Realistic or Modern ᴘᴀʀᴀᴅɪsᴇ ᴄɪᴛʏ | Main [open & accepting]

[Loomis]

Her blood boiled with an uncontrollable rage as she stared at the man that accosted her sister, worthless little shit. How dare he and Thomas come in here and attack them? The damage they caused tonight would definitely set Lazarus back a few steps, but Sabine was mostly concerned with how Charlotte would recover. Whatever that little bastard did to her was still wreaking havoc on the Vampire and every little whimper that escaped from her just fueled the violence inside Sabine.

“I have zero intention of drawing this worthless blood bags life any longer than need be,” Her tone was ice cold, the disdain for him dripping off every word. Her eyes seared into his as she tightened the vice like grip around his neck, all five of her pointed nails piercing into the vulnerable flesh.

“I am going to enjoy draining you of every ounce of life you have.” She gave him a forceful push against the wall as she used her free hand to move the leather jacket out of the way, ripping open his shirt to expose his abdomen. She could hear his heartbeat thumping against his chest, almost like a crowd cheering her on, her eyes flashed with excitement at the thought of what was to come. She brought her other hand up over her head, her veins protruding and pulsating eagerly against her pale skin. Her eyes danced on his exposed body as she readied herself to tear into his tender belly, gutting him like a pig at slaughter. And in an instant her plan was thwarted.

A high-pitched boom rang out in the night air and suddenly Sabine was knocked down. The bullet crashing into the center of her forehead sent her backwards and onto the floor. Muffled sounds of heavy metal objects surrounded her, her blurred vision flashing in and out as she watched Jacques transform himself into a makeshift machine and take Lottie into his wired clutches. NO! A mix of emotions riddle the Vampire, anger, helplessness, pain, vengeance.

“Magnus,” Sabine looked around to try and find her only ally through her obscured vision, trickles of her own blood ran down her head filling her eyes with the thick red liquid. She could faintly hear the mechanical like voice spitting in her direction but she couldn’t quite hear over the ringing in her ears. She didn’t need to hear to understand that the crazed man was taking her sister hostage as an insurance policy to make his escape.




“Coward!” Sabine shouted in his direction, her head protesting at the sudden force of emotion. The rumble of her surroundings caught her attention and she fought to regain her focus to see what, or who, was causing it. Fleeting images of Magnus covering himself in an earthly shield came into her field of vision as projectiles continued to flood into the space. Where the fuck was her team? Did more assailants make their way into Lazarus? That doesn’t matter, she shook those thoughts from head and began to force herself to stand, find Charlotte, secure her, and kill that little rat.

Sharp pains flogged her head as she attempted to rise from her injuries. Her vision began to fade in and out and she stumbled back to the ground. Damn it, push through it! She could no longer feel or hear Magnus’s heartbeat and she hoped that the Warlock and gone after Lottie as she tried to pull herself together. Letting out an exasperated groan she let herself lay there and focused all her energy on healing and pushing that god damn bullet from her skull.

The sound of footsteps brought Sabine out of her trance-like state and familiar melodic voice called out to her. Opening her eyes she saw Dante kneeling beside her, placing her head on his knee. This was not how she cared to be presented, weak, vulnerable, taken down by a mere bullet.

“Charlotte, we have to find her.” She could feel herself coming to as the bullet worked its way from her skin and rolled off her face. The hole it left slowly began to close and her vision began to clear.“That bastard took a cheap shot and fired a gun at me…from somewhere,” She slowly sat up and looked around at the mess that was left behind. There would be time to go over the details of her failure later, and judging by Dante’s appearance he had quite the battle as well, but her only goal at the moment was to retrieve her sister.

“Fuck, my head hurts.” She clenched her jaw as she rubbed the now rejuvenated skin on her forehead. “Will you come with me to find my sister? If he still has her beware of anything metal, it appears he can manipulate it.” Sabine hated that she was asking for help, she should be able to handle this herself. And it would have been handled if it wasn't for his hidden sniper stunt. She placed a hand on his shoulder to help herself up, taking note of the muscles beneath her touch. Dusting herself off she noticed her once pristine latex dress was ripped here and there, her own blood mixed with the Deo Volente’s now dried to the material. Pouting at the site of her attire she looked back at Dante, "well don't we look great," she huffed and flattened the stray platinum locks back into place.

“She’s still on the property,” She motioned with her head for him to follow her as she made her way back inside Lazarus. The club was a disaster, furniture was everywhere, rubble from Dante’s swift exit through the roof scattered about the wet floor.

“I’ll bill you for that later,” Sabine teased as she eyed the gaping hole in her clubs ceiling.

“Sabine, we’ve located your sister. She’s outside of Lazarus, it appears -” one of the security members approached the two of them but Sabine held up her hand to cut him off.

“I know where she is. You should’ve done your job and protected her. You will all be dealt with later. Get some bags up to my room immediately.” Sabine snapped as she swiftly moved past him and continued to exit the club.

Once outside she could see Lottie hunched over with Magnus not too far from the entrance of the property. Breaking out into a full sprint Sabine was at their side in a matter of seconds.

“Charlotte!” Sabine crouched down and examined her sister. She seemed to be healing just fine, thanks to Magnus’s generosity.

“Magnus, I can’t thank you enough.” Her eyes glowed with admiration as she took his bleeding hand. To willingly offer her sister his blood to help bring her back to health was worth more to her than gold, or rather the blood bags he brought in.

“Let’s get you inside my love, we have blood bags ready for you inside. You can soak in a bath and rest up inside.”

Interactions: Eldarkon , Loxely , SidTheSkid ​

 

[Sepokku]

"Hate to say it, but the old fart has a point," Dani hooked her thumb back, pointing in Edward's direction. "I bet those leeches," she spat the word out with vehement emphasis, "Ain't hiding with their tails between their legs." It was fun to stir the pot sometimes, even if it meant saying things she didn't truly mean. Barking out a laugh, Dani turned back to the table and pointed at the girl from earlier. "Liar! I don't have any sixes."

Everyone at the table raised their cups. True to Dani's word there were only five dice that showed the number six, not seven. The girl clenched her left hand into a fist, her knuckles turning white with strain, again; at this rate the poor girl was going to develop carpal tunnel.

"Doesn't quite sit right with me either, old man," She tossed the words over her shoulder, back at Edward, before turning a predatory gaze towards the girl who had just been caught in a lie. "So, are you going to finish your drink?"

The girl looked like the mere mention of drinking anything else was going to make her sick. She raised a hand to her mouth, "Nope, I'm out."

Dani grinned wolfishly, "Wonderful, so you owe me a truth instead. How does your friend know our victim, Miss Jane Doe?"

The girl's clenched fist relaxed, confusion painted on her face, "How did you-"

"His eyes went wide when we showed everyone the photo, like he'd seen a ghost. Guess he sort of did. Now talk."

"We've all hung out a few times, I barely talked to her, but Eddie and her seemed... You know... Close. That's all I know, I swear."

Dani searched her face, before groaning and furiously running a hand through her hair. "I believe you. If we learned one thing tonight, it's that you're a shite liar."
RedLeftHand36

 

[Anaxileah]

HeyHey

​

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Addressed: Magnus MacVain & Cecilia Augustine ( SidTheSkid thinking )

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Mentioned: Charlotte & Sabine DeLormè ( Loxely Loomis )

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Status: Driving to Club Lazarus > Parked Outside > Helping Magnus

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Location: Club Lazarus

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Inventory: Silver Daggers (x2), Hand Pistol (x1), Silver Bullets (x24)

HeyHey​

​

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The car ride to Club Lazarus was uneventful, the passing streets a blur of damp asphalt and bright lights as she sped through the downtown area, most of the traffic signals working in her favor. The grape-colored SUV raced along the slick throughways, but the redhead's mind moved faster. Just what has Magnus gotten himself into? He went in there with the intention of making peace among the occult factions, but did he have to go by himself in the middle of the damn night? She sighed, frustrated with the damned warlock. He had helped her through thick and thin when she suffered from the worst of her trauma, putting her back together when all that remained were broken pieces of a whole. They had grown close, supportive of one another and with a similar goal in mind to provide peace to the people of Saint Haddock.

Shoving her thoughts to the side, she finally reached Club Lazarus, having shortened her time from home to the club to only twenty-three minutes, rather than the usual thirty to forty. From the outside, things seemed mostly fine, aside from how quiet things seemed on the outside. She parked, whipping her phone out with a concerned glance — no word from Magnus, and it was half past three in the morning. Sighing in frustration, she did as Magnus asked, shooting him a text that told him she'd arrived. She turned the car off, searching through the handful of contacts she kept on her phone, and tapped on Cecilia's contact, saved under "Cici." A quick tap of her fingers sent a brief message to her friend, the colorful screen reflecting against her tired eyes. Cici, r u awake?

Of course I am. Lia rolled her golden-brown eyes and sighed, leaning back and settling herself in her seat. I mean, its 3. Idk if u were up or no. Can u help w/ the shop today? She pondered for a moment after hitting send, then quickly typed out another message. I might also need some medic help at my apt, u got ur key still? She bit her lip, glancing up at the club. There still didn't seem to be anything going on outside, though if there were, she couldn't see much with how dark it was outside. She hoped the sky would lighten soon — she wasn't a fan of the darker hours of the night, especially on her own. Her phone quickly dinged twice in response, Cici's urgency not unexpected.

I will try. Trying to get this old man out of my hair first... He is driving me insane. Lia scrolled farther. Is everything okay? I am worried now, but yes I do. Cordelia wasn't one to normally text so frequently, as their previous messages were usually much more direct, but she had nothing else to do while on Magnus' orders. uhhh Mag might need some help, so I was omw to CL. Ur a caretaker for ur grandad right? Could help. wtf! No way. I'll settle him down and be over asap. I think I should be able to help a little, but for grandad, I am mainly here for emotional support or when he shits himself, LOL. See you soon. LMAO ig... I just don't have much 4 medic exp. Meet me at my place, should be there in 20ish? Maybe if I speed faster?? Waiting for Mag now. Be careful.

The back and forth messaging was honestly fun, a concept Lia didn't experience often, but short-lived, as she heard screaming and shouting on the other side of the road, followed by a blond man — Magnus — and then another blonde, this time most likely one of the DeLormè sisters, probably Sabine. It was difficult to see through the tinted glass in the middle of the night, so without thinking, Lia unbuckled herself and leapt from the car, her boots sounding loudly against the pavement as she ran across the street to where Charlotte, Magnus, and Sabine were located, the three of them huddled beneath the tree like lost kittens finding shelter from the rain. On her way over, she heard Sabine's voice carry: "Magnus, I can't thank you enough." The normally pristine vampire appeared quite disheveled, with dried blood smeared across her face, stains on her dress, and possibly some rips or tears. "Let’s get you inside my love, we have blood bags ready for you. You can soak in a bath and rest up."

At this point, Lia had reached the sidewalk, slowing her step to approach gingerly, a soft, sympathetic smile offered to the vampire sisters. She knew better than to get on their bad sides. Looking to Magnus, her small smile turned into a frown, her gaze lingering on his hand. "Are you alright? You sounded shaken before, and it seems I have missed quite a bit." Her warm eyes flickered over to Sabine and Lottie as one sister helped the other, before looking back at him, taking his uninjured hand to help him to his feet. If he had fed one of the sisters, he would no doubt feel woozy or lightheaded, aside from the normal pleasure that floods the senses. "Let's get you fixed up."
​

 

[SidTheSkid]

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[Location: Saint Haddock - East Side, Outside Club Lazarus. ]
[Currently: Chatting with Cordelia, Sabine, and Charlotte. ]
[Mood: Friendly. ]

Offering his blood willingly to a vampire was an act he never could have fathomed himself doing, at least not prior to this, even now Magnus was quietly struggling with the nagging thoughts pounding at his mind while this was happening; although his face bared resemblance to a stoic facade what lingered beneath it was concern for the unforeseen consequences that this might've carried. Vampirism was specifically the primary worry that he had, while he hadn't been bitten, there was uncertainty involving the potential transmission of the affliction through means of saliva, yet, he clung onto the unfounded belief that the fangs were the primary conduit for the transformation, but if that wasn't true? Well, he could only hope that the chances of acquiring this disease in this way was minimal.

Thankfully Charlotte's simple but effect heartfelt "thank you" coupled with the visible signs of her improving condition acted as a balm to his lingering concerns. The returning vibrancy in her eyes and the colorful twinkle beginning to resurface within them was more than enough for Magnus to accept the consequences of his actions, If contracting a disease was the price to pay to aid someone in need, then it would've all been worth it. Adjusting his position, he settled himself down in a sitting position comfortably beside Charlotte, allowing for her to lean further into his palm as she continued to draw sustenance. As time passed, the stinging sensation in Magnus's hand eventually subsided and he found himself oddly appreciating the nightly breeze snuggling against his moistened skin, it was rare for him to have a moment of tranquility, for once, it was pleasant.

Lost in the serenity of the moment, Magnus let out a sigh and closed his eyes briefly, trying to savor the calmness that surrounded him as much as he could. However, his reverie was soon interrupted by the desperate call of Sabine's voice. "Charlotte!" Startled, he'd open his eyes to look around, only to find Sabine sprinting towards them, the look of worry on the woman's face was visibile from a mile away, and even when she crouched down beside them she was practically investigating every inch of Charlotte to get an idea of her health.

"Taking a bullet like that straight to the head and still moving around? Heh, you're really something else Sabine.."

As Sabine delicately separated his hand from Charlotte's mouth, her understanding of his selfless act became evident through her initially surprised face and her following appreciation for his compassion. Magnus, though not exactly the greatest at responding to gratitute, respectfully nodded at her thanks and expressed "I just hope that it was enough." He wasn't totally sure how Charlotte's recovery was going to go but judging by Sabine's pacified tone, it seemed as if her sister was going to heal up just fine. In an instant, the rhythmic echo of boots clacking against the sidewalk captured his attention, stirring his spirit away from its dormant state. With his senses now heightened, he prepared for the possibility of encountering yet another threat, luckily, that wasn't the case.

"Cordelia? Damn you got here fast, y'know, I would've scolded you for speedin' here but i'll let it pass this time. Consider yourself lucky i'm a happy drunk!"

He'd jokingly say, a warmhearted smile curved across Magnus's face, clearly happy to see that it was Cordelia. The lighthearted nature of this reunion didn't last very long as she noticed his injured hand which he tried to play off as nothing serious as he subtly slipped it into his pocket. "Never been better.. Oh... Right... I.. I think that's a conversation better suited for the drive back... Yeah. For what happened here? Club Lazarus got attacked, probably by Deo Volente, I wouldn't be surprised even if it's kinda odd that they didn't bring more people." Grateful for Cordelia's outstretched hand, Magnus accepted her kind gesture with a swift "Thanks" as her hand enveloped his, he allowed her to pull him up from from where he was sitting, a slight stumble unsettled his balance for a second because of influence of alcohol and blood loss but her assisting him up prevented him from taking an embarassing tumble onto the ground.

