wasn’t anything else to say about it.

Arms reached out to meet Cecile, a smile upon her face as she returned the kisses to her cheeks, “It’s been far too long,” she said in the embrace. It had indeed been too long since they had seen one another. There was much to catch up on, many stories to tell. Time was such an odd thing these days. It felt so long and yet, upon seeing her again, the familiarity made it seem like very little time had passed at all.

Following Cecile through the expansive passages of La Lune, her eyes always keeping a note of the many ways about, as not to get lost among the labyrinth. She declined a drink for now. Travelling so long, she probably should have taken it, but until she had familiarised herself with her new location, and reacquaint with the occupants, she thought it best to keep her mind on one thing for the time being.

“I heard that you were in town, and I just had to see for myself,” she said, as the delicate fabric of her dress billowed around her, her heels clicking lightly upon the hard floor as she continued to follow the blacksmith. “It is so incredibly rare that we come across one another, how could I let this opportunity pass.” It had been many years since Cassandra had seen Cecile, travelling around ports was never a reliable way to keep in touch. Moving around continuously removed the opportunity for letter exchanges, so only time would be their greatest ally in meeting once again. Hearing about the blacksmith’s new residence in a place she had wanted to visit would seem like fate, is she believed in such a thing.

At the offer of a place to stay while she remained in town, Cassandra gave a light sigh of relief. “Oh, that would be much appreciated, thank you,” she said. It was something that had been on her mind, and although she had been sure that Cecile would not mind her company, she had been thinking of other places she could spend her time. “It is so much more difficult to travel these days and to find suitable accommodation at that. My goodness,” she said, an exaggerated exasperated tone ringing through with a slight shake of her head. The sun proved to be an issue, and although she was managing to find her way about, it did present some challenges. Watching fellow vampire burn to nothing was an exceptionally awakening moment of reminded mortality. It was a harder thing to ignore lest she wished to end up just like them. “I do very much thank you for your hospitality, Cecile.” A kind smile upon her lips at her gratitude for the woman.

Where to begin, there was so much to tell. “I’ve been travelling around the Americas for quite some time, and the stories that filtered out from this place; why I just had to see for myself. Such a hive of activity and culture, how could I stay away.” Exploring what a city had to offer was one of the greatest delights of Cassandra’s extended life. The world had so much to offer, every place as unique as the people that inhabited them.

“And what of you?” She asked cautiously, a subject she was sure was still tense. “I heard stories drifting through.” As much as she tried to stay out of politics, the community was far and wide. People travelled and with them, words. It was hard to ignore the rumours that filtered through the ever-connecting world. “It must have been difficult for you.”

Although she had never had the desire to join Kestrels court or partake in the war that surrounded, she knew that Cecile had been close. Enough so to now be considered Queen, or so the rumours would imply. Still, she could imagine how hard it would have been for Cecile during that time. “I’m so sorry,” she said. Although Cassandra had no intention of joining any fallout that would no doubt come about from previous wars, as fighting usually did, Cecile was still her friend, and she would be willing to help if the need arose.

 

[nighteyes]

Esther Asturias

SHERWOOD

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WHERE: The docks
WITH: Jack, Seiko, Maeve and co
DOING: Fretting
CREDIT: Charlie Bowater

It seemed customary to propose that they walk together if by chance they were headed in the same direction, but she did not readily receive an answer. He hesitated, and then consulted what was fanned out above their heads, the roof of stars that laid behind the trembling canopy. In turn, Esther cast a glance heavenward to follow his gaze. The park stirred all round as the wind sighed through it, but they remained still.

She shared the view fleetingly. Her eyes fell and settled upon his face, which she searched with unveiled curiosity. She wondered at his thoughts. Had the pseudonym given him pause? She had her doubts. The likeliness of that guise being widely known in the New World was low. He gave no indication as to whether or not the it held any significance for him, but then again, he did not give much of anything away.

It occurred to her a little too late that some among polite society could think it unbecoming of a woman to outright ask a man of no relation whatsoever to accompany her - and with no escort, at that. In another lifetime, Esther might not have done so. That was then, and this was now; she had been cleaved from civilization for far too long and it showed. Even so, was this a man who could abide the weight of convention's shackles? She had her suspicions, but she welcomed a chance at being proven wrong; if she had shocked his sensibilities, she would make her apologies.

When he returned his attention to her, she bore witness to a shift in his expression. A grin sparking with mischief spread with ease across his face, not unlike the one he had greeted her with. He wore it well and she dwelled on that, her mind at work; was it comfortable and familiar in the manner that smiles or frowns were to others?

Her brows lifted at his answer, which she acknowledged with an inclination of her head. "On the contrary, I think your company was more than tolerable," she said, and her words were warm, for they were spoken through an amiable smile. "You mustn't sell yourself short." She bid him a good evening with sincerity, and then they went their separate ways.

He went to retrace the path from whence he came, a striking figure in the gloom. Esther looked on, watching his departure into the brush. Before the blue-hued shade beneath the oaks enveloped him again, he looked back once. In his wake was left a parting statement that sent a flicker of confusion across her face, and when she recovered, she had lost sight of him. Speaking in a voice as faint as the susurrus of the trees, she said, "I will try."

Words of encouragement from a curious stranger remained with Esther as her feet took her back down the earthen path and through the park's entry gates.

On the nearly empty tram she contemplated the scenes rushing by the window with an arm propped against the sill, her mouth pressed thoughtfully against the knuckles of her closed hand. The lights of the city swept over her face.

If she were bound in slavery to anything it was to the thing that sung even now in her chest with a wavering song, an amalgam of science and sorcery. The fellow in the park had not left her with a name to remember him by, but Esther hardly minded being left in suspense. That seemed to be his way.

A mortal man approaching lone women in a darkened park was oftentimes and most regrettably a ne'er-do-well. She had some idea of what to expect from such a one, but from her own kin... well, to put it simply, that was another matter altogether. Whether he was friend or foe, or neither, or somewhere dubiously in between - that remained to be seen. She had not unearthed the answer hidden in his features, but she had glimpsed something else.

If this were to be the first and final time they crossed paths, she would have the memory for her keeping. That was an encounter she would not soon forget, yet a part of her had remained guarded throughout. Wisely, maybe, but when was she was certain he had gone it loosed like a breath withheld, and a whisper of self-doubt remained. She did not have a wealth of experience to draw upon when she navigated interactions with the long-lived. An old wound was smarting again; she was missing Thomas Weaver's counsel.

He had been there to lean on when she was a newborn, helpless and struggling to find her footing. A sense of obligation had compelled him to bring a perfect stranger into his home and under his wing, and he had taken great pains to tell her of his kind – their kind. With every new day came a new tale by the fireplace, spun in his lilting voice over cups of tea.

‘You’ll find that many among our kind will only respect power, and those with the ambition to take it for themselves,’ Thomas once said. She could also distinctly remember that day’s discussion hadn’t only been reserved for their people, and when talk of them came to a close there would follow the first mention of the others. ‘They aren’t fond of us,’ Thomas told her with his smoking pipe clenched in his teeth, standing near to the hearth with his hands tucked in his waistcoat pockets.

‘Why?’ That was a question she’d offered him more than once during these discussions and he’d never been vexed by it. Very much the opposite, really. He was often biting at the bit to share from his larder of knowledge and the smallest encouragements spurred him onward like the cracking of a whip.

In answer he’d merely given a feeble sort of shrug, evading her eyes; she had suspected then that he was withholding something, but she did not press him to elaborate. That was to be a tale for another day. There had been much to take in, but to his credit, the information had been fed to her as gingerly as spooned broth.

