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

[Sepokku]

Dani let out a sigh and stepped out of Riaan's truck. The old warhorse sputtered away as their pack mingled among the socialites gathered for the event. Being here was a bad idea, she was overly exposed and entrance to the Ball required her to be disarmed of all but her most concealable defensive implements. With an annoyed roll of her eyes, she fixed the cuff of her dress shirt and made sure that her suit jacket sat comfortably on her shoulders.

Most of Paradise City's elite were present, bloodsucking leeches showing up in equal number to mages, members of her own pack, and even humans who were privy to the goings-on of the town's underworld. Personally, she would have preferred to stay home, but a deal with the City's Genius Loci meant her attendance was more than mandatory, it was inevitable. Already growing bored, she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and resituated her mask so that it sat equidistant across her face. She had originally chosen a different outfit for the occasion but had been forced to change it up last second after several Juno genii demanded to be worn to the event.

Floating amongst the sea of people, she suddenly found herself tired of standing around, boredom already starting to set in. This wasn't her sort of shindig, not by a mile. With a groan, she fished out the flask that she had in her suit pocket and took a swig of the bourbon within. The warmth trickled pleasantly down her throat, a fiery oak flavor that joined the red meat she had eaten for dinner only an hour earlier.

One of the bouncers at the door cleared his throat, "No outside food or drink."

For a moment she considered just chucking the flask at his head. However, she wasn't here as Dani. No, she was here as a representative of Paradise City's Lycan population, and more importantly, as an emissary to the spirits. The crass behavior she instinctively resorted to would have to be benched for the foreseeable future. Rolling her eyes, she took another long pull from the flask, draining it in three loud swallows; then she burped in his face. The crass behavior would have to be benched, starting now.

Without further fanfare, she strode into the venue, making her way into the center of the ballroom. The first waitstaff she saw had a tray of hors d'oeuvres, which wasn't what she wanted at that particular moment. Rather she was looking for someone carrying... "Refreshments!" Weaving through the crowd, she made her way to a dour faced gentleman with a bottle of wine and several glasses. Grabbing two glasses, she started to walk away, her fingers wrapped delicately around the stem of the glasses.

The dour faced gentlemen cleared his throat and gave her a judgmental look.

"It's a party don't be a dick." She stuck her tongue out at the man and went to take a drink. In unison, the genii bound to her mask started to freak out. The cacophony of voices suddenly rose up in her ears all at once. Dropping both glasses, she put a hand to the side of her head as they shattered, leaving dark red liquid flecked with shards of crystal on the floor. She started to gently knead her temple as the waiter looked at her with contempt. "Sorry. Vertigo, you never know what's going to set it off." A shit-eating grin plastered itself across her face as she lied to the obnoxious man.

Without waiting for him to start pestering her further she made her way to the other side of the room. The spirits immediately returned to their silent vigil; they were behaving oddly tonight. Even Hayk had demanded to be to be brought along, her hand instinctively went to the polymer handle that was tucked into her pants. She had been forced to dissemble the gun to sneak it past security, along with printing out polymer replacements for usually metal parts, including the bullets. All-in-all, she figured it would be good for a thousand or so rounds, more than enough to survive the night.

Wrinkling her nose she looked around the room, her eyes settling on two strange men sitting at a bar near the corner. Making her way over to them, a moment passed as she appreciated each of their attires. With a sniff she addressed the one wearing an electronic helmet first, "Your mask is ugly." Then she turned to the other, "Yours is only marginally better, Royal Protector, you could do better."

Knocking a fist against the bar, she ordered a "Corpse Reviver Number Two." Then launched into an explanation of her grading rubric. Pointing a finger at the one in a white shirt, she informed him, "Your mask is programmable and color changing, meaning it completely defeats the purpose of a Bal Masque. And you..!" She turned towards the other man, taking an exaggerated pause, "Yours falls into the latter category between the two options of black and white, but other than that says very little; and it says it quite poorly, might I add. It effuses tragedy without actually giving any sort of commentary. Quite tactless if you ask me."

The bartender placed her prepared drink in front of her. Her hand went to the glass, but before she could grab it, one of her mask's genii pushed her hand forward, knocking the glass over. "Are you fuckin' kidding me?!"

Athanas Maverick Six

 

[RedLeftHand36]

Edward

Turpis Lupus
[Interactions with Sepokku Athanas & Maverick Six ]

Breaking apart at the seams...

Shabby. Makeshift. Cheap. A great shadow of moth-eaten black fabric, heavy and rough, clumsily fluttered as the large figure hopped out from the truck bed. Wet, guttural, quiet exhaling came from beneath a time-worn, off-white mask adorned in a crusty leather tricorn hat. The only colour was the belt, fashioned from the hide and fur of a great timberwolf, the mottling of grey, brown, and dark red conveying the savage nature of the one who wore it. A mind murked in distasteful though reminisced of the tales of how men once used such belts to achieve true lycanthropy. Tall, heavy leather boots thudded against pavement as gnarled, calloused, and grimy hands curled with ill intent. Unlike most of his kin, some of his lycan features remained even in human form; He claws could not be sheathed. Perhaps it was his volatile nature.

Surely tonight would see.

Unsurprising, inspection took longer than that of some others. He lost the others of his pack as he stayed behind. And old man, though of particularly impressive physique, was still an old man. Or at least, that's what he had told security. Of course, what truly made it all unseemly were the numerous bits of shrapnel embedded in his body. He was proud to display his innumerable scars, especially the many bullets that failed to put him down; He wondered how the farmers would react if the monster they had been shooting was a man all along. He goaded what he could, and though violence did not ensue, he was content at simply getting under their skin in a more proverbial manner. He hoped he would be able to do so more literally soon enough.

What a wretched stench. Pigs and leeches and dogs. A veritable zoo. No, zoos smelled better. He could smell that every single person in the room was plotting and scheming and being just as wretched as he. At least he knew how ugly he was. Maybe it was the blessing of losing his eyes all those years ago. He could see the true nature of things. Everyone was rotten. But there was duty as a wolf. When the maggots ate at your wound, it was time to shake off the blur of it all. And oh, how he could smell the stench of decay. Any attempt at the fauxpas politeness offered by strangers was met with a blatant disdain in the form of an animalistic hiss. He wouldn't let any of them too close. Not yet. Not now.

Ah, there was that barnyard smell. What was Dani doing? The beastly shadow trudged over hapharzardly, undoubtedly having pushed through the crowd like the brute he was, uncaring of who or what he shoved past. It didn't take long to get to the bar on his long legs, moving with a purpose, and ragged black cloth floating behind like smoke. The only hinder was the awkwardness of his gate, the telltale sign of bones and joints that had seen much. Lopsided, assymetrical. An ugly walk. But capable. Edward loomed over the three like a black cloud, the eggshell mask like a permanent streak of lightning. And like a bolt, a horrid hand reached out.

Vodka with caramel. Disgustingly sweet. He wasn't going to drink it of course. Not only did he not trust the food and drink in this place, but even if he did, he hated those kinds of drinks anyways. In the brief moment he possessed the glass, he mustered a heavy, loud inhale. Of course. He already knew, he merely wanted confirmation.

"Fucking poison."

Then he squeezed his dirty fingers, and shattered the glass in his palm, popped like a baloon. The larger bits dug past the callouses and drew that sludge from his veins. Blood like sewage dripped, albeit in smaller amounts than if a more normal person had done such an act. His skin was simply that thick, one might suppose. His voice was just as foul as everything else; Ragged and harsh, as if he'd smoked a dozen cartons of cigarettes every hour, and downed it with gasoline and gravel. And of course, that obvious hate that never left his tone. Hate for everything and everyone all at once.

And yet he chuckled.

"Weak," He muttered. "Smells like shit, anyways. Pissants."

He looked to the two strangers that Dani had been speaking to. Well, 'looked'. His nose, and the mask's nose, too, pointed their way around until they had their fill, and then left everything else to the ears hidden under black cloth.

"Shitheads tend to forget mundane things. Piggies'll figure it out when they shit out their guts later."

And then he turned his head towards the smell of blood and corpses.

"Fuckers think they're sly."

The big man reached underneath the black cloth and to the back of his neck, and pulled out a drinking skin. With his free hand, he shoved up his mask a little in order to fit his big hand better. A haphazardly torn hole revealed cracked lips and gray, bristly facial hair of similar texture to the needles of a pine-tree. And so he drunk, the stench of alcohol mixed with saltwater drifting on breath like rotten fish. Liquid like oil, irridecent and dark-brown in hue, dripped from his lips before he grinned, baring stained, yellow teeth, all pointed and crooked, unlike human nor dog. More like a shark, one might suppose. Or a crocodile. Savage in all degrees. Edward leaned down towards the one with the cobbled, metal mask. Another inhale.

"You ain't sly either, stain. That gunpowder better be for the fucking blood-drinkin' bitches."

He straightened his posture. Or at least, stopped leaning. He was always hunching, at least a bit. He leaned an ear toward Dani.

"You know where the pisspots are? Whole place smells like one big urinal, can't make head or tails."

 

[DarkKitsune]

SILVERMIST CEAROS
LOCATION: BLOODMOON BALL
INTERACTION: OPEN

Spoiler: Silvermist’s outfit. (Plus she’s wearing her fake wooden broom on her back(


Silvermist stood fidgeting with the long sleeves on her cotton dress. There were so many people; and yet she didn’t know how exactly she’d go about promoting her store. She wondered why she’d listened to her mother to begin with. she then proceeded to walk over to the bar and she sat down and ordered water. She couldn’t drink any alcoholic beverages due to her age. At least not legally. Even so, she distrusted the drink providers who know what they're doing to them. She may be paranoid over stupid rumors, but she’d prefer being paranoid over any worst-case scenario. Even so, she didn’t order water to drink it. She ordered it in the case of a situation that could call for self-defense— her mother had been right. Water was a good element to have on her side. It made things look less suspicious. She kicked her feet back and forth quietly as she waited for her glass. She was stuck in her own thoughts for a minute.



‘Apparently the organizers of the Bloodmoon ball wanted to influence the idea of co-existence among werewolfs, vampires, humans…witches, warlocks…everyone’.



She had yearned for that existence. When she was younger she even tried to work up a plan, to go about it, but at the end of the day, she grew up in Saint Haddock. She was quick to learn how powerless she really was and, of course, soon co-existence felt more like a fleeting dream, granted she still tried to hope a little.



‘I should be gathering supplies for my store right now…’



She had no suppliers. She often did it herself through various means. And here she was at a ball full of rich and important people, perhaps even murderous people. How the hell was she meant to establish customers here? Why was she invited? She wasn’t widely known for anything. When she was eventually handed her glass of water, she stared into it. How was she even meant to start a conversation with these people? No less sneak in even a mere mention of her business… no. She had to do something. She wasn’t forced to attend for no reason! She started looking around…



‘I’ll figure out a conversation starter when I pick someone. Time for some guest roulette!’



She sat there and silently observed the guests. Who to pick?
​

 

[Eldarkon]

Dante sat in comfortably in his study, the old leather chair fitting perfectly to his body. He flipped the pages of his book one after the other, catching up on old studies regarding the use of human magic. Dante had always been a scholar at heart, a patron of research and arts. Old Books and priceless artworks lined the walls, their ancient spines and intricate brushworks whispering forgotten secrets. The flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows that danced upon the worn wooden floor. Although the rest of the Condo was designed to tastes of modern luxury, Dante kept his study in the same design as his first one, over 300 years ago. You could say it gave him a sense of comfort, a place he could always come back to no matter how different the world around him changed.

After finishing his chapter on transfiguration magic, Dante gave a sign and closed the book. Tonight was no ordinary night—it was the eve of the Blood Moon Ball. Dante needed to be extra sharp. He had gathered that the Deo Volante would be attending the ball, and he was not looking forward to meeting them. Dante knew that The death of one of their members by his hand would not be taken lightly. A show of strength was necessary for his survival.

"Nehemiah, has Filippo finished our evenings attire's?". Dante had commissioned the most extravagant and luxurious outfits for him and his sons for the night. Filippo was one of the best stylists in the world, and Dante was one of his favorite customers. Whenever Dante fancied a new outfit, Filippo was the man to call. "Yes sir. They are already displayed in your quarters". Rising from his chair, Dante slid his book into the gaping space in his bookshelf. "Very good. Summon Virgil and Charon. Tell them to get dressed and meet me in the lobby"

Dante adorned himself in the finery, his mind continuing to race with the knowledge of the event he was about to attend. Not only would the Deo Volante would be attending, but packs of Werewolves as well. He knew that his hatred for the beasts would most certainly cloud his judgement, which is why he had his sons to keep him in check. With the hundreds of Werewolves Dante had killed during his immortal life, he knew his thirst for their blood could never be satisfied. He needed to stay strong and play nice. The little party gift he left for them would make that much easier.

Dante was very impressed with Filippo's work. The suit was made of the finest Vicuna in the world, adorned with 24 karat gold inlays. The mask he commissioned was also 24 Karat gold, and a crown made of pure rubies. It was truly the attire of a king. As he began walking towards the elevator, He noticed the shine of the silver blade he had won from his battle with Thomas at the corner of his eye, resting on the mantle of his fireplace. A devious smile ran across his face. Meeting his sons in the lobby, a fancy black car pulled up to the door, Giaus in the drivers seat. And with that, they were off.