What would he do without her? He felt bad for having her taxi his ass back to her place but it was preferably a lot better than him waking up all disoriented and alone in the embrace of a prickly bush or some other unfamiliar and uncomfortable place. As for Sabine and Charlotte, it was probably best to let them recuperate from what happened; staying here for too long wouldn't serve much of a purpose unless Cordelia wanted to but that was her choice, nevertheless, Magnus would extend his apologies to the two sisters for what had happened even if it wasn't his fault, he would also offer to help them in fixing things up too.

"Sorry that we had to meet like this, i'm still glad to have met you both. If you two need help cleanin' all this shit up i'd be more than happy to come back in the morning, less drunk of course."

[ Interactions: Anaxileah , Loomis , Loxely ]

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[Loxely]

Delirious eyes lazily attempted to gather the information unfolding around her. Though her mind remained foggy, her voice still raspy, the overall appearance of her demeanor seemed more at is. Lottie's frail chest raised and dropped with a heavy sigh of relief. Magnus had earned himself a metaphorical badge of honor and respect in her mind. Thankful for his generosity in supplying her with the needed sustenance to cling just a little longer on to her immortal life. She scorned the man for harming her, yet she felt a sickening curiosity to see him again. He instilled fear in her like no other, not having felt that since she was a mere mortal.

Sabine's embrace was that of a nurturing maternal figure, similar to their shared mother's love. Her sister had so graciously took over that role shortly after the passing of her, forming a stronger familial bond between the sisters. Lottie's lengthy arms draped along her broad sister's, resting her heavy head into that well endowed bosom with shut eyes. The voices around her became incoherent babbles that she soon after just shut out entirely. The walk back to Lazarus seemed to last hours as she dozed in and out of consciousness. But then, the stern call of her handler rung sweetly in her head. "Charlotte!" Oh, sweet Varney. My darling. She thought mournfully, how she had sent him away amidst the chaos. Disheartened to have done so, but perhaps it saved him in a peculiar way. He arrived, unscathed yet boiling with fury and concern. Reaching out eagerly to Sabine to hoist the lithe vamp in a cradle. Peering down at her like a disappointed parent, but that twitch of his brow revealed his sorrow for not being there for her. Lottie offered a weak, yet reassuring grin. Freshly stained with a mixture of the two men's blood. A rather appealing shade to some.

Carefully, he strolled through the aftermath of the club. Stepping over debris and some unfortunate casualties that were trampled in the hysteria. The other thrall working tirelessly to clean up. The lights flashed through Lottie's closed eyelids, nearly causing a migraine, in turn she burrowed her face into his hulking chest. Stepping into a rather exclusive elevator, much like Sabine's personal one, they road silently. Varney was never a talkative man, yet his glances down to Lottie and quivering lip suggested he had plenty of his mind. But again, he remained silent.

The doors opened to a flickering dark hallway. It appeared as though Dante's feat of pummeling through the ceiling of the club had disconnected some wiring, or perhaps the mighty power of Jacques charming the electronics in the building made it faulty. Regardless, they went on and approached the single door. Once stepping in, the room was untouched from the battle. It's tones were a stark contrast of Sabine's. It felt very bright and simple, the furniture was of modern style and the color palette rather earthy with plenty of whites. Lottie's personality bloomed in her room. The only oddity was the blackened drapes adorned over the large windows to shun any source of light, though now they had remained opened with the fog having enveloping the suns rays.

Setting her down gently onto the cushioned duvet and bed, Lottie sat hunched forward. Her long locks were tangled and knotted, falling along her shoulders and shielding her face. Varney slipped into her personal restroom, running hot water into a beautifully crafted garden tub. Her head craned inquisitively at a black envelope beside her. Reaching out and thumbing open it open to read the letter. Lottie couldn't help but allow a joyful snicker escape her as she looked over the invitation. Overhearing her laughter, Varney crept around the door frame of the bathroom to see what caused her glee. "The Blood Moon Ball will be here, Varney. How exciting." She called out, hugging the letter tightly and dropped back onto her bed, floundering her legs with cheerful kicks.

mentions SidTheSkid Eldarkon Athanas | interactions Loomis

 

[thinking]

[it makes my chest hurt to think of it.] [tainn, elu]
[mentions/interactions: Sepokku , zlexis RedLeftHand36 ]

The onslaught of rain subsided itself, each and every drop strenuously spat leaving an aroma of earth in its trail. Its scent spread through her nostrils to heightened receptors, each breath a dampened call toward nature. Elu still held her composure after all these years of diminishing such primal urges… The instinctive, predatory nature kept sensibility at stake and to restrain her pack is such a lost gamble. She could not prevent herself from this turmoil, unparalleled emotions jotted and jived as blackened veins crawled on her hands and magnificent claws grew from her fingertips. The most austere gaze glowed a darkened hue comparable to amber whiskey, without humanity. Yet all retracted back in on itself when a vibration alerted in her jacket’s pocket.

It was Riaan, her noble knight in shining armour. Home soon.She yearned for this so-called soon, it could not come quick enough. Riaan would still be out for a while, her co-leader relished in the art of hunting. A mesmerising skill only for the most patient, controlled and reverent soul- something Elu had yet to reign. The leader’s robust front masked this sickening weakness. Riaan’s absence tugged like a fish hook caught in her heart, the organ was trapped with the inability to be released from its captive state without his aid. It palpitated helplessly like a fish’s gills without water; naked, vulnerable and useless. Exasperated, the phone was dismissed as quickly as it was answered. Elu was uncertain that even this moment of composure would bring any clarity. It was a sensible idea, to go back and socialise with the Pack, considering that she almost answered to instinct five minutes ago, she did not feel safe in solitude.

The bar’s occupants had dispersed since the original calling of the meeting, the stragglers that remained seemed to be enjoying themselves. From a distance did Elu observe witty Dani striking up a goofy drinking game between some defeated pack members. Dani’s untimely arrival into the pack was welcomed, she kept the peace between most– even if it did contribute to fistfuls of scrapping.

Meanwhile there was Edward; still so bitterly cold. He always struck her with his blind gaze and the salty scent of him crystalised on her tongue. Such an elderly sailor that failed to dry on land, the sea man’s presence was ominous. What a peculiar strength, to silence the room with such decrypted rhetoric. Lathered in this natural, poised and assertive soapy existence the elder was unquestionable. Elu could only dream of his sensibility. However for Edward to be Leader would be disastrous: his sharpness would possibly cloud judgement and his traditional techniques may stir trouble.

“...And the big bad wolf gets his ears clipped and his tail docked…” Elu’s heart sank as the thick resentment drowned her like a seabird in oil; she only caught the tail end of the speech but she knew what he was on about. He was correct, it did not sit right with him either– to submissively roll over was unacceptable and weak.
“The meeting is over, Edward.” Elu grasped for reasoning to halt this conversation from becoming any more political. She needed to tread carefully, this was a sensitive subject that Edward was very passionate about. The dark crimson blood that oozed reluctantly from his self-inflicted wound was forbidden and irresistible. She shuddered inside. The finality of her first sentence was obvious and continued to Edward, her voice lulling yet not patronising. She took the time to make her way over to him, pulling a stool out from under the bar to sit next to him.

“I am not going to apologise for interrupting you, Old Salt. This storm has brewed long enough, it’s only a matter of time before…” Elu could not stop thinking about Kitchi, her son, her weakness. Edward most probably senses her wavering, “A matter of time before this storm breaks it’s Hell.”

 

[DarkKitsune]

SILVERMIST CEAROS
LOCATION: WALKING THROUGH SAINT HADDOCK
INTERACTIONS: OPEN
Silvermist walked through Saint Haddock with her ‘broom’ and her bag, The dark of the night mixed with the glitter of the stars looked beautiful…if only she wasn’t tired of that same old scenery. Even in the day time it was dark the only way one could tell time anymore was with the use of a clock. She yawned as she made her way back home. she passed some of the few remaining places of businesses, She stared at the list thinking of how she would obtain these items. Plants needed sunlight and the best she could do was artifical sun light. According to the books natural light helped plants grow better, it was one of the hard ships in the nature of the shop she owned. She had to grow these things herself and maintaining the right enviroment was difficult considering the state the town was in. The places she grew them in were also scattered across town for the sake of preventing people from getting to them; not that they’d know what to do with them anyway. Eventually she made it home, she the bucket that was outside her makeshift door, there was a red envelope in it and it spoke of a Redmoon Ball. Now that was something new, she could probably try to attend it it could possibly get her more clients. But for now she needed to rest.​

 

[RedLeftHand36]

Edward

Salt
[INTERACTIONS WITH thinking , MENTIONS Sepokku ]

There's that smell of petrichor...

One might argue he had nearly smiled as soon as Dani offered some semblance of agreement with him. Was it out of satisfaction the anyone at all might see his point of view? Probably not. He wasn't so shallow. Regardless, any semblance of emotion twisted and contorted into that usual, ever-present sneer, a look of disgust and disdain, and it was not broken by the ever-so-prompt return of the leader-apparent. Lifeless as his eyes were, useless and cold and barren as they were, the look of unextinguishable defiance permated even where his pupils would have been.

"The meeting is over."

At least, those were the words that came out of her maw. Every second felt like waiting to snatch an albatross out of the air; Prone to ill-luck, yet no less satisfying in its attempt to clean the muck away. And empty glass in his hands, but still salt coated upon its rim. Edward could not help but wipe it with his finger, and suckle upon it for a brief moment. Salt was the mark of life, but what life was this? All the luck of a clergyman whistling on board as the sun rises red. Still, though, now he manned the guiding light, and this ship would not crash with him onboard. Edward turned his ear like one would peer through an eyehole as Elu Tainn approached. He remained standing as she took her seat so close to him. Again the semblence of an unborn smile. Almost as if he was stifling amusement, though perhaps that wasn't quite it. Something about his long, gnarled knob of a nose twitched as she contemplated her own struggles and spoke of storms on the horizon. Then... he sat.

Merely by sitting, the very motion of this act, he conveyed one thing: Any authority Elu Tainn possessed, Edward Wake would judge. He sat as a stern father would, and tapped his empty glass to signal his want for more. Ed was greedy and gluttonous, and his monstrous appetite extended to an acute hunger for others to reach their potential true. He would not say Elu Tainn was not worthy of leading them. But he would say that she was not ready for leading them like this. To him, she was still a pup, not out of age, but of unwillingness to bear the burden of a monster. They were all monsters. Abysmal creatures, though certainly not the most abominable. He'd seen worse. Another drink of salted liquor, straight and smooth before he took issue again. Again, he set down his glass like a gavel, and then his deep and rumbly voice like the breaking of stone, and all the physical presence of thunder.

"A cap'n doesn't sail a storm by doin' nothin'. Otherwise, his sails'll tear, and his masts'll break. You wanna sail a storm? You gotta act to get to smoother waters. Tall tides'll capsize any ship, and unless we move the boat, we'll all drown."

Edward motioned for more, and more he took. One could likely smell the stench of brine from his lungs, stained with the tinge of copper. He tilted his head at Elu, not for a better 'look', but to ask with motion: Was she really just going to let nature run its course right on over us all?

 

[Eldarkon]

As Sabine started to come to her senses and began to stand up, Dante lent a helping hand by keeping her steady. Her wounds were healing quickly, but a blow to the head always makes the world go fuzzy for a bit. “Yes of course, I was wondering where your sister was in all of this”. Although Dante did not have the best first impression with Charlotte, her and Sabine shared a strong bond.

Dante then looked to the hole in the wall again “Yes, it was an act of cowardice. But it was an impressive one. It takes a lot of skill to pull off a shot like that” He then looked back to Sabine with a serious expression “And the shooter knew exactly where to hit you to take you out. These agents seem a bit beyond the regular cut of the mill. We must be cautious”.

He raised his eyebrow at the mention of the assailant's powers. The sword sticking out of his shoulder would put him at a disadvantage. Nevertheless, he needed to press on and help his new partner “Thanks for the info”. He watched as Sabine dusted herself off. She truly was beautiful, even in her current state. Dante giggled at her remark “I couldn't agree more”

“You're right. I sense her this way” Dante followed closely behind Sabine’s lead.They came back to the club floor, the moon shining through the hole that Dante made to the roof “I’ll send some of my people to patch it up”. After dealing with Sabines security Guard, Dante followed her outside. In the distance he could see Magus over Charlotte. Sabine raced to her sister, but Dante kept his distance. A scene from his past played through his mind, one he had not thought of in over a hundred years. Dante just stood there in silence, his head bowed down. “My love…..” he said in a somber tone. A tear began to form in his eye, but was quickly snuffed. This was not the time or place. Luckily it seemed as no one had seen this moment of weakness, and Dante wanted to keep it that way.

Sabine now was approaching with her sister. All of them had fought there battles, and it was time to heal. “Thank you for your hospitality my dear Miss DeLorme, but I must take my leave” Dante said to Sabine, gently raising her hand and kissing her ring once again “I will see you both tomorrow”. A blood bath sounded great, along with a thorough review of tonight's events with the Crimson Lords, Dante’s lieutenants. Walking out to the street, Dante left the sisters to head back into Club Lazarus.

Dante raised his left wrist to his mouth, pressing his fingers to the intricate triangle rune tattoos. The markings began to glow, a faint red light illuminating his face. “My business here has ceased”. Within a few moments, a sleek black car turned the corner and pulled up right in front of him, identical to the one that dropped him off. A young man in a black leather trench coat exited the driver's seat and stepped out to meet Dante, opening the passenger door.

“Good work Gaius” Dante praised the man, resting his gloved hand on his driver's shoulder before entering the car. Gaius was Dante’s new chauffeur and assistant, only starting a few months ago. He was the son of his last assistant, Scorpus, who had passed right before Gaius’s employ. Dante decided to choose his assistants and servants from only one bloodline, grooming them to be loyal and competent, with sons taking the place of fathers and daughters taking the place of mothers. “Thank you sir” Gaius said with satisfaction and a smile, closing the car door behind Dante. Getting back to the drivers seat, Gaius began to drive in the direction of home.

Loomis Loxely SidTheSkid

Spoiler: Gaius

 

[RedLeftHand36]

Thaumus | Thomas

The Blackcoat and the Ashmaker
[Collaborative Post with zlexis ]

Ill met by moonlight, proud Lamb of God...

From the darkness, the stranger offered only silence and stillness for the moment. At this juncture, this seemingly pivotal point in time, the darkness of the room gave no quarter, suffocating as may be. The only semblance of human-like texture were the pale hands caught in the dim, artificial light that intruded through a lonely window. And yet despite how ominous it all was, the king of it all was that cold calmness. The grace of a cat. The patience of a spider. The intellect of a crow. The instinct of a wild dog. For all that sleek intensity, all the machine-like cunning, there was still the presence of something older than cracked concrete, and a crown of wild, thorny overgrowth. A king of nothing, a lord of emptiness. If one knew, they might shed a tear. The man in the light did not. But he would come to brush against it. A weed in the crack of a sidewalk.

