Agents of C.A.S.T.O.R. (Private)

[DarknessMasque]

The Beginning

As the mid-afternoon sun burns through the last of the overcast fog that the bay brings in every morning, noises rise from the streets of Chinatown below as people shuffle to and fro. The humid air clings to the tourists going in and out of all the curious little Chinese shops that line Grant Avenue in hopes of going home with fantastical stories. A building, of very classic Chinese architecture, sits quietly watching and waiting for people to look up and notice the large sign that reads Four Seas Restaurant.

Smoke trails sinuously up from the third floor balcony and out into the open air of the city. The source, a bright red cherry of a black cigarette, is gripped loosely in the right hand of a 6’1 man wearing suit pants and a form fitting white ribbed tank top. He takes his left hand and swipes his hair back loosely while taking a deep drag. The light of the burn cuts through the shadow of the buildings overhang and illuminates his ruggedly handsome features. He flicks the filter off the roof diminishing any source of light, though his eyes seem to glow silver with a preternatural radiance of their own.

He checks his watch and sighs out the smoke that filled his lungs. It’s time, he thinks to himself as he turns to walk into his apartment. Much like the restaurant beneath him, the buildings facade was not at all in line with it’s inner self. The space seems to be well filled as though an interior decorator had come in and gave it a once over - those familiar with Feng Shui would immediately recognize it here. Small noises can be heard emanating from the master bedroom probably caused by him shutting the glass balcony door. He pushes the door open while lighting another cigarette, the bed was a mess and directly in the middle was a slip of a girl writhing as she was coming out of a deep sleep. He stares at her milky uncovered flesh as he pulls his shirt on and buttons it up, cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth.

“Grab some breakfast downstairs,” he says gruffly looking her over one last time, he inhales deeply through his nose as though smelling for something and lets out a satisfied growl under his breath. “They are expecting you so don’t worry about paying,” He says while turning through a smoke filled cloud of his own making.

“Wait…will I see you again?” she says longingly to his back.

“Probably not.” He responds coldly as he throws his blazer over his left shoulder with his left hand and opens the door with his right, shutting it lightly behind him.

Downstairs cutting through the kitchen.

“Zǎo Shàng Hǎo!” The chefs yell as he walks in.

“Zǎo” He replies as he pushes through the back door and down the stairs into the half shadowed alley. A garage door begins to ascend revealing a tuxedo black 1969 Chevelle SS, he pops open the door throwing his jacket to the passenger seat and closing it behind him. The car roars to life and pulls out of the alley, immediately speeding up as he makes a right on Sacramento Street. Taking a deep drag he doesn’t even look in the direction of the invitation, which rests in almost the same spot it was found in last night, the glove box, and there it would stay as he drove towards his fate.​

 

[Lucyfer]

The handcuffs were just for show. Uncomfortable, annoying, and easily breakable though they were, the show was necessary. The brunette woman accepted the tradition even if she thought it silly. “Can I ever return?” The question came softly, the voice that spoke it made it sound melodious, deep. “To Vegas, that is.”


The driver did not even avert his gaze to her. “Your case will be reconsidered in a century, depending on the work you do here in San Francisco.”


“Hmm,” the woman smiled and stretched out in the passenger seat, looked out the window at all the lights. “That’s not so bad. Do give my thanks to Stephanos when you see him again.”


The driver’s brows knit together, and he said nothing to that. It only caused more amusement for the woman. Her smile broadened. “Did he say why, by chance? Does he owe someone here a favor? Or perhaps, he hates someone here?”


“Shut up, Amenset.”


Now the woman turned her head to look at the driver, who kept his eyes on the road ahead. ‘So it was Stephanos.’ Stephanos was older than her, also Greek, and had known her sire too well. There were rumors of pederasty which she may or may not have started. The driver, a youngblood Revolutionary, would never have known the name ‘Amenset’ otherwise.


She honored his request for silence and watched the signs. Roads had become such a nightmare to travel. They were on 7th Avenue, and didn’t seem to be turning off it. Indeed, they came up to a building with the name of the location she was being sent to: The California Academy of Sciences. The name was longer, but that was how it was displayed in the city.


“You have a choice, Samira.”


Stephanos had told her that, and she let her eyes examine the strangely humped building as the driver pulled into the parking lot.


“You can die for the crime of patricide, or you can repent and better the lives of all by going to the California Academy of Sciences, Thaumaturgy, and Occult Requisitions.”


The choice had been obvious. Samira had been scientifically inclined for years, when all the spells she knew had never managed to allow her to walk underneath Aten, or into the sight of Re. They had allowed other things, but never what she craved.


Stephanos had known what she’d choose, too.


The driver removed himself from his seat and walked over to her door. He pulled it open, and pulled her out by the upper arm. He shut the door behind her, and walked to the front door. He walked right in through the glass doors.


He led Samira, and the brunette woman took advantage of that. She looked all around, heedless of others around her. She knew she almost bumped into a few, but didn’t care. Her red eyes ate up the area, until the driver shoved her forward. She bumped into a desk. There was a woman sitting behind it. “This is Samira Maat, also known as Amenset. Your…Academy requested her.” He sounded doubtful.


To his disappointment, the woman looked happy to see her and rose from her seat immediately. “Yes, we did.”


The woman offered a hand, before realizing that Samira’s wrists were bound behind her. “Oh…is something wrong?” The woman glanced to the driver, who rolled his eyes. He reached for a key, but Samira promptly pulled on the cuffs.


No one would have guessed it by looking at her, and that was as Samira wanted. She looked soft, but she had all the strength that came with being a vampire. The chains snapped and she took the woman’s hand in hers, being careful with her strength then, as well as her painted red nails. “A pleasure to be here,” Samira said, noting the woman didn’t seem the least bit surprised that she had broken the cuffs.


This was going to be interesting indeed.