Spoiler: Dante's Suit

Spoiler: Mask + Crown

Spoiler: Virgil/Charon's Suit

Spoiler: Virgil's Mask

Spoiler: Charon's Mask

The night sky was adorned with an ethereal glow, the Blood Moon casting an otherworldly radiance upon the land. They traveled in a sleek black car, the city lights twinkling in the distance as they neared their destination.

Upon arrival, they found themselves at the Regency's Ballroom. The building looked like it had been recently renovated, most likely for this very event. Guests adorned in opulent attire and ornate masks streamed through the entrance, their excitement palpable. Dante, Virgil, and Charon stepped out of the car and onto the red carpet, their presence commanding attention as they strode confidently towards the ballroom's entrance. The sound of music spilled into the night air, a melodic symphony that lured them forward. As they crossed the threshold, they were met with a breathtaking sight. The ballroom was a spectacle of beauty and enchantment. Crystal chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceilings, casting a soft, shimmering light that bathed the room in an ethereal glow. The air buzzed with anticipation, a mixture of joy and intrigue.

That was when it was all interrupted by the tinking of a wine glass. Looking up to the staircase, Dante saw none other than Sabine and her party. "Of course she pulls a stunt like this" Dante signed with a slight giggle. What more could he expect from his new business partner. After sharing in the toast, Dante made his way over to her and Lottie. As he approached, Dante gently took her hand with a slight bow "My dear, you look simply breath-taking tonight"

 

[Loomis]

The sister’s sat watching the crowd of elegance mix and mingle, drinking their cocktails and laughing. Sabine’s red eyes sifted through the sea of people looking for a specific target, but had not managed to place him just yet. Slight irritation began to rumble in her chest, she was working on a timeline tonight and needed everything to go according to her plan. As her eyes scanned the crowd they locked in on quite the interesting figure. The three faced mask staring in their direction, a slight movement to indicate he saw her as well. Cocking her head to the side she eyed the man, there was familiar air to him but she could not quite place it. Adding him to her mental list of people to speak with tonight she slowly turned her gaze back to the crowd before her.

“Oh I’m sure he will grace us with his presence at some point,” She said through a small smile and tapped her empty champagne glass to signal for a refresher. One of the guards that stood by the girl quickly and quietly went off to fetch both the girls a new drink.

“I am very interested to see what tonight brings, aren’t you?” Sabine inquired and shifted her gaze to face Lottie. “I’m sure a certain someone from the nights prior will be attending, do try to not make a scene.” She knew that her sister was ready to strike back after that Hunter scum had pulled that holy water stunt. Hopefully Lottie would keep her composure, especially after that façade of a speech Sabine just gave.

“What do we have here?” Sabine cocked an intrigued eyebrow behind her mask as she watched the man approach them. It looked like he pieced the mask together himself, which to some that might impress but Sabine found the handmade craft tacky. The stench of wet dog filled her nose as he drew closer to the two of them. The group of guards behind her stepped forward out of protective habit, but Sabine held up a hand to keep them at bay. A bit timid, are we? Sabine chuckled as she watched him change his mind last minute, changing his path only for him to circle back around and finally approach them.

“Riian, lovely name.” At that time the guard that slipped away to grab drinks had returned. Sabine exchanged her empty glass for the new one and took a long sip, maintaining her red gaze on the wolf before her. She had to bite her tongue at the opportunity to mention she had also done some hunting herself, of the Werewolf variety, but figured that would not bode well for conversation.

“This is my sister, Charlotte,” she motioned with her champagne glass to Lottie, “and my name is Sabine.” The introductions weren't needed, she knew that their names were well known amongst all that lived inside Paradise. Wrapping her claws around his hand she gave him a tight squeeze, flashing him a fangy smile.

“I would love to! My drink has been taken care of for the moment, but just say the word and I will have a drink for you right away.” At her words a guard stepped up slightly, ready to go and fetch the man whatever drink he desired.

“Any particular conversation topic in mind, my dear?” Sabine asked and leaned forward, interested to see what he had to say. Just as Riian had introduced himself Sabine saw a Vampire making their way towards them, and judging by his appearance she knew it was Dante. Lottie was right, always to the nines that one. She could see two other Vampires not far behind him, those must be the sons he mentioned.

“You are quite the charmer, Mr. Wolfbane,” Sabine said as she watched him take her hand and bow, a coy smile dancing across her lips.

“Dante, this is Riian,” she nodded towards the wolf standing in their intimate little circle. “Riian, this is Dante, my business partner. I hope it’s alright if he joins in on our conversation, the more the merrier right?”

Interactions: Loxely , Eldarkon , zlexis | Mentions: RedLeftHand36 ​

 

[Loxely]

Lottie's Mask​

Teetering back in forth on the chaise while the eye's of the young vamp traced silhouettes of the patrons. What seemingly were perceived as innocent orbs of cobalt fixed within her skull have taken on a new menacing appearance with assistance of the moon's current phase. The pale white sclera's that cradled those bright blue irises seemed to be stained with a deep red hue. As did all the the vampires who basked under the reflection of the Blood Moon. The subtle changed created a rather alluring contrast to her ivory attire, only coexisting with the stain from her lipstick.

Sabine's words broke through the trance of fixation. Craning her head with the slightest tilt of her chin to acknowledge her sister's heedful warning, she offered a reassuring grin. "Oh, please sister. I've been waiting an eternity to attend this ball. Why would I ruin such a lovely night like this?" She cooed but the glint of her elongated canines teased at her predatory instinct. The effects of the moon not only tainting her eyes but the primal itch of an enhanced blood thirst scratched relentless within her. Running a tongue along her plush lips to slicken them before indulging in another gracious sip of her drink. It soothed the hunger for the time being. Yet she couldn't help but to settle that gaze on a peculiar human with their homemade black mask. Her stare following the weathered scar along his speckled cheek.

The familiarity of a pungent stench wafted along her nostrils, instinctively she scrunched her nose in disdain but struggled to pinpoint it's location. Taking another survey of the room as it filled with patrons of all sorts, taking notice of another adorned in all white with the mask of three faces. Lottie chewed idly at the interior of her cheek, attempting to place that scent on the possibility of this particular attendee. Once again, that concertation broken by the approach of another.

Lottie arose to politely curtsey and extend a gloved hand to the man. Now the musk that exuded from him created a lump of contemptment in her throat. The smell of a dirty mutt enveloped him. Stupid hound. Internally seething yet her charming grin presented otherwise, "Oh? How does the saying go...? Perhaps I'm just a wolf in sheep's clothing." Lottie teased playfully, knowing well enough her apparel was a façade for her true nature. While Sabine was more calculated in her consumption of their diet, Lottie enjoyed the thrill of witnessing the fear of her prey. The longer they suffered, the more filled she felt. The constant chatter of those in attendance almost left an uneasiness within the vamp. Not necessarily for her own well being, but the gluttonous gnawing grew louder in the back of her head. While the introductions were made, she couldn't help her attention to match those of a man with a displaced discrepancy for a mask. While most paralleled the style of baroque - his embraced the modern times with what appeared to be a screen emitting lights and foreboding messages. The furrow of her brow hidden behind her hardened mask while she instinctually knew the face that resided within it. That cold little heart of hers thumped with both delight and concern. Making note of Sabine's caution for Lottie's inevitable rash behavior. She raised her glass, swallowing harshly and drinking in one last glance to him before averting her attention back to 'Riaan'.

Tilting her head in a gentle bow towards the werewolf, "Pleasure to meet you, Monsieur." Albeit having lived at least a century, she still found it hard to shake off her native tongue from time to time. Her accent, though, continued to heavily dictate her annunciation. When one of Sabine's personal attendants returned with a new refreshment, they also brought one for the younger sister. Almost as if trained for these scenarios due to Lottie's consistent cravings for her preferred substances. Exchanging her empty glass for a new one and hastily taking a sip, she found herself reminiscing on the days she was able to indulge in the recreational drugs as a human - rather than having to find a middle man to feed that addiction.

A trio emerged from the crowd before them, three tall figures in well fitted suits. It had to be none other than Dante, but the other two were new arrivals to Lottie. Though the aroma of kinship blanketed them. The possibility of Dante having heirs hadn't crossed her mind until they towered over her small frame. She grew curious about their existence as his arrogance from their previous engagement had her thinking his line would die with him, clearly she was mistaken. Her lips pursed into a pout as he immediately took his introduction to Sabine, feeling overshadowed by her own sister's presence. However, Lottie had no infatuation with Dante himself so the feeling of bitterness didn't linger long as she approached the two other men, "Charlotte deLorme'." She extended her lithe arm to bare the top of her hand, a similar formality to that of Dante and Sabine's, "I wasn't aware that Mr. Wolfbane had kin of his own. Though, I'm thrilled to be graced with your presence."
​

mentions: Lee Urker Athanas RedLeftHand36 | interactions Loomis zlexis Eldarkon

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[Anaxileah]

HeyHey​

​

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Addressed: Thomas Barrett ( zlexis )

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Mentioned: Sabine & Lottie ( Loxely Loomis ), Ed & Dani ( RedLeftHand36 Sepokku ), Richter & Jacques ( Maverick Six Athanas )

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Status: Panicking about Hell > Approaching the Bar w/ Thomas

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Location: Blood Moon Ball, The Regency

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Inventory: Silver Daggers (x2)

HeyHey​

​

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Painted red lips parted in surprise, realization dawning on the Coven witch - the Deo Volente were here. Why on Earth would the Deo Volente be at the Blood Moon Ball? Why would they receive an invitation, what would they have to gain...? Golden eyes flickered briefly from the brunette to the white-haired beauty at the top of the central staircase, narrowing a fraction as the vampiress could be seen conversing with her slighter and more restless doppelganger. Could this have been her doing? Cordelia turned her attention back to Thomas, her clarity returning to fog as she was reminded of the sheer magnitude of bodies present in the main hall alone. She shuddered, hugging herself as Tom realized her fractured state of being.

"Are you okay? You seem ill at ease." Were his words coming from another man, she might have considered them genuine, the attempt at concern almost laughable. Still, the time for maintaining appearances was nigh, and she inhaled sharply through her nose, held the breath, and exhaled shakily. "I'm...um." She swallowed, then cleared her throat, unexpectedly finding it difficult for the reassuring words to escape her lips. She pursed her lips together tersely, meeting his gaze with a newfound defiance - towards him or her emotions, she was unsure. "I'm fine, Thomas. Not that you actually give a damn." She muttered the last portion under her breath, glancing around while she continued to eye the less populated regions. She bit her lower lip, considering whether or not she would be indulging into her cowardice if she departed early. Turning back to look at Tom, she flashed him a façade, framing her question with a saccharine sweetness.

"Why are you, of all people, here? The Blood Moon Ball? Really?" She looked him over, tilting her head slightly as she took in his appearance. He was one arm short, but otherwise dressed well enough to be here, though his...aroma, was rather questionable. She wrinkled her nose slightly, grateful for the mask that obscured her mild disgust. His chuckle at her inquiry, however, was quite unexpected, as was the genuine smile that followed suit. It looked foreign on him, as though it didn't belong, but it made him appear more tolerable, more human than a Deo Volente member was expected to appear. "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." She watched as he struggled to rise from his seat, floundering about while he adjusted to one less limb than normal, eventually steadying out. Moving to help him would have made him appear weak in front of the onlookers around them, so out of professional courtesy, she remained still, her visage expressionless as she herself rose out of her seat and did what was expected.

She accepted his offer and glanced to the bar he referred to, appreciative of its lack of customers as she slipped one hand into the crook of his elbow, preparing to move forward with him until her breath caught in her throat and she froze. Her slender, delicate fingers tightened around his bicep, forcing stillness between the two of them. "Quit moving and smile. You know what to do, right? These are my investors, and you will make them happy." Echoes of a grip tighter on her hand than necessary forced a whimper from her, her eyes squeezing shut as the voice from Hell continued. "Hello, gentleman! Welcome, welcome. I want to introduce you to my wife, Cordelia. She's very obedient, not a talker, if you know what I mean." Another choked sound escaped her, her eyes fluttering open with her vision blurred from the threat of tears. As Tom felt her hand tighten around his bicep, he stopped alongside her and tilted his head to study her features. An enigmatic look flashed across his eyes, and he drew his arm closer to his body despite her vice-like grip.

"Hey, we don't... have to do this." He chose his words carefully, his tone drawn in. Then, he gently escaped her grasp to position himself in front of her, his voice still low and soothing, an attempt not to draw attention from any others. He started to put a hand on her shoulder, then pulled it away just as quickly. "Can you concentrate on your breathing?" Her chest was tight, lungs threatening to cave as she tried to focus on Tom beside her, his words muted in her ears. He looked wildly different in comparison, further cementing the reality that she was here, with Tom, and not...him. She closed her eyes again, green and black eyeshadow overtaking where her eyes once were as she tried to force her breathing in through the nose and out through her mouth, trying to return to the state of calm she had been before entering the Regency. "S-sorry, I..." She began, swallowing the small sobs that threatened to overtake her. "I don't know what came over me." She was reluctant to disclose anything to anyone other than her Coven, especially a member of the D.V., despite his expression of sympathy.

"It's alright. Don't apologize." He nodded as if satisfied with something and gave a light tug to his jacket: a minor adjustment meant to occupy his hand than fix anything. Women and tears weren't a combo he was too comfortable with. A distant memory came to the forefront of his thoughts, but he stifled it like putting out a candle, allowing the smoke to linger for a little longer before dissipating. Despite his fidgeting, his mind was calculating every movement, every term of phrase. Tom was acutely aware of each passing second, every tick that passed in silence. "I don't know where you went to just then, and you don't have to tell me. But you can trust me." He assumed a posture of deference. "I promise I'm trying to do the right thing." A gaze reminiscent of glowing embers flickered towards his, her brow furrowing slightly. He was shorter than average, rather than towering over her like most men, which was a relief to her neck as her vision finally returned to normal, taking in his overall countenance.