The minds of men did not forget their instinct.

This lamb did not have the strength to turn to the heavens, but that was good. It would be counterproductive. Noise was made, harsh and violent against the scene at play, and after questions were made, a polished black dress-boot bushed a meagre plastic bottle full of water close to the hands of the mage. Questions. Reasonable. Logical. Pitiable. A sheen of light responded to the thought of being so in the dark, ironic to the situation. Were this a situation of typicality, there would have only been more silence. But even ghosts must speak when they need to be heard.

“Don’t get up. Pour it gently. Rest your neck.”

Contemplation. It would be meditative were the situation not so involved in one’s brutality. What was that phrase he heard before? Time was the greatest healer. A somewhat naïve notion, given the prospect of infection and slow deaths. But not entirely untrue as a generalisation. A moment of introspection. Paper folders, their contents with them, briefly being shuffled about. Then an arm reached into an interior breast-pocket, pulling out two things at once. The dull sheen of a time-worn pocket watch dimly glistened against the exterior lighting, but it was left at the man’s side as he sat on a shabby two-seater couch that fit all too well with the rest of the surroundings.

The second object was a photo, and it was tossed even onto the floor, closer than the water bottle was, about elbow’s length away. Within it, the image of a sizable and handsome-faced man. The one that the mage would surely recognize as his brutalizer. In the blank white of the photo, the name ‘Dante Wolfsbane’ was written in perfectly legible handwriting, just barely distinguishable from a typeface, having utilised a permanent black marker to do so.



An olive branch. An impassive gesture of goodwill. The bottle rolled close, and he was lured by its splashing contents. Perhaps it was a veiled attempt at amicability, but the warlock could not care either way. He reached for the bottle, grasped it timidly, and hesitated. This would be awkward. However, the shadow did not strike him as someone who would be bothered, hence Tom bit the bottle cap, twisting it with his mouth, and spat the lid onto the floor. It clattered into the darkness.

Clear instructions went ignored. He guzzled the water quickly, as sparse as it was. When he finished, he tossed the crumpled plastic to the side, too. A challenge. Tom stared into the shadow’s eyes; luminous, overpowering, and giving off an illusive air of reality to the scene.

The shadow’s movements were fluid, as if rehearsed. Even sinking into the couch was one with the room, eyes in every corner. His cold command for attention, almost that of a king, gave Tom a sinking sense of dread. The lighting did no favors when framing his figure in an ominous light. From his jacket, he’d procured two items, both of interest to the mage. He slightly flinched as a photo was tossed to his side, the same as the bottle was.

As the picture fluttered to the floor, Tom glared at the vampire’s image. Would the man expect a reaction? Surely, if he showed this, then he was well aware of what had occurred. Who had disfigured him. The rooftop. Club Lazarus. He grimaced.

“Leader of the Crimson Tears. His power unique to anything we’ve seen.” He spoke purposely, as he was not in any rush. “I do not know what you intend by showing me this. I’ve seen this face. I know what we are after.”

He glared some more.

“And you’ve not answered my questions.”

Not accusing in tone, but instead a statement of observation. If he were to not receive answers, there would be no point in wasting his breath.



Another brief moment of silence. It was almost as if the blackcoat could offer no response save within the quiet stillness. Perhaps it was the nature of his voice. It was always just barely above a whisper, so calm and deliberate in nature, like everything the stranger did. Slowly, he moved to open his watch. In the faded, pale light, one might just make out the shapes of a myriad of animals, faded by the particular hues of oxidised bronze. Though he opened it, his gaze did not move, as if he did not need to. He snapped it shut. The one noise he produced of his movements. Compared to everything else, it was grating.

Were all the Deo Volente like this? Shame.

This time, he reached into the opposite direction, pulling a small, black book from within his coat. He wiggled it as if it were some kind of symbol of authority, or some other form of identification. And then he placed it atop the thick folder at his side. And with that, came the voice once again.

“One who knows,” came the answer, simultaneously simple as an answer could be, and all the more cryptic in nature. “And one knows much.”

A moment of silence yet again. Let the noise settle and fade. The nature of the room around them offered the slightest hint of an echo, and one found it displeasurable. Soon enough, he would continue, slowly, rhythmically, almost in the form of a poetic speech. Always to let the quiet stillness reclaim the room.

“One seeks peace and quiet. The noise endangers us all. Even you. That is, after all, why you are in such a state. Your kin. One’s kin. They are loud. Because one’s kin are loud, the Deo Volente see it fit to walk over the necks of anything they deem unnatural, which is much. Your kind are loud, and so one’s kin find them prey all too easy to ignore. And so spins the wheel.”

The shadow tapped the black book with the ends of his porcelain fingers.

“One knows much, and will do what he can for the sake of the quiet. But know that one holds no love for the Deo Volente, although one is a loving being. This is for you, and only you, and only for the sake of the quiet.”



"The quiet," he repeated, voice in a whisper, an echo of the shadow's words. The quiet. That would be convenient. After all, they were dubbed Peacemakers. (Himself, an Ashmaker). Perhaps, under different circumstances, the two would find some affinities, and in this life at least common ground. The quiet. Convenient, but perhaps impossible, since the longer vampires shared breath with himself and others in Paradise, The quiet would be an impractical goal, unsurmountable to achieve. He shifted, another demand ignored, to sit upwards and better see the shadow. There was a poor attempt to hide his wince. The black book, now united with the folder, lured Tom's interest. A great desire, something with curiosity and cats, overcame the man as he was inclined to see the hidden contents. Like a book, was he too easy to read, sprawling his emotions across his features? Now propped up, Tom chanced a better glance at the shadow. Eyes like lighthouses, unmoving. Inhuman. Oh. Oh.


"Your kin," A pause with a sudden realization for the man who'd been too delirious to think rationally, at any compacity, until now. Recollection of the conversation thus far with new context. Bafflement as to the point this was beginning to feel like a sick joke, the kind where only you had no awareness and played the part of the hapless mark. But it was in plain sight, wasn't it? Etched in his tone of words, or his movement, the way the shadow weaved through the room, a spider building his web. And here, the fly; a broken body tangled in an unfamiliar place.

"You're a vampire, yet..." You saved me? went unsaid. The shadow had a distaste for the actions of his own kind. Quiet disapproval, but not hatred. As for the Deo Velonte, it was evident that the rescue was not from the goodness of his cold heart. No, it was all for his sake of quiet. Were the Lieutenant a lesser-known man, tonight he'd be in a morgue, quietly sent to the ashes that claimed him, instead of a cold room with this stranger.

"...You're different," he finished. And interesting. But he carefully omitted that second thought. Then he drew in a sharp breath and continued, "Though I can't say I'm too fond of your kind, either. You're... they're the reason my life has been nothing but noise. Constant, fucking noise. Yes. I'd like the quiet, too. I'd do anything, absolutely anything."

And he had done anything that was asked by the Deo Velonte. Molded by them, created by them. When would he stop being played with? A hand combed through his hair, brushing back the brown strands from his eyes, but it lingered there and gripped even harder until a strain was put on his head. The tangent continued.

"If you know as much as you claim you do, then I want to know as well. Show me what you have, and tell me what you've seen."



There seemed to be no regard for the arguably well deserved remarks towards the kind of creature the shadow was of, though perhaps there were unkind thoughts in turn, invisible to the eye as they were. The blackcoat pocketed the strange watch, and with the same hand took the little black book, his other hand grasping at the thick folder that was under it. First, he held up that small black book. For a brief moment, as the stranger angled it, bits of other photos could be seen within its pages. The blackcoat then did the same with the folder. Then he turned his head towards the latter, nodded, without his eyes moving at all, and then spoke two words.

"Your kin."

He then motioned to the little black book.

"One's."

He sat them both on the floor, but this time, just out of reach. There was a statement behind that action, as if the stranger was exercising his control of the situation at hand. Just briefly, as he leaned down to do so, the momentary glimpse of a face like porcelain, though the shadows continued to obscure the area around and above his strange eyes. And then the stranger stood up, moving like an automaton, smoothly and seemingly without recognition of gravity. For a moment, he continued looking down upon the warlock, and within the second, a black cat jumped onto the windowless windowsill close to the doorway that had offered the meagre light to this scene. Just the same as before, with those unnatural eyes, though this one was somewhat smaller, and with a notable yet old tear on in its right ear.

The stranger walked slowly towards the doorway, apparently to make his leave, but paused. It was a somewhat strange sight, as he so tenderly, delicately, gently moved his fingers, then the rest of his hand, over the cat. The sight of one who loved their dear companion was unmistakable. Undoubtable. Unshakeable. The cat did not meow, not once nor ever, but, just barely audibly, it purred. Eyes like pearls met one pinholed with naught but the abyss, and back-coated just the same. A final few thoughts, wondering if it truly was best to end their conversation here.

"John will look after you for the time being," came that whisper. "Rest. You will need your strength. Should you seek me again... well..."

He scratched softly at the base of the cat's ears.

"I will know."

...

A whining dog outside. Another one. Two moons, two eclipses. A letter in its mouth. The shadow wondered when he would recieve it. Invitations were no surprise, not at this point. Neither were moons stained red. Kindness in exchange for the assortment of paper. In reality, vampires were little more than humans with a little of something else flowing in their body, like ink among the rain. A wild coyote, but in truth, living beings were still living beings, and love was a language shared by all.

But alas, so was fear.

 

[Eldarkon]

Dante Charon and Virgil Dante closed his eyes, sinking into the plush, supple Corinthian leather seats, relishing a moment of relief. But his tranquility was abruptly shattered as cigar smoke wafted into his face, accompanied by a familiar voice. "Wow, they really did a number on you father," the voice taunted from across the car. Dante's sons, Virgil and Charon, sat before him, their crimson eyes glowing in the dimly lit interior, now illuminated by the city's streetlights. “They ruined your favorite suit. You better have killed the fucker that did that”. Rolling his eyes, Dante dismissed his son's comment. "Consider yourselves lucky that I did not send either of you for this assignment. The enemy I faced tonight was beyond the both of you" he retorted, although it was only partially true. Both Virgil and Charon possessed the power to defeat Thomas Barrett, but such a confrontation would have cost them their lives.
“At least you came back with a souvenir” Charon chuckled, his dark tendrils flicking the sword lodged in his father's shoulder. The sudden movement sent a sharp pain through Dante's body, transforming his bored expression into one of annoyance. "Yes, a holy sword," Dante acknowledged, gripping the handle. He glanced at Virgil, who nodded in understanding. With a swift motion, Dante withdrew the sword, the flow of blood halted by Virgil's concentrated gaze. Dante had waited until this moment to remove the blade, to avoid creating a mess in front of Sabine. Virgil's powers would contain the blood, allowing Dante to get the wound properly stitched up. The injury would take as long to heal as if Dante was mortal, and it would inevitably leave a scar.

"You're improving, my son," Dante praised, a proud smile illuminating his face. "Not a single drop spilled. I'm impressed." Virgil returned his father's smile, appreciating the recognition. Mastering blood manipulation was no easy feat; it demanded decades of training. Virgil had only recently manifested this ability, having honed it for the past four decades under Dante's relentless guidance. Dante then turned his attention to his other son “Charon, did our friend Mr. Franklin pay off his final debt?”. Charon's toothy grin widened as he replied, "Unfortunately, Mr. Franklin fell short by ten thousand dollars." From the shadows, a dark tendril emerged, carrying a bloodless, dismembered arm adorned with a gold diamond watch and five diamond rings. "I spared his life, but he has a week to pay the rest. I thought this would serve as a suitable punishment," Charon chuckled. Dante erupted into laughter. "That's my boy! Well done."

A bead of sweat trickled down Virgil's forehead as he struggled to prevent any blood from escaping Dante's open wound. Maintaining his focus was paramount. "We have much to discuss when we get back home," he said, his voice tinged with urgency. "Significant events have unfolded, and we must plan accordingly if we want to succeed." Dante projected his thoughts to Gaius, urging him to hasten their journey. "Faster, my boy. My son can't sustain this state indefinitely, and I won't tolerate blood ruining my seats." "Yes, sir. On the double," Gaius thought, stepping harder on the gas pedal and maneuvering the corners with increased speed. Within minutes, they arrived in front of a towering condominium nestled in the heart of the city. They had reached home.

Spoiler: Dante's Penthouse

The luxurious car pulled up to the grand entrance of the imposing condo building, a gleaming architectural marvel that pierced the night sky. Dante, Virgil, and Charon stepped out, their presence commanding attention even in the upscale neighborhood. They made their way through the ornate lobby, adorned with marble pillars and intricate chandeliers that cast a warm golden glow. Ascending in the sleek elevator, the trio reached the top floor, where their opulent penthouse awaited. The doors slid open, revealing a sprawling living space bathed in soft ambient lighting. Luxurious furnishings, Dante's impressive art collection, and floor-to-ceiling windows with breathtaking views of the city added to the air of extravagance. Dante, Virgil, and Charon settled onto the sumptuous couch, sinking into the cushions that cradled them.

A skilled medic, dressed in a crisp white coat, entered the room with a medical bag in hand. The medic approached Dante, who sat patiently, his face a mask of stoicism. With precise movements, the medic cleaned the wound on Dante's shoulder and expertly stitched it together. Each delicate suture brought Dante closer to recovery, the pain receding as the wound mended. As the medic worked, a butler entered the room, carrying a small black envelope. The butler bowed slightly and extended the tray to Dante. "Sir, this just came for you. a special invitation for you," the butler announced in a respectful tone.

Spoiler: Nehemiah

"Thank you Nehemiah" Dante said, accepting the envelope. Noting the elegant calligraphy that adorned its surface. He broke the wax seal, revealing an embossed invitation with intricate details. His eyes scanned the contents, a hint of intrigue dancing in their depths. "The Blood Moon Ball," Dante read aloud, his voice resonating with a mix of curiosity and amusement. "An event of grandeur, it seems." Virgil leaned forward, his interest piqued. "Father, shall we attend? It could be an opportunity to gather information and make powerful alliances."

Dante considered his son's words, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Indeed, Virgil. We shall go. Prepare our finest attire and set an appointment with my tailor. we will need something exquisite to wear." The butler, ever attentive, discreetly made a note of the instructions, ensuring every detail would be handled flawlessly. "As you wish, sir. Your tailor will be informed immediately."