When she looked back, she regretted allowing their fireside talks of the long-lived to dwindle out. But her disinterest in the world she was brought into had been plain; she had turned away from it utterly. As things stood now her knowledge was better than rudimentary, but lacking yet, and she often felt the part of an outsider looking in. Thomas would have happily risen to the task of rectifying that, had she ever asked him to.
The house in Kewstoke was hollow without his presence to fill it, and still she reached unavailingly for his voice. She had reached when she an unexpected visitor from London occupied Thomas Weaver's chair opposite hers in the sitting room, a space that had borne witness to the depths of her despair almost a century before.

A bell sounded distantly. Esther had been dozing with her head leaned against the glass. There was a light tug at her sleeve, and her eyes fluttered open. A small face peeped at her over the seat in front. Esther stirred, blinking blearily, and behind her eyes a dream of a warm sitting room faded like tobacco smoke.

"Is this your stop?" asked the girl. Her mother was near the exit, and she turned to call after her daughter.

"It is." Outstretching a long-fingered hand, she made as though to reach behind her ear. With a magician's flourish and a flick of the wrist, a wooden fox figurine appeared in Esther's fingers. She offered it to her.

The girl's eyes widened. She put a hand to her ear, and laughter bubbled in her throat. Then she accepted the gift, hastening to her mother's side with it clasped to her chest.

Stepping down from the tram, Esther halted. She turned round in place to take stock of her surroundings, lips parting, a little bewilderment showing in her face. Her brow crinkled. "I've navigated London," she said under her breath. By her reasoning, if she could go about that city without becoming lost, she could fare well almost anywhere. Her grasp of New Orleans was far better than when she had first set foot here. During her confinement she had taken the chance to study maps of the city, and now she would look upon it with her own eyes. For the time being this was to be her base of operations, and she intended to know it well. She pressed on, undaunted.

Was this a city that truly knew night, bathed in the glow of electricity as it was? What did its citizens know of darkness? This was a wonder of innovation borne of wires and and currents, and yet... she was relieved that this had not quite caught on in Europe, not in the few cities dearest to her heart. She was one accustomed to flame, and there was something lifeless and cold about this unwavering light.

Her destination was not far from her house in Bywater; the club frequented by beastkind was nestled in the neighborhood beside it on a street famed for its nightlife, but she did not know if who she sought would happen to be there. Esther passed by several establishments, peeking through windows and scouring for a sign that marked the place. She had done a great deal of walking already that night and was feeling that a little in her feet with every step, but she had resolved to keep on until the search was done.

Esther paused on the pavement and stepped out of the path of passerby. She considered backtracking, worrying that she had overlooked the establishment. At a loss, she was about to approach a fellow who was wavering on his feet with a bottle in hand to ask for directions when she discerned on the balmy air, through the disordered snatches of music spilling out into the street from every club and lounge, a familiar voice.
Sweeping by the wavering fellow with a distracted "Nevermind, thank you," Esther bustled down the street with skirt in hand, the hem raised well above her ankles. It had a knack for hindering movement at the worst possible moments and she refused to let the damned thing trip her now.

By happenstance and a bit of luck, she did not have to go far. Through the windowpanes of the next club over she eyed the throngs of people within, certain this was where she was meant to be, and it took her a moment to realize the man who stood atop the bar was known to her. She blinked once, and then twice, taken off entirely guard. Venturing hesitantly into the Brass Canine, she lingered close enough to the entrance to feel the draft from outside on the nape of her neck.

The scene she had witnessed through the glass had not been a trick of the light. Jack Fletcher looked disheveled and very merry, and a smile unbidden flashed across her face at the sight of him in such a state. If she had to hazard a guess, she would say the bottles strewn about his feet had some hand in it. He was in the midst of relaying a tale from his past to the raucous crowds, and she stood rooted to the spot to listen, having no desire to disturb him. She clapped accordingly when the tale had come to its thrilling end. Jack had settled upon the bar, and she was stepping forward when he suddenly leapt to his feet, delighted, shouting for the woman they had come to New Orleans for. Then he slipped.

Esther's hands flew up to cover her face, and she winced visibly at the crash that followed. She peeped through her fingers first, and when she saw no sign of him, she rushed forward. "Jack?" she cried out over the noise of the club, thoroughly alarmed. Placing both hands upon the bartop to peer over it, Esther looked fretfully down at the scene that laid behind. "Are you alright down there, old boy?"

 

[Crazy Trey-n]

Dominick Durham

Goliath

health bar

WHERE: Paradise Observation Deck
DOING: Acting Too Friendly
WITH: The Bosses
CREDIT: WIP

"HOLLY! JONAH!"

Dominick's voice was bellowing enough that it'd no doubt echo throughout the halls beyond the door he'd entered from, still on its course to sealing shut. Some Templars would see the lack of an explicit gesture of respect as distasteful, while others might overhear his use of their names instead of aliases and immediately see it as grounds for resentment. A select few members of the order may even want to see him chained as punishment.

"Nothing but a lot of uptight extremists!" Dominick would call them. It'd be easy to label him as unintelligent or thickheaded in these moments, but he was far from being either. The priest approached with a pep to his step, a radiant smile on his face, and a vibrant laugh that was almost loud enough to shake the very walls of the room.

If he'd listened in on their conversation beforehand, he didn't bother to acknowledge it, and any previous tension or seriousness in the room parted at his presence to drift away in his wake. He looked as lively as ever despite the early hour and was still coated in a thin sheen of sweat from a morning routine of bodily maintenance. Instead of the robes of a priest or the armor that'd been specifically tailored to his massive form, he wore casual garb for once: a sleeveless tunic, baggy trousers, and his two bare feet. Humble attire that he didn't often get the chance to wear, which would likely warrant surprise from those who'd only seen him at his sermons. Dominick was just that - a priest, one who spent most of his schedule doing service as a man of God, leaving him very little time to spend fraternizing or making pleasant conversation. There were very few appointed men or women of the faith aboard Paradise, and Dominick upheld the majority of their weight.

So it wouldn't be strange to consider the way the man strolled up to the two of them perhaps more relaxed than a subordinate should have, positioning himself beside Jonah and with his focus on the woman he'd been coming close to being able to call a friend.

Something about exercise assigned to him an excitable mood and it was more than apparent during their first morning on Paradise.

"Lurking away from the masses, eh?" Even his normal tone of voice was borderline booming; it did his overly friendly demeanor justice, and then some. "Or have you two come to look upon the glory of the dawn? You're both a few shades too pale to stand in it for too long, I'd say." He'd glanced fleetingly at Jonah's grim countenance, then towards the window filtering in the refreshing heat of the sun. Then, he went so far as to lift a large, scarred hand and gave the patriarch a pat on the back that'd send most stumbling forward a few steps.

"Especially you, Overseer, locked up in your study day and night!"

Dominick enjoyed taking risks, almost always exclusively to save others in battle, and yet sometimes he couldn't help himself but to push the boundaries outside of it. Being able to express his joyful nature was a luxury that he'd never let pass no matter the company. The states of gravitas and severity were better left for the church and the battlefield, in his opinion.

It didn't mean that Dominick would blatantly step over the line, however.

"A good morn to you, though, commander! The day is too young and the sun too bright for the stern affairs of the office, hm?"

The large man was quick to abandon Jonah's side and take up position before the window. There he stood, one side to the sun and the other facing the beacons of their crusade, arms folded over an impossibly broad chest and a sidelong gaze cast at the company he'd decided should suffer the contagion that was his happiness.