While he seemed earnest, she knew better than to blindly trust such a man. He may have thought he was doing the right thing, but right and wrong are more complicated than the simple black and white most presumed it to be. In his case, what he thought was right incorporated murder, and homicide was homicide, no matter who committed it. She nodded silently, choosing to keep her lips sealed rather than cause more trouble than she already had. "Let's...let's just get some drinks." "Fine by me." Though a hint of disappointment flashed in his eyes, he shot her a small smile before settling on a calm indifference. This time, he did not extend his arm but stood back, allowing Cordelia to lead the way. She offered a small, shy smile in return, apologetic in nature. "Th-thanks." She appreciated his attempt at kindness and walked forward, glancing around and relaxing her shoulders as she confirmed no one had really taken care to notice what occurred.

In the meantime, it seemed as though a couple other folks established themselves at the bar counter, some messier than others with a broken glass in hand and alcohol spilled across the counter, immediately being attended to by the barkeep. Three men with rather...odd-looking masks lingered nearby each other, one whispering towards a female nearby. Thinking it might be best to have a small amount of distance, she approached the counter, Thomas in tow, and made a point to sit three seats down from the other men, wondering how Thomas intended to interact with them. For now, she would settle with overhearing their conversations, ordering a light drink, and settling down to enjoy the evening as much as one could.
​

 

[DarkKitsune]

SILVERMIST CEAROS
INTERACTION: Anaxileah zlexis (mention) Maverick Six (mention) Athanas (mention) Loomis (mention) Loxely ( mention)
LOCATION: BLOOD MOON BALL

Spoiler: Silvermist’s outfit( plus her fake broom)

Silvermist observed the crowd, water in hand. Only a few seemed interesting to speak with. There were the vampire ladies but they seemed way too crowded in Silvermist’s personal opinion, which would most likely lead to a failed attempt at a conversation. At the bar she had noticed three men with unique looking masks who seemed to have had fun with the masquerade theme or someone else did. Silvermist was a prime example of not having any say in the outfit portion of the event. She then saw a man and a woman who seemed to be a safe distance away from them. The man was a brunette who was looking at the ones with the strange masks. The girl who accompanied the man was a redhead, and she came off as someone who Silvermist thought of as someone she should be aware of. But she didn’t know anyone there. She darted her eyes between the two and between the other three before thinking.

‘Red head it is’

But how was she going to strike up a conversation? Her nerves began to eat at her, which was strange. This was never normally an issue when she worked at her shop and had to speak with people regularly.

‘But…this isn’t my shop…this is a place full of possibly homicidal people who can get away with murder.’

She needed to stop thinking about that! Okay, there are rumors. Stuff people have said based off of word of mouth. Nothing ever said that everyone there was like that, nor was there even any confirmation that anyone was a killer anyway. She stood up and walked over to the female. She sat down next to her, still slightly anxious, she said.

“Hello! My name is Silvermist.”

Was that all she had?​

 

[Maverick Six]

Interaction: Athanas RedLeftHand36 Sepokku

Mentions: Everyone

Bloodmoon Ball​

---

Ah. I've been made.​

The Deo Volente lacked anything which could be called "superhuman" senses proper. He could not peer through walls. He could not hear frequencies beyond the spectrum that most humans could. What he did have however, was an attention to detail. In battle -- this would mean being able to pierce. In situations such as these, it meant that he could pick up most anything of note. Some might feel overwhelmed by keeping track of the activities of dozens or even hundreds of people. Listening selectively to their conversations whilst blocking out other sounds with his focus. But not Richter. Only so many details within his perception were beyond him. Even a single hand -- which motioned to the currently lone Deo Volente was not beneath his notice.

The careful would see the subtle movement of his head -- as he turned towards the Three Faced Mask Man who pointed at him within a moment of him doing so.

He took noticed that where the Man of Many Faces looked, the DeLormè Sisters gaze had seemed to follow. If he was made, then he might as well make it easier for them. He raised his glass to the man who spotted him. Almost as if congratulating him for noticing him. And also making it easier for the Sisters to see him if they wished. Be it for interferface or attack -- The Hunter seemed to welcome whatever it was that came his way with open arms. But if what he read on them was correct, they were apt to be quite popular tonight with a great many types of people. Known and not.

His eyes wandered about the room. For a moment, they settled upon a strange cat with ominous eyes. To see a creature clad openly with fur walking about the event was odd to say the least. Yet no one seemed to remove it. There was however, woefully little for the Hunter to draw any connection to anyone here. He would make quick note of it, keeping it in the corner of his mind, before somethings more immediately relevant appeared before him.

Briefly -- he his head would turn and land on a man looking right at him. His mask was composed of black PVC and he'd very identifiable scars along his mouth. Yet there was nothing in particular to link him to anyone nor anything. For all Richter knew, this gray man could be staring at him for no reason in particular. Lacking the lavishness, bravado and other identifying characteristics....Richter knew not what to make of him. He walked off and faded into the corner of the Hunter's eyes -- texting something yet unknown. Of all the people, he was perhaps the one who most readily seemed to fade into the crowd. Particularly as someone drew near. But he would remember the man.

The next thing was someone who was coming closer.

The Technomancer

Perhaps wearing the fanciest and most high-tech mask in the room, Jacque could be spotted and identified by the Hunter practically a mile away. Richter watched him subtly at first -- his soulless gaze as the Metal-Mage approached the bar and began to take up more of his bandwidth. Finally he had taken a seat next to him, and Richter returned his gaze to the crowd. Much like the Metal-Mage, Richter did not greet the man as he appeared. And indeed, Richter seemed as though he could remain quiet almost indefinitely. He looked over only to watch his drink be prepared -- and then turned his face back to the crowd.

To Jacque, the silence was awkward -- similar to the bartender. From the corner of his eye, he practically feel the man's restlessness. And yet to Richter, the silence simply was. It was only when the man had decided to speak that he had spoken to that he replied.

"Indeed. I could hardly consider a place like this somewhere I'd be -- normally." He said, taking a sip of his water with the brief raising of his mask to take a drink. His peaceful refreshment interrupted by Jacque's jab at his choice of beverage, Richter slowly turned towards the man. If Jacque turned to face him -- he would see Richter leaning in rather closely. Almost uncomfortably.

"Well the answer to that is very simple, Techomancer. I'm your daddy." He leaned away, spinning in his chair 90 degree to return to surveying the crowd. But he continued to speak.

"I have graciously taken it upon myself to chaperone this event. Please, drink! Dull your senses and slow your reflexes. Just try not to get dragged off into a dark corner and drank from. Especially by that the woman whom you've been exchanging rather.... passionate stares with." He said, his eyes washing over one of the Vampire Sisters in particular -- before moving onto yet another faction to keep in mind.

For the Hunter, things were easier to parce into groups. Mankind was a rather tribal species with varying degrees of overlap -- and he found the supernatural to be no exception to this. The Vampires had their fangs, their palor, lavishness and their confidence. Soon however, a new faction came. And they had come all at once. The wolves. Few had such features -- save for one man in particular. However, they moved and appeared in a pack. One of their greatest strengths -- in addition to their actual strength. But here, it made all the easier for Richter to identify a great many of them, recording them all in one big group. One Tribe. The Vampires too began to congregate. And they too would exchange pleasantries and connections.

It didn't really take long before despite the masks, he knew of nearly every vampire and werewolf in the room. And of where they were at nearly all times. Noticing even at times when they had begun to mingle. One wolf was so bold as to walk right up to the Sabine Sisters and the aptly named Wolfsbane family himself. For a wolf -- the man had almost an air of innocence about him. It accentuated his foolishness and naivety. It was almost amusing how he hesitated in his approach -- indecisive in the course of action he had decided to take.

Yet the guards opened up, allowing him into their jaws -- much to the Hunter's own amusement. The Wolves seemed to seek to mingle. Indeed, another seemed entertaining for wholly different reasons.

A drunk.

A woman had wandered in with alcohol of her own. In response to the rules prohibiting this, she chose to slam a drink he suspected was quite heavy. And then belch right in the man's face. The Technomancer would be close enough to hear his audible chuckling at the display. And he would continue to watch her subtle rampage through the ball, grabbing drinks two drinks and promptly dashing them both to the floor -- before she shrugged off the heated stair of the waiter and then began to make her way over.

Oh this should be good.

She appeared before them, sniffing the air as wolves did. Yet to Richter's surprise -- the woman spoke not of their scents but of their masks. He leaned on his fists as she insulted them both. "My mask is Ugly?" Richter asked. "Good." He said, proudly. "I am not here to look pretty."

To his surprise, she went on to describe her criteria to his critique. It surprised him a bit to see her make something so robust. Even if she wasn't a werewolf -- she'd seemed the crude sort. It might make for interesting conversation. There was admittedly merit to his critique given that she made one accurate call on it. But he would add to the it. "Often, I find myself I fan of simplicity. Occam's Razor, if you will." He raised the mask to take a sip. And those who could see his lips and skin would see he was smiling.

She ordered a drink. And his eyes narrowed on the movements of the bartender's back. He couldn't quite see -- but at first he thought nothing of it. The drink was handed to her, and she knocked it over. Making it the third she had knocked over this night. He stared at the spilled drink for a moment, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. Yet he simply spoke after.

"You know, perhaps I will take a drink. That looks rather appealing." Said Richter, lying through his teeth. "One corpse reviver number two please." He said. And after the bartender cleaned up the mess and set on preparing it. There was a difference but nothing much that could be so easily qualified from this angle. The drink was set down in front of him. And Richter briefly placed his hand on it's bottom, looking it over in plain sight,

Before he simply put it back down and slid it over to the Wolf Woman. "I change my mind. Here. You have it." He said, curious as to what she would do next. Would this be the fourth? He could only wonder. If she left it -- then it would just be left to waste. It was not in Richter's nature to prefer drink. And now would be likely a bad time to indulge, given the abscence of their Lieuten-

"...Barrett?"

His head practically swung, turning sharply with the social sublty of a sledgehammer. A cacophony of voices and he narrowed it down to a few conversations. Soon after, one name. "I'm fine, Thomas…” The voice said. And the voice was matched with face. A red-haired woman whom he saw walk in with a different long ago. Soon he had seen that he walked with someone different. Missing an arm, but of proper height and build. It was their missing Lieutenant in the flesh. And with him someone whom he could. The two spoke and Richter eavesdropped from quite a ways away. They soon began to make their way. And interestingly enough, one of them seemed to almost radiate anxiety. Weakness. Fear.

Richter took a sip of the water as he stared at the woman cowering behind Thomas, a wicked smile as he figured whom she was affiliated with. Particularly, the shabby man whom she came in with. The woman and Barret sat three seats down. Next to them, a girl with a Broomstick squeaked at the also troubled redhead. And the pair would eavesdrop.

What troubled you so, mage?

He wondered. Yet beneath the mask...that wicked smile began to fade into something much more stone-like. Much more Grim. Richter could sense danger approaching. And indeed, he saw danger appear before him as it cast it's shadow above them. He would gaze up.

And up.

And up.

Casting a shadow over them was a particularly tall specimen. Even as a human, the man was likely the tallest person in the room. Richter could scarcely imagine his height in wolf form.

"My my, aren't you half the height of a Kodiak Grizzly Bear? Ah. It takes me back to a hike I did in Alaska.... Anyway..." He reached out, and Richter looked towards the man's target before his hand even reached. And just like that, he snatch the Technomancer's Drink from his hand. He gave a whiff, growled something strange and then it burst in his hand.

The enourmous wolf leaned down into Richter's face. His putried breath bleeding through the creases of Richter's mask as he spoke. Slowly, Richter put the water down. And then he leaned onto the bar, splaying his elbows out. To the Laymen? He was preparing for if the man took a swing. He stared into the man's eyes and surveyed his every muscle with his full and undivided attention.

"Down Fido." He said to the blind behemoth of a werewolf.

"I am afraid I have something for all. You are not special. Though I am unsure of how many of the guests would be worth my bullets." He had all but confirmed himself to be armed. The price of smuggling the rounds in being a woeful lack of ammo. Yet that didn't seem to bother the Richter one bit. Those who listened would have no trouble hearing. But who would care to take them, and ruin such a fine night?

"The restrooms is down that hall. To third door to your left. Can't miss it."

 

[SidTheSkid]

---

[Location: The Regency, Blood Moon Ball. ]
[Currently: Ballin'. ]
[Faction: Coven of Saint Haddock, Leader. ]

There was an abnormal sense of unease that settled upon Magnus as he examined his attire in the exquisite oval mirror adorning the wall. Something just didn't feel quite right, though he couldn't quite put his finger on the source of his confusion. The first thing that caught his attention was the "minotaur mask" he was wearing at the time, which made it seem as though he were preparing to audition for a luchador wrestling match. In hindsight, he mused, perchance he should have dedicated more a couple more minutes to finding a more suitable mask. However, it was nice knowing that at least the color of his chosen mask complemented his suit admirably. Remaining lost in his own reflection, Magnus instinctively moved his hands upward, as if to adjust an absent tie, only to realize that there was no tie to straighten. "Oh," he muttered disappointingly, a prompt realization dawned upon him. It seemed that he had completely overlooked that accessory in his hurried preparations for tonight's event; though he felt a tinge of embarrassment at his absent-mindedness, Magnus didn't let the lack of a measly old tie distress him too greatly, besides, The Regency would remain open for a considerable time due to the ball, granting him ample opportunities to acquire his tie at his leisure.