With the wound now properly tended to, Dante's shoulder began to feel more whole, his strength returning. He glanced down at the sword he pulled from his shoulder "I bet the Deo Velonte will be there" Dante thought to himself "This trophy could send a much needed message". With mischievous smile, He rose from the couch, a sense of purpose radiating from him. "Gentlemen, we have much to prepare. The Blood Moon Ball awaits us, and it's time to make our presence known." Virgil and Charon stood in unison, ready to embark on this new endeavor alongside their father. The penthouse buzzed with an energy both exhilarating and foreboding as plans were set into motion, alliances forged, and secrets yet to be unveiled.

 

[zlexis]

Riaan Joseph

Location:
west side
Mentions: thinking | RedLeftHand36 | Sepokku
Mood: contemplative​

Familiar trees. Familiar buildings. Familiar lights. As the red, rugged truck traversed from dirt paths to paved roads, the driver sighed, a soft and gentle noise disproportionate to his size, relieved to be closer to the woods that he called home. To an onlooker, it might be comical seeing the hairy man hunched over the wheel of the beat-up car, packed like cigarettes. The spoils of his trip would be brought to his pack, keeping a promise of barbeque, chili, and, much to his excitement, more jerky. With a low groan from the stomach, his foot pushed on the gas.

He would arrive before sunrise, having spent most of the drive under the moonlight. He wondered, briefly, what the rest of his kin were up to, hoping that it was as quiet a week for them as it was for his Hunt. Questions would not go unanswered for long as the truck rumbled over gravel and backed into a carport, a simple cover consisting of four poles and a weather-beaten roof attached to a trailer home of equal dilapidation, which reflected a warm glow from the porch light, a little sun illuminating the purples and reds and yellows in the flower pots that framed the door and windows. Behind, a simple garden raised beds of vegetables, fruits, and herbs. All his handiwork. All his pride and joy.

Must have rained recently, he thought, as puddles dotted the landscape, little remnants of blessings from above. Fresh, earthly tones in his senses relaxed his mind. Such a simple feeling. Known by all, unappreciated by most.

As he finished unloading the meats from his truck into his shed, an unassuming shack a few paces from the trailer, he noticed the envelope, placed deliberately on the front steps of his home. Brows furrowed. Shoulders slacked. All the giddiness, his second wind from being in home territory, dissipated at that moment. The wall went up, little bricks stacked with cement. So, this again? Crimson moons that demanded change? More trouble for his kin, more unrest amongst the others. Storms on the coast, a pungent taste on the tongue. Perhaps it had not been so quiet in his absence.

Muddy boots left an imprint on the invitation as Riaan slammed the door and flopped belly-first into bed. It would not be long before Kitchi notices his parked truck and comes running to his door, a little ball of energy demanding to swing from his arms and pull at his beard. Elu would follow, wrangling the tot, and they would catch up as the day escapes them, the leader being the most talented at getting more than a few words out of the man. Or Dani would bring stories of her recent winnings, alcohol swinging by her hips, and take a gander at the odd noises in his car. Squirrels in the engine, he'd say, and the mechanic would scoff and fix it like magic. One always so quick to take the world on her shoulders. As always, Riaan put the best cut of meat to the side for the old man, a strong respect for his elders beaten into his conscience at a young age, with a calm familiarity for the fisherman types, a reminder of home like a breeze of salted air. Edward would sniff it out, and whether he'd stop by or not was of no consequence. The man was of the wind, too stubborn to be led in any direction.

Perhaps he'd be lucky to catch a couple of hours of shut-eye. Perhaps that was wishful thinking. Deciding he'd try anyways, the man nodded off to sleep. Finally, home.

coded by archangel_

 

[Anaxileah]

---

---

Interactions: Sabine, Charlotte, Dante, & Cecilia ( Loomis Loxely Eldarkon thinking ) | Authors: SidTheSkid Anaxileah | Location: Club Lazarus > Cordelia's Apartment

---

Cordelia frowned as she helped Magnus to his feet, her brow furrowed as she watched him interact with the sisters and waited until he was done with them, turning on her heel to head back to the car. She began to cross the damp, abandoned street with heels that clicked in irritation, followed by her flaming red hair shining in the dimly glowing streetlights. "Let's go, Magnus. It's late, and I'm exhausted. We need sleep, you need some bandaging." She had noticed the bloodied hand before he hid it away, her expression obviously unhappy with the matter.

Weariness settled upon Magnus, sculpting visible lines of exhaustion across his bristly face, each of his limbs burdened as though there’d been anchors strapped around them; his entirety was thoroughly drained and the weight of the night's events had him deeply longing for some rest, which tediously tugged at his drooping eyelids, compelling him to seek some consolation in the passenger seat of Cordelia's awaiting vehicle. The SUV chirped as it unlocked, signifying he should enter accordingly. Magnus prepared himself to enter inside the passenger side, but before he’d do so, his sense of courtesy prompted him to turn his attention back towards Dante. He didn’t want to be disrespectful and leave without a proper ‘adieu’ and so with a gentle wave, Magnus bid him farewell prior to popping into the passenger seat of the SUV and closing the door behind him, at last, concluding this tumultuous chapter in his life. “Man… Tonight could’ve gone a little bit better.” He’d mutter with a tiresome huff.

"It certainly could have, if you'd actually let me know what you were getting into." She sighed, annoyed at his reckless behavior, and shifted the vehicle into gear, peeling into the bare street from the rather empty lot, passing by the vehicle housing the dark, brooding vampire that exited the club not long after Sabine and her sister entered. "You should have told me. I could have done something." She gritted her teeth, her knuckles white as she gripped the steering wheel and sped to her place, hoping Cecilia had already done her magic with the sloppy mess Lia left behind earlier that morning.

With Cordelia's chiding words washing over him, Magnus slumped against the back of his seat, his expression now reflecting a hint of annoyance while he closed his eyes briefly to gather his thoughts before speaking. "I'm still kicking, aren't I? Have a little faith in me wontcha? Besides, I wasn't the target of tonight's fiasco anyway." His tone carried a touch of self-assurance, tinged with a hint of playful defiance. He’d end up shifting around to get himself more comfortable, his cheek soon finding support against the palm of his hand.

She scoffed, glancing at him with disbelief before turning her attention back to the road. "You know, I get that you have a goal or something you want to prove, but being an idiot isn't going to get you there. You should have brought backup." You should have brought me. She bit her lip, refraining from saying what else was on her mind. A defeated sigh escaped her as they revved through the downtown area at much higher speeds than were permitted. “I…I didn’t like how you sounded on the phone. I’m sorry for worrying.” Her tone was much more reserved than the concerned, almost fearful one she carried before, her hands relaxing on the steering wheel. She didn’t want to anger him or make matters worse, and truth be told, she was too tired to give a damn right now.

A deep shuddering sensation influenced Magnus's body as his thoughts involuntarily veered back to the unsettling incident he had endured in the bathroom, the traumatic thoughts even made him realize that his hands were beginning to shake; Cordelia's concern was very much justified, and he couldn't ignore the unease that had settled within him regarding his own psyche. However, he suspected that it was Charlotte's scream in the background that warranted her concern, as she had no realization of what happened before that, perhaps it was time for him to open up and share the truth with her of what's been happening as of lately. "N-no, it's okay. I sorta just left that call when one of the DeLormè sisters got attacked but… before that? I… I saw something. I think the stress of keepin' the peace is gettin' to me, Lia. It's either that or the studies, you're the only one who knows about the 'dead magic' I've been looking into, hah, maybe I ended up getting cursed?" Her eyes widened as she listened, stealing a couple glances at him as she drove, a twinge of fear in her gaze.

A soft chuckle escaped him, the aspect of being 'haunted' seemed almost comical, but in a world where supernatural creatures roamed the streets, anything was possible. "But, this discussion is probably best suited for tomorrow, when both of us aren't dead tired. Thank you Lia, for comin', I know it takes a real champion to deal with a fool like me sometimes." The trembling in his hands ceased as his nerves settled, a grateful expression graced his features as he looked over at her - he was glad to have her as a friend. Their eyes met briefly before she turned once more to focus on the road, coming to a stop at the nearest red light. Whether it was the glow of the stoplight or her embarrassment that caused it, her cheeks were a tinge of red as she sat there in silence, wondering how to respond. She hadn't been the recipient of such gratitude in longer than she could remember, and it felt odd. As Magnus' fatigue seeped further into his bones, the vibrations of the car began to act as a lullaby, causing him to doze off. The rest of the trip was as quiet as the night surrounding them, save for the soft music on the crackling radio.

~At the apartment~

The violet SUV pulled into the barren parking lot, wheels bumping against the curb as she parked in front of her ratchety building, the time on her phone just hitting four in the morning. She made a soft noise of irritation as she unbuckled, giving a sideways glance to Magnus - he was sleeping peacefully in the passenger seat, exhaustion clearly written on his face, and she hesitated. I don’t want to wake him… She groaned softly, resting her forehead against the steering wheel. Slipping the rectangular device from her pocket into her palm, she tapped the screen, returning to her conversation with Cecilia. I hope you tidied up. Car ride's over. Lia thought back to the mess around her studio apartment and grimaced, opening the driver door as quietly as she could. She came round to the passenger side, opening the door for Magnus with the same gentility. “Magnus…? We’re here.”

"Hrnngh?" Magnus churned from his slumber, his roused senses gradually pulled back into wakefulness by Cordelia's hushed whisper; the bitter chill of the night air seeped its way into the vehicle through the opened passenger door, further jolting him to attention. While trying to blink away the remnants of sleep, he glanced around with a slightly disoriented expression, slowly figuring out that they had just arrived at Cordelia's place. A sheepish smile tugged at his lips as he discreetly wiped away a small trail of drool from the corner of his mouth with one of his sleeves, hoping that she hadn't noticed that the comfortable ride back had clearly gotten the best of him. "Oohkay!" With a sluggish motion, Magnus unfastened the seat belt around his waist and stepped out of the vehicle. Once fully outside he stretched his arms up high above his head, relishing in the wonderful sensation of his muscles extending and loosening; a lengthened yawn snuck throughout his lungs and escaped through his lips, breaking the stillness of the night as he stood beside Cordelia. "I think I'm just gonna crash on your couch as soon as I get in, hope you're fine with that."

Lia nodded, smiling tightly as waves of sleepiness washed over her, making the trip up the stairs a lot less brisk and refreshing than it was an hour earlier. She trudged up the steps, the clacking of her boots echoing in the eerily soundless night air. With her keys in hand, she rummaged through a couple until she found the one to her apartment - some of the other keys held too many memories to part with, cluttering up her keychain - and unlocked the door, cracking it open a tiny bit. “Cici, you in here?” Glancing in, she frowned, seeing the place had been untouched, with Cecilia nowhere to be seen. Shrugging it off, she muttered a quick, “Give me a second,” and entered the messy apartment, closing the door gently behind her. The drained redhead spent the next couple minutes tidying up, shoving the dirty laundry into the hamper, the used dishes into the sink, and clearing away any clutter that was left behind from her previous excursions.

Wiping her hands on her jeans, she returned to the door, opening it and beckoning Magnus to enter, who sleepily obliged, heading to her couch without a word and collapsing on it with a huff. She grabbed her spare pillow and a blanket and gave them to the groggy blond, a soft chuckle escaping her lips as he was already passed out. Moving to the barren closet, she grabbed her sleep shirt and shorts, changed swiftly, and promptly did the same as Magnus in the comfort of her bed, finally brain dead enough to sleep.
​

 

[thinking]

[ever so brief, a kick in the teeth] [tainn, elu] [mentions: zlexis RedLeftHand36 , NPC]

we'll all drown.
A tumultuous chuff exhaled from Elu’s clenched jaw; a disconcerting nuance. The starkly obvious reality that they all faced was alarmingly dire. What could she do? To pull them up from this noose tied around their neck was blasphemous. Her body language stifled into a tense position on the bar stool. She didn’t really know what to say and the word just spewed out like vomit.
“This kick in the teeth will be brief.” Fucking hell, where do I go with this? “We will give my peaceful approach an attempt. My tolerance runs as thin as a vampire's blood and I will not hesitate to kill. When the time comes however now we must keep the pack composed. This anticipated war will need strategy and in the meantime vigilance.” She knew she couldn’t keep playing a fool. For a successful hunt, the wolf must act as one unit, driving the pursuit to a calculating and clever end. Elu stood up, brushing down her trousers with finality. Edward’s eyes bore resemblance to these high definition photographs of the moon, the ones you get in encyclopaedias of space… They were demanding, hefty and exhausted. “Thank you Edward for the input. I will be acquainting you soon.” And with heavy exertion, she left the main building of the bar. out the back again.

*​

It was almost dawn: not that you could really tell in the inebriating Fog. The humid, musty stench of damp stuck to her clothes and the alternating tones of darkness shifted with undoubted discontent. A familiar sat in the driveway of one of the nearby houses, it was Riaan’s red truck, raring and eager even after its adventure but it was too early-late to stop. She was too fatigued to bother stopping by, too.

The front door moaned with tension, it was not only stiff but controlled with Elu’s apprehension. The Leader did not want to mother:
“Ma. Ma!” So the child was awake and his blabbering was just about coherent. It wouldn’t have surprised Elu that Kitchi was just making noises rather than reacting to her presence. The hallway was warmly lit, leading up into the open-planned living room and kitchen.
“Hello pup,” She pulled some dollars out of her pocket and handed it to 'Tailless' Tomin who, in exchange, thanked her. “I’ll let you know what happened later. Now get yourself some breakfast.” Her friend gave her a few updates on how her child was, but she was not paying attention, he knew to quickly exit. What a helpless, feeble and almost infirm creature; her human child.
“Mama!” The plain featured toddler continued, he was sat on the bull hide rug in the middle of the room. Spittle flecked out of his mouth, as if his tongue was too big for it. His mother massaged her face and pushed her eyes into her skull, all while slumping down onto the welcoming sofa.
“Yes, Kit?” Elu could not believe she was conversing with him but it was too early to be engaging. Her amber eyes aligned with his brown as the boy writhed his body onto his back legs, unsteadily teetering on his feet. He repeated his monotonous bawling for her again occupied by the faint rustling of paper.

A letter for the Pack Leader was unusual, with such formality would only call for serious discussion. The envelope was decorated ornately, scribed with incognito font, addressed to Elu Tainn. Cutting open the unmarked, wax seal on the front felt peculiar and mysterious; high importance. The scent of the parchment paper was crisp, peeling open the actual letter itself told no other traceable scent of who it may have come from. Elu raised a concerned eyebrow, flipping the paper front to back a few times before tucking it back into the envelope. It was then discarded on the edge of the settee, with Kitchi now curled onto her lap a little more at ease.

Blood Moon Ball? Ball? Blood Moon? Moon? The words danced themselves to death because she then fell sound asleep.

 

[RedLeftHand36]

Edward

Salt
[MENTIONS thinking ]

It was good enough...