"And to you, mighty Gabriel!" There came another laugh that was quieter, genuine and warm, the bubbly kind of laughter that'd spread easily to those who were soft of heart. It was all at once less thunderous and somehow still able to fill the room with its spirit. Noticeably, the act of it involved the entirety of his features, drawing up the illusion of a new, refined brightness to already light eyes. "It seems that even the spearhead of our cause needs to find some rest and relaxation. I hope the trip has been good to you thus far."

It was very momentary, the way that his gaze sought out Holly's, just before he turned to watch the sun's slow ascent. Dominick could only pray that they'd both lighten up with time, but all he could do then was leave them with his words.

Holly had already taken to that path, from what he was able to discern of their conversations so far. Their first meeting had been when she'd sought him out for a confession, and instead of spilling her secrets out of faith-bound obligation, the two had ended up speaking into the late hours of the night about everything other than duty or their shared God. There had been no occasions between them similar to it since then, but he still managed to spot her face at his sermons from time to time and they oftentimes shared small talk and a laugh when passing by each other in the halls of Paradise. Like Jonah, Dominick was able to see that she was good at heart and only hard-handed for her purpose as a leader. Occasionally he wondered what she'd do if she no longer had her command; had she an image of harmony instead of war in mind for her future? He held onto that hope for her, as well as the hope to share a conversation with her again when their duties allowed it.

The warmth of the sun cast itself over the trio without care for the thin pane of glass that separated them. It was a warmth that was welcome and soothing... very unlike Jonah's presence. Their experiences together had always been brief; the exchange of a few words, mostly during the very rare circumstances in which Jonah had needed religious consultation. Otherwise, that had been the closest they'd ever been and those were the most words that he'd ever said to the other man. For him, the Overseer was hard to read and even harder to tread carefully around, considering Dominick was forced to contain himself while nearby him. He wanted nothing more than to find out just how much kindness it'd take to crack open his cold exterior.

If that was even possible. It was strange, the way that he wanted Jonah to open up to him. The more he thought about it, though, the more it became clear exactly why that was.

The Overseer reminded Dominick all too much of his mother when he was a child.

A broad smile warded off any depth to the thought and the words that followed were as jubilant as ever, though they held fast to a very faint tinge of formality. It'd been a long time since he'd reflected on such things.

"If you both don't mind me asking it of my superiors: how long until we land in New Orleans?" Dominick hadn't attended the briefing, just as Jonah hadn't, though his absence had been the doing of duty as opposed to choice. Speaking the last rites of a dying man would always take precedence over subjectively important information he could lend his ear to later.

Lately, the Templars seemed to be either too stiff for their own good or in need of a direct dose of merriment. The gentle giant would gladly supply that, current company notwithstanding - even they weren't safe from his temperament.

"Because missions and hidden agendas aside, Jonah seems to already be in need of a fresh take of air!" Yet another hearty laugh. Out of the two of them, only Holly would have been able to catch onto the knowing spark behind his eyes that exposed the self-wisdom in his actions.

After all, Dom was no fool.

He truly, simply couldn't help himself, it seemed.

 

[Luxura]

Harrison Van Doren

Dutch

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WHERE: The Brass Canine
WITH: Maeve Donovan, Nascha
DOING: Reliving the Past
CREDIT: Exile0403
PLAYLIST:

Damn it all.

He’d blown it. He could tell in her eyes before she even spoke. He’d gotten too cocky, shown his hand too early. If it weren’t for those damn eyes in the smoke, he’d had his head in the game.

“It’s assistance you want? Very well then: go find whatever has been distracting you.”

Dutch searched her eyes but briefly, but found little movement in her decision. Sliding off the stool, he tipped his hat to the bartender, sliding him several coins. Turning, her leg caught him, a humble smile forming on his lips,
“You’re very kind, ma’am. Queen or no, it’d be a pleasure doin’ business with yah,” his hand squeezing her knee as he winked.

He left Maeve then to face the darkness, the mysterious woman was all but gone. He could feel her still, and as he approached where she had sat, a familiar scent weighted upon the air,
“Where the Hell did you go?” he asked to no one under his breath.

The bar was too loud, too many smells and different beings. It was perfect for him, but not good for finding what he wanted. He spun around once again, looking deeply into each group, every shadow, and nothing. Dutch sighed, hands on his hips.

He all but cast his hand in defeat, tossing it off as an apparition of the mind, when the cool wave of autumnal air brought about by the door sent him the tiniest hint of her. The cowboy slipped through the crowds, stumbling out the front door with wide eyes. He looked left, he spun right...

Empty.

“Blast!” he threw his hat on the ground and rubbed his face. What was wrong with him? He hadn’t drunk that much at all… Was he dehydrated? Was he poisoned? Was he dying?! No, too far. Dutch released a heavy sigh, looking up to the star-spattered sky for an answer. When nothing but silence came, he was able to hear the faintest of heartbeats. Not his own, but one close. He scooped up his hat and followed the sound, leading him around the corner to the alleyway alongside the Brass Canine.

His breath caught in his throat, “Hey!”
He startled her, the elusive girl nearly jumping ten feet in the air before making off again at a fast clip,
“Wait! Shit! Hold on, just a moment… Please?” he begged of her.

To his surprise, she stopped. But, to his disappointment, she did not face him. From over her shoulder, she queried, “What do you want?”

He couldn’t quite find the words to say. Truth be told, he wasn’t totally sure what he was doing. There was something in those eyes, the gaze that had pulled him away. It was beyond just the curiosity that he sought her out, but that she clearly knew him… And in his blood, he felt that he knew her, as well.
In his mind he frantically went back, searching for a woman. Maeve had hit the nail when she said he was barely out of the den. The young lad had less than thirty years under his belt, and most of those years were spent away from opportunities to meet women. The ones he had met, on the road or otherwise, hadn’t been much to remember… Except for one Cassy Caldecott, who should he ever see again is right due for a bruisin’. Another story for another time.

“I uh… Well,” he was floundering. As Dutch stepped forward he shook his head in confusion, “Look, I don’t want to waste your time, but have we met before?”

He could tell she was nervous, but why? Fear? The more he searched his memories, the more he tried to recall any time he would have hurt someone… A few men, sure! But a woman? Not deliberately. But, if he had… and she knew his face, what was stopping her from going to the Templars right this second? Dutch could feel the sweat starting to break out across his chest,

“Miss, if I’ve done somethin’…”

Even in the shadows of dusk, Dutch could read her nervousness. He was taken by surprise as she decided to actually face him then,

“You must forgive me if I seem abrasive, but you did chase after me. Can you blame me for being a bit frightened?”

Her voice was soft and velvety, certainly not what he had expected. Nonetheless, he warmed to it. It was the eyes that drew him in, and even then their soft glow in the fading sunlight left him enamoured.

Yes, he definitely knew those eyes… from somewhere far from here, in years past… It had been darker then, before the sun. But they were different, somehow. He couldn’t pinpoint what, or why.

As he pulled away from them, he scanned the rest of her features as politely as possible, but needless to say, he had a difficult time hiding the flush creeping up his neck; not just at her words, but at her splendour. Charcoal hair over honey skin, against a slender frame. Her stance was flighty, but her body pulsed with something the beast knew well: Attraction. He could nearly smell it rolling off her.

Her eyes roamed over him just as his did to her. Dutch, always flattered to see a woman attracted to him, also had the ego of a young ‘pup’. He flashed her a coy smile, straightening to his full height,

“Well, now; hold on there, darlin’.” he raised a hand in pause, stepping forward cautiously once more, “I didn’t mean to frighten you, I’m sorry ‘bout that.”

The closer he approached, the keener his sights upon her features. The memory was just out of reach, a blurred image of a girl in his mind. He’d been laying down… in pain… Her scent was intoxicating, itching at the surface of the missing link. Her scent was feline…

His eyes widened suddenly, pupils shrinking. Absently, almost reflexive, his hand flattened against his chest, “You!”