Plus, Cordelia appeared to be engrossed in her own tasks, certainly far too preoccupied to rescue Magnus from his 'tie tying' ineptitude; she had been engrossed in a conversation with someone that caught Magnus's attention, it seemed as if this person was an 'accomplice' of hers, judging by how animated the two were in their conversation with each other. However, identifying who this person proved to be a challenge, for their face was guised beneath the sketalized veil of a antelope or was that a deer? The large set of antlers adorning the sides of the macrabe mask partially obscured the tangle of brown hair atop their head; in essence the mask he chose to wear was impressive, there was 'tasteful thickness' to it, he wasn't afraid to admit that it made him just a little bit jealous. Their overall attire, wasn't unlike that of the other attendees, it comprised of a conventional suit, albeit with the jacket casually draped over their shoulders like it were shawl, but that was an inconsequential detail that Magnus barely registered in his head. As Magnus continued to observe him, he noticed that the person wearing the bony mask carried a noticeable limp with him, their movements revealing a distinct unevenness while him and Cordelia made their way towards the bar area that was, unsurprisingly busy; eventually both would 'fade' away from Magnus's view amid the dense crowd of bodies that were roaming throughout the venue.

Witnessing Cordelia's spirits lift after being accompanied by this gentleman was a sight that warmed his heart. "Good for her, I hope she has fun." Knowing that Cordelia had found a companion, he felt reassured that she wouldn't be left to her own devices. Magnus's attention returned back to his reflection in the mirror after some time, where he delicately tilted his head from side to side, savoring the outlines of his smooth jawline which made shaving for an entire hour worth it. "Alright, enough of that." Not wanting to be too 'vain', Magnus made his departure from the mirror's allure, believing now would be the best time to embark on a new journey of discovery, a pilgrimage through the vintage halls of The Regency. He found it nice that this repurposed town hall still retained its aura of antiquity, its noble essence transcending time, and whispering tales of bygone eras. Magnus, always was one to be captivated by the charm of historic edifices, viewing them as 'portals' to the past, where he could walk in the footsteps of those who came before him.

Yet, where should hecommence this expedition first? The possibilities for exploration were vast, and the potential discoveries were numerous! However, he felt inclined to start with a more gradual approach; Magnus learned from the invitation letter that was conveniently equipped with an interior map to prevent anyone from getting lost, that the Regency's second floor housed several administrative offices. However, this floor was noticeably smaller than the much larger first floor, which included the old council chamber and the court room rumored to have been renovated into a ballroom for this event. Taking all this information into consideration, Magnus felt it would be best to ascend the stairs to the second floor; and so he would carefully navigate himself away from where he once was and through the throngs of people ambling about, being aware not to interrupt any ongoing conversations or unintentionally collide with fellow attendees as he moved. Once Magnus reached the foot of the staircase, he positioned himself on the right side and ran his fingers along the smooth mahogany railing, enjoying the feeling of the polished varnish against his palm. With caution, he began his ascent, mindful of the constant flow of human traffic moving up and down the stairs.

Having reached the summit of the stairs, he felt his shoes meeting the gray, polyester event carpet that stretched from where he was standing all the way to the farthest point of the second floor. On both sides of the carpet, two spacious lounge areas awaited the patrons, furnished with buffet tables generously laden with food and beverages; Elegant standing candelabras also graced the vicinity, giving compliments to the art installations showcasing exquisite decorative sculptures and the walls displaying a series of historic portraits, commemorating former notable figures who held significant positions in the town hall. There was also a marble table situated closeby to him, serving as an impromptu information center, a stack of pamphlets were shown on the table, providing insight into upcoming events during the Bloodmoon ball. Magnus couldn't help but be impressed by the thorough preparations of the host, but this fascination was soon withdrawn as his attention was captured to a specific section of the lounge area. There, a small group of approximately five individuals gathered, but it was the distinct voices of two women that immediately caught his ear, evoking a sense of familiarity.

"Charlotte...? Sabine...?" Being ignorant of the speech they hosted earlier, Magnus would've been a bit surprised to hear them. As he drew closer, he couldn't help but notice their outfits and the fascinating contrast in their attire; Sabine's dress gave off an gothic and provocative aspect with its sultry black hue and revealing nature, while Charlotte's ensemble emanated an air of refinement and elegance with its style, also being adorned in a layer of pristine white. The inherent beauty of the two was already known well, but their marvelous garments would further accentuate their allure. Additionally, Magnus soon spotted Dante, who had already been mingling with the two. The distinctive resonance of Dante's voice left no doubt as to his identity. Displaying himself in spectacularly regal demeanor, Dante's red and black suit and jacket harmoniously complemented his golden mask and vermillion crown. Accompanying him were two individuals who bore an uncanny resemblance to him, perhaps the three of them were all related, siblings? Lastly, among the group, there was another figure donning a mixed blend of light blue and dark grey shown. Honestly their suit looked like something that 'Tony Montana' would wear, as for his mask, well it looked like something that 'Leatherface' would make.

[ Mentions: Anaxileah (Cordelia), zlexis (Thomas) ]
[ Interactions: Loxely (Charlotte), Loomis (Sabine), zlexis (Riian), Eldarkon ]

 

[Loomis]

The Blood Moon was slowly climbing in the sky, casting an almost red hue in the night sky, the power emanating from it increasing by the second. Most of Sant Haddock was wrapped up in tonight's Ball leaving the streets an empty shell of itself. The only movement in the city was down by the docks, its workers never knowing a true night off. The usual suspects, of homeless people and drug addicts, clung to the shadows or small fire pits created from a leftover barrel. A few cargo ships sat nestled in their docking slip as the crews worked tirelessly to unload whatever supplies sat in the boxes they were carrying.

The once peaceful water began to pick up in movement, lapping against the ships side, indicating there was movement farther out on the water. A faint rumble of another boat's engine approaching caught the attention of a few of the dock workers, taking pause in their routine as they gazed out into the foggy water to try and make out the new vessel approaching.

Just a few hundred yards from the docks a sleek, black yacht slowly broke through the thick fog separating the shore of Saint Haddock and the open waters. The motor yacht slowed its pace as the crew onboard began to prepare to drop anchor. Sounds of heavy clunking metal could be heard from the yacht as the anchor descended into the water to secure the boat in place. Another figure appeared on the bow of the ship, his hands gripping the cool metal railing tightly as he stared down on the docks before him. Inhaling deeply the man took in the scents around him; the sweat from the workers, the salt from the ocean, piss from the homeless, the smoke of the fires. Disgusting. Crinkling his nose in distaste the man shoved himself from the railing and disappeared back into the ship.

A tender boat came ripping around the corner of the yacht, the man from earlier stood at the front of the small vessel watching the dock as they approached. The boat stopped briefly at the edge of the docks to allow the passenger off before racing back to the main vessel. The man stood at the edge of the docks as he took the scenery in. Shithole of a place, bringing an unlit cigarette to his mouth he placed it between his thin lips and made his move towards the cargo ships.

Light banter and laughter could be heard from the men working as Saint Haddock’s newest resident approached them. They carried on their conversation, blissfully unaware of the predator standing, watching, behind them.

“Evening, gentlemen,” His voice heavy with a Greek accent, the cigarette bouncing on his lips as he spoke. The group of men jumped at the sudden voice, shouting profanities out of reflex, but quickly falling silent as they turned to see the man before them. His reddened orbs looked down on them with a hungry twinkle. “I see you are working tirelessly to unpack my ships,” he grandly gestured to the two vessels at the docks. The men looked around at the ships and then back to each other nervously, unsure as to why the man was here. Typically the people that sent shipments to Saint Haddock never came down here and they definitely didn’t interact with the dock workers.



“Does anyone have a lighter?” The man removed the cigarette from his lips and flipped it between his fingers. One of the workers meekly approached him, lighter in hand and held it out before quickly snapping his thumb over the metal wheel and sparking the flame. Bringing the cigarette back to his lips he graciously took the lighter, lit his cigarette and placed the lighter into his suit jacket pocket. Inhaling deeply he let out a gratified sigh as he walked towards the boxes sitting on the dock. Without a word he ripped the top of the box off and discarded the cardboard onto the floor. His eyes lit up at the box's contents.

“Here,” he tossed a bag to each of the workers. “A gift from me to you, for your hard work. Enjoy them, distribute them, either way they are yours.” The men opened the bags to see hundreds of pill bags inside. One of them grabbed the drug and inspected it closely, the chalky pill was a pale orange color with an interesting symbol pressed into it.

“What are they?” One of the men questioned as he stared into the open bag.

The man chuckled at the question as he took a few bags for himself. “See to it that your job is done before you indulge yourselves. And when you’re ready for more, give me a call.” He reached back into his suit jacket and produced a small stack of matte black business cards. The name Cassius and a phone number embossed in shiny black lettering to contrast against the matte cardstock.

Taking one last drag from his cigarette he flicked the remainder onto the dock before taking his leave. The workers gave each other one last confused look before getting back to work, their minds still lingering on the gifts they had received. Cassius passed out little bags to those loitering about the docks as he made his way towards the entrance of the shipyard. His driver stood in front of the luxury sports car, hands clasped at his waist as he waited for Cassius to arrive.

“Welcome,” He nodded and opened the car door. Cassius gave him a small nod before taking his seat onto the plush leather seats.

“How were your travels, sir?” The driver asked as he took his seat behind the wheel.

“Long,” he groaned as he settled into the seat. “But, the night is young and I have much to attend to before the Blood Moon is over. Primyl is being distributed as we speak, soon that little pill will have a choke hold on this putrid town. Shall we continue with tonight’s games?”

“Where to?” The driver raised his eyes to the rearview mirror to meet the Vampire’s red glare.

“If my intel is correct, the only one not in attendance to the Ball is the Werewolves pack leader. Let’s pay her a visit, shall we?” Without a word the driver placed the car in drive and sent the car forward in the direction of the pack leaders home.

“This place truly is utterly horrible. I can see why she picked it though, very easy to take over, access to the shipyard to keep business flowing. Smart woman…” He muttered to himself as he watched the city outline growing closer.

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As the car pulled up to its destination Cassius could feel the excitement of what was to come rushing through his body. “I’ll be just a moment,” he leaned forward and gave his driver a pat on the shoulder as he opened the car door. The Blood Moon sitting ominously in the sky, shining down on the dive bar tucked away in the woods. Cassius slowly walked forward, the gravel and rocks crunching beneath his footsteps. Pushing the bar door open the makeshift door bell gave a slight chime to alert whoever inside of his presence.

“We’re closed.” A tired voice called out to him from behind the bar. The curly haired, dark skin women glanced up to see who had entered Lucky Dave’s and let out a surprised gasp as she met his eyes. The scent of decay filled her nose as he entered the bar. No Vampire had ever set foot inside the dive bar, at least not while she had been alive.

Before she had time to react or tell him off the Vampire was already leaping over the bar and throwing her to the ground. She let out a pained cry as her body was forcefully pushed into the unforgiving concrete floor.

“You should have gone with the rest of your flea infested group. You would have been able to enjoy one more night on this Earth with your little pack. Why you chose to leave yourself here vulnerable is beyond me.” Cassius stood over the woman baring his fangs, a look of disgust and rage on his face. Bending down he grabbed her throat and lifted her up to face him. Elu kicked at his torso defensively, hoping to make him lose his hold on her so she could break free and defend herself.

“What to do with you, what to do,” Cassius smiled at her as he watched the pack leader struggle against his grasp. “I could drain you dry, but the taste of Werewolf blood is rather disgusting in my opinion.”

“Y-you won’t get away with this,” Elu sputtered out between desperate gasps for air.

“Is that so?” Cassius laughed and tossed her body over the bar, sending her crashing into the bar's tables. Elu quickly got back on her feet but Cassius was already standing in front of her. Her eyes widened, she had never seen a Vampire move as fast as he did. She focused her energy to start the process of turning, her once amber colored eyes flashing yellow. Cassius gave the woman a swift punch to the jaw, causing the woman to fall back on one of the tables.

“There will be none of that I’m afraid,” Taking hold of her once more he held her in place as he slammed his foot into her knee, he could hear the lovely sound of cracking bones followed by her shrieks of pain. “Beautiful, utterly beautiful!” He shouted over her cries of agony.

Relentlessly began sending blow after blow to her face. With each hit, blood flew from her face and spattered onto the floor. Throwing her once again towards the door of the bar he flicked his hair back into place.

He tapped his chin with his bloodied finger as he contemplated his next move, “I should burn this place to the ground, but then your little pups wouldn’t get to see your blood on the walls.” Turning his attention to the pack leader once again he watched as she took ragged breaths, attempting to gain the strength to stand and face him.

“I do admire your gusto, but I have somewhere else to be.” With that he ran over to the wolf and knocked her back down. Reaching into his suit jacket he pulled out a long dagger, the blade shining against the dim bar lights. Kneeling over the woman he grabbed her face in his hands and forced her to look him in the eyes before sending the dagger into her stomach. Kissing her forehead he released her face and watched her body slump against the wall. Standing back up he adjusted his attire and wiped his blood stained hands on his pants. Suddenly a sharp pain hit him in his chest, how irritating.