There it was. The whistle-blow. As every bit as tumultuous as fish left in the sun as he expected, and so the winds blew north to west. Crack. Crack. Crack. He felt like he wanted to snap his own neck. He felt like he wanted to disassemble himself like a puzzle someone else solved. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Fingernails that lacked humanity dug into the flesh of his neck to find what they could beneath the skin, and some small semblance of what could barely be called blood stained the tips of those calciferous blades. He licked his lips wet as any dog would when there was anticipation, and continued to drown himself for the better part of an hour. Soon enough, Edward left the establishment, satisfied with the results. One way or another, the offerings would roll into view. Outside, in the cool of the night, Edward paused and tilted his head upwards at the sky, and a cruel smile twisted from his mouth. His victorious laughter was silent. There was an ill moon on the rise, and with it, he would have his way.

Every step forward as he trudged his way south-side was met with inconsistency. He had got confirmation of what he wanted, or, rather, something close enough. But this was only the start of things. He had much to ponder. What was instinct other than the urgency of thought? And what drew the line between it and formulation? In the end, these would-be wolves were still monkeys deep down, and strategy was the same as intuition, merely drawn out to extensive and intricate lengths. People were people. The idea otherwise made him want to vomit in mockery. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Drunk as he had gotten himself, it did not detract from his cold hunger. The occasional passing of a late night car irritated his ears, and the horrid smells of the city only exacerbated his permanent sneer, but there he was, looking at unseen things without any proper eyes to speak. A monster without a shell was more capable than one with.

He would have to exemplify that.

Hix home was an old, beat up lighthouse, just barely operable. Despite the din and squalor, it shone brighter than the heavens ever could. An impure, horrid light that Edward could never hope to see like others did. But alas, he did not have to. He knew it without sight. It was his light. A wretched, festering, intrusive light, a plague that burned away all that was good and kind in the world, as full of apathetic chaos as the beast that tended to it. Yes, Edward was little more than a beast. Every step upward was heavy and hateful and greedy, as calloused, filthy hands dug into the cement walls like a fork scratching away at a soft chalkboard. He was drooling. Frothing. Mumbling and chuckling. An evil song just barely escaped his lungs.

"One for the blade that struck the whale
Two for the eyes of men who set sail
Three for the fork of the Devil himself
Four for the dog what drowned by the shelf
Five for bodies, forgotten in term
None for the eyeless eyes of the worm"

The top of the stairs. He could feel the light of the fresnel lens that beckoned sailor and storm alike. An ode to the bodies in the water, long forgotten, long lost to time and tide. An outsider would not know this, but Edward could see himself in that little room way up high. The light banished all colour. Everything was sickly pale. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. No more. He was safe here. In this light of his.

The noise that came from his throat was guttural and inhuman, and in seeming ritual his fingers raked his clothes to shreds in a violent and spectacular fashion, quick as lightning from a storm. His bare skin was covered in the fresh scars, as the mortification of his flesh was his offering to the vision he saw: A constant vision, a terrible knowledge. Whether it was real to other people was of no consequence, because it was real to him. It was real, and terrible, and gruesome, and terrifyingly awesome. Lightning flashed, and in the sky, the silhouette of a God, Edward’s God. A serpentine figure to eat the world, a winding, nightmarish shape to writhe and wriggle with naught but the same foul intent that polluted the blind man’s soul… A worm that lurked below the Earth and the Skin, for Edward was made of mud and truth was carved upon his brow.

In his visions Edward howled. Not the howl of a hound at the moon. It was a scream, a shrill and piercing scream, of otherworldly ecstasy and torturous pain combined. He snarled and convulsed and tore into the skin of his face and chest as sacrament for the kind of wisdom one might be unsure of being a spell, or simple insanity. The worm that plagued his visions slithered inside his very bowels as it slithered within the caverns below the ocean floor, and the old man shrieked in a manner that made him smile as he did so. He did not need to look within the letter on the floor beneath the entrance to the lighthouse. Without eyes, he could see better than ever. And the light told him all he needed to know…

 

[Loxely]

Location // Club Lazarus​

​

Soft classical music filled the luxurious marble bathroom as Sabine lowered herself into a bubble bath. Scents of citrus waffed upwards as she dipped her body into the steaming water, letting out a sigh of relief as the water surrounded her. Grabbing a handful of her platinum locks she tossed them up into a clip to keep the water from soaking into her hair. One of her loyal thralls silently walked in holding a silver platter, a single wine glass sat patiently waiting for the Vampire to take it. Without a word she took the glass and brought it close to her face, inspecting the dark liquid swirling around inside. This is exactly what she needed after the past few days.

She frowned slightly as memories from the Deo Volente attack flooded her mind, her free hand tracing her forehead where the bullet had penetrated her skull. Faint sounds from the construction in Lazarus rumbled below her, yet another painful reminder of what happened. Anger slowly building in the Vampire she drained the blood from her glass and violently tossed it, shards of glass and the remaining blood scattered across the bathroom floor. Closing her eyes tightly she attempted to calm herself, tonight was not the night for her hot temper to control her.

The sound of rushed footsteps caught her attention, opening her eyes she saw Sven and two other security guards standing in the doorway. After the attack on Lazarus Sabine had decided to beef up the security for not only herself but her sister and the Club. She watched as their concerned expressions softened as they realized there was no danger, just the remnants of her outburst.

“All is fine, gentleman,” her tone was cold and flat. “Send someone to clean the mess and bring me another drink,” Tipping her head back against the headrest she closed her eyes once again to try and regain control of the building anger.

Sabine could feel Sven lingering, which usually didn’t bother her, but she had been particularly testy lately and everything seemed to poke at her nerves. Sven had placed a lot of blame on himself from that night and had been glued to her side ever since. Letting out a loud, irritated sigh she sat up and turned to face him, her breast just barely covered by the fading bubbles.

“Unless you plan on joining me, I suggest you leave me be Sven,” her fingers playfully swirled the bubbles around as she slowly blinked up at the man. Sven lowered his gaze and shook his head, a small smile cracked his serious demeanor. Servants squeezed past the man and silently began taking care of the mess in the otherwise pristine bathroom. Sven took the new wine glass from the silver platter one of them had carried in and approached Sabine in the tub. The Vampire cocked an amused brow, she wasn’t expecting him to actually take what she said seriously.

“Tempting, but I just wanted to make sure you were alright,” He placed the new drink on the side of the tub and gave her a nod before dismissing herself. Shame, would have been fun, Sabine pouted slightly as she brought the drink to her lips and slowly indulged in the flavors.

Sabine stayed in the bath long enough to have a few more drinks and for the water to lose its searing touch. Forcing herself to leave the comfort of the bath she stepped out onto the cool marble and wrapped herself in a fluffy towel. Sauntering over to the intercom system on the wall she pressed the button and waited to hear a confirming voice on the other line.

“Do make sure my sister is preparing herself for this evening, we are already late as is.”

---

​

The slender woman slid gracefully into the hot tub, it's bubbles enveloping her frame while she submerged completely under. In the other room, the stoic handler approached a rather vintage looking record player. Setting a vinyl atop it and pinning delicately pinning the needle in place. A scratch of the record turned into the chime of a lullaby. Varney turned the knob to amplify the music's tunes to audibly be heard in the bathroom. Breaching the water in the tub, Lottie ran her claws through the long wispy strands of blonde locks. She rested her head along the edge of the tub with shut eyes, humming harmoniously with the melancholic song. The recording distorted hauntingly with other sounds, yet it somehow brought a sense of serenity to the vamp. Whoever initially had created the audio was by no means a professional due to the quality of the sound. It's eeriness would be unnerving to most and here Lottie found herself soothed into a state of pure tranquility. The song itself was shared with the two sisters many years before welcoming their new immortal life, a song their mother often played when the dark nights frightened little Lottie.

When the music came to an end, her eyes opened slowly to be welcomed by Varney standing before her. A freshly warmed towel in hand awaiting to embrace her bare skin. Stepping out of the tub with the assistance of her friend, she wrapped the towel around herself and made way to the singular stark white vanity. Planting herself on the pouf, she gazed at her reflection into the enchanted mirror. A smirk had sweetly formed. The delicate curve of her cupid's bow adds a touch of elegance to her overall visage, highlighting the grace and symmetry of her facial features. Averting her gaze to the white gown hanging on the opened door beside her, she felt tickled with excitement to fuel her ego further in the form of being dolled up for the seasonal ball. But that smile ceased as she recalled the day before. That poise jaw clenched tightly into a scowl of disdain for the intruders. The thought was fleeting as she considered the endless possibilities of those in attendance to the ball. One of which being, Magnus. Oh, how she grew giddy at the thought of him owing her a dance. His gruff exterior and gritty lifestyle created a sick infatuation within her.

Lottie's hair was slicked back to compliment her modern attire and the make up accentuated her soft features. While her were lips stained in a bold red shade, a contrast from the ivory gown and inevitable mask. She reached along her vanity to slip it over her head, taking one last glance in the mirror. Pleased with the combination of accessories and apparel. The rabbit mask being awfully deceitful compared to her rather sickening hobbies. Varney handed her a glass of blood wine, infused with her preferred substances. She graciously took a sip, patting him gently on the cheek with appreciation.

Upon approaching Sabine, she peered around to be seen within her sister's peripheral. "I'm ready, dear sister." She purred playfully in response to Sabine's command of the thrall, "Being fashionably late is quite the trend after all." Taking another gentle swig of her drink, careful to not smudge the fresh coat of lipstick. Her eyes raised from toe to head over kin's physique with a raised brow behind her white mask, "Quite the choice in attire, darling. I must say, it's awfully... alluring." Lottie teased behind the raised glass before sauntering off to Sabine's lush crimson bed. Taking up residence while she awaited for her to finish getting ready.

---

“You’re one to talk,” Sabine chuckled and turned to fully face her sister and take in her all white attire, a stark difference compared to the outfit Sabine had chosen. “A wolf in, rabbits, clothing…very nice.” She returned Lottie’s playful tone with a small smile, which had not been seen since the attack. It felt good to have some banter with her sister and not be full on in business mode, hopefully tonight would bring more lightheartedness in between her scheming. Reaching into the draws of her bathroom vanity she pulled out various products to prepare herself for the night ahead.

Fluffing her curled platinum locks she tilted her head back and forth as she inspected her attire, admiring the cinched waist the corset of her dress gave her. Without taking her eyes off her reflection Sabine leaned forward, extending her slender arm and pressed the intercom twice, a signal that they were now ready for their departure. There was no more delaying the inevitable, it was time to go. Sabine wouldn’t admit this to anyone but she was slightly anxious to leave her little sanctuary here at Lazarus. The ambush truly humbled Sabine and her team, it was quite obvious there were holes in the security around them. Even though Sabine had made the necessary steps to increase the overall security she was still going into uncharted territory. While she was familiar with The Regency, she did not have full control of the building or it’s security and that would leave the sisters vulnerable.

“Hand me my mask, sister dear?” Sabine cooed as she approached her sister on the plush velvet bed. The elevator chimed and the sound of the doors sliding open drew her attention in the general direction. Sven and Varney stood silently waiting for the two sisters to join them. "Don't you boys look lovely." Sabine complimented as she slipped the mask over her face, the lace slightly concealing her features. Taking hold of Lottie's hand she gently pulled her up from the bed and intertwined her arm with her sisters as the two of them slipped into the
elevator.

---

Watched quietly from her seat on the extravagant bed, she took opportunities to look at the décor that adorned her sister's room. Her gaze fell upon a rather nostalgic painting of Lottie sitting atop a nearby dresser. Initially her jaw clenched, matching stares with the illustration of herself. She felt a tinge of melancholy as she stood from the bed and approached the framed painting. Taking it in her grasp, that tension dropped and a heartfelt grin gingerly spread along her plush lips, Oh Sabine, you sap. Lottie thought playfully as she shot a quick glance over her shoulder to her sister who was still in the process of getting ready. Setting the frame down, a brow was raised simultaneously. One of the drawers was cracked open enough to reveal documents and photos have been sifted through. Knowing well enough Sabine was quite anal retentive about the placement of items in her room, so this was clearly an anomaly. Lottie slipped her thin fingers inside the drawer, flipped through it's belongings. Nearly all photos recognizable from their adventurous lives, yet one in particular seemed absent. Furrowing her brows, she quickly flipped through again to confirm. Taking in a long swig to top off her beverage, Lottie took a mental note of the missing photo but nonchalantly returned to her post on Sabine's bed.

“Hand me my mask, sister dear?” Reaching for the mask, Lottie thumbed over the remarkably detailed threading and black pearls before handing it to Sabine. Taking her sister's hand graciously and being led to the elevator, she shot a quick wink to Varney who surprisingly dressed up with Sven. "Couldn't agree more." She added to Sabine's compliment, looking them both over with a hungry smirk.

Arriving at the entrance of Lazarus, there awaited a black vehicle. Slick with a fresh wax and absurdly tinted windows. The handlers were quick to open each door for their respected ladies. Once nestled in, Lottie ran her gloved hands firmly along the hem of her dress as if to firmly iron out any potential wrinkles. Her masks ears grazed along the headliner of the vehicle's roof, causing her to crane her head against Sabine's shoulder. Extending her hands outwards, plucking any loose threading or fuzz off the digits of her gloves, "Sabine, should we be concerned about those in attendance of the ball?" She pried curiously, her tone having been surprisingly serious yet laced with uneasiness. After a short pause, she continued with her inquiries, "...everyone who's anyone is invited. I understand some may be of benefit to us, but there's been history of mutts attending." Her voice lowering with disdain, "I also don't suspect the fanatics who attacked us will be passing up an opportunity to have the elites of all kin in one vicinity."

---

Once both girls were seated comfortably the car slowly pulled out of the makeshift driveway of the property with two other sleek cars in tow. Sabine felt her body tense out of irritation at the mention of the other, lesser, attendees of tonight. She personally had yet to deal with the Werewolves that lurked about Paradise, but her disdain for the species was still prevalent.

“You really think I would have us attend without me sinking my claws into the planning?” Sabine smiled mischievously down at her sister. While no one knew who was actually throwing the Ball, Sabine was able to send word out of her ideas to the event holders to make sure things went according to plan.

“The wolves have been dealt with, Mr. Wolfbane was so gracious as to help me in my planning. His family name is directly linked to the herb wolfsbane, which has been slipped into any and all drinks those little mutts intend on indulging in.” She flipped open a small makeup compact and stared smugly back at herself in the reflection.

“As for the Deo Volente I have increased security, and we now have more intel on those in attendance. I am hopeful that with the façade of peace I am bringing to this event will cool any heated tempers and I can tend to my business.” Snapping the compact shut she tucked it away into the small beaded clutch beside her.