All those years ago, he’d been gunned down by his excommunicated friends and partners, a breaking of their deal to lie, cheat and steal from society. He hadn’t meant to murder them in cold blood, but the beast within him had been threatened and scared. He’d lost control, and he never held it against those men for emptying their barrels into his body while they writhed under his maw. He’d managed to find a place to die in solitude, in the aftermath of it all. Ashamed and alone, he’d figured it was karma letting him know his time had come, and dues were owed. But something had intervened.
Dutch had recalled awakening several times over the days after. At the time, he’d been so groggy and overwhelmed in agonizing pain that he’d thought it all a fever dream… but the woman before him, somehow he knew it’d been her. The eyes that had stared down at him in the darkness, tending to his wounds...

He could see the fear of his recognition within her eyes, and he reached for her hand, pulling her into his chest. One fluid movement had his lips crashed against her’s, holding long as he grinned, then held her back at arm’s length,
“I knew I knew you! Wh-what happened? Why? Hell, thank you!” he was a flabbergasted mess of excitement, “You saved my life.” he chuckled, stars in his eyes, “Why didn’t you stay?”

“I-I’m a healer, you dog,” she spat out, “Of course I saved you, I couldn’t let you die… And I left because I wanted to avoid this!”

“I’m sorry to interrupt,”

Dutch’s smile waned, looking back towards the street from where they’d come. In the silhouette of the street’s ambient nightlife, Maeve’s visage glowed, “That job you wanted just came up.”

The cowboy flushed, looking back to the girl before him and gave breadth between their bodies, “Sure,” he nodded, hands nervously shoving into his pockets,

“To be honest, I could use all the help I can get.”

Honey eyes flickered to the young woman curiously, shrugging, “Whaddaya say?” he chuckled, rather sheepishly at that.

He returned his attention to Maeve, “What, uh… What sort of job, Ma’am?”

 

[ashwynne]

Nascha

Black Sun

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WHERE: The Brass Canine
WITH: Dutch & Maeve
DOING: Being Hounded
CREDIT: @peritwinkle
PLAYLIST:

Though she had slipped outside The Brass Canine, the sound of jazz music still sounded faintly in her ears. Louder still was her heartbeat and the persistent chorus of cicadas. Cloaked in the shadows of night, Nascha could feel herself gradually calming… well, provided she didn’t let her thoughts linger on who she was fleeing from.
She was just beginning to decide that she did, in fact, have enough willpower to make herself walk away when a voice startled her. His voice, of course.
Beyond fevered murmurings, this was the first time that Nascha had heard him speak properly and she did the only sensible thing that one could do in such a situation: she whirled and started to walk away at a fast clip. She was immensely grateful that her feet obeyed her this time. At least, until they didn’t.

Traitorous body.

When he called for her to wait, Nascha inexplicably found herself coming to a stop, leaving her back turned towards him. Every nerve and sinew was tensed, torn between flight and the burning curiosity that had settled low in her abdomen. Damn it all.
“What do you want?” She didn’t turn to look at him, tipping her head up to survey the stars instead and doing her best to keep her body language relaxed. Pointless, considering he could undoubtedly hear her heartbeat which was still beating a frantic tempo in her chest.
“I uh… Well, look, I don’t want to waste your time, but have we met before?”
He didn’t remember her. A curious mix of relief and disappointment welled within Nascha, though it was the disappointment that drew her ire. She had nothing to be disappointed about; this was precisely the sort of outcome she had hoped for.
“Miss, if I’ve done something…”
"You must forgive me if I seem abrasive,” she tried for a wry smile, “But you did chase after me. Can you blame me for being a bit frightened?” if he didn’t recognize her then she would use that fact to her advantage. Nascha was no damsel who couldn’t defend herself, but he didn’t know that.

It turned out that facing him was a bad idea. Bloodied and half dead he had not been much to look at. The same could not be said now.
Between his athletic build--lean muscle corded beneath the thin fabric of his shirt--and the handsomely angular sculpt to his face (completed by auburn locks that caught the moonlight) he was something to see. It didn’t help that she could easily imagine the scars that his body bore beneath the clothes.
Nascha wasn’t new to attraction. She’d never acted on it before, but she knew a well-built piece of ass when she saw it. And, unfortunately for her, this one qualified. Ordinarily she drooled, daydreamed from afar, and moved on. Ordinarily they weren’t standing right in front of her. Ordinarily they weren’t men she had curled next to in order to keep them warm through the night. That was different, damn it, she told herself, and it had been. But still...
She knew well enough that her own eyes would likely be dilating, body language half appreciative and half guarded whether she wished it to be or no. Damnable thing. He needed to accept the lie she had told and leave, then the crisis might be averted. Otherwise, with enough time, there was a good chance that he would figure out where he knew her from.
Ah, why hadn’t she slipped into the shadows when she’d had the chance? It had been clear from the start that staying would come around to bite her in the ass and yet here they were. Curiosity killed the cat and so did attraction, apparently. Time would tell whether satisfaction brought her back.

The way he eyed her up was something in and of itself, ancestors preserve her. It was ridiculous, and she shouldn’t like it, but against all her better judgment she did. The way he lingered on her eyes—the werecougar holding his stare with a calmness she did not feel—the sweeping gaze he levelled over the rest of her. By his own body language, he did not seem to find her lacking and Nascha had to swallow and choke down the purr of satisfaction that wanted to rise to her lips at that.
Carefully, he stepped towards her after he’d gotten an eyeful, hands raised towards her as though she were a nervous mare in need of calming. Imperiously, Nascha tipped her chin up, peering down at him from a metaphorical distance if she couldn’t do so physically, “I said you had frightened me, but that doesn’t make me some wild-eyed mustang. Put your damn hands down… though at least you refrained from saying ‘whoa,’” she added the last in a mutter, but in truth the closer he stepped, the more she did feel like bolting. He’s going to piece it together, he’s going to figure it out, half of her whispered, but an equally strong half—the part of Nascha that hungered to fulfill her curiosity—whispered and so what?
In the end, the decision was taken out of her hands.

Nascha could see it as it happened; a drawn-out scene that seemed to play in slow-motion. The widening of his eyes, the narrowing of pupils, the hand pressing against his chest, that startled declaration of “You!”
She winced, eyes shutting for the briefest second as she prepared for an onslaught of words. And that was her fatal mistake.
Rather than beginning with an avalanche of verbal thanks, his hands reached for hers and grabbed them, pulling her flush against the firm spread of his chest and meeting her startled—slightly parted—lips with his own. It was no mere peck either, the exuberant warmth of his mouth lingering for far too long for her not to like it, tasting the whiskey on his lips and feeling her head spin.

When he finally pushed her away, Nascha was speechless. Torn between being spitting mad and pinning him to the ground then and there. Making him answer for the heat that he was stoking in her.
“I-I’m a healer, you dog,” she finally spat out, all composure completely broken, “Of course I saved you, I couldn’t let you die… And I left because I wanted to avoid this!” she jerked her chin at him.