Cassius balled his fists to try and help ignore the pain now radiating from his chest as he walked back to the car. He flung the car door open and reached desperately for the bag that was sitting on the opposite seat. Shoving his free hand inside the bag as the other clawed at his chest he rifled through the items inside until he found what he was looking for. A singular blood bag was pulled from the bag, his eyes dancing with hunger he bit straight into the bag, squeezing at it to force the liquid into his mouth faster. Letting out a satisfied moan he pulled the bag away from his bloodied mouth and tossed it to the ground beside the car.

“Lucas,” Cassius growled and knocked on the black window of the driver's side. The window quickly rolled down, the driver ready to take whatever order Cassius would throw at him.

“Toss the woman’s body in the trunk, I’ll change while you move her, we can dump her body on the way.” He gave the hood of the car a quick tap and pushed himself off the car as he circled back around to the trunk of the car. Popping the trunk open he pulled out his garment bag, a pristine black suit and mask tucked away inside. Cassius pulled off his silk button up to reveal his muscular and heavily tattooed build. The white silk was stained with Werewolves blood, holding it in his hands he smiled down at his work. This should make things interesting. Tossing the shirt inside the back of the car he carried on with cleaning himself up from the little mess he had made while Lucas was busy inside Lucky Dave’s.

“Sir!” Lucas popped his head outside the bar door, “Should I clean up the blood?”

“What fun would that be! Leave it, I want them to see it!” Cassius tossed his head back in laughter as he pulled on his new suit jacket. Everything was going according to plan, as they usually do for the Vampire, but something about this new endeavor was really getting him going. He wasn’t sure if the rush was from the Blood Moon or the victory he had inside the dive bar, but either way he was swimming in his glory.

Lucas dragged Elu’s body to the trunk of the car just as Cassius was slipping his mask over his face.

“Great choice sir,” Lucas commented on his boss’s new attire as he hoisted the woman’s limp body into the trunk. Cassius glared down at the woman, her body slightly contorted from being forced into the small space. Death becomes you, reaching out he moved some stray curls that cluttered up her face before slamming the trunk shut.

“Let’s make our way to the Ball and see what trouble we can stir up there, shall we?”

 

[RedLeftHand36]

Thaumus

Under a different name
[Interactions with zlexis & Anaxileah ]

The sight of a ghost...

Fie, o spawn of ill-begotten night. Wherein thy hand doth offer naught but breathless sleep, yet neither soundness nor wisdom heed thine dwindling strength and stubborn pride. Ere, little else must have given way, yet what dawn of new age man hath drawn fast above thy crown. Soon shalt thou see, that wanton reason of nature, and the pride of lions axed in twain by the blade of time. Clutch thine strength; The eyes of natural law see that time when death shall come for thee. Witches were once of hidden woods for good reason.

Prophecies were of those who did not understand the way of the world; In truth, there were only laws and truths made by natural order. This did not make it feel any less unnatural as a ragged hound bore witness to pain and pride. Alas, there was pain in knowing much, but being unable to do something. Some preternatural distance away, the witness of things became momentarily lost in thought. Was such happenstance so infallible? So inevitable? Alas, what was there to do? The moon had no pull over that which was not water. It was in this moment, a rare moment of distraction, where the all-seeing gaze overlooked something of importance with momentary preturbation.

Thomas Barrett. Little did the lamb know, but the goat knew all. One often ponders of the things they could do if only they could turn the gaze of father time and wind back the clock. But that with a planted name, a sown name, dwelled more often on the consequences. Once upon a time, tragedy struck. But would more or less tragedy befall had such prior vicissitude been wiped from the manuscript of existence? Would Thomas Barrett be here, as he was, as he would be made, as of now, had circumstances offered mercy to the man? A question for a wiser being.

Then she entered stage. Living proof that any kind of beauty could be accompanied by any kind of ugliness. The whisper spoke: A broken car and a broken heart. When hate died, so did love, and there was nothing left. What do beer and formula have in common? They come in bottles. The Coven of Saint Haddock were certainly a colourful bunch. One might wonder if it was all the drugs left from so many miserable youths. Stories repeated themselves quite often among humans, though one would consider vampires more human than anyone likes to think.

The red and the whisper brought him back, but for just a moment, he had been a person. An individual. Someone who could be seen. But now he was one again. One would be a ghost again, breathless, scentless, colourless, soulless. Or perhaps he had too many souls. He wasn’t that similar to the rest of his kin, after all. They were loud. They were the worst kind of vibrant. But the law of nature had already decreed that the quiet would take its rightful place once more. Somewhere between the red and the green and the blue, there was black. Silent, peaceful black. They could wear it, but they’d never know what it was.

Every single colour, and none of it at all.

A ghost. It didn’t matter what the unimportant bartender was doing. He could wait on the others. Just like it always seemed the stranger had been a guest at the party at the beginning of it all, so too did it seem as if his sudden manning of the bar had been an occurrence for all the time any had witnessed. Those who didn’t pay attention, or those who did not care, would never even have a differing thought. Chameleons were a bad analogy, despite the phrasing. Cephalopods, on the other hand, had things figured out, and seemed more congruent. [Cordelia’s drink] and a [Thomas’ drink], given in offering the moment of asking. Seemingly, already prepared. The thrice-face masked spoke softly, calmly, cooly, like a pleasant morning rain. One wondered if the voice would be familiar or not.

“For sinking old memories, and wading through new ones,” came words like a wind through the midnight forest. “A penny per eye, should you wish for words with meaning.”

Implications were implications, but yet again, whether people understood things or not bore none of one’s concern. The pieces were moved, and the dominoes would fall. All for the bettering of things. Though, admittedly, one bore some semblance of suspicion that perhaps both copies of the same poem were turned to the same page. The fruits of Hades were plucked and eaten. It was always best when one knew that there was no turning back. All in the meanwhile, another cat, this time small and grey. It carried itself through the legs of those among the bar, perhaps noticed, perhaps not, differently for each individual. Just as well, it seemed strange for so many crows to be awake at night, perched around a single building. Yet silent they were, bearing witness to arrivals.

 

[zlexis]

Thomas Barrett​

Location: The Regency; The Bar
Mood: Calculating
Interactions: Anaxileah | RedLeftHand36

"Th-thanks," Cordelia said as she took the lead. Tom waited for a moment, deliberately hesitating as he studied her mannerisms. He watched her hair sway with every hypnotic step, her shoulders relaxed, and her stride calmer. He had performed well. As soon as her attention moved from him to the bar, his warm smile faded, and he fell back into a severe look. The pleasantries they exchanged were beginning to tire the mage. For a brief, dark moment, he entertained the idea of pulling her aside and demanding that the coven align with Deo Velonte. However, he currently lacked the facilities to impose that authority. For now, pleasantries would suffice.

Loathed to admit it, keeping pace with the other mage was challenging. There wasn't any other way to feel except demoralized, as a woman of her stature could walk in long strides where he staggered behind her. Subconsciously, he pulled his jacket around his shoulders and studied the denizens at the bar as they approached. With a mixture of relief and dread, there were some he recognized and some he did not. A modernized mask with flashing messages caught his attention. Could that technomancer be any more obvious? With a grimace, he saw that Jacques seemed engaged in conversation with one of the mutts, based on her crass behavior and sniffing in their business. Nonetheless, Tom was relieved to see he was alive and well, worried he'd perished at Lazarus. He would have to ask how the unhinged man made it out, though that would be a conversation for a later time.

One figure put a stagger in Tom's step. A behemoth of an older man, roughly the size of a barge, loomed over the other human at the bar like a ship rocking in the winds before a storm. Horrid, disgusting creature, with claws that looked like they could slit throats. Would slit throats. And the other, with his devil-may-care attitude, stared down the monster with unwavering confidence. One of his own, Tom assumed with some pride. More Deo Velonte, and it could not have been worse timing.

While he wanted to celebrate with a mission accomplished in finding his faction and explain what had happened (minus a few details), he'd already wrapped himself up in this current business. Tom glanced from Cordelia to the others, winced at his next choice, and continued with barely an acknowledgment at her side. Without any specific deity in mind, he made a quick prayer that they understood his motives and not that he was dallying with some red-headed woman. He was likely already in trouble with the boss; one arm down, an irreplaceable sword missing—rumors of intimacy would be the cherry on top of this shitshow.

Allowing Cordelia to lead, Tom watched as she took the seat three chairs down from the group. He deliberated momentarily, then chose the adjacent chair where he could still observe the group while keeping Cordelia's attention on him. He angled his body so she would turn her back to the others to speak to him. Once he situated himself in the chair, his smile returned with the tilt of his head as he gave a slight lean forward. He spoke in an almost whisper, the kind you'd use in a church, though far from that, this place was. Ideally, she would lean in as well, as humankind tended to do when they mirrored. He briefly wondered if she played the same social game as he did. He also wondered if it mattered—if anything he did mattered or if this was all a big waste of time.

Hopefully not.

The mage started with an unassuming question, but one he'd hoped would lower her guard. "So, what's it like being second-in-command to the Coven? I can't imagine it's easy to manage." Especially with rumors of her mothering the leader and drunkard affiliating himself with the bloodsuckers. He clenched his fist but kept that last part to his private thoughts.

He watched her offer a small shrug. "It's not too difficult. The Coven mostly focuses on establishing safety for witches, though Magnus and I do our own work of trying to establish peace among the races, however futile it may seem. Still...it's better than outright murder." A dark look flashed across Tom’s eyes as he heard the last part with a twinge in his brow. Although he would have liked to retort, he had to be polite. Murder, really? Was that how she saw it? He wanted to laugh.

Before he could answer with false niceties, there was a sudden shift in his peripheral vision as a shadow, clad in white, drifted into their space—a man with many faces behind the bar. Perhaps the bartender… had he always been there? Tension increased in Tom's shoulders at the presence of this newcomer. He could not place why. While his eyes flittered between the three faces, unable to settle on one, he cleared his throat and picked his poison.

Before he'd finished his request, the tumbler slid across the smooth surface, its warm amber contents trembling in the glass as the ice cubes reflected the glistening lights from above—a simple Jack and Coke. Tom did not move to grab it.

Then the face, the faces, spoke, his voice reminiscent of his dreams and nightmares, calming and deliberate, and always cryptic in nature. As a brush of fur shifted between his legs, Tom blanched, his eyes widening with realization. Almost out of instinct, a shaking hand reached for where his missing sword used to be but now only bore a small, black book tucked into his ill-fit pants. As he looked up, he was rendered speechless, but his mind generated thoughts at a mile a minute.

Why, on earth, was this man here? What did he hope to gain? Perhaps here to collect payment for bringing Tom back from the brink of death. How fortuitous it would be to have a Deo Velonte in a vampire’s debt. Or, perhaps, to put a wedge in his plans. All scenarios seemed possible, but from an instinctual place in his gut, none seemed likely. Not from what he’d witnessed so far.

He shot a nervous glance in Cordelia’s direction, suddenly aware of his manifesting apprehension. So much for making a good impression on the witch, who a young woman with heterochromatic eyes had approached. He was thankful for that distraction as, hopefully, it would detract from his sudden jumpiness. Tom released a shaky breath, steeled himself, and turned his attention back to the stranger, as enigmatic as always with his dialect. Would every conversation be like piecing together a puzzle mixed from different sets?

"What brings you here?" Tom asked, his voice laced with suspicion. "And what do you want?" He eyed the man of faces warily, unsure of what to make of him. It indeed was unsettling, like the feeling of walking past a painting in a museum with eyes following every step. "I don't owe you anything, if that's what you're here for."

coded by archangel_

 

[zlexis]

Riaan Joseph

Location:
The Regency
Interactions: Loxely | Loomis | Eldarkon | SidTheSkid
Mood: resolute​

Riaan presented a bow to Lottie, but the veneer of politeness did not escape his notice. Despite his social ineptitude, he knew that vampires viewed werewolves as inferior. "Miss, the pleasure is all mine. I must say, you have a striking presence. Your attire is quite impressive as well." Riaan's eyes briefly flickered towards the newcomers, who wore matching attire, before returning to Lottie. "I hope you are enjoying the night so far?"

As more vampires joined, Riaan's shoulders tensed. A trio of well-dressed figures moved as a group led by a monstrous monarch, a roi-de-rats. Three more vampires than he expected, but there was no turning back. Elu was going to kill him...

Upon Sabine's introduction of the newcomer, Dante, who had paraded himself and his kin through the Regency as if he owned it, Riaan narrowed his eyes. 'Wolfbane' held some connotations, and that crown was presumptuous, if a bit over the top. There were some egos tonight, and navigating the sea of swollen heads would be challenging. Nevertheless, the goal of the soirée was to make peace, so Riaan reluctantly nodded, his eyes fixed on Dante and his entourage with a hint of suspicion. "Nice to meet you," he said, his voice low and guarded. “And, uh, you two as well.”

For a brief moment, he remembered the rifle in his truck. There was no way he could smuggle it in, and the distance from his weapon made him uneasy. He quickly glanced around and saw the rest of his kin mingling at a bar, probably causing trouble, but he had come to expect it. Although he would remain conversing with the vampires for the time being, he would keep an eye on the others. At the first sign of trouble, he would be there.

The wolf returned his attention to Sabine, and all the tension and unease flowed out with a calm, outward breath. "Let's cut to the chase and skip the small talk. No 'How's the weather,' no 'What's your favorite color,' none of that." His voice lowered into a growl, grave and guttural, full of venom. "You lot and your antics have stirred the pot.”