---

Location // The Regency, Blood Moon Ball
Ambience 🕩

Although the exterior of the building remained dilapidated and unwelcoming. The newly renovated interior was transformed into a glamorous venue. The grand hall is adorned with opulent decorations, a fusion of old-world charm and contemporary elegance. The atmosphere hums with excitement and anticipation as guests, comprising humans and their supernatural counterparts. Though, unanimously they relied on the anonymity of their masks to conceal their true identities. The chatter of animated conversations fills the air, blending with the melodic strains of the live music. The melding of many supernaturally diverse beings intertwining with the mortals have always raised the stakes, as is all balls in previous history. At the bar, mixologists skillfully craft intricate cocktails, a fusion of classic and unique flavors. Drinks are raised in toasts, laughter resounds and the clinking of glasses punctuates the conversations. The dance floor beckons, coupled guests are twirling in a whirlwind of movement, losing themselves in the enchanting melodies of the live orchestra. The guests mingle, their diverse forms and attire reflecting their supernatural nature. Humans don elaborate costumes, evoking the romance and splendor of past eras. Werewolves exude an air of wild beauty, their presence marked by an untamed grace. Vampires, seductive and mysterious, move with an elegant poise while their eyes gleaming with an otherworldly allure. As the night progresses, inhibitions wane, and the barriers between humans and supernaturals dissolve, fostering an atmosphere of acceptance and camaraderie. Boundaries blur as conversations delve into shared experiences, cultural exchange, and the celebration of their various natures.

Spoiler: a. The Regency Interior

Spoiler: b. The Regency Interior

​

---

Location // The Regency, Blood Moon Ball


The trio of black luxury cars pulled up to The Regency, the old town hall had been refurbished to fit the evening's event. A velvet red carpet had been draped out over the walkway from the curb to the front door of the building, a few people still stood outside mingling amongst themselves. The heavily tinted windows of the cars still concealed the sisters as they waited for the doors to open for them.

“I’d say be on your best behavior, sister dear, but I assume that sentiment would just fall on deaf ears?” Sabine craned a playful eyebrow at her sister. She knew that Lottie would be up to her typical antics, but always hoped she would learn time and place for such things. With a spirited retort and scoff, "Hardly darling, I'm aware of the social prowess of these events." In a mocking way, Lottie gestured flipping hypothetical hair over her shoulder, batting her lengthy lashes to Sabine, "Need not worry about me." The doors opened on either side, the respective guard for the girls standing there waiting to take their arm. Extending her panty hosed leg out onto the pavement she let herself out of the car, intertwining her arm into Sven’s. From the other cars a few more men dressed in suits fell behind the two sisters as they made their entrance into the Ball.

The red moon loomed above them, making its way to its apex. Sabine inhaled deeply as she stared up at the powerful force, her body tingling with excitement. Two masked women stood on either side of the doors, different concoctions filled the champagne glasses on the platters in their hands. With a silent welcome the women extended drinks to the Vampire’s as the doors opened at their arrival. A mix of music, chatter, clinking glasses and heart beats filled Sabine’s ears as they stepped into the foyer of the ballroom.

“Sven, if you’ll excuse me,” Sabine whispered and slipped away from his grasp making her way towards the grand staircase before her. Their late entrance had already gained the attraction of those in close proximity to the door, but she would soon have the attention of everyone in attendance. Adjusting her posture once she reached the middle of the staircase she pulled a small knife from her bag and loudly tapped her raised glass. The high pitched sound created a quick hush over the people below her, including Lottie having stopped abruptly behind Sabine on the stair case. Taking that prime opportunity to survey the room and all it's inhabitants.

“Good evening!” Sabine greeted them with a sly smile. “I would just like to take a moment to thank our ever so gracious hosts for putting this lovely event on for our humble city,” she lightly clapped her hands together, a few scattered claps joined her for a brief second before she continued on.

“I know there have been some rumblings concerning not only myself, but my entire kind since we arrived to Paradise City. I think I speak for everyone when I say we just want to coexist. Even though our home was attacked just a few short days ago, my sister and I have come here with open minds and hearts to try and build friendships between us all. I think we all want to see this city thrive and have those who live here have success and happiness as well. My hopes for tonight is that we all leave here with a better idea of who truly lives in Paradise. If you have questions, please do not hesitate to ask, I would be more than happy to converse with all of you. So, with that being said, I would like us to raise our glasses, here’s to new beginnings!” Sabine lifted her glass into the air before bringing it to her dark colored lips and joining the crowd in a ceremonious sip. Finally after much anticipation for the speech, Lottie immediately took a gluttonous sip of her infused champagne. The flute had nearly been trembling in her hands during the entirety of Sabine's entrance, "Bravo sister. Quite the introduction." She cooed behind the rim of her glass, carelessly sipping away, nabbing yet another glass off a cocktail waitress' tray while they slinked into the crowd. "Do you suspect your little 'business partner' will be attending?" Calling out towards Sabine as they approached a chaise to perch upon, "Not sure how much more dapper that fellow can dress. Always to the nines with that one." Now rambling why her stare sifted through the crowd, attempting to locate any familiar faces.​

 

[DarkKitsune]

SILVERMIST CEAROS
INTERACTION: Loomis (Mention) (interaction is open)
LOCATION: BLOODMOON BALL
OUTFIT:

Spoiler: Silvermist’s outift

Silvermist looked at herself in her broken mirror. She wore a light and dark blue dress with dark accents. It was given to her by her mother, who insisted she attend the ball. She remembered them talking about it earlier that day. The dark blue symbolized the dark of night and the light blue symbolized the water element that both her and her mother shared. Her mind flashed back to the conversation….

“You got invited to the Bloodmoon ball?! And you mean not to want to go!”

Her mother shouted in disbelief. Silvermist replied.

“I don’t see the point…I don’t even know why I was—“

“You are going! Think how it’ll benefit your store! There is a bunch of rich folk who attend this event! You might even be able to secure a few more clients and customers!”

Silvermist’s mixed-matched eyes landed on her mother inquisitively. She mumbled.

“Yeah…Rich people who are known for trying to kill each other…”

Her mother sighed.

“Silver, You can always bring your broom. You use it to help cast spells don’t you?”

Silvermist replied.

“But I can’t bring my bag! What would that—“

Her mother pointed out

“You can order water. Or find some nearby. It’s bloodmoon. You should be a little more entune with our element. Your only 19 anyway. You had better not drink alcohol!”


To be fair, Silvermist didn’t know if she’d be willing to drink anything from there based on the reputation of those people who were rumored to be attending. Staying in downtown Haddock, she heard things, dealt with sketchy customers. She made one last failed attempt.

“Okay, I don’t even have a proper dress! Or a mask!”

Her mother winked, saying she had it. Which brings her back to present time and her wearing a dress that symbolized the very things her mother’s side of the family represented. It hadn’t always represented water and night, of course, it didn’t before the cities… conditions happened. She put on her mask and grabbed her (fake) broom, strapping it to her back and leaving her home. She walked all the way there. This ball would be attended since she failed to convince her mother to otherwise. guess it was time to attempt to find some new customers here. Once arriving, it didn’t take long for a beautiful white-haired lady vampire to show and make her grand introduction. Once that was over, Silvermist just stood there idle…nervous…

‘Why am I here?’
​

 

[Maverick Six]

Prelude: Hawthorne Hotel, Deo Volente HQ

---

Ah.

He raised his handmade creation up to the lamp of his desk. And he turned it around in an effort to both inspect it and bask in his own handiwork.

It's done.

It was a segmented, metallic mask held together at different points by varying threads. It's odd lenses hid the eyes of anyone who tried to gaze into it like a two-way mirror. He could assuredly peer at whoever stood before him. But they would see nothing indicative of the man's humanity -- even if he was wholly human. And so far, untouched by the supernatural. They would peer into it's eyes and only see at best dim reflection of themselves. The Metal was brittle so as to not dent should it ever be struck.

The mask was placed back down onto the desk. Next to it was a laptop with a drive in it, containing a report on strike launched on the infamous Club Lazarus and all those involved within. He had long read it but kept it open as a last-minute refresher. Right beside the items he would be bringing. Subsonic handgun rounds sat neatly within two Magazines. Six shotgun shells at within. A Knife with it's razor-sharp edge peacefully within it's sheath. All of these were ready to be placed in a trench coat that matched the tailored suit he picked out. Though in some thing like this, he couldn't carry so much ammo before it became suspicious. Speaking of looks, the final preparations had yet to be made.

He rose from his desk -- and walked to the ironing board upon which his clothes rest.

Shirts had to be ironed. No wrinkle would be allowed to escape his sight. Dress shoes would to made to shine. And he did so with a mix of his own shoe polish, a rag and his own saliva. In spite of the fact that he wore a mask, he wished to be clean shaven. A giant knife more like a sword was run along a whetstone. And soon brought up to his wet face. The knife's edge was tested and only hair fell down into the sink. He was sure to wipe said sink clean when he was done. All that was left was to take a shower. Water that was by most accounts -- freezing cold relaxed the muscles and yet awakened the mind. He scrubbed himself quite brisky to overstay his welcome. By the time he was done, everything was waiting for him.

Dressed to kill, armed and with keys to his dodge challenger jingling -- The Hunter walks out the door.

Now: Blood Moon Ball

---

It had been his first major mission since being assigned to Paradise City. Of course he wanted to be more than punctual. When he arrived -- there was barely anyone to see where he'd parked.

He'd arrived within 30 minutes of the event's starting. And he appeared before them within 15 minutes of it's debut. You could see him walking up. A man in a vaguely metallic, segmented mask held together by threads. Seemingly opaque eyes hid two very human ones. It's shape was almost that of a human skull...without any discernable mouth. It covered his head almost completely and sat fairly loosely on his head. The almost cobbled together looking mask juxtaposed the immaculately maintained suit as dark a blue as the night sky. And a buttoned up trench coat that matched it. His black dress shoes shined by his own two hands. Those black shoes were ironically likely the brightest thing on him. As the crowd began to appear, Richter's chosen colors would stand out less and less. The only trace of human flesh visible on his person were his callused hands.

The others would begin to arrive. Each with extravagant and gaudy outfits. And the Hunter stood out less and less. This was a night of peace. And amongst the invited guests were many people of the prestigious sort. None of them would likely wish to be in the mood to be patted down. And the security was quite significant. Why worry about such things?

The man entered the Den of Monsters without fanfare.

The first thing he did was unbutton his coat to allow some air in. But, he did not allow any who offered to take it from him. The first thing he did was walk to the bar. And which point he took a seat.

"Water please." Richter politely requests.

"A bit early to be sobering up, don't you think?" The bartender asked jokingly, a pleasant smile on his partially masked face.

There was a silence. Yet eye contact hadn't steered away from the man. The man's smile waned ever so slightly until it became false. Beneath his mask, Richter's eyes watched as the bartender's skills were used to simply fetch a simple cup of water in a glass. His eye contact broke as he simply simply looked at it as it was placed before. No strange bubbles sat within it or any signs that it was anything but water. Soon his eyes left said water. And he answered. "Wouldn't want to burn out too early. The Night has only just begun." Of all the vices, alcohol was one which Richter disliked particularly. All people had their vices, but his were gum and coffee. Things that stimulated the mind. Alcohol numbed body and slowed the reflexes. And made people say things they shouldn't.

The Hunter of nearly all things occult thought it best he not express himself so openly. A part of him was glad this ball had a theme of masks. It helped to hide faint signs of disgust simply at being here.

The skin on his face was exposed. The mask parted ever so slightly. Beneath it was cloth. And with it, his mouth was exposed for a moment. He took a sip so slow someone might think he was drinking something befitting the debauchery of this place.

And then he took to watching all whom approach from beneath mirrored lenses. Identifying figures both key and not. With some, you never really knew who might become important later. With others, one could wonder how important they'd be. The masks made it a bit harder to tell who exactly who was. Yet particularly, a tall -- pale lady appeared to give a speech. And the memory of the ones who accompanied her appeared.

Richter raised his glass just as everyone else did. Yet someone close by might have noticed the way his body was moving up. It was almost as though beneath his expressionless mask, he was laughing.

The glass was lowered. The laughing movements in his body came to a gradual stop and he brought the water up to his briefly exposed lips once again. And from his seat, Richter continued to scan the crowd -- almost like some sort of sentry.

 

[RedLeftHand36]

Thaumus

Under a different name

The sobriquet of Nemo...

A blank slate. It was somewhat ironic, in consideration of the ample and arguably excessive amount of black among the other partygoers. Amidst all the faceless beings in the room, lone stood one without so much a silhouette, adorned in many faceless faces and a lack of even a shadow. He was no one, so one named oneself as such. Privacy was so hard to come by these days. An invisible silver thread danced in the equally visible draft, anchored to the white visage, and eyes surveyed both interior and exterior. Undoubtedly, there was all manner of scheming afoot. No matter. A child of Dike would assume the role of egalitarian, and so one would ensure there would be signs. Hubris was the greatest sin, and it stained them all. Perhaps that was why one wore the light: To maintain his ego.

Within the heart of hedonistic opulence, the nothingness with three faces seemed to have always been there, feigning a natural nativity. With many eyes, he observed from many angles. Patient, ever waiting. Perhaps in a more knowledgeable world, chaos would be less imminent. Alas, this was a world of contemptuous folly. Thus, it was more predictable. People were predictable. Parties were predictable. All of it, predictable. He wondered if they had any idea how much easier it would be to simply lay and rest. Folly. The tabula rasa meandered about the varying figures as his many eyes bared witness.

First came Pisces. Did they know what they were running from? This city, its coast a father of monsters. Both a shadow of each other. One wondered if they would remember him so easily. Of course, one only had to observe closely the eyes behind the foremost face. Second came the fragile Cancer, destined to be trampled. Who would be the son of Alcmene to her, one might wonder? If only Pseudo-Democritus could bestow judgement as of now. Third came one of Aries. Was this your golden-wooled ram, ye children of Athamas? Hatred in the guise of self-righteousness. Wholly deserving the title of livestock. More would come. One would see.

The way the ghost of a man moved was not dissimilar to the host of a dream. Familiar to the familiar, a pantomime of his more typical offerings of knowledge to those who sought the oracle of Saint Haddock. He positioned himself thoroughly for the eyes of Pisces, glass of unholy absinthe in hand. A slow and methodical turn of face, and a most keen eye would note the index of his free hand would gesture to the left most face, whose gaze faced towards the ram of the Deo Volente. Whether the sisters would acknowledge the ad hoc face of metal was irrelevant, only that they understood that the unliving delineation was watching things. All things.

Among the oddities of the soiree, walls decorated with nigh-imperceptible eyes and legs, a lone black cat jumps onto the lofty rails of a stairway, silent as can be, but with a noticeably uncanny gaze. There were undoubtedly those who made mere comments, those who simply ignored it, those who made sour faces at it, and those who offered it a kind touch. Such was the treatment of a random animal amongst a gathering of hominids. It appeared alone. It was not. Outside the building, a murder of crows had set up among the heights, and a myriad of close roads and walkways were in the process of being stalked by hounds. All with the eyes of the moon.

The wildlife surely appeared unrestful.