A voice cut in between them and Nascha let out a hiss, half torn between vexation and relief. Both emotions only heightened as the canid beast carefully imposed space between them. Bad to worse, of course. The newcomer was none other than the so-called beast queen herself in all her avian-scented glory. Nascha supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised that the dog was her pet, but all plans of subtly and reconnaissance were now firmly out the window.
“To be honest, I could use all the help I can get.”
This, said after giving Nascha a thoughtful once-over that stirred decidedly less heated feelings in the cougar. Seen, smelled, and capable of being remembered. Perfect. The shadows which she so dearly loved were being blazed with light one-by-one with every passing moment, disappearing so that she was left exposed and disadvantaged.
It was enough that when the canine beside her shot her a glance and asked what she thought, Nascha could only give him a vexed glare. There was nothing more she would like to do than take the idiot pup, pin him down, grab his grinning face and—Nascha frowned, not liking the direction this was going in, even in her head.
Puffing out an exasperated breath she ignored the canid and stepped towards the queen, her movement smooth and self-possessed. “I had intended to observe you newcomers privately for a time before introducing myself but it seems THAT is out of the question now,” she shot a meaningful glance behind her at the cowboy, almost wishing she were in her beast form so that she could have had her tail available to lash. “My name is Nascha and I suppose I’m willing to help… provided you answer some of my questions,” her eyes flicked briefly to the Brass Canine which was coming alive with rowdier sounds than before—she suspected related to what Maeve Donovan required help with—before returning her attention to the raven. “Later, at your leisure,” making demands of a queen was ordinarily not wise, but presently Nascha was too keyed up and unbalanced to care.

 

[Luxura]

Bjorn Thorburn

alias: Úlfhéðnar

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WHERE: French Quarter
WITH: Kenna
DOING: Back to the Den
CREDIT: Aenaluck
PLAYLIST: Coming Soon

​

Her ferocity reminded him of a young pup back in the northlands. The same fire that burned behind her eyes, the reminiscent venom that drenched her words… It reminded him of himself. In her carnal fury, he saw a young, bold boy who wanted nothing more than to be Alpha. That same raw tenacity radiated off of the girl so vibrantly, the Viking found himself in a smile rarely seen. He could hear the blood in her voice, that wild desire that spurred the best of them; pure and full of rage. Had he been blind, he would have sworn she was of his own cut of cloth… a daughter of the Gods.

Bjorn held her tighter, enjoying the subtle squirms she made. Not yet strong enough, he thought, but in time she would be.
Despite his outrageous age, the beast could tell she had not even twenty years under her belt… Yet the incredulous power that hit him was quite remarkable. It had the gears in his mind ticking away at strange thoughts; ones of tutelage.

He’d never much thought of the idea of taking on a predecessor. It was something rarely done in his clan, lest it was a child of the male; a father teaching his son. They were a society of worth, and everyone’s place was earned, regardless of blood.
Rightfully, he should have been back with his clan, fulfilling his duties as the King. Though, after all this time, he suspected they had replaced him by now; their leader lost to the world he and his people swore to ignore. Many times over the last year he had questioned why he had yet to return to them. His debt to Mercia forfeit, there was little to stop him… The answer always had a raven’s feather behind its ear and the strange comfort of familiarity.

Regardless of time and place, the brute was in New Orleans now. And his years of conscious thought were waning to the beast inside. He was in dire need of focus. If not war, then perhaps the closest thing he could get.
“It’s none of your damn business what I’m up to.”
He’d forgotten she was speaking. The poor thing had continued to spit for so long that it’d become more of a drone to the giant, much like Maeve’s insistent sarcasm (which after catching that last remark, seemed like they would get along swimmingly).
“Hmm, I suppose you’re not really Templar material,” he muttered, casting a narrowed glance down to her, “Too weak. Not fast enough.”
It was partly a jab, though mostly a blanket statement. Catching her scent and noting her beast blood, then her appearance and finally the ire… it was fairly clear she was not a spy. He had no further need to drag her along. But he sure did get a nugget of amusement out of watching her plight. And with those insistent thoughts in his mind…
She jabbed her elbow into his kidney, and he looked down to her thoughtfully, “Until you’re stronger, carry a weapon.” his hold tightened further, a growl of amusement purring in his chest,
“What makes you think I want to go anywhere with you? Where the hell are you trying to take me anyway?”
With a sigh, he could see the eyes of the city life drawing upon them. This large brutish man with a very much smaller, younger girl. By the sight of them, it was abnormal, even for this metropolis of bohemians and supernatural freaks of nature.

What did he have to lose by making a plunge? Perhaps a protégé could be entertaining? Besides, if she didn’t turn out, the experiment would have sated all curiosity on the matter. The only thing he’d lose was time, and he had that in spades. Over eight hundred years had passed him by. What were another few months?
If it turned out for the better? Well, he wasn’t completely certain what that meant,
“You have power, but you lack discipline. There is an ache in you that feeds your flames,” he spoke only loud enough for her to hear with inhuman ears, finally releasing her from his grasp with only a casual interest, “It was not fate that put you in my path, young one. There is a destiny from the Gods for you.”
Crossing his arms he slowed his pace to the point of pause, thickly muscular arms crossing over his broad chest as he looked down to her, “They call me Bjorn. What do they call you?”

The faintest tickle upon his mind piqued his interest; an invasion upon his train of thought. It was a welcome diversion, at least, as the tight timbre of Maeve’s voice pressed against him,

“Jack’s drunk, going home.”

The beast could have nearly rolled his eyes. When wasn’t the man drunk? The dreary Mephisto creature was a walking hailstorm of shot glasses and hard liquor. The rotten fiend should walk himself home or die trying. Whatever the raven-woman sought in keeping the bloke alive was beyond the Viking’s comprehension.
That fact aside, now he had an idea of where Maeve would be. It was time to get a move on.
His attention returned to the girl before him, “You need a bath,” he stated bluntly, without malice or chiding, “And from the look of you, I’d also wager a good meal and a bed.” He brushed past her, expecting her to follow, “You’ll come to stay with…” he grumbled, “the Queen.”

 

[Luxura]

Holly Wilshire

alias: GABRIEL

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WHERE: Paradise - Observation Gallery
WITH: Overseer & Goliath
DOING: Morning Tea
CREDIT: AdrianDadich
PLAYLIST:

​

The Overseer was a curious man. The blonde had known him for several years now, but over the course of the last few, they had come to work more closely together. While they didn’t always agree, she did find comfort knowing Jonah to be more than he fronted on the exterior. Their relationship with Faith was paralleled, often strengthed by one another in tandem with overwhelmingly stressful war and just as demanding leadership. She could always find some sliver of solace in his council, should he have the time for her; a small respite from the deluge of formalities. Wine by the fire, tea over breakfast, and on the rarest of occasions something more discrete.

Curious, her eyes surveyed the contours and lines of his complexion, finding their fatigue cleverly masked as indifference. She knew Jonah better than most, but not well enough to consider him more than a close colleague. Whatever battle he fought behind the facade he kept, Holly would never know.

He spoke of administrative duties, and the platinum-haired woman was familiar. She’d had enough of her own paperwork to do, but she, unlike her counterpart, had the kindness and appreciation of others to assist her in tasks. Her fellow Sister, Raphael, was an undeniable asset in that territory; as was Ephemera when his critical mind was required.
Jonah, on the other hand, chose to work alone, and so his tasks as a leader would suffer as much as his mortal mind and body could digest.
Gabriel nodded as he brushed her concerns aside, instead, asking of her well-being; a peek inside the layers of his humanity,
“I’ve faired well,” she replied with a gentle smile, “I suppose air travel does not affect me as much as others. I find it rather relaxing, though I understand why it may cause illness with some. Turbulence can be quite jarring to the inexperienced.”
She took a small sip of the tea in her hands, “Perhaps, it would be in their better interest to spend their limited time working rather than watching the horizon, should it cause such grief.”
With some hesitance, she looked through the glass at the blinding orb as it crested the ocean’s edge, “Speaking… of our fellow family,” she narrowed her gaze against the blinding light, “Ephemera is concerned about his arrangement.”
She couldn’t blame her pupil. Cain had a forcefulness about him that would surely press against Rene’s rather large bubble.
“You’ve spoken to Cain, yes? I don’t want this to be detrimental to his experience. I know nothing can be changed now, and this was my request, but I worry for him. He has unfathomable promise.”