He continued, his words rising in intensity, fueled by his passion for peace. "It won't be long before we find those fanatics at our doorstep. The attacks on humans, the manipulation - they're not going to let it slide. It's only going to get worse, and I can't have that for my pack. So, let's talk about how we can move forward and coexist without any more bloodshed." Suddenly, another figure appeared who seemed to recognize the sisters. A stylishly dressed human approached the situation like visiting old friends instead of being locked in with starved lions. Riaan would commend his bravery, but instead simply eyed the newcomer with caution, curious to see how the others would address him.

coded by archangel_

 

[Athanas]

Richter's intention of appearing menacing was unsuccessful...mostly. Jacques did not get scared easily-when you are able to completely marmalize your opponent's innards with their own weapon, you become a lot more confident in your survivability. Besides, he was well aware of Richter, the same way he was aware of most of the Deo Volente, and had read that neat little paragraph about a lack of any supernatural qualities. What could the man do? Shoot him? Stab him? Laughable stuff.

And yet...as the other hunter leaned in, Jacques could not help but shift slightly in his seat. Richter had this...unshakeable calm about him that made it hard to gauge his reactions to things. He was almost like an automaton, if automatons were far more vulnerable to damage and prone to occasional snarky responses. Heh. Maybe not quite like an automaton, after all. But the gist was similar. He wondered what could possibly have happened for him to behave in this manner. It wasn't like he'd bothered to also read his psych eval, that stuff tended to be awfully, unbearably, incredibly fucking boring.

Richter returned back to his pastime of people watching, and Jacques suppressed the desire to sigh in relief. Including the Deo Volente in what already was an incredibly jarring equation would just cause him a headache. Two nights in a row now he had been so...out of his element, with so many factors outside of his control.

But the others did not know that, and that would have to do, for now. He would simply have to maintain his composure, which shouldn't be too difficult through the ma-

"Well the answer to that is very simple, Techomancer. I'm your daddy."

Jacques began to chuckle. He tried to suppress it, but that had the opposite effect, and soon, full blown laughter reverberated from within the mask, the voice distortion giving it a thoroughly unnerving pitch. An arm shot out, shoving Richter hard in a vain effort to steady the Technomancer's cackling body.

"That...That was fucking good. You got me." He managed as the laughter dying down, the words still punctuated by the occasional sniffling. Finally, he steeled his resolve and steadied himself anew on his stool. "It's helpful, that's very helpful. That you are so cautious, that is, anyway."

What, did Richter really think that he would be let off the hook that easy?

"Honestly, it must be quite depressing. To have to deny yourself even the slightest bit of satisfaction, to have to grasp at every slight advantage because you lack so much power and control. To have to rely on a mere..." His voice trailed off as his senses, reaching out to scan the Deo Volente, returned...nothing. What the hell? Was he unarmed? No, that was a very slim probability, and he could sense metal from him. But what, then? Knives? Wire? Gah, he was already taking too long. He could practically feel the other man's contempt grow. "...All I'm saying, is that it's admirable you're still so determined. And, for the record, if that woman were to try to feed upon me, she would be in for one most unpleasant surprise, so you don't need to worry about that."


That, tonight, was a lie. Water Toxemia was nothing to scoff at, and injections with holy water on a frequent basis had a good chance of killing him. But Richter did not need to know that. A cackling skull accentuated the statement, and Jacques kept his face centered on Richter long enough to make sure he could well and truly take it in, before a victorious swig of vodka was taken


Another came to join them at the bar. She seemed like a grump, the kind that takes themselves far too seriously and gets very confused when others don't follow suit. She was already swaying slightly, by the looks of it. Not really a threat, thought Jacques. Until she made the mistake of opening her mouth and insulting him. Something about how he was defeating the point of the event. Was she too dull to see that that was the fucking point? The Stranger? The Man From The Outside? Not Beholden to Your Laws and Customs? Hello?


Luckily for her, she had the dignity to make sure to embarrass herself by clumsily spilling her own drink before he had time to properly get pissed off about the fact, so he just offered a small laugh. "Yup, it's absolutely defeating the point. That's...however, a point of it's own, wouldn't you agree, Dani?"

How convenient it is when people so helpfully offer up their personal information on a silver platter, protected only by the most pathetic of security measures that big tech had assured them were safe. His mask swirled to a cyclopean eye, burning with power, gaze fixed intently on Dani's mask. "What psychokinetic did you piss off, huh? Can't imagine it would've been difficult, given your attitude. Or maybe they've taken offense to you looking into that crime scene yesterday? Or perhaps just someone who thought you a nutter for talking to the security cameras. Honestly, your guess is as good as mine."

Satisfied with having thoroughly established the metaphorical upper hand in the discussion, Jacques leaned back, the mask shifting to a somewhat more amicable grin. "I will give credit where credit is due-the mask is pretty cool, and the gun is frankly impressive. Made specifically for the event, I'd wager, given the lack of anything that would set off a metal detector."

Another skirmish won, another sip of vodka went down. Tremble, ye who would face a genius in his own game. Tremble!
"Ah, but I'm being a dick. Apologies, it's...habit. People call me The Stranger. Tonight, you can too. Pleased to meet you." A hand tentatively went out for her to shake, with the other one prepared to unleash hell should she choose to do anything especially amusing.


And indeed, someone did have amusing ideas, but oddly enough, it was not Dani, not yet, anyway. No, a monstrously tall man, moving with all the grace and poise of a trainwreck saw fit to approach the bar too, towering over the people currently sitting. What was this creature? A werewolf, to be sure, no other entity, supernatural or otherwise, could possibly be acting this fucking stupid, even as a form of disguise. Poor mutt must've spent too long in transformation, he'd forgotten some of the basics of humanity.


He was honestly fine to leave the creature to wallow in it's own misery. He'd had enough fun for the moment, even mocking the flaws of those around him could only entertain for so long. But the creature was clearly even more base than he originally posited. With surprising speed, it snatched his drink, sniffing it, like a dog with a water bowl, before declaring it to be poison and shattering it.

The fucking nerve of this baseborn avatar!

The static returned. A liquid stream of molten metal began to pour out from Dani's mask-no, it was no mask, those were her eyes. Richter's mask made a terrible creaking noise as the gears that hid within his hollow corpus aligned. Wire on the walls. Wire on the bodies. Wire in his flesh. All he had to do, was give it an outlet. All he had to do was let it run free. Tonight, of all nights, nothing easier. The static formed a sentence. He raised his hand, eager to decipher it-

"NO" He declared, snapping himself back to reality with a titanic effort of will. The others nearby would most certainly notice that their stools, as well as several loose metallic objects around the bar and on their person , had started to slightly shake and move, seemingly animated by a will of their own. With another thought, Jacques forced himself to cease affecting them.

"I understand." He finally said to Ed, with a sigh and a shrug. "It's very hard not to be of subhuman intelligence when you spend most of your time glorifying wolves. Still, even my patience has limits. The first one's free. The second one will kill you and everyone you ever cared for."

The threat was not intoned with any grave declaration, or any aggressive movements-It was spoken with the same casual tone one would announce coming over to take a look at your car. With the mask's sensors still carefully studying Ed, Jacques resolved to ignore the buffoon, turning back towards the bar, signaling for the bartender to get him a replacement.

"Sorry about that. Just been a...stressful time for me. Don't have a lot of patience for playing babysitter, you know?"

A small chuckle, as his body language slowly eased back up. The fact that the animal was talking to Dani could only mean one thing-she was also a werewolf. A much better adjusted one, at that, which may at least render interaction tolerable. With that in mind, he tried starting some conversation again with the only one of the other three people nearby that did not seem to revel in being insufferable(although he did not mind Richter nearly as much-at least he knew the value of shutting the fuck up).

"I'm honestly surprised to see your leader absent from this gathering. I don't think whoever put it together would neglect to invite her. Are you her...PR person? Here to speak on her behalf?"


RedLeftHand36 Maverick Six Sepokku

 

[Eldarkon]

The moment Dante set his eyes on Riaan, his blood began to boil. The very atmosphere that surrounded him was disgusting to Dante. Underneath his mask, a snarl scrunched across his face. Upon reading the beast’s mind he was further driven to anger by his thoughts of him and his children. “Roi-de-rats? Never heard that one before” Dante chuckled, turning to his sons and pointing at Riaan “This beast is creative”. These were the interactions that Dante had been dreading. He of course knew the purpose of these talks, but his prejudice against these beast’s would not be easily dismissed.

“I appreciate your forthright attitude Mr. Joseph. But let's cut the shit. The only reason why I am even open to talking to you beast’s is for the sake of my partner. She wishes to put aside the long and deadly past that our two species share. But I am not as forgiving as she is. I could care less what the Deo Volente does to you and your filthy pack” Dante then took a glass from a waiter passing by, Taking a sip before continuing to speak.

“However the fact of the matter is, the Deo Volente are a problem. Even with the might of the entirety of my Crimson Tears would not be able to stop them if they decided to wipe us out. So as much as it disgusts me to say this, we both need each other’s help”

Dante then noticed a familiar mind approaching them. It was none other than Magus. Perfect timing. Dante needed a small break from this interaction. “Mr. Macvain, it is good to see you my friend” Dante gave the man a firm handshake “Come, please join us”

Loomis zlexis SidTheSkid

 

[Loomis]

Sabine’s eyes glimmered with excitement as Riaan quickly jumped into the nitty gritty as to why he approached her. She admired his boldness, but that feeling quickly faltered as he lowered his voice into a growl. A flash of irritation struck her in the chest and she inhaled sharply, reminding herself to behave.

“Let me start by saying I commend you for coming forward to speak with me, not many of your kind would have taken it upon themselves to converse with us,” She swirled her champagne glass in her hand before bringing it up to her mouth once again, savoring the rush she felt from the blood gracing her taste buds.

“But I will say if we are to continue talking, especially with the intention of moving forward, I suggest you watch your tone and keep your wolfish growls for someone else,” Her already glowing eyes darkened to a deeper shade of red as the irritation she felt began to turn to anger. “I have been kind and welcoming to you, and to all in fact, who have wanted to discuss things with me. I don’t appreciate being spoken to with such venom in your tone.” She took another calming sip from her glass and closed her eyes for a brief moment and grounded herself once again, the bubbling anger subsiding.

“As for the antics of my kind, I unfortunately do not have control over every Vampire. As much as I would love for them to follow in my footsteps I only have control over those under my…employment. I can assure you any Vampire affiliated with myself and my business conducts themselves in a manner I would approve of.” Sabine had done a good job at hiding any nefarious activity that came from her and her business. If anyone had done any digging into herself, Lazarus or any Vampire associated with Ms. Delormè they would find a pretty clean slate. It was a lot of effort to keep it that way, but it had to be done. No one got to a position of power without some ruffling of feathers or bloodshed, but no one needed to be privy to that.

Dante’s deep voice caught her attention, shifting her gaze to stare up at the Vampire as he spoke. I do like it when he’s agitated, she smiled to herself behind her drink as she listened to him bark back at the pup. Tossing back the remainder of her drink she handed off the empty glass to one of her men standing nearest to her. Sabine rose from the chaise she was resting on and slid next to Dante, her free arm slithered up his own and rested on his shoulder. Forcing her eyes off him she turned her gaze back to Riaan.

“I stand by what I said in my speech earlier. I find it a bit ridiculous to be fighting amongst ourselves when our time and energy is better spent elsewhere. I personally have no issues with the wolves, you all have done nothing for me to have any ill will towards you,” except exist, shove your snouts where they don’t belong…Even though her thoughts were dripping with disdain her outward demeanor was the opposite, her body language open and inviting, her tone of voice smooth and kind.

“As much as it is ingrained in our species to hate one another I truly would like to work towards eradicating that behavior. You and your pack will not find anyone working with or for me moving against your pack. I think it’s all in our best interest to work together, especially with Deo Volente growing in numbers,” Sabine extended her free hand out towards the wolf once more, an offering of peace, an olive branch if you will.

“I genuinely look forward to this new path of peace, maybe even friendship among us. If you wish to discuss things more in-depth, perhaps we can set up a time for us to meet. Tonight is for play, not business.” She smiled playfully at the wolf and hoped that would end this part of their conversation. She was over having to feign peaceful behavior and make nice with a species lower than her. Just then a familiar voice pricked her ears, turning to see none other than Magnus MacVain approaching; she thanked whatever God for sending him their way.

“Magnus, my dear, it’s so good to see you,” Sabine pushed herself off Dante and took the Mages hand in her own. “Magnus, this is Riaan, my newest friend. Riaan, this is Magnus, the leader of Saint Haddock's Coven.” She waved her arm in the direction of the mangy mutt as she introduced the two. Attaching herself back to Dante she waited for Magnus and Riaan to exchange pleasantries before she brought her mouth close to Dante’s ear.

“I have some business to attend to later this evening and would love to have you accompany me.” Her lips grazed his ear as she whispered to him. Pulling away from him she glanced around the small group, “does anyone need a drink before I send for one?”

Interactions: zlexis , Eldarkon , SidTheSkid ​

 

[Eldarkon]

Both Virgil and Charon were absolutely amazed by the sight of the Ball. Neither of them had been to such an event with their father before. Both of them wanted to take advantage of the situation and learn as much as they could.

Very important and powerful people were attending this event, and both of them needed to be on their toes. Their attention was grabbed by a party with two women on the staircase. Both brothers began to listen as the black dressed woman made her introduction.

"That must be the broad that father is after" Virgil Chuckled to Charon, raising his eyebrows. Charon's composure remained unchanged, stone cold as always "Indeed. She does seem to be an individual of great importance. Father is smart to gain her favor".

Vigil had always been more outgoing reckless while Charon was more cold and calculated, always with the goal in mind. Charon rarely let his emotions get the best of him.