 

[Lee Urker]

Lee Urker
Ball Guest
Faded - Besomorph

Anticipated that familiar bite of whiskey against his throat as squared-off ice rattled itself down to bluntly rap against his upper lip ensuring every drop of that liquor fell away from the vessel. Lee’s eyes upturned half-lidded in bored uncertainty of the nights' events. His gaze fell to the sound of rapping glassware against utensil to which his head dropped, eyes overlooking drawing sleeve across his mouth in a long pull to clean away hastily drank liquor, unshaven face gritting against sleeve as his eyes behind a simple black mask of likely PVC for its rigid uses sloping angular to a pointed nose leaving below cheek-bones visible by choice light deficient skin and scar lines etching through his beards natural crawl along jawline. Lee's gaze slipped between bodies, masks, and gowns as if in some strange chance to perfect clarity landing on Sabine as she drew the crowd's gaze and attention. Lazy eyes chancing her from head to toe, not to size her up he didn't need to bother himself but it was a habit with ocular patdowns.

Lee’s attention, however, wandered further up and behind to Lottie Lee pursed his lips in thought briefly as he watched the moving of mouths and light-hearted expressions from the pair at the apex of a grand, drawn-out scene that matched only the duo's pageantry. That lingering look would not stay long, it did not long for creatures to notice the leisure marksmanship of a look far exceeding more than the ambition of physical gratification from admirers or the darted distaste from someone who wished ill. Neither, he wished to be partied to. Satisfied, Lee turned on a heel moving flank side from that spot at the bar leaving a signature of empty glass and melting ice spinning in the well atop a napkin.

He was now on the move slipping along and cutting between bodies where space permitted. Lee rose his left hand, running his index finger along the split lower lip with a murmur of irritation of the whiskey sting to the healing wound. Lee wore his black two-piece suit simple yet neatly tailored set jacketed over an off-white dress shirt accented humorously with his crimson red tie of silk pinned neatly with a silver clip. Lee could be mistaken as muscle but made no move to appear intimidating, or interested in causing a scene with anyone unless moving with purpose to the far end of that regal arena came off too much for the chance onlooker.

Lee was suddenly aware of his thirst, the motion carrying him with haste would be halted as he stood broke neck in the crowd turning to look back at the bar longingly, as the man furrowed that brow only briefly causing a knit of wrinkles between the bushy lines before deciding against the trek back as he turned carrying eyes in a semi-circle to land on Richter that plactated to the speech but seemed rather self-amused garnering a momentary thoughtfulness echoed by only a jut in Lee's jaw before he turned once more to continue further into the atmosphere of this menagerie, unless stopped he would arrive in a place to the side where he could slip free his phone bristling one hand along his chin and jaw with long fingers as the other plucked at the screen. Out of sight, and mind for the time being he needed to see to something apparently.

 

[zlexis]

​

Thomas Barrett

Location: first unknown, then, The Regency | Mood: vindictive​

“The mirror.”

Some semblance of strength had returned to him, although his body still ached. He did hate to think of himself in such a reduced state, hated to think of other people seeing him like this. However, he wouldn’t be the subject of overblown sorrow or sympathy. A piece of art on display. Sculpture of an ill man. Something like that.

The cat became a piece of the backdrop. He has yet to approach it. It seemed fine to do the same, matching his indifference. Eventually, he was able to crawl forward and grab the book. Small, unassuming, but his entire world for the past two days.

“The parasite.”

Within the book, its bookmark: the invitation gifted to him. It had appeared upon the windowsill while Tom slept. And he slept a great deal. When he wasn’t asleep, he was absorbed in the book. The pages had consumed his mind, each sentence repeated, each word a new obsession. Sleeping. Reading. The days blurred together, and finally, the dreaded night was here.

“The puppeteer.”

With difficulty, he stood upwards, shutting the book in his hand; all the while, his legs wobbled and screamed at him to continue resting. He told them to be quiet and, for the first time in three days, left the cement walls he had become unbearably familiar with. On the way out, a silent nod to the cat. Not a thank you, but instead, acknowledgment.

—

Finding clothes–that had been the easy part. It seemed those down on their luck were the kindest when it came to lending a stranger something suitable to wear. The actual difficulty was clothing himself, a graceless scene requiring numerous attempts, utilizing his teeth when all else failed; the taste of unwashed body sweat still lingered in his mouth. And the mask. Crude, misshapen, a remnant of a stag. Nothing about it spoke elegant. Perhaps it was befitting of him, this transformation, his transgression, devoured by the hounds. He knotted the sleeve under his residual limb and threw the jacket over his shoulders like a makeshift cape, the size of the coat swallowing his more petite frame.

He bid farewell to the place but left without hurry. Where he was going, the lion’s den, there wasn’t any guarantee he’d find safety in numbers, as he had no indication that the Deo Velonte had even attended the Blood Moon Ball. Actually, he hadn’t any communication at all. During his battle with Wolfbane, his phone shattered, reduced to useless junk. The cracked screen perfectly illustrated how he felt in his ribs. He ditched the device halfway to The Regency.

As he entered the building, the flaws in his plan became immediately evident. Various masks, all with distinct, elaborate designs, adorned every party-goer. They intermingled into crowds of chatter and laughter, and behind the anonymity, the guests reveled in socialization despite supernatural origins, their extravagant outfits outshining his own. But, unfortunately, Thomas Barrett was a fish out of the water, and finding anyone else from his faction would be more complicated than he imagined.

Tom heard the voice cut through the music. Unmistakably, the sister, the one who had momentarily enslaved his mind. He watched her speak while he stood far back and watched. So, she intended to make her rounds. He wondered how many minds would fall prey to her gaze tonight. A well-dressed man walked by with a tray of drinks, and Tom grabbed a glass of wine.

“The parasite,” he muttered again, this time embittered, while glaring daggers at the woman, her black dress accentuating her waist, framed by her platinum locks. He took a tentative sip beneath his mask. Under the chandelier lights, she looked stunning. He could acknowledge her intoxicating beauty even from a man consumed by hatred. And next to her, The Mirror, another woman of elegance. The DeLormè sisters. Manipulative, violent, beautiful. He took another sip.

He eagerly awaited the day he could watch them burn. If one sister were taken first, would the other cry? Or was there no compassion left in their hearts?

Cautiously, he avoided them, skirting the edges of the party and staying closer to the quieter areas. The last thing he wanted was a run-in with a familiar face from Lazarus. But, if he could not find any of his people, he would settle for those of the coven. With their neutral stances, he could try to gain favors towards their side or at least prevent any alliances. As for the werewolves, well, they weren’t much of an issue. Laughable, at best. Though their strength would be something to be cautious of, their long-term feud with the vampires wouldn’t prompt any alliances.

For now, Tom waited. And he rested when he could, though never in one place for too long. New beginnings; that much was certain.​

Character Reference

 

[Anaxileah]

---

---

Interactions: Thomas ( zlexis ) | Authors: SidTheSkid Anaxileah | Location: Cordelia's Apartment > The Regency

---

Magnus eased his modernized, gray two-door coupe into Cordelia's driveway, the engine purring softly as he parked; bathed in sunlight, the car's sleek design radiated a subtle gleam, drawing attention to the frame's enticing curves. From the driver's seat, Magnus took a quick peek at his own reflection in the rearview mirror, making one final tweak to that damnable tie of his before stepping out of his vehicle. Traditional ties, with their fussy looping and bothersome nature, always irritated him. He started to regret not opting for just a clip-on version instead, but no, 'past Magnus' insisted on maintaining proper decorum for this event! Only a few days ago, he found himself in a drunken haze, crashing on Cordelia's living room couch, trying to recover from the wild events of that night. However, at present, he appeared astonishingly well-groomed and impeccably dressed, presenting quite the striking contrast to his former appearance. In fact, it was such a 'glow up' that those who met him during that time would probably need to do a double-take just to actually recognize him. Glancing up, he would be able to see the door as it was a couple nights ago, with no sign of Cordelia in sight.

However, achieving this handsome look came at a price, both in terms of his personal finances and his limited patience. He devoted the entire morning to painstakingly driving from one tailor to the next in search of an appropriate attire, not to mention the additional task of finding a mask from a local costume store that would complement his suit. All in all, the beginning of his day was a great ordeal. He was well aware that he really should have been more prepared for this particular occasion. After all, it was the highly anticipated "Blood Moon Ball," an event that had been announced to take place in "Saint Haddock" this year. This gathering aimed to foster better relationships between Humans, Vampires, Werewolves, and other supernatural beings, that was the general idea at least. But somehow, this important day had completely slipped his mind, leading him to believe he was the type of person who would miss his own funeral.

Meanwhile, in Cordelia's apartment, she scurried around, a myriad of green silks, fabric leaves, and ribbons following her as she combed through her belongings, expecting Magnus soon, unaware that he was already waiting outside. "Damn these blasted heels." She muttered under her breath, a hint of her Scottish accent coming out as she cursed the shoes Cecilia had convinced her to pair with her outfit while Lia grumbled in complaint. They added a couple extra inches to her height, but would still put her below Magnus' height and most of the other men who would be at that party, which was unnerving. Her curly mop of red hair was already styled in delicate, loose curls that cascaded around her shoulders, a rippling waterfall resting along her exposed back. The dress was covered with ornate leaves and sheer, shimmering strips of fabric, giving her an ethereal appearance reminiscent of the Fey of a mystical forest.

After continuing to rummage around, she finally found her silver daggers, intent on incorporating them into her outfit or hiding them in the long, flowing dress that brushed against her wood flooring. Gripping them in one hand while she snagged her small clutch and horned mask in the other, Lia checked herself in the mirror once more to ensure everything was perfect, and it was — aside from the slight panic in her eyes. Her makeup was also detailed and luxurious, thanks to makeup tutorial videos, but her eyes themselves were not only tired but also mildly fearful. Memories of her life before the Coven clawed at her throat, stealing her oxygen as she gripped the sides of her dresser, shutting her eyes tightly in an attempt to ride through the sheer terror that briefly overwhelmed her. I will be with Magnus, I will be safe. She forced her breathing to slow, focusing on the evening itself.

The Blood Moon Ball was a high class event for their kind, a designated safe space. Finally under control, she headed for the door, decorated mask and daggers in hand, and opened it, glancing down towards the parking lot to where Magnus stood, waiting. She waved shyly as she stepped out, holding up her dress with her free hand after she locked the door. Descending the steps in heels was difficult, so she took her time, allowing her to drink in the night air and Magnus all at once. Well, he cleans up pretty. As her gaze came to rest on his tie, however, she frowned, looking back up at him with a slight tilt of her head. "Tie problems?"

The sight of Cordelia's extravagant outfit left Magnus feeling somewhat inadequate. Magnus was momentarily speechless, his hand caressing his jawline, chin cupped in contemplation, as he surveyed her dress from top to bottom. She shifted from side to side, slightly embarrassed as she stood before him. The deep, vibrant shades of green and the glittery material had caught his attention straight away, creating a bewitching spectacle against the darkness of the night. Its natural, floral aesthetic flawlessly blended in with the outdoor surroundings. If this were a competition, Magnus knew he would have undoubtedly lost. His own attire was more simplistic; consisting of a fine gray suit complemented by matching pants, a teal double-breasted vest peeking out beneath the jacket, a crisp white dress shirt, and lastly a pair of glossy black oxford dress shoes. The majority of his outfit was fashioned from treated cashmere, making it expensive as hell. However, despite the hefty price tag, he felt like this outfit of his couldn't hold a candle to Cordelia's extravagant attire.

“Holy... I can't even imagine how much that must've cost. But, It looks good, really good!” The redheaded woman blushed at his remark, grateful for the layer of makeup concealing her feelings as she approached him. "Th-thank you." Magnus was undeniably impressed by Cordelia's outfit but also deeply embarrassed by his own appearance when she pointed out his bunched-up tie, which, in all honesty, did not look the greatest, evident by its unsightly wrinkles. Those imperfections wouldn't have come to fruition if the damn thing had held together properly, or so that was Magnus' thoughts on the whole ordeal. "Right, that. I was never a 'tie guy', maybe you could help me fix it when we get to the ball. Or, I could just be a rebel and not wear one at all, it'd spare me the trouble of wearing it." Magnus brought his hands to his collar, carefully undoing his tie and removing it. Lia chuckled under her breath as she moved to the passenger side of his vehicle, watching as Magnus fiddled with the tie. With a hint subdued frustration, he placed the discarded tie on top of the dashboard through the opened window of his vehicle nearby. "So, how are you feeling? Personally, I'm not sure whether or not to be excited or nervous about this ball, I'm hoping that everyone gets along this time.”

“I’ll admit, I’m rather…concerned for how everything is going to go, but I am hopeful this get-together will be less…troublesome than the last.” She recalled the night at Club Lazarus a couple days ago, shaking her head as she was reminded of his recklessness. “Just…please let me know, this time, when you plan to get into trouble.” She smiled at him, her smile lighting up her otherwise stressed expression. She pulled the door to his vehicle open with a small grunt, slipping into the pristine seats with the silky layers of her gown bunched up into her hands. Once inside, she hiked her dress up to her thighs and began fastening one sheathed dagger around her right thigh while she waited for him to enter. “I’ll fix your tie for you when we get there, I…I’ve done it before.” Her tone quickly flipped a switch, shifting from teasing to somber and collected as she began to work on the other dagger around her left thigh.

Magnus expressed his thanks, his tone showing with genuine appreciation now that he wouldn't have any more tie issues, "That saves me the trouble." With ease, he returned to the driver's side of his coupe right after Cordelia took her place in the passenger seat with a grin on her face. Settling into the plush polyester seating, he expressed a relaxed sigh, feeling the comforting snugness embracing his back. “We're in good hands here. This place is known for being well-prepared to handle any troublemakers, or so I've been told. Tonight, the worst we might encounter are just a few cold stares or something along those lines," Magnus reassured, briefly shifting his focus over to her as he continued.

"Besides, I'll be completely sober tonight.” Lia snorted in amusement before he continued. “I want to make a great impression on everyone there! But if I happen to notice any trouble, I'll keep you informed. Don't forget to take care of yourself too, alright? You're worrying about the man who taught you most of your magic. I like to believe I'm not too old to handle a little scuffle or two," Magnus chuckled, his attention now returning back to the sights in front of him. She rolled her eyes at him, an exasperated sigh escaping her lips. “You’re not that much older than me, Magnus. Just because you taught me how to control my magic doesn’t make you invincible.” She grinned, draping her dress back over her legs as the car roared to life. Convinced that everything was in order, Magnus shifted the gearshift lever into 'drive', firmly gripping the steering wheel with both hands, and then smoothly steered the car out from the parking lot and onto the road where they would embark on their journey towards the location of the "Blood Moon Ball." Lia leaned forward to tune his radio, grinning as some rock music started blaring from the car’s speakers, and leaned back to enjoy the ride.