Turning, her eyes found his visage, hopeful in his response.

“HOLLY! JONAH!”

The woman jolted alive, eyes wide and heart in her teacup from the booming voice that shattered the eloquent calm. Relief quickly chased the surprise, wrapped around the rumbling chuckle from the gentle giant in the shape a grin upon her pale lips.

Dominick was a man far too difficult to ignore, neither by size nor personality. The exceptionally large individual was considered by most to be a freak of nature, and few knew of the enhancements he made to the otherwise clean body. Unlike the majority of his fellow Templars, the Priest held no prosthetic limbs or external modifications; something Holly actually found quite fitting. Everything was beneath the flesh, the element of surprise.
That aside, he extended warmth and enthusiasm not normally seen by the patrons of the stoic Order; a welcome absolution, in Holly’s opinion.

They had spent only a few hours together in the time they’d known one another, much of it in passing smiles and idle small talk. When time permitted it, or when in dire need of peace of mind, she found herself wandering down to his sermons, a brilliant wallflower among the shadows of the back wall of the nave, or on the rare occasion seated in the back pews. He held power in his voice that inspired even the coldest of hearts, and on days of mental turmoil, she found confidence in his spirit.
When not a slave to the mundane, she looked for him in the crowds of acolytes, if only to feel the light of a smile for but a moment in time.

It was rare that he’d approach her, or Jonah, for idle conversation such as this. A hiccup of a chuckle bubbled from inside her chest, infectious of Dominick’s jovial nature. He found his place next to, and looming over, the Overseer, and Holly met his warm brown eyes with a hint of playfulness.
She noted his choice of attire was as casual as her own, clearly not yet ready for another day of pandering to the duties they’d sworn to. Jonah, on the other hand, was always presentable and ready for the world. She did not envy him. It was little wonder he looked exhausted under that ire of annoyance. Though, if she had to wrangle the lot of men he did, she would likely be just the same.

Cerulean eyes clung needlessly to the sweat that glistened along Goliath’s flesh, quickly drying to the heat of the sunlight that filtered heavier upon them by the second. Holly made a point of knowing routines and pondered if morning exercise was one of his.

She followed him to the window panes, her smile coy as he addressed her by mantel over name; the change in his voice and feature did not go unnoticed,
"I hope the trip has been good to you thus far."
“Good enough,” she mused gently in reply, the inflection in her tone warm like the taste of honey on her lips, “You’ve been busy, it seems,” offhandedly commenting on his appearance, “Did you settle in alright, or just a matter of no rest for the wicked?”

The tea in her hands was nearly cold, but the combination of company and sunlight was more than enough warmth to fill the void she’d been trying to fill with its heat. With a slender metal finger, she draped long tendrils of hair behind her ear, her eyes leaving either man for the moment in favour of the sunrise that graced them.
Short-lived, but beautiful all the same, the sun became a bit too bright for her mortal eyes. Having grown in the darkness of twilight, like everyone else, they were all much too sensitive to the brilliance it could cast.
She returned herself to Dom as he spoke, trying her very best to hide the laugh that threatened against her teeth. He played a very dangerous game with the Overseer, and it wouldn’t do well to have Holly blatantly on the opposing side.
While she had never said anything, herself, it was evident that Dominick knew much about Jonah; as he should. He knew much about her, as well. Confessional could be a double-edged sword.

Gabriel hadn’t truly taken in confessional with the giant, but in a desperate evening many months ago, she had found him at the alter willing to listen to her with as much guidance and discretion. The words she had wanted to speak that night never found their way to her tongue, but all the same, he had given her that space in the empty pews. Pillars of wax turned into puddles and ash; all the while kind eyes and softer smiles never once making her feel unwelcome.
It’d never happened since… Time, in its own way, held her at bay from it, despite desiring to revisit that companionship.
With a thin smile and an even thinner veil of cheekiness reflected in her eyes, the Sister took a shaky breath as she answered before Jonah could lash with a venomous retort,
“Well, unless anything has changed from last evening, the projected course was on schedule, despite our late departure. The day is yours, and we should be in New Orleans by the morrow’s dusk.”
With that, Holly stood from the arm of the wingback, “I’m afraid the light has worn my eyes.” Looking to her silver-haired cohort, she nodded, “Not to pile more upon your desk, but you and I must meet later regarding a particular letter. I’ll find you in the afternoon. Until then, your protege could warrant your attention for a spell, wouldn’t you agree?”
She hesitated before turning away, and found Dominick’s light brown orbs with a curious glint to her eyes, “Would you care to join me for a bite to eat? I feel you and I are overdue for consultation.”

 

[AntarcticRomantic]

Maeve Donovan

Phoenix

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WHERE: TBC > Home
WITH: Jack, Seiko, Esther, Nascha, and Dutch
DOING: Dragging Jack's drunk ass home
CREDIT: peritwinkle
PLAYLIST: ♔

If she wanted to, she could take out one of her daggers and cut the tension between the two beasts in the alley. Her eyes shifted from the cowboy to the Native as they pondered what to do next. However, it came as no surprise when she happened on the parting of a kiss. The scent of their pheromones was palpable on her tongue, and she resisted the instinct to gag on the taste. The blonde shifted, her arms crossing for the moment over her corseted chest. This was her own fault, surrounding herself in a city called the Big Easy with people who were far too lax. However, it seemed the woman had more drive and initiative than the Pup, even after fighting some internal battle made obvious with the shift in her sharp features with each expression.

“I can’t say I thoroughly know what you mean by ‘newcomer’, but I appreciate the honesty, Nascha. You'll get your answers in due time,” the Ravenwoman answered in kind, turning to walk back to the Brass Canine. The crowd had grown inside and out of the renovated Creole cottage. She shook her head, praying the yelling she heard inside wasn’t the Mephisto yet again. “I’m afraid my charge has gotten himself properly blitzed with one of my associates. I’ll need assistance getting them both to my home on the other side of town.” Grimacing, her emerald gaze shifted to the two beasts beside her. “This isn’t going to be fun, but it won’t be boring."

Spearheading their group, Phoenix broke through the crowd leaning through the door. She fought her way through the thick of people until she came back to the bar. Her hand immediately cradled her forehead while she heaved a heavy, irritated sigh. Jack, arm-in-arm with a vampire they were well acquainted with, was moving them about in what appeared to be the attempt of a waltz or tango. The poor brunette looked worse for wear, but she was laughing as she spun around in drunken circles with the lanky creature holding on to her. It almost broke the beast’s heart to end their promenade… almost.

“Alright, Jack, you can let Esther go now. Let’s get you home. Gigglewater is cheaper there.” He argued, still leading the dance as people clapped along. Maeve dropped more coin than she cared to in front of the bartender to cover their debts for the evening. Exasperated, she pulled the duo away and through the parting crowd towards her new acquaintances. “We’ll drink plenty at the house, Fletcher! We have to get there first. Seiko, come along, mate!”

She shared quick pleasantries with Sherwood, shaking her head as she smiled and chuckled, leading them along the way. The blonde directed Nascha and Dutch to assist her retainer while she and Esther shared in guiding and supporting the Mephisto. This was turning into a mess of a night, and her house, she was certain, would be no different by the time this was over. No doubt the two beasts could smell the serum running through Jack’s bloodstream, unable to place the stench of decay and chemicals. Her gaze shifted to her rowdy housemate, and she held him closer, hugging the combination of two souls she’d hoped to save and had failed.