Both of them followed their father and approached the staircase themselves. Although it came to no surprise that their father and Sabine began to converse, it was a surprise for them to be approached by Sabine's sister. Although Charon remained as cold as always, Virgil saw an opportunity.

"Good evening Miss Charlotte" Virgil said with humility, gently taking her hand with a kiss. "I am Virgil and this is my Brother Charon. Believe me, the pleasure is all mine"

He quickly eyed her up and down. She really was very beautiful to him, and Virgil had no qualms about indulging himself. Charon on the other hand could not care less, although he did not want to come off rude "It is indeed a pleasure to make your acquaintance Miss Charlotte" He said with a slight bow.

Virgil kept intense eye contact with Charlotte, focusing on increasing her heartbeat. It was a trick he would use to cause attraction "Tell me, what do you do for your sister?"

 

[Sepokku]

The duo turned their attention to her almost immediately, she would have made a joke at their expense; if her sudden problem with holding a drink wasn't putting her in an equally sour mood. The Master Protector's mention of Occam's Razor made her eyes nearly roll out of her skull. "The law of Parsimony, I'm familiar. Do you know another word for parsimony? Miserly." Her tune quickly changed as he slid another drink over to her; the poison of her choice. There was slight hesitation as her fingers closed around the neck of the glass. The genii didn't interfere. She cast a quizzical look toward the man in the mechanical mask, her own masking being reflected thrice over in three lenses fitted to his right oculus. "Of course, frugality, like all things, has its own time and place."

Reaching into her vest she produced a bamboo straw and popped it into the drink, lifting the bottom of her mask just enough to fit the other end of the straw into her mouth. 'Sweet Nectar,' The fennel taste of wormwood settled on her tongue as the warmth of the liquor spread to her stomach. She gave an appreciative glance towards the man, but his attention seemed elsewhere. Thankfully his mask was one that both obscured peripherals and didn't quite hide the overall shape of the face and thus it was easy enough to see where his eyes were stealing glances. A wry grin played across her face, "You've got a thing for redheads, huh?" She raised her glass as if that were proof enough.

The Technocratic member of their little group started to bluster, revealing her name and the fact that she was armed. It would've been annoying; if she were still struggling to procure a drink, and the Protector hadn't already ousted himself as being armed. Instead, it just seemed unnecessary. Putting the elbow of her free arm onto the bar, she rested her chin against her fist and listened quietly.

"People call me The Stranger. Tonight, you can too."

She barked out a laugh, "Really?" Her nose wrinkled slightly as a wide grin painted itself across her face, "All that verbal fencing and you namedrop the alias that half the Paradise City underworld knows? Your name came up via three separate sources in last week's investigation alone, Mr. Engineer. Lotta people think you iced that girl." She took a sip of her drink in a manner remniscent of a certain green frog puppet before extending her hand with a surprising amount of grace and gave the Technocrat's hand a light squeeze. The Ball was going smoothly enough, with any luck she could grab a few more drinks, have some polite chit-chat, and call it a night before things got ugly.

As if on cue, the Elder fleabag of bones that was Edward swaggered over to their group, probably drawn to the nearest lycan he could smell. His gravelly voice rattled off a few choice words, replete with a few well-timed curses as he dashed the Technocrat's drink to the ground. It would have been enough to make a lesser girl blush. He asked her about the restrooms. She had seen one of those valets holding a plate of sundries turn into a hallway but that wasn't exactly a solid lead.

Taking another sip of her drink she looked Edward up and down, "We just got here, you didn't go before we left?"

The Protector said something about not knowing whether Edward was worth the bullets, a question she had wondered about herself from time to time. "Sorry, my Uncle is..." She gestured towards Edward with a hand, like that conveyed enough of what she had been going to say.

"The restroom is down that hall. Third door to your left. Can't miss it."

So the valet had been headed towards a restroom, her sleuth's instinct was still sharp, despite the depressant in her system. She thought about thanking the man for his discretion, but the thought was interrupted by the other member of their group.

"NO!" The technocrat's voice growled as her phone vibrated; for a moment she thought it had been a text, but the absinthe spoon the bartender had put down moved as well. 'Curiouser and curiouser. A stranger not quite in control."

Her eyebrow raised slightly as she spared a glance towards Jacques, who seemed to recover from his outburst as suddenly as it had happened. His notion that she was here as the PR person for Elu was laughable, and yet not entirely incorrect. "Surprised she isn't here? I wouldn't be here if I could help it, unfortunately, my role is more akin to that of a PR person for Paradise City as a whole, as such, je suis ici," She explained dryly. "Someone has to clean up the bodies when the dust settles."

Turning towards the Protector she tilted her head quizzically, "You're strapped too? I had trouble getting proper bullets past security. Show me yours and I'll show you mine?"
Athanas Maverick Six RedLeftHand36

 

[RedLeftHand36]

Edward

Turpis Lupus
[Interactions with Sepokku Athanas & Maverick Six ]

Bark at the moon...

Good fucking lord, the entire room was static. A television without a signal, and here he was, suffering having to watch it. Hear it. Smell it. That smell of an old box television's glass screen, like an old penny left in the dust. Somewhere in the mess of things, the little dogs did things that little dogs do. Ironically, they weren't smelling the situation quite right. Of course not. Ugly people did ugly things, and there wasn't a single pretty face in that room, because at the end of the day, they all looked the same. Masks were masks. The flesh beneath wasn't a whole lot different. By the will of salt and circumstance, though, Edward could see behind it all. If only any of it were interesting. Of course, like the old man he was, he forgot that he was wearing a mask himself. On one hand, could he fault them? On the other, shouldn't it all be obvious? He snorted the sound of the mixture of contempt and pity and smugness. To him, they were all the blind ones. Something about pissing in the pool or whatever. It didn't matter. None of it mattered.

But damn, he could go without the headaches.

At some point in the yapping, a more blatant threat. Something about threatening loved ones. What a hilarious joke. Hilarious enough that Edward started giggling like a child at it. Quiet at first, exhaling through pursed, cracked lips that no one could see. But then it built up. Louder, louder, like an ugly, old hyena. He had to rest on his arms, leaning against the bar table.

"Sadistic bastards," came venom and mockery. "An old man has to take a piss, and they just want him to wet his own pants."

He took a moment to recover. Tired, but not any more tired than before. An ever present tired. Sometimes he wondered if he was too ugly for death. The looming wall of off-black fabric, with its featureless, square, ghostly faux-face began standing up straight, but leaned further back. A sickening sound like a rusty zipper crushing wet glass came from its back, before it took a more familiar posture once more. And then, quick as it had acted before, a hand the size of a god-fearing man's book rushed out. It had landed with an odd gentlesness but firm clutch upon the face of a passing busser, young and smooth of face, though one might instinctually feel that the gnarled, tree-like fingers tipped with yellowed, dirty claws may threaten that fact. Edward did not turn his face away from the bar as the long arm draped in black moved so rigidly to pull the young man ever so slightly closer.

"Now, then," came that raspy, empty voice. "Surely, lad, you'd be kind enough to lead an old blind man to the privvies, aye?"

No answer, as wide eyes simply stared in unsurity.

"Yessss...." Edward spoke again, as if answering for the busser. "Good."

The cloaked figure turned its head upwards, as if sniffing the air, though no noise to confirm this could be heard. Or perhaps that wasn't it after all. Surely he wasn't actually looking at something?

"So hard to find someone to rely on, these days," he said in a seemingly knowing tone, with a rather insidious laugh like a machine hissing. "Leaders can't lead. Killers can't kill. Sound an' fury begets little more than stale bread and shitty cake, aye?"

He seemed to turn is head towards each other named individual there for brief moments. First the stain. Then the gnat. Then his so-called 'pack mate'. In retrospect, honestly, the whole thing was really quite silly. But what else was he supposed to do with the world? Burn it? Wouldn't be much to do if he tried doing that. Boring. Derivative. Insipid, really. No. He never hated the world. In fact, he loved it. He loved how awful and filthy and ugly it was. He reveled in it. It was just too funny. These... Deo Volente as they called themselves. They were the best proof of that. You didn't have to have sharp ears to make out why, in Edward's mind. Truly, monkeys were monkeys, even if they pretended to be otherwise. It was the pretending otherwise he hated. And everyone always pretended otherwise. Still, he had his duties. Without many more words, he had the busser lead him like a bloodhound to the lavatories.

In due time, there would be pain. In due time, the sound of it would haunt the men's room. In due time, someone would go in. In due time, their return would prove to be... nonexistant. Somewhere, someplace, within the walls of ceramic and plaster and steel, was an old kind of metamorphosis slowly formulating, prompted by a less familiar provocation. Usually, he was always so willing. But he didn't even get the opportunity to say yes.

 

[Anaxileah]

HeyHey​

​

---

Addressed: Thomas Barrett ( zlexis ) & Silvermist Cearos ( DarkKitsune )

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Mentioned: Ed & Dani ( RedLeftHand36 Sepokku ), Richter & Jacques ( Maverick Six Athanas )

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Status: Sitting @ bar with Thomas & Silvermist

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Location: Blood Moon Ball, The Regency

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Inventory: Silver Daggers (x2)

HeyHey​

​

---

The fragility between her fingertips forced her to settle her tremors, not wanting to spill the Last Word she had ordered, her vibrant, golden gaze watching the chaos a few stools down begin to ensue, curiously raising a slender brow at the company of wolves and Deo alike, though concealed by her nature-themed mask. The atmosphere on this side of the main hall was rather soothing, with the soft melodies falling softly on her ears, the small bouts of conversation hushed or private, allowing her heart to calm and her mind to focus. The acerbic alcohol in her grasp certainly helped to soothe the jitters and distract her from the trauma that threatened to surface with every suit and tie that made its way into her line of sight. Thomas' rustled appearance - that was putting it nicely - instead took his place behind her, forcing her to turn and give her attention to the wrangled man as he attempted a feigned air of courtesy and probed her for information about the Coven.

Recognizing such behavior from her previous interactions with sleazy businessmen much more skilled at subterfuge, she smirked at Thomas' question, offering a small shrug before she replied. "It's not too difficult. The Coven mostly focuses on establishing safety for witches, though Magnus and I do our own work of trying to establish peace among the races, however futile it may seem. Still...it's better than outright murder." Her piercing gaze met with his defiantly, knowing quite well that she hit a nerve. The darkness that flashed in his eyes for a mere half second were reminiscent of the very things he despised most, forcing a chuckle from her lips as she rose the beverage to her lips, reminded yet to thank the thrice masked man that served it before she could be distracted by a new presence.

A splash of silver hair reflected the hall's warm lighting, a streak of blonde shimmering as it approached. A small, petite woman stepped up to the redhead, slightly taller than the seated female but barely an adult by comparison. The young picture of effeminate innocence, clothed in a modest gown consisting of different shades of blue, spoke up, a soft voice escaping quivering lips. "Hello! My name is Silvermist." Cordelia again, raised her brow, unsure of what to make of the sight before her. Crimson lips touched the rim of her glass once more as she sipped the drink again, assessing the female with a hint of amusement in her molten eyes. "A pleasure, Silvermist. My name is Cordelia Hawthorne, and I am the right hand of the Coven. You are welcome to call me Cordelia, if you would like. Though, I do believe you interrupted my conversation with..." Her voice trailed off as she glanced back at Thomas, her lips parted in mild astonishment.

The remarkably arrogant, driven man that she was more familiar with appeared quite shaken, seemingly upon seeing the bartender that gave them their beverages. She didn't recognize the man, but she noticed the figure's movements carry a fluidity that was uncommon for humans - perhaps he was a vampire or another warlock? Lia's golden gaze flickered back up at Thomas, narrowing in suspicion. There was no way it could be a vampire, if Tom was having an actual conversation with him. She hadn't been listening originally, but she caught the tail end of Thomas' dialogue. "I don't owe you anything, if that's what you're here for." Immediately, the red-haired woman was intrigued, but rather than stare blatantly, she threw Thomas a confused expression and returned her attention towards the young lady, while hoping to listen in on Thomas' conversation. Lia donned a brilliant smile and expressed as much charm as she could to appease the fresh adult: "Tell me, Silvermist, what is it that you do?"
​

 

[Loxely]

The voices of the group drowned in the sea of sound that came through in melodic waves. Betwixt the orchestrated live music or other nonsensical chatter of other patrons, Lottie found herself pooling the discussion of her nearest bystanders into a lulling murmur. Her attention affixed to the dashing brothers, moreso to the one showing her considerable interest. As her petite hand delicately slipped from his tender grasp, she graciously met the other brother with a half hearted curtsy of her own to pair his bow.

A nearly empty glass raised to her lips as she cooed, "Virgil and Charon, such mythological names... if you consider Christianity mythology. " She retorted into her flutes, downing the last swig of her infused champagne. Her cold heart pattered like a frantic caged bird, to her surprise, it was quite the melancholic feeling. One of her refined brows rose curiously to glance at Virgil, his charming smirk was the immediate giveaway that this was his doing. A chesire-like grin crept along her porcelain features to match his, "Oh, I aid in supplying daily headaches to my dear sister." Lottie teased, extending her empty glass outward to a wait staff's silver plate.

As the last syllable rolled off her tongue, Sabine's alluring tone made way to their side conversation. Lottie being particularly skilled in what her sister called 'selective hearing' caught the tail end of Sabine's beckoning. "It appears I've found myself empty handed, I could surely use another glass."