~Arriving at the Blood Moon Ball~

Cordelia glanced out the window as the two of them arrived at their destination, The Regency, formerly Town Hall. It had been empty for a while, so it was a surprise to see the Blood Moon Ball hosted there, but she was eager to witness its revival as Magnus parked the car in the adjacent lot. As the vehicle came to a complete stop, their attention was immediately drawn to the abundance of parked cars nearby and the large crowd buzzing around the town hall; it seemed that people from all corners of the globe had flocked here tonight, eager to witness and participate in this extraordinary spectacle. Before stepping out of the car, Cordelia made last minute adjustments to her dress, ensuring that nothing would slip out and that everything was completely snug before donning her mask and glancing at Magnus. “Ready to go?” She smiled warmly at him, her golden gaze showing a hint of worry as she bit her lip, glancing back towards the droves of people entering the massive building, the thought of fixing Magnus' tie a faded concern. With a brief pause, Magnus brought his hands back, gently grasping onto the headrest of the driver's seat and feeling a satisfying 'crack' as he stretched his back. After readjusting himself back into the seat, he reached for his minotaur-esque mask, securing it properly around his face so it wouldn't fall off before shifting his sights back onto Cordelia, still maintaining his usual relaxed demeanor as he answered. "Ready as ever."

Cordelia exited the vehicle on his mark, making sure her dress wasn't caught in the door, and began making her way to the entrance with Magnus in tow, her breath quickening as they followed a rather noisy bunch of beings into the extravagant venue. It was an absolutely stunning sight, elegance draped along the walls and ceilings, poise visible in the way the guests stood, walked, and socialized. Everyone wore a mask to conceal their identities and provide an air of mystique, enchanting the evening and ensuring relations would be peaceful — at least, that was the hope. The green silks draped behind her, contrasted by her fiery red hair, which more than caught a couple glances, forcing the witch to panic even more as memories flooded her mind. Her heart pounded and her breath became shaky before she glanced at Magnus, her eyes filled with fear, and murmured softly, "I-I'm going to sit over there." She gestured to a less populated corner of the main hall, her breathing shallow and trepid.

Before allowing him a chance to respond, she bundled up her dress and hurried over, muttering quick pardons as she pushed through people, the words of the sisters falling on deaf ears as she focused on getting away. Magnus debated whether to pursue her, curious in trying to understand what was wrong and to possibly offer her some comfort. Yet, he sensed that maybe she just needed a moment alone, to be given a chance to collect her thoughts and control her emotions. Nonetheless, he decided to not leave her completely alone, choosing to remain nearby as he moved a few feet to the closest mirror he could find, making a few minor adjustments to his outfit while keeping a watchful eye on her. A couple of chairs and lounges were situated in the particular seating area in which Cordelia stumbled, quickly plopping herself down into one of the loveseats, almost tripping over a man with one arm. "I-I'm terribly sorry, I…
Barrett?"​

 

[zlexis]

Riaan Joseph

Location:
The Regency
Mentions: the werewolves I ain't @ing everyone, sorry
Interactions: Loxely | Loomis
Mood: apprehensive​

Riaan Joseph clenched his hands around the wheel, his face a mask of indifference underneath his true mask, an asymmetric thing he'd assembled himself, as he pulled into the parking lot outside The Regency. He’d dropped off his kin at the front, a crowded place with flocks of people already clustering at the entrance, before finding parking to save them the walk. Fashionably late, as always. It was trouble enough throwing together an outfit, let alone collecting the beasties, to begin with. An involuntary, exasperated sigh escaped him. Despite his frustrations with his pack’s inability to get along at times, he still held each one in high regard and would lay down his life if it meant a quiet existence for his people, people who had welcomed him with open arms when he was still a pup. So, he drove carefully, conscious of the packmates in the truckbed, taking every turn with great care. He wanted to be someone they could rely on, someone to turn to, someone to trust. He only hoped he’d fulfilled that promise to some extent.

He stepped out of his truck, taking in the moon's splendor above him, washing him in its red, comforting glow. He breathed deep, inviting calm, and adjusted his outfit for this night’s soirée. A relic from his youth. He was somewhat disappointed with its fit, shaken to remove the cobwebs and a little tight around the gut, he realized with displeasure. For tonight, his hair was styled into a half-up bun, the rest trailing down his squared shoulders.

As he entered the shell of Town Hall, he could sense the veneer of opulence and the danger underneath. He took the opportunity to survey his surroundings. Too many people, too many unfamiliar faces. His first instinct was to find where the rest of his pack had gone, but there was one thing, one objective, that he didn’t want any of the others to partake in. A personal goal, one he had been mulling over since he’d received the invitation. Anxiety was instilled in his chest, a slight sense of panic at the idea of socialization exhibited by his rapid heartbeat and clammy skin. Swallowing his fear, he continued nonetheless.

He approached the center, the grand staircase, with makeshift confidence. With towering stature and a steely gaze, he watched intently as one of the sisters finished a speech, captivating the audience, her voice a demand for attention. As she finished and joined the revel, Riaan started to approach.

Then he snapped around like a rubberband, walking a few paces away, the limp in his step more prominent. He took another breath, mustered all the extroversion he had left, and tried again once he felt self-assured.

The werewolf stepped within the radar of the Club Lazarus owners, the vampire sisters. He cleared his throat, even though he didn’t have to; it was more for theatrics. Not knowing what to do with his arms and hands, he kept them stiff at his sides, but that kind of self-awareness had already set in, and now he was cognizant of every portion of his body.

“Um… hey.” He smiled as he neared the sisters before realizing it wouldn’t even be seen behind the mask. Riaan mentally kicked himself. “Y’all, uh, you two look lovely tonight. Really dig the outfits. A rabbit, huh? You know, I’ve hunted a lot of those. Fast critters.”

Stop talking, stop it, stop. He reigned it in, deciding that the floor was the most interesting floor he had ever seen in the whole wide world.

“Thought that maybe we could chat for a bit. Maybe I could get you girls a drink, or… yeah. Name's Riaan." He stuck out a hand, callused from years of use, an open invitation.​

coded by archangel_

 

[zlexis]

​

Thomas Barrett

Location: The Regency | Interactions: Anaxileah (minor collab) | Mood: exhausted​

The longer he stayed, the longer this started to feel like a bad idea. From the lounge, people watched him curiously, the man with the clammy skin and a lopsided suit jacket draped over his shoulders like a cape. Taking his umpteenth break from the revel. Every step was laborious; every breath sent fire into his lungs. Feeling weak wasn’t an experience he was accustomed to, but even with rigorous training from the Deo Velonte, he’d been allowed a proper recovery, bent just enough to become stronger but never broken beyond repair.

So, here he was, not-broken but humiliated all the same. Tom had his back fully rested against the chair, legs sprawled out, head lulling to one side as he tried to catch his breath—he would have likely toppled over by this point if not for the velvety cushions. His eyes were closed, though that wouldn’t be discernable behind the mask. The idle chatter of guests surrounded the mage, with whispers behind their hands and not-so-subtle side glances in his direction. Perhaps they assumed he was already inebriated. Perhaps they didn’t care, and the countless eyes on him were just a symptom of his discomfort. Disheveled man on display. He was a mess. And he knew it.

A few times, men and women in tailored suits approached the mage, asking if he’d enjoy any refreshments, but he waved them away each time. He wasn’t in the mood to be more impaired than he already was. As he rested, his mind wandered to the stranger in black. The shadow, looking down on him with his piercing eyes, impervious to Tom’s pain. He wondered if they would meet again this night or another and what he would say if they did. Conflicted debates fought in his mind, and he had never felt so flustered. He dispelled the thoughts with a shake of his head, deciding that would be best decided later when his mind was clear, and rationality found its way back. After resting for a while, his strength began to return to him. He stretched his legs and started to stand until he noticed a burst of color enter into view.

A forest fire. Hair of embers cascading down a cluster of foliage and earthy tones. She was both unrecognizable and on the tip of his tongue as if even the flames within him felt a kinship with the woman approaching. He leaned into the feeling, an attempt to jog his memory, though nothing came to until she nearly tripped over his sprawled legs, plopping into the chair adjacent. As she spoke his name, Tom blanched with shock. The wild red hair should have been a clue.

“Cordelia?” Unmistakable surprise in his voice. No wonder he hadn’t recognized her. She’d ditched her leathers in favor of an extravagant outfit suited to her petite form. Never formally have they met, but he knew of the woman, a prominent figure in the coven. Worse, she recognized him. He pulled his jacket further around his shoulders, effectively hiding his injury. He’d always felt disquieted around other magic users, though he could not pinpoint the reason.

“Are you okay? You seem ill at ease.” He turned his body towards her in an attempt to sound approachable, but she might tell that he was being disingenuous. He sensed an opportunity dangling before him, and he intended to reach for it.

"I'm...um." She cleared her throat, golden eyes flickering about. "I'm fine, Thomas…”

She then muttered something under her breath, but Tom could not pick it up over the commotion in the room. He raised an eyebrow but decided to let it go.

"Why are you, of all people, here? The Blood Moon Ball? Really?"

He chuckled, this time, shooting her a genuine smile. Then he tilted his head to the side, deliberate, intentional. “I received an invitation, just like you. Actually, would you like to join me at the bar? Maybe we can share this conversation over some drinks.”

He attempted to stand up, but his legs gave out, nearly falling over if not for the armrest catching his body. He struggled to hide his embarrassment as he exposed his current state of helplessness to the witch—if it wasn’t already obvious. Slowly, he picked himself back up, steadying his balance with one hand on the seat. With that debacle over, he turned to Cordelia and offered an arm to the woman, inviting her to latch to his elbow if she so chose.​

Character Reference

 

[Athanas]

Inhale. Count to ten. Exhale.

The rhythmic hum of electronics reverberated through his mind, and he focused that energy onto his body, grimacing in pain as he felt the cuts and scrapes from last night forcefully begin to close up. From the edges of his vision, he saw a quick flurry of movement, but he ignored it. It was the same creature he’d kept seeing all day. It wasn’t real, he reminded himself. Just more drawbacks to work with and overcome.

But what if it was? Anxiety flared up at that thought, and he closed his eyes again.

Inhale. Count to ten. Exhale.

He heard the faint whirring of the mechanical limbs as the creature approached, it’s mismatched skull making a terrible grinding ruckus as it tilted it’s head from side to side, examining him. He didn’t know how he could still understand what it was doing, given that he could not see it, but it didn’t matter. It was not real, so it’s actions were similarly false.

Inhale. Count to ten. Exhale.

He opened his eyes. Of course, there was nothing there. Because nothing had been there in the first place. He was fine. Everything was fine.

The last signs of the injury finally dissipated, and he removed his hand from the still-thrumming pile of electronics he was touching, still trying to understand how it was possible that so many things had gone wrong in so short a span of time.

Thomas was…fucked, to say the least. He was not dead, which Jacques supposed only made sense, man was too stubborn to even acknowledge death. A lot like an Orangutan, that one, he thought with a chuckle, known to maul hunters even as bullets were unloaded into it’s skull because it was too dull to realize it was dead. However, the fact that he was up and moving was the true shock. Even acknowledging the man’s properties as a warlock, injuries as grievous as his own should’ve taken a considerable amount of time.

The possible explanations were twofold-either Thomas Barret was privy to some miraculous elixir or power that allowed for rapid healing…or someone had helped him. Which then rendered him potentially compromised.

Gah, this equation was nightmarish.

The Blood Moon was in the sky, as if to complicate matters more. Great power could be harnessed, and myriads of schemes on how he could exploit this opportunity to the fullest had hatched. But was he allowed to pursue any of them? Of course not, no. His higher ups insisted he follow the invitation of some unknown, probably supernatural entity to go a ball. A masquerade ball, for crying out loud!

He slammed his fist on the desk in front of him in anger, and the skittering at the edges of his vision. He had to stay calm, no matter what. He had to focus.

Inhale. Count to ten. Exhale.

He could still make all of this work. The equation was becoming overly complicated, but it was not impossible. Nothing was truly impossible until proven thus. Perhaps he could still learn something useful tonight, or perhaps gain a better idea of how possible targets might be approached.


But what in the bloody hell would he even wear?

---

Somewhat later than most other guests, a Stranger arrived. He was dressed oddly, more casually than others present-a plain white button-up shirt, with a tie that was perhaps not quite centered right. The dress pants were, at least, adequate, and so were the shoes, plain black both.

The most notable part of his attire, however, was by far the mask. Clearly well-crafted and high-tech, it covered his entire face, displaying a series of nonsensical messages that cycled through almost at random, making it quite difficult to get a read on the strange man.

Which was exactly how the strange man liked it, because crowds of this size tended to make him uncomfortable. At least the noise and clutter were nowhere near as bad as last night, God bless, or he’d have a right proper meltdown.


First step accomplished-he’d actually made it, neat. But now what? A cursory scan of those present revealed men and women dressed to the nines, strutting about with unbridled arrogance. Some of the faces-metaphorically speaking- were familiar. Tom, in all his mangled glory, chatting up that vigilante bitch that wanted to play hero, something that elicited a low groan from the technomancer. She was going to start more trouble, wasn't she? Maybe he should've killed her at some point...Well, he supposed, it was never too late.

The Delorme sisters, looking about as good as one would expect from creatures that had decades to perfect their craft-of course, knowing such aided painfully little in avoiding it, and he did find his gaze studying Lottie for a few moments longer than was necessary before finally managing to divert his attention. Magnus was there, and unlike last night, not drunk to the point of swaying. That one might be worth talking to, he thought. Poor man got an entire club’s worth of metal tossed his way without really being at fault. Not that Jaques would apologize, but he could try!


Eventually, he settled on the safest option-a grim-looking fucker with an incredible mask, clearly not here to enjoy himself, if one were to judge by his alert stance. Trying his damndest to appear as nonchalant as possible, Jacques slowly made his way to him, taking a seat, although he did not face him just yet.

“Vodka, Caramel.” He ordered the bartender, his voice clearly changing in pitch and depth as he spoke through the mask, making for a somewhat jarring experience. His visage shifted to displaying a large X, like an error message. When the drink arrived, there was no movement to lift or remove it-rather, seemingly of it’s own accord, the lower half of the mask unclasped itself from his jaw, revealing his mouth. As soon as he’d finished taking a sip, it all closed back down on itself, covering him entirely.

Realizing that if he continued to avoid conversation, this whole thing would most certainly be even more awkward, Jacques tried to unsteadily start at least some semblance of discussion up.

“It is good to see someone else had the creativity necessary to wear some headwear more unique than those dime-a-dozen Victorian knockoffs” He said, finally turning to give the other man an encouraging nod. “What’s with the water, though? Are you on a prescription, perhaps?” A low chuckle accentuated the jab, while a silent prayer was made to whatever God was listening.

For the sake of us both, let this man have a sense of humor.

Maverick Six

Spoiler: Mask