It made her ache. A feeling she was becoming far too familiar with was coursing through her, and, unfortunately, only one person in the city fought it away. His presence was enough to cause a stirring of irritation and frustration stronger than fighting to keep Jack straight.

She sought out his energy, the connection difficult to fight after spending the last few years in each other’s company. He wasn’t nearby like usual, which in and of itself was an oddity, but the hunter likely had game. “Jack’s drunk, going home,” she pressed into Bjorn’s mind as if he needed the update. He could find her easily by scent if he wanted to. It was impossible to escape him, no matter how she had tried before. He was immovable. It could have been endearing if she didn’t find him so vexing.

The lot of them stumbled a bit as they walked through the Quarter once they passed outside the limits Marigny. In this part of the neighborhood, the darkness of the streets began to ease. Houses lined the avenue with a beautiful luminescence unique to the city. The colors filling her sight reminded her of the flora that created such paint possible. It was their adaptation to the darkness they’d suffered for so long but made into marvelously useful by the people of the city. Their culture survived what was once an eternal night in a kaleidoscope of beauty. Colors that would strain the eyes by day glowed with magnificence in the cover of night, their shine hiding the stars. It was one of the things she loved most about this place-- the culture welcomed adaptation and growth, and for it was ever brighter.



Nearly an hour later, she unlocked the rod-iron fence and pushed it inward. She propped it open by releasing a latch into a hole made in the brick of her front walkway. The lights of the terracotta and buff Greek Revival were lit, a sign that the one housekeeper she'd hired had prepared the home for the return of its mistress, and left for the evening.

Sweat had gathered on her brow as the brunet had become more sluggish in the last leg of their journey. He didn’t look heavy, but as the height of him had progressively become dead weight the harder she had to work. Rarely had this been an issue for her. As a beast, this should’ve been nothing, but it was more work to keep him on his feet than she had expected.

The two beasts with Seiko were better off. He had come-to quickly during the walk and had assisted in keeping Jack moving forward. Four of their company traded in shifts to keep him going. However, Maeve refused to step away, adamant that as her charge he was her responsibility. Her expression was pleading to be left alone to help carry him back as if somehow she was carrying him like a cross on her back.

Getting him up the stairs to her front veranda was a chore, but she assisted Esther in getting him to lean against the doorframe of the elegant home. Her key went to enter the deadbolt, but the door swung open, and she was startled to see the Wolf in front of her. The blonde shouldn’t have been as he kept a key to her place, for “emergencies”, since she bought the property. However, Jack was far from one. In fact, the Alpha constantly fought her on the subject of keeping him, and numerous arguments had occurred in the weeks since his arrival. She didn’t care. It appeared to her that it was a subject of envy that the bulking beast had been abandoned to room in the apartment above the Tailor’s alongside Seiko. The second Jack arrived, the Mephisto had been welcomed into the bosom of her home, no questions asked.

“Brilliant, you’re here. Get this lot settled in the parlor and I’ll get Fletcher into bed,” she said, lifting Jack’s arm around her neck and heaving him up.

As she passed, the blonde caught the scent of another on the brawny beast. Female, young. The Ravenwoman nearly dropped Jack. “Who the fuck have you been with?” she demanded in a hiss. Her gaze shifted as she remembered they weren’t alone, eyes skirting the group behind her vapidly. “You know what, no. Don’t tell me. That is your business, and I have other things to attend to like getting him to bed and explaining this madness to everyone. Priorities.”

More arguing ensued, protests from her friend until she all but dragged him up the stairs to get him into his room. As long as he lived, she swore a private oath to never let him live this night down. It would go down in history as the night Maeve struck a harder blow to the debt he owed to her and would continue to cash in on until Judgement Day.

He mumbled at her while she removed his shoes after helping him onto his bed. He spread out across the queen-sized mattress, twisting himself while she fought with his feet. This wasn’t the first time she’d fought with this body to remove articles after hours of drinking, but it was certainly the most annoying. She ignored his mutterings until his hand settled in the small of her back. “You like him.” Her gaze fixed on him, but it was clear she was in no mood to get into this discussion.

“You’re drunk, Jack. You need sleep.”

He smiled into his pillow while she covered him with a thin sheet and pulled the duvet over the shape of his hips. “You like the big beastie.” His eyes were heavy and glossy with drink, but there was a hint of knowing about them. It could have been unnerving if he was sober. But if he realized who exactly he was talking about, it likely wouldn't have been said at all.

Her eyes rolled as she stood, and she began walking away from him. “I like a lot of muscle-clad men, Jack. Bjorn isn’t one of them,” she stated matter-of-factly. Maeve’s hand reached for the light switch. The brunet laughed, muttering something again while she turned off the lights. It sounded like “Never said who.” At that, she slammed the door shut behind her.

Proceeding downstairs she met with the group in the parlor, but one set of eyes was new to her. Or, they should’ve been. The young woman sitting in her favorite velvet forest green Bergère was familiar to the Irishwoman, but her mind couldn’t place why. Her face pinched in confusion, slipping through dozens of memories over the last few years. The scent met her: the one persisting beside Bjorn's. He had brought her here. Emerald orbs shifted from him back to the girl. Why? Why couldn’t she place this girl?

Then it hit her. The woman who was meant to carry the Maverick name to America ahead of her when the former General feared an attack on the Beasts of New Londontown was inevitable. Her eyes grew wide. Last she’d seen this girl was when they had departed, her former maid and two children. She was smaller then. Certainly not quite as grown into womanhood, and without the fierce, sharp gaze she was trying to puncture Maeve’s resolve with. If this girl was here, and not her mother, something was horribly wrong.

“You and I have business, no doubt,” she said directly to Kenna, her eyes lingering on the brunette a long moment before looking over everyone else in the room. “By the end of the evening, I suspect, I’ll have business with each of you. We'll discuss it in private, Mac Amery, I promise.

"However, I suppose outside of Bjorn and Esther, the rest of you are wondering about Jack Fletcher.” Their attention caught, she nodded with a strained smile. “Of course…. Where shall I begin?”

 

[Leola_Asarai]

Kenna Mac Amery

Incendiu

health bar

WHERE: Maeve's House
WITH: Too Mnay People
DOING: Grumbling
CREDIT: Olivier Ponsonnet
PLAYLIST: Coming Soon

Keeping her eyes scanning as they continued walking through the streets, Kenna was careful about taking note of the direction they were going. The last thing she wanted was to be led down some dark alley by the massive stranger, but apart from keeping her close to him, he hadn't done anything inherently threatening. He even seemed to find her, amusing. That was irritating, but not aggressive. Still, Kenna knew to be on guard regardless. Always cautious

Templar? Kenna couldn't figure out why that sounded so familiar, but either way, it was enough for her to tense, though the fear that pricked down her spine turned once again to annoyance at his jab. "You had to break down a wall to catch me, that makes you stronger than me, not faster." Kenna still maintained that she was faster. Breaking down walls was cheating in a foot race and shouldn't count.

The jab she made to his side only seemed to amuse the brute, making his hold on her tighter rather than doing anything to slight him. Kenna grumbled and pushed back against the seemingly affectionate grasp he had on her. Though he seemed to also try an impart some wisdom on her too. What a weird guy. She did have a weapon. Technically two. But reaching for the knife in her boot right now seemed difficult while he carried on with the nonsense of having a heavy arm around her, and she didn't feel threatened enough to pull out her lighter. The fluid in it was running low, and she didn't want to have to use it unnecessarily if she didn't have to.