Her gaze fell towards her kin and company, pivoting to reengage with them. "You two make a lovely pair." Twirling a gloved finger at Dante and Sabine, "I hope you're as wonderful of a dancer, as you are a silver tongue, monsieur Wolfbane." Speaking of dancing, Lottie's attention fell upon a familiar approaching their little group of aristocrats. "Magnus, darling, why it seems you can repay your debt to much sooner an expected." Making rather steadfast headway towards him. Her arms snaking over his shoulders in a rather abrasive yet tender embrace, "but I believe I may be in your debt for some time." Rising on the tips of her toes to plant a gentle peck to the protruding bare skin below his mask, a sensual 'thank you' in Lottie's signature fashion.






interactions Eldarkon SidTheSkid Loomis

 

[DarkKitsune]

SILVERMIST CEAROS
LOCATION: BLOODMOON BALL
INTERACTION: Anaxileah zlexis

Spoiler: silvermist’s outfit + broom

"A pleasure, Silvermist. My name is Cordelia Hawthorne, and I am the right hand of the Coven. You are welcome to call me Cordelia, if you would like. Though, I do believe you interrupted my conversation with..."


Silvermist felt a little stupid for not recognizing someone of a high rank in the coven , sure she wasn’t from the coven herself. It was still run by witches and warlocks. On top of that, she felt bad and embarrassed for interrupting Miss Hawthrone and her companion’s conversation. She promptly grabbed her fake broom stick and hit herself on the head gently with the ‘brush’, though not in a way where it would hurt her.

“I am so sorry for interrupting! I’ll see myself out then—“

Then said companion asked a series of questions:

"What brings you here? And what do you want? I don't owe you anything, if that's what you're here for."

It was for the bartender. and as much as she wanted to ask about it, this wasn’t her place and none of her business. Budging into other peoples personal issues could get you killed.

"Tell me, Silvermist, what is it that you do?"

Suddenly— and it’s only a gut feeling, but suddenly she felt like she somehow got stuck in something she shouldn’t have. Damn you guest roulette! Well she could still be being paranoid. Regardless, Silvermist explained, because it would be weird if she didn’t and she didn't want to get into trouble.

“I’m a merchant. I own a store called Silver’s Potions and Oddities on saint haddock. I sell medical stuff and an assortment of items there.”

Of course, that wasn’t mentioning the stuff she sold under the counter. She then recalled her encounter with a customer named ‘Kate Grey’ but she shoved it to the back of her mind. It was not like she’d be seeing that strange customer again.​

 

[Maverick Six]

Interaction: Athanas RedLeftHand36 Sepokku

Blood Moon Ball​

---

"Depressing" The Technomage had said. Richter's mask betrayed no facial expression. It showed no skin. No hair, fully encasing his head with segmented pieces of metal. And holding but cloth beneath. Yet the tone of his voice would betray his amusement.

"Quite the contrary. I enjoy my job. Very much so. That" He nodded to the drink that was in the Mage's hand. "Requires no more resistance from me than one who indulges in ethanol. I do not look upon the people who pass out and vomit on the countertop with envy. Nor do I see the point in those who have such a great time of the night previous...yet haven't the faintest memory of such. Though it does amuse me to watch and to speak to people. Some are quite honest when they drink." He says, snickering a bit.

Miserly she'd called him. At least until he'd slid a drink over. The first and likely only one he'd order tonight. He watched every little within her fingers, as she hesitantly grasped the cup. Having the social subtly of a sledgehammer -- he lacked habits that might have enabled him to hide the fact that he was in fact staring. And overanalyzing as she drank the cup. It had been curious for her to drop three cups in a row. Yet this one she held just fine. Watching her up close -- she seemed more coordinated than he'd initially thought.

She'd noticed when his head snapped to Thomas and the Woman leading him as well. Another Redhead. It would be easy to see it as something else.

"You must be into redheads huh" The wolf woman had said.

"...."

The silence would be palpable, as he simply stared at the wolf. He began to notice just how hot exactly it was the hidden ballistic vest he'd always worn truly was. With a single finger -- he pulled on the collar of his shirt to allow some air cool air to grace his chest but briefly. Then after a few seconds, he answered.

"I like to look at people for what's on the inside." It was something he meant both figuratively and literally.

And now, Richter finds himself enshrouded by the all too familiar situation.

Where was I?

Richter's mask had begun to vibrate.

He'd been preparing for the big bad wolf to take a swipe at him. But it never came. Indeed, as Richter placed his full attention onto every muscle fiber of the man's being, he sensed hardly a concerned bone in the man's body. It matched up with the context too. The Elder-Wolf would likely see little to fear from the likes of Richter and company. The one he oddly felt himself unable to quite predict was the one who was supposed to be his alley.

He knew the Technomancer was violent and quick to temper. But he hardly suspected the lack of precision he'd had. Powerful asset he may be -- the man had the air of a ticking time bomb. Part of him thanked himself for not making his mask more durable with the only plausible concern from it being.

Richter's mask hid his expression -- failing to betray signs of his humanity. But on his bare hand...one could see a singular vein. Prominent and pulsing. His hand tensing into a motion almost akin to a claw. Almost as though he were ready to grab something. Quietly -- Richter slid out of his seat. And he started to quietly walk over to the one who'd called himself the stranger.

Thump thump. Thump thump.

He could hear the steady, rhythmic beating of his own heart, in the background of his own mind. He stood behind the Technomancer perhaps, only a foot away.

Perhaps he'd feel the lingering metal as he spoke to the Wolf. Maybe he'd hear him breathing under the mask. Though, no weapon rest within his hands. Part of the man wondered if he should exactly say anything. Slowly his hands had begun to raise, unfurling as if to grab him. With it being unclear as to whether or not he'd grab the man's shoulder or his neck. In truth, Richter seemed almost unsure himself.

"NO!" Said the Technomancer.

An array of threats had been levied at the man. Threatening not only his life but that of his loved ones. And like Richter thought, the big bad wolf did naught but blow. He laughed his ass off and keeled over the bar. To add to his rambling of "poison", talk of hesitant "killers" and incompetent "leaders". If the Techomancer had a difficult body to read, the wolf's cryptic speech seemed to all but elude the Hunter.

Richter was sitting at the bar by the time the tech mage turned around -- almost as though he'd never gotten up. Instead, his mask was raised and he fiercely down half a cup of water he'd been drinking in seconds. Slowly placing the cup back down. As the mage came to sit back down, Richter spoke.

"All that over a spilled drink...." He said simply. "Perhaps you should pet a cat or something." He motioned to one which had been wandering about through people's legs at the bar. One that was small and grey.

His attention shifted now to the others. "A representative of Paradise City? And just where does that authority come from, I wonder...?" He asked.

The woman asked a most peculiar question. "You want me to what?" He said, sounding obviously surprised. He wasn't exactly eager to show off his arsenal. While he did admit he was armed -- part of him liked to keep his cards particularly close to his chest. Though within this, there was opportunity. For one -- was gaining the wolf's trust. For the other, it was in a slight re-orienting of his inventory.

"Very well. Feel free to watch too, Metal Mage."

He grasped his empty cup of water. And then slid it. The cup would glide across the bar for a rather long period of time. The sound of glass sliding against the smooth wood of the bar was heard for quite a long time as it slid quite the distance. And then it landed squarely in front of their new Bartender.

"You." He said to the man with the Three-Faced Mask, whom he'd just noticed. "Care to give me a refill? Just water please."

Once the man's back was turned Richter's Trench Coat opened ever so slightly. When the water began to fill his cup, he started -- almost as though it were a timer.

Spoiler: Richter's Knife and Gun Shuffle

The first item appeared to be a Bowie Knife with an 11-inch blade. Not the best length of a blade for bushcraft. But it hardly was used for such. It straddled the line between sword and knife. It was large enough to fence and parry with. Yet it was still yet small enough to be concealed in a sheath just underneath his left arm. And sharper than most swords were capable of ever being.

The second was a Lupara. A sawed off, double barrel shotgun with a simple break action loading mechanism. It was honestly quite amusing the weapon ended up countering the Technomancer's perception and to seemingly some extent, his manipulations. In truth -- he had it because it was versatile, powerful and concealable. It was no less powerful than many twelve gauge shotguns and it could fire both barrels at once. Just the type of impractical overkill one might want for dealing with large creatures. It combined well with the natural versatility shotguns had when it came to ammo. It slid into one of the many pockets of his trench coat.

The last was simply his M1911. Yanked straight from his pants -- it's large bullet was oddly well suited to traveling at subsonic speeds while still hitting notoriously hard. The weapon had many ergonomic features perhaps too boring to adequately list, all of which amounted to making it more comfortable and able to be used. It's magazine was extended to allow for around 12 rounds. Overall it was his highest magazine capacity weapon and it the quicker of his guns to draw. Hence it was placed in a conceal carry holster between his left side and his back.

"Voila." The filling of the water stopped. And with it, so did the whirring of Richter's hands. Palms faced the air in a motion akin to shrugging -- as though he'd just done a magic trick. Everything which needed to be in place, was. There were other items on Richter's person. But he saw little need to show all of his cards.

"I made sure to walk in with the right crowd. A lot of the stuffier types here don't like to be searched." He would know. Given his occupation, he would sometimes be the ones searching them.

Outstretched palms then rotated, hands orienting themselves in her direction as he motioned to the redhead wolf.

"Your turn."

 

[RedLeftHand36]

Thaumus

Under a different name
[ Interactions with zlexis Anaxileah Maverick Six Athanas & DarkKitsune ]

Out from the Unknown...

"I don't owe you anything, if that's what you're here for."

The first drop in the black waters. Was ignorance so prevalent in the even the most studious of masses? Fear wasn't the mind killer. That was the work of stubborn doubt. The will of decay and rot. An autumn leaf crumbling into dust. Make a wish. Three faces, two eyes - if you could call them that - and they all seemed to intrude at that point, as if they had stuck themselves right into the face of the one-armed man. Of course, they didn't really. In fact, they didn't move in the slightest. The same orientation, the same vertical and horizontal position, pitch, yaw, etcetera. In the light, the strange figure was so much different the moment Thomas Barrett declared his sentiments; Static. Loud, intrusive, like a most severe case of tinnitus. For the briefest of moments, the world seemed inhabited by little more than that feeling of overbearing eyes. And then, just as quickly, so came the silence. That same eerie, ominous silence form before. And the figure spoke once more.

"If I thought you owed me something," came that voice like a whisper before sleep. "I would already have it at this point."

That rigid stillness, and yet his movements seemed so fluid, so natural. When he poured water, it seemed as if he had always been pouring water, and simply finished at that moment. There was a certain logic, the kind in a dream. Something was off, for sure, but it was impossible to differentiate the natural and unnatural. The glass slid across the counter, and the cool moisture offered such a perfect momentum. Somewhere in the intangible web of things, the figure in white seemed to ascertain a myriad of thoughts culminated into one singular pattern of thought. His voice was louder this time, even though it felt as if it weren't. These words were not for Thomas, of course.

"If you simply must shoot up the place," they came with a certain tone of accusation. "One would simply ask you to refrain from aiming at the bar, Mr. Kenway."

A brief pause in his words, that reaffirmation of silence that would only be familiar to Thomas.

"I suppose that goes for you as well, Monseigneur Pere."

Of course, the figure in white never seemed to take his gaze away from Thomas Barrett, not even in the slightest, though he would resume his answer towards the man in the skeletal mask, a certain manner of hushed returning to the voice, though it was overly difficult to judge if the figure ever enunciated the volume of his words in the first place.

"Disregard your uncharitable idea concerning my ilk, Mr. Barrett; Any cooperation between you and I hinges upon your health. Suffice to say, you have not proven to be adept at taking care of yourself."

The sound of a sharp inhale hissed from behind the white, three-faced mask.

"And I simply must introduce you to a better aftershave."

All in the meanwhile of his talk, another drink was made. A deep purplish-red hued drink, spruced with small pieces of green vegetation, and of course, a lemon wedge pressed upon the rim of the glass.

"A non-alcoholic beverage for you, Ms. Cearos. As a fellow enthusiast for the Hermetic arts, I think you'll approve of the taste."

He gestured to the glass, and any sharp eyes could have seen the rather archaically fashioned soft-drink not unlike a cherry cola, imbued with herbs such as basil, lemon verbena, mint, and tarragon. Again, his gaze never moved a cingle centimeter throughout the process. However... for a second, and only the briefest of moments, the figure's head turned. And in that moment, he gazed upon the red headed woman next to Thomas, who had engaged in conversation with the youngest of them. And then, just as quickly, his gaze returned to Thomas.

"You keep quite the appropriate company, Mr. Barrett," Came those seemingly omnicient words. "I hope my presence hasn't overly intruded on your time with Mrs..."

A lengthy pause.

"Ms. Hawthorne. Trust is ever so precious to those who know only tragedy and disparity, after all."

Silence from the figure once more. A finished monologue for the stage, and an incoporeal, nonexistant bow for an incoporeal, nonexistant audience. Throughout it all, one wondered if these people were even willing to piece everything together. To solve the puzzle, to solve the problem. Did they even know how their lives was infested with the filth of the noise? Were the more violently dispositioned of them even willing to sit? Did they know of patience? Did they know of reparation? Only time would tell. And oh, how familiar one was with the tellings of time. Somewhere, across the room, the black cat found its way to Charlotte DeLorme, offering seeming affection as it rubbed against her legs, though it never once closed its strange, moon-like eyes. Closer yet, the small grey cat with the same eyes offered the same affection to Cordelia Hawthorne. And so the seconds on the clock ticked away.