He seemed to contemplate her question before he answered her like he was didn't know what to say, or perhaps he didn't know what he was actually doing. He seemed to have followed her on a whim. Now that he didn't regard her as a threat was deciding what to do. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. When he did finally speak, the young wolf merely rolled her eyes at his sentiments. Fate. Destiny. She didn't believe in either, and whatever gods were out there, if there even were any, they could keep their shitty plan to themselves. Regardless, he let her go.

Kenna thought she would have run the first chance she got, but her feet remained where they were. Her arms crossed over her chest, unintentionally mimicking his stance as she continued to square off with him. Bjorn. Nice to have a name for the face she supposed. She hesitated for a moment. Seemed like he wasn't likely to kill her, not yet at least. She shook her head, "Kenna," she said with a resigned sigh.

Her face dropped at his next statements, "Excuse me?" Rude. Kenna shook her head and was about to walk away from him, tired of the evening's events, but Bjorn's leaving statement piqued her curiosity, "Wait. . ." she said turning to follow him. "The Queen?"

Kenna followed him all the way through the streets, anxious about whether she had made the right choice or not. The time it took to get there she had plenty of time to turn around, but she still followed. It was further in the opposite direction than Kenna had been intending on going, making it more difficult in the long run. She figured she would have to scout something out closer to crash, refusing to say she would stay wherever he was leading her.

As they entered, the scent that filled the air was familiar, but Kenna couldn't place where from. It wasn't until the blonde came barging through the door with others following close behind that she figured out where she knew it from. She slipped behind Bjorn, keeping out of the others way as they all filled the space, dragging a drunken mess with them.

Seething in anger she watched as the blonde disappeared up the stairs. Kenna turned to Bjorn, a scowl on her face. "Her? Really?" she said with a scoff as she shook her head. "You have got to be kidding me." She turned to head back to the door. "Fuck this," she said as she tried to make her exit, but once again heavy hands on her shoulders stopped her movements. He directed her back inside and made her sit down his firm hands remaining there, keeping her to her seat. Kenna grumbled where she sat, arms crossed across her chest, feet pulled up to cross as she sat upon the chair. There was definite regret about following him now.

As Maeve came back down to join the rest of them, Kenna stared daggers at the 'Queen', If she should even be called that. She was useless and irritating, and Kenna held her responsible for false promises of safety. She lied.

Shaking her head, Kenna turned away from Maeve. "Surprised you even remember who I am," she muttered under her breath that no human could hear, but the many immortals in the room would have. She huffed in frustration but stayed silent as Maeve prattled on with whatever false sentiments she was about to spew out.

 

[legalrehab]

S E I K O
島崎清子

alias: Kirin

health bar

WHERE: Maeve's Estate
WITH: Jack, Maeve, Nascha, and Dutch
DOING: Playing Defense
CREDIT: Inesanemona
PLAYLIST: Winter's Nocturne

They toasted in comradery once more, two men who led very contrasting lives up until this point. Despite their past, it would seem they had more in common than either anticipated. Seiko held up a sipping glass of sake, his hands wrapped around the rim with thick fingers, masculine and adorned with scars and bruises from time on the field of battle. Silver rings coiled around them to hide their stories, each one telling a different tale. They were accented by the toast of Jack’s stemmed Sherry glass. His hands polished and nimble, with soft pads speckled with only a few pricks and cuts - accented by highlights of pink despite his pallid coloring.


He would never forget that night.

They were at that bar counter for hours, the Brass canine ebbed and flowed with crowds as patrons came and went on with their lives while time seemed to stand still around the two men - but Seiko was happy to watch the clock pass by. With Seiko to encourage him, Jack spoke on about himself, he didn’t mind it at all. In fact he wanted to know more about him with each of his stories. Such a fascinating life he led, he couldn’t help but romanticize every word - longing for such a leisurely life in between the highs and lows. Such stories were not for mercenaries like himself. That kind of happiness was something that felt so foreign to him- and so, he ended up not talking about himself that much at all.

The stories created a personal concert for him, with Jack as the headliner and Seiko in the front row. When he stood up the counter was his stage, the glass was his microphone and the slightly chipped half-full moon was his spotlight. Jack was the only person in his world who could make magic like that , and to this day - he still believed that.


❃❃❃❃❃❃


“Seiko, come along, Mate!”

Her words awoke him, it never failed that any time Seiko allowed himself to be taken by the liquor he always found a bed... Or in this case an adequate and modest lounging chair. He was jealous that he never did anything extravagant like others did after drinking but at the same time he assumed if there was no news of his drunken exploits then that was good news. He immediately grabbed for his scabbard with was nestled alongside him like a hard metal pillow and his twill blazer serving as a makeshift blanket.

e stood up promptly from the nest he had made himself and brushed off his clothing, slinging the blazer across his shoulders. As he inspected his vest and breaches he was relieved to see nothing was missing and most importantly - no stains. This burgundy accented suit was the only nice set of clothes he owned since coming over seas. He already stuck out enough for carrying something as barbaric as a katana in this day and age, wearing the garb he brought with him wouldn’t do any sort of favors either. As he came to his senses and the world around him ceased to spin he looked to the two in front of him, two beasts both of them very young in comparison to himself. One was a woman on the shorter scale of height with moderately tamed charcoal hair, her cat-like face looked over him as did that of the other beast. He was a slender man still full of youth and honeyed eyes. Though they weren’t saying it, he could feel judgement in their gaze.

Embarrassed, he greeted them both - this wasn’t the best way for them to meet him especially if they were to become comrades of his. He let out a sheepish laugh, and gave a curt bow to them both. It was unbecoming and certainly not the impression he would want to give off, his face turned a shade of pink in his moment of unease. It was hard for him to even look them in the eye, and though he wanted to pretend like it didn’t bother him that facade was gone long ago. He shouldn’t care, he had no reason to care - but damn if he did.

“H-Hello.” He could feel a lump in his throat to add to the embarrassment. “My name is Shimazaki Seiko. Mercenary for hire, Retainer of Ms. Donovan and… part-time chef” He said with a sly smile. He questioned why they were so quick to take orders from Maeve. Was she paying them? More importantly, were they being paid more? Should she have acquired them on authority alone she surely had scored a bargain, he could see these weren’t your every day beasts. The air of experience emanated from them both. Perhaps they had a more ulterior motive, but only time would answer that for him.

“Shall we get going then? Don’t worry about me, I can walk….” He did his best to not appear rude. It was kind of them to offer but he would not have himself look weak in front of them so early on in the relationship. “Thank you though I am flattered.” He retrieved his pocket watch and made note of the time. For Seiko, any minute he spent obeying Maeve was a minute on the job. It felt bittersweet to leave the canine and to be heading home, for while he enjoyed the comforts of the modest apartment it meant that the responsibilities he had shrugged off while at the bar were being packed back on to him.

The air of the night felt crisp within his lungs, even with the stench of the city at night time, he felt just as peaceful as he did when entering the bar so many hours ago. They were a rag-tag group of beasts and unassuming to most under the unknowing eye. He walked along with the group just fine, albeit a tad slower than usual but with Jack’s antics at the helm it didn’t affect much as they wouldn’t be getting anywhere in an efficient or timely manner. He did his best to make conversation with the other beasts, and couldn’t help but laugh at Jack as he did his best to cause as much ruckus as possible on their journey. It was welcome to Seiko’s lack of social skill, he never had to talk much or think of anything too profound with his drunken antics going on..

As they entered Maeve’s abode he couldn’t stop himself from being so focused on the original question he had for these two beasts. If there was an ulterior motive within them he would be quick to find it.

“As you’ve learned, I’m employed under Ms. Donovan - so that explains why I am so quick to follow her order. Now what about you